#* AU

[bluukive]

Roomies! - Sukuna ver. (¬､¬)

coɴтεɴт - MDNI, please have an age in bio when interacting, roommate!Sukuna, some angst, fluff, HAPPY ENDING for once lol, established relationship at the end

an - as always, each screenshot is a different convo ^^ Nanami is next woohoo

tags - @idontwannatalkrn1

[akubaras-gf-au-collection]

Stan pushing past that PTSD like it's a environmentalist passing out flyers.

The second part will be posted in a day or so!

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[burningspicesaxe]

Hey guys so. Elemental yaoi am I right

[nikkeoarts]

Bartender x piano player au. ‘it about Petey being a single father so he takes a job at night while taking care of Lil Petey during the day. (80HD is babysitting him) but he falls in love with the new Pianist but confused his feelings unless he drunk XD, but every times he drunk he forgets the next day.. it’s based in the 1920s- 1930 era… Petey used to be in a mafia gang with his dad but ever since Lil Petey came to his life, he quit being a gangster for good for his son sake..but will that be it is the question… anyway this was mostly a discord thing but it blown up for some reason XD ..

[shurikthereject]

Been super sick lately but seniorshield is back in the game folks! This time with Thorin being addicted to candy crush hfjfjhjsf

[elmushterri]

Robin Hood is OUT!

And the references! The voices are on the video.

I’ve already seen someone make a Robin Hood oc. That’s totally okay! Robin Hood doesn’t belong to anyone so this is Mine! I can do what I want, invent whoever.

As always, I’d love RH fanart or edits or whatever, you guys are great at it. And asks ofc.

So excited to do things with my mean boy Robinnnnnn.

(Oh, and btw I need to figure out a name for this story!)

[tagzpite]

MERMAAAAY-

[sonadowsupremacy]

my pen died and it’s 1:30am but wip for a new fic =3=

[clairewritesfanfics]

Mark Grayson Variants as Husbands

Characters: Emperor Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Omni-Mark, Prisoner Mark

Emperor Mark

Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t have any concubines. He is mature enough to know that he doesn’t have the capacity to manage a harem of alien brides. Despite his occasional childishness, he is devoted to you and you alone and takes great pride in his monogamy. He would be lying if he said he doesn’t want a harem composed of versions of you though.

He can be, for lack of a better term, a brat and insists on “my way or no way.” But in the end, he always buckles to what you want, because he hates upsetting you.

He values your opinion. You are his consort, his only equal. He will always seek your advice before he makes any major decisions, especially ones that may affect the empire.

Mohawk Mark

Reads all the books you like to read, and even the fanfics you deemed “shameful.” Though he teases you, he never mocks you. 

He’s a philosophy nerd–actually, he’s a total bookworm who’ll read anything, from The Nancy Drew Cookbook to the Kama Sutra–but he has a soft spot for Camus and his peers. He talks to you about the inherent meaninglessness of life while you two eat pizza and watch TV.

He loves seeing you use and wear the stuff he buys you. It’s rare for him to actually make a purchase with the intention of getting you things, but he always thinks of you. Even when he isn’t thinking of you, he can’t help but think of you. 

One of his favorites is the heart-shaped locket which contained braided locks of his hair. He has an exact replica of that locket that contained your hair, too. 

No Goggles Mark

Resembles a puppy dog who loves his owner too much. A cute, obsessive, six-foot-tall murderous dog. His day starts and ends with you.

He would probably be your devoted househusband if he had any choice in the matter, but you don’t like him being alone. 

Out of all of them, he’s the reddest flag purely from the fact that he has difficulty, or rather, has zero interest in interacting with others when you’re not around. 

He’s also one of the more competent fighters, but he always comes home bleeding and bruised. It’s because you fuss over him. More blood means more affection. 

He doesn’t get the human concept of the “nagging wife” because he relishes in your voice, in your undivided attention. It doesn’t matter if you’re reprimanding him or praising him, whether you throw flowers or dirt, life with you is one big, beautiful garden. 

Omni-Mark

Appears cold and distant to outsiders, to the point that they can’t even picture him smiling or being all cuddly, but he’s just a man who knows when and how to separate business from pleasure.

He is very observant. He repairs any problems in the house before you even notice, like a leaky faucet or a squeaky door hinge. 

A man of his word, he prioritizes his commitments to you over everything else. If you two planned a vacation together on the other side of the world, then he is ignoring any and all calls from work. 

He has endless time, but time with you can only be for so long, which makes it all the more precious than the lives of everyone else in the universe. 

Prisoner Mark

The actual househusband.

He gets super competitive when it comes to cooking and maintaining the house’s cleanliness, which, while you do appreciate, concerns you a bit. You don’t want him to get too obsessed with the housework because it means he always finds an excuse to stay at home. Granted, he’s an ex-con, but you still want him to interact with other people.

Despite his rough exterior, he is still a sweetheart. When random thugs aren’t making trouble for him, he is pretty chill.

You find that you have nothing to worry about when you discover that he is on a first name basis with the cashier lady at the grocery you two frequent, is affectionately called “Boo Radley” by the neighborhood kids, feeds the ducks and pigeons near the park, and is loved by every dog and cat that crosses his path.

Author's Note: I'm so lonely. Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.

Masterlist Husband headcanons for: Cap Mark, Full Mask Mark, Maskless Mark, Shiesty Mark, Sinister Mark, Viltrumite Mark

[fangirlingpuggle]

AU/fic prompt where Shen Qingqiu can't keep up the mask at the abyss he still says all the words he needs to follows the script system wants him to but not the way system wants him to. He can't stop himself crying.

Binghe watching his Shizun sob and that knocking him out of his panic to see that while his Shizun is saying the hateful words and can tell he doesn't mean them, it's like he's reading a script. He falls down into the abyss knowing his Shizun didn't want to push him and something made him do it.

As the system goes into hibernation it feels a very deep sense of foreboding and dread.

Binghe not trying any of the Huan hua palace or becoming a noble human cultivator instead he's scouring demon and human realm to figure out how to free his Shizun. Him using protagonist halo and finding out about system

When he shows up on Qing jing peak Shen Qingqiu is freaking out and of course Binghe blames system, no anger points directed at Shen Qingqiu all the anger and Xin Mo wrath directed solely at the system.

Shen Qingqiu kidnapped to demon realm because 'I have many artifacts that could help free Shizun it's more convenient for Shizun to be there... it's also safer as no-one can interfere....also her are robes of empress no reason'

[nacrefangs]

I had to hurry this one a little bit* because I actually should have been asleep three hours ago. RIP Me. Had a silly thought about Caine popping an Efferdent into his...face..., sleeping in a giant glass of water and fizzing through his teeth. If you disturb him, he opens up like a big ol clam and a buttload of bubbles flood out and it's very silly looking (UvU)b

*no I didn't. I could have saved this for later but I'm using art to procrastinate :)

[burningspicesaxe]

Some legendary redesigns 🗣️🗣️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (1)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn't that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You rush off the bus, stumbling as your toe hits the curb. You stagger and right yourself, rushing by the other passengers as they shuffle along the pavement. You cut across the grass into the parking lot and hurry towards the front doors of the box store. You're just on time to punch in. 

You sweep in through the front door and wave at Claudia as she stands at the front door welcoming in customers. You flit around the displays of seasonal candy and dip in between customers and aisles until you get to the back of the store. Before you can key in the code, the lounge door opens. You back up as Drew, the store manager, steps out. 

He stops and checks his watch. He curls his lip. You're not late. Not yet. Not unless he doesn't let you through. 

"On the floor in the next minute," he demands. 

"Yes, sir," you agree. 

He steps out and lets the door fall behind him. You barely catch it as you spin through and keep the door open with your foot. You punch in your employee code. The screen blinks green. It's right on the hour. 

You toss your bag on the shelf above and hang your jacket from one of the many bent hangers. Lilian pull the door back from against your toe and huffs as she steps out. You follow her. She's worked there about two decades too long. 

You go out to your zone; with the vases, candlesticks, and lamps.  

You wander around, waiting on any customer to come by and distract you from the slow grind of time. You rove around for the fifth time and relent to your mindless urges. You take out your phone and check your notifications. A couple of hearts and shares. You smile. You don't have too much time for more than work and everything else piling up around you. Your little corner of social media is your one escape. 

A shadow steps into the same aisle as you. You hide your phone, slipping it into your back pocket, and smile at Drew doing his rounds. He marches toward you. You turn to tidy the shelf. 

"Name tag." 

You look down. "I got it..." your voice fizzles as you see the logo. It's the wrong one. "I'm so sorry--" 

"You're more than entitled to have another job but once it starts interfering with his one..." 

"It's not, sir, I'm sorry." You reach into your pocket and find your other name tag. You switch them out. "It was a long night." 

He doesn't smile. He doesn't care and you know it. You don't make excuses a lot but some things you just can't control, no matter how much you wish you could. 

"This is work." He sniffs and saunters away. 

You stare after him. Yeah, it sure is. You prefer your other job. It's always quiet in the small boutique. That's probably not a great omen for your employment but the vintage re-seller is much calmer than the corporate discount depot. Some days, you can't handle all the people. 

When you're sure the coast is clear, you take out your cell again. You hide in the corner with the decorative bowls. You rewatch your reel of the chrysalis moving ever so slightly. You're really excited for that one. You hope you didn't leave your window closed. The air gets too hot in your room. 

You flip over to your messages. You key in a quick 'how's it going?' and hit send as you hear voices. You tuck away your phone and push your shoulders back. You strut up the aisle and greet the pair of older ladies with a smile. 

"Hi, how are you today? Can I help you find something?" You ask. 

"I think we can find the discount shelf, thank you," the red-haired woman retorts flippantly and rolls her eyes at her companion. "As I was saying, Gia is coming back next month..." 

"Let me know if you need anything," you call after them softly and retreat to the next aisle. 

You give it a couple minutes before you go back to scrolling. The women chatter about their children and their husbands. They have so much going on. Happy things they couldn't be more miserable about. 

A message blips up, a small envelope in the margin. You pull down the menu and click on it. It's your mom. 

'Just woke up. Can't find my water bottle.' 

You type; 'I left a note by your bed. It's in the fridge with your dinner. Sorry if I worried you. Love you.' 

She replies with only a heart. If she just woke up, it's likely all she can manage. You return a heart of your own and put your phone away. It's no longer a doorway to distraction; it's a reminder. 

You stop just at the edge of the clothing section. If Drew catches you, he'll write you up again. You look at the pink paisley scarves hanging beside the tan purses on sale. That would look nice on mom. She needs a new one. Her cap is getting ratty. 

Well, only seven and a half more hours, a bus ride home, and you can check on her. 

🦋

The apartment is quiet as you enter. It usually is regardless of the time of day. It wasn’t always like that, but you understand why it is now. 

You sanitize your hands and turn on the living room light. Your mom is on the couch, hugging a pillow, eyes closed. She looks peaceful. Despite that, you can’t let her stay there. 

You drop your bag on the chair and near her. You gently touch her shoulder. “Mom, hey, you gotta go to bed.” 

She grumbles, “I’m fine...” 

“Mom,” you squeeze her, feeling the bone through her skin. She feels fragile. 

She hums and bats your hand away lazily. She yawns and sits up. As she does, she blinks and touches her bald head. Her eyes round and she feels around the cushions. She pulls on the floral skullcap. 

“How was work?” She asks as he keeps the pillow in her lap. The shirt that once fit her snugly, hangs over her chest loosely. 

“It was work, that’s for sure,” you say chipperly. “But I got through it.” 

“Did you eat?” She asks. 

“Did you?” You counter. 

“Some,” she shrugs. 

You nod. She’s always nauseous. The doctor said she would be. 

“Finish it,” she says. “Please, I don’t want it to go to waste.” 

“Sure,” you agree and turn to the chair. You flip open your bag and dig inside. You pull out the pink scarf, the fabric cool and sleek. “Here. It’s getting hotter out.” 

You hand her the scarf. She admires the fabric between her fingers. “It’s pretty.” 

“It’ll look great on you,” you assure her. 

“You’re too sweet, pie.” 

You smile at the nickname. She always calls you that. Ever since you stole that slice of pie in grade one after bed time. You’ll never forget your first crime. 

“I need to eat and sleep. Somewhere in there, I need to shower. Tomorrow morning, right?” 

“I can go alone.” She says. 

“No, you won’t,” you insist as you go to the kitchen. 

You go to the fridge and take out the container of grilled chicken, rice, and green beans. She had a little rice and veg but none of the chicken. You put it in the microwave. 

You go to the doorway and peer into the living room. She wraps the scarf around her naked head and ties it. She peeks over her shoulder. 

“Well? Is it a good colour for me?” 

“You always look good in pink,” you assure her. “You need anything?” 

“Yes, I need my daughter to take care of herself.” She grunts as she pushes herself up. She throws the pillow on the couch and stiffly waddles around. “I’m going to bed, okay?” 

“I’m not coddling you,” you cross your arms. “I just don’t want to hear you whining when you’re all out of joint tomorrow.” 

She sticks her tongue out at you and kisses her palm, opening it to you as she shuffles by. 

“Get some sleep. I mean it.” 

“Take your own advice,” you throw back and grin crookedly. 

She waves you off and heads for her bedroom. You watch until her door snaps shut. You look down at the floor. The silence slowly rises around you, like water it getting deeper and deeper, until you could drown in it. 

You jerk out of your trance as the microwave beeps. You spin and hurry across the small kitchen. You take a fork from the drawer and grab the container as it steams. You drop it on the counter to cool. 

You hurry into the living room and grab your phone from your bag. You return to the kitchen as you twirl the fork in your hand. That notification remains; the one that blipped in an hour from close. A familiar subject line: OVERDUE. 

In the morning. You continue to ignore it as you open up your Insta. You put the phone on your counter, leaning on the edge, and eat bite by bite as your scroll. Someone liked a few older posts from last year. That beautiful monarch you hatched and the green caterpillar on the log in the park. 

You have a red admiral. Or so you hope. It’s a particular sort of patience you need to have for the hobby. If you can call it that. 

Waiting and waiting to watch the chrysalis crack and bloom with large wings. A butterfly born and released off to flutter. It’s so beautiful but sombre at the same time. The small changes, the subtle twitch of the cocoon, it reminds you of the passing of time. Of the inevitable. 

You rinse out the container and wash the fork. You set it all away and shut off the kitchen and front room lights. You scoop up your bag in the shadows and slink to your bedroom. 

The light in there is duller. Softened to keep from affecting metamorphosis. You stretch out your neck as you drop your bag and phone. You go to the mesh hamper in the corner, covered with a dish towel on top. Through the holes you can see the sticks you set up on and angle and the cocoons hanging within. 

The curtains stir and draw you back. It’s getting cooler. You close the window and bounce onto your bed. Half of it is covered in your clutter. The crinkle of paper has you straining to fish out the envelopes. Bill, bill, bill. You’re trying. So hard. 

You toss them to the corner of the bed and fall onto your back. What if it’s not enough. You don’t think it is. The invoices outpace your checks. Your hours at work can’t measure up to those at the clinic. The chemo is draining your bank account as quickly as your mother’s body. 

You put your hands over your forehead and sigh. Your eyes sting and a wobble of tears brim along the edges. You inhale deeply and wipe away the moisture. 

No. You're not giving up. It’s too early to grieve. You won’t be doing that any time soon. You promised your mom that. 

You sit up and grab your phone. You swipe around and open the app. You have a camera inside the hamper, recording in the chrysalises. It’s tedious and dull. One of your followers suggested a stream but you worried about the cameras picking up conversations or even just running up the internet bill. Besides, what’s there to watch? 

You scan through to find the most interesting bits when you can. If there are any. You edit them into shorts and put them up on your page. People love it, much to your surprise. And you like answering questions. Sometimes, they even teach you something. 

Ten new followers that day. It’s nothing compared to the beauty influencers or the fashion bloggers; or those gamers and their cult-like fans. It’s your own little space where nothing else can touch you. Where all you have to worry about is misting the cocoons so they don’t dry out. 

There’s nothing bad there. No managers, no crowded bus rides, no doctor’s appointments, or red numbers. It’s where you can forget. It’s where you can fly. Reborn just like the butterflies. 

[evilherehotel]

i CRAVE more of that one redemption au you have going on. i love it so much and ive thought about the concept before and its so interesting to me

one is currently banned from any and all gaty interaction

[melodyartist]

HE GOT IN THA WATHA FOR THE MERMAY