spn essays

heyo  !!   listen,  i’m really bad at making promos,   so could y’all like this post or follow if you’re willing to rp with a bunch of messy witches,  some supernatural creatures,  and a hunter.   my activity will be wonky this week,  &  maybe next week but hopefully there’ll be a starter call sometime soon ♡

Imagine finding a dragon when on a hunt with Charlie...

“Charlie, for God’s sake, wait up!” You hissed after the flash of red hair disappearing behind a tree.

“Oh crap.” Charlie whispered.

You followed her line of sight and your eyes met what she was looking at.

“A dragon? So those really are a thing? I know they go after virgins and breathe fire and all, but I thought they were more human-y.” She whispered with a slight squeak.

“They are. Well, they’re meant to be.” You put a careful hand on her arm to stop her going any closer. “Let’s get out of here. Maybe we should call Sam and Dean…”

for now; a 11x12 coda

for now, a coda to 11x12; claire/alex; ~1k

She’d dreaded Alex ever seeing the cat. Alex would call her a kid despite the fact Claire was older, laugh off her failed attempts at hunting as attention seeking, tantrums. Belittle her on the one thing she had. Claire wasn’t sure which was worse, this open hostility or the kindness Jody was constantly trying to show her; in any case, neither made her feel welcome. Neither made her feel at home.

So yeah, she wasn’t gonna give Alex something to use as more ammo. She’d kept it in her room, tucked beneath the bed during daylight hours, not that anyone else came in here anyway.

At least, until tonight.

She kept her eyes on her laptop despite the fact her current window was only open on the Google home page, desperate to look anywhere apart from the doorway. She didn’t have to move her gaze in order to feel Alex shift awkwardly, and it wasn’t hunting senses that alerted her to it.

Alex coughed a little. Claire continued to stare.

“That was pretty nice,” she said, and Claire finally chanced a look at her. “With the, uh…decapitation.” She slashed her hand across her throat.

Claire shrugged one shoulder. “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

There was silence for a moment, save for the tapping of keys as Claire hit random letters. Then Alex stepped further into the room, and this time, spoke with much less hesitation. “Did you really think I hated you?”

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anonymous asked:

What's the importance of Cas insisting Dean to say the vow out loud in 4x21? Combined with the long crane shot, that line had a lot of emphasis, but the vow doesn't seem to have any binding what with Dean fucking up the script in 4x22? Was Cas just being weirdly insistant as a left over from brainwashing?

I kinda see it as a verbal contract. Like, Dean had to say something approaching the full phrasing to show he’d consented. I assume ears are always listening and they’d know it had been done properly.

And NOW I am just thinking about the stare as a… non kiss.

Like, the demons make contracts with people and seal them with a kiss.

So Cas makes Dean say the thing, and then they do their weird standing there staring and staring, but they’ve just agreed to this thing and Dean’s been roped into a formal verbal contract to serve Heaven, and ideally it would be sealed some way?

Oh my god that was a kiss. That crane shot was a kiss.

*wanders off to kick something*

Fanfiction vs Essays

Does anyone else get absolutely fucking furious when you’re writing an essay, and all you can think about is how this could be a fan fiction. I’ve written like 5,000 words already! This could be glorious smut and fluff with heavy sexy times, but instead it’s a shitty essay about educational psychology! Like what? Where is the fairness in the world? Nobody wants to read this essay!

Stars Both Infinite and Distant: the Necessity of Isolation in Supernatural's Heaven

There’s an essay under this read more. It’s a 3,850 word essay about the structure of heaven in a tv show. That’s all the warning you get. Sail on if you want to avoid supernatural meta, writings about heaven, or yet another response, however tangential, to the question, “do the events in Dark Side of the Moon Canonically establish Sam and Dean as soul mates?”

tl;dr answer: No.

hugely long answer: No. And here’s why:

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Part I of III

“You got what you asked for, Dean. No paradise, no hell, just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have: peace… or freedom?”

Castiel in 5x22 “Swan Song”

It makes sense that in a world where religion is no longer the system people order their life after and in that free will is treated as the highest good and is also valued most, the biggest threat is then to lose that freedom - no matter if physically or psychologically.

Working with that premise it makes sense that Supernatural would explore this very struggle as intently as it does in S11, because this season marks quite literally the moment that the show - as heavily as never before - focuses on the Grand Story or more specifically the re-write of said Grand Story, which “two boys, an old drunk and a fallen angel” thought they had ripped up the ending to and with that destroyed the meaning of destiny. The ending of 5x22 “Swan Song” proposed the assumption that from now on Sam and Dean would be free, the choices they’d make would be entirely up to them and with that also what they’d have to take responsibility for.

The seasons from S6 onwards however have proven that destinies and prophecies are much harder to shake than Team Free Will had assumed in the aftermath of the aversion of the apocalypse and their very decisions have been haunting them and clawing at their feet at every turn - and making them walk a fine line between hero and villain. Even more so the narrative in an almost ironic fashion showed the characters that free will does not always mean freedom and independence as the seasonal arcs have been addressing time and again that there exists a struggle, possibly even worse than before averting dooms day, a fight for the upper hand when it comes to agency as well as physical and psychological autonomy.

It’s not only “Supernatural” though that uses the fight for personal and collective freedom as a backdrop to tell a story about life in postmodern times. There are other examples of popular narratives using that very same struggle as a key element to tell the story in a world come of age, but also come off kilter. One of the most recent ones being the Marvel creation “Jessica Jones”.

The following will be an exploration of how the narrative of “Jessica Jones” relates to the narrative of “Supernatural” with a heavy focus on S11 and what the current stressing of the motif and stylistic device of “mind control” may tell us about the state of mind of the world at present.

The Loss of Personhood

“I remember many things. I remember being at a shoreline, watching a little grey fish heave itself up on the beach and an older brother saying: “Don’t step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish.” I remember the Tower of Babel…All 37 feet of it, which I suppose was impressive at the time. […] I remember Cain and Abel…David and Goliath…Sodom and Gomorrah. And, of course, I remember the most remarkable event - remarkable because it never came to pass. It was averted by two boys, an old drunk and a fallen angel. The grand story. And we ripped up the ending and the rules…And destiny…leaving nothing but freedom and choice. Which is all well and good, except… Well, what if I’ve made the wrong choice? How am I supposed to know?

Castiel in 6x20 “The Man Who Would Be King”

Castiel’s monologue - his story - like little else shines light on the struggle that came with the freedom he and the Winchesters thought they had achieved after locking up Lucifer - and in one smooth motion Michael too - back into the cage. For themselves as well as the world at large. And he was able to pinpoint exactly what made the aftermath of the un-apocalypse so difficult: Responsibility.

Choices - as no one learnt harder and more painfully than Castiel in S6 - have consequences. And there is no destiny, no big plan, no long foretold stories to be blamed for your shortcomings and misteps, only you.

Ironically, though technically Team Free Will was freed from the destinies Heaven had dictated for them, their personal freedom was in peril more than ever, because none of them truly picked up the pen to write their own story, but instead reverted back to “I did what I had to”. Rationalizing, compartmentalizing, shielding their eyes from the truth and with that falling victim to and becoming prisoners of their own mind. And with that also becoming more vulnerable to outside influences than before.

From S6 onwards the focus on mental disorders, psychological phenomenons and mind control has been fairly heavy and an often-used motif and stylistic device on “Supernatural” and it goes hand in hand with the show changing genres from more of a classic horror vibe of the early seasons to psychological horror (see meta on this topic here) in the later, in which your own mind ends up being your worst enemy.

The individual tormented by hisself/herself and their psyche and thus going hand in hand with a feeling of enstrangement or removed-ness of self in an enlightened world that seems to grow colder and more detached by the day seems to be a key aspect of the most popular shows on televisions at present and in my personal estimation can be re-traced not just on “Supernatural”, but also shows like “Jessica Jones” or even “The Walking Dead”.

All these shows have one thing in common. They all deal with the threat of loss of personhood and the disappearance of individuality and thus turning people into little else but machines without a say and without the freedom or mind that the Western society values most.

On “Supernatural” people are constantly threatened by possession, on “Jessica Jones” people are in danger of killing themselves by just having one person tell them to and on “The Walking Dead” a group of survivors tries their best to not become “one of them”: a zombie. Mindless, emotionless, unable to resist or control urges or impulses and in that regard losing their individuality, humanity and agency.

Jessica Jones and Dean Winchester have both experienced what it is like to lose their free will and be turned into a weapon with a flick of a wrist or a handful of words. So take a look at their lives, take a look at their stories and how they compare.

Continue with Part II //Continue with Part III

If monsters are metaphors in the best horror traditions, then what do the monsters on Supernatural represent? In one third season episode, Ruby, a somewhat repentant demon, informed Dean that all demons were once human. What Hell does, she helpfully related, is burn away all traces of humanity from a person (“Malleus Maleficarum,” 3-9). The demon is what’s left. Thus, in the world as imagined by Supernatural, the demons are metaphors of the human potential for evil. In fact, they represent the fulfillment of that potential. Whereas the first two seasons of Supernatural had Sam and Dean fighting battles against a variety of supernatural foes, the third season shifted gears into an all-out war between the Winchester brothers and the demonic forces. What made this so engaging to watch was the nagging sense that the battle depicted on the screen was just as much about the battle raging within ourselves-the constant tug-of-war between good and evil.
—  Stevenson, Gregory. “Horror, Humanity, and the Demon in the Mirror.” In the Hunt: Unauthorized Essays on Supernatural. Eds. Supernatural.tv and Leah Wilson. Dallas: BenBella/Smart Pop, 2009: 43-44.
Theory: You like your tea how you like your partner....






(No picture. I’m asexual… :P )

MY MALE human-being-to-fangirl-over PREFERENCE:


My tea and my boys are in different parts of my brain, and this theory of boyxtea relations is utter bullshit….

(Wait, isn’t caffeine suppose to make you high?)


Satire and Subversion: A look at media and representation

This is going to be part-meta on media, part-personal essay, so I’m not really sure how to categorize this post. I guess this is going to be an essay on media and subversion and it’s role in my life, and how I view and engage with media. Dean Winchester is going to be important, since this whole idea has been kicking around since I wrote this post, but what kickstarted this thing was reading this post on Star Trek.

In 2006, Stephen Colbert was invited to the White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner. For those of you who don’t know, this is an annual thing where famous people and people from the White House press corps and the president all eat dinner and crack jokes. The president usually takes a few shots at himself, and the WHCA hires a comedian to entertain the guests.

It was 2006, smack dab in the middle of Bush II’s second term, and the WHCA picked Stephen Colbert to be the entertainer for the night. Now, usually, the entertainer picked is usually pretty uncontroversial and middle of the road (Jay Leno’s done it the most times), but when Colbert did it, he did his full right-wing satire schtick. Reportedly, he was hired by people unaware of his style of comedy; i.e. they didn’t realize what Colbert does is satire.

Unsurprisingly, his performance did not go over well in the room, since he lambasted both the Administration and the media, and he is likely not to be invited back. Ever.

What I really love about this story (and about Colbert in general) is his ability to take real talking points and existing ideology to an extreme to point out the rhetorical and logical failings and lack of compassion inherent to the American political right. His satire works because he invented a character, but he didn’t invent the politics or the commentary inherent to his character. He takes what is already being said by right-wing media just a tiny bit further, and in doing so, he pushes it into the domain of ridicule and satire. This style of comedy and commentary makes it so that the satire isn’t immediately apparent, thus creating a subtlety (yes, Stephen Colbert can be subtle) that was missed by the WHCA and others, including my own father on more than one occasion.

In this essay, I’m going to be talking about subversion, and I’m going to be using my father as a barometer and as a comparison to my own point of view. I’m going to bring in evidence from a bunch of movies and TV shows, and talk about why or why not I find them interesting or compelling or subversive, AND why my father does or does not agree with me and what that says about the nature of subversion, especially subversion of masculinity in modern media.

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You are two-dimensional. You are another brick in the wall. You mean nothing.


You are smug, you are cocky. You’re trying to hurt me—or help me. I can’t tell yet.

(Nor do I want to be able to)

(Thinking of you is dangerous.)

(I need to stop before I get hurt.)

But you have golden eyes—they’re the colour of whisky, I realise, as I swirl it in my glass.

The alcohol tastes like anger as it slips down my throat.


You’re not who you said you are. You’ve lied to me, yet I can’t bring myself to feel hurt because I understand—you may be so much more than human, you may be bright and burning with the life that shines in those whisky eyes of yours as you tell me your story (as you allow the alkaline, dreaded words to fall off your tongue), but you are still flesh and bones and blood.

Flesh can be torn; bones can be broken; blood can be spilled.

And, darling, how you’ve been ripped to pieces.

Ripped to pieces yourself as you tried to sew together a shattered vase, running when you found your needle could not pierce the porcelain.

Those shards still haunt you now, embedded in the soles of your feet—you leave bloodied footprints wherever you go. You’ve given up trying to mop up the crimson liquid before it stains: now, you grind your feet into the gravel to spill more than pathetic smudges of red because you want the entire world to know you were here and that you exist. You refuse to be disregarded yet again.

You sit on a throne of your own arrogant smiles and false words and I love you.

I love you.

I love you.


You are three-dimensional.

Corpses are three-dimensional, even if they’re empty. I know this because my tears roll down your cheeks as if they were your own.

You always did have a problem with listening—

(“Keep quiet, I’m trying to work.”

“What on earth could be more interesting than talking to yours truly?

And I would tell you that whatever was at hand may not have been interesting, but it was important. You would tell me that life was short and I shouldn’t waste it on menial things of supposed importance. That decadence and excitement existed for a reason; that rules were meant to be broken.

I would hush you with a chaste kiss and a promise to finish up what I was doing as quickly as I could.)

—but I’m not smiling at your refusal to lift your lids and show me those golden eyes again. In fact, I’m screaming at you. Screaming at you to wake up, to wake up, dammit, and to stop playing your tricks because they aren’t funny anymore.

Replacing all the food in the house with candy because I was getting too thin was funny; waking me up early on my birthday with five boisterous puppies was funny.

This is not funny. Death is not entertaining; it doesn’t draw laughter from my lips but rather blood from my knuckles as I slam my fist into the floor and beg empty air for your heart to beat again.

Your hair is a mocking, golden halo, splayed around your head in a circle. I mess my fingers in it and lift your face up, whispering a plethora of pleas and promises against your lips. They don’t taste like you anymore; they don’t taste like the cheeky remarks you used to spill into my mouth on lazy Sunday mornings, and I hate you.

I hate you for allowing the knife buried in your stomach to hurt me as badly as it did you.

I hate you.

I love you.

I can’t do this without you.