#And is not a marker of love for me to do so

[nerdcrawfish]

Jumping off Shibara. (Also in writing this I'm going to be hounding women in the first part SOLELY because I'm writing from the predominate western society/US idea that there are two genders and that anything not man equals women. Which I don't agree with at all. I'm analyzing them, not condoning them.)

No, you can clearly tell with things like the "new" trilogy of Star Wars or Supernatural that this phenomenon is a thing with some male writers. The idea of non-males being in "nerdy" areas is uncomfortable for them because of numerous reasons. One, it stops just being "their" thing. Female fans especially are seen as lesser/"fans of poor quality materials". AND then the classic: "I don't know how to see women/non-men as equal human beings because I (imparted by society) have this idealized idea of women and them being in my nerdy stuff does NOT align with my mental schemata at all!" Ever played MTG as a non-male at a card shop? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.

In general, there is discomfort at so many levels from not matching in schemata, to what defines women, to the idea that we're intruding in "their space", the idea of "biology", to even the idea that they have to act, write, and do things different because a women is around.

There's a shitton of baggage in society about women and non-males in nerdy spaces. It's waaayyy better now, but it still happens A LOT. It still is prevalent and it WILL be getting worse now that Diet Sunkist is in back in office and all the waves of social conservatism is going to be re-surging JUST like you got locked in an overflowing porta-potty and some asshole just ran into it with their double wide Texas Made Ford truck.

(Oh and I can and happily talk about the overlap of neo-nazism and online queer spaces and this need for conservatism and how that keeps translating over to over policing and fandom hate of queer stories in a moment). And yes a lot of authors hate our existence in "their" spaces just as much as their nerdy fanboys do.

Furman will ALWAYS be the classic example because he constantly refuses to allow the idea of female transformers. This is because he sees war fighting robots as only male. This harks back to the fact that the conversation of whether women can fight has it's root so far back in history, especially white history, because women are seen only as a resource to be kept and protected. (Hence the overturning of Roe V Wade and that awful man's "You don't have a choice!" video) And even if he keeps saying he sees them as nonbinary he is using male oriented schemata in his writing--he's using hegemonic markers of masculinity in his writing and the making of his Transformer Characters. He writes them so overwhelmingly male that you and I know--based on so many context clues and tells--that Optimus Prime is male. I very much doubt Furman does see them as non-binary (especially because I doubt he has any actual understanding of what that would even mean) and is instead trying to stay above fandom ire.

So Furman--overwhelmingly yes. He hates women being in his nerdy robot stuff. He loves our money and attention but just like Picasso, we're nothing more than some pretty fancy furniture that is pretty one moment and beyond infuriating the next with our "needs" and "equality".

BUT you're going to look me in the fucking eye and tell me ROBERTS is the same as Furman? HA.

No, MTMTE/LL is a fucking LOVE LETTER to the transformers community. He pointed at us--ALL OF US--and said: "This one goes out for my homies!"

But just like we talked about entitlement of authors? Oh there is a definite entitlement when it comes to fans, too. It was pungent as HELL when MTMTE/LL was running and it was why I always stayed off of social media and had so many people blocked. Like Shibara says: just because they wrote something that you don't like doesn't mean it's bad writing. IT ALSO doesn't mean it's an attack on you.

AND I will say that censorship/Neo-nazisim is RANK in this ideology. It festers uncontrollably in this shit swamp of a psychological lens. The ideology that someone is bad/attacking you because of what they write/create is based on two things: you belief in your superiority AND that it means that you thus get to dictate others around you. This ideology, however, gives little young knuckleheads the idea that they're the good guys and that there are bad guys that need to be hurt based on shit like a book. This is why censorship has, and always will (pick up any fucking history book please), lead to people dying.

It also has permeated its way into queer spaces online. It's a fucking fact. Look at the rates of young Polish voters--who in the same breath support queer rights but at the same time believe anyone who isn't "the right type of polish" (white) needs to be removed from the country. The day that Republicans realize if they accept queer rights that they will be able to win all the races and reinstall Jim Crow laws to the fucking max in the US is one I dread immensely. You can try to argue with me, sure, but it's one I've been tracking as a child and is why we are seeing so much support for nativist/neo-nazi groups across the Western Globe. Like, do we not recall the party gymnastics France had to do a little bit ago to avoid the hella RACIST National Party from getting so much leverage? Anyways, I digress.

Roberts wrote a piece of work that acknowledged the fact (like most of the IDW 2005 run did) that we are adults. Not like the stuff Hasbro always like to run--which is just some moving forms to elicit mediocre bonding in the wish to sell cheap pieces of plastic to little kids (which hey man, you do you). (Okayy, so I'm thinking more of the general we have to keep rebooting our lines every other week and that when it starts getting serious/the writers are flourishing, oh surprise! we're getting cut short!)

No, we're talking more like the TF Marvel Comics (oh yeah baby) especially the UK side of the house--this media was always for the more mature sets of the demographic/fans. More of your older kind of teen boy--but there's a huge difference in that from say rescue Bots (which cute but doesn't have the je ne sais quoi (<--sarcastic usage) of let's say the idea of Spiderman being disgusted with Ratchet because Ratchet didn't cry over his friends being torn apart. This requires a difference of thinking and isn't a stereotypical "good ending". It's meant to invoke a sense of defeat and that shitty feeling of being misunderstood. Like we KNOW Ratchet is a great guy and that his buddies are fine because he's a medic and will just fix them up. BUT Spiderman, another fantastic guy, isn't aware of that and hates Ratchet nonetheless! It's meant to make you not feel good but provides a delicious depth of things like perceptions and not taking time to actually connect with and understand others.

So Roberts was writing not to the original demographic of the G1 Cartoon but to those us who grew up with it. To the ones of us who grew up reading and watching the original runs of so much Transformers material. And, brilliantly, I would add, acknowledged the fact that a lot of fandoms are indeed filled with, like said before, 20+ women.

He wrote MTMTE/LL with the target demographic of adults. Now, we usually associate that with age but in my time in college, working part-time and being amongst y'all--I've learned that you can be 67 and still be an immature stupid piece of shit who got their High School degree as a participation award.

Knowing that, I am arguing he put in a BIG FUCKING NOTICE that "Hey, this isn't G1 cartoon transformers! If you're here for that TURN BACK" with the fact that Ratchet is introduced literally doing an autopsy. And in order to do an autopsy--someone needs to be dead. Whirl is desecrating fucking corpses. And by the end, 40 plus bots are falling like meteors burning up in the fucking atmosphere of a planet. Oh and the entire playback message of: "Oh my primus everything is horrible and terrible-- we fucked up--STOP THE LAUNCH"

Roberts explicitly--so fucking explicitly that even if you have the reading comprehension of a peanut--you would understand just from Issue 1 that bots were going to die, the story is going to be dark, and be just how like my life motto goes: "Life is short, painful and shitty and those who don't deserve to suffer or die always end up doing just that. So let's fucking go." (said with a morbid sense of optimism! :D )

He wrote for us, as adults. And as an adult, he talked to us as an adult. He broached topics that hurt--a lot. And he was happy to see when we hurt because that meant he did his fucking job well.

Every time you feel nothing about a death in a story--that means the writer fucking sucked. Every time I write a fanfic and I have people screaming in my comments--it gives me delight BECAUSE that means I successfully got you to connect. I gave you all the right tells, I used the right structure, I used the right language and every FUCKING THING in my arsenal as a writer to share the beautiful pain that I went through in thinking up this story.

Just like he was, I'm beyond delighted because we're essentially bonding. I'm sharing my brain's secretions that have both delighted and tormented me for months going on years with you and you're feeling the same things. You're fucking feeling. My story isn't just some shitty words on a page--no it's a fucking story.

Roberts told us a story. He sat us down and told us a story. As equals.

And the reason why AI will fucking NEVER live up to actual living creators is because it doesn't have anything to give. It doesn't have any ability to connect.

Furman sucks as a writer for us because he refuses to connect to us if we're not like him.

Roberts has and always will respect every single one of us and has always been a fan--just like us.

[cat0901h3]

Goosebumps Books 1-10

Can't believe that it took me nearly two years to just do 10 covers for the books. Will be posting more Goosebumps in the future, along with other stuff.

Read more to know my personal opinions and critiques on my fanart for each book:

Welcome to Dead House: I wanted to make the house look alive like Monster House, so I gave it more human characteristics (ie: the people in the windows to form eyes, or the finger-like branches.) Also paid homage to a horror film by styling it after The Amityville Horror house.

The Benson children themselves look a bit depressed, that's because the first book is actually more scarier than the rest of the series, so they're a bit angsty.

Stay Out of the Basement: This one killed a lot of my green markers lol. I tried to make Dr. Brewer as menacing as possible while still showing that he is a father with the photos, There were going to be more plants reaching out, but I decided that the leaves hidden on him would be enough.

Though I have to admit my disappointment with the lighting. It still looks a bit too bright, and not dark enough. That's just my own critique.

Monster Blood: Honestly, pretty mixed about this one. While I'm proud of the bubbling ooze that looks like a skull, which is outlined by one of my colored pens. I'm not proud that everything else is so muted with brown. Almost all of Jacobus' works are vibrant and saturated, so it being dull in colors feels like a disservice to him.

Also, Andy's last name was made up by me, she apparently just doesn't have one. It's inspired by Stephen King. Btw, hope you love banana and strawberry dyed hair, you'll see more of it soon in future batches.

Say Cheese and Die!: One of my favorite books, and of course it gets the best fanart imo. The screaming skeleton form of Greg Banks with red bg in the polaroid, contrasting with the dark background is just super cool, coolest shit I've ever done. Though I might be biased, I really like skeletons. Like Curly.

I actually made concept art for a Say Cheese and Die! graphic novel, which includes drawings of the photos and Spidey! Let me know if you're curious.

The Curse of The Mummy's Tomb: Not much to this one honestly. Just a mummy casually busting down a wall filled with hieroglyphics. Though I will say, I was experimenting with shading with purple and blues like Jacobus. As you can see, didn't stick for long.

This is also the book that I discovered that if the protag doesn't have a last name, then there is an official one either in the Presents novels, the mobile app, comics or other.

Let's Get Invisible!: This was pretty tricky to draw. Drawing someone turning invisible maybe easy in Photoshop or Procreate, but this was traditional art. Sure Jacobus did it with airbrushes, but I all had were pens and markers. But I somehow managed to pull it off, which is insane that I even managed that in the first place.

Night of the Living Dummy: Ah, the infamous Pamela Vorhees book, where the main antagonist isn't the mascot, but instead some other puppet lol. I've seen a lot of fanart of Slappy, but never of Mr. Wood. So I wanted to do justice for Wood while still showcasing Slappy. While I am proud for how it mostly turned out, there are two things that bother me. 1. This is the night sky that is black, the rest are either blue or purple. 2. I forgot to add the lines that make the jaw on Mr. Wood, whoops.

Aside from that, I hope guys like that Misfits poster in the background and Kris's cool hair cut. The green was inspired by the comic adaption not 2015 Jacksepticeye.

The Girl Who Cried Monster: Please forgive me for the small thumbnail, I wasn't using a ruler at the time. The design for Mr. Mortman wasn't much of a challenge. I loosely based it off of the French rendition of the cover and gave him a large leech-like mouth.

In my headcannon, the teeth spin like a garbage disposal, making easy work of the turtles.

Welcome to Camp Nightmare: Another one of my favorites, and I think I did a decent enough job, too. The lighting is perfect, the clouds look alien enough, and you can just barely see the screaming campers inside the tent. I do have one issue though, and that is the size of the monster, Sabre. In the original sketch I did, he was supposed to blend in like a bush, but instead he looks like Sasquatch Sr. Oh well.

While they did give Billy a last name in the Presents books, I had to make up one for Dawn. Just based it off Gwen Stacy lol. Also, hope you enjoy the little bonus pictures down below.

The Ghost Next Door: The original Jacobus art was perfectly vague enough to keep the twist there but not spoil anything. Of course to do the same thing, but with a twist of my own. The "ghost" shadow that you see in the street is the Dark Figure that follows Hannah around or when Danny is near. I wanted it to look like it was constantly on fire, since SPOILERS: someone in the book does die in a fire.

Another headcannon is that the Dark Figure isn't actually a ghost or whatever, but instead the embodiment of Misery.

[spacelizzbian]

@doyelikehaggis

Hi!! Happy belated @glartswap and I hope your year will be filled with all the good stuff and hugs 😌

Anyway have some Glee girls chillin~~

(Based on this poster I found)

[stephdrawsjohnlock]

Fandom Trumps Hate 2025!

Looking for a scene drawn for your story? A piece to help inspire you to write a fic? A new icon? How about covers for your story with full print-ready Graphic Design service? Maybe a pinup, or some trading cards (up to 10)?? Maybe a gift for someone, or just your vision of a character(s) (up to 3 character sheets) for your AU?

Well, that’s just some of the stuff I’m willing to offer for this year’s @fandomtrumpshate​​ Charity Event! FTH is a WONDERFUL community project that supports amazing non-profits through donations for fanworks via this wonderful annual event!

I am offering ONE fanart Piece for BBC Sherlock or Good Omens!

Because of my day job's circumstances this year where I will be guaranteed to be indisposed for about 3 months and unable to work on my personal projects, I feel I am only able to offer up one piece this year instead of my usual 2 to 4. This will be my sixth year, and the piece will be for either the BBC Sherlock or Good Omens fandoms, starting at 10$ for the non-profit of your choice!

Here are some past FTH pieces I’ve done, if you’re interested in seeing the scope of the work you would be getting from me:

2020:

GO - :FTH 2020 – Lagniappe for Big_Edies_Sun_Hat:

GO - :FTH 2020 BONUS – Réveillon for Big_Edies_Sun_Hat:

2021

SH - :This Year: (FTH #1 for @discordantwords​​)

SH - :Burlesque Johnlock: (FTH #2 for @ohlooktheresabee​)

2022

SH – :A Quiet Moment: (FTH #1 for @totallysilvergirl)

SH – :Against the Wall: (FTH #2 for @anarfea)

2023

SH – :Let Me Come to You: (FTH #1 for  ShakespearelovedLadyMacbeth)

SH – :Couch Cuddle: (FTH #2 for @discordantwords)

SH – :More Every Minute: (FTH #3 for @totallysilvergirl)

2024

GO – :Come On, Dear: (FTH #1 for Box Human)

GO – :You're Alright?: (FTH #2 for mltrefry)

====

And of course, you can browse all my art (primarily fanart) to see my range:

@stephdrawsjohnlock​​

stephdrawsfanart on Instagram

@stephratte​​ (Primary Multifandom Art ​Blog)

stephratte on deviantART

I will draw any ship from either of the above fandoms, though I do prefer Johnlock or the Husbands. All my work is done digitally at a minimum 2000x2000 print-ready piece in Procreate. Traditional media (markers, India ink, and pencils) is also available if you prefer, done on illustration or marker paper at the paper’s size, with the option of acquiring the original if you choose. I will also do it at a requested size if you have a preferred format for something specific (like a book cover or a comic panel). Feel free to DM me if you have any questions before bidding on me, or to see if I am able to draw what you would like!! I want you to be satisfied that I can achieve what you want!

The browsing begins on February 21, and the bidding opens on February 25! I hope I once again get a chance to do a fantastic piece for one of y’all!! I love doing this so much, so keep an eye out for the official info post link once FTH officially opens!

Thank you to everyone who is interested!

**NOTE!! If you've bid on me before and want to try again, I've changed my User Name this year to this blog's name, StephDrawsJohnlock (I-J), for easier finding once the listings are posted!

[darklydeliciousdesires]

A Storm of Stars - An Aemond Targaryen/OC Story.

Okay, I caved and decided to share the first chapter, and will now sit on tenterhooks while awaiting everyone's thoughts! The story runs semi-canon to the events of HOTD, my own weaved in with it, if you will. Enjoy!

Words - 2,635

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added.

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, incest (because yep, they're Targaryens, Aemond and Aemella twin siblings) and a few other details that will be warned of at the start of each chapter. Oh and yes, it will be very smutty! Minors DNI.

The bitter, northern air whipped frigidly at the knight’s face as he made his way across the unforgiving ground, his boots crunching upon clusters of frozen mud. The skies were thick with clouds, primed and ready to shed further snow upon the already laden terrain, the near distance peppered with the sounds of his king, Stannis Baratheon’s men preparing themselves to move off once more, bound for The Wall. 

Entering the tent, Ser Davos looked upon the sight that greeted him with fond affection. There, warming herself within a swathe of soft bear pelts, sat the apple of his eye. The little Princess Shireen, her nose within a book. 

“What tales of the Seven Kingdoms do you read today, princess?” he inquired, taking a seat at her side.  

Shireen placed a marker upon the page she read, turning to her friend. “The story of Aemond and Aemella, Ser Davos.” 

A famous tale if ever there was one, Davos of course recognising it despite his illiteracy. “Ahh, the Targaryen twin stars,” he spoke knowingly, nodding towards the pages. “Read a little to me, if you’d be so kind.”  

His fondly delivered request was honoured, Shireen going back to the beginning of the chapter as she cleared her throat. “Aemond and Aemella Targaryen, second children to King Viserys I Targaryen and his queen, Alicent Hightower, came to be known widely as the twin stars from the moment of their birth upon the seventh day of the sixth moon, one hundred and ten AC.  

“The name originated from their father, the twins quietly rumoured to be the favourite offspring of their parents, their eternal bond rapidly becoming a famous tale for their unwavering devotion to one another. They were, as many a member of their family, or the servants within the Red Keep could attest, inseparable, from their first day right until their last. 

“From their youngest infancy, the twins were said to possess an otherworldly connection, sensing each other's emotions on an inexplicable level. It was the quiet strength and poised grace of the princess that often harnessed the fiery impulses of her brother, later her husband, the prince Aemond. Though it was known, that once wronged, Aemella made for just as deadly an adversary as her twin.” 

“Betrothed to one another at the age of four and ten, together, they were an unstoppable force, a balance of true compliment to one another’s strengths and weaknesses. It is said that a no greater love than theirs had ever before existed within the Targaryen dynasty, nor ever would again, the siblings forever orbiting one another in perfect harmony.” 

Davos had heard the tale on countless occasions throughout his lifetime, yet would never tire when Shireen recited the stories from her books she so treasured. “They rode the biggest dragons the world has ever known as well, princess, after Balerion the Black Dread. It was said that when Vhaegar and Fyreclaw took flight, almost all of Kings Landing was cast into shadow.” 

The princess looked at him with eyes filled with awe. “Can you imagine, Ser Davos?” 

He reached to fondly stroke her hair. “Aye. All we can do is imagine, now that they are long gone.” 

“An inevitability we all must face.” The princess never failed to surprise him with her measured wisdom, such maturity in one so young. Returning her focus to the book set upon her lap, she continued to recount stories from the twins’ early years. 

“They shared not only a bond of blood,” Shireen continued, “but a bond of destiny. It was said that their dragons, the fierce Vhaegar and the majestic Fyreclaw, showed a similar affinity, soaring through the skies of Westeros in perfect harmony. Their flights were rumoured to be a sight of juxtapose, both of unparalleled beauty and foreboding terror.” 

Ser Davos couldn't help but smile, imagining the heavens darkened by the might of such creatures. “Aye, princess. The bond they shared with their dragons was almost as legendary as the one they shared with each other. Aemond claimed the biggest dragon in the world when he was not much older than you, and Aemella was first seated upon Fyreclaw at just five in age. Remarkable.” 

Shireen’s face glowed with a quiet awe. “It must have been something extraordinary to witness.” Pondering a moment, she smoothed her hand across the grainy page before her. “Do you think they ever doubted their path, where their lives ultimately took them?” 

Davos shook his head gently. “Not once. Their unity was their strength. Through every battle and every trial, they stood together. An unbreakable force, though of course we know that once, somebody did attempt to break them apart.” 

The princess nodded thoughtfully, her gaze returning to the pages of her book. “Their story is a reminder that we are stronger together than separated. Much like the twin stars themselves, no matter how fierce the storm, there is always an eye to bring calm.” 

He looked at her with pride and affection, his beaming smile crinkling his eyes. He was sorely looking forward to a little calm being restored, once the fight for the Iron Throne was but a distant memory. He just hoped both he and the princess survived the toils of war for long enough to witness it.  

“Wise words, princess. May we always remember them.” 

Shireen resumed reading, her voice weaving the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy, as the sounds of preparation outside grew louder, signalling the impending march of Stannis’s army towards The Wall. 

While the story of Aemond and Aemella was by then long condemned to history, the princess read with the kind of fascination that served to keep their memory alive. The tale itself had begun much like many other, with an expectant queen awaiting the arrival of her babes within the walls of the Red Keep over a hundred years before... 

“I believe, your grace, that you do indeed carry twins.”  

Alicent had known this long before Grand Maester Mellos’s assertion, able to feel the movements of two babes within her womb from the moment they had begun to wriggle. They gave her perhaps the most uncomfortable and difficult of her expectancies, the queen often weary for their activity within her womb, coupled with the heaviness of carrying them both. 

“How do our twin stars fare today, wife?” the king inquired one morning, smoothing a loving hand over the swell of her belly.  

“Busily,” she admitted with a weak smile, her hand joining his. “Aemond is restless and Aemella chastises him for it. I am certain her kicks are more aimed at him rather than shuffling in order to seek comfort.”  

Viserys chuckled, his hand continuing to stroke against his unborn babes. “My dear queen, you cannot know for sure, that it is a boy and a girl that you carry.”  

“I know, husband,” she vowed, her smile crinkling her tired eyes. “Aemond is the storm, and Aemella the eye. She will be the one to tether him if he is ever to sail too high, bring him back to ground.”  

The queen was not particularly one for prophetic platitudes, but if she had ever sensed anything so strongly in all of her days, it was what would indeed come to pass.  

Aemond was born first, Aemella coming into the world moments after. The tiny prince had near wailed the roof right off the Red Keep upon his arrival, but Aemella had been much quicker to quieten, as her mother had indeed expected.  

In fact, in the days that followed their birth, the only time the little princess made her displeasure known was when the babes were placed within separate cribs, seemingly unable to bear being parted from one another.  

The Maesters, handmaidens and royals alike all watched in awe as the bond between the twins grew ever stronger with each passing day. Aemond and Aemella were inseparable, almost as if they communicated in a silent, secret language known only to them. The young prince's fiery temper was often soothed by the calm presence of his sister, who seemed to have a natural talent for bringing peace to her brother's sometimes turbulent spirit. Just as their mother prophesied she would.  

As the years went by, their bond only deepened. Aemond's fierce determination and conniving nature were balanced perfectly by Aemella's gentle wisdom and quiet strength. They complemented each other in every way, their unique qualities harmonising to form an unbreakable alliance. That was not to say that Aemella did not possess her own fire, though. The only difference was that she was shrewd enough to know exactly when to exert it.  

When it came to the defence of her beloved twin, anyone close would feel the roaring heat of her flaming temper, namely her elder brother, Aegon. The young prince sought to make it his mission to mercilessly tease Aemond, bullying the child for his shortcomings, more often than not over the fact he had not bonded with his own dragon.  

Upon hearing of the pig incident, Aemella had stormed to her brother’s bedchamber, striking him with a hard, open-handed strike to his face.  

“You dare to raise a hand to me, sister?” Aegon had raged, holding a hand to his stinging cheek. 

Aemella had merely folded her arms, unmoved entirely by his ire. “If you so insist on taunting Aemond, then know, dear brother, you taunt me by extension. I will not allow that to withstand without consequence. Not now, and not ever.” 

She never did, either. And it extended to anybody who dared to belittle or harm her twin star. When her nephew, the young prince Lucerys had taken Aemond’s eye, she’d been incandescent, her rage pulsing white-hot, brandishing a fire poker and promising of retribution, a literal eye for an eye. Her mother had been all for it, not tethering her normally rational and poised daughter back, the child only thwarted in her plan by Ser Harrold’s restraint. 

Aemond had felt his heart swell with love, to have watched his precious twin become so enraged on his behalf. The wellspring of her devotion to him never faltered, and it was on that day he truly realised it, that their bond was forged in something much stronger than mere blood. It was a connection that transcended the ordinary; even for twins.  

It went beyond, ran deeper, connected them on a spiritual level that they would never, could never be broken from. 

“Tis’ my fault, brother. That I was absent from your side when those wretched bastards set upon you,” she’d lamented later, balling her fists as her anger burned like wildfire. Indeed, at the time she had been bathing, unaware of what was to shortly befall her twin. 

Aemond had taken her hands in his, being the one to tether her for once as she had spiralled. “No, sweet sister. Tis’ an untruth. Do not let your anger surge, for while I may have lost an eye, I have gained a dragon. Now, when you sail through the skies aboard Fyreclaw, I may finally join you.” 

That night, they had shared a bed, curled around one another, just as they had as babes within their mother’s womb. It had been no great anomaly for the pair to have been found in slumber together throughout their childhood, often seeking the comfort of the other when they were feeling listless and unable to sleep.  

This was why, perhaps, that not many an eyelid was batted when further into their young adulthood, being found in one another’s beds became much more of a frequent occurrence. Except it was no mere innocent fondness that began to drive that need when the twins reached four and ten in age. 

Those natural urges experienced led to them creeping carefully into sexual exploration together. Of course, as Targaryen’s, it was commonplace for siblings to partner together, to ensure the bloodline was kept pure. Their union went beyond such, though, their life-long devotion to one another stemming into romantic love. 

Their exploration was never solely physical, but oh, how they did very much enjoy such once they had gotten the hang of it. Leaning how to pleasure one another had become a pursuit undertaken fastidiously, both utterly convinced that there could never be another out there who would ever come close to how intimately they knew one another. Their first time together had been a little disastrous, both having no real clue over what on earth to do with each other’s bodies. The more they lent to practice, though... 

Aemella would never forget the first time she was brought to a climax, lying spread upon Aemond’s bed, his fingers buried within her soaking cunt as his tongue lapped at her bud. Knowing her body so well, he understood then exactly how to send her to the edges of the heavens, further speed and pressure having her waves crashing against his shore with a series of cries. 

“Gods be good, brother,” she’d panted in aftermath, eyes wide, chest flushed. “I believe I rather enjoyed that.” 

“I would say so, Mella,” he’d told her, using his sweet pet name only he was allowed to address her as. “As would the large puddle upon the sheets.” 

“Seven hells!” she’d cried in horror. “Do not tell me that I have accidentally wet the bed!”  

Her brother, ever stoic, could not have helped the rare snort of laughter he emitted had he tried, resting his forehead to her inner thigh, kissing it thereafter. “No, love. Not in the way you are thinking, at least.” He’d then kissed his way back up her body, sheathing himself in her with a soft grunt. 

“My first...” he’d whispered, laying kisses to her throat, “my last...” those kisses peppered lower, tongue flicking against her clavicles, “and my only.” 

They delved into the depths of each other's souls, understanding every facet, every shadow that made up the other. It was in those quiet, intimate moments that they shared their fears, dreams and desires, their bond evolving into an intricate dance of passion and trust. 

The whispers of their union spread through the castle, the twins being called upon by their father, who without hesitation offered his blessing for the pair to marry. They’d expected to perhaps be chastised for their fornication outside of wedlock, but Viserys only sought to quickly remedy this by arranging their betrothal. Young people would indeed be young people, after all. He had once been young himself, too, though it seemed like many lifetimes ago.  

“T’was an inevitability, for you both to have sought such a union upon your maturing into young adulthood. It would be foolish to believe any other course could ever have been chartered.”  

The king understood well that it was not just their Targaryen heritage that bound them, but the unyielding love that had grown from the very moment they had shared the same womb. Their father had no intention of ever separating them by expecting them to marry outside of their house. In his mind, they were two sides of the same coin, twin souls. Separation was entirely out of the question.  

The marriage went ahead upon the third day of the fourth moon, a truly lavish affair that the twins enjoyed enormously, but felt the most elation upon returning to Aemond’s quarters, where all of his new bride’s possessions had now been moved to. They often felt that world outside could barely comprehend the intensity of their connection, but within their private sanctuary, nothing else mattered. Theirs was a love story written in the stars, destined to be eternal. 

Until the day their father, the long-ailing King Viserys finally passed on four years later, his death the catalyst to their entire world set in motion to one day be threatened beyond comprehension.  

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Faith (Soap / Reader)

CW: Catholic!Soap, religious guilt, dry humping, vaginal and anal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal and anal sex, overstimulation, edging?

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 3.2k

John McTavish was a good man. He went to church every Sunday from the moment he left the womb. He could sing every hymn from memory. He could quote passages with ease. It was almost as if the text was etched into his mind. 

John McTavish was a good man. Even as he left home and joined the military, even as his faith wavered, he’d always say his nightly prayers just as his mother instructed him. He kept a cross over his heart, held up by a thin silver chain. It was an heirloom of sorts, entrusted into his calloused palms. 

John McTavish was a good man. The type of man who gave me flowers on the first date. He opened the door for me, pulled out my chair for me, and draped his jacket over my shoulders when a chill settled into the night air. Despite my persistence, he footed the bill for dinner, sliding his card toward the server. As he walked me to my apartment, he pressed a soft kiss to my lips. A gentle goodbye for a gentle man. 

John McTavish was a good man. He zipped my dress up for me, letting his hands settle on my waist. He cooed soft affirmations by my ear. Gentle reassurances I’d be perfect. I laced my fingers with his as we sat in the pews. His mother smiled at me as the priest started his sermon. As worries flooded my head; how do I read sheet music, when do you kneel, what prayers do I say; he simply squeezed my hand.

John McTavish was a good man. A good, God-fearing man. And an obedient one at that too. I held my tongue when he said he was saving himself for marriage. He held his when I told him I wasn’t a virgin. And while he obeyed, he did everything in his power to skirt around the rules. 

John McTavish was a good man. A man who would let his fingers wander to my cunt as we sat on the couch. A man who would eat me out for hours if I didn’t stop him. A man who would rut his leaking cock against my drenched underwear, threatening to slip inside of me when he slid under the thin fabric. But he never did. 

John McTavish was a good man. A man who I loved. But I needed more. I could feel a hollow pit in my stomach whenever he pulled his fingers out of me. I found myself grinding away on his tongue, hoping for more. 

John McTavish was a good man, but I needed him to fuck me.

The soft clicking of the lock drew my attention to the front door. With a grunt, he pushed the mahogany door open. Two olive green duffel bags hung over his shoulders. Faded scribbles in permanent marker adorned the canvas. I rose, stepping toward the man. A grin crept across his face. His toned arms wrapped around my body, pulling me tight to his chest. His hoodie smelled faintly of diesel and sweat. It captivated me, drawing me further into his warm embrace. 

“Missed y’ goddamnit,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to my cheek. He pushed his foot against the door, shutting it with a loud thud. I pulled away, just enough for his blue eyes to meet mine. He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. His tongue swiped against my bottom lip, urging me to open up for him. I parted my lips, whining into his mouth when his tongue slipped into my mouth. 

He took a step forward, guiding my body with his large palms. His fingers dug into my hips as he inched me backward, not daring to break our kiss. The couch brushed against the backs of my legs. With a soft grunt, he pulled away, leaving a silver trail of saliva between our parted lips. 

“Missed you so much.” He eased me back onto the couch, slotting himself between my parted legs. “Missed how you feel against me.” I caught my lip between my teeth as he slowly rocked his hips against me. His thick sweats against my thin sleep shorts. 

“Someone’s eager,” I smirked, gripping the hem of his hoodie. In one movement I pulled it from his body. My eyes raked over his toned chest. The silver chain and cross rested against his sternum. 

“I don’t think you know what you do to me.” He spoke through heavy breaths as he rutted against my core. His palms slid up my sides and beneath my oversized shirt- his shirt. He bunched the fabric up, tugging it over my head. Without another thought, he tossed it aside.

His blue eyes locked onto my bare body, drinking every bit of my frame in. My back arched off of the couch when he brought his fingers to my chest. He pinched my nipple between his fingers, watching as I squirmed beneath him. It was methodical. He knew every inch of me at this point. Every little button he could press to get me riled up. 

The sweatpants were too much of a barrier between our hips. I needed to feel his stiffening cock. Needed to feel the damp spot of pooling precum in his boxers. 

“Take the sweats off, please,” I whined, rolling my hips against his. He shifted his weight, using his free hand to shove the thick cotton over his hips. My eyes latched onto his cock, straining against his thin boxers. So hard he must’ve been aching. 

He leaned back in, skin hot against my own. He rutted his stiff cock between my thighs. His eyelids, framed by thick brown lashes, fluttered closed. Hushed noises fell from his plush parted lips. As if moving on their own, his hips rocked at a steady pace. With every brush of his cock against my throbbing clit, he pulled a whine from my chest. My head spun, want pooling in my core. I needed more. Craved it like air. 

“Johnny,” I whined, looping my arms around the back of his neck. He brushed his fingers over my clothed core, laughing at the desperation I exhumed. 

“You’re dripping,” he said with a smirk. His sharp canines sunk into his bottom lip. “Pretty pussy needs some attention, huh?” He tucked his fingers into the crotch of my shorts, forcefully tugging the fabric to the side. The cold air of the apartment met my heated cunt. I sucked in air through my clenched teeth, tensing at the anticipation. 

He circled two fingers around my clit. His blue eyes remained locked on me, unwavering in their intensity. Every twinge of my eyebrow, and scrunch of my nose, he took in. My squirming and babbling only seemed to spur him on. I couldn’t help my reactions, not when I’d been thinking about this moment for weeks. 

His fingers slid down my core until they reached my entrance. I pursed my lips, holding back the moans that swelled in my chest as he slipped two digits inside of me. My cunt fluttered around his fingers with a lewd squelch. 

“Suckin’ me in,” Johnny cooed beside my ear. His stubble brushed against my cheek, tickling my skin. 

My vision grew unfocused, fading into a haze of static. With every thrust of his fingers, he ground his palm against my clit. My thighs squeezed around his waist, pulling him closer to my aching core. 

“Wanted it bad, eh?” He said with a laugh. With a. Wet pop, his fingers slipped from me. Furrowing my brows, I watched as he pulled back, only to pamper my cunt with soft slaps. I chewed on the inside of my lip, biting back the moans that threatened to spill as immense pleasure shot up my spine. It was rare for him to get aggressive during sex, but when it happened it was irresistible. 

“I’ll treat you right. Make you cum.” I tossed my head back against the cushions, crying out his name as he sunk his digits back inside of me. His pace was rough, knuckles thumping against my core with every thrust of his fingers. 

The cushions shifted as he moved to lie between my legs. Leaning in, he licked a stripe up my cunt. He moaned against my core, sending jolts of heated pleasure up my spine. 

“Johnny- fuck!” I cried, fingers entangling in his curls. My hips slowly rocked against his fingers, pushing his digits even deeper inside me. His lips wrapped around my clit, sucking harshly. It was as if his thirst for me was unquenchable, he didn’t relent for even a moment. Even when I could tell he was struggling for air, he kept his face flush to my twitching cunt.  

Pressure pooled in my stomach, swelling like steam, threatening to break through. My jaw went slack. Pain welled in my eyes as they rolled to the back of my head. Johnny whispered soft praises against my skin, his lip tugging up into a smirk. My head spun as he pulled the air from my lungs, draining my alveoli with every flick of his tongue. 

Sweat oozed from my pores as my orgasm washed over me in waves. His fingers slowly rocked me through the pleasure with his other hand splayed across my stomach. He pressed kisses across my inner thighs, soon turning into fevered bites and licks. His soaked stubble left behind thin trails of wetness. 

He pulled out, thin silvery strands of my arousal following his digits. He moaned, bringing the sodden fingers to his lips. Droplets of my essence clung to his beard, coating the lower half of his face. He stared at me with dilated pupils as his tongue laved over the digits. 

“Johnny,” I stared at him with half-lidded eyes, chest still heaving as I steadied my breath. “I want you to fuck me.”

His blue eyes widened, lips parting as if about to speak. Not a sound came out. His thumb gently stroked my stomach. He looked away, pursing his lips into a thin line. I could feel my heartbeat quicken as he stayed silent. Glancing at the cross resting on his sternum, I sat up. 

“I’m sorry. I know you can’t. I- I don’t know why I asked.” I sputtered, my lips curling down into a frown. His hands reached toward my face, cradling my cheeks in his warm palms. His lips, still damp with my arousal, met mine in a soft kiss. 

He pulled back, gaze meeting mine, softer than before. 

“I want to,” he mumbled, bringing his hand to my thigh. “So bad.” 

He trailed soft kisses across my jaw, slowly trailing down my neck. His fingertips dug into the flesh of my ass. Slowly, he rutted his hips against me. Almost instinctually, I wrapped my legs around his hips. He smirked against my skin, fingertips sliding even closer to the hem of my shorts. 

“What if I fucked your ass?” My hips bucked as he slipped beneath my shorts, slick fingers circling my hole. I nodded, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. 

“Do you have a condom?” He asked, palm landing harshly on my ass. He smirked as he watched me recoil. Looking up at him through my eyelashes, I nodded. 

“They gave me some at my last Pap smear, hang on-” I pushed past his grip and rose to my feet. The hardwood flooring creaked behind me as he followed me, hand skimming along my waist. I stepped into the bedroom, pulling open the bedside drawer. Placed neatly beside a bottle of lube was a strip of condoms. 

My body met the plush covers of my bed. The mattress squeaked beneath our weight as he kneeled at the edge of the bed. His broad hands gripped my hips, turning me onto my back. His fingertips slipped beneath the waist of my shorts and began roughly tugging the fabric down my hips. My body jolted as he pulled them over my plush thighs. 

He leaned in, lips meeting mine in a hasty kiss. His tongue bullied its way into my mouth, pushing past my lips. I tangled my fingers in his curls, tugging him impossibly closer. I moaned into his mouth, tongue twirling against his own. Breathlessly, he pulled away.

The gaze he gave me was dripping with lust. His breath was heavy as if even the thought of what was about to happen compressed his lungs. His deep eyes dropped to my core.

“Y’ sure you want this?” He asked, thick fingers wrapping around the bottle of lube. 

“Yeah, just go slow,” I nodded. 

With a soft click, he pushed the cap open. My eyes locked onto his hands, watching as he spread a thick stripe of lube over the length of his fingers. A soft noise rose from my chest as he pushed my knees apart. I let my head drop back, falling against the thick duvet as he slowly circled my hole.

He slowly pushed his fingertips past the tight ring of muscle. He groaned, bringing his free hand to my dripping cunt. 

“So tight,” he grunted, circling his thumb around my clit. His palm met my inner thighs as he pushed knuckle-deep inside of me. My heart pounded in my ears. Blood swirled around my head, drowning out any semblance of a thought. The only thing I could focus on was the feeling of his fingers stretching me, and the thumb roughly toying with my clit. 

“Feel good, love?” He cooed. I nodded, sputtering out incoherent praises. He chuckled lowly, eyes still fixated on my core. “That’s it, open up for me.”

“Johnny!” I cried, legs closing on his hands. With a small huff, he pushed my thighs apart, splaying me out for him. His fingers kept roughly pumping in and out of me. Wet squelching echoed through the room, melding with my moans. 

“Nae, keep your legs apart. Show me how well you’re taking my fingers.” I clenched around his digits, biting back a moan. My head spun with every perverted sentence he said. The sensation, his tone, even the anticipation of what was to come was too overbearing. 

Pain sparked behind my eyes as they rolled to the back of my head. My face contorted into a grimace, lips parting in a silent scream as I came on his fingers. 

“Fuck-” he drew out the word, voice shaking with the force of his fingers. “Didn’t know you were so into anal. I’d’ve fucked your ass ages ago.”

“Johnny, add another finger,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. Without any protest, he slid another digit in alongside the two others. A breathy moan fell from my tongue as the dull burning of the stretch settled in my core. 

He roughly pumped his fingers in and out of me. My fingers dug into the duvet, knuckles going pale at the force of my grip. I could feel myself falling into the stimulation, a heavy pressure growing in my stomach. My vision blurred as tears of overstimulation welled in my eyes. It was too much, and yet I craved more. 

“I’m gonna-“ I paused, exhaling a shaky breath “cum-”

He pulled out with a soft pop, pulling a whine from my strained voice box. The building pressure fizzled out into nothing but a full spark. Slowly, he came back into focus. Only he wasn’t kneeling before me this time. His boxers were now discarded on the floor. I watched as he hastily rolled the condom over his length. The corners of his lips turned up into a crooked smile as he caught my gaze. 

Biting down on my lip, I watched as he spread a generous about of lube over his cock. At this point, I knew what he felt like in my throat, in my hand. I could feel my stomach fluttering at the thought of him inside of me. 

With one hand on the back of my thigh, he gently pushed my knee toward my chest. My eyes locked onto his cock as he lined himself up with my entrance. He slowly pushed his hips forward. I pursed my lips, swallowing back the discomfort of the stretch. He groaned, his hips jerking forward and nudging the head of his cock inside of me. 

“Oh fuck-” he slurred, gently inching forward. With every inch I took, throbbing pressure built in my stomach, growing hotter with every little twitch of his hips. “You feel so good-” 

He rolled his hips into me, bottoming out. Without giving me a moment to adjust he started a rough pace. My back arched off of the bed. Crying out his name, I gripped his shoulders tight. My nails dug into his skin hard enough to leave a trail of red marks. 

His hips moved as if they had a mind of their own. Desperate pants fell from his chest. Like a dog in heat, he thrusted into me. His eyes, glazed over with pleasure, were half-lidded. His cerulean irises were now a deep navy, tainted by his dilated pupils. 

“I’m not gonnae last- feels too good-” his words were a mumbled mess, punctuated by short grunts and groans. “Oh fuck I’mgonnacum-”

His hips stuttered, pace growing erratic as he spilled inside of me. He bit down hard on his lip. Small beads of blood rose to the surface of his flushed skin. I reached out, grabbing his chin between my hands. 

His kiss tasted of iron as he leaned in. He mumbled soft apologies against my lips. His hands feverishly pawed at every inch of skin within reach, gripping my thighs, my chest, my stomach. 

“I’m sorry-” he spoke through heavy breaths. 

“It’s okay, Johnny-”

“No, I want you to cum,” he said, pulling out of me. His fingers slipped beneath the condom, quickly pulling the latex off of his length. He was still hard, almost twitching in his hand. My lips parted as he lined himself up with my cunt. He pushed inside of me, quickly bottoming out. 

“Johnny!” I cried out. 

“Fuck- cum for me, please.” He drew sloppy circles against my clit, fast and relentless. His thighs met my ass with every thrust. Slapping echoed throughout the room. My head spun, worsening with every drag of his cock against my nerve endings. 

“Oh my god-” I babbled, clenching around his cock. My muscles tensed as my nerves pulsed with electricity. Static washed over my body, consuming me as I came around his cock. Tinnitus subsumed my hearing, leaving nothing but faint ringing behind. My senses depleted as my limbs dipped further into overstimulation.

“Hey, hey,” Johnny softly cooed. 

He tugged me into his chest, fingertips skating down my sides. My skin was sticky, covered with layers of sweat. I would’ve felt disgusting had it not been for the warm embrace I was basking in. I tilted my head back to look at him. His eyes were wide. Any trace of smugness was gone from his face. His brows were furrowed, blue eyes feverishly flicking across my face. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, tucking stray strands of dampened hair behind my ear. 

“Yeah,” I hummed, nuzzling my face into his chest. The cool chain dangling from his neck brushed against my cheek. 

“Why did you…” I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t leave my tongue. 

“Actually fuck you?” He asked, chuckling. I could feel the deep vibrations in his chest as his voice bellowed out. “There’s no way I wasn’t going to hell for fucking your ass, so why not just go all the way, huh?” He cradled my face with his palm. I pulled away abruptly, propping myself up on one elbow.

“So you’d be down to do it again?”

Masterlist

[ultravi0lence14]

CONFETTI ON THE FLOOR

DEAN WINCHESTER X BIMBO!READER

WARNINGS: none cause it’s my baby’s bday. just a bunch of fluff and some suggestiveness😏

SUMMARY: it’s dean’s birthday, and the only thing he wants to do is spend time with his girl.

WC: 978

“dean, dean! wake up!” the sweet sound of an angel’s song and the jostling of his mattress woke dean up from his deep slumber. a groan rippled from his lips as he felt a weight drop onto his body, straddling his lap and lightly shaking his shoulders. “c‘mon sleepyhead, i’ve got a surprise for the birthday boy!”

he knew that the voice enthusiastically waking him up was his sweet girl, but he also couldn’t help but be surprised at what you were saying — well, more like squealing — to him.

was it january 24th already? he knew that he commonly lost track of time and dates while being on hunts, but he was positive that he should’ve remembered his birthday coming up.

slowly opening his eyes, dean was greeted by the soft features of your face. big, round eyes were the first thing he saw, followed by the natural pout of your soft pink lips. the soft strands of your hair fell around you and dean like a privacy curtain, and the now 35 year old man couldn’t help but brush it out of your face and behind your ear.

your smile was infectious, and dean found himself grinning alongside you. “a surprise?” his voice had that same lilt of cockiness it always did, but you knew that was just how dean was. and around you? he was the most caring person you’ve ever met. “does it happen to be the pretty thing on top of me by any chance?”

a shy smile graced your face, your hand lifting to hit dean on the chest as your head went down to hide in the crook of his neck. “don’t be so dirty dean,” his stubble scratched at your cheeks, yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. he looked way too hot when he forgot to shave. “i spent a lot of time on this. so let’s go, the food in the kitchen is not going to eat itself.”

releasing a joking huff, dean leaned up to plant a delicate kiss on your cheek, gripping your hips so he could softly place you beside him. “if i find a pie on the kitchen table, i’m gonna show you the only thing i want for my birthday, sweet thing.”

you just blushed harder, climbing off of the bed and following dean out of his room. you clutched onto his arm, resting your head on his shoulder as you both walked towards the kitchen. he loved you like this; excited, and so full of love that is was practically bursting from your pores.

when dean entered the kitchen, he never felt his heart feel more full. it was like it was beating out of his chest, exploding all his love towards his girl.

it was nothing crazy, and that’s what dean loved about it. you knew him, and you knew he wasn’t an over the top kind of guy. a simple sign that you had made from paper and string read ‘happy birthday’ in pink marker — your favourite colour, but he didn’t mind.

balloon’s were littered on the floor, alongside a plethora of confetti that dean couldn’t help but smile at. sitting on the table, was two birthday hats and an apple pie with a candle sticking out the top.

a soft smile graced dean’s features, head turning downwards. his eyes pierced yours, slowly detaching your arm from his body so he could wrap his arms around you and pull your body into his chest. “you did this all for me, baby?”

your eyes held a nervous lilt before, staring up at your lover wide eyed as you watched him take in your work. but as he praised you, one hand running down your arm to your low back and the other tangling in your hair, you couldn’t help but let a shy smile break through.

slightly nodding your head, you wrapped your arms around his waist, clutching onto his body in a tight embrace. “yeah, i did.” you cradled your cheek into his chest, listening to his heart beat faster and faster.

the softness of your voice had dean chuckling, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. “you’re one of a kind, sweet girl. i don’t think i could possibly love you anymore.” his grin was blinding, and your chest tightened as you remembered the other surprise you had up your sleeve.

“actually,” you smiled softly, pulling away from dean so you could grab the gift you hid underneath the kitchen table. “i’ve got a little something special that i thought you’d like.”

dean’s eyes widened as you pulled the wrapped square present from it’s spot, handing it over to dean with a bounce in your heals. “i saw this online, and i couldn’t help myself.” with expectant hands, dean tore up the present like an excited child, eyes lighting up with excitement and mouth slightly dropping when he saw an original AC/DC vinyl, signed by all the band members.

“oh my god,” he breathed out, hands tightly gripping the album like it would grow legs and run away. “baby, how did you even find this?”

a shy blush rose to your cheeks, your chin dipping down to your shoulder as you raised them in a shrug. “found it on ebay. i happen to be a pro at those auctions.”

you couldn’t even finish your sentence before dean’s lips crashed onto yours. a gasp tore from your lips into his mouth, hands clutching at your waist as yours went around his neck. pulling him in closer, you could feel the ridges of his abs and the record pressed up against your back, still in dean’s clutches.

“i love you.” he murmured into your mouth, the feeling of his tongue exploring yours afterwards being all consuming. “this might be my best birthday yet.”

TAGS: @starzify @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @bluemerakis @foolinthera1n @figthoughts @haunteres @gibson-g1rl @vaiieydoii @deanangel @honeyryewhiskey @misatxox @a-lil-pr1ncess

NAT BABBLES: szn 9 stubble dean nation rise up‼️also as much as i would’ve loved to write smut for this, i just thought i’d be a little silly and cut it off before anything crazy could happen🤭

[fairytwles]

hi babyyyy

sending asks bc you’re about to answer a bunch! i was wondering if u have any lottienat or jackienat (or jackielottienat :o) headcanons or anything i love them so bad

love u!

hi baby gorgeous!!!!

i love love love answering asks feel free to send more if u want <3 (if that's what u meant by the first sentence lol) and yes ofc <3 i have a bunch of jackienat headcanons BUT give me a day or two and I will come back with LottieNat headcanons i PROMISE

jackienat

nat 100% made jackie mixtapes before they were dating in order to "get jackie listening to some real music" but really made them so she could put her feelings out there without actually saying anything.... she would put so much thought, love and effort into them but would never admit it

she never necessarily wanted jackie to figure it out since she never thought jackie would feel the same way, it was just something she did so she could get some of the weight off her chest

jackie's oblivious so she never got the hint lol

jackie learned how to make a mixtape (with the help of shauna) and put some of her favorite music on it to give to nat (mostly top fourties pop)

she decorated it with glitter stickers and wrote nats name in a pink paint marker

nat adored it

pop music isn't really her thing.... like at all

but she found herself playing it over and over and over again

she got one of the songs stuck in her head one day and was unconsciously humming it during class

van made fun of her for it when she realized what song it was and nat has never been more embarrassed in her life.

jackie realized she liked natalie (and therefore liked girls) late in her junior year of highschool, nat was giving her these mixtapes and she adored every last bit of them

she always wanted to talk to natalie, but never had the guts to truly try to be friends with her... of course they talked because of soccer, but not really outside of that...

(i headcanon jackie as a lesbian for context) She slowly realized she never truly liked jeff that way but was too scared to break up with him because she didn't think anyone would love her the way he did, she thought she could push through and everything would work out and it made her feel so guilty

she thought about nat often but didn't do anything about it,, the thought of dating her was nothing more than a dream to jackie.

jackie made the first move (completely accidentally) by asking nat after soccer one day if she wanted to go look at CD's and records and casettes with her, that she wanted to look at some more of the music nat put on the mixtapes for her (is this a readable sentence??? idk its 3am)

nat completely freaked out internally but obv said yes

jackie had no idea where to go so nat figured it all out

they spent an hour in the store just talking and laughing as if they were already best friends for years

and then they both went to a cafe afterwards (which was not in the original plan) because neither of them wanted to leave each other yet

I HAVE SO MANY MORE THOUGHTS BUT ITS 3AM AND I GOTTA GO TO BED

so this has to be cut short :((

I love you more!!! the lottie to my jackie <33 thank u for the ask this was so fun

[idontmindifuforgetme]

The whole “be responsible not for other people’s feelings but to them” distinction is so so true… at some point you need to realize that other people’s insecurities really are their responsibility & dimming or contorting yourself to make them feel better helps neither you nor them. Firstly, bc they need to realize what they’re doing and grow up. And secondly, bc you’re not just compromising on a one-time thing. You’re comprising on who you are as a person. I don’t want to look back when I’m older and stay stuck wishing I held my ground despite people’s projections or asserted my presence more or didn’t apologize so much for who I am. I really just want to own everything (the good and bad) & continue doing what makes me happy

[arttsuka]

I made @wolfythewitch 's fox Bill design out of polymer clay

It's pretty thin (so thin I'm afraid it'll snap in half anytime I lift it)

Front and back side:

[cangrellesteponme]

wife

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Quest Continues...

(part 1- part 2)

[neonlazycat]

LDR moon by @spadillelicious

Guys.....I caved in

[lemongogo]

[calmbigdipper]

Progenitor Kaveh you have my heart and soul…

[crimsonmonsoon]

The God Pleasing Prince, Xie Lian (with acrylic markers)

I hope I wrote that Chinese right, it is not even close to a language I have ever studied and I just have to believe I did it right.