#scrying for summer

[mer-se]

alsooooo got this obsidian mirror and she and I are gonna be best friends forever

[domsunny2016]

Jack Threads Fam 🇬🇧🥀

[making-your-fave-in-fr]

I made Stella (+ Daffodil), Summer, Atul, and Gwen from Spiritfarer in Flight Rising!

No scry information bout’ these guys since they’re all old and have since been lost to time. Sorry!

The urge to make Spiritfarer fandragons is strong...

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Magic-Related Vocabulary

for your next poem/story

Amulet: An object worn, carried or placed to guard against negativity or other vibrations. A protective object.

Astral Projection: The practice of separating the consciousness from the physical body so that the former may move about unhindered by time, space or gravity.

Bane: A poison; that which destroys life. "Henbane" is poisonous to hens.

Banish: To drive away evil, negativity or spirits.

Beltane: An ancient folk-festival day observed by Witches that celebrates the fully blossomed spring. April 30 or May 1.

Censer: A vessel of metal or earthenware in which incense is burned. An incense burner.

Chaplet: A garland or wreath of flowers or leaves worn on the head, as in the chaplets given to classical Greek heroes as symbols of honor.

Clairvoyance: Literally "clear seeing." The ability to perceive facts, events and other data by other than the five "normal" senses, unaided by tools.

Curse: A concentration of negative and destructive energy, deliberately formed and directed toward a person, place or thing.

Divination: The art of finding things out through means other than the five senses, using tools such as tarot cards, crystal balls, and so on.

Enchant: "Sing to." Magically speaking, a procedure whereby herbs are aligned with your magical need prior to their use.

Evil Eye, The: Supposed glance capable of causing great harm or fear, once almost universally feared.

Fascination: The art of placing other people under one's power through sounds, gazes, colors, etc.

Hex: An evil spell; a curse.

Incubus: A male demon or spirit which was believed to sexually tempt and abuse women; the succubus was the corresponding female demon.

Infusion: An herbal tea.

Lughnasadh: An old harvest festival celebrated on August 1st or 2nd in Europe, reverencing the abundant (harvested) fruits of the Earth. It is still observed by Wicca.

Magic: The practice of causing needed change through the use of powers as yet undefined and unaccepted by science.

Magic Circle: A ritually-created circle (or sphere) that offers protection to the magician during magical rites.

Magician: A person of either sex who practices magic.

Magus: A magician.

Midsummer: The Summer Solstice, usually on or near June 21st, one of the Wiccan festival days and an excellent time to practice magic.

Pendulum: A tool of divination which consists of a heavy object suspended from a string or cord. The end of the cord is held between the thumb and forefinger; questions are asked and their answers divided by the movements of the pendulum.

Pentagram: A five-pointed star which has been used in magic for centuries. Highly symbolic, it is also a protective device.

Poppet: A small doll made of various substances to influence a person's fife. In herb magic, either a carved root or a cloth image stuffed with herbs. The use of poppets is known as "image magic."

Power Hand, The: The hand you write with; the dominant hand. This is a magically potent hand.

Samhain: An ancient festival day marking the beginning of winter. Also known as "Halloween" and All Hallows Eve. It is observed by Wicca with religious ceremonies.

Scry: To gaze into a pool of ink, fire, crystal ball, etc. to awaken and summon psychic powers.

Spell: A magical rite.

Talisman: An object worn or carried to attract a specific influence, such as love, luck, money, health; as opposed to an amulet which keeps forces from its bearer.

Wicca: A contemporary religion with spiritual roots in prehistory that worships the life-force of the universe as personified as a God and Goddess. It is sometimes erroneously referred to as "witchcraft."

Witch Bottle: A bottle or jar containing herbs, pins, shards of glass and other objects, designed to protect a person or area from evil and curses. Usually buried or placed in a window.

Witchcraft: The practice of natural magic, as that of herbs, stones, and candles. Spell-casting. Still used by some to refer to the religion of Wicca.

Wort: An old word meaning "herb." Mugwort preserves the term.

Excerpt from Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs More: Word Lists ⚜ Esoteric Vocabulary ⚜ On Magic

[witchboxco]

Beltane Rituals for the Modern Witch

Treat yourself. Beltane celebrates love, which includes self love.

Beltane is a fire festival, so it’s a great time for candle magick or flame scrying.

Use Rowan or Ash branches for protection spells or crafting protective talismans.

Decorate your altar with yellow flowers to invite warmth into your home.

If you're trying to start a family, it's the perfect time of year for fertility spells. Beltane honors the fertility of the awakening earth.

Bake bannocks and put an abundance spell on the flour.

Cast your circle in the sun to harness the returning light of summer.

[harridansibyl]

Personal associations/interpretations of the dark/mystical houses (4th, 6th, 8th, 12th)

4th house

twisted tree roots, cultural practices, heirlooms, photo albums, inherited features, traditions, the mother, past lives, generational trauma, picture books, garden beds, childhood homes, ancestor altars, hand written recipe books, hearth, squeaky wooden floorboards, genealogy archives, caves, oak trees, baby wrap carriers, emotional security, cultural heritage, building foundations, photo albums, genetics, laundry lines, swing sets, property, mines, crops, sanctuaries, the chest and heart, home steads, fields, farms, root cellars, harvests, pots on stoves, brooms, backyards, agriculture, vines on trellises, handmade blankets, grandparents house, laundry baskets, attachment styles, singing lullabies, history, deep emotions, instincts, the unconscious, summer, waxing moon, vase of flowers, bath time, picking berries, celebrating holidays, chicken coops, older sisters, family gatherings, stone paths, forest walks, ancient structures/buildings, ancestral languages, cupboards, staying in

6th house

vitamins and supplements, morning routines, pharmacies, tasks and lists, doctors offices, health food stores, stomach medicine, hygiene practices, journals and planners, schedules, herbal teas, personal rituals, emergency kits, dog walks, lymphatic drainage, caregiving, donating blood, examinations and checkups, meditation, colour coordination, sticky notes, gastrointestinal problems, folded laundry, labels on everything, retirement homes, hand washing, braided hair, herb gardens, filing cabinets, face masks, kombucha, detailed diagrams, volunteer work, medicine cabinets, cleaning supplies, shelves, acts of service, skin care, organic linen, gauze and stitches, stress-induced illnesses, essential oil/herb baths, house plants, instructions, repetition, holistic medicine, giving advice, yoga studios, "gut feeling," bone broth

8th house

altars, divination, near death experiences, candle wax, feeling crushed by a heavy weight, grave dirt, red/dim lighting, funerals, double income, control, the underworld, cheques, insurance, heirlooms, ghost sightings, power imbalances, crime documentaries, ouroboros, bank accounts, grief and loss, shadow work, the womb, manipulation, scrying mirrors, Russian nesting dolls, keys, mortuaries, tests from the universe, pendulums, crime scene tape, the phoenix, projections, credit scores, animal bones on a forest floor, blood stained sheets, metaphysical shops, spiritual attacks, deep emotions, snakes, dead flowers, late autumn, wedding veils, envelopes, full moon, muddy boots, shadows at the corners of your vision, scarab beetles, inner processing, experiencing crisis, inherited possessions, natural disasters, sexual trauma, psychological studies, ancestral connections, cracked dolls, veil between realms, mental illnesses, deep connections, intimacy, reincarnation, torture devices, keys, whirlpools, the sound of sirens, unconscious fears, intense first impressions, pushing limits, feeling bound, scratches on walls, ten of swords

12th house

abandoned places, liminal spaces, long winters, shadowy figures, reoccurring dreams, repeated patterns, fog-filled forests, self analysation, inner worlds, cave systems, unfinished basements, hallucinations, solitary confinement, empty parking garages, spiral staircases, substance abuse, trapped in purgatory, hidden beneath the surface, maladaptive daydreaming, hospital hallways, confines of society, waning moon, moths, wandering aimlessly, disconnection from the world, psych wards, healing others, tired eyes or dark circles, chronic mental illness, suppression, addictions, hiding places, overnight shifts, unexplainable experiences, past life karma, exhaustion, cobwebs, others projections, catacombs, bird cages, premonitions in dreams, prescription bottles, self destructive patterns, late night walks, misty lakes, the feeling of walking out of the movie theater at night, identity crises, blurred faces, empty public transport, astral projection, comas, diary entries, dissociative episodes, shape shifting, generational trauma, observing people, mirrors, padded rooms, the afterlife, chain link fences, paradoxes, feeling misunderstood, repression or memory loss, hikikomori, the freeze response, disappearance, waiting rooms

[likeasecondself]

i finished my reread of the raven cycle and amidst all the big feelings, one thing i can't seem to get out of my head is the relationship between adam and opal.

ronan loves opal since she's a part of him, he created her, he will give his life for her, like he will for matthew or chainsaw.

but adam's love for opal? comes from love itself. he saves her life and ronan's. he sees himself in her when she tries to not draw any attention to herself in an anxious situation, gets on her eye level and gives her his watch, albeit needing it. goes back into cabeswater amidst it's horrors to get her back, at the end of that chapter, he still reminds ronan that they need to take opal with them. she sits by him as he does scrying. she kisses his arm when his hands are possessed and puts the watch back on him, to remind him of who he is. he sits blue between himself and opal so he doesn't attack opal. when he unbinds himself from the ribbons, he pats her head first. compares ronan to opal and we know he thinks very highly of ronan.

even after all the harshness of the world and life that adam has had to deal with, his softness towards opal shows how utterly beautiful he is as a person. i love him so much.

in 'opal' their relationship grows even more, but even in the raven cycle you can see the deep love they share for each other. i can understand why in 'opal' she is so distressed by adam going away for college, because adam and ronan would have spent those months between november and post-summer the next year with her, and she loves them both equally. god, adam and opal's love for each other is everything to me.

[tiredwitchplant]

It's Time for Samhain! (Oct 31- Nov 1)

What is Samhain? In the Celtic calendar, Samhain marks the end of summer and the harvest season, and the beginning of the dark, cold winter months. It falls opposite Beltane on May 1, which represents the beginning of spring and the life-filled growing season.

It’s believed that the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest on Samhain. Historically, people were worried that they would encounter ornery spirits if they ventured outside on Samhain night, so they dressed as ghosts or wore masks to disguise themselves. Folks would leave treats on their front porch or place an extra setting at the table to welcome any friendly spirits who stopped by. You can see how these Samhain rituals easily morphed into our modern-day version of trick-or-treating in costume.

Nighttime bonfires were another of the long-standing Samhain rituals - this one was thought to help combat the impending darkness of winter and the fearful chill that accompanied the idea of roaming spirits. Because the veil between living and dead is believed to be the thinnest on this night, Samhain is also a powerful night for divination and spellcasting by candlelight.

Usual Symbols of Samhain:

Ale or Mead

Pumpkins

Skulls

Besom or Broom

Beans

Cauldron

Bats

Keys

Squash

Pomegranate

Nuts

Apples and Cider

Bones

Herbs and Plants for Samhain:

Rosemary – Associated with remembrance and is needed during this season in taking time to honor the memories of our ancestors and other lost loved ones. Can be used in an incense blend and at ancestor altar

Fall Flowers – Includes flowers like marigolds and chrysanthemums. Are associated with protection and chrysanthemums come in handy with connecting to the spirit world

Apples (the fruit, branches and blossoms) – Is considered sacred to a lot of gods. A good apple harvest means that the gods have shown the community their favor. You can use apples in different rituals, especially divination

Pomegranates – Is associated with the realm of the underworld and helps with communication with the dead. It is also associated with fertility of the fall.

Squashes, Pumpkins and Gourds – Is associated with abundance and provides sustenance for your family when the fields become bare and covered in snow. Is linked to psychic awareness and development and protection.

Mugwort – Is associated with divination and dreaming. Using Mugwort baths or incenses in the rituals can focus on treating depression, especially with the seasons changing

Rowan Trees – The branches and berries are a way to keep evil spirits out of your house and are associated with good health. If you plant a tree near a grave, it will prevent the dead from rising.

Sage – Is associated with cleansing and grounding. Is a great incense to cleanse your home to bring in the new and out with the old

Hawthorn – Has been associated with the gateway between humans and the spirit world. Is also rumored to an area where you can see fairies.

Crystals for Samhain:

Amethyst – Aids in opening one’s third eye and is valuable to be able to see Samhain’s spirits around

Black Obsidian – Is great for grounding and protect from evil spirits. Can be used in scrying when speaking to deities and spirits of Samhain

Citrine – Is used to honor the sun. Aids in prosperity spells and carries joy

Black Tourmaline – Wards off unwanted spirits from your property and can be buried into the ground to protect from psychic attacks and spirit intrusion

Orange Calcite – Orange is a sacred color to Samhain. This stone is associated with one’s sacral chakra and can cleanse and align reproductive organs, sexuality and get creativity flowing

Bloodstone – Known to heal cardiovascular illness and disease. Can help with ancestry links and work

Spirit Quartz – Is great in helping communicate with the spirits of Samhain and releasing old and toxic habits

Lepidolite – Used to appease the fairies that roam during Samhain

Serpentine – Is associated with snakes and aids in remembering past lives. Loki seems to like this stone and may be great to use for him if you work with him during this season

Dragonstone – Dragons are guardians of the earth, spirits of place, and connect us to Mother Nature. Helps say goodbye to the old years and our old selves

Skull shaped Stones – Since skulls are symbols of Samhain, skull shaped stone can help with symbolism during this holiday. They represent the life-death-rebirth cycle, wisdom and our ancestors

Spells and Rituals:

A Samhain Tea (Apple and Hawthorn Berry)

1 apple, sliced

2 Tablespoon dried hawthorn berries (or 4 Tablespoons fresh)

1 cinnamon stick

A pinch of cloves

4 cups water

Honey, to taste (optional)

Combine all ingredients in a small stockpot.

Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 10 minutes.

Strain the plant material from the tea, then transfer the tea into two mugs.

Enjoy one for yourself, and leave the other on your table or front porch to nourish any wandering spirits who may pass while the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest.

A Pumpkin Spell for Prosperity

A pumpkin

Some paint

Go to the pumpkin patch (or local store) and select a pumpkin. Or let the pumpkin choose you.

Bring it home and paint prosperity symbols on it – money signs, runes for prosperity or harvest glyphs (whatever means prosperity to you).

Then place by your front door to invite prosperous vibes into your home this Samhain season.

Bonfire Release Purification Spell

Paper

Pen

Source of fire (bonfire, fireplace, candle flame)

Gather your materials and sit by the fire.

Take a few minutes to just listen to the fire crackling.

Gaze into the flames and connect with this powerful element.

Next begin to think about what habit or person you are releasing this Samhain. Think about why you’re purifying your life from this thing or person.

Then write the habit or person down on the piece of paper.

Fold it away from you 3 times.

Hold it in your hands and allow all of the negative thoughts and energies inside of you to “drain” out of you and into the paper.

Then throw it in the fire and say,

“After this Samhain, never again. Never again. I release _________ from my life by the power of the Samhain fire. So, mote it be.”

How to Make a Samhain Altar

Beautiful autumn leaves or flowers that you collect on a nature walk

A candle

A mugwort bundle

A string of rowan beads

A bowl of apples or a small pumpkin

A hawthorn wand or bowl of freshly picked hawthorn berries

A picture of your ancestors

To make an altar, first find a corner of your home or a table surface where you can arrange a few treasures. You don’t need a ton of space. You could use the top of a dresser, the corner of your desk, an unused side table, etc. 

After you’ve assembled your altar, spend some time sitting quietly in the space. Light the candle and/or mugwort wand, sip on a cup of Apple & Hawthorn Berry Tea and meditate on this energetically powerful day. 

I could find specific written instructions for a crystal grid but I found a video!

Crystal Grid for Samhain

Let's get ready for Samhain and have a great and safe time!

[kelliealtogether]

So I can't get enough of the fanart of Adam with a beard that @try-set-me-on-fire has been blessing us with, and I wrote a little something inspired by this art of theirs because we love a beardy, unkempt, mysterious Adam Parrish.

Adam Parrish never anticipated growing a beard would itch.

Before averting the end of the world, he always shaved before his facial hair made it past the stage of stubble. Unlike Gansey, Adam had the capacity to grow something other than a scraggly tuft on his chin, but — as evidenced by Ronan when he lowered himself to show up for classes prior to dropping out — scruff took the dignity of the Aglionby uniform down a peg. Dignity being an aspect of the school uniform he needed most, Adam lathered up every morning with dollar store shaving cream and used a dollar store razor to clear his jaw, cheeks, upper lip, and chin of the faint blond fuzz that appeared overnight. It was the last step of the perfunctory routine he’d crafted to get ready with minimal effort and time, a step that often left his face dotted with bloody bits of toilet paper, the quantity driven by how much sleep he’d stolen the night before.

That routine followed him to Harvard, moving from his tiny, antiquated bathroom in his apartment above St. Agnes to a shared dormitory bathroom, where it stuck around until Adam returned to campus after a two week leave of absence because reacclimating his soul with his body was a lot more difficult than he initially planned. 

Not to mention with Ronan back from the sweetmetal sea, and with every ley line everywhere awake, Adam wasn't exactly rushing to return to classes.

But when he did, the Adam Parrish who returned to Harvard wasn't the same Adam Parrish who had left campus one evening to scry and find his boyfriend. The Adam Parrish who returned to Cambridge for his final semester in the Ivy League aligned closer with the Adam Parrish he'd been the past summer at the Barns. An Adam Parrish who didn't have to perform, not because it didn't matter, and not because he didn't care, but because he didn't want to. He didn't have to. The past few weeks had given him some perspective on what really mattered, on the fragility of not just his own body and mind, but the whole world, and as soon as he admitted that he didn't want to stay at Harvard and that he didn't want to keep acting like a cut-rate Gansey, he reached a level he'd learned about in his first semester psychology class but never personally experienced. 

The morning he returned to campus, Adam put the picture-perfect student who looked like he belonged on brick-paved walkways and around stacks of leatherbound library books on a shelf behind his closet door. He donned flannel instead of tweed. Jeans instead of slacks. He shoved his feet in old, scuffed sneakers instead of pristinely polished secondhand brogues, and he wore an old oversized Harvard sweatshirt Blue had found him in a thrift store after he’d gotten his acceptance letter instead of plain, drab sweaters Adam bought because he thought they looked academic. 

In the end, he returned to wearing all the clothes he’d initially left behind at the Barns when he’d driven away in August because they didn’t match who he’d wanted to become at Harvard. 

He’d really been such a fool not all that long ago. 

Without cuffed sleeves and cuffed hems, he became almost unrecognizable. Unimpressive. Unremarkable. The dorm proctor stopped him and asked him who had signed him in as a guest before realizing she was talking to Adam. Professors did a double take when he stopped by during office hours to turn in make-up assignments. Classmates who always asked him to study with them hardly looked his way. Just a change in wardrobe alone — from classic to comfort — stripped away so much of the false front he’d put up for months, enough that the Crying Club didn't notice him waiting for them when he asked them to meet him in Thayer's basement so he could provide an explanation and attempt an apology.

Then Adam’s already-perfunctory morning routine became impossibly more perfunctory when, first, he ran out of the styling paste he used to wrangle his self-cut hair into something presentable, and then — a few days later — ran out of shaving cream. 

Unless he looked closely at himself in the mirror — steam swiped away to make a lopsided circle large enough for his shower-pinked face — Adam couldn’t tell he hadn’t shaven. In the thin, sickly gray of the bathroom, he had to tilt his head one way and lift his chin before the coarse, fair hair on his jaw caught a little bit of light. Straight on, he looked the same as he always had: feather boned, gaunt cheeked, thin lipped, wary eyed. 

Except those wary eyes had recently lost their dark circles. 

That first morning, Adam told himself he’d stop by a drugstore and pick up more shaving cream, but he didn’t. And he didn’t the next day. And he didn’t the next day either. By the fourth morning, he finally began looking slightly scruffy. Or maybe slightly rugged. Nothing like Ronan — who grew a five o’clock shadow by noon — but when Adam ran his hand across his jaw, rough hairs scraped his palm, and he didn’t have to move his head a certain way to see the stubble on his face. A distinct coating of fair hair covered most of the bottom half of his face, a subtle shadow Adam didn’t totally hate, and if he left it alone, he’d save himself five to ten minutes every morning. 

So he left it alone. 

But then it started itching. 

“The fuck is that sound?” Ronan asked during one of their nightly phone calls. 

While Adam sat on his bed in his Harvard dorm, Ronan sat in a hotel room somewhere in the Great Smoky Mountains, priming to track down a dreamer he’d been encountering in dreamspace the past few days. In an effort to help, Adam had flipped some tarot cards onto his comforter, and while figuring out their meaning, he’d started absently scratching his jaw right by where he held his phone to his right ear. 

“What?” Adam replied, hearing Ronan’s question but not picking up its meaning, too absorbed in figuring out how Temperance fit into any kind of reading involving Ronan. 

“That sound,” Ronan said. “It’s like I’m in a damn cabin in the woods and the monster of the week’s trying to get through the door.” 

Adam furrowed his eyebrows, still focused on the wispy figure pouring smoke-like water from one cup into another. “The monster of the…” Slowly, Ronan’s words sank in and Adam stilled his fingertips on his face before dropping his hand into his lap. “Oh.” 

“Oh?”

“I was scratching my face.” 

“Why? Do they have fleas at Harvard? Bed bugs? Magical mosquitos?” 

“No,” Adam said flatly. “I ran out of shaving cream and haven’t shaved in a few days and my — beard? I guess it’s a beard. My beard itches.” 

Silence stretched across the phone line for so long Adam checked to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected because Ronan’s phone died, but the time still ticked upward on the screen of his phone. He’d simply rendered Ronan speechless for a few moments because he hadn’t picked up a razor in a week. 

“You have a beard,” Ronan said when he finally got his wits back about him. 

“It’s not really a—” 

“Don’t tell me it’s like that little soul patch thing Dick tries to grow everytime he has ideas about being manly.” 

Laughing dryly, Adam gave up on interpreting Temperance and laid back on his bed, rubbing his hand over his cheek to ease the itch instead of scratching as he replied, “It’s not like that. But it’s not a beard beard. I said it’s only been a few days.” 

“Send me a picture.” 

“I’m not sending a picture.” 

“Because it’s coming in uneven. I bet you look mangy.” 

“I do not look mangy.” 

“I bet you do. That’s why you won’t send me a picture.” 

“I do not look mangy,” Adam repeated. “Jesus, Ronan. If I send you one, will you quit saying that?” 

“I make no promises, Parrish.” 

A half hour later, after they finished their call, Adam did take a photo of himself. Mostly because when he sent a rare selfie to Ronan, Ronan sent one back, even if it was only one side of his face or a close up of an eye. And because it was for Ronan, Adam put a little effort into the photo, shifting his head on his navy pillowcase until he found a good angle and smiled a little when he hit the shutter button. He looked at the photo briefly before he sent it to Ronan, and it surprised him that his facial hair wasn���t growing unevenly at all. One spot near his left ear was a little thinner than everywhere else, but his facial hair was an otherwise perfectly even layer half a shade lighter than the hair on his head.

Yet this did not stop Ronan from sending Adam a picture of a mangy dog instead of a selfie, followed by a single-worded message moments later. 

Shave. 

Usually, Adam left contrariness to Ronan, who had perfected the art of antagonism a long, long time ago. But something about the single-word reply irked Adam. It came across as a directive, an order, even though Ronan would never mean it that way, and it tightened Adam’s jaw, making it ache as well as itch. He closed out of the message and willfully ignored it the rest of the night and into the following morning, when he found himself in Walgreens to pick up a new tube of toothpaste. 

On his way through the store to the register, Adam didn’t avoid the shaving aisle and instead paused in front of the cans of shaving cream for a long minute. He stared down the red, white, and blue cans of Barbasol, and leered at the far fancier cream-and-navy Aveeno Therapeutic Shave Gel. 

Shave. 

It seemed like only yesterday they’d made up in the sweetmetal sea, where the two of them had intertwined and recounted their rights and wrongs, made their admissions and their apologies. And Adam wasn’t mad at Ronan. A year or two ago, he would have been, and receiving a photo of a scabby, patchy-haired dog would have sent them straight into a fight. Now, Adam well understood it was Ronan being Ronan, which meant he was being a dick despite the fact he loved Adam. So Adam wasn’t mad, but he was a little peeved. 

Just peeved enough to be petty. 

He turned away from the myriad shaving creams and shaving balms and aftershaves and headed to the front of the store to buy his single tube of toothpaste. Then he walked back to campus, let himself into his dorm, and — wastefully — threw away the last of his razors. 

The next few weeks, neither of them brought up the beard thing. Once, Ronan asked if Adam got shaving cream and Adam indirectly answered that he’d gone to the drugstore. However Ronan interpreted that was up to him, but he didn’t ask about it again, leaving Adam to assume he’d interpreted the response as a positive toward Team Shave. They exchanged photos but no selfies, simply snapshots of tangled roots obstructing a ley line or reawakened Rockefeller beetles crossing Harvard Square in a tidy single-file. And when they talked, Adam did everything he could to keep his hands away from his face, even going so far as sitting on his hands after putting Ronan on speaker. 

Finally, in the fourth week of not shaving, the itching waned, and when Adam looked in the mirror, the hair on his face had definitively turned into a beard. Thick, blond hair covered his jawline and chin and it crept toward his cheeks and down his neck. A full mustache crossed his upper lip, and the space between his bottom lip and chin had filled in almost completely without bare spots beneath the corners of his lips he’d seen on other men. All together, it served to make him look far older than nineteen. Wiser. A little mysterious. Rough and rugged and a little unkempt — something he’d never been before — like he’d been put through the wringer. 

In a lot of ways, he had. 

And the worst — but probably easiest and most bearable — wringer was yet to come, because as spring break loomed ever closer, Ronan reminded Adam of the plans they’d made long before Adam had returned to Cambridge. “You’re still coming to the Barns, right?” 

“Yeah,” Adam told him. It wouldn’t be like last summer, when the Lynch family farm had been paradise for Adam and Ronan. Mór Ó Corra and the New Fenian would probably be there if Ronan didn’t force them out of the place for a few days — for entirely selfish reasons, Adam hoped he would — but Adam would never turn down the chance to go back to the Barns. To go home, though that location constantly changed depending on where Ronan was any given day. “My last midterm is Thursday and I’ll ride down Friday.”

“You’re taking the bike instead of the shitbox? Are you gonna return the favor?” 

“I’m planning on it.” 

Adam could hear the devil of Ronan’s smirk when he said, “Good.” 

Midterms raced by despite long nights, long papers, and long exams, and Adam cleanly survived them. He even thought about leaving for the Barns on Thursday night until he remembered his journey back from Virginia on his dreamt motorcycle. Exhaustion on that ride had done him no favors despite having a lot to think about, and he’d rather get to the Barns in one piece than be scraped off the road somewhere in New Jersey. Catching up on sleep could wait until the Barns though, and Friday he woke with the sun so his wheels hit the road before rush hour, his new facial hair adding some padding and warmth beneath his helmet that hadn’t been there before. 

Nine hours later, when he turned up the Barns’ rutted driveway, Adam knew he’d find Ronan waiting for him on the farmhouse’s front porch. Probably leaning against the same pillar he’d leaned against the night of his birthday when Adam joined him outside and they’d kissed for the second time. Thoughts of that night, of getting his hands on Ronan again, of kissing him again carried Adam down the driveway, and when the woods opened up into the rolling fields of the farm, the first thing Adam saw was Ronan, a dark silhouette against the whitewashed house, leaning against the exact same pillar. 

Only the BMW occupied the gravel parking area in front of the house — Mór Ó Corra and the New Fenian presumably made to temporarily flee — and as Adam nuzzled his motorcycle next to Ronan’s recovered car, Ronan started his slow descent from the porch. 

The reckoning came as Adam slowly unbuckled the strap beneath his chin and lifted his helmet from his head, and he hadn’t fully freed himself of it when the crunch of gravel beneath Ronan’s boots stopped and Ronan said, “You shitbag. You said you got shaving cream.” 

“I said,” Adam started, pulling his helmet all the way off and setting it on the motorcycle’s seat before he looked at Ronan, “that I went to Walgreens.” 

Ten feet away, Ronan stood with his arms crossed over the front of his black zip-up hoodie, his pale blue eyes narrowed to slits as he looked at Adam. He looked no more indignant than normal with his lips pressed together in a thin line and the fingers of both hands curled into the sleeves of his sweatshirt, but for a long minute, he just looked, and Adam looked back. He wanted to close that ten feet between them — badly — and throw his arms around Ronan, get him close again, but Adam had lobbed the ball over the net by not picking up a razor in six weeks. It was Ronan’s turn to volley. 

And volley Ronan did. 

Throwing his arms down at his sides, he stalked across the gravel left between them and instead of pulling Adam into a hug, he took hold of Adam’s cheeks. “What the fuck, Parrish?” he growled, thumbs beginning to brush over Adam’s beard, from his cheeks down to his jaw, over and over again. 

For the first time in his life, Adam understood why cats and dogs liked being pet. All the tension from nine hours on a bike melted from his muscles as Ronan’s thumbs skimmed across his beard, and Adam almost closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t, because he wanted to watch Ronan as his gaze traveled over Adam’s face, assessing his sideburns and mustache and neck line. Finally, Adam replied, “I thought it’d be funny. You pissed me off. With shave.” 

“You asshole,” Ronan said, thumbs stopping but still holding onto Adam’s face. “I didn’t mean it.” 

“I know.” Adam had always known. Things weren’t like that between them, except for when Ronan wanted them to be. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan replied, nodding as a slow smile crept across his lips. “Yeah, I think I do.” 

“It’s not mangy.” 

Ronan laughed loud enough it echoed off the farmhouse and startled Chainsaw — perched on the porch railing — into flight, and as she soared circles overhead, Adam and Ronan wrapped their arms around one another and pulled each other close. 

“No, it’s not mangy, Parrish,” Ronan said, and just before he put his lips to Adams, he added, “It’s a damn nice beard.” 

[renehall-pharroe]

The Bargain

Elain Archeron had flour-dusted fingers and a lightness in her chest. It was turning out to be a beautiful day.

The early spring air slipped through the open kitchen window of Feyre’s River House, carrying the scent of lavender and honeyed grass. Her bread was nearly done, its warm, yeasty aroma curling up around her like an embrace. Nuala and Cerridwen moved beside her with silent efficiency, occasionally trading sly smiles with her as they worked. The three of them had become so close, and today were laughing over a misshapen braid of dough and a story Cerridwen was spinning from her own childhood. Elain felt lighter than she had in years.

She had forgiven herself. For so much. For the silence. For the missteps. Even for that desperate, misguided night when she had tried to kiss Azriel, not from love, but from a desire to feel in control, powerful, wanted. A mistake, one they had both quietly buried.

Now, she watched Azriel from afar, with a sort of wistful affection. He often sat beside the auburn-haired priestess with the bright teal eyes. Gwyneth. Gwyn. The way Nesta talked, they shared a bond he hadn’t quite recognized, but Gwyn had. Elain had seen the way she looked at him, the awe, the understanding. She hoped it was real. She hoped it was good.

So when a shimmer of magic disrupted her quiet evening alone in her bedroom, while Elain was threading a soft pink ribbon through an embroidery hoop Elain blinked in confusion. A letter had appeared on her desk. No knock. No warning. Just a curling script she had never seen before.

From Eris.

She stared at the name, unsure whether to laugh or burn it. How odd. Her pulse fluttered.

Lady Elain,

I beg your pardon for this unsolicited message and humbly request your discretion in receiving it. There is a matter of great urgency and sensitivity. One I cannot entrust to any other.

I ask that you meet me, quietly and without escort, at the southern edge of Velaris. The small park. In two days at 3:15 in the afternoon. Your presence and more specifically, your gift is required.

This matter greatly concerns my mother. Her safety, and perhaps her future, and it may depend on your gift.

With respect,

E. Vanserra

It wasn’t the request that shocked her so much. It was the fact that someone, anyone really had acknowledged her power. Her magic.

No one in the Night Court asked for her visions. Not really. Not anymore. They didn’t speak of them, as if silence could erase them. Her sisters tried to protect her, but sometimes it felt like being smothered in cotton. She had wanted to help. Wanted to scry. But they never let her.

She stared at the parchment long into the night. She should tell Feyre. She should burn it.

Instead, she folded the letter and put it in her pocket.

⸻

The park at the southern edge of Velaris was quiet, half-shadowed by the mountains beyond. Elain’s cloak fluttered around her knees as she stood beneath a wind-warped tree, looking toward the overlook. Her heartbeat thudded in her throat.

She nearly turned back until he appeared.

“Lady Elain” came Eris’s voice, warm and surprised. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

She met his eyes, wary. “I didn’t think I would either,” she said softly.

He smiled not smug, but almost… pleased. He was handsome, though not in the same way as Lucien. There was too much calculation in Eris’s gaze, too much restraint. But today, he seemed… real. Not cold. Not cruel.

He offered his hand.

“I need more than five minutes,” he said. “Come with me?”

You can’t be serious,” she said.

“Please. Before the Head bat senses I’m here.”

Elain should have been offended. But the fact she’d heard the same from Nesta made her bite back a smile . “Where?”

“My beach house. In Summer. We’ll talk.”

Every instinct screamed no. Her sisters would panic. Azriel would stalk him through every realm. But something deeper in her, something restless and bold reached out and placed her hand in his.

He winnowed them instantly.

⸻

The Summer Court sky stretched as a brightly lit canvas over a sapphire sea. Eris’s home was more elegant than she expected: glass walls, rich amber woods, and golden accents. He led her to a round table on a beautiful balcony overlooking the sea. She breathed in the salty air deeply and realized this was the first time, besides the war, that she had left the Night Court. And it was beautiful. She reminded herself not to gawk.

“I didn’t bring you here to trap you,” he said, pouring her tea. “You’re free to go at any time. But I need help, Elain. From you. And only you.”

She said nothing.

“I want to overthrow Beron. I need your visions. In exchange, I’ll help you unlock your magic. Teach you how to use it.”

She blinked. “You’d teach me?”

He inclined his head. “No one else has. Have they?”

She slowly shook her head and wondered if all of Pythian knew that she had no idea how her magic worked.

“I know what it is to be ignored. Stifled.”

“And what’s the catch?”

“We make a bargain.” He smiled faintly.

“What do you mean a bargain?”

Eris leaned back in a seat and explained, “I promise to teach you to wield your magic well and you promise to help me when you have mastered it.”

Her heart raced. But she had always longed to do something. To be something more than what they allowed. And no one else was going to help her. Obviously.

She reached out.

The bargain snapped into place with a soft pulse of magic. A tingle danced over her ankle.

“A discreet, respectful place,” Eris said with a smile.

She wasn’t sure what it meant, but the warmth still lingering in her skin wasn’t unpleasant.

He smiled. “Let’s begin.”

⸻

Over the next few days, he taught her.

How to reach inward. How to listen to that quiet whisper of power.

When she finally caught hold of it , when it answered her she nearly wept.

“It’s like… a thread,” she whispered.

“Follow it,” Eris said, voice gentle.

She did.

And then her vision clouded.

She found herself in the familiar warmth of her old cottage. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting golden light across the small room. Her father sat in his favorite chair, his face peaceful as he watched his daughters. Nesta was stretched across the foot of the bed, one leg dangling, her arms crossed but her expression relaxed.

Elain was beside her, smiling, laughing at something Nesta had said. Their shoulders touched. There was no war, no magic, no courts or crowns. Just home. Just them. And for a moment, it felt like everything had never changed.

She met Eris’ eyes with a smile, the warmth of the vision still lingering in her chest.

“Well?” he asked, leaning forward with a brow raised in anticipation.

Elain gave a small nod, her voice steady as she shared.

A rare grin tugged at the corner of Eris’ mouth. “Excellent,” he said, his tone surprisingly genuine. Then he sat back, swirling the wine in his glass. “Let’s try again.”

Elain stood in the heart of a vast, endless garden, a vision so vivid it stole the breath from her lungs. Fields of wildflowers stretched in every direction, lavender, roses, golden poppies, and blossoms she couldn’t name. Each petal glowing as if kissed by starlight. The air was thick with the sweet, earthy perfume of blooming life, and as she breathed it in, her heart ached with wonder. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

“Again,” Eris gently prodded after he had told her it was probably the Spring Court in its prime.

Elain watched as Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn stood back to back, bloodied and breathless, the mountain wind howling around them. She saw shadows moving between the trees, enemies circling, waiting to strike. The vision seemed fuzzy and before she could see much more, she was looking at Eris.

“Try again,” he said.

She was in a bed and Lucien was beneath her, golden skin flushed, his hair tousled from her fingers, his lips swollen from her kisses. They were tangled in sheets, in limbs, in need. Every movement was slow and hungry, hands roaming, mouths claiming. He whispered her name like a prayer, and she responded with breathless moans, her lips trailing lower… then she kissed the curve of his neck and growled, “You’re mine.”

She sunk her teeth into his shoulder. Claiming him.

Not hard. Not cruel. But with desperate heat, and Lucien groaned, loudly. Needingly. The kind of sound that made her thighs clench even in the waking world. And just like that, she was snapped out of the vision, her magic yanking her back into the real world like a cold plunge into water.

She blinked, dazed, and realized she was still sitting across from Eris in his private lounge. Still in her chair. Still fully dressed. But she was flushed scarlet, chest rising fast, a fine sheen of sweat on her brow. By the Cauldron. Her body was very aware of what she had just seen.

She squirmed in her seat, tugging at the hem of her dress and avoiding his eyes.

Eris, of course, noticed everything.

He leaned back, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “If that expression is anything to go by,” he said, smug and drawling, “I can’t wait to hear about this one.”

Elain gasped, scandalized, and stood abruptly . “You are unbearable,” she hissed, marching toward the bar to pour herself something, anything, cold and strong.

Behind her, Eris laughed, utterly delighted. “You’re supposed to spy on Autumn, not daydream or whatever that was.”

She downed the whiskey in one gulp.

Half an hour later, another attempt.

This time, the vision unfolded in a place of breathtaking stillness white marble columns stretched toward a high arched ceiling, bathed in golden light that seemed to hum with warmth and peace. Elain stood silent in its glow, breath caught as the scene came into focus.

Lucien was there.

He sat on a velvet chaise, bathed in that same golden light, the picture came into focus and he was holding a baby, nestling it against his chest. He wasn’t dressed in his usual tunic. It was more relaxed, white gold trimmed. Flowing. Elain had never seen him look this way and she was completely captivated. And then the baby. Soft auburn curls and wide, glowing russet eyes that sparkled with curiosity and contentment. The most beautiful thing she had ever beheld. Lucien’s expression as he looked down at the child was unlike anything Elain had ever seen, complete adoration, deep and quiet and whole. His every breath seemed to steady around that tiny heartbeat he cradled.

Then she saw herself.

A future version, stepping softly into the room barefoot, serene, radiant with peace that shone from within. She wore no crown or jewels, but something about her shimmered with quiet power. And she was smiling. Smiling in a way Elain had never seen on her own face. Pure joy.

She crossed the room and wrapped one arm gently around Lucien’s shoulders. He leaned into her instinctively, and together they looked down at the child. Her future self bent low and kissed the baby on the forehead, murmuring something that never reached Elain’s ears. But she saw it, clear as the sunlight that poured around them.

Love. Wholeness. A family.

Elain watched the vision through stinging eyes. She didn’t want to let it go.

“What did you see?” Eris asked

“…Still private,” she said, cheeks warm. She blinked back a tear.

But the third time, everything changed.

This vision took place in Autumn. Elain could feel it instantly in the air, heavy with gold and rust and magic.

A red-haired woman lay upon a carved wooden bed, her skin pale with strain, her eyes brimming with tears. She cradled a newborn wrapped in soft blankets, the infant’s tiny body glowing with a warm, gentle light. Firelight danced along the stone walls, but it was the child who lit the room.

Eris sat beside her, looking exactly as he does now. His posture rigid with tension, his face drawn with exhaustion.

“Please, Eris,” the woman whispered, her voice thin and trembling. She swiped her tears while she spoke. “You know what he’ll do to him if he ever finds out. Please protect him.”

“I will,” Eris said quietly. “For you… I will.”

A moment passed in silence before he asked, his voice barely above a breath, “Have you decided on a name?”

The woman looked down at the child, eyes softening, and smiled through her tears. “Lucien.”

Elain came back with a gasp, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Across from her, Eris sat still as stone, his face unreadable, quiet.

“Well?” he asked, his voice carefully even.

She hesitated. “Lucien was a baby. You were sitting beside your mother.” Her brows furrowed, voice gentling. “Do… do all Autumn babies glow?”

Eris’s expression flickered just for a moment and then hardened. He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.

“That’s enough for today,” he said, already turning away.

⸻

Another long day of visions.

Another day of Eris being insufferably smug, mildly infuriating… and, to Elain’s great irritation, undeniably charming. She was beginning to understand why he got away with so much. Worse, she was beginning to like him.

They sat across from each other in the candlelit study he’d set aside for their work. He sipped his wine like this was some kind of game, not magic and risk. Perhaps even war if her family were to find out where she was and what she was doing, and definitely who she was doing it with.

“Let’s try this again,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Amaze me. Oh brightest star of the Realm’s High Tutor.“

She rolled her eyes, letting the teasing roll off her as she steadied her breath. The threads of power began to stir behind her eyes, and her fingers curled against the cool armrest.

Her voice was soft but certain. “Alright, Let’s see where it takes me today .”

And he watched her quietly this time, curious, maybe even impressed, as the world faded from her view and the vision began.

Nesta wept. Eris was already crying, quiet, broken sobs as he knelt before her in the shadows of a fading fire.

“It snapped for me…,” he whispered through the tears. “…when we were dancing in the Hewn City. That moment, it shattered everything. I winnowed home and fell apart. Wondering how I would live without you. Knowing you were bound to the Night Court. Knowing it could mean war. Still, wanting you. Needing you. Dying without your presence.”

“No,” Nesta said, her voice shaking. “We can’t.”

He let out a broken sound and took a shuddering breath. “I can’t breathe without you.”

“No, Eris.” She stepped back, the tears falling faster. Her body trembled with restraint, with sorrow. He reached for her, gently pulling her close, kissing her, once, soft and aching.

She kissed him back.

Only for a moment.

Then she broke away, sobbing.

“I’m with Cassian,” she gasped. “I’m happy.”

He didn’t move. “Are you?” he asked softly. “Does he treat you like the queen you are? Does he worship you?”

“Stop,” she said, shaking her head.

“He’s good. He loves me.”

“Are you still second to his High Lord?” Eris murmured.

“Stop it!” she screamed. “I’m mated to him!”

“No, my love” he breathed. “You are not.”

Nesta stared at him like her heart was tearing itself apart, piece by agonizing piece like just looking at him was a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. The sorrow in her gaze was almost unbearable. Elain could feel it in her bones, how sacred and painful this moment was and how she was witnessing something she was never meant to see. And maybe… maybe this was why Nesta kept postponing her mating ceremony.

Eris stepped forward again, his voice low, reverent. “I love you. I am yours. You are mine. Mate.”

They both looked destroyed.

Elain blinked out of the vision, heart pounding. When her eyes refocused, Eris sat across from her, smiling faintly as if nothing in the world had changed.

“What was it this time?” he asked.

She swallowed, hard, the weight of what she’d seen still clinging to her chest like ash.

“Nothing,” she said quietly and then cleared her throat and tried to compose herself. “Let’s go again.”

⸻

A few days later, after a quiet lunch of ripe figs and warm bread drizzled with honey, Elain and Eris sat across from one another once more. The room still smelled faintly of summer fruit and spiced wine. They had laughed over the meal, real, unguarded laughter that felt like sunlight through a closed window.

Eris had surprised her by opening up. He spoke of his and Lucien’s mother, voice soft with a kind of reverence Elain had never expected from him. “She’s gentle,” he said, almost to himself. “Soft-spoken. She hums when she cooks. And she looks at us like we’re worth saving.” His fingers had curled slightly around the stem of his glass. “She loves Lucien best but who doesn’t?” he shrugged with a genuine smile.

Elain had felt something shift. Not just in how she saw Eris, but in how she saw herself. He was helping her genuinely. He was sweet , careful with her boundaries, and though his charm often danced on the edge of arrogance he had become something unexpected: an unlikely friend.

Now, the plates were cleared, the fire crackled, and the sunlight slanted golden through the windows. Elain brushed her hands on her skirts and straightened her spine, readying herself.

“All right,” she said, lifting her chin. “Let’s begin again.”

Eris smirked, already leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “My favorite part of the day,” he said. “When I’m reminded that even the best teachers must suffer for their art.”

Elain rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she closed her eyes and let the vision come.

But her next vision nearly broke her.

She stood in the Autumn Court’s throne room, the heavy scent of smoke and pine thick in the air. The carved crimson columns loomed like sentinels, and the torches along the walls flickered with an unnatural chill. Shadows clung to the cold stone like secrets.

Beron sat high upon the dais, his face carved from marble. His eyes glowed faintly, cold ang narrowed with disdain. Beside him stood two auburn haired males who faintly resembled Eris, broad-shouldered and grinning like wolves with blood on their teeth.

Screaming echoed down the hall ragged, enraged.

Lucien.

He was being held back by two other auburn hair males , straining against them, his russet eyes blazing with fury. He looked a tad boyish almost. His hair was disheveled, his hands clawing at the air as if he could tear through the distance between them with sheer will.

“No! No, don’t—!” he howled. “Father, you don’t understand. I love her!”

On the floor before the dais, a female lay broken and trembling. Her wings were torn and bloody, twisted unnaturally, her skin soaked with crimson. She sobbed, her hands trying to shield her face, her body curled in on itself.

“Behead her,” Beron commanded, his voice calm, as if ordering wine.

Lucien’s scream tore through the room raw, primal, endless. It was the sound of something vital being ripped away.

Elain screamed too.

The vision shattered around her like glass.

She fell forward, gasping, disoriented and Eris caught her. One arm braced around her waist, the other steadying her shoulders. She trembled against him, her breath coming in frantic bursts.

“Elain,” he said urgently, his voice low and unfamiliar in its gentleness. “What did you see?”

Her eyes were wide, still caught in the horror. “Lucien,” she breathed. “He was , he was trying to stop them. A female, wings torn. Beron told them to, he said to behead her. ”

Eris went still. He stared at her, blood draining from his face.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she whispered. “I, I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, over and over. “ I’m so sorry you saw that.”

“Who was she?” Elain’s voice cracked as she swiped a trembling hand beneath her eyes, catching a tear before it could fall. Her breath still came unevenly, shallow, as if the vision had reached into her chest and crushed her lungs.

Eris didn’t speak right away. He stared down at the carpet between them, his jaw tight, fingers curled into his palms where they rested on his knees. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the faint crashing of waves through the open doors.

At last, his voice came low, rough with something that might have been regret.

“Lucien’s betrothed,” he said quietly. “Her name was Jesminda.”

Elain’s breath caught in her throat. Her head snapped up, wide eyes locking onto Eris as the name settled like a stone in her chest. Her lips parted in shock, but no sound came.

“I didn’t realize he’d lost…” she began, then shook her head, as if trying to rearrange everything she thought she knew.

“Everything,” Eris finished for her. His voice was flat, but not unkind. “He lost her because of Beron. Because she was… lesser, in Beron’s eyes. Poor, without a title. And mostly because Lucien loved her.”

Elain pressed a hand to her heart. Something deep inside it cracked.

The bond had always thrummed quietly in the background, like an unanswered question. Lucien had looked at her with longing, yes but there had always been distance, restraint. Like a man walking through a dream he didn’t believe he deserved.

Now, she understood why.

Her eyes flicked back to Eris, who was watching her warily, as if expecting her to scream or run.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t know he’d,” Her throat tightened painfully. “He’s never… we’ve barely conversed.”

“He probably wouldn’t speak of her ,” Eris said simply. “He’s too honorable to lay that kind of grief at someone else’s feet. Especially yours.”

Elain looked away, tears blurring her vision again, this time not from the horrors she’d seen, but from a guilt that wrapped around her like chains.

No wonder Lucien had kept his distance. No wonder he’d never pressed the bond, never demanded answers or closeness or love. He was still carrying the ghost of another.

She had tried so hard to avoid him, to deny the bond. And all the while, he’d been mourning.

Quietly, she said, “He must think I’m cold and heartless.”

Eris’s voice softened. “Lucien would never think that about you.”

Elain met his eyes again, searching. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve known him his entire life. He may not speak of her, or of what he lost, but I know this, he never stopped believing in hope. That’s why the bond still frightens him. Because he’s afraid to hope again. But he does. And because he speaks of you with great fondness, Elain, and a softness I’ve never seen in him before.””

Can I ask you something?” she said softly.

Eris turned, one brow arched. “You may. Whether I answer is another matter.”

“Are you and he… close? Everyone says you’re not,” she added quickly. “They’ve always made it sound like you hated each other. And well, I know something about complicated sibling relationships.”

Eris was silent for a moment, the faint wind catching the ends of his red hair. Then he said, without any of his usual smugness, “We are close. Painfully so, sometimes.” He looked at her directly. “But in our court, closeness is a liability. We let the world believe we’re estranged. It’s safer that way.”

Elain blinked, stunned. “So all of it, the bickering, the distance…”

“A performance,” he confirmed.

She met his eyes, the sincerity there surprising her. “Why would you trust me with that?”

He tilted his head, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Because I do trust you and fate doesn’t make mistakes. It wouldn’t have tied Lucien to someone who isn’t decent. Or trustworthy.”

Elain’s heart thudding a little harder.

“I see more than people think, Elain,” Eris added gently. “And I think you’re stronger than you know.”

Elain folded her hands in her lap, trying to still their shaking.

In the stillness of that elegant Summer Court home , with the sea wind curling through the windows and magic still lingering in her veins, she realized that everything had just changed.

Not just her understanding of Lucien but of herself, and what she might be ready for.

She whispered, almost to herself, “I’ve never even given him a chance.”

Eris stood and crossed to the balcony, staring out toward the endless blue horizon. “It’s not too late.”

—

They sat beneath the slanting afternoon light, the salt breeze from the sea drifting in. Elain twirled her hair, her brows furrowed. Eris watched her with his usual half-lidded gaze, but his sharpness was dulled today his shoulders loose, his expression open.

“I feel guilty,” Elain said softly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Like I’m trespassing. When I see things, when I walk into memories or moments that weren’t meant for me. It feels wrong.”

Eris tilted his head slightly. “You’re not trespassing,” he said after a beat. “You’re seeing. There’s a difference.”

She looked up at him, uncertain.

“It’s not as though you chose this gift,” he continued. “It was given to you, raw and wild. The Caldren trusted you with it . You didn’t ask for it, but you’ve carried it with more grace than most ever could. And now, you’re trying to understand it. That’s not trespass, Elain. That’s courage.”

She blinked, surprised by the gentleness in his voice. “Sometimes it still feels like I’m… invading something sacred.”

Eris leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Then learn to knock before you open the door. Learn to look with intention, not fear. It’s not the vision that’s wrong, it’s how you hold it.”

A long silence passed, broken only by the rustle of wind through the hedges.

“You’re doing beautifully,” he said quietly. “You’re powerful, little sister. And not just in magic.” His eyes searched hers, sincere. “You’re kind. Brave. And smart enough to know the weight of what you carry. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather teach.” he smiled kindly.

Her throat tightened. She hadn’t expected praise.

She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Then, finally, she whispered, “Thank you. For all of this.”

He nodded with his signature smirk. “Just remember this sweet moment when your family tries to murder me,”

She huffed a laugh.

⸻

It had been a week since she’d last heard from Eris. He had Autumn court business to tend to and in that quiet stretch of days, Elain had retreated into herself, into her room, her mind, and most of all, her visions.

She spent hours curled in the window seat, trying not to stare at this small leaf tattoo that graced her ankle and wondering how much longer she would have the bargain, hands wrapped around lukewarm tea, letting the power thread through her, letting it show her the things she had once been too afraid to see.

She watched her parents fall in love in flickering scenes of candlelight and stolen glances. She saw herself with Graysen stiff, polite smiles and a heart that had never fully opened. How foolish she had been, how small her dreams had once been, thinking that kind of love would ever be enough for someone like her.

But no matter how hard she tried to steer the visions, they kept pulling her back to one person.

Lucien.

She watched him as a child, hair bright like autumn leaves, darting through the woods of the Autumn Court with laughter on his lips and bruises on his knees. She saw him fishing at dawn, saw him grinning at Jesminda as they waded into the shallows, saw him racing through the forests of Spring with Tamlin at his side. She saw him again and again grief-stricken, determined, and painfully alone.

And the worst part was… she felt it. Through the bond. Not just his pain, but the way he pushed it down, pressed it beneath layers of sarcasm and distance.

It clawed at her heart.

She tried to push her visions forward, to see what might come next between them but the magic wouldn’t let her cheat. Not yet. It only showed her slivers: laughter between them, touches that lingered, warm peaceful nights curled up together. But nothing too clear. Nothing certain. Nothing like the last vision she had seen of them. She blushed at the memory.

Then, one quiet morning in the kitchen, a pulse shot through her like a jolt of sunlight beneath her skin.

The bond.

His presence surged closer, stronger like a second heartbeat thudding in her chest. She dropped the towel she’d been using to dry her hands and moved toward the hallway, straining to listen. His voice drifted from the study, low and steady as he gave a report to Rhysand. Formal. Composed. She heard him mention when he would be returning next.

She hadn’t seen him in months.

Without thinking, Elain slipped outside. The morning air was cool against her skin, the garden stretching wide and fragrant behind her as she waited on the path.

He came through the door moments later, and the instant his gaze landed on her, he froze.

“Lucien,” she said gently, stepping forward.

His eyes widened. “Lady,” he stammered, then cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “Um… are.. you well? Is there anything I can do for you?”

His voice was so awkward, so unlike the flirty, confident versions of him she’d seen in so many visions. This Lucien was real. Blushing. Fidgeting. Swallowing hard as he looked at her like she might vanish.

And for once, she didn’t feel like turning away.

“No need for titles,” she said, softly. “Call me Elain. And no, nothing wrong. I just wondered…” She hesitated. Then, surprisingly boldly: “Are you in a hurry? Or could we talk?”

It was, she realized, the most she’d ever said to him at once.

Lucien blinked. “I’m… okay,” was all he managed.

A smile tugged at her lips. So awkward. Handsome. Adorable. “I didn’t know you were coming today,” she said as she turned and began walking, hoping he’d follow.

He did.

They strolled through the city, down sunlit lanes and around the chatter of townspeople, until they reached a quiet stretch along the sea wall. There, they paused, the soft crashing of waves below a gentle chorus to the tension stretching between them.

Elain leaned her arms on the stone railing. He mirrored her, just close enough not to touch.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said finally, her voice low and cautious. “But I need you to promise me something first.”

Lucien raised a brow, amused. “You’re asking me for promises now?”

“Will you promise not to get angry?” she asked, sweetly but earnestly.

That brought a faint smile to his lips, wry and surprised. Softly, he spoke, “I can’t imagine you making me angry.”

“I’m serious. And you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone. I’ll need your word.”

He tilted his head amused facing across his face. “Very well. You have my word.”

She drew a breath, bracing herself.

“I made a bargain with your brother.”

The change in him was immediate.

Shock flared in his eyes. His body went still until he stood straight. Every muscle seeming to flex. Then came the inhale, the slow, deep drag of breath that only barely managed to keep his temper in check. His jaw flexed. His fingers curled around the stone rail like he might crush it. “Which brother? Eris?”

Elain smiled and nodded, “He told me you two are close.”

The look on his face was a war between betrayal, disbelief, and something she couldn’t name. “He did what?”

His golden eye glinted faintly in the shifting light, the real one wide with disbelief.

She smiled at his complete shock until he cleared his throat and tried to compose himself.

“Wait. What… kind of bargain?” he asked, voice low, rough like he already knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

“He’s helping me with my magic,” she said softly, “in exchange for help on how he’ll rid Autumn of Beron.”

Lucien stared at her like she’d spoken in another language. His mouth parted, but no sound came. She pressed on.

“I know it sounds reckless, but it’s not. I’m careful. I’ve made great strides. I’ve learned patience, how to stay inside the vision longer, how to focus on what I want to see.”

Lucien’s golden eye shimmered. The other, the mechanical one, narrowed slightly as if trying to read her deeper.

Lucien blinked once then again, slower, as if the words were struggling to register.

“You made a bargain with Eris?” he said hoarsely, his voice a rasp of disbelief, as though he hadn’t heard a single thing beyond that name. The wind tossed strands of his red-gold hair into his face, but he didn’t move to brush them away. His stare was fixed on her like she’d grown horns.

Then his expression twisted jaw tightening, eyes narrowing with sudden clarity. “Does Feyre know?” he asked sharply, then immediately cut himself off with a bitter scoff. “No. No, she doesn’t. If she did, if Rhysand knew, Eris would already be ash on the floor of the Hewn City.”

He dragged a hand over his face, muttering, “Mother save me,” before letting it fall with a frustrated thud against the stone railing.

Elain didn’t flinch. She lifted a brow and folded her arms delicately across her chest. “You promised not to get angry.”

Lucien looked at her then not just looked, but saw her, and whatever he saw there made him pause. His eyes, both the golden and the russet, searched her face like he was trying to make sense of her.

“Im not angry. I’m not sure what I am,” he said at last, his voice like a growl buried beneath his breath. He stared at her as though she were a stranger, some unrecognizable version of the quiet girl he’d once tiptoed around. There was something unsettled in his gaze, not just rage but confusion, something raw and rattled.

She stepped closer. “I don’t want you to be angry at Eris either.”

Lucien’s head snapped toward her, and the quiet that followed was more dangerous than shouting. “You don’t want me to—?” His voice cut off as he laughed bitterly, no humor in the sound. “He manipulated you, Elain..”

“He did no such thing. He’s been a complete gentleman,” she snapped, eyes flashing. “I knew what I was doing when I made that bargain. I am not a child to be protected from the world, Lucien.”

He flinched like she’d slapped him.

“I’m not yours to shield or scold or keep in some glass box!” she continued, stepping forward again, her voice rising. “You don’t get to act like I’m fragile just because I spent years pretending to be. Which is my fault, not yours.”

Lucien stared at her, his chest heaving slightly, breath shallow. His hands had curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. For a moment, it looked like he might explode or crumble.

“Im not trying to coddle you,” he said, low. “I am trying to keep you from getting burned.”

“Well, too late,” she said quietly. “I’ve been burned before. I survived it.”

Lucien ran both hands through his hair, stepping back, pacing once like a panther trying not to strike. His whole body radiated fury but beneath it, Elain could see it: fear. Not for himself, but for her.

“You made a bargain with Eris Vanserra,” he said again, as if repeating it would somehow make it less real. “And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“I told you,” Elain said, quietly but unwavering.

Lucien froze, her words sinking in.

Not Rhysand. Not Feyre. Not even Nesta. Him.

The pacing stopped. His chest still rose and fell in short, sharp breaths, but something in his posture softened just enough. A flicker of understanding passed over his features, dimming the storm in his eyes.

“You told me,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Then, after a long breath, he lifted his chin. His voice, when it came, was steady and sure.

“The next time you meet with him… I’m coming with you.”

It wasn’t a question, but he still paused, waiting for her permission, perhaps. For something unspoken between them to shift. “Please.”

Elain studied him for a moment. And then she nodded. “I would like that.”

Lucien’s shoulders eased at her answer, some of the steel in his jaw giving way to warmth. He nodded once, sharply, and didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to.

—

It was three days later when they passed that very same spot again this time side by side, not in silence, but with a quiet purpose that needed no words. Elain’s cloak brushed his arm as they walked toward the meeting place. The wind carried the scent of early jasmine, and Lucien glanced at her every so often, as if reminding himself she was really there.

And then Eris appeared.

He materialized out of nothing, elegant as ever in his tailored crimson coat, a smug curve already tugging at his lips until he saw who accompanied her.

His smile faltered. “Lucien?” he said, clearly surprised. “Well, this is—”

Lucien didn’t give him time to finish. With two quick strides, he closed the distance and punched his brother cleanly in the face.

The crack of fist meeting jaw echoed through the courtyard.

Eris stumbled back, clutching his face with a hiss, and Elain let out a startled gasp, one hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes darted between them, stunned. “Lucien!”

Eris, ever infuriating, laughed as he wiped blood from his lip. “Guess I deserved that.”

Lucien stood tall, shoulders squared, fury simmering just beneath his calm surface.

Eris raised a brow, eyes gleaming. “Surprised to see you, brother.”

Lucien didn’t speak. His gaze was a blade, cold and gleaming.

Eris smirked, unbothered as ever. “Let’s talk about this in private, shall we?”

Without waiting for their answer, he extended a hand and winnowed them all away in a rush of crimson light and flame.

⸻

Elain sat silently, perched on the edge of a velvet maroon chair, her hands folded tightly in her lap as Lucien and Eris continued shouting.

Well, Lucien was shouting.

Pacing the length of Eris’s beach house , his eyes were molten gold and fury incarnate. “How dare you involve her in this!” he roared, pointing a trembling finger at his brother. “If Beron so much as sniffs that she’s involved, if he even hears her name do you understand what you’ve risked? What she’s risked? You’ve put her in danger!”

Eris leaned against the mantel with a maddening calm, dabbing the blood from his split lip with a silk handkerchief. “She has never been in any danger, brother.”

That was when Elain stood.

“Enough!”

Her voice cracked through the air like lightning. Both males stilled, turning to face her.

Elain’s chest rose and fell as she stepped forward, chin high, cheeks flushed with fury. “He helped me with my magic. No one else even offered. No one believed I could do anything. But he did.”

Lucien’s mouth opened, closed. He said nothing.

“Eris has been kind,” she continued, her voice fierce and trembling. “Respectful. And a gentleman.”

Eris wiggled her his eyebrows at Lucian and Elain was almost certain he was going to get punched again.

“And I…” she shook her head, eyes gleaming, “I want to help. I want to do something that matters. And if this works, if we can do this together, it might benefit all of Prythian. Not just us. And not just your sweet mother.”

That last sentence hit like a blade. Lucien froze. The fury drained from his face, replaced by something else something more vulnerable, aching. He stared at Elain, stunned into silence, his eyes searching hers.

She didn’t flinch.

Then Eris whistled low. “I’m shocked she even told you,” he said, straightening. “We weren’t supposed to tell family.”

Elain didn’t miss a beat. “He’s not family,” she said coolly.

And then she glanced at Lucien just a flicker, soft and warmand added, almost too quietly, “Yet.”

Lucien’s heart nearly stopped. His eyes locked on hers, every nerve in his body roaring to life.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Then Eris clapped his hands, stepping back. “Well. Now that we’ve all bonded let’s get on with it, shall we? Show him.”

Elain drew a deep breath, closing her eyes. She steadied herself, calling that stillness, that silvery thread inside her and when she opened her eyes again, they were milky white, glowing like moonlight as she slipped into the vision.

⸻

The walk back to the River House was quiet but not uncomfortable. The stars above blinked gently through the Night Court’s indigo sky, and the gentle sound of the Sidra murmuring nearby gave a softness to the silence between them.

Lucien didn’t rush them. He could have winnowed straight to the doorstep, but he hadn’t. Elain realized he wanted this time with her. These quiet, unspoken minutes. The closeness that didn’t require words.

Back at Eris’s estate, something had shifted. After the shouting, after the raw edges and fraying nerves, once Elain had begun to work through her visions, everything had softened. Lucien had settled beside her, never hovering, but close, like a steadying presence. Each time she came back from the mist of her Sight, his caring eyes had been waiting, alert and concerned, ready to hear whatever she wanted to share. And they had talked about how she could learn to manipulate her visions and how she would be able to see the future with Eris on the throne of autumn.

“She’s quite impressive,” Eris had said later, swirling his wine as they sat around the hearth. His tone had been amused but genuine, and Lucien had surprised her by nodding.

“She is,” he’d said simply, and Elain had felt something stir in her chest.

Not pride. Not power. But something warm. Something like being seen.

And now. now they walked beneath the glow of faelights strung between branches and balconies, their boots soft on the cobbled path, and Elain found herself stealing glances at him.

At the way his profile softened in the moonlight. At the way his shoulder occasionally brushed hers as they walked.

He didn’t speak, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave her side, either.

And so, Elain decided to be bold.

“I’m so sorry,” she said gently. “About… Jesminda.”

Lucien froze mid-step. His head turned toward her so quickly it made her breath catch. His expression was unreadable at first. his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Eris told you?” he asked, voice tight.

Elain shook her head slowly. “No. I… I saw it. In a vision.”

Pain flickered across his features like lightning. He flinched, shoulders twitching as if she’d struck a raw nerve and looked away.

“Oh,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Then… I’m sorry. That you had to see that.”

“I’m not,” she said softly. “I mean,” she amended quickly, “not that I wanted to see…everything , but… it helped me understand. You. The way you were with me, especially at first. All that hesitation and restraint… I thought it was about me, that you didn’t want the bond. But it wasn’t that, was it?”

He stared at her. The way she said it, quiet and sure and unafraid, seemed to unravel something in him.

“I could feel it,” she went on. “Not just through the bond, but… in your eyes. Your silence. The way you kept yourself at a distance. It wasn’t rejection. It was grief.”

Lucien looked down, his jaw working as if holding back words or maybe holding back everything. After a long moment, he exhaled. A low, shaking breath.

“Elain,” he murmured quietly so quietly, it was like a whisper full of sadness.

Elain interrupted, “I think she’d be proud of the way you carry her memory.”

His eyes snapped to hers shining, glassy with the threat of tears.

Before he could say anything else, she stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around him.

No hesitation. No questions.

She simply held him.

And to her quiet relief, Lucien folded into her. His arms came around her strong, grounding, and trembling ever so slightly. She felt the moment he gave in to the contact. Felt the breath he exhaled into her hair. Felt how tightly he held her, like she was something that steadied him, rather than broke him.

She melted into him, letting her cheek rest against his chest, and they stood there like that, two people finally beginning to understand each other, under a blanket of stars and the soft whisper of the river. Neither wanting to let go.

As they finally reached the River House, Elain glanced sideways at Lucien still quiet, still holding something tender between them. But his hand brushed hers as they climbed the steps, a soft, wordless promise. She let their fingers touch for just a moment longer than necessary before they parted but the way they stood searching each others eyes staring not wanting to be apart gave them both strength, the door opened and Feyre stood.

Inside, the warmth of home greeted her but so did something else.

Hope.

For the first time in a long time, Elain felt it bloom in her chest, gentle and sure. She would continue working with Eris. She would keep exploring her visions, unraveling the strange, shimmering threads of her magic. But she wouldn’t be doing it alone.

Lucien would be there. Steady, fierce, and finally with her.

Whatever came next, she knew now: she could face it. They could face it.

Together.

And that made all the difference.

She had nestled into her bed, still thinking of the past few weeks when the air shimmered.

A slip of parchment settled onto the quilt beside her.

Her breath caught.

And when she unfolded it, carefully, reverently, she saw at the top, in that unmistakable slanted hand:

Dearest Elain,

I was going to wait (but since my brain doesn’t work well around you, I thought I’d write).

I’m not sure what I was waiting for. A sign, maybe. The right moment. Something safer than now.

But then you smiled at me today like you weren’t afraid.

Like you knew what I carry, and it didn’t scare you.

And that… shattered something in me. Something I didn’t know was still holding on.

I’m not used to being seen. Not truly. People look, yes. At the scar, at the mask, at the name.

But not at me.

And then you came along, quiet and soft and bright in ways I didn’t think I deserved and you looked.

Gods, you looked.

And now I can’t go back to a world where you don’t.

I think I’ve been falling in love with you since the moment I realized your voice calmed me more than silence ever did.

Since I noticed the way you talk to flowers like they’re old friends.

Since I realized I miss you, even when we’re in the same room and you’re just not looking my way.

I’ve tried not to say it. Not like this.

But tonight…

You should know.

I love the way you see the world.

I love the way you saw me before I knew how to see myself.

And if you’ll let me,

I want to be someone you can lean on. Someone you can laugh with. Trust. Kiss, maybe. Someday.

No pressure. No expectations.

Just a truth I can’t keep quiet anymore.

You’re the kindest thing that’s ever happened to me.

And I’m falling in love with you, Lady.

Steadily. Quietly. Entirely.

Yours, if you want me,

Lucien

⸻

Elain didn’t move for a long moment.

The letter lay against her chest like something sacred. She was blinking through tears she hadn’t realized had fallen, her mouth parted, her heart loud and aching and glowing.

No one had ever written to her like that.

No one had ever seen her so clearly and loved her for it.

And Lucien… sweet, strong, vulnerable Lucien… had given her his heart in ink and spell-drifted parchment.

She clutched the letter to her chest, breath shuddering out in a laugh that was nearly a sob.

She didn’t sleep for a while after that. Not because she couldn’t but because she didn’t want to.

She lay awake smiling, rereading every word until she knew them by heart, tracing her name where he’d written it, and whispering his in return.

And somewhere, perhaps lying on his back, staring at the ceiling like a fool, Lucien waited in silence, breath held.

He didn’t need a reply tonight. He just needed her to know.

And now she did.

And between them, between the moonlight and the bond and the deep, blooming wonder of it all love began to root.

Softly, deeply, and unshakably.

It’s on Ao3

[mhevarujta]

I was always Elucien and A.C.O.S.F. parallel for Elucien and Nessian confirm for me!

Elaine blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in. Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before. (A.C.O.W.A.R. 33)

Her eyes had returned to the blue-gray he knew so well. Stunned surprise and a little fear lit her face. As if she’d never seen him before. (A.C.O.S.F. 31)

I love this parallel because Nesta is seeing Cassian for the first time after a moment he helped her out of and Lucien is seeing Elaine for the first time after she was pulled out of the realm thanks to the sunshine he told her to get! (High lady of Day foreshadowing is so heavy here and sooooooooooo many Nessian’s parallel proves it.!)

And yet the context is entirely different, isn't it? It's not an actual parallel. Let's REALLY break this down, shall we?

Nesta is scrying, she's losing herself to it, and Cassian brings her back to herself. She blinks and it's as if she sees him for the first time because for some moments she was lost to the world.

On the other hand in your supposed e!ucien parallel Elain finds her way back and clears her head on her own, but it's after Azriel sees her, not Lucien. If you recall ACTUAL canon, Elain did not get better because of sunshine (that too she got with Azriel though). She got better because someone understood what was happening to her and that was enough to make her push through. It's as if Lucien sees her for the first time after SHE gets a grip on herself because he actually never saw her before. It took Elain fixing herself for Lucien to have this little moment. He didn't see her or listen to her, despite wanting her because she's his mate. You know who did?

It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.

And to his credit, Lucien DID try. He tried to use the mating bond to help. But it's so clear that an externally enforced bond is not enough for mates to really be compatible and to get each other. SJM shows time and time again that Lucien has good intentions but nevertheless doesn't get Elain.

Even after this moment, SJM goes to lengths to demonstrate how superficially Lucien sees Elain. For example, he knows she likes gardening and gets her a thoughtful gift that COULD have appealed to someone else. And yet:

“And torn up by thorns,” I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free. I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.

“Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.

SJM is not subtle and she repeats herself so that readers will get what she's doing with these characters, but it seems that the point she's making will keep going over people's heads until the next book.

There's also absolutely zero foreshadowing of Elain becoming the High Lady of Day. If anything, Elain is mostly likened to dawn, but that doesn't mean she'll end up being part of the dawn court. Some of you are just confused and reading too much into imagery that is simply meant to highlight how ethereal my girl is.

[magical-girl-coral]

Good Guy Porter AU (AKA @wh1teegretorchid and I jokingly starting a prompt together at discord only for it to get wildly out of control.)

*Instead of being raised in the Cliffbreaker clan, Porter's father stole him away while he was still a baby to live in Bastion city where the stench of the city could cover their tracks. Thanks to the spy tongue curse, Porter's father couldn't tell his son why he ran away from home or why they can't connect with their family. All he could tell him was to stay in Bastion City no matter what.

*It stayed that way until Porter's father was diagnosed with lung cancer from the toxic air of the city. He joked in his last days that if he knew this is how he would die, he would picked up a pack to enjoy the ride. He died six months after starting his cancer treatment.

*Traumatized from his father's dead and pissed at the city for taking away his only family, Porter buried him as close to the Elmville as possible before moving their permanently. He bought a nice house in Tillering with what his father gave him in the will and became a health nut as a trauma response.

*This Porter is a redemption paladin in the honor of his father, who always believed in second chances, especially after escaping the Cliffbreaker cult.

*He starts working at Aguefort a week after settling down at his new home. He meets Jace Stardiamond at a teacher's night out during a weekend and they immediately entered a situationship.

*This Porter didn't meet Kipperlilly until near the end of her freshmen year. He found a day after the prompocalypse, punching a tree out of jealousy of Riz's success as a tragic rogue and frustration of doing everything by the book but getting no rewards for it. He suggests to her to multiclass into barbarian so she'd have a healthy outlet for her rage under watch of an adult. She reluctantly agreed when Jawbone said it was a good idea.

*While training with Porter after class, he starts suggesting her to go on adventures rather than killing pests in the school backyard behind the school's back, teaching her to break rules that hold her back. The High Five Heroes become actual accomplished adventurers on their own and Kipperlilly's need for validation from strangers weakens after bonding with her team and bonding with Porter.

*Shits goes sideways after the High Five Heroes return from their spring break. Lucy starts to get distant from everyone else, backing out of team bonding activities and failing her cleric classes. She gets more snippy and abrasive, causing concern about her friends and family. On the day her loved ones gathered for an intervention, Lucy goes missing.

*One the same day Lucy is declared dead from a scrying spell, the world delves into darkness for six months thanks to Riz. A voice in the back of Kipperlilly's head points out how convenient was for Lucy's killers that the Night Yorb was released on the day the town found out she was gone. Her hatred towards the Bad Kids come back with a vengeance.

More details under the cut.

*The party joins Porter's unofficial bootcamp to train so they could catch Lucy's killers. Oisin got buff, Ruben became emo, Ivy started dressing punk and they all maxed out their levels. They called it "the summer from hell."

*Porter and Jace were hit hard by Lucy's death too. Porter's developed a nasty temper and Jace was stressed out from trying to keep everyone in line. Porter's house became their HQ.

*Kipperlilly had already pretty much lived with Porter and Jace since her sophomore year thanks to a combo of found family and her parents being that neglectful. What was once a happy home turned into a horror movie where they're all trying to survive each other's grief.

*In the middle of summer when Gilear declared he plans on going on a trip with Hallerial, Jace is named the vice principal. He used his new found position to rewrite the party's achievements into just grinding rats in the Far Haven Woods so they'll be underestimated and whoever killed Lucy won't go after them. They renamed themselves the Rat Grinders to sell it, as much as it pained them.

*Ruben's song Get Mad in this world is a part of a five song demo album where he wrote a song for each stage of grief he suffered following Lucy's death. Get Mad was the anger stage and it became the song of the summer after a bunch of other teens related to it thanks to the lack of sun.

*Kipperlilly's campaign was written in Lucy's honor, calling out the school's irresponsibility with the students' livelihood and all the other injustices they've faced. In this timeline, Kristen does not call her four different dogs. Even she knows better here.

*Mary Ann joined the owl bears as a healthy outlet to the the stress caused Lucy's death and her teammates going fucking insane. She secretly burns through a rage every morning to stay stable.

*One of the plot ideas is that the bad kids get to be treated like NPCs for once, for better or for worse. Adaine's wizardry supplies get payed by Oisin along with the rest of the wizards to point out how insane it is that they have to buy it themselves. Kipperlilly hacks into the police data base to find possible suspects and releases Sklonda's final paycheck since she was already there. Gorgug and Fig aren't being personally groomed by Porter so they have an easier time with their classes. Kristen didn't lose Cassandra in this world and Fabian gets a new maid who's a "friend" of Cathilda's to look after him. He wonders what that speared sun tattoo on her shoulder means though.

*During the shrimp party at Fabian's, Oisin and Ivy's job was to drug up people at the party to loosen their tongues and gather more information was Kipperlilly was sneaking around at the police department. Oisin continued to hit his shots after meeting Adaine, but his aim was a lot shakier and he kept looking over his shoulder to see if someone is still there.

*When Fig disguised herself as Lucy and went away on her skateboard, the hair on Ivy's arms stood up. She iced out Fabian from the rest of his friends and once they were finally alone, she took out her knife form her boot and threatened to skewer him if he doesn't tell her what he knows about Lucy. Fabian confessed he thought they killed Lucy because their first quest involved a preppy girl selling out her blue skinned friend to get a position in the student body. A misunderstanding cleared but a mental breakdown on the horizon, Ivy and Oisin book it out of the party to relay all the information to the rest of their party.

*Buddy's introduction was planned by Porter with recommendations in the hopes of getting the party a cleric with a deity that's the exact opposite of Lucy's might make it easier on the Rat Grinders. Unfortunately, he has the same bright eyed and believing there's good in everyone attitude that Lucy had, so he only pours salt in the wound.

*Buddy is having the worst time. His new party was visibly on the brink and none of his words of advice are helping. Helio won't answer his prayers when he asks what's going on. His grandfather is breathing down on his neck and keeps insisting on converting the rest of the Rat Grinders even when Buddy respects their no. And why does everyone seems angrier lately?

And that's all for now because this post is getting heavy and my computer is gonna break soon. I have enough for a part two but only god knows when that will be written down.

[shadow-trickster]

Yuna Thacker-Yang

18

8/31 (Virgo)

Genderqueer (AFAB)

They/Them (fine with any pronouns)

Lived in California, USA

Dominant Hand: Right

Lao-American

Twisted from Milo Thatch

First Year

Ramshackle

Best Subject is History of Magic

Favorite Food is Spam Musubi

Least Favorite are Carrots

Dislikes Yoga

Hobbies: Drawing, Reading, and Researching

Talent is analyzing visual media and literature and languages

Yuna is a mature and intelligent person, having a strong sense of curiosity who wishes to conduct much research on unfamiliar topics - cultures, history, the secrets, and many more. Despite this, however, they’re a lot more reserved and shy, awkward on a social level. They’re naive at best, but their heart is good and true.

(TW for Death)

When Yuna was 7, they lost their parents - Augustine and Chantana Yang - in a roadway accident. Since then, they were soon adopted and taken care of by their uncle Theodore Thacker; they admired him greatly to which they decided to adopt his surname. Growing up after the accident, they became rather closed off to their peers, which led them to become homeschooled for the remainder of grade school and middle school up until they entered high school. Throughout their former school life and independent study, a lot of their teachers (even Theodore) were amazed by their intellect. Thanks to that, they joined high school at age 13. However, prior to this and during breaks, they read many books about cryptozoology and the occult. At age 12, they tried scrying for the first time, but has since given up on it. Fast forward, Yuna (age 17-18) finally got accepted into a university. One day after class was over, they missed a bus but saw a black carriage sitting close to the university. They wondered why it was there, but decided to ride it as they don’t want to take the chances of having to wait for another bus (they haven’t gotten their license yet). Little did they know, they were soon transported into another world - a whole new world full of new discoveries for them.

Facts:

•Uncle Theodore is a history fanatic and always rave about history and gave a lot of educational facts that it stuck onto Yuna

•Their butterfly earrings were actually a gift from their mom when they got their ears pierced at age 5

•Very interested in different cultures

•Thanks to their uncle, they learned about their Lao culture

•A Nerd and Horror fan

•Fashion sense is inspired by campy horror movies (Ginger Snaps, Lisa Frankenstein, etc.)

•Would hurt a fly but never kill a man

•Friends with Adrian Rosco (20 year old mechanic) and had a sibling bond with him

•Very sensitive to loud sounds, anxious too

•Theodore owns a cat named Fluffy, which Yuna loves

•Loose identity on gender (Uncle Theo would still support them through and through)

•Finds being in Twisted Wonderland a great opportunity

•Amazing Swimmer

•Clothes that they got (in twst wonderland) are donated to them

•Unique Taste in music

•Necklace is their birthday present from their uncle

•Both Uncle and niece would travel during summer or winter breaks

•Loves Spam Musubi because it was the first meal they ever made

•Hates carrots due to the texture

[skogenraev]

Getting Back into Witchcraft After a Break

Acknowledge the Break

Before jumping back in, take a moment to reflect on why you stepped away. This isn’t about judgment but understanding.

Were you overwhelmed or burned out?

Did life demand more of your time and energy?

Were you questioning your beliefs or struggling with doubt? ��� Write in your journal or meditate or draw how your time away has shaped you. This can help you clarify what you want to bring back into your practice and what you’re ready to let go of.

Start with Self-Compassion Your craft doesn’t require perfection. You’re not “behind” or “out of touch.” The beauty of witchcraft is its adaptability. Be kind to yourself and resist the urge to compare your journey to others’. Recognize that even mundane experiences can be a form of magic. Reconnect with Your Why

Ask yourself what drew you to witchcraft in the first place.

Was it a love of nature?

A connection to something greater?

A desire for empowerment, healing, or self-discovery?

Rekindling your “why” can reignite your passion and help you determine what aspects of the craft to focus on first.

Start Small and Simple

Don’t overwhelm yourself by trying to do all the things right away. Start with bite-sized practices:

Daily grounding: Take a few deep breaths while visualizing roots connecting you to the earth.

Light a candle: Focus on the flame as a symbol of your rekindled practice.

Morning or evening affirmations: Speak simple, empowering phrases to set your intentions for the day or night.

Observe the natural world: Notice the moon’s phase, the weather, or seasonal changes.

Small acts of magic build momentum over time.

Reassess Your Tools and Space

If you have a magical space, tools, or supplies, take stock:

Cleanse your tools: Use smoke, sound, or sunlight to refresh them.

Declutter: Let go of items that no longer resonate.

Reorganize: Arrange your space to reflect your current energy and intentions. → If your tools feel unfamiliar or you’re starting from scratch, remember you don’t need anything fancy. A notebook, a candle, and your intuition are enough.

Rebuild Your Foundations

Returning after a break is an opportunity to revisit the basics (just some options - no need or have to)

Meditation and visualization: Strengthen your focus and inner awareness.

Energy work: Practice grounding, centering, and shielding.

Correspondences: Relearn the meanings of herbs, crystals, colors, or elements that resonate with your practice.

Lunar and seasonal cycles: Reconnect with the moon phases, solstices, or festivals.

Explore What Feels Fresh

Your interests may have shifted during your break. Explore new areas of magic:

Divination: Experiment with tarot, runes, pendulums, or scrying.

Spellcraft: Try simple spells for protection, abundance, or self-love.

Nature magic: Work with seasonal energies, local plants, or animal spirits.

Deity work or spirit communication: If you work with deities, reintroduce yourself and reestablish your connection.

Follow your curiosity rather than forcing yourself to do things the “right” way.

Journal or Document Your Practice

Keeping track of your practice can help you stay engaged and reflective:

Daily reflections: Write down small magical moments or rituals.

Dream journaling: Explore messages or symbols in your dreams.

Grimoire: Update old entries or create new ones with fresh insights.

Embrace Seasonal and Cyclical Magic

The seasonal shifts are a great way to align yourself with natural energies.

Winter: Focus on rest, introspection, and shadow work.

Spring: Plant seeds of intention and engage in renewal rituals.

Summer: Embrace creativity, passion, and abundance.

Autumn: Release what no longer serves you and prepare for the darker half of the year.

Seek Community (If Desired)

If you feel isolated, reconnecting with others can inspire and motivate you:

Join online groups or forums.

Attend local witchy events, workshops, or festivals.

Share your journey with trusted friends or like-minded individuals.

Reminder: Community can be supportive, but your practice is deeply personal and doesn’t require external validation.

[paganpulse]

🔥 Pagan Pulse: June 2025

Theme: The Sovereign Flame — Stepping Into Sacred Power A witch’s guide to the turning point of the year

“Power isn’t taken. It’s remembered.”

Welcome to June, a month of fire, fullness, and fiercely radiant truth. The Wheel has turned us to Solstice season, where light reaches its peak and pauses—just long enough for us to catch our reflection and choose what kind of leader, creator, or soul-shaper we want to be.

This isn’t just about brightness. It’s about alignment, visibility, and agency. It’s about Sovereignty—not as dominance, but as devotion to your inner truth.

☀️ Energy Overview: The Sun Stands Still

The Summer Solstice (June 20) is the longest day of the year—a moment when the sun, metaphorically and astrologically, stands still before beginning its descent. In many pagan traditions, this is Litha, a time to honor the solar force at its height.

But this isn’t only about celebration. It’s about recognition. Of how far you've come. Of what still wants to emerge. Of the power you carry not to control others—but to tend your own flame.

June asks us:

Where are you ready to be seen?

What version of your life needs to burn brighter?

And what fears, distractions, or obligations can be released in that fire?

🔥 Themes of the Month

👑 Sovereignty Magic

Sovereignty is a sacred right—it’s your inner compass, your power of choice, your rooted YES and your holy NO.

This month is ideal for:

Rewriting your magical mission or vows

Naming and enforcing spiritual boundaries

Reclaiming parts of your identity you've hidden or dimmed

Working with deities or guides who support personal truth, power, and responsibility

Spell Idea: Write a Sovereignty Statement—a personal creed of what you stand for. Burn a candle while you speak it aloud to anchor it into your field.

🔥 Fire as Healer, Fire as Mirror

June’s fire isn’t just destructive—it’s alchemical. Use it to burn through confusion, self-doubt, or passivity.

Try:

🔥 Fire scrying or smoke divination at dusk

🔥 A burning bowl ritual to release guilt or false narratives

🔥 Solar-infused oils or incense (rosemary, mugwort, citrus peels)

Elemental Check-In: What is your fire doing right now—flickering? Raging? Waiting? Listen to it. Let it speak.

🌞 Leadership & Sacred Visibility

To lead is not to dominate. It’s to illuminate a path, even if only for yourself.

Ask yourself:

Where do I shy away from being seen?

How can I use my voice with more clarity and intention?

Am I modeling the kind of magical or spiritual maturity I admire?

You don’t need to have it all figured out to lead. You only need to be willing to show up and glow honestly.

Ritual: The Solstice Mirror Spell

Purpose: Reclaim personal power, visibility, and sacred identity

You’ll need:

A handheld or altar mirror

Gold or orange candle

Oil (sunflower, rosemary, or your solar blend)

Optional: a crown, symbolic jewelry, or clear quartz

Steps:

Cleanse your space and tools.

Anoint the mirror in a spiral outward while whispering your name.

Light the candle and gaze into the mirror—not to criticize, but to witness.

Speak aloud: “I am the keeper of this light. I am the author of my flame. I see myself, and I rise without shame.”

Place a hand over your heart. Ask: What truth have I been avoiding? Listen.

When ready, close the ritual and keep the mirror on your altar as a reminder of your radiance.

🗓 Key Dates & Celestial Currents

✨ June 6 – New Moon in Gemini

Time to set intentions around communication, self-definition, and naming your path. Great for sigil-making, journaling, or scripting spells.

🔥 June 9 – Mars enters Leo

Expect boldness, creativity, and a push toward the spotlight. Harness this energy to act on what you've only been dreaming about.

🌞 June 20 – Summer Solstice / Litha

Celebrate life, passion, growth, and gratitude. Perfect for fire festivals, outdoor rituals, or making offerings to solar deities.

🌕 June 21 – Full Moon in Capricorn

Ground your visions. Anchor your spiritual insights into real-world goals. This moon is especially potent for career magic, ancestral work, and building legacy.

🌿 Deity Focus: Áine — Lady of Light and Land

Who she is: Irish goddess of summer, sovereignty, sensuality, and the sun. A faery queen and land goddess whose stories speak of both radiance and resistance.

Why now: Áine teaches us how to shine without apology—and how to hold our ground when that light is challenged.

Ways to honor her:

Dance barefoot on the grass

Offer honey, gold items, or clover blossoms

Speak your truth aloud in nature

Call on her when reclaiming self-worth, especially in matters of the heart

“To honor Áine is to refuse to shrink—to meet the fire of your soul with arms wide open.”

✍️ Midyear Reflections

As we cross the midpoint of the year, take a moment to pause and recalibrate. June is the mirror held up to your journey.

Consider journaling on:

What am I proud of from the past six months?

What have I outgrown that I’m still clinging to?

What would it look like to move forward from truth, not from fear?

Let this month be a course correction, not through shame, but through sovereignty.

🔮 Final Pulse

The fire in June is not demanding. It’s offering. It says: “You don’t have to be perfect. You only have to be present.” Step into your light—not because the world demands it, but because your spirit deserves it.

Whether you rise like the sun or glow like embers, remember: You are the flame. You are the throne. You are the spell.