aw, my little girl is growing up

A brief history of my experience of F/F pairings on screen: or, why I understand your fear and also, why Motherland: Fort Salem gives me hope

I understand your apprehension. I came of age into my queerness in a time when literally. every. single. prominent lesbian movie ended with one or both of the pair either killing themselves or going back to a dude. Apparently that’s all their het producers thought queer women were capable of. And it was just something I came to expect, so I savored whatever sexy scenes I got and threw out the rest—which was mostly overblown Queer Angst™. (And if you know me, you know I love angst, just not angst that constantly revolves around the anguish and trial of reconciling one’s sexuality.) 

(Side note: if you’re queer, you know queer angst is real. Coming out to yourself is hard. Coming out to others is hard and sometimes dangerous. Seeing this angst thoughtfully explored on screen can be liberating. But constantly reducing the whole of queer folks’ experience to that type of angst, especially by het folks, can get boring at best or becomes tokenizing at worst.)

Anyways, the next step of the evolution in queer women representation (by mostly het producers) was turning down the Queer Angst™ and recognizing the capacity of queer women for deep and thoughtful relationships. But OF COURSE these relationships were never central to the story and show, so they returned to their tried and true habits of ripping the F/F pairing apart, usually in fairly thoughtless ways. Lexa was the glaring example, but we can all name others. A surprise development in this stage was the discovery of the power of queer-baiting, which het producers have used to powerful effect. See: Supergirl.

We’ve been burned. For years. I get it. 

But this is all to say that Motherland: Fort Salem feels different to me. There are a lot of reasons for this. 

First, the show makes me feel safe in a number of ways. All of the main cast are women. (It’s an alternative America that is a matrilineal society, and witches make up the military’s power. Men are basically there for supernatural fuel, with a few exceptions.) There is literally not one man who is a main character. Also, this is maybe the most sex positive show I’ve ever seen. Not only is queerness normalized, so are poly relationships and general sexual joy and freedom.

Second, the F/F pairing itself seems solid. Raylla is the first relationship introduced, and they are the main pairing throughout the first season. Raelle is obviously a lead, and you could argue that Scylla is, too. Do they endure some angst? YES. HEAVY ANGST. But none of it is Queer Angst™. There are no struggles of coming out, no hate crimes, no one forbidding their love because they’re both women. It’s not forbidden at all, just discouraged—for other more compelling reasons. 

This pairing is a driving force into the second season. I’m not sure if they’ll get much screen time together (because of where the plot has led), but they’re integral to the story—both as individuals and as a pairing—and I can’t imagine either of them being killed off. 

I feel good about Raylla. So far, I really trust the writers. And I’m taking all the hope I can find these days.

Alabaster Madonna 

He has “skin so black it’s almost blue”, his hair is “dense, tight-curled stuff, the kind of hair that needs to be shaped if it’s to look stylish”, and he is “whipcord thin”.

The Ten-ringed orogene, Alabaster, and son, Corundum, from the Broken Earth series by N.K. Jemisin (@nkjemisin on twitter)​.

No matter what happens, I love you. (