#*veris

@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

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.

dealer’s choice babyyyie whoever you like

veris + shimmer, nightfall

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.

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