#ANYWAY I AM BACK ON MY BULLSHIT

[storiesofsvu]

Elizabeth Marvel.

[luxxuryycar]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Bullet Train (2022) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lemon/Tangerine, Lemon & Tangerine Additional Tags: there will simply never be enough post canon content for them, anyway y'all know the drill, trans tangerine etc, even though there's no smut in this one Summary:

Tangerine turns his head and exhales smoke from his cigarette away from him, and the movement draws Lemon’s eyes to his partner’s throat and the bandage stretched across it to hide the ugly wound there. His gaze lingers long enough that Tangerine catches him staring and gives him a little crooked smile. The expression is incongruous with what Lemon’s thinking so it takes him a moment to notice the rest of Tangerine, his lean frame wrapped in the jacket Lemon had bought for himself two days ago using their savings, because his coat had been left on the Shinkansen and he’d needed a new one. He can’t remember his partner borrowing it, but Tangerine’s always had quick hands and Lemon doesn’t mind, anyway.

-

Morning in Kyoto, after the train.

[seijorhi]

the idea of oikawa not being ready when he meets his soulmate.

it isn't that he thinks you're not good enough, not pretty enough, not right for him, it's just that oikawa wasn't expecting to find you so soon.

soulmates are forever, you'll be there waiting for him when all's said and done, but his career in volleyball – it won't be. he's young, fit and hungry for it; in his absolute prime, but if he doesn't put in the effort now, give it everything, 100% of what he has... it'll slip right through his fingers.

he can't risk that.

there's a strange sort of desperation that tugs at his chest when he tries to explain, to get you to understand it. it's a sacrifice you'll both be making for the sake of the career he's dreamed of his whole life.

the way your smile slowly slips away when you realise he's not asking for you to be patient and give him grace when his focus is more on volleyball than you, he's saying he can't have you around at all, because you will distract him.

he'd lose himself in you.

it's not forever, he stresses, only a little while. you're perfect, and in a year or two when he's more settled in his role, the starting setter on the right team, heading to the championships, he'll be there to give you everything you deserve. no – more. he'll make it up to you, all he's asking for (but he's not really asking, is he) is a bit of time and space.

the light dims in your eyes, a strange, glassy look taking over, and slowly, so fucking slowly, you pull your hands from his, let them fall weakly to your side. it takes a monumental effort to not snatch them back up.

'yeah, okay.'

the expression on your face is all wrong, your voice almost robotic, but oikawa knows it's the right thing. you'll forgive him, because that's what soulmates do. you'll forgive him and then fall even more in love with him and oikawa will spend every damn day showering you in the love and affection he can. he'll drown you in it.

just give him this. let him give everything to volleyball, before he shares himself with you.

—

you're a little too good at it.

it's harder than he expected, going no contact. he was the one who wanted it – needed it, really, for this to work – but there'd been a small part of him that sort of hoped you'd ignore what he wanted and reach out anyway. he'd imagined sneaking a quick peek at his phone during a water break to see a message from you, something simple, casual, a 'hope things are good!' or 'i caught some of the game last week'. was it unfair of him to want you keeping track of him? to see how far he'd come in the days, weeks, months since he'd asked for time?

it's like an itch under his skin, and it grows. a few of his new teammates have met their soulmates, carry the marks to show for it. they're all smug as fuck about it, but the thing is whenever their soulmates are watching from the stands, they play with a different kind of fire. they're better. envy burns watching them celebrate afterwards, all hungry kisses and smiles too fucking big.

he knows you'd be there too if you could. you'd be there every damn game, all of their practices too, cheering him on. his biggest fan.

it's an ache. he goes home to an empty apartment, better than the one he had when he met you, in a nicer part of town, but no less lifeless. there's no one to welcome him home, to wrap him up in a hug, kiss him how he likes and soothe away the days stresses. no one to warm his bed, no other pussy'll ever be as tempting as yours.

i miss you.

i'm thinking of you.

would it kill you to break his rules and reach out every now and then? to give him some kind of sign that this distance was driving you half as crazy as it was him?

are you trying to punish him?

it occurs to him that you probably don't have his phone number. it shouldn't have stopped you, because it wouldn't've stopped him.

—

the first time he tries to follow your instagram you block his account.

it's irritating, until he remembers that you're probably trying to abide by his rules. he can't exactly get mad at you for that, tries not to, and instead does what any sane man missing his soulmate would do; creates a fake account, steals a picture from one of his sister's friends and uses that as his profile pic – even goes so far as to follow a bunch of your friends’ accounts too, just so it doesn't look suspicious or weird when he follows you too.

and for a little while, it's enough. he can see what you're up to, who you're hanging out with, where you're going. he'll watch all your stories, your friends’ stories, just for a few seconds of you.

(maybe strokes his cock to a few of them, cums in his sheets gasping your name.)

you're being patient, he's being good, it's only for a few more months, he can last a little longer–

there's a new post on your insta, a snap of you and some asshole with his arm wrapped around your waist, your lips pressed to his cheek.

'Happy six months, love you a little more every day!'

[wasyago]

we're at it again🕺

[sketchy-tour]

My country music playlist began playing and now it's yalls problem too

[sobselpop]

Puppeteered by somebody else

Lowkey maybe totally inspired by this masterpiece by the amazing @joycew-art

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Okay I’m back home and I’m back in business babes. I was BUSy.

Das me.

[docholligay]

It's Hanukkah, it's the New Year.

I know a lot of people are afraid of 2025. It's a difficult thing. I feel afraid sometimes, too.

Everything breaks, everything passes, nothing lasts.

But it's Hanukkah. And Hanukkah starts in the dark. There's just the shamash, that first night, that first match, and it has to bend, for the other candles.

There's a moment, when you touch the shamash to another candle, and it dims, giving its light to another. I wonder if that's frightening for the candle, to know that it's giving of itself, not knowing if the other candle will light, cognizant of the strength of the dark, and of the fact that a candle's life is only so long.

But you do it anyway. You do it even if there's a wind, you do it even if the cats are nosing around, you do it against the darkness. Because, if that candle never bends, and if we never have the courage to light another, if we never have the courage to be lit, then the dark will stay. if we can light up that palpable, oppressive darkness, in one small room, in one small way, even for a little bit, we can give a glow to see by until the sun comes up.

Because everything passes, even the storm. Everything breaks, even the cold. Nothing lasts, not even the night.

I am only one person. But I have a choice, in how I live my life. And I choose to live it, as a person who will not be cowed by the darkness. If my candle is the only candle lit, I will know I did something. I would rather fight the darkness and fail, then sit in the dark waiting for a hero.

But I promise you, no single drop thinks it is responsible for the flood. You are more powerful than you know. It's only a spark that starts a fire. It's only a seed that grows a tree. You were born to create a better world that you may never see, but will hold the fingerprints of your courage.

Happy Hanukkah. Happy New Year.

I promise to bend to light you, if you promise to stay lit.

[johnnyy-guitarr]

yeah i don't fucking know either - enjoy !!! 🖤

[silvers-starrway]

~ Respite ~

[catzgam3rz]

"Goop this one up Motherfucker"

[errorkey]

fang tries to be aloof and play it cool when he's around tan, but i know who he really is (an emotional idiot without an outlet to express his deep obsession with his boyfriend)

[campbyler]

heads up that i will be using chapter 10.2 to promote my mike and mitchell best friends forever agenda thanks

[maulfucker]

just rembered I was gonna say. it could've been so so funny if Maul had decided to steal Obi-Wan's "girlfriend" instead of killing her in front of him - heartbreak may not be the strongest pain, but it would last longer than grief. he can behave when he has to, and he certainly can behave as more diplomatic than Vizsla, making himself the lesser of two evils for her. and in exchange for her hand, he will return the throne of Mandalore for its rightful ruler. he insists on inviting Obi-Wan to the wedding just to make him uncomfortable. somehow Obi-Wan ends up dragged into their "honeymoon night" (debating politics, business, ethics and other "fun" topics in varying states of undress). (it's unexpectedly actually fun because they are like a trio of angels and demons on each other's shoulders.) he fails to leave before sunrise and gets spotted by the staff delivering breakfast in bed. rumors are uncertain on whose lover he is - the duchess's, her new consort's, or both. Obi-Wan hates it. Maul hates it too, but he leans into it because making Obi-Wan uncomfortable is like microdosing revenge. Satine is equal parts delighted and scandalized.

[nightmareonpeachstreet]

I made this post before we knew Focalors and Furina were different people, and the fact I still find it accurate to Focalors but not Local Fatui Harbinger Fucker Furina is rly funny to me

It is my humble opinion that Focalors and Arlecchino WOULD argue about who is worse for Furina, tho

[bitternace]

WHY ARE YOU SO EVIL!!! /POS. ATTACKING YOU.

Xemnas and Xigbar for 37 if that number hasn't been done? If it has, how about 74?

no puedo pedirle lo eterno a un simple mortal // ay, todo lo que he hecho por ti.

[ID: a mostly black and white drawing with a purple overlay of xigbar and xemnas shown from the hip up on the left side of the image. the background is black and has some diagonal lines with a bit of transparency on the right side. the shadows are harsh, with only a bit of light falling on their faces.

they stand before each other turned to the audience. xigbar, holds the handle and the middle of No Name before him, head tilted down as he looks to the audience. xemnas stands a full head taller behind xigbar, his left hand held some distance below the bladed tip of No Name, his left eye is covered by his fringe.

xemnas visible eye is painted ochre with a white pupil, while xigbar's eye is white and gold. The eyes on no name's handle and the gazing eye on the blade are a vibrant cyan. the caption reads the spanish lyrics "i can't ask a simple mortal for a forever" and "oh, everything i've done for you." /End ID.]

close-up under keep reading.