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orwocolor · 5 years

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Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Two

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Nothing.

Summary: Party time! Gwilym hosts a housewarming party and you’re one of the guests.

Author’s Note: Feedback is always appreciated :) Check my masterlist to find the preceding parts. As always, this fic is dedicated to @justgwilym.

“So, I thought that we should surprise Charlotte and throw her a birthday party,” Jane announces as soon as you pick up your phone.

“Yeah, that sounds great! Is it gonna be just an ordinary birthday party or something themed?” You hitch your bag up your shoulder and take three grocery bags into a hand while pressing the phone to your ear so that you can hear Jane. The traffic around you is crazy today. Honking of horns and a swear word here and there from nervous drivers create a cacophony of sounds in which those you wish to hear die down.

“I beg your pardon, my dear, but no celebration I hold is ordinary,” Jane scoffs and you roll your eyes.

“Ok, but is it going to be themed or not? If you want to force me into a disco-themed outfit like the last time, I wanna know beforehand, so I can pretend illness.”

“Hush, you loved it.”

You chuckle into your phone while you wait for the green light.

“But no, I plan on–” Jane’s words on the other end are drowned by the roar of a passing motorcycle.

“Sorry, what?” you shout. Your bag keeps sliding down your shoulder and you huff as you fail to hoist it up, with one hand grasping your phone and the other full as well, as the handles of the plastic bags dig into your skin.

“I said,” Jane raises her voice to the maximum and you jerk your head away from the phone. You pity everyone who’s standing right next to her when the volume is enough for your ear to start ringing, “I plan on throwing a themed party, however, there are no costumes required.”

“Oh, thank God!” You push your way through a group of teenagers and reach your home. “Hang on, I just…” You’re trying to figure out how to unlock and open the main door with all the stuff that you’re carrying and the phone in your hands. Jane continues in her monologue as if you didn’t say anything, but you pay her little attention. You squeeze the mobile in between your ear and shoulder, twisting your neck in a most uncomfortable angle. While the grocery bags form deep dark red lines on your right hand, you unzip the bag on your shoulder with the left, but as you dig down to fish your keys, the bag skids down the smooth material of your jacket and you barely catch it before it drops down.

You see a movement on the other side of the door through a long glass windowpane, but your own reflection blocks out the view. Suddenly, the door opens as if on its own accord.

“Hello,” Gwil greets you with a wide smile on his face and holds the door for you to come in.

“Thanks,” you mouth as Jane continues to list all perks of the last birthday party you organised for Charlotte.

“And what was so bad about your outfit? It was perfect!” she argues, quite poorly, in your opinion.

“Let’s just say that the days of me wearing spandex bell-bottoms are long gone.”

Gwilym snorts and gives you an amused look, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“What? Why?”

“Look, I gotta go, I’ll call you later and we’ll plan everything, okay?”

Placing the bags on the floor, you say your goodbye and hang up the phone.

“Hi,” you greet Gwil properly, tossing your phone into your bag and finally digging out the keys.

“I’ll help you,” he says as you move to lift the plastic bags, but Gwil beats you to it and grasps the handles easily in his large hand.

“Thanks! And thanks for the door, too, you’re a lifesaver.” Your eyes skim over your mailbox, but there are no mails poking out of it. Good.

“You’re welcome,” he says as you begin to climb the stairs, side by side, and his lips curve in a smile matching your own. “I would just like to clarify that I was just collecting my mail when I saw you struggling out there,” he shows you the envelopes in his grasp, “I wasn’t lurking in the shadows, waiting for your arrival or anything.”

“Well, but now it sounds like you did exactly that,” you dead-pan and enjoy the way his eyebrows raise in shock.

“I really didn’t, I swear,” he protests with vigour and you can’t resist a grin.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” you laugh as you reach the second floor. “I’m only teasing you,” you smirk, and he breathes a sigh of relief, a light shade of pink gracing his cheeks.

“So,” you start, “is tomorrow still on?”

“Yes, absolutely! There’ll be a few of my friends and colleagues, but nothing too big.”

“Should I bring something? A housewarming gift? What do you even like?” Damn it, you probably should, right? It would be rude to attend a party and give nothing to the host.

“Just bring your lovely self and I’ll be happy,” he flashes you a smile.

“Pff, please! That’s so cheesy! But okay, if you don’t wanna tell, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Reaching your floor, he hands you the bags and pulls out his keys.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“At seven?”

“At seven,” he confirms.

“Bye,” you smile and turn the key in the door.

“Just one question,” Gwilym says in a suddenly very serious tone, which makes you expect the worst, “spandex bell-bottoms?”

You laugh out loud. “Don’t ask!”

It’s a quarter to eight when you finally get out of your apartment and ring the doorbell at Gwil’s. You didn’t want to arrive among the first guests; you wanted to be fashionably late. Okay, okay, forty-five minutes is hardly fashionable, but who could blame you? You did not dare to come when there were only a few of his friends. The only person, except for Gwil, that you know is Ben and you had to make sure that he would be there by the time you appeared. But you didn’t wish to watch the party guests heading to the flat 3C through a peephole like some kind of a pervert. So, while you were waiting, you busied yourself around your apartment, tidied up the kitchen, organised the one shelf in the hall which had been driving you up the wall every time you saw the mess inside, and watered your plants.

“You’re late,” are the first words that leave Gwil’s mouth the moment he opens the door and music reaches your ears.

You squint your eyes and nod your head. “I know, I’m sorry. There’s been a traffic jam.”

“A traffic jam. Between your flat and mine.” A small smile is playing on his lips and you catch yourself staring at his mouth. Blinking, you snap out of your daydreaming and focus on the conversation at hand.

“Uh-huh. It was awful! You should have seen it.”

“Right,” he chuckles and makes a motion for you to come in.

“Y/N!”

“Ben! Good to see you!” The blonde man wraps you in a bear hug and sways with you from side to side. It’s a bit unexpected, but once he lets go of you, you notice the bottle of beer and you guess it’s probably not his first this evening.

(What you miss, however, is the silent conversation Ben and Gwil have over your shoulder. Gwil’s eyes widen as Ben throws himself at you, and he gives him a confused, what-are-you-doing look. But all Ben does in response is raise his eyebrows in a manner that could only be translated as and-what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it.)

“I think we haven’t been introduced yet,” an unknown voice says, and you turn after the sound. You’re met with a sweet smile, kind eyes, a pointy nose, and a tuft of auburn hair. “I’m Joe, pleasure to meet you.” He squeezes your offered hand and his thumb gently strokes your inner wrist.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Gwil’s neighbour.”

“Now, you seem like a really nice girl,” he begins and you’re listening intently, curious where this is going, “I’ve known you for only a few seconds but I can tell that you’re a good person and I don’t want you to come to harm. So, please, please, do not eat the salmon canapés. Instead, try the bruschetta, which is, in my humble opinion, far more superior. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, nodding solemnly.

“Nah, someone’s just a sore loser and can’t accept that people prefer my delicious canapés,” Ben explains, “because the bruschetta he talks about? It’s inedible and guess who made it.”

“How dare you, inedible?” Joe puts his hand on his chest in faking a heart attack, “you’re gonna pay for that, Hardy!”

“I forgot to order some food that the guests could nibble on, so I asked these two idiots to bring something. Should have known that this was going to change into a pissing contest,” Gwilym whispers into your ear, leaning down to you while Ben and Joe keep bickering.

“Well, I’m having fun,” you admit, and he gives you an appreciative smile. “By the way, here’s something for you.”

You pull two gift bags from behind your back and pass them to him.

“I told you not to,” he says but quickly opens them to see what’s inside.

“I wasn’t sure whether you preferred red or white, so I’ve brought both,” you tell him, all of a sudden unsure and nervous.

“I love red, but I’ve never turned down any wine. Thank you. And what’s in this?”

He takes out a neatly wrapped parcel with a dark green ribbon tied around. Delicately unsticking the tapes that hold the cardboard-brown paper together, he unwraps it without tearing it and inspects the front cover of a book. You bite your lower lip and hold your breath, waiting for his reaction.

“The Invoice by Jonas Karlsson. Wait, isn’t he the one who wrote The Room?”

“Yes! You know him?” Your heart is pounding and you can’t believe your ears. What are the odds that Gwil would know one of your most favourite authors?

“Of course, he’s excellent! Thank you so much, I’ve been meaning to buy it for ages now!” He leafs through it briefly and almost starts bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It would probably be rude to just disappear and go read it, huh? Don’t answer,” he chuckles and turns around to put the book into his bookshelf. “Come, I’ll introduce you to my friends.”

He walks you around his living room, always stopping by small groups of people. Their names are forgotten the moment they utter them as it usually is in gatherings like these when you’re met with a lot of people in a short span of time. One of the few who catches your attention is Gwil’s brother Geraint, who, according to Gwil, wasn’t invited and decided to stop by anyway.

“Can you believe that my little brother did not send me an invite to his housewarming party? Me, who actually helped him to move in? The audacity.” He shakes his head at Gwil and gives him a playful shove. What you can’t believe is someone describing Gwilym as ‘little’, since he’s anything but that. Truth be told, Geraint is probably an inch taller than his brother, but still.

“I thought you were gonna be home with the kids?”

“Shannon’s with them. I wouldn’t have missed this,” he winks.

Eventually, you end up with Ben and Joe while Gwilym tends his other guests. With a glass of wine in your hand, you look around his flat. It’s identical to yours in terms of the room arrangement, the only exception the wall that separates the living room space from the kitchen. It’s not exactly what you imagined, though. You don’t know why, but you expected a lot of grayscale tones and minimalism. Probably because Gwil looks like he’s a model who just stopped posing for a photoshoot, even whilst wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans. No, his living room is decorated in brown, gold and green hues with a lot of knick-knacks on every flat surface. Postcards that his friends have sent from all over the world, playbills from plays he’s been in, small clay figures and drawings that his nephews and nieces have made for him, and all sorts of keepsakes.

Even though he’s been living in this flat for only a fortnight, it is apparent that he’s taken great care to make the place his home. Yes, there are still some unopened boxes hidden from prying eyes of his guests, but the flat is already homely. (Look, it was an accident that you caught a glimpse of them when you were passing his bedroom and he had forgotten to close the door.)

“So, you’re leaving in two days?”

“Yeah, need to head back home,” Joe replies, “but first, these two are going to do a pub crawl with me!” He slings his arm around Ben’s shoulder and kisses him on a cheek, “wanna join us?” His words are slightly slurred and he shifts his weight so that he basically leans against Ben.

“Sorry, I can’t. I’ve got a movie night with my friends.”

“Really? What are you guys going to watch?” Ben asks as he pushes Joe to a nearby chair.

“Don’t know yet. We’re coming over to Charlotte’s place so she’s the one who has the right to pick something.”

“Okay guys, screw you, I’m gonna watch something with Charlotte,” Joe howls from the chair.

“Nobody’s invited you, mate,” Ben chuckles and notices Gwil watching you three intently from the other side of the room. Now or never. “Erm, Y/N?” he asks and leans closer to you, “can I ask you something?” he whispers and you involuntarily shorten the distance between you, so that you can hear him.

“Yeah, sure, what is it?” you frown, finding the shift in the mood weird.

He puts his warm palm on your bare arm and starts stroking it slowly.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Y/N! I think you haven’t tasted the cake, yet!” You and Ben jump away from each other as Gwilym suddenly materialises right next to you.

“There’s a cake?”

“Yes, there is, come on,” he insists and leads you far away from Ben.

“What are you doing?” Joe asks, confused.

“Trust me,” Ben answers, mischief sparkling in his eyes and a delighted smile on his face.

“Wow, Gwil, it looks amazing!” you say when you enter the kitchen and spot the cake on the counter, ready to be cut. It’s a naked chocolate cake with mascarpone, blueberries and raspberries. Gwilym has also put several edible flowers to create a delicate look.

“Thanks,” he blushes and rubs the back of his neck.

“And you made it?” He says yes and you’re astonished. “You need to give me the recipe. It’s incredible! My friend’s gonna have a birthday soon and I would love to make something like that for her.”

“Sure,” he smiles and after a few minutes of contemplation he adds, “or I could help you make it if you want.”

“Yes! You’re the best. Thank you.”

He pulls out a sharp knife out of the knife holder. “Would you do the honours?”

“See, it’s clear you don’t know me that much otherwise you wouldn’t trust me with sharp objects,” you laugh, taking the knife from his hand.

“I’ll take my chances,” he chuckles and lays out a bunch of dessert plates.

Working side by side, you cut the cake and place each piece on one of the plates. Every time a blueberry falls of and rolls on the counter, you play a game of catching it and promptly eating it. The first time your fingers brush Gwil’s, you’re quick to draw your hand away and let him win that round. There are no electric shocks or sparks, but the mere touch of his skin makes your breath hitch and your hands slightly tremble. But then it happens again, and again, and soon you’re grinning and nudging each other’s shoulders.

“Here, have a bite.” Gwil pushes a fork of cake towards your face and you willingly open your mouth.

The soft texture of the sponge perfectly combines with the mascarpone and the fruit provides a tang of sourness, complementing the sweetness of the chocolate cake. You catch yourself moaning involuntarily around the fork, which makes you absolutely thunderstruck, your eyes snapped wide and a shock written in your face.

“You have a bit of mascarpone…” Gwilym says and brings his thumb to a corner of your lips. However, he stops immediately, only a few millimetres away from your skin.

The door swings open out of nowhere and the bubble you have created around yourselves pops.

“Hey guys, how are you?” Joe’s smiling face pokes out of the living room, his cheeks flushed.

Gwilym clears his throat and withdraws his hand, passing you a stack of napkins. “We’re good, just about to serve the cake.” Gwilym points to the plates in front of him and Joe immediately pushes a chair to the counter, takes one plate and starts shovelling down the piece of cake.

Wiping your mouth clean, you look at the clock. “Actually, I have to go. I work weekends and I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

“What? I thought…” Gwilym begins to say when Ben bursts into the kitchen.

“Joe, what the hell? What were you thinking?”

“Look, Ben, I’m going home. Hopefully, we’ll see each other again soon, okay?” You give him a hug. “And Joe, don’t get too drunk tomorrow. Travelling by plane when hungover is no walk in the park.” You turn to Gwilym and clasp your hands, tugging at your fingers in a jittery manner. “I guess we’ll run into each other soon again. See you, guys!”

And with that, you leave the kitchen and head towards the door, waving at Geraint, who reciprocates the gesture with a smile.

“Y/N, wait!” Gwil rushes after you and catches up with you right at the moment you open the door. “I just wanted to thank you, for everything. It was really nice to have you here.” He takes you by surprise when he gives you a quick hug and presses a light kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah, I had the time of my life, really,” you smile when he lets go of you, hoping that the butterflies you feel in your stomach are invisible to everyone else, “love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks,” he says sheepishly. “I would love to be a gentleman and walk you home, but…” he points to the few feet between your flats.

“Yeah, I think I’ll manage,” you chuckle and move to your door, “goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Shutting the door behind you, your fingers touch your cheek as the ghost of the kiss makes your skin tingle with excitement.

#gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee fic #gwilym lee fluff #multichapter #fluff #vee writes #*mine

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heatherofthenight · 5 years

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Reaction to Ghost

I think my brain exploded.

Although I usually focus on D&A this episode calls for a reverse approach. It’s (almost) all about Smurf, baby. I avoided all post episode internet doings so this is 100% from my twisted brain. You know, the one that exploded last night.

Smurf’s Wild & Crazy Journey

If I’m pulling a big job (okay, for me pulling a big job does not consist of committing a crime but having to speak in front of people) I don’t party hearty the night before ala Smurf. That was my first clue something was up. I also couldn’t figure out why she left the oxycodone spilled across her vanity—that was the first time I gave a verbal WTF so the SO walking by the room thought I was 1) talking to someone I had smuggled into the house or 2) hallucinating—but wow, talk about long range planning. And she totally nailed it (Julia, dear, I’m not sure using Smurf’s bath is smart, especially since she might be returning to the house).

What Does One Wear to a Funeral?

I know anything goes these days but I thought wearing all white was an interesting fashion choice—the better on which to see the blood?

Baked Goods

The coffee cake disposal! That made me laugh. That’s a level of hatred I’m not sure I’ve ever attained. No one was going to bake anything for her boys in her house. Angela’s look of disbelief on seeing where the coffee cake ended up was wonderful.

Driving Ms. Smurf

Smurf’s conversation with J in the truck on the way to chaosville was entertaining and scary as she doled out orders. Get Craig a book on parenting. What kind of name is Nick? She clearly isn’t a fan of Renn’s although when you can’t even remember the name of your grandchild it seems like you don’t have room to criticize. And, the pièce de ré·sis·tance (I just pronounced that with my horrible French accent): After telling J that Adrian’s been talking to the police, a lot, which wasn’t even in regards to The Codys but Smurf never met a truth she couldn’t twist to her liking—I don’t think Deran’s strong enough to handle this, do you, baby? Again, she’s taking down another obstacle between her and her boys even though she’s not even planning on being around to see the fruits of her labor. And here I feel accomplished if I remember to make lunch for the next day.

Jed You Are a Truly Twisted Man & Laney You’re a Hero

Baby Smurf was definitely smart to sleep with a gun in Jed’s house. I’m not going to lie, watching Jed chase down the super preggers Smurf was difficult. Laney knew she was going to get a beatdown for intervening but she did it anyway. And she’s a midwife on the side. Viva la Laney!

Walk Down Memory Lane

I loved Pope’s reaction to Smurf asking Jed to show her some goods—his WTF are you doing look was pitch perfect. It was especially heart breaking because Pope seemed to know nothing about his dad and here was his uncle (skanky, gross and horrible but still someone who knew him) sharing some history and Smurf was going to make sure Pope wouldn’t get more. Of course, at this point I thought her plan might be to take out all of her boys but Pope sure as hell didn’t know she was going to try to punch his number specifically.

The Queen is Dead, Long Live J

With the way the boys were standing post shoot-out, I thought J was the one in a position to take Smurf out and he didn’t disappoint. He was a stone-cold killer although I’m sure he would argue that he did it to save his uncle. He was the only one who could comprehend that Smurf had planned this as her farewell bash and since Pope wouldn’t fall in line J stepped up. I was definitely talking to the TV at this point. You know the writers have done a good job when I was thinking poor Pope when Pope has spread mayhem and violence wherever he goes.

Hello, Indonesia?

So. Deran and Adrian. Deran seems committed to getting them out of Oceanside—Indonesia, Syria and Angola don’t have extradition treaties with the US and they also have hella good surfing?—and when Adrian (who sleeps a lot for someone whose life is falling apart) asks if he’s okay post job, Deran decrees: We’re getting the hell out of here and we’re never coming back.

Magic 8 Ball

Methinks the best-laid plans on fleeing the country so I’ve used my Magic 8 Ball to generate a possible resolution to Adrian’s dilemma. Please keep in mind that I’ve been correct zero times this season (except for Colby but I think everyone called that one) but I’m still going to share my zany idea: Deran has the number for the doctor who will doctor the death certificate for Smurf so what if he offers that doctor money to do a death certificate when he fake kills Adrian? I’m sure Deran will receive some sort of inkling that J is going to take care of ‘the Adrian problem’ so he’s going to be extra motivated to do something (perhaps Indonesia, Syria or Angola no longer appeal) to save his precious. We see a tribute on the sidewalk in the on the next Animal Kingdom scenes but what if it’s for Adrian, not Smurf? I mean I would leave flowers for the hot surfer guy before I would for witchy Smurf, wouldn’t you? Having Deran fake Adrian’s death would allow Adrian to live (a must since I’m super invested in this fandom) and propel storyline for Deran. Because if Adrian dies? I think Deran will completely lose his shit and there isn’t room enough in the story for three off-the-rails characters (I’m counting J and Pope in this category). What does your Magic 8 Ball say to my theory--reply hazy, try again?

#deran x adrian #Adrian Dolan #deran cody #(shallow) review

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illyriantremors · 7 years

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Beneath the Stars Chapter 10

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Feyre starts spending her spare time with Rhys and his friends growing closer and closer to them by the minute and discovering what real happiness is like. When the gang hangs out for a day by the pool, Morrigan makes a fun suggestion for their upcoming Thanksgiving holiday and Rhys reveals something about his past.

Chapter 10

Mor insisted I sleep with her in her room. Not wanting to deny myself the company, I didn’t object.

I scooted out of bed as silently as I could earlier than necessary and crept down the hall in search of a bathroom. Much to my surprise, Rhys was right - Mor was the messy one. She had makeup and hygiene bottles everywhere.

Hoping they wouldn’t mind, I stole a quick shower to get the last of my misery off my back and exchanged the pajamas Mor leant me for my clothes. I had just opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hall when I heard a soft pitter patter.

A man, tall with dark hair and a lean frame like Rhys, was walking down the stairs away from me in a crisp business suit. My heart pounded nervously in my chest and I scuttled in the opposite direction back to Mor’s room.

She was awake - barely so, but awake nonetheless.

“Feyre?”

“I’m taking off,” I whispered standing next to her at the bed to pull on my shoes. She blinked up at me, her pert little nose scrunching together with her brow in hazy confusion.

“But - but breakfast,” she mumbled. Of course her focus would be on the food.

“I know, but I’ve intruded on you long enough and I have to swing by home before school so I can get my backpack and preferably some clothes that don’t have snot and tear stains on them.”

She shooed me away and rolled over into her pillow. It was kind of comical compared to the girl of dizzying energy I normally saw. I had to bite back a chuckle lest she wake up properly and scold me.

I was nearly to the door of the house when a deep voice startled me, “Well hello there.” I jumped around and found the same man I’d seen on the stairs peering at me through a wall hanging mirror while he fixed his hair. He stood in the corner opposite me. I must have missed him when I’d passed.

“Oh - hello… sir,” I added, just in case.

He looked me over and finished his grooming with a tightening of his tie. “Rhysand!”

Rhys traipsed in almost as soon as the man, who I could only assume was his father, had called. Standing together, the resemblance was uncanny. But what distracted me more was the fact that Rhys was wearing only a towel and nothing else that I could see. My gaze fell instantly on his chest where little beads of water ran down from the hair clinging to the skin of his neck. It was momentarily… distracting, to say the least.

Rhys’s dad took in the sight of his son and then looked back at me - at my hair which was also wet from my own shower. Heat flooded me.

“I slept with Mor,” I blurted out and watched Rhys’s lips go wide with wicked amusement. “I mean - not with her with her, just like a sleepover thing, you know.” And then my head was bobbing up and down as if this somehow proved I wasn’t lying.

“Hmm, methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Rhys said. I bit my lip wishing very much I could slap him up the head just then. From the way he was staring at me, I could tell he knew it too.

“Rhysand,” his father said all business. “You know the rules.”

Rhys’s back straightened and he dropped the grin. “Yes, sir. This is Feyre. She’s a friend of mine and Mor’s and she only came for the cookie dough.”

“Cookie dough?”

He turned to me. “Yes, sir. That’s right. The midnight cravings are impossible to ignore when they hit.”

Rhys’s father considered a moment and must have decided he liked my answer enough because he picked up his briefcase, muttered something to Rhys I couldn’t hear, and approached me in a friendly way as he headed out the door.

“I hope they were oatmeal,” he asked.

“Chocolate chip, I’m afraid. A real shame.”

“Indeed!” He popped on a hat looking like a 1950s advert for Mad Men and stepped out. “No one ever appreciates oatmeal. I’ll never figure out why.”

“Probably the raisins,” I said, but he was already gone. I whistled dry air between my lips, not really sure why I was so shaken up to meet Rhys’s dad.

“Running off so soon?” For the second time that morning I jumped. Rhys had come to stand just behind me and I tried not to get too distracted by the… state of him.

“I have to go home. I have my things to collect and I’ll need something more suitable for work after school.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Oh - no. My car’s here.” I pointed behind me to where I knew my car was parked outside, but Rhys shrugged.

“Okay, you’ll drive me.”

“Who will drive you home?”

“Morrigan will. Any other questions?”

“You’re not even dressed!”

“Is that a problem? I’m rather enjoying the view.”

I snorted. “Go put some clothes on - anything to cover up the size of your massive ego. I’m afraid it’s showing.”

Rhys quirked his brow at me and disappeared up the stairs. Ten minutes later, we were in my car driving towards my neighborhood. Another few minutes went by and the silence stretched on.

“What is it?”

“What? What is what?”

“What’s bothering you?”

I glanced quickly at him since I was driving. He had his hands in his pockets, which seemed an impossible thing to do sitting in a car with a seat belt on, but somehow he managed it. Rhys regarded me thoughtfully.

“Who says anything is bothering me?”

“You’re driving with one hand and your other keeps clenching into a tight fist on your lap.” I glanced down and immediately my fist uncurled itself. “And you occasionally run your fingers over themselves - like this.” He demonstrated and then picked my hand up to place it gently upon the steering wheel with my other.

“So what is it?”

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?”

“Haven’t I just?”

“No, not that. I mean, about last night. Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“Only if you want me to.”

I nodded, but said nothing until we pulled up in a line of cars at a red light.

A new start. That was what I wanted. I’d wound up on Rhys’s door because I knew he and Mor would listen. So finally, I was going to talk.

“It’s just that,” I said, not really sure how to begin. I took a steadying breath. “I feel like I’m in a hole.”

“What kind of hole?”

“A very deep one.” The light turned green and we took off again only a few streets away from my house now. I didn’t speak until I’d parked the car out front. He didn’t push me on it.

“I have no idea how I got in the hole,” I continued. “All I know is that I’m inside of it and when I look up, I can see the opening. I want to go towards it, but I don’t move. I just sit inside the hole and shake until I don’t feel anything anymore. Every time I look back up the hole, I’m further away from it and I don’t know how I did it. But I am and I don’t know how to fix it - how to get out. So I just keep sitting and shaking and falling. I’m always falling - falling, falling, falling.” I stared at my open palms resting in my lap, empty and waiting for answers. “Last night was the first time I looked up and I couldn’t see the light out anymore.”

I told him everything, especially about the hole inside me. It was the only thing I realized I hadn’t mentioned to Mor. But Rhys - I told him all about the darkness I lived in.

“I must sound crazy,” I said, but I wasn’t crying anymore like I had last night. Today, I sounded a little strong, maybe a little surer.

“You’re definitely not crazy, Feyre,” Rhys said. “Just a little lost, but fortunately for you, I’m excellent with directions.”

“Of course you are.”

His fingers twitched in his lap towards me like he might reach for me and thought better of it. I almost wished he would, but…

“You’re going to feel this way for a long time,” Rhys said. He sounded serious like his father. “Every day probably, but hopefully less and less. You have a choice whether or not you give in to it.”

I dared look at him. There was some kind of pain written on him that I didn’t know, but that pain understood mine.

“And Feyre, I want you to know that,” he stopped and I could see him fighting with himself over the words as he looked away from me, “...I want you to know that I’m here for you as whatever you need me to be. If you just need someone to talk to or someone to shout at when I make too ridiculous a joke at SBC, or even if you need me to step back so you can sort things out with-”

“No.” His gaze jumped to mine and pierced me with hopefulness. I reeled in my emotions and clarified, “I don’t want to stop being friends with you because of him, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“It is,” he admittedly, perhaps a little reluctantly.

“Then no deal. I quite like the arrangement as it stands, thank you very much. You and Mor and Cass and Azriel and even Amren when she’s emo and cranky - you’re all friends.” My voice strained as I laid myself out for him, holes and all. “It’s nice.”

Rhys’s lips slowly stretched into a soft smile, the kind reserved for silence in the middle of the night or the breeze outside a hidden cabin in the woods, that kept secrets and shared memories together. It was a smile that bound two people together in mutual knowledge of shared pain.

“Go get your stuff,” Rhys said. “Or we’re going to be late.”

“Do you know,” I said opening my door. “I don’t think I care.”

I spent the next several weeks almost entirely with Rhys and his friends, who were fast becoming my friends too.

When I wasn’t in class or at work, I was usually off somewhere with them planning this or that in SBC meetings or just hanging out at Rhys’s house for pizza or whatever struck our mood. Figuring out Starfall probably took up most of our time. Once we had all of the details of the actual dance settled, we started in on the events leading up to it.

Mor called it incentivizing, as if high schoolers needed an excuse to slip into sexy dresses and grind against each other all night long while chaperones pretended not to notice from the sidelines.

“It’s tradition!” she insisted one afternoon while we all lounged about in Rhys’s backyard by the pool. That was the nice thing about California: even in early fall it was still warm outside. “The dance is early next month and if we don’t get a move on with promoting it, everyone will forget.”

“I highly doubt they’ll forget,” I said. “Or did you forget the several hundred tickets you sold last Friday at the football game with me?”

Several hundred was a slight exaggeration, but it was true we had nearly sold out on tickets. It was a shame our gym was all we were getting in exchange.

Cassian and Azriel had played that game Friday and won in spectacular fashion with a throw Cass had aimed at Az, his favorite target, nearly sixty yards down the field. Mor had screamed her head off on the sidelines with the cheer team when Rhys didn’t have her pulled aside to help us vend.

“I didn’t forget!” Mor exclaimed, swatting at me with the college applications guide she had rolled up. “I was just distracted that night, that’s all.”

“By what?” Cassian asked.

“By ‘whom’ is more like it.” I thought I said it quietly, but I could feel Mor’s eyes on me under her sunglasses and I straightened up as I faced my canvas. I suspected she’d been cheering on more than just the spectacular catch Az had made that night.

“Whatever,” Cassian said. “I’m going back in. Az?”

Azriel was laid out on the grass on his stomach, his shirt cast aside in favor of warm sunshine on his back. He seemed to find it peaceful and simply grunted against another swim.

“I’m not even going to ask you,” Cassian said to Amren and nodded her thanks before returning to her magazine. Amren did not do wet.

“How’s the painting going?” Rhys asked coming back out from the house. He handed me a glass of iced tea and sank into the chair next to me.

I scoffed and backed away from the canvas. It was a heaping mess of lines and color as I agonizingly attempted to paint myself from memory, a weak attempt at self-portraiture in the abstract.

“Horribly,” I said, then held up the drink. “And you’re a saint. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” We clinked glasses and I nearly drained half the glass in one gulp just for the distraction. Ahead of us, Cassian almost managed to refill it with the splash he made as he cannonballed into the pool. “I just don’t know how I see myself,” I said quietly. “I feel better now, sort of, even if a bit stiff still, but... painting doesn’t feel natural to me anymore.”

“I could model for you,” he offered puffing his bare chest out, his arms going back behind his head to provide a cushion. “I make a good study.”

“In what? Narcissism and ego? I think not.”

A few feet away, Az snorted. I didn’t even realize he’d been listening.

“Well you have to paint something eventually. Surely all self-portraiture isn’t quite so literal as this?” He motioned at my work. That’s what Mrs. Weaver had said, but how was I supposed to paint myself figuratively if not literally?

“Van Gogh didn’t paint what he saw when he looked in a mirror,” Amren piped up. “He painted what he felt.”

“And what are you doing for your project then if you’re so clever?”

Amren grinned, a merciless assault on the expected. “You’ll see.”

“I know!” Morrigan said so excited that she nearly fell out of her chair. “Let’s go on a vacation!”

“We can’t just take a vacation, Morrigan.” Azriel rolled over onto his back, but the amused expression he wore was far from admonishing.

“Sure we can. We haven’t done anything together in ages and Feyre’s never been on a trip with us. It might inspire her art. Oh - let’s go camping! It’ll be so nice and the weather is perfect right now.”

“You can’t be serious?” I asked, but no one protested. Mor kicked her feet like a schoolgirl and threw her admissions guide aside.

“When do we go exactly?” Rhys brushed a piece of dirt or some other odd end off his swim trunks. “You’re the one insisting on Winter Formal incentives every weekend.”

Her face fell and she crashed backwards into her seat defeated. It was true. Now that I was on SBC full time, I hardly ever had a spare day free and my weekend was already half devoted to work at the gallery. Keeping up on homework alone was hard enough.

Mor’s fingertips rubbed together and despite her sunglasses I could see the wheels in her head turning determined to figure this out.

“Maybe it’s better we don’t,” I offered. “Rhys is right.”

Amren erupted into a fit of dark laughter. “Oh Heavens - somebody record it for him. He’ll never hear that again.”

“I’m serious,” I said even as I struggled to make my point believable. “We have so much going on. When are we going to have a free weekend again before Christmas?”

The second I said it, Az sat up on his knees and leaned into Morrigan’s ear to whisper something and all that lovely bubbling enthusiasm came roaring back with a vengeance. “Thanksgiving!”

Rhys groaned, but not without an exasperated laugh. We knew we’d been defeated.

“Don’t you all have plans?”

“Who cares? Thanksgiving is on a Thursday and we have the whole week. We can leave the morning after for the long weekend. Come on,” and she grabbed Az’s hand as she dashed off the lawn. “Let’s go tell Cassian, he’ll love it. You too, Amren!”

“No shot in hell,” Amren said. “I’ll be inside where it’s peaceful and less wet.”

Mor rolled her eyes but continued on her merry way, Az delightedly trailing after her. He was never quiet so expressive or content it seemed as when he was with her.

“Don’t tell me the noble Student Body President has no plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Not a chance. Dad’s out that week for a meeting in Denver.”

“On Thanksgiving? Isn’t that a little ridiculous?”

Clearly I was preaching to the choir. “Oh he’ll be home in time, I’m sure, but neither of us cook much - not like mom anyway, so it’ll likely just be some form of takeout for him while he uses a day without phone calls to catch up on paperwork while I take a lovely little dip in jacuzzi and call it a night. Camping with friends could be a nice alternative.”

I watched as Az scooped up Mor, a little surprised at his willingness to touch her so freely with those hands he normally hid from view, and jumped into the pool in a wave that drowned out her shrieks of laughter. Rhys watched them too. What was it he’d said - that it would be nice to have company on an otherwise lonely holiday?

“Where is your mom?” I asked tentatively, hoping I wasn’t stepping on any toes by asking.

Rhys tore himself away from the pool, his demeanor darkening. “She died a couple of years ago. Her and my sister both,” he amended and I could sense a quiet anger boiling beneath the surface.

Right. His sister. In my rage fueled stupor after the breakup, I’d forgotten that Tamlin had mentioned Rhys’s sister.

“How did it happen?”

“Car accident. Hit by a drunk driver. It wasn’t - it wasn’t pretty.”

I’d never seen him quite so sad as he was now, not quite able to look me in the eye, save for maybe the night I’d met him. There had been fear inside him when he’d demanded I have his phone number, to see that I got home safely when he didn’t know how much I’d had to drink. Now I understood why.

Carefully so as not to startle or overstep, I brushed my fingers over his hand exactly as he’d done in the car when he’d driven me to my house the day I’d moved. He’d offered to take me anywhere I wanted, whatever I’d needed to feel safe and I still hadn’t forgotten it.

“I’m sorry, for your mother and sister,” I said. “I didn’t even know you had a sister.”

“It’s not something I mention often. There are… other factors involved that make it complicated.”

“Of course. I may have a strained relationship with my family, but I can’t imagine how you feel without them. My mom doesn’t talk to me anymore, but even just knowing she’s somewhere across town without me feels unbearable at times.”

His fingers flinched against mine before delicately touching back so gently, the feeling was almost a kiss on the wind I might have imagined. “You should talk to her. Take it from someone who knows how it feels like to run out of time, it’s not worth it to stay mad forever.”

“I’ll - I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” He nodded once, firmly and then the tension was gone, though our hands hadn’t quite stopped connecting. “Will you go camping with us? I know Mor is a bit zealous, but you’re welcome to go.”

“We’ll see. I’m not sure what Nesta and Elain might be up to, but if anything I should make sure dad’s okay. I don’t want him to be alone at the holidays, not when he tends to drink himself into oblivion.”

“Understandable. Just know that you’ll have hell to pay for it. I’ll have to work you overtime.”

“It’s a vacation! That hardly counts as work.”

“I could certainly make it feel like work for you, Feyre darling,” he said leaning closer across our chairs freezing me in place, “if that’s what you’d prefer. As I’ve already told you, I’m very good at giving directions.”

“And how about at taking them?”

His eyes sparked drinking up my challenge. “I think you’ll find I’m a man of many talents.”

“Such as?”

“Well for starters,” and now he grasped my hand fully without reservation, “I’ve mastered the art of surprise.”

In a move so smooth and quick I hardly had time to question him, Rhysand jumped to his feet and tugged hard on my hand, hoisting me up so I was draped over his shoulder. He took off running and I screamed a curse at him, but he only tightened his hold on me more.

And then I was falling down, down, down, and when my body hit the water, it felt like a baptism into a divine sort of happiness where my problems existed, but no longer dominated.

I held my breathe as long as I could and was pleased when I felt the pressure in the water hit me of another body joining the circus beneath the surface. Rhys’s arms wrapped around my waist and brought me to the surface.

“Are you mad!” he asked, but I knew he knew I was fine.

“Well it worked, didn’t it? What a pity it must have been not to see my face coming out of the water spitting and firing at you.” I tutted at him clicking my tongue rapidly.

“Admit it, you just wanted my hands on you one more time when I saved you heroically.”

“Prick!” I shouted and jumped out of his arms, even if they did feel a little nice on my waist. I splashed all the water I could reasonably throw at him along with some choice hand gestures and Rhys threw his head back and roared.

“Ah, there she is. See Feyre, I got to see your angry face anyway. I do believe I win.”

“You two make me sick,” Cassian said.

My face would have gone red had it not been for Mor who promptly doused Cassian in a wave of water of her own and bid me join her. Rhys and Az both took sides against us and we spent the afternoon ruining each other with water until our hair was knotted and our fingertips pruny beyond recognition.

The boys really didn’t stand a chance.

#myfic #beneath the stars #beneath the stars: a feysand fic #bts #feysand #feyre #rhysand #feysand fanfiction #acomaf #acomaf fanfiction

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kutee-boutique-fan-blog · 7 years

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If he gets wet he might dissolve! But seriously, what can you expect from a draft dodger? He’s a coward! Always has been always will be. He’s what’s known as a gobshite! He thought he was on the The Dumbest Thing You Can Do Is Piss Off My Mom Shirt to do an interview with TMZ. “Where are the cameras? Wait, what? HOW close to North Korea??” Like Hepburn says in her conditional education learning to listen is unimportant as is a pianoman playing background music for contemporary partying. I don’t think our troops manning the DMZ were cancelled due to weather.

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Crazy Kim talk alot but trump is now in SK n crazy Kim is so quiet. What happen to him. Should meet trump at DMZ to greet him there. I m sure trump loves to meet him. MacArthur didn’t cancel the landing of Incheon just because of “bad weather”. Real leaders deal with that like real men!!!! By the way, Trump supporting candidates in Virginia and New Jersey got their keisters whipped!!! Especially that disgusting Ms. Holtzon-Vogel. I’m sure Donny is in a major sulk right about now. It’s a 30 minute drive. He could have easily done it if he wasn’t trying to show off!

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Trump uses a double standard for almost everything. If other people bribe politicians it’s wrong, if he bribes politicians it’s good business. If political leaders make mistakes they should be removed from office for them, if he makes mistakes he goes bankrupt, or gets divorced, or gets sued for welshing on bills, and it’s good business practice. Everybody does it, he claims, except that everybody doesn’t, only the ones that make a lot of mistakes. If Obama had done this, Trump would’ve unleashed a Twitter storm of insults towards him

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Trump waffles so often on so many different issues it’s almost impossible to know where he stands on anything, except Donald Trump. He is consistent in claiming that he is a genius, a business whiz, super rich and the best qualified person in the country for the office of president, none of which he can back up with facts or figures. And Americans actually voted for this turkey. According to him and most of the GOP house members there is no such thing as weather to back away from. Oh the blowhard ironies. Can’t risk bad weather, but nuclear posturing, no problem!

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If its a surprise, is it even worth canceling? No one even knows beforehand anyway. Kim might wish firing on him.Trump took it seriously.Cz Only a psycho knows each other. “Cancels surprise visit” is my excuse for not attending parties I’m invited to. Methinks NK Kim was sghted at short distance pointing ballistic missile at Trump. He’s such an embarrassment. And I’m sad, was hoping an “accident “ would happen to him there. And the fact it may be dangerous, bone spur and all , you know how it is folks. Listening to trump speech in South Korea and sounds almost presidential with a small!

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How could it be civil-war era when it was a Japanese aircraft that fired at her towards the end of WW2. I wonder how that peice of shrapnel aged. Did it corrode or anything. Waiting for the “This is the United States fault” somehow post. When our soldiers are in the The Dumbest Thing You Can Do Is Piss Off My Mom Shirt in the bad weather I hope they remember this. Completely agree.If it’s good enough for the soldiers it should be good enjoy for their. what bad weather??? The slightly cloudy, slightly-more-than-seasonably-warm days we’re having here in Seoul now???? How’s the weather in Russia today?

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overwhelmedinsomniac · 7 years

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The End Begins

This is going to be long. In fact, it'll be the longest, most deeply fulfilling thing I'll have experienced in... about four years.

I don't like my husband anymore. He's weak-willed, and that bothers me because it belies his standard of accountability. Nothing's ever his fault except that it's just long enough and true enough for him to victimize or martyr himself. He doesn’t offer real apologies for things in the form of, “I did [thing], and I shouldn’t have. It disrepected and hurt you by [method]. I will avoid that in the future by [method].” It always comes out, “Yeah, I’m such a bad husband. I’m the worst. You hate me, and you should,” and it reeks of victimhood rather than self-awareness and empathy. It completely hampers any genuine efforts to resolve issues. He finally showed me the height of disrespect by displaying with his actions that beer was more important than the exercise of my faith and spirituality. I was less offended when he cheated on me and played the victim card. He wouldn't listen to me about getting the car registered in this state when we moved here, and because of that, I couldn't start working until we'd been here a month already. Truth be told, if it wasn't for the extra day we stayed there instead of leaving (because he was scared of being in a new place and didn't want to leave his mommy, no fucking exaggeration) and the fact that he was the thing that kept me from working when we got here, we wouldn't have needed to raise all the money we did on GoFundMe. I'm glad my friends care about me. It remains a boon against daily loneliness in a way I can’t express outside this venue. More valuable than the money is knowing that the people who donated it care that much. Side note: when we were desperate for money for our survival, guess who did all the leg work, creativity, and problem-solving to even use GFM in the first place... It was up to me to solve a problem he created if I expected not to crash and burn with him. I especially appreciated that.

The sex remains intolerably stale. When we first got together, he knew where the button was and how to push it. In retrospect, methinks now that it had more to do with intimacy and trust than the physical mechanics of... button-pushing. He hadn't yet broken my heart and disrespected my spirituality. Nevermind that even when we do have sex, I walk away largely unsatisfied. It’s gotten to the point where I just orgasm on command like live porn in the interest of moving things along. (Never let it be said that a man can’t fake it. The fact that we orgasmed doesn’t mean we got off or that we weren’t just putting on a show.) I know that sex isn't everything, but I'd sure like it if it was... something!

The thing that really frustrates me is that I've willed myself continually to bring my 'A' game. I've hit fifth and sixth walls in my willpower since I've married him. Every time he gives up, pouts, and whines, I just want to grab him by the throat, shake vigorously, and scream, "You must be at least this manly to ride this ride!" That was and has always been my rule. I wanted the man I spent the rest of my life with to rival me in strength of character, to challenge me to be better than him. This is no challenge. There is no healthy competition between us. When a divergence of ideas arises, he rolls over or runs away. I'm clearly the better man by my own standards, and that bothers me. I remember when I used to feel lucky and grateful to have him. Now, I just wish I could be rid of him. I’m pissed. If I’d not married him, I could have spared myself two years of stupidity and loneliness in fish-town. He has stolen and wasted my time. Fuck. I’m sitting here crying as I write this, and he’s three feet away and has no clue. How fucking tuned out do you have to be?

Well, I never promised not to drive him away in my vows. It’s time to do exactly that since I can’t leave him and be a man of my word. It’s time for me to crank the crazy up about three hundred degrees. Better idea: I’ll just be completely absent. I’m going to go work. I’m going to make a shitload of money and then take it and the car with me... anywhere else. No, fuck that. Why does he get to keep my new place and new adventure? This place is big enough, and he’s inactive enough, that I don’t have to run into him ever.

Huh... I thought this post was going to be longer and deeper. Oh, look! It's a disappointment like he is!

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