#unappreciated character series

[astraeajackson]

leo deserved better. he deserved so, so much BETTER. i mean, he fucking sacrificed his LIFE to save the world, and yes, even though he was always meant to come back, there was always that lingering chance the plan WOULDN'T work out.

but what did he get when he finally made his way back home? hugs? maybe a huge welcome home party? NO. instead, everyone got into a fucking LINE and proceeded to hit him, WITH FULL FORCE, immediately upon his arrival back home.

and then there's the issue with calypso. i just HATED the way she treated him in the dark prophecy. like, he was the only dude who BOTHERED to come back for her. he gave her the chance for a new life. but instead, she COMPLAINS about how leo "treats every problem like a machine" when he's working SO hard to fix things.

then later, at the end of the series, we find calypso has become counsellor for a band camp pretty far away, and we learn that part of the reason was "so she could take some time away from him". i mean, what the hell is up with THAT?!

leo's done so many amazing things for so many people, but just how many times do you hear him praised? like honestly, he deserves someone who loves him unconditionally, someone who showers him with love, someone who can fill up the gaps his mother's death left in him. and that someone is NOT calypso.

[mariocki]

Barbara Murray attempts a needlessly convoluted swindle, as Lady Diane Battersley in The Adventurer: The Not-So-Merry Widow (1.18, ITC, 1973)

[bullagit]

since when does leo’s one-off obviously for-comedy “nono i’m your LEAST FAVORITE” line that he was saying specifically bc he didn’t want his rat-flu stricken father to infect him by clinging to him....... translate to him literally thinking he’s the least favorite...

genuine question

[reidmotif]

my fic + author recs!

i have been suuuper disgruntled by the fic community recently and how casually and thoughtlessly some fic writers/readers seem to be indirectly insulting people’s work. this community and its fics are so varied, and i think they deserve to be appreciated. which is why im reccing a bunch of my fav fics!! please give these writers sooo much love!!

(about all of my recs are nsfw, but some authors mentioned do have sfw fics. please explore and follow the warnings outlined for each fic!!)

“i know your wife and she wouldn’t mind” by @stairain

gotta start out with stairain. i would pretty much credit my whole desire to write fanfics to the fact that i religiously read their whole masterlist a summer ago. they are a fantastic writer, and i love how they captured spencer here. take a look!

“i want you” by @smurphyse

i HEAVILY recommend smurphyse as an author. their series, room 405 is probably one of my most reread fics ever. their threesome and foursome fics are beyond supreme. i love this one shot they’ve written, and i hope you guys do too!

“loverboy” by @sundrop-writes

while i dont think this person writes for cm anymore, their fics for it were fantastic. i love how they captured sub spencer, and i think this is one of my most reread fics ever.

“puppy eyes” by @misserabella

i am in looove with the way this person writes. while i dont have a link to it, “sick love” changed my brain chemistry. sub spencer save me sub spencer save me.

“summer of sin” by @mercy-burning

hoooly shit. if you know me, you’ll know i probably reccomend this fic to everyone i know. i just genuinely can’t say anything besides telling you with my whole heart to check it out. awesome way to close out your summer honestly.

i would love to write blurbs about my love for these fics for everyone, but i fear the post would become too longwinded. here are some links and authors i recommend just as enthusiastically as i did the others above.

@reiderwriter

@foxy-eva

@fortheloveofwonderland

@incognit0slut

@beelmons

@imagining-in-the-margins

@criminalmindzjunkie

@andiebeaword

@reidsrambles

@eideticmemory

@sinfulspencer

@wheelsup

@beautifulbrainrot

@moon-light-jukebox

@gubsbuubs

@minswriting

@golden1u5t

@ginkgo-phyta

@gubler-me-up

@reidbae

@crypticreid

“who’s counting” by @samuel-de-champagne-problems

“behave back there” by @writingmar

“mile high club” by @littlexdeaths

“next to you” by @zombiefiilm

“testing the limits” by @reidsdimples

“follow my lead” by @mismatched-sockss

“welcome home” by @spencerreidenjoyer

“incentive” by @reidslibrarybook

“the very first night” by @writer-in-theory

this request from @donald4spiderman

“malicious compliance” by @aliteralsemicolon

“all zipped up” by @ipseitydelrey

this request from @thedancingcostumeyoungadult

this request from @astrophileous

“scream for you” by @hornyhornyhimbos

“thin walls” by @byersbootyshorts

“just my type” by @reidgraygubler

welcome to the small blurb after where i say something that’s been bugging me. i think it’s corny to indirectly insult people’s work on here. i think it’s corny to imply a “correct” way to write a character, especially in terms of writing about a characters sex life, a sex life that has no canonical basis to it! (i am talking about spencer here, if it is not obvious). i think it’s thoughtless, arrogant and all around odd to engage with that type of behavior. the variety of fanfiction that exists here is such an awesome thing, and i think itd be so incredibly boring if we all thought the same thing and wrote the same thing about the same characters over and over again.

if you’re a writer and you’ve felt that your work has been unappreciated or rejected, or have read something that left you feeling off about your own work, i am very sorry. every contributor to this fandom is awesome. you deserve every flower ever. 🌷🌷🌷

and if you’re reading this and feel called out.. examine that! i make this post off of a general vibe i have examined in the past few weeks. there is no level of entitlement you hold that allows you to dictate how and what people should write.

i say these words with little malice. id like to hope everyone is capable of being a little better everyday, and i hope any amount of reflection can lead to that.

anyway, that’s all ❤️ baiiii enjoy reading!!!!!

[notalexhorne]

You know what I think goes really unappreciated about Taskmaster? The setting. I’ve talked at length about the house itself, and how weird it is; the perfect amount of psychologically off-putting, too small for purpose so they have to shuffle crew between rooms when they want to use the lab or the lounge or whatever.

But the location as a whole is so fucking strange, and their commitment to staying their has only made it even more bizarre of a choice with each passing series. It’s a panel show with lore, which is strange in and of itself, and I’ve talked about that at length as well. But with that lore comes new set pieces every series. And it’s an inherent necessity to keep the show from getting stale. New set pieces are needed both so the show stays vibrant and exciting for the audience, but also so contestants don’t come in knowing all the same tricks from previous series. Suddenly, there’s a caravan that wasn’t there before. Now there’s a cow, and a strange dome, and a phone box, and some landscaping, and a frankly terrifying statue of Greg, and a new deck, and on and on it goes.

And then this series, there’s something which isn’t a shed and isn’t a caravan and isn’t a tent, but all three at once. And it’s where the shed ought to be. But the shed hasn’t been replaced; they’ve just crammed it behind the caravan, with the cow and the phone box, and the giant knife throwing target from the promo photos from series 14, which is also new because it was never a set piece to begin with.

There isn’t enough room for this. They don’t get rid of old set pieces. If this were the NZ/AU ranch, it wouldn’t be a problem. That place is huge. But this isn’t a ranch. It’s a groundskeeper’s cottage on a golf course in London. Each new set piece eats up more and more garden space, and actively makes the garden more hostile to do tasks in. It resembles the inside of the house more and more with each series, crammed with incongruously mis-matched crap that vaguely fits a theme, if that theme is “random old junk an eccentric old man has collected on a whim.” (The lounge is themed, but let’s be real; the rest of the house is a nightmare.)

I love any piece of media where the setting is itself a character, and the show has been leaning into that so much lately. Desiree had it right. The house could very well be a living thing at this point. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go into a house like that if you’re someone who’s used to a minimalist atmosphere, and be told to concentrate on tasks that don’t make sense. It would definitely explain a fair bit of the behaviour we see on the show.

It might also explain why other people go in and seem so wholly unbothered by the whole thing, honestly. Look at what people bring in for prizes, especially if they’re prizes they bring in from their own homes. I’m thinking specifically about Julian this series. The man could not possibly be less fucked about any of it, honestly.

It’s an unexplored meta, I think. But one that could be worth exploring as the house and garden become more and more unhinged.

[skyfallscotland]

Some updates since the last summary post. I didn't go to the convention on Sunday, but @caitm1 did and she said the workers told her that Rebecca's wrist swelled up from the amount of signatures she was doing (already, one day in!) and she had it taped up.

Rebecca also mentioned last night (Monday) at the second event I attended that she'd had a vestibular migraine just before and couldn't walk in a straight line a few hours ago, so I mean, I felt like I wanted to mention that first because as a chronically ill girlie I know how fucking hard it must be and I don't think a lot of fans appreciate what she does for us and how much she puts her body through.

Her signings this weekend were free and even though we paid for a ticket on Monday night, if you bought the ticket with the pre-signed book, that was at cost. $20 for a signed paperback. So yeah, just...I know it's a business, but she does a lot, ok. Don't be unappreciative of the extra mile.

Now, I recorded both Saturday's panel and Monday night's, I'm trying to figure out how to post it, but no website wants to cooperate with such a big file, so stand by, or like...help if you know tech things 💀

If you haven't seen my post with what we learned from Saturday's, it's here. Below is a summary of what we've learnt since then.

Bombshell alert: @caitm1 tells me that on Sunday, Rebecca said one of her original ideas for the end of Iron Flame was for Violet to become venin and not Xaden. *crickets* let's just take a moment here together... 😨

Honestly, I'm all for it, I low key feel like I would have liked that better, it would have been so good, but alas, we have venin-Xaden now, so we have to deal 🥲

Now, about Monday. A lot of the questions asked and things spoken about were the same as Saturday. The host picked the fan questions she asked and didn't really pick much that was plot or character related. She didn't pick any of mine and yes, I'm still mad about it. WHAT ARE THEIR NAMES

Here's the quotes, questions and tidbits I found interesting:

• Her editor for Fourth Wing and Iron Flame, is the head of Red Tower, so she's the publisher. I did not know this. I don't think I've seen this in practice before? She's also involved with the Amazon series because of this.

• "I'm not afraid of hurting you." That we already knew. 💀

• "Because we knew what had the television series when I was in edits, so we had to write out a synopsis and when I first thought it would be five books, I immediately sent the synopsis to my editor, who, you know, we sent it to Amazon because we needed to tell them; this is the definitive vision for the story. I can tell you, in Onyx Storm, I've already deviated from like...who I thought would pass in that book, as opposed to...I've already deviated some from that."

Sorry, what? Who was meant to die? My money is, as always, on Rhi or Garrick. You know I have thoughts/feelings about that. Look, if I've learned anything this weekend it's that someone important is going to die, a lot of people are going to die, ok? She's very frank about death and the realities of war and if you're worried about your favourite side characters for the next few books, well...you should be.

• She loves writing Ridoc. @yanny-77 no chance to ask about bodoc, sorry! 😂

• On Xaden and people's perception of him: "It's always funny because I always hear...he gets compared to Rhysand a lot? Xaden's like twenty-two at the beginning of Fourth Wing; Rhysand's like what? Five hundred? Ok, twenty-two, so it's very much like—it is a college. It's a college romance and that first love."

• She was surprised at how much people loved Aaric, given how little he's on-page.

• She also defended Dain again 🥳💗 #DainApologistsClub

• She expanded a little more on Jack. So perhaps what she meant on Saturday about his reasons, was simply that his reason will be touched upon in OS, but it's clear. "Jack's motivations are clear-cut, which makes him so easy to write. He's such an example of the hunger for power and what happens when you aren't selected for the power you think you deserve, which is one of the themes of Fourth Wing. So Jack's an easy character, he's straight-on."

• Are there any easter eggs that you put in the first two books that you don't think were caught by fans? "Violet's second signet! I totally thought it was obvious. Um, I did, to the point where my editor was like 'hey, we should probably put a line in here' and I was like dude no, people will catch it." Y'all know my thoughts on that so I'll stay quite over here in my corner.

Someone asked "what is it then?" and she replied, "no, no, no, now we're having fun with this, now."

• The hardest scene for her to write in Fourth Wing was the battle scene, because it was her first fantasy and so her first one. She wrote it and her editor said no, it has to be a little longer than this.

"So that was really hard for me to write, especially because in the moment she loses Liam, she has to get up and go. And I'm used to being able to give my characters this moment to grieve, this moment to take the news, this moment to absorb it and really feel it. And it's hard to get the reader to really feel that emotion when death is coming straight for you. So that was really difficult. And I was crying."

ME TOO, TBH

• If she was to describe Onyx Storm in two Taylor Swift songs, it would be Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? & So It Goes.

• If Empyrean was written in interconnected stand alones, she would have already jumped to Rhi or Imogen.

• Her favourite sections are the epigraphs that she writes above the chapter headings. "It's my most valuable real estate, the fact that you guys skip over them sometimes, I'm like—I'm wicked funny in there, ok?"

• If Violet and Xaden visited Australia, what would they do for fun? "I'd say go visit places they can't catch on fire. I guess they could find a beach." @empyrean-thrones there you go, we're on point! 😂

And that's about it! Happy theorising! 💗

It was a wild weekend, but so worth it. I was in my feelings a lot. I hope you guys get a chance to meet her or hear her speak in person one day, too 🫶

[poppystheories]

Komui is a character that goes a little unappreciated, I think.

But he is fucking amazing.

A secret militant organization takes his little sister away. And he couldn't do a thing to stop it. He is this girl's only guardian and she's going to be a soldier in a hopeless war to save all of humanity and there's nothing he can do to protect her.

It is a parent's worst nightmare. It is the cruel reality of how powerless individuals can be in the face of governing structures.

But what did Komui do, in the face of it?

He decided to fucking be the leader of that same organization???

Komui seriously decided, if there was nothing he could do for Lenalee as her big brother, then he'd just have to become someone with the power to help her.

The sheer emotional tenacity and hardwork it must have took is insane to imagine.

And then there's this moment that we see from Lenalee's perspective. It is incredibly touching: a shining light of hope, a great reunion.

But imagine how this must have looked from Komui's perspective. The first time he gets to see his sister in three years: three years working relentlessly to reach her within a power structure he must have already despised, probably fully aware that she could die at any point and that’s she’s basically being tortured in the meantime, and when he finally gets to her, he finds her tied down to a bed by his now coworkers, her finger nails broken from clawing at everything she could reach, her wrists bloody under her restraints.

Can you imagine the hatred he must have felt for the Order, in this moment?

But he smiles. For Lenalee's sake.

We see later on that the Black Order can really be divided into two ages: Before Komui and After Komui. Komui not only takes over the Black Order HQ for Lenalee's sake, but he takes the entire HQ staff under his wing. He changes the entire culture of the organization, and assumes responsibility for not just Lenalee, not just all the exorcists like her, but every human fighting this war.

Honestly, in a series full of incredible character moments, I think Komui's off screen journey is by far the most impressive.

In many ways, Komui is the Black Order: its heart and soul. His Black Order is the one that becomes our protagonist's home, the Order we come to love. He took what must have been the thing he hated most in the world and remade it with love.

Hence the absolutely gorgeous volume cover yet to come:

[call-me-mrs-winchester]

𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

PAIRING : dean winchester x original female character

STORY SUMMARY : in series masterlist

CHAPTER WARNINGS : age-gap. playful teasing. a bit of angst. protective reader.

A/N : i love this gif! unfortunately, i saved it so long ago, i can't remember who to give credit to so if y'all know, feel free to tag them in the comments. don't forget to check out the story masterlist if you missed previous chapters. thanks for the love guys, it never goes unnoticed or unappreciated!

Maricela's POV

"Abaddon? Seriously?" Dean asks rhetorically, staring angrily at Sam as we walk to the Impala. "Thought you Kentucky Fried that meat suit."

"I did, Dean." Sam counters, his hands raised slightly, trying to resist an argument in public.

"You—Well, then, how did she get it back?" He questioned before thanking the officer who raised the crime tape to let us off the scene. "And why's she playing G. I. Joe?"

Sam answers back, just as annoyed as his brother. "No clue. Why don't you ask her when we find her?"

"Oh, I will. Then I'm gonna chop her freakin' head off—again."

We enter the car, and then it hits me. Abaddon. I swear I've heard that name before.

"Wait—isn't she the Knight of Hell who tried killing you and your grandfather a few months ago?" I ask, making sure we're talking about the same monster.

Dean starts the engine, answering, "Yeah."

"I thought you guys chopped her up and scattered her remains. But you just said Sam burned her vessel. I-I'm confused." I confess, unable to put the pieces together.

Having needed a demon to cure, they had reassembled Abaddon's vessel for the final trial. Before they could use her as a test subject, they stepped away to take a phone call, and when they returned, she had escaped. Having previous knowledge of the Devil's Trap bullet, her unattached hands pried it from her skull so she could get away. She used her freedom to track Crowley down, and when she found him at the abandoned church, she attempted to kill him for the throne. Before she could ruin the trial, Sam doused her meat suit in holy oil and set it ablaze. So, the big question remains: How is she back and in her old vessel?

Darkness fell upon us as we drove towards the bunker. Sam's phone began to chime over the music. Leaning over, he reached into his dress pants to retrieve his phone. Dean and I peeked over, wondering who would be calling at this hour. It was none other than our very own prophet.

Sam puts the call on speaker, greeting, "Hey, Kev. What's up?"

"A lady called Dean's other phone. I answered, but she expected to speak to a Winchester. So instead, she told me to give you a message: She has something you might want." He spoke in a rushed and shaky voice.

"Kevin, wait. Wait. Wait. Slow down." says Sam.

Ignoring, he continues, "She gave me these coordinates—44.053051 by -123.127860— and two names, Irv Franklin and Tracy Bell."

I type the numbers into the notes app on my phone before copying and pasting them into Google.

"Irv's a friend. Don't know Tracy." Dean replies.

"All right, the lady said they were hunters and that if you didn't go save them, that she would kill them."

"Yeah, I've heard that song before." The oldest hunter shakes his head, unamused.

"Dean, who was she?"

"She's the bad guy," he admits. "All right, new job. Dig up everything Men of Letters have on Knights of Hell."

"Knights of Hell?" With some hesitation, Kevin complies, "Sure."

"You find a way to kill one—I mean permanently—drop a dime," Dean mentions.

"Thanks, Kevin," Sam says before ending the call.

I zoom in on the digital map before presenting, "The numbers point to a spot on the outskirts of Eugene, Oregon."

"You know this is a trap, right?" Sam stares at his brother.

"Yep," he answers unfazed.

Scoffing, Sammy asks, "And we're just gonna walk right into it?"

"Guns blazing," he says fearlessly before glancing at his little brother. "You with me?"

Sam chuckles before shifting his gaze on the road ahead. "You know it."

Dean looks into the rearview mirror, locking eyes with me. "What about you, sweetheart, you with me?"

A flutter of familiarity tickled my stomach as I softly smiled back at him. He held my gaze until I answered, "Always."

Before arriving, Dean stopped at a gas station so we could change. As we neared the designated coordinates, my heart quickened its pace. No matter how many times I fought alongside the Winchesters—or alone—my anxiety crept in, going over all the things that could go wrong. When we arrived at the gated part of town, I suppressed the negative thoughts and replaced them with positive ones. However, with the history behind this area, it became difficult to sustain a sense of optimism.

A chain fence had enclosed the abandoned buildings. Sam hopped out of the car and pushed open the sliding gate so the Impala could fit through. After Dean parked, Sam and I walked a few yards into the vacant town. Graffiti painted the stone structures while weeds grew on or around the buildings. A large, rusted sign was posted near the fence, reading: DANGER. HAZARDOUS WASTE AREA. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

"The hell happened here?" Dean asked, halting beside me with the army green duffle bag in hand as we stared at the crumbling buildings.

"A local chemical plant sprung a leak years ago. They evacuated three square blocks." I answer, visually searching the windows for any sign of life.

"Guess it's still contaminated," Sam adds.

"Wait, so this whole place is poison?" Dean questions uneasily, turning his attention toward Sam and me.

Replying in unison, we answer, "Yeah."

Dean moves his left hand to shield his nether region, attempting to protect his prized appendage against the toxicity lingering in the air. His eyebrows furrowed, undoubtedly debating if this mission was worth risking his manhood. I stifle a giggle, finding his action both cute and silly. Sam judgingly watches his brother's action, staring him up and down.

"That's not gonna help." He remarks before walking away, leading the venture further into town.

"It doesn't hurt," Dean mutters.

My giggle slips this time, attracting the older Winchester's attention. I nudge his arm before nodding in Sam's direction. "C'mon, big boy."

We walk towards the younger Winchester while taking in our surroundings. Birds caw in the distance, disrupting the vicinity's silence. We begin to pass Ozzy O's Diner when we hear a loud thud come from within. Concomitantly, Sam and I reach for our waistbands and take out our loaded guns. With our firearms raised, we ascend the few concrete stairs. Standing before the door, Sam glances in my direction, giving me a look. A look that silently asked if I was ready, to which I nodded with confidence.

Sam kicks the door open before storming inside with me on his tail. The sun's rays poured into the diner, illuminating its light upon two bound individuals. The man and woman were bound together while pieces of cloth muffled their cries for help. Sam and I step aside as he beckons Dean over. He strides in and makes a beeline for the older man.

"Irv? Hey." Dean's gruff voice fills the quiet diner as Sam shuts the door. He pulls Irv's gag down before asking, "Where's Abaddon?"

"Abaddon's been torturing hunters. She's trying to get intel on you boys." The older man confesses breathlessly.

"Do you know why?" Sam inquires.

"I seriously doubt she wants to add you to her Christmas card list. Now, do you want to make with the rescue or what?"

"Right after you take a shot of holy water, huh?" says Dean.

Sam retrieves his flask from the inner pocket of his jacket and approaches the girl. His fingers unscrewed the cap before tugging the cloth she involuntarily fashioned off as I put my gun away. She opens her lips to welcome the demon test. He fountains the holy water into her mouth and cups her chin to catch any excess water. He steps away, waiting to see if she flinched. Instead, she swallowed without hesitation.

"Happy?" She asks rhetorically, looking between Sam and me.

"Sorry about that," Dean utters.

Irv responds with understanding, "Don't worry about it. Last thing you need is us popping black eyes."

Dean reaches in between the hostages and breaks their restraints.

As the girl stands, I ask, "You're Tracy, right?"

She—and just about anyone else over five foot two—towers over me. Her eyes glimpse over my appearance from head to toe before answering my question with a nod.

"I'm Maricela Coca." I introduced myself before the Jolly Green Giant did.

"And I'm Sam Winchester."

Tracy glances at him like she did with me and responds with noticeable disinterest, saying, "Good for you."

Silence fell upon the room, startled at her curt reply. In that unexpected moment, I instinctively whipped my head towards the source of her disdainful glares. My eyes widened with shock, and my mouth hung open in disbelief. I was left dumbfounded. Did she just talk to you like that?! I shouted at Sammy in my head. He meets my eyes and shakes his head, advising me to let it go. My mouth began to twitch, wanting to say something just as crude. Just as I was going to allow my tactless opinions to emit, Irv began to advocate for her.

"She's new. We did a shifter job in Sacramento together. Smart, but got a mouth on her."

She scoffs but doesn't deny his comment. Dean's deep chuckle immediately catches my ear. Giving in to curiosity, I turned and gave him my full attention. His charmingly crooked smile gleamed in the dimly lit diner. All eyes were on Chuckles as we awaited an explanation for his laughter.

"Sounds like our Mari," He jokes, lightening the mood.

My lips part to say a witty remark, but Sam's snicker stops me. Instead, I roll my eyes and decide to move on. "Let's gear up."

Dean picks up the bag of weapons from the floor and moves it onto the countertop. I leave Sammy's side and walk over to his brother. He begins to splay the reminisce of the bag across the dusty surface. Sam perches on the edge of a table near the window to keep an eye on any demons.

"All right, we got Jesus Juice," Dean places his flask of holy water on the counter before continuing the rundown on the weapons he brought. "Guns loaded with Devil's trap bullets. Shoot a demon, put him on lockdown. The Angel Blade works—"

A distant clatter came from outside the diner, capturing everyone's attention. Sam gets up and moves toward the window. He peeks through the dirty blinds, confirming, "They're coming."

"Good," Dean responds confidently.

"They've got assault rifles," Sam mentions, dampening his brother's enthusiasm.

"Okay, less good," I add.

Dean shifts his focus to the weapons, searching for a plan.

"So, what's the play?" Irv asks.

Dean quickly explains a way to distract the demons. After he finished, I helped sweep the contents back into the duffle before he swung the sack over his shoulder. He nods at Sam, gesturing for him to lead everyone to the rear exit. I maneuver to the front of the group and quietly open the door, searching for demons nearby. After ensuring the coast was clear, I raised my hand and waved. We advance to the edge of the building to survey the area. Nada.

Sam's large hand covers my shoulder, offering me comfort. A reassuring nod is shared between us before we shift our gaze back to Irv and Tracy. Capturing their attention, Sam points to another spot where we could discreetly escape. Following their confirmation, we run like hell and wait for Dean. The distant sound of the diner's front door being forcefully opened echoes through our surroundings. Dean walks around the corner where we hid before telling us the other half of his plan.

"All right. We got to flank seal them douche in there, so, uh, Irv, you and me will go left. Sam, you, Mari, and Tracy go right." He orders.

"Okay. Let's move," says Sam as we walk in our assigned direction.

His hands grab our forearms, making sure we stay close. Suddenly, Tracy spins on her heel and pushes him away, maintaining a safe distance between them by extending her arm.

"Don't touch me." She barks.

Sam's eyes widen, surprised by her outburst. My rage causes me to see red, and before I know it, I push her arm off of Sam and use my strength to shove her body away. Tracy stumbles back, nearly bumping into the dumpster behind her, as I step between her and Sam. Her stunned expression flashed into anger before she charged toward me to attack. Meeting her challenge, I take a step forward, but Dean rushes over to intervene just as Sam pulls my body into his and holds me still.

"Whoa," I shrug from their restraints as I stare down the out-of-line female. Dean's eyes linger on my face before turning to Tracy, asking, "What's the problem?"

Tracy inhales before looking at the youngest Winchester and painfully confessing, "My family's dead because of him."

Taken aback, Sam asks, "What?"

"I watched a demon slaughter my parents, and the whole time, it talked about how it was celebrating. How some dumb kid let Lucifer out of his cage."

Tracy glared at Sam with intense hatred after she recounted her story. Although she had acted like an ass, I really couldn't blame her. My eyes shifted toward Sam, only to have my heart break even more as I witnessed grief consume both his mind and body. Before I could move to console him, Dean interjected.

"Okay, all right, we got to move. Uh, girls with me. Irv." He pats Sam on the chest, finishing his sentence with his gesture.

"Okay. Let's go, son." The older man tells Sam.

Sammy lingers behind me, staring sorrowfully at Tracy.

"He's going to be okay," Dean whispers in my ear after his brother follows Irv.

I nod in agreement and try to refrain from thinking of how much Sam was beating himself up. Dean marches away to play line leader as we trail behind. With our guns off safety, we cautiously move along the surrounding buildings. After rounding our last corner, the view of the diner was straight ahead. Dean peeks at the restaurant's entrance before giving further instructions.

"Okay, I think they're still inside. We wait till they come out, and we pick them off one by one." He gives us the side-eye before seizing the opportunity to address the new girl's animosity toward Sam. "Listen, for the record, Sam's not the only guy who thought he was doing right and watched it all go to crap. Okay? That's just part of being—"

"Being a hunter." Tracy finished with acerbity, not understanding the mini-lecture.

"Being human. Look, you want to be pissed off at Sam, that's fine. I get it. But if you want to go after somebody, you make sure that they got black eyes. Got to know who the real monsters are in this world, kid."

She remained silent after he finished his speech, allowing his words to marinate. The quietness was short-lived as gunfire erupted in the distance. On instinct, we raised our guns high and low, scouting every inch the barrel of our guns could see. After the shooting stopped, Dean silently motioned to move forward. Suddenly, Abaddon jumps out of her hiding place and clotheslines Dean, knocking him flat on his back.

My body wanted to run to his aid, but my brain told me to fight. I aim my handgun at Abaddon's head, but before I can pull the trigger, she telekinetically flicks it away. My hand instinctively reaches into my jacket, attempting to retrieve the angel blade I keep stashed away. The pads of my fingertips barely grazed the handle when she waved her hand, sending me into a brick wall. I heard Dean's voice call my name before everything faded to black.

Dean's POV

"Mari!" I call as she flies into the building beside her.

Her head hits the aged bricks, knocking her out cold. Before I could get to her, Tracy fired an entire round into the Knight of Hell. I swiftly move from the path of danger, instinctively protecting my face by covering it with my arms. Once the clip was empty, my eyes instantly scanned Mari's body, checking to see if she was free of any ricochet. Thankfully—other than the injury that she-demon caused—she was okay.

"Nice grouping." Abaddon mocks, lifting her black shirt to reveal her bulletproof vest. "Kelvar. Beats magic bullets. I love the future."

While the demon was distracted, I stealthily grabbed my flask from my jacket. I silently unscrewed the cap before flinging the holy water at the Knight of Hell. She gasped in pain as the purified water burned her vessel. As she stumbled away, I rushed to my feet and reached into my jeans pocket for my keys. After fishing them out, I grasp Tracy's hand and place the keys in it.

"Listen, my car is three blocks over. Go get more bullets, more holy water—get everything."

"No, no, b-but what about you guys?" She stutters.

I push her away, yelling, "Just go! Go! Now!"

Tracy listens to my order and runs away. Immediately, I fall to my knees next to Maricela before scooping her delicate frame up from the dusty ground. Carefully, I release her from my embrace, settling her against the wall. I cast a glance at Abaddon and see her recovering from holy water. Gentle but urgently, I shake her shoulder and leg simultaneously, attempting to wake the Sleeping Beauty. When she doesn't move, my hands anxiously cradle her wounded head. Blood seeped from her hair, running along her temple and onto my hand, painting it red.

"Come on, princess," I beg, worry filling every cell in my body. "Wake up."

Not having enough time to check for a pulse, I force myself away from her, fearing the worst. Protectively, I stand tall in front of Mari and face Abaddon. She brushes her hair out of her face and smiles wickedly. Her red lipstick mirrored the anger that was boiling inside me. My muscles ached with pain as I waited for the right moment to wipe the smirk off of her face.

She briefly glances at Maricela before returning her gaze to me. "Alone at last."

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[yumeka-sxf]

A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 23

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

----------

When Yor says goodbye to a very grateful Olka, the latter leaves her with some heartfelt parting words: she'll be praying that Yor and her family can find peace and happiness. Yor is taken aback by Olka's gratitude, which is understandable. Being an assassin is an unappreciated job, since most of it involves simply killing your victims and then disappearing without a trace. Her assignment with Olka may have been the first time a client expressed such sincere gratitude for the work she does. Not only that, but Olka having Yor hug Gram while telling her that she's the reason he has a future, is probably the first time she was able to so plainly see how her work can mean the difference between peace and tragedy for a family in need.

Despite the fact that Olka had repeatedly reminded Yor that her family is just for show, she's obviously realized that Yor sees them as much more. She can't openly tell this to Yor, so perhaps she chose these particular words of farewell as a way of getting Yor to really think about how much her family means to her…in the hopes that one day she can also leave the horrors of the underworld behind to pursue a quiet life. Olka's words may have struck a chord, as Yor seems very deep in thought while she and McMahon watch Olka's raft disappear into the distance. When McMahon notices how melancholic she looks, he reminds her not to get sentimental since they're both just foot soldiers. But ironically, almost immediately after, he tells her that she should meet up with Loid and Anya as a reward for her hard work while he takes care of any further incidents.

McMahon's history with Yor (if any) is still a mystery, but despite his stoic demeanor, maybe he too realizes that she truly enjoys being with her supposed "cover up" family.

I've seen discourse surrounding the idea that Yor's preference of "traditionally feminine" roles – wanting to be a wife and mother – is a sign of weakness and submissiveness. In addition, as @connoisseursdecomfort discusses here, some people only see one aspect of her character instead of the whole picture, and paint that in a negative way. To quote Connoisseur's post:

"Endo doesn’t want [Yor] to be just soft and sweet and sexy and strong. Like any other human, she is very self-conscious when she doesn’t fit in, and all of these discussions really show how realistic it is for Yor to feel insecure - she is too muscle-head and strong to be feminine in the eyes of the Asian readers, but too sensitive, gentle and ditzy to be masculine. She is not created to fit any standards, and therefore deemed a failure in every reader who sought to make another exemplary woman of this modern age. She has to be perfect, but she will never be."

If by "ditzy" people mean she's naïve about many things, then yes, she is, but there's a reason for it that anyone who's paid attention to the series can easily see: since she had to raise her brother since childhood, she wasn't able to pursue a proper education or gain the kind of real-life knowledge most people who live "normal" lives do. If by "ditzy" they mean she's too nice or polite…why is that a bad thing? While her low self-esteem makes it hard for her to stand up against people who insult her directly, she doesn't hesitate to attack anyone who threatens her family, nor does she hesitate to kill bad guys on her missions. So why is being nice to people who are not a threat to her a bad thing? Since when does having a brash, cocky attitude equate to strength, while being polite and nice to others by default, along with the very human displays of vulnerability and self-doubt, equate to weakness?

In my opinion, anyone who feels this way about Yor – that the only personality trait she has is "ditzy," or that it's somehow anti-feminist for her to desire the peaceful life of a wife/mother instead of something grander – is missing the whole point of the series. I discussed earlier that Endo does not portray Yor's profession as something glorious that she enjoys doing. It's dangerous, ugly, and morally ambiguous, but she does it out of desire to protect her family. Not only has she been doing it since she was a child, and thus was never able to experience a "normal" life, but it's a job with very little appreciation or acknowledgement. So after living with Loid and Anya, people who appreciate her for who she really is, don't force her to act certain ways nor expect anything in return, why should she be ridiculed for desiring peaceful days with them instead of living only in the cold, thankless underworld? Loid never forced her to remain his wife and Anya's mother after the interview – she chose to stay, at first for her own benefit, but she soon realized that being with them makes her happy. Is it "submissiveness" that someone who's been thrust into a dangerous, unforgiving life as an assassin since childhood now finds comfort in the traditional role of wife/mother with people she loves? Submissiveness is blind obedience, where you live a certain way by someone else's choice or even by force, and that's not the case here. There's no rule that says being a strong woman necessitates a complete rejection of feminine roles and values. A strong female character isn't necessarily one that's filled with self-confidence or tomboyish brashness…if anything, having no inner turmoil for them to overcome makes them a weaker character in my opinion. She's not throwing anything away for "a man" by choosing on her own to stay with Loid because he's always kind and considerate to her. As we saw at the end of her epiphany, she didn't even have to choose her role as a wife/mother over her role as an assassin – she decided to keep being both, but it's her love for Loid and Anya that made her resolve for remaining as Thorn Princess even stronger than before.

What's even more amazing about Yor's character is that, even when she understands that she doesn't need to be an assassin anymore – that no one needs financial support from her work, she still makes the most unselfish choice. She could have ditched her Garden work completely to pursue the life that truly makes her happy, which is being the wife/mother of the Forger family. After knowing how selflessly she's lived her life up to this point, pretty much sacrificing her well-being for Yuri's, no one would blame her if she decided to finally choose what's best for her now. But instead, she chooses to continue her unselfish way of life…even if it means sacrificing her own happiness yet again, she will continue this dangerous line of work, because preventing tragedy from befalling her loved ones or the world in general is more important to her than her own personal happiness. Having such unwavering selflessness, in addition to being a kind and patient mother, encouraging wife, and deadly assassin who still retains her humanity, Endo has done wonders making a character both cute/sweet but also a total badass who's strong on the outside as well as the inside.

Continue to Part 24 ->

<- Return to Part 22

[humanpurposes]

From Eden

Chapter 1: Little Novice

Danes attack Wincombe Abbey and a young novice crosses paths with a group of mercenaries and their Baby Monk // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Osferth x Original Female Character

Warnings: bit of violence and death, suggestive themes if you squint, there will eventually be smut

Words: 4000

A/n: not me starting another series oops but i can't resist the baby monk

Today saw the first snowfall of the year. A few flakes landed on Bridget’s sleeves as she sauntered past the hard and frosted soil of the vegetable garden, past the pigsty and towards the stream that circled Wincombe Abbey. She swung an empty pitcher back and forth as she hummed the least melancholy hymn she could think of.

They had guests currently. Lady Aethelflaed of Mercia had arrived two days ago, bringing with her a group of guards who were camping at outside the Abbey. Bridget had been tempted to walk past the men on her errand, but the Abbess was already in a foul mood and she didn’t fancy testing her temper. Not unless it was for something interesting.

She had spent her morning as she always did. Prayers first. Her knees were never not bruised by the flagstone floor of the chapel, but with winter settling in they were numb too. Then she saw to the goats and the pigs. Then she helped in the kitchen. Finally, she got to eat in the hall with her Sisters. Bread with some winter preserves and slices of cured ham.

When she got to the stream, she placed the pitcher by her feet. With a final glance over her shoulder to the solitary stone building of the Abbey, she hopped across the water on a sparse path of rocks and made for the line of trees ahead of her.

The woods were the only place she felt like a living person and not simply a novice in a habit.

Bridget couldn’t stand how quiet life the Abbey could be. The Abbess, a stern but fair woman, told her it was because she was restless and unappreciative, but perhaps she was simply not well suited to mindfulness and prayer. Sometimes she could find things to laugh about with the younger girls, but then the Abbess would scold her for her “impiety”.

Once she was amongst the trees she tugged at her habit. In the summer she might take it off, but it offered some extra warmth in the colder months.

Her preferred weapon was where she left it, leaning against the trunk of a young oak tree. A broken bit of a branch, small enough for her to wield and heavy enough to hit against the trees.

She twirled it through her hands, just as her brother used to show her. From the few memories she had, she remembered he could do all sorts of impressive tricks with his sword. He could spin it and slice it through the air in controlled and precise movements.

It had been a decade since she had seen her brother, but she tried to keep his teachings with her, swinging branches at tree trunks, imagining she was a great warrior, like David slaying Goliath. Technically David had slayed Goliath with a rock and a sling, a detail the Abbess insisted was important. Bridget could invent a thousand reasons why, but she didn’t care to.

Especially when she was younger, she liked to imagine herself as a warrior when she was tasked with cutting wood or slaughtering and butchering the pigs. They were both hard work, but she was always willing to do it, if only to have an excuse to be destructive for once. She found it could be quite cathartic.

After a particularly harsh blow against a tree that cracked the branch almost in two, she froze. She heard horses. She hoped they would move on, but she made out a few figures in the distance, figures who appeared to have spotted her and were moving closer.

She dropped the branch and fixed her habit, to find a lock of her hair hovering over her forehead. She tucked it back in as the faces of the riders came into view.

There were five who rode at the front, four men and a woman with pale, blonde hair and strange markings on her face. A larger group, no more than twenty, hung back a little.

“A nun,” one of the men called. He rode in front of the group, their leader, she supposed.

“There we are then, you’ll feel right at home, Baby Monk,” another said. He had a gruff voice and an Irish accent. One of the other men laughed. The woman didn’t react at all.

“Is the Abbey nearby?” The leader asked.

Bridget frowned. He had an accent she could not place. “You are Danish?” She looked amongst the rest of their group, and they each seemed to find her accusation amusing.

“What is my religion to you, girl?”

“I would like to know if you would seek to do us harm.”

He raised a brow. “And you believe the best measure of a man to be the gods he follows?”

“I believe the best measure of a man is his intentions,” she said, meeting his eye and determined to keep her expression stoic.

But apparently he was pleased with her response. “You and I are similar in this respect,” he said, loosening the grip of his reins. “We seek the Lady Aethelflaed.”

“Would you seek to do her harm?”

“Only the good kind,” the Irishman mumbled with a smirk.

The leader rolled his eyes. “She and I are friends. I have come to offer her my protection.”

Bridget looked into the eyes of each of their group, the leader, the Irishman, the one who from his hair also looked to be a Dane, and the younger man riding at the back of the group. The woman had an unsettling gaze, she was the only one Bridget felt she felt compelled to look away from. The Abbess would call the markings on her face the markings of a heathen.

“There is a bridge over the stream,” she said, pointing through the trees. “Cross there. There will be room for your horses in the stables.”

She watched the men move away, each of them offering thankful smiles. She concealed her own, and headed back the way she came, across the stream and to the abbey with the empty pitcher.

Lady Aethelflaed welcomed them warmly and named their leader as Lord Uhtred. After it was agreed that they were decidedly not Danes (not the kind who would attack an Abbey anyhow), they settled in the hall, where Bridget and the nuns brought them bowls of stew and bread.

She expected them to eat like the Mercian guards, wolfing down bread and stew like they hadn’t seen food in days, but Lord Uhtred and his men thanked her graciously as she placed bowls on the table and went round to ladle out more stew for them.

Until she came to the man sitting at the end of the table, beside Lady Aethelflaed. He was the youngest of the group, with wide blue eyes and a sharp jaw. He kept to himself, slightly hunched over his stew.

She was rather fascinated by his robes and the small silver cross around his neck. If he had a slightly worse haircut he would look like a monk. But that was ridiculous, why would a monk be travelling with a group of mercenaries?

She approached him and waited for him to notice her. He looked up at her a smiled vaguely.

She indicated to the pot she was carrying.

“Please,” he muttered, holding out his bowl.

She dished a few spoonfuls for him and he smiled again, a little wider this time. She smiled back.

She wondered where he might be from, why he served a Dane if he wore a cross, how far their group had travelled and how many tales they might have.

“May I ask your name?” He asked.

She had been so distracted trying to think of something to say that his question took her by surprise.

“Oh… Bridget,” she said. “And you?”

“I am Osferth,” he said. He was very softly spoken, she thought. There was something so gentle and subdued about him.

“Are you a monk, Osferth?” She asked.

He glanced down at the cross hanging from his neck. “I was, I left my order to serve Lord Uhtred.”

“And now you are, what, a mercenary?”

Osferth chuckled to himself and shook his head lightly. “I am not much of a fighter just yet.”

“But you have a sword, and your friends are warriors.”

“I am still learning. In the meantime I can only practice and pray to God for courage and strength.”

She felt a light feeling in her chest she was sure she hadn’t felt in years. That’s what she prayed for too, even when the nuns told her she should be praying for patience and forgiveness.

“How did you—”

“Bridget.” The Abbess called, glaring at her from across the table.

Bridget nodded her head to Osferth, a farewell, she supposed, and headed back to the kitchen. One of the girls followed behind her, with a now empty pitcher of ale.

“The Irishman is handsome,” Bridget whispered into her ear once they were through the doors.

The other girl’s mouth fell open.

“What? Surely it is not a sin to look?”

The next morning, the Abbess ensured Bridget stayed in the kitchen. “So you might not be so easily distracted,” she warned, leaving her to peel and slice an endless amount of vegetables.

The Abbess seemed rather distressed at hosting Lord Uhtred and his men. “Ravenous permanently,” she grumbled, marching in through the kitchen with the remains of their breakfast. “They are eating into our winter stores.”

“So why let them stay?” Bridget muttered, dragging the edge of her knife over the skin of a few carrots.

“Because it is our place to show kindness,” the Abbess insisted through her teeth. She emptied the plate into a bucket by Bridget’s feet. “Take that out to the pigs.”

Bridget made no verbal protest. She placed the knife down and left through a small door that led out to the side of the Abbey, just as she had done the previous day. The skin of her cheeks stung when it met the icy morning air. The snow was heavier today. She blinked a few flakes out of her eyes and marched quickly towards the pigsty.

She made sure to scratch them behind the ears, poor things, left out in the cold.

She made her way around the building, to the front doors of the Abbey, and blinked.

And blinked again.

No, there was defineately an army of Danes lined up on the other side of the bridge.

“Good morning, nun!” One cried from atop a grey horse.

“Who are you?” Bridget demanded, but her voice came out a little more broken than intended.

The man chuckled and nodded to the bridge.

They had three hostages, each with a knife being held to their throats.

But with the order from their leader, the first hostage’s throat was sliced open, his body carelessly left to fall to the floor.

Bridget couldn’t bring herself to scream and choked out a broken sort of gasp.

They made no demands, made no moves towards her, and there was no indication they intended to kill the other two hostages. Not yet.

She slowly stalked towards the doors, unable to keep her eyes away from the danger.

“We will wait!” The man on the horse called, “for Aethelflaed!”

She ran to the kitchen first.

“To the hall!” She cried, moving to shut the windows.

The others all stared at her for a moment.

“Now!”

“What is the meaning of this?” The Abbess asked, bolting the door to the gardens as the others fled the kitchen.

“Danes,” Bridget breathed. She hadn’t realised her lack of breath or the restless feeling creeping under her skin.

The Abbess’s skin turned pale. She placed her hand on Bridget’s shoulder and ushered her towards the hall.

The nuns and novices had raised alarm amongst the men. Half of them were already reaching for their weapons.

Bridget and the Abbess slammed the doors of the hall with an ominous thud.

“What is it?” Lord Uhtred demanded.

“Danes. Outside.”

Every man was on his feet in an instant, and the sound of unsheathed swords rang through the hall.

“How many Danes?” The Irishman asked.

Bridget faltered. She hadn’t thought to count them. “More than twenty. Less than fifty.”

A few men moved towards the doors and the windows, but Lord Uhtred ordered them to hold for the time being.

He turned to Bridget. “Do you know what they want?”

“He asked for Lady Aethelflaed.”

“But they may not know we are here,” he said to his men.

“They know someone is here,” Osferth’s voice came. He was still sat at the table and had not drawn his sword.

“But they have hostages,” Bridget said. “They killed one man and they have two more.”

“We remain inside, and we remain silent,” Uhtred ordered, coming towards Bridget and the Abbess. “They must believe you are unprotected,” he said.

He looked between them for a moment, and turned back to Bridget. “Would you speak with them?”

Her heart must have stopped for a moment. “What?”

“We cannot save the hostages, but you can save the lives of the men and women here.”

“And Aethelflaed,” Osferth added.

“You must deny she is here; convince them you have nothing to offer.”

Her restlessness was starting to feel like fear, but she understood Lord Uhtred’s plan, and she could not say why, but she was inclined to trust him.

Until the Abbess interjected. “No!”

Bridget’s heart sank a little. “Abbess, I can do it—”

“No, child, this is my house. This will be my responsibility.” She turned to Lord Uhtred. “I will do it.”

Bridget followed Uhtred and some of the other men into the entrance hall. She stood by one of the windows, out of sight of the Danes, occasionally stealing glances of the Abbess as she stepped out to attempt a negotiation.

“We know him,” a voice muttered beside her. She looked up to see Osferth’s jaw hovering over her. “His name is Haesten.”

The Abbess made her plea for mercy.

In turn, a second man had his throat slit.

“Deny her presence again and a third man dies. And I will burn down your nunnery, and everyone in it.”

Bridget placed her hand on her throat. She could feel her heart pulsing.

A hand gently came onto her shoulder, but Osferth said nothing. His hands were larger than she realised. It wasn’t exactly calming, but she liked it.

True to the words of the Dane, the third man was slain, and when the Abbess reached for an axe she was met with a spear to her chest.

Bridget flinched into Osferth’s chest, keeping her hands over her eyes.

“Aethelflaed!” Haesten cried. “How many more men and women must die to save your bony arse?”

“To the hall,” Osferth said, taking one of her hands in his.

When she glanced once more out the window, Haesten and his men were moving past the bodies of the hostages and the Abbess, towards the doors.

Bridget, Osferth and Aethelflaed gathered the nuns and novices to the back of the hall, while Uhtred and his men lined up behind the doors with shields, spears and swords.

“Will you not fight?” Bridget asked Osferth.

“I told you, I am not much of a warrior,” he said solemnly, as he and Lady Aethelflaed positioned themselves before the others.

Bridget frowned, but tried to distract herself by whispering assurances to some of the younger girls.

When the doors finally burst open she felt utterly helpless. The fighting was kept by the doors and the entrance hall, while Osferth and Lady Aethelflaed watched with their swords drawn.

And when two of the Danes broke through the line protecting the door, they moved together. Lady Aethelflaed fought better than the monk, she thought.

She watched as a third man fought through, overwhelming Osferth while Aethelflaed was still preoccupied.

Bridget couldn’t stop herself. She darted towards the table and grabbed a knife. She supposed the man could have easily turned to her and lodged his axe in her chest, but he didn’t get a chance to even look at her before she rammed the knife into his neck, sending a spray of blood through the air.

The rest of the room was a haze. Something warm and wet landed on and dripped down her cheek.

Suddenly she felt two hands against her shoulders. She blinked.

Osferth’s blue eyes were glaring at her. “That was foolish,” he said.

Three men lay dead on the floor. Swords continued to clash in the entrance hall but Haesten and his men were retreating.

Osferth and Aethelflaed moved out to join Uhtred, while some of the nuns came to wipe the blood from Bridget’s face.

She told them of the Danes and the Abbess’ death. Some of the girls cried, some prayed. She came to clutch her own cross around her neck. But her hands would not stop shaking and her heart would not rest.

She killed a man. Really, it hadn’t been much harder than slaughtering a pig, but at least it felt a little more justified.

If the Abbess were not dead, she would have screamed at her, told her she was ungodly, no better than a cold-blooded murderer, or any of the Danes who ravaged villages and stole from innocent Mercians.

They stayed huddled in the hall until dusk, when Lord Uhtred seemed to finally come to a resolution.

The woman with the markings on her face, Skade, was a seer, and Haesten agreed to take her in Aethelflaed’s place.

Bridget watched the exchange from the doors to the main hall, and a shiver slipped down her spine when Skade turned to Uhtred with a dark look in her eyes.

“You are cursed once more, Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”

Bridget had hardly slept that night. She lay eyes closed, still in her robes and the white headscarf she wore under her habit, listening to the gentle snores of the girls in the beds around her and aware of the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

The moment she heard the first whistle of birdsong at dawn, she was up. She pulled on a pair of boots and looked around her bed. But it occurred to her she owned nothing, save for her little silver cross.

She hurried through the abbey, past the open doors of the hall, now empty.

The men were outside, securing their saddles and mounting their horses.

She spotted Lord Uhtred as he was helping Lady Aethelflaed pack her own mount.

Osferth was by his horse, talking to the Irishman.

“Lord Uhtred!” Bridget called over the noise of the horses.

He turned to her with a small smile. “Fear not, we have not emptied your food stores—”

“I want to come with you,” she said.

She had the attention of the others now.

Uhtred chuckled to himself. “I already have a stray monk, I have no need for a little novice.”

Bridget’s skin still felt strange where it had been stained with blood. “I fought better than him.”

“Not a particularly high standard,” the Irishman joked. Osferth’s head sunk, but he was smirking too.

“So you killed one man and now you offer yourself as a warrior?” Uhtred asked.

Her breath caught in her throat as she finally realised the ridiculousness of her proposition. She could swing a branch, cut firewood and bury a knife into an unsuspecting man, but that would hardly help her in a true battle.

“With practice, perhaps?” She said, pressing her nails into her palm. “But I have some skills as a healer also. I’ve assisted the Abbess with all sorts of ailments, no doubt you encounter your fair share of injuries?”

“She’s got spirit, Uhtred, at least give her that,” Aethelflaed said.

“Please,” Bridget said, “give me the chance and I will prove myself to you.”

They each shared a few pointed glances.

“I admire your determination, but I cannot bring a girl onto the battlefield against armies of Danes. I cannot guarantee your protection and I cannot even offer you a horse.”

“Lord? She can ride with me,” Osferth said quietly. “With your permission of course. I can look out her.”

Uhtred raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”

Bridget felt herself smile, wide and showing off her top row of teeth. It felt uncomfortable but she didn’t try to stop herself.

The others were already starting to move off as she approached Osferth as he stroked the nose of his horse.

“Have you ridden before?” He asked.

“No.”

“You’ll sit behind me; I’ll help you up.”

Bridget nodded.

She watched as he placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over to the other side. “Easy,” he insisted, holding out his hand to her. “Don’t be afraid to use your strength.”

She followed his movements as best she could, but her skirt wouldn’t allow her to bring her leg to the other side of the saddle. She fell back onto her feet with a disgruntled huff.

“Other foot then, and slot both legs onto one side of the saddle.” He held out his hand again. “Ready?”

“Wait.” Bridget looked back to the space around her. The stream, the woods, the doors to the place that had never really felt like home. She reached for her headscarf and pulled it off her head, letting it fall to the ground. She didn’t suppose she would have any use for it now. Her hair fell down her back in a messy braid.

She looked back up at Osferth, between his hand, his eyes, and briefly to the curve of his upper lip. She held his hand tightly and hauled herself up onto the horse, her arms and legs trembling slightly at the effort.

Once the horse was settled Osferth gave it a gentle kick and they began to move. Bridget latched onto his shoulders as they began to sway with the movement.

“What if I fall off?” She asked, suddenly horrified at the prospect.

“You won’t fall off,” Osferth said, “use your thighs.”

“What?”

“Grip with your thighs,” he said.

She did so instinctively. Something about it felt… strange.

They cantered to catch up with the group and Bridget gripped Osferth’s shoulders a little tighter. Until he took one of her hands and placed it on his waist, so she wouldn’t impede on his arms. She muttered an apology and unsurely placed her other hand around him.

A few days ago she hadn’t so much as spoken to a man in years, except an incident where a nearby farmer had broken his leg, and even then she only wordlessly assisted the Abbess to bandage his limb.

Now she had her arms around a man’s torso, close enough to feel his warmth from under his winter cloak as her body rocked against his back.

“You’re frozen,” Osferth said, briefly brushing his thumb over her hand.

“It’s winter.”

“Did you not have anything warmer to wear?”

“We don’t attach ourselves to material items,” she said in a mockingly wistful voice.

He huffed a small laugh and pulled the horse to a stop before swinging his leg around the its head, landing on the ground in one smooth movement.

He undid the clasp on his cloak and held it up to her.

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around her shoulders, “but I don’t want you to get cold.”

He mounted again, a little awkwardly with Bridget already in the saddle. “Hold it around me. We can keep each other warm.”

She shuffled closer into him. Osferth brought one hand off the reins and pulled the corner of the cloak around his arm as Bridget settled against his back, resting her head at the base of his neck.

Thank God he couldn’t see her as her cheeks started to burn against the cold and the snow.

[charliemwrites]

listen i love our girl miss reader but HOW has she not dumped his shitass and keyed his car yet. brandon makes my blood boil like i would never have even gone on a second date with that man (unless you could guarantee i’d get to date kyle after) much less stayed in a relationship with him.

i will say though, it is so fucking cathartic to read a character that just fucking sucks. like actually sucks shit. the writing doesn’t suck obviously the writing is incredible because it gets me to hate him for every single minute thing, but it is soooo cathartic to have a character that is designed for me to hate and i get to just hate him incessantly. i’m a hater at heart but in my real life i try to be as kind as possible constantly so it’s so wonderful for me to have a character that is an emotional punching bag to speak of. it’s like a venting arena and i can bitch about him on turbo mode forever because he DESERVES IT

brandon in every iteration and 141 in the former specgru series post the fuck up

Lmao I have the same thought hearing those Reddit posts. I think it’s usually a bit of gradual change, sunk cost fallacy, and the wanting to see the best in people. I don’t think Brandon was always a shit head (or at least he didn’t act like one) but he’s developed into one over time and reader hasn’t realized that he’s not the same person she started dating yet.

And yes!!! Hating on shit characters is an unappreciated art. Theyre not real, they don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt or compassion or anything like that. They’re made to be hate-able caricatures without complexity or depth (at least in this case)

[sokkastyles]

Hi, I’m finding it difficult to wrap my head around your (and some other meta writers) take on Sokka’s sexism and how writing a nonsexist society would be braver?

Why is it more brave to write a story without bigotry than one overcoming it?

Defensive Writing Section Where I Respond to What I Imagine You Could Respond With: 1) I know the original series did not succeed in, or even really try, empowering its women. 2) I know sexism is baked into the show and its romances. 3) I know Katara deserves better (but, this might be where we diverge, I don’t feel served by a reality/story where we pretend women’s domestic, unappreciated labor isn’t a pillar holding society up. Tbh it feels kinda disrespectful to keep that offscreen and media tends to downplay it as is). 4) I know the show isn’t out yet and we’re all guessing. I am picking your brain on your guess cause it confused me. 5.) Sokka’s arc is about maturing manhood and leadership, I’m afraid removing his sexism dodges an opportunity to explicitly deconstruct its toxic expressions. Again, I know the show was unsatisfactory with this the first go around.

Fan Mail Section Where I Attempt To Convey I Meant No Harm: Love your blog! Again, just confused.

First of all, I did not say that writing a nonsexist society would be braver or that the story should not have bigotry in it. What I said is that the story should have more adult women in it.

For example, I do enjoy Katara's story of struggling against feeling like she needs to take on a motherly role because of her gender. I think it's realistic because it's a conflict many girls face, and watching her fight against that can be cathartic. But what's harder to reconcile is the way the narrative goes out of its way to justify forcing this role on Katara. Not all of this can be chalked up to a sexist world. Kya being dead before the story begins was a decision the writers made, for example. I'm not necessarily saying that should be changed, but it is a common trope in media and it's a problem that women are disproportionately killed off to serve fictional narratives this way. Compare, for example, the way the story explains Hakoda's absence without killing him off entirely, and the fact that we know a heck of a lot more about him as a character than we do Kya. His absence is still used to characterize the heroes, to explain the struggle they face in a war-torn world, but he gets to be an active agent in the story, too.

Another example is that although a lot of Sokka's sexism stems from a lack of understanding of Katara's waterbending, which can be explained in the narrative by the fact that the FN has nearly eradicated southern waterbending, this does not explain why Katara wasn't taught more about her bending by her grandmother, who is both from the northern tribe and present when Hama and the other benders were taken. In the flashbacks in "The Puppet Master," we see that there were many women who used combat waterbending, and apparently waterbending healing was not even known in the south so there was no gendered division like in the north. There's no real reason why that should change so quickly in such a short amount of time to the point where the southern water tribe all of the sudden becomes this hugely sexist society where only men are known to fight.

Katara and Sokka are presented with opposite ideas about gender, but we don't have any real sense of where they got these ideas. I like to headcanon that Katara got her feminism from gran-gran, who fled the southern water tribe because of sexism, but it's strange then that Katara doesn't even know this story. Why is Kanna such a complete nonentity in the narrative, when her story is so important to the story the show wants to tell about Katara?

We get more backstory on Sozin than we do a lot of the adult women in the story, when they even show up. Zuko's mom is fridged just like Katara's, and although I love how this serves as a bonding point between them, it would be less glaring if Iroh's and Azulon's and Sozin's wives were also not nonentities in the narrative.

Someone commented on this post that the live action might be giving us Suki's mom. So let's look at how even this small change might effect the story. Even keeping in Sokka's sexism. Let's say that it does play out like in the original, and when they get to Kyoshi Island, Sokka is shocked - shocked! - to be beaten by a bunch of women. We're supposed to think Sokka is wrong. And he does get proven wrong. But the Kyoshi Warriors are still the exception to the rule. Sokka doesn't so much learn that women deserve respect as much as he learns to respect some women because they can kick his ass.

But, if we bring in Suki's mom, then suddenly Suki doesn't have to be the sole named character responsible for teaching Sokka not to be sexist. The story becomes less about how Sokka should respect women because some of them are cool and he'll get a girlfriend out of it, and more about how all women deserve the same respect, because we see more women just present and living in the world of the story.

I'd also like to ask everyone to take a step back here, because to my knowledge, the show never said it was taking out certain arcs or presenting the characters without narrative flaws. This all seems to stem from the young actors themselves saying merely that the show took out some "iffy" moments.

So what did they take out that Ian and Kiiawntio might be referring to? Maybe some of the anachronistic and, frankly, racist moments such as, for example, Sokka and Katara calling Zuko and Sokka's cultural hairstyles "ponytails." Which would make sense, considering that the show probably feels like they can trust their audience to accept hairstyles that might appear different to Americans moreso than the writers of the original show did, considering that this is not a show airing on American kids' cable in the early 2000s, but a modern show with a global and much more globally aware audience. These are the kinds of updates that I would expect from a modern live action series. And that is a very good thing.

I also trust the young actors of color playing these kids to say "hey, these kids would not actually talk like that!" More than I trust white writers and execs.

[keyrey]

Jujutsu Kaisen characters & Industrial revolution (AU) Pt.1 – Nanami Kento POV, the hopeless blacksmith. A multi part series.

I fear the time has come when my work has become rendered useless by the people, and I am unappreciated simply because I am 'less' than a machine. Yes, I may produce 'less,' but what I 'lost,' people used to gain in value and sentimentality.  The Industrial Revolution, lasting around 80 years, significantly reduced the demand for hand-made goods and services such as tailoring, irrigation, and sword-making, which happens to be Nanami's specialty. (Check your history and economics textbooks, kids.) During this period, most blacksmiths were deemed ‘redundant,’ as replacing items when broken became more reasonable and cheaper than repairing them. Yet in the quiet, these sacred skills persisted, anticipating every moment, counting down its return to the world.

I fear the silence has enraptured me, drenching my soul to the thousandth degree.

My eyes darted around the room, taking in the sight of tools strewn around the mountain of unfinished projects. The decline of clients sapped my motivation and the acrid flames from the crucibles dusted my nostrils in a haze of ash. I walked towards the chair at the other side of the room that had served me well all these years, its wooden frame as worn as my spirit. Stuck in this monotony of life. I traced my fingers over the well-worn instruments, their familiarity a stark contrast to the world of chaos beyond these four walls that I’ve surrounded myself in. I wonder how long I can hold on.

The clang of metal on metal, the hiss of steam, and the heat of the forge used to be the heartbeat. Now, a deafening silence enraptured the place like a heavy cloak, broken only by the distant humming of automated machinery. As times change, I struggle with doubts, even within myself, questioning the longevity of my lifestyle. If I wish to retire, I must adapt to the times and conform to the ebb and flow of humanity. 

I have found something to busy myself with, assisting the locals in their financial decisions, though my own, in turn, have been questionable. As I watched them, their careful budgeting and pragmatic choices struck me. Each decision they made, each penny saved and spent wisely, seemed to carry a weight of survival that I could only admire from afar. Farmers transition to tractors, coachmen to bus drivers, caterpillars to butterflies. Am I falling behind?

As I attempted to clear my weary head, I observed the jasmine I planted long ago had found the courage to bravely spread its vines, tangling itself in the depths of the rusty metal trellis perched against the bricked wall. Meanwhile, my osmanthus and chrysanthemum have taken their final drops of water, signaling the end of my tea supply. Even my possessions seem to be slipping away.

Laughs and giggles echo regularly from the speakeasy across the street, where actors, actresses, singers and dancers gather, filling the bar with a reservoir of talent. A reminder of how I used to live, on a hunt for fame and popularity. I had succeeded once, too. The crackling timbre of gravel against tires revealed a car, sleek and shiny, its engine purring like a contented predator. I expected it to pass by like all the others, yet its passengers bearing gold and medallions happened to be seeking a temporary escape. I don’t like to admit it, however, I used to be like that once.

I still remember when I received my first paycheck. I got cocky, lazy, unknowing of the repercussions that lied beyond the surface. Blinded by the allure of fame. How my father’s blacksmithing passion burned in the ashes right before my eyes, how he disappeared from the face of the earth, not remembering the name of his own son.

The door swung open, and a polished shoe touched the pavement with deliberate grace. Slowly, he emerged, straightening to his full height, his tailored suit catching the light just right. His eyes, hidden behind dark circular sunglasses, stood tall as if he owned the world—or was about to. His pearly white locks swayed with the gentle gusts of wind. His peculiar outfit left no room for misinterpretation, reminding me of a secret society member, those in the Edo period from way back when. Three consecutive knocks interrupted my pensive train of thought. Clearly, the man hadn’t seen the ‘closed’ sign on the door. I silently screw myself for only writing the text in Danish. “I am closed, go home, Gojo.” 

I knew him, mostly as the piercing icy blue eyed man who had been loitering around the shop for three days in a row now. I half expected him to add to the collection of the ‘no swords, no shields’ signs that were attached on the notice post by hammer and nail. Ever since the mass blacksmith boycott, he found an opportunity to speak out against the ‘old school’ way of fighting, promoting ‘Jujutsu Sorcery’ as an alternative. I had considered it once, learning how to harness this ability to visualize cursed spirits that I was entrusted with, but I try to ignore them as best as possible due to bad experiences on the field in my younger years.

The Jujutsu corporate world holds far too much ambiguity as we were blind to laboring in pyramid schemes. Just stooges to a bigger picture. Much to my dismay, the green glasses I wear are not only for blacksmithing but also for avoiding eye contact with dehumanized figures of various colors, shapes and sizes. They also irritatingly slide down my nose bridge.

"Sir Nanami! I'd love to have your expertise back in the wondrous field of Jujutsu training. I've got- I mean, I have acquired three new recruits who would benefit from your mentoring."

Despite our history, his tone carried a forced formality. It was a sound that echoed from a child's mouth—squeaky and awkward—from behind the door.

"M-Mister Nanami?" The voice stuttered. I heard Gojo's quiet instructions to the kid, coaching him on what to do next. An eager student, I mused to myself. "Look at this!" His fists glowed with luminescent streaks of black and blue, untamed cursed energy. I couldn't deny it was the start of something unique. This pink haired, pure spirited boy that Gojo had brought in... he was unlike the others.

“Gojo, you don’t understand. I have a life here. Depleting or not, it’s my duty to remain.” I argued, coming up with every reason to deny his offer. Though he seemed to know that I have no sufficient meaning to stay here. 

“Nanami, I-” Gojo interjected. Suddenly, a loud crash reverberated through the shop as Yuji’s cursed energy surged uncontrollably, knocking over a shelf of tools. My senses heightened immediately, recognizing the distinct energy signature. This was not just an accident. The outside air grew heavy with a palpable tension, as if the atmosphere itself was holding its breath. I glanced at Gojo, who was already on alert, his playful demeanor replaced by a serious intensity.

“What did you do, kid?” I asked Yuji, my voice calm but edged with urgency.

“I-I don’t know!” Yuji stammered, eyes wide with panic. “I think I might have accidentally triggered something…”

Before he could finish, the ground beneath us rumbled, and a low, menacing growl echoed from outside. A wave of cursed energy, darker and more malevolent than anything I had felt in years, washed over us.

“Get ready,” Gojo muttered, his eyes flickering with anticipation. “It’s here.”

Reflexes honed from years of experience kicked in. I grabbed my blunt sword, its blade wrapped in bandages. In a fluid motion, I positioned myself in front of Yuji and Gojo, my protectiveness kicking in instinctively. No matter the level of skill the two had, I will always put myself at the forefront.

"Sorcery never goes away from your body," I thought, the weight of the moment grounding me. "It's your prerogative to use it in times of need or hide it away. And for the first time in years, I have chosen the former."

The door shuddered under a heavy blow, and I braced myself. The silence before the storm had ended.

And this is merely the beginning.

👏End of Part one 👏 Goodness, that was a wild ride, I'm almost sad to be leaving y'all on a cliffhanger like this! Hope my second ever fan fiction was enjoyable.

Thank you to my beta readers: Panda and JuwelPK! Part two coming soon. Coming from the POV of Yuji Itadori.

[mixelation]

oh yeah, i binged Buddy Daddies over the weekend! some thoughts (spoilers ahead)

If you haven't heard of it, Buddy Daddies is about two professional hitmen, Kazuki and Rei, who happen to be roommates (and they were roommates......). During one of their hits, they accidentally acquire a four year old girl named Miri and end up raising her. The set up for this is, and the escalation to them taking her in until they can find her mom to genuinely wanting to be her family, is zany but feels organic within the universe.

Now, the initial set up for this show is completely unhinged in a way that deeply entertained me. Kazuki, who is the "brains of the operation," is attempting to sneak himself and Rei (local pathetic wet man and "human weapon") into their mark's Christmas party by delivering a cake. Prior to this we see Kazuki cooking for Rei and feeling unappreciated for his efforts, with the implication that Rei never compliments his cooking, a hobby Kazuki greatly enjoys. Throughout this set up, we also see shots of a little girl walking around and asking strangers for directions.

The Christmas party is at a hotel. Kazuki pushes a cake cart into an elevator and Miri simply follows them in, a second before the doors close. She's amazed by the cake and Kazuki, who we are already having hints at having lost a previous family, and who is the more social of the two roommates, offers to let her try. Miri loves the cake, and Kazuki finally feels appreciated. Then they get off the elevator, and the entire assassination attempt goes to shit. There's a shoot out. The mark takes Miri hostage and aims a gun at her head. Shenanigans happen such that Kazuki ends up with Miri in his ams, and we don't feel bad at all when the mark is killed.

Not seeing anything else to do about her in the moment, especially since he can't go to the police, Kazuki takes Miri home with him. She doesn't know any information to help him get her home. She tells him she came to this city to find her papa, and she has a note from her mom explaining that.... her papa is actually the mark they killed, OOPS.

Oh, and Kazuki told her he's her papa as part of his rescue attempt.

The rest of the series is largely about Kazuki and Rei struggling with their personal demons and flaws, and learning to open up to each other and Miri and curb their negative qualities for both Miri's sake and their roommate's sake. Rei, for example, is a "shut in" who doesn't even try any household chores like cooking or cleaning. Kazuki has a gambling problem. They both have their own family dramas they have to face.

I've read a few complaints of queerbaiting in this show, but I don't think that's what's going on here. There's a couple jokes about Kazuki being a "mom," but they don't turn Kazuki and Rei into a "husband/wife, but they're both men!" style dynamic. They don't really tease the audience with forced semi-sexual or semi-romantic situations. It's made pretty clear by the end of the series that Kazuki and Rei love each other deeply, but they stay pretty non-romantic and non-sexual. The series just isn't concerned with this.

Miri is sort of a morality pet and doesn't really get her own character arc, but she still has her own personality. She also doesn't quite fall into "personalityless child is perfect cute prop"-- Miri gets obnoxious in fairly normal kid ways. The story is a little too afraid of letting her get hurt IMHO-- like, I get it's a zany fun comfort series, and certainly I don't want to see her in real peril and I definitely don't want her to be traumatized-- but she never has to overcome or deal with her own little four year old struggles. There's an episode where she has a hard time making friends, but this turns out to be because Kazuki insisted on dressing her in designer clothes, and the other kids don't want her to get them dirty. The problem is solved immediately by simply dressing her in cheaper clothes. Or, there's another episode where she "gets into a fight," but then it turns out it was an accident, and the other "mean" kid is won over simply by Miri liking the same video game as him.

I do appreciate that Miri witnesses two shoot-outs and also occasionally wakes up in strange new places and is not phased by any of these events. This series is a comedy, after all-- it's meant to be fun, and leaving the cute kid untraumatized is an important part of the tone staying fun. I'm not criticizing this choice with her. But I think she'd have been a stronger character and the family dynamic would have been deeper if, for example, she'd actually hit someone and her hitman co-dads had to deal with that.

My other big complaint is that the hitmen stuff is largely dropped after the first few episodes, but then comes up again in the climax, when Rei's mafia boss dad decides Miri and her mom need to die. Miri comes away unharmed in the resulting conflict, but her mom is killed. Kazuki then lies to Miri about where her mom is (although the last scene is post time-skip and it's implied Miri knows her mom is gone). Not showing Miri processing this loss at all takes away from her character. Also, the finale is that Kazuki and Rei quit being hitmen so they can raise Miri together.

My issue with this ending is one part I signed on for hitmen shenanigans, and one part that I think by leaning away from this premise, the ending feels..... kind of weird? Like it's heart warming that the papas want to change and be better for Miri, but also they are responsible for both her parents' deaths. How am I supposed to feel good about that? If they'd continued with the unhinged hitman premise, this stark contrast between "three unrelated people are a happy family" and "child living with her parents' killers" would have been easier to process thematically. Okay, that last characterization is a little harsh-- Miri's bio dad left her mom while she was pregnant and threatened to kill Miri, meanwhile her mom was killed by a different hitman, albeit explicitly for her involvement with Rei. But those technicalities are easy to embrace when I'm already leaning into a whacky show about morally loose hitmen, and harder to ignore when I'm supposed to take "no longer being a murderer for hire" as an important bit of character growth.

All that being said, I don't think the ending was a bad one. It was emotionally satisfying. The found family triumphed over Rei's shitty blood family. Rei and Miri finally made French toast. I was happy.

I found this show because it gets compared to Spy x Family a lot, probably largely because they aired concurrently. There are some similarities-- enough that I'd recommend Buddy Daddies to any Spy x Family fans without many qualifiers-- but Buddy Daddies is pretty firmly its own thing. While I think Anya is a better written kid character than Miri (see my paragraph about Miri not having to deal with her own conflict), I have been frustrated recently with Yor and Loid's lack of character development. Buddy Daddies largely delivers on its two "parent" characters' arcs. and yes, i realize part of this is that BD is a 12 episode complete series and SxF is an ongoing manga. Buddy Daddies is also entirely about family as a theme; Spy x Family goes into this a little, but I think it gets overshadowed by the dual-role and anti-war themes.

Overall, would recommend...... unless you hate kids. Then I think you will hate Miri's constant shrieks of joy LMAO

[hotchlove]

Sexy Back | Reader X Aaron Hotchner

• i take requests! plsss dm me or leave them here if u have anything fun you'd like me to write. it can be angst, anytype of trope, smut, etc. • PLZ NOTE: i ONLY do oneshots. they differ from long to short depending on the character and story. i do not write series! • sexy back - 590 words • desc.: - nsfw - no actual smut but hintings. read at ur own risk! ;-)

• • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~ • • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~• • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~• • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~ • • • •

me and aaron both have exhausting jobs. him being a profiler who basically travels the country for a living, in and out of flights every two days. and me, a preschool teacher. i know, our jobs can't compare. what aaron does is changing the world, making it a safer place. and me, i discipline kids just for them to leave after 4 years and be brats to the next teacher they get. but hey, toddlers are just as difficult as murderers. i enter our apartment and sigh, dropping my bag to the floor and taking my high heels off. "finally." i mumble, my soles finally getting a break. i hang my jacket and notice aaron's is already hung. is he home already? "aaron?" his shoes are here too. i yawn and enter our bedroom, seeing him laying in bed still in his suit as he reads a book. "hi honey." he throws the book on the bed and slides off, grabbing my waist and kissing me. "how come you're home?" i ask as he kisses me. "quick case." he gives me a quick smile. "is it selfish to be happy about that? i missed you." i play with his hair as he nuzzles on my neck, "i missed you more." he's clearly in the mood. but i'm sweaty and hairy and tired, "can i take a shower first?" he shakes his head. "what for? you look and taste great." he smirks and kisses me again. "plus, i have a surprise for you." he does? "you do?" he walks me towards the bed and pushes me down, "mhm. sit." my eyebrows raise and my lips part, i obey his command and sit with my legs criss cross. "now, i heard this is supposed to be sexy," oh goodie. "so just sit back and enjoy." he smirks, walking towards the dresser where he presses the space button on his laptop. a song starts playing and he starts loosening his tie, taking it off in a seductive way. i look at him and bite my lip until i realise what the song is .. sexy back by justin timberlake. don't laugh. do not laugh. he's gonna think i'm laughing at him. i bite my lower lip to surpress my laughs as he unbuttons his shirt now. the sight of his bare chest distracts me for a little while but i cannot with this song. i chuckle and he stops, "what's so funny?" his hands in his pocket. "are you not enjoying the show?" he raises an eyebrow, "no, no- i am. it's just.. the song." i laugh, "sexy back? really?" he finally let's his dress shirt fall off completely. "yeah? is it not good? i can change it." i giggle and stand up, throwing my arms over his shoulders and kissing him, "i tiktoked it. seducive songs to strip to, first thing that came up." i can't help but giggle and drop my head into his shoulder. "seriously? you tiktoked it?" another laugh escapes me, but him aswell "yeaah! i wanted to try something new. clearly you're being very unappreciative." his grip on my waist tightens. i kiss him again, messy and sloppy, just the way he likes it. "i am very grateful, honey, but i don't need a sketchy 2006 song to find you sexy. you could be wearing a batman costume and i'd still fuck you." "is that an invitation? i could totally get a costu-" i interrupt him and kiss him again, shaking my head. "just get naked, agent." "yes ma'am."

[maddys-nerd-blog]

Maddy’s Top Five Favorite Male Characters in Media!

Hi again!!

I was asked an interesting question by @tending-the-hearth in a QNA thingy recently that I thought deserved it’s own post cuz admittedly, this is a hard one!

My favorite characters in media?

You’d be surprised to hear that some of people on this list were easy ringers for this list, but I still had a hard time choosing characters I loved more than the other!

Over the decades we’ve gotten a plethora of incredible shows, video games, movies, books and indie series that have gifted the world a new cast of characters that have won the hearts of millions across the globe. They can be dashing heroes, villainous rouges trying to take over the world, unappreciated side characters, supportive background characters or even blink and you miss them cameos! I’ve come to adore the grand scale of the animation medium and it’s offerings, so making a list like this is definitely not easy.

So for this list I’m doing the following;

One; Only one character per slot with ONE exception but I’ll get there.

Two; They can be a variety of characters ranging in importance. Hero, sidekick, background nobody, villain, supporting characters, etc. Anything goes!

Three; Video games are included!!

Four; Comic book exclusive characters are not allowed only for the sake of keeping the playing field fair. I’ll use added context from specific comic storylines to add onto my reasoning, but otherwise, that’s it.

Five; SPOILERS BECAUSE HALF OF THESE PICKS ARE IN SERIES THAT HAVE EITHER BEEN ONGOING FOR TWENTY YEARS OR ARE FINISHED. Read at your own risk!!!

So… on with the show!!

Top Five Male Characters in Media!

5: Throttle— Biker Mice From Mars. ( 1993-1996 )

A shocking new arrival for a list such as this, but a welcome addition nevertheless! For a little over two-ish months I’ve been watching Biker Mice and have taken a liking to it! What I assumed was just gonna be a knock-off of TMNT with uninspired writing turned out to be a surprising drama with subtle undertones of a darker story behind the gimmick of Martian mice coming to Earth.

Not only is it a very clever commentary on environmentalism and taking care of our planet— especially given the time period this was released with all the Ferngully movies and Captain Planet where they were encouraging eco-friendly movements— it’s also a shocking cartoon given the subject matter and it’s cast of characters. Throttle, Vinnie and Modo? They’re all veterans! And they’re all disabled! But the show never makes jokes or pokes fun at them for their hard comings, it’s treated with respect and the guys are there for one another.

Throttle is the leader of this group, and the leader of the rebellion at one point. He’s shown throughout the show to be this suave, cool headed guy who looks out for his bros, he’s got this kind of swagger to him that radiates ‘cool’ just from a design standpoint alone. Plus it also helps that Rob Paulsen provides the voice and HE SOUNDS SO COOL. As the resident badass in charge he’s always taking point and mostly has a more serious demeanor, but he’s also just a fun guy who wants to ride his bike and chill out with his friends.

Can I just add a side note here and say CAN WE PLEASE GIVE THIS POOR MAN A BREAK??? THE ORIGIN EPISODE OF HOW HE LOST HIS EYES HAD ME SHOOK AND THE NEW INFO WE GOT FROM THE CURRENT COMIC COMEBACK IS FREAKING HEARTBREAKING DUDE. LET THE MAN BREATHE AND EAT HOTDOGS.

4: Harvey Bullock— Batman the Animated Series. ( 1992-1995 )

Imma say this for the people all the way in the back:

NOBODY UNDERSTANDS HARVEY BULLOCK.

I feel like I’m all alone on the Bullock Defense Squad at this rate cuz the amount of slander this character gets by those who don’t bother to A) read his backstory or B) actually go the extra mile to research his trivia and learn what makes him tick, is frustrating. The writers make him out to be this slob that can’t do anything right, but I think that’s unfair cuz there’s more to him besides what we’re shown. Because when you take the time to look beneath all the stupid things people claim about him… he’s so interesting.

Firstly he’s Gordon’s BEST FRIEND. He’s ride or die for that man. Nobody is more loyal to Commissioner Gordon than Bullock. On the outside he might appear untrustworthy but he’s actually devoted to Gordon and his beliefs, even if his methods are more in line with Batman’s. ( Which is ironically hilarious that everyone tries to accuse Bullock of going too far, but when Batman does the same exact thing he’s praised as a hero. Makes ya think. )

Secondly he believes in justice and keeping Gotham safe, but the criminals that reek havoc on the city are so nuts and out of control he feels he has no idea what he’s doing. But the fact of the matter is, he’s wildly clever and intelligent! Look at the episode The Laughing Fish! Who figures out that Joker’s at the aquarium first? BULLOCK. Who beats BATMAN— the world’s greatest detective— to the punch??? BULLOCK!

He’s cunning and sly but in a good way! He uses his wits to solve cases and more often than not, he’s pretty damn scrappy! The audience is just made to believe he’s this bumbling oaf half the time. His determination is strong as hell! My favorite episode in all of BTAS is ‘A Bullet for Bullock’ because we get to see a side of him outside of the main cast that puts HIM in the spotlight. That entire episode is a love letter to the classic noir genre and the SOUNDTRACK??? ITS SO GOOD. ( This episode in particular even won a special award for its music )

He fights for good and tries to do the right thing, but not everyone sees it that way. But I, as the President of the Bullock Fanclub, love him the way he is!

3: Donatello ( Every version )— Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. ( 1984- Current Day )

DONATELLO IS BEST TURTLE 💜

This genius in every version is a lovable dork with a giant heart of gold. I don’t think there’s any iteration of this character that’s unlikeable! Ever since I got into the TMNT I quickly grew attached to the purple goober cuz he’s just so relatable! Purple is my second favorite color too cuz bias Donnie shows that no matter the odds he’s going to do whatever it takes to make his family or friends safe. In every single series he proves he’s a hellishly smart guy who values knowledge over combat, hence why he’s a pacifist by nature.

In 2012 he’s a geeky inventor with a big imagination and utilizes what limited resources he has to craft some of the most amazing things!

In 2003 he’s this gentle teddy bear of a guy who rarely wishes to battle, but if you hurt his family he’ll bring hell down upon you. Plus he’s just a sweetie who wants to keep making things he thinks will help his family.

In the Bayverse films he’s this tall, lanky fellow who yearns to be accepted and has so much wit and charm he’s basically this lovable beanstalk.

In Mutant Mayhem he’s a well meaning kid who wishes he could be a normal teenager, who fights so hard for humans to accept him and his mutant family, who’d an anime nerd and generally nice person.

In Rise he’s a full on menace to society and has so much snark that it could rival that of Hades from Hercules. He’s a scientist that searches high and low for the love and affirmation of a dad who doesn’t care about him, but with his brothers he’s got all the reassurance he needs.

Donnie goes through so much but gets back on his feet to keep fighting, he keeps pushing forward to strive for a better solution, he ALWAYS keeps trying to fix any problem because he feels it’s his purpose. This type of character can be used as a stereotype but in the right hands they can truly shine, and Donnie doesn’t simply shine; he dazzles. It also gives him the edge that in most of the shows he’s written with coded autism traits which… yes, please, more positive autistic representation, more of this INSTEAD OF THE BULLSHIT WE’VE BEEN FED.

Donnie is a kind, sweet, brave turtle. It’s no wonder why everyone loves him so much!!

BUT CAN WE STOP TRAUMATIZING HIM PLEASE, STOP ELECTROCUTING THIS GUY?? THE BABY HAS BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH—

2: Cole— Dragon Age: Inquisition. ( 2014 )

Autism in media has been hit or miss for DECADES. As I previously stated it’s very difficult to find positive autistic characters in our media. Autism is either used as a crutch by writers to make the ‘normal’ characters bring the ‘unaware and helplessly naive’ autistic person into the ‘real world.’ We’ve seen it time and time again and it’s terribly obnoxious. But to the writers who give a damn about writing authentic portrayals of autism, those people deserve special kudos because when it works, they work beautifully.

Case in point here; Cole.

Cole is the most amazing depiction of a young man with coded autism that’s never treated like a punchline or a side effect of his behavior. He’s the spirit of compassion— the living embodiment of kindness in the game. Cole is the way he is because of his past, where the Spirit finds Cole’s original form dying in a cell, and was so moved by his death he took his place to dedicate his life to helping people. And throughout Inquisition, on my first time playing it years ago, I just had to keep pausing the game during the idle companion conversations and go ‘THATS ME!’

The way he fidgets with his hands. The way his speech is so articulate and soft. The way he interacts with the other companions. The way he starts to break down when he’s in the Fade.

That was POWERFUL for me.

You gotta understand. In all my life as a young woman, I NEVER did such a thing. Because in my childhood there were ZERO characters with autism I could relate to! Not until Cole, and this wasn’t until 2019! Sure I’m a woman, but I related so much to him because of his struggles to understand what it meant to be in the mindset of someone who didn’t really understand how the world worked, or how to properly help people. As his title states, his compassion for aiding those who are hurting is infallible… and I’m not ashamed to admit his story arc made me tear up, and I CHOOSE FOR HIM TO ACCEPT HIS HUMAN SIDE IN GAME BECAUSE HE DESERVES TO BE HAPPY.

1: Brook and Pedro— One Piece. ( 1998- Current Day )

The only tie in this list but for good reason. It would feel wrong of me to only put one of these men on here, cuz both of them left a huge impact on me.

Brook saved my life as an impressionable twelve year old. Pedro made my heart break.

I’ve prattled on about my love for Brook previously, but he’s pretty important to me. This skeleton came at a time of my life where I’d been so severely depressed and bullied in middle school that I thought I had nothing to live for. Then I happened upon One Piece and my life was forever changed, but my perspective on the world also did when I got to Thriller Bark and was introduced to Brook.

At first glance you look at Brook and might see a silly, happy go lucky skeleton that sings and dances. But he’s so much more under the surface. He’s the first fictional character in media that made me weep for TWO HOURS.

Brook is a man who has SEEN SHIT. Brook is a man who had to endure so much loss when he was alive and when he came back from the dead. He lost his best friend. He watched his entire crew die. He was adrift at sea for fifty years, isolated from the world, almost going insane several times until the Straw Hats find him. He thinks he’s broken his oath to Laboon until he finds out his still waiting for him to come back.

Brook spends so much time being plagued by his trauma when we first see him that you forget he’s using his jokes as a way to cope, he’s trying so damn hard to keep living for the sake of the whale he befriended. He’s not just a musician with hellishly cool powers or a badass with a sword.

He’s an embodiment of a constant will of push forward.

Keep living, keep fighting, keep surviving and you’ll find your happiness waiting for you. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but soon, if you keep holding to hope, you’ll find your purpose in life and the people who will love you for who you are.

Brook— as crazy as it may sound— became my beacon of hope as a kid.

It’s because of this skeleton I’m still trying to be an artist.

As for Pedro, I met this character much later in life when I was catching up with the series ( I dropped Dressrosa ages ago at that point and I didn’t get back into the story until the end of Whole Cake ) and I was immediately interested in his character and his swaggering design!

Pedro is stoic, brave and cool headed, and he’s quite cautious of his surroundings because of terrible circumstances that have fallen on his shoulders. It’s not everyday you barely escape a Warlord with your life at the cost of a good friend of yours, and then YOU GET HALF YOUR LIFESPAN STOLEN FROM YOU ANYWAY.

Poor Pedro gets put through a wringer!

But as I continued to read the manga and saw how he took Carrot under his wing and made her his apprentice, how he fought so hard to defend Zou from Jack and his crew, his grit to see the Dawn of the Nee World, I was rooting for him to succeed! I wanted him to achieve his goals, I was so excited to see him kick Tomago’s ass! I was so excited when he teamed up with Brook!!

And then he sacrificed himself.

AND MY HEART SHATTERED.

It didn’t help that the anime made this moment all the more gut wrenching with the voice actors of Carrot and Pedro giving it their all and making me tear up like a baby.

His sacrifice impacted the others to keep moving forward and see their mission through to the end, and it gave Carrot her epic SULONG TRANSFORMATION LIKE HOLY SHIT DUDE!!

For the brief amount of time I got to spend rooting for Pedro, I really loved him! He shot right up there in my all-time favorite One Piece characters! Both Brook and Pedro are quite literally the ‘kings’ of this list… and my nerdy heart 🤣

Honorary Mentions:

Tech— Star Wars: The Bad Batch

Garrus Vakarian— Mass Effect trilogy.

Nightcrawler/ Kurt Wagner— X-Men

Ryoma Hoshi— Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony

Vander— Arcane

Cedric— Sofia the First