#we need to acknowledge the piano drop more often

[aro-in-danyl]

During an Overlord Meeting

Random Overlord: So how'd you bag the King of Hell?

Alastor: Well I-

Lucifer: The first time we met he told me to go fuck myself and dropped a piano on my head

Other Overlords: ...

Lucifer: I've been charmed by his audacity ever since

[gatekeeper-watchman]

To Begin With

          I am compelled to share this with you as I feel so very impressed with it as well as with its author, Mr. Gerry Spence. It is the introduction to his book, From Freedom to Slavery, copyrighted in 1993 and published by St. Martin’s Press and which I highly recommend to you. I hope you will enjoy it as well as I do. His introduction begins as follows:

“Writing a book about a lofty subject such as freedom is like trying to jump from rock to rock across the creek without getting your feet wet. No matter how you plan your course, you are likely to slip off into the water somewhere. The choice, of course, is whether one wishes to stay on the bank with dry feet. Or take the risk of wet feet to get to the other side.

Doctors called upon to attend to the sick cannot prescribe a cure unless they are first able to diagnose the illness. Even before that, they must detect that the patient is ill. In the case of our freedoms, I can confidently say the patient is in grave danger. Having said so, and should you agree in whole or in part, we have, together, taken the first step toward the cure.

As for the solutions, there are only two kinds—those from outside the self and those from within. The first suggests that we destroy our enemies, that we manipulate or neutralize them, that we discover detours around them, that we suffer their impositions against us, or, at last, that we even love them. In any event, the solution acknowledges the existence of outside forces that deter our progress and impede our happiness. On the other hand, there persists the idea—one with which I agree—that solutions are mainly matters of the self, that power vested in others is often irrelevant to our freedom, and that the only change essential for the betterment of the human condition is to change within, that we are the fountainhead of power, and that, therefore, we need not free the world—we need only free ourselves. Yet I have never been an exclusionist. It makes no more sense to argue that all solutions should fall into one category or the other than to argue that mustard plaster is the proper remedy for every ailment.

The problem, however, is not so much in finding solutions as in making the solutions work. Any splinter can cause a fatal infection. This being so, one also knows one can never detect all the splinters that make up the smoothest stick. Marx, for example, hated the exploitation of the masses, but his solutions, however, corrupted in their application, resulted in the enslavement of whole nations. Christ also had a good idea—that we love one another. But his followers, attempting to realize his simple, perhaps perfect remedy, disagreed on what they thought were crucial points—whether they should hold their meetings on Saturday or Sunday—whether members of the flock at baptism should be nearly drowned to wash away their sins, or whether a few drops of water on the head would suffice. In the end, his followers proved to be strong on organization, unsurpassed on dogma, supreme on sophistry, but not much on love. They fought endless wars in his name, murdered hordes of the innocent, burned countless women at the stake as witches, bashed in the heads of “heathen” Indian children, and left the world riddled with guilt and fear.

Freedom in America, as bountiful and precious as it is, has always been a strange conglomerate of the divine and the fanciful. Understanding freedom in America is like listening to a one-armed piano player. His one arm performs not only its assigned task but has painfully attempted to undertake the function of the missing limb. He plays the melody with the magnificent frills and rolls of the virtuoso. He represents all of the higher virtues of the species: He is resourceful, creative, vigorous, and he is very brave. In listening, our minds provide for us what our ears do not—the music of the other hand. But after we assess his performance, as admirable as it has been, we know that something is, indeed, missing.

Freedom in America works best for those who can afford it. As the fellow said in The Grapes of Wrath, “You’re just as free as you’ve got Jack to pay for it.” It is not as much an idea as it is a commodity. It is not as much a liberated state of being as it is an item on the shelf that, along with the purchaser, may be purchased. It is not as much a right as a component of commerce.

The danger, of course, is that we have become the purchasers of the fable of freedom. When we vigorously argue to our neighbors that Americans are free, our neighbors will likely assert that they “buy” that. Having bought the fable, it belongs to us, and we fight to keep it like howling apes protecting their trinkets and their tinfoil.

On the other hand, some of us enjoy a state of freedom that never enters even the dreams of those in many other cultures. I sit warm and comfortable at my desk recording those thoughts. My stomach is full—too full. I do not fear intrusions from brown-shirted agents of the government. If I make minimal efforts at compliance with the rules that preserve the power structure, I will likely be left alone, even if I criticize the power structure, I am essentially free to rant and rave and to emit all manner of noxious noise. It is this dichotomy that serves as both our pride and our poison.

Today there are, as indeed, there have always been, insidious, enslaving forces at work in America. Today’s emerging tyranny emanates from a New King, from a nonliving power center composed at its core of monolithic corporate entities encased and protected by endless layers of governmental bureaucracies. The primary state of the New King is to convert all rights, all human energy, all goals and, at least, all humans into fungible commodities, for the New King exists solely for commerce and its life’s blood, its green blood, its money—and its singular mission is profit. The New King’s principal means of control is the media that sells us the myths of freedom, that, when we doubt, reassures us we are free, and that programs us and our children to accept the notion that all humans function, all human desires, indeed, even immortality itself can, at last, be satisfied at the marketplace.

I am not against religion—nor am I against commerce. I am, however, reluctant to offer solutions. If the Church has anything to do with it, those who offer solutions outside the scriptures will be condemned to eternal hell. If government has anything to do with them any sound idea will be consumed in the bureaucracy, and if the idea should somehow escape the grinding teeth of its machinery, the author will be labeled an enemy of the state and disemboweled in one fashion or another. If corporate America has anything to do with it, any ideas that threaten its power will be branded as leftist, commie, or un-American, and the author of such reform banished as a heretic against the most sacred of all religions in America, Free Enterprise.

At last, I have tired of the issue as well as these arguments. If this collection of free-floating thoughts about freedom is to have any efficacy, it will come from freely saying what is on my mind, saying it as well as I can, saying it in such a way that satisfies me, or even amuses me; and if a solution seems to appear, well why not give it recognition It does no one any good bounding around in the mind’s soupy fog where, in all probability, it will eventually be cast into the trash pile of the magnificent and the forgotten. And if no solutions seem at hand, well, I was never born to solve all of the world’s problems, and those who tried were either fools or martyrs.

Sometimes it is easier for a poor man to tolerate his corns than to go barefoot and discard the shoes that cause them. Despite the existence of sharp rocks and cockleburs, there is something magical about a boy’s barefoot freedom. If only we could convince the world’s leaders not to walk in each other’s shoes but, instead, to meet and talk to each other in their bare feet likely, the people, as well as the earth, would benefit immensely. I think, therefore, I shall walk bare-footed herein. I think I shall walk wherever my feet will take me. I hope you’ll come too." From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ, Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Wednesday, May 17, 2023, Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA, https://www.facebook.com/StevenParkerMillerQ Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, https://twitter.com/StevenPMiller6 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman, https://www.tumblr.com/gatekeeper-watchman, https://www.pinterest.com/GatekeeperWatchman1/ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981

[the-haunted-office]

Stanley thinks back on his existence before now. It is both clear and obscure, which is a difficult thing to put into words. He can remember being so hungry, something that never seemed to end, and continuously feeding on anything with a soul he came across to perpetuate his own existence. But specific details? Those are a little bit more difficult to capture.

"I don't know how many I need to in order to exist, or how often. I just know that I don't feel hungry anymore," he answers, knowing that doesn't feel like very adequate. But at the same time it feels perfectly adequate to him. He was starving before, and now he isn't. He has no other explanation than whatever Doomsday did, she was able to take away his hunger permanently, somehow.

As for how to consume a soul, well... that part's a bit messier, and how messy depends on whose soul it is he's consuming and whether or not the soul is in a physical body. He can't quite tell if Night is asking him though, since the question was asked kind of softly. There's a part of him that acknowledges - a part that feels like Doomsday's - that she might not want to know. But there's another part of him that's himself that acknowledges that she asked, so he says, "I remove it from the body, if it's still in the body, and absorb it into what serves as mine. I'm not certain of all the specific details, but my body breaks it down for energy. Not all that different from a living body."

It's a grisly thing, consuming a person's soul - their very essence, the thing that makes them them - for energy, and thus wiping them out of existence. Stanley knows this. And yet... there isn't anything he can do about it. It's either that, or he is wiped out from existence. And what sort of choice is that for him to make? Cease to exist, or cause others to cease to exist?

It's not a very nice one to make, and that's about the sum of it.

"I heard about that. I also have an understanding that another Stanley here died too. The one before the one who had a piano dropped on him. We Stanleys die in every timeline, did you know that? It's something I've learned since my own death. In every Office, in every every universe, in every timeline, I die." He pauses and looks around briefly before his glowing yellow gaze settles back on Night. "But somehow I lived after death this time, in some strange way. I wonder what that means. Do you ever wonder what things mean in your life, Night?"

Night takes all of this in. “So you consume souls. Permanently, I assume. How many do you need in order to live? And how often? I do hope you aren’t going to be… doing this regularly, you know?” She doesn’t sound accusatory- merely questioning. Curious, even.

“How does it feel to consume a soul, anyway? How do you do that?” she wonders out loud, half to herself. This whole incident reminded her of that one time they found a woman who required spinal fluid to live and her husband sacrificed all of his own, to keep her from killing people. Which only worked for a few weeks before she started hunting again, but that was irrelevant. 

Night is slightly shocked that Doomsday would do something like that, though. Yes, sure, she pulled a similar stunt (without expecting to “come back”), but that was to conserve the existence of the entire department/Foundation/world. Not for the sake of one person who would probably need more souls soon anyways. She doesn’t think she can ever be that self-sacrificing. She feels some ambiguous emotion that she files away for later (read: never), not wanting the unnecessary input.

“Sorry about all the questions- yeah, he got crushed by a piano and then possessed me and then this guy showed up and put him in a new body. Long story. But sure, you can say that he died.”

[vanillann]

you’re joking, right? (luke patterson x reader)

thank you for the request my love!!

word count: 1.8k

warning: minor angst but nothing major 

“As soon as Flynn gets here the meeting will start.”

I nodded to Julie’s words, falling back onto the couch with one leg in the air as I fell back.

“I can’t wait to see if she can see us now!” Reggie bounced on his heels, the whole incident after the Orpheum changing things like how often I could see the boys and even changing the fact Julie and I could now touch them.

“I have to say, it’ll be interesting to see,” Alex nodded, taking the seat close to me and nudging my foot. I looked up from my phone, turning to my side to see Luke looking down at me.

“Wanna make room?”

“Why would I do that?” I looked up at him, smiling when he sighed, looking back to my hand.

“I’ll lay on you,” Luke spoke, trying his best to sound serious.

“He’ll only saying that to be close to you,” Julie spoke up from the piano, which earned very agreeing words from the other two ghosts in the room.

“And so what?” Luke responded, giving up by picking my feet up and making his own space. He placed my feet in his lap, holding them down so there wasn’t a chance I would move.

“I already told you, Luke, you’re a ghost,” I muttered, doing my best to not give away the little pang in my chest at the fact.

“Oh don’t worry,” Luke looked over to me, winking while looking back in front of him.

“I’ll win you over, eventually.”

I rolled my eyes, pulling my feet from his grip and sitting up properly. Not a single word was spoken, each person trying to brush off the weird tension the room had grown.

“Morning!”

Flynn's voice sounded from the driveway, all thoughts of Luke’s comment gone as we waited for the truth about the boys visibly.

⁂

“I can’t believe I can see them now!”

Flynn was practically bubbling at the fact she could see the boys, almost running into someone as she walked backward throughout the mall.

“I don’t know how, but I’m glad something good came from this Caleb thing.”

Julie nodded, grabbing Flynn's shoulders and moving her before she rammed into someone. Flynn didn’t pay any mind to it, still going on and on about how she could see them.

“Now I can finally see what Julie talks about with Luke pinning glares to you,” Flynn wiggled her eyebrows, spotting the H&M in the corner of her eye and doing a 360.

“It’s just a joke.”

Julie let out a sarcastic laugh, looking at the side of my face with an offended glare.

“A joke? You can’t be that oblivious,” Julie spoke, following Flynn into the store while holding the door open for me.

“You know Luke, he’d cocky and thinks it funny,” I tried my best to not let the little joke get to me but it wasn’t exactly easy. I mean, hot ghost boys were complicated enough but liking one added more than just a cherry on top.

It added syrup, sprinkles, and whipped cream.

“You heard him in the studio-” Julie coughed, jokily buffing out her shoulders and dropping her voice down.

“I’ll win you over, eventually,” she did the best Luke impression she could muster, causing a laugh to boil out my mouth.

“It’s Luke, he likes things he can’t have.”

Julie let her shoulders drop, giving a sympathetic smile as she grabbed my shoulder and pulled me closer to her.

“He likes you, I know that much.”

I let the comment roll over my shoulder, doing my best to not think about the ghost in question but it wasn’t easy. He was making this so complicated without knowing.

Why couldn’t he like another ghost, like Alex?

“Glitter!”

I laughed as Flynn almost knocked a whole display over as she saw the glittery shoes that were on the back wall of the store.

⁂

“Ah!”

Julie’s yelp made my body jump, looking over my shoulder at Alex who gave his best sympathies for the jump scare.

“I expect it from Luke, but you Alex?”

He shrugged, standing in-between Julie and me as we both turned to each other to make it seem less weird if we were talking to nobody.

“Why can’t anyone see us?”

“It might only be people that know about you,” I shrugged, it wasn’t the craziest idea and it wouldn’t shock me if that was the thing blocking the afterlife and current life.

Alex nodded, looking between Julie and me while we waited for him to tell us whatever he felt the need to scare us for.

“Need something?” Julie looked up at Alex, shaking her head we waited.

“Oh, well I remembered you had a study hall and I had to get away from Luke.”

I nodded, Julie, waiting still for Alex to continue.

“Luke will not shut up about (Y/N),” he whipped his head around, looking at me with raised eyebrows and a thin lip nod.

“Ah, makes sense,” Julie, nodded at me. I rolled my eyes at the two, turning back to my locker to pull out my English textbook and a few pencils.

“I’m serious, he wanted me to ask you if he knew his middle name! Why do I have to do that?”

I rolled my eyes, doing my best to conceal the smile that was threatening to break across my face at the thought of a confused Luke begging Alex to ask me.

“Well (Y/N) refused to acknowledge Luke likes ‘em,” Julie muttered, I could feel her eyes on my back. I didn’t dare turn around, the bell about to ring as we made our way to the courtyard to get some studying done and fewer eyes to watch us talking to the air.

“You can’t be serious!”

Alex was a calm person, probably the calmest out of the three, but when he got worked up his voice jumped octaves and he’d fling his hands around. I was scared now, to say the least, because we could touch, which meant he could smack me with his wild hand gestures.

“He has like a million songs about, he only writes songs for people he cares about,” Alex tried to block me from walking but I easily ducked under his arm.

“Is that why he wrote “My name is Luke”?”

Julie let out a loud laugh, luckily nobody was around to question the action. Alex didn’t say anything as we continue down the hall, just little broken phrases. As I was about to open the door to the courtyard, my hand landed on something solid.

I let out a scream, backing away as Reggie fell into the door with flushed cheeks.

“Sorry (Y/N)!”

“It’s fine Reg,” I did my best to calm my racing heart, just happy I didn’t have to deal with a stranger or worse Luke.

“Sorry I had to get away from Luke, he was talking about which beanie you smiled at him in,” Reggie nodded, looking between the three of us with an awkward smile.

“Was it the orange once?” Reggie nodded, understanding my words easily. I could feel Alex pointing rapidly at the back of my head.

“What? It’s a nice color,” I shrugged, moving around Reggie to our normal seat outside.

���

“Please (Y/N),” Luke gave his best puppy dog eyes as I sat in one of the chairs around the studio, waiting for everyone else to come back from the snack to hang out around the room with some music involved.

“Luke,” my tone warning, finally growing tired at this game. 

I couldn’t take it much longer, this stupid crush was growing more and more every time Luke said something flirty or even touched me.

“(Y/N),” he spoke my name in a sing-songy voice, giving a little smile as he mistook my anger for something else.

“Stop! I can’t take this anymore, stop it!”

I snapped, my voice bouncing off the beams of the studio roughly.

“Wow,” Luke held his hands up, backing away from me slightly. He looked hurt, but I couldn’t let that get to me if I wanted to make my point.

“Stop chasing me, it hurts Luke.”

He slowly let his hands fall to his side, studying my face as I waited for a witty comment that I would yell about and ruin everything.

“Hurt? I didn’t mean to hurt you,” his voice was soft, apologetic as his hand went to reach for mine before I pulled it back.

“Yes Luke, hurt. I can’t even look at another guy because your little joke went too far.”

I pulled my arm back as he tried to reach for it, looking to the floor of the studio. Where were the rest of the group? I needed an out of this conversation.

“Joke?”

“Yes, this little “I like you” joke,” I could feel my eyes grow heavy as I waited for his apology, that he didn’t mean for this to go so far.

“Look, I know I’m funny but this wasn’t a joke.”

I wanted to laugh my head off, we were arguing and he still found a way to compliment himself.

“You can drop it, Luke, it’s fine but-”

“I can’t just drop my feelings!”

Luke was yelling down, the fire I once had was now fulling inside of Luke as his eyes searched my face.

“Luke,” as soon as I said his name he took off to the other side of the studio, picking up his songbook and flipping throughout pages.

“Skin against skin, mind against mind, I can’t believe I fell this time.”

I rolled my eyes at his antics, him flipping to a different page letting his finger run down the page.

“Give me your heart, it’ll be safe in my hands,” I slowly started walking to Luke shaking my head. I reached out to grab the book but he moved away, jumping on the couch and finding another page.

“If only you knew the warmth you bought to my broken soul.”

“Luke!”

“(Y/N)!”

I could feel hot tears streaming down my face, looking up at him with a pout on my lips.

“I’m not joking, every word I’ve said is true,” he slowly stepped off the couch, looking into my eyes with sincerity. I could feel my arms slowly uncrossing as I watched him closely.

Luke wouldn’t have let a joke go on if he knew it was hurting me.

He meant it.

“Swear on a street dog?”

“I swear on every street dog,” he reached out, grabbing my arm gently to wrap his hand in mine.

“Okay, you won.”

“I won?”

“You said you’d win my over eventually, well you won,” I spoke gently still looking deep into his eyes. A puppy dog smile graced his lips, pulling me slightly closer to him.

“That’s going to make an excellent song.”

I let myself laugh, smiling down at my feet. I could hear the door to the studio open, ignoring the stares on my back as I let myself bask in the joy I felt.

“Great! He’s going to talk about em more,” Alex let out an exhausted breathe. I turned around, dropping Luke’s hand as I faced their smiling face.

“So maybe it wasn’t a joke.”

[crimsonrae]

Reckless Intent: Part One

Summary: When the dance between Sherlock and Delia first began, learning the steps did not come smoothly. But then that would happen when affections haven’t been made clear and a murderer is on the loose.

SherlockXOFC

Rating: M

Warning: Mentions of Prostitution and some minor nudity

A/N: I couldn’t leave the thought of Sherlock and Delia alone and this was how I picture them finally acknowledging the attraction between them. Set about ten years before the events in Enola. Sherlock has only been away from home for about three years.

It hadn’t taken much effort.  

Far less than Delia had anticipated when she had visited with the proprietor of the gentlemen's club, but then she wasn’t surprised by the notion that a group of men who spent their private time ogling scantily clad women, would hire her so quickly to do the same. Her stomach churned with mild disgust while her nerves threatened to undo her.

Large dusky pink feathers danced and skimmed playfully over her delicate slippers, teasing the curve of her calf as she drew the large fan up her body.  

Being in the club was a risk, but it had been the last place her dear friend, Margaret, had visited before her untimely death and the police were making little headway in finding her killer.

She bent sanguinely back in time with the dulcet chords from the piano, allowing a glimpse of the swell of her bosom to the leering crowd below.

Part of their sloth had much to do with the other women's reticence in speaking with the coppers. Their livelihood depended on them being able to keep a secret, after all.  

She winked and tossed her leg up receiving a loud cheer as the men tried to glimpse her coveted virtue.

The other part had much to do with the fact that Margaret had been a former pickpocket and flower-girl, now tobacco-girl. Her death meant little to the constables and even less to the detectives.  

What was one more dead urchin after all?  

It both saddened and enraged Delia, for that had been her life for so very long too. Still was to a certain degree, but she had found employment for her particular skill set... even if it did bring her into contact with the police and an up and coming young detective far too often for her tastes.  

She twirled. The fans just barely hid her assets from the audience as she swayed across the stage.

Unruly fire twisted in her veins as she thought of that arrogant young man. How his cerulean orbs twinkled with dark intrigue with their every encounter... as if she were some mystery for him to puzzle out. She didn’t care for his stares or the odd fluttering he caused her.  

The clip in her hair fell loose as she pirouetted more vigorously than she had intended. Her hair cascaded in soft luscious waves down her back much to the appreciation of her gentleman viewers.

Those flames licked angrily at her throat as she recalled their last meeting. How she had all but begged for his help and he... Humiliated tears burned at her eyes as she tried and failed not to think of his uncaring words.  

Her friend’s death wasn’t interesting. She was likely caught in one of her scams and it ended badly for her. She forced the tears down.  

She tried not to think of why his usual dismissive behavior had wounded her so...

What did Sherlock Bloody Holmes know anyway?

A playful smile curled at the edges of her painted lips as she slid down into a vertical -legged split to roars of delight. Never noticing the lone note of remonstrating silence from the back.

Delia glided from the stage feeling flushed and exhilarated as she was greeted by the knowing chuckles of the other women. There was a strange excitement that came from being so daring and vulnerable before that crowd... she understood now why Margaret had sought it out. She felt almost... powerful.

“You look just like her.” One of the girls murmured, a sad glint tinting her gaze.  

Delia arched a questioning brow, surprised when the other woman continued, “Your friend, Maggie... She had that same dazzled look, Luv.”

A few of the women dispersed, heading for the stage – other's the crowd, but the intent was the same to get away from the coming conversation.  

The woman sighed and adjusted the garter on her thigh as she critically eyed the tight lacing of her silk corset, “We’re not fools, ya know? We know why you’re here. Maggie was a good ‘un. Real riot. Shame, what happened to her.”

Delia’s heart skipped a beat, unsure how to react to being found out so soon – she wasn’t used to others seeing through her disguise. It was foolish on her part; she had visited Margaret here on a few occasions. Hesitantly, she queried, “And do you know what happened to her?”

The other woman sighed and finished tethering her skirt to her hip before turning to her, “’ Course not. She ran into trouble, didn’t she? Word of advice, avoid the red room, else you’ll run into trouble, too.”

The woman spurned Delia with a pointed look before she sauntered off to join another girl on a secondary stage. There was no missing the hint behind her comment.

If Delia’s heart had skipped a beat before, it thrummed with desperate need now. Warily, her eyes darted to the stairs in the back of the club as she pinned a faux skirt over the lacey French drawers that teased her nethers. The private rooms resided above, and Delia shivered to think of what occurred inside. Many of the women sold more than dances, and despite her earlier bravado, such carnality was foreign to her. It saddened her to realize that perhaps it wasn’t foreign to Margaret.

Steeling herself, she pasted a coy smile to her lips and forced mischief to dance in her gaze as she picked up a tobacco tray. She mingled in the crowd. Trading her pouches of dried leaf for coin as she steadily made her way to the stairs. She dumped the tray once she passed the smirking usher at the bottom... now she just needed to find this red room.  

Footsteps and giggling voices interrupted her search before she could even begin. Panic choked at her throat as she sought an open room to duck into, uncertain if her presence would be questioned. She didn’t make it far when a warm hand wrapped around her elbow and yanked her into a darkened room. She yelped, her fist flying at her assailant before she consciously noted it moving, but this too was thwarted.

Her wrist was captured, and her body pressed firmly back into the closed door to prevent any further attack when she caught sight of a familiar pair of cerulean eyes.

“You!” Delia spat, her fear forgotten in the face of her arrogant detective, “Unhand me!”

Momentarily allied that no harm would befall his person, Sherlock stepped back with an arched brow as he faced her ire, “Kindly keep your screeching to a minimum. It wouldn’t do to have us discovered so soon.”

Delia’s mouth dropped open indignantly and her hand tingled with the dark desire to slap his smarmy face. She barely kept hold of her temper as she berated him lowly, “You accosted me, Mr. Holmes. If anything, I should be screaming the building down on you.”

“That would be foolish and counterintuitive to your goals.” Sherlock stated mildly as his gaze deliberately skimmed over her meager dressage. His mouth tightened distastefully, “Though you’ve already proved how foolish you’re willing to be tonight.”

She resisted the urge to cover herself as her gaze darkened almost ferally, “I beg your pardon -”

“You’ll beg for a lot more than that before this night is through.” Sherlock murmured softly, a hint of danger coating his tone that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck and sent heat to her cheeks.

It was then that Delia realized there was no trace of his usual mocking humor. His eyes didn’t twinkle with that thoughtful light but gleamed with dark intent. The passive non-smile that usually painted his maw was now replaced by a tense jaw and a twitching cheek. To anyone unfamiliar with the detective they would merely see an impassive visage, but Delia had encountered him often enough this past year to know he was displeased. In fact... he seemed livid.

The realization sent an untoward shiver down her spine. Vainly, she ignored the embarrassed fluttering he induced in her as she held her scowl, “Why are you here, Mr. Holmes? I didn’t take you for the type to buy his pleasure.”

“Nor did I take you for the type to sell hers.” Sherlock retorted impatiently – even this was unlike him. He was not usually prone to such emotional responses. It made her leery, “I seemed to recall my assistance being required in solving the murder of a one Margaret Harris, Miss. Woodson.”

Delia blanched, her uncertainty growing as she stared bemused, “You said the case wasn’t interesting or worth your time.”

“It’s not.” Sherlock iterated stonily, “But since you seemed intent on running headfirst into trouble, I thought it best to intervene before you did something reckless. Though I see I’m already too late on that account.”

Acidic words danced on the tip of her tongue, but by some odd strength, she kept them at bay. Her attention soundly stuck upon his anger. Delia didn’t understand it, was galled by it... she hated it, “You’re angry.”

“I’m aware.” He answered quietly, making her huff.

Her lips pursed as barely kept reign of her irritation, “Why?”

The air in the room seemed to chill with her question and she had to bite back a gasp as his full attention bore down on her like a malevolent cloud. Incredulity shined like a stray beacon against his ferocious storm of muted fury. He stared at her as if she should already know why he was upset, and Delia had never felt more out to sea. For a wild moment, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be brought back to shore.

“Why?” He growled.  

Delia refused to acknowledge the thrill that hard tone sent through her body as she fought to remember she had been the one wronged in this scenario. Not him.

“Perhaps Miss. Woodson, you are more naïve than I thought. After all, it does take a certain amount of oblivion or perhaps ignorance to not realize where exactly you are standing.” Sherlock lectured crisply as he loomed over her small form, “Is it completely lost on you that you stand in what is essentially a high-caliber bordello? That you are before me in your undergarments? That you are very much at risk of being accosted by far worse characters than myself?”

None of those questions truly answered hers about his motives but rather danced around it. He reminded Delia of a boy she had known as a child. He had had a toy train that he adored more than anything. Strangely, he never played with it, but always had it in hand. He would never let another child play with it and was quite protective of this train. It was his toy. No one else's.  

An inexplicable dawning began to light her mind as if she were seeing the stars in the night sky for the first time.  

Quietly, she prodded him, “I am quite aware, Mr. Holmes. Otherwise, I would not have attempted to defend myself when you did accost me. I understood the risk I took. I also understand that I am not your ward – in any sense of the word. You are not my husband, nor my kin. Your concern for my well being while touching is -”

“Delia.” He barked, making her jump, “Do not insult your intelligence and myself by finishing that sentence.”      

Just as quickly as he had lost grip of his temper, he regained it. She blinked at him wide-eyed as she watched him resume his guarded mask. His control was frightening, but also frustrating. So much went on beneath his prickly surface that to see his countenance crumble was... simply illuminating.  

Her heart beat a frantic staccato in her chest... she wasn’t ready for such illumination, however. Not now. And most certainly not here. She nearly wanted to cry, especially once she realized that to want it otherwise meant she returned his sentiment.  

It simply wasn’t to be born. She did not hold affection for Sherlock Bloody Holmes.  

And yet...

A quiet strangled question left her lips before she could stop herself, “Why are you here, Sherlock?”

His mouth opened to answer before swiftly shutting as he studied her – his head tilted to the side and while she could still make out the fury burning in his bright orbs a strange vulnerability winked like a passing star at her before his visage fell into careful neutrality, “You already know the answer, Miss. Woodson. To speak it would simply be redundant, but I will enact upon that sentiment once we have departed this place. Go and get your things.”

A faint battle ensued within her at his words – Delia wanted so badly to push at him. He dragged her before a truth that she was not ready to face, it seemed only fair that he confirmed her suspicions by admitting his care. But the knowledge that Sherlock was present while Margaret was not, weighed heavily on the battle tides.

She found her back stiffening and chin tilting up as she declared, “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Holmes. Least of all with you. I came here for answers, I’m not leaving until I have them.”

That thin veil of danger descended upon her again as Sherlock glowered at her. Goosepimples shivered down her arms under his silent predation, as her belly swam with anticipation. She suddenly felt very much like a lamb lost to a wolf.  

Unbidden, a small plea came to her tongue, “Sherlo-”

Abruptly, she found herself pinned to the wall and shock thundered through her veins as she distantly perceived the clips of her skirt yank apart before the flimsy fabric fluttered to the ground. Sherlock’s long fingers delved beneath the hem of her undergarments as his mouth claimed hers in a furious kiss that awoke a tempest in her heart.  

Delia squealed, melting into his embrace even as she latched her fingers to his woolen coat to push him away. She barely managed to budge him, when the door swung open admitting a giggling showgirl and her John.

Sherlock growled, his body covering hers effectively from sight as he glowered at the intruding couple, “Room’s taken.”

The man grumbled an apology as he tugged his conquest back out and shut the door behind him. Then and only then did Sherlock return his attention to her. He raised an innocuous brow as he took in her flushed face and gaping expression.

Pleasure twinkled at Delia through his stern visage and she was torn between the need to slap him and a need to taste his lips again. Quietly, he slipped his hand from her drawers and stepped back enough to give her room to breathe. His hungry gaze drifted along her body for a second time as he took in the long expanse of her curved legs.

He swallowed tightly before returning his stormy glare to her face. He left no room for argument as he quietly ordered, “Get your things.”

Yet argue she did, “I’m not -”

His finger came up in warning as he silently dared her to finish that sentence, “You’ll get your answers once I’ve found them. You will not be staying here any longer than it takes for you to find your clothes. Do not test me.”

Still, Delia hesitated, part of her wanted to demand an explanation. Her heart and her mind were of two battles and the sea he had swept her out to, now raged with drowning swells. She didn’t like this confusion, this uncertainty within herself... she wanted answers and not just about Margaret’s murder.

She bit her lip as she fought not to wilt under his demanding stare, “You’re taking the case.”

“If only to keep you out of trouble, yes.” Sherlock intoned almost impatiently. He bent swiping up her skirt and deftly pinned it back in place, “We’ll discuss the matter of your payment, amongst other things once we depart from here – that man was not here to use this room. I don’t know what ears are in the place. So be quick.”

“Sherlock.” She pushed even as he grasped her elbow and ushered her out the door.

He paid her no mind, “Ten minutes, Delia, meet me outside. If I have to come back for you, I will not be pleased.”

He gave her a small nudge towards the stairs, and she couldn’t help but mutter, “You’re not pleased now.”    

“Ten minutes.”

The steel in his tone had her scampering for the back as her stomach clenched. She ignored the wave of arousal coursing through her but raised a hand to her still tingling lips as she bit back a smile.  

Sherlock Bloody Holmes.

Next Chapter

[ingek73]

Prince Harry Nails Why You Shouldn't Say 'You Need Help' To Someone Struggling

Here's how the remark can backfire, and what to say when addressing mental health instead.

By

Lindsay Holmes

05/13/2021 03:40pm EDT

Prince Harry has a knack for dropping eloquent mental health truths, and his interview this week on Dax Shepard’s “Armchair Expert” podcast is no exception.

In the episode, the two discussed their fear of sharing past traumas or mental health difficulties with others. Shepard said that he worried his peers would call him “attention-seeking” or tell him to “stop being a baby.”

Harry replied that the phrase “you need help,” which is often employed as a joke or insult, is another damaging reaction. That’s because it implies “I don’t know how to deal with this, you’re unhinged or you’re not particularly well ― go and seek help,” he explained.

“Rule No. 1 is that when you actually want or feel as though someone needs help, telling them to their face ‘you need help’ is probably the best way for them to go ‘uh no ― no I don’t,’” Harry said.

“Any single one of us ― wherever we are, wherever we come from ― will always try to find some way to be able to mask the actual feeling,” he continued. “That was a huge part of the beginning of my life. I rejected it, I said there was nothing wrong with me. I’m fine.”

He’s absolutely right. We’ve made progress as a society, but that doesn’t erase past decades of mental health stigma (which still persists in some ways). Telling someone they need mental health help has often been used in a derogatory way ― particularly when someone is being what others consider “problematic.”

Saying “you need help” turns a process that would actually be beneficial into the absolute last thing anyone would want to do. It implies that you’re beyond personal care and only a therapist can “fix” you.

In reality, people living with mental health conditions need both professional and social support. Research shows that loved ones play an integral role in our mental health: One study showed people with depression who have poor social support have worse symptoms and recovery. That same study suggested that people with anxiety disorders, bipolar disorder or schizophrenia may also have similar outcomes.

Another study found that social support is a significant protective factor against postpartum depression. Other evidence states that a lack of social support is associated with an increased likelihood of developing post-traumatic stress disorder following a traumatic event.

Now, of course, there are many cases in which a person might say “you need help” more seriously. It might be a well-intentioned or compassionate observation. That’s fine! Your concern is needed! But there are ways to make that statement sound more caring and less dismissive.

Below are a few options to try the next time you find yourself in this situation.

Ask an open-ended question that acknowledges mental health issues.

“My favorite way to get into these conversations is to lead with normalizing it and then get into open-ended questions,” said Jessica Gold, an assistant professor in the department of psychiatry at the Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis. “Like, ‘This pandemic has been really hard on me mentally, what has it been like for you?’ And see where the conversation goes.”

Say, “I noticed _____ and I wanted to check in.”

Gold said this isn’t necessarily her first option, but it is one method you can try.

“I always try to lead with non-accusatory statements where possible, trying really hard to say things that don’t point out something someone may see as a ‘fault,’” she said.

You don’t want to make them feel like they look bad, but rather compassionately bring up your concerns. For example, “I noticed you’ve been a little down and haven’t been playing piano much recently, so I wanted to check in.”

You can also ask them how they want you to check in.

Do they prefer a text every so often? What kind of questions actually help them open up? Would they rather you ask about symptoms or distract them from what’s going on for a little while?

“I think it is important to ask people how they want to be checked in with,” Gold said. For example, people who are well-meaning “often say things like ‘Are you eating?’ to the people with eating disorders or ask about symptoms of depression or anxiety. People understand why you are checking on them, but it is important to try to do it on their terms.”

Ask, “Would you like me to help you find a professional to speak to?”

Think someone genuinely needs help? Offer to search for someone with them.

“Help people navigate the mental health system. The mental health system is inherently broken, but it is also not designed to be very helpful for people with actual mental health disorders,” Gold said.

“For example, you have to call a bunch of therapists and see if they have openings, and maybe follow up,” Gold continued. “Depression decreases your motivation and activation energy and anxiety makes talking to people on the phone hard. It can help tremendously for friends and family to help get you where you need to go ― look up therapists, or hospitals if that is what they need, even manage the emails and communication initially. But, you should ask if they want help with it before you just do it, of course.”

Therapy isn’t a dirty word or something to be shamed, Gold stressed. “It doesn’t mean something is ‘wrong’ with me, it means I made a choice to support myself more, to make my life more balanced.”

And if you are making jokes or snide comments about someone’s mental health, know that it says way more about you than it does about them. Be kind and open when someone is vulnerable around you. No one is asking you to be perfect ― just asking you not to be a jerk.

[thebeautyoffandoms]

*cracks knuckles* Aight, I have a million thoughts about pandora hearts ALL THE TIME, so buckle up. The previous ask about Leo/Elliot vs Gil/Oz was 👌 but what I love about the two separate Servant/Master dynamics is how the characters are foils to each other. Like. It’s so good. When Oz and Gil met, Oz was in that phase of his life where he wanted to feel reliable and so he told Gil to lean on him—Gil, as we know, was Pretty Messed Up™ and didn’t want to think about anything, so he threw himself into his role as a servant. So, they had kind of an unhealthy yet balanced(?) master/servant relationship. Contrast that to when Elliot met Leo and it’s like day and night. Leo was completely content living as the top dog in his orphanage, getting the younger kiddos to behave, reading books, and playing the piano. Leo didn’t need anything—he didn’t even want to be looked at or really acknowledged. Then comes Elliot (bless his lovely face) barging in and getting in his face, wanting everyone to know who he is and why his family is respectable instead of shady. He is loud and proud (literally lmao). Instead of jumping at the opportunity to be the servant of the youngest Nightray son, Leo actually responds with “no way in hell” to his offer. It’s my absolute favorite thing. Everything about Elliot is something Leo has deliberately avoided up to that point in his life, yet he concedes because he finds Elliot interesting. Where Gil is blind to what his master does, Leo is absolutely enthralled by his master’s (often idiotic) choices and corrects him when he needs it. Gil doesn’t do this, not always out of fear of his master, but I think because he knows about Oz’s severely perfectionistic ideals and goals. So as to not deride his master or make him feel low, he instead chooses to suggest things in a loose manner. Anyway, I ain’t gonna apologize that this is way super long cuz I don’t really have anyone else who talks PH so lol. Your thoughts?

my thoughts? so so so many- ahem- anyway! i think you put it pretty perfectly- the fact that, to be honest, if i gave someone a description of Leo (especially before-Elliot Leo), then a description of Elliot, I'm not sure they'd exactly say "woah, they'd be great having to spend most of their time together!" honestly, they'd probably even fit into "rivals (from a shoujo manga more than a shounen i'd think)" category??

Elliot and Leo, in my opinion, are sort of like... perfect opposites? or maybe the whole "opposites attract" thing? or maybe even not since, like you said, Leo simply found Elliot (Nightray. Elliot Nightray, proudly wearing the Nightray name. Why? Leo probably didn't know-) entertaining (understandably so. I'm sure many did- our lovely, precious, cocky teenage boy barging into an orphanage, just to yell at the same kid every time- we love to see it, love to see it) and wanted to read from the library- plus, that "no way in hell" line is one of my favorites- Leo, an orphan, when compared to an rich boy aristocrat like Elliot, doesn't have much to be proud of but, my goodness, is Leo proud in his own way. Why would someone who preferred to keep to himself and his books most of the time, want to have anything to do with.. well- Elliot?? Taking care of a boy (a loud, frankly obnoxious at times, boy) who's perfectly capable of laying out his own clothes isn't exactly ideal, yk? But, the fact that he accepts, and considering the fact that Leo is indeed at least obligated to lay out Elliot's clothes makes me laugh.

ANYWAY, comparing our two best master/servant relationships, you're still exactly right. Gil looks up to Oz, and Oz treats him... like... a really annoying older brother may?? I'm not sure how else to put "bullies him, but like?? affectionately", since Leo definitely "bullies Elliot, but like?? affectionately" in a completely different way. Leo sees Elliot as a friend, despite being obligated to call him his master, the same way Elliot sees Leo as a friend. Looking at Oz and Gil you see "master/servant." (also like you said, in a borderline unhealthy way) Looking at Elliot and Leo you see "friend/friend." Sure, as time passes Gil (eventually) drops the "young master" from Oz's name, but you still get the master/servant vibes throughout it all- maybe less at the end, when they've both grown in different ways, it feels a bit more natural? But, it's been a while since I've read it, so I'm not sure if Gil ever really drops the "I look up to you, Oz." Leo, however, I'm not sure he looked up to Elliot even once- maybe admired him for a split second, but... as much as I love him, and as much as I personally admire Elliot, he makes some idiotic decisions. Having Leo correct him is all part of the fun tho- plus, it makes the scene after Elliot scolds(? maybe not the right word, but i'm too excited to rant about ph to care) Oz feel a bit different? When Leo tells him something along the lines of "I'll scold you when you deserve it" (that's definitely a good way off the mark, but I have it in my mind ahh)

It's also fun to think about everything that must have happened between Elliot and Leo that wasn't shown. They spent years together, after all- not every day could be summarized in those flashbacks or scenes. All the arguments we missed, and all of the fun times. Leo and Elliot aren't the most perfect together, since their personalities clash pretty hard- so I'm sure they both got sick of each other, but, sort of like siblings do, they still cared for the other. No matter how hard and long they argued, they were still friends- heck, the fact that they argue so much makes it feel even less like a master and his servant. Leo's got a sharp tongue and shorter-than-average temper, and Elliot has a short temper and sharper-than-average tongue. It's honestly funny- these boys give me so much joy, as I'm sure they did for each other. I'll also choose not to think of the hard times, thank you very much. Yk, the confusion, the guilt Leo must have felt, what was going on in their heads when things started to get weird- i.e., when Elliot said he composed the song that Leo claimed to have.

I'm sure there's so much more I could add to this, and maybe some I got scrambled, or maybe I missed your point entirely, BUT- long story short, I love both Elliot and Leo so very dearly, and their relationship has made me laugh and cry- and still can, even after I've finished the series-

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Sunset Swerve - Part 10

Pairing: Luke x OC

Word Count: 5.3K

Warnings: some swearing, i actually think that’s it for this part?

A/N: Okay here’s part 10, or as I’ve been calling it: Part 9 2: Electric Boogaloo. This is a very special edition of Sunset Swerve in which you get to read from Luke’s POV! This is covering the same time frame as part 9 but Luke’s pov provides some different scenes and new insight that’s kinda significant so I would really recommend not skipping it lol. I wanna shoutout @meangirlsx for being my sounding board and giving me loads of help on these two parts! As always, send me a message/drop a comment if you want to be tagged and let me know what you think!

Part 9  Masterlist

___

The week started off great for Luke. He was coming off the high from their performance at the open mic time and the relief that Julie didn’t have to quit the band. The latter fact also absolved him from his guilt of having suggested that Julie sneak out in the first place.

He found himself spending a lot of time with Jordan in the following days between talking about the book he’d started (she had been right, Annabeth was really cool though he maintained that she was stuck-up) and writing music. Their relationship had become much more civil following his birthday, though the fighting didn’t stop. Luke was starting to wonder if Jordan could survive without regularly making snarky or sarcastic comments. Still, the newfound closeness had been… nice. Luke wasn’t entirely sure how to categorize it, especially alongside the feelings he was certain he had for Julie.

As he sat across from Jordan, close enough that their knees were touching as they worked through some rhythms on a new song, Luke found that he wasn’t certain of anything. Jordan felt like a magnet- he realized belatedly that she always had- constantly pulling him closer and closer no matter how much either of them tried to pull away. He was starting to wonder if learning metaphors at book club was really a good thing.

“Hey Luke, can I ask you about something?” Julie pipped up from the entryway of the garage, pulling him away from his thoughts and Jordan.

“Sure, what’s up?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow quizzically.

“Oh, um, actually can we talk outside?” She asked and he furrowed his brow but nodded, setting down his guitar and jogging over to where she stood by the doors.

“This is gonna sound weird but can I ask why Jordan was with you at your house the other day?” Julie asked unsurely once they were outside and Luke froze, not expecting the question.

“How’d you…?” He trailed off, peering at the girl suspiciously. He hadn’t told anyone that he made frequent visits to his house, though he suspected the guys knew and Jordan had figured it out on his birthday.

“Alex and Reggie took me…” Julie said, tucking her hair behind her ear embarrassedly. “After I called you selfish and said you didn’t care about anyone but yourself…”

“That’s ironic coming from you, Miss Boundaries,” he scoffed irritatedly, brows furrowed in anger and Julie sighed.

“I’m really sorry Luke, it was wrong.”

“But now you wanna snoop even more,” he frowned, raising his brows as if to say ‘seriously?’

Julie opened her mouth to defend herself but Luke cut her off with a sigh before answering her question.

“If you must know, Jordan and I have spent every birthday together since we were five, I guess she figured I could use the comfort and familiarity.” He shrugged, trying to downplay how much the gesture had meant to him. It’s been really difficult, grieving his loss of his parents while they grieved him even twenty-five years later. At least when he was a runaway there was still always the possibility of reconciliation. Now there never would be.

“That’s really thoughtful,” Julie said, “But it doesn’t make sense. You guys hate each other, what happened?”

“Oh, we always have,” he smirked to himself, remembering that first day they met. He’d found a massive spider in the yard and thought it would be funny to put it in her hair, obviously, she hadn’t felt the same and the rest was history. “But our parents really wanted us to be friends so… birthday parties.”

“That explains a lot, actually,” Julie nodded thoughtfully and now it was Luke’s turn to be confused, tilting his head in a silent request for the girl to explain. “You guys have these moments where you like, exude this closeness that totally doesn’t fit the nature of your relationship. It makes sense now, knowing how long you’ve known each other.”

“I mean, there was a point where we were basically the closest thing to family each other had,” Luke shrugged, thinking about those last five months in the studio. “Guess we forgot about that when we died.”

They’d grow inexplicably close in those months that they’d lived together. It was an unspoken closeness, neither of them dared to acknowledge it but Luke saw it often in the little things. They’d stopped calling each other names when it was just them in the garage and sometimes when he was stuck on a new song he was writing she’d shout out suggestions from across the room. It was like they’d called an unconscious truce in their grief but when they came back as ghosts that all disappeared, the two immediately back at each others’ throats.

When Luke returned to the studio after his conversation with Julie it had sort of felt like the same thing had happened again. He’d thought he was finally making headway with Jordan, that they’d finally started back on the path to friendship after his birthday, or maybe even something more, and while things hadn’t totally changed, they felt different somehow.

She’d stopped hanging out with him in her free time. Instead, she spent the time holed up in the corners of the studio with her notebook or sitting behind the piano or her guitar, playing or strumming as she hummed softly. Luke wanted to help her out or tell her she sounded beautiful but he couldn’t help but notice how secretive she was being. They’d been working on songs together recently but this one she seemed determined to keep to herself.

When he entered the studio one afternoon to find her notebook on the couch, completely unguarded he couldn’t help himself. He blamed his overwhelming curiosity for why he picked it up despite knowing first-hand how sacred a song journal was.

When he found the partially written song at the back of the notebook he sucked in a breath, chest filling with hope at the lyrics on the page. It wasn’t much, only one verse and a chorus and what looked like half a pre-chorus but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was about him.

[Verse ?]

Bored of games why do you still play?

Back and forth, it’s always the same

You’re player one, I’m player two, who is she, player who?

Roll the dice and make your way

Pre-chorus

I know I’m hard but that’s part of it

You could leave but you are still here

and I’ve nowhere to go but ???

His mind whirled as he tried to work it out for himself. It screamed jealousy to him. She’d started writing after he’d had his conversation with Julie, so it wasn’t an unreasonable guess that he was “you” and Julie was “she.” She was jealous of him and Julie. But was it platonic? Was it more than that?

He was pretty sure he’d lost his damn mind in the hurricane of questions racing through his brain. It was the only explanation for the pure stupidity of what he did next.

“Moss, what’s this?” He asked when she found him with her notebook. Then he started to read off the chorus,

“I’m selfish, I’m selfish, I’m selfish

when it comes to you.

I can’t help it, can’t help it

crazy things that I do.”

“Give it back,” she snapped, cheeks flushing in what he later recognized as a mix of embarrassment and anger but at the time his brain ignored entirely, too caught up in an unthought-out attempt to confront her feelings.

“When I need you I come back to you.

I’m selfish, I’m selfish

when it comes to you.”

“I’m serious, Patterson. You don’t see me poking around in your notebook,” Jordan argued, grabbing hold of the notebook but not pulling it out of his hands.

“You don’t see me leaving my notebook lying around.” His body and his mouth were moving on autopilot but without a GPS as he responded cheekily, letting go of the notebook. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his rational brain was screaming at him to shut up but he just kept talking. “Who’s it about?”

“None of your business.”

Though his brain was on a self-destructive warpath, he couldn’t help but notice how adorable Jordan looked hugging the notebook to her chest protectively. Though, the adorableness factor was negated slightly by the death glare in her eyes.

“I think it’s about me,” he announced smugly, leaning back against the couch haughtily as if daring her to contradict him.

What the hell are you doing, man?

“I think you’re a dumbass,” she spat, and just like that she was gone, poofing away.

He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands with a groan as he realized what he did.

For the next day and a half, he could feel how the atmosphere between them had grown frigid. He’d tried to apologize a few times but every time he got close she would poof away, clearly not wanting to hear from him. What interactions they did have in those couple days were short and snide, laced with venom and insults. The behavior didn’t seem out of the ordinary to the rest of the group, but to Luke, it felt like he’d just stepped from the warm beach into ice-cold water and it was all his fault.

Luke was on the brink of losing his mind again when he went out on a limb that night. He, Alex, and Reggie were about to go out exploring like they did most nights after all the lifers went to sleep and he really wasn’t keen on leaving Jordan in the studio to stew in her anger.

“C’mon, Moss, we’re going exploring!” he called up to the loft. Deciding he’d given her enough space, it was time for ambush mode.

“And why would I want to go anywhere with you?” She called back venomously, not even deigning to come to the railing of the loft or poof down to speak to him face-to-face.

He sighed, clenching his eyes shut briefly before exhaling heavily and speaking.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” He called back, wishing he wasn’t doing this in front of Reggie and Alex. “I shouldn’t have gone through your notebook, it was a dick move.”

Luke was surprised at how quickly she forgave him, poofing down only moments after he apologized. He stared at her surprise, his body more relaxed now that she was spending time with them again. He hoped Alex and Reggie weren’t watching him, afraid they might somehow see the pure relief and adoration that he felt for her. Maybe he was being dramatic, but he swore he stopped breathing when she finally turned to look at her. He was totally screwed.

___

The next morning was quiet, though it felt like everything had gone back to normal. Jordan was sprawled across the couch which Luke had stopped trying to claim possession over, it was his couch but at this point, it might as well have been hers. Alex was sitting across from him making a friendship bracelet that he secretly hoped was for him but thought might’ve been for Willie, and Luke was reading his book. Things were really starting to pick up in the characters’ quest and he was apparently so invested that he barely recognized Reggie’s arrival until he heard the word “gig.”

Just like that he was on his feet along with Jordan and Alex, quest entirely forgotten as they all started blurting out questions.

“Where?”

“When?’

“How?”

Reggie excitedly explained how they were having a garage party at the house so that their band could perform and Ray and some of his colleagues would record them professionally for the band’s YouTube. Then Reggie patiently explained what a YouTube was and Luke briefly wondered when he’d learned more about modern technology than the rest of them. He supposed Julie did give him that iPod.

“We’re gonna record a music video? Like on MTV?” He exclaimed excitedly after Reggie had explained.

“Yes, dude! And Julie says if we get enough views we could go big!”

Luke gaped at his three bandmates, trying to come up with a vocalization for the thoughts flying through his head. All of a sudden there was a lot at stake for this event, the whole world would be able to see their performance. It had to be perfect. They needed to practice, hell they needed to pick a song.

He needed to talk to Julie.

When he reappeared in the school hallway he realized he probably should’ve told the group where he was going but it was too late now.

“What’re you doing here?” Julie asked him after getting over the initial shock of his sudden appearance.

“We need to talk about what song we’re gonna play tonight,” Luke said excitedly, grinning at the girl. “I was thinking Great?”

Julie held up a finger to signal she needed a moment before pulling out her phone.

“Wait seriously? You’re just gonna take a call while we’re talking? That’s so rude!”

Julie rolled her eyes at his dramatics before explaining, “Otherwise people might think I’m talking to myself.”

“Right, nice, okay,” Luke nodded, impressed by her quick thinking.

It was strange to be back in a high school hallway after so long, chatting with a cute girl by the lockers. The thought immediately brought the image of Jordan. Wow, he was really screwed.

“But yeah, I think Great is a… great choice,” Julie answered his question and he nodded, satisfied with the choice.

“Alright, sweet! Well, that was pretty much all I wanted to talk to you about so…”

“Oh! Okay,” Julie said, surprised.

“Actually wait- I wanted to talk to you about Jordan,” He started. He knew he and Julie had something between them but with these rising feelings about Jordan he’d been experiencing he didn’t want to lead her on. “Look, I, uh, I don’t really know how to say this but-“

“You have a crush on Jordan!” Julie gasped, effectively cutting him off.

His cheeks turned red and he scratched the back of his neck embarrassedly.

“Yeah- I mean, I don’t know but…”

“But you don’t want to hurt me,” Julie finished and Luke raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Wow, you are really perceptive Molina,” he said and she smiled.

“You don’t have to worry about me-“

“Sorry, my Patterson Idiocy Meter was going off,” Jordan explained as she suddenly appeared beside him, effectively putting an end to his conversation with Julie. “It lets me know when he’s doing something especially stupid.”

Luke rolled his eyes at the comment, sticking his tongue out petulantly at the girl and Julie gave him a knowing smile.

“Anyway,” Luke said dramatically, rerouting the conversation and turning back to Julie. “I was thinking, you should just ditch school today and come rehearse with us.”

He probably should’ve anticipated both girls’ protests but he still found himself trying to rationalize what he knew was a bad idea.

“Right, you were at school first, and now you’re leaving to go rehearse.”

“Stop trying to persuade her to do bad things!” Jordan chastised him, smacking his shoulder lightly.

“I really can’t. Plus I promised Nick I’d be his dance partner…” Julie explained, and Luke noticed Jordan wiggling her eyebrows at the mention of the name. He was clearly missing something.

“…and he’s heading this way,” Julie finished, pretending to hang up the phone in favor of talking to the blond-haired boy who just walked up.

“Well don’t you look sharp!” Julie’s reaction to his teasing told him all he needed to know about her feelings and the boy was not being sly about his at all. “Uh-oh, I think somebody’s got a crush on Julie!”

He couldn’t help it. It’s the designated role of all close friends to make fun of each other for their crushes. He knew by the way Julie had reacted when he’d told her about his (well, tried to tell her) that she was never going to let him hear the end of it. So, he dove right into it, mimicking Nick’s motions and facial expressions all with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Oh he is just too cute,” he teased when the blond lifer finally walked away.

“Boundaries,” Julie reminded him with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll see you after school.”

She began walking away towards her class but Luke wasn’t ready to end the conversation.

“Fine! I guess we’ll just have to carry you tonight, just like we always do!” He called down the hallway and he could see Julie shake her head slightly in exasperation. “I know you’re smiling, Molina!”

“Shut up, Luke,” Jordan rolled her eyes, smacking his chest lightly and he sent her a cheeky grin. “Good luck Julie! You’ll do great!” She called after the girl and Luke awed internally at the support.

“Yeah! Kill it on the dance floor!” He joined in, shuffling smoothly across the floor as he yelled.

“Dork,” he heard Jordan mutter and he snapped towards her, feigning upset despite how pleased he was at the attention he was getting.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta get rehearsing,” he spoke, brushing off the dramatics but she waved him off.

“I’ll be right there.”

He frowned, wanting her to come with him but he poofed away anyway, landing back in the garage between Reggie and Alex.

They immediately got to work, Luke walking them through Great. He felt bad doing it without Jordan since it was really her and Julie’s song more than anything, but he really wanted them to sound as best as they could. It was her song and they needed to do it justice.

They’d only just gotten through the basic structure and Jordan’s plans for the song, which she’d scribbled into the margins of his notebook pages while they worked on it together, when they were interrupted by a face in the window.

“Again? What’s all that about?” Reggie asked when Willie’s face disappeared from view, the boy clearly knowing he’d been caught.

Luke shrugged in response, just as lost as the rest but Alex stood, seemingly determined to get answers this time as he poofed out.

Despite their typical itch to snoop, the two boys gave Willie and Alex their privacy, instead moving over to their respective instruments to tune and warm up while they waited.

Luke could tell something was off when Alex returned but the blond-haired ghost had gone straight for his drumset, insisting that they start rehearsing. So, Luke didn’t push it, until about halfway through the song Alex got a little too into his drums, no longer playing along.

“Alex are you alright?” He asked sincerely once he’d stopped playing.

“Yeah... yeah, why?” Alex asked, trying to brush it off but Luke and Reggie had already connected the dots.

Alex only ever played like that when he was upset and since he was in a good mood before Willie showed up, it wasn’t difficult to figure out.

“I know it’s tough man. People say you never forget your first ghost.” Reggie spike sympathetically, “but... I’m sure there will be others.”

“Yeah, thanks Reg,” Alex nodded and Luke stepped forward, clutching his guitar strap as if to brace himself. He wasn’t very good at expressing things outside of music.

“Yeah, and Alex, you’re a great drummer and a great guy, okay?” He said, leaning onto the drumset slightly as he spoke. “I wouldn’t let all that stuff get in between you and what you love.”

Alex nodded and Luke finally noticed Jordan’s presence in the studio. He’d started to take steps in her direction to ask when she’d gotten there when Reggie spoke up again.

“I don’t know, sometimes a little fire onstage can make things better,” he said suggestively and Luke froze in the center of the band setup. “Like you and Julie.”

His head immediately snapped towards Jordan, trying to gauge her reaction to the statement. He was already certain she thought there was something between him and Julie, she’d written a whole song out of jealousy after all, but he needed her to know that wasn’t true.

“Uh, what... what is that supposed to mean?” Luke asked, trying to play innocent and hoping Reggie would get the hint and back off.

“C’mon, everyone can see the way you look at her when you sing,” Reggie chuckled, clearly not understanding. “You guys ooze chemistry.”

“Please never say ooze again,” Alex said to Reggie before turning to Luke, “But you have to agree he’s right.”

“No, no.” Luke denied vehemently, chancing another nervous glance at Jordan only to find she had become suddenly very interested in her shoes. “I have chemistry with everyone I sing with.”

It felt like a reasonable excuse to him, and it wasn’t exactly wrong. He did have chemistry when he sang with people, but it wasn’t because of the person, it was because of the music. Still, Reggie and Alex gave him looks of disbelief and he huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, watch,” he said, taking a determined step towards Jordan. Sure he was trying to prove a point to the guys, but maybe he could prove something else to himself and Jordan.

Still, before he could even take another step she stopped him.

“You’d better take that step back,” she demanded, not even looking up from the floor and his heart sank.  

He shook it off with a sigh, still determined to prove his point to the guys. So he turned on his heel, confidently stepping towards Reggie as he began to sing.

“I believe, I believe that we’re just one dream away from who we’re meant to be.” When he got close enough, he slipped his hand around the back of the bassist‘s neck, pulling their faces even closer together. “That we’re standing on the edge of… great.”

He winked at the boy when he finished and stepped back, watching with a smirk as Reggie gulped. Mission accomplished.

“Wow,” Alex remarked, “I see chemistry.”

“Yeah, that was pretty hot,” Reggie admitted, voice cracking as he spoke.

Riding on the high of his success, Luke took it one step further, kissing two of his fingers before placing them on Reggie’s lips. When he heard a giggle from behind him he whirled around to grin at Jordan, elated that he could turn her mood around. She rolled her eyes in response but he didn’t care. He was starting to think maybe they were a sign of endearment from her with how much she did it.  

“Girls, amiright?” Reggie croaked out and Luke chuckled.

“Yeah,” he agreed and Alex quickly chimed in.

“No,” the drummer said definitively with a light chuckle.

Jordan barked out a laugh at that, poofing over to the drummer to give him a high five before poofing back to the front of the band setup. Luke shook his head at that, ducking his head to hide his smile as he slipped his guitar strap back across his body.

Practice went smoothly after that, though Jordan and Reggie insisted on messing around until Julie got there. He felt kinda lonely with Jordan now hanging out on Reggie’s side of the setup but it was worth it to see her smile and hear her laughter. He didn’t even have the heart to tell them to take this practice seriously since they had a performance tonight. When the hell did he become so whipped for a girl he wasn’t even sure liked him back?

He couldn’t begrudge them their fun, even screwing around Jordan and Reggie were some of the best musicians he knew and it was obvious when Julie got there. They only had an hour of true, focused rehearsal with the whole group yet it sounded amazing. Still, Luke was nervous. If he’d had his way, they would’ve practice until it was perfect but he knew that wasn’t reasonable.

Luke was bummed when Jordan left to get ready in Julie’s room. He figured they needed their “girl time” or whatever but- though he’d never say it out loud- watching Jordan do her makeup had become part of his pre-performance routine and he was a bit fascinated by the whole ordeal. Instead, he spent the time leading up to their performance reading his book or talking with Alex and Reggie.

Luke’s nerves didn’t present themselves outwardly as much as Jordan’s did. It was something he’d noticed back when they’d both started performing. When Jordan got nervous she moved, flicking and shaking her hands, bouncing in place, anything to stop her standing still. Luke, on the other hand, internalized his nerves. He would become uncharacteristically quiet the closer he got. When he first started performing for crowds his hands would tremble, something he’d had to figure out how to counteract pretty quickly because it’s really hard to play the guitar with shaky hands.

Still, pre-performance nerves were when his insecurities popped up the most so when he looked up and saw Jordan, Alex, and Reggie all holding hands in the garage while Julie started the song, he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He probably looked like a kicked puppy but he felt like one. His bandmates had left him out of something.

As if reading his thoughts, Jordan reached her hand out to him in a silent invitation to join whatever pre-show ritual they’d started without his knowledge. As soon as he took her hand he understood why they did it: silent solidarity. A small but strong reminder that they were in this together. Then Jordan squeezed his hand lightly, giving him just enough time to squeeze back before they were poofing onstage, well, onto the driveway.

Julie and Jordan were electric in center stage and all five of them were sounding great (no pun intended). Everything was going perfectly until Luke nodded his head at Jordan, silently asking her to come share his mic but she pointedly ignored him. Luke furrowed his brow in confusion as she angled her body away from him as she picked up the next verse.

Maybe it was a mistake, he thought, trying it again as he and Julie joined her vocals.

“Sometimes we gotta lean, lean on someone else to get a little help until we find a way,” they sang together, and Luke frowned slightly. Those lines had always made him think of Jordan, especially after his birthday and it hurt extra that she was ignoring him.

He tried to ignore the stab of jealousy he felt when she moved to the other side of the setup to sing to Alex by focusing on the music and singing with Reggie but it didn’t fully work. He still wanted her attention and he wanted to know why he wasn’t getting it.

His wounded puppy eyes were fully intact when he stepped up beside where Julie crouched on the piano to play his guitar solo. She gave him a sympathetic smile before shrugging lightly, seemingly understanding why he was upset but also unaware as to why he was being shunned. It made him feel a bit better, at least he wasn’t the only one in the dark. As the section came to an end he noticed her eyes flicking out to the crowd and followed them, spotting a familiar blond. He sent her a teasing wink as he hit the last note and she stood fully on the piano in what was a truly epic moment. That girl was a performer through and through.

He slid back to his microphone behind the piano, still hurt but pushing it aside to finish out the performance. Now really wasn’t the time to get lost in speculation and self-pity.

He was surprised when he and the guys returned to invisibility only to see Jordan still out there, singing and playing along with Julie. It was clearly a beautiful and emotional moment for the two and he wondered when they’d planned it. Still, that wasn’t his first question when he finally got time to talk to the ghost girl.

“Hey, so, how come you were ignoring me out there?” He asked her after the lifers had evacuated the driveway.

Reggie and Alex were playing some basketball on the hoop hanging from the garage door while Jordan was perched on the ledge at the end of the driveway, scribbling into her notebook.

“What are you talking about?” She asked, looking up to stare at him in confusion.

“During the performance… I wanted you to come sing with me…” he spoke, leaving pauses in hopes that she’d catch on and put him out of his misery but she never did. “C’mon Moss, I did the head nod and everything!”

“Those were for me?” She exclaimed, looking at him like he’d lost his mind, “I thought you were trying to get Julie!”

He felt the relief wash over him with those words. So it was just a simple misunderstanding.

The relief was short-lived, however, as the four of them were suddenly struck through with another jolt, sending the three guys sprawling to the ground and Jordan doubling over.

“Jesus fuck,” he heard Jordan curse as she clutched her chest and he groaned in agreement, pushing himself off the cement.

“That wasn’t like the other ones,” he said, “It’s getting worse.”

“Why is this happening to us?” Reggie asked, still bent over as he recovered.

“It’s because you guys are in serious trouble,” Willie answered, nervously approaching the four ghosts. “We need to talk.”

They all nodded in agreement, silently moving together before Willie poofed them to Hollywood.

They followed him along the Walk of Fame as he explained all about how Caleb’s stamp was the reason the jolts kept happening. That he’d stamped them to force them to work for him because they were too powerful.

“So, if we don’t join his club, the weird power outage thing continues until there’s no power left at all?” Reggie asked, crossing his arms over his chest nervously.

“Yes,” Willie answered, not meeting any of their eyes.

“What exactly happens when the power goes out?”

“That’s… that’s it. You’re done.”

Luke heard Jordan suck in a breath beside him, freezing in her tracks and the rest of the group slowed to a halt.

“Yeah, what do you mean by ‘we’re done?’” Reggie asked the question none of them wanted to hear the answer to.

“You just… you don’t exist… anymore. Not anywhere.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jordan slap a hand over her mouth as if to cover up a sob. He knew she was thinking about her parents, how she’d never see them again because of this and his blood began to boil.

“So what, we have to give up everything and work for Caleb for eternity?” He spat angrily, “That’s some club you guys got going on.”

He took a step back, reaching down discretely to grab Jordan’s hand, hoping to provide her with any kind of comfort and support.

“But there is another way,” Willie explained, “That’s why I’m here.”

“Another option?” Alex asked skeptically.

“Just please, hear me out.” Willie pleaded, and Luke shared a look with the other guys. “Alright. If you guys could figure out what your unfinished business is, you do it in time, you could cross over and be free from all of this.”

“Okay, so what’s our unfinished business?” Luke asked, squeezing Jordan’s hand reassuringly. He’d figure it out just for her.

“I don’t know,” Willie said. “But since you all died at the same time it could be something you all have to do together.”

Luke’s mind began whirling, trying to figure out what it could be. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely registered Willie departing, or Alex and Reggie talking.

“We have to figure out our unfinished business,” he insisted, finally joining in on the conversation.

“Yeah, man, and how are we supposed to do that? Alright?” Alex asked frustratedly. “There was so much we wanted to do.”

The combination of Alex’s words and him noticing the sign in the background brought upon Luke’s epiphany.

“Yeah, but the night we died, there was only one thing we wanted to do together,” he explained, pointing towards the Orpheum sign with his free hand.

Part 11

___

JATP Taglist: @meangirlsx @morganayennefertyrell

Sunset Swerve Taglist: @oopsiedoopsie23 @angryknightstatesmantrash @onlygetaway @deni-gonzalez @advicefromnixxxx @brooke0297 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @cordeliascrown

[fishylife]

Street Dance of China, Season 4, Episode 4

- I’ve had issues with Tumblr not saving my posts again v.v I’ll just save often and hope that that does the trick.

- Latrice and Ibuki reenacting HB’s performance haha. From the behind the scenes clips I’ve seen, Ibuki does speak English, so I like to think they are now friends :D

- Hilty & Bosch have known each other since they were six years old T_T That’s cuuuute. Apparently they don’t get into arguments a lot because they always keep a distance between them XD Good strategy.

- San’er’s performance was great! He definitely brings the entertainment in his creativity (including incorporating a story line), but he doesn’t forget about the technical parts of dancing (the popping).

- Bouboo cheering on Rochka when he challenged Jianyan :P

- This spinning move he did was neat

- 不咋地 is going to be the recurring inside joke between Yibo, Rochka, and Bouboo ^^;;

- Yixing singing the SDOC theme song again XD With his super low energy voice XD

- Yibo was tipping the bench which was why Yixing and Henry were like, rocking back and forth at the same pace lol.

- Admittedly George vs. C-Lil was kind of rough. George tried to include Chinese elements in his performance, but he was injured, so he couldn’t really showcase them, and the latter part of his performance became just a typical contemporary dance. C-Lil’s performance was alright, but I think the judges were expecting something more impressive. While break dancing is very impressive to watch, I am starting to see the limitations of it, because if a dancer is not impressive, they are just kind of mediocre. George and C-Lil weren’t able to bring anything superbly impressive, which I think it was difficult for them to vote. Yibo abstained, and C-Lil got two votes, so C-Lil advanced.

- Zyko was incredible as always. It fascinates me how he’s mostly performed with these ballad type songs that don’t really have a beat. Also his flexibility is insane. I’m glad he got through with four votes because we need to see him more.

- I really liked Chika’s performance! I feel like women’s dancing is sometimes a bit limited in the mainstream because people just expect them to look sexy. It isn’t as much the case on this show because all of the ladies on this show are dancers and not idols or pop stars. But anyway, I just love seeing women dance without their bodies being sexualized. Chika’s dance showcased not only control over her body, but POWER. I loved her big movements. Compare the power that she shows vs. the power that say, Ibuki shows. Ibuki is a much smaller lady and it shows in her proportions, so how she expresses power looks different from how Chika expresses power, and Chika’s is the sort of power that I’ve really looked forward to seeing.

- Rochka fanboys over everybody, I love it. Keep spreading the love, dude.

- Ok, Xiaoji’s performance was pretty entertaining. I am not kidding when I say my jaw dropped, at the same time that all the captains went OH SNAP. But this guy definitely has charisma and stage presence. His confidence made up for his lack of ability to improvise XD I was CACKLING when this guy thought the song was done and Yibo was like “bro there’s more” and Xiaoji had to come up with something to end it off lol. I wouldn’t say his challenge was as good as Xiaohai’s, mostly because he hadn’t memorized the music like Xiaohai did. In terms of technical stuff, his performance did seem more impressive than Lai Wei’er’s, but he also did less “stuff” (like, there were a lot of pauses in his dance probably because he didn’t now the music). But Xiaoji’s was definitely more entertaining, though that may just be because of who he is and not his dancing. (By the way, Xiaoji’s real name is 林森. I thought the name 林木森 was just a joke because of how much wood was in it. I never guessed that someone would name their kid 林森 X’D Guess his 八字 indicated that he had a weakness in wood or something lol)

- Have some laughing captains, it’s good for the soul.

- Acky-san acknowledged that he’s probably not going to beat the younger dancers in terms of technique, so what he brought instead was style. The “robot” style of popping is pretty old, but no one else has done it in this competition probably because it’s so old school, and he definitely delivered in a way that only he could.

- Henry singing Frere Jacques with the French contingent X’D

- Thoughts on Han Yu vs. Boris. I can imagine what Han Yu was going for in his original performance, but I don’t think it worked. I don’t have the vocabulary to explain it, but basically the way his performance was choreographed just didn’t really impress. As Yibo mentioned, Boris was impressive in his dance to Han Yu’s music, but his dancing didn’t suit the song as much as Han Yu’s did. So the original dance + challenge was a matter of impressiveness vs. whether the dancing suited the music. Han Yu shone in the battle. I think he seemed a lot more impressive when back in a hip hop sort of groove, music that has a lot of major beats, compared to the piano music that was less grand an epic. As for Boris, I think that seeing a few of his performances in succession showed that his toolbox is a little limited in comparison to Han Yu. It hate to see Boris go because I loved his battle against Zyko but alas. I also wanted him to stay because he’s one of the few non-Chinese contestants who speak Mandarin relatively well. He had no issues speaking in Mandarin with most of the Chinese people on set. The ending was hilarious, when he was asked whether he had any last words, and Boris was like “well, I’m literally going to see these guys in two seconds when I’m back in the audience, I’m not dying” lmao.

- I don’t know how I feel about how the show has decided to deal with the last 29 contestants, of which three would be chosen to join the 49 dancers advancing. They’re competing fairly with the other contestants that haven’t performed yet, but they’re at a disadvantage compared to the previous contestants that were judged individually. For example, what if the fourth best dancer was better than a dancer that had already entered the 49? It would only be fair if the judges were allowed to take out people from the 46 contestants that had passed. It would’ve been a bigger problem if there were still a lot of big names to go though. Most of the best dancers have already secured a spot for themselves, so I think that’s why I’m not like, the most perturbed.

- I was low key waiting for Xiao Jie’s performance because his audition performance during episode 1 was so amusing. I thought his individual performance was fun! He managed to add some creativity and story telling (Chinese dude getting drunk) but also showcase some of his specialty skills (locking).

- I forgot to mention this before, but it amuses me that so the editing team will so diligently put in a “don’t try this at home” warning message whenever a dancer does a dangerous move haha.

- So the captains are doing a dance battle for the reborn event, but I’m not really sure how this is all gonna work. I’m digging Yixing’s look for the battle btw.

- Anyway, pre-battle hugs for all.

- KRUMPMASTER. Also I think he did some of the routine that he did back in Season 3.

- Not gonna lie, I wasn’t super impressed with Han Geng’s first dance but his second dance was pretty hype.

- Lol Yibo feels most comfortable challenging Yixing during his battles. He did move where he dropped onto his back right after Yixing did it (i.e. being like you can do it but I can do it better). Based on what I saw of season 3, I think Yibo would call out Yixing in his performances then too.

- Yixing was definitely heavy on the krump side, though I actually thought his first performance was really interesting because there was barely any krump in that one. He mostly stuck to other elements. As we got through the other rounds, he became more krump heavy, and I think he lost a bit in terms of variety there.

- The thing about Han Geng is that he’s no longer as athletic, so he relies more on power and control, but he needs to make sure he does the right moves that showcase that.

- I think Yibo impressed me the most. He had a lot of variety in his arsenal and he was very entertaining. He is also quite athletic, so as long as he can imagine it, I think he can do it haha.

- As others mentioned, Henry was extremely creative. He used a lot of dance moves to show a certain action, like tugging a rope or playing pool and such.

- Anyway, big hugs.

- Baby needs a nap.

- Yibo won the most points in the four rounds of the battle. This hug with Han Geng is uwu. Anyway, Tony Gogo mentioned that Yibo interpreted the music very well.

- Of course, Tony Gogo as well as the Gogo brothers praised Yixing for his krumping energy

- Philip said that Han Geng had a really good ear, and that was how he was able to take advantage of the best moments to unleash certain dances.

- The five contestants that were saved were A-wei, Boris, George, JC Jun, and Kelo & Uwa. I definitely think the editors purposely showed us more clips of them so that we’d grow attached lol. The only one of these five that I don’t quite remember is A-wei though. Anyway, very pleased that Boris is back haha.

- Pouty boi

- Yibo, Henry, Han Geng, and Ibuki getting really into 煞科 lol.

- I think next episode is going to have some team performances, which I think will be fun. Some of these teams are STACKED.

- Previews for Hot pot!

- They were talking about songs they listened to in their childhood. Han Geng started singing a song about an Office Black Cat? XD I’m guessing it’s a cartoon haha. Yibo listened to Leehom Wang and Jay Chou. Henry mentioned that he looked up to Leehom because he was also an overseas Chinese, plus he played a lot of instruments (just like Henry). As expected, Yixing looked up to Jay Chou (after all, Jay Chou was one of the earliest artists to popularize using Chinese elements in pop songs). Yixing said he also liked Leehom Wang, JJ Lin, and Khalil Fong (I legit have not heard the name 方大同 in a long time so that took me by surprise lol).

- Yibo mentioned Li Ronghao and Yixing was like OH WAIT YEAH HIM TOO. We know from Idol Producer that Yixing and Li Ronghao are bros haha. The captain says “不榮藝 組合” which pronounced the same as “不容易 組合” which is something like “unlikely duo,” except the the 榮 is from Li Ronghao’s name and the 藝 is from Zhang Yixing’s name lol.

- The robot spilled all the tea! Bad bot!

- I think they later played a listening game that Henry kept losing? lol

[nctinfo]

[TRANS] Chenle & Jisung’s interview with ELLE June 2020 issue!

It's the first time for Chenle and Jisung to do a magazine shoot together. Both of you seemed to have given your fans spoilers ahead of the shoot. Jisung: Really, the time went by so fast. Rather than a shoot, it felt more like I was just playing around with Chenle. Chenle: <ELLE> is a magazine known by many people. I've known it since long-ago too. So I was even more excited about the shoot. Jisung: Me too! Ah, but how old is <ELLE>? 28th anniversary this year? Wow...

We are much older than you two, aren't we? Is this year your 5th summer together? Jisung: We've known each other since 2016, so yes, that's right. Chenle: We should stop seeing each other (laughs).

Although you get along as friends [same-aged friends], Chenle is in fact born in November 2001. He is one year older than Jisung who was born in February 2002. What was the reason to become friends [to drop formalities]? Chenle: Our birthdays are only two and a half months apart, and since we get along so well, I felt like there was no need for formalities [a hyung/dongsaeng relationship]. Of course, I regret having made that decision now. I mean it. (laughs). Jisung: I jokingly said, "Can't we just be friends?" but he took it seriously. Thanks to this, we can now comfortably talk with each other like this. Chenle: It's definitely more comfortable. In Shanghai, where I grew up, we don't mind much if there's a one or two year difference. And since the NCT team has a lot of members from overseas, the atmosphere is a bit more open. 

Still, it must have felt weird to see your friend Chenle become a legal adult a year earlier than you. Jisung: I've seen the older members of NCT DREAM become adults one after another so I felt relatively indifferent. It's not like people suddenly change when they turn 20 years old. But, since we all debuted as teenagers, it is kinda weird that I'm the only minor left now.

How did the YouTube content 'ChenJi's This and That', that you two do together, start? Jisung calls it 'JiChen's That and This'. Jisung: Thank you for acknowledging it (laughs). It started from the thought that it would be great to make content that uses the advantage of us two who are like real friends. We make gifts for the members, stack dominoes, and also make menus that are popular on SNS Chenle: Although we also bring up ideas here and there, the staff ideas are always more fun. Ah, it was our idea to visit my home in Shanghai.

Chenle went to a lot of rides alone at the amusement park right. Chenle: He says he is too scared to go on rides that are hard, but thinks rides that are easy are lame. Isn't it really funny? Jisung: The easy ones don't look cool (laughs).

You just finished the promotions of your 4th mini album <Reload>. You have achieved many good results such as ranking first in the domestic music chart and music shows, ranking first on iTunes in 51 countries, and selling over 500k albums. How do you feel looking back? Jisung: I always have regrets whenever we finish promotions. Even though I have worked hard and had fun, when I look back, I feel like I could do better? Chenle: I'm completely the opposite. When the album promotions finish, I think 'It was really fun this time again, I'm satisfied!' I think especially for 'Ridin'' the stage was very exciting, and it was even better because I had fun with the members.

'Beyond Live', a live-streamed concert and video call fan signings are promotions that were not imaginable last year. Jisung: I'm glad that we can do something, but it's a shame we can't meet the fans in person. Chenle: It was a new and very exciting experience. Although it was through a video, you could clearly hear the voices and see the faces of the fans like this.

You also performed solo stages on ‘Beyond Live’ Chenle: I prepared our song 'Best Friend' on the piano, but the staff made the stage really cool. On the stage the moon was floating over the sea, it was very pretty and I'm really grateful and satisfied Jisung: I danced but I don't think it was to the extent of 'Awesome~ I did a great job!'.

With you two being the youngest out of NCT’s teenage team NCT DREAM, your growth is bound to be the most impactful. You must be surprised when you watch videos of when you just debuted. Chenle: Actually, as soon as we met today, Jisung had watched an old video of mine and said 'You were so cute back then but why are you like this now?'. Jisung: It was videos of him during promotion interviews for our debut song 'Chewing Gum' and 'My First and Last', and he was so cute. It was also when Chenle hadn't been in Korea for that long yet so he was still bad at speaking. Chenle: I couldn't watch the videos at that time. Still, when I look at the other members, I think everyone was so young and cute.

I heard that Jisung played a significant role in the fast improvement of Chenle's Korean. Jisung: Yes I was Chenle: I admit he helped. Although it's a problem that my weird Korean skills are also improving (laughs).

You have done TV shows and stood on stages before debuting at 15 and 16 years old. When did you feel like this is something you're good at and wanted to do something music-related? Chenle: I love to sing, so I released my first album when I was 7 years old. However, at that time, I thought it was a hobby and an experience rather than thinking of wanting to be a singer. After coming to Korea, I knew for certain that this was the path I wanted to take. Jisung: Rather than realizing it at some point, I think the expression 'right now' is right. While watching sunbaes at SM, my desire to be like that grew and I've come here doing what I wanted to do.

For broadcasts or special stages, Jisung has danced with the hyungs of SM's 'Dance Line' such as Super Junior Eunhyuck, SHINee Taemin, and EXO Kai. Jisung: They are really good at dancing and have a lot of experience on stage so it's really helpful when they watch me dance and talk to me [about it]. It felt like I was taking years of dance lessons all at once. Chenle: For me, I learn quickly thanks to Jisung. These days, Jisung is working hard on learning how to sing so I try to help a little too. I would say things like "I think this would be better?'. Jisung: Don't you tease me when I sing though. Chenle: Me? No, not me.

What song would you like to perform if you were to do an NCT stage together? Chenle: Since there are two of us, how about NCT U's 'Baby Don't Stop'? that Taeyong and Ten hyung did together. Jisung: Uhm, that's kind of a sexy song, don't you think we should do that in a few years? For me, I would like to do NCT U's 'Without You'. I think it's a good song to sing for us together.

NCT DREAM members have often said they still lack the skills and think they can do better. Where does that ambition come from? Chenle: There are times when I feel like I'm not good enough when I watch a video clip [of myself]. Other people might not see a big difference, but I do. In that case, I really concentrate and work hard. Jisung: I think everyone has that kind of desire because we debuted at a young age. When I watch the stage of the sunbaes, I feel like that even more.

How does it feel to be the youngest in a big group called NCT? Chenle: It's so good! Originally, I'm the type to prefer when it’s crowded. It's also fun to chat and play together when we practice. Jisung: I don't have a lot of friends from school. [NCT] is like a replacement for those relationships so I feel reassured. It feels like I have a bunch of people or hyungs who are close to me. Though the dinner costs are enormous (laughs).

What's the reason that two people with different personalities can be good friends and teammates? Jisung: Oh, now that I think about it it's really interesting. We're really the opposite Chenle: I think we get along so well because we are so different. The thing we have in common the most is that we like to play around with each other? And we're the noisiest. My voice is loud and Jisung talks a lot. A while ago he was talking to himself in the car while watching the night view. It's really funny to see it from the side Jisung: If you say it like that it makes me seem kinda weird, doesn't it? (laughs) I love to fantasize. What would I say if I were to go on a program like that? I think I was playing around while thinking about those kinds of things.

Are there any aspects of your friend that you want to be more known? Jisung: There are a lot of people who think of Chenle as a bright mischievous boy with a lot of laughter, but he also has a lot of serious conversations with me. He also has a lot of ambition. Unlike the introverted me, he is cool and outgoing so I learn a lot of things through Chenle. He is much cooler than he looks. Chenle: I'm a chic person (laughs). Jisung is the type of person who worries a lot about himself, and he is also evenly worried about the members' concerns. After taking care of this and that he proudly says 'Ah, why do I look like a leader'.

There are many adults and role models around you. Since you achieved your dream of debuting early, you must be worried about growing up well. Chenle: Instead of following someone with the burden of having to grow, I want to grow up naturally while keeping what I want to protect. I can learn good things and keep regretful things to consult, but I think my own standards are important. Jisung: When I first made my debut, I wanted to be a good adult and a good influence, and I still feel the same now. Sometimes I feel sorry for someone's behavior or words, but I don’t think that anyone can be perfect. Regardless, I try to absorb the good and positive aspects only.

When do you feel like you've grown? Jisung: When I have serious conversations with Chenle and the hyungs. The spectrum of the conversations has widened. I also think I have grown when I'm able to objectively look at myself without being too biased. Chenle: When you're going through puberty, you don't know that you're going through puberty. If you think you're grown up, I think it's because you're still young. I think you've grown up when you can admit to your shortcomings and immaturity.

How will the summer be for you this time? Chenle: First of all, Jisung will have 6 ice creams all at once. Jisung: (Back then) I had them throughout the day!

Translation: Esmee @ FY! NCT (NCTINFO) | Source: ELLE Scans — Do not repost or take out without our permission!

[silenceofthecookies]

Tsukiakari no Dearest

Pairing: Camus x reader

Word count: 1596

Warnings: suggestive themes at the end

Summary: A songfic inspired by the song ‘Tsukiakari no Dearest’. Camus is your servant, and he guides you through your usual day, and a not so usual night. 

“Good morning, my lady. It’s a nice, sunny morning. Today, you classes include piano, dancing, and history.”

Camus’s gentle voice sounded through the room as he opened the curtains. The young woman in the bed groaned and turned away from the window, not ready to wake up just yet.

“My lady, it is time to wake up. You are expected for breakfast. Now is not the time for more sleeping. Did you say up too late reading again?”

Camus gently scolded, crossing his arms. Y/N pulled her blanket over her head.

“Maybe…” “Lady Y/N, I admire your love for literature, but your rest should not suffer for it. You are a young woman, and you need your sleep to restore your energy and to keep up your appearance.” “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get up.” “Thank you, my lady. I’ll send the servants in to help you get ready for the day. Once you’re done, I’ll be waiting outside.”

Camus bowed lightly, and left the room. Not much later, a woman entered the room. She helped Y/N get dressed, did her hair and her make-up. Once she was ready, Y/N exited the room. Camus was still waiting at her door.

“Glad to see you’re ready, my lady. Your parents are expecting you at the breakfast table. Allow me to escort you there.”

Once again Camus bowed, and escorted Y/N to the dining room. Breakfast was not very eventful. Y/N’s parents were both nobles, and were often too busy to spend much time with their daughter, which is why they hired Camus as both her servant and her tutor. At least once a week, they made time to have breakfast with Y/N, but it was mostly a formality. Conversations were mostly focused on Y/N’s classes.

Once breakfast was over, Camus took Y/N to her first class of the day: piano. She had been practicing a piece over the last few lessons, and today she’d get to play it with Camus to see how well she’d do. Camus himself played cello, and Y/N often found herself disappointed that she had to focus on her playing. Whenever he started playing, Camus seemed to be a completely different person, and it often had Y/N wondering if there was more to her tutor than he let on.

After Camus had deemed her playing good enough, they moved on to the next class: dancing. As a noble woman, Y/N was expected to attend several balls, and she couldn’t make a fool of herself at these gatherings. Camus would be her dancing partner, and a pianist would come over for these classes to play as long as they needed.

Y/N enjoyed these classes. She was pretty good at dancing, and Camus was an excellent teacher. She didn’t mind the close proximity during dancing too much, if anything she enjoyed it. He was definitely good looking, and he appeared to be stronger than he looked.

The dancing lessons continued until lunch, and after lunch they moved on to the most boring part of her classes: history lessons. The only thing good about it was Camus’s glasses. He only wore them when he had to read, but it accentuated his already classy features and made him even more attractive.

“Lady Y/N, please pay attention. It is important for someone of your status to be knowledgeable.” “Oh come on Camus. We both know I’m just going to get married off to some other noble, no matter if I know my history lessons or not.” “Maybe, my lady, but you’ll be able to do more if you’re smarter. Learn from history and understand politics, and maybe you can change the future your parents have planned for you. That is something you wanted, right?”

Y/N looked down. He was right. She was not looking forward to being married off to just anyone who showed up and had money, land or power. She wanted to fall in love, and marry for love. Most people would tell her she needed to stop dreaming, but not Camus. He supported her to develop herself. He never told her she would be able to do it, he didn’t want to give her false hope, but he told her there were other women who did it. It was his way of saying that if they could do it, she could do it too.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, Camus.” “That’s alright, as long as you understand. Now, let’s continue.” “Hey Camus, you’re noble too, right?” “I am.” “Don’t you have to get married in that case?” “Of course, but we’re talking about history, my lady, not about the future.”

The rest of the lecture passed slowly, history still didn’t really interest Y/N, but she tried to pay a little more attention.

After class, Y/N and Camus went to the library. Y/N would spend her time until dinner either studying or reading, and Camus would be there to help her where needed, and otherwise to keep an eye on her. Y/N felt like she had done enough studying for the day, so she decided to pick up a book again.

She had no idea how much time had passed before she looked away from her book again. The sun was starting to set, and she was wondering if maybe it was about time for dinner. Tearing her eyes away from her book and the window, Y/N looked at Camus. He was completely absorbed in his book and didn’t notice her looking at him. Y/N was a little shocked, because his face seemed different than usual, a lot colder. She had seen him before like that, but he never seemed to acknowledge it whenever she mentioned it.

“Camus?”

Camus looked up, and in only a second his face went back to usual.

“Yes, my lady?” “Are you ok? You seem a bit… different?” “Don’t worry my lady, I’m fine. Oh, would you look at the time, it’s time for dinner.”

Camus smiled, got up, and left the library, gesturing for Y/N to follow him. She wasn’t really convinced, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, there wasn’t much she could do.

---

After dinner, Y/N had retired to her room. She had taken the book she was reading with her, but she underestimated the time it would take for her to finish it. Not one to stop when she was nearly finished, Y/N lit a candle and continued reading.

“My lady, are you reading late again? I’m sure I asked you this very morning to go to bed at a normal hour. ”

Y/N wasn’t sure what time it was, but judging by how dark it was and how well she could see the moon, she figured it was around midnight.

“Well… yes… you did…” “Then why are you still awake?” “I kind of lost track of time?” “My lady, you should’ve known it was too late by the time you lit that candle.” “You’re right… please don’t be mad.” “Why would I be mad, my lady?” “Because you look mad? Or something like that? You’ve got the same look in your eyes as you had earlier today, in the library.”

Camus’s eyes widened. He had not noticed he had dropped his guard again. When he took this job, he decided that he’d keep up his gentle persona, as this often was better received by people than his actual character, and it was bound to work better on a young woman like Y/N.

“Why can’t I deceive you?”

Y/N’s eyes widened. Camus had completely dropped the act. His voice was back to his usual deep tone, and his eyes seemed cold as ice.

“What do you mean?” “Exactly what I say. When I took this job, I decided to use a gentle persona. This works better on girls of your age. You see a handsome face with a gentle smile and a higher voice, you feel at ease, and you’ll listen better. Yet somehow, you keep making me feel at ease, making me drop my guard. Whenever I smile at you and tell you it’s nothing, you keep asking about it the next time. Why?” “Because I’m interested in your well-being?” “Really? And how? As you’d be interested in the health of a random man on the street? As an acquaintance? As your tutor? As a friend? Or have I drawn you in further than that?”

Y/N froze. Certainly she was interested in him, but this was a whole new side of him. It surprised her, but she couldn’t say she disliked him being so direct and… dominant? While she was lost in her thoughts, Camus closed the door and approached the side of her bed, where she was still sitting. He took the candle and book from her hand, put them away on her nightstand.

“No need to answer that, your face says it all.”

Camus smirked and gave her a little push, making her fall back on the bed. He pinned her hands to the bed next to her and loomed over her. Y/N let out a small shriek at the sudden action and Camus shushed her.

“Shhh, I won’t do anything you don’t like. But judging by the look you’re giving me, I doubt I could do anything to you that you wouldn’t like. Since you’re so interested in me, and it’s past midnight, maybe I should indulge you a little.”

He let go of one of her hand to change it for a lock of her hair, which he brought to his lips and kissed.

“Or maybe I should make you mine alone.”

[dwellordream]

“...Historians concur that live-in domestic service was primarily an urban phenomenon in the late nineteenth century. One estimate suggests that between 15 and 30 percent of northeastern city-dwellers hired live-in domestics. The historian David Katzman, who has generated the most refined statistics, demonstrates that even within relative geographical proximity, city-dwellers hired servants more often than did rural dwellers, and city-dwellers with large pools of foreign labor more than city-dwellers without. Nationwide at midcentury there was one domestic servant for every ten families, with a considerably higher ratio in large cities like Boston and New York. 

A greater proportion of Bostonians hired domestic servants than did residents of any other northern city, with 219 servants per thousand families. With traditions of household service born in slavery, even after the Civil War, the South led the nation in its reliance on domestic servants, with Atlanta in 1880 boasting 331 servants per thousand families. Even in the South, though, the difference between city and country was notable, with Atlanta in 1900 hiring four times as many servants per thousand families as in the rest of Georgia. Together these figures suggest the flourishing of an era in the history of Victorianism. It was common for American bourgeois city-dwellers on the Atlantic seaboard, even ones of modest means, to rely on the labor of maids to sustain their households.

Of course, the end of the story is popular cliché. With the opening of more lucrative and less degrading jobs for young women as sales clerks, ‘‘typewriters,’’ and teachers, the ‘‘servant problem’’ became terminal, and by the First World War, American housewives could not depend on the hiring of live-in domestic help to assist them in their housework. It is significant, though, that even when ‘‘necessity’’ suggested the reintegration of daughters into the domestic economy, they were gone for good. The culture had put girls to other uses, from which they would not return to their mothers’ sides.

We still might ask why girls were often excused from domestic labor— especially given the compounding weight of the advice literature recommending otherwise. The answer lies in the increasing role played by daughters and servants in the bourgeois quest for refinement. Even when the gross number of live-in servants declined as production moved out of the home, the hiring of at least one domestic remained a prerequisite for middle-class status. The statistics on who hired servants bear out the middle-classness of this phenomenon, with 65 percent of servants in the Northeast in 1860 working in households with no other servants. In an increasingly mobile and prosperous society, hiring servants was one way to demonstrate standing, a concrete and conspicuous way of demonstrating what you had left behind. 

One historian argues that the cultural importance of servants should be measured in the amount that some less prosperous families were willing to spend to hire them—sometimes as much as one-third of family income. Clearly, the freeing of daughters from steady household work and the hiring of domestic servants of lesser, often foreign, status went in tandem with the changing purpose of the home itself. Eighteenth-century households had required helpers to assist in domestic production. The homes of the mid– nineteenth century elite instead featured housework ‘‘as the creation and maintenance of comfort and appearance,’’ in the words of the historian Christine Stansell. 

As the Beecher sisters observed, families were increasing ‘‘in refinement’’ such that they no longer wished to live in close intimacy with ‘‘uncultured neighbors,’’ far less daughters of foreign shores, who were working as servants. Thus one mill-owning family in rural Vermont made a point of hiring Irish help rather than the daughters of neighboring farmers, who might object to eating in the kitchen and expect to be ‘‘one of the family.’’ Architects reflected such changes by midcentury, such that servants’ quarters were designed as discrete parts of the house, with back stairs and separate entrances. Custom increasingly favored uniforms and servant dining tables in the kitchen. 

At the same time that middle classes aspired to higher standards of comfort and appearance in accordance with new possibilities, women’s primary responsibility shifted from the supervision of a household manufactory to family nurturance, the raising and socializing of children. Much has been written about the evolution of new ideals for motherhood following the American Revolution, as women gained responsibility for raising virtuous citizens. ‘‘Republican mothers’’ shaped new daughters as well as new sons. Initially considered necessary allies in the steady work of processing the stuff of survival, the daughters of middle-class families became themselves the prime products the home produced—the embodiment of the principles of sensibility and refinement. 

Mothers’ new responsibilities did not erase old ones. The historian Jeanne Boydston has appropriately criticized the readiness of her colleagues to mistake the ideology of domesticity for reality, arguing that by no means did the productive work of the home cease with the industrial revolution. Instead, Boydston argues, the emphasis on the emotional task of mothering tended to eclipse from view, but not eliminate, the continued real labor—the making of clothing, the putting up of preserves, the carrying of fuel—still carried on in the middle-class home. She is right in her argument that ‘‘paid domestic workers did not free the mistress of the household from labor.’’ 

But even Boydston acknowledges that domestic servants instead did the work that would have been done by other females in the household—including adult female relatives and daughters. An interesting case in point is the urban family of woman’s rights advocates Henry Blackwell, Lucy Stone, and their daughter Alice Stone Blackwell. As Boydston tells us, Lucy Stone, who was raised on a farm, still kept chickens, worked a garden, and tended a horse and cow, even as she lived a prosperous middle-class existence outside of Boston. Alice Blackwell later remembered that ‘‘she dried all the herbs and put up all the fruits in their season. She made her own yeast, her own bread, her own dried beef, even her own soap.’’ 

In her lively diary, however, Alice Blackwell reports doing little household work. Such chores as emerge in her diary were designed to interrupt her incessant reading, which was thought to be responsible for her bad headaches. Thus her cousin, visiting the household, ‘‘had undertaken to find me something to stop my reading: churning; and I churned in the cellar till the butter came.’’ In fact, advice writers who had failed in their efforts to promote domestic work for daughters on other grounds often focused on the value of domestic labor as a source of exercise. The Beecher sisters observed that if girls did strenuous housework, their parents would be spared the expense of gymnasiums. ‘‘Does it not seem poor economy to pay servants for letting our muscles grow feeble, and then to pay operators to exercise them for us?’’ 

Louisa May Alcott, whose collected opus represents a powerful gloss on the domestic debates of late-Victorianism, repeatedly suggested the healthfulness of housework, ‘‘the best sort of gymnastics for girls,’’ according to Dr. Alec in Eight Cousins. Her Old-Fashioned Girl explicitly contrasts the healthy republican daughter skilled in domestic arts with the languid late-Victorian belle, afflicted with boredom because of her lack of home chores. Mothers undoubtedly continued both to supervise and perform much household maintenance, but they did so assisted by domestics rather than their own daughters. What did middle-class girls do instead of housework? 

This was a question which greatly concerned commentators, who asked, as did Mary Livermore in 1883, ‘‘What shall we do with our daughters?’’ Mary Virginia Terhune, too, lamented the passing of housework as girls’ raison d’être and with it ‘‘that prime need of a human being—something to do.’’ Parents found a range of things for daughters to do, including the ornamental skills of sewing, playing piano, writing and reading associated with self-culture. Increasingly, also, they sent daughters to school. Common schools designed for both sexes did not include sewing. 

In later years, the Beecher sisters observed, ‘‘A girl often can not keep pace with her class, if she gives any time to domestic matters.’’ And they noted, ‘‘Accordingly she is excused from them all during the whole term of her education.’’ Girls themselves noted the increasing power of lessons in any competition with housework. Agnes Hamilton remarked that first her French tutor and then her German homework prevented her from doing her ‘‘share of Monday’s work.’’ It was not long before the work of some girls was reassigned. 

Those who were serious about domestic education, such as a composer of ‘‘An Ideal Education of Girls’’ that appeared in an 1886 issue of Education, suggested, in fact, that this disjunction be acknowledged. A girl should receive the same education as a boy until the age of twelve, its author suggested. At that time a girl should drop out of school for two years and learn the complete running of a household, returning to school only with that formal apprenticeship accomplished. Only such complete separation of activities would allow the household its due.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Daughters’ Lives and the Work of the Middle-Class Home.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

[jaehyun-eclipsed]

Before I Met You | Twenty-One

Next Update: ~January 10, 2021

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Before I Met You Masterlist

Prev | Next

The following day, I woke up and began packing to go home for winter break. Jia had left early this morning to catch a flight back to Beijing, so I was left to my own thoughts about the upcoming lunch outing with Johnny.

I threw on some black jeans, a brown off-the-shoulder sweater, and black knee-high boots. I was finally able to go back to my norm of taking the morning to do my hair and makeup after showing up with minimal effort during finals week.

Yes, I wanted to look cute for this “date,” but I was also just happy to not look like I had just rolled out of bed before going out every day.

I meet Johnny in his room and walk out of the house together with Hendery who was on his way to the airport.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Hendery asks.

I’m taken by surprise because I thought Hendery knew Johnny and I were hanging out today, but quickly realizing that Johnny didn’t mention it, I’m not sure how much to tell him.

“Oh, um, Johnny and I are just hanging out today. I think he needs to drop off a book and then we’re gonna grab some food.”

“Oh.”

We wish Hendery goodbye, parting ways as he gets onto a bus heading to the airport. I follow Johnny to drop off his book and afterwards, we opt to grab lunch at my favorite Korean place near campus. The restaurant is basically empty midafternoon with the exception of a few students celebrating the end of finals.

“So, you’re not seeing anyone?” Johnny asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Why not?”

Because I’m me. I get involved with people that seem to have weird issues and the person I’m currently interested in has a girlfriend, and yet, I’m still hanging out with him.

Shrugging, I press my lips together before finally saying, “Haven’t found anyone I’m interested in, I guess.”

“What are you looking for then?”

“Someone respectable and smart. Someone I can talk to about anything,” I say. “Someone who isn’t going to have a problem with me having guy friends.”

“Having guy friends?” He quirks an eyebrow. “That sounds so specific.”

“Believe me, when you have guy friends whose girlfriends hate you, you learn quickly that you’ll need to find someone that doesn’t have severe jealousy issues.”

“Your guy friends’ girlfriends hate you?”

“Something like that.”

Johnny scrunches his face in confusion. “Why?”

I shrug. “I suppose they see me as a threat. Not really sure why. It’s not like I want to date their boyfriends.”

At least, that’s been true until now. Though, it’s not like I’m going to do anything to actively steal him. None of this, “you should leave you girlfriend and be with me.”

“My girlfriend doesn’t want me to have girl friends,” Johnny says.  

“Oh.”

I wonder why. If I knew he acted like this around other girls, I guess I might understand.

“Does she not trust you around other girls or something?” I ask.

Ah ha. That was a loaded question.

“I guess so. She talked to all her friends and they said the same thing: boyfriends shouldn’t have any other girl friends besides their girlfriend.”

“That’s kinda…” —I grimace— “I don’t know how I feel about that. I feel about that. As long as you aren’t flirting with other girls, then I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to have other girl friends.”

“That’s what I said!” he exclaims.

Except, I’d argue that you are flirting with other girls, but that’s none of my business.

“Does she have other guy friends?”

“I don’t know. She says she doesn’t.”

I turn away briefly, hoping he doesn’t notice my look of skepticism. That sounds like a lie.

“Does she go here?”

“No, she’s going to a community college in Santa Clara. She’s trying to transfer to a CSU in SoCal.”

So that’s why we never see her around.

“How long have you been dating?”

“Almost two years.”

“So you met in high school?”

“Yeah, she went to a different high school, but my friend introduced me to her and we used to meet up to study a lot during the school year.”

“Oh that’s nice. Do you see her often?”

“Like every few weeks when I go home or during breaks,” he says. “Do you want to see a picture of her?”

“Sure.”

Johnny pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of the two of them at a park. She’s decently pretty—a six and a half at best—but nothing particularly special.  

My eyes narrow at him as puts his phone away and begins looking through his menu. Maybe he’s not trying to hit on me if he’s being so open about his girlfriend? But that doesn’t explain everything else that’s happened unless he’s just naturally flirty. I highly doubt that.

“I think I’m going to order bibimbap,” he says to me, putting the menu on the table.

I nod in acknowledgement. “I’m going to order the sundubu-jjigae. It’s cold out.”

“Do you want to do anything afterwards?”

His question catches me off guard. After learning more about his girlfriend and seeing how comfortable he is talking about her when prompted, I’m surprised he wants to continue hanging out. But perhaps this really just is a friendship.

“Was there something you wanted to do?” I reply. 

He shakes his head. “What’s your favorite place around here?”

“Um, there’s a bookstore I like that’s a few blocks from campus…”

“Great! Let’s go there afterwards!”

After finishing lunch, we make our way to the south side of campus, surprised to come across a small street fair on the same street as the bookstore. The booths are decorated with fairy lights, creating a very cozy and romantic atmosphere at twilight. We browse the novelty soaps, keychains, and various trinkets briefly before squeezing through two booths to get to the bookstore.

“What kind of books do you like to read?” Johnny asks, trailing behind me as I browse a recent release table.

“Mm, mostly young adult fiction leaning towards the adventure side. I like dystopian novels. You?”

“I like reading nonfiction. I don’t really like fiction.”

“That’s a shame.”

I grab a recent release and begin flipping through it.

“Oh what’s this?” Johnny asks from behind me.

As soon as I turn around, a brown dog puppet is two inches from my face. Johnny is smiling down at me and moving his hand inside the puppet to make the dog look like it’s talking.

“Hi Y/N, my name is Coffee Bean! Will you read me a story?”

My mouth is agape in amusement, part of me unsure how to respond. I chuckle nervously and put down the book in my hand, and quickly scan the table next to me for the closest children’s book.

“Um, do you like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Coffee Bean?”

Coffee Bean nods his head enthusiastically. “Yes! Woof!”

I force a nervous smile, still uncertain as to how to respond to this other than to play along. I read a few pages of the book and look up at Johnny. “Do you really want me to keep reading?”

He laughs. “No, it’s okay.” He turns to Coffee Bean. “Did you like that Coffee Bean?”

“Yes!” Coffee Bean turns his head back towards me and presses his mouth against my cheek. “Thank you!”

I smile at him and begin walking towards another section of the store. That was weird. Cute, but weird. Sighing heavily, my mind flashes back to our discussion earlier about Johnny’s girlfriend. He clearly was very comfortable talking about her in front of me. Realistically, it probably would’ve been better for me to completely drop the idea of the two of us ever dating and stay away from Johnny because I didn’t want to get in the way. I’d certainly never want my boyfriend to do something like this.

Y/N, you are going to get hurt if you continue to hang out with this guy. This never ends well when you get involved with a guy who’s already in a relationship. He’s obviously not going to leave his girlfriend. And even if he did because he wanted to date you, wouldn’t it be a bad idea? He could do the same thing to you.

Johnny suddenly appears next to me. “So, it’s six o’clock. What do you want to do? You want to watch a movie?”

I blink several times, surprised yet again by Johnny’s continuing desire to hang out today. Most of everyone at the house has left, so I suppose it only makes sense. If we went back to the house and parted ways, there wouldn’t be anything for us to do on our own. I’d probably just sit in my room and watch a movie by myself.

“Sure… I guess. What do you want to watch?”

“Didn’t you mention that you recently watched some movie… Sally something?”

My forehead creases. “You mean, When Harry Met Sally?”

“Yeah! Let’s watch that!”

What? He wants to watch a rom-com?

Okay, movie and that’s it. You shouldn’t hang around him anymore and after today, you won’t even need to see him.

“Okay then. We can watch in the piano room,” I say. “I don’t have an HDMI cable to hook up to the TV, but the couches are comfy.”

He hums in thought. “Can we just watch in your room? It’ll be more comfortable.”

Um, there must be something about a guy wanting to hang out alone with you in your room to watch a movie, right?

“Like, we sit on the bed?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I bite the inside of my lip. “Okay.”

“Okay! I’ll bring snacks!”

“This is my blanket now!” Johnny grabs my fleece blanket and stuffed dog off my bed and begins hugging it. “This is mine now too.”

He jumps up onto my bed and crawls into the corner, wrapping himself in the blanket and hiding the plush underneath. He cracks into a wide grin and I can’t help but begin to pout a bit, feeling rather protective over my stuffed toys.

“So what do I get?”

“I brought pistachios and cookies,” he says, gesturing over to the snacks he placed on my desk. “You can have those.”

I glance at the packages and then turn back to face Johnny, dissatisfied with the consolation prize. I pout again. “But I’m not hungry. I’m cold.”

“Hmm,” he hums, pretending to ponder as he holds a playful smile on his face. “Okay, I guess I can share with you.”

I scoff in amusement. “Share? That’s mine!”

A cheeky grin makes its way onto his face. “You said you were cold. It’s easier to stay warm if the blanket is already warmed up!”

I roll my eyes and bite back a smile as I go to set up the movie on my laptop. Slowly, I make my way onto my bed and Johnny trades me my laptop for my blanket. I make no comment as I wasn’t keen on sharing my blanket in the first place anyway.

Before leaning against the back wall, I turn to look at him. “Do I get my dog back too?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, I think he likes me better.”

“Okay, fine,” I say, letting out a huff and crossing my arms as I move to sit up against the wall.

Our arms are touching, which is to be expected since we’re attempting to share a twin-sized bed. I’m a bit distracted, not really focusing on the movie, but rather on the predicament I see myself in. Clearly, Johnny has no problem with taking my personal belongings or sharing a bed with me. Originally, I thought we would sit up against the wall length-wise, giving both of us plenty of space not to make any physical contact with each other. But instead, Johnny had other plans and also wanted to use my pillows. So here I am, watching a rom-com with a guy that I happen to like and find very charming, is very kind and playful, but I am very uncertain as to where I stand.

After a while, Johnny hands my dog back to me and I pretend to be unfazed by the famous fake orgasm scene in the movie. What an awkward thing to watch with a guy I barely know.

When the movie ends, I shut my laptop and hop off my bed to put it back on my desk. Johnny crawls over to the other end of the bed, lies on his side and hangs his legs off the foot of my bed. I seat myself back against the wall and pull out my phone.

“So now what?” I ask.

“Um, you said that you’re good at giving advice, right?” Johnny responds.

I lift my head up from my phone and turn to look at him. “Uh, I mean, my friends ask me for advice a lot. So maybe?”

It’s quiet for a moment as Johnny contemplates whether to ask me for advice and how to formulate his question. My thumb scrolls through Instagram, though my mind is somewhere else as I wonder about what Johnny could want advice on. Life? Career? School?

“I’m not really sure what to do about my girlfriend,” he finally says.

That’s not… that’s not what I want to talk to you about.

“What do you mean?” I ask, keeping my gaze on my phone. 

“I’m… not really happy with her.”

I swallow nervously. “Why not?”

“You know how I told you earlier that she doesn’t like me having girl friends?”

Can’t imagine why.

“Yeah?”

“It’s stuff like that. She gets upset with me and it’s hard to talk to her. She doesn’t really apply herself in school and doesn’t have a lot of ambition.”

I keep my facial expression neutral, but I’m already not impressed with this girl.

“Just out of curiosity, what do you parents think of her?”

He shrugs. “My dad doesn’t care and my mom keeps asking me when I’m going to get a doctor or lawyer girlfriend.”

“Sounds like your mom doesn’t really like her.”

“Well, my mom likes her, but…”

“She wants you to find someone she thinks is better,” I say, finishing his sentence.

“Yeah,” he admits sheepishly.

Yeah, so basically she doesn’t like your girlfriend.

“What’s her name?”

“Minji,” he responds. “We’ve already broken up twice.”

God, he sounds like Siwoo.

“Why?”

“Because she didn’t like my friend Hyoyeon.”

“Who’s she?”

“She’s my friend from high school,” he says. “She’s two years younger and we were friends in band.”

“Did you like her or something?”

“What? No!” he says emphatically. “She’s like my little sister, but we hung out a lot together.”

I take in the information to create a coherent story. “So… Minji was jealous because you spent a lot of time with Hyoyeon and Minji got angry or something… and you guys broke up because of that, right?”

“Yep.”

“Why did you get back together?”

“The first time was a year ago and I missed her so I thought we could make it work. Then a couple months later, we got into a fight and I broke up with her again, but then I thought I made a mistake so we got back together,” he says. “So what do you think I should do?”

I sit there, staring at my bed spread, trying to figure out how to respond. There is a conflict of interest. I am obviously interested in Johnny and would definitely like for him to be single so that I can date him, but I also do not want to tell him that he should break up with his girlfriend because I’m afraid that I can’t be totally objective in this situation. Personally, if this had been Siwoo, I would’ve told him to break up with her. Perhaps Siwoo is not the best example, but that’s what we have to work with. Johnny’s not happy with Minji and he’s obviously flirting with another girl he likes more. What’s the point of prolonging it?

What’s with me in having guys with girlfriends being attracted to me?  

Either they’re unhappy or unsatisfied or I just have a lot more power than I thought. The other explanation is that they’re just assholes.  

Wow, Y/N, now you just attract assholes? That must say something about your personality.

Attempting to be as objective as possible, I decide to say the most neutral, yet important, thing I can.

“People don’t change, Johnny.”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re upset with the jealousy and the lack of ambition or whatever, that’s not going to change,” I say. “People only change if something drastic happens that causes them to be different.”

“So… are you saying I should break up with her?”

My eyes widen. “No, no,” I say quickly. “I did not say that. I’m just telling you that people don’t change. So it’s up to you whether or not you think it’s something you can handle.”

He’s quiet for a bit and then turns to look at me. “Do you really believe that?”

“Believe what?”

“That people don’t change.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

“But I’m different now from a few years ago. I know a lot of people I grew up with who are different now.”

“Fundamentally, people don’t change. Yeah, you might pick up some new habits here and there, but generally, it’s hard to change unless you know there’s something you need to change,” I say. “And acknowledgement is only the beginning. You have to want to change too. If you don’t, then it doesn’t make a difference.”

“So, you don’t think Minji is going to change at all?”

I’m hesitant to make any comments specifically concerning Minji. So I give another open-ended answer. “If she thinks something needs to be changed and wants to, then maybe.”

In thinking about it, Siwoo is the perfect example here. No matter how many failed relationships he gets into, he never changes his behavior. Get together with one girl, cheat on her or treat her horribly, break up, feel bad for about two seconds, rinse, repeat. Somehow, it never fazes him.

I often wonder if there’s one girl out there that would break his heart enough that it would cause him to change. Even a little bit.

“I’m going to break up with her,” Johnny says after some time.

I look at him and say nothing.

“Yeah, I think it’s time to break up with her,” he says again.

“It’s your decision.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I know. I’m supposed to see her on Monday, so I’ll do it then.”

I remain silent and keep my facial expression neutral. If Johnny actually follows through with it, I’d be happy. But I don’t want to be the reason he breaks up with her. That’s not my place.

“Thanks,” he says and smiles. “You are pretty good at giving advice.”

“Oh, yeah,” I remark. “Sure.”

I put my phone down and lie back onto my pillow at the head of the bed. Crossing my arms across my chest, I close my eyes as a sudden drowsiness overcomes me. I hear some shifting at the end of the bed.

“Are you tired?” Johnny asks.

“Mm, a little,” I mumble.

A blanket is gently draped over me and I hum a quiet “thank you.” Everything is still and peaceful, but I can tell that Johnny is watching me.

And then he asks me a question.

“What if I told you I like you?”

My eyes shoot open in shock and Johnny is smiling down at me, a hopeful look etched into his features. I stare at him for a moment and knit my eyebrows together, having been rendered speechless by his confession.

My lack of response causes a bit of a panic in his eyes and he asks another question.

“Is that good or bad?”

Trying to remain calm, I close my eyes as if his question hadn’t just shocked me.

“It’s okay…” I respond.

Though my eyes are closed, a small part of me is laughing inside, half-aware that my unenthusiastic and non-idealistic response is not how he anticipated this to play out.  

“So…” The unsteadiness in his voice is detectable. “What about you?”

“I do,” I answer simply.

“You do what?”

“I do like you.”

I open my eyes again and there’s a shy smile on his face.

“I think you’re really cute and I enjoy spending time with you and I want to keep spending time with you,” he continues.

He climbs up towards the front of the bed and lies with his back against the wall. I feel an arm reach around my waist.

“You—you can’t do that,” I say.

Johnny slowly removes his hand. “Why not?”

“You’re still with someone else.”

My voice is unsteady and I don’t trust it. But quite frankly, I’m not sure I trust my own judgment either.

I shut my eyes again, unable to fight the fatigue. A few moments pass before Johnny speaks again.

“Can I stay here?”

Y/N, you know that he shouldn’t.

“Yes.”

He pushes himself up off the bed and climbs over me. His feet land on the floor with a thump and he flips off the light switch. He quickly climbs back onto my bed and places himself where he was before. I’m on the edge of the bed and there’s about a foot of space in between the two of us. I hear him shuffling around and suddenly there’s a hand lightly resting on the exposed skin of my waist.

“No, you can’t do that,” I say more forcefully. “You’re still with someone.”

He quickly removes his hand this time and then says, “I think I’ll leave you alone then.”

He climbs off the bed again and I remain still until I hear the door open and close. Then I’m alone.

I slowly sit up. There’s a thin stream of moonlight peering in through the missing blind. Looking around the room, there’s enough light to see that Johnny had left his bag of pistachio nuts and the package of cookies on my desk. Biting my lip, I decide to go brush my teeth and wash my face, but when I look at my reflection in the mirror, I feel scared.

What are you doing?

What are you supposed to do with this confession?

Hell, you confessed yourself.

There’s a part of me that feels excited that a boy of interest has returned my affections, but suddenly I’m finding that I don’t know how to process it. I’ve had plenty of confessions before, but this is different and I don’t know why.

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Before I Met You Masterlist

Masterlist

[purplebass]

Hiii I’m the same anon who requested the Alastair/Charles dynamics and they were really really good😭 I love your long posts so if you don’t mind, would you do next Thomas/Alastair dynamics at the academy? Thomas was there without the merry thieves for a while so MANY things could have happened imo. Thank you so much for all your posts. (Also sorry if I’m bothering you but I really need tlh content until chain of iron and yours is always good❣️)

Hiii! Sorry for the delay 🌼 Also, I may turn these into fanfictions, maybe 🤔

Thomas and Alastair at the Shadowhunters’ Academy Headcanons:

We may think that since Alastair used to mock Thomas because he wasn’t tall enough at 14 (according to him, anyway), the first thing he saw when he met him for this first time was Thomas’s height. Wrong. The first thing Alastair noticed about Thomas were his hazel eyes. Thomas had just been dropped off to the Academy by Gideon and he was going to his room. He was sad to be parted from his family for a while and because James, Kit and Math’s parents hadn’t sent them to the Academy yet. His head was bent and he was looking at his feet even though the corridor was empty. No one could have bothered Thomas, who was shy at the time. Thomas didn’t realize that Alastair was walking towards him. Alastair knew Thomas’ type. Quiet, reserved guy. He had been like that too when he first arrived at the Academy. Then he started being bullied and he decided to become a bully himself. When Alastair passed Thomas, he shoved him to the wall and it was pure coincidence that Thomas didn’t trip on his feet and fell. Thomas stilled, shell-shocked, and raised his head. Alastair was ready to tell him something rude, but when he saw Thomas’ eyes, he was mesmerized. He hated that feeling, because he had never felt it before. The emptiness in his stomach as if someone had punched him and drained all of the contents of his body. Yet, looking at Thomas filled him with such an energy he still couldn’t understand. “Raise your head when you walk, boy. Or you’ll become a hunchback.” Thomas wanted to reply, but Alastair walked away too quickly for him to say anything. He didn’t know how to take Alastair’s comment, but he decided that it was good advice. That night, Alastair couldn’t think about anything else but Thomas’ eyes. He even wrote a poem about his eyes, but then he threw it away, ashamed that he had written something about a guy. But the words kept flowing in his head like music. If he were still playing the piano, he would have probably being inspired to compose something there as well. Note: by this time, Alastair still hadn’t realized he was gay.

At one point in time, Thomas and Alastair had to practice fighting together in a class. Alastair did not want to, claiming that Thomas was too weak to even stand (he had always been super lean and seemingly frail). Thomas didn’t like that and dared Alastair to fight him. Alastair, who had now become a sort of a bully and was feared among other students, accepted gladly. And was defeated by Thomas during their practice. This angered Alastair because it could hurt his status at the Academy, but he feigned that he had made Thomas win just because he was lenient. But he wouldn’t let him defeat him the next time. No one found out that Thomas truly beat Alastair because he knew how to predict his next moves and he had been taught about fighting. That earned Thomas Alastair’s respect.

Alastair often enlisted Thomas to grab his books or do other stuff any other friend would do. To himself, he said that he just needed Thomas as an helper, since he was a good and nice guy despite he didn’t like be around many people, and people listened to Thomas (who blushed every time he had to speak with more than one person, because people made him nervous). Thomas took the fact that Alastair often wanted him around meant that he had become a sort of a friend to him, since he was kind to him when they were alone and often gave him advice on who to avoid at the Academy, etc. But every time they were around other kids, Alastair used Thomas’ head as an elbow rest, commenting how Thomas was useful. (Note: Alastair had 10-15cm more on Thomas). Of course that hurt Thomas, but he thought Alastair was joking and didn’t think much of it because he always liked to see the best in people, as his mother taught him. It hurt Alastair to mock Thomas in front of the other kids, but he thought it was the only way for him to maintain his status inside of the Academy. And also, to try to sedate his growing attraction for Thomas, who would probably never feel the same way about him.

Despite being one year younger than Alastair, Thomas attended the same Shadowhunter’s History course as him. No one sat beside Alastair - he was feared by many so they didn’t dare to - but when Thomas arrived in class for the first time, that’s where he sat down. He remembered Alastair from the first day after he got there, and went to occupy the spot next to him because Alastair was the only person he had spoken to so far. Alastair’s shock was evident, but he didn’t say anything. On the other hand, he was even more intrigued by Thomas because he was a great student. Alastair was also good at History, but Thomas knew a lot of stuff that he probably learnt from his parents, since they had participated in the clockwork war. Of that, Alastair was a bit jealous.

Someone once dared to tell Alastair that he was a tramp because he never stayed in one place for long. Thomas overheard and was about to punch the guy in the face - much to Alastair’s surprise - but Alastair stopped him, saying that it wasn’t worth acknowledging these people. It was the first time someone stood up to protect him, which Alastair found very confusing because he knew that he wasn’t behaving like a proper kid. He thought he didn’t deserve Thomas’ attentions nor his protection.

Alastair liked being in Thomas company even if it seemed the opposite to an onlooker. That’s why, when James, Matthew and Kit arrived at the Academy, Alastair started drifting away from Thomas. He not only envied that he had such a support system of friend/relatives, but he also thought that he was lucky because they all had caring parents who were probably sad that their sons were away - unlike his father. Jealousy pushed Alastair to start bullying James and the others, which in the end made Thomas drift away for good. It was Matthew who also pushed Thomas to leave Alastair alone, saying that he could see Alastair was rotten from miles away. Thomas hadn’t liked that since he had known Alastair was capable to be generous and caring, but Matthew’s influence and Alastair’s consequent bullying influenced him not to interact with Alastair anymore than necessary. That hurt Alastair - he overheard Matthew telling those things to Thomas - but once again, he thought it was better this way. He thought he didn’t deserve someone like Thomas, who he considered very honest and pure. But he didn’t know that the separation also hurt Thomas, who felt a void in his life when he stopped interacting with Alastair, which the company of the Merry Thieves couldn’t fill.

Hope you like these! And sorry again if this is long 💜

[chilling-seavey]

Anything But Mine - Lucy’s Birth Story

A/N June 24th is an important day in the ABM universe...I figured we can take a little read to find out why! Hope you enjoy 🧡 + be forewarned about plenty of fluff included here 🥺 

A/N2 Also this pic of Daniel omg you can’t tell me it doesn’t look like him seeing his new baby for the first time 🥺 all that emotion in his expression

T/W Idk if this counts as a trigger warning but there are detailed descriptions of labour and delivery!

W/C 8.6k words

Daniel kept himself busy after the wedding to support their little family, spending long days in the studio with his university friend, Jack. Money was tight but comfortable and with extra funds that Callum managed to get from his and Florence’s parents back in LA, they had purchased a three-bedroom apartment as soon as possible. Clementine and Penelope loved their home, playing on the balcony as much as they could in summer as they said the 56th floor made them feel like the Queens of the city. Once the end of November came around, they were often stuck inside due to the weather starting to drop, playing under the grand piano in the living room.

Florence was cleaning up from dinner when her phone rang. Daniel always called when he was leaving work.

“I can’t wait to come home.” he said right when she answered. She could hear him getting into his car in the background.

“Me too. We missed you at dinner.” Florence replied, wiping her hands on the dish cloth that was hanging over her shoulder.

“I haven’t even eaten yet.” Daniel sighed. “I’m so tired.”

“Pick up something to eat on the way home.” Florence suggested, glancing to the two young girls across the room before she added, “and I need you to pick up something from the drug store if you can.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“A pregnancy test?”

The silence on the other end made her smile softly. She could picture his face exactly; his wide eyes and discrete smile.

He was quiet a moment before speaking, “Yeah…I can definitely grab one. Do you think-”

“We’re not jinxing it, Dani.” Florence chuckled.

“No, of course not.” Daniel smiled widely. “I’m on my way.”

Every evening when the front door opened and Daniel came in from work, the girls dropped what they were doing and ran for him, throwing their tiny arms around him. This night was no different as he bent down to greet his daughters, pressing equal amounts of kisses to their heads. Daniel glanced up at Florence who was stood in the archway, leaning against the wall. He stood up and handed her the small bag from the drugstore with a wink, leaning in to kiss her once.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“Daddy! Can you play with us?!” Clementine asked loudly, bouncing on her toes.

“I think it’s almost bedtime, Clemmie girl, don’t you think?” Daniel brushed a hand through her messy blonde hair.

“No.” Clementine frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Tomorrow I will. I promise.” Daniel assured her. “We’ll have story time tonight in the big bed, okay?”

The girls shrieked excitedly and ran off down the hallway towards the master bedroom. Daniel took the moment of silence to hug his wife, sharing their quiet ‘I love you’s, before he was called by the girls down the hall.

After two storybooks amongst a mound of pillows and the duvet, the girls started to drift, wrapped up in his arms. Florence took Clementine to bed and Daniel took Penelope, tucking them into their beds in their own rooms. The two young adults met back in the hallway, standing with a few feet between them.

“I’m like…a few weeks late.” Florence said.

“That’s a good sign.” Daniel replied.

“Not for sure though.” Florence added.

“That’s okay. Do you want me with you?” Daniel asked her quietly.

“Of course.” Florence nodded.

They found themselves in the ensuite, staring at the unopened box of two pregnancy tests on the counter. They stood there a while, Daniel waiting for Florence to make her first move. He glanced at her.

“They won’t tell us anything if you don’t take them.” Daniel chuckled.

Florence took a deep breath and took the box with her to the bathroom. She shut the door and got to work. Daniel sat on the counter waiting for her, finishing the now cold take-out from McDonald’s he picked up on the way home. She came back out and washed her hands, leaving the two tests in the opened box between them.

“I don’t know why I’m nervous.” Florence whispered, leaning her hands on the counter.

“I thought you wanted another one?” Daniel frowned, pulling lightly at her arm so she moved to stand between his legs.

“I do. So bad. Maybe I’m nervous that it will be negative.” Florence sighed.

“So we try again.” Daniel shrugged, taking her hands in his. “And again and again and again-“

Florence rolled her eyes at him through a smile, letting him press a kiss to her lips. They fell into silence as they waited, hands together.

“I’ve never been with someone when I do this.” Florence admitted. “It’s kind of nice.”

“Isn’t it?” Daniel smiled.

“Thank you for being here.”

“You’re my wife now, remember? I gotta be here with you for everything.” Daniel said, taking her face in his hands. “No going through things by yourself anymore.”

Florence took the front of his shirt in her hands and pulled him in for a lingering kiss.

“Can we look, yet?” Daniel finally mumbled against her mouth. “I’m dying here.”

“Yeah.” Florence said, picking up the box again. She dumped both tests into her hand, hiding the screen face down. She passed one to Daniel and kept one for herself.

They both stared down at the hidden tests in their hand before looking back up to each other.

“I’m nervous!” Florence shrieked quietly, bouncing on her toes a little.

“Count to 3, okay?” Daniel smiled, reaching out his one free hand to hold hers. “1…2…3…”

They both turned the screens face up in their palms, each showing a clear pair of solid pink lines.

“Dani…” Florence breathed, squeezing his hand.

“2 lines is good, right?!” he asked quickly, looking up at her.

“So good.” Florence nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

“Oh my gosh.” Daniel whispered, hoping off the counter to wrap her in a tight hug. “We’re gonna have a baby. Together this time.”

Florence laughed lightly against his shoulder, staring at the positive pregnancy test in her hand, “I love you.”

“I love you so much.” Daniel smiled.

“But seriously, Dani.” Florence pulled back from their hug, “I’m worried. Penelope came so early. The doctors said it was from the stress I was constantly in and I don’t want that to happen again. We lucked out with her health but-“

“There’s no reason to be stressed this time.” Daniel assured her, brushing her hair back form her face, “I’m going to be with you through everything. Every doctor’s appointment and everything.”

“Don’t promise that.” Florence chuckled. “You have a job.”

“The last two times you had to do so much on your own. I want to be here for everything. We’re going to do it right this time. I promise.”

~~

Christmas was only a few weeks away and keeping such a big secret was agonizing. They had planned the announcement for Christmas and swore themselves to secrecy. Daniel had to somehow see Jack almost every day at the studio and not say anything. Their first obstacle was telling their two girls who they knew had to be told first. Christmas Eve brought the perfect opportunity, the small family back in Vancouver with Daniel’s family for their annual Christmas visit. Still in their dresses and stockings from church, Clementine and Penelope were each handed a wrapped box as the family of four sat on the rug in front of the lit Christmas tree and warm fireplace, Daniel’s parents and siblings sitting around the couches. It was always a tradition to open one gift on Christmas Eve so this wasn’t unusual to the girls.

Clementine, who was closing in on 5 years old quickly, tore open the paper excitedly, her 18-month younger sister desperately trying to keep up. Inside the boxes were a set of pyjamas for each of them. The candy cane patterned sleeves and trim on the shirt matched the pants, Florence and Daniel both having their own matching pair in their room. The girls’ had writing on their shirts, however, the I’s of the red lettering were peppermint wheels reading ‘Big Sister’.

Clementine could read hers easily, the fact easily understood since she had been a big sister for 4 years. Penelope simply stared at hers, the 4-year-old not quite grasping full words yet.

“What does it say, Penny?” Florence asked.

“I dunno.” Penelope giggled shyly.

“Hers says ‘Big Sister’ too.” Clementine said. “That’s wrong. She’s the little sister.”

“She won’t be for long.” Daniel said through a smile.

“Oh my gosh!” Anna shrieked, clapping her hands over her mouth. “You’re pregnant?!”

Florence laughed and nodded lightly.

“No, you’re not!” Keri gaped.

“Yes, we are.” Florence giggled as Daniel pressed a kiss to her cheek, tucking his arm around her shoulders to pull her close.

The adults got up to share eager hugs and congratulations, a few happy tears being shed in the process. The young girls stared blankly at them, not quite grasping what was happening.

Christian bent down between the girls, “You guys are going to have a little brother or sister.”

“A baby?” Clementine looked up at her parents.

“Yeah, Clemmy girl, a brand-new baby!” Daniel smiled, sitting back on the rug again.

“Are you happy?” Florence asked as she joined him.

“Yeah.” Clementine shrieked suddenly, tossing the tissue paper in the air and nearly hitting Christian in the face.

“What about you, bug?” Daniel asked their soft-spoken second daughter. “You want a brother or sister?”

Penelope’s little smile brightened at his gentle acknowledgment, her rosy cheeks hiding behind her new pyjamas as everyone looked at her. She nodded gently, her soft giggle muffled by the clean fabric.

“Mommy’s having a baby, Nell!” Clementine yelled, tackling her younger sister onto the carpet.

“Clem, you’re more excited than all of us combined.” Florence laughed, grabbing the eldest by her waist and pulled her onto her lap.

“Do you want to see a picture of the baby?” Daniel asked the room.

“Yes please!” Penelope kicked her legs in the air, her red dress flying up by her head.

Daniel pulled her towards him by her ankles before taking her hands so she was on her feet. She draped her arm around his shoulder and the rest of the family gathered around behind them as he unlocked his phone to open the email from the doctor’s office. The black and white image of the little blob filled his screen.

“Wow.” Clementine breathed, leaning over to get a better look as the room awe’d gently. Penelope pulled the hem of her dress up to bite at, her wide blue eyes scanning the still image awestruck.

“Who do you think it looks like?” Daniel asked, gently pulling the dress out of her mouth.

“Me!” Clementine shouted.

“You?!” Florence laughed.

“Where is the baby?” Penelope whispered, leaning her head on Daniel’s.

“In my tummy.” Florence said.

“Why?”

“Because that’s just where babies grow.” Florence shrugged.

“How did it get there?” Penelope yawned.

“Yeah! How did it get there?” Clementine added, looking between her parents.

“Oh, Lord.” Christian laughed loudly, stepping back and headed for the kitchen, “I’m going to get a drink.”

Daniel chuckled nervously, telling his daughters, “A little magic from the wedding.”

“Do I get some too?” Clementine asked.

“Not until you get married which isn’t for years and years from now.” Daniel said.

“Many, many years.” Keri jumped in, scooping up her granddaughter. “Even more than your Mommy and Daddy waited.”

Daniel glared playfully at her, making the adults laugh.

“Why don’t we get into our pj’s and then have story time by the fire before we have to get into bed?” Florence suggested.

And that’s what they did, the four of them changing into their matching pyjamas for their last Christmas as a family of four, cuddled up on the couch with a picture book, their extended family joining with mugs of tea around the living room too. Daniel had his arm around his little family, lazily twisting a strand of Florence’s hair around his finger as she read out loud.

It was the one night a year the girls didn’t want a second book, eager to get to bed so Santa could come. The girls were tucked into bed and things in the living room were taken care of by the adults before they were off to bed themselves, cuddled up together as light snow filled the city below.

~~

The new year came with fresh starts and busy days. Penelope needed to move into Clementine’s room since they needed room for the nursey. Florence wanted to get started early, often waking up early to work, Daniel finding her pushing an entire dresser down the hallway at 6am. He constantly had to pull her back to bed, trying to convince her to let him take care of the big things.

The girls loved to talk to the baby, pressing their sticky hands to her small belly anytime they could. They shared many stories too and Clementine often came home from Junior Kindergarten with paintings for the baby which would be put safely in a book.

Each doctor’s appointment was finished with glowing reviews, everything progressing smoothly and, as promised, Daniel was there for each and every one. It was at their 20-week ultrasound that Florence was handed the sealed envelope that contained only a folded piece of paper. For both her pregnancies, she waited until the birth to know the gender since she didn’t feel the need. This time, Daniel insisted on a gender reveal party, giving Michael and Luke Clifford the privilege of finding out first and planning the whole thing.

It was during March Break when spring was starting to poke through the melting snow and Clementine would have the whole week out of school. All their family and friends came, even Daniel’s family flew in for the week, everyone dressed in either blue or pink for which ever gender they guessed.

That morning, Daniel came into the ensuite bathroom in all white, buttoning up the final button on his collared shirt.

“Where’s your colour?” Florence asked from her spot at her dressing table, fastening her earring.

“I don’t want to wear a colour because I don’t want to make the baby feel bad if they’re not what I guessed.” Daniel shrugged, leaning down next to her. “I’m going to be happy either way.”

Florence glanced at her sky-blue dress in the mirror and pursed her lips.

“You look beautiful.” Daniel whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek, his hand falling to her swollen belly.

“Maybe I should wear white too.” Florence said.

“You don’t have to.” Daniel chuckled, moving to the sink to brush his teeth.

“I was thinking boy because I haven’t had any morning sickness this time but my other two I did.” Florence said quietly, eyeing her dress before looking back to him.

“So stay in blue.” Daniel answered through his toothbrush.

“No…I’m going white too. We have to match.” Florence tisked, getting up from her chair to find a white dress in her closet.

Her sudden stop made Daniel frown, “What’s wrong?”

“I think I felt a kick.” Florence breathed, setting a hand on her stomach. Daniel got rid of his toothbrush and joined her, setting his hand next to hers. Sure enough, a tiny flutter moved under their palms.

“We have a tiny dancer on our hands.” Daniel smiled softly.

Florence let her right-hand fall to the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair, staring at his wide eyes and parted lips, his expression full of awe.

“I love you.” Florence whispered.

“I love you too.” Daniel grinned, leaning in to kiss her.

“Are you almost ready in there? We need to get going soon!” Callum called from the hallway.

Florence quickly switched into a white dress and heels and they joined their little family in the living room. The girls were both wearing light blue overalls with pink undershirts since they both kept switching between ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ every five minutes. Callum and Aidan both went with blue.

“You’re cheating!” Clementine shouted, pointing at her parents’ white outfits.

“We can’t break the rules if we made them.” Daniel said with a wink.

Michael and Luke had everything set up in the ballroom space of the apartment building, the same place Clementine had her first birthday. Everyone was already there, helping themselves to snacks and drinks. It wasn’t long before Daniel and Florence were directed to the front of the room, Clementine and Penelope joining them beside a large black balloon held by Michael. He handed it to the two little girls, giving them the instruction to hold tightly to the string so it wouldn’t float away.

When the room was quiet, Luke passed over a safety pin to Daniel and one to Florence. On a count to three, they were to pop the balloon and the confetti inside would reveal the gender.

“I’m nervous again!” Florence giggled.

“It’s a boy and I’ll bet money on that!” Callum called from the front of their small group.

“Willing to make that a bet? $50. It’s a girl.” Christian held out his hand.

“Deal. I know my sister.” Callum shook on it. “It’s a boy.”

“Ready?” Daniel smiled to his wife.

“So ready.” Florence leaned over to kiss him, the two girls between them laughing excitedly.

“3…!” Luke started. “2…1…!”

The pop of the balloon filled the quiet room and pink confetti rain down on the family of four. The little girls shrieked excitedly, jumping up and down in their own world. Beside them, Florence was more than shocked, falling into Daniel open arms.

Despite the shouting and laughing that took over the room, it felt like it was just the two of them. She could feel a tear fall onto her shoulder and Daniel held her tighter.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, his voice wavering.

“I love you.” Florence smiled, taking his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his.

“I believe you owe me money, Mr. DiCaprio!” Christian shouted over the excitement in the room.

~~

The remainder of the second and well into the third trimester was spent with Daniel waiting on her hand and foot. Florence didn’t like it at first, feeling badly that he was doing it all, but Daniel insisted, doing everything he could to keep her relaxed with her feet up. He took Clementine to school every morning and picked her up on his lunch break, he took charge of bath time for the girls and cleaned the apartment, and even (tried his best) to make dinner every night.

Florence really missed him throughout her last pregnancy as he was such a comfort through the end of her first, being the only thing to help her sleep in those later months. She basked in it this time, though, refusing to let him get out of bed until he was almost late for work. Not that he complained, he would have given anything to stay like that all day.

Even as summer came around and the apartment was always sweltering, Daniel had his arms around her like he would never let go. It was a vision of love and protection Florence never knew she really needed.

And one June morning, no earlier than sunrise, Florence awoke suddenly. Daniel’s arm was draped lazily over her waist with his bare chest pressed to her back, soft breaths let out against her neck. Sweat was pooling at her hairline and she gently slid his arm off of her and he shifted sleepily onto his back. Florence sat up, pushing the heavy duvet off of her to try and get some cool air. It wasn’t unusual that she was extra warm during her final few weeks as growing a full-term human wasn’t an easy task, so she merely took a second to catch her breath.

A small sharp pain made her flinch, pressing a hand underneath her swollen stomach. It was only when she started to make a move to get out of bed that she noticed the wet sheets. Her discovery was punctuated with a warm cramping spreading over her hips.

Florence looked to her right where Daniel laid, his brown hair sticking up in all directions and lips set in a small pout as he slept soundly. She gave him a small nudge, “Dani.”

He shifted tiredly to face the other way, pulling the blankets higher over him.

“Sweetheart.” Florence pulled them back before shaking his arm. “Daniel.”

He rolled over to face her, blinking open his tired eyes to try and focus on her, “You okay?” he asked groggily, reaching a hand to her arm.

“My water broke.” Florence whispered.

Daniel’s still half-asleep face took a second to register what she said before his mouth was falling open. He looked down to her lap that was still covered by the duvet.

“Ok. That’s okay.” Daniel jumped out of bed, almost tripping over his own feet as he scrambled to her bedside in only his underwear, tugging on a pair of pyjama pants in the process. “Are you hurting?”

“A little.” Florence frowned. “She’s 3 weeks early, Dani. We did everything right I don’t know why-“

“Hey.” Daniel took her face in his hands. “It’s okay. Remember the doctor said 37 weeks is fine. That we should expect early because of last time. 37 is good.”

Florence nodded.

“I’ll call the midwife?” Daniel offered.

“We need these sheets changed first.” Florence frowned.

“Of course. Do you want me to take you to the living room?”

“I can go if you take care of this?”

“Okay.” Daniel tilted her chin up to press a kiss to her lips.

“I’m sorry.” Florence mumbled as he helped her to her feet.

“Nothing you need to apologize for, darling.” Daniel smiled, “You’re having our baby today.”

Once Florence made it to the living room, she sat herself down on the couch and called the midwife. It was barely 6:45 in the morning and by Florence’s reflection of her state, the midwife said she would come by for 8, telling her to time and note any contractions or important details.

As soon as they hung up, a sharp pain shot through her side and Florence gasped, clutching onto the back of the couch. Of course, it was just when the girls woke up, rushing out of their shared room and down the hall to the master bedroom like every morning. But they found it empty, bed striped and lights on...but empty.

Clementine and Penelope stopped in their tracks, smiles fading with confusion.

“Good morning, my girls.” Daniel greeted them sweetly as he walked back into the master bedroom from starting the laundry.

Smiles back on their faces, the two girls rushed him with hugs until he scooped them both up in his arms.

“Where’s Mummy?” Penelope asked quietly, her head resting on Daniel’s bare shoulder.

“In the living room. Let’s go say good morning.” he carried his two girls across the apartment. Florence was still on the couch and he set the girls down so they could greet her. The last morning of just the four of them.

Florence was forcing a smile through her steady pain, welcoming her daughters’ innocent smiles and excited hugs and kisses.

“Uncle Callum is going to spend the day with you, does that sound nice?” Florence asked as Penelope curled up on her lap. Clementine skipped off after Daniel to help him prepare breakfast a few feet away in the kitchen, shouting her agreement to that statement with excitement.

“What about you?” Penelope whined gently.

“Dad and I have to get ready to meet your baby sister. We think she’s going to be here soon.” Florence explained.

“Today?!” Clementine shrieked from her spot on the kitchen counter.

“Maybe.” Daniel smiled, petting her hair back from her face as she dropped two frozen waffles in the toaster.

“I want to meet baby sister.” Penelope whispered.

“Me too.” Florence smiled, pressing a kiss to her head.

When breakfast was ready, Daniel called the two girls to the kitchen table, setting two plates in front of them with glasses of apple juice. Florence stayed on the couch, another small contraction washing over her. She held tightly to the couch cushion to avoid making a scene in front of the girls, eyeing the clock on the wall that read 7:23.

Daniel finished cutting up the girls’ waffles before he joined Florence in the living room. He bent down in front of her and set his hands on her stomach.

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” he whispered, glancing up at her with worry in his light eyes.

“Alright so far.” Florence breathed, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Do you want breakfast?”

“No. I’m okay. You eat.” Florence smiled.

“I’m too excited to eat.” Daniel admitted quietly, leaning up to kiss her as he stood up again. “Callum should be here any moment now.”

“Okay.” Florence sighed, taking his hands in hers.

He leaned down to kiss her once more before heading back to the girls.

“Daddy!” Clementine shrieked through a mouthful of waffle, “We can see your boobies while we eat!”

“Then don’t look.” Daniel teased, pressing his finger in her side to make her squeal with laughter.

“Yucky!” Penelope added, sliding off her chair and ran off towards the kitchen with her plate before he could grab her. Sure enough, he scooped her right off the floor, blowing a raspberry against her shoulder. Penelope squirmed in his arms, trying to push his head away from her through her laughter.

The knock at the door had Clementine running for the foyer, Penelope wiggling enough to have Daniel put her down to join her sister.

“You two get your bags and kiss Mommy goodbye.” Daniel instructed, steering them towards their room.

He opened the door for Callum and Aidan, gesturing them inside with a tired welcome.

“Gosh, Dan, pull up your pants. Do you always walk around like this?” Aidan tisked, eyeing his friend’s bare torso and Calvin’s band that was peeking out from under his plaid pyjama pants.

“No wonder my sister got knocked up again.” Callum teased.

“Oh, Callum George, stop it!” Florence called from the living room. The young men joined her, Callum greeting her with a kiss to her head.

“Uncle Cal!” Clementine called, running over to him and threw her arms around his leg, her tiny suitcase discarded in the middle of the room. Penelope stuck with Daniel, curling one arm around his leg shyly.

“Good morning, Clem.” Callum smiled, picking up his niece and sat her on his hip.

“Mommy’s having baby sister today!” Clementine said proudly.

“I know! That’s why you’re going to have a sleepover with us!” Callum explained.

“You excited, Nell?” Aidan asked the youngest, crouching down to her level.

“Yes.” she smiled shyly, her dark messy hair falling over her eyes.

“Shall we head out then?” Callum said. “Center Island won’t wait for us!”

“Center Island?!” Clementine shrieked, her mouth falling open excitedly, looking between him and her mother.

“Yeah! So lets say goodbye and get going!” Callum bent down so she could kiss her mother goodbye.

“Behave yourself, you.” Florence chuckled, kissing her daughter’s head.

“Come here, Penny.” Florence said to her youngest who slunk away from Daniel to climb up on the couch to hug her.

“Have fun with Cal and Aidan, okay?”

Penelope nodded, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Call if you need anything or if anything happens.” Aidan said to Florence, bending down to hug her.

“I will.” Florence agreed.

They headed towards the door, Aidan taking the small pink suitcases in hand.

“Come on, bug.” Daniel said to Penelope, holding out his hand to lead her to the foyer.

“I want to stay with Mommy.” Penelope frowned.

“I’ll take good care of her for you, I promise.” Daniel said sweetly, “You get to go have fun with you sister while we do all the work. When you get back to Callum’s tonight hopefully you can see pictures of baby sister.”

“I want to see her now.” Penelope whimpered, setting her little hands on the baby bump.

“Me too, bug.” Daniel pressed a kiss to her head. “Soon though.”

“Callum and Aidan are going to make sure you have so much fun today.” Florence promised, petting back her daughter’s hair. “Maybe even buy you an ice cream.”

Penelope tried to hide her cheeky smile behind her hair.

“Come on, Nell!” Clementine shouted from the foyer.

“Kisses.” Daniel requested softly, puckering out his lips. His youngest giggled and kissed him once and offered one to Florence before sliding off the couch. She ran after her sister to get her shoes on.

With the girls out of the house, the moment the door closed, Florence let out a pained groan she had been holding in since she woke up.

“What can I get you?” Daniel asked softly, returning back to his place in front of her, running his fingers through her hair.

“Nothing.” Florence breathed, pushing herself up from the couch ungracefully. He helped her with a hand around her waist. “I’m just going to walk a bit before the midwife gets here.”

With her pacing the hallway, Daniel tidied up the master bedroom a little bit, singing quietly as he worked. His soft voice always calmed her and she let her eyes close as she took one slow step at a time down the hallway.

When the midwife arrived, she helped Daniel get the bed re-made and Florence to lay down again. She checked her out a little.

“Looks like you’re already 5cm. Seems like you’ve been in labour for a few hours now. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you.” she chuckled.

“Gosh...it hasn’t been that bad.” Florence said.

“That’s good then. Being able to get as much rest as you can is important. Contractions are steady?”

“Every 5 minutes.” Florence answered. “Short though.”

“That’s okay. Let’s see if you can sleep anymore.”

“I don’t think I can.” Florence admitted.

“Too excited?”

“Just a little.” Florence smiled.

Daniel came out of the walk-in closet in jeans and a white t-shirt with his hair brushed and face shaved. “How are we looking?” he asked.

“Halfway there.” The midwife said.

“Oh, that’s so good!” Daniel smiled.

Florence shifted in her place, whimpering slightly as another contraction came upon her. Daniel climbed next to her and took her hand in his. She leaned on his shoulder with her eyes shut tight, clinging onto his hand.

“They’re getting worse?” The midwife asked.

Florence nodded.

Daniel let his free hand press softly against her cheek and kissed her hair, resting his head on hers. He rubbed his thumb in soft circles over hers.

Florence wanted the calmest and most relaxing birth possible, opting for a home birth for optimal comfort over the unpleasant hospital. The midwife was familiar with home births and throughout the preparation had given good suggestions. Daniel purchased an entire store worth of unscented candles.

Labour was slow but definitely calm, Florence finally getting in the bathtub to try and lessen the growing pain. The bathroom was dimmed to candlelight as she rested with her eyes closed in the warm bath, Daniel sat on the floor against the counter with his guitar on his lap, playing away slowly. His soft voice filled the silent apartment, keeping his eyes on his labouring wife across from him. Her blonde hair was damp at the ends where the water reached, her fingers tightening their grip on the edge of the bathtub, the water sloshing slightly as she flinched in pain.

Daniel hated seeing her like that, small tears welling in his eyes as he kept his voice steady, plucking gently at the guitar strings.

“Dani.” Florence whispered into the air.

He was at her side in an instant, brushing her hair back from her face, his other hand resting over hers, “I’m here, sweetheart.”

Florence licked her lips slowly, her eyes still shut, “Hurts so bad.”

“I know, baby.” Daniel kissed her head. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“Can I have some water?”

“Of course.” Daniel reached behind her to the half empty glass, switching hands to rest it against her lips. She took it from him, a shaking hand holding the glass as she sipped. She handed it back to him and he set it down before shifting so he was sitting on the tile floor, kissing her hand.

She fluttered her eyes open, smiling weakly at him, holding her hand against his cheek.

“I love you.” Florence sighed.

“I love you so much.” Daniel leaned in to press a kiss to her pouted lips.

“Can you help me out? I’m kind of chilly now.”

“Of course.” Daniel got up and helped her carefully stand up in the tub, taking her hands to steady her as she stepped onto the bathmat. He draped a towel around her and dried her off, helping her out of her wet bathing suit.

“Sorry, I just-“ Florence leaned forward, tightening her grip on his shoulders and let out a trembling groan.

“Good girl.” Daniel whispered, rubbing his hands over her back. “Breathe through it.”

She let out a steady exhale followed by a soft inhale. When the contraction passed, she stood back up, offering him a pout.

“Let’s get you dressed.” Daniel chuckled. He reached behind him to the counter, grabbing her a clean nursing bra, getting her in it gently. He left the towel draped around her waist, one arm taking hers and the other grabbing his guitar, helping her back to bed. The midwife gave her a second look over, timing the contractions at 2 minutes apart, lasting almost 30 seconds.

“We are moving things right along!” she said. “We’re between 7-8cm now. Doing just fine.”

“I could feel her moving down.” Florence said tiredly, offering a smile to the room.

“That’s good.” the midwife said, pressing her hands to her belly to check the baby’s position. “She’s a well behaved little one too.”

“What time is it, Dani?” Florence asked.

“Almost noon, sweetheart.” he replied, pulling a black tank-top from his dresser drawer as his t-shirt was damp from the bath water.

“Oh gosh.” Florence sighed, resting her head back against the pillow as he changed quickly before sitting on the edge of the bed next to her.

“You’re doing great work, Florence.” the midwife said with an honest smile. “How are you feeling?”

“A little nauseous.” Florence admitted.

“That’s from the pain. Have some water and take nice deep breaths. We can try moving to a better position.”

The midwife helped her kneel on the floor, arms holding the side of the bed. Florence, already tired out, leaned her head against her arms on the mattress, groaning lightly with each steady breath.

Daniel sat behind her, rubbing slow circles over her lower back.

“We have a natural on our hands.” the midwife smiled at him.

“I know.” Florence chuckled breathlessly.

Daniel blushed at the form of flattery, massaging her back and her hips strongly, peppering little kisses over her shoulder.

“Ow-“ Florence scrunched her eyes closed as another contraction hit.

“You’re doing so well.” Daniel praised, his warm hands easing her pain the best he could.

“Fuck...” Florence gripped the bedsheets in her fist.

“Bad one?” Daniel asked. She nodded. “You’re so strong, baby. So amazing.”

She gasped out of her contraction, taking a second to catch her breath before speaking, “Why did we do this again?”

“We’re doing it right this time, remember?” Daniel reminded her gently, keeping his hands rubbing circles over her back. “Bringing another little girl into our life the right way. Together. Because you’re the love of my life...the strongest woman I know...the one and only person I trust to carry my child. Our third baby. Our missing piece.”

“Fuck, Daniel. You’re making me cry.” Florence chuckled through her forming tears.

“Gotta make up all the missed time somehow.” Daniel said, kissing her shoulder.

“Stop with your missed time.” Florence whispered tiredly. “We did everything in perfect time. Anything different and we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You’re right.” Daniel sighed, draping his arms around her waist to rest on her belly. He leaned his head against her shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Florence chuckled, resting one hand over his.

Another contraction came quickly, having her resort back to her double fisted grip on the bedsheets, groaning into the mattress. Daniel kept his arms around her, swaying her hips gently as he hummed a soft tune against her skin. She had only a moment to breathe again when the contraction died down, her head resting on her arms in her small squat, breathing deeply. She let out a sob into her arms as another contraction washed over her, her body clenching painfully.

“They’re much closer now.” Daniel said aloud, putting soft pressure against her lower back and hips. He could feel the heat radiating off of her and he waved his hand by her face to try and cool her down. He didn’t see the midwife leave the room but she was soon handing him a cool, damp face cloth and he thanked her quietly before running it softly over Florence’s shoulders and neck.

“Deep breaths.” The midwife instructed, getting on the ground with them to check out the process of the baby. “Almost there.”

“Almost there.” Daniel repeated.  

“I want to lay down. My legs hurt.” Florence whispered, burying her face in the crook of her arm.

“Whatever is best for you, dear.” The midwife agreed, helping Daniel get her to her feet and back onto the bed. She checked the baby’s heartrate and position again, making a few notes before taking a step back to let Florence breathe. Daniel was curled up next to her, pressing the cool cloth to her forehead and cheeks, following the breathing techniques with her. Florence’s hand was holding the front of his shirt, her eyes scrunched closed and her grip tightening as she contracted again, letting out a small cry of pain.

“Do you want me to sing to you?” Daniel asked quietly.

Florence nodded quickly, biting down on her bottom lip.

He ran his thumb over her lip to make her release it, offering his free hand for her to cling onto instead as he chose a gentle song and sang quietly into the dimly lit room. His voice seemed to echo through the empty apartment, running his thumb over hers, keeping his damp eyes focussed on her face. The curtains were drawn, closing off the bright afternoon sun and leaving the room to candlelight and the single table lamp set up on the dresser for the midwife to work. The soothing scent of lavender wafted from the candle on the right-side night table, just enough to bring a sense of serenity and calmness to the room.

With each contraction, Florence kept her breathing steady, burying her face against Daniel’s chest with her hand gripping his shirt, her other held securely in his. He kept the cool cloth blotting her forehead and neck, the icy dampness relaxing her more, his soothing voice keeping her focussed on something other than the radiating pain. Every minute exactly, she was whimpering against his chest, pulling him close. Daniel’s voice quivered seeing her in such a state but he forced himself to stay strong for her. He had never been a part of the labour process and it absolutely broke his heart to see her like that.

One strong contraction in particular had her letting out a small shriek, flinching intensely in his arms, “Daniel.”

Daniel couldn’t hold back the small sob that fell from his pouted lips, wrapping his arms around her securely and pressed kisses to her head. “I’m here, baby. I got you.”

“Go right into that, Florence.” The midwife praised softly, rubbing her hand over her back, “You’re doing so well.”

“I’m so sorry.” Daniel whispered against Florence’s ear, his quiet tears falling onto her bare shoulder.

Florence shook her head as the contraction died out. “Don’t be sorry,” she breathed heavily, shifting to look at him, holding one hand to his cheek, “God, don’t cry, Dani. It’s all going to be worth it.”

“That’s the spirit.” The midwife smiled, settling on her other side. “Now I’m just going to check baby’s heartbeat.”

She pressed the wand of a small machine to Florence’s bare stomach, the staticky rhythm filling the room. Daniel smiled softly as Florence looked up to him.

“I love you.” Florence whispered, puckering out her lips.

“I love you.” Daniel chuckled, meeting her halfway for a single sweet kiss.

He helped her through another contraction. Her eyebrows were furrowed through it, raising Daniel’s concern a little bit.

When it finished, she shifted onto her back to look towards the midwife, “Can you check me again? I think she’s ready to come out.”

The midwife paused as she checked her dilation, “Well, my dear, you are very in tune with your body. You’re at 10cm. Let’s get this baby out.”

“Now?!” Daniel gasped, looking between the two women.

“Whenever she feels the urge to push, yes!” the midwife chuckled, starting to arrange her things.

“Which will probably be in like 30 seconds.” Florence added lightly.

“Where do I sit? What do you want me to do?!” Daniel asked quickly.

“Calm down, Dani.” Florence laughed as the midwife had her sit up a bit more.

“You can sit behind her if you’d like.” The midwife suggested. “If that’s comfortable for mama of course.”

“Yeah, that works.” Florence nodded, letting Daniel slide his leg behind her. He leaned against the pillows and the headboard as she rested back against his chest. The midwife hurried to set down an extra towel under her and got her legs bent open.

“Okay, with the next contraction, you know what to do. Listen to your body.” The midwife instructed quietly.

Florence took a soft breath, letting Daniel set his hands in hers, linking their fingers together. Sure enough, at the next contraction, she felt the natural urge to push, a feeling that was always so surreal to her. She took a trembling breath before pressing her chin to her chest and pushed. It was nothing she hadn’t done before but it was still a lot, listening to the midwife’s steady count to ten before she could have a second to catch her breath.

“Another count of ten, honey.” The midwife said.

“Oh God.” Florence whimpered, shutting her eyes tightly as she pushed again.

Daniel kept his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over hers, watching her concentration and determination with wide eyes.

“That’s good.” The midwife said. “Catch your breath.”

Florence rested her head back against Daniel’s chest, her breathing shallow. Daniel started another breathing exercise, soon getting her to join.

“You two make a good team.” The midwife smiled up at them.

Florence hummed tiredly in agreement before sitting herself up a little bit more and pushing again.

“Good girl.” Daniel whispered, freeing one hand to pull her hair back from her face before falling to her hip.

“Fuck, Penelope was so much smaller than this.” Florence groaned through another push, her nose scrunched up with the effort she was putting out.

“Just means you’re delivering a healthy, full term baby now.” The midwife said softly. “Keep those pushes coming. You’re doing great.”

Florence took a breath before pushing again, groaning into it with her chin to her chest. She squeezed Daniel’s hand in her own, her right hand on his thigh to hold herself steady. He reached over to grab the paper fan from the nightstand, using his free hand to fan her with it, the cool air making her sigh thankfully.

“Doing so good, sweetheart.” Daniel whispered, peppering kisses along her neck and shoulder.

Florence groaned into the air, her eyes screwed shut, squirming in her place, “Hurts so bad.”

“Keep your legs open, honey. It will make it easier.” The midwife said, trying to keep open the labouring mother’s trembling thighs. Florence hooked her ankles over Daniel’s to ground herself, pulling his arm around her middle as she breathed out of another contraction. The next came fast and she pushed right into it, whimpering loudly.

Daniel could feel her whole body trembling and all he could do was hold her, tucking one hand under her thigh to help keep her legs open, watching over her shoulder as the midwife helped her through it.

“Her head is coming soon. We’re almost at the end!” the midwife announced, letting Florence sit back to breathe after two more counts of ten.

“Dani.” Florence panted, blinking open her tired eyes to him as her head rested lazily against his shoulder.

“You’re absolutely incredible.” Daniel whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’m so in love with you.”

“I love you.” Florence mumbled. She breathed out deeply before another contraction washed over her. The midwife instructed her to pant light and she did, resisting the urge to simply push with all her might.

“We’re crowning now.” The midwife told them. “Nice steady push now, honey.”

Florence held her breath and tucked her chin down again, offering her a nice slow push, groaning loudly as she did.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow-” Florence cried, clinging onto Daniel’s hand. Taking a deep breath before pushing again.

“That’s it.” Daniel breathed, rubbing his thumb in soft circles over her thigh. “Good job, baby.”

After one more lengthy count to ten, the head was born. Daniel let out a little gasp at the sight of the wet light hair that was poking out between her legs.

“Strong push now, Florence.” The midwife encouraged. “She’s almost here!”

Florence leaned back against Daniel, taking both hands in her own instead of just one, tightening her legs around his, and pushed as hard as she could. Her head rested on his shoulder, her laboured breaths and whimpers against his neck, hands trembling in his as she brought their final little girl into the world. Daniel kept his eyes between her legs, watching completely uncensored as the baby was delivered into the midwife’s hands. And with Florence’s heavy sigh of relief, Daniel let out a small sob, tears spilling down his cheeks as the baby at the foot of the bed let out her first cry.

“1:56pm. June 24th. A beautiful baby girl.” The midwife announced with a wide smile, wrapping her up in a blanket and placed her on Florence’s chest. She instinctively wrapped her arms around the newborn, her own tears trickling down her cheek.

Daniel was right with her, his cheek almost pressed against hers as he stared down at the new arrival wrapped in white. Her shrill cries were nothing but the most beautiful music to his ears and he cried tears of joy along with her.

“Hi, baby.” Florence whimpered happily. “Oh, Dani, look at her.” Florence turned her head a little to look at her beautiful mess of a husband beside her.

“She’s perfect.” Daniel cried, leaning in to kiss her sweetly. “I’m so proud of you. I love you.”

“I love you.” Florence smiled, moving one hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

They stayed there a few quick minutes before it was time to deliver the placenta. It was quick and easy and Florence was honestly too wrapped up in admiring the new little girl in her arms to really notice.

The midwife took the baby to be checked out, weighing her in at 7lbs 11oz and measuring her at 20inches long. She was nothing but perfect; her health was pristine, the delivery went without fault, and soon the baby was quiet and nursing, swaddled in a soft purple blanket in Florence’s arms. Daniel sat beside them, running his fingertips ever so softly over the baby’s thin hair, watching her eat quietly.

“She’s so soft.” he breathed, pressing a gentle kiss to her head.

“I know.” Florence smiled.

“She’s ours.” Daniel sighed happily.

“She is.” Florence whispered.

The midwife came back in after her things were packed up and she was ready to go, “One last thing before I leave, we need to fill out the birth certificate so I can mail it to the government.”

“Of course.” Florence smiled, pulling her blanket that was draped over her shoulders farther over her chest for decency as if the lady who walked in didn’t just deliver her child.

“Does this little girl have a name that you’ve decided on?” she asked kindly, sitting on the end of the bed with her pen and paper.

“Lucy.” Daniel whispered, keeping his eyes on the baby, her tiny hand curling around his index finger. “Lucy Elizabeth Seavey.”

~~

“Aren’t you the prettiest little girl in the whole world.” Daniel cooed gently to the newborn who was laid on the changing pad at the end of the bed. She cried restlessly, tiny legs kicking as he fastened her diaper, her arms curled by her face. He leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek, “Well, out of those younger than 3. I can’t go picking favourites.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Florence chuckled tiredly, tucked into their freshly made bed in a new pair of pyjamas and the uncomfortable post-birth underwear the midwife gave her.

Daniel sent her a small wink before he was tugging off his shirt and gently lifting the baby to his chest. She curled against him, her loud cries softening as her head rested on his shoulder, sucking on her tiny fist. He walked slowly around the room, tossing his shirt in the laundry basket, throwing out the dirty diaper and put away the wipes and things. His steps were cautious, holding the newborn securely with one hand until he could rest at the window, rubbing soft circles over her back as they overlooked the busting city and the setting sun.

Of course, Daniel couldn’t help but sing quietly, offering the quiet room the lyrics to the Beatles song that was the newborn’s namesake. And, like both sisters before her, Lucy was asleep in mere moments by the heavenly voice that Daniel had been blessed with.

He sat himself in bed, making sure to keep the sleeping baby safely against his chest. Florence ran a gentle hand over the thin blonde hair that the newborn donned, before moving her fingertips to Daniel’s cheek, turning him to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“You’re so good with her.” Florence whispered.

“All in the practice.” Daniel smiled, resting his hand out for her to hold. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Tired and sore. But happy.” Florence smiled softly, giving his hand a little squeeze. “So happy.”

He returned it, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her lips. He kept his one hand over the baby’s back as she slept against his chest, making sure he stayed perfectly still so she wouldn’t fall, staring down at her with nothing but love in his eyes.

“Look at her.” Daniel breathed. “We made her and now she’s real and I’m holding her and...”

“I know.” Florence giggled quietly, curling into his side a little.

“And she’s ours.”

“All ours.”

“Our littlest princess.”

Lucy stretched her tiny arms up through a sleepy yawn as if she was trying to drape them over his shoulders. She kept her cheek against his chest, breathing slowly with him.

“She looks so much like you.” Florence breathed, running the back of her index finger over the baby’s cheek.

“She looks more like you.” Daniel said. “All this light hair.”

“Her eyes and nose are all yours.” Florence whispered, gently tracing the curve of Lucy’s tiny nose.

When Daniel didn’t answer after a moment, Florence turned her head up to look at him. He was already looking at her, a soft smile on his lips.

“Thank you for our beautiful family.” He mumbled.

Florence pulled him in for a kiss, “Thank you.”

[bestsongby]

New Thoughts on Old Classics:

Hotel California, by the Eagles. 1976

Is it Essential? 

The Eagles (or, more specifically, Henley and Frey) were often viewed as cocaine-fueled El Lay misogynists. I think the cocaine-fueled and El Lay are indisputable, but is the misogynist tag a little unfair? Could be.

I’ve always been fascinated by Hotel California, the Eagles’ bazillion selling magnum opus, and how it plays with that perception in mind. 

Hotel California is the Eagles stretching their powers as far as the rubber band will allow before it snaps or loses its shape forever, which probably explains why their only subsequent release as an active band was the lackluster The Long Run, a collection of half-assed disco shuffles and by-the-numbers rockers. (aside from barely an Eagle Timothy B. Schmidt’s heartfelt soft rock gem “I Can’t Tell You Why,” and barely upright Eagle Joe Walsh’s catchy as fuck guitar rocker “In the City.”)

For what it’s worth, the stretched rubber band theory is one I apply to most great rock acts who spend any time working under the Album as Art theory of record making. (acknowledging that there have been many, many Not Great bands operating under this theory) The Beatles wisely realized they’d reached that point with Abbey Road, and packed it in before the slope slipped. The Stones began that climb with Beggar’s Banquet, and went from strength to strength until they reached their apex by plunging back down through the depths with Exile on Main St. The Kinks bucked the trend to some degree by releasing one pretty brilliant and one almost pretty brilliant album after their ultimate statement of intent, The Village Green Preservation Society. The Who…well, the Who never really got there. They fooled the world into believing Tommy was their Everest flag-planting, but the truth is Quadrophenia was a better album. All of which obscures the fact that the Who’s greatest album is Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy, a perfect collection of classic singles, few of which managed to tickle the U.S. charts. 

And then there are the Loves (Forever Changes) and Zombies (Odessey & Oracle), who strayed outside their comfort zones long enough to produce single discs that stand up to the greatest of the Greatest, despite neither band ever really being truly among the Greatest. (and, yes, both bands were otherwise very, very good at times)

Whew. I digress.

Let’s start with this: Is Hotel California a great album?

I’d like to say it is, but it might not even be the Eagles’ best album. I think, assuming assessing a “best” of anything Eagles-related doesn’t make your stomach clench, an argument could be made for One of These Nights (the album that immediately preceded this one – which easily wins the battle of cover art, anyway). But Hotel California is the most Eagles of Eagles albums, and stands as the best summation of their moment in the sun. And, it marks that moment when tuneful music produced by strong personalities could dominate the American pop culture landscape like no other medium.

In hindsight, Hotel California, riding shotgun with Fleetwood Mac’s equally mammoth Rumours, stands as a signpost in a pivotal moment in pop culture’s de-evolution from artist-controlled playground to complete corporate takeover. The suits always knew there was money in the music, but, holy shit, this much money?

Hotel California is an arrogant, confident, pretentious, calculated work of fiction, and you can hum along to it. It’s dominated by Don Henley, but it’s the input of the other band members that prevents it from completely collapsing under its own weight.

So, in review, let’s start with the title track, which can almost definitely be tuned in somewhere on your terrestrial radio dial at this very moment.

“Hotel California” started as a killer guitar riff by lead guitarist Don Felder. (Fittingly, Felder, who primarily kept his head down and played the shit out of his guitar throughout the Eagles’ history, eventually became estranged from the band) Once Don Henley grafted his lyrics to the music, the song became the ultimate distillation of the Eagles’ Desert Cocaine Tableau. Most of the group’s biggest hits were pretty direct, lyrically. A woman either pissed them off, or a woman was invited to lay down in the desert with them. Or sometimes the women were left behind while the band wrote their own desperado inspired mythology. But the fragmented imagery in “Hotel California” could only really make sense if the listener has a straw permanently lodged up his nose. The Witchy Woman of the past becomes the hostess of a demonic hostel where pink champagne replaces wine and pretty boys dance endlessly in sweat drenched courtyards. It seems as if the Hotel California is a place to run to and to run from, and we’re pretty sure Henley is only lamenting the “mirrors on ceiling” because all of his coke is now going to wind up on the floor.

With all of that said, the interplay between the guitars is deathless, and even vague descriptions of driving through the desert at night are enough to conjure up personal imagery for anyone confused as to what “colitas” is (are?). (The fact that the Eagles played an acoustic version of this live is either proof that they’re assholes, or that, like Eric Clapton’s tedious acoustic return to “Layla,” they just don’t quite understand the reasons for their own success – Felder trumps Henley here, and that’s that)

With that out of the way, we catch our breath and listen to the gang take it down a notch (with the help of JD Souther – the Eagles were never lacking for talented SoCal co-conspirators, starting at the beginning with Jackson Browne) with “New Kid in Town,” which, damn it, is pretty unassailable, musically. It’s got hooks for days, lush production that never swamps the tune, and a sincere, understated vocal performance from Glenn Frey, backed by great group harmonies. What? The lyrics? Well, okay. The woman is doing him wrong (in the third person, for some reason – maybe it’s not manly to admit you’re the one being cuckolded?), and she’s not living up to her end of the bargain, and…

Okay, you get the point. It’s a Henley/Frey lyric.

“Life in the Fast Lane” (It’s interesting to note the band led the album off with Hotel California’s only three single releases – all smash hits, of course) kicks in next, and we’re reminded overtly of the cocaine. It’s a great radio rocker – guitar licks weaving in and out, featuring maybe the slickest production on the album, and Henley doesn’t spare the dude in the equation this time, letting us know that both parties are feeding each other’s sinful excesses (sex and drugs). It’s a tale as old as Los Angeles, and the spoken “are you with me so far” dropped in by Henley manages to insult the listener almost by accident. (yeah, we’re with you, Don! Sex and drugs go hand-in-hand with rock and roll, brother! Revelation!)

And then we roll into “Wasted Time.” In which Henley (boy, so far, this is really a Don disc more than a Glenn disc) strains to let the poor dumb broad who left him know that she’s done nothing but fuck up her love life by fucking the wrong dudes, and, most importantly, by leaving Henley. It’s definitely this type of sentiment that allows critics to glue the MYSOGYNY label on our heroes. It never occurs to Don that this girl might have made the right choice in leaving a dude who not only plods through an orchestrated piano ballad about the terrible decisions she’s made, but backs it up with an orchestral reprise to hammer the point home. (the reprise actually originally opened side two, just to make sure you couldn’t escape the sentiment by flipping over the album – the fucking Eagles led off side two of their biggest album with an orchestral reprise. Admire their balls)

The sequencing of Hotel California comes across as pretty messy in the era of the compact disc/digital album, with the “Wasted Time(s)” dropped right smack into the middle of things, and “Life in the Fast Lane” book-ending the song(s) with the next track up…

And it’s another Henley rocker (what demons was Frey battling in 1976 that allowed him to take such a backseat to his his white ‘fro-sporting partner?), “Victim of Love.” It’s a catchy rocker about…some poor dumb broad. I hate to harp on the cocaine, but how much of it was Stevie Nicks doing to think Henley was a fun dude to party with? Anyway, this one is another radio staple, despite never being released as a single. Truthfully, all the album really needed was “Life in the Fast Lane” to remind us the boys could rock a little. But here they slowed it down a notch in case you had trouble keeping up with them the first time. 

And then, out of nowhere, we’re dropped into Joe Walsh’s melancholy reflection on life, “Pretty Maids All in a Row.” I can’t say exactly what the Eagles were thinking when they pulled Walsh into the band (”Hey – this dude makes us look sober!”), but I’d be hard-pressed to believe they anticipated his first recorded contribution would be such a beautiful, naked sentiment, punctuated not with his trademark guitar rips, but by piano and synthesizer. It’s a jarring shift in tone, helping the album achieve an eclectic vibe it was struggling to achieve with Henley dominating the proceedings, and all the more powerful for it.

Anyway, great track. And it’s followed by another great track.

Backing up “Pretty Maids” is, for my money, the best track on the album, and one of the most overlooked songs in the band’s catalog. No coincidence it’s a Randy Meisner song. “Try and Love Again” is a soaring, hopeful rocker, punctuated by Meisner’s upper register, and some truly uplifting guitar soloing. It’s a mystery why this track wasn’t released as a single, unless Henley and Frey were still annoyed that Meisner’s “Take It to the Limit” was the band’s first number one single. But it’s the one track from the album I find myself revisiting most often, without apology. It’s also worth noting that while Meisner’s lyric is treading on self-pity, he’s not blaming a chick for his problems. 

At this point we’ve wound our way through a collection of hit singles, timeless riffs, and a couple of contributions from lesser used band members that stand up to the hits. It’s hard to say there’s a definite theme at play here, although California and Los Angeles are definite players on the scene. So it’s up to Henley, again, to hammer things home with the most pretentious track in the Eagles’ entire catalog.

“The Last Resort” answers the question, “What if Randy Newman didn’t have a sense of humor?” A confused history of California (and over seven minutes long, to punctuate its importance as a statement), complete with references to the “Red Man” and Malibu and all of those bright lights that sullied the landscape, presented by a group that pretty actively moved closer and closer to the neon the further their hitmaking prowess ascended. The song starts as a literal travelogue about a girl from Providence (”The one in Rhode Island”), and then slips into a reminder that California has really succeeded at excess, which is evidently a bad thing.

In the end, it’s all the preacher’s fault, anyway. One suspects that Henley (and Frey?) realized he wasn’t really headed toward any logical conclusions with this one, and the lesson we’re left with is that the missionaries traded the Red Man’s peace of mind and started us on the path toward…well…all of that cocaine and colitas, I guess. (it is a pretty tune, though)

And that’s it. Nine songs (split into ten tracks), three hit singles, and 38 million copies sold.

Is Hotel California essential? In terms of understanding the “evolution” of pop culture, it’s an essential landing point for those curious how Los Angeles went from acoustic canyon-dwelling hippie haven to the paranoid personal driveway for limos filled with coke-addled celebrities wearing sunglasses at midnight because the lights fuck with what’s left of their peripheral vision.

But in the battle of juggernaut Los Angeles pop albums, Rumours creams Hotel California because Fleetwood Mac can be heard shutting out the world and wrestling with their relationships while coincidentally at the peak of their songwriting and performing abilities, whereas the Eagles were trying to make statements without much to state. Rumours is essential. Hotel California sounds good when you’re not paying attention too closely.