*spirals into the sun*

I love the ACOTAR series, but I think I’d adore a version of it where fairies (and High Fae too) are a bit weirder and dangerous and monstrous and inhuman: still beautiful, but beautiful in a way that is not uber-movie-star perfection, but a wicked, disturbing and definitively otherwordly thing. 

Like, Tamlin would still be the High Lord of spring, sure - but his hair would be actual flowers, closing and blossoming with twilight and dawn, and antlers on his head, and maybe sometimes, when he’s sleeping or fighting or fucking, thorns would spread from under his skin, bleeding with wild roses.

Rhysand would still be breath-takingly handsome - but he’d be a sleek, smoky thing of moon and dark, pianist fingers ending in talons he can’t hide, and raven’s feathers instead of hair. His eyes would stil be lovely and violet-blue, but they’d be an actual moonlit sky - with stars slowly spinning in them, and a solitary moon rising and waning where pupils should be.

Mor would still be herself, but a tad more like the Celtic Goddess she takes her name from: sweet and silvery, refreshing like clear water, with hair spun in starlight tumbling down her shoulders and snagging in her amor, the maiden and the mother. But then she’d step on the battlefield, and warriors would fall at her blade, and then her cheeks would flush crimson, her eyes bleeding red, and she’d be beautiful and horrible at the same time, beaming with silver light, a quartz princess of the dark caves of her kin.

Elain would get out of the Cauldron with fawn’s velvety ears, vines and blossoms spiraling and spreading across her skin, almost tattoos, shifting with the sun and her emotions. At first, they’d stay tightly closed - shivering and wrinkled liker her soul. And Lucien would have true fox ears, and clever, gold-flicked fox eyes, and his ears would tremble with delight the first morning he would make one of Elain’s blossoms open to him.

Nesta would forever be beautiful, but she would never be lovely again. The Cauldron didn’t leave her any softness, any warmth, any sweetness of features or shape. Looking at the sharp planes of her face, at the bloody-red slash of her lips is like looking at the jagged peaks of a mountain - at white wood washed over a shore, polished and hard and dead. She mourns her youth in secret: she mourns whatever girl-like beauty she has ever had, that scrap of Elain that used to live in her. Now she looks like a monster. She looks like something you should be scared of. But Cassian has teeth, predator’s teeth, and his hands have claws, and when he’s holding her she’s not afraid he will be scared. 

Maybe they’ll devour each other, but they’ll do it together.

And Feyre…  Feyre would find herself with new joints, new hands - with eyes that could see clearer and wider than ever before, but that are also pure pools of black, with no pupil no iris and no white. Her teeth are sharp - they tear through her lovers’ skin and don’t stop till they draw blood. And there’s something of the forest in her, too, of the woods where she had made herself a hunter: twigs and leaves growing amidst her hair, corsets made of leather and oakwood, so that when she’s running through the trees she looks like a sprite or a pixie - barefoot, quiver on her back, fangs bared in pleasure. She passes by with the rustling of fallen leaves, the whisper of squirrels and owls’ wings. You wouldn’t know she’s behind you till she’ll lean in to kiss your cheek, or stop your heart.

“Feyre darling,” this strange star-eyed Rhys would say, cupping the cheek of his wood-made girl, holding her close so feathers and twigs would mix together, and they would smile mirror fanged smiles, and they would still be beautiful.

Our sun is dynamic and ever-changing. On Friday, July 14, a solar flare and a coronal mass ejection erupted from the same, large active region. The coils arcing over this active region are particles spiraling along magnetic field lines.

Solar flares are explosions on the sun that send energy, light and high-speed particles into space. Such flares are often associated with solar magnetic storms known as coronal mass ejections. While these are the most common solar events, the sun can also emit streams of very fast protons – known as solar energetic particle (SEP) events – and disturbances in the solar wind known as corotating interaction regions (CIRs).

Learn more HERE.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space: http://nasa.tumblr.com

The Swirling Core of the Crab Nebula : At the core of the Crab Nebula lies a city-sized, magnetized neutron star spinning 30 times a second. Known as the Crab Pulsar, its actually the rightmost of two bright stars, just below a central swirl in this stunning Hubble snapshot of the nebulas core. Some three light-years across, the spectacular picture frames the glowing gas, cavities and swirling filaments bathed in an eerie blue light. The blue glow is visible radiation given off by electrons spiraling in a strong magnetic field at nearly the speed of light. Like a cosmic dynamo the pulsar powers the emission from the nebula, driving a shock wave through surrounding material and accelerating the spiraling electrons. With more mass than the Sun and the density of an atomic nucleus, the spinning pulsar is the collapsed core of a massive star that exploded. The Crab Nebula is the expanding remnant of the stars outer layers. The supernova explosion was witnessed on planet Earth in the year 1054. via NASA

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Sun Spell for Summer Solstice - Wealth, Power & Love

Summer Solstice is the moment when the sun stands still and listens - and a perfect moment for a special spell. Now in all magical workings from the dawn of time, the Sun has had a special place as the single most powerful physical existence in our lives. Sun magic, one might say, is therefore the most powerful form of magic if you want to make changes in the material world. Which is why Hitler adopted the Sun rune (aka the swastika) as the symbol for his party … and material changes they made …

Please Note: You can do this spell at any time the sun is shining, all year round!

Since then, the Sun rune has fallen into disuse among magicians; this is of course a lamentable state of affairs but there we have it.

Luckily, we have an even older alternative which is the magic spiral, much used by indigenous people from all traditions, all cultures and nobody as far as I know has so far marched to war under a spiral banner … and if they ever did, they won’t be troubling us now.

But I digress.

Fact is that this year, the moment the sun stands still to listen to our requests for sun power connections happens to be in the late afternoon, at least for the Europeans. Which means that if we can see the sun, we can make a special ritual that focuses intention on that one moment in time; we can launch a spell there with a bang.

So what kind of spell would you like to do?

Here are some ideas.

Of course, the sun has been the focus of material and worldly power. So if you wish to be a leader, gain followers, more customers, more respect or power in your community, get elected to some kind of office, or simply increase your reality creating powers, that’s definitely in keeping with sun magic.

Then there’s money. Gold, to be precise. Sun and gold are often magically interchanged, as are other prosperity metaphors such as ripe golden corn, golden fruit, gold animals. So for a hardcore money ritual, the exact moment of the Summer Solstice is the best launch pad you could wish for.

Finally, and this is particularly interesting, the Sun has also been associated with the soul, the shining immortal center of self that powers all our endeavours, worldly or otherwise. The soul is also the center of the psychic circuitry and thereby responsible for one’s magic power. So if you would like to do something to activate your soul in your life more, feed your soul, celebrate your soul or get closer to your soul, this is the perfect time to do that also.

“Wait a minute!” I hear you cry. “You want me to choose between worldly power, money, magic, love and immortality? I want all of those!”

Right, my magical friend, quite right you are and you should, at that.

You should want all three because all three need to develop and grow in harmony, or else all sorts of major craziness and magic madness will ensue.

So that brings us to the the 3 Suns magic spell or ritual.

3 Suns Solstice Spell

That’s quite simple - as all good spells are, of course - and you can do this in the Hard or in Sanctuary, I leave that up to you.

The first thing we need is a small fire.

Fire is “of the Sun” - it is the human ability to light the night, to bring light to darkness, a reflection of the sun, and whenever you light a magic fire, even a candle, you are evoking the Sun power, whether you know this or not.

So we’ll light a fire.

Now we’ll have three circles with the spiral painted or drawn on it to represent the Sun in its three meanings - power, wealth and love.

Don’t discriminate against any of them or hold any of them more dear than any of the others; of course they all need to work together, be as one for any one of them to be what you hope it to become.

When you make these three discs - from paper, card, round slices of a tree branch, whatever you choose to use - focus on one of the three aspects of the power/wealth/love trinity at a time and allow yourself to really want *that* with all your heart. Draw the spiral on your disc.

When you have all three, switch them around until you no longer know which one is which - or witch one is witch! - and then you’re ready to wait for the moment.

As the time approaches for the moment when the Sun stands still to listen, and you are by your fire, pay attention to the Sun.

*If you are somewhere where the sun is not in the sky at this time, tune into the sun. You can feel where it is even when you can’t see it, even through the Earth if it is on the other side. It’s actually awesome the way that works and a wonderful thing in and of itself.

For effect, I would use an accelerant on the discs, some essential oils as an extra offering to the Sun which sent its power to grow the plants from which they came, Lemon, Lotus and Elemi or such and at the moment of the Solstice, throw the three discs into the fire where they will transmute, unite and become one and the same.

I personally would follow that with a moment of connecting with the sun, with the fire, as a human being with the forces of the Universe and our acts that create ritual reflections of these forces to be a part of all of that, a friend and lover to the Sun, to the fire, and to the existence here and now.

This is a powerful spell/ritual and actually very easy to do; if you know how to EMO and have a sense of that, you can get a fabulous energized end state which is an event of evolution - what each energy magician truly seeks each time they perform any ritual or spell.

Ok! So that’s the Three Suns Spell which I will be doing for this year’s Summer Solstice.

I trust you found some inspiration for a Solstice Spell or Ritual of your own; don’t let the magic moment pass you by and do *something* that feels good and right to you.

Happy Solstice to you!

BTS as Aesthetics

[ tag yourself! I wanna know who you identify the most with :) ]

Seokjin: a golden crown adorned with rubies and emeralds; vanilla icing; peaches; white sheets; parted lips; fluffy sweaters; coffee brown loafers; that one friend with an endless supply of pencils; a field of sunflowers; the smell of the inside of a bakery; morning rain; chasing butterflies; a book with wrinkled and ripped pages; the ache in your stomach after laughing too long; two bodies pressed together; chandeliers; cotton candy; a fading polaroid picture; soft hands; chaste kisses; herbal tea; relaxing under a tree in the summer sun. 

Yoongi: motorcycles; jack-o-lanterns; spiraling staircases, red lighting, sneaking out of the house at midnight; lazy kisses; secret smiles from opposite sides of the room; mismatched socks; gasoline; cuddling under layers of sheets; ditching umbrellas in the rain; leather boots; black skinny jeans; a bouquet of roses; scribbled love notes; good scotch; the smell of the forest; snowball fights; peppermint sticks in hot chocolate; marble pillars; turtlenecks; off-key singing; standing on the hood of a car; snuggling at a beach bonfire. 

Namjoon: wire glasses; stargazing at 2 am; walls covered with maps; taking ugly selfies; long rants about society and politics; earl grey tea; lip bites; passionate kisses; beige blankets; lollipops; jumping on the bed; coffee shop background music; thunderstorms; baseball caps; the feeling of a comfortably full stomach; a single lily lying on your doorstep; copies of poems from dead poets; the roaring 20s; denim overalls; outdoor swimming pools; playing chess; finishing a box of doughnuts with your favourite person.

Hoseok: attending football games; hesitant first kisses; apple pie; borrowed hoodies; beanies as a fashion statement; dewy grass; bubble baths; the feeling of blood rushing to your brain; front flips on trampolines; being thrown into the pool; fizzy drinks; playing with puppies; stolen glances at your lips; playing card games; punching a vending machine to get a snack for free; being drenched in sweat; colourful sneakers; having your headphones on and not being able to hear the outside world; staying at amusement parks until closing time.

Jimin: uncontrollable laughter; crow’s feet; orange juice; watching reruns of shows from the 90s; face paint; watching fireworks from a skyscraper; drinking straight from a coconut; cuddling while it rains outside; swimming in the ocean; fuzzy slippers and bathrobes; smiling in-between kisses; crying when your friend starts crying; watering plants that aren’t even yours; petting every dog you see on the way to work/school; the smell of cherry blossoms; seeing rainbows after a thunderstorm; dropping onto the floor after a gruelling workout.

Taehyung: letting go of balloons; running around barefoot; denim jackets; neon socks; doing the puzzles on the back of cereal boxes; serene smiles; singing along to musicals; either incredibly rough or soft kisses; syrup on pancakes; mineral water; watching terrible movies on purpose and acting like movie critics; surprise dates at fancy restaurants; playing pranks on all of your friends; finishing an 18″ new york pizza with just your best friend to spite the waitress who said you couldn’t do it; spooning on the couch.

Jungkook: paint-splattered white shirts; art galleries; being quiet even though you have a lot to say; ripped jeans; taking pictures of everything beautiful; watching flocks of birds fly by; staying at the beach until it gets too cold; raising your eyebrows as a form of communication; the smell of rain and fancy hotel lobbies; flipping through old books; running until you can’t feel your lungs or legs; back hugs; a fresh bouquet of flowers on your desk every monday; handwritten reminders; black coffee; finally beating the claw machine.

Cover Versions

Once more, it’s time to get TWATD. In our slightly-amended format, Tim + Alex will be taking it in turns for their usual pontification and pondering after each issue drops, plus probably an extra sixth one for symmetry purposes. 

With Issue #30 still warm from the printing presses, the hot blogtato passes to Mr Timothy Maytom, diving into the cover design for Imperial Phase and what it all means.

Tim: The front covers of The Wicked and The Divine have always told a story. Whether it’s the first two arcs, a ten-issue build up to a blood-spattered punchline, or the gradually darkening backgrounds of the trades, taking us from pure white to stygian black as our cast of characters grows more tangled in darkness, deceit and despair, Jamie McKelvie and Matt Wilson have done an astonishing job blending iconic designs inspired by high-end fashion magazines with the narrative demands of the comic.

For Imperial Phase (Part I), we had yet another shift in design, with each cover featuring a medium shot of a god, positioned in the bottom left corner and taking up roughly half the page. Meanwhile, the top right quadrant is dominated by the book’s title, framed in a rectangle that represents the god’s powers and domain, from Baal’s lightning to Baphomet’s fire to the Norns’ interweaving threads.

As we enter the second part of Imperial Phase, that design has persisted, but the powers of the gods have started to stray beyond the strict borders of the rectangle. On issue #29’s cover, the fiery cat of Sakhmet begins to stray over the edges, like a returning feline pushing its head through the cat flap. With #30, the rectangle becomes a window, with The Morrigan’s ravens flying through, invading the cover. The solicitations for #31 and #32 show this pattern continuing, with the white space that has served as a background for this arc’s covers almost completely gone by issue #32, and the power starting to envelop not just the backdrop, but the god too.

Keep reading

Better with you

Regulus Black x Reader - imagine

Request/Summary: Anonymous requested - Can you do a imagine with Regulus Black where he and Lily’s younger sister are dating for some time in secret and one day when Snape or some other slytherin says something to her, instead of Lily or some of the marauders, he defends her before he could stop himself and then he kinda realizes he is in love with her?

Word Count: 2220

Warnings: Fluff :) 


Originally posted by lovershub


The cool breeze swirled in the air, spiralling out of control in tangled shapes all around as the hot summer sun blazed from high above. You laid down on the grass, hair tumbling out behind you as you kept your eyes closed and relaxed with a contented smile placed firmly on your dainty mouth as you allowed the warmth to soak into every inch of skin.

Vaguely, you could hear the chatter of your friends from around you; Lily’s voice piercing through the deeper tones of your male friends. You had been so jealous when Lily’s letter had arrived, some many years ago now. Not having been able to understand Petunia’s disgust with what their sister was, you kept in close correspondence with your sister throughout her time at Hogwarts in her first year, never allowing even a week to pass without a letter being sent.


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Spirals of Protection

Originally posted by esdanielbarreto

This protection spell is both simple and effective, making a fine addition to your magickal repertoire. The spell consecrates and protects one’s personal space, meaning the charm moves with you. This makes it perfect for travel. 

Close your eyes briefly and use the index finger of your dominant hand to trace deosil (sun-wise) spirals in the air around you. Turn deosil in a circle as you make them, casting a shell of spirals around your body. Trace some directly overhead and underfoot, too. As you work, intone:

“Wrapped I am in Spirals Light 

No harm or hurt many come to me 

Whether day or whether night

Cloaked in safety I shall be.”

Visualize the protection surrounding you like a web of safety. Note:

Although one’s finger works fine, the spell could also be done with a wand or athamne or whatever is at hand. 

Elorcan Werewolf AU part 6

It was so damn hard to not write Lorcan instead of Lory and vice versa. You know you’re tired when you write cock instead of cook.

“Just like our eyes, our hearts have a way of adjusting to the dark”

Elorcan Werewolf Part 6

Lory didn’t come back. No matter how many times she left raw meat out in the woods or called his name. No one responded to the have-you-seen-this-dog posters she dutifully taped on tree trunks, listing rewards she’d scour from her trust funds. The animal control couldn’t find him, and found no traces of a large-sized dog or wolf in the woods. There was no sighting in the inner cities either.

Lory was gone without a trace, as if he were a ghostly whisper whose secret existence only Elide knew.

Elide mourned him, and even held a funeral for him, placing all his collars in formation around a patch of grass he often frequented, moodily staring into the forest as if cursing the restraints on his body.

Only the pink collar was gone, leaving a foul aftertaste in her mouth: never had before Elain so despised a color, and demonstrated her pettiness by refusing to wear anything of that hue.

On her third night of eating rocky road ice cream and staring blearily at her papers, Manon and Aelin burst through her door without warning. Elide popped off the the chair, hand snaking out to reach for a spare dagger. Seeing it was only her Alpha and Beta, she placed a hand over her heart and managed a glare at them.

The frown had easily been swept away as she took in her friends’ appearances. In Manon’s arms, a grocery bag of chocolate covered strawberries winked at her. In Aelin’s own hands, shopping bags of dresses and short skirts filled the very top to bottom.

“I can’t have my favorite healer down.” Aelin breezed through her living room, pulling aside her curtains and tossing all her tissues into the waste bin. After a heartbeat and cocking her head, she amended, “Well maybe Sorscha as well.”

“We have this day all to ourselves,” added Manon. “The Thirteen are in command for twenty four hours.” She stalked through the threshold, inspecting her cottage, and noting the lack of pictures adorning her tables and walls.

Elide reached for a strawberry, but Manon slapped her wrist and ushered her to her bedroom. Her friends tutted in distaste at the simple designs; Aelin nearly threw a fit when she saw her gray-lined bedroom.

“How can you live like this?” Aelin tugged her fire-gold strands of hair, surveying Elide’s simplistic room. Elide watched as Aelin tear through her dresser, clucking her tongue with an almost revulsion reserved for her utmost disappointment. Manon, however, sniffed the air, and flocked to the window, her spine stiff.

Elide played with the hem of her shirt. She’d also stared out that window, wondering where Lory had gone, and why he decided to not return, to abandon her. She had offered him a steady hearth and affection, pieces of her heart, and glimpses into her past.

Emptiness tugged at the corner of her heart. She didn’t need glamour when she had Lory’s presence. There was a soothing quality to his presence that didn’t need to speak volumes from the human tongue. The mere steady and silent exposure to an animal with no ill intent towards her, in which he’d lick her palm and twitch those ears, stare at her, as if she were the only human in the world—

Aelin flopped onto Elide’s bed in defeat. “The only option I see is getting laid.” She tapped her chin in thought. “Shopping and eating won’t cut it. You need physical contact.”

Elide shook her head, and stood next to Manon. The Beta’s eyes fixed on the path of grass where the collars sat in heart formation, mocking Lory’s absence. She imagined Lory curled up on the grassy plains, his hind legs bent in restlessness, and those dark, dark eyes following her shape as she did her yoga exercises, watching the Sun gallantly spiral into the vast sky.

Her heart warmed as she studied the two females in her room. One herself blazed with fierce mortality and sheer determination, the other a honed icicle and ironstone. They were two sides of the same coin, and if Elide wished, she could flip them into the air at her command.

Manon surreptitiously sniffed the air again. “Dog,” she hissed.

Elide nodded in confirmation. She’d always thought herself a cat lady, but there was something different about Lory other than his moodiness and his steely demeanor that seemed to simply see more than she did. The way his eyes would flicker with deeper intellect, and the powerful muscles rippling across his back as he stalked around her house as if he owned every inch. The way that nose would twitch in aversion when another male neared her, and a deep growl would thunder from the base of his throat—

It was almost as if her were her guardian angel. Her watchdog.

Elide pinched her arm. Dear Hellas, she really was hung over a dog, an animal that most likely found another warm home with another owner who would treat him with care every second—

Why was she so damned jealous?

Aelin joined them at the windowpane, and laid a hand against Manon. “Speak,” she ordered, and Elide recognized the Alpha command, one she rarely used.

“If my senses aren’t deceiving me, just a mere dog wasn’t here.”

“Your senses don’t lie.” Aelin crossed her arms. “What is it?”

“I detect a Lycan. Not a full-blooded one, mind you, but a wisp of a male that has Lycan blood running through his veins.”

Elide’s veins turned to ash. “No,” she said.

Wolf, Nox had said, and she’d dismissed him. What did a human know about dogs and wolves?

“Lory’s just a wolf. Or a large dog,” she blurted, and leaned back as Manon towered over her.

Aelin dragged Elide to her bed as Manon flipped her white-ash hair over a shoulder. “Tell us about this Lory,” she hummed.

Elide decided she did not like the glint in Manon’s eyes.


Lorcan was in deep shit. Deep, unrelenting shit. He had returned to the cadre, his bones cracking in protest, hair tousled and grim coating the exposed inches of skin, and sweat running down his neck in rivulets. He could feel his wolf thrashing inside of him, craving any type of release that didn’t involve a dead body, but utter dominance.

His wolf needed to claim his lovely, sweet, vixen of a mate, and Lorcan had forbade that.

His wolf needed to at least dominate a female, a poor attempt to loosen the edge of feralness that chipped away at him. Only his mate could fully quell him, but his mate did not want anything to do with him. A part of him disagreed, that the rules of nature and raw hand of fate had paired them together, but if his pure mate did not want him, then he would not object.

Because he was bound by blood and the fallen. Could his mate look past the hands that had snapped the necks of even the children? Could his mate accept his dark-woven future and calling for bleak death? Could his mate tolerate his penchant for starkness, the life of a spartan?

Fenrhys let out a low chuckle as Lorcan stalked through the entrance, his body shuddering in pain. His wolf was a monster inside of him, and it took his entire willpower to turn away the demands of intimacy. He would not touch another female unless his mate permitted him.

His wolf cursed Lorcan’s decision, roaring in protest. Both savage and pathetic, every Lycan’s wolf side needed a gentle hand in their life, and over the years, that softness expressed itself in watching submission, and Lycans resorting to casual sex.

It was another reason for his mate to hate him, he supposed. He could sense the innocence radiating from his mate, and while that made him and his wolf beyond ecstatic, a small part of him had wished that mate wouldn’t be so pure—so that he could also have a reason to hate her.

And in the hatred, they could find themselves back to each other, easier. Pain was the easiest emotion to deal with, the easiest feeling to manipulate. Words and the heart intertwined so deeply, all he could do is lie and break a strong psychological mindset.

But disgust had to be earned. Something had to go a little wrong, a little awry. A stone had to be overturned to reveal the dirt underneath rather than the smooth, cool surface. His history was no secret, his path as a warrior, as the cadre’s gamma, or first general. The tales of his executions and interrogations were no sight for his mate, a young girl who delighted in clean, savory truths. His rock had been tossed into the swamps to rot and he had emerged as the victor. Unscathed, but internally scarred.

He was not the male for her, and he cursed the Moon Goddess for this pairing. He had waited eons for the notion of love, and had waited for another broken soul who had wrecked havoc upon others—so they could share this pain in empathy. But the hand of nature had given him someone who could mend him, and that was something Lorcan knew he didn’t deserve. He could break his mate’s neck without so much as a blink, and ruin that soft skin and fill it with scars and blemishes. He could crush her with a single blow, and this precious, delicate creature that was Elide Lochan deserved more in life than a murderer.

Fenrhys laughed under his breath, watching Lorcan make way to his room. “She’s got you more whipped than Maeve.”

Maeve, their past Alpha Queen who had haunted his nightmares still. 

Now the only nightmare consisted of his mate’s rejection.

He could feel the ebbing of his darkness receding with his wolf’s ferality. Soon his own body would fade away into a weak waste of flesh if he and his wolf did not see eye to eye. If a Lycan’s human and wolf side did not live in harmony, the body would fail, and Lorcan had never once imagined himself in this scenario. The things his mate caused him without knowing—Elide Lochan would be his downfall.

He could only snap his teeth at Fenrhys and stagger towards his room, promising to wring the Fenrhy’s neck later.

His wolf called for Elide; to be simply near her would be enough to quell him for a week—months even.

But Lorcan refused to run the risk of claiming her outright. It was the rare case that his wolf overtook his body completely, pouring his intentions and will into every muscle and tendon. And the mere mention of his mate was enough for him cross the line into where the true feral lurked.

It was dangerous. He was dangerous. His mate made him more dangerous. He had no control of these matters of pure emotion coursing down him, making each step unbearable. His wolf demanded release and claiming and binding, and Lorcan slammed down on his will just as hard.

He had slaughtered armies. He would not allow the picture of his mate be his undoing. But that was her purpose, perhaps. To bring a Lycan to his knees. It would not be the first time in history such scheme had been done, and with all the misery Lorcan had caused, he wouldn’t expect anything less.

But sweet, sweet Elide—he didn’t believe she could harm a fly. She’d guide the insects that dared to breach her house out. She cooed and soothed. She was his angel. She was soft and gentle. She was everything he wasn’t.

“Lorcan,” Gavriel said.

He realized that he’d been leaning against a marble column, his entire posture tense.

“I’ll call Essar,” was all Gavriel said, before he disappeared down the hallway. A tang of gratitude swept down Lorcan that his friend did not help him limp back towards his room full of darkness.

Even Essar, the doe-eyed female, would not bother him there.

No one would bother a killer in his natural habitat.

His wolf was angered, and Lorcan did not bother to acknowledge the walls that were crumbling around him. He did not want Essar. He did not want a female who believed to see more in him, and wanted to change him. He did not want a casual fuck.

He wanted Elide Lochan.

And he would endure this pain of his body wasting away if it meant he could finally stay true to her. It was his penance, and he supposed he should thank the Moon Goddess for this chance.


“Bullshit.” Manon had walked back to the window, staring at the collars. “Although the scent is there, I refuse to believe that a male who is older than me and has killed more than me and seen more betrayals than me—will wear those pieces willing. And pink, much less.”

Aelin flung a hand over her heart. “You know, the names Lory and Lorcan are too similar too ignore. But the fact that a Lycan would willingly degrade himself for his mate—” Her Alpha let out a bitter, low chuckle.

Elide trembled, wrapping a blanket around herself. “Lory’s not Lorcan, Manon. Aelin, please.” She pleaded with them. “My mate doesn’t love me anymore than those girls he’s touched.”

She refused to believe this. Yet it explained so much, of why she was pining over a creature of the forest. It explained the comfort a four-legged creature could provide more than Aelin and Manon combined could bring her. It explained why she could trust him with stories of Morath, and why she needed to be around him constantly, checking up on him as much as he checked up on her. The way Lory looked at her—no animal would carry such tenderness in those eyes that had usually stared at everything in such solemn misery.

“You know, Rowan really has to pick up his game.” Aelin shook her head. “I’ve never seen him in wolf form, much less having a collar wrapped around that pretty neck. And we’re talking about a male who has probably has Death bowing to him. Pink, Elide? What were you thinking? That’s probably what scared him off.”

Elide bit her lip. “Did I mention that he ran off on a full moon?”

Manon’s head whipped around. She cocked her head in a way that was surely predatory, those eyes calculating. “You did not feel him cheating in anyway?”

She shook her head. “None. The mate bond doesn’t lie, and he’s actually kept…it…to himself.”

Aelin nodded to herself with grim certainty. “I really need to find a new mate.”

Manon clapped her hands. “Great. We have a female who doesn’t trust her male, and a male who’s pining after his female with one foot in the grave.” Her head swiveled towards Aelin. “Would Rowan tell you if Lorcan decided to visit Elide on a whim?”

The Alpha tossed her hands up in the air. “I think males blame females for bipolar syndrome because they displayed the traits in the first place. Who knows? One moment he’s sucking up to me, the next he’s the coldest floating piece of ice in Antarctica.”

Manon crossed over the room, her eyes dark. “Enough. I’ve done with you both fawning over your mates—” she dismissed Aelin with a bold flick of her nails, and turned towards Elide “—another reason we have come here is because we are holding a ball, and I think it would do you well to come. Leave your studies and moping for another day. Live one night, and see who you were before you met your mate.” She briefly glanced at Aelin. “And you as well.”

Aelin let out a harsh laugh and fell onto the bed. “Stars above. What have we come to, Elide?”

Elide cradled her pillow, imagining it as Lory. “Love. It does the worst to us. Doesn’t it?”


Aelin chose to move up the ball’s date by a week, so the Pack House was a flurry of commotion, silk and lace flying through the hallways. Perfumes and delicacies crammed in every corner, bouquets of every kind of flower floating in the breeze and fluttering around the curtains, which had been elegantly thrown open to allow the rays of sun and night pour into the sweeping ballroom. The crystal chandelier had been polished, with gold ornaments and statues gleaming at every facet. Soft streams of music swept away the blinding lights, the pleasantries of kisses and hugs exchanged as servants poured in, arms full of arrays of all kinds.

Aelin had called in every favor, demanding an all-out production. Ancient wine and bottles of drinks beyond Elide’s knowledge were brought out and displayed. Trinkling windpipes and glistening harps of all sizes were situated on pedestals, a grand piano arcing the center. Layers of cakes were seized into the kitchen, and a flurry of cooks flooded the hallways, arms full of batter and butter.

Elide watched, captivated by all the commotion. Until she saw a flower girl and a servant boy exchanging a sloppy, but passionate kiss in the gardens. When they pulled away, still in each other’s embraces, their faces were flushed red, but happy nonetheless.

Elide turned away.

The cadre had been invited. To not would have been a public insult and as good as a declaration of war. Aelin had flourished her arms out, declaring that shit was mostly to go down, and ordered an extra shift of guards to loiter in the hallways, and blend among the shadows. Elide had fled to her old room in anticipation, wondering how she’d confront Lorcan.

Thank you for protecting me as a wolf? Not putting up a fuss for wearing the collars? Watching me dress and shower? Did you get tired of my body—is that why you left?

As the sun set, and the moon rose, Elide couldn’t help the trepidation that pumped through every vein. It didn’t matter if Lorcan showed up with another girl or two notched up in his arms. She just had to see him.

The first trickle of guests streamed in, Aelin and Manon greeting each arrival with a curt nod and quick smile in customary tradition. Elide had smoothed the soft fabric of her skirts down, twirling a strand string of black around her finger.

She wanted Lorcan to know that she wasn’t afraid of death. She was a werewolf, and she also had bled from silver, had been held hostage in the Morath pack. She knew death and death knew her. Elide had often found herself on the brink of death, poison and morphine pumping through every vein of her scrawny body. The scars on her ankle was a reminder of the memories, locked up. The lashes of the whip were no stranger to her, and the stinging had always been her silent friend. The cold loneliness that had swept through her as she had crawled because her ankle had failed her, her Uncle—Alpha—Vernon failing her in worse ways. Morath had taught her that family was not blood. Family was trust, and trust was earned. She had learned that the world was not her oyster.

The world was clever and cruel, but it was also colorful, and if she could chose to live it so that she could be content not any seeking revenge, then she could rise above the pain. She would not Morath break her.

Because one day she would bring Morath down.

Elide didn’t believe that monsters were born. Monsters were cultivated and grown from the vices of humanity, something the Were were not exempt from either. And as Elide looked down at the crowds of entering people, she had an inkling of a feeling that Lorcan would not come. And as the clock chimed away minutes that transformed to hours, she knew her suspicions were right.

She didn’t think one individual, much less a male, could affect her this way. Manon had been wrong when she’d said that mates were a bedtime story. A mate was a thorn in her side, and she cursed the mate bond as a shrapnel of pain digging into her mind, a throbbing that beat louder with each breath. Something was off, and the mate bond flared between her, pulsing in her head. She could feel a gentle caressing down her side, and an almost frenzied despair flashing down.

Aelin was instantly at her side, half-carrying and half-guiding her to the infirmary. She pressed a palm against her forehead, and Elide moaned in pain.

“She’s burning up,” Aelin whispered to someone, who slammed a dagger into the table in frustration. Manon.

“Is he cheating on you?” Manon demanded, her voice near guttural. Her tapping of her nails against the steel table drove Elide further to an edge. There was something wrong—not by fault, but by nature. There was a wedge cleaving between her mate, but not between them. A struggle between man and wolf, a fight that always ended in bloodshed.

The Prince Rowan Whitethorn burst through the door, his face ashen. He further paled as Manon whipped out her favorite blade, Wind Cleaver, that promised death. Aelin merely sat at the foot of the bed in which Elide laid, sweat pouring down her forehead. She tried to bow, but Aelin was having none of it, using her Alpha command to order Elide to sit and rest.

“How dare you,” Aelin snarled, turning to her mate with livid anger. “Have the audacity to not show up, and flaunt yourself in now?”

Rowan shook his head, and slowly lifted his palms into the air. Elide could have sworn his Adam’s apple bobbed. “This is beyond me.” His eyes cut to Elide, and Manon loose a low growl. “Your mate is dying. Fading away.”

Elide managed to leap off the bed before her ankle collapsed and gave out on her. Aelin wrapped an arm around her shoulder, Manon pacing around Rowan, shielding her from the first threat that was the Prince of Lycans.

“Explain,” Manon commanded, her voice a thin blade of viciousness.

Rowan sighed, a sound that spoke ancient volumes. “Lorcan’s wolf is not taking Elide’s absence well…and believes she’s rejecting him. The fact that Lorcan refuses to lay with a female even for—” Rowan’s face turned to stare at the wall with shame stitched across his eyes “—a means to satiate his wolf’s side—it’s causing his own wolf to reject him. He won’t survive the night if this keeps up.”

Aelin tucked Elide closer to her chest. “I won’t allow her to go near that monster,” she nearly spat out, and glared daggers at her mate, who lifted a brow. “I won’t put one of my pack members in danger.”

Rowan stared at Aelin, an unfathomable look sketched across his face. Something like cold fury spun in those eyes. “Lycans would rather die than hurt their mate.”

The Alpha of the Fireheart pack looked like she wanted to very much disagree, but surprisingly, it was Manon who said, “I think it’s Elide’s decision.”

Elide thought back to her time with Lory, and how he’d so easily seeped happiness into her life. How he’d press his wet nose against her knees and stare up at her, resting his snout on her lap. The way he had made her laugh and made sure she’d eaten every last bite, and encouraged her to go for runs in the woods. He had made her smile. Made her appreciate life. Made her experience joy.

She thought back to the nights when he’d lick away her tears, and lay closer to her side, snuggling against her.

Elide lifted her head, even as she felt searing pain in her neck, and said, “Take me to my mate.”


“I’m going to hold another ball,” Aelin announced to no one in particular as they piled into a black SUV that screamed wealth. “Maybe a masquerade.”

Manon filled the silence by sharpening her nails.

Rowan pulled the car up to a sprawling mansion with silver gates. As they walked across the pristine, cut lawn, Elide marvelled at the honey droplets of morning dew that still drooped from the leaves, the moonlight illuminating the beauty of the greenery that was contained just in the lawn.

The entrance had no door, and Elide supposed it was fitting when it would be suicide to enter the home of the Lycans. Marbled pillars and glass panels filled her vision.

Rowan stalked down the hallways until he faced a door that was halfway open. The last door in the hallway.

Rowan frowned, slightly sniffing the air. “I think—”

Elide willed herself to hold her head high as she slipped through the door.

She didn’t expect to be engulfed in darkness, save for a burning candle lighting the room into a soft, orange glow. She didn’t think that the room would be immaculate, and no dust nor blood would stain the floor. She somewhat expected the lines of swords and daggers hooked onto the walls.

She didn’t expect the outline of women on top of the large male, sprawled across dark sheets. She didn’t expect the guilt written in the eyes of her mate as his head snapped towards her, and his arm to be wrapped around the other female’s hips. She expected the flicker of surprise in that granite-hewn face. She didn’t expect the tang of arousal that permeated the too-clean room, and the beautiful doe-eyed female on Lorcan’s lap to seem strangely sad, her hair cascading down across Lorcan’s bare chest.

Elide took one look at the embrace of her mate and the other female before she fled the room, her own wolf also turning cold and slamming down a wall not even Aelin or Manon could penetrate.

She ignored the howl that shattered the air as she felt her bones shift and crack. She ignored the image of the other female’s legs locked around her mate’s waist. She ignored the voice telling her to go back, to return to her mate.

She embraced the other voice that told her to seek rejection, revenge. The one that saw that doe-eyed female with soft curves with hands around the corded muscle of the Lycan that should have been hers. 

When white paws hit the ground, Elide Lochan felt herself bolt forward, away from her mate. And she did not look back as a series of howls and tearing pierced the dark night.

A Warm Hug

Fic Request: 
“I want Light to cradle me and hide me from everything with his wings”

Originally posted by boopymooplier

It was like a warm blanket had been wrapped around you. 
You had been staring at the backyard, not really paying attention. Just lost in your own spiraling thoughts as the afternoon sun slowly dipped towards the horizon. 
Today wasn’t the best, but neither was it the worst. However you’d explain it, today’s events just left a sour emptiness in your head and it wasn’t helping with your motivation to do some things around the house. 
When a cool wind picked up and passed over your bare arms, you rubbed them to get some warmth. 
Only to be enveloped by large white wings and a pair of arms encircling your waist from behind. 
Even though the light of the sun was cut off, there was a gentle luminescence radiating from the crisp white feathers. 
It was comforting. Warm. 
The arms tightened around you when you turned to face the hugger. His smile was gentle and his gaze was almost knowing when small tears misted your eyes. 
“It’ll be alright.” He told you, pulling you closer against his chest. “Today is just one day. There are many more to come. You’ll see greater things come of your future and your past mistakes won’t matter.” 
You leaned against his chest, sniffling softly as Light lifted a hand to stroke your hair. 
He rocked you slightly, resting his cheek against your head and humming.
You allowed your eyes to close. Letting Light’s warmth and comfort wash away all of the troubles of today. 
The wings around you fluttered, the feathers that brushed against you were soft against your skin. Tickling you as Light moved to sit on the seat behind him. 
Light cradled you against his side. His wings opening to reveal a pink and blue sky as the sunset spilled it’s colors. 
The two of you sat there, watching the colors change and the stars wink into existence. 
All the while, Light never allowed his arm to move from your shoulders. Or let his wing fall from sheltering you beneath it. 
When it started to get too cold for you to sit outside; Light took your hand with a gentle smile and guided you inside.