but only black and white is boring

the only reason people like this think turning characters into nazis or imagining what would happen if the south won the civil war is interesting is bc they dont face the issues that are still very real today that came from them? bc antisemitism and racism definitely did not go away and anyone with a goddamn brain can see that. jewish people and black people can Definitely see that, given that they’re forced to face that reality every day. so instead of uplifting them, ignorant white dudes are like “hmmm. what if i wrote about this thing inconveniencing Me?” and its literally so boring and offensive to the people who are still dealing with this

leading white women are about as impactful as leading white men at this point because not only is a leading white woman played out when 99.9% of the time an actress of color is being screwed over for the part but also because it’s the same movie being made countless times regardless of the gender lmao like that’s mad boring, i’ll give white leading ladies some cookies when the movies are original and we have black and brown women leading in just as many, preferably more, movies with better stories so yeah lol

Y’all The Flash’s summer hiatus got me bored as hell, so… I got to thinking about what superficial cultural impacts Barry faced being raised in a Black household. Like, who cuts that white man’s version of a fade he rocks and hooks up those perfectly arched eyebrows? ‘Cause I’ve never seen a white man walk out of Supercuts looking so clean. Does Barry know how to do The Electric Slide and all other variations of said dance, including but not limited to the Cha Cha Slide, The Wobble, and The Cupid Shuffle? Does he know all the words to at least one Al Green or Stevie Wonder song and have All My Life by K-Ci & JoJo on his sexy time playlist? Does he know not to eat the potato salad at the family reunion if cousin Trina decided she wanted to try her hand at it this year, even though through the years the only thing she’s ever brought is store brand soda? Did Iris teach him not to touch a Black woman’s hair? 

Amren is Manon

Okay, so I just finished reading both series and I was already speculating what Amren was when I read that SJM had told one of her readers already and they had freaked out. This means that we must already know what sort of creature Amren is without needing much more explanation. I also read that SJM confirmed that ACOTAR and TOG are in the same megaverse, so their separate dimensions can hypothetically be reached through, say, a wyrdgate. 

Therefore, after careful deliberation and mulling over each character, all still fresh in my mind I have come to the conclusion that the best bet for what Amren’s true form is…. Manon.

Keep in mind, this would be Manon thousands of years after the war with Erawan in which she fell through a wyrdgate into the ACOTAR world as the cauldron was creating it. She was then trapped there and ensnared into a Fae body and went berserk, doing enough wrong to get her sent to The Prison. When she escaped, she knew that by now, Dorian and all her friends were probably long dead but never lost hope of returning to her realm. 

There are a couple different points to back up my theory: 

1. The blood drinking (emphasized by her particular love for goat blood which is what she and the Thirteen hunted and ate while in the Ferian Gap) 

2. Her disinterest in other people, especially advances from men as (hopefully) she is still harboring her love for Dorian perhaps and not wanting to bother with the fae of this realm when her heart belongs in another dimension 

3. She can read the Book of Breathings, written in a long forgotten language that everyone had forgotten. However, perhaps with everything in the war, Manon learned to read Wyrdmarks, as it was necessary for winning, and never quite forgot how to decipher it. Though after thousands of years she needed to brush up a bit before being able to read and translate the book. Or it could just be the dialect of Erilea that she has forgotten over the millenniums and must now remember how she had talked, and how she had read, feeling more and more sorry for Elide as she struggled to remember the way words were spelled and how the letters looked because she hadn’t realized how difficult it was to not be able to read.

4. Her automatic softness towards Feyre after she opened up about what happened with her family and what Tamlin had done to her, reminding Amren of a girl, thousands of years ago in another dimension who had also been abused and treated wrongly. So she gave Feyre the amulet to help her without even knowing her more than twenty-four hours. She just couldn’t help herself, there was so much Elide in that thin, Tamlin-wrecked girl that arrived at the House of Wind.

5. The fae body she is trapped in is the exact opposite from Manon’s, “several inches shorter than me [Feyre], her chin-length black hair glossy and straight, her skin tan and smooth and her face - pretty, bordering on plain - was bored’. This is in direct contrast to Manon, who has long, white hair, and a pale complexion, also quoted by Dorian that ‘he’d never seen anyone so beautiful’. Not to mention the eyes, Amren’s silver eyes battling with Manon’s deep gold. Whatever spell trapped her in that body, made her the opposite of what she once was, forcing her to hate this cage not only for the Fae exterior but the lie is portrayed over her once revered beauty. 

6. She joins a court that can fly so that she might once again feel the wind in her hair after so many years under a mountain in the dark. Also reminding her of her Thirteen, cleaved apart before darkness could claim them and away from her Abraxos who is left without a rider for the remainder of his life. But if I go too much into this one I’m gonna cry.

7. The jewelry ties into it somehow, probably. I’m thinking that she went through the wyrdgate using either The Amulet of Orynth or the Eye of Elena and it somehow got lost in transit. She had idly mentioned she was looking for a rare piece of jewelry once to Dorian and he has been buying the rarest pieces he can find for her ever since, knowing it is to somehow help her return. 

I’m not 100% sure where the powers came from, perhaps simply appearing in this realm or coming with the body, maybe gifted to her from Dorian, or honed from millennia in The Prison. Or any other twist SJM wants to play. 

TL/DR Amren is Manon trapped in another dimension, in another body, apart from everyone she loves and has been trying to get back to for the past five thousand years + 

My Fake Boyfriend Part 6

Summary: After receiving a very rude letter of your ex on the mail saying that he is going to get married. You see yourself not knowing what to do, you can just let it go or accept the help of your hot neighbor and pretend he is your boyfriend.

Paring: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2350

Warnings: Angst, fuffly

A/n: Thanks to @drinkfantasy for being my beta. You rock.

Originally posted by itsmaleficentbitch

You woke up feeling different, you felt lighter and happier. It has been a long time since you last felt this way, you look at the clock and it’s 8 a.m. then you look at Bucky who is sleeping peacefully under you.

Something has changed since last night, you don’t know exactly what but it feels distinct. You stay in Bucky’s arms for a while longer; at this point you are used to cuddling up with him. However, you were never the one to initiate it… until now.

You softly trace your fingers on his jawline, making sure to not disturb him still. You kiss his forehead, getting up looking at him one last time.

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Petname Babygirl II pt.3

yoongi x reader

genre: filth..fluff? I don’t know except for the smut, dom!yoongi

this chapter contains a bit of everything, I guess

word count: 10.6k

Your business trip involved boring meetings, some time for yourself and you being naked and tied up underneath your boss.

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Million Dollar View

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Request: “Can i request when the reader is insecure about her breast not being full and big like ideal girls but she has a nice butt and seb or Bucky show her breast aren’t all that ;)” - @cute-but-psychoxx

Word Count: 4241

Warning: smut, insecurity

Thank you for the request! I got a little carried away with it because I loved it so much haha! Hope you enjoy!<3

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When We Collide (Part 9)

Pairing: Assistant!Y/N/CEO!Luke

Rating: NC-17

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: He is the definition of high class smart ass, swimming in Dom Pierre Pérignon champagne and has never seen the shadow of poverty. She is underprivileged, lives in a messy dorm room on sale and struggles working as an assistant after being thrown out of college. But how will they collide when Luke makes Y/N pregnant after a drunkenly one night stand?

When We Collide on Wattpad

”Ow Luke, what the fuck!”

Your voice was so loud by the sudden shock going through your body once you felt two fingers pinch you in the side, looking up to see him storm right beside you and towards the door that lead down to the Gynecology & Obstetrics department.

“Oh yeah thanks, hello to you too.” You mumbled in disbelief and removed yourself from the waiting booth to head towards him and keep up with his long legs.

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Cousin Ian

“When I was 5, I would visit my aunt Rosemary for holiday. I was flown out from North Carolina all the way over to Vermont. So, it’s the day before Christmas. My aunt Rosemary takes me, my little sister, and my cousin Katy to this weird barn show. I wasn’t really interested in it until I was told there would be horses.

As expected, the whole thing was pretty damn boring. The only fun part was when we got on the hay ride, and aunt rosemary would not stop cracking jokes that were probably funny when she was a teenager.

This part is interesting. The hay ride ends, we get out of the horse-drawn cart and head into the little diner. Aunt Rosemary said she was going to order us some grub, while cousin Katy was busy chatting with her friends.

I remember sitting down in front of a checker board table, with a set of black and white chips to the side. I was staring at the board for maybe two minutes, when I heard someone start to talk to me.

I looked up, and didn’t recognise the man. ‘I’m cousin Ian!! Wanna play a game of checkers?’

I mean, of course I said yes. He said he was my cousin and he was away for a long time, not only that, but I REALLY wanted to play checkers.Ten minutes later of me dicking my way through the game, and Ian allowing me to do so, I finally got all of his white checkers off the board. I celebrated my victory, as he ruffled my head, and told me he had to go.

Years later, when I was 12, I brought the story up to my aunt Rosemary, asking if she remember cousin Ian.

‘Of course I remember Ian,’ she started.

‘He died 13 years ago.’”

By: @my-galaxy00

ok i thought i was finished ranting but im not

the more I read from the side of the writers, the more it becomes clear that they really don’t care about quality

If you look at the Overwatch canon - and I really mean just the canon - it’s bad. It’s just really, really bad.

Overwatch is two dozen clichés slapped onto a decent first-person-shooter. The characters are shallow and trite, any originality seems accidental.

We all make fun of the fact that McCree dresses up and acts like a cowboy in 2076, but from a purely objective point of view, he doesn’t fit into that universe.
Neither do Hanzo and Genji with their names and traditions that date about 500 years into Japan’s past.
Soldier 76 is the epitome of an overdone character trope, Reaper is the most stereotypical bad guy villain you could possibly make up. 76 is dressed in red white and blue, Reaper gets the “black = evil” look down to an inch.
Tracer and Widowmaker were designed to be jerk-off material and the former being lesbian is only thanks to massive fan involvement.

All the major characters are painfully overdone and boring and the few that are interesting from the start have so little in the way of content that it feels like the writers just don’t know what to do with potentially exciting characters.

So here’s the thing, and I’m speaking purely for myself here,

Here’s what made Overwatch into one of the greatest, most diverse and creative fandoms I’ve ever been in: The fans.

I didn’t get into Overwatch because I thought “man, I really miss Supernatural, where else can I get bad writing and boring characters”
I didn’t want to get into Overwatch because nothing about the official material appealed to me in any way, shape or form, but I was dragged in by what the fans made of that material.

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Across the Stars, Chapter 5

Prologue   Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8

AN: Here you are! It’s a day late, but I had some things to take care of last night. I’m so glad you all are enjoying it! I realize this one is a bit shorter, but I felt like the last line was such a perfect place to end it! Don’t forget to like/reblog/reply <3

Rhys cursed under his breath as he stepped into the cool, marble tiled elevator of the ritzy apartment building. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket, blinking away the image he’d seen the night before, blinking away the fact that he hadn’t been able to get that girl from the coffee shop out of his mind while he was on top of Amarantha. It was a terrible, terrible thing that such a beautiful image would pervade such an ugly space, such an ugly event. The last thing in the world that he wanted was to link having sex with Amarantha to the thought of Feyre.

At least she’d allowed him to be the one to show up at Tamlin’s door and warn him of the upcoming deadline. He straightened his shoulders, flexing his hands and setting his mouth into a firm, disinterested line. He hadn’t seen that blond bastard in five years, hadn’t seen him since Amarantha plowed into their lives and grabbed them all by the throats. She hadn’t wanted them to come across each other. She knew they’d rip each other to shreds, and so she’d forbidden them from even crossing paths.

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Hands off my girl


Part 2!

Originally posted by teenwolf

Prompt:  After receiving kisses from two boys, the day takes a turn.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x female!reader x Theo Raeken

Word Count: 2176

Warnings: angst, fluff, kissing, Stiles being violent, Theo being cocky, italics used are the readers thoughts and gif used isn’t mine!

Authors note: I stayed up late to post this! Sorry if some parts don’t make sense, I’m very tired! This is for my Teen Wolf buddy @honeystilinski! I hope it’s worth the wait and that you enjoy it! :) x

Tagged: @loveitsallineed @xxtaylorsingerxx @louise-specter @deals-with-demons

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Tired of Gray

Originally posted by raittos

Jack Frost x Reader

Tired of Gray

Prompt: I saw that you write imagines for Jack Frost. Would it be alright if I requested the soulmate AU where you only see color when you meet your soulmate with him, please?

Your whole life, you knew there was someone out there meant for you. Someone who would turn this dull colorless world into something breathtaking. Something amazing. And yet, as you sat in your boring Algebra II class watching the first snow of the year drift down on the quiet town, you had a feeling that waiting for that special someone was only going to get harder as time went on.

Some people waited pretty much their whole lives to find their soulmate.

Jack Frost went under the ice in a black and white world. When he resurfaced, it seemed that even his eternal afterlife was stuck in a dull shade of gray. Couldn’t the man in the moon have had some mercy on him? He had already lost so much, couldn’t he have been given one thing?

And so Jack, trapped in his dull world, tried to entertain himself as best he could by making mischief and causing snowfalls. Though only briefly, his fun-filled days kept him occupied. But after three hundred years, how much longer could he take this?


After school finally came to an end, you bundled up before venturing out into the cold. The walk home wasn’t very long, and on gorgeous days like this, you almost looked forward to it. The air around you seemed to tingle in anticipation. You didn’t know why, but today felt different. Today felt…important. It felt good.

You walked into your gray house and set your gray backpack on the gray chair. You sat through a gray dinner and watched some gray TV shows. Then, you went up to your gray room and changed into gray pajamas.

It wasn’t even until you were climbing into your gray bed that you heard the noise in the yard. Now, any sane person would write a noise like this off and get into bed. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling deep inside that something was about to change. Something big. And you hoped it had to do with your eyesight because you were getting sick and tired of varying shades of gray.

You quietly crept down the stairs and out into the yard. Your boots crunched in the fresh snow. Large white flakes drifted down all around you, some of them settling into your hair while others fell into the sheet beneath you.

“Hello?” Your voice was tentative, quiet, almost immediately swallowed up by the silence all around you. The bright full moon shone in the velvet sky, surrounded by glittering stars. Even in black and white, a night like tonight was still stunning.

You spun around, and when you did, you were met with about the last thing you expected to see. There was a spritz of sparkles in your vision and then an explosion of color. And then…there he was.


Jack couldn’t describe what had brought him to the backyard he was standing in. He couldn’t tell you if you asked why he had ventured there. But deep in his heart, he knew it was finally time. And when you turned around and his eyes met yours, the world around him burst into brilliant blues.

The way you were looking at him told him you were seeing the same thing for the first time in your life: color. And also: himself. That brought about another point. You could see him.

“You can…you can see me?” He whispered excitedly, taking a few steps closer.

In your state of shock, you could only nod as you stared into his icy eyes. They were the most amazing shade of blue you had ever seen, and they sparkled like the freshly fallen snow that was sitting all around you. His white hair was arranged in disarray, a chaotic mess that seemed to defy logic. And good God, his voice made you want to melt like an icicle in the sun.

“I-I think so, yeah. Unless this is an awesome dream, I mean. But uh, yeah. I can.” You replied. He tried to keep his cool, but he couldn’t help the thrilled smile that took over his handsome features.

“You have no idea,” his voice was hoarse and he took heavy steps towards you. You could swear there were tears in his eyes, “how long I have waited to meet you.”

“I’m (Y/N),” you told him.

“Jack. Frost.” He took a few more steps towards you. Your hands tentatively rose to his pale cheeks, warm fingers brushing against his chilly skin. You shivered, instead resting both of your hands on the fabric of his blue sweatshirt. His fingers tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and moments later, his cold lips pressed a long kiss to your forehead. Then, after a patch of silent eye contact, you gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a real kiss. It was cold, but pleasantly so.

“Jack Frost as in the Jack Frost?”

“Yeah,” he smirked, looking down at you. His hands had found places on your cheeks, thumbs gently stroking your soft skin. No one had ever looked at you like this. Like you were their entire world. But you wouldn’t complain. You liked it more than you cared to admit. “Is that a problem?”

“Not necessarily.” You let your hands wander down his chest and then sneak around his torso. God, it felt good to let him hold you. He held you closer and tighter than anyone ever had, desperate not to let you slip away somehow. He had waited for you for centuries, and now here you finally were. He sure as hell wasn’t going to take you for granted. Ever. “As long as you can still show up in the summer and spring and fall, that is.”

He chuckled, and you fell in love with the sound of his laugh.

“I think that could be arranged.”

Clap of Thunder, Usnavi de la Vega x Reader

Prompt:  Hi there ! I know it’s not really a prompt but could you do a usnavi x reader soulmate au ?

Word-count: 1,933 (Woo, boy I was cutting it close.)

Warnings: Like, maybe one curse word? I think? Also, angst. The dark blue, silkier kind. 

Note: Lol I’m not at a hundred, although I’m supposed to post this when I reach a hundred. I couldn’t wait. 

This stuff is angsty, I gotta warn you now. It has a happy ending, don’t worry, but don’t expect the regular sunny Usnavi (this functions a bit as a character study in that regard). Hope you enjoy the trash! 

P.S.: I referenced a fic on ao3 for the mantra, thought I would put it out there!

When it all came down to it, Usnavi was practical.

See, people would say differently; his own childish idealism when it came to the distant seas and golden, sun-drenched beaches of his homeland would contrast sharply with his own self-proclamations of pragmatism. But Usnavi rejects the notion that human beings were capable of being either one thing or the other, so he stands in the middle, comfortable if a little tense at times.

(He’d risked the thought that maybe they couldn’t take him all that seriously when he was recklessly awkward and sometimes too sunny, and also a little bit irritating at times. It would fit in with their assumption.) (And not to mention, he was all of those things. But it also happened that he was all of those things and more.)  

If anything, he would say that his pragmatism stemmed from the stiff, black-and-white nature of how he saw things. Quite literally. It was almost ironic, how he could compose soliloquies and sonnets about the beauty of the Dominican Republic (in that he was sure of, never mind the fact that he actually didn’t know what gold or sea foam or crystalline looked like) and the only things he could see on a day to day basis were the endless swatches of gray and coal and white.

He didn’t know which one of his parents bore the deficit, or maybe if it was perhaps both of them, because Abuela Claudia didn’t know, and all the keepsakes his parents had passed on was given to Abuela to filter.

And as much as he liked to believe in the power of things like love and honest goodness and (the reason for his own predicament) soulmates, when you are robbed by loss at such a young age, it’s hard not to keep a reminder around just in case you start selling yourself too hard to whimsical fantasies:

There is more to life than love. There is more to love than joy.

Usnavi kept that reminder close to his chest, and soon it was routine to mutter it to himself, as routine as wiping down the counters of his bodega, as routine as smiling at Vanessa and scolding Sonny as he was, once again, late.

There is more to life than love. There is more to love than joy.

Benny ran to him first when he started seeing color, and Usnavi couldn’t help it, he felt a stab of envy he couldn’t tap down quick enough.

“I see green, man.” Benny breathed, in awe. “And it’s more beautiful than I thought it was going to be.”

“Really?” He couldn’t keep the straight wonder out of his voice.

“It’s almost alive, man. It’s practically breathing.”

“That’s amazing, Benny.” he said, patting his friend on the back. The man barely noticed him, still looking at the overarching planes of grass that stretched before them in the form of Central Park. They were all still varying shades of gray to Usnavi, but undoubtedly they were lush, exuberant hills to Benny now. He took the mantra out of his chest and started again.

There is more to life than love. There is more to love than joy.

Soon enough, the reason for Benny being able to see color was evident in the reappearance of Nina a few weeks later, looking more stressed than anything else but also looking around with wide eyes. She was seeing blue for the first time. On that very same day, their eyes met on the Rosario family dispatch and the burst of color was powerful enough to have them bowl over.

Usnavi wasn’t sure about too many things, but he was sure that he loved Vanessa. Never mind that he’d looked into her eyes and sure enough, he wasn’t able to see color the next second, but at that point, he was used to (and almost content with) living in a monochromatic world, and if he couldn’t have color, he would have Vanessa.

(She ended up finding her soulmate in her next-door neighbor in her new building, a girl named Georgia who owned three cats and had “the nicest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen”, according to Vanessa. Usnavi handled the news, her pitying gaze, with a grain of salt, and the typical repetition:

There is more to life than love. There is more to love than joy.)

He was on his way home from the bodega when it happened.

He had dropped something, a bag of groceries, and he had sighed, looked at the mess and bent down to pick up all that had fallen. He had put away the last carton of milk and was stretching back up to his normal height, but a flash of something stopped him.

The fire hydrant.

Usnavi had to rub at his eyes. There was no way. No.

He waited for the blur in his vision to fade (he had rubbed quite hard) and fixed his gaze on the fire hydrant again. There was no questioning it.

The fire hydrant was no longer gray.

It was angry, and hot, and colored so vividly it stabbed at his eyes. Red, he realized.

How much time he spent staring at that fire hydrant, he didn’t know. It was only when the brilliant light of the sun began to fade that he looked up. God.

There was so much to see.

It was in the middle of October, and almost everything was rendered into differing, varying shades of red. Usnavi stood there for what felt like forever, taking it all in. He recalled what Benny said to him about green.

It’s almost alive, man. It’s practically breathing.”

Perhaps it could apply to others?

He finally started moving, his hands going to his face and feeling a slight jolt at the wetness he found on his cheeks. With a great sniff, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt and departed to his apartment. He had a hell of a lot to tell Sonny.

There was apparently a new girl in town. Usnavi would be more curious about her if she wasn’t moving into Vanessa’s old apartment. (It was still a relatively fresh wound, and even if the telltale sign that his soulmate was near was literally right before his eyes, he had loved Vanessa, and that mattered.)

Sonny had delivered the news to him as he walked in the bodega one morning, as late as he ever was. He had talked to her, because he was Sonny and that was what he did.

“Really pretty,” Sonny said, hopping onto the counter Usnavi just wiped. “Really friendly. Also, single.”

Usnavi rolled his eyes. “I’ll consider it then,” he said, not really meaning it.

The next day however, he was at the doorstep of the aforementioned new girl, holding a cup of coffee and a pastry, hoping to be some kind of welcome wagon. He pressed the buzzer multiple times but to no avail. Instead, he dropped off the to-go cup and the pastry (it was in a bag anyway,) on the doormat.

He looked at the cup again, thinking. Before he could second-guess himself, he picked it back up, fumbled for the Sharpie he always kept in his pocket, and scrawled on the cup:

Hi there!

Consider this a Welcome to the Neighborhood gift.

The bodega across the street

He walked back, waving to anyone who stopped and said hello. The bell above the door tinkled as he made his entrance.

Sonny’s head popped up from behind the counter.

“Any luck?”

Usnavi shook his head. Sonny bit down on his bottom lip, but did not press the issue.

He’s only been seeing red recently. Benny said that he was supposed to be seeing more by now. Usnavi paid it no mind. The old mantra was still being put to use, although it was starting to rust a little.

There is more to life than love. There is more to love than joy.

He heard you before he saw you.

“Yeah, hi, is this, um, ‘the bodega across the street’? Okay, wow that was dumb. It’s just that, um, someone left coffee and a donut on my doorstep and it said it was from the bodega across the street and I checked and this was the bodega across the street and anyway—“

“Yes, we are indeed the, uh, ‘bodega across the street’.” Sonny said, amused. “Excuse the mystery, my cousin wrote that on your cup.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Can you tell your cousin ‘Thank you’? He didn’t have to do that, and it was honestly really nice that he did.”

Usnavi, all the while, was making another cup of coffee completely identical to the one he left on the doormat. He couldn’t understand what suddenly came over him, but he had heard you, and you sounded lovely, and all he knew was that he wanted to hear more. He was hastily pouring on foam when he heard Sonny say:

“Will that be all?”

“Yeah, that’d be all.”

Without thinking, he burst out of the back of the shop.


Sonny was smirking, and the cash register was open, the money already half-way into it, but his eyes sought out yours.

It was as sudden as a clap of thunder.

One minute, all was as it normally was, if for the stray shocks of red that stood out from the bleak backdrop of gray and black and white he was for so long accustomed to. He had so long settled himself into that world, had so long contented himself to that world completely devoid of color save for a scant handful. He had convinced himself, after all, that things like the promise of soulmates were seductive but seemed more distant than the Dominican Republic ever was. He had made peace with that didn’t he?

What was that old epithet he had attached to his heart the minute he understood that things like love and honest goodness and soulmates had the potential to turn on you as easily as they could welcome you with open arms?

“It’s you,”

And then the curse is broken, and he is looking at you, and the world is awash with life and renewed and reborn, and you are at the very center of it, with your eyes and your hair and your skin.

He stepped forward, slipped, because he had dropped the coffee the minute his eyes met yours and also because he is Usnavi and this kind of shit always happened. Sonny caught him around the waist and hauled him up, and when he felt himself stable enough, he planted his hands on the counter for extra leverage, and looked at you again.

There were tears in your (wonderful, wonderful) eyes as you looked back at him, and you were shaky on your feet (although you were certainly much more balanced than he was).

“It’s you,” you said. He nodded, trying to get rid of the molasses sticking the sides of his throat together.

He stuck his hand out, remembering to pass it along his pant leg to take off the sheen of cold sweat, cleared his throat. “Usnavi,” he said.

Your smile was bright, as bright as the yellow dress you wore. “Y/N,” you said, your hand slipping into his and a shock of pure, undiluted fire passed through him.

The laugh of absolute jubilation that escaped him was as irrepressible as the tears streaming down his face.

“Wonderful,” he said, ignoring Sonny and hopping over the counter. He grabbed your other hand.



oh my god @mayor-mami 😂

i didnt think this would turn out so extra

btw the black and white one was a glitch but it looks kinda cool so in it goes


Dressed like a daydream

Characters: Hoseok & OC

Setting: Royalty au, Cinderella au

Genre: adventure, fluff, romance, humour

Words: 10354

Prompt: Cinderella did not come to the party to enjoy it, but is instead an assassin tasked to kill the prince. (cr.) / I  snuck into the castle to kill you, but wow you’re good with a sword, and I quite like your eyes…

Summary: When the Crown Princess’ best friend agrees to go to the ball instead of her, to kill Prince Hoseok and save her from an arranged marriage, that’s definitely not how she planned this.

Written for @bangtan-bookclub’s May Theme Challenge: Royalty AU

For the sake of the story let’s just accept that all the big Korean cities are autonomous kingdoms, Incheon people are famous for their blonde hair, their style is similar to Disney royalties instead of traditional Korean dressing and wars, assassins, arrange marriages are common things.

Each part’s title is lyrics of Blood, sweat and tears.

Originally posted by sugamysavagebaby

The Royal Family of Gwangju invites you to the Annual Masquerade Ball in celebration of the Prince’s birthday.

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Ten Minutes, Omegaverse

The third chapter! Here it is! Sorry for the delay, I remember that when I wrote this chapter it was the most difficult, it’s a little different from the others, what do you think? As alway thank you so much! Love you all

19 Days, Omegaverse AU

Chapter 3

He Tian x Mo GuanShan

In Between

The world is not just white or black, and as far as this concept for someone is pretty obvious, it is one of those things that He Tian had to learn on his own. Contrary to what many may think, it was a very difficult thing to understand, considering that in his family he was raised with relatively simple concepts: if you’re not strong than you’re weak, if you’re not rich you’re poor, you are someone or you are a nobody… you’re an Alpha, or you are not.

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Ad Hominem

The sight of so much pure white for the first time in three-fourths of a century is enough to give him pause, an involuntary impulse flipping the trigger deep with in his memory unit. Memories flood him unbidden, memories of unholy crucifixion at the hands of a humanoid machine, of the Tower that rose from the earth, a burning flare of mental anguish that ate away at him every step he took closer to the death he so craved, memories of a castle in the sky, its white walls hiding secrets that damned them all, memories of a sword, gleaming, brilliant white, jammed to the hilt in his chest as he couldn’t even let out a scream of pain, just a strained gurgle.

It’s near unnoticeable, but…

He tremors. His bare hands shake over the neatly folded clothing, his pulse rate climbing with each beat of his artificial heart, which was less romantic of a notion as a “heart” and more of a glorified pump system.

Calm down…He shakes his head and grasps his right wrist with his left hand, holding it steady. It’s okay.

Taking a long swallow, he manages to finally touch the garments, ghosting his fingers over the Resistance handy work.

They truly had done so much for him, first by allowing himself and 2B to remain with them even after revealing that YoRHa and what little they had to fight for was all a fabrication to keep them placated, and then by doing this…

They owed the Resistance their lives. Truly, without them, they would have long perished alone in the grand scheme of things.

His fingers massaged the embroidery of the garment as he carefully dressed. They had managed to capture it down to the slightest detail, even down to the slight curvature in the stitching. He expected no less from an android, but he mostly reserved this kind of skill for practical purposes, such as repairing a tent or patching the frayed fabric of someone’s work pants. According to the records, humans wore these kinds of garments only once and wearing them now, he could see why.

He hadn’t worn his YoRHa uniform for quite some time, the very thought sending him into a panic he couldn’t calm despite the soothing words from 2B or his Pod. Sometimes, he would simply bore his eyes into the crumbling concrete walls of their room, lost in memories of anguish and anger.

But this uniform was different. Instead of the stoic black of the YoRHa, he was clad head to toe in the soft, creamy white of marriage. He flexed his fingers, testing the new leather of the gloves. They fit well, almost as well as he remembers his own, which are buried in the deepest part of a box he keeps underneath his bed.

He’s not shaking anymore, he notices as he ties the blindfold over his eyes. He’s forgotten how it used to feel, having abandoned that practice with her years ago, but the symbolism of this moment doesn’t belong to them; it belongs to cultures long since dead and forgotten, relics of the past they deemed worth reviving. At the very least, they wanted something that was uniquely theirs and theirs alone.


She studies the flowers and knows that the voice of a chipper and chatty Operator will soon follow as it is dragged, kicking and screaming, from her memories.

It’s painful, to think about 6O and YoRHa even so long into the past they were. Despite her programming, she still has moments where she believed that 6O was calling her for another one-sided chat, only to remember her death in graphic detail.

The stems of the flowers have been bound together with repurposed cables, the blossoms carefully arranged in the bouquet of hydrangeas, lilies and other flowers scavenged from the hillsides. The voluminous flowers weren’t her idea or to her taste, but 9S had liked them. As a compromise between them saw the inclusion of scattered Lunar Tears, a gift from the rolling shop himself.

He also supplied the veil that currently rests atop her head, a light fabric she didn’t know the name of flowing past her shoulders and down her back. She wasn’t sure why she needed to cover her face — the meaning of this tradition was lost on her — but Emil seemed to have a well of old world knowledge he could dig into despite the fractures in his memories.

She stood, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Old yet new collided to create a dress that made a strange amalgamation of sadness, fury and joy rise in her. Following the pattern of YoRHa standard dresses, this fit well against her body, feeling as natural to wear as a second skin. However, unlike the YoRHa issued clothing, these were white with soft gold embroidery; clearly, these were not made for war, but as the universal sign for surrender, for peace.

In her fingers, she clutched her visor, this too white and gold. It was non-functional, more for aesthetics and private symbolism than anything. This was the last piece holding them back and once this was done, they would leave YoRHa behind and begin again.

The thought of the future, a future with Nines, spurred her to action. She gently brushed the veil to the side and tied the blindfold over her eyes.


He was blind to their presence, but he knew exactly who they were just based off of the sounds they made. The Resistance took up much of the space with their mismatched voices rising above each other as they spoke, filling the empty space with their chatter. He picks out the excited tone of 4S, his fellow Scanner. He’s recording the entire process to study later on, focusing on each new experience for about a second before whipping around to record something else. But one voice in particular stood out, her voice clearly hesitant and unsure if she should even be here due to her history with the pair.

A2…so she had decided to accept the invitation after all… He was both happy and a bit nervous that she had decided to come. They’ve tried to mend the best they could, but even now, a part of him still hates her, still wants to hunt her down.

9S shifts from foot to foot out of nervous habit, anxiety building in him for an unknown reason and his Pod notices right away.

“Pulse rate palpitations detected in unit 9S,” it never really did lose that unsettling monotone, never quite finding the emotional range that the androids possessed. “Perhaps you should breathe.”

His laugh comes out shaky and quiet, tinkling like shards of broken glass in a dryer. He doesn’t know why the sudden outburst happens, but it does in high-stress moments like this and he can’t stop it. He’s glad that they’re too busy talking to hear or notice his brief moment of madness because he doesn’t want to explain the unexplainable processes in his addled brain.

“I’ll remember that,” he says quietly to his Pod, wishing that he could actually seeher instead of a dark silhouette against the white of the blindfold. But he doesn’t want to look yet, lest he catch a glimpse of 2B before the proper time.

They’ve been separated for more than makes him comfortable and it’s eating at him. In the normal span of a day, he’s never more than shouting distance away from her, most times closely clutching her hand in his.

Maybe he’s clingy. Maybe they both are.

The voices fall silent one by one, a sort of reverent and hushed awe hanging in the air where noise once was. He turns his head before remembering that he can’t see what they do, but now he can hear her footsteps against the concrete.

The urge to look is strong. He wants to see her, to feel what they feel and he wonders if she has the same thoughts about seeing him.

She’s unsure in her steps but follows the path led by her Pod. Sometimes, she sways to the right but a simple correction given by her support and she is centered again.

He’s waiting for her just thirty steps ahead, standing off to the left, probably in the same anxious throes as herself. They’re blind, the moment when they meet will be the first time they see each other and cast away the blindfolds forever. It’s a form of symbolic closure, something only they will understand and therefore the perfect inclusion to this ceremony.

Perhaps it’s only a symbol and they never will escape these memoirs of their past. Perhaps closure is something they don’t deserve. Perhaps they don’t deserve love or happiness or each other.

But…she’s reached him now and stands across from him, her hands tightening around the flowers. Carefully, she reaches up with one hand and mimics the gesture of his silhouette, removing the fabric from around her eyes.

They deserve this, and in that moment when their eyes finally meet, they deserve each other.


It’s a celebratory occasion, and A2 has never been much for celebration. It unnerves her, sets her teeth on edge.

She’s not even sure she should be here, basking in their happiness, their joy, because she knows she’s always holding them back. She’s that dark spot on their white clothing, a stain too stubborn to be scrubbed away. She’s the personification of their nightmares, the ones she knows they have, the ones where she is the murderer of his only reason for living. 2B and herself have already come to terms with the fact that 9S will never fully accept her existence, so when she received the invitation she was wondering if it was a mistake or a shill.

Still, she had dragged herself here, reconsidering it halfway through her journey.

The white-clad pair seemed frozen in place as they finally got to look at each other, eyes roaming over their partner. The lovestruck idiots…if they ever thought they were being discreet, they seriously had some problems.

Her Pod takes the flowers from her, floating with the bouquet obscuring much of the light grey rectangle.

A2 is lost in the whole process, this ceremony having been dragged out of obscurity and altered slightly to more fit an android couple. Certain things changed.

They didn’t need to eat so why would they create a…“cake” was it? Most of these old partnering ceremonies included worship to some sort of God, a thing they didn’t believe in. Anemone tried her best to fill in the blanks but they all knew that something was missing from this moment. It felt incomplete and thus something they, the androids, couldn’t fully adopt.

Perhaps in a few years, as this practice became more common among the lovebirds, they would discover what was missing.

The strange thing was, 9S and 2B didn’t seem to care. Perhaps that what was missing. A2 couldn’t understand the point of this process, but for some reason it mattered so much to them. And, she guessed, maybe that was the point. It didn’t matter if she or anyone in the Resistance understood. At the end, it was about them and what stupid shit they wanted.

Huh, maybe that was the point.

9S trembled as he took 2B’s hands, slowly interlocking their fingers together. They promised each other eternity, something as androids they could easily give to each other (but she chose to not point that out), promised each other faith and honesty. It was the sentimental bullcrap that she had to put up with when she was quasi-traveling with them, but she never commented on it outside of sitting on the outskirts of camp whenever they were being, ehem, overly affectionate. She supposed they deserved it; however, and it never really bothered her outside of leaving a strong feeling of pain in her chest.

The more she watched them, the more that idea was cemented: the idea that they deserved some peace and to be these lovestruck fools who didn’t have to murder each other for the sake of a false mission with no goal other than morale. For the greater good, their torment mattering nothing to their creators. They all deserved a moment to be obnoxious with their happiness.

Applause startled her out of her thoughts and, hurriedly, she brought her hands together, hoping no one noticed her late start.


Anemone was perhaps the only person she felt comfortable around, considering their history together and the cool-headed demeanor of the Resistance leader. “I don’t really get this whole celebration.“ A2 muttered to the darker-skinned android as they leaned against the wall.

“They don’t either,” Anemone chuckled softly as her eyes trailed over to the white pair as they swayed awkwardly to soft music Emil played over his speaker. When A2 had approached him, he seemed excited about the whole thing (of course his face didn’t show it but his voice dripped with energy) and zoomed off to…somewhere before she could prod further.

A2 raised an eyebrow, following her gaze. “So what’s the point?” 9S seemed to be muttering something into 2B’s ear, which left her face unreadable as she nodded stiffly. “I know we don’t have to live by structure anymore but…”

Anemone ran her nails down the back of her opposite arm. She was lost in her processes, mulling over her words carefully before parting her lips and saying softly, “it may well be the last time these two experience anything.” When A2 visibly recoiled, Anemone continued, “I forgot you’ve been disconnected from the Resistance server for a while. But…they offered to be the test subjects for the Gestalt process.”

A2 bit the inside of her cheek at the mere mention of the selfsame project that single-handedly ended the human race. “…you guys are really trying that, huh?” She shook her head. “I can’t say I can see it working.”

Anemone’s voice was laced with passion. “There’s been success in smaller, less complex subjects. We’ve exhausted those trials and it’s only natural that we advance to the next step.” She applauded with the group as the song came to an end, 9S and 2B unfurling from their tight embrace. “They’ve decided they would help us take that step, but they wanted to take it together.”

“And you’re just gonna let them?

“I can tell you; I tried to convince them otherwise. Nothing I could say could sway them.”

The two were joined on the floor by others who wanted to join in the “dancing” or whatever they wanted to call it. “So…what’s going to happen to them?”

Anemone sighed, running a hand through her bangs. “In all honesty, I have no idea. We’re tampering with a Black Box. We’ve had success with deactivated models, but…” She trailed off. Clearly, she was just as hesitant as A2 but more set in her conviction. “We have to try.”

“Last time I checked, there’s no more ‘have to.’” A2 crossed her arms and shifted on her feet.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“It’s a stupid choice.”

Anemone smiled. “But we have the freedom to make those stupid choices, don’t we?”


He lay to her right, running his thumb over her hand as he studied the sensation one last time. Muscle fibers and circuitry rested underneath the surface of soft artificial skin, her carbonate skeleton dense and reinforced yet flexible. Yet it felt absolutely natural to him.

Would…would that change in a human body? Would it no longer feel the same? Would he never be comforted by her touch, but rather disgusted by the sensation so alien? Doubt swirled in his mind, leaving him with a pit deep in his heart.

Fear. It was crawling it’s way up again, threatening to derail everything they had worked for and promised each other. Their eternity was in this moment and…he was so unsure if life would be awaiting him at the end…

Her voice was low in volume, soft in pitch and gentle in tone, but she was demanding he look at her.

“Nines.” He slowly lifts his head to meet her eyes. She takes his other hand, trailing her fingers along.

Her voice is…minuscule when she says, “I’m scared too.”

In that moment, he knows he’s been selfish. He’s been so trapped in his own fear, his own reservations, his own thoughts that he hasn’t even considered hers.

It’s always been like that: she doesn’t voice her suffering so he simply doesn’t think it exists. Even when they were caught in the dance of life, death and duty, he never once thought of her and her needs because she was 2B and she didn’t need anything.

But she’s just as broken and naked as he is, pieces of herself cut off and tossed into the void. She can never be whole, never be without the fear of waking up with him not by her side, never be safe without a weapon nearby, never be herself again because there never was a “self” to tear out. They had to create those on their own, formulating love and purpose where there should be none after the losses they incurred.

And yet, here she was, holding his hands and preparing for the unknown with him.

He grasped her hands a little tighter, so afraid of letting go. “I…I love you.”

She smiled softly, and, with great reluctance, pulled their hands apart. “I love you too, Nines.”

“Are you ready?” Jackass asked, her eyes on the Black Boxes, dense cubes of compressed matter and energy and the closest thing to an android heart.

The two nodded and felt the wave of a forced shutdown overtake them. Before he fell asleep, 9S could hear Jackass mutter to herself a reaffirmation: “it’s for science. It’s what they want.”

So it seemed they weren’t the only ones with hesi—

[Unit 9S Black Box signal offline.]

[Unit 2B Black Box signal offline.]

[Death confirmed]