- Joined
- Dec 13, 2017
Sophie Labelle Verville / Guillaume Labelle / Serious Trans Vibes Comics / Assigned Male / Candycore Comics / Pastel Sexy Times / WafflesArt - Obnoxious webcomics and horrific porn by a crazy fat pedo troon
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- Start date
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2017
Imagine being this bad at jokes.
Jesus Christ, imagine thinking too that you know more about a medical condition than the one who is legally qualified.
- Joined
- Jan 15, 2014
Billy is part of a culture that believes people automatically deserve reward based upon how oppressed they are. It’s why his comics are still shit after so many years. Nobody actually likes them, as long as he continues being oppressed. Notice how he made a big song-and-dance about coming out as a pedo, only to quieten down when he realised that wasn’t a great look. No oppression, no money.
What exactly are they meant to be bitter about, according to Billy? I can’t figure it out.
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- Joined
- Dec 13, 2017
Some art from Am Stram Gram on WebTroon
Medusa at the hairdressing saloon
REE JK Rowling planted a whomping willow just for me!
Medusa at the hairdressing saloon
REE JK Rowling planted a whomping willow just for me!
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
Ironically there have been some really good comics with LGBT themes. As with all things, these SJW turds act like they invented shit that was done way better than they do it often before they were born. Love and Rockets is one example of an excellent comic with LGBT themes done in a tasteful way while also being a classic of the genre.
AM is just poorly drawn Dobson-tier shit by a pedophile with a shit message and even shittier art.
- Joined
- Dec 24, 2018
Good grief, his art got even worse. I didn't think that was possible.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
What the fuck, Bill decided to use this absolute piece of shit, atrocious even by his incredibly low standards, as a cover? What the fuck is going on with that eye literally popping out of his head and bulging out a foot to the side of his skull? Did Bill seriously look at this and say, yeah, this is cover material?
There are actually a few fairly open white nationalists, but you don't notice the ones who don't post exclusively on A&N because they actually post on topic instead of constantly sperging.
- Joined
- Dec 6, 2020
White nationalism and Nazism are different things, though.
That said, sperging about what brand of autism KF users are isn't the purpose of this thread.
- Joined
- May 23, 2018
This is why it's hilarious to see rat kings like LabellEnd wondering why they get thrown away like a used napkin the minute they get caught doing weird kinky shit. Kids these days absorbed the age-ism from fashionable twans, they also love kink-shaming and pedo-hunting which they also picked up from SJW tumblr, so anything with even a whiff of nonce like LaBalls is a no-go for them. They might be leaving him alone because it's not fashionable to attack an activist troon, but they won't retweet/retumble/give "engagements" to Soph on main anymore. How's it feel to be "old out of touch hag" and a pedo to boot?
Baby lurk-a-lot
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 11, 2021
It's really weird in the original comic he's complaining about people trying to be good to trans people, except for the fourth panel when he's complaining about something nobody says. Almost like he has no real problem or something
Also I dont' get why he precised "white" about the last person like it's something relevant when he drew half of his "enemies" black..
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- Joined
- Dec 13, 2017
New chapter from his Mary-Sue wanking fapfiction on Patreon
Billy Ciel is jacking off joking on cute boys in swimsuit
Edit: Billy remembered to write the drag talent show story arc
Wish Upon a Satellite - chapter 2
It's TDoV! Thank you for your support that allows me to keep doing this work. Here's the second chapter of Wish Upon a Satellite. The following chapters are going to be for $3+ Patrons only! Can't wait to read your comments on this one.
***
Chapter 2
My dad and I cross the river at the height of the Deux-Montagnes lake, from which you can see two mountains that look like a pair of butt cheeks, to hop from the Montreal Island to the Perrot island to the mainland to the island of Valleyfield, where the dam and the Beauharnois locks - our first goal - are located. As we planned, we arrive there at around 1pm, right in time for lunch. My dad and I are experts at this.
We unpack our food on a picnic table in the park near the huge locks that allow cargo boats from the Great Lakes to avoid the Saint Lawrence dam, their last big obstacle before the ocean. My mom used to take us here, my brother and I, to look at the boats going up and down from one lock to another. Which is why I chose this place as one of the goals of our last cycling trip of the year.
I read on one of the boats,
“Mil-wau-kee..? Where’s that, again?”
“In Wisconsin, near Chicago. It’s by Lake Michigan.”
Some of these boats are coming from pretty far away and going even further. Detroit, Toronto, Rochester, Chicago… they all have to stop here before going to China or New Zealand or wherever they feel like. It always fascinated me how this small stream could open up the rest of the world to an entire continent.
Before we eat, I take a picture of the cargo ship from Milwaukee to send it to Stéphie and Liam, along with a message saying that I’m still alive. I didn’t update them on our journey before now, since Stéphie was probably still asleep, and Liam had his competition this morning and I figured he might be busy. Liam replies instantly :
“A boat?? I thought you were cycling today!”
“Oh, you.”
He proceeds to send me a picture of the pool from his seat. There must be a hundred boys in swimsuits going around, and I can’t resist joking about it.
“Nice view!”
“I know, right? Such lovely sights. Gotta go now! It’ll be my turn in half an hour.”
“You got this!”
“Thanks! Have a nice ride.”
When I put my phone down, my dad is done arranging our picnic on the table. He looks at me :
“What’s that grin on your face?”
“It’s Liam, he’s at a swimming competition in New York.”
“I hope he’s doing well.”
“Can’t be better, surrounded by all these cute boys.”
“I see. That’s what’s happening.”
I smile at my dad, who looks back at me with suspicion in his eyes. He knows that I asked Liam out a couple of weeks ago and that he said no, and now he probably wonders if joking about cute boys with him makes me feel better. He probably knows it doesn’t. He probably wants me to tell him I’m fine.
I take a bite of my veggie wrap after dipping it in garlic hummus.
“I think I might be bisexual.”
My dad’s eyes open wide. He wasn’t prepared for that. I mean, he doesn’t look surprised, just… unprepared. How can anything surprise him? My parents thought I was gay since I was a toddler. I’ve been verbalizing the fact that I wasn’t really a boy most of my life. I told him I was in love with a boy in my class when I was 7. I managed to pass French with an average of 64%, last year. So nothing can really surprise him anymore.
He starts eating his chicken wrap.
“Is that what’s been on your mind, today?”
“Kinda..?”
“I was worried you were going through a heartbreak.”
I laugh.
“No, not at all. I think it’s the opposite of a heartbreak.”
“Oh, really? Someone I know?”
I take a sip from my box of soy milk.
“Well, yesterday, when I went to Stéphie’s place, we kind of… kissed?”
My dad raises a very high eyebrow. He stops chewing for a short moment. Now, that’s the face he makes when he’s genuinely surprised.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“So that’s serious?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know. It was confusing. We haven’t really talked about it afterwards. She fell asleep. But it was nice.”
My dad eats some more and touches the bridge of his nose. Something’s bothering him. The silence makes me uncomfortable. I continue :
“It’s not like we are a couple, now. We were cuddling and it happened. I wouldn’t mind it happening again, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You have to be careful with these things. You have a precious and rare friendship with Stéphie. You told me she just broke up with her boyfriend?”
“Frank? Yeah, for like, the twentieth time.”
“It sounds like she was struggling. Maybe it’s a bit rushed?”
“Dad, we’re not getting married. We were simply cuddling, and, and… I shouldn’t have told you about this.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. I’m just worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I don’t say anything else and concentrate on food. When my dad calls me “Alex”, I know he’s being serious. I make an attempt at changing the subject :
“So we’re getting on the maritime cycling path now?”
“Not quite yet. There’s another 3 or 4 hours to cycle before getting there.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember. We need to go through Kahnawake.”
“That’s what we did last time, but I think it would actually be quicker if we went through the fields, instead. Here…”
He takes out a map from one of the bags. We both have phones with map apps, but my dad always carries some paper ones. I find it a bit silly and more complicated, but it’s part of the tradition. Also, it’s hilarious to see him struggle to fold it back in place each time.
“See this road? It takes us to Châteauguay, and this is the road to Kahnawake, the Mohawk town. But if we cut here, and follow the Châteauguay river for a bit… Did you know there are two towns named “Châteauguay” very nearby? One at the source of the river, in Upstate New York, and one at the mouth of it, over there, facing Montreal’s West Island.
“Ha ha. ‘Châteauguay’. Gay castle.”
“That’s definitely the funniest part of what I just said.”
“I know!”
“Anyway, we follow the river for a bit. We pass Highway 30. We get to a cycling path that takes us through some fields, all the way to the maritime cycling path, right there, in Sainte-Catherine.”
“Sweet. Let’s do that.”
* * *
If it were summer, it would have been painful to spend the day cycling under the sun like we’re doing today. But, luckily for us, the air is fresh and the colder temperature compensates for the intense sun.
It’s almost 4pm when we reach the maritime cycling path. It used to be just a narrow string of rocks in the Saint Lawrence river that created a clear channel for boats to navigate past the rapids near Montreal. It was repurposed into a cycling path some decades ago, or so my dad told me.
Both sides of the cycling path are covered in trees and bushes against which the waves of the Saint Lawrence come crashing, and right now, in the midst of fall, most of the maple trees have already turned red. I keep asking my dad to stop so I can take pictures of them.
“See the bridge over there? That’s where we cross back on Montreal’s island. At the end of the maritime cycling path, we’ll end up on Notre Dame island, where we could take a break before the last stretch back home. Sounds good?”
Once we get there and find a spot to settle down for a bit, I send my favourite picture of the fiery maples to Stéphie and Liam. While we were cycling, Stéphie finally got up and heart-reacted the boat picture I’d sent her. When she sees the new one, she writes :
“Wow! Almost makes me want to go outside. Almost.”
“You should! It’s so pretty right now.”
“Just like you!”
I feel my cheeks turning red. It’s silly, because we always say that kind of shit to each other. I’m not sure if she’s flirting with me or simply being my BFF. Because everytime one of us says something that could apply to themself, the other says “just like you”. For example, if someone casually mentions : “This sword has been forged by gods in the blood of a hundred mortals”, the other says “just like you”, and it’s like a free compliment and a nice figure of speech. Very poetic. The first person then says “Awww!” and the other winks. So I go :
“Awww!”
And she writes :
“
”
I hesitate before writing anything else. I have no clue where Stéphie wants to take this. So I inquire :
“How are you feeling?”
“Burnt. I don’t want to do anything today.”
“Not even the book report Ms. Campeau gave us last Friday?”
“That doesn’t count. That’s fun.”
I can’t help but make a squinting face. No way my dyslexic ass would get any fun out of reading a novel for the sake of writing a report about it. The dancing ellipsis appears, and Stéphie sends me a new message :
“Thanks again for coming to my rescue yesterday night. You’re the bestest.”
“Anytime! <3”
“<3”
I must be smiling way too carelessly because my dad seems to notice. He laughs and says :
“Focus! Eat your snack. I want to be home by 7:30 at the latest.”
“Are we getting delivery for dinner?”
“You bet. I’m pooped.”
“Virgile could cook for us!”
“We would end up with cereal for dinner. I learned my lesson.”
We both laugh, thinking about the last time Virgile took care of cooking. He managed to mess up spaghetti so badly that we couldn’t even finish our plates.
I pick some granola bars and an apple out of the bag and start eating. My dad continues:
“Did I ever tell you about how they made this island we’re on?”
“What do you mean? It’s not a real island?”
“Well, it’s a real island, I assure you you’re not dreaming it, but it’s human-made. When they built Montreal’s subway, for the Universal Exposition in 1967, all the earth they excavated from the ground was transported by trucks and dumped here, in the middle of the river.”
I look all around me. I have trouble believing I would be sitting in the middle of the river, some fifty years ago.
“That was part of the exposition. Montrealers wanted to show all the feats they could accomplish.”
“That’s silly. There's already tons of islands here and there.”
“I’m just telling you. That island wasn’t there, and now it is.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know!”
I finish eating, thinking about dams and flooded areas and artificial islands and the big bridge I’m about to cross. Before we leave, my phone vibrates. It’s a notification from my Discord app that reads “Liam Johnson sent you a picture.” I unlock the screen and see what Liam sent: a selfie of himself with a police officer. Except that the police officer looks particularly annoyed, which contrasts with Liam’s big smile and cheery eyes.
“Did you get in trouble??”
“You have no idea, mate. The entire NYPD probably hates me now.”
“What happened??”
“Hahaha! Can’t explain right now. I’m safe, I’m already at the airport.”
“WTF Liam”
“Hahaha”
“How did the tournament go?”
“Meh. Not too bad. We qualified for finals, and one of my teammates got 8th place. I didn’t make it to the leaderboard tho.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I really have to go, now, we’re taking off and my phone is already supposed to be on airplane mode. Hope you’re having fun! Byyyyye”
* * *
Once we have passed the gigantic green Jacques-Cartier bridge, we cycle on Papineau Street until we reach the Visitation slope. My dad is completely exhausted and he needs to walk his bicycle up, but I manage to find some scraps of energy in my calves and work my way to the top from where we can see Lafontaine Park.
This time, I actually know a bit of history about that park and I don’t need my dad to remind me about it; it’s named after Louis-Hippolyte Lafontaine, the first French-speaking Canadian prime minister whose life story inspired Stéphie’s and my favourite musical, Lafontaine. Simply looking at the trees and the shape of the huge pond, a couple of blocks away, reminds me of that vision I had the other night of Stéphie and I going to see the show, next month, as a couple. Maybe I’d wear some kind of dapper outfit. I know Stéphie has a thing for suits. And we’d go to the restaurant beforehand. That’d be nice. But then, any situation would be nice. Stéphie is great. Also, I should ask her to let me see her book report when she’s done with it, so I can get some inspiration for mine. I should also probably try to give the book a read.
My dad finally joins me at the top of the slope, where I’ve been daydreaming while waiting. He tries to catch his breath. In his defense, he’s carrying most of our stuff, including food, water, changes of clothes, tools, maps, first aid kit, bear tranquilizer (better safe than sorry), and emergency tubes, so his bike must be heavier than mine.
“We’re about 20 minutes away from home. Give me a minute, I’ll send a message to your brother to meet us there.”
Virgile spent the day with Joao. That’s his best friend. He’s probably the reason why my brother speaks much better Portuguese than I do; unlike us, Joao was born in Brazil and his family only arrived in Montreal when he was 5. In kindergarten, he didn’t speak a word of French, so my brother started helping him out since my dad often speaks Portuguese to us.
I sometimes wish I had a Brazilian friend like him growing up. I would have felt less alone. There is this Brazilian kid who is my age, in the enriched program at school (I’m in the regular one). His name is Rafael. He constantly spouts transphobic and homophobic BS, so I don’t think it could ever work between us. Sometimes, when we pass each other in the school hall, we exchange looks, and it’s like we recognize each other - we acknowledge how we are vulnerable in some similar ways. But there’s also fire and shame and disgust. I often feel doomed to only experience an approximated sense of belonging.
We eventually make it home after going through the Maisonneuve park, the one with the foxes and the rabbits, from the cycling freeway on Rachel avenue - my dad always calls it that because during rush hour, this cycling path linking the upper Latin quarter to the East of Montreal becomes completely jam-packed; there’s bicycles everywhere and people are upset and impatient.
Virgile is already home to greet us. Just kidding, he’s too busy playing Minecraft on our PC with his headphones on to even say “hi”. While I start undressing as soon as I walk past the door, my dad manages to extract him from the game :
“How long have you been here? Did you even leave the house today?”
“Of course! I told you I’d be at Joao’s place. Then we came here to play with Borki and give him a walk. Joao left an hour ago.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. Did you?”
I jump into the discussion, entirely naked :
“It was so cool! We saw the hydroelectric dam and the locks in Beauharnois, and the maritime cycling path…”
“Aww! You went to see the locks without me?”
“You said you didn’t want to come.”
“Ha ha! That’s right. I have no regrets, especially when I look at you right now.”
I’m covered in sweat and dust, and my hair feels gross. I hurry to the shower after confirming with my dad that yes, Thai food sounds good, and yes, I’ll have the bamboo special, as usual.
The food arrives and I’m too hungry to take the time to change into my pyjamas, so I eat with a towel wrapped around me as my only garment. Having meals together is important in my family, but we don’t really care for etiquette or good manners as long as we’re all there.
While we eat, Virgile does all the talking, because it’s like that when he gets excited about something, but also because my dad and I are too exhausted to place a word or interrupt him:
“So I told you that our Cub troop needs to raise money for the next camp, right? The winter camp. We’re gonna go to an adventure retreat in the mountains, it’s gonna be sweeeeet. Well, last Friday, the troop leader said ‘we need to gather ideas for things we could do to raise the money for the winter camp’, and I, well I wanted to bake cookies and pastries because it’s so good, and I said ‘how about we bake some cookies and pastries to sell them?’ and the troop leader said ‘it’s a good idea, Virgile’ and Joao was all like ‘yeaaaah’ but Léo said ‘it’s boring’ and Noah, he’s Léo’s friend and he always sides with him even if it’s actually Léo that’s boring, he said ‘anyway, girl scouts already have a monopoly on cookies and pastries’ and the troop leader had to explain what a monopoly is, and he also said ‘girl scouts don’t have the monopoly on anything, anyone can sell cookies’ and then everyone started talking, they always do that, it gets a bit annoying sometimes, and I was there, raising my hand and waiting like at school because anyway, I can’t speak loud enough, but it was too late : Bagheera, the troop leader, said ‘we’re gonna discuss it next week, think about it until then.’”
My brother joined the cubs a couple of months ago, soon after I turned 14, because I was old enough to go to the youth meetings at the LGBT center, but not him, and that made him upset and he wanted some kind of weekly routine too. I’m not jealous, especially not when he starts telling us about the kind of stuff that happens during cub meetings. It’s just irksome how I can’t have anything for myself without him asking for a counterpart.
“So, anyway, Joao and I have been doing some thinking like we were supposed to, and this afternoon, his sister was out and I said ‘let’s play Drag Race’ so we put on outfits - you should see that blue wig Joao has, it’s hilarious, we took some pictures, it’s on my phone, I’ll show you later - and started working on acts, and that’s when it dawned on me : we should have a drag show for the fundraiser! Like a talent show, but with drag queens and lip sync and skits.”
I admire my brother’s enthusiasm, but can’t help but being dubious:
“You’re sure you can get a whole troop of cubs to get on board with doing a drag show? That sounds like a potential train wreck.”
“Well, Joao and I are on board, and I know Gregory’s parents let him watch RuPaul.”
“Then good luck with that.”
“Thanks! Also I could be the MC. Imagine - it would be Dolorès Tragique’s time to shine!”
Dolorès Tragique is Virgile’s drag persona. The character is the rich heir of a French canned tuna empire with a troubled past who decided to make a come-back after decades of being away from the public eye.
When we’re done eating, Virgile begs me to help him take new pictures for Dolorès Tragique’s Instagram account that I helped him set up some time ago. It got quite a lot of followers, especially since Lydia Dynamite, the drag queen who won Canada’s Got Talent last year, tweeted about it. That really got Virgile into drag.
We choose a dress and some accessories for him, and hang a satin curtain on his wall as a background for the pictures. People don’t understand how he can pull out that diva attitude so easily. They are surprised I’m not the one into that kind of stuff. What can I say? He’s a natural.
It's TDoV! Thank you for your support that allows me to keep doing this work. Here's the second chapter of Wish Upon a Satellite. The following chapters are going to be for $3+ Patrons only! Can't wait to read your comments on this one.
***
Chapter 2
My dad and I cross the river at the height of the Deux-Montagnes lake, from which you can see two mountains that look like a pair of butt cheeks, to hop from the Montreal Island to the Perrot island to the mainland to the island of Valleyfield, where the dam and the Beauharnois locks - our first goal - are located. As we planned, we arrive there at around 1pm, right in time for lunch. My dad and I are experts at this.
We unpack our food on a picnic table in the park near the huge locks that allow cargo boats from the Great Lakes to avoid the Saint Lawrence dam, their last big obstacle before the ocean. My mom used to take us here, my brother and I, to look at the boats going up and down from one lock to another. Which is why I chose this place as one of the goals of our last cycling trip of the year.
I read on one of the boats,
“Mil-wau-kee..? Where’s that, again?”
“In Wisconsin, near Chicago. It’s by Lake Michigan.”
Some of these boats are coming from pretty far away and going even further. Detroit, Toronto, Rochester, Chicago… they all have to stop here before going to China or New Zealand or wherever they feel like. It always fascinated me how this small stream could open up the rest of the world to an entire continent.
Before we eat, I take a picture of the cargo ship from Milwaukee to send it to Stéphie and Liam, along with a message saying that I’m still alive. I didn’t update them on our journey before now, since Stéphie was probably still asleep, and Liam had his competition this morning and I figured he might be busy. Liam replies instantly :
“A boat?? I thought you were cycling today!”
“Oh, you.”
He proceeds to send me a picture of the pool from his seat. There must be a hundred boys in swimsuits going around, and I can’t resist joking about it.
“Nice view!”
“I know, right? Such lovely sights. Gotta go now! It’ll be my turn in half an hour.”
“You got this!”
“Thanks! Have a nice ride.”
When I put my phone down, my dad is done arranging our picnic on the table. He looks at me :
“What’s that grin on your face?”
“It’s Liam, he’s at a swimming competition in New York.”
“I hope he’s doing well.”
“Can’t be better, surrounded by all these cute boys.”
“I see. That’s what’s happening.”
I smile at my dad, who looks back at me with suspicion in his eyes. He knows that I asked Liam out a couple of weeks ago and that he said no, and now he probably wonders if joking about cute boys with him makes me feel better. He probably knows it doesn’t. He probably wants me to tell him I’m fine.
I take a bite of my veggie wrap after dipping it in garlic hummus.
“I think I might be bisexual.”
My dad’s eyes open wide. He wasn’t prepared for that. I mean, he doesn’t look surprised, just… unprepared. How can anything surprise him? My parents thought I was gay since I was a toddler. I’ve been verbalizing the fact that I wasn’t really a boy most of my life. I told him I was in love with a boy in my class when I was 7. I managed to pass French with an average of 64%, last year. So nothing can really surprise him anymore.
He starts eating his chicken wrap.
“Is that what’s been on your mind, today?”
“Kinda..?”
“I was worried you were going through a heartbreak.”
I laugh.
“No, not at all. I think it’s the opposite of a heartbreak.”
“Oh, really? Someone I know?”
I take a sip from my box of soy milk.
“Well, yesterday, when I went to Stéphie’s place, we kind of… kissed?”
My dad raises a very high eyebrow. He stops chewing for a short moment. Now, that’s the face he makes when he’s genuinely surprised.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“So that’s serious?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know. It was confusing. We haven’t really talked about it afterwards. She fell asleep. But it was nice.”
My dad eats some more and touches the bridge of his nose. Something’s bothering him. The silence makes me uncomfortable. I continue :
“It’s not like we are a couple, now. We were cuddling and it happened. I wouldn’t mind it happening again, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You have to be careful with these things. You have a precious and rare friendship with Stéphie. You told me she just broke up with her boyfriend?”
“Frank? Yeah, for like, the twentieth time.”
“It sounds like she was struggling. Maybe it’s a bit rushed?”
“Dad, we’re not getting married. We were simply cuddling, and, and… I shouldn’t have told you about this.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. I’m just worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I don’t say anything else and concentrate on food. When my dad calls me “Alex”, I know he’s being serious. I make an attempt at changing the subject :
“So we’re getting on the maritime cycling path now?”
“Not quite yet. There’s another 3 or 4 hours to cycle before getting there.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember. We need to go through Kahnawake.”
“That’s what we did last time, but I think it would actually be quicker if we went through the fields, instead. Here…”
He takes out a map from one of the bags. We both have phones with map apps, but my dad always carries some paper ones. I find it a bit silly and more complicated, but it’s part of the tradition. Also, it’s hilarious to see him struggle to fold it back in place each time.
“See this road? It takes us to Châteauguay, and this is the road to Kahnawake, the Mohawk town. But if we cut here, and follow the Châteauguay river for a bit… Did you know there are two towns named “Châteauguay” very nearby? One at the source of the river, in Upstate New York, and one at the mouth of it, over there, facing Montreal’s West Island.
“Ha ha. ‘Châteauguay’. Gay castle.”
“That’s definitely the funniest part of what I just said.”
“I know!”
“Anyway, we follow the river for a bit. We pass Highway 30. We get to a cycling path that takes us through some fields, all the way to the maritime cycling path, right there, in Sainte-Catherine.”
“Sweet. Let’s do that.”
* * *
If it were summer, it would have been painful to spend the day cycling under the sun like we’re doing today. But, luckily for us, the air is fresh and the colder temperature compensates for the intense sun.
It’s almost 4pm when we reach the maritime cycling path. It used to be just a narrow string of rocks in the Saint Lawrence river that created a clear channel for boats to navigate past the rapids near Montreal. It was repurposed into a cycling path some decades ago, or so my dad told me.
Both sides of the cycling path are covered in trees and bushes against which the waves of the Saint Lawrence come crashing, and right now, in the midst of fall, most of the maple trees have already turned red. I keep asking my dad to stop so I can take pictures of them.
“See the bridge over there? That’s where we cross back on Montreal’s island. At the end of the maritime cycling path, we’ll end up on Notre Dame island, where we could take a break before the last stretch back home. Sounds good?”
Once we get there and find a spot to settle down for a bit, I send my favourite picture of the fiery maples to Stéphie and Liam. While we were cycling, Stéphie finally got up and heart-reacted the boat picture I’d sent her. When she sees the new one, she writes :
“Wow! Almost makes me want to go outside. Almost.”
“You should! It’s so pretty right now.”
“Just like you!”
I feel my cheeks turning red. It’s silly, because we always say that kind of shit to each other. I’m not sure if she’s flirting with me or simply being my BFF. Because everytime one of us says something that could apply to themself, the other says “just like you”. For example, if someone casually mentions : “This sword has been forged by gods in the blood of a hundred mortals”, the other says “just like you”, and it’s like a free compliment and a nice figure of speech. Very poetic. The first person then says “Awww!” and the other winks. So I go :
“Awww!”
And she writes :
“
”I hesitate before writing anything else. I have no clue where Stéphie wants to take this. So I inquire :
“How are you feeling?”
“Burnt. I don’t want to do anything today.”
“Not even the book report Ms. Campeau gave us last Friday?”
“That doesn’t count. That’s fun.”
I can’t help but make a squinting face. No way my dyslexic ass would get any fun out of reading a novel for the sake of writing a report about it. The dancing ellipsis appears, and Stéphie sends me a new message :
“Thanks again for coming to my rescue yesterday night. You’re the bestest.”
“Anytime! <3”
“<3”
I must be smiling way too carelessly because my dad seems to notice. He laughs and says :
“Focus! Eat your snack. I want to be home by 7:30 at the latest.”
“Are we getting delivery for dinner?”
“You bet. I’m pooped.”
“Virgile could cook for us!”
“We would end up with cereal for dinner. I learned my lesson.”
We both laugh, thinking about the last time Virgile took care of cooking. He managed to mess up spaghetti so badly that we couldn’t even finish our plates.
I pick some granola bars and an apple out of the bag and start eating. My dad continues:
“Did I ever tell you about how they made this island we’re on?”
“What do you mean? It’s not a real island?”
“Well, it’s a real island, I assure you you’re not dreaming it, but it’s human-made. When they built Montreal’s subway, for the Universal Exposition in 1967, all the earth they excavated from the ground was transported by trucks and dumped here, in the middle of the river.”
I look all around me. I have trouble believing I would be sitting in the middle of the river, some fifty years ago.
“That was part of the exposition. Montrealers wanted to show all the feats they could accomplish.”
“That’s silly. There's already tons of islands here and there.”
“I’m just telling you. That island wasn’t there, and now it is.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know!”
I finish eating, thinking about dams and flooded areas and artificial islands and the big bridge I’m about to cross. Before we leave, my phone vibrates. It’s a notification from my Discord app that reads “Liam Johnson sent you a picture.” I unlock the screen and see what Liam sent: a selfie of himself with a police officer. Except that the police officer looks particularly annoyed, which contrasts with Liam’s big smile and cheery eyes.
“Did you get in trouble??”
“You have no idea, mate. The entire NYPD probably hates me now.”
“What happened??”
“Hahaha! Can’t explain right now. I’m safe, I’m already at the airport.”
“WTF Liam”
“Hahaha”
“How did the tournament go?”
“Meh. Not too bad. We qualified for finals, and one of my teammates got 8th place. I didn’t make it to the leaderboard tho.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I really have to go, now, we’re taking off and my phone is already supposed to be on airplane mode. Hope you’re having fun! Byyyyye”
* * *
Once we have passed the gigantic green Jacques-Cartier bridge, we cycle on Papineau Street until we reach the Visitation slope. My dad is completely exhausted and he needs to walk his bicycle up, but I manage to find some scraps of energy in my calves and work my way to the top from where we can see Lafontaine Park.
This time, I actually know a bit of history about that park and I don’t need my dad to remind me about it; it’s named after Louis-Hippolyte Lafontaine, the first French-speaking Canadian prime minister whose life story inspired Stéphie’s and my favourite musical, Lafontaine. Simply looking at the trees and the shape of the huge pond, a couple of blocks away, reminds me of that vision I had the other night of Stéphie and I going to see the show, next month, as a couple. Maybe I’d wear some kind of dapper outfit. I know Stéphie has a thing for suits. And we’d go to the restaurant beforehand. That’d be nice. But then, any situation would be nice. Stéphie is great. Also, I should ask her to let me see her book report when she’s done with it, so I can get some inspiration for mine. I should also probably try to give the book a read.
My dad finally joins me at the top of the slope, where I’ve been daydreaming while waiting. He tries to catch his breath. In his defense, he’s carrying most of our stuff, including food, water, changes of clothes, tools, maps, first aid kit, bear tranquilizer (better safe than sorry), and emergency tubes, so his bike must be heavier than mine.
“We’re about 20 minutes away from home. Give me a minute, I’ll send a message to your brother to meet us there.”
Virgile spent the day with Joao. That’s his best friend. He’s probably the reason why my brother speaks much better Portuguese than I do; unlike us, Joao was born in Brazil and his family only arrived in Montreal when he was 5. In kindergarten, he didn’t speak a word of French, so my brother started helping him out since my dad often speaks Portuguese to us.
I sometimes wish I had a Brazilian friend like him growing up. I would have felt less alone. There is this Brazilian kid who is my age, in the enriched program at school (I’m in the regular one). His name is Rafael. He constantly spouts transphobic and homophobic BS, so I don’t think it could ever work between us. Sometimes, when we pass each other in the school hall, we exchange looks, and it’s like we recognize each other - we acknowledge how we are vulnerable in some similar ways. But there’s also fire and shame and disgust. I often feel doomed to only experience an approximated sense of belonging.
We eventually make it home after going through the Maisonneuve park, the one with the foxes and the rabbits, from the cycling freeway on Rachel avenue - my dad always calls it that because during rush hour, this cycling path linking the upper Latin quarter to the East of Montreal becomes completely jam-packed; there’s bicycles everywhere and people are upset and impatient.
Virgile is already home to greet us. Just kidding, he’s too busy playing Minecraft on our PC with his headphones on to even say “hi”. While I start undressing as soon as I walk past the door, my dad manages to extract him from the game :
“How long have you been here? Did you even leave the house today?”
“Of course! I told you I’d be at Joao’s place. Then we came here to play with Borki and give him a walk. Joao left an hour ago.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. Did you?”
I jump into the discussion, entirely naked :
“It was so cool! We saw the hydroelectric dam and the locks in Beauharnois, and the maritime cycling path…”
“Aww! You went to see the locks without me?”
“You said you didn’t want to come.”
“Ha ha! That’s right. I have no regrets, especially when I look at you right now.”
I’m covered in sweat and dust, and my hair feels gross. I hurry to the shower after confirming with my dad that yes, Thai food sounds good, and yes, I’ll have the bamboo special, as usual.
The food arrives and I’m too hungry to take the time to change into my pyjamas, so I eat with a towel wrapped around me as my only garment. Having meals together is important in my family, but we don’t really care for etiquette or good manners as long as we’re all there.
While we eat, Virgile does all the talking, because it’s like that when he gets excited about something, but also because my dad and I are too exhausted to place a word or interrupt him:
“So I told you that our Cub troop needs to raise money for the next camp, right? The winter camp. We’re gonna go to an adventure retreat in the mountains, it’s gonna be sweeeeet. Well, last Friday, the troop leader said ‘we need to gather ideas for things we could do to raise the money for the winter camp’, and I, well I wanted to bake cookies and pastries because it’s so good, and I said ‘how about we bake some cookies and pastries to sell them?’ and the troop leader said ‘it’s a good idea, Virgile’ and Joao was all like ‘yeaaaah’ but Léo said ‘it’s boring’ and Noah, he’s Léo’s friend and he always sides with him even if it’s actually Léo that’s boring, he said ‘anyway, girl scouts already have a monopoly on cookies and pastries’ and the troop leader had to explain what a monopoly is, and he also said ‘girl scouts don’t have the monopoly on anything, anyone can sell cookies’ and then everyone started talking, they always do that, it gets a bit annoying sometimes, and I was there, raising my hand and waiting like at school because anyway, I can’t speak loud enough, but it was too late : Bagheera, the troop leader, said ‘we’re gonna discuss it next week, think about it until then.’”
My brother joined the cubs a couple of months ago, soon after I turned 14, because I was old enough to go to the youth meetings at the LGBT center, but not him, and that made him upset and he wanted some kind of weekly routine too. I’m not jealous, especially not when he starts telling us about the kind of stuff that happens during cub meetings. It’s just irksome how I can’t have anything for myself without him asking for a counterpart.
“So, anyway, Joao and I have been doing some thinking like we were supposed to, and this afternoon, his sister was out and I said ‘let’s play Drag Race’ so we put on outfits - you should see that blue wig Joao has, it’s hilarious, we took some pictures, it’s on my phone, I’ll show you later - and started working on acts, and that’s when it dawned on me : we should have a drag show for the fundraiser! Like a talent show, but with drag queens and lip sync and skits.”
I admire my brother’s enthusiasm, but can’t help but being dubious:
“You’re sure you can get a whole troop of cubs to get on board with doing a drag show? That sounds like a potential train wreck.”
“Well, Joao and I are on board, and I know Gregory’s parents let him watch RuPaul.”
“Then good luck with that.”
“Thanks! Also I could be the MC. Imagine - it would be Dolorès Tragique’s time to shine!”
Dolorès Tragique is Virgile’s drag persona. The character is the rich heir of a French canned tuna empire with a troubled past who decided to make a come-back after decades of being away from the public eye.
When we’re done eating, Virgile begs me to help him take new pictures for Dolorès Tragique’s Instagram account that I helped him set up some time ago. It got quite a lot of followers, especially since Lydia Dynamite, the drag queen who won Canada’s Got Talent last year, tweeted about it. That really got Virgile into drag.
We choose a dress and some accessories for him, and hang a satin curtain on his wall as a background for the pictures. People don’t understand how he can pull out that diva attitude so easily. They are surprised I’m not the one into that kind of stuff. What can I say? He’s a natural.
Last edited:
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Edit: Billy remembered to write the drag talent show story arcWish Upon a Satellite - chapter 2
It's TDoV! Thank you for your support that allows me to keep doing this work. Here's the second chapter of Wish Upon a Satellite. The following chapters are going to be for $3+ Patrons only! Can't wait to read your comments on this one.
***
Chapter 2
My dad and I cross the river at the height of the Deux-Montagnes lake, from which you can see two mountains that look like a pair of butt cheeks, to hop from the Montreal Island to the Perrot island to the mainland to the island of Valleyfield, where the dam and the Beauharnois locks - our first goal - are located. As we planned, we arrive there at around 1pm, right in time for lunch. My dad and I are experts at this.
We unpack our food on a picnic table in the park near the huge locks that allow cargo boats from the Great Lakes to avoid the Saint Lawrence dam, their last big obstacle before the ocean. My mom used to take us here, my brother and I, to look at the boats going up and down from one lock to another. Which is why I chose this place as one of the goals of our last cycling trip of the year.
I read on one of the boats,
“Mil-wau-kee..? Where’s that, again?”
“In Wisconsin, near Chicago. It’s by Lake Michigan.”
Some of these boats are coming from pretty far away and going even further. Detroit, Toronto, Rochester, Chicago… they all have to stop here before going to China or New Zealand or wherever they feel like. It always fascinated me how this small stream could open up the rest of the world to an entire continent.
Before we eat, I take a picture of the cargo ship from Milwaukee to send it to Stéphie and Liam, along with a message saying that I’m still alive. I didn’t update them on our journey before now, since Stéphie was probably still asleep, and Liam had his competition this morning and I figured he might be busy. Liam replies instantly :
“A boat?? I thought you were cycling today!”
“Oh, you.”
He proceeds to send me a picture of the pool from his seat. There must be a hundred boys in swimsuits going around, and I can’t resist joking about it.
“Nice view!”
“I know, right? Such lovely sights. Gotta go now! It’ll be my turn in half an hour.”
“You got this!”
“Thanks! Have a nice ride.”
When I put my phone down, my dad is done arranging our picnic on the table. He looks at me :
“What’s that grin on your face?”
“It’s Liam, he’s at a swimming competition in New York.”
“I hope he’s doing well.”
“Can’t be better, surrounded by all these cute boys.”
“I see. That’s what’s happening.”
I smile at my dad, who looks back at me with suspicion in his eyes. He knows that I asked Liam out a couple of weeks ago and that he said no, and now he probably wonders if joking about cute boys with him makes me feel better. He probably knows it doesn’t. He probably wants me to tell him I’m fine.
I take a bite of my veggie wrap after dipping it in garlic hummus.
“I think I might be bisexual.”
My dad’s eyes open wide. He wasn’t prepared for that. I mean, he doesn’t look surprised, just… unprepared. How can anything surprise him? My parents thought I was gay since I was a toddler. I’ve been verbalizing the fact that I wasn’t really a boy most of my life. I told him I was in love with a boy in my class when I was 7. I managed to pass French with an average of 64%, last year. So nothing can really surprise him anymore.
He starts eating his chicken wrap.
“Is that what’s been on your mind, today?”
“Kinda..?”
“I was worried you were going through a heartbreak.”
I laugh.
“No, not at all. I think it’s the opposite of a heartbreak.”
“Oh, really? Someone I know?”
I take a sip from my box of soy milk.
“Well, yesterday, when I went to Stéphie’s place, we kind of… kissed?”
My dad raises a very high eyebrow. He stops chewing for a short moment. Now, that’s the face he makes when he’s genuinely surprised.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“So that’s serious?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know. It was confusing. We haven’t really talked about it afterwards. She fell asleep. But it was nice.”
My dad eats some more and touches the bridge of his nose. Something’s bothering him. The silence makes me uncomfortable. I continue :
“It’s not like we are a couple, now. We were cuddling and it happened. I wouldn’t mind it happening again, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You have to be careful with these things. You have a precious and rare friendship with Stéphie. You told me she just broke up with her boyfriend?”
“Frank? Yeah, for like, the twentieth time.”
“It sounds like she was struggling. Maybe it’s a bit rushed?”
“Dad, we’re not getting married. We were simply cuddling, and, and… I shouldn’t have told you about this.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. I’m just worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I don’t say anything else and concentrate on food. When my dad calls me “Alex”, I know he’s being serious. I make an attempt at changing the subject :
“So we’re getting on the maritime cycling path now?”
“Not quite yet. There’s another 3 or 4 hours to cycle before getting there.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember. We need to go through Kahnawake.”
“That’s what we did last time, but I think it would actually be quicker if we went through the fields, instead. Here…”
He takes out a map from one of the bags. We both have phones with map apps, but my dad always carries some paper ones. I find it a bit silly and more complicated, but it’s part of the tradition. Also, it’s hilarious to see him struggle to fold it back in place each time.
“See this road? It takes us to Châteauguay, and this is the road to Kahnawake, the Mohawk town. But if we cut here, and follow the Châteauguay river for a bit… Did you know there are two towns named “Châteauguay” very nearby? One at the source of the river, in Upstate New York, and one at the mouth of it, over there, facing Montreal’s West Island.
“Ha ha. ‘Châteauguay’. Gay castle.”
“That’s definitely the funniest part of what I just said.”
“I know!”
“Anyway, we follow the river for a bit. We pass Highway 30. We get to a cycling path that takes us through some fields, all the way to the maritime cycling path, right there, in Sainte-Catherine.”
“Sweet. Let’s do that.”
* * *
If it were summer, it would have been painful to spend the day cycling under the sun like we’re doing today. But, luckily for us, the air is fresh and the colder temperature compensates for the intense sun.
It’s almost 4pm when we reach the maritime cycling path. It used to be just a narrow string of rocks in the Saint Lawrence river that created a clear channel for boats to navigate past the rapids near Montreal. It was repurposed into a cycling path some decades ago, or so my dad told me.
Both sides of the cycling path are covered in trees and bushes against which the waves of the Saint Lawrence come crashing, and right now, in the midst of fall, most of the maple trees have already turned red. I keep asking my dad to stop so I can take pictures of them.
“See the bridge over there? That’s where we cross back on Montreal’s island. At the end of the maritime cycling path, we’ll end up on Notre Dame island, where we could take a break before the last stretch back home. Sounds good?”
Once we get there and find a spot to settle down for a bit, I send my favourite picture of the fiery maples to Stéphie and Liam. While we were cycling, Stéphie finally got up and heart-reacted the boat picture I’d sent her. When she sees the new one, she writes :
“Wow! Almost makes me want to go outside. Almost.”
“You should! It’s so pretty right now.”
“Just like you!”
I feel my cheeks turning red. It’s silly, because we always say that kind of shit to each other. I’m not sure if she’s flirting with me or simply being my BFF. Because everytime one of us says something that could apply to themself, the other says “just like you”. For example, if someone casually mentions : “This sword has been forged by gods in the blood of a hundred mortals”, the other says “just like you”, and it’s like a free compliment and a nice figure of speech. Very poetic. The first person then says “Awww!” and the other winks. So I go :
“Awww!”
And she writes :
“
I hesitate before writing anything else. I have no clue where Stéphie wants to take this. So I inquire :
“How are you feeling?”
“Burnt. I don’t want to do anything today.”
“Not even the book report Ms. Campeau gave us last Friday?”
“That doesn’t count. That’s fun.”
I can’t help but make a squinting face. No way my dyslexic ass would get any fun out of reading a novel for the sake of writing a report about it. The dancing ellipsis appears, and Stéphie sends me a new message :
“Thanks again for coming to my rescue yesterday night. You’re the bestest.”
“Anytime! <3”
“<3”
I must be smiling way too carelessly because my dad seems to notice. He laughs and says :
“Focus! Eat your snack. I want to be home by 7:30 at the latest.”
“Are we getting delivery for dinner?”
“You bet. I’m pooped.”
“Virgile could cook for us!”
“We would end up with cereal for dinner. I learned my lesson.”
We both laugh, thinking about the last time Virgile took care of cooking. He managed to mess up spaghetti so badly that we couldn’t even finish our plates.
I pick some granola bars and an apple out of the bag and start eating. My dad continues:
“Did I ever tell you about how they made this island we’re on?”
“What do you mean? It’s not a real island?”
“Well, it’s a real island, I assure you you’re not dreaming it, but it’s human-made. When they built Montreal’s subway, for the Universal Exposition in 1967, all the earth they excavated from the ground was transported by trucks and dumped here, in the middle of the river.”
I look all around me. I have trouble believing I would be sitting in the middle of the river, some fifty years ago.
“That was part of the exposition. Montrealers wanted to show all the feats they could accomplish.”
“That’s silly. There's already tons of islands here and there.”
“I’m just telling you. That island wasn’t there, and now it is.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know!”
I finish eating, thinking about dams and flooded areas and artificial islands and the big bridge I’m about to cross. Before we leave, my phone vibrates. It’s a notification from my Discord app that reads “Liam Johnson sent you a picture.” I unlock the screen and see what Liam sent: a selfie of himself with a police officer. Except that the police officer looks particularly annoyed, which contrasts with Liam’s big smile and cheery eyes.
“Did you get in trouble??”
“You have no idea, mate. The entire NYPD probably hates me now.”
“What happened??”
“Hahaha! Can’t explain right now. I’m safe, I’m already at the airport.”
“WTF Liam”
“Hahaha”
“How did the tournament go?”
“Meh. Not too bad. We qualified for finals, and one of my teammates got 8th place. I didn’t make it to the leaderboard tho.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I really have to go, now, we’re taking off and my phone is already supposed to be on airplane mode. Hope you’re having fun! Byyyyye”
* * *
Once we have passed the gigantic green Jacques-Cartier bridge, we cycle on Papineau Street until we reach the Visitation slope. My dad is completely exhausted and he needs to walk his bicycle up, but I manage to find some scraps of energy in my calves and work my way to the top from where we can see Lafontaine Park.
This time, I actually know a bit of history about that park and I don’t need my dad to remind me about it; it’s named after Louis-Hippolyte Lafontaine, the first French-speaking Canadian prime minister whose life story inspired Stéphie’s and my favourite musical, Lafontaine. Simply looking at the trees and the shape of the huge pond, a couple of blocks away, reminds me of that vision I had the other night of Stéphie and I going to see the show, next month, as a couple. Maybe I’d wear some kind of dapper outfit. I know Stéphie has a thing for suits. And we’d go to the restaurant beforehand. That’d be nice. But then, any situation would be nice. Stéphie is great. Also, I should ask her to let me see her book report when she’s done with it, so I can get some inspiration for mine. I should also probably try to give the book a read.
My dad finally joins me at the top of the slope, where I’ve been daydreaming while waiting. He tries to catch his breath. In his defense, he’s carrying most of our stuff, including food, water, changes of clothes, tools, maps, first aid kit, bear tranquilizer (better safe than sorry), and emergency tubes, so his bike must be heavier than mine.
“We’re about 20 minutes away from home. Give me a minute, I’ll send a message to your brother to meet us there.”
Virgile spent the day with Joao. That’s his best friend. He’s probably the reason why my brother speaks much better Portuguese than I do; unlike us, Joao was born in Brazil and his family only arrived in Montreal when he was 5. In kindergarten, he didn’t speak a word of French, so my brother started helping him out since my dad often speaks Portuguese to us.
I sometimes wish I had a Brazilian friend like him growing up. I would have felt less alone. There is this Brazilian kid who is my age, in the enriched program at school (I’m in the regular one). His name is Rafael. He constantly spouts transphobic and homophobic BS, so I don’t think it could ever work between us. Sometimes, when we pass each other in the school hall, we exchange looks, and it’s like we recognize each other - we acknowledge how we are vulnerable in some similar ways. But there’s also fire and shame and disgust. I often feel doomed to only experience an approximated sense of belonging.
We eventually make it home after going through the Maisonneuve park, the one with the foxes and the rabbits, from the cycling freeway on Rachel avenue - my dad always calls it that because during rush hour, this cycling path linking the upper Latin quarter to the East of Montreal becomes completely jam-packed; there’s bicycles everywhere and people are upset and impatient.
Virgile is already home to greet us. Just kidding, he’s too busy playing Minecraft on our PC with his headphones on to even say “hi”. While I start undressing as soon as I walk past the door, my dad manages to extract him from the game :
“How long have you been here? Did you even leave the house today?”
“Of course! I told you I’d be at Joao’s place. Then we came here to play with Borki and give him a walk. Joao left an hour ago.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. Did you?”
I jump into the discussion, entirely naked :
“It was so cool! We saw the hydroelectric dam and the locks in Beauharnois, and the maritime cycling path…”
“Aww! You went to see the locks without me?”
“You said you didn’t want to come.”
“Ha ha! That’s right. I have no regrets, especially when I look at you right now.”
I’m covered in sweat and dust, and my hair feels gross. I hurry to the shower after confirming with my dad that yes, Thai food sounds good, and yes, I’ll have the bamboo special, as usual.
The food arrives and I’m too hungry to take the time to change into my pyjamas, so I eat with a towel wrapped around me as my only garment. Having meals together is important in my family, but we don’t really care for etiquette or good manners as long as we’re all there.
While we eat, Virgile does all the talking, because it’s like that when he gets excited about something, but also because my dad and I are too exhausted to place a word or interrupt him:
“So I told you that our Cub troop needs to raise money for the next camp, right? The winter camp. We’re gonna go to an adventure retreat in the mountains, it’s gonna be sweeeeet. Well, last Friday, the troop leader said ‘we need to gather ideas for things we could do to raise the money for the winter camp’, and I, well I wanted to bake cookies and pastries because it’s so good, and I said ‘how about we bake some cookies and pastries to sell them?’ and the troop leader said ‘it’s a good idea, Virgile’ and Joao was all like ‘yeaaaah’ but Léo said ‘it’s boring’ and Noah, he’s Léo’s friend and he always sides with him even if it’s actually Léo that’s boring, he said ‘anyway, girl scouts already have a monopoly on cookies and pastries’ and the troop leader had to explain what a monopoly is, and he also said ‘girl scouts don’t have the monopoly on anything, anyone can sell cookies’ and then everyone started talking, they always do that, it gets a bit annoying sometimes, and I was there, raising my hand and waiting like at school because anyway, I can’t speak loud enough, but it was too late : Bagheera, the troop leader, said ‘we’re gonna discuss it next week, think about it until then.’”
My brother joined the cubs a couple of months ago, soon after I turned 14, because I was old enough to go to the youth meetings at the LGBT center, but not him, and that made him upset and he wanted some kind of weekly routine too. I’m not jealous, especially not when he starts telling us about the kind of stuff that happens during cub meetings. It’s just irksome how I can’t have anything for myself without him asking for a counterpart.
“So, anyway, Joao and I have been doing some thinking like we were supposed to, and this afternoon, his sister was out and I said ‘let’s play Drag Race’ so we put on outfits - you should see that blue wig Joao has, it’s hilarious, we took some pictures, it’s on my phone, I’ll show you later - and started working on acts, and that’s when it dawned on me : we should have a drag show for the fundraiser! Like a talent show, but with drag queens and lip sync and skits.”
I admire my brother’s enthusiasm, but can’t help but being dubious:
“You’re sure you can get a whole troop of cubs to get on board with doing a drag show? That sounds like a potential train wreck.”
“Well, Joao and I are on board, and I know Gregory’s parents let him watch RuPaul.”
“Then good luck with that.”
“Thanks! Also I could be the MC. Imagine - it would be Dolorès Tragique’s time to shine!”
Dolorès Tragique is Virgile’s drag persona. The character is the rich heir of a French canned tuna empire with a troubled past who decided to make a come-back after decades of being away from the public eye.
When we’re done eating, Virgile begs me to help him take new pictures for Dolorès Tragique’s Instagram account that I helped him set up some time ago. It got quite a lot of followers, especially since Lydia Dynamite, the drag queen who won Canada’s Got Talent last year, tweeted about it. That really got Virgile into drag.
We choose a dress and some accessories for him, and hang a satin curtain on his wall as a background for the pictures. People don’t understand how he can pull out that diva attitude so easily. They are surprised I’m not the one into that kind of stuff. What can I say? He’s a natural.
He managed to write "dad" and "butt cheeks" in the same sentence. And it's the first sentence. I'm not gonna read this
Sonichu-choo trainwreck
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He's got to offset opression points from the enemy being female
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I mean, the "evil doctor" does have a point.
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- Apr 7, 2017
Wow, he has such a boring writing style. Interesting how, for a comic writer, he has the biggest trouble following the "show, dont tell" rule.New chapter from his Mary-Sue wanking fapfiction on Patreon
BillyCiel isjacking offjoking on cute boys in swimsuit
Edit: Billy remembered to write the drag talent show story arcWish Upon a Satellite - chapter 2
It's TDoV! Thank you for your support that allows me to keep doing this work. Here's the second chapter of Wish Upon a Satellite. The following chapters are going to be for $3+ Patrons only! Can't wait to read your comments on this one.
***
Chapter 2
My dad and I cross the river at the height of the Deux-Montagnes lake, from which you can see two mountains that look like a pair of butt cheeks, to hop from the Montreal Island to the Perrot island to the mainland to the island of Valleyfield, where the dam and the Beauharnois locks - our first goal - are located. As we planned, we arrive there at around 1pm, right in time for lunch. My dad and I are experts at this.
We unpack our food on a picnic table in the park near the huge locks that allow cargo boats from the Great Lakes to avoid the Saint Lawrence dam, their last big obstacle before the ocean. My mom used to take us here, my brother and I, to look at the boats going up and down from one lock to another. Which is why I chose this place as one of the goals of our last cycling trip of the year.
I read on one of the boats,
“Mil-wau-kee..? Where’s that, again?”
“In Wisconsin, near Chicago. It’s by Lake Michigan.”
Some of these boats are coming from pretty far away and going even further. Detroit, Toronto, Rochester, Chicago… they all have to stop here before going to China or New Zealand or wherever they feel like. It always fascinated me how this small stream could open up the rest of the world to an entire continent.
Before we eat, I take a picture of the cargo ship from Milwaukee to send it to Stéphie and Liam, along with a message saying that I’m still alive. I didn’t update them on our journey before now, since Stéphie was probably still asleep, and Liam had his competition this morning and I figured he might be busy. Liam replies instantly :
“A boat?? I thought you were cycling today!”
“Oh, you.”
He proceeds to send me a picture of the pool from his seat. There must be a hundred boys in swimsuits going around, and I can’t resist joking about it.
“Nice view!”
“I know, right? Such lovely sights. Gotta go now! It’ll be my turn in half an hour.”
“You got this!”
“Thanks! Have a nice ride.”
When I put my phone down, my dad is done arranging our picnic on the table. He looks at me :
“What’s that grin on your face?”
“It’s Liam, he’s at a swimming competition in New York.”
“I hope he’s doing well.”
“Can’t be better, surrounded by all these cute boys.”
“I see. That’s what’s happening.”
I smile at my dad, who looks back at me with suspicion in his eyes. He knows that I asked Liam out a couple of weeks ago and that he said no, and now he probably wonders if joking about cute boys with him makes me feel better. He probably knows it doesn’t. He probably wants me to tell him I’m fine.
I take a bite of my veggie wrap after dipping it in garlic hummus.
“I think I might be bisexual.”
My dad’s eyes open wide. He wasn’t prepared for that. I mean, he doesn’t look surprised, just… unprepared. How can anything surprise him? My parents thought I was gay since I was a toddler. I’ve been verbalizing the fact that I wasn’t really a boy most of my life. I told him I was in love with a boy in my class when I was 7. I managed to pass French with an average of 64%, last year. So nothing can really surprise him anymore.
He starts eating his chicken wrap.
“Is that what’s been on your mind, today?”
“Kinda..?”
“I was worried you were going through a heartbreak.”
I laugh.
“No, not at all. I think it’s the opposite of a heartbreak.”
“Oh, really? Someone I know?”
I take a sip from my box of soy milk.
“Well, yesterday, when I went to Stéphie’s place, we kind of… kissed?”
My dad raises a very high eyebrow. He stops chewing for a short moment. Now, that’s the face he makes when he’s genuinely surprised.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“So that’s serious?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know. It was confusing. We haven’t really talked about it afterwards. She fell asleep. But it was nice.”
My dad eats some more and touches the bridge of his nose. Something’s bothering him. The silence makes me uncomfortable. I continue :
“It’s not like we are a couple, now. We were cuddling and it happened. I wouldn’t mind it happening again, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You have to be careful with these things. You have a precious and rare friendship with Stéphie. You told me she just broke up with her boyfriend?”
“Frank? Yeah, for like, the twentieth time.”
“It sounds like she was struggling. Maybe it’s a bit rushed?”
“Dad, we’re not getting married. We were simply cuddling, and, and… I shouldn’t have told you about this.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. I’m just worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I don’t say anything else and concentrate on food. When my dad calls me “Alex”, I know he’s being serious. I make an attempt at changing the subject :
“So we’re getting on the maritime cycling path now?”
“Not quite yet. There’s another 3 or 4 hours to cycle before getting there.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember. We need to go through Kahnawake.”
“That’s what we did last time, but I think it would actually be quicker if we went through the fields, instead. Here…”
He takes out a map from one of the bags. We both have phones with map apps, but my dad always carries some paper ones. I find it a bit silly and more complicated, but it’s part of the tradition. Also, it’s hilarious to see him struggle to fold it back in place each time.
“See this road? It takes us to Châteauguay, and this is the road to Kahnawake, the Mohawk town. But if we cut here, and follow the Châteauguay river for a bit… Did you know there are two towns named “Châteauguay” very nearby? One at the source of the river, in Upstate New York, and one at the mouth of it, over there, facing Montreal’s West Island.
“Ha ha. ‘Châteauguay’. Gay castle.”
“That’s definitely the funniest part of what I just said.”
“I know!”
“Anyway, we follow the river for a bit. We pass Highway 30. We get to a cycling path that takes us through some fields, all the way to the maritime cycling path, right there, in Sainte-Catherine.”
“Sweet. Let’s do that.”
* * *
If it were summer, it would have been painful to spend the day cycling under the sun like we’re doing today. But, luckily for us, the air is fresh and the colder temperature compensates for the intense sun.
It’s almost 4pm when we reach the maritime cycling path. It used to be just a narrow string of rocks in the Saint Lawrence river that created a clear channel for boats to navigate past the rapids near Montreal. It was repurposed into a cycling path some decades ago, or so my dad told me.
Both sides of the cycling path are covered in trees and bushes against which the waves of the Saint Lawrence come crashing, and right now, in the midst of fall, most of the maple trees have already turned red. I keep asking my dad to stop so I can take pictures of them.
“See the bridge over there? That’s where we cross back on Montreal’s island. At the end of the maritime cycling path, we’ll end up on Notre Dame island, where we could take a break before the last stretch back home. Sounds good?”
Once we get there and find a spot to settle down for a bit, I send my favourite picture of the fiery maples to Stéphie and Liam. While we were cycling, Stéphie finally got up and heart-reacted the boat picture I’d sent her. When she sees the new one, she writes :
“Wow! Almost makes me want to go outside. Almost.”
“You should! It’s so pretty right now.”
“Just like you!”
I feel my cheeks turning red. It’s silly, because we always say that kind of shit to each other. I’m not sure if she’s flirting with me or simply being my BFF. Because everytime one of us says something that could apply to themself, the other says “just like you”. For example, if someone casually mentions : “This sword has been forged by gods in the blood of a hundred mortals”, the other says “just like you”, and it’s like a free compliment and a nice figure of speech. Very poetic. The first person then says “Awww!” and the other winks. So I go :
“Awww!”
And she writes :
“
I hesitate before writing anything else. I have no clue where Stéphie wants to take this. So I inquire :
“How are you feeling?”
“Burnt. I don’t want to do anything today.”
“Not even the book report Ms. Campeau gave us last Friday?”
“That doesn’t count. That’s fun.”
I can’t help but make a squinting face. No way my dyslexic ass would get any fun out of reading a novel for the sake of writing a report about it. The dancing ellipsis appears, and Stéphie sends me a new message :
“Thanks again for coming to my rescue yesterday night. You’re the bestest.”
“Anytime! <3”
“<3”
I must be smiling way too carelessly because my dad seems to notice. He laughs and says :
“Focus! Eat your snack. I want to be home by 7:30 at the latest.”
“Are we getting delivery for dinner?”
“You bet. I’m pooped.”
“Virgile could cook for us!”
“We would end up with cereal for dinner. I learned my lesson.”
We both laugh, thinking about the last time Virgile took care of cooking. He managed to mess up spaghetti so badly that we couldn’t even finish our plates.
I pick some granola bars and an apple out of the bag and start eating. My dad continues:
“Did I ever tell you about how they made this island we’re on?”
“What do you mean? It’s not a real island?”
“Well, it’s a real island, I assure you you’re not dreaming it, but it’s human-made. When they built Montreal’s subway, for the Universal Exposition in 1967, all the earth they excavated from the ground was transported by trucks and dumped here, in the middle of the river.”
I look all around me. I have trouble believing I would be sitting in the middle of the river, some fifty years ago.
“That was part of the exposition. Montrealers wanted to show all the feats they could accomplish.”
“That’s silly. There's already tons of islands here and there.”
“I’m just telling you. That island wasn’t there, and now it is.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know!”
I finish eating, thinking about dams and flooded areas and artificial islands and the big bridge I’m about to cross. Before we leave, my phone vibrates. It’s a notification from my Discord app that reads “Liam Johnson sent you a picture.” I unlock the screen and see what Liam sent: a selfie of himself with a police officer. Except that the police officer looks particularly annoyed, which contrasts with Liam’s big smile and cheery eyes.
“Did you get in trouble??”
“You have no idea, mate. The entire NYPD probably hates me now.”
“What happened??”
“Hahaha! Can’t explain right now. I’m safe, I’m already at the airport.”
“WTF Liam”
“Hahaha”
“How did the tournament go?”
“Meh. Not too bad. We qualified for finals, and one of my teammates got 8th place. I didn’t make it to the leaderboard tho.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I really have to go, now, we’re taking off and my phone is already supposed to be on airplane mode. Hope you’re having fun! Byyyyye”
* * *
Once we have passed the gigantic green Jacques-Cartier bridge, we cycle on Papineau Street until we reach the Visitation slope. My dad is completely exhausted and he needs to walk his bicycle up, but I manage to find some scraps of energy in my calves and work my way to the top from where we can see Lafontaine Park.
This time, I actually know a bit of history about that park and I don’t need my dad to remind me about it; it’s named after Louis-Hippolyte Lafontaine, the first French-speaking Canadian prime minister whose life story inspired Stéphie’s and my favourite musical, Lafontaine. Simply looking at the trees and the shape of the huge pond, a couple of blocks away, reminds me of that vision I had the other night of Stéphie and I going to see the show, next month, as a couple. Maybe I’d wear some kind of dapper outfit. I know Stéphie has a thing for suits. And we’d go to the restaurant beforehand. That’d be nice. But then, any situation would be nice. Stéphie is great. Also, I should ask her to let me see her book report when she’s done with it, so I can get some inspiration for mine. I should also probably try to give the book a read.
My dad finally joins me at the top of the slope, where I’ve been daydreaming while waiting. He tries to catch his breath. In his defense, he’s carrying most of our stuff, including food, water, changes of clothes, tools, maps, first aid kit, bear tranquilizer (better safe than sorry), and emergency tubes, so his bike must be heavier than mine.
“We’re about 20 minutes away from home. Give me a minute, I’ll send a message to your brother to meet us there.”
Virgile spent the day with Joao. That’s his best friend. He’s probably the reason why my brother speaks much better Portuguese than I do; unlike us, Joao was born in Brazil and his family only arrived in Montreal when he was 5. In kindergarten, he didn’t speak a word of French, so my brother started helping him out since my dad often speaks Portuguese to us.
I sometimes wish I had a Brazilian friend like him growing up. I would have felt less alone. There is this Brazilian kid who is my age, in the enriched program at school (I’m in the regular one). His name is Rafael. He constantly spouts transphobic and homophobic BS, so I don’t think it could ever work between us. Sometimes, when we pass each other in the school hall, we exchange looks, and it’s like we recognize each other - we acknowledge how we are vulnerable in some similar ways. But there’s also fire and shame and disgust. I often feel doomed to only experience an approximated sense of belonging.
We eventually make it home after going through the Maisonneuve park, the one with the foxes and the rabbits, from the cycling freeway on Rachel avenue - my dad always calls it that because during rush hour, this cycling path linking the upper Latin quarter to the East of Montreal becomes completely jam-packed; there’s bicycles everywhere and people are upset and impatient.
Virgile is already home to greet us. Just kidding, he’s too busy playing Minecraft on our PC with his headphones on to even say “hi”. While I start undressing as soon as I walk past the door, my dad manages to extract him from the game :
“How long have you been here? Did you even leave the house today?”
“Of course! I told you I’d be at Joao’s place. Then we came here to play with Borki and give him a walk. Joao left an hour ago.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. Did you?”
I jump into the discussion, entirely naked :
“It was so cool! We saw the hydroelectric dam and the locks in Beauharnois, and the maritime cycling path…”
“Aww! You went to see the locks without me?”
“You said you didn’t want to come.”
“Ha ha! That’s right. I have no regrets, especially when I look at you right now.”
I’m covered in sweat and dust, and my hair feels gross. I hurry to the shower after confirming with my dad that yes, Thai food sounds good, and yes, I’ll have the bamboo special, as usual.
The food arrives and I’m too hungry to take the time to change into my pyjamas, so I eat with a towel wrapped around me as my only garment. Having meals together is important in my family, but we don’t really care for etiquette or good manners as long as we’re all there.
While we eat, Virgile does all the talking, because it’s like that when he gets excited about something, but also because my dad and I are too exhausted to place a word or interrupt him:
“So I told you that our Cub troop needs to raise money for the next camp, right? The winter camp. We’re gonna go to an adventure retreat in the mountains, it’s gonna be sweeeeet. Well, last Friday, the troop leader said ‘we need to gather ideas for things we could do to raise the money for the winter camp’, and I, well I wanted to bake cookies and pastries because it’s so good, and I said ‘how about we bake some cookies and pastries to sell them?’ and the troop leader said ‘it’s a good idea, Virgile’ and Joao was all like ‘yeaaaah’ but Léo said ‘it’s boring’ and Noah, he’s Léo’s friend and he always sides with him even if it’s actually Léo that’s boring, he said ‘anyway, girl scouts already have a monopoly on cookies and pastries’ and the troop leader had to explain what a monopoly is, and he also said ‘girl scouts don’t have the monopoly on anything, anyone can sell cookies’ and then everyone started talking, they always do that, it gets a bit annoying sometimes, and I was there, raising my hand and waiting like at school because anyway, I can’t speak loud enough, but it was too late : Bagheera, the troop leader, said ‘we’re gonna discuss it next week, think about it until then.’”
My brother joined the cubs a couple of months ago, soon after I turned 14, because I was old enough to go to the youth meetings at the LGBT center, but not him, and that made him upset and he wanted some kind of weekly routine too. I’m not jealous, especially not when he starts telling us about the kind of stuff that happens during cub meetings. It’s just irksome how I can’t have anything for myself without him asking for a counterpart.
“So, anyway, Joao and I have been doing some thinking like we were supposed to, and this afternoon, his sister was out and I said ‘let’s play Drag Race’ so we put on outfits - you should see that blue wig Joao has, it’s hilarious, we took some pictures, it’s on my phone, I’ll show you later - and started working on acts, and that’s when it dawned on me : we should have a drag show for the fundraiser! Like a talent show, but with drag queens and lip sync and skits.”
I admire my brother’s enthusiasm, but can’t help but being dubious:
“You’re sure you can get a whole troop of cubs to get on board with doing a drag show? That sounds like a potential train wreck.”
“Well, Joao and I are on board, and I know Gregory’s parents let him watch RuPaul.”
“Then good luck with that.”
“Thanks! Also I could be the MC. Imagine - it would be Dolorès Tragique’s time to shine!”
Dolorès Tragique is Virgile’s drag persona. The character is the rich heir of a French canned tuna empire with a troubled past who decided to make a come-back after decades of being away from the public eye.
When we’re done eating, Virgile begs me to help him take new pictures for Dolorès Tragique’s Instagram account that I helped him set up some time ago. It got quite a lot of followers, especially since Lydia Dynamite, the drag queen who won Canada’s Got Talent last year, tweeted about it. That really got Virgile into drag.
We choose a dress and some accessories for him, and hang a satin curtain on his wall as a background for the pictures. People don’t understand how he can pull out that diva attitude so easily. They are surprised I’m not the one into that kind of stuff. What can I say? He’s a natural.
- Joined
- Jan 17, 2018
Because for him and the people he's writing for, white = bad. Ignore that he and all his fans are white - they're troons, so it's OK, it's all those other white people that are really evil, because they just. Won't. Accept. They're. Evil.
The joke he doesn't get is that all these troons pushing the idea that white is bad, complacent in the idea that they still tick a diversity box so anything labeled 'Diversity and Inclusion' still includes them, never bother to think that maybe, just maybe, white people are also the ones most tolerant to their troonery. It's like how LaBelle virtue-signals by having headscarfs on a few of his NPCs, as if the muslim population in general would accept his bullshit more, especially as a non-muslim.
He's not nearly so clever or complex to even be making an intersectionality joke. Billy's just repeating current SJW dogma, safe in the knowledge that of all the things people get angry at him for, the hypocrisy of all these troons saying white people are evil is too far down the list to worry about.
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2021
Yeah, those ugly old crazy bitter white women amiright? Horrible old useless hags who should just wither away and die already, and shut up in the meantime. I bet those gross old ladies have cats too like completely crazy old cat ladies and will die alone completely useless because if they were born in the 70s they're ready for the trashpile, it's not like with men that they get to keep living their lives after get to be people even though they're past 40.
And they're nothing at all like gorgeous Labelle, young and nubile, fertile and flowering, wonderful ethereal creature and icon of womanhood- a true woman, ready to embrace the fertile seed of a man to propagate humankind.