#i did get a bit off topic. lets talk about fahrenheit 451 again.

[whatsupspaceman]

i feel like people Do often know how to do this, especially in academic settings, but internetism and just often being young makes people be very vocal about their bad literary takes. most of this kind of debate and discourse i see comes from teens ect who haven't maybe, gone through a queer history learning phase (which is not necessarily their fault, it’s hard to find it without actively seeking it out bc of queer history and knowledge being famously suppressed, but that's a whole different conversation). or even just ... gone through enough english classes. it wasn’t until mid and late high school when i remember first really diving into the weeds of cultural context of certain novels we studied. (like fahrenheit 451, or Seamus Heaney’s poetry, or the handmaids tale, or whatever lit your curriculum goes into) This happens so much with speculative fiction especially- where the time period of something like fahrenheit 451 isnt considered when someone reads the book, and they don’t understand how the fear of the cold war and culture of television at the time colored that fictional dystopia- and some of it seems ridiculous in the context of the 2020s. (Speculative fiction and dystopia is always always more about commenting on the current state of the world, not actually trying to predict the future)

Not that ignoring context isn’t a real thing and a problem on the internet (with lit and i see it SO frequently with film). But so often it just comes from a little echo chamber of folks talking about queer representation as something that must be explicit and stated out loud and confirmed every time.

It’s understandable how this came about too: when the history of queerness in film is inseparable from overwhelming censorship and how creators tried their best to work with what they had- leading to subtext (and bury/punish your gays) as the predominant way queer cinema could even be queer, now that we don’t “have” to follow the censorship of the Hayes Code in the same way, subtextual stories seem simply like the artists werent trying hard enough to show queerness, or they didnt care to, or subtextual narratives made on purpose get conflated with queerbaiting (another whole different post). This causes problems when critically viewing modern queer stories, as obviously, subtext stories are still very important (the problem comes when that’s all there is), and it causes problems when modern audiences look back with the cultural expectations of today’s representation to older works of queer literature and cinema and other media—

that’s what leads to queer folks today going: “well, why isnt dorian grey a fully fleshed out gay narrative?” or, “brokeback mountain is problematic representation because of its tragic narrative and punishment of queerness,” instead of viewing these stories keeping in mind how differnt it was when and where they came from, and knowing how groundbreaking these stories were for queer people within the context. Even something as modern as steven universe or legend of korra, are not excempt from the “modern-goggles”, where we see every queer story’s flaws in what it lacks in representation instead of the way they pave the way forward and outward. This mindset traps people into thinking the more critical we are and the more progress we make, that one day there will be “perfect” queer representation. But that’s never been the “goal” of queer representation.

It’s to be allowed to tell queer stories freely without the weight of potential backlash from being too queer, having to be censored or artists being punished for making art (like Oscar Wilde). To tell stories without the weight of backlash because it isn’t good enough representation that encapsulates every single queer experience. It’s the freedom to tell shitty queer stories and subtexual queer stories and stories about queer people who aren’t in healthy relationships or aren’t good people or have to even have happy endings. When we have a piece of queer media that’s just so fucking bad, but that doesn’t mean it reflects or says anything about “queer media” or queer people as a whole.

I hope sincerely that this tendency to beat up every queer story for its flaws without the historical and cultural context of why they have those flaws will die down, but I also hope it means we are moving towards the time where we have so much wonderful and wild and uncensored and diverse and varying queer media that it’s ok to have queer media that sucks, too.

it drives me bonkers the way people don't know how to read classic books in context anymore. i just read a review of the picture of dorian gray that said "it pains me that the homosexual subtext is just that, a subtext, rather than a fully explored part of the narrative." and now i fully want to put my head through a table. first of all, we are so lucky in the 21st century to have an entire category of books that are able to loudly and lovingly declare their queerness that we've become blind to the idea that queerness can exist in a different language than our contemporary mode of communication. second it IS a fully explored part of the narrative! dorian gray IS a textually queer story, even removed from the context of when its writing. it's the story of toxic queer relationships and attraction and dangerous scandals and the intertwining of late 19th century "uranianism" and misogyny. second of all, i'm sorry that oscar wilde didn't include 15k words of graphic gay sex with ao3-style tags in his 1890 novel that was literally used to convict him of indecent behaviour. get well soon, i guess...

[fluidityandgiggles]

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 5

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked

Notes (I guess): Welcome to ‘I’m bad at describing stuff’, part 1. This chapter was planned out way in advance, before I wrote the prologue even, and yet it gave me a lot of trouble because I had no idea how to wrap it up. So I hope that, for what it’s worth, this is a good one.

As always, thanks @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original suggestion, to @whatwashernameagain for her fantastic creation on which this fic is based, and to @anony-phangirl and @asleepybisexual and @winglessnymph (hey Nymph look you’re on this list now!) for dealing with my crazy ideas. And a particularly special thanks to Miranda, again, for her poetic additions. She is the absolute best.

A quick note to any of you who are underage or have never been in such a situation (aka a massive fucking party) before - do not do anything that happens in this chapter. Please, drink responsibly, or don’t drink at all if you don’t want to. I made my mistakes so that you won’t have to. Do not do anything that happens in this chapter, watch your drinks, you know the drill. I can’t stress this enough.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @secretlyanxiouspersona, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @why-things-go-boom, @ilovemygaydad

(If you want to be tagged or removed, please let me know! Preferably via notes/reblogs, I have bad memory, but… you do you.)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter doesn’t have as much. Also mentions and slight talk of dysphoria, drinking, drug use, mentions of blood (aka periods, don’t worry, it’s periods)... yeah, that’s all I remember for now...

—————

It was around one a.m. when Remy was ready to crash, and Emile was nowhere to be seen.

Remy had just the slightest idea of what happened.

——

22:38, Thursday, October 31st, 2002

"I really would've rather gone trick or treating."

"I know, boo, but you look great and my friend is gonna love you. I promise."

There were several wrong things about tonight where it came to Emile, and Remy knew all of them. One, he was sensitive to extreme temperature changes, as he told him over hot chocolate just the other day. But as things were, his costume exposed his midriff and he was snuggling up to Remy before they even left the building. Two, too many people made him incredibly uncomfortable. Strangers only intensified that feeling. And three… he couldn't bring his bunny with him to help with problems one and two.

This was building up to be a disaster.

"Well, isn't this party just so fun," India stated the moment she found Remy. "I'm surprised nobody is a Playboy bunny this year. Well… here's to hoping things will get more interesting later."

"It's totally fine, sweetie—"

"She said it's boring, can we go now?"

"Yeah, you two are better off coming back in about an hour, but you're already here. It'll be a waste of time. You're Emile, right?"

"Yeah, hello!"

"Nice to finally meet you. I'm India." Her smile was as bright as the lights reflecting off her Wonder Woman costume. "So how was Murder week? Did anyone strip?"

"No, not at Weld. What about you?"

"I'm not allowed to strip for immunity anymore, not after what happened two years ago, but… we had a couple of people walking around in towels."

Chris was there, piling red solo cups into pyramids. India and Emile kept talking about Murder and strategies for later years, and Chris was there.

He was… so beautiful. His skin reminded him of the sand on a beach. Warm and inviting beckoning him in. Caramel never looked so good on anyone else. The black hair a stark contrast. Dangerous but looked soft. Like if you touched it it would feel like cotton candy. What he wouldn't give to bury his hands into it—

Yeah... was there any way for someone to get drunk without actually drinking...?

"You're staring for far too long without actually doing anything," Remy heard someone whisper in his ear - Emile? - "go talk to him!"

"Are you trying to play fairy godparent with me?"

"No, but you're worrying me. And it's always best to talk to someone you like. How would they know you like them if you don't tell them?" Emile looked incredibly uncomfortable, even more so than before. "It's too cold…"

"Sorry, angel, don't got a sweatshirt for you." Emile huffed. "Why aren't you with India?"

"She's bringing me Fanta. Did I tell you that my sister is coming over from Evanston next—"

Definitely Emile.

"Yes, you told me. Five times already."

"Oh. Oops. But… really. He would never know you like him unless you tell him, and now is as good a time to tell him as any. And if it fails, I'm here and you can always come back here and we'll go back to your suite and order pizza!"

"I am so not into discussing Fahrenheit 451 with those assholes over there," India declared as she joined them. "What… are we waiting for?"

"Remy wants to talk to his crush but he's not doing anything about it."

"Stop saying that…"

Remy went anyway.

——

"And that's why I think that…"

Remy spaced in and out of the conversation with Chris. It was just… boring. He was talking about Blade Runner for twenty-five minutes out of the forty-five they've been talking, it was almost ridiculous. But he stayed, because… maybe he could… change the topic? Maybe? There was a certain number of times one could say radical or awesome before it turns into a chore, after all.

If only he'd shut up about his fucking crush on Harrison Ford…

"Have you ever seen Pulp Fiction?" Chris choked on his soda. "What?"

"You saw Pulp Fiction? I'd never think someone like you would—"

"Someone like me? And that's what, baby?"

"Just… you seem like the type of person who watches Beverly Hills 90210 or Gilmore Girls."

"And what stops me from liking both 90210 and Pulp Fiction?"

The conversation was incredibly boring, and Remy couldn't help it. He didn't even like 90210. Chris was… well, he was boring, and that wasn't part of the plan at all.

But… he didn't want to fuck this up at all. So… he'd put up with the boring. Okay. He can do it.

And he zoned out on him again…

"...me for a second." And then Chris was gone. What did Remy just get himself into… it wasn't what he imagined it would be like.

Huh. Maybe that's why you should never meet your heroes. Or… something like that.

And then someone jumped on his back.

"Did you tell him yet?" Emile didn't seem quite alright. "India let me out of her sight ‘cause I wanted to ask you, and—"

"Did you drink, sweetheart?"

"No! Absolutely not!" Emile didn't look him in the eyes. Nothing new, really. But Remy was still worried. "Well…"

"Emile, you're sixteen."

"Remy, you're eighteen. Stating obvious facts can be a two-player game, you know!" He sighed and hugged Remy again, only… not quite. "You wanna dance with me? Please?"

His big blue eyes were open so wide and he pouted. He actually pouted.

Remy wanted to kiss him.

No, wait, what?!

"Cutie, we can't dance right now. You look sick."

"I'm totally not sick! It's prolly just the makeup!"

"...no, you definitely look—"

"Sorry about that." Oh, great. Chris was back. "Hey, I'm Chris."

"I'm Emile, it's very nice to meet you, is this Fanta?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good, thanks."

Remy was convinced he was going to regret that night. His crush was one of the most boring people he knew (he might not be, but at least right now he was, and they did talk for almost an hour and that definitely means something), he couldn't find India anywhere, and Emile—

"That Fanta tastes funny… is that vodka?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"What did you put in that cup?" Remy whispered angrily at the upperclassman.

"Vodka. I swear it was only vodka."

——

00:17, Friday, November 1st

No, it wasn't only vodka. But Remy couldn't care at this point.

Yeah… that sounds awful. Of course he cared, but… yeah, he had a bit to drink. And he was making out with Chris in the corner, so it wasn't exactly his biggest concern at the moment.

"Your makeup's coming off," Chris laughed between kisses.

There was a slight issue with this situation. Chris kept trying to… touch. Which was usually a problem, thanks to his body being… well, his body, but today was even worse. For today was day two of shark week. And, like, it wasn't enough that he was trying to get to Remy's not yet existing dick, which even under sober circumstances Remy probably wouldn't have let him, but it was happening during the worst possible time to do that.

There was no better time in history for Remy to feel the dysphoria kicking in, and kicking in hard. Yeah. Look at how much fun he was having.

"Okay, lover boy, time to fuck out of here," someone screamed in his ear a couple minutes later. And forcefully pulled him away from Chris.

India.

"What do you want?"

"I get that you don't have much experience with booze, Skellington, but your friend is missing and I'm not going to look for him alone. And I can see you're enjoying yourself very much."

"Fine… oh. Oh shit."

"Yeah, oh shit. Now you gotta get fixing to get going, anything we gotta do before we leave?"

"...stop at the bathroom."

It was just changing a pad. He could manage going to the girls' room just for that. He could manage that—

"Make it quick, though. Any second we don't look for him is a second gone to waste."

"Alright. Just don't scream at me."

"I ain't screaming!"

It was just changing a pad. It couldn't take longer than two minutes. Just go in there, change it, get out, and—

Yeah… this was going to be tough.

——

It was around one a.m. when Remy was ready to crash, and Emile was still nowhere to be seen.

Remy had just the slightest idea of what happened.

India only called it a night because she had early classes that day, and Remy tried to reach Emile's cell for a while before giving up and falling asleep around three.

It didn't feel right. He could be dead… Remy should've done more…

And then his phone started ringing. At around nine, his phone started ringing.

"Yes, hello, what—"

"Remy… everything hurts…" Emile was crying. Shit. No, no, that was—

"Where the fuck are you?"

"I don't know… but everything hurts. And…"

"Are you still on campus, sweetie?"

"I… I hope so."

"Can you tell me where you are, what's around you? I'm coming to get you."

Remy started looking for a jacket, still half asleep, as Emile kept talking. He described something that sounded a lot like Harvard Law to Remy. (Well, actually, more like what he imagined Harvard Law looked like after watching Legally Blonde fifteen times).

"Do you mind if I sing?" Emile was calming down. Great. He was still—

"No, not at all. But… one song, alright? I still need you to tell me where you are."

"Alright."

As Remy ran outside, still putting his shoes on, phone glued to his shoulder and ear, he heard a thing he never thought was possible —

"Whatever happened to Saturday night? When you dressed up sharp and you felt alright?"

"...are you crying while singing Hot Patootie?"

"It was the first song I could think of!"

Remy found Emile sitting on a bench (like when Elle met Emmett in Legally Blonde, his little voice told him), his costume still intact but incredibly messed up, the wig thrown to the side. He looked… sick.

There was no real way to describe what he looked like other than sick. And Remy felt guilty.

"Hey, hot patootie, where's your glasses?" Emile shivered, pulling his shoulders.

"I left them in my room... I had… I had lenses on last night… and then I lost them. I can't see much…"

"Do you remember anything?" Remy sat down next to Emile, holding him tight. He was freezing. It was…

Remy felt like he failed. It was the worst feeling. He failed his best friend.

"No. I know I drank… I know this… this guy, he was really nice, he asked me if I wanted to eat something… I don't remember more than that…"

"Sweetie… it'll be alright. I promise." He couldn't exactly promise. Not at this state, anyway. "Let's take you to the clinic, okay?"

Remy had to help Emile walk. Support him on the way, sometimes carry him bridal style, all for about two minutes of walking. But… he was clearly not okay. Remy wasn't going to just… not help him, this was his best friend on campus...

It was only when they made it to the incredibly familiar (at least to Remy) clinical wing that Remy realized he didn't even wear a bra. And only because Emile told him "if any of the people in the clinic call you miss, because your boobs are out, I'm gonna punch them."

He was not going to let Emile punch anyone, but that was not his main concern at the moment.