#to be clear the bit about the power imbalance is a joke. it's always A Thing. someday I'll even address it in writing

[relevant-url-incoming]

because I'm thinking so hard about the damn roleswap au I might as well ramble about it:

Ven still eventually ends up in a relationship with both Jorgan and Elara, though the development of it is much much weirder than in the version of events where she's just their commanding officer (how do you make that power imbalance less of a problem? apparently by contrasting it with a world where you are literally on opposite sides of a war. ???) - Ven meets them on Manaan and starts to pass information to the Republic. This is made more difficult by the fact that their commanding officer, her brother, has no idea it's her (and vice versa) and despises all Sith on principle, even if they're changing sides, but the trio makes it work well enough to have exchanged a brief, fraught "I love you" right before the whole five year time skip thing

When it comes to romances I could actually play in game with her, she's definitely thought about Lana that way, but never trusted her. enough for it. for almost all the time she knows Lana before the Alliance, she's working against Lana and the Empire, making them enemies even if Ven has respect for Lana. By the time the Alliance rolls around, they both privately feel like any possible ship has sailed for them, and Ven is so caught up in her "I hate that I'm Sith" self-loathing that's been exacerbated by finally working openly with Republic people that a relationship with a Sith would not go well anyway. Andronikos was the other most likely candidate for romance when I thought about this initially, but he gets a glimpse of her at her most vulnerable very early on, and that childlike image stays with him - the relationship they build is very much an older brother-younger sister energy, and Ven clings to him in this way especially because she misses her brother so much. Andronikos' prickly exterior and deep well of care for her is a lot like Nalyan, which pisses them both off when they finally meet each other. (Ven just enjoys that she has TWO brothers now!)

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: This was requested by anon, yet i lost the og request. Here you go, darling. On another note, I feel I wrote Trey way too many times here lololol

Warnings: yandere content, power imbalance, threats, broken darling, gn!reader

Affection: Trey’s affection is subtle yet intense. He loves through small acts — cooking your favorite dishes, anticipating your needs before you voice them. His devotion borders on obsession, and he’ll be constantly near, gentle in tone but with a possessive undertone. In private, his affection grows insistent, almost overwhelming, as he ensures you’re constantly reminded of how “perfect” things are when you’re together. All you need is him.

Blood: Trey isn’t one to get messy — at least, not in an obvious way. If anyone becomes an obstacle, he’s skilled at handling things quietly, ensuring that any threats to his happiness with you “disappear” without leaving a trace. But if push comes to shove, he’s not above a more hands-on approach. After all, he’s just protecting what’s his in his perspective.

Cruelty: His cruelty is masked by kindness. While he wouldn’t openly mock you, he might gently tease, subtly reminding you of your “place” if you show defiance. He’d treat you well, showing restraint, but his words would carry subtle, cutting reminders that resistance is futile. And what can you do against him? Trey is well loved by the other students and they are more prone to believe him than they are with you.

Darling: His control is delicate but firm. He wouldn’t need to use overt force, but his expectations are clear. If you’re reluctant about something, he’ll patiently convince you / compromise with you so things can go his way, sweetly and persistently guiding you into compliance without direct coercion. Yet, he is not afraid of punishing you for misbehaving.

Exposed: Trey hides his darker tendencies well, even from you, only hinting at his possessive side when he feels your loyalty waver. He shows his heart in gentle ways — vulnerable moments late at night, sharing memories and telling bad jokes, comforting you, spoon feeding you sweets he just made. But he guards his obsessive side carefully, wanting to keep a polished image.

Fight: If you fight back, he’ll take it in stride, simply smiling and offering calm reminders that he only wants the best for you - he always wants the best for you, you know? Beneath the calm exterior, though, he’ll become a bit more strict, carefully watching for further resistance and ensuring it never becomes an issue. He tries again and again to find common ground with you because he loves you and values your opinions a lot, yet when you are being unreasonable, he can't help but make things his way.

Game: To Trey, this isn’t a game — it’s his life. He wants you fully in it, with no room for escape. Watching you try to leave is heartbreaking to him, though he’ll hide that pain behind a patient, almost disappointed expression, as if waiting for you to realize there’s nowhere else for you but with him.

Hell: The worst experience with Trey would be his quiet, eerie punishments. If you defy him, he’ll start limiting your freedom piece by piece, removing privileges like outside time or contact with others until you feel as trapped as he needs you to be. You want to act like he is just some kidnapper, so he shall treat you like a prisoner - things don't have to be this way, but you love to play the victim.

Ideals: Trey envisions a “perfect” domestic future where you both live happily ever after, maybe even settling down in a small, peaceful place. He wants a life with you where you’ll grow to “appreciate” him, living under his devoted, watchful care, like the cute lover he knows he can shape you to be.

Jealousy: He keeps his jealousy in check, hiding it behind a calm smile. He's not really that jealous, you can have your friends, your interests, but when you start putting this things before him, that's when he gets annoyed and jealous of everything that is stealing you from him. Anyone who gets too close will feel his silent wrath. Though, instead of lashing out publicly on others as Riddle would do, he’ll take more covert actions to make sure no one stands between you and him.

Kisses: Around you, Trey is tender and calm. He likes subtle, lingering touches, a hand on your back, brushing hair from your face, soft kisses on your forehead. There’s warmth in each gesture, but if you look closely, you’ll see the underlying possessiveness in his eyes.

Love letters: Trey’s courting is subtle, coming in the form of thoughtful gestures, acts of service, and quiet, charming words. He’d woo you over time, acting as the ideal friend and confidant, making you feel comfortable enough to trust him before his intentions grow clearer.

Mask: Trey’s friendly, laid-back demeanor hides his possessive nature well. Most people wouldn’t suspect anything; he’s excellent at keeping his darker urges under wraps. However, if you look closely, you might notice glimpses of his true, obsessive self when he thinks no one’s watching.

Naughty: If he needs to punish you, Trey prefers psychological methods. A quiet withdrawal, locking you in a room for a few hours, or restricting privileges—his punishments are subtle but effective, designed to make you feel remorseful and compliant without scaring you too openly.

Oppression: Trey would gradually limit your freedoms, convincing you it’s for your own good. At first, it might just be limiting certain people you interact with; later, it may extend to when and where you’re allowed to go. His rules tighten until there’s hardly any choice left but to depend on him.

Patience: Trey is endlessly patient, willing to wait as long as it takes for you to accept him. He views any resistance as temporary, believing that with enough time and care, he’ll win you over.

Quit: If you escaped, Trey would search tirelessly. You mean too much to him to let go, and he’d follow every lead until he found you, ready to start over as if nothing had happened. If he couldn’t find you, he would never fully move on, haunted by the loss and always watching for any sign of you.

Stigma: I see him having more of a possessive side that stemmed from a need to protect, perhaps from early experiences of people he cared about leaving - his siblings, in extention, Riddle. Now, he craves control over the one person he believes he can’t afford to lose, over his beloved darling.

Regret: He rarely feels regret. In his mind, his actions are justified by his love. If you suffered, it’s only because you didn’t understand that he’s doing this for both of you. Letting you go would feel like a betrayal to his heart.

Tears: Seeing you in distress is painful, but he’d take it as part of the process. He’d comfort you afterward, softening his tone, reminding you that he’s doing everything for your own good and that things will be easier once you accept him.

Unique: His approach is subtle and controlled. Rather than outward aggression, he uses manipulation and charm, making you feel secure while quietly drawing the walls in tighter around you until you have no choice but to rely on him. He is so much like a spider weaving its web.

Vice: His greatest weakness is his need for your acceptance, for your love. If you managed to feign affection, slowly gaining his trust, you might have a chance to manipulate him or even escape under his watchful eye.

Xoanon: Trey places you on a pedestal, thinking of you as his perfect match. His devotion runs deep, but it’s twisted by his possessiveness. He would go to great lengths to win you over, molding himself into whatever role you needed, all to ensure you remain by his side. He can be rough, he can be gentle, he can be anything you need.

Wit’s End: While Trey rarely lashes out, he would become harsher if truly provoked. Physical harm would be a last resort, and only if he felt it necessary to “teach” you a lesson. His punishments would be calm and methodical, just enough to remind you of his control. Yet they give you nightmares for many nights to come.

Yearn: He would watch you from afar, admiring your quirks and mannerisms, feeling everything you made him feel. It’s a slow burn, but once he realizes his feelings won’t fade, he begins crafting his plan, how he can guide you to come to him willingly, how he can make you depend on him.

Zenith: Breaking you isn't on his plans for you; he’d prefer for you to come around to him naturally. But if it took breaking you down to ensure your obedience, he would do it, promising himself that, in time, you’d come to “understand” his love. And if you broke beyond repair, then he can take care of you.

[hrryshoney]

you’re asking me my symptoms, doctor

A/N: hii here’s beloved gyno!au. title is reference to Escapism by Raye lol. i’ll put warnings but def don’t read if this is gonna make u uncomfy. anyways this really came to me in a prophetic vision (slut hour daydreams) so i hope u enjoy and it lives up to expectations? and Shouts to everyone who i bounced ideas w and talked abt this Man w! ty ily mwah mwah

warnings: smut 18+, fingering, inappropriate actions in a doctors office, a bit of corruption maybe hmm idk, degradation, praise, taboo topics/power imbalance (doctor/patient), use of Y/N, dom and sub dynamics, problematic age gap maybe (reader is 22/23, matty is 29/30), dirty talk, etc..

You were sitting nervously on the exam table, leg bouncing up and down. Doctor’s offices always unnerved you, to say the least. The unnatural fluorescent lights with their buzzing, the cold chill, and sterile smell.

Today, though, you had to book your gynecologist appointment. Now, you’ve been to one gyno before, a woman whose practice was nice and small before you moved cities. Going into your third year of University, you wanted a change in scenery. Now, your gyno would be a man.

A kind woman with dark hair had just come into your room after knocking twice, giving you a hospital gown and a warm smile. Telling you to undress to your underwear and bra. That you should, “Sit tight! The doctor will be in soon.”

So, here you were. On the examination bed, awaiting your doctor eagerly. When you heard a similar knock on the door, but an imperceptibly firmer one, your head shot up. “Come in,” you cleared your throat and called out.

When the handle turned and your aforementioned Doctor walked in, you felt deceived. Deceived in the best way, though, because your Doctor was hot.

He was wearing a white coat, one with a silver tag that read MATTY, his medical badges hanging from the plate. With his glasses and the lightest dusting of gray through his black, curly hair. He couldn’t have been younger than his late 20s, if older than his early 30s. And as he reached out to grab the clipboard off the counter, you were able to see the smallest bit of black ink on his wrist.

He looked down at his documents, squinting slightly. He then set it back on the counter, walking about the room and getting some hand sanitizer from the dispenser. Your eyes are drawn to his hands immediately. When he clears his throat, you come to.

“Good afternoon, love. Y/N, correct? I see it says here you’ve only been to the gynecologist once before, and it was a female doctor,” you nod along to his words, watching him take a seat and hold eye contact with you. “Just wanted to let you know, you shouldn’t be worried. Just typical stuff today, alright?” You nod again, feeling smaller now. Even when he’s sat on his stool, he feels bigger than you.

“Gonna need your words, Y/N.” You can’t tell if he’s joking, even if you see the smirk on his face. Shifting in your seat, your gown ruffling below you, you manage a, “Yes, Doctor.” Through your dry mouth.

“Ah, almost forgot to introduce myself properly.” He laughs, but you swore you saw his eyes darken for a swift second. “I’m Doctor Healy, but you can call me Matty if you feel so inclined.” He grinned, and you felt like his words had a double meaning past the surface.

“You’re here for a routine checkup, I take it?” Moving over to the sink, pumping soap on his hands and running the water. “Lay back for me.” He instructed you as he washed, back turned. You listened without second thought, body going stiff.

You heard the tap turn off, Matty was drying his hands with paper towel now. He walked over to the table, standing above you and looking down. “If you don’t mind, can I ask you some questions before we begin?”

You began to nod, but remembered your reaction from earlier. Giving him another “Yes, Doctor.” he smiled easily. “Great… Now, are you sexually active?”

If you thought you were tense before, then you were like a board now. “Um, no.” You let your eyes flutter shut as you felt your skin heating, feeling terribly bare.

“Right, have you been? In the past?” was this a normal question to ask? Of course, they’d want to know of your bodily health. But of your… sexual activity as well? For you, though, there was nothing to report. Seeing as you were a virgin, which meant no sexual experiences other than yourself.

“Um, sorry, what are these questions for?” You couldn’t stop yourself from nervously laughing, your deflection of an answer hanging in the examination room.

Matty’s eyes dragged along your frame, going from your lips and then back to your eyes. You almost missed the beginning of his sentence when he spoke up. “All protocol, of course. It’s slightly awkward, but I’m obligated to ask. So?”

“So, no. I.. have not been in the past, or like, ever.” And you wanted to melt into the floor. Surely you would have to switch doctors after this again. Too embarrassing of a feat to face.

Another look and pause that goes on for much too long. Your stomach was starting to hurt. Well, maybe not hurt, but you needed to fix it and quick. When Matty claps and rubs his hands together, it snaps you out of it. “Interesting. Well, then, let’s begin.”

You noted that his pupils were huge behind the glasses, and his black slacks hugged his crotch very well. Did they look like that when he came in? You shifted again, trying to rub your thighs for some friction.

“Can I touch you?” His accented voice was deep and gravelly now. Leaving not much to the imagination of how this phrase might sound in a different situation coming from his mouth. His mouth, pink lips that he couldn’t stop licking, and slight stubble on his chin.

“Yes, Doctor Healy.” Your voice sounded submissive enough, and you almost yelped when his hand came down to grab your gown covered thigh. Roughly drawing circles with his thumbs into the spot. “Good girl. You’re tense.”

You shivered, eyes closing and opening again. The silence in the room felt so loud, and your doctor’s appointment was feeling a bit too erotic for what it was at this point. “I- I don’t know why I am.” Lie.

“Need you to relax for me, sweetheart.” His cold hands rub up and down your thighs. He’s making eye contact with you, causing you to cast your eyes to the ceiling. “Wanna put your legs in the stirrups?”

“Would that help, Doctor Healy?” You hear the sharp inhale of breath, followed by a cough. Trying not to lift your hips off the examination table from his constant skin to skin contact.

“It would, thank you.” He moves to grab your legs, setting them on the edge of the platform. His grip feels rougher than acceptable, fingertips leaving indents on your thighs. He reaches under your gown, looking at you for your nod and slipping your panties off. “May I start?”

“Yes, Doctor. Thank you.” And when you feel his fingers run down your slit, you don’t think it’s protocol. You were already embarrassingly wet from the interaction. As his hands move and brush your clit, you can’t hold back the moan. When you open your eyes, you’re met with Matty peering at you over his glasses, an amused smirk barely peeking through his expression.

“Oh, that’s no good, sweetheart.” He clicks his tongue, faux disapprovingly. His thumb comes back to press on your clit. “You’re so wet. What’s that from, huh?” He took his middle and ring finger, circling around your hole.

“It’s- You! You’re doing it, it’s your fault.” You cry out in pleasure and frustration. He was so condescending, but it felt so good. You know you needed to be more conscious of your volume, still being in a doctor’s office.

“My fault?” He almost gasped in surprise, “Oh, no. I don’t think so. I’m just trying to do my job, make sure everything’s okay down here.” Maneuvering his hand, he gave you two quick but firm taps on your clit with his middle and index finger. “Can you remove your gown for me?”

“Is this protocol, Doctor Healy?” You asked, half genuinely curious to see his answer. Moving to lift your bum, untying the gown from behind your back. Your legs were slightly shaking, and you saw his hand go to cover the smile that graced his mouth. You moved both your shoulders out of the arm holes, discarding the gown to the side. Leaving you in just your simple black bra, that had simple lace trimming.

“‘Course, making sure you’re in shape, and all.” His eyes dragged down your frame, stopping at your breasts. He was taking in your figure now, so you had the time to do the same. Your eyes immediately pulled to the now prominent bulge in his pants, and his fingers that seemed to twitch in anticipation.

“Do I appear to be in shape, then? Good for you?” Unbeknownst to you, what you had just said lit even more of a flame inside of Matty. You were asking him if you were good for him? He could show you what a good little slut he could make you.

He lets his hands rest between the apex of your thighs again, “Gonna spread you open a bit, okay? Think this’ll loosen you up for me.” Matty’s long fingers make their way to your cunt, running them up and down. He slides them down to your hole, collecting the wetness there and spreading it up to your clit.

His other hand came up to unclip your bra from behind your back. He did this expertly with one hand, leaving it to fall so he could grab at your breast. Palming at it for a while before pinching your nipple. You let out a whimper, and he gave you a soft slap on the side of your chest. He grabbed it roughly again, evening it out and applying more pressure to your clit as he did.

Your hand came to cover your mouth, not wanting to let your moans out. A soft, “Doctor,” fell from your lips, causing him to slip one finger inside of you. You couldn’t hold back, then. “Please, yes!”

Matty is running the tip his finger lightly along the inside of you, and it’s not enough. You begin to whine, but he cuts it off quickly. “Gotta relax or I won’t be able to run my tests. You don’t want that, do you?” His smirk is enough to make you want to slap it off him. Though, your whole body goes slack when he pushes his whole finger inside of you.

You’re moaning freely now, seeming to have forgotten that you’re still in a professional establishment. You were relentless, the pleasure he was giving you was too much in the best way. “Doctor- Matty. Please, need it.”

Matt’s pupils dilated, if it was possible for them to get larger. “Say my name again for me.” He groaned out, rocking his hips into the side of the table to relieve some tension. “Matty. Matty! Need you, please.” You obliged easily, drunken off the feeling. Matty pressed a second finger into your pussy.

“Poor thing. Never had anyone in this little hole before, huh? Perfect little cunt is so tight for me, were you saving yourself?” You think your reactions have gotten to his head, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your head was nodding in response to his words, eyes rolling back to your head.

You could feel pressure building in your stomach, the sound of his voice was getting to you. “Mhm. Doctor, think I’m gonna cum. Please, can I?” His hand sped up after hearing your words, thumb pressing on your clit. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, on to the protective cover of the exam table.

Your hips began to lift off the surface again, before Matty’s unoccupied hand came to press down on your abdomen again. “Feels that good, darling? Can’t even stay still for me.” You opened your eyes to look at him, gaze falling to how his hand lifted off of you and went to palm himself. “Come on, be my good little slut and cum for me.”

Ultimately, that was what did you in. You gasped loud enough for the whole office to hear, eyes clamping shut. You saw white behind your eyelids and your hips lifted freely off the table this time. Matty’s fingers coming out of you, rubbing your clit through your orgasm. You heard Matty moan in the back, making out a “fuck me, that’s good. You’re beautiful,” coming from his mouth.

As you came down from it, you opened your eyes to see him licking both of his fingers. “Taste sweet, gonna have to get my mouth on you next time.” He said nonchalantly, still looking down at your pussy. You tried to take your hands and put them in front of it, feeling shy all the sudden.

“Little late for that after I made you cum.” He giggled, going to get a towel from the cabinet above the sink. “Lemme clean you up.” You flustered but agreed in the end. When he came back with the towel, he leaned down to kiss you. You reciprocated easily, jumping when the towel came in contact with your skin.

“Thank you for.. that. For the appointment, Doctor.” You giggled, his head snapping up and eyes narrowing. You raised your hands in faux defence, the smile staying on your face. He smiled with you.

“Came so nicely for me, think I should be the one saying thanks.” He gave you another smirk, getting your panties from the side when they had been discarded. He tapped your thigh, signaling for you to put your legs through. Doing the same with your bra, he then helped you off the examination table.

“Seriously, you were really good. You know, for my first time.”

“Would barely call that a first time, I’ll give you that another time though.” He winked, turning around to look for your other clothes. Your jaw dropped, but you recollected yourself before he turned back to see.

“Right well. Thank you..” You said awkwardly, looking down at your feet. Where were you supposed to go from here? You just got fingered by your gynecologist in his public doctor’s office. You would have to reflect on this when you got home.

“Not an issue, really.” Matty sidestepped you to get to one of the cabinets behind you, slapping your ass as he did. Tease. He was being much too normal about this.

“I mean, what kind of doctor would I be if I left you unsatisfied with your appointment?”

[syoddeye]

the meeting

ceo!price x reader / ~3k words

Folks seemed to like the first installment of this maybe-series, so I cooked up a second part in between drafts of the next chapter of For the Record (shameless plug). Not sure if this will be a whole thing or a series of vignettes. Enjoy!

CW: red flags everywhere, power imbalance, alcohol (mentioned)

You lay low after the company Christmas party and losing the drama wager to Jordan. Heads down, nose to the grindstone, and so forth. You never found the courage to respond to Mr. Price's direct message over the holidays. The shock from receiving a response at all kept you up at night. The message was supposed to get lost in his notifications, buried beneath the hundreds of messages he supposedly got a day. And he had not only replied, he insinuated he wanted to grab drinks. You checked it a hundred times.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas? > World peace. > I'd settle for a drink, though.

You could be reading into it. Flattering yourself. Profile photos were required on the chat app to help put faces to names, so he could have recognized you as the punch girl from the open bar. Most likely, he was making a joke and humoring an underling.

Whatever the reason, his simple reply plagues you well into the new year.

The first quarter is always hectic for The 141 Group. New regulations go into effect, and projects and initiatives kick off, setting the year's foundation. Since your boss Kyle is VP of Finance, it's even busier for him with budget meeting check-ins, payroll reports, and financial policy updates. And if his life is busy, your life is busy because his success is your success.

"Need you to bump everything I have today after three to tomorrow," He murmurs when you collect a stack of documents to copy.

"This is the second time you'll have pushed the meeting with technology directors," You remind him, but make a note anyway. "They'll complain to Mr. MacTavish."

Kyle glances up. "Let them. He's clearing his schedule this afternoon, too."

"Oh?"

"Big man's bringing the C-Suite and a few of us lucky VPs in for a meeting."

A practiced EA, you keep the instant surge of dread from reaching your face. It isn't strange for Kyle, though technically a subordinate to the CFO, to attend such meetings. Mr. Price frequently pulls him into special projects. You simply hoped to avoid the 'big man' for as long as possible. On the bright side, when Kyle never reprimanded you for flippantly messaging the CEO upon return from holiday, you assumed Mr. Price never said anything. Hopefully, he forgot about your message altogether. 

"Need me for notes?" You ask, hovering in the doorway to his office.

"Please. Something tells me it'll be tense." Interesting.

With a nod, you tuck the folder under an arm and pat the doorframe. "Got it. Lunch'll be here soon. I ordered Indian and Thai. Whatever you don't want, I'll eat."

"You're a lifesaver."

"I know."

~~

Conference Room Bravo isn't the biggest meeting space in the building, but everybody knows it's Mr. Price's preference. With an unobstructed view of the water and natural light, you like it, too. Especially since the small group of assistants who attend the more critical meetings sits on a long bench built into an alcove in the wall with a good view of the windows.

You and five other EAs ensure every seat at the main table is set with the appropriate accoutrements. Tea and coffee are on standby. With a three-hour window allocated, everyone will need a spot of caffeine at some point. Fifteen minutes before the scheduled start, you chat and make personal preparations.

"Did MacTavish seem stressed about this?" You ask Jordan as she takes the seat next to you.

She shakes her head. "No. You know him, though. It takes a bit to work him up."

"What about Laswell?" You lean forward and look down the bench at Oliver, the Chief Information Officer's right hand.

The younger man looks up from his laptop. "Same as Mr. MacTavish, kind of. Hard to tell, but she didn't take a smoke break, so…"

"Right."

The conversation drifts to weekend plans until Lucy, the newest EA to Mr. Shepherd, pipes up.

"Isn't it strange Mr. Price doesn't have a permanent assistant?"

It's a fair question for a new person. Since you started at The 141 Group, the desk outside Mr. Price's office has functioned as a revolving door. Guiltily, you stopped trying to learn their names about ten temps in, and since then, it's a coin flip if anyone's there at all. The general rule is if you have something to deliver to Mr. Price, you leave it on the empty desk. 

"Nah, nobody's good enough," Jordan answers. "MacTavish once told me Price is a workaholic with impossibly high standards. Not a good combination for an assistant."

Oliver agrees. "Laswell said as much, too. Apparently, at his place, he has a whole recreation of his office and gets right back to work when he gets home. And, his only staff are the bodyguards."

You would feel sad about that if Mr. Price wasn't a gazillionaire. An older man, hunching over a computer, completely alone in his home…when he could certainly afford staff and delegate.

Still, if he kept himself so busy, it made the fact he responded to your DM quite interesting.

The conversation dies when the attendees trickle in.

Kyle arrives with Mr. MacTavish, the latter of whom flashes a grin at Jordan and you. Close behind is the hulking mountain of a CSO, Mr. Riley, who, as usual, wears a black surgical mask. (The rumors around that accessory are practically 141 Group lore.) Other members of the C-Suite file in and Mr. Price arrives last, followed by his guards who post up at the door. He shuts the door behind him, the click silencing the room.

Your eyes glue themselves to the computer in your lap. Jordan elbows you a little, obviously enjoying the lingering effects of her wager.

As Mr. Price sits down, you finally steal a glance. He's wearing the hell out of a charcoal suit with a blue tie that makes his eyes pop, even across the room. His expression is stern, borderline grim, and thankfully, like everybody else at the main table, doesn't even glance in your direction. He's straight to the point. "Thank you all for making time in your schedules on short notice. Let's get started, shall we?"

~~

An hour and a half in, Price calls for a break. As the most senior EA on the bench, you lovingly pass on refreshment duty to Lucy and Desmond, the most junior. You follow Kyle to the hall.

"Need anything?" You ask when you're a reasonable distance down from the conference room.

"Do you think you can clean up the notes and send them to me by nine tonight?"

Your brows raise. Rarely does the man ask you to work late. He usually doesn't need to, as you pride yourself on efficiency. "Of course. I'll make a physical copy, too. What's your read on it, by the way?"

Kyle gives a tired smile. "You aren't paying attention, are you."

"I take down everything I hear to ensure you have impeccable notes. Listening gets in the way of that," You offer a grin, then glance down at his tie. Crooked. You fix it without thinking and chat more about his schedule tomorrow. A few people pass by in the hallway to use the restroom or stretch their legs, but you don't pay them mind.

"Mr. Garrick?" You both turn to see Jordan's head sticking out of the door. "They're resuming."

Kyle sighs quietly and starts back toward the conference room. You follow.

Settling back into your seat on the bench, you feel eyes on you, but when you look around, there's nothing. Weird.

~~

The meeting concludes on the dot at six. The attendees leave first, as do the rest of the assistants when you volunteer to clean up. Jordan waves goodbye when Mr. MacTavish departs alongside Mr. Riley. You sigh in relief when Price walks out with Shepherd and Laswell, leaving you and Kyle. Your boss swipes through his phone as you collect the trash and dishes, leaving everything for janitorial.

"Do you need a ride?" Kyle asks when you collect your laptop. "I'm heading your way."

"No, I think I'll finish the notes here, wait for rush hour to die down."

Kyle walks out with you and frowns. "If you stay past eight, please text. I'll have a car come back for you."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Kyle is merely protective. "I'll take the train or call a rideshare myself."

He pushes the matter when you return to your corner of the executive floor, but you don't give in. You plan to stop for food on the way home and aren't keen to make his driver wait. When he finally leaves, you find yourself alone on the floor. Most folks leave at five, so everyone else cleared out when the meeting ended at six.

You clean, format, and summarize the meeting notes in an hour and a half. Due to Kyle's earlier comment, you make an effort to read into business. As far as you can tell, it's another big new project with lots of money on the table. The name of a new contractor company for extra hands mildly raises your interest. The usual choice, Chimera Company, must be busy. Other than that, everything's a slog to read. You trust that if something's important and need-to-know, Kyle will explain.

You email Kyle the notes a few minutes shy of eight and send them to the printer. Languidly stretching as you go, you walk to the copy room. At this hour, most overhead lights are on a timer and won't turn back on until morning to conserve energy. So, it's natural your eyes flick to Mr. Price's office at the end of the long hallway. There's a sliver of light beneath the door, beckoning like a golden gate. Turning into the darkened copy room, picturing Mr. Price at his desk distracts enough you don't realize you're not alone until a low, growling curse cuts through the silence.

Hunching over the copier is none other than Mr. Price himself. The low light glints off a silver watch band, encouraging the eye to a pair of thick forearms exposed by rolled shirt sleeves. You get a whole second of the uninterrupted sight before he notices.

A silent alarm goes off, and you're hopeful the lack of light saves you: Please don't recognize me. Please don't recognize me. Please–

Mr. Price does not move, and his focus returns to the copier. "Didn't realize anyone else worked this late."

You're unsure if you're supposed to respond, but you need those notes. "I usually don't. I was finishing up…Is there–Is there something I can help with?"

He answers when you tiptoe closer. "Everything's coming out with streaks," He grumbles, fiddling with random panel doors that open into the machine's guts.

This is not your first battle with the cursed thing. "I can fix that."

"Can you, now." Price mutters, barely audible.

You swallow. You might be several pay levels lower, but you aren't a pushover. "Mr. Price, please let me try." 

Again, he delays, but after an exasperated sigh, he concedes and slams a panel door shut.

After he steps back, you examine the failed jobs resting on the tray, then address the angry, blinking digital display. A few screens and taps later, you trigger the self-cleaning process and the machine whirs to life.

"All fixed?" Price asks, reminding you he's but a few steps behind you.

"We'll see," You move a short distance away, afraid if you stand any closer, it'll be enough for him to remember who you are and your dumb message. "It's self-cleaning. It will take two, three minutes, then produce a test print."

Price hums in acknowledgment, and then the glow of his phone screen illuminates his profile. You glance out of your periphery, almost relieved to see the steely expression on his face. Seems he really is a workaholic, taking advantage of any spare moment.

You lean against the supply cabinets and cross your feet at the ankles. You left your phone at your desk, so you settle for watching the copier hopefully fix itself.

Then, to your utter horror, Price says your name.

You look up without thinking.

"Thought I recognized you." He holds up his phone, and there you are, your profile picture in the workplace chat app.

You are going to murder Jordan. But first, you need to apologize.

"Mr. Price, I am so–"

Price cuts you off. "You're Kyle Garrick's assistant, yeah?"

Relief washes over you. Your message is forgotten. Definitely. All you are is an assistant. "Yes, sir."

With a hum, he pockets his phone, then steps forward to better see you. A hand plants itself on the counter, mere centimeters away. "You were at the meeting earlier." 

"Yes, sir."

"Would explain the swift fix," He muses, and his gaze drags down you in a more than perfunctory look before meeting yours once more. "Normally, I'd use the copier in my office, but it's due for maintenance. Seems this one is, too." 

He has his own copier? It would explain why I've never seen him in here, making his own copies since he apparently hates help.

"Guess so," You lick your lower lip, stomach flipping with nerves with how close Price stands. Between the proximity and the near darkness, it's all you can do to keep your imagination in check.

A cheerful beeping from the copier saves you. Price lingers a moment more, then returns to the printing tray as the machine spits out a test page. 

Price chuckles, which you take to mean the issue is fixed. He restarts the delayed jobs. "Well done, love."

"It's nothing," You say quietly, rooted to where you lean. 

A minute passes, and Price collects the first completed stack of papers. His brow furrows. "Think these are yours."

You finally push off the cabinets and venture closer, reaching for the notes. Only, he does not hand them over.

"Forgot Gaz prefers hard copies," Price murmurs. 

Gaz? 

"This is the kind of work I wish I had received from my past assistants."

If it was not the CEO speaking, you would be the defender of the voiceless, the fired employees of 141 past. If the man's gone through as many assistants as you think he has, he's the problem.

"You like working for Garrick?"

It feels like a trick question. From the outside, it appears he and Kyle like each other. For all of Price's talks on 'openness' and 'camaraderie,' he has his favorites, and your boss is one of them. Though that could be an act, and Price is actually looking for some kind of blemish on Kyle's record. Either way, you can be honest because you genuinely like Kyle.

"Mr. Garrick is a joy to work with." Anxiety flushes half of the English language and all creativity out of your brain.

Price huffs in amusement. "A joy to work with," He repeats. "That's all? You appeared quite friendly during the break."

The comment gives you pause, and you shove back through the day's events. The meeting, the break – was it because you simply straightened Kyle's tie? It's a harmless gesture, you think. No one's ever batted an eye before. You can't help but feel a little affronted. "That's because we are friends, sir. Kind of happens when you work for someone for nearly five years."

Price lifts the notes in a placating manner, then out to you. "No harm meant. It's nice to see, is all. I understand we struggle with retention."

An understatement for him. Your imaginary hackles lower. "We work well together."

Price smiles. "Clearly. And five years, eh? Should get something for that, I think."

Inwardly, you cringe. The last thing you need is another branded mug, t-shirt, or keychain. "That isn't necessary, sir."

"Nonsense. We've got to reward loyalty."

You stiffly nod, figuring it's worthless to protest. It makes sense why he's in charge. He's a steamroller when it comes to what he wants.

"Do you have somewhere to be? Someone waiting for you?"

In this context, a darkened office, alone with a man with the power to make or break your career, it's a borderline sinister question. At least, it should be, yet instead, all you feel is a brief thrill.

"No, sir."

"Then, how about that drink?"

Oh, god. "'That drink'?" You ask dumbly. You know exactly what he means.

He chuckles and sets his gaze on you again. It's heavy, somehow both a blanket around the shoulders and a cinder block to the chest.

"While you are a capable woman, I doubt achievin' world peace is within your power. But a drink? Think you can fit me into your schedule this evening?"

You will kill Jordan for the bet. Then Kyle will kill you for losing it. But do you really have a choice?

"Yes, sir."

"Please, after hours, call me John."

~~

Mr. Price's–John's bodyguards do not seem fazed when you meet them at the elevators. You watch John whisper something into the taller one's ear on the ride down, and the man hails a cab. Meanwhile, John ushers you out to a waiting town car, and the shorter guard takes the passenger seat. 

When he takes the seat beside you, shuts the door, and drapes a big arm over the back of the seats, you think to fake an illness. A forgotten appointment. Something. Then he gives you another grin, a note of triumph in it, and the thoughts of escape vanish.

~~

Your salary affords you nice things like hardcover books, daily coffees, and frequent takeaway. And until ten seconds ago, you could count stylish yet comfortable office attire among said things. Yet, walking through the awning-covered entrance to an unmarked bar, you lose that delusion quickly. The bar's host lights up at the sight of Mr. Price, then openly examines you and the pencil skirt you thought was expensive.

"Welcome back, Mr. Price. Your usual table, I presume? Is this lovely creature your date?" 

"Yes, and yes."

A firm, warm hand at the small of your back flexes. It's a silent suggestion: do not correct him. You don't.

A cocktail later, that same hand lands on your knee beneath the table. 

[blortch]

Not trying to start any drama or anything, but I sent that ask letting off some steam about Mike being a petulant little man, and a lot of tags in the reblogs were calling me out that I don’t know mikes humor, he’s always been like that etc etc etc. but I just want to make my point clear, that I like you all have watched all the videos too. There is a marked change in his insolence. Whereas in the past mikes jabs at rich and Jay were mean yes, they felt like a part of the bit. Written jokes, even if there was no script. Like it was an understanding that Mike was gonna use insult humor to make jokes and build the channel. And I think it probably worked. Whereas now it’s not as directly mean, like direct fat jokes or gay jokes or whatever, now it’s just more dismissive of rich and jay’s opinion just to make room for mikes. (I don’t think you watched the acolyte video but Mike in editing, cut off rich in such a disrespectful and shitty way that it really irked me) also the “shut ups” in particular from Mike seem to me to be the most disrespectful, not only because it’s boorish or inelegant in its delivery, but because he is their “boss” it’s even more particularly distasteful, because they usually do just shut up when he tells them to. It just highlights a power imbalance that MAY have been there all along, I’m not sure, but that rift feels even more wide, and makes Mike feel even more like a tyrannical boss to them, which makes him seem more like a petulant little shit.

Anyway as always thank you for listening. You are always one of the most clear eyed in the fandom, and I always respect your opinion. Thanks!

Anon to be honest with you I've been where you've been a couple times myself where I was shy or hesitant to post my opinion so I send an anon ask, and then people write in the notes horrid shit that should happen to me cuz it's "just some anon" which is why I can sympathize with you. I understand what feelings led you to send this ask after the last one yet I can tell you from experience that you honestly shouldn't have sent it, it unfortunately won't help your case if you overexplain yourself to people that evidently have made up their minds and have come to different conclusions from watching about as many videos as you have. Usually it won't help you come to terms with the feelings you might've gone through while looking at like 7 people bash your theory with you being unable to argue back with this format. I'll publish this ask mostly for this piece of advice but if you get more of the same notes on this ask I can't help you. And I know u said u didn't want to start any drama but unforch by sending this ask alone you kind of are 😭

But let's assume you wanted to just send this to me specifically as a DM you couldn't send for X or Y reason just to chat and for the rest of this response I'll answer accordingly.

I still haven't watched the Acolyte video and you can't make me !!! Despite what my blog looks like I value my time dearly.

Your accusations are kinda heavy. I can already tell you that there's one point that isn't quite correct which is that "when Mike tells them shut up they do" because in one of the latest "shut up" instances Jay continued exactly where he left off.

Seen objectively, one thinks "boss" and thinks some degree of power is at play, but in execution, the hint that we've been given is that supposedly Jay has just as much power to not upload edits he doesn't give the ok to post (with some exceptions as seen in the Space Cop commentary where Jay personally didn't want the joke in there where it was implied his character shoved something 10 inches long up his ass, or where Rich and Jack said in PreRec they protested vehemently against the "whazaaaa" joke at the beginning and they couldn't change Mike's mind).... From this All we can infer is that movies are a different ballpark to Mike or at least Space Cop was. I KNOW I've mentioned Jay complaining about the Wedding arc in the Projection Booth Podcast too before but him saying that he found it "horrible" doesn't equal that he didn't want it to be in the show unlike the two Space Cop instances. TLDR we can't say with certainty if they mightn't have taken FURTHER countermeasures that we don't see that might counteract this POSSIBILITY of a owner vs. employee power imbalance.

A more cynical side of me has seen this company-of-friends model go very nightmarishly horribly many times in the past and I think some people feel threatened by the idea that their dream might be impossible or have a low chance of succeeding.

I think I can vaguely see what you're seeing in terms of what Mike insult-jokes have looked like through the years but there's a fair amount from back then I didn't like either, like this horrible old Plinkett commentary that sounds like an audiobook version of his video descriptions where not a single joke-insult towards Rich and Jay hits so they just land on the floor with a thud and feel weirdly bitter. (btw they are all before the 4:03 mark so please don't torture yourself listening to the rest of the commentary)

Ultimately as I've been saying your views are your own and I would personally value them as questionable and I don't exactly have the authority to prove you wrong. I have absolutely 0 at stake so I don't feel like defending their reputation much either lol all I'll do is add an ALLEGEDLY banner. You're welcome.

[yvtro]

Very much feels like a lot of people are ignoring Jason’s foundation. Like I think it’s important to pay attention to the later Robin runs for him. Felipe is actually I think an interesting place to start w Jason because it shows a wealthy, connected, powerful man assaulting multiple women, getting away with it, mocking those victims, causing one to kill herself, and there’s nothing Batman or the police or Bruce himself can do about it. That’s what Jason sees and I don’t think the comics touched on it as much as they should but I think it’s pretty clear that a lot of Jason’s motivation comes from seeing that. How do you say “don’t kill, they’ll get there justice from the criminal justice system” when the powerful won’t. And I really don’t see how “don’t deal to children” and controlling the supply is like. Anti-poor people? He has a different stance on crime, esp things like drug crimes, than bruce, who isn’t even from Gotham and is a billionaire CEO who had one shitty day in crime alley that apparently defined his entire existence. If you wanna talk abt shitty characterizations given the background of the characters, it seems crazy to start w Jason and not Bruce, who thinks he knows best and doesn’t do what he can with his resources to fix Gotham.

okay, first of all: i talk about jason and not about bruce because jason is my favourite character. i have plenty of thoughts about bruce re: classism that i could talk about, if asked – but i don't spend much time writing about it, simply because it's not something that gives me a dopamine hit. but if you're curious about my thoughts on bruce – ask me, and i will talk. but since here you're focusing mostly on jason, i will explain my thought process a bit further.

i do think that felipe's storyline is extremely important when it comes to jason's development of his own moral code. but i also think that people forget that what jay focused in this situation was 1. the victim 2.as you said, the fact that the wealthy and connected can get away with their crimes. thus, i think the most reasonable course for jason would to become extremely wary of that power imbalance and the way it corrupts people. but what happens with jason in utrh is not that: jason might say that he is after people who will find their way out of prison easily, but in reality his killing seems completely indiscriminate. his moral code is made into a joke. post utrh there are issues where he kills random goons (the anarky/batcat wedding storyline, for example), blames lower class people for engaging with crime (batman urban legends, if i'm not wrong; "a thief will always be a thief" or something along these lines, said by a man who stole to survive as a kid no less).

i'm not against jason killing per se; if he was a robin hood kind of figure, traveling around and dealing with those in power, if he even became a sort of revolutionary, i would be delighted. but he doesn't become any of these things in his comics. what he does is assuming the power himself and becoming an authoritarian figure. and i think, re: drugs, for example: someone whose mother died of OD should be socially aware enough to know that policing drugs doesn't really help the communities any, right? what helps with drug abuse is healthcare and prevention work, not creating arbitrary laws and targeting dealers at the lowest level of a drug business ladder. "how is controlling the drug supply anti-poor people" well, do you think, realistically, people in the community would have any trust in the person who controls the drug supply?

so, tldr, i think it's specifically the positon of power that i have an issue with. it isolates him from the people, it makes their issues into an abstract that he no longer has ways of relating to. it alienates the victims further. and it strips jason off his sensitivity.

since you mentioned bruce, i will say it creates an ironic situation where there's a 1% character who has more compassion towards petty criminals than a person who comes from that background. jason's answer to bruce's attempt at fixing the system is strikingly similar in some ways because they both conform to regular, uncritical perception of crime, retribution and rehabilitation. they both still work within that system, it's just that jason is more unhinged about it. and i don't know, i think jay should be more aware of the ways society pressures people to commit crimes, but also about how acts that are labeled criminal often aren't even inherently immoral but rather target marginalised groups. but no, the way he's written is just: head empty. crime bad.

i will finish this answer here before i get deep into strain theory, but i hope it makes my stance on it more clear.

[wornoutmouse]

Fun fact: demon slayer starts in 1912 and ends in 1927(or at least that's when the Tashio era ends). Using that math Tanjiro (as long as he kept his health good) would very well be alive today at the ripe age of like 78 if my math is correct since he started as 13 in the series. (My math probably wrong asf)

Power imbalance, power bottom reader, knife play,  blood but not blood play...

He hated you.

Your very being irked him more than anything he'd ever experienced in all his centuries of living. You were clumsy, boisterous, and played that arrogant music all throughout your home while walking around half naked. Well in Muzan's opinion you were half naked, he couldn't even begin to describe his disbelief at the trend of exposing skin. 

It didn't help that you had that insignificant filth running through your veins. At first he was unsure, after all this was a completely different country than Japan, not to mention your darker skin and coiled hair. But no, he could smell and recognise the Kamado blood running through your veins just as strongly as it had run through all your ancestors. 

Completely undiluted. 

At the very beginning when you first moved in, you  came to his home. Knocking aggressively on his front door already getting off to the wrong start. When he opened it, you slipped past him and walked into his living room barely even saying hello as you put poorly decorated sugar cookies on his obsidian coffee table. "This is a nice place you got here Mj." 

Muzan's eyes twitched, that joke had long since gotten old since he moved to America. 

Now that you were closer he could definitely smell, the century old stench of rivaling bloodlust simmered just below your onyx skin. At any moment he expected you to attack him in some way or form. "Anyways I'm here to say hello neighbor, my name is Y/n and I'm your new best friend!"

Your happy attitude also agitated him to no end. Even though the knowledge of demons had dwindled down to only a few select families, even basic humans were wary of him as their baser instincts made them aware of his dangerous origins. This fact had long since forced Muzan to only prey on the elderly to survive. You had stayed a bit longer babbling about some nonsense that Muzan never acknowledged as he watched you from a good distance.

"You know you really got to add more to your wardrobe than 1963 suits." You walked from the back of his home, an area that he didn't even notice you wandered to. Finally getting bored, you open his door bidding your farewells. 

Just before leaving you stop and with a cheeky grin say, "If you ever need anything just come on over. We Kamado's are known for our kindness." 

Since then he'd been on edge around you. The point of relocating was for him to keep a low profile but now it seems he'd have to come face to face with an old nemesis reborn. 

Muzan snapped out of his thoughts with a flinch as he pierced his hand with his nail. He watches the dark blood well up from the wound and drip down his wrist. In the end this world had long since lost its hostility dwindling the average human incapable of basic combat. Giving you were no doubt a great descendant, Muzan failed to see you as a true threat.  

But one can never be too sure

🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢

You heard a knock on your door, soft and hesitant. "I don't think I'm expecting company." You checked your watch and peered out of a nearby window. It was at least 8 at night, you were braless wearing sweats with a red T-Shirt and on your way to bed.  In the back of your mind you visualize your two grand-uncles Inosuke and Zenitsu coming over to make you spectate their fights. For two old dudes they still had enough strength in them to do hip breaking nonsense.

You open the door shocked to see your next door neighbor standing before you. For once he wasn't wearing a suit that cost more than your house. His attire was still expensively dressed but in a more casual sense, that being a black dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up displaying his pale skin. "Can I come in?" A dazzling smile you had never seen before practically blinds you as he walks past you into your home.

When Muzan walks in his eyes immediately dart to the clear as day Nichirin Blade sword displayed recklessly on your living room wall above your couch. "You like it?" A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, "Got it from my grandpa, he says it's really special but I feel like he's exaggerating. You know how old people are." Muzan shakes out of his stupor. "I don't quite understand what you mean by that, however I do know that it's much more wise to listen to your elders than ignoring…..It could save your life."

Muzan replicates you and puts a hand on your shoulder gently squeezing. This was it, he'd go in for the kill and it would be over, the amount of blood he'd pump into you would be enough to watch you meet a satisfying end of combustion completely untraceable if the police were to get involved. How he wishes he'd be there when your poor grandfather walks along your remains splattered on every surface in your living room. Unable to do a thing as he's finally in his last stretch of life. 

The beauty.

Muzan's finger only twitches in the slightest before pain sparks from his own neck. "The thought of you coming into my own home unprovoked and at night no less, was the most obvious sign one could ask more." You had his hand gripped so tight your veins popped while your other hand held a small pocket knife that burned  brighter than any Nichirin sword he'd ever encountered. He didn't understand, he was quick enough to kill even the best of the ancient Hiroshima. So how did a little foreign girl like you get the upper hand?

It was embarrassing and almost laughable if any of his pillars were alive to tell the tale.

You press the blade harder before bringing your other hand to caress Muzan's cheek,  "Did you think I'd be just an ignorant descendant of an infamous hero?" You clicked your teeth disappointingly. "How naive, you've really become lazy after all these millennia huh?" You walk forward, pushing Muzan back with seductive strength. He allows you to push him into your couch,  I say allow because at any time he could have stopped you.  

Muzan is most definitely not holding me at gunpoint right now. 

The knife never wavers even as you climb into Muzan's lap, pressing it even closer against his jugular. "You do know getting beheaded will not kill me, and I doubt this petty little kitchen knife will get the job done in the first place." Your lips draw into a smirk and you press the knife closer as you trail it down his chest, "That may be true but it's gonna take one hell of a time for you to grow back." Your hand jerks down, popping his shirt buttons open.

Muzan watches with interest, your eyes light up as more skin becomes exposed. The tones of your dark skin contrast strikingly as you caress his pectoral with the tips of your fingers. "For a 1,000 year old grandpa you look decent." Still threatening his life with your blade, you kiss him. It's deep and carnal. Your lustful desires being made known as you grind in his lap. The flesh of your ass snuggly hotdogs the forming outline of his cock. "I've always wanted to be with a demon. You've had to of become a real freak after living this long!"

When you pull away Muzan's thin lips are pink and a bit swollen. He is out of breath despite needing none, "You have a lot of nerve for a mere human." With your free hand you loosen the belt of his slacks, only standing to pull them off, pleased when Muzan voluntarily raises his hips to aid you. 

Don't get him wrong, he was still planning on killing you and ending your wretched bloodline once and for all, he just needed his mind to clear itself. Your scent, your confidence, strung him along like a puppet. His hands grip onto your ass cheeks like a lifeline. Molding them between his fingers, even giving them a shake through your sweats. His nails elongate and puncture the thick fabric as if it was nothing more than a spider web. 

Your sweats are tugged off completely leaving your lower half nude. Muzan moves his hands to hold your ass again but your blade politely makes itself known. You are out of breath and clearly flustered. "Watch yourself, demon, I'm the one calling the shots, don't forget that." Muzan bites his tongue with sharp glare. He raises his hands in surrender, "Of course." 

Muzan can feel your wetness against his leg and it's driving him insane. "Hey…" red eyes refocus on yours, "You ain't got any diseases do you? And you can't get me pregnant right?" Muzan smirks hands enclosing around your ass despite your protest. "I can, however it will cost a lot more than doing it once." The odds didn't seem in your favor but you were in no position to stand down and grab a condom and Muzan knew it.

You curve the blade towards his chin, "If you are lying and give me some ancient unknown disease or I find out you have superman sperm, I will kill you." Muzan links his lips, "Wasn't that the plan from the beginning or have you had a moment of level headedness?" Your wrist is quick and precise, cutting a thin slash along his jawline., not enough to scar and it barely even bled, but the threat was clear.

You grab Muzan's dick and use your thumb to attack the underside with fast strokes. Said man doesn't react outwardly, the only sign being his eyelids lowering by a fraction. "Were you always this well endowed or did you adjust this part too?" Muzan was not amused by your insinuation. Deciding to once again display the true power imbalance this situation had, he loops his arms underneath your large thighs and lifts you just enough to thrust his cock against your hole. 

From there he let's go, making you plop down on his length, making you yelp and allowing him to lean back with a relaxed sigh. You were so warm and tight. Now even though I explained what had happened with great detail,  keep in mind that in reality it all happened within a fraction of a second. 

Your large and in charge persona was cracking.  You gripped Muzan's sides tightly as your pussy spasmed around his girth. "F-Fuck it's too….." you trail off not wanting to give Muzan the credit he was truly due. 

It takes a few moments for you to get your bearings all the while Muzan and his dangerous jaw swayed in the crevice of your neck. A viper playing with its prey. The blade is back against his neck once again making his cock twitch. If he were human this would be a dangerous feat.  Your grip never slacked nor lessened against his neck, slicing into a growing wound that dropped dark blood down his chest and to his abdomen. 

His dick stretched your pussy and made it weap on each downstroke. Muzan's hands grip onto the cheeks of your ass with gritted teeth.  Your insides gripped him ever so slightly.  Sucking him back in as if he belonged there.  He felt used and it felt good.  His black ringlets stuck to his face from sweat and his red eyes grew in intensity. 

He couldn't see much of your body, hell he could barely even touch. In the back of his mind humorous thoughts such as how he knew Tanjiro would lose his sanity if he knew his granddaughter was being bedded by the man he despised. But the more you bounced, the more you squeezed, the deeper you cut into his neck proved that you were truly the one in charge. 

"Oh God you're so deep!" Your deep almond eyes shut themselves with pleasure. Muzan could feel your legs shaking with exertion at the same rhythm your pussy twitched. His balls felt tight after having no action in over a dozen years. "F-Faster." He has no care for your blade, only wanting to cum and feel the sweet ecstasy he knew your creamed pussy would provide. "Come on human, go faster." Muzan locks lips with you, gaze hardened and intent on proving some sort of point.

Tossing the knife you wrap your arms around his neck pulling his head closer. Red eyes target brown ones as his hands take a stronger grip on your ass. He uses his strength to bounce you. The sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass is just as disgusting as it is sexy. Your nipples rub against his through your tank-top making you both moan. The feeling blood stains your shirt making you shiver from the cool wetness

The couch you rest on bangs against the wall behind you the faster you both go. Muzan's feet are planted firmly in the ground, his fangs further elongated. He looks feral and it is in this moment where you get a glimpse of the horror many people felt when he took their lives. "Focus little Kamado, you wouldn't want to disappoint me now would you?" 

Muzan's hips meet yours, spreading the tempo. Your juices coat his lap before finally you tense up completely into a cramp inducing stance as Muzan impaled you on his cock one last time. "Ahh.." Muzan empties himself within you with a relieved sigh. 

Maybe the Kamado bloodline could go on.

[zarnzarn]

Yall the merch pieces got me emotional about stolitz again yall. How many other media pieces out there have this?? How many other shows out there have mlm relationships that never go commented on for being gay, as the main casting?? These two are literally no one's idea of good people and THAT'S so fucking great too because that what the world is sometimes!!! That's what people are like!!!! Rude and obnoxious and oblivious and still falling in love!!! And they ARE- you don't have to spend your time worrying that it's gonna get swept under the rug or not treated well because the writers are QUEER TOO, Brandon and Vivzie are QUEER TOO and so unapologetic and loud about it and you KNOW they're both incredible writers who'll treat the characters with respect no matter where they take em!!!

(Looking at u killing eve writers)

And it's so hard to find shows nowadays that have actual realistic dialogue as well- the MCU and Netflix seem to have convinced people that some random dramatic dialogues that can be giffed thrown together until it doesn't even feel like the characters aren't even talking to each other is what media should sound like. But it doesn't have that!!! Even with the exaggeration and creative swearing each and every character has emotional depth and uncomfortable conversations and they sound real!!! They sound like actual people in actual terrible situations!!! They act exactly a character that went through what they have would act!!Digressing a bit there tho.

Blitz is such an incredibly developed character with all his flaws and all of the consequences of his actions constantly coming back to bite him and the balance of being oblivious to things and then suddenly showing that behind it he has a clear awareness and perception of the situation at hand and all his loneliness, he's just ignoring it. And Stolas is??? A 200 year old realising his sexuality for the first time and pursuing it with both hands because he got a taste of what it was like to accept ur queerness for the first time. What it's like to be happy after trying desperately to fit in after years of marriage and loneliness.

And obviously yeah recipe for disaster, power imbalance, blah blah blah. THATS GOOD TOO!!! Seeing queer people as incredibly flawed characters is amazing!!!!! And you can see the reasons why they act like they do, you can see where the problems are happening and you can SEE that they can care about people and be good to those they love!! They clearly do want to try things out but it's their OWN FEAR holding them back!! This is how people ARE!!! MESSY!!

And holy fuck they actually care for each other?? The way Stolas is always so excited to see him and cares for Blitz's opinion and the way that Blitz is clearly trying to make himself not care about Stolas but getting dragged into emotions regardless ep 5 onwards until he's in tears after their date gets fucked up and he tells Stolas it isn't gonna work like all of that?? So complex and convoluted and real???

Even the class differences!! It's not swept under the rug as a sugar daddy side joke like the pilot set us up for, they ACTUALLY put so much into the friction and problems and prejudice and people laughing at em until it reached its breaking point and drove a wedge between them!!! In SEVEN episodes of half hour each, with maybe twenty minutes of them talking to each other???? Insane.

And the best part is- it's not malicious. They're not hurting each other on purpose but they're still hurting each other cause they come from such different places and have such loud personalities. You can go on pointing fingers about their morals (they r in hell some of u really gotta remember this lmfao) and what they're doing wrong but u cannot tell me they're doing it on purpose.

And the merch where they're smiling and laughing and cuddled up?? Sure the hb team might call another twist cause they're not known for pulling their punches lmao but seeing that is so fucking great. It's so emotionally fulfilling. THIS is what representation is.

[kinatalks]

Let’s talk about DiaLuci.

Look, this isn’t a judgement call. This is merely a flat out explanation and something that should be recognized. There will be a few S2-3 spoilers, but it’s mainly vague, not going into details.

Be aware: This covers sensitive topics regarding the ship, toxic behaviors, abusive relationships, and the angel event.

Firstly, if you support DiaLuci, good for you! I’m not here to shame someone for their ships. But this fandom has a habit of attacking others who aren’t so fond of this ship. Someone can like Diavolo, and not support Dialuci. You can support Lucifer, and not like Dialuci. Or hell, you could dislike either/or both characters and fucking love the ship! No matter which character or ship you like or dislike, you are completely valid.

But this is a post, about the issues with the ship that I personally see, and why it should be more outspoken.

Now lets get to the point of the subject, shall we?

I fairly like Diavolo. He’s charming, joyous, and someone who would be the star of a party. Someone cheerful and bright. However, the way that this fandom persecutes anyone who doesn’t like Diavolo or feels uncomfortable around him is not ok.

In my opinion, Diavolo has shown signs of immature and insensitive behavior. I.e. the way he treats others like toys. Yes, he cares about them, but often doesn’t consider their feelings in things he considers ‘mere pranks.’ This may be because Barbatos constantly assures him that the future will be fine, since Barbatos can manipulate and choose timelines.

He wants the best for the people around him, but doesn’t exactly take criticism or resistance to his advances kindly. “Well duh, he’s a ruler!” So? Yes, he’s a ruler, but that doesn’t mean he should be inconsiderate about others around him. The fact that he disregards others opinions unless it fits his agenda, is a sign of his childishness.

Which means, that over time, Diavolo doesn’t hold much regard to his actions, as Barbatos is always there to catch him. Now that doesn’t mean he constantly is reckless. When it comes to official Devildom matters, Diavolo is an apt ruler, who makes decisions for the Devildom’s best interests.

The problem is, no one has told Diavolo about his less than savory behavior. Because they fear him, and fear the punishments he could inflict upon them. So I can’t really say that he’s a completely bad character.

He wants Lucifer to be his equal, and acknowledge the fact that Diavolo sees him as an equal. Diavolo’s lonely, and it’s explicitly stated as so. He envies the closeness the brothers have. So, he goes about it in the only way he knows how. Which we’ll get to a bit later.

As for Lucifer, I can’t deny I’m quite fond of him. He does his best to overcome his pride for MC, and gradually (in S2-3), he becomes more open with his feelings. Yes, he’s a deeply flawed character, but he’s not a complete villain. The world simply isn’t as black and white as some would like it to be.

Yes, his relationship with some of his brothers is toxic. The way he treats Mammon at times is unacceptable, and possibly abusive in my opinion. The fact that he acts cold and distant to his brothers at times isn’t ok. But one thing I’ve seen others overlook, is that Lucifer is the Avatar of Pride. Does this excuse his actions? No. Does it explain some of his habits? Yes.

Don’t get me wrong, he still has a lot to work on. But he’s getting there, and actively trying to get better.

Now for the ship.

You do not need to like a ship, just because a character from that ship is constantly seen with the partner. Like I’ve said above, you can hate or love Diavolo or Lucifer, and dislike/like the ship.

As for the oath, I won’t delve too deep into this, as it would take essays upon essays worth of information. But we all know that, Diavolo had given Lucifer an ultimatum. Save Lilith, at the cost of Lucifer’s unquestionable loyalty.

Which as we’ve seen, Lucifer had agreed to the terms. And so, he is now Diavolo’s most trusted advisor, his right hand man.

Even though Diavolo says or implies that he sees Lucifer as an equal. He doesn’t always seem to show it. The power imbalance in between both characters is evident, throughout the plot of the story. If Lucifer denies Diavolo’s advances, Diavolo will continue. Why?

Well, you could argue that his behavior is due to him being royalty. Which is true, he’s royalty, and has never been told no. Barbatos has always been there, fixing his mess, so why would he need to worry?

Diavolo praises Lucifer, in a manner that is clearly uncomfortable to the latter. It’s evident that Lucifer despises being praised for his beauty, and just his looks. I’ve seen blogs see it as ‘just a joke’ or ‘being playful’. But time and time again, Lucifer has denied these advances, very obviously disliking the attention and focus on his looks.

But Diavolo continues, and in his defense, you could say, ‘because Lucifer doesn’t say that he’s uncomfortable!’. It’s very obvious that Lucifer isn’t an equal to Diavolo, no matter how much the latter insists he is. We’ve seen Diavolo brush off other’s discomfort at his actions, and we’ve seen him continue.

Diavolo is not evil. This is quite clear, even though he may be suspicious to some. However, his relationship tactics and methods of relationships have toxic, and quite possibly abusive effects.

For example. The angel event.

We all know, that the bangles controlled the 7 avatars, turning them all into angels. Their outfits, and minds, were taken over. The brothers, (excluding Satan.) had gone through traumatic events in these outfits, that’s for sure.

The celestial war, and losing Lilith, all were incredibly traumatizing events forever affecting their mindsets from that day forward. The bangles attempted to brain wash them, and we can see it when Satan states that he doesn’t feel like himself, that he felt calm.

But you might think, “But being calm is great! Isn’t that what he always wantd?’. Not quite.. All Satan had known before was wrath, and being calm completely took away an important part of him. Even though Satan had always resented his wrath, his sin, he had felt like a part of himself was miserable without it. He wasn’t himself, and felt as if he were being forced to be calm, something he loathes.

In all of the brothers, we can see that they are clearly distressed, and may come out of this situation traumatized. 

Lucifer is no exception. We saw how visibly upset he was, the fact that the snow-white wings on his back gave him a constant reminder of the war and Lilith, throughout the entire ordeal.

What was Diavolo doing this entire time? He was being provided entertainment, and reveled the sight before him. He enjoyed seeing the brothers in their angelic uniforms, where they had fought with tooth and nail for their sister, and who knows what else. He enjoyed the fact that the brothers were having angelic ideals forced inside their heads.

And when someone speaks up against him? He’s passive aggressive about it, until the person opposing him gives up, begs for forgiveness, or embarrasses themselves.

While criticism of any of the characters is deemed valid and peachy in this fandom. I haven’t seen any criticism of Diavolo that wasn’t met with backlash and intense hounding. Lucifer, Satan, Belphegor, have all been criticized, but has the majority really deemed those opinions as invalid? No. We can all see why those arguments are valid, and people have their own reasons.

Hell, we’ve all seen people Lucifer left and right. And you know what? They’re completely valid! Some people may have triggers/squicks in regards to his behavior, and it’s completely understandable.

But the moment someone criticized Diavolo, we see fighting and targeting. The person who speaks up gets pushed down and insulted, until they either give up, or agree. If you like Diavolo, good for you, you’re valid! If you don’t, you’re completely valid!

Now back to the ship. Apologies for getting off topic, but oftentimes, when Diavolo and Lucifer are mentioned separately, they’re roped together.

Abusive/toxic relationships aren’t always one where the abusive/toxic partner is an outright terrible person. Oftentimes, they come with charm, a dazzling smile, and friends that would fight tooth and nail for them.

Diavolo has Lucifer in an....uncomfortable position to say the least. In power dynamics, that is. Lucifer is constantly embarrassed publicly and privately by compliments, and Diavolo knows this. He’s demeaned by the oath, and as for work, Diavolo often adds to it, just for fun. I.e, leaving the Devildom to come to the human world, leaving his responsibilities behind.

“But he’s lonely!” Yes, and? He is lonely, yes, but there is a time and place for fun, and time and place for work. He is going to become a King, and if he puts all this responsibility and stress on Lucifer, it simply isn’t right.

They have their good moments, but that absolutely does not make up for the state of the relationship as a whole. Just because someone has their good moments, doesn’t mean you accept and forgive them. That’s like saying that someone who physically abuses their S/O, is a good partner because they occasionally make them dinner. It simply isn’t correct.

Majority of the time, Diavolo is fine with Lucifer being reduced to a pretty face and belittled. In public, which very clearly hurts Lucifer’s pride and reputation.

Many people can resonate with some of these behaviors, having seen them in their past.

So please. Tag your works as DiaLuci for others uncomfortable with it, stop attacking others who dislike the ship, and for fucks sake, enough with hating people who dislike a character and/or ship.

[kamil-a]

i have talked abt this already but nightmare is a fascinating character to me. Like hes simultaneously is trying to give support with resources he doesnt have (because he is EXTREMELY in need of care!! physically and emotionally!!) , and overreaching and giving care that smothers or overtakes others will....

Ive talked a bit abt how - and this is NOT a finalized opinion till i play clover - but i get really weird uneasy patronizing healthcare worker vibes from grey. like the kind of doctor thatll call ur grandparent cute n youll be kinda grimacing like mmm she is a person lmao. and it just clicked to me the other night that mb nightmare is that but for therapy?

he cares very deeply but he also cares because he wants *to be a caretaker* and because of this he thinks he knows better than other people. And occasionally he does have the power to enact that will. and that's almost always a .... well not "bad" because sometimes it does work out (though sometimes it doesnt), but an unethical choice.

i joke a lot about nightmare trying to invent therapy all by himself but not yet inventing ethics, but i think it also has to do with pride seeping in. if you want to feel better about yourself by fixing others, your needs are actually coming first, and..... post over. ive reinvented utena.

i also wonder what a nightmare/alice romantic relationship looks like, especially in heart, because like. i DONT mean this in an accusatory righteous anger online way , i mean it in a descriptive way, but theres a really really really big power imbalance in him being The Guy Who Messed Around In Her Brain To Soothe Stuff. i dont really have any opinion for/against them dating till i see it, im just like.... HOW will this play out, i wonder.

Ive probably also brought this up here , but i also see him as a model of repression for alice. he lives his live very clearly and firmly rejecting painful things (AT... DUBIOUS COST,) , and i think he unintentionally serves as a very clear set of "this could be you" instructions for alice. except it looks pathetic when laid out clearly without the wrappings of overthinking and meditating, so its more of a warning than a how to in her eyes. If she can catch on that its her reflection, anyway....

anyway. i like him <3 he has a big heart and small morals.

[everything-laito]

the FBI agent looking at my computer must be so incredibly concerned. Here’s Laito and Cordelia analysis, Part II

Hiya, Corn here! This is Part II of this analysis series! Part one’s here! 

Not getting into the trauma part of it yet. Just explaining abusive power dynamics and how incestuous relationships work. As well as Stockholm syndrome. Lovely! Lovely combo! Fuck!!!

Same trigger warnings as last time still apply!

As always, rant under the cuuuuut!

Ok, from last time, we’ve established the elements that were set in place for Cordelia to do this to Laito, when Laito’s trauma began, and the possible fact that he was groomed as a child for sexual exploitation. Wow. Yay. Amazing. This is so gross!!! Thanks, I hate it!!!! I know I usually cary these topics with just an informational tone but I just can’t with this ;lskfjklsajf But I’m here typing this, you’re here reading this, so let’s just get on with the grossness!

Section 3: Legal Definitions of Incest and Power Dynamics 

Now we’re gonna get into the flesh of the problem, and what we know happened. From last time, and common DL knowledge, Laito was coerced into having sex with Cordelia. I say coerced, rather than forced, because it’s not like Laito seemed to resist it. He seems to “willingly” give Cordelia that. Is dubious consent, consent? Oh fuck no, and dubious or coerced consent shouldn’t even count in here considering it’s straight up incest. Any type of incest, most especially between a parent and a child, is not considered consensual, even if it “technically is.” That’s how it’s handled in a court of law, at least in America (where I’m from and reside in), and I do agree with that morally as well. A “romantic” and sexual relationship between a parent (or adult family member; aunt, grandfather, etc) and a child (is just gross) preys upon the power dynamic between them. This isn’t any consensual BDSM power dynamic (obviously), or a constructive power dynamic in the workplace; it’s just a power dynamic already instilled into the relationship where it is taken advantage of. That’s not just fucked up incest, that’s an example of a toxic relationship from the get go. Also, there’s a power dynamic usually between a parent and child, but that doesn’t mean it’s always toxic. It just needs to be done responsibly, which good parents (or any adult in power) know how to maneuver around it and not take advantage of it for manipulation etc. 

In healthy relationships, you both start on equal ground. It usually never works out if you don’t see the other as an equal, whether you have a predisposed power dynamic at the beginning or not. I’m talking any relationship; family relationships, friendships, romantic, sexual, etc. Although you older folks might know about BDSM and how there’s a “power dynamic” instilled in the relationship, a chosen and consensual “power dynamic” still involves both parties seeing the other one as an equal––intrinsically. It’s just very different than a predisposed power dynamic. That even goes with friendship too! Or any kind of healthy, nontoxic social interaction! Taken directly from Psychology Today, “Shared power creates happy individuals and satisfying interactions.” People need to be on equal ground in order to have a healthy relationship. Which,,,, we know does not happen with Cordelia and Laito (and Laito and Yui for that matter, but that’s during another part of this series). An article I saw during the research of this explains further about how power dynamics can be constructive. This focuses more on the workplace, but it applies to this because it’s looking at the other person as another person (an equal) but uses that predisposed power for encouragement, empowerment, and constructiveness (like a good parent or adult role model would do). I hope this makes sense!

Basically Cordelia is abusing her power in order to do all this to Laito. That’s why grooming would make a lot of sense in this as well, because we know it’s definitely not the first time Cordelia has taken advantage of a power imbalance to her own selfish benefit. That’s why incest isn’t really explained with the same science as pedophilia. I forget if I’ve mentioned it before, but one way pedophilia can occur in a person if their brain was originally biologically wired in a way that sees children as sexual objects. With incest, it could also work like that as well, but it is mainly power abuse, like most sexual exploitation, harassment, assault, etc is. 

Section 4: Incest (I’d make a sweet home Alabama joke but that’s low hanging fruit)

Ok so now that we’ve gone over the legality of incest, and how power dynamics can be taken advantage of, we’re gonna look into the type of incest (yes apparently there are types) that Cordelia and Laito fits into. Also if this already wasn’t clear or anything, hi incest and pedophilia etc are forms of abuse, there is no justifying it at all. It’s abuse, no matter what’s said. I know these are fictional characters but I sometimes see Ayato x Cordelia and Laito x Cordelia etc posts and I kinda just wanna commit heinous crimes whenever I see that. Just the idea of that absolutely sickens me (on top of the abuse shown in DL already). Anyways, after all of that out of the way, let’s go into this. 

Since Laito is biologically 17, I’d say that he’s considered as a child (teenager) by demon world standards. We don’t know his age when Cordelia first physically exploited him, but we do know that his same “teenage” sprite is used during the flashbacks. Since his trauma fits so well with the aftermath definition of parent/child incest, I’m just gonna give y’all information on that. This is also called “child incestuous abuse,” which is also a form of child sexual abuse. 

I learned an interesting factoid researching this, and that is in Japan, the most commonly believed incestuous relationship was between mothers and sons. In the West, we think of fathers/daughters. In Japan, the media covers more on mother/son incestuous acts; while statistically, more father/daughter incestuous acts are taken place. Just something interesting(?) I found, and probably why DL chose that for storytelling too. 

In this Wikipedia article, taken from a scientific paper (I’d take it directly from the source but you need an account to get in and I think you need to pay for it), it says this:

A study of victims of father–daughter incest in the 1970s showed that there were "common features" within families before the occurrence of incest: estrangement between the mother and the daughter, extreme paternal dominance, and reassignment of some of the mother's traditional major family responsibility to the daughter.

Sure, this talks about father/daughter incestuous relationships, but if we take this and reverse most of the roles, it shows Laito’s situation to a T:

Estrangement between Karlheinz and Laito 

Extreme maternal dominance (aka Cordelia being very abusive/manipulative)

Reassignment of some of the parental responsibility to Laito (there’s many examples of “big bro Laito,” and Ayato and Kanato considers that they used Laito as a “sacrifice”––as a “shield” for the both of them. Sure this isn’t explicit parental responsibility shown through Laito but I’d say he acts more like a family member to Ayato and Kanato too)

Section 5: Stockholm syndrome? With parental figures? 

Laito had some interesting situations occur during this whole thing with Cordelia. One of the most infamous scenes from the game (that’s also illustrated in the HDB manga) is a flashback Laito has where he’s locked up, forced to see Cordelia and Richter have sex. He’s appalled by the fact at first, but then attempts to convince himself that he’s into it. However, I won’t get into the effects until the next part. 

I didn’t find much about Stockholm syndrome being in this specific case with incest and kidnapping a child etc. When you look up Stockholm syndrome related to parents you get quite the sexist “article” that definitely mocks the whole Stockholm syndrome thing and makes fun of guys being into Glee and such,,,, so that wasn’t a very helpful article. However, I’m just gonna mish mash and put a lot of concepts that we’ve learned together. But first, a look into Stockholm syndrome.

Stockholm syndrome occurs when an abuse victim develops empathy or even intimate feelings for their abuser or captor. This happens because any bit of kindness the abuser enacts towards their victim is taken so positively, that the victim “forgets” all the negative actions, and focuses on the positive ones. This isn’t some sort of “oh ya gotta think positive!” kind of thing, it’s how abusers get away with their bullshit and how someone can be so trapped in a relationship with them. It’s also called traumatic bonding or victim brainwashing (source). This doesn’t always happen with people who are held hostage, like in Stockholm syndrome’s name origin.

A parent’s influence can be a strong one. Doesn’t even have to be related to by blood. But a figure that is supposed to be nurturing—whether they are or not—still has power over the “child.” He definitely went through Stockholm Syndrome himself with Cordelia, considering the grooming and the “love”/hate relationship he has with Cordelia. I did some more digging, and apparently Stockholm Syndrome can still occur more commonly with sexually abused victims. Which we all know he is. With the possible grooming, on top of the power abuse and sexual abuse, creates an incredibly toxic concoction. Here we go. The (rotten) cherry on top. Directly from my HDB notes, here’s a snippet from his Maniac Prologue: 

Cordelia: Nnn…Hey, Laito. You are a good boy. Laito: …!! Cordelia: Right, Laito? Laito: Yeah, that’s right. I’m…I’m a good boy after all.  ーー Besides, I’m the type of person who only get more aroused from this kind of thing.

(from my notes:) Basically Laito convinces himself to be a “cuckhold.” It’s definitely implied how he just wants approval from Cordelia; this is how this abuse prolongs. 

(Also, if I ever said that Laito was locked up by Cordelia, my bad; it was Karlheinz who gave that order. I’m unsure where I ever said this, but I feel like I said it before, so I’m gonna clarify that right now too, oops! My memory hath failed me.)

Cordelia’s praise effects Laito in such a visceral way that he tries so hard to cope with the trauma in her favor. It’s incredibly messed up. But that’s the defining factor in this. From this, I do believe Laito has Stockholm syndrome on top of all of his issues. 

I think I’m gonna end it here for now. Didn’t expect to be this long, oops. Stay tuned for next time, where I’m gonna go over Laito’s trauma and how he’s been effected by it. Thanks for reading, FBI agent! And oh, you as well, dear reader! 

If you’ve read this far holy fuck I commend you -Corn

[writingbakery]

“what’s new, pussycat?”

this work is my absolute pride & joy, one that i hold very near & dear to my heart! it was previously written for a different fandom, & ive reworked it to fit here. i hope you love it as much as i do, & yes - there will be more parts to this story! ✨taglist; @katsukisprincess @secondhand-trash @redbeanteax @monst @shinhoetoshi @shinsouzone @togasknifes

[pairing; panther familiar! hitoshi shinso x green witch gn! reader]

[warnings; fluff, meet-cutes, magical au, bitchy witches, soft words, strangers to lovers]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

for a green witch in a relatively small town, you’ve got a pretty good life.

you’re not the most powerful witch around; your talents are more centered around healing, crafting potions & spells, but you don’t mind. you like helping people, whisking away their problems & leaving them happier than when they walked into your little shop.

your shop is perfectly situated right at the forest line at the end of town, making it easy for you to restock your supply. you don’t get many customers, but you treat everyone like they’re most important, focusing on what they need & providing them with just what they’ve asked for. you don’t have many friends, most of the other witches not thinking much of your talents or your profession - they were all more modern witches, using electricity & technology to help others - but the ones you do have treat you nothing but kindly.

you’ve got everything you need in your little shop; a tiny apartment just above it, a loyal customer base, & the forest to soothe your worries.

the only thing you don’t have is a familiar.

you turned twenty six months ago, the age at which every witch receives their familiar. sometimes, it happens sooner, sometimes it takes a little longer. you’re just a hint impatient.

you’ve been ready for your familiar since your powers emerged at six years old, little flowers & vines bursting from chubby fingers & small palms. your friends even had a betting pool set up, sero swearing that you would get a kitty cat, & kirishima insisting it would be a rabbit.

you don’t care what your familiar is. you just want to meet them.

you’ve nagged your mother more than enough over the years, whining & complaining at your lack of a companion - both the animal aspect of them, & the human. familiars often became their witches’ best friends, & on most occasions, have fallen in love with them.

it’s a romantic concept, really. two magical beings, tied together forever by their shared powers, falling in love.

you’ve had dreams about it. kaminari makes fun of you for it whenever he can.

still, you don’t need to fall in love with your familiar. you love them already for supporting & adding to your magic, even if you haven’t met yet. you just know you’re going to be the best of friends.

you also side with sero. you’re definitely hoping for a kitty.

you alway tell your friends you don’t mind being patient, but secretly, you wish your familiar would speed things up a bit.

the other witches in town don’t tease you outright, a bit more poised than that, but you’ve heard more than enough whispered giggles of “bet it’s a fly, & it just can’t find them” & “maybe [y/n]’s just too weak for one”. you know they consider you a joke, a laughingstock, but you do your best to ignore them, burying your head in your spellbooks & inventing new potion strains.

you’re good at what you do, & that’s all that matters. but with a familiar, at least you’d fit in. you’re not expecting anything huge, not like the wolf inasa got, or the pheonix momo was gifted. you just want something that’ll care for you, help with your little tasks & fill the hole in your heart.

you even have a little side room set up in your shop for them, complete with a small fluffy bed & lots of pillows. kaminari had wrinkled his nose at the setup. “what if they don’t like all the fluff?” he’d asked - his familiar, an overexcited ring tailed lemur named mina, had absolutely destroyed the setup kaminari made for her, choosing to snuggle the taller witch in her human form every night. you had a separate betting pool with kirishima & bakugou about when those two would finally start dating.

mostly, you just hope your familiar won’t be disappointed with you. you aren’t the fastest on a broomstick, or the smartest with spells. your potions are good, but they take you a while to brew, & you don’t get that many customers. you’re definitely not the best witch in town, but you try your best, & you hope that counts for something.

it ends up counting for a lot, even if you don’t realize.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you’re looking through your little vials & plants one day, crafting a rejuvenation potion for mrs. parks - she’s got a garden to maintain if she wants to win first place in the landscaping competition next week, & at 85 it doesn’t always come naturally - when you realize you’re clean out of starflower. the pretty little orange & yellow foliage always added an extra boost to your energy potions, & you chance a glance out of your shop windows. it’s a nice day, sunny but not too hot, & you easily tug on your jacket & basket to gather some from the forest.

the air is warm, floaty with the smell of spring & you bask in the pleasant heat of the sun as you walk. the forest is unusually quiet, a sort of energetic thrum hovering just under the surface & normally, you would be concerned. but the day is so lovely, the warmth seeping into your bones & you brush it off as a slight imbalance in the woods.

you find the right clearing relatively quickly, sitting cross legged amidst the flowers & beginning to pluck them. you coo to the brightly colored petals gently, asking them to feel safe, protected. you wouldn’t hurt them, nor waste them unnecessarily. they were headed to a good purpose, & you reassure them as such as they make their way into your basket.

the already quiet air stills suddenly, birds silent in the trees & leaves pausing their ruffling. you shut your eyes & soaks up the sudden silence, an odd sense of calm settling over your body before you open them again.

a pair of amethyst violet eyes stare back at you, barely ten feet away from your face.

you open your mouth to scream, but let out nothing but air; your breath seems caught in your throat, lodged painfully deep. the creature in front of you is still, black fur gleaming glossy in the afternoon sun - a panther, twice the size of any normal big cat, sharp fangs glinting in its large mouth. you just stare, frozen & wide eyed.

the panther tilts its head at you inquisitively, letting out a sharp exhale through its velvety - almost cute? - black nose. you do scream this time, a barely there squeak that youd defend to your dying day as a very aggressive yell.

& then you pass clean out, slumping to the cool forest floor.

above you, the panther simply snorts, rolling bright purple eyes in mild annoyance as it curls its lithe form around your unconscious body, settling in for a nap.

it protects you from harm, patiently waiting for you to wake up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you wake up confused & a little dizzy.

you’ve only been out about an hour, but already the sun sits lower in the sky, a chill sweeping through the quiet wood. you’re disoriented, taking a few moments to remember where you are, & why. youre warm despite the cool forest air, body swathed in silky softness. you burrow deeper into the warmth, sighing softly as you toe the line between sleep & awake.

then you remember the panther.

shooting straight up from the dirt, you look around wildly, all traces of sleepiness gone as you take in your surroundings.

the panther lays curled around you like a warm blanket, keeping you tucked up against its shoulder with massive black paws crossed in front of your legs. it’s fast asleep, not even stirring as you shift a little to study its face.

gold runes run from the tips of each large, silky ear, trailing down either side of its face to its long whiskers. each rune matches one on your own arms, elegantly winding down your smooth skin. a little flutter settles in your chest.

this is your familiar.

you run one slim finger down the sides of the panther’s sleeping face, gentle & light as you trace over the marks that mirror the ones you’ve had since birth. it’s a little nerve wracking, a little unreal.

you’re so awestruck you don’t feel a pair of sharp violet eyes tracking your every move, looking just a little fond.

you start a little when the panther stretches, long heavy limbs arcing out into the air as it yawns. you get a good eyeful of sharp, gleaming white fangs & an impossibly cute pink tongue before the panther is staring at you again, seemingly waiting for your next move.

oh right.

hastily clambering to your feet, you stand in front of the lying animal, just about level with its head. you swallow a little nervously, shifting from foot to foot as you look up into bright, curious eyes.

“a-are you my familiar?” you ask, immediately cursing yourself for stammering & asking stupid questions. you’re supposed to have your shit together, you’re the witch here.

the panther seems unfazed, if not a little amused, as it nods once, then twice, eyes twinkling in the sunlight. your own eye twitches.

you’ve got a familiar. a panther familiar. you, [y/n l/n], who can’t fly a broomstick straight & nearly burnt down your shop crafting a potion last week.

suddenly everything seems a whole lot less simple than it was before.

bracing your hands against your knees to catch your breath, you let your mind go wild, running through a million thoughts at once. what would the other witches say? what would your friends say? how the fuck was this panther going to fit inside your house?

you don’t have a single answer for any of them that won’t send you into a panic.

your stomach ends up deciding for you, the low rumble of it breaking the tense silence. the panther actually does roll its eyes at you this time, standing to its full - very, very tall height & moving to kneel at your side. it motions towards its back a little impatiently, & you scramble to climb on.

you can feel lean, powerful muscle underneath you as the panther begins to walk through the forest, quickly shifting through the underbrush towards town.

it’s much quicker than you walking on your own, & you appreciate that.

you know you’re going to get plenty of stares once you hit town, & you’ve already got a plan set: make it through quickly, avoid questions, & once you’ve got the both of you locked up in your shop, the panther can shift to its human form & introduce themselves. simple.

the second you step foot - & paw - into the town, you know you’re screwed.

all of the townsfolk are staring wide eyed, giving the pair of you a very wide berth as the panther trots along the street. hushed whispers are already circulating, & you can feel endless sets of eyes digging into your back.

just a couple more feet, a few more moments. then we’ll be safe, you think as your shop comes into view, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. you slide down off the panthers back to unlock the door & usher it in, locking it behind you both with another relieved sigh. you relax too soon.

there, in your kitchen, sit sero & kirishima, both gaping as they stare at the massive panther in your foyer. sero’s got a teapot in one hand, the other cupping the air - a shattered mug at his feet.

“we came for tea,” kirishima squeaks. sero is dumbfounded where he stands. the panther huffs unamused, tail flicking & breaking one of the china plates along the wall.

you sink to the floor in despair.

what the fuck, is all you can think, burying your head in your hands.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

your friends take it all in surprisingly well. sero sweeps up the shattered mug & dish, kirishima makes them all tea, & you have a mild panic attack.

the panther simply curls up in a corner of the shop, avoiding everything delicate as it takes up a good chunk of the space. kirishima can’t stop staring at it, eyes blown wide as he takes in every inch of the creature.

“it’s really yours? your familiar?” he’d asked, voice hushed. you swatted at his arm with a scowl, glancing over at the uninterested panther. “stop talking about it like it’s not here! you know it can hear you.”

truthfully, however, you don’t even think the panther is listening. it has an air of disinterest clouded around it, lazily examining its paws & twitching its whiskers every so often.

sero maintains that he won the bet, much to your chagrin. “it’s just a really big cat!” he insists. kirishima simply rolls his eyes & tells him to take it up with bakugou.

it takes an hour or two, but eventually you manage to shoo your friends out of your shop, a headache building at their incessant questioning - “so what's its name? boy or girl? did it try to eat you? why is it looking at me like that?” - & all you want to do is sleep.

you lead the panther to the small side room you’d dolled up, albeit for a much smaller animal, wincing at the judgemental look you receive in return. “right, that won’t work. i mean, you could stay in my bed? it’s really big, just a bunch of cushions & blankets on a floor mattress?” you offer, twisting your fingers in your shirt a little shyly. the panther pauses, then nods again, squeezing its massive frame through the narrow staircase to follow you upstairs.

your bed - a custom made mattress that spanned nearly across the entirety of your bedroom floor - seemed to accommodate the panther just fine, and it paced around once, twice, before settling in one corner of it. its lithe form took up a good two thirds of the mess of blankets, & you can’t help but coo at the sight. it really was just a big kitty cat, although you’d probably never say it to the creature’s face.

you busy yourself with getting ready for bed, washing your face, brushing your teeth & changing into your baggy blue silk pajamas - they’ve got little yellow crescent moons sewn into them, & you swear the panther laughs at you in them - before settling between the sheets.

“goodnight, mr. panther,” you mumble sleepily, silently hoping that things would be easier to fix in the morning before drifting off to dreams.

above you, the panther huffs a little fondly, nuzzling your soft little cheek before falling asleep as well.

—

the next few days aren’t any easier.

for one, you’re swamped with customers for the first time ever, people crowding into the tiny shop to catch a glimpse of the enormous panther curled up in the corner. normally you wouldn’t allow it, but the panther doesn’t seem to mind, & everyone who walks in leaves with something - you’re making a killing.

another little problem: the arrival of your - rather powerful - familiar means your own abilities have gotten a much needed boost. everything you make is soaked in energy, & your plants are shooting towards the ceiling every other hour.

in short, you’re probably the most powerful nature witch in the country, let alone the county.

you appreciate the fact that you’re better at what you do, but it tires you out quicker, & you’re twice as busy now that you can do so much.

all of this would be reasonably manageable, if your familiar wasn’t still stuck in its animal form.

the panther’s refused to shift for the entirety of the time you’ve known it, staying in its animal form in the corner of the shop. it simply watches & observes, occasionally nudging the right vial or plant closer to you with its large black nose. it’s a cute sight, the little nature witch bustling around the shop in your emerald green robes, a huge black panther tracking your every move with a fond expression. you’ve started to get comfortable around it as well, but you would like to get to know it eventually, & you enlist kirishima’s help.

the more experienced witch drops by with an old history book one afternoon when you aren’t as busy, the pair of you sitting at the table to read up on familiars.

“it says here familiars usually shift within the first day of meeting their witch,” kiri reads from the book, squinting at the tiny text. you had shooed the panther into the garden so you could talk uninterrupted, & you watch as the large creature nips at the butterflies circling its head. it makes you smile, heart a little fond at the sight.

“it’s been almost a week, kiri,” you pout, looking up at the witch in concern. maybe it's not comfortable with me yet, you add in your head. your stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought.

kirishima, seemingly sensing your worry, ruffles a hand through your hair, a reassuring smile on his face.

“don’t worry, [y/n]. i’m sure they’re still getting used to being here with you,” the taller comforts you. “just give it a little time.”

watching as your familiar tramples your hydrangeas, looking up at the window with a guilty expression on its face, you can only sigh.

“i hope you’re right.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

nearly two months later, you’re starting to doubt kirishima’s advice.

your familiar still hasn’t shifted in front of you, although you’ve got a sneaking suspicion it does while you’re asleep, a smattering of all black clothes hidden in random corners of his shop.

you still know absolutely nothing about them, every question you throw at the panther met with unblinking silence. but the panther knows all about you.

it knows which tea you prefer in the morning & evening, nudging out the right canisters with one massive paw. it knows every plant in your shop & garden, delicately ripping out whichever ones you need with sharp fangs. it knows to growl when a potion is boiling over, or huff when a customer is at the door. it even ran off a few thieves a week ago, snarling with its hackles raised at the foot of the stairs as they screamed & ran. you had given it an hour long head massage, complete with ear scratches, as a thank you.

the panther has settled itself in your shop & your life almost perfectly, a constant presence that you’ve grown fond of. but it doesn’t change the fact that they still haven’t revealed themselves to you. you feel like this relationship is ridiculously imbalanced; the panther knows you inside & out. you don’t even know their name.

still, you push down any doubt or insecurities you’re feeling, determined to let the panther come to you in your own time.

the mayor’s birthday changes all of that.

the mayor always requests a grand celebration, complete with magical fireworks, charmed balloons, singing lilies, & a three tier magical cake. normally, he only requests singing lilies & roses from you.

this year, you get a golden invoice for everything.

the mayor wants you to craft the cake, enchant the balloons & streamers, gather the singing flowers, and charm the fireworks, all in less than two days. you immediately break into a sweat.

you can’t ask your friends for help, as they’re tied up in their own town’s festivities. your only choice is to get the other witches’ in town; surely they’d help with the mayor’s birthday celebration.

surely not. they laugh you away from their shops the moment you ask, a pleading expression on your face.

“you shouldn’t need help, little dirt witch. you’ve got that powerful familiar of yours, don’t you? unless you can’t handle it,” they mock you, & your fists clench unwillingly; you force yourself to breathe.

you don’t need their help, or their disdain. you’re going to do it all by yourself.

you start with the flowers, collecting the brightest & loudest singers from your garden & placing them in charmed rainwater to keep them pristine. the panther helps where it can, delicately holding them between its fangs.

enchanting the streamers & balloons takes the better part of the day, & you’re up late into the night crafting the fireworks the right way. you fall asleep in a spellbook, the cake left forgotten till the morning. the panther simply rests its head next to yours on the table, the pair of you fast asleep until the next day.

when you wake up, the birds are chirping steadily outside, sunlight filtering in through the windows. it’s calm & soothing, & for a moment you’re at peace.

then you see the time, panic immediately setting in.

“wake up! wake up! i have to have the cake ready in four hours! it’s going to take me three just to mix the batter!” you’re running around the shop in a flurry of robes & quick spells, arms full of supplies. the panther just watches from its position on the floor, eyebrow quirked.

you’re halfway through mixing the batter when you realize you won’t finish in time.

you can’t focus on charming all three tiers at once as he mixes, but if you do them one by one you won’t finish in time. you pause, turning desperate eyes onto the panther.

“i know you’re not ready, & i didn’t want to push, but please. i need your help,” you plead. hands clasped in front of you & flour in your hair. the panther continues to stare, unmoving, as though immune to your begging.

it’s too much all at once, stress & anxiety building until you snap.

“why not! why! i get it! i understand you’re disappointed! i’m not some high tech witch in a big city, i’m not powerful! i’m weak & i suck & i can’t brew potions fast without blowing them up & i fell off my broomstick in the garden & you saw, i know! i just need help, for god’s sake! just help me, & you don’t ever have to talk to me again!” you promise, eyes watery as you burst into tears.

dropping your head into your hands to muffle your sobs, you barely register the faint whirling of air in front of you.

hands suddenly flutter over your crying form, hovering just above touching you as a low, rough voice pulls you from your misery.

“please stop crying, shit, please, i’m sorry, i swear i didn’t mean to make you cry, fuck,” you hear, & you tilt your head up, rubbing tears from your eyes.

there’s a man standing in front of you, wearing all black. he’s got messy purple hair sticking up from all sides & dark eyes, a hint of violet flashing through them in the light. there’s circles as dark as his clothes under his eyes, a familiar look on his face - like you’d seen it every morning waking up.

this ridiculously handsome man, looking slightly panicked, is your familiar. every time you’d called him a “pretty kitty” suddenly flashes through your mind.

fuck.

pushing all those thoughts to the back of your mind, you straighten up, hastily wiping your eyes on your robe sleeves. “can you stir the second pot, please? i’ll worry about the other ones,” you ask meekly, a little embarrassed now. you ignore the familiar’s prying gaze, simply muttering spells under your breath as you stir the first mixture.

the pair of you don’t speak unless it’s instructions, racing around the tiny shop to craft the magical cake. flour & sugar & icing cover every available surface as you wave your hands, whisking it all over the towering cake. you struggle a little to reach the very top, on your tiptoes as you attempt to frost the highest tier. warm, strong hands grip your waist & lift you right off the ground, holding you up to help; you blush furiously as you quickly finish.

you’re just putting the final smattering of glitter onto the cake when the mayor’s party attendants arrive to collect it. you can finally breathe as you watch them carry off everything you both had made, shoulders sagging in relief.

your familiar leans against the counter, wiping down the tables with a rag as he watches you. now that everything’s been finished, there’s no avoiding it.

“i’m hitoshi. that’s my name,” the panther - hitoshi - offers, presumably sensing your nerves. “& for the record, i think you’re a great witch. youre powerful all on your own, even without me.”

you can’t help your smile at that, a little flush to your cheeks as you sit at the table. “then.. then why didn’t you shift?” you ask softly. up close, you can see tiny freckles in place of hitoshi’s whiskers, the glossiness of his hair reminiscent of his panther fur.

the familiar shrugs, cheeks going a bit pink themselves as he stares at the table. “at first, i was just a little shy. it’s nerve wracking, meeting your witch. & then you just… passed out, you know? i was worried about how you’d react, so i decided to give you time.” you can understand that, listening closely.

“you were so nice to me, you weren’t scared at all. you scratched behind my ears & made me cleansing potions. & you let me stay in your bed, so easily. you were just…. nicer than i expected. and…. and prettier.” the familiar’s cheeks are a rosy red now, bright in contrast to his soft skin & prominent dark circles. you think it’s adorable.

“i just didn’t want you to think any different of me, you know? you liked panther me a lot, even though i kept breaking stuff, &.... i wanted you to keep liking me.” you outright coo at that, ignoring your familiar’s protests as you dissolve into giggles.

“really? of course i’d still like you, silly! i let you cuddle me! i called you mr whiskers for a solid month! oh god, i called you mr whiskers,” you whine, pouting a little. you’d called hitoshi a bunch of silly nicknames before he’d shifted, from pretty kitty to mr whiskers to sugarpaws. you’d been trying to compensate, in your defense, & hitoshi had seemed to like them.

hitoshi’s the one laughing now, smile bright as he gives you that same fond look. “it was cute. you were trying really hard,” he admits, head cocked to the side as he watches you.

you sit in a comfortable sort of silence then, simply taking in each other’s presence a moment.

“so, you thought i was pretty, huh?” you tease, breaking the silence as you move to stand in front of hitoshi. you giggle more at the flush that follows, ignoring hitoshi’s mumbling rant about “soft little witches” & “green robes & moon pajamas, that's ridiculous”, your smile growing ever wider.

you tap a finger against hitoshi’s nose, the familiar protesting in flustered panic. standing on tiptoe, you press a light kiss to the cranberry stained cheek, watching hitoshi absolutely melt.

“i thought you were cute too, pretty kitty,” you smile, turning to tidy up the pots & spellbooks & leaving an awestruck hitoshi at the table, hand frozen where you had pressed your lips.

i could get used to that, you think, giggling as hitoshi trips over himself to squish you against the counter, covering your face in kisses.

just you, your shop, & one pretty kitty.

[starkeristheendgame]

Soulmate AU where Peter's soul words are like, "How you doin'" and Tony's words are "Not interested". Peter's in a bar and Tony walks up to him and says "How you doin'" and Peter throws back his shot of whiskey and just says, "Not interested," and then it just clicks at the same time for both of them. Peter looks at Tony and Tony looks at him and Peter says, "Well, maybe I am interested."

I received a second ask which is I think the beginning of this one, so I’m going to answer the two as this post and pray I’m not shorting someone!

Set around the A1 era but Peter is a spritely young lad seasoned with his powers and sick of soulmates and Tony is a thirty-something superhero equally unimpressed by the whole shtick. I hope I did this justice!

TW: Daddy kink | Grinding | Dynamic imbalance | Undernegotiated but consensual kink

Tony Stark was a man who had everything. Who had always had everything. A luxurious home, more money than he knew what to do with, expensive cars, expensive girls. A family name worth the Earth. All he had to do was speak his name or snap his fingers and people would bend over backwards to please him.

Which made his soul-mark all the more utterly infuriating

Not interested.

It was written in an inelegant scrawl, the r lopsided and the N curled on the tips. It lay like a brand on the inside of his bicep, taunting him every time he looked at it. And he looked at it often, especially as he grew up and got better looking; especially when people begun to play at being his soulmate in the desperate hope he would fall for them.

He had all that, and presumably, his soulmate had not even a spark of interest in him. It had gnawed at him like a starving wolf throughout his teens, wary of anyone who opened their mouth in his direction. And when he became an attractive, wealthy older man, and when he became an attractive superhero to boot. Iron Man. Someone wasn’t even remotely interested in Iron Man.

Steve had given him an amused and sort of smug look when Tony had revealed the white mark on a drunken team bonding night. No doubt the man knew how such a line would mess with Tony. Tony only wished he could give the man the same shit, but Steve’s soul-mark was a dark black, the colour it turned to when you met your soulmate. One James “Bucky” Barnes, who was so sickeningly in love with Steve that it often warranted fake gagging until they toned down the puppy eyes and kissing.

Being Iron Man didn’t exactly help the whole soulmate thing, either. Not that the soulmate issue wasn’t a smooth sea to begin with. They were a bit of a shit-luck-dip, really. You could be born in the entire wrong lifetime. You could be ninety by the time your soulmate is born. You could meet your soulmate in just enough time to watch them wither away.

Soul-marks were a pale, lifted white until you met your soulmate and spoke their words. Then, it would burn and slowly darken to black to signify you’d met The One.

At cresting thirty-two, Tony knew his soulmate was alive. Somewhere. The other delightful thing about soulmates is the Universe didn’t exactly plop you down in the same house. The majority of people died having never met their soulmate. Tony knew his soulmate was alive because he had a mark. Those too late got the job of watching their soul-mark fade from their skin.

And there Tony’s sat, pink-white and mocking him with every passing day.

Not interested.

It’s what he wished he could say, when his phone rang with Director Fury’s number and the sky begun to rain aliens. Looking up at the giant alien-crocodile-snake thing, all he wanted to do was throw in the armour and become a sheep herder or something.

Half of New York has been unceremoniously remodelled by the time Loki is a wheezing half-corpse two foot down in his kitchenette floor, and Schwarma turns out to be vaguely disappointing.

All in all, he needs a whiskey. And a strong one. In an unfortunate trend that seems to be set on denying him all his wants - The Tower is officially on lockdown while SHIELD begins the frantic clean-up attempt. This apparently extends to even him, the man who’s name is literally emblazoned across the building.

Or, was.

Looking up at it now, all that remains is a slightly jagged A.

Huh. He has to remodel now anyway; maybe a logo change might not be so bad. But that can wait, because between the aliens and Steve fucking Rogers and the aliens, a strong whiskey was the only solution. So Tony tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and turned on his heel, picking way along the rubble-littered streets. Still deserted, now that SHIELD had taken over.

Some four blocks down, a SHIELD agent comes striding past, clutching a tiny Yorkie to his chest. The Agent side-eyed him as they passed each other, as though unsure if he should be letting an Avenger just stroll away, but Tony waved a hand at him. “Double the animal rescue efforts and put my name on the bill. If you happen to find a particularly vicious dog - Or even a cat, really, do be sure to stuff it in Captain America’s mailbox” he hummed, whistling cheerfully as he continued on.

The first bar he came across was a total dud, half-caved in and void of any signs of life. Unperturbed, Tony continued onwards and soon found a second, only slightly scathed. Entering the building it became clear he was not the only one who had settled on the notion of a stiff drink.

Sat at the bar, was a smaller male, with a mess of dark curls and a flannel overshirt that had been torn open, bloodied at one side. Skinny jeans once black were now a brown-grey with dust. The guy didn’t turn around the check him out, just knocked back a shot and poured another from the bottle at his side. Next to that was an empty tumbler, with what looked to be a $20 inside.

Tony gave a soft huff, but he supposed that for once, he didn’t exactly have a choice in going somewhere else. So he smoothed down his hair and sauntered up to the bar, leaning one elbow against the murky wood. A glimpse of the guys face nearly had him sliding straight off it in surprise.

A little battered or not, Bar Guy was attractive. He had a little button nose and a sharp jaw contradicted by slightly round cheeks. From the side his lashes seemed endless. A little disarmed but not deterred, Tony flashed a wry grin and in best Joey Tribbiani accent, greeted him with “Hey. How you doin’?”

And he honestly wasn’t flirting. At least, not with any real intent. Pepper often said that Tony would flirt with a potted plant if he thought it would gain him anything; and he supposed she wasn’t wrong. Bar Guy stiffened a little, shoulders hunching, and he poured a generous slug of whiskey into his glass before he knocked it back with a grimace, not even looking at Tony.

“Not interested” the boy replied blandly, though not cruelly, turning away from Tony to slide off his stool. Tony opened his mouth to crack a joke, or make a witty remark, but he never got that far. His arm begun to tingle, and then it burned slightly, and his gasp was mirrored by the guy opposite, who staggered and clutched at his thigh.

The burn abated back to a tingle, and then to nothing, as though it had never happened. Tony didn’t need to check his arm to know that the mark would be a deep, semi-sheen black.

The guy whipped around, and his already wide eyes went near cartoon comical when he realised exactly who was stood opposite him; exactly who the Universe had plucked out of a hat for him. Tony could only offer a wry, grim smile in response. He felt sick. He wanted to run away. This was it. God, he couldn’t do this.

“Mr. Stark” the boy honest to god squeaked, and it was enough to have Tony’s mouth curving with a little more sincerity. The boy straightened, gaze sweeping him without an ounce of subtlety, and then he coughed. “Okay. Uh. Maybe a little interested” the boy murmured, one hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Only a little?” Tony asked, but it was teasing as he slid into a stool, took a $20 from his pocket and added it to the tumbler before he took the whiskey and the boy’s glass, pouring himself two fingers. What a story. He saved the world from aliens, flew a nuke into space and found his soulmate on the hunt for whiskey.

“So. Aliens” he huffed, knocking back his drink. The boy slid back onto the stool besides him and took the glass and bottle, knocking back a shot of his own.

“Aliens” he agreed sombrely.

An hour later and Tony learned his soulmate was called Peter Parker and he loved strawberries but was allergic to almonds and he went to community college because he couldn’t afford MIT and he stared at Tony’s mouth for the entire time he spoke. Peter asked to see his soul-mark, shy and a little tipsy from the half-bottle he’d sumped, and Tony unbuttoned his shirt enough to wriggle around, presenting the inside of his bicep to Peter, who leaned forwards like he was honest to god going to lick it.

“Now yours” he managed, after Peter’s eyes had trailed it (and his chest) for the ninth time. Peter blinked up at him, slow and half-cocked, before he nodded slowly, sliding off the stool to knuckle his belt. He squirmed his jeans down taut, milky thighs that Tony wanted to bite, before hopping effortlessly onto the bar, spreading his thighs enough that Tony could see his own messy scripture down the inside of his right thigh.

Tony shifted off his stool, leaning forwards and between Peter’s legs as much as his bunched up jeans would allow, staring at it. He loved it as much as he ached over it; because how cruel was it, to throw him at a boy like this? He leaned closer though, breathed hot air over it and was absolutely aware of the way Peter’s boxers lifted a fraction.

“Tony” the boy croaked, voice strangled as his hand fell to Tony’s shoulder. Tony was leaning closer, closer, until he could press a firm kiss over the dark ink. He didn’t know why, he just…Wanted to. Wanted to drink in the way Peter’s breath hitched and his hips jerked. Tony pulled back.

They’d just met. Hell, the kid might even have a partner waiting for him at home. Soulmates were never the end all of your life. Howard and Maria had never been soulmates but they’d lived and loved together until Howard had driven his Bughatti into a tree in the dark of a winter night.

Peter’s whimper had him glancing up, taking in blown pupils and flushed cheeks. The boy bit his lip before heaving a breath, fingers digging into Tony’s shoulder. “Fuck. You’re - You’re so hot. You can’t do that. You can’t make me want you like that” the boy mumbled, head shaking even as he tugged Tony closer.

And, well. Tony had never been the golden boy. Rules were meant to be broken.

Peter tasted like wet and whiskey and something a little sweet, like he’d been eating candy. His hands fell to Peter’s hips, digging into the skin above the waistline of his boxers as he kissed him, licked into his mouth and swallowed a muffled moan. Peter’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck, drawing him closer until Tony couldn’t go any further because Peter’s tangled legs stopped him.

“Fucking Hell” the boy grunted, leaving Tony long enough to kick off his sneakers and to simply shed his jeans, right there on a bartop in the middle of Manhattan. Tony cursed as slender, long legs spread for him, until their half-hard cocks squeezed together and punched a whine from both of them. Peter was the first to grind forwards, sloppy and without finesse as they kissed again, a slick slide of tongue that ended in a help as Tony bit down on Peter’s bottom lip, dragging him closer by the waist.

“If you - If you stop now I’ll kill you” Peter panted against his mouth, rocking forwards against Tony’s Gucci slacks. Tony couldn’t resist a cruel smirk, drawing his head back to gaze down at the debauched boy.

“I thought you said you weren’t interested?” He asked, arching a brow. The demeanour slipped when Peter drove a hand between them, grasping Tony’s cock through his trousers and squeezing enough to have his hips stuttering forwards. “Daddy doesn’t like to be teased” he growled, surging forwards to cup Peter’s jaw, to kiss him bruisingly as one hand went to the boys wrist, coaxing him into stroking Tony through the fabric.

Peter mewled beneath him, fingers curling and stroking around the shape of him as he rut forwards against his own forearm, nipping at Tony’s tongue gently. “Anything, fuck. Just - Don’t stop. Don’t stop Daddy, please. Please don’t stop” he begged, brainless except for the pleasure. It was a look Tony liked; a lot.

Tony pushed Peter’s arm aside and grasped him by the asscheeks, hauling him against his hips as he ground forwards, fingers dipping between those plump cheeks and straining the fabric to brush against the rose of muscle between them. Peter moaned blatantly into his mouth, hips jerking forwards. “Please” the boy begged again, grinding against him with desperation.

Tony obliged, kissing him with renewed effort and keeping their cocks flush together through their fabrics, a heavy grind that lasted only minutes before Peter was crying out, arching into his body as he came with a half-scream of “Daddy!”

His thighs squeezing Tony’s hips and their cocks squeezed tight together pushed Tony over the edge, cum flooding his silk boxers as he muffled his own pleasure into Peter’s shoulder. Fuck. They’d just done that. Right there.

He begun to laugh. Against his chest Peter made a questioning sound, hands petting at his shoulders.

“So,” Tony drawled, lifting his head to gaze into Peter’s eyes with amusement. “Are we leaving that bit out of the ‘how we met story?”

Peter smacked his shoulder with the empty whiskey bottle.

[holyhellpod]

Holy Hell: 3. Metanarrativity: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship? aka the analysis no one asked for.

In this ep, we delve into authorship, narrative, fandom and narrative meaning. And somehow, as always, bring it back to Cas and Misha Collins.

(Note: the reason I didn’t talk about Billie’s authorship and library is because I completely forgot it existed until I watched season 13 “Advanced Thanatology” again, while waiting for this episode to upload. I’ll find a way to work her into later episodes tho!)

I had to upload it as a new podcast to Spotify so if you could just re-subscribe that would be great! Or listen to it at these other links.

Please listen to the bit at the beginning about monetisation and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to message me here.

Apple | Spotify | Google

Transcript under the cut!

Warnings: discussions of incest, date rape, rpf, war, 9/11, the bush administration, abuse, mental health, addiction, homelessness. Most of these are just one off comments, they’re not full discussions.

Meta-Textuality: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship?

In the third episode of Season 6, “The Third Man,” Balthazar says to Cas, “you tore up the whole script and burned the pages.” That is the fundamental idea the writers of the first five seasons were trying to sell us: whatever grand plan the biblical God had cooking up is worth nothing in face of the love these men have—for each other and the world. Sam, Bobby, Cas and Dean will go to any lengths to protect one another and keep people safe. What’s real? What’s worth saving? People are real. Families are worth saving. 

This show plugs free will as the most important thing a person, angel, demon or otherwise can have. The fact of the matter is that Dean was always going to fight against the status quo, Sam was always going to go his own way, and Bobby was always going to do his best for his boys. The only uncertainty in the entire narrative is Cas. He was never meant to rebel. He was never meant to fall from Heaven. He was supposed to fall in line, be a good soldier, and help bring on the apocalypse, but Cas was the first agent of free will in the show’s timeline. Sam followed Lucifer, Dean followed Michael, and John gave himself up for the sins of his children, at once both a God and Jesus figure. But Cas wasn’t modelled off anyone else. He is original. There are definitely some parallels to Ruby, but I would argue those are largely unintentional. Cas broke the mold. 

That’s to say nothing of the impact he’s had on the fanbase, and the show itself, which would not have reached 15 seasons and be able to end the way they wanted it to without Cas and Misha Collins. His back must be breaking from carrying the entire show. 

But what the holy hell are we doing here today? Not just talking about Cas. We’re talking about metanarrativity: as I define it, and for purposes of this episode, the story within a story, and the act of storytelling. We’re going to go through a select few episodes which I think exemplify the best of what this show has to offer in terms of framing the narrative. We’ll talk about characters like Chuck and Becky and the baby dykes in season 10. And most importantly we’ll talk about the audience’s role, our role, in the reciprocal relationship of storytelling. After all, a tv show is nothing without the viewer.

I was in fact introduced to the concept of metanarrativity by Supernatural, so the fact that I’m revisiting it six years after I finished my degree to talk about the show is one of life’s little jokes.

 I’m brushing off my degree and bringing out the big guns (aka literary theorists) to examine this concept. This will be yet another piece of analysis that would’ve gone well in my English Lit degree, but I’ll try not to make it dry as dog shit. 

First off, I’m going to argue that the relationship between the creators of Supernatural and the fans has always been a dialogue, albeit with a power imbalance. Throughout the series, even before explicitly metanarrative episodes like season 10 “Fan Fiction” and season 4 “the monster at the end of this book,” the creators have always engaged in conversations with the fans through the show. This includes but is not limited to fan conventions, where the creators have actual, live conversations with the fans. Misha Collins admitted at a con that he’d read fanfiction of Cas while he was filming season 4, but it’s pretty clear even from the first season that the creators, at the very least Eric Kripke, were engaging with fans. The show aired around the same time as Twitter and Tumblr were created, both of which opened up new passageways for fans to interact with each other, and for Twitter and Facebook especially, new passageways for fans to interact with creators and celebrities.

But being the creators, they have ultimate control over what is written, filmed and aired, while we can only speculate and make our own transformative interpretations. But at least since s4, they have engaged in meta narrative construction that at once speaks to fans as well as expands the universe in fun and creative ways. My favourite episodes are the ones where we see the Winchesters through the lens of other characters, such as the season 3 episode “Jus In Bello,” in which Sam and Dean are arrested by Victor Henriksen, and the season 7 episode “Slash Fiction” in which Dean and Sam’s dopplegangers rob banks and kill a bunch of people, loathe as I am to admit that season 7 had an effect on any part of me except my upchuck reflex. My second favourite episodes are the meta episodes, and for this episode of Holy Hell, we’ll be discussing a few: The French Mistake, he Monster at the end of this book, the real ghostbusters, Fan Fiction, Metafiction, and Don’t Call Me Shurley. I’ll also discuss Becky more broadly, because, like, of course I’ll be discussing Becky, she died for our sins. 

Let’s take it back. The Monster At The End Of This Book — written by Julie Siege and Nancy Weiner and directed by Mike Rohl. Inarguably one of the better episodes in the first five seasons. Not only is Cas in it, looking so beautiful, but Sam gets something to do, thank god, and it introduces the character of Chuck, who becomes a source of comic relief over the next two seasons. The episode starts with Chuck Shurley, pen named Carver Edlund after my besties, having a vision while passed out drunk. He dreams of Sam and Dean larping as Feds and finding a series of books based on their lives that Chuck has written. They eventually track Chuck down, interrogate him, and realise that he’s a prophet of the lord, tasked with writing the Winchester Gospels. The B plot is Sam plotting to kill Lilith while Dean fails to get them out of the town to escape her. The C plot is Dean and Cas having a moment that strengthens their friendship and leads further into Cas’s eventual disobedience for Dean. Like the movie Disobedience. Exactly like the movie Disobedience. Cas definitely spits in Dean’s mouth, it’s kinda gross to be honest. Maybe I’m just not allo enough to appreciate art. 

When Eric Kripke was showrunner of the first five seasons of Supernatural,  he conceptualised the character of Chuck. Kripke as the author-god introduced the character of the author-prophet who would later become in Jeremy Carver’s showrun seasons the biblical God. Judith May Fathallah writes in “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural” that Kripke writes himself both into and out of the text, ending his era with Chuck winking at the camera, saying, “nothing really ends,” and disappearing. Kripke stayed on as producer, continuing to write episodes through Sera Gamble’s era, and was even inserted in text in the season 6 episode “The French Mistake”. So nothing really does end, not Kripke’s grip on the show he created, not even the show itself, which fans have jokingly referred to as continuing into its 16th season. Except we’re not joking. It will die when all of us are dead, when there is no one left to remember it. According to W R Fisher, humans are homo narrans, natural storytellers. The Supernatural fandom is telling a fidelitous narrative, one which matches our own beliefs, values and experiences instead of that of canon. Instead of, at Fathallah says, “the Greek tradition, that we should struggle to do the right thing simply because it is right, though we will suffer and be punished anyway,” the fans have created an ending for the characters that satisfies each and every one of our desires, because we each create our own endings. It’s better because we get to share them with each other, in the tradition of campfire stories, each telling our own version and building upon the others. If that’s not the epitome of mythmaking then I don’t know. It’s just great. Dean and Cas are married, Eileen and Sam are married, Jack is sometimes a baby who Claire and Kaia are forced to babysit, Jody and Donna are gonna get hitched soon. It’s season 17, time for many weddings, and Kevin Tran is alive. Kripke, you have no control over this anymore, you crusty hag. 

Chuck is introduced as someone with power, but not influence over the story, only how the story is told through the medium of the novels. It’s basically a very badly written, non authorised biography, and Charlie reading literally every book and referencing things she should have no knowledge of is so damn creepy and funny. At first Chuck is surprised by his characters coming to life, despite having written it already, and when shown the intimidating array of weapons in Baby’s trunk he gets real scared. Which is the appropriate response for a skinny 5-foot-8 white guy in a bathrobe who writes terrible fantasy novels for a living. 

As far as I can remember, this is the first explicitly metanarrative episode in the series, or at least the first one with in world consequences. It builds upon the lore of Christianity, angels, and God, while teasing what’s to come. Chuck and Sam have a conversation about how the rest of the season is going to play out, and Sam comes away with the impression that he’ll go down with the ship. They touch on Sam’s addiction to demon blood, which Chuck admits he didn’t write into the books, because in the world of supernatural, addiction should be demonised ha ha at every opportunity, except for Dean’s alcoholism which is cool and manly and should never be analysed as an unhealthy trauma coping mechanism. 

Chuck is mostly impotent in the story of Sam and Dean, but his very presence presents an element of good luck that turns quickly into a force of antagonism in the series four finale, “Lucifer Rising”, when the archangel Raphael who defeats Lilith in this episode also kills Cas in the finale. It’s Cas’s quick thinking and Dean’s quick doing that resolve the episode and save them from Lilith, once again proving that free will is the greatest force in the universe. Cas is already tearing up pages and burning scripts. The fandom does the same, acting as gods of their own making in taking canon and transforming it into fan art. The fans aren’t impotent like Chuck, but neither do we have sway over the story in the way that Cas and Dean do. Sam isn’t interested in changing the story in the same way—he wants to kill Lilith and save the world, but in doing so continues the story in the way it was always supposed to go, the way the angels and the demons and even God wanted him to. 

Neither of them are author-gods in the way that God is. We find out later that Chuck is in fact the real biblical god, and he engineers everything. The one thing he doesn’t engineer, however, is Castiel, and I’ll get to that in a minute.

The Real Ghostbusters

Season 5’s “The real ghostbusters,” written by Nancy Weiner and Erik Kripke, and directed by James L Conway, situates the Winchesters at a fan convention for the Supernatural books. While there, they are confronted by a slew of fans cosplaying as Sam, Dean, Bobby, the scarecrow, Azazel, and more. They happen to stumble upon a case, in the midst of the game where the fans pretend to be on a case, and with the help of two fans cosplaying as Sam and Dean, they put to rest a group of homicidal ghost children and save the day. Chuck as the special guest of the con has a hero moment that spurs Becky on to return his affections. And at the end, we learn that the Colt, which they’ve been hunting down to kill the devil, was given to a demon named Crowley. It’s a fun episode, but ultimately skippable. This episode isn’t so much metanarrative as it is metatextual—metatextual meaning more than one layer of text but not necessarily about the storytelling in those texts—but let’s take a look at it anyway.

The metanarrative element of a show about a series of books about the brothers the show is based on is dope and expands upon what we saw in “the monster at the end of this book”. But the episode tells a tale about about the show itself, and the fandom that surrounds it. 

Where “The Monster At The End Of This Book” and the season 5 premiere “Sympathy For The Devil” poked at the coiled snake of fans and the concept of fandom, “the real ghostbusters” drags them into the harsh light of an enclosure and antagonises them in front of an audience. The metanarrative element revolves around not only the books themselves, but the stories concocted within the episode: namely Barnes and Demian the cosplayers and the story of the ghosts. The Winchester brothers’s history that we’ve seen throughout the first five seasons of the show is bared in a tongue in cheek way: while we cried with them when Sam and Dean fought with John, now the story is thrown out in such a way as to mock both the story and the fans’ relationship to it. Let me tell you, there is a lot to be made fun of on this show, but the fans’ relationship to the story of Sam, Dean and everyone they encounter along the way isn’t part of it. I don’t mean to be like, wow you can’t make fun of us ever because we’re special little snowflakes and we take everything so seriously, because you are welcome to make fun of us, but when the creators do it, I can’t help but notice a hint of malice. And I think that’s understandable in a way. Like The relationship between creator and fan is both layered and symbiotic. While Kripke and co no doubt owe the show’s popularity to the fans, especially as the fandom has grown and evolved over time, we’re not exactly free of sin. And don’t get me wrong, no fandom is. But the bad apples always seem to outweigh the good ones, and bad experiences can stick with us long past their due.

However, portraying us as losers with no lives who get too obsessed with this show — well, you know, actually, maybe they’re right. I am a loser with no life and I am too obsessed with this show. So maybe they have a point. But they’re so harsh about it. From wincestie Becky who they paint as a desperate shrew to these cosplayers who threaten Dean’s very perception of himself, we’re not painted in a very good light. 

Dean says to Demian and Barnes, “It must be nice to get out of your mom’s basement.” He’s judging them for deriving pleasure from dressing up and pretending to be someone else for a night. He doesn’t seem to get the irony that he does that for a living. As the seasons wore on, the creators made sure to include episodes where Dean’s inner geek could run rampant, often in the form of dressing up like a cowboy, such as season six “Frontierland” and season 13 “Tombstone”. I had to take a break from writing this to laugh for five minutes because Dean is so funny. He’s a car gay but he only likes one car. He doesn’t follow sports. His echolalia causes him to blurt out lines from his favourite movies. He’s a posse magnet. And he loves cosplay. But he will continually degrade and insult anyone who expresses interest in role play, fandom, or interests in general. Maybe that’s why Sam is such a boring person, because Dean as his mother didn’t allow him to have any interests outside of hunting. And when Sam does express interests, Dean insults him too. What a dick. He’s my soulmate, but I am not going to stop listening to hair metal for him. That’s where I draw the line. 

 Where “the monster at the end of this book” is concerned with narrative and authorship, “the real ghostbusters” is concerned with fandom and fan reactions to the show. It’s not really the best example to talk about in an episode about metanarrativity, but I wanted to include it anyway. It veers from talk of narrative by focusing on the people in the periphery of the narrative—the fans and the author. In season 9 “Metafiction,” Metatron asks the question, who gives the story meaning? The text would have you believe it’s the characters. The angels think it’s God. The fandom think it’s us. The creators think it’s them. Perhaps we will never come to a consensus or even a satisfactory answer to this question. Perhaps that’s the point.

The ultimate takeaway from this episode is that ordinary people, the people Sam and Dean save, the people they save the world for, the people they die for again and again, are what give their story meaning. Chuck defeats a ghost and saves the people in the conference room from being murdered. Demian and Barnes, don’t ask me which is which, burn the bodies of the ghost children and lay their spirits to rest. The text says that ordinary, every day people can rise to the challenge of becoming extraordinary. It’s not a bad note to end on, by any means. And then we find out that Demian and Barnes are a couple, which of course Dean is surprised at, because he lacks object permanence. 

This is no doubt influenced by how a good portion of the transformative fandom are queer, and also a nod to the wincesties and RPF writers like Becky who continue to bottom feed off the wrong message of this show. But then, the creators encourage that sort of thing, so who are the real clowns here? Everyone. Everyone involved with this show in any way is a clown, except for the crew, who were able to feed their families for more than a decade. 

Okay side note… over the past year or so I’ve been in process of realising that even in fandom queers are in the minority. I know the statistic is that 10% of the world population is queer, but that doesn’t seem right to me? Maybe because 4/5 closest friends are queer and I hang around queers online, but I also think I lack object permanence when it comes to straight people. Like I just do not interact with straight people on a regular basis outside of my best friend and parents and school. So when I hear that someone in fandom is straight I’m like, what the fuck… can you keep that to yourself please? Like if I saw Misha Collins coming out as straight I would be like, I didn’t ask and you didn’t have to tell. Okay I’m mostly joking, but I do forget straight people exist. Mostly I don’t think about whether people are gay or trans or cis or straight unless they’ve explicitly said it and then yes it does colour my perception of them, because of course it would. If they’re part of the queer community, they’re my people. And if they’re straight and cis, then they could very well pose a threat to me and my wellbeing. But I never ask people because it’s not my business to ask. If they feel comfortable enough to tell me, that’s awesome.  I think Dean feels the same way. Towards the later seasons at least, he has a good reaction when it’s revealed that someone is queer, even if it is mostly played off as a joke. It’s just that he doesn’t have a frame of reference in his own life to having a gay relationship, either his or someone he’s close to. He says to Cesar and Jesse in season 11 “The Critters” that they fight like brothers, because that’s the only way he knows how to conceptualise it. He doesn’t have a way to categorise his and Cas’s relationship, which is in many ways, long before season 15 “Despair,” harking back even to the parallels between Ruby and Cas in season 3 and 4, a romantic one, aside from that Cas is like a brother to him. Because he’s never had anyone in his life care for him the way Cas does that wasn’t Sam and Bobby, and he doesn’t recognise the romantic element of their relationship until literally Cas says it to him in the third last episode, he just—doesn’t know what his and Cas’s relationship is. He just really doesn’t know. And he grew up with a father who despised him for taking the mom and wife role in their family, the role that John placed him in, for being subservient to John’s wishes where Sam was more rebellious, so of course he wouldn’t understand either his own desires or those of anyone around him who isn’t explicitly shoving their tits in his face. He moulded his entire personality around what he thought John wanted of him, and John says to him explicitly in season 14 “Lebanon”, “I thought you’d have a family,” meaning, like him, wife and two rugrats. And then, dear god, Dean says, thinking of Sam, Cas, Jack, Claire, and Mary, “I have a family.” God that hurts so much. But since for most of his life he hasn’t been himself, he’s been the man he thought his father wanted him to be, he’s never been able to examine his own desires, wants and goals. So even though he’s really good at reading people, he is not good at reading other people’s desires unless they have nefarious intentions. Because he doesn’t recognise what he feels is attraction to men, he doesn’t recognise that in anyone else. 

Okay that’s completely off topic, wow. Getting back to metanarrativity in “The Real Ghostbusters,” I’ll just cap it off by saying that the books in this episode are more a frame for the events than the events themselves. However, there are some good outtakes where Chuck answers some questions, and I’m not sure how much of that is scripted and how much is Rob Benedict just going for it, but it lends another element to the idea of Kripke as author-god. The idea of a fan convention is really cool, because at this point Supernatural conventions had been running for about 4 years, since 2006. It’s definitely a tribute to the fans, but also to their own self importance. So it’s a mixed bag, considering there were plenty of elements in there that show the good side of fandom and fans, but ultimately the Winchesters want nothing to do with it, consider it weird, and threaten Chuck when he says he’ll start releasing books again, which as far as they know is his only source of income. But it’s a fun episode and Dean is a grouchy bitch, so who the holy hell cares?

Season 10 episode “fanfiction” written by my close personal friend Robbie Thompson and directed by Phil Sgriccia is one of the funniest episodes this show has ever done. Not only is it full of metatextual and metanarrative jokes, the entire premise revolves around fanservice, but in like a fun and interesting way, not fanservice like killing the band Kansas so that Dean can listen to “Carry On My Wayward Son” in heaven twice. Twice. One version after another. Like I would watch this musical seven times in theatre, I would buy the soundtrack, I would listen to it on repeat and make all my friends listen to it when they attend my online Jitsi birthday party. This musical is my Hamilton. Top ten episodes of this show for sure. The only way it could be better is if Cas was there. And he deserved to be there. He deserved to watch little dyke Castiel make out with her girlfriend with her cute little wings, after which he and Dean share uncomfortable eye contact. Dean himself is forever coming to terms with the fact that gay people exist, but Cas should get every opportunity he can to hear that it’s super cool and great and awesome to be queer. But really he should be in every episode, all of them, all 300 plus episodes including the ones before angels were introduced. I’m going to commission the guy who edits Paddington into every movie to superimpose Cas standing on the highway into every episode at least once.

“Fan Fiction” starts with a tv script and the words “Supernatural pilot created by Eric Kripke”. This Immediately sets up the idea that it’s toying with narrative. Blah blah blah, some people go missing, they stumble into a scene from their worst nightmares: the school is putting on a musical production of a show inspired by the Supernatural books. It’s a comedy of errors. When people continue to go missing, Sam and Dean have to convince the girls that something supernatural is happening, while retaining their dignity and respect. They reveal that they are the real Sam and Dean, and Dean gives the director Marie a summary of their lives over the last five seasons, but they aren’t taken seriously. Because, like, of course they aren’t. Even when the girls realise that something supernatural is happening, they don’t actually believe that the musical they’ve made and the series of books they’re basing it on are real. Despite how Sam and Dean Winchester were literal fugitives for many years at many different times, and this was on the news, and they were wanted by the FBI, despite how they pretend to be FBI, and no one mentions it??? Did any of the staffwriters do the required reading or just do what I used to do for my 40 plus page readings of Baudrillard and just skim the first sentence of every paragraph? Neat hack for you: paragraphs are set up in a logical order of Topic, Example, Elaboration, Linking sentence. Do you have to read 60 pages of some crusty French dude waxing poetic about how his best friend Pierre wants to shag his wife and making that your problem? Read the first and last sentence of every paragraph. Boom, done. Just cut your work in half. 

The musical highlights a lot of the important moments of the show so far. The brothers have, as Charlie Bradbury says, their “broment,” and as Marie says, their “boy melodrama scene,” while she insinuates that there is a sexual element to their relationship. This show never passed up an opportunity to mention incest. It’s like: mentioning incest 5000 km, not being disgusting 1 km, what a hard decision. Actually, they do have to walk on their knees for 100 miles through the desert repenting. But there are other moments—such as Mary burning on the ceiling, a classic, Castiel waiting for Dean at the side of the highway, and Azazel poisoning Sam. With the help of the high schoolers, Sam and Dean overcome Calliope, the muse and bad guy of the episode, and save the day. What began as their lives reinterpreted and told back to them turns into a story they have some agency over.

In this episode, as opposed to “The Monster At The End Of This Book,” The storytelling has transferred from an alcoholic in a bathrobe into the hands of an overbearing and overachieving teenage girl, and honestly why not. Transformative fiction is by and large run by women, and queer women, so Marie and her stage manager slash Jody Mills’s understudy Maeve are just following in the footsteps of legends. This kind of really succinctly summarises the difference between curative fandom and transformative fandom, the former of which is populated mostly by men, and the latter mostly by women. As defined by LordByronic in 2015, Curative fandom is more like enjoying the text, collecting the merchandise, organising the knowledge — basically Reddit in terms of fandom curation. Transformative fandom is transforming the source text in some way — making fanart, fanfic, mvs, or a musical — basically Tumblr in general, and Archive of our own specifically. Like what do non fandom people even do on Tumblr? It is a complete mystery to me. Whereas Chuck literally writes himself into the narrative he receives through visions, Marie and co have agency and control over the narrative by writing it themselves. 

Chuck does appear in the episode towards the end, his first appearance after five seasons. The theory that he killed those lesbian theatre girls makes me wanna curl up and die, so I don’t subscribe to it. Chuck watched the musical and he liked it and he gave unwarranted notes and then he left, the end.

The Supernatural creative team is explicitly acknowledging the fandom’s efforts by making this episode. They’re writing us in again, with more obsessive fans, but with lethbians this time, which makes it infinitely better. And instead of showing us as potential date rapists, we’re just cool chicks who like to make art. And that’s fucken awesome. 

I just have to note that the characters literally say the word Destiel after Dean sees the actors playing Dean and Cas making out. He storms off and tells Sam to shut the fuck up when Sam makes fun of him, because Dean’s sexuality is NOT threatened he just needs to assert his dominance as a straight hetero man who has NEVER looked at another man’s lips and licked his own. He just… forgets that gay people exist until someone reminds him. BUT THEN, after a rousing speech that is stolen from Rent or Wicked or something, he echoes Marie’s words back, saying “put as much sub into that text as you possibly can.” What does Dean know about subbing, I wonder. Okay I’m suddenly reminded that he did literally go to a kink bar and get hit on by a leather daddy. Oh Dean, the experiences you have as a broad-shouldered, pixie-faced man with cowboy legs. You were born for this role.

Metatron is my favourite villain. As one tumblr user pointed out, he is an evil English literature major, which is just a normal English literature major. The season nine episode “Meta Fiction” written by my main man robbie thompson and directed by thomas j wright, happens within a curious season. Castiel, once again, becomes the leader of a portion of the heavenly host to take down Metatron, and Dean is affected by the Mark Of Cain. Sam was recently possessed by Gadreel, who killed Kevin in Sam’s body and then decided to run off with Metatron. Metatron himself is recruiting angels to join him, in the hopes that he can become the new God. It’s the first introduction of Hannah, who encourages Cas to recruit angels himself to take on Metatron. Also, we get to see Gabriel again, who is always a delight. 

This episode is a lot of fun. Metatron poses questions like, who tells a story and who is the most important person in the telling? Is it the writer? The audience? He starts off staring over his typewriter to address the camera, like a pompous dickhead. No longer content with consuming stories, he’s started to write his own. And they are hubristic ones about becoming God, a better god than Chuck ever was, but to do it he needs to kill a bunch of people and blame it on Cas. So really, he’s actually exactly like Chuck who blamed everything on Lucifer. 

But I think the most apt analogy we can use for this in terms of who is the creator is to think of Metatron as a fanfiction writer. He consumes the media—the Winchester Gospels—and starts to write his own version of events—leading an army to become God and kill Cas. Nevermind that no one has been able to kill Cas in a way that matters or a way that sticks. Which is canon, and what Metatron is trying to do is—well not fanon because it actually does impact the Winchesters’ storyline. It would be like if one of the writers of Supernatural began writing Supernatural fanfiction before they got a job on the show. Which as my generation and the generations coming after me get more comfortable with fanfiction and fandom, is going to be the case for a lot of shows. I think it’s already the case for Riverdale. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the woman who wrote the bi Dean essay go to work on Riverdale? Or something? I dunno, I have the post saved in my tumblr likes but that is quagmire of epic proportions that I will easily get lost in if I try to find it. 

Okay let me flex my literary degree. As Englund and Leach say in “Ethnography and the metanarratives of modernity,” “The influential “literary turn,” in which the problems of ethnography were seen as largely textual and their solutions as lying in experimental writing seems to have lost its impetus.” This can be taken to mean, in the context of Supernatural, that while Metatron’s writings seek to forge a new path in history, forgoing fate for a new kind of divine intervention, the problem with Metatron is that he’s too caught up in the textual, too caught up in the writing, to be effectual. And this as we see throughout seasons 9, 10 and 11, has no lasting effect. Cas gets his grace back, Dean survives, and Metatron becomes a powerless human. In this case, the impetus is his grace, which he loses when Cas cuts it out of him, a mirror to Metatron cutting out Cas’s grace. 

However, I realise that the concept of ethnography in Supernatural is a flawed one, ethnography being the observation of another culture: a lot of the angels observe humanity and seem to fit in. However, Cas has to slowly acclimatise to the Winchesters as they tame him, but he never quite fit in—missing cues, not understanding jokes or Dean’s personal space, the scene where he says, “We have a guinea pig? Where?” Show him the guinea pig Sam!!! He wants to see it!!! At most he passes as a human with autism. Cas doesn’t really observe humanity—he observes nature, as seen in season 7 “reading is fundamental” and “survival of the fittest”. Even the human acts he talks about in season 6 “the man who would be king” are from hundreds or thousands of years ago. He certainly doesn’t observe popular culture, which puts him at odds with Dean, who is made up of 90 per cent pop culture references and 10 per cent flannel. Metatron doesn’t seek to blend in with humanity so much as control it, which actually is the most apt example of ethnography for white people in the last—you know, forever. But of course the writers didn’t seek to make this analogy. It is purely by chance, and maybe I’m the only person insane enough to realise it. But probably not. There are a lot of cookies much smarter than me in the Supernatural fandom and they’ve like me have grown up and gone to university and gotten real jobs in the real world and real haircuts. I’m probably the only person to apply Englund and Leach to it though.

And yes, as I read this paper I did need to have one tab open on Google, with the word “define” in the search bar. 

Metatron has a few lines in this that I really like. He says: 

“The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.”

“You’re going to have to follow my script.”

“I’m an entity of my word.”

It’s really obvious, but they’re pushing the idea that Metatron has become an agent of authorship instead of just a consumer of media. He even throws a Supernatural book into his fire — a symbolic act of burning the script and flipping the writer off, much like Cas did to God and the angels in season 5. He’s not a Kripke figure so much as maybe a Gamble, Carver or Dabb figure, in that he usurps Chuck and becomes the author-god. This would be extremely postmodern of him if he didn’t just do exactly what Chuck was doing, except worse somehow. In fact, it’s postmodern of Cas to reject heaven’s narrative and fall for Dean. As one tumblr user points out, Cas really said “What’s fate compared to Dean Winchester?”

Okay this transcript is almost 8000 words already, and I still have two more episodes to review, and more things to say, so I’ll leave you with this. Metatron says to Cas, “Out of all of God’s wind up toys, you’re the only one with any spunk.” Why Cas has captured his attention comes down more than anything to a process of elimination. Most angels fucking suck. They follow the rules of whoever puts themselves in charge, and they either love Cas or hate him, or just plainly wanna fuck him, and there have been few angels who stood out. Balthazar was awesome, even though I hated him the first time I watched season 6. He UNSUNK the Titanic. Legend status. And Gabriel was of course the OG who loves to fuck shit up. But they’re gone at this stage in the narrative, and Cas survives. Cas always survives. He does have spunk. And everyone wants to fuck him.  

Season 11 episode 20 “Don’t Call Me Shurley,” the last episode written by the Christ like figure of Robbie Thompson — are we sensing a theme here? — and directed by my divine enemy Robert Singer, starts with Metatron dumpster diving for food. I’m not even going to bother commenting on this because like… it’s supernatural and it treats complex issues like homelessness and poverty with zero nuance. Like the Winchesters live in poverty but it’s fun and cool because they always scrape by but Metatron lives in poverty and it’s funny. Cas was homeless and it was hard but he needed to do it to atone for his sins, and Metatron is homeless and it’s funny because he brought it on himself by being a murderous dick. Fucking hell. Robbie, come on. The plot focuses on God, also known as Chuck Shurley, making himself known to Metatron and asking for Metatron’s opinion on his memoir. Meanwhile, the Winchesters battle another bout of infectious serial killer fog sent by Amara. At the end of the episode, Chuck heals everyone affected by the fog and reveals himself to Sam and Dean. 

Chuck says that he didn’t foresee Metatron trying to become god, but the idea of Season 15 is that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all their lives. When Metatron tries, he fails miserably, is locked up in prison, tortured by Dean, then rendered useless as a human and thrown into the world without a safety net. His authorship is reduced to nothing, and he is reduced to dumpster diving for food. He does actually attempt to live his life as someone who records tragedies as they happen and sells the footage to news stations, which is honestly hilarious and amazing and completely unsurprising because Metatron is, at the heart of it, an English Literature major. In true bastard style, he insults Chuck’s work and complains about the bar, but slips into his old role of editor when Chuck asks him to. 

The theory I’m consulting for this uses the term metanarrative in a different way than I am. They consider it an overarching narrative, a grand narrative like religion. Chuck’s biography is in a sense most loyal to Middleton and Walsh’s view of metanarrative: “the universal story of the world from arche to telos, a grand narrative encompassing world history from beginning to end.” Except instead of world history, it’s God’s history, and since God is construed in Supernatural as just some guy with some powers who is as fallible as the next some guy with some powers, his story has biases and agendas.  Okay so in the analysis I’m getting Middleton and Walsh’s quotes from, James K A Smith’s “A little story about metanarratives,” Smith dunks on them pretty bad, but for Supernatural purposes their words ring true. Think of them as the BuckLeming of Lyotard’s postmodern metanarrative analysis: a stopped clock right twice a day. Is anyone except me understanding the sequence of words I’m saying right now. Do I just have the most specific case of brain worms ever found in human history. I’m currently wearing my oversized Keith Haring shirt and dipping pretzels into peanut butter because it’s 3.18 in the morning and the homosexuals got to me. The total claims a comprehensive metanarrative of world history make do indeed, as Middleton and Walsh claim, lead to violence, stay with me here, because Chuck’s legacy is violence, and so is Metatron’s, and in trying to reject the metanarrative, Sam and Dean enact violence. Mostly Dean, because in season 15 he sacrifices his own son twice to defeat Chuck. But that means literally fighting violence with violence. Violence is, after all, all they know. Violence is the lens through which they interact with the world. If the writers wanted to do literally anything else, they could have continued Dean’s natural character progression into someone who eschews the violence that stems from intergeneration trauma — yes I will continue to use the phrase intergenerational trauma whenever I refer to Dean — and becomes a loving father and husband. Sam could eschew violence and start a monster rehabilitation centre with Eileen.

This episode of Holy Hell is me frantically grabbing at straws to make sense of a narrative that actively hates me and wants to kick me to death. But the violence Sam and Dean enact is not at a metanarrative level, because they are not author-gods of their own narrative. In season 15 “Atomic Monsters,” Becky points out that the ending of the Supernatural book series is bad because the brothers die, and then, in a shocking twist of fate, Dean does die, and the narrative is bad. The writers set themselves a goal post to kick through and instead just slammed their heat into the bars. They set up the dartboard and were like, let’s aim the darts at ourselves. Wouldn’t that be fun. Season 15’s writing is so grossly incompetent that I believe every single conspiracy theory that’s come out of the finale since November, because it’s so much more compelling than whatever the fuck happened on the road so far. Carry on? Why yes, I think I will carry on, carry on like a pork chop, screaming at the bars of my enclosure until I crack my voice open like an egg and spill out all my rage and frustration. The world will never know peace again. It’s now 3.29 and I’ve written over 9000 words of this transcript. And I’m not done.

Middleton and Walsh claim that metanarratives are merely social constructions masquerading as universal truths. Which is, exactly, Supernatural. The creators have constructed this elaborate web of narrative that they want to sell us as the be all and end all. They won’t let the actors discuss how they really feel about the finale. They won’t let Misha Collins talk about Destiel. They want us to believe it was good, actually, that Dean, a recovering alcoholic with a 30 year old infant son and a husband who loves him, deserved to die by getting NAILED, while Sam, who spent the last four seasons, the entirety of Andrew Dabb’s run as showrunner, excelling at creating a hunter network and romancing both the queen of hell and his deaf hunter girlfriend, should have lived a normie life with a normie faceless wife. Am I done? Not even close. I started this episode and I’m going to finish it.

When we find out that Chuck is God in the episode of season 11, it turns everything we knew about Chuck on its head. We find out in Season 15 that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all along, that everything that happened to them is his doing. The one thing he couldn’t control was Cas’s choice to rebel. If we take him at his word, Cas is the only true force of free will in the entire universe, and more specifically, the love that Cas had for Dean which caused him to rebel and fall from heaven. — This theory has holes of course. Why would Lucifer torture Lilith into becoming the first demon if he didn’t have free will? Did Chuck make him do that? And why? So that Chuck could be the hero and Lucifer the bad guy, like Lucifer claimed all along? That’s to say nothing of Adam and Eve, both characters the show introduced in different ways, one as an antagonist and the other as the narrative foil to Dean and Cas’s romance. Thinking about it makes my head hurt, so I’m just not gunna. 

So Chuck was doing the writing all along. And as Becky claims in “Atomic Monsters,” it’s bad writing. The writers explicitly said, the ending Chuck wrote is bad because there’s no Cas and everyone dies, and then they wrote an ending where there is no Cas and everyone dies. So talk about self-fulfilling prophecies. Talk about giant craters in the earth you could see from 800 kilometres away but you still fell into. Meanwhile fan writers have the opportunity to write a million different endings, all of which satisfy at least one person. The fandom is a hydra, prolific and unstoppable, and we’ll keep rewriting the ending a million more times.

And all this is not even talking about the fact that Chuck is a man, Metatron is a man, Sam and Dean and Cas are men, and the writers and directors of the show are, by an overwhelming majority, men. Most of them are white, straight, cis men. Feminist scholarship has done a lot to unpack the damage done by paternalistic approaches to theory, sociology, ethnography, all the -ys, but I propose we go a step further with these men. Kill them. Metanarratively, of course. Amara, the Darkness, God’s sister, had a chance to write her own story without Chuck, after killing everything in the universe, and I think she had the right idea. Knock it all down to build it from the ground up. Billie also had the opportunity to write a narrative, but her folly was, of course, putting any kind of faith in the Winchesters who are also grossly incompetent and often fail up. She is, as all author-gods on this show are, undone by Castiel. The only one with any spunk, the only one who exists outside of his own narrative confines, the only one the author-gods don’t have any control over. The one who died for love, and in dying, gave life. 

The French Mistake

Let’s change the channel. Let’s calm ourselves and cleanse our libras. Let’s commune with nature and chug some sage bongs. 

“The French Mistake” is a song from the Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles. In the iconic second last scene of the film, as the cowboys fight amongst themselves, the camera pans back to reveal a studio lot and a door through which a chorus of gay dancersingers perform “the French Mistake”. The lyrics go, “Throw out your hands, stick out your tush, hands on your hips, give ‘em a push. You’ll be surprised you’re doing the French Mistake.” 

I’m not sure what went through the heads of the Supernatural creators when they came up with the season 6 episode, “The French Mistake,” written by the love of my life Ben Edlund and directed by some guy Charles Beeson. Just reading the Wikipedia summary is so batshit incomprehensible. In short: Balthazar sends Sam and Dean to an alternate universe where they are the actors Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, who play Sam and Dean on the tv show Supernatural. I don’t think this had ever been done in television history before. The first seven seasons of this show are certifiable. Like this was ten years ago. Think about the things that have happened in the last 10 slutty, slutty years. We have lived through atrocities and upheaval and the entire world stopping to mourn, but also we had twitter throughout that entire time, which makes it infinitely worse.

In this universe, Sam and Dean wear makeup, Cas is played by attractive crying man Misha Collins, and Genevieve Padalecki nee Cortese makes an appearance. Magic doesn’t exist, Serge has good ideas, and the two leads have to act in order to get through the day. Sorry man I do not know how to pronounce your name.

Sidenote: I don’t know if me being attracted aesthetically to Misha Collins is because he’s attractive, because this show has gaslighted me into thinking he’s attractive, or because Castiel’s iconic entrance in 2008 hit my developing mind like a torpedo full of spaghetti and blew my fucking brains all over the place. It’s one of life’s little mysteries and God’s little gifts.

Let’s talk about therapy. More specifically, “Agency and purpose in narrative therapy: questioning the postmodern rejection of metanarrative” by Cameron Lee. In this paper, Lee outlines four key ideas as proposed by Freedman and Combs:

Realities are socially constructed

Realities are constituted through language

Realities are organised and maintained through narrative

And there are no essential truths.

Let’s break this down in the case of this episode. Realities are socially constructed: the reality of Sam and Dean arose from the Bush era. Do I even need to elaborate? From what I understand with my limited Australian perception, and being a child at the time, 9/11 really was a prominent shifting point in the last twenty years. As Americans describe it, sometimes jokingly, it was the last time they were really truly innocent. That means to me that until they saw the repercussions of their government’s actions in funding turf wars throughout the middle east for a good chunk of the 20th Century, they allowed themselves to be hindered by their own ignorance. The threat of terrorism ran rampant throughout the States, spurred on by right wing nationalists and gun-toting NRA supporters, so it’s really no surprise that the show Supernatural started with the premise of killing everything in sight and driving around with only your closest kin and a trunk full of guns. Kripke constructed that reality from the social-political climate of the time, and it has wrought untold horrors on the minds of lesbians who lived through the noughties, in that we are now attracted to Misha Collins.

Number two: Realities are constituted through language. Before a show can become a show, it needs to be a script. It’s written down, typed up, and given to actors who say the lines out loud. In this respect, they are using the language of speech and words to convey meaning. But tv shows are not all about words, and they’re barely about scripts. From what I understand of being raised by television, they are about action, visuals, imagery, and behaviours. All of the work that goes into them—the scripts, the lighting, the audio, the sound mixing, the cameras, the extras, the ADs, the gaffing, the props, the stunts, everything—is about conveying a story through the medium of images. In that way, images are the language. The reality of the show Supernatural, inside the show Supernatural, is constituted through words: the script, the journalists talking to Sam, the makeup artist taking off Dean’s makeup, the conversations between the creators, the tweets Misha sends. But also through imagery: the fish tank in Jensen’s trailer, the model poses on the front cover of the magazine, the opulence of Jared’s house, Misha’s iconic sweater. Words and images are the language that constitutes both of these realities. Okay for real, I feel like I’ve only seen this episode max three times, including when I watched it for research for this episode, but I remember so much about it. 

Number three: realities are organised and maintained through narrative. In this universe of the French Mistake, their lives are structured around two narratives: the internal narrative of the show within the show, in which they are two actors on a tv set; and the episode narrative in which they need to keep the key safe and return to their own universe. This is made difficult by the revelation that magic doesn’t work in this universe, however, they find a way. Before they can get back, though, an avenging angel by the name of Virgil guns down author-god Eric Kripke and tries to kill the Winchesters. However, they are saved by Balthazar and the freeze frame and brought back into their own world, the world of Supernatural the show, not Supernatural the show within the show within the nesting doll. And then that reality is done with, never to be revisited or even mentioned, but with an impact that has lasted longer than the second Bush administration.

And number four: there are no essential truths. This one is a bit tricky because I can’t find what Lee means by essential truths, so I’m just going to interpret that. To me, essential truths means what lies beneath the narratives we tell ourselves. Supernatural was a show that ran for 15 years. Supernatural had actors. Supernatural was showrun by four different writers. In the show within a show, there is nothing, because that ceases to exist for longer than the forty two minute episode “The French Mistake”. And since Supernatural no longer exists except in our computers, it is nothing too. It is only the narratives we tell ourselves to sleep better at night, to wake up in the morning with a smile, to get through the day, to connect with other people, to understand ourselves better. It’s not even the narrative that the showrunners told, because they have no agency over it as soon as it shows up on our screens. The essential truth of the show is lost in the translation from creating to consuming. Who gives the story meaning? The people watching it and the people creating it. We all do. 

Lee says that humans are predisposed to construct narratives in order to make sense of the world. We see this in cultures from all over the world: from cave paintings to vases, from The Dreaming to Beowulf, humans have always constructed stories. The way you think about yourself is a story that you’ve constructed. The way you interact with your loved ones and the furries you rightfully cyberbully on Twitter is influenced by the narratives you tell yourself about them. And these narratives are intricate, expansive, personalised, and can colour our perceptions completely, so that we turn into a different person when we interact with one person as opposed to another. 

Whatever happened in season 6, most of which I want to forget, doesn’t interest me in the way I’m telling myself the writers intended. For me, the entirety of season 6 was based around the premise of Cas being in love with Dean, and the complete impotence of this love. He turns up when Dean calls, he agonises as he watches Dean rake leaves and live his apple pie life with Lisa, and Dean is the person he feels most horribly about betraying. He says, verbatim, to Sam, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” And Balthazar says, “You’re confusing me with the other angel, the one in the dirty trenchcoat who’s in love with you.” He says this in season 6, and we couldn’t do a fucken thing about it. 

The song “The French Mistake” shines a light on the hidden scene of gay men performing a gay narrative, in the midst of a scene about the manliest profession you can have: professional horse wrangler, poncho wearer, and rodeo meister, the cowboy. If this isn’t a perfect encapsulation of the lovestory between Dean and Cas, which Ben Edlund has been championing from day fucking one of Misha Collins walking onto that set with his sex hair and chapped lips, then I don’t know what the fuck we’re even doing here. What in the hell else could it possibly mean. The layers to this. The intricacy. The agendas. The subtextual AND blatant queerness. The micro aggressions Crowley aimed at Car in “The Man Who Would Be King,” another Bedlund special. Bed Edlund is a fucking genius. Bed Edlund is cool girl. Ben Edlund is the missing link. Bed Edlund IS wikileaks. Ben Edlund is a cool breeze on a humid summer day. Ben Edlund is the stop loading button on a browser tab. Ben Edlund is the perfect cross between Spotify and Apple Music, in which you can search for good playlists, but without having to be on Spotify. He can take my keys and fuck my wife. You best believe I’m doing an entire episode of Holy Hell on Bedlund’s top five. He is the reason I want to get into staffwriting on a tv show. I saw season 4 episode “On the head of a pin” when my brain was still torpedoed spaghetti mush from the premiere, and it nestled its way deep into my exposed bones, so that when I finally recovered from that, I was a changed person. My god, this transcript is 11,000 words, and I haven’t even finished the Becky section. Which is a good transition.

Oh, Becky. She is an incarnation of how the writers, or at least Kripke, view the fans. Watching season 5 “Sympathy for the Devil” live in 2009 was a whole fucking trip that I as a baby gay was not prepared for. Figuring out my sexuality was a journey that started with the Supernatural fandom and is in some aspects still raging against the dying of the light today. Add to that, this conception of the audience was this, like, personification of the librarian cellist from Juno, but also completely without boundaries, common sense, or shame. It made me wonder about my position in the narrative as a consumer consuming. Is that how Kripke saw me, specifically? Was I like Becky? Did my forays into DeanCasNatural on El Jay dot com make me a fucking loser whose only claim to fame is writing some nasty fanfiction that I’ve since deleted all traces of? Don’t get me wrong, me and my unhinged Casgirl friends loved Becky. I can’t remember if I ever wrote any fanfiction with her in it because I was mostly writing smut, which is extremely Becky coded of me, but I read some and my friends and I would always chat about her when she came up. She was great entertainment value before season 7. But in the eyes of the powers that be, Becky, like the fans themselves, are expendable. First they turned her into a desperate bride wannabe who drugs Sam so that he’ll be with her, then Chuck waves his hand and she disappears. We’re seeing now with regards to Destiel, Cas, and Misha Collins this erasure of them from the narrative. Becky says in season 15 “Atomic Monsters” that the ending Chuck writes is bad because, for one, there’s no Cas, and that’s exactly what’s happening to the text post-finale. It literally makes me insane akin to the throes of mania to think about the layers of this. They literally said, “No Cas = bad” and now Misha isn’t even allowed to talk in his Cassona voice—at least at the time I wrote that—to the detriment of the fans who care about him. It’s the same shit over and over. They introduce something we like, they realise they have no control over how much we like it, and then they pretend they never introduced it in the first place. Season 7, my god. The only reason Gamble brought back Cas was because the ratings were tanking the show. I didn’t even bother watching most of it live, and would just hear from my friends whether Cas was in the episodes or not. And then Sera, dear Sera, had the gall to say it was a Homer’s Odyssey narrative. I’m rusty on Homer aka I’ve never read it but apparently Odysseus goes away, ends up with a wife on an island somewhere, and then comes back to Terabithia like it never happened. How convenient. But since Sera Gamble loves to bury her gays, we can all guess why Cas was written out of the show: Cas being gay is a threat to the toxic heteronormativity spouted by both the show and the characters themselves. In season 15, after Becky gets her life together, has kids, gets married, and starts a business, she is outgrowing the narrative and Chuck kills her. The fans got Destiel Wedding trending on Twitter, and now the creators are acting like he doesn’t exist. New liver, same eagles.

I have to add an adendum: as of this morning, Sunday 11th, don’t ask me what time that is in Americaland, Misha Collins did an online con/Q&A thing and answered a bunch of questions about Cas and Dean, which goes to show that he cannot be silenced. So the narrative wants to be told. It’s continuing well into it’s 16th or 17th season. It’s going to keep happening and they have no recourse to stop it. So fuck you, Supernatural.

I did write the start of a speech about representation but, who the holy hell cares. I also read some disappointing Masters theses that I hope didn’t take them longer to research and write than this episode of a podcast I’m making for funsies took me, considering it’s the same number of pages. Then again I have the last four months and another 8 years of fandom fuelling my obsession, and when I don’t sleep I write, hence the 4,000 words I knocked out in the last 12 hours. 

Some final words. Lyotard defines postmodernism, the age we live in, as an incredulity towards metanarratives. Modernism was obsessed with order and meaning, but postmodernism seeks to disrupt that. Modernists lived within the frame of the narrative of their society, but postmodernists seek to destroy the frame and live within our own self-written contexts. Okay I love postmodernist theory so this has been a real treat for me. Yoghurt, Sam? Postmodernist theory? Could I BE more gay? 

Middleton and Walsh in their analysis of postmodernism claim that biblical faith is grounded in metanarrative, and explore how this intersects with an era that rejects metanarrative. This is one of the fundamental ideas Supernatural is getting at throughout definitely the last season, but other seasons as well. The narratives of Good vs Evil, Michael vs Lucifer, Dean vs Sam, were encoded into the overarching story of the show from season 1, and since then Sam and Dean have sought to break free of them. Sam broke free of John’s narrative, which was the hunting life, and revenge, and this moralistic machismo that they wrapped themselves up in. If they’re killing the evil, then they’re not the evil. That’s the story they told, and the impetus of the show that Sam was sucked back into. But this thread unravelled in later seasons when Dean became friends with Benny and the idea that all supernatural creatures are inherently evil unravelled as well. While they never completely broke free of John’s hold over them, welcoming Jack into their lives meant confronting a bias that had been ingrained in them since Dean was 4 years old and Sam 6 months. In the face of the question, “are all monsters monstrous?” the narrative loosens its control. Even by questioning it, it throws into doubt the overarching narrative of John’s plan, which is usurped at the end of season 2 when they kill Azazel by Dean’s demon deal and a new narrative unfolds. John as author-god is usurped by the actual God in season 4, who has his own narrative that controls the lives of Sam, Dean and Cas. 

Okay like for real, I do actually think the metanarrativity in Supernatural is something that should be studied by someone other than me, unless you wanna pay me for it and then shit yeah. It is extremely cool to introduce a biographical narrative about the fictional narrative it’s in. It’s cool that the characters are constantly calling this narrative into focus by fighting against it, struggling to break free from their textual confines to live a life outside of the external forces that control them. And the thing is? The really real, honest thing? They have. Sam, Dean and Cas have broken free of the narrative that Kripke, Carver, Gamble and Dabb wrote for them. The very fact that the textual confession of love that Cas has for Dean ushered in a resurgence of fans, fandom and activity that has kept the show trending for five months after it ended, is just phenomenal. People have pointed out that fans stopped caring about Game of Thrones as soon as it ended. Despite the hold they had over tv watchers everywhere, their cultural currency has been spent. The opposite is true for Supernatural. Despite how the finale of the show angered and confused people, it gains more momentum every day. More fanworks, more videos, more fics, more art, more ire, more merch is being generated by the fans still. The Supernatural subreddit, which was averaging a few posts a week by season 15, has been incensed by the finale. And yours truly happily traipsed back into the fandom snake pit after 8 years with a smile on my face and a skip in my step ready to pump that dopamine straight into my veins babeeeeeeyyyyy. It’s been WILD. I recently reconnected with one of my mutuals from 2010 and it’s like nothing’s changed. We’re both still unhinged and we both still simp for Supernatural. Even before season 15, I was obsessed with the podcast Ride Or Die, which I started listening to in late 2019, and Supernatural was always in the back of my mind. You just don’t get over your first fandom. Actually, Danny Phantom was my first fandom, and I remember being 12 talking on Danny Phantom forums to people much too old to be the target audience of the show. So I guess that hasn’t left me either. And the fondest memories I have of Supernatural is how the characters have usurped their creators to become mythic, long past the point they were supposed to die a quiet death. The myth weaving that the Supernatural fandom is doing right now is the legacy that will endure. 

References

I got all of these for free from Google Scholar! 

Judith May Fathallah, “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural.” 

James K A Smith, “A Little Story About Metanarratives: Lyotard, Religion and Postmodernism Revisited.” 2001.

Cameron Lee, “Agency and Purpose in Narrative Therapy: Questioning the Postmodern Rejection of Metanarrative.” 2004.

Harri Englund and James Leach, “Ethnography and the Meta Narratives of Modernity.” 2000.

https://uproxx.com/filmdrunk/mel-brooks-explains-french-mistake-blazing-saddles-blu-ray/

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Ashamed

Summary: Could I request one where Eddie is ashamed of the scar on his chest from Pennywise and that he refuses to take his shirt off for any reason until Richie confronts him and tells him that the scar is a reminder of his bravery and he takes Eddie's shirt off and kisses it?

A/N: I hope you enjoy and I’m so sorry it took so long! I’m a bit behind on my request but I promise I’m trying to finish request every day so to everyone who has requested stuff, I promise it’s coming!  

warnings: there’s a sex joke in here, and a sex reference (not graphic at all) 

Eddie has contemplated before on hanging up a towel over the mirror any and each time he’s in the bathroom by himself. He’s never executed the plan, Richie’s too observant for that too work and would notice but straight away, leading to questions Eddie’s ashamed to answer, but whenever Richie is away on tour or a show, he’ll prop the towel from one side to the other, obscuring the view of his chest.

He’s never been very confident in his appearance, but he wasn’t hyper aware of it like he is after the Pennywise accident either. He didn’t have to be. For years Myra smothered him with her self-presumed love and adoration, picking out the clothes he wore and buying all the creams and aftershave she treasured, and Eddie followed her in those things without stopping and thinking about what he liked and how he wanted to sell himself towards other people.

Once, he was gifted a perfume bottle from one of his coworkers, a secret Santa gift, and when he sprayed it on to go to work the next day, Myra picked up on the change and gave him a piece of her mind. She reamed Eddie about not remodeling himself to be accepted by his peers, not mulling that maybe the Eddie she prepared and drilled every morning was not the real Eddie. There were threats being ushered, like Eddie cheating on Myra and switching perfumes to galvanize his mistress, and no matter how many times Eddie tried to reason with her, she was dead set on the idea.

He tossed the bottle out that same day, immensely guilty that he gave Myra grounds to question him. She was right after all, Eddie was married, and he didn’t have to make anyone happy except his wife, not even himself.

Post Derry him is happier. So fucking happy he gleams and elates every morning awakening in Richie’s arms, or the other way around, nosing behind Richie’s ear to get that one little inch closer, turning off the alarm and dosing an extra hour, work suddenly coming second for once in Eddie’s life. Richie had that effect on him, made him long to be near him twenty-four/seven,

But he also feels worse, and that can be tracked back to the long, vertical scar smacked in the middle of his chest. It’s starts in the mornings, but in a stand offish way, the insecurities bubbling on the edge of his mind loud enough that Eddie knows they’re there, but not so ample close that Eddie nitpicks and examines them, yet.

And at first it wasn’t even that bad, Eddie mostly enthralled with moving his stuff in and out of houses, and fitting as much RichieandEddie time into their shared schedule to gain back what they lost over the years, the underlying doubt and terror every time he caught a glimpse of the scar background to the best moments of his life.

It only really became a problem the first time Eddie and Richie made love to each other, and Eddie refused to take of his shirt. The pleasant, hot and vastly attractive sight of Richie’s slightly pudgy stomach and thighs, and his clean, smooth chest Eddie could run his fingers over and not bubble once incited a deep meekness and carved him hallow. Emptied by the idea that he’s horrific and undeserving of the adoration so blindingly clear in his boyfriends eyes.

Most off all, the scar is reminiscent on the clown trauma, proof that Pennywise maintains some sort of power over him, in comparisons to his friends and Richie, who moved on with their lives. It distinguishes him from the group, and not in a good way. In a way that shines a bright neon spot over Eddie’s head, accentuating his cowardness.  

The reflections displayed in the mirror exhibits his slip up, his idiocy to entertain the idea of him being strong enough to defeat Pennywise all on his own, he wants nothing to do with it. The scar tissue puckers up his skin and his disgust is so deeply rooted that he didn’t even bother to check up on it for months after Derry, to assure it didn’t fester.

So no, Eddie doesn’t conceal the glass whenever Richie is home, but what he does do is strip down everything except for his shirt when slipping in the shower, towing the shower curtain and tossing the shirt out, rumpled on the floor, via the small slit.

The wrinkles in his shirt agitate him, but are a small price to pay for preserving his sanity and spirits. In the shower he resolutely does not look down at all, his eyes trained on the ugly pattern of tiles Richie claimed came with the house when he bought it, but Eddie suspects he just really fancy’s it.

Eddie always neatly packs his new shirt on the countertop, effortlessly accessible from the lavatory so he can dry off and pull on his shirt without drawing his own attention to his chest.

Stowing away his insecurity is a weight he’s been holding over his own head, so dangerously close to imbalance and tumbling over that Eddie feels shifting his attention from it slightly will let it all crash down on him. Because Richie has a tenacious personality, and once he catches a whiff of it, he’ll cling to the smallest straws to get to the bottom of it.

The schedule Eddie’s built has never been interrupted before, Richie knowing, or at least being tricked into knowing, and understanding that the bathroom serves as Eddie’s sanctuary, a place for being alone and restocking and regrouping his overactive mind. The interference in the schedule is Eddie’s own wrongdoing, for glossing over the fact that they had a dinner party to attend to, and dragging out his time in the bathroom for way too long plus forgetting to grab a change of clothing.

He only addresses the issue at hand when the shower runs cold and he’s bordering on being late, contemplating his options with his hands resting on his hips. Richie always sings a derivative of a song before entering a room, transforming the lyrics in a way that fits in Eddie and Richie’s life, as a substitute for knocking as that’s boring according to him, but Eddie discerns tiny snores emerging from the living room, so Eddie hurriedly dries off and dons his underwear, training his eyes down casted to not look at the mirror.

He wastes a long time debating on what to wear, matching multiple t-shirts to the pants he has elected to wear, unbeknownst that the snoring in the other room has ebbed away. This is an important business meeting with Richie’s new manager, one that will lift up his spirits and encourage him to fly solo, writers free, and Eddie can’t afford to mess this up. He’s scrutinizing an oxford-button-down forest green shirt, analyzing if there’s a spot on the fabric or if it’s a trick of the light.  

Hearing the caroling a smidge too late, Eddie has no time to slip in the shirt before the door cracks open, Richie’s wild curls sticking out in every direction and his pants too low, pulled down from the movements he slanders during sleep.

‘I was about to call the ambulance and ask them to assemble a rescue mission’, he quips, feet padding the carpet of the bedroom lazily.

The weight Eddie’s been bearing up dislodges and veers menacingly to the edge, a gust away from keeling over the edge.

‘Get out’, Eddie says calmly the first time, contorting his body so his upper torse is veiled from Richie’s observation, the button-down serving as a shield of sorts. ‘Get out’, he clamors, a panic attack lurking in the shadows and prowling on his burst of utter panic.

‘Eds’, Richie says perplexed, his eyebrows contracting, his droopy eye more squinted than it is with his face slacked.

‘Get out, I don’t want to see you’, Eddie hisses, witnessing the decay of Richie’s happy face, teetering away backwards and back out in the hallway.

Eddie swallows, the door obstructing his outlook on Richie, and appareling his shirt so fast it tears around the sleeves, pretending he didn’t hear that. His instincts lure him to hide under the covers and wait for the whole thing to blow over, but his comments hurt Richie and his instincts were formed his primary years, while living with his mother, so he does the exact opposite.

‘Rich’, he groans, eyeing Richie leaning on the counter, his body jutting out, dancing on his feet and shelving the cleaned dishes.  

‘Richie stop.’ Eddie plasters himself against Richie’s back, fitting so perfectly like puzzle pieces, like a riddle so complicated that’s been solved. He hooks his chin over Richie’s shoulder, kissing the underside of his jaw.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.’

‘No it’s fine, it’s my fault. I need to learn how to knock. I didn’t mean to agitate you.’

‘You didn’t agitate me. I know I say you do all the time but somehow everything you do is endearing, not irritating.’

‘Careful Eddie Spaghetti, you’ll give me a big head.’

‘I can do that tonight if you’d like?’ Eddie teased, the tight knot in his heart uncoiling at the rumbling of Richie’s laugh.

Richie rotated in his arms, front to front, hugging Eddie back in equal fierce as Eddie did too him.

‘Forgive me?’

‘That depends my good follow, however shall you atone me?’ He released Eddie with one arm, using his hand to tap his chin thoughtfully. ‘Hm, perhaps with a reason as to why?’, his British accent lacing his words.

‘Rich, I really don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Come on,’ Richie pleaded, pouting with his bottom lip. ‘How can I help if you won’t tell me what’s going on?’

Eddie sighed, his arms cave in and the weight collapses down upon him. ‘I just don’t want you to envision this’, he says, unconsciously smoothing down his shirt on the spot his wound is located.

‘Envision what? You?’

‘No’, Eddie explains miserably, ‘I mean the scar, the disfigurement.’

‘Eddie’, Richie gently chuckles, ‘I don’t give a shit about that.’

‘That’s because you haven’t seen it yet. It’s so ugly and,’ Eddie interrupted himself, unwinding from Richie to give himself some breathing space. Being near Richie is intoxicating, but he needed to think clearly.

‘And what?’ Richie pries.

‘How much of a coward I am okay? I don’t want you to look at me and realize how much better you can do.’

‘Eddie, do you honestly believe you’re a coward?’

‘Yeah.’ Shame flooding the tips of his ears, making it harder to engage the conversation, when all Eddie wanted was to leave and go the this dinner.

‘Like I told you down in the sewers, you’re braver than you think, Eds. I’m the one who aimed higher and scored the jackpot.’ Richie asseverate.

‘You keep saying that but I’m the only one idiot enough to get injured.’

‘That’s no true, I strained my leg muscle.’ Richie states, twisting his leg, reliving the memory of the shards of affliction lodging in.

‘Seriously, maybe you’re the only one that got hurt, but you survived. Who in the world can claim there’s so badass that they lived through being shish kebabbed? By a demon from outer space no less.’

‘No one I guess.’

‘No one, erase the “I guess”. Give yourself some credit.’ Richie says firmly, outstretching his arm and then thinking better of it. ‘Can I touch it?’

‘Richie,’ Eddie hesitated, eyes flitting around the room as if to plan his escape.

‘I’ll be really gentle. And if you don’t like it I’ll pull back straight away.’ The soft tone settles Eddie somewhat, and with a hesitant nod, Richie slowly inches closer. He goes so leisurely, as one would approach a feral kitten, but Eddie keeps the parallels to himself, Richie will tease him relentlessly for it.

Eddie expected Richie to slide under his shirt from the get go, but all Richie does is pet his chest on top of the shirt, mapping out the area and feeling where the scar is located.

The area is strangely sensitive, a reason why Eddie has to douche it softly as opposed to the harsh scrubbing he’s used to doing to every other part of his physics.

Only the barely-there, soft touches of Richie’s fingers pawing, tickles Eddie, realizing a breathless hum as he gets acquainted to Richie and him converging in that spot.

Eddie giggles, Richie steadily ongoing his ministrations, until the notion borders on too much, and he plummets to his knees.

He kisses top of the blemish, all the way to the underside, blowing a raspberry there as if the normal kiss wasn’t ticklish enough.

Eddie cackles, halfheartedly shoving Richie backwards, his worries fizzling out into the night. The smooches leave a trail of slobber from Richie’s mount, wilting spots on his blouse Richie’s manager will discern him in.  

‘Richie stop, you’re going to ruin it and we have to leave soon.’

‘Nah, I cancelled.’

‘You cancelled? Why?’

‘Because the love of my love, my Eddie Spaghetti, my Eds, gave off the impression he was in a pretty foul mood.’

‘Was I that obvious?’ Eddie grumbles, fingers racking lovingly trough Richie’s curls.

‘No, I just have a knack for you. Anyways I rescheduled.’

‘Oh Rich you didn’t have to do that. What is she going to think of you?’

‘I don’t care. Look, if she’s striving to be my manager she best believe that my career always come second. You’re my number one priority, no matter what.’

Eddie’s eyes turn bloodshot, blinking rapidly to contain the upcoming flow of tears. Richie presses a final kiss, then resurfaces upwards, a lopsided grin grazing his face.

‘You’re not going to take it off?’ Eddie inquires fretful, not sure what he wants the answer to be.

‘No, later, when you’re more at ease. But Eds, I need you to know, I’m going to look at it, and all that will be going on in my mind is holy fuck. That scar is symbolic for how strong and daring you are, and how glad I am to have you here breathing with me. That motherfucking clown tried everything, and he still couldn’t kill you. You know why? Because you’re a stubborn little basterd, and also indestructible. And I love you so much.’

The taste of salt explodes on Richie’s tongue, surprisingly, he hadn’t got a clue he was crying in the first place.

‘Great, good job idiot. Now look at us, two blubbering idiot sniffling in a kitchen’, Eddie grumbled, but he was smiling so wide the dimples in his cheeks were distinguishable.

‘I love you too.’ 

[ploppythespaceship]

In Defense of Will Riker

Riker gets such an unfair reputation in the Star Trek fandom. So many people genuinely can’t stand the guy, which is their right. He can be a somewhat boring character with a strange and even nonexistent character arc. But a lot of this dislike stems from the idea that Riker is a sexist, misogynistic creep who is actively trying to get into the pants of every woman he meets. Which is so far from the truth, I don’t understand how it’s still the perception.

First of all, we’ve done this song and dance with Kirk before. Enjoying dating and sex does not make someone a creep. If everyone involved is a consenting adult, it shouldn’t matter who you’re dating and/or sleeping with.

Secondly, TNG goes out of its way to show that Riker is a great guy. If you actually go through his episodes and look at how he treats both the women he works with and the women he’s interested in, you’ll see that he always treats them with respect. And in instances where he has an easy opportunity to take advantage, he never does it. Because Will Riker is a gentleman who drinks his respect women juice.

I’m so sick of this argument that under the cut I’ve compiled all of Riker’s important relationships with women on the show to demonstrate exactly what I mean.

I pulled most of these from the relationships section of Riker’s Memory-Alpha page, which is pretty thorough, and a few just from memory since I rewatched the whole show pretty recently. I don’t think anything relevant has been left out, but feel free to let me know if you think of something else. I’m all for some civil discussion of these things! Emphasis on civil.

Deanna Troi

Starting with the big one! The very first episode establishes that they have a romantic history, and have since split up. The details of their relationship are pretty scarce, but it’s clear that they had an intense, intimate connection. Initially they’re awkward but professional around one another, and this eventually softens into genuine friendship. They are close, possibly closer than anyone else on the ship. But Will never, not once, pressures Deanna into romance with him. He is entirely respectful towards her. In a few episodes they’re possibly shown to be dating again (it’s unclear) but Deanna gives no indication of being uncomfortable with this arrangement. When they officially get back together in the films, their feelings are clearly mutual and neither is being pressured into anything.

Frankly, Will and Deanna are an excellent example of a healthy relationship with one’s ex, respecting boundaries while maintaining closeness. The two of them are always shown supporting each other. It always bugs me that people think there’s something insidious going on here. Will isn’t just trying to get back into her pants. He genuinely loves and respects her.

And it’s worth mentioning that in “Second Chances”, when Deanna is interested in dating the alternate version of him (later known as Thomas), Will clearly isn’t thrilled about it, but also respects her decision and does nothing to intervene. When she talks to him about it, he is very clear that he does not expect her to ask for his opinion or for his approval, and that as long as she’s happy, he supports her.

Tasha Yar

Frankly they don’t have many distinct interactions that I recall, but Riker treats her the same as he treats everyone else on the crew. He is respectful of her, her rank, and her position.

Beverly Crusher

Not a hint of romance in their relationship. They are friends with a healthy connection built on mutual trust. Again, he is respectful of her, her rank, and her position.

Kathryn Pulaski

You can copy paste everything I said about Crusher, tbh. They’re friends and quite respectful of one another. Nothing untoward happening here.

Lwaxana Troi

Lwaxana flirts with Riker sometimes. Cause she flirts with everyone. Though she leaves him alone a bit more since he’s involved with her daughter. And yet again, Riker is entirely respectful of her, though he does gently have to tell her to back off at times. Eventually they settle into the classic son-in-law / mother-in-law relationship.

Beata (“Angel One”)

Does this episode suck? Yep. Is this relationship awkward as hell? God, yes. Is Riker being misogynistic? Nope! He actually goes out of his way to be respectful of this matriarchal society’s customs, even wearing an outfit that many in his culture would consider demeaning. Not to mention, Beata is primarily the one coming onto him, not the other way around. He’s simply reciprocating. It might be poor judgment, but it’s again entirely mutual and consensual.

Minuet (“11001001″)

Riker goes into the holodeck to relax, and then meets a nice holograhic lady to help him do just that... and people get mad that he enjoys that? Minuet is programmed specifically for this. Not to mention the Bynars literally designed her to be irresistible for him. Of course he’s gonna be besotted with her. And, issues of hologram sentience aside (Trek hadn’t delved too deelpy into it by that point), this is once again entirely consensual.

Minuet does pop up again in “Future Imperfect”, sort of, simply because Barash needed to choose a figure to serve as Riker’s late wife. With someone unable to distinguish holodeck memories from real ones, Minuet would seem like a perfectly reasonable choice.

Brenna Odell (“Up the Long Ladder”)

This is an entirely consensual one night stand. The feelings are clearly mutual. Even while they’re bickering, it’s obvious there’s an attraction underneath it, on both sides. Again, their fling might be poor judgment, but absolutely not misogyny.

Yuta (“The Vengeance Factor”)

This is one of the few episodes where I can see why their relationship might make some viewers uncomfortable, but I also think it’s the most telling as to why Riker is not the creep people assume him to be.

The cultural and status differences between them place Riker at a clear power advantage compared to Yuta, which makes for an imbalance. Yuta is a servant, and her entire mindset is that of serving others. Having a relationship on equal footing with someone like Riker is entirely foreign to her, and she struggles against her instincts to follow all of his wishes without question. That being said, Riker does basically everything he possibly can to address and negate that imbalance. He does his utmost to respect her and her position. He doesn’t force her into anything she isn’t ready for. Any time she tries to fill the role of a servant for him, he stops her to explain that he wants her to be his equal. You could argue that this relationship is inappropriate regardless, because the power imbalance still exists whether he wishes it to or not, but I think it’s important to note how dedicated he is to not taking advantage of this girl.

And of course, at the end of the episode he is forced to choose duty over love and must kill her, but it’s hardly his fault that she’s a secret assassin.

Lal (“The Offspring”)

He flirted with her while unaware of who she was, and stopped immediately upon realizing. And she kissed him, not the other way around. Just look at his face! He clearly didn’t expect that. He did absolutely nothing wrong here. Using this brief scene against his character is just absurd.

Commander Shelby (“The Best of Both Worlds”)

For some reason the consensus in this episode is that Riker is rude to Shelby because she doesn’t want to sleep with him. And that’s just a complete and utter misread of the episode.

First, there is absolutely no indication that Riker is romantically interested in her. Nor does she does not reject his advances, because no advances are even made. Second, Riker gets short with Shelby at times because she has been assigned to work under his command, and she’s questioning his decisions and generally being difficult to work with. It’s literally his job to call people on things like that. That being said, he’s never particularly rude to her -- at least, no more rude than she is to him. They also grow into mutual respect by the end of the episodes, to the point where he trusts her to serve as his first officer.

Lanel (“First Contact”)

( TW: rape mention )

Quite frankly the next person to point to this episode as evidence of Riker’s misogyny is getting slapped. She. Raped. Him. Full stop. He needed to escape, she offered to help if he slept with her, and he agreed because at the time it was the only way to save his life. Consent under duress is not consent. He does not appear comfortable with the arrangement, and his joking afterwards is forced. So let’s just stop holding this episode up as proof of Riker’s sexism, mkay? He was undeniably the victim here.

Carmen Davila (“Silicon Avatar”)

There’s not much to glean from their brief interaction where Riker asks her to dinner, but again: feelings are mutual. Everyone’s consenting. Nothing untoward happening here. Besides, she’s killed not five minutes into the episode, so it doesn’t particularly matter.

Etana Jol (“The Game”)

Riker’s having a fling with her on Risa. Because that’s what you do on Risa. You go vacation and have fun, and if you so choose, you can find someone else there wanting to have fun. And you have some sexy fun together. That’s just how it goes on Risa.

Also, she’s revealed to be playing him and literally brainwashes him to access the Enterprise. So the situation is not entirely within his control. Again, let’s not blame the victim here.

Ro Laren

There’s clearly sexual tension between them in some episodes, which mostly comes across as bickering. Riker is sharp with her when he needs to be, as a commander, but also tells her when she’s done a good job. The only time they sleep together is in “Conundrum”, when all their memories are erased. Therefore they’re unaware of the context that a romantic relationship isn’t entirely appropriate. When they remember again, they are awkward but respectful of one another, and now have a stronger friendship for it. And I’ll say it for the umpteenth time: mutual and consensual.

Soren (“The Outcast”)

This episode is controversial as hell, and it’s always a tricky one to dive into. But as far as Riker’s relationship with Soren is concerned: there’s honestly nothing bad happening here. He is respectful of her culture and is impressed by her as a pilot and scientist. Though he clearly has feelings for her, it’s unclear if he would have been the first to pursue them, because she confesses hers for him first. Before then, he was entirely professional with her. Only when their mutual attraction is confirmed does Riker actually pursue a relationship with her.

(Side note, that conversation is also when she comes out to him as female.(Yes, Riker was attracted to her before knowing she was female! At the time he believed her to be androgynous/non-binary. Which makes him canonically not straight.)

Additionally he is 100% respectful of her gender -- one of the only people to do that, in fact -- and does what he can both to respect her culture while also supporting her and her journey. He’s genuinely gutted when she’s forced to conform to the expected gender of her society, and isn’t allowed to be who she truly is.

Don’t get me wrong, this episode is a hot mess in many other aspects, but Riker’s treatment of Soren is one of the few things it got right.

Kamala (“The Perfect Mate”)

Is this episode super uncomfy with an almost laughably sexist plot? Oh yeah. But can we blame Riker for anything? Not really. Kamala can read men to make herself everything they desire -- the perfect mate, as the episode’s title says. Naturally this extends to her scenes with Riker as well. She flirts with him, comes onto him, and he’s clearly very into it. They kiss briefly, he’s tempted -- and then he stops her, because he knows this isn’t appropriate and she’s promised to someone else.

Let me say that again: Riker has a perfectly willing woman in front of him, who is literally doing everything in her power to be as appealing to him as possible. She is right there for him to have if he wants. Which he does. And he still tells her no, to keep a clear professional boundary between them. It would have been so easy to take advantage of that and later say she was too irresistible. Yet he didn’t.

Amanda Rogers (“True Q”)

Amanda is a young girl, 18 at the oldest, when she arrives aboard the Enterprise. She’s pretty enamored with Riker, cause she’s a kid who doesn’t have a great sense of what’s healthy/appropriate and what’s not yet. Riker is very aware of this, and does absolutely nothing to encourage her. He sets boundaries where appropriate and is obviously just waiting for her crush to die down, so he doesn’t have to hurt her feelings. When Amanda really starts to make moves on him, he very clearly tells her no. She actually starts to force him to play out her romantic fantasies using her Q powers, though she stops when she realizes it’s not real and isn’t right. Riker does nothing wrong in this episode.

Rebecca Smith (“Genesis”)

There’s nothing to go on here except that they had a date in the holodeck. Everything seems on the up and up. She’s not even shown onscreen, just mentioned in a couple lines of dialogue. I’m just including her for the sake of being thorough.

tl;dr

All of Riker’s relationships are either entirely consensual, or non-consensual with him as the victim. In several situations he could easily have taken advantage of someone, but never does, instead choosing to set clear boundaries. I have been thinking and scouring through Memory-Alpha and I genuinely cannot find a single instance in which he behaved in a sexist or misogynistic manner. That isn’t to say it never happened, I certainly can’t remember every moment of a seven season show. But it’s hardly a defining character trait for him the way many seem to think.

There are plenty of other reasons to dislike Riker. He can be immature. He rather stupidly stays in the same position for a decade because he can’t be bothered to take his own command the way he should. He can be a bit dull as a main character. The way he gets into chairs looks very stupid. But he is not sexist or a creep. *drops microphone*