#Apologies for the length ))

[polutrope]

Just pure headcanons, what do you think happened during Maglor's reign as a king? I don't know if his reign was short or something but I remember it took some time before Fingon was able to save Maedhros and unite the noldor and there was still some division between the host of nolofinweans and feanorians. I wonder if he considered himself a placeholder until Maedhros returned or was he a reluctant king? Did the host respect him as a king, did his own brothers respect him as a king? I am so intrigued because, aside from Maedhros, I think Maglor deserved some shoutout lmao (No, this isn't a maglor-obsession-spree that I have been on, nu uh). Also, I feel like he would have some cordial relationship with Fingolfin, they could bond as the second sons having to take leadership because the eldest died/was abducted idk.

Oh no, starlitelwing. I hope you know the Pandora's Box you've just opened. King Maglor is one of my all-time favourite things to think about.

First of all: there's actually no canonical information on Maglor's position after the capture of Maedhros (in fact, we don't even know what Maedhros' title/position was after Feanor's death; all we know is that Feanor "claimed now the kingship of all the Noldor" in Tirion. Contested leadership is SO GOOD isn't it? anyway...).

The published Silmarillion glosses right over the question of who's in charge during the time between Feanor's death and Fingolfin's official assumption of the Kingship of the Noldor (which, if you ask me, Fingolfin effectively had been King since the time of Feanor's exile, and he was in any case Regent at the time of Finwe's death... he said he'd follow Feanor but the people following him were calling him Finwe Nolofinwe soooo... aiee, I digress again). The book gallops at such a breakneck speed that you don't really notice the gap in leadership. Or, I didn't.

But then you look at the Grey Annals (where Tolkien Gateway gets most of its First Age dates) and you see that there are 2-3 Tree Years and 5 Sun Years between Maedhros' capture and his rescue. Now, however you imagine time works in Tree Years when there are no Trees, that's still a long time. Maedhros was gone at a minimum 6-7 years, more likely closer to the equivalent of 30 "regular" years. (That's way longer, by the way, than the time between Feanor's death and Maedhros' capture, which was like, a day to a month, at most. Maedhros, if he even was King, was King for way less time than whoever followed him. And he sucked at the job, btw. But I digress. Again.)

So someone had to be in charge for those 6 to 30 years, but whomst? That the leadership would pass after Feanor's death to the eldest son is logical, and that it would then pass to the next eldest is also logical. I see no reason to refute that, but note: it would not be uncanonical to have someone other than Maedhros or Maglor in charge at this time. You can make King Celegorm a thing and still be canon-compliant!

This passage in the published Silm is basically the extent of the activities of the sons of Feanor during Maedhros' absence:

Then the brothers of Maedhros drew back, and fortified a great camp in Hithlum; but Morgoth held Maedhros as hostage, and sent word that he would not release him unless the Noldor would forsake their war, returning into the West, or else departing far from Beleriand into the South of the world. But the sons of Feanor knew that Morgoth would betray them, and would not release Maedhros, whatsoever they might do; and they were constrained also by their oath, and might not for any cause forsake the war against their Enemy.

The sense here is that all six sons acted as a unit. But in the 1937 Quenta Silmarillion, the text on which this passage is drawn:

Morgoth held [Maedhros] as hostage and sent word to Maglor that he would only release his brother if …

To Maglor! Excellent evidence that Tolkien was also making the logical conclusion that Maglor, the eldest, was in charge. (My best theory for why Christopher Tolkien took that out is Too Many Names, but it's an odd decision.)

All that was to say: We don't know, canonically, that Maglor was in charge at Mithrim. But it makes a lot of sense, and it's my headcanon that he was.

Now. More interesting headcanons.

I don't think Maglor was called King until it was politically necessary.

I see him as someone who is comfortable in command (one meaning of Cano is "commander", after all) but who likes to command collaboratively. Double-edged sword: he values the input of others (admirable quality) and he does not like being fully responsible for the outcomes of a decision (less admirable).

Unlike much fanon I've come across, I don't think Maglor was a particularly reluctant or incompetent leader or that he hated it. He was miserable, yes, because his father just died and his brother was just captured, and he wasn't thrilled to become a leader on top of that, but he keeps it together.

So how do I imagine it all went down?

The problem with Maglor being in command is that his "collaborative" style of leadership is not appropriate for a time of crisis or for his family. While the Silm often talks about "the sons of a Feanor" as a unit, I do not think they were of the same mind on everything. At all. They need a firm hand, and Maglor does not have that.

But who does have a firm hand? Who would be a more martial ruler, someone who could get people in order during a crisis? Celegorm. And he knows it.

So why did the Feanorians "get nothing done" during those 6-30 years (sidenote: I don't actually think they got nothing done, but it does seem they didn't get anything BIG done)? Well, for one, they were fighting amongst themselves.

Maglor could not get his brothers to agree on anything, and yet he did not know any other way of commanding, and over time he becomes more and more miserable as a leader.

Celegorm, meanwhile, is chomping at the bit to "relieve him" of the burden.

Around them, everyone else is picking sides.

Curufin is an interesting case. I headcanon he actually was fully behind Maglor at the beginning, because he respects the orderliness of succession. But as Maglor proves himself unsuitable for the role, he aligns with Celegorm.

Outside the family, I headcanon that the Mithrim Elves were actually quite taken with Maglor, the poet-king. Their alliance hinges on him. But the Noldor, especially the army, would rather follow Celegorm.

As everyone knows, a rival for leadership with the army's support is Bad News. And yet Maglor manages to hold on. He should definitely get credit for that.

But why hold on? If he is hating this ruler job, why not just let Celegorm have it? Couple reasons:

It's Celegorm. He may be able to perform well, but Maglor knows he's the most like Feanor in temperament and, well, Feanor's kingship didn't end well.

If Maglor gives up that crown, he will have admitted to himself that Maedhros is not coming back. This is the same reason he doesn't give it over to Fingolfin when Uncle Nolvo shows up. He is hanging onto that thing for dear life because, to him, it belongs to Maedhros and only Maedhros. He is the crown's custodian, never its rightful owner (this bleeds into my headcanon that Maglor does not "in his heart" agree with Maedhros' decision to cede the kingship — he'll never be as vocal about it as the others, though).

Now we come to another piece. What did Maglor call himself? Like I said up top, I don't think he initially called himself King. He was "head of his House", or maybe, "Lord of Hithlum," or maybe King Regent, but never King. If one of the Mithrim got mixed up and called him that, he would always correct them.

That changes when Fingolfin shows up. Now there's another claimant to the title of King. Possibly a more legitimate one than even Maedhros (as Maedhros later says himself).

By that time, Maglor has been keeping that crown out of Celegorm's hands for years; he is not giving it up now. And Fingolfin is less likely to challenge his leadership if he offers no room for ambiguity. If he dons the mantle of kingship and pretends Maedhros is dead.

So that is what he does... Does Fingolfin accept it? Well: "Then there was peril of strife between the hosts."

For three years, on opposite sides of the Lake, they're at an impasse. Fingon doesn't go looking for Maedhros because he thinks Maedhros is dead (and other reasons: the mission is insane and desperate not the least, and contrary to popular opinion Fingon is not a rash idiot).

How does Fingon eventually learn the truth? You'll have to wait and read what @melestasflight and I are cooking up for Silm Epistolary Week ;)

ETA: Despite this, I do think you're right that Maglor and Fingolfin could have bonded over their similar experiences! There's the personal and there's the political, and I love the idea of the tension between these straining what could be an emotionally supportive familial friendship between Maglor and Fingolfin.

[agentelevatormusic]

Although Vera considered herself a careful planner, she’d never booked a night walk with a dog. The harsh weather was no problem for her. Ice, wind, and freezing temperatures were part of a veteran Delta-14’s genetic makeup. Even the darkness played into her stealth more than it played into her fear. But she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without little Jawa, whose tiny paws would surely freeze in the cold. He was so put out by her cancellation, too. Quietly circling at her heels with great big eyes. Vera had no choice but to play with him indoors and save the forest for a more temperate evening. No other option than to lie flat on the floor and smother Jawa with love and little dog treats and hidden pieces of jerky from her pocket. 

By the time she realized she’d been had, it was too late to go on a real walk anyway. With or without a smug little dog. One more kiss on his perfect little nose and Vera walked off in a huff. 

So, a light dusting of snow was catching at the window screen behind Vera. She didn’t mind the occasional snowflake. It was well worth it for the air circulation. This was one of those secret places in the residential building that Vera found she could actually breathe if she got the atmosphere right. She’d already flicked out the hall lights and draped a silk scarf, reddish-orange patterned with tiny black deer, onto the floor lamp by the communal couch. Usually, it held back her hair. But the soft ambience it produced over that bright bulb was much more pleasing to Vera. She preferred her hair wild and loose, anyway. 

She was curled up on that couch with her legs tucked beneath her. Thick, patterned socks peeking out. Pages from the end of Italo Calvino’s The Baron in the Trees, a fresh copy of the first volume of Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley waiting on the coffee table with her empty mug of cocoa. Vera closed the former, still not quite finished, as soon as she saw Cowboy Greeting. “Long time no see,” Vera said with a wry smile. She offered the other side of the couch. Even if he didn’t stay, Vera figured it would be impolite not to offer. "First time finding The One Specific Window or do I just keep missing you?

@cowboygreeting

[faciensmel]

Where: By the edge of main street at Ren Faire Who: Rini + Andy

Andy had nipped home quickly to pick up few more crates of mead she'd been selling, lucky for her at a renaissance faire mead was extremely popular, unlucky for her she had to drag a new batch as quickly as possible and didn't think it through. She had to think quick on her feet while at home and picked up a wheel barrel from the garden filling it with the bottles of mead before starting her rather long journey from the edge of town to main street. By the time she reached the edge of it Andy was panting, the cute wings attached to her back now just seemed like an inconvenience, she was glad she was only wearing a dress not a full on costume.

Stopping at the edge of faire she exhaled a deep sight, trying to catch her breath and took one of the bottles opening it on the edge of the wheel barrel. Pandora spotted someone looking at her, she looked back at Rini giving her an awkward smile, "It's a bit humid here" was all she could think to say. Andy looked around, it wasn't far to go now but she needed a breather, there was no way she'll re-start her journey straight away, not to mention her hands were starting to hurt from the weight of the bottles. Resolving to stay here for a bit she sat down on a curb of the road and extended the bottle to Rini, "Wanna try some mead?" she asked with a shrug.

@backmaskcd

[buckypascal]

Steve made a mistake. No, he didn't.

[artharakka]

1. Addax nasomaculatus (addax) | 2. Litocranius walleri (gerenuk) | 3. Tragelaphus eurycerus (bongo) | 4. Oryx gazella (gemsbok) | 5. Bos taurus (Aubrac cattle) | 6. Ovis canadensis (bighorn sheep) | 7. Sivatherium | 8. Pakicetus | 9. Diceros bicornis (black rhinoceros)

[everyandanything]

An opportunity to talk about one of my favorite things? a win!!

All of these fics and writers have my heart, and I'm sure there's a million more I'm forgetting. This fandom has some of the most crazy talented writers, so I'm truly just scratching the surface.

(Must preface this by saying that I'm a Darry girl at heart so most of these will center around him.)

WIPS:

the grief that does not speak by sodapopper (@sodapopper)

When Darry closes his eyes, he still sees the glistening wet on Sodas cheeks, the way his voice went quiet, the tears caught in his eyelashes. This beautiful little brother who was kinder than Darry could ever hope to be, and the sickening realization: I hurt him on purpose. - Five times Darry makes Soda cry, and one time Soda makes Darry cry. ~~ Could wax poetic about my love for Sare's prose forever. Beautiful writing, beautiful characterization, and much like Soda, you will be crying by the end.

A Crowded Table (and literally every single thing written by) romeoandjulietyouwish (@romeoandjulietyouwish)

Darry only has one little brother, Ponyboy Curtis. In order to have the best chance of passing the final custody hearing, he agrees to temporarily foster a sixteen year old named Sodapop. ~~ Ellie's mind is filled with so many incredible ideas I don't know how she holds them all. Everything she writes is beautiful and has me on the edge of my seat.

left at the graveyard (i'm driving past ghosts) by amethystwriter (@amethyst-writer)

Darry was going to be sick. The grief kept climbing up his throat, curling deep inside his gut- salt in the wound. It had been half a year, and he still hadn’t cried. He couldn’t, anyway. He didn’t have the time. or,,, Darry has not thought about himself in ages. People are starting to notice. ~~ This fic makes my heart ache in the best possible way. I've reread it at least a half dozen times. So painfully good.

How the Body Falls Apart by Whovian101

After the death of Johnny and Dally, Darry is breaking down in both mind and body. He begins working harder than ever and all the stress takes a physical toll. ~~ Darry, has in fact, never had a worse time than he does in this fic. Everyone's worried about it, except, well, Darry. 11/10 angst

didn't know who i was supposed to be by trekkiehood (@trekkiehood)

“You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?” “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.” Darry shrugged. “I’m fine. Just a bad night, that’s all.” It was amazing to him that the anger he felt when thinking about his mother softened at Paul’s accusations. He was allowed to be angry at his home situation. But no Soc, not even Paul, had that right. --- Darry is fifteen and for the first time, he doesn't know which side of the tracks he wants to be on. It doesn't help that his mom has lost it. It really doesn't help that Paul saw it all go down. ~~ So so good. A great exploration of Darry with his parents as well as his relationship with Paul. I'm constantly checking for updates.

Against the Grain by attabitchfinch

Any decent roofer knows you're supposed to cut with the grain. Cutting against the grain will split the wood unevenly and cause tearout, which is when the wood fibers are lifted and ripped haphazardly instead of cleanly cut. Nobody understands this better than Darrel Curtis. ~~ Ughhh the writing in this fic is so good. Darry's life is so bittersweet here and I love the direction the author's going with it.

Finished:

overdue for a revival (spent so long just gettin' by) by Nearly (@ponykidcurtis)

The latch on the mailbox squeaks, always has, and the hinge is rusty, but it opens just the same. Pony grabs the stack of papers inside and leafs through. Bills, junk, more bills, more junk. And underneath, in an envelope so pristinely white it nearly glows; Mr. Curtis 731 North St. Louis Ave Tulsa, Oklahoma 74106 Ponyboy damn near chokes on his own heart. Mr. Curtis has never been anyone but his father, and sometimes Darry when the state comes knockin’. But there's no mistaking who it's for; the crisp seal, a bright red circle next the return address, is a dead giveaway. The University of Oklahoma. or; Ponyboy has his first panic attack. ~~ Beck's writing is the stuff dreams are made and understands Ponyboy in a way that's not even fair. Every single word of this is beautifully done and so emotionally grounded. I could read this forever and it still wouldn't be enough. 100/10

and if we hit on troubled water by bluesweatshirt

Five times someone saw how much Darry cares about Ponyboy, and one time Pony finally saw it too. ~~ One of the first things I ever read in the fandom and I've gone back to it so many times. I love this exploration of Darry and Pony, especially from the gang's pov.

Is Your Love Strong Enough? plus the two sequels by shakes

Darry's strength is tested once more as life throws another tragedy to the gang. ~~ I could write an entire essay on this series alone. It's so heartbreaking. It's so good. It's truly the standard.

The Outsiders by crow2222 (@crow2222)

Darry finds Ponyboy's theme, and starts to read it. ~~ Another great exploration of Darry and Pony's relationship. Darry finding Pony's theme is soul crushing, and the emotional journey he takes through this is so raw and real.

ain't no one to bail me out by dashandlilly (@qprpbj)

“I’ve just been thinkin’, since tomorrow’s Johnny’s birthday, first o’ March,” Ponyboy says from his seat. “And I know you ain’t baked since…” his youngest brother trails off, but eventually finds it in himself to continue, “but I was thinkin’ maybe you could bake a chocolate cake for him tonight so he could swing by tomorrow and we could all celebrate, ‘cause you always made the best ones? His folks won’t give a damn it’s his birthday, y’know.” Darry freezes with a plate in his hand, and his blood seems to run cold. — or, it’s two months after their parents' death and for the first time since it happened, darry's asked to bake the very same thing his parents died over: some chocolate cake ~~ Reagh's writing is so insanely good. I read this right after I got into the fandom and I've gone back to it so so many times. The concept ?? The emotional turmoil ??? They dynamic between the brothers ???? Absolutely everything to me.

In The Eye Of The Storm by FabuMazX

What if, in the time Ponyboy and Johnny were gone, the State called Darrel's guardianship into question, resulting in Soda getting taken away? - “No, no, no, Ms. Miller,” Darry splutters, gripping the doorframe for dear life, “Y-You can’t, you can’t take him-” “Until this situation has been resolved,” She ploughs over his pleading, “Sodapop will be placed in a boys’ home; It’s not too far, you can still see-” “Please, you can’t do this-” “This is for his own good, Darrel.”  ~~ Hey!! This Crushed Me!! Left me devastated!! My heart shattered on the floor!!! I fear I may never recover!!! 1000/10

In honor of A03 being down, can everyone give me their most heart wrenching, soul crushing, angsty, hurt comfortish Outsiders fic recommendations? I have been rereading old ones but I’d like to read something new, so can everyone just give me their best outsiders fan fic recommendations? Thanks!

[k-sci-janitor]

A day late for Newt’s birthday but who’s counting!

[lululawrence]

You Should Be Here With Me

A 2024 Advent Fic by lululawrence

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | 34k | 26 Chapters

The festive period is a traditionally hectic one in the world of Premier League football, and this year is no different. A lot is riding on how Manchester United is able to come through the fixtures in the coming weeks.

Louis and his teammates know all too well the pressure that is on their shoulders. They need to prove, not just to fans of the club but the entire league, that they still have what it takes to be a team worthy of fighting for the top of the table.

Throw in the fact that Louis is all too aware that he's not getting any younger in a profession that demands your peak physical fitness year round and the incredibly fit Harry Styles, who is part of the club's social media team, and this year's festive period might just be the most important one yet.

🎄1 🎄 2 🎄 3 🎄 4 🎄 5 🎄 6 🎄 7 🎄 8 🎄 9 🎄 10 🎄 11 🎄 12 🎄 13 🎄 14 🎄 15 🎄 16 🎄 17 🎄 18 🎄 19 🎄 20 🎄 21 🎄 22 🎄 23 🎄 24 🎄 25 🎄 26 🎄

NOW COMPLETE!

[oppysbabydoll]

hiiii!! Saw you do request and i was wondering if you could do mtmte drift x ratchet x reader? (Poly relationship your honor) iam so hungry for dratchet x reader content and theres only so lil crumbs in here, it made me sad 😭

(Depends on you if you wanna headcanons or fic, as long its dratchet x reader pls,, its okay if you don't wanna tho)

of course! i should’ve mentioned this on my introduction but im totally comfortable with polyam requests, as a polyamorous person myself! plus, dratchet is adorable <3 you have good taste anon

without further ado, have some dratchet

dratchet x human reader (sfw)

you’re the first human on the ship, so it’s natural for transformers to take interest in you. everyone was curious about the human. yet after the initial excitement faded away, bots like ratchet and drift still were curious about you

as the only organic, the medic was curious and worried to see how your body worked. what would happen if you got injured? what would he do then? and worst of all… what does that say about him, as a medic? if he can’t heal the crew then what good is he as a medic? so he does checkups repeatedly to better understand how your body function. while his initial reasons are based on his own insecurities… a genuine bond does form

you talk about your hobbies, your interests, whatever makes you happy as ratchet does his checkups because speaking from personal experience… doctor visits are not easy. while ratchet is initially annoyed by your rambles, your passion inspires him. and on cycles where he isn’t scheduled to check up on you… he finds himself missing your presence (he’d rather die than admit it though lol)

for drift… his reasons for becoming close to you r for redemption. as a former deception, he’s done some terrible things against those he deemed as inferior: humans being one of them. by befriending you… he can’t take away his past, but he can create a better future with you. and much like hot rod, you match his energy. unlike said mech, you try to understand his interests, like crystals and yoga

of course, you being involved in the equation doesn’t erase dratchet from happening—if anything, it only pushes them to happen sooner. when drift confides to you, you encourage him to talk to ratchet more, and wingman for him, hyping him in front of ratchet. and while ratchet is initially skeptical of even talking to drift since they’re so. Different they do become a thing

they become a thing and you think your job here is done. unbeknownst to you, these bots want you too! so they make their own moves! drift gives you as many compliments as possible that tether on the edge between platonic and something more. he ultimately confesses with a heartfelt gesture. maybe with all his crystals forming a heart. cheesy but endearingly sweet <3

ratchet isn’t as loud about his feelings but… he definitely is softer in his interactions with you. he gives you lots of soft looks when he thinks you aren’t looking. i can’t see him confessing unless it’s heat of the moment so i think you or drift would have to make the first move to suggest a polyamorous relationship. but between the three of you: resident protector, medic, and human of megarod’s ship, you’re a wonderful trio

[darcyxpalmer]

Darcy tilted her head, pondering Adarsh's words before she shook her head. "People don't get thrown out of experiences and different studies just because they don't act the way they are assumed to. That is the whole point. You do the trials and experiences and then what happens either proves the hypothesis or it contradicts it, but the whole point is to get results, not to mish-mash them with eliminating the ones who don't fit a certain criteria or don't act the way they would have assumed them to."

She didn't even think that weeding anyone out would be the goal. If it was the case, the ship would have been a lot more dangerous and sure, there were some injuries, but they were just fine. They would be just fine in the end.

Darcy wished she actually had some kind of notebook with herself suddenly, so she could take everything down that Adarsh told her. If he was as important as she thought he'd be - and why would he be the only one without memories if he wasn't -, then she'd want to remember everything. But alas, she'd have to rely on her memories.

"I don't know, it's not really as cut and dry as you just not remembering everything and then your brain is empty of any kind of facts. Sure, one of the main types of amnesia really is that like, you just blank and don't retain information on anything for the last x amount of time, but so often it's not as cut and dry and oftentimes people still retain information like languages and general knowledge they gathered during the time period when they have amnesia. And since you don't actually remember anything from your life, that multiplies by tenfold, I am guess.

"If you really think about it, if you literally forgot everything you've ever known, you wouldn't know how to walk, how to communicate, stuff like that. Which is just not how it all works." Thankfully for Adarsh, really.

No head injury, just a headache. "That I guess could be from an intentional taking of your memories. But it could have easily been from us just getting out of the simulation and you having to adjust to the new reality. Or dehydration. Or plenty of other reasons, to be frank. But hey, at least it's not an actual injury."

Darcy's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the last few words of the man. Could she understand the sentiment that you'd want to give back some of the pain you recieved from somebody who hurt you? Sure, without a doubt. But Adarsh didn't know anyone actually hurt him, he could have signed up for this just as easily, not to mention it could have still easily come from an injury without any of them actually realizing it. "I don't really think that should be the first option. What if you are the one who signed up for this? You're just going to punch yourself? Not to mention, getting stuck on who did it sounds more like you might miss out of triggers that will result in you getting some of those memories back. Not that pointing that out helps that much, I also understand that."

Adarsh allowed himself to hear her out. Even if to him the explanation sounded dubious at best, like trying to make sense of something that was a complete coincidence. He frowned. “Hmm.” He tried to make sense of it the way she was trying to do, but came up short. “So they throw us into a new environment, scare us a little, and then provide a feast of food? As a test? To weed out… some people. What happens next, the ones who didn’t act according to their expectations will get weeded out?” It sounded like one of those reality shows. Though he realised quickly he hadn’t ever seen more than commercials for them, or maybe a few minutes of it as he skipped through channels. Not his type of program?

Adarsh wanted to scoff, but given how Bollywood-esque his amnesia was… she might not be wrong. “I remember facts, languages, movie plots, geography, some survival skills… things I gather someone with amnesia might not remember. Intentional seems more likely to me than a mistake.” 

He touched the back of his head. “*I don’t have any injuries, nothing to suggest brain trauma.” 

Though perhaps it was actual trauma, stress-induced amnesia. Another favourite Bollywood trope. He swallowed. “I did have a headache when I woke up,” he admitted. “But I don’t remember if it was because of the light of the sun after being below deck or if that happened earlier,” he admitted. With some frustration, because it would fit much better if it was in fact because of some scientist’s intention. 

He huffed. “Not at all comforting,” he agreed. “Makes me want to find whomever is behind this thing and fuck them up.” Crush their little scientist brains until they didn’t know who they were either.

He was a violent person, after all. 

[kandlewick]

i'll dry the villain's tears

t h e r o s e r e d t y r a n t ' s m o t h e r pt.2

you get reincarnated into a role that became the breaking point of the villain's story and you, be it an unwillingness to cause them harm or a desire to survive, must work hard to make sure they grow into a better (or at least safer) person.

You felt entirely too overdressed sitting here at the park. Your former body's wardrobe was obviously not meant for anything too strenuous and that apparently included just enjoying your time outside in the sun. You could feel the sweat gather in uncomfortable places... but your nerves weren't just because of the warm weather.

Trey's mother sat beside you, much more dressed for the occasion, and watched as Trey and Riddle reconnected. You could hear the two of them laugh and giggle as they began playing as if nothing had ever happened and the two were quick to run up the steps leading to the slide, followed by a whole gaggle of other children. You let out a soft sigh of relief at the sight.

Not just the clothes, but your body was so stiff and rigid it was hard to even relax as you tried to breath. Your back was straight as a rod while you sat on the uncomfortable park bench, your well manicured hands firm on your lap and you shuffled uncomfortably in place. Trey's mother eyed you from her spot on the bench and offered a small smile, like she was acknowledging how strenuous this whole situation was for you.

"I'm guessing you've never brought Riddle to a public park before, huh?" She crossed her arms and leaned on them over the table, linking her fingers together, "You look like you're about to faint."

You forced out a laugh, too embarrassed to meet her gaze and pulled at the high collar of your buttoned top. You could practically feel heat waves steaming off of you. "Something like that," you admitted, "I wasn't exactly a good mother when it came to recreational activities."

You inwardly cringed at your wording — what, is Miss Rosehearts vocabulary infecting you too?

Trey's mother hummed as she continued to look at you. You could feel her bright hazel eyes staring at you. You could feel a cold sweat drip down your neck.

"Please stop me if this sounds too forward," Trey's mother leaned back but quickly offered her hand to you, "but my name is Dinah."

You blinked up at her, startled. She... wanted you to shake her hand?

She offered up her hand again and made a motion for you to follow. Almost hesitantly, you reached out and clasped her hand in your own, shaking it. Her palms were so warm, comforting, almost the exact opposite of your body's cold touch. She smiled at you, the dimple on your cheek crinkling with delight.

"I figured since our children are such good friends, we could at least try and act cordial." She glanced over as your two children sat next to each other on the swing set, the elder Trey guiding Riddle on how to kick back his feet. Riddle was hesitant and stumbled a few times, but kept giggling all the same, obviously entranced.

"Trey likes to baby younger kids," Dinah smiled, "I wonder how he'd do with younger siblings..."

You noticed that too as Riddle followed him around like a little duckling chasing after its mama. Whatever Trey did, Riddle would follow even if it meant pushing his limits. Trey watched carefully from the other end of the playground as Riddle jumped from one platform to the next, his arms out and knees shaking as he tried to keep himself balanced. Whenever he would stumble and topple over the edge nearly sending him into a fit of tears, Trey was quick to act and followed him back to the beginning.

"He's a sweet kid." You mumbled, "You're a great mother."

She gave you an almost sympathetic look, noticing your tone before reaching out and grabbing your hand, "Hey, you're not doing so bad now either." She squeezed your hand in her own and offered you an encouraging smile, "Parenting isn't easy and sometimes you don't notice the damage until it's too late but look at you," She gestured to your whole self, "Better late then never, right?"

You both sat there idly chatting until much later then you had figured you would and before long, the sun had began to set, casting the park in a orange hue. You were caked in sweat but Riddle wasn't doing much better. The two children came back huffing and puffing from exhaustion, sweat dripping off their foreheads like rivers. Riddle looked especially tired, his cheeks a bright red.

"I think I'm ready to go now," Riddle sighed.

You gave him a small smile and pulled him close, rubbing your pristine sleeve against his cheeks and wiped away any of the dirt that stained his skin, laughing as he let out a soft whine. Trey wasn't faring any better and was quick to lean against his mother's lap. Dinah ruffled his hair but her face quickly grimaced at the sweat in his hair. The kids obviously were going to need a bath after this.

You pulled Riddle in to your arms and tucked him under your chin. His bright red hair tickled your face but you held him even closer as his arms wrapped around your neck. He let out a soft sigh against your shoulder. Trey, being much taller then Riddle, simply grabbed Dinah's hand. He tiredly looked up at the young boy in your arms and smiled, his hands raising to offer Riddle a small wave.

"Bye, Riddle. We'll play again sometime, ok?"

Riddle turned his head and nodded, a sleepy smile on his face, "Mmmhm..."

"We will do this again sometime, right?" Dinah lowered her voice and leaned over so that Trey wouldn't be in ear shot, "This isn't a one time thing?"

"Oh?" You blinked over at her. Oh! "Yes!" You reassured her, your voice a little too loud, "Yes, we would love that. Riddle would love to." I would love to!! You screamed in your head, eager to befriend her. You wanted friends too!!!

Dinah gave you a dazzlingly bright smile, "Then I think we should invite Chen'ya and his uncle next time too!" Riddle and Trey straightened up at this and you could tell the two of them were excited about the thought.

"His uncle?" You questioned. That doesn't sound very familiar.

"Oh yeah," Dinah laughed behind her hand, "Chen'ya's parents are always out of the country on business so he lives with his uncle and his grandfather. My husband and I are good friends with them both and his uncle is a really fun guy, I'm sure you'd find him... interesting!"

It would certainly be interesting meeting someone new that you had no idea about... plus you'd be able to apologize properly to Chen'ya and whoever his guardian was. It could possibly be very... fun. You could feel your body hum in excitement as you found yourself nodding eagerly, nearly bouncing Riddle in your arms, "I would like that very much."

And then after exchanging phone numbers, you and Dinah parted ways, the two children eager to return home and rest.

"Mmmm," Riddle hummed in your arms, his hold on you loosening as he began drifting off, "I had a lot of fun today —" He yawned loudly, his head burrowing itself further into your neck, a content smile on his face, "Thank you."

[thesmokinpossum]

The Godfather, Mario Puzo | An Hymn to Childhood, Li-Young Lee | Psalm 139: 14 | The Godfather, Mario Puzo | For your own Good, Leah Horlick | Erou, Maya Phillips | The Godfather, Mario Puzo | Ask Polly | The Hours, Michael Cunningham | FROM THE MAKERS OF "TWO-MOM ENERGY DRINK", IT'S "LET YOUR FATHER DIE" ENERGY DRINK

[wyattxabhrams]

Wyatt cast a glance over to the passenger’s side seat where his younger brother was crowded between his bag and the dashboard. “You sure?” He questioned, clearly unable to understand the insistence of keeping his stuff with him when it made more sense to drop it in the back seat. Wyatt was about to observe that Lee looked uncomfortable, but he held his tongue. The drive to the club wasn’t a long one and it was Lee’s prerogative how he chose to spend it. In the past, he might have taken the bags and tossed them behind himself. But now, he’d given a recommendation and left it at that. In professional situations, Wyatt was insistent and steadfast. He ensured that the people he worked for listened to him, explaining his reasoning in excruciating detail until they were convinced. That, or he forced them to rationalize their resistance until he was convinced. Either way, he did drop a subject so easily.

Personally, it was a completely different story. Not once did he question the handful of people in his life on their choices. Rarely did he voice his opinion or offer advice. Especially not his siblings or mother. He had not stopped his concern when he left, but he certainly felt unentitled to voice his opinion when he was a fleeting relationship in their lives. Thus, he never questioned why Tess married a man that their father selected, why Georgie chose to stay back with their parents when it was clear she was unhappy. He had questions, he had thoughts. But each of them remained buried away, silenced because he felt it was not his place. In fact, it was Lee’s choices that Wyatt agreed with the most. Leaving Georgia midway through college and never looking back. It was precisely what Wyatt had done. And it was precisely what he hoped each of his siblings would have done too.

As he received confirmation, Wyatt merely nodded and they were once again shrouded in silence. One that was emblematic of most of his conversations with Lee and Georgie. It did not come as a surprise to him that he didn’t have much to say to his youngest sister. After all, he’d barely been in the house during her formative years. He didn’t know anything about the experiences in her life except through the few tidbits he got from Tess in their conversations. Unlike Georgie, Lee and him did share childhood memories. They had not been so many years apart that Wyatt hadn’t witnessed his younger brother growing up into a young adult. But a handful of childhood memories could not compensate for a lack of communication as adults. Now, their conversations were terse and confined to text messages exchanged on occasion. A sharp contrast to how things had been when they were younger.

And even when he recognized that, Wyatt did not see a point in trying to push beyond the equilibrium they’d established. What difference would it make to try? None of them were here for long. They would each fall right back into their old lives once their father was found. And it might not have been the warmest relationship, but it was one that worked for them. Why attempt to fix something that was merely chipped, not broken? Wyatt had long understood and accepted that they were not the family their father held them out to be during his campaign speeches around the town. Once upon a time they were. In an alternate reality, they might still be. But in this one, they were five separate individuals, bound together by a shared surname and the acceptable level of concern that came with that.

Or maybe, it was only Wyatt who was the separate entity. One who’d severed ties definitively enough that attempting to rebuild them would be futile.

Lee spoke up, continuing the small talk and Wyatt nodded slightly. California. He knew that. Lee had mentioned it at some point, and yet in his head, Wyatt couldn’t place when his younger brother had been in the state, or for how long. Was it recent? He assumed yes. “I’m not too worried,” he said with a touch of humor and the confidence he typically projected with everyone. “But I’m glad I asked. I won’t hold back either then. Loser buys,” he was about to say beer. But then he recalled that Lee was sober. So he offered an alternative. “Mom's lavender.” | @leeabhrams

“‘m fine,” Lee muttered, a little more gruffly than the suggestion had perhaps warranted. But that was the thing about spending time with Wyatt, the thing that somehow Lee managed to forget whenever he wasn’t in his brother’s presence. Because Wyatt was his big brother, he was the big brother to Tess and Georgie, too. He was used to leading the way. Used to being listened to, used to — well, maybe not being obeyed, but it was clear to Lee there was no question of what Lee should do, what he should care about. It wasn’t like the drive to the club was all that long, anyway. Lee remembered those evenings after the sun had gone down, when he wished and hoped and prayed that the drive back to the house would last forever; that they could stay in the car winding through back streets and there wouldn’t be any consequences. There were consequences, though, there always were. And Wyatt—Lee shook his head at himself. Wyatt had stopped being a big brother the second he’d left town, the second he’d left them behind. But here he was, still acting like he could stage-direct the minutiae of Lee’s life.

“No, I play.” He knew, he knew Wyatt had no reason to know that. He knew he’d done his best to prevent this particular topic from ever rising between them. Probably, it would be easier than talking about those last four years before Wyatt had left home. Or, worse, the six years that had followed, when Lee had taken Wyatt’s place in the spotlight of Benjamin Abhram’s attention. Still, talking about any of the good parts, trying to recreate them, would’ve made all the rest stand in clearer relief. That’s what Lee had always thought, anyway. And somehow, he’d found himself doing just that — driving to the same club they’d used to drive to, trying to escape the same house, if not the same occupant. So Lee knew he had no reason to feel frustrated. No justification for the way his fist tightened around the strap of his bag. And yet he couldn’t believe that Wyatt would set this whole thing up, and not even know if Lee was still playing tennis. He couldn’t believe that the fact that he’d said yes didn’t say of course he still played. Because if it wasn’t saying that, what had it said to Wyatt? That he was still that little kid, tagging along after his big brother? Desperate for a scrap of positive attention from someone he’d looked up to with all the hope in his rosy-tinted gaze? It was a humiliating prospect, made all the worse for the threads of truth gleaming bright and glaring amidst the rest, and Lee felt like he was crawling out of his skin — it would be nice, right about now, to not also be practically sitting on top of his gear. To have that modicum of extra personal space. He couldn’t stand to give Wyatt the satisfaction, though, belated though it might be, so he dug in his bag for a mint.

It was made all the worse by the knowledge that he was putting on a very bad show, right about now. Wyatt was bearing up the brunt of the conversation, and no, he didn’t want to share any kind of detail about his life, but he had to say something more than a handful of words at a time. “I was playing a couple times a week back in California. Why, are you worried you’re gonna get—” your ass kicked, he didn’t finish. Because Wyatt had done that. More times than Lee knew, probably. Hastily, he popped a newly uncovered mint in his mouth, and substituted, “—shown up? ‘Cause I’m not gonna go easy on you.” | @wyattxabhrams

[m1tchgp]

some fem marc drawings, very hair centric

[thankstothe]

[that-butch-archivist]

"Tess was a performance artist and part-time jewelry maker who now worked as a set designer. [...] The first night we spent together, I taught her to knit — my classic seduction technique (High Femme Camp Antics, or HFCA) — and about frisson, that carbonated feeling that accompanies a crush. We stared at each other for a long time, unblinking. Because I knew that this otherwise might take forever (lesbians!), I finally asked Tess point-blank if she felt a frisson for me (HFCA). In response, Tess kissed me hard, with teeth. I knew she wanted to fuck, but I pushed her hands away dramatically when they crept under my skirt (HFCA). I told her that I didn’t typically sleep with people so soon (HFCA), which was true not for any real reason but because I was privately humiliated by my body (HFCA). Instead of letting her fuck me, I scratched Tess’s entire torso with my long, pink fingernails (HFCA). “Her fingernails drifted down my neck, across my shoulders,” Jess Goldberg, the butch narrator of Stone Butch Blues, says of a high femme whose camp antics thrill her. “I’d forgotten the sheer pleasure of a high femme tease.” “Your fingernails are full of frisson,” Tess said as morning light began to stream in through the window above her bed. “I know,” I said. I recently read a collection of funny stories by Lesléa Newman, high-femme chronicler of dyke life in the 1990s (the materialistic, shopping-addicted Golden Age of HFCA). In one story, a butch named Flash arrives to pick Lesléa up and take her out to dinner. Flash politely tells Lesléa that she looks nice. “The average femme would have taken that to be a compliment,” Lesléa dishes. “But this high-maintenance femme hadn’t spent the last two weeks shopping for the perfect outfit and the last seven hours bathing, shaving, bleaching, filing, polishing, combing, brushing, drying, moussing, spritzing, spraying, and applying five pounds of makeup to have all her efforts summed up in one little four-letter word.” Flash’s flimsy compliment doesn’t satisfy Lesléa’s desires to be seen, appreciated, and worshiped, and so Lesléa starts from the bottom and works her way up, prompting Flash to compliment her shoes, her miniskirt, and finally her hair in a grand, shimmering pyramid of HFCA. But even as she performs satiation, Lesléa is insatiable. Her antics fail at getting her precisely what she wants from Flash, because there’s always something unsatisfying about getting what you want by asking for it. Lesléa’s desire glows from within the frame of her HFCA, distilled and exposed and unmet. Can I Come Inside, my high-femme sex game, deals primarily with unmet, outsourced, and circumnavigated desire. In Females (2019), trans lesbian critic Andrea Long Chu argues that femaleness is a universal, existential condition rather than a gender or a sex — a condition of being and of consciousness that involves letting others do our desiring for us. At stake in Can I Come Inside, as well as in HFCA at large, is a femaleness that both craves and rebels against its tendency to outsource desire. In playing Can I Come Inside, I, like Lesléa, ask Tess to do my desiring for me, and Tess in turn defers her desire to me: the game is strictly my desire, one that she insists she does not share. Even though it mandates a performance of aggressive desire from Tess, there’s no doubt that Can I Come Inside is about my desire; it’s my game; I make the rules."

-- An excerpt from "High Femme Camp Antics," an essay written by Jenny Fran Davis. (Emphasis in bold my own.)