#bittersweet words

[sleepingmelancholy]

"Tonight, in the starring role, playing the part of your ex-lover, is Andrew Graves!"

let's make this short and sweet

greetings, hello, welcome, im andrew, im a fictive in an osdd system, i prefer if you didnt call me andy.

all art/CG edits are by me, it's my "faceclaim"/how I remember myself.

yes, this blog will have triggering themes such as incest, cannibalism, murder, talks about things like depression, triggering complex family dynamics, abuse of any kind, obsession, lust(?), romance(?), nsft themes, yes. i said it.

i also write love/hate mail and will accept anon messages if people wish to leave love/hate mail for me or other people (just mention if it's for me or someone else.)

if you sexualise genuinely bad things like r4p3, S/A, etc, don't interact, I don't want you here, you're not welcome, fuck off, endo "systems" fuck off. i can understand ashleys wanting to interact, but i personally am not looking for a relationship. i can handle creepy anons and shit but my headmates won't.

minors and adults can interact, but we collectively are in the middle line between minor and adult. keep that in mind.

tags

dipping my quill into ink –> main posts

answering the phone -> asks

things i wish i could forget -> memories

bittersweet words -> lovemail

grabbing my cleaver -> hatemail

this is a bit girly isnt it? -> vents

keeping my peace -> reblogs

darlings lust hours / conscious nightmares -> nsfw / nsfw reblogs (inactive @pastelvirus is nsft blog)

alter posting tags

pink bun -> ashley posting

butchers vein -> vanity posting

anon tags

💖 anon

🐦‍⬛ anon

⛓️‍💥 anon

✨️ anon

if anyone wishes for an "anon specific" tag, make sure you've actually spoken in my inbox before and put a tag you wish in the inbox :)

[carrots-bear]

🥺*dies*

“For one so small, you seem so strong My arms will hold you keep you safe and warm”

this is turning into a series Bc I am so weak for this little fam

Leo | Donnie | Mikey

[sun-e-chips]

Gentle thumbs trace along your chin and cheeks as Moon falls into a stream of memories. You all have grown into this big world and it fits you, though a lot is different, some things remain the same.

He says your eyes haven’t changed, still entirely you, that same wonder and excitement shining through.

[mythboundcal]

A Hand Left Ungloved Spy x Family Fanfic (Twilight & Yor) by MythboundCal

The mission is over.

The wine is half-drunk.

The silence is domestic—not tense, not forced. Just… unfamiliar.

Twilight (Loid, tonight) sits on the edge of the sofa, gloved hands resting in his lap. Yor stands in the kitchen, arms crossed loosely, like she’s remembering how to stay in her own body.

The clock ticks.

And then— “I’m not used to this,” she says quietly.

Loid looks up. “To what?”

Her eyes flick to his hands. Still gloved. Still tidy. Still perfectly rehearsed.

“You don’t flinch when I reach for you anymore,” she murmurs.

He doesn’t move.

Not because he’s cold. But because he’s unsure whether she means it as a compliment… or a concern.

She steps closer. Her voice lowers—not for secrecy, but softness.

“I notice things,” she says. “Even when I pretend I don’t.”

The lights buzz faintly. The city outside exhales.

Loid takes off one glove.

Just one. Slowly.

And places his hand, bare and warm, on the table between them.

“I flinched because I’m not used to kindness,” he says.

Yor nods. Then, after a moment, sets her hand beside his. She doesn’t touch. Not yet.

“That makes two of us.”

Another silence. But this one settles.

Loid studies her fingers—scarred in places, elegant in others. Hands that could kill. Hands that have saved. Hands that, right now, tremble just a little.

“I’m not a good man,” he says.

She smiles. Sad. Honest.

“Neither am I.”

Their hands touch. Lightly. Not a promise. Not yet.

Just… honesty. Finally.

And somewhere upstairs, Anya stirs in her sleep—smiling, probably—without knowing why.

[sneakyboymerlin]

Since we’re all in agreement now that Gwaine is (sub)textually in L word (lesbians) with Merlin, can we stop no-homo-ing them in every fic 😭 if I have to see “Gwaine did all that because Merlin is like a brother to him” one more time I’m gonna create a zombifying parasite that takes humans as hosts and then also they ship merwaine because of the parasite and there is peace on earth. worm

[carrots-bear]

I need to keep a quote book of deep or bittersweet things people say in reference to their art, oh my gosh

✨️🐢RISE AUGUST DAY 18: PIZZA🐢✨️ I did this one pretty fast but it always gives me a fuzzy feeling when looking at it. After war, kids are still kids <3

[chorrianderr]

I can't believe it's practically implied by canon that Yoo Joonghyuk is Kim Dokja's everything (brother, friend, confidant and lowkey soulmate figure all in one person) and he idolizes/likes the man so much that his brain can't comprehend the possibility of said feeling being mutual

[insociometry]

Omg how about Minho’s or Hannie’s pov after they had to pick MC up and scented her later, trying not to lose control. I LOVED THIS SCENE SO MUCH😫🫶🏻

Han's POV of the final scene from this chapter! This has way too many em dashes, and his POV is pretty spiraling and lowkey obsessive here, so -- watch out!

From the moment you mention scenting, Jisung is unsure — not because of him, but because of you. Because months ago, you’d mentioned having someone’s scent on you as a contributor to a panic attack, and he stored that away in the back of his mind as one of the only concrete things he knew about you in those early days: your taste in horror movies, your bus schedule, and the things that make it feel like the world is collapsing all around you. Little sticky notes of information, tacked to the mystery of you.

Of course he wants to scent you. Glancing at Minho, he can tell he wants it just bad — and it makes sense, because you’re theirs and they’re yours, and you deserve to wear their scents like a sign or a ring or a collar. If Jisung could drown you in his scent, he would. If he could trap your own pheromones somewhere only he had access to, block everyone else from that part of you, and replace every hint of it on your skin with his own, he would.

But this isn’t about him; this is about you. About you, obviously recovering but still shaken, disappearing into your borrowed clothes as you stare up at the two of them, biting your lip and uncertain like he doesn’t already kiss the ground you walk on.

But you’re the one who asked, and selfishly, he doesn’t want you smelling like another alpha, either. So with one last glance at Minho, Jisung leans in and carefully brushes your hair from your neck.

There are more platonic ways to do this, but Jisung is greedy, and he’s spent all night with you in his arms and on his lap, wearing his clothes, changing with him in the room — and he wants, wants, wants, badly enough to drive him mad, badly enough that when he first catches a hint of your scent, he thinks maybe none of this night is even real, and he’s in some bizarre combination dream-nightmare.

You’re sweet. He knew it already — not just from your face or your voice or the surprising gentleness of you under all that forced ice, but from Hyunjin’s description of your scent. Like hwachae, Hyunjin had said wistfully; like cold fruit on the hottest day of summer.

Through your blockers, he isn’t quite sure what you smell like, even this close to your scent gland — but you don’t smell like fruit to Jisung. That sweetness is there, but there’s something else, some addicting undercurrent he can’t get a big enough bite of to identify — and he has to force himself to keep a level head and not dive in for it immediately, mouth watering as he snakes an arm under your head to angle you for better access.

He presses his neck to yours and it’s like heaven, the immediate way your scents meet and combine — and Jisung can’t see the things you see in him and he can’t smell them, either, so he just has to use his imagination: walks late at night and humidity breaking into rain and you, sweet and layered and hard to place, just like him, just like him—

Distantly, he’s aware of Minho and his own pheromones joining the fray, but Jisung can’t focus on that right now; his mind and his heart and his entire being are full of you. I belong to you, he thinks deliriously as he rubs his scent into you, marking you as his, marking himself as yours. I need you; please let me have you. You’re the only one— Please, you’re the only one.

He doesn’t know he’s suffocating in your hair until his lungs start aching. Even when he comes up for air, he just can’t help himself: his mouth open as he pants for breath, your little body beneath him, your scent gland right there—

He was right, he thinks deliriously with his mouth to your scent gland, your blockers thick on his tongue: sweet, but not fruit. Instead, there’s something deep and rich and layered to your scent: a little dark, a little tart to break the sweetness. Complicated, flooding the senses, immediately overwhelming — but too addicting to pull away. Jisung’s eyelids flutter and his hands dig into the couch until his knuckles ache, until he’d be leaving finger-shaped bruises on your skin, evidence that he’d had you, that you’re his, his, his—

Your whine rips his soul straight out of his body, and he doesn’t even care; it’s yours; you can do whatever you want with it. Your hand settles on his arm and he wishes it was on his chest instead, if only to put his heart that much closer to you — to the palm of your hand, where it belongs.

Before he can even get another lick in, though — there’s a hand fisted in his hair, pulling him up. Citrus hits his nose, and he’s baring his teeth at Minho before his active mind even has time to process it, pure instinct yanking a growl from deep in his chest.

Then his gaze fully settles on Minho’s frantic, expressive eyes, and the possessive haze wrapping his body like a cloak loses the worst of its edge. Slowly, uncertain and afraid, heart thumping, he turns down to look at you, certain he isn’t going to like what he finds, certain he’s ruined this before it’s even started—

Your smile is sweet and fond — angelic. You’re an angel walking this Earth. Even when you reach up to pat Jisung’s cheek, he thinks that you’re too perfect, too divine for him to lay his hands on.

When you yawn, you look like a baby bunny. And Jisung thinks, desperately, tracking every flutter of your lashes, that this can’t be what it feels like for everyone — because how could they function?How could the planet continue to spin?

It does, though; time keeps going, uncaring of the pitter-patter of Jisung’s leashed heart. And you yawn again — so sweet, impossibly sweet, sweet and layered and hard to place — and stretch out your arms towards Minho.

“Oppa,” you mumble, “carry me to bed. I’m sleepy.”

It hits Jisung then, all at once: he loves you, completely, fully, and desperately. He loves you, and it will kill him if you won’t love him back.

Minho carries you away, hands too gentle not to mean anything. And Jisung trails after like an abandoned puppy, lost and lightning-struck, your pheromones lingering on his tongue.

[bittersweet-fleshandteeth]

It's 12:27am, and I lay motionless in my bed

I am tired

I listen to the shadows I live with shout, volatile words strewn without recognition of the way they seep into everything they touch

I thought at the core of it, I wanted joy

But as my heart skips inside my chest, I find my want to be so much smaller

I would simply take a lack of new agony

[sleepingmelancholy]

i miss her.

[isolated-ink]

Take me where the forest meets the ocean

In her mind, she could almost see him. A figure in the shadows, watching her with quiet, steady eyes. There was something about him that felt safe, yet dangerous all at once. Not the kind of danger that would hurt her, but the kind that came from carrying his own pain, his own battles. His presence felt like a warm fire on a cold night—comforting, but with a power she couldn’t ignore.

She imagined the way he’d hold her, not to keep her trapped but to remind her she wasn’t alone. He wouldn’t need grand words or promises; his actions would speak for him. A warm hand on hers, a hug that lasted just long enough to chase the shadows away. Even in silence, she would feel it: “I’m here. I see you.”

But she couldn’t ignore the darkness in him, either. It wasn’t cruel or selfish—it was the kind of darkness that came from surviving hard things, the same kind she carried in herself. It scared her a little, but it also made her feel less alone.

[theliterarybay]

I drank the wine, It was sweeter But I never knew the hands were bitter. "It's sweet, it's better" I said to the hands that fed me gooseberry juice Everyday with a sweet smile— and I abandoned it. Now that the wine's gone and I tasted the bitter, I realised I traded gold for glitter.

[aeneaslament]

from eros the bittersweet by anne carson

poem by sappho

[buckevantommy]

i love the trope of buck leaving tommy voicemails and texts when he's angry or drunk or when the pain is too much and he just wants tommy to know this isn't some passing thing that this is a lasting love and he's never getting over him..

and one of the messages at some point in the months after their breakup goes along the lines of:

..i dunno why you didn't believe the way i cared about you was serious.. i wish you'd stuck around long enough to tell me why you were so scared, why you didn't believe in us, who hurt you.. i still love you, and i still hate you for running away, but i forgive you.. i hope you can find a way to forgive yourself.. because you deserve to have a happy ending, tommy.. you deserve to believe that it's possible for you, because it is.. i wanted to give that to you.. i wanted that for both of us..

[dizzydeadeye]

tu felicidad importa más

[ruethrills]

From Carmen’s mouth to Sydney’s ears:

“Any chance of any kind of good in this building, it started when you walked in”

“And any possibility of it surviving, it’s with you”