@olenvasynyt @jon-snows-man-bun @yourveryownplatoniclover @tovibeornottovibe freak nation is Risen—honestly reading back what i have written for this is making me crash out but it’s basically worst timeline veris where eris becomes so paranoid about losing his mate that he essentially initiates a permanent dom/sub relationship by presenting her a collar so he can be assured vera is constantly under his control aka safe, thereby following in beron/iphigenia collaring footsteps—and vera, so used to not having agency, is panicked and unmoored and overwhelmed by suddenly having to Make Choices For Herself, desperate to have someone she trusts take control of her because she had someone she didn’t trust in control of her for so long. unhealthy all around but exactly what they both need. snippet under da cut
"Sit," Eris bids.
Vera perches on the crescent-edge of his throne, silvery hair unbound and dotted with gems like dark stars. Her eyes are bright as she peers down at the wooden box he holds before her: a craftsmanship of dogwood and juniper, polished to a shine, with two braying hounds carved by hand into the lid. She lifts a finger to follow the grooved paths of his crest, touch light enough so as to be entirely unfelt in his grip below.
Yet the weight of this moment presses in on Eris from all sides.
He can feel it clogging his ribs, constricting his heart and clawing up his lungs. He can feel it at his neck, a firm pressure like two hands clasped tight around him, not yet stopping his airway but trembling with their eagerness to. He can feel it muddling his thoughts as he cannot afford for them to be, unearthing memories long past with kin long gone.
Like a lash heavy down the length of his spine, ripping anew the scars he will bear to his death, recalling to him every lesson they imparted: no heir of mine will show such weakness—will live life without a spine—will besmirch the Vanserra name.
Tuned to him like an instrument played by ear, Vera tips her regard up. The motion is disorienting, akin to how it might feel to watch the rain rise rather than fall, to spot the first glimpse of the sun peering over the wrong horizon. He maneuvers around the concern in her gaze by rearranging their positions: him sat on his throne and her atop his thigh.
Still, she looks to him—and before long, he feels her quest out along their bond.
It enraged him the first time it happened, to have anyone in possession of such unfettered access to him. She had not understood the bond between them back then—only that there had been a diverged path to her makings that had not before been there; then, in the span of a heartbeat, uncontrollable, she knew also that what laid on the other side was burning without end. The roaring fury he felt to be so irrevocably exposed had startled her, and she had recoiled in her apprehension. But she reached into his fire again, and again, and again, her skin blistering, her flesh charring, her bones blackening to ash, until she had nestled her moonbright soul into the core of his being.
Now, her presence there within feels only a relief. Tucked away. Preserved behind the raging shield of him.
"You told me this was to be a gift," Vera murmurs, twining a calf about his and leaning her weight on his chest, "yet I have never known such a thing to cause you distress."
Eris settles the sylvan box into her lap, the deep, shifting green of her dress recalling to it the canopy it once bore as a crown in the forest. He says only, "Open it."
A fiendish thrill runs through him as Vera does immediately as she is told, but it gutters as soon as the lid is lifted.
For there, nestled primly against the velveted interior, rests a collet.
Its many jewels sparkle and dance under the glow of his firelight, though none brighter than the large diamond set in the center and the emerald drop hanging down from it, both of which had been cut for just such purpose: small moons to best reflect back the might of his sun. Skilled lesser fae hands crafted antlers up the sides, set flush with seamless stones so that there appears to be no metal at all holding them together. At the ends of their tines, emeralds flourish into hundreds of individual leaves that band the setting, which is itself so pure a silver as to be wrought from strands of her hair.
It is a piece of unparalleled beauty to match her own, crafted to pass well-enough for an ordinary necklace to any other but him, who cannot shake its truth: that she belongs to him and has since that very first moment she braved his heat. This speaks it plain in a way he has never been able to before.
Eris can feel the quickening of her heartbeat as though it is his own, a queer double time against his breastbone.
"A collar," Vera acknowledges.
"A promise," Eris replies.
Though she does not look away from the collar, she tilts her head towards the sound of his voice at the shell of her ear. "Of what?"
Tongue like ash, Eris says, "That you will belong to me, always." He wraps an arm about her waist in the saying, as though hearing it from his mouth is what will cause her to startle, to flee, and his holding tight to her could be enough to prevent it. "That all shall see proof as much on you and know it so. That any who would disrespect that will meet their end."
Vera shivers, a brief judder of her spine that reverberates down into his loins. She offers no response but to sweep the length of her hair to one shoulder, exposing the slender curve of her neck to him, the fair skin there naked and pebbled with anticipation.
Something fierce gives rise in Eris at the sight. He cups her jaw to turn her face towards him, and she shifts the whole of her body, the side of her thigh pressed to his low abdomen, the collar positioned between them.
"That is not all this promises."
"I know," she avers, lifting her chin to bare now her throat.
It is too simple an acquiescence. Even now, it is too simple. Even now, with her glowing inextinguishably inside of him, he expects to have to claw for that which she offers him freely.
"It means you swear to obey me," Eris asserts, the edge of that risen thing jagged in his voice. "Completely and totally."
He watches as her pupils bloom, the black of them eclipsing the verdancy of her irises. In that way of hers which kindles his loins, she then cants her head to the side and intones, "Do I not already?"
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for whoever you’d prefer but I’d like it to involve a vanserra :))
veris + trembling hands, empty
In the hazy unreality between dream and waking, the loss does not yet strike him. He has not opened his eyes; he has not even roused enough to realize that he can do so.
His body unfurls instinctually to stretch out limbs that have been tucked in too tight against his chest through the night, and perhaps much longer beyond. It does not yet alarm him that her weight has not dipped into his, nor that she has not thrown an arm over him, nuzzled into his neck, murmured out some drowsy incoherence.
There is nowhere else for her to be but beside him.
Eris turns into the middle of the bed and reaches for her. Where his hand should catch her waist, it falls through empty air and hits the mattress with a dull thump, one that clatters against his bones. He feels his heart pick up in his chest, then creep slowly up his throat.
Something, he knows now, looms above him.
Something that will crush him through.
Their bed is large, he reasons. Perhaps she became overwarm in the night, and she had to move away. She has told him so often that he feels a hearthside, that to curl up against him is to have no need for any other comfort. This has never been enough to send her fleeing so far before, but she has surprised him many a time since their first meeting.
If he moves a bit farther, if he reaches his hand just another inch, he knows he will brush against her. He will draw her in close; he will wrap himself around her like a vine about a cypress, keep her pressed against him for ever, so that none may prise away one without taking the other.
Eris feels his fingers slip down off the edge of the mattress, and his hands begin to tremble. He balls them into fists, like that will help anything. Like that will keep this loss from cleaving him in two.
Like that will keep him from opening his eyes to their bed, to his life, once more bereft of her.
The banquet is polished and glittering, a coldsnap to the air that Eris staves off with a cocoon of warmth. It is as intimate an affair as such things can be, with each court represented only by their High Lord, his chosen paramour, and the select few nobility made to feel special in their accompaniment. He chose his own only to silence their bemoaning for a blessed week — perhaps two, if he has any luck left to him.
At his side, Vera sits as dull and unremarkable as she has been raised to. Her mouth is closed and kept in perpetual pleasantry, until someone poses her direct question, at which point she looks, unfailingly, to him before being so bold as to answer. She has her hands neatly crossed one over the other in her lap, except when habit brings her to refill his glass before its level can dip too low. The food on her own plate remains as untouched as it can without causing offense, though he knows she has not eaten since the day has broken.
The thought strikes him unbidden: Beron would be proud to see her represent his court as a female ought.
Eris adjusts his weight in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. He washes away the sudden acrid of his tongue with a sip of wine. This only brings the burn down into his chest.
Hesitant as a newly born fawn still to find its footing, Vera reaches over to slip her hand into his. He looks over to find her watching him now, quiet admission in her eyes, where only he is allowed to see her true. There are too many around, both of his court and beyond, for him to tug her in close, bring her into his lap, murmur against her ear that which she needs him to.
Instead, Eris crowds overbearingly into her space, like his father used to do to his mother when she needed correction in public, and says, “If I have to listen to these two prattle on for another moment, I’m going to cause incident.”
Vera is careful not to smile, but he feels her mirth between them all the same. The first of anything he has felt at the bond since they arrived here, in this roomful of more folk than she has known across her life.
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“No,” he agrees. Then, “There is a garden on the grounds.”
“After you.”
Eris gestures for his guards to stay as they make their egress, to keep watch over the others of his entourage in his absence. He keeps a hand on her low back as he leads them out of the hall, and she remains close to his side until they are out of the palace entirely.
She does not need to tell him how relieved she is to be free of the trappings, away from the crowd, alone together in the open world. He can read it on her bearing: the loosening of her shoulders, the softening of her expression, the light returned to her eyes as she pushes ahead into the falling snow.
The whole of her, indeed, begins to glow now.
“Oh,” Vera delights, pointing off of the trail they follow. “Look.”
With some difficulty, Eris pulls his eyes away from her.
A grove of pomegranate trees, their branches heavied with fruit, shadows reaching from them like fingers. Even with the moonlight reflecting off the wintry ground, their color is that of blood, long-dried, death-dark.
Vera starts for them, making it two paces before she stops herself. She looks back at Eris then, pale and apologetic — but he takes solace in her forgetting herself, even if it was only a moment. There was a time when she would not have dared forget herself at all.
If he had not been so preoccupied with this, he might not have said, “Go on.”
“What are they?”
“Bring me one, and I’ll show you.”
She smiles, lovely and bright at her mouth. “As bid, my lord.”
Eris will play this moment out endlessly in the weeks to come. He will unspool it, pull each thread to fraying, then loop them back, so tightly they cut into him. He will notice the eagerness of the tree she chooses, her steps unconcerned with him at her back to keep her safe. He will spot the unnatural depths of the darkness, the way it yawns and quivers like an opening mouth. He will imagine spearing his flame through it and casting it away before it even has the chance to bite down.
But in the now, all Eris can do is watch as the night falls over his shimmering drop of the moon and the Shadowsinger eats her whole.
I’m having a shit day at work bro…quick…I need a cute veris headcanon to save me bro quick
vera is incredibly physically affectionate with eris, in a way he has never known from anyone else. this was really jarring for him at first, but he folded so fast. she's all casual touches at his elbow when she's speaking and limbs tangled together when they're sitting on the same piece of furniture (always) and thoughtless smoothings of his wrinkled tunics or fixings of his hair when it's out of place. she'll come up behind him while he's sitting occupied with something and wrap her arms around his chest and prop her chin on his shoulder and lean her head into his. she'll curl her fingers into the small of his back when they hug like she's afraid he'll disappear if she doesn't hold tight to him. she sleeps wrapped around him like a vine. he has never been good with physical affection, but she makes it feel easy. feel like something he has never known what it’s like to go without. (huge bonus for eris: she is absolutely never this way with anyone else. (except azriel. but in most verses he doesn't mind that.))
OKAY NOW WAIT but Eris putting that gorgeous silver and green (my fav jewelery color scheme btw) collar on Vera in an au TELL ME MORE PLEASE I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH
hehehehe okay first off yeah you have incredible taste bc that is an elite color scheme. second off thank you for your interest in my og babydaughter wow<3
honestly it's not even that far off from their canon dynamic, just kind of ratcheted up to a concerning level that doesn't address their individual traumas and in fact exacerbates them. vera who is out in the big wide world with no direction and no boundaries and no understanding of who she is or what her life should be beyond the estate; vera who feels safest and most loved when eris keeps her close and tells her exactly what to do. eris who needs control over everything and everyone to know any semblance of peace about the constant dangers being close to him poses to his loved ones; eris who feels most comfortable and loved when vera stays close and listens to exactly what he tells her to do. this is like. true heaven for vera because she trusts eris not to make her do things she doesn't want to and extreme reassurance for eris who has never had anyone have such faith in him to do right by them. vera places herself in hands that have wrought extreme violence and pain and never once flinches as they close around her because she knows that he will not hurt her. when eris first presents her the collar, she feels that claiming all throughout her body—she is his, and he is hers, and he wants everyone to know it.
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