#i love philip's curly hair

[wackulart]

the first drawing is me figuring out how to draw beast belos for the first time and the second is because I rewatched elsewhere elsewhen for the 21343285784965875894th time

[skitskatdacat63]

“Amore et Timore” - King Fernando I “El Animoso”

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Andrew | In Spite Of It | Romantic

Andrew keeps running into you - first around John the Baptist, then around Jesus - and in spite of you being Roman, maybe some things are just meant to be.

Requested by: Chey

“No – ew-ew-ew – stop that John! Get away!” Your disgusted giggles drift across the small makeshift camp as your adoptive brother chases you with a freshly killed locust in his hand and the sound causes Andrew’s gut to turn into a swarm of butterflies spreading all throughout his system. 

In spite of his age, John the Baptiser has not lost his playful spark that he allows to come out every so often. That also means that he ends up chasing you with all kinds of bugs in an attempt to have you eat them, and eventually eating them right in front of you, much to your disgust. 

It has become a running gag that your Roman origins have made you averse to eating locusts, even though you had grown up in the household of Elizabeth and Zechariah from the age of seven months, after they had found you on the side of the road wailing loudly next to your collapsed mother. John, only four at that time, had always seen you as an actual younger sister. Never mind the suspicious glances often sent your way, as well as the rumours that you were some kind of Roman spy. Your adoptive family, however, didn’t love you any less than if you had been their own.

“Come on, just a little piece!” John cackles, trying to shove the locust into your face, and you slap away his hand, “Maybe with a bit of honey on it?” 

You shake your head, pulling a face. “Never!”

Philip chuckles as he sits down next to Andrew. “Can you believe these two?” he says with playful amusement. “I’d say they’re obviously one another’s flesh and blood, but it’s not like they actually are.”

“They act just like Simon and I.” Andrew breathes, taking a bite of his bread. “(Y/n) really doesn’t like these bugs. I just wish John would stop teasing her with it.”

Philip raises an eyebrow. “How so? It’s not like she’s in actual distress. It’s just good-natured teasing, and if (Y/n) really didn’t want John to mess with her, she’d have said so. It doesn’t seem like that much of a problem. Don’t you and Simon roughhouse from time to time? Does it mean you want someone to intervene?”

Andrew shakes his head and shrugs. “I suppose not, depending on the context.” Philip gives him a knowing smile as he observes Andrew’s gaze on you. 

The younger son of Jonah turns his eyes back to his friend next to him, who has a small smirk on his face. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just… Offer her some bread.”

Andrew looks at the loaf in his hand. There’s not much left but he knows that you haven’t eaten anything at all. Philip makes a very valid point and the fisherman clears his throat. 

“Ah, (Y/n)?” 

You shove back John with a grin on your face before turning to the man who called your name. “Yes?” Your face softens as you settle your eyes on Andrew.

He takes a deep breath. “Would you– Uh, would you like some of my bread?” 

Your lips curl upwards, revealing the smile that has Andrew often weak at the knees. “Please.” you earnestly say, “That’s very kind of you, thank you.” 

As you approach the curly-haired fisherman, John clicks his tongue. “Way to ruin the fun, Andrew! I was so close to having her finally try a bug!” The Baptist says so in good humour, mirth glittering in his eyes. You click your tongue and roll your eyes before plopping down next to Andrew, slightly out of breath from fighting your older brother. 

“Thank you, Andrew. You’re the best!”

The praise turns Andrew into a shy, stuttering mess. “Y-You’re welcome. Here.” He hands you the rest of his loaf and you take it, letting your gaze go from him to the bread. 

“All of it?”

He nods. “All of it. I’ve had enough.”

“Are you sure?” 

Once again, Andrew gives you a positive answer. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.” he whispers. You smile softly at him, maintaining a moment of meaningful eye-contact before saying a short prayer. 

“Amen.” Andrew and Philip both conclude as you finish, and you sink down your teeth into the loaf of bread, which is delightful in spite of its staleness. Being on the road makes it easier to digest less fresh food.

Andrew watches discreetly as you consume it with a content look on your face, your eyes turned to the horizon. He tries calming himself, wondering what he should do with these feelings he harbours towards you. 

_ 

A long while passes, and at a certain point in time John announces that he should carry on part of his ministry by himself. To prepare the way, as he says so cryptically, and even though none of John’s followers really understand what he means by that, it’s clear that the journey is drawing to a close. Andrew knows he will be returning to Capernaum soon and he wonders if and when he will see you again.

You’re just saying goodbye to a few of the other followers when Andrew approaches you with sweaty palms, his heart racing in his chest as he sees your disarming smile as you embrace a few of John’s students, wishing them all the best and expressing your hope to meet them again some day. It seems that none of them take issue with you being Roman, even if they did so at the start of their journey alongside the Baptiser. 

He clears his throat which prompts you to look over your shoulder, and the moment he sees your (e/c) eyes glitter curiously at him, he feels his heart skip a pleasant beat. It takes him a second to gather himself to speak up. “Uh, shalom, (Y/n).”

“Shalom, Andrew.” In spite of you being a Gentile, you have always used the Jewish greeting. He takes a deep breath to respond.

“Aren’t you sad that this is all over now?”

You smile a little wistfully. “A little,” you admit, “But you know that this is not over.” Leaning slightly closer to him, you bring your voice down to a whisper. “It’s just the beginning. Everything John has been preaching will now be put into practice.”

Andrew can’t help but smile at that. Not only are your words true, your proximity is equally disarming. “I can’t argue with that. Will we see each other again?”

Hope flickers in your eyes. “I’m certain that we will.” you murmur, “Just so you know, I can be found around John in his upcoming ministry to support him.”

The fisherman nods a little. “Good to know.” he breathes, and for a long moment the two of you stare at one another in a silence that’s far from unpleasant. You feel your heart flutter at his boyish smile and the way his curls are played with by the wind.

“On that note, shalom, Andrew. God bless you.”

“God bless you too,” he replies, “Shalom shalom.”

Although you’ve reassured him that this isn’t the last you’re seeing of one another, it still sends a pang of hurt through Andrew’s chest as you head back to your brother’s side, giving him a hug and ruffling up his hair. The sight gets Andrew to lightly chuckle, for it’s a recognisable scene between him and Simon as well. Siblinghood, he has learnt over the past months of knowing you and John, goes beyond blood.

With a heavy heart, Andrew grabs his small bag of belongings, hoisting it over his shoulder before starting the trek back to Capernaum alongside a few other followers of John. 

He’s unsure how he’d ever forget about you, but he knows that his old life is waiting for him now. 

The fishing sloop is already calling out to him.

_

John’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. His radical language coupled with his unique, familiar  edge makes it so that Andrew doesn’t need to come closer to the front in spite of him standing quite a bit away.

It takes him only a moment to spot you; even though you’re wearing a new veil, your (h/c) peeks out from under it, and it sends a pleasant smile over the fisherman’s face. 

He’s been thinking about you more than he’d ever dare to admit.

On the other hand, he’s been on your mind, too.

You have been supporting John in his ministry by standing close to him these past few weeks as he’s been preaching to people at the Jordan River. John doesn’t need someone to gather the crowds for him - not anymore - so you gladly support your brother in other ways. It’s only a matter of time before He will show up. 

As John’s controversial words tear through the air, your gaze momentarily falls on Andrew. It’s unmistakably him, and you share a brief smile that feels longer than it is. Something shimmers in your eyes as it does in his. Something unsaid, yet so obvious. 

You’re almost overcome by the urge to walk through the crowd to embrace the fisherman, but you stand your ground when another familiar face suddenly enters your peripheral view. 

It’s unnecessary to turn to John to tell him about His arrival. John’s bony hand reaches out to point at Jesus, and the masses turn as one to look upon Him.

“See! The Lamb of God Who takes away the sin of the world!” John’s words cause your heart to stutter, “I have been talking about Him. I said, ‘One is coming after me Who is more important than I, because He lived before I was born.’ I did not know who He was, but I have come to baptise with water so the Jews might know about Him.”

You can hear a pin drop despite dozens of people having gathered on the shore, everyone turned to Jesus as He approaches John, halting in front of him. The two cousins exchange a few words, and Jesus eventually takes off His sandals, stepping into the river.

Giving them some space, you decide to find Andrew, who cannot take his eyes off the scene taking place right in front of him. You brush up next to him, slightly touching his arm to greet him. “Shalom Andrew,” you whisper, “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, (Y/n),” he mutters, too focused on Jesus to take his gaze away from Him. “Is this He Who John has been preaching about, then?”

“Just watch.” you whisper in response.

With your eyes trained on your childhood friend Jesus, you watch how He lowers in the water, momentarily enveloped by it, and as He rises to the surface, heaven opens up.

You don’t need to say a word as a dove sits down upon Him, overcome by the words that proclaim who He is.

“This is My beloved Son, with Whom I am well pleased.”

_

It goes without question that Jesus’ call for you to follow Him received your full submission without any hesitation whatsoever. 

Simon Peter doesn’t like it one bit. Raised Jewish or not, you’re still a Roman by blood, one that grew up alongside Creepy John no less. 

You find the older son of Jonah glaring at you from time to time as you sit around the fire with your friends Mary, Philip and Little James. You don’t pay him any mind, your attention divided between the Messiah and Andrew accordingly. 

Andrew, now travelling in such close proximity to you, far from opposed to the fact that he gets to see you practically every day again, has a difficult time keeping his own emotions and feelings for you at bay. He is aware that your adoptive parents are no longer amongst the living, so he knows that if he were to ask for your hand in marriage, he’d have to ask John. Not that he was required to do so by law - you were Roman after all - but he likes the symbolism behind it. 

His older brother is quick to catch on. Had it been any other woman, Simon would have teased him about it. This time, however, Simon isn’t pleased in the slightest.

One evening, when he catches Andrew staring at you across the fire as you’re in conversation with Ramah and Tamar, he brushes up next to his younger sibling with crossed arms, making himself appear taller. “I know what you’re thinking,” he accuses with a sharp tone that’s close to a hiss, “And the answer is no.”

Feeling caught in the act, Andrew’s eyes widen as he looks at Simon. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Andrew. I know you like (Y/n), but she’s a Roman.”

“She’s been raised in a Jewish household and follows the same Teacher.”

Simon huffs. “That doesn’t matter. Roman is as Roman does.”

Andrew’s eyes narrow. “What’s your issue, man? I’ve known (Y/n) for years. She’s genuine, kind and selfless.” He blows a strand of hair out of his face and sighs. “...And beautiful.” he adds softly, his gaze turning back to watch you, eyes turning gentle.

The older son of Jonah rolls his eyes. “Trust me, we’d all lose in this situation. Not only would you be married to a Roman, you’d also have Creepy John as your brother-in-law.”

“Don’t call him that! And you're not the one to decide whom I marry!”

“As your older brother, I sort of can.”

“Says who?”

“Says me!” 

The two bickering brothers have drawn the attention of many, including you, towards them. Big James chuckles and bumps John’s shoulder, bringing his voice to a whisper: “And then Jesus calls us the Sons of Thunder, ha! Wonder what that makes these two.” This earns him a chuckle from his younger brother.

Simon and Andrew are snapping back and forth, talking over each other, brows furrowed and not listening to one another. 

As an agent of peace, Philip steps forward first. “You two, cut it out. Everyone around camp can hear you fight, and you guys know Jesus is already asleep because He was so tired of teaching all day! Don’t wake Him up because of your nonsense.”

Guilt spreads over the faces of both former fishermen. 

“Sorry.” Andrew mutters, followed by a quieter parrot of said response from Simon.

However, a deep pit sets in their guts when they see Jesus appear in the opening of His tent, already awoken by their bickering. Shame dusts Andrew’s face pink as Simon averts his gaze.

Jesus smiles as He approaches the students, in spite of the bags under His eyes. “Shalom shalom,” He states, “Is everything alright?”

“We didn’t mean to wake you, Rabbi, we were just arguing about something stup–”

“—It isn’t about something stupid.” Jesus cuts off Andrew, then turns to the older son of Jonah. “Simon. You should know better by now.”

Simon’s brow furrows in question. “What do You mean by that, Rabbi?”

“Concerning (Y/n). You should try and put aside your prejudice against her ancestry and focus on the individual she is instead, but let’s discuss this later. Andrew, first I would like a word with you.”

“With me?” Andrew puts a hand on his chest, as if a second Andrew has suddenly popped into existence somewhere nearby. Jesus chuckles with a knowing glimmer in His eyes. 

“Yes. Come, let’s walk.”

The two men leave behind the others as they leave camp under a blanket of stars, their path somewhat illuminated by the moon. Andrew can’t help but cast a quick glance your way as you still sit talking to Mary by the fire on the other side of the perimeter. 

Jesus and Andrew walk in brief silence as the Messiah folds His hands on His back. The fisherman waits for Him to speak first. When they are far enough to not be overheard, Jesus breaks the quietness of night. 

“I must implore you to hurry.”

Confusion creases Andrew’s brow together. “I… What do You mean?”

Jesus’ smile turns into something sadder, something bittersweet as He glances towards Andrew. The two halt in their step. Despite the darkness of night, Andrew can still properly see Jesus. 

“You want to ask John for (Y/n)’s hand. You need to do so soon.”

Andrew knows better than to deny his love for you, especially in front of the Son of God. Still, another issue crosses his mind. “But John is in prison, how would I ever be able to–” 

Jesus puts His hand onto Andrew’s shoulder and gently squeezes. 

“An opportunity will come to you soon.”

Andrew lets out a small scoff. “Soon…”

Jesus smiles at that. “You’ll know when. When the time comes, you will travel to see John, and you will ask him for her hand in marriage. I know you are anxious, but I also know you are courageous enough to go into the lion’s den to do what you’ve been wanting to do for a very long time now.”

Andrew’s heart rears at that. Jesus squeezes once more and steps away. 

“Now, I am going to try and catch more sleep now. Don’t you and your brother fight again until the morning, okay?” Jesus playfully muses before turning back to camp. “Shalom shalom.”

“Shalom shalom.” Andrew mutters back, his mind running rampant with what Jesus could have meant with that he’d soon be travelling to see John the Baptist in the lion’s den no less, and he watches how the Messiah withdraws to camp. 

If he squints, Andrew can see your form still sitting by the fire, his heart skipping a beat as a fond smile spreads over his lips.

Going into the lion’s den to ask for your hand in marriage. That, paired with the warning of Jesus to hurry up… 

Andrew takes a sharp breath and straightens his back, a sudden wave of determination rushing through him. In spite of the danger that will come with that journey ahead of him, it will be worth it. 

You will be worth it, and he can’t wait.

[walder-138]

ESTER ‘BULLET’ WILDE BIO SHEET!!!!

General

Name: Ester Wilde

Alias/nicknames: E, Essie, Bullet, Sarge, Shadow 7-9

Birthday: December 31st 1989 at 11:57 AM

Age: 33

Nationality: American (Manhattan, New York)

Languages: English, Spanish, Persian and Italian (conversational)

Affiliations: USMC (Formerly as of 2016), CIA (2016-2018), Shadow Company (2019-present)

Family: Rhonda Barone-Wilde (Mother), Benjamin ‘Ben’ Wilde (Father, deceased), Phoebe Fischer (older sister), Zachary ‘War Pig’ Wilde (Twin brother; older than him by 3 minutes) (Doesn’t let him live it down), Stephanie Wilde (SIL, @imagoddamnonionmason) Zach Wilde Jr, Avery Wilde, and Finley Wilde (Nephews and niece), numerous unnamed cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and nieces/nephews

Friends/coworkers: Philip Graves (Commander, ex but they only dated briefly), Zachary Wilde (CO, deceased as of end MW2), Klaus Newman (Potential love interest, coworker/friend) Stephanie Wilde (SIL, coworker, and best friend) (both @imagoddamnonionmason) Sheree "Reed" Norcliffe (Coworker, best friend, @justasmolbard)

Appearanrce

Height: 5’11 1/2

Eye color: Hazel-green

Hair: Curly Brown, usually straightened and put in a bun, waist-length

Skin: Olive

Body Type: Absolutely ripped- 170 pounds of pure muscle

Scars and marks: Has scars from slashes on 85% of her body from her face down from getting tortured during her time in the CIA. Gets freckles during the summer. Mole under right eye; cleft chin and dimples

Tattoos: Has one on both her wrists; thought the pain wasn’t worth it and didn’t get anymore after that

Personality

Positive Traits: Loyal, hardworking, would go to extreme lengths for her family and friends, protective, loving, hilarious, honest

Negative Traits: Vulgar, impolite, disrespectful, not exactly intelligent, stubborn, handles emotions poorly, impatient

Mannerisms: tilts her head to the side a lot, very expressive, bombastic side eye, talks with her hands, lopsided smile

Voice: Thick New York accent, uses a lot of slang, speaks very quickly and sounds like she’s always in a rush

Trivia

Was a punk as a teenager, and was even a drummer for a band her and her friends were in.

Since she grew up in Manhattan, her and Zach watched the World Trade Center be attacked from their mom’s apartment. (They were sick that day)

Her codename is a reference to a Misfits song

Bullet was a juvenile delinquent between ages 12-17; she stole, vandalized, got into fights, and even smoked pot and drank

Her delinquency is what caused her to almost flunk out of high school; she never came to class and would do poorly on exams.

The latter is the reason she ended up joining the Marines. Not because she loved her country, but cause it was her only option besides going to prison.

Despite everything she’s gone through, Ester will say boot camp was the worst part of her life.

Thank God I’ve got this out of the way lmao. I just wanted to briefly talk about her life before the military. Everything else will be revealed to y’all in a dream okay bye

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ur good 🗞 anon I don't have a problem with it :))) also I'm sending u a red eye (drip coffee w a shot of Espresso in it) it is the fuel that keeps blue collar guys going

ALSO ALSO IM STILL FERAL OVER GENDERBENT 141 FUCK WOMENNNNNN

-🔪

I love how you 2 are having a love affair in my asks

speaking of Genderbent!141,

Let me use highjack this ask to cook up something good:

Genderbent!Los Vaqueros (and everyone else).

(this is especially for @lyralein and their promise to draw me Alejandra and Rosario)

Alejandra Vargas has the longest, prettiest hair for someone who spends their time with it TIED IN A DAMN HIGH PONYTAIL???? She 100% wears SOOOO much hair gel to keep it slick and from having flyaways while in the field but that means it exposes her widow's peak and big ass fivehead. She's very used to being underestimated (just like Jane Price) but she has natural scary dog privilege and even her smirks and smiles look evil, so her subordinates Know Better™️. Also, she's tall as all hell, just like Simone. Fuck you mean she's 5ft10???? She serves cunt everywhere she goes when off-duty.

Rosario "Rosa" Parra has a curly bob and has the longest prettiest eyelashes. Does it pass regulation? No. But are you gonna go tell the Colonel's best friend to fix her hair, cut it? No. Exactly. Now get out of her face before SgtMj Parra makes you run drills. She and Alejandra have MATCHING tattoos that they got after the betrayal of their teammates who were on the cartel's payroll (like Valerio Garza). I'm entirely convinced her and Alejandra have gossip sessions over coffee when doing paperwork.

Valerio Garza is 100% such a fucking papi chulo. You know it, I know it. Man's got the most beautiful brown eyes, thickest brows, and the nastiest little smug smirk on his lips at all times. Has a shaggy little hairstyle that just makes him look like SUCH a fuckboy and a 5 o'clock shadow. Man's tall as all hell and I just KNOW he's got a fucking scorpion tattooed in his forearm. Just trust me on this.

Patricia Graves (yes I know Philipa exists but I don't like it for him bc it's not 'common' the way 'Philip' is common for men) is such a fucking bitch. I'm sorry, but she is. (to me, Philip's actions just become even more inexcusable when she's a woman like????) Anyways. Has the sleekest light brown hair but she gets it lightened to blonde because she can. Who's gonna stop her? Wears her hair cut into a lob (long bob) and unironically loves cowboy boots when she's out of uniform.

Alexa Keller is ready to fuck shit up at a moment's notice. Give her a time and a place and she WILL show up, drop some bodies, and leave without a word. Tall and strong, but not as beefy as Soap. Especially top-heavy. I'm convinced she binds her chest with bandages in order to fasten her vest on properly. Has a layered bob and carries bobby pins in her pack/pockets so she can keep pinning it back, on TOP of already carrying hair-ties around her wrists. At one point, Faris teaches her how to tie a scarf to keep it off her face.

Faris Karim is, I hate to say it, tall and on the skinny side. The ULF is a freedom fighting group and he's spent much time in prison, so, he's not as 'well developed' as many soldiers would be. Nonetheless, he's a good leader and makes up for his lesser build with determination. Has a beard that he cannot keep up with more often than not so he shaves it off when it gets too long, and keeps his hair in a combover or quiff.

Christopher "Chris" Laswell is, point blank, tall and slightly pudgy, used to being behind a desk, writing reports and fucking people up with words more than with fists. That being said, piss him off hard enough and he'll have you on your ass. Has an Ivy League cut with a side part and is either PERFECTLY clean-shaven or has the THICKEST beard you've ever seen. (I was gonna 'pick' a mustache only but then he'd look like Alex Keller too much)

Natasha is, I hate to say it, the most stereotypical Russian woman you've ever met... minus the blonde hair. She has the beautiful waves, she has the red lipstick and the heavy make-up, she has the expensive fur coats, and dresses and heels, and all the jewelry. Is it practical? No. But she's a CEO and a forced to be reckoned and there's nothing stopping her.

[ More Genderbent!COD ]

[urapunk]

NOEMI AKAMAI .... character post... I guess?

noemi my sweet sweet summer child

She loves bread. Its an odd obsession but will just eat plain whole slices. Was fascinated watching Juri make toast, it was something she never thought of. Toasted bread wasnt popular on her island, which left her entirely curious. (I will be drawing this)

Smells AMAZING. Everyone thinks shes gatekeeping her perfume but she really isnt. They come from her grandmother in the islands but she often cant read the labels due to never learning how to write in her native tongue, only learning to speak in it.

Her hair is dirty blonde, a really sweet and sandy color that looks sort of brown but sort of tan. Her mother loves it, and would ALWAYS do her hair in a way that was honorary to her culture. Noemi learned how to do these tricky braids her mom did and likes to do it for her friends now. Her mom loves seeing her in her room with mandy while she does mandys hair.

Lots of people think she and luis are of the same ethnicity and culture and all that, but they really arent. They're boths just tan with curly hair, and thats what makes peopke think so.

Bruna loves her to death, they're besties you're honor. They call eachother their wives as a joke, and it always confuses the jocks to see noemi squeeze bruna like she just returned from war. Bruna also knows how to do some of the braids that noemi does, and since noemi cant do them herself bruna helps.

Bruna misses juri like she misses her grandmother. She thinks he wad the best man to ever live other than her dad and he so wishes he wouldve stuck around long enough so she could at the very least convince her parent to take him with her back to the islands for spring break. She so desperately wanted to show him around and to let him meet her grandmother.

Noemi has light brown eyes that she got from her mom, and they look so insanely pretty in the sun that Ms. Philips asked to capture them in canvas one time when the sun was shining through her class room window just right.

Her cheeks are adorably pudgy. Think of it as baby fat that was never lost.

Loves to bask in the sun and tans like a goddess, the way the sun feels so welcoming and sweet like cuddles just fascinates her. There was one spot back in her grandmothers home at the islands, with a couch right under the window. She sleeps there everythime she visits so she can wake up to the sun shining on her. She photosynthesizes.

Feels odd when mandy says something about mot wanting to grow old, noemi thinks its a priviledge to be able to get old grey and wrinkly, because you'll watch some of the most important generations. She wishes when she gets old that she could be just like her grandmother.

Bruna, Mandy, Noemi, and sometimes even Emery all have sleepovers whenever they can. They are THE friends. Honorable mention; christy USED to be in the group until she spread a rumor about Noemi sobbing about Juri.

she loves anything coconut, peach flavored, and sugary, but in a light way where it doesnt taste TOO sweet.

She's a lifeguard in the summer, a lifeguard that Juri seems to stare at. They have a relationship like wendy and squints from the sandlot after their breakup.

<3

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Borrowing Papa's Gloves (The Saturday Bonus Fic) ❄️ 🧤

(Based on these au headcanons by @livvychoclate)

"Snow!" Little Alma gasped while in her pink pajamas, staring with sparkly eyes at all the white, powdery stuff that covered the driveway from her room window.

"It snowed last night! It snowed!" She exclaimed with a bright smile, her cute face pressed against the window glass.

The small girl was too excited to contain herself as she quickly left her room and entered the room of her sleeping parents to let them know about the frosty fluff.

"Mamá, Papá, it snowed last night! There's snow outside!" Alma gleefully announced.

Hearing their daughter's cheerful voice, Beardo Philip and Camila slowly awaken from their slumber.

"Oh, it did?" Camila yawned as she stretched her arms and grabbed her specs from her nightstand before sliding them on.

She smiled when she saw Alma's smile.

"Mm-hmm!" Alma replied with a hum and a small nod before continuing. "Can we all go outside in the snow together?"

"As long as everyone dresses appropriately for the weather," Philip chuckled as he placed a small peck on Camila's cheek, which caused her to giggle at the affection.

"Yay!" Alma cheered, raising both of her hands.

...

Once their jackets were on, Camila and Philip made sure that Alma was bundled up in a coat and scarf.

They didn't want their baby to catch a cold.

...

"Watch your step, mija. It's slippery," Camila told Alma in a gentle tone as she carefully guided Alma down the steps.

Closing the front door, Philip followed the girls down.

Luz was already outside with a huge frown on her face as she used a shovel to clear a path for the car to exit the driveway.

On snow days, shoveling the driveway was one of the morning chores she had to complete.

Philip took notice of his step-daughter's displeased expression. "Why the long face, Luzura?" He asked her. "I thought you loved the snow!"

She certainly did when he and she took trips to the Knee while they were still in the Boiling Isles together.

"Yeah," Luz grumbled in response. "When I'm not scooping it all up."

Luz usually did love the snow!

However, the snow and her became mortal enemies when she had to shovel it.

Camila was unable to resist giggling in her hand at her eldest.

"Mamá, when I grow up big like Luz, will you teach me how to shovel the snow?" Alma asked while stomping happily in the snow.

Camila showed her a sweet smile. "Aww, of course I will, baby."

"Yay!" Alma cheered as she continued to hop.

Philip smiled alongside his wife. "Isn't that just adorable, my love? She wants to be like her big sister."

Camila nodded in agreement with him.

"Yup!" Alma chirped before crouching down to bury her gloveless hands in the snow.

"Ah, baby, no, don't do that!" Camila is quick to help her daughter stand up.

"Why not, mamá?" Alma asked with innocent eyes.

"Because you'll give yourself frostbite if you do," Her mother told her.

Alma was confused. "But... frost can't bite you..."

She titled her head some. "... Can it? It's not a person, or a dog, or a big scary alligator."

Both Camila and Philip let out a laugh.

"No, no, mija, the snow isn't actually biting you. Frostbite happens when your skin freezes from being in the cold too long," Camila explains.

"It's not a pleasant feeling," Philip would add on.

A sad look appeared on Alma's face as her shoulders slouched slightly.

"Aww, but I wanna stick my hands in the snow," She cutely whines, sticking her lip out some in a pout.

This made Philip chuckle.

"To do that, you'll need to wear gloves," Camila would state in a gentle but firm voice.

"Here," Philip kindly said, removing his gloves to give them to his daughter as he placed them on her precious little hands.

"You can borrow mine."

Elation spread on Alma's face as she admired the gloves and wiggled her fingers in them.

Although they were way too big for her, she didn't care.

"Thank you, papá!" Alma beamed before giving her father a big hug.

Philip gently ruffled up her curly hair and chuckled. "Of course, angel," He replied with a smile.

When Alma resumed playing by shoving her now gloved hands in the snow, she picked up a handful and threw it in the air as it sprinkled down.

Philip and Camila happily watched her repeat this action as Camila slowly placed her head on Philip's shoulder.

The sight of their daughter having fun in the snow brought them both great joy.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Luke Arnold, actor: "Captain Jack Sparrow and Long John Silver would have understood each other".

by: Jacinto Antón for El País

The actor in the 'Black Sails' pirate series is also the author of the popular "Sunder City" series fantasy novels.

Australian actor and novelist Luke Arnold, Long John Silver in the series 'Black Sails'. (c) MASSIMILIANO MINOCRI

It's a thrill to be with the actor who has starred in a series that has kept you gripped for many hours in front of the screen. Luke Arnold (Norwood, Adelaide, 39) is a handsome, friendly Australian and a successful writer, but when you look at him and scrutinize his rare steel-blue eyes, you see great sails unfurled at sea, old galleons and the Jolly Roger, the pirate flag, fluttering menacingly at the top of a mast.

Arnold, who wears an earring in his left ear and sports the same beard and curly hair from the series, played a youthful and very handsome Long John Silver in Black Sails (four seasons, 2014-2017), the terrific prequel-twenty years earlier-to Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island. The series was about the Golden Age of piracy and was centered on Captain Flint and Long John Silver, with the appearance of other famous pirates and buccaneers such as Blackbeard, Jack Rackham, Charles Vane, or Anne Bonney. The actor is also the author of a series of very popular fantasy novels (**The Fetch Philips series, published by Gamon, which begins with The Last Smile in Sunder City) about a world inhabited by humans and legendary beings that have lost their magic. Something that certainly hasn't happened to him. The interview is -where else- at the Gigamesh bookstore in Barcelona.

**Interviewer: This idea of yours of a world in which magic has vanished and fairies, elves, wizards, gnomes, centaurs, mermaids, angels and vampires languish and wither is very powerful.

**Luke Arnold: I don't know where it came from, but it is a metaphor for our environment where illusion has been abandoned and cynicism rules.

Interviewer: The loss of magic as a force that moves the world and the need to look for alternative sources also suggests our energy crisis.

Luke Arnold: Absolutely, we are running out of resources and inaction makes us accomplices. The stakes are high and we must roll up our sleeves.

Interviewer: It's very good to mix fantasy and crime novels, a Raymond Chandler-like detective in a Tolkien magic scenario.

Luke Arnold: I like the imagery of the hardened and disillusioned researcher, and if you put it together with angels, witches, gnomes or unicorns…. But I'm not the first to make those mixtures, there's Terry Pratchett.

Interviewer: And Tim Powers, who by the way also wrote On Stranger Shores, a novel that mixed magic and pirates. The fourth installment of Pirates of the Caribbean, the one with the mermaids, was partly based on it.

Luke Arnold: That gave it that special tone.

Interviewer: Are you very interested in pirates?

Luke Arnold: Oh, yes, I find what they represent very appealing, not the peg leg and the rum, but their broad concept of freedom. I'm not someone who puts a lot of stock in dates and historical concepts, but I love the evocations. Black Sails understood perfectly the evocative power of pirates and the idea that they were exiles from society, and took that idea to another level.

Interviewer: What was it like to be Long John Silver in the series?

Luke Arnold: It was an honor to participate in Black Sails and very exciting to play the role, I was very aware of the expectations of the character. I had read Treasure Island before and seen all the film and television adaptations. Long John Silver, who in the series is closer in age to Stevenson's Jim, is a tragic character with something pathetic, more complex than a conventional pirate. And that is reflected in Black Sails.

Luke Arnold as Long John Silver in 'Black Sails'. (c) FarfarawaySite

Interviewer: What would Captain Jack Sparrow think of Long John Silver?

Luke Arnold: They would probably get along well, they would make a good team. They are both great manipulators. They're not the toughest pirates, but, on the other hand, they use their imagination very well. And they both move in a moral gray area. Villains who can be charming.

Interviewer: How was the shooting?

Luke Arnold: A dream, the scripts were fabulous, and they gave you all the toys; boats, swords, costumes. We shot for four years in Cape Town, we all got very involved and enjoyed ourselves immensely. What I liked most were the long scenes, with a lot of dialogue, especially with Flint, it was like a dance between two men.

Interviewer: Without making a spoiler, there is a moment of revelation of Flint's past that is a real shock?

Luke Arnold: Toby Stephens, the actor who played him, was the only one who knew that. We were all shocked. There in that twist, we saw that the series was going to be very different from what was expected, it was very audacious.

Interviewer: Do you long for the sea and pirates?

Luke Arnold: I'm now doing Nautilus, a prequel to 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, for Disney.

Interviewer: Wow! Will it be Ned Land?

Luke Arnold: No, neither Captain Nemo. I'll be a soldier chasing him. And I'll also be in a thriller. And I'm still writing, I really like the series of novels.

Interviewer: Did you have to learn a lot of fencing to play a pirate?

Luke Arnold: Well, I was precisely the one who had the most experience with the sword. I studied theatrical fencing and my first job was as a fight choreographer in an adaptation of Peter Pan.

Interviewer: A premonition.

Luke Arnold: Hahaha, yes, I also played Romeo, who has to fight.

Interviewer: Better for Mercutio fencing.

Luke Arnold: Right. And Hamlet, but maybe I'm over my head for this one, for the prince. The Shakespearean character I'd like to play above all is Henry V.

Source: El País or for full version from other site: Notas de Prensa

**I changed some wording especially the bolded part also changed to make reading more easier for readers.

Translated with DeepL translator

[warwickroyals]

what actors would you want to play your characters (nick, coraline, tatiana, irene, louis, katherine, alex, philip, jean, jack, more but these were the first characters that came to mind!) in a hypothetical movie/show of your story?

I have no idea! I've never done a fan casting of characters but I do have some IRL public figures that remind me of certain characters, and I pull inspo for the characters, so I guess I'll just list them all here? So, opinions and comments are welcome, whatever. I can't put a cut because it messes with the formatting of the images, so it's a bit long!

Tatiana - Nicole Kidman, with like the curly hair and stuff, she looks JUST like her!

Nick - He's Jack Schlossberg and, yeah, I know he's not an actor but still!

Coraline - Issa Rae maybe? I don't know. Throw in some Michaela Coel to her features and I think she'd look like her.

Jacqueline - Charlize Theron but when she was in her Evil Queen Era, I don't know if that makes sense.

Courtney - Courtney Love, that's where the name comes from haha!

Jean - I compared Jean to Devon Aoki in canon I guess we just need to give her some hair dye or something

Phillip - Ewan Mcgregor. Obviously with darker hair and eyes. But Phillip has a man crush on Ewan Mcgregor: he took Courtney to the Moulin Rouge premiere and he thought Ewan was a less shrimpy version of himself, especially with the darker hair. I have never had an excuse to talk about this headcanon until now, so.

Shelby - Amy Adams Kirsten Dunst, I don't care if you don't see it, it's literally her.

Zella - Zendaya, that's always been the vision for her

Farrah - A brown version of Barbra Streisand

Katherine - Babe Paley

Ruby - Adriana Caselotti

Irene - Linda Evans ????? With the right wig, it could work!

Phyllis - Joan Collis, keeping with the Dynasty theme, but the same rule for Irene, the right wig will work!

Louis - Charles Dance could probably do it if he grew out his beard and got darker hair. Either him or Brain Cox.

Alex - Finn Jones is like the only guy for the role, I swear, just throw some freckles on him.

Henry - He would be Joseph Gordon Levitt, with the glasses because he's a fucking nerd and he has sort of a baby face like Henry.

James - Henry Cavill, but specifically from the period when he was in The Tudors. Not Clark Kent or The Witcher Henry Cavill. He still looked sort of like a person back then.

So here's your WARWICK (2024) cast. This is like a better version of that AI trend, isn't it?

[starishome]

~Future~

Larry walked steadily through his home. Some servants were stunned by his presence; he was supposed to be away for another two months.

The man put his ear to the door, there was silence. He gently turned the doorknob and entered the room.

“My love… I thought you wouldn't be here today,” the woman spoke as she dipped the quill in the inkwell.

“Do you think I would miss seeing my baby? Of course not"

Larry walked over to the small crib next to the bed. There was his son, Caleb, fully asleep.

The man smiled and gently ran his finger over the little boy's cheek. No, his little one.

Larry looked back at his wife, she was writing something in a journal.

“What is that dear?” The brunette asked.

“Oh! This?" Mary gestured towards the diary. “I'm just planning for his future,” she revealed with a smile.

“Planning his future?” Larry questioned as he approached Mary.

"Yeah!" The woman exclaimed, “Now that I am a mother, I have to take care of him and give him the best of the best.”

The blonde turned the diary towards her husband, Larry could notice some notes in it, about universities and activities.

The brunette took one of his wife's hands and planted a soft kiss on her. "My love, this is our first baby," he spoke while looking at her sweetly. "You just have to be... eh... how do you say relaxed in Spanish?"

“Relajada?” Mary responded.

"That! Rejajada… you have to be rejajada”

The blonde looked at her son, Caleb, her baby.

"Maybe you're right…"

•──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•

Mary looked at her little Philip, ran her hand over the baby's curly hair and smiled lovingly. She grabbed the pen and started writing.

A maid entered the room with a tray in her hands, she placed it on the nightstand next to the woman.

“Asha, open the windows please,” the blonde ordered.

“Yes, ma'am,” the woman responded and opened the window, she could hear Mary writing.

“Madam…” the maid spoke cautiously “I don't think you should be writing right now, you just had a difficult birth and-“ The woman stopped when she saw her boss looking at her “At least that's my opinion…”

Mary smiled and closed the book.

“Now that I am a mother I have to take care of my children, I have to make sure that they live a full and uncomplicated life” she commented with confidence “Mom knows what is best, she will always know…”

The woman paused to look at the newborn.

“The best food and educational games for them so that their intelligence is above average, then, I will choose the most beneficial friends, which universities they will go to, what jobs they will dedicate themselves to, and obviously their wives.”

Asha was paralyzed, was the lady really serious?

“Excuse my impertinence, madam, but… don't you think that children should be more… free?”

Suddenly, little Philip began to cry, the maid gently took him in her arms and brought him closer to her mother.

“Nonsense,” the woman responded.

“My children don't need to make mistakes or get hurt because I am there for them.” Mary rocked the baby in her arms.

“I will be there to resolve anything that endangers the integrity of my children, and my entire family. “My legacy will last forever, my family will last forever.”

Her voice was a mix between sweetness and seriousness. Asha knew her lady. She was intelligent, very calculating, she was never afraid and she was always eloquent, she knew how to win the appreciation and favors of everyone.

“After all… that's what a good mother does… isn't it?”

The maid just smiled and nodded, “yes, ma'am, do you want anything else?”

Mary looked at her little baby and shook her head.

The maid gave a small bow and left Elva's room, closing the door behind her.

“My little Philip… you are destined to do big things… I know it… Mommy is never wrong…”

[marie-swriting]

Always Stay Together - Chrissy Cunningham

Stranger Things Masterlist

Summary : your former best friend Chrissy helps you to get in the cheerleaders.

Warnings : mention of pressure from parents, fluff, happy endings, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3.8k

French version

Song inspiration : Strawberry Blonde by chloe moriondo

Your parents next to you, you enter the Cunninghams’ garden. You hold back a sigh when you see the people you’ll have to spend the next hours with. You don’t want to be here. You did everything to not be here. However, your mother can be more stubborn than you and it’s a get-together organised by your dad’s work.

With your mom, you get closer to Laura and Chrissy Cunningham whilst your dad walks towards Philip. Seeing you coming, your mom and Chrissy’s mother greet each other with a big smile on their face while you make a face that is supposed to look smiley. 

“I’m glad to have you here !” Laura exclaims.

“Thank you for inviting us. We brought you this.” your mother informs, handing the cake she bought before coming here.

“It’s very thoughtful of you. Y/N, you’ve grown so much ! I almost didn’t recognise you.” Laura laughs, showing you with her hand. “I mean, you haven’t been coming here for so long.”

‘So long’ is the appropriate way of saying ‘since the beginning of High School’. You and Chrissy are currently seniors and before that, you used to be best friends.

Though, once you got in High School, everything changed and you lost contact - especially when you started noticing you looked at her differently. You’ll never admit it out loud but you miss Chrissy - sometimes, you wonder if she misses you, too. It’s actually one of the reasons you didn’t want to come to the Cunninghams today. You knew you would have to be around your former best friend and she’d probably be the only other teenager your age - even if it wouldn’t have been the case, you would have talked to no one, but that’s a story for another day.

“School keeps me busy, you know, Mrs.Cunningham.” you try to justify.

“She always has her nose in her homework. It’s a miracle we’ve managed to keep her away from her books today.”

A miracle or rather a punishment, if someone asked your opinion. 

“Chrissy told me you’ve perfectly adjusted to High School, that’s a good thing ! For some, it can be complicated to follow the rythm.” Chrissy’s mother says with a pointing look at her daughter.

“It’s true but so did Chrissy from what I know. Captain of the cheerleaders ! It’s something.” your mom compliments.

“I’m proud of it.” Chrissy confesses.

“You know, Chrissy, Y/N wishes to do more extra-curricular activities like cheerleading, you think you could help her train for the selections ?”

“Mom !”

“I’d be happy to do so, Mrs.Y/L/N.” Chrissy accepts with a smile.

“You’re lovely, Chrissy.”

At that precise moment, you’d like to run away. Not only you don’t wish to do cheerleading but you don’t want Chrissy to train you ! Joining an extracurricular activity was your mom’s idea, not yours. You’re good just like you are yet your mom wants you to be more social, more particularly since you’re not friends with Chrissy anymore. You thought having good grades would be enough for her to leave you alone, it looks like it’s not anymore.

Your mom and Chrissy’s keep talking whilst you and your former friend avoid looking at each other. Without a warning, your mothers leave you alone to greet other people. Once you’re on your own, you finally dare to look up at Chrissy. Her strawberry blond hair is set loose and curly, her make up is natural and her summer dress looks beautiful on her. Realising you’re staring at her too much, you clear your throat and try to find a way to run away.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Chrissy confesses, taking you aback.

“Really ?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, you don’t have to.” you say.

“Have to what ?”

“Act polite, accept to help me with cheerleading. I’ll make up a story to my mom so you won’t have to do it.”

“I meant it when I said I wanted to help you.”

“Why ?” you ask, brows furrowed.

“Because we were friends and I want to help.”

“Trust me when I say I’m a lost cause. You’re gonna waste your time by trying to turn me into a cheerleader.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Chrissy contradicts, determined. “We can meet next weekend at my place. You’ll see, it’ll be easy.”

‘Easy’ isn’t the word you’d use as you’re watching Chrissy’s choreography during your first training session. You stare at her turning, dancing, jumping, spinning and many other verbs with wide open eyes. You’ll never be able to get in the team. At least, your mom will finally leave you alone once you’ll get the results. Once Chrissy is done, you’re speechless.

“So ?” your former best friend questions.

“So, I will never be able to do it.”

“You will ! Plus, I just wanted to show you the choreography, we’re gonna go back to the basics. Since you’re warmed up, we’ll work on your suppleness. You’re gonna do a split.” she orders and you’re shocked.

“I beg your pardon ?”

“A split. It’s easy.”

“No, solving a math equation is easy, a split is impossible.”

“You did gymnastics.”

“Yeah, for two years when I was seven ! And only because you wanted to do it, not because I had skills. It’s actually the reason why I stopped.” you remind her.

“This and the fact you wouldn’t talk to the other girls.”

“I’ve never been the social type, you know it. You’ve always been the exception. I mean, you were the only one I got along with.” you correct yourself, embarrassed.

“Anyway, if you train a bit everyday, you’ll be able to do a split.” Chrissy resumes, avoiding your gaze for a second. “Maybe it won’t be perfect but it’s always a good thing to do. Come on, show me what you can do.”

Reluctantly, you try to do a split. You resist the growing pain in your legs and try to touch the ground a bit more when you feel yourself going backward, you stand up. You start a long speech explaining how it’s torture while Chrissy looks at you laughing.

“Don’t laugh !” you say whilst chuckling. “What did you expect ? I was only able to do it once in my whole life and it was after one year of gymnastics !”

“You can do it.” Chrissy encourages you. “Keep training on your split at home. We’ll start practising the dance now. I’ll show you the choreography again and then, it’s your turn.”

“This should be good !” 

Chrissy rolls her eyes, faking annoyance at your lack of optimism before getting in position and redoing the routine. You watch her, still impressed by her movements, and you try to remember the steps. You lose track after thirty seconds - it’s better than the first time, you had lost track in less than ten seconds. You struggle to memorise the steps, not only because you’re not good at dancing but because your eyes end up admiring Chrissy instead of her dance. You look at the way her hair moves with the rhythm of her movements, the way her face crunches or the way it relaxes depending on the complicated moments, how her body moves. You’re completely mesmerised by Chrissy. Maybe your feelings for her haven’t left you, despite the years.

Once Chrissy stops moving, you need a second to understand she’s finished dancing. She informs you you’ll start with the first steps together then, it’ll be you alone. When you dance together, you manage to follow her. You're less graceful than Chrissy yet she doesn’t criticise it. The second you have to do it alone, you start to panic. At first, your dancing is okay, then comes the moment where you have to do a movement with your arms and legs you don’t understand. You try three times alone, only the humiliation of failing makes you lose your composure. Chrissy takes pity on you and helps you by coming behind you and touching your body. Surprised, you only move the members Chrissy is touching whilst the rest of your body is paralysed. Turning your head, you notice her face is - too - close to yours. You untangle yourself by taking a step backward.

“I think it’s enough for today.” Chrissy states, blushing, “Keep training on this part and on your suppleness. We’ll see the rest during the next session.”

You don’t need to be told twice so you take your stuff before leaving Chrissy’s. These training sessions will, indeed, be complicated but not for the reason you thought. You don’t know how you’ll manage to keep your feelings buried inside yourself if you spend your time admiring her and panicking when she helps you.

By some miracles, you keep your emotions in check during the following training sessions. You’re slowly improving and Chrissy is sure you’ll have the skills for the selections. Whilst she helps you, you two get to know each other again. You discuss a bit more and start talking about other matters than cheerleading.

A few weeks after your first training, when you go to Chrissy’s, you notice with a simple glance that your former best friend isn’t feeling right. Her smile is fake, she lacks energy and her encouragement isn't as enthusiastic. You don’t say anything at first, not knowing if you should ask her what’s wrong, however when she seems totally detached from reality, you stop moving and stare at her.

“What’s the matter ?” you ask and you see her tensing.

“What do you mean ?”

“You seem lost in your thoughts. Something is bothering you. Is it because of your grade in maths ? I saw your face when the teacher gave back the tests.” you admit and Chrissy sighs.

“I got a C. Again.”

“Let me guess, your mom is still pressuring you for your grades ?”

“It got worse with time. No matter how good I’m doing in other subjects or how I’m the cheerleaders captain, it’s not enough. And yet I’m trying ! It’s not my fault if I don’t understand everything.” she says, mad.

“You know, I could have helped you.”

“It’s not your problem.”

“You’re helping me with the selections, I can return the favour with maths.”

“I don’t want to-”

“Just accept my help.” you cut her off.

“Okay.”

“If you want, we can work on some exercises instead of training.”

“Just say you want to stop working out for today.” she smiles and you have a guilty face.

“I confess it’s one of the reasons. Did you tell your mom about your grade ?”

“Not yet. If you hear screams from your place tonight, you’ll know why.”

“I can stay with you, if you want. Maybe she won’t be so mean if there’s a guest.” you suggest with a compassionate smile. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. Thanks, though.”

“If you change your mind, you can always call me.”

The same night, you’re at home, trying to study physics whilst Chrissy is on your mind. You know her mom is strict about her grades so you can only imagine what she’s going to say as soon as she’ll tell her her grade. You wish you could support her but your relationship is still fragile so you can’t really insist on supporting her.

You reread your lesson when the phone on your nightstand rings. You pick it up, not knowing who might call you at 11:00 P.M.

“Hey, Y/N, sorry to bother you.” Chrissy’s voice starts. “I know it’s late, but I… I’d like it if you come. It got a bit out of hand with my parents and I… Actually, forget about it, I… I shouldn’t have…” she stutters.

“I’m coming.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” you announce, interrupting her. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks.” Chrissy mutters and you can hear the gratitude in her voice.

You hang up before quickly getting dressed. Thankfully, your parents are gone for the weekend so you can leave your house as you wish.

You park your car before Chrissy’s home, not wanting her parents to ask questions and go to her place by foot. Upon arriving at hers, you’re about to let her know you’re here by throwing rocks at her window but it looks like she was waiting for you downstairs. Indeed, just as you step one foot on her grass, she opens the door. She makes a sign to not make any sound whilst you go to her room.

Once you’re there, you notice Chrissy’s red eyes. You don’t waste a second before hugging her. She holds onto you as if you were a safety net. Delicately, you stroke her hair - it always helped her to calm down when you were kids. You stay in each other’s embrace until Chrissy feels ready to look you in the eyes. 

“Thanks for coming. I didn’t want to be alone.” she admits, a bit ashamed.

“You called, I had to come.”

Chrissy goes to sit on her bed and you do the same, sitting next to her. Chrissy puts her head on your shoulder, taking a deep breath.

“You wanna talk about it ?” you ask.

“There isn’t a lot to say. She didn’t yell at me only for my maths grade,” Chrissy starts with a weak voice. “She just used it as an excuse to criticise everything I do. Sometimes, I feel like I’ll never be good enough for her. I don’t know what to do to make her proud of me. I’m not the perfect student like you, it’s true, but I’m doing my best. Besides, I’m not a difficult child. I’m not skipping classes, I don’t talk back to teachers. What more does she want ? Why is it never enough ? I don’t understand.” she says, angry.

“Sometimes, there is nothing to understand. Your mom has always been complicated to satisfy, it’s not going to change anytime soon. I know it’s easier said than done but you have to stop letting her define your value. You’re strong and smart, no matter what your mom says. And for what it's worth, I’m proud of you.” you affirm, looking her right in the eyes and she smiles at you.

“I think it’d be easier if my mom were like yours. She never really judges you.”

“You bet ! My mom would rather have me be popular with a large group of friends. Of course, she’s happy with my good grades yet for her, it’s not enough. Why do you think I’m trying for the cheerleaders selections ? She wants me to have some popularity. She acts as if she was still the queen in school.” you complain, rolling your eyes. 

“If you don’t want to be a cheerleader, why do you try so hard to get in the team ? You could just make zero effort and not get selected.” Chrissy questions.

“At first, that’s what I wanted to do, I admit but doing cheerleading with you made me change my mind. I think it’s nice.” you confess. “I’m not saying I’d be devastated if I didn’t get in the team but I wouldn’t be against the idea of being a part of it. Furthermore, my mom would finally give me a break.”

“Are you seriously saying you want to be social ?” Chrissy exclaims, faking being shocked.

“I’m surprised too !” you laugh, “But as long you’re here, it’s bearable.”

For a second, you stay silent, enjoying each other’s company. Chrissy’s hand takes yours - you want to chuckle when you realise your hand is still bigger than hers. She lightly squeezes your hand and you can’t help but smile at this contact. You missed being this close to Chrissy.

“I’m sorry, you know.” she confesses in a whisper.

“For what ?”

“I’m sorry we lost touch once we got into High School, especially after I got in the cheerleaders.”

“You’re not the only one guilty here. I could have come to talk to you.” you admit.

“Maybe but I left you alone even though we promised to always stay together.”

“And I left you alone when I could have come to support you during the games. At least, we’re talking to each other again, that’s what matters.” you state, looking deeply in her eyes.

“True. It’s actually the reason why I accepted to help you. I wanted to make things better between us. I always wanted to do it, I just didn’t know how.”

“That makes two of us. Friends again ?” you question with a smile.

“Best friends.” Chrissy corrects, showing you her pinky fingers.

“Best friends.” you repeat, intertwining your pinky fingers to hers.

Your fingers linked together, you stare at each other, a big smile on your face and your heart skips a beat. You prevent yourself from moving, fearing you might ruin your friendship newly found by doing something stupid.

Chrissy lays down on her bed and you do the same. At your surprise, Chrissy gets closer to you and holds you. You hug her tighter against you whilst she wishes you a good night. You spend the night together in each other’s arms until dawn when you leave the warmth of the bed to go back to your house to make sure Chrissy doesn’t get in any more trouble.

Since that night, you’ve become inseparable again. You don’t only see each other for the training sessions or tutoring, you talk at school, you hang out sometimes. It’s like old times - with more freedom thanks to the car. Spending time with Chrissy again made you realise just how much you missed her. You’re more than happy to be with her. As for your feelings, they only grow and you hope you’ll be able to contain them. Nevertheless, you wonder if you’re the only one in this situation. Chrissy seems more touchy than before and some sentences she says make you think she might share your feelings.

The day of the selections has arrived and saying you’re stressed would be an understatement. You didn’t think you’d be that much under pressure. After all, you didn’t even want to get in the team in the first place. Nonetheless, now it matters for you and more particularly,  you don’t want to humiliate Chrissy by ruining all her efforts. She really helped you to improve. You finally can do her choreography and you’re amazed by your own flexibility ! Chrissy is a good teacher.

You’re currently in the locker room getting ready. You try to calm your nerves by thinking about the choreography. However, as soon as you can’t remember a step, you panic a bit more. You need a few seconds before remembering it. You’re the last one in the locker room when you’re finally changed. You enjoy this moment of peace to breathe deeply. Closing your locker door, you find Chrissy’s angelic face.

“Don’t stress. You can do it.” she encourages you.

“I’m not so sure. Do I really have to do the selections ? You’re the captain, can’t you do me a favour ?” you ask, desperate.

“I’m not the only one taking the decision. But don’t worry about it. Besides, you know the choreography. I trust you.”

“Not me. I’m not made for this. I want to run. I’m just gonna say I’m sick.”

“No, you worked hard so you’re gonna do it !” Chrissy orders.

“Give me one good reason to do it.”

“If you do it, we’ll go to the movies. Together.” she proposes with a pointing look.

“Together ?” you repeat, unsure if you’re reading between the lines.

“Yeah. I have to go. It’s about to start. Good luck.” she says, suddenly kissing your cheek.

You’re taken aback the second you feel her lips. You don’t move for a second, trying to understand what’s just happened. Did Chrissy just ask you on a date ? Did she just kiss you on the cheek ? You must have imagined all of this ! You hope you didn’t but it’s the only explanation, isn’t it ?

However, you don’t have the time to think more, you have to do the selections. You get a grip on yourself and leave the locker room. You find the other girls who want to get in the team and you think to yourself you won’t be able to do it. They seem more talented than you.

You’re not one of the firsts so you can see the competition and you really think it’s over for you. Once it’s your turn, you get in position and look at the judges. Chrissy gives you an encouraging smile then the music starts and you do your choreography. Surprisingly, you don’t make a misstep - or at least, you don’t notice it. When you’re done, they thank you for coming then it’s the turn of the next candidate. Now, you just have to wait.

The day of the results, you don’t check the board. You can’t see your failure so you avoid it like the plague just like you avoid Chrissy, scared to find her disappointed face. You manage to hide from Chrissy until lunch break. As a precaution, you don’t eat at the school cafeteria. You want to be alone so you go to the art room which is always open. You thought you’d be alone yet Chrissy is determined to find you and she knows you perfectly to know where to search. It doesn’t take her too long to find out where you are. 

“Are you avoiding me ?” Chrissy questions with a smile, entering the room.

“What ? No.” you try to justify before admitting defeat, “Alright, I do. I’m scared I failed and I didn’t want to see how disappointed you are.”

“Even if you had failed, I wouldn’t have been disappointed. You did your best.” she affirms walking towards you.

“What do you mean ‘even if I had failed’?” you ask, realising her sentence.

“Congratulations, Y/N Y/L/N, you’re officially a cheerleader.” Chrissy states with a big smile.

“You’re joking ?”

“Not at all !”

At her sentence, you rise from your chair and run towards Chrissy. You take her in your arms whilst she keeps congratulating you. You didn’t think you’d be that happy to be a cheerleader. Actually, you’re happy to see the proud look in Chrissy’s eyes once you break the embrace.

“So, does that mean I won the right to go to the movies with you ?” you question, nervous.

“Even more than that, if you want.” she informs, confusing you.

Chrissy’s face slowly gets closer to yours, giving you the chance to move backward if you want to. When she doesn’t see you moving, she keeps leaning in until your lips are separated by a few inches. Finally, you’re the one who breaks this small barrier by pressing your lips on Chrissy’s. Your heart explodes in your chest as you feel Chrissy’s lips moving against yours. You never felt this happy in your whole life. On top of being a cheerleader, you got your best friend back and your girlfriend.

Stranger Things Masterlist

[rreskk]

I just thought about something with drama (love drama 😏) Imagine Reader who's confronting Trevor's mother (I don't remember her name) without Trevor. BUT Trevor came home when Reader slapped the mother and insulted her because she abandonned Trevor. Trevor's mother trying to make Reader look like the bad girl by saying she's crazy, attacked her for no reason and Trevor has to protect her from Reader? Trevor's gonna protect her mother, do nothing or take the side of Reader ?

---A/N: Heyyyyyyyyyy, I made Trevor do nothing. I tried to be realistic, basing it from his reaction to the 'Mrs Philips' mission.

Summary: Betty came to visit.

TW: -Implied child abuse.

You were rightfully cleaning up your laundry in Trevor’s trailer. While unloading the stacks upon the kitchen counter, the door opened. You automatically thought it was Trevor, proceeding to turn around with a smile. Until it dropped.

The woman seemed to look at you the same. Both staring a each other. She had red curly hair, droopy cheeks and awful makeup. She wore clothes that were obviously dated back to the 70s… Yet she stood with unlimited confidence.

“Can I help you?” Steadily eyeing up her every move, you spoke.

“Where’s Trevor? And who are you?”

“Trevor’s out… I’m his partner.”

She scoffed, “Partner? No chance, my love. He’s probably drugged you.”

There was appalling amounts of shade in her words. You took a step back in offence.

“Who are you?”

The woman was silent for a moment. She spent another second observing the trailer before pointing to herself.

“I’m his mother.” She said in a soft tone, sugar-coating the title of being a mother to gaslight you. The way her eyes furrowed in pity and innocence. You weren’t fazed.

Instead, you were angry. Trevor spoke about the trauma this woman gave him. The neglect, verbal abuse, abandonment… And now she stood in his living room. You were lucky he wasn’t here. You hoped he’ll turn up after she’s gone.

“I’ve heard of you. Betty Philips. Trevor told me. It’s nice of you to show up… 10 years later, without a damn word.” You backhandedly foretold with a scowl.

She flinched at your words like flint and steel. Betty lifted her stuck-up nose and ignored your truthful insults.

“Why should I listen to a random person I’ve never met before. I doubt you even know the boy. He couldn’t possibly find himself a lover.”

You chuckled, “You’re funny, Betty. This random person has been with Trevor long enough to know your games. He may not know, but I do. You ram your tongue and boss him around. You manipulate him through insults and neglection. You get your own way by giving him the cold shoulder. If you were ashamed of who he is today, damn right it’s all your fault.”

Betty inhaled sharply and held a massive grudge. Her eye twitched, something Trevor had inherited whenever he felt enraged. You stood your ground though and kept great eye contact with the woman as she took a step forward.

“What did you just say to me?” She hissed.

Muted due to her stealth, you kept a close attention to her. Trevor mentioned this type of behaviour before. She acts like she’s about to physical hurt you but don’t. She makes you think she will.

“How DARE you say that to me. How DARE you speak for my son. He is not here and I kindly reject your filthy manner!”

You breathed out painfully and smirked, “Now you know how it feels.”

Betty, in spite of her rage, began raising a finger to your face. Her polished nail almost scratched the surface of your cheek. The audacity made you grind your teeth and strike her in the nose. As you palmed the exact centre of her face, the door opened once more.

You gasped.

“Wha-“ Trevor whispered as he just about caught you slapping his mother. The mere shock in his eyes. He hadn’t of seen his mum in 10 years and the second he does, she’s being harmed by someone close to him. You.

“Trevor, I can explain!”

“Oh, yes they can!” Betty bellowed with a snarky grimace, “Of course you find yourself an abuser for a partner! You wrecked boy!”

He was overwhelmed. His mouth was dropped open and all the confidence he normally had was gone. He carried nothing on him. Nothing but weakness.

You shook your head rapidly, “No, no! She was disrespecting me and you!”

“I-“

“You can’t let your own mother be attacked by a slut, Trevor! You aren’t a man at all! You’re a pathetic little girl. Your father was damn right about you…” She enjoyed the look of despair in his face. You held your breath at the ongoing series of insults and verbal abuse.

Trevor stuttered, “Mama, no-“

“Mama? What are you? My god, Trevor. How are you living? You… You were such a waste of space,” Betty belittled, “I expected so much of you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Betty. You leave him alone.”

She glared at you as Trevor finally spoke.

“W-What are you doing… Here?” His voice cracking with anxiety.

“I’m your mother! You rascal!”

“SHUT UP, BETTY!”

“Okay!” Trevor cried out, holding out his hands to both of you, “Okay, please. What is going on… What…”

I sighed, “She walked in without knocking and began tormenting me.”

He didn’t know how to react as he looked at his mother for moral support. You were disgusted.

“Trevor, don’t look at her. She’s a bitch!”

“A bitch?” Betty riled up.

“YES, A BITCH!”

“STOP IT!” He wobbled, “PLEASE, JUST STOP!”

I threw my hands up in disbelief and scoffed under my breath. Betty looked at me up and down through this action in distress. She was amused. She loved the negativity of people. She was an evil witch.

“Oh, get over yourself, boy.” Demanded Betty, hands stationed on her hip.

You tried to give him a reassuring look but Trevor refused to even glance in your direction. Growing tired of this woman, you threw the laundry onto his bed and leaned into his ear.

“I’m leaving.” You spat.

Trevor went to reach for your hand but you left the trailer, furious at his muteness. He turned to Betty who was smirking at your defeat.  

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Little James | Well-intended | Romantic

Dialogue prompt: “I never said it was a good idea, I just said it was an idea.”

Requested: Yes

Nathanael strikes – unintentionally so – a raw nerve when attempting to boost James’ self-confidence.

Hearing your laughter from across camp instead of nearby hurts Little James more than he’d ever admit. Gaze flicking over to where you’re joking around with Mary and Philip, he feels a lump form in his throat, and he swallows it away quickly. 

“You know, if I didn’t know better I would say that you aren’t betrothed to her at all.” Nathanael sighs, walking up to James and taking a seat next to him. He drops an apple into his lap, at which Little James wryly smiles. 

“I’m not hungry.” he states, putting the fruit away and sighing wistfully as he focuses his gaze on you again. 

Nathanael takes a bite from his own apple and frowns. “What’s the matter, James? Why are you all sulking at (Y/n) like that? Did you guys have an argument or something?”

James shakes his head. “Not at all. It’s just… I-I still can’t believe that she said yes sometimes. When I went to ask for her hand in marriage, I couldn't believe my ears, and I still haven’t… Haven’t recovered from it, if that makes sense?”

Chewing with his mouth open, Nathanael shrugs. “Don’t doubt yourself so much, man. (Y/n) didn’t say yes just because she was scared to end up alone or something. I mean, she could practically get every bachelor around here, after all she’s a beautiful woman!” 

Rolling his eyes and letting out an exasperated sound, James gets to his feet to walk off. Nathanael shows his palms in defence and pries a piece of apple from between his teeth with his tongue: “What? Did I say something wrong?!”

Whilst leaning on his walking stick, James sharply turns to Nath, a scowl on his face. “Yes, Nathanael, I know (Y/n) is out of my league, which is exactly what scares me!” 

“Hey now!” the former architect tries to halt him when James continues leaving, “I-I meant it in a good way! And I agree with you, she is out of your league, just—”

“Just– Forget it, Nathanael! You’re not the best conversation partner right now!”

“Anything the matter?” Thomas’ voice suddenly cuts through the air, and both men turn to the slightly awkward vintner. “You seem upset, James.”

Little James’ jaw flexes. “Yes, I am! And what Nathanael is saying isn’t exactly helping!”

Thomas’ pulls a face. “Okay, easy. Let’s sit down, alright? We need to figure out what is bothering you.”

“I don’t need to figure out what is bothering me, Thomas!” James counters immediately, “I already know what is bothering me. I just need some time to myself.”

“So you can pout at (Y/n) having fun with her friends all day long?” Nathanael protests, which earns him an angry glare from the curly-haired Disciple. “Why are you looking at me like that? It isn’t like that is not what you were going to do, anyway!”

Sighing, James closes his eyes, his angry frown falling into sorrow instead. 

“I’m not sure what else there is to do for me.”

Thomas puts a hand on his shoulder. “Right, this needs to be figured out. Let’s take a seat and talk about it, okay?” He gestures towards an empty bench and quickly rushes over to the temporary kitchen counter, taking three cups and filling them with water. In the meantime, Little James plops back down, still not very fond of sitting next to Nathanael, who has continued munching on his fruit with loudly smacking lips. 

“This apple is so good—”

“Not the time, Nath.” James huffs, chewing the nail of his thumb. “You’re being obnoxious.”

“And you’re being gloomy. Lighten up, man! You’re marrying one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen!”

The red flush that covers Little James’ cheeks reveals his embarrassment, and he gladly takes the water from Thomas as he returns, throwing back most of it in one gulp. 

“Now, friend, tell me what is going on. Did you two have a falling out?”

James gives a small shake of his head and sighs. “No, we didn’t. (Y/n) is lovely as always, which is what scares me. I mean… Look at her.” 

Both men let their gazes go to you where you are sitting at the fire, braiding Mary’s long black hair, and she is laughing at something you said. “She’s wonderful, okay?” James sighs, “(Y/n) is beautiful, and funny, and Godly, and patient, and understanding, and-and-and…” James rubs his forehead, forcing back tears of doubt, “That frightens me.” he admits in a whisper.

“Why?” Thomas queries. 

“Because of what Nathanael just said! Because every bachelor in this camp would try to get her if it weren’t for…” His voice trails off and he lets out an agonising sigh, shaking his head slowly as his bottom lip trembles. “In a camp full of men who are taller, and stronger, and smarter, and more handsome than I am, how could she have possibly chosen me?! How could she have said yes when I asked her to be my wife? I just… I don’t understand!”

At this confession, Thomas’ jaw falls open for a moment as he attempts to find the right words. “Ah, well, I’m a bachelor and I’m not looking at her.”

“That’s because you intend to marry Ramah.” James shuts down the attempted reassurance. “So you don’t count. Nor does Simon, or Jesus.” He gestures towards you frustratedly as you converse with Simon Peter, who comments on how you should braid Eden’s hair one day if she would like you to. You reply with a light laugh and a promise that you will suggest it one of these days. 

“I’m just… I’m not… You know. I’ve got this thing…” He holds out his walking stick and has to resist the urge just letting it fall to the ground. “I’m just scared that I’m trapping her in some sort of marriage, and that she might come to her senses once she realises how much of a burden I am.”

Nathanael lets out a sound. “Don’t say that about yourself!” he states firmly, tossing the core of the apple somewhere into camp, only to be trodden on by sandals later tonight, “If anything, I think (Y/n) is the kind of person who would never leave your side. After Jesus, of course.”  

Little James scoffs. “How do you know she didn’t just agree to marry me just because she pities me?”

Thomas laughs humorlessly. “Friend, I don’t think you’re realising what you’re saying right now. It makes no sense! (Y/n) is delighted to marry you, truly!”

James exhales slowly. “How do you know? Have you spoken to her about it?”

“Well, have you?” queries Nathanael immediately, and Little James drags a hand through his curls. 

Patting him on the shoulder, Thomas tries to reassure his friend. “Things will be alright. Just talk to her about it.”

“Yes!” Nathanael agrees, “Or, what you also could do…” he attempts to flex his biceps but does so rather awkwardly, “Try to impress her a little, hm? She knows what she is signing up for, so might as well get her ready for the big event!” 

“We haven’t even started planning our wedding yet–”

“So, how about I suggest a competition to arm-wrestle?” Nathanael proposes, “You go against Thomas and against me, and we let you win on purpose.” He winks at Thomas, who shrugs. “We can do that for you, friend! Give you a little confidence boost for your fiancée, huh?” 

A bit unsure, Little James considers it briefly. “Ah, I don’t know about that, Nathanael. I’m not sure if I’d–”

Nathanael jumps to his feet and pats him on the back roughly, causing James to huff in discomfort. “Come on, let’s go, it’s no big deal! I’ll start it right now!” 

Before Little James can object any further, Nathanael already hollers through camp: 

“Everyone!” he shouts, “Gather around for Nath’s Weekly Arm-wrestle Competition!” 

“Weekly?” Simon Peter questions, “Is this the first one, then?”

Little James gulps, but Thomas puts a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, we’ll be fine. What is the worst that could happen? See, (Y/n) is also on her way here.” 

The two head towards the place where Nathanael has dragged a table to the middle of the open field and he grabs two pillows for the participants to kneel on. A few candles light the place enough and nervously, James finds you out in the crowd. Upon catching his gaze, you softly smile at him, and he mirrors it albeit wryly. 

“Count me in!” Andrew exclaims from behind James, and John and Big James also add themselves to the group of participants. 

Little James feels all hope leave him. If they are participating, then how can he possibly impress you in any way, shape or form? 

“First up,” Nathanael taps his chin, “Hm, let’s do Simon against Simon, okay? Let’s see who is the superior one!” 

Both Simon’s take a knee at either end of the table and put their elbows on the table, their hands hooking into one another whilst the other is put on their backs so that they can’t cheat, and the other men around begin to whistle and make noise in anticipation. 

Nathanael narrows his eyes at the two, and once he deems the situation ready, he cries out: “Go!”

The men standing in a semi-circle around the competition clap their hands and slap their palms against their thighs rhythmically.”

“Simon, Simon, Simon!” 

“Very funny, Andrew!” the fisherman currently pressing against the former Zealot’s hand says to his brother, who grins proudly. 

“Come on, push, push!”

For a moment, everyone is silent when the Zealot is on the edge of defeating Simon Peter, but the latter finds a random bout of energy and pushes the other Simon’s hand down to the table in a firm push. Everyone erupts in cheers and Simon Peter pats himself on the chest before shaking his namesake’s hand. 

Little James feels a sweat run down his back. How can he possibly win from these men, who were so much stronger than him?

“Next up, Little James and Thomas!”

His heart stutters inside his chest as his name is called, but Little James does not back down – yet – and kneels at the table despite the pain it causes him. Thomas does the same and gives him a small smile alongside a nod, promising to let him win. 

“And… Start!” Bracing himself, Little James begins to push against the hand of Thomas, and as the former vintner had said, it is hardly a challenge at all. It takes mere seconds for him to press the back of Thomas’ hand against the wooden table, and the others applaud and exclaim his name, including you. He grins at you sweetly, at which you give him a dreamy smile. The sight makes his heart flutter pleasantly. 

Next up are Big James and Judas, which gives Little James a moment to gather himself, for although he didn’t have much of a struggle, the discomfort of sitting on the ground like that is tangible in his body. Yet another thing for him to be insecure about, he bitterly thinks to himself, that his ailment would even limit him in that.

Big James wins, which is no surprise. And when Andrew goes against John, it is the first of those two who comes out as victorious. Thaddeus loses against Nathanael. Matthew opts out, as does Philip. 

Before Little James knows it, it is his turn again, this time against Nathanael. Someone else keeps an eye on the fairness of the game, which is ironic, since it has been rigged from the very beginning, and he pretends to wrestle with all his might against Nathanael’s palm. Unsurprisingly, he wins. 

He’d win time and time again if he could, if it just meant hearing your cheer and proclaiming to the others: “That’s my James!” And his heart is floating for a few minutes leading up to the final rounds. Mary whispers things in your ear that make you laugh lightly and James wonders what it is about, although he doesn’t intend to be nosy.

Andrew wins from John, and Big James wins from Simon. Little James knows that he will be done for in the next round, and he already massages his own wrist in the hopes it won’t be too painful. 

Nathanael calls for the final rounds. Whatever little confidence your words of praise have sown within his heart now make room for doubt, and with a sigh Little James already signs defeat against Big James as he sits down on his knees. He feels all eyes on him, but your gaze burns the most. He feels like his fingers are dwarfed against Big James’ hand, and he sorrowfully stares at the opponent way bigger than him. 

The call to start rings out, and before Little James has had a chance to defend himself, it’s already over. Simon and John are roughly patting Big James’ back in order to congratulate him, and Little James huffs sadly, shaking his head. 

Thomas leans towards Nathanael upon noticing their sullen friend, now seemingly more upset than before as he stumbles to his feet, searching for his walking stick. 

“Hey, I’m not sure if this competition was the right call.” Thomas huffs.

Nathanael raises his shoulders up slightly. “I never said it was a good idea, I just said it was an idea.”

“No, you said it, and then you carried it out instantly without discussing anything first. We didn’t even have the time to say no to your idea.”

Catching onto these words, you narrow your eyes at the two young men. “What… What do you guys mean by that?”

Thomas tries to wave you off, but Nathanael, having no filter, does not keep it a secret. “We wanted to give Little James a confidence boost because he felt like he wasn’t good for you. We thought that by letting him win, you’d feel better about marrying him, and—”

You hold up your hand to silence him and let your brow fall low. “Excuse me? I–I don’t need to hear the rest of that story, Nathanael, but you’re… Ugh, forget it!”

Before he can talk any further, you turn to find your betrothed, but where he had been standing earlier is now Simon Peter, ready for the final round to determine the winner. You couldn’t care less about this competition and immediately go and find James, guided by Mary pointing in the direction where he has gone.

Hurrying away, you call his name in the hopes of catching up to him. 

When you see him sitting against a rock, slumped over slightly with quivering shoulders, your heart sinks inside your chest. 

“Oh, James.” you whisper, and he looks over his shoulder to face you before shaking his head.

“I— Fine, (Y/n), pity me.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “I am not pitying you.”

“Then why are you here?” 

You let out a soft sigh and sink down on the ground next to him, your leg against his as you turn to look him in the eye. “I overheard that this was Nathanael’s plan.” 

“It’s stupid, right?” Little James sighs, hiding his face into his hands. “I’m stupid. I’m… I’m weak, (Y/n)! I stood no chance at all.”

“Stop saying such things about yourself, love!” you pipe up, putting a hand on his wrist in an attempt to peel it away from his face. Wet stripes streak down his cheeks and you softly click your tongue, thumbing them away. “What on Earth has gotten into you, to doubt yourself so much?”

“Because it’s true!” James confides, “I’m weak, I can’t fight like the other men, I’ve got my— my— My body, and I’m slow, and… How can you marry me, (Y/n)?! How could you possibly have said yes when I asked you to become my wife, when you could have said yes to any of those tall, good-looking, able-bodied towers of muscle out th—”

You don’t let him finish his sentence and shut him up by gently pressing your lips against his in a chaste kiss. It is enough to get him quiet, and after a second of shock, he relaxes and leans into it, lacing his fingers through yours as your hand finds his cheek. A few moments later, you pull away from him and smile softly. 

“I love you, James,” you tell him, “I really do. You’re sweet, humble, a very patient man, and so determined to follow the Messiah in spite of your condition.” 

He finds your gaze and melts at the proximity of your (e/c) eyes – it’s almost as if he can see his own reflection in them as well as the stars – “You’re just wonderful, you know? You’re tender, and warmhearted, and… I love you, James. I love you a lot, and I am so grateful that I get to marry a man like you. I thank Adonai that He has brought you on my path, and I thank Him that you get to be the father of my children, and that we hopefully get to grow old together, hm?”

An abashed smile falls over his lips, and how can his cheeks not turn red at these words? 

“Really?”

“Yes,” you laugh gently, besottedly looking him in the eye, “You’re everything in a man I ever could have wished for.”

He opens his mouth once again – to protest, to say that he wouldn’t weigh up against the others, but you put a hand against his lips, shaking your head firmly. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, James. You’re stuck with me now, whether you like it or not.”

Chuckling lightly, James presses his forehead against yours and sighs happily. “I love you, too.” he says, and for a while, you sit like this, despite the cold, ignoring the laughter and cheers that unfold far behind you as the winner is revealed, enjoying this moment together under the stars, just in one another’s presence.

[dejaroze]

Teen Philip doodle yahoo ( I love drawing him with curly hair 🙌 )

[crepesuzette2023]

Kiss ask game - 7, 24 or 31 please! (John & Paul)

Thank you so much for the prompt! <3 I chose 7, but I might do the other ones some later time, because they're also great. Kiss fic game—7: To shut them up (John & Paul)

Paul had taken things in hand. Made the call to Percy Philips’ “professional tape and disc recording service” after school, decided on the rate and all. And just like that, the Quarry Men had an appointment to cut their first record—not that they had a clear idea of what to expect. It didn’t matter: they were going places. John could feel it.

Things had moved quickly since Paul had joined the band. His presence made everything more real. The Quarry Men’s songs and stage craft were now the subject of serious discussion, and they had rehearsals, regular ones at that, most of them at Paul’s house. It could have been upsetting, but John found it fascinating. For the first time, it wasn’t just him who rallied the others, found songs they could play, and kept the band going. It was him and Paul.

That strange boy: so familiar by now, John could barely remember his life without him. At times, he was shocked to realize that Paul existed separately from him, that he smelled differently than John did, that his room smelled differently, too, that he folded his clothes in a way he’d learned as a kid, before. That he had a body separate from John’s. Useless dark hair: curly when it was meant to be straight, straight when it was meant to stand up. That voice. Eyebrows like lines of ink. Ridiculous bedroom eyes John should be teasing him for, except he didn’t want to; he was waiting for something.

At the moment, Paul sat on his bed and tried to make a case for one of their songs, actually his, Paul’s: In Spite of All the Danger.

“We talked about this,” John said. “We’ll do That’ll Be the Day. Democratic decision, and all.”

“Yes. But. We might have time for one more.”

“Could be.” John sat down next to Paul.

They really needed to leave if they wanted to make it on time. But John didn’t say anything, and Paul’s mind was elsewhere: probably with Duff and his piano, and with everything George had told him he’d heard about Percy Philips and his studio, and how he reckoned things would happen—Paul talked about all of this in melodious half-sentences, nervous, already annoyed by the mere possibility that the session could be a disappointment.

They sat close enough for their knees to touch as they sat sideways on the bed.

Paul was still mumbling something about the record and the number of copies and their names on the label, and he was looking at his hands as he did so. His hands were small and shapely and always busy: plucking strings,grasping a pen or a cigarette, or playing with stray pieces of paper, lighters, or candle wax. Swirls of hair were starting to grow on Paul’s arms and wrists, and for all John knew, the pretty oval of his face already needed shaving.

Not for the first time, John imagined running his fingers down Paul’s cheek and along his jaw, finding his skin rough and warm, and not as soft as if looked—

He was curious, that wasn’t news. Yes, John liked to touch people and to feel. To know. In the interest of broadening his mind. And there was the other thing as well.

John wasn’t in the habit of fooling himself, not usually. There was a name for what he wanted from Paul. It was all part of being different, and John had always felt he was different, probably from birth. His life’s mission was to twist the difference into something others envied and respected, or, if not respected, feared. Paul must have been going through the same thing. With a face like this, with a love of music and a notebook full of songs, there was no way he’d never been mocked, heckled, or bullied. Hell, even John had needled him a few times, out of habit, to test him a little bit. Paul had made a face and stood his ground, but he’d done it by closing his defenses, not by lashing out.

He was hard to read, Paul: he liked to be liked. A sponge for praise, that one. And he liked to be noticed for the right reasons. But he had a hard edge, too, and was filled with beguiling mischief. Not an ordinary boy.

And, God—again—his voice. Soft or silly when they spoke in the dark, screaming or velvet on stage, washed out and skipping with nerves, like now. Talking and talking. Another song, Colin’s drumming, advice from his dad…Have mercy.

In the end, it was simple: They would go to Percy Philips studio and play. But before that, John had to know. If it was going to be the two of them, he had to—he just had to.

“I was thinking we could play it faster,” Paul said, starting to slap a rhythm on his thighs, which made John think of his legs—the strangest, longest legs he’d ever seen on a boy—and now Paul was humming a tune, eyes half closed, using himself as percussion. So close.

John was done waiting. He leaned in and kissed Paul on his lips. Paul stopped drumming, stopped moving altogether. The silence washed away everything but the tea and salt taste of Paul’s mouth, and its unfamiliar, dry warmth. Their hands found each other on Paul’s legs, John’s on top, closing around Paul’s wrists…scared, all of a sudden, that Paul would panic and jump up. But he didn’t. They kissed each other quietly. And it was enough.

John’s imagination had taken him farther, but in real life, it was enough. Like this.

Paul opened his eyes. Light green and brown, misleadingly translucent. Heartbeat pulsing in his throat. He slid his hands from under John’s—they both watched their fingers slipping past each other, and it didn’t feel like a separation, but like a caress.

Then Paul made a face John had never seen anyone else make. It was a smirk of sorts, a playful admission of defeat combined with the promise to seek revenge. It said: you got me this time, but just you wait.

“We’ll miss the bus.” With that, Paul stood up, guitar on his back. John followed. It was as if sitting down had been the hard thing—the moment he stood and left with Paul, he felt light, relieved of a heavy weight. Set free.

[pipwife]

heyo, i’ve got another song lyric turned 1+5 prompt for ya! :D

“you’re only still alive because i made a promise”

omg it took me ages to finally write this but!! thank you for the prompt!

spoilers for the toh finale. warning for statutory r. and warning for butch gender dysphoria.

"You're only still alive because I made a promise."

Belos—Philip looks up at the girl putting the Titan-magicked chains on his wrists. She feels blinded somehow, caged in with him by her new mane of long, curly hair. It's haloed around her like a veil that she can't remove, choking now that the battle is won. Suffocating.

"A promise to who?" he asks.

"To you." She glares at him, her eyes stinging. "All those years ago, in the Deadwardian era, when I promised you I would get you safely to your destination. I wanted to—" She doesn't finish her sentence.

Philip knows already. He's always known her so well. I wanted to take you home.

What they have makes her sick. He is evil. He is a rot that infects her, that infects the Titan, that burrows its way into the Earth and turns it wrong. Suffocating.

I love you, goes unsaid. That was the promise. His hands on her, turning her from a girl to a woman. Suffocating. It had been so freeing then, in the moment. Him barely twenty, herself still the age she is now, fourteen going on fifteen. It had felt like rebellion, his hands on her thighs. Now she can't breathe.

I hate you, goes unsaid. The Titan's magic fades, but, strengthened by the Collector's magic, the chains hold up. He's unable to melt, unable to shape-shift, stuck in the form of the body that made itself one with hers.

They take Philip away. Luz watches.