#poetic considerations

[thefriendoforatioisdead]

Serious tone : the car scene was absolutely beautiful, the two of them sheltered from the storm and the gaze of people. A break while the thunder roars and is about to tear them away, they still affirm their love and their loyalty. With the focus on their hands and their rings, we are reminded that they are married no matter what, that the declaration they made to each other is the only one that has value : beyond the laws of men, love only knows its own rules. To misquote Pascal ''The Heart has its own reasons that Reason doesn't know''. I also love the absolute trust with which Pin looks at Anin when she swears she'll find a way for them to be together. Anin has always been there for her, and never let her down, she does not doubt that she will save the situation as she always does. Anin is her courage, her audacity, and she's the one giving her the strength to resist her aunt has best as she can. She really wants to believe they can get through this. Both of them want to believe it, even if it's just an illusion, a stolen moment in a parked car, in the middle of a storm.

Unserious tone : This car is in the middle of the street, the windows are huge, this was absolutely public and they absolutely were seen by probably too many people

[lostdeadpoets]

“What is love?”

“Love is consideration. It's understanding way beyond what words might be able to convey. It's a conscious choice to hold, to respect, to admire, to protect and to turn back, like Orpheus did for Eurydice.

Love is peace, the feeling of freedom that you get to be anything that you want to be, and it's acceptance that your person would love you just the way you are.

Love is security that you feel in someone's presence that everything is safe— your heart, your secrets, your thoughts, your soul. and it’s the assurance that your shortcomings would always be looked at with the perspective to help you grow from and your traumas to be healed from.”

[rageinreverie]

the woman i was

watches me from the doorway

she is untamed and wanting

she has sharp edges

a mouth full of wild hunger

i do not tell her

that i miss her

that some nights

i dream of slipping back into her skin

but when my daughter calls for me

with a voice like first light

i step into the soft glow of morning

and let the woman i was

become the woman i am meant to be

-rage in reverie

[fragmentedblade]

Fu Xuan calls March "young girl", which is understandable. But she also calls Chengjie "young man from the Artisanship Commission" and like... ma'am how old are you

[unopenablebox]

ive decided to have a new autoblock criterion and it’s talking about a natural geological or biological process as though it in some way involves “an elder god”

[ishizzle]

Up thinking of my boyfriend

[whosashan]

hello! good day to youuu, can i make a request for the lads men? in which reader is not the mc and here's the prompt: having to beg them to do something with you then seeing them doing it with mc willingly, sorry english is not my first language but pleaaaseeee 😭 i love some angst.

Bitter

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Watching the one you love partake in what you once pleaded to share—a quiet betrayal—feels like an arrow through the heart, swift and merciless. (angst, no comfort)

A/N: Thank you for the request, it came out more as a drabble. Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

What a bitter, gutting thing it was—to stand in the shadows and watch him shine for someone else. To see the light in his eyes, the easy laughter, the quiet devotion as he did for her what he had never done for you.

The one thing you once begged for. The one thing he had denied you.

But not her. Never her.

She was fate’s beloved, the one woven from the same celestial thread as him, bound to him in ways you never could be. You had always told yourself to be rational, to be understanding. Xavier came with a past. He came with baggage.

And inside that baggage, nestled close to his heart, was her.

The woman you would envy until the world turned to dust.

And yet—how could you ever bring yourself to hate her? When she was made of kindness, of soft edges and warm light? When she looked at you with nothing but affection, oblivious to the ruin she left in her wake? She was an angel. A blessing. A curse.

And fate, it seemed, had always been on her side.

So there they were, walking side by side, woven together so seamlessly it was almost poetic. Almost cruel. Her bags in his hands, the weight of them carried so effortlessly—as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, when you had asked for the same—just a simple day together, just a moment of his time—he had sighed, shaken his head, told you he was too tired. That work was too much. That he simply couldn’t.

But now, watching him with her, you couldn’t help but wonder—did she take his exhaustion away? Did her presence breathe new life into him in a way you never could?

The answer settled deep in your bones, cold and unrelenting.

Your friend beside you said nothing, only looking at you with that quiet, suffocating pity that made your stomach turn. Because there was nothing to say. Nothing to soften the truth you had known all along.

You were not his first thought in the morning. You were not the name on his lips when he passed a garden of wildflowers. You were not the presence lingering in his mind when the world grew quiet.

And you never would be.

You had spent so long fighting against it. Xavier loves me. He chose me. The words had been your lifeline, a fragile, trembling thing you whispered into the silence. But even your friends never seemed convinced.

And now, neither were you.

So you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You turned away.

No confrontation. No desperate pleas for an explanation that would only come laced with half-truths and empty reassurances. What good was honesty when it had never been yours to begin with?

When he came home that night, his lips still curved with the ghost of a smile, he found an emptiness he had never felt before. Your things, your presence—gone, as if you had never been there at all.

And in your place, only a single note remained.

"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Because clearly, it was never me."

And Xavier, poor Xavier, would stand there, reading those words over and over, grasping at the fraying edges of something he had never truly held onto.

But then again—

Xavier had never noticed his wrongdoings.

Not until there was nothing left but the weight of his own ruin.

Zayne

Zayne—or Dr. Zayne, as she called him—had always been a good man. A gentleman in every sense. Caring, affectionate, endlessly considerate.

But never for you.

His tenderness felt practiced, his affections routine. As if he wasn’t loving you, but fulfilling some unspoken obligation. A kindness given not out of devotion, but out of mere habit.

And you had tried to ignore it. Swallowed your doubts, convinced yourself you were overthinking.

Until you saw them together.

Her.

The one fate had tied him to. The one who never had to ask for his attention, because it had always belonged to her.

Her laughter lit up rooms before she even stepped inside. Her eyes gleamed like sunlight catching on water—brilliant, hypnotic, impossible to look away from. And neither could he.

And then, there was the picture.

A simple post, one she likely uploaded without a second thought, oblivious to the quiet devastation it would bring.

There she was, sitting in his office. Smiling. At ease.

Sharing lunch with him.

Something you had never been allowed to do.

You had asked once—just to drop by, to see him, to spend even a sliver of time together in the place he spent most of his days. But he had refused, brushing you off with a gentle but firm, “I don’t want distractions.”

And yet, there she was, sitting across from him, urging him to eat the food she had made, as if she had every right to be there. And maybe she did.

They had known each other forever. That was what you told yourself—Of course, they’re close. Of course, they understand each other in ways I never will. You had tried to accept it. To be understanding.

But then you saw the way he looked at her in the picture.

The softness in his eyes. The quiet, unguarded devotion.

Like she was the only one who could unravel him, the only one who could slip past his carefully built walls.

You had spent so long trying to do the same, but you never even made a crack.

And so, that was the moment you made a promise to yourself.

You would not be someone’s second choice. You would not collect the scraps of his affection while she—effortless, radiant, destined—was given everything you had ever wanted.

And Zayne noticed.

He noticed in the silence. In the missed calls that went unanswered, the messages left on read. In the bouquets left wilting at your doorstep, the petals curling at the edges.

Roses.

Her favorite flowers.

Not yours.

And that was all the confirmation you needed.

Zayne was never the gentleman you thought he was.

Or perhaps, he was. Just never for you.

Or maybe—maybe it was fate itself that was cruel.

Rafayel

Something inside you cracked, splintering like fragile seashells beneath careless hands—shattered beyond repair, beyond mending.

It wasn’t a sudden break. No, it had been slow, creeping in like the tide, eroding the edges of your love bit by bit, pulling pieces of you away before you could even notice you were unraveling.

And now, the final wave had come, and it had taken everything with it.

Because there he was—your Rafayel—kneeling beside her, smiling in a way you had longed to be the cause of.

The sight alone stole the breath from your lungs.

You had spent so long pretending not to notice. Ignoring the way his gaze always sought her out, the way his voice softened just a fraction when he spoke to her. You had swallowed the ache, told yourself it didn’t matter.

"That’s just the way he is," you had whispered, time and time again.

But it had never been the way he was.

It had only ever been the way he was with you.

And now, you knew why.

Rafayel hated cats.

You remembered the way his nose had scrunched when you had once tried to feed a stray by the docks, the way he had flicked his fingers as if to ward the creature away. “Little beasts,” he had muttered, half-amused, half-disgusted. “I don’t understand how you humans tolerate them.”

You had laughed then, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous they’re cuter than you.”

And yet—here he was.

Crouched beside her, cradling a trembling kitten in careful, delicate hands, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. His touch—usually teasing, fleeting, always just out of reach—was steady, warm, tender.

For her.

Not for you.

Something cold curled around your ribs, sinking deep, making it harder to breathe.

It was never about the kitten.

It was never about the things he couldn’t do.

It was about the things he never wanted to do for you.

And watching him now, so unguarded, so effortlessly kind, made you wish you had never met him at all.

Rage and sorrow burned through your veins, curling beneath your skin like a sickness. You wanted to rip that stupidly charming smile from his face, wanted to demand why he had never looked at you like that.

But there was no point.

So you turned and walked away.

Ignoring reality, just as you had once tried to ignore fate.

But fate never ignored you.

And something in the air told you—Rafayel wouldn’t either.

Sylus

Sylus had never been an easy man to love.

Sharp edges, cold precision—every move calculated, every word spoken with intent. He was not a man swayed by sentiment, nor was he one to entertain trivial affections.

You had known this from the start.

And yet, knowing had never stopped you from wanting.

So you learned to take what little he gave you—stolen moments in the dead of night, whispered conversations where he let the ice thaw just enough for you to believe there was something beneath it. But always, always, he kept his distance, his affections measured, restrained.

"This is who I am," he had told you once, when you asked why he never let himself soften. "I don’t have the luxury of being gentle."

You had believed him.

Until now.

Until you saw him, standing there in the dim glow of a high-rise restaurant, his head tilted ever so slightly toward her. The woman fate had written into his story, the one whose presence seemed to unravel him in ways you never could.

His fated one.

And in front of them, two untouched glasses of wine.

Wine.

The very thing he had refused to share with you.

"I don’t drink with others," he had said once, his voice clipped, final. "It's a pleasure reserved for my time alone."

But now, here he was. Sharing a glass with her. His fingers resting idly against the stem of his glass, his expression unreadable yet undeniably present. He was here. Fully. With her.

A man who never entertained distractions, utterly enthralled.

The way he looked at her—it was something different. Something you had never been granted. There was no calculation in his gaze, no careful restraint. No cold, distant amusement.

Just quiet acceptance. As if she had been meant to sit beside him all along.

And that was when you knew.

You could tear yourself apart, try to become everything he had ever wanted, and it still wouldn’t matter. Because fate had already made the choice for him.

And it wasn’t you.

Still, you lingered a moment longer, letting the pain settle, letting it carve its lesson deep into your ribs.

And then, without a word, you turned and left.

Because you, too, could learn to be cold.

Caleb

Caleb had always been warm. That was the problem.

He had a way of making you believe you belonged there—tucked into his arms, held close by quiet promises and easy smiles. He made you think you mattered.

But there was always her.

His childhood best friend.

Not bound by fate, not chosen by some cosmic force—just there. Always. In every story he told, in every old memory that made his eyes soften with something you could never quite reach. The one who had been with him before you, the one who had held his hand through storms you’d never even known existed.

And you told yourself it wasn’t a competition.

Until the night you saw them.

The neon lights of the karaoke bar cast the whole street in a soft glow, music and laughter spilling from inside as you walked past—until something, someone, made your steps falter.

Through the open doors, past the booths and glowing screens, you saw him.

Caleb.

Standing there, microphone in hand, singing.

With her.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

"I don’t like singing in front of people," he had told you once, shaking his head with a sheepish smile when you begged him to join you for just one song. "It’s embarrassing. I just—I can’t, okay?"

But now, here he was.

Swaying slightly, smiling as their voices blended together in a song you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t perfect—his voice cracked in places, he missed a beat or two—but that didn’t matter. Because he was trying. Because he was enjoying it.

Because she made him feel safe enough to do what he had never done for you.

Your stomach twisted.

It had never been about singing.

It had been about you.

You should have walked away then. Should have swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back, should have spared yourself the cruel spectacle of watching them.

But you didn’t.

You stayed long enough to see the way he laughed when she nudged him playfully. The way he looked at her, unguarded, free. The way she reached for his hand without hesitation—because she knew it would always be there, waiting for her.

And for the first time, you realized—maybe you had never been holding his hand at all. Maybe you had only been grasping at the space he left behind.

Something cold settled in your chest.

You didn’t wait for him to notice you.

You just turned, and left, without a sound.

And Caleb, too caught up in a song meant for someone else, never even saw you go.

[fear-is-truth]

𝜗ϱ fiancé! + husband! 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 hc

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw headcanons﹒violent fantasies﹒infidelity

a/n: i would like to thank anon for requesting this and credit to dear bow anon for helping out !!

one night, as you both rode in a cab on the way to dinner, patrick takes off his walkman and suddenly asked, “have you ever thought about getting married?” his tone was casual, but his body language betrayed his tension—the tightening of his grip on his leather gloves, the unnecessary way he adjusted his tie. when you turned to him, surprised, he waved it off almost immediately. for the rest of the ride, he ignored you, listening to his walkman.

full fic : the perfect girl

weeks later, the topic re-emerged. it was a quiet morning after sex—patrick lay beside you in his perfectly starched egyptian sheets, sunlight streaming in through the windows. “would you ever consider marrying me?” he asked abruptly. the question startled you—again. you blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard correctly. “marry you?” patrick shifted slightly, propping himself up on an elbow. his face was unreadable, though his jaw tightened slightly. “yes. i’d assume it’s a reasonable consideration,” he said, as though the idea had been entirely logical. your heart fluttered despite the lack of romance in his delivery. “yes, patrick,” you said after a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i would.”

full fic : patrick’s proposal

patrick wasted no time. the next day, he presented you with a ring: an 18k rose gold cartier panthère ring, encrusted with diamond accents.

smutty drabble: jerking him off

pre-nuptial agreements (obviously)

meticulously plans every detail of your engagement and future wedding. the venue must be the right blend of modern elegance and exclusivity, the guest list is capped at “only the most important people,” and the floral arrangements must feature imported orchids flown in from singapore. no compromises.

scrutinized every decision down to the smallest detail: the font on the invitations (garamond, elegant but understated), the centerpiece arrangements (white roses only, no filler flowers), and champagne (dom pérignon, chilled to exactly 45 degrees).

patrick donned a pair of ray-ban wayfarers as the two of you arrived at the reception venue (the pierre hotel), stepping out of the rolls-royce.

your wedding dress was custom-designed at dior’s paris atelier. it was a minimalist masterpiece: a structured bodice with a square neckline, flowing into a clean, floor-length skirt with a cathedral-length train. the fabric was italian silk-mikado with a soft sheen, the epitome of elegance. no lace, no unnecessary frills—patrick deemed them “garish.” the veil was long and simple, edged with the thinnest line of swarovski crystals for just a hint of sparkle.

patrick wore a bespoke zegna tuxedo, black with peak lapels, tailored to absolute perfection. the cuffs of his shirt bore subtle platinum cufflinks engraved with your initials and the wedding date. he spent an obscene amount of time choosing the exact shade of black for the tie.

patrick stole quick glances at you, a flicker of irritation shadowing his eyes at the slight asymmetry of your smile. he stewed in his own perfectionist hell, a seething internal monologue growing increasingly deranged.

the bridal portraits was complete nightmare. after making the photographer redo them six damn times—he still found fault. he had scrutinised the angle of your neck, the curve of your jaw, the flicker of light in your eyes. in his eyes, the photos should’ve been magazine-perfect. anything less was sacrilege!

his vows were an unsettling, almost surreal monologue. a strange, disjointed stream of poetic nihilism, peppered with bizarrely intellectual references. sprinkled in lines from fromm’s the art of loving, twisting them into cryptic confessions that left everyone unsure whether he was being sincere or just… pretentious patrick.

the reception unfolded in an impossibly sleek manhattan venue. a cavernous, glass-walled space filled with patrick’s circle of high-powered cronies, along with stick-thin models who seemed more at ease snorting cocaine in dark corners than nibbling on the overpriced amuse-bouches.

the waitstaff darted around the room, terrified to stumble into discussions about stock portfolios, yacht repairs, or debates over which luxury rehab center had the best cold-press juice cleanse. conversations were a mix of shallow ambition and transactional networking.

the dining experience was an exercise in culinary pretension. dry-aged wagyu steaks with precise marbling, delicate beluga caviar that was more a statement of wealth than taste, and desserts that were too decadent (and high in calories) to exist. everything was paired with wine that cost more than most people’s annual mortgage.

the cake was a towering six-tier masterpiece from sylvia weinstock, adorned with sugar flowers so intricate they looked real. each layer featured a different flavour, from vanilla-bean sponge to passionfruit mousse.

only dom pérignon vintage 1985 was served—patrick had insisted on it. the bottles were presented on silver trays by impeccably dressed waitstaff, with glasses refilled before guests could even think about asking. patrick spent weeks debating between this and krug clos du mesnil but ultimately decided the former “sent the right message.”

during the ceremony, patrick’s bored mind slipped into violent fantasies. he imagined choking out the priest with his necktie and chopping up his groomsmen like sashimi.

despite being invited out of obligation, evelyn didn’t show. patrick hadn’t mentioned her absence until much later, casually remarking, “it was better this way.” he didn’t dwell on her, but jane—his secretary and a guest at the wedding—looked quietly heartbroken for some reason.

dancing was beneath patrick. instead, he lingered by the bar, a martini glass filled with a pristine, artful concoction he hadn’t ordered but took anyway because it fit perfectly in his hand. he’d observed the guests, mentally doing fit checks.

after the night wound down, patrick would lie naked in your hotel suite, staring at the ceiling with an unsettling stillness. his jaw clenched as his thoughts spiraled. not about the wedding itself—that was a calculated performance he’d mastered. no, he was questioning the tie. the damn zegna tie. why hadn’t he gone with the brioni?

insists you accompany him to every social gathering, but not because he wants your company. you’re his accessory, his proof of a successful relationship. he spends the evening flaunting you on his arm, introducing you to people who matter to him (read: people whose opinions validate him), and correcting your behavior if he deems it less than perfect.

his morning routine is sacred, and by extension, you’re expected to have one too. patrick buys you a shelf’s worth of high-end skincare products and insists you use them exactly as prescribed.

takes immense interest in your wardrobe. if something looks even remotely outdated or “cheap,” he’ll whisk you through fifth avenue, steering you toward hermès or dior

has a habit of buying you extravagant gifts after every argument—designer bags, clothes and jewelry. “i thought this might cheer you up,” he says, like he didn’t just shatter your nerves an hour earlier.

morning sex is first thing when you both wake up, right before his meticulously scheduled workout—his body at its peak energy. once finished, he’d kiss your forehead and disappear into the bathroom for his grooming routine.

insists on watching the patty winters show and sit you both in front of the television. you often have no choice but to endure his running commentary.

patrick has a love-hate relationship with grocery shopping. he claims it’s beneath him, but when he goes, he micromanages the process to an extreme degree—reading labels, debating brands, and spending 20 minutes in the imported cheese aisle.

your wedding photos are framed in the living room, carefully arranged in a symmetrical layout. patrick often stares at them as he works out.

his idea of romance sometimes verged on the grotesque. one evening, he decided the two of you should watch the texas chainsaw massacre together. he ends up fucking you into the couch as he enjoys the music.

not the type to be overly vulnerable, but in the privacy of your bedroom, he’d occasionally let down his guard. pillow talk with patrick is a mix of unnervingly sharp observations and random musings. he’ll ramble about the fisher account, dissect music lyrics in great detail, or comment on global events with an eerie detachment.

occasionally, he’d break the stream of words with a sudden, “you’re listening, aren’t you?”

patrick hates surprises—unless they’re from him. when your coworkers once threw you a small birthday party, he was visibly irritated the entire evening. “it was tacky,” he said flatly on the drive home. “you deserve better.”

he got you reservations at dorsia, a perfectly chosen gift (think chanel jewelry or a bvlgari clutch), and a bouquet of flowers with handwritten note that’s short, formal, and oddly impersonal: “to another year of excellence—patrick.”

patrick rarely laughs, but when he does, it’s usually at something dark or absurd. once, you tripped over a stack of magazines he left by the couch and groaned in pain. his response? a sharp, startled laugh, followed by an unconvincing, “…are you okay?”

he adores the opera—not so much for the art but for the prestige it carries. he’ll plan elaborate evenings at the metropolitan opera house, ensuring both of you were impeccably dressed. he wore a brioni tuxedo, while he’d insist on you wearing a custom-made gown from carolina herrera or oscar de la renta.

despite his outward sophistication, his attention drifted from the stage to you. hand resting lightly on your thigh, fingers tracing small circles through the fabric of your dress.

he’s absolutely neurotic about cleanliness. he’ll never leave a glass on the counter without a coaster and can’t stand an unmade bed.

hates clutter and will occasionally “edit” your belongings—quietly throwing out things he deems unnecessary, like old magazines or sentimental knickknacks, without consulting you.

micromanages household tasks. he critiques the way you load the dishwasher, fold laundry, or even stack the fridge. “this is inefficient,” he’ll say, rearranging items while you stand there, biting your tongue.

patrick has an affinity for the ritual of lighting cigars. he’ll let you hold the match for him occasionally, but only if you did it exactly right.

would only agree to a pet under duress, and even then, it would have to be something sleek and purebred. when you suggest something more practical, like a rescue, he’s visibly horrified.

when you finally get the pet, patrick is immediately jealous of the attention you give it. if the cat / dog sits on your lap during movie night, he’ll stare at it with naked dislike. “i don’t understand why you let it do that,”

patrick has an odd relationship with your pet. he’ll complain about it incessantly—“it sheds everywhere,” “it’s always underfoot”—but despite his constant bitching, you’ve caught him talking to the pet on more than one occasion. “she likes you more than me,” he mumbles bitterly. the pet tilts its head, oblivious, which irritates him further. after taking another sip of scotch, he nudges it away with his foot—not enough to hurt it in your presence.

but the true ugliness of patrick’s jealousy comes out when you’re not looking. he’ll straight up kick the poor thing or lock it out from your bedroom.

doesn’t officially cheat, but he indulges in frequent encounters with sex workers—usually in secluded, high-end hotels. these encounters, hidden from you, are his way of dealing with his violent fantasies.

afterwards, he comes back to you, his demeanor completely unaffected. he doesn’t apologize, doesn’t act like anything has changed—because, in his mind, it hasn’t. you’re still his. you always will be.

when he’s bored, he’ll ask you to try on outfits—sometimes just a simple dress, but mostly it’s something risqué. he watches you from the other side of the room with that detached gaze, silently critiquing your appearance. “it’s not quite right,” he’ll say, before giving you another outfit to try on like you’re his personal doll.

full fic : leather & lace

while patrick doesn’t outright admit his dependence on you, it’s clear in the small moments. if you’re gone for too long, he’ll call, his tone petulant as he demands your whereabouts, as though your absence disrupts his routine.

at age 27, patrick doesn’t yet feel the need to rush into parenthood, but there are times, especially while having sex, that he considers the possibility. it’s an idea that briefly excites him, but he quickly dismisses it with a wry smile, preferring the idea of you and him maintaining an image of “perfection” without the messiness of raising a child.

though you’ve never spoken about the future in concrete terms, patrick assumes you’ll always be by his side, forever wrapped in his controlling, perfectionist bubble. he doesn’t see any reason why you’d want to leave; after all, why would you when you have everything?

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[baepsays]

MONA LISA ⋆˚࿔⸻ Nanami Kento

THE WAY YOU LOOK I UNDERSTAND THE HYPE, YOU KNOW YOU'RE JUST MY TYPE꩜ .ᐟ Gotta, gotta, get ya, 'cause you know just what I like.

cw ꩜ .ᐟ nothing, just fluff, but there is a dumbass ex, whirlwind romance sort of cliche, some suggestive stuff, but just me being a poetic dumbass mostly, i heard the song and i was like yes, so just enjoy.

a/n: fully inspired by mona lisa by jhope

Nanami Kento is a connoisseur of art. He is the greatest opponent of the philosophy presented by Plato, that art is an imitation of an imitation, and therefore not a true representation of reality. He believed that art has always been and will always be the direct and indirect reflection of reality. And if Plato were alive today, he would not hesitate to blurt it out in his face. 

So after saving up for a while and doing an insane amount of overtime, when he found himself in Paris, all by himself, he knew exactly where he wanted to explore first and foremost.

The Louvre museum was somewhere he always wanted to explore, not vicariously through a digital screen or how Gojo flew out his girlfriend there for her art history project—he wanted to see everything with his own two eyes, and just get lost in there if possible.

He expected the crowd. Even when he scheduled his visit at an odd time, to enjoy some serenity in those masterful pieces from the past. He wanted to find the Venus de milo, the coronation of Napoleon, and of course, the Mona Lisa.

But instead he found you, standing opposite to the Mona Lisa herself, just staring at Veronese's wedding feast at Cana.

Even when he came on a weekday, during downtime, there was still a crowd in front of the mona Lisa. But honestly, he would get in a queue to watch you instead. Maybe frame you in his eyes forever, if it is possible. He never really got the hype about Mona Lisa anyway, of course it has its own significance with how the colors and techniques were so sophisticated for its time that it was thought to be irreplicable. But Nanami was not fascinated by the, now, dull colors of the painting. But he is sure if it was you that Vinci decided to immortalize in his painting, the crowd would have to be bigger, and the queue has to be longer. And the colors have to be more vibrant and acute. And even then he could not have captured your beauty. 

But then again, you do not need such empty validations.

He never thought of himself as a person to think his type was a pretty face, if you asked him, he would say personality. Yet here he is walking up to the gorgeous woman of his dreams, and asking her if she wanted to stroll around the museum with him. 

If only your, now ex, boyfriend took a second too long before saying he wants to break up with you to get with the younger hotter girl at his office; he would not have been backtracking from that statement in a panic when you told him right after that you got two tickets to Paris for your anniversary. And he would have probably been here standing next to you. But thankfully you threw him out of your apartment, threw everything of his in your home, on the street. And got a considerable amount of refund on his ticket, and made your way to Paris. Fortunately instead of your ex, this gorgeous stranger, who looked really dazed when he came up to you, and gave you company through the rest of your trip. All he said was a simple, 

“Hello.” a gorgeous voice to match a gorgeous voice. 

And suddenly it was as if you two were in a movie, about two strangers falling in love, in the city of love. You did every cliche tourist thing with him, to your heart’s content. From going to the Pont des Arts to the Eiffel tower. And doing things out of visiting historical monuments, like struggling to order a croissant and coffee. The days you spent with Nanami in Paris, became some of the most cherished memories you have created in your life. And you can only hope you get to have him around for more memories to create. 

While you were too busy wallowing in your own head about never possibly seeing him ever again after this—Kento was becoming borderline obsessed with you.

The amount of time you occupied in his thoughts and his journal, was getting concerning. You simply have him bad. And he is ready to submit himself, nay, devote himself to you. Frame you in a picture, make a shrine out of it and call you his religion, his one and only. 

By the third day of knowing Nanami Kento, you somehow ended up in the same hotel as him. With different room numbers to your name, you still somehow always ended up in each other’s rooms. At first it was petty excuses like the bed is better in your room, then it was the shower not working well, the lights in your room were too fluorescent. These were things easily solved by calling the front desk, but then it would mean these were real problems and not made up excuses. 

And everytime your horrible ex tried to call you and ruin your mood, he was there for you with some bottle of wine he found at the grocery store down the street. Along with some variety of cheese and fruits, to make you a charcuterie board of sorts.

And you appreciated it all. The cheap wine, cheap ‘i heart Paris’ t-shirts, wild little flowers from some random park you two stumbled upon, to the diamond earrings he insisted on buying you. Something about them matching your smile too perfectly to let them be bought out by someone else. And you have never felt so at ease to be spoiled like so. Never with your parents, nor with any ex, or even friends. And it was all too much and too easy to get used to. 

“Will I ever see you again, after this?” you were in his bed, fully clothed and in his arms, but never in your life have you ever felt so naked. 

“You are asking the wrong questions sweetheart.” he moved his head just enough to take it off the top of your head, and came eye to eye with you. His one hand steady as ever on your waist, slightly bunching up the satin of your nightdress. While the other held your own hand in comfort, with the most delicate touch. As if you were some exquisite work of art that would crumble with just one thoughtless touch.

“What should I be asking then?”

“How can I look at you for the rest of my life instead?”

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE

a/n: dividers by @/cafekitsune. header is Monalisa by Leonardo da Vinci.

big Plato disliker here. you can say i loathe him even. fuck Plato. first Nanami work woooo!!! also shit i made up from my own trip to paris like when i was a wee baby so it is def not accurate i think.

I LIKE MY GIRLS PRETTY IN THE FACE ART PIECE TO FRAME MONA MONA LISA YEAH I NEED YA

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojao @cuntphoric @nanamiskentos @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @alygator77 @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @soupicidesquad @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi

[stvrrlau]

𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙢.

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.ᐟ sweet!soft!heeseung⋆anxious!fem!reader

𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.ᐟ fluff fluff fluff, very fluffy hehe

𝘴𝘵𝘷𝘳𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴.ᐟ hello guys (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ this is my first ever time on tumblr!!!! so still trying to figure things out lolololol if u enjoy this pls check out my wattpad i would love 2 reach 1k reads!!! >< i also have an ao3 acc where i may post some drabbles or any scraps i dont wanna post here ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و ♡ wrd count۶ৎ 1 640

i sighed, looking through the window, the scenery blazing past at high speeds, enough to make someone sick. the weather wasn’t warm but it wasn’t cool either, the type of weather you would expect on an early morning in april.

i looked back down at the book i was holding, the words beginning to blur together after staring at it for an hour. the train taking a lot longer than i expected and the eerie quiet didn’t help soothe my nerves.

jake said the train would only take an hour and twenty minutes.

i quickly shoved my book back into my bag and clutched it, biting my lip. staring out the window didn’t help calm my nerves as it only served as a reminder that i may have gotten on the wrong train.

i should’ve asked someone. i should’ve double-checked. i should’ve—

breathe.

my heart beat a little too fast for how quiet everything was. the faint hum of the train tracks rattling echoed through the almost empty compartment—like it could lull someone to sleep.

i stared down at the ground wishing none of this was real. maybe i’m imagining all of it. maybe if i shut my eyes and think hard enough i’ll wake up in my bed, surrounded by warm sheets.

so i did.

i shut my eyes and wished none of this was real. i wished and wished and wished before opening my eyes.

sadly, i was still where i was before, two minutes earlier. but as i continued to burn holes in the ground, i noticed another pair of shoes next to me.

immediately, i sat up and felt my face burn from pure embarrassment. i wondered how long he could've been sat there, probably long enough to notice i was a weird girl who happened to like floors a bit too much.

i snuck a glance at the person beside me and immediately regretted not taking a longer glance.

he was gorgeous.

the sun shone through the window, casting a soft glow over his delicate features. his long lashes caught the sun just like my breath that was caught in my throat. his nose was as if he was carved by a greek god, his skin a milky white, his cheeks tinted a rosy red, as if he had run the last two blocks to reach the train station, his lips were smooth and the perfect shade of pink.

he looked just like a warm summer’s evening; peaceful, poetic, perfect.

“are you alright?”

i nearly jumped out of my seat when he spoke. he was speaking. speaking to me! what did i do to deserve this moment?

i cleared my throat awkwardly before speaking, “i’m fine, just a little worried..” i answered with a small smile, hoping he didn’t find me weird enough to get off at the next stop and report me for—for something.

at this, the stranger smiled.

i wish i could have taken a picture because in that moment, i could’ve sworn i saw an angel.

“really? why are you worried? is it something i can help with?” he asked, his tone soft and considerate, like he actually wanted to help.

“ah—it’s sort of stupid really.” i said bashfully, but when the stranger didn’t interrupt or turn away i took it as a sign to continue, “i’ve been on this train for an hour and my friend told me it should only take an hour and twenty minutes but his city name still hasn’t come up and i’m really worried i got on the wrong train and i’ve been heading the wrong way for an hour and then i’ll disappoint him or—”

i quickly stopped myself and took a deep breath, feeling my face heat up from embarrassment again.

calm down before scare away this beautiful and sweet stranger.

“s-sorry about that. i’m just worried.”

the stranger smiled again, but this time his smile was warmer. more thoughtful. like he cared.

“don’t panic, i’m sure that even if you were going the wrong way, which i’m sure you’re not, your friend still wouldn’t be mad at you. where are you going, maybe i can help.” he reassured me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

his touch instantly calmed me down and i felt as if i was about to pass away. god, why was i such a loser?

“szentes.”

at my answer his eyes lit up.

“me too! see? i knew you weren’t going the wrong way.” he smiled, “the only explanation i can think of for your friend giving you the wrong time is that he checked the wrong station.”

“ah.” i nodded.

now i sounded even stupider. i should’ve known jake can’t do directions for shit.

“he must’ve calculated it from my station.” he said, more to himself, to confirm his suggestion, “but at least we now know you aren’t going the wrong way. we’re both going the same way.” he grinned.

“i guess we are.” i smiled.

inside, i was exploding. no way we were both headed to the same city! what are the chances? maybe i have a chance to get to know him..

i looked down, hoping something would come into my brain to spark a conversation when i noticed the flowers in his hands.

wait. flowers. fuck.

they were probably for his girlfriend. i mean—no way this guy is single.

“so i see you have flowers—are they for your girlfriend?” i asked, my tone friendly, though deep down i was praying, hoping, wishing he didn’t.

then again the chances of a person like him being single is like finding a needle in a haystack.

when i asked him that question, his eyes went wide, like i was really asking if he had a girlfriend.

he stared at me for a moment, wide eyed, before laughing.

“not for my girlfriend that doesn’t exist, no.” he grinned, “they’re for my mother. celebrating.”

when those words fell from his mouth i nearly let out a sigh of relief. he doesn’t have a girlfriend! do i actually have a chance?

“and you?”

i looked up at the stranger again, just to be met with those warm brown eyes that looked like honey.

“hm?”

“do you have a boyfriend? is the friend you’re visiting actually a friend or your secret boyfriend?” he teased, his tone playful. but something else in his tone caught my attention. was he—jealous?

nah. no way. no way a person like him would be interested in a person like me.

“ew, no way! that would be like dating my brother. a really annoying one.” i said, disgusted at the thought of dating jake.

he laughed. so did i. it was silent.

but it wasn’t the type of silence you felt you could suffocate in—no. it was a comfortable silence. a silence i didn’t mind having.

so as the silence continued, i turned my attention to the window, now a sweet reminder that if the stranger hadn’t gotten on this train, and sat next to me, i would still be in a panicked state. i should thank the stranger.

wait. i still keep referring to him as “stranger”. i should ask for his name.

just as i was about to turn around and ask for his name, i felt something rest on my shoulder.

no.

someone.

i turned my head ever so slightly, just to be met with the prettiest sight before me.

the stranger, whose name i still did not know, was now resting his head on my shoulder, fast asleep.

it would be rude to wake him, but then again, i don’t know if my heart would be able to take it.

the weight on my shoulder was comforting, like having a cat fall asleep in your lap after a tiring day, or the heavy weight of a good book in your hands.

all i could do was appreciate the sight before me.

his calm and soft breathing that tickled my arm, the way his chest rose and fell when he took a deep breath, the way his hands still held onto the flowers, not wanting to drop a single one, the way he smelt of lavender.

even just looking at him made me relax.

i wonder—

it wouldn’t hurt to just—

cautiously, i tilted my head, slowly, before eventually resting my head on top of his. when i sensed that he hadn’t woken up, i shut my eyes, and let out a contented sigh of relief.

i’ll ask for his name when i wake up..

...

“miss! miss! please wake up!”

almost as soon as i had closed my eyes, i was opening them again, but this time i wasn’t met with those same warm, honey eyes. no. this time i was met with a pair of worried eyes that belonged to a ticket-checker.

“miss, this is the final stop before the train heads back, please let me escort you out.” he said in a monotone, though his expression was one of kindness and sincerity.

“oh—yes of course, i’m sorry for the bother.” i quickly said, suddenly realising i may have made his job harder than it already was.

“not at all.”

i was about to turn to the stranger beside me, in hopes of wondering where he was going but, much to my disappointment, he was gone.

i never got his name..

before i had time to mourn my little crush, something brightly coloured caught my eye.

there in my lap, was a rose. the same rose that was in the bouquet the stranger was taking to his mother.

and there attached to it was a note.

carefully, i detached the note from the rose and read it.

“+82xx xxxxxx — let’s meet again pretty. from heeseung.”

a smile crept onto my face as i re-read the note over and over.

his name was heeseung.

[reiderwriter]

For some reason my comments don't come through on your posts, but I want to first say I absolutely love your writing and I'm so happy your requests are open!! 🥰😭 So I've had this idea of a fluff mixed with spencer angst where reader is maybe interning at Diana's facility (not a dr yet, studying) and becomes close with Diana by reading, chatting, etc and Spencer over hears it from time to time and the dialogue between spencer and reader gets too close for Spencers comfort, but Diana wants her around more. Thank you again for your hard work okay bye!

A/N: I've never written a fic with Diana in it before, so this was a bit of a challenge for me, bit I enjoyed writing it a lot! Hopefully, this is somewhat like what you wanted!! ❤️

Warnings: Spencer is a bit dense (real) and puts his foot in his mouth (metaphorically, of course).

Diana Reid's son was exactly the way she described him, down to the tiny curls at the base of his neck and the glimmer of intelligence in his eye. 

After four weeks interning at the care facility while working on your medical degree, you'd spent a considerable amount of time with your favorite patient, and her stories about her son were legendary. 

At first, you weren't sure whether to believe the woman when she said her son was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs, and a job in the FBI. She wouldn't be the first schizophrenic patient to muddle up her facts, but she certainly was the sweetest. 

So when you recalled your conversation with the head nurse later that day, she laughed and confirmed every story about Doctor Spencer Reid. Your mouth hung open in shock because surely nobody that incredible could just be out walking the streets. 

Another month of conversations about the man, and you were half in love with him. He wrote his mother letters every day - hand wrote them, even - and she's shown you a few. He'd talked about his friends, his team, his jobs, and how he was saving lives. And when one of the latest ones dropped in the news that he'd be free for a visit soon, you found yourself overflowing with anticipation. 

Of course, you felt like you already knew the man. You knew what his first words were, what his favorite toy was growing up, and even about the exploits of his first date, as pitiful as it was. What you didn't know was if Diana was passing along similar information about you. 

The day Spencer Reid finally showed up, he took your breath away. You were mostly in awe of Diana's ability to describe her son perfectly, though you'd grown fond of her perfectly professional English Lecturer tone of speaking over the last few weeks. She was practically lyrical when talking her son into existence. 

“His hair curls beautifully. He's my little adonis. He keeps it too long though, I'm always telling him he needs to cut it because it hides too much of his face,” she'd told you one day before picking her book up and ignoring you for the next half hour. 

“My Spencer is delightfully tall. He's a little bit spindly like a spider. He's not the most grateful, that's for sure, we used to call him crash because he was always bumping into things. Poetic, right?” 

You knew from the second he walked through the door that this man was him. 

Tall, slightly hunched, clutching his satchel strap in his hand, terrifyingly handsome and making your hand jump into your throat. Definitely him, and definitely a problem. You'd have to check the code of conduct about falling hopelessly for a patient's beautiful son. 

If you had any doubts, this was Spencer in front of you though, when he bumped into a chair just as he was about to reach his mother, it was confirmed. 

“Diana, I believe your Crash is here,” you smiled and giggled, watching her turn quickly to greet her son. 

You, too, gave him a warm smile, but he seemed a little hesitant to return it, instead greeting his mother softly and sitting with her while you retreated slightly to give them some privacy. 

You hovered in the space, as Diana had been talking about introducing the two of you all week, and you didn't want to distress her if she couldn't find you close by. 

But though Spencer was closely attentive and soft with his mother, he took brief pauses to stare almost frustratedly at you. You weren't sure what it was, but something about you was setting Spencer on edge, and that in itself was unsettling you as well. 

“Oh, Spencer, you must meet our Y/N. Y/N, come here, this is my son, Spencer.”

Slightly more apprehensive now, you held out your hand to shake his, “I've heard so much about you  it's nice to finally be seeing you in person, Doctor Reid.” 

He didn't shake your hand, though, but awkwardly waved it off quickly, leaving you to awkwardly replace it by your side. 

“Nice to meet you. Are you a new attendant? I asked all updates about my mother's companions to be confirmed and passed on to me, patient and carers included.” 

His tone was business-like and clipped, and you could see a gentle annoyance settling on his features. 

“I'm sorry, Doctor Reid, I thought Diana would have told you in a letter, or the administration would've passed it on. I'm a medical student on an internship.” You felt like you'd been chastised by an irate parent though he'd at no point raised his voice or indicated in his words any sense of anger at all. His eyes burned across your skin, though, and you felt a flame heat your skin under the weight of his stare. 

“You're mother has told me a lot about you though, she reads me your letters sometimes, between our discussions of Marjorie Kempe.” 

“My letters? Mom, we've talked about this. Those are private.” You looked at the quiet disappointment on Diana's face and felt protective over the woman all of a sudden.

“Please, I'm sorry for overstepping, but your mother is just very proud of you. She talks about you a lot actually, and your job-” 

“With all due respect, Y/N, the last time my mother talked to a new friend about me, he traveled to Virginia and shot one of my friends, so this really is a conversation I'd rather not be having.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as he turned back to his mother and started talking to her gently again about personal security, effectively dismissing you from the conversation. 

You'd had stupid hopes for Spencer Reid, and that's all they would ever be. 

Reid talked on, and you left him alone with his mother, though she seemed distracted by your departure. 

“Spencer, that wasn't nice. Look at that poor girl. She's close to tears.”

“What? Mom, are you even listening to me?” 

“No, and I likely won't until you go and apologize to Y/N. She's a pretty girl, Spencer, and she was very excited to meet you.” 

“Pretty…. Mom, please.” 

“What, do you disagree? You think I don't know you well enough to know when a girl would suit you well? Or do you think I'm blind to the fact that you were stealing glances at her before she introduced herself.” 

Spencer went quiet at having been caught, and he hated to accept that maybe his mother was right. 

It was true as well that the care facility had informed him of medical interns coming and going in the next few months, and really, she wasn't to blame for his mother being fond of him. 

He was glad, though, that neither of them had noticed the ten minutes he'd spent just outside the large sitting area watching them talk. He'd been obviously taken aback to see someone new so close to his mom and his mom similarly comfortable. He felt even worse for the fact that for a solid minute and a half, he'd stared at the girl with no other thought in his head than the sound of his heart skipping a questioning beat. 

He'd pulled himself out of it eventually, but only when another nurse had come along to ask him if he'd actually be visiting his mother today or just dropping in to check on her. 

And then he'd bumped into that infernal chair when he was so fixated on getting to them, and she'd opened her mouth and called him crash, and his heart had sank. 

He reminded himself it was neither of their faults and inwardly cursed himself for being so unfriendly with someone who'd taken such good care of his mother recently. 

He promised himself that he'd talk with his mom and then go and find the woman, and apologising for being such a brute. 

“Spencer, are you listening to me, or are you busy daydreaming about my nurse?” 

“Mom!” 

“You're plain as day, kiddo, you'll never get anything past me. Now please, leave me be, I'm reading. Come back later if you must, but for now, take this to Y/N for me, please. She left it with me to read this morning, but I'm not in the mood for Medieval Romance right now.” 

It was a blatant lie, but a dismissal nonetheless, and Spencer quietly took his chance to search for you in the halls. 

The head nurse humorously pointed him in the right direction without him asking, much to his annoyance, but he persisted and lightly tapped on your shoulder to greet you. 

“Oh, Doctor Reid, hello again.” You smiled a little smaller this time, still polite, but he watched the way it didn't reach your eyes and felt like a jackass all over again. 

“My mom told me to come return this book to you.” He held out the book, and you quietly took it, folding it into your arms and hugging it tightly against your chest as you both stood there silently after the exchange. 

“I'm sorry, as well. I wasn't exactly very friendly back there, because-” 

“It's okay, Doctor Reid, you really don't have to explain. I overstepped, it's my fault and it won't happen again.”

“Are you kidding? My mom hasn't looked that relaxed in years. Please keep overstepping.” 

Your smile widened slightly at the compliment, and Spencer's tongue kicked into hyper drive immediately at the sight, even as his brain powered off. 

“You're pretty,” he blurted out, stopping only as his brain caught up with his tongue before firing off again. “My mom said you're pretty. I agree as well, though, you have a nice smile, and it's better when you don't force it. Not that I'm telling you how to smile, though. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but my mom made me come over here and talk to you, even though I'm pretty sure that's her book and not one you loaned her.” 

He took a moment to catch his breath as you blinked at him in confusion, heart beating rapidly even as you heard the blood rushing through your ears. 

“If you're free now, would you want to grab a coffee? Unless you have a boyfriend. Or husband. Or girlfriend or wife, I guess, I don't mean to presume. But if you're free, as in time, and free as in, like, relationship wise, I'd like to buy you a coffee to thank you for listening to my mom.” 

He finally stopped, and you stared wondrously at the reddened skin of his cheeks as he held his breath, waiting for your reply. 

“You want to take me out for coffee to thank me?” 

“Yes.” 

“And on a separate note, I'm pretty, and you want to know if I'm in a relationship?” 

“I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me, I'll just see myself out. It was a stupid idea anyway-” 

“No, wait, Spencer! Let me… let me grab my coat. My lunch break is in half an hour, and I'm sure it'll be okay to take it early.” You held his arm for a second, stepping slightly too close for comfort before realising yourself and taking a tiny step back.

He stood and blinked in your direction, as though wondering seriously for a moment what your lunch break had to do with him. 

“Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are we going to go out?” 

“You're serious?” 

“I guess…. I guess I am.”

“And you're… you're single.” 

Your mouth went dry as his skin finally completed its transformation from vampiric to tomato red. You desperately hoped your own embarrassment wasn't equally as readable on your face. 

“Quite single. Medical students don't have that much time to date.”

“Neither do FBI agents.” 

“Perhaps a subject we could talk more about later?” 

“Definitely.” 

[pearlprincess02]

dating & dates (libra version)

libra: (libra venus/mars/5th house/7th house)

when dating someone with libra venus, libra mars, libra in the 5th house, and libra in the 7th house, expect romance, charm, and an appreciation for beauty in all forms. they are natural romantics who value balance, harmony, and intellectual connection in relationships. they want a partner who is both emotionally engaging and socially graceful, someone who can match their love for aesthetics, deep conversations, and shared experiences. they thrive in relationships that feel equal and fair, avoiding unnecessary conflict while seeking a deep, yet easygoing connection. libra venus desires a love story that feels elegant and poetic. they are drawn to aesthetically pleasing dates, thoughtful gestures, and a partner who treats them with grace and consideration. libra mars is flirtatious and playful, preferring charm and seduction over aggressive pursuit. they enjoy the thrill of mutual attraction, often taking their time to build desire and anticipation. libra 5th house finds joy in social, artistic, and aesthetically appealing activities. they enjoy being around beauty, whether through fashion, art, music, or cultural experiences, and want to share these passions with their partner. libra 7th house seeks a well-balanced, committed relationship with someone who complements them. they are drawn to strong partnerships where both people contribute equally, creating a seamless and loving dynamic.

date night ideas

shopping for each other and picking outfits to wear on a date (libra venus, libra mars) wine tasting at an elegant vineyard, visiting an art gallery/museum together, attending a live jazz/classical music performance, attending a fashion show/stylish event, romantic poetry reading/literature night, couples’ photoshoot in a picturesque location, watching an old romantic film at a vintage-style cinema, going to a luxury perfume/candle-making workshop (libra venus, libra 5th house) romantic rooftop dinner with a city skyline view, picnic in a beautiful botanical garden, going on a scenic boat ride/gondola date, high-end spa day for two, going to a masquerade ball/black-tie event, cooking a gourmet meal together while sipping wine, taking a scenic train ride to a charming destination (libra venus, libra 7th house) couples’ dance class (ballroom, salsa, or waltz), dressing up for a themed costume party, trying an interactive art experience (paint & sip, pottery, etc.), exploring a trendy city district with stylish cafés & boutiques (libra mars, libra 5th house)

over 18+ spicy bonus 🔞

libra: (libra mars/cupido/eros/lust/amor)

someone with libra mars, libra cupido, libra eros, libra lust, and libra amor approaches intimacy with charm, finesse, and an innate desire for balance between passion and beauty. they prioritize pleasure that is both visually and emotionally stimulating, creating an experience that feels luxurious and perfectly orchestrated. aesthetics, ambiance, and mutual satisfaction are key—they enjoy seduction that is slow, playful, and deeply sensual. their style is flirtatious, refined, and romantic, favoring a give-and-take dynamic where both partners feel equally desired and appreciated. libra mars prefers intimacy to be graceful and pleasurable, avoiding anything overly aggressive or messy. they thrive on flirtation, foreplay, and an effortless flow of passion. libra cupido is all about seduction and charm, turning intimacy into an art of attraction. they enjoy the chase, playful teasing, and building an electric connection before fully indulging. libra eros seeks an experience that is as visually stunning as it is physically satisfying. they love elegance, symmetry, and partners who put effort into their appearance and technique. libra lust is drawn to indulgence and sensory pleasure, favoring luxurious settings, slow-burn arousal, and a strong emotional or intellectual connection before fully letting go. libra amor craves intimacy that feels meaningful and harmonious. they want to be adored and to adore in return, ensuring that every touch and moment is balanced with affection and connection.

kinks you might have

sensual teasing & prolonged foreplay, power play with an emphasis on balance (taking turns leading & following), romantic domination (being in control but with grace & seduction), soft restraints (silk ties, handcuffs, gentle bondage), seductive dirty talk & whispering desires, light bondage with a stylish & sensual approach (libra mars, libra cupido, libra lust) mirror play, oral fixation (giving and receiving with precision & passion), dancing as foreplay (sensual movement, slow grinding, striptease) (libra mars, libra eros, libra lust) aesthetic-focused encounters (lingerie, candlelight, setting the perfect mood), slow, intimate, & rhythmically paced passion, erotic massage & full-body touch, mutual pleasure focus (ensuring both partners feel equally satisfied) (libra mars, libra eros, libra amor) lingerie & wardrobe play (dressing up for seduction), roleplay with elegant scenarios (royalty, power dynamics, fantasy themes) (libra cupido, libra eros, libra lust) intense eye contact & seductive stares, being worshiped/worshiping partner’s body, erotic poetry/love letters exchanged before intimacy, having perfectly curated background music & ambiance (libra cupido, libra eros, libra amor) luxury hotel/extravagant setting for indulgent intimacy (libra eros, libra lust, libra amor)

all observations are done by me !!! @pearlprincess02

main masterlist

[blairxbear]

Hi! I just wanted to say that I enjoy reading your work so much. I especially love the general headcanons with all the characters included. I would really love to see All Might next for the boyfriend headcanons if that's okay! Have a wonderful day! 😊

A/N: Heyyyyyyyyy so my prayers are answered with another lovely person who loves all might as much as I do. Bro I would die for smAll Might. Coming right up with some All Might Bf headcanons

Boyfriend Headcanons - Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

What It’s Like Dating Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

The Protective, Gentle, Old-Fashioned Romantic Boyfriend

Dating Toshinori Yagi is like being loved by a man who has spent his whole life protecting the world and now finally has someone he wants to protect on a deeply personal level. He is devoted, affectionate, and incredibly thoughtful, always making sure you feel safe, supported, and cherished.

Toshinori is not a flashy boyfriend, but he is deeply romantic in a quiet, old-fashioned way. He may have spent years as the Symbol of Peace, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but when he’s with you? He can finally relax, let his guard down, and simply be a man who loves you with everything he has.

The Protective, Overly Considerate Boyfriend

Toshinori has spent years protecting people—it’s instinctive at this point.

If you’re walking together, he positions himself closest to the street.

If you’re in a crowded area, he naturally places a gentle hand on your back to guide you.

He constantly checks in on you, even over small things.

"Are you warm enough?"

"Did you eat today?"

"Are you getting enough rest?"

If anyone makes you uncomfortable, his entire demeanor shifts.

Normally, he’s kind, smiling, and lighthearted.

But the second someone crosses a line, his tone drops into something serious, commanding, and firm.

"I believe you owe my partner an apology." (It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.)

If you ever get hurt, even a little, he takes it SO seriously.

"Oh no! That looks painful! Here, let me—" (Immediately fussing over you, gently touching your injury, and looking like he blames himself for not preventing it.)

"I should have been paying better attention. I’m so sorry, my love."

The Gentle, Affectionate Boyfriend Who Treats You Like You’re Precious

Toshinori is incredibly gentle with you, both physically and emotionally.

He’s spent years being the strongest person in the room, but when he touches you? He is so soft, so careful, like he’s afraid of hurting you.

His hugs are warm and protective—you can feel the steady rise and fall of his breath as he holds you close.

Loves running his fingers through your hair.

If you’re lying on his chest, he’ll absentmindedly comb his fingers through your hair.

If you do the same to him? He melts completely.

Loves forehead kisses.

He gently cups your face, leans in, and presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

"My dear, you are more precious than you know."

Loves holding hands.

He always clasps your hand firmly but never too tightly.

If he’s feeling especially affectionate, he’ll bring your hand up to his lips and kiss your knuckles.

"It is an honor to hold the hand of someone so wonderful."

The Old-Fashioned, Hopelessly Romantic Boyfriend

Toshinori is an old soul, and his idea of romance is incredibly classic.

He opens doors for you, pulls out your chair, and insists on walking you home.

He writes you handwritten love letters—his words always beautifully poetic.

"My dearest love, if I had a thousand lifetimes, they would all be spent loving you."

Loves taking you on meaningful dates.

Stargazing while he wraps his coat around your shoulders.

Quiet café dates where he listens intently to everything you say.

Museum visits where he gently laces his fingers with yours and softly whispers about the art.

He prefers simple, intimate moments over flashy dates.

He loves slow dancing with you, even when there’s no music.

He’ll hold you close, sway gently, and rest his forehead against yours.

"There’s no one else I’d rather dance with, my love."

The “I Miss You Even When You’re Right Here” Boyfriend

Toshinori treasures every moment with you, because he knows how fleeting time can be.

If he has to leave for any reason, he hates being apart from you.

He’ll write you a sweet message before he goes, just so you have something to read while he’s gone.

"Even when we are apart, know that my heart is always with you."

When he sees you after time apart, he holds you like he hasn’t seen you in years.

He’ll wrap you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your hair, whispering, "I missed you."

If you say you missed him too? He gets SO SOFT.

"My dear, you have no idea how much it means to hear you say that."

The Protective but Respectful Boyfriend

Toshinori doesn’t get jealous easily, but he is fiercely protective.

He won’t glare at people or act possessive, but if someone flirts with you, he just calmly steps in.

"Ah, I see you’ve met my partner. They are extraordinary, aren’t they?" (His arm is already around your waist, pulling you closer.)

He respects your independence but always wants to be someone you can rely on.

"If you ever need me, I will be there in an instant."

And he means it. No matter what, he’ll drop everything to be by your side.

The Kind of Boyfriend Who…

✔ Sends you good morning and good night texts, always incredibly sweet and thoughtful. ✔ Remembers every single thing you tell him and brings it up months later. ✔ Always walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to the road to protect you. ✔ Will hold you in his sleep without even realizing it. ✔ Praises you constantly because he truly thinks you’re amazing. ✔ Calls you endearing pet names like "my dear," "my love," and "beloved." ✔ Treats you like you are the most precious, wonderful person he has ever known.

The Absolute Best Things About Dating Toshinori Yagi

He makes you feel SAFE. You never have to worry about being alone or unprotected.

He is endlessly supportive. No matter what your dreams are, he believes in you with all his heart.

He is affectionate in the softest, most meaningful ways. Every touch, every glance, every word is full of quiet adoration.

He never takes you for granted. Every moment with you is a gift to him.

He loves you with everything he has, because to him, you are his greatest treasure.

Final Thoughts

Dating Toshinori Yagi is like being loved in the purest, most devoted way. He is protective, gentle, endlessly affectionate, and full of quiet but powerful love.

He may be the former Symbol of Peace, but to him?

You are his peace, his light, and the most important thing in his world.

Ko-fi / Masterlist

blairxbear © 2024. do not copy, modify, or translate my work. you do not have permission to share my work outside of tumblr!

[glitteryinknotes]

There is a level of deep, bitterly poetic and cruel irony in Astarion's death and his eventual fate as a vampire spawn. Laughable, even. Lamentable.

Where do I even begin. I once posted here my thoughts on who Astarion was before Cazador took him; and all my thoughts were based on what we can assume to be canon from scraps on information in - game and interviews with Neil. That Astarion Ancunin who was laid into the ground at Baldur's Gate cementary was a corrupt magistrate, a shining example of power abuse, indulgence, hedony, existence in privilege without any service to the world around.

We also know for a fact that Astarion is not a good person in a moral sense. Again, Neil Newbon himself talked about it. He has capability to grow, mature, open himself up, soak in the positive influence and feel for others, but he never will be the default upstanding type. That is simply not at his core.

This is why (I am aware we're talking a fictional character, headcanon is free to all in whichever way they think it suits and pleases them) I cannot for the world believe in all the fanfiction based on the notion of the tragic, tortured soul unjustly attacked and turned into a vampire, because to me - it misses the entire depth and essence of Astarion's personality and arc. He was not a "worthy" persona before Cazador; in fact, the beating he got from the Gur was well - deserved and the near - death experience... Probably so as well. Maybe if anything, this would open his eyes and force him to reflect at least a bit on his choices in the position he was occupying. (But given that he mentions begging Cazador to turn him to be able to take revenge, I highly doubt that.) So yeah... The man got what was coming to him. He deserved it.

But what he got in the end once Cazador allowed him to drink his blood and had him in his hold? Two hundred years of misery and abuse beyond description, being completely stripped of any identity and personhood? No one deserves that. Such fate should not be thrust upon anyone. Ever.

It is the cruellest, most wicked twist of fate that it took that kind of ordeal to change a corrupt little elf's view of the world and force him to even acknowledge the existence of evil deeds and abuse of power - something I am quite sure he never gave any thought to before. It took being transformed into an utterly helpless victim to make him truly see that there is good and bad and perpetuating the bad leads to pain and misery for the innocents (and you can never be sure if not for you as well), and only then, at his most pathetic, most vulnerable, after centuries of torment, it took meeting, trusting, admiring, being grateful to, befriending / loving and being influenced by a genuinely good and kind person (probably the exact opposite of who he was before) to shake and cause some shift in his inner moral compass, or rather the way he was choosing to use it. The full circle, a poignant, unwilling journey from the one abusing power, to the enslaved puppet of someone with considerably more power abusing it in the most inhuman ways possible, and this time to his own woe, to the one person able to break the abusive cycle given the right influence.

Isn't that simply poetic in the most sickly sense? A tragicomedy, if you will.

Forget about Astarion Ancunin. The grave was good for lovemaking and sharing an important moment, but whoever was laid there was not anyone worthy of your time (just like "Ascended Astarion" )The one who stands by your side now is. Your Astarion. The new Astarion, the same "lovable rogue" with a taste for theatrics, drama, debauchery, beauty, murder mayhem and loose morality, but - a better person all the same.

[follow up post here

https://www.tumblr.com/glitteryinknotes/733162725841289216/a-little-follow-up-to-my-previous-post?source=share]

[the-banks-of-lethe]

Epithets of Hypnos

I'm sure many people have posted about his epithets before, but whats one more? Also, I'm going to be adding some epithets that I have made personally for Lord Hypnos. Feel free to use them! [CE = Cult Epithet. PE = Poetic Epithet]

[transliteration - meaning - greek]

Original:

Epidotes - Bountiful Επιδοτες CE

Paean - Healer Παιάνας CE

Makar - Blessed one PE

Pannikitis - All-vanquishing Παννικίτης PE

Melamkhrotos - Black-skinned Μελαμχρωτος PE

Dios apate - the deception of Zeus Διός απάτη PE

Personal:

Nychtopouli - Nighthawk Νυχτοπούλι

the nighthawk is one of Hypnos’ (sacred?) animals. I also took into consideration how this works as a metaphor for what he does each night [in myth]. Nighthawks are nocturnal birds, only awake and flying at night. And although He is awake throughout the day, every night he rises to the earth with His mother Nyx, and flies across the skies giving sleep to all. Flying at night? Nighthawk? Get it?

Dianomeas - Deliverer (of woes) Διανομέας *

Apeleftherotis kaimo - Liberator (deliverer) of woe Απελευθερωτής καημό *

Eleuthereus - Liberator (tion) Ελευθερευς *

Eirinikos - Peaceful (the peaceful one) Ειρηνικός

Oneiropolos - Dreamy Ονειροπόλος

Evgenesteri - Gentlest Ευγενέστερη

*I believe these three can be used in conjunction with each other, as they have similar meanings, although can also be seperated if the meaning needs to be specifically one or the other :))

If anyone has any epithets that they've made for Lord Hypnos (or any deity!) please feel free to share!! Hope everyone is having a lovely day/night, wherever you are. May Hypnos bless you all!

Sweet dreams 💙

[nana-b0b]

GHH!!! Sometimes I get a little romantic and poetic, I can't help it! 💕

I finally got this CAP out, the truth is that these days have been very tight for me in terms of time but today I took a break and decided to advance these nice sketches :)

Sukuna, when she is not being.... Sukuna, can become a considerate being to others, although in her eyes, she doesn't know how to identify that she is Aurora, A sorceress? Yes, human? Yes, furthermore, can't she see? Yes, she should be a completely inferior creature before him but? why can't he see her like that? He feels Aurora is an enigma.

••••••••♡

NOTE: Ladies, tighten your panties because Sukuna is not going to ask you for a kiss... he's going to steal it 😎