𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒘 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒗𝒊𝒃𝒆
Tucked just off a hidden wizarding quarter of Paris, Rue des Mirages is a narrow, elegant street that curves along a small enchanted canal. Everything about it is curated: the soft glow of lanterns, the perfume in the air, the way window displays rearrange themselves when someone with a particularly heavy purse walks by.
old French pureblood dynasties keep townhouses above their favorite boutiques.
Beauxbatons students with very generous parents come for school robes that are technically uniform-compliant but suspiciously chic.
families like mine maintain house accounts so their heirs never have to look at a price tag if they don’t want to.
On paper, it’s “just” a shopping street. In reality, it’s:
a neutral ground where old families quietly watch one another’s spending and alliances.
a finishing school in aesthetics and social awareness—half of what rich children learn about presentation, they learn here.
a place where you can walk out with a pair of gloves and somehow also a new reputation.
The whole place leans rich, feminine, and delicately romantic—lace, ribbons, pastel façades trimmed in gold leaf, mirrors everywhere—but under all the softness is very old money and very serious magic.
𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒚
Rue des Mirages doesn’t appear on any muggle map, and not on most wizarding ones either.
It runs along a hidden bend of a real Parisian canal, folded sideways into magical space. From the muggle side, the spot looks like a maintenance yard and a locked service bridge—boring enough that no one lingers, blurred by a vague “under construction” feeling that discourages curiosity.
a discreet floo-connected salon just off a more respectable wizarding cross-street; the fireplace carved from veined white marble, flames tinted soft rose-gold.
a narrow stone arch near the muggle quay; to those with magical sight (or the correct charm), the arch shows a faint shimmer of water and starlight instead of brick. Stepping through feels like walking into a slightly warmer, more saturated version of the same evening.
a handful of warded apparition coordinates reserved for those already on the Rue’s “trusted visitors” list—old families, certain foreign dignitaries, long-standing clients.
strong muggle-repelling charms along the canal edge and bridge entrances.
identity-sensitive wards that take a soft “impression” of everyone who comes through; first-time visitors are noted, and troublemakers remember being gently “discouraged” from returning.
layered anti-theft, anti-curse, and anti-eavesdropping spells—shopfronts are safe, back rooms are very safe.
subtle mood-smoothing charms in the air so tension softens before it can become a scene.
It’s technically open to any witch or wizard with the knowledge and means to get there. In practice, most customers are:
old French wizarding families
extremely wealthy foreign houses
Beauxbatons students with obscene allowances
visiting heirs from other schools on holiday
and the occasional scholarship kid being dragged along in someone else’s wake, trying not to stare
Every so often, someone who clearly doesn’t fit the usual profile appears—invited guests of old families, promising young duelists or artists, people the Rue seems to tolerate out of curiosity. It remembers them.
The aesthetic is rich, hyper-feminine Parisian dream:
Narrow, pale stone buildings with wrought-iron balconies, trailing flowering vines, and window boxes overflowing with charmed roses that never quite wilt. Cornices are trimmed in gold leaf, gutters disguised as curling brass vines, door knockers shaped like swans, dragons, or mirrored masks. Shop signs are hand-painted in looping gold script, some with tiny animated details—macarons that shimmer, ribbons that flutter in a non-existent breeze, perfume bottles that emit spirals of colored mist.
Soft cream, blush pink, powder blue, lilac, and champagne gold. Even the cobblestones look cleaner here, warmed to a gentle rose-grey; in rainy weather they glisten instead of turning muddy, thanks to discreet waterproofing charms.
Lanterns and fairy lights are strung overhead like a net of stars. During the day, they’re a soft gleam; at dusk, the entire street slips into permanent golden hour. Reflections from the canal throw shifting patterns of light onto the undersides of balconies, windows, and faces—sometimes enhanced by a subtle charm so everyone looks just a touch more luminous than they did on the way in.
The muted clink of porcelain from café terraces, low conversation in French and accented English, a distant violin or piano, the occasional laugh that rings like crystal. No shouting, no hawkers—everything is controlled, refined, pleasantly hushed. Even the canal seems to murmur quietly rather than slap against its banks.
Layers of sugar, butter, chocolate, tea steam, faint florals, and expensive perfume, threaded with a clean undercurrent of canal water and stone. At different points along the street, the background scent shifts—patisserie sweetness, floral perfumery, sharp ink and parchment—guided by charms that keep everything from clashing.
True to its name, mirages and illusions are part of the Rue's charm. Shop windows show shifting “what if” reflections of passersby:
pause by a gown and you see yourself wearing it, hair and posture subtly adjusted to best advantage
walk past a salon and your reflection tests different hair colors, cuts, or styles in the glass
look too long at the canal and for a moment you might see another version of the Rue—winter snow, summer fireworks, a masked ball decades ago
Nothing forces itself on you. It all feels like an invitation: you could look like this, you could live like this, if you just stepped inside.
𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒔
Soft pastel interiors, glass cases, and desserts that unmistakably scream “if you have to ask the price, you shouldn’t be here.”
seating areas with velvet chairs and little round wrought tables, often overlooking the canal.
gleaming glass counters piled with:
macarons that float gently above mirrored trays and drift into perfect stacks when boxed
éclairs iced with tiny moving constellations that match the night sky over Paris
petits gâteaux that stay at the ideal temperature and never smudge lipstick when bitten
cupcakes that adjust sweetness based on the eater’s preference
tartlets that never crumble or go soggy
seasonal specials—snowflake meringues that melt like fresh snow, summer sorbets that cool you a fraction more than physically possible.
pastries that never crumble on your clothes.
“mood pairing” recommendations that subtly nudge you toward the sweet that best suits your current emotional state.
takeaway boxes that keep everything pristine until opened, no matter how chaotic your trip was.
This is where Beauxbatons students and their families linger after fittings.
Less bustling than patisseries; more hushed, ritualized, and aesthetic.
soft music, clinking porcelain, waitstaff in perfectly pressed uniforms.
tiered trays of finger sandwiches and pastries, served with customized tea blends.
delicate tea sets charmed so the tea is always at exactly the right temperature and never stains porcelain.
tea menus that read like spellbooks: clarity blends for studying, calm blends for anxiety, charisma blends for social events (with just a hint of charm built in, carefully regulated to stay legal).
private nooks with sheer curtains for discrete conversations, business meetings, or pure gossip.
The enchantments here are subtle—cups that never spill, steam that briefly shapes into flowers, conversations gently muffled beyond arm’s length.
𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔
Shops where chocolate is a serious art form, not a casual snack.
hand painted truffle collections arranged like jewelry—each one with a tiny charm: some warm your chest like a mild cheering charm, some adjust flavor mid-bite based on your mood, and some sharpen focus like a safe, tasty stimulant.
slim boxes of mirrored chocolate shards that crack with a perfectly satisfying sound and never leave smears on fingers.
heart-shaped chocolates who’s flavor pulses faintly in time with your heartbeat
dark chocolate squares infused with calming draught micro-doses for exam season.
limited-edition seasonal collections tied to Beauxbatons balls, Ministry galas, or notable celestial events.
The packaging is half the experience—boxes that unfold themselves, ribbons that retie neatly, little cooling charms so they never melt on the way home.
𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔
Multi-story showrooms that smell like expensive fabric and charmed starch.
ground floor: display mannequins whose robes shift cut and color as you walk past, previewing how something might look on you, moving mannequins charmed to show fabric drape in motion.
upper floors: private fitting salons, full-length mirrors, discreet tailoring elves, mirrors that show how garments will look in different lighting (ballroom, candlelight, moonlight).
ball gowns whose embroidery moves with the music.
robes that subtly adjust silhouette to flatter the wearer’s current posture.
family crest integration that glows only under certain light or in old magic-wards.
glamours that correct for posture and subtly improve how someone carries themselves.
bolts of fabric that ripple with latent enchantments—starlight woven into silk, and hems that never get muddy.
Robe houses keep strict client lists; being “known” here is a status symbol.
𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉-𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔
Not formalwear—elevated everyday, “effortlessly chic” clothes for people whose “casual” still costs a small fortune—soft knits, tailored trousers, silk camisoles, enchanted denims.
fluffy cashmere-like sweaters spun from ethically charmed puffskein fur that never itch, and always smell faintly of clean linen.
shirts and blouses with seams that let out or pull in magically, so they always sit perfectly even when you’re slouching in the library.
jeans that never wrinkle, shirts that never untuck, cardigans that adjust warmth to ambient temperature.
off-duty Beauxbatons aesthetic:
enchanted hair ribbons that stay perfectly tied through a broom flight.
pleated skirts that never lose their sharpness.
soft scarves that smell faintly of your favorite perfume when warmed.
Many items have quiet enchantments: self-mending hems, anti-stain linings, anti-rain charms that repel water but let perfume and air pass through.
𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒔
Rooms of glass, mirrors, and absolute indulgence.
heels that never blister and subtly stabilize balance on cobblestones or stairs.
ballet flats that muffle your footsteps on command.
enchanted sneakers and boots that cushion each step, quietly repel mud, and adjust grip depending on ground.
boots with anti-slip charms, and waterproofing that doesn’t affect leather sheen.
tiny, impossibly structured handbags with expanded interior space:
some for social events (fits exactly a wand, lipstick, compact, and calling card case).
some for students (ink bottles remain upright, quills never leak, books weigh less than they should).
spell-threaded lace gloves that enhance precision wand movements.
leather gloves that shield from mild hexback when dueling.
flying gloves that warm fingertips without sacrificing grip.
Everything sparkly plus subtle protective magic.
earrings that double as minor wards or communication devices.
bracelets and bangles inscribed with hidden sigils for emotional stabilization, focus, or protection.
hairpins and combs that keep elaborate styles firmly in place, and can transform into small defensive objects with a single word.
lockets enchanted to warm when the person inside is near danger, or faintly pulse when they think of you.
discreet signet rings keyed to family vaults, private floo connections, or ward accesses.
These pieces end up becoming heirlooms, passed down with stories like, “This ring has seen five Ministers and three wars.”
Not just “pick a scent”—this is scent as spellwork.
perfumes housed in delicate glass bottles that:
show a swirling color pattern unique to each blend.
briefly show a memory-like image (a storm, a ballroom, a forest) when uncorked.
auras: scents charmed to enhance specific impressions—warmth, mystery, authority, sweetness.
wards: very light emotional shields (for crowded balls or Ministry events).
echoes: scents modeled after historical figures or lost eras.
signatures: “house” scents associated with old families.
scent artists occasionally hold consultations with special customers where they read your wandwood, favorite spells, and ambient magic, and craft you a signature perfume that subtly harmonizes with your aura.
𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔
Entire stores filled to the brim with magical cosmetics, all balanced on long, marble counters, and reflected back in gilded mirrors.
shelves filled with bottled lotions, oils, mists, scrubs, serums, masks—everything soft pastels, gold caps, and crystal droppers.
staff in soft robes, wands tucked behind their ears, who do quick diagnostic charms on hair and skin and then prescribe a “ritual.”
enchanted shampoos, and conditioners that never over-strip, gently undo damage from potion fumes and castle air, and make hair fall just so, no matter the weather.
body washes and creams that add that subtle, almost magical glow to skin, smooth texture over time, and make scents linger lightly in a way that clings to clothes.
nail oils that keep cuticles perfect and polish chip-proof.
subtly glamoured powders and tints that adjust to your undertone.
Everything smells impossibly good, bottles are beautiful, and the sample game is lethal.
Because of course there are entire salons for hair alone.
floating mirrors that show your hair:
in updos, braids, curls, and sleek styles before any cutting actually happens.
under different lighting and weather (ballroom, rain, quidditch stands).
brushes that detangle without pain.
scissors that hum deferentially before making a cut.
long-lasting styles woven with:
weather-proofing (Parisian drizzle is no joke).
low-grade glamour that keeps braids neat through a full day of flying.
The perfect place for a pre-ball pilgrimage, or just for whenever you feel like switching something up.
Not wand makers, but wand dressers.
wand holsters in dragonhide, silk, velveteen, often enchanted for anti-theft, quick-draw, and concealment in formal wear.
wand chains and wristlets that prevent accidental drops, and subtly tether wand and owner in case of theft.
decorative but functional wand charms:
rings that sit around the wand and strengthen a certain kind of spellwork (charms, defensive magic, music spells).
engraved caps for wand tips that leave brief trails of light, stars, or sparkles when casting.
protect against magical interference.
keep the wand’s core in optimal condition.
sometimes hum a specific note when you touch them.
It’s very much “wizarding jewelry but for your wand.”
𝒑𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒇𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔
Ridiculous, extra, and absolutely a place I will be visiting frequently.
harnesses, collars, and carriers tailored for:
owls, cats, toads, and rats.
as well as dragonettes, kneazles, puffskeins, and more… exotic companions.
anti-flea, anti-hex, anti-getting-hopelessly-lost.
warming or cooling linings depending on the creature.
hand-stitched owl jesses with family crests.
silver bowls that keep water always cool and fresh.
litter trays that quietly vanish any mess.
lined pet beds that automatically adjust to the animal’s preferred texture and temperature.
treat jars that dispense a single snack when the pet taps twice in a particular rhythm.
There’s always one corner of the shop where extremely posh witches debate the ethics of wing oil, while their owls judge everyone from their perches.
𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒔
Because even sport gear can be glamorous if you enchant it enough.
sleek, custom-finished brooms with:
tailored handling charms.
noiseless flight options.
weather resistance and self-drying bristles.
flight leathers and quidditch gear refined enough to pass as fashion:
padded in all the right places.
lined with impact-distribution spells.
glamoured to look like simple jackets when not on the pitch.
There's also usually a few fitting rooms in the back with floating hoops and target dummies, where you can test handling charms in a contained mini-gust field.
aerial equestrian outfitters (often tucked into the same salons or just above them):
saddles and tack for hippogriffs, aethonans, abraxans, and other flying mounts:
anti-slip charms for both rider and creature.
pressure-distributing girths and breastplates that never chafe.
quick-release safety enchantments that trigger if a rider falls.
breeches with cushioning charms so you never get too sore, no matter how long you’re in the saddle.
jackets and coats charmed for flexibility, protection, and a flattering cut in the saddle.
helmets and flight goggles with anti-fog, anti-bug, and wind-shielding charms.
braided crest bands that shimmer subtly under sunlight.
embroidered saddle pads with house or school colors.
polished boots and gloves that always shine under judging lights.
The perfect place to watch rich old witches and wizards to lose their mind over paper density.
thick parchment in shades of cream, dove grey, and pale blue.
envelope sets with self-sealing wax that melts at your fingertip.
thick, cream parchment with different enchantment options (water-repellent or fireproof for potion notes, and self-copying for study-sharing).
quill displays where feathers:
demonstrate stroke and ink-flow on hovering scraps of parchment.
re-index themselves when you add new pages.
keep a table of contents that updates magically.
are privacy-locked to a specific signature.
spell-diagram vellum that shows layered magical geometry more clearly.
arithmancy grids that self-align your equations.
"thinking pens” that jot down bullet points as you ramble aloud.
ink colors tied to emotion (phrases written in anxiety-blue vs. calm-gold).
𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒔
Softly glowing storefronts full of sound and movement.
enchanted instruments that self-tune and adapt volume to the room.
self-playing instruments that harmonize with your singing.
subtle “ambience charms”—rain on glass, crackling fire, the low murmur of café conversation.
enchanted music boxes with:
day-long study soundscapes.
ballroom playlists tailored to particular dance styles.
lullaby collections tuned to specific age groups or magical sensitivities.
Less dusty than Hogwarts’ library, more curated than Flourish and Blotts.
shelves of limited-run publications—beautiful editions of spell theory, magical art books, essay collections, obscure treatises.
slim, elegant volumes on niche topics:
the history of French ritual magic.
essays on enchantment as performance.
treatises on magical music, perfume, architecture.
locked cases with rarer things:
banned-but-technically-legal research.
strange artefacts with provenance cards.
I would vanish in here for hours and have to be dragged out.
𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒚, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒔
Half gallery, half bookshop, half “what even is this but I want it.”
limited-run prints of animated artwork: shifting constellations, portraits that wink, landscapes that change with the weather outside.
pigments that react to magic, glowing when charged.
magical cameras and portrait sessions:
photos that move in slow, aesthetic loops.
illusion-projects that let you “try on” entirely different styles for a day.
𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒍-𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒇𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒔
Where Rue des Mirages exhales at dusk.
wrought-iron chairs along the water.
lanterns whose light deepens to rose-gold as the sun sets.
menus of clever mocktails and wine-adjacent drinks for students with too much money and not enough supervision.
low lighting, soft jazz or string quartets, enchanted glass that reflects the canal in fractured, pretty ways.
cocktails served in crystal that glows faintly.
booths with privacy-muffling charms perfect for gossip, business, or both.
Older students and young socialites orbit these after dark, glittering in the reflection of the canal.
𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍
a tiny kiosk on the canal bank selling enchanted postcards that replay snippets of Rue des Mirages at dusk.
a bookshop cat that wanders in and out of multiple businesses and is greeted by name everywhere.
seasonal pop-up stalls along the canal:
enchanted flower crowns in spring.
silk fans with cooling charms in summer.
lace gloves and hand-warmers humming with warmth in winter.
𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒔
Rue des Mirages runs on politeness and perception. It isn’t just what you buy, it’s how you move.
𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚
You can be rich as the Malfoys and still find yourself coolly ignored if you’re rude to staff. Conversely, some old shopkeepers will quietly favor polite, slightly-overwhelmed students over flashy nouveaux riches. Please and thank you go further here than a heavy purse alone.
Even students tend to arrive in their best: immaculate robes, polished shoes, hair styled, a hint of perfume. Looking obviously out of place isn’t a crime—but it is noticeable. The Rue can tell when you’re playing dress-up versus when you’ve been trained for this since childhood.
No rushing, no jostling. People stroll here. They stop to admire windows, greet acquaintances, exchange air-kisses and barbed compliments. Hurrying suggests you don’t know how the place works—or that you’re trying to escape something, which makes the wards pay attention.
𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅
Items are labeled, or presented with a little enchanted card that whispers the sum privately when you touch it. Saying, “How much is this?” at full volume is… frowned upon. The socially acceptable script is, “Would you add this to my account?” or, if you’re new and honest, a quiet, “May I see the terms?” in a low voice.
Arguments, breakups, and family drama are conducted behind warded doors if they must happen at all. The Rue does not like raised voices. There are gentle, built-in calming charms in the air and, failing that, wardens who appear with the kind of polite steel that makes even proud purebloods lower their tone.
𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓
More than once, a clerk’s manner turns faintly warmer when they hear a particularly old and well respected name. Effects include:
complimentary gift-wrapping and add-ons.
early access to collections and invitation-only previews.
an “of course, we’ll owl the final fitting to your estate.”
The right token or seal can open back rooms, unlock “unlisted” items, or quietly waive waiting lists that “unfortunately” still apply to others.
𝒈𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒑 𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒚, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒘
Everyone watches, everyone notices:
who is being fitted where
which families no longer shop together
which young witch is suddenly fitted for more formal gowns than school requires
But you never hear names shouted across the canal. It’s all murmured over tea, exchanged in coded compliments, written in the shift of whose shop you choose today.
To Beauxbatons girls, Rue des Mirages is part runway, part playground, part junior political arena. To outsiders like Hogwarts students, it can feel like stepping into a glossy magazine that’s become three-dimensional and mildly sentient. But for someone like me, it’s a second home: familiar, indulgent, and sometimes suffocating, but sometimes magical.
ok sooooo yeah this ones really long. sorry. but yeah I figured I'd post this bc I at least think its kinda cool. but yeah my family in this dr is rich af, like richer than the malfoys level rich. we're a french family, but unlike most pureblood families, we didn't get our money from like shady shit, but from investing in and sponsoring artists and shit. So we're like really respected but not evil, plus we're known for donating a LOT!!! shit I may have to do a post on my family soon. I mean technically they're my adoptive family, but they see me as one of them and will hex anyone who suggests otherwise lol.
also btw, here's the cat that wanders everywhere! I don't have a name yet, but if anyone has any suggestions let me know!
@lalalian @reyaint @mindscapeofthedivine @wyldeshifts @notoriouslyshifting @mothsvsbutterflies
