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charcubed · 2 years

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I keep seeing posts that are like "interpretations of bi!Dean and gay!Dean are equally valid!" and I used to be like, sure, straight!Dean is definitely wrong but beyond that, see him how you want, who cares.

But now (esp after the Last Call script) I just don't understand the gay!Dean truthers? I follow quite a few on sm, and when I initially followed them I was like "they accept Dean is queer, that's good enough for me." But now they're really starting to get to me and it's not really worth arguing about to them, but I wanted to rant to you about it, cuz you get it.

The script literally included "gorgeous women" in the bar. Dean has canonically been sexually AND romantically attracted to women. He's based off THEE bisexual Neal Cassady.

Like I'm not really trying to defend m/w relationships (lol) but why do even queer ppl insist on erasing his identity when it's so clear? Why do they have to take that away?

Gay!Dean in AUs is one thing, but in the actual, textual canon of the show, Dean is bi. And no, gay!Dean and bi!Dean are NOT equally valid interpretations. And I don't think I'm an asshole for saying that 🤷🏼‍♀️

Sorry it took a few days to get to this. Work and life have kept me busy and tired!

Unironically and non-sarcastically, Anon, I'm glad you've seen the light and seem to understand this topic more now. You are, of course, entirely correct. And you're not an asshole for saying it either.

I'm going to take this opportunity to answer your (potentially rhetorical) questions, and also bounce off of you and lay some stuff out about this topic in general at length for the first time–despite the fact that it may turn me into public enemy #1 again. I am already hated for non-combatively voicing these facts on Twitter (this thread tends to be considered one of the "ground zeroes" of the nonexistent "debate" lol), but I have avoided being dog-piled on Tumblr so far, so... fingers crossed I can miraculously keep it that way!

My hope is that anyone who is predisposed to taking this topic very personally just moves on instead of attacking me (or subposting me?) for any of what I'm about to say. I'm also not forcing anyone to read this, before anyone's like "that's way too many words" or "it's not that serious lol."

I do think this topic is important. I've made the decision to publicly spell out why. And if anyone doesn't want to read it, that's their prerogative.

To your questions, Anon:

I think a lot of this comes down to a fandom-wide problem (all fandoms recently, not just SPN) of not understanding the difference between headcanon and canon, the dimensions as to why that distinction does have its uses and its necessity, and the value in both. I'll get into this later.

But in this fandom specifically, based on observation and lengthy conversations I've had with a dozen long-time fans who are my friends... I personally think it's maybe a new dimension of viewpoint that's branched out from a holdover of "all interpretations are valid" being the party line people have clung to a very long time. (That’s also true in other fandoms, but I think it’s especially true here.) It's a form of solace people don't want to deviate from. No one wants to be seen as or feel like the ~jerk~ who's ~invalidating another person's view of canon~ in response to someone else's knee-jerk reaction of hurt. This is a fandom with early-2000s cultural baggage and context, where people dealt with feeling like the "crazy fangirls" who shipped Destiel and dared to call out queer subtext. Misha's "You're not crazy" tweet exists for a reason. I do feel like a lot of well-meaning people–aside from misunderstanding or being ignorant to the analytical roots of this topic and why they absolutely matter–just know what it feels like to have their thoughts on queer content in a show feel "invalidated," and they don't want to be perceived as doing that to other people. And/or: they’ve felt invalidated before (in this fandom or others!), and so they’re hypersensitive to anything they perceive as doing that to them again, especially if they tied personal identity into the projections they’re making onto the media they enjoy.

I understand that people don’t want to seem ~mean~ or make waves. I also don't want to seem mean or be mean, which is why I try to be as clear as possible whenever I talk about this and I never go after people directly (or interact/reference any of the many subtweets from people who openly talk shit about me. haha). But the facts shouldn't be seen as "mean"; they are simply facts. And yes, they absolutely matter.

Because the thing is... none of the above has any bearing on the nuances of the topic at hand, the indisputable fact that Dean is bisexual in canon and that claiming otherwise is erasure, and the truth that none of this should be seen as a threat to people's headcanons.

These are all things that people should understand, and I will not apologize for knowing that and saying it. Misunderstanding this–making the false claim that “all interpretations of Dean’s sexually are equally valid as long as you see him as queer”–is an act of bisexual erasure in this context, and it often (unintentionally!) plays into biphobic talking points. And yeah, in my opinion, that’s something people should care about because it’s worthy of both personal and fandom examination. It is, in fact, why “representation” matters at all.

Let’s not kid ourselves: the bulk of this fandom-wide discourse is about Bi Dean vs Gay Dean. So, y’know, that’s the bulk of how I’m going to address it to just get it all out there.

Right out the gate, let me clarify this: I am not saying–now or ever–that those who are self-proclaimed “Gay Dean truthers” or argue that “Dean being gay in canon is a valid interpretation” are deliberately coming from a place of malice and the intent to contribute to bisexual erasure. By all means, I’m sure most aren’t! Nonetheless, intent does not equal impact. I’ve even seen people say “I’m a Gay Dean truther and I’m bisexual, so how could I possibly be contributing to bi erasure by arguing for Gay Dean?” But in this situation–as in any other–no one is immune from unwittingly perpetuating harm, even including bi people. And it’s important to understand why that is.

“Interpretations” are not opinions, not all are equal, and they do require some level of skill. This is not a personal attack, or a moral judgement on anyone, or somehow a threat to people’s enjoyment of a favorite character. It is just fact.

Gay Dean is not a valid possibility in canon. There is no lens that justifies an argument of it with canonical basis. I have to break down why, in order to sufficiently express why claiming otherwise is a harmful position to take, so bear with me.

(No, this is not an invitation for a Gay Dean truther to treat this like a “debate” with me or waste time writing out a counterargument. Please just exit the tab if you’re somehow here battling that urge.)

For someone to say that Dean is gay in canon, here is an incomplete list of what has to be erased, ignored, or explained away:

• His sexual attraction to, romantic love for, and relationship with Cassie.

• His sexual attraction to, romantic love for, and relationship with Lisa (whether or not one thinks she was ever the ~ultimate love of his life~, attraction and love were present.)

• His stash of and enjoyment of porn that includes women, which is referenced many times.

• The moments where he was seduced by a female-presenting monster.

• Each and every time he made a reference to or joke about his attraction to women.

• Any fling he ever had with a woman on screen, and the enjoyment he had in the process.

The man is canonically sexually and romantically attracted to women, and he has acted upon that and even enjoys that about himself in wildly diverse contexts. It is a blatant part of the text of the show. (The fact that we are at the point where this is somehow a main point of contention rather than his attraction to men does make me feel a tiny bit insane, to be honest.)

Now, in my experience (which I don’t claim is comprehensive!), the people who argue for Gay Dean tend to explain ALL of this away under some form of universal umbrella of Dean being “performative,” a variation on compulsive heterosexuality they ascribe to him. The claim or explanation tends to be that Dean was performing a mostly-faked attraction to women based on his father’s expectations and outward pressures he received in the culture of his life. Moments are often cherry-picked out of context to support this “reading.”

Who is Dean supposedly performing FOR, even in the moments where he acts on his attraction to women when he is alone? How does this explain his significant relationships with women like Cassie and/or the legitimate visible enjoyments he received from those interactions, as well as his flings with women throughout the show? How does this explain things like the Last Call script, where Dean is very clearly written as attracted to “gorgeous women,” a factoid that is not only very clear on screen but also (of course) written in literal black and white?

(There are no sufficient answers to these rhetorical questions. Once again: please do not waste time trying to give me any.)

And what evidence are Gay Dean people using for comphet or performative Dean? The “evidence” is often a misread of canon, pointing towards the consistent theme and false goal presented in the text of the show of characters’ efforts to strive for an “apple pie life,” aka a heteronormative ideal family. Gay Dean people misrepresent what this theme and through-line in the show is actually about, which is the totality of learning to accept your life rather than striving for something ill-fitting, that what you need and want need not be mutually exclusive (family life including fulfilling romance + hunting life can coexist), family is what you make of it and how you define it, and there are no true limitations on what all of this “should” be. While these themes are inherently queer, they are not about narrow performances of masculinity, femininity, or sexual identity, but about making space for ALL forms of all of the above–AND about identifying what it is that one wants and thinks they can’t have.

Namely, for Dean, that’s a version of settling down in a life that fulfills him in every direction, with an open and honest mutual relationship with the person he is in love with. This latter point would be true whether Cas was a man or a woman (though the fact that he is a man of course adds further dimension of interest to the story). Dean doesn’t think he can have a romantic relationship / family that lasts, and by later seasons that yearning is a key part of his character. The times it didn’t work out for him weren’t because those other people were women, but rather because the “lesson” he internalized from traumatic instances of loss is that hunters don’t get to do ~the love thing~ or get the settled down life. This is stated in the text of the show multiple times, and that’s also why Dean seeing examples of hunters who made any kind of balanced life work (especially masculine queer hunters like Jesse and Cesar) is pointed and purposeful. To say it’s about comphet instead (with no sufficient canon evidence that supports that) disregards a key point that’s central to Supernatural’s story, and in my opinion it disregards it to its detriment.

For Dean’s journey in particular, it is about freedom from limitations of structure, and knowing that he contains multitudes. The things he got from John–loving classic rock and loving his car, for example–are no less core joyful parts of Dean simply because they originated from his father. Dean can love classic rock and still occasionally love a Taylor Swift song, for example. He can love cowboy movies and manly movies, and also enjoy chick-flicks. It’s the idea of learning that there are no limitations, not that masculine interests are not inherently something he loves for himself or that aren’t important parts of his identity. It’s an expansion to openly include more, not a switch or a narrowing. The same applies to his sexual attraction and his queer identity. He can be attracted to cowboys and bikers, and also be attracted to gorgeous women. Him being attracted to / loving women does not mean he cannot and does not feel attraction and love for men; likewise, him being in love with a man does not mean he wasn’t and isn’t attracted to women.

(“Last Call,” as an episode, exists in part to drive the totality of these points home, and emphasize that Dean’s attraction to men is something he’s known about himself for most of his life and acted on previously. So is most of the queercoding and queer subtext applied to Dean–which is specifically coding him as bisexual. His attraction to men is sometimes established or made clear because it echoes his attraction to women, etc. etc. Dean’s canonical attraction to men is a whole other post.)

So here we come to why saying otherwise and trying to shoehorn a comphet narrative onto Dean in canon is harmful:

Aside from the fact that to claim Dean’s joyful attraction to women is performative is to cut out chunks of the story and is thus not supported by canon, and it relies on making assumptions about and projecting onto the text… unintentionally or not, the implication is that bisexuality is not queer enough, or that being gay is somehow “queerer” and thus more compelling and a preferred concept, and that attraction to different genders is a heterosexual / straight trait requiring removal. No one is queering a text in a more revolutionary way or unlocking a ~secret good Supernatural~ by making a bisexual man into a gay man. That’s simply not how this works.

“Preferring” an argument for Gay Dean in canon requires explaining away or misreading all of those moments Dean has with women, essentially replacing them with trauma or suffering or discomfort that–in my observations–also sometimes rely on stereotypes of gay men. It also involves potentially preferring to twist them into behaviors Dean must have universally put himself through not out of genuine joyful desire but at minimum because he felt like he “should” or at maximum in an attempt to “fix” his “gayness,” even when no one was watching. And it points to the pressures Dean experienced about living a life that fit him fully–pressures that exist not just in his world, but also in our patriarchal world and society–and it implies that queer people can’t authentically experience attraction or love to someone of a different gender, because maybe they’re actually just “performing” the heteronormative ideal. As in: a “visually queer” relationship is the end goal, right? For Dean, that’s an m/m relationship... so surely m/f matters less, or maybe it can’t be a genuine and significant part of a queer person’s life.

Once again: I do not think any of this is intentional on the part of Gay Dean truthers, nor do I think it’s done with malice. Nonetheless, these harmful biphobic viewpoints permeate these conversations and misconceptions when people say these arguments are valid.

There is no canonical basis for explaining away all of Dean’s moments with women, and the story does not provide or point to any kind of cohesive narrative reason to do so. YES, people absolutely experience comphet in real life, and those experiences are valid and exist. YES, real gay men can and do sleep with or have nuanced romantic relationships with women before realizing they’re gay later in life. No, that does not mean that’s how analysis of a fictional character in a fictional story always works, especially in regards to a story built over time like Supernatural’s unique approach and the way it was molded to place queerness and specifically bisexuality at the core of Dean’s story.

Ascribing comphet to Dean in canon–or making any other insufficient justification for explaining away his attraction to women–is personal projection. And yes, it is bisexual erasure.

This is not a position fueled by personal hurt for me, as I would say the same here whether or not I was personally bisexual. It is an acknowledgement that these conversations don’t exist in a vacuum, and that’s something everyone should care to understand. I know what comphet storylines look like in fiction, and I know they are worth defining as such, and in other fandoms I even defend that very loudly. This is not the case here, and to say it is requires mental acrobatics that are objectively unsupported by canon... and invariably insisting otherwise perpetuates one of these harmful biphobic viewpoints whether or not one realizes it.

To say Gay Dean is a legitimate read of canon–which it is not–supports people who are erasing his varied sexual and romantic attraction to a different gender simply because they’ve decided they want to ignore that. “I like the idea of Dean being gay” does not mean that he is gay in canon, and writing meta to that end is a problem. It’s not an invalidation of someone on a personal level or some weird variation of homophobia to say that, and I do think people should maybe examine why they seemingly like the idea of him being gay more than him being bi, or why they staunchly defend it (or any other “different queer reading”) as a possibility.

I understand there may be the urge to be like “is it that serious” or “this is just a CW show,” but to that I would say… then why are we all here?

Clearly, most people do still care about queer representation on some level and understand that queer subtext is present and acknowledge that Dean isn’t straight... hence the origin of this new prevalent concept of “as long as you say Dean’s queer then it’s fine.”

But in any piece of media, the text is the text is the text. The text can also be compelling, and fascinating, and contain value whether or not it’s an exact reflection of you personally as a fan and as a person. Sometimes there is arguably even greater value in being able to find reasons to relate to the humanity of a character or in a story even though elements differ from who you are personally. It is an exercise in empathy, and it is a pillar of why humans tells stories to each other to expand our viewpoints, and it sometimes results in examining the sources of that empathy. It’s why “representation matters”: not just so we can see ourselves, but so we can see others, and find reason to empathize despite differences. There’s unquantifiable power in that, and it’s also why the diversity of queer experiences and identities should be championed and acknowledged both in fiction and in reality, not turned into a monolith. Our solidarity amongst our individual queer differences and identities is our truest version of strength and authenticity. We are not all exactly the same, and that’s a good thing. When care is taken to specifically convey that in fiction, it is worth not only acknowledgement but also defense.

So: do we or do we not care about why representation is important, and why these sorts of conversations should exist at all? About censorship of queer storylines, and diversity in the queer community, and solidarity in differences? About bisexual men, a vastly underrepresented group in fiction, and the specific censorship that affected Dean’s bi story accordingly? And about how these viewpoints people can place onto fiction through fandom-wide conversation–like implying Dean is ~queerer~ if you say he’s gay, or that you’re somehow sticking it to the CW and “straight culture” if you suggest he’s gay–can influence biphobia that translates into ways people see bi people in real life?

In other situations even in this fandom, people understand the value of diverse queer experiences. No one would dare to say that “you can argue Charlie is bisexual in canon because as long as you say she’s queer it’s fine.” Charlie is a lesbian. It’s very, very clear, and she shows and states that she is only attracted to women. Dean’s attraction to women in canon is equally clear, and is part of his bisexuality. Why is erasing that defendable?

Look: it is people’s God-given right to write whatever fic they want about “what if” variations of Dean’s sexuality through a different lens. It is not their God-given right to make things up about canon and call it analysis.

It is a universal truth that fandom is always going to take canon and mold it into other versions that they love, for their own personal reasons and in ways that have value to them. That’s why transformative works like fic exist, and it’s why fandom is awesome, and I’m glad people use aspects of their favorite stories to tell other inspired stories that are of personal significance to them. But the word transformative is used for a reason: it’s an alteration of canon. It’s not a bad thing or a personal attack on people to say that.

There is a difference between understanding canon and writing actual meta / analysis of the show, and writing AUs for ones own enjoyment and fulfillment. (This is true on AO3 or on Tumblr/Twitter. I often see posts that are positioned as “meta,” but again, are just cherry-picked weirdness.) These differences are important, as is understanding how headcanons and fic affect surrounding conversations and fandom perceptions. And this fandom seems to have a very big problem with understanding the difference between these things, while taking it extremely personally in a negative way when people try to explain why the difference matters.

Confusing analysis and transformative fandom does a disservice to both, and denying the value in the former is not only a form of anti-intellectualism but also removes some of the beauty in the latter. If we can’t distinguish and differentiate between canon and headcanon, we can’t discuss the value in understanding the canon, nor adequately discuss the artistic value and power in creating derivative variations from it in personal ways. Both are different, both are equal, both are vital, and insisting the distinction is needless hampers conversation across every space. And nowhere is that more true than when one is discussing queer representation and queer censorship, like in the case of Supernatural. Again, why are we here? Why do we care? You cannot argue for and discuss the problems of censorship sufficiently if you don’t understand what was censored–and in Dean’s case, that was his love for Cas and his bisexuality.

I leave you with this (probably unneeded) analogy:

Imagine Dean’s a zebra.

(Sorry, EDS community; not that kind of zebra.)

People are trying to say “Dean is a black and white hoofed mammal <3″ and well, that’s accurate, but that doesn’t mean him being a zebra isn’t its own unique thing. A whole bunch of people are looking at him though and saying “well I prefer to say that Dean’s a black and white horse,” because they like that viewpoint better. Close enough, right? A black and white horse is basically a zebra, right? And then there’s the people who are like “I think Dean’s a cow!” and it’s like, okay, no idea where you came from, but whatever.

The point is that those are all entirely different fucking things. They’re different animals. Someone wanting Dean to be a black and white horse doesn’t make him less of a zebra. Pretending otherwise is absolute nonsense.

This debate/discussion/discourse is equally nonsensical. That is the logic (or illogic) that applies here.

Just because Dean is “queer” doesn’t mean any queer categorization underneath that umbrella suddenly equally applies.

Dean is bisexual. And he is “queer” because he’s bisexual.

Those are the facts.

And for the love of God, please... I really don’t think I’m an asshole for saying it.

So, to whoever made it this far: please do me the courtesy of not hating me for it or trying to bait me into a fight.

I’m tired. Thanks.

----

EDIT: Couple of good additions!

• @doctorprofessorsong added some good details about how some of these harmful biphobic concepts translate to real life, and real things that bi people struggle with.

• A lesbian anonymously sent in her perspective as someone who enjoys gay Dean headcanons/fic and agrees with this post, and agrees that the fact that Dean is bi in canon is important.

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean is bi #bisexual dean winchester #HAHA I TOLD MYSELF I WASN'T GOING TO PUT THIS IN THE OFFICIAL TAGS BUT THEN I SPENT HOURS WRITING IT SO FUCK IT #[slaps target on my back and cries] haha here we go #I'm not linking it on twitter though. I don't have that level of masochism in me. maybe this will fly under the radar on here a bit?#spn meta #I take a marijuana level of high road on twitter constantly but fun fact I'm not immune to knowing people hate me for daring to say this #doesn't change the facts though! and unfortunately I do actually give a fuck! even if few others do #maybe this is so long no one will read it #char writes things #also I did absolutely plagiarize myself in parts of this. what about it. ok I'm done goodbye.... screams #PS people CAN reblog this btw. I am being a little baby wincing at potential backlash preemptively but like #I wouldn't have posted it and left reblogs on if I didn't know and accept the risks <3 I will speak the truth idc idc someone's gotta do it #EDIT: I stopped being a coward and posted it on twitter :) because fuck it! I stand by my words etc etc it's all fine #me vs adding to the tags as if anyone's reading them lmfao

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angelnovus · 3 months

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workplace has me editing 100+ pages today ha........ha.......

#the thing is i'm an incredibly slow reader if i'm actually trying to absorb things #long story short i'm drinking coffee and trying to blast through the last 42ish pages now. deadline is tomorrow #and the writers have to have time to resolve the edits before noon #i'm just annoyed bc nobody ever thinks about my team so we're always the ones pushed up against the Big Deadlines whereas everyone else get #to take their time. i get it i hate deadlines but ughhhh #taron.txt

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1dklikesthings · 2 years

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guess whos been thinking about sexymen descendents recently

character notes:

hollys mam is the scribblenauts volcano goddess because her and magical john are canonically married from what i can mind

is totally blind, uses a long cane w a roller tip

intends on being as kind and friendly as possible but still aint very good at making friends :((

outfit is heavily based on/stolen from miitopia - dress is inspired by the flower bouquet flower, branch is the yoshino cherry branch weapon

is a freshman in hs (?? i think thats right?? idk im not american-)

got that autism swag 😎

#ik theres already a mj descendent but ive had this concept in my sketchbook for a while so i thought id post it too lol #i REALLY hope i got all the school stuff right bc as previously mentioned. i am not american lmfaoo #sexymen descendants #tumblr sexymen #rtgame miitopia #rt miitopia #magical john #1dk arts #edit: i hate how tumblrs long-post-cutter-feature-thing takes away the read-more function. feck sake lmfao

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unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year

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"Ed Iskandar talked with God. Then it was Lucifer’s turn. Now he was addressing Adam and Eve.

[...]

Right now, Iskandar was rehearsing the plays from Act I, including Madeleine George’s 10-minute piece about the Fall of Man, which she gives the elaborate title, “A Worm Walks Into A Garden or The Fall of Man, an experiment in motive and comedy.” In it, Lucifer tells dumb jokes to Adam and Eve, as a way of seducing them. Adam finds them funny. Eve doesn’t.

“You’re missing a crucial part of your anatomy,” Lucifer says to Eve. “The funnybone.”

Lucifer is being played by Asia Kate Dillon.

[...]

Dillon was writhing and entwining themself around Eve. Suddenly Chase Brock, the show’s choreographer, got down on the floor and started to writhe on the floor along with Lucifer. Brock had researched the earthworm, and showed some pictures of earthworms to Dillon on his laptop to suggest other moves they could make."

"50 different plays by almost as many different playwrights is a massive undertaking in which each vignette varies in tone from the one before it. The actors playing the characters do not change from play to play; this forces the performers to be as comfortable and convincing with farce as they are playing tragedy. It is also fascinating to contemplate the mental and emotional gymnastics that each performer of The Bats (the resident acting company of The Flea) must have undergone to ensure that each character maintains the same internal psychological throughline when they appear in different plays by very different authors.

The first act deals with the Old Testament books and the Nativity. In playwright Dale Orlandersmith’s Song of the Trimorph, the angels in Heaven mindlessly worship God (a deliciously petty, yet shrewdly authoritative Matthew Jeffers), who takes it as His due until Lucifer (Asia Kate Dillon) starts to question whether love without choice means anything.

Dillon’s beautifully delicate, white-haired devil is one of the show’s most complex figures. Watching them evolve from nuanced philosopher to diabolical heavy to world-weary cynic, depending on the vignette, is fascinating. The narrative speeds its way through the Bible. Highlights include Madeleine George’s surprisingly feminist take on the Adam and Eve story; Hwang’s marvelously urgent Cain and Abel tale, which posits the first murder as a story of vengeance against a capricious God; and Mallery Avidon’s whimsically horrifying tale of Noah’s Flood, which also entails the deaths of everyone who didn’t make it aboard the Ark.

[...]

The show’s second section deals with the Life of Jesus, with Colin Waitt’s astonishingly variegated boy-next-door Jesus shifting from an idealistic dreamer as he travels with Mary and Joseph to a forceful, almost angry philosopher when he argues with Lucifer about the nature of love to a bratty dolt when he confronts Gabriel about his inevitable fate. The fact that the playwrights clearly have a different idea of Jesus’s personality sets Wiatt a complex task: He has to make his Christ the same in all situations; whether he’s being comic or tragic, Wiatt is convincing and moving in a performance of stunning versatility.

Indeed, his likable turns in Gabriel Jason Dean’s beautiful Christ Enters Jerusalem makes his ferocious agonies in Qui Nguyen’s Christ Before Herod and his subsequent crucifixion all the more heartrending. The third act deals with Christ’s resurrection and humanity’s fate at the Day of Judgment, and includes a series of plays set in modern times, as well as God’s final words to Lucifer, Jesus, and to us. The show’s final Day of Judgment coda by Jose Rivera is an essay of forgiveness and unexpected love."

"Overall, the point of view of The Mysteries leans toward deism, the Enlightenment philosophy that presents God as a kind of clockmaker who created the universe, then left it alone to run according to its own laws. We see God squabbling with, then abandoning, Lucifer, setting in motion the events of the Bible, but even in Eden he is surprisingly enigmatic.

[...]

And, as one of the thieves killed with Jesus prophesies, it may all be for naught; he conjures up a future in which "the religion founded -- haha --upon your existence will be held up to justify the slaughter of millions over hundreds and thousands of years, for the brutal sins of domination and exploitation, the lynchings, the massacres and genocide, the relentless militarism. Everything you stood for will be erased."

[...]

In any case, the company is an almost constant joy. Among the more striking performances, [...] Asia Kate Dillon is a compelling presence as Lucifer."

"Four dozen playwrights take four dozen spiritual positions, which allows bubbles of radical reimagining to emerge only to sink again beneath the waves. For instance, our very first playwright, Dael Orlandersmith, paints Lucifer (Asia Kate Dillon) as a sweetheart Cordelia type refusing to curry favor with an insecure God (Matthew Jeffers). The fallen Light bringer keeps popping up throughout, and yet while Lucifer makes a number of solid points—many vigorously antichurch—they're still costumed as a blood-smeared reptile. Does evil exist? Or does it only exist when it can dress super cool?"

"It begins with a scene in heaven where we meet the lavish Angel Chorus that will be with us for the duration of the play, and witness Lucifer’s expulsion from heaven, something like in Milton’s Paradise Lost.

[...]

We also meet the rebellious Lucifer in that first scene in heaven, played with dazzling cynicism by Asia Kate Dillon, and at the same time the angel Gabriel, played by Alice Allemano, who, obedient to God, in contrast to Lucifer, struggles valiantly trying to make sense out of God’s commands and following through on them. These two, Lucifer and Gabriel, played by tall, striking people, fine actors who resemble one another, hold the vast array together like bookends.

The scenes in the Garden of Eden are delightful, played, appropriately in the nude, by Jaspal Binning as Adam and Alesandra Nahodil as Eve. Throughout the play, Biblical episodes are interpreted by the many playwrights in non-canonical ways and the first of these is brilliant: the knowledge the first couple gain through their disobedient eating of the apple is — how to tell a good joke and how to enjoy one!"

"Act I – The Fall begins with Creation and Lucifer’s fall from grace with God. Lucifer is played by a steady, radiant Asia Kate Dillon who reappears frequently to mix things up with earthlings and the rival angel, Gabriel, played by Alice Allemano makes goodness alluring. God is played by an extremely patient and multi-dimensional Matthew Jeffers whose sense of humor humanizes the Lord."

"As starting points, Dael Orlandersmith’s “Song of the Trimorph (Lucifer’s Lament)” and Liz Duffy Adams’s “Falling for You” are somewhat too abstract, particularly “Falling for You,” which has Lucifer wonder, “How can there be love in the absence of being?”"

"Starting with the Fall, we are introduced to the Angel Gabriel and the fallen angel Lucifer, played by two equally lissome and brilliant young actors, Alice Allemano and Asia Kate Dillon. They compete for God’s affections by using a chorus of singing punk angels."

"Asia Dillon as Lucifer brought the precise mixture of demonic delight and fragility necessary for such an adaptation: watching their performance was like looking at a raw cut in the bowels of the earth, brimming with fire and unimaginable sadness."

(no relevant quotes, but throwing in a brief pdf of a grantee project report that focuses on Engagement)

#edited out inaccurate misgenderings in favor of ''not tiresome'' over ''the Historical letter accuracy of the sources''#which are all right there to peruse as originally written too; so #lucifer isn't evil??? 0 stars. long play too long. ''not that enthused'' reviews are always Worse Quality for limiting the info & taking up #plenty of space with [what info Is given is dedicated to supposedly bolstering some specific ''didn't like that'' view of the author's]#just the kind of stuff that'd annoy me as i hate read movie reviews for things i didn't see in the newspaper at like age 12 metacritically #and that of course [just one person] as the norm whether for ''formal'' reviews or not; liking it or not....not the ideal format.#the emergent info or reflections on the same elements / effects of the material that comes from Various writeups by ppl? mwah.#and of course many include fun little Details / noting something that others don't. it comes with lore #the mysteries #asia kate dillon #lucifer the mysteries #lucifer mysteries #gospel48 #unfortunately 2/3rds of the quoted articles on chase brock's page for the mysteries aren't online. cmon....#i feel like there might be one article i found the other night that didn't crop up in this search....might be conflating tweets or smthing #can just update it if so anyways....also again No Idea what the longer brown hair vs shorter ''white'' / blond hair is about lol #it kept being extended & that article i think was written in later months; maybe they cut it partway through #more plausible anyways than that they grew their hair out that hard in just a few months. that they also had during rehearsals. shrug #yeah just revisited my History and no other articles that i found last night (morning); none relevant re: akd lucifer mentions anyways lol #also that that was dialogue akd was delivering as lucifer during the crucifixion...was it given to someone else? is lucifer (probably)#taking the place of one of the fellow crucifees & delivering it; and the author focused on who they're standing in for?

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urbanbirdbud · 1 year

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it’s been. a very rough afternoon

#fun to know that even while in the midst of my worst disassociative episode in the past year I can still cobble together a good meme #anyways um. about to tear down literally everything I ever derives joy from in my room and put into storage and never speak more than needed #to my dad. I am. so so tired. every time I think things are looking up and I can relax in my own home something has to happen #and then I need to slowly rebuild any safety I felt beforehand. I hate knowing my stuff was looked through and I dont know to what extent #anyways yeah. yearly deeply oversharing personal post over. gonna go hide literally half of my mortal possessions in a box somewhere #personal #no rblogging etc etc #edit: having another breakdown bear w me #I’ve scraped myself down to nothing for peace in my family I grovel and shut up and bear it fucking all and even then #they have the fucking audacity to ask me more? to put away the few reminders I have of people who love me things I enjoy #and the friendships Ive held onto like a dying man does to water?#they say they care about my mental health and how the devil affects everyone insidiously. I think they should take a long deep look #in the fucking mirror. open their eyes to how fucking close I was to just. giving up while I was suffocating under the veil of religion #and no before anyone asks I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I’m not one to live for spite but I trudge on hoping to get somewhere better.#just gonna have a short cry before bottling it up and dealing w it ten yrs down the road. not gonna go thru another ‘check in’ to lose more #oops forgot my little tag ->#ubb chirps

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butchdykeorpheus · 1 year

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bitching in the tags ignore me

#goddddd i hate being angry and frustrated and also i hate adhd #i am still pissed off at whoever in the flat decided to blast EDM in the morning when i was trying to catch up on sleep #after a long late retail shift and then taking over an hour to get home because the buses were being total shit #and with me knowing i won't be sleeping tonight. because this fucking essay needs me to do an all nighter #i want to scream. 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂#i have such a hard time coping with anger lmao im so bad at it #and i am SOOOOO tired and i am going to be awake so long!!!!!!!#im 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪#i might call out sick from work on tuesday to give myself a chance in hell of like. recovering before i have to deliver therapy on weds #and also a chance to edit this stupid thing before i submit it #anyway!!!!!! anyway!!!!!!!!!!#im more annoyed than i really should be tbh my brain is just so fucking frustrating at the best of times. let alone underslept #gray.txt #uni tag

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rgbalphameter · 1 year

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my redbubble will be live soon ! i uploaded 5 designs so it'll show up soon, eventually- maybe ?... I don't know, I don't know much about redbubble, oops

check back again later for links to it ! I have over 200 patterns to upload though so it's gonna take a while for I to have a full collection of my designs- message me if there's some you'd like me to prioritize uploading, I'll deal with those first

#this is taking me as long as it does because my patterns are just a nightmare to prep for print jobs #they have hard non aliased edges; lots of little pixels & unprintable colours like extra vivid blues & all #all sorts of things printers hate and can't reproduce #so I have to heavily edit them by hand; and to boot it's a case per case thing so I can't really automate it #and to boot I have not a single clue what im doing- i only have the vaguest idea of what im supposed to aim for #but no real knowledge here; i dont know shit #I also have to upscale them bc theyre 2048px squares #but for printing shit it's better if they're At Least twice that #I get to tile the patterns for some stuff like scarves n shit tho which makes me SO grateful most of my content is seamless #but still #I also just realized that i have for the third time today forgotten to go look at what margins artists set for their shit #so i'll go do that bc i dont want to be ridiculously cheaper than other people but i also dont wanna risk being unaffordable #but like holy shit it's so painfully obvious i have no idea what im doing im so sorry fhdfgbhdjk #update : seems like people don't really move that far away from the baseline prices #well thats good news #i dont want to edit the percentages for all of my shit #i'm uneasy though #bc i just. hate doing shit with no formal education on the topic whatsoever #i kind of feel like a fraud; figuring that shit on the fly as if i can rewrite the book on how to do this #im basically constantly whinning to my print engineer gothfriend for help/opinions #but im still. not at ease at all

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astrxealis · 1 year

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i really want to make gifs of fuuta's 2nd trial mv while it's still really new. idk if i should post them if ever though... <- has never posted any of my edits of any sort and gifs. even icons

#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚#⋯ ꒰ა milgram ໒꒱ *·˚#nah i only have like. access to canva for paid. and it's education and not even pro LMAO ty to school for providing canva education <3 #yeah but i only really use canva and photopea and take a fucking long time doing anything related to editing #it's fun and a great way to pass time esp bcs i take a long time but for time efficiency... not really <//3 #i'll do my homework first and then ya ^___^#i want photoshop but if you get me i don't want to YEAH. not only do i hate yeah i also don't like paying often #like ofc i do for what i need but i. barely spend my money (it helps knowing that idk how much money i even have)#idk maybe it sounds good like 'yo you don't waste money' but also it sucks idk how to handle money at all and stuff #i rmbr being so excited planning for getting ffxiv. laying out the costs and all. LMFAO ya i only really pay for xiv sub and that's it #cash shop i only have a few stuff bcs i've been there for old events and my friend (very generous. big brother guy) gifted us stuff #fuuta's voice is so good. man i keep getting distracted this went from editing to money and then ffxiv and then fuuta #UHM ANYWAYS...... anyways............. yeah i just do really simple edits. just literally changing the color and all #but you see i often like things most when it comes from me. or my friends. or if it is personalized #so i don't like taking random things! idk the process feels best when it comes from me but i also love stuff that have heart in it #and if it's yk. oh. this is for me. ig i'm just used to mostly having to do things for myself bcs i don't get it often from others </3 #braindead. it is 1 pm. i will finish my homework (soon!)#i love all milgram characters. i was a bit yk to muu and kotoko but i think i understand kotoko better after studying fuuta more #and i get now ^^ it's a bit hypocritical to vote her innocent and fuuta guilty but at the same time it depends on what you value #and also did people really not expect her to. do that. hello. i saw that coming from a mile away but yeah you can't predict the future #so makes sense too! tbh im a fuuta innocent guy but i do believe guilty first trial is best but also wow the effects of guilty 1st trial #were yeah. but taste of his own medicine (real!) i just hope the others get that too. in time.#specifically muu and kotoko bcs though i love them they still iff me a bit (is that even a word)#tbh my feelings on milgram characters are complicated but i think i'm complicating it too ngl.#obsessed with mikoto though. his voice!!! his va slaying as always #tbh w kotoko it's mostly that i think she's getting ahead of herself. in a way. i think that's how to say it but i'm not sure #with muu. i think i get her but it's more of fuuta for me and i think that's why yeah? but i like muu she was one of the first that #caught my eye from b4 i watched the mvs and all!! i think it might be that she reminds me a tiny bit of myself #but in a way i'd rather not admit or something i don't like about myself that makes me like her less. curious #hi um i wrote a lot more tags but they stopped after 30 oops. i took screenshots tho <3 anyways this is a 20 minutes post BYE

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transgaysex · 4 months

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i have been running all day long

#wind howls #woke up at 8:30 went to school at 10 until 7 pm got home at 8:30 played dnd worked on my miniature until 6 am and im #in bed now. my wrists in both hands are acting up really bad and im not sure i enjoy that. actually im pretty certain i dont enjoy that #im so tired. but im not done. my editing final is. mostly completed. i will just add more special effects on monday for a little pizzazz #however you spell that word.#i need to have my miniature almost completely finished. i need to buy the uhhh. plaster putty thing. for the walls. bricks #add the dirt. maybe find a miniature car so i dont have to mess up a really cute sleigh decoration for the sake of graded art.#add the fence.... and the trees. and the roof. paint the whole thang #at least the roof is just like. fake tiles. i can cut many of them at once and they wont take long to cut #aluminium foil for mounts. cover with papier mache. then dirt. maybe i shouldve done that before the fake grass. oh well !#what else. FUCK I HAVE TO MAKE A WHOLE ASS MOODBOARD. I HATE MOODBOARDS IM THROWING MYSELF OFF A CLIFF ACTUALLY #rather i hate having to Make moodboards. theyre cute and very useful and i know it but it is actual torture for me to make moodboards.#i hate them i hate them ourghg..... i have to make one i hate it....#ah shit i also have to make windows and the door for the miniature house. sigh #at least i have some foam cardboard left and now i know that itll be better to build those from that rather than sculpting w hot glue #on the bright side. hot glue scultping is wonderful for rough irregular but consistent patterns such as trees and its bark. that was fun #ive got my work cut out for me. the miniature comes first. should it come to it i can tackle the moodboard monday at the absolute LATEST #im not allowed to hand in anything late. so i have to plan out and calculate my time well. final projects need to be handed in #the teachers are kind in the regard that they encourage you to hand in something incomplete than late. late is 0. nothing is 0.#incomplete is not 0. its not Good. but its more than 0 #(not to mention a 0 on the final project is an automatic failure of the entire class even if your grade is passing without the final)#anyway. ive gone on for long enough. im tired. goodnight

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osaemu · 8 months

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GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ staying the night at your ex-husband's house was a mistake. NSFW

contents: fem!reader. you and gojo have a daughter. oral (m. and f. recieving), satoru calls you a slut + whore, degradation mixed with praise, mocking, dacryphilia.

author's note: edit—crying bcs an irl read this and alluded to it in one of our convos pls actually kill me /hj

"hey, sweetheart," the man holding your daughter's hand says casually, as if he doesn't know how much you hate the pet name. "you took your sweet time."

a familiar scowl makes its way onto your face and you cross your arms. "satoru, will you ever stop calling me that?" you ask exasperatedly, pressing two of your fingers into your temples.

six years.

you've known satoru for six years, and you were his wife for four of them. now, after a long, painful road, you two were finally divorcées.

it's been a year since you and satoru ended things, and sure, it was hard for all of you, but life moved on. your daughter, to her delight, still gets to see her father on weekends. and unfortunately, you usually tagged along.

"mommy, can we stay for the night?" your four year old asks, looking up at you with big, shiny eyes. "please?"

you hesitate — if it were up to you, you wouldn't stay in this house, the one you once lived in any longer. "sorry, pumpkin. i think we should go. wouldn't wanna intrude on daddy's space any longer."

you hate the look on satoru's face when you refer to him in the same way your daughter does. fucking pervert.

"you two can stay as long as you want," satoru interjects smoothly. he smiles lazily, kneeling down to your daughter's height and ruffling her hair. "it's kinda late, isn't it? i'd hate for you to have to drive all the way back in the dark."

"yeah, mummy!" your daughter says, nodding along to satoru's words. "i'm tired."

you wince and ignore the smug grin on satoru's face as he stands back up with a soft grunt. "we should head home, kiddo. i bet your dad has work to do, and we have our own house."

satoru frowns slightly at the last statement, but he doesn't even consider shooting back — not in front of his daughter. "sweetheart," he says to you, voice coated in that sickeningly sweet tone that you hated, "it's late. and i don't have any work."

when satoru sees the way you scowl at him, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "you have any other reasons why you wanna leave?"

none that you need to know.

both your ex-husband and your daughter, who takes after her dad more, take your silence as grudging agreement.

"hey, kid, d'you want to go to bed?" satoru fondly asks your daughter, ruffling her hair again. when she nods, sleepiness evident in her eyes, satoru scoops her up and carries her off to her room without looking back.

when they turn the corner into your daughter's room, you sigh and plop down on satoru's couch. your ex-husband was an infuriatingly good father, and it pissed you off.

a couple minutes later, satoru strolls out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

"so, babe, you dating anyone?" satoru says conversationally as he plops down on the couch next to you. he's close enough to make you tense, but stays just out of your personal space.

"what's it to you if i am?" you mutter, ignoring the pet name. you know that if you tell him to stop, he'll just say it more, so you don't bother.

he scoffs and faces you, resting his back against the arm of the couch. "what's up your ass today?"

"fuck off, satoru."

satoru whistles and tsks at you, shaking his head. "language, sweetheart. you kiss our daughter with that mouth?"

after a couple seconds, his expression softens and he studies your face carefully. "what's on your mind?"

and just like that, you're back to the times when the two of you were happy. back when satoru wasn't such a dipshit and actually cared about how you felt.

unfortunately, those times were over.

long over, you remind yourself as you dig your nails into the palm of your hand. "nothing you need to be concerned about," you reply. your tone is clipped, and the words come out harsher than you meant them to.

satoru doesn't seem to mind. in fact, he has a lopsided grin on his face as he scoots closer to you, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

"you wanna fuck it out?"

his words are so unexpected that your mouth almost drops open. thankfully, it doesn't, but a couple minutes later, your legs do.

"fuckkk," you moan, tilting your head back as satoru's tongue trails a stripe up your slit.

"keep it down, sweetheart," satoru says without looking up. "don't wan' to wake up our daughter, do ya?"

you hum in response, physically covering your mouth with one of your hands to muffle the sounds escaping the confines of your lips.

in the year that you and satoru had ended things until now, you'd slept with a couple guys. you'd even dated one or two of them, but god, none of them could use their mouth like satoru could.

satoru can't help but smile as he eats you out, pulling away momentarily to shake his head at you. "tsk, you were so mean to me earlier. and now look at you." he dips his head to nip at your clit and grins when he feels you flinch.

"i've barely even started and you're already drippin' all over my sheets," he mutters, lips brushing against your inner thigh. "fuck, takin' my tongue so good, you little slut."

"satoru, i w-wanna cum," you mewl, shuddering when his tongue re-enters your folds. "wan' you inside me."

"i already am, dummy."

you feebly attempt to swat his head in response before scowling and insisting that he knew what you meant.

satoru scoffs as he pulls himself up to face level to you. he readjusts his position over you so your back is pressed into the mattress underneath him before pressing his lips to your ear.

"let's put that mouth of yours to use, yeah?" he mumbles, slipping two fingers underneath his sweatpants' waistband and tugging him off.

it's been years since you last fucked with satoru, and in that time you had forgotten just how pretty he was. you'd never admit it out loud, but you really didn't mind the reminder. setting into a comfortable position, you wrap your lips around his cock, relishing the way his moans get louder and louder.

you hum slightly, resisting the urge to smile when you feel satoru shake from the vibration. but god, his reaction when you run your tongue over his tip? priceless.

"fuck, baby, it's been too long since you've sucked me off. forgot how good you were- aah," he cuts himself off with a breathy moan. "fuckkk."

you briefly stop to look up at him with a cheeky smile. "you still moan like a girl, satoru."

"and you're as much of a slut for me as ever," he grumbles, reaching down and pushing your head into his painfully hard cock again. "d-don't stop, baby. feels s' good."

satoru's moans only get louder from there, until you have to be the one reminding him that your daughter's asleep two doors down.

"m' gonna cum," he whines, grabbing a handful of your hair and tangling his long fingers in it. "swallow all of it, yeah? don't waste a drop."

you nod your head obiediently, using your tongue just the way you know he's always liked to push him closer and closer to the edge until–

"fuckin' whore," satoru gasps, groaning loudly as he cums in your mouth, hips grinding against your face. "aah, missed your s-slutty tongue, baby, fuck."

"missed your girly moans," you manage to gasp before his tip hits the back of your throat, painfully so.

"shut up and swallow," satoru commands, tugging on your hair just enough to make you cry out. "yeah, who's moaning like a slut now, hmm?"

after you swallow all his cum and lick your now-swollen lips, satoru has you open your mouth so he can check.

"good girl, looks like there's at least one thing you can do right, even if it is just sucking me off. c'mere," he mutters, pinning you down on the mattress and making the bedsprings creak loudly. "m' gonna fuck you, m'kay?"

you nod, reaching out to stroke his saliva-covered cock. "y-yes, please, satoru."

your ex-husband, who you should really not be fucking with, looks down at you with a smirk and takes your hand, bringing it up to his lips. "you look so pretty, baby. all covered in my cum, never looked hotter."

he nudges your legs apart with his knee before pushing himself into you, gritting his teeth through a smug grin when you cry out in pain. "careful, baby. wouldn't wanna wake up our daughter with your slutty moans, would ya?"

"s-satoru, hurts s' much," you whine, pawing at his chest. "you're too big, i can't-"

"you're too big, i can't," satoru mocks, rolling his eyes. "how do you think our daughter was made, baby? did the storks just drop her off?"

his next thrust is particularly harsh, and something about your pained cry almost makes him cum again on the spot. "fuck, we should do this more often," satoru cooes, reaching up and stroking your cheek. "wait, you cryin'?"

yes, you were crying. your cheeks were wet with a mixture of your tears and the remainder of his cum from earlier, and fuck, all you could think about was satoru's cock. so much for being so over him.

satoru laughs, shaking his head and slowing his pace to give you a kiss. "just when i thought you couldn't get any prettier, you gotta go and prove me wrong," he mumbles, licking his lips. "god, you're fucking beautiful."

he presses his lips to yours again, this time letting his tongue slip into your mouth. "i missed you so much, baby. i still do," he mutters in between kisses. he's controlling the pace, purposefully making each kiss's ending sudden as to not allow you to talk — only him.

"you know how many times i've jacked off to you?" satoru breaths, reaching down to grab your thighs and push you impossibly deeper into him. "you know how fuckin' much i want to put a ring on your finger?"

"satoru, i-" you try to say, but his mouth is on yours before you can finish your sentence. and a couple seconds later, more words are waterfalling out of him.

"fuck, baby, you have no idea. i fucked up, but i swear i've changed. c'mon, give me one chance, i-"

"mummy? daddy?"

you and satoru both flinch and whip your heads towards the door when you hear your daughter's voice, preparing to make up some far-fetched story to tell her besides we were fucking.

thankfully, the universe allows you two seconds to cover yours and satoru's bodies with a blanket before your daughter opens the door and pokes her head inside. "i heard noises."

you look at satoru for help making up an excuse, and thankfully he has one ready to go.

"oh, we were just watching a movie," he lies, running a hand through his hair. "go back to bed, kiddo. we'll tuck you back in in a second, yeah?"

your daughter looks at you before looking back at satoru and nodding.

"close the door, please!" you call as she turns to leave. when the door shuts behind her, you let out a long exhale and bury your head in satoru's chest.

and to your horror, the door opens once more.

your daughter looks at you with shiny, curious eyes. "mommy, are you and daddy back together?"

satoru saves you from having to answer that impossible question with a laugh, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. "go back to bed, pumpkin. i'll be there to tuck you in."

ten seconds after the door shuts for what you hope is the final time, you turn and glare at satoru. "you're gonna tuck her in?"

satoru scoffs in mock disbelief, raising his eyebrows and pointedly looking you up and down. "if you wanna tuck in our four year old daughter covered in my cum, be my guest."

you nudge his arms off of you and bury your face in a pillow, groaning softly. "fuck you, satoru."

"love you too, sweetheart."

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joelscurls · 6 months

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I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers.

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?”

You sniff again. Nod.

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself.

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.”

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath.

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face.

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?”

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him. Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch.

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim.

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull.

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours.

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you.

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox.

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all.

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense.

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him.

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward.

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet.

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him.

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head.

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now.

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated.

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush.

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours.

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears.

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?”

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes.

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle.

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.”

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.”

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy.

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?”

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from.

Sheila is home.

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea.

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?”

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.”

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip.

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used.

“You sure?”

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise.

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you.

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length.

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx.

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop.

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him.

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat.

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot.

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep.

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile.

Do you hear that? Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you.

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp.

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast.

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar! We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted.

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt.

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle.

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth.

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air.

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?”

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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inkskinned · 2 months

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most writing advice is good as long as you know why it is good, at which point it is also bad. the hardest thing (and most precious thing) about being an artist is that you gotta learn how to take critique. i don't mean "just shut up and accept that people hate your work," i mean you need to learn what the critique is saying and then figure out if it actually helps.

i usually tell people reading my work: "i'm collecting data, so everything is useful." i ask them where they put the book down, even though it's too long for most people to read in 1 sitting. i ask them what they thought of certain characters. i let them tell me it was really good but i like it more when they look a little stunned and say i forgot i was reading your book, which means they forgot i exist, which is very good news.

sometimes people i didn't ask will read my work and tell me i don't like it. and that is okay, you don't have to like it. but i look at the thing that they don't like and try to figure out if i care. i don't like that you don't capitalize. this one is common, and i have already thought about it. i do not care, it's because of chronic pain and frankly i like the little shape of small letters. you use teeth and ribs in all your work. actually that is very true. i don't know what's up with that. next time i will work to figure out a different word, thank you. you're whiny, go outside. someone said that to me recently and it made me laugh. i am on the whine-about-it website as an internet poet. you are in my native habitat, watching me perform a natural enrichment behavior. but i like the dip of whiny, how the word itself does "whine" (up/down, the sound out your nose on the y), but i don't know if i want to feel whiny. maybe next time i will work on it being melancholy, like what you would call a male writer's poetry.

repeated "good" advice clangs in a bell and doesn't hold a real shape, dilutes in the water. like sometimes you will hear "don't use said." you turn that around in your head and it bounces off the edges of your brain like it is a dvd screensaver. it isn't bad advice, but it feels wrong somehow, like saying easy choices are illegal! sometimes i will only use "said." sometimes i will just kick dialogue tags out to the trash. sometimes i make little love poems where the fact that i do not say "said" is very bad, and makes you feel bad in your body, because someone didn't say something. i am a contrary little shitbird, i guess.

but it is also good advice, actually. it is trying to say that "said" sometimes is clutter. it makes new writers think about the very-small words and very-small choices, because actually your work matters and wordchoice matters. "i know," you said. "i know," you sighed. "i know." we both know but neither of us use a dialogue tag, because we are in a contemporary lit piece.

it is too-small to say don't use said. but it is a big command, so it gets your attention. what are you relying on? what easy choices do you make? when you edit, do you choose the same thing? can you make a different choice? sometimes we need the blankness of said, how it slides into the background. sometimes we don't.

i usually say best advice is to read, but i also mean read books you don't like, because that will make you angry enough to write your own book. i also mean read good books, which will break your heart and remind you that you are a very small person and your voice is a seashell. i also mean you need to eat books because reading a book is a writer's version of studying.

my creative writing teacher in the 7th grade had a big red list of no! words and on it was SUNSET. RAZORS. LOVE. GALAXY. DEATH. BLOOD. PAIN. I liked that razor and love were tucked next to each other like birds, and found it funny that he believed we were too young to know the weight of razor in the context of pain. i hated him and his Grateful Dead belt, where the colored teddy bears held up his appraisal of us. i hated his no list. it is very good/bad advice. i wasn't old enough yet to know that when you are writing about death you are also writing about sunsets and when you write about love you are tucking yourself into a napkin that never stops folding.

back then my poetry was all bloody, dripped with agony when you picked it up. i didn't know there is nothing beautiful about a razor, nothing exciting about pain. i just understood sharpness, which he took to mean i understood nothing. i wrote the razor down and it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. that's what i'm saying - sometimes it's good advice, because it's not always necessary. and sometimes it is very bad advice, because writing about it is lifesaving.

hang on my dog was just having a nightmare. i heard that it is a rule not to write about dogs - in my creative writing mfa, my teacher rolled her eyes and said everyone writes a dead dog. the literature streets are littered in canine bodies. i watched the rise and fall of his ribs (there is that word again) and had to reach out and stop the bad dream. when he woke up he didn't recognize me, and he was afraid.

it is good/bad advice to say that poems and writing have to mean something. it is bad/good advice to say they're big feelings in small packages. it is better advice to say that when my dog saw where he was, he relaxed immediately, rubbed his face against me. someone on instagram would make fun of that moment by writing their "internet poetry" as a sentence that tumbles across a white page: outside it is sunset and my dog is still in a gutter, bleeding a galaxy out of his left paw. or maybe it would be: i woke the dog up/the dog forgot i loved him/and i saw the shape of a senseless/and impossible pain.

the dog is alive in this one, and he is happy. when i tell you i love you, i know what i said. write what you need to write, be gentle to yourself about it. the advice is only as good as far as it helps. the rest is just fencing. take stock of the boundaries, and then break them. there's always somewhere else you could be growing.

i love you, keep going.

#warm up #writeblr

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