#i'm sorry this is taking so long

[iolaussharpe-24]

Barbie in the Mojave - Weird Barbie's Chapter

THE FIC IS STILL ALIVE!! Some junk is happening on my end, but here's a mini chapter that I've been meaning to do. Thank you so much for reading chapters one and two and for being patient with me!

❤️Taglist❤️

(Let me know if you want to be added or taken off for chapter three. No feelings will be hurt.)

@waywardrose, @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @lunar-ghoulie, @ominoose, @reallyrallyauthor

@steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @have-you-seen-my-sanity, @missdictatorme, @angelitawings

@outey-spacey, @autismsupermusicalassassin, @mandytrekkie @soft-persephone

Feel free to ask questions about anything as well. I'm happy to talk about my process with anyone that's interested.

“Hey uh… what’s this doing here?” Weird Barbie asked as she picked up the map that Teen Talk Barbie was supposed to give to Stereotypical Barbie before she left for the real world. “T.T. what the heck? She’s not going to know where to go without this!”

The blonde looked at the map and said, “Well, I looked at the map and it’s just a straight line so I thought that,” her voice changed halfway through to a loud, gruff man’s, “any old jarhead could figure it out. Even if his head is shoved up his own-“

“Dang it T.T. I thought I fixed that!” Weird Barbie groaned as she topped the map aside.

“What’s wrong?” asked Oreo Barbie.

“Well, like Mattel when they did your collaboration, G.I. Teen Talk over there wasn’t thinking too hard." She showed the map to the unfortunately branded doll and traced the path into the desert from Barbieland with her finger. “It’s a straight line until about here. Then it turns slightly left. Just slightly. It’s a very acute angle. But it’s there and it makes a world of difference. Literally.”

Earring Magic Ken walked over to glance at the map too, curious to know what could go wrong. In fact, several Barbies and Kens did. And Weird Barbie found herself in the middle of a small crowd so tight that she couldn’t even do a split.

“You guys aren’t going to back up until I tell you, are you? Okay. Look. If she makes that left turn, she goes to the Real World. If she goes right, she goes to see some of the larger Mattel family. My Scene, Monster High, American Girl, you get the idea. If she goes out far enough she’ll go all the way out to meet Major Matt Mason and Captain Lazer. Honestly, going right is the best of the worst case scenario. If she goes straight, which is most likely to happen now, thanks to someone,” she added, turning to face Teen Talk Barbie. “She’s going to go somewhere we can’t follow. She’ll end up in a place where no doll belongs. A wild west of chaos where anything can and will happen. Turning human’s going to be the least of that doll’s problems.”

“Where did she go?” asked Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds Barbie, the three crows attached to her head, shoulder, and hip actually still and silent for once.

“A place I like to call…. Fanfictionland.”

A couple of the dolls exchanged worried glances. They had a rough idea of what could happen there. The movie collaboration dolls especially.

Romance novel Ken spoke up next. “Maybe she’ll end up somewhere pleasant? Not everything that happens in-”

“And what if she ends up somewhere terrible?” asked Black Canary Barbie, sounding angry. “Do you have any idea what could happen out there? Humans are crazy. They write pure insanity. And that’s not accounting for the ones that don’t get anything for it and just want to have fun!”

“Is there a way we could save her?” asked Earring Magic Ken.

Weird Barbie shrugged. “…. We can hope she finds her way back out.”

[honeycinnamon]

Hello my loves, chapter 4 is taking a little longer than I hoped, but assure you this is just more content for all of you. To hold you over, here is another snippet for you, as promised. Enjoy! ;)

 Peppering a few more kisses along Ao’nung cock, Neteyam lazily dragged his tongue from the base up to the tip of the cock in his hold, enjoying the way it twitched in his hold. A almost strangled moan left the Ao’nung when the Omoticaya at his feet finally took him into his mouth once more. Slowly, he sank down until his nose brushed against the flesh of the other man’s abdomen and he tilted his head back slightly so he could drink in the look in those blue eyes.

It would be an understatement to say that Neteyam was in love with those blue eyes. No, he was damn near obsessed with drinking in each emotion that crossed them, especially when they were glazed over in pure lust. He hated being watched, but he wanted those eyes on him forever, they were just so intoxicating. There wasn’t a drop of shame in him when Ao’nung looked at him with hooded eyes and that smug fucking grin.

The hand in his hair ran through his braids gently, encouragingly, as the man above him spoke, “I should punish you for teasing me like this. You said you wanted to make me feel good, but now, I think you just wanted to torture me.”

Slowly, Neteyam pulled off that other man’s cock, stroking it as he croaked out, “I just can’t help myself, your reactions are so intoxicating. I’m almost starting to understand why you take such pleasure in teasing me.”

“My reactions?” The fingers in the Omoticaya’s hair tightened painfully, keeping his eyes on Ao’nung, like there was anywhere else he’d look in that moment. With a devilish glint in his eyes, the Metkayina argued, “You’re the one who’s intoxicating, sweetness. It’s all I can do to keep myself from plunging into that sweet cunt of yours when you moan my name.”

A shiver ran down Neteyam’s spine, he always thought of himself as shameless when they had sex, but Ao’nung always proved him wrong. The man truly didn’t have any filter on his comments or compliments, even when they were in the library for their tutoring sessions. Swallowing on nothing, Neteyam quietly offered, “Maybe after I finish down here, because that does sound enticing, but not more than getting you off.”

After a moment, the fingers in his hair eased up a little bit, and Ao’nung grinned, “What a giving little cocksleeve. Maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll give you a nice reward.”

Rewards were always fun with Ao’nung, so long as Neteyam did what he was supposed to and followed the few rules they had between each other. Of course, Ao’nung never left him unsatisfied, but rewards told him that he’d done good, that he had earned the pleasure the other man always provided without question. Sometimes, Neteyam was rewarded with cuddles after both of them were satiated or even a nice massage, if Ao’nung bent him over in a less comfortable position. There were even the rare occasions where Ao’nung would spank him, offering him a sweet tinge of pain with his pleasure.

[egophiliac]

bring your son to work day

[dunmeshistash]

why did the demon put cunty new evil outfits on marcille and laios when they became dungeon lords?

The real answer is that clothing inspires confidence the real real answer is that he wasn't gonna let them go outside dressed like that.

[vaguely-concerned]

can't believe garak went from 'hope you have fun following my little breadcrumb trail of maybe-truths doctor it builds character ;)' at the beginning of the show to '*sigh* fuck it here's the whole loaf. the entire fucked up bakery of my soul. if you somehow still wanna have sex with me after this you know where I am, yours in infinite longing etc.' in a stitch in time. has anyone ever been so pathetically horrifically enduringly down bad as garak is for julian (laudatory)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 3: Enveloping Feelings.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4)

[bonniecupcake]

PART 27 pages 121 - 122

Next LAST pages ->

<- Previous pages

☆First pages☆

COMIC SERIES

Ko-Fi ❤️

[ask-queen-arti]

"Damage Control" [ part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 ]

(OOC: she is back! sorry for the inactivity, and thank you for being patient)

[cherrie-blue-s]

Third Jason todd request done!

A few more to go!

This took longer due to me not liking the first attempt

after a few days of procrastination, i finally finished it

[squid2corn]

This is stupid and I don't know if you do request but could you draw Peppino and Noise getting forced to hug eachother?

They do (not) tolerate each other's presence

[duckmessiah]

wait youre doing these in mspiant????!!!! holy cannoli my guy thats awesome. you are awesome

if you have time and or motivation would you consider drawing some pepsicola for my soul? :)

yeah i just like to use mspaint sometimes as a fun challenge + i think it's really suitable for homestuck fanart. i'm drawing on a tablet so it's not that hard

personally i don't ship it but i am really picky about shipping in general and i'm trying to stop being a hater so here's my attempt

[beefcakekinard]

43 + 45 for bucktommy 💕💕💕

43. falling asleep with their head in your lap +

45. running hands through hair

In the unflattering fluorescent hospital lighting, in a hard plastic visitor's chair, Evan looks wan. The light hits his face at odd angles, dragging down the deep bags under his eyes, draining his skin of its colour, its rosy vital glow.

Tommy has never seen anyone look so beautiful.

"Hey, baby," he rasps. He tries to clear his throat and ends up in a coughing fit that sets pain lancing through his body. Evan's eyes widen and in his rush to get a straw between Tommy's lips, he spills water on Tommy's chest.

"Hey, hey, it's good to see you awake," Evan says as Tommy sips his water. "How are you feeling?"

Tommy lets the straw go and tries to take stock. He looks down at himself - his left leg is in a cast from his hip down, as is his left arm. They both hurt in a dull, vague way, same as his ribs and his head. There's an IV line running through the back of his right hand. His stomach turns a little at the sight so he looks away. He's not great with needles.

"It hurts," he says, frowning. He looks back up at Evan, who plasters a fake smile on his face. "What happened?"

Evan takes his hand, carefully, cups Tommy's fingers between both of his hands without jostling the IV. "You don't remember?"

Tommy shakes his head and decides never to do that again when it makes the room spin.

"You were- there was an accident," Evan says, stroking his thumb down the back of Tommy's index finger. "You, uh, you got hit by- by a car."

"Oh." Tommy looks into Evan's eyes. They're so pretty. "Really?"

Evan smiles a little - this one is real, Tommy can tell. "Yeah. What's the last thing you remember?"

Tommy thinks, tries to grasp the memory of what he was doing before he woke up. It's hard to hold onto any one thought - it's like chasing bubbles. The second he gets his hands on one, it pops, gone. Evan likes to blow bubbles for Jee. She runs through them, twirling until each and every one is gone, and asks again, again! It's so cute it makes Tommy giggle.

"What's so funny, huh?" Evan asks. He's smiling still, kind of, but he looks confused.

"You're so cute," Tommy explains. He knows Evan will get what he means. Evan always gets what he means. Case in point: he laughs, which makes Tommy smile even more because he loves that sound.

"You enjoying that morphine, babe?"

Tommy almost shakes his head - but then he remembers he shouldn't. "I don't like morphine. It makes me nauseous." He pulls his hand out of Evan's hold and presses his thumb to Evan's birthmark. It fits his thumb so perfectly. Like Cinderella's shoe. "I like you, Cinderella."

Evan laughs for real, then, big and loud, and Tommy feels proud of himself. It's his job to make Evan happy. His hand is dislodged, but he raises it again, landing it in Evan's hair. It doesn't feel like gel, like he's used to, all he feels are Evan's soft curls, and he could get addicted to how they glide under his fingers. He pulls Evan closer, then down, so he's resting his head on Tommy's hip, and Tommy doesn't have to lift his hand so high to touch his hair. Evan's still smiling up at him.

"You look tired," Tommy says. Evan proves his point by yawning.

"I'm fine. You're the one who needs his rest." Evan lays a hand on Tommy's knee. He likes it, he always likes when Evan touches him.

"You can sleep," Tommy says. He traces his thumb across Evan's dark under-eye, making his eyelashes flutter, and on his way back to burying his fingers in Evan's hair he presses his thumb into Evan's birthmark again. "I want you to."

"Will you sleep if I do?"

"Yeah," Tommy lies. He thinks Evan sees through him, because Evan knows him so well, but he still closes his eyes and nuzzles against Tommy's hip.

Tommy focuses on brushing his fingers through Evan's hair, letting his curls bounce back into shape before he reaches them again, following the soothing rhythm of Evan's breathing. He loses track of time; it drips, slow like the motion of his fingers, slow like his thoughts that remain out of reach, and before he has a chance to notice it, his own eyes have grown heavy.

He falls back asleep in pain, still - but with Evan's head a welcome weight on his hip, Evan's hand on his knee, his fingers tangled up in Evan's hair, it's easy to ignore.

[graveyardgremlins]

WIP:

“You have a bat themed computer?! This is somehow worse than my dad naming everything after our family.” “Wait, does he actually do that?” “Yeah, dude. We have the Fenton Bazooka, the Fenton Boo-merang, the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle, the Fenton Phones, Fenton Rocket, Fenton Skateboard…” “Wait, wait. You own an assault vehicle? A rocket?” “What? You're saying it as if you don't.” “Yeah, but my… He is Batman. Not exactly the poster boy for sanity, you know?” “Well, look at the bright side! You don't have to feel awkward about it anymore. If anyone gets it, it's me.” Jason smiled, a bit dizzy, and guided him. Jason had never brought anyone to the cave before. It felt oddly heavy in his chest. He had to resist the urge to keep turning around to check on Danny. He felt a bit like Orpheus in a way.

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

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

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[bamgeut]

peek-a-boo!

[arttsuka]

Based on somewhat real events

I spent way too much time drawing this...

But yeah, Ford finally saying thank you

A continuation (kinda)