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shallyne · 11 months

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putting aside my permanent slight dislike for elain, i will say that i am quite entertained by the idea of her becoming buddies with rhys, the way feyre is with cassian. i mean rhys already seems to have a bit of a soft spot for her, so i think it would be cute.

yesterday i imagined a little scenario in which azriel and elain get married and elain asks rhys to be her "man of honor" since she didn't wanna pick a maid of honor between feyre and nesta. at first elain tries to pass it off as a joke since she thinks rhys won't take her seriously, but then he starts crying and tells her that his sister used to joke that she wanted him to be her "man of honor" too, but obviously, rhys never got the chance to see her get married. elain panics and tries to apologize, but rhys just kisses her cheek, discreetly wipes his tears away and goes "of course. of course i'll do it." the he runs off to cry tears of joy in feyre's arms.

(later on when elain announces this, rhys totally rubs it in nesta's face bc he knows how much it annoys her to see him being besties with elain. feyre of course, is overjoyed and finds nesta's annoyance hilarious.)

I WOULD DIE OF WE GET A SISTER-BROTHER RELATIONSHIP WITH ELAIN AND RHYS in a good way

I had a similar thought but not with Rhys as Elain’s man of honor but that he walks her down the aisle.

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the-lonelybarricade · 4 months

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if you ever think you got it wrong - Feysand Oneshot

Summary: Feyre returns to her home town and is forced to confront a drunken night that's gone unaddressed for four years.

@shallyne ho, ho, hello there!

I'm not the secret santa you were originally assigned for the @acotargiftexchange, but I did go back and check your previous asks to see what you might be interested in! I saw you mention you like the friends to lovers trope and that you'd happy with a slight touch of angst and maybe some Feyre/Cassian/Mor friendship moments? I tried my best to add a pinch of all that goodness in this modern AU oneshot and I really hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

Illyria hadn’t changed since the last time Feyre left it.

Four years made a lot of difference on a person, but not so much an isolated mountain town, so reserved that if its residents needed something outside of the one dedicated grocery store and smattering of local mom-and-pop businesses, they would need to drive two hours through the mountain pass to find the nearest outlet shopping center.

She never minded the quiet, but there was something unnerving about returning to a place that hadn’t changed. Those four years away had weathered her edges, and now she was a rounded shape being pushed through a square hole. She fit, but not the way that she used to.

Mountain air was fresher—thinner. And it was no wonder that she always felt out of breath, always caught off guard as she ran into old classmates and teachers and people who she recognized, but whose lives were now foreign to her. She’d forgotten that in Illyria, you couldn’t step outside the house without running into a familiar face.

The inability to run to the store without being caught ill-composed for being perceived by the public was excruciating enough. For Feyre, it was worsened by the constant, exaggerated surprise that she hadn’t disappeared off the face of the Earth, despite what her radio-silent social media might have conveyed. And that always meant questions—unbearable, irritating questions.

“How’s your husband?”

Feyre stared pathetically at her carton of oat milk, wondering if averting any stomach issues from using her father’s whole milk was worth explaining to her freshman English teacher that she was now a divorcee.

With no other tool of escape in her arsenal, she forced a bland smile and opted out of the conversation as quickly as possible by offering a flat, “He’s great!”

Because did it really matter? She was only here for a short time, and she could let the town speculate in her absence. Maybe that absence would last another four years. Maybe she would never come back.

“Are you enjoying city life?”

“It’s wonderful,” she said, shifting weight from one foot to the other as she glanced at the single cashier working the registers and the full conveyor belt he was working through. “Everything you need is at your doorstep.”

Including a grocery store with a self-checkout aisle. Things were always excruciatingly slow to change here. Across the street was a 50s-themed diner that had actually been built in the 50s and had resisted change long enough for its interior to become nostalgic.

“I’m sure you miss the mountains, though,” her old teacher said, pressing a hand to her chest in heartfelt emotion. “I know your father misses you girls.”

Sure he did. They had been the ones to take care of him growing up, meanwhile parenting themselves and each other. Her sisters, Nesta and Elain, decided not to come this Christmas, and Feyre certainly couldn’t blame them. They had families now, and the only reason she’d decided to come was because Tamin—

It was better than staying in her empty apartment.

“Well, it was great catching up with you, Feyre,” her teacher said pleasantly, gathering bags of groceries into her arms.

Feyre thought she was sincere, though she doubted that there’d be rumors any time soon that Feyre Archeron was back as an excellent conversationalist. Then again, the goal was that she appeared so dull there was no cause for rumor at all.

“Likewise,” Feyre said, handing the teenage cashier her single carton of oat milk.

Then she was shuffling out the front doors, grimacing against the whipping sting of winter that the insulated skyscrapers of the Hewn City kept largely at bay. Once, she’d been hardened to the winter and the endless heaps of snow that dominated six months of the year at this altitude. Now, she shoved the carton into her elbow and stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, willing warmth back into her fingertips.

She’d forgotten so many things—like the importance of wearing shoes with traction. And how to spot black ice. Her foot slipped under her, and the next thing she knew, she was facing the crystal blue sky. A pair of steady hands grasped her beneath the shoulders before she could slam into the unforgiving concrete.

They were strong hands, warm and broad.

“Careful,” warned a deep, sensual male voice that shivered awake every hair on her arms. He raised her upright and added with a soft laugh, “I never thought I’d see the day Feyre Archeron fell for me.”

“Rhys.” She turned, and there he was. The thin air made her breathless again. “I didn’t…” she blinked. “I thought you’d be in Velaris.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and her chest ached at the familiar gesture. In four years, he hadn’t changed much. His violet stare was just as piercing as it’d been the last time she’d seen it, when she’d hugged him goodbye and offered a lingering kiss on his cheek. She’d been engaged to Tamlin then. And she thought Rhys might have begged her not to go, but he hadn’t said anything.

The following summer, she’d gotten married. Rhys had been invited, though he hadn’t responded to her invitation or spoken to her since.

“I always come here for Christmas,” he said. “To be with my family.”

Right—Mor, Cassian, and Azriel. She thought they would have all gone to Velaris now that he’d announced his engagement to a pretty redheaded woman who looked like she’d never seen a suburb in her life. Besides, Rhys didn’t have the same roots here that she did. His parents owned a vacation home in Illyria, a pretty log cabin where his family had stayed during every winter holiday growing up. Not quite a local, not quite a rich tourist, but something in between.

An old wound was tugging loose. Feyre crossed her arms like that would do anything to stop the bleeding. “It’s nice,” she said. “That you all still do that.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here, though,” Rhys said, shoulders straightening more than was casual. “I thought your fiance didn’t enjoy winter. What was his name again—Tarquin?”

“Tamlin,” she said, a little too sharp.

He smirked, the insufferable prick. “Ah, that was it.”

“I’m here to spend Christmas with my dad.”

Rhysand’s expression softened a bit. “How is he?”

“Fine.”

“I missed our one-worded conversations,” he said with a mocking purr that made Feyre want to hurl the carton of oat milk at his head. “Why don’t you come by the cabin? It’d be great to catch up with you—I’m sure Mor would be pleased to know you’re still alive.”

She weighed the implications on her heart. It would be nice to see Mor. It would be earth-shattering to spend an evening with Rhys’s family. Each new story would be a splinter in her heart, four years of moments she’d missed, tales of how Rhys had met the mystery red-haired woman from the Instagram she’d tried, and failed, not to stalk. God, his fiance would probably be there, integrated into his family like a piece they’d never known was missing.

Rhys knew her too well, could see she was hesitating. He said, voice strained, “You can bring Tamlin along.”

All he’d done was add another layer of embarrassment to the would-be evening. Explaining to him, to all of them, that her relationship with Tamlin had collapsed sounded almost as painful as meeting Rhysand’s fiancé.

“I should spend time with my dad,” she said. “Have a good Christmas, Rhys.”

“Wait.” Rhys drew a hand from his pocket to reach into the space between them.

Feyre stared at that hand, recalling how it had held her hair back four winters ago when she’d been hunched over a toilet, hurling her guts out. He’d stayed with her for hours, curled together on the bathroom floor, practically in his lap while he raked her fingers across her scalp and down her spine, insisting he stay no matter how many times she told him he should go. Cassian found them the next morning, still clinging to each other.

And then she’d left on a plane and never saw him again.

“I’m sorry for forgetting his name,” he said, as if either of them believed it was an accident. “I still think you should come. Mor’s making her famous eggnog.”

Feyre didn’t think she’d be able to stomach that eggnog ever again after she’d spent a night puking it up. Rhys would know that as a witness to that disastrous evening, but maybe… maybe he was deliberately trying to remind her of that night and all the unsaid things they’d left in its wake.

She sucked in a short breath, the air sharp against her teeth and tongue. Even just being in this town was suffocating her.

Rhysand’s hand dropped. So did his shoulders, already sensing her answer but keeping any emotion from showing on his face as she said, “I’ll think about it, Rhys.”

Thinking about it became much more difficult when Mor and Cassian arrived at her father’s house the following evening.

“I’d hug you, but I’m afraid those bones are going to stab me,” Cassian said.

Mor, of course, had no reservations in hurling herself at Feyre, who nearly tumbled backward through the doorway as she gripped her friend in turn.

“Oh, I missed you!” Mor retreated just enough for her ringed-adorned fingers to dig into Feyre’s shoulders. “Ignore Cassian, you look amazing.”

Cassian was right, though. Feyre knew she’d lost weight, and from the frown on Mor’s red lips as she studied Feyre’s face, she knew her friend was thinking the same, even if she was too polite to say so.

Yes, she was a little more frail, was still healing in ways more than physical, but it didn’t leave her fragile.

She raised her brows at Cassian. “From all those knives you like to play with, I didn’t think you’d be so scared of a sharp elbow.”

“Scared of crushing you, more like,” Cassian said. He opened his arms all the same, and Mor stepped aside so he could sweep Feyre into a hug that was indeed bone-crushing. Feyre wheezed, but was grateful that he didn’t hold back.

“Rhys told us we’re to abduct you for the night,” Mor said, arching onto her toes to meet Feyre’s eyes over Cassian’s hulking shoulder.

Of course Rhys had sent them, the meddling prick.

Feyre said lightly, “I’m pretty sure that’s a felony.”

She could feel the words rumble through Cassian’s chest before he said, “That’s never stopped the bastard before. Now, should I set you down so you can grab your things and come with us, or do I actually need to carry you into the car?”

Feyre knew there was no getting out of this without hurting Mor and Cassian’s feelings, so she heaved a sigh that was defeated enough for Cassian to set her back down, a triumphant grin spreading over his face.

A few minutes later, she sat in the backseat of a familiar jeep, staring out at the serene winter forest as their vehicle climbed higher and higher into the mountains.

“It’s freezing,” she complained, watching her breath cloud in front of her face. “Could you put the heat on?”

“You and Rhys are the same,” Cassian said, reaching for the dashboard to adjust the temperature. “Living at sea level has changed you.”

“I take it you’re still living as a ski bum, then,” Feyre teased.

Mor angled herself so that she was facing Feyre from the passenger seat. “You wouldn’t believe it, but Rhys actually managed to coax Cassian out of the Illyrian Mountains. He has to wear a tie to work now.”

“A tie?” Feyre repeated, feigning scandal. In the years she’d known Cassian, she rarely saw him outside of a jacket and snowboard boots. She met his hazel eyes in the rearview mirror. “I didn’t think you knew what that was. Does Rhysie have to tie it for you in the mornings?”

“Of course not,” Cassian said with a scoff. “Azriel is way better at tying them than Rhys.”

She grinned at the mental image of stoic Azriel devotedly adjusting his best friend’s tie every morning, likely with the same methodical precision he exacted on all things. Soon that grin split into a laugh, and Cassian’s eyes creased with a warmth she could feel spreading into her chest.

Cresting on that feeling, Feyre joked, “I find I’m much better at untying them, myself.”

There was a stagnant beat in which Cassian and Mor glanced at each other, and Feyre wondered if she’d said something wrong.

Then Mor said, gaze flicking to Feyre’s hand. “I’m sure Tamlin is delighted by that skillset.”

Oh. At the current altitude, there wasn’t enough air to replenish the breath that rushed out of her. Feyre followed Mor’s stare, dread cracking through her like compromised glass, moments from shattering, as she confronted the faint pale line on her ring finger. The only evidence that a ring had ever sat there.

“I didn’t see him at your dad’s house,” Cassian said, keeping his voice a little too casual. “Did he stay in the Hewn City?”

Feyre didn’t see any reason to prolong the truth. Might as well rip the bandage off as quickly as possible. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. Swallowed. “We’re not together anymore.”

Every second that stretched over the resulting silence tempted Feyre to pry open the car door and risk tumbling down the mountainside.

“I’m sorry,” Mor said. “We didn’t… we had no idea.”

“It’s okay.” But a dark, aching pit was yawning open in Feyre’s chest. She began uselessly chucking words into it, desperate to bridge herself back to the Feyre from a moment ago, who’d laughed without needing to force it. “We separated at the beginning of the year, and it all became official last month. He—it was a mistake to begin with.”

He’s wrong for you, Mor had said four years ago, a hard crease forming between her brows as she’d stared absently into her eggnog, thinking far more than she was saying—even drunk.

Is there even such a thing as someone who’s ‘right’? I don’t think there’s anyone who’s ever going to be perfect for me.

That was where things always got a little more blurry in Feyre’s memory, but she thought that Mor might have glanced over their shoulders on the sofa, to where the boys were playing a festive game of reinbeer pong, and said quietly, I think someone like that does exist for you.

If Mor recalled the same thing, there was no I-told-you-so’s—no triumph. There was genuine sadness in her eyes as she reached behind to squeeze Feyre on the knee. “We wanted it to work out for you.”

Feyre considered touching Mor’s hand, squeezing it back. But they might have been trembling, and it was easier to shrug her shoulders than make up a pathetic excuse about the cold. “Maybe it still could,” she said, grasping at a cheer that wasn’t yet tangible. But they’d all pretend it was, for her sake. “My story isn’t over, and this might just be the right step towards something better.”

Cassian put the car in park and turned to beam at her. “Exactly!”

He wasn’t making any effort to sound upset at her divorce, and she couldn’t say she blamed him.

“Come on,” Mor said. “I think a bottle of wine is in order.”

“One of the nice ones,” Cass added with a savage grin towards Feyre.

They used to sneak into the cellar and grab as many of the old bottles as they could get away with, to Rhysand’s chagrin.

Speaking of—

“Oh, good,” Rhys crooned from where he leaned in the doorway of the log cabin. He was dressed casually, in a cable sweater and a familiar knit scarf—one that stopped Feyre dead in their tracks. “I was worried they wouldn’t be able to convince you to come.”

“There might have been some threats of physical force,” Feyre said, resisting the urge to wrap her arms protectively around herself as Rhys assessed her, again and again. “That can be fairly persuasive.”

“I was a perfect gentleman,” Cassian protested.

“You poor thing,” Rhys said to Feyre, clicking his tongue. “The last time Cassian said that, he was banned from the entire city of Adriata.”

Cassian sidled up to Feyre and offered his elbow. “Would you like me to escort you past the prick?”

Rhys raised his brows, and Feyre wasted no time looping her elbow through Cassian’s, purring, “That would be very kind of you.”

The aforementioned prick didn’t bother to move out of the way as Feyre and Cassian squeezed past, forcing Feyre to endure the brush of Rhysand’s chest against her shoulder. An ordinary person felt butterflies from that sort of grazing touch, but Feyre had never felt that way touching Rhys. It was something far more brutal, more demanding, like a swarm of wasps digging their stingers beneath her skin. She clenched her teeth not to hiss. It was always mortifying how viscerally her body reacted to him—worse that he held her stare the entire time, watching her grow flustered until she whipped her head and practically begged Cassian to take her into the cellar.

Usually Rhys would protest, but he didn’t say a word as they made a b-line towards the stairs. There was no sign of Azriel or Rhysand’s fiance, and she hoped the cellar would give her time to prepare for that mortal blow.

“Rhys,” Mor called, running to catch up after locking the jeep. Whatever she needed to share with her cousin was lost to the shutting door and the creaking stairs.

Cold, stagnant air coiled over her ankles as Feyre and Cassian sunk into the old stone cellar. Cassian, more diplomatic than she gave him credit for, didn’t comment on her red cheeks or how she wrapped her arms around her body to ward off more than the chill. He took his time assessing each bottle, paying their labels far more attention than she knew he ordinarily would have.

He was giving her time to reign herself in. She didn’t know how to thank him for that kindness besides making the most of it. Feyre took a deep breath. Another.

Then she steeled her nerves just enough to broach the topic. “Is she nice?”

Cassian didn’t look up from the bottle of red vintage he was holding. “Who?”

Feyre shut her eyes. That way, she could pretend Cassian was still reading the wine label, disinterested and oblivious, even as her voice wavered. “Rhys’s fiancé.”

She had no right to say it that way, like she hated the taste of those words. Not when she had walked away first, gotten married, left this town and their friendship behind.

A sharp noise rang through the too-small space, glass rapping against metal, and she opened her eyes while the sound reverberated through the hollow void in her chest. Cassian had set the wine down a touch too forcefully. She had never known him to be careless with his strength.

His head was bent—a necessity if he didn’t want to smack his head against the low ceiling—and his face was angled toward her, brows drawn tight. Like her words held some hidden meaning he was trying to puzzle together.

Feyre couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, always a touch too-perceptive. He had a gift for disarming people. A few sharp grins and light-hearted jokes and those clever eyes could dress someone down right to their bones. Her body tensed beneath his assessment, unprepared for what he might uncover. Feyre took a step back unintentionally. Started opening her mouth to blurt something stupid, and Cassian was already shaking his head, realizing he’d stumbled over something too raw—

“I hope you two aren’t stealing all my best wine.”

They both snapped their heads to Rhys standing on the top step. He also needed to duck his head, and there was something so endearing about the way a piece of his hair spilled onto his forehead that she thought she might very well try her chances at hurling down the mountain.

Feyre knew she must have looked like a caged animal, her eyes too wide, cheeks too flushed. So much for taking a moment to reign herself in.

“All okay?” Rhys said, weighing her expression before he flicked his eyes to Cassian—narrowed, like he thought his friend might be responsible for making her uncomfortable.

“We’re fine.” She grabbed blindly at a bottle of wine, producing it with more enthusiasm than she could muster in her smile. “Let’s go drink—I’m excited to find out if Azriel is still the prettiest of you three.”

Rhys clutched his chest in mock hurt as he led them out of the cellar. “I hate to disappoint you, Feyre darling, but I think this might be one such occasion.”

She was relieved that much hadn’t changed about him—his refusal to pressure her, humoring the deflection though she knew her performance was less than convincing. Rhys placed a hand at her back to guide her towards the kitchen. A casual touch to him, but to Feyre, every inch of contact felt scalding. She swore that when she took off her sweater later, she’d find a red handprint branded into her skin.

“Don’t worry,” she said to him as they stepped into the kitchen, where they found Mor, wine glass limply in hand, perched on the counter beside Azriel. “I haven’t been disappointed in the least.”

Azriel looked up from the large, steaming pot he was stirring and offered a reserved smile in greeting. Feyre offered one back, bold and just suggestive enough for Rhys to nudge her with his elbow.

“You wound me,” he whispered.

“Oh good! You brought more wine!” In a deft motion, Mor lept from the counter and breezed up to Feyre, easing the bottle from her hands. “A great choice, too. You always did have good taste.”

It was a bald lie, one that the group might have contested four years ago when they used to make a game of volleying good-natured teasing back and forth. Maybe they were more careful with her now, not quite sure where she fit in after all this time. After hurting Rhys.

Though, out of everyone, he seemed the most comfortable having her here again. He dropped his hand from her back in pursuit of fetching more wine glasses, and once he was finished, he carried a full glass to Feyre with a carefree smile. As if no time separated them at all.

Feyre wished she could summon some of that ease. Everything felt mechanic, from curling her fingers over the chilled glass, to raising the rim to her lips and taking a controlled sip. All she’d been doing in the last year was wading through the wreckage of her life, struggling to piece together what she had left while making sense of where it had all gone so horribly wrong.

The pieces always led her back to this cabin. Silver-rimmed violet eyes and tingling lips. That night he’d told her, I think you could be happy here. With me. For years, she wondered how differently her life would have turned out if she’d been brave enough to leave it all behind and see if he was right.

All this time, she’d assumed the silence between them was angry, or at least a little bit wounded, that she’d left him behind and went through with her engagement. Now, it occurred to her that it might have been something infinitely worse—apathy. That Rhys had simply moved on, and she was the only one still stuck on that moment she’d kissed him goodbye.

It was better than resentment, she told herself. That didn’t stop her from finishing her wine glass too quickly.

“Careful,” Rhys chided when she set it down, empty. “As much as I love tradition, it’d be a shame for you to spend the night curled over a toilet.”

She glared at him, but Cassian added, “Don’t forget it goes to your head faster at this altitude.”

“Only because of Mor’s generous pour,” Feyre deflected, sending a wink towards Mor, who snagged Feyre’s glass with a conspiratorial smirk.

“Oh, lighten up, you two!” Mor smacked Rhysand’s chest with the empty glass. “If Feyre gets sick again, then I promise to be the one looking after her this time.”

Then, with that, Mor sashayed back to the wine bottle to refill Feyre’s glass. The alcohol must have loosened some of her restraint because Feyre let her gaze drift back to Rhys. Who’s to say what he was remembering when their eyes met, but Feyre… she remembered how, between bouts of hurling her guts out, he’d pulled her into his lap and laid her head against his chest, claiming that his heartbeat soothed her. Somehow, she doubted Mor’s heartbeat would have the same effect.

Mor snapped Feyre away from the memory by handing her another full glass. Feyre promised herself that she’d take her time on the second drink, only because she didn’t think she’d be able to survive another earth-shattering night like that one.

“Tell us how you’ve been,” Mor said. “What’s life like in the infamous Hewn City?”

“It’s…”

Lonely. Crowded. Expensive.

“It’s great.” Feyre forced herself to nod like she meant it. “But I’d much rather hear about how you have been—all of you.”

“Well,” Mor intoned in a way that suggested she was about to unveil drama. “Wouldn’t you believe it, but Rhysand has found himself centered in quite the business scandal.”

Cassian groaned. “Not this again.”

“Mor.” Rhys sent his cousin a warning glance.

She only grinned, continuing, “He recently backed out of a conglomerate merger with Hybern and caused quite the uproar when he publicly accused them of fraud.”

He raised his brows. “Accused implies it wasn’t later proven when Amarantha—”

“Amarantha?” Feyre repeated, blinking as she realized she recognized that name. “Your fiance?”

Cassian sputtered his wine across the counter. Azriel turned away from the stove to slap him firmly on the back as he coughed. Feyre wasn’t certain if Mor’s laugh was at her expense or Cassian’s, but either way, she deserted the conversation to grab a roll of paper towels and begin cleaning up the spilled wine.

“No,” Rhys said, ignoring the chaos at his back. His face was tight. “Definitely not my fiance.”

Feyre shook her head. She was certain Amarantha was the name of the girl she’d been stalking for… an embarrassingly long time. From the moment Rhys announced their proposal.

“She was a prospective business partner,” Rhys clarified, studying her with a discomfiting level of scrutiny. “Never—” he actually looked a little disgusted. “Never anything romantic.”

She said slowly, “You’re not engaged.”

Rhysand’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No.”

Oh my god. Her hands began to tremble, and she set down the wine glass so he wouldn’t hear the sploshing liquid. “You had an Instagram post,” she said, mortified. “It said something about announcing a proposal. That there was going to be a marriage—”

“Between our business firms,” he said. “Before I backed out.”

“Oh my god.” She didn’t mean to say it out loud. Feyre knew this wasn’t a normal reaction. This was just a small misunderstanding—totally minor, if not a little humorous. “I need to… I just need a moment.”

Then she rushed for the bathroom, locking the door as if that would do anything to keep out the embarrassment flooding over her wave after impenetrable wave. Feyre cringed when she glimpsed her reflection. Red blotches were blooming over her chest and up her throat. She was shaking so violently she barely had the necessary motor skills to turn the tap. Once it was running, she let the cold water pool in her cupped hands before she splashed it against her heated skin.

“Feyre,” called a velvet voice at the door, followed by a soft knock.

“I just need a moment, Rhys.”

Silence. She knew better than to think he returned to the kitchen, but he was at least giving her that moment. She counted to ten, forwards and backwards and forwards again, trying to remember her grounding lessons.

Find something green—the plastic toothbrush sitting upright in its ceramic holder.

Find something blue—the towels, lovingly folded and hanging elegantly over the heated drying rack.

Find something red—her eyes drifted toward the mirror. No. Not her cheeks, not her skin. It had to be something external from this meltdown. Feyre turned, searching the small space until she found a glint of red hidden in the folds of the white shower curtain.

She froze.

Something to remember me by, she’d slurred to him four years ago, after proudly removing her ruby earring and piercing it into the curtain.

Rhys had laughed. I could never forget you, Feyre. Not until my dying breath.

I want you to remember me every time you come in here. Even while you’re taking a shit.

Not exactly romantic. But four years later, it was still there. That stupid piece of plastic costume jewelry, which she’d worn only in a half-hearted attempt to be festive. She knew that curtain had to have been cleaned in the years since, and wondered if that silly earring had been removed and repinned each time. Why hadn’t he thrown it away?

“Feyre,” Rhys called again through the door. Softer now.

She unlocked it.

A moment later, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“Hi,” she said, knowing there were tears in her eyes and that, from his perspective, she must have looked hysterical.

He was searching her face. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice cracked a little. “Everything.”

“Tell me.”

Feyre raised her hands to cover her face as she started somewhere inane. “You’re wearing the scarf I knitted for you.”

Even concerned, his voice possessed a dry humor as he asked, “Do you not want me to wear it?”

“I don’t understand why you’re wearing it.”

“It’s winter,” he said plainly. “This scarf is warm. And soft.”

A sob was working its way up her throat. He gently wrapped his fingers over her wrists and lowered her hands from her face.

His voice dropped lower, a secret shared between them: “Most importantly, it reminds me of you.”

“I thought you hated me,” she croaked, flinching inwardly at how pathetic it sounded.

With no barrier to deter him, Rhys pressed his palm to her cheek and chased away one of her tears. “I could never hate you, Feyre.”

“We haven’t talked to each other in years,” she said. “You’ve ignored all of my calls and messages.”

“Because I blocked your number.” Feyre flinched. She suspected as much when her calls started going immediately to voicemail. But now there was no mask on Rhysand’s face, nothing to hide the hurt in his expression as he swallowed thickly and added, “Like you asked me to.”

“I—” Feyre felt like she was in a high-speed vehicle that had suddenly slammed on its brakes. “What? I didn’t ask you to…”

Oh no.

A fresh wave of tears stung the backs of her eyes. Feyre blinked them away as she begged, “Tell me what happened.”

“You left.” The words creaked out of him like shifting weight on an old wooden floorboard. She felt the accusation groan through her chest. “You were going to get married to him, and I knew I couldn’t let you without at least telling you how I felt. You know what happened from there.”

“Tell me anyway,” she said, barely holding back her horror.

Rhys took a deep breath. “I got rip-roaring drunk with Cassian, and I sent you a stupid, poorly thought-out message. And you told me off, as I deserved.”

“What did your message say?” She asked a tad too sharply.

Now, it was his turn to flinch. “I begged you not to marry him. I offered to pay for everything to help you leave your life with him behind. I told you…” Rhys looked away, staring at the shower curtain as he said, “I told you that I love you.”

The world slipped out from beneath her feet. Feyre’s lips wobbled, and she pressed them together in an attempt to contain her sob, but it burst out of her along with a warbled, “You loved me?”

He shut his eyes. “I love you,” he corrected.

Her delight was eclipsed by the pain on his face and her realization of what must have happened, at what she’d inadvertently put him through over the last four years. Her voice shook as she rasped, barely more than a whisper, “What did I say back?”

Rhys opened his eyes, and she could see tears shimmering over the violet as he said, “You told me to block your number and never speak to you again.”

Of all the times Tamlin had been cruel to her, this was undoubtedly the worst of his deeds.

“That wasn’t me.” Feyre grabbed for his collar, uncertain how to untangle years of misunderstanding. “Rhys, please believe me. I didn’t write that—I didn’t know. I would have…”

And here it was, the most brutal part. She felt like she was swallowing knives as she admitted, “I would have left him if I’d seen that message.”

Feyre wasn’t sure which of them crumpled first. They might have fallen together, neither of their bodies quite ready to hold the weight of lost time. The bathroom tiles leached cold through her clothes, but Rhys was there, pulling her against him, fighting back the chill with his inherent warmth.

There they were again, curled together on the bathroom floor.

Maybe they could start here and pretend the last four years hadn’t existed.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I left him. I was a coward back then, but I’m ready now. To leave it all behind.”

His fingers lifted her chin, drawing her eyes back to that beautiful, heartbreaking face.

“I love you, too,” she said. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

Rhys leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t be. Four years is nothing. I would have waited a thousand years for you.”

“Four was enough for me,” she said lightly.

Four was far too much, actually. And because she couldn’t stand wasting any second longer, Feyre slid her fingers into his hair. Rhys went still as she leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a soft kiss. One she used to cleanse the years of heartache and longing, until there was only that bright, shimmering love that had always been quietly there, beneath it all.

And for the first time since coming back to Illyria, Feyre felt like she was home.

#Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #acotar gift exchange

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emberfrostlovesloki · 7 months

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Pierced [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Right (@shallyne) Center (@sillyhotchsgirl) Left (Google)

Prompt: The reader gets a new piercing and sends Aaron a picture of it while he’s on a case. To say he’s flustered is a bit of an understatement.

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 2.5K

Content Warnings: Piercing (tongue), implied sex (at the end), minor language, canon typical unsub behavior (unsub is a bomber)

A/N: This is for my love @sadgirlzluvdilfs. She had mentioned a new piercing and Aaron, and well, I had to oblige. Full transparency, I don’t have any piercings of my own (but I do have ten tattoos), so I would not recommend following any advice for aftercare mentioned in the story. I hope you like this darling. The reader is a non-BAU member and there is an established relationship. If you like this story, likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! I hope you all have a good start to the weekend. Love Levi.

List with all stories

_y/n_ = your name

Aaron’s personal cell dinged in his back pocket, and he pulled it out. He turned on the home screen and saw that _y/n_ had sent him a message and a photo. He looked over at the team who were scouring hundreds of files for a clue on the current unsub who was on a bombing spree in Michigan. Firmly Aaron said, “Excuse me for a moment,” to the team. Rossi looked over to Aaron as he walked away. Hotch found a quiet spot in the hallway of the bustling precinct. He swiped up on the message from _y/n_. The text read: “Good morning, Aaron. I’m missing you extra hard today. Please stay safe and let’s call tonight if you have time.” Hotch smiled and felt that familiar warmth spread through his body at hearing _y/n_’s desire for him. He then looked at the attached photo. It wasn’t what he was expecting. It was a photo of _y/n_’s face, but just the lower half. She was smiling and had her tongue out at him. Aaron wiped the tiredness from his eyes, as he looked at the picture again. Then with a snap, he noticed the obvious. There was a piercing on her tongue, and the area looked a bit red and swollen. Hotch had totally forgotten that _y/n_ was having this done today, though she had let him know that it was happening. Due to the case and frenzy of the team, the thought had completely slipped his mind. Aaron took a moment to like the picture and replied, “That looks great sweetheart! Does it hurt?” As he waited for a response, his mind momentarily wandered lightyears away from the case and the unsub, as he imagined kissing _y/n_ with this new addition to her mouth. For a second he imagined that it would be cool against his own tongue, but then he realized that the metal would be warmed to her internal temperature. Either way, it would be a new sensation for him. He’d never had a partner before that had a mouth piercing. He looked forward to seeing what that felt like. Then there was the thought of her mouth, her piercing on another erogenous zone of his body. The twitch in his pants told him that this was something he was certainly going to have to explore once he got home.

Hotch moved to the men’s room and turned on the cold tap. He splashed some water on his face to metaphorically and literally cool down his mind and body. Aaron righted himself and pulled some paper towels from the dispenser, patting his face dry. The door opening caught his attention, and he saw Rossi enter. Dave leaned against the door and asked, “Is everything alright?” Hotch cleared his throat and said, “Yeah. I just needed a minute. Let’s get back to the team.” Rossi looked over at Aaron. The older man could see that something was up but didn’t ask further. Dave knew that Aaron, even as a close personal friend, was private about most things in his life. That in keeping certain parts of himself hidden, there was comfort and control. And with the job they had, having those two things could be a lifeline. Just as they got near the briefing room, Hotch’s phone dinged again. _y/n_’s reply was simple, saying, “My pain level is fine, but my tongue is a little tender, and my jaw is a bit stiff.” Aaron smiled. Knowing that _y/n_ wasn’t in much pain made him feel better. He quickly replied, “Good to hear. I’ll call tonight if there’s time - A.” With that, he recentered his attention on the case at hand.

That evening in the hotel room, Aaron collapsed onto the mattress. His body was tired and aching from being on his feet all day. The bomber had led the team on a few wild goose chases around the city. The team and JJ in particular were good at not following false leads, but this unsub was smart with their disinformation. They knew how to make a false flag seem to need immediate attention. Hotch pulled out his legal pad and jotted down: Disinformation? Possible groups affiliated - China, Iran, Russia. Ask R. for patterns in text and call G. for more info tomorrow. When he had finished writing, he rested his upper body back down on the bed and pinched the skin between his eyebrows; worry and exhaustion tugging at his insides. Hotch decided he was going to take a nap for an hour. Yes, the case was pressing and needed his focus, but he knew that he wouldn’t be giving his best if he was this tired. So he would compromise by sleeping for a bit and then diving back in. Aaron found his phone at the bottom of his work bag and detailed _y/n_. After the first ring, _y/n_ answered and he said, “Hey, _y/n_. I don’t have a lot of time, but I just wanted to hear your voice.” _y/n_ replied, “Hey back at you. Are you doing okay? How’s the team?” Aaron let out a breath and then said, “I’m good. Tired though. And the team is well. They're in their usual form. They’re so sharp. Sometimes it amazes me.” There was a soft chuckle on the other end of the line, and _y/n_ replied, “Well you are too, Aaron. Don’t forget to give yourself some credit.”

Whenever _y/n_ said things like this to him, he felt a warmth dissipate over his chest and radiate down his body. He knew _y/n_ meant it when she said things like this. She wasn’t one to just give him an ego stroke for the sake of it. If she said something, she was being honest. That was one of the many reasons he found her so attractive. To find someone willing to be genuine was rare, and Aaron cherished that part of their relationship. Hotch thought for a second that he had heard the smallest lisp in _y/n_’s voice as she spoke and remembered again about the new piercing. He commented, “So, how’s your mouth. Are you taking care of your new jewelry?” _y/n_ responded, “It’s fine. I’m on some Advil, but other than that I’m all good. And I’m following all of the aftercare steps the clinician told me to. It’s healing surprisingly fast.” Aaron gave a little hum of acknowledgment and said, “Well I look forward to seeing it in person. Listen, honey, I’m going to have to go now. But I love you and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?” There was a momentary pause and _y/n_ replied, “Alright. Please be safe, Aaron.” To which he responded, “I will.” Before _y/n_ hung up, she softly said, “I love you.” Hotch could hear the worry in her voice, even as she tried to hide it. Whenever he called her on cases she sounded this way. At least until he had let her know that he was heading home. He couldn’t blame her. Due to the nature of the BAU’s work, he couldn’t share details about the cases he worked on, and _y/n_ was very aware of the dangers of the job. But she did her best to not put her concern on him too. She understood that his job was important to him, and she knew that being overly concerned, or heaven forbid, babying him would make that job any easier. Aaron thought of this as he set an alarm for an hour on his phone, started said alarm, and turned off the lamp by his bed.

The case wrapped up in three days, and Aaron was headed home. He planned on meeting up with _y/n_ the day after he got back. When he arrived at her apartment, he knocked on the door and _y/n_ happily let him inside her space. He moved inside and closed the door behind him. When this was done, he took her hands and said, “Hey beautiful,” before he leaned down and kissed her softly. When they separated, Aaron asked, “What would you like to do today? I’ve got some ideas, but I want to know if you had anything in mind?” _y/n_ smiled up at him and said, “Maybe we could go for a walk along the river? And that record store you’ve been eyeing is finally open today, so we could go there too…” _y/n_ hesitated for a moment and Hotch said, “I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming.” _y/n_ let out a laugh and replied, “But… I’ve missed you. Could we spend an hour or two hanging out here before we go out?” Aaron smiled and leaned down again to kiss her temple saying, “Of course, darling. I’ve missed you too.” _y/n_ moved to the side of the room and put on their favorite album on her record player while Aaron grabbed them a glass of sparkling water. They settled next to each other on the couch, and Hotch turned to face her asking, “Can I see your piercing? I’ve been thinking about it since you sent me that photo on Tuesday.” Hearing this, _y/n_ reddened slightly, but stuck her tongue out at him like a teenager before quickly retracting it back into her mouth. It gave Aaron just a glimpse at the new addition to her body. Hotch looked at her unamused, and y/n_ laughed again before actually sticking her tongue out for him to see. Aaron looked at the gold bar in her mouth that matched the rest of the jewelry that adorned her figure. He took a moment and touched the warmed metal in her mouth. Her tongue looked more healed than the first photo she had sent him. Aaron removed his hand and asked, “What’s this type of piercing called, and how long is the standard healing time and aftercare routine?” She moved her hand to rest on his thigh. She loved it when he looked out for her. Even in the small things. She replied, “It’s called a midline piercing. My piercer and the aftercare instructions state that it can take four to six weeks to heal. But honestly, it feels pretty good. I read something online about saliva being a natural disinfectant, so maybe that has something to do with it? Aftercare is just simple stuff. Using a new toothbrush, keeping the area clean, all that jazz.” Hotch chuckled at her tone.

Aaron had considered getting a tattoo once and voiced that thought to Hailey. He wanted something related to Jack, but she had shut down the idea, and so his body remained untouched by either tattoos or piercings. However, he loved that that _y/n_ expressed herself with her jewelry and clothing. He remembered something that _y/n_ had said the first day she got the piercing; that her jaw had been stiff. Because of this, he moved both of his hands up to her jaw and started massaging the area with a firm, yet tender touch. _y/n_ was taken aback and asked, “Aaron, what are you doing?” Hotch swatted her hands away as they moved to grab his hands. He continued to move over the area and replied, “Well you said your jaw was stiff the other day. I’m just making sure you get some relief.” _y/n_ smiled and said, “It’s not really stiff anymore love.” Aaron hummed and said, “Well consider this me making up for lost time.” _y/n_ settled and let him dote on her for a bit. The feel of his warm hands on her jaw made her relax into his touch. Really anytime he made close contact, her body reacted to him. After a few minutes, _y/n_ more intentionally moved his hands up and away from her face. She didn’t give him a chance to protest this time, as she moved to kiss his lips. They were soft and warm under her touch. Hotch made a small sound at the contact and moved his hands to her hips. He pulled away for a second. He then kissed her a few more times. The kisses were chaste and quick. He was teasing her, and she knew it. When _y/n_ had had enough of his tomfoolery, she moved her hand to his hair and took his short locks in her hands. She gave the strands a gentle tug, as she held his head in place for her to more passionately kiss him. Aaron gave a little groan at his hair being pulled. _y/n_ knew that Aaron liked to make her work a little for his affection. Not all of the time, but when he was having fun he sort of made it a game for her. And she knew how to play. Aaron nipped lightly on her lower lip, and she opened for him. Hotch moved slowly over her tongue. He explored the the piercing in her mouth, first at the top of her tongue, and then below. The new sensation of the metal in her mouth excited him. Momentarily he remembered the feeling of getting flustered at the precinct in Michigan, and he felt a familiar tension growing in his pants. Aaron pulled away for breath. _y/n_ looked him over and noticed the growing bulge in his pants, and she gave him a wicked smile.

_y/n_ got onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, saying, “Well someone’s excited.” Aaron let out a breath and said, “Are you surprised? You’re so hot and the new piercing just adds to the pleasure.” _y/n_ hummed and felt her body warming and pooling with desire. _y/n_ leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. Hotch closed his eyes and his hands moved up under the back of her shirt to her back. _y/n_ lightly kissed both of his eyelids. The sensitive skin fluttered slightly under her mouth. Her lips and soft breath moved to his chin and slowly down his neck. She was taking her time. If Hotch had teased her, she would teased him right back. It was when she started undoing the button of his shirt and sucking and kissing his sensitive skin that he couldn't take it anymore. The new feeling of the piercing only heightened his senses. He made a noise of desire. It came from a place deep inside him. From a place of need and want. A little breathlessly he asked, “Bedroom?” _y/n_ pulled away from his chest and nodded. They both got up and moved hurriedly toward the bedroom. _yn_ was still fiddling with the buttons of his shirt as they closed the door behind them. After a few moments, there were more distinct sounds of pleasure that settled in the air. As Aaron looked down at _y/n_’s form, he felt drunk on how good she made him feel. He moved down to kiss her again, his tongue hungry in her mouth. The feeling of the metal on his tongue ignited a new passion in him. Having a partner like _y/n_ made him feel younger and he reveled in the feeling.

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starfall-spirit · 10 months

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IT'S MY BIRTHDAY

If you want to give me a gift you can come to my ask box and tell me you have visited any or all of the wonderful stories I am posting below and just tell me all the reasons the authors are amazing bc I guarantee I'll agree with you.

Feysand

As the River Flows and/or A Court of Faded Dreams by @the-lonelybarricade

Sunshine and Promises (You get some Helion too) and by @shallyne

A Memory Undone and/or The Things We Cannot Say Series (Mute!Feyre) by @writtenonreceipts

To Steal a Bride of Spring by @ultadverb

Of the Archer and the Dark by @thesistersarcheron

I Was Enchanted to Meet You and/or Is There a Word for a Bad Miracle by @separatist-apologist

Catch Me Flying, Love by @reverie-tales

Five Minutes to Midnight by @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship

Blood Moon and Starlight Fangs by @edgyellie

Elucien

Sunshine and Reunions (Sunshine and Promises AU) by @shallyne

Seven Tears for the Sea by @ultadverb

Call it What You Want to by @separatist-apologist

(Also it’s Elucien Week so check that stuff out. We have some very talented participants this year!)

Elriel

Glitch by @thesistersarcheron

Over the Edge by @shallyne

Morlain

Embers by @ultadverb

Feymor

You're so Gorgeous by @separatist-apologist

Multiship

Sea Monsters Series by @separatist-apologist

Prythian's Fantasia by @vulpes-fennec

You and I Are Going to Change the World by @velidewrites

Pretty Please (I Need Your Hands on Me) by @headcanonheadcase (Also known as the threesome I didn't know I needed until she dropped a chapter in ubc)

#i could add so so many more and i encourage people to reblog with additions of their faves #I didn't add any of my works bc that feels awkward to me but if you follow me I'm sure you've read your fill of my stuff #fanfiction #feysand #elriel #elucien #morlain #feymor #multiship #acotar

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corcracrow · 1 year

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inspired by the post from @shallyne :)

~Would It Be Insensitive To Say

Get Yourself Together, So I Can Love You~

“Fine!”

Feyre yanked open the door, letting in a blast of cold, damp air, and bolted out into the hurling rain. She’d probably just ruined her very expensive, very soft cashmere cardigan, but somehow she found she didn’t care.

“Feyre— wait!” She barely heard Rhys’ desperate plea over the pouring rain, which would probably turn to sleet soon, and resolutely ignored it, ignored him.

Once again, Rhys had made the stupid, stupid decision to keep secrets. From her. Whom he had promised to always tell the truth, to always show his pain to.

Mother knew that in the past year they’d been dating, she’d shown him hers, had told him every last aching, stinging detail, of her mother’s disappointment, her sisters’ indifference, her father’s detachment.

And once again, he had broken his promise, hiding his own wounds and refusing to let her in. She wasn’t going to take it any longer.

If he wanted to hide himself away, fine. Feyre refused to keep wasting her energy pulling him out of his armour everytime she wanted to have a damn conversation.

She stalked down the sidewalk, thunder rumbling overhead. Rumbling so loudly she didn’t hear Rhys’ pained breaths and splashing footsteps until he was just behind her.

He skidded to stand in front of her, reaching to steady himself on her shoulder.

“Feyre, please. Just listen.”

She shoved her soaked, golden brown hair out of her eyes, brushing his hand off her shoulder in the process.

“Why, Rhys? Why should I listen to you deflect and laugh away my questions, move past our problems like it’s nothing, just so they can rot under the surface and ruin this relationship? Why bother?”

“Feyre, let me explain-“

“Get out of my way, Rhysand,” she growled. Feyre felt wild and out of control, cheeks flushed despite the freezing rain.

Rhys let his hand fall back to his side and stepped back. Feyre pushed past him.

“Please.”

She barely heard his soft whisper over the rain, and did her best to ignore it, to not notice the way his violet eyes softened as she moved past.

“Forget it, Rhys. I’m not going to stick around and watch you destroy yourself while you lock me out of your life.”

Feyre turned away, splashing resolutely down the same sidewalk she had walked up in sunshine just a few hours ago.

She’d taken only a few steps when she again heard Rhys’ footsteps, and his warm hand caught hers.

“Feyre— I’m sorry. I know we said we wouldn’t lie anymore, and I’m sorry, okay? I just— I don’t want to lose you too.”

Feyre knew what he was referring to. His sister, taken by a terminal illness when she was still young, and his mother, killed in a car accident when Rhys was sixteen.

But he wasn’t sixteen anymore, and though Feyre knew what it was to lose family, she also knew how to move past it, to work through her grief and find joy again. Rhys had helped her do just that, and she’d tried to do the same for him. But—

“I don’t want to lose you either. But pushing me away isn’t the solution, and I’m tired of trying to convince you of that.”

Feyre pulled her hand out of his grasp.

“If you’re not going to make the effort, why should I, Rhys?”

He looked down, the rain running down his tan, carved features and dripping onto his shoes.

“Well?” Feyre waited a beat longer before she turned to go, beginning to shiver. “That’s what I thought.”

Again she made it a few steps before she heard Rhys’ determined voice.

“Because I will.” He said. “I will make the effort.”

She turned once more to face him and crossed her arms stubbornly.

“Why?”

Feyre could feel all the frustration of the past few years boil up then, condensed into that one small word. She wasn’t really asking Rhys. She was asking the world at large. Why her, why would he bother, why should anybody bother to care, why now, when she felt so small and insignificant beneath the freezing, battering rain.

Rhys looked as though he were steeling himself against something painful, something he was frightened of. She hated that look on him, head bowed, letting his midnight hair fall over his eyes.

It wasn’t right.

“Why?” She pressed, shouting now.

He straightened and stepped closer, raising his voice over the rain.

“Because I love you!”

Feyre felt her mouth drop open.

“What did you say,” she breathed.

“Because I love you,” Rhys repeated. “And I was too frightened to tell you, Feyre. In case you didn’t want to stay, in case you saw the worst in me and wished to leave and- I wouldn’t blame you. But you didn’t. You stayed. And I- I don’t deserve you. You’re too good, too strong, you’re unbreakable, and I’m afraid, Feyre, I am so very petrified of losing you and I’m so sorry it came out this way. But now you know, and I understand if you wish to leave—“

“Rhys.”

“Feyre?”

“You idiot.”

Feyre felt a smile unfurl across her face. She was almost certain she was glowing.

“You absolute idiot, Rhysand.”

She let her arms fall to her sides.

“You think I stuck around this long because I like you?”

Feyre took a step forward, then two, then ran into his arms, flinging hers about his neck.

“Prick.” She muttered against his chest. “I love you too.”

And then she kissed him, standing in the rain, and somehow she didn’t feel insignificant anymore. Somehow, the world was opening up, and despite the clouds covering the sky, Feyre was certain she could see the starlight reflected in his eyes.

“Say it again,” she said, pulling back.

Rhys leaned closer ‘til their noses were brushing, his breath fluttering against her cheek.

“I love you, Feyre darling.”

“I love you too, Rhysand.”

Feyre kissed him again, electricity tingling down her spine, before an actual bout of shivers broke the kiss off early.

“I need to dry off.”

Rhys smirked. “I’d be happy to help you, Feyre darling.”

“Oh please. You’re perfectly happy to let me stay soaked.”

Rhys only kissed her again, laughing against her lips.

“Let’s go home, darling.”

#feysand #feysand drabble #this is my first fic #please enjoy hehe #it’s not great but it was fun #i also made a little board thing for it? that was super fun #i want to do a proposal sequel #who knew feysand was so fun to write?#also i’m sorry #i couldn’t make them angry enough #so there is really not a lot of shouting going on

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felixschokehold · 10 months

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For the Fantasy Asks: Wand, Sphinx, Basilisk, and God.

Wand: Where is somewhere you’ve always wanted to live?

I have always wanted to give Ukraine a try. I've lived in S. Korea (I'm from the US) and I visited Japan a couple times. I was supposed to travel to Ukraine in like 2016, but life stuff happened and I didn't get the chance. And now, because of the war, I will never get to see some of the historical beauty because it's been forever destroyed.

Sphinx: What was the last book you read?

The last book I read to completion was House of Sky and Breath by Sarah J. Maas. I have started the ToG series for the first time and also just read the ACOTAR series for the second time.

Basilisk: Favourite movie?

WELL. Right now it's the cringe hell that is The Baytown Outlaws. I've been writing more for my Lincoln Oodie fic recently so naturally I'm hyperfocused on the movie lol

God: Top 5 blogs on tumblr?

OH MAN. Okay so... there are many, but I'll try to stick with ones with my fave content. @the-volturi-diaries (Twilight), @shallyne (ACOTAR/sjm), @aespaeye (acotar/sjm), @alecvolturi (Twilight), and @memosminifridge (WWDITS) [PSA: @ the acotar blogs: this is my main, my acotar blog is @threshholdofescape that you probs see rb's from lmao)

#reply #ask #ask reply #ask game

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sjmnextgenweek · 1 year

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Event Closure!!!

SJM Next Gen Week is over for 2023. It's been a small turnout, but I didn't expect much popularity for next gen anyways. A big thank you to @shallyne, @starfall-spirit, @azrielover, @jealousveronya, and @panicatthenightcourt for contributing this week!

The account will be monitored from here for a few days following the event just in case there are any late submissions, but by this coming Wednesday or Thursday I ask that you instead submit any questions/concerns to @starfall-spirit's ask box.

I hope everyone has enjoyed participating in this event. I'll see you next year with fresh prompts!

#sjmnextgenweek2023

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aayo-whatt · 1 year

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i got tagged twice, so im starting a new chain-

🎶✨when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, publish. then, send this ask/tag 10 of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool) 🎶✨

thanks @shallyne and @disturbingly-silent for the tags!!

SPIT IN MY FACE! by ThxSoMuch Je te laisserai des mots by Patrick Watson Can You Feel My Heart by Bring Me The Horizon Heat Of The Moment by Asia Poor Unfortunate Souls by Pat Carroll, Disney

taggings: @reverie-starlight @gay-destiel @herefortears @sugaraddictarchangels @aliens-took-my-iwa-chan @strange-kinda-tall-dork @serpentartist @80moquimoon @frolltomstein @archaeous812 plus anyone who'd want to!

#tag games

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tacticalshit · 6 years

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Teachers Get KnifeHanded!

Teachers attend an awesome program to educate them on what students who want to join the marine corps can expect!

Stars and Stripes reports

ST. PAUL, Minn. (TRIBUNE NEWS SERVICE) — A group of educators from the Twin Cities and surrounding states stepped off a bus at the Marine Corps Recruiting Depot in San Diego and tried to keep up as a drill instructor barked orders.

They stood on the infamous yellow footprints — the footprints that every Marine stands on when he or she first arrives at boot camp — and learned the proper way to address a drill instructor.

“You will scream at the top of your miserable lungs ‘Aye aye, sir,’ ” drill instructor Sgt. Trevor Woodruff said. When he yelled “ears” they yelled “open.” When he said “eyeballs” they said “click.” When he said “zero,” they responded “freeze.” When he gave them a command, they rushed to complete it.

“Obviously, the yelling was, for our age, kind of over the top,” said 55-year-old Dan Dymoke, a government and psychology teacher at Roosevelt High School in Minneapolis. “You’re almost wanting to laugh. But if you were an 18-year-old recruit … it sets a tone.”

The yellow footprint experience was part of a five-day workshop the educators attended to gain a deeper knowledge of life in the Marines. They sat through presentations and participated in activities so they could tell their students back home about the Marine Corps.

“I have a lot of students who expressed interest in the military, and they oftentimes ask me questions or for guidance, and I really don’t know a lot,” said Shallyn Tordeur, an alternative-education coordinator at Delano High School. “This really kind of gave me an eye-opening experience to understand further what (the Marines) offer and understand my role in the district and help kids make decisions.”

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Tordeur was one of 30 educators representing schools in Minnesota, the Dakotas and Wisconsin. A group of educators from Illinois, Iowa and Nebraska attended the workshop as well.

The Marines have had an increasingly difficult time finding qualified volunteers, according to Lt. Col. Jesse Sjoberg, commanding officer of the 2nd Recruit Training Battalion. The Marine Corps want the valedictorians and star athletes. It wants the best.

“The biggest challenge is not getting out there and getting to meet them and showing them the benefits,” Sjoberg said.

He said the Marines want to get “folks that are actually capable of doing it, from a physical standpoint and from a mental and moral standpoint.”

The educators’ experiences in one week at boot camp were much more glamorous than the grind Marines endure for 12 weeks, but they still left with a deeper understanding of the branch and an eagerness to share that with their students.

One educator hopes to use part of the Marines’ history curriculum in his classroom. A group plans to put on a mini boot camp at its school. An athletic coordinator hopes to arrange a Marine fitness test at his school — similar to the one educators attempted in San Diego.

“I needed to really make sure that when I say ‘check out the military’ I knew what I was talking about,” Dymoke said. “I needed to put my money where my mouth was, which is why I took my 55-year-old body and ran the half-mile. If I can attempt some of this and come out standing, my students can, too.”

Educators flew to San Diego on Presidents Day and began the yellow footprint experience the next morning. During the rest of the week, they took the combat fitness test, ran a bayonet assault course, visited Marine Corps Air Station Miramar, listened to a Marine band, saw the educational center, shot rifles, spoke with Marines and attended a…