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topguncortez · 1 year

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Night Moves | Chapter 1

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synopsis: Bradley meets the new girl next door, however he finds her in a compromising position.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: nudity, mentions of religious trauma, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of drug usage (marijuana), cancer, illusions of mental abuse, abandonment issues

Bradley didn’t get why he had to sit through lifeguard orientation again. It was the third summer in a row he was working at Roaring Waters Water Park and nothing had hardly changed from year to year. It was a good job, it paid well during the summer, but it sucked having to sit in the lifeguard chair while Bradley’s friends hung out in the cool water. If it was up to Bradley, he would be spending the whole summer inside in front of his xbox, taking it easy this summer and taking care of his mother. But Carole Bradshaw was a fierce woman and Bradley knew better than to argue with her.

“Has Paul changed these slides from 1980?” TJ leaned over and asked Bradley just shrugged and rubbed his eyes. He looked at his watch and wondered if his mom had gotten to her appointment alright.

About two months ago the Bradshaws had heard the words that no one ever wants to hear. Carole’s cancer had returned and had spread. Bradley feared for the worse, knowing that it was never good if the cancer came back, but Carole was determined to fight once again. She told Bradley if she beat it once, she could beat it again. But the devil on both their shoulders was already yapping in their ears.

“Alright, any questions on the whistle system?” Paul asked, looking around the room of board lifeguards. Most if not all of the lifeguards had been returners and Bradley didn’t get why they had to go over the handbook in detail like this. “Oh, yes, questions,” Paul nodded towards the back of the room.

“Is there a cheat sheet posted somewhere?” The accent was thick with a southern twang, clearly from somewhere other than Norfolk.

“Sweet home Alabama,” Max said under his breath which got a couple laughs. Max was voted class clown in high school, and Bradley used to laugh at his jokes but he had grown tired of them since graduating. In fact, Bradley had grown tired of most of his friends. Maybe it was his mother’s illness or the fact that his whole life had been derailed, but Bradley didn’t find the things funny anymore.

“Uh yes. . .” Paul looked over the name roster.

“Y/N,” The girl answered.

“Ah yes, Y/N, you’re the one from Texas?”

“Yeah, but my question-”

“It’s in the handbook,” Bradley groaned.

The rest of the class went off without a hitch and Paul handed out the summer schedule, t-shirts, first aid fanny packs and whistles. Bradley was putting stuff in his locker, it was the same one he always used from the other summers, his name was still faintly on it. The locker next to his used to belong to Olivia Bachman, one of the hottest lifeguards to ever work at Roaring Waters, but she had graduated and went on to college at NYU. Bradley thought he was pretty cool when she invited him to her end of the summer bonfire, but then he saw that her boyfriend Michael was there and learned that Olivia had invited all of the lifeguard staff.

“Hey, what’s your schedule look like?” Max asked.

Bradley looked over at his schedule, seeing that Paul had given him the times he requested, late afternoon so he can still take his mom to appointments in the morning. He handed Max his schedule so he could compare.

“Ha, you gotta work with Bama,” Max said and handed the schedule back.

“Bama?” Bradley asked.

“Oh ya know, miss ‘is there a cheat sheet’?” Max said in a horrible fake accent and laughed at himself. Bradley gave Max a look, “Sorry. Hey! Do you want to play the new fall out-”

“Can’t,” Bradley said, “I’ve got things to do.” Which included applying to new colleges. He was still undecided on where to go since the whole Maverick thing.

He was yet to talk to his uncle since finding out that he had pulled his papers and took away his chances of getting into the Naval Academy and following in his father’s footsteps. Ever since Bradley could talk he dreamed of being just like his father, and Maverick knew it. Bradley had done everything he possibly could to get into the Academy. He took his SATs twice, took all the AP classes that he could, had great letters of recommendation from his Uncle Iceman and Slider, and on top of all of that, Bradley was a legacy child. Bradley was a shoo-in for a spot, and would’ve had one if it wasn’t for Maverick.

“Man, when are you gonna loosen up! You’ve been like a stick in the mud since spring break,” Max groaned and leaned his head against the locker.

Bradley sighed and closed his locker, “My mom is sick again.”

Max straightened and looked at his friend. Most of Bradley’s close friends like Max and TJ knew that Carole had cancer once before and had been in remission. Max was one of Bradley’s oldest friends, he was one of the first people that he met when he moved from on base to the small house on Maple street. Max loved Carole and saw her as a second mom. Max’s parents weren’t ever home so he usually spent weekends with Carole and Bradley. Carole used to drive them to all their baseball games in the summer before she got sick the first time.

“Shit, Brad, I’m sorry,” Max said and looked down at his shoes, “I-I didn’t know.”

“She hasn’t told a lot of people,” Bradley shrugged, “It’s alright, don’t sweat it.”

Max smiled sadly, “Well, you know you can always come to mine if you need to. My parents stopped checking the liquor cabinet freshman year.”

Bradley chuckled, “Thanks.”

Max nodded and walked out of the breakroom leaving Bradley alone with his thoughts. Bradley sighed and made sure he had what he needed in his locker before leaving for the day. First day starts tomorrow and Bradley was not looking forward to it. Opening day of the summer season was always the busiest and there was always at least one kid who throws up on the pool deck.

Bradley whistled to himself as he walked to the parking lot, swinging his truck keys around his finger. He had just finished fixing the wheel bearings on it and stopped shaking when it went over forty-five miles per hour. He stopped in his tracks noticing an unfamiliar girl sitting in front of the pool gates. He looked around the barren parking lot not even noticing a bike chained up.

“You waiting on something?” He asked her.

“My gran,” Bradley recognized the accent from earlier.

“Bama.”

“What?” She narrowed her eyes at him, “So that’s what they called me. Those girls with the fake tans were sayin’ somethin’ earlier but it sounded like banana, y’all Virginia folk sound weird.”

“We sound weird? You sound like something straight out of a John Wayne movie,” Bradley scoffed, “Do you need a ride?”

“I can wait,” She said, placing her hand over her eyes to shield them from the unrelenting afternoon sun, “You got a name?”

“Bradley,” He introduced himself, “I can wait with you.”

The girl shook her head, “Better you not, Bradley. I’m supposed to be stayin away from the men folk. My gran will lose a damn screw if she sees you sitting next to me.”

“But she’d rather her granddaughter wait outside in a town she doesn’t even know?” Bradley questioned and the girl just shrugged, “Whatever, ‘Bama.” Bradley started walking towards his truck when he heard her sweet voice say again.

“It’s Y/N,” He turned towards her, “I’d rather be called ‘Tex’ than godforsaken ‘Bama’.”

“Y/N, huh. . .Bama suits you better,” Bradley winked and got into his truck.

He kept his eyes on her the whole time as he pulled out of the parking lot leaving her alone. She had sweet honey brown eyes that pulled him in deep. Her voice was playing over in his head like a record. He shook his head, it had to be that it wasn’t an accent he heard every day, not that he wanted to talk to her again to hear the way his name fell from her pink lips. He did wonder why she was supposed to stay away from the “men folk” or why she was in Virginia in the first place. She was a mystery and it was one mystery that Bradley was now intrigued in.

When he got home he noticed his mom’s ford focus sitting in the driveway and he sighed. She either forgot about the appointment or it was another short one. He hated short appointments; it meant that her cancer hadn’t shrunk and they were staying with the plan they had already put in place. He sighed, and got out of the truck to go inside. When inside, he opened his mouth to call out to his mother but heard the sounds of retching coming from the upstairs bathroom. It was days like this that Bradley wished his dad was still around. He hated seeing his mother sick, and it had become such a regular occurrence lately. Wordlessly, Bradley went to the kitchen to get a can of ginger ale and a sleeve of saltine crackers. He grabbed her water cup and went upstairs to tend to her.

Carole leaned her forearm over the toilet seat and rested her head on her arm. She knew she missed her appointment but the drugs had made her sicker than a dog. She could hardly even lay in bed without feeling motion sick, and had puked up probably all the food in her system. She ran her hand through her hair, and grimaced as yet another clump of hair fell out.

“Hi Mom,” Bradley said, walking into the bathroom. Carole looked up at her son and frowned, watching as he grabbed a cool washcloth and sat on the lip of the bathtub. He placed it on her overheated forehead and she groaned at the coolness.

“You don’t have to stay here, sweetie. I’ll be fine,” Carole said and patted her son’s thigh.

“It’s fine,” Bradley said. Carole said that Bradley’s natural calling in life was caregiving. He had been taking care of her since the age of two when his dad died. Of course back then he was still too little to really understand, but when he grew up he filled in the big shoes left behind by Goose. Carole did her best to keep him young, not wanting him to grow up too quickly, but she couldn’t help it.

“How was work?”

“Stupid like it always is before the summer starts. Paul shows the same slides from nineteen eighty-two and we sat in a classroom with one box fan,” Bradley rolled his eyes.

Carole chuckled, “You’ll miss it next year.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Bradley answered and Carole shook her head and pushed herself up from the ground. Bradley helped her to her feet, “Where do you want to go?”

“To bed, please,” Carole said, and Bradley nodded, helping guide her back to her bed, “Can you open the window? I want fresh air.”

Bradley did as she said, opening the large bay window in her bedroom that overlooked the lake. She had bought the house a couple years ago, after the first time she beat cancer. She told Bradley about the night she met his father and they sat on the dock and watched the sunset. Goose had told her some story about knowing the owners, which turned out to be a lie, and they both had to explain to the cop what they were doing on someone else's dock.

Thankfully, at the time Carole’s dad was the chief of police and they both got let off with a warning. But that was the night that both Carole and Goose knew they wanted to marry each other. Goose had told her that he was going to buy the house on the lake, but never got the chance before he died. But Carole did.

“Bradley,” Carole called out to her son. He looked away from the window and over at her, “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” He said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He walked over to her and kissed her forehead, “Get some rest, I have some school stuff to go work on.”

Carole nodded and felt that pit in her stomach grow as Bradley walked out of her room. She hadn’t told him that she was part of the reason why he wasn’t going to the academy. When she told Maverick she didn’t want her son to fly, he didn’t think he’d go as far as pulling Bradley’s papers out of the academy. She thought maybe he’d do something to make him ineligible for flight school, not completely derail his plans. Bradley was beyond devastated when he came home from school and had heard he wasn’t selected for the academy. He cried into his mother’s arms that night and all Carole could do was hold him.

But the devastation quickly subsided when he found out from his Uncle Ice that his application had been pulled. He went through the list of possible suspects and landed on the one person who had been interfering with his whole life. The words Bradley Bradshaw had spewed at Pete Mitchell were evil and fueled by anger. Carole had tried to break up the fight between the two of them, but Pete wouldn’t let her, and took the blame. Pete didn’t want Bradley to spend what could be the last possible months with his mother hating her.

Bradley let out a deep breath as he flopped down on his bed, and laid on his back. He looked up at the glow in the dark stars that had been there since he was ten. Bradley had a hard time throwing things away, which was why he still had the solar system planets hanging down from his ceiling and a Jaws poster that once belonged to his dad hanging on the wall. He smiled softly at the picture of him and his dad that was tapped to his ceiling. He put that up there when he was about eight, and learned a bit more about his dad’s job.

His mind slowly started replaying Y/N’s accent in his head. The soft twang and the way she said his name. It hadn’t even been in a sexual manner, but he was still in love with it. He had heard his name called in various tones and ways, but none had stuck with him like this. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling all the blood rush south. He cursed, this had been happening more since he broke up with Brook. He missed having a girl on speed dial to come over and fix this issue. He hardly even knew this girl, why was he thinking about her moaning his name with that sweet accent.

“Fucking hell, Bradshaw,” Bradley shook his head and reached over for the bottle of lotion on his bedside table, “Get yourself together.”

Y/N kicked the gravel around under her shoe as she waited for her grandmother to show up. She had texted her and told her the class was over, but she doubted that she saw it, or maybe she was still looking for her cheaters to read the text message. If Y/N knew where she was going she would’ve just walked home by now. But the last time she was in Norfolk, Virginia, she was six.

When Y/N’s parents told her that she was being sent to Virginia for the summer, she put up a fight. They had gone totally crazy after they caught her smoking weed in the shed with her now ex boyfriend. Her parents were strict Catholics, which always made Y/N laugh cause her mother hardly ever went to church. Gran had told Y/N that her mother, Jessica, spent most Sunday mornings trying to gather up her shoes and clothes.

Y/N had been a product of a teenage pregnancy, and had spent her whole life being treated as such. Her mother married Craig when Y/N was ten. And two years later came along her little brother and not long after him came her little sister. Both Jessica and Craig had put Y/N aside to care for their children, and paid more attention.

So maybe, the weed smoking was an act of defiance. But she didn’t expect to be exiled to Virginia because of it.

Gran hadn’t been happy about the situation either. When Jessica had Y/N, Gran told her that she was not going to raise another baby. Gran had already raised four kids, three of them were out of the house at the time. Jessica had been a surprise and was six years younger than the last eldest sibling. Gran held strong on her word about raising Y/N for Jessica. Of course, Gran would watch Y/N when she had too and helped provide for her, but it was mainly Jessica’s job. Gran had given Jessica a piece of her mind when Y/N showed up on her front door with a full suitcase and backpack.

Y/N thought she was going to have an easy summer too, but that idea was squashed when Gran woke her up at 7AM and told her to start with chores and that she had a job orientation. If Y/N was living with Gran for the summer, she was going to pay her way and follow the rules. Which, rule number one and the only rule, was no boys. Y/N didn’t think the whole “no boys” thing was gonna be that hard, seeing as mostly every boy she had seen looked like an off the shelf Ken doll. But that was before she saw him.

His brown curls, his hair a bit too long and looked like the beginning of a mullet. The dirty stache above his lip, Y/N guessed he could hardly grow facial hair. His eyes looked like the color of sweet tea when the sun hit them. He had a nice smile and a cute laugh. And she loved the way her name fell from his lips.

The sound of tires crunching on the gravel snapped her out of her thoughts about Bradley. Y/N stood up from the curb and dusted off her shorts seeing her grandmother’s beat up old Grandwagoneer pulling into the parking lot. She gave her Gran a tight lipped smile before getting into the passenger seat.

“How was it?” Her grandmother had to be the only other person in all of Virginia to have a Texas accent.

“Good,” Y/N answered and buckled up. Gran looked her over and Y/N glanced back at her, “What?”

“Nothing,” Gran said, putting the car in drive, “Got your momma’s bike out of the garage and had Leroy fix it up. You’ll take that to work.”

“And if it’s raining?” Y/N asked.

“Pool ain’t open when it rains, sweetheart,” Gran said and Y/N nodded, “When we get home, wash up and come help with dinner.”

Later that night, Y/N laid in the backyard of her grandparents house, wide awake. There was no central air in the house, and her grandfather was cheap and didn’t believe in putting in the window units until the forecast predicted a triple degree day. Being outside was more comfortable than being upstairs in the bedroom that once belonged to her mother. The house sat a bit back from the lake, but Y/N could see the shimmer of the water from the moon’s glow.

She sat up and looked back at the dark house. Her grandparents had gone to bed hours ago, and the cool water was calling her name. She took a deep breath before pushing herself up from the grass and quickly, and quietly walked down towards the lake. She chose to walk on the only dock that didn’t have a boat or jet ski hoist on it, hoping that she was less likely to get caught walking on someone else's property.

The wood creaked and moaned under her weight. She tiptoed as quietly as she could until she got to the end. The water was up pretty high thanks to the influx of rain they had gotten, and it tickled the bottoms of her feet as she dangled her legs over the end of the dock.

It was peaceful. Not a single boat or jetski out at night. Even the crickets were quiet and the only sound that could be heard was the small waves crashing against the rocks. Occasionally the sight of glowing fireflies caught her eye. She could remember running around in her Gran’s backyard with her mother trying to capture them in a jar. Oh how did she wish she could go back to those days.

Y/N bit her lip as an idea came to her head. There was not a single soul out and the night was pitch black. She stood up from the dock, grabbing the bottom hem of her long sundress, she pulled it over her head. She slipped her underwear down her legs and threw them into the heap of dress sitting on the dock. Ever so carefully she lowered herself into the cold lake water, trying to make as little splash as possible. When she slipped in, she went completely underwater, feeling refreshed by the water. She giggled as she waded in the water on her back, feeling her hair float out around her. Her eyes were trained on the sky, trying to figure out the patterns in the stars.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Y/N quickly sat up and covered her chest, seeing the boy from earlier in the day standing by her clothes.

“Brandon, right?” Y/N asked.

“Bradley,” He corrected, “And you didn’t answer my question. . . what the hell are you doing?”

Y/N held her arms out and gestured to the water, “Swimming.”

“At ten pm?” She nodded, “Naked?” She blushed but nodded again. Bradley shook his head and squatted down to be closer to her level. Y/N swam closer to him, keeping eye contact the whole time. Even at night his eyes still looked warm and inviting.

“How’s the water?” He asked.

“Good,” Y/N said, “You should join me.”

Bradley smirked, “I’m gonna let you in a little secret, Tex, since you’re not from around here.”

“And that is?”

“You get caught swimming naked in the lake, it's a thousand dollar fine and a free ride down to the station.” Her smile dropped at his words, “I stopped my mom from calling the cops, can’t be so sure about the Hamiltons next door.”

“I didn’t bring a towel,” She spoke softly. Bradley smiled as he held up a towel in his hand.

“C’mon, I’ll help ya,” He reached his hand out towards her. She gently placed her smaller hand in his large one. She could see the muscles in his arm flex as she took it, ready to pull her out. But Y/N had a trick up her sleeve as she wrapped both her hands around Bradley’s and pulled him in.

“Shit!” Bradley yelled and tossed the towel on the dock as he went in head first. Y/N giggled as he broke the surface, huffing and puffing, “Oh you think this is funny, Bama!”

“Hilarious, Bentley,” Y/N said, slowly swimming away from him. Bradley moved towards her, kind of like Jaws coming for his prey. Neither one seemed to care for Y/N’s lack of clothing as they splashed about in the water.

Carole stepped out onto the back porch, feeling the cool night air whip past her. She pulled the sleeves of her cardigan tighter around her body as she crossed her arms over her chest. A smile danced on her lips as she watched Bradley splash water onto the girl, her giggle filling the air. It was like deja vu, as Carole closed her eyes and remembered a night quite like this one several years ago. The sound of her husband's voice filled her head as she felt a warm wind brush against her. She opened her eyes and looked back towards the lake to see Bradley holding the girl in his arms, his lips on hers. Carole shook her head with a small laugh.

“Bradley James Bradshaw. . . what have you gotten yourself into,” Carole whispered to herself as she set an extra beach towel on the back steps and then went back inside.

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20th-century-railroading · 5 months

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Norfolk Southern - Tuscaloosa, AL by d.w.davidson Via Flickr: NS GP38-2 No. 5116 is about to hammer the Gulf & Mississippi diamond at the abandoned Mobile & Ohio Tower, in October 1986.

#ns #norfolk southern #1986 #trains #freight train #history #tuscaloosa #alabama

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skull-designs · 1 year

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It Looks So Peaceful (3)

The abandoned church of St Edmund, Southwood, Norfolk.

#cemetery #graveyard #gravestone #abandoned church #peaceful

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foragerknits · 3 months

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The Queer Politics of Craftivism: Crafting Trans Joy Through Quilting

Right photo by @transjoyquilt, left by @poppythewitch (posted to @transjoyquilt) on IG

This essay was presented by me at a Queer conference at my University, and discusses queer craftivism in a historical context and contemporary one through the work of the Nortfolk Trans Joy Community Quilt. As a fiber artist, getting to talk with my professors and peers about craftivism was a big honor. It also couldn't be done without the publisher of The Norfolk Trans Joy Community Quilt Zine, Common Threads Press. Living in the US and on a time crunch they sent me a digital copy. All references are at the end of the essay, which I absolutely recommend reading, but I'd totally be willing to post other great resources that didn't make it into the final draft but are great works on queer craftivism.

The Queer Politics of Craftivism: Crafting Trans Joy Through Quilting

“Craftivism,” a term popularized by activist and writer Betsy Greer, is the intersection of “crafting” and “activism.” Trans and queer activists have adopted the term to craft materials to express queer joy and resilient community in the face of abandonment and oppression by the state. Craftivism, while certainly involving anger, centers joy and love for the self and community. One of the most famous queer craftivist projects is the NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt created in 1987 which memorialized thousands of people who died from AIDS and offered a way for the queer community to mourn. In this paper, I want to look at the Norfolk Trans Joy Community quilt to offer a more recent example of craftism that continues the political legacy of the AIDS Memorial Quilt. The Norfolk Trans Joy Community quilt was created earlier this year by trans people and allies in Norwich, England to offer trans people community and to highlight trans joy in a society that is continually working to criminalize the trans body.

Craftivism has existed long before Betsy Greer popularized the name, and its influence reaches outside of queer circles, however one of the most notable works of craftivism is the NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt. The government response to the AIDS crisis early in the epidemic was incredibly flawed and lacking with Ronald Reagan’s administration staying almost completely silent on AIDS until 1987 their only comments minimizing the scope of the epidemic on the queer community (Oritz 85). Reagan’s administration abandoned queer people to fend for themselves during the AIDS epidemic, needlessly allowing for thousands of people to die. The NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt, created in 1987, was crafted in protest to the government’s abandonment of queer people and to mourn as a community. The quilt initially consisted of 1,920 squares, each memorializing a person who died of AIDS, made by themselves or those who loved them (“The History of the Quilt”). Cleve Jones, the man who conceived the quilt, hoped that it would serve as a communal form of healing in dealing with the great loss the community was feeling, but also to publicly shame the government for their apathy and failure towards the queer community (“AIDS Memorial Quilt”). People combined their anger towards the governent and love and sadness towards losing someone close to them and channeled it into a quilt showcasing their emotions. Scholar Daniel Fountain writes in their essay “‘Queer Quilts’: A Patchworked History,” “Although the blocks can be exhibited independently of one another, the idea is that each panel – each life– would never be isolated or alone, even in death” (qtd in “The Norfolk Trans Joy Community Quilt Zine” 7). The AIDS quilt simultaneously allowed queer people to come together as a community and mourn those they had lost, while also spotlighting the fact that the government did not acknowledge the scope of the epidemic.

The conventional definition of “crafting” is gendered as one that is feminine and therefore “lower.” Art forms of knitting, embroidery, quilting, etc., come to mind over the more “masculine” and therefore more legitimate mediums of writing, painting, etc,. Associations with craft and queerness are tied, that they’re both too feminine and not as legitimate than their more recognized counterparts. Artist Ben Cuevas writes of their personal connection to the link of crafting and queerness stating, “by knitting with my male body, and referencing that in my work, I’m queering gendered constructs of craft,” (qtd in Chaich & Oldham 137). Queer people recognize the connection between the connotations of queerness and craft, and use it to materially render queer and trans experiences, including expressing joy and love for their community.

Crafting, specifically quilting, is used to express queer joy due to the symbolic nature of quilts, and what the gift of a quilt means. The gift of a quilt tells someone that they love and care for them, that in a literal sense you never want them to be cold and alone. Quilting teacher and writer Thomas Knauer in his essay “The Gift of a Quilt is an Act of Love” writes of the symbolism present in giving quilts, “warmth — once a literal protection against the elements — is also a symbolic means of protection, and our desire to protect is a reflection of the love we feel for another.” People make quilts to express love. Furthermore, the gift of a quilt involves incredible amounts of patience and care. Quilts are not really practical as people in modern life have access to cheaper ready-made blankets, yet people spend weeks and months picking out fabric, and cutting and sewing them for another person to show their love. The Norfolk Trans Joy Community Quilt does this for an entire community of people. Individual squares are sewn together to become an entire quilt of trans people expressing their love for themselves and their community, that they do not want themselves or any trans person to be without joy or community.

Queer craftivism subverts the idea of quilting as a symbol of cis-heteronormativity, instead making it a symbol of community. In their essay “‘Queer Quilts’: A Patchworked History,” Daniel Fountain writes of gendered associations of quilts, saying, “quilts are still largely associated with milestones in cis-heteronormative culture – birth, marriage, and death – and they are typically passed down through generations of biological family members, usually through matrilineality.” (Norfolk Trans Joy Community Quilt Zine 6). However in queer crafting, instead of marriage and family as the sole climactic moment in a person’s life worthy of a quilt, it is the moment in which a person expresses joy in being trans and queer that is worthy of a quilt. Community becomes family, which is important when many trans folks are shunned by their families and the matrilineal line is broken or strained.

Trans joy is important now more than ever in a world that is increasingly criminalizing the trans body. The media has increasingly portrayed trans people as predators and dangerous, with CPAC speaker Michael Knowles stating earlier this year that “transgenderism must be eradicated from public life entirely,” (qtd in Wade & Reis). Despite the onslaught of cruelty thrown at trans people, craftivism is used a means to express joy and challenge the narratives against them. K, who created a square for the community quilt and was interviewed about it said, “As much as I want to express my anger, trans joy is defiant. It can’t be legislated out of existence, defanged or sold. It doesn’t have one look and it contradicts itself. Its complexity is powerful, trans joy is a protest in itself” (Norfolk Trans Joy Community Quilt Zine 21). Anger is not absent in craftivism, as it is a response to injustice and abandonment of marginalized groups which rightfully sparks outrage, yet joy is present in them as well, which is an important mode of protest against oppression. In other words, joy and anger are not mutually exclusive categories.

Even when not being portrayed as dangerous, mainstream trans narratives are often filled with the trauma associated with being trans such as the violence inflicted on them, suicide, and survival sex work to name a few. While these are all real issues affecting the trans community, hyperfocusing on these issues in the media creates a false narrative that trans people are joyless, which the Trans Community Quilt hopes to reject. Alex, another person who contributed to the quilt and was interviewed said, “It helps to combat the tragedy of trans lives in lots of mainstream media, even in sympathetic cases.” (The Norfolk Trans Joy Community Quilt Zine 18). Instead of fetishizing trans folks through the lens of traumatic tragedy, the quilt highlights the joy in being transgender. K’s square features a pun which says “Orange you glad trans people exist?” Another square made by a person named Josh is an embroidered rendering of Josh’s chest nine months post top surgery. The quilt rejects the narrative that trans people are dangerous and tragic, but rather spotlighting the joy for self and community in being transgender. The focus on joy is not at the expense of histories of pain or struggle.

The creation of the Trans Community quilt was largely community focused, with recurring workshops for queer community members to gather and create. Workshops included free materials and instruction for creating the squares in addition to providing a safe community space for community members. Therefore the quilt was truly made by the trans community of Norwich, and even after its creation the quilt will go on to be exhibited at various queer and trans events across England. The conceptors Beau Brannick and Alice Bigsby-Bye write, “The project aims to return ownership of queer collections to their communities and empower people to access, discover, and contribute to the objects that reflect their shared histories” (5). The quilt is also therefore owned by the queer and trans community in addition to being made by and for the community.

Craftivism has existed for a long time, with a notable queer example being the NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt, and these kinds of projects have gone onto inspire others such as the Norfolk Trans Joy Community Quilt. The Trans Joy Quilt centers trans joy and community rather than suffering. This research as well as the work being done by queer and trans craftivists is important because activism that centers joy and resilient community is needed more than ever in a society that is working to criminalize the trans body.

Works Cited

“AIDS Memorial Quilt,” Williams College Museum of Art, March 17, 2019, https://artmuseum.williams.edu/aids-memorial-quilt/

Chaich, John & Oldham, Todd, Queer Threads: Crafting Identity & Community, AMMO Books, 2017.

Knauer, Thomas. “The Gift of a Quilt is an Act of Love,” Hachette Book Group, https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/storey/gift-quilt-act-love/#:~:text=the%20room%20symbolically.-,The%20gift%20of%20a%20quilt%20is%20an%20act%20of%20love,those%20they%20are%20given%20to

“The History of the Quilt,” National AIDS Memorial, https://www.aidsmemorial.org/quilt-history

The Norfolk Trans Joy Community Quilt Zine, Common Threads Press, 2023.

Ortiz, Jacqueline A. (2023) "Silence From the Great Communicator: The Early Years of the AIDS Epidemic Under the Reagan Administration," Swarthmore Undergraduate History Journal: 4 (2), 76-99. https://works.swarthmore.edu/suhj/vol4/iss2/6

Wade, Peter & Reis, Patrick. “CPAC Speaker Calls for Eradication of ‘Transgenderism’ — and Somehow Claims He’s Not Calling for Elimination of Transgender People.” Rolling Stone, March 6, 2023, https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-news/cpac-speaker-transgender-people-eradicated-1234690924/

#quilting #craftivism #queer community #queer crafts #craftblr #queer history #trans #trans joy #aidsquilt

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afragmentcastadrift · 1 year

Photo

Weber parts

#urbex #abandoned spaces #norfolk #fragphotos #holga #lomography

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adventure-showdown · 6 months

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What is your favourite Doctor Who story?

ROUND 1 MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

The Left-Handed Hummingbird

Synopsis

He took up a firing stance, holding the thirty-eight out in front of him. "Mr Lennon?" he said.

1968: Cristian Alvarez meets the Seventh Doctor in London.

1978: The great temple of the Aztecs is discovered in Mexico.

1980: John Lennon is murdered in New York.

1994: A gunman runs amok in Mexico City.

Each time, Cristian is there. Each time, he experiences the Blue, a traumatic psychic shock. Only the Doctor can help him – but the Doctor has problems of his own. Following the events of Blood Heat and the Dimension Riders, the Doctor knows that someone or something has been tinkering with time. Now he finds that events in his own past have been altered – and a lethal force from South America's prehistory has been released.

The Doctor, Ace and Bernice travel to the Aztec Empire in 1487, to London in the Swinging Sixties, and to the sinking of the Titanic as they attempt to rectify the temporal faults -- and survive the attacks of the living god Huitzilin.

Propaganda

First story from Kate Orman! It’s weird, strange, and uniquely her! (@finalpam8000 )

Human Nature

Synopsis

"Who's going to save us this time?"

April, 1914. The inhabitants of the little Norfolk town of Farringham are enjoying an early summer, unaware that war is on the way. Amongst them is Dr John Smith, a short, middle-aged history teacher from Aberdeen. He's having a hard time with his new post as house master at Hulton College, a school dedicated to producing military officers.

Bernice Summerfield is enjoying her holiday in the town, getting over the terrible events that befell her in France. But then she meets a future Doctor, and things start to get dangerous very quickly. With the Doctor she knows gone, and only a suffragette and an elderly rake for company, can Benny fight off a vicious alien attack? And will Dr Smith be able to save the day?

Propaganda

the tv adaptation of this has tighter writing but the book has. idk a lot of stuff in it that's interesting that unfortunately didn't make it into the episodes. i think they should fight (October)

Lungbarrow

Synopsis

"Nonsense, child", retorted the Doctor. "Grandfather indeed! I've never seen you before in my life!"

All is not well on Gallifrey. Chris Cwej is having someone else's nightmares. Ace is talking to herself. So is K9. Leela has stumbled on a murderous family conspiracy. And the beleaguered Lady President, Romanadvoratrelundar, foresees one of the most tumultuous events in her planet's history.

At the root of all is an ancient and terrible place, the House of Lungbarrow in the southern mountains of Gallifrey. Something momentous is happening there. But the House has inexplicably gone missing.

673 years ago the Doctor left his family in that forgotten House. Abandoned, disgraced and resentful, they have waited. And now he's home at last.

In this, the Seventh Doctor's final New Adventure, he faces a threat that could uncover the greatest secret of them all.

Propaganda

cornerstone of weird doctor who lore and jokes about looms (anonymous)

Is it good? No. But damn if it doesn't cause some good fandom fights. #LoomRights (@eighthdoctor)

The Blood Cell

Synopsis

"Release the Doctor — or the killing will start."

An asteroid in the furthest reaches of space — the most secure prison for the most dangerous of criminals. The Governor is responsible for the worst fraudsters and the cruellest murderers. So he's certainly not impressed by the arrival of the man they're calling the most dangerous criminal in the quadrant. Or, as he prefers to be known, the Doctor.

What does impress the Governor is the way the new prisoner immediately sets about trying to escape. And keeps trying. Finally, he sends for the Doctor and asks him why? But the answer surprises even the Governor. And then there's the threat — unless the Governor listens to the Doctor, a lot of people will die.

Who is the Doctor and what's he really doing here? Why does he want to help the Governor? And who is the young woman who comes every day to visit him, only to be turned away by the guards?

When the killing finally starts, the Governor begins to get his answers...

Propaganda

12 and Clara's greatest adventure, some really exciting moments, cool plot, a very good side chracter, just fun times (anonymous)

Engines of War

Synopsis

"The death of billions is as nothing to us, Doctor, if it helps defeat the Daleks."

The Great Time War has raged for centuries, ravaging the universe. Scores of human colony planets are now overrun by Dalek occupation forces. A weary, angry Doctor leads a flotilla of Battle TARDISes against the Dalek stronghold but in the midst of the carnage, the Doctor's TARDIS crashes to a planet below: Moldox.

As the Doctor is trapped in an apocalyptic landscape, Dalek patrols roam amongst the wreckage, rounding up the remaining civilians. But why haven't the Daleks simply killed the humans?

Searching for answers the Doctor meets 'Cinder', a young Dalek hunter. Their struggles to discover the Dalek plan take them from the ruins of Moldox to the halls of Gallifrey, and set in motion a chain of events that will change everything. And everyone.

An epic novel of the Great Time War featuring the War Doctor as played by John Hurt.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

#round 1

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sharoscylla · 10 months

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Upright: Second chances, tenacity, survival against all odds, devotion to family, self-acceptance, healing, humor

Reversed: Despair, martyrdom, loss of identity, self-loathing, fear of abandonment, self-harm, addiction

Norfolk Island Pine, Forget-Me-Nots, Jade, Star Sapphire, Rabbits

“If on your journey, you should encounter God, God will be cut.”

#ripley savage #one sword au #ripley savage god-killer #tarot card #tarot design #ngl if i ever draw the one sword tarot deck jheselbraum used once in the fic this is the ripley card #<<an old tag I used once and ended up inspiring me to draw this

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thewales · 2 years

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The Telegraph:

Christmas at Sandringham among royal traditions to be kept alive by King Charles

Christmas would not be Christmas without the Royal family on parade at Sandringham and it is a tradition the King is expected to keep alive as he seeks to maintain a sense of continuity.

The royals will gather at the King’s Norfolk estate in December to mark the first festive season any of them have known without Queen Elizabeth at the helm, sources believe.

It will likely be the first time all generations are seen en masse since the late Queen’s funeral.

Similarly, the King is likely to maintain the services of the royal piper, who has played beneath the sovereign’s window every morning since Queen Victoria’s reign.

King to maintain rituals

While the King will undoubtedly introduce his own traditions and will reign in a different way to his mother, he will maintain the many rituals to which the public is accustomed.

They include Trooping the Colour, the monarch’s annual birthday parade, which dates back to the time of Charles II and is celebrated in June.

The King’s birthday is November 14 but, just like his predecessors, he will now enjoy a second “official” birthday, when the Household Division troops the King’s colour and he takes the salute.

However, next year’s Trooping might be abandoned if, as expected, the Coronation falls around that date.

You can read the full article for free here

#BRF

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doctorbrown · 5 months

Note

You once said that Doc's dog is his most important tool. How did Doc get his dog? Is there a special story behind their meeting? Or his naming of his dog?

So!!

It's late 1949 and Doc is still not only working through the aftermath of '45, but he's trying to once again find his footing in the world after having spent the last several years working on the bomb at Los Alamos.

Circa '46, he and a few other scientists are recruited to work on a classified project straight after the war's end and Doc, cautious but hopeful, accepts, desperately in need of money, a change of environment, and a new creative outlet.

The job, unfortunately, does not pan out, doing more harm than good to Doc overall. He gets fired. In the interim, he decides that he's better off trying to work on his own and sort things out. Doc starts the first iteration of what will eventually become E. Brown Enterprises, 24-hour scientific services (more or less a front by '85, but he has actually gotten the odd job throughout the years) and works freelance as a mechanic, repairman, and fledgling engineer. He makes house calls, repairs faulty equipment, and even improves on some already existing designs to make the lives of the people who call upon him just a little bit better.

It works, for a time, but Doc is incredibly lonely, still dealing with the pangs of guilt. He has always wanted a dog—his father didn't allow pets growing up because they were noisy and messy; a hassle, really—and what with his young acceptance to university and his job as a professor straight after graduation which eventually led to his being snapped up for the Manhattan Project, the window simply was never there to allow him to get a dog.

But as he's reading the paper one night, there are ads from the local shelter listing various dogs up for adoption and he decides, finally, that this could be good for him. So Doc goes down there and adopts his very first dog, a Norfolk Terrier that he's named Copernicus. Copernicus is energetic, friendly, and took an almost immediate liking to Doc. There was simply no better choice.

He's always been partial to the idea of adopting a dog; whenever he got the chance to, he always told himself that he'd go to a shelter and pick out one of the lonely, abandoned dogs that were in need of good, loving homes. That, coupled with the fact that it was much more cost-effective to adopt a dog considering in '49, his father's fortune had not yet come to him, so he had only the money he earned up until that point working at CalTech and on the Manhattan Project, made it the obvious choice.

Doc's first dog, Copernicus, was adopted out of a need for a very specific kind of companionship at that point in his life. He needed a friend, the unconditional love and affection that a dog would give without judgment, as well as someone that would keep him going and remind him that things got better. Copernicus was someone Doc could focus his attentions on in a positive way and who kept Doc on a schedule, reminding him that it was time to eat, to go for walks, to just get up and out and about.

Two lonely, down on their luck souls. Yeah, there's a little bit of poetry in their meeting.

It just so happened that his canine companion(s) would prove invaluable help with his scientific endeavours as well, aiding him in the lab.

Regarding Doc's naming conventions for his dogs, since science and the brilliant scientific minds of the past (and present) have been big inspirations/role-models for Doc, it made sense to him that he name his dear companions after such incredible figures in history. At the time, he chose Copernicus because not only was Copernicus a very, for his time, out of the box thinker, so to speak, challenging the accepted view of the cosmos with his heliocentric theory that so branded him a heretic, but it was for this theory, the planets revolving around the sun, that there's also a deeper layer of meaning to the name, as now that Doc had a dog to care for, his life would essentially revolve around his canine companion, making sure he was well and happy.

Sun and planets, anyone?

Anyway, that trend just continued with all the dogs he'd rescue over the years. Edison was next, named so for the light that he would bring to Doc's life. He was also the first dog adopted in the Hill Valley area, as Copernicus was still alive at the time of Doc's father's passing and his return to Hill Valley to move into the Brown mansion. Following Edison was Einstein, aptly named for his breed and his long white hair. Sheepdogs are incredibly intelligent, as was one of his greatest heroes, Einstein, and so the name was perfect.

#timeguardians #&; a great idea can change the world 「 hc 」#&; all your questions will be answered! 「 asks 」#DOC'S DOGS ARE *SO* IMPORTANT TO HIM #he loved every dog so much and yeah you can argue in ways they've saved him #when i say they're his most valuable tool i don't just mean because they can identify the proper equipment in the lab and bring it to him

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