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ladyorlandodream · 3 years

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Agentha Fältskog interview - English translation

In September, Agnetha Fältskog of ABBA agreed to grant Swedish radio presenter Carolina Norén an interview for the classic Swedish chart show ”Svensktoppen” on Swedish Public Service radio. The interview was broadcast September 19.

Carolina Norén: ”Don't Shut Me Down” by ABBA – and with me on the phone I have Agnetha Fältskog. Hello, Agnetha!

Agnetha Fältskog: Hello, Carolina!

C: And, of course, congratulations to entering the top of the chart, Agnetha!

A: Wow, what a surprise! That was amazing, really fun.

C: Let's just say that I wasn't that surprised, and neither was the rest of the world. However, ABBA.s last number one here on Svensktoppen was actually ”Waterloo”, back in 1974!

A: Was it that long ago? Well, there you go. It was about time, then.

C: It was about time! Exactly.

A: I'd like to take the opportunity to tell you how happy, grateful and moved everyone in the group is by the enormous reception. It feels very nice and warm inside.

C: I'm thinking, the first time you received a call like this from ”Svensktoppen��, and I don't know if you remember this, Ulf Elfving was calling. It was in 1968, you were 17 years old and ”Jag var så kär” (I Was So in Love), had reached number three.

A: Yeah, it's been quite a few years, ha ha.

C: What has Svensktoppen meant to you over the years?

A: It means a great deal. We're so used to charts, and have enormous success in several countries, but ”Svensktoppen” – it's our native country and the audience we have back here, and it obviously means a lot. We're very moved by the reception everywhere. I remember that first interview with Ulf, I was very nervous, and almost couldn't believe that I'd entered Svensktoppen, it's something you don't forget. This was also an enormous surprise, because you can never really know how it will turn out. One is never sure that something is going to be successful, and one is glad when it happens.

C: I was actually thinking about that a bit: I know that you love spending time in the studio working, and so on, but was there any point while working on this new material where you started to feel doubt or fear: what if it doesn't work?

A: Yes, we said that in the beginning: a long time had passed since we recorded, and you can never be sure that the voice is going to hold up – was it going to sound old? However, we heard pretty immediately – from both Frida's voice and mine – that it sounded more or less as it did back then. However, you may have to make another kind of effort, and give more, or how to put it, of your ability to tell a story, to empathise with the song. I always used to do that, but it's a lot more now that one has lived an entire life. You put more emotion into it.

C: I was thinking, whose idea was it to do this – who was the driving force behind the comeback?.I mean out of you? From the fans' point of view, it's always been a given.

A: Yes ... Well, one thing lead to another, somehow. We felt that we wanted to do a few new songs for the avatar project that will open in May next year, in London. So we said ”let's do a few songs and see how they turn out, how it sounds. One thing led to another with a few more songs, and then Benny kind of said ”why not make an entire album?”. Yes, and that's how it happened, and since we enjoy working in the studio, it's fantastically fun to be able to create and such.

C: Yes, and you have said that it's sometimes easy to ”tempt” you into doing things if they sound like fun.

A: Yes, that's true.

C: So you weren't hard to convince, when it came to doing this?

A: No, I don't think any of us were. Not doing this. The avatar project, I had to give it a think, since it meant a lot of work, as it were, on stage. Because I'm not a stage personality in that respect, but I can convey more feelings in the songs.

CN: Indeed. The rumours around this comeback started back in 2018. We got to know the song titles, and it feels like these two songs that we have heard, have been underway for a while. Have you polished the songs over the years? What has happened since we first heard of them in 2018?

A: Well, we have been at it. At first we worked on the avatars throughout February...let's see, was it the year before last? No, it was last year. We had just finished working with that, when the Corona situation appeared. Then, after a while, we started recording these songs and it's continued like that.

C: When the songs were released a little over two weeks ago, fans gathered around the world simultaneously. Björn and Benny participated in the live stream and you and Frida were part of the edited program. Björn and Benny said that you were following the broadcast from a distance. How did it feel watching it?

A: It was actually enormous. I've been watching our fans a little, when they're listening to the songs, and they're actually crying. It's quite enormous what a reach it had all around across countries. It's almost hard to take it in, actually.

C: I was present at Gröna Lund (in Stockholm), where fans had been invited, and there were many fans from other countries. I can really attest that emotions were enormously strong. It was, you know, almost sacred. Just like you said, they cried and were deeply moved. One thing many of them said, at least the ones I talked to, was that they missed you – ”the girls”, they said: Agnetha and Annifrid.

A: Yes.

C: Do you know when you will get together next time?

A: I don't really dare to say. We're a bit older now, and have our minor ailments, ha ha. But we struggle on. But I don't dare to say, because it's a bit uncertain. At the moment we feel happy that we got this together, and let's hope everything goes well in London, at the premiere over there.

C: Right, in May next year. The avatars. Incredibly cool, actually.

A: Right.

C: You touched upon the thing about the voice, whether it would hold up. When you released your solo album in 2013, you mentioned in an interview that you'd had the same worry, and had taken singing lessons – which turned out to be one lesson. How was it this time, Agnetha? Did it end up being any singing lessons?

A: Haha. No, it didn't. One knows this, that it has to do with support from the stomach, that you shouldn't ruin...so it doesn't become too much for the throat. Instead, you find support in the belly, and it just fits so well, once you're in the studio. You just, ”wow, it holds up!”. One has different … I like to sit down when I sing. Frida usually stands up. It varies a lot, how you feel that you get the power.

C: You are the one doing the main vocals – at least most of them – on the single ”Don't Shut Me Down”. I should add that ”I Still Have Faith in You” is also in the chart, at number four.

A: Yes, how fun!

C: How does it work when you divide it between the two of you? Do you choose your favourites, or is it directed by the respecive voice registers? Do tell.

A: Yes. It's probably the guys who are in charge of that. We get some lyrics, get to listen a bit, and try a little. It's also happened that one has felt ”this one I'd like to do”. There are no fights about anything. We try it out, but it's usually the guys, I think, who already know who is supposed to sing what. We're also part of each others'... Even if one of us sings the solo verses, we're always join together for the choruses, for the most part.

A: You have also a background as a songwriter, and ran your solo career in the beginning. These days, Björn and Benny usually end up talking about the project. How much are you able to go in a change things, or feel ”that doesn't work, let's try this”.

A: Back in the day it happen pretty regularly, but these days it doesn't. I can come up with a lot of ideas: ”could we add some finesse at this point in the song?” I'm also pretty good at harmonies, but the guys handle most of it. We do as they say, and it turns out well.

C: Another thing when one talks about ABBA and ABBA's music, your songs have been quite associated with you as people over the years. The most obvious example may be ”The Winner Takes it All”, which is about divorce. How about today – what do the songs say about you as people, and artists today?

A: It's probably mostly in the lyrics, and you should probably let Björn answer. One can read one thing or another into composers', songwriters' or lyricists' work, and of course you add a bit of ”it's about him, or me”. But it's general, how to say, relationships. Because it's often about love.

C: The two most recent songs, maybe a little more general. Now that we are talking about love, I've go to ask you: you have said that you're are a romantic person, Agnetha.

A: Yes, I am.

C: And you like romantic music.Will there be more romance on the album? More love?

A: Haha! Well, it's very varied. I can't say much about it now, but it's very varied. I can tell you this much: if you like these two songs, you will probably like the entire album. I do think so.

C: Right. That's good. I feel I need to scratch the surface a little more. What we have heard is a timeless ABBA sound. Can one imagine that it will continue with that sound as well?

A: What do you mean, on the CD?

C: Yes, on the album.

A: Ah, yes. It's very much the ABBA sound. We're not trying to sound different or letting ourselves be affected by other, current things, so to speak. We're trying to keep ... It becomes what it becomes – and it becomes very ABBA when Frida and I get together in the studio. It's almost like a marriage between our voices, and almost hard to tell them apart at times.

C: Now, I know that a lot of people are looking forward to the concert in London in May next year. First, there's the album, in November. The one we were talking about. We mentioned the avatars. What went through your head the first time you heard of the idea?

A: Haha. Well, yes, none of us probably really knew what to expect, but we've worked with it a lot, so you grew into it, eventually. We stand there, doing these songs, with– I don't know how many cameras and people. And then, somehow, it was technologically transferred, in some way that we don't even understand, to other people that are going to be on stage as us – but it's still us, haha! I can't really explain it, it's so hard, but there's a lot of technology and lights involved. But it felt great to do in the end. Because it was so different. Also, there was a vibe, one felt that ”maybe it's the last thing we do”. Same thing with this album.

C: Ooh, you can't say that, ha ha! We want more!

A: You can cut that out.

C: Jonas and I will cut that out! Solo album in 2013. I can reveal to you, here and now, that in the summer of 213, ”Dance Your Pain Away” was the only thing I listened to.

A: I see! That's nice.

C: I know it inside out, but I won't sing it!

A: Yeah, that was cool, actually.

C: Is there anything in the pipeline solo – another solo album from you, Agnetha?

A: Not at the moment, no. I think, and I feel, that I've done a lot now. So I can't promise you that. We have got to find joy in what we have, and all that awaits.

CN: Indeed. May I also add that I was very happy when I heard that you would be with us and share. Because I've learned that you are somewhat restrictive when it comes to doing interviews. What do you think, are there further public appearance from you ahead?

A: Not really. But, as you say, I've never really retired that way, but I am restrictive, and I feel that a lot of things are being written, and have been written, about us. We agreed to do, and have done, so many interviews. There's a risk that you ruin it by talking too much. You want keep a little something to yourself. Something private.

C: Agnetha, we respect that, and we are very happy here at Svensktoppen, and, I would imagine, that the listeners who haven't perhaps fainted from the surprise, and have stayed with us, are happy that you could join us. Once again, huge, huge congratulations to topping the chart.

A: Thank you. I also want to send greetings from the rest of the group. I know that they are all very happy about this. It means a lot to us.

C: Wonderful. I hope we can talk again. I almost get shivers suddenly doing the presentation here. So I say: new number one: ABBA and ”Don't Shut Me Down”. Thank you very much, Agnetha.

A: Thanks so much to you, too!

English translation by Anders Lundquist

#abba #agnetha fältskog #agnetha #agnetha abba #abba voyage #don't shut me down #i still have faith in you

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aro-aizawa · 4 years

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why is it that simple objects that aren’t spoken about much can bring back so many memories?

why when i remember kaledoscopes being a thing, i remember how fascinated i was with them for years but only in spaces of a few days every few months when i was reminded of them.

when i think of playground parachutes and remember with such intensitity how gleefully excited every single child in my p.e. class got because the parachute was so much fun but it was barely EVER brought out.

when i’m reminded that those small plastic cartons or juice exist i remember how EVERYONE reminded me that you were less likely to squash the drink if you flipped it upside down and stabbed through the plastic, so that it was less likely to fall over since the top was flat whereas the bottom wasn’t.

how rainbow drops exist outside of school fairs and discos, jelly and cream given out as a dessert at kids parties while you anxiously waited for the food to be over so you could go back to playing, the vague memory of a route i used to travel in the car to an exciting destination but now that i’m older i can’t remember how to travel it. remembering tamagotchis exist and remembering the exact time when taking a test in year 4 when one gave a warning dying bleep and exactly seven other people opened their trays to make sure that wasn’t theirs and/or to turn the sound off. remembering portable cd players and remembering the time i got one for my birthday and spent a whole two hour car ride to the zoo listening to the abba album on repeat while zoning out because my brother and dad hated abba. getting reminded about a story that has not seen rebooting and remembering the time my mum took my brother and i out to see the theatre production of it.

the fact that thinking of any of these things can lead to any number of very specific memories that you would never have thought of otherwise. they make me long to find even a scrap of familiarity so i can slip back into memories.

i want to hold that cd player in my hands and see how small it really is in adult hands, i want to go back to my primary school and pull open the drawer with my customised label on it, i want to go back to the indoor play area that i’d scamper around in and get lost so often in their it became a recurring setting in all my dreams as a child, i want to go back to my school at night as i helped my mum set up the food and drinks stall while the rest of the pta set up the disco, feeling the surreal experience of looking backstage of a theatre.

i want to revisit these memories in real times, hold proof of them in my hands to reassure myself that yes those events did happen. that those events shaped the person i am now, even if i don’t constantly think of them. they’re apart of me and though the longing for childhood will never leave me, there are some ways experience that echo of time again.

#shut up danni #this is just me being poetic abt how much i just wanna like.....wander places i used to hang out in as a kid a lot #going on an internal memory lane but that soft play area is ANNOYING ME bc i cannot for the life of me remember what it was called #or where it was located but it featured in my dreams so often it’s just....apart of me #i remember going to a party party there once but i must have been like 5 or smth bc it was before my brother could play w me often #me before going into the childhood memory rabbithole: oh ye i don’t remember much abt my childhood except holidays #me two memories deep: and then this happened when i was 5 and this when i was 7 and don’t forget when this started age 9 through 11 #i think one of the best things abt my childhood was my mum being on the pta so i helped a lot w events and stuff #one of my fave things was that at my school faire me and my mum ran this stall where we sold geodes and stuff #so for like a week leading up to it i’d be excused from classes for like an hour at a time #and me and my best friend would go around like ‘hey you can buy these at the faire next week’ and we’d interrupt classes and stuff #oh god i just remembered my english teacher in year 5 played this game w midget gems where you’d guess if he was holding less or more #than five in his hands and if you were right he’d give you what he was holding and you got to play again until you got it wrong #even if you got it wrong at first you still got some midget gems you just couldn’t play again #he used to do this like EVERYTIME you saw him so catching him walking around during breaktime was v good #i think i once saw a girl called lydia win like 7 rounds in a row and they only stopped bc he ran out of midget gems #he was a v popular teacher lmaoo #..........i could be wrong but i have a v vague memory that ppl called him....mr dodie???#but that wasn’t his name it was just a nickname #jesus this is what i get for trying to remember smth from 13 years ago #god im just remembering all these events my primary school held and i just 😭#would it be weird if i just showed up and asked to help even tho i have no relatives attending now or—#i mean i wouldn’t but man i wish i could #my primary school was so so good #lol also remembered in the last week of school everyone would go to next years’ classroom to get used to them #but people in year 6 couldn’t do that so they just stuck them in the year 1 classrooms where the chairs were way too small #and we watched so so many movies #also we had sex education in that classroom but i got so cripplingly embarrassed i went and hid in the bathroom for the entire time #im looking through my primary school’s website of ppl on staff and im getting fucking WILD nostalgia #for how many teacher still teach there lmaoo

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

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Super Trouper || Bea and Kaden (ft Hunter)

TIMING: Before mime stabbing PARTIES: @beatrice-blaze and @chasseurdeloup (and @hunter-haywood) SUMMARY: Kaden takes Bea to the Silver Bullet and they run into a friend.

Bea was still annoyed with Kaden. She wasn’t even being that nosy and he had snapped at her. Fine, if he wanted to be like that she would be like that back. No more caring about his life and how his relationships were going then. She was just trying to freaking help anyway. Even if she was annoyed with him, she wasn’t going to let an opportunity to see the hunter bar slip through her fingers. So, as much as it pained her, she took the time to ask her sisters for a flannel and a leather jacket. It felt wrong to forgo her normal red lipstick and heels, but she supposed it was worth it for the bar. She waited out front for Kaden to show up, her hands firmly on her hips as she scowled at him and his car. Stalking over to him, she pointed at her boots,“Look I wore flat shoes for you and I’m wearing flannel. You’re lucky.”

Kaden pulled up to the Vural house in his admittedly pretty shitty green Volvo station wagon. It worked, though. And it held his weapons easily enough. His brow furrowed when she scowled at him. He thought she wanted to go to the bar. Right? “Lucky me,” he said as he accosted him. Kaden honestly wasn’t sure why Bea was so annoyed. So he’d asked her to butt out of his personal life, what was new? He did that to everyone. It wasn’t their fucking business. Especially not when it was making shit more complicated than it needed to be. He didn’t think it was that big a deal to ask her not to do that. Guess not. “What do you want me to get the door, too?” he asked, waiting for her to get in so he could drive them over.

Maybe it was the fact that she grew up with two sisters, whatever the reason was, Bea didn’t let things go as quickly as other people. She had plenty of people tell her she was too nosy for her own good, but that didn’t mean she was used to being told to mind her own business. “You are very lucky, I’m not even wearing lipstick, this is a big deal,” She told him, knowing it sounded ridiculous, but she had to tell him anyway. She had to resist the urge to pull a face or stick her tongue out at him as she opened the door to get in. “How far away is this bar? It’s called the Silver Bullet right?” She asked as she sat down and buckled in. She hoped her mood would improve when she had a drink.

“Oh no, not the lipstick! How will you survive the whole night?” Kaden rolled his eyes as she took her seat. As soon as the seatbelt clicked in, he put the car in gear and backed out and headed out to the road and towards the Outskirts. He huffed out a laugh at her question. “Is anything in this town far?” Still he shifted to push the car faster. He didn’t know what had her so pissed off, but he could sure feel the tension radiating off of her, no denying that. It wouldn’t take long to get there, sure, but anything to speed this tense bullshit along was welcome. He was happy to sit in silence otherwise. He got the feeling she wasn’t. He decided to turn on the radio. Couldn’t hurt, right? The music was some weird 70’s sounding ensemble band. Maybe it was a bad idea. At least they were almost there. His foot pushed the gas pedal a little more.

“The lipstick is important to my look,” Bea pouted. She felt weirdly naked without lipstick. Not that she was going to tell him that and give him more ammo to tease her with. She had to resist the urge to act like a complete child and cross her arms over her chest. “You have a point,” She admitted. “I can walk basically everywhere in this town.” She could feel herself starting to cool down from her annoyance, which was good but she kind of still wanted to be annoyed. She was just trying to help him. Bea let out a little laugh when she heard the song that came on. It was so unexpected. “I didn’t know you listened to stuff like this, Kaden.” As they pulled up to the bar, she looked it over critically. She wondered if she would see any of the other hunters she knew in there. “So this is it?”

“Uh, I don’t. I just thought it would be better than nothing.” Kaden sighed, definitely not any better. He wasn’t about to put on the CD that was in his player, though. He didn’t need her to know about that guilty pleasure. Not that she wouldn’t hear any ABBA at the Silver Bullet but there was some plausible deniability there. Still, he was shocked she didn’t cross her arms and stomp her foot a little with that pout. Pretty sure it wasn’t about the lipstick either way. Did she have a fight with her sisters or something? Whatever. They pulled up and he led her to the unassuming looking door in the alleyway, knocking three times before it swung open to let them in. “This is it,” he said as he held his arm out to let her walk in first. The bar looked like a mix of a game hunter’s lodge and a dive bar all wrapped up into one. As they walked through, a number of other hunters waved or said a greeting, giving him a nod here or there. He didn’t think he spent that much time at the bar, but now that he was a little more self-conscious of it, maybe that wasn’t the case. “This way, what’re you having?” he asked as he led her to the bar.

Bea had to attempt to control the bounce her step as they walked to the door. Her expression was almost giddy when he knocked, was that a secret knock? They had to use a secret knock to get in! She tried to school her face herself as they walked in. She didn’t need the fact that she was this excited over the bar to give her away. She glanced back at Kaden, much more bright-eyed now before she walked in. She took a long look around her, trying to take in how different it was to a normal bar, but also all the ways it was similar to an average dive bar. “You know a lot of people here,” She told him absentmindedly. Going to the bar with him, she tried not to stare at the people there, though she was curious to see if she knew anyone else here. “Gin and tonic.” It wasn’t her normal drink, but she didn’t really want to see how a martini would be here. Nodding towards the wall of mounted heads, “Any of those your kill?” It was a bit strange to stare down so many dead supernatural creatures. She didn’t really get taking trophies.

Kaden shrugged. “I mean, I guess so. Not really, though.” As he said that, Joe came over and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder to say hello. Right. “Gin and tonic coming right up,” he said as he waved over Sam the bartender. As she spoke, he raised a brow and looked up at the wall, finally noticing the trophies on the walls. He hadn’t really paid attention to any of the decor up until that point. Trophies made sense though. Suppose you’ve seen one hunter’s bar, you’d seen them all. All of them kind of looked like that. “Those? Fuck no,” he said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t bother making anything like that. And if I did I wouldn’t donate it.” Sam came with their drinks and he handed Bea her gin and tonic and took his cognac. “Cheers. Hope the secret bar is everything you hoped for.”

He would be the type of person to say he didn’t know many people here as people came up to say hello personally. Bea looked at him slightly amused, “You do.” Even if he said he didn’t, she had decided that he did know a lot of people. “Not worth the hassle?” She asked, though she agreed, if she was going to make a trophy of something, she certainly wasn’t going to donate it to a bar. She took her drink with a nod, “So far it’s going well. I like anything that’s considered a secret. It’s fun.” She took a long sip of her drink as a man walked over to them. She eyed the man as he clapped his hand on Kaden’s shoulder. “Kaden! My man! How are you, bud? And who is this lovely lady you have here?” Leaning to Kaden, he seemed to attempt and fail to whisper to him. “You need advice on how to keep a lady? I got you, kiddo, just let an old man know.”

Kaden shrugged at her insistence. He really didn’t think he was anything close to popular like she was suggesting. Sure, he knew people but it’s not like anyone was forming lifelong friendships at the hunter’s bar. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t say it’s anything too exciting but I like it. Sort of nice, you can always count on at least one of these in any supernaturally inclined town you visit.” Just as he was starting to wonder why it seemed so quiet, the jukebox kicked and ABBA started blaring. Typical. He was about to look for her reaction when his head turned to the hand suddenly on his shoulder. “Hey, Hunter,” he said with a smile and a nod. “I’m alright. How about you?” His brows knit together at his next comment. Wait. Did he think? Merde. “Oh, uh, no I’m alright. This is Bea. She’s just a friend. Wanted to see the Bullet so here we are.”

“I’m sure it’s nice to have a place you can talk normally about the stuff in town. Are there a lot of towns like White Crest out there?” Bea knew of a few others, mainly from witches that she had met in town, but she had never thought of how many there really were out there. They couldn’t be as bad as White Crest, she thought. Bea watched as the scruffy older man talked to Kaden. He looked like a regular here. “Oh, you know, I’m doing okay! My oldest girl is coming to visit. I finally convinced the wife to let her come by,” Hunter told Kaden, basically bouncing on his toes in excitement. He raised an eyebrow at Bea and then turned back to Kaden, his terrible whisper coming back,“I get you, bud. Gotta keep it cool while you lay the work down. Just makes sure you tell her she’s right and get whatever drink she wants and you’ll be golden.” Turning to Bea, Hunter winked,“He’s a good guy for showing you the Bullet, huh?”

“I mean, yeah, I suppose it is.” Kaden downplayed her suggestion. Sure, she was right, but that was verging on something too close to feelings. He wasn’t drunk enough for that kind of shit yet. “There’s plenty of supernatural hot spots out there, but I haven’t heard of any as, uh, intense I guess is the word, as White Crest.” He wasn’t sure if Hunter was a welcome distraction or not. “That’s great. Really.” Kaden rubbed his hand across his face. Hunter was a nice enough guy but a little obtuse. More than a little fucking obtuse, to be honest. He still thought they all hunted deer. “Just a friend, mon frère, I promise you. I already have a--” His words caught in his throat and his stomach churned. Putain, he couldn’t believe he almost said it. He took a chug of his drink. “We’re really not dating, Hunter.”

There was a strange sense of pride that came into Bea’s chest as she realized that White Crest really was special. “You've been around a lot of hotspots then? Do you have a favorite you’ve gone to? Other than White Crest of course,” She said with a little laugh. Whoever this guy was talking to Kaden, he was tipsy and Bea could just tell from the way he seemed to sway on his feet a bit. She supposed that’s why he didn’t catch Kaden almost admitting he had a girlfriend, but she certainly had. “Oh Kaden has a girlfriend. She’s actually a friend of mine too,” She said with a rather wide, shark-like smile in Kaden’s direction. “A girlfriend! Well, one day you have to bring her around here! Love to meet the girl who charmed you,” Hunter exclaimed. Swinging around to Bea, the man looked at her intently,“I won’t tell the other guys here you’re not taken then, missy, or I bet they’d be lining the bar just to talk to you. You watch out for her, Kaden.”

“Is it cheating to say Lyon?” he asked. It was technically home. Or as close to one as he had. Kaden shrugged yet again. “I don’t know, I didn’t spend a lot of time in any of them. Definitely made it a point not to make connections. Fuck if I know where I went wrong here.” And he really didn’t know because the hits kept on coming tonight. “I do not--” He tensed up at the word. “I’m dating someone but she’s not..” He shot Bea a look. Of course she had to bring it up. He hated defining shit like this. Why did everyone want to force him to? “I don’t know that this is her kind of bar.” Or if any bar was her kind of bar. “But I’ll think about it. Don’t worry, I’ll watch out for Miss Vural, here.” He shook his head. Hunter meant well but he was… a lot.

“Lyon?” Bea asked as she considered the city. “Is that where you grew up or just a coincidence that there was a hotspot you loved in France?” She wondered what it was like there and if it was anything like White Crest. “You stumbled into a town of people who apparently forced you into friendship. I mean that’s how we became friends, I decided for the two of us and you didn’t fight it.” It felt impossible for Bea’s grin to get bigger, but she proved herself wrong as her face split even more. “Kaden doesn’t like using the g word,” She whispered to Hunter who let out a hearty laugh. Slapping Kaden on the shoulder, the older man pointed at the two of them,“I’ll leave you two for now. One of you should sing with me later when I get up on stage. I wanted to meet this girl you’re dating one day, bud!” Hunter told them as he walked away. Bea had to take a sip of her drink to keep from snickering. “He’s really interesting,” She said to Kaden as she watched Hunter float over to another group of hunters.

“Where I grew up, yeah.” It was strange thinking about his childhood and how weirdly similar and different it all was to his life here in White Crest. The whole having friends thing was new, that was for sure. “Well it's not like I had much of a choice after nearly doing you in. Not sure why that translated to becoming friends for you but guess it worked out for me.” At the mention of the “g-word,” Kaden sighed and narrowed his eyes at Bea while she spoke to hunter. “Because it’s not accurate, that’s why” he said, shooting her a look, hoping she might one day drop it. “I’ll think about it, Hunter. And I’ll leave the singing to Bea, she’s a performer. I’m sure she'd love the chance to get on stage.” He shook his head as he walked away. “Interesting is one word for it” His brow furrowed. Wait, what day was it? “Huh, it shouldn’t be karaoke night. I wouldn’t do that to you on purpose. Must be impromptu. Sure you’re still having fun?”

It was interesting to know that Kaden had grown up in a town like this, Bea had to wonder if his childhood was weird like hers had been too. Though, she supposed Kaden wouldn’t have had a normal childhood anywhere. Hunters so rarely did. “You needed a friend and so did I! It was easy to get over once I realized that. Some people say I might be too forgiving, but I’m okay with that,” She told him with a self assured nod. She lifted an eyebrow at Kaden as he claimed it wasn’t an accurate term. She wondered what he would say is an accurate term for the whole thing, but she held herself back. She didn’t want to get snapped at again. “Oh, I’m no singer,” Bea said with a little laugh. She wasn’t bad at it, but she tended not to perform anytime she wasn’t great at something. “Honestly, knowing that the hunters in this town do karaoke on the regular has made my entire night.”

#beatriceblaze #bea #wickedswriting #chatzy #writing #super trouper #hunter #hunterhaywood

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soaringsearingphoenix · 4 years

Note

Valentine's Day Asks: The Prime Numbers

Wow! I dont know why i didnt see the notification for this one but ok, alright ah

1. do you have a crush on anyone?

I guess so? There are people who Stand Out to me and i call them crushes in my head sometimes but mostly I just want to be friends with them. Like I dont usually get dizzying sweeps of emotion for someone, physical or romantic, but I do get an urgent and baseless desire to hang out with them... maybe take a walk or invite them to get ice cream. So like if we’re on the same page about what I call a Crush on my emotional scale then yes. Theres a couple people.

2. what’s your favorite candy?

I like lemonheads and i will eat them until im sick of them if given half a chance. I also like snickers now because theres peanuts in it so i get to pretend im making a healthy choice

3. favorite love song?

Slow Boat To China, any version but specifically sung by Bette Midler and Barry Manilow. You know, like, just the corniest possible version? Partly for nostalgia, because it was one of like three CDs i remember my mom playing all the time when we were just kind of around the house when I was little. It also has the distinction of being the first duet I learned the words to (though as far as im aware none of my friends know the lyrics... i dont think ive ever actually sung it with someone) and it’s probably gotta be the one that gets stuck in my head the most. Right down to the dumb banter in the middle (“Bette, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” “I don’t. I need a piano player.”)

I also like “Somewhere Beyond The Sea.” I think, as a general rule, that if there are boats in the words to a love song I will probably like it.

5. what was your last kiss like?

Meaningful

7. do you prefer poems or love letters?

Ahhhhhhhhhh to read or to write? I like writing poems because I think they’re... easier honestly? Writing is so hard, identifying your feelings is hard. Having some constraints makes writing easier, and a rhyme and cadence makes it flow. Besides, it’s more musical that way so I think for me it feels like a more natural expression of love. I do well with more structured expression, and not so much with making just raw, unrefined feelings known.

Not to say writing poetry is easy. It’s less difficult than a love letter, sure, but there are still potential pitfalls. If i make a metaphor that makes me think of science, the rest of the poem WILL be just an extension of the metaphor that gets more and more didactic until I’m just telling you science facts.

11. dinner dates or brunch dates?

Dinner dates. I decided that before i came up with a reason why. I think the reason is that an evening engagement means I have something to look forward to, or be nervous about but then i have time to mentally prepare myself. Whereas morning, even if it’s not “early” morning, I feel more stressed about getting there on time and then afterwards theres a whole rest of the day where i either have to get somewhere after, or its just this unstructured uncertainty. Dinner, youve already done the rest of the day, so you can be present without worrying about what you gotta get to after.

13. favorite perfume/cologne?

I... dont know that ive ever noticed a perfume or cologne and felt it was applied tastefully, because i think if it is insubtle it defeats the point. That said, if it’s actually well applied so that it’s less an overwhelming cloud that trails comically behind people you pass in the quad and more like when someone sits down right next to you om the couch and you get just a hint of their shampoo or conditioner, to the point where maybe you didnt even consciously notice it before but now you say “oh, you’re the reason ive been craving ice cream, you smell minty” if it was only that subtle then i think im generally fond of more smoky incense-y smells like sandalwood, or roses but i am picky about rose fragrances, so it has to actually smell just like fresh roses or i wont be able to overlook that the smell is not roses. I have this friend who went to my middle school, and we were very into scents and making potpourri and things. At the time, his grandma had a hand soap that smelled exactly like roses, it was delightful and he said as much and I said that it sounded amazing but I’d have to take his word for it, but then the next time he visited her he came back with a little jar of it for me just so i could smell it, and he was right, it smelled just like roses. Actually forget the roses, it will make me think of the hand soap and as lovely as that is I dont want to give anyone vying for my affection any reason to feel like they’re in competition with someone, or something. It’s not a competition. Learn to coexist with my memories, because you’re not going to fight my nostalgia and win.

17. what’s the most attractive thing a person could wear?

If you’re wearing something knit or embroidered that you made yourself Im definitely gonna want to talk to you. Also if you’re wearing really comfy looking cargo pants but thats probably because i want to know where you got them so i can get some for me.

19. snow, rain, or sun?

Sun because people will take a walk with me

23. what’s your dream wedding like?

Dont have one but if i did its in a forest or at least a grove of trees. Mostly small gathering, family and close friends. I have a dress for the vows i guess, just because ive seen a lot of Say Yes to the Dress so thats how ive generally pictured it, (which i only really do when im watching Say Yes to the Dress), but ive got comfortable shoes, and im gonna change into pants asap after. We probably do some corny thing thats kind of an inside joke. Each of us has a Best Man or equivalent, who carries a sword — we joke that this makes it a “traditional” wedding, though beyond that it’s really not meant to be. It’s mostly simple, though maybe have a little extravagance or two, like a chocolate fountain, because how often do you have an excuse to have a chocolate fountain. I tend to wander off from other peoples weddings somewhere in the middle, at some point i just get a little overstimulated, and the amount of people that will likely be invited makes this probable. At the reception, when the families and friends are singing and dancing, i probably quietly excuse myself to my spouse and drift away, finding a spot in a tree where i can still hear the music and the laughter from a distance. I am joined not long after by my spouse (and the thought is strange, and even then i cant quite wrap my mind around that word yet, the commitment it implies) who knows where to look for me, and who perhaps pulls a leaf or two from my hair as they join me on an adjacent branch. We sit quietly together for some time until it seems appropriate to rejoin the festivities, as it is our wedding after all, and the slow dance is coming up, and we will spend some quiet time later when everyone has gone home. It is nice, the dancing, and as tired as we are we still drift around the dance floor among loved ones long into the night.

I dont know if this is like... how i intend my wedding to be. Like i said i didnt have an answer going in. But now that im trying to imagine it, this feels realistic.

29. are you single?

Yup!

31. guitar or piano?

Piano. First of all because i am better at piano than guitar and second because you can do duets on one piano

37. do you like to dance?

Aw hell yeah!! I would call myself an... Inexperienced dancer, but if a song has a good rhythm or even if it doesnt and i am full of energy i WILL be moving and twisting and you ARE welcome to join me

41. favorite soda?

I usually go for lighter ones like orange or sprite. I found Lime fanta at a gas station once that tasted like green jello and it was good but ive only seen it maybe twice ever.

43. favorite ABBA song?

Gimme Gimme Gimme always gets me on my feet, and ive listened to it probably the most because it’s on my “Dates and Times Playlist” (the first line says ‘half past 12’ and then the chorus says ‘after midnight’ so its in with a collection of other midnight songs. Any time i hear any of the others i get this one in my head as well. Thatd just how it is.)

47. do you think about love a lot?

#just kidding of course i think about love a lot #but usually its how much i love my friends #apparently my love language is s c r o l l i n g to find old ask memes #long post #long post cw #thanks tho!!! this was fun #as far as my poetry goes #itll be like ‘my darling you light up ny world... like the sun’#and then its like ‘my world revolves around u like the earth to the sun’#and then its like ‘i love u for ur warmth... u make me feel alive... of every body around me its u i feel closest to... like the sun’#and then its like ‘ur light is radiant... hotter than a flame... ‘ something about not being eclipsed because youll still shine through #and at that point im just straight up talking about the sun #i cant find The poem im thinking about that just straight up turns into a list of traits the sun has like four lines in #but i did write a song that i definitely have the lyrics to #and the song is good because i didnt try to write it about a person i went in knowing it was gonna sound like a love song n be about science #actually i mightve wanted to write a love song but i abandoned that right away and changed the beginning i had to fit what i was rly writing

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arysafics · 5 years

Text

this is really gonna mess her up

Summary: Bellamy has been married to Roma for seven years, but he can't stop thinking about Clarke, the student teacher taking his class.

Rated E, ~5,100 words

for @youleftme-clarke

Clarke already has the class of fourth graders sitting quietly at their desks by the time the bell goes at the end of the day, packed up and ready to go. Bellamy can’t help but admire her aptitude for the profession. She’s the perfect amount of kind but firm with the students, and where other student teachers he’s had have let the kids walk all over them, or had to resort to screaming to get the ten-year-olds to listen, Clarke has them eating out of the palm of her hand. She has him eating out of the palm of her hand. He finds himself just as mesmerised as the kids while she’s teaching. She’s a natural. It’s been the easiest three weeks of Bellamy’s career.

Unfortunately, Clarke’s teaching skills are not the only thing he admires about her. He’s barely paid attention to her actual lesson for the last hour, instead focusing on the way her form fitting sweater accentuates the swell of her breasts. He searches for a panty line through her tight skirt every time she bends over to help a student, and wonders whether not finding one means she’s wearing a thong or nothing at all.

He feels a little guilty for thinking about it at all, but he’s spent the better part of three weeks trying to ignore his attraction to her with little to no success. But he figures as long as Clarke doesn’t know, and Roma doesn’t know, he’s not hurting anyone. The ring on his left hand doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to look.

His class doesn’t even spare him a second glance as they chorus their goodbyes to Miss Griffin and stampede out of the classroom. It’s going to be a tough transition next week when Clarke has gone back to university.

Bellamy stands, the desk creaking under him as his weight shifts, and makes his way to the front of the classroom, where Clarke stands waiting for him. She glances at the notebook in his hand, grimacing.

“Okay, give it to me,” she says, bracing herself for his notes. Bellamy shows her the blank page. His notes for improvement have been steadily decreasing over the past three weeks, and he honestly has nothing else to teach her. Plus, the whole, fantasising about what she looks like naked instead of actually paying attention.

Clarke grins. “You’re just being nice.”

“You know that’s not true, Clarke. You’re already a better teacher than I’ve ever been or ever will be.”

Clarke ducks her head, flushing. It’s cute. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear that’s fallen out of her messy bun, and it immediately falls into her face again. Unthinking, Bellamy reaches out and brushes it back. Clarke meets his eyes, swallowing. Bellamy quickly withdraws, clearing his throat. “Should we go over the lesson plan for tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Clarke says, flicking open her neatly organised display folder. It probably doesn’t need going over, she’s got this down pat by now, but it’s a necessary distraction.

He sits down at the desk and pulls Clarke’s lesson plan out, and Clarke leans over his shoulder. He can feel her warm breath against his neck, and the scent of her flowery perfume fills his nostrils. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, willing himself to concentrate on the page in front of him. He quickly scans over it, suddenly desperate to be away from her.

“Looks good,” he tells her, slipping the page back into its sleeve. Truthfully, he would have let her get away with the entire day being just one big party tomorrow, seeing as it’s her last day, but the closest she’s come is dedicating the whole afternoon to arts and crafts. Technically the art stuff is supposed to be left to the specialty art teacher, but Clarke loves it, and is good at it, and it seems like a good send off.

“Great,” Clarke says. Bellamy closes the folder and hands it to her as he stands up. “Do we have any meetings or anything this afternoon?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No, you can go if you like.”

“Oh. Um…” Clarke glances down, and she’s fiddling with the corner of the folder nervously. “I thought… never mind.”

“Clarke?” Bellamy says, tilting his head. She’s never been shy about asking questions, giving suggestions, or voicing her opinion before. Bellamy can’t quite figure out why she’s so tongue-tied all of a sudden.

“It’s just, yesterday you said you would give me a ride. But it’s fine if you can’t,” she adds hurriedly.

“Oh, shit, I completely forgot. I’m so sorry.” He’d only found out yesterday that Clarke has been taking the bus to school every day, and without thinking, had offered to drive her home. It’s not that he regrets that offer now, but he does wonder what being alone in a car with her for twenty minutes will do to both his sanity and his libido.

“It’s okay!” Clarke says. “I can take the bus.”

“No, no,” Bellamy says. “I can drive you. It’s fine. Just let me pack up and then we can go.”

Twenty minutes later, Clarke slides into his passenger seat, and he averts his eyes as her skirt rides up her thighs. It’s a modest skirt, by anyone’s standards, but Bellamy’s mind still finds its way to the gutter.

Clarke pulls the door closed and Bellamy starts the car.

“Looking forward to your placement ending?” Bellamy asks. School, a safe topic. Clarke being in his car is doing weird things to him. There’s something so intimate about being alone in a car with someone. Or perhaps it’s because he’s jerked off to the thought of her while sitting in this very seat, parked in his garage, while his wife is inside, none the wiser.

“No, not at all,” Clarke sighs. “These past three weeks have been so fun. I honestly can’t wait until I graduate and can finally have a class of my own.”

“I mean, my class likes you much better than they like me. Maybe you should just stay,” Bellamy smiles.

“If only. And by the way, those kids love you. They only like me because I’m a novelty.”

Bellamy glances at her. “You’re kidding right? You’re so good with them. You wouldn’t believe the number of teachers who are terrible with children.”

Clarke chuckles. “No, I think I would.” She shrugs. “I’ve just always liked kids. I can’t wait to be a mom. You know, once I’ve got a job and a house and someone to have kids with.”

“That does sound nice,” Bellamy muses.

“Well, you’ve got all three of those things, right?” Clarke laughs. “So what’s stopping you?”

Bellamy hesitates. He knows she’s joking, but her words strike a nerve. Clarke seems to notice this, and hurries to cover up her mistake.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” she says. “None of my business.”

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says. “Roma doesn’t want kids. I knew that when I married her, and I thought I was okay with it,” he shrugs. “I am okay with it,” he corrects, though it’s a lie. But he shouldn’t be telling the twenty-one-year-old he has a crush on about his marital problems.

“Of course,” Clarke says quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put my foot in it.”

“It’s really okay,” Bellamy says, grinning to show her he’s not offended. But it’s probably best if they change the subject. “You want to put a CD on?”

“A CD?” Clarke says, teasing. “God, how old are you Bellamy? I didn’t even know they still made CDs.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I know.”

“They’re in the glovebox.”

Clarke drops the glovebox open and pulls out the stack of CDs. She flips through them, reading the artists out loud, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Elton John? ABBA? Johnny Cash? Beyoncé, but it’s not even one of her new ones. Oh my god, the Twilight soundtrack.”

“That one’s my sister’s.”

“Sure it is. You have a weird taste in music.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you know any new music?”

“Sing something and I’ll tell you if I know it.”

“I can’t sing.”

“I bet you can,” Bellamy says, trying not to smile too much. He shouldn’t be flirting with her, probably. Is that over the line, or is he still toeing it? It’s harmless, right?

“Let’s just listen to ABBA.” She says it like it’s a hardship, but she sings along to every song.

“You can sing,” Bellamy accuses. Clarke just screws her nose up at him.

They pull up at the front of Clarke’s house, a rundown looking place she’s renting with a friend.

“When was the last time you mowed your lawn?” Bellamy asks, peering over the front fence through the windscreen.

“You’re not allowed to judge,” Clarke says. “Unless you’re going to come and mow it for me.”

“Nice try,” Bellamy grins.

Clarke shrugs. “Worth a shot,” she says. Her smile is cheeky, and Bellamy wants to kiss it off her face. She has the most infectious, beautiful smile he’s ever seen. And thoughts like that are very dangerous, and very stupid.

“I should get going,” he hints.

“Right, sorry,” Clarke says, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks for driving me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She opens the car door.

“Oh, wait, I almost forgot,” Bellamy says. “A few of us are going out for drinks tomorrow after work if you’re interested. It’s your last day after all. Monty wanted me to ask you.”

“Yeah, okay, sounds good,” Clarke beams. Bellamy’s heart misses a beat. Clarke waves him goodbye and doesn’t look back as she walks to her front door and lets herself inside. Bellamy takes a deep breath and grips the steering wheel with shaking hands. The gold band around his finger glints back at him. He starts the car and drives home.

Bellamy knows he got married for all the wrong reasons. He got married because that’s what people do. Because he’d been with Roma for two years, and he didn’t want to break up with her, but he knew she was angling for a proposal and it would be over if he didn’t marry her soon.

He always knew she didn’t want kids, and at twenty-three that kind of thing didn’t matter to him. And now, seven years later, it does matter to him, but he doesn’t feel like there’s much he can do about it. Is he really going to divorce his wife just because he changed his mind? That’s not fair on her. And it’s not like he doesn’t love Roma. At least, he thinks he does. He’s pretty sure he does.

He’s not exactly happy in his marriage, but he’s not unhappy either, and that’s more than a lot of other married people can say, right? And he thinks Roma is happy. He hopes she’s happy, because one of them may as well be.

He’s just finishing breakfast when she comes downstairs, hair and make-up perfect. Bellamy hands her a cup of coffee.

“I’m going out for drinks after work,” Bellamy tells her. “Not sure what time I’ll be home.”

Roma pouts. “I was hoping we could stay in.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says. “I know it’s last minute but Monty organised it because it’s the student teacher’s last day. I should probably go, since it’s my class she’s been taking.”

Roma sighs. “Fine. But tomorrow you’re watching a trashy romcom with me to make up for it.”

Bellamy smiles. “Deal.” He gives her a peck on the cheek. “I’ve gotta go, babe. I’ll see you tonight if you’re still awake when I get home. Don’t wait up though.”

Bellamy has never wished for a school day to go slower. Every minute that ticks by brings him closer to saying goodbye to Clarke. He doesn’t want her to go, and it’s not just because he’ll have to actually start teaching his own class again. It’s obvious the kids don’t want her to go either.

After lunch, Clarke brings out the art supplies, pushes the tables together to form small groups, and gives the students free rein to make whatever they like. As soon as one student announces that they’re making a thank you card for Miss Griffin, the rest of class follows suit.

Bellamy sits at the back of the class, as per usual, until one of the girls, Amy, tells him he has to make one too. Bellamy is so not the artistic type, but he finds himself a seat amongst the students anyway, and starts making a card, taking suggestions from Amy and some of the other girls.

He senses Clarke standing behind him, looking over his shoulder as he glues a badly cut out flower to the front of his card.

“Nice work, Mr Blake,” she teases. Bellamy looks up at her, and she turns her attention to the girls surrounding him. “What do you think girls?”

“Mine’s better,” says Amy. “I tried to tell him how to draw a flower but he wouldn’t listen.”

Clarke laughs joyously, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and Bellamy’s stomach tightens. “I think it looks great,” she lies. She squeezes his shoulder, then drifts off to check on one of the other tables. Bellamy doesn’t stop thinking about that shoulder squeeze for the rest of the afternoon.

At the end of the day, the class hands Clarke their cards, and tell her how much they love her, and then they run off without a second thought. Bellamy wishes he could say goodbye to her so easily.

“You didn’t give me my card,” Clarke says, once all the students are gone.

“What makes you think it was for you?”

“It has my name on the front.”

Bellamy hands her the card, definitely worse than all the fourth graders efforts. It’s just a bit of yellow card folded in half with a red flower on the front and Miss Griffin in block letters on the front.

Clarke keeps eye contact with him as she opens, then drops her eyes to read it out loud. “Clarke. Thank you for brightening up my classroom these past three weeks. You’re going to make a wonderful teacher, and my students are going to be all the better for having known you, even for such a short time. So am I. Love, Bellamy.”

Bellamy watches her as she reads it, notices her tearing up. He looks away as soon as she looks back up at him.

“I guess words are more your thing than art, huh?”

Bellamy shrugs. “You can use that in your portfolio if you want,” he jokes.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, way too serious for his liking. Thankfully, Monty chooses that moment to duck his head into the classroom.

“Did you ask her?” Monty asks.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “We’re coming.”

Clarke looks to Bellamy. “I have no way to get there.”

“I’ll drive you,” Monty offers, before Bellamy can. It’s somewhat of a relief.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees. She gathers her things from the desk and heads for the door.

“We’ll see you there?” Monty says.

“Yeah,” Bellamy nods. “See you there.”

When Bellamy gets to the car, Monty has claimed a booth, and there are a few other teachers there already, including Clarke. She scoots out of her seat as he approaches the table. She’s got her hair out now, and an extra button on her shirt undone. Not that Bellamy is paying attention.

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want me to get you something?”

“Sure, a beer would be great. I’ll get the next round.”

Clarke skips off towards the bar, and Bellamy slides into the booth beside Monty. He gives a nod across the table to Raven, Harper and Diyoza.

“I think Clarke has a crush on you,” Monty says.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What? Hot, older guy, who’s mentoring her and is good with kids? As if she wouldn’t have a crush on you.”

“What are you trying to do? Set us up? I’m married, remember?” Bellamy snorts.

“No, I’m warning you,” Monty says. Bellamy frowns. “Don’t lead her on.”

“She knows I’m married.”

Monty gives a nonchalant shrug. “Okay. Just be careful.”

Monty is drawn into Raven and Diyoza’s debate about whether or not technology in the classroom is getting out of hand, and Clarke returns from the bar with a beer and some kind of bright yellow cocktail. Bellamy eyes it warily as Clarke sets both drinks down on the table and shuffles into the booth next to him.

“What is that?” he asks, nodding to her drink as he picks up his own.

“Vodka, mostly,” Clarke grins. “You want to try it?” She offers it to him, and he takes it from her, dubiously taking a sip. He screws up his face at the overpowering sweetness.

“Doesn’t taste like alcohol,” he says, handing it back to Clarke.

“That’s the point,” she says.

Maya and Jasper show up then, and Clarke scoots even closer to him to give them room to sit. Her thigh is pressed against his under the table, and somehow his arm ends up around her. Not on purpose. It’s just resting there on the back of the seat, and she just happens to be sitting there, leaning back against it. Bellamy takes a sip of his beer and pretends he doesn’t notice.

Over the course of the few hours they’re at the bar, Bellamy only has a few drinks. He has to drive home after this after all. Plus, the way Clarke is kind of tucked in against his side is making him feel things he doesn’t want to feel, and drinking more is only going to make him flirtier and more likely to do the exact opposite of what Monty said, and lead her on.

Clarke must be tipsy at least, because she’s laughing loudly and talking faster than normal. She seems to have no inhibitions about touching him constantly, or being practically in his lap. He feels like he’s holding his breath the whole night. His hearts stops every time she touches him. Every nerve in his body screams for him to touch her back, to press his lips against her neck, to bury his hand between her legs. His head pounds.

More people arrive, and Clarke doesn’t hesitate to somehow move closer to him. She hooks her leg over his, and before he can stop himself, he pulls her all the way into his lap. He catches Monty’s disapproving look but ignores him. Clarke settles back against Bellamy’s chest, clearly comfortable. Her ass presses against his crotch, and his semi hard on grows to full size. If she notices she doesn’t react.

Bellamy stops following the conversation entirely, not that he’d been keeping up with it that well before. But now he zones out, imagining pulling Clarke’s skirt up and fingering her right here under the table. He imagines secretly meeting her in a bathroom stall and fucking her up against the door. She would look so good with that freshly fucked look. He’d fill her with his come, get her pregnant with his baby.

It’s that thought that snaps him out of it. He swallows guiltily, and downs the dregs of his beer.

“I should get going,” he announces to no one in particular.

“Oh, I was going to ask you earlier,” Clarke says. “Would you be able to give me a lift home?”

He should say no, probably. It’s not like he thinks she’s going to throw herself at him, but he hasn’t exactly done the best job tonight of not leading her on. She knows you’re married, he reminds himself. She’s not expecting anything to happen.

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

They make everyone get up so they can leave, and the group of teachers chorus their goodbyes as Bellamy ushers Clarke out of the bar, his hand on the small of her back.

Neither of them speaks on the way to Bellamy’s car, and they’re both silent even as Bellamy pulls out onto the road.

“You have a good time?” Bellamy asks. He’s afraid the pounding of his heart is too loud in the silence of the car.

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “It’s bittersweet though. I’ll probably never see most of them again.”

“Well, you know where we are,” Bellamy says. “You can always come and visit.”

Clarke smiles. “Maybe I will,” she says, but Bellamy can hear it in her voice that she won’t.

Bellamy pulls up out the front of her house. He looks over at her, and she looks so fucking sad. Something tugs at his heart. He’s not ready to say goodbye to her just yet.

“I should walk you to your door,” he says, his voice coming out in a whisper. “Make sure you get in okay.”

“Good idea,” Clarke agrees.

They walk up the front path in silence, and Bellamy can feel the tension between them. She wants him to kiss her. And he wants to kiss her so badly. They reach the door, and Clarke unlocks it, then turns to face him.

“I just want to say,” she says, swallowing. “Thank you for everything. You’ve taught me so much and I couldn’t have hoped for a better mentor.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says. “I meant what I said before. You can drop by the school any time. And if you ever need help or advice, you can always call me.”

Clarke nods. She steps forward and presses her soft lips against his cheek. Bellamy feels like he might combust. She lingers there longer than would be seen as socially acceptable, and as she pulls away, Bellamy’s heart lurches, and he’s no longer in control of his own actions. Before she can step back, he captures her lips with his, his hand snaking around her waist to pull her closer.

She gasps, and Bellamy takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, as if it has any right to be there. Kissing her is intoxicating, far more so than the two beers he’d had earlier, and his head spins. Her body moulds to his, and yet he’s still desperate to be closer to her.

The kiss only lasts seconds before Bellamy returns to his senses, and pulls away from her like he’s been shocked by an electric wire.

“Shit,” he says, guilt already pooling in his stomach. “Shit. Shit.”

“Sorry,” Clarke whispers.

Bellamy looks at her, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who kissed you.”

“But I wanted you to.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I was all over you at the bar.”

“I could’ve stopped you.”

Clarke bites her lip. “What if I want you to kiss me again?”

He wants to. He yearns for her. “I’m married, Clarke,” he says hoarsely. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

He’s not sure why it doesn’t bother him. He knows it’s wrong to want her. He knows it’s wrong to act on it. But at this moment, he can’t bring himself to care. Or perhaps it’s because he knows it’s wrong that makes it all the more appealing.

“I’d rather have you this way than not at all.”

That’s all it takes for Bellamy to press her up against the door, his mouth on hers again. Clarke fumbles with the door knob, and then the door swings open, and they stumble inside.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “I want you so much. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you these past three weeks.”

“Me too,” Clarke says, breathless.

“Where’s your room?”

Clarke takes his hand and leads him down the hall until they reach her room. Bellamy’s heart thunders in his chest. Is he really doing this?

Clarke flicks the light on, and Bellamy tugs on her hand to spin her around to face him. If he wastes any time, if he stops to think, he might change his mind. He doesn’t want to change his mind.

Lips on hers, Bellamy urges her towards her bed. Every kiss, every movement, is frantic, urgent, like they’re both afraid it could be over any moment. Like someone might catch them in the act and ruin it all.

Bellamy’s hands drop to the buttons on Clarke’s shirt, his fingers too big and clumsy to undo them with any finesse, but with her help he gets them undone, and then she’s shrugging her shirt off, and then her bra, and Bellamy is gifted the sight of her tits, more magnificent than he’d even fantasised about.

“God,” Bellamy groans. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about these.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yes, Clarke,” Bellamy says. He palms her breasts, watching as her nipples harden. “You like having your nipples played with?”

“Yes,” Clarke nods. “But—”

“But?” Bellamy tilts his head.

“I just want you to fuck me. Please. Before my roommate gets home and you realise what a huge mistake you’re making and that you don’t want me after all.”

“I’m way too far gone for that, Clarke,” Bellamy says, hoarsely. Clarke surges up to kiss him, and Bellamy’s hands slide around to her ass, gripping her through her skirt. She spreads her legs as she lets him lift her slightly, then lay her down on the bed, where he imagines she’s fingered herself to the thought of him more than once. He hikes her skirt up her thighs and is greeted with a tantalising view of her swollen, wet, pussy. His cock throbs painfully at the sight.

“No panties, Clarke?” he growls.

“I stopped wearing panties after the first week,” she says. “Just in case.”

“You really wanted me, huh? Didn’t care about the ring on my finger?”

Clarke shakes her head. “You don’t love her. She can’t give you what you want.”

“And you can?”

“Uh huh.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“I see you watching me,” Clarke says huskily. “You want these,” she squeezes her tits. She runs her hands down her stomach, then cups her pussy. “You want this.” She rolls over onto her stomach and wiggles her ass for him, looking over her shoulder cheekily. “You want this.”

“You see right through me, don’t you?”

She rolls back over and sits up. “Do you think about me while you’re fucking your wife?”

“All the time. Every time. I wish it was you every time.”

Clarke reaches up, fists her hands in his shirt and tugs him down towards her. “So what are you waiting for?” she whispers. “Now’s your chance. Fuck me.”

Bellamy hurriedly rids himself of his shirt, and then the rest of his clothes, until he’s standing naked before her. Clarke eyes his cock hungrily, lip caught between her teeth.

“How do you want it, baby?” Bellamy asks. He puts a knee between her legs on the bed, and she lies back down, pulling her skirt up higher so it’s bunched around her waist. Bellamy leans over her, running his hands up her arms, lifting them above her head, grasping her wrists tightly to keep them there. Her loves the way it makes her tits look, straining towards him like they belong to him.

“I want it hard,” she says. “Please.”

Bellamy lowers his mouth to hers, drawing a long kiss out of her, positioning his cock at her entrance at the same time. Her can feel her slickness against his cock, letting him know she’s more than ready for him. He enters her slowly, and she squirms beneath him. He keeps her hands locked above her head, so she has no choice but to let him take control, to take his time and do as he pleases, though she’s clearly desperate to pull him closer. She cants her hips towards him, trying to get him deeper inside her.

Bellamy groans, the feeling of her tight cunt clenching around his cock almost too much to handle. He thrusts into her, abruptly, his whole cock filling her up. If she wants it hard, she’s going to get it hard.

“Oh my god,” Clarke moans. “This is too good to be true,” she murmurs, more like she’s talking to herself than to him. Bellamy isn’t sure if she’s talking about his cock or just the situation in general, but either way he finds himself agreeing. This can’t be real. It feels too good.

She isn’t quiet while he fucks her, and every sound she makes thrills him. Most of it is unintelligible, but he’s not exactly thinking straight himself. All he can do is focus on keeping it together long enough to make her come. For a moment he thinks he won’t make it, but just as he’s about to lose it, she cries out, arching towards him, her cunt clenching around him like a vice, drawing his own orgasm from him as she comes. He comes inside her, like he’s imagined doing time after time, and then he collapses on top of her, spent.

She presses her thumb to his hip, and he rolls off her, but she goes with him, lying on top of him.

“Good as you imagined?” Bellamy asks her.

“Better. What about you?”

“Much better.”

“You don’t regret it?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“Maybe.”

Bellamy rubs his hand over his face. He never thought he’d be a cheater. But here he is, lying naked in bed with a woman who isn’t his wife. And all he can think about is how good it felt, and how much he wants to do it again.

“Are you going to fuck me and leave? Or will you stay a while?”

“I can stay,” Bellamy murmurs. He doesn’t tell her that he never wants to leave her. It doesn’t matter if it’s true, it’s a promise he can never keep. “But this can’t happen again.” He has a wife, and he knows whatever this is with Clarke has to stay here in this moment, in this room. He can’t screw up what he has with Roma for what is probably some passing infatuation with a girl who won’t remember his name in a year.

“I know,” Clarke says, and Bellamy tries to ignore the sadness in her voice. She’ll get over it. She’s twenty-one, she’s resilient. She’ll fuck someone else to get him out of her system, and she’ll move on. And Bellamy will go back to Roma, and let this night with Clarke fuel his fantasies, to keep his sex life with Roma going for a few more months at least. It’s the best he can hope for.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #mine

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yet-another-jjba-imagines-blog · 5 years

Note

Since there's way too much snow where I live rn, could I request brunos gang and what would they do if they got snowed in with their s/o?

God I wish that were me. I’ve only seen snow twice in my life.

Anyways I’m doing this using second person pronouns cuz that’s just what feels right for me? If you don’t want me to do it like that just feel free to tell me.

Bruno:

“Well mio caro, it appears as though we’ll be here for quite some time. Shall I fetch us something warm to drink?” He calls to you as you bury yourself in blankets on the couch. He then goes to the kitchen and you hear the gentle clink of the teacups as he prepares the drinks. A few minutes later he returns with two cups of tea/coffee/hot cocoa and a plate of Buccellati cookies (look them up they’re a real thing and they’re delicious.) left over from the gang’s Christmas party. He puts them on the coffee table and cuddles under like ten thousand blankets with you and you two start a movie marathon with lotsa huggles n smoochies (One of the movies you watch HAS to be Il Postino because that’s his favorite and he deserves the best.) until you fall asleep. If you fall asleep first then he carefully swoops you up and take you to a proper bed (cuz sleepin on a couch can do a fuckin number on ya.) and he keeps cuddlin up to ya till he falls asleep too.

Abbacchio:

“Ah, shit. Looks like we’re gonna have to cancel that shopping trip. And here I thought we could stock up on some Moscato.” He says before stalking over to the music player and pressing play. Monteverdi softly begins to drift through the home as he seats himself besides you, shivers, and tugs the blankets off of you. “Hey, quit hogging the blankets.” He quickly fixes them so they cover the both of you generously and he scoots a bit closer. After a while of sitting there and taking each other’s warmth with the calming music in the background, someone’s stomach growls. Whose is it? I dunno. And he pipes up. “I think we’ve some Ruchetta salad left over. I’ll throw some on a couple of plates.” He slowly gets up and heads to the kitchen, you hear him throw open the fridge and a few cabinets as he starts to rummage around. After a few moments of nothing but the classical music and the clinking of China plates Abbacchio lets out an “Aha!” “What is it Abba?” Hep pops up from behind the bar holding a bottle. It looks like... a bottle of Zonin Primo Amore. ((I headcanon this as Abba’s favorite cuz it has a higher ABV than most Moscatos.)) “I almost forgot I had this. Kept it hidden just in case.” “Well in that case bring over the good glasses and we can pop in a movie!” “Can we watch Sling Blade?” “Abba I love you but Sling Blade isn’t exactly a ‘cuddling on a snow day’ kinda movie.”

Mista:

“Well I wanted to go outside and make snow angels but I don’t think I can even open the door now.” He plops onto the couch, still dressed up in layers and you take a seat next to him, peeling off your own jacket. “Why don’t we change into our jammies and do something else?” You offer. “And what exactly would that be?” I mean, what would be better than snow angels in this kind of weather? “Go change and you’ll see!” When he comes back into the living room he finds you setting up the CD player. You look over when you hear his footsteps approach and smile as you press play. He grins wide as The Carpenters begins to flow from the speakers. You grab his hand and you both start dancing and singing along “... I’m on, top of the world lookin, down on creation...” Neither of you knows how to fuckin dance so you kinda stumble around a bit before you find some kind of natural rhythm. When you do you lay your head on his shoulder and he puts his chin on top of your head as you both just enjoy the moment and each other’s company.

Narancia:

“Noooooo I wanted to play in the snoooooooowwwwww!!!” He’s banging at the door, as if doing that will somehow make the twelve inches of Jack Frost’s flaky white shit retreat from the doorway. You wonder how he even manages to lift his arms, as you saw him shove all of three coats on top of his shirt. His way-too-fucking-long scarf nearly touches the floor and you think it might be a good thing he can’t go out. He’d trip on that thing five feet out the door and hit his head on the porch rail or something. You gently grab his shoulder and direct him to the couch, sitting him down and taking off his excess layers. “What, you think whining will make the snow give way?” “No...” “I’m sure the snow will still be there tomorrow morning and maybe we’ll actually be able to step out the front door. Why don’t we just chill until then?” He looks away with a quiet huff, and that’s when you get an idea. You immediately get up and make a mad dash for the next room, where you store your electric lamp for camping, and start to put on a little shadow puppet show with him, weaving stories of bunnies and wolves going on great adventures together.

Fugo:

“Caro, what are you doing?” “ We’re making a pillow fort Panni! C’mon and grab something let’s go go go!!” You’re haphazardly throwing spare pillows and blankets into a pile, gathering the materials you’ll need to make the perfect pillow fort. He laughs but goes along with it, methodically placing pillows and blankets as you continue to run around gathering an erroneous amount of materials. Soon enough the two of you had made a fort fit for both King and Queen, stocked up with snacks and drinks and cute stuffed animals. The two of you go inside and sit against two large, fluffy pillows supported by the couch, and take a moment to admire the feats of your teamwork. You snuggle up close to him, placing your head in his lap. He cards his fingers through your hair, scratching you scalp as well and giving you a little massage, he continues to do this even after you fall asleep, and feels truly calm and warm in this little haven that you made together. He reflects on how grateful he is to have you around, and is glad that you’re his, and vice versa.

Giorno:

Giorno sits in the dim light of the fireplace and candles reading the latest fantasy adventure novel to catch his interest. He hears the soft thump thump of your feet against the floor as you approach with two plates, each with some pudding on it and two cups of chamomile tea. You place the dishes on the coffee table and sit beside him on the couch, leaning your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes, and gently resting your hand on his thigh. He grabs one of the teacups and takes a sip, and after placing it back down gingerly grips a spoon and uses it to scoop up some of the pudding and take a quick bite. When he’s finished, he begins to read aloud from where he last was and you listen, not truly paying attention to the words or their meanings, but to the sound and cadence of his voice as he longingly gives life to the story, much like how he gives life to objects. Without so much as opening your eyes, you grip the blanket next to you and drape it over both of your laps.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #vento aureo #bruno buccellati #leone Abbacchio #Guido Mista #Narancia Ghirga #Fugo Pannacotta #Giorno Giovanna #mysticsoulexpert

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ansheofthevalley · 5 years

Note

😍 😱 👶

😍 A song that literally makes me do that face every time it plays

I’ll Never Break Your Heart by the Backstreet Boys

Confession time! I’m a huge BSB fan. And by huge I mean running-after-them-with-a-dislocated-knee-just-to-see-them-for-2-seconds kinda fan. Yep. So, a little background. There’s a little bit of an age gap between me and my sisters. They’re closer in age and I’m the baby sister. So, when I’d go visit them, I would see them watching MTV and thisting over the Backstreet Boys. And because I wanted to be like them, I would spend the day with them, watching MTV and learning their songs. Flash-foward to 2005. THE BSB ARE BACK TOGETHER. And all these memories of me watching their music videos and learning the dance to Everybody come back to me in a second. So I buy the new album and start listening to them again, only that now I’m aware ~I like boys~. So now I’m the one thirsting over them (in a weird PG version). Flash-forward to 2009. They come to Buenos Aires after 8 years. I’m losing my shit. I begged my mom to buy me tickets. We managed to get in the 3rd row! It was my first ~big concert~. And let me tell you, when they sang I’ll Never Break Your Heart... It changed me. That was the moment I became a woman. So yeah, everytime I listen to it, I just go 😍😭💖🙌✨

😱 A song that shocked me the first time I heard it

Gett Off by Prince

I first listened to it on the radio when I was 11. At that time, I’ve been studying English for a year, so I just knew the basics. No idea about hidden messages and innuendos (to be fair with my 11 y/o self, I had no idea about hidden messages and innuendos in Spanish, let alone in English). So one day, I learned the lyrics and downloaded the song, and I would do a whole musical number with it in my living-room. Flash-forward to 14 y/o me. 14 y/o finally learned about the true meaning of Get Off. I WAS SHOCKED.

👶 A song I loved when I was a kid

Dancing Queen by ABBA

My mom loves ABBA. Everytime she’d do chores around the house, she would put the ABBA Gold CD in the Stereo and sing along. I would be drawing stuff on the floor, but before long I’d be dancing, trying (very, very badly) to sing along. Imagine a 4-year-old spanish-speaking clown-girl dancing and (trying to) sing in English. That was me everytime Dancing Queen came up. Now I’m a 24-year-old spanish-speaking clown-adult dancing and singing (in proper) English. Progress!

Send me an emoji and I’ll share a song

#backstreet boys #bsb #prince #ABBA #music #ask games #about me #cinturasincensura

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lostinfic · 5 years

Text

Dissonance and Harmony | 6

Pairing: Roderick Peterson (Nativity 2) x Alison Crosby (The Canterbury Tales).

*You don’t need to have seen either film.*

Summary: Alison wants to boost her pop music career whereas Roderick needs to restore his reputation in the world of classical music. Neither of them is above using “irregular” means to get what they want, so when she joins his choir, they are in a unique position to help each other… if only they could get along.

Rating: M | Word count: 4k

A/N: I'm far from a music expert, researching songs for a mash-up was holding me back from writing so I had to make up one of the songs.

Ao3

♪ ♪ ♪

Alison still can’t believe Roderick not only agreed to add mashed-up songs to their repertoire— on a trial basis only— but has also invited her to his home.

She stands on the sidewalk, staring at his beautiful Georgian building in Kensington and its liveried doorman. Her phone pings with text messages from Marcus, Janet and Abel.

“How’s it going?”

“What’s his place like?”

“I bet he has one of those hairless cats”

“He’s not a Bond villain!” Alison replies.

“He looks like one”

“Ali watch out for shark tanks lol”

She mutes her phone and heads in.

Roderick greets her with a smile she can only describe as uncertain. Perhaps he’s as surprised as her by her presence in his apartment.

Inside his own home, she expected him to wear a different outfit, more casual than his typical turtleneck and jacket, but he’s not. And he still calls her “Miss Crosby”. Everything to indicate this is no different than their regular choir meetings.

Alison hangs her jacket by the door, regretting her leopard print crop top and pink dungarees.

“Where’s your music?” he asks. She holds up a USB thumb drive. “Convenient but poor quality. Would you care for a drink?”

“Sure, whatever you’re having. What’s your poison?”

“Mint tea.”

“Oh. Spiked with rum?”

She follows him into the open-plan kitchen on the left. It has the same sleek minimalism as the theater, white cupboards without knobs, bare countertops. Where’s all your stuff, she wants to ask.

Beyond the black marble island, the living room stretches to high bay windows, a baby grand piano stands in front of them. The sun is setting over Holland Park, and orange rays play across the glossy black lid of the Steinway.

It’s beautiful but empty, something out of a magazine, the bones of a home she wants to flesh out with silly cookie jars and fuzzy blankets.

Roderick prepares two cups of tea.

“Don’t you have a butler or something to do that for you?” she jokes.

“I gave him the night off.”

“Wha’, really?”

“No.”

He hands her a steaming mug. She detects a hint of alcohol in it.

In the living room, opposite the leather couch, where a TV usually stands, shelves line the wall, stacked to the ceiling with vinyls, CDs as well as pictures and awards. Everything symmetrically arranged.

Alison whistles and takes a closer look.

“You must think it’s vain,” Roderick says.

“Nah, I have a wall of my achievements too, mind you it’s not as impressive.”

The first photo to catch her eye is one of Roderick holding two babies. His twin brother’s sons, he explains with warmth in his voice, he has already started introducing them to classical music.

“Very cute,” Alison says.

“Yes, they are.”

“I was talking about you.” She winks to indicate it’s another one of her flirting jokes.

Roderick rolls his eyes. “Shall we begin our research?”

But Alison is more interested in looking at the other pictures. Many of them are of his former choirs. She picks one up: Roderick fifteen years younger, a jacket too large for his slim body, wire-framed glasses, smiling with pride.

“Do you prefer conducting children or adults?”

“It’s different. I like both… But shaping young minds, giving them the gift of music and self-discipline, it’s very rewarding.”

He wipes specks of dust off several frames, lost in souvenirs, smiling to himself. They’re obviously important to him.

Maybe one day we’ll be on that shelf too.

“You know, for what it’s worth,” she says, “you gave me that gift too. The self-discipline. And I appreciate choral music a lot more.”

“As you should. I’ll fetch my laptop for your music.”

So much for trying to make him feel better.

Roderick sets his Macbook Air down on the coffee table. Meanwhile, she pulls a list of songs from her front pocket, suggestions sent by her friends, and reviews it.

As he browses her music collection, she peruses the albums on his shelves.

Alison loves every genre, from K-pop to opera, traditional Celtic ballads to hip hop, and Bollywood movie soundtracks, of course. As far as she’s concerned, there’s no such thing as a guilty pleasure. Roderick’s collection, on the other hand, consists exclusively of classical music, some contemporary composers and a little jazz.

“No Led Zep or Beatles? That’s your generation, innit?”

“My generation?” He scoffs. “I’ve been listening to Mozart since I was in the womb.”

She picks a few CDs at random and scans the songs listed on the back. As it happens, one is an album of Mozart’s piano sonatas. On the cover, there’s a painting of the composer as a child.

“How old was Mozart when he wrote his first piece?”

“His first simple one, that was around 5 years old.”

“Wow. And you?”

“Seven.”

Alison’s jaw drops, and she takes her eyes off the CDs to stare at him.

“You’re a proper prodigy. Still, you must’ve had like a teenage rebellious phase where you listened to The Clash or something.”

She tries to picture him as a teenager with acne and spiked hair, but she can’t.

“My father forbade other genres of music,” he explains. “My brother Donald did have a phase like that, and that’s why he’s a primary school teacher and I have an O.B.E.”

“As long as he loves his job, that’s what matters.”

“I’m happy with my work,” he retorts. “For your information, I do listen to other music. Sometimes. It’s necessary in my work. I’m not a neophyte.”

“Like what? Name one popular artist you genuinely love.”

He ponders her question for some time while Alison taps her fingernails on the shelf.

“Queen,” he finally answers.

Alison agrees wholeheartedly with him. However, when she suggests they use one of Queen’s songs for a mash-up, he rejects the idea right away, calling it “sacrilegious”.

“Who is your favourite composer?” Roderick asks in return.

Is it a test? What if she picks the wrong composer? She bites her thumb nail, as she frantically searches her memory for a name. “Vivaldi?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m sure I’ve some Vivaldi on that USB drive. Look, I don’t know, okay? I really do love classical music, and I’m trying to learn more about it, but the titles are all the same: symphony No.8, No.3, No. 4., Opus 8. And all the Russian names and Italian ones sound the same.”

She expects a sneer or a lesson, but he says, “I envy you in a way. You have such wonderful music yet to discover. I wish I could listen to my favourite composers for the first time again. Erase my memory and relive that instinctive reaction to the melody.”

“So, who’s your fave?”

The look on his face isn’t unlike a kid’s who would have to choose between a kitten and a puppy. He scans the shelves and picks a record. The sleeve is worn out, the corners peeled to the brown cardboard. He lays the disc on the turntable and delicately places the needle over it. “Close your eyes.”

Alison sits down next to him, legs crossed, and closes her eyes.

The piece starts slowly with light, ethereal flutes. As more instruments join in, the tempo increases. Bouncy woodwinds, then a staccato of strings, counterbalanced by somber brass. Percussion thunders in. The melody surges into a crescendo that makes her heart beat faster, and ebbs to a wistful air, like a stream in a forgotten forest. A lump rises in her throat. When the song ends, she keeps her eyes close for a few seconds, savouring the chill the finale gave her.

“That was gorgeous.”

“Has a pop song ever done that to you?” he asks insolently.

“Many times, as a matter of fact.”

She scrolls through her music library to the letter L.

“Leonard Cohen, that’s cheating,” Roderick declares.

“Fair enough. So, do you think using his ‘Hallelujah’ would be sacrilegious too?” He hesitates, but Alison insists. “If you don’t want us to use commercial songs from pop stars because you don’t think they’re good enough, and none from artists you respect, I don’t know how we’re going to do this.” She crosses her arms on her chest. “Was that your plan all along? Agree, but then make it impossible?”

“No… but that song is in quadruple meter, it’s uncommon. Then again I suppose there are plenty of Hallelujah songs in choral music, maybe we can find one that will fit.”

“That’d be brilliant!”

He writes the title down on a notepad, and they start searching for other songs.

In order to create mash-ups, the songs must have the same meter and chords so the musical elements can be seamlessly laid on top of one another. But the songs must also carry similar emotions and themes.

They set to work, queuing songs on the computer and pulling albums off his shelves.

With each piece, Roderick shares some trivia about the composers. “Did you know Schoenberg had a phobia of the number 13? And he died on April 13th.” Or “Mozart wrote the overture to Don Giovanni on the morning of the premiere, whilst he had a massive hangover.” “Tchaikovsky, now he was a piece of work, he would hold his chin while conducting because he was afraid his head would fall off.”

Alison cracks up with each fun fact and asks for more. His limitless knowledge amazes her. Although she’s learning, Roderick is not in teacher mode; his eyes sparkle, and his whole demeanour bursts with energy. He discards his jacket and ruffles his hair, and keeps changing track before the previous one is finished because he's too excited to make her hear the next one. “You’ll love Vivaldi’s ‘Gloria’.”

Alison shares her music and trivia too: Joan Jet, Elton John, Nirvana, ABBA. “You’re tapping your foot!” Alison points out gleefully.

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are, you love it.”

“It’s repetitive.”

“It’s catchy. Number one hit. Everyone loves it... Even you.”

She bumps him with her shoulder, and he sighs.

“Why won’t you admit it?” she asks.

“I’ve fought all my life against this type of commercial music.”

She rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying something catchy. Takes a bit of pressure off our shoulders. It’s a happy song, just go with it. It’s like Schumann said.”

“Quoting Schumann now, are we?”

“I am.” She juts out her chin. “More or less. I don’t remember the exact words. But he said that artists must send light into people’s hearts. ABBA does that.”

“You want light in your heart? Surely nothing can possibly surpass ‘Ode to Joy’.”

Beethoven’s ninth symphony starts slowly, and Alison pretends to snore just to taunt Roderick. But the music escalates, and when the voices join in with a jubilant “O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!” Alison springs to her feet and pretends to conduct the recorded choir. She waves her hands as she pleases in exuberant movements.

“No more tea for you. You don’t know what you’re doing,” Roderick says, but he’s laughing.

“I do know! I’m making a fool of myself.” She grins.

Roderick steps up behind her and places his hands on her upper arms.

“Let me show you.”

Despite the space he carefully left between them, his breath brushes her ear, and her breath catches in her throat.

He guides her arms to conduct properly, up and down, along the tempo. It’s a dance of sorts. Two bodies moving to the same rhythm.

“Hold it… now drop.”

A beat of silence and the symphony slows to one instrument, and Roderick moves her arms in long, smooth strokes. Slowly, the tempo increases again into a steady pounding of brass and chords. Her hands thrust through the air as the fortissimo builds up, faster and faster, toward the finale. Roderick’s grip tightens. Her breath quickens. Her heart beats louder than the fourth movement. The symphony reaches its climax. Notes and voices erupt in an intense finish.

The symphony ends and Roderick’s hands stay on her arms. She leans back against him. For a moment, everything is still. The vinyl crackles. His chest swells with sharp breath.

Another song begins and startles them.

“I can do your job now,” Alison jokes to dispel the tension. “More tea?”

She scurries to the kitchen with heated cheeks.

What was she thinking? He’s the conductor of her choir. And the only professional contact she has who might actually help her career.

By the time boiling water is poured in the cups, she’s convinced herself nothing happened.

“You would have liked Beethoven, I think,” Roderick says when she hands him the mug.

“The man himself, you mean?”

“Yes. Even when he started losing his hearing, he made a point of going out with his friends every day. He was a bon vivant.”

She wonders what that has to do with her. Is he saying she’s like Beethoven? Is that a compliment? A very roundabout compliment.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

“I know I’m not the most… genial person, but I hope you know I do think well of you, Alison.”

“I think well of you too.”

They smile at each other.

The thing is, even if he’s not the most expansive person when it comes to compliments and encouragements, and despite how much she craves validation, at least one always knows where they stand with him. He’s honest. For someone, like Alison, who has been fooled by flattery in the past, there’s some comfort in that.

They get back to work. The list of songs grows, but they have yet to be paired in a satisfactory mash-up. Roderick outright rejects many songs he deems too commercial (”mass-produced music is the very antithesis of art, it has no soul”), but overall he proves more open-minded than she expected.

They make each other listen to various pieces. Each song invites the other to step into their inner world. It’s not just trivia they’re telling now, but meaningful anecdotes associated with Haydn, Cher, Stravinsky and Tupac.

Time flies, but Roderick never forgets their task. It helps that he enjoys the musical gymnastics of fitting the songs together. Alison looks over his shoulder as he scribbles notes on blank music sheets. After one listen of the songs, he can already identify chords that overlap. His fluency is astounding.

“Can you find me Alessandrini?” he asks, still writing with one hand, the other pointing vaguely towards the shelves.

His collection is sorted in alphabetical order, she spots the album on the highest shelf, but she's shorter than him and has to stretch as high as she can to reach it. Unsteady on her tiptoes, she retrieves the album but also knocks a picture frame off the shelf. She catches it just in time: it’s a selfie of Roderick with Angel Matthews, on holiday judging by the palm trees in the background. Angel is his ex-girlfriend, or so the Internet told her, but if he still has a picture of her in his living room…

She's not even that pretty.

Roderick takes the photo out of her hands.

“I thought you’d broken up”, she says.

“We have.” He replaces the frame on the shelf, face down. “How do you know that?”

“I googled you.”

“Uh. What else did Google have to say?”

He knows. He’s definitely the kind of person who would search for his own name.

“The usual: career, discography… and that you stole a song from another school during a competition last year.”

His features harden. “I see.”

“Did you?”

“Tell me, Miss Crosby, do you think I could do something like that?”

“No. I— I don’t know. Maybe? But I can’t understand why you would.”

He’s a competitive person, and his desire to use Marcus’s handicap and Alison’s beauty to gain an advantage says a lot about that, and yet blatantly stealing another school’s original song right before the competition seems a step too far.

Without answering, Roderick picks up their empty mugs and disappears into the kitchen. Alison waits, wringing her hands. They were having such fun and she's ruined it. He's not going to think well of her now.

Roderick comes back with refilled cups. Alison chokes on the first sip, it’s more rum than tea this time.

He walks across the room to the windows, and back. Finally, he says, “At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing for my students. I was invited to this competition to give it some credibility. I was under the impression our victory was guaranteed. But when I saw the judges and the audience, I knew they would be swayed by emotional appeals and catchy tunes, rather than our musical excellence. My kids were perfect but what if the judges didn’t see that? And there was my brother and my father there.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I made a bad decision. It was blown out of proportion by my detractors.”

“Is that why Angel broke up with you?”

“No. If anything, she encouraged me. But when it turned into a scandal, well…” He shrugs and goes to sit on the leather couch. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Alison isn’t convinced by his explanation. After some hesitation and a few more sips of rum for courage, she sits down next to him.

His straight back progressively hunches over as he circles the rim of his mug with his finger.

“It happened at a peculiar time in my life,” he says without looking at her. “The problem with being a prodigy is that one’s career begins early and therefore… ends early.”

“Are you thinking of retiring? You’re not even 40 yet.”

“I don’t want to. I’m not ready to let music go, but what if she’s ready to let go of me?”

“Oh, Roderick. You always look so confident, I had no idea.” She tentatively strokes his arm.

“Don’t take pity on me.”

“I don’t. I sympathize. I know exactly how that feels.”

He scoffs. “You’re too young.”

“Okay, maybe not exactly, but when I had my birthday last August, I felt like I was getting too old for this, so I told myself I had to make significant progress in my career this year or I would quit. The choir is my last chance.”

“Mine too,” he says.

What a pair they make.

“No, it’s not. It can’t be. You’re a bloody genius. And, you know what, I’m not that old. We’re so daft.”

Roderick chuckles and pats her hand. A fond, but almost paternal gesture, except his hand lingers on top of hers, his thumb rubs along her knuckles. Their eyes meet, he’s not hiding behind his severe glasses anymore, he’s letting her see him, and her heart melts. She gives his hand a little squeeze.

Roderick’s ears perk up, and he looks to the computer. “What is this?”

“Uh? Oh, that’s Florence and the Machine, I think. Yeah, ‘Shake It Out’.”

“This has great potential for choral arrangement.”

Roderick puts his glasses back on and hurries to the piano. He finds the partition online, gives it a cursory glance, and, after another listen, plays the first verse on the piano. Just like that.

“You know the lyrics? Go on.”

Alison sings the intro A Capella, “Regrets collect like old friends Here to relive your darkest moments I can see no way, I can see no way And all of the ghouls come out to play”

He holds her gaze as they adjust to each other’s rhythm. He tweaks the song here and there as she keeps singing. He’s got an idea, she can tell, he slows down after the chorus and he’s looking at her, expecting a reaction, an understanding.

“Wait, play that last part again,” Alison says.

Pride curves his lips into a smile.

“It’s like…”

“Yes.”

“Opus 16!”

He replays the passage and segues into the second movement of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s “Opus 16”, a song the choir already knows.

“We have our mash-up!” Alison says, clapping her hands.

“I think we might.”

They analyse the two songs side by side, trying out different points of transition and choral arrangements.

“Does it work thematically too?” Alison asks.

“Yes, it’s about rising from dark times. Williams wrote it after a hard time in his life, when he thought he’d lost his muse. See this line here: ante lucem tenebris it means dark before light.”

“I had no idea.”

‘Opus 16’ has never been one of her favourite chorals, she liked that it was a bit more upbeat, but now that she understands its meaning, she’s excited to sing it.

She can see it so clearly in her mind’s eye: the concert begins in a very traditional way, they’re in formation, wearing those black robes, singing the classics. And then “Shake It Out” begins, she steps to the front of the stage and discards her robe. Her colleagues follow suit and maybe dance a little. The lighting changes too, curtains part behind them to reveal colourful stage props. The second part of the concert consists of upbeat songs and more mash-ups. People in the audience stand up and clap their hands.

Roderick arches a dubious eyebrow at her suggestion.

“It’d be brilliant,” Alison insists.

“I’ll think about it.”

She stands by the piano and they go through the first half of “Shake It Out”. After the chorus, he slows the tempo, they stay in sync, eyes trained on each other, nodding along the notes. The transition into “Opus 16” is a little rough, but it works.

When she hits the high note in the third verse, her voice falters. Roderick abruptly stops playing, and the disappointment in his eyes cuts her deeper than any of his harsh words ever has before.

“I can do it,” she quickly says. “I’ll work day and night.”

“Clarissa would be able to do it.”

“No! I will. I can do it.”

“You must do it,” he says. “Again, from the top.”

Alison straightens her shoulders and gets ready to sing, but after three cups of tea, she needs the toilet.

From the bathroom, she hears the music Roderick is listening to on the computer. He selects more songs by Florence + The Machine.

She smiles smugly to herself. She did it. She changed his mind.

He skips to another song: “I know that it’s over They say that time’s a healer I’m ready to rise again”

“Oh no no.” She stands up from the toilet, but she’s not done pissing. “Fuck.” She hurries as much as she can.

When she returns to the living room, the song is still playing and Roderick’s face is a haughty grimace.

“Is that you?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s an original song I recorded a while back. In Canterbury.”

“It’s horrendous.”

Alison flinches. His words sting.

“Yeah, it’s silly. Can you stop it?”

“My pleasure. Let’s try the mash-up again, shall we?”

“Actually, it’s getting late, I should go."

“Already?"

I’ve to go if I want to catch the last bus.”

“The bus? At this hour? You must take a taxi. It’s safer.”

“It’s kind of a long ride, I can’t really afford it.”

“Let me call you one, I will put it on my tab.”

Before she can protest, he’s on the phone. She’s too tired to put up a fight.

“He will be here in ten minutes.”

Roderick holds up her coat so she might slip it on.

“I’ll wait downstairs,” she says.

“You’re welcome to wait here.”

“Nah.”

“Okay. In that case, thank you for your help.”

After shifting awkwardly on his feet, he holds up a hand for her to shake.

“Sure. See ya later, Mr. Peterson.”

#Teninch fic #Roderick x Alison #so sorry for the long wait!#Lostinfic writes stuff #d and h #if all goes well #the next chapter will be the denouement

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