Parrhesia

Parrhsia, or παρρησία, is an ancient Greek word loosely meaning 'to speak without inhibitions,' and has particular importance in Ancient Athenian democracy and philosophy. Παρρησία was fundamental for Athenian democracy in that it encouraged freedom of speech and rhetoric, but also held a fundamental philosophical importance. Plato used Socrates to demonstrate how vital παρρησία is for public discourse, and demonstrates the importance of παρρησία in his Socratic dialogue Euthryphro, and how it can be dangerous when suppressed in the Apology. In the Apology, Socrates is put to death for his incessant questioning of truths held by prominent members in Athenian society, and chose death rather than to live an inauthentic life.

How is parrhsia relevant to this blog?

When I was in university, I studied Ancient Greek history with the hopes of obtaining a PhD to become a scholar. During my final semester, my Ancient Greek language professor told me that he appreciated my παρρησία when I was open and honest about how frustrating the language is to learn. I appreciated his response and found it, and still do, to be inspiring. The word παρρησία will inspire this blog in a way that I will write about what I wish to, without worrying about judgment or internet bullies, and I hope others find inspiration in it.

  Importance?

Part Two

The Game

Daemon Targaryen X Reader (Y/N)

Warning: nsfw, smut, non-consensual (sort of)It has been two months since you were abandoned at Kings Landing. Daemon was called away on some assignment given to him by the King and has not come home. You are visiting your sister who is a few weeks away from delivering her baby, and given your present situation, decided you would stay until she gave birth.

Two weeks after your arrival, your sister gives birth to a beautiful baby boy. Both your sister and her husband are excited, and you decide to step aside and let the midwife look after mom and babe. As you step outside of the room, you take yourself to the courtyard outside. It is a warm day despite the snow on the ground.

While you were admiring the way the snow shone under the sun, your thoughts wander to the night Daemon summoned you to his bed chambers. You remember the way his eyes looked at you, the way he smelled, the gentleness with which he kissed you. You think back with shame on the fact you had enjoyed it.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a page boy. “Ma’am,” he says hesitantly. You feel a little confused by the way he is looking at you, but you realize that he must have tried for your attention a couple of times. You snap your attention onto the young boy in front of you and nod courteously. He proceeds to hand you a message.

Taking the paper into your hand, you unfold it and read what is written. It is the Targaryen. He is home and wants you there by the following sunset. He wishes to consummate the marriage quickly, and without further delay. “It is a duty that must be fulfilled, and regrettably, should not have taken us this long,” he had written.

Well, I’ll be damned, you think angrily. He leaves for two months and now it’s on me to return when he desires me. Like a little page boy, I’m summoned up on a whim as I’m needed to serve on the basis of duty. This is bullshit!

You say nothing out loud, and do your best to maintain a neutral expression on your face. You did not want the page boy to see the disgust you felt, so fought the disdain from creeping into your expression. You thank the messenger for his delivery and make your way back to your sister to tell her that you need to leave right away.

“Oh, that’s disappointing!” She exclaims. “I was looking forward to you staying a little longer. But I suppose a husband comes before a sister. I do hope you find happiness sister.”

You suppress a scoff at that. You mean I hope I enjoy sex so that I’ll be more willing to have my own 30-hour labour. Instead, you kiss your sister’s forehead and give your brother-in-law a warm nod before quietly packing your things and mounting your horse.

The journey back to Kings Landing was shorter than you would have liked. Your horse was bred for his durability and speed, his temperament that of a loyal dog. You begged your Father to leave him uncut since he might then maintain his spirit for galloping, rather than growing lazy like all other gelded horses.

Once your horse is unsaddled and fed, you make your way toward the castle. You decide to seek the comfort of your chambers, as it is early morning and the Targaryen had only requested your presence by the evening of this day. To your surprise, when you enter your chambers, you find Daemon asleep in your bed. Your heart skips a beat when you see him stirring, as you did not expect him to be there and had closed the door rather loudly.

“You’re loud enough to wake the whole castle. If you hoped me to remain asleep, you failed in that,” the Prince taunted. You said nothing but proceeded to remove your cloak and make a fire as it was cold in the room.

“You might as well perform your duties now, y/n.” Daemon says.

“I’ve got this,” your handmaiden says, stepping forward to take over the making of the fire. You straighten, taking care to keep your back to the Targaryen.

“I’d rather you left us,” Daemon commands.

“As you wish,” the handmaiden says, turning and leaving as quickly as she could.

Once the door had closed behind the maiden, the room remains silent for a few moments. You can feel the Targaryen watching you, but you keep your back to him.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” the Prince asks, finally breaking the silence. He moves towards bottles in the corner of the room. You decline, although you do wonder if that would make what needs to be done a little easier.

“I should warn you, I’m at that time of the month,” you say, much to your chagrin it comes out feebly and wobbly. Well done, you chastise yourself. He’s not stupid. It’s the oldest trick in the book!

“Hm, yes, I’m sure you are,” the Prince responds. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like anything to drink?”

This time you accept, grateful for anything that might steady your nerves. Or at least replace nerves with confidence.

The Targaryen extends the glass to you, and you regret your acceptance of a drink, as you now must cross the room and get closer to him. Daemon observes your reluctance but says nothing as you approach slowly, your gaze averted.

Why does this Targaryen unnerve me so? I put distance between us, and he contrived a way to make me approach him.

When you reach forward to take the cup, you look up and meet the Prince’s gaze. His eyes are neither warm nor are they cold. He seems to be neutral. Patient. Waiting to see how welcoming you are going to be.

As you take the glass to your lips, you continue to maintain eye contact with the Prince. The wine warms you as you swallow, and although that was your first sip you feel a little more relaxed and self-assured. That said, you decide to let Daemon break the silence. You were not about to work hard at moving things along. He ambushed you in your quarters after all.

Daemon lets you finish your glass before he breaks the silence. “Would you like some more?” He offers. You hesitate, so he takes your glass, fills it, and hands it back. “In case the answer is yes.”

Daemon turns and fills his glass up, then walks over to the couch and sits down. He pats the spot beside him, indicating to you that he wanted you to sit beside him. You opt to sit on the stool across from him. The Prince does not appear angry by this, instead, he smiles slightly, and takes a drink of his wine.

A few minutes pass in silence. It was quiet enough that you hear the birds beginning to wake from their sleep, as the sun would soon be rising. Once the Targaryen had finished his drink, he stands. At first, you think he wants to go get more wine, but instead, he puts the glass down and approaches you.

Before he reaches you, you set your glass down, get up, and move across the room to replace the distance between you and the Targaryen. He stops in his tracks, and you stare him down, defiantly. “You abandoned me here for two months,” you spat at him angrily. The Targaryen says nothing but continues to look at you with the same neutral expression from before.

“The King needed my help,” he responds quietly. As he spoke, you angle your body subtly, waiting for an opportunity to race out the door. You have no intention of bedding with this man.

Daemon remains where he is. If he has noticed your move or even guessed what is in your head, he doesn’t let on. “Well, it’s been two months with no consummation, it can wait until this evening,” you reply firmly. “I am tired from my long ride.”

“It does not require that much energy, and even encourages sleep to follow. Don’t fight this.”

“I am tired from my ride. It can wait until tomorrow,” you repeat.

The Prince regards you pensively. Then, looks to the door, smiles and moves to place himself between you and the exit. He figured out your next move and blocked you. He looks back at you, a smile on his lips.

“What next y/n?” He holds your gaze in his as he begins to walk towards you calmly. You take that moment to try for the door, all you need to do is go around the Targaryen. With your eyes fixed on the exit, you move quickly to dodge the Prince who jumps out at you. Unfortunately, he catches your elbow, hard enough to elicit a verbal expression of pain, and he pulls you around, putting himself between you and the door again.

Without releasing your arm, the Prince drags you farther away from the door, in the direction of the bed. Once you reach the bed, the Targaryen roughly shoves you farther toward it and proceeds to back off a little, making sure to stand between you and the exit. You are breathing heavily, and rub your elbow where his fingers had just been.

The Targaryen stays quiet while you glare angrily at him. After a few minutes, he breaks the silence; “Well, I’m glad we got the bolt out of the way.” He begins to walk towards you, cautiously in case you plan to run again. You back up in order to keep him at a distance, but become unable to go any farther when your legs are barred by the physical appearance of the bed.

It does not take Daemon long to reach you after that. Suddenly he has his hands on your waist, pulling you to him. He’s so close you can hear his breathing and smell the wine on his breath. Then, he kisses you. Just like before, he is gentle, trying to gauge your level of resistance. You push him away from you with all your strength, but he remains steadfast, unmovable.

The Prince kisses your neck as he takes off your tunic. You struggle, remaining stubborn with anger. He abandoned you, made you return to Kings Landing when you were with your sister, and now he’s taking what he wants. His being a man made it so that you had no choice, but that did not mean you had to make it easy for him.

What you did not expect was the Targaryen to turn you around, bend you over, and enter you from behind. Your anger burned deeper as he did this. I am not a common whore, you thought. However, rather than fight, you gave in.

Although your sister had told you that she never minded when her husband entered her from behind, you found yourself loathing it. It was not comfortable as you used your hands to keep yourself from falling over, all the while the Targaryen remained with his feet planted on the ground, steadying himself so that his momentum was firm and strong. You were thrust forward with each stroke, your balance in jeopardy and you widened your stance to keep yourself from lurching too far forward. That proved to be a mistake as it gave Daemon deeper access, which left you a little breathless.

When the Targaryen climaxes, he grunts a couple of times, releases you, then sinks into your bed, leaving you to clean yourself up. Once you were dressed, you left your chambers, as it is morning

——————

For the next couple of weeks, the Targaryen summons you to his chambers to fuck. You give little resistance, so he continues to take you from behind. This evening, you thought you were going to be left in peace, but when you hear a knock on your door your heart sinks.

“Come in,” you call back, expecting a chambermaid to enter to tell you that Daemon wants to see you in his chamber. To your dismay, it is the Prince himself who strides into the room. There is no stalling now.

You were comfortably reading on the couch and in no mood to entertain the Targaryen. You were raw and uncomfortable from being fucked, and were worried that your little resistance was the reason for his seeking you almost every night. Maybe if I made it more difficult, he would have sought a whore already, you thought bitterly.

The Prince sits across from you and pours a glass of wine. He silently offers to pour you one, holding an empty cup up in indication. You silently shake your head. Deciding to ignore him, you put your head down and continue to read your book.

“Are you sure? This pitcher of wine happens to be one of the tastier drums from the kitchen,” Daemon says, breaking your concentration after a few minutes of ignoring him.

“Yes, I am,” you reply. If was the same pitcher you had last week. You return to your reading.

After a couple more minutes go by, Daemon crosses the room, takes the book from your hands, and tosses it to the side. “Now would you like some wine?” He asks, a calm look on his face.

You growl with frustration, and standing up you go to walk away. I am not interested in entertaining the Targaryen tonight, you think furiously. In response to this, a hand grabs you firmly by the waist and Daemon begins to turn you to face the other direction, but you struggle, spinning around, your hand makes contact with Daemon’s face in a slap.

The Targaryen takes a step back to look at you, astonished. “I do not want you to bend me over and fuck me from behind tonight like I have no say in the matter. I am not an animal to be bred by you, Targaryen,” you spat at him.

Daemon regards you evenly. Removing his hand from his face, he calmly replies: “then engage with me like a woman.”

This response takes you by surprise and makes your heart skip a beat. You regard the Prince with a confused look. Finally, he breaks the silence: “you were not nearly this hostile when I took your virginity with my fingers.” A slight smile on his lips. His words dripping with arrogance.

You think back to that evening, how it felt - good? - when the Targaryen had touched you. It certainly felt different from the last few weeks, where you felt used for his pleasure. Raw from his touch. Numb to his mouth. You look up at Daemon and realized that he was giving you a chance to lead. You had always viewed the bedroom like a man views a battlefield, as an opportunity to conquer and obliterate. Both the household and war are at the palm of a man’s hand.

However, at that very moment, The Rogue Prince was yielding to you. He was waiting for you to make a decision. 

“And those are my two options?” you ask. “To engage with you on my own, or bend over and be taken?

“I am your husband,” he responds simply.

“You are my conqueror,” you shot back.

Daemon slowly takes a step forward. “Is that what I am?” he asks. 

Something stirs inside you, and you find yourself remaining still, not wishing to turn away and run for the first time since you met this Targaryen. He stops inches from you, looking down, eyes locked with yours, he says “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

You avert your eyes from him, unable to handle their intensity. “I would appreciate that glass of wine now,” you state.

Instead, the Targaryen takes your cheek in his right hand, tilts your chin back and engages your lips in his. He kisses you deeply, stirring the passion in both of you. You find yourself responding, kissing him back, tugging at his chest gently with your hands. Daemon proceeds to kiss your ears, then your neck, while a couple of chills run down your spine in quick succession. You continue to grasp at the shirt on his chest while his hands calmly begin to strip away at the bodice of your dress. 

Losing track of time, you suddenly find yourself taking your dress off, as the Targaryen rids himself of his clothing. Coming back to kiss him, you find his body warm against yours, it was more intoxicating than the wine you did not drink. Before you knew what was happening, Daemon suddenly pushes you, pinning you down on the bed. A little bit of panic rises in your chest, a claustrophobic feeling overwhelming you. The Prince must see this in your face, as he eases the pressure of his body a little, and begins to kiss your neck. These kisses trail down your chest, to your breast, down your stomach. He leaves little nibbles between your thighs, causing you to start and pull away, but catches your hips and steadies you. 

“Not ready for that?” he teases. You glare at him in response.

Instead, Daemon comes back to lie on top of you, entering you but making sure to stay on his elbows. The skin of his pelvis touches your skin and it is warm. This intensifies the pressure building in your stomach. He uses his left hand to wrap your left leg around him, then begins to grind against you, causing your breath to tighten in your chest, and your area to feel amazing. You groan softly in his ear.

Daemon builds this, in and out, up and down. Slowly he lowers himself on top of you, but this time it doesn’t bother you. Instead, you close your legs tightly around him as he breathes heavily into your neck. You are thrown into ecstasy as you climax. A few seconds later the Targaryen follows. 

Part One 

The Arrangement

Daemon Targaryen X Reader (Y/N)

Warning: nsfw, smut, fingering, 

Y/n does not trust men. As the second oldest daughter of Lord Stark, you have a duty to please them, whether you are in court, or at dinner, or out and about, your entire life is a sacrifice to whether or not men like you. 

It had gotten worse when your mother died. Your father became more easily frustrated and violent, and he began to indulge in excessive drinking. The only other female companion you had was your older sister, but your father had recently married her off to another Lord in order to retain some political power of some sort. 

Your sister and her husband had come for today’s court, so you had a companion to sit with, one you had not seen for six months. She is pregnant now, her belly was just beginning to show as it is her first child. 

“How has father been?” she asks in a hushed voice. 

“He’s the same,” you reply, being careful to keep your voice down as well.

“You know y/n, getting yourself a husband could take you away from here. Not all men are like Father.”

You pause for a moment. You had never considered marriage as an escape from your present situation, you had only ever viewed it as being sent from the house of one man to the house of another. You had no use for that. Men tended to view women the same, whether they were their mothers, daughters, wives, or sisters. Women were intended to fulfill only two major roles: daughters maintain political alliances through marriages, then become mothers when they were wives. 

As you were deep in thought, considering what your sister had just said, there is suddenly a low hush that comes over the court. You make eye contact with your sister, and you see that she is just as confused, when suddenly your attention is drawn to the entrance. Standing there is a tall man with long white hair and purple eyes. He’s wearing some showy armour, black, with attention-drawing things coming out of the helmet. It takes you a moment, but you recognize him as a Targaryen.

“That’s Daemon Targaryen, King Viserys’ brother,” your sister says, leaning closer. You had forgotten that she and her Lord husband had done some travelling after they were married, and being higher up in the political chain, her husband would more than likely have been special enough to have an audience with the King on King’s Landing. It impressed you a little that she knew who this terrifying Targaryen was, and what he was called. 

What could King Viserys’ brother want here in Winterfell? you thought to yourself. Intrigued, you listen intently to what the Targaryen is saying. It would turn out that Daemon seeks an audience with your father over a dispute with one of your younger brothers. Your brother interjects quickly in his defence, clearly frustrated by Daemon’s nerve to bring this matter to Father. Although Daemon remains calm, his arrogance is obvious; it could almost physically exist, and his disgust for your brother was written as clear as a history book on his face. Father settles the dispute fairly and invites the Prince to dine with us later in the evening, and much to your annoyance, Daemon accepts.

Once the court is released, you and your sister walk to your quarters. On the way there, she brings up the conversation from earlier:

“You do know that there are good men out there who would make a wonderful husband for you?”

“I’m sure one exists. How are you doing? Marriage treating you well?” The last question you gestured with a nod towards her belly, and a wink.

“It's been great,” she replies. “I know what you assume about men, but I am respected, and contrary to what you might expect, my husband has not laid a hand on me in an unwelcome way. He has not punished me harshly, nor has forced himself on me.”

“That’s awesome. I’m happy for you.”

Your sister and you start and turn when you suddenly hear laughter from behind you. When you both are facing the opposite direction you had been travelling, you come face to face with the Targaryen. Daemon has an amused look on his face, his mouth twisted in a sort of half smile. Amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Are you frightened of marriage? As a Lady, one would expect your education to have been solely based on that.” Daemon was looking right at you as he spoke. The joke clear in his voice.

“I assure you, Prince, my sister has been...” Your sister starts to defend you, but the Prince interrupts her. 

“No man will ever want you if they overhear you belly-aching about them.” He says, keeping his gaze on me. 

“And I’m sure no woman will ever want you if the rumours are true. Did you really murder your first wife? That’s hardly a way to get marriage proposals, even if a woman wanted you.” You shot back. 

“You should watch your tongue. I am a guest in your father’s house.” 

You glance over at your sister and see that her face has gone red. You decide rather than continue to argue, that instead, it would be best to get to your quarters where they can drink tea and talk in private. She is pregnant, you remind yourself.

“I suppose your right, Prince.” You say after a few moments. “I apologize for any feelings I might have hurt. You are a very welcome guest in this house.” And with that, you take your sister by the arm and lead her down the hall. 

You and your sister retire to your chambers and spend the rest of the early afternoon talking. Your sister was fuming about the Targaryen and his nerve, “How dare he approach us in our Father’s house!” She exclaimed. While you did agree with her, you decided it would be better if you defused the situation. She was pregnant after all, and keeping her calm was more of a priority than fuming with her.

“I have been visiting your horse every day,” you say in an attempt to distract your sister. This works, and she expresses regret at not being able to ride with you that day, to which you assure her that there will be plenty of time once the baby is born.

After almost an hour, the conversation is interrupted by your Father’s messenger. 

“Y/n, your Father wishes to see you in the council chamber.”

You are surprised by this, and one glance at your sister tells you she is as surprised as you are. Your sister begins to get up to come with you, but the messenger insists that it is just you the Lord wishes to speak with.

On your way to the council chamber, you run all the scenarios in your head. What could Father possibly want? you wonder as you walk down the quiet hallways. You are worried because he has never asked you to come to the counsel chambers before, and the only time he has summoned one of his daughters there was to betroth your sister to her husband...

This thought makes you stop in your tracks, and your heart skips a beat. No, Father is not arranging my married, no suitors have come, you assure yourself. 

As you enter the council chamber, you make a quick note of those who are in attendance. Your Father is seated in direct eyesight to you as you enter the room, and to his left are seated his three closest advisors. Father had never been a trusting man, so it seemed natural to him to have three advisors, rather than one. Seated on his right, to your dismay, is the Targaryen. Standing around in various positions are the guards.

“Father, you summoned my presence,” you said, successfully hiding the tremor in your body from your voice.

“Y/n, my second eldest child, please sit,” your father replied, gesturing to the seat directly across from him at the end of the table. You obediently take your seat. 

You take your seat, maintain your dignity as you do so, keeping your head high and looking your father in the eyes as you do. That was one thing your Father taught his children, including his daughters. “You are a Stark,” he had said. “Hold your head high and keep eye contact with your adversaries. You are well-bred and deserve respect.”

Once you were seated, your Father continued. “Prince Daemon he has made a generous offer for your hand in marriage, and being the prudent man that I am, I have opted to accept.” He leans back in his seat when he finished.

Your blood runs cold, and you do everything you can to maintain the stoic expression on your face. Your worse fears had come true. The idea of marriage was inevitable, whether you liked it or not, but marriage to a Targaryen somehow rubbed salt in the wound. You struggled to accept this, and it must have been written plainly on your face because your Father says: “This is not up for debate or negotiation.”

After a few more moments, you rescind, and respond with; “Very well Father. Am I to leave with the Prince tonight to be wed at Kings Landing?”

“Yes. Go and get yourself ready.”

That afternoon your sister had to console you in your tears, as you and your handmaidens readied your things for Kings Landing. You dutifully attended the dinner that evening, but you could not bring yourself to speak to the Targaryen a couple of times he made pleasantries with you, nor could you bring yourself to look him in the eyes, as your Father had taught you to do.

That evening, you began the trip to Kings Landing with escorts, without the company of the Targaryen, thankfully. The Targaryen opted to take his scaly, flying beast instead. He did offer to take you on the dragon with him, but the only answer he received from you was silence. The trip to Kings Landing was a long and lonely one, each step bringing you closer to wifehood and wifely duties you never wanted, and every night you went to bed you wept bitterly at the fact you were not born a man. 

Once you arrived at Kings Landing, everything went quickly. First, you were introduced to King Viserys, Queen Alicent, and Princess Rhaenyra. You and the Prince were wed within the week, and then you were left very much to your own devices. The Targaryen did not visit you in your chambers, nor did he call on you to visit him, which left you with more anxiety and worry.

Twelve days after your wedding, it was late in the night and you were just about to blow out the candle when one of your handmaidens came to you with a summons from Daemon. It’s so late, why now, you thought to yourself. Nevertheless, took your time getting dressed.

The walk to the Prince’s chambers was a short one. Once you reach the door, you knock. After a millisecond, the Targaryen answers the door. “Took you long enough,” he remarks as you stride into the chamber. You turn around and notice he is only wearing a shift and trousers, nothing near as fancy as what you had put on. It dismayed you because you had hoped that perhaps the Targaryen had planned to talk with you, get to know you, before he tried to bed you, but the hour at which he summoned you should have told you otherwise.

“I am here my Lord,” you say, turning your face to look up at him.

He snorts derisively, rolling his eyes. “And you’re dressed almost as guarded as a knight about to go to battle. Did you not consider why you might have been summoned,” He replied bitterly. 

“My Lord, I only wished to be modest in the halls,” you say quickly.

“No matter, I shall get what I want.” He strode over and took your chin in his hands. He brought his face so close to yours you could smell the alcohol on his breath. You closed your eyes to prepare for what was about to happen, and to your surprise, the Targaryen kisses you gently. You did not expect such gentleness from such a menacing man, but you find your body responding positively.

The Targaryen’s kisses trail from your lips to your neck, he gently pulls your hair back with his left hand as he descends his kisses farther down your neck. You find yourself distracted by this, and are surprised when suddenly, he grabs your waist with his right hand and pulls you tightly to him. You can feel his bulge pressed against your front, and you press your hands to his chest instinctively, in order to put some distance between your bodies.

Suddenly, the Prince chuckles. “Virgins are a double-edged sword,” he begins. “Their sensitivity causes them to respond to everything.”

You don’t respond. What does that even mean? you think to yourself. 

While you were distracted by the Prince’s comments, you are drawn back to the moment when you suddenly feel his warm hand on the inside of your thigh. He snakes it farther and farther up until he reaches your area. You begin to feel a little uneasy. You realize that you are quite nervous. Your sister had told you at some point that her first time hurt, but the proceeding love-making sessions felt wonderful with her husband.

You subtly try to push his hand away, leaning in to kiss him harder, hoping that it’ll distract him enough that he won’t notice your intentions. Instead of moving his hand though, he responds to the kiss by rubbing your clit. At first, it doesn’t feel like anything, just as if someone had grabbed your arm, but after a few seconds, you began to enjoy it. You pull away your face from Daemon’s kisses, and focus on the feeling. 

The Prince takes it a step further and proceeds to put one finger inside of you. He begins to rub you with his hand and you find yourself groaning with pleasure. Your legs tremble under the pressure. 

Then, Daemon adds another finger. There is more pressure inside of you, but he makes up for this by being gentle. Once you relax into it, Daemon adds a third finger. A small whimper escapes your mouth, and you begin to redouble your efforts to push him away, firmly but not aggressively. The pressure was uncomfortable now.

It was then that the Targaryen suddenly splits his fingers open inside of you, and a feeling of pain shoots through you. You cry out and shove the Targaryen away from you successfully. He takes two steps back and watches you with an unreadable expression on your face, but you suspect that he is amused by this. You reach down to examine yourself and find a small amount of blood on your fingers. Before you have a chance to say anything, the moment is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Daemon commands.

It was the same messenger who had knocked on your door. “The King wishes to see you,” the messenger relays. 

The Prince nods, and once the messenger closes the door, he turns to you. “We will finish this some other time. You are free to go back to bed.” And with that, he pushes you out the door, and closes it, presumable to get dressed for his visit with the King.

The opening scene of Mindhunter, episode one, is an important one. It draws attention to mental health and criminality, as well as highlights the running theme of male violence. We are introduced to Holden Ford, the character representing John Douglas, who is the FBI agent in charge of negotiating with the male offender holding a group of people hostage. Not only do we find out that this perpetrator had been dealing with mental health problems, but we also witness him commit suicide. Perhaps this scene was meant to demonstrate the nuance of these crimes. Yes, he was dealing with mental health, but he also waited until his wife was present to kill himself. This could speak to some male control issues that a riddled throughout the season.

In the scene that follows, Holden finishes lecturing a class at Quantico, and as the bell releases his class, he overhears a lecture about motive and how it's become elusive, and that people do awful things to strangers for no discernible reason. The lecturer brings up the Son of Sam, a man who shot women and their male counterparts in their cars in New York City. The lecturer declares that "the Son of Sam epitomizes now," to demonstrate that there is a new era of crime, where the facts are weird because motive is weird. “Just the facts ma'am” is a thing of the past. Holden takes this man to a bar where they discuss how politics and society have changed since WWII, and that there is value in asking questions about this topic in particular. We are presented with a research question: how does one study this?

Perhaps the answer is in sociology. There are people in academia who are asking the right questions. This is presented in Holden’s first meeting and conversation with Debbie about assumptions, and the audience could question whether assumptions are what holds the FBI back from understanding crime. This is posed when both Holden and Debbie say that the other does not seem like someone from the locations they both say they are from. Then, assumptions about other people are farther solidified through Holden’s comment about infiltrating the Black Panthers, and makes a gesture towards some Black people who Debbie explains are engineering students. 

This discussion eventually leads these two to Durkheim: maybe society causes crime? This conversation is held while yelling over loud music. Debbie explains Labelling theory to Holden, and this demonstrates to the viewer just how much law enforcement lacks any understanding of crime from a sociological perspective. Holden, and by extension the FBI, views crime as an issue with society. This disconnect between law enforcement and academia is further highlighted when the FBI director Shepherd refers to psychology as being for a “backroom boy,” and frowned upon when Holden tries an exercise with his class. This is why Holden is permitted audit classes at the university: recruitment has done down and perhaps he could recruit academic thinkers to the FBI. This is not necessarily welcome by Shepherd, but he approves it nonetheless.

We see Holden audit one class, and the professor shows the theme of society or criminality with an interesting question: Are criminals born or made? This professor poses for the second time in this episode, whether criminality is a response to society or if a criminal is born evil. We see rather quickly the tension between law enforcement and academia, as Holden approaches the professor. We quickly see that contempt between law enforcement and academia is mutual, and this is solidified when Holden and Debbie have lunch. 

Another interesting theme introduced in this scene, which runs throughout the first season, is the societal image that women lead men astray. Holden innocently says "I was told to watch out for women like you," to which Debbie responds rather bluntly, "you mean normal ones." Male attitudes towards woman are explored quite in depth in the season through the interviews with the serial killers, but that is ahead. 

The movie Debbie and Holden watch is significant for setting up the themes of the show. They watch Dog Day Afternoon, an Oscar-winning movie from 1975 starring Al Pacino. This film deals with homosexuality and criminality, and people are seen leaving this film as our protagonist watches the scene where homosexuality and wanting a sex change are discussed. This leads Holden to question why sexual words and sex are an assumed basis for criminality.

Holden attempts to use the film to demonstrate how motive during a hostage situation can be complex, with his Hostage negotiation class. He attempts in this exercise to get his pupils to start a dialogue with the hostage taker, however, this quickly winds up demonstrating further law enforcement’s contempt and bias towards criminals, shown through the dialogue itself. Director Shepherd watches this closely, and although the exercise does not have the intended effect, we are introduced to Bill Tench of the Behavioral Science Unit.

Bill Tench, as we are introduced to him is a well-kept man. He was also present at the lecture about motive at the beginning of the episode. Most telling of Bill’s relevance to the show is his old school, country club comment. Although Bill himself has made a career in the FBI, this comment brings to light the disconnect between law enforcement and psychology. Tench extends an invitation to road school, offering to give Holden the chance to learn about psychology through a law enforcement perspective, rather than just going back to school. This is a significant career move for Holden, as this will allow him to explore the questions he has been asking, and to do so in a more relevant way.

Following this scene, we are shown a moment of male insecurity, where Holden questions Debbie about his performance in bed, and is upset when Debbie mocks him. This is significant as it is a theme that is riddled throughout MindHunter. The idea that men commit horrendous murders in the name of personal insecurity is especially centred around sex. This is expanded in later episodes. 

Holden’s first day of road school illustrates to the audience the standard way the FBI instructs police departments. If you find the motive, it will lead to means, which in turn leads to opportunity. In other words, what, why, who. Tench, who was present in the Son of Sam lecture at the beginning of the episode, reiterates that motive is elusive in crimes today, which means that the model above is no longer always helpful. Instead, it could be more useful to figure out what happened and why it happened in the way it did, which will then lead to who. This approach emphasizes an understanding of what lead to the current circumstance, and this framework can account for changing motives, such as taking women’s underwear during a robbery. Human nature is changeable.

This scene shows the stiffness of law enforcement thinking, the stubbornness of the attitude of good and evil, and resistance towards understanding criminal psychology, as it requires the user to empathize. Psychology as a law enforcement tool goes against the grain, and this is highlighted for the audience when Holden describes the social experiment of one person facing the other direction on an elevator. People are comfortable with familiarity and sameness and are not always receptive to change. 

The final society versus criminality example is given with Charles Manson as the descriptor. Holden posits the question to the group about institutions. Is it possible that institutions like the family, law enforcement, or prisons could create monsters? This harkens back to the discussion of Durkheim when we are first introduced to Debbie. The idea is that childhood trauma and institutions impact future crimes and perhaps both impacts the other in a vicious cycle. While Holden suggests that locking Manson up during his young life impacted his future, law enforcement, represented by one detective, holds fast to the idea that criminals are just criminals; they are like that and therefore they get placed in prison.

The episode ends with a current case that the FBI agents are given to consider. The detective who gives Holden a difficult time presents Bill and Holden with the Aida Jeffreys case and requests assistance. They go over her victimology, her religious family, her pregnancy, and how she was alone and not likely to be missed. Aida and her son were killed and not found for four days. They theorize a lust murderer who received a sexual release through killing Ms. Jeffreys, and that the crime was meticulously planned. The killer brought the tools to do so with him and left with them. There was limited DNA and limited forensic evidence. The crime itself left detectives wondering who the target was. The woman or boy? Did the location hold any symbolism as the bodies were found at a church? This is a practical example of what the entire episode questioned: the idea how motive is confusing and trying to understand how someone can do to Aida Jeffreys what was done to her, just out of sport.