#and since i have had this idea in my head ever since london grammar dropped this beautiful song

[sugruzt]

❝ message in a bottle ; 마크이

𖥻 pairing: college!mark lee x female reader

𖥻 contains: college!au, fluff, slight angst, second chance romance

𖥻 warnings: swearing, marijuana & alcohol consumption / english is not my first language and this is my first work ever on tumblr so i am sorry if there are any grammar mistakes or misspellings

word count — 4.06k

synopsis — you and mark were in a situationship for a few months before things ended poorly when you got too scared of your feelings and he had to leave the country for an exchange program in london. now, six months later, you were at a party with your friends and discovered mark was back in town.

🎀

AND just like that, your whole world stopped spinning for a long and torturous minute. in the blink of an eye, you went from being over-the-moon excited — and slightly intoxicated — with the idea of partying with your friends during the first summer night before heading to your hometown in the next couple of days to being paralyzed, feeling all your blood get drained far away from where it should be in your body. in the blink of an eye, you went from being a happy girl with the arrival of the last member of your friend group to someone terrified with the sight of a ghost from the past. a quick glance, unintended by all means, in mark’s direction was all it took for the memories from that previous year to come flooding back to hit you like a lost train.

“hey, princess,” he said. his cheeks burning in a shade of shameful red, but something stronger than him was preventing his stare from going anywhere else other than your eyes. there was a blunt hanging between his teeth. “how you doing?”

“that’s it, guys; i’m done with this. i’m just gonna change my major or something like that! everything’s going terribly wrong, and i can’t keep torturing myself by studying this shit.”

you dropped your head and rested your forehead on your arm that lay on top of the desk in front of you right as the confession slipped from your lips like a dangerous poison that you should not have taken. it was the first time you’d ever said it out loud to someone else to hear — other than the mischievous voice inside your head — how you truly felt about the english major you were pursuing. the fear of judgment and of being too hasty about this decision was corroding every last bit of your emotional health, and because of it, you could sense that a storm was coming. what if you did change majors and ended up not adapting? how would you find a job, or better yet: how would you support living all by yourself if you couldn’t even pick an undergraduate academic path? time was running out, and the unbearable clock inside your mind wouldn’t give you a break. the tick-tacking of the goddamn thing was going to drive you to insanity at any point soon.

“hey, chill for once, okay? it’s normal to feel like that and to want something new. hell, i know i had to change my major twice before finding out what i actually wanted to do. jae did the same thing. you’re not alone.” jeno offered you a small yet reassuring smile of someone who didn’t quite know what to say but still wanted to see his friend more relaxed.

“exactly! take a deep breath and think things through with an easy heart. if you need help, we’re here to help

you." swallowing the last bite of the sandwich he had bought earlier, renjun tapped the notebook in front of him. “how’s that linguistics project going?”

as you raised your head, you shook your head in a negative sign. “i mean, it’s good. too good, actually… and that’s sort of the problem. like, the dude i’m working with is super sweet and really fucking good at this class and so he’s kind of doing the whole thing by himself and dragging me along with him ever since we started. i feel terrible, even if he says it’s all good and stuff, but it is what it is, i guess.”

before either of the guys could express any opinion about what was just said, a guy with freshly cut black hair — it was even possible to see the drawing of a spiderweb on the left side of his undercut —, earphones in and a large yankees shirt approached the desk, more specifically you, and offered you a genuine smile that wasn’t common to see between two colleagues who were only working on a school project together. the unknown man squatted so he could be at your height and unlocked his ipad’s screen to the word document the two of you were using to write notes together, or at least that was the initial idea because the reality was that mark was doing all of it alone, proudly.

“oh, hi, y/n, you good? just wanted to ask you a quick question… have you taken a look at this topic right here? i know we’re only supposed to work on it in two weeks but i was wondering if maybe you’ve come up with the same conclusion as me.”

feeling a thousand times more embarrassed than if a professor asked you to present a thirty-minute seminar alone in front of the whole class, you felt the tip of your fingers getting cold and a thin droplet of sweat rolling down your temple. “uhm, hey, mark. yeah, about that… look, i didn’t really have a chance to look at that yet, i’m sorry. i can barely manage this week’s assignments, let alone two weeks from now. i- i’ll text you when i read it, okay?”

you didn’t know it at the time — or if you did, you had an enviable ability of discretion — but every single time mark heard his name escape from your heavenly drawn lips, his heart would skip a beat or two and he felt like he was about to combust at any second. it was the first time in his whole life that he had ever felt that way about someone and dealing with feelings of that magnitude was both weird and extraordinary, which meant that the ravenette wasn’t completely aware of how to process them. mark’s solution for his overwhelming thoughts whenever you were around was to take charge of everything he could in that project, to make you feel relaxed about that one particular class. the canadian was terrible at linguistics, for his skills were much more reliable during literature classes: he could interpret and internalize poetry from the eighteenth century like it was nothing, and plays written in latin during the roman empire were of natural understanding for him; and yet, ever since the first day of that semester in which it was requested that both of you joined efforts to build the complicated assignment, it was impossible for mark to not pull all-nighters reading texts and more texts, watching one video class after another that broke down the subject of that class just so he could give his absolute best when the time came to work alongside you and you didn’t find him an idiot, as most people in that university usually did after meeting him for the first time.

mark just wanted to impress you and the last thing he could be worried about was doing all that alone, as long as it meant that he could still have the minimum interaction with you.

“yeah, sure, that’s cool. if you need anything let me know, alright?”

you were still in a state of complete shock. no words would come out of your mouth, making it impossible to answer properly the question directed at you by the boy that a year before was the reason for many sleepless nights and therapy sessions, through no fault of his, which was even worse, because mark was perfect and you hated yourself for how everything ended.

a cold breeze, too cold for a summer night, hit the both of you with enough strength to make you shiver and it was only then that you realized that none of your friends were around anymore. you were alone again with mark for what had felt like a lifetime since he left the country for an exchange program in london and with enough unspoken words to make the whole situation a million times more uncomfortable than it needed to be. what were you supposed to say right now? “oh, hi, mark, long time no see! listen, i’m really sorry for being horrible to you last year, i’ve spent the last six months torturing myself because i only woke up to the fact that i had let the perfect guy for me get away too late to try and fix everything”? you ran your fingers through your hair, knowing that there were no words of your knowledge that could make it easier, that could put together again the pieces of what had once been something magical that the two of them were building.

you couldn’t care less about all those times your therapist tried to be kinder to your heart than you had ever been, or how your friends always tried to distract your mind from the constant haunt of self-collection and, to be honest, didn’t really mind that yes, after all the effort and studying, you had managed to change your major to something you actually enjoyed if the price for it was to drop the perfect crystal piece that was mark’s precious heart. there were no words that could take that back, and going against every piece of advice that was given to you, you had imagined more times than you’d like to admit how this encounter would play out: what you would do, what you would say or not say, how it’d feel… but none of those scenarios inside your mind was anywhere near to the real sensation of being in front of him again.

mark looked taller — or maybe it was just the feeling of missing him crushing your soul and clouding your judgment —, the slim body now gave way to the body of a man who went to the gym and tried to truly take care of his health, his hair that previously used to be as dark as the t-shirts he used to enjoy wearing was now covered in a shade of red so bright that it reminded you of his favorite superhero’s suit. even still, the one thing that caught your attention the most were his eyes. before mark left, before the whole chaos, they were always big and full of life, like those of a curious cub and you could always feel a cozy warmth travel across your body when mark looked at you with such brightness; however, it seemed that ever since the canadian got back in town, they were opaque, closed off to the outer world as if his eyes were now carrying some kind of intense melancholy behind them. the familiar redness in his sclerae, months ago, used to always be accompanied by an excited and smiling version of mark lee, but that night the only thing apparent to you was that lee was holding on to weed like some kind of way to numb the break-up pain.

the redhead had lived a thousand different lives during his exchange: saw and learned things that he knew he would never have achieved if he hadn't accepted the opportunity to go to england and yet, his mind couldn’t recall any of those experiences with the genuine happiness he should’ve felt like any other normal and grateful person would if they were on his shoes; to mark, ever since you left him all alone, he had turned into nothing but an empty shell of what should’ve been the real mark lee. what were his experiences, his learnings, his funny stories if, at any moment, he was allowed to at least call the person he loved and share all of that with her?

“yeah, i guess i’m okay.” you answered, holding back a cry that was stuck in your throat before looking away. “you?”

a shiver went down the english student as he waited for his project partner to arrive at the coffee shop you two had agreed to meet at to finish for good the agonizing linguistics document. it didn’t even seem real that you were finally concluding the most stressful and endless project of your university career until that moment and despite the sweet taste of reaching the finish line, mark had on his lips a bitter one, because he knew that the very instant you pressed “send” on the body of that e-mail to your professor, all of his excuses to talk to you would come to an end. it was only the beginning of november, you should spend at least a few more weeks studying together if said professor were to follow a normal academic calendar like the rest of his fellow colleagues of the department.

mark would only have one last chance of making this work out and that chance was right there and then. anxiety and fear were destroying the boy with more strength than he himself was biting through his nails waiting for you to arrive.

“gosh, mark, i’m so sorry!” you said in a panting tone when you finally managed to get to the coffee shop and met the guy that, by that point, had already become your friend. “the bus took forever to get to the stop i needed and then the subway was also chaotic… anyways, i’m sorry that i’m late.”

the both of you stayed a long time in that coffee shop, not only finishing the assignment but also laughing together and watching a few episodes of modern family on his computer as a way to relax after all the constant flow of negative emotions the both of you were facing during that semester due to not only that particular class but also all the other ones with their enormous reading load. by the time you had indeed finished what you were supposed to do, you were feeling so comfortable in mark’s presence that you didn’t even notice when you heart started to race faster and faster before the mundane things the lee did: the way he smiled from ear to ear, or how kind he was to everyone around him. you were starting to fall in love with how mark explained all the different concepts he used to build his arguments across the paper like someone would explain the most basic things to a child, and you thought it was sweet the way he would say “dude” and “no way” every couple of sentences that fell from his lips. but, above all, unconsciously, the way mark seemed to glow every time he looked at you was ethereal to your eyes.

as soon as you sent the hated file, it started to rain on the outside of the coffee shop, but contrary to the ideal scenario, you couldn’t stay in there just waiting until the climate conditions became more favorable because the two of you had places to be at, on opposite directions. there would be no other alternative but to run to the nearest subway station, or in the brunette’s case, the bus stop.

mark immediately took off his hoodie to shield you as best as he could from the rain, in exchange for you protecting his backpack that contained his computer as if your life depended on it, the moment you two stepped outside the establishment and something of a thunderstorm was taking over the avenue. mark couldn’t help it and ended up laughing at the situation you two had found yourselves in, thinking about how he wished he was a little less broke and had a car to take the girl of his dreams back to her place without having to worry about the rain, or how he wished he was stronger to pick you up and carry you to the subway station and, with that, spare your shoes from coming in contact with the soaked surface of the sidewalk. before you could notice, you were right in front of the stairs that led to the station.

“bye, i think.” you said, giggling along with him while you tried to fix your hair that, despite mark’s hoodie’s protection, still got wet from the rain.

the lee was going to answer you like a decent and proper person, he really was, but in that very moment, a raindrop fell from the marquee above you and somehow managed to hit you right on the forehead, which made you close your eyes, but mark kept his wide open. with an automatic reaction of his body, almost like an involuntary movement that he was incapable of controlling — such as the beats of his accelerated heart — his left hand traveled to your neck while his right thumb was busy drying the solitary raindrop slowly, to give his mind time to analyze every little inch of your face so close to his. mark tried to respond with words to your farewell, but his impulse to kiss you was far stronger than any cohesive phrase that his brain could formulate in that moment.

the literature student, now in his final semester, nodded as he bit his lower lip and those opaque eyes fell to the floor beneath his feet after stepping on the remaining of his blunt. mark didn’t even know why he started that conversation in the first place, it was obvious that it was impossible for him to stand close to you without it affecting some part of him — whether for good or for bad — and even still, there he was, not managing to say a single word to you, nor being able to get closer, just feeding that giant gray and terrifying cloud that grew over both of your heads due to the impasse of what this was and what it should have been.

unlike his mind, that was only able to repeat tirelessly the day he finally built the confidence to kiss you, yours was in a hurricane of terrible memories that involved the brief, yet intense, relationship you two shared — or whatever the hell one could call it. how was it even possible that something that lasted only four months could leave such deep scars?

if mark was trying to hold back a smile remembering how it felt to have your lips on top of his, you were only torturing yourself with the replayed image of mark being crushed in front of you, by no fault other than your own. it was your fault that fear was allowed to consume every single good thing that the lee had ever given you; it was your fault that you’d thought that whole thing was a sick and sadistic joke from the universe and that, in reality, there was no way someone like him could've ever fallen in love with you. in the deepest, darkest, cruelest part of your soul, you were convinced that everything was your fault and not your mind trying to destroy you before something so pure and happy.

you were a sinking ship, navigating towards a port with not a single sight of a lighthouse’s spark to help you, not knowing how to reach the treasure that awaited your arrival because other people had already destroyed the lighthouse. the ability to grope around, trying to find yourself in the darkness you’d placed yourself, was stripped away from you the second you gave in to the bruises that were caused by third parties, and mark knew it wasn't your fault, although it was still difficult to try and be the guide to someone that wouldn't allow them to have access to the heat and light from the fire he tried to offer.

without even realizing it, the silenced cry stuck in your throat for months on end started to escape, not giving you any power to control it. you felt anger, sadness, frustration and you were missing mark… all at the very same time, in an endless swirl triggered by the mere vision of having mark back into your reality.

just like the first time you kissed, the unconscious answer of mark lee’s body to the sound of you crying after such a long time being away from you was to wrap his arms around your body without allowing himself to give too much thought to the action that just took place. if it was even possible, noticing you needing him in any way, shape or form was a true calling for him and it didn't matter how much time could've gone by, the lee couldn't ignore it. to love you and protect you was just as natural as breathing.

between the supplications for your tears to stop and hair strokes, mark then began to feel something that he thought was dead coming back to life inside the hollow box that was his chest. for months now, the redhead just knew that his heart was no longer there. instead, it must've been put inside a bottle and thrown away into the ocean that separated his emotions from his rational mind, as if he wasn't even the owner of his own feelings.

“please, princess, don't cry. i’m begging you.”

the cruelty of your mind wouldn't give you a break for not even a single second ever since the last time you've heart mark’s melodious voice so close to your ear, and the fact that it carried the same heavy tone of request didn't help with your genuine desire to stop your sobbings as your face was pressed against his chest. in that moment, the last thing on your mind were the looks that other people could be directing at the two of you; you could only see the desperation all over the face of the only man you've ever truly loved. he was in such pain that day — the day you told him you didn't want to see him anymore. soon, though, that image was replaced with the memory of the gut-wrenching feeling of chronic emptiness that filled your chest the following week and you came to your senses that you had make a mistake, but that it was also too late: mark was in another country, it was far too late to ask for forgiveness.

“i know you probably hate me right now. i shouldn't have done that, i shouldn't have said that, i was such an idiot, stupid… i'm sorry, mark, i don't know what was going on in my mind to treat like that, i-”

that sobbing wouldn't allow you to form coherent sentences properly and the way you were crying so helplessly was becoming melancholic instead of just sad to the man holding you. if only mark could get into your merciless head just how he would never be able to hate you, not in a million years, not when there was so much love, desire and adoration intrinsic to the image he had of you, then maybe that big gray cloud would disappear forever and the two of you could just live like he hoped for. all mark wanted was to have the privilege of loving you again.

“y/n, look at me” mark held the red and tear wet face of his beloved girl with kindness while his tone of voice was filled with all the firmness the moment could ask for. “for christ’s sake, y/n, i love you. i could never hate you. dude, really, for once just keep your head out of this and focus on what i’m telling you right now. i love you and this whole time i was thinking of you. only you.”

even if he knew you wouldn't answer anything for a few seconds, or maybe even minutes, mark just allowed a sweet smile to appear on his lips while he delighted himself with the feeling of being allowed to hold your face once again, to stroke your cheeks and to place small, delicate kisses all over your beautiful face — which he knew would force your breathing to slow down, giving you the chance to calm down again. the canadian was smelling like the combination of weed and beer, but somehow, your body knew how to identify the familiar and characteristic smell of his cologne; the same smell your searched for and ached for during the coldest nights, when missing him was too overwhelming it almost felt like a hole was being digged up in your chest. that familiarity was the reason for the shy smile that took over your lips, that opened a breach for light and happiness after all those tears while mark traced your lips with his thumb, admiring you like you were some kind of artwork created just for him.

“i was made to stay just like this with you, princess. and i’m not leaving this time.”

[zoetekohana]

⤿ and nothing else matters

this may be a birthday present for myself, but i’d like to dedicate this to my digimon/michi fam: @ex-machiina @ribbonedcuriosa @piedrpiper @ladyofodaiba @stellarhime @pan-kuzu @biminie @sakurastar28 @ahornedgod @aeonsofgrace @mutemwija @kittykaibasblog @greenopalus @ashandpikachu  @shewhodancedinthemoonlight @yui0506 @thetaikamiya and @adventure-hearts

it’s not my best work, sorry, but i am incredibly rusty... hope you guys like it!

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 08/05/2021 (Billie Eilish, DJ Khaled)

Whilst this is slightly busier than last week, I am genuinely surprised with how little is actually going on here on this week’s chart, a lot less than I expected or predicted. With that said, the top of the chart is where our biggest story comes from and that is “Body” by Russ Millions and Tion Wayne taking advantage of a weak chart with its star-studded remix and peaking at #1 for its first week, replacing Lil Nas X’s “MONTERO (Call Me by Your Name)”. Not only is it the biggest hit for both of these guys and their first #1s, but it’s the first #1 for the entire UK drill genre, which kind of came out of nowhere for me since I think the song’s pretty worthless but with a TikTok challenge and streaming numbers that have even placed it in the American Spotify chart, it’s gearing up to be one of the biggest British rap songs ever. Let’s hope maybe this one doesn’t stall out as badly as “Don’t Rush” outside of the UK. With all that out of the way, let’s start REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

Our only new arrival from last week’s UK Top 75 (which is what I cover), “Come Through” by H.E.R. featuring Chris Brown, is gone on the next off of the debut. Well, at least we have more than one new song this week, as well as some interesting chart nonsense lower down, but also some notable drop-outs for “Mr. Perfectly Fine” by Taylor Swift, “Mercury” by Dave and Kamal., “Lemon Pepper Freestyle” by Drake featuring Rick Ross, “All You Ever Wanted” by Rag’n’Bone Man (which will rebound next week as that album makes its impact) as well as “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles finally making what seems to be its last exit. Our only return is in the form of “Confetti” by Little Mix getting a massive surge back at #15 after its Saweetie remix and the attached music video, though Saweetie doesn’t happen to be credited here.

We do have an interesting selection of gains and losses, as with the notable fallers – dropping five spots or more down the chart – we have “Titanium” by Dave at #23, “Wellerman” by Nathan Evans and remixed by 220 KID and Billen Ted getting ACR’d down to #29 (it had a surprisingly great run), “The Business” by Tiesto having the same happen to it at #32, “We’re Good” by Dua Lipa at #40, “drivers license” by Olivia Rodrigo at #43, “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd at #45, “Don’t Play” by Anne-Marie, KSI and Digital Farm Animals at #51, “Calling My Phone” by Lil Tjay and 6LACK hit hard to #54, the same with “Up” by Cardi B at #59, “You” by Regard, Troye Sivan and Tate McRae shaking off the gains #63, “Get Out My Head” by Shane Codd at #60, “Heat” by Paul Woolford and Amber Mark at #66, “Solid” by Young Stoner Life, Young Thug and Gunna featuring Drake at #69, “Paradise” by MERDUZA and Dermot Kennedy at #71 and, sadly, “How Does it Feel” by London Grammar at #75.

Where it gets a bit more telling about how the charts are going to adapt into the Summer is in our climbers as we have solid gains for “Another Love” by Tom Odell making another run at #60, “Sunshine (The Light)” by Fat Joe, DJ Khaled and Amorphous inexplicably at #57 and now we get into the top 40 where we have more potential future hits. “Way Too Long” by Nathan Dawe, Anne-Marie and MoStack is at #38, “Don’t You Worry About Me” brings the Bad Boy Chiller Crew their first hit at #37 (although the song is only ever worth hearing for that chorus) and “WITHOUT YOU” by the Kid LAROI returns to the top 40 at #30 thanks to a remix with Miley Cyrus who is again not credited by the Official Charts Company. Boney M. are granted their first new top 20 hit since the 1990s, even if it is just a remix of a song that went #2 in 1978, as Majestic’s remix of “Rasputin” is at #18. Our final gain is for a song first entering the top 10 thanks to the remix with Ariana Grande finally making an impact – yet once again not given the official credit by the OCC – as “Save Your Tears” by the Weeknd makes its way up to #8, becoming his tenth top 10 hit here in Britain. That’s not the only song to first enter the top 10 this week but we’ll get to that in due time with our... odd selection of new arrivals this week.

NEW ARRIVALS

#73 – “EVERY CHANCE I GET” – DJ Khaled featuring Lil Baby and Lil Durk

Produced by DJ Khaled and Tay Keith

Two of our new entries are from DJ Khaled’s most recent album Khaled Khaled, an album much like any Khaled album I found cheap and just dull. This record especially is just mixed horribly, with a budget spent exceedingly on getting big-name features instead of any worthwhile engineers to actually mix and master this 50-minute trainwreck. The album doesn’t have many highlights at all but if I had to choose some they would be the two debuting this week, the first of which is basically a Lil Baby cut, “EVERY CHANCE I GET”, with a verse from Lil Durk. Okay, so, yes, first of all, much like the rest of the record, this mix is compressed and just weak, with bizarre bass mastering and drums that sound like garbage, before we get to Lil Baby himself sounding even froggier than ever. I do think that gives the song part of its charm, though, as with a Tay Keith beat, it’s definitely going for a hardcore, old-school Memphis rap atmosphere, and with Lil Baby’s flow switches disguising paranoid lyrics about the typical gunplay and flexing, it does effectively make a pretty intimidating listen... okay, well, it would, if DJ Khaled didn’t have to pop in to convince Lil Baby to “keep going”. We also get a single verse from Lil Durk here, mixed like he recorded his vocals in his bath to the point where it’s clipping against the bass, but delivering a King Von-esque flow that sounds pretty great, and admittedly more detail than you’d expect. I also love that silly “mmm-mmm” flow he uses at the end. I do wish a song like this, clearly supposed to be menacing, did not have the ludicrous personality void that is DJ Khaled on it, and it’s not like they need Khaled to collaborate together – or with Tay Keith for that matter – so I don’t really see why the dude doesn’t just shut up and promote his albums as compilations instead. I understand it comes from his mixtape days, but if this is going to be a studio album, treat it like one and just be quiet for once.

#72 – “Oblivion” – Royal Blood

Produced by Royal Blood

Royal Blood got the #1 album this week for Typhoons and admittedly, whilst I am interested in this band, I haven’t gotten around to listening to it, so I’ll take this album cut as a preview of what to come. If I am doing that, I hope to be surprised by whatever else that album has in store as I’m not really a fan of this. That eerie choppy guitar loop being immediately crushed by this heavily distorted riff and stiff percussion just does not sound unique or interesting, especially if Mike Kerr is going to sound this soulless. The build towards the chorus feels pretty pathetic and unwarranted, and said chorus is just not catchy, before we get to content about how he knows his fate through how arrogant he’s been and he deserves what’s coming to him. I mean, sure, but there’s nothing that makes it obvious that these guys don’t care about what’s coming to them given the pained vocal delivery and monotonous instrumental. It doesn’t feel exciting, rebellious or whatever emotion this tries and fails to capture, just stiff and staggered in its execution. This does make sense for Royal Blood but seems to me like they’re resting way too heavily on ideas ran through the soil at this point. With all that said, this isn’t bad at all, just not as great as those other singles have been from the record. I think I’d be more forgiving if it didn’t come off as a Queens of the Stone Age tribute act writing “originals” that bomb at their shows.

#56 – “love race” – Machine Gun Kelly featuring Kellin Quinn

Produced by Jeff Peters, Jared Gudstadt and Travis Barker

I guess this might actually be a rock-heavy week – not that I’m complaining about more of a rock presence on the chart but God, I wish it wasn’t coming from MGK. I’ll have some choice words to say about this guy’s last attempt at a pop-rock hit by the end of the year, probably, but at least for this song he brought on someone with some kind of legitimacy. Kellin Quinn is the frontman of post-hardcore band Sleeping with Sirens, one of the most successful bands in their genre but not one unlike others that grew out of the metalcore-infused pop rock to anything more unique or experimental. With that said, Quinn is barely here and other than Travis Barker’s typical explosive drums, MGK is the biggest presence here in his raspy but borderline unlistenable vocal tone that I just can’t stand, especially if it’s going to stretch out “run” as long and as far as he did in that longing, desperate chorus. MGK barely even lets Kellin Quinn have his own verse, registering him as backing vocals throughout the entire song, dampening his vocals that sound a lot more unique and enthused, especially when he starts screaming. That bridge did give me trancecore flashbacks – not that I’m complaining if I’m fully honest – so I’ll admit the part of me that eats up emo-pop garbage did let this grow on me a bit, but, man, without a guitar solo to distract from pretty awful lyrics (not that I’d expect much more from this artist or genre) and without really letting Quinn loose on the vocals, it’s lacking a certain grit and punch I expect from post-hardcore. The song did, however, indirectly remind me of New Found Glory, for which I am thankful for.

#53 – “I DID IT” – DJ Khaled featuring Post Malone, Megan Thee Stallion, Lil Baby and DaBaby

Produced by Ben Billions, Joe Zarrillo, DJ 360, Tay Keith and DJ Khaled

You wouldn’t expect an artist line-up like this to continue this trend of rock in this week’s new arrivals, but you’d be surprised, and personally I’m pretty happy with how much rock seems to be creeping up back into the public consciousness as if there’s one thing I got back in touch with the most over lockdown, it was the rock music I was raised on and it led to me even further appreciating a genre I had kind of lost touch with over the years out of just a lack of interest. With that said, this isn’t a rock song per se, but it does heavily and lazily sample a classic like much of this Khaled album, going for “Layla” by Derek and the Dominos. I’m not going to lie, either, it sets up a pretty effective back-bone for a trap banger about being awesome, especially with those squealing riffs in the chorus. Oh, yeah, and the mixing is horrible as expected, but to be honest to me it does not dampen the boasting, anthemic nature of this track, especially with Post Malone being a perfect choice to croon that infectious chorus. Megan Thee Stallion has a pretty embarrassingly by-the-numbers verse over a switch in the beat that makes it sound oddly stunted, but she does have that swinging rock charisma that people like Lil Baby do not have. With that said, I think I’m at the point where I eat anything Lil Baby says or does, because the flow switches combined with his frog-throat delivery is just impeccable. Content-wise, I think everyone here realises they’re being squashed by the clipping beat as they just go off about complete nonsense that goes in one ear and out the other apart from Lil Baby’s misguided but still pretty funny line about how he contemplated going vegan but sees no point in it because he’s got ten karats in both of his ears. Sure. At least DJ Khaled as something to do as he... harmonises, I guess, with Posty on the chorus. DaBaby is as distant as possible from the microphone to the point where I can barely hear him, not that it matters when his verse is that basic and short. This is kind of a trainwreck in all honesty, but with four choruses and a beat this heavy, it’s hard to be annoyed by it. Overwhelming maybe but these performers are all characters by themselves and throwing them in this three-minute chaos of squealing guitars and trap skitters just fascinates me if anything. Does it count as a posse cut? I don’t know. Either way, this is hilarious.

#5 – “Your Power” – Billie Eilish

Produced by FINNEAS

Decidedly not hilarious is this new single from Billie Eilish looking to be a smash from that upcoming album which now has a track listing and release date, with this functioning as I suppose the true lead single and her seventh top 10 here in the UK. It’s a brave choice too considering the lyrical content which is a pretty scathing attack on her ex-boyfriend and their abusive relationship, making several references to the gap in age and power dynamic that played into something really distressing for the both of them but especially a young, vulnerable Billie Eilish who found herself helpless in this relationship because of that “hero” quickly revealing himself as little more than his projected insecurities. The song’s detailed enough not to detach itself from Billie’s personal struggles but also works as what I suppose is a warning, as it’s retelling a story all too familiar with many girls of her age at the time who end up in these really scary situations. It does help that the song itself is great, relying on these layered acoustic guitars to form some kind of dejected groove behind Eilish’s vocals, whispery and cooing as always but in this case way too loud in the mix for my taste to the point where it kind of takes me out of the song as a whole. With a better master that blends her vocal take a lot better into the guitars, maybe going for a fuzzier, dream-pop angle, could work a lot better but with that said, I do understand the purpose of making it feel this intimate and minimal because Billie’s honest songwriting calls for a delivery like this, even if she ends up sounding shakier or even mumbling at times as a result. This is a big debut for Billie for a song not prepared to do as well as it did given its content and sound that is not exactly radio-friendly and oftentimes requires more heavy of a listen than a pop song would otherwise. I do love that final outro as her humming careens off the gentle guitars with just enough scratch but I do question how abrupt the ending is. Hopefully when the album’s out, we’ll have a bigger picture to as where this single in particular fits in.

Conclusion

With only five new arrivals and not much in the way of anything bad, I guess Worst of the Week goes to “Oblivion” by Royal Blood but giving a Dishonourable Mention would just end up as dishonest. Therefore, Best of the Week goes to Billie Eilish for “Your Power” but – and I cannot believe I am saying this for a 3/10 album with only fluke hits – but DJ Khaled – and Lil Baby for that matter – get a tied Honourable Mention for both of their songs, “EVERY CHANCE THAT I GET” with Lil Durk and “I DID IT” with Post Malone, Megan Thee Stallion and DaBaby. Now to distract from the fact I just did that, here’s this week’s top 10:

I can’t really make any healthy predictions for next week. Maybe we’ll get some songs from Lil Tecca, Rag’n’Bone Man or Bebe Rexha? Maybe we’ll end up with some fluke Weezer smash hit, who knows? Regardless, thank you for reading and I’ll see you next week.

[imaginebooks]

Cup of Revenge | Draco Malfoy

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x reader

Genre: Uhhhh fluff, maybe slight angst and yeah

Summary: He wasn’t well, even I could tell that. I knew something was up with him, now I just needed to find out what. This could really go one of two ways, incredibly good or horrifically bad.

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: Some swearing. It’s written in first person so be warned. It’s also kind of long but oh well. Your last name in this is Ambry just in case you get confused. Be warned about any grammar mistakes and what not. 

This is my submission for @locke-writes​  Intro to 2020 challenge

Masterlist

Also requests are open. Thanks!

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Draco was acting differently, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out. We may not have been as good friends as we once were but I could still pick up on his feelings.

I raised an eyebrow, staring at the tall man in front of me as he tried to lie to me about how he was feeling.

“I’m just tired, that’s all.” He said, turning to make his way back into the Slytherin common room before I grabbed him. The sunken features of his face were even more prominent in the dingy light of the castle dungeon. Even now, I could fit my hand around his wrist, something which I was never normally able to do (I have small hands).

“I don’t know when you thought lying to my face would be a good idea, but let me remind you, it’s really not.” He gulped once again, furthering my suspicion that something was really wrong.

“Since when do you care Ambry, we haven’t talked in years.” Draco was trying to change the subject and get me riled up, but it wasn’t going to work at all.

“Who’s fault is that anyway? Besides, trying to distract me is going to get you nowhere.” I growled. “You better tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing. Just drop it okay?” He hissed, finally becoming angry with me, glaring down, his eyes turning to a stormy grey. I just needed to push a couple more buttons and then he would spill whatever it is that he was hiding from me.

Draco, whilst he was incredibly clever, could be pretty dense at other times and never picked up on the fact that I knew all of his little quirks and what to say to get him to tell me his secrets. We had known each other since we were in nappies, our parents having been best friends when they went to school and were hoping for us to be the same. This lead to a lot of play dates and sleep overs and I was now able to read him like a book. 

Unfortunately, our parents also shared the same views on half-bloods, muggle borns and blood traitors so you can imagine the uproar from my family when I was sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin like everyone else.

My parents then promptly forbid me from coming home during any of the holidays that weren’t the summer, seeing Draco and his family (who probably wanted nothing to do with me) and from calling them mum and dad.

They kept me around until I could fend for myself and then chucked me out into the big wide world. I was lucky enough to find a job and an apartment that I was able to rent for a cheap enough price during the summer holidays.  

I thought that maybe, even if I had been sorted into Hufflepuff, Draco and my relationship would last at school. Except that was a far off dream, Draco had blanked me out for most of our years at Hogwarts and I had learnt to do the same with him.

The foundations of our friendship rocked even more when he found out that I was involved with Dumbledore’s Army last year. He had been the one to drag me to where Umbridge was rounding us up, glaring at me the entire way. 

Whilst Harry and a couple of others made their way down to London that night, a few of us stayed at the castle to stop any of the Inquisitorial Squad reporting us to Fudge.

Draco duelled with me that day, the first and only time it had happened. The battle between the two of us had only been stopped as I had shot an curse to keep him immobile, before moving him away from the letter that he was going to write to his father about what had happened. I wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he had forgiven me for that one.

Even if our relationship had failed, I was still worried about him. Especially due to the fact that, ever since the start of our sixth year, he had become even paler and more sickly looking, his cheek bones protruding from his thin face as he stared unseeingly past me.

I had managed to swap prefect duty with the person that Draco was normally with, and thus I was here, confronting him and trying to get an answer out of the stubborn man.

“I’m not going to drop it Draco. You look like death. What’s going on?” He ran a hand through his hair before making his way off in the direction of our prefect route. Running to keep up with his long legs, I continued to pester him with questions.

“Why won’t you just tell me? Seriously Draco, I’m worried.” He stopped at those words before slamming me into the wall behind us.

“You’re worried about me! You betrayed me.” He pushed himself off the wall, continuing our round. I rolled my eyes at his dramatic statement before hurrying after him.

“I’ll find out somehow Malfoy, you know me.”

“Will you leave me alone, Ambry?” He growled, scratching his left arm absentmindedly and my brain started to connect the dots.

“Malfoy, don’t tell me…” I trailed off, watching as he stiffened, pausing the scratching on his arm as he stared at me in horror.

Draco looked like he was in the middle of a mental breakdown as he realised that I had managed to work out what he was doing. He knew that I was very sharp when it came to uncovering people’s secrets before they wanted me to.

“Go away!” He looked so upset with himself. I glanced at his left arm, hoping and praying to any god out there that he hadn’t done what I thought he had done. He saw me looking and began to back away, my fear only growing as he did so.

“Don’t even think about it.” He warned, backing away as I moved forward.

“Draco.” I pleaded, holding out my hand as he continued to back away. “If it’s not true, then you have nothing to fear, just show me your left arm.”

However, I knew almost for sure that I was right so I cast an immobulus charm on him and grabbed his wand before casting the counter curse so that he was standing opposite me. His resolve seemed to crumble as he let me grab his left arm, not even trying to protest. He looked down, blond hair falling in front of his eyes, that seemed fragmented in the light.

I pulled his sleeve up so that the dark mark was shown, marring his skin. It was visibly irritated, the skin around it red and there were scars covering the top of it as if he had tried to scratch it off. My heart broke for the boy in front of me, knowing that Draco wouldn’t have done that if there was any other choice.

“Draco…” I stared up at him, tracing around the dark mark as I did so, trying to soothe the agitated skin. Glancing up at him, I caught his eyes and pleaded with him to help me understand what was going on. “Why?”

“He was going to kill me, what do you think I was going to say?” He hissed back, his voice breaking as he did so. “He’s threatening me, my parents, you. He was going to kill everyone.”

“What’s he asked you to do?” I pressed as Draco rolled down his sleeves and straightened his blond hair again. He rolled his eyes at me. “And why am I involved in that list? As you said, we haven’t talked in years.” 

He gulped and sighed before answering.

“My happiness depends on you. You’ve always been my light, my best friend.” I smiled up at him sadly, the lines reminding me of our past memories together. “Why do you think he’s asked me to do something anyway?” 

“You forget, we grew up in the same types of households, I know how it goes.” He gulped, remembering that he and I were very alike. Both of us had been prepared to take over the family mantle and to take up the dark mark if our parents fell. However, I got out of that life but Draco was still stuck in it. “Tell me, I can help.”

“Kill Dumbledore…He’s asked me to kill Dumbledore.” He replied, rubbing his hand against his face in pain. He glanced back up at me and I saw unshed tears in his eyes. He was terrified.

Draco, who had been my knight in shining armour for years, was absolutely terrified of this. I gulped knowing that it was my turn to stand up and help him in any way that I could.

Shuffling over to his hunched figure, I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kissed the top of his head, running my hands through his hair as he sighed.

“We can stop this you know.” I told him. “This doesn’t have to be a be all end all situation.”

“How are we going to stop this? Have you met that man, he’s too powerful for us to defeat. We’re students.” Draco moaned, running his hands through his hair again as he pulled away from me.

“No, he’s not. That man’s still scared of one person.” I told him, grabbing his hand and beginning to lead him back towards the gargoyle staircase. Draco was thinking, trying to work out the pros and cons of the situation as I slowly lead him towards the office.

It gave him enough time to try and stop me from talking to the old professor and bolt. But still, he continued to walk with me, staring at our intertwined hands.

“I’m sure that he’s the person who can help us. I have a plan and I think that maybe he’ll be able to help us execute it.” I said, gripping his hands a little tighter as we both ducked out of sight of Mrs Norris, who was prowling the corridors.

“What’s your plan o powerful one?” He said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow as I winked up at him, both of us pressed together in a tight nook on the fifth floor.

“You’ll find out when we get to Dumbledore’s office.”

“Ambry, just don’t. He can’t help me, you can’t help me. I have to carry this mission out alone.” He sighed, twisting his wrist so that I released his hand from my grasp.

It was at that moment that luck seemed to be on my side and Professor Dumbledore appeared from round the corner and approached the two of us.

“Ah. Mr Malfoy, Miss Ambry. This is a pleasant surprise. Why don’t you step into my office for a minute?” He asked, not leaving any room for arguments as Draco and I followed the old man towards the gargoyle staircase.

We must have looked like quite a trio as we walked past; Draco looked like he was being sent to the gallows, I looked worried and Dumbledore just had a knowing glint in his eyes as he watched the two of us closely.

We finally made it up into his office and sat opposite the large desk in two chairs, that he had transfigured from books. I had never been in his office before, and I looked around in awe at the room; the paintings on all the walls, the phoenix that watched the both of us carefully, and the large book cases that lined the room. Draco wasn’t as impressed as I was, and just sat staring at the desk, his hand still clutching mine as he waited for the old professor to speak.

“Now Mr Malfoy, would you like to tell me what’s bothering you?” The professor asked as he shot me a look over his half-moon glasses. Draco sighed and looked away from our joined hands, knowing that Dumbledore would be able to pick up on any bullshit that he tried.

“Draco. Would it be easier to show him?” I whispered, rubbing my thumb across his knuckles and squeezing his hand. It seemed that our relationship had picked up where we left off, and we were back to being (relatively) affectionate with one and other. That was always a good thing about our relationship, we were always able to reconcile after any argument no matter how big it was. As Draco said, we were one and others light to try and keep up sane in this harsh world.

It had always been that way around, me providing affection that both of us had been starved of, and him lapping it all up eagerly. He was a big softy under all his bad boy persona.

Draco, after a couple minutes of tense silence, began to roll up his left sleeve to show the scratched dark mark that had tainted his skin. He looked away, staring into my eyes, ashamed that he had to talk to a teacher about what to do. Dumbledore nodded at the sight and then commented;

“You were supposed to kill me, weren’t you?” Draco nodded, still not meeting the teachers eyes. “Well, this is a stroke of luck isn’t it?”

Draco snapped his head to Dumbledore’s as he glanced between me and the man, confused at the professor’s happy tone.

“How is this lucky?” He asked, looking at the mark, that was now hidden again underneath his shirt, with disgust.

“Well, now there’s someone on the inside isn’t there? I do believe that was your plan all along Miss Ambry.” I nodded at his statement, still confused at how he had worked out my plan before I told him. Draco sat a bit further upwards in his chair, clenching my hand tighter than before.

“Yes sir. I thought that maybe we could use the coins from Dumbledore’s Army and then have Draco be an informant in You-Know-Who’s ranks.” I said, looking at Draco, who had a furrowed brow. 

“Coins? What coins?” He questioned, though Dumbledore and I ignored him.

“Yes, but we should make it look realistic so maybe if Draco could keep up with the assassination attempts. It would mean that Voldemort wouldn’t have a reason to suspect him.”

“He would need to learn occlumency.” I told Dumbledore, becoming more certain with the idea that we created. It would need some more planning, but I thought that we could pull it off. Draco was still looking between the two of us, confused as to what we were talking about.

Dumbledore nodded and suggested Snape before chatting over some final details and letting us go back to our common rooms.

We began to make our way back down to the Great Hall level so that I could branch off to the Hufflepuff common room and he could continue down to the dungeons.

“What did he mean by coins?” Draco asked, pulling me to a stop in front of the corridor leading to the Hufflepuff common room. I pulled out the galleon that was my DA coin and showed it to him.

“It can show a message on it and it used to let us know when to come to the room of requirements to practice.” He picked the coin up from my palm, flipping it over in his hands before giving it back to me.

“Are you going to make a couple?” I nodded at his statement.

“I’ll ask Hermione what the charm is and then I can make one for me, you and Dumbledore so that we can communicate with each other about the plan.” I told Draco who nodded, looking slightly confused about all the information that was being thrown at him in such a short space of time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Draco replied, wrapping me in a hug as he pressed his lips to my head. “Thank you, for doing this...and, I’m sorry, for these past few years. I let my fathers teachings get in the way of our friendship. I know that’s not a proper excuse but I’ll do anything to try and save our relationship.”

“It’s not a problem Draco. You know that I’d do anything to help you.” I made my way out of his arms and back into the Hufflepuff common room as he trotted off downstairs to sleep. It was an interesting night, that was for sure.

 ************************

 I had managed to get the charm off of Hermione relatively easily, and had made the coins for Draco, Dumbledore and I. Luckily the charm was still relatively simple, and I managed to make three galleons and deliver them to the other two (it also made meeting up to discuss secret plans a lot easier).

Draco and I had then sat down, a couple of weeks before Christmas, and had brainstormed a couple of ideas for what was going to happen after the holidays, in terms of assassination attempts, and how his occlumency lessons were going with Snape.

Dumbledore had also suggested that we think of something that could be used to assassinate him before Christmas.

Thus, I was brewing a poison in the dungeons, under Snape’s supervision, whilst Draco had his occlumency lesson. It would have been a strange sight if anyone came into the room, me (a Hufflepuff) brewing a poison and Draco (a Slytherin) having occlumency lessons.

Slughorn had vacated the room after hearing that Snape wanted to use it so that Draco and I could complete an extra-credit project.

After two hours of slaving away at the cauldron, I finished the poison and began to watch the occlumency lesson, smiling as Draco managed to keep Snape out of his head for the third time that night. When they had finished practicing, I gave Draco a glass of water and waited for him to catch his breath as I told him all about the potion. Snape had tested it and deemed it above average (so in other words, it could be used).

I’d already sent Dumbledore a message over the galleons, who had then sent a bottle of mead to us and we had tipped the poison in, before giving it to Professor Slughorn. 

Draco had used the imperious curse, so that Slughorn thought it was his idea, which I wasn’t impressed with. I was not a fan of the Unforgivable curses, having seen the damage that they could cause a person.

That night was a good one, as the plan was working a lot better than we hoped. It was all coming together quite nicely.

The next morning, I walked into the Great Hall behind Draco, who still looked tired and pale from the occlumency lesson last night, though less like death. I almost walked straight into his back as he stopped still, staring at a Gryffindor seventh year who was standing at the other end of the hall talking to Harry Potter. I also froze, just like Draco as I realised that everything we worked for could go down the drain if Potter decided to stick his nose into our business.

That was Katie Bell, the girl who was cursed by the necklace that Draco forced her to take. She was also, unfortunately, a friend of Potter’s, which meant that he was bound to go meddling. Bell would probably further confirm his suspicions about Draco and them clashing would not be pleasant.

Draco almost ran out of the room, pushing past others coming in, and I quickly followed him, making sure that I kept him in my eye sight as he moved into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

I rushed in after him, my heart breaking for my best friend who was struggling to come to terms with the fact that he had ended up hurting someone, even if he was trying to protect himself and his family.

He had taken his jumper off and loosened his tie, the top button of his shirt open, taking in big gulps of air as he clutched the bathroom sink, heaving sobs echoing in the small room. Moving up behind him, I touched his back gently to let him know I was there, before wrapping my arms around his waist. He turned around and wrapped me in a hug, burying his head into my shoulder as I ran my hand through his hair, holding me as tightly as I was holding him.

“She’s alive, no one was seriously harmed.” I whispered, keeping an eye on the door in the reflection of the mirror. I glared at Potter as he walked into the room, a book in one hand and his wand in the other. I drew my own wand, staring Potter down.

Potter and I may be on familiar terms but Draco was still my best friend and I would protect him against anyone, even if the other person was a friend of mine as well.

“Piss off Potter.” I hissed at the man. Draco stiffened under my touch, before he too turned around and drew his wand, neither of us pleased with the outcome. “We’re not looking for a fight.”

“You were the one who gave her that necklace, weren’t you?” Potter spat, ignoring my words as Draco and I bristled.

Potter threw the first spell, which I deflected, and then Draco sent one towards him. Potter sent another spell which bounced off my shield and hit the faucet, causing water to start to spray. Draco began to lead Potter away from me, as I tried to control the water that was spurting out of the broken tap. The ground beneath us began to flood with water as I worked to get it repaired.

I could hear the fight coming back towards me again and quickly made my way over to stand back to back with Draco, not sure where the next spell from Potter would come from. I sent a quick glance at Draco, who squeezed my hand lightly in reassurance.

Unfortunately, the spell came in my direction and it wasn’t one that I had ever heard before or knew of.

“Sectumsempra.” Potter shouted and all of a sudden, I felt a searing amount of pain through my chest and back, as if someone was cutting me open with a knife. I let out a shout, before stumbling and dropping my wand.

Draco caught me as I fell down, trying to be careful as he swore loudly. I could see the water around us start to turn red with my blood and I could feel myself getting tired. Potter began to run towards us, skidding to a stop when he saw that there were cuts on my torso and back, not Draco’s.

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to…” He couldn’t finish his sentence as Snape brushed past him and began to say a spell that lessened the pain slightly as my wounds sealed back together. At that point, I blacked out, the pain becoming too much for me to handle.

I woke up later that night, lying on a bed in the hospital wing, with Draco clutching my hand tightly as he waited for me. I squeezed his hand, smiling widely at the boy as he jumped out of his skin. Giggling, I watched as he sighed in relief and smiled down at me.

“Hi.” I whispered as Draco tried to calm down, before handing me a glass of water.

“Hey.”

“You okay?” I asked, looking at the tall man in front of me.

“I think I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine. Wasn’t your fault. What happened to Potter?”

“Detention and he lost 100 points for Gryffindor.” He smirked at that statement and I could bet that he was very pleased about that considering the house rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Madame Pomfrey came round moments later and shooed Draco out so that she could look at the slashes.

“They might leave some marks Miss Ambry, but otherwise you’re good to go.” I thanked the healer and sat up to put my uniform back on as she closed the curtains around my bed. I managed to get everything back onto my body, bar my tie, as I was struggling to do it up.

“Draco.” I called, hoping that he was near the bed. He appeared inside the curtains moments later and I showed him the tie which he tied for me. Smoothing it out, he helped me into the over robes, that all the students wore, before offering me his arm and leading me towards the common room.  

“Ambry.” Someone called from behind me and I turned to see Potter, Granger and Weasley moving towards us in a hurry. Draco glared at Harry, wrapping his arms protectively around my waist as he did so. “I wanted to apologise to you. I’m really sorry, I had no idea that the spell did that.”

“Why use a spell when you didn’t know what it caused?” Draco spat, glaring harshly at the man. I slapped him on the shoulder and smiled at the distraught boy in front of me. Potter was a good soul really, he just was a bit clueless sometimes.

“It’s fine Harry, it could have been worse. I’ll see you later.” I sent a warm smile their way, as Draco glared over the top of my head, before turning back towards the common room.

Draco lead me to the barrels that were the entrance for the room, and gave me a quick kiss on the top of my head before disappearing back to the dungeons.

 *******************

 Months later, our plan was finally ready, all the careful planning that Draco, Snape, Dumbledore and I put into this would finally pay off. Of course the only downside was that Dumbledore was going to die, but he had assured us multiple times that he was “going to die anyway” and “why wait for the inevitable?” which were morbid thoughts.

Dumbledore notified us, over the coins, that he was taking Potter with him to find the horcrux and that tonight should be the night that he dies. Neither of us were very pleased with the upcoming plan but it was supposedly for the greater good.

The last dinner before the proper war started was tense, well at least it was for me. Draco and I kept catching each other’s eyes from across the hall and giving each other reassuring looks. He motioned for me to follow him out at the end. I nodded slightly, knowing that he wanted to say goodbye before shit hit the fan.

Draco walked out and, moments later, I followed him towards the room of requirements. He pulled me into the room as he quickly closed the door.

“If I don’t see you after this, please make sure you keep safe Ambry.” I smiled up at him, nodding slightly.

“I’ll be fine Draco. You know how to contact me if you need anything, right?” He nodded, showing me the coin that was kept in his pockets. I smiled, pressing my lips against his cheeks before I moved away from him.

“When this happens, don’t come out from hiding. You’ll be pretty high up on the hit list considering you’re a blood traitor and all. I’ll see you soon.” He said.

I began to walk out, waving over my shoulder before I heard him curse behind me. I turned around to ask him what was wrong, when I found myself pushed into yet another wall as his lips met mine in a kiss so passionate that I lost myself in it.

Pulling away, he kissed me again. Everything that he couldn’t say translated into that one kiss.

“Stay safe Draco, I’m expecting a date when this blows over.” I whispered against his lips as he rubbed my arms.

“Don’t die.” I winked at him and finally left the room of requirements, knowing that I wouldn’t see him until next summer at least.

 ***************************

 I didn’t return to Hogwarts the next year, scared for my life as a blood traitor and someone who was supposedly high on the hit list. I had my parents to blame for that one.

Instead, I went on the run and tried to hide out in the muggle world. Of course, I would have gone to a different country altogether, but Draco needed me here and I would stay to finish the plan.

Every night, since I first went on the run, I had begun to listen to Potterwatch (a corny name I know) to try and work out what was going on whilst I was away from it all. They had sent out a couple of messages already asking about my whereabouts and Dean Thomas’. Occasionally, they would send a message that involved some of the information that Draco had procured.

When Draco found any new information, he would tell me over the galleon, in a code we had made up, and then I would send it down the DA galleon that Hermione had given me two years ago, making sure that someone had got it.

It was in June that I finally went back as a call had gone out over Potterwatch to tell us that we needed to make our way into Hogsmeade and then Hogwarts immediately. I had apparated over to Hogsmeade, landing in the Hogs Head pub, before making my way into the castle, through a secret tunnel which came out inside the room of requirements.

The room had become a base for the DA members; hammocks lining the walls and a bathroom and kitchen set up for the students to make sure that they could be self-sufficient.

“Where did the information come from? About the attack tonight?” I heard Harry ask as he looked round the room, his eyes brushing over me as he did so.

“Got it over the DA galleon, thought it was one of you lot.” Lee Jordan, Potterwatch’s host, stated as he showed the coin which had my latest message on it.

“Then who sent it to you? How do we know that we can trust this information?” Harry asked.

“Harry.” I called, stepping past people to see him.

“Ambry, you’re okay.” Hermione said, pulling me into a hug. I nodded. I turned back to Harry before he could ask the same question.

“I’ve been the one sending the information.” Everyone’s eyebrows raised as they turned to me. I pulled the two galleon’s out of my pocket, showing him the DA one and my own.

“What?” Ron asked, his mouth open in shock.

“There was a plan, to help us win the war quicker. Only four people were in on it, one being me, another being Draco and Dumbledore. The last ones still working at the moment.” Everyone’s mouths hung open in shock as they stared at me. “Draco’s been sending me information from the inner circle of death eaters and then I’ve been sending it onto you guys.” Harry began to splutter at the new information.

“But what about Dumbledore?” Hermione prompted, staring at me.

“We had to make it look realistic. It was Dumbledore’s idea really, Draco and I just followed instructions.” I smiled weakly, before showing my own coin to Harry, with a message from Draco on it. “You’re not the only one who wants revenge Harry, a lot of us pure bloods have parents that have been forced into taking the dark mark, or tried to force us. We have people of our own to avenge. Just tell me where you want the Slytherins who are going to fight and I’ll make sure that everyone’s ready.”

 **************************

 There was a scream from outside the Great Hall and all of our heads shot up in an instant. I pulled the cloth over the young girls head before making my way over to Pansy as both of us began to head outside. Most of us who were from Slytherin, or pure blood families, stayed at the back so that our parents wouldn’t be able to see us. Sure we were betraying them, but we didn’t really want it publicly known.

Reaching Draco, who I hadn’t seen in over a year, I pushed my hand into his and both of us held onto one and other tightly. I didn’t want to look at Harry’s body, the sight too haunting as I watched the last hope lie there, dead.

Looking back out towards the Death Eaters, I saw my parents faces of complete and utter betrayal as they glared at me. I took in a sharp breath as I stared at them, clutching onto Draco’s hand even tighter than before. Whilst my parents might have disowned me, they still raised me for a large part of my life and I still hated to disappoint them, even after not being a part of their family for seven years.

Voldemort was talking, calling for people to come over and join him as the war was lost. He was already celebrating and we hadn’t even surrendered yet. His snake light eyes flickered dangerously, watching to see if any of us stepped forward. I saw, from the corner of my eyes, Narcissa step forward, her hand outstretched towards her son.

“Draco.” His mother called, motioning for Draco to walk towards them, and accept being a death eater. He stood his ground, wrapping his arms around me and keeping his eyes on the top of my head. I squeezed his waist in support as I looked at his chest.

They called again, this time louder, pleading with him to come to them. But still he refused, both of his hands holding onto my waist tightly. 

I knew this was hard for him, betraying his family and pushing all of his beliefs away as he stayed as still as a statue. I could feel his shaky breath brushing against my ears as we stood there for what seemed like hours.

Removing my head from Draco’s chest, I looked around, taking in the faces of the other students who stared at us. They all seemed shocked that Draco was standing with them and against his own flesh and blood. He had finally made his own choice on the matter.

His parents stopped calling, betrayal clear on their faces as they stared at their only son. Voldemort was visibly frustrated with the fact that Draco hadn’t re-joined them.

 *********************

 The battle had ended shortly after that, Voldemort being defeated by Harry and Bellatrix by Molly Weasley. My parents had been brought into custody and were going to be held on trial at a later date that I needed to attend. Draco’s parents, along with many of his friends parents were also dragged in to be held accountable for what they had done.

Draco and I were sitting on a large piece of stone, that had come off of one of the towers, clutching onto one and other as we stared out at the castle that once held our home. Draco placed a kiss to my head, as Molly Weasley walked up to us.

“Do you two have a place to go?” She asked kindly staring down at the two of us.

“Yeah, my apartment’s still intact. We’re going to stay there for a bit.” I replied, smiling up at the woman.

“I wanted to thank you.” She said, directly addressing Draco as she did so. Draco looked up, surprised that she was talking to him. After everything that he had said about their family in his younger years, he never expected the matriarch to even look at him. “For saving my son.”

I glanced over at the Weasley clan seeing that, sure enough, all of the children were still there, in one piece more or less. Draco began to shake his head, protesting that he didn’t need thanks. In his mind, he believed that saving Fred’s life was how he repaid them for all of the trouble that he had caused.

“Draco.” I looked at him, elbowing him in the ribs as I did so, to try and make him accept their thanks. He sighed, glancing down at me and then back at the kind face of Molly Weasley.

“That’s okay. But really, you don’t need to thank me.” He said, looking down at the ground as a hint of colour raised in his cheeks. He wasn’t used to getting thanks, neither of us were as it really wasn’t in our parents manners to do so.

“If there’s anything we can do for you, let us know.” Molly squeezed my arm, before moving back to her own family who hugged her tightly.

“Ready to go home Draco?” I asked the tall man, who was still unmoving besides me. His head snapped up, registering that I was talking to him. He squeezed my hand, smiling before bending down to kiss me softly.

“Whenever you are, darling.” I beamed up at him as we made our way out, towards one of the apparition points in Hogsmeade.

“I like that nickname.” He chuckled quietly as I giggled.

 **********************

 19 Years Later

 Kings Cross seemed to never become less chaotic. It was the first of September and all of the Hogwarts students were making their way to Platform 9 ¾ to board the train. Pushing past some muggle commuters who were trying to barge past my son and I, I lead Scorpius in the direction of the station wall.

Scorpius was practically bouncing with excitement as he looked at the station in awe. I chuckled lightly, placing my hands on his shoulders as we got closer to the platform entrance.

“Malfoy.” Someone called from behind me and I turned to see the Potter’s making their way towards me. I waved, bringing Scorpius to a stop as I did so. Harry and Ginny finally reached me, their children trailing behind them, staring at me in confusion.

“It’s good to see you again Potter. How have you been?” He nodded at my statement, smiling at Scorpius.

“I’ve been good, busy with work and all. How about you?” He replied, motioning to the baby bump that was showing underneath my flowery dress. I laughed, stroking the top of the bump.

“Yeah, good. Just sending this one off to Hogwarts for his first year.” I pulled Scorpius closer to me as he smiled widely.

“Really?” Ginny asked. “Well, we’re sending Albus off for his first year as well.” I waved to Albus, who was looking slightly nervous.

“Darling!” A voice called, followed by a chuckle as I felt my husband’s arms slip around my waist. “Potter, good to see you again.”

Our pair of twins, Lucy and Mickey, also collided into the two of us before running off with their older brother.

All of our children had inherited the Malfoy blonde hair and grey eyes, with only a hint of me in their looks. I was, however, holding out hopes for the next child to look like me instead of Draco.

“Malfoy.” Potter replied, shaking his hand as we all walked in the direction of the platform, chattering amongst ourselves as we did so. We went through the barrier first, before waving to the Potter’s and making our way a bit further down to where Pansy and Blaise were also standing with their own kids. We said hello to them before helping Scorpius put his stuff onto the train.

“Remember to write at some point please.” I reminded my oldest as I pressed a kiss to his head. Draco wrapped him into a hug as well, before I handed him a bag of sweets for the train. “Make some friends whilst your at it.” I winked at Scorpius as he laughed, before giving me one last hug and boarding the train.

I heard a grunt from behind me, and watched as the six-year-old twins, who had tried to run after their brother, were restrained by Draco. Taking Lucy out of Draco’s arms, I held her against my waist as our little family waved at Scorpius.

We wouldn’t see him again until the Christmas holidays, if he even wanted to come back. The train left the station and disappeared around the bend in the tracks and we waited until we couldn’t see it anymore. 

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Draco asked, worried due to his own experience at school, and what others may think about him due to his family name.

“He’s a Malfoy and an Ambry, he’ll give them hell.” I said, beginning to lead Draco out of the station by the arm, and back towards the car. He had become a bit more worried after becoming a father, but I was pretty sure that Scorpius was going to have a lot of fun and make a lot of friends.

“I’m sure you’re right Mrs Malfoy.” Draco said as he buckled the twins into their car seats and opened the door for me. 

“I’m always right Draco.” I pressed a quick kiss to his lips before he shut the car door. I knew in my heart that everything was going to be okay.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 5: Paradise City]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language, some sexual content (not smutty).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Taglist: @blushingwueen @queen-turtle-boiii @everybodyplaythegame @onceuponadetectivedemigod @luvborhap @sincereleygmg @stormtrprinstilettos @loveandbeloved29 @ohtheseboysilove @jennyggggrrr @vanitysfairr @bramblesforbreakfast @radiob-l-a-hblah @xox-talia-xox @killer-queen-xo @caborhapch @kimmietea @asquiresofftime @hardzzellos @sleepretreat @ramibaby @jonesyaddiction @ixchel-9275 @omgitsearly @lovepizza-cake11 @deacy-dearest @shishterfackisback @mrbenhardys @deaky-with-a-c If I forgot anyone, please yell at me :)

The blue chalk moves swiftly with shrill little squeaks over the board. You’re dressed in a floral red dress, leggings, sensible sable flats, and fuzzy woolly mammoth earrings. The kids love to see what sort of eccentric accessories you wear each day; there’s even a space on the board reserved for it. Today’s flair is: woolly mammoth earrings! (Please don’t touch unless you ask first!!)

“Okay my lovely children, let’s practice using each of this week’s spelling words in a sentence. Who can remind me what the first word on our spelling list is?”

“Oh! Oh!” Brendyn—who you mentally mix up with Brayden or Kayden at least twice a day—leans out of his chair and waves his arm hysterically. Dear god, please send a plague to wipe the unnecessary Y baby name trend off the face of the planet. “I can!”

“Go ahead, Brendyn.”

“Throw,” he announces proudly, as if he’s just won the Olympic medal for elementary-school writing.

“Awesome job! That’s right!” You transcribe it on the board: 1. Throw. “And who thinks they can come up with a sentence using the word throw?”

Eli, as he’s doodling all over his worksheet, says: “If you don’t like someone, you can throw them out of a window.”

You swallow noisily as you collect your thoughts. The other students are alternately giggling cautiously or gasping, scandalized. “Now, Eli...”

“Yes, Miss Teacher?” he prompts.

“It’s nice to raise our hands and wait to be called on when we have something to share.”

“Oops.” He raises his hand.

You sigh heavily. “Could you come up with a different sentence, please? One that is more school-appropriate? Remember we had a whole talk last week about school-appropriate topics. Right class?”

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N!” they agree in unison. That conversation hadn’t, perhaps shockingly, been inspired by Eli. A chatty, beach-blond, future surfer bro named Dexter had discovered his father, a prominent cinematographer, in a compromising position with the nanny—in the jacuzzi tub, no less—and felt the need to divulge that during Story Sharing Time. Worst parent phone call ever.

“Give it another try, Eli,” you say encouragingly.

“Taking spelling tests makes me want to throw up.”

You drop your face into your hands as the class howls in laughter. “Okay, very funny, but I still think we can come up with something more appropriate. Does anyone else have an idea?”

Maisy raises her hand timidly. Oh, hallelujah.

“Yes, Maisy!”

“Always remember to throw away your trash.”

“Wonderful!” You write the sentence on the board. “No littering. I like it. Save the sea turtles. Maisy, as a reward, you may give Creampuff one pumpkin seed.”

“Yay!” Maisy leaps out of her seat and sprints to Creampuff’s cage behind your desk. It’s your third year teaching with Creampuff, and the poor hamster is decisively in geriatric territory; she’s morbidly obese and her eyes are bluish with cataracts. But the children adore her, and Creampuff has always been wonderfully sweet and never bites. You just hope that when the time comes, she has the decency to kick the bucket over a long weekend so you can dispose of the body in secret and whip up a cheery story to tell the kids about how Creampuff went to live in an organic vegan farm or a hamster sanctuary or a retirement community in sunny Tampa Bay, Florida.

“Okay friends,” you announce. “Go ahead and practice coming up with sentences on your worksheet. Then we’ll chat in five or ten minutes and see what we’ve got. Ready, set, go!”

As students’ heads bow and pencils begin scratching against paper, you circle the room peeking over shoulders and making suggestions here and there. When you reach Eli’s desk, you crouch down so your gaze is level with his.

“Hey, Eli.”

“Hi,” he replies mistrustfully, his blue eyes narrow under dark curls.

“I just wanted to let you know that I thought your sentence ideas were very funny and very, very clever. But they just weren’t the best choices to use in class. Do you understand why?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking a little. Of course you do, you’re the smartest kid in here.

“And I really appreciated you raising your hand to speak once you were reminded.”

“Thanks.” He’s actually bashful now, his high olive-skinned cheeks flushing.

“Are you still going to help me clap the erasers after class today?”

His eyes light up like wildfire. “Can I?”

The trap’s been sprung. Clapping erasers is like cocaine for first graders. “You betcha. If the rest of our spelling lesson goes smoothly.”

“Okay!” He immediately picks up his pencil and begins jotting down sentences. The handwriting is definitely a work in progress, but Eli’s spelling and grammar are immaculate. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you walk away; you’re feeling triumphant, of course, but there’s something else as well.

I’m proud of you, demon kid.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ben is standing on your doorstep, dressed in black, a potted calla lily in his hands. And at first he’s got that unnerving veneer, he’s serious and intimidating and smoldering; but then you find his eyes and his smile breaks open like cracked glass.

“Hi,” he says meekly.

“Hi.” You point to the calla lily. It’s a vivid green, like his eyes, like the serrated continents of the Earth from space. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, actually. It’s a gift, but it’s kind of a joke too.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s fake.” He grins. “So you can’t kill it.”

You laugh and take the pot, leaning back so the silk calla lily doesn’t tickle your nose, doesn’t rub against your makeup. “Come on in, Mr. Hardy.” Ben follows you, his hands in his jacket pockets, peering around watchfully. You find a temporary home for your new plant on the kitchen counter, right next to your latest purchase; you rest your hand, not-so-subtly, on the brand new, mint green, vintage record player. “Check this bad boy out.”

“Wow!” Ben leans down to examine it, running his fingertips over the turntable. Then his eyes flick to the box of vinyl records. “And you’ve already got listening material!”

“Lots of Queen, you’d totally approve.”

“Zeppelin?”

“Naturally.”

He flips through the records quickly: The Eagles, The Stones, Guns N’ Roses, The Beatles, The Cars, Aerosmith, Cheap Trick, Fleetwood Mac, U2, Hendrix, Elton, Nirvana. “Love it. I’m pumped. How much did all of this cost you?”

You crinkle your nose in lighthearted defiance. “It’s rude to talk about money, Mr. Hardy. Not a lot. Amazon is an amazing thing. And I’ve been collecting records for years. Yard sales, thrift shops, wherever. Some of them were my parents’ before I commandeered them.”

“I’ll ask again.” He takes out his wallet and starts counting bills, the paper shuffling in his hands. “How much for the record player? Estimate the rest.”

“Ben,” you protest, dismayed.

“Y/N,” he teases.

“You can’t buy everything for me,” you say gently.

“I’m not buying. I’m renting. I get to choose what to play whenever I’m here.” He unfolds $300 and lays it on top of the record player. “Will that cover it?”

You gape at the money. Yes, that’s about right. “Ben...I’d let you request music for free.”

“I don’t want requests. I want everything.” And then he grins, and it almost rips the floor out from under you. Oh god, I love this man.

You’ve never said those words aloud. You’ve never talked about his refrigerator magnet confession. But it’s somewhere in the space between you like a circling ghost, like a promise, like shared blood singeing under flesh.

“But,” Ben says, bringing you back into focus. “For now we should probably get going.”

“Right.” You grab your purse and jacket as Ben calls an Uber. “Where are we meeting them, anyway?”

He winks at you, his face illuminated by the glow of his cellphone screen. “Not the fucking Olive Garden.”

The Uber is a BMW with leather seats and a minibar installed in the backseat. As it cruises through downtown L.A., Ben tells you about how Joe has an apartment in the city, how Rami splits his time between his loft here and another in New York, how devout Londoner Gwilym is in town for work. You down a tiny Absolut Vodka to ease your nerves. “And when do I get to see your place, Mr. Hardy?”

He chuckles noncommittally. “We’re here,” he declares, glancing up through the BMW’s tinted windows. Outside is an upscale nightclub called The Edison. Then he turns to you. “Two things,” he says, holding up his index and middle fingers. There’s a gold ring on each. “First, don’t forget about the low profile.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult since we’re...” Air quotes. “Not dating.”

“Good. And secondly, don’t be anxious. They’re going to love you. You’re...”

“Charming?” you suggest, batting your eyelashes. “Blessed with impeccable music taste? Awesome at taming demons?”

He smiles. “I was going to say perfect.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re three shots deep and belting out Sweet Caroline with the electric-fence kid from Jurassic Park. There’s a sentence you never thought would cross your mind.

Joe’s trim left arm is draped over your shoulders, his head leaning into yours, a lager swooping precariously in his right hand as he gestures with it like a microphone. Ben is looking on, grinning as he sips his Sazerac, his eyes flickering in the dim, rusty light. When you first arrived, Ben introduced you as a friend; Joe had quickly shimmied over and started dropping lines.

“Joe,” Ben flared, like it was a warning. “I’m not trying to set you two up. That’s not what this is.”

“Whoops, my bad,” Joe had replied, and dialed down the saccharine charm. Yet you like Joe, you like him a lot, and within thirty minutes you’ve already exchanged numbers and compared astrological signs and agreed that he’s going to teach you how to play baseball next week.

“She’s got a thing for Jeff Goldblum, you know,” Ben says now.  

“Stop!” you cry, blushing furiously.

“Do you?!” Joe asks and gulps half his lager. “I can make that happen. I can introduce you.”

“He’s a lot older than he was in his Jurassic Park days,” you sigh, lamenting.

“But also wayyyyy richer!” Joe pitches, waggling his eyebrows.

“She’s a schoolteacher,” Ben notes. “She could use a sugar daddy.”

“Girl, I am going to hook you up!”

Rami and Lucy return to the circular booth from the dancefloor, their fingers interlaced. Lucy is incredibly delicate, even tinier and more youthful than she appears onscreen, and always smiling; Rami speaks slowly and thoughtfully and with a captivating meticulousness, and when he fixes his pale eyes on yours you feel like you’re the only person in the room, in the city, in the world, as if whatever you have to say is the most profound thing he’s ever heard. Rami shouts something to Ben over the blaring music as Ben takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one.

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, and Joe jumps beside you, startled. “You smoke?”

Ben takes a draw, exhales smoke through full pink lips, and smirks guiltily.

“What year is this?!”

“2019,” Joe offers.  

“Who the fuck smokes in 2019?!” you hurl at Ben. “Do you like breathing? Do you enjoy your internal organs? Do you want to live to spend all your BoRhap money?”

“You tell him!” Joe whoops, clapping. “Yeah baby! Tell him, Y/N!”

You ask incredulously: “They let people smoke in here?!”

“They do in the VIP section,” Joe chimes.

“He’s quite the delinquent, isn’t he?” Gwil says, appearing from the dancefloor and resting his hands on Ben’s shoulders. Gwilym is gentlemanly and eruditions, classically handsome, one of those people whose sincerity reads all over their face. His voice is different than Ben’s, lighter, sharper, less husky; he’s tall and slim and polished. In a phrase, he’s outlandishly lovely.

“I didn’t come here for an intervention, mate,” Ben responds, but his tone is pleasant and at-ease.

“Sorry for loving you, Ben!” Joe yells. “Sorry for caring about your longevity!”

“Sorry for wanting to grow old with you and retire together!” Gwil wails theatrically.

“Oh wow wow wow,” Rami says, shaking his head and smiling. Lucy is clutching a Malibu Sunset and trying to drag him back to the dancefloor, her polka dot dress swirling dreamily around her ankles.

“Wait,” Joe begins, “this is awkward, I definitely already purchased adjacent burial plots for me and Ben and the cemetery has a strict no-Welshmen policy, so...”

Laughing, you turn to Ben, and all at once the two of you are alone in this deafening and pulsing space. He takes another draw, the lit end of his cigarette glowing like embers, his eyes—green like envy, like a snake’s skin, like insatiable greed—all over you: your lips, your neck, your chest, lower. Something deep and shapeless ripples through you, déjà vu or recognition or desire or all of that and more; you want to reach out and touch his flushed flawless skin with your fingertips, you want to make sure he’s real. Gwil and Rami and Lucy are engrossed in some conversation about the best neighborhoods for apartment hunting in London, but Joe’s squinting suspiciously at you and Ben through the veil of smoke. You can’t fool him.

“Right,” Ben says suddenly, crushing the rest of his cigarette in an ashtray. “I’ve got to run. Y/N, do you want a lift home?”

This is just for show, just for the low-profile arrangement; of course you want to leave with him. You’ll follow him anywhere. “That’d be greatly appreciated.” As you climb out of the booth, Ben slips his phone from his pocket to call an Uber.

Joe waves, still thoughtful. “See you soon, Sweet Caroline!”

“Oh god, let’s never talk about that again.”

Rami gives you a sophisticated peck on each cheek, Lucy a spirited hug and a delighted little squeal; her oversized dangling earrings drag along your cheek as you pull away. Gwil takes your hands firmly in his own. “It was wonderful to meet you, love,” he says. “Come along anytime.”

“You’ve all been so kind!” you gush tipsily, and that’s the truth; they’ve been almost preposterously welcoming.

“Yeah yeah, you’ve stolen the show,” Ben says affectionately, maybe even proudly, guiding you towards the front of the club with his palm pressed lightly against the small of your back. “Cheers! We’ll do this again soon,” he calls back to the others. Joe and Gwil dramatically blow kisses after him as you push through the crowds and out into the windswept, luminescent Los Angeles night.

“What’s the hurry—?”

“Can I take you home now?” His voice is rushed and breathless; he’s doing that nervous thing he does where he glances around distractedly and bites his lips and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and runs his thumb over his chin.

“Of course,” you answer, your words hushed like clouds muting the moonshine.

A red Porsche rolls up along the sidewalk and Ben opens the door for you.

“I need you to do something for me,” you say when you’re both in the car and zooming through traffic towards the suburbs.

“Anything.”

Your gaze is devouring his high cheekbones—Eli’s, just like Eli’s—as the streetlights pass overhead, his messy hair and barely-there smile and all that lives under his fierce exterior, kindness and strength and wit and love. Love. “I need you to quit smoking.”

He laughs at you; that’s not what he expected. “Seriously?”

“I don’t want you to die young. I don’t want to lose you.” You can’t stand that thought. You’ve known him for three weeks and you’re hooked like a fucking swordfish; he’s in your bones, your blood, your lungs, he’s dragging you up from the depths and into blinding, open air.

This is too soon. This is way too soon. You don’t know this guy at all.

And yet somehow you do, somehow it feels like you always have.

Ben reaches over and weaves his fingers through yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He follows you inside when the Uber pulls into your driveway; he’s not speaking, he doesn’t remove his jacket or his shoes. He begins flipping through your box of records as you lean against the kitchen counter, your arms crossed.

“This is a test,” you say with a smile.

Ben makes a selection at last, drops the record onto the turntable, and places the needle. The music begins, filling your tiny one-bedroom house, reverberating off the walls that you’ve painted mint green and lilac and teal and pastel rosy pink. He still isn’t looking at me.

“Interesting choice.” The song is Save Tonight by a Swedish artist called Eagle-Eye Cherry; it’s acoustic and simple and soulful. “That’s not very classic rock of you.”

“Go on and close the curtains

'Cause all we need is candlelight

You and me, and a bottle of wine

To hold you tonight.”

“The Nineties weren’t all bad.” Ben shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the kitchen table, kicks aside his shoes, lays his phone face-down on the counter as if he’s just decided to stay. Then he comes to you.

“Well we know I'm going away

And how I wish, I wish it weren't so

So take this wine and drink with me

And let's delay our misery.”

There’s no questioning whether you’re going to let him touch you; there’s no question at all. The thought of not being with him is agonizing, cavernous, unbearable. You’ve never wanted someone like this. You’ve never wanted anything like this.

Ben cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he’s coming up for air, like you’re a high he’ll never get enough of. He tastes like cognac and whiskey and cigarettes and lust. Your back hits the refrigerator, and your magnets pop off and clatter against the tile floor; your fingers are knotting through his hair as his trace a path beneath your blouse. He asks if you’re okay—not with his voice but with his searching eyes—and you nod a desperate yes, yes, yes. Outside the stars are raging through the blackness, those same stars that lit up the sky above the dinosaurs just a few blinks of their immortal lifespans ago.

“Save tonight and fight the break of dawn,

Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone...”

“Oh shit...” Ben’s patting his pockets, flipping through his wallet. His eyes are wide and frantic. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him. “Wait, I’m sorry, you’re an actor, you probably get psychos trying to have your babies all the time, I totally understand if you don’t trust me—”

“I trust you,” he breathes, as if he’s just realizing it.

“I trust you too, Ben.”

“Don’t say it,” he whispers, almost pleads. “You don’t know me.”

“I do,” you insist, unbuttoning his shirt, lifting all that separates you away, peeling back secrets like layers of the earth.

[bensboynton]

Good Enough b.h; Part 1

Requested: no

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: swearing, unedited. 

“Will I ever be good enough for anyone?”

“You’ve been good enough for me since the beginning.”

In which a singer tries her hand at acting, and ends up with a lot more than she bargained for. 

A/N: this is my first attempt at a longer fic, forgive me if anything is inaccurate/grammar mistakes/mistakes in general it’s 1 am and i haven’t slept in the past 28 hours and i just wanted to get this up.  – “You got the part.”

“What? Wait, is this a joke? Are you serious right now?” your lungs didn’t seem nearly big enough, as you desperately gasped for air. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“I’m completely serious! You landed the role. You’re Mary Austin. How does it feel to be able to say that? You’re Mary fucking Austin.”

Your heart was pounding in the chest as you were on the phone with your manager, Anthony. This was it. This was your big break in the industry. You just landed the role of the woman who stole Freddie Mercury’s heart.

You had been wildly successful in the music industry for almost five years, as you were about twenty-two shows away from finishing your second world tour for your sophomore album. And while writing music, performing said music, wrapping your tongue around unfamiliar languages and your mind around foreign cultures satisfied you, you always yearned for more. And that’s what led you to acting.

At first, it was an idea you had late at night. “What if I started to act?” But you shot the idea down yourself. You convinced yourself it’d be a distraction. Your manager would never say yes, it’d be too much work for you to handle, you wouldn’t be good at it. Not to mention the extra stress that would’ve been added to your already quite strained schedule. And on top of that, most singers never made it in the acting industry. But once the seed of this idea was planted in your brain, it began to grow. It soon became all you could think about. So, after a few extremely long phone calls with your manager and a few meetings in the city, you managed to set up your first audition. And the rest is history.

At first, you did a few commercials for some popular brands. Some advertising videos, skits for Facebook and Instagram, a few small parts in tv shows and smaller movies here and there, but nothing too major. However, when you heard a murmur through the grapevine about the part of Mary Austin in a biopic about Queen? For a lack of a better way to describe your emotions, you just about shit your pants.

Queen has been one of your favorite bands your entire life(thanks to your father), and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Freddie Mercury and Queen were your heroes. Freddie was the main reason you decided to start writing music, and that beautiful man made you fall in love with the art of performance. You took inspiration from him in almost every single aspect of your life. You couldn’t just let an opportunity like this pass you by.

You had submitted an audition tape to the producers one day after a particularly tiring show in Belgium, following a two-week crash course with a dialect coach practicing your British accent. You quickly ran through a few lines of the emotionally extensive script, submitting your video a few moments later. And about four days following the submission of your video, you got a phone call from your manager telling you that you did, indeed, land the part. And you were ecstatic. You were even more elated when you received a similar phone call informing you who got the part of Freddie Mercury; one of your good friends, Rami Malek. You screeched so loud one of the people in the hotel room next to yours came over to ask if you were all right. But you were far better than just “all right.”

You had met Rami backstage before an interview you did with him on Jimmy Fallon’s show, and you two exchanged phone numbers and the rest was history. The both of you were best friends for a while; practically inseparable. The both of you were hanging out at least every other day before distance slowly caused you to drift apart. But a gap between you wouldn’t really be any interference since you’d be working on this movie together. Problem solved.

And so, after a few headaches and way, way too many phone calls(all of which were extremely unnecessary to you), you rearranged the final three shows of your tour to leave you right smack dab in the middle of London, right where you needed to be to begin filming this movie. Everything was beginning to fall into place. – You slowly stretched your arms up over your head, arching your back and cracking your neck. Today. Today was the day you finally got to begin shooting Bohemian Rhapsody.

You had been waiting for this moment for what felt like an eternity. When you heard the news of your success at landing the role as Mary, time started to pass by as if it was in slow motion, and days started to drag on as you waited for shooting to begin. You could only reread the script so many times before it became so mind-numbing it made you sick to even look at it.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck, you looked at yourself in the hotel mirror. The bags under your eyes were slightly apparent, and you made a note in your head to try and cover them up before leaving your room and checking out.

You grabbed your cellphone and unplugged it from its charger, typing in your passcode and pressing your boyfriend’s contact. The phone rang for a while, but no answer. Your heart sunk slightly at the sound of his voicemail.

“Hey, Y/BF/N. Just wanted to call and say hey before I head to set. I hope your tour is going well, I love you and can’t wait to see you. Talk to you later.”

You sighed gently as you hit the circular “end call” button and set your phone down. No more time for being sad over the strange lack of contact with your significant other. You had a movie to film.  

You checked over your room quickly, just to be sure you had packed everything. After all, having all of your clothes would be imperative for the lengthy stay in your new trailer.

Hearing the news that you got to live in your very own trailer while on set was weirdly exciting for you. It felt like a rite of passage, almost like it validated your acting career in an odd way.

Wheeling your two extremely full suitcases behind you, and your backpack sitting gracefully on your shoulders, you slowly but surely made your way to the lobby of the hotel you were staying in. You swiftly checked yourself out and made your way to the notably empty parking lot. Made sense that it would be empty. After all, it was almost 5 am in London.

A black SUV was awaiting you near the doors, ready to take you to your new home for the next few months. Saying you were excited was an understatement.

Making small talk with your chauffeur for the morning, Todd, you admired his thick British accent. You appreciated his unique pronunciation of the words you knew and the few pieces of British slang that were unfamiliar to your remarkably American brain. Hopefully you’d start picking up on those sooner or later. You pretended to be mildly interested in Todd’s ranting about his three children as you lazily twisted your hair around your index finger, head rested against the tinted window. But to be honest, your mind was elsewhere.

You began nervously biting at your already extremely bitten nails as you neared closer and closer to the filming location, thoughts beginning to race through your mind. What if the cast didn’t like you? What if you embarrassed yourself? What if you suddenly forgot all your lines? What if you were so bad at acting they fired you on the spot?

Your worrying was cut short as the short and stout driver with grey stubble pulls onto a gravel road, pulling up to a security gate. He rolls down the window and tells the woman standing in the tiny concrete building to the left of the car something about dropping you off, but you aren’t paying much attention. You’re too busy watching the busy hustle and bustle up ahead, of tons of people with jobs and places to be and things to do. It seems as if everyone is running out of time, due to the quick pace that they’re all walking. The driver pulls up to an average sized building with two very heavy duty black doors.

“I’ll drop you off here, and then I’ll run your bags to your trailer if that’s all right with you Miss Y/L/N.” Todd’s voice snaps you back to reality. “Yes, that sounds great. Thank you, Todd.” he nods as you slowly clamber out of the car, adjusting your purse on your shoulder and walking into the building. You can feel your heart beginning to speed up its rhythm in your chest.

You walk up to the shiny black desk in front of you, about to ask the friendly looking receptionist where you’re needed before an enthusiastic voice echoes through the lobby.

“Y/N!” you turn around to see none other than Rami Malek standing before you. You grin as you run straight into him, your chin resting on his shoulder and your arms wrapped around his neck. You pull away as he gives you a quick peck on the cheek. “Long time no see, ay?” you hum, looking at the familiar man as he grins and looks down at his shoes. You admire the small crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Oh, how you missed him.

“You know, I almost cried when I heard you got the part.” He spoke with an eloquence unmatched by anyone you had ever met before. His voice sent shivers down your spine. “And why was that?” you inquired, as he slowly brought his eyes back up to meet yours.

“Because I knew I couldn’t do it with anybody else. It needed to be you. I just had this feeling, you know? And with our friendship, I knew our chemistry would be good. I was just really excited.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, as you tucked a piece of your soft hair behind your ear. It was strange, with Rami. You hadn’t heard from him in months, yet the conversation flowed with ease, almost as if you last talked two days ago.

“You should’ve heard me when I found out you were Freddie.” Rami cocked an eyebrow at your statement as he offers his left arm. You accept his invitation, interlocking your right arm with his as you start walking alongside him, “I was screaming bloody murder. The hotel sent someone from the front desk up to check on me,” Rami let out a loud chuckle, shaking his head as he glanced at you, a twinkle in his bulbous orbs.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel something for Rami when you first met him. I mean, who could blame you? A fashion-conscious, well spoken, educated man? In this economy? A rare occurrence, at best.  You started to fall for him when your friendship was at its peak, but it just doesn’t feel the same now. Besides, you now have a loving boyfriend, and Rami has an absolutely beautiful girlfriend. No need to “mingle” with any of your castmates.

You continued your walk down a particularly long hallway with locked arms in silence. But, it was a comfortable silence. That was your favorite thing about Rami. No matter what, he always made you feel at ease. You finally reached a certain door that Rami stopped at, taking a deep breath and looking at you.

“Ready to meet the rest of the band?” you nodded quickly, trying to gather yourself to make the best first impression you could. It was almost as if Rami could sense your nerves.

He gave your arm a comforting squeeze, a slight grin causing the left corner of his mouth to curve upwards into a smile. As you said, he was always able to calm you down. He pushed the door open, and it was almost as if the sound erupting from the tiny room slapped you across the face. Rami grinned at you sheepishly, an apology already bubbling at his lips before you walked swiftly into the room.

“Guys, can you all shut your traps for two goddamn seconds and meet Y/N?” Rami’s voice carried, and suddenly the volume level in the room decreased dramatically. Three unfamiliar eyes were suddenly trained on you, and you sent them a nervous smile, tucking your long hair behind your ear, twisting it around your index finger. This was something you tended to do when you were nervous.

 A particularly tall man started walking toward you, a big smile on his elongated face. You imagined him with a mop of curly hair, and immediately knew that this must be the man playing none other than Brian May. 

“You must be Gwilym, right?” you smiled, reaching out to shake his abnormally large hand, “I’m Y/N.”

“Amazing to finally meet you, Y/N. Rami has told us loads about you.” you smiled up at him, as you were about 6 inches shorter than his towering figure. He made small talk with you, asking about your flight to London and if you had any trouble arriving on set. 

“Oh. My. God. It’s you. It’s really you. I’m in a room with THE Y/N. Wow. I might pass out. Am I dreaming?” a man with curly hair joked, his thick sarcasm lacing his words as he turned to the man next to him. “Pinch me. Wake me up from this dream. It’s too good to be true.” you laughed, shaking your head as you looked up to meet his eyes as he started walking towards you. You curled your finger around a strand of hair as the stranger walked towards you. 

“And you must be Joe!” you held out your hand, only to be engulfed in the slightly taller man’s arms. “You’re my new best friend, and best friends don’t shake hands. We hug.”

And although Joe was joking, you clung to his words for a few seconds. It warmed your heart to think that he was already so accepting of you. “This is my other best friend, Allen. Sorry new bestie, you’re going to have to share me. I have a lot of best friends. But there’s plenty of this,” he points at himself, “to go around. I promise.” you giggled, lightly hitting his forearm with the back of your hand. It’s actually quite insane how comfortable you felt around him already, despite you knowing him personally for approximately a minute and a half. You looked up, swiftly scanning the room to look for the final member of the main cast you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. Gwil must’ve seen you look around because he did the same thing. “Has Anyone seen Ben recently? Or did he sneak off for a smoke again?”

“He left about ten minutes ago. Either taking a really, really, nice shit or went to smoke. I’ll let your beautiful minds decide what you want to believe,” Joe’s comment left the entire room laughing lightly under their breath as they returned back to whatever they were doing before you had walked in. 

You had been sitting on the couch for about twenty minutes, talking to Joe and answering his many questions about your childhood, career, upcoming music, college and, strangely, what movie you would choose if you could only watch one for the rest of your life. You saw how he could potentially come off as nosy to a high-strung individual, but to you, he was just curious and always had a desire to learn more. You admired that about him, as you were very similar.

The door of the tiny room opened, and a man with fluffy, slightly untidy blonde hair briskly strolls into the room, slipping off the brown leather jacket snugly hugging his muscular shoulders. Your eyes followed him for a split second and it took everything in you to tear your eyes away from the Greek God that just waltzed into the room.

“There he is! My boyfriend. I missed you SO much.” Joe grasped his chest, motioning at the man to walk over. The mysterious man shook his head and let out a soft laugh, his head down as he typed furiously into his phone. You stood up quickly, smoothing out the front of your shirt. Joe gestured to you, and his eyes swept over you quickly, causing a small bout of butterflies to swarm through your empty stomach. You swore your heart was beating so loud, everyone in the room could hear it echoing in your chest. 

“You must be Ben. It’s really nice to meet you, I’m-” you began to introduce yourself to the unreasonably attractive man, holding your hand out before he interrupts you. “Y/N.”

“Y-Yeah that’s me.”

The way your name rolled off his tongue sent shivers down your spine. It caught you off guard. His green orbs that glimmered with a tinge of blue slowly met yours, and he smiled sheepishly, before breaking the eye contact and dropping your hand. There was an awkward silence that fell between the two of you, even amidst the chatter of the room. Ben opened his mouth like he was about say something, before a familiar voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Hey hey hey, let’s not get too comfortable over there. That’s my boyfriend. Back off Y/N!” Joe spoke from across the room, sarcastic anger dripping from his mocking words. Ben rolled his eyes, mouthing a “sorry” to you before walking away from you, aimlessly making his way to the other side of the room.

You were left alone, and you rubbed the back of your neck with your right hand. It wasn’t normally like you to act so awkward and secluded around someone, especially someone you didn’t know. 

But, nevertheless, you could finally check one thing off your list of worries. The cast was absolutely amazing. Now all you needed to stress about was actually filming the movie.

But little did you know, that would soon become the very least of your worries.

[loveofshows]

So, this is the result of waking up at 4am and thinking about Sherlolly. I'm not sorry I woke this but I am sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes. With that in mind I hope you'll enjoy this. Happy reading!

————

Charlotte walked into 221 Baker Street when she heard it. She looked up and shook her head as she made her way to Mrs Hudson's. They had been fighting whenever she wasn't around and quickly stopped when she entered. It was getting tired some.

Mrs Hudson opened the door after she knocked, looking just as tired at Charlotte felt. "Still fighting I take it?" Charlotte nodded and she was ushered in.

"Thanks Mrs Hudson. If you don't mind, I'd brought headphones this time. So I'll just put those on and do my homework."

"Of course not. I'll be taking an afternoon nap anyways. If you need anything don't be afraid to wake me up." She pour herself a cup, patted Charlotte's curly hair and left for her room.

Charlotte set her book bag down, set the table full of books and papers, made herself a cup as well. When she was ready, she sat down put her headphones in and turned on the music, drowning out everything.

She could always rely on Mrs Hudson. Now if only her parents who kiss and make up, she'll feel better.

Up in 221b is a different story though. Sherlock and Molly were standing in the living room having what seems to be a shouting match.

"Sherlock this is ridiculous!" Molly shouted, "you can't go running off in the middle of the night! Whether it's case related or not!"

"It usually is Molly. There's nothing you need to worry about! And I can do as I please."

"'Nothing to worry about?'" Molly spluttered, "you have a daughter that looks up to you. A wife that gets worried sick that you won't come back."

"But I always come back Molly, why can't you get that through your thick head."

Molly glared as she tried to keep her tears at bay. "There were times that you didn't Sherlock. I know it's your job, I can take you leaving for a few days without contact. But when you leave without saying anything it seems you have something to hide." Sometime in her had dawned. "Are you back on drugs again?"

She couldn't have been more right yet so wrong. "Cuz I swear Sherlock if you are..." she couldn't finish her sentence. The look Sherlock gave her broken her heart.

"I'll be at Johns." Was all Sherlock said before grabbing his coat and scarf as he left.

When Molly heard the doors slam shut, she collapsed to the floor and began crying.

After what felt like hours, Molly dried her eyes and looked at the clock. Charlotte should be up any minute now, and not wanting to worry her daughter, began to clean up.

She cleaned her face and began packing a few things of there's and finished just as Charlotte walked in.

"Going somewhere Mum?" Charlotte asked as she saw the suitcases.

"We're taking a bit of a holiday. So go and grab a few things from your room and we'll get going."

Charlotte was about ask if Sherlock was coming with but stopped when she saw Molly's face. All Charlotte could do was nod and did what she was told. This one must have been different then the others, Charlotte thought.

When they were ready they left 221 and both wondered if they would ever see it again.

It had been a week since the two left and Charlotte was tired of seeing her mum miserable. So that day after school, Charlotte went home instead of John's. She was going to fix this, one way or another.

When she entered her home, something felt off. It didn't feel warm or loving. It didn't feel like it usually does when Molly was still at work and she would come home to find Sherlock playing or pacing. Or even ranting at Uncle John when he wasn't there. Even when Sherlock was off on a case, it still felt like home.

No, this was the opposite of home. This felt dead and cold and uninviting. Sending shivers down her spine. "Dad?" Charlotte called out but there was no reply. She peered through the kitchen and found nothing. Looked in the bathroom and found it unused.

When she got to her parents room, she felt goose bumps rising. Afraid what she might find, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Dad?!" Charlotte cried. Dropping her backpack, she ran over and checked his pulse. It was faint but still there. She took out her phone and called for help.

When the ambulance had arrived and took Sherlock, Charlotte was insistent on coming with them to the hospital. She was stubborn when the doctors told her to call her mom and inform her, but she refused. She wouldn't call her, no not yet.

She had a bone to pick with her dad and she didn't want her mom there just yet. What she didn't account for was John telling Molly.

Molly was in her office doing paperwork when John called. John informed her about Sherlock and Charlotte. She thanked him and hung up.

Molly left her office and went upstairs. Going to the nurses station, she asked where Sherlock's room was. Getting the answer, Molly mentally prepared herself for seeing the love of his life. What she didn't prepare for was her broken daughter.

She was about to knock when she heard it. The sound of a 14 year old girls cry. Opening the door a little, Molly found Charlotte curled up beside a sleeping Sherlock.

"Know you," Charlotte started once she was calmed down enough to talk, "for the two most genius people in London, you and Mum are the most dense." Molly couldn't help but smile. Of course the first thing Charlotte would do is insult the both of them.

"If you would have told mom you were planning a getaway for your anniversary then you wouldn't have been fighting for weeks. But you didn't want Mum to know that either. Because your Sherlock Holmes and even planning something has to be a secret."

Molly wondered if her daughters was mocking Sherlock and stifled a laugh.

"But you only did it because Mum was hiding something too." That caught Molly's attention. "She wasn't cheating of course cuz the way she looks at you anyone could tell she would never. Even Anderson." At that Molly couldn't help but let a little giggle escape. Charlotte didn't hear, she was too busy talking. "Nor you being back on drugs cuz you know how much that would have hurt Mum.

"Some of my friends think that either of you should have gotten married. But I think they're wrong. You're the best for each other and the best parents I could ask for." Charlotte yawned and snuggled closer. "And I'm sure my brother or sister would agree to that too. I hope you guys are done with having kids. Cuz you two are old."

Molly looked at her daughter in surprise. She was sure she hid it well. Leave it up to Sherlock's daughter to deduce something Sherlock couldn't.

She watched as Charlotte closed her eyes and began snoring lightly. Smiling, Molly opened to door and walked in..

"She's really something isn't she?" Sherlock asked, staring at Charlotte with love and adoration.

"Too smart for her own good too," Molly added. She took a seat on the chair beside the bed, and tucked Charlottes hair behind her ear. "Should have known she knew about the fighting."

Sherlock snorted. "She knew about everything. Though I'm a bit jealous she deduced you're pregnant before I did."

"I was going to tell you," Molly said, "I just wasn't ready to. And how come you didn't want to tell me you were planning a surprise for this weekend?"

"Because if I did, I'd get excited and tell you everything."

"Must have been one hell of a trip if you're excited for it."

Sherlock smiled sheepishly. "It would have been great. I was going to take the two of you to Hawaii, send Charlotte off to the beach and have a nice day together. But I didn't account you being pregnant, now I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"It would have been lovely." Molly smiled and took his hand. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. It's like I said, I wasn't ready to face the truth about having another child. And I wasn't sure how'd you would take it."

"Molly," Sherlock put in before Molly could ramble, "I'm over the moon about it. I've always wanted another, but it's like Charlotte said we are getting old.”

"You don't have to tell me twice." Molly laughed. "Forgive me?"

"Always. Forgive me?"

Molly leaned over their daughter and kissed him. "Of course."

Charlotte stirred and the two looked to see her smile and snuggled closer to Sherlock causing him to wince a little.

"So, are you going to tell me why you've been shot?"

Sherlock sighed and shrugged. "It seems I was to worried about you two that I forgot I was on a case. The culprit had gotten word that I was looking for him. I think he figured he'd get to me first. He would have shot you two if you were home. That is the only thing I'm great full for you leaving."

"Oh Sherlock." Shaming her head, she gave her husband another kiss and kiss her daughters forehead.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"You guys are sappy and gross."

They looked at their daughter and laughed. "We love you too," they said together and bombarded her with kisses causing her to laugh.

[lirlovesfic]

The Choice

A Doctor Who fanfic Summary: After GitF, the TARDIS brings the Doctor, Rose, and Mickey back to the estate to solve a problem involving the TARDIS herself. But when they see a familiar face, the face of someone who should not exist, they realize the problem is deeper than they thought and could endanger the Doctor’s very existence. Primary characters: Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Jackie Tyler. Genres: Romance, mystery, adventure, drama, character study, HN AU, fobbed!Nine, sick TARDIS. Pairings: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose Rating: Adult

Warning: None for this chapter

a/n: I am currently working on editing this chapter-by-chapter, with the hopes of completing a chapter a day until I catch up with myself. As I mentioned in a previous post, I’m doing it to try to get back into the swing of writing and to build some momentum in order to finish this. Also, there have been some tiny things nagging at me for a while (grammar, punctuation, etc.) so I’ll be correcting as many of them as I can find as I go. The story will not change. In fact, most of the changes are going to be so minor that I doubt anyone (besides myself) will notice. But to keep me on target, I’ll be posting it all here as I go, with links to the other websites it’s on. I hope you enjoy it.

This chapter: on AO3, on TSP, on ffnet

Chapter Three—London, 7 July 2007

A holographic image of the younger Doctor appeared. He was lying on the floor, clearly unconscious. As the image flickered, something that looked like a helmet descended from the ceiling and fitted itself neatly onto the younger Doctor's head. There was a flash of light and the hologram vanished for a moment. When it returned, the trio could see the TARDIS door open. A portion of the grating that made up the floor lifted up, causing the Doctor to roll out the door. The door shut again and the image abruptly shut off. Rose and Mickey turned and stared at the Doctor they were with. His jaw had dropped in shock.

"Blimey," the Doctor said under his breath.

"What… what just happened?" Rose asked. "What was that thing?"

"Something I never thought I'd ever have to use," the Doctor said. "And as for what just happened, I'm not entirely sure. But I think I need to see the man who looks like the old me." He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up. "The question is, how? How to get a good look at him without him seeing me?"

"But if it is him, you, it'll be before you've regenerated, yeah? So he won't know who you are," Rose said.

"I can't count on that," the Doctor told her. "I told you that there's an echo when I meet myself."

"But if that's the case, with you here, shouldn't he be feeling the echo now?" she asked.

"Assuming the person you saw is me," the Doctor said, "we both should be. But it's possible that I'm not feeling one because we're not close enough together." He frowned. "Under normal circumstances, and admittedly these are not normal circumstances, if we met face to face he'd be able to tell I'm a Time Lord, and since there aren't any other Time Lords, and since he wouldn't recognize me, he'd know I was a future version of him…"

"But you said you've met yourself before," Rose said.

"Yeah, I have. But in this case I'm interfering in my own timeline. This has to be handled delicately. If it's not handled carefully enough, the results could be catastrophic. And not just to me... Well, let's just say I don't want to risk it." His brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Mickey said whoever that was may have recognized you, but he didn't know who you were. That would mean he's met you before. If he's me and I've already met you, why wouldn't I know who you were?" He sighed loudly in frustration. "And why don't I remember any of this?"

"I dunno," she said, "but I do have an idea about seeing him. There's a couple of restaurants right across the street from the garage. Maybe we can wait in one of them until the shop closes and he leaves. We should get a good view of him without him seein' us."

"What time is it?" Mickey asked.

"A little after five, local time," the Doctor answered.

Mickey shook his head. "It's Saturday. The shop's probably closed by now." He pulled his mobile out of his pocket. After a brief conversation, he rang off and turned back to them. "He's already gone for the day. Did find out his full name though." He looked at the Doctor evenly. "John Smith. Isn't that the name you used when you were teachin' at Deffrey Vale?"

The Doctor and Rose exchanged glances, with Rose's clearly saying I told you so.

"We need more information about him," the Doctor said. "How long he's been here. Where he lives. Where he was before he got here."

"So you're no longer denyin' he's you?" Mickey asked.

The Doctor yanked on one ear and grimaced. "With the evidence we have so far, let's just say it's… possible he's me. But the jury's still out." Mickey rolled his eyes. "The question is," the Doctor continued, "if we can't talk to him directly, don't even know where he is, how are we going to get the answers we need?"

Rose and Mickey exchanged glances and smirked. "Well, there's one person on the Estate that not only knows everybody but everybody's business too," Mickey said.

The Doctor glanced from one to the other of them. "Who?" he asked. And then it hit him. He got a pained expression on his face. "Oh, no."

~oOo~

John unlocked the door to his flat and carried his dinner straight back into the small space that was his lounge. Not one for cooking, John had picked up a sandwich and crisps from the deli down the street and some beer from Tesco Express on his way home. It was either takeaway or beans on toast, and even the idea of beans on toast made him shudder in disgust.

He set the food down on the beat-up old coffee table and sat down on the threadbare sofa. Not only was the sofa worn, it was ugly. It was covered in a rough, plaid fabric in orange, yellow and black that hadn't been popular since the '70s. The flat had come furnished, which suited him since he hadn't owned anything except a change of clothes when he had arrived back on the Estate, but everything in the place was in bad shape and hadn't been particularly nice when new. The only exceptions were a very expensive new mattress and a state of the art computer system that he had purchased himself. To the outside world they would have seemed like luxuries, particularly in light of his meager salary, but he considered them necessities. The computer system was vital for his continuing search for clues to who he was. And the need for a decent mattress was self-evident. The old one was badly stained and emitted an odor whose source didn't bear thinking about, plus it had had a spring that caught him in the back no matter how he lay down on it.

He flipped on the ancient television before cracking open a beer and unwrapping his sandwich. There was nothing of interest on, nothing that interested him at any rate. He wasn't into sports, the news wasn't new but a rehash of what had happened the previous week, game shows were too easy and thus boring, and dramas? Too domestic. He watched a few minutes of an American science fiction program until he decided the science behind it was so ridiculous that it made the show unwatchable.

Finally he found a channel broadcasting a film he hadn't seen, a recent James Bond film starring an actor he didn't know. He took a swig of his beer and sat back, willing to suspend disbelief for a few minutes. But his mind wandered back to the garage and the girl he had seen. He had seen more than blonde hair. He had caught a glimpse of her face before she had left. He sat back and closed his eyes, trying to recapture the image.

Blonde hair. A wide mouth...

He was startled from his reverie by something jumping onto the sofa next to him. He opened his eyes again. A black cat was sitting next to him, calmly helping itself to his sandwich.

It was not his cat. He did not own a cat. He raised an eyebrow.

"Where did you come from?" he said, figuring it had wandered in from the Estate through the cat flap built into the exterior door. He vaguely recalled someone telling him that the strays would do that but he couldn't remember who, or when he had had that conversation.

The cat did not deign to answer, not with a meow or even a glance in his direction. Instead it continued to focus on trying to eat his dinner.

"Oi, that's mine," he protested. He ripped off a chunk of the sandwich—the portion that had been chewed on by the cat—and put it on the floor. The cat jumped down, pulled the meat and cheese out from between the bread slices, and began to nibble on them.

"You must be thirsty," he said. Shoving the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, he got up and went into the kitchen for a bowl of water. On the way back he retrieved his sketchpad and pencils from the bedroom.

"Now you can stay for a bit," he told the cat as it—no, she—began to drink. "But you can't move in. Don't know how long I'm stayin' here."

The cat ignored him and returned to eating the cheese. John watched for a minute and then turned to the sketchpad. He flipped through the pages, glancing at his drawings. Monsters, metal men, pepper pots fitted with eye stalks, plungers and whisks—a psychiatrist would have a field day with him. He flipped quickly through those pages, as he did the pictures of planets on fire. Perhaps not typical dream images, but all they were were dream images. They could have nothing to do with his previous life.

He turned the page and saw the sketch of the girl he had been working on that morning. Now he could see what was wrong with it. Her nose was slightly shorter and wider than he had drawn. And her ears… They were smaller, but there was more. Something missing.

Earrings. Big gold-colored hoops.

He made the corrections, just barely adjusting a line here, a shadow there, and then added the earrings. When he was finished, he sat back and stared at the picture.

It was her. The girl he had been dreaming about. But more than that, it was the girl he had seen at the garage. The girl's hair had been shorter, her makeup different, but it was her, he was sure of it.

The cat jumped back up on the sofa and rubbed against him, purring. He absently stroked her head as he puzzled over the drawing.

"Who are you?" he said. "And how can I find you again?"

~oOo~

"Now remember," Rose said, "don't tell Mum we've been here all day."

Both the Doctor and Mickey rolled their eyes. They were carrying a couple of pizzas: part dinner, part peace offering just in case she had heard they were back and hadn't stopped by the flat first.

"As if," Mickey said.

Rose unlocked the door. As they walked in the door, she was struck as always by how tiny the flat was. Despite having recently been repaired from damage it had received at Christmastime and received a fresh coat of paint, the narrow hall looked cramped and dark. Perhaps the flat seemed small because she was comparing it to the grandeur of the TARDIS, she supposed. Or perhaps she had just outgrown it, as she had outgrown estate life while traveling with the Doctor.

Deciding not to dwell on that thought, she called out to her mum.

"Mum, we're home. Are you here?"

Before the words were out of her mouth, Jackie ran out of the lounge and met them in the hall. "Rose!" she exclaimed and pulled her daughter in for a hug. "Why don't you ever call? Why bother even having a mobile when you don't use it?"

Rose knew that her mother really didn't expect an answer. "We brought dinner," she said when her mother let her go.

"Thank goodness," her mother said. "I've got nothing in. Certainly not enough for those two." Jackie cast a disparaging glance towards the lounge. The two women followed them in to find that in the short time she had been hugging Rose, the Doctor and Mickey had gone into the lounge, settled themselves on the white imitation-leather chairs, and begun to eat. Mickey had a slice of pizza in one hand and was using the remote to flip through the channels on the telly with the other.

"Don't get too comfortable," Jackie told them all. "Stuart is comin' over."

"Stuart? Who's Stuart?" Rose asked. "Whatever happened to Dennis?"

"And as far as that's concerned, whatever happened to Howard?" the Doctor added.

"Howard was ages ago, and as for Dennis…" Jackie made a rude noise. "Stuart works over at the Chinese takeaway," she told them.

Rose frowned thoughtfully. "Stuart, Stuart… Oh, I remember! Isn't he the cook over there?"

"Yeah," Jackie said.

"Oh! Is he the one who does the wonderful chips?" the Doctor asked.

"That's him," Jackie said. "Does a gorgeous curry as well."

"You know, you should tell him to put the chips in newspaper," the Doctor told her. "Nothing like chips served the traditional way in newspaper. They taste better than when they're wrapped in foil. The newspaper doesn't trap the moisture like foil does, and it absorbs some of the oil, leaving them crisp instead of soggy."

Rose rolled her eyes. "I think you just like the flavor of newspaper ink," she said.

"Depends on the ink used, Rose," he said. "Some are quite bitter."

"Trust you to know," she muttered.

Jackie retrieved some plates and napkins from the kitchen. She pointedly handed a plate and napkin each to the Doctor and Mickey, warning them not to make a mess. Mickey took both without turning from the television. There was another match on.

After the two women helped themselves to slices of pizza and sat down on the sofa, the Doctor turned to them.

"So, Jackie," he said between bites of extra cheese and pepperoni. "What's new around here?"

Rose's eyes got huge. What are you doing, she mouthed. She knew from long years of experience that asking her mother a leading question like that could set them up for a several hour gossip session despite her mum's new boyfriend coming over.

The Doctor ignored her and grinned at Jackie.

"Well," Jackie said conspiratorially. "Rose, your cousin Lavina is pregnant again. This will be her fourth. Mo got a new job, not sure doin' what though. Bev's sister's daughter got another tattoo. This one winds half up her arm. Looks like a snake." She shuddered. "And someone new just moved in across the way. A real grouch. But that's not all bad. He managed to get Rita and Chuck quiet for once. I thought the row they were having this morning would last into next week…"

As Jackie continued to talk, Rose watched the Doctor take another bite. The cheese stretched, forming a long string between the slice of pizza and his mouth. He wrapped it around his tongue three times before biting it off and pulling it into his mouth. She stared at him, disturbed by how disgusted she was yet at the same time how oddly arousing she found it. As if he knew what she was thinking, he smirked at her and gave her a wink.

"Git," she said under her breath.

An hour later, Rose shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Mickey had switched to watching a movie at some point and was still staring at the screen. And her mother was still talking. The Doctor was pretending to be engrossed in the dramas taking place on the Estate, periodically making sympathetic noises. She didn't know how he could do it. Listening to her mum go on and on like that made her eyes cross.

"And Brian's son what's-his-name is marrying that girl he's been living with the past couple of years," Jackie said.

At that, Rose's ears perked up. "Susie? Rob's marrying Susie?"

"Yeah," her mother answered. "Wasn't she one of the ones that you used to hang out with?"

"Yeah, she was." Mickey answered for Rose without turning from the telly. "It was Rose, Susie, Shareen, Keisha, and Rita. They'd all go out clubbin', then come home absolutely pissed. Sometimes Rose'd stay out all night with 'em and say she'd stayed with Shareen or Keisha and they'd say they had stayed here."

As Jackie raised an eyebrow at her daughter, Rose glared at him. "And thank you so much for sharing that with my mother, Mick. Just wait until I tell Mum and the Doctor about the time you…"

At this, Mickey finally turned from the television. "No!" he said quickly. "Don't need to go into all that."

The Doctor leaned back against the back of the sofa. His eyebrow arched and a small, amused smile played around his lips.

"Anyway, if the two of you were friends, you'd probably be invited to the wedding, Rose. That is, if you were here," Jackie said pointedly.

"We might be able to come back for it," the Doctor said, and Rose looked at him in surprise. Shock was more like. Are you sure, she mouthed. He shrugged indifferently.

"Uh, yeah," she said, turning back to her mother. "We might be able to come back."

"Good," Jackie said vehemently. "People are always askin' about you, what you're doin', when you're comin' back, that sort of thing. I never know what to tell them."

"Tell them I'm traveling," Rose said.

"Traveling? People will only buy traveling for so long, and then they begin to wonder if you're in jail," Jackie replied.

"Or dead," Mickey said with a sharp glance at Jackie. He had never completely gotten over the fact that for a year people had thought he had murdered Rose when she had begun traveling with the Doctor. Rose's mother, who had been behind the rumor of Mickey murdering Rose, didn't have the grace to look shamefaced. She had apologized, and in her mind that was the end of it.

"So, Jackie, Rose and Mickey went past the auto repair shop today…" the Doctor said, changing the subject. He didn't need to say more. It was enough to get Jackie started again.

"Oh, yeah, they've fixed it all up," she said. "They've got a new mechanic, too. He's the one who ended the row between Rita and Chuck." They all looked at her blankly. "I told you, but as usual none of you were listening. He just moved in across the way a few months ago. Works at the shop and does odd jobs around the Estate. Had him in here myself to fix the tap in the kitchen since no one here was around to do it."

"He was here?" Rose asked incredulously. "In the flat? And you didn't mention it?"

"Why would I?" Jackie asked. "'S just a tap."

"Did he look like anyone you know?" Rose asked. "Seem familiar in any way?"

"Not really," she said. She thought for a moment. "Maybe a bit like that American bloke from the Tour de France. Lance something or other."

"Lance Armstrong?" the Doctor asked incredulously.

Jackie nodded. "Yeah, that's the one," she answered. "Not much, mind, but a bit."

"Why would Lance Armstrong be livin' on the Estate?" Mickey asked.

"Didn't say he was, did I?" Jackie said.

"Did he remind you of anyone else?" Rose asked.

"Well, he did look a little like first him," she said. "Just a little bit, though. He's got much longer hair and a scruffy beard half the time, and no leather jacket. Course it is July…"

"And you didn't think to call me?"

"Why would I?" Jackie asked again. "'S not him, after all. He changed. Doesn't look like that anymore. 'S not like he can change back." She paused as if a thought just occurred to her. "You can't change back, can you?"

"No, he can't," Rose answered.

"I don't know why you think I should have called. You know it's not him, Rose. He's sittin' right there next to you."

"Yes, of course I am," the Doctor said smoothly. "And where else would I be?"

Jackie frowned. "Why all the questions?" she asked suspiciously. "'S not like any of you to care one way or the other what happens around here."

They were saved from answering by a knock at the door. Jackie got up. "That'll be Stuart," she said. "I'd invite you to stay…" Her tone indicated that that was the last thing she wanted them to do.

"Nah, we'll be on our way," the Doctor said as they stood. Mickey picked up the pizza boxes. "Things to do, places to go and all that."

They met Stuart on the way out. He was a short Asian man who appeared to be in his mid-forties and smelled vaguely of Chinese takeaway and chips.

"Have you ever considered serving your chips in newspaper, Stuart?" the Doctor asked after they had been introduced. "It really brings out the flavor."

Stuart looked puzzled at the question. "Newspaper?" he asked.

Rose poked the Doctor in the side. When he turned to her she glared at him. "Ignore him," she said to Stuart. "That's what the rest of us do." She turned to give her mother a hug. "We'll be back soon, yeah?"

"Just don't let it be three months this time," Jackie replied.

"Oh, it won't," the Doctor said. "Probably will be tomorrow."

Jackie rolled her eyes. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Tomorrow?" Rose asked as the door shut behind them.

"I doubt the TARDIS will let us take off yet," the Doctor told her. "Probably won't until we know more about what's going on." He looked across the courtyard. "Hmm. Should have asked Jackie which flat he's in." He glanced back at the door and then grimaced. "Nope. Not going back in there."

"I could ask around, see if anyone else knows what flat he's in," Mickey suggested.

The Doctor scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "No, I don't want him to find out people have been asking questions about him. Tomorrow is soon enough. With both TARDISes out of commission, it's not like either of us is going anywhere." His voice dwindled off, and he frowned. "I'm still not entirely sure what happened or why. I need to try and get more information from the TARDIS—see if I can clear up some of the interference. Only then can we figure out how to fix all this."

As the Doctor and Mickey began to make their way to the stairwell, Rose hung back, staring at the windows of the building across the courtyard. Lights were just beginning to come on in the windows, and she wondered which one was his.

He was over there somewhere. Her first Doctor. Her heart ached at the thought. Even though the Doctor was still with her, sometimes she missed his old self: beat up leather jacket, big ears and all. She wished she could see him again, just spend time with him, kind of like she had wanted to see her father again, but not. The feelings she had had for her Doctor were nothing like what she had had for her dad.

But look how seeing her father had turned out, with the Earth almost being sterilized by reapers. She couldn't risk the paradox.

But what she wouldn't give to see her first Doctor again.

"Rose, Rose!" The Doctor's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned to him. "We're headed back to the TARDIS. Are you coming, or are you staying here?"

"I'm coming," she said.

He nodded. As he headed down the stairs, she began to follow, but not without a backward glance at the other building again.

[lostinfic]

Mercier x Betty  British Raj AU

The word ‘dance’ comes to mind, their own choreography of gazes exchanged across the room, brushes of hands and half-spoken confessions. They orbit around each other, destined never to collide it seems; Mercier is upper class, Betty is a governess. And he’s spying on the family whose children she swore to protect. But in this foreign land of spices and silk, of golden gods and lush forests, where cultural norms clash and wane, even destinies must yield to desire.

Rating: Mature Word count: 3.2k Beta: @fadewithfury​ <3 You don’t need to have seen either show.

Tumblr | Ao3

2 | Observing

Betty sat on a Persian rug in a corner of the makeshift classroom and read to her pupils, Victoria and Winifred (Oliver’s older sisters). A story from a book of Indian tales was their reward after a long morning of grammar and embroidery.

A breeze, increasingly warm with each gust, fluttered the curtains and the hand-drawn maps tacked to the walls. Fine dust shimmered in the air and alighted on the table and bookcase. Betty wiped the page and continued reading: “The beautiful Kailash mountains were a breathtaking sight and it never failed to impress Parvathi. And after her marriage with Shiva, living with Shiva, his Ganas and his sages, Parvathi loved the place more. She smiled as she looked around the snow-clad mountains and knew that this would be the case, always.” Betty paused. “Victoria, how do you spell ‘mountains’?”

“M-o... u-n-t-a-i-n-s?”

“Very good. Do you want to read the next sentence?”

The nine-year-old took the book from her governess and read slowly, hesitating on the foreign names. “Jaya and Vijaya, the two guards of Goddess Parvathi were speaking with her. ‘How is Kailash?’ they asked her. Parvathi smiled unable to stop herself. Her smile saying a lot more than she ever could--”

“Pardon,” came a voice from the doorway.

Betty’s heart jumped at the sight of Mercier standing there. Since their first encounter last week, she’d convinced herself his handsomeness was but a trick of her mind, exaggerated by the fact he’d saved her-- it wasn’t.

“You smile like Pavarthi,” Victoria said.

“Why don’t you keep reading,” Betty said, standing up to meet Mercier. She dusted chalk off her black skirt, there was no mistaking her for a lady today.

“Colonel, what are you doing here?”

“I think I got lost on my way back to Lord Wigram’s study.”

“It’s on the first floor.” They were on the second.

“I know.”

Her smile vanished. If anyone caught him around here, she would be blamed. “You should not be here.” She stepped out of the classroom and explained to him how to reach the ground floor.

“I’m not sure I understand the way. Would you guide me there?” he asked.

She hesitated, glancing between him and the children several times, assessing the risks of being alone with him.

“I am sorry for bothering you, miss Salinger, I should not have asked.”

And that’s what settled the issue. “Wait. It is not a problem, sir. Girls, I will be back in a moment.”

She guided him towards the staff quarters, where they wouldn’t run into Lady Wigram. A somewhat inappropriate route perhaps, but so had their first meeting been.

Like most houses built by colonialist architects, the rooms were wide and high-ceilinged with jalousie windows above the doors for optimal air circulation— but so did voices travel. And their footsteps echoed between the walls of sparsely furnished rooms and corridors.

Once they’d rounded a corner, he said, “If I may say so, miss Salinger, I am glad to have run into you today.”

“You are?”

“Why else would I be wandering the second floor?”

“Oh.” She was so surprised, she forgot to mind the step at the end of the hall and tripped. Mercier caught her by the arms and steadied her.

“Easy there. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, sorry, God, this is embarrassing. I walk by here twenty times a day, I swear.” She giggled from nerves.

Mercier’s hands remained on her, thumbs rubbing her arms. Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other.

A door banged shut, and Betty jumped away from him. They resumed walking.

“You read Indian folk tales to the girls?” he asked after a few steps. “It is not the usual curriculum, I presume.”

“His lordship allowed it,” she quickly corrected. “We study Grimm and Lafontaine, too, and English history.”

“I think it’s a good idea. Children should know more about the country they live in. And I could say the same of adults.”

Betty relaxed. “It has helped them get used to living here. To imagine the country is full of marvelous, magic creatures.”

“I don’t know about magic, but marvelous certainly.”

She looked out a tall window, at the city, stretching far beyond the undulating heat of the horizon, studded with the white turrets and gilded domes of mosques and palatial mansions, like something out of a fairytale.

She’d slowed down, and Mercier too, a few steps ahead, observing her. The way he seemed to analyse her, and others, both flattered and unsettled her. Most people cast judgements too quickly, but what did he hope to discover?

“What were you thinking about?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“How have you been, since the accident?”

The mention of the incident at the river made her stomach sink. The Wigrams still didn’t know how close their son had come to losing his life, or else she would surely be on the street right now. Thankfully, they’d chalked up the severity of Oliver’s recollections to his young age and shock. Only Mercier and his sister knew the truth.

“I’m fine, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And Oliver, how is he?”

“He’s fine too, sir.”

“Yes?… no fear?”

“No. All fine.” She smiled politely.

Was he genuinely concerned or reminding her of his power over her?

She was thankful, of course, more than words could express, that he had saved her life and Oliver’s. And he’d taken such good care of them afterwards. But now that he’d brought up the incident, she couldn’t shake the thought that it came at a cost. What would he ask for in return for his help and silence?

She increased the space between them, and hurried down a flight of stairs.

“Second door on your right,” she indicated, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

“I… okay. Thank you, miss Salinger.”

She waited until he’d entered Lord Wigram’s study, and tiptoed farther down the corridor to hide beside a potted palm and spy on him.

She could see him clearer now without her head spinning with anxiety like it had on their first meeting. She saw his good looks, yes, but also the markers of his social status: his bespoke suit of fine linen, so precisely sewn to his lean frame-- she thought of the tailor, running his tape across the width of his shoulders, down his steel rod of a spine, wrapping it around his chest. The ratios of him. Revealing the asymmetries. The flaws in his seemingly imperturbable self-possession. Even his hair, curling like sweet pea vines, was constrained neatly with pomade, a reminder of his military grade and all that came with it.

She wanted to mess his hair.

But this was the image he presented in public. Sitting on the verandah with him and Gabrielle, she’d felt like Fanny Price with the Crawford siblings. Both of them so beautiful and worldly, but with a hint of something dissipated. An impression they didn’t care about social conventions as much as others. Their banter, the brandy, the cigarettes, and their appraising gaze on her. She didn’t trust it. And she trusted even less what it aroused in her.

*

Two weeks later

“Please avoid going anywhere near the port,” Lady Wigram said as she watched Betty and the girls button their boots.

“Yes, your ladyship,” Betty replied, forcing a smile over her clenched teeth.

Lady Wigram never missed a chance to mention the incident at the river. What would it be if she knew the whole truth about it? It took all of Betty’s self-control not to remind her ladyship that it would not have happened had she not insisted Oliver left the house with Betty on her day off. But that would only bring up the fact that Oliver preferred the governess to Lady Wigram, his step-mother. That morning he had thrown a tantrum, refusing to stay home when Betty was leaving, and pushing off Lady Wigram’s attempt at comforting him.

Betty wasn’t even supposed to take care of Oliver, he had a nanny, Samaira. Betty had been employed to teach his older sisters. So, while their brother took his morning nap, the three young women left the house for an airing.

Betty took them to the Maidan, an open public space thrice the size of Hyde Park in London and thrice as crowded.

Lace parasols balanced on their shoulders, they threaded amongst the colourful mass of natives and foreigners. Married women in vibrant saris with bangles clinking on their wrists, red sindoor parted their hair and dotted their foreheads. A contrast to the white-decked widows accompanying them. Brown-skinned men, their legs sticking out of dhoti shorts, walked barefoot on the trampled lawn.

Victoria dropped a rupee in the begging bowl of an orange-wrapped Buddhist monk.

Plenty of Europeans miled the Maidan too, men in linen sack suits and straw boater hats, they walked to the Raj Bhavan or the Royal Turf Club. Soldiers, their khaki turbans or pith helmets visible above other heads. The smoke of their cheroot, a taste like old paper and rich earth burning, caught in Betty’s throat, and she coughed. They didn’t noticed or apologize, too busy staring at ladies parading-- the “fishing fleet” as they were known, unmarried British women sent by their parents to find husbands. Betty envied their pretty calico dresses, her only nice one hadn’t quite survived the dive into the river. Nothing but white waistshirts and plain skirts left for her.

Betty used to fear this teeming place, with its grain sellers hailing passersby, potbellied children running amok and numerous grunting beasts. This deluge of life, coming in waves of laughter and cries, disoriented her. In fact, her first two months in India, she hadn’t step foot outside their house’s garden walls. She’d gathered her courage for the sake of the children. Now, a year later, although she still preferred a quiet corner of the garden, she navigated the crowd with some confidence, and she longed to discover more of the city and of the country. Unfortunately, opportunities to make such discoveries were scarce for an unmarried, working woman.

In the shade of a neem tree, a servant spread out a blanket on the ground for them to sit. The girls took out their sketch pads. From their spot, the busy park offered a wide variety of subjects.

Winifred preferred to draw animals and focused on an emaciated pi-dog lounging by the tank. At six years old, her depiction was rather cartoonish so Betty helped her finesse the animal’s shape, pointing out the shadows of its ribs. But Winifred was always more interested in drawing things from her imagination than reality, and Betty gave up and let her enjoy it.

Victoria, on the other hand, attempted to capture the movements of stick dancers. She had an eye for it that would suit pastels more than pencil. Their next lesson perhaps.

After a moment, Betty opened her own pad to draw the long stems of white blossoms drooping from the branches above them. Clusters of tiny five-petaled flowers, as white and translucent as moonstone. A warm breeze stirred a lilac-y fragrance from them. She thought of England in the spring.

They drew without a word. The clank of the dancers’ wooden sticks and the occasional monkey screech pierced the hum of multilingual chatter around them.

“There is Colonel Mercier again,” Victoria said.

Again. He had become a regular guest of the Wigrams. Every visit, he tried to catch her gaze or to “accidentally” meet her in the corridor. At first, she had chalked it up to her imagination, but the children noticed it too. It only strengthened her first impression that he didn’t care for social conventions and wanted something from her.

“Miss Salinger, how nice to see you.”

And there it was, on his polite smile, the shadow of a bawdy smirk.

Betty offered a thin-lipped smile, keeping her hands clasped behind her back, away from his lips.

“And you, Colonel.”

“How are you?”

“Fine. We came to the park for a drawing lesson.”

He glanced at the girls and the servant. “And their parents?”

“At home, sir.”

“May I beg the favour of a word with you?”

Etiquette dictated she should agree, and so they took a few steps away.

Betty decided to cut to the chase. Her mouth was dry and her voice uncertain when she asked: “What do you want from me?”

“Pardon?”

“I would rather you reveal the truth about the accident to his lordship than have to… to do something in exchange for your silence.”

Mercier’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You think I want to blackmail you? I… apologize if I gave you that impression, but you are mistaken about my character.”

He laughed, and she huffed.

“Well, what else can it be?”

“I like you, miss Salinger. I find myself… curious about you.”

That possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. Her brow knitted in confusion. “But… I’m just a governess.”

“So?”

“Well, I have no illusions as to the kind of men who flirt with girls like me. Now if you would excuse me, I need to get back to the children.”

“Woman.”

“What?”

“A woman like you. You are not a girl.”

The leer she expected didn’t come, he kept his eyes on her face, an open, steady gaze that made her knees wobble.

“Good day, sir.”

She’d barely taken two steps away, that clouds ripped open above her. She hid under the nearest tree, but so did Mercier. She waved and smiled to Winifred and Victoria to reassure them.

Fat drops landed like cannonballs on the dry ground, splashing soil and digging thousands of tiny craters until it looked like a sponge. The smell of wet grass rose in the air. The tree branches’ width barely shielded them both, and allowed them only an inch of space to stand apart. The hair on her arm stood on end as if to bridge the gap between Mercier’s body and hers. She stared at the fabric of his suit, and wondered how it would feel against her cheek. She’d been good for over four years, didn’t she deserve a hug? She wanted him but didn’t trust him. And in her position, she couldn’t afford a mistake.

“You are wrong about me, miss,” he said above the drum of drops on leaves.

“Your behaviour indicates otherwise.”

His sigh brushed against the crown of her hair. Not an exasperated sigh, no, but doleful. Was she too hard on him? Could he really like her? She chanced a glance up at him, and he caught her.

“You have been deceived before,” he observed.

She turned her head away and, after a moment of hesitation, dashed under the rain to join her pupils.

Mercier stayed on her mind all day. She wavered between pride at putting him in his place, and doubt about his true intentions.

“I like you, miss Salinger. I find myself… curious about you.”

Could it really be as simple as that? An innocent interest. Or an unvirtuous one? There was only one way to find out.

*

Mercier saw Betty two more times in the following week, in the street and at the theater. Never alone. Both times he nodded politely and kept his distance, hoping to prove his honest intentions.

The Wigrams had invited him and his sister to a luncheon. He’d slipped out of the dining room knowing his sister would provide an excuse should his absence be noticed.

“Did you find her?” Gabrielle asked in French when he came back.

“It’s not what you think. I wanted to go into Wigram’s study but the door is locked.”

Gabrielle gave him her trademark “I’m not buying it” look.

“And if I happened to see miss Salinger on the way, well…”

She smiled victoriously, but Mercier sighed.

“If only I had a chance to talk to her. To explain. To prove her wrong.”

“Is this really about her or your hurt ego?”

He swirled the brandy in his glass, mulling her question over. “What do you think?”

“I think, I have never seen you pursue a woman with such determination.”

“I am not putting that much effort. Am I?”

“Still more than usual. Do not deny you are coming here often.”

“There is the business with Wigram too.”

“I know, but I’m glad you found someone worth pursuing.”

“It is not my ego… not entirely. The fact that she would confront me like that, I think it has made me like her more.”

“You are a masochist, brother.”

Gabrielle joined the other ladies, and Mercier stepped out, into the back yard. The English had imported their gardening style, so wild compared to the geometry and asymmetry of French gardens. Borders overflowed and vines climbed ambitiously. With the worse of the monsoon over, plants now bloomed like lazy fireworks, an abundance of frangipanis, jasmine and dahlias. A feast for the senses he indulged in for mere minutes before his sister’s words drew his attention away.

“Someone worth pursuing.”

In Calcutta, flirting and dalliances were prime forms of entertainment. But Mercier had no interest in that sort of intrigue. He had quite enough in his work. He liked women who were forthright about their desires. They sought attention or satisfaction. Sometimes revenge on an unfaithful husband. For they were always married or widows, women who could afford an affair and its consequences should there be any. It had not been the case so far. They didn’t expect more beyond an afternoon or a handful of nights. Dead ends. Yet, once or twice, when the affair had come to its inevitable end, a sort of melancholy had overcome him. Perhaps he needed more.

He couldn’t blame his regular presence here only on the importance of his mission, when seeking Betty jeopardized that very mission.

Giggles alerted him to the children’s presence. He followed the sound and found Betty chasing the kids around a magnolia tree. She laughed and smiled openly, and he envied the children with whom she was so carefree. So far, he’d caught only glimpses of her true character, and he wished they could jump over the social conventions that made her hide it, and go straight to being familiar. He wanted to know her and be known by her.

Betty caught him staring and shut down like an oyster. She stopped running, looked down, buttoned up her collar. But then, a shy glance, a quirk at the corner of her mouth. He stood immobile, waited patiently for more. A flutter of her eyelashes. He followed her lead, his own smile growing as hers did. She looked into his eyes, and it zinged through him, like an arrow from the blue-skinned god Rama.

She licked and bit her bottom lip. I’m in. He smirked, it escaped him this flirty smile, the kind he gave certain women who made their desire known. It made her laugh, she threw her head back, displayed her throat. She shook her head and took off to catch a child.

Mercier returned to the gentlemen in the drawing room with a spring in his steps.

“Have you made any progress this afternoon?” Gabrielle enquired on their way back home, hours later.

“On one front. Captain Moore was only too happy to gossip about Lord Wigram’s trouble in Bombay. Rodier will be pleased with my report.”

“Good. And the other front?”

Mercier shrugged with a frown and dipped into his jacket pocket for his cigarette case. Betty had smiled back, it was progress he supposed, but not enough. He flipped opened the golden case, a note was laid on top of the cigarettes: “I’m curious about you too”.

He grinned. “There’s hope for the other front.”

Chapter 3: Meeting

[etcetezine-blog]

Put That In Etcetezine--I Mean, The Yearbook!

“Senior quote ideas!

Binterong

Celebrities

Oprah:

“You get a car, and you get are car, everybody gets a car!”

“Think like a queen. A queen is not afraid to fail. Failure is another steppingstone to greatness.”

“Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.”

“Some women have a weakness for shoes... I can go barefoot if necessary. I have a weakness for books.”

“Step Away from the Mean Girls…

…and say bye-bye to feeling bad about your looks.

Are you ready to stop colluding with a culture that makes so many of us feel physically inadequate? Say goodbye to your inner critic, and take this pledge to be kinder to yourself and others. This is a call to arms. A call to be gentle, to be forgiving, to be generous with yourself. The next time you look into the mirror, try to let go of the story line that says you're too fat or too sallow, too ashy or too old, your eyes are too small or your nose too big; just look into the mirror and see your face. When the criticism drops away, what you will see then is just you, without judgment, and that is the first step toward transforming your experience of the world.”

Emeril Lagasse:

“Bam!”

“If somebody has a chance to put my food in their mouth, that tells the story.”

Bill Clinton:

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman”

“When I was in England I experimented with marijuana a time or two -- and didn't like it -- and didn't inhale and never tried inhaling again.”

“I tried marijuana once. I did not inhale.”

“Sometimes when people are under stress, they hate to think, and it's the time when they most need to think.”

“You can put wings on a pig, but you don't make it an eagle.”

“When our memories outweigh our dreams, it is then that we become old.”

“Being President is like being the groundskeeper in a cemetery: there are a lot of people under you, but none of them are listening.”

“If you want to live like a Republican, vote like a Democrat.”

James Earl Jones:

“This is CNN”

“I don't ever want to be a sentimentalist. I prefer to be a realist. I'm not a romantic really.”

“Acting is not about anything romantic, not even fantasy, although you do create fantasy.”

“Speech is a very important aspect of being human. A whisper doesn't cut it.”

“The world is filled with violence. Because criminals carry guns, we decent law-abiding citizens should also have guns. Otherwise they will win and the decent people will lose.”

Groucho Marx:

“Those are my principles, and if you don't like them... well, I have others”

“Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly and applying the wrong remedies”

“I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book.”

“Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana”

“One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I'll never know.”

“I remember the first time I had sex - I kept the receipt.”

“Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.”

“When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'.”

“I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception.”

“I've had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.”

“I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.”

“He may look like an idiot and talk like an idiot but don't let that fool you. He really is an idiot.”

“If a black cat crosses your path, it signifies that the animal is going somewhere.”

“Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I have just one day, and I'm going to be happy in it.”

“Anyone who says he can see through women is missing a lot.”

“Whatever it is, I'm against it.”

Books, TV Shows, and Movies of Our Childhood

The Suite Life of Zach and Cody:

“It was supposed to be a honey mist auburn!” Cody Martin “well honey you missed auburn bugtime” Zack Martin

“Yay Me!!!!” London tipton

London: I don't like this tangerine! Maddie: No, that is a Tam-bo-rine! A tangerine is what the audience is gonna throw at you!

Max: Everyone knows nothing rhymes with orange. Tapeworm: Oh yeah? What about "snorange"? Max: Thank you, Dr. Seuss.

Cody: Zachary! Zack: Codery!

Zack: I know he's having a miserable time. We have twin telepathy. It's like my brain is receiving phone calls from him.

Carey: Well, you have a bad connection. Hang up. Zack: Uh, uh. I can sense these things. Remember when Cody broke his leg and I sensed it? Carey: That's because you fell on him and broke it.

Cody: [on cell phone answering machine] Hi. This Cody using my mother's phone. Leave a message, and remember: numbers are your friend.

Moseby: Are you familiar with the gear shift? London: You mean the PRNDL? [PRNDL pronounced "prindle] Moseby: Are you referring to the shift lever that says P-R-N-D-L? London: I'm not a child Moseby, I know how to spell PRNDL. Moseby: It's not something that you spell, it is a gear shift. The letters stand for Park, Reverse, Neutral, Drive, and Low!! London: You're making me nervous with all this technical talk. Moseby: Oh! I'm sorry, Why don't we just relax, turn on the radio. Would you like AMMM or FMMMM?!

London: there are no buildings on the highway.

Maddie: Well in all fairness to London I have to say, even though I was being held against my will - and my lawyers will be in touch - she did a pretty good job driving up here.

Cody: Don't move anywhere! Your cornered around with my knowledge! Zack: Sure the only fighting skills he has is his brain.

Mr. Moseby: Your father has to stay incognito. London: Where is Cognito? Mr. Moseby: In hiding. London: Where is Hiding?

Maddie: It's a special night. Don't make me slap you.

London: Hey, every time I'm in the paper, my social life just gets better and better.

Moseby: We don't have a dungeon, but I can have him fired.

Cody: I've gotta win this science award. Then I can get into M.I.T. and invent a nanobot that eats oil spills and be able to retire comfortably while taking care of my aging mother and paying my brother's bail money.

Zack: So dyslexic, I am? Mr. Forgess: Well, it like looks it--I mean, it looks like it.

Kurt: That's what your mother said when she left me, and a few other things I can't mention.

London: It's just there are so many beautiful things out there to buy. How can you possibly resist them?

London: Yep. I've hit rock bottom. And I don't like rock bottom. It's so rock bottomy.

London: Daddy always says, competition's a good thing. It's a chance to crush people.

London: Well, you were wrong, with a capital R.

Cody:  Zack, this is a chance for us to really help people. I'm thinking about working with kids...You better take this seriously or you're gonna fail while I get an A. Zack: You're one of the kids I hate.

Carey: [to the twins] Hey, guys. What'cha been doing? Cody: Inspiring people to reach their full potential and achieve their dreams.

Maddie: You're going down! London: You're going downer!

Cody: [to Sanjay] Don't listen to him. That's what he always says right before we get grounded.

Zack: I have a plan… ,Cody:  Don't listen to him. That's what he always says right before we get grounded... Correction. That's what he always says right before we get grounded.

Warren: It's elegant yet casual. Bob: It's sophisticated yet tasteful. Zack: I think it's stupid yet stupid.

Trevor: And then she said "who" instead of "whom". I'm not a grammar snob, but it's just egregious when somebody uses the subjective case instead of the accusative case, hahaha!

Esteban: [sings] Rock-a-bye, chicken, in the tree top. Watch out for the farmer. Your head he will chop. [the children start crying] Zack: Don't you know any lullabies that don't involve decapitating poultry?

Moseby: At the league of extraordinary hotel managers. If only I could find out which guest he is, then I could make sure he gets the perfect dining experience.

Carey: If I give you guys pets, will you stop bugging me? Twins: Yes. Carey: Pet rocks. Don't overfeed them. Cody: I'm gonna name mine Tim.

Zack: You don't have to do everything Mr. Moseby says. We like to think of his rules more as... suggestions.

Cody: It's about doing your homework, eating your broccoli when Mom isn't looking! Zack: You offered it to me! Cody: Yeah, because that's what brothers do for each other! But it's never reciprocal! Zack: Huh? Cody: Reciprocal means it would be nice if you did something for me for a change! Zack: I did! You offered me money and I took it!

Carey: Relax, Cody. I think you're putting too much pressure on yourself. Cody: I'm not putting too much pressure on me. Harvard's putting too much pressure on me! Yale is putting too much pressure on me! Princeton! M.I.T! Stanford! Do you think they're out there looking for under-achievers? If I don't ace woodshop, I'll end up being one of those guys who sells hot dogs and sleeps in a taxi!

Zack: Do you think wood grows on trees?

Moseby: You know, the older I get, the more I realize that you have to look adversity in the face and say 'You don't scare me.'

Zack: That works for me. Because if tomorrow is going to be today again, then today is actually yesterday, which means that yesterday's homework isn't due today, it's really due... tomorrow!

London: Moseby, it's your birthday? Wait, you have a birthday?? Since when??? Mr. Moseby: Pretty much since the day I was born. Hence the term birth-day.

Mr. Moseby: Don't talk, and listen. Now, I am not going to fire Armando. I mean, you're the one who ruined the show. By the way, what happened to his real assistant?

Mr. Moseby: Oh ya, the oooops always makes it better. Perhaps you'd stick some bacon in my ears

Zack: The point is, there's a lot of great adventures out there, but you can't have any of them stuck in here with a bunch of weird bald dudes.

Mr. Moseby: In the weekend, that must be failed in the treasure hunt we'll never be able to do. Because of me, that always has to do with that the end of the story.

iCarly:

“In three two one, i know you see somehow the world will change for me and be so wonderful”

“You’ll rue the day carly shay, rue it!” Neville

Spencer: Well, it seems our sign is so bright and dazzling, it distracted one of the drivers below. [Hears another car crash] Actually, two of the driver-- [Another crash] Three of the dr-- [Another crash] Literally, many of the drivers below are being distracted by our extremely dazzling sign.

Spencer: Alright, don't worry too much about this yet, just... go do your homework or something. Carly: Kay. Spencer: I mean... YOU GO DO YOUR HOMEWORK RIGHT NOW, YOUNG LADY! Carly: Yes, sir! Spencer: AND JUST SAY NO! Carly: Always! Spencer: AND STAY IN SCHOOL! Carly: Maybe.

Carly: I'm not a child! I'm just young and short.

Spencer: No, there's a distinction. This is her homework schedule and a number for a tutor because she's been having a little trouble with science. These are the vitamins that she needs to take everyday. I only give her the ones shaped like dinosaurs. Granddad: Why? Spencer: Dinosaurs are cool. Oh, and she's really into drinking coffee, [whispers] but I always give her decaf without telling her.

Spencer: [to camera] Never forget to buy candy on Halloween.

Sam: This thing is full of top-notch freaks, mutants and psychos!

Sam: Ooh! I got kicked out of the cafeteria for slapping Gibby with a piece of pizza.

Carly: [speaking very fast] Yes, I did, too! He told me that he can beat his dad in arm wrestling, and I said, "No way," and he said, "Oh, no, it's true," and I said, "Wow, you must be really strong," and he said, "Well, I work out a little bit," and I said, "Really?" And he said, "Yeah, you wanna feel my biceps?" And I said, "Sure, I do," and so I felt them, and they felt awesome.

High School Musical:

“Cause its the start of something new…”

“Once a wildcat, always a wildcat” Troy Bolton

“I always liked the idea of being in charge of my future, until it actually started happening” Troy Bolton

“Ah microwave popcorn. Haha very funny” Troy Bolton

“Hip hop is my passion. I love to pop, and lock, and jam, and break.” Martha Cox

“It’s called crime and punishment Bolton. Besides, proximity to the arts is cleansing for the soul”

“Hey you know what? Someday you guys might thank me for this, or not” MC at the game

“While we are working, let us probe the mounting evils of cell phones… perhaps the most heinous example of cell phone use is ringing in the theater. The theater is a chapel of arts, a precious cornucopia of creative energy.” Ms. Darbus

Sky High:

“What a waste. I can't do anything more to help you. I'm not Wonder Woman, you know” Principle powers

“What's embarrassing him in front of the entire class going to prove? That is so unfair” Layla  “Yeah, well if life were to suddenly get fair, I doubt it would happen in high school’ Will Stronghold

“Now I know it's just our first day, but I already can't wait to graduate and start saving mankind... And womankind. And animalkind” Layla

“There's only one person authorized to transport superheroes: Ron Wilson - Bus Driver” Ron Wilson, Bus Driver

“And now, so many years later, that plan is complete. My only regret: This may be the finest super-villian speech ever given - and you don't even know what I'm saying!” Gwen

Ultra-Niche

“See you on the flip side!” Janet Anderson

“Make it a great day, or not, the choice....... is yours.” SPMS

Vines

“A potato flew around my room”

“Do it for the vine” Rip Vine

“F*** Ya chicken strips” That guy from vine

“You’ll never be s*** duck, you’re just like your father!”

“What up I’m Jared I’m nineteen and I never f****** learned how to read” Jared, 19

[bloggerblagger]

78) A lifetime’s secret revealed at last.

I have a confession to make. Something I have bottled up for 50 years and more. One of those dirty secrets that dare not speak its name.  Stand by to be shocked.

I. Like. Musicals.

There. I’ve said it. Phew..blimey….you just don’t know what a relief that is.

And now that I’ve finally got that much out, I’d better get it all off my chest.

When I was seventeen, the film of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, ‘The Sound of Music’ came out - to coin a phrase - and I went to see it about five times. At least.

I remember going on my own to the Regent Cinema  by the Clock Tower in Brighton to revel in my guilty pleasure. I had a crush on Charmian Carr, who played the eldest Von Trapp  daughter, Lisl - as in ‘I am sixteen, going on seventeen’.

It was the beginning of the end of the era of the musical and people of my generation were definitely not supposed to like them. They represented everything that the baby boomers were determined to reject.

It was 1965, and the Beatles and Stones and Dylan were all up and running - and I with them. In 1964, my last year at Brighton Grammar School,  I used to sit next to a chap called Phil Sutton for GCE history and most ‘lessons’ were spent arguing about whether the Stones or the Beatles were better. He was an early Stones fan, I was with the Beatles. At the time it seemed impossible, but I was living proof it was possible to like both  ‘she was just seventeen, well, you know what I mean’ AND ‘you are sixteen going on seventeen’.

Not that I would ever had admitted that to Phil.

The wilderness years.

At best, musicals  were thought us of camp and quaint. At worst, as silly and saccharine and hopelessly out of date, and, damned to hell by that most scathing of put-downs - uncool.

Although fast withering on the vinyl, it wasn’t quite the end of the musical. At least two of the very best came after -  ‘Oliver’, 1968, and ‘Cabaret’ 1972. And every so often, there was an exception  to the rule that musicals were cinematic history -  ‘Chicago’, ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’, ‘Sweeney Todd’, ‘Mama Mia’ come to mind. (Though ‘Mama Mia’, because it was a juke-box musical,  doesn’t really count for me.)

There were, too, Milos Forman’s version of  ‘Hair’, a film that seems to have been largely forgotten but which I remember as liking a lot; and ‘Fame’ and ‘Evita’ which had their moments; and ‘Grease’ which was a million times repeated joy for my daughter if not for me; and, more recently, ’Les Miserables’ which, with its silly operatic pretensions and monotonous dirgey music proved there is always an an exception to every rule - it was the one musical I really, really didn’t take to.

But when you consider the vast number of films pumped out in the nearly half a century since the sixties,  the musical as a Hollywood species, if not exactly endangered, was rarely spotted, and, during that long winter, those of us who secretly loved them have had to be very, very  careful not to be caught saying so for fear of being thought of as crazy or weird or worse, gay. (For a bloke, admitting to  liking musicals has been particularly difficult. They have been seen not just as unfashionable, but almost unmanly.)

Click here to drop jaw.

But adore them I secretly did. My absolute favourite piece of film ever is Donald O’Connor singing ‘Make ‘Em Laugh’ from ‘Singin’ In The Rain’. Pure untrammelled genius. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SND3v0i9uhE  I defy you to watch this and not be awestruck. I have counted only nine ‘cuts’ in this piece of film of well over four minutes of the most complicated, intricate dancing and slapstick comedy. I wonder what it must have been like to have been there on the set to witness, ‘live’, such astonishing virtuosity.

Watch too, the movement of the camera - panning along, tracking in and out,  jibbing up and over. Each movement must have involved several people working on camera equipment much cruder than we have today; everything and everyone as perfectly and painstakingly rehearsed as the performance they were shooting. And then these two halves - performers on one side of the camera and crew on the other - fitting together to make a seamless, stunning whole.

‘My Fair Lady’, ‘West Side Story, ‘Damned Yankees’, and all those Fred and Ginger musicals on telly, I lapped them all up. And  I always loved almost any Rodgers and Hammerstein musical - ‘Oklahoma’, ‘Carousel’, ‘South Pacific’. At the heart of any musical has to be the music and the music was magical. ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning’, ‘June is Busting Out All Over’, ‘Surrey with the Fringe on Top’, ‘A Cockeyed Optimist’…To me, they are all gems, wonderful hummable tunes with with witty, tricky lyrics that fit that them so perfectly they feel as though there could never have been any alternative.

And every so often the songs in musicals are are more than just hummable and witty;  they can, occasionally, be truly profound. Not for the first time in BloggerBlagger I refer you to the scarily stirring and simultaneously horrifying ‘Tomorrow Belongs to Me’ from Cabaret. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=29Mg6Gfh9Co

La La Land to the rescue.

Despite all this great stuff,  for all these years it simply   hasn’t been okay to admit to being a fan of the musical.

I remember going to the NFT not so long ago to see a screening of ‘Kiss Me Kate’, Cole Porter’s 1953 work of wonder. (If you think I am exaggerating check out ‘Brush up your Shakespeare’ - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPduoU826ew) Post modern irony was all the rage and I got really hacked off at a couple of smart-arses sitting behind me who were clearly of the mind that it was okay to laugh at the film but not with it. Twats, I thought, pathetic.

But the truth is I was no better than the rest. That I have framed this piece as a confession, albeit supposedly ironically,  is proof of that.

And, of course, what gives me permission to now confess is ‘La La Land’. Suddenly it seems post-modern irony is dead and in post-post-modernism it is okay to admit to liking a musical. The musical is, believe it or not, almost cool.

I say ‘almost’ because I think some of the supposed backlash to the critical enthusiasm for ‘La La Land’ has been the reaction of people who can’t quite get their heads around the idea that, after decades of being programmed to dismiss musicals as being embarrassingly passé,  they are now supposed to embrace them.

Not that I am without the odd nagging doubt myself. Although, broadly speaking,  I liked ‘La La Land’, and  grateful as I am for its crucial role in bringing the musical back into the zeitgeist, I do have some issues with it. The singing and dancing are manifestly not in the same league as in the good old days, and the music, though pretty enough, is unlikely to make into the great American songbook.

I have read that the  flaws in technique - Ryan Gosling is very obviously no Fred Astaire  - were deliberate, or, at least, that perfection was never the intention. In a sense, or so I believe the theory goes, the amateurishness is an essential part of  the updating of the form; that a Marni Nixon would never have been asked to redub  Emma Stone’s singing (à la Natalie Wood in West Side Story) because in 2017 the authenticity is what makes it work. I have to say  it is a theory that I don’t quite understand and that, personally, I would have preferred it if Ryan’s dancing had looked a little more fluid.  

However I refuse to  countenance any criticism of  Emma Stone, no matter how tremulous her voice. I fell for her completely and utterly.  

*Charmian Carr, move over.  

*(A possibly inappropriate expression since she died last year.)

POST SCRIPT 

Since I wrote this, a couple of readers (Dawn Culmer and Allan Gold)  have pointed out a couple of glaring omissions of mine from the pre-sixties period, ‘Guys and Dolls’ and ‘High Society’. Click here to see  what I missed,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6Umq4dK95c

And

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kq1JQUhwVQ

Footnote on the rest of the Oscars

In 2014, ’12 Years a Slave’, you will remember,  won the best picture Oscar. There was never any doubt that it would. It had built up a critical head of steam through the year, told a story - the horrendous capture and re-enslavement of a previously freed black man  - that was bound to engage the sympathy of any awards voter, and was directed not by some tainted-by-trade  ex-commercials director like J C Chandor but by Steve McQueen, not just a movie director but an actual bone fide artist who had won the Turner Prize. It ticked every box.

I saw it at the London Film Festival in late 2013 and privately had my doubts - very impressive in parts, but some wooden dialogue, an unconvincing cameo by producer Brad Pitt as the only good white guy in it, and an oddly sanitised version of New York in the early 19th century.  

Still  the  awards tide was running in its favour and it was never going to be denied. ‘All is Lost’ the brilliant and effectively word-free Robert Redford one- hander about a lone yachtsman in crisis, a truly original piece, which was written and directed by the aforementioned  JC Chandor in the same year, didn’t make it on to any Oscar awards shortlist at all except for 'sound editing'. Talk about being damned by faint praise.

The next year came Ava du Vernay’s ‘Selma’,  another film about black issues and for my money a far superior one. I hate it when audiences clap at the end of films - seems absurd when there’s no-one to take a bow - but when John Legend’s closing song ‘Glory’ played I was so moved I really wanted to applaud.  If you haven’t seen ‘Selma’ you should. David Oleweyo does a fantastic turn as Martin Luther King.  But it didn’t win and I never thought it would. Two ‘black ‘ films were never going to carry off the Oscar in successive years. (The chorus  of the song goes, ‘One day when the glory comes, it will be ours.’ Sadly not for Ava, not just a black director but a black woman director.)

Then last year came the furore over the 2015 Oscars being almost exclusively white. And this year, at least partly as a reaction to that, the pendulum predictably swung back the other way and  no few than four films  dealing with American racial issues were in the running in one category or another - ‘Moonlight’, ‘Loving’, ‘Hidden Figures’ and ‘Fences’.

Of these, the one that received the least attention, ‘Loving’  - a best actress nomination for Ruth Negga was all it got - impressed me the most. Fascinating story, superb, restrained acting and noticeably fine photography.  ‘Moonlight’, on the other hand,  which  famously received the Oscar for Best Picture after the great presentation debacle,  left me pretty cold - as I saw it, a thin story that took a painfully long time to tell. As a tale of a young  man coming to terms with his homosexuality, I thought ‘Brokeback Mountain’ beat it into a cocked hat. (To coin another phrase.) Without all the Oscar fuss, I doubt more than three people outside London would have seen 'Moonlight’ in the Ukay. Now there will be a few thousand more, most of whom will leave the cinema scratching their heads.

Kenneth Lonergan, who wrote and directed ‘Manchester By The Sea’ looked to me distinctly unimpressed that his effort hadn’t won the big prize. Can’t say I blame him. It most definitely should have.

(If your life is so impoverished that you really have nothing better to do you, you can listen to a podcast of two of my erstwhile  colleagues from Colourful Radio and I discussing the Oscars at length. The level of debate will probably go a long way to explaining why we got chucked off. https://soundcloud.com/jammiemedia/sets/the-oggscars-2017 )