#Oh dilute me gentle angel

[discountspoonmuseum]

We’ll never have sex by Leith Ross is huskerdust’s song btw and you cannot convince me otherwise

#it’s so them #oh dilute me gentle angel #hazbin hotel #huskerdust #hazbin hotel husk #angel dust #husker x angel dust #i swear i’m not just projecting #please believe me

[ritz-stimzz]

hi hi, my main is @ritzcrackee and my agere acc is @ritz-regrezzez :) my neopronouns

requests are open! list of my preferred sources is under the cut. fav media is purple, and double fav media is bolded.

books: batman comics, tithe trilogy, mistborn, twilight, nightworld trilogy, the hunger games, vampire kisses, song of achilles, circe, carmilla, fairy rainbow magic, ohikkoshi <3

shows/movies: itsv/atsv, cyberpunk 2077, madoka magica, sunshine, doctor who, spto, 10 things i hate about you, gotham, studio ghibli, fleabag <3

aesthetics: kidcore, lovecore, vampirecore, fairycore, sirencore, piratecore, twilightcore, scene, emo, victorian, y2k, decora/j-fashion in general <3

misc interests: build a bear, plushies, ever after high, monster high, vocaloid, sanrio, skelanimals, vampires, fae, werewolves, demons, dnd, greek mythology <3

misc stuff: crochet, yarn, junk journaling, letter writing, scrapbooking, kandi, fabric, glitter, cozy vibes, dice, candy, drinks, books <3

#depollute me pretty baby [my boards] #oh dilute me gentle angel [requests] #water down what i call being grateful [asks] #oh you kissed me just to kiss me [reblogs] #suck the rot right out of my bloodstream [my gifs] #Spotify

[thesunandneeks]

“depollute me, pretty baby, suck the rot right out of my bloodstream, oh, dilute me, gentle angel. . .

if I said you could never touch me, you’d come over and say I looked lovely

oh, you kissed me, just to kiss me, not to make me cry

it was simple, you are sweetness, let’s just sit awhile

depollute me, gentle angel, and I’ll feel the sickness less and less

come and kiss me, pretty baby”

art by Alessia Trunfio

listened to this song and could only think of them :,)

#nico di angelo #solangelo #will solace #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #they make me want to cry #ouch #alessia trunfio’s art is so lovely!!!! #Spotify

[siobhans-roy]

oh, dilute me, gentle angel (insp)

#successionedit #roman roy #tabitha hayes #roman x tabitha #uservici #userives #userrin #userraffa #usertreena #useralison #usermandie #usersaoirse #usersmblmn #userhekaates #useryoshi #user-clara #tusercarol #tuserhan #myedit #* #because i'm STILL angry they tabitha-baited us

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

I saw the Pole, I'm gonna ask this now .... more Retro handling people who trouble Vox. Maybe with a view on Vox's reactions to seeing Retro's murder on film at the end? He's always watching after all.

Rotting for Old Times Sake (gore warning)

“Depollute me, pretty baby,” I said softly, thinking of Vox. Usually I was so caught up in the act of slicing people open I could hardly focus on anything but the feeling of adrenaline in my veins. But now? Oh now… I was lovesick.

“Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream.”

The clouds of smoke surrounding me were a testament to such a fact. They poured out of me, each more colorful and vibrant than the last, each more destructive. Pinks and purples and reds. Pretty, really. There was nothing cuter than something that looked so wonderful and could kill you in an instant.

“Oh, dilute me, gentle angel…”

The people I’d gathered were rotting at a rapid pace. Some body’s were more damaged than others, some were fresh. I’d gathered them all, no matter how decayed and decrepit, here today for a cleansing. Time to watch them rot, for old times sake.

“Water down what I called being grateful.”

I smiled as I watched the skin peel and fall off the corpses, some of them boiling and blistering, others blue and cracked. I thought of Vox, how I’d seen him electrocute someone the other day. I was sitting in his office, watching through the camera, and I knew he didn’t know that I knew that he’d killed one of his assistants. I remembered the way he held the corpse in his hands, how he tossed it aside without a care. A warm fuzzy feeling spread in my chest and I couldn’t help but feel elated. God, how I wished he’d kill for me.

“Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me..”

And the taste of smoke on his lips, fuck that was beautiful. Not Val’s smoke, not toxic fumes, but his own. He rarely smoked, as far as I could tell, he only did it when he was in a good mood, feeling worked up. I could imagine him like that, now. How he may act.

“Not to take me home.”

I thought of him, that warm feeling in me only growing as I moved around. I had to spread the toxins in the air effectively, so I’d been doing a small sort of dance. I was absolutely entranced by the mere thought of Vox doing anything like this, for me or otherwise. I couldn’t wait to return home to him tonight.

“It was simple, it was sweetness…”

Being with him was always such pure bliss. The crunch of what used to be bones now reduced to nothing under my shoe was nothing in comparison to the soft hum of his TV head. The silence that filled the space I was in (save for my singing) was so boring in comparison to the wonderful static and white noise that accompanied Vox wherever he went.

“It was good to know.”

I left the alleyway, now full of nothing but lingering toxins in the air and an ashy sort of dust and dirt on the floor. I hummed and did a little twirl, happy as ever as I made my way to the grocery store. I still had to pick up the ingredients for dinner tonight. I was going to be making his favorite, and I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. My heart beat faster in anticipation at the thought.

***

Vox sat in his office, his heart fluttering as he watched it all go down. He hummed and sung along softly to your little song, he knew it well. He admired the clouds and puffs of poison and toxins you emitted, how deadly it was. So unassuming and pretty at first glance, but it was that very same innocuous appearance that made it so dangerous. The smoke reminded him of you- just how similair you were to it was amazing. Beautiful and sweet but ruthless. He’d watched you hold a man’s heart in your hand as you tore it out of his ribcage, once, and the only thing he felt was pure unadulterated love and joy.

Now, he felt a certain familiar heat rise to his face and- god, he was overheating already! He loved your singing with all his heart, and he didn’t get to hear it often- you were far too shy about it and never really sung around the house. Hearing you sing at all was a blessing, but while you were killing? For him, no less!

It was everything he could ever hope for, everything he could ever dream of. How utterly devoted you were, it was enchanting. He adored these acts of service, he loved watching every moment. He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his afterlife with you.

#hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #writing #vox x reader #my writing #x reader #thanks anon!

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Just to kiss me (Part 2)

pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

(AO3 mirror)

Part One, Part Three, My Hunger Games Masterlist

summary: You try to move on. This proves harder than expected.

warnings: none for this chapter. Small mention of blood.

required reading: The song "We'll never have sex" by Leith Ross &lt;3

a/n: I take a lot of creative liberties because I do not know what the capitol or its government fucking look like! I haven't read the books in a while, and I try to build on the wiki and the movies, so sorry in advance. 

wc: 4k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful ,

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn't even tell him your name. 

That's the thought you sit with for the next few days, then weeks. You try your hardest to leave it at that; a simple conversation between strangers, an interaction to twist the lock on and take to your grave. A secret thing, a moment, just for you. 

The truth is, you're distracted. You've spent a defiant few years trying not to be swept up by the buzz around Finnick Odair, and in these couple of weeks you find yourself watching old interviews and articles about him. A lot of them, at first, but none of the portrayals match the man you met on the balcony. Too sanitised, too clean. Who was Finnick? Under the makeup, the lifestyle, the glamour; who was he really? 

Vonnie called you, the morning after, raving about how she had actually met Finnick Odair. 

"And God, I think he's even prettier up close! He was so funny, and he said he loved my dress… wait. Shit. D'you think he was flirting with me? We're about the same age, and we'd make such a power couple! The way he looked at me, you'd think-" 

You loved Vonnie, you really did. And you were happy for her. But the way she talks about him makes your stomach churn for some reason. You cut her off gently, with promises to continue later in the day. 

On the 4th week, you think you have snapped out of your month long haze; made peace with the facts of the matter. He didn't ask for your name. He doesn't remember you. He didn't look back. It was stupid, really, to expect anything else. You're at a fitting with your mother when you decide you're well and truly over it. Cinna tightens the corset of a gown, before peering over your shoulder to look at you in the mirror. You both tilt your heads; as if you would transform at a mere 45 degrees.

"Sleeves or no sleeves?" he asks. 

"Sleeves." you say. 

"No sleeves." your mother says at the exact same time. "Honestly, Cinna can we make it a little more…. more? It doesn't exactly say 'Councillor's daughter' " 

You dare to roll your eyes at her dramatics. "And what does it say, currently?" 

"It says 'District 4 tribute tour', my love. Too many nets for your own good. No offence."

You bristle, knowing Cinna made the dress to her exact requirements. 

"That's vile, mother. The dress is beautiful, as usual, Cinna."

His smile is well practised. He knows you mean it. "No sleeves it is, then."

'Masquerade' was the theme. A grand affair in the run up to the 72nd Games; everybody who's anybody would be there. Admittedly, this was last minute; with only your mother's money and status affording you these appointments. But the dress Cinna had managed to make was truly beautiful; draped silver netting with crystal beading, dripping down the dress like the froth of a waterfall. The mask was a similar affair; crystal droplets cascading down its side.

There’s the tell-tale chime of Caesar's show on the antenna; and you hear him announce the mentors for the next games. All past victors; of which Finnick's name is not mentioned. 

~~~

Without the sleeves, you’re cold and bare. Even the spotlights of the hall do nothing for warmth, so you are forced away from the draughty sides of the room, near the windows. Avoiding all events, for your own peace of mind, was rearing its ugly head. Never a conversationalist; you were even more out of practice and out of your depth. God, you didn't have the energy for this. Living in the capitol for a lifetime had desensitised you to the excess of your surroundings. Gaudy dresses, tawdry suits, body mods every which way; all to fit the theme of unmasking - lest they were named and shamed for a fashion faux pas in the papers. 

You had separated from your mother a while ago, not bearing to be picked apart for the whole night. So you floated, a half empty champagne flute in hand, desperately trying to blend in with the crowd. The masks helped, you suppose; you had never been good at remembering faces, so you compartmentalised and talked to 'the fox' or 'the doll' as opposed to the editor of Panem weekly, or the new candidate for the council. 

The lively uptick of music signals the ballroom is open. For a while, you are entranced by the dancing, the sway of bodies and ball gowns in time to the music. A sea of people in the flashing lights. And when that wave breaks, at its crest, is Finnick. 

You know it's him, despite the mask. You can feel it; as you watch him laugh something inaudible at his dance partner. She's beautiful, her suit in a complementary shade of blue to his signature gold. There's a shiver down your spine when you watch him lean close to her ear, and whisper something that has her holding back laughter. 

You have no right, you know. It tastes bitter to know you've joined the swathes of onlookers; analysing every move. Frustrated, you down your drink and shake it out of your system. You don't know him. Like everyone else, you don't know him. 

You make for the door and are swept up by the tide of people. Someone grabs you by the waist and spins you into the arms of another; waltzing with the current. A crescendo, and you've swapped partners, stumbling almost head first into another.

The fabric you clutch at is taut, expensive brocade. Gilded and… golden. You look up. Fuck. Vonnie was right: he is prettier up close.

In your stupor, you hear a snort. He's laughing. You're frozen and he's laughing, the little shit. 

"It is customary for one to dance at these things, you know." He looks at you, dead on, and you wait for the flash of recognition. It doesn't come, and you don't know whether to cry with relief or sadness. 

"I'm c-concentrating," You almost glare at him. Forward, right. Backwards, left. Rinse, repeat. You need something else to think about. You catch his foot with your shoe and he winces slightly. 

"And how's that working for you?" The rest of the sentence was silent. It's not. You splutter with shock at his bluntness, and ignore him. Forward, right. Backwards - 

"I know you." It's soft, under his breath. "From the balcony…. I-I remember you." 

That's when you look at him, deep green eyes pulling you in despite the mask. There's a smile threatening to break the surface of his face; hands on your waist like you were going to disintegrate. There's the crescendo of music again, and you're whisked away. 

"Meet….meet me by the south stairwell!" He shouts after you, before being swallowed up by the crowd. 

 ~~~

The "south stairwell" was deceptively specific, you realise too late. You're wandering the adjourning hallways after slipping out, more than a little lost. Every room looks the same; empty marble flooring and ornate crown carving. It's pristine, a little too evenly aged - a scene of birds and willows in the moulded furrows with a chip here and there. You'd heard once that Councillor Hadrian had ordered for the pieces made in District 2 to be specially aged - people working for months with chisels and hammers to imitate something ancient. A bygone era inside this hulking pile of glass and metal. Hollow. An old wives’ tale, perhaps. 

You click-click down the halls in search of a stairwell, let alone one in the south wing. Thankfully, it gives you time to think. You're excited, even though you'd rather perish than admit it. A feeling bubbling up in your gut, ever since you spotted him in the crowd. Now, it threatens to boil over because you've been vindicated. Desperately, you're trying not to overthink; to be a normal fucking human being about this, for once. It doesn't mean the same thing to him, you're sure of it, but it feels nice to pretend. 

After a maze of corridors that all look the same, you spot him. In the warm lights you can see him better: dressed in a brocade suit, and underneath, corseted at the waist of a flowing silk shirt. Even the mask suits him, a triple faced affair; deconstructed so his jaw and cheekbones are visible. He's leaning on the bannister, and as you round the corner, you spot someone else with him. She's got her mask atop her striking ginger hair, and tucked her hands into the pockets of a tailored jumpsuit; a complementary blue and silver to Finnick's gold and cream. Guarded when she spots you, Finnick speaks first. 

"Hi." He takes off his mask, as if he's seeing you for the first time. There's warmth in his eyes and that smile again. 

"Hi." You smile back. 

"This is-" He turns to the woman next to you. She can't be much older than you, maybe even your age. Despite her blank stare, she seems somewhat familiar, like you've seen her somewhere before. "This is Annie."

Rather curtly, she nods. 

"And Annie… this is who I talked about, before. This is.." you fill in the gap with your name. As if to test how it feels on his tongue, he repeats it after you. He turns back to Annie, a glint in his eye. "She's real, and I'm not crazy, she's-"  

"She's real." Annie looks at you once over, visibly unimpressed. 

"I didn't think this was your thing, to be honest." He says as he takes a seat on the steps next to you. 

"Stay home? And miss out on the vultures? You don't know me well enough, clearly." You stretch out, a little stiff in the dress. 

"You weren't at the banquet, or the Staffy twins' party, or Caesar's press junket… I was starting to think I'd never see you again." 

You think that means he looked for you; and your heart goes pitter-patter at the implication. 

Annie clears her throat. She stands, and when Finnick rushes upwards she sighs." I'm going back in. You can… stay here for a bit. If you need."

When she pads down the corridor, out of sight, Finnick's scratching his head. "She's nice. I promise." 

You hum. "I don't blame her. I fucking hate these things." He doesn't look at you. 

"You never get tired of it? The peacocking, the preening, the pleases and pardon-mes. I've been to two, I think. And I feel like my eyes are gonna roll back into my head. Permanently." You say that last bit a little dramatically, looking for a laugh. 

It doesn't come. "You play the game." Diplomarically, he shrugs. And too quickly, he turns to you. "You want to do something? Something a little stupid?" 

"Depends how stupid, s'pose…" There's a hand, rough palms upwards, stretching towards you. You take it and Finnick smiles. 

 ~~~

You're outside Councilor Hadrian's soiree, at the juncture between glassy buildings and the adjourning streets. It's tucked away from the Capitol’s centre, hidden behind manicured hedges and stony pavement. Finnick strays a little further out, furtive as he watches for anyone walking past. At this time of night, however, it is unlikely to meet a soul this far from the entertainment district. Only when you find the streets eerily quiet do you realise how stupid this really is: a midnight walk with a man you don't know, taking you to an unknown place, without anyone aware of your whereabouts. Currently, your only comfort was that this risk taking might send your mother to an early grave. 

In the hum of streetlights, you realise just how tall Finnick is. Broad shoulders, corded forearms exposed at his rolled up sleeves. His mask is long gone, discarded on some side table back at the party. You give yourself the time to appreciate the cut of his cheekbones and dimples threatening to expose themselves as he chews on the inside of his cheek. Despite himself, he seems on edge. Nervous. 

You haven't been walking long when he stops. A spot secluded by trees. He brings out something jangly in his pockets and points at the half-dark. That's when you see it. A car. 

An honest-to-god, 4-wheeled, shiny chassis, little blue car. You gasp. You haven't seen anything with wheels since you were a kid - so a car in this condition was a sight to behold. 

"This is- she's gorgeous…! I can't imagine where you got this from-" He can hear you beam as you circle the thing, pawing at its glossy frame. 

"His name is Lucas, and he was a gift." He says with a small smile. "Fixed him up myself, and he runs pretty smoothly-" 

"You can drive it? Does that mean…are we going to….?" He brings a hand up to pause you. With a little flair, he gently nudges you aside to open the door to the passenger's seat. 

 ~~~

You're having a little too much fun. You must look mad the way you squeal at every bump in the road that makes the car rock; or the way the lights dance in the side mirrors. The streets weren't made for wheels but you enjoyed it nevertheless. You'd been in pods, ships, the occasional hover bike; but none could compare to the feeling of riding down the streets of the Capitol with Finnick in tow. 

He took the sideroads; a route you didn't recognise but one he was clearly well versed with. 

"Where are we going?“

“A surprise." 

He keeps driving, his eyes flitting to look at you in the passenger's seat. You stray further from the Capitol; bleeding into its borders, where concrete gives way to grass and streetlights are swallowed by moonlight. He can't help but to get drunk on small glances of you. Your lazy chatter dies down as he pulls up to a clearing of trees offroad. 

He steps out to open your door. You grab his hand and your heels sink a little in the mud. The walk isn't far, and barely a few hundred metres from where he's parked. In the brush, you see the gentle shine of… water. 

A lake, crystalline in the low light. Willows sweeping its edge, and the gentle chirrup of cicadas in the rushes. A wooden jetty; solid but mossy with age. Frankly, you've never seen such untouched beauty this close to the Capitol. There's something in the air; crisp and clean, free from blood. 

You herd Finnick towards its banks, taking a seat, and he plants himself next to you; open-toed heels barely touching the water. You shiver. Always a gentleman, he gives you the suit jacket off his back. 

"I've never seen anything like this…" You look around in awe. "Never… not this close to the capitol. Untouched."

"Bureaucracy, I think. Saved it from a tomb of glass and limestone." He explains. "Once constructruction started, they realised it ran into an underground reservoir. So they abandoned it."

"They?"

"A nebulous, overarching, always-watching they. You know how it goes."

"S'pose I do." You gesture towards your dress. "That's why I'm dressed like this. Is that why you look like you sneezed into a vat of glitter?" 

He rolls his eyes. "Very funny. This is my signature look, apparently. I have a brand to maintain."

"A brand…? That's…. unsettling."

"What is?" 

You distract yourself by fiddling with the beads on the skirt of your dress. 

"I see you on the network. In interviews, on the radio; your face is plastered on half a dozen billboards in the capitol. I go past one on the way to work. The one where you-" You turn, curling your face into a smile, and attempt to wink. "-smiling, like this, I think. Half the nation thinks they know you. And you're good at it."

He doesn't look away. 

"Being a brand, I mean. You're good at it."

A pause. The wind causes the grass and willows to chatter in the silence. Fuck.

"You have a job?" 

"...could you at least pretend to be surprised?" 

"No- it's just, I thought you stop existing when I'm not here." He deadpans, and you laugh at his half-sincerity. 

"Like I'm a figment of your imagination? Because you're wracked with the guilt of all the rich fucks in the capitol you've pretended to like…"

"...something like that." He huffs, a little cryptic, but you continue. 

"Well, I'm real. And I have a job. A secretary. Data entry, organising meetings, taking minutes, all for Councillor Hadrian. That's how I got into the party." A small lie you barely notice, rolling off your tongue. You don't want him to know about your mother, not yet. 

"For Hadrian? You must see a lot, then. Tell me something I don't know."

You could tell him about the secret meetings with his "friends" at the boardwalk - the ones his wife doesn't know about. Or the tin of powder by his desk he scrapes into lines and snorts unceremoniously on stressful days. But Finnick runs in those circles, and was no doubt familiar with Hadrian and his vices. 

So you lean in, edging closer towards the man with a hand on his shoulder. 

"He's got an inclination for the mutts they use in the games…"

Finnick looks at you bewildered, at first, but catches the glint in your eye. Then, he laughs, a chuckle that turns into a roar until there are tears in his eyes. You laugh with him, glad to see him smile. 

"God- I almost believed you…!"

It's your turn to snort, loud in the billowy outdoors. "He's got blood on his hands, same as everyone else." He hums noncommittally. "But Hadrian's a greedy idiot - doesn't look at the bigger picture. It's worse when they're smart. Like….like Councillor Arachne-"

"-the closest thing to Snow's opposition?" 

You wave him off. "Opposition is a strong word.  All of her positions are inflammatory at best," Nothing too strong, or radical. The shiny veil of choice; two paths leading to the same cavernous pit. You explain:

"She's visible; appeals to both sides without alienating either. The one good thing she did; suspending the 57th games; was reversed, almost immediately. And the fact Snow hasn't offed her yet makes him look….” You search for the right word. ”...benevolent. But the moment she pivots to something that matters - and I mean something other than wine shortages and stretching curfews-"

" -she dies. A tragic accident. A deeply troubled woman pushed to her brink. She dies." 

"Wouldn't be the first time." The air is heavy with what's left between the lines. Nothing changes. Not really. 

"She's the favourite for overseer in District 4, isn't she?" 

"Something like that. She's got her fingers in a lot of pies." Of course, you’d know. Half of the Capitol’s inner circle in and out of your home in an attempt to expand her connections. Hastily, you add, "I guess they all do."

"Is that what you want to do, then? Go into politics?" 

"Oh, no. I want people to actually like me." And under your breath, you say. "I don't even care if it's fake. I just want them to like me."

"It's simple things, really." Your head almost snaps towards him. He stretches, and stands up; to lead you towards the pier. You watch as he takes centre stage on the wooden planks and you sit on the grass besides it. 

"You make them read between the lines. For example," His gestures are exaggerated, and he echoes across the lake. As a backdrop it's breathtaking, Finnick in gold against the silver gloom of mist and lapping water. "Mirror their body language. Laugh at their stupid jokes. You're personable and good-natured and approachable - you're the first person you need to convince. People already like you. Believe it."

Finnick helps you up onto his stage, and taps the small of your back. 

"Posture. Stand up straight. Ask about the little things. Remember the details." Words he recites like a checklist. He's closer now: manic, possessed. 

"When Caesar asks if you caught the show the other day, you say you had a late night. That means nightmares, again, but everyone else thinks it means someone seduced, not waking up in your own bed. You don't correct them. Instead, you turn to the camera - the one on your left, your good side - and you wink. Always the golden boy, but not too golden."

There's something there as he talks. Like the night on the balcony, something trying to break free. In a moment, it's gone, whatever you're searching for. 

"Eye contact, it's important," He's soft, lifting your jaw up so you're at eye level. Gently, he rests his hands on your waist like they were made for its slope. "And smiling, with your eyes, not your teeth. A little flirty; like you know something they don't…" For a flash second, he looks at your lips. "Little glances, barely noticeable. Make 'em go crazy. Get a little closer than you should."

You're holding your breath. Chest thudding in your dress, he's close, the tip of his nose barely brushing yours, Unwavering, pupils blown; the hot gaze of his sea green eyes burning your skin.

Your mouth moves before you can think. "But it's not… real."

Knee deep in his own performance, the glass shatters. He scrunches his mouth, a flash of dimple, and moves back. 

"No. It's not." 

Silence, for a bit. You've gotten too comfortable, you think, said something you shouldn't have. He gives you a weak grin. 

"Thank you." He says warmly. You're confused. 

"For what?" 

He shrugs. "For staying, I guess. For listening."

You nod slightly, still clutching at his silky sleeve. A groan comes from your stomach and you realise you've been out for a couple of hours, at least. You separate, gently, embarrassed. 

Finnick practically coos. "I've got some food and a blanket in my car. We'll eat, and then I'll take you home, if you want." He hands you the keys, and you pad off towards the car, grateful for the time to clear your head. 

Your back hurts from sitting on the ground, and you're cold even in Finnick's jacket - but your face aches from smiling so much. You ruined the moment, you know, but it was unlike anything you've ever felt before. He's disarming; able to get you to cut and spill your insides out onto the wooden planks, with only a smile and a touch of your shoulder. Dangerous. 

There's a blanket and water in the boot of the car, the fabric decorated with a pattern you haven't seen before. It's big, handmade probably, and loosely woven; reminiscent of a thick net. You sling it over your shoulder, and grab the water, looking for food. After rummaging around the car's front, you happen across the glovebox. Inside, packaged saltines; that look like the food packs peacekeepers carry; and a little box rattling around its bottom. Curious, you pop it open. Empty, save for a single pill. Many things could be said about you; but you weren’t stupid. You put the box back in its place.

With a click, you lock the car and begin the short walk back to the lake. A rough beaten path you trudge along, your heels long gone. You're not too far, when you hear something. A dull thud. And then, there's a crash, like a boulder thrown into the water. The weeping leaves of the trees block your view, so you hurry towards the noise. 

You round the corner. Something's wrong. 

"....Finnick?" You can't see him. Calling his name as you drop your things, you clamber onto the jetty. "F-Finnick?" 

You're shouting now, nearing the end of the wooden slats. Below you, even in the low light, the water churns. Your voice goes hoarse screaming his name, as you kneel down to get a better look. The planks are wet, warm; but not with water. Blood. You look down. A glinting mass pooling below the surface.

There's a person in the water. Unmoving. Bloody. Golden.

_

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#finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x capitol!reader #finnick x y/n #the hunger games #the hunger games fic #angst #slow burn #Spotify #thg #thg x reader #kat_writes😼

[sleeplessdreamer14]

Depollute me, pretty baby

Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to take me home

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

- 𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕙𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕖 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝔹𝕠𝕠

#yuurivoice bittersweet #yuurivoice alphonse #we’ll never have sex #alphonse yuurivoice #my stuff #song lyrics #yuurivoice #yuurivoice boo #leith ross

[lords-of-mayhem]

Varg x Pelle Playlist

We'll Never Have Sex

Depollute me, pretty baby. Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream. Oh, dilute me, gentle angel. Water down what I call being grateful.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me, not to take me home. It was simple, it was sweetness. It was good to know.

You look perfect, you look different. I don't wonder about your indifference. If I said you could never touch me, you'd come over and say I looked lovely.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me, not to make me cry. It was simple, you are are sweetness. Let's just sit a while.

Depollute me, gentle angel. And I'll feel the sickness less and less. Come and kiss me, pretty baby, like we'll never have sex.

Would That I

True that I saw her hair like the branch of a tree, a willow dancing on air before covering me under cotton and calicoes over canopy dapple long ago.

True that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me, that the sound of the saw must be known by the tree. I fretted fire, but that was long ago.

With the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet like the ashes of ask I saw rise in the heat. Settle soft and as pure as snow, I fell in love with the fire long ago.

So in awe, there I stood as you licked off the grain. Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame. Long as amber of ember glows, all the "would that I'd loved" is long ago.

Suck It And See

Your love is like a studded leather headlock, your kiss it could put creases in the rain.

You're rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock, and those other girls are just post-mix lemonade.

Jigsaw woman with horror movie shoes, be cruel to me 'cause I'm a fool for you.

That's not a skirt, that's a sawn off shotgun and I can only hope you've got it aimed at me.

You have got that face that just says, "baby, I was made to break your heart."

Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet

Head like a steel trap. Wish I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I don't just want to be a footnote in someone else's happiness.

I will never end up like him. Behind my back, I already am. Keep a calendar, this way, you'll always know the last time you came through.

Oh, darling, I know what you're going through.

Tempest in a teacup, get unique. Peroxide princess shine like shark teeth. It's a sign, what if you peaked early?

Cotard's Solution

And if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares? I'll stay awake tonight.

Cry my name, remind my brain of my identity. Rolling my third eye into the back of my head and squinting through the black

It's times like this that make me wish that I wished that I were dead, I don't wish I were dead. But somebody's got to go.

I wanna make my murder look like a suicide, but they'll all know that the body's mine.

Carving my initials in the back of my hand, in case of losing track. I forgot, remember to forgive.

It's times like this that make me wish that I wished that I could live, I don't wish I could live. But somebody's got to stay.

Oh Ana

I'll be God, I'll be God, I'll be God today. Hold my head under the bath and breathe away, slit my wrists and watch that blood evaporate.

Ante up and play that God a poker game, walk away with all our little God's spare change.

I'll be with you still, you are the angel that I couldn't kill.

I'll fake God, I'll fake God, I'll fake God today. Hop up on a cloud and watch the world decay.

Person In The Mirror

The person in the mirror lookin' like they wanna fuck me. I ain't thinking straight. No, wait. Yeah, I must be. All of y'all be rusty, but I know what I'm doing.

So, I think that I can trust me, trust me.

I wanna feel handsome, I wanna feel pretty. If you want me to dance, you can take me to the city. I like taking chances and I like taking pities.

If that's too much for you, I'll find another one to mingle, mingle. You fuck like you're single, I feel like a monster. I'll put on a show.

#vargelle #varg x dead #dead x varg #varg x pelle #pelle x varg #playlist #suicide mention #rpf

[drunkinchicago]

coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird

link: chapter 1, link: chapter 2, link: chapter 3 link: chapter 4 link: chapter 5, link: chapter 6

Chapter 7: bloodstream

Depollute me, pretty baby

Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful

Leith Ross

“Nothing was made by God for man to spoil or destroy.”

John Locke, Second Treatise on Civil Government

There was a time in my life where, if there was a heaven, I would’ve set fire to it.

Hozier

Monday morning began before sunrise, steam rising off of the clawfoot bathtub in Coriolanus’ bathroom. He was making a habit of this - scalding coffee, hot bathwater, biting his food long before it cooled, because why should he have to wait? Nothing melts Snow, he told himself, always challenging his boundaries, trying to imagine what an enemy would do to him so he could do it first.

Tigris hadn’t come home yesterday. Coriolanus was trying not to think about it, about the fact that she was the only other Snow left and that their relationship was undeniably scarce. She acted differently toward him and he could imagine several reasons as to why. He wasn’t the same person he’d been a year ago, and he’d be the first to admit it. Coriolanus wanted to blame this on his involvement in the Games, but that would be cheap. If he’d had a different tribute, he would’ve let them die and impressed Dr. Gaul in some other way, providing her with the same rich insight she so highly values. He was not afraid of the Games nor was he was disturbed by their conception. In fact, he was grateful for them and the many opportunities of its existence, allowing him to gloat his intelligence through his ideas. He was a Victor. That thirst for winning and power hadn’t been born into him by his assigned role as a mentor - he had been born with those traits. No, it wasn’t the Games that changed him. It was Lucy Gray.

There had been times where he fantasized about a life without their meeting, but it was a futile thought. When he thought of her and the ways she fit into his world, there was nothing but divinity. She had been the driving force for every decision that had landed him where he now stood, wealthier and more intelligent, reigning over his peers with his apprenticeship and tailored suits. He liked to convince himself that he invented Lucy Gray, that she wasn’t her without him, but he knew reality to be a much harsher truth that he scarcely entertained - Coriolanus was nothing without her.

Coriolanus stared at his hands beneath the surface of the bathwater, noticing how his fingertips were beginning to prune. Anxieties about the coming week were starting to ebb and flow through his mind, flitting around the edges of Lucy Gray shaped thoughts. The emotional high of her arrival was beginning to give way to the complexities that would come out of her being in the Capitol, the pressure of Dr. Gaul’s threats blurring the edges of his vision. He hadn’t heard from Dr. Gaul over the weekend, and she hadn’t assigned him any writeups at their last meeting. It was unnerving and irregular. Then again, his last assignment had been both lengthy and meticulous - perhaps they were due to review that first. Besides, Coriolanus wasn’t scheduled to see Dr. Gaul today anyway. He had a full day of courses at the University and intended to come home directly after to finish a philosophy paper. Had it been last week, he might have considered staying late at school to write it, sandwiched between Clemensia and Festus Creed at a crowded darkwood table. He enjoyed the library, craving the familiar grassy but sweet scent of the rotting books that the University catalog boasted - “from before the Dark Ages,” his professors would say, holding a tattered copy with yellowing pages as though it were holy. Everything must have been holy before the War, unjudged and impartial and tolerant. Coriolanus wished he could remember it, and wondered who he would’ve become if he hadn’t been choking on the taste of vengeance since grade school. He tried to imagine a softer version of himself, his frame drawn in charcoal pencil rather than sharp ink, bending at the will of others rather than breaking them. Would Lucy Gray like him more that way?

Lucy Gray. She was sleeping then, he imagined, her blanket pulled up to her perfect chin - how many times he had cupped it, rubbing his rough thumb against the smoothness of her face. Once in the meadow outside the buzzing fences of Twelve, he’d moved his hand down to neck, made confident by the sweltering heat and seclusion. Lucy Gray had smiled against his lips as he’d done it, daring him to press harder, to go further. Back then, he was preoccupied with the act of being gentle and good, caught up in the preciousness of her. But she had wanted him to, and instead, he’d moved his hand to the small of her back. She pulled away, insisting on getting back to the Covey for supper. Coriolanus hadn’t been able to tell if she was disappointed with him and was too nervous to ask. It was only a few weeks later that Lucy Gray gifted him with betrayal, reawakening the aggression he’d been swallowing every time they kissed. Since that’s how you like it, I can be harsher now, Coriolanus thought. I can hurt you in all the ways that feel good to you.

Coriolanus hesitated to grab his bath sheet as he stood, staring at himself in the mirror. He’d maintained the muscles that his Peacekeeper training had given him, stronger and leaner than any male in his year at the University. Insecurity turned on and off like the flicker of a dying bulb as he turned to the left side, the burn wounds that had become permanent scars on his back coming into view. He’d doused himself in ointments, oils, whatever he could find at the apothecary and pharmacy alike - nothing worked. They remained, a reminder of what would’ve killed him had Lucy Gray not been there to save him. Always a reminder.

Clothes, coffee, shoes, breakfast, messenger bag, call driver. His routine was just that - routine, monotonous. Today, he added a step and wrote out a menu of suggestions for Lucy Gray’s morning and afternoon meals. Breakfast: orange juice, quiche lorraine, sliced bananas, coffee with cinnamon, whatever else she wants. Lunch: gorgonzola salad with grilled chicken (perhaps add candied walnuts? Ensure she’s not allergic first). Before leaving, Coriolanus reread the note he’d left and underlined ‘not allergic’.

In the elevator, Coriolanus decided to cancel his call for the driver, opting to walk instead. This was what he once did, what he’d done for many years, back when his apartment smelled of cabbage and rat poison. It used to feel humiliating ducking through back alleys and scuffing his shoes, his only pair that was already a size too small. Now it was simply motivating, the perspiration soaking his shirt serving as a reminder of what he had been through and what he had risen above, pushing him onward as sweat danced between his shoulder blades.

-

Livia approached him during their lunch hour, an unpleasant interruption to Coriolanus’ green apple slices and Dostoevsky readings. He was sitting outside on a concrete bench that had been engraved with Panem’s emblem, the dips and ridges of the carved symbol digging into his back.

“Hi.” Livia was attractive enough to reductively be average - blonde, thin, attainable. She spoke in a gloating tone, contrived confidence brushed on like her eyeliner, which was thicker on her right eye.

“Hello,” Coriolanus replied, reluctantly shutting his book and bringing his hand over his eyes to shield the sun. The action sharpened Livia’s face before him, but made it no better. She still looked painfully regular, the daughter of a wealthy family who was convinced she was worth just as much as their revenue. She wasn’t.

“Why don’t you come out on the weekends with us?” Livia cocked her head, letting her curls fall over one shoulder.

Coriolanus didn’t have to ask who us was to know - Clemensia, Livia, Festus, Hilarius Heavensbee, Vipsania Sickle, whoever else he was forgetting. After the Games, the majority of the Mentors had remained close, gaining entry to the University and studying together in the same small groups they’d grown accustomed to at the Academy. Now that they were over the age of eighteen, Coriolanus’ classmates spent their weekends at nightclubs and other alcohol-affiliated outings in the Capitol, scandalously recounting the dramatics of such excursions throughout the school week. Coriolanus was noticeably absent and had no desire to attend. There wasn’t anyone for him at those events, no appeal in going. He planned to begin making appearances at the clubs only if Lucy Gray was booked for shows, anticipating the sight of her on stage again, making the knees of the crowd weak, his heart drumming against his chest knowing she was his. They could look, but they couldn’t touch.

“I’ve been tied up, I guess.”

Jarringly, Livia reached out to touch Coriolanus’ left wrist, examining it. “Funny, I don’t see any scars. No rope burn? Were you using cuffs?”

How desperate. He bet she thought he liked to fuck rough. Maybe he did. What would it matter to her? Coriolanus jerked his arm back sharply, embarrassed on her behalf. He wasn’t even sure how to respond.

Livia’s cheeks flushed as she observed Coriolanus’ disinterest. “I like you,” she hissed. “And you’d be stupid not to do something with that.”

Coriolanus blinked in return, not at all surprised by her shrill response. That’s who she was - loud, expectant, sneering, assuming that her opinion was remotely valued. It was true that any other boy would probably want her, but many had had her already, exchanging stories at lunch tables. Girls were jealous of her, comparing themselves to her designer clothing and routinely bleached roots. Coriolanus saw through this face. The traits that Livia thought she held - mysterious, trendsetting, likable - were characteristics that Lucy Gray possessed tenfold. And Lucy Gray wasn’t the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the Capitol. She was a girl from the Districts, if even that, natural and one-of-a-kind, created with an allure that couldn’t be replicated. That’s the kind of girl Coriolanus Snow wanted and deserved. It was entertaining to watch Livia be denied something she wanted - he imagined it must be a first.

“I’m not stupid,” Coriolanus said flatly before tossing an apple slice into his mouth.

Livia was already walking away, her skirt tight and unflattering, adding to the growing list of evidence that money can’t buy everything. “Come out this weekend, and we’ll see.”

-

When Coriolanus got into his driver’s car shortly after five, Strabo Plinth was in the backseat. It was a surprise, and a moderately unwelcome one at that. It had been a tense day riddled with assignments and he’d been unable to articulate himself when called on in his rhetoric course. Coriolanus felt off and wanted to get home, frustrated at the lack of instruction that came with obtaining your greatest desire. The combination of euphoria and lack of clarity that had come with Lucy Gray’s arrival was disconcerting. She would have to perform at shows, but when? He wanted to feel close with her again, but when? When would they share a room, when would she trust him the way she used to? They had so much to talk about in aims to understand what they'd done in each other’s absence. Was this eating her up the way it was him? The days were growing shorter as winter approached, the sun already beginning to set. It would be dark by the time he got home from school.

“Hello, Coriolanus,” Strabo said, adjusting his pinstripe tie. Coriolanus had never seen him in anything but a full suit.

“What’s this about?” Coriolanus wanted to cut to the chase, unable to play coy today. Strabo was unaffected by Coriolanus’ sharp comments, which made him all the more comfortable to make them.

The Avox driving the vehicle began to lumber forward as soon as Coriolanus slammed his door, the gravel of the cobble roads loud under the tires. For a moment Coriolanus worried this would be about Livia’s comment, already sick of the Cardews and their interest in him. He detested the notion of Strabo bartering him off like a show pony. He wasn’t something to choose, he was the one who made the choices. But that wasn’t what this was about at all.

“How’s your mail-order bride?” Strabo smirked, nudging Coriolanus with his shoulder as if they were brutish Capitol men gossiping about their boring wives, a role Strabo likely accomplished and one that Coriolanus hoped never to.

Mail order bride. The only word that stuck with Coriolanus was bride, an image of Lucy Gray in white grabbing him by the neck. “Lucy Gray is adjusting,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the hand sewn leather seat in front of him.

“She must be happy to be here, though. Must be easy enough to impress a little thing from Twelve.”

Coriolanus scoffed. “You are aware that she left me, aren’t you? I forced her here, so no, she doesn’t seem entirely happy at the moment.”

“People are fickle creatures when weighed down by the pressures of what they’ve been taught to believe. Patriotism is as rampant in Twelve as the dust of coal, scarring the faces of those worn out people. A very problematic place, really.”

“She’s not from District Twelve, she’s of the Covey.”

“All the same out there, isn’t it? Bleeding together like ink - all the same.”

If it’s all the same, what are you? Coriolanus wanted to say, irony being the richest aspect of Strabo’s perspective. District Two and District Twelve, don’t they bleed just alike too? “I’ve asked you this before, but I’ll say it again. Is this wrong to you? Are you upset with this?”

Strabo thought it over, his index finger tapping his right knee methodologically, following the same pace. “I’d simply like to be informed of your life and the decisions you have taken upon yourself to make, as is my right. Don’t you agree?”

Coriolanus could feel his blood pulsing, throbbing like something swollen and agitated. For a split second, a feeling regrettable and grim washed over him. Was this how Lucy Gray felt, indebted to a person, choiceless? He’d have to discuss this with her. He didn’t like to hunt deer that were strung up and immobilized anyway. He wanted them running, but only for fun, giving him a chase because they liked the feeling too, secretly hoping that he would shoot them down and mount their stag’s head on his wall for people to see and admire. Mutually assured destruction - it could feel so nice.

“I’m not going to marry Livia Cardew.” It was all he managed to say, ‘as is my right’ running through his head on a loop.

“Coriolanus.”

“Strabo,” he acknowledged, turning his head to meet the older man’s eyes and challenge Strabo to whatever he was planning to say next.

“I am looking out for you. I know that you assume that you know what’s best, but you are young and naive. I have been in this game longer than you have been alive. You cannot and will not become President if you take a District girl for a wife.”

“Lucy Gray has been here for two days. Let me have what I want at eighteen years old before you color my world with this speak of marriage and candidacy,” Coriolanus could hardly speak through the severity of his gritted teeth.

“I can see why Sejanus and you were such great friends.” Strabo’s voice was void of emotion, the rest of the world seeming to go quiet.

Coriolanus’ heart seized at the sound of his name - Sejanus. Sejanus.

“Why?” He sounded small, sweat beading on his palms.

“You remind me of him sometimes, so impassioned by what you think is right, so sure you know best. It’s the power of youth, I suppose. Perhaps I’ve just forgotten.”

They spent the rest of the car ride to the apartments entirely silent. Coriolanus felt as though he could read Strabo’s mind, envisioning the bittersweet recollections of a lost son. However, he was certain Strabo couldn’t read his. If Strabo could see what Coriolanus was thinking, all that he was remembering of the responsibility for Sejanus’ death, Coriolanus was certain his blood would run through the streets, thick and guilty, drying to amalgamate with dirt and waste.

-

Coriolanus worried that he had broken the front door with the force in which he slammed it. One of the maids, who was preoccupied with dusting the picture frames lining the main hall, jumped at the sound. “Where is she?” He demanded. The Avox pointed toward the ceiling, signaling with veracity.

“She’s in the garden?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but yell, furious. He thought of the rotting barrier surrounding the rooftop, imagining her stepping too close to the edge. He envisioned her running her fingers along the rose patches, her skin catching on the unbridled thorns. The maid continued to cower as Coriolanus stormed past her, running up the corridor to the grounds.

Lucy Gray was startled by his arrival, still in her nightgown, her silhouette accentuated by the waning moon. She was already close to the edge, her eyes wide and wild. Coriolanus threw his hands up, hoping to calm her, so as not to scare her.

For a moment neither of them said anything. The air was heavy with the smell of looming rain, fraternizing with the hue of roses. Coriolanus was certain it would storm tomorrow, but not tonight. Tonight was clear. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft, warm, a tone so alien to that he’d been using the rest of the day. He hardly recognized it himself.

Lucy Gray nodded, crossing her arms over her chest timidly. “Are you?”

Coriolanus shook his head as he approached her, desperate to pull her away from the precipice of the roof. “No, but that’s not relevant. Why are you up here?”

Lucy Gray didn’t move from him as he neared. “I wanted to be outside. Am I not allowed?”

Coriolanus was desperate to touch her. It was striking, then, staring at her before him, how rarely he felt the warmth of another human being. Over the last several months, he’d assumed that remembrance was enough. He could recall how she felt like it was inherent to his existence, embedded so deeply that it was just as cursory to his being as his eye or hair color. Looking at her now, he couldn’t remember it as well. The potential for new memories was too heavy, washing away what was to make room for what could be.

Once close enough, he brought his hands to Lucy Gray’s shoulders and gently moved her to face away from him, hugging the back of her. The Capitol sprawled out around them, figures moving through high rises like ghosts, flashing from window to window as they moved about. The hum of cars and electricity lines buzzed like white noise, soothing the aggressions that had been plaguing Coriolanus almost as much as the feel of Lucy Gray’s body. She didn’t protest against him, dropping her shoulders and leaning back, letting his arms wrap around the front of her and his chin rest on the top of her head. The moment was stripped down, absent of the past and current ailments, even if only for a moment.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Coriolanus whispered, afraid to disturb the delicacy of the present.

“What would hurt me up here?” Lucy Gray’s voice was equally faint, her words lingering on ‘up here’. Coriolanus wondered if she was implying that the true danger was downstairs.

“The balcony rails are decaying.” Coriolanus lifted his hand to direct her chin to the left side of the roof, showing her a gaping hole in the banister. “I don’t want you to fall.”

Lucy Gray did not respond, cheeks warm at the familiarity of his hand on her face. She was suddenly glad for their positioning and his inability to see her expression. The tenderness of his touch felt foreign, distinctly Coriolanus yet so jarringly altered from the hostile person she’d known him to be. She never quite knew what to make of him and was afraid to commit to one opinion over the other. Ultimately, it felt easier to demonize him and push him away than the alternative, which felt synonymous to betrayal, a fear greater than death, that she could love him and he could destroy her because of it.

“You can let me in,” Coriolanus whispered in her ear, close enough that his bottom lip grazed her earlobe. “You can talk to me.”

She remained silent, too afraid to say the wrong thing, more afraid to say the right thing. Instead, she simply leaned back even further, wishing to crawl inside him and make judgments on the way his heart beat and the thoughts etched across his brain. Would she understand him then? Would she understand this?

They stayed this way for a while, Coriolanus’ heart beating against her back, slowing the longer they touched. The Capitol looked beautiful, lights stretching out for miles. If Lucy Gray looked hard enough, she could almost imagine her younger self on the precipice of the world, picking flowers in Twelve. Untouched and unharmed, unaware of the darkness inside her. Innocent and rare.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg series #thg #tbosas spoilers #coriolanus snow #snow #president snow #snowbaird #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x coriolanus #suzanne collins #archive of our own #ao3

[wormy-business]

"We'll Never Have Sex" by Leith Ross is a PEAK Astarion x Tav romance song and I'm going to break it down LINE BY LINE

Depollute me, pretty baby - Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

I see the "rot" as being less the vampirism and more the trauma that being Cazador's spawn wrought. Depollute me, take what Cazador did to me away because I know if you could, you would.

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel - water down what I call being grateful

I think could reflect on Astarions bit of guilt surrounding manipulating Tav in the beginning.

Oh, you kissed me - Just to kiss me - Not to take me home

Astarion was used for so many years, by Cazador and to bring Cazador new victims. Being kissed simply for the act of being himself, with no ulterior motives, is nearly a foreign concept to Astarion.

It was simple - It was sweetness - It was good to know

Refer to line above, the act is so foreign but so, so welcome.

You look perfect - you look different

I feel like Tav is speaking here, knowing Astarion misses the view of his own face, first assuring him that in their eyes he is perfect, but then that he is different and that difference is a good thing.

I don't wonder about your indifference

This feels like act 1 Tav to me. Astarion being almost indifferent and absent from the sexual encounter, but not wanting to confront him on it for fear of upsetting him and driving him away.

If I said you - could never touch me - you'd come over - and say I looked lovely

Oh NOW we're in the thick of it boys. This line, this is what Astarion longs for. He wants a partner who will not demand nor require sex from him. He enjoys sex, and loves Tav, but he longs for and knows the relationship he has with Tav is more than just what his body is and how it can be of use to Tav. He desired that relationship where if he were to set a boundary as far as "do not touch me" his lover would find new and different and beautiful ways to express their love for him, and he has that in Tav. A lover who, if requested, would no longer touch Astarion, for their love for him is deeper than physical contact.

Oh, you kissed me - Just to kiss me - Not to make me cry

Astarion knowing Tav is not using affections to manipulate him, likely in the way it had been done to him in the past, and the way he had done to others in the past.

It was simple - You are sweetness - Let's just sit a while

Astarion knowing a night with Tav doesn't have to end in sex. It can be just sitting and talking, or simply just sitting together, arms around one another, watching the stars or the people on the street. Simply existing next to each other is enough, and is fulfilling.

Depollute me, gentle angel- And I'll feel the sickness less and less

The sickness of doubt. The sickness of depression. The sickness of 200 years of trauma. All diminishing and healing with Tav by his side, and in his arms.

Come and kiss me - Pretty Baby - Like we'll never have sex

Again, it is the desire to be kissed and held and loved just for that. No ulterior motives, no manipulation. Kiss me like we'll never have sex, because I can trust you and know that if I were to make that request of you, to never have sex again, you would honor it.

#Astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #im so so normal about him #<- lying #i was supposed to go to bed 30 minutes ago but i had this in my head and needed it in a post before it left me

[ritz-stimzz]

Can you make alegator stimboard with alegator stims and a dark pallette

POSTED YAYYYY TY FOR THE REQUEST 🐊

#oh dilute me gentle angel [requests] #THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST CLEMEN ILYYY #also ty for waiting golly gee this took me quite a while

[lovecorepatton]

I'M ASKING NICELY / GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!! / I'LL ASK POLITELY / GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!!

theyre sooooo. religiously inflicted tragedy. love that rots them from the inside out.

id under the cut it is ridiculously long

[id: a drawing of patton and remus from sanders sides. it is seemingly nighttime, with patton illuminated in moonlight. patton sits on a counter and holds remus's cheek as remus holds their waist with one hand and cheek with the other. they're kissing. patton is an asian man with a medium skin tone and scattered beauty marks. she wears a blue cardigan, white polo, and dark grey cargo shorts. his dark hair goes down to their shoulders, and she has a blue hair clip and a pink zigzag hair clip. she wears white framed square glasses, a hellokitty watch, and ichthys fish earrings. remus is a white person with very pale skin and scattered freckles. he has brown hair which has been cut into a rockstar like mullet and died green. he wears purple eye makeup, a green shirt, black ripped jeans, a double grommet belt and a trench coat with the sleeves ripped off. he has a nose piercing and a mustache. surrounding the pair is an assortment of lyrics, and the background is dark purple with a lime green starburst around their heads.

lyrics: "oh, i will ruin you! oh, i will ruin you!" "and when you come in quick to steal a kiss, my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear." both from tongues and teeth by the crane wives. these lyrics hover around remus's head. "depollute me, pretty baby / suck the rot right out of my bloodstream / oh, dilute me, gentle angel / water down what i call being grateful." hovers near remus's waist. lyrics are from "like we'll never have sex" by leith ross. "how many, how many hail marys is it gonna take?" is staged at patton's shoulder, and is from the song "devils backbone" by civil wars. "honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips / we should just kiss like real people do" is from like real people do by hozier, and is staged below patton, along the counter. next to it is "fragile like i've never seen / you're pretty when you do not speak" from too close by sir chloe. finally, above patton's head stands the lyrics "i'll spend less time pretending that i am kind / you're along for the ride, not easy to scare" from sedona, by sir chloe. end ID]

#intruality #patton sanders #remus sanders #i love love love looking at patton and remus through a religious lens they starkly contrast each other but they're still so incredibly- #similar in ways #i dont post here much anymore bc its a pain 2 transfer the stuff i draw from mobile on2 here

[reybeeze]

i may. have done a thing.

#this is very scary #good omens #ineffable husbands #fanfiction #rey writes #fic #my fic

[cuubism]

wait i saw your post about dreamling fics & the "you were in a CAGE" realisation and i realised that i have not read sufficient dreamling yet... do you have any recs (specifically recs that do the "you were in a CAGE" realisation bit)? i've read all of yours & aria's but not many others...

realizing that i myself haven't written that yet 😂 tho it is in something i'm working on but haven't finished

let's see what 'you were in a CAGE' fics i have bookmarked. (note these aren't hob-saving-dream fics because that's a whole different genre. which i also love)

Inspire in Me, the Desire in Me by ElloPoppet

oh dilute me (gentle angel) by Some_Dead_Guy

touch has a memory by que_lla

IS THAT ACTUALLY ALL? CLEARLY I MUST FIND MORE!

#fic rec #dreamling #ask #anonymous

[gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun]

Lyrics~ We’ll Never Have Sex

From the album To Learn by Leith Ross

“Depollute me, pretty baby/Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream/Oh dilute me, gentle angel/Water down what I call being grateful”

(It feels like a soft song that would perfectly fit Hell Followed With Us)

#leith ross #soft songs #hell followed with us #spotify #tw gore #tw blood #Spotify

[figsandphiltatos]

73, 94, and 100 for the unusual asks!

73. do you want to get married?

i have,,,, no idea. we simply cannot get into my nitty gritty queer feelings about the institution of marriage as a tool of oppression and upholding the Ideal Of Whiteness (you often hear about the whole 'marriage is about owning women' which like yeah,, its primarily concerned with property rights which can get icky, but it's also an often racist, not to mention hetero/cissexist, institution). this of course!! isn't me dogging on people who want to get married! i might get married someday, i don't know, i just know that right now i have very complicated feelings about it and some of those feelings are probably chronic commitment issues but for sure a lot of those feelings are deeply political! there's an article i read during my last semester of college that really shaped a lot of these feelings and opinions (that for some reason i can't get my annotations off of soooo enjoy those if you decide to take a look rip). but anyway!!! yeah!!! marriage is a whole can of worms to me! who knows! maybe some day i'll get married but i can't imagine doing it before the age of like,,, 30 if i ever do wanna do it (sorry for rambling soo much woah)

94. favorite lyrics right now

"depollute me, pretty baby / suck the rot right out of my bloodstream / oh dilute me, gentle angel / water down what i call being grateful / oh you kissed me, just to kiss me / not to take me home" (we'll never have sex by leith ross)

"fear on my fingers and hate on my tongue / i trace words in cursive hoping they could be enough / condemn me in my most righteous form / for i have been weak in the eyes of the lord / the devil's known to tempt angels with apples and nothing more" (broken wing by evil)

"in your car with your head in your hands / at far end of the walmart parking lot / trying not to buckle under the strain / striking a bargain with the imp in your brain / prepared to take another knock for the short game / but you can ask any veteran running back / eventually your joints complain" (same as cash by the mountain goats)

100. who was the last person you cried in front of? 

probably my therapist lmaoo

#thanks for the ask!! i have Big Feelings about marriage as you can see.......... #i feel like that's one of those questions that i very well could have answered with a simple 'i dunno' but idk! #it's been on my mind recently because of reading that article in queer studies right before graduation and like #yeah #but like i said i'm not hating on people for getting married literally all state institutions are set up to consolidate and preserve power #and a lot of that is about preserving the idea of whiteness and like... ya know you still gotta live in that world #and there are serious legal benefits to getting married #and a life long partnership isn't out of the question! i don't know! #thank you for coming to my ted talk on marriage ig?? #figs sillies #ask tag #anyway the yapper strikes again!!!