toujours_nigel | Recent Entries

I'm

rheaitis, You can also call me Rhea, or TJ. I'm not really here these days, but DW is still home.

Demographic note: Indian, Bengali, Hindu, lesbian. I speak and write English and Bengali, and struggle with idiomatic Hindi.

"A Losing Battle" by Kamala Das

How can my love hold him when the other
Flaunts a gaudy lust and is lioness
To his beast?
Men are worthless, to trap them
Use the cheapest bait of all, but never
Love, which in a woman must mean tears
And a silence in the blood.

"Hiraeth, Old Bombay" by Imtiaz Dharker

I would have taken you to the Naz Café
if it had not shut down.
I would have taken you to the Naz Café
for the best view and the worst food in town.

We would have drunk flat beer and cream soda
and sweated on plastic chairs at the Naz Café.
We would have looked down over the dusty trees
at cars creeping along Marine Drive, round the bay
to Eros Cinema and the Talk of the Town.

We would have held hands in the Naz Café
over sticky rings on the table-top,
knee locked on knee at the Naz Café,
while we admired the distant Stock Exchange,
Taj Mahal Hotel, Sassoon Dock, Gateway.

We would have nursed a drink at the Naz Café
and you would have stolen a kiss from me.
We would have lingered in the Naz Cafe
till the day slid off the map into the Arabian sea.

I would have taken you to Bombay
if its name had not slid into the sea.
I would have taken you to the place called Bombay
if it were still there and if you were still here,
I would have taken you to the Naz café.

"Gate A-4" by Naomi Shihab Nye

Wandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal, after learning
my flight had been delayed four hours, I heard an announcement:
"If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please
come to the gate immediately."

Well—one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my own gate. I went there.

An older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress, just
like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing. "Help,"
said the flight agent. "Talk to her. What is her problem? We
told her the flight was going to be late and she did this."

I stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke haltingly.
"Shu-dow-a, Shu-bid-uck Habibti? Stani schway, Min fadlick, Shu-bit-
se-wee?" The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly
used, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled
entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for major medical treatment the
next day. I said, "No, we're fine, you'll get there, just later, who is
picking you up? Let's call him."

We called her son, I spoke with him in English. I told him I would
stay with his mother till we got on the plane and ride next to
her. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just
for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while
in Arabic and found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I
thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know
and let them chat with her? This all took up two hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling of her life, patting my knee,
answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool
cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and
nuts—from her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, the
lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered
sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie.

And then the airline broke out free apple juice from huge coolers and two
little girls from our flight ran around serving it and they
were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—
by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag,
some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country tradi-
tion. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and I thought, This
is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in that
gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—seemed apprehensive about
any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too.

This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.

[excerpt from] "The Song to Rain Clouds" by Kōtai-Āṇṭāḷ

8.1

Clouds spread like blue cloth
across the vast sky
Has Tirumal my beautiful lord
of Venkatam, where cool streams leap
come with you?
Tears gather and spill between my breasts
like waterfalls.
He has destroyed my womanhood.
How does this bring him pride?

8.2

Clouds that spill lovely pearls
what message has the dark-hued lord
of Venkatam
sent through you?
The fire of desire has invaded my body
I suffer.
I lie awake here in the thick of night,
a helpless target for the cool southern breeze.

8.3

So easily they left me
my lustre, my bangles, thought, sleep
I am destroyed.
Compassionate clouds
I sing of Govinda’s virtues
lord of Venkatam,
where cool waterfalls leap.
How long can this alone guard my life?

8.4

Clouds bright with lightning
tell the lord of Venkatam
upon whose lovely chest Sri resides
that my supple young breasts
yearn everyday
for his resplendent body.

8.5

Great clouds rising into the sky
climb high, rain hard on Venkatam
scatter flowers brimming with honey.
Ask the one who tore the body of Hiranya
with his long nails flecked with blood
to return the conch bangles
he took from me.

8.6

Cool clouds heavy with water
rise high and pour down on Venkatam,
home of the one who took the world from Mahabali.
Tell that Narana
he entered me, consumed me, stole my well-being
like a worm that feasts on a wood-apple
Tell him of my terrible disease.

8.7

Cool clouds place the plea of this servant
at the feet of the one with beautiful lotus eyes
him who churned the ocean filled with conch.
Beseech him to enter me for a single day
to wipe away the vermilion smeared upon my breasts
only then can I survive.
8.8

Dark clouds ready for the season of rains
chant the name of the lord of Venkatam
who is valiant in battle.
Tell him, like the lovely leaves that fall in the season of rains
I waste away through the long endless years
waiting for the day when he finally sends word.

8.9

Rain clouds rising like great war-elephants over Venkatam
what word has that one
who sleeps upon the serpent
sent for me?
The world will say: ‘heedless that he was her only refuge
he killed this young girl.’
What honour is there in this?

8.10

Kotai of the king of Puduvai,
the peerless city,
desired the one reclining upon the serpent
and sent the clouds as her messengers
to the king of Venkatam
Those who place in their hearts these verses of Tamil
sung by her of luminous forehead
those who sing these words of Tamil
will be with him forever.

[Venkatesan,The Secret Garland: Andal’s Tiruppavai and Nacciyar Tirumoli. New Delhi: Harper Collins, 2016]

Happy Birthday

greerwatson! I hope you have a great day and a good year ahead.

Well I'm Reading Thrones, Dominations and it keeps feeling about two inches to the left of what it ought to be.

i'm alive, my immediate family are all alive, most of us have had one vaccination dose.

gild (1848 words) by toujours_nigel
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo & Niè Míngjué
Characters: Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo, Niè Míngjué, Niè Huáisāng's Mother
Summary: Nie Mingjue loves his mother. It's unbearable.

chiaroscuro (1224 words) by toujours_nigel
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Quynh | Noriko
Characters: Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Additional Tags: Nude Photos, Nude Modeling, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Summary: Laid end to end and strung together, Nicky’s made a living as an artist’s model for about a century, give or take a year. So he has no excuse, really for feeling like his heart’s going to hammer its way out of his ribcage when he unlocks his phone in the middle of a bakery in Horlivka and finds the photo Joe has sent him.

twine (1205 words) by toujours_nigel
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén & Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī
Characters: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn
Additional Tags: Body Swap, lancest but not really, background wangxian - Freeform, past nielan, past xiyao
Summary: Lan Huan wakes in a tumble of sheets and sunshine. Not his bed, and not the Hanshi.

gossamer (1191 words) by toujours_nigel
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Max (Black Sails)
Additional Tags: Eleanor Guthrie/Max mentioned, Anne Bonnie/Max mentioned, Slavery, Canon-Typical Behavior
Summary: The strange silk sussurates over her skin like Eleanor’s slippery bright-scaled mind flashing over her shins and surrounding her ankles, tripping her, holding her back, down, under the water.

So I inevitably got attached to the Doomed Older Brothers, and now there's 9k of confessions and cuddling. I-really-don't-know-Huaisang.gif

hold your hand, and grow old together (9081 words) by toujours_nigel
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Niè Míngjué
Characters: Niè Míngjué, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Niè Huáisāng
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, No beta we die like wwx, Bedsharing, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss
Summary: “Softheaded loon,” Xichen says, still clawing at fury. “Gege, will I mourn you less, if you’ve never fucked me?”

He nods, and the fingers resting over his move down towards his palm and then back up again without making contact, resting briefly at the joints etched in dark pink against the pallor of his skin. Mingjue’s hands are bigger than his, the palm broader and fingers longer, nails clipped shorter. His hand raises a scrambling beneath Xichen’s skin, in the softness between his fingers, the rivers of life flowing over his palm when Mingjue touches him there. It is not that Xichen has existed without affectionate touch. Even after his mother’s death there have been pats on the back and clasps on the arm and his hair tugged and ruffled, the rare shy hug from Wangji. It is not that it is rare for Mingjue to touch him: Nie furen had folded him into an embrace the first time they met after his mother’s death, and passed him over to Mingjue to be hugged.

This amaaazing webcomic by Ngozi Ukazu follows Eric “Bitty” Bittle through four years of college, hockey, shenanigans and love. Just, all sorts, y’know? I mean, yes this is very much a romance and I can’t really overstate how wonderful the romantic storyline is, but also this is a narrative dappled with love: parents and children, friends and teammates, coaches and professors, the people following your life through a screen. It is such a good.

So, right. Eric Bittle, erstwhile ice-skater, compulsive baker (pies just appear) and vlogger from Madison, Georgia, gets into Samwell University, Samwell, Massachusetts, on a hockey scholarship. It’s, uh, not the best of fits, let’s say. Bitty is terrified of physical violence, and Samwell plays NCAA Hockey, which involves checking. He faints a lot, and his captain–vaguely confused by his presence on the team–keeps making him eat protein and do checking drills at dawn. He gets pretty instantly adopted by several of the sophomores and a particularly empathetic junior who goes by Shitty, and just. Settles in, asserts ownership of the kitchen, copes with the horrifying cold. Comes out, first to Shitty and then to the rest of the team. Adopts a few freshmen of his own the next year, figures out what to major in. Falls in love. Keeps it quiet and then doesn’t. All those fabulous college things and four years of this lovely sensitive, lonely boy growing up into a confident, empathetic man who’s at ease with himself, his place in the world, his abilities, and all that love he’s got to give and receive.

I started reading Check, Please! off a reclist for queer webcomics, I think. A couple years or so ago, and caught up right as the fandom exploded. The first two (three?) years are out in hard-copy now, with lots of extras, so you should definitely get hold of those if you can afford it. The whole sunny, buttery, amazing thing is online, and you can read it in its entirety for free. It wrapped up just a while back, so it’s definitely absolutely worth the couple days you’ll need to inhale it. I know I spent way more time on the site today than I actually had to spare, but I can’t bring myself to regret a minute of it. I hadn’t forgotten how much I love the Samwell Crew and the Falconers and Jack and Bitty’s parents (and also Kent Parson) but it’s good to be reminded all the same.

So I figured I’d do some recs/reviews because it’s Pride Month in the U.S. and also I am a gremlin who likes to display their hoard. IDK, possibly because when I was in school my access to queer lit was primarily via fora, FF.Net and, like, FictionAlley, eventually Livejournal. On some level I’m still shocked every time I read a published book and it has queer people in it who don’t get shuffled away. Right. Uh. Anyway. This is gonna be mostly sff/hist cause that’s how I read, and also mostly standalones.

We’re starting with Band Sinister.

This KJ Charles novel is Heyer but gayer: delightfully bantery with a chewy centre of past trauma and familial obligations.

Amanda Frisby, country gentlewoman and debutante penner of gothic romances, goes for a ride and mangles her leg. She ends the misadventure by being taken into the house of Sir Philip Rookwood, which is unexpectedly full. Her brother Guy rushes to fetch her home and the siblings end up staying with Rookwood and his cronies, several of whom Amanda has pastiched in her surprise bestseller. Worse still, they’re a confusing, blasphemous lot, but they’re witty and companionable and oddly kind. It’s a lot for poor Guy Frisby, who’s spent his life taking care of his baby sister, and only knows about queer relationships via unexpurgated classical lit.

Guy, poor man, spends a majority of the book worried about

Amanda never recovering from her frankly ghastly injury

Amanda being compromised because of her presence in Rookwood’s house

Rookwood and co. realising she’s the author of the book pastiching them

Falling in love with Rookwood despite his obligations, their family history, Rookwood’s other entanglements.

Dealing with confrontations with Very Opinionated people while being very quiet himself.

I loved it, all of it: every conversation and contrivance and Philip’s extremely careful seduction of Guy, but also Philip’s hilarious inability to climb trees, the co-dependent bird-brains, Amanda Frisby’s absolutely everything. It’s such a smart, compassionate book. I’ve been using it to coax/trap people into reading more KJ Charles, and it's been working, which is fab because everyone should read KJ Charles. I'll talk about some of her other novels later this month, but I had to start with Band Sinister.

(Also I got a Band Sinister fic for Yuletide last year and I love it to pieces.)

( weight-loss talk )

my apologies to anyone subscribed to me on ao3; i’m uploading all the drabbles i’ve been writing this last little while, cause tumblr is acting up and i’m paranoid.

The whole country is in very abrupt lock-down for three weeks. The migrant poor and oppressed castes are almost certainly going to die in large numbers. The central government has yet to announce a coherent plan to help the marginalised.
I'm okay. My family is stocked-up and locked-down. Nobody I know has been infected yet that they know of. I'm reading feverishly, tbh, because if now isn't the time for escapism I don't know when is. If you're on Twitter I'll be talking about one of them this weekend: City of Brass. I'm taking drabble-prompts off this list.

so I read MDZS and am now watching the show, and while I love everyone, I most love Lan Xichen, because apparently fucked-up older sibs with vastly overperforming kid sibs is my jam now?

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rheaitis

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Band Sinister

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