#and i think that like if you discuss wagner without pointing out he was a proto nazi and thats the main theme of his work youre wrong and

[builtbybrokenbells]

Bugs, Bears, and a Thunderstorm

On a camping trip that y/n wasn’t particularly eager to go on, a set of unfavourable circumstances leads to the best possible outcome, leaving her to believe camping may not be so bad, after all.

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader

Word count: 12.5k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex (fuck just please wear protection), fingering (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), oral (f!receiving), face-sitting, sort of rough sex, bit of slapping ig, teasing, name calling, biting, touch of orgasm denial, touch of a daddy kink towards the end (im sorry, im terrible, ik), drinking, swearing, camping (deserves a warning), sorry if I missed any!!

ok without further ado, here it is! I’ve been working on this for like a week and was hoping to have it out days ago. but alas, im on day 3 of one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had and i think i perhaps may be dying. anyway, im so down bad for this man it’s not even funny. sweet stuff at the beginning, the ending is pretty filthy. i have no explanation for it 😌 enjoy, and as always be kind and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

~

The sun was warm, inviting you in with its gentle embrace and loving touch. You sat under it, birds chirping in the distance and the smell of the trees filling your nose. The trickle of the lake nearby was calling to you, begging for you to jump in and feel the water on your skin. You made a mental note, ensuring you’d check it out before the day was through. The grass below you was tickling your thighs, reminding you how loving the earth could be if you treated it right. Peacefulness wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the scene. The stress melted off your body as if it never existed. Just by sitting there, you seemed to be able to forget about all of your other worldly troubles.

The serenity was disturbed when voices broke through the air, laughing and joking echoing like the owners didn’t realize you were enjoying the silence. You turned your head, eyes settling on a group of boys. You wanted to be mad, to scold them for disrupting your solitude, but you couldn’t. The minute they came into your line of vision, a smile was breaking out on your lips. “Trying to catch a tan?” Jake asked, taking a seat next to you on the ground.

“Maybe, more or less just enjoying some peace and quiet away from you guys.”

“Oh, come on, Mama, you know you love us.” Josh teased, taking up the empty spot on the other side of you.

“Depends on the day, really.” You shrugged off his comment, giving him a smile. He placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt, giving a dramatic gasp. “Oh, shut up, you know I do.” You assured him. He placed his arm around you, pulling you into his side.

“You know, for someone who said she doesn’t like camping, you seem to be enjoying the trip so far.” Sam chirped, taking a seat on a lawn chair not far off from where the three of you were sitting on the grass. Danny followed suit, sitting in one beside him.

“I like the outdoors, Samuel. I don’t like tents, or bugs, or bears.” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“That doesn’t really make it sound like you like the outdoors, either.”

“Sun! The sun is fantastic! Swimming is great, too! Hikes and fresh air and all of that is awesome! But, I like my bed, and I prefer to sleep without a million bugs trying to bite me, and the thought of not being eaten by a bear is very comforting.” You argued. He held his hands up in surrender, conceding from the discussion. “Besides, having a kitchen is great, and you know, a roof, in case of extreme weather is excellent, too.”

“Fine, I suppose you have a point.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of hikes,” Jake turned to look at you, now “we’re getting ready to go check out the trails. Care to join?”

“I was actually going to see the lake over there.” You were honest. You’d love to go with them, but the water was calling your name, and you knew that if you went with the boys, you may not be back until dark.

“You bring your life jacket?” Jake smiled, nudging you with his elbow.

“My god, you guys really know how to disturb the peace.” You shook Josh’s arm off you, standing now.

“You were the one who agreed to come with us.” Sam reminded.

“After you begged me to come!” You snipped.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off, all of them standing now, too. “Daniel will stay and keep you company, just to make sure that bear doesn’t get you.” He winked. The three brothers stalked off, going to collect their bags from the cabin. You watched them walk away, then turned to look at the boy they’d left behind.

“You don’t have to stay with me, Danny.” You assured him.

“I don’t mind,” he gave a nervous smile. You felt your stomach flutter at the sight. “Sometimes I just need a break from them, too.” He admitted.

It was day one of the camping trip you’d been coerced into going on. The boys had a break from touring, and you took some vacation time to spend with them for their time home. You’d arrived earlier that morning after the boys packed their cars with necessities and food. You’d split up into two cars. Sam and Danny had arrived together, and you and the twins went in the other vehicle. You were on the fence about going, due to all the reasons aforementioned. But, you’d managed to convince the boys to rent a cabin rather than rough it in tents, making your uneasiness about the plan a bit better.

After unpacking and throwing the food in the refrigerator, you’d all went your own way for a while. You found yourself content in a patch of sun by the fire pit, leading yourself to your current situation. Now the boys were gone, and you were alone with Danny, who’d managed to win your heart over from the minute you met him. Somehow, he still made you nervous even after years of knowing him.

Your apartment building was nestled in the heart of Nashville. You kept to yourself aside from a few friends you still had from high school, whom you’d spent almost all of your free time with. You were a local bar frequent, spending every weekend going out for karaoke and a few games of pool with your group, just for something to do. You weren’t the biggest fan of drinking, but adored the social aspect.

After one particularly rowdy night, you woke the next morning to banging and crashing in your hallway, covered up almost completely by loud voices. In your hungover state, you decided to check out the scene, wondering who was causing the disturbance in your normally, mostly calm complex. You hoped maybe you could reason with them to keep it down, just to keep your migraine at bay. You washed your face and pulled your hair back, throwing on some clean, comfortable clothes before investigating. When you peeked your head out your front door, you were taken back by the amount of items littering the otherwise empty space. You only had to wonder for a moment before a group of three boys you’d never seen before popped out from an apartment across the hall.

“Well, hello.” A shorter boy with curly hair gave you a breathtaking smile. You tried your best to return it, suddenly feeling very nervous.

“H-hi,” you stuttered, stepping into the hallway. You were too invested now, having to see the interaction through. “You guys moving in?” You asked, addressing all three of them. You noted how similar they all looked.

“We are!” The curly haired boy said, motioning to a strikingly similar boy beside him with long, wavy hair. “I’m Josh, and this is Jake.” He introduced them both. “We’re twins!” You couldn’t help but giggle at him. He was so bubbly and welcoming.

“I’m y/n.” You stepped forward, holding your hand out for them to shake. After the introduction with the twin boys, the taller boy stepped forward, pushing past the other two.

“I’m Sam,” he gave a smile, shaking your hand, too. “The younger, but better, brother.” You laughed at his words.

“So you’re all brothers?” Josh gave you a nod. “Must have been a full house growing up, then.”

“We have a sister, too.” Jake chuckled, leaning against the wall.

“Wow,” you exhaled, unable to imagine that many siblings. “I’ve got one, and she’s way younger than me.” You laughed. “I couldn’t imagine growing up with that many kids in the house.”

“We never killed each other, so I guess it turned out alright.” Sam grinned. “I’m actually moving in upstairs, too, with our best friend Danny. Not sure where he ran off to.”

“So four new faces to see around.” You nodded along to your own words. “I suppose it won’t be that bad. You guys seem alright.”

“As long as noise doesn’t bother you to much.” Sam chuckled. You cocked your head to the side, as if to ask him why. “We’re in a band.���

“Oh, cool! Noise doesn’t bother me, especially if it’s good noise.” You assured them. “The apartment isn’t really quiet in general. Lots of musicians and aspiring artists in here. The hallways usually pretty silent, but not the rooms. That’s kind of why I came out to investigate.”

“What about you, duckie?” Josh asked, eyeing your pyjama pants. You looked down, feeling redness rush to your cheeks at the childish pattern of rubber ducks plastered on the fabric. You were suddenly aware of how attractive all of the boys were, and how hungover you looked. “You an aspiring artist?”

“Writer.” You smiled, trying to brush off the embarrassment.

“I’d love to read something, someday.” His words were honest, warming your heart.

“Who knows, maybe you guys can be my new muse.” You joked.

“Oh! Can I be a superhero?” Sam exclaimed.

“Pirates,” Jake interjected, dismissing Sam’s idea. You giggled.

“I’ll make you guys sound super cool, don’t worry.” You assured them. “I’d love to hear some of your music, too.”

“You play any instruments?” Jake asked, trying to engage more in the conversation.

“I tried a bit of everything, I guess. Never stuck with much, but I could pick a tune on guitar and I could play a melody on the piano. I tried drums a couple times, but my family got fed up pretty fast.” You chuckled at the memory. “I like to sing, most of all, but I tend to stick to my writing.”

“You hear that, guys?” Sam looked between his brothers. “She’s coming for our jobs.” They all laughed at the statement.

“I think you’re all safe, don’t worry. Especially your drummer.” Your eyes looked between all of them, trying to figure out who that might be.

“Speaking of drummers,” Sam cleared his throat, eyes looking down the hall to another body moving towards the group. “Maybe this guy could teach you a thing or two, if you ever wanted to learn.” You couldn’t hide your staring when the fourth boy came into view. He was tall, wearing jeans and a muscle shirt, his biceps catching you off guard. His long curly hair framed his face, his nose a little on the larger side and his eyes glistening with a type of kindness you couldn’t fake.

“Who am I teaching?” He asked, smile wide and tone welcoming. He was breathtaking.

“Duckie.” Sam motioned to you, breaking you from your trance. “She said she’s not very good at the drums. Well, her parents didn’t think so, anyway. She may be alright.”

“Hi,” you breathed, clearing your throat “I’m y/n.” You tried your best to give a good first impression, but your crimson cheeks and racing heart were not helping your case.

“Danny.” He beamed. You started to hold your hand out to him to shake, but he dismissed it. “I’m a hugger, if you’re cool with that.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s cool too.” You managed to squeak out. He took a step towards you, wrapping his arms around you. “Nice to meet you.” You told him, and you meant it. It was very nice to meet him. His cologne lingered in your nose after he pulled away. You tried not to let it affect you, but you were swooning just at the thought of his arms around you. “Sorry I didn’t wear my Sunday best, I didn’t expect to meet anyone new. I was honestly gonna come out here and tell you guys to be quiet. The bar got the best of me last night.” You laughed. “But, since you guys are cool, I’ll let it slide.”

“‘Preciate it, duck.” Sam smirked. “You’re alright, too.”

“Aw, thanks.” The sarcasm was dripping from your words. “You guys need any help?”

“Maybe an interior decorator!” Danny offered. “All our stuff is in our apartment, but we aren’t exactly experts on the decoration part.” He admitted. “I’ll treat you to lunch if you could offer some insight.” You swore you saw his cheeks turn rosy, but you ignored it, believing you must have made it up. “Well, I’ll treat you to lunch, anyway, but I could really use a second opinion up there.”

“Y-yeah!” You stuttered. “Let me go and take a quick shower. I’ll meet you up there?”

“Sure, 208.” He replied.

“Guess we’re still stuck moving everything in down here?” Sam eyed his roommate. Danny gave a shrug.

“I wasn’t gonna let the pretty lady do the dirty work. Besides, you’re doing such a great job already.”

You didn’t believe in love at first sight, but whatever you’d felt for Danny that day was the closest thing to it. At first, you thought he may have felt the same way. He always wanted to hang out, made excuses to come to your apartment to visit, and always made sure you were invited to any of the group events. He never technically stopped doing that stuff, but it had never advanced. You guys had fallen into the friendship routine, never toeing any boundaries or crossing any lines. You wished he would, though. You bent down and picked your journal up off the grass, swiping away any dirt that had accumulated on it.

“So, are we going for a swim?” Danny asked, gazing in your direction for a second too long. You felt the nervousness creep back in.

“Yeah, of course. I gotta get changed.” You turned to the cabin, Danny following closely behind. Just as you reached the door, the others tumbled outside, almost knocking you over. You stumbled backwards into Danny, but he caught you and steadied you. His large hands holding your arms made your head spin.

“Sorry!” Sam exclaimed, inspecting you to make sure you were okay. You waved him off.

“S’okay, Sammy.” You assured him, regaining your footing. He was still watching you carefully, making sure you were being honest. “It’s okay.” You repeated, reaching out and giving him a pat on the arm. “Less scary than a bear.” You two shared a chuckle before the three brothers bid a goodbye, promising they’d be back soon. The two of you continued on your way, running up the stairs and into your own rooms. You pulled out the bikini you’d packed, quickly changing out of your shorts and tank top. You’d managed to tie the strings around your neck with no issues, but were struggling with the ones around your back.

A knock sounded on the door, startling you. “You okay in there?” Danny asked through the door. You sighed, holding the cups of the top tightly to your chest.

“No, can you help?” You called him in. “I need you to tie the strings for me.” The door creaked open, slowly revealing the boy you’d been talking to. He let out a small chuckle at the sight, making his way over to you. “Just as tight as you can, please.”

“Will do,” his fingers grazed the skin on your back, causing goosebumps to raise on your arms. He took the strings and tied them together, making sure it was on securely. His palm landed on your lower back as you turned around, causing your stomach to flutter with butterflies. You turned to face him, taking in the sight before you. He was just in swim trunks, standing closer than you thought he was, with a grin plastered on his lips. Your breath caught in your throat at his exposed upper half; it was a sight you would never get used to, no matter how many times you saw him shirtless. “Ready?” He asked, fingers still lingering on you. You managed a nod.

The two of you clambered back down the stairs. He held the door open for you as you slipped on your flip-flops. “Wait!” You stopped, turning back towards him. He raised an eyebrow. “Sunscreen!” You ran back inside, grabbing the bottle from your bag and bringing it back to him. He watched you, unsure of what to do. “Put it on, silly.” You laughed. “No sunburns on my watch.” He playfully rolled his eyes, grabbing it from you and obeying. You took turns with the bottle, coating yourselves in the lotion. “Turn around.” You ordered. He did as he was told and you put some on his back, rubbing it in gently.

“You’re such a mom.” Danny poked fun at you.

“I’m not listening to everyone complain when they’re burnt and sore, later.”

“Fair enough,” He backed down “your turn.” He said once you finished, turning around and grabbing it from you. You allowed him to do the same, holding your hair out of his way. “Should be good enough.” He said, gently pulling you back around to face him. “Oh, hold on.” He squeezed a bit more on his finger. You watched with curiosity as he closed the bottle.

“I don’t think we missed-“ he raised his hand and swiped the dollop of lotion on your nose. You both broke out into a fit of giggles as you processed what he’d done. You massaged it into the bridge of your nose and over your cheeks, not finding it in you to be annoyed with him. He had a child-like humour by times that was heartwarming.

“Now we’re okay. Come on.” He grabbed your hand, leading you back outside. You shut the door behind you, letting him guide you to the water. You broke through the tree line, following the short trail to the clearing. The grass slowly transitioned into sand, which was surrounding a gorgeous body of water. The sun rays made the surface sparkle, illuminating the blue hue that looked so inviting. There was a dock with a small ‘no diving’ sign attached to it. You couldn’t see the other side of the lake, but you were assuming it wasn’t as large as it seemed upfront. There were a few other trails through the line of woods, presumably leading to other cabins in the campground. Each building was quite secluded, giving lots of privacy to the visitors. It was nice.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Danny asked from beside you, hand still in yours. You gave his a small squeeze, nodding your head.

“It’s like a whole different world compared to the city.” You sighed, kicking your shoes off. “I should come out here and write sometime.” You thought aloud, not really intending for a conversation.

“If you ever want company, you know where to find me.” He said, thumb running over the soft skin on your hand.

“As long as it’s just you,” you mumbled “the other ones are too distracting.” He laughed, letting go of you to step forward onto the beach. You followed behind him, immediately walking over to the dock. You were careful stepping on the old wood, not wanting to get a splinter. Once you made it to the end, you bargained with the thought of splinters, willing to risk one or two for the experience. You sat down, feet dangling over the edge, just barely reaching the water. You moved your legs back and fourth, getting a feel for the temperature. You looked back over your shoulder, watching Danny scale the shore, just a few feet in from the sand.

He caught your eye and you looked away quickly, your heart racing. You had a hard time not staring at him, but you didn’t want him to think you were weird. He walked over to where you were sitting, barely making a noise aside from the small splashes of water with his steps. “I thought you wanted to swim, duck?” He asked as he approached the dock. He waded into the water, coming to stand beside you. The water was shallow enough that he was only up to his navel in depth. He moved in front of you, hands reaching out and finding a home on the wood beside each of your legs.

“I’m in the water.” You reminded, pointing at your feet. He scoffed, holding back a laugh.

“I don’t think that counts.”

“Does so!” You argued.

“Come in with me.” He pleaded. You reasoned with yourself before answering.

“Is it cold?” You questioned. The water that was up to your ankles told you it wasn’t, but you were sceptical.

“No, it’s really nice. I promise.”

“Okay, but you have to stay with me, just in case.” You bargained.

“Don’t know how to swim?” He quipped, a smirk growing on his lips.

“I do! I’m just nervous. Usually I only swim in pools.” You admitted.

“Ah, whatever you say, city girl.” You responded by flipping him the middle finger. “Maybe Jake was right, we should’ve brought your life jacket.” You rolled your eyes.

“You know, maybe you should’ve went with them. I’d rather fight the bear than get bullied all day!” You both erupted into a fit of laughter again.

“Fine, I promise I won’t go too far away. I wouldn’t want a fish to get you.” He said through a giggle.

“You’re on thin ice, Wagner.” You warned. He took another step closer to you, his chest practically touching your knees. He held his arms out for you. You hesitantly scooted forward, letting him grab onto your hips. He lifted you carefully, slowly bringing you down into the water with him. You let out a sigh of relief when your feet hit the bottom. You were significantly further in than Danny, though. The bottom of your bikini top was hitting the surface of the lake.

“See, it’s not so bad.” He whispered, pulling you into him. His hands still rested on your waist, sending your stomach into knots. You were sure he could feel your pulse just from the proximity of your chests. “Right?” He mumbled, looking down at you.

“It’s not that bad,” you sighed an agreement, relaxing a bit. He smiled, leading you out further into the water.

“Float on your back.” He said, simply.

“I don’t know how to.” You admitted.

“I’ll show you.” He let go of you, taking a step away from you. His arm landed on your upper back. “Lean back, keep your legs straight.��� He explained. You did as he said, easing into the water. Eventually, your legs rose a bit higher and he snaked his other arm under you, supporting your bum. You tried not to notice where his hand was, but it proved difficult. “Now keep your hips up and your legs straight. Don’t lose your posture, okay?”

“Okay.” You whispered. He held you for a moment, but slowly lowered his touch so you were floating on your own. He continued to stand next to you, making sure you knew he didn’t leave you stranded. “I’m doing it!” You exclaimed, looking at him through the corner of your eye.

“You are, duck.” He beamed down at you. “Good job.”

The afternoon was filled with aquatic adventure, but eventually dwindled into the early hours of the evening. The sun sinking slowly below the trees, but still bright enough to cast a golden glow over the earth. When the temperature started to drop, too, you and Danny made your way out of the lake, planning to retire back to the cabin. When you got out of the water, a shiver ran through you. Danny wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to him, trying to warm you up. When you got back through the trees, a billow of smoke through the air caught your attention. You continued walking to find the three other boys had returned from their hike and had lit a campfire. Jake was sitting in a chair with his acoustic guitar in his lap. Josh had a drink in his hand, face looking a bit red. You couldn’t tell if he was sunburnt or just drunk.

“Hello, lovebirds!” Sammy announced, causing you and Danny to look between each other, unsure how to respond. “Have a good swim?” He grinned.

“Shut up, Sam.” You rolled your eyes, throwing your towel on the ground to sit on it. Danny did the same, taking post next to you. The orange flames warmed you, drying any missed water droplets from your skin. “How was your hike?” You pointed the question to the twins.

“It was an extravagant exploration of the wilderness,” Josh giggled at himself. You could tell he’d been drinking for a while. You smiled at him, looking over to his brother who was picking a tune on the guitar. You hummed along with him, appreciating the sound of the song.

“Did you guys get anything to eat?” You asked. They all shook their heads. You had to hold back an eye roll, making a move to stand. “Okay. I’ll make something, then, before you all perish.” Danny looked up at you from his seat on the ground.

“Need any help?” You gave a nod, holding your hand out to help him up. The two of you disappeared back into the cabin. You raced up the stairs to grab a quick shower and get changed. You pulled on some sweatpants and a tank top, quickly brushing through your hair and meeting Danny back in the kitchen. “What are we making, duck?” He asked, standing up from the chair he’d been sitting at.

“I have no idea what they brought for food,” you laughed, walking to check the fridge. You searched, trying to find something to throw together. “Nachos, I guess?”

“Sounds good to me.” He smiled. You took out the ingredients the boys had thrown haphazardly into the fridge. The two of you cooked silently, both starving and ready to eat.

When the food was ready, you put out paper plates on the table and called everyone back inside. The meal went quickly, barely any words spoken. You were all hungry after a long day of activities. When the food was gone, you all joined forces to tidy up before going back outside. The boys all took their turns thanking you before returning back to the fireside. You grabbed a cooler from the fridge, cracking the can and taking a sip. You watched out the window for a moment, admiring the view.

Danny had started the shower upstairs, presumably wanting to wash the lake water off as badly as you’d wanted to, earlier. You went up to your room, sitting on the bed and pulling your journal out. You put your pen to the paper, wanting to write about the beautiful things you’d seen all day, the serenity of nature and the experience of being with your friends, but every word that came from you was all about the same thing; the boy who had taught you how to float today. You laughed at the memory, feeling a bit ridiculous that you were an adult and had no idea how to float on your back in the water. In a way, you were glad you didn’t, because it gave you an excuse to be close with Danny. You thought about the scene, the metaphor pouring out on paper effortlessly. He was so easy to write about, so easy to think about. He occupied your mind even when you were busy with a million other things. It was so easy being in love with Danny; it wasn’t easy, however, not knowing if he felt the same way about you. His lingering touches and affinity to be near to led you to believe he did, but he never gave any other idea that he felt that way.

If you’d known that day, when you joked about them being your new muse, that it would be so true, you never would have said it. Writers block was a distant memory now, your mind constantly begging you to write about the beautiful boy who lived just a floor above you. You’d heard about his dates, potential flings and pursuers, just the same as he’d heard about yours. You even met some of them. But, in the years that had passed since you met him, nobody you’d been with ever compared to him. You barely knew what it was like to touch him, or have him hold you. He’d never kissed you, or given you anything other than platonic love, but you knew that nobody could be better than Danny. He was a ray of sunshine, he made your day better just by knowing he existed. You were hopelessly pining after him, wishing he’d notice, but too scared to say anything to anyone.

You were broken from your thoughts when someone stepped in your room. You looked up to see the boy you’d been lost in thought about. “Hey, duckie.” He greeted, giving you a smile. The other boys never really consistently continued on with the silly nickname they’d given you all those years ago, but he did. The rest of the boys usually only called you it when they wanted to get on your nerves, or tease you, but was rare for Danny to call you by your name. You didn’t mind it, especially coming from him. “What are you writing about?”

“Just about the lake, earlier.” You replied, closing the journal and putting it beside you on the bed. He took a seat beside you.

“Care to share?” He asked. You convinced yourself he was only doing so as a formality.

“Nothing worth sharing.” You lied, looking over to meet his eyes.

“I think everything you write is worth sharing.” You felt your cheeks heat up, distracting yourself from the compliment by reaching over and taking a sip of your drink.

“Thanks, Danny.” You whispered. “Wanna head out to the fire?”

“Sure,” he said, looking a little dejected. You thought maybe he really did want to read what you had written. You promised yourself you’d show him eventually, when you worked up enough courage.

The boys were positively drunk by the time you rejoined them, laughing and signing along with Jake’s playing. You returned to your unspoken claimed spot on the ground. On the way out, Danny had grabbed his own guitar and started tuning it when he took his own seat. It didn’t take long for you to find yourself tipsy, too. You were tired, making the effects of the alcohol even stronger. You found yourself swaying to the music the boys were playing, entranced in Josh’s singing. Your eyes drifted towards Danny, watching him smile as he played, fingers dancing over the fretboard. He was beautiful, everything he did was captivating. You’d only noticed you were staring when he caught your eye, giving you a grin.

“You gonna sing us a song, y/n?” He asked. You heart sped as your name fell from his lips. It sounded so perfect coming from him.

“I mean, I can’t really compete with Josh, but I suppose I could give it a go.” You smiled. You could see the excitement dance across his face. He didn’t say anything else before he started playing again. When Jake picked up on what song he was picking, he joined in. Rhiannon. Fleetwood Mac. He remembered your favourite band. You sung along, carefree and open, not worried about how you sounded. All of the boys joined in on the chorus, laughing and belting it with you.

When the last note of the song rang out, Sam and Josh gave a round of applause, muffled by Jake and Danny’s cheers. “If you ever give up writing, we’d give you a spot in the band.” Sam laughed. You shook your head, dismissing his statement.

“No chance, Sammy. I’m just going to keep writing my silly little book and hopefully make it big, someday.”

“You’ve got four of your biggest fans right here once you do. Remember us when you’re famous.” Danny spoke now, immediately catching your attention.

“As if I could ever forget about you guys.” You said, but you directed it to him. You would never be able to leave any of them behind, but he’d always have a place in your heart, especially.

“Awww, you’re so sweet, Duck! I know you couldn’t forget about me, I’m your favourite!” Josh’s smile blinded you from across the fire.

“Of course, Josh.” You laughed.

The drinks slowly came to an end as the flames fizzled into embers. The music died off, too, all of you completely exhausted. Danny had thrown his guitar back in the case and you’d laid back, head in his lap while his fingers danced through your hair. You wished you could lay with him like this forever. Jake was picking at the strings, not with much intent. Josh was a second away from slumber, barely holding his eyes open. Sam had dozed off a few times in his chair, quite like a middle-aged dad. You were certain it was nearing midnight by now, but truly didn’t care enough to check. You closed your own eyes, just to satiate the need for sleep for a little while, not wanting the night to end.

Just as you did so, a raindrop landed on the coals of the fire, omitting a sizzle that brought you back to reality. You only had a second to realize what was happening before more were falling. Everyone sprung to action, the boys grabbing their instruments to get them inside. You gathered all of the damageable items, stuffing them into the pockets of your pants and the rest in your hands. The boys were inside by the time you collected the last of the things. The rain had picked up, now drenching your tank top. You swore under your breath as you made your way into the house, shivering and cold.

Danny was waiting for you by the door, immediately taking the stuff from your hands. “I’m sorry, duck! I wasn’t even thinking about the rest of the stuff, I just didn’t want to get the guitar wet-“

“It’s okay,” you promised, teeth still chattering.

“Here,” he placed all of the things on the ground and pulled his sweatshirt over his head, handing it to you. You took it, turning away to face the wall for a moment, slipping the wet shirt off. You pulled his sweater on, immediately feeling better. It was still warm from his body heat and it smelled like him.

“Thank you.” You sighed. The two of you joined the others in the kitchen, returning phones and wallets to the right owners. You all stood together, sharing mindless chatter and forgetting about the rainstorm for a moment. “You see, Sammy. Aren’t you so grateful for a roof, tonight?” You smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Be careful, I might let one of the bears know which room is yours.” You both giggled, knowing he’d never let the joke die. “Well, I think it’s bedtime.” Sam sighed. Josh and Jake nodded, both feeling the same way. “Have a good night, everyone. I’ll make sure to wake you all at six sharp, so we don’t miss out on any festivities.” Sam announced. You rolled your eyes.

“If you show up at my door at six in the morning, you won’t be alive for any more festivities.” You warned.

“Understood.” Sam gave a salute before breaking away, heading upstairs. The twins also bid a goodnight and found their way to their own beds. You turned to look at the only other body left in the room.

“You going to bed, too?” You asked. He gave a shrug.

“Are you?”

“I’m not sure.” You said, looking around the empty kitchen. “I’m tired, but I don’t know if I’m ready to sleep yet. You don’t have to stay up with me, though.”

“I know I don’t have to.” He chuckled. “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t.” You gave a small smile.

“Go to bed, Danny.” You gave him a gentle pat on the arm. “I’ve got a date with my journal. And by date I mean staring blankly at it until something good comes out of it.” He laughed at your words.

“You know where to find me if you need anything, then.” He replied, hand reaching out and landing on your lower back. He pulled you in for a hug, chin resting on top of your head. You held on to him, not wanting to let him go. Eventually, he broke away, leaving you wishing he’d stay. “Goodnight, duckie.” He whispered, walking out of eyesight before you could formulate a response. You sat in the kitchen, waiting until you heard his bedroom door shut, thinking about the days events. Eventually, you found yourself retiring back to your room.

You clicked on a lamp that was on the table beside the bed. It was soft, enough so you could see what you were doing, but not enough to become annoying. The rain softly puttered against the windows, inviting you in. You loved rain, the sound was so soothing and it was the perfect ambience. Your journal still rested on the bed, saving a spot for you. You slid under the covers and opened it back up. The words poured out effortlessly, continuing on with your story as if you’d never stopped in the first place. You filled the page, not taking a break until you were jolted to reality from a thunder crack outside. Your stomach churned at the sound. You tried to ignore it, but another boom and flash of light startled you again. You loved the rain, but you hated thunder, and despised lightning.

You swallowed hard, feeling a nervous tremble in your hand as you tried to keep writing. By the fifth snap of thunder, you were no longer able to focus on anything you were doing. It was a childish fear, but the loud noises were always unsettling to you, mostly because you never knew when it would happen. Counting the distance between bangs only kept you more on edge, and then the spark of light lost your focus. You climbed back out of bed, finding a bit of solace in Danny’s sweatshirt that you were wearing. You pushed the door open, creeping down the stairs, hoping you wouldn’t wake anyone. When you made it to the kitchen, you searched for a kettle, hoping that there was one in the cabin somewhere.

You stumbled across a tattered electric one, smiling in triumph. You pulled a teabag from the small sandwich bag you’d filled while packing. That was one thing you knew you couldn’t go the weekend without. The water ran quietly from the tap, filling the kettle within a few seconds. You flipped it off, searching in the dark for an outlet.

Once you plugged it in and flipped it on, you sat at the table to wait for it, focusing on the noise of the boiling water rather than the commotion outside. Your fingers drummed against the wooden table, filled with anxiety. You were calming down slightly, thinking the storm may have been dwindling to an end, but the rain started coming down harder and another sound of thunder filled the home, much stronger than the rest. A bright flash filled the windows, and the sound of the boiling water slowed to a stop. The power had gone out. Your heart was racing now, palms breaking out into a sweat. You decided the best course of action was to go back to your room and hope to fall asleep.

“Y/n?” A low voice said from the bottom of the stairwell. You jumped, whipping your head to see who it had come from.

“Oh, Danny,” you sighed, laughing gently. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he said, sheepishly, making his way towards you. His hair was pulled back and his shirt was off, leaving him just in a pair of sweatpants. “What are you still doing up?” He asked, but he already knew the answer. He’d never forget how much thunder bothered you.

“Ah, just couldn’t sleep.” You brushed it off.

“Thunder?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Powers out, too.” He was in front of you now, kneeling down so he could see your face. His hand reached out, finding your cheek. His thumb brushed over the skin, causing you to melt into the touch. The anxiety bubbled away just from him being there.

“You can come to bed with me, if you want.” He offered. You looked up at him through your lashes, unsure if he really said what you thought he did. “O-or Sam, or anyone, really.” He covered it up, quickly. “Nobody would mind.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” You brushed it off.

“You’d never be intruding. I can go wake up whoever you want to stay with-“

“You, Danny.” You assured him. “I’d like to stay with you, if it’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course it is. Come on.” He stood, holding his hand out for you. You took it and he carefully guided you to his room. He let you go in first, opening the door for you. You slowly shuffled inside, turning to look at him. He chuckled at your nervousness, closing the door behind him. “I can sleep on the floor, you can take the bed.” He said pulling a pillow from the mattress. You held your hand out to stop him.

“We can both…” you trailed off, suddenly embarrassed at your words. “We can, uh, both sleep in the bed. I mean, if you’re okay with it. It’s just… it’s a big bed, there’s no need for you to sleep on the floor. If anything, I can sleep on the floor-“

“Hey,” he laughed, throwing the pillow back in its place “it’s okay, if you’re cool with it, I am too.”

“Okay, great.” You internally cringed at yourself, realizing how stupid you sounded. You watched as he climbed under the covers, not sure what to do.

“Oh, did you want me to put my shirt on?” He asked, quickly making a move to stand again.

“No, it’s okay.” You said, making a move to get in beside him. He scooted over, giving you as much room as possible. “We can put a pillow between us if it makes you more comfortable.” He laughed at your words as you both settled in.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t think you have cooties.” You let out a small giggle.

“Maybe you do, though.”

“Too late for you, then. You’ve been wearing my sweater all night.” He argued. You relaxed a bit, the anxiety seeping away. You’d almost forgotten why you were in bed with him in the first place. He rolled onto his side, facing you.

“I guess so,” you sighed “I’ll never recover.”

“You poor baby,” Just as he said it, another roaring wave of thunder shook the house. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound. Without wasting any time, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into him. You accepted the hold, shifting on your side and burying your head in his chest. He held you tightly, not even so much as considering letting you go. “It’s okay.” He whispered, rubbing your back gently. You relaxed into his touch, wrapping your arm around him and allowing him to comfort you.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you.” You mumbled. He moved the hair from your face, running his fingers through it and gently brushing out any knots.

“My pleasure, duck.” He hummed, still holding you close to him. “Who doesn’t love a good sleepover?” You gave a small laugh, mumbling an agreement. Any sleepover would be fantastic as long as it was with him. You guys fell into routine of listening to each others breathing, eventually drifting off into a slumber that was more peaceful than any you’d had before.

When the sun peaked through the curtains the next morning, it was almost like the storm had never happened. Golden rays casting over both of the bodies in the bed, showcasing that neither of you moved the whole night. You were still wrapped up in Danny’s arms, holding him closely to you. His hands had drifted downwards, hand decorating your thigh and fingers dangerously close to your ass. You were awake, the sunlight ensured that, but you wished so badly that you weren’t. You wanted to stay like this all day, sleeping next to Danny and soaking up every bit of affection you could get from him. You felt grateful for the thunderstorm last night, realizing that it was the sole reason you had the opportunity to wake up to the beautiful sight of him sleeping next to you.

You wiggled impossibly closer, gentle enough to avoid waking him. You just wanted to be surrounded by him and to never have to let go. He stirred but didn’t wake. Instead, the hand that was holding your hip tightened and pulled you closer to him. Your heart fluttered but you tried to stay calm, shoving the interaction to the back of your mind. Though, it was really hard to forget the feeling of his hand on you, burning into your skin and lighting you on fire. You tried not to think about your own fingers dancing on the bare skin of his back, how warm he was and how you wanted to lay there and trace patterns into it all day. You closed your eyes, trying to let sleep take over once more, but his heartbeat was fuelling you rather than serving as a lullaby.

Your feelings for Danny were always prominent, standing out above anything else, but in that moment they were driving you insane. You wanted nothing more than to lean up and kiss him, just to know what it felt like. You wanted him to wake up, to see you as more than the downstairs neighbour or his friend. You wanted to start your day wrapped around him like this every morning. As if the universe heard your silent plea, Danny shifted, hand never leaving you, and took a sharp inhale. You pulled your head back, looking up at his face. His eyes fluttered open, immediately looking down at you. His lips upturned into a smile which you returned without a thought.

“Good morning, duck.” He whispered, hands unmoving as if he was enjoying touching you, too.

“Morning,” you managed to muster out, eyes taking in every aspect of his features. He was doing the same, wanting to remember exactly what you looked like first thing in the morning. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, really good.” He sighed. “You?”

“Me, too.” You said, making a move to turn on your back. He kept his hand on you as you moved, not letting you get too far away.

“Storm didn’t bother you too much?”

“No,” you tried to ignore the nervousness brewing in the pit of your stomach. “Felt pretty safe in here with you.”

“I was hoping you would.” You both fell back into silence, his thumb teetering just underneath the hem of your shirt, scared to push his luck. You laid still, hoping maybe he would understand that you were far from complaining about the contact. You were too scared to give any encouragement, afraid that you may have been getting the wrong idea from the encounter.

“Probably should get up, see what everybody else is doing.” You breathed, looking towards him but making no effort to leave.

“I really don’t care what they’re doing.” He admitted.

“Me, either.” You laughed. “I could stay here all day.”

“What’s stopping you?” He asked, suddenly finding enough courage to slip his hand just under your sweater, now letting it dance over the soft skin that lie beneath. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes looking for some sign of joking in his expression.

“Nothing,” You said. “We are on vacation, aren’t we?” He gave a nod, a smile creeping onto his face. “Staying in bed all day is more than acceptable.” He wasted no time pulling you back towards him, rolling on his back as he did so. You let out a giggle at his suddenness, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you on top of him.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He sighed, his grip now falling to your lower back. Your head found its place in the crook of his neck, hand resting on his chest. “I didn’t want to say it last night, but I was really hoping you wanted to stay with me, and not one of the other guys.”

“Why is that, Daniel?” Your anxiety was melting away, knowing he wanted you there just as much as you wanted to be there.

“I think you know why, y/n.” His tone was completely serious, no hidden implications behind his words.

“I don’t think I do.” You whispered. You pulled back from him to look at his face. His eyes were watching you carefully, looking to see if you were being honest.

“Come on, duck, you really have no idea?” You shook your head, waiting for him to continue. “I love you.” He almost laughed at his own words.

“I love you too, Danny.” You told him, your heart racing.

“No, like I really love you. I’m in love with you.” He said, clarifying even further.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I am, too.” He didn’t move, still continuing to watch you to ensure you weren’t joking. “Last night when you asked what I was writing about, I was writing about you.” You laughed. “That’s why I didn’t want to show you. I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“So you’re telling me I’m your muse?” He smirked, cockiness radiating from him. “Sam’s going to be pissed. He was really hoping you’d make him a superhero.”

“He’s not cool enough to be a superhero, I just don’t have the heart to tell him yet.” You both laughed, feeling the weight of the world being lifted off your shoulders. “How long have you felt like this?” You asked, curiosity getting the best of you.

“I mean, I’ve always thought you were pretty. When we were moving in and I asked you to come upstairs and help me, I just wanted an excuse to get to know you, and take you out to eat.” He explained. “I guess I never realized I was really in love with you until we started touring. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I was always a little bit jealous if I heard you on the phone with the other guys. Then I knew I was really in pretty deep.”

“You never said anything.”

“I was scared,” he finally broke the eye contact. “I mean, we all practically live together, we’re all friends, I was scared of risking it all.” You felt like screaming. Years of repressed feelings and emotions were flooding you all at once, angry with yourself that you never got the nerve to be honest with him. “I think that this morning I realized I had to tell you, because I want to wake up next to you every day.” He chuckled.

“Me too, Danny.” You rushed out. “I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you.” You felt your cheeks turn red.

“So love at first sight, then.” He teased. “I guess we were both pretty stupid.”

“Yeah,” you practically scoffed. He didn’t let you say another word, because he was pulling you forward into a kiss. You thought maybe you should pinch yourself, just to make sure it wasn’t some grandly fabricated dream you’d wake up disappointed to. You didn’t care, though, because even if it was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had. He gently pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, causing a small moan from you. You shifted your position without breaking from his lips, moving your legs on either side of him. Both of his hands immediately shot to your hips, wanting to make sure you knew that your new position was very welcomed.

One of your palms fell flat on his chest, holding you up. The other cupped his cheek, holding his face to yours. Eventually, you pulled away to catch your breath, head spinning and chest burning with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He smiled at your words, pushing you down a little towards his legs so he could sit up. His back rested against the headboard of the bed. He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, wanting to see your face.

“We’ve got all the time in the world, now.” He gently brought your lips back to his. The kiss was sweet, filled with love and even better than you had ever imagined it. You were desperate for more, no patience left from waiting so long. He deepened the kiss, more than likely feeling the exact same way. It didn’t take long for it to become messy, both of you grasping at each other, frantic to know everything about the undiscovered parts of each others bodies. You could feel his erection pressing into your heat, causing your arousal to grow even more. “Can I take this off?” He asked, pulling at the bottom of your sweater. His face was barely parted from yours, just enough so he could get the words out. You gave a small nod, lifting your arms so he could pull it off for you. He threw it to the floor, eyes raking over your naked upper half. His mouth moved down to your neck, nipping and biting at the soft skin. When he found a particularly sensitive spot, his attention rested there, sucking gently. You rocked your hips forward into him without intent, begging for some friction. “Needy,” he smiled against your neck.

“Been waiting for this for a long time,” you sighed, a hint of a whine in your tone.

“It’s okay, baby, you can have me. Just have to be patient.” He assured you, his hand reaching to cup one of your breasts. “Have to appreciate you first.” The pad of his thumb brushed over your hardened nipple, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. He pinched it gently, rolling it between his fingers and watching your reaction. Your eyes settled on his face, a pleading look instilled in them. You saw his jaw clench. He wanted the foreplay to continue but he wanted you just as bad as you wanted him.

He flipped you over, settling you on your back without a word. He tapped your thigh, silently letting you know he wanted you to lift your hips. You did as he wanted and he pulled off your pants, throwing them in the steadily growing pile of clothes on the floor. You watched him as you laid back on the bed, still forcing yourself to believe it was real life. His hair was still pulled back into a bun, some pieces falling out here and there. His eyes still looked tired, but his expression showed that he was wide awake and fully invested in the moment. “Seeing you like this is way better than anything I’ve imagined before.” He whispered, lips trailing over your bare stomach, sucking marks into the skin just above your panty line.

“So you’ve imagined me like this before?” You tried to sound confident, but your voice was shaky and gave you away immediately. His mouth moved to your hip, gently sinking his teeth into you. You let out a noise of surprise at the feeling.

“You haven’t?” You could hear the smirk in his voice; you didn’t even have to look at him to know.

“Maybe once or twice,” you admitted. He was right, this was much better than any of the dreams or fantasies you’d had about it. The feeling of his mouth on you was intoxicating. He pulled back from you, moving to rest on his knees. He made a move to take off your underwear, which you happily helped him with. You could see how hard he was through his sweatpants; the sight alone was driving you crazy. Once he had you fully naked, he slipped an arm underneath your hips, then roughly flipped you over onto your belly.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, more than okay.” You assured him.

“Let me know if you want me to stop, or if I do anything you don’t like, okay?” You nodded. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I will, baby.” You promised. He started back at the top of your body, lips brushing over your shoulders, making their way down to the dip in your back. His large hand became quite familiar with your ass, fingers squeezing it ever so slightly. He pulled back again, just long enough to deliver a sharp slap to the same spot his hand had been just a moment before. You gasped, not expecting the sudden change in his demeanour. He leaned down and placed a small kiss where he’d left the stinging red mark.

He moved his hand between your legs, fingers slowly running through your wetness.

“All this for me, sweet girl?” Hearing such a pet name coming from his mouth was enough on its own to warrant an orgasm. His fingers explored further, almost immediately landing on your clit. He knew he’d hit the right spot when a moan fell from your lips. His index finger circled there a few times, allowing some relief for you. “You want it so bad, don’t you?” You hummed a response, but he pulled his hand away from you completely. “Use your words.” He ordered.

“Y-yeah, I do, Danny. So bad.” You stuttered, taken aback. You definitely didn’t expect him to be as dominant as he was being. His usual sweet personality has seemed to vanish completely.

“That’s what I thought.” He resumed his slow pace at your clit, enough to give you some pleasure but not enough to get you off. He was driving you crazy. He continued on at that speed for only a short while before he removed his hand again, grabbing your hips and pulling them up off the bed. “M’sorry baby, I can’t wait any longer.” He shuffled back to his knees, pulling his pants down just enough to free his cock. He spit on his hand, stroking himself for a second before pushing into you, letting out a sigh of relief at the feeling.

He used his hands on your hips to pull you back on him as he thrusted into you, hitting your cervix hard on every re-entry. Each time you let a moan out, letting him know he was doing a good job. His fingers were digging into you more with every movement, and your were certain there would be perfect, fingers shaped bruises to remind you of him. One of his hand slipped up to your hair, balling it in his fist and pulling your head back. He leaned down, moving your head to the side so he could kiss you while he fucked you. You whimpered into his mouth, which in turn caused him to grip your hair even tighter. “Being such a good girl for me.” He muttered as he pulled away. The praise began to form a knot in your belly, desperate for a release.

He removed his hand from your hair, slipping it under you, reaching down to your bundle of nerves again. The combined feeling of him inside you and the stimulation on your clit was making your head spin. The burning in the pit of your stomach was growing by the second. It didn’t take him long to catch on, your ragged breathing and string of moans served as a strong indication of your impending orgasm. “Danny, I’m gonna-“

“No, you’re not.” He cut you off.

“I-I can’t-“

“Don’t,” he warned. “Not yet.” He didn’t slow his pace, making it even harder for you to control yourself. Your noises of pleasure became more erratic, informing him that you couldn’t stop it. He pulled out immediately, moving his fingers, too. You let out a whine, almost in pain at the loss of contact. You were panting, legs shaking underneath you. Without really thinking, you reached your hand down to your cunt, trying to find some relief. He noticed, grabbing your hand before you could get anywhere. “I told you no, baby.” He was taunting you, hoping you’d beg for him. Little did he know he didn’t have to ask for that. You’d been desperate for him for years, all of it finally coming out now.

“Please, Danny. I need it so bad.” Your head was still down on the bed, not willing to move and look him in the eyes. A gentle hand ran down your ass, fingertips trailing down the back of your thigh. The light tickle was enough to sent a jolt of electricity through your body.

“How bad, baby?” He breathed. His voice was low, dripping with emotion. You had to commend him for his self control. He stood now, fully taking off his pants. He walked to the side of the bed, looking down at you.

“So bad,” you whined. “Can’t wait any longer. Please, please fuck me.” He grabbed your hair again, pulling your head up gently to look at him. He gave you a small, reassuring smile, just so you knew he wasn’t going to push you too far. As soon as he was certain you’d seen it, it disappeared.

“You sound so pretty when you beg for me.” He took your face in his hand, making you keep the eye contact with him. He leaned down, placing a kiss on your lips. You made a move to sit up, sitting on the edge of the mattress to face him. You took the time to admire him, now, finally getting the full view of him. The usual sweetness in his eyes were replaced with a dark look, one that sent a shiver down your spine. A good one, but still a feeling you’d never had from him before. He almost held a scowl on his features, for lack of better description. But it wasn’t hateful; it was authoritative, and it was turning you on more by the second.

His cock was eye level with you, head red and glistening with pre-cum. Your mouth was watering at the sight, curious to know what he tasted like. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him a sweet look before leaning forward and taking him in your mouth. You realized that he was much bigger than you’d anticipated, confidence slightly diminishing. You gripped him at the base, stroking the bottom half that couldn’t fit in your mouth. He let out a groan, watching you suck him off with nothing short of adoration. You took as much of him in your mouth as you could, slacking your jaw and relaxing your throat. He took it as an invitation, slowly thrusting in time with the bobbing of your head. He wasn’t being aggressive, wanting you to know you had the freedom to stop him if it got too much.

When you enthusiastically continued, he did, too. His fist found your hair again, holding your head in place while he fucked your mouth. He didn’t push you past your limit, but certainly tested it. When his hips stuttered slightly, you knew he was getting close to his orgasm. You didn’t care, wanting him bad enough that you’d let him finish wherever and however he wanted to. He pushed your head down on him as he pushed himself down your throat, causing you to gag, tears forming in your eyes. You felt him twitch in your mouth, wondering if he would stop or just finish right there. The noises and profanities that were slipping from his mouth were heavenly. Just when you thought he might cum, he pulled back from you completely. His breathing was heavy, jaw clenched and eyes a little sex-crazed.

“Up,” he ordered. You scrambled to your feet, still trying to process his quick withdrawals. He seemed to want you everywhere, in any way he could have you. You weren’t complaining, feeling the exact same way. You dreamt of having him like this so many times, and now that you did, you wanted him to have you in any way he pleased. He laid on the bed, looking to you. “Come here.” He held his arm out, motioning for you to join him. You moved towards him, climbing on top of him and straddling his waist. As you were lining yourself up with him, he held your hips, stopping you from going any further. He roughly pulled you upwards, catching you off guard. You caught his eyes, finally understanding what he wanted; He wanted you to sit on his face.

“Danny, I don’t know-“ his hand lifted to your face, gently brushing over your flushed cheeks.

“It’s okay, if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.” He assured you. The nervousness fizzled away.

“I just… I don’t want to hurt you or anything.” He let out a chuckle.

“Baby, I’m asking you to. If you hurt me by sitting on my face, I think I’d be very proud of that injury.” There was no tone of sarcasm or humour in his words. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but if you’re worried about me, don’t be.” His voice was firm, assuring you he was more than okay with the situation.

“Okay.” You whispered. He guided you upwards, settling his head between your legs. His hands were firmly planted on your ass as you hovered over his mouth. “I’ve never done this before.” You admitted.

“If you want me to stop, I will.” He said. You weren’t looking at him but you knew the sincerity was pooling in his eyes. He would never say that without meaning it. “Are you okay with this?” He asked again. His earlier aura of dominance had faltered. It was just Danny, as sweet as he’d always been. He always made you feel safe.

“Yeah, I am.” You replied. Once he heard your answer, he pulled you down onto his mouth. A gasp of surprise sounded from you, but it was quickly replaced with a cry of pleasure. You had to silence yourself, biting down on your lip. He was quick to the point, fucking you with his tongue. Your anxiety dissipated almost as soon as his tongue was on you, completely replaced with pleasure. His movement was fast, working at you like he had been dreaming of having you like that forever. Your hips involuntarily rocked into his movements.

The tip of his nose brushed against your clit, driving you closer to your orgasm. You let out a whine, knuckles gripping the blankets on the bed. He moved upwards, focusing his attention there and slowing his speed. The burning in your belly that had been building seemed to remain steady, the feeling radiating through every nerve in your body. It didn’t take long for your breathing to become ragged and your muscles to tense. Your moans were frantic, the heat of his mouth and the strokes of his tongue were heavenly for such a sinful activity. “Danny, m’gonna cum.” You whimpered. He hummed against you, encouraging you. His grip tightened on your ass, holding you down on his face. Within a few seconds, you hit your peak, unravelling and calling out his name. Your legs were shaking, knuckles turned white from your hold on the fistfuls of blankets. He rode you through it, slowly stopping his movements as he gently lifted you off of him.

“How was that, baby?” He breathed, looking up at you.

“S’good,” you sighed. He tapped your ass with his hand and you raised yourself up, freeing him without moving from where you were. He guided you back down his body, stopping you when you were over his hips. He didn’t give you any warning before he grabbed his cock in his hand and brought you down on him. The feeling of him inside you again was blissful. The feeling of him under you was, too. You started slowly, wanting to savour the moment. He allowed it for a few seconds, wanting that, too.

After a minute, he used a hand to pull you down to kiss him. He took the opportunity to fuck you at his own speed, hips raising from the bed and slamming into you. You moaned into his mouth, only making him fuck you harder. His tip was hitting your cervix, causing a pleasurable pain to shoot through you. You sat up again, riding him as he fucked into you. He had a hand on your hip and reached his other one up to cup your tit, grabbing your nipple and pinching it. You used one of your hands to rub circles into your clit. He was watching you carefully, soaking up every expression.

“Look so good riding me,” he mumbled, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You clenched around him, letting out a small gasp. “You’re my little whore, aren’t you?” He murmured. Your breath caught in your throat, looking down at him with wide eyes. Your orgasm was building again, pushing you closer with every move of his hips. Your fingers on your clit never slowed, desperate for another one. “Answer me.” He snapped.

“Y-yeah, I am,” You groaned. His eyes burned into you expectedly. You weren’t sure what exactly he wanted, but you had an idea. “Daddy.” you whispered. His jaw clenched, eyes rolling back in his head at the sound. You’d never pegged him for the type, but once you’d started fucking, you slowly started to realize there was a whole other side to him you knew nothing about.

“That’s my girl.” He was throbbing, also painfully close to his climax. “Are you gonna cum for me, baby?” He asked, voice faltering. He was barely holding back. Your fingers sped, not worried about holding on either. You nodded your head, but he wanted an answer. His hand on your hip moved, snaking behind you and landing a sharp slap on your ass.

“Yes, daddy, I am.” You moaned. With another thrust you came hard, palm planted on his chest so you wouldn’t fall over. “Fuck!” You cried. He wasn’t long finishing, pulling you down on his cock and staying buried in you.

“Oh fuck, y/n.” His eyes screwed shut, head falling back on the bed as he spilled into you. You collapsed on top of him, both sweaty and panting. His fingers danced over your back, tracing small patterns into your exposed skin. His lips found the top of your head, placing a sweet kiss on there. You melted into him, wishing you could stay like that with him forever.

Eventually, he helped you off of him, ordering you to lay back while he got something to clean you up with. When he returned, he wiped you off and pulled you in for a kiss. You savoured it, finally realizing that everything that happened was, in fact, real life. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, grabbing one of his shirts from his bag and handing it to you. You sat up and slipped it on. You both stood, gathering your pants from the ground. “That was fantastic.” You told him. A smile graced his lips.

“You are fantastic.” He said, pulling you into a hug. “I wish I could start every morning like that.” He sighed. You let out a giggle.

“Me, too.”

“You want to go find something to eat?” He asked. You gave a nod, making a move for the door. He grabbed your hand before you could leave the room, pulling you back to look at him. “I was also wondering, maybe, if you’d want to be my girlfriend?” A blush rose to his cheeks. You grinned, barely comprehending how he’d just had sex with you like that and was nervous to ask you to be his girlfriend. It was adorable.

“Yeah, Danny. I’d really like that.” His smile grew, too, as he pulled you in for another kiss. “Now let’s go get breakfast. We can see if the boys are still alive.” He kept his hand in yours as you both went downstairs. Nobody was in the kitchen when you got there, so you both went to work, finding something suitable to eat. In midst of cooking, the front door opened. You both turned to see Sam stumbling in. He immediately looked between both of you, raising an eyebrow. “Good morning,” you greeted.

“Glad to see you’ve both decided to join the rest of the world.” He said, making his way to the table. He took a seat before he spoke again. “I went to wake you up this morning only to find your bed empty. I thought that bear you’d been talking about really did get you.” He let out a disapproving tsk. “Turns out it was just Danny.” You felt heat rise to your face, knowing Sam knew exactly where you ended up last night.

“Yeah, I stayed with him last night. Thunder storm, couldn’t sleep.” You explained.

“Uh-huh,” Sam nodded, a mischievous smile on his face. “Josh and Jake went to check out the water earlier. I stayed back to wait for you both. Realized I would be waiting for a while, so I was forced to explore outside a little bit.” Your stomach dropped, realizing he’d heard you both this morning. You wanted to shrivel up and die.

“Shut up, Sam.” Danny dismissed him, seeing you were embarrassed.

“What! I’m happy you guys finally made a move. It was getting a little unbearable watching you two.” He laughed. You rolled your eyes, still cringing at the whole interaction. “Care to share some breakfast with the poor soul who had to listen?” You hid your face in your hand, wanting nothing more than to run away.

“Go and join your brothers,” Danny was holding back a laugh while he shoo’d him away. Sam raised his hands in defence, standing.

“Fine, I see how it is.” He stalked towards the door. “Oh, y/n?” He asked as his hand reached towards the knob. You looked to him, annoyed that he’d only come inside to poke fun at you.

“What, Sam?” You asked, knowing he wouldn’t let it go.

“Glad to see you really are enjoying the camping trip, after all.” He giggled to himself. You groaned.

“Never going to live this down, am I?” You muttered. He opened the door, taking a step outside.

“Never.” He assured you. He shut the door behind him, leaving you and Danny by yourselves again. You could tell he was trying to hold back from laughing.

“I wasn’t that loud, was I?” You asked. He looked to you from the corner of his eye.

“Um, no, I wouldn’t say so.” He tried to comfort you. You could tell he was lying.

“Danny! Why wouldn’t you say anything?” You smacked his arm. He gave a chuckle and a shrug.

“It was way too hot for me to tell you to be quiet.” You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad at him.

“So you just subjected me to a life full of torment?” You couldn’t help but smile, too.

“I think it was well worth it.” He pulled you into him, lips landing on yours once again. As annoyed as you were, you couldn’t help but agree. You were certain everyone in the world could hate you, but if Danny was by your side, it wouldn’t matter. You would take a lifetime worth of bullying from Sam, because you finally had the one thing you’d wanted so badly for so many years. Hell, you were even thankful for the bugs, and the bears, and especially the thunderstorm, because it landed you there with him, making breakfast and wearing his clothes, as his girlfriend.

[fromtenthousandfeet]

Thank you for this interesting discussion re Pdogg, Jimin's composing skills, and what made FACE work that is lacking in CTT and SGMB. And also for the Still Woozy clip. I hope you enjoy the concert!

You made me go look up those 70s singers...Jim Croce? Cat Stevens? The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald? Well, okay. Interesting.

I'm going to make an even stranger reference in defense of SMF, Pt2, specifically the repetition you mention. For me, there is mounting tension here...will he be set free or not?--that perhaps, they could have exploited more, via cues from the orchestra or some sort of added dynamic.

And here is the weird reference....Wagner's Tristan and Isolde's love duet Nacht die Liebe. This thing goes on FOREVER. And it's tense, because you're thinking, "Good God, just DO IT already!" And Wagner goes back to the familiar leifmotif over and over again. Btw, I think somewhere here there is the line "set us free from the world." Of course, they were talking about death, because they are ALWAYS talking about death.

Anyway, I saw this opera once and it's not like I'm a Wagner fan. But I never forgot that feeling of exasperated tension. And apparently, this opera has had a great influence on other composers for the last (nearly) 200 years. So no, I don't think Jimin or Pdogg were listening to Wagner or anything silly like that. But using repetition to create tension is not a new thing. It worked for me--and some others--but perhaps not for most people. Props to Jimin's team for trying something new, though.

I also don't agree about Face-Off and Alone--leave my babies alone!

;)

p.s. I don't expect you to publish this out-of-left-field comment, and that's okay with me. But if you are interested in hearing the source material: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IjJXVY4j7U

I love this. Why do all roads seem to lead to German artists and thinkers when it comes to BTS? Rilke (not German but wrote in German, so he counts), Hesse, Jung (who was technically Swiss but still spoke German, so he counts, too), and now Wagner?!

Anyway, your point is well taken that repetition builds tension. The repetition in Set Me Free Pt. 2 was certainly a stylistic choice meant to build anticipation and the desperate hope for freedom at the conclusion of the song.

Alone has some measures that I would call down right uncomfortable to the ear, but again, I think that was a stylistic choice to drive home Jimin's sense of despair.

I'm glad Jimin experimented on FACE. I'm glad the songs are challenging. i love the narrative style of the entire album (shout out to Gordon Lightfoot and the Edmund Fitzgerald - you can't get much more narrative than that). It was a treat to have actual story telling rather than just a bunch of similar songs thrown together on a record.

The main issue is time. Why didn't Jimin have the time and opportunity to be writing and recording his original works all along? Now he's stuck cramming in as much as possible in a short period of time, learning how to write good music and express himself, without the benefit of time for self reflection and growth. I assume MUSE is geared towards commercial success. I may not like Jon Bellion much, but All Time Low is catchy as hell. Let's see what he does with Jimin's WHO. Maybe he will rein in the repetition and the high notes that I personally think are preventing Jimin from having a true hit with the GP.

[ashleyetc]

Doesn’t it seem like a slippery slope to you to say that bad artists can make good art? If we say the art is good, then we are giving a passive endorsement to people who want to experience it. For example, if we condemn a racist but still laude aspects of their work, if we still stock their work in bookstores and libraries, and make it publicly available to anyone but experts on anti-racism, we are only ensuring that more and more poc will be harmed by exposure year after year, giving evil authors a way to victimize their chosen targets even from beyond the grave

not entirely sure what prompted this? but ultimately i kinda think no. like, partly because you cant simply eliminate all art from general public consciousness that was made by bad people- imagine trying to get everyone to forget r kelly exists, or writing a history of opera that excludes wagner while still being coherent, etc. i dont think censorship in the manner you seem to be suggesting is like, plausible, in the internet age, and i think its ethically dubious at best. i am an anarchist, and by this i mean that i am against all authority, and the idea of a specific group of people who get to decide what is Good and gets to stay and what is Bad and must be purged makes me shudder, regardless of any stated noble intention.

i think part of the problem too is you are viewing all art by bad people as targeted and malicious. this is definitely true in some cases, lovecraft's work isnt subtle for the obvious example(thats a little unfair to him but im fine with being unfair to the man), but i think a lot of bigoted art simply isnt intended to 'victimize a chosen target' as you put it. cat's cradle by vonnegut is an incredibly racist book, but i dont think thats due to malice as much as kurt being an ignorant white guy writing fiction in the 50s. i dont say that to excuse it, to be clear, but im mostly pointing out that the book doesnt exist as a racist diatribe (i would also point out that his later novel hocus pocus is pretty definitively antiracist- would that make a difference in your calculus?). the racism isnt the point, in other words (again not saying it doesnt matter).

i think a lot of artists who are awful people simply dont make art about that, too- sure, i find it pretty gross to listen to a love song sung by john lennon, but i think its a bonkers take to think anyone who doesnt feel that way is therefore an abuser themself, or endorsing abuse. for a lot of artists the ways in which theyre awful just dont actually show up in their work.

and i definitely think this is like, on a sliding scale, yknow. like, if someone is monetarily supporting an artist who lets say is using their wealth to push back against civil rights for a particular marginalized group they hate, then yeah, that sucks and they should feel bad. and i sure as hell dont wanna hang out with anyone who tells me 'yeah i know he (allegedly but come on) started his own neonazi hate group from prison but burzum is so good.' but like. i cant get too worked up about someone listening to some shitty old dead assholes music, or reading some old books that yeah are pretty racist. i mean, tolkien's shit is racist, in a similarly ignorant fool way to the vonnegut i mentioned, and i would feel ridiculous condemning anyone reading that when its so ingrained into culture.

idk im open to the idea that im wrong but i havent seen much reason to believe it and i dont think this line of thinking is helpful in the absolute like this, like sure there are important discussions to be had about this stuff, but i dont think youre really looking at it in a particularly useful way.

tldr: nah, its way too complicated for that kind of approach

[parachim]

Okay so I’m going to try out writing my reactions/feelings for everything I read in a month. Some of the stuff I read isn’t captured by Goodreads, and some of it I have opinions on that I want to get out but don’t want to post on GR for all the world to see A note that for this month I mostly worked from home post surgery. I do my of my book consumption via audiobook in the car so this is a relatively light month.

So here we go for April!

FICTION

The Body Without Organs @Natsinator (AO3) I first saw Space Odyssey 2001 in 8th grade and I had two takeaways: 1) I would like to do LSD 2) HAL 9000 is kinda hot Once a robotfucker, always a robotfucker I guess. Anyway, this is good! Solid exploration of the ship mind concept. Some quality homosexual subtext. Better writing than the Arthur C. Clarke novel (truly I think he is overrated - his best work is definitely Childhood’s End which is usually not discussed when people bring up his work). The Last Shadow Orson Scott Card OSC is unambiguously a bad person. I have never paid money for any of his work (I use the library) but I understand that even just reading his work is tacit support. It sucks that Ender’s Game was so damn good. Even Ender’s Shadow and I would say up to even Children of the Mind are pretty solid work. Everything after that goes further and further downhill. Last Shadow is supposedly (HOPEFULLY!) the final book. And oh boy does it suck! Freaky plot point that goes on and on about the butt and associated bodily functions of a little boy character. Why does OSC talk about little boy butts so much? What’s up with that?? Racist about Asian women. He really draws upon the harmful stereotype of Asian women being the perfect wives/mothers/homekeepers. They really have no meaningful agency beyond that. Building on the last point, OSC definitely sees it as the greatest good in life to have children. Thus women who don’t want children don’t exist in his books. There’s even a fucking hyper intelligent bird that talks about having children. Even if there wasn’t all that shit mentioned above - it was a badly assembled book. Plot threads that were set up in books prior never go anywhere. There are too many new tertiary characters we don’t care about because we hardly know anything about them. The main conflict of the book is solved quickly and easily with little pay off. Was there anything good in this book? Hiram is now and immortal holographic AI. That’s kind of a cool concept but it doesn’t go anywhere at all. But the best things is that I am finally free of this series. Finally fucking free!!

Bonus - I didn’t actually read Empire of the Ants by Bernard Werber but I ordered it via ILL for 98 to read. 98 gave me the summary and I read a bit of it out loud for them. I thought it was going to be a middle grades book like Redwall or Watership down but I don’t think this book’s intended target audience was children. I think it’s supposed to be more in the Michael Crichton sphere of ‘thriller pop science.’ Some of the stuff from the ants perspective is really clever (like how they view the mini golf course). The author definitely has some views that would be considered ecofascist.  There’s a weird spiritual? metaphysical? twist at the end that isn’t really pulled off.

NONFICTION

Futureface: A Family Mystery, an Epic Quest, and the Secret to Belonging Alex Wagner The investigation of the DNA testing kit industry is really good. She had a good exploration on how such companies advertise themselves (learn how global you are!), vs the companies original intent (help Mormons find and baptize their dead ancestors), vs how the general public really interprets the tests (latching onto one or two unique/special things). I like her discussion of the flaws of the industries (most of the sample pops are European bc those descendant populations are whos paying for this kits, the ethnicities reported are based off of contemporary boundaries which are not what you own ancestors would have necessarily known or understood). I think if she had put that section in the front half of the book and centered it it would have been a much more solid work. Her more traditional genealogical research is probably too personal in-the-weeds for a lot of people to care about. The stuff about the Burmese political climate was good though. Information Doesn't Want to Be Free: Laws for the Internet Age Cory Doctorow Suffers from ‘could have been an article’ disease. Way too fucking long for something that just hammers the same point over and over and over. His argument that current copyright law doesn’t really work in the modern world is something I largely agree with but unless you are a copyright scholar this book is just too long for what it’s accomplishing. Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars from 4chan and Tumblr to Trump and the Alt-Right Angela Nagle This is bad. Don’t read this. I think I found it by searching for ‘anthropology’ in the library catalog. That’s pretty slim pickings so I got this without reading too much about it. It’s not an ethnography, that’s for sure. I thought it would be about how the internet can be a force of isolation and hyper insular communities that drive things like Qanon and deaths of despair. It's not about that. Nagle has a weird juxtaposition between the altright and tumblr culture, as if those things are somehow comparable. Jan 6ers really have nothing in common with 14 year olds using faeself pronouns but she gives them both the same treatment. There’s also a bizarre snub about video game journalism in here. Nothing is cited in this book. Apparently in the print addition there are a lot of typos. No idea how this got an audiobook produced. Arriving Today: From Factory to Front Door-Why Everything Has Changed About How and What We Buy Christopher Mims Supply chain step by step investigation. Would have loved for this book to come out like 2 or 3 years down the line to actually properly see what a post-covid supply chain looks like once things settle more. Good discussion on automation. Unmentionable: The Victorian Lady's Guide to Sex, Marriage, and Manners Therese Oneill Weird fucking book. I’ve never seen a history book written in second person before. I get that this is supposed to appeal to women who read Victorian romance, but it is off putting to almost anyone else in the tone. The book puts you in the place as if you were an upper class, white, Victorian Era woman in England. A very hard book to enjoy for me because of that for my own personal Gender reasons. I think the second person POV also stymies the book in that it limits the scope of who can be talked about and what life was like for women during the era who were not white, well to do, etc. Do we really need a deep drive on the women we already have the most information on? It does seem to be comprehensively researched. Nothing factual in the book seems incorrect as far as I know.

Index, A History of the: A Bookish Adventure from Medieval Manuscripts to the Digital Age Dennis Duncan Amazed that a book this specific got an audiobook made and a library system that I’m in bought a license to it. But, I supposed if anyone is going to be interested in this book it’s going to be someone with a library sciences degree. Even for being so hyper-specific, I think this book is good for what it is. Interesting investigation of how the way of organizing information has changed over time and how people perceive how information should be sorted. The author casually mentions that in the medieval era that it was way more common for people to read while moving their lips which is something that people are made fun of for doing now! Interesting that seems to be the default way of reading back then and it has since shifted towards silent reading. What factors played into that? More legible books? Capitalism driving focus on the individual vs community (if you read out loud it could be sharing with the people around you)? Would love to know when that shift happened temporally.

[walaw717]

Single trees are extraordinary; trees in number more remarkable still. To walk in a wood is to find fault with Socrates’s declaration that ‘Trees and open country cannot teach me anything, whereas men in town do.’ Time is kept and curated and in different ways by trees, and so it is experienced in different ways when one is among them. This discretion of trees, and their patience, are both affecting. It is beyond our capacity to comprehend that the American hardwood forest waited seventy million years for people to come and live in it, though the effort of comprehension is itself worthwhile. It is valuable and disturbing to know that grand oak trees can take three hundred years to grow, three hundred years to live, and three hundred years to die. Such knowledge, thoughtfully considered, changes the grain of the mind. - Robert Macfarlane, The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot Recently we drove to Couer d’Alene. North of town, I saw a strikingly handsome building set in a grove of old-growth trees. It was not a natural landscape, but when the building was constructed, the developer had left some ancient Douglas fir and ponderosa pine and created the impression of a long solidity in the landscape for his construction. It is rare for a builder to go to such trouble because it is simpler and more economical to clear a lot and build than to build around trees and other natural landscape elements. As we sat at the traffic light and I studied the property with its balance of trees, the stone and woodwork of the building, I wondered how the trees had experienced this construction and the loss of so many other trees in that particular stand. Two years ago, I witnessed a tree apparently doing something that I suspect I was not meant to see. Marilyn had just placed a planter full of new young plants on a deck rail, which was under the canopy of a very ancient willow. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement and turned just in time to see the willow purposely lift a frond and stroke the young plants. The action was like an arm lifting and then stroking the plants, and the movement occurred twice, lifting and returning, lifting and returning like a parent might stroke the head of a much-loved child. I have had the privilege of many odd and spiritual experiences – especially after I moved to New Mexico. Still, this particular moment in the pacific northwest haunts me as maybe the most significant spiritual moment of my life. I feel as though I saw a moment we are not privileged to see, and if we do see, it is under the influence of a mind-altering chemical like LSD, a moment when our ego is de-potentiated and no longer in control of our perceptions. I have had such experiences using LSD, but that was 50 years ago, and I doubt that I was having a flashback at this late date. Humanity suffers incredible hubris. We speak of looking to space to find intelligent life when we are actually looking for life like us. I suspect if we ever do find life like us, it will be terrifying – it will be a life driven by insularism and an attitude that cannot see us as an equal and will more than likely only see us in terms of our utility or see us in terms of something in the way, much like we see trees, wolves and everything else on this planet. We now scientifically know that trees and plants in forests have a massive communication network of mutually sustainable interactions. “In the 1960s, CIA interrogation expert Cleve Backster experimented with polygraph machines when he stumbled onto something novel. He noticed what appeared to be a change in electrical resistance with one of the plants, to which he connected the polygraph equipment whenever he removed a leaf or even “threatened” to harm the plant by intent alone. He likened this sudden electrical pulse to a “scream” emitted by the plant in response to endangerment. While Backster’s theory was considered a crackpot idea, many would follow similar, unusual observations about the behavior of plants, which seemingly represented a sort of “communication” they might be capable of.

For instance, a 1989 AP article discussed what one physicist, named Ed Wagner, believed were evidence he found of plant communication via what he called “W-waves”: Physicist Ed Wagner says he has found evidence that trees talk to each other in a language he calls W-waves. “If you chop into a tree, you can see that adjacent trees put out an electrical pulse,” said Wagner. “This indicates that they communicated directly.” Explaining the phenomenon, Wagner pointed to a blip on a strip chart recording of the electrical pulse. “It put out a tremendous cry of alarm,” he said. “The adjacent trees put out smaller ones…. People have known there was communication between trees for several years, but they’ve explained it by the chemicals trees produce,” Wagner said. “But I think the real communication is much quicker and more dramatic than that,” he said. “These trees know within a few seconds what is happening. This is an automatic response.” Wagner has measured the speed of W-waves at about 3 feet per second through the air. “They travel much too slowly for electrical waves,” he said. “They seem to be an altogether different entity. That’s what makes them so intriguing. They don’t seem to be electromagnetic waves at all.” Another physicist, William Corliss, also took an interest in Wagner’s discovery, noting that, “The voltage measured by electrodes implanted in trees goes up and down as one goes higher and higher up the trees… incidentally, electricity does seem to affect plant growth.” In more recent years, the idea of plants capable of forms of “communication” has been considered a bit more thoughtfully and is not outright shunned by the scientific community. One leading modern researcher and advocate for the varieties of ways plants communicate is Suzanne Simard, whose work with plants has helped set new precedents for how interactions between various species of flora occur. Simard’s research began to coalesce around what became a doctoral thesis two decades ago, in which she argued that a variety of communication methods were used by trees to achieve everything from expressing their needs to sharing nutrients “via a network of latticed fungi buried in the soil.” She further studied the varieties of ways that fungal filigrees were exploited by trees in ways that allowed them to send signals to other plants nearby about changes in the environment and even “helping” endangered plants by transferring and sharing nutrients with them. Speaking with “Yale Environment 360” last year, she talked about how, as she puts it, a forest “is a cooperative system,” saying: “To me, using the language of ‘communication’ made more sense because we were looking at not just resource transfers, but things like defense signaling and kin recognition signaling. We as human beings can relate to this better. If we can relate to it, then we’re going to care about it more. If we care about it more, then we’re going to do a better job of stewarding our landscapes.” Despite having communicative abilities, plants generally aren’t deemed to have any sort of intelligence. However, there are still some members of the scientific community that argue this is not necessarily the case. Author and researcher Michael Pollan, who studies the field of plant neurobiology, argues that plants are more perceptive than many would think: “They have analogous structures… They have ways of taking all the sensory data they gather in their everyday lives … integrate it, and then behave appropriately in response. And they do this without brains, which, in a way, is what’s incredible about it because we automatically assume you need a brain to process information.” Understanding how various life forms on earth communicate and cooperate with each other gives us a much broader sense of what “life on Earth” is truly about. It also challenges us to consider whether more complex interaction systems exist between organisms, including those that aren’t deemed intelligent or even responsive, by humans. In the case of plants, it seems unusual that these organisms, while deemed

to be very much alive, have long been relegated to being unresponsive and “vegetative,” in the most literal sense. Maybe it’s indeed time we start paying closer attention to our floral kindred and the subtleties of their interactions with each other and their environment.” Trees That Talk: The Bizarre World of Plant Communication Micah HanksJuly 2, 2017 As I come closer to the ending of my own span of years on this earth, I have become more acutely aware of the commonality I have with all life. Fear and suffering appear to be the same across all species, and I am beginning to wonder if love is also – not romantic love, but the deep logos love spiritual people have written about for millennia. I understand there are reasons we avoid seeing these connections and being aware of the “intelligence,” love, and fear of life around us. The Danish/Inuit Arctic explorer Kund Rassmussen once wrote, “The greatest peril of life lies in the fact that human food consists entirely of souls. All the creatures that we to kill and eat, all those that we have to strike down and destroy to make clothes for ourselves, have souls, souls that do not perish with the body and which must therefore be pacified lest they revenge themselves on us for taking away their bodies.” That is seen as a very primitive view, yet I wonder in our confusion of scientific methods for technological growth and exploitation if we are the primitives and the barbarians. I suspect our blindness to the intelligence of life here on earth, intelligence other than ourselves, is summed up in that statement. Maybe all intelligence really is is the knowledge that everything is connected and what we call intelligence is a form of narcissistic blindness. Perhaps the natural intelligence is in the willow, lifting a frond to stroke young plants that came under his/her/its protection and scope. Maybe the only innate intelligence is displayed in how we honor, respect, and care for everything. In addition to slowing me down in my interaction with the world, I find that this view brings me a sense of greater peace and a change in focus about what is and is not essential and how to express that “essentialness.” I also have greater clarity about what the ancients meant when they wrote of a fear of God. It is not a fear full of the pain of punishment – it is an awe that is hard to express and is likely to bring tears and an awareness of the pity of things and our oneness with everything.

[theunvanquishedzims]

Where is my fic of Steve Rogers, Matt Murdoch, and Kurt Wagner bonding over being bi Catholic superhero drama queens. Where do they talk about their personal struggles with sexuality and faith growing up in the 1940s, a Catholic orphanage, and a German circus run by witches. (Were they witches? I remember magic and a giant demon lady and it turned out to be his adopted mother and sister, who he was also dating because they weren’t THAT kind of brother and sister.)

I want Steve to run into Matt shortly after being defrosted, maybe at the gym Matt boxes at. Boxing was a national pastime and now it’s fallen by the wayside in favor of more glamorous fighting styles. It’s nice to just get in a ring and punch someone, and they’re surprisingly compatible fighters, both slightly too fast and hitting too hard, coming out the other side grinning bloody teeth at each other. Matt smoothly lying (telling the truth) about his blindness forcing him to focus on his opponent until he can almost predict their movements. Steve fumbling with the cover story SHIELD gave him about being a soldier recently returned from war, being slightly too honest about feeling out of touch and like he wouldn’t fit in normal life with everything he’s seen and done in the war.

I want Matt to show up at SHIELD next Sunday morning to pick Steve up for church completely unasked, Steve fumbling into the nicest clothes he owns that isn’t a dress uniform, Matt loaning him a tie and whisking him across the city to Hell’s Kitchen. Matt whispering cues through the service, remembering John Mulaney at the last minute and hissing the correct words so Steve doesn’t say AND ALSO WITH YOU. Pointing out the priest he confesses to that can handle the mention of beating up bad guys without running screaming. Going out to lunch and discussing how Matt’s church is different from Steve’s old one, going back to Foggy’s to watch that John Mulaney show because he’s the only one they know with a tv, Foggy groaning over there being TWO of them.

Months or years later, running into Kurt at the Tower because Tony’s the one who developed the image inducer technology. Steve’s heightened vision being able to pick out the micro nuances where the hologram doesn’t quite keep up, most people would be able to shrug it off with a vague sense of unease, but they stand out to him like glowing red flags. Matt just feeling the buzzing and prickle of electricity all over his--skin? Fur? This man is very hairy and also has a tail. Why is no one saying anything about the tail. Steve almost citizen/Avenger-arrests him but Tony comes to vouch for him and they have their little Mutants Among Us revelation in the private upper floors. Steve apologizes very sincerely and they chat about Germany and circuses, another nearly-bygone relic that Steve misses. Matt is feeling left out, but jumps in when Kurt mentions being Catholic.

After that they’ve got weekly mass and lunches, and hey friendship is weird but wonderful. They give each other fashion tips! Kurt is European and flamboyant, Steve is solidly insisting that the only improvement on slacks and a button-up is a leather jacket, and Matt is literally blind. They get by. Matt introduces them to his tailor, after some private talks Kurt brings all his pants in and gets proper tail holes incorporated. Steve gets sticker shock every time he goes to a department store, but being able to buy at thrift stores and get them fitted is much more in line with his upbringing. Matt’s wardrobe gets some splashes of color that Kurt meticulously coordinates and bans him from freestyling with.

Weirdly enough it takes a really long time for the superhero thing to come up. Like a reeeeaaaaaally long time. Like shading into identity porn amounts of time. Not on purpose. Steve Rogers is a popular name in the US and doubly so in military families, nobody connects Steve the Army vet with Captain America unless they’re majorly into WWII military history, and the kind of guy who’s majorly into WWII military history is the kind of guy Steve tends to avoid outside of bar fights and university lectures. Everyone thinks the new Captain America guy is an Army recruitment stunt anyway.

Matt is blind, has had several high-profile cases against mob families, and lives in a dangerous part of town, nobody is surprised when he shows up places looking a little roughed up and growling about the darkness in mankind’s souls. Concerned, yes, ready to take on the mob, yes, surprised, no. He likes punching things though, so they leave it when he says he’s got it handled. A lot of debate stems from Matt’s growling, they all have strong opinions about morality and crime and institutional oppression. They have varying degrees of optimism/pessimism about God’s judgement and forgiveness, and wildly different ideas about the criminal justice system. (Again: 1940s soldier, US lawyer, and minority immigrant whose typical response to legal authorities is: *smashes a 40 on the ground* SCATTER!)

Tony introduced Kurt and told them he was engineering him the image inducer, but neglected to mention that it was part of his deal with the X-Men to field test his tech*. Nobody knows what he does for a living. Performer? Translator? Model? Escort? He knows a lot of rich people, like the Starks and Worthingtons and Frosts. He travels pretty frequently and brings them back souvenirs. Foggy is just happy that there is someone cheerful and level-headed in Matt and Steve’s Fight Club of a friendship, until Kurt backflips into the boxing ring with a fencing sword and shouts HAVE AT THEE, and oh no there’s THREE of them now.

(Tony is one of the silent investors in the X-Men. It started as just donating an old mansion the Stark family had to house at-risk “genetic minority” youth, then he wanted to help with the renovations to make it suitable for young mutants to practice controlling their powers, and then everyone got a little carried away and suddenly there were some extra basement floors. A few super computers. Something called a Danger Room, which is a misnomer because it’s totally safe, Tony promises. Possibly a donated jet or two, though they shot down his idea of painting it school bus yellow and claiming it as a school fleet vehicle on their taxes. He thinks the whole “X-MEN” thing the media came up with is hilarious, they’re just a bunch of persecuted minorities trying to rescue and educate kids, occasionally scuffling with another group doing the same thing on the other side of the moral line. He stays in his lane and looks forward to their tech challenges as a fun side project. “Full-body hologram” was a winner, even if it took a few tries to get the tail right.)

Just. More interaction between people who can conceivably interact on the regular, not just meet once in a big showdown based on mistaken identity, realizing We’re All Good Guys Here, shaking hands and then never seeing each other until the big world-ending team-up episode. Give me that sweet sweet bonding. We’re fanficcers, we don’t have to worry about coordinating between movies and shows and who’s going to space in their comic this week. We can just say “hey these guys have a lot in common, how about they get lunch sometime.”

[perkwunos]

I want to start off by saying I am not uncritical of Nietzsche, am Most surely not a Nietzschian (I also agree many academics get very defensive when you criticize him and his work. I would however argue there are far more critical readers of his work that aren't people mouthing uncritically someone like Deleuze without having even read a single one of Nietzsche's own words.) , and I abhor Pound. My problem is the amount of charity you are able to extend to men like Kant and Whitehead. A.N. Whitehead may very well been a liberal Englishman of his time but credit where credit's due because despite your thoughts on the man (and to reiterate there are many very real problems in Nietszche who I think is a nerd) surely what's impressive about someone like Nietzsche growing up in his specific context was his ability to distance himself from his own previous anti-semitism (which again I agree with you that people tend to blame this on Wagner rather than N. himself) to both very explicitly openly mocking and proclaiming that all anti-semites should be quite literally shot. Have you seen the letters he sent out from when he went "mad" ?

I agree there are things in his work and subsequently in his general thought that get far too charitable readings by many leftists. Mostly men. Mostly white. I also believe that on much of the same note Holub's own scholarship and specific readings can (and have been) criticized for the same overreaching and inconsistent arguments that let us say someone like Deleuze is often criticized for making in support of Nietzsche.

I would also like to clarify Whitehead's problematic views on Jews and Jewishness are in fact not just in the Price book but also in places like Process and Reality and I believe Science and the Modern World (it might actually be Adventures of Ideas). These passages have been quite literally criticized by Jewish philosophers and theologians who themselves are critical but inspired by Whitehead's thought. Surely these implicit Christian biases of a Victorian Anglican man (no matter how heterodox) make his ideas and system just as easy for prodding as someone like Nietzsche (who let us not forget was brought up Lutheran and never fully escaped the way he had hoped). I frankly do not want to prop up a bunch of dead men and their ideas uncritically nor do I want to be just as uncritically puritanical about the work of a bunch of dead men and shut down open discussion (and which again as an aside I've noticed has increasingly become very white, male and circular. which is a bit ironic given the topics and men discussed. for instance I find it odd that you say you just don't see a lot of critical scholarship on Nietzsche which is quite literally untrue as there are many women and poc who have written work that is very critical of Nietzsche and his ideas. but I digress.) And again I think what bothers people (past the usual reflexive Nietzsche defenders on and off this site) is less that they feel you're playing games about Nietzsche than that you're willing to be more charitable to thinkers who have their own problems (Not just personally but also systematically. Such as Whitehead) who you yourself are more sympathetic and biased towards.

When I identify people like Whitehead and Kant as liberal that’s not supposed to be a good thing, it’s at least a mild insult and more me indicating that there are aspects of their social/political thought I find seriously, systematically wrong and incoherent. Of course, at the same time it’s important to distinguish types of anti-liberal stances: Nietzsche opposes Kant because he’s specifically an anti-liberal reactionary, and he supports aristocratic hierarchies. But I understand that all that probably doesn’t come across in a lot of what I say and it can seem like I’m just accepting them unproblematically as “normal liberals.” I’ve said before on here that Whitehead was eurocentric and naive in his sociological/historical accounts and am pretty open to that kind of criticism. I don’t begrudge you for wanting to bring this up in reference to Whitehead because I do think it’s a very worthwhile scrutiny; obviously, I myself think Whitehead’s main concepts in his philosophy survive this scrutiny, but it’s always worth looking at critically. Also, full identity cards on the table, I am jewish and my concern with antisemitism in philosophy is not a mere academic exercise, the reason I focus on this in relation to Nietzsche is pretty personal, and I have no desire to excuse or ignore its appearance in any thinkers.

I think you and I fundamentally disagree on what it meant for Nietzsche to disagree with the antisemites of his day. He disagreed with antisemites because he thought they were too much like Jews; that’s just what he himself says. My whole point is that he never really critically distanced himself from wagnerian antisemitism, he just adopted it and arguably took it even further, but in his own distinctive form. When I say antisemitism is a constitutive element of Nietzsche’s philosophy I mean when you want to understand his own thoughts on master/slave morality and how he uses that to critique Christianity, this requires understanding his antisemitism. Slave morality, so Nietzsche says, became an important force in history because it was unleashed by the Jews. Christianity is a manifestation of slave morality for Nietzsche because it is Jewish in origin and in character. It is central to his thought here.

So this isn’t comparable to Whitehead. If, in order to explain something like Whitehead’s concept of the “fallacy of misplaced concreteness,” the main works that I would have to cite and reference included extensive passages of him going, “And this fallacy of misplaced concreteness is specifically Jewish in origin and character and is part of how they’ve gained control over modern society...” then it would be comparable.

As to me not having an exhaustive knowledge of different critiques of Nietzsche, I’m not an academic scholar and I’ll admit as much, so yes I’m still likely ignorant of many of the lesser known critiques that have been put out there. I wish you’d mentioned some of who these people and their writings are so I could check them out! Finding all the different scholarly work being done isn’t always an easy process. And you have to admit it’s a bit ironic that you still refrained from actually naming any of these women or people of color who end up getting ignored in these discussions.

[musedrevolution]

Why do we teach music history?

I’ll be honest for a moment here: I have not enjoyed music history in college. The class has always felt unnecessary: memorize this information, spit it back out. Learn these names, these pieces, and these dates. I can’t imagine needing it. But music history the subject has always fascinated me. When I took piano lessons in high school, my teacher would always instruct me to research the composer a little whenever I got a piece by someone I hadn’t played before. I not only did this research, but did it enthusiastically. I was excited to share what I found about Haydn or Tchaikovsky. 

One could argue that it was simply the way I was being taught that could change my opinion on similar material so drastically. I don’t disagree with that assertion. My previous music history education was a conversation that I got to contribute to. I got to feel like an expert sometimes because I came in with information that my teacher didn’t necessarily have. She didn’t give it to me, I found it on my own, while everything I’ve learned in college music history has come straight from the textbook or the lecture. But I would also like to argue that I was learning the material for a completely different reason when I loved it in high school piano. 

Here, I am ignoring the fact that my piano lessons were not graded and did not contribute to my GPA. I know that part of the reason I learn music history now is because I would like a good grade in my class, but that motivation is not what I am discussing here. I am focusing now on the purpose provided by the scenario. Why was the music history being taught? 

I would assert that my college music history classes are being taught in a bubble. I am learning music history because I have been told that it is “important,” although I have seen little justification for this in the rest of my studies. As a student whose primary focus is wind ensemble music, I rarely play pieces by the composers we study in-depth. When I eventually direct a band myself, this trend is likely to continue. Mozart simply didn’t write for wind ensemble, as the wind ensemble did not yet exist. My theory classes covered the music of the baroque and classical eras well before we discussed them in music history, meaning that I was once again unable to apply the things I had learned in the history class. 

This bubble is further created by one of my music history professors outright forbidding our class from connecting what we were learning in class to the music we were familiar with. The class covered music from ancient times until the year 1750. We were explicitly forbidden from mentioning anything that occurred after 1750 in our work. I did a presentation on renaissance instruments at one point, and was not allowed to mention the trombone when discussing the sackbut, nor the oboe while discussing the crumhorn. 

Without the ability to compare the past to the present, the class felt absolutely useless. Why do I need to care about the sackbut in the first place if it is not to understand the origin of the trombone? Why should I care about baroque opera that I can’t understand if I can’t connect it to the modern musical theater that I have so much affection for? 

My answer to these questions became “because I want an A in the class.” As a teacher, I hope that my students never have to answer the question “why do I need to know this” with “because I want a good grade.” That answer leads to a lack of motivation and, worse, a lack of understanding. When students don’t see purpose in learning the material, they aim to memorize rather than really engage with the content. They prepare for an assessment rather than attempting to really internalize the concepts. As an educator, that is heartbreaking. 

Yet that has been the case with my music history education much of the time. When I have asked the question “why are we learning about X,” I am often met with the argument that “X was a genius” or “X is a brilliant piece of music.” I have never found that to be a satisfactory answer. There are lots of things that are brilliant that I have no interest in studying in-depth because I know I will not use the information: papers on particle physics, for example. I’m glad someone did it, but I feel no compulsion to engage with it just because it is a work of genius. I also think that “genius” and “brilliant” are very subjective terms, and are often misused in the world of music, but that’s beside the point. 

Returning to my love of the music history I learned in piano back in high school, I never had to ask why I was learning it: I applied it immediately. I learned about the Russian revolution when playing Russian music, and put the anger and fear that so many people experienced into my interpretation of the piece. Even five years later I remember playing a Kabalevsky’s Sonatina in a minor and learning about the small act of rebellion he committed against the communist party he was employed by when he included two measures with emphasized syncopation. Syncopation was considered a “western” concept rather than a “Russian” one, and therefore could not be used in Russian music. I still know this because I got to apply that knowledge to my performance. Even if my parents didn’t know why those two measures were important, they could tell they were important because I brought them out of the texture a little. 

That application made the material mean something. Kabalevsky was more than a name and set of random facts. He was a rebel. He was fighting against oppressors. He was cool to a sixteen year old me. I have never experienced that thought in my music history classes. 

So the question becomes this: how do we get the goal of academic music history classes to be application? 

As a future high school band director, the solution is simpler than it is for my collegiate music history professors. I will have the opportunity to do something very similar to what my piano teachers did, and teach music history alongside the pieces we are performing: if we are performing “The Washington Post” march by Sousa, we will discuss march form and history, along with why John Phillip Sousa was a big deal and how the march got its name. Where was it performed for the first time? Students will connect to this information because they will be able to use to inform a stellar performance. 

This is quite impossible in a college music history class. At my university, there are members of no less than ten different ensembles enrolled in my music history class, including students specializing in wind ensemble, choir, orchestra, and jazz. It would be impossible to cover every composer we’re playing pieces by, and no composer would be directly relevant to everyone in the room. So this solution that is simple in a band room becomes impossible. 

I would suggest changing the goal of music history from knowing about certain composers and pieces to learning a skill set that is applicable to any composer and any piece. This skill set would include an advanced musical vocabulary. We would still need to learn about genres, forms, textures, and instrumentation. We would have a basic timeline of the evolution of these concepts so we can understand approximately where a piece fits in. We would learn about the useful generalizations that can be made using the idea of musical eras. This necessary skill set would also include research skills: how do you learn about music once you’re out of this classroom?

Now with the idea of a skill based curriculum comes the question: what about all of the “brilliant” composers that we focus so extensively on in our current model? Well, firstly it is important to remember that some of them fit into an understanding of the musical ideas I’ve already discussed. You cannot talk about the evolution of the symphony without talking about Beethoven. You cannot discuss the development of opera without discussing Mozart and Wagner. But these discussions can be had based on what they did rather than simply their excellence. Students can learn for themselves why these figures were important. These so-called geniuses can also offer great practice for the application of research skills that are so essential to music history scholarship. Rather than simply reading about these people in a textbook, why not read primary sources focused on their work? Why not expect students to find pieces that demonstrate general characteristics common to a composer’s style? Not only will students learn more about whatever great master is being studied, but they will be able to apply that information beyond that individual. 

This approach would have multiple advantages. Firstly, if we’re studying the people in music history for reasons other than “they’re important” it is far easier to diversify the curriculum. Music history is very straight, very white, and very male. When pieces and composers are being used as part of a broader curriculum rather than the sole focus, lesser known artists and works can be incorporated. A lesser known classical sonata can be substituted for one by Mozart. A wind ensemble symphony can serve as an example of the genre’s modern incarnation just as easily as an orchestral one. This allows all students, even those for whom orchestra or choir is not their primary focus, even those who are not white men, to see themselves in the class, and to connect to that. 

Secondly, and I cannot stress this enough, students can apply this curriculum when they are not discussing Mozart or Beethoven. As a band director, it is unlikely that I program much Mozart. But I will certainly use my understanding of how to discuss music history when I program a symphony for band, or discuss the latin origins of a piece like Kevin Day’s “Havana.” (If you don’t know Kevin Day, you will one day. He writes great wind ensemble music and is going to be HUGE). My students will need background on these pieces just as much as they would if they were playing baroque music. I wish I was being prepared as if that were the case. 

Instead, I am learning names and dates. I am learning piece titles and the fact that they are “brilliant.” If I am to apply this information outside of my music history classes, I have to figure out how to do that myself. I can do that, but I hope that the music history community aims to make their class more worthwhile to the students. Students don’t dislike music history because they are lazy or stupid. They dislike it because they don’t know what it’s for. I think it’s high time we change that. 

[bironism]

Quarantine Survey 😷👽💌🐛🦋

Thank you, @thecynical-idealist! I can't belt out an optimistic platitude, the times are bleak as fuck... Nonetheless, take care! ❤️ Cheers for the Tom Ford rec, I'll be sure to check it out 😌

~Where are you isolated? (Country or city too if you like)

My hometown in Slovakia. When uni closed, I caught the first train, thinking I finally got a long weekend and a chance to see my father post-surgery without taking time off. Then the borders closed and I'm stuck here. I'm a bit jealous of my classmates who stayed behind because now is about the only time one can roam downtown Prague without crowds.

~What are you currently reading or watching?

Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich. I'm a couple pages in & so far it's touching on interesting themes and I'm half-invested in the protagonist too, though I'm hoping for some Drama to take place -- something violent or sublime. Idk, interpersonal dynamics are not enough for me, I'm the kind of reader that needs something inhuman in the mix.

~If you can go outside, what do you like to do during this time?

I sit in an armchair outside, soaking up the sun. The image from Jenni Fagan's The Sunlight Pilgrims really stayed with me.

~Any fascinating concept you’re studying?

Poetry translation & translator poetics. Specifically Jan Zábrana in his rendition of Sylvia Plath. My class had the most intriguing skype discussion on Friday and I keep coming back to the points raised and aside from the formal (What's the translator's style? What does he add and/or subtract from 'the original'?) it very much aims at the general: We know all translation is a compromise, but what should poetry translation aim for? What's the role of an individual's poetics? (Esp if they're an author in their own right)

~What kinds of acts of creativity/forms of art are you currently doing?

Last night I wrote a poem to my best friend, titled 'I Wanna Be Your Daddy'. No, I'm not showing said friend.

I also picked up the piano again, nothing stellar, the Moonlight 1st movement is where I peak lol. It's quite joyful to play without the effort to learn: to open up a Chopin and do a couple bars in a lazy rubato and leave it at that.

~A song/s that resonates with your state of mind at the moment?

Listening to Wagner's Parsifal as I'm typing this. It's a mood and also floo powder straight to Vienna where I saw a rendition that set Parsifal in a mental hospital with a kind of WW1 vibe to it, and aren't we all resonating with the kind of isolation it conveys? The sort where you communicate, are forced to, need to, but you just can't get out, can't take a leap and step outside? (The entrapment of any myth and tragedy is also more pertinent now, I think. Sure, there's less catharsis, but you get intimacy instead.)

~Favourite impulsive/’bad’ coping techniques?

Haha haha so I gave up alcohol recently (last week) but I drink atrocious amounts of coffee and I swallow a little more pills than I should instead and I blaze it occasionally. I also watch 30+ mins videos of chefs making pasta for some reason.

I'm tagging @lennuieternel @voyage-borne @diable-boiteux @luxe-pauvre @notmanthelessbutnaturemore @megalomano -- I hope this finds you well, dears, stay safe & sane, and as usual: Take care ❤️

[kdacher]

Two Paths That Finally Meet: Chapter 1

Notes: Okay so it’s somewhat long and it doesn't mention the boys a whole lot but it has all background information that will help the story out later. Shoutout to @bunnyhopz2000 who came up with the idea and helped me come up with the plot :) Also, i will be using the hashtag 2PTFM so you can find all chapters there!

Ever since I was a baby, my life was picture perfect. Everything had always happened to go my way, well almost everything. I did happen to grow up without a dad as he passed away when I was only three years old in a work accident, and ever since then, it’s just been my mom and me. Like every other girl at my school, I lived in a massive house in Atherton, California, which, kind of made me fall into the typical rich, popular girl group.

At a young age, I fell in love with gymnastics, more specifically, the balance beam. Going into my senior year of high school, offers have been pouring in from many schools like Oklahoma, Florida and even Louisiana, which are some of the top gymnastic schools in America.

This was my life: perfect. Well, until the day of July 24th, 2018 when my life changed in the blink of an eye.

___   ___   ___

“Hello? Miss. Amber Davis?” I slowly opened my eyes, smelling the disinfectant from the hospital, as I slowly sat up from the cold, leather chairs I had layer across in the waiting room. My eyes were burning and bloodshot from all the crying I had done earlier as I looked up at the figure in front of me. She was tall, with a surgical mask around her neck and was holding a clipboard.

“Hi, you must be Amber, I’m doctor Wagner.” She stuck out her hand for me to shake, then sat down in the seat beside me, pulled her glasses down over his eyes and began to skim over the papers. I peeked over her shoulder trying to get a glimpse but she twisted to face me, hugged the clipboard snug against her chest, and began to speak.

“Your mother sustained many life-threatening injuries in the accident. We did everything we could in surgery, but I’m afraid that she isn’t going to make it through the night and if she does make it, she will never be the same.” I looked up at her and nodded, feeling my heartbreak into a million piece and the tears began to roll down my face. She pulled a couple of tissues out of her coat pocket and handed them to me, then wrapped her arm around my back and rubbed it up and down, attempting to comfort me.

      “Sweetheart! I got here as fast as I could. How is she doing?” Someone’s wrinkly arms were wrapped around me. “Grandma!” I cried as I jumped up and over the seat to hug her. Dr. Wagner then stood up from where she had been seated and approached us.

“Are you the mother of Mrs. Abbie Davis?” Doctor Wagner asked. My grandmother pulled away from the hug and faced her putting her arm around my shoulder pulling me close to her.

“No, actually I'm her Mother in law, her parents aren’t from around here. Katharine.” She stuck her hand out for a handshake and doctor Wagner introduced herself. “So, what happened to my sweet Abbie?” she asked. Dr. Wagner looked down at me “I think we should let Amber see her, and we can go chat.” We began walking down the long, plain hallway leading to the ICU. When we arrived, Doctor Wagner took the key card dangling from her neck off and inserted it in the door to open it. She then hauled a heavy, wooded chair from the hallway into the room, placing it against the wall and gestured for me to sit in it.

“If you need anything you can find us in the cafeteria or a nurse should be checking in every hour or so.” She smiled and handed me a brown wool blanket. “Please Amber, try to get some sleep, it’s pretty late and it will make you feel better.” She then dimmed the lights and shut the door leaving me alone with my mom.

I tried falling asleep multiple times, but I just couldn’t. Every time I tried, my thoughts would keep me awake and the only thing comforting me was the beeping that her heart monitor had which was indicating that she was still alive. Eventually, I gave up and pulled my chair next to her bed. I grabbed her cold, bruised hand and rested my head beside it.

“Mom, I don’t know if you can hear me but I just need to let you know that I love you so much and that I need you to fight for me. Please, mom, you can't leave me.” My voice began to crack. “I can't lose you like we lost dad. Please, mom, I need you, I can’t do it without you.” The tears began to pour down my face again, staining the white bed sheets black from my mascara.

Not realizing I had finally fallen asleep, I was awoken by a loud, beep that didn’t seem to stop. At first, I thought it was just my alarm, but when I couldn’t find the snooze button, my head sprung up and I realized that it wasn’t just a nightmare. As I looked at the heart monitor, there was a straight, thin, green line across the screen. I jumped out of my chair and bolted out of the room and down the hall meeting Dr. Wagner who was sprinting towards her room with a swarm of doctors. One in which stopped and basically drug me back into the waiting room.

About an hour later, Doctor Wagner appeared in the waiting room. She pulled the mask down from her face and she had a discouraged look on her face. “Amber, Katharine. We did everything and couldn’t revive her. I’m so sorry.” When those words left her mouth I collapsed into my grandmother’s arms, squeezing her tight and began to sob. She ran her hand through my long blonde hair and shushed me, trying to calm me down

____    ____     ____

A couple weeks passed and I was finally starting to get out of bed a feel the slightest bit better. That was all up until I was finally somewhere other than my room. There was a loud knocking at the door and I glanced over at my grandmother who was standing up from the couch. She handed me the TV remote, which I tossed on the coffee table where my feet were.

She swung the door open to see a lady wearing a black pantsuit holding a black leather briefcase. “Hello, I am here to speak with Amber Davis.” When I heard my name I reached for the remote to turn the volume down on the TV, and sat up putting my feet on the soft fur rug and began to eavesdrop.

“I’m Nancy from social services, I am here to discuss a home placement for her if that’s okay.” My stomach began to ache and everything around me began to spin. I heard the door squeak open and high heels begin to click against the tile.

“Amber, someone is here to speak with us.” My grandmother announced as she turned the corner from the front entrance.

“And you must be Amber,” Nancy said as she sat in the white chair across from me. She then unzipped her briefcase, and digging through many files until she pulled out a yellow file labeled “ACD.” She opened the file, handed a copy to my grandmother and me, and began to skim through it.

“Okay, so it says here that you were born January 2nd, 2001, since you will not be 18 until then, we will have to find you a home. You will live there until your 18 and you can either choose to stay or leave.” She said pointing to a line highlighted in yellow so we could follow along. “Now if you skip to the top of the last paragraph on the second page it states that you were adopted on the fourth of January 2001 to Mr. and Mrs. Davis. Is this correct?” she glanced up at my grandmother, who looked at me with an ashamed look in her eye and nodded “Yes, that’s correct.”

They began a conversation about the adoption details, which I clearly wasn’t a part of because I had no idea. This had my head spinning and I felt like I was going to pass out. After a good five minutes of trying to work it out in my head, everything was finally falling into place. I always questioned why my parents were both super tall, with brown eyes and dark brown curly hair, which was the complete opposite of me. I had straight golden blonde hair, green eyes, and I was never really that tall. Nancy began to speak to me again, which snapped me out of my daze.

“Okay anyways, on that date, your parents and birth parents signed a form that stated if anything were to happen to your parents, you would be moving in with them rather than a foster family. Since this is the case I have arranged a flight for you on Wednesday.”

“What do you mean, a flight.” I snapped back

“Well, your family is living in Michigan, so you will have to move there.”

“Who are they,” I asked. Nancy then pulled a picture out of the file. It was a family of four. They had two sons, one looked to be about the same age as me.

“So, these are the Caufield's. Kelly, Paul, Brock, and Cole.” She replied by pointing at each as she said their name. “Oh, and it turns out Cole it's your twin brother. Says here he was born fifteen minutes before you.”

My blood was now boiling for so many reasons. One of which, was that I was moving in with a family that picked my brother over me and basically disowned me.

“Alright, that’s all for today. I will see you bright and early Wednesday morning!” She then grabbed the folder, put it back in her briefcase and marched out the front door.

[detectivesplotslies]

An Anthropologist and a Pianist walk into a School

Oumota Week 2019 - Day 2: Talent Swap / Monster AU 

Description: The Ultimate Anthropologist, Kaito Momota, wants to make quick work of getting to know everything about his classmates, but a certain Pianist seems to be making that troublesome.  Word Count: 1719

Read on AO3 here

“So, you’re a pianist? That’s quite a profession to get into, lots of glory and greatness in being a musician! Who would you say inspired you?”

Kaito barely wastes a moment after introducing himself and jumps straight into questions. He’s already had a long discussion with Kaede about her inventions and Rantaro about his organization, and Kokichi happens to be hovering when he finishes.

“You cut right to it, huh. Well of course the greats, Beethoven, Wagner, a bit of Handel gives you a good handle on it.”

“So you’re into classical stylings? Are they hard to learn? What about your teacher?” Kaito talks a mile a minute, quickly committing the names to memory. Sure music isn’t his expertise, but he knows the big names. Symphonies that inspired others, and ones inspired by others.

“Oh my teacher’s a real gem, but he’s so strict, there was one time I got one note wrong in Beethoven’s 10th Symphony, and he made me play the entire thing backwards from that note and THEN start over. My poor fingers!”

“Oh cool, you must be really skilled then! Sure must have been a pain, that’s crazy punishment for a mistake! Did it even sound good?” Kaito looks up, his face genuinely excited.

Kokichi pauses before grinning and continuing.

“...well of COURSE it still sounded good, I am the Ultimate Pianist after all.”

“With training like that, can you compose? Do you improvise? Or after that rigorous training are you forever bound to the classics? Would it feel wrong to play something modern, or do you like the jazz era too?”

“Wow Momota-chan, how dare you speak of jazz in my presence. I do not play that filth, only the best for my hands!”

“Ah… okay, well, then what made you keep at it? You’re inspired by the classics and your teacher was harsh, but there’s not much for those outside of concerts. Are those what you play for?”

“Silly Momota-chan, of course it’s about the audience. The audience is always who matters when you play music, because only they can hear what you really want to say with it! You really ask a lot of questions, ya know? Are you sure you’re an anthropologist and not Ultimate Journalist? Ultimate TV Show Host? Ultimate Cop? Hmmm?”

“Hey I know a thing or two about audiences, but I’m still an anthropologist, don’t you forget it! Been on lecturing tours at universities all over to show what I’ve put together. I bet those aren’t too different from touring concerts.”

Kokichi laughs and continues to poke. The interview devolves into defenses, Kaito’s illustrious experience and credentials taking the spotlight and questions forgotten. Soon enough they part and he’s off to interview another classmate. An anthropologist’s work is never done as long as there are people to learn from!

But that was hardly the end of what he heard from Ouma that day. You’d think a musician would be more considerate about the volume of their voice.

---

During lunch the elegant cosplayer approaches the pianist, poise exquisite. He seems to consider the boy’s clothes before posing a question.

“So, do you wear the classic tails and tie when you perform, Ouma-kun?”

“Oh yes all the classics. The tie, tails, knuckles, sonic-”

“I’m sorry the-”

“Gotta go fast, Shinguji-kun! You know that one right? Ever worn a mascot costume? Huh?”

After a moment of awkward silence to Ouma’s exclamations Korekiyo excused himself. Kaito, also in the dining hall figured that… could be a way he could show interest in the cosplaying talent. Maybe. But from his interview he knew mascots and simple designs were the farthest from what the cosplayer’s actual interest was.

---

During an argument about her tastes, it isn’t long before the artist tries to push back on the other art talent in the room, and prove herself more cultured.

“Well, I bet you don’t have any more recent musical influences hmm? All long dead men, who’s music is gathering dust. A real artist has to live in the now,” Tenko huffs.

“Oh but I love to stay current! Why just last month I attended a very inspiring concert.”

“Oh really? Tenko would like to know who!”

“Have you, my dear, heard the musical stylings of the Wiggles?”

The jazz hands are met with a nose thrust in the air as Tenko turns heel to leave. Kokichi calls something about artist temperaments after her, to which her heels in her exit from the courtyard clack a bit louder and angrier, like little daggers stabbing the pavement.

Possibly artistic differences? Competitive sort of field? Kaito isn’t sure he’s got a good enough grasp of Tenko’s stance on it all yet to judge.

---

This time the sound of a strange song with no tempo played obnoxiously that caught his attention, and the anthropologist stops in the doorway to look into a classroom.

“Why do you keep playing that thing? I thought you were a piano man, or something.”

To the astronaut who was pointing at the kazoo in his mouth, Kokichi holds it out with some flare.

“The kazoo, which we in the music industry like to call the tongue piano, is a very technical instrument to get right, but if you listen closely you can hear the nuances of a master, c’mon lean in.”

A sharp sound, a spray of spit and a string of profanities later, Miu storms out muttering about getting that key wiggling twink back while Kokichi laughs himself breathless. Kaito stumbles out of her way, his face pinched into a frown as he glances back at the classroom.

Perhaps this called for a follow-up interview.

---

Kaito returns from the library, fists clenched, looking around. Eventually he spots Kokichi, snapping his suspenders and chatting away at the magician, Shuichi, backed into the corner with something between fear and confusion on his face. His top hat is precariously close to tipping off his face while he pushes against the wall.

“Hey Ouma, I wanted to ask you some more questions!”

The pianist turns, tilting his head to the side, face blank for a moment before a cheshire grin spreads across it.

“Momota-chan! Of course, of course. Want to hear more from the master, couldn’t resist, I get it. Well I have plenty of time! Saihara-chan here won’t tell me the ritual he cast to get so powerful because I’m not a wizard like him! Maybe your interrogation will work!”

Kaito hesitates a moment. Wizard? Isn’t Shuichi a magician? “Ah, no I just have questions for you, not Saihara.”

That’s all it takes for Shuichi to take his chance to dart behind Kokichi and leave the room in a run. Neither of them have ever seen the kid move that fast. They are left alone.

“Right, so I just wanted to check a few things with you. You said Beethoven, Wagner, and Handel were your inspiration?”

“Why Momota-chan, were your ears taking a vacation? Yep! Those are my favourite piano composers! And I won’t repeat it again, so you better listen!”

“And when you messed up in Beethoven’s 10th Symphony your teacher made you play it backwards?”

Kokchi flutters his fingers in front of him dramatically. “Back and then front again, like a puppet!”

“And you despise jazz?”

Kokichi gags. “Won’t touch the stuff!”

Then without missing a beat, Kaito grins and asks a new question.

“So your entire interview with me was bullshit, huh?”

Kokichi scoffs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “My, my, Momota-chan, what nerve you have to tell a musician he doesn’t know his own taste! Next I’ll be telling you about anthropology journals or whatever boring things you are inspired by!”

Kaito sighs and pulls a book out of his bag and flips it open, citing pages as he talks. “Wagner was a terrible pianist, and while he did write some pieces for the piano, apparently they pale in comparison to most other composers of his time. Beethoven only wrote 9 symphonies, so whether you can play one backwards or not you should have corrected the number when I repeated 10th back at you. And you say you dislike jazz but that’s the beat and style you’ve been playing on your kazoo all day.” He claps the book shut with a satisfied smirk on his face.

There’s silence between them for an uncomfortable moment, until Kokichi puts his arms back lazily behind his head and smiles.

“Wow, Momota-chan’s such a nerd.”

Kaito’s smirk drops and indignance rushes onto it, red and unready for its turn.

“Wh- No I’m not! How is finding out a liar nerdy? You’ve been messing with people all day I had to fact check, I-”

“Ohhh, not a nerd, my mistake, a stalker! Wow, I haven’t had one of those since that one time at one of my concerts when this guy grabbed me by my tails and-”

“Ouma, I don’t want to hear another story, I want to hear about you!” Kaito may have shouted it a touch louder than planned, as Kokichi’s tale about his tails abruptly cuts off.

“Why?”

“What? What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Momota-chan can ask questions, but he can’t answer them? Why don’t you want to hear a story. Stories are much more fun! Stories about hedgehogs, teachers, fun kid shows, wizards, and strange instruments. Why wouldn’t that be what anyone wants to hear? It only matters if you like what you hear, afterall.”

“I don’t care if it’s what I would like if it’s not about you. What’s the point in getting to know someone that way?”

“I don’t know, maybe you should tell me, you’re the one studying humans, and they tell some pretty stories when there’s nothing very pretty at all.”

Kokichi smirks and starts to walk out of the room. He’s almost out when Kaito says something to himself, quietly, but Kokichi’s trained ears hear it clearly.

“So you weren’t lying about that then.”

Kokichi turns, raising a brow. “What do you think was true, then, oh Ultimate Questioner?”

“That it’s all about the audience. You change your tune based on who’s listening, and if what you want them to hear? Then I wonder what your audience when you actually play is like.”

Kokichi frowns for a moment and continues walking out, no reply ready.

[end note]

Hope you guys enjoyed a taste of the dumb talent swap I’ve been nursing in headcanons for ages hahah <3 As a bonus, about their designs, some fun details. Kokichi tucks his hair behind his ears so he can better catch what people are saying quietly, and Kaito ended up wrecking his eyes and needing glasses from trying to read things in dark places on expeditions after dark or before the crew would set up. For @oumota-events week!

[kanna-ophelia]

Losing My Mind.

@ineffablehusbandsweek Day 1 Prompt: Music 1250 words, General rating (It’s September 2 here in Australia, folks)

Summary: They meet at concerts. It has to just be coincidence that every aria seems to be exposing Crowley's innermost thoughts. It can’t possibly be that music is conspiring to torture him.

Music referenced is in a Spotify playlist at the end of the fic Read on AO3

Concerts had always been one of Crowley’s favourite rendezvous strategies. It was easy enough to accidentally on purpose have seats next to each other, a perfectly acceptable excuse to fall into conversation before the concert.

The bit of Crowley’s brain that was sensible and calculating pointed out to him that if the forces of Heaven or Hell noticed them sitting next to each other at concerts Questions Would Be Asked about why neither of them left, or smote, or did something else appropriately Adversarial rather than falling into conversation. But the same could be said about sitting together on the tops of buses, or feeding ducks together, and really if either of them sat and thought sensibly about it the entire Arrangement would have gone up in flames of logic centuries ago. So they didn’t. And they continued to share concerts together, because music was one of the pleasures of the world, and Crowley was all about pleasures of the world.

Not as much, he sometimes thought, as Aziraphale was.

Crowley liked music, true. But Aziraphale worshipped it.

He would lean forward, hands clasped tight on his lap, his mobile face glowing in the darkness with a faint lustre that Crowley sometimes wondered that the humans couldn’t detect, like some delicate creature in the dark cold of the deepest sea, creating its own light for the world cut off from the sun. Sometimes there would be tears in his round eyes, sparkling faintly on his lashes, lit by his eyes.

Crowley would let the music swell around them, and watch Aziraphale to his heart’s content.

The first time he broke the moment, it was at a performance of Debussey highlights. The tenor had just sung “Toi de qui tant de ris framboisés” and there was a delighted smile on Aziraphale’s lips and it was just too perfect so Crowley laughed. Aziraphale’s head whipped around and his smile faded, and what could Crowley say? Your smiles really are like raspberries, angel? Or, even worse, his mind filled in some awful cliched pickup line like So let me taste them and Aziraphale probably wouldn’t talk to him for years after that. And they had an Antichrist to raise.

So Crowley smirked, and Aziraphale looked a little hurt, and turned back to the concert. He glowed a little less, and Crowley stared a little less, and wished the evening was over.

When they said goodnight, and prepared to become Nanny and Francis again, Crowley reached out and grasped Aziraphale’s hand, just for a moment, and thought about lips that would not taste of raspberries but, just possibly, of interval champagne. Aziraphale looked confused, but pleased, glancing at the hand and to Crowley’s face and away.

The second time, it was Wagner, which Crowley preferred to Debussey, until Siegmund and Sieglinde’s love duet. He should have remembered, should have been prepared, but when the soprano began on Du bist der Lenz he could feel something like panic well up in him.

My heart leapt with fear and joy when you first looked at me.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. Look at Aziraphale, all caught up in the music, probably no thinking of the lyrics at all, and if he was he would be thinking of the forbidden love between twin brother and sister. Not of a serpent suddenly finding the Enemy looking at him with polite kindness on the wall of Eden.

I had never seen anyone but strangers / And everything around me was friendless / It was as if everything that happened /Was happening to someone else, not me

It wasn’t as if he’d ever even discussed his Fall with Aziraphale. It was the kind of subject best avoided, in case they stepped on the fragile excuses for their friendship. Aziraphale had never had problems being a being of love, had never struggled with the awareness of his own inability to love like an angel should, had never felt disconnected.

Until the awkward smile and worried fluttering and irrepressible kindness of an angel on the walls of Eden. If he had found that in Heaven, perhaps—but Too Late, that was always the time for those of Hell.

But I knew you, plainly and clearly / It was as if you were my own.

It was torture, pure and simple. Crowley couldn’t be expected to endure this. He shifted, ready to get up and make some excuse, concert etiquette be damned. He put his hand on the arm of his chair, ready to push himself up.

Aziraphale covered his hand with his own.

Crowley stared at it, his mind going into meltdown. He’s touching my hand he’s touching my hand why is it because he wants to hold my hand maybe he thinks he can stop me standing up and being rude and leaving the concert maybe it’s just that the music is moving him it is really beautiful isn’t it should I turn my hand over and hold his oh Satan

What I hid in my heart, all that I was / All came to me as bright as day

Crowley sat very very tense and still, and eventually Aziraphale’s hand moved off his and folded with his other hand and the music went on.

Right. No more opera. Opera was dangerous.

But Aziraphale loved Sondheim. Sondheim was one of the reasons he wanted to save the world. Sondheim should be safe, all pretentious boring arseing around on stage. A Sondheim highlights concert, that was the ticket. Almost literally, except Crowley never actually bothered booking or buying tickets, he just told the ushers where they would be sitting.

Aziraphale’s lovely blue-green-brown-grey eyes were bright with happiness and excitement, his cheeks were flushed, and Crowley thought it would be a lovely evening. He would sit and watch Aziraphale enjoy the music, and it would be fun.

I dim the lights / And think about you /Spend sleepless nights /To think about you

Or he could go back to Hell and dive headfirst into a pit of lava. It would feel about the same.

As they said goodnight, Aziraphale said cautiously, “Are you all right? You seem withdrawn. Is something troubling you?"

“It's the child,” Crowley lied hastily. “I think maybe I’m overdoing it. I might want to back up on the evil a bit."

“I’ll work harder,” Aziraphale said contritely. “My dear—" His face was soft and gentle and concerned and his hand was out, and Crowley reached jerkily to grasp it.

“If all this doesn’t work out, angel, I just want you to know..."

“Yes,” said Aziraphale very softly. “Me, too.” His hand was very soft and warm, and his thumb rubbed over the back of Crowley’s knuckles.

Crowley pulled back his hand. “Right, then.” He turned to look out the window.

You said you loved me, / But were you just being kind? / Or am I losing my mind?

He turned again.

“Angel?"

Aziraphale looked confused, and adorable, and… hopeful?

Crowley put his arms around him and crushed his mouth against his and there was no way this could be explained away to Heaven or Hell and he didn’t care, because there was a warm soft body against his and raspberry lips opening to his and this was all he knew, everything he had, everything hidden in his heart.

And the music pounding in his ears didn’t come from any concert, but it was Tchaikovsky anyway.

I love you, love you beyond all measure, / I cannot conceive a day without you.

Playlist for this story

[jennifersylvesters]

how to trick someone into loving you ( part two - the beginning )

Synopsis: You would’ve been content with never interacting with Tom Holland. With his loud personality and questionable behavior, you planned on avoiding the dumb jock for all of your university days. But when he proposes a way for both of you to get what you want, how can you say no? Pairing: uni!Tom Holland x reader Word Count: 3.3k~ Warning: none?? A/N: time to dive into more dumb shenanigans. this picks off right where part one left off. still don’t have photoshop on this new laptop, so the header’s the same lmao. like y’all already know, feedback is always appreciated/welcome ~ 

“So you ready to start?”

There was an eagerness in Tom’s face as he expectantly grinned at you. As much as you appreciated the enthusiasm, you weren’t about to drop your plans to begin teaching him. You had other work that needed to get finished, and you couldn’t just focus on an acquaintance when you had other priorities. Or, well, in this case he was a new partner. Could you even call him that yet?

“Uh, no.” You told him that you still had to get coffee, trying to adjust to the day. After all, he caught you at the moment you were running errands.

He let out an “ah” before nodding his head understandingly. So when you began walking, you weren’t expecting him to follow. You definitely weren’t expecting him to talk to you about his future plans.

“You don’t have to follow me” you pointed out, hoping he would take the hint.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Apparently not.

So you were subjected to Tom’s ramblings, only half listening as he spoke about his grand schemes. He blathered incessantly, excited about potentially doing well in a course but more excited to help you.

Even though tuned him out as best as possible, you couldn’t ignore him pointing out your terrible flirting skills. It took all your restraint not to toss the coffee in his face and quit the agreement. You’d do fine without dating; Tom would not do alright with a failing grade.

But you didn’t want to back out on the potential hope just yet. After all, it hadn’t even been a full day; backing out so quickly would be quite sad. Things were bound to get better with him, right?

Still his ramblings drove you up the wall. In order to have him leave you alone, you suggested swapping numbers and discussing these schemes more in depth later. He agreed, calling your idea brilliant. Safe for now.

Or so you thought. It turned out that Tom loved texting and made it abundantly clear by messaging you constantly. You didn’t use your phone that often, so the bombardment of texts were overwhelming to say the least. He texted you about everything, even things that weren’t related to your plans.

tom: are you going to josh wagner’s party tonight? No. You weren’t friends with that jock.  tom: did you do the ethics homework? Obviously.  tom: if you did, will you let me copy your answer? Absolutely not. tom: do you think that fish in those restaurant tanks know they’re gonna be eaten? You had no idea. This wasn’t what kept you up at night. tom: have you done the bird box challenge? haz says only idiots do that but i think it’d be fun to do it. so if you’ve done it then i think it’s okay if i do it. That’s not how life works, Tom.

He exhausted you when he wasn’t even physically around that it almost made you block him. When you finalized plans about your study sessions happening the next week, Tom seemed to calm his excessive texting. He was now aware that the two of you needed to get down to business.

True to his word, he brought you an apple that Tuesday afternoon, boasting about how only the best students did such a feat. You tossed it in your backpack, more concerned about getting the study portion done.

The two of you met at the library on the third floor. It was the quietest place in the building, a perfect place for the two of you to study. Rarely did anyone frequent that section so you assumed there wouldn’t be any hindrances. Boy were you wrong.

Despite starting off with high energy, Tom got easily distracted. When you would explain a certain concept, his eyes would wander around to anywhere but the information on the page. He would glance out the window where students ambled about, visibly wishing to be in their shoes instead of stuck inside. Tom’s eyes would glaze out when you repeated yourself that you needed to snap for him to pay attention once more.

You reminded him to focus, tapping the page with your pen. You could only hold his concentration for so long before he would distract himself with something, anything else but learning.

At one point he began dozing off as you rattled through key points that would most likely be on the next quiz. When you looked up, it took you a second to realize what you were currently witnessing.

“A-Are you sleeping right now?” you questioned, confused if he really was sleeping or if that was his studying face.

“Ethics” he murmured out, obviously in a daze. He clearly hoped that if you asked anything, that would be the right answer.

“Oh. My. God” you gritted through your teeth. You slammed the book shut, causing him to jump.

You began packing your bags, over this whole thing. If he didn’t care, why should you?

“I’m sorry!” he apologized repeatedly, wanting to stop you from packing but knowing not to touch you in your heated mood.

“Look-” you huffed, stopping and turning towards him. “If this is gonna work, you have to care. It’s gotta be just as important as basketball.” He made a face clearly indicating that nothing could ever beat his favorite sport. You scowled as you tossed your book into your backpack.

“Stop! Wait!” he pleaded as he took hold of the last book you needed to pack. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just...It’s so boring!”

You eyed your book in his hand, wondering if he would let it go if you yanked it from him. It was a paperback, and you worried that he might hold onto it tightly. If that ripped, you were out fifty dollars. So you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Listen, this is gonna sound harsh. But just drop the class. Obviously you don’t care about it so it shouldn’t be a big deal.” you advised him.

“No, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.” His grip tightened on your book, refusing to look you in the eyes.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, okay?” He looked so frustrated, slumping in his chair. You could hear him muttering under his breath how you would never understand. Maybe you couldn’t. It always felt that with enough focus and determination you could accomplish anything. The same couldn’t be said for him.

Taking a seat back down, you watched him carefully. This wasn’t the normal overly confident Tom you were used to seeing. This wasn’t the carefree charmer that irked you constantly. It was an unsure boy who struggled to concentrate and understand difficult material.

“Look, you don’t waste any time on the floor during your games, right?” you asked him softly. He responded with a small nod. “Okay. Well then think about studying like that.” He didn’t look up, but you knew he was listening. “You have to give it your all when you’re here with me. You only have a certain amount of time to get everything done, and you can’t waste it spacing out. Every second counts, Tom. If you waste it, you don’t get that time back.” He nodded again, this time finally looking up at you.

“That was a cool reference.”

You shrugged, acting as if it wasn’t a big deal. But you wondered if that’s all you needed to do to get into this kid’s head.

Despite not knowing much about basketball, you attempted for the remaining time to break down theories and founders that he might understand.

“So Plato’s kinda like Kobe?” he suggested. You didn’t know, but he seemed excited about the possibility. So you shrugged your shoulders and said sure.

“Ko-be!” he hollered, cupping his mouth to project his call throughout the library. You slapped your hand over his mouth, hoping that no one would shush the two of you or kick you out.

“You can’t yell in a library” you hissed.

“Oh, right” he replied muffled through your hand.

It wasn’t a great session, but as you explained things to him he actually paid attention. You watched as he took notes, sometimes tapping his notebook indicating for him to highlight key points. It was interesting watching him concentrate, trying his best to understand the material.

By the time the two hours you set up were over, you were mildly impressed. You weren’t sure if he would retain the information, but at least he was trying.

Both of you packed up your bags and headed out of the library. As he pushed open the door -  letting you exit first before letting it close on its own - you stopped at the entrance. You told him how he was making good progress and he beamed.  

“Well, see you on Thursday then.” You fixed your backpack strap on your shoulder before shoving your hands into your pockets.

“See you tomorrow!” he called out, waving at you as he headed off. You stared at him curiously, unsure if he understood how time worked. There were only two scheduled study sessions: one on Tuesday and the other on Thursday. Did he forget that the next day would be Wednesday? You sighed, assuming his spaciness got the best of him.

Except when you returned to your dorm after classes the next day, Tom was leaning on your dorm room door. He texted as he hummed to himself, tapping his foot to a certain rhythm. Hearing your footsteps, his head popped up from his phone and he smiled wide.

“Oh, good! You’re here!” he chirped as he tucked his phone away. “You ready?”

“We-We’re not studying today?”

He chuckled, tossing an arm over your shoulder. “‘Course we are” he insisted. “We’re studying Luke.”

You didn’t like the way he phrased that, shrugging his arm off you. When you questioned what he meant, he just rolled his eyes and informed you to follow him.

The two of you headed to the quad, spotting Luke sitting at one of the tables by himself. Once Tom spotted him, he pulled you behind some bushes and peered over the hedges.

“This is sketchy” you pointed out. Rather than debate you on this, he just shushed you and waved you to do the same.

“Okay, what do you see?” Tom asked. You looked at him suspiciously, unsure of where he was going with this. “Don’t look at me. Look at him. Tell me what you see.” It was rare for Tom to be this serious, instructing you to focus. Turning back to Luke, you squinted looking for certain details.

“Well, he’s wearing that greyish blue shirt that really brings out his eyes” you commented, unaware that you were slipping into a dreamy daze. “He didn’t gel his hair today which is surprising because he almost always-”

Tom slapped his forehead listening to you ramble off superficial details about your crush.

“No, Supposedly Smarty-Pants” he shook his head. “I’m talking about what you actually see. What is Luke doing?”

“He’s drinking coffee?” you suggested. Was Tom seeing something you weren’t?

“Yes, but you’re not…” he paused to rub his temples, irritation building up in him. “Y/N, you’re not actually paying attention.”

“What am I supposed to be seeing then?” you snapped, hands resting on your waist.

“Can you tell me what brand of coffee he’s drinking?” You shrugged. “Can you tell me what he’s writing?” Another shrug. Tom shook his head once more, sighing exasperatedly. You weren’t sure where he got the nerve to act so high and mighty, and you were one step away from smacking the daylights out of him.  

“Y/N, you have to pay attention.” That was rich coming from him. “Luke isn’t drinking Starbucks” he stated as if this was a monumental game changer.

“So?”

“So that means that he’s not into the generical crap.” You chose not to correct him, letting him continue. “The Starbucks on our campus is literally down two dorm buildings from here, but Luke decided to go to The Java Lava. That means the dude decided he’d rather go to some local joint off campus with better tasting drip than the more convenient places.

“And he’s not just writing, Y/N. He’s like, focus writing.” You raised an eyebrow, confused by what he meant. Tom rolled his eyes, persisting in his spiel. “That means whatever he’s writing is probably something important.

“This could go one of two ways, Y/N. Either he’s just happening to work hard on something he really likes or he’s working hard on something that’s boring as hell and doesn’t wanna do.”

Tom turns back to the sandy blond, still scribbling in his notebook furiously. “From the looks of things, it’s choice number two” he surmised.

You couldn’t help but gaze in astonishment at Tom. For someone who had idiotic tendencies, he was a lot smarter than you gave him credit for. He pinpointed certain details about Luke you never would’ve noticed.

Maybe Tom didn’t realize it himself, but his observation skills were amazing. You assumed that’s how he got those girls into bed, picking out specific details to make them feel special and important. You wondered if there was a way to get him to apply it with studying.

“So now’s the perfect opportunity to strike. Let’s go say hi” he announced as he stood up, confident smile gleaming.

“Wait, what?”

There was no time to argue because the next thing you knew, Tom grabbed your wrist and yanked you towards your crush. You were freaking out, trying to figure out how to simultaneously murder Tom while also not doing it where Luke could see. Despite repeatedly sputtering “no”s and “bad idea”s, Tom was stronger and didn’t care about your terrified protests.

“You have to practice” he stressed, yanking your arm as your dug your heels into the ground.

“Oh, hey!” Tom called out casually as he paused in front of the blond. Luke looked up, hair messily covering his eyes. It was such a good look that you wished you could take a photo. “You’re uh-” he paused, snapping his fingers as if he was trying to remember.

“It’s Luke” the other boy replied, smiling politely.

“Right! God, I am so sorry about that. My bad, dude” Tom apologized, shaking his head. “We actually went to Kyle Donahue’s cabin winter break. I mean, there were a lot of people there but I’m pretty sure we met.”

“Did we?”

“Yeah, played beer pong against you and Mitchell Wissou. Crushed you guys” Tom laughed. Luke rolled his eyes playfully, clearly finding this all in good jest.

“So what’s up, man? Can’t be as bad as Lennon when he slipped and fell on the slope” Tom slid into one of the opening seats. Luke reminisced about that winter break, joking with Tom about someone getting slushied while you stood stiffly watching their conversation.

Tom was waiting for you to take a seat, but you were frozen in your spot. Even with mild irritation in his eyes, he forced a smile onto his face. “Hey, have you met Y/N?” He gestured with his head for you to take a seat.

You waved your hand, indicating you were fine to stand.

“Oh, yeah. I think I’ve seen you around” Luke recalled. Either he genuinely didn’t remember your fall, or he was being polite. It didn’t matter; you were just grateful he didn’t bring it up. “You can take a seat” he offered. So you pulled the chair out and sat down, legs pressed together tightly with your hands on your knees. Your tension was obvious, but Tom was determined to make you look good.

“Y’know, Y/N’s been helping me with our ethics course. Guess she’s been so busy studying that she sometimes forgets to go out” he joked.

“Well, you guys are welcome to come to Devin McNamara’s party on Friday if you want. The more, the merrier” Luke suggested.

“We might swing by” Tom shrugged, nudging you with his knee underneath the table so Luke couldn’t see. Definitely progress.

Tom began making small talk with Luke, asking about certain details that you didn’t even know. Apparently Luke was an amazing snowboarder who had two dogs which he loved dearly. When he spoke about them fondly, Tom encouraged Luke to show you photos of them. You couldn’t help but awe looking at the cute golden retrievers.

It wasn’t just that Tom helped you figure out new facts about Luke, but he was actually bringing you into the discussion. He would slip you into the conversation at certain points, all somehow making it seem natural and effortless.

Before you knew it, you were finally relaxing and joining in on the conversation; it was as if you all were good friends.

You were caught off guard when Tom checked his phone and gasped. “Ah, shoot! I forgot I have class right now.” You stared at him quizzically. Why did he try to wingman for you when he had class around the same time?

“I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?” He pushed out of his chair and waved, rushing off towards one of the lecture halls.

And then it was just you and Luke. The nerves were starting to come back again until you remembered what Tom went over with you earlier. You asked Luke what he was working on, both out of curiosity and to see if this would carry the conversation.

He sighed, telling you how he was taking a political science course which was absolutely killing him.

“Oh, I think I took that course last year” you noted, scooting over to look at his notes. Sure enough, you had taken that class and passed with flying colors. It had been difficult - not nearly as difficult as the ethics course - but you managed to figure it out. “I can help you if you want?” you nervously offered.

“Really? That’d be awesome of you!” he grinned. And for the first time, Luke was actually paying attention to you. The two of you spoke for a little longer just enjoying trivial discussions. He only stopped when his phone beeped.

Luke apologized, letting you know he needed to head off to class. Ripping out a piece of paper, he handed it to you along with a pen. “You mind giving me your number so I can text you about studying?” Your head bobbed up and down rapidly as you scribbled your name and phone number for him.

Throwing his backpack over his back, he gave you a final wave before heading off. Giddiness filled your body, excited by the possibility of him texting you soon.

“See, I told you it would work!”

You yelped, jumping slightly upon hearing Tom’s voice. He slid into an empty seat looking at you excitedly.

“I thought you had class, Tom!” He burst into laughter.

“Nah, man. I just said that to give you one on one time with him.” This news startled you a bit. It turned out that Tom was more strategic and a better wingman than you ever could’ve imagined.

“You did such a good job!” he praised you, slapping his hand on your shoulder and lightly squeezing it in support.

“Thanks.” You couldn’t help but give a small grin. After all, none of this would’ve been possible without his expertise.

“Your welcome. I mean, you gotta work on loosening up. Cause you are like, super uptight and terrified and stuff. But this is a really good start!” You blushed, somewhat proud of the work you accomplished. “Starting to trust me now, right?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“Maybe a little bit, Holland.” You held up your fingers, showing how you only trusted him a smidge.

“I’ll take it. We gotta go back to your place to figure out what we’re gonna do for Devin’s party.”

So as Tom threw his arm over your shoulder, you let him as the two of you walked back to your dorm. Turns out Tom might be more useful than you originally presumed.

tags list: @sleepybesson, @tomhaz | @almostrosadiazz, @tomshufflepuff | @acceptance07, @blurryshit, @hollands99, @josierosie, @littlestyles, @lumineshawn, @mystxrieux, @nedthegay, @popculturetrash15, @redheadedicequeen

[larriefails]

This new BPH2 post, she really can’t let go of 1D or the past, can she?

The amount of drivel...

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Harry was portrayed as a lothario BEFORE July 2011? By whom? Doing what? He didn’t date anyone until C*roline (sorry, I make one exception for censoring names and that’s for child groomers) in like, November 2011, there were jokes about him liking Madison, the girl from WMYB but that wouldn’t be until August anyway. Articles about various 1D members dating or hooking up with fans were run of the mill, but that was for all of them. Cher Lloyd got linked to literally every member except Louis, and that’s because he had a girlfriend. Harry was seen as flirty and fans joked around about his unfortunate pussygate moment, but clearly, he brought that on himself, and it was after X Factor anyway

The only possible “Harry is a lothario” push she could be talking about is that jokey video where Harry is seen as having overlapping dates with all the girls at boot camp, but it’s obviously tongue in cheek, it finishes with Harry going on a date with Wagner, a 50 something year old Portuguese (?) man. And this was BEFORE the band was put together. Why would Liam, or anyone, have to be seen as a lothario anyway? Confused

Louis and Hannah’s relationship wasn’t “spotlighted” they were just dating... so she was there... and they talked about it on the show I think once, maybe twice. None of the other boys had significant others at the beginning. When Zayn started dating one of the girls from Belle Amie (a girl group that was competing there as well), it was actually spotlighted, same when he dated Rebecca Ferguson

She says “switching 1Direction to One Direction” to seem knowledgeable, it’s hilarious. One Direction’s twitter account was created on October 29th 2010 and it was already stylized “OneDirection,” this is just a “the more you know” bullet point she learned that she decided to throw in there to get more credibility. Anyone that’s been a fan for long already knew this, it was stated as a fact in one of their books, but don’t ask me which one now cuz it’s been 7 years. Anyways, what an important marketing decision, Kati, it surely affected a lot of the outcome of the band that would be known as “1D” by 90% of its fanbase anyway

“But there was no larger strategy until July 2011″

NO SHIT SHERLOCK. U wanna know why? Because they didn’t have music out until August... you really are some fresh brand of stupid, huh. Who would waste money in marketing campaigns months and months before having any music to sell? All of them were heavily involved in social media anyway, and with strategic performances here and there, some interviews, a very well received book, signing days, and several other nuggets, they managed to build a stronger fanbase and a lot of anticipation by the time they released WMYB. There was definitely marketing, but, no, of course there wasn’t an overarching marketing campaign for a band with no music for six months.. Just like there isn’t, idk, a hot air balloon business for cheetahs..

And that’s how she starts.. everything after that is drivel and more and more drivel. Very little of it makes any sort of sense or is backed up by any facts other than her wanting things to be that way

Such as this entire paragraph which has me in fucking stitches

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Listen, I’m sure more older people became fans as the band became more popular, and I’m sure there are some men sprinkled in between, but PROFOUND DEMOGRAPHIC SHIFT? Except Harry and Zayn, who have cultivated an older skewing demographic, the core fan base is STILL 13-18 year old girls. And even Harry and Zayn have large percentages of their fan base in that age group still. She really thinks the tumblr side of fandom is in any way indicative of the larger fandom, it’s fascinating to read someone that’s supposed to be old and wise, who’s a mother and a wife, be so blatantly wrong and so delusional. Not even in the tumblr side of fandom now are the fans mostly older with established careers. That’s just the big Larries, and big Larries are what? 1 in 2,000 One Direction blogs? (and I doubt at least 50% of their “well established careers” are real, but I’m not into doxxing people so I’ll take their word for it)

I almost lost my mind when she called tumblr tinhat wank “objective debate and evidence-based discussion.” OBJECTIVE! O B J E C T I V E? bulletprooflarry, the person that left tumblr for a month when Harry announced his solo career because she had been saying for ages he’d never go solo and couldn’t handle being so OBJECTIVELY wrong, is talking about OBJECTIVE DISCUSSION???? Kati you wouldn’t know what actual objective discussion is if it slapped you repeatedly with something smelly while yelling “I am objective discussion” as a plane writes in the sky “objective discussion is slapping you in the face” and some sirens wailed in the distance

Not even gonna go there with “evidence-based” .. I’m sure ur tag “all the reasons ever needed” filled with cropped and edited gifs of 17 yo Harry and 19 yo Louis looking at each other for 0.03 seconds in slow mo would hold in court very well

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H I L A R I O U S. Never seen before! Novel!!!! Only happening because of “this new smarter fandom with professional experience”! No other tinhat fandom doubts the protagonists of their conspiracy theory handle their social media! That’s just the new smarter fandom filled with professional men and women in 1D. Crisscolfer, Kaylor, Supernatural, Camren, you name it. Any CT mined fandom where social media is used, believes the exact same bullshit, Kati. U R NOT SPECIAL. You’re not smarter. The Larrie fandom didn’t “wise up” it tinhatted up. If you left your conspiracy bubble for three seconds and waltzed into literally any other corner of the entertainment world, you’d see that

After this, she drivels on and on about “pics or it didn’t happen” and shit like that. None of it is special to this fandom, Kati. None of it. What you’re describing is tinhatting. It has nothing to do with “this new smarter fandom.” Unless of course you believe in every other celeb conspiracy theory out there and how all the CT fandoms have also, coincidentally, become “smarter”

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This is equal parts self centered, arrogant, delusional, and wrong. 1D’s team did a ton of things to get new fans and it succeeded largely at it. 1D was one of the largest bands in terms of fanbase in the world. It got away with selling millions upon millions of records and selling out stadiums without getting huge songs. To this day a vast majority of the general public only knows 2 or 3 One Direction songs (WMYB, SOML, some will know Drag Me Down). I think it was too big for the teams it had, for sure, but that’s just logic speaking for itself. What other clients the caliber of 1D did Simon Jones, Modest, or Syco have? The only big fish in the game was Columbia. And at times it definitely showed in a lot of things. But to say that they were playing catch up for five years and had no plan whatsoever, is simply disingenuous. And so self aggrandizing.. Recognizing that they had their failures? Cool. Sitting oatur computer at home and pretending that u kknow better how to handle it? Demented

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You know when you read something that’s so wrong that you don’t even know where to start? Yeah..

You were lied about the band getting back together. One by one they have admitted to it, even if not in so many words. First Zayn said he didn’t even like being in 1D ever. Then Harry refused to ever confirm the band would get back together. You had Niall, Liam, and Louis preaching 18 months/2 years, but that soon changed. Niall got tired of being asked a few months into his promo in 2017, said “idk, man, idk! someday!” and asked not to be asked again. Liam lasted a little longer, but he literally said “ask the others, idk, man, idk!” a few months back. The only one standing is Louis, and I firmly believe it’s simply because he hasn’t done as much promo as Niall and Liam, who must’ve reached the point of exhaustion. His defeated “idk, man, idk” is happenning soon. I can feel it in my bones

There’s no leadership in 1DHQ because there is no 1DHQ because there is no 1D. The band is broken up. Gone. Donezo. There’s no one to steer one topic to the next

It’s not the “lack of leadership” which lead the fans to create “microfandoms.” It’s the fact that every member has gone solo..... that created microfandoms. You’re over 40, Kati, please, for the love of God, stop hanging onto a boyband that’s been dead for four years. This is so pathetic to read. Fans less than half your age cried about their lost band for a few days and got over it. You’re still throwing hissy fits on tumblr and talking about it as if it wasn’t deceased

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Just... no

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Louis DOES NOT have the most hardcore fans inside of 1D. He has the most LARRIES. His fanbase is almost entirely conformed by conspiracy theorists, that’s why it seems so hardcore to you. This is not a positive. As a fan of Louis, I can assure you it is not. This doesn’t translate well into literally anything. Y’all are a nuisance and ruin everything. You’re not fans of Louis, you don’t even LIKE HIM. You despise everything about him and everything he is. Everything he does. All the things that have shaped him. You call everything he says a lie and mock his desperate attempts for you to LISTEN TO HIM. That’s the exact opposite of a hardcore fanbase, you shithead. That’s as fickle as it gets, it can (and does) get lost any second. The smallest of his moves can set y’all off and wipe thousands of you from his ranks. Because none of you like even a little of who he really is. Y’all are gonna leave him sooner or later. It’s just a matter of when, not if. Hardcore my fucking ass

What has Harry done to make older white men think he’s cool? Paint his nails? Wear glitter and flowery suits? Sing about men? Proclaim at every chance he gets that he LOVES his mostly female/young audience? That he thinks they’re amazing and how much he appreciates them? What is it that appeals older white men? All the rainbows in everything he does? The only thing “older white men” might like about Harry is his music and its inspiration, that’s where it starts and where it ends, but everything he’s done and said since he’s gone solo is prone to prejudice them against him. He hasn’t lifted a finger to appeal to them. His team didn’t even push his songs on Adult/Contemporary radios (Niall’s did, but I don’t see you talking about that). Yeah, Hall Of Fame will expose him to that audience as well, but you know who else did Hall Of Fame? Miley Cyrus. Was she trying to appeal to older white men? Was that Jannelle Monae’s goal while inducing Janet Jackson? He’s co chairing the MET Gala in a couple of weeks. How’s that for a white older male audience? Being a Gucci model under Alessandro Michele must’ve helped a lot, I’m sure 🙄

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“If One Direction was going to come back” NO. Next question

[kurtty-drabbles]

Mulan au (Magneto´s idea)

N/A: As the name suggests this is about Magneto´s idea of weed Michael and Lorna and finally wrapping around the other plotline here.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @sailorstar9 @discordsworld @bamfoftheundead

Magneto got from a reliable source, his own granddaughter, that Michael Pryde is indeed interested in women and did like Lorna, of course, like and marriage are different things, so, Magneto is bidding his time. Giving information about the location of the Ravens was a sacrifice the monarch had to endure thinking the reward would be worth, and in the end, it did, Kitty does trust him.

(ok, that´s a big stretch even Magento can´t ignore, but, let´s say Kitty is willing to talk with the King now)

But, the point is, Magneto is forming a relationship with Kitty and everything is going smoothly as Magneto propose an idea for Kitty and Michael´s father, James Pryde.

"Weeding is a great thing, my friends" Magneto has now a forlorn expression as he looks at the picture of his late wife, Magda, a bad marriage does not mean is out of love, at least, that´s how Magneto sees it.

"You only marry once" Kitty states not in a rude fashion but in an engaging way. Magneto never married again after his wife die and no one knows why. Some say is because of grief and something he really shouldn´t marry again.

James Pryde is a bit concern that this statement could bring Magnto´s famous temper at the surface, but, today they are luck as the king is only nodding peacefully. This is not a subject that angers him.

"As you did too. Yes, I know about your wedding with Max, the Jewish community loves to tell this story" Magneto explains and James is amused as he elbows Kitty gentle on her shoulder as if this proves a debate between them. Kitty rolls her eyes amused.

"Yes, big mom here marry our great ancestral Max and that´s why me and my family are here" James states proudly and Kitty loves to see her grown up son acting so childish.

"But, I think you´re not here to talk about the wedding without a propose, so, Erik, what do you plan?" Kitty asked amused to Erik that was expecting this and is picking the right words.

"My daughter Lorna is not someone with luck with love, the first and last man she picks break her heart in tiny pieces as he runs away with the bridesmaid on their wedding day" Erik speaks with a dark tone and Alex Summers must pray every day to never meet Erik or any other member of Maximoff family.

Kitty is horrified at this story. James is waiting for the next line coming from Magneto. "Poor woman, is she getting better?"

Magneto smiles at this question. "Yes, she is getting over, but, this comes to the reason why I call you two here...I think Michael and Lorna are a couple that should be more incentivized"

"I have no idea they were a couple, to begin with," Kitty speaks crossing her arms now and James adds "you want to marry my son to your daughter, well, as much I'm thrilled with this, and trust me, I´m, I´d know now that you can´t force anyone to marry each other"

"Of course, I´m not here to demand anything" and somehow Kitty and James disagree "but, I want to know if Michael´s family would support a relationship between Lorna and Michael. No pressure here" again they aren´t buying "my daughter never smiled like that as she did when she dance with your son, Mr Pryde, and I´d want to see my daughter happy" Kitty can detect this is true along with ''I want my political interest to be meet as well''

James Pryde and Kitty Pryde look at each other for a moment. "Look, again, weed my son is something I would love to see, my mom did prove to me that force a son or daughter to weed is stupid, so, Magneto...this should be a conversation that Micheal and Lorna should have now"

Not exactly what Magneto wanted to hear, but, this is better than a rejection. Plus, Lorna is aboard of his plan(once he did explain the importance of this union and how Micheal is way better than Alex Summers)

____________________________________________________________________

Kurt Wagner is here to deliver a gift to Talia. Is a gift to celebrate her successful mission that impresses everyone, even Kurt himself, Wanda is ignoring his presence by locking herself in her room and chatting with her friends via a magical mirror.

Talia finally found her father and really adored the present. "Thanks, dad, how is the circus?" she asked happy to see her father and to win a nice gift.

"Oh, same old thing" maybe Kurt elaborated his reply when he sees James Pryde and Kitty Pryde talking and smiles widely at that ignoring Talia face-palming herself.

And Talia is not surprised to see her father going after Kitty and James. "Hello, Katzchen," he said amused and smirks at James who is utterly confused. "Magneto call you two here?"

"Yes, to discuss marriage between James´s son. I personally think  Michael should be here" Kitty speaks in an authoritative tone and looks at James "but I´m really happy to see you pass this obsession to compare all the weedings to mine and your ancestral, son, Michael is free to make his own choices"

"Yes, mother, I just...want him to be happy as you and Max were" James explained shyly and the necromancer blinks as if he arrived just now.

"Excuse me, son? Who is Max?" Kurt asked confused but trying to play smart.

"My husband and the man that generates the Pryde clan, well, we did generate the clan, this is my son James...I´m the big mom so to speak because, well, I did make the clan so...is easier to just call me mom than  anything else" Kitty explained chipper and James is crossing his arms amused at Kurt and judging him at the same time.

"Oh, right, of course...And you two agree on the marriage´s proposal?" Kurt is doing a great act here by pretending he wasn´t fooled or isn´t feeling embarrassed.

"Uhm, this decision is to Micheal and Lorna to make" Kitty states and Michel suddenly look at his watch(either is the tiniest watch ever or James is making fun of Kurt)

"Mom, we have to go, remember? we promised Sophie to help with the celebration"

"Oh, right, thanks son, bye Kurt, we see each other later"

The necromancer will have a word with his advisers as right now the man really is trying to set his mind straight.

[robespeeair]

robespeeair rants about music history for an eternity

Music history is a class most music majors at my school take once they’ve gone through all three levels of basic music theory. It’s pretty much so a catch all for people who don’t want to take AP music theory or did so their freshman year. Our teacher just went on leave for the rest of the year, and he has a replacement, but that guy doesn’t come till next week, leaving us two days with a random sub. For that, me and this other dude got put on a simple project: present on Wagner until the new guy comes along.

Now, I’ve presented on stuff for music history while the teacher’s been out before, and it’s not that bad. You pretty much talk about the assigned topic and have everyone listen to some music. From time to time there’s a worksheet, but nobody likes getting handed work by a student, so it’s usually just a little explaining and you’re done. The whole Wagner thing was suppose to be like that, but it wasn’t. That’s this story.

Me and the person I was working with don’t get along, but we used to. I’m not sure what happened, but he told me it was my fault and left it at that. Obviously, he’s a superb communicator. He’s pretty elitist, even for a classical musician, and he thinks he’s better than me and everyone else in the class. I’m good at dealing with difficult types like that, however, because you kind of have to be as a woman in classical music. He seemed happy enough to work with me and put aside our personal stuff, however, and I wasn’t too concerned with the work we were going to be completing over spring break.

Fast forward to two days into spring break. I have other projects and stuff to do, so I haven’t given the music history thing any thought. Other dude has shared a google doc with me, though, so I decide to give it a look. He’s done literally all the work, which is strange considering we haven’t exactly discussed what opera we’re presenting on. He’s chosen an opera I’m not too into, but I go with it, because my opinion is besides the point. I text him that I’ll be presenting my own research on the history of the story (if that’s ok with him, of course), and he says that’s cool, and we don’t speak about the project again.

It’s important to recognize that I asked permission to present on everything I researched. I let him take the lead, because clearly he wanted it, and he still totally disregarded me in the end.

I walk into class early the day we’re supposed to start presenting, because I recognize that I’ve been trusted with some level of authority and have every intention of respecting it. My partner does this as well, which was a good start. He presents his research, and outright admits that he’ll be giving us zero information on Wagner’s notorious anti antisemitism. This is so problematic, because music history spends a lot of time denying it in the first place. I throw it into my half of the presentation because it should be talked about.

The opera which I didn’t choose bores the class to death. It’s musically hefty and opens with the lead soprano screaming in German for approximately half an hour. To make things worse, he hasn’t bothered to find a recording with English subtitles, probably because he has a “get on my level or perish” attitude. I try to drop some hints, like “maybe we should look at another piece,” or what have you, but this guy just isn’t listening to me. My friends are practically asleep, and honestly, so am I. No one leave the class excited to continue on Friday.

My plan for Friday is to politely ask my partner if we can present a different opera, or perhaps just call it quits entirely. But no. Motherfucker comes in with an entirely new lesson on electronic music? He has worksheets and stuff printed out, and he plans to collect them at the end of class like he’s our teacher or something. Firstly, to entirely commandeer an entire class period to teach without permission shows that you think you’re better than your peers. It’s not a good look. Especially enraging is the fact that I was supposed to be helping him, and that our teacher had literally given me permission to do so.The sub, who has no idea what’s going on, thinks me and all my friends have a huge attitude for not participating in his thing, because everyone else is. We try to tell them that there’s supposed to be a completely different thing going on and he’s just doing this presentation in some sort of power trip, but they’re not buying it.

The paper collecting thing is what gets me the most, because he has no access to anyone’s grades. He literally only did it to feel like he’s on a higher level than us. I knew full damn well that nothing was getting graded, so I just didn’t do it and didn’t give him the paper. A couple people handed their’s back blank, but I was the only one who outright recycled the thing. It didn’t have anything to do with him being a bad partner at that point: I just couldn’t give him the satisfaction of being better than everyone, and that’s what he wanted.