#and i can’t give you a video because i am technically incapable at the moment

[livvyofthelake]

“all the girls? morgana? one girl, who’s my adopted sister? oh yeah he gets all the girls doesn’t he” oh bradley i just know you thought these writers were absolutely fucking ridiculous but you’re being SO funny about it <3

[thefanficmonster]

Filterless

Corpse Husband x Plus-sized Reader (Female)

Warnings: Body Image Insecurities, Low self-esteem, Swearing

Genre:  Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Feeling comfortable in her skin has hardly ever been the case for Y/N who’s been struggling with body image issues all her life. However, they only get worse when she sees the ‘type’ of girls her crush is into.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request (hits close to home 😅) I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill it and post it but here it finally is and if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it, I hope you enjoy! ALSO! - Never forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Never compare your beauty to someone else’s. We’re all beautiful people and we all shine so brightly and uniquely. No one deserves to be compared to anyone when we’re all so different yet so incredible. Love you and appreciate you with all my heart, Vy ❤

If I ever need my ego taken down a few notches - it never does, it’s barely even present, to be honest - all I have to do is go on Instagram. To be honest, regardless of how I’m feeling, opening that app is bound to make my mood plummet and come crashing into the ground so hard it drives a hole in it - probably in the form of a broken heart.

Being a content creator myself, I often get asked questions about my absence on that social platform specifically. I mean, the questions are based and rational I guess, considering I’m not a faceless YouTuber and yet my Instagram account is void of any photos. It’s not like I don’t post at all - I do! I post on my story often but it’s more often than not scenery I find pretty or a poster I’ve made for a movie/video game. Bottom line is: I barely ever allow a picture of me to make it online. The most my fans are ever gonna get of me is a selfie which is also a super rare occurrence because of how long it takes me to take and choose one I don’t hate.

Ok, but how am I supposed to find the motivation to post any sort of picture of myself when on my timeline I’m always faced with people worthy of posting pictures of themselves. People with such perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or envious of those people - good for them! They know what they’re working with and they’re working it well. I have nothing against them, in fact, I love seeing people proud of their bodies no matter their size, shape or weight. Those are my role-models: people who are proud of themselves, their bodies, their attributes and capabilities and don’t hesitate to show them off. Those are the people I look up to but, deep down inside I know I’ll never be like.

Insecure about my body, having been referred to as ‘chubby’ and ‘squishy’ all my life. Inappreciative of the stuff I do: starting from my job as a graphic designer leading towards my job on YouTube - nothing I do, professionally or otherwise, satisfies me. Nothing I do is enough in my eyes because I feel incapable of ever being able to do enough. I’ve been called lazy and a half-asser a few too many times to be able to brush it off as a meaningless insult. 

With these problems I’ve had with myself and my own perception of who I am and the work I do, I’ve never had the time for romance or romantic relationships. I second-guess the intentions of everyone who ever shows any interest in me because in my mind I’m nothing special and I have nothing to offer - nothing attractive or likable at least. That being said, I haven’t even been one to make heart eyes at others either. I busy myself with my job and some side-gigs, brushing off any relationship questions with the excuse that I’m ‘just too busy to be in a relationship’ which is technically true.

Having spent twenty plus years with that mindset, one can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself catching feelings for someone. And that someone just couldn’t be any other than the biggest YouTube sensation at the moment - Corpse Husband.

I’m close friends with Poki - her and I were roommates at one point too - so her inviting me to play Among Us with them wasn’t so strange. One or two games, I thought, nothing unusual there, just friendly curtesy. I wasn’t expecting to warm up to the group of famous streamers nor did I expect them to welcome me among them so easily, mostly because my channel is so small and practically invisible to the YouTube algorithm. But soon enough, I became a permanent member of the team, making friends with every single one of those YouTubers I practically thought of a celebrities.

This journey of branching out to other content creators has proven itself to be surprisingly pleasant and has packed my book of friendships to the brim. All of that came unexpectedly, along with a wave of new subs and a higher view count. However, as I mentioned, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. I came to finally understand what my high school friends were talking about when they were head over heels for a boy - the butterflies in the stomach whenever he speaks your name; the importance of the laugh you share with him, how special and different it is; how cool it is to be impostors with him - ok they never said that, obviously, but it’s what I have as a substitute to the ‘when the two of you make eye-contact’ bullshit since Corpse and I have never seen each other in person. That is, of course, because of him being a faceless YouTuber and me being a self-conscious and insecure girl.

We do talk all the time though - texting, calling, chilling on Discord, you name it. Our conversations range from deeply philosophical to ones that might mislead someone into thinking we’re high. There’s no topic we haven’t touched upon and yet we still manage to find something new to talk about. We have plenty of similarities but we also never seem to run out of differences we slowly come across as we keep getting to know each other better and better. 

And somewhere along that journey I ended up catching feelings.

Human nature of wanting to connect with other people, I curse you for what you’ve done to me.

You might think I’m being overdramatic about the whole ordeal and that this is just a normal, natural occurrence many people experience in their life - some even daily. Well, not only am I far from used to it, but it’s also taking a toll of a different kind on me.

It’s like a constant slap to the face. 

That slap turned into a punch when Corpse and I started following each other on Instagram and I started getting daily reminders of how out of my depth I am with this crush on him. In over my head, especially when you look at all those girls whose pics and videos he reposts on his story. Imagine how that makes me feel, what that does to me - puts me back into the ‘Constantly not good enough‘ basket, the one I’ve been fighting to get out of all my life. In the past and in different contexts I could easily say that it was all just my mind hating me intensely but now - now that I know for a fact I’m not good enough and don’t fit Corpse’s criteria - it hurts ten times as much. I’m not one to do shit for someone’s attention or to attract someone’s eyes, but it really hurts my feelings. Often times, it also leads me to doing dumb things and making rash decisions. 

Like the one I made two days ago.

Imagine me cringing and shaking my head at my own stupidity as I admit this: I, in a frenzy, ordered a whole e-girl getup with overnight delivery. 

Wait, hold up, it gets worse. 

I received it yesterday and spent the whole day regretting that decision, but then, in my most insecure hours - which was somewhere around midnight - I equipped the get-up, took a picture and posted it on my Instagram page. First full body pic I’ve ever posted on there. First pic I’ve posted there of any kind. There to stay, not to be gone in twenty four hours. First pic, and it’s not even of me. It’s of who I want to be in order to fit someone’s criteria. And that fucking stings.

As you might imagine, I’ve spent today’s day regretting that decision as well. Recently my mood’s been nothing but regretting rash decisions that have surfaced under the influence of my ridiculous, constantly-present insecurities. And I would’ve probably gotten over it rather quickly had I not received a message from Corpse that read:

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic“

I didn’t open the message, I peeped at it as it was a notification on my lock screen. It’s still there, an unread notification. It’s been two hours since I received it and I cannot think of a single thing to say in response to that. 

Truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of so many things right now.

I’m afraid of becoming that girl in the photo, cause I’m most definitely not her.

I’m afraid of letting Corpse down by admitting I’m not her.

I’m afraid of what my own mind has made me do because it hates me so much and I’m terrified of what it might do in the future.

I’m afraid and stranded on things to do.

You can’t be her forever, you know. Being her won’t make your insecurities go away, it’ll only make them worse. Haven’t you learned that by now?

I sigh, frustrated and irritated with myself as I grab my phone and tap on the notification, finally deciding to face the music and allow my instincts to carry me through the interaction. Improvisation, that’s one of the few things I’m good at. Let’s hope it doesn’t fail me.

I’m just about to type out my response - not sure what it’s gonna say - when I give the message Corpse has sent me a second glance.  I furrow my brows, finding there’s more to it than that peep through the notification let me see.

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic. You’re personality is so bright and colorful, I could’ve never imagined you were into the darks and blacks“

Because I’m not

I fail to realize until the message has been sent that my thoughts are exactly what I typed out and sent.

And honestly, I’m glad. It feels like I’ve spoken my truth, like I’ve lifted a huge boulder off my chest.

With that rare confidence in mind I go on and delete the picture.

In its spot, I post a picture I just now took - a mirror selfie in my homey get-up consisting of hot pink sweatpants and an oversized blue tee, my hair in a messy bun, my face free of make-up.

I caption it: ‘Oops, had the e-girl filter on for the last one. This is filterless me tho so...Hi 🥴’

A lot better, I’m surprised to hear my inner voice say. I hope I don’t get used to all this kindness on my brain’s part, probably won’t last, but damn if I don’t milk every second of it.

Just then, I receive a new message from non other than Corpse.

“Now that’s the girl I see when I think of you. She’s super cute 😉“

My, oh my, who would’ve guessed Corpse has a game like that - and by that I mean the ability to make me blush so intensely with only a text message.

Now ain’t that better than being someone else, Y/N?

It sure is, it sure is.

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[write-my-dreams]

Day 4: Car Wash

Title: Soap Suds

Author: write-my-dreams

Pairing: JayTim

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Tim bet Jason he couldn't go four days without killing anyone. Jason wins that bet so Tim has to wear little red shorts and wash his car while Jason fantasizes about bending him over it.

Read it at Ao3

Jason leaned back in his chair. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and he was getting hard watching Tim. He tilted his head to admire how Tim’s wet shorts clung to his body. Everyone always raved about what a great ass Dick had (to be fair, it deserved the praise) that they neglected to appreciate Tim’s. He adjusted his jeans as he dragged his gaze away from his boyfriend’s ass. “You missed a spot, baby bird. Front right tire isn’t clean yet.”

Tim took his hand off the shiny red car to give him the finger. “Why don't you come over and drool on it then?”

“I’m not drooling.” Jason touched his mouth to ensure he wasn’t. “I’m just admiring my beautiful boyfriend. Seriously, Timmy. The view is great from here.” He licked his lips when Tim climbed onto the hood of the car to scrub the windshield. Now if only he could get Tim to bend over it. Tim hadn’t done so at all when cleaning the back half of the far and now that he was working on the front, it seemed that Jason would be out of luck. He’d get it some other time though. Bending Tim over the car to have sex with him was his newest fantasy. It really needed to become a reality. “Who needs porn when I can watch my sexy baby bird putting on a show for me?”

Tim stopped scrubbing to glare at him. It wasn’t too effective. Jason’s eyes were immediately drawn to Tim’s bare, soapy chest. Then lower. Down to the waistband of the tiny red shorts Jason requested (insisted) he wear. The hem just barely covered Tim’s ass and showed off his long, smooth legs so perfectly. “Jason!” Tim snapped.

“What?”

“I’m going to dump this bucket over your head unless you stop your creepy staring! I can feel it. And if you say anything else about how me washing your car is ‘pornographic’ or how I’m ‘giving you a show’ then you’re going to be jacking off to the memory of this scene for the rest of the week instead of having sex with me.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Baby, you can’t resist me. Who else can give you amazing orgasms like I can?” He would tone down on his leering if Tim did wind up being serious. Jason wasn’t ashamed to admit that having sex with Tim was an addiction. Best lover he’d ever had. The only lover he wanted to have.

Tim raised his chin and gave Jason a challenging look. “Right now your smug pervert look is turning me off.”

“I—“ Jason paused when Dick came cartwheeling out of the manor. He froze when he reached the driveway and saw half-naked Tim washing the car Bruce had bought for Jason’s birthday while Jason watched. He couldn’t help but snicker at the mixture of alarm and confusion crossing Dick’s face.

Dick stared at Tim for a few moments, looked at Jason, then back to Tim. “Um, are you two filming a porn or something? Because Alfred will have your heads for fucking in the driveway like cats in heat.”

“We are not filming a porn!” Tim huffed. He sat down on the hood to cross his arms over his bare chest. “Jason and I made a bet last week. I lost, so that’s why I have to wear these ridiculous shorts and wash his car.”

Jason grinned at Dick. “I'm enjoying it.” He wondered if Tim would be willing to have sex over the freshly cleaned car if Jason gave him a mind blowing orgasm (like he always did) and cleaned the car afterwards. Or maybe he could lift Tim up onto the car. Pull down the tiny shorts like his fingers itched to do and suck him off. He noticed Dick looking at him, specifically at his crotch. Jason shifted in the chair.

“It’s easy to see that,” Dick said dryly. “Do I want to know what your bet was?”

“When you’d drop your pants for the latest villain or antihero lusting over your ass,” Jason replied. He laughed at Tim’s indignant shout of his name while Dick made a choked noise. If only he had his phone to take a picture of Dick’s expression. Tim threatened him with blue balls if he dared to take video or a single photo so Jason had reluctantly left his phone inside. “I’m kidding, bluebird. Tim bet me that I couldn’t go four days without killing anyone.” Restraining himself had been difficult. Jason was never one to turn down a challenge so he’d pushed through and come out the winner. No regrets there. The result was well worth his struggle.

Dick beamed at Jason. “That’s great! I knew you were capable of not killing someone. Just… do it willingly next time.” He smiled sadly at Jason before directing his attention back to Tim. “What would’ve happened if you won the bet?”

“Jason would attend Bruce’s next four events with me as my date. He’d wear a suit and be on his absolute best behavior.”

Dick blinked at Jason. “Is that possible? Even when you were Robin you hated high society parties. And that… really hasn't changed since you came back to Gotham.”

“He claims it is possible,” Tim replied.

Jason crossed his arms. “Both of you know how much I despise rich airheads who love to talk about their obscenely expensive new house or car or whatever while people are starving in the streets or struggling to pay for their kid to go to school. Just because I can’t stand people like that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of behaving if the situation calls for it. Or if my boyfriend needs some decent company to keep from going insane. Thankfully I didn’t have to put on my polite face because Tim lost.” He gestured to him. “Keep working on my car, baby bird. The demon spawn will be getting out of school and coming home soon.” He knew Tim would sooner eat his sponge than have Damian see him so objectified.

Tim blanched. “Shit.” He began scrubbing the windshield with renewed vigor.

Dick cast them one more look before taking a step back. “I’ll let you two, uh, continue. Just don’t have sex in the driveway or the living room. Or anywhere Alfred and Bruce can see you.” Because he was an annoying showoff he did a back handspring and a flip to get away from them.

“It can’t be worse than us fucking on the Batmobile when we got hit with Ivy’s weird sex spores,” Jason called after him. The lack of response spoke volumes about Dick’s embarrassment. They’d both agreed not to mention the incident after it happened – though sometimes Jason slipped up. His snicker died on his lips when he noticed Tim had stopped washing the car and was scowling. “Sorry, baby bird. You know you’re the only man for me.” He got up out of his chair. Each step was uncomfortable given the hard on he was sporting.

“Uh huh. You sure you’re not just saying that to get in my pants?” Tim gave his crotch a pointed look. “Because I don’t think I’m in the mood after being teased so much.”

Jason laid his hand on Tim’s wet thigh. “Technically, you’re not wearing pants.” He tugged the hem of the little red shorts. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you were a porn star or embarrassed you like that in front of Dick.” He took the hand not holding the sponge to give it a gentle squeeze. “I had my entertainment and you only have what, another wheel and a window to wash? So you don’t have to finish if you don’t want to.”

“…Did you and Dick really have sex on top of the Batmobile?”

Jason blinked at the change of subject. “Er, yeah. Bruce was an equal combination of pissed, mortified, and disturbed to see his two former Robins fucking on his car. You know what’s the worst though?” He complained. “Bruce made me clean it! Even though Dick contributed to the mess too!”

Tim cracked a smile. “That is pretty unfair.”

“It was. So am I forgiven? No sexless week ahead for me?”

“I’ll consider it if you kiss me.” Tim smiled playfully. “I may even give you a blowjob in the shower if you throw the water bucket over Damian’s head.”

Jason was always impressed by how much of an evil genius his boyfriend could be. “You know he’ll want revenge on both of us for that.”

Tim shrugged. “It’ll be worth it.”

So would the blowjob. “Face of an angel and the devious mind of a devil.” Jason claimed Tim’s lips in a hungry kiss. Slender fingers rubbing against his crotch had his breath hitching. “Fuck, Tim, I know… I deserve teasing… but please. Don’t.” He didn’t think he’d last long and he didn’t want to wreck his favorite jeans.

Tim opened his legs. “Come here.”

Jason stepped between his boyfriend’s thighs to kiss him again. His hands fell to Tim’s hips, thumbs rubbing against bare skin and fabric. Tim’s legs wrapped around his waist so he could rock up into Jason. Fuck. That felt incredible. Jason pressed closer to him as the kiss deepened. It didn’t take long before all thoughts of washing the car or soaking Damian were gone from both of their minds. Jason was just about to pull down Tim’s soapy shorts when Alfred emerged from the manor with an apron over his suit and a sizeable rolling pin in hand.

“Master Jason and Master Tim,” Alfred said sternly. His expression conveyed his disapproval all too well. “I will not have the two of you behaving like rabbits in the driveway of Wayne Manor!”

It was embarrassing how quickly the mood died. Disappointing Alfred had always been painful for Jason. For all the bats, he thought. “Er… we’ll take it inside?”

Alfred sniffed. “Quite right.”

Tim pushed Jason back so he could slide off the car. “Sorry, Alfred.” He fixed his eyes on Jason. “My room. Now. And I’ll make you a deal, Jaybird.”

Jason’s hands found Tim’s hips again. “What is it? Because I’ll happily throw water over Damian’s head in exchange for a blowjob.”

Tim grinned. “That’s still an option. Come to the Wayne Gala on Friday night. Then we’ll go back to your place,” his voice lowered as he reached up to press his thumbs to Jason’s nipples. “And you can bend me over your car.”

Jason swallowed. That… was a difficult bargain to make. Wear a suit and make nice with the spoiled elite who wouldn’t know hardship even if it bit him in the ass. But… he had told Dick that he could behave at a gala. That he could be there if Tim needed him. “All right. I’ll be your date if you wear the Red Hood underwear you found.”

Tim leaned in to kiss him. “Deal.”

[tracingpatterns]

Beyond the Wrong and into the Pattern

Last week, Kai Cole shocked the internet when she came clean about her ex-husband, the screenwriter and director Joss Whedon, who is best known as the creator of the television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In a scathing essay for the Wrap, Cole describes Whedon’s repeated violation of their relationship boundaries, his lying and gaslighting, and the ways that his neglect led her to compromise her integrity as she struggled to keep their 16-year marriage together:

“Joss admitted that for the next decade and a half, he hid multiple affairs and a number of inappropriate emotional ones that he had with his actresses, co-workers, fans and friends, while he stayed married to me,” Cole writes. “Despite understanding, on some level, that what he was doing was wrong, he never conceded the hypocrisy of being out in the world preaching feminist ideals, while at the same time taking away my right to make choices for my life and my body based on the truth. He said, after he left, he understood: ‘It’s not just like I killed you, but that I’d done it subtly, over years. That I’d been poisoning you. Chipping away at you.’ He made me doubt my own instincts and watched me move further away from my personal values and social mores, trying to connect with him, never telling me it was impossible."

Cheating is often perceived as a problem in a marriage rather than one of boundaries and consent. Marriage, after all, is easy to categorize as part of patriarchy’s structural constraints on women, a dated mechanism that cannot be expected to “work.” Looked at it a different way, however -- as an agreement made by people about their needs and limits -- it becomes much easier to understand how repeatedly stepping out without any effort to renegotiate the existing relationship agreement is, in essence, a denial of a partner’s right to exercise agency. “It’s not just like I killed you,” Whedon told her, referencing the ultimate denial of agency. But it’s worse than that: it’s that he acted like she didn’t have a right to agency.

A recurring pattern of cheating is emotionally destabilizing -- in order to keep the relationship going, a partner must be lied to and sometimes gaslit. As instances of emotional neglect, disconnection and misattunement pile up, the partner being lied to begins to exercise betrayal blindness to cope with the mounting cognitive dissonance. This process is largely not conscious. As the betrayal scholar Dr. Jennifer Freyd writes, “unawareness helps the victim survive. [Betrayal theory] draws on two facts about our nature as social beings and our dependence and reliance on others. First, we are extremely vulnerable in infancy, which gives rise to a powerful attachment system [that views maintaining the bonds we form with others as a biological imperative]. Second, we have a constant need to make ‘social contracts’ with other people in order to get needs met. This has led to the development of a powerful cheater-detector system. These two aspects of our humanity serve us well, but when the person we are dependent on is also the person betraying us, our two standard responses to trouble conflict with each other. [ ... ] The standard response to betrayal -- confrontation or withdrawal -- may only make the situation worse for the person who depends on the [person doing the betraying], because confrontation and withdrawal are generally not good for inspiring attachment and caregiving.” Freyd’s research and that of others in the past 30 years indicate that terror and violence are not the only things capable of traumatizing someone: betrayal does as well.  

Cole’s account illustrates why Lundy Bancroft recognizes “the Player” as one of the archetypal patterns of abuse in his seminal work on relational harm Why Does He Do That? Abuse is defined by entitlement (or to use Whedon’s own words: “When I was running Buffy, I was surrounded by beautiful, needy, aggressive young women [ ... ] I am a powerful producer and the world is laid out at my feet and I can’t touch it.” Except he did touch it and he felt justified in touching it (“In many ways I was the height of normal, in this culture. We’re taught to be providers and companions and at the same time, to conquer and acquire -- specifically sexually -- and I was pulling off both!”). Even as he admits that he had affairs that violated his wife’s consent and created literal hostile workplace environments on his sets, Whedon frames it not as deeply troubling pattern he needs to address but as a banquet laid out for him. The women with whom he had affairs aren’t agents any more than Cole is -- they are food items laid out for him. Like his then-wife, Whedon’s sexual partners are not humans with a right to self-determine. The world laid out a table and cruelly told him not to eat -- there are no other humans in this picture. “He is incapable of taking women seriously as human beings rather than playthings,” to quote Bancroft.

Whedon has suggested over the years that cheating on Cole was a personal problem specific to the tragedy of their growing apart over the course of nearly two decades together. However, his troubled history of relationships with other women -- from actresses and crew working on his shows, to other romantic partners -- and his work loudly contradict this assertion. In a 2015 analysis of his work, Laurel Jupiter spoke to the core of Whedon’s pattern:

The initial patriarchal villains of the Buffyverse were men who abused women using either brute strength or political power, but the three nerds [introduced later on in Buffy] are another kind of misogynistic male antagonist that grew to dominate and completely consume Joss’s work in the 00s: the nerdy, story-obsessed guy who used his intelligence and mastery of technology to abuse and control strong, heroic women. Nerdy men who, like Joss, either created or tampered with the women they wanted total control over, either by building androids or altering existing women, usually via invasive medical torture. 

Joss the writer invents the character of Buffy while having workplace clashes with her actress Sarah Michelle Gellar; [the three nerd villains in Buffy] Andrew, Warren, and Jonathan drug their girlfriends into compliance and create the BuffyBot to obey their will. This villain character would show up again and again in Joss’ later works: the scientist who had, thanks to his technical and storytelling skills, been given custody by higher powers over women who would normally be far out of his range of influence. And, uncomfortably, all of the actors cast for these roles bore a striking physical resemblance to Joss.

[The episode “Storyteller” in Buffy] was a story about Andrew the Joss-doppelgänger filming the house of potential Slayers for a series he called Buffy, Slayer of the Vampyres. A major theme of “Storyteller” was Andrew’s intrusive use of the Buffy cast’s personal lives and pain to make a good story, his refusal to acknowledge their privacy, and possibly, as Anya kept insisting, to use his videos as masturbation material. It seemed like a huge moment of self-awareness and self-reflection about the relationship Joss had to the real and fictional women who worked for him, especially given the conflicts he had at the time with actresses like Charisma Carpenter over her character Cordelia and personal bodily autonomy (pregnancy) [He reportedly fired Carpenter for getting pregnant as well as other abuses]. It was self-critical and raw and I was proud of Joss for being willing to go there in such a public way.

Buffy ended, and Andrew redeemed himself, but the misogynist-nerd-self-loathing metastory intensified. One of the aspects of the Three Nerds villain arc that had always made me profoundly uncomfortable was the way Joss positioned the boys’ nerdy pursuits and lack of traditional masculinity -- not just their treatment of women -- as something inherently repulsive. Viewers were supposed to be disgusted by the sight of three dorky boys nerding out over Star Wars figurines. Buffy and the house full of potential slayers call Andrew vile names for being a nerd, not in response to his behavior [toward them]; by the end of his run, I felt the urge to protect Andrew -- not from the girls, but from Joss -- who was clearly using him as a punching bag onto which he was projecting his own self-loathing. 

The next major Joss project was Dollhouse, with evil scientist and Joss-lookalike Topher Brink programming, manipulating, and violating various women into playacting roles he’d scripted for them. It was such a blatant story about Joss and his actresses it was difficult to watch. Like, My Feminism Is Just An Excuse To Exploit Hot Actresses, I Am Such A Disgusting Creature!!! Coming soon to the CW!  

At some point in his career, Joss became so intent on the masochistic fantasy of being hated by strong women for being a nerd that he spent a decade writing stories about violating those women to ensure they would hate him. 

This pattern shows through in Cole’s essay. She, a strong and self-possessed woman, supported and buttressed Whedon’s dreams and pushed him to develop these into a career. She cofounded Bellwether Pictures with him. She kept their life together as he worked on numerous projects. She adored him, and he ensured her destruction and through it, that of their marriage. 

It’s tempting to imagine that marriage is complicated, that the fault hides in the love and attention Whedon was not receiving from his wife. But then why would he destroy the next relationship he had in which a new partner offered to explore a non-exclusive relationship together? 

After his separation from Cole, Whedon had the opportunity to have a nonmonogamous relationship in which he could explore his interest in power-exchange (that is, erotic play involving power and control, or BDSM). He chose instead to slowly poison this partner too, to use his own words, but in a different way. Arden Leigh, singer songwriter of Arden and the Wolves, writes:

In the wake of his separation I offered him a consensual non-monogamous BDSM relationship so he could have his fantasies responsibly, and he STILL chose monogamy and lying.

I figured hey, marriages are messy, and while there was no question he made mistakes (which he admitted), I chalked it up to societal default monogamy and sexual repression being the problem. I thought he deserved a chance at having what he wanted in an honest way, and I offered him that. And in return he took everything I offered and then piled so much shame on me for it that I spent a good year of my life thinking I was completely unworthy of love, that I'd always fall on the wrong side of someone's Madonna/whore complex. The effort I've undertaken since the start of 2016 to undo this fuckery has been monumental.

Monogamy is not the problem. One troublesome marriage is not the problem. When you hate yourself so much that you only get off when the women you desire hate you too, then you will continue to hurt people so that you can revel in the guilt over what a piece of shit you are. And when you are a rich white man who has every resource to heal and instead you consciously choose not to so that you can stay in the comfort of your patterns of hurting both others and yourself, that's no different from abuse. And I'm glad to see it made public.

Looking over the archetypes of abuse that Bancroft describes in Why Does He Do That? we begin to recognize that the infidelity described by both of Whedon’s former partners is actually a symptom, rather than the problem itself. In many ways, Whedon’s use of his position as a feminist ally bears more resemblance to Bancroft’s “Mr. Sensitive” than “the Player”: 

He loves the language of feelings, openly sharing his insecurities, his fears, and his emotional injuries. [ ... ] Often he has participated extensively in therapy or twelve-step programs, or reads all the big self-help books, so he speaks the language of popular psychology and introspection. His vocabulary is sprinkled with jargon like developing closeness, working out our issues, and facing up to hard things about myself. He presents himself to women as an ally in the struggle against sex-role limitations. 

Mr. Sensitive wraps himself in one of the most persuasive covers a man can have. If you start to feel chronically mistreated by him, you are likely to assume that something is wrong with you, and if you complain about him to other people, they may think you must be spoiled: ‘You have the New Age man, what more do you want?’ 

He blames his behavior on you or on his emotional ‘issues,’ saying that his feelings were so deeply wounded he had no other choice. [ ... ] The “gentle man” style of abuser tends to be highly self-centered and demanding of emotional catering. He plays up how fragile he is to divert attention from the swatch of destruction he leaves behind him.