#coop's parents were not. bad per se

[juicezone]

cooper + 🛌? :D

Bedtime at the Academy was a quiet affair. It wasn't really a problem, Cooper had been putting himself to bed before even high school. He got comfortable with a book, pulled his blanket up, and would eventually doze off. At some point, he invested in a little nightlight.

A treat, he told himself. It was a little one he'd wanted when he was a kid. A dinosaur that lit up, which was funny, because he didn't really care about dinosaurs anymore. He'd wanted it so badly, had begged for it for his birthday.

He'd gotten a book about not being scared of the dark (dinosaur themed, at least), but not the nightlight. He wasn't even scared of the dark. He just wanted the dinosaur.

He had gotten it for himself now, though. Plugged it in the corner by his nightstand, and stayed up just staring at the faint glow it let off.

Several years later, Ward proudly surprised him with a present. He'd dragged the engineer into the bedroom of the quarters they now shared, insisted he get changed into his pajamas. Cooper, vaguely irritated and mostly confused, had finally done so with much convincing from the other.

Ward had then dragged them both to the floor, where Cooper's blanket was spread out and Ward's Commander Gale was waiting, and ordered the lights off.

He'd been slammed small so fast he couldn't barely breath, his eyes staring wide at the ceiling.

Glow-in-the-dark dinosaurs littered the ceiling like stars, not a corner of the space without a sticker. He'd been so tempted to reach up, to try and grab them, pull them down to him. (He had, days later when he was alone. Laid out on the floor on his back, and just stared up at the ceiling, his hands reached out to the sky.)

It was a reminder, each time he went to bed. He'd stare up at the ceiling, think of the nightlight he'd bought himself, think of the dinosaurs scattered across the ceiling.

Not once did he ever think about the book.

[writefightandflightclub]

Horny Misanthrope (Nathan Bateman x fem!reader)

Summary: Nathan isn’t the ideal wedding “plus one”. Somehow though, all of that doesn’t matter, when he’s the perfect “plus one” to you. (Angst / argument which becomes fluff/soft Nathan.)

Author’s note: another one that has been sat 90% done in my drafts for an age as I wasn’t sure about it. Could do with a bit more development on it before posting, but, here it is anyway! I thought Nathan deserved to get out of the house for once, and why keep him cooped up any longer :P 

Warnings: 18+ for sexual themes. mentions of fingering; arguing; Nathan being insensitive / an ass (his usual self). Language. Alcohol mentions. Family drama. DEFINITE TYPOS. 

GIF: @twillight​

The only person Nathan Bateman plays well with is himself. Okay - and lately, you. But Nathan Bateman is not the kind of guy you bring to meet your parents, turns out.

Of course he isn’t. What had you even been thinking?!

He looked every bit the ideal wedding date. He looked dapper, suave, and impossibly handsome. He looked adoringly at you. At least, people might interpret his intense, sexual hunger for you as adoration, if they weren’t looking too hard at the way his eyes followed you, or the fact they followed your ass everywhere it went in that dress.

Nathan, however, had spent the whole ceremony - the nuptials of a close family friend- whispering in your ear and jeering at the “embarrassing” sentimentality of it all. He had spent the duration of the speeches trying to discreetly (and then much less discreetly) slip his (deliciously girthy, by the way) fingers in-between your legs, and he had spent the majority of the three-course dinner sitting insulting every single person on your table in one way or another. Including your parents. (Read; especially your parents.)

The worst part, is that he has spent the whole day completely oblivious to your frustrations. You know how he is, of course. He’s... different. He doesn’t see the world like everyone else does. That’s one of the things you love about him, and it’s not as if you expect him to change. It’s just... you thought he might at least make an effort. You thought he might avoid making your auntie burst into tears over her pudding, at a bare minimum.

Were you wishing for the impossible in asking Nathan to behave? Were you being cruel and expecting him to be something he’s not? He simply doesn’t play well with others. Except for when he plays with you... Usually.

Safe to say, it wasn’t going well. The last straw came, however, when the tables were finally pushed back for dancing. Your father had just pulled you aside to ask you what in the hell you saw in him, and then had proceeded to come at you with: don’t you want to find “a nice, stable man” to settle down with instead of - and you quote- “an arrogant, robot-fucking troglodyte? Don’t you think you can do better than a horny misanthrope, sweetpea”? And then, you had pulled Nathan aside, tears of frustration spilling down your face.

You were tired. Tired from having to justify your love for Nathan when all the good things about him were less visible from first impressions, and when he didn’t exactly make a good case on his own behalf.

And then, you were more than tired. You were exhausted. Exhausted because, after defending him to your parents and your family friends, he really had the cheek to come out with: “Are you going to ruin the day by crying right now, honey?”

And, oh boy, that -and the coldness in his tone when he said it- had further tears spilling down your face.

“I can’t help you if you’re going to be emotional about this,” Nathan sighs, trying to gently jostle you towards the restroom by the elbow. “My share prices will plummet if you’re papped crying like this, baby. Why don’t you go get cleaned-up?” You’ll give him the benefit of the doubt this time, and assume that was a vain attempt at humour, because, my goodness, if it wasn’t, then hell... part of you is sure you would tank Blue Book on purpose.

“Well how can I talk to you if you’re going to be a fucking robot?” you bite back. “If you’re not even going to try to understand?”

“Okay, so it’s not going well then,” he says, oblivious. “Did your dad like me, at least?”

“That’s a hard no,” you exclaim in disbelief, and all Nathan does is shrug and smile, exhaling an indignant breath. It’s not that he’s unlikable, per se. The problem is, he doesn’t care -doesn’t give a fuck- if he’s liked or not. Yes, he has a huge ego, but at the same time, he’s the furthest thing from a people-pleaser. It barely occurs to him to make an effort with people - anyone beyond you. But you do care if he’s liked. These particular people matter to you.

All you wanted from today was for your family to see how happy he makes you -weird as that fact is- and for them to start to believe that you really could have a future with him. From the start, they’d insisted that you’d never be anything more to him than a fling, and now... Well, now the whole thing is a mess. It makes it worse that maybe they are right. Maybe you don’t have a future with him, after all.

Nathan opens his mouth to speak but by this point in the day, you don’t want to hear it. You raise a palm silently as tears pool into the corner of your eyes all over again.

“No! Don’t say anything,” you say defeatedly. “You’ll just weevil your way into my head and turn everything around.”

He clamps his mouth shut, and instead he reaches his hand out towards your arm.

“Don’t touch me either. You can’t fix everything with that tongue and those fingers of yours.”

“You could let me try though?” he flirts despite how misplaced it is, ticking up his eyebrow suggestively.

You fold your arms and stamp your foot on the floor in frustration. Is he even listening to you? “Nathan!” you plead, begging him to acknowledge you.

“Okay. Okay,” he surrenders, reluctantly. “Help me out here. What did I even do wrong?”

“Everything,” you sigh, tired that he just can’t (or won’t) see it. 

He bristles at that, and lifts his glasses to massage his eyes and brow in frustration with the pads of his fingers. He lets out a hearty sigh, as though he’s tired too. As though you’re not even worth this hassle.

“If this is about your aunt, it’s not exactly my fault she’s such a passionate fan of Donny fucking Osmond. Don’t you think she might be a little overinvested, huh?! Maybe that’s why she cried into her fucking ice cream?”

Overinvested? That’s rich, coming from the guy who’s relentlessly obsessive.

“It’s not the Donny fucking Osmond comment,” you bite through your teeth. “It’s the way you spoke to her. You just...” you wave your arms around in the air, gesticulating angrily. “You’re rude to people. Dismissive. You mocked the whole ceremony, you kept trying to feel me up the whole time, you insulted my entire family. And my dad, Nathan. You made my dad hate you so much that he called you an arrogant, robot-fucking, troglodyte and a horny misanthrope.”

You growl as Nathan’s mouth tips into a lopsided smile.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! It’s not a fucking compliment!” you huff, raising your arms into the air and slapping them back down again, defeated, before bringing up a single finger to wag in his direction, spitting your words out now. “And don’t you dare say anything about him being upset that I call you Daddy, because I will fucking end you.”

Nathan supresses a full-blown smile- at least, he tries, he really does.

“Honey?” he says more softly, at least avoiding riling you any further. “You know all this about me. I’m not sentimental. I say what I think. I’m... essentially a horny misanthrope.” Oh, fuck, he’s adopting that, isn’t he? He fucking would. He says it with pride already. “But... is that so bad? Didn’t we kinda bond over our enjoyment of fucking each other and avoiding everyone else?”

Your anger dissolves into tears which brim in your eyes.

“Yes,” you admit, burying your face in your hands.

“Then what is it I’m missing?” he says, sounding as exasperated as you feel.

“I thought you wanted to be part of my life, Nathan. That’s what you said. But... if you don’t want... this? Then what are we even doing? I make an effort for you at all those shitty business galas, you know. And believe me I don’t like the sexist dudebro CEOs I have to rub shoulders with... but I make an effort because it’s important to you, and you’re important to me. I just wanted the same from you.”

“I thought you liked those galas,” he frowns, missing the point all over again. Why are you even surprised anymore, honestly?

You raise your hands in the air in frustration and pace away from him, further out of the view and earshot of the other guests. He follows. By this point you aren’t even sure if you want him to follow.

“Yeah, of course you think so. Because you’re too busy having your ego massaged and winning awards to notice. And because I make an effort. I don’t even make your rivals cry into their pudding.”

Though you admit, even as you say it, that can’t imagine Musk weeping into his dessert because of you, even if you tried. Maybe your auntie is a little overinvested.

“The fucking aunt thing again? For real? Fuck’s sake,” Nathan says, gritting his teeth. “Fine, don’t come to the galas again. Settled.”

“Fuck, Nathan? It’s not about the fucking galas! Are you being purposefully obtuse?”

“No,” he growls, clenching his jaw tightly.

“Makes a fucking change,” you say.

“I wanted to be here,” he says adamantly. “I just wanted to be with you. All this other shit doesn’t fucking matter to me,” he states, sweeping his hand through the air, gesturing around him.

“That’s exactly my point! I’m not asking you to gush over the fucking floral arrangements. We can head back to the suite later and you can bitch all you like about how schmaltzy this whole fuckin’ thing is. But the problem is, I know you can be charming when it’s something that matters to you, Nathan. I’ve seen you schmooze investors, and partners. And this matters to me,” you say, stabbing your finger against your own chest, and then releasing a pent up breath. “It matters to me. That’s all I’m trying to tell you. I guess you just have to decide if I matter enough to you, or not.”

You are greeted by silence as he sets his jaw again, tendons slipping over bone, his gaze stern and impenetrable.

Fucking great. Just about sums it up.

You simply exhale an indignant breath.

You are tired.

Tired of this.

Your body sags. All of the fire saps from your voice, and you reach into your purse, your tone muted and dull. Unfeeling. Like him. Like one of his machines. 

“Look, Nathan, if you don’t want to be here, here’s the hotel key,” you say, slipping the fob into his palm. “Go away if you like. If you don’t want me, and all my human baggage, feel free to build yourself another fucking robot.”

You throw him a cold glance and you sweep away into the bathroom to wipe your tears away, and then to repeat the cycle by crying a few more.

By the time you surface again, Nathan is gone.

Despite how much it hurts you, you smooth your features and venture back into the throng, trying your best to put a brave face on it, for the happy couple’s sake. Nathan’s an obvious miss, to all of the guests in there who wonder why you are suddenly without your eccentric, billionaire boyfriend. But, most of all, he’s an obvious miss to you. To you, he’s simply your boyfriend, and you would have liked him by your side today. Today and all the days following, if you’re honest with yourself.

Still, perhaps he did play best alone. Perhaps Nathan just wasn’t suited to being anyone’s plus one; for weddings or for life.

You plaster a smile on your face as you link back up with an old childhood friend of yours, and leave your personal dramas to one side to concentrate on the day at hand... and, you have to admit, it does go a little more smoothly without him.

***

It is an hour or so later when you catch a glimpse of Nathan re-entering the room, out of the corner of your eye. You are shocked to see him again. You had expected him to retire back to the suite for the rest of the night, and to take the edge off his sorrows with the (entire) contents of the hotel mini bar.

Your stomach clenches, and you hope desperately that he hasn’t, in fact, done exactly that; raided the hotel mini bar and subsequently come back, determined to raise a scene.

You tense-up as you watch him beeline determinedly toward your father -the last thing you needed was for your dad to add “drunk” to his list of unkind descriptors of your man- and you watch the initial scene unfold from behind your fingers; however, you’re shocked when Nathan seems to politely approach the older man, locking eyes with a wide, charming smile. He almost looks... deferential? Apologetic? Not words you’d ever think to associate with Nathan Bateman.

From what you can observe, your father looks sceptical, and appears to respond brusquely at first; but you are shocked when Nathan extends a hand towards him and they shake firmly, as if reconciling. You watch slack-jawed as Nathan whisks your father to the bar to buy him a drink -declining one of his own- and you are especially surprised when you see the two of them engaged in what looks - from a distance, at least- a lot like a pleasant conversation.

You then watch, still slack-jawed, and feigning interest in your own company’s talking points and pleasantries, as Nathan circulates around the room, appearing to gradually make peace with everyone he upset earlier. Even reaching out to others he didn’t speak with before. Chatting happily to the bride and groom.

Has he made a robot version of himself? (If so, can you keep it?)

After a while, he finally meets your eyes from across the room, and he holds the connection for a moment, his gaze travelling over you from head to toe -but not hungrily, like usual; softly somehow, in a way which makes you feel revered and almost like you are floating. Like you are the only thing he can see in the room. The way he’s looking at you practically steals the air from your lungs, and then, as quickly as it came, he unceremoniously dips away again, to continue determindely on with his act of penitence.

Suddenly you feel the loss of him all over again.

He circulates around so many people in the room, until finally he comes to you, with a warm, broad hand resting on the middle of your back. Back to your side. The one person he has yet to make peace with, and the most important.

He comes over to you, looking every bit the ideal wedding date.  He looks dapper, suave, and impossibly handsome. He looks adoringly at you. 

“Can I borrow you, for this dance?” he asks, his usually calculating, inpenetrable eyes somehow softer and deeper.

The look he’s giving you almost makes you feel as though you are meeting him for the first time and being swept off your feet all over again... which, now that you think about it, never actually happened the first time... unless a hot, urgent fuck with your face being rammed into his keyboard counted as romance? To be fair, maybe it did, in Nathan Bateman Land.

“You sure, Bateman? It’s not disco,” you say, your lips curling up into a gently teasing smile as you draw attention to the cheesy power ballad being played. “Sure you’ve got the moves?” 

He simply nods at you, and extends his hand to you, and you let him lead you away into the floor of gently swaying couples, bathed in the fragmented light of a glitterball.

He wraps an arm firmly around you and tugs you close to him, and his other hand clasps yours gently in his as he rocks you, in time to the music. It is so unlike him that you open your mouth in disbelief to question it, and yet, Nathan is the one to speak first, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if his coming words are an effort.

“I’m... sorry,” he says, and although it seems to have pained him, his apology sounds genuine.

“Why, what did you say to my dad this time?” you idly tease, even as you genuinely wonder what he has been up to.

“Hi. I’m a little weird and intense,” he relays. “I’ve lived in a concrete house underground for a couple of years. We got off on the wrong foot, buddy. Let me get you a beer. Tell me more about your daughter. Did you know how fucking much I love her?”

You feel a surge of emotion when his voice cracks during his final sentence, tears gently swelling in your eyes. Sometimes, you just don’t know if Nathan feels things... aside from in the crotch area - it’s pretty clear he feels things for you there. With his emotions, he’s generally bottled-up and withholding, and it feels really good to hear it out said loud like that.

He loves you.

“Were those your exact words?” 

His mouth quirks up and he bites down playfully on his lower lip. “I’m paraphrasing, honey.”

You nod gently in understanding. “Okay. Well, why the change of heart?” you ask him, as he circles you majestically over the floor.

His brow furrows again, and he runs the pad of his thumb delicately along your jawline. “No change. Just realised. I can replace most of the people in my life with robots. But I can’t replace you.” He thinks for a moment. “I need you to know you’re important to me. That I want this. Days like this with you.”

The intensity of him destabilises you, and so you reach for humour as a defence. You throw your eyes around the room at the flowers and the decorations and the whole cheesy spectacle. “You want all of this? I’ll remember to play you some Celine Dion when we get home then.” Your tone is obviously teasing, and you expect him to balk at the notion of any of this. Including, and especially, the notion of marriage.

But, if there’s anything Nathan can be described as -your dad’s unkind descriptors aside- it’s unpredictable. Surprising.

“Honey, we won’t get married like this, give me a fuckin’ break.”

Your heart is beating pretty fast all of a sudden. A tentative happiness is blooming within your chest. Did he just hint at what you think he did?

“How would we do it?” you venture, biting down on your lip to supress the widest smile of your life. “Robot officials?”

“Up on the glacier, maybe. The fucking... bare minimum by the way of guests -if you’re insisting on anyone at all beyond the robot officials, that is. I’ll allow 3 people tops.”

You draw a lopsided flash of teeth from him as you laugh warmly.

“Generous of you,” you say, still smiling, looping your arms around his neck, and playing fondly with the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck.

“You could wear snow boots,” he continues, “and then I could do you up against a tree.” He thinks a moment more. “Would be romantic. In the moonlight, maybe.”

You really can’t help but smile now. Nathan always is a little bit contrary. A little bit different. And he may not be the ideal wedding guest, but he’s your ideal plus one.

“Nathan Bateman,” you say in disbelief, as he dips his lips closer towards yours. “You do have emotions, after all.”

Tears fill your eyes again like jewels- happy tears this time though.

“Careful, honey. I’ve told you- if you get papped crying, BlueBook tanks. Then there’ll be nothing left for you by the time of the divorce.”

You throw him a gentle faux scowl, dismissing his comment.

Happily, you let your scowl fade into a soft, cautious smile. “Nathan. You want this? Really? Us, I mean?” 

“Like I said,” he admits softly. “Can’t replace everyone with robots. Definitely can’t replace you. So, if I have to talk to a bunch of losers every now and again for you...” he nods with conviction. “I’m in.” 

You bat his chest with your palm.

“Nathan!” you scold, earning another lopsided flash of teeth from him, but there’s no true malice behind it. Unless...

Unless you can think of a way you’d like him to make it up to you.

“Ah, shit. Ok, I messed up again,” he confesses, sucking air between his teeth. “Probably shouldn’t have called your family losers. But, honey,” he purrs, and you know that familiar lust-infused tone all too well. You note that his hands have gradually been wandering further and further down your back too - holding you more tightly. “Did I fix it enough for you to let me fix the rest with my lips?”

“Yes,” you nod, your voice suddenly breathy. 

He dips his lips towards yours, tasting you as if he can’t resist you. Kissing you as if no-one is watching. But it’s not hungry, like usual. It’s not overty sexual. It’s adoring. He kisses you and you feel revered. He kisses you in a way that would make anyone looking think the two of you belong together. That each of you is the perfect plus one to the other.

You melt into his kiss, and when you pull away there is a gentle sparkle in his eyes too. Not like starlight; no. His emotions are hidden further in the depths of him. More subtle. More subdued. But still equally dazzling. Something like the wash of moonlight upon deep waters.

When you look at him, hungry, he cocks a single eyebrow at you.

There’s the Nathan you know and love. There’s that wicked glint in his eyes, returning yours.

“Holy shit. Did I fix it enough for you to let me take you outside and finger you in the orchard?” he asks, voice deep and wonderfully dirty.

“We’ll see,” you say, ticking-up an eyebrow in turn, and you’re surprised when his expression grows serious again, momentarily.

“Just so you know. It’s the flowers and the frills and the fucking pretentious shmaltz I don’t like. But, if you wanted it, I’d do it for you.”

“Really?” you say, eyes somehow still shining.

“If it’s really that fucking important to you, then yeah.” He takes a deep breath, as if his next words will take effort. “The idea of being with you forever is... terrifyingly okay, actually,” he says, and although the words were hard to say, Nathan only ever says what he’s thinking. That’s one of the things you love about him.

You love him as he is, and you wouldn’t want him to be someone he’s not.

You scrunch your nose up in dismissal, suddenly knowing exactly what you want. “Nah.”

“Nah?”

“Your way sounds perfect for me, Bateman. Mountain wedding and a bang against a tree?” you smile. “Don’t you know I’m just a horny misanthrope too?

He smiles right back at you, and it’s loving as much as it is devilish. “That’s why we’re perfect for each other, I guess.”

“Now, come on,” you giggle deviously, darkly, leading him by the hand. “Let’s ditch these losers and you can fingerbang me in the orchard” 

Nathan follows you gladly, and his eyes definitely follow your ass in that dress.

He might not be everyone’s favourite wedding guest, but right now, you could care less. He is your favourite, and that’s all that matters.

What’s more, the idea of being with him forever? With Nathan Bateman? Well, it is... terrifyingly okay, actually.

[letters-from-the-three-houses]

Heya! I recently read up on Bernadetta’s character profile, and she’s quickly shaping up to be one of my faves!! Could I request some headcanons you might have about her?

eyyy, she’s one of my favourites too! i’m always a big fan of shy characters

i know people have been arguing about what they think bernadetta’s hobby is: something food-related, writing, people watching… but why can’t it be all of them? :D

enjoy!

p.s. trigger warning for death scenes because bernadetta likes having her characters suffer

bernadetta coops herself up in her room so no one bugs her when she’s writing

she’s really self-conscious about it

if someone finds any of her stories, she’d probably explode

it’s not because her writing’s bad, per se, but because she thinks it’s bad

she’d be embarrassed that someone can put a face to the words on the paper, the flimsy premises, two-dimensional characters, lousy plot twists…

(her writing’s actually not that bad; she just doesn’t have a lot of confidence in herself)

she people watches to help develop her characters

sneaks around the monastery to jot down notes about their quirks and mannerisms

she thinks sylvain’s handsome and charismatic, so she uses him as a base for her hero characters

‘edelgard - the cool and strict knight that can do everything perfectly, protecting her master with her final breath’

'annette - the young orphaned girl looking for her older brother that she had been separated from when she was a child; the hero meets her along the way and they travel together’

'hanneman - the all-knowing scholar that helps the hero in his journey by imparting important information on his quest’

'ignace - apprentice to said scholar’

'ingrid - the beautiful princess kept captive in a tower by an evil magician’

'hubert - the evil magician’

(that’s another reason why she doesn’t want to show them; she’d spontaneously combust if people knew what she typed them as)

she likes making up backstories for all the students

'ashe duran - sir lonato’s son; adopted. was a commoner before. maybe had to steal bread to keep his family alive? bandits killed his parents? he was found when sir lonato was travelling across gaspard, coming across the bodies of his murdered parents and finding a boy amongst the wreckage…’

(another reason why she doesn’t want to show anyone: they’d probably be offended bc she’s making up their whole life stories—which are probably wrong—and therefore they’ll think she’s insensitive)

she likes writing about fairy tales and classic romances

'good defeats evil’ plots

all of her stories have happy endings

she doesn’t like killing off any of the characters she bases off of real people

but when they do die

bernadetta tries to make it as emotional and gut-wrenching as possible

“i…am glad you’re safe, my lord. it has been…an honour…to serve you”

“no, don’t talk like that. save your strength, dear friend”

“i’ve watched you grow up…and become a great hero… i am…proud…”

“no… no! stay with me!”

if it’s a true original character (usually villains), she’s fine with making their death gruesome, graphic, and full of insanity

blood gurgled down his throat as he scraped his nails across the floor, an eerie scratch echoing throughout the throne room as he dragged himself towards the spectre. his knee, bent in an unusual angle, felt like it would fall off with each bump and crevice

but he pressed on. more! more! he was right there! his god, the demon king! he could hear the impending cacophony of chaos, as terrors flooded into the world, overturning humans and wiping mankind…

she eats food as she writes

usually sweets

it keeps up her imagination and brain power

so sometimes she’ll sneak into the pantry and steal food to snack on as she stays up all night to write

the first time she did it, the guards caught her and she squeaked her way out of there

now she has a set plan bc she memorized their schedule—when and where they were stationed, plus their patrol route—so she can avoid them

(her current story is about a robin hood-esque thief who steals from rich castles to give money to the poor)

(and sure enough, the main character’s thought process and execution is eerily similar to hers)

a smol ball of anxiety

would rather hang out with animals than people

if she can get out of a social situation, she will

but if she trusts someone, she’ll cling to them like a baby panda

she’ll use them as a buffer to do stuff that she normally wouldn’t do

if she’s talking to someone she doesn’t know though, she’ll be fidgeting the whole time and wishing she was somewhere else

[asks are open!]

[samgwrites]

Woodward

Prologue | Next Chapter 

Chapter 1: Vanishing Acts

   Ten year old James Woodward was like any ten year old; full of boundless, life threatening energy. It’s amazing what lengths children will go to be in danger when there are rules in place meant to prevent that specifically. In the past few months, James had managed to electrocute himself with the only open outlet in their home, climb onto the kitchen island and subsequently fall off and split his chin open on the hardwood, and slice his finger open with a butter knife. He was a tough kid, but his father joked that he must like visiting the hospital.

His father didn’t know how right he was.

It’s wasn’t the hospital per se, but James hated being cooped up, and it seemed that his father would only take him off the property on rare occasions; including but not limited to trips to the hospital. But recklessness is not something that should be fostered.

Eventually Colin got fed up. He had never been one to snap at the people he cared about but one day he saw his one and only son attempt to hammer a loose nail into the deck. Even Colin, who despite ten years of practice was still learning about being a parent, knew that ten year olds shouldn’t play with hammers. So he swooped in and wrenched it away, and he shouted.

Parents should not make a habit of shouting at their children. However, you also shouldn’t make a habit of never reprimanding your child at all, until you get so fed up that you snap like a twig. This will confuse and frighten the child, and he will shout back. And suddenly a parent and a child are shouting at each other, something that should be avoided.

This argument occurred on the porch of the cabin. The porch had  recently been cleaned, though its age was still obvious. Splinters were popping up, and various scars left in the wood by curious forest  creatures could be seen. Colin dreaded to think of a coyote’s vicious claws scratching so close to where his child slept.  This fear popped into his head, and, parental instincts kicking in, he told his son to go to his room.

But they were outside, and little James realized this. He thought about how to go to his room, he would need to walk past his dad, and then he’d be stuck, and his dad might yell at him more. He didn’t want that.

So he broke another rule.

The most important rule, perhaps.

The one rule that his father seemed to actually care about constantly.

James Woodward, ten years old, turned, jumped off the porch, and sprinted into the woods.

He could hear his father shouting and cursing behind him, and for a moment felt bad. But ten year olds tend to be fairly egotistical, so he kept running.

He ran for a long time. Despite his lack of outdoor activity, James still had some pretty solid stamina. So he ran and ran, and finally stopped, leaning against a towering pine, breathing heavily. He couldn’t hear his father yelling anymore, and the sun was getting lower.

It was probably time to go home, he realized, and he turned around.

And realized that he couldn’t see the path. That was odd. He was sure he had stayed on the hiking trail, but he must’ve veered off at some point. That was ok, he could probably just retrace his steps. He knew that the sun set in the west, and that was always on the left side of his house, so if he just went north he should be back in no time. He started to walk back.

“Hello,” A voice said from behind him, and he whipped around to face someone who hadn’t been there moments before. They were taller than him, with pale blond hair tied in a knot, wearing a shawl that hung loosely over their thin frame. The most noticeable feature, however, were their eyes. They were just too round, just slightly too big, and almost completely black.

Crow eyes, an absent mother’s voice supplied.

“Hello,” James said, before promptly turning on his heel and restarting the trek. They appeared next to him, matching him in stride.

“What are you doing out here?” They said, leaning down as they walked. “Where’s your father?”

“Close,” responded James, not looking at his new traveling companion, and wondering how they knew his father.

“Are you sure?” James glanced to his side, and saw the person’s eyes flick back and forth. “I don’t see him. What’s your name?”

“J,” He responded, his pace picking up. The creature hummed.

“Well, J, I think you need to hurry home.”

“That’s what I’m doing, stupid,” The child muttered, speeding up.

“But you’re going the wrong way, J,” Their eyes gleamed, “And it’s getting late.”

“It’s not-” James paused, and took in his surroundings. It was almost dark. But that wasn’t right, the sun hadn’t been that low a moment ago. And he still wasn’t on a path. And suddenly they were in front of him.

“You should come with me, J”

“I don’t think I want to,” James yawned.

“Aren’t you curious? You’re a curious one, aren’t you J?” The thing whispered. James was looking at it, its large black eyes staring down at him. “If you go back to that house, your dad might not let you be curious.” James shook his head. Everything felt fuzzy. That wasn’t right, his dad loved curiosity, he had told him so.

“It’s late, J, you’re all turned around,” They murmured. “Let’s go home.” Tears pricked James’s tired eyes.

“I want my dad.” James cried, and suddenly the soft expression on their face vanished, leaving a sneer in its absence. The thing’s long arm sprung out towards the boy, and sharp fingers curled around his throat.

“Yeah, kid? You want your dad?” They hissed, their voice dripping with false sympathy. “Well I want to win.”

Kilometers away, the Woodward family cabin was a mess. Colin had spent hours in the woods, searching for his son in vain. When the sun began setting, and he heard the distant sound of bells, he ran home, hoping that James had already returned. But apparently he would not be so lucky.

He had torn through the books they had tucked away, and journals that Penny had left behind. Survival guides of all kinds and books that most would write off as pure fantasy, but nothing instructed him on how to find a lost child in the woods.

It was about a quarter till eight when he heard them. The drums. The shouting. He stood up and slammed open the front door. Lights in the forest, laughter from far away. A sob crawled out of the man’s throat. He screamed bloody murder into the dark, into the woods to be heard only by the wind and the trees, who didn’t care much for the man who lost his son. His voice went hoarse, and he slammed his fist into the side of the door, splintering the old wood. Frantic and wild, he rushed into the kitchen and rummaged through the drawer that he usually kept locked, and grabbed a knife. Shaking, he carried the tool over to the wall near the front, to the charcoal message. Another sob crawled out of him.

“I’m sorry, Penny.” He said, and started carving.

[hoobins]

Explanation

So, ugh I really don’t feel the best making long texts, mostly because I feel like it annoys people more than helps but in any case, feel free to ignore, yay yeah I am bakc here ^^ Sorry to keep vanishing over and over again

Asi que detesto hacer estes textos largos, generalmente porque sinto que eso molesta la gente, de todas las maneras, sintanse libres para ignorarlo, solo quiero sacarme eso de la consiencia, lo siento desaparecer una y otra vez

So kiddos, the reason I most of all disappear from time to time, is because You see, I don’t heve the best relationship with my parents, especially with my mother, nothing too bad, is not like they beat me up or anything like that, I can say that I am lucky that this is not the case, but, in the past, especially they mentally abused me, a lot, not really because they hated me, I do believe their intentions were the best ones, but, the end result was not the desired one, after all, I still am the way I am.

But it can get hard, even tought I am an adult they still treat me like I was a child, and it can get really frustrating, I don’t feel like I am in the age wehre they can or should take off my phone, the tablet and any of my means of comunication any time they get pissed at me for trying to be myself and relax

Most of this comes because of art, they never wanted me to do this, I am studying law for some time with absolute zero passion or really interested, most of the things I feel about it is when I get to see some of the criminal things, and philosophy, but they are very strict per say, at the point that I cannot draw at my house or in front of my mother (which means my sleep schedule is detined to be a mess XD) 

but at the same time I cannot stop, drawing is what makes me sane, quite literally, I deal with depression, anxiety, recovering from an E.D and get can overwhelmed very easily if I don’t do this, is kinda like a good cooping mechanism in a way, but when I get sad I get to the “I don’t wanna do nothing” phase that just plain sucks

I am planning on moving out, yes, for my own sanity and them, because we just... really don’t match at all, and this hurts me, I also wanted to have a pretty little family where I could feel safe and stand by, feel inspired, or at least not hated for what I am, but, that is not the case ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And I had tried, like really did, but after all I tried, many years trying, and even with psychological help, it seems like the best course of action to be taken

Now I don’t want pity or anything, is more like to take this out of my cheast and explain that, when I am not here, or in any midia for that matter, is mostly because my parents took off my means of communication, or I am just THAT bad, still, please don’t worry about me

I also want to say thanks for all the amazing people that talked to me while that happened, really you guys are my life savers, and I couldn’t deal with it without the strength you all handle me 💓 thank you so much and I hope I can also be a friend that you guys can count on 💖

Entonces kiddos, la razón por la que desaparezco de vez en cuando, es porque vean, no tengo la mejor relación con mis padres, especialmente con mi madre, nada está mal, no es como si me golpeasen o algo así, puedo decir que tengo suerte de que este no sea el caso, pero, en el pasado, especialmente ellos abusaron mentalmente de mí, mucho, no realmente porque me odiaban, creo que sus intenciones eran las mejores, pero el resultado final no era el deseado, después de todo, todavía soy el tal como soy, y llena de inseguridades las cuales no tenia antes

Pero es dificil, incluso si soy una adulta, todavía me tratan como si fuera una niña, y puede llegar a ser realmente frustrante, no siento que esté en la edad en que pueden o deberían quitarme el teléfono o la tableta de dibujo o cualquiera de mis medios de comunicación cada vez que se enojan conmigo por intentar ser yo mismo y relajarme

La mayor parte de esto se debe al arte, nunca quisieron que yo hiciera esto (tampoco lo esperaban, empece la arte “tarde”), estoy estudiando direcho en universidad por un tiempo sin ninguna pasión o realmente interesada, la mayoría de las cosas que siento al respecto es cuando veo algunas de las cosas criminales, y la filosofía, pero son muy estrictos, en el punto en que no puedo dibujar en mi casa o delante de mi madre (lo que significa que mi horario de sueño está destinado a ser un desastre  si quiero seguir dibujando XD)

pero al mismo tiempo no puedo parar, dibujar es lo que me hace sana, literalmente, lidio con la depresión, la ansiedad, la recuperación de un ED y puedo abrumarme muy fácilmente si no hago esto, es como una buena forma de cooperacion de alguna manera, pero claro que han momentos que me  entristeco y llego a la fase "No quiero hacer nada" que simplemente apesta.

Estoy planeando mudarme, sí, por mi propia cordura y por ellos, porque simplemente ... realmente no encajamos, y esto me duele, también quería tener una pequeña familia donde pudiera sentirme segura y segura. esperar, sentirme inspirado, o al menos no ser odiado por lo que soy, pero ese no es el caso ¯ \ _ (ツ) _ / ¯ Y lo intenté, como realmente hice, pero después de todo lo intenté, muchos años intentando , e incluso con ayuda psicológica, parece ser el mejor curso de acción a tomar

Ahora no quiero lástima ni nada, es más como sacar esto de mi pecho y explicar que, cuando no estoy aquí, o en cualquier caso, es sobre todo porque mis padres me quitaron los medios de comunicación, o estoy ASI de triste, aún así, por favor no se preocupen por mí

También quiero agradecer a todas las personas increíbles que me hablaron mientras sucedió, realmente ustedes son mis salvadores de vida, y no podría lidiar con eso sin la fuerza que todos ustedes me manejan 💓 muchas gracias y espero También puedo ser un amigo con el que ustedes pueden contar 💖

[sasslightertm-a]

seethem-dancing replied to your post: *deep breath* *shouts into the void* THE...

Your enthusiasm regarding the matter is positively infectious. I tend to prolifically disparage Western serialized media overall seeing as I'm an old school Second World person & my moral values and views on the quality of fiction clash with that of the writers/producers of contemporary mainstream tv. Inevitably I end up comparing every other show to Charmed which is one of a vanishingly few Western products that didn't fail me    

Admittedly, I'm not remotely knowledgeable on Supernatural but from what I've seen of the two protagonists they hardly even begin to live up to Chris and Wyatt. What stood out about Chris & Wyatt's story was that originally it was a flawed hero's arc whom the audience was encouraged to root for BEFORE Chris' relation to Wyatt and the family of the protagonists was revealed. The narrative never drew out false moral equivalencies between Chris and Wyatt on basis of the fact that for all we - the audience - or the Halliwells knew at that point Chris was a shady half whitelighter who made a handful of questionable choices. Yet it still wasn’t used against him to paint Chris as “just as bad” as evil Wyatt & we were prompted to side with Chris because ultimately HE chose to remain a good person & risk his life to fight the noble cause despite the world of terror he lived in & despite EVERY chance to not fight for it. 

Evil Wyatt was meant to be pitied rather than sympathized - he was never given a platform to exercise his sociopathy. Chris went back to past & stayed true to his morals and mission(while having every chance to slip & take an easy way by killing the baby) despite the mistrust from the family that later turned out to be his own. He nearly obliterated his existence & sacrificed his life to prevent Wyatt essentially from having an excuse to be evil because of one bad experience in the life filled with adoration and worship from his parents. There where Chris was completely neglected by Leo in the original timeline, lost Piper on his 14th birthday&his aunts later on whereas the only family he had left after Victor died (given Chris tells Bianca he had nothing left in the dark future after her betrayal) - Wyatt - terrorized and abused him. Moreover, in the new timeline Chris was just as neglected. Piper would cancel his birthday, Leo wouldn’t even hold baby Chris in his arms during his self pity fest (that is, until the vision of Chris came to give Leo another pep talk - as if Chris absolving Leo of always favoring Wyatt & encouraging him to do it again WHILE on his deathbed wasn’t enough) and then Leo would express regret for killing Gideon (Chris’ murderer) because it hurt Wyatt’s delicate sensibilities. Phoebe continued to victim blame Chris for Wyatt’s now passive abuse against his little brother & whitewash Wyatt’s bad behaviors on grounds of the same issues she previously dismissed entirely in regards to Chris (i.e Leo not being around & his brother getting “all the attention” - which was an outright falsehood in this case because Leo always found time to coddle Wyatt whereas Chris didn’t even get ANY attention on his wiccaning day which was all about Wyatt’s jealous tantrums). And Chris still remained a good man, in both timelines and despite the innumerable traumas. Wyatt, for all his arrogance and narcissism, learned in this new timeline to tame his entitlement & complacency and let Chris take the lead when the situation required it (i.e Wyatt felt bad for outing “uncle Coop” and didn’t initiate the reveal of the future information needed to help Phoebe to get Coop back until Chris instigated said reveal first). Their dynamic has an inspiring psychological context because the show made the audience care about either brother as an individual first. Chris’ story is a glorious subversion of the pro-moral equivalency arcs where flawed heroes are being painted with the same brush as the villains & the latter are being framed as “complex” & deserving of attention. Chris’ arc is about how one can endure most of the forms of abuse & trauma and make mistakes but STILL remain a heroic, good, self sacrificing person. 

There where Wyatt’s story is about how no amount of love and favoritism is enough for a person to stay on the right track unless they grasp the opportunity to ethically & morally grow (such as when Chris sacrificed his life so Wyatt wouldn’t be traumatized by Gideon and thus wouldn’t use it as excuse to terrorize mankind) & CHOOSE to do right by others and themselves (like Wyatt does in the new timeline). I would watch a show about Chris & Wyatt because of the way their individual characteristics were presented, not because they’re two brothers fighting demons. Charmed’s original appeal did not stem from it being a show about magical sisters fighting the forces of evil. But from the fact that the fantastical element was a mere background for the characters’ emotional struggles and developments as the result of various events. Chris and Wyatt’s story was no different & wouldn’t be different in the new timeline.

I mean, the original post was just as much about the sisters as it was adult Chris and Wyatt, but yes. (And it’s not so much me being enthusiastic per se as it is me being incredibly, incredibly salty. I am a salt factory.)

And sadly, by this point it doesn’t seem like we’re going to get a spin-off focusing on Chris and Wyatt and the next generation *glares @ The CW* Instead we’re getting a reboot that NOBODY wants.