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musedblues · 4 years

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From The Shadows

summary: Gwilym is full of secrets. People in town seem to know them all. You've got to decided who, and what to believe.

a/n: Once upon a time, I fell asleep in the middle of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, promptly dreamed this whole thing up, and then told @brianmays-hair I'd write it for her birthday. Better late than never, aye? So here... whatever this is, is! Suspend your disbelief and try to enjoy this actual 1950's fever dream? (I truly cannot believe I've done this)

w/c: 15k

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He didn't want for it to happen... the accident. Of course he didn't. But he did think moving here would be safe. Gwilym soon realized no place was safe. So he settled, and he lived with a thousand regrets, and he stopped dreaming anything would ever change.

///

You couldn't think up one good reason to say no.

Your aunt was an elusive Hollywood costume designer, who rarely showed up for the holidays. But when she passed on, she left her home to you. With your sister long married and moved away, and you parents happily retired, there was nothing stopping you from packing up and heading out.

Sure you liked the place you'd been living in, and your mediocre life there. But there was something about the timing. When had life ever awarded anyone such a bold-faced fresh start without something taxing having been the catalyst? So with the stars seeming to have perfectly aligned, you moved to Bodega Bay.

It was her summer home. A place you'd never been too, but the one your aunt ended up secluding herself to for the last decade or so. If she liked it well enough to die there, it must have been a lovely place. Maybe it was foolish of you to take what you could carry and crash in a place you knew nothing about. But there was some undeniable force pushing you along, a little voice in your head urging you not to squander this divine change of pace. Besides, you could use a little more sunshine.

The ride there was long and silent, as the cab driver seemed keener on training his ear to the ball game on the radio. You kept an eye out the window and watched the ocean appear between neighbourhoods and pockets of green. The water seemed to welcome you, showing more of itself the closer you got to where you were going. But the waves became less fierce and foamy as you turned into the town tucked between the rolling raised land. There was a calm sapphire bay surrounding the place that sparkled in the midday sun, and you realized at first glance what must have drawn people to settle here. It was picture-perfect, like nothing could go wrong. Or if it had, the beauty of it all might've shone bright enough to drown everyone's sorrows.

"This is all the further I can take you." The driver parked near a boardwalk that split into rows of docks. You thanked him, collected your things, and turned to find someone you might be able to ask for a bit of direction.

///

Every day was the same for Gwilym. He woke up, rowed across the bay, and worked until he got to row back home and enjoy the solitude. When he wasn't tending to the garden he bothered keeping, he was working at the shop on the dock; unloading crates from ships, and setting them in trucks that rode to different businesses around town. Then he'd carry the boxes meant for the dock shop into the back room and sort through what he could before it was time to go home, where the quiet was a comfort.

He spoke of business with the shopkeep, and hardly much more with anyone else. That was the way it had to be. As the Englishman gave a nod to the man who gave him work, Gwilym wondered if he'd ever be able to repay the man. He was one of the few people here who treated Gwilym with any kind of benevolence. It was hatred or less, otherwise. And some days his invisibility weighed more sorrowfully on Gwilym's heart than anything.

Tonight, as he shuffled down the rickety dock and stepped onto his boat that stirred with the water, Gwilym was unusually interrupted.

"Hiya." A voice came, sweet and unsure. It was the hesitation in her tone that made him look her way. The wonder in her voice wasn't as malice as he'd come to recognize. But he looked up and saw her and wished he never did. Her features were perfectly aligned and her pale dress fit her form with grace. He looked at her and held his breath for a new reason among the others, and hoped her question was simple; because the longer he looked, the more he wanted to help her, and he knew that wasn't possible.

"I've just arrived and I'm trying to find my way around here." She rested two suitcases down, and shuffled closer to where Gwyilm paused in his leaning to untether his ride from its mooring.

"Do you know this address?" The woman extended a slip of paper with numbers and a street name scrawled in messy cursive. He looked upon it and knew. Of course, he knew the address. There weren't very many paths to weave between in Bodega Bay.

With a quick glance around, Gwilym saw the calm waters surrounding the island beyond the docks. He noticed the stillness of the town too, and wondered what to do.

"Yes, you're looking for a house on the island," Gwilym spoke, reluctantly turning his head toward the middle of these waters. The woman's brows curved up and her glance turned, too.

"There are usually men with boats who offer rides for a dollar or more. It appears none of them are around just yet." Gwilym sighed. He used to worry about letting people down. But over the year, he worried less about what people thought of him and more over if they'd dare to speak out about it. But now, with this stranger, Gwilym felt an urgent pang to extend an offer her way, even though he knew better than to do so.

"I can give you a ride there now, if your going is dire. The others will likely be round in a couple of hours, otherwise." He hesitated in voicing his offer, the only warning he could give without all but scaring her away.

"Oh, could you?" She grinned brightly. "I've only got those two bags and I'd be awfully grateful for a lift."

If this was a cruel trick, Gwilym decided he'd willingly pay the price, for her. She seemed genuine and clueless in his presence. But he recognized she was smart enough, and if she stayed here long, this ride would come to haunt her. That thought nearly made him take it all back and deny her help. Save her trouble in the long run. But she was already shuffling to collect her things with a smile.

///

The idyllic little town with pastel structures settled on the water's edge could only be made more enchanting by the kinds of people who occupied here.

When you breezed toward the man at the end of the wooden walkway, you hadn't known exactly what to expect. But a tall, handsome Englishmen wasn't it. He seemed stoic. Maybe exhausted from a long day. His eyes were a shade of blue you'd never seen the likes of, not even in the crystal waters that lapped along the boardwalk.

He took the two cases you'd brought along and helped you aboard his modest boat with a crisp sail, with one strong hand. If this was the start of your staying here, you wondered what was around the corner. Was it much too soon to hope his face would be some kind of constant?

The island wasn't far. You could see homes and speckles of gardens from the place you'd sailed off from. But the ride was only as fast as the waters and wind allowed. Time enough for a conversation to sprout past the heavy silence.

"So I take it you aren't one who offers rides, often?" You wondered, from the spot you'd settled, soaking up the scenery.

"No. There are a few others, who cater to folks who've lived here for years. There is no one waiting around to ferry newcomers, because there never really are any."

"Then I caught you right on time." You smiled. He seemed to try, but struggled to return the expression.

"You'll want to keep an eye out for Dean," The man said, steering the boat against a breeze. "He's give's plenty of lifts for a decent price."

"But what's your name?" You wondered, in the middle of the bay now, with the most handsome man you'd ever laid your eyes upon.

"I'm Gwilym." He pursed his smile and turned his eyes toward the water and you started to wonder if he'd had more than just a bad day. The rest of the ride was quiet. And even when you made it to land, the man who'd been kind enough to give you a lift kept his mouth shut. He handed you your bags with a cagy grin and pointed you in the right direction as you thanked him one last time. He stayed on his boat, tying ropes to posts as you headed on your way. And though you wanted to look back on your trek down a dirt path peppered with homes, you didn't.

///

It was just like her papers said it would be. Fully furnished, with a nice view. Out of the east, you could see the bay past patches of trees, and it seemed to stretch out until it met the sky.

Sun fluttered through old dusty curtains, and there were even still pill bottles and bandaids in the medicine cabinet. You breezed from the garish pink bathroom, through the steel green master suite to find the halls were empty of picture frames.

In the kitchen, you searched through the ivory white cabinets and found most of the cans of food were outdated, and the water had yet to be turned back on. So with your bags left sitting near the white brick fireplace, you took the key you'd found below the welcome mat, and floated down the path toward the dock nearest your side of the island.

There was someone waiting there, a boy with his feet kicked back in a big canoe. You had that thought again, about how perfect things seemed here, but this time it was paired with the smallest twinge of doubt.

"Hi, uh, would you happen to be someone I could ask a ride from?" You stepped nearer toward the small wooden dock and watched a young man with a bright smile and dark hair sit up from his boat.

"Sure enough." He grinned up to you, as you paused, unsure of the etiquette of this way of things. "I'm Dean." The boy's smile broadened as he lifted a hand to his brow, to shield the sun as he looked your way. "You must be who has moved into that old Davis place."

"Ah yes, she was my aunt." You noted, understanding how small this broken up town must have been, for a stranger to know your business. Dean nodded and gestured you in for a lift.

"Well," said the man you assumed might have been only a few years older than you, pushing an oar against sinking land. "Welcome to Old Money!"

"That's a funny way of pronouncing Bodega Bay." You grinned, settling on the wooden bench across from him.

"This place used to be full of faces as young as ours. But most moved around the bend to Hollywood. So now it's mostly just old rich bastards, and a few of their spoiled rich kids, here." Dean told.

"And which of the two are you?" You rose a brow to the guy as he rowed along.

"The latter, I'm afraid."

You chuckled at his honest nod and turned to admire what you could see of the town as you floated closer toward it. "What a strange place, indeed."

"Is that all you make of Bodega Bay so far?" Dean wondered, not offended in his asking, but truly curious it seemed.

"Well, so far I've only just arrived and found my way to the island. I would have thought the town abandoned if I hadn't gotten lucky to catch a gent just leaving the harbour." You laughed a little as Dean listened. He seemed to raise a dark brow for you to go on.

"How silly of me to have let his name slip my mind already," You gestured as you thought aloud. "Let's see, he was quite tall, oh and English and-"

"Gwilym? You met Mr. Lee!" Dean beamed, rowing all the while.

"Yes, Gwilym was his name."

"You, my dear," Dean said, looking to you like you were in on some joke. "are very lucky."

Today wasn't what you'd expected in this quaint little village you were meant to call home, now. Home... such a silly word for here. You didn't quite feel at home in the misty air. But the folks you'd met so far made you smile to think of. The bay wavered as you rode along. It wasn't the steady grounding feeling of welcome you'd anticipated to sink into amidst the old cozy community. But you hoped that once this all became familiar, you'd be glad for it.

///

He was cursed, sure, but this was a new torture. When he saw her again... he was glad for it.

She was skipping along with Dean through the trails of the island when they saw him, too. It was her, who rose a hand to catch Gwilym's attention, though she already had it. She was beautiful. Like how the moon was beautiful, and everyone knew it, but still looked and marvelled at the sight of its shine like it was unbelievable.

She stopped and asked how he was doing and he couldn't think up an answer to a question he'd rarely been asked, since moving here.

"Dean was just showing me around the island," She gestured to the bright-eyed dark-haired man a few years younger than Gwilym. His smile was pleasant as ever it had been. Dean might have been the closest thing to a friend Gwilym had known, here, or ever. "And he pointed out your house. Mr. Lee, it's beautiful."

The sincerity in her tone made him chuckle. He couldn't help it.

"It's a few blue shutters between a few tall trees." Gwilym shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, casting a gaze to the boat he was planning on taking out on the water, as far as it would go before the sun set and his work week started again.

"But those flowers growing up from your back garden that I could see from these trails..." She pointed his way with a grin. Gwilym was in awe by the turn of her painted lips and the way he knew she was trying to get him to carry on some kind of banter.

But then a pair of young friends rode around the corner on bicycles. They halted their wheels from turning by digging their heels into the dirt. They saw him, and maneuvered their bikes to turn the other way. Gwilym was snapped back to reality, one he was desperate to spare this new stunning stranger from. So Gwilym cleared his throat and nodded to Dean, who nodded back with reluctant understanding.

Dean knew a lot, but neither of them had spoken a word about what happened since the start of the year. They'd barely spoken at all, outside of the shop. Dean respected Gwilym's distance.

Gwilym had to go about his evening like always. He couldn't be to her what he'd just briefly been. He couldn't lie. When he managed to escape, and wave the pair off, a weight lifted from his chest as they turned off laughing together. But all at once, as they disappeared down the trail, Gwilym's heart sank. He wanted to laugh with her. He thought moments ago that he might've been able to share trivial talk until nightfall. But he couldn't. Of course he couldn't.

He sailed alone and reminded himself it had to be that way.

///

He used to go to parties. And people would greet him with glee when he arrived. He used to sit and mingle, and dance with strangers and familiar faces. But they all turned on him, and he knew he'd never be able to gain the likes of such company again.

He knew he'd always be seen as some vile, heartless monster. He knew his hurt and his fear was his alone and that peoples suspicions were stronger than their hearts, at first glance and forever then after.

So he kept his head down in line at the bank, wishing he'd shown up when less of the townspeople had. He knew catching their sneers (if the dared to look toward him) would only add to his never-ending ache.

So Gwilym offered a polite grin to the lady behind the counter even though he knew she wouldn't return it. He knew it didn't make him look better either, or change anyone's made up minds. But he thought it must have been better than scowling back.

He prepared to bolt after his transaction was through. And he did. But time seemed to freeze for just a moment when he looked up and saw her. The woman for whom he'd given a ride. Who'd stopped to greet him kindly just a day ago.

She was there before him, again. With perfectly styled hair and an openness on her face when she noticed him. He knew it was better to smile, but he couldn't help but hurry away faster. He had to outrun the way his heart felt light at the simple sight of one ignorant stranger. Gwilym knew she'd find out soon enough, and eventually, she wouldn't look at him like that, like she was glad to see him. He hurried away and wished he didn't have too.

///

You had come to depend on Dean for many a ride. When he told you lot's of people had their own boats, or took the big one into town at six a.m. you almost felt bad for asking him. But he followed up his saying so by telling you he was glad for the extra company. You'd toss him a couple of coins for his trouble and head into town to find something to occupy your time.

That's when you met Maggie. The girl Dean so often rambled about on rides to and fro. She was waiting on the boardwalk one morning with a big shiny hardback book for your dark haired friend in her grasp. They weren't official, not yet. He told you he was still gaining the gull to take her out. But it was clear she was mad about the guy. Who wouldn't be? With his contagious grin and the gentle way about him.

Maggie parted ways with Dean on his way to his job at the dock shop, and promptly hooked you up with a gig at the library. She worked there, alongside another much older woman who was glad to hire you on. Miss Porter gave you books to label, and shelves to clean, and left you to man the desk while she planned children programs and filed fees away. Maggie usually hosted the events Miss Porter planned, corralling kids to think up their own fairytales, or reading to a few when school let out.

It was an easy, quiet, delightful job. When Miss Porter handed over your very first paycheck, you practically skipped to the bank on your lunch break, but came back with a puzzled expression stuck on your face.

"Did you go? Did you talk to the teller I recommended?" Miss Porter wondered, sitting in the seat next to where you'd settled in to finish out your workday.

"Yes!" You promised with a nod. You told her how smoothly everything went, and how you'd even recognized a few people in line ahead of you. The man from the market and some ladies who'd checked out books from you on your first day. And then you mentioned Gwilym. You mentioned how you'd met him first thing, before anyone. Then, bashfully, how charmed you were by the guy. How you'd hoped to see more of him.

"But... he was just so strange, today. Like he couldn't wait to get out of there. Like he didn't know me." You boggled, tapping labels to new books. You glance up to notice Miss Porter's face, the hesitation on her lips, her lingering worried eyes.

"What?" You wondered flatly.

"Mr Lee. He's... well there are rumours about him. And where there's smoke there's fire." The old woman let out a humorous huff of a laugh. "Just- keep your head about yourself, girl."

"Yeah, okay." You gave Miss Porter a sidelong glance and floated along with her change in conversation. She chattered about her own lunch break and the friends she met up with during the hour. You listened, half-heartedly considering her gossip and watching the clock tick until someone eventually slid a book across the desk to you.

"Fancy seeing you here again." A voice rang past a smile, belonging to a boy with flaxen hair who'd come to the library almost every other day you worked, this month.

"Jake," You acknowledged with a tired grin. You never had much interest in his flirting, but his acquaintance had proven to be harmless and sometimes the most entertaining part of your afternoon. The buzz about the library was the only thing you had to look forward to, and more often than naught; the halls were empty and you'd unsort books just to busy yourself with putting them in order again. So, you at least tried to enjoy conversation with the preppy guy.

"Say, didn't you mention last week something about moving here for a bit of adventure?" He asked as you glimpsed to the cover of the text he was checking out. A book on ethics that looked unopened.

"Perhaps I might've." You mumbled, going about scribbling the date down.

"Then why do I only see you here and not anyplace else people our age hang around in, hmm?" The blonde boy wondered, looking to you. You gave him a sorry shrug and hoped he'd enjoy the book, reminding it was due back in two weeks. Jake's smile grew before he parted, as you turned to find Miss Porter watching you with a matching grin. Then she started her gossiping, about how Jake came from a good family with money and charm; The Hollywood type, she said.

She had a lot of opinions about everyone in town, it seemed. You let her ramble, but knew better than to listen too closely.

///

There was your life at the library, and then hardly much else. You came to recognize faces that you'd never see outside of the place you worked. Dean was the only friend you had beyond the confines of the desk. Even Maggie seemed lost to the halls of books. Neither of you had seen much of her, and every time you asked Dean, he seemed just as clueless as you were of her whereabouts after work hours.

So you stuck close to the boy and went to record shops and pubs when you felt like it. Between nights full of chatter about Bodega Bay's fast approaching annual fall festival, and antidotes about your lives before now, you always tried to circle back around to the same subject.

It seemed like Dean might've known more about Mr. Lee than he let on. You ask how he'd been, knowing the men worked closely together. Dean would only say they were both too busy to trade any small talk during the day. You'd ask how someone from so far came to know the quaint little town, but Dean would turn the question back around to you, and point out how you'd come to stay. All of your questions of Mr. Lee went marginally unanswered. Maybe Dean knew what you were really trying to ask. Maybe you were too afraid to wonder outright.

You thought much of him, Mr Lee. So the next time you caught a glimpse of his broad figure on the harbour, you asked Dean to wait up, as you rushed to say hello.

///

"Hey, you!"

Oh, it couldn't be? Gwilym could have smiled despite himself. There she was, taking steps closer over scattered ropes, headed right his way. Gwilym set down the crate he was carrying atop another and turned to face her as she'd already caught his attention.

"Don't you ever stop working?" She asked with a soft smile, coming to a slow halt before him. "You say you live on the island but I swear if I squint from there I can see you over here sorting boxes at all hours."

"It's better to be busy." Gwilym shrugged, letting his lips upturn for a moment.

"I suppose. But I hear there's a festival coming. Surely you'll have time free to waste all your well-earned dollars trying to win a fish in a bag?"

He had to chuckle. She spoke to him like they'd been friends for so long that there were no more secrets to trade, only small talk.

"Uh, no, I think not," Gwilym admitted, keeping his smile and trying not to stare at her own. "I'd much prefer to hide away during the festival." He hoped he seemed more antisocial on his own accord. Like he hadn't been scared into staying in for so long that he prefered it, in the end. Like it was his choice all along.

"Hm, why? Are the games not nearly as exciting as I've imagined them to be?"

"Well, yes that is one reason." He shrugged. "There are usually only a few tents and things. Most people use the festival as an excuse to pack the bay with their boats and scare the fish away for months."

"And you don't prefer to sail your boat somewhere in the middle of it all?"

He shook his head and reached for the crates once more, struck with a sudden thrum of worry, a realization that he shouldn't be carrying on just so.

Perhaps he sensed it coming, the inevitable. Before Gwilym could give a farewell to the woman he'd been foolishly thinking of, he heard footsteps pounding down the harbour toward where they stood.

At the sight of someone storming right her way, Gwilym turned in a hurry. To save her the embarrassment, or torment, or whatever she might receive for sharing a word with him. And as he left- though he couldn't understand why, and he feared the possibility, he hoped to see her again.

///

You were just about to demand Mr. Lee cease being so bloody mysterious and come to dinner with you and Dean.

But his bright eyes tore from yours and floated over your shoulder, and his smile faded. Gwilym cleared his throat and ducked his head through the back door of the shop, leaving you without another word, like you'd hadn't just stood and spoken at all, and were completely unworthy of a goodbye. As you tried not to let his odd behaviour sting, you turned to see what the matter was.

You saw Maggie. For the first time out from behind a book in a week or more. Her lily-white fists curled at her sides, and a look meant to kill shot toward you.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She spat, stalling in front of you, red with anger. You gawked at Maggie, and dared to glimpse around, wondering if there had to be something you were missing.

"Why were you talking to him?" Maggie seethed, snapping your attention back to her. Why was the question, wasn't it? Why had everyone you'd met so strangely behaved at the mention of a name belonging to a man who was hardly ever around?

"Why not, Maggie?" You pressed, feeling vexation start to burn below your surface. You'd known this girl long enough to feel fond of her, but not long enough to give way to her sudden and jarring concern without your own shining through.

"Let me remind you," Maggie hissed, "Because there's no way you're stupid enough to not know yet,"

"Like hell you will, Maggie." Dean appeared in a huff, "Do you really believe all the shit?" In two long strides, Dean was breaking up your standoff with his girl, not on her side, though, it seemed.

Maggie gawked at him, mouth slack between two rosy cheeks coloured by the chill and her anger.

"You don't?" She seemed to warn. And as Dean started shaking his head, she was set off once more. "Why do you think I haven't been around, huh? When I realized you worked alongside the creep I had to wait for you to come around. I could not be seen so near-"

"I will not stand here and let you go on spreading those vile rumours!" Dean stood his ground, at your confounded side.

"Well, I won't stand here and listen to you defend a cold-blooded criminal!" Maggie yanked her hands from her sides to throw them in the air as she hollered. Then she spun on her heels and muttered curses on her stomp back down the boardwalk.

"Dean..." You asked in a sacred hush, watching her storm off. "Why would she say something like that?"

You turned to the only real friend you'd made here. You knew his middle name, and what he really thought of the best pub in town. You knew he wouldn't lie. But you were afraid of what he'd say now.

Dean glanced to his watch with a heavy sigh, then looked back up to you.

"Got time for a really long story?"

///

You settled into Dean's cluttered kitchen and accepted his offer of a dark toxic drink before either of you spoke. And right when you were about to break the silence with one of the dozens of questions swirling through your mind, Dean looked to you.

"My parents were born and raised here, and so was I. But they moved to Hollywood when I went off to college." Dean explained that his mother passed on from illness and his father followed soon after, old age getting the better of the man.

"They were the owners of a building that was left to me. Downstairs was their place, upstairs was an apartment they rented out. And that's how I met Gwilym."

You took a sip of your drink, and nodded for him to go on.

Dean explained that with his parents gone, Gwilym was his only hope of understanding the lease the men were bonded by. Soon their talks grew common. Dean spent many a night sharing drinks with Mr. Lee, like the one he'd just poured for you.

"To have a friend one staircase away was such fun. We were both in desperate need of company. With my parents gone, and his wife never home."

Before you could ask, Dean told. He said Gwilym's wife had dreams of becoming an actor; a dream she'd once shared with her husband. But Gwilym was left to pick up odd jobs while Mrs. Lee went out to every audition. She rarely landed a role, but showed up to so many casting calls and parties that celebrities came to adore her. Mrs. Lee was always out drinking till dawn with the Hollywood elite. "I only ever met her once." Dean shrugged away a halfhearted smile.

He told you Gwilym was left to pay the bills and lend her cash to go back out again, when she came home tipsy in the mid afternoon. Dean said they bickered all the time. When Gwilym asked where she'd been, she would only shout back, call him horrible names Dean could hear from the apartment downstairs. He said even in his every attempt to ignore her picking fights, it was impossible.

"So the last night she came home, I thought it was like any other," Dean recalled, shifting in his ugly vinyl chair.

Dean said Mrs. Lee's sister had come to visit, and both ladies had stayed out all weekend without so much as letting Gwilym know. When they eventually stumbled up the stairs days later at dawn, their drunken laughter woke Dean, and Gwilym's loud worry over where they'd been kept the landlord awake.

Dean said he tried to ignore it. But after an unusual bout of quiet, the ruckus from the upstairs tenant's came back in a new and frightening way. Dean said he'd sprung out of bed purely by instinct, and opened his door to rush to the second level. No sooner than the man had met the bottom of the staircase did the Lee's door fly open. Gwilym tossed his sister in law out, as he stumbled toward the stairs himself. And if Dean hadn't been there to stop him, Mr. Lee would have rushed back into the cloud of smoke billowing from his apartment.

"The whole place burned down." Dean said, matter of factly. A pit opened in your stomach as you tried to wrap your head around the story that had been unfolded. "Mrs. Lee never made it out. Everyone blamed Gwilym. Still do."

"They say he killed her?" You croaked, mostly alarmed by Deans apathetic gaze.

"He was proven innocent." Dean lifted a brow, and his glass. But before he could take a drink, he seemed to realize something. Dean abandoned his alcohol and got up from the table without a word. You watched him disappear around the hall, while you sat in stunned silence. Your mind was too overwhelmed with thought to process much, before Dean was back again, with a crumpled old newspaper in hand.

"When I moved back here, I stuffed papers in the boxes of glasses and plates." Dean chuckled, smoothing out the page on his table. "Didn't even realize I'd used this one till I unpacked. Figured I'd keep it, in case of moment's like now, I guess."

Past the wrinkles, you looked and saw a headline. Gwilym's name printed in black, next to the word innocent, followed by a question mark. You leaned in close to read the article that followed.

It stated that the fire that his wife died in was a proven accident. Mrs. Lee's sister and husband had told the authorities that arrived on the scene the same frantic story. The quote that followed her sister's statement, though, began to help you realize why everyone treated Mr. Lee with such contempt.

Gwilym may not have started the fire, but he drove my sister mad enough to. It was his careless treatment of her that drove my sister away. He killed her in the end, and we won't let him forget it.

"She started the fire?" Your heart dropped away. How could such hate exist? How were their quotes from famous actors mourning the loss of this woman, and cursing her husband's name? Why did the people in Bodega Bay care?

When you asked, Dean said it was because everyone here had some kind of connection to Hollywood, or wanted too. They were always on the side of the stars, always influenced by tabloids and concerned with the gossip that kept them in celebrity loops.

He said he should have known better, when he moved back here and extended an offer for Gwilym to come along, neither of them having a better place to go. Dean said he should have known the rumours would spread, and how the people in Bodega Bay would react to Gwilym's settling here. Then he shook his head, and looked to you.

"So now you know." Dean said, standing to reach for the bottle he'd poured from earlier in the evening. Your glass had barely been sipped from, but you held it up to be filled further still. Now you knew, indeed. But you were clueless as to what to do about it.

///

The next morning, you'd barely settled behind the desk at the library before Maggie stormed in. She marched up to the counter you and Miss Porter sat quietly behind, and slammed an envelope on the counter.

"I quit." She seethed, breathing hard as she pierced her eyes right into yours. Miss Porter gapped at the girl, and then to you, and when she turned to look to Maggie and ask her to change her mind, the girl was stomping out of the door.

You told your boss you had no idea what the girl's problem was, but realized she'd probably find out eventually, with the way miss Miss Porter sniffed out every detail of peoples lives in this town. So you kept to yourself while you still could, and didn't see anyone you recognized all day.

But you heard everyone talk. You'd heard the talk before. You'd heard his name whispered from housewives and mailmen. But now you understood why, and you discerned what they seemed to say. It made you sick, with worries of all kinds.

So, you agreed to stay late and lock up- only so you might be able to sneak into the attic of the library. There you found collections of misprints, yearbooks and old newspapers. It took until the sunlight started to fade from the dormer window before you found what you were looking for. A paper from the day after the incident, and a few more. All of which spelled Dean's name wrong, and spewed more vile quotes.

All of them seemed to tell the truth, seemed to acknowledge Gwilym's innocents, yet they all blamed him still. For caring too little. For being such a terrible husband. For whatever made them feel better about his wife's tragic loss. You'd read more than enough to be sure of the truth, and maddened by the way it had been turned and used against a man who had done little wrong.

But now, as you kept your eyes wide to see him again, he seemed to have vanished from the town completely

"Why don't they talk about you?" You asked Dean, stepping into his boat one afternoon, after being disappointed to find Gwilym's boat missing from the harbour.

"They misprinted my name in one paper and rolled with it in all the others." He laughed bitterly, rowing home. You recalled that to be the case. You knew Dean wouldn't lie.

"Why don't you talk to him?" You asked more, trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together. A tiny internal voice drove you through this discovery, the same urgent pang that pushed you to pack up and move here.

"I used to. He stopped letting me over. Stopped answering calls." Dean shrugged. You hung your head, and apologized for all the questions. Dean insisted he was glad someone finally cared to ask.

You had all kinds of answers, now. But worried and wondered about Gwilym all week. And then the festival came.

///

It was just like he said it would be. As you stepped into Dean's canoe to head to work, you saw a dozen boats lined up at the berth of the town. And by the time your lunch break came, you spotted two dozen more boats crowding the bay, some sailing, some waiting their turn. By the time you were free to go and see what the fuss was about, Dean waved from the window of the shop as you breezed by. You walked past a tent selling sweets, and another selling drinks, and saw little else besides a mess of people.

"Well look who it is." An unexpectedly familiar voice floated over your shoulder. Jake stood a few paces away, rocking on his feet, looking taller than he ever seemed from behind the desk of your library.

You gave him a pleasant hello, and he said something about how nice it was to finally see you out and about.

"Have you found much adventure, yet?" He wondered. And you weren't sure if he was asking about your time in Bodega Bay, or about the festival that started sometime while you were still clocked in. Either way, when you hesitated, the nice blonde boy extended his hand and insisted you join him.

And you had a fleeting thought, that Jake was only trying to do for you what you'd been trying to do for Gwilym. Reaching out. Giving you a chance. So with a tired grin, you took it.

You followed the blonde boy through the cutting breeze, down a dock and up the steps of a big boat adorned in strings of lights. It was crammed with people in fancy clothes, drinking from dark bottles and twisting to some rock and roll tune.

Jake kept his distance and poured you a couple of drinks. He danced you around a couple of corners, introducing you to people along the way. You shot him a grin each time he gave out your name and drank a little more. The air was cold, but you were warm, crammed between strangers and their friends. The music coming from the boat was loud, but as you shuffled toward the deck, you could hear music in the distance, too, from other boats. Other friends laughter echoing from beyond the bay. And finally, the beauty of the townspeople shone just as brightly as the town itself.

You laughed as Jake spun you lazily around to the beat of a new song. He followed as you kept slipping closer toward the edge of the crowd. He warned you to get down from the railing you leaned too far over when you'd spun far out of the party as possible. You turned and pointed to a couple dancing on the top of the rails, without a care. And because he couldn't argue, and you were a little tipsy, you stood there, too, and let him hold your hand as you balanced along the beams.

You trusted Jake. His intentions were good and his grip was firm. It tightened as you started to lose your step.

///

Gwilym was on his way to take a break from sorting through inventory in the back room. About this time, he liked to sit and watch the birds and sun dip below the sea. He couldn't see that from home. So sometimes he'd stay later, just to watch the sun setting. Sometimes it was the best part of his whole day. So as the festival raged on, he tried to stay out of sight.

But he didn't even get to sit before he noticed. Just around the corner, there was a boat laced with party lights. A bevy of drunken partiers danced across the deck. A man with pale hair and a dopey smile holding the hand of the woman Gwilym hadn't stopped thinking of. Her, standing on the rails. As soon as Gwilym turned and saw, the boy let go, and she was falling in the water.

The boy with pale hair raced from the deck, but Gwilym was faster. Nearer. Close enough to cross onto the boardwalk and reach into the bay before she had drifted far past the surface. It was instinctive, his mission to save her. He wasn't thinking, he was just reaching in and tugging her up, and only after he pulled her onto the deck at his side, did he realize the speed his heart was thrumming and the fear that spread through him.

She let out startled coughs and looked to him with big watery eyes, and he had to ask if she was okay because he didn't know what else to do. But he was quicker to act than he was to think, still, standing and offering her help to do the same. She stretched up slowly, holding his arm without hesitation. He couldn't be sure if she needed or wanted too, but she didn't let go.

Just as Gwilym decidedly turned toward the shop, Dean appeared. He bound toward the boy with pale hair and grabbed him by the shirt collar with fire in his eyes.

"What the ever loving fuck were you thinking?" Dean shouted, nearly lifting the guy off his feet. The boy who'd let her fall tried to stutter a response, but couldn't So Dean let him go, prepared to do worse. But Gwilym called his name, before thinking about it. Dean looked and saw Gwilym letting the girl he'd come to secretly and desperately adore, lean into his side, despite the way she shivered in drenched clothes. Dean seemed to snap out of it, and only cursed at the blonde boy as he stumbled away, back onto the boat without a word.

"Let's go." Gwilym waved Dean along, as the trio headed toward the shop, while the party raged on.

///

In the matter of a second, the laughter and the lights and the music and the fun was muffled. It kept on as your time stalled and became murky and cold and wet; and then it was louder than ever.

People stood and gasped along the marina as the water splashed around you. Gwilym's grip hurt but it was much more tolerable than the chill of the water and the way your lungs burned with the ache to breathe. How long were you down there?

Mr. Lee threw you toward the docks and stood you up, and looked to you as you looked to him, for the first time in months. For the first time ever, it felt like. But his icy eyes tore away at the sight of the commotion.

Dean was there. He was red with anger, and the boy who'd tried but failed to stop you from falling, seemed like a spec in your friends grasp. Gwilym was the one to save him too, telling Dean to go. You'd barely registered any of this happening until Dean spun back around to face you on his way in the shop, and Jake had left you without a goodbye.

"Are you okay? I mean, are you-" Dean worried, holding open the door to the shop. He flipped the open sign to closed, like it mattered. As you entered the store stocked with fishing gear and boat parts, Gwilym slipped out of your grasp and left you colder than ever.

"I'm fine. I think." You grinned. "Yes. Thank you, Dean." You nodded his way, feeling more embarrassed than anything as you recalled the expressions on onlookers faces a moment ago. You knew everyone saw, but you worried over what they must've thought.

It was Dean's sweeping scowl that started everyone chattering again, as you'd walked off. They looked away from you as your friend led you closer to the dock shop, where Gwilym had now found a towel and something else you didn't know you needed. He watched Dean lead you toward the counter with eye's bluer than the autumn sky.

"A first aid kit? I'm fine, I-" But then you followed Dean's pitiful gaze by raising a hand to your head. You felt nothing but a chill on your fingertips. When you pulled them away, they were sticky and red.

"Oh, I see."

Gwilym ordered Dean to go around back and search for a sweater, or something you might be able to change into. You went where Mr. Lee pointed you toward, settling against the front counter. He handed you a towel, and you draped it over your shoulders, willing yourself to stop shivering.

Then, the stoic Englishman rose a cloth to your head, and watched where he cared for, while you watched him. He was close enough for you to recognise he smelled of something sweeter than pine, and was taller than you realized. His jaw was peppered with stubble and his eyes were a never ending shade of blue you wished you could look right into, but he wouldn't let you. He stayed focused on his work, and informed you only had a small cut.

"I need a lift home." You spoke in a hush, keeping your gaze fixed on his own best you were able.

"Dean will take you." Gwilym mumbled back, so close you could nearly feel the rumble of his voice.

"What if I want you to take me?" You countered with a childish pout, still tipsy and shaken.

"I can't." He spoke firmly, taking the smallest step to your side to close up the first aid kit. You watched, tightening the towel around you and wondering what kind of mess you must'a looked like.

"Why?" You wondered, hopelessly. Your question was loaded, and heavy, and it made Mr. Lee clench his sharp jaw.

"You know why." He responded, grimly. Gwilym took the first aid kit and started away from you as your chest filled up in a way you thought felt just like drowning. Your throat was too tight to call out and stop him from leaving it at that- to stop him from leaving you. So he kept on walking, slipping around the back just as Dean appeared with a set of men's clothes, offering them to you with a small sorry shrug.

You decidedly took the sweater and ducked behind the counter to slip it on, while Dean stood guard. You looked to him once you finished, and were disappointed to find Mr. Lee had not come back. So you took Dean's hand and let him take you home.

He had to row in a strange path, away from other boats, so it took you twice as long to get to the island. And the only conversation you shared on the ride was when Dean kept asking if you were okay and you kept shutting him down; because you couldn't say yes or no without the threat of tears stinging your eyes.

You let Dean walk you to your door, and thanked him for it with the last exhausted breath you could muster. And when you were on your own, you let your heart hurt and you let yourself cry. Then you decided Gwilym must have actually liked being so alone. You decided to leave him be, and stop from searching him out. And while you made yourself promise to keep your distance, you hoped that he'd miss your interactions enough to show up and ask why they'd stopped.

///

You couldn't figure who was more selfish. Him, for retaining such isolation, for having little decency to let you down easy and slipping into the shadows at the sight of you. Or you, for stooping to his level. If he was so keen on keeping a distance, you decided for once, to make it easy.

You decided to try and forget the way he plunged his hand into the freezing waters to yank you to the surface before you knew what hit you. And the warmth that radiated from him, as he let you lean in, despite everything.

You pretended not to care about Gwilym Lee, and went about your weekend as usual. And as you went from work, and ignored Dean's worries over whether you were doing alright, you saw Mr. Lee three times.

Once, on your way from the harbour to your job. Gwilym was out, watching a big boat sail in. And you wouldn't let yourself search for his gaze. You waited until you were a speck in the horizon before you turned to see if he'd noticed or cared. But all you saw was Dean racing to catch up with you, and extending the jacket you'd left in his boat in your rush to storm away.

The next time you saw Gwilym was from the safety of your front porch, as you swept away fallen leaves from the steps. He'd ventured out to his own front lawn that was a mess after the night-long storm, and noticed you already done with your chore. Before you caved and met his eye, you spun inside and shut the door, searching to see if he noticed or cared before you let it shut all the way. Then you scurried off to work with all the reluctance of a school kid.

Your time used to be pleasantly occupied during shifts at the library. But now each day you dreaded stepping foot near there. Miss Porter stopped sharing gossip with you on lunch break. She was probably too busy talking about you. Jake had stopped showing up, and your job of taping labels and arranging shelves seemed like your own personal purgatory.

Dean tried to get you to join him on nights at his favourite grotty pub and afternoon rides around the bay. But you were too much occupied by worry and doubt to entertain your friends free time. So you only let him row you home and kept swearing you'd agree to some fun next time he asked. Dean let you trail away toward home as he accepted a pair of friends into his ride, and you didn't need to look back to know his pitiful gaze was still set on you.

///

She looked back. She kept looking back, and that's when Gwilym realized he'd made a horrible mistake... perhaps the worst he'd ever made.

///

You saw him a third time on your trek home, that afternoon. He seemed to be headed toward the place he'd always hidden his boat away in, but he stopped when he saw you, and his sea blue eyes searched for yours. You tightened your sweater around your frame and prepared to breeze past him, hoping you didn't look like you wanted to burst into tears.

"Y/n, please wait," Gwilym spoke up, his usual low, calm tone now broken and weary.

You didn't wait. You wanted too, but suddenly all the rage and sadness you felt flooded your system and made your feet stomp harder up the steps to your house.

"Please," Gwilym said again, turning to follow close behind.

"Can't we talk?" He seemed to beg. You jostled open your front door with your heart drumming in your ears as you registered the sound of his following along.

"You want to talk?" You laughed without an ounce of humour, spinning to face Gwilym as you backed into your home. He followed timidly like if he made one floorboard creek it would spin loose and he'd slip through the crack.

"Yes." He seemed to decide, stalling just past the still opened door.

"I'm sure you only mean that you want me to talk to you." You pointed, tossing your handbag toward an empty chair. "Because God knows you've never had much to say to me. Not even of the weather let alone where you came from." You were nearly shouting, waving a hand as you looked toward the man you'd always longed to know.

"No, I've had to hear about you from everyone else! " You rang, and almost regretted it. You watched him start to crumble, standing still in place all the while. But once you'd started there was no point in stopping. "And I've spent all summer desperate to learn more, but not from them."

"I- I didn't want you to..." Gwilym struggled to explain in a stuttered breath, holding his hands up for you to see.

"What? Didn't want me to find out?" You asked, "Well I did, but all I've ever wanted was to hear it from you." You shouted, hardly caring to stop the tears burning your eyes. You'd read the articles, the tabloids, and the bullshit from warped celebrity minds. But even before then, you'd been drawn to Mr. Lee. You'd seen the good in him.

"I've always been on your side." You said. "Even when you treat me like one of them. Like I don't give a shit about you. Well, I do!"

You watched his brow furrow and his eyes dart between yours. You watched him try and understand, and you couldn't hold back your frustrated tears any longer. And maybe you felt like you hadn't made yourself clear enough, or maybe you were only listening to that little voice in your head, either way, you threw yourself toward Gwilym and wrapped him in a hug.

It took him a beat to hug you back, but he did. And he held on as you tried to stop from crying, and appreciate this rare and surprising moment.

"I'm sorry." You heard him mumbled into your hair, as his comforting grip tightened ever so slightly. You couldn't help but laugh as you relished the feeling of his strong figure finally accepting you in. Then, with every way you could mean it, you assured he had nothing at all to be sorry for.

///

It took a while. A week, actually. But Gwilym eventually told you everything.

The day he followed you in your doorway, he stayed for a bit. You apologized for bursting into tears and he smiled when you looked at him and laughed about it. And then you showed him round your aunts dusty old home. You told him just how you'd come to live here, and you convinced him to stay for dinner.

While you ate, he spoke of England. He recalled growing up there, the differences between worlds, and what he missed most about the place. But before conversation could go on flourishing, the sun set and you both retired to prepare for another days work.

The next morning you cancled the plans with Dean you'd made to go to the pub. And when you told him why, he nearly toppled his canoe over by all his excitement. You had to make him sit back down and promise you'd keep him updated on your mission to be a friend to Gwil. Even though everyone involved knew, on some level, that you were keen to be a little more than friends.

But you shoved thoughts like those deep down. Now was no time to seduce the man. Now was the time to listen to him, and hope to high heavens he wanted the same thing as you.

And that night, as you made it to the island and parted ways with your friend, you found Gwilym waiting up for you just outside your home. You could have burst into another bout of tears at the notion, but you'd already made a big enough fool out of yourself once. So you rushed to invite the man in. But he stopped your stammering and asked you over to his place, instead.

His home was much grander on the inside than the simple outside made it seem. The ceilings were high and there were shelves along most of the walls, all jam packed with books and a few potted plants. As if the forest he seemed to raise outback weren't enough. There were bushes and vines and flowers of all kinds, bright in the cold blue evening.

So you sat inside and shared a drink. After mindless chatter, you started in on a conversation that led to you learning a little more about the woman he'd once been married to. He spoke of when they met and whence they moved, and why. He spoke a little of his dream of acting and how it fizzled out early on for several reasons. He spoke of Hollywood and how he blamed the city for souring everything. And then the night fell and you knew it was best to leave while you were ahead.

"I'd love to come back around when your garden is in full bloom." You invited yourself over again, reluctantly trudging toward the door. Gwilym followed along a safe distance away with his hands in his pockets.

"You're welcome back round anytime." Gwilym noted, his words packed with meaning. You tried not to melt at his invitation, the first you'd ever received. You only hoped it wouldn't be the last, and tried to hold back your gleefully nervous chuckles.

"Well good." You decided, reaching for the door. "Because I'll certainly find every excuse to stop over."

You would have kissed him then, if he were only a little closer. If you'd had a little more to drink, you would have had enough courage to crash your lips against. But you didn't. You simply let your smile linger as you struggled to tear your gaze from his. Gwilym shook his head at your staring and reached past you to open the door, keeping his pretty gaze settled on yours all the while.

So you headed for home, but made sure to look over your shoulder before you'd gone too far.

///

He'd asked her over. He was terrified as ever, maybe his fears had even shifted or tripled. But he asked her over anyway. And when she followed along with a smile, he realized there wasn't too much to be afraid of.

Still, Gwilym kept as much to himself as he could without seeming rude or uninterested. He lingered a safe distance behind as he showed her around the place he'd called home all year. She marvelled over how neat the shelves were and how lovely the old furniture was, and waved him off when he remarked how he didn't pick any of it out but had grown fond of the space all the same. And then he followed her out into the garden, where she spun between the vines. Gwilym notices the moon, as he followed it's pale light, and thought it was nowhere near as beautiful compared to the glow coming from the woman smiling up at him.

But then he was scared again... of what might happen now. Gwilym hadn't thought of the future all year. But there was nothing else to think of when she was around. He wondered where life would lead her, and he hoped, selfishly, that he'd get to follow along.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to close the distance between them and hold her closer than he had when she threw herself in his arms a day before...

He didn't, though. But when she skipped toward home she looked back to him and smiled, and he decided one day, he would.

///

It was two more days before you Gwil him again. Dean seemed to understand when you left him alone on the harbour, yet you still turned and apologized and swore you'd call him round for game night by the weekend. He just laughed and pushed you along, and you hurried to catch Gwilym before he'd sailed off.

You were right on time, just like the first time. He helped you aboard, same as before, with the same strong hand he used to pull you from these very waters. You joked about it, only recalling the incident like how you remembered a varied few dreams.

"So you only liked me because I saved you from drowning," Gwilym noted, letting his boat drift toward where the sky and the sea blended.

"No, I liked you plenty before." You admitted in an embarrassed chuckle. Here you were, in the middle of the bay with the most handsome man you'd ever met. And here he was with you, and you were more nervous than the first day of this kind. The excited kind of nervous. The kind you felt before settling in a roller coaster or seeing a film you'd waited a long time to catch. This was what you'd wanted, to be here with him. But what was next, you worried?

As you talked about what led you here, and how you'd trusted your gut to start over again, Gwilym listened. And then, after a few careful questions, he told you what happened. He told you about the life he lived just before moving to Bodega Bay.

He spoke of his wife like someone he'd read about once. Like his connection to her was something he'd only ever heard of and never felt. But he was kind in his descriptors and he even chuckled when he recounted how happy they were for a moment. But only a moment, he said.

Then Gwilym told you much of what Dean already had. How she'd started going out, and treating him poorly for worrying over her whereabouts. How one night Gwilym went to a party he knew she'd be the life of, and found her there canoodling with some famous director. How Mrs. Lee blamed Gwilym for embarrassing her. How he'd missed her long before she was gone for good.

Then he recounted what happened the night his wife and her sister came home from a long weekend away. How scared he'd been when he couldn't reach her. How poorly she'd made him feel for being upset by it all. How she kicked her sister out of the guest room, where she'd already retired to spin records and light candles. His wife scratched the record to a stop and slammed the door in Gwilyms face as he begged her to come to some kind of resolution. He said she'd answered his pleas through the door with muffled curses and clatters, like she was tossing things about in her drunken ire.

Gwilym recalled how it went quiet, for too long. And how he couldn't open the door when he started to try. How he broke the handle when black smoke started billowing into the hall, and she wasn't answering when he called her name. How right as he planned to bust the door down flames curled from the crack near the floor and started to spread, chasing him away.

Gwilym said he scooped up his sister in law from the sofa and tossed her toward the staircase that led to freedom. He said that he didn't even see Dean there. Gwilym only realized his friend had shown up when he reached out and stopped him from turning back to the apartment. Gwilym knew his wife was gone, and his attempts weren't worth it, but he said he still felt like he had to try.

///

He'd never rambled for it for so long, not even to himself or the rose bushes. By the end of his tale, when there might have been a little left to say, but everything had already become clear, he caught a glimpse of her face and the way she sat listening. There was little pity in her gaze, and no judgement. There was something he'd never seen before... and it warmed him. He didn't feel small under her watchful eye. He felt heard and a little lighter for having spoken the things he never really dared to before.

"Why here?" She asked, never daring to look away from him.

"Dean offered. Gave me another place to stay. And a job. And I just couldn't go back to my family... I can't."

"Why?" Her simple question made him smile despite the ache in his heart.

"I'm afraid of what they might think. If I might not be able to change their minds. And then I really wouldn't have anyone." Gwilym stated simply. "It's like as long as I keep them at a distance they won't change. I know that's grotesquely selfish." He shook his head, keeping his grin of disbelief.

"Gwilym," She said, once he'd finally looked to her once more. "You have me." She reached out for his hand. And he held her gaze. He might never come to understand her kindness. But he'd be a fool by failing to accept it any longer.

Gwilym thought things would never change. That his past would always hang heavily and shade his future. And maybe that was true. But for the first time instead of accepting so, he took the chance of letting her in on his greatest fears.

Perhaps it was better to have someone brilliant to be certain of, amidst the unchanging darkness. And perhaps he could never repay her with any of the flickering beams of hope and laughter she pulled from him. The good she saw that was left of Gwilym had been polished, and he wasn't sure it would ever be enough. But he had to try and make it more than so.

So that night, when the wind grew too cold without the sun warming their time on the water, he let her come back to his place, like he promised. He made dinner and listened to the stories she told between butting in to help him cook. He let himself become lost in thoughts of her as his gaze lingered when she wasn't looking.

And after they ate, she fell asleep on his sofa while he cleaned everything up. But instead of pacing through the kitchen like he did when he couldn't sleep; he sat back at the table, glanced to the woman dreaming in his parlour, and pulled out a pen and paper.

///

You'd never been more glad to live in Bodega Bay. Gwilym let you breeze in whenever you pleased, and some days he'd even surprised you by stopping over your place with drinks.

You'd started bringing Dean along, and roping the two men into playing poker and staying up late to watch specials on the telly. Gwilym always sat nearest to you, and shared looks that lasted a little too long and laughs over things you knew Dean missed the joke on. But your friend seemed just as happy to be apart. To be with the two of you. He'd even started sharing chats with Gwilym while you insisted on making lunch. You caught glimpses of the two of them in Gwil's garden, in the midst of some sort of serious talks. And you'd never been happier to see such stoic faces chatting away. It was what the both of them needed.

Gwilym wouldn't go out with the two of you though. He apologized for shooting down the invite so quickly, but you assured him not to worry. You figured he'd say no. But you still couldn't help but to extend the offer.

The next time you managed for a night out and about, though, you came to understand Gwilym's reasons for staying in better than ever.

Jake was there- with a group of his friends in the farthest corner of the pub you and Dean liked to go to. He noticed you, and started to move reluctantly across the place, like he was being forced to approach you. You shot Dean one stern look, warning him to let you deal with this on your own. Your friend grumbled in agreeance as he turned to go find a table for the pair of you, keeping a sidelong glance on the blonde boy who'd come to face you.

"I'm sorry for what happened, and the fact it took me till now to say so." Jake seemed genuine in his speak, though his body language suggested otherwise. His feet were pointed away, prepared to rush off, it seemed.

"It's okay, really. You warned me, and you tried to hold on." You shrugged, recalling the night Jake tried to stop you from climbing the railing you fell from. It was a scary thing, but it was all over now. You'd started to walk away, but your pale haired friend stopped you from going just yet.

"Listen, I-I know you moved here looking for some kind of fun, or whatever," Jake stuttered as you'd spun to face him once more. "But is hanging around the resident killer really how you get your kicks? People are talking about you, and they don't have a lot of good to say." Jake rubbed the back of his neck as you gaped at him.

"If this is you keeping my best interest in mind, you're doing a shitty job of it." You rang, watching Jake look around to the few people you stood near.

"it's just, he's not-"

"Gwilym is a better man than you'll ever be." You pointed, before turning to leave the kid behind. Maybe you'd spoken a little too loudly, because as you headed to find Dean, you saw the eyes of nearly every patron turned your way. But they weren't just stunned by your outburst. They were chattering with each other as you walked by. Gossiping about more than the way Gwilym's name passed from your lips in defence, but how they'd seen you with him before.

You smiled, despite it all, and were practically reduced to laughter by the time you reached Dean. Your heart ached at the thought of Gwilym having to endure such disdain every time he left his home. But you were glad to be on the receiving end. Maybe the sound of his name proudly rolling from your lips would change their minds... eventually. Maybe it wouldn't. But you were proud, and you hoped defending Gwilym made everyone who never had curdle with remorse.

///

The holidays were approaching and the cold seemed unexpectedly bitter so near the water. Still, you went about your day as ever, chatting with Dean on rides, working away, spending your earnings to keep the lights on and the rest on records and expensive wine to share with your friends. You only had two, but they drained your alcohol as quickly as a family of five. Still, you couldn't have been happier.

You don't tell Gwilym about all the time's ladies at the market call you a dirty sinner for spending your free time with him. You only smiled at them and warned their hatred would send them to hell surer than Mr. Lee would be banished there.

You found old misplaced books in the library's attic when you wander up to sort it out on the slow days. And you'd bring them to Gwil, because he'd told you all the many books lining his shelves had been read and read again.

You even scored a free new hardback, when the printing company shipped out a book with the title misspelled. You toted the new story all the way home, and hugged Dean goodbye at the base of the island. He was headed to his cousins family home for Thanksgiving, and you missed him the moment he rowed away.

But you weren't alone. You had Gwilym. He'd started leaving his door unlocked, so you could burst in whenever you pleased, and you did on many occasions, but always with good reason. To catch a film on the telly, or share some of the better desserts you'd learned to make from scratch.

Now, you rested the new book on his bare coffee table, and flung yourself to his golden sofa, where you started complaining about your day before he'd even found his way into the room to greet you.

When Gwilym appeared in the archway of the parlour, you were unusually caught off guard by his appearance. There was a beard starting to decorate his sharp jaw, and the first few buttons of the white shirt he wore were undone.

"Can I read something to you?" He asked, in such a rush that you hoped his sudden question would be reason enough for your stunned silence, and he hadn't caught you ogling him.

"Of course." You nodded, noticing the piece of folded paper in his hand. You shook yourself out of your staring but watched as he moved into the room, decidedly resting near the coffee table at your feet. Gwilym unfolded the paper and looked up to you before he started to read. Though you had no idea what was going on, you gave him a sure nod and leaned ever closer to listen.

"So," He looked from the paper to you again. "A while ago I decided to write this letter. To my family. And, well, okay..."

Gwilym stammered, and then dove straight into reading from the paper in his grasp. You watched his pretty blue eyes scan the page, and listened as he read the note that started with his apology for going so long without reaching out to them before. Gwilym's letter was short. It was filled with a simple wish that his family was doing well, and that he might see them again one day. When he finished, he looked up to you like he was looking for approval.

"I think..." He said, leaving the paper to rest on top of the book you'd brought for him. "I think I want to send it to them." Gwilym searched your face as you straightened in place and smiled.

"Gwil, that's great news!" You chirped. "There's a post box right outside the library. I could take it-"

"No." He said, loud and sure. Your grin faltered as Gwilym shook his head, and spoke up again.

"I want to take it." He said. "But I would like if you came along."

You could have squealed, or did a little dance. You could have opened the door and declared to the whole island that you'd never been happier. But instead, you lunged from your perch on the sofa and kissed Gwilym. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips to his, and struggled to hold back a contented sigh when he started kissing you back. His fingers pressed against your shoulder blades, holding you close as you kept your lips to his as long as you could hold your breath.

When you finally broke away, you looked in his brilliant blue eyes, and waited for him to say something.

"So, you think it's a good idea?" Gwilym asked. And past your rapid heartbeat, you managed a laugh. Despite your sweaty palms, you settled on your knees before the man, with both of your hands on his broad shoulders.

"I know it is." You nodded, searching his face, all its angles and beauty. Then it was decided you'd deliver it the very next morning, as he stood to his feet and held out a hand to help you do the same. Gwilym collected his letter, and you recalled the book you'd brought for him, reaching for it with a gasp of remembrance and holding it out for him to take.

And later, after you insisted on making dinner, you asked him to crack open the pages and read a little to tell if the plot was of any interest.

With the book in hand, Gwilym settled on the sofa at your side, and muttered through the first few sentences- like he would when you asked about the many books already in his collection. "Better to let them speak for themselves," He'd say.

But now, he kept just reading on, turning page after page by the soft lamp light. So you listened, and rested your head on his shoulder as he told the tale, not missing a beat as you leaned into his side. You felt the resonance of his voice as he spoke, and relished the warmth of the sweater he'd changed into. You recalled the feeling of his lips moving against yours, and hope this was the first of many nights like this one.

///

He'd never been happier, it was certain. But the fact still boggled him. He'd been to places he'd always dreamed- and indulged in outrageous fun with people he'd cared for on days with perfect weather. But here, now, in the middle of his darkest hour, she made him the happiest he'd ever been.

And she didn't even have to kiss him to make it so. That was just a nice surprise. Something he'd been too nervous to make happen himself. So when she made the move, he kissed her back with all the care he'd been saving up, and hoped it wasn't too long until the next time.

She remained close to his side the next day, when he set off to town with a letter in his hand. And when he slid it into the post box, all he felt was the urgent pang to turn and look at her, and ask what she fancied doing the rest of the day. He was stupidly head over heels for the woman, and the way he'd come to recognize the smile on her face. The way he knew she wanted nothing more than to parade around town at his side, yet shrugged and suggested heading home and listening to some of the records she'd bought the weekend before.

The way she'd let herself into his home, and start yammering on about her day no matter if he was in the room or not. How she'd bustle about his kitchen and take the food over to her place for a last minute change of scenery. How she'd make him go out into his garden at least three times a week and insist he ramble to her about the growth of the plants he'd taken to caring for.

How when she was away, he knew she'd be back. How he didn't have to worry.

When Christmas was drawing near, their connection had become familiar, but unchanged. She hadn't kissed him since the first time, and every time he thought of making a move he'd talk himself out of being so bold. But he let her hold onto his arm when she waited up for a ride across the bay. And he let her curl into his side when they watched specials on the telly. He draped his arm around her then, and lost himself in the comfort of closeness, and tried not to worry if it would last. He knew he was lucky to be on the receiving end of anything so special at all, these days. He didn't dare push his luck.

But he let her fall asleep there, against his shoulder. And instead of laying her against the cushions, or waking her to send home, he happily fell asleep too.

///

"It's Christmas! Please open up!"

The pounding at the door sprung you from slumber, and you hardly cared how you must have looked in your fluster to answer the door.

Dean was bundled up in layers with a stack of presents in hand. You could see his breath as he cursed you for taking so long to answer, just before wishing you a very Merry Christmas. Then you rushed through Gwilym's home to find a mirror and a moment to fix yourself up. Had you really fallen asleep next to the guy? You'd been forced into consciousness so quickly that you didn't get to relish waking at his side. It was a bit of a good thing, you decided, as you'd been graced with a little time to straighten your wrinkled sweater and pin your hair back into place before you saw Gwilym again.

Out of all the Christmas mornings you'd enjoyed, this one was already the best. Gwilym's home was cozy, and the tree you'd encouraged him to trim was so quaint near the window, masking the cold on the other side with bright red bulbs shining from every branch.

Dean was shuffling about the tree, scattering the presents he'd brought along and complaining about his most recent family gathering and how it'd ended in a political debate no one won. You floated back to Gwil's sofa, a space you'd taken quite a liking too in recent months. He wasn't there, where you'd left him, but instead taking cautious steps through the archway you'd only just breezed through. in his grasp, two cups of cocoa to match the third and final mug already rested on the coffee table, between stacks of books.

When Gwilym abandoned the drinks, he fell onto the sofa at your side, and it might have seemed as though you'd never left your places from the night before. You found yourself tucked right under the arm he kept over the back of the sofa; as you both watched Dean toss the last of his presents under the tree with a share snicker. When Dean turned to curse the pair of you for laughing at him on Christmas, he stopped mid reprimand and said,

"Oh so it's like that now, is it?" The boy whose dark hair was still masked under a knitted cap gestured between the two of you.

"Always was, wasn't it?" Gwilym was quick to respond, as Dean shrugged and reached to turn the telly to a Christmas programme.

No sooner than Gwilym spoke did you tear yourself from his side to reach for the presents you'd wrapped a month earlier. You placed your gifts in front of the men you'd come to adore more than you knew was possible. And they traded their own with you. Between boxes of ties and cookbooks, and records, and gift cards, you couldn't imagine life could get better than this. Yet you still hoped it couldn't get any worse. And that days in such company wouldn't end, even when there were no gifts or secrets left to trade.

///

By boxing day, you'd had a chance to clean yourself up and sort away the gifts from your friends. You'd properly stored away the desserts Gwilym sent you home with, and had nothing better to do by mid afternoon than to return his freshly cleaned kitchenware.

When you reached Gwilyms door, you collected the mail from the box he always forgot to check and breezed in with the announcement that you were delivering all sorts of things to the kitchen. You let the mail fall to the table as you went about sorting pans into the cupboards you knew they belonged in.

Gwilym sauntered in, totally unphased by your presence, trading a simple hello. When you turned from sorting away dishes, he'd moved across the kitchen and startled you by being so suddenly close. Before you could ask why, you noticed. There was an envelope in his hand and a look in his eye that reminded you of the look he wore when you met.

"They wrote back." He spoke, keeping his bright eyes fixed on yours. Had he expected radio silence from his family? Or was he worried to open the letter to heartbreak? Either way, there their response was, between his long fingers. You gave him a nod, encouraging him in whatever his next move was, silently hoping he'd tear the seal. Another beat past before he leaned back against the counter and opened the envelope.

You stood a few paces away, wringing your hands as Gwilym unfolded a letter in silence. You watched him tuck a lip between his teeth as his eyes scanned the page.

"They say it's nice to hear from me." He sort of mumbled like he was reading from one of those storybooks of his. "And that they miss me."

"They say... they want me to come home." Gwilym's voice subtly cracked, as he rose a hand to run a set of fingers across his beard. You watched as he grinned, and turned his eyes to you.

"Well?" You asked in a quiet breath. "Are you gonna go?" You didn't want to ask, though. Because as much as you wanted nothing more than for Gwilym to be happy, really happy... you'd miss him.

Gwilym considered your question and seemed to watch you think. You held your breath as if that would stall your thoughts and hoped he couldn't hear how heavily your heartbeat. Gwilym seemed to decide something, moving his head as he reached to leave the letter on the countertop behind him. He pressed the heels of his hands against the space, and looked right at you with a question of his own.

"Would you come with me?"

"You want me to come with you?" You asked through a stunned chuckled, wondering if he could have at all been kidding. Wondering what the catch was. Gwilym watched you trying to understand, and pushed himself from the counter. He closed the space between the two of you by raising both of his strong hands, and holding your face in his gentle touch.

He seemed to search for the right words but he settled instead for a nod as his eyes peered into yours.

And you knew better than to say no. When had life opened up such a grand opportunity? The last time that happened, chances lead you right to Gwil. The simple thought of taking another step through life side by side was enough to send your heart into a frenzy. Your boggled mind swept away all logical thought, so all you could do was nod along, and smile like an idiot.

Then Gwilym kissed you. He wrapped his arms around you so tight you couldn't budge even if you wanted too. But there was no place else you could imagine being. He kissed you into a dizzy trance. You couldn't even be sure if you were kissing him back with the proper gusto, you just held on and hoped he was alright with the fact you didn't plan on ever letting go.

///

It took a while. A few more months before you and Gwilym even began to discuss making it official. By then, you’d gotten through almost all of the hard talks. And once the cold started to leave, it was decided the pair of you would too.

"Is that everything?" Dean wondered, still sporting that silly, ill-fitting knit cap though spring had started to blossom

"Hm, should I throw out a couple of sweaters and make room for you?" You asked the guy, passing your luggage to Gwilym who took your last bag to the boat waiting at the base of the island.

"Someone's gotta be here to give you a lift, when you get back." Dean wagged a finger, pushing you toward his trusty old ride and worrying that you'd miss your flight. He worried all the way across the bay, actually; if you'd packed enough and left a key in the right spot, so he could come and manage Gwil's garden. Dean demanded one of you phone when you got to where you were going, and helped you carry your bags onto the boardwalk. Dean even waited with you as Gwilym went into the shop to call a cab.

You said the last of your goodbyes to the friend you'd come to know, confident your connection was one that would never die. Dean pulled you into a constricting hug when Gwilym came back. And after a while, you whispered a small thanks into Dean's ear. He'd been the best kind of friend you had ever known.

"Help him write one of those letters to me, too, okay?" Dean nodded toward Gwilym, as he pulled away from your embrace. You gave a mock salute and let your heart melt a little when the two men shared their own goodbye.

Your friend turned around the boardwalk to wave every few feet, as he trailed off to the shop. You waved back every time, and Gwilym laughed, keeping one hand firmly curled into your side.

"You sure about this?" He asked, in that delightful accent of his, as his gaze swept across the town. A cab was sputtering closer from the highway. You responded by reaching for his hand, and drawing his knuckles close enough to kiss. Even though you'd come far enough to hold his hand and share midnights together, reassurance was never neglected. And you still had lots more to share, anyway. More to talk about. More to see. More life to live, and figure out with Gwilym.

He gave your hand a squeeze before his grasp slipped away at the appearance of your ride. The driver shuffled out of the car to help Gwilym toss your bags into the boot.

"Where too?" The driver asked before settling back behind the wheel.

"The airport." Gwilym grinned, opening the back door for you, and following as you slid to settle and enjoy the ride.

"Home." You corrected, with a nod toward the man you'd come to adore. He responded by lacing his fingers through yours once more and placing a kiss on the back of your hand, his eyes staying glued to yours all the while, bluer that the waters you'd once fallen into.

Moving here was probably the best thing you ever did. But leaving was already better.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine

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remingt0nleith · 4 years

Text

thorns | remington leith

try & find the hidden palaye royale song title in the fic! & additional A/N at the end.

A/N: hi wow long time no write :( SORRY! I have ideas and I try to write then my brain just doesn’t want to put the ideas on the word document. + y’know having depression doesn’t help things bleh... BUT I did write a full something finally (yay bare minimum author things!) This was requested! gonna keep trying to turn out requests & work on dark cherries also my birthday is on thursday and i’m turning 24 (wow im getting old help) & also the bastards comes out the day after so yay! lets chat about it when its out ok?

Request: Where Remington cheats on the reader and she finds out, but he does everything he can to get her back?

Thorns - A Remington Leith one-shot. || 1.9K words || under cut.

The catalyst for a ruined night came in a round of shots. Emerson poured the amber liquid into hot pink shot glasses that the boys had picked up days prior. Remington wasted no time in downing his, barely flinching at the bitter taste that now coated his tongue.

“Slow down there, cowboy”

Sebastian laughed before throwing his own shot back, placing a hand on Remington’s cheetah print covered shoulder.

“We can’t have our lead singer fucked up out of his mind, can we?”

The eldest brother chided playfully as he took the bottle from Emerson and poured more shots.

As the brothers drank and talked anxiously about their first show of a new tour, Remington’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, taking it out he suppressed an eye-roll at the message filling his screen;

My Love <3: HEY BABY JUST WANT TO WISH U LUCK TONIGHT YOU’LL KILL IT. LOVE U.

He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him lately, usually, he’d be thrilled at the love and adoration his girlfriend of three years was showing him. She was always cheering him on, listening to his music, and supporting his band in every way she could. Although she was unable to come to most shows due to a fast-paced work schedule she always made a point to let the band of brothers know they had her support. That should’ve been enough to keep Remington happy but recently he had become cold towards his girlfriend and as he put his phone away without responding all thoughts of her disappeared as well.

Remington headed backstage after the show still high from the performance. The adrenaline from the encouraging crowd and kick-ass concert his band delivered had Remington feeling happier than he had in months. Once in the dressing room, the boys quickly changed out of their sweaty stage attire into more relaxed outfits, and like clockwork, shots were once again being handed out.

Once everyone had a decent buzz going the boys and their crew headed out to a nearby nightclub to celebrate the success of the show. Remington realized halfway to the club that he had forgotten his phone in the dressing room, a fact that didn’t phase him, in fact he was happy to be rid of the constant ringing.

Once inside the packed club, Remington waved goodbye to his brothers and made his way to the bar. His buzz had diminished slightly in the car ride and that was a no go for Remington so he ordered a drink, which quickly became two, then three before he headed to the dance floor.

Packed in a sea of bodies the singer danced to the music, enjoying the happiness that came from the night’s events as well as the alcohol in his system. When a manicured hand grabbed him and pulled him close, he didn’t object, instead, he wrapped his arms around the dark-haired beauty.

The pair danced together to the techno music blaring overhead, strobe lights illuminating their faces, hands roaming freely over each other’s bodies before the woman leaned in and planted a sloppy kiss to Remington’s lips.

If there was a moment of panic, a spark of recognition somewhere in the sober part of his mind, Remington ignored it. Instead, he deepened the kiss with the gorgeous stranger, when the pair eventually pulled away from the kiss, they headed to the bar for more drinks.

When Sebastian came to let Remington know it was time to head to the hotel, the frontman wasted no time in asking this new girl if she’d like to go with him. Much to the dismay of the older (and wiser) brother, she said yes and everyone piled into the van and were chauffeured back to the hotel to continue the party.

Morning light filtered through the window a sign of a new day, but as Remington opened his eyes the gravity of last night hit him. He was alone in his hotel bed, the white sheets crumpled and covered in streaks of makeup (his or hers, he wasn’t sure). Flashbacks of last night filled his mind and all at once he realized the hickeys on his body were from a stranger, the realization filled him with shame and dread.

He found his phone which had been placed on his nightstand by one of his brothers or their touring manager (who always cleaned up after the boys’ wild nights) and on it were several unread texts and calls which came in at varying points of the evening.

[9:13 pm] My Love <3: It should be time for u boys to be on stage! I’ll be stalking twitter for updates and vids love u

[12:02 am] My Love <3: Watched a ton of vids that are already being posted! Get back to me when u get this my love so proud of u xx

[3:56 am] My Love <3: Guess your phone died or your out celebrating a great night. Call me when you see this or wake up. I love you.

[10:20 am] 5 missed calls

[10:27 am] *attached photo* REMINGTON.... FUCK YOU.

The photo on his phone screen displayed the girl from last night under the covers as a passed out Remington slept beside her. The caption didn’t say anything besides a winking emoji and she tagged him and his band’s account.

Instantly, he was dialing his girlfriend’s number, hands shaking as he paced around the spacious hotel room desperately waiting for an answer.

“Hello?”

Rose answered, soft voice hoarse from hours of crying.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry..”

Remington started to explain, words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could form them.

“Save it”

Rose snapped before continuing her voice harder and more assured now than it was just moments ago.

“I never thought you’d do this even as the band started to gain an audience, I told myself that I had nothing to worry about. All the pretty girls and boys didn’t matter because what we had was strong but it sucks being proven wrong huh?”

Remington’s sudden surge of tears prevented him from speaking as the pain in his chest grew with each word. The saddest part of it all was that she was right and that ripped him up inside.

“Rose I-”

he whispered, voice barely audible even to himself.

Instead of an answer he was left hearing the sound of the call disconnecting.

The tour passed by in a daze for Remington and while his brothers desperately wanted him to be more present, they understood. He’d get on stage and sing, forgetting about the pain in his heart for that hour or so, as soon as the curtain closed the ache in his chest was back, a cruel reminder to the life-changing mistake he’d made.

Rose had cut off all contact with her now ex-boyfriend instead choosing to go through Emerson to inform him she was moving out of their shared apartment in LA.

Each night in his hotel bed, memories of the past three years filtered through his brain until he exhaustingly cried himself to sleep.

Remington used Emerson’s phone to send a series of texts to Rose to apologize, to accept full responsibility but the only reply he received was instructions to give Emerson his phone back and to leave her alone.

Just as quickly as the tour started it was now coming to a close a few months later. The boys were back in LA for a sold-out show in typical Los Angeles fashion. Remington never stopped trying to get ahold of Rose -- he sent flowers to her new address, letters where he begged for her back, apologizing and pleading for her forgiveness yet he was never awarded a reply. He didn’t blame her at all but that didn’t mean the pain hurt any less, he’d do anything for a second chance.

Shots of vodka were taken, cheers and high fives were given and the boys hit the stage. Remington gazed out into the crowd, a see of silhouettes behind bright stage lights. After a few songs, Remington sat down at the end of the stage, dark boots quietly thumping against the side.

“Y’know fans like to think we’re perfect”

he stated which earned a chorus of “I love you’s” as well as cheers from the crowd.

He smiled before continuing,

“As much as I love to hear it, it’s not true and sometimes we royally fuck up. I fucked up and these past few months have been hell so I wrote this song.”

The crowd applauded as they watched their favorite singer head to the piano, the spotlight shining on him as he sat down.

“This song is called Thorns,”

Remington began to play a hauntingly slow ballad about losing the love of your life and how apart of you is lost as well.

The pain in my heart is defeating me

Cracking me open for all to see

I’m numb to life, deep inside

Needing you to realize, you’re the better part of me

An illusion of love is what I fear

Taking each step is now unclear

A rose garden in my dreams,

You leaving now in front of me

Take my heart it’s filled with thorns

A rose trapped inside a perfect storm

Throw me to the wolves I’m on my knees

Begging for my rose to please believe

I made a mistake that I can see

Yet this pain without you is deafening

My heart of thorns cuts me deep

Paralyzing me and making me weak

Please my rose I beg you, have sympathy.

The rose garden in my dreams,

But you’re leaving right now in front of me

Take my heart it’s filled with thorns

A rose trapped inside a perfect storm

Throw me to the wolves I’m on my knees

Begging my rose to please believe

I love you Rose it’s all I know, I’m sorry for all my sorrow

By the time the song ended, Remington had tears blurring his vision. He was so wrapped up in playing the song he didn’t realize he had started to cry but to the audience that just made it so much more beautiful.

After the show, Remington hurried off the stage in order to collect his emotions but in the dressing room sat Rose. Her blonde hair was curled and she wore a red dress and in a true movie moment a dozen roses sat in her lap.

“Rem that song…”

she started but before she could finish, Remington ran over and threw his arms around her, hugging her to make sure she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

“I’m so sorry”

he whispered once she hugged back.

“The flowers were from Seb”

Rose mumbled, green eyes flicking down to them after their hug. Sebastian must have ordered them because he knew what Remington was planning. That was his older brother alright, always playing the papa bear role.

The singer’s mind was racing a mile a minute, he had a million questions but all he could do was apologize.

Rose shushed him with a chaste kiss before speaking,

“By no means have I forgiven you completely. That song however beautiful doesn’t make everything go away but I’m willing to work on us”

Remington nodded, happy she was here and willing to give their relationship another shot.

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,”

he whispered, wrapping her in another hug.

They knew it would be a long road to get back to where they were before but Remington was happy he had his Rose back in his life.

A/N: omg that song was not that good I came up with it on my own though and I’m not a lyricist lol hope u enjoyed xx

#remington leith fic #remington leith imagine #remington leith #request #palaye royale fic #palaye royale imagine

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channieswife21 · 4 years

Text

Some Kind of Drug

Kind of took inspiration from Fiancé

It started when I met her. She was beautiful in a way I couldn't explain. She was always brushing off my advances because of my track record. It's no secret that I could have any girl I wanted but I wanted her. She was a rapper as well, her flow was crazy and she did what she wanted, she wasn't like anyone else. The way she moved on stage was captivating you wanted to move every time her hips moved. She had the most intoxicating sexual allure. “You staring hard enough there Mino? I’m sure a picture would last longer!” Seunghoon teases while seated at the MAMA award show. When her set is over I take this chance to finally get her attention long enough to properly introduce myself. “I’m Mino, from Winner. I just wanted to tell you how amazing your performance was.” She looked down at me sort of. That was another thing she was thicker in most places, which I of course didn't mind, and she was almost 6 foot. “Thank you I appreciate the compliment” “I was wondering if you were free this weekend, I would love to take you out.” This isn’t my first time asking her to let me court her but hopefully this time isn’t an immediate no. “I'll think about it” Finally!! That technically wasn’t a no right? “Well here's my number in case you say yes.”

She sent me a text 2 weeks later saying she was free, so naturally for a woman like that, I cleared my schedule. I never skip out on work but for her I'd quit being an idol all together. I picked her up at her place in Busan. I took her to a restaurant I had rented out for the two of us. We talked and I even made her giggle a few times. Afterwards I took her to get dessert on the strip downtown. We ate tons of street food and I learned she has quite the appetite which isn't a problem. When I dropped her off I couldn't stop smiling I finally felt like I won her over. We talked for hours every night even when one of us is on tour.

After 4 months of talking everyday and going on dates to countless places and annoying my members by talking about her 24/7 I finally felt confident enough to take her out on a date and ask her to be mine. I’m hooked like a fiend and I don’t want it to end.

I'm hooked and I wouldn't have it any other way. I buy her flowers every Tuesday and Friday and even bought her a cartier diamond necklace for her birthday that cost me 100,396,000 won. Bobby thinks i'm addicted like i'm on some kind of drug. I feel like I'm in a utopia when I'm with her, I'm on top of the world in a sense. She loves poetry, falling asleep anywhere she gets the chance, and telling you facts you never would’ve guessed in a million years. Her mind and body are the drug and the catalyst. Champagne and strawberries are her favorite so I made sure to have them in the hotel waiting for my goddesses grand arrival. I sent her a text “jagi: The bath waters runnin, champagne is on ice, don't keep me waiting all night....”

I can't name all the ways she gets me high but this is one of them. She knocks on the door and I let her in. It's time to get my fix. I walk up behind her and slide her sundress down, I whisper in her ear “I love the way your dress just slips, right off your waist, right down your hips” we pour champagne and sit in the tub while she tells me about her rehearsals and a new song she's working on that I can't hear yet. When out of the tub we dry off and I lotion her body in my favorite smell on her, peaches and cream.

She takes control first, she loves being in control and I have no problem being her slave for the night. As she wraps her mouth and plump lips around my length I throw my head back in bliss. I'm in too deep. I'm usually the one in charge and when I'm done they leave, but she's different and always has been. Her technique's the best, she knows some tricks. She teases me “I need you now, please my love.” Although she's chic towards me I can tell she's feenin bad as well.

“Once I start, I won’t be able to stop.” She looks up at me with those hazel eyes, “Who’s asking you to stop?” I start by sucking and nipping at her nipples and it creates a storm in her most sensitive area. She arches into me and I give out a guttural grown. I push two fingers into her and she whispers into my mouth how good it feels. She’s coming undone in front of me and she bears resemblance to a work of art. I can’t get enough as I slide my length into her pussy. She bites onto my shoulder and it does nothing but make me go harder and moan louder. I see the galaxy between her thighs as I slam into her like a madman. She’s calling out my name and she sounds like the sweetest thing I’ve ever had the honor to bear witness to. It feels like days when it’s only been a hours as I come undone inside her and she arches he back into my chest when she reaches her high.

As we come down from our highs, I let her listen to my new song Fiancé. She blushes at the references to her and our relationship and how hard it was for me to get her.

its been 6 months now and it’s time I finally show her what I've been hiding. “Keep the blindfold on.” “Yes I know you only said it the whole ride here.” I wanted her to be surprised. I lead her into the room. “Ok you can take it off now.” I walk to stand in front of her with a bouquet of roses and sunflowers because they're her favorite. I made sure me and Seung-yoon found the most yellow sunflowers we possibly could. When she takes the blindfold off her mouth drops. I never let her come to my art studio and now she see’s why. Every picture I've drawn has some form of her in, or on them. One is completely her eyes, another is her lips and nose, her cute button nose she hates. She keeps her mouth open as she looks around and takes everything in. There's at least 15 paintings, 12 charcoal drawings, and 14 colored pencil drawings so that's 41 all together. “Mino...I don't know what to say.” “How about you say yes.” She finally focuses her attention back on me and turns around to notice me on one knee. “I know we haven't been dating long but you're my everything, I can't get enough of you, I can't explain all the ways you make me high, you're like my favorite drug, as soon as I met you I wanted to take you to meet my mom. You're my blue bird, you're all the stars in seoul. I love you with all of me, will you marry me?” She gasps when she sees the ring I chose and starts crying. “YES! Of course i will marry you!”

#Mino #Winner #Mino smut #Mino imagines #Mino imagine #Mino fic #Mino one shot

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processproductionsophielindsay · 3 years

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TRACEY EMIN

Tracey Emin, Everyone I Have Ever Slept With (1995)

https://bilderfahrzeuge.hypotheses.org/3437

Tracey Emin, Why I Never Became a Dancer (1995)

https://www.artforum.com/video/tracey-emin-why-i-never-became-a-dancer-1995-49262

Tracey Emin, My Bed, (1999)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/My_Bed

Tracey Emin, I've Got It All (2000)

https://www.theartstory.org/artist/emin-tracey/artworks/#pnt_4

Tracey Emin, To Meet My Past (2002)

https://www.christies.com/en/lot/lot-5709375

Childhood

Tracey Emin was born in Surrey, in England. She grew up in Margate, on the coast of Kent, with her twin brother Paul. She lived with her mother in a successful seaside hotel, where she claims she was treated "like a princess." Her Turkish father lived with them for half of the week, spending the other half with his wife and other children. After a few years, Emin's father left and took his money with him, leaving Emin's mother bankrupt.

The family was then forced to live in poverty; Emin later recalled that they had two meters, one for gas and one for electricity, but they could never afford to have them both on at the same time. When she was 13, Emin was raped; something that she later claimed, "happened to a lot of girls."

Early Training and Work

Emin left Margate to study fashion at the Medway College of Design between 1980 and 1982. She met the avant-garde personality Billy Childish, who was also a student at the college until he was expelled. Her relationship with the colourful writer, their work at Childish's small press, and her study of printing in Maidstone Art College, are all what Emin considers important artistic experiences in her maturing as an artist.

In 1987, Emin's relationship with Childish ended and she moved to London. She studied for an MA in painting at the Royal College of Art, which she received in 1989. However, after leaving the college she went through an emotionally traumatic period in which she had two abortions, and this experience caused her to destroy all the work she had made at the Royal College.

While she was still coming to terms with her own artistic practice, she influenced a reactive movement called Stuckism, which sought to promote figurative painting rather than the sort of conceptual art that Emin was focused on at the time. It was founded in 1999 by Emin's ex-boyfriend Billy Childish. The movement's name was inspired by Emin, when she had told Childish his paintings were "Stuck! Stuck! Stuck!"

In the years after breaking up with Childish, once Emin rose into fame, he became very vocal about Emin's art practice. He opposed the art business and in turn the popularity of her work and said, "Taking cultural things and turning them into mere commerce is very dangerous. Professional football has ruined football and professional art has ruined art. A decadence and superficiality have set in and sometimes I wonder if maybe we have got what we deserve. I think it is odd that the Brit artists cite the influence of someone like Duchamp who was involved in anti-art and who was taking the piss out of the pompous pretentious art establishment. The biggest irony is that now they are that pretentious art establishment themselves, yet they still put forward this idea that they are undermining something." Childish's own Stuckism movement is more about rejecting the frenzy of conceptual art and sought to champion the work of figurative painters. The Stuckism movement is still quite active and is famous for protesting the Turner Prize every year to show their continued opposition. The Stuckism art movement is an action against artists such as Emin, and yet her artistic presence is the basis for their fundamentals, for their movement would not exist without Emin. She inspired the movement not only through her criticism of Childish's work, but also through her artwork and the public acceptance of her work. They may be in opposition to her but require her brand of art fame to continue their plight.

Mature Period

Upon moving to London, Emin become friendly with many of the other artists who would later be called the Young British Artists, which included Sarah Lucas and Damien Hirst. The group began to exhibit together in 1988, although Emin did not join ranks with them artistically until the early 1990s. The gallerist Charles Saatchi was a supporter and collector of the artists from the beginning of their careers and is often given credit for "discovering" them. The name of the group was from the title of an exhibition at Saatchi's gallery in March 1992 titled "Young British Artists I" but it was artist and writer Michael Corris who referred to the group of artists with that title in an ArtForum article in May 1992. Often all artists of that generation from Britain are called YBAs as it now holds a historic reference.

In 1993, Emin joined with Sarah Lucas to open a shop called "The Shop" in Bethnal Green, which was in the East End of London. They sold work by both artists, including anything from t-shirts to ash trays, to paper mache sex toys to dresses, adding a previously little-seen commercialism to their artistic practices, which would become a defining feature of Young British Art.

Emin had her first solo exhibition at London's White Cube in the same year. Named My Major Retrospective, Emin drew together a collection of personal items and photographs, creating a part-installation part-archive with a strongly autobiographical slant. This element of autobiography is key to her ongoing practice.

In the middle of the 1990s, Emin began a relationship with curator and art world figure Carl Freedman. Freedman was friendly with Damien Hirst and had worked with him on some of his important early shows that introduced Young British Art to the public. In 1994 the couple travelled in the US together, where Emin paid her way by doing readings. They also spent time in Whitstable on the Kent coast together, often using a beach hut that Emin purchased with her friend Sarah Lucas. She has spoken about how much she enjoyed owning property for the first time saying, "I was completely broke, and it was really brilliant, having your own property by the sea." In 1999 she later turned the hut into an artwork by bringing the structure from the beachfront into the Saatchi Gallery and calling the work, The Last Thing I Said to You is Don't Leave Me Here (1999).

In 1995, Freedman curated a show called "Minky Manky" for which he encouraged Emin to make artwork larger and less ephemeral. The result was her well-known work Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963-1995 (1995), which was a tent embroidered with the names of everyone with whom she had shared a bed, sexual or otherwise. This artistic touch through words is a common theme throughout her work. Emin uses her own handwriting, as seen in her neon messages, embroidered words, monoprints and hand-cut letters for her applique designs. Misspellings and grammar mistakes are present in her artworks, as if to add humiliations and failures to her authenticity.

Emin first came to the attention of the wider British public when she appeared on a television show about the Turner Prize in 1997, where she was belligerent and drunk, swearing on live television among a panel of academics. She finished her appearance by saying, "I'm leaving now, I wanna be with my friends, I wanna be with my mum. I'm gonna phone her, and she's going to be embarrassed about this conversation, this is live, and I don't care. I don't give a fuck about it." She ended with, "you people aren't relating to me now, you've lost me" before taking off her lapel mic while still talking and walking off in the middle of the live show.

Two years after her drunken television appearance, Emin was nominated for the Turner Prize for her controversial work My Bed (1998). Only one British artist of the four nominated can win the prize, and Emin lost the Prize that year to Steve McQueen. The surrounding press coverage dubbed her the "bad girl of British art". At the time, many voiced opinions about the types of stains and impurities contained in her artwork, even the lowest English tabloids weighed in. Although she never won the Turner Prize (yet), it was the catalyst for her fame.

Her work evolved during this period and she developed a more specific style. Her choice to use needlework and applique techniques place her work within a tradition of feminist discourse within modern and contemporary art. These techniques were considered domestic handicrafts and were typically considered low in the hierarchy of art, and a part of normalized feminine practice - a concept that Feminist art has waged war against with significant success. Emin herself has no fear of being associated with "low art" or "women's work", for she embraces her own sexuality and femininity; and most certainly places importance upon it.

Current Practice

Emin's personal life and public appearances have become less sensational since the late 1990s. Her work is in a variety of important collections, and many celebrities have become collectors of her art, including Elton John and George Michael. She has also become friends with many famous people from the music and fashion worlds, including Ronnie Wood of the Rolling Stones, Vivian Westwood, Kate Moss, and Madonna. Madonna has described Emin as "intelligent and wounded and not afraid to expose herself."

In 2007, Emin was made a Royal Academician at London's Royal Academy of the Arts, marking her ascent into the upper echelons of British art society and her acceptance by the establishment. She was later also made a professor of drawing at the institution. In 2013, she was included on a list of the 100 most powerful women in the country by BBC Radio 4, and in the same year she was awarded a CBE for her services to the arts.

For the 52nd Venice Biennale in 2007 Emin was the second female British artist to be nominated to represent the British Pavilion (the first was Rachel Whiteread in 1997). She exhibited a work titled, Borrowed Light which featured many of her early drawings alongside her recent works. The show received mixed critique, and she was criticized for being limited in her art practice.

In 2015, Emin took the unusual decision to "get married" to a rock in her garden in France. She later stated that "somewhere on a hill facing the sea, there is a very beautiful ancient stone, and it's not going anywhere," describing her rock-husband as "an anchor, something I can identify with." She symbolically chose to wear her father's funeral shroud for the short and unconventional ceremony. This is to be understood as a universal expression of love, and an expression of the soul or the invisible self. Emin has announced numerous times that she no longer has sex and is not invested in physical conquest, but rather, seeks to focus on love and her work.

The Legacy of Tracey Emin

Emin's work as part of the Young British Artists movement placed her firmly within a key legacy that was to affect the development of art in Britain for years to come. Similarly, she holds an international stage, for her work tackles universal ideas through her relationship to human behaviour and gender. Her seminal work My Bed helped redefine what a liberated woman can be. Emin’s work influenced a generation of female artists who explore womanhood and feminism through a self-confessional tone. These include artists such as Marie Jacotey-Voyatzis, whose print works explore her emotional life as a woman and include Emin-like misspellings, and Laure Prouvost, a Turner Prize winner who works with self-revelatory video as well as textiles and found objects to create striking tableaux. Emin has evaded aligning her ideology with a larger political cause, and has stated, "I'm not happy being a feminist. It should all be over by now."

Her work can be understood as belonging to the ethos of third-wave feminism; a belief that a woman can define her sexuality on her own terms. The lack of symbology in Emin's work forces audiences to focus on the real and often taboo aspects of femininity through modern women's issues, such as menstruation, abortion, promiscuity, and the shame associated with these topics. She has carved her own place and continues to produce artwork with her signature strong, yet vulnerable edge.

Emin continues to be active in her art practice, and the basis of her work remains tied to physical identity through corporeal and spiritual anguish. She is an active participant in her artwork, and through this she lends an openness and vulnerability to her audience through universal emotion. She rejects discussion of the feminist authority in her work, and yet she engages directly with modern female identity. Art allows the violation of social norms, and in turn a way for viewers to enter sharing the human social condition - often in a controlled environment.

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bananaofswifts · 4 years

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When Taylor Swift made the decision to post her first-ever political endorsement on Instagram in Taylor Swift: Miss Americana, a new Netflix documentary that premiered at Sundance Film Festival on Thursday night, the audience burst into applause. They applauded again when she told her publicist “f*ck that, I don’t care,” about the possibility of the president attacking her, and then again when a news clip announced Swift’s post significantly increased millennial voter registration. For a pop star whose reputation has been up and down and down some more, it seems Miss Americana has her poised for an upswing.

From director Lana Wilson, who won an Emmy for her 2013 doc After Tiller, and produced by Academy Award-winners Morgan Neville and Caitrin Rogers (20 Feet From Stardom) and Christine O’Malley (Wordplay, I.O.U.S.A.), Miss Americana presents the world with a new Taylor Swift. By “new Taylor Swift,” I don’t mean a Taylor Swift who’s willing to tell Kanye West where to shove it—we already know she’s willing to do that. No, this is a Taylor Swift who’s willing to tell the American government where to shove it, and that’s very new indeed. Whether haters will be willing to hear the new Taylor out remains to be seen, but if they do, they would certainly find someone worth listening to.

Titled after her recent song, “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” the film begins where a lot of music documentaries have gone before: the trials and tribulations of being a world-famous artist. We open with Swift playing piano in her house, dressed down in simple overalls and a tee-shirt, perusing her old songbooks. From there Wilson launches into a fairly standard but still enjoyable rundown of Swift’s career. It’s got everything you want and expect a music documentary to have, from adorable clips of Swift as a charismatic 13-year-old girl to a recap of her public feud with Kanye West. (Swift calls West’s infamous interruption at the 2009 VMAs a “formative experience” and “a catalyst for a lot of psychological paths I went down.”) Wilson also spends extensive time with Swift in the studio, giving fans an intimate look at her songwriting process as they’ve never seen before.

The second, more interesting half of the film is dedicated to Swift’s political awakening as an increasingly liberal activist. In 2016, while her famous friends were campaigning for Hillary Clinton, Swift stayed silent on the election. Some assumed that meant Swift was a Trump voter, an assumption she more or less blew to shreds in the 2018 midterm election when she came out—as a Democrat—in favor of Senatorial candidate Phil Bredesen, and strongly against Republican Marsha Blackburn in her home state of Tennessee.

Her decision to post that endorsement on Instagram—the first time she ever truly voiced a political opinion publicly—is easily the best scenes in the film. Her dad, a former Merill Lynch stockbroker, as well as several other members of her team, aruge with her, and tell her not to post it. They’re worried she’ll alienate half of her fanbase, and they’re also worried about her safety. She does it anyway, citing her regret for not taking a stand against Trump in 2016 as a reason why—as well as her recent, unpleasant experience going to court, countersuing a DJ who groped her, and then sued her when he was fired, something she says “no man in my family or organization can ever understand.”

“I’m sad I didn’t two years ago, but I can’t change that,” she tells her dad sharply in the film, on the verge of tears as she struggles to explain why this matters to her. “[Blackburn] votes against paid leave for women … It’s right and wrong at this point.”

Watching defy her father and her closest advisors through tears, it’s hard to feel that Swift did so for any reason other than believing it was the right thing to do. Here is the proof that so many have been asking for that her feminism is genuine, rather than something to be indulged in when it’s convenient and profitable for her. Following Bredesen’s loss in the 2018 midterm, we see Swift writing a new song, “Only the Young,” urging young people not to give up on politics when elections disappoint, which has not yet been released. (The song plays over the film’s credits and will be released with the film.)

Speaking of insights into Swift’s personal life, fans hoping for an update on Swift’s mom, who the pop star revealed was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015 might not get the answer they’re hoping for. Andrea Swift, 62, is present in the film and at one point jokes about bringing her “cancer dog,” into a family of cat lovers. Unlike the Instagram scene, it doesn’t dig in deep or get teary. Perhaps Swift feels that’s not her personal story to tell. (Last week the singe revealed her mother had also been diagnosed with a brain tumor.)

Swift’s public confrontation with former record label owners—Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta of Big Machine Records, who Swift claimed were preventing her from using her older songs on television, including in this documentary—is never mentioned in the film. According to Wilson in an interview with Variety, that’s because that drama went down too close to the film’s wrap. (Variety also reported in December that all of Swift’s songs were cleared for use in Miss Americana.) But the controversy fits neatly in with the film’s theme: No more Mrs. Nice Taylor.

I’m hardly Taylor Swift’s No. 1 fan, and like many of her non-fans, I’ve let my opinion of the pop star ebb and flow with the narrative of the moment. Miss Americana is undoubtedly a pro-Tay narrative, but it’s a good one. Wilson and her team captured moments that felt personal, vulnerable, and deeply authentic, and they did so with a skill and artistry that Instagram Live stories just can’t match. I was convinced that Swift is thinking deeply about issues of gender, sexuality, and politics in ways she never has before. To me, that’s a good thing.

I’m sure some will feel differently. How could an educated, privileged woman living in America in the 21st century be this slow on the uptake? It’s a fair point. But I’d argue many men before have had their awakening much later in life, and were applauded for doing so. One hopes it’s never too late to come to the light side.

Miss Americana will play in select theaters and on Netflix on January 31.

#taylor swift #miss americana #review

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littlemisssquiggles · 4 years

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If there is an Atlas Ball, a part of me hopes that instead of dancing Oscar and Ruby ditch it and go on a date, talking about the future and what is expected of both of them while also having some nice moments in between

That could be pretty nice anon-chan. I’m just unsure of the likelihood of a cute scenario like that being canon; especially given what transpired in V7CH2.

The word on the street seems to be that the Atlesian Ball episode might occuron the same night as the Watch Party for the results of the current AtlasElections between Jacques Schnee and Robyn Hill.

I more saw the watch party as just the students of Atlas gathered in the Great Hall or cafeteria to watch the results with possible celebrations afterwards depending on who you were rooting for. I didn’t really see it as being an actual party where the students dress up in suits and dance the night away.

For me, I was more banking on the dance episode being an outing with Team FNKI to go partying in Atlas as promised by Neon Katt back in V3.

If not with the FNKI then possibly with Pietro and Penny since the Soul Doctor made mention of his next ingenious creation being ‘shoes that could make you dance’. I figured dancing might be one of Pietro’s favourite pastimes whenhe’s not up in Atlas doing his work for the kingdom or down in Mantle givingback to the community. So I figured that perhaps one night, Pietro might treat our hardworking young huntsmen and huntresses to a night of dinner, jazz music and dancing with him and Penny.

That was my idea. But since the watch party was teased in the second episode, that could most likely be the plan for all the festivities of the season. It was also mentioned that Penny 2.0 was slated to receive an ‘Employee of the Month’ award for her services to Atlas Academy.

So perhaps...the Watch Party will be a full night of awards and celebration leading up to the viewing of the election results?

Either way, for now that’s the main guess of the RWBY theorists for the so-called ‘dance’ or ‘Atlas Ball’ episode that’s to come for the Atlas Arc.

Regarding the Rosegardening Rosebuds, I’m not too sure where Ruby and Oscar’s friendship will be by the time of the Watch Party episode. I’m concerned that things might become a little tense between the two given the stunt that Ruby pulled in Ironwood’s office.

It would also be naïve and bold of me to assume that Ruby’s deceit of the General is going to be rectified immediately. Ozpin has sat on the secret of Salem’s true nature for many, many lifetimes. It wouldn’t surprise this squiggle meister one bit if Ruby ends up prolonging telling Ironwood the truth which will eventually start to upset Oscar.

It also wouldn’t surprise me if Ironwood plans on making the announcement about Salem on the same night as the Watch Party. After all, most of Atlas and Mantle will probably be tuning into the live broadcast to watch the results ofthe elections. So perhaps…Ironwood might chose that same night to make an ‘important announcement’ to the kingdom; not just to address the appointment of their new Councilman but also to make light of the Salem issue.

I have a feeling that Mantle is going to be a key target for Watts. For now, Atlas might be safe until V8 (since I’m sure Salem’s Army will take great care of our titular kingdom in the clouds). But Mantle. Due to Ironwood and his military’s negligence of their lower city, this makes Mantle a weak link and perfect martyr for Watts’ agenda.

I have a feeling that Watts might tamper with the results of the local elections to trigger the People of Mantle. I’d like to think that watching their only candidate lose unjustly to an Atlesian businenessman who has been known to exploit their citizens for years right under the Council and the Military’s nosescoupled together with the news about Salem will provide the perfect catalyst tospark yet another kingdom destroying attack from the Grimm.

But while Atlas may be perfectly safe—Mantle will be left in the rubble with their limited kingdom defences. And I bet the piss poor security left in Mantle is going to provide eve less assistance to the People of Mantle after Watts hijacks the entire city and trains all its robotic soldiers on the people.

It would be just like Vale all over again, except now on Solitas soil in Mantle.It bet an Attack on Mantle is in the works.

But, perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself here.

Resuming talk on Ruby and Oscar, as much as I would love for things to remain happy-go-lucky between these two for most of V7; as I said, I believe things might become a rocky between them at some point as well. And while they willprobably reconcile before the end of the volume—it doesn’t shake the oddfeeling in my gut that my precious beans’ overall trust in one another will be challenged for this season.

I feel like the notion of whether or not Ruby fully trusts Oscar as an extension of his connection to Ozpin as well as whether or not the God of Light’s warning to Ozma would come back to nip Oscar in the butt with Ruby—both of those things, among others, may be brought into the question going forward.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying all of this to imply anything bad about the potential of Rosegarden for this season, I’m more saying that this season may provide a welcome challenge for their bond.

A worthy obstacle that might cause the pair’s relationship to sour for alittle while but will ultimately lead to the two becoming closer than they ever were before.

Since this season’s overarching theme seems to be ‘trust in love’, I feel like that’s going to play a definitive role in the Rosegardening budding friendship and potential romance for V7.

Then again, these are only my views. I guess we’ll see for the remainder of the season.

For now, while I doubt a date is in the cards, perhaps we might get to see Ruby and Oscar share at least one dance together, anon-chan. Who knows?

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

#Anon-ninja #squiggles answers: rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #oscar and ruby #rwby rosegarden #rwby theories #rwby volume 7 theories #rwby volume 7 spoilers #rwby volume 7

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olicitytropes · 5 years

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Olicity Tropetastic Awards: Season Three

The season of angst, assassins, and al sah-hottie is one we’ll always hold close to our Olicity-loving hearts. From their first date, to their first kiss, to their first time together, season 3 really gave us everything...including(arguably) the best hiatus fanfiction we’ve ever had.

Don’t ask Oliver to say he doesn’t love Felicity. And don’t ask us to say we didn’t love these fics.

@tangled23works’s recs:

Memory Lane - @lupin72

Oliver and Felicity spend a night at a karaoke bar with Oliver telling Felicity how he knows for a fact that she can sing. Felicity realizes that she really doesn't remember Thea's birthday

**Award: Best Karaoke+Fluff I’ve Ever Read**

Devil’s Backbone - @anthfan

What happens if Oliver and Felicity begin a physical relationship brought on by the catalyst of Sara's death, but acted like nothing had changed between them. One chapter per episode.

**Award: Best Canon Divergence/Fic You Need To Read ASAP**

The End of the Beginning - MachaSWicket

Tomorrow – and her stomach jumps a little every time she lets herself think about it – tomorrow, she and Oliver are leaving on some grand tour of the U.S. (And each other.) But first: sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. At least that’s the plan. To say she wasn’t expecting a knock at her door is putting it mildly. Because Oliver left her outside Palmer Tech with a sweet, lingering kiss, and he’d looked at least as tired as she felt.

**Award: Cutest, Most Realistic Olicity The Night Before They Ride Off Into The Sunset**

Only you can set my heart on my fire - inlovewithimpossibility

He can’t help but smirk at her tone of voice. His main focus over the past two months has been memorizing every element of the woman underneath him. He’s tuned himself into her frequency, storing the cause and meaning of every type of hitched breath, moan and tone of voice. This soft, distracted murmur is rare but one of Oliver’s favorites.

(A small NSFW fic set in Bali during Olicity's post-s3 roadtrip)

**Award: Most Gratifying Olicity-In-Bali Fic**

@blondeeoneexox’s recs:

Caught in the Rapture - @bindy417

AU. Being the daughter of a ruthless and notorious crime lord, Felicity Smoak didn't think her life could get any worse. When her father unexpectedly sells her in marriage as a peace offering to his enemy, she quickly learns it'll take more than just her sharp intellect to survive. But what starts out as a sentence worse than death may actually be her only shot at freedom.

**Award: Most Beautiful Olicity Growth**

The Firebird - @supersillyanddorky06

Felicity Smoak stumbles upon a man dressed in black about to kill someone. The man takes an interest in her and she does not realize who he is. He is Al Sah-Him, the best assassin in The League, the crown jewel of the brotherhood, who is known for his lethal focus and killer instincts, brought up in the League itself.

What happens when he is taken completely with the blonde?

Assassin AU. Basically a what if Felicity met Al Sah-Him and not Oliver Queen story. Stuff will happen. Enjoy!

**Award: Most Amazing Felicity and Al-Sah-Him Non-Canon That I Really Wish Was Canon Because It Would Have Been SO REWARDING Fic**

P.S. Hong Kong: Was it Real?!? - @cruzrogue

(This is off season 3 Flashbacks. When Tommy goes to Hong Kong he doesn’t go alone he takes his friend Felicity as the best information system being to help him locate Oliver Queen. Tommy may leave empty handed but Felicity gets to be a bride…)

Trope-tastic Awards: Week One

Fake Marriage!

(Olicity fake marriage stories! Pretending to be married, accidentally married, drunkenly married in Vegas and they don’t remember any of it)

**Award: Cutest Fake Marriage S3 Fic**

@allimariexf’s recs:

Once More (From the Top) - @writewithurheart

In the aftermath of his fight with Ras Al Ghul, Oliver finds himself somewhere unexpected: his hospital room when he first came back from the Island.

With a second chance to right the mistakes he’s made since coming back to Starling City, what will Oliver do to save the people he’s loved and lost?

Will he be able to change his past or will be he forced to watch history repeat itself?

**Award: Most Intriguingly Brilliant, Heartwarmingly Beautiful, Why-Can’t-This-Be-Canon Time Travel Trope**

We Should Just Kiss (Like Real People Do) - @dust2dust34

Prompt-inspired ficlets covering Oliver and Felicity's road trip after 3x23 "My Name is Oliver Queen."

Covers everything from the fluffiest fluff to silliness to gratuitous smut to ridiculous happiness to some angst.

**Award: Hottest Exploration of the Sweet, Smutty, Quiet, Happy! Domestic! Olicity Moments From the Summer of Olicity that we Deserved But Never Got**

Long Time Coming - MachaSWicket

Felicity’s pretty proud of them both, that they follow up their frantic, almost-had-(probably-amazing)-sex-in-the-lair lapse in control with an actual, grown up, adult conversation in which they agree to keep their hands to themselves until they go on a couple of real, official dates. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. They agree that kissing is okay. And some, you know, associated behaviors. Because kissing involves touching and hugging and maybe occasionally some delightful friction. So that kind of… grinding is also acceptable. But they’re not going to have sex before their first date. Probably. Or how Oliver and Felicity turned all that blistering UST to RST. Finally. Spoilers through S3, including “The Climb.”

**Award: Sweetest, Most Emotionally-Fulfilling Use of Delayed Gratification (not to mention hottest)**

@smoaking-greenarrow’s recs:

Confidence - itwasred

Olicity on their road trip after the season 3 finale, discovering each other. Felicity has some confidence issues that Oliver is quick to get her over.

**Award: Best Oliver Making Sure Felicity Knows How He Has Always Felt About Her**

Pacific Crest Trials - @imusuallyobsessed

After they drive off into the sunset and leave Starling City behind, Felicity and Oliver decide to go hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail. Felicity soon realizes that her vision and the reality don't match up, and Oliver does his best to convince her that backpacking isn't all that bad. Part of the Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon, prompt: summer vacation.

**Award: Cutest Protective Oliver**

This One Time in College - Vixx2pointOh

After we saw them drive off into the sunset, we know the travelled around the world....

In Thailand Felicity got drunk and started talking.....drunk Felicity shouldn't be in charge of talking....

**Award: Most Hilariously Drunk Felicity**

Daughter of the Demon - @laxit21, mewmew666

What if in 1988 while traveling through Las Vegas Ra's al Ghul bumps into a nice waitress named Donna Smoak and they have one-night stand together? A little bundle of joy named Felicity Smoak is the result. In 2014, the Demon Head becomes aware of his youngest daughter's existence.

**Award: Most Unique Twist in Canon**

@memcjo’s recs:

Bury me in your Sins - @theirinrutherfords

Don’t involve yourself in the league of assassins and don’t fuck with the league of assassins. It’s a pretty easy concept, right? Well, it would have been if Felicity had known what she was meddling with. Now she has one of the league’s best assassins knocking down her door.

**Award: Best Use of Felicity Being in Over Her Head But Coming Out on Top**

Come Back When You Can - @smoaking-greenarrow

Felicity Smoak had accepted that her husband is dead. She's done everything she could to hold her family, her team, her city, and herself together. But five years after losing her husband, Felicity learns that things didn't happen the way she thought they did. And when Oliver realizes that he was lied to, he's willing to do whatever it takes to get revenge on the people who took his life away.

**Award: Best Use of Angst/Sorrow/Revenge Leading to a Happy Olicity**

Into Thin Air - @realityisoverrated-fic

Tommy disappears on his morning run. Two weeks later, Felicity is taken from the Foundry. Oliver is willing to sacrifice everything to get them back.

**Award: Best Use of Stubborn SmoakingBillionaries Facing Extreme Danger to Save Each Other in a HOLY SHIT~WOW! fic**

Try Harder Next Time - @hope-for-olicity

Set in Season 3 (I heart Season 3), Diggle confronts Oliver about letting Felicity go - yes, I can write the same story a different way over and over and over ;) This was Hope-for-Olicity’s 100th story as well!

**Award: Best Use of Diggle Sees ALL and is Tired of Oliver’s Shit**

A Nice Day for a Light Wedding - sarcasticmama

A one shot based on leaked finale spoilers for Season 3 of the Arrow. Olicity! Written in between feedings with no beta. All mistakes are mine.

**Award: Best Happily Ever After Olicity Fluff**

Unasked Questions - @laurabelle2930

Olicity Smut ;) This one takes place during 3x20. It’s my take on what happened before we see Oliver staring out over the moon lit sands of Nanda Parbat.

**Award: Best Use of Sexy, Bittersweet Olicity**

@msbeccieboo’s recs:

His Felicity, His Happiness - @oliversmuse

She just wanted to have a night off. A night where she could forget the trauma she had been through three months ago. But that night, everything changed. He saved her then kidnapped her. He was a mystery to her and she hated mysteries. They needed to be solved. She was determined to find out who was Al-Sah-Him.

**Award: Best disposal of Evil!Ray**

Adventures in Ivy Town - @it-was-a-red-heeler

Oliver and Felicity learn that there can be danger in the burbs, too.

**Award: Cutest Ivy Town fluffiness!!**

#Arrow #Olicity #olicity tropetastic awards #season 3 trope #season 3 rec list #Olicity fanfiction #Oliver Queen #Felicity Smoak #Olicity fic

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the--blackdahlia · 5 years

Text

Too Young to Fall in Love Chapter 23 (Dirt!Nikki x Reader)

Title: Too Young to Fall in Love 23

Summary: Nikki Sixx was a hard partying musician on the strip. He never expected to fall in love with anyone, until a girl knocked on his dressing room door looking for a ride home and took his breath away. Just like everything else Nikki did; the drugs, the money, the music; Nikki went hard with love. (Y/n) Bass never expected the bassist of Motley Crue to be the one to shake her calm and calculated life up. She had a plan. Graduate school, become an epic producer, and watch from behind the scenes as her brother’s band rose to fame. Nikki and (Y/n) were perfect for each other, too bad her brother, Tommy, didn’t think so.

Series warnings: Smut (18+ Please), drug use, language, referenced miscarriage, drug overdose, mentioned attempted suicide, out of character moments for everyone in the band, the timeline might be a little screwy but it’s fanfiction! I know nothing of music production and my medical knowledge is really screwy, so it won’t be accurate.

Here’s a chapter since I have to work all day tomorrow and won’t feel like posting. Enjoy guys!

AN: For this chapter, play Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue & Chester Bennington

(Y/n) was waiting for Nikki at home. She kept looking at the clock, waiting for him. Worry had already passed by the time she blew out the candles on the table. He wasn’t coming home like he had promised. So that worry in the back of her mind was pushed aside for something else. It was still worry, but more on the side of fear. Fear that he was dead somewhere. Fear that he was between the legs of another woman. Fear that the reason he didn’t come home anymore was because he didn’t love her anymore.

She looked down at the ring on her finger, twisting it some. He didn’t show her off the way he used to. Yeah, they had their own thing; she had her bands and he had his. But he also had pictures in magazines of him with girls in skirts that could double as belts and tops that were rejected bikinis. She looked down at herself. Why would he want her when he could have any other girl? He could get a girl like Tommy’s. Long, blonde hair, tan skin, legs that go for miles.

Twenty minutes had went by since she last looked at the clock. She didn’t hear the sound of Nikki’s Porsche in the driveway by her simpler Chevy. He wasn’t going to come through that door anytime soon. If he wasn’t back by now, he wasn’t coming back at all. And if he did, he would have some excuse. Band practice went over late. Traffic was awful. Tommy did something stupid and he had to help clean it up. She knew her brother was an idiot, but Nikki had used that line one too many times here recently. All the missed anniversaries, the missed birthdays, it was all too much to handle. The broken promises only made her heart break even more.

So, she made a decision.

She went to their room and started to pack. She would give him until she had her bag packed. If he wasn’t back by then, she was leaving. And, sure enough, he wasn’t back. Why would he be if he was out doing something more fun than being at home with her? She wrote a note, hoping he would come home before she got it finished, but he didn’t. She made her way back to the living room, looking for the perfect spot to put it. That’s when she saw his favorite bass on the stand. He didn’t like using it at concerts, because he didn’t want it to get broken. (Y/n) was sure he didn’t want to use it because she had gotten it for him back when they were still happy together. She wove the letter into the strings, hearing it groan with sadness as the paper rubbed over them.

She looked down at the engagement ring. With a sigh, she slid it off, hanging it on one of the tuning knobs. Grabbing her bag, she left the house. In her car, she dialed the first number she could think of, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Hello?” Vanessa answered on the other end.

“H-hey. I...I need someplace to crash for the night. And I need the girls to all come over.” (Y/n) whispered softly.

“(Y/n)? What happened are you ok?” Vanessa sat straighter on her couch hearing the distress in her friends voice.

“I...I just left Nikki…”

*****

Nikki woke up at his dealer's house, groggy and feeling empty. He had to get to (Y/n) and their date. He didn’t even bother to look at the time as he pushed himself up and hoped that he looked presentable, not realizing how bruised his arms looked or disheveled his hair was. As he walked outside, he squinted. It was sunny out. They could go enjoy a picnic or the beach.

Wait. It was sunny out.

He cursed himself out and ran to his car. He had fucked up. He had spent the night at a strangers house that he had no business being at, doing things that he wouldn’t even tell (Y/n) about. Driving off, he rushed home. He didn’t look to see if her Chevy was in the spot that she always parked in or anything like that. Instead, he just barrelled through the front door like a man on a mission.

“(Y/n)!” Nikki called. He looked around for her. “(Y/n) you home?”

Last night, she was home. He would know, well, actually, he wouldn’t. Because he didn’t come home last night like promised. The house was silent as Nikki made his around, looking for her. His chest began to constrict, he could feel himself hyperventilating. He didn’t see any sign of her. The drawers in their room were empty her things were gone from their closet. He made his way back to the living room, thinking maybe it was a sick joke or something. He looked to where his prized bass sat. It was his absolute favorite and he barely let anyone touch it. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it on tour where it could get stolen or broken. That’s when he noticed something off about it. There on the bass, was a note and an engagement ring. With shaky hands, he grabbed the note and began to read it.

He picked up on keywords. The most he got out of it was she would get her things while he was on tour, she loved him, and she wished it could’ve worked out differently. Once it all started to register in his mind, he could feel the anger growing in his chest. Not at her, never at her, but more at himself. He did this to her, he let his demons destroy him. Taking his bass that he had carried in with him from his late, drug infused night, he began smashing everything in sight. The TV was the first to go, followed by the pieces of glassware that the stupid interior designer just thought they had to have. Windows were shattered and would need to be replaced. The walls they had lovingly painted together now were full of holes. When the poor bass just couldn’t be a battering ram anymore, he took to throwing things. Picture frames, his awards, books, magazines, records. It all went flying. And when that didn’t satisfy him anymore, he hit the wall repeatedly, busting through the drywall. He saw one more frame and grabbed it, ready to heave it like the other, when he caught a glimpse of what it was. The picture at Disneyland at Sleeping Beauty's castle. They had been so happy, so in love in that picture. And he had destroyed it. He had destroyed her. In this case, it wasn’t beauty that killed the beast.

Falling to his knees in the middle of all the glass, he felt the tears falling from his eyes. He didn’t care if the glass was cutting him up or that his hands were throbbing from hitting the wall. He just sat there, numb to everything. He didn’t hear a car pull up on the sound of his front door being thrown open by someone. He honestly just wanted to be left to his misery.

“Nikki!” A voice called out from the front door. “You son of a bitch! Where are you?” It was Tommy. He had been with Heather last night when a call came through and all he got was “(Y/n) needs help” before she was gone, leaving him with more questions than answers.

Tommy froze looking at the scene. Broken glass and ceramic everywhere. A bass smashed to bits, the TV destroyed, pictures broken. He carefully walked around the glass and to the sobbing Nikki. He wasn’t sure what to say, he didn't want this to happen. Hell, he was probably the catalyst for some of it but he didn't want this.

“What happened?” Tommy asked. “Heather went off last night to Vanessa’s. She hasn’t been back yet. Did you do this while (Y/n) was here?” He knelt in front of Nikki.

“She’s gone,” was all Nikki said.

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Tommy picked up the note and read it. He looked at Nikki, feeling a tug as his heart. “Nik…”

“I bet you’re happy now,” Nikki sneered. “You got your wish Tom. She left me… It’s over.” Nikki picked himself up. His skin was torn and bloody, and he just needed something to dull the pain at this point. He needed his fix. He needed the very thing that had drove her away. Walking to his entertainment center he pulled on a loose board and pulled out the bag of blow and grabbed a bottle of Jack. “Just leave.”

“I didn’t want it to end this way Nik…” Tommy whispered. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

Nikki snorted a line and took two big swigs of Jack, “Bull fucking shit!” he growled and glared at Tommy. “When she wasn't your sister, when you didn't know… she was the girl who literally stole my heart. The smart girl who wasn't a groupie just wanting to be fucked by a rock star so shut your face and fucking leave!”

“I’ll talk to her. I...I’m sorry man.” Tommy left then, leaving Nikki there alone. Tommy stood outside the front door and ran a hand down his face. What had he done?

NIkki did line after line but nothing worked. He couldn’t numb his pain. He walked past his room and lay in one of the guest rooms. He couldn’t go in and see the empty drawers couldn’t looks at the closet and seeing her things gone. He thought he would be strong and just go to sleep, but instead, he felt the tears falling faster than he could wipe them away.

He had only ever loved one woman in his life, truly loved, and she was gone.

****

The band had been on tour for three days when (Y/n) returned to the place Vanessa was sharing with her boyfriend. He had felt really bad about what had happened with his bandmate and giving (Y/n) the wrong drugs, and (Y/n) was cool, so he didn’t mind her staying. She saw Vanessa standing at the stove and took a deep breath.

“Nessa...I have some news.” (Y/n) told her as she came into the kitchen.

“Lay it on me girl,” Vanessa said as she placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of (Y/n).

“I quit Elektra.” She told her. “I took the job at MCA, since they’ve been after me since I started at Elektra.”

“YOU WHAT!” Vanessa looked at her, “does Tommy know?” she asked careful to not mention Nikki.

“No, I haven’t had a chance to tell him.” She told her friend. “He’s in Japan and I don’t exactly have an international phone plan. None of the guys know yet.”

"(Y/n)," Vanessa said softly. "Are you sure it's a good idea?" She looked to her friend. "You guys could just…" (Y/n) shook her head. She couldn’t go back now. She couldn’t stand knowing that he was just down the hall from her with a new girl while she was miserable without him.

“An artist from MCA already requested me. I know Metallica is upset but...Tom Petty asked me to produce him.” She looked at Vanessa for her reaction.

"You're going to represent Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers!" She squeaked. "Wow! How did Metallica take it?"

“Not good...they threatened to quit Elektra and follow me to MCA.” She laughed a little. “They’ll be fine though. Just hope they don’t try to beat up…” She trailed off. She was sure that Vanessa got the point.

"I wouldn't hold my breath," Vanessa muttered. "Vince says he's… he's gotten worse…" (Y/n) closed her eyes.

“Well, he did it to himself.” She sighed. “But god I miss him so much. I feel empty without him…”

"Maybe it was just supposed to be for a little while. I mean… who knows, maybe you guys need to work through your own demons before actually being together?" She said hopefully.

‘Yeah, maybe.” (Y/n) sighed. “Heather told me she has a friend that she wants me to meet when I feel like dating again.”

"Oh? Well that could be interesting," Vanessa smiled at her. "I have a date tonight with John."

“You two are cute together.” (Y/n) said. “I’m gonna go hang out with Heather or Athena tonight, so I’m not in the way of things…”

"(Y/n), you don't have to," Vanessa have her a soft smile. "John knows you need girl time. And it's not an exciting date...I just…"

“You know, I bet once Vince works through his demons, he’ll be back to you.” (Y/n) told her.

"I'm happy with John...I think." She whispered. "It's not that I don't love him...I do it's just… God how did I go from liking pop to rock?"

“Times change things.” (Y/n) told her with a smile. “Remember the person I was just a while ago. I miss her sometimes...”

"Me too," Vanessa said and hugged her. "But this girl has kickass hair and is a tough producer who gets results. So, who do you think Heather wants to hook you up with? Hot Hollywood star?"

“She hasn’t said. She told me just to take my time, but he’s really interested in meeting me.” She shrugged. “She said that she wants to make sure I have a kick ass date for her wedding to piss him off…”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Vanessa shook her head. From what she heard from Vince, Nikki was spiraling hard.

****

On tour Nikki was numb, he wasn't even sure what day of the week it was. All he knew was to get high get his bass and play. She was in his dreams when he finally did sleep, and any woman he saw out there that looked like her, he wanted to sweep up into his arms. Japan was a blur, so was the second leg of the tour.

“Hey man.” Tommy said, taking a seat by him. Nikki had talked to Tommy, but looking at him hurt, because he had the same eyes as (Y/n). “How you doing?”

“Fine,” Nikki sat back after taking a hit. “I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Well, I know this is a little awkward to ask this now, but I was wondering if you’d be my best man.” Tommy said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Huh? Yeah sure, sounds good.” he said and grabbed a joint. Nothing he grabbed could take the pain away. He still felt it. It was months now and things didn’t get better.

“We’ll be going home for a month. Gonna see if you can win her back?” Tommy asked.

“Huh? No I’m fine.” Nikki just stared out the plane window. He wasn’t even sure what Tommy was saying. His mind just kept thinking of her, the way she smiled, and her laugh, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about things that really interested her. Looking around he grabbed the bottle of jack and chugged half of it. He just sat there letting his body go numb.

Soon, they were back in LA. They went to Elektra to go over the last leg of the tour, which was Europe. The whole time though, Nikki kept thinking about the girl up in the office he needed to talk to.feeling a bit sober, he pushed the button to the offices in the elevator and made his way up. He felt nervous. He hadn't seen her since the day of the photoshoot and he was sure she was pissed at him. Reaching the floor he stepped off and made his way to where her office was.

“(Y/n), I’m sorry, I…” Nikki froze as he came to where her office had been. Her name plate was gone off the door and all her stuff was gone. The office was in the process of being repainted, but Nikki had a feel that she wasn’t moved just for that. His heart was pounding in his chest as he went towards his manager's office. “Where’s (Y/n)?”

“Oh...she quit not long after you guys went on tour.” He told Nikki. “She got an offer working for MCA I think. Her bands are really upset. She was making them a lot of money. They threatened to go with her. And I gotta say, Metallica can be pretty scary...”

“She...she’s gone?” Nikki asked.

“‘Fraid so man. I’d hate to be the person that pissed her off enough to leave. She really liked it here. We really liked having her here.”

She was gone, he had missed her. She left because of him. The walls felt like they were closing in on him and his chest felt tight. He ran to the elevator and pressed the button, he needed to get numb again he hated these feelings needed to shut them off.

And heroin was great at that.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk

Motley Crue Tags: @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @vader-kai @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @livingdeadharley @estxxmotley @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @wowilovenikkisixx @i-want-to-shoot-myself @motleycrueee @sams-serialkiller-fetish @getbackhonkycatt @are-you-reddie54321 @flamencodiva

Nikki Sixx Tags: @daisystuffsstuff @unknownoblivion

Too Young to Fall in Love Tags: @kingbouji3 @leximus98 @thekidbakerinthetardis @crystalbaby12 @shawnsstxtches @knockemdeadgirl

#too young to fall in love #Motley Crue #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki x reader #the dirt #dirt!nikki sixx #dirt!nikki sixx x reader #dirt!nikki x reader #dirt!nikki #fanfiction

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jeanvaljean24601 · 4 years

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Tyler Perry on How He’s Managed to Safely Make TV During the Coronavirus Pandemic

Tyler Perry wants you to wear your mask. After successfully completing production on his BET series “Sistas” without a single case of COVID-19 during the two-week shoot, shooting on “The Oval” is up next, with cast and select crew beginning to arrive at Tyler Perry Studios for their stint in “Camp Quarantine” on Thursday. And Perry says there’s not much he plans to do differently this time around, especially when it comes to having everyone wear masks both on-set and around the 330-acre campus.

“I made sure that the cast and crew and everybody wore their masks when they weren’t on set because I do know for a fact that masks help stop the spread — scientifically, I know that,” Perry tells Variety. “And everybody adhered to that, even though we were all testing negative. I just didn’t want someone to be incubating with [COVID-19] for three to 12 days, and we not know it.”

Perry and the “Sistas” crew wore their masks between 12 and 14 hours while shooting the 22-episode season, with an hour and a half lunch break as a chance to catch their breath.

“Listen, I was the mask police. Every time I saw something I was screaming about it,” Perry says. “It’s summer in Georgia so credit to the crew — it’s burning up here and they were still doing the right thing. So, I gave a lot more breaks for people to have water because we had a couple people that got dehydrated from all the heat, and the water breaks were actually the ‘breath break’ where you can pull your mask down, drink some water and get some fresh air.”

Of wearing his mask while directing the show, Perry admitted that he did feel “mask-drunk” from time to time due to lack of oxygen, but the team got through it. “For me, once I got the actors comfortable seeing me looking like a man from outer space, it was fine. But you’ve got to remember that I direct in a wig and a dress sometimes so that wasn’t as odd for me,” he quipped.”

To perfect their method of working in the quarantine bubble, Perry’s team worked with Emory University’s Dr. Carlos Del Rio, Dr. Sanjay Gupta and Dr. Colleen Kraft to execute a rigorous testing schedule with a nasal swab test administered upon arrival at Tyler Perry Studios and follow up tonsil tests every four days on site.

“Every fourth day was so important and that’s when my anxiety was raised most was in those first two tests because I was so concerned,” he recalls.

After the first 160 cast and crew moved into Tyler Perry Studios, two people tested positive during initial the sequestering period. When the next 200 people arrived a few days later, two more people tested positive during their initial test. Those four people never worked on set and were sent to get medical attention.

“I felt this wave of relief after the last test results, where everybody was negative, I was like, ‘Okay, we pulled it off,’ so I’m so proud of my crew,” Perry says, celebrating his group of “underdogs” for the achievement. “I don’t know how any other production, if you’re not in quarantine, I don’t know how you do it, but testing is key.”

Though Perry took extra care to address COVID behind the scenes, he says that his shows will not reference the pandemic in any upcoming storylines.

“All these scripts were finished right at the time that COVID started to show up,” Perry explains. “And also, what I know about COVID is people are tired of hearing of it, and entertainment is escape, so I don’t think my audience want to brought into more of what is happening in their reality. All of my work has been about escapism, so I’m just going to hold to escapism.”

One challenge to production, though, is operating with a reduced crew size; Perry says his crews were reduced by about 80-100 members, with a total of 360 people on site for production on “Sistas.” When asked whether he thinks shows will continue to go on with reduced crew sizes after the pandemic is over, he concedes that there is some financial reasoning to do so.

“I think that the producers and the people who are controlling the purse strings would definitely want to hold it to this [size],” Perry says. “But I can tell you that it was stressful on some of my crew, because they were they were down people. So, I would make sure that they had what they needed to continue this way.”

Citing one specific example, he adds, “The extras are a problem, especially when you’re doing big scenes and you only have 10 extras. You’re changing their clothes, moving them around the room and hoping that people don’t recognize them, trying to shoot the back of their heads or having the crew jump in and be extras. That was a challenge. Some things I think we will be good for this [to continue], but others won’t work.”

Another challenge to producing content during the pandemic is the sheer cost — which in Perry’s case, included housing all cast and crew at Tyler Perry Studios and flying out-of-town players into Atlanta via private planes. Perry previously told Variety that he expected costs to be high, now estimating that after producing “Sistas,” “The Oval,” “Ruthless,” and “Bruh” (which will all shoot in succession), the total could be somewhere around $18 million.

Michelle Sneed, the president of production and development for Tyler Perry Studios, further detailed the logistics of filming, explaining that the ultimate cost of COVID precautions was somewhat higher than initially budgeted for, though most of the extra spending was unavoidable.

“The most important thing is to trust people to do their job and to be able to acclimate to whatever these COVID standards are,” Sneed says. “What COVID does for production is slow it down — it costs money and it slows it down. So, our thing was, is it going to be ridiculous for cast to wear masks? Can a cast member really take off their mask as soon as they open their mouth to do a scene? Absolutely — they can and they did. Can our camera people really wear a face shield with a mask even if he wears eyeglasses. Absolutely, yes he did. So I think it’s trusting these professionals and crew to do what they have to do.”

Prior to filming, Perry’s team added 315 one-bedroom housing units with private bathrooms (which Perry likes to call “luxury mobile hotel rooms” or pods, which house 14 people each) in addition to the 60 housing units for cast and crew. They also added more than 70 golf carts (according to Sneed, most productions would have 20-25 golf carts) for transporting cast and crew around the campus and allowing for more social distancing than average production vehicles. In addition to two COVID compliance officers, Perry’s team also employed a safe service officers to oversee food. Sneed says they also ended up doubling the housekeeping staff on site.

The most significant cost, though, came with the different kinds of PPE gear each department would need to perform their specialty, which required “trial and error” to figure out. “We’d discover we have to get the $15 per face shield, versus the $3 one that we had budgeted for, for departments that rely heavily on face shields, or get these version of the goggles for this department, so that really adds up,” she explains.

Perry and his team also paid for the cast to have some socially distanced fun too. “When you’ve got 360 adults were working these kinds of hours, of course, I had to have a bar, food trucks, and movie night on the lawn and church on Sunday, so that people could feel like they were at least not in prison,” Perry says.

And in addition to working during the pandemic, Perry is also filming during industry’s internal reckoning about how the Black Lives Matter movement relates to changes needed in Hollywood.

“George Floyd’s death, as horrific and tragic as it was, it was the thing that was the catalyst to open people’s eyes,” Perry says. “When people saw that played out — eight minutes and 46 seconds, real time video of what really happened — I think it just struck a chord of the conscience of America. So, to see so many races galvanizing together to come and fight this level of injustice has been so moving to me. I just want to be sure that that message doesn’t get lost about what we’re fighting for. More than anything I’m grateful that all industries are waking up and going. ‘Wait a minute, there is something that we can do here there is something wrong.’ That makes me very proud of just the human spirit of our country.”

Speaking of the record-number of Black actors nominated for Emmy Awards this year, Perry says: “It says a lot about the Emmys, the governors and the voters and all that they’re doing to try to at least hear — that’s what it’s so important — that we hear each other. I was very happy to see that because I feel like Hollywood Is a place that dreams come true for everybody, and to have the Emmys recognize so many people of color, it was really, really moving for me.” x96 tv box

When it comes to what else he wants to see from Hollywood, Perry defers to the mentality that has gotten him so far professionally.

“I come from a people who had to find a way — make your own way, own your own way, build your business, build your studio. That’s my mentality, so rather than asking Hollywood what they can do, I want to see more people like me, just come in and own, and take a sledgehammer to anything that is unjust,” he explains. “Ownership is what really changes things long term, because what happens is, when there’s a movement, people get excited and they’re with it. But when it fades, things tend to go back to where they were. If there are more people in ownership and more people in power and more people rising through the ranks in Hollywood, I think that is that is the change that is really needed to make a long-term difference.”

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maliciouslycreative · 4 years

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So I’ve mentioned a lot of times over the years that I used to be fandom famous in a small anime fandom and I spent a lot of my time running damage control to an anti however I’ve never actually recounted the whole tale for you all. Buckle up and crack open a lemonade because we’re going on a journey (more under the cut).

The year is 2004, I’m 17, and in my final year of high school. I wrote a lot of fanfic back then, mostly for anime fandoms and around the time I joined Gaia I started posting my fanfic “Several Blows to the Head” which became unexpectedly extremely popular. But before I go forward I feel I should give some back story because some of you will probably get extremely confused very fast otherwise.

For those of you who don’t know about gaia online let me give you some history. Gaia was pretty much THE SHIT back in the mid to late 2000s. It was an anime themed forum website where you had a little avatar you could dress up.You gained gold by posting, playing mini games, posting in polls, or even just browsing in general. There were hundreds of subforums and in each of them a tonne of active threads. Another feature was the guild system. Basically anyone could create a guild which was pretty much your own themed subforum that the guild admin could decide the rules and who was able to join as long as they still followed Gaia’s ToS.

The anime I was into was (Bakuten Shoot) Beyblade, which at the time was an ongoing series. For those unfamiliar with the series a bunch of teenagers use battling tops possessed with the spirits of ancient mythological creatures and even gods to fight each other. Let’s just say it wasn’t winning any awards for amazing writing but it was a lot of fun and I LOVED my small corner of the fandom. It was pretty much your average shonen series of the time which meant that it had a main cast of 5 male characters (with a female lead added in the second season) and then very few minor female characters. The only actual canon ship was only made canon in a post canon addition to the manga that was not even released outside of Japan. So I bet you all are coming to the same conclusion that yes, there was incredibly bad shipping drama. The breakdown of shipping pretty much looked like this

10% slash

70% canon male/OC

20% canon male/canon female

Now to resume our story. I joined Gaia and headed over to the anime forum and found the main Beyblade thread. I posted an introduction and in it made mention that I was a fanfic writer and I liked slash. This was when I met C. I’m not going to drag her name as all of this went down over a decade ago and I hope that she’s grown as a person since then. If any of you are REALLY resourceful I mean the threads still exist. You can go find them and see just how awful it got.

C was a year older than me and apparently the authority in these parts on all things Beyblade. She was also a writer but in her own words did not write fanfics, she wrote and posted novels. She was pretty well known in the canon/OC circles and had a pretty enthusiastic following.

So when I came in to that thread and introduced myself I opened a can of worms. I was told that we did not discuss slash ships in this thread because it was not canon and it made some people uncomfortable. And ok, I can see that. It was cool. I was there to have fun and chat with people. I mean anyone that wanted to chat slash I could add on YIM, MSN, or LJ. However, 2 things started driving the knife into the wound.

It was not ok to talk slash but it was perfectly ok for C to discuss in depth her fanfics because it was an OC and obviously did not contradict canon as the stories were post (a currently unfinished) canon

People kept recognising me because my fanfic was exploding in popularity. So people kept bringing up slash and I’d get dragged into it as my fic was usually a catalyst for discussion.

To keep things from escalating us slash fans decided to make our own thread to talk Beyblade slash. Now, there was some divide in the slash fandom and people pretty much shipped only Kai/Takao or Kai/Rei but for the sake of everyone’s sanity we put our shipping differences aside in the thread and aimed to make it a positive space for everyone. I mean, most of us were multishippers so we tended to just be excited to read anything that wasn’t one of the 9000 OC fics we had to wade through to find any slash.

Whenever people would come into the main Beyblade thread now if they happened to mention slash they would get an extremely cold message from C if one of us didn’t manage to intervene first and direct the new member to our other thread.

The other crux of the problem was Kai. Kai was probably the most popular character in the English fandom and Kai was C’s favourite character. She had an extremely specific idea of how people should interpret Kai. If anyone came into the thread and made a post like “I LOVE KAI <3 <3 <3” she would be rather unkind to them making back handed comments about how the person only liked him because he was attractive or a “bad boy” or that if they didn’t have anything to add to the thread they should leave because we didn’t like spamming in the thread. If we ever started character analysis on Kai then C had to have the last word. After all she shared some characteristics with Kai and obviously that meant that she therefore knew him the best.

You all can probably imagine how well conversations went in this thread. I did my best to kindly welcome people to the thread, redirect them when they needed to be, and tried to calm down discussions when they got too heated. And if things got too bad in the main thread we’d just move to the slash thread and be super excellent to each other. There were days where C became so unbearable that her friends that didn’t even ship slash would come into the slash thread to hang with us because we were just really nice.

She was also extremely pushy with her fics. Whenever fanfics would come up shed be the first to suggest to anyone that they should read her novels. She even tried it repeatedly on the slash fans. Being completely fed up I one day made her an offer that if she read one of my fics I’d read all of hers. I didn’t even specify which fic. So she could’ve chosen one of my under 5k fics and I would have agreed to read like 200k worth of her fics. She never agreed to this in all the years of me dealing with her.

The worst part of it all was we couldn’t even really report her for harassment or anything because she was friends with a lot of moderators. The last thing any of us wanted was to get banned over some petty grievance since we’d lose all our hard work to making our avatars look fabulous.

If the whole mess in the forums wasn’t bad enough there was 1 Beyblade guild and guess who the guild admin was. The atmosphere in said guild could best be described as… tense. Anyone that wasn’t one of C’s rabid followers ran under the constant fear that they’d be booted for saying something that didn’t agree with her narrow view of things. My best friend and I were honestly surprised that she even allowed us into the guild. But she probably couldn’t afford to outright deny us as I was a pretty prominent writer in the english slash community then and my friend was also a prominent writer and artist.

Eventually we got tired of walking on eggshells constantly so some of the other slash fans and myself pooled our resources together and I created a second Beyblade guild. Our message was simple, we were just there to be a safe haven for ALL fans of the series. We were expecting pretty much the people from the slash thread and then maybe a handful of other people to join.

The entire fandom on Gaia over the course of a couple days abandoned C’s guild and joined ours. Whereas before we created ours hers was on a steady traffic decline our guild was BOOMING with posts.

Unfortunately the oldest mail I have is from 2007 on Gaia so I don’t have any screenshots of this but C was understandably upset that we’d sniped her entire user base. We did try to smooth it over with her saying that that was never our intention but it ended with her sending me a message that literally said “ok, you win” and this is something I still think about over a decade later. It forever shifted how I perceive antis.

My whole time in fandom I’d just been here trying to have a good time. I didn’t intend to become fandom famous. I didn’t intend to be in charge of one of the most active Beyblade forums at the time. I wasn’t trying to change C’s mind or fight her. And this whole time she’d thought I’d been fighting against her because we had different views on the series.

The last episode of Beyblade G Revolution aired in September 2005, her guild officially closed in 2006 and the fandom eventually started drifting into other things. I stayed active in it until probably 2008 when personal stuff drew me out of fandom and then officially took a leave from fandom in 2009 when my best friend passed away. I don’t know what happened to C but I know she was still writing her novels at that point. Whenever I see fandom drama brewing I always think back to her and how frustrated she used to make me and then I think of the “ok, you win” and I’m just left feeling sad for her and people like her. I just don’t understand how people can let their hearts be so consumed by hatred and self righteousness that it poisons their entire fandom experience. I guess that’s a conversation for another time.

One final comment that I would like to make here since I didn’t know where to fit it in above is that my one friend was completely DONE with C one day and we were talking to each other and she was like “she acts like her fics save lives in Africa!” and honestly this is the most perfect description of C’s attitude. Like good for her for believing in her writing but there is sometimes a point where you need to chill out with self promotion.

#fandom drama #long post #man i kind of wish i had screenshots of stuff that went down #because it was absolutely wild #and this is why i don't get involved in fandom drama any more #like this shit made me eternally tired #also y'all are welcome to rebagel this and tell your own tales #malicious musings

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phroyd · 5 years

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A Great Actress Leaves Us! - Phroyd

Bibi Andersson, the luminous Swedish actress who personified first purity and youth, then complexity and disillusionment, in 13 midcentury Ingmar Bergman films, died on Sunday in Stockholm. She was 83.

Her death was confirmed by the director Christina Olofson to several Swedish news outlets. Ms. Andersson had a stroke in 2009 and had been hospitalized in France.

Her emotionally complex role in “Persona” (1966), the film that made her acting reputation, was one of the great stereotype reversals in film history, a definite departure for the thirtyish Ms. Andersson, who had begun acting in her teens. Before that film, Bergman had given her roles “symbolizing simple, girlish things,” she told The New York Times in 1977. “I used to be called a ‘professional innocent.’”

Few moviegoers could disagree. In “The Seventh Seal” (1957), Ms. Andersson played a gentle, young medieval-era wife and mother who was part of a traveling acting troupe. Whenever she appeared onscreen — with her long “Alice in Wonderland” blond hair and beatific glow — the sun came out and birds sang.

In “Wild Strawberries” (1957), she was first seen as the protagonist’s turn-of-the-century sweetheart, sitting on the forest ground collecting berries in a tiny basket while wearing a fairy tale maiden’s striped and ruffled dress, her hair in a combination of braids and Victorian ringlets. But in the same film, she also played the brash, short-haired, tomboyish, contemporary teenage hitchhiker, smoking a pipe just because she knew she shouldn’t.

The haircut may have been a catalyst. When she did “Persona,” it was with a close-cropped pixie cut; she played a sensible nurse with reading glasses and a sunny exterior who reveals herself to be both talkative and troubled. The character’s personality then seems to merge with that of her patient (Liv Ullmann), an actress who has had a breakdown and refuses to speak. When the film opened in the United States in 1967, Bosley Crowther of The New York Times called it “a veritable poem of two feminine spirits exchanging their longings, repressions and mental woes.”

Most of Ms. Andersson’s acting honors, like most of her film and stage work, were European. In addition to winning four Guldbagge Awards, the Swedish equivalent of the Oscar, she was named best actress at the Cannes Film Festival in 1958 for “Nara Livet” (“Brink of Life”), sharing the award with three co-stars, and best actress at the Berlin Film Festival in 1963 for the title role in “Alskarinnan” (“The Mistress”). Paradoxically (and surprisingly, to many), neither was a Bergman film.

n the United States, she did win National Society of Film Critics awards twice: as best actress for “Persona” and as best supporting actress for “Scenes From a Marriage” (1974), in which she and Jan Malmsjo played the central couple’s unhappily married, viciously bickering dinner guests. But she never became a full-fledged American star.

Her earliest Hollywood effort, which preceded the American premiere of “Persona” by six months, was “Duel at Diablo” (1966), a forgettable western starring James Garner. Ms. Andersson was an American white man’s wife who had been abducted by Apaches and wanted to go back.

A decade or so later, she played the soft-spoken psychiatrist of a schizophrenic teenager (Kathleen Quinlan) in “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden” (1977) and Steve McQueen’s Norwegian wife in a drama that was an unusual choice for him, “An Enemy of the People” (1978), Henrik Ibsen via Arthur Miller.

She did films for the directors John Huston and Robert Altman. She was Richard Chamberlain’s mother (although Mr. Chamberlain was a year older) in the 1985 mini-series “Wallenberg: A Hero’s Story,” about the Swedish diplomat who saved thousands of Jews from the Nazis. And she made a glamorous cameo appearance as a helpful Stockholm socialite in flashback scenes of “Babette’s Feast” (1987).

Critics were kind. David Thomson, in “Biographical Dictionary of Film,” called her “the warmest, most free-spirited of Bergman’s women.” Bergman, who employed certain actresses in film after film, was notorious for his claustrophobic, almost fetishistic relationships to them during filming. The fact that he and a number of the women also had affairs seemed almost secondary.

When Ms. Andersson made her Broadway debut, in 1973, Clive Barnes of The New York Times praised her “absolutely unforced naturalness.” Derek Malcolm of The Guardian once pronounced a particular screen performance “superb, even by her exalted standards.”

Berit Elisabeth Andersson was born in Stockholm on Nov. 11, 1935, the younger of two daughters of Josef Andersson, a businessman, and the former Karin Mansson, a social worker.

In her teens, determined to become an actress, Berit began taking classes and appearing as an extra in Swedish films. She made her credited movie debut in “Dum-Bom” (1953), a comedy about a mayor whose twin brother is a clown. In 1954, she was accepted into the Royal Dramatic Theater’s prestigious acting school in Stockholm.

Her work with Bergman began earlier, however. She appeared in a commercial for Bris soap, which Bergman had agreed to do because of a 1951 national film-industry strike. Four years later, he cast her in “Smiles of a Summer Night”; her character name was Actress, and she had one scene.

Other Bergman-Andersson projects included “The Devil’s Eye” (1960) in which Satan sends Don Juan back to earth to seduce a young vicar’s daughter; “The Passion of Anna” (1969), in which Ms. Andersson plays a recent widow trying to hold herself together; and “The Touch” (1970), about a married woman having an affair with a neurotic American. The film, Bergman’s first in English, also starred Elliott Gould.

Ms. Andersson’s last films were “The Frost,” a 2009 drama about a couple grieving for their son, and “Arn: The Knight Templar” (2010), originally a mini-series, in which she played an evil mother superior.

She had a long and busy stage career in Sweden, starring in classic works by Molière, Chekhov and Shakespeare, and even appeared twice on Broadway. Both “Full Circle” (1973), a wartime drama, and “The Night of the Tribades” (1977), with her frequent film co-star Max von Sydow, had particularly short New York runs.

After Ms. Andersson’s romantic relationship with Bergman in the 1950s, she married Kjell Grede, a Swedish screenwriter and director, in 1960; they divorced in 1973. Her second husband, from 1979 until their divorce in 1981, was the politician and writer Per Ahlmark. She did not marry again until 2004.

Ms. Andersson was married three times. Her survivors include a daughter, Jenny Grede Dahlstrand, and a sister, Gerd Andersson, a former ballerina with the Royal Opera.

In 1977, looking back on her first two decades of movie acting, Ms. Andersson told American Film magazine that she felt “no connection with what I was doing” in her early screen appearances, even describing them as corny. But there was one exception.

“‘Persona,’ on the other hand, I’m still proud of,” she said. “Each time I see it, I know I accomplished what I set out to do as an actress, that I created a person.”

Phroyd

#bergman #ingmar #aanderson #bibi

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wutbju · 6 years

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On September 4, 2018, Bob Jones University separated the men and the women students for the “Chapel Hour.” This was a Chapel service. This was not a class preparing students for job interviews. This was Chapel.

This is Bob Jones University’s current explanation and justification for their dress code from a Board Member of Bob Jones University Education Group.

Listen to it. Is this what you want your young adult daughter to learn? Is this how you want her to be connected to her neighbors? By sneering at others’ shoes? By poor-shaming because another person -- a friend, a colleague, a church member, you -- wears something a BJU student judges as not demonstrating “sharpness”? By “taking it up a notch” in her own clothing, not just to land a job, but in some weird, self-righteous contortion that God requires your/her/our stylish representation?

This is not the Gospel. This is not education. This is not professionalism. This is nothing more than Pharisaical judgment. But it’s all Bob Jones University.

Steve Pettit:

This morning we are honored to have speaking in our Chapel Hour, Mrs. Vicki Peek. When we made a dress code change this year where we moved our dress to Business Casual, I wanted to set aside a chapel time to actually bring someone in that I felt like would be the absolute best person to come and speak and really just kind of give a big picture of what we're trying to accomplish here in the matter of our dress code. Obviously dress is important, and we want to do it in a way that we honor the Lord. But at the same time prepare people for the future to do what is appropriate and what is professional.

And so this morning we have Mrs. Vicki Peek. Vicki is the Executive Vice President of Find Great People. Her leadership has been a catalyst in the organization’s sustained growth of over 2500% and in receiving several awards from an Inc 500 Company to a Best Place to Work in South Carolina company. She has led Find Great People to become a nationally recognized, Top 50 Search Firm. She is a certified leadership coach with the Registered Corporate Coach designation.

She is a graduate of Bob Jones University with a degree in Business Education and a Master's degree in Human Resources Development from Clemson University. She was a professor here in the School of Business at BJU before she went to work with Find Great People. She is a pastor's wife. Her husband Stacy is the pastor of Grace Baptist Fellowship. My mind went blank on that one. Sorry. And they serve the Lord together here in town. She is the mother of two children. Both her children graduated from Bob Jones, her daughter Lauren and her son William. And most importantly, she is a brand new grandmother.

And so we are very happy to have Vicki here. She'll come and speak, and I'll finish out our time. Let's give her a warm welcome to Bob Jones.

Vicki Peek:

Thank you, I'm glad we got to the important [Grandchild's Name] introduction. She is five months old.

It's a privilege to be with you today, and I'm glad we get to talk about a topic that is near and dear to my heart. [3:00] Something that for years I've been trained to think about. And now I help others as they go into the business world or any career really or even into the community fully prepared.

As women, we can probably relate to at least one of these scenarios. Shopping weeks and weeks and buying five different outfits to bring home to decide which perfect outfit do we want for that party or that event that we are going to. Packing for a trip and bringing several suitcases with us for a two-day trip because we like options, right? We get that call for an important internship or interview, and we panic because we start looking through our closet and thinking what in the world are we going to wear?

Having one of those mornings where it takes about seven different outfits to finally hit that one thing that works? And by the way, it's a Monday. And then we're walking out of our room or we come down the steps at home, I can't remember, and our roommate says, "You're wearing THAT?" And then the day just gets worse from there.

And then finally seeing someone out and about with something on and you look and you think, "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should."

So being prepared is very, very important. That is my unique background as Dr. Pettit mentioned: I am a wife; I am a mom of a 23 and 24 year old. So we have many of these conversations as they have gone through college years and are preparing into the work force today. He mentioned I'm Nana to [Grandchild's Name], our granddaughter, and I'm a pastor's wife, so interacting not only with our church family but community. Among several non-profits to work with community.

And then I taught here for 17 years in the School of Business. And one little detail: I started here actually in K5. So I went all the way through BJ. And it's just . . . I'm so privileged to continue to be connected to the University. And I appreciate so much the education that I received. That prepared me for who I am today.

And then finally, you know I'm a leader at Find Great People. I've been there 26 years and counting. So that has been a journey that I've grown through the years. And our focus really is on the whole career path whether it be entry level people starting out or executives looking for another job.

So teaching for years, how I did. First of all, but I love your season of life. As college students, you have so much potential. It's great. It's a great time for God to really use this to mold and shape you as your prepare for life. You challenge me, and you're a lot of fun to be around. So it's exciting to see what God is going to do in years to come. [6:16]

And then working in the recruiting industry, every day I find people whether it's the candidates looking to change positions or they are interviewing for that special job. And talking about not only their background and experience but how they present themselves from an appearance perspective.

And then guiding companies of all sizes and industries on making that right choice on the candidate that is that best fit. And then I get a lot of just phone calls from friends or my kids' friends and colleagues to ask advice.

And so this seems to be a daily focus for me, and I do think that it's really important.

So I'm going to share my thoughts. I'm going to share some principles. [7:00] But I really today want to communicate some guiding things. But I trust most of all that you would hear my heart that it would really be a time of expressing what I see but also this is an encouragement for you.

Today I do want you to encourage to think about ... how you would communicate through how you look, your appearance, your dress.

I want to inspire to think bigger than where you are right now. So some of you are Freshmen and you are just starting out, and this journey seems like an eternity. And some of you are months away, you're seniors, and you're either a semester or two away from graduation. And it's definitely on your mind. Just what is that step?

And whether it's going into a career or just into the community and have a huge impact. . . your life. Maybe it's being in a home or a neighborhood -- it's all important. And then finally, I want to provide some guidance, some basic practical tips that you have probably heard before, but I want to emphasize them as you reflect on just what you choose to wear each day.

Feel free to jot down some notes. I'm going to talk about some Scripture verses and also just some tips throughout. [8:19]

So to begin there's an overall focus that I want to consider, and this is really kind of that overarching theme that everything I say needs to come up under this: and that is that we represent, you represent Someone greater than yourself when we make choices especially about our appearance. 8:41

If you are a follower of Jesus, you are not your own. You have been bought with a price. I Corinthians 6.

We have to conduct ourselves in a manner worthy of the Gospel of Christ. Philippians 1.

We are to adorn, to beautify ourselves with modest apparel. That which is proper, discrete, respectful. I Timothy 2. [9:03]

Present our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God. And then be not conformed to this world but be ye transformed. Romans 12.

And then to bring glory to God in all that we do. Whatever we do, whether we eat, whether we drink, whatever we do, do all to the glory of God. I Corinthians 10.

So no matter what the standard is, because there are going to be lots of different standards as you go through life, our main focus really should be on representing God, bringing glory to Him, and presenting ourselves in a way that truly does glorify and honor Him.

I also want to mention that dressing takes intentionality. So as we wake up and we all have choices each day, I would encourage you to be intentional. The way that we dress communicates something.

It's interesting. We make an impression I've seen everything from nanosecond to under ten seconds. But the point is really quickly we make an impression. And probably about 55% or maybe even higher of that impression is non-verbal. I had the opportunity to walk through our lobby a lot. We have a lot of different people sitting in our office waiting to interview with a recruiter. And I don't even engage in any type of hello, I just pass through, and I make a quick impression. Whether we like or not, we create perception about ourselves.

So we always have to be mindful that everything we put on from within is an expression outside. And people gather ... they gain that perspective just by looking at us before we even said hello.

Plan ahead. [11:01]

So think about what you're going to wear. Now I realize that you are in school, classes. The last thing some mornings that you want to do is think about what you're going to wear and dress up. But I do want you to think of some days to at least try this, but you all look great. But this is a training ground for the future. And so whether it be throughout each day but even beyond that, how you think about what we're going to wear, we need to plan ahead and take time to prepare.

Appropriateness is a real thing. So we've come further with appropriate. We roll our eyes maybe and walk away and say, "oh everybody says 'Is that appropriate?'" But it really is a real thing. Each environment has a standard or a guideline. And as you think about events, social gatherings, client meetings, if you're interacting with different customers, all have an appropriate dress standard. We dress up for certain things. We dress down for certain things. We suit up, we become very casual. And that depends on the event and the activity that we are going to engage in. We need to think, "Is this appropriate for where I'm going?"

One rule of thumb that I often encourage is that if the standard is here, go here. You don't want to go here so that you become a little bit of an oddity in that "Wow we're WAY overdressed?" But if the standard is here, go here. We kind of tend as humans to go to the lowest common denominator or just the bottom of what's thought of or appropriate or the guidelines that are required. But I would encourage you to step it up a notch even from what the standard is as you think about what you're going to wear.

Choose appropriate shaped clothing and fit. Follow your intuition. So as you put on clothes, if you don't feel comfortable in them or even that minute of "I'm not so sure about this." There's a reason that you have that prompting. And I would encourage you to follow your intuition.

And then ask others for guidance. Ask them for their opinion. There are many times I know I'm out and about shopping and I try something on and I really, really like it. And I get home and I try it back on, and I'm thinking, "I don't recall that it fit like that when I tried it on in the store. It's a little bit tighter than what I thought." And so if I were to just pause and often ask others. You know, "Is this too tight? Is this too low? Is this appropriate to our work?"

Look sharp. I'll let you define what sharp is. But we all know. When we see people out and about, where is the sharpness of college, whatever word you want to put into that phrase. But just that sharpness? That added attention to detail that really, really makes a difference? And creates an impression that it's not that this is bad and this is, you know, the ONE, but it's sometimes good, better, and best? So take it to that next level and have a sharpness about you. I've seen people in a casual outfits, and they have that sharp look that it really adds to what they've chosen to wear and really provides just a great perception.

Iron your clothes. I know. That is a tough one. I don't love to iron. My husband usually will say as I'm walking out the door, "Don't you need to iron that?" And then I know it's really wrinkled. But definitely iron your clothes. I've had, I've had tons of interviews with people ... and they come in. The shirt was MORE than wrinkled. It was one of those where, you know, the laundry isn't folded at all, and it's still in the basket, wadded up. But it's all about our presentation and how we choose to present ourselves. [15:32]

And then don't let anything be a distraction. Hair. Makeup. The entire look. It's an ensemble. And so think about, when I put on clothes, my outfit, it should never be a distraction. I would say, when I walk out of an interview, if I'm talking about what they chose to wear? That's not a good thing. But if I'm talking about what they are going to, their experience, their potential? That's what you want to convey. For us, even if we're not in a job interview, if people leave us, and they are talking about the joy that we bring, the happiness that we demonstrate, they are not talking about what we choose to wear, I think that's a positive.

Strike a balance. We can become prideful on both sides. We can become prideful saying, "Oh I don't put time and attention into that." On the flip side, we can be prideful saying, "that's all I think about." So I would encourage you to be very balanced in our focus, in your focus, in our perspective.

I want to shift gears for just a quick minute t[o]o and I want to give you some practical guidelines as you think about dress. Again this is nothing earth-shattering, but these are common principles that I think are a value. And I've done a lot of just years of experience but also research. And you start seeing common themes, and then you know, "Okay. I'm on to something." This is definitely concerned by what I see out there.

The University has changed to Business Casual. I think it's fantastic. How does this relate to you? As you go into the work force or, like I said, the community whether it be in the summers or now as you are in the Greenville community or you start to prepare for your career, I would say that the majority of the cultures are Business Casual. So we've gone from everything from professional to business casual to casual. But the majority, I would say, even the accounting firms, the law firms, the banks some of them are still on the professional side. But a lot of them have shifted to Business Casual which is an interesting shift.

So a lot of this is based on industry. A lot of this is based on size. You've got a lot of these start-up companies and they're kinda jeans. That's their culture. You're going to have a lot of different cultures out there that you'll encounter. But I would say that the majority of them are going to be Business Casual.

Most organizations -- 99.9999% -- will have a dress code. So I'm mentioning that because sometimes we become very much in the thinking of "oh this is just the school's rules" or "this is a guideline, and when I get out I don't have to deal with any guidelines." We as an organization are paid by clients all over the United States to actually write guidelines and policies around dress. And so every organization just about is going to have some time of a dress code or dress guidelines. So this is a great time for you all, it's a training ground really to see what is current, what you should wear, within the guidelines which you have here .... But there are times that you can transfer as you get out into the work force.

A lot of places might call it Smart Casual. It's interesting Business Casual. So we go straight to the word "Casual" with the word "Business" in front of it. So it's that combination of that smart professional look with a casual flair as you look at clothing in the determination of that.

So the first thing is: be current. Look at trends. Trends are not bad? Being trendy you can still be modest. You can still be appropriate. But be within the current guidelines of what is out there in the workforce as far as option and be current.

I'm going to talk about the power of shoes. So I know that's not the first thing you'd think that I'd start with. But shoes. A lot of times I'll see a great outfit, and I'll get to the shoes. And it's like "ew." Think about shoes. Now here you're walking all over campus so you don't need to wear heels everywhere. But that's some type of heel if you really want to dress something up. Even if you're dressing very casually, a wedge heel? Some type of small heel. It doesn't need to be really high heel. But you'd be surprised how some small heel will give you confidence as you walk? And it just takes your outfit up a notch. So the power of shoes. I want you to think about that. Don't everybody go buy twelve pairs of shoes....

Invest in quality basics. So I like to stick with neutrals. Blacks. Greys, Navy. Pants or skirts. And/Or skirts. Both are acceptable. Again look at what is current. I recommend looking at places like Banana Republic, Ann Taylor Loft, T. J. Maxx, Old Navy, Marshalls. A lot of them run sales, so if you wait long enough, you'll find some good sales. But also I think those are great resources to see what's current out there. And just buy one or two or three basics. And then add to that a pop color as far as a blouse or a sweater or a jacket and then, of course, jewelry.

Keep hemlines around the knee. And I find there are multiple candidates [?] where I went to in the past where we got to decline not because of their background because of what they chose to wear. Too low in an outfit or too high of a skirt or are really not put together....

When I'm interviewing, I actually like to have people come back two or three times. Anybody can buy that first interview outfit, and it looks amazing. But I love to see what you choose to wear second and third visit because it tells me a lot about you. It also gives me that guidance and that picture of how polished you are. And so, remember that. When you have two or three outfits to wear, you're ready to present yourself in a way. So getting back to representing Christ. [22:50]

Make sure everything is clean and pressed. That it's ironed, as I mentioned. Stick to the essential neutral colors, I mentioned that. And then accent.

Wear makeup, but not too much. So getting back to balance. Definitely makeup. But you don't want so much makeup to where we talk about your makeup. So get that good balance as we look at options out there.

I want to encourage you as you buy clothes to really recognize the importance of how you present yourself. So take time to recognize this is so much bigger than ourselves. This is about God, and this is about representing Him.

Consider this time in college as an amazing time of preparation. Prepare for the workplace. Preparing for the community. Preparing to make a difference. And so really look at this time as an awesome opportunity as you go for four years or one year remaining that you are intentional about that.

And then I want you to think about identifying a role model or a mentor. And I would even encourage you a step further. Find someone in your field that you're going into. And . . . or look at where you worked in the past, is there a boss that you really respected for their appearance? how they represented themselves? And so identify them. I have several girls who I meet with monthly or every two months. And just to talk about life? But also dress? And appearance? And sometimes we want to grow and develop, but we need that encouragement that it's more than just our skills. Sometimes it's how we care about ourselves.

And yes, that's an incredible offer to lead. I love the mission to learn, to love, and to lead. And here at BJ you have that added benefit of examples all around you. Of faculty and staff that pour their lives into you. And they can be incredible mentors for you as well. But I really challenge you to think of opportunities. Think of this as an opportunity to evaluate where you are today. This does not have to mean I have to have a lot of money to do this. You can go to consignment shops. You can do this very economically. But we put a lot of time and money into other things? And they aren't really as important as sometimes what we do to represent ourselves for Christ. So I would encourage you to evaluate. Ask friends, you know, "What is one thing that you think that I should adjust?" and get that guidance. But most of all represent Christ well.

Thank you.

Steve Pettit:

As we close, I want to say just a couple of key thoughts and actually some things I'm very thankful for. First of all, I'm very thankful for the positive response that we had to the dress code change, and actually your positive example in the fact that you have looked sharp, and I appreciate that. I was actually yesterday, this sounds weird, but I was actually counting how many girls were wearing skirts and pants yesterday. In my walk. That's odd, but you know, I think, I think, two out of three girls were in skirts. I thought, "Well, that'll be interesting what it's going to be like in January. It probably will be a little different.

But I'm going to thank you personally for your positive response, for respecting your appearance, and for the way that you have, if I could say it this way, you made it easy for someone like me to make this kind of change? And you actually go great! This is awesome ... change. It will give you options. And obviously we want to honor the Lord.

So two things as I finish: one is I would encourage you to take some time to look up the Bible verses that actually speak about these matters. So things like I Timothy 2 or I Peter chapter 3 or Proverbs chapter 31. Just take time to think through the things Vicki has stated and also what is the biblical standards for the way that I should be living.

And then finally, if I could summarize my thinking toward the dress code. It is actually simply this: it is learning to live as a Christian within the confines of your own culture. I said this last week that this is the South. And this is not like, this is not like Wyoming or Arizona. So the culture is definitely different, and we get that. But it's learning to live as a Christian reflecting Christ within the framework of your culture and where you live. And it's really that simple. And if we get that and understand that, then I believe we would reflect Christ at least in our appearances and the way we live wherever we go.

So thank you very much. Let's pray and you'll be dismissed.

#Bob Jones University #BJUChapel #Dress Code #Business Casual #Student Life #BJUEG #Vicki Hall Peek #Stacey Peek #Grace Baptist Fellowship #Shoes #Find Great People

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