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studioghibelli · 5 months

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the end of the world- a joel miller x reader

summary: you had a strict relationship with joel that stuck to the rules. fuck, leave, repeat. it was only a matter of time until feelings were dragged into the mix. when joel leaves at the first sign of love, you're left wondering what you had done wrong. (rated explicit, 18+, mdni)

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, implied fwb relationship, heavy handed on the angst, a whole lot of pining, a lot of flashbacks, and smut. (unprotected piv sex, fingering, clit rubbing, masturbation?, dirty talk, pet names, allusions to slapping/rougher sex, brief biting, a tiny bit of daddy kink.) ended with a bit of fluff

note: i think this is my favorite thing i have ever written. i guess i was in some sort of mood or sumfin. also i absolutely hate spell checking so sorry for any errors. enjoy!!

Joel used to be rough.

He used to imprint his name upon your skin through heavy handed grips and crescent shaped nail marks, left deep into the supple skin of your thighs. Like hieroglyphs on a wall of sandstone, he made sure the world would see what beauty he had left etched into your skin, like a canvas that only he had the privilege of painting.

He used to take you by the throat and kiss you with biblical fervor. He would kiss you so hard the taste of his spit lingered on your tongue for the days following, reminding you who you belonged to, if only for a few hours.

He used to sink his incisors into your neck, suckling at your skin like a vampire in search of an artery. He would leave deep patches of purple beneath your ear, the mark of a man who knew just what you wanted, the mark of a man who was more primal, more animalistic, than he was human.

Then, something changed.

Soft was he, on one fateful night, where his rough palms dragged across the side of your body, gentle waves of pleasure heaving, heaving, heaving, washing over you until you were a shell drowning in an ocean tide, consumed only by thoughts of him.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

A mantra, a promise, a prayer.

Soft was he, his lips molding to yours like cement stuck in the cracks of sidewalks, unwavering and unbreaking, filling you up to the hilt.

Soft was he, as he slipped his cock deep into your pussy, deep and gentle, hitting against every inch, every spot, that made your legs quiver just for him.

Soft was he, as he cradled your face in his rough hands, eyes boring in to your own, the curved bridge of his nose pressing into your rounded cheek, coaxing you, asking you, begging you, to cum for him.

Only ever him.

His hand's had done irreversible damage, taken many lives, and he pushed back the guilt for those crimes long ago, but Joel figured that perhaps holding your face in his hands was worth all the blood, the sweat, the grime and decay. Perhaps touching the skin of an angel was enough to bathe him clean from his past sins, enough to purify the monster which lurked within.

And then one day, he swore you off.

"Can't be around you anymore." He snarled, hand dragging down his face, heavy and hot with the burning poker of shame.

"Says who?" Your voice was cracking, the angry prick of tears stabbing at your eyes, like daggers dripping with bitter venom.

"Me. This ain't.... right. We should never have done this."

"Why isn't it right?" You were begging, trying your hardest to coax put a semblance of an answer from him.

"You're too young for this. For-for me. I ain't good for you."

"Where is this coming from? Just two nights ago you were making love-"

"That's the problem." Joel hissed. "Makin' love." He scoffed spitefully, shaking his head firmly. "It's the end of the fuckin' world and I'm worried about makin' a woman cum, makin' your eyes roll. I should be out fightin', I should be out makin' rounds and doin' my work. Ain't thought of anything like that since I've been with you. I have duties. Responsibilities. I'm too old to be sleeping around like some teenager."

You hated yourself for allowing a tear to slip, hated yourself for showing weakness in his presence. "What about your duty to me?" You cried out, hands tangling into tight fists. You felt your veins pumping with venomous resentment, wondering how you could have been so stupid to allow him respite behind the walls of your soul, sanctuary from the world around the two of you.

"I don't have no duty to you. You're not my wife, not my girl. You're just somebody I was fuckin'."

That was two months ago. Two long, grueling months.

This winter in Jackson was particularly brutal. Perhaps nature had been in tune with your heart, rocking and shaking and screaming in unison with your thoughts, angry and vengeful. Like Poseidon wreaking havoc on the ocean, like Zeus bringing hailstorms of lightning, like Zephyrus playing his hand in an assailing wind; you felt your rage through the soil, the packed snow, the shaking pine needles.

Everyday you would trek to your shop, sit behind the counter, and patiently wait for someone to stop by, wait for someone to ask how your day was (which you would inevitably lie about, tell them how good you were), and wait for someone to barter or trade with you.

A dozen chicken eggs for a woven blanket, a few sprigs of rosemary for some pencils, a handful of sheep's wool for some freshly pressed paper.

It was the same every day.

Rise, work, sit, cry, sleep, repeat.

For the past two months you had lurked around the corners of Jackson with a heavy gray cloud hanging over your head, and each day for the past two months you despised yourself for being so caught up with Joel fucking Miller, for being so upset he left you.

You lived in the smallest house in Jackson. There was no reason for you to take up a big one, no reason for you to have two stories, no reason for you to have a big open kitchen or spacious living room. What was the point? No husband, no children, no nothing.

You had tried to make it yours, and you had tried to make it happier since that horrible, awful, nasty thing happened between you and Joel.

You had bought a thick and oversized crocheted blanket the color of sand with a harvest worth of kale, thrown it over a soft and lived-in suede couch to curl up under. You had bartered a basketful of gourds for two knitted pillows, a brown dachshund stitched into one, and a ginger cat stitched into the other. You had picked up a backpack full of books on a run into the nearest town, settling on classics that you used to read as a young girl, in hopes you could feel that golden peace so often felt during childhood, when the only pressing matters on your mind were untied shoelaces and what mom was cooking for dinner.

A life long ago. A life you could barely remember. You were a small child when the world went to shit, barely starting school, with gaps between your teeth and messy, unruly hair. Still growing out of your sneakers, still biting your nails, still picking up worms from the rich soil with amazement and wonder bubbling in your eyes.

When everything happened, when the buildings were bombed and fields burnt, you were forced to grow up. Forced to toughen up, to be someone you never planned on being at such a young age. You ditched the sparkly backpacks and trips to the library for switch blades and look out towers, for uneasy silence and stale dinners.

Then you met Joel, many years after it first began, and everything seemed a little bit better. It started fast and rough, as though you both thought the world would implode the following morning. And then, when the realization that this was life, that nobody was going anywhere, things grew gentler, softer, more meaningful.

Joel's kisses grew deeper, his touches dragged out for longer, his mouth imprinted upon your soft and lithe skin like droplets of dew on blades of morning grass, gentle and ethereal. His words became breathless, sweet, full of desire and thick with honeyed praise.

"Look at you, such a pretty little thing. Shakin' like this, all for me. Who's makin' you feel like this, sweet girl?" Joel's middle finger was buried to the knuckle in your tight pussy, thumb gently tapping at your clit. A string of saliva strung from your nipple to his lips, where his plush mouth had been covering your hardening bud in gentle bites, sucking like a man on a mission.

"You." Your voice came out as a mewl, quiet and shaking. "You, daddy."

Joel grunted a primordial, brutish grunt that rumbled through the sturdiness of his chest, adding a second finger as his head ducked down to your neck, where his kissing resumed upon the blades of your collarbone. "Good fuckin' girl. Good girl. So fuckin' good, a god damn dream. You know that?"

The wall in front of you was covered in framed images you had found on your travels around Jackson. Some original art you scored in the back of a desolate thrift store, some vintage movie posters you found huddled in the dusty corners of a theatre, some polaroid photos you had taken with old friends.

You blinked the memories of him away.

With each day, you tried to convince yourself it was for the best. With each day, you tried to make yourself understand where he was coming from, why he did the things he did.

"You're just somebody I was fuckin'." You remembered his words like sandpaper grinding against the track of your throat, burning their fiery syllables into your tongue. How true his statement actually was, you weren't so sure.

Joel's forehead was pressed to yours, eyes fluttering open and shut with each deep thrust, hands entwined into your own. Your palms were pressed rigid and unyielding into his, Joel's thick fingers wrapping and molding into your smaller ones, chest rubbing against yours with each masterful movement of his hips.

His hot breath, soaked with the sweet smell of whiskey, fanned across your face, coating you with the ache he felt for you, the love he knew he had growing deep inside for you. Each breath he took was a promise. He was never going to leave you. How could he?

"Joel." You chanted, head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes full of stars.

"What do you want from me, darlin'? Say the word and its yours." Joel's voice was breathless and throaty, coating you in the sweet nectar of his affection, seeping deep into your pores until it filled your soul with yearning,

His cock, thick and veined, was slowly pumping as deep is it possibly could within your walls. You fluttered and ached and wept against him, bodies meshing into one, tight and close yet flowing and gentle, like the Bernini sculptures you saw in an art encyclopedia, a long time ago in Boston. Joel filled you to the brim with his length. You felt full of him, wrapped and wanting and wanton. For his eyes only. Only ever him, always.

"Right there." You begged, nails dragging down the length of his wide, sturdy, strong back, marking him with the love caked beneath your fingernails. That unspoken love that weighed heavy on your shoulders, like a wool blanket in the dead of winter.

When Joel's eyes met yours, hitting against the spot you begged him to touch, he had that gaze glossed over his irises, that heavy, awfully gentle look threaded within the chocolate umber of his orbs, the stare that only a man in love ever carried with him.

The memory stuck to your mind like glue on a school project, drying there with no hopes of ever coming loose.

That night, with Joel so heavy on your mind, you treaded heavily to your record player, sifting through the record's you had collected over the years.

"That'll do." You mumbled with dejected finality, putting the vinyl on the player as you lowered the needle.

Why does the sun keep on shining?

Why does the sea rush to shore?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

Cause you don't love me, anymore?

As you listened to the sweet voice of Julie London, you looked around your kitchen, the pile of dishes only stacking up, higher and higher. With your hands on your hips you walked over, forcing yourself to do something with your night. You couldn't sit and mope, you had already spent too long doing that anyways.

You let the hot water fall upon the backs of your dainty hands, watching with glass eyes as it fell and dribbled off your fingers, the soapy suds filling the porcelain bowls. You cupped them in your hands, breathing in the citrusy scent, closing your eyes.

Think. You begged yourself. About anything else but him. Think.

Why do the birds go on singing?

Why do the stars glow above?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

it ended when I lost your love.

You pricked the tip of your finger with the sharp point of the butcher knife, gently twisting it soft enough to only make the hint of an imprint, thinking to yourself. You had lived your entire life fighting, fleeing, hiding, escaping, yet it only ever felt like the end of the world once you lost him.

"Damn you Julie London!" You shouted, voice mellow dramatic and emotive, face planting into your arm which rested on the wooden counter.

"What'd Julie London ever do to you?"

The voice, raw and rough, startled you, awakening you from your trance. Before you could catch it, a puppy like yelp escaped your mouth, sharp and nasty against the ears.

You knew who that voice belonged to. The voice that lulled you to sleep, the voice that whispered sweet nothings as you lay naked and bare on linen sheets, the voice that called you good girl and sweet angel and pretty princess whilst crammed deep into your cunt.

Joel.

Turning so hard you nearly snapped your own neck, you saw him standing in the doorway of your home, tall and brooding, filling the heavy air with the familiar scent of pine needles and bergamot. He held a basket in his arms. A basket he had bought from your shop, many moons ago.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Your voice was nastier than you meant it to be, but you couldn’t help the emotion rising within the confines of your chest, beating at your ribcage like a wild animal locked in a zoo.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Took the liberty to walk on in and check on you.” He shrugged, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, and slowly shut the door behind him.

“To check on me?” You scoffed bitterly, turning your back to him again as you resumed your cleaning. You heard the vinyl come to a stop, the air silent and palpable, moulding to your rage. You took in a deep breath, looking down at the sponge you were grasping ahold of a little too tight. “Two months go by, and suddenly today- of all days- you decide to take the liberty to come and…. check on me?”

Joel’s sigh, burdened with what felt like guilt, swirled through your ears. “Yes.” Was all he said, simple and plain.

Oh, you had a lot more to say than one meager word.

You were too nervous to meet his gaze, too worried your tears would come flooding, soaking through your skin and deteriorating until you were nothing more than a puddle of nothing on the wooden floorboards.

“I….” You struggled for a long moment, tongue twisted and stuck in your own throat. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

You heard the sound of dense boots against the ground, felt the weight of the air behind you shift. He was close. His scent was coated around the inside of your nostrils, fogging your mind with past memories you swore you’d never ponder on again.

“I know what you want to say.” Joel’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper in the wind. “That you hate me. That you never want to see me again. That you hope I’m ripped limb from limb by clickers. Gunned down by raiders.”

Tears welled within your eyes. You didn’t speak for a long beat, sniffling as quietly as you could possibly muster. “After everything, you know I-…. even after you broke me. I-I don’t wish for that. Never even thought of that.” You admitted your terrible secret with a shaking voice, hand tightening so deeply around the sponge, your middle finger sunk straight through the material.

Joel’s fingers gently traced down the small of your back. An offer. You heard a gentle thump as he set the basket down, followed by his other hand pressing flat into your side.

“I’m scared.” His voice was full of emotion you had never once heard from him. “That’s why I left.”

“What?”

“I’ve lost everyone, ‘cept Ellie. Tess, Bill, Frank, Sarah.” His voice cracked, trailing off. “I couldn’t lose you, too. I can’t watch you…. can’t watch you fall victim to this world.”

You shook your head, dropping the sponge against the metal sink, tilting your head to look out the window which stood in front of you. The night sky was sparkling with millions of stars before you, snow flaking down from the heavens, coating the glass window pane with a copious layer of delicate snowflakes, each so different and unique. It was beautiful.

Joel’s left arm slowly wrapped around you. You wanted to fight him off, wanted to scream and banish him from your home, wanted to promise if you ever saw him again you’d kill him on the spot. But you couldn’t. Not when he was so vulnerable, so warm, so willing.

You shifted against him, leaning back until your bodies were close together. His hand rested taut against your belly, his other arm soon finding solace beneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.

“I’m sorry.” He finally broke the dizzying silence, chin nuzzling into the blade of your shoulder. “I didn’t know what else to do. I- I still don’t know what to do.”

You blinked away new forming tears, taking in a deep breath. “You could start by warming me up.” You were so meek, you were unsure if he heard your words.

Joel’s hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing gently into the skin of your tummy, fingers massaging into the supple skin of your waist, your love handles, drawing circles into the line of skin right above the hem of your pants. Your back fell deeper into his chest as he touched you, felt you, as if he had never known your body before.

You could stand there and argue with him, cry and rage and scream at the universe, or you could let him apologize the best way he knew, let him make it all up to you.

“After this,” you managed to choke out, “am I still going to be somebody you just fuck?”

He wasted no time shaking his head. “You never were. You were, are, the light of my life. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His breath was hot against your neck, his lips pressing kisses, scattered like constellations, into your skin.

“You weren’t thinking.” You moaned a breathless laugh, head tilting to allow him access.

“No, I wasn’t.” Joel’s fingers slipped into your pants, palm cupping your pussy, hot and wet with the promise of his touches. “Damn baby, this horny already?”

“Haven’t been touched in two months. Sure you understand.”

He chuckled a deep, endearing chuckle, nudging his nose into your cheek. “Think I should do somethin’ about this?”

You nodded quickly.

“Words, pretty baby. Use your words.”

“Yes. Please, do… do something about it.”

“That’s my good girl. I’ll give you what you want, I promise.”

You felt butterflies brewing within your belly as his middle finger traced the middle of your green cotton underwear, rubbing where you swollen clit gently poked against. He knew you like the back of his hand, like a map he had spent years memorizing. Giving you pleasure, knowing where and how to make you cum, had become second nature for Joel.

“Don’t be ‘fraid to lean against me. Let daddy take care of you.”You groaned softly at his words, falling back into his body. His strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you up, bicep thick and muscled against you. “Push those down for me.”

You wiggled out of your pants and underwear, bottom half open and exposed for him. His fingers dragged across your mound, brushing against the outside of your pussy that cried out for his touch.

Joel slipped his index finger between your outer lips, finding your clit, slowly drawing circles around your aching bud. You sighed out, once again meshing in to his chest as he touched you, feeling the silkiness of your pink, throbbing cunt.

“I missed this pussy. So wet for me, so needy. You like it when I touch you? Like it when I make you feel good?” His words were hot in your ear, melting into your senses like dripping candle wax.

“Oh, I love it. I love it so much. I love you so much.” You were too caught up in pleasure to understand the weight of what you just said, head rolling against his shoulder as he teased your pussy.

Joel let out a quiet moan at what you just admitted, his hold on you tightening. He was never going to let you go. He sunk his middle finger into your tight opening, slowly hooking it against you G-spot, thrusting it up and down the way he knew made you cry for him.

Your knees were shaking, yet you had no fear of falling. As foolish as it may have been, you had complete trust in Joel Miller. You knew he wouldn’t let you drop. Your walls fluttered around his finger, clit begging to be touched once more. You lowered your hand, gently flicking at your swelling button, moaning out as he added his ring finger to your cunt.

“That’s it baby. Rub that pretty pussy. Cum on my fingers.” Joel whispered m, gently biting down on your ear lobe.

You felt your thighs quivering, belly tightening as your orgasm drew closer. Joel watched you with hawk like vision, relishing in the way your fingers traced and danced across your clit. Before you had the chance to announce your climax, you found yourself cumming on his digits, coating them in you sweet, slick arousal, screaming his name as thought it was the only word you ever had the chance to memorize.

When you came down from your high, Joel slowly removed his fingers, bringing them to your soft lips. “Suck.” He commanded gently. You did, wrapping your mouth around them as you gingerly took them in, all the way to the hilt, sucking them clean and dry, free from any of your cum. “That’s my good girl, my pretty darlin’.”

You shivered against him, your head falling back. Joel gently tapped the counter. “Jump up there.” He whispered.

You did as you were told, grabbing the collar of his flannel, pulling him closer.

“Kiss me, Joel Miller.”

And kiss you he did.

His lips found yours with the passion of ten thousand soldiers, sickly sweet and supple against your mouth. Joel was consuming you with this kiss, torridly leaving his mark into the soft ridges of your pouted lips, blanketing you with the desire he had for you that he so often tried to push down. Your fingers found his graying hair, legs wrapping around his waist until the bulge breaking at his jeans was pressed right into your bare pussy.

You grinded against him, clit still sensitive and aching from the power of your last orgasm. Still, you dropped your hands to his zipper, tugging them down swiftly.

“Want you to fuck me.” You whispered against his mouth, tongue sliding across his. “Want you to cum inside me. Make me yours.”

“You’ve always been mine.” Joel muttered, hand slipping down to remove his boxers. “I was just bein’ an idiot.”

“Then make it up to me.”

The tip of his cock found the slick lips of your pussy, and he slowly pushed himself in through on graceful movement, filling you to the top until your clit was pressed against his stomach. Joel felt your pussy clench against him, and he groaned, letting his head fall to your shoulder. He sat there for a moment, relishing in the warmth being inside of you provided, arms wrapped around you like a belt, pressing you hard into his chest.

You gently placed your hands on the back of his head, pulling away to look at him. Tracing over his features, you took every inch of him in. That Aquiline nose you had grown to love so much, the patchy beard littered with charming speckles of silver, that stray curl in the middle of his forehead that never stayed put. Joel Miller was beautiful. He was an enigma of a man. Stoic, masculine, tender, intuitive, full of emotions and worlds unknown to everyone. Everyone but you. He was a crazy, deep, beautiful paradox of a human, and he was all for you.

Joel slowly pushed out from you, before pumping himself back in. He did this a few more times, his eyes never straying from your own. His fingers slipped to your clit, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb against it.

“Think you can cum on my cock?”

You nodded.

A smile lifted the right corner of his mouth. “Tha’s what I like to hear.” He leaned down, kissing you again as he began fucking you, deep and slow, each move methodical and well planned, as if he knew just what he wanted to do to your body.

Your hands fell to his broad shoulders. His broad shoulders. That alone could have made you cum. The tanned slope of his beautiful, beautiful shoulders, collarbones thick and jutted out just right, followed by patchy chest hair, down to his soft belly that pressed into yours so perfectly. He was beautiful. You traced your fingers down the trail of his biceps, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, straight to his wrists, lacing with his long, skilled, well worked fingers, palm rough and calloused, tough as leather against the softness of your sweet, smooth hands.

You drunk his figure in like a lovesick fool. Oh, you were, weren't you? So full of love and affection for this brute of a man, well aware he struggled with his emotions. You watched the crows feet by his eyes crinkle as he clamped his eyes shut, watched the line of his neck pulse as he threw his neck back in pleasure.

He was a Baroque portrait of lust standing before you, dark and brooding, thrusting into your cunt as if it were the sweetest thing in the world for him. He growled into the air with each pump of his hips, nails digging into your skin as he held you close, never to let go.

"Joel." You whispered softly, burying your face in his chest as your second orgasm fast approached. You weren't sure why you said his name, not sure what you wanted exactly, but Joel knew. He always knew. He just cradled the back of your head with his right hand, his other gripping ahold of your waist, pounding faster, deeper, harder, hungrier. You were all he wanted, all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.

Joel bit down onto your shoulder softly as he twitched inside you, and you knew his orgasm was soon to come. He kept the same pace on your clit until you were putty in his hands, legs tightening as pleasure washed over you. You both came in harmony, moans mixing and melding into the air which surrounded you. His cock painted your walls with thick, hot ropes of white, and your tightening walls milked every last lick of it out as your came hard, head dizzy with thoughts of him.

He whispered your name softly as he slowed to a stop, pillowing you against his body. "God, I missed you."

You nodded in agreement, sticky skin pressed together like two puzzle pieces. "I missed you." You pulled away, holding on to him for support as you slowly stepped off the counter. You gently pressed your palm into his chest, feeling his cum dribbling down your thigh. You smiled softly at the feeling before glancing up at him. "More than you know."

Joel gently ran his palm down your back as you slipped your underwear on, quickly following suit.

"What's in the basket?" You asked, pointing to the item he left alone on the living room rug.

"Oh. It was s'posed to be a peace offerin'. Makin' up with you was easier than I thought." Joel joked, and you gently slapped his shoulder.

"Whatever." You giggled, walking over to the present.

Inside were some paintings Ellie had made you that Joel never had the courage to send before, some sprigs of dried herbs they were growing in their back yard, some handmade goats soap from a lady down the street, and a long, narrow velvet box. You picked it up slowly, turning to look at him.

"Now if you don't like that I might as well go out and die in the woods. Took me fuckin' weeks to find." Joel admitted, rubbing his neck nervously. "I remember you sayin' you wanted one of them."

You slowly opened it, met with a shimmering string of pearls. A necklace. A necklace you had spent your whole life yearning for. Your lips parted with surprise. "I-I've never seen one in person. Only in those old magazines they had back at QZ."

Joel walked towards you, nodding a bit. "Spent a whole weekend with Tommy, all the way in Cheyenne. Almost got me killed." He chuckled, hands falling to your hips.

"Oh, Joel. It's beautiful. It's.... I've never seen something like this before." You whispered earnestly, gently sweeping your hair up. "Put it on me?"

He smiled a soft, rare smile, gingerly clipping it around your neck. He took a step back, admiring you, soaking you in, memorizing the way it looked on you. "Yeah, that was worth the trouble."

You smiled happily, falling into his arms. He held you tightly to his chest, fingers sweeping through your locks of hair. "By the way..." Joel murmured into your head, pulling away slowly as his fingers found your chin. Your eyes met in a searing gaze, full of summertime warmth that fell over you like golden sunlight. He stared at you long and hard, and you saw something like tears gloss over his gaze.

And when he spoke, his voice was calm, steady, devout:

"I love you, too."

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eruverse · 2 years

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Bad sex meme of Naraa and Alma

Template credited to @nauminnnn on Twitter

#eru ori #if u get the muslim joke. u get the muslim joke #spoiler alert: muslims have to purify themselves whenever they had sex with actually bathing and washing hair #if not we cant pray fast or do most religious things lol

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historiaxvanserra · 3 months

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These Violent Delights | Chapter Three

Summary: The day has come for you to forsake the safety of Velaris and make your solemn oaths to Beron Vanserra; the cruel and tyrannical High Lord of the Autumn Court and his son Eris Vanserra. Your mate. Cruel and beautiful and yours.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 8k

Main Masterlist

Waking from the ether feels like being torn from your old life again. You need a few moments to shed the fleeting remnants of your mortal life; the winter cold as it permeates the thin walls of the cabin, the warmths of the sister nestled at your side, that feeling of hunger like a devouring cavity that lives within you even now and that dresser-- adorned in painted flame, flowers, eternal night and the murky depths of the sea. That dresser haunts your memories almost as often as that infernal Cauldron.

In these moments when sleep still shrouds your conscious mind, you give leave to your anger; it runs like water into old wounds and it festers there. The saltwater purifies in ways that fire cannot. In a few moments, when the visions abate you, then you will be able to face the fire. To watch as the hues of your bedroom move from murky green and chalk blue into pearl and burning gold. For now, let the morning come in with the subtleness of the tide.

You're still cocooned between silken sheets, allowing the sunlight to thaw out the morning chill from your bones, when you notice the wraiths as they work. Nuala and Cerridrwen are the personification of shadow and smoke as they glide through your rooms, drawing the curtains with a flourish as golden light seems to pour into the room. Nuala tends to your laundry while her sister begins to draw your bath. The smell of steam and wildflowers from the meadow fill the air; juniper berries and chamomile soap that seems to cling to you.

The sound of the water lulls you into a misty wakefulness which is sullied by the opening of the apartment doors again. This time three sisters spill into the room, each dressed in varying shades of night; black, navy and indigo, accented with jewels strung tight against the hollows of their throats and the morning light catches in the crystals and casts the room in speckled light.

With as much grace as she can muster this early in the morning, Elain unceremoniously slumps down on your unmade bed and crawls to sit beside you as you once had when you were girls.

“Get up!” Nesta commands briskly leaning against your vanity.

“Morning, love,” Elain says, her voice airy on the morning breeze. She looks particularly wraith-like this morning, her eyes are ringed purple and her rich sienna irises are glazed over, glassy and veiled with a milky film that speaks to an oncoming vision.

Your bed shifts under the weight of movement again as Feyre places Nyx, swaddled in his favorite blanket, into the space beside you. He moves against the confines of his wrappings, coiling and loosening and he is half-free before you pull him into your embrace. His smile and quiet babbling tugs on your emotions in a way that almost feels like a carefully crafted ruse.

“Using the baby against me is cruel.” You chastise, pulling yourself to sit against the headboard as you take Nyx in your arms so that he is resting on your knees.

“I know but you really do need to get up.” Feyre says, still half-wrapped in the arms of sleep herself. Feyre is the night; dark, and vast, strangely comforting.

“The High Lord has asked to see you before the ceremony,” Nesta says. Her voice is filled with something sharp and wicked. They’re all looking at you now; each saturated in her own shade of sympathy as you resign yourself to action. Rising from the bed in feigned indifference, you wordlessly hand Nyx off to his mother, before walking over to the copper tub in front of the dying fire. The cold copper draws the heat from your skin and in its wake leaves an icy metallic sting that cuts bone deep.

“Very well then,” You say with a heavy sigh, “I best not keep him waiting.”

You look to your sisters then, once they had been three girls; mortal and each afraid and now they stand before you half-divine and formidable. And where did you stand amongst them? You don’t feel particularly formidable.

You feel fractured, all adrift in a violent sea.

So today you will wear your sisters virtues like armor. Until you have sworn yourself to him.

“We’ll not keep you,” Nesta says, cutting through the poignant silence as you rise on uncertain feet towards the tub nodding curtly at them as they disperse.

The swathes of your ivory nightgown pool like water at your feet as you wade into the tub before sinking low into its comforting warmth. The water is white-hot, burns in the most sadistic way, and when the burning subsides it gives way to a misty wakefulness saturated by the aromatic smell of juniper and jasmine. You recline your head against the lip of the tub and cast your gaze to your sisters again. .

In this light Nesta looks like a vision; draped in black and silver, her hair braided like a crown atop her head and her face has an austere beauty that could bring a King to his knees. Nesta is a silver flame; wrathful and vengeful, and should she let it, her fire would ravage worlds until all that stood between her and total destruction was herself.

Eris is flame too; terrible and red. Slow-burning, all-consuming and utterly devastating.

Like calls to Like.

Once your sisters have left you let yourself sink into the scalding waters, sinking lower and lower until you are submerged entirely; the water becomes you and you it. Nesta always said that you were water; calm and clear with a dangerous anger that swells like a storm under the skin's surface, violent like the sea. And should you let it, the tempest will tear you apart, and perhaps the world with it. Looking up from underneath the fractured rays of sunlight spill into the room and pierce through the dark waters– there is something sacred in that sinking feeling. Then visions come to you in flashes of black, red and–

“I dreamt of you last night,” It’s Elain’s voice that lingers on the edges of your room. It’s airy and haunting and her eyes are wide and glassy as she exhales. Elain is flowers; painted in the pastels of Springs early blooms and her hair shines like shadowed sunlight in the pale morning.

“I dreamt of you and him.”

“A dream or a vision?” You ask, your voice wavering and curious.

Elain takes a tentative step into the room, her fingers buried into the skirts of her dress and she broaches the subject again, “I hadn’t had a vision in months”.

“But last night I saw you.”

Elain’s soft hands brush over your own, the tips of your fingers tangling together and your draw in a sharp breath as something in you calls to her and all the breath is taken from you when she reaches out a pale hand to your cheek.

It burns through you like fire and Elain begins to speak.

'These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and water,

Which as they kiss consume.’

Elain falls through the ether with a deep inhale as the trance falls away from her and she scrambles to find something to ground herself in those moments.You brace yourself against the lip of the tub as Elain falls to the floor in tears, hands desperately grasping for anything to hold onto. Soaked to the bone and bare to the world you take your trembling sister in your arms and hold her there until the ragged breaths soothe and settle to a steady inhale-exhale. You run a confronting hand through Elain’s unbound hair, pressing a chaste kiss against her hairline repeating the words to her. It’s okay. I’m here. Elain looks up at you through dark lashes, wet with unshed tears when she whispers hoarsely.

“Please don’t marry Eris Vanserra.”

---

The cloister in the royal temple on the outskirts of Verona is steeped in near darkness save for the jade light from the stained glass windows that pierces the veil of the dark, like sunlight as it cascades down into the murky green depths of the river that flanks the Autumn’s capital city. There is a solemn silence that hangs in the air and for a moment this room feels more like a watery grave than a quiet reprieve from the ceremony below. The orchestral music plays and you pick out the sounds of lyres and harps as their music washes over you. You suck in a sharp breath and all at once you feel panic hit you like a raging tempest, wild and raging as it drags you into its merciless depths--

The sharp knock on the screen door reverberates through the silence of the cloister.

“Come in.” You say, your voice hoarse and shaky as clutch at the tight lacing of your corset, trying to catch your breath again. Light spills into the room like the tide and you turn, half-expecting to see one of your sisters standing there, her face painted in sympathy as she takes you in her arms and whispers a few comforting words to you.

The man that stands before you is a much more volatile prospect indeed.

“My Lord.” You greet him coldly.

“High Lord now, isn’t it?” Beron Vanserra offers you a saccharine smile as he crosses the threshold of the makeshift bridal apartments. He’s dressed in a deep crimson tunic, embroidered with threads of gold; It is wholly perverse for a man so cruel to look so poised and striking. You notice the way his shoulder length hair looks like polished bronze and his eyes shine like onyx in the morning light as he regards you.

“Don’t you make a beautiful bride,” Beron’s voice is laden with false flattery, undercut with an air of threat, “you’re going to make my son a very happy male.”

Beron all but leers at you. His eyes trail lazily over the curves and divots of your body in the obscenely intricate dress he had chosen for you. It is adorned in rubies and pearls that catch in the light like drops of blood. You feel your skin begin to crawl when he presses a chaste kiss to your outstretched hand.

“It is a shame about Eris though.” Beron says dangerously low, as if daring you to ask what it is he means.

“The flowers look very beautiful” you muse absently, it is all you can offer him-- some small, non-committal response to placate him.

Beron pays you no heed.

“I’m assured no expense has been spared with the ceremony.” Beron continues, picking at some stray threads on the sleeve of his tunic. His lips are set in a straight line and you notice the grimace that graces his features as he takes in the decor from your spot in the cloister overlooking the antechamber of the temple.

The walls are carved into ivory marble and sandstone, and the high, Gothic archways are adorned with carvings of mythological heroes and Princes from songs. The large circular window behind the altar is decorated with stained glass that casts a myriad of dappled light onto the marble tiles. You swallow thickly thinking of the obscenely large sum of money being spent on your mating ceremony to the Autumn heir.

“So I’ve heard, High Lord.” Beron nods at that, the use of his title softening him to you again and you dip your head in a show of false deference.

“Yes, well,” Beron says, his lips twitching lightly as he traces the swell of your breasts and the slope of your neck, “I have reason to believe you will be worth every penny.”

Beron takes a step towards you and you loose a breath as he draws nearer still. His frail, aged hand reaches out to touch you. From your position in the cloister Beron Vanserra towers over you. His presence is a looming reminder of your position in this world. His slender fingers feel warm and smooth against the skin of your throat as he tilts your chin so that you are looking in his eyes. You wonder if Eris’ touch feels as perverse.

It wasn't that night in Hewn City, you remember. That night he had touched you with such careful reverence.

Like you were a Goddess worth kneeling too.

“You should be warned,” Beron says to you, his eyes bore into yours and in them you see something akin to devilment cross them. Beron’s voice is soft and pensive in a way that seems rehearsed “The Autumn Court is an inhospitable place for outsiders.”

“Rhysand might be content for you to play at war and politics but you will find that in Autumn it is not becoming of a Lady of your position.”

“Yes, My Lord” you say, your voice equally as soft, with an almost breathless quality to it as the realization of his words takes root in your chest. Your heart is thunderous in your chest-- it beats so loud you’re sure The High Lord of Autumn is privy to it.

Beron hums thoughtfully as he lets go of your chin once more.

“Eris has a dangerous temper -- the fire runs hot in his veins” Beron’s words are chosen carefully, crafted to intimidate. “I can assure you he will not abide these foolish notions any more than I will.”

You nod meekly, recalling the words of Elain’s vision. These violent delights will have violent ends.

“He might be blinded by the thought of a pretty face and a tight cunt for now but it won’t last.” He muses to himself and again you see that light fade from his eyes and morph into a sadistic joy as his words spark outrage on your face.

You don’t dare look at him again lest he see the tears that have gathered at your waterline. Beron considers you for a moment, sweeping you up in his hold so that your arm is wrapped around his bicep loosely and he begins to lead you from the darkness of the cloister and into the light.

“And what will my position be at court?” You ask carefully, observing the harsh set of Beron’s jaw as you talk.

“As Eris’ mate you will be a Lady of the Autumn court -- you’ll take tea and play cards, attend balls -- bear him sons.” Beron laughs, casting a glance to you as you continue your descent down the temple stairs before he takes his leave. Then he is gone with the wave of a hand and he leaves the charred scent of wyrmwood and valerian root in his wake. You lose a shaky breath and try ceaselessly to wipe the unshed tears from your eyes before continuing your descent into the heart of the temple.

Your storm rages violent and cold then; You were born from the depths of the sea. To be cruel and beautiful. You are not some docile little girl or a brood mare destined to bear sons and obey.

You are a storm incarnate and by the time you are done, the whole world will know it.

The temple in Verona is carved deep into the natural sandstone of a cliff face, its sharp peak cleaving it from the valley and river beyond. The grand temple overlooks the river and on days such as this, the smell of seafoam and salt, stains the air. The stained glass windows line the junction between the walls and ceilings, and illustrated in them, is the story of birth, creation and rebirth. It breeds a strange sense of reverence in you. As the sun filters through the windows in beams of shadowed light, the aisle is dappled in a technicolor glow. The air is thick and heady with the smell of wine and smoke and from your spot at the end of the aisle, you can see The High Priestess intoning her mass. The Priestess is obscured by plumes of incense smoke and the flicker of candle flame illuminates her face. She is a vision in the lonine orange light; she is heavily veiled, runes adorn her arms and face, and her eyes shine with a cerulean clarity as she chants her blessings to the Fae in attendance. Her altar is littered with offerings to the mated pair, amphora’s of fae-wine, bouquets of lilac and patchouli, small trinkets and garlands of laurel and pomegranate. The temple is alive with ceremony; a possession of veiled priestesses, anointed with incense, leave a trail of petals in their wake, as they kneel at the foot of the altar before filing into the pews.

“Last chance to run!” It’s Cassian’s voice that jolts you from thought.

He laughs as you clutch at your chest as you reel from his intrusion. He’s dressed in his ceremonial uniform; it’s much prettier than the frayed training leathers you’re used to seeing him in. His broad shoulders seem to strain against the navy fabric that is decorated with embroidered silver brocade. His hair is pushed back behind his ears neatly, a few errant strands catch on the breeze and he looks more like the Cassian you had grown to care for.

“I think it’s a little late for that now.” Rhysand says pointedly to Cassian as he retreats into the aisle to find his seat at the front of the temple with the rest of your family and friends.

On the opposite side of the aisle Beron Vanserra stands near the altar along with Eris and his favorite courtiers and trusted soldiers that gather behind him to bear witness to the hastily brokered mating ceremony his father had managed to coerce you into. And there’s a woman. She’s tall and beautiful with hair the color of sand and a face that is bright and warm. She looks out into the aisle with contempt and then back again to Eris and from here, on the outside looking in, you can see it. Not quite love but fire; consuming and searing through her and the heat seems to seep into his bones as he turns around to meet her eyes and you can swear you see the ghost of regret grace his face.

You will make him kneel to you, you think. As you had done that night in Hewn City. He had called you Goddess then.

A storm incarnate, you remind yourself as you approach the aisle hesitantly. Violent, merciless, and beautiful. With all the force of a raging tempest.

As the orchestral music begins to sweep through the temple you feel Rhysand clear his throat and come to stand at your side, his eyes burning holes into the side of your face. Rhysand is dressed all in black. In his High Lord robes he cuts an intimidating figure. In this holy light he looks quite beautiful, in a boyish sort of way, never really having shed that youthful magnetism that seemed to enamour everyone so. On any other day, you wouldn’t have looked twice at Rhysand but as your freedom hangs precariously in the balance you want to cling to something you know-- something warm and familiar and safe. So you take his arm as he guides you out into the aisle.

Your vision is partially obscured by the light mesh veil that adorns your face. It’s honey coloured and decorated with tiny ruby crystals that fall like tears. The dress itself looks like wine red; satin and chiffon that clings to you like water as it marks the contours and caverns of your body in a way that makes you feel laid bare. The fabric is gathered about your bust delicately and accentuates the slope of your shoulders. Rhysand’s cool fingers rub comforting circles into the flesh of your arm where he holds it tight. He feels your tense involuntarily as the harps swell to a stop when you step up to the heart of the temple.

Then you see him; it’s hypnotic and slightly aggravating as he examines you, his eyes trailing over your body and coming to land on your face. He looks at you and you feel as though light goes all through you. He’s steeped in jewel tones that saturate him in autumnal light as he stands against the cool marble and stone of the temple. His hair is tousled and rust coloured in the half-extinguished candle flame and his eyes shine like amber, incandescent and devastating. His tunic is jade coloured and embellished with gold thread along the cuffs and collar.

“Come forward, child,” the Priestess gestures to you as you take a step towards the altar, bowing your head in a show of devotion. She takes your hand in hers and kisses it chastely, murmuring a blessing against your skin. She repeats the action for Eris before gesturing to you to face him. When you turn to face him he takes a step forward on certain feet and takes hold of the sheer fabric that veils you, briefly admiring the feel of it between his fingers before bringing it over your head in one fluid movement so that your face is entirely unobstructed from view. Eris burns bright; a slow-burning flame. It’s warm and all-consuming but no less volatile, no less devastating. As the priestess continues to intone her blessings, you and Eris stand, looking at each other in the light searching for something to cling to in each other’s eyes in those sinking moments. In a flurry of movement the priestess takes your hand again before pressing the ceremonial blade to your palm, the metal glints in the dappled light and a slicing burn gives way to blood that pools like rubies at Eris’s feet.

Stepping to the altar he grasps your hand in his as a pained hiss escapes you. His hands are broad and warm and his fingers are long and graceful as they ghost over your cold skin. Your fist clenches in his unrelenting grip and when he feels it, he yields to you, his hand going slack as your fingers curl around his. He had the strange tenderness of someone who has never been loved, it seems almost rehearsed. His palms and the pads of his fingers are rough and mottled with fire and the way he holds your hand in his is possessive.

Sacred and perverse.

His hand pulls away from you now and in turn he offers it up to the priestess, she turns it over in her grasp and slices into his palm as she had done to you. He places his hand in yours again. Palm to bloody palm as he sinks to his knees before you. He kneels to you in his own show of reverence; you, the visage of some ancient deity and he, the last devotee.

Eris Vanserra works diligently, threading the ribbon through your joined hands, binding your bloody hand to his. The crimson ribbon that joins you, a representation of the oaths by which you are bound together.

Your shared sin.

The words come next; spoke in unison and recited like a prayer:

Ode to my love;

Blood of my blood, bone of my bone;

Here, I surrender myself unto you;

In sight of The Mother;

I give that which is only mine to give;

My word, my bond, my fealty,

I pledge to shield your back, and keep your counsel,

I pledge that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,

And yours the arms in which i wake

I pledge to you my living and dying;

I am yours and you are mine,

From this day until our last day.

The next few hours seem to pass in a perpetual state of anxiety induced haze and you bear witness to it all from somewhere outside of yourself; a ghost or spectator to the tragedy that had become your union to The Autumn Prince.

Your beautiful mate.

This should have been a happy occasion; the union of two souls, bound together by the Gods themselves. Born from the same star. But Beron Vanserra had robbed you of any romantic notions that today is anything but a warning fire.

You are a vulnerability. His mate. And whether Eris Vanserra loves you or not Beron intends to exploit that vulnerability; a pretty ornament to bring Eris to heel.

The ballroom is a show of opulence; soaked in the amethyst fae-light and chandeliers glitter like moonglow on open water. The paintings hang on the wall, rich oil on canvas, framed in gilded gold and the high table is decorated with fine ivory place settings and delicate china adorned with painted autumn leaves. The retinue of Beron’s courtiers look like a jewel-toned fire; flames of amber, topaz, and ruby that burn through the cool light of the ballroom as they take to their seats. It’s a great farce. The way that the colours of night and autumn come together in a crude harmony. You wonder if Eris sees it too.

The music is soft and loud and mixed with the laughter and idle chatter the hall is a cacophony of sound, no longer ceremonial and orchestral but rather, jovial and light-hearted with an undercurrent of anticipation. From your position at the heart of the high table, you can see the courtiers of Night and Autumn mingling on the lower tables, and as the fourth course is served, it seems inebriation is beginning to set in. Their faces in the crowd are exaggerated and expressive, the distinct wine-blush staining the room a specific shade of hedonism. The air is thick with it, wine and body heat. It’s almost tangible.

The sound of Cassian’s voice echoes along the high table as he and Nesta seem to be in the midst of a heated debate. Feyre and Mor are quietly discussing court gossip with animated gasps and hand gestures that you only catch from the corner of your eye. All of that is drowned out by the conversation between Rhysand, Beron and Eris.

You only stare on, watching and waiting as the evening begins to unfold before you.

You cast your eyes along the table to see that it is laden with food; roasted meats, and seasonal vegetables, garnished with fragrant spices and herbs that taint the air with their aroma. It’s pure gluttony. More food than you have ever seen, piled high and largely untouched. It seems cruel to you. To be confronted with such abundance now, when once, hunger was all you knew. It should feel like heaven to live in the knowledge that you will never know poverty again but sometimes it feels like condemnation. To live knowing that your life, meagre as it was, had been stolen from you and in its place, this.

The stiffening of the body next to you brings you back from the precipice. Eris is a vision in the sapphire light; his face is beautiful in the most conflicting ways. He’s all delicate and angular; soft slopes and harsh lines that come together in opposing harmony. His face is a perfect juxtaposition. He’s a slow-burning fire tangled in the amethyst moonglow.

“You should eat something,” His voice is tense and low and he doesn’t deign to look at you when he speaks. Even his presence is contradictory in nature; the way his face is set in a neutral expression that arches on contemptuous, and yet, his hand, still bound to yours, is warm and tender, as the calloused pad of his thumb strokes slow tortuous circles into the skin of your hand.

“I’m not hungry,” it is a lie, an obvious one at that, as at that moment your stomach seems to betray you. He laughs then. Much to the ire of Beron who sends one measured glance to his heir, never quite looking away from Rhysand as he talks about some foreign policy or the other.

The laugh itself is not wholly cruel but teasing, meant to make you feel small as he finally turns his gaze on you. It’s fierce and piercing, warm and you think that when he is looking at you the whole world melts away for a few moments. Eris is handsome; of that there had never been any doubt. Especially in this light he almost takes your breath away.

“Please eat something, little fox.” is all he says finally, cutting through the tension that had settled over the two of you.

You laugh back at him now as he watches you carefully, his stare is unyielding and burns into the side of your face. Yet you refuse him the satisfaction of looking back at him. It is Beron’s stare that has you shrinking in place, searing and critical as it bores into the side of your face. It is then you notice the woman he had brought with him looks at you both with a peculiar mixture of envy and scorn that makes heat coil in your stomach, it creeps up on you, kissing its way up your throat and ghosting over your cheeks, leaving blush stains in its wake.

You look at him once more, forlorn and dejected when he won’t meet your gaze. You look down to the space between you to the place where your hands are bound to his. Your hands are clasped together and come to rest on your thigh innocently as his thumb continues to rub small circles into the skin of your hand. It’s absent-minded and self-soothing on his part. You doubt he realizes or cares about the comfort it has been bringing you in these moments when you feel like you are drowning. So you surrender yourself to the tide.

You are the sea; wild and untamed, sacred like salt. A force to be reckoned with. And try as he might, he will not burn you.

When your stomach elicits another growl you relent to him and decide to eat something after all even if the satisfaction on his face is enough to awaken the storm brewing inside of you. It’s not quite anger but either way, it washes over you and awakens you with a jolt.

With your free hand you grab the first thing in front of you; pomegranate, ripe and sweet-smelling and red. Red like the thread that binds you to him. You spend a few moments contemplating it before letting your free hand fall to your thigh, to the place where his body joins with yours. You begin tugging at the binding in an attempt to free yourself from his tender grip.

“No!” His voice is louder and sterner than he meant for it to sound as he pushes you away with his unbound hand.

“Why not?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at the harsh tone in his voice, “it’s just a stupid ribbon.”

You attempt to free yourself again, only this time his grip is rough and unrelenting.

“That stupid ribbon is thousands of years of tradition, girl.” It is Beron’s voice, cruel and malignant that chastises you.

“My apologies.” you say dumbly in response, looking down to where your hands are joined in shame, “forgive me High Lord.” You’re not sure if it's Beron of Eris you are apologizing to. But it is Beron’s words that play on your mind.

Eris bids you to look at him when his father is once again taken into conversation with Rhysand and you notice then how Eris’ amber gaze softens with his grip as he lets go of your free hand and he waves you off as you look on apologetically. These are the traditions of his people. And foreign as they are to you, they are his; yours now too you suppose.

“The ribbon signifies the sacred vows we have made to each other.” Eris explains carefully and those amber eyes never once leave yours. Even as he brings his free hand to cradle your face in one hand, or as he runs a tender thumb over the the smooth flesh of your cheek.

“I’m sor-” you move to apologize again though the words are cut short when Eris squeezes your hand comfortingly beneath the table and offers you a secret smile. A secret courtesy to be kept between you and him.

“Think nothing of it, wife.” There’s a little bite to the words that speak to his jest and you feel once again that you are talking to the man that had enamored you so that night in Hewn City.

He clears his throat again to speak.

His voice is measured and calm this time as he says “It can’t be removed until the wedding night.”

“The wedding night?” you ask, looking up at him as he turns away again.

“Until the marriage has been consummated.” Eris clarifies, not daring to look at you he shifts a little in his seat, crossing his boot-clad leg over his knee.

“Ahah! The bedding!” Beron leers at you and you notice the twitch in Eris’ jaw but his face remains set in a perfectly neutral expression before morphing into his own rehearsed smirk. He mutters something to his father that you can’t quite catch but whatever it is, it is enough that Beron hums in satisfaction and turns back to The Night Lord of Night with a dangerous smile on his lips.

You swallow hard.

Your throat goes dry and makes it harder to swallow your dread. Silence settles over you both again, you’re not sure that he notices or pays much mind to you in those moments but drowning in the silence, you feel his hand squeeze yours with a fond pressure that makes your heart swell with something close to affection.

After a few more moments of that awkward silence and his hand squeezing yours, you dare to look along the table again. Beside you Rhys is sat in a grand chair that marks him as a High Lord, next is Feyre who cradles Nyx in her arms as he sleeps soundly despite the music and chatter of the courtiers. Nesta and Cassian seem wholly immersed in each other, each drinking deeply from their cups as their conversation becomes louder. At some point, she catches your eye and quirks a brow at you in question. You can’t think of what to do so you only shake your head a little in response, hardly enough for anyone else to notice.

Moving on you find Azriel in the crowd, he’s pressed against the wall, drink in hand, spectating from the sidelines as he does, lying in wait for something to catch his attention. Something does catch his attention though; it’s you. He sees the way you watch him carefully. There was something dark and reassuring in his eyes, a wordless conversation contained between you and him in that moment. He’s been a friend to you this whole time, and his distrust of Eris meant he was the only one openly vocal about his reservations regarding your marriage to the Autumn prince. Apart from you of course. Azriel slinks off into the shadows and not long after you notice that Elain has also managed to escape. There is some amusement in how obvious they are in their affections for each other and yet, not one person is observant enough to take notice of it.

“Your sister, Elain,” he starts, there is a menace in his voice and a thread of amusement as he cocks a brow to Lucien who is dancing with Feyre now, “She’s my brother's mate, yes?”

“She is, My Lord.” You nod, your eyes fixed on Lucien, who had been begrudgingly invited and you find yourself enamored by his graceful movements as he sweeps Feyre up in one fluid motion, turning with her in his arms before placing her on the ground again. Lucien is beautiful you think; not in the same way as Eris perhaps, Lucien is sunlight where Eris is fire-- but beautiful still.

“Have you noticed the way she always seems to disappear in a room full of people and no one seems to notice,” It’s not meant to be a jape or a taunt just simple observation on his part as his eyes scan the room and Elain is nowhere to be found amongst the masses of bodies.

“The spymaster, too.” he adds, his tone is careful and bereft of emotion.

“How strange,” you say, offering him a weak smile in response. Any smart retort lives and dies on the tip of your tongue at that moment and you’re left trying to scrape some dismissal together but no matter how hard you try, nothing will come forth.

“Perhaps they have retired to their beds for the night.” he offers, a sly smile on his beautiful lips.

Clearly, someone else is taking note.

He turns to you then and you can see the wicked smile that takes over his features but it is gone just as quickly as he looks down at you clumsily holding your knife in hand in an attempt to tear open the fruit in front of you so that you may finally eat.

“Here,” he says softly, reaching over you with his free hand to take the pomegranate from your hands, “give me the knife”.

“Don’t trouble yourself, My Lord,” you say quickly, your hand covering his to stop him in his tracks.

“No you don’t” he says simply waving your hand away again. Eris holds out his large hand to you, his palm open and expectant as his eyes find yours. Gods, he is devastating, you think. And intimidating. You see a flash of fire cross his eyes and Beron’s words play in your mind once more.

You twirl the cheese knife in your hand once more before handing it to Eris with a trembling touch. Eris is skilled with a knife. His fingers are elegant and deft with a blade like he knows it innately. It is malleable under his touch and glides through the air as he carves into the pomegranate. Fruit flesh relents to the sting of his blade; sweet liquid spills onto his fingers like blood and the seeds shine like rubies in the candlelight. Eris takes a seed between his thumb and forefinger, holding it to the light before holding it to the sulk on your lips. Fruit flesh is cool and wet against your lips, the juice is tart and sweet and red.

Almost metallic.

Almost like blood.

It takes you a few moments to relent to him but when you do, you obediently open your mouth to him; all pretty pink lips and canines. It’s feral the way he watches you. The way you watch him. Like two predators circling their prey. There’s the ghost of a dare glinting in his eyes when you lean into him and wrap your lips around his fingers. It’s metallic and sweet, a heady mixture of skin and seed. You moan gospel around his deft fingers and when you are done he looks as though he is ready to devour you.

The little peace that you had found in those moments seems to subside with the abrupt ending to the music as Rhysand stands beside you raising a glass to the room, with others following one by one to also raise their glasses.

“As the night draws to its close, let me be the first to wish you both well; my greatest wish is to see your bond grow strong, and with it the pledges we have borne witness to today. Your union is tangible proof of the alliance between our two courts and with your love, let those allegiances too grow strong so that we may all know peace and abundance in equal measure.”

As Rhysand’s speech draws to its close you feel Eris’s hand again squeezing at yours as if in warning for what will come next. Rhysand’s words didn’t surprise you as you thought they might, they lacked any brotherly sincerity and in its place was the proof that you had been sold to Eris so that Rhysand may profit off your sacrifice.

“As is tradition, the bride and groom will now retire to their bed.” As those words leave Beron’s lips you feel yourself pale in a mixture of embarrassment and dread. It’s Cassian who draws your attention as in his drunken stupor he hollers at the mere mention of the bedding. Nesta is quick to silence him with a jab to the ribs and she sends you an apologetic half-smile. Not that it appeases you any. This is the fate they have designed for you. It is easier to resign yourself to it, and relinquish control instead of having it taken from you. Breaking is easier than being broken.

As the music begins again Eris seems to don a mask; his smile is saccharine as he rises to his feet in one fluid motion and you follow shortly after. He leads you to the middle of the ballroom and looks again at where your bodies are joined together. He places his free hand on the small of your back and in turn, you wrap your arm around his shoulder. He leads you effortlessly into a slow, sultry walk as you and he slink from the opulent ballroom and into the long, narrow corridors of The Forest House.

“Are you afraid?” Eris asks gently as he examines you carefully and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger at the swell of your breasts or the way his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip as he leads you up the grand staircase.

“Should I be afraid, My Lord?” you ask incredulously, offering him a sweet, amenable smile. That is what they want you to be, isn’t it? Agreeable, obedient, docile. A pretty thing to warm his bed and keep his counsel until his father is dead and buried.

He looks down at where your hands are bound together and you swallow hard.

You have already been bought and sold and with every passing second you can’t help but think your fate is to be a broodmare to birth sons and live in quiet isolation.

As Eris’s own mother has.

That behind Eris’s scheming and his initial hesitancy to claim you, there is still a lingering sense of ownership. That he felt entitled to you, to your body and your life should it come to that. All because The Mother deemed him worthy of you. For all his solemn promises he still bought you for a price.

“I won’t touch you,” there is sincerity in his voice that warms you, nerves set alight as his broad hand ghosts your uncovered shoulder.

“Not until you ask me to, anyway,” he adds, there is an air of playfulness in his voice but there is something else. At that moment you are assured that if you would have him, Eris would ravage you. He might be a cruel prince with a wicked temper, but there is an irresistible and undeniable tension between you. Something that calls your body to his. Perhaps it is the wine, or the gravity of the vows you have sworn to one another but either way, this man before you is lust incarnate.

“What if I never want you to touch me?” you retort, there is something unserious about the way you say it. Both of you know that it is only a matter of time before you permit him into your bed.

“I can’t say I’ve ever dreamed of the priesthood.” He laughs a little. It is sweet and careless as his hand dips a little lower on your hips.

“I’m sure you’ll find some pretty little nymph to devote yourself to,” you say, thinking of the sandy-haired woman who had been watching you all night. Eris’ face twists into a fox-like grin. Like he has finally got you right where he wants you.

“Who was the woman here today, the one with the golden hair?” you ask, your gaze wavering under the heat of Eris’ stare.

“Her name is Chryseis, but you needn’t pay her any mind” he reassures you, forcing you to look at him. And only him. He’s right. She isn’t important, not truly. What’s more pressing is the way her eyes trailed you contemptuously and the feeling of volatile jealousy that toot root in your body. It is unnatural and selfish. Whatever Eris and that woman share predates you, and any vows he made to you.

“She is very beautiful” You don’t quite know where the words come from but it tastes like saltwater on your tongue, “Is she what you gave up to have me?”

“She is nothing to me,” he says honestly. You think it is nice to see him like that, in those small moments where he is unencumbered by all that plagues him.

In that moment, you stand there, your hand still bound to Eris and again you allow the world to dissolve like sugar on your tongue when he is looking at you like that. His fire is gentle and slow-burning now, it comes off him in hot plumes of smoke.

“Do you always ask so many questions?” he quips as he tries to catch his breath, painfully aware of how your hearts beat in tandem, “Or only when you’re jealous?”

He’s toying with you now and humiliation coils tight in your chest.

“Why would I be jealous of your lover?” you say, all bared teeth and venom as the tension between you cools to anger. It’s unnerving, and your hairs stand on end in morbid anticipation. As he closes the gap between you so that you are chest to chest. So close that his lips ghost over your own as he comes to whisper in your ear.

“I never said she was my lover” Eris jibes, only half-amused as he takes in the way you shrink before him as his fathers words ring in your ears once again each time you bring yourself to fan the flames of his anger.

“If you want me to forsake all other women, all you have to do is ask.” his breath is hot on your neck and he stares down at you, hypnotized by the rise and fall of your chest. “I offered as much that first night in Hewn City, don’t you remember?”

“Let it be my first act as your husband.” The way he says it is full of ardour and taunt. You’ve no doubt that he would too. But you are the sea; violent and willful and you will not surrender to him yet.

You don’t say anything then only press your bound palm to his before leaning into him. His eyes pierce your soul and warmth pools in the pit of your stomach as his hot breath fans your face, lips coming to meet yours in a tender kiss. Only before you can heed the call of your soul to his, you pull away from him.

Eris hisses at the sudden loss of touch and he drops his free hand and begins to untether your hand from his. He turns his back to you, readjusting his posture to a cool, calculated slouch that exudes an aura of arrogance that he wears so well. The sounds of his riding boots against the tile cut through you like a knife. He tosses his head to the side, long russet strands framing his profile as he speaks again.

“You called me a Goddess once, do you remember?” Your eyes search his and in that strange amber gaze you see the man you saw that night is Hewn City. Wicked and vulnerable and good, despite it all. Eris nods and you watch the long column of his throat as he swallows thickly.

“Tonight I will let you kneel at my altar.” Eris Vanserra moves like a man starved; all teeth and tongue and ardent hands as he pushes you up against the wall outside of him apartments. His kiss is all consuming and devouring as he claims you with reckless abandon. His hands are warm and sure against you; one that holds your jaw gently and the other holds your hip in a bruising grip.

“You are going to be my ruin, wife.” His echoing whisper answers as his figure retreats into the darkness with the promise of what is to come.

#eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris acotar #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction

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folkandbooks · 8 months

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Pshh, hey. If you are in a budget or if you have to hide your practice, I have some witchy tips for you.

• You don’t need to have an altar. But if you want to, creating an altar on a wooden box is great; you can collect stuff to put in there and you can hide it under your bed.

• You don’t need crystals. Common rocks can be energised to act with a certain intention and they work just as well. You can also associate the place you got the stone/rock from with an intention, such as: a rock from a river or sea can be used for cleansing, purifying, taking energies away from you. A stone found at the property of a hospital can be used for health spells. These are vague examples, so I might make a list later on of all kinds of things you can do with mineral founding.

• Energised water is a great offering to most entities. Water holds memory and it’s easy to energise it with a certain intention if you concentrate.

• You don’t actually need candles. For many deities, an object that remembers you of them works as a taglock, an identification of the deity you’re worshipping. Besides, many spells do not need candles to work, such as: ritual baths, petitions, etc.

Have fun, and remember that your practice isn’t meant to look the same as other practitioners’. We are supposed to do things our own way, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone or anything.

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themirroredmoon · 2 years

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Superstitions!

The following list are some of the superstitions that I’ve heard or learned about over the years, in no particular order: • Throw rice in the air to make it rain • Carry a potato during winter to ward against colds • Smell dill to get rid of hiccups • Lay thorn branches by your doorstep to keep evil away • Place chips of cedarwood in a box with coins do draw money to you • Hang seaweed in the kitchen to ward off evil spirits • Burn allspice to draw money, luck, and healing • Place a piece of cotton in a sugar bowl to draw good luck to your home • Scatter chili flakes around your house to break a curse • Scatter salt/sugar to purify a room • Put a pine branch above your bed to ward off illness • Carry a chunk of dried pineapple to draw luck • Ask an orange a question before you eat it, then count the seeds. Even # = no. Odd # = yes • Toss oats outside your back door to ensure beautiful crops/plants • Place lilacs around the house to rid unwanted spirits • Add salt to bath for purification • Write your sigils on stones and carry them with you • Put sigils on medication bottles to help quicken their efficiency or for added healing benefits • When guests come over, light a white candle by the door; it will take their negative energy and purify the home. • To get rid of guests overstaying their welcome, turn any broom in your house upside down (bristles up) • Toss salt on the front porch every Friday for good luck and prosperity • Carry a blade of grass to increase psychic power • If something or someone is bugging you, write it on toilet paper, wipe, and flush it down the toilet

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themodernwitchsguide · 9 months

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greek god epithets

this post includes zeus, hera, athena, demeter, ares, hephaestus, and poseidon. for part two including hades, persephone, hekate, aphrodite, hermes, apollo, artemis, and dionysus click here

epithets are surnames (as <god's name> <epithet>) used to call upon the greek gods without saying their name directly. the epithet that you choose often corresponds to the purpose you are invoking them for

ZEUS:

-OMBRIUS/HYETIUS/APHESIUS= of the rain

-SCOTITAS= the dark/murky

-CERAUNIUS= of the thunderbolt

-ASTRAPAEUS= of the lightning

-CATAEBATES= the descending

-LABRANDEUS= the furious/raging

-ICMAEUS= of moisture

-CONIUS= of the dust

-MAEMACTES= the boisterous

-EVENEMUS= of fair winds

-LIMENOSCOPUS= the watcher of sea havens

-BASILEUS/CORYPHAEUS= the king/chief/ruler

-HYPATUS/HYPSISTUS= the supreme

-CTESIUS= of the house/property

-HERCEIUS= of the courtyard

-BULAEUS= of the council

-AMBULIUS= the counsellor

-TELEUS/ZYGIUS= of marriage

-MOIRAGETES= the leader of the Fates

-CLARIUS= of the lots

-SEMALEUS= the giver of signs (like clairvoyant messages)

-MECHANEUS= the contriver

-COSMETES= the orderer

-THEUS AGATHUS= the good God

-EPIDOTES= the giver of good

-PLUSIUS= of wealth

-PHILIUS= of friendship

-XENIUS= of hospitality/strangers

-HICESIUS= of suppliants

-PHYXIUS= of refuge

-PALAMNAEUS= the punisher of murderers

-CATHARSIUS= of ritual purification

-PROSTROPAEUS= the turner of pollution

-APEMIUS= averter of ills (ailments)

-SOTER= the savior/deliverer

-MILICHIUS= the gracious/merciful

-PANHELENIOS= of all the Greeks

-LAOITES= of the people

-POLEIUS= of the city-state

-SOSIPOLIS= the city-savior

-ELEUTHEREUS= of freedom

-CHRYSAORUS= of the Golden Sword

-STATIUS/AREIUS= of war/the warlike

-STHENIUS= of strength/the strong

-TROPAEUS= turns to flight/who defeats

-PHYXIUS= puts to flight/banishes

HERA:

-PAIS= the girl

-NYMPHEUOMENE= the betrothed bride

-TELEIA= the (adult) woman/the goddess of marriage

-CLEIRA= the widow

-GAMELIA= of marriage

-ATAUROTE/PARTHENOS= the virginal

-ZYGIA= presider over marriage

-HENIOCHE= of the chariot

-ANTHEA= of the flowers

-ARGOEA= of the ship Argo

-HYPERCHEIRIA= whose hand is above

-BASILEIA= the queen

ATHENA:

-NIKE= victory

-AREIA/PALLAS= of war/the warlike

-ZOSTERIA= girded in armor

-STHENIAS= of strength/the strong

-POLEMODOCUS= the war sustaining

-HIPPIA= of horses

-CHALINITIS= bridler of horses

-ERYMA= the defender

-SOTEIRA= the savior

-ALALACOMENEIS= the protectress

-POLIAS= of the city

-POLIUCHUS= the city protectress

-POLIATIS= the keeper of the city

-ERGANE= the worker

-PAEONIA= the healer

-HYGEIA= of good health

-ALEA= of escapes to refuge

-AMBULIA= the counsellor

-PRONOEA= of foresight

-APATURIA= the deceiver/of deception

-MACHANITIS= contriver of plans

-OXYDERCES= the sharp sighted

-CORYPHASIA/CORYPHAGENES= relating to the head (like her birth)

-PARTHENUS= the virgin/maiden

-CORIA= the maiden

-XENIA= of hospitality (especially to strangers/foreigners)

DEMETER:

-CHTHONIA/DEO= of the earth

-CHLOE= the green/the first shoots

-EPOGMIA= of the furrows

-ANESIDORA= she who sends forth gifts

-PLUTODOTIRA= the giver of wealth

-CARPOPHORUS/MALOPHORUS= bearer of fruit

-THERMASIA= of warmth/heat

-MEGALA THEA= the great Goddess

-MEGALA MATER= the great Mother

-THESMOPHORUS= the bringer of law

-THESMIA= of the laws

-PROSTASIA= the patron/leader

-PANACHAEA= of all the Greeks

-ERINYS= of fury/wrath

-MELAENA= the black

-LUSIA= the bathing/purifying

-HORAPHORUS= the bringer of season

-POLYPHORBUS= the all nourishing/bountiful

-AGLAOCARPUS= the giver of goodly fruit

-AGLAODORUS= the bestower of splendid gifts

-CALLISTEPHANUS= the beautifully crowned

-EUSTEPHANUS= the lovely crowned

-EUCOMUS= the lovely haired

-XANTHE= the blonde/golden-haired

-CYANOPEPLUS= the dark veiled/cloaked

-CALLISPHYRUS= the beautiful

-CHRYSAORUS= of the golden blade

-DIA THEA= the bright Goddess

-SEMNE= the holy/revered

-HAGNE= the pure/chaste/holy

-ANASSA/POTHIA= the queen

-POTHIA THEAON= the queen amongst goddesses

-CYDRA THEA= the glorious/noble goddess

-ORGIA= of religious orgies

-MYSTERIA= of mysteries

ARES:

-THERITAS= the beastly/brutish

-HIPPIUS= of the horses

-APHNEIUS= the abundant

-GYNAECOTHOENAS= feasted by women

-MIAEPHONUS= the blood stained/bloody

-LAOSSOUS= he who rallies men

-BROTOLOEGUS= the manslaughtering

-ANDREIPHONTES= the destroyer of men

-CHALCEUS/CHALCOCORUSTES= of the bronze/armed with bronze

-TEICHESIPLETES= the stormer of cities

-AATUS POLEMOEO= insatiate of fighting/war

-ENCHESPALUS= spear-brandishing

-RHINOTORUS= shield/flesh piercing

-OXYS= the sharp/piercing

-THOOS= the swift/fleet

-THURUS= the violent/furious

-OBRIMUS= the strong/mighty

-DINUS= the terrible/fearsome

-ENYALIUS= the warlike

-CHRYSOPELEX= of the golden helm

HEPHAESTUS:

-CLYTUS= the renowned/famed

-PERICLYTUS/AGACLYTUS= the very famed/the glorious

-CLYTOMETIS/CLYTOTECHNES= famed for crafts/skills

-POLYTECHNES= of many skills

-POLYPHRON= the ingenious/inventive

-POLYMETIS= resourceful

-AETHALOIS THEUS= the sooty god

-CHALCEUS= the bronze/copper smith

-CYLLOPODIUM/AMPHIGYEIS= referring to his disability

POSEIDON:

-BASILEUS= the king/lord

-PELAGAEUS= of the sea/marine

-AEGAEON= of the Aegeon sea

-PROSCLYSTIUS= who dashes against

-ASPHALIUS= who secures safe voyage

-EPOPTES= the overseer/watcher

-GAEOCHUS= the holder of the earth

-ENNOSIGAEUS= shaker of the earth

-HIPPIUS= of the horses

-HIPPOCURIUS= the horse tender

-PHYTALMIUS= the plant nurturer

-GENETHLIUS= of the kin/the kindred

-DOMATITES= of the house

-LAOITES= of the people

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elysiansparadise · 2 years

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Chiron: Our wounds in the chart

⚷ Chiron is a comet-asteroid that helps us spot some of our wounds. In addition to that, Chiron usually symbolizes the way in which we can heal, as well as show a little charisma through the chart, however in this post I will only talk about wounds and healing. You can get to know yours on Astro.com in the section “additional objects”.

🟫Chiron in 1st house: The wounds fall on oneself, the natives with this placement may have problems accepting themselves, both some facets of their personality and themselves. Self-esteem issues, dissatisfaction with your body, and a desire for a change in your body. The natives have problems to show themselves as they are, to be themselves when surrounded by other people, they are somewhat introverted. They help others to feel better about themselves, to see their good and positive sides, but many times they cannot see something bright in themselves. They question themselves a lot, they may have a tendency to doubt themselves and be somewhat insecure.

🟤Chiron in Aries: The wound lies in the feeling of not being able to be themselves without feeling judged. Ego wounds. Tendency to repress anger. Feeling that in the past they were very submissive and not wanting to be so anymore. Fear of taking the initiative. Much focus on body imperfections that others do not notice.

🤎Ways to work on this: Make a list of things you are good at. Look in the mirror and say loving or positive words to yourself. Find ways to express yourself. Wear comfortable clothes that allow you to feel good about your body. Do not compare yourself with people and progress independently. Accept yourself little by little and just as you are aware of your flaws, become aware of your virtues. Take the advice you give to others. By helping others you help yourself.

🟫Chiron in 2nd house: Insecurity lies in self-worth and self-esteem. The native can be very critical of themselves, they can feel that they aren’t safe no matter where they are. They feel that they have never known stability, and may have had a life with many ups and downs and a sense of little consistency from others. They may not fully enjoy indulging or spoiling themselves. Fear of becoming too attached to things or people.They may feel empty inside, as if something is missing to be completely happy. These natives always make others feel good about who they are, show them that they are enough, that they are beautiful, and open their eyes to see all the good that surrounds them.

🟤Chiron in Taurus: They do not feel stability in their life or in their relationships. Feeling of not being worth as much as others. They do not value themselves or their abilities. They may either have a tendency to develop some kind of attachment or have difficulty sticking to something. Dissatisfied with the way your body looks.

🤎Ways to work on this: Look in the mirror and tell yourself that you value yourself. Buy nice details. Organize your space and throw away the things that you no longer use or do not serve you. Try to get some exercise to clear your mind or go for a walk. Find and play with your style and aesthetic. Sleep when you need to, eat when you need to, listen to your body. Massage your body, your legs and buy essences to purify your environment. Take long showers or baths.

🟫Chiron in 3rd house: The wounds can come from the native's school days, they could have difficulties connecting with others and even difficulties feeling ready or able to learn. They can talk to themselves in a brusque and somewhat insensitive way. Some of them have been judged for their way of thinking and their opinions, people could make them feel unintelligent. They tend to doubt their abilities. You may have trouble connecting with others, feel like you don't make yourself understood, that others don't listen to you, or that what you say isn't important when in fact, it’s really important. You are an excellent listener and an amazing counselor, your words heal and are valuable.

🟤Chiron in Gemini: The voice in their minds can be a bit cruel and overly critical. They don't trust their thoughts. They doubt a lot. Wounds caused by brothers or cousins. Feeling of not being understood when you want to say something. They feel that they are not being heard or that others don’t appreciate what they are saying.

🤎Ways to work on this: Keep a journal where you constantly vent. Writing can be healing for you. Sing. Look for activities to spend your mental energy. Take walks with music to relax. Write the ideas you have. Draw. Talk to the people you love, say what you feel you want and don't care what others think. Write a letter to yourself, either telling how your day was or a love letter to yourself. Learn on your own and don't be afraid to ask questions.

🟫Chiron in 4th house: Yesterday's wounds feel as fresh as the sun through the window of a new day. The native has an excellent memory, so excellent that it makes them remember things that hurt them in the past. Carry many emotional wounds in relation to the family, parents and childhood. Could have had a sad and lonely childhood, feeling left out by family. May not have allowed you to be sensitive or have judged them for being very emotional, so they keep what they feel to themselves and may feel uncomfortable having to talk about their emotions and heaviness. Feeling of having lost home. You make others feel comfortable and safe, you do not judge their emotions and you emotionally nurture like no one else.

🟤Chiron in Cancer: There are wounds caused by childhood and the mother. You may feel that your emotions and needs are ignored or unappreciated. Feeling unloved. Fear of being too sensible or vulnerable in others eyes. Difficulty opening up. Fear of being abandoned or feeling that they were abandoned. Fear of being forgotten.

🤎Ways to work on this: Hug yourself. Cook or eat something you like. Write everything you feel. Watch movies you watched in your childhood. Find activities that nurture your inner child. You can meditate. Sleep when you're sleepy, not when you're bored or sad. Cry if you feel like you want to. Satisfy your needs before those of the rest. Swim a little. Take a long bath. Identify your emotions and look for solutions just as you do with others.

🟫Chiron in 5th house: The wound lies in the self-expression and the ego. These natives may feel unappreciated or undervalued, and may deal with the feeling of being ignored and judged by others. May be judged for being “not so rational” when young, becoming more reserved and self-conscious. They may have trouble believing in the potential of their talents or even seeing themselves as talented. They are afraid that others will see them as immature, ridiculous or very incoherent. They decide to be guided more by the mind due to the distrust of being guided by the heart and getting hurt or badly off. They help others see their brilliance and be who they really are without fear of public opinion.

🟤Chiron in Leo: Their fears often block their creativity. Fear that others will harm them and make them feel inferior. Lack of spontaneity. Fear of being ignored or being judged by others. An internal desire to shine and to be recognized for their virtues, for being who they are. Desire to be accepted.

🤎Ways to work on this: Express yourself through art, writing, dance, painting, music. Look in the mirror and say that you love yourself and that you are worth it. Recognize your virtues and talents first. Make a list of everything you're good at. Make a list of virtues that define you. Do the things you want because you want to, not to impress others. Get rid of the opinion of others. Become aware of virtues and flaws, value yourself for the good and work on the bad.

🟫Chiron in 6th house: The wound falls in living in the expectations and trying to be perfect. Natives with this placement have difficulty relaxing, they are prone to demanding a lot from themselves and setting very high standards for themselves. Work hard to improve themselves, too critical of what they do and very hard once they make a mistake. Could feel that family or superiors put more pressure on them. They need to feel productive and useful, they enjoy helping others both on a practical and emotional level, but they do not allow themselves to be helped. Make others aware that they don't have to be perfect, that they are great just the way they are and make them treat themselves more gently.

🟤Chiron in Virgo: Excessive desire for self-control and not showing vulnerability. Inability to accept or ask for help. You can help others so much that you forget to help yourself. You feel like you never do enough or that you don't do it that well. They may have overthinking and anxiety problems.

🤎Ways to work on this: Interact with animals, pet a cat or a dog. Clean your room or area where you spend more time. Water the plants. Go shopping. Make lists where you set small goals and reward yourself when you achieve them. Give yourself a compliment in front of the mirror. When you finish doing something, thank yourself for having done valuable work. After helping others, give yourself some time to fix your own problems. Make it a habit to write in a journal.

🟫Chiron in 7th house: The wound falls in relationships and in the way of interacting with other people. Many people may feel that they connect easily with the native, that they are understood and appreciated, but the native has trouble connecting with others, feeling loved or comfortable with other people. You can have problems in your relationships attracting hurt people, with problems or in the worst cases, victimized people. They have a tendency to keep their distance from others so as not to get hurt, they fear the idea of infidelity or that their partner does not trust them. They are people with a lot of tact and understanding of the pain of others, empathetic and people trust them easily.

🟤Chiron in Libra: They have trouble finding a balance between others and themselves. They feel that their lives are out of balance. Trouble opening up romantically or with a partner. Sensation of being alone even if accompanied. Wounds from injustice and betrayal. Feeling that you must always be alert.

🤎Ways to work on this: Get together with fewer people but give you a more positive relationship. Be open to meeting people. Identify what went wrong in other relationships and learn from those mistakes. Go shopping and dress as you like. Analyze and give yourself the time to get to know people before you open up. Do not let others' issues eclipse yours. Practice some kind of art. Give yourself time to heal before opening yourself up to a new relationship [love or friendship].

🟫Chiron in 8th house: The wound lies in the betrayals of the past that are etched in their minds. Tendency to blame themselves for things that weren’t in their control. Fear of generating some type of attachment with another person, since it is not easy for them to trust others and their intentions. When someone betrays them, they prefer to close their hearts with a triple lock and never trust others again. May be issues related to a person who should have been there for the native but never was, a feeling of little support. Wounds related to sexuality or sexual life. Some may judge you based on your sexual preferences or your sex life. They give others intensity and stability, they never judge, they only understand.

🟤Chiron in Scorpio: Some of these natives fear losing a loved one, they fear change or being very close to someone. They don't forget or forgive easily if you hurt them. There is a strong emotional wound related to lies, betrayal, deception, or estrangement. Either afraid or fascinated by death. Fear of being dependent.

🤎Ways to work on this: Shadow work, use esotericism in your favor. Astrology to understand you better and accept you. Swim or do other activities in the water. Forgive, practice forgetting if you can't forgive and stay away from those who don't bring you anything positive. Meditate or do some sport to vent your emotions. Establish healthy boundaries and break down some blocks that you put between yourself and others.

🟫Chiron in 9th house: The wounds of the native fall on the issue of faith and feeling discriminated. They are people who for things in life have become skeptical, have lost faith that there is goodness in the world, and have even lost faith in themselves and their abilities. People can offend or annoy them because of their way of thinking, because of their beliefs, or because of things like their gender, their religion, or their race. They could have coexisted with people who are intolerant. May have problems with teachers. They make others feel full and happy very easily, they like to surround themselves with people who are different from them and do not discriminate against them for their differences.

🟤Chiron in Sagittarius: Problems seeing the bright side of life, tendency to skepticism and excessive pessimism. They constantly feel judged. Problems for being different or having opinions that differ from those of the family. Lack of faith in life. Feeling that people do not understand your point of view.

🤎Ways to work on this: Look for answers to the questions you have. Write your dreams and things that make you happy. Remember that happiness is moments not eternity, do things that give you happiness even if it is momentary. Travel, physically or spiritually. Learn about a topic that interests you. When you think about the bad, make a list of the good. Try new things and connect with people from other places.

🟫Chiron in 10th house: The wound of these natives is tied to their need to want to go far and fear of failure. The native's parents could have demanded a lot from them, but at the same time not having valued the achievements that the natives had and simply asking for more and more. The native fears being judged, but wants their efforts to be recognized. They are afraid of failing, making mistakes and that people will point them out for it. It is likely that they grew up in a tense environment and had to learn to have inner peace despite external chaos. Problems with the father and/or authority figures. They give a sense of peace and stability to others, ease to guide them and value their efforts.

🟤Chiron in Capricorn: Feeling of being in the crosshairs and constant judgment of your father. Misunderstandings with him. They feel that much is required of them and that others have results more easily than they do. Lack of recognition for their work. Problems with authority figures. They matured before their time.

🤎Ways to work on this: Reward yourself once you achieve something no matter how small you think it is. Allow yourself to feel angry. Acknowledge your own efforts before wanting others to do so. Write a list of your goals and aspirations. Write your talents and abilities that you have. Be patient with yourself and do not want immediate results. Look at yourself in the mirror and tell how capable you are to achieve whatever you want.

🟫Chiron in 11th house: The wound falls into the feeling of not belonging and being invisible. These natives may have difficulty finding their place in a group of people, they may feel that they do not fit in with people their age because of how they think, with their "friends" or even with their family. Loneliness hurts them but they have already gotten used to it in a certain way. Some fear being themselves and adapt to what is trendy to fit in, many others prefer not to fit in and continue to be themselves, whatever it is, they rarely feel like they belong. They may feel that society or others do not accept them. They have the ability to accept others as they are and make friends with anyone.

🟤Chiron in Aquarius: They feel that it is there for friends but they are not there for the native. Trouble feeling like you fit in and having friends. Friendships that hurt them. They feel judged because others see them as weird. You feel misunderstood, abandoned and ignored. Fear that their freedom will be taken away. Some fear of commitment.

🤎Ways to work on this: Be selective about the people you surround yourself with. Meet people through the internet. In your privacy, dance and sing like crazy. Get rid of the opinion of others. Put creative ideas you have into action. Make a list of what makes you unique. Have a blog. Enjoy your time alone trying new things, or doing what you like the most. Understand that you are not the problem or others, you just haven't met the right people. Get creative and authentic.

🟫Chiron in 12th house: The wounds fall on the feeling that their suffering is ignored or less important than that of others. They tend to hide when they suffer, when they are sad or emotionally ill because they feel that it is not something that others pay attention to, or that they are not very interested in. They have a tendency to solve other people's problems so as not to think about their own. They are more sensitive and understanding with others than with themselves. They may fear looking or feeling victimized by seeing their own problems. They may have been made to think or feel that their suffering was not of great importance. They are sensitive, compassionate and true healers and love to help others.

🟤Chiron in Pisces: They are defensive because they feel very vulnerable. They fear that others will use them and their empathy. They may feel insecure about themselves. They want to help others but they do not help themselves. Some may have faith problems. They put others before themselves.

🤎Ways to work on this: Write what you feel, paint something that reflects how you feel. Balance your time with others and alone. Meditate or do some yoga. Make a playlist for yourself, write yourself positive notes, listen to music, sing. Have creative isolations from time to time, but don't forget to connect with others. Daydream when you have free time. Taking a bath with rose petals or rosemary. Write what you dream.

⚷ Next we will talk about Chiron's aspects. I limited myself to write about certain planets or angles, making either a positive or tense aspect with Chiron to make it easy to read.

🟫Making aspects with Sun: These natives quickly identify when others have problems with something about themselves. They know how to raise the self-esteem of those they love and how to help them improve their relationship with themselves. These natives have problems accepting themselves, it is likely that they have made them doubt or be very ashamed of some traits of their personality. The relationship with the father can be complicated. Your relationship with yourself can be complicated. Tendency to self-sabotage. The problems with the father are stronger, since the actions of the father could deeply hurt the native. They are an empathetic and understanding person of others, always willing to support someone who is going through a difficult time. They use their experiences and situations to help others find solutions to their problems. Knows how to listen. Excellent advisers. Make others feel better about themselves.

🟫Making aspects with the Moon: They easily heal other people's emotions, they are trustworthy and people feel safe with them. They may have problems with the mother, have a mother who has had very difficult experiences or a mother that tends to victimize herself. They can perfectly remember past wounds and take time to recover from them. They feel insecure when it comes to projecting their emotions and prefer to keep them to themselves, it can be difficult for them to form emotional bonds due to insecurities or past issues. It is difficult for them to open up emotionally because of the fear or being too vulnerable or others taking advantage because of that. They are extremely sensitive to the suffering of others, they like to take care of those who are most vulnerable. If they have children, the problems of their children will hurt the natives deeply. They may feel that childhood was somewhat complicated and that their needs were not fully met.

🟫Making aspects with Mercury: Tendency to constantly remember embarrassments and difficult moments of the past. The relationship with siblings can be either very bad or very healing. They are great at understanding other people's problems and looking for solutions, but not for their own problems. They may question their own intelligence, feel inadequate, or feel that it is difficult for them to learn. They may tell you that their voice is very low [unless it’s in a fire sign], some may have dyslexia or stutter. School life could have been complex. Their wound could cause the native to generate nervousness. Their words have a healing quality and in fact many may like the sound of their voice [especially with aspects like trine or sextile], they help others a lot and their advice is often very welcome by others. They have a lot of knowledge of how to help others and understand them. May have an interest in psychology and anything to comprehend how wounds work and how to heal.

🟫Making aspects with Venus: The subject of love can be somewhat complex. You can attract or seek to be healed through love or heal your loved one. They seek a relationship in which both heal and fully trust each other. Fear of being cheated on or that your partner is lying to you. Great counselors of love even if they consider that they do not have much experience. They love in a very pure way and may have this tendency to not see the flaws in their partner. They may have issues accepting their beauty or feeling attractive. Art can be very healing for them and their artistic work may be able to heal others. They are perfect companions who always help those they love, and may feel unloved at times. Fear that someone is with them just to use them. Their love has a healing quality, they make those they love feel in a unique and beautiful way. The native may have problems with female figures or embracing their femenine side regardless of their gender.

🟫Making aspects with Mars: They may be afraid of taking the initiative for many things, of seeing themselves as too aggressive, but they are also afraid of seeing themselves as too weak. They are excellent leaders who will always defend those who need it or who cannot defend themselves. They may have grown up or been in a very tense, aggressive, or violent environment, which makes them feel like they must always be defensive or alert. They have very well defined boundaries and will do anything to make people respect them. People feel safe and protected by them. Afraid of being seen as fragile, they cover up their issues, problems and rather deal with it independently. They may have problems with male figures in their life. They learned not to rely on others to save them from their problems and instead saved themselves. They can motivate and encourage others to do the same. Tendency to repress anger or desires for fear of taking risks.

🟫Making aspects with Jupiter: They have a facility for understanding and helping others in their emotional crises, both emotionally and in a practical sense. They are very sensitive people and can be easily hurt. They can grow a lot spiritually after overcoming their problems and helping others to get ahead. You may have trouble trusting your own charm and luck, in fact you may sometimes feel like you're out of luck. They can have abundance and luck once they help heal others. You can put so much focus on helping others that you forget to help yourself. They seek to bring positivity to those in need. These people have a lot of spiritual maturity that allows them to learn from negative experiences and the positive aspects of Chiron-Jupiter makes them overcome problems more easily and makes others overcome things more easily too. With the tense aspects it may cost you a bit and you may not see it that way, but you will have the good side.

🟫Making aspects with Saturn: These natives do not treat themselves delicately, they can demand a lot of themselves even after having emotional issues. They may have problems with their dads or authority figures. They do not like to depend on someone to solve their problems. They are excellent at finding quick solutions to other people's problems. They may have trouble having a little fun for themselves or allowing themselves to enjoy life a little, at the same time they feel that they need to be more organized, rational or methodical. They may have a feeling of abandonment or coldness that comes from a somewhat unhappy or difficult childhood. They may have problems with frequent sadness, periods of depression or little desire to do their daily activities. Cold outside, warm on the inside. They prefer to be on their own and are in constant alert. They have a hard time healing but they manage to be the person they would have liked so much to have in the past.

🟫Making aspects with Uranus: They may feel that there is a problem with them, that there is something wrong that they cannot connect with others easily. They can find healing through being alone, with friends or on the internet doing other activities. There may be problems with some relatives due to incompatibilities. Despite being well alone, they fear that they will never be accepted, that they will be marginalized and alienated. They make others learn to be fine on their own, to feel proud of who they are. The natives go a long way to find beauty in what makes them different. They seek to heal their group, it is usual to see them as the counselors of a group of friends or of some community. They can be very good at healing the inner chaos of others, but not so good at their own. Once they accept their own quirks, they will begin to attract people who love their quirks as much as they do, and who share ways of thinking.

🟫Making aspects with Neptune: They feel the need to help the other person, here we have the true empaths, people who have a natural healing quality. They are amazing at providing emotional support, perhaps sometimes more than practical. They sense the wounds of others but may ignore or not know how to handle their own. Sometimes they feel other people's wounds as their own, they can be too empathetic and that can harm them. People feel good about your presence and readily accept your help. It is easy for them to know when a person or even an animal is having a bad time. Others may have made them feel invisible and even forgettable. They have a noble and loving heart that they are afraid to show for fear of being deceived or hurt. But there is something genuinely beautiful in them, and it is that their tenderness and good treatment are not easily forgotten, they make others believe that there are good people in the world.

🟫Making aspects with Pluto: There is something very powerful in them, they manage to transform themselves at a deep level, to be reborn after a crisis, whatever it may be. They are really strong and powerful, they take their time to heal, but healing for them does not usually include forgiving and forgetting as such. They can be somewhat spiteful if you hurt them and they never forget how you make them feel. They may have felt some kind of rejection or hatred in their childhood. These people definitely change the lives of those around them, they have a great intuition to know about the emotions and wounds of the other, they know how to understand and heal them like no one else can. If there is something they have, it is that they know themselves perfectly and seek to transform and make something beautiful and inspiring of their pain.

🟫Making aspects with Rising: These natives may have a facility for healing other people and may actively seek to help others overcome their problems and overcome traumas of any kind. They are very observant and aware of the difficulties and problems of others. However, they have problems healing their own wounds, they are very critical and demanding with them. They hesitate before daring to do something, they usually do not show themselves completely for fear of being judged. Perhaps from a very young age they felt attracted to the topic of helping and healing others. Interest in meditation, therapy or psychology. They like to come across as a strong person with whom you can vent, someone kind who understands your wounds. They always treat others as they would like to be treated. They may have trouble accepting the way their body looks and may see flaws in themselves that others don't pay attention to.

🟫Making aspects with Midheaven: These natives can easily gain the appreciation and trust of the people, because they seem approachable, kind and polite. People can see them as a person who has been through a lot and still has a noble heart. They actively seek to be a person who helps people get ahead and heal through work. They may have a job related to helping others, or at least a job where they inspire others to excel. They may have many problems or differences with authorities. They may feel that it is difficult for them to go far and may doubt their abilities to improve themselves. People tend to see in them a good leader, someone who actively strives to improve the emotional state of the people. If the aspect is tense, people will still find comfort and trust in them, but they will also know that the native is not dealing with their own wounds. You can find a lot of academic and professional success once you heal your emotional world.

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