#assortment of problematic queers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burins · 4 months ago

Text

on Torchwood and the temptations of queer tragedy

(originally published in yaoi zine 5, here for ease of reading but also you should check out the fantastic scholarship in the free full PDF!!)

If you were on Tumblr in 2009-2012, you are probably aware of Torchwood. A spin off of Russell T. Davies’ 2005 reboot of Doctor Who, Torchwood stars immortal time traveler Jack Harkness (John Barrowman) as part of a cast of misfits assigned to investigate the assorted supernatural and alien debris that falls through a spacetime rift running through the heart of Cardiff. Jack Harkness, in the tradition of swashbuckling space bisexuals, is great to watch, and his slow burn romance with buttoned-up researcher Ianto is the highlight of the series. Or at least it was to me, watching it as a deeply closeted teen in 2011.

Towards the end of the third series of Torchwood, Ianto is exposed to an alien virus and dies very fetchingly in Jack’s arms. It’s extremely Mimi from La Boheme (not, for once in an essay about queer people, Rent.) Ianto knows Jack is immortal and at no risk from the virus (Jack has already survived being blown up and sealed in concrete just in the previous three episodes); he knows that Jack will have to live the rest of his very, very, very long life watching people he loves die. He asks Jack not to forget him, and Jack promises that he won’t. Ianto’s last words are to deny that Jack is capable of remembering him a thousand years into the future; Jack kisses him, succumbs to the virus, and approximately four minutes of show time later, revives.

Reader, I watched this at approximately 1 AM on my beast of a high school laptop, huddled under the covers and trying not to wake my sister by sobbing too loud. I slammed the laptop shut to have a good cry. Then I opened up the laptop and watched the scene again. It became sort of a talisman for me— any time I needed to cry and couldn’t manage it, out would come my Megavideo rip of Torchwood-ChildrenOfEarth-xVideo-x64-S03E04-HD.mkv, scrolled to 53:14. Three minute death scene, me sobbing like a baby, reliable as clockwork.

I loved it for its utility; I needed those three minutes to unlock grief I couldn’t access in other ways. I loved it despite there being two arguably sadder death scenes at the end of the second series (RIP Owen and Tosh, you deserved better.) And I loved it despite its being perhaps the most textbook example of bury your gays imaginable.

Like a lot of media analysis tools that gained widespread popularity in an era with TVTropes, “bury your gays” is a cudgel and not a scalpel. Of course no one wants to be straight people’s tragedy porn. Of course it’s grating to only ever see yourself onscreen as a cautionary tale. Of course the real life origins of the trope are rooted in homophobic moral panics and censorship. And of course many queer people are plenty tired of tragedy. We die more often than straight people, and sooner, for a variety of reasons; we live lives more affected by the mundane grinding sadnesses of poverty and illness and rejection. Is it then problematic to portray queer grief, real or fictional? What about homophobia? Is it actually inherently more revolutionary to write fantasy stories where everyone’s chill with the gays, but somehow also they still have hereditary monarchies? I don’t actually have the answers here, by the way. Like everyone’s least favorite Republican uncle I’m just asking questions.

The real problem I have with “bury your gays” is that I love to bury my gays. I don’t recommend “but I like it” as a lens of critical analysis, fan studies notwithstanding, but you show me a potential tragedy and I am pulling out the shovel. I love to watch Ianto choke to death in his lover’s arms, and I love to listen to several hundred hours of podcast about gay divorce, and I cherish everything that Interview with the Vampire AMC has going on, and I read and reread Nell driving her car into the tree, and I think stabbing is maybe the pinnacle of romance.

Why do I love a queer tragedy so? Why do I gravitate to fic that features death and despair and ideological divorce? Why, as a child, was I always putting my plastic animals through travails that wouldn’t be out of place in a particularly melodramatic episode of Game of Thrones?

The easy answer would be that I was raised Catholic and haven’t quite escaped the ideological shadow of the redemptive power of suffering, but I have too much experience with chronic pain to still think suffering is redemptive. The other obvious answer would be that I’m chasing catharsis in the classic Aristotelian sense of emotional release, but I don’t think that’s the entirety of it either. There is sometimes a sort of talismanic nature to watching, or reading about, or writing a gay tragedy, a warding off of potential harm. It does feel like a little ritual. Aristotle describes catharsis as a release of pity and fear: look at those poor bastards. And as a queer viewer, the scraped underbelly of that emotion, how easily that could be me. Thank god it isn’t.

But neither pity nor fear nor their uneasy third, disgust, are really the emotions I feel when I press repeat on tragedy. To paraphrase Sontag, I “weep in part because [I] have seen it many times. [I] want to weep. Pathos, in the form of a narrative, does not wear out.”* What I feel is grief, and also pleasure. Pleasure in ritual; pleasure in release; pleasure in a borrowed grief that is both real and unreal, because I can set it aside when the episode finally comes to its end; pleasure because after all, the painful and the erotic are never as far apart as we might pretend.

I watched Ianto’s death scene again for this essay, half-expecting that it wouldn’t really work the same. I tried rewatching Torchwood a few years ago and couldn’t make it past a few episodes. I’m not 17 anymore, and everything from the special effects to the treatment of its female characters has aged not unlike milk. I’ve found new tragedies to visit and revisit. But I did cry, watching Jack try and fail to keep his lover by his side. And it felt good.

*Regarding the Pain of Others, 83. Despite the title and the way it’s used in conversations about media (including by me, here) this is actually an essay on war photojournalism. Worth a read but not for the reasons you might think.

#yaoi zine #yaoizine #yaoi zine 5 #my fic

43 notes · View notes

carriagelamp · 8 months ago

Text

Read some delightfully impactful books this month, it was a very satisfying assortment of stories! My biggest recommendation is Lula Dean's Little Library of Banned Books, I'm telling everyone I can to read that book. Funny, meaningful, and sort of lights a fire under your ass, makes you want to make the world better.

Doctor Who: Forever Autumn

My obligatory Halloween-y read. Like many Doctor Who books of this particular calibre it was a fine and entirely forgettable read. It was fun to have an autumn-themed setting and villain, and I always love when Martha’s around. They wind up needing to deal with “no no it’s not magic it’s definitely just science we don’t understand for sure for sure” and some pumpkin-headed terrors. It was a pleasant thing to have playing as an audiobook while driving to work amid autumn leaves.

A Lady for a Duke

This had so much potential but honestly failed to live up to it imo. This story is very deliberately tipping its hat to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night and the initial set up is really promising. Injured and presumed dead during the Battle of Waterloo, transwoman Viola Carroll seizes her chance to remake her life and live the way she wants. She becomes the lady's companion to her brother’s wife (the only two who know that she’s alive) and with their help begins figuring out how to fit into this new life. However when an old childhood friend, the Duke of Gracewood who had fought alongside her in Waterloo, seems to be in a bad state she finds herself being forcefully drawn out of her quiet, secluded life and put at risk of being recognized by someone who had known her before.

Excellent premise! The characters are fun, Viola is an enjoyable protagonist, Gracewood is a decent romantic lead, and Viola’s sister-in-law is easily my favourite character in the book, she’s a DELIGHT, especially when paired with her husband. The first half of the book is also pretty well done, with lots of mistaken identity and pining, very much in the spirit of Twelfth Night. Unfortunate the second half is where it loses all momentum. The dialogue becomes repetitive and the romance rather dull, the B-Plot is really the only thing dragging the plot along at that point. It also loses any real touch with historical attitudes towards queer issues — it was always a light touch, but it quickly becomes everyone repeating All The Right Things to each other ad nauseum, without any real exploration of queer identities in a Regency period. Which, to be fair, is probably what some people want, very low stakes and chill romance, but for me it took the wind out of the book’s sails, I would have loved more discussion. It would have made the sex more interesting at least.

That being said, if you want a soft, pleasant, historical trans romance, I would honestly give it a shot. If nothing else the first half is REALLY quite good, I couldn’t put it down, and the last half isn’t so bad that it damns the whole thing. It’s worth it if this is what you’re keen on.

Lula Dean’s Little Library of Banned Books

Easily my favourite book from October, this book managed to hit on very topical subjects with both tact and humour. In a small town in Georgia, Lula Dean has spearheaded a book banning crusade, managing to get a number of “problematic” books removed from the library and has made a show of setting up a Little Free Library in her yard full of “appropriate” books instead. When Beverly Underwood visits her mother and hears about this she’s so exasperated with it all that she quickly hatches a plan. The night before she leaves for home, she takes the banned library books from where they’re being stored and swaps out their dust jackets with the ones in Lula Dean’s Little Free Library. The rest of the story is about various people in the town who borrow a book from Lula Dean’s library and how the book they got instead ends up impacting not just themselves but their town. The first story involves a penis cake. Can’t recommend it enough, starts out humour and quickly becomes something you want to rally around.

My Neighbour Totoro

This was an enjoyable read just because I like Totoro in general, but it was not the best novelization I’ve ever read. Honestly I think it mostly suffers from a less-than-ideal translation… the whole thing comes across as quite stilted and I have a feeling the language was prioritised over the flow and intention. It was fine, cosy to sit and read, gives a couple scenes that aren’t in the movie that were interesting, but overall it won’t deliver anything the movie doesn’t do better.

Ogres

Absolutely fascinating novella, and a very rare example of a story told absolutely perfectly in second-person. If you’re looking for something a bit different and thought-provoking, this was a good read.

Ogres rule this world. They’re bigger than you. Stronger than you. Have magics you could never comprehend. The natural order of the world is for humans to serve ogres. However you, as the son of the village headman, live an idyllic sort of life… until the ogre landlords come to call and everything begins to go wrong and you're facing realities and secrets you never could have imagined.

The One and Only Family

I read this one mostly because I wanted to finish off the series. The One and Only Ivan is a fantastic novel that is a fictionalised account of a real silverback gorilla that was poached and brought back to the United States to live in a small cage in a roadside mall. The first story is about him, his friends Bob and Ruby, and his life in captivity. The second and third book are about Bob the dog and Ruby the elephant respectively, and this last book focuses back on Ivan, his new life in a zoo, and his growing family. Honestly all the other books in this series were fine for kids, had some good ideas behind them, but were otherwise somewhat bland. I’m glad I finished the series but they don’t hold a candle to the first book.

The Pushcart War

Now this was a fun children’s novel, recommended to me by my New York girlfriend who says it’s a staple in New York classrooms — and I can see why, it’s an incredibly fun read. A prime example of a well-done under-dog story, very satisfying! The book is a “historical account” of the “New York City Pushcart War”, in which the city streets are hopelessly congested and everyone is suffering. The worst offenders are the big trucks which just seem to get bigger and bigger, and pushier and pushier. The trucking companies hatch a plan on how to gradually push out all other competition: they’ll start with the little, old-fashion pushcarts, try to villainize them until they’re entirely removed from New York City... and if no one speaks up for them, then how hard will it be to push out the taxis next? Or the automobiles? However, the scrappy little push-cart owners fight back. It’s very much written to be an allegory for actual wars, played on a smaller scale which some delightful wit and an interesting narrative voice.

Series of Unfortunate Events 4-10

I continue to read A Series of Unfortunate Events. As a child I had only ever read up to The Carnivorous Carnival so it’s exciting to strike into new territory with The Slippery Slope. I really enjoy the slippery slope you see the Baudelaires beginning to get caught in as the series progresses, how they have to start making concessions and doing things they wouldn't have considered doing at the beginning, and how their views of the world is beginning to evolve. Austere Academy, Ersatz Elevator, and The Vile Village are my favourite of this set.

The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System v3

I finished the main series of The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System and I’m not ready for it to be over ;^; I’m in the process of reading the last book of bonus stories and trying to savour it. I was hugely judgemental about this series and was tempted to skip it entirely, but I’m so glad I actually sat down to read it. Out of all of MXTX’s series, this one has, in my opinion, the least palatable main relationship and I say that with deep and profound affection. It's passionate and complicated and slightly horrifying but I don't think you could write it any other way. Every single thing about this story is messy and I think that really works in its favour.

Shen Qingqiu is an incredibly biased narrator, and it’s really interesting to read a story in which the main character tends to think of those around him more as characters in a book than as genuine people. You get to see how him viewing himself as a passive observer instead of an actual person with agency who can have an impact on others continuously trips him up, and how his actions have far reaching consequences that he fails to recognize. It makes this entire series a very meta exploration of storytelling and the impact people's personal narratives have on themselves and others. It really consistently shows how cruelty begets cruelty... but also how the choice to step away from easy resentment can break endless cycles. That's a common theme across her works, but the way its handled in this book particularly struck me.

Over all, it’s a fun, silly story with way more heart than I anticipated -- this last book really made me cry! I was so unprepared for the series to be over that I had to stare at the ceiling for a while to try to digest it all. If you were feeling debating whether or not to try this series, I’d honestly give it a shot because it brings way more to the table than the surface level plot would suggest.

This Census-Taker

Fucking weird novella. I grabbed this from the library because I quite enjoyed Railsea so I thought I’d try something else by this author. And I really liked it! But also what the fuck. Still don’t know if I absorbed everything that I was meant to absorb, but it’s obviously a book with a lot to say and did it through the most deranged and intriguing world building. China Miéville is great at creating unique worlds that feel alive and vibrant — this is the sort of world real people could live in, no matter how strange.

Goodread’s summary because gun to my head I’m not sure I’d be able to come up with a more functional explanation: “After witnessing a profoundly traumatic event, a boy is left alone in a remote house on a hilltop with his increasingly deranged parent. When a stranger knocks on his door, the boy senses that his days of isolation are over—but by what authority does this man keep the meticulous records he carries? Is he the boy’s friend? His enemy? Or something altogether other?” This doesn’t even scratch the surface but it does give a functional idea of the surface level plot. If you want something to sink your teeth in to and flex your analytical muscles, this one will do it for you.

The War That Saved My Life // The War I Finally Won

Absolutely stunning YA novel series, can’t recommend it enough. This series is centred on Ada, a girl born in the East End of London to an abusive mother who scorns her for her club foot. Ada is forced to stay in the apartment, is severely neglected and mistreated, and does her best to take care of her younger brother during all this. When news of WWII arrives though and people begin sending their children away from London to live in the country, Ada is determined to run away with her brother and get them both onto one of those trains, to find a better life far from the threatened bombs and their mother. The story followers Ada and Jamie finding a new home and contending with the trauma they’ve lived through during the throes of World War 2.

(* in regards to the queer content of this book: it is entirely subtext however it is such obvious subtext that I feel fine labelling it as queer, it's beautifully done -- very much a "haunting the narrative" sort of plotline)

The Warden

A “cosy fantasy” novel that was a fairly decent attempt at the genre. I find some cosy fantasies fail (for me at least) just because… nothing happens. This novel sort of straddles the line between cosy fantasy and standard fantasy in a way that I found quite satisfying and kept things from getting boring.

Aelis de Lenti is a newly graduated necromancer from the Lyceum who has accepted the position of Warden in the remote village of Lone Pines. Admittedly she had been hoping for a posting in an actual city with actual modern amenities but here she is. Surrounded by sheep shit and villagers who don’t trust her, in a crumbling wizard’s tower. Great. The story is about her gradually finding her space in this community, learning how to handle her position, and generally getting to kick ass and take names. It was a fun read.

15 notes · View notes

fanby-fckry · 1 year ago

Text

📌 Welcome, friends, foes, and passersby, to my personal piece of fandom Hell.

Have you made your daily clicks yet, today?

If you have money to donate, please take a look at these vetted fundraisers.

Feel free to send me an ask from my latest ask game here.

18+ Blog

No minors. No bigots. No blank blogs/default icons.

No Minors: I’m an adult posting adult content on my adult blog; I will block you on sight.

No Bigots: “Bigots” includes rad fems, exclusionists, and zionists. Trans people need feminism, too, gatekeeping helps no one, and zionism does not equate to Judaism (implying that genocide is a Jewish value is antisemitism).

No Blank Blogs: For context on why I block default icons, see this post.

I intend to use my block button liberally, but I’m hoping the big text will help at least a little bit.

I also edit this post/my blog theme to include a comical amount of 18+ disclaimers whenever I get fed up with the amount of minors trying to follow me. Idk if it works, but it’s cathartic.

Fandom is meant to be fun, so if you’re here to spread hate, don’t. <3 I’ll just block you, and neither of us will gain anything from it.

This Blog Contains:

Adult content

Kink

Problematic media

Fictional depictions of violence and gore

Discussion of potentially triggering content

Please see this post for a list of tags you may want to block.

As a rule of thumb, I tend to tag things #[trigger] cw and use the keep reading feature in extreme cases. Please ask if you need me to tag something.

Viewer discretion is advised; be safe, bloggers.

Fandoms:

The Amazing Devil (Band)

Avatar: the Last Airbender

Doctor Who

Fullmetal Alchemist

Good Omens

Harry Potter – I do not support JKR

🖤 Hazbin Hotel

🖤 Helluva Boss

Steven Universe

The Witcher

I tend to cycle through them based on the whims of my wretched gremlin brain. When and why the cycle changes is unknown even to me.

Current main fandoms are marked with a ‘🖤’

About Me:

You can call me Fanby. I’m over 25 years old and use an assortment of pronouns, but mainly they/them, xe/xem, and it/its.

I’m queer in just about every sense of the word and fucked in the head, not in my bed. I have freed myself from the shackles of amatonormativity (10/10, highly recommend) and am living my best life as a polyamorous, (a)sexual deviant.

I don’t owe anyone my exact labels or diagnoses, but I do share them When I Feel Like It™️.

Other Socials:

AO3: Fanby

Pronouns.page: fanby-fckry — flags need updating again, tbh.

Spotify: Fanby

Twitter: fanby_fckry — not very active.

Side Blogs:

Poetry: @refinedandgivenform

Tag Lists:

Note: I’m not always the best at tagging things. Sometimes I make mistakes, mistag or forget a tag. If you notice something is mistagged or missing a tag, please feel free to send me an ask or dm me about it!

Main Tags

Accessibility Tags

Tags to Block

Refs, Recs, and Resources

Fanfic Masterlists:

Hellaverse (Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss)

The Witcher

Kinktober

AO3 Exclusives – Links to the AO3 collection

My Incredibly Biased Hall of Fame:

Fake Tumblr Dash Masterpost

Fandom + Tumblr Masterpost

Apollo’s Dodgeball Masterpost

The UHverse Memes/Meta/Etc. – AKA: the Unholyverse; the extended universe for UH3/The Unholy Trinity

The Little Demon AU Memes/Meta/Etc. – working title for my Hazbin Hotel/The Little Mermaid AU

The haiku bot reblogged my post – And then another one

Unintentionally Popular Aroace Alastor Post – And someone drew it!!

I added onto a Helluva Boss post and for some reason it became incredibly popular, to the point of showing up in my top posts for a good amount of time

Unbiased Hall of Fame (Top 10 Posts by Year):

2023

2024

Requests:

Fanfiction requests are open to mutuals only.

Please read this post before requesting.

#solar click here ->#🌠💍

23 notes · View notes

spoonusboius · 4 months ago

Text

Fanfiction As Resistance

As people who live in the United States—even if we are all not American citizens—it is clear that recent political developments are both not conducive to progressive ideology and detrimental to women and minorities. At the present moment, though, there still exists media in the United States that allows for a cultural resistance against conservative and neo-fascist ideas: fanfiction. Queer and non-traditional forms of romance and sexuality exist and flourish on platforms such as Archive of Our Own (Ao3), fanfiction.net, Wattpad, and others.

It is no secret, either, that women dominate the fanfiction scene. Anecdotally speaking, most of the fanfiction writers and consumers that I know are women and those men I know who engage in fanfiction are ubiquitously left-leaning in their politics and tend to identify as a part of the LGBTQ+ community. I have also seen that fandoms well-loved by women and queer folk also tends to have a wider breadth of fanfiction of all varieties from simple Alternate Universe (AU) retellings of the same story to casting characters in sexually explicit situations. I believe the prevalence of fanfiction in these communities is due to the empowering nature of fanfiction—there are no constraints or expectations in quality or acceptability when writing something anonymously on the internet, allowing marginalized groups to indulge in their fantasies in a way that can't be easily traced back to them.

Take the Harry Potter fanfiction scene as an example: at the time of writing, the Harry Potter fandom on fanfiction.net has nearly 850 thousand individual works, making it one of the largest fanfiction catalogs of any fictional work ever. All of that work from a book series written by an infamously transphobic author—J.K. Rowling. Rowling is commonly referred to as a T.E.R.F., an acronym for "Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist," owing to her hostile views toward trans people, especially trans women. Take this post as an example:

In this post Rowling celebrates U.S. President Donald Trump's executive order celebrating the banning of trans women in sports. She ardently believes that the existence of trans women is an affront to the rights of women and girls to the point that she would celebrate the executive actions of a President so widely disliked by them, so why does her book series remain so popular among women and LGBTQ+ individuals?

I propose that, in the particular case of Harry Potter, fanfiction is a sort of reclamation. It has transcended the author to the point that you can like Harry Potter and even "read" it to an extent without ever consuming a single line of text written by Rowling. With such a wide assortment of fanfiction ranging from G-rated stories to incredibly explicit Slash fiction, why would you ever need to read the Sorcerer's Stone? What use is the Deathly Hollows when you can read about Harry and Ron kissing each other romantically on the way back from Hogwarts? With fanfiction, one can appreciate the characters and setting of Rowling's creation without financially support her or even enjoying her work directly. Suddenly, the radically politicized Harry Potter books are only radically personal and the problematic aspects of Rowling's gender ideology and the moral implications of consuming her work are rendered immediately irrelevant. When reading fanfiction, it doesn't matter that J.K. Rowling doesn't like transgender people; it matters that there is a story where the reader, whoever they may be, feels represented and seen, whether they are writers or readers.

In fanfiction, people can feel safe—in the modern day in the United States, that is about a big of a resistance as one can get.

#fanfiction #discussion #politics

2 notes · View notes

peace-fantasia · 2 years ago

Text

Attention: If you’re a normal RWBY poster who doesn’t send hate or get mad at RWDE’s existence. This post doesn’t apply to you.

To those that do.

I’ve never seen a fandom more insecure than rwby in all my days. Paper thin. Absolute baby behavior.

Every fandom ever has critics. Loud ones. Annoying ones. Etc.

RWBY in my 20+ years in assorted fandoms is the only fandom I’ve ever seen take a critics as a personal offense and can’t handle their existence. Even when they tag their complaints properly. I’ve seen multiple RWDE posters get harassed daily and have their queer and disabled identities questioned because they don’t celebrate Rooster teeth’s scraps.

Enjoy your show. No one is saying you can’t.

Other people don’t and they’re allowed to voice it. And they’re allowed to voice what they find problematic about it and the multi million dollar company behind it. i

DC, Marvel, Naruto, MHA, Owl House, SU all have their massive critics. It’s what happens when a series is popular. It gets torn to shreds by people. And that’s okay.

Why is RWBY so damn special ? Unless you’re are you saying RWBY lacks something that it can’t stand the same criticism all these other media experience? Because that’s what it sounds like to me?

Get over it and touch some fucking grass instead of sending people anon hate because they don’t like your show.

Those people are the worst fucking fans I’ve ever seen. Loser behavior.

#rwde

16 notes · View notes

jjsnotebook · 3 years ago

Text

hello friends!!! super excited to write with y'all, and thought i'd present an idea i wanted to explore.

based out of vanderbilt university, there is a centuries-old fraternity by the name of kappa epsilon gamma (or keg for short). though once adhering to many of the problematic trappings of greek life, things have changed considerably within the last decade or so, and particularly within the last few years, given society's attempts to become more accepting and diverse.

while they party hard and tend to put their social lives far ahead of their academic commitments, the boys of keg by and large fit the textbook definition of a himbo: large, stupid, but kind. they are also a very diverse group, having worked tirelessly to be welcoming to those that more traditional fraternities might have turned away. much of their membership consists of queer, bipoc, and/or differently abled men and male-presenting individuals, and this is something that, at the very least, the local chapter prides themselves on.

————————————————————————————————

this is an extremely open request, and mostly meant to explore the dynamics between a bunch of stupid but well-intentioned idiots. these are strong, forged-in-fire friendships. these are rivalries that, though intense, remain well-intentioned. these are complicated romantic dynamics, involving individuals way too stupid to handle them maturely.

i'd also love to explore a broad assortment of alignments/member groups among the membership, so that things can only grow increasingly complicated as time goes on and people begin to awaken. other than that, i'm completely open! please reach out to me on discord (mcjj#6611) to discuss ideas!

#chasingmrp #please give me some idiots to be best friends with #also if anyone is interested i'd love a sister sorority eyes emoji

6 notes · View notes

ace-trainer-risu · 4 years ago

Note

oh here! i’ll come ask you for book recs lol. do you have any spooky and/or autumn-y book recs? or just your fave books :)

First of all, I'm sorry this took me SO long to answer. I want to say I've been busy but it's just been general [waves hand vaguely] life.

ANYWAY thank you for asking! I actually don't read scary stuff a lot b/c I'm a wimp, but I have a few spooky/autumnal books up my sleeves! Let's see what we've got!!

1) The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

Let me just start by saying that Sarah Waters is one of my absolute favorite authors ever! All her novels are suspenseful, twisty historical novels with great female and queer characters. Although, fair warning, actually The Little Stranger is like her one novel that isn't queer, but it is VERY good. If you read The Little Stranger and like it, please read Fingersmith and/or The Paying Guests.

The Little Stranger is set in the countryside of post-WWII England and follows a mild-mannered doctor as he becomes increasingly involved in the lives of the family living in the local, increasingly decrepit, possibly haunted mansion. Think Downton Abbey but creepy. Strange things keep happening inside the house, from dog bites to mysterious sounds to creepy black spots. Literally just typing that gave me goosebumps. It seems like someone may be out to get the family, but who...or what? Is it simply the ghosts of their own painful memories, or is something more? Sarah Waters is excellent at lush, intricate historical detail, and she leans into that here to create an atmosphere of slowly building dread and horror and mystery.

That being said, as a person who isn't normally a fan of horror, I don't think this book is too scary. It's more of an atmospheric, psychological horror than a jump-scare, bloody horror. It's not a book that will give you nightmares (probably), but you might lie awake thinking about it.

Also. Pro-tip. As a haunted(?) house story, the house is obviously fairly central to the story. Dear fellow Americans, keep in mind that the British refer to the floors of a building differently than us. For Americans, the ground-level floor is called the first floor, the floor above that the second floor, etc. For the British, the ground-level floor is the ground floor, and the floor above that is the first floor, etc. There's all sorts of creepy references to characters hearing noises above them on the first floor, but I was just like, Why are they always in the basement?

2) Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno Garcia

This and the above are two very different books, and yet they are both set in the mid-1900s and both are about weird, creepy, maybe-haunted houses. What can I say, I like gothic fiction.

After our heroine, Noemi, receives a bizarre, borderline incoherent letter from her beloved cousin, she sets out to visit her in the literally decaying mansion she resides in with her husband and his new family deep in the countryside of Mexico. All Noemi wants to do is persuade her cousin to come back home with her, but her cousin's new in-laws are very determined not to let that happen...or to let Noemi leave either. Secrets abound in the bizarre house and even creepier nearby cemetery, and soon Noemi finds that she too is suffering from bizarre dreams and visions...although, are they just dreams?

This book is so weird, but in such a good way? I read it for a book club and every week we had increasingly bizarre theories about what was going on, we were googling alchemy and fungi and St George, and some of our theories were even right. Although definitely not all. Another very twisty one that keeps you guessing.

In terms of scariness, interestingly I think there's more overtly creepy and horrifying moments in this novel than The Little Stranger, but I found TLS more overall scary? But that may be because I read it quickly, which I think is the ideal setting for suspenseful stuff, and I read Mexican Gothic over a longer amount of time since it was for a book club. This one does have some more typical horror elements to it, but I don't think it's more creepy than terrifying.

3) The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey

I listened to this one as an audiobook and the audiobook is excellent so would recommend that, but have no doubt it would also be great to physically read.

Oh my god this book...it's more thriller than horror, but I think it fits the brief. There were multiple moments listening to this book that I literally gasped or said "OH MY GOD!" out loud, and there are moments which are very creepy and horrifying. There's a particular scene in the backyard... Again, incredibly suspenseful and twisty. And the character development and character psychology is just! really really good! There's also really interesting and knotty feminist stuff which is a lot more complicated and nasty than some of the "girlboss" stuff which is popular right now.

Super minimal summary: All you really need to know is that it is a sci fi novel about a scientific researcher trying to pick up her life after her marriage has imploded, only for everything to go BATSHIT WRONG. Trust me, that's all you need to know, it's better to go into this not knowing what's going to happen or what to expect. I had no clue what this novel was about when I started it, and holy shit. Very good book, absolutely recommend this if you want some super suspenseful, creepy sci fi that will make you say "oh my GOD" repeatedly.

Okay, shifting gears a little now b/c autumn isn't just spooky, it's also cozy and restful and daydreamy!

4) The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic by Emily Croy Barker

This isn't maybe a cozy book per se, but it's a great book to cuddle down with on a dreary day and lose yourself in. If you've ever asked yourself, "What would it be like if you crossed Pride and Prejudice with Howl's Moving Castle except the wizard was way worse but somehow still sexy" - then you should read this book! I actually came across this book b/c I was like, I wanna read a book that's a portal fantasy but for adults, and this book was like OH here's everything you wanted.

It's about a grad student, Nora, who has totally stalled out on her dissertation and is at a shitty wedding when she accidentally wanders through a portal into a beautiful, fantastical fairy world. At first, everything is amazing and literally perfect...but surprise surprise, not all as is it seems, and soon everything goes to, how should I put it, shit. Nora escapes, but rather than returning home, she finds herself trapped in a far more dreary realm. But not one without it's own charms and it's own magic, and Nora finds herself the student-slash-sorta-captive of the crochety, sexy, maybe-killed-his-wife magician Aruendiel* and she begins to learn magic herself.

Unlike the above books, this is not a fast-paced, twisty book, and I think if you go into this expecting high fantasy along the lines of Game of Thrones, you may be disappointed. It's not really a typical high-fantasy novel, it's more of a cross of an 18th/19th century realist novel, a fairy tale, and a fantasy novel. But if you want that, then it's REALLY good! I loved this book! And the magic in it is so cool, something about the way its described feels so visceral and real and like you could really do it if you just tried hard enough. There is a romance and it's totally, intentionally hashtag problematic, but it's very laid back, very slow burn, so I think even if you aren't a person who digs romance you can still enjoy this. If you're looking for a feminist-leaning fantasy novel that you can just sink into and lose yourself in, this is the perfect book. You will long to magically fix broken plates.

5) The Ruthless Lady's Guide to Wizardry by C.M. Waggoner

Honestly I can't even justify why I think this one is an autumn book. It simply is. It's autumn colored in my head. It is the coziest book I have ever read about necromancy and crime. Also I just want to recommend it. This is another one that I listened to as an audiobook and it's also a good audiobook, for those who are interested. But it also means I will not be able to spell absolutely any of the character's names.

This novel follows Delly, an enterprising young scoundrel of a fire witch with a teeny tiny gin habit as she attempts to support herself and her hot-mess of a mom in the roughest neighborhoods of Fantasy-City-That-I-Can't-Remember-The-Name-Of. Lice...gate? When Delly comes across an advertisement for a bodyguarding job for young women for a hefty fee, it seems like the answer to definitely not all but at least some of her problems. She accepts, along with an interesting assortment of other sorcerous young ladies, including a wonderfully bitchy Absentia (my love), a young woman who can turn into a boar, boar girl's necromancer mother, and the very sexy part-troll Winn, who in my imagination looks like Gwendoline Christie and talks like Miranda Hart. Which. Perfect woman. Winn being a fine, wealthy young lady, Delly can't help but think to herself that it wouldn't be such a bad thing if Winn happened to fall in love with her and carried her off to be rich and spoiled the rest of her life.

Of course, things quickly don't go to plan, and soon Delly and her companions find herself caught up in wicked schemes of murder, drugs, and an undead mouse named Buttons who says BONG. I love Buttons SO MUCH.

This book is just a silly romp of a novel which worms into your heart and your brain. It's fun and cute and gay, and also it made me cry. I haven't stopped thinking, "Not quite regulation hammerball" since I listened to it like half a year ago.

Also, while I'm here, this novel is set in the same world as and features a few of the same characters as Unnatural Magic. Which is also a hell of a book. Literally the best bisexual relationship I have ever fuckin read. It's a winter book tho, so I simply can't go into it here.

Aaaaand...that it's! Happy autumnal reading :)

#things you didn't care to know about veronica #book recs #disastershy #i'm sorry it took me so long to answer! it's just been burning in my inbox for weeks and only today #did i have the courage and strength of will to get to it!#jk i just felt like doing it now :)#thanks if you read the whole thing!!!!!

8 notes · View notes

monsterqueers · 4 years ago

Text

New Essay Up

New essay up on the website!

props and credit to @shadowfae , whos panel on problematic sources at Othercon 2021 motivated and inspired me to write about morality differences.

Alignments - A Memory Dump Essay

Essay has also been transcribed under this readmore if thats easier to read for anyone.

Morality, in The Before, was different, in the sense that there were Allignments.

I am A Silver Dragon, from a slightly AU-ed Dungeons and Dragons world. Alignments there dictated whether you were good or evil, lawful or chaotic. You may have seen the grid around, the nine squares with things like ‘neutral good’ and ‘lawful evil’ on them. This is that.

When I say ‘good’ and ‘evil’ I mean a different concept than the behavior choices that fall into ‘doing harm’ and ‘helping people’. There were words differing between the two in dragonic, though I do not remember them now, for what I am talking about.

In this world, ‘good’, ‘evil’, ‘lawful’ and ‘chaotic’ - the dragonic forms of these words, were not behavior descriptors, nor intention descriptions. They were factions, and many species simply could not choose their born faction or change it very much if they could. These factions were generally due to god interference in the creation of that species, and it meant certain magics worked or did not work against/for them or they had traits that were often seen as harmful. The correct translation for ‘good’ and ‘evil’ is more accurately ‘darkness’ and ‘light’, though lawful and chaotic are close enough to ‘things that follow order’, and ‘things that reject order’.

These alignments said very little about the behavior they exhibited or the morals they had. The dragonic word for ‘evil’ as in how people here use it to mean ‘does harm to others’ could be retranslated as ‘being an asshole’. A person aligned lawful good could regularly commit tax fraud and beat their wife, and a person who was chaotic evil could be a pacifist who gardens and is passionate about healthcare reform.

For some of the littlefolk (the Polite translated dragonic word for humans and elves and the like), this was more flexible, and generally littlefolk would not consider those who did large amounts of harm to their in-group to be good aligned, nor people who had never done harm any worse than neutral, despite this not being the case magically speaking. It could make things rather confusing when talking to the layman, as much of the littlefolk could simply choose whatever faction they liked and often could jump ship whenever they liked too.

There were other various littlefolk somewhat limited in their alignment choice however- a Drow could not be ‘good’, and Aasimir could not be ‘evil’, for example. Usually this was split down the good and evil, rather than lawful and chaotic, as the ‘good’ and ‘evil’ deities held the most active sway.

Think of it like nationality, I suppose. Its the closest equivalent. Some people can't ever gain citizenship in a country other than their country of birth even if they want to, others can do so with a bit of work.

Dragons, however, didn’t have this sort of choice. All true dragons were born a specific alignment to do with their species, and inherent instincts to follow the tenants generally professed by that faction. This is one of the major traits that separated a True -also known as Greater- Dragon from other dragonic creatures, such as fairy dragons, wyverns, and rust dragons, actually. Other dragonic creatures had some wiggle room.

Chromatic dragons were all evil aligned, Gem dragons were all neutral aligned, and Metallic dragons were all good aligned. Planar dragons, while true dragons, were another matter and their alignments were to nothing on the scale as their origin points and commitments were beyond the gods of that my former plane’s influence. Lung dragons were a type of Planar dragon in my canon, instead of their own category.

The individual species of those groupings each had a assigned further spot. A Gold Dragon was ALWAYS Lawful Good, whether they are an abhorrent entity or not, and a White Dragon was always Chaotic Evil.

The individual species were as follows(* for ones that are AU to dnd 5e canon but are true to mine):

Chaotic Evil - Red, Black, Yellow, White

Neutral Evil - Brown, Purple*, Gray

Lawful Evil - Blue, Green

Chaotic Neutral - Topaz, Crystal

True Neutral - Amber, Amethyst, Obsidian*, Prismatic

Lawful Neutral - Emerald, Sapphire

Chaotic Good - Copper, Mercury*, Brass

Neutral Good - Silver*, Iron*

Lawful Good - Gold, Bronze, Platinum*, Steel

So I was and am a Silver Dragon. Bahumat created metallic dragons with the intention of combating His sister Tiamat, who created chromatic dragons in turn. The deities of Law and Chaos- neither touched my kind deeply. We could use all magic aligned with the light or neutral powers, and none of the dark. There was little magic that was specifically aligned with order and chaos, but all of that was accessible, provided the spell was not of the shadow. Things that repelled creatures of the light could keep me out.

The more ‘good’ creatures that existed in the world in relation to ‘evil’ ones brought more and less power to Bahumat and Tiamat in their eternal fight. So long as one ‘good’ or ‘evil’ creature existed, neither god could die and they were driven to wipe each other out. The same could be said of the law and chaos deities.

Of my life, the beginning is murky. Once I was grown enough to roam, I first Adventured with a elven rider companion and then lived upon a mountain lair until my death. Towards the middle and latter end, the towns at its base paid me rites and respect for my guardianship. These rites did technically elevate me to a minor god* capable of working greater magic. I also had a village much closer to and in my lair, one where I took those who asked my asylum who perhaps needed greater safety or guidance.

I would defend my territory and would help those who asked. It was a good life, and I hold little to no exotrauma from it.

*not to be confused with Greater gods, which are what effect Alignment or embody big concepts, minor gods are just those who are Believed in by enough people- and thus given power from that collective Belief

The divide between what was and what is is deeper and more shallow that one would expect, all at once.

I’ve started tentatively identifying as a walk-in relatively recently, my selfhood simply showed up one day and the original, whos interests, opinions, demeanor, and identity was different than mine disappeared shortly thereafter. The system has many theories on how exactly this happened, the origins thus such, and how much of the original’s ego was made into me, and also exactly when. The transition was rather seamless and there was much brain weirdness to muddle it all and convince me that I have always been here. None of us know the answer, and it generally doesn’t matter in practice.

The experiences of the original that I inherited gave a large amount of distance to this life. For reference, I Awakened as a Silver Dragon ~2014 perhaps 2015 -time is muddy- or so- having finally put together all the noema and shifts and assorted feelings that were not my cat theriotype into what they were. I had been in the body for a good handful of years previous to that, however. It gives me a distance from that life. My memories and retained selfhood from that life are dull- a botched reincarnation. I remember just enough- I experience just enough bleedover that it upholds a pillar of my identity and I still identify as the being of that life, but not so much I am exactly as-is.

I want to do a little disclaimer- The statement that this definitively IS a past life and I AM a walk in and these ARE memories of a past life is a theory, not fact. I do not and cannot know if my theory is right, and I have a healthy dose of skepticism in regards to this. My experiences could be sourced to many things, however I experience my draconity in a fashion that is similar to how others describe their past life experiences. It fits accounts better than the accounts of people who are not past-life otherkin. It feels right to describe these experiences as such, and so I do. Perhaps one day my understanding of this may change, but for now it is as such.

Returning to the topic at hand; its a point of frustration to me almost to the point of dysphoria, how good and evil, and moral and immoral are used in society here and how. Good and evil denote both the ingroup-outgroup AND the moral standard, equating sinful with strange with harmful behavior. Evil no longer means ‘entity supporting or created by Tiamat’- who is night and shadow. Good no longer means ‘entity supporting or created by Bahumat’- who is day and light.

The congruence of good with helping and evil with harming is far more intense here, Bahumat and Tiamat as I know them hold no power here- as they shouldn’t. Their place was in my old reality and that is as far as those entities reach. The assignment of moral values to enjoyment of a thing or thoughts, rather than actions is wholly new, and honestly quite unpleasant.

Evil here, becomes ‘entity that enjoys harming’ and often ‘anyone I don’t like’

Good here them also becomes ‘entity that enjoys helping’ and often ‘anyone I do like’

There will be people who insist to ignore people that do that last part and claim that it doesn’t matter- that the social realities of how others assign you do not matter, but I disagree.

Being queer, kinky, mentally ill, neurodivergent, disabled, and a strong leftist among other things means people will think me evil for existing quite a bit. Stigmatized minorities are othered, our traits become evil no matter how kind we may be.

Society calls us evil, has designated us evil- alright, how is this a bad thing?

Disassociating Evil from moral allows one to reclaim Evil. Ok, we are Evil now, but oh, no less kind. No less caring. Take the words slung at you and make armor out of them.

And also no matter how kind you may be, by this metric if you enjoy causing pain and destruction, you are evil.

This… is a thoughtcrime thing. No matter how you conduct yourself in life, if you enjoy pain you are evil to society at large. So as above, unlink Evil from Moral, and it is reclaimable.

How people assign you is a material reality you can choose to make hold no power over you. You can make it your own scales.

It is for the reason of words changing meanings, of the fact that my god I was born to does not reach here and thus frees me from obligations, that I no longer identify as Neutral Good. It simply does not mean the same thing anymore and I can now choose my alignment besides. Bahumat was no terrible god to serve or anything, but I would have appreciated the choice if it was not hardwired into my dragon brain at the time to be devoted to such a being.

I take joy in harm and at the same time take joy in helping, I think the absence of care of society is not something I can do, nor do I think rigid obedience is right.

Thus I would consider myself in the alignments of this world today as True Neutral.

Not to mention I have chosen the service of a True Neutral god in Cernunnos, so by my former world’s standards I am True Neutral now as well.

It feels right, to identify as such now. Society considers me evil enough I am too sin-stained to be good, but I have too much love of creation and helping to be wholly evil.

I believe that rules are necessary or we get Situations that cause harm to others, but at the same time am too Anarchist-leaning to not chafe under absolute order.

Still, the... Dissatisfaction with how people use alignments here persists.

#otherkin #fictionkin #alterhuman #nonhumanity #dragonkin #alterhuman stuff #oh no not me writing stuff to procrastinate on writing other stuff #wayward rambling

9 notes · View notes

mego42 · 4 years ago

Note

Show recommendations with even a sliver of the Brio chemistry to tide us over until June 24th?

this was actually a weirdly hard question! brio’s chemistry is truly next level and it turns out, upon review, i don’t generally go in for contemporary dramas so much? i’m a genre baby and mostly stick to comedy for contemp.

that said, i have a couple!

UnREAL (s1, specifically)

full disclaimer, I quit watching this show after s2 bc it (imo) lost the magic of s1 and made some choices i really didn't love HOWEVER i heard it recaptures it in s3/4 so one day i’ll go back. either way, season 1? AMAZING. pitch perfect dramedy. it’s a fictionalized version of bts on shows like The Bachelor and the chemistry between the (morally ambiguous) main character Rachel and her (even more morally ambiguous) mentor Quinn? WHEW. spoilers, it goes untapped (war crime, tbh), so it’s all subtext, but they nail that balancing act of we're in love but also a little in hate, but mostly in love, but also i will feed you to the wolves if i have to back and forth that beth and rio have.

You’re The Worst

two absolutely terrible but also compelling and eventually deeply sympathetic LA hipsters (i know but the show continually roasts all of them) falling in completely unwilling love over the course of 5 seasons. idk if i would call this a dramedy as much as a comedy that does deep dives into some heavy topics in impressively multi-faceted ways while never losing the charming comedy vibe. season 2 features hands down the best look at depression (both living it and loving someone with it) i’ve ever seen. also, the supporting ensemble? GOD! TIER! i love them more than the main characters.

The Americans

fair warning, this show is slow but it is SO GOOD and the leads have such amazing chemistry they ended up falling in love and getting married, hahahaha. it’s about two russian spies who have been undercover as married for so long the lines are blurred beyond all get out. the whole show is a masterpiece in tension and build and the ship is SO deliciously complicated and snarled up in real/not real and i love it. this one also takes place in the 80s so i’m probs stretching the definition of contemporary BUT it’s real world and involves cat/mouse crime games (just of the espionage variety) so i’m counting it.

other assorted shows that are absolutely not anything at all like good girls but i still think everyone should watch and they give good ship:

Chuck (this show is a DARLING with a god-tier ship, v nice though so their tension is of a different variety, and an incredibly found family ensemble)

Black Sails (everyone is queer, everyone is treacherous, everyone is eminently shippable, everyone really really really needs a fucking shower. god tier storytelling. s1 is really brutal on the sexual violence front but if you can get past that, it kicks off a truly incredible character arc and the show also chills out on that going forward)

12 Monkeys (this show is depressingly underrated considering how amazing it is. it’s 4 seasons long and they found out during s2 they were getting cancelled and spent the next two seasons building to what is hands down the best series finale i think i’ve ever seen. god tier found family, has a main ship that i didn't get that into, i was all about the non-canon but should’ve been goddammit ships, but other people go HAM for it)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (look in hindsight this show is problematic to the Nth degree but it’s also v good and does angsty ship like none other. plus it’s a formative part of who i am so i can’t like, not rec it)

#i also haven't watched a lot of (new) tv recently #i've been deep in a return to my comfort shows rut #or just fixating on good girls #when i say i hyperfixate i'm not being cute #i mean my entire brain is consumed with one thing and one thing only #and will remain so until the dopamine well runs dry #tv recs #anon #shut up meg

13 notes · View notes

memehellion · 6 years ago

Text

oc asks!!

Profile: Niamh Lesath

full name. Niamh Lesath pronunciation. Neev Les-ah-th nicknames. “dumb bitch,” which is what I call her height. 5′2″ age. Early 20s zodiac. Scorpio sun, Aries moon, Leo rising, Aries venus languages. Common, Sylvan, some Elvish

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair colour. Naturally light brown, dyes it navy eye colour. Seafoam skin tone. Pale, but with a ton of dark freckles everywhere. She looks like a pebble :) body type. Thin, but her arms are just toned enough accent. Super thick Scottish accent dominant hand. Right, but ambidextrous when wielding her scimitar posture. She slouch scars. A couple on her back. The ones across her face from sword fighting are all pretty faded. Some on her legs. tattoos. None...as of yet most noticeable features. Her direct and cutting speech. Her words and wit slice through the air.

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. Somewhere in the woods, where the weather is warm, and all seasons besides winter is experienced. A lake is nearby. (If we’re being honest I haven’t developed the world she lives in besides aesthetics) hometown. A village which I have yet to name or give lore to lmao birth weight / height. Idk. Average baby weight and height. Let’s say she pooped in utero during labor and the doctors had to do an emergency operation to get her out to make it interesting. manner of birth. Read above, absolutely chaotic. first words. “You lose!” siblings. Only child parents. Two moms baybey!!! parental involvement. Both parents were as involved as Niamh would let them be (i.e., not a lot)

ADULT LIFE

occupation. Pirate and sex worker !!! She gambles as well and definitely does not cheat current residence. Her big ass boat which she definitely did not steal close friends. Her crew, although they don’t know whether or not to be friendly with her or to be terrified of her. Her closest friends are the random assortments of plants she’s collected from the islands she’s been to. relationship status. shes in a fucking kismesis with a doofus from one of the islands because im a fucking homestuck if that wasn’t obvious financial status. Extremely well-off, for now. criminal record. Not long enough. vices. She drinks more than she’d like to admit and while Niamh fucks, she doesn’t consider that a vice. It’s just something she likes to do and makes her feel good. I love Niamh.

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. Queer/Pan, Not Straight preferred emotional role. submissive | dominant | switch | unsure preferred sexual role. submissive | dominant | switch | sex repulsed | likes to fight for dominance if with a larger, stronger partner libido. through the fucking roof turn ons. Absolute idiots. Give her the most idiotic person you can find and she’ll just want to f*** the s*** out of them. turn offs. People who think she’s below them. love language. It’s not true love unless she’s thrown a knife in your direction relationship tendencies. Has never had a real relationship before. Tends to push people away when she’s afraid they’re getting too close. “Relationships only end with a life long commitment or heartbreak. Both sound fuckin horrible”

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. Problem by Natalia Kills (i know she’s lowkey problematic i’m sorry), Miss Jackson by P!ATD, or Copycat by Billie Eilish hobbies to pass the time. Drinking, shooting the shit, sword training mental illnesses. Untreated/undiagnosed OCD and depression. Probably borderline alcoholic. (this is totally not a projection oc) physical illnesses. None left or right brained. The psychologist in me wants to say left/right brain is actual bullshit, but she’s more analytical than creative fears. Nothing baybey!! self confidence level. She projects it as being high, but she kind of hates herself and wishes she could settle down with someone instead of letting her superiority complex ruin everything. vulnerabilities. A good looking moron

tagged by: Saw that my mutual @garlean-nonsense posted it on her acc so i stole it!! :P tagging: @simonstuck493, @blackfyrez, @altoliva, @nearlyer, and any other friends who have ocs they want an excuse to write about!

#long post #oc nonsense #i love niamh i am terrified of her

5 notes · View notes

argotmagazine-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Dancing On My Own

(Silvia...)

Yes, Mickey?

(How do you call your loverboy?)

Come 'ere loverboy!

(And if he doesn't answer?) Oh, loverboy!

(And if he STILL doesn't answer?) I simply say…

I was six years old the first time I draped my father’s after-shower wrap around my waist and lip-synched for my life. In the living room of my family’s single story, ranch style home in Walnut Creek, California, I performed to “Love is Strange.” The audience, comprised of my father, stepmother, and brother, laughed hysterically at my hijinks – oh how silly to see a boy wearing a skirt and singing the woman’s part of a song! At literally the same time RuPaul was gaining notoriety working the Atlanta Circuit Parties, I, at only six years old, was slaying the Bay Area suburb living room scene and living for it, Mama!

A year later, I performed live in an oversized sweatshirt dress and leg warmers on a leather ottoman stage. Another number from this genderfuck child prodigy that resonated with my home audience was my original drag parody based on a hit Crystal Gayle song “Donuts Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” Again, I was rewarded with laughter and applause. My family truly loved me, and I was beginning to know that I was born to be a performer.

Cut to a few years later: it was a dress-up day at school for Halloween and I had no idea what to be. My stepmother came in for the heroic rescue with a waist length straight brown wig, a bandanna, a peasant skirt, and a liberal application of lipstick and eyeshadow. I looked in the mirror and instantly fell in love with myself in what would now be considered a very problematic “fortune teller” Halloween look. I can’t even imagine the accent I spoke with. Suffice it to say, if repeated today that ensemble would most definitely result in a cancel culture call out.

Year by year, I learned that I was definitely different. As a “creative” child, I was prone to talking out of turn and disrupting the class. I did not know what “being gay” was, and I had certainly never seen an “out” gay person that I knew of. The closest thing to a drag queen I knew was my Grandmother, Beatrice. She was a Portuguese powerhouse that lived larger than life in an assortment of caftans, wigs, fur coats, costume jewels, fire red fingernails, and her ever-present cocktail of choice in her hand. I lovingly called her world’s cheapest screwdriver the “Popov and Donald” after its two main ingredients: Popov Vodka and Donald Duck orange juice. The constant, comforting refrain of clinking and tinkling ice surrounded her as she stirred it steadily with her nicotine stained index finger. With parents who blasted Elton John, Neil Diamond, Bette Midler, Barry Manilow, and let’s not forget the beginning of this story, the soundtrack to “Dirty Dancing” when I was but six years old, it would seem as if the Universe was surrounding me with the perfect, magical, organic tools I would need to live my best faggotty life. Yet, In the summer of fourth grade, it all coalesced into understanding that I was truly different. Not just a creative type but there was something else, something more that separated me from the rest of the kids around me. The person who taught me this was Mr. M.

Mr. M. was my summer school theater teacher. When I saw him, I could just tell that he had the same thing that I had. That thing – the one that made me different – it was in him too. I immediately recognized it, and it was beautiful, and it made me feel so good that I wasn’t alone. It was the first time that I truly could see that there were actually adults like me too. Mr. M. had created a 4th through 6th grade summer-stock follies masterpiece that combined the story of Rapunzel with the music from Hair. It was everything my queer little heart desired rolled into a masterpiece for the stage, dusted in fairytale glitter, and laid out like a prize before me. I was cast in the dream role I could have never imagined I needed. My character was “Jacques,” Rapunzel’s best friend, confidant, and (though unspoken) very, very flamboyantly gay hairdresser. I was obviously the comedic relief – and I knew that at the time – but I didn’t care. I loved the role and despite having no idea what camp meant at the time (and certainly wouldn’t have cared if I did). I knew that this part had been created just for me, to let me shine, and I was not going to let Mr. M. down.

My stepmom stepped up like a hero again and made me look like everything that a 10-year-old, fabulous hairdresser should look like. Remember that waist length wig from my fortune teller look? Well she lovingly cut off a little 6 inch snip and braided it into the back of my big ass, blown out hair. I didn’t know or care that this was being “gay,” but I knew that I had never in my life felt more right.

In what will be a surprise to no one, I can humbly confirm that I stole the show. The audience loved me, seeing this fabulous child, living his truth, loving himself and not being afraid to shine in all his homo-glory in only the fourth grade? I was years ahead of the world and it felt amazing. In fact, before the show, we had joked in my house about the mannerisms of being gay, the flouncy walk, the limp wrists, the sassy lisp. I genuinely loved them all so much that after the performance, I began to adopt these affectations officially into my daily life, from lisping from the breakfast table: “Plleathe path the theareal” to my bedtime prayers, “in Jethus name we pray, amen”.

And that’s the moment. The moment where things changed.

“Sit down here next to me,” my father asked as he patted the bed politely. He called in my stepmother. “We should probably talk.”

After everyone assembled, my father asked thoughtfully “Do you know what homosexuality is?”

“No,” I responded quietly. I could tell immediately from his tone that 1) I was whatever that thing was and 2) that it was absolutely not okay.

“Well, it’s when two men do the things together that only a man and a woman are supposed to do together,” he lectured me. “And it is very wrong. You know how you played that part in the play, and how you have been walking and talking that way since? That’s not okay anymore. That’s how these homosexuals really act. It’s okay to act like them and laugh at them as a joke, like in the play. But it’s completely unacceptable to do those things in real life. In fact, men who do those things, well, the Bible says that they are going to hell. Do you want to go to hell?”

I did not want to go to hell. I slowly shook my head turning red, the furnace of shame stoked hot inside me.

“Good,” he said finally. “Then it’s time to stop acting like that. Back to being normal from now on.” He said goodnight, kissed me on the forehead, clicked off my bedroom light and shut the door behind him.

10…9…8… I counted down in my head. When I got to one, I thought Okay, he can’t be by the door anymore. That’s when the tears started flowing.

I still didn’t truly understand what being a homosexual was, but now I knew that I could never be one. Not only would it upset my father, but Jesus too? Well, that was just too much pressure. I was going into the fifth grade and the one thing I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was that I did not, under any circumstances, want to go to hell.

My life was never the same from that moment on. As a child, I certainly never saw a dress or wig again. I spent the next twenty-five years pretending that I was not who I knew I was inside, trying my best to hide the traits as I got older but still knowing I had a funny voice and walk. Within a few years, I knew deep, deep inside that I was definitively the very thing I had been mandated not to be. I hid it further by marrying a woman and pretending even harder for many years that I was just a regular ol’ straight guy, just bein’ straight and actin’ straight and livin’ my best straight life. You know, lying.

I dated only women in my adolescence and finally, at age 18, I started dating my best friend. I guess we “fell in love,” though it was honestly more a relationship born of co-dependence, self-preservation, and convenience - and married at 21. For fourteen years I “played house.” To be honest, it wasn’t terrible. I had married my best friend and technically she knew I was gay as she had actually been the first and only person I had come out to up to that point. We pretended like that conversation had never happened. I thought I did an amazing job playing this role of dedicated straight husband contrary to many of the reviews on my role when I finally came out.

Everyday was a mental battle of epic proportions. Imagine a voice in your mind that has one job to do all day every day, and that job is to remind you that you are living a complete lie. I struggled with mental health issues, doing everything I could to manifest destructive patterns and catastrophes so that I could distract myself from my terrifying inner demons. As each year passed, the voice got louder and more distracting. But now I was in too deep. What would even be the value in listening to the voice and taking action? Destroying my marriage, my life and for what? I didn’t even know if what was on the other side would be better.At least I was safe in my cocoon as long as I played the part.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t prepared to come out, but I also knew I couldn’t keep ignoring the voice the way I had been. I just needed something to quiet the voice. At the same time, I was also looking for a new fitness regime to help get my weight under control. When I drove by Padme Yoga in Sacramento, CA on a drizzly October afternoon, it seemed like kismet. Yoga could help me with my fitness, but I had also heard lots of friends talk about how much it helped them quiet their minds. Perfect! I signed up for my first yoga class, and though I was scared shitless, I actually showed up. At the end of the class, the instructor came up to me and asked me if I enjoyed the class, which I told her I did. Then she said “Come back tomorrow, this practice will change your life.” So I did. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.

The weight came off of my waist and my thighs, but there was a different kind of weight coming off of my shoulders as well. I felt happier and more joyful. People seemed to want to be around me more and I felt more authentic. I just kept showing up and my teacher from that first class was right - my life was changing. Strangely enough, the voice about my hidden sexuality was a bit quieter but I had new voices as well - ones telling me that I was perfect the way I was in that moment and that in or out of the closet, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I began to feel this love for myself I had not felt in a very long time; not because I was skinny or more energetic, but because I was doing exactly what I needed for myself.

One Friday evening in May 2014, as I laid in pigeon pose I began to sob. People say they “ugly cry,” well I beautifully cried as years of self hate, sadness, anger, frustration, lies, manipulation, and abuse just flowed from my eyes and onto my mat. 75 minutes later, I knew I was ready. I went home, and for the first time, I let my inner knowing speak for me. I came out, for good.

The journey since has not been easy, but it has been a necessary one and I have learned so much. The best part is, I have never once been alone since. Remember that little boy, the one who went to bed that night crying, scared, and afraid that he would never be the person he was meant to be? Well amazingly enough, he woke up the moment I stepped off my yoga mat that evening. He has been by my side ever since. In fact, he is sitting right here next to me as I write this, wearing his favorite gown, loving himself, feeling beautiful and accepted. He calmly, lovingly reminds me that neither of us needs ever feel alone again.

Xavier Bettencourt is a writer and comedian currently residing in Sacramento, CA. Known for his authentic and humorous storytelling voice and unique point of view, Xavier digs deep to speak his truth and tirelessly encourages others to do the same. Follow him on Instagram for more: @thecomedybear.

#humour #queer #childhood #theater

2 notes · View notes

likeshipsonthesea · 8 years ago

Note

The One With The Lesbian Wedding

First off, I’m sorry this is a year late, I am an asshole and apparently am procrastinating even things I like at this point, so that’s a thing. Secondly, I’m not sure if I’m meant to write the episode but with Samwell characters or if I can write anything that would fit with that title, but I’m doing the latter so I hope you enjoy. Thanks for the prompt!

This prompt is from this thing I reblogged, just so you know.

Also warnings for mild (REALLY MILD like almost imaginary) homophobia.

*~*~*

In mid-June the summer after Nursey’s softie year, Ransompicks him up from a train station in Massachusetts and they drive up to Mainein Ransom’s minivan with Holster, Lardo, Jack, and Shitty. Ransom drives, as noone knows how to touch his baby like he does (he says, to which Holster gagsat), and Lardo sits in the passenger seat, barking directions in a way that hasNursey nostalgic for mornings after away games when Lardo tried to get themaway from the waffle-maker at whatever hotel they’d stayed at before the busleft without them.

Jacksits next to Shitty in the middle and promptly falls asleep because he stayedup the entire night before coordinating his outfit with Bitty on Skype and only justmanaged to pack in time for take-off this morning. Shitty sits next to him, loudas all hell because he’s excited to have so many people he loves in the samecar with him, and Jack doesn’t even shift in his sleep because he has beenthrough war (i.e. owning a room next to Shitty’s) and won’t wake up foranything. Holster sits in the back with Nursey and the suits in their blackbags, hung up to keep from wrinkling. He alternates between yelling at Ransomto turn up the radio because the back speakers are shit and asking Nursey abouthis summer, to which Nursey gushes about being home with his moms and also hisburgeoning novel.

The drive to Maine is a little over six hours, and they’restuck in traffic for a bit until they get passed the Mass border and thenthere’s nothing except for shacks in the wilderness and the occasional maplesyrup shop until they reach the coast. Shitty manages to get one of thepassenger side windows down- which had been stuck for over a decade ever sinceRansom’s sister lost a lollipop stick down the side of it back when she waseight and Ransom’s mom owned the car- so the car is flooded with the scent ofsaltwater and warm sand, and it makes Nursey remember when Dex came home fromSpring Break and fell asleep on the Haus couch, and Nursey used him as apillow. He smelled like the sea then, and Nursey hopes that all of Maine smellsthat sweet.

“Bitty landed,” Jack says, sleepy, when they get across theborder into Maine. He’s blinking blearily, smiling, at his phone, and it’s theexact same look Bitty’s been giving his phone all year. Nursey wants to chirp himfor it, but Holster beats him to it, and anyway, Nursey’s moms have beenchirping him all summer for staring mushy-eyed at his phone whenever Dex textshim, and he tries not to be a hypocrite if he can help it.

“Whiskey and Tango are coming up together right?” Lardoasks from the front, painting her toes up against the dashboard. She didn’thave time before they left, but if she can paint on Shitty’s back as he giggledat the feel of the brushes she can damn well paint under any conditions.

“Yeah, their train comes in at three, so they’ll be there alittle after us,” Nursey says, as Tango texted him half an hour ago expoundingthe many wonders of an overnight train car. “Chowder and Farmer are sleepingoff jet lag at the hotel, and Ollie and Wicks are already there, too. They allsay the hotel rooms are sweet.”

“Ford got in last night,” Holster says, checking his phone.“Her mom was pestering her about meeting a cute bridesmaid at the wedding soshe moved her flight up.”

Nursey snorts. “Don’t think Poindexter’s relatives aregonna be down for that,” he says, which is mostly a joke but, well. He washesitant when Dex invited them all for his aunt’s wedding back in April,because he loves Dex and all (like, way too much, actually) but he knows Dex’sfamily probably isn’t the most… open minded? Like, he knows his queerness isn’timmediately known when he introduces himself, but his blackness is and hedoesn’t know what kind of bigoted Dex’s family is as of yet and he’s going withworst-case scenario of the buffet assortment of –isms, -ists, and phobias.

“I think she’s still doing long-distance with Cosette from LesMis, anyway,” Ransom pipes up.

Nursey grimaces. “Wasn’t that the girl who called the tubjuice “delightfully middle-class”?”

“Nah, that was Fastrada from Pippin.”

“She has got to stop dating those drama girls.” Lardosighs. She squints at her toes, now a delightful lilac color. She closes upher bottle and reaches for the top coat in the cup holder. “The Poindexterscan’t be too bad,” she says as she unscrews the top, “if Dex invited us all.”

“He said he invited us ‘cause his aunt wanted a biggerwedding than her sister,” Shitty says, a ranting look on his face.

Jack, thankfully, goes full-captain to cut Shitty off andsay, “It doesn’t matter. We’re guests and we have to be civil.” He says this asif he didn’t spend that whole fundraiser dinner Nursey’s frog year makingsubtle gay comments to one of the drunk donators who didn’t understand how a“gay school even had hockey”.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Holster says, saluting lazily, andeveryone laughs amicably.

It’s only half an hour later when Siri announces, “Turn infive hundred feet, and the destination is on your right.” She brought them tothe hotel they’ll all be staying at. The service is at four and the receptionis in the same place, some fancy country club that Dex rolled his eyes aboutwhen he mentioned, so they have time before they have to leave. Nursey rentedhis own room, as everyone else had paired off (except for Ford who has insomniaand tends to like to have her own room) , so after they all check in they partways in the hallway and he enters his own room alone.

He takes a shower to wash off the ride up, and when he getsout of the shower he stops in front of the big mirror and wipes away the steam.He stares at himself in the mirror, the towel slung around his waist and hishair wet and dripping on his forehead. He channels Shitty. “You,” he says,pointing at his reflection, “are a sexy motherfucker. You will charm thePoindexters down to the tiniest old grandma, you will make Dex swoon, and you won’t get drunk on champagne and tellDex his face keeps you up at night.” He grimaces as he remembers that lastkegster before summer break. He doesn’t know what Ransom put in the tub juice,he only knows that that entire night was nothis fault.

He exits the bathroom and unzips his suit from itsencasing. He chose a simple dark grey one, nothing too expensive, with a lilacbutton down under it and a beautiful dark blue and silver patterned tie. Hethinks he looks damn good in in, if he does say so himself, and he dressescarefully, paying attention to all the little things his dad taught him aboutback in sixth grade when he had his first-ever dance and had to look good forMandy Scheckel, his little sixth-grade date. He does the fanciest tie-knot heknows, then undoes it and goes for casual, and then changes it two more timesbefore going back to the first one. He does his cufflinks, makes sure his beltis buckled nicely, even fiddles with his socks a little before he curses athimself and goes to do his hair.

After another half-hour in front of the mirror, he wondersabout putting on some makeup, nothing major just some highlighter and maybesome mascara, but decides against it ultimately. Dex is sure to have somecousins interested in makeup and he doesn’t want any of them ratting him out as“one of them queers” to the rest of the family.

He takes a few deep breaths and gives himself anotherpep-talk, this one more about how he can come home and cry later if he fucksthings up, but it isn’t as uplifting as the first for some reason. He leavessoon after that, taking his wallet and phone, seeing messages in the group chatabout meeting downstairs. Everyone has arrived and is ready, apparently, soNursey leaves his hotel room, meeting Shitty and Lardo in the hallway on theway to the elevator. Lardo is dressed in a pretty soft yellow dress, perfectfor summer, and in her heels she reaches just about Shitty’s chin. Shittyalways cleans up nice, even with his hair just a bit too long to be posh orrugged, and Nursey compliments him as they press the button for the lobby.

“That’s means a shitton of a lot coming from the fuckingsupermodel,” Shitty says, elbowing Nursey lightly in the side. “You lookfucking sw’awesome man, I can’t even with that shit.”

“Chill, Shits,” Nursey says, fidgeting a bit insheepishness. “You’ll make Lardo jealous.”

Lardo meets his eyes, dead serious, and says, “I’d leavehim for you in a heartbeat,” which means they’re all laughing as the elevatordoors open.

Everyone except Farmer and Chowder are in the lobbyalready, Bitty fretting at Jack’s tie and hair, Ollie and Wicks playing somegame on Wicks’ phone, and everybody else milling around talking. Tango perks upwhen he sees Nursey, getting up and coming over to give him a hug. “It’s greatto see you,” Tango says, eager like a puppy, and Nursey realizes how much he’smissed Tango’s energy.

“Same, bro,” he says, smiling, and he offers a fist-bump toWhiskey, who follows Tango around mostly like a guard dog, but the unassuming,probably not harmful kind. Whiskey accepts the bump and nods back.

“Nursey, you look wonderful,” Bitty says as he comes over.Nursey bends down to receive his hug.

“Same, Bits, nice tan.” Bitty pulls back and smiles, ahandful of freckles across his nose, and Nursey thinks that it’s ratherproblematic that just the presence of freckles makes Nursey even more attractedto Bitty.

“I have almost no tan lines,” Bitty says, proud, and Jacklooks like he’s choking from behind him. Bitty smirks, because he always knowswhat he’s doing. Nursey blanches because these are his hockey parents and no please don’t wanna know.

Farmer and Chowder come out from the elevator at thatmoment, a bit rumpled and breathless. Chowder greets everybody happily, huggingNursey because he’s the closest, and when they pull back Nursey gives him araised eyebrow. Chowder beams. “Farmer is downright beautiful in her dress,” hesays, not even apologetic about literally looking like he just had sex.

Nursey can forgive him, as Farmer does look gorgeous in hersoft green dress, and he tells her as much as he gives her a kiss on the cheekin greeting. “Thank you,” she says, breathless. “Chris didn’t wrinkle it, didhe?” She looks down at herself inquiring and Nursey relieves her of her worry.

“We should get going,” Lardo says, after everyone’s greetedone another long enough to satisfy.

“Who’s going in what car?” Ford asks, which is an importantquestion. Every car needs a designated driver and everyone needs to be matchedup with someone who’s probably going to leave at the same time so no one getsannoyed.

Nursey ends up back in the minivan with all the same peopleexcept for Jack, who goes with Ollie, Wicks, and Bitty in the car Ollie rented,because he’s a little older than everyone else in his year. Ford Ubers withFarmer and Chowder, so none of them have to abstain, and Tango and Whiskey taketheir own Uber for unknown reasons. They all reach the venue at about the sametime, and everyone in cars leaves them with the valet. The venue is awaterfront country-club-esque place. It’s very white, very flowy andpicturesque, and Nursey thinks it’s a beautiful place to get married, though hewas picturing more simple, going off his image of Dex. Though, he knows, justbecause Dex is plain and simple doesn’t mean his aunt is.

There’s a giant sign reading “Gallagher-Nhung Wedding” thatdirects them towards a doorway, and as they all move to follow its directions,Lardo says, mostly to herself but next to Nursey, “A Vietnamese guy.” Her voiceis unassuming, but Nursey knows what she means; they probably won’t have todeal with too many racists then.

“Why does it say Gallagher?” Tango asks, because he’s nevermet a question he didn’t ask.

“It’s Dex’s mom’s sister,” Chowder explains, holding thedoor for Farmer, then Jack and Bitty. “It’s his mom’s maiden name.”

When they’re all inside, they’re in a big room that looksback towards a deck with a water view and there’s an arching ceiling and somecouches spread around for people who have to wait. There’s a check-in deskwhere a woman in a vest with a nametag is talking to someone on the phone, anda spot above a fireplace’s mantelpiece displays sailing memorabilia. There are afew people milling about, one or two of them with red hair, so Nursey assumesthey’re in the right place. But they’re not so early that they should be theonly ones here, and Dex implied that it was a big wedding, so Nursey alsoassumes that there’s another place people are waiting.

General questioning murmurs ensue throughout the group,and Nursey is just about to suggest asking the woman at the desk for help whenhe sees Dex coming in through some double doors near the back of the room. He’sjust in a button-up light blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Hishair is a bit messy, and he looks frazzled and a little sweaty, possibly fromrunning around. He’s gorgeous, to put it simply, and Nursey’s breath hitches atseeing him for the first time in more than a month. His moms have been makingfun of him all summer for the way he walks about Dex and the way he reacts togetting Snapchats and texts from him, and he’s sure they’d roast him now forwhatever mushy look is on his face, but damn, Dex is pretty.

“Hey guys,” he greets them, out of breath. “The ceremony isout back on the water.” He rolls his eyes fondly. “My ma keeps saying that wewon’t be able to hear anything ‘cause the seagulls, but it should be niceanyway.” He shakes his head and takes a needed breath. “You can head on backand sit on the Gallagher side. There’s already a bunch of redheads there, youcan’t miss it.” This he says with a look to Nursey, who laughs despite himself.Dex smiles in response, so Nursey knows that’s what he was looking for, and hegrins once he mellows out.

“Sounds good, hun,” Bitty says, pulling Dex into a hug.“Everything alright? You seem winded.”

Dex hugs back, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just‘cause I’m the only guy in Cindy’s wedding party she’s been making me run aroundall over the place trying to find veils and bouquets and boutonnieres.” Hepulls back from the hug and gestures at himself. “I promise I won’t look likethis for the wedding. I managed to clean up somewhat.” He smiles,self-deprecating, and Nursey’s too busy wondering how he’s going to deal with aDex even more attractive than this one to protest. “Thank you guys so much forcoming. It means a lot.”

“Got your back, man,” Ransom says, grinning.

“Even at weddings.” Holster nods, solemnly.

Dex grins lopsidedly, a bit goofy and probably tired, andsays, “I love you guys.” Nursey wonders if he’s already dipped into thechampagne, or if maybe the wedding is just making him sentimental. Either way,everyone “aw’s” and crowds in for a big group hug.

“Will!” They all turn to see a red-headed woman, her hairup in intricate braids, wearing a long, white dress with beading andlacework all down it poking her head out of a doorway. She gestures with abouquet. “I need your help with my shoes! Nessa lost them!”

“Be right there!” Dex calls back. He turns to them with atired grin. “See you guys out there,” he says before turning and jogging off tojoin the woman, presumably Cindy, the bride, in whatever room she returned to.

“Well,” Bitty says, clapping his hands together, “shallwe?”

They all find their way to the back deck, which sits abovethe sand only barely, fairly close to the water. People have already filled agood portion of the seats, so the group takes the up the next unfilled row onthe right side, labeled the Gallagher side, and settles in. Nursey ends up withChowder on one side and Shitty on the other, and he fidgets a bit as he waits. Theceremony should be easy, as all he really has to do is be quiet and listen, buthe’s still kind of dreading the ceremony. Despite whatever he said to hisreflection in a fit of self-esteem boosting, he doesn’t know how charming thePoindexters is going to go. He assumes they’ll be too preoccupied with thebride herself to actually care about Nursey too much, but he still doesn’t wantto make a bad impression.

He’s being stupid, he knows, because it’s not like Dex isgoing to ever return his feelings anyway, and, even if by some miracle he did,he’d likely never introduce Nursey to his family as anything more than afriend. No offense to Dex or his relatives or anything, but going by how Dexacted when he first came to Samwell, his family is probably just asconservative and uncomfortable with ~the gays~ as Dex was. Nursey has no reasonto make a good impression, as he’ll probably never see any of Dex’s relativesever again, which makes his stomach drop just a bit despite himself.

Shitty must notice, as he’s always had a sixth-sense whenit comes to his friends’ shitty moods, because he looks over at Nursey with aquestioning frown. But before he can ask after Nursey, music starts up,announcing the beginning of the wedding party, and Nursey frowns, looking towardsthe altar. There the officiant stands, wearing the traditional garb of a priestand/or pastor (Nursey doesn’t know the technical term), but no groom. Where’sthe Nhung guy Aunt Cindy is marrying?

The wedding party starts coming, but they’re strange. Itchanges, but sometimes it’s a girl and a guy and sometimes it’s two girls ortwo guys, which is unlike any other wedding Nursey’s been to. Usually it’s agroomsman and a bridesmaid, but Cindy apparently mixed it up? Dex walks downthe aisle with a young Vietnamese girl on his arm, the pair of them lookingbeautiful and beaming. He looks great, now wearing a jacket and tie, even witha little boutonniere in his lapel. His eyes rove over the crowd, straying fromthe end of the aisle, and Nursey swears that Dex smiles when he meets Nursey’sgaze.

The wedding party ends with a single woman walking down theaisle, someone Nursey recognizes from Dex’s pictures as Dex’s mom. She must bethe matron of honor, though Nursey has no idea if the wedding processional isfollowing any kind of order. The ring bearer comes next, a little Vietnameseboy in a little suit, carrying a pillow in his hands, staring at the rings withan intense concentration, so much so that he nearly walks into a chair liningthe aisle. He must’ve been told to watch after the rings so he didn’t losethem, Nursey assumes. The boy is followed by a little girl in a flowered dress,holding a basket and dropping out flowers in clumps of wrinkled white petals.She goes and stands next to Dex when she’s done, beaming proudly.

Finally, the bride arrives on her father’s arm, grinningwithout restraint, and Nursey is still puzzled at where the groom couldpossibly be. Still, he watches her graceful descent down the aisle, her fathercrying by the time they reach the altar. He kisses her cheek before sittingdown in the one empty seat in the front row, and Cindy moves to stand at thealtar. Then her eyes widen and her grin mellows into a soft, breathtaking smileas she stares at something at the other end of the aisle, and Nursey turns tosee what she’s looking at and-

And it’s a Vietnamese woman, Nhung presumably, in abeautiful, simple white dress, holding a bouquet with the hand not curledaround her father’s elbow. It’s at that moment that Nursey realizes- it’s alesbian wedding.

*~*~*

The ceremony is beautiful, and everyone is cry-laughinghalfway through Cindy’s vows as she promises to only complain minimally aboutLisa’s (her bride’s) stinky feet until death do they part. When the ceremony isover, and the brides have run down the aisle (Cindy picking Lisa up halfwaydown it and carrying her the rest of the way) all of the guests stand up tomove to the reception area, which a kindly employee at the country club informsthem is “Just over there”. The Samwell group waits to let some of the elderfamily members go first, and Nursey sees on everyone’s faces the same thing hefeels; surprise.

Bitty is the first one to speak. “I-” he says, then stops.He shakes his head and smiles. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Me neither,” Chowder says brightly, tear stains on hischeeks. “But it was beautiful.”

Shitty shakes his head somberly. “Shame on us, brahs, forheteronormatively assuming that-” Lardo shuts him up by hitting him in theshoulder.

“I digged Cindy’s hair,” she says, nodding. “I need to findout who did it.”

“Those braids were mad pretty,” Ransom agrees, as hewatches YouTube hair tutorials to calm down sometimes when he’s stressed.

“We’d better get to the reception area,” Bitty says, asmost of the other guests have filtered out already. “Find our seats.”

They all start moving, but still Nursey is stuck in awe,staring at the altar at which two women were just married in the presence ofDex’s entire extended family and no one objected a bit. He can’t help butwonder, hope, wonder some more, and then conclude that he has to make a damngood impression, just in case.

*~*~*

The reception is sw’awesome. While the food is prepared,everyone is up on the dancefloor, moving along to an assortment of songs thatrange from dad rock to pop to country. Dex doesn’t get a chance to stop byagain to say hi, consumed by his numerous relatives, but Nursey doesn’t mind.He ends up dancing with a few of Dex’s cousins, and then slow dances with Fordafter the newlyweds’ first dance. When they all sit down for the appetizers,Dex is sat at their table, somehow, and talks with everyone around him, bubblyand happy and grinning. Nursey doesn’t get a chance to say much aside fromtelling him he walked funny as he went down the aisle (which he didn’t) towhich Dex laughed and leaned into Nursey’s side, which Nursey ended up smilingat his plate at for a while afterwards.

In between courses they dance, and they chat and drink andhave a merry time all around. The food is delicious, the music is good, and thecompany is great, and Nursey can’t even remember what he was so worried aboutwhen he and everyone else in the room are singing along to Call Me Maybe afterone of Dex’s younger cousins got ahold of the playlist.

After the Cha-Cha Slide, Nursey leaves the dancefloor to goget himself a drink (a Coke, as he told himself he wasn’t going to drink and hemeant it) and someone slides up nextto him at the bar. He turns and is surprised to see it’s Dex, grinning and abit out of breath from the dancing. “Hey,” he says, casual, as if Nurseydoesn’t want to grab him by his stupid ears and kiss the ever-loving shit outof him.

“Hey,” Nursey says back, chill, because he’s an idiot.

“Having a good time?” Dex asks, and at Nursey’s nod hesmiles, soft, and says, “Good, I hoped you would.”

Nursey raises his eyebrows. “Not all the guys? Just mepersonally?” It sounds flirty and he curses himself for making a fool ofhimself, but Dex just grins, his cheeks only a little pinker.

“Of course, Nurse.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s alwayspersonal with you.” Nursey knows it’s a chirp, but something about the way Dexsays it makes Nursey swallow hard.

“It wasn’t what I was expecting,” Nursey says, to changethe subject before he projectile word-vomits feelings all over Dex’s nicebutton up (he ditched the jacket after the appetizers, and lost the tie too, sonow his collar is undone and flashing freckled collarbone and is way too much). “But it’s really nice.”

Dex nods, motioning at the bartender for a drink he must’veordered already a few times tonight, because the bartender knows what he wantswithout asking. “Yeah, it’s a bit over the top, but Cindy wanted a betterwedding than her brother, my uncle Quinn, who is stewing in anger over in thecorner as aunt Abby laughs at him.”

Nursey debates it for a moment before saying, “That’s notwhat I meant,” because he is nothing if not an annoying catalyst to all of hisand Dex’s conversations.

Dex looks over at him, this time his eyebrows raised. “Youmean the gay thing?” Nursey just nods. Dex looks back at the bar, all thedrinks on display. Behind the shelves of drinks is a mirror and Nursey can seeDex’s reflection in it as he frowns a little. “It wasn’t great, in thebeginning. Cindy came out while she was at college and most of the familydidn’t know how to take it, at first. She’s the youngest of my mom’s siblings,except for Nessa, and Nessa’s always acted older than she was- anyway, she wasthe baby and everyone adored her, but they didn’t really understand?” Dexgrimaces for a second before his expression smooths out. “No one really talkedabout it for a few years, but then she brought Lisa home and told everyone theyhad to deal with or she wouldn’t ever come back again, and they did. No onewanted to lose her.”

“Everyone seemed fine today,” Nursey says lightly.

“Oh yeah.” Dex shakes his head, his expression returning toits earlier easiness. “Everyone’s fine now, really. A few of my cousins havecome out, and Dani even started transitioning last year, and everyone gets herpronouns right now, even when smashed.” Dex smiles a little. “Cindy started it,though. She made it okay.”

“You must be really proud of her,” Nursey says, smilingback.

“I was fifteen when she brought Lisa home. I just got myfirst boyfriend and I was terrified that I’d be disowned, then I found out mymom had been going to PFLAG meetings since Cindy’d come out to her a decadeearlier and I felt like an idiot.” He smiles, thanking the bartender as hehands Dex his drink. He takes a sip and turns to look at Nursey. “She’s mysuperhero.”

Nursey blinks, trying not to let his surprise at Dex’squeerness show on his face. He remembers his moms talking, sometimes, aboutwhat it was like when they came out to their families, how it took time toadjust and how some people never did, and he’s grateful for everything theygave him, especially the environment in which his coming out consisted ofsaying “I think Buffy is cute, but not as cute as Angel” at the dinner table ona random day he doesn’t really remember.

He looks at Dex, the pride in his smile and slant of hisshoulders and how comfortable he looks with himself in that moment, and hewants to tell Dex how much he loves him.

But Chowder comes up behind them in that moment, throwinghis arms over their shoulders and informing them that they’re about to cut thecake, and Nursey doesn’t get the chance.

*~*~*

The reception winds down a little earlier than Nurseyexpected, but the younger guests are getting tired and it did start early.Everyone at the table is getting ready to go, except for Whiskey and Tango wholeft twenty minutes ago when Tango got too tipsy to form full questions. Nurseypulls on his suit jacket, wishing he could stay longer to try and get somealone time with Dex, when the devil himself shows up to see them all off.

Dex makes his way around the group, hugging and kissing andthanking them for coming, and he finally gets to Nursey at the very end. Hehugs Nursey close, unexpectedly so, and all Nursey can do is nod dumbly inresponse to Dex asking, in his ear, “Want me to drive you back to the hotel?”Dex says he’ll be back, he just has to say goodnight to the brides, and thenhe’s gone in a whirlwind, leaving Nursey to speculate on why Dex could possiblywant to drive him back to the hotel alone.

He begs off when Lardo tells Nursey they’re leaving, butshe doesn’t ask why, just gives him a knowing look that Nursey hopes means thathe’s right, this means something. Dexcomes back ten minutes later with his keys and a blush, and he leads Nursey outto the parking lot. Dex brings him to a rusting blue pickup that Nursey has seenin Snapchats the past two summers and he gets into the passenger side with asmile.

It’s a stick-shift and watching Dex maneuver it makes hismouth go dry, which is fine because they don’t talk the whole way there. Dexknows the way to the hotel without directions and Nursey is silent, watchingDex drive and wondering about improbable implications. They reach the hotelsoon enough that the silence doesn’t become awkward and Dex parks and turns offthe engine. He turns to Nursey and asks, “Can I come up for a minute? I wantto- talk.”

Nurseynods, so Dex follows him out of the truck and into the hotel lobby. Nurseyfeels his heart start racing as the implications become more and more probablewith every step Dex takes behind him as they get into the elevator. He fidgetsin place after he presses the button for his floor and the doors close. Theystill don’t say anything as they reach Nursey’s floor, not as they reach hisroom and Nursey opens the door, not even as the door to the hotel room shutsclosed behind them and they’re left standing in the hallway, quiet andthrumming with anticipation.

“I’m not-” Dex pauses. “I’m not good with words like youare so I’m just going to-to do it and if I’m wrong we’ll deal with it later, okay?”Before Nursey can reply, Dex is in his space, cupping Nursey’s jaw so carefullywith one hand, and pressing their mouths together. Nursey hums, devastatedinstantly with just that one press of lips, and grips at Dex’s suit jacket totry and stay grounded. Dex pulls back for a fraction of a second and re-slotstheir lips together and it’s perfect, it’s warmth and comfort and coming homeand everything he’s been waiting for, and then Dex parts his lips and Nursey isgone.

He loses himself in it, the give and take, the smooth skinof Dex’s lips and the calluses of his hand rough against Nursey’s cheek, the absolute needNursey has for the soft sounds Dex keeps muffling in Nursey’s mouth. They kissand keep kissing until Nursey forgets what it was like before Dex’s lips wereon his and he hopes he never has to remember again, and it’s then that Dexpulls back, breathing hard with his forehead against Nursey’s, and Nursey hasto figure out how to breathe again.

“I love you,” he says, the second he has enough air in hislungs, because his mama has always said he’s an impulsive boy. “I know it’s toomuch, but I do, and fuck please never stop kissing me.” He curls his fingers inDex’s jacket tighter, pulling him impossibly closer.

“I won’t,” Dex says, and kisses the corner of Nursey’smouth. “I promise, I won’t.”

“God, we’re so gay,” Nursey says, laughing against Dex’scheek, and Dex bursts into surprised laughter, leaning even further intoNursey, and somehow they end up hugging each other, laughing like idiots, justlike that.

380 notes · View notes

sasslightertm-a · 7 years ago

Text

seethem-dancing replied to your post: Why do you care so much about the...

The anon effectively deconstructs their own statement by implying that adhering to official, medically and legally approved classification where sexual abuse of minors is concerned somehow diminishes the severity of said abuse. On the contrary, being uninformed on those terms DOES contribute to perpetuating misinformation which predators/those who support them can use to their advantage (i.e falsely attributing the word “pedophile” to perpetrators of ephebophilia gives said perpetrators an advantage to claim they are being “falsely accused” as it would be a partial truth. Because they should be held accountable for the offense they are ACTUALLY and legally committing and/or encouraging). This site’s contingent is dangerously & profoundly uninformed on the issues it tends to weaponize to further an agenda. Simultaneously, the majority of users on here endorse harmful, insulting content produced by assorted tv networks where the creators prey on serious/sensitive topics to gain attention (precise tactic those people who intentionally confuse legal definitions employ). A person who brought up Skins as an example to defend sexualization of minors is just as misguided. Because the aforementioned show was a horrendously offensive product of an overgrown untalented white male (still remember the delightful conversations I had with that man on twitter where he name called his fans for addressing problematic issues with his writing. I avoided this particular treatment but he fired back at me in multiple tweets as well as tracked my posts on other channel making an account there & inserting himself into conversations while tracking his fans on OTHER sites too). This show promoted heavy drug & alcohol abuse among minors (claiming to be “realistic” when it’s protagonists partied more grandiosely than rock stars with million dollars budget), showcased explicit sexual scenes between underage characters bringing in legally adult doubles for those portrayed by actual minors (but if an underage actor conveniently turned 18 DURING the filming JB - the creator - would figuratively rub his hands together declaring them “legal now” & proceeding to objectify them on screen). It celebrated unhealthy life style while putting down the characters who actually tried to be decent people & respect others’ boundaries and while marketing itself as supposedly “non-judgmental” would kill off those characters violently for “not partying hard enough”. Or, alternatively, kill off one of the self destructive bunch for partying TOO hard (most of the dead characters happened to be queer, POC or ethnic minorities). The show consistently exploited the issues of anorexia, teen pregnancy, teenage death and suicide for the sake of tasteless “shocking” twists and referred to 17 y/o girls who were virgins as “useless” (because woman’s worth is apparently determined by how much sexual gratification she can provide to men or other women). None of it was pedophilia and it was still intolerable and repulsive. One doesn’t NEED to misuse a term to make a point about how problematic a certain media product is. Because attributing labels incorrectly absolves the creators/producers of actual blame and invalidates whatever point a person aspired to make.

In any case, on Riverdale while the characters may be in the age range of 15 - 17 years old, the actors portraying those characters are all adults in their early- to mid-twenties. So there is also the problem of the audience conflating in-universe with out-of-universe (i.e. the fiction on-screen vs. the behind-the-scenes reality) and hurling unfounded misinformed accusations at the directors—which also trivializes the severity of the actual issues members on this site are claiming to fight against and leaves an opening for hebephiles and ephebophiles to, as you mentioned, claim “false accusations” (not, of course, that this absolves them in any way).

Apparently if adhering to the medical, legal, and psychiatric definitions for three different psychiatric disorders that are not to be confused with each other (not that that stops the general public) is enough to be called pedantic and potentially labeled an “apologist” on this hellsite, then hooo boy are the anon and others on this site in for a surprise in regards to a field called psychiatry and this thing called clinical research.

#seethemdancing #child abuse mention tw #ephebophilia mention tw

2 notes · View notes

lit--bitch · 5 years ago

Text

Jeremy Dixon’s ‘In Retail’ (2019)

(Disclosure: I don’t know Jeremy very well, but I met/saw him a couple months back when we performed at an online festival, Stay at Home Fest. Butcher’s Dog Magazine had an open mic where they invited writers from previous issues of the mag to come and perform stuff they’d had published with them, and outside of that. Since then, I’ve been reading and offering reviews to people from that evening, so I’m kicking off with In Retail. In Retail is published by Arachne Press, I don’t personally know anyone from there, it’s the first time I’ve heard of them. They’re dedicated to publishing titles from LGBTQIA+ writers, Jeremy Dixon himself identifies as queer, and they’re an environmentally conscious publisher, which I think is admirable. I don’t know many publishers who have an eco statement, as Arachne Press does here.)

In Retail is an incredibly observant collection, and I feel it’s for that reason, it is so moving and relevant, really. The collection is written from Jeremy’s experiences working in a well-known chain of chemists, spending life on the other side of the till. And I think when you get into a job within hospitality, there is a perceived monotony which comes from the client’s point of view, that on we go and the cashier remains stood, serving the next person and waving goodbye. In Retail disproves these gross suppositions. From the moment it begins, there is a deep looking, there is humour, there is trauma. Our interactions are held and studied amidst transaction. The reality could not be more crippling, nor more awkward, or ecstatic in some places. Consumer culture is embedded into the very form of the writing itself. Every page of this collection, quite appropriately, reads like a shop receipt, and small events, repeated phrases and nods become products of each day that the ‘I’ here, takes home with them. We scan our way down each poem, every one of which are headed ‘IN RETAIL’ and footed by different, often repeated, end-notes. These parts are greyed out which gives them a carbon-copy feel, and it’s quite intentional, as Jeremy originally wrote these poems on the back of till-roll paper. Even the typography, the titles themselves are consistent with the font you might find on till receipts, and are numbered like so “00/01″. Transaction of the day.

I think this collection is for anyone who calls themselves a people-watcher. I think it is for anyone who observes other people as part of a living. I am reminded of that line from Nessa in Gavin & Stacey: ‘I see every thread of life’s rich tapestry in between these three walls. The whole spectrum of human emotion.’ In Retail is a gallery of these experiences, the human vernacular, familiar and terrifying, the assortment of mannerisms and quips stood between Jamie Oliver and Lipsy. More pertinently, it’s an education in how to hold back the things you want to say.

The first poem immediately sets a precedent, ‘00/01′:

Already there’s a feeling of intimidation, a tentative look into the night-shift. But the speaker seems so used to it, the poem merely invites the potentially problematic sequence of difficulties, in ‘Come methadone paper / wavers, talking backwards [...] Come red raw builders buying aerosol plasters’. It seems fearless actually, and I think this preface of ‘With the night come’ ascertains that there is nothing irregular about this, that it’s a case of dealing with the last of the rabble before shutting doors. Inconvenient yes, tiresome yes, but completely usual. Until:

We are on the countdown to finish, for some people, this is the longest and sometimes most excruciating part of the shift. It is quickly clipped by a sinister threat: ‘She leans close / to whisper: I can get you cut. And it’s quite paralysing, as if I too inhabit this space between them as a reader, surveying the threat. There’s no further description, except we are left with the tail end of the receipt, speaking backwards: ‘THANK YOU FOR YOUR CUSTOM’. You have to wonder, how many times do we express gratitude for abuse, in the name of professionalism? How many times do we fear on our way out of work, someone will avenge us for doing our job? And there’s something about how, besides imitating the aesthetic of a receipt, how these greyed-out end-notes feel like cloudy afterthoughts from the muddied product of experience here.

‘00/03′ is driven by repeated utterances, as the stanzas are dragged out further, tragedy thickens. Humour is softly churned into despair. The day begins with the echo of the cashier’s mantra:

Good morning. Do you have an Advantage Card? And would you like a bag? Please enter your PIN.

An address all too well recognised. Polite, measured, sedate. It continues:

Good morning. Thank you for waiting. Do you have an Advantage Card? And would you like a bag? Please enter your PIN. Good morning. Thank you for waiting. No one’s answering the bell. Do you have an Advantage Card? And would you like a bag? Please enter your PIN. [...] Morning. Thank you for waiting. No one’s answering the bell. They’re all at a party without me. Seems I’m the only one left in the ship. I could find myself with a riot on my hands. Yes, you’re right it isn’t good enough is it. Did you have an Advantage Card? And would you like a bag? Please enter your PIN. Mourning. Thank you for belling. No one’s answering the weight. And there’s another party without me. Seems I’m the only one left in the world. I could find myself with blood on my hands. Yes you’re right it isn’t God enough is it. Mother says contactless is Satan’s kiss. Have you taken the advantage? And do you need a nosebag? Please enter your PAIN.

That line in the final stanza is incredible. ‘Mother says contactless is Satan’s kiss’. Payment is a glide of the hand, quick, dismissive, a kiss that never touches the glass. Thoughtlessness cushions temptation. As the stanzas stretch with each additional line, the regular address hailed to customers is muddled with the internal thought processes and feelings of the ‘I’. The transaction is deflected away from the customer, and instead, the receipt becomes a kind of monologue for the ways in which the shop is in debt to the cashier’s slog. Plays on words reinforce the ‘I’s’ unfound respite, a “good morning” turned ‘Morning’ before being reduced to a state of ‘Mourning’. Something particularly painful in this poem is that the customer is never failed to be greeted, as the ‘I’ staggers under the weight of other miseries, and gestures of kindness often go ignored. It seems that, unlike the flurry of clients, the feelings of the cashier are hardly ever addressed.

Jeremy quite often sheds light on the inequities the colleagues face within the workplace throughout the collection, also the changeability of management’s welfare towards staff. This is evident in ‘00/07′:

Seems we all get headaches. There used to be a staff stash of paracetamol kept behind Pharmacy but now you have to buy your own.

We hear it a lot, don’t we? “Once upon a time you used to get that for free”, “Once upon a time you could bring in your mate for that and nobody would bat an eyelid”, “I’d lose my job now if I did that”. It’s symptomatic of how kindness now, comes at a price. As business progresses, profit turns a profit on its staff. Why vouch for their welfare when you can turn them into a customer?

And in ‘00/14′:

As the collection continues, it becomes clear colleagues are encouraged to fend for interests which do not secure them, where management is distinguished as a separate entity, and the question of a company’s morals are measured based on how much stock is left rather than quizzing how a staff of people really feel. It seems that they are aligned very much in the same ways in which perfume giftsets and creams are humped across shelves gathering dust, as it is in ‘00/08′:

the Late team is working extra duty sales-planning Christmas in mid-September obeyed lasered maps of where to stack Lipsy and Jamie Oliver the shelves are filthy far too low for packs to stand

I find that phrase ‘extra duty’ so profound here. While ‘duty’ alone feels like a commendation of a word, ‘extra’ has consumerist connotations which commodify and capitalise on what it means to take ‘duty’. And it’s as though the tendrils of capitalist vernacular are constantly squeezing out the moral value of its workers, “far too low” to really “stand”. I also remark on this poem for the internal segregation between colleagues, the awkwardness of age difference separates their sense of humour:

Upside down plays on the radio and I attempt an electric slide but they’re too young to appreciate an 80s move

There’s a clear distinction between management and the shop floor but Jeremy does not attack it per se, rather it’s the observational quality to the writing which leaves us to make our own assumptions based around what is being seen and heard. I think of how staff are set together like the stock, together, regimental, before being dispersed by the chaos of Christmas shopping prep. Jeremy reinforces these distinctions between team members by sectioning the collection into three, the first being {STAFFED}, the second {MANAGED} and the third, {CONSUMED}. The final section seems to embrace the two as incubators of consumerism, that together they oversee it.

In Retail is grounded in more broader political contexts which compounds the politics of the high-street chemist. In ‘00/26′:

today the queue is strung with angry people angry that we are leaving angry that people are angry that are leaving angry that people are still talking about leaving [...] angry at Labour angry at Plaid angry at their parents angry at the Papers angry at the Pound angry that all the Star Gifts sold out before they arrived

Anger here compounds the atmosphere of the shop floor. It also feels like a currency in a way, in which people have been mis-sold an idea. In this case, I assume it to be Brexit. Plaid (Plaid Cymru, a Welsh political party), parents, products of a misleading mess funnel down into papers and Star Gifts, and anger reduces in its worth as it is dismissively directed into all things. Serious issues don’t matter if you can’t buy what you want. I note that Jeremy again, never openly takes a side per se, but rather the writing here becomes a neutral ground on which things happen to the voice, and it is left to us as readers to make assertions.

And part of the frustration and the humour in a collection like In Retail is that voice becomes a collective of common phrases and repeated mannerisms, bits of eavesdropping and stacked quotes from customers which saddle the experience of working the tills. I think of ‘00/29′: ‘A man buys a pint of milk / And I’m not buying anything else, / because I’ve been so bad lately. / Really bad.’ and in ‘00/34′, I initially hear a consistent whinging of a child asking for stuff (though that’s not ascertained exactly who is speaking here), ‘please can I have an iphone X / please can I have an Xbox ONe / please can I have Hexbugs / please can I have Hot Wheels’ before the voice turns stranger: ‘[...] / please can I have a black wollit / please can I have how / please can I have Portmeirion’ and the requests become duller, more abstract, more absurd because this collective of voices consistently gabbing for things they want, soon becomes a collective voice of not really knowing what it wants, at all.

In Retail is as much funny as it is sinister. It’s an objective look at people, and I sometimes think that its observant nature is sustained by a certain professionalism, that holding back, that inability to pass judgement as an employee, that ‘customer is always right’ mentality, where the subject’s inner turmoil seldomly slips, because it isn’t really allowed to. And when it does, it’s within a cacophony of maddening queries, the tannoy blaring customer announcements, the baskets of unnoticed returns which will still be there tomorrow. In Retail leaves a lot to reflect on, because it is so relevant to us, still, and given the time in which some of the poems were composed back in 2017, it’s clear that not much has changed. Its wit and composition is to be admired, particularly for its literal-ness, the act of turning a book into a series of a receipts is of course, a wonderful irony for anyone purchasing it from a different shop. It is cheeky and mournful, but perhaps more pertinently, it encapsulates all the dimensions of the human condition within a public space at a distance so well-executed that it feels alien to read.

Of course, if this review’s won you over, you can purchase In Retail right here. You can also follow Jeremy over on Twitter too and find out a little bit more about him over on Arachne Press’s site.

#review #bookreview #poetry #collection #visualpoetry #welshwriting #queerpoetry #inretail #arachnepress #debut #ukpoetry #writing

0 notes