The Domestic Garden Witch: Gardening Without Plants!
So maybe you’re a college witch with limited space and money, limited to the one window in your dorm. Or, maybe you’re a witch without extensive backyard space who wants to start up a magical garden. Perhaps you’re a kitchen witch who wants the freshest herbs right at her fingertips.
For many witches, having a garden seems to be a bit of a no-brainer. After all, plants and magic go hand-in-hand. Plus, when thinking of a witch, it’s hard not to think of a cottage in the woods with a little vegetable garden out front. Unfortunately for the majority of us, our cottage in the woods is a tiny flat, and our garden out front is a windowsill with limited space.
This is when it comes time to embrace your craftiness and bring your garden indoors! Not only does it place your garden in a convenient location, it also allows you to freshen the air, recycle what would otherwise harm the earth, and embrace your witchy green thumb!
Sand and Meditation
Something that often does not cross an individual’s mind when they hear the word “garden” is the thought of a garden without plants, especially where witches are concerned. After all, witches are sometimes known for the sheer amount of herbs and plants they collect (hell, my boyfriend sometimes criticizes the quantity of herbs I have - not my practice, mind you, just the fact that I have over thirty varieties of herbs in large quantities in my witchy drawers). But gardens take all sorts of shapes and sizes, including that of the zen garden, Japanese rock garden, or meditation garden.
Unlike planted gardens, these are minimalist creations designed to help induce meditative thought and relaxation through the use of flowing patterns and stone placement which often are likened to mountains or islands rising up from the sea. They are generally designed as large features which are raked into different patterns each day, but are easily adaptable for the small amount of room our domestic garden witch might have!
Creating Your Garden
As with any indoor garden, perhaps the first thing to look into is the type of container in which you’d like to keep it. In this case, a dish that is wider than it is tall is recommended. Choose either rounded shapes or rectangular shaped dishes that are shallow yet deep enough to hold sand.
Fill this dish with sand - white is traditional, though colored sands can be found in local craft stores or dollar stores - until it is about half full. Select visually appealing stones and set them on the sand.
With a utensil, trace ripples into the sand - flowing lines reminiscent of water are traditional.
If you feel that you want a bit of plant life, small air plants are definitely helpful. Remember to design your garden based on simplicity. Use natural themes and variations in your design to provide an aesthetic that you find appealing.
Tools of the Rock Garden
Typically when you think of a desktop zen garden, you might envision one of the little kits that you can get as a novelty gift at Barnes and Noble. In these kits, there is of course a couple of little rakes - one for smoothing out the sand and one for providing the patterns.
We’re witches on a budget, though, so let’s take a different approach - one similar to what’s pictured above. While it is completely reasonable to use a fork or a pen to make the patterns, you can take bamboo skewers or chopsticks and turn them into rakes using wire. Using these, you can smooth out the sand and rake patterns into it each day or as often as the whim takes you.
How Can I Witch This?
Unlike all of the gardens I’ve written about thus far, this is a garden whose only maintenance depends upon what you need from a meditative standpoint. Its design is not only decorative, but spiritually functional. If you’re a witch who is still fairly closeted and can’t have an altar, gardens such as these make for excellent substitutions, as they can form a sort of sacred space in which you can meditate and focus your intent.
If you’re a crystal witch, these sand gardens are a dream come true! Instead of placing stones, arrange your grids in the sand and use the rake or skewer to draw patterns in the sand to help focus the energy of the stones in your grid!
Draw sigils in the sand based on your intent and either wipe them away with the rake, or incorporate those sigils into the design of the ripples!
Sands come in various colors and grades. Play around with options for your sand! For cleansing, use a fine black sand. For empowerment, use a fiery orange or red. For healing, use white or light blue! The possibilities are near endless!
Of course, I can’t leave out my fellow kitchen witches! Salt is a key feature of the kitchen witch’s lifestyle. So much so, in fact, that in some circles it is believed that it is bad luck to run out of salt. For this reason, you can replace the sand with salt! This has a couple of benefits: first, it’s inexpensive. Second, it acts as a constant cleanser - much like a quartz cluster or a rod of selenite. When the salt has become to crusty to rake into appealing patterns, it has done its work! Dispose of the old salt and replace it with a new batch! (Do not pour the salt outside! This is harmful to the environment! Instead, find a safer way to dispose of the salt - I usually use the salt to clean out my mortar and pestle, then dissolve it in the sink to drain away).
If you use salt in place of sand, you can take the crystal grid concept a step further! Place the crystals in your “salt garden” and rake as you would if it were sand. This provides a way to cleanse your crystals in a way that is also visually appealing!
Consider different ways to make this plant-less garden a magical addition to the dorm or coffee table!
And may your harvests always be bountiful! Blessed Be! )O(
“the five senses” of simple, pleasant moments that capture each sign.
ARIES IS // Fast legs and faster hearts just as dawn breaks. Numbness from scraped kneecaps and bloodied palms and the dizzying blur of quick sidewalks. Clattering of a chain link fence; dry laughter from desert throats – the kind that rises up from your lungs into your mouth, leaving the rusty taste of adrenaline on the tongue. Smoke lingering in your hair and on your clothes.
TAURUS IS // Standing in the dim light of a warm oven at 2am, messy hair and satin pajamas. Night air dancing in the curtains of an open window. A spoonful of peanut butter thick in your mouth – the sweet of baking cookies fills the room, mixing with the white noise of hushed radio. A gentle hand against the small of your back – an involuntary tugging at the edges of your lips.
GEMINI IS // Bright blue skies and big white clouds. Birds nests tucked in branches, and linens clipped on lines, hanging in an afternoon sun that will plant fresh freckles in ruddy cheeks. The whistle of laughter through gapped teeth. The smell of fresh cut grass from between bare toes, and the stickiness of thumbs wiping the pink and yellow of cotton candy from corners of crooked smiles.
CANCER IS // Early Sunday morning – soft eyes with heavy lids open slow to a familiar room, the walls bathed in shadows and faded lighting. The quiet patter of rain drops against the roof, and the deep rolling thunder. Being surrounded by the soothing scent of home and down feather pillows. The overwhelming comforting weight of blankets draped over tired bones, wrapped tight in the warmth of sleep and rumbling of storms.
LEO IS // Summer kissed skin, big sunglasses and floppy hats. Bright skies over dry fields laced with endless rows of sunflowers – the floral perfume mingling with thick July air. The hot breeze fluttering under a loose tank top, frayed cuffs of denim shorts with holes in the pockets, against your legs. Ripe strawberries in open mouths, the smiling voices of friends singing loud and off key.
VIRGO IS // Crisp, white sheets on a freshly made bed, the corners creased and smoothed down with precision and care. The smell of morning mist and steam rising from the brim of freshly steeped peppermint tea. Ticking analog clocks, rustling papers and the echo of hurried footsteps on wet pavement. The cool glass of a foggy window against your cheek. The quiet hum of waiting.
LIBRA IS // The pink of sunrise filtering through half-open blinds, cast over silk sheets. Opening windows and being greeted by the wafting scents of breakfast and pastries. Tucking hands into the pockets of a new sundress. Sidewalk sounds of birds and bicycle bells and cafe conversations. A thick, creamy smoothie with chunks of fruit stuck in the straw.
SCORPIO IS // The harvest moon, full and round and golden, peaking out from behind clouds that wisp around her like ghosts. The hollowed hooting of owls and sudden rustle of dry leaves. A breeze that raises goosebumps under sweater sleeves. Rich, dark chocolate on your teeth, and lungs full of crisp autumn air – the eerie peaceful of nighttime.
SAGITTARIUS IS // Speeding down an empty road, windows down, wind in your hair and squinting eyes. Crackling bonfires on a river bank, embers dancing as the sun slips behind the horizon. Marshmallows melted to the roofs of mouths – smell of fireworks, and mud on damp skin. The chirping of crickets and boisterous conversations of close friends.
CAPRICORN IS // Midnight all alone – soaking in the almost silence of fresh snowfall. Glowing street lamps illuminating crystallized puffs of breath and streets coated in sparkling, powder white. The burn of hot, black coffee on your tongue and warmth of the cup through knitted mittens on your hands. The still, winter air full of aged evergreen.
AQUARIUS IS // A little shop in your hometown you never noticed before. Dusty books in foreign letters and saturated fabrics, old typewriters and odd lamps. The unique vibration of a phonograph drifts through air that smells like ginger, and something that can’t quite be placed. It leaves spice on the tongue. Tingling of curiosity buzzing under the skin.
PISCES IS // A midday picnic on the beach. Sunshine glittering on the sea, its shore decorated by delicate shells and colored umbrellas. Toes sinking slowly into wet sand as waves wash over them, the rhythmic ebbing and flowing of tides. Distinct scents of sunscreen and sea foam – the sweetness in a juicy mouthful watermelon. The haze of a dreamy day.
It was the lack of noise that really got to Lance more then anything.
The emptyness completely void of any sound that he didn’t create himself.
The night was the worse.
While everyone else was fast asleep and Lance was left listening to the white noise that filled his ears.
He had never been in such silence. Back home there was always chattering, or the foot steps.
Even late at night there was the constant soothing sound of the ocean crashing against the rocks outside his bedroom window. A ever preasent companion on long sleepless nights.
Even at the Garrison there had been Hunks loud snoring to fill the void.
There was nothing.
Lance lost track of how many sleepless nights he spent laying in the common room staring at the unfamiliar constellations that passed above him.
The silence was so deafening.
That the small sound of bare feet moving towards him sounded like a herd of elephants.
Lance bolted up into a sitting position coming face to face with a half asleep Keith.
“I thought you were asleep…” Keith looked down drawing Lance’s attention to the blue blanket in his arms.
“Nah… just thinking.” Lance shrugged staring at the blanket rather then Keith’s bed head. “What about you?”
Keith dumped the blanket on Lance’s knee and sat down on the couch next to him, Lance refusing to move to give him more space.
“Could t sleep, thought I would get something to drink but when I saw you I figured I would grab your blanket.”
“My hero.” Lance joked lying back again tapping the space next to him.
Keith took the hint and joined the blue paladin pulling the blanket over the two of them.
“Do you miss earth?” Lance asked suddenly.
Keith turned to look at him, Lance continued to stare up through the skylight at the stars. “No not really. I never had anything to hold me there. Here’s different, I have you and the others. The family I never had.”
Lance made a quiet humming noise.
“I know you do. So you don’t have to pretend not to.”
“I’m not pretending. I do miss my family but I miss the sound more then anything.” Lance admitted.
“Sound?” Keith questioned pretending not to notice as Lance brushed his fingers against his hand.
“Yeah, it’s too quiet around here. I mean I’ve never been somewhere that wasn’t filled with people. With noise… like the ocean.”
Keith took Lance’s hand in his own giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“You’ll get back someday I promise.”
The two lay there in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Lance broke it.
“Yeah Lance?” He mumbled nearly asleep.
“When we get back to earth. Will you come to the ocean with me?”
Keith never answered simply nodding and pulling Lance closer to his in a hug.
Keith struggled under the weight of the limp Blue paladin in his arms.
The final battle had been long and bloody but in the end they came out victorious, but still with casualties.
Blue Lions had been shot out of the air and all Keith could do was follow in time to see her crash into the sand.
Keith ran to the cock pit and felt his heart break at the sight.
Lance was slumped over the control panel with so much blood pooling beneath him that the blue details of his armour were lost beneath.
His breathing was weak and wet spraying even more blood with every laboured gasp he took.
Keith picked him up and lay him down trying to stop the endless bleeding.
It there was nothing he could do.
Lance was going to die.
Keith didn’t cry, he couldn’t not yet. He had a promise to keep.
Ignoring his own injuries Keith picked up the blue paladin and carried him outside stumbling in the sand.
He could see it, just a little away. The ocean.
Keith kept walking and walking making slow process over the sandy terrain.
Finally he was there at the shore, sinking to his knees and laying Lance down in the wet sand.
The water washed away the blood still seeping from his wounds, so that for a single moment Keith could pretend Lance was only sleeping and would open those beautiful eyes of his and see the sky.
“L-look Lance.” Keith’s voice broke with emotion as the tears began to fall.
Previous installment:Hogmanay(Frasers spend the holiday with Jamie’s Scottish friend)
(NSFW, this one—Nary a plot to be found)
He was on a beach. Aye, he was, daft as that seemed.
And laying on his back.
Nor did he need to open his eyes to ken that fact. The wind was whipping across him, icy and sharp in itself, and peppering his skin with a spray of sand, forbye.
He couldn’t move arms or legs, some force weighting him to the freezing sand—and the tide was coming in, fast.
He braced himself for the shock, for the frozen wall of—
But the onrush of water over his feet and legs was warm, and he groaned with the relief and pleasure of it. Nor was it just warm compared to the frigid air: each swell was as as hot and comforting as bathwater, and seemed to seep right into his bones.
The waves came in faster and higher, crashing over him…
… then pulling back and out….
..and over him…and back…
… each sinking him deeper, deeper into the sand…
…a rhythm of heat and cold, and blissful heat again, all over his body, over,
…and Jamie came slowly to the surface to find that the frozen beach was his bed….
….and the steaming waves of heat were Claire’s mouth between his legs.
Her hand slid upward to tease the sensitive skin around his nipples and he moaned for her, spreading his legs wide in a question that she answered at once, taking him deep, deep into her mouth.
His head was limp on the pillow but he watched her, the dark shapes of her hair spangled with moonlight, lapping forward like the sea foam, slow and regular and sure. He said her name, his tongue feeling slow and feckless compared to what she was doing with hers.
Her hand suddenly slid back downward to do something that had him fisting both hands hard in her hair, arching his back and making her moan around him as he pushed deeper. The light sparked behind his eyes as he moved in tandem with her, her scalp hot, its rhythm urgent under his demanding hands. A Dhia, she could have had him right then— but he wasn’t ready to relent just yet. “Come here,” he growled, pulling her upward.
She moved to obey. He could see the gleam of her smooth, strong thighs as she moved toward him and poised herself over—
“No,” he rasped, “come *here*”
“I—What?—" She laid a hand flat on his belly to steady herself. “Where do you want—”
He slid down and pulled her higher so she was practically on his chest.
The sweet surprise in that faint, hoarse ‘…oh.’
“Oh, aye,” he whispered back.
“You’ve never done it from that position before.” She sounded dazed.
“I suspect,” he murmured, threading his arms around her legs to tug her toward his mouth, “I shall soon be apologizing…for the grievous oversight….”
A thrill of something dark and hungry in the way she looked down at him at him when she knelt on either side of his head. He gave her that dark gleam right back when he sat up as far as he could, kissing the sweet curve of her belly, slowly…hearing the little sounds of need from her throat….slowly… the urgency making her moan in earnest as he trailed his lips down….down….Her sharp hiss as he casually laid his head back on the pillow, grinning up at her. One of her thighs was against his cheek—and he could feel it trembling. He kissed his way slowly up it, just able to see her face above the curve of her belly; and as his tongue met the warm flesh of her, and the sound she made—
He skimmed his hands up and down her thighs, her arse, as he worked, feasting on every sigh, every tightening of her legs, the way she cupped his head, the rise and fall of her as she responded to his touch.
Christ, it must be good for her, this new way, for not a minute gone and—
“Ja—oh god—” she moaned, her breathing deep and ragged as her legs went taut and she bolted up high onto her knees as though to get away. New position or not, he knew the ways of her body, and knew that as as soon as he pulled her back down onto him—
The storm of her release crashed all around him, and it was as though her pleasure entered his body, driving him with her need and satisfaction so that he felt those things—NEEDED them—as deeply as he knew his own name. His arms wrapped tight around her hips, riding the rise and swell of her as she sighed and shuddered, he felt as though he’d happily die there on that frozen beach, if this sea spirit was to be condemned there with him, too.
“Aye,” he murmured a time later, when in a far less fanciful frame of mind, as she slumped against the headboard above him and he caressed her belly, “I do humbly beg your pardon for never thinking of that before.“
“You are— completely—forgiven.” An aftershock ran through her and she gasped, laughing a little. “Jesusbloodyfuckingchrist….”
“Mmmm, if I’ve got ye blaspheming, it must be good,” he purred, teasing with his fingers. “Shall we try that again?”
“Oh that is *definitely* getting added to the rotation.” She sighed hugely with released exertion, and made to clamber off him, then YELPED as he held her hips firm and dove back in. “Jamie!—didn’t mean NOW—” she half-laughed, half-whimpered, wriggling madly which only intensified the pressure of his efforts between her legs. She felt it, and the whimper became a groan. He felt her brace her hand behind her on his belly, her back arching in an inexorable swell of sensation. “Jamie—JamienonoJamienot again—I'm—”
He pulled back to look her in the eye. “D’ye really wish me t’stop?”
She looked down at him…then released a deep, shuddering breath that ended in a wicked grin. She snaked her hands down to hold his head in place, and moved forward, braced on her knees to–
i’m sorry for all the poems i wrote whilst you were gone
all the shouting i did about somebody else’s mouth
i had some growing up left to do under the aborted tenderness of another.
somehow, i went backwards.
i’ve never been able to write about you, save for that one poem, about how you left whilst never really being there to begin with. i’m still struggling now.
i flesh you out, broad shoulders, narrow hips, those strong, strong legs. your weak heart.
every time i put pen to paper i realise
i do not know you.
the things you laugh at, then. the things you enjoy. what we eat together. our shared favourite drink. the way you only laugh that way for me. the unparalleled tenderness when so many others are watching. that brick wall i clamber over night after night, when we are alone.
what are you so afraid of, darling?
the little bird with a heart of solid gold?
the girl in the cape, the girl with the basket, the girl who is coming to blow your house down.
the girl across the ocean, the girl on the pavement, the girl wrapped in sheets – it takes you so long and no time at all to extricate yourself, to shed your skin. i wonder what she does with it once you’re gone. does she fashion herself a home from your discarded sense of self?
the girl with her own home, the girl with her own skin, the girl made of steel, she leaves you on the floor.
your fears and mine do not float in the same water. your fears and mine do not sink us together. your fears, the rock falling into the ocean, my fears, the ocean swallowing it whole. where does it land where does it land? our fear, then, the impression upon the sand as the rock slowly settles, our fear now, that slow, slow erosion, our fear forever, indistinguishable as it washes ashore into waiting hands.
i am not the ocean. the girl with the salt inside of her. i am not the ocean. the girl swallowing you whole. i am not the ocean. the girl coughing you up onto the sand. i am not the ocean.
you sink into me, regardless.
There are 165 canals in Amsterdam, that add up to over 100km in length. The seventeenth century canal ring area is now a protected UNESCO heritage site. Houses lining the river are held up by 20m long underground poles, that sink through the mud immediately below, to a layer of sand, that keeps them stable.
There are about 2,500 houseboats the travel along the river. Most are permanently occupied, although some are able to be rented out to visitors to stay in. The city eve has a houseboat museum.
There was a day where @bonniebird kept barfing out cute ideas and I got so
jealous of her creative mind, and guess what? She said “you can have them”, so
here I am. Writing a fic from one cute ideas I already love.
Summary: Not being able to swim and only Brett knows, so he gives you piggyback
rides so you can join in with everyone.
Today were one of the warmest days during the summer in Beacon Hills, it was in the middle of your summer break and you spend most of your days hanging out with the pack.
This day, you choose
to take a road trip to the beach, since the heat made it unbearable to do
anything else. You sat in the backseat of Stiles’ Jeep, between Liam and Brett
who kept sending each other glares on whose shoulder you’d lean on when you
But you were far from
falling asleep. The thought of being near water scared you, not afraid of being
wet or the sea itself, it was just the fact that you couldn’t swim.
I’m coming home, I’m
coming home, tell the world I’m coming home.
Let the rain, wash away, all the pain of yesterday. I know my kingdom awaits, and they have forgiven
my mistakes. I’m coming home, I’m coming
home, tell the world I’m coming…..home.
Lance gripped the steering column of the Altean pod he was flying
as the crystal blue waters below him sped by.
He couldn’t believe that he was back on Earth, on his way back to Cuba, back
to his home.
After Allura had announced that they would be spending a few
days on Earth for some rest and relaxation the mood in the castle changed
drastically. There was laughter and
smiles everywhere, Hunk spun around and hugged Keith, much to the boy’s
surprise, Shiro held Pidge while she laughed and cried at the same time. Lance surprisingly didn’t react like the
others, he didn’t cry, laugh or hug any of his teammates, he just stood there,
watching the planet become larger and larger.
He smiled as he thought of his family, how much had missed them and
wondered how much his younger siblings had grown in the time he had been
“Allura? Are we going
to be able to visit our families?” he asked tentatively. At his words the others stopped their
celebrating and looked at Allura expectantly.
“Of course you will Lance.
That is the entire point of coming here, so that you can be with your
families and relax. I know you have all
been so strong over the past six years, fighting in a war that wasn’t your own,
but I want you to know that we know how much you have sacrificed,” she said as
Coran nodded behind her.
“You both have sacrificed a lot more than what we have,”
Shiro said as he still held Pidge, who was now starting to vibrate from the
excited energy of seeing her mother.
“So how are we going to do this? It’s not like we can just take the Lions and
say surprise,” Keith asked as he wriggled in Hunk’s embrace, trying to escape.
“That is true Number 4.
I suggest you take the pods from the castle and use them to go see your
families,” Coran suggested.
Pidge raised her head, “Maybe we can bring them back here at
some point? I don’t know if some of our
families will believe us if we say we have been fighting in giant metal cats,
that just happen to be sentient, in an intergalactic war that has been raging
on for over 10,000 years with a couple of aliens that we found. Even saying it out loud sounds ridiculous and
we are the ones that lived it.”
“That sounds wonderful Pidge, I would love to meet your
families and show them around the castle,” Allura smiled as she clapped her
hands with excitement. “Now go on! What are you waiting for?”
Lance found himself smiling as he thought of his space
family, Shiro heading back to Japan to see his mother and father, Hunk going to
Samoa to see his mum and sisters, Pidge speeding like a demon back to America
to see her mum and Keith who said he didn’t know where his dad was, was going
back his shack in the middle of the desert to collect all his stuff and bring
it back to the castle.
Lance was nervous about seeing his family again, he wondered
what the Garrison had told them all those years ago, had they told them he was
dead? He thought back to that night that
they ran from the Garrison after rescuing Shiro, had they had an opportunity to
message their families? Could they have
at least left a message saying they were heading off to look for a mystical
weapon that aliens were trying to get first?
He snorted, god that was even worse that Pidge’s description of what they
had been doing for the past six years.
The shore line came into view and his heart leapt, he was
almost there, he could already smell the pizza and garlic knots that he would
get with his family. He guided the pod
to a secluded section of beach that was far away from the masses of tourists
and locals, he knew that no one ever came out this far, this used to be his
secret spot, not even his own brothers and sisters knew about this.
Taking a deep breath, he turned on the cloaking device Pidge
had installed a few years ago and exited the pod. Turning towards the end of the beach he
slowly made his way through the coarse sand, his feet sinking with every
step. Oh how he had missed the smell of
salt in the air, the sound of the water crashing into the beach and the sound
He crept around the bluff that hid the secret area of the
beach and froze as he saw a woman kneeling on the sand, holding a wreath of
vibrant flowers to her chest as she wept.
Her curly brown hair and dull blue eyes were unmistakable.
“Mama? What’s wrong?”
At the sound of his voice her head whipped around and her
mouth opened as she dropped the flowers into the sand.
Hello, and welcome to my new blog!! This story will contain lots of sexual exploration with tentacles. If that makes you uncomfortable, I suggest you cut and run.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Octo!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Reader is the daughter of a captain of the Royal Navy, stationed in Jamaica during the 1700s. She stumbles across an injured man, hidden away from prying eyes, only to discover he’s more than what he seems.
Warnings: blood, injuries, sex with tentacles (late chapters), sexual exploration (later chapters)
Word Count: 1932
Entwined - Part 1
The sea had always called to her. The sound of the waves. The cry of the gulls. The briny smell of salt and seaweed. The curious fish darting through the crystal blue shallows and trails of white foam.
Her family was originally from London, her father a captain in the Royal Navy and sent here to the Caribbean to search out the last of the pirates and make way for the promising sugarcane industry. Her father was a good man, strong and hard working, his men loyal to a fault. Unfortunately, that meant no one would dare approach his beloved daughter, his only child, the “light in his eyes” as he affectionately put it.
Stationed at Port Royal, her father was constantly busy, gone long hours and not returning to their estate overlooking the sea until the wee hours of the morning. The servants did all they could to keep the young miss occupied and safe at home, but having just passed her nineteenth birthday, her sense of independence was strong. Her mother had died of influenza a few years back, leaving her to spend the days exploring the coves and tide pools and palm tree forests of her father’s property alone whenever she could escape her lessons.
Her long curls flowing loosely down her back, her having pulled out the painful myriad of pins, she slowly made her way down the white sands bordering the front of her father’s property. The hem of her petticoats were soaked through, her bare feet sinking into the warm sand. Sighing, she looked back over her shoulder, up the cliff to the large house, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the pale stone and wood. From here she could barely make out the workers tending to the yard.
Looking back over the sea, she smiled as the sun dipped lower into the sky, creating a beautiful rainbow of colors across the wispy clouds in the distance, the remnants of the large storm that had recently battered the island.
Crying is not a concept foreign to FN-2187: his training has
streamlined his mind into two neat lines deemed as being Productive and Unproductive.
Logic and loyalty and righteous anger at those against the First Order are
considered to be Helpful and Necessary, while misery, and guilt, and empathy
are cut out with clean scalpels and the burning sharpness of a laser drill.
Crying, it turns out, is startlingly difficult to remove.
FN-2187 is still a cadet, though his station officer has
listed his attributes on his public file, and he’s held a Stormtrooper helmet
in his hands and stood at attention when Captain Phasma inspected his platoon.
And at night, in the bunks he shares with twenty other cadets with matching
haircuts and identical uniforms, he learns how to recognise the hitching sounds
of someone burying their face in a pillow, or what it feels like when the
person sleeping above him shakes with sobs.
He also learns how to close his eyes, and shut his mouth.
This crying, however, is loud.
It’s not so much crying
as it is screaming, the same words
over and over in some foreign tongue, and with it comes a heat that tickles and
scratches his skin beneath his clothes. When he rubs his fingers together, eyes
screwed shut, it feels like sharpened dirt, and tastes of dust.
It’s a girl, he thinks, resisting the urge to roll over, and
he doesn’t recognise the voice. It’s too young, too pitched, and it echoes in a
way that’s unfamiliar to the dorms; expanding outwards and outwards,
uninhibited by corridors and the cold vacuum of space.
Feyre has escaped Tamlin for the second time but this time, no one in the night court is aware of what happens. Feyre is depending on the bond to bring Rhysand to her.
I wanted to see a short fic where Rhysand takes care of a weak Feyre and I know that that was like his entire role in ACOMAF but I wanted a scene where Feyre would have nothing but adoration for him and allow him to fuss over her. So here goes nothing…