#era number four submission

[cruelsummer-ficfest]

It feels strange being so close to him, yet it never felt more real. The past few months of not speaking to Ron was torturous, and seeing him tangled up with someone else felt like a herd of hippogriffs stomping all over her heart. From the moment she found out that Ron was poisoned, Hermione  made a vow to herself that no matter what happens she will do her best to knock down the walls she put up. It's horrible to think that Ron could’ve died and she was too busy being jealous that he chose another girl. Hermione will do anything to make amends with Ron and if seeing him happy with Lavender then she’ll have to keep her feelings at bay. Even if the thought kills her, hopefully things will change and maybe one day the pain in her heart will heal. Until then, she’ll do her best to get her bestfriend back, nobody will come between that again.

[cruelsummer-ficfest]

Her heart felt like it jumped into her throat. This wasn’t what they normally did – they were supposed to ignore their fights, pretend like they didn’t happen, all water under the bridge. She agreed with him wholeheartedly, for once, but she didn’t dare open her mouth. She was afraid that if she did, she’d blurt out the truth: that she wanted him for herself. That she’d asked him to the Christmas party as more than a friend. That she’d been there the whole time, trying (but failing) to drop hints. That everything could have worked out, if he hadn’t gone and messed it all up.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down. 

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern. 

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips. 

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it. 

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard. 

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out. 

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

[haggishlyhagging]

While the colonial [American] woman shared many of the same grounds for the cultivation of a sense of self-worth as a man, such as pride in family and the possession and exercise of productive work skills, the woman in the expanding era of Jacksonian democracy had a far less adequate basis for self-satisfaction than her brother had. From the perspective of a man, American society in 1820 was an open vista of opportunity: by dint of hard work he could hope to improve his position in society; if he did not succeed in one locality, he could move on to another, carrying his skills with him; with opportunity opening through education and the professionalization of many occupations such as medicine and law, his family could give him a head start on future success. These same changes had an opposite effect on women. With work separated from the household, with shops expanded into larger establishments, with cloth manufactured in factories, and with social status generally something to be "achieved," women were effectively cut off from participation in the significant work of their society. A woman's labor at home was less valued, and her husband was apt to invest large amounts of time and energy in economic efforts away from the house hold. As a result, the grounds for a woman's sense of self-worth narrowed during the decades when men's expanded.

As women's "real" contributions declined in worth, it seems that her qualities as a "woman" expanded, paving the way for the emergence of the cult of True Womanhood in the 1820-1860 period (Welter 1966). What mattered for a woman by the late 1820s were four qualities: piety, purity, submissiveness, and domesticity. The new prevalent values in the larger Jacksonian society—education, success at work, and political participation—were denied to women. As economic affluence increased with the growth of the new industrialism and expansion of trade, women's worth declined as producers and increased as consumers. While an unattached woman in colonial America was granted land or access to work to support herself, the Jacksonian woman was restricted. While schools were opening for young males, physicians and educators were arguing that the female brain and nervous system were insufficiently stable to sustain intellectual effort. Even an occupation as traditionally female as midwifery was being transformed into the field of obstetrics, controlled by male physicians. (The number of medical school graduates increased over fifty times from the turn of the century to the 1840s; by the 1850s physicians rather than midwives delivered most American babies [Rothstein 1972: 108-109].) While a colonial woman could take pride in her ability to manage a farm or run a business with her husband and to continue such management after his death, her Jacksonian descendant was far more restricted to domestic arts and skills (Rosenberg 1971; Lerner 1966).

But the cult of True Womanhood, focusing on submission and patience, was no preparation for women's real responsibilities within a family. Fragility and submission might suffice in courtship or in marital sex, but they did not prepare a woman for the physical and emotional stamina required by repeated pregnancies and the rearing of a large family of children. The conflict inherent in the lack of fit between the cultural ideal of True Womanhood and the social reality of homemaking and maternal roles has been thought by some historians to be at the root of the widespread rise of hysteria among women as the nineteenth century unfolded (Smith 1971; Rosenberg 1972). Rosenberg interprets this phenomenon as a withdrawal into the role of invalid, in which dependency and fragility are legitimate expectations consistent with the cultural stereotype of a wife but which protected the woman from the sexual demands of her husband and the heavy physical and emotional demands of household and child-care duties.

Thus the transformation of the egalitarian ethos from a political ideal in the revolution into the fabric of society meant an expansion of many opportunities for an increasing number of men but a shrinking sphere of participation for women in education, work, and political affairs. But as Rosenberg (1971:563) has pointed out, "Though many aspects of Jacksonianism have been subjected to historical investigation, the possibly stressful effects of such structural change upon family and sex roles have not."

-Alice S. Rossi, The Feminist Papers: From Adams to de Beauvoir

[cruelsummer-ficfest]

Remus liked to say he was bad company in those early days of his return from missions, but Sirius was always slightly fascinated by this version of Remus, and never failed to suggest a pub night. Remus in this mood—hungry, brittle, brusque—gave him a shivering feeling of adulthood, somehow a look into the future at what Remus would look like twenty years from now. It made Sirius feel like an adult, just sitting next to him. In recent months Remus had somehow crossed the invisible line that Sirius still couldn’t find: the line that separated the children from the rest of the world. This was never so clear as after one of these long absences. Sirius felt as though he could only grab a hold of Remus and come along for the ride. 

SOMEbody finished her cruel summer fest fic 😏 (<- bragging)

Five times Remus left, and one time he came back.

[plethoraworldatlas]

Remember when I said Democrats will start openly calling for him to drop out in less than a week?

Crediting U.S. President Joe Biden with spearheading "transformational" changes since taking office three-and-a-half years ago, Rep. Lloyd Doggett on Tuesday became the first Democratic member of Congress to call on the president to withdraw from the 2024 electoral race, warning that a potential victory by former President Donald Trump would "usher America into a long, dark, authoritarian era."

With just four months until Election Day, and weeks until the Democratic Party formally nominates its presidential candidate, Doggett (D-Texas) said in a statement that the party's "overriding consideration must be who has the best hope of saving our democracy from an authoritarian takeover by a criminal and his gang."

Doggett spoke out five days after Biden faced Trump in the first debate of the presidential campaign and alarmed viewers, Democratic strategists, and aides with his performance. The president, speaking in a raspy voice and appearing to lose his train of thought several times, struggled to make the case for his achievements and to call out Trump's repeated lies.

The debate reportedly sent a wave of panic through the Democratic Caucus, with one party insider telling Politico that names of potential replacements for Biden were being floated.

In his statement, Doggett noted that Biden's poll numbers compared to Trump's were cause for concern for several months before the debate.

"Too much is at stake to risk a Trump victory—too great a risk to assume that what could not be turned around in a year, what could not be turned around in the debate, can be turned around now," said Doggett. "President Biden saved our democracy by delivering us from Trump in 2021. He must not deliver us to Trump in 2024."

Doggett's comments came as CNN released a poll showing that Trump is leading Biden by 49% v. 43%, while his lead over Vice President Kamala Harris in a potential matchup is smaller. Trump leads the vice president by two points.

Among Independent voters, Harris has a three-point edge over the former president, while Trump leads Biden by 10 points.

A separate poll released Tuesday by the progressive grassroots group Our Revolution showed that 67% of respondents supported Biden suspending his reelection campaign

Doggett noted that the days following the debate have made increasingly clear the danger of a potential second Trump term, as the U.S. Supreme Court on Monday ruled that Trump has "absolute immunity" regarding "official acts" he committed while he was in office—casting doubt on whether he can be held accountable for trying to overturn the 2020 presidential election results and rendering any U.S. president, as Justice Sonia Sotomayor said, "a king above the law."

"Newly empowered with immunity," said Doggett, Trump would be "unchecked by either the courts or a submissive Republican Congress."

The congressman noted that while Biden has spearheaded some far-reaching legislative reforms, the president signaled earlier in his term that he planned to serve only one term.

"He has the opportunity to encourage a new generation of leaders from whom a nominee can be chosen to unite our country through an open, democratic process," said Doggett. "Recognizing that, unlike Trump, his first commitment has always been to our country, not himself, I am hopeful that he will make the painful and difficult decision to withdraw. I respectfully call on him to do so."

Doggett told Matthew Choi of The Texas Tribune that he had notified the White House of his decision to speak out in favor of Biden stepping aside last Friday, the day after the debate.

"After the debate, the risk of a Trump presidency has grown so much that I felt forced to take this action," Doggett said.

Another survey released Tuesday by Puck News showed alternative candidates including Harris, Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg, California Gov. Gavin Newsom, and Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer polling ahead of Biden in a potential matchup with Trump.

In light of the the new polling numbers, said former Rhode Island lawmaker and lawyer Aaron Regunberg, Democratic leaders who are "trying to shut down this debate are actively helping Trump."

[cruelsummer-ficfest]

“So I hear you’re a gold digger,” Sirius said a few weeks later, after yet another piece filled with slander had turned up in the Prophet.

The only thing that kept Lily from drawing her wand and hexing Sirius right then and there was the fact that she was pretty sure he was making fun, not of her, but of the mere notion that she might have married James for his money. She rolled her eyes and slumped back into her seat in the living room of his and Remus’s apartment.

@midnightstargazer

[justicesocietyzine]

Hello! I have a few questions about contributor applications: 1) How many contributors do you plan to accept in each category? 2) How many pieces would each contributor be expected to complete at minimum? 3) What is the process for selecting contributors? Is it based on the ideas presented as well, or solely on the work examples? Super excited for the zine, just really curious!!

Hello!

1. We're hoping to have approximately 25 pages of content per era. With contributors having no more than four pages. The exact numbers will be determined by the content we'll be publishing.

2. One. With the exception of pinch hitting we don't predict showcasing a contributor more than once. Exceptions may include if contributors want to produce both art and writing, or if they want to be included in both the sfw and nsfw books.

3. Both. The mods will look over quality of work along with the ideas to make decisions. However if you don't submit an idea that's fine you may still be selected. However without work samples we'll have to pass on your submission.

We're excited too! Thank you so much for your questions!

[cruelsummer-ficfest]

Ron didn’t know if he was angrier at his best mate, who knows about his feelings for Hermione, or his best friend that hadn’t been just a friend for a while. She had danced with him, held him close when he got splinched and took care of him right after. There was something more between them and they both knew it, at least that is what Ron had hoped. 

He doesn’t remember when the thing between him and Hermione shifted to a thing between her and Harry. It must have been some night he was too weak to stay awake with them, but the next thing he knew he felt invisible.

tent angst but make it Ron’s POV

submission #2 for Era 4 (Fearless/Reputation) @cruelsummer-ficfest

Ship: Romione (shocker I know)

Song: Bye Bye Baby (Taylors Version ofc)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48493063

[maslimanny]

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Chastity, in its broadest sense, is the moderation of inclination towards pleasures, and its submission to the judgment of the mind, and this is not limited to bodily pleasures, but also includes psychological pleasures, such as emotions, so a person is not called “self-controlled” unless he is moderate in his bodily pleasures such as food and the like, and he is also moderate in His emotions, he did not get angry for any reason, and he did not rush to follow his emotions, as if he longed deeply for his homeland if he was displaced from it, or he was excessively sad for the loss of a loved one, and many vices are due to the lack of self-control, such as gluttony, prostitution, greed, extravagance, anger, discontent, gossip and addiction .

This virtue includes that a person is the master of himself and not a slave to lusts that drive him as you wish.

My method and guide in life is the Holy Qur’an, and I only follow the advice that comes from it. I hope you understand this. I do not need explanations. I have the true source of morality and virtue, which is the Holy Qur’an.

[orlissa]

Women in the Golden Age of Comics (1938-1956)

I promised @mercurygray a little overview some time ago, so here we go:

The first thing that we would consider a comic book today was published in 1934 (Famous Funnies #1); the early comics only featured reprinted materials from newspaper strips, but soon new comics were commissioned especially for comic books

The first superhero comic was published in 1938 (Adventure Comics #1, it featured Superman on the cover, and the first Superman story inside, which was only 13 pages long. The creators, high school buddies Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel, who had been working on different versions of the character since 1932/3, were paid $130 for it)

Most comics during these days were anthologies, featuring several shorter stories in several, very different genres (superhero, western, talking animals, etc.) usually on 64 pages; most of them featured at least one story with a female lead to, presumably, attract female audiences.

Everyone was reading comics. “[A]n average of two to three comics per week were read by over 90 percent of six- to eleven-year-olds, 84 percent of twelve- to seventeen-year-olds, and 35 percent of those eighteen and older. In each age group, the numbers of males and females reading comics were roughly equal.”

But working on comics was uncool. If you wanted to be taken seriously as a writer/illustrator, you didn’t really want it to be known that you have worked on comics (e.g Stan Lee’s real name was Stanley Lieber; he started working at Marvel—then known as Timely Comics at 17, and, wanting to be a serious writer one day, he decided not to use his real name for his comics). Academically this is a problem, since many, many comics from this era are uncredited.

Also, many of the early comic book creators were Jewish (often second generation immigrants), so comics were pretty quick on condemning Hitler/WWII. The cover of the first issue of Captain America featured him punching Hitler a year before the USA entered the war.

Okay, so, female characters in this era! There were many of them, but most of them never got their own book, were only featured in a few anthology issues, and were soon forgotten. Mike Madrid puts them into four categories: the Debutantes, the Partners, the Victory Girls, and the Glamour Girls

Debutantes: usually bored heiresses who practice vigilantism for the thrill of it, and to find personal freedom through it.

Phantom Lady (1941): society girl Sandra Knight, who fights spies and criminal using “a blinding black light that renders her foes helpless,” while wearing what’s essentially a yellow swimsuit. She never wears a mask, and yet her senator father and her fiancé, Don, never recognize her.

Spider Widow, Grandmother of Terror (1942): another society girl, Dianne Grayton, who wears a hideous witch mask, long black dress, and a floppy hat, to literally scare her foes into submission

Miss Fury (1941): SUPER IMPORTANT! The first superheroine to be written by a woman (June Tarpé Mills), and one of the first to get her own series. Marla Drake is also a reluctant hero: when preparing for a masquerade ball she learns that another girl is about to wear the same dress as her, she puts on a leopard skin attire that her uncle got her from an African witch doctor—which then gives her powers. She gets attacked on her way to the party, defends herself, and then gets into a whole bunch of misunderstandings that gets her fighting Nazis and spies, not really because she wants to, but because she needs to protect her reputation.

Lady Luck (1940): Brenda Banks, a “modern lady Robin Hood,” who uses her jiu-jitsu and marksmanship skills to fight crime while wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a veil to cover her face.

Partners: lesser appendages of already established male heroes

Shiera/Hawkgirl (1941)—Hawkman’s girlfriend, there is not much to say

Doris Lee—Starman’s sweetheart; Owl Girl—The Owl Rocketgirl—Rocket Man; Doll Girl—Doll Man; always girls, never women.

Mary Marvel—the exception. Captain Marvel’s sister (okay, this is where it gets confusing: this Captain Marvel is who we know today as Shazam. He was published by Fawcett, who then were sued by DC because they said Captain Marvel was too similar to Superman, then Fawcett eventually went under, DC bought to rights for the character, but by then Marvel had their own Captain Marvel—Mar-Vell, in whose story Carol Danvers was a supporting character in the late 60s, who then would go on to star in her own title Ms. Marvel in 1977, and then would become Captain Marvel in 2012, while the Ms. Marvel title was taken up by Kamala Khan in 2014. I know.). You know, the kid who yells Shazam!, and turns into an adult superhero. He shared his powers with his friends, who then became characters like Captain Marvel Jr. and Lieutenant Marvel. But when he shared his power with his twin sister Mary, she 1, turned into a slightly older version of herself instead of an adult and 2, was simply named Mary Marvel. But she was cute and popular and got her own series.

The Victory Girls—women from all walks of life who usually take a double role in the war effort; some regular job during the day, and superheroing during the night

I mean, there were a bunch of patriotic superheroes already: Captain America, Captain Victory, Yankee Eagle, Fighting Yank, Captain Flag, Minute Man, Flag Man, The Shield, etc.

Joan Dale—ordinary reported granted powers by the Statue of Liberty to become Miss America

Joan Wayne—DC stenographermoonlighting as “dreaded bundle of female dynamite” Miss Victory

Linda Turner—Black Cat, Hollywood starlet destroying nazi spy rings to defeat boredom

Pat Parker—War Nurse; nurse during the day, masked hero during the night

Sylvia Manners—Black Angel, masquerading as a frail girl living with her aunt in the English countryside, she is actually a ruthless aviatrix, shooting Nazi planes off the sky

Glamour Girls: since these are post-WWII, I don’t really wanna get into the details. Basically: noir-inspired, darker and grittier, with more emphasis on sex appeal. Basically more for the male gaze at this point.

Not categorized, but Madrid also mentions them:

The Woman in Red—thought to be the first female crime fighter in comics, who wore a sweeping scarlet cloak with a matching mask and skullcap

Fantomah—“a beautiful blonde protectress of the jungle,” who would turn into a terryfing skull-faced goddess in trouble

Madam Fatal—actually a guy, retired stage actor Richard Stanton dressed as an old lady

Red Tornado—Ma Hunkel, a burly working class mother with a cooking pot over her head

And of course Wonder Woman, created by William Moulton Marston in 1941. Marston’s WW is a whole another can of worms I do not want to open now (I can literally fill a 90 minute lecture with Marston)

Some creators—well, there wasn’t many, especially not in the superhero business (just to get a taste: in 1972, Marvel wanted to publish three series aimed at women, written by women, but they had no women on stuff, so they gave the job to the wives of three staff members.

Marjorie Henderson Buell (1904-1993), credited as Marge, creator of the strip Little Lulu (1935-1944)

Edwina Dumm (1893-1990), cartoonist suffragist, the first full-time female editorial cartoonist, creator of the comic strip Cap Stubbs and Tippie (1918-1966)

Dalia “Dale” Messick (1905-2005), comic strip artist, creator of Brenda Starr Reporter (1940-1980), a reflection of herself

June Tarpé Mills (1912-1988), creator of Miss Fury, one of the first female comic book artists, who had a background in fashion. She both wrote and drew Miss Fury, and, fun fact, in 1943 she once draw Miss Fury in such a tiny bikini made of leaves that 37 newspapers cancelled the strip at once (most sources say it was because the outfit was too revealing, but given that she has an apple in one hand and snake around the other, I’d say the reason was blasphemy.

EDIT: I totally forgot: after WWII superheroes went out of fashion, and only a few characters remained in publication. Instead there were horror and true crime comics (which were mostly read by returning GIs, and which would lead to a moral panic over comic in a couple of years) and romance comics for the women. The first romance comic, Young Romance #1 (1947) was created by Joe Simon & Jack Kirby, the creators of Captain America. Even Wonder Woman took on a romance-approach under Robert Kanigher, who took over writing the character in 1947, after the death of Marston.

Bibliography/Recommended reading:

Cocca, Carolyn: Superwomen: Gender, Power, and Representation Gomez, Betsy (ed.): She Changed Comics: The Untold Story of the Women Who Changed Free Expression in Comics Howe, Sean: Marvel Comics: The Untold Story Madrid, Mike: Divas, Dames, & Daredevils: Lost Heroines of the Golden Age of Comics Madrid, Mike: The Supergirls: Fashion, Feminism, Fantasy, and the History of Comic Book Heroines

[cruelsummer-ficfest]

“James, you’re scaring me.” Lily clutches the phone tighter to her ear. “What is going on?” He hesitates a long moment before responding. “You’re not here.” Lily sucks in a quick breath of surprise. She doesn’t want to let herself hope that James has finally come around, but the emotion in his voice is impossible to miss. “I don’t—” James starts again but cuts himself off with a heavy sigh. “I’m still not really over what happened, but I miss you. This place doesn’t feel like home without you here.”

Mixing it up for era 4 of @cruelsummer-ficfest - some angsty AU jily 💛

that’s when

Lily’s feet drag like lead blocks as she slowly makes her way up the front walk with Harry squirming in her arms. There is no way he recognizes this place—hell, she barely recognizes it without all the concealment charms she’d grown so used to—but then, magic has taught her that the most unbelievable things are actually possible.

She’d previously thought it would be impossible for her to leave James, but here they are, swapping Harry back and forth on alternate weeks like a car they’d bought to share.

The front door swings open before she even reaches the steps, and James looks right past her as if she isn’t standing there, his hazel eyes only for their son. Harry squeals at the sight of him, reaching for James, and Lily hands him over obligingly.

“How’s my boy?” James coos at Harry, dancing his fingers across the toddler’s ticklish ribs and making him laugh. It’s the best sound in the world, but it elicits barely a smile from Lily. It isn’t right, her little family split in two like this. But it isn’t up to her anymore. James said he needed time, needed space, and she had no choice but to give it to him.

“I’ll pick him up next weekend,” Lily says as she steps backwards, already wanting to put distance between them. She can’t stand the cordial indifference she gets from James. When he’s not flat-out ignoring her like he is now, anyway. “Same time work for you?”

The joy slips from James’s face as he forces his attention to her. “Sure. Same time.” He shoots her a tight-lipped smile as she turns to go, but then he speaks again, halting her. “Hey, thanks for bringing him. Here, I mean. It’s safe, I promise. And Sirius is here…you know, just in case.”

Lily nods. The war ended almost two months ago, and James had only just moved back into the cottage in Godric’s Hollow, now that it’s been thoroughly checked and rechecked, and new security spells put in place by what’s left of the Order. Up until now, she’s been shuttling Harry back and forth to James’s childhood home, where he’d been staying in the interim. “I know,” she replies. “I trust you.”

James gives her a quick nod in return and backs toward the front door. “Okay. Well…have a good week, then.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Lily hurries her steps as she makes her way back to the street and into an alley she can Apparate from. Her parents are down in Surrey visiting Petunia, so she has her own childhood home all to herself for the weekend. She’d be lying if she said it isn’t a lonely feeling, but it’s also preferable to her mum’s nagging about when she and James will work things out.

The truth is, she has no idea. James has yet to forgive her for what happened on Halloween, even though he claimed to understand. They both knew about the prophecy, of course, that put Harry in danger and sent them into hiding in the first place. So when Sirius’s Patronus had burst into the house while James was in town at the market, what was she supposed to have done?

Lily’s heart races even now as she thinks about it. She still feels the rush of adrenaline at the sight of the scruffy silver dog, can still hear it speak in Sirius’s desperate voice: “You-Know-Who got to Wormtail. He’s coming. Get out.”

She had waited a few minutes for James, but not knowing how much time she had, she’d been forced to leave him a scribbled note on the front table and pray that he saw it before taking Harry and getting the hell out of there. And worse than that, she couldn’t say where they were going, lest the note fall into the wrong hands. She had just left, and told James to do the same. He would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed: protected their son above all else. She knows it like she knows her own name.

And he had seen the note, of course, and gotten himself to safety, too. They’d had time to set the trap that took down Voldemort, and seen Peter thrown in Azkaban for his transgressions. The war is over. So why hasn’t James forgiven her?

She understands the pain and fear that her disappearance inflicted on James. But he acknowledged, once they were reunited, that their safety, hers and Harry’s, was the most important thing. And she had apologized for putting him through all of that. What was left for her to do to make things right?

The weekend feels infinite in her parents’ big empty house without Harry here to distract her. She’s left the TV on for two straight days just to fill the silence, but she’s not really watching anything.

Lily is drifting off to an afternoon nap to the background noise of yet another sitcom rerun when the phone on the side table rings and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She half hopes it’s her parents calling to tell her that they’re staying a couple of extra days at Petunia’s. Her mum has no distractions either without Harry here, and Lily gets the full brunt of her attention. She reaches for the handset and lets the long spiral cord stretch back to her spot on the couch. “Evans residence.”

“Lils.” James’s voice on the line has her sitting up at attention in an instant. He hasn’t called her anything but an impersonal Lily—not Lils, not Evans, not love or dear or darling—since the incident and the change in routine raises gooseflesh along her arms.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Is Harry okay?” The words come out as fast as her heart is now beating. She insisted on having a telephone in the cottage for the ease of contacting her family, but as far as she knows, James has never used it. She wasn’t even totally sure he knew how. Something must be very wrong for him to call her like this.

“Everything’s fine.” James lets out a strangled chuckle, and Lily isn’t entirely sure if he’s laughing or crying. “What a load of bullshit. Harry is fine. Everything is not fine.”

“James, you’re scaring me.” Lily clutches the phone tighter to her ear. “What is going on?”

He hesitates a long moment before responding. “You’re not here.”

Lily sucks in a quick breath of surprise. She doesn’t want to let herself hope that James has finally come around, but the emotion in his voice is impossible to miss.

“I don’t—” James starts again but cuts himself off with a heavy sigh. “I’m still not really over what happened, but I miss you. This place doesn’t feel like home without you here.”

“When can I come back?”

She hears the smirk in his reply. “How soon can you get here?”

She barely has the phone back in its cradle before her wand is in her hand and she’s Apparating back to the little alley in Godric’s Hollow. As she hurries up the street, she sees James waiting for her at the front gate, and her heart swells. She doesn’t even wait for a greeting to fling herself into his arms, holding him tightly and breathing him in.

James’s arms wrap around her too, and his lips gently press against her cheek as his hand drifts up to stroke her hair. She’s back. They’re okay. She’s home.

[redantsunderneath]

The À la Recherche du Temps Perdu of gamer you tube videos

One recent mild obsession of mine is a >10 hour review of Cyberpunk 2077 that came out this week from Action Button dot Net (Tim Rogers), who used to be fun to read about video games in the aughts and who started doing long-ish entertaining videos for Kotaku a while back, but who now is doing marathon videos for his own youtube channel. Cyberpunk playlist:

Channel:

This all started because my kids mentioned a couple of weeks ago that super long youtubes attempting to exhaustively talk about a game were becoming a subgenre. I watched some dude's almost 8 hour Morrowind video until I stopped, but found AB.net's channel after not thinking about him for a decade, watched the 3.5 hour Doom one, and really dug it. The other genre examples I tried seem to be trying to find everything in-game to talk about in order to detail obsess the subject into submission. Rogers is doing something different.

You can call it new journalism (which arrived about four decades late to videogames over a decade ago but whose all-about-my-experience weirdly is the opposite of the idea of look-at-the-text-only "new criticism" of ye olde era, though Tim is clearly criticism not journalism) but I think it is something more interesting than that. It is more like the project of an (Mendelson’s) encyclopedic novel, trying to make a Ulysses of the late millennial gamer experience. There is a world map in these things individually and collectively - I haven't finished but this "season" but it has the feeling of really inspecting one by one the rooms of a childhood home. Moby Dick kept coming to mind (guy whose favorite book is Moby Dick: "I'm getting some Moby Dick vibes off of this") because of the feeling of narrative exhaustion, of discursive burnout. This is a thing Homestuck, Cerebus, Claremont's X-Men, the Worm (?maybe, haven't gotten too far there) give you as well as the obvious literary reference points.

David Foster Wallace isn't a bad comparison as there's a kind of diaphoretic almost horseshoe bipolar energy that seems to risk burnout (the hospital story is very IJ). All six vids cover different aspects of his life/development and there is a sense that the Cyberpunk one needs to be watched last as a more meta unifyer of the others (who am I kidding, but also yeah, that scans). There is, as those things above and early 10's Kanye, a feeling of obsessives with well developed craft giving over to an unmediated creative possession that they then can't help but hone because they are so good at their form. A kind of madness or channeled crisis wrought into art.

You miss a significant number of jokes if you aren't ready to pause and read text, which is insane. The Cyberpunk one is interesting as a piece of ergodic text, or at least cybertext, where there is a hidden substructure beneath his appeal to do a "choose your own adventure," with a "good ending" in there. If you read the comments (yes, on you tube, I know) there are people identifying as "5-6 ers" - there is just a kind of formal play going on that feels like experimental exploitation of how you do this kind of stuff on line that isn't an arg adjacent thing. There is even what feels like an annular narrative, a piece of himself that one needs to risk the parasocial police to try to find (I have not gone deep enough, but there is a ghost of something there).

There is a more general point about "everything goes in there" literary efforts that attempt to stake out an identity through unconcious overlapping magesteria that encompasses something bigger in the 40,000' reflection. Don't get me wrong, this isn't there yet. It is entertaining, experimental, interesting, and formative of something to come. But the frame is still small. We get a little early struggle with mortality, tar baby melee with an artistic form, a lot of social commentary, some pseudo-postmodernist, post-marxist division, philosophy, just a pinch off existential angst, but not a proper gaze into the abyss, no boxing with "God." That's a lot to ask for and it's only just suffering as a point of comparison with great art in mature fields. but there's always a season two and whatever this will conjure up in new creators' minds. Maybe the headline should read "the Velvet Underground of gamer you tube videos," but I feel like there is something here that in its modest aims is more along the lines of War and Peace ("Aggro and AFK"?) than a Pewds thing.

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts Smut Recs: BDSM

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here. Players could opt in to an additional suit of 13 cards, all themed around various popular smut tropes.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 We Take Care of Each Other by keyflight790 Rated:  Explicit Words:  54308 Tags: BDSM, bdsm club, Dom Neville Longbottom, Dom Draco Malfoy, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Neville Longbottom, Bottom Harry Potter, although it might seem like hes a dom at first, Sub Harry Potter, Teddy Lupin makes an appearance, as does Luna and Rolf, but not...sexually, Set in 2009, So Teddy is turning 11, just for context, Draco is the only one who penetrates Harry though, in case you were concerned, but Neville is there.. a lot, Flogging, Rimming, Will tag all of these in chap notes as well, for squicks and such, this is pretty indulgent, For the Writer, learn all of keyflights kinks, by reading this fic, note: every BDSM club is slightly different, so if this isnt your experience, no problemo, but please don't judge the writer on their experiences, and notes and research, More tags to follow, dom/sub dynamics, Safewords, Sex Toys, past trauma discussions, TW: Panic Attacks, Panic Attacks, draco is a bit of a switch, but he doms in this fic, Spanking, Daddy Kink, TW: spousal abuse (Narcissa and Lucius mentioned in chap 10), TW: Breakdowns, daddy Neville Longbottom, Little Theodore Nott, Anal Sex, Praise Kink, Choking, Masturbation, self love, did i mention theres spanking?, theres spanking, harry gets spanked by, Daddy Dom Neville Longbottom, Talks of Death, Suicidal Thoughts, discussions of dying, Harry talks about his canon death and rebirth Summary:  Draco has been having panic attacks for years, until his best friend, Pansy, welcomes him into a whole new world. And he thought being a wizard was neat. Being a dom was even better. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Don't Have to Say the Words by jeni_andtheafterthought Rated:  Explicit Words:  2944 Tags: Established Relationship, Auror Harry Potter, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Domestic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Insecurity, Anxiety, Healer Harry Potter, Smut, Anal Sex, they have a cat, PWP, EWE Summary:  Draco is having a hard time separating his own insecurities from the difficulties in his relationship with Harry. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Hand That Feeds You by gracerene Rated:  Explicit Words:  17381 Tags: Harry Potter, Epilogue Compliant, Non-Linear Narrative, Infidelity, BDSM, Dom/subTotal Power Exchange, Minor Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Dom Draco Malfoy, Sub Harry Potter, Collars, Praise Kink, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Subspace, Aftercare, Bondage, Sex Toys, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry Potter, Top Draco Malfoy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, H/D Food Fair 2018, Hand Feeding, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, POV Harry Potter Summary:  Harry needs something only Draco can provide. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Little Prince, Kneel  by DragonGirl87 Rated:  Explicit Words:  478006 Tags: BDSM, Dom/sub, Dom Harry Potter, Top Harry Potter, Sub Draco Malfoy, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Experienced Harry, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Head Auror Harry Potter, Lawyer Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Flirting, First Dates, Romantic Harry Potter, Sassy Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, POV Draco Malfoy, Falling In Love, Harry Has Secrets, Not Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley Friendship, Teddy Lupin was Raised by Harry Potter, Magical BDSM, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Shower Sex, Masturbation in Shower, Draco Malfoy Loves Dogs, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Sexual Fantasy, Discipline, Non-Sexual Bondage, Punishment, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Beads, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Teasing, Dungeon, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Forced Orgasm, BDSM Munch, Master/Pet, Collars, Leashes, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Sex Toys, Improvised Sex Toys, Improved Use Of A Spatula, Protective Harry Potter, Possessive Harry Potter, Spanking, Prostate Massage, Power Play, Praise Kink, Aftercare, Sensation Play, Blindfolds, Subspace, Mild subdrop, Rutting, Wax Play, Angst, Pyrophobia, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Harry Potter Speaks French Summary:  Almost immediately after the war, Harry Potter took his godson and Andromeda and left England behind. He returned five, nearly six, years later; changed, healed, and a very different man altogether. Now an extremely handsome bachelor in his late twenties, and with a promising career at the Ministry, he suddenly finds his life turned upside down after unexpectedly bumping into his former school nemesis, Draco Malfoy, Prosecutor Extraordinaire. Is Harry going to be able to stay away from Draco? Does he even want to? And exactly how will Draco react once he discovers how the Saviour prefers to spend his free time? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Misguided at Best by agentmoppet Rated:  Explicit Words:  3011 Tags: Bondage, BDSM, POV Draco Malfoy, Dom/sub, Sub Harry, Dom Draco Summary:  Draco has grown bored of the aristocratic fetish clubs, and decides to try something new. But he never would have expected to find Harry Potter, disguised and on his knees, waiting for him. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Gift  by magpie_fngrl Rated:  Explicit Words:  26069 Tags: Writer Draco Malfoy, Voyeurism, Sharing, Dildos, Blindfolds, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Captive Prince Darker Themes: please see chapter notes, Bondage, Discipline, Sensation Play, Semi-Public Sex, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Lack of aftercare in one instance, Explicit Sexual Content Summary:  "‘You’ll give me an hour of your time and I’ll take your thoughts and your worries. You’ll let me take control; dictate your actions. One hour where you’ll blindly obey me—in return for… distraction. ’"Or, in which Draco is a writer struggling with his first novel, Harry is worried about something he won't reveal, and they both try to figure out how to put their tangled past behind them and move on. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Sweet Little Distractions by krystalliumm Rated:  Explicit Words:  3103 Tags: Gay, Gay Sex, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Kinky, Established Relationship, Boyfriends, Rimming, Anal FingeringPlot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Bondage, Fluff and Smut, that's literally all that this is, Don't Judge Me, Dorks in Love, AAAAAAi'm a simp for these two, just read it omfg, Light BDSM, Smut, Fluff, Soft Harry Potter, Soft Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Era, Banter Summary:  Draco thinks studying for his NEWTs was the worst—it's tiring, stressful, and exhausting. Luckily, Harry's there to be his sweet little distraction. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A Man Like Him by darkestbliss Rated:  Explicit Words:  60132 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Romance, Slow Burn, BDSM, Loss of Virginity, Virgin Draco Malfoy, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Sub Draco Malfoy, Experienced Harry Potter, Top Harry Potter, Dom Harry Potter, Anal Fingering, Anal SexRimming, Contracts, Impact Play, Flogging, Whipping, Suspension, Wax Play, Safewords, Biting, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Subspace, Aftercare, Safe Sane and Consensual, Drinking, Smoking, Breathplay, Boggarts, References to ABBA, NSFW Art, Falling In Love, Porn With Plot, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018, Community: harrydracobang Summary:  Draco Malfoy has made a name for himself after the War as 'the wizarding world's best interior architectural designer' (his words), taking old, decrepit spaces and transforming them into exquisite homes for those who can afford the hefty price tag. His most recent assignment is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, which has only deteriorated more in condition since the elusive Harry Potter inherited it after Sirius Black's death. When he stumbles upon a collection of questionable items in one of Potter's wardrobes, he finds himself appalled, shocked, distraught, and just a little bit turned on. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Scars and Lions by kizkhalifa Rated:  Explicit Words:  10411 Tags: EWE, Light Bondage, Teasing Summary:  The one in which Harry Potter orders a "call guy" for dinner (+fun) and Draco Malfoy shows up. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Aftershocks by Lokifan Rated:  Explicit Words:  1447 Tags: Fingerfucking, Anal Fingering, Bottom Draco, Sub Draco, Light Dom/sub, Dom Harry, Top Harry Potter, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, fluffy kinkfic, Harry Potter is the soppiest dom of all Summary:  Harry’s favourite time to finger Draco is right after sex. ❤️ Read on AO3

[domesticblisss]

Dark But Just a Game

Timothy Thatcher x Female Reader Rating: Mature (Minros DNI) Word Count: 1565 Warnings: Fluff, smut. Teasing, sexual tension, (semi) public shower sex. Inspired by Lana Del Rey’s song, Dark, But Just a Game. A/N: I love how Lana has at least one song on her albuns for depressed horny bitches like yours truly. This is the one from the new era, hope y’all like it.

I met Tim on a warm, end of spring night in may. It was almost 10pm when I got a call from the NXT medical team asking me to come quick, as per orders of one Mr. William Regal, because one of their superstars lost a few teeth during a Fight Pit match. Whatever that means.

When I arrived there, I was greeted by Mr. Regal, Hunter and one very disheveled and feral looking Timothy.

William introduced me to Tim, praising me. “Tim, she’s an oral surgeon, the best we know. Would you mind if she took a look?”

“Sure, go on doc.” he gave me a little nod.

“Could you please open your mouth?” I asked him as I put my gloves on. “Promise I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m used to it, doc.”

I took my time examining him, being careful to not cause him anymore pain.

“So, a molar, a premolar and the chipped top incisor.”

“No, not the front one. That’s my charm.” he cut me off.

“Yep, yes, it is. So, the molar and the premolar were ripped off right from their roots, that’s why you are bleeding so much. You’re going to need surgery to take whatever little pieces that are in there still and to get new ones.”

“How long is he going to stay out?” Hunter asked.

“I would give him four to six weeks. The implants take a little longer to heal. You can still use him for segments if you need, I don’t know what you guys have planned, but I would avoid having him getting his ass kicked.”

“Hey!” Tim intervened and I smiled at him.

“What do you say Tim? You good or do you want a second opinion?” Hunter asked him.

“I trust her.” he said looking straight into my eyes, giving me a toothless grin.

“I have a slow morning tomorrow,” I told him, looking at my phone’s calendar “you can come to the office at 9, is that good for you?”

He nodded.

“Great! This is my card, and my address is in the back. See you tomorrow!” I said my goodbyes smiling at him.

“Thank you for coming in such a short notice.” said Regal.

“No problem! I appreciate that you keep your men beating each other so hard that I still have a job! Bye Regal, bye hunter. Bye Tim!” ————————— Tim arrived fifteen minutes earlier then what was scheduled. He was a gentleman and very funny, always having a comeback to my jokes. I don’t know what it is about him that made that just made talking to him so easy.

“We are going to have three main appointments. Today I’ll take the x-rays to see what’s going on on that pretty little mouth and take off what is left of the teeth that broke off. This procedure usually takes three, four days to heal. We are also taking the moulds of your teeth so we can make the implants. Next week we will get the implants done and two weeks after that you come back so I can see how everything is going, okay?” I explained to him everything we were going to do.

“Sounds great, doc.”

Every appointment was the same, he would arrive at least fifteen minutes earlier, we would joke together and he would leave.

It was on the third appointment that he decided to ask me things about my life from outside the practice.

“You know, I always noticed that picture of yours. Do you still practice BJJ?” he asked.

“I do, every saturday.”

“Really?! Wow, I bet you could kick my ass.”

“Oh, trust me, I can. I’ll give it to in a silver platter too.”

“Do you wanna train with me?”

“Train with you?” he got me confused.

“Yeah, you show me some BJJ, I’ll teach you some catch wrestling. What do you say?”

“Oh, are you going to be mean to me just like you are with your students on Thatch as Thatch Can?”

“Even meaner.” he winked at me.

“Deal! You’ve got my number, if you figure out how to text, shoot me the address.”

And that’s how tuesdays and thursdays became Training Days with Timothy Thatcher. He got a friend that owned a gym and would give him the key to it so we could train in peace after its closing hours.

I have got to be honest, I was attracted to him from the first moment I saw him, and accepting to train him and with him was just an excuse to keep seeing him.

The mood between us changed right when the first move was locked in. He would still joke, but they got heavier, with double meanings, he was still very respectful, but the touches would linger a little bit longer than usual, and the tension got thicker and thicker. It felt like a game of cat and mouse, and I think I was the mouse this time.

Those days consists of us training, taking a shower on the gym’s locker room and grabbing something to eat on the diner on the corner of the gym. It didn’t just stop there, we would always ask each other out for drinks.

Sometimes with some of my friends, sometimes with some of his friends, but most of the times it was just the two of us in bars so crowded, so noisy, that we couldn’t help but have to stay extremely close each other, whispering on each other’s ears so whatever we said was heard, his hand on the small of my back in a protective manner so no one would bump into me. Those days were the worst, full of lingering stares, flirty smiles and soft touches and neither one of us made a move. Sometimes I think he knew how much he riled me up and felt pleasure on leaving me hanging.

————————— It was on a thursday when it all finally broke loose. I had had a full day on the office and was extremely tired for our sessions but didn’t want to call it out. Tim felt how tired I was and decided to turn up his teasing and his strength to 11. I wasn’t able to get out of a single one of his holds and tapped out of every submission he got me in. It was when he got me in crossface chickenwing, pressed his body closer to mine and whispered in my ear “It’s dark, but just a game.”

I tapped out and he finished the session there.

“The ladies locker room is closed, they started the renovations yesterday. You can use the male one.”

I nodded and made my way there.

I could still feel his touch on my skin and the way he pressed himself on the small of my back whenever he applied more pressure to a hold.

I heard a knock on the shower door before he started speaking.

“Hey, I’m sorry I got so hard on you today. I thought you were going to give in on the joke and cheer up a little, but I guess your day was harder than I thought. I’m sorry.”

I opened the door before he could continue, his eyes widened to the sight of my naked body in front of him

“I– I should– I–“

“Take off your shorts and get in here.” I cut him off.

He was quick and as soon as he got in the shower box with me, I pressed my lips to his.

He was eager, his hands going all over my body, squeezing my ass and slapping it.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed with this?” he asked.

“Since fight pit day?”

“Yeah.” he answered, pinching my nipple and biting my collar bone.

“Fuck, me too. You have no idea what you do to me, Tim.”

“Oh, I know, dove. Press your chest to the wall and spread your legs for me.” he asked so sweetly that made me tremble.

I did as he told and I felt him press his length inside of me, taking it slow, helping me get adjusted to how thick he is. He stopped once he was fully inside, turning my head to him, kissing my lips and asking “Ready?”

He started moving as I nodded “yes”, slow at first and gradually picking up speed, his right hand on my clit, and two fingers from the left one comfortably sitting inside my mouth, with me sucking on them as an attempt to muffle my moans.

I didn’t last long, overstimulated with the mix of his thrusts, the lazy rubs around my clit and the delicious sounds of his grunts. He came right after me, with my walls squeezing around him.

He slumped a bit behind me and I was thankful for the wall I was pressed on. It took a few seconds for him to start moving again, getting out from inside of me and snaking his arms around my waist, holding us together under the shower head.

“I meant it when I said I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.” he started talking again after a moment.

“Me too.”

“So, is there any policies against dating a patient?” I could feel him smiling on the skin of my neck.

“I think I could make an exception for you.”

“Good! Wanna grab some dinner?”

“Would love to!”

[sinceileftyoublog]

Pitchfork Music Festival 2021 Preview: 15 Can’t-miss Acts

black midi; Photo by YIS KID

BY JORDAN MAINZER

While yours truly won’t be attending Pitchfork Music Festival this year, SILY contributor Daniel Palella will be covering the actual fest. If I was attending, though, these would be the acts I’d make sure to see. 5 from each day, no overlaps, so you could conceivably see everyone listed.

FRIDAY

Armand Hammer, 1:00 PM, Green Stage

Earlier this year, New York hip hop duo Armand Hammer released their 5th album Haram (BackwoodzStudioz) in collaboration with on-fire producer The Alchemist. It was the duo’s (ELUCID and Billy Woods) first time working with a singular producer on a record (though Earl Sweatshirt produced a track), and likewise, The Alchemist actually tailored his beats towards the two MCs. Haram is the exact kind of hip hop that succeeds early in the day at a festival, verbose and complex rhymes over languid, cloudy, sample-heavy beats, when attendees are more likely to want to sit and listen than dance. And you’re going to want to listen to Armand Hammer, whose MCs’ experiential words frame the eerie hues of the production. “Dreams is dangerous, linger like angel dust,” Woods raps on opener “Sir Benni Miles”, never looking back as he and Elucid’s stream-of-consciousness rhymes cover everything from colonization to Black bodily autonomy and the dangers of satisfaction disguised as optimism. (“We let BLM be the new FUBU,” raps Quelle Chris on “Chicharrones”; “Iridescent blackness / Is this performative or praxis?” ponders Woods on “Black Sunlight”.)  There are moments of levity on Haram, like KAYANA’s vocal turn on “Black Sunlight” and the “what the hell sound is this?” type sampling that dominates warped, looped tracks like “Peppertree” and “Indian Summer”, built around sounds of horns and twirling flute lines. For the most part, Haram is an album of empathetic realism. “Hurt people hurt people,” raps Elucid on “Falling Out of the Sky”, a stunning encapsulation of Armand Hammer’s world where humanism exists side-by-side with traumatic death and feelings of revenge.

You can also catch Armand Hammer doing a live set on the Vans Channel 66 livestream at 12 PM on Saturday.

Dogleg, 1:45 PM, Red Stage

It feels like we’ve been waiting years to see this set, and actually, we have! The four-piece punk band from Michigan was supposed to play last year’s cancelled fest in support of their searing debut Melee (Triple Crown), and a year-plus of pent up energy is sure to make songs like “Bueno”, “Fox”, and “Kawasaki Backflip” all the more raging. Remember: This is a band whose reputation was solidified live before they were signed to Triple Crown and released their breakout album. Seeing them is the closest thing to a no-brainer that this year’s lineup offers.

Revisit our interview with Dogleg from last year, and catch them at an aftershow on Saturday at Subterranean with fellow Pitchfork performer Oso Oso and Retirement Party.

Hop Along, 3:20 PM, Red Stage

Though lead singer Frances Quinlan released a very good solo album last year, it’s been three years since their incredible band Hop Along dropped an album and two years since they’ve toured. 2018′s Bark Your Head Off, Dog (Saddle Creek), one of our favorite albums of that year, should comprise the majority of their setlist, but maybe they have some new songs?

Catch them at an aftershow on Saturday at Metro with Varsity and Slow Mass.

black midi, 4:15 PM, Green Stage

The band who had the finest debut of 2019 and gave the best set of that year at Pitchfork is back. Cavalcade (Rough Trade) is black midi’s sophomore album, methodical in its approach in contrast with the improvisational absurdism of Schlagenheim. Stop-start, violin-laden lead single and album opener “John L”, a song about a cult leader whose members turn on him, is as good a summary as ever of the dark, funky eclecticism of black midi, who on Cavalcade saw band members leave and new ones enter, their ever shapeshifting sound the only consistent thing about them. A song like the jazzy “Diamond Stuff” is likely impossible to replicate live--its credits list everything from 19th century instruments to household kitchen items used for percussion--but is key to experiencing their instrumental adventurousness. On two-and-a-half-minute barn burner “Hogwash and Balderdash,” they for the first time fully lean into their fried Primus influences, telling a tale of two escaped prisoners, “two chickens from the pen.” At the same time, this band is still black midi, with moments that call back to Schlagenheim, the churning, metallic power chords via jittery, slapping funk of “Chondromalacia Patella” representative of their quintessential tempo changes. And as on songs like Schlagenheim’s “Western”, black midi find room for beauty here, too, empathizing with the pains of Marlene Dietrich on a bossa nova tune named after her, Geordie Greep’s unmistakable warble cooing sorrowful lines like, “Fills the hall tight / And pulls at our hearts / And puts in her place / The girl she once was.” Expect to hear plenty from Cavalcade but also some new songs; after all, this is a band that road tests and experiments with material before recording it.

Catch them doing a 2 PM DJ set on Vans Channel 66 on Saturday and at an aftershow on Monday at Sleeping Village.

Yaeji, 7:45 PM, Blue Stage

What We Drew (XL), the debut mixtape from Brooklyn-based DJ Yaeji, was one of many dance records that came out after lockdown that we all wished we could experience in a crowd as opposed to at home alone. Now's our chance to bask in all of its glory under a setting sun. Maybe she’ll spin her masterful remix of Dua Lipa’s “Don’t Start Now” from the Club Future Nostalgia remix album, or her 2021 single “PAC-TIVE”, her and DiAN’s collaboration with Pac-Man company Namco.

Angel Olsen; Photo by Dana Trippe

SATURDAY

Bartees Strange, 1:45 PM, Red Stage

One of our favorite albums of last year was Live Forever (Memory Music), the debut from singer-songwriter and The National fanatic Bartees Strange, one that contributor Lauren Lederman called “a declaration of an artist’s arrival.” He’s certainly past arrived when you take into account his busy 2021, releasing a new song with Lorenzo Wolff and offering his remix services to a number of artists, including illuminati hotties and fellow Pitchfork performer (and tour mate) Phoebe Bridgers. Expect to hear lots of Live Forever during his Pitchfork set, one of many sets at the fest featuring exciting young guitar-based (!) bands.

Catch him at a free (!!) aftershow on Monday at Empty Bottle with Ganser.

Faye Webster, 4:00 PM, Blue Stage

Since we previewed Faye Webster’s Noonchorus livestream in October, she’s released the long-awaited follow-up to Atlanta Millionaires Club, the cheekily titled I Know I’m Funny haha (Secretly Canadian). At that time, she had dropped “Better Distractions”, “In A Good Way”, and “Both All The Time”, and the rest of the album more than follows the promise of these three dreamy country, folk rock, and R&B-inspired tunes. Webster continues to be a master of tone and mood, lovelorn on “Sometimes”, sarcastic on the title track, and head-in-the-clouds on “A Dream with a Baseball Player”. All the while, she and her backing band provide stellar, languorous instrumentation, keys and slide guitar on the bossa nova “Kind Of”, her overdriven guitar sludge on “Cheers”, cinematic strings on the melancholic “A Stranger”, stark acoustic guitar on heartbreaking closer “Half of Me”. And the ultimate irony of Webster’s whip-smart lyricism is that a line like, “And today I get upset over this song that I heard / And I guess was just upset because why didn't I think of it first,” is that I can guarantee a million songwriters feel the same way about her music, timely in context and timeless in sound and feeling.

Catch her at an aftershow on Saturday at Sleeping Village with Danger Incorporated.

Georgia Anne Muldrow, 5:15 PM, Blue Stage

The queen of beats takes the stage during the hottest part of the day, perfect for some sweaty dancing. VWETO III (FORESEEN + Epistrophik Peach Sound), the third album in Muldrow’s beats record series, was put together with “calls to action” in mind, each single leading up to the album’s release to be paired with crowdsourced submissions via Instagram from singers, visual artists, dancers, and turntablists. Moreover, many of the album’s tracks are inspired by very specific eras of Black music, from Boom Bap and G-funk to free jazz, and through it all, Muldrow provides a platform for musical education just as much as funky earworms.

Revisit our interview with Muldrow from earlier this year.

Angel Olsen, 7:25 PM, Red Stage

It’s been a busy past two years for Angel Olsen. She revealed Whole New Mess (Jagjaguwar) in August 2020, stripped down arrangements of many of the songs on 2019′s amazing All Mirrors. In May, she came out with a box set called Song of the Lark and Other Far Memories (Jagjaguwar), which contained both All Mirrors and Whole New Mess and a bonus LP of remixes, covers, alternate takes, and bonus tracks. She shortly and out of nowhere dropped a song of the year candidate in old school country rock high and lonesome Sharon Van Etten duet “Like I Used To”. And just last month, she released Aisles, an 80′s covers EP out on her Jagjaguwar imprint somethingscosmic. She turns Laura Branigan’s disco jam “Gloria” and Men Without Hats’ “Safety Dance” into woozy, echoing, slowed-down beds of synth haze and echoing drum machine. On Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark’s “If You Leave”, her voice occupies different registers between the soft high notes of the bridge and autotuned solemnity of the chorus. Sure, other covers are more recognizable in their tempo and arrangement, like Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell ballad “Eyes Without a Face” and Alphaville’s “Forever Young”, but Aisles is exemplary of Olsen’s ability to not just reinvent herself but classics.

At Pitchfork, I’d bet on a set heavy on All Mirrors and Whole New Mess, but as with the unexpectedness of Aisles, you never know!

St. Vincent, 8:30 PM, Green Stage

Annie Clark again consciously shifts personas and eras with her new St. Vincent album Daddy’s Home (Loma Vista), inspired by 70′s funk rock and guitar-driven psychedelia. While much of the album’s rollout centered around its backstory--Clark’s father’s time in prison for white collar crimes--the album is a thoughtful treatise on honesty and identity, the first St. Vincent album to really stare Clark’s life in the face. 

Many of its songs saw their live debut during a Moment House stream, which we previewed last month.

The Weather Station; Photo by Jeff Bierk

SUNDAY

Tomberlin, 1:00 PM, Green Stage

While the LA-via-Louisville singer-songwriter hasn’t yet offered a proper follow-up LP to her 2018 debut At Weddings, she did last year release an EP called Projections (Saddle Creek), which expands upon At Weddings’ shadowy palate. Songs like “Hours” and “Wasted” are comparatively clattering and up-tempo. Yet, all four of the original tracks are increasingly self-reflexive, Tomberlin exploring and redefining herself on her terms, whether singing about love or queerness, all while maintaining her sense of humor. (“When you go you take the sun and all my flowers die / So I wait by the window and write some shit / And hope that you'll reply,” she shrugs over acoustic strums and wincing electric guitars.) The album ends with a stark grey cover of Casiotone for the Painfully Alone’s “Natural Light”; Tomberlin finds a kindred spirit in the maudlin musings of Owen Ashworth.

Get there early on Sunday to hear select tracks from At Weddings and Projections but also likely some new songs.

oso oso, 2:45 PM, Blue Stage

Basking in the Glow (Triple Crown), the third album from Long Beach singer-songwriter Jade Lilitri as Oso Oso, was one of our favorite records of 2019, and we’d relish the opportunity to see them performed to a crowd in the sun. Expect to hear lots of it; hopefully we’re treated to new oso oso material some time soon.

Catch them at an aftershow on Saturday at Subterranean with fellow Pitchfork performer Dogleg and Retirement Party.

The Weather Station, 4:00 PM, Blue Stage

The Toronto band led by singer-songwriter Tamara Lindeman released one of the best albums of the year back in February with Ignorance (Fat Possum), songs inspired by climate change-addled anxiety. While the record is filled with affecting, reflective lines about loss and trying to find happiness in the face of dread, in a live setting, I imagine the instrumentation will be a highlight, from the fluttering tension of “Robber” to the glistening disco of “Parking Lot”.

Revisit our preview of their Pitchfork Instagram performance from earlier this year. Catch them at an aftershow on Friday at Schubas with Ulna.

Danny Brown, 6:15 PM, Green Stage

The Detroit rapper’s last full-length record was the Q-Tip executive produced uknowhatimsayin¿ (Warp), though he’s popped up a few times since then, on remixes, a Brockhampton album, and TV62, a Bruiser Brigade Records compilation from earlier this year. (He’s also claimed in Twitch streams that his new album Quaranta is almost done.) His sets--especially Pitchfork sets--are always high-energy, as he’s got so many classic albums and tracks under his belt at this point, so expect to hear a mix of those.

Erykah Badu, 8:30 PM, Green Stage

What more can I say? This is the headliner Pitchfork has been trying to get for years, responsible for some of the greatest neo soul albums of all time. There’s not much else to say about Erykah Badu other than she’s the number one must-see at the festival.