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bizarrelovetriangel

Yesterday No More

halogencat

“It will be fine,” I lied.

“We can do this,” she lied back.

Nothing in life was more powerful than two women affirming each other’s horrible life choices.

- Jasmine Mas, Bonds of Hercules

pandastern

What’s Your Poison, Captain Levi

Part 1: Desire

Sub!Levi Ackerman x Dom!Reader

Warnings: explicit, mature content

Word count: 2989

Genre: romance

When Levi overhears a fight between Y/N and Erwin about their newest addition to the squad, his curiosity leads him to investigate. Little does he know that this decision will confront him with his deepest and darkest desires he had hoped to keep buried.

The castle fell silent after a long day of work, most of the cadettes were already asleep and those who weren’t, better got to it before he found out. Levi sighed deeply and downed his last cup of tea. The fragrant blend had lasted him for almost 2 months, but as so many things in his life even this was coming to an end.

Levi did not allow himself many luxuries. A clean space and some tea. That had always been enough for him.

It had been a week since Eren had joined his squad. The boy was so lively, so full of life and determination. How many soldiers had he seen with the same kind of attitude. How many had died before his eyes.

Putting down the cup, he got up and rubbed his eyes. Levi couldn’t tell how long he had been sitting there, contemplating so many things, he could barely remember what he had mulled over. Maybe he was just utterly sleep deprived.

Yes, that had to be it.

“Off to bed it is then…” He mumbled to himself, blowing out the candle on the table. The moon was shining brightly, the light coming through the windows illuminating his way enough to find his path without needing another light source.

How eerie this castle could be at night. The creaking of old wood and the howling of the summer breeze almost sounded as if the building itself was breathing.

Keep reading

lilsmidnight

Gosh, this is so good!😩 I wish there was a part 2!!!😔

pandastern

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058328/chapters/68740011?view_adult=true

There is :)

venonomnomicon

if you train the passive income hog you may use it to generate revenue

thepromiscuousfinger

chaifootsteps

#Please little bird

meriwetherwrites

I love that the modern-day tumblr post equivalent of chain emails only requires me to reblog a relatively pleasant image instead of forward an email to a bunch of my friends and family members to quell my raging anxiety.

lionofchaeronea

Do your thing, little guy.

greatmountainfloofsquatch

I just like birbs.

vacuously-true

Notably, I don't even think you have to reblog this one. It just says "don't ignore it." If you just say, hello little bird, when you see it, I suspect that counts.

copperbadge

On Saturday I said to my partner, as I have said for months, "A ten thousand dollar a year raise would solve so many of my problems."

As of this morning I was reluctantly looking for jobs because I love my job and don't want to leave it, but see: $10k raise problem solver.

As of noon today this was no longer an issue, because my boss called me with the news that I was getting a $10K merit raise.

I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. This is roughly $200 extra per paycheck. Enough to pay off debt faster, rebuild my savings, and spend a weekend a month in Milwaukee getting obscenely laid. The sex I'm going to have on $200 extra per paycheck. You can't even.

May all of you get the $10K raise your soul has yearned for. And whatever level of sex you can be satisfied with for $200.

vergess

hey bestie i think ur post might be charmed 'cause you aren't gonna fuckin believe what happened today

featherfangart

Yeah.

dannydoesthisthing27

Erik drop Porter as the first HBS audio and my life is yours

(Alternatively Milo or Sam pretty please)

actuallyhisangel

okay so, a while back I got the request for a Former Rich Kid Angel AU. So consider this my spin on that x

______________________________________________________________

Mechanic!David who runs the only repair shop in town, complete with an old German shepherd named Boss, a beat-up radio always playing classic rock, and a strict "don’t talk to me unless you’re bleeding or your car is", policy.

Mechanic!David who wears grease like war paint and only speaks in monosyllables before 10 a.m.

Mechanic!David who has scars on his knuckles from fights he doesn’t talk about and tattoos he won’t let anyone ask about either.

Mechanic!David who doesn't know what to say when a person, who reminds him of a reincarnation of Rarity from My Little Pony, strides into his back-alley shop. Actually, crashes might be a better word.

Literally - scrapes the side of their inherited Porsche pulling into his garage with a huge lip gloss-stained smile.

Mechanic!David who takes one look at this ethereal creature standing before him, one who is covered in glitter and pink and the loudest jewellery he's ever seen, and swears his heart stops beating.

Mechanic!David who fixes their car for free even though Angel keeps insisting on paying, so he simply murmurs, “Fine. Pay me in silence. Just sit there, look pretty, and don’t test my patience.”

Mechanic!David who picks little fights just to watch his cute customer's clock tick. Most end up with them both covered in motor oil, laughing their arses off.

Some end up with Angel stamping their heels into the ground, storming out, tripping on the step, and David grumbling, “For the love of—just watch your damn feet, sweetheart.”

Mechanic!David who scoffs when Angel brings him hand cream “because your hands look like sandpaper made love to barbed wire.”

“I use motor oil like a man.”

“And that explains so much.”

Mechanic!David who almost short-circuited and slammed the hood of his latest customer's car on his hand when they leant over the car hood to point at something. They were too close, they smelled too good, and that shirt was too damn sheer.

Mechanic!David who literally forgets what tool he’s holding. Ends up gripping a wrench like it’s a lifeline. His Angel just grins. “Need a minute, big guy?”

Mechanic!David who when Angel flinches at thunder, pulls them into his lap in the backseat of the car he’s fixing and says, “You’re alright, baby. I’ve got you.”

Mechanic!David who one day accidentally calls them “baby” and immediately goes silent like he’s committed a war crime.

Angel melts. And then makes it worse by saying, “Aww. You’re soft for me.”

“One more word and I’m throwing your designer sunglasses in the parts washer.”

Mechanic!David who doesn't know what to say when Angel stops by late at night, too late to be innocent, wearing something that does not belong in a messy shop.

He leans against the garage wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. “You know what coming here like that does to me, right?”

Angel: “Why do you think I do it?”

Mechanic!David who tries to stay gruff. Tries to stay in control.

But then Angel moans softly while stretching in his passenger seat, and suddenly he's white-knuckling the steering wheel and considering running red lights just to get home faster.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he mutters one night, pushing them against the hood of a car he just finished. “Then show me,” Angel whispers back, smiling like they already know.

Mechanic!David who notices very quickly that Angel is so out of place, and so in love with the idea of being ruined by him.

Their designer clothes keep getting grease-stained. They don’t seem to care anymore. His touch stains deeper.

They start leaving expensive things around the garage. A silk scarf, a gold ring, a perfume bottle. Little breadcrumbs. Territory. David notices. Keeps them in a drawer. Pretends he doesn’t smell them when he’s alone.

Mechanic!David who, after their first time, holds Angel tight against him on the mattress of the truck bed they laid out.

“You’re dangerous,” they murmur. “And you like danger, don’t you, sweetheart?”

He calls them "trouble" like it's a nickname and a kink.

They call him "sir", half-joking. He stops breathing for five full seconds.

Mechanic!David who teaches them how to use a socket wrench. Angel gets distracted and ends up pressed between him and the hood of the car. “That’s not a torque setting,” they murmur. “I’ll show you what pressure feels like,” he growls in their ear.

Mechanic!David who knows when they’re anxious, smells like rain and static. His fingers twitch when they walk in quiet.

Once, Angel shows up with red-rimmed eyes and no explanation. He just hands them his hoodie, sits them on the hood of the car, and starts working.

Doesn’t say a word. Just stays near. They end up falling asleep listening to the sound of his tools.

Mechanic!David who gets possessive without realising it. Puts his hand on their thigh when someone else stares too long. Sits them on his lap when they look too pretty and someone flirts too hard.

Once says, “You don’t need them. You’ve got me.” It slips out. He pretends it didn’t happen.

Mechanic!David who loves when Angel falls asleep in his truck. Curled up in the passenger seat after a long day at the garage, sunburned nose and smudged mascara.

He doesn’t wake them. He just turns the radio down, takes the long way home. Sometimes he parks outside their place, sits in the driver’s seat for 40 minutes just watching them sleep. Heart hurting. Like he’s been given something fragile and real.

Mechanic!David who welds a bracelet from scrap metal for their birthday. It’s rough, imperfect. They wear it everywhere.

Makes them a jewelry holder out of old spark plugs. They cry.

Mechanic!David who isn’t good with words, but he tries for them.

“I’m not great at this,” he mutters once after an argument. His Angel just watches him from their spot on the end of his King bed; silent, unnerving.

David kneels beside them, rests his forehead against their hip, and whispers, “Don’t leave. I’m still learning. But I know I love you.

You know I love you.”

actuallyhisangel

Vampire!David who doesn’t bother to lie about what he is anymore, not when time folds into itself, and mortals repeat sins like hymns.

Vampire!David who sees them across the room. Not in sunlight, but low lamplight, hunched over dusty volumes they shouldn't understand. He can tell they know. Not who he is, not exactly, but what.

Vampire!David who circles their table in the library like a beast with manners. They don’t flinch when he leans in.

“Do you know what you’re reading?” “I know what you are.”

He hasn’t felt his heart beat in 200 years. And yet.

Vampire!David who owns the jazz bar everyone assumes is mob-run. It’s not. But the blood behind the bar is vintage.

Vampire!David who spots them during open mic, voice like honey over ash, pain folded in every verse. He listens too closely. He follows too long.

He says, “You shouldn’t sing like that. It draws attention.” “Is that a threat?” He smiles, slow. “I’m still deciding.”

Vampire!David who offers them a ride on a rainy night, not because he’s kind, but because their blood sings louder than the storm.

Vampire!David who drives a classic black car with leather seats and no seatbelt laws. They ask, “Are you trying to scare me?” He says, “If I were, I wouldn’t need to try.”

Vampire!David who remembers Angel’s face from another century.

Different name. Different voice. Same eyes.

Vampire!David who sits across from them in a modern cafe and watches them stir sugar into coffee like they did in Vienna, 1857.

“You’ve changed,” he murmurs. They blink, confused. “Have we met?” He doesn’t answer. Just says, “Not recently.”

Vampire!David who doesn’t open his home to anyone… until them. They cross the threshold like they belong, like they’ve been there. He watches them touch the piano. The banister. The curtains. Everything he’s buried. He whispers, “What do you want?” They say, “To see what you’re still afraid of.” He lets them.

Vampire!David who shows up on security footage he shouldn’t be on. Grainy, blurred, always in the background when they’re alone.

At the bookstore. The train. The stairwell. He’s never close. Never obvious. Until he is. And when they confront him, he says simply, “You weren’t supposed to notice. Although, I knew you would.”

Vampire!David who doesn’t sleep, but still lies in bed next to them every night.

Just to feel their breathing. Just to listen. Just because they asked once, half-asleep, “Can you stay?” He’s stayed every night since.

Vampire!David who has a wine fridge full of blood bags labeled by type and vintage.

He pours it into crystal glasses like it’s a cabernet. They drink oat milk straight from the carton. He pretends to be disgusted. He’s not. He just likes watching them... live.

Vampire!David who rushes their hair for them after showers.

Sits on the bed behind them, slow and reverent. Says nothing. They lean back into his chest like it’s a throne. He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t need to. But he exhales anyway, soft, like a sigh. Like a vow.

Vampire!David who lets them scrub the blood off his hands after bad nights.

In the sink. Under yellow kitchen light. Their hands on his, quiet and firm. They don’t flinch. He looks at them like they’re the miracle, not the mercy.

Vampire!David who has no reflection, but watches them do their skincare in the mirror anyway.

Leans on the counter behind them, chin on their shoulder, asking what every product does. “I like watching you care for yourself", he murmurs.

Vampire!David who reads to them in bed, old poetry, old languages.

They don’t understand half of it, but the sound of his voice makes them melt. He never asks for anything in return. But one night, they hum a song he doesn’t know. He stares like they invented music.

Vampire!David who always knew they'd die first.

He told himself he was ready. Then he finds their toothbrush still in the cup. He breaks the sink just trying to breathe.

Vampire!David who sits by their grave every night for fifty years.

He doesn’t speak. Just leaves a candle. One night, the wind almost blows it out. He shields it with his hand like it’s still them.

Vampire!David who still talks to their reflection in the mirror — even though he’s never had one.

He tells them about his day. He asks if they’d still love him now. And when no one answers, he still says, “I know.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

okay so

I don't know what to write anymore

the ava-mill has run dry

any requests?

actuallyhisangel

Warlord!David who storms the capital not to kill its monarchs, but to claim their only heir.

Warlord!David who drags Angel from the ruins of their father’s court. Crown cracked. Robes torn. Still standing. Still defiant.

Warlord!David who doesn’t believe in divine blood or divine right, only in what’s taken and what kneels.

“You want the war to end?” he growls, voice like smoke over ash. “Then you’ll marry me.”

They hesitate, but agree. For their people. For peace. Not for love. Never for love.

Warlord!David who doesn’t force himself on them, would never, but makes it clear: they belong to him now.

His halls. His bed. His name.

Heir!Angel who wears a crown of foreign metal, eats at his table like a prisoner dressed in silk, and speaks in clipped tones only when addressed.

“You hate me,” he says one night. They don’t answer. He doesn’t ask again.

Warlord!David who holds court with a hand always on the hilt, except when it rests casually against Angel’s chair. Possessive. A threat.

Heir!Angel who smiles politely for ambassadors, for generals, for the traitorous nobles who bowed to David too fast.

Warlord!David who sleeps with a knife beneath his pillow, but it’s Angel’s bare back he reaches for when dreams turn bloody.

Heir!Angel who prays in private, whispers of old gods who never answered them. Who bite back moans when David touches them like he’s trying to conquer them from the inside out.

Heir!Angel who learns that mercy can look like power.

Warlord!David who learns that softness isn’t weakness, it’s war by other means.

“I’ll never love you,” they say one night through their teeth, breathing hard, jaw held high.

“I know,” he says. And kisses them anyway.

“But you’ll be mine, just the same.”

Warlord!David who watches Angel pour their tea with effortless precision, never spilling, never slouching, pinky still raised like the war never happened. Born into opulence. Raised on etiquette. Trained to rule. But not like this.

Their silks are darker now. Their jewels smaller. But even when stripped of their throne, they wear class like second skin, with a grace David can’t look at too long.

Heir!Angel who begins to look at him differently, not with hatred, but calculation. Then curiosity. Then something softer.

“So, this my cage?” they ask one morning, standing by the window, sun catching the sapphire at their throat.

David shrugs. “Would you rather it be bars?”

“Doesn't matter,” they murmur, watching his hands move in the light. “You’d still hold the key.”

Warlord!David who finds himself reaching for them before sleep. Just to make sure they’re there. Just to remind himself they chose to stay tonight.

Heir!Angel who lets him. Who sleeps with their back to him, always, but closer than they used to. Who flinch less when he touches their hand in public. Who ask to walk the gardens alone and always come back.

Warlord!David who notices how they still wear rings. Not his. Family ones. Royal ones. Too delicate for war. Too heavy for anyone else to carry.

“You’re still mourning,” he says once. “No,” they reply. “I’m still remembering.”

Heir!Angel who learns he likes his tea strong, his shirts undone, and his hands in their hair when no one’s watching.

Warlord!David who learns they like poetry with wine, silence before bed, and kisses pressed to the corner of their mouth, not their lips. Not yet.

Heir!Angel who watches him at war councils, sharp-eyed, back straight, fingers stained with ink.

Warlord!David who watches them from the other end of the table and feels the weight of something far more dangerous than hate.

“You’re learning to love me,” he says one night. “No,” they whisper. “I’m learning to survive you.”

But their hands are on his chest. And their voice cracks.

And he knows: That’s enough—for now.

sorrynopiforyou

sorry if i'm gonna be quiet for a while. my country recently introduced laws that make it so that in order to use social media to the fullest (not being able to view ns/fw content and in a few cases, not even having access to dms), i HAVE to give the sites my id/face scan.

it goes into effect july 25th. it'll probably effect here too, since this place allows mature content (tho not full on ns/fw)

i'm very distressed about it bc i might end up not even being able to talk to my internet friends. i don't really have any irl ones

if i have to disappear on most socials by then, you know why.

sorrynopiforyou

if you're in the uk like i am there IS a petition to sign on the official gov petitions website asking to consider repealing this law. it currently has almost 8k signatures and needs 10k in order for the government to even acknowledge it (and 100k for them to debate it)

idk if i can post it here but please... go sign it! and go write to your local mp if possible. they need to realize how dangerous this law is going to be for uk citizens online. it doesn't protect children, it's just privacy invading AND a huge security risk to boot

sorrynopiforyou

and if you are NOT in the uk, spread the word around! especially let any uk moots you know about it

cosmiccatboyfriend

We want the Government to repeal the Online Safety act.

IF YOU ARE A BRITISH CITIZEN OR UK RESIDENT ONLY PLEASE CONSIDER SIGNING!!!

kabsey

Dorian: Neve says you can communicate with Solas through some kind of mental link.

Rook: Yep.

Dorian: How extraordinary! Would you be willing to pass on a message for me?

Rook: I guess so.

Dorian: Marvelous. Then kindly tell him that I said the following: “Go fuck yourself with that splintery, moldy stick you call a staff until it breaks off in your arse, you ancient bald twat.” Did you get all that?

Rook: I got the gist.

Dorian: No, no, that won’t do. Here, let me write it down for you. Tarquin! Do you have a quill handy? It’s very important.

nightteyess

pretty sure this trilogy changed my dna

stolligaseptember

king damianos of akielos, thinking about the love of his life;

scottbaiowulf-deactivated201805

Male writers writing female characters:

“Cassandra woke up to the rays of the sun streaming through the slats on her blinds, cascading over her naked chest. She stretched, her breasts lifting with her arms as she greeted the sun. She rolled out of bed and put on a shirt, her nipples prominently showing through the thin fabric. She breasted boobily to the stairs, and titted downwards.”

m1ssc0mmun1cat10n

‘ She breasted boobily to the stairs, and titted downwards’ is the greatest fucking sentence I have ever read.

silly-activites

THE ORIGINAL??

atomicrebelfire

Not Everything Is Forgiven. But Everything Is Seen.

When I first picked up Captive Prince, I didn’t expect to love it. Honestly? It sat in my TBR for years, I thought it would be too dark for me. The early chapters — the rape, the violence, the humiliation — made me uncomfortable, and rightly so. I don’t like stories that romanticize those things. But this one… didn’t. It didn’t excuse anything. It transcended the tropes by making you sit with them. Examine them. And question your own instincts and morals while doing it.

Because it’s not a story that’s clean. It’s a story that makes you bleed. And think.

You start the series seeing Damen as the moral center — strong, honorable, wronged. And you see Laurent as cruel, manipulative, cold. But slowly, painfully, that view begins to shift. You start seeing the cracks under Laurent’s armor. The panic attacks. The silences. The sharpness used not to harm but to survive. You realize he isn’t just cruel — he’s caged. Just as much as Damen is. One literal. One emotional. Both captive princes.

And then Marlas happens. Laurent stands where his brother was killed, and Damen in hope and out of guilt tries to justify and says, “He died fast. It was fair.” And Laurent says, “Like gutting a pig?” “A fair fight?” said Laurent, turning back to him. “No fight’s ever fair. Someone’s always stronger.” And just like that, Damen — and the audience — sees it. Sees that his idea of honor doesn’t mean anything to someone who lost everything. Sees that he’s not the only one who’s been hurting.

That moment flips the story. It shatters Damen’s sense of moral superiority. Damen isn’t just the noble hero anymore. He’s privileged. Blind. Learning. And Laurent? He’s still angry. Still manipulative. But now he’s human. You feel for him. You ache for him. You understand him. You see how hurt he is.

And even without forgiveness, you watch love grow.

That’s the heart of it: Laurent never truly forgives Damen. Damen never fully forgets what Laurent did. But they see each other. They understand. And they choose each other anyway.

“There are acts that cut too deep to ever be forgiven, but even those don’t erase the person we choose to love.”

Even before trust, even before affection, there was integrity. When Laurent tries to help Damen escape, It’s principled. That moment is so small, but it echoes through the entire series. It’s a decision rooted in justice and personal code. It's deliberate act of mercy. When Damen stays to fight beside Laurent, it’s not about strategy. It’s about recognizing someone fighting a battle they shouldn’t have to fight alone. It's choosing the right over wrong.

These weren’t acts of devotion. They were choices made from who they are, not how they feel. And that made what came later mean more.

And when love does come — it isn’t loud. It isn’t declared. It’s shown in what they do.

Laurent kneels at Kingsmeet, risking everything, not for his kingdom — but for Damen. Damen, in turn, sides with Laurent against his own brother. Against his legacy. No promises. No “I love you.” Just devotion in action.

They redefined what loyalty means — Not submission. Not blind trust. But choosing someone over and over again, even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts. Even when you think they’ll never choose you back.

This isn’t a love story about redemption. It’s a love story about recognition. It says, “I know what you’ve done. I know what it cost. And I still want you.”

That’s not fantasy. That’s real. That’s brutal. That’s earned.

And it makes you look at the world differently. At forgiveness. At hurt. At love. At how important staying true to your morals is, even at the cost too high. At how easy it is to walk away when something is hard — and how powerful it is to stay, even when staying hurts.

Damen and Laurent didn’t fall in love because it was easy. They fell in love because they chose to keep walking, long after most people would’ve stopped.

And that? That stays with you. And maybe the most extraordinary thing is… I don’t even think of this story only as a queer romance. It is queer. That part is real, and vital. But at its core, what Captive Prince gave us was something even broader and more devastating — A story about two people, caught in a violent, unjust, and rotten world, who had every reason to hate each other… and chose not to.

It’s about survival. About power, pain, and integrity. About choosing someone — not because it’s easy, but because you see them.

This love wasn’t framed by identity. It was framed by hurt, and history, and a decision to stay anyway.

P.S. This series made us think. It made us frown. It broke our hearts. It made our eyes sting and our throats tighten. And if we’d had Laurent’s POV even once? It would’ve shattered us completely. Because we already felt everything he never said. And we still stayed, too.

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