It was not destiny that drew them together. The hand of fate had not tethered one heart to another by an invisible cord.
They were the choice they got to make for themselves.
day two : ruin
• • •
You’re wasted at the Night Court. Absolutely wasted.
Unbidden, his words come to her like flames licking fabric—until one day Nesta can't deny the warmth they bring her cold heart. She burns with them, aflame with their implication—the intimacy of being understood.
But marrying him would be folly. Her head warns of foolishness, of the dangers of too many romantic stories devoured in loneliness, "shackled" to a male who does not and would never truly understand.
Eris Vanserra would be her ruin, her sisters say. Night's Inner Circle warns that he would only take Nesta and delight in the breaking of her. Yet she had already been broken, and when they took the pieces, it was to break them further, to form her into their own desired shape.
Eris is not truly cold—he is fire made flesh.
He desires her for who she is, not for who she could be.
day three : twin flames
• • •
Circumstances took many things from them : stability, emotional vulnerability, and siblings.
With a parent so merciless and calculating, the position of eldest called for perfection. Not a hair should be out of place, not a word was to be spoken or a move to be made without careful consideration.
They turned caustic over the years, expressing themselves through barbs of cold sarcasm, cruel in their chill beauty.
But it was fire that kept them going, tempering them so they could bend and not break.
The Cauldron and the Mother did not bring them together—it was that fire. Their flames met, like calling to like, and they burned together as a blaze.
day four : strength
• • •
Her upbringing had well prepared her for navigating Autumn's court. Nesta settles quite easily into marriage.
It helps that Eris is not the snake he was said to be—or, at least, that his fangs are not for her. It is his father he waits for in the grass, poised and ready to strike.
They actually get along like a village family's house on fire, Nesta thinks morbidly.
She had been thinking of poor Clare a lot lately. Nesta can imagine her reaction to Eris, hearing her voice as if they had spoken only yesterday...
What a clever, well-dressed devil, Clare would say of him. Men like that you can't ever admit how handsome they are. They're already so smug with it! Knock him off his high horse!"
When Eris asks why she accepted him as her husband, Nesta cannot find the words for a while.
Finally, she answers, "I wanted to run away. Because I'm weak at heart, I suppose..."
“No," Eris says simply. "Strength is more than endurance; sometimes it is saying 'no more'."
day five : across the stars ( dark academia au )
• • •
Nesta huffs in wry amusement, saying in that ever-cool-and-composed way of hers, "You're an asshole, you know."
Eris smiles as if she had offered a compliment. It wasn't a question, but he answers like it was, saying without a beat, "I do. And you can be quite the bitch; it's what I like most about you."
She rolls her eyes but lets him buy her a coffee—their debate taken to a second location morphing into a date.
summary: You’ve heard of wingwoman and wingman, but have you ever heard of a wingdog?
Neris Masterlist
The park is scattered with people—parents pushing strollers, joggers moving along the paths, clusters of college students spread out on the grass. The summer air hums with cicadas and the scent of cut grass, warm and earthy, lingers everywhere.
Nesta Archeron has staked her claim on a quiet patch far from the playground, away from the chaos. A plaid blanket stretches beneath her, a tattered library book resting open in her hands. She isn’t really reading. Her eyes skim the words, but her thoughts wander, drifting into that strange, hollow ache that comes when everything is too loud and too quiet all at once.
The shade of the oak overhead dapples across her, flickering patterns on her bare legs and the soft cotton of her sundress. She exhales, forces herself to focus on a sentence—just one sentence.
The sudden thunder of paws makes her jolt.
A shadow barrels into her periphery. Nesta barely has time to snap her gaze up before a sleek, muscled dog bounds toward her. Big, black and rust-colored, sharp ears pointed toward the sky.
Her heart stutters, a startled cry caught in her throat.
The german shepherd stops just short of her blanket, tail wagging in powerful, eager swings. Its chest heaves with excited breaths, tongue lolling out as if this is the happiest moment of its life.
Nesta’s pulse races, but the dog isn’t growling. Its whole body radiates friendliness, from the way its eyes soften to the way it lowers its head, sniffing curiously at the edge of her blanket.
“Holy—” she mutters under her breath, pressing a hand to her chest. She stares at the beast. “You nearly killed me.”
The dog blinks, tail thumping harder against the grass.
It steps closer. Nesta’s muscles lock, but then the creature lowers itself onto its belly right at her side, stretching out with a groan as though it’s belonged here all along.
Something cracks in her chest.
“Fine,” she whispers, hesitant, her fingers inching forward. The dog’s warm fur brushes her hand, and then she’s scratching behind its ears. A low rumble of pleasure vibrates from its throat, not threatening but content.
Nesta exhales slowly. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed this—something warm and alive pressed close to her.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says to the dog. “Do you just run up to random people and demand attention?”
The dog rolls onto its side, exposing its stomach. She huffs a laugh before obliging, her palm gliding over glossy fur.
The sound of boots crunching over the grass cuts into the moment.
“Loki. Heel.”
The voice is deep. Smooth and commanding.
Nesta’s hand stills.
The man striding toward her is all sharp edges and striking detail. Tall, broad-shouldered, red hair glowing in the sunlight. He’s in dark slacks and a button-down rolled at the sleeves, looking infuriatingly put-together for someone in a public park. His features are refined, aristocratic even, but softened just slightly by the faintest curve of amusement tugging at his mouth.
Her stomach does a strange little flip.
He stops a few feet away, expression hovering somewhere between exasperation and reluctant apology. “Sorry. He usually listens.”
Nesta arches a brow, reluctant to move her hand from Loki’s fur. “Usually?”
The corner of his mouth curves more. “He has a mind of his own.”
Nesta studies him. He looks like someone who never loses control of anything, which somehow makes the admission even more disarming.
“Well,” she says coolly, though her cheeks feel oddly warm, “I think he decided he likes me.”
Loki huffs as though in agreement, nudging his head against Nesta’s thigh.
That earns her a soft laugh from the stranger. A surprisingly nice sound, rich and low. “Looks like it.”
There’s a brief, suspended moment. The world feels narrower, like the cicadas and distant chatter dim to a hum.
Then, almost reluctantly, he gestures toward the dog. “Still. Thank you for not screaming.”
Nesta tilts her head. “Do women usually scream when he runs up to them?”
“Some,” he admits with a shrug, though the faint sparkle in his amber eyes suggests he enjoys Loki’s defiance.
Nesta strokes Loki’s neck. “Well. I didn’t.”
“No,” he agrees, studying her with quiet intensity. “You didn’t.”
The silence stretches. Her heartbeat thrums uncomfortably fast.
She clears her throat. “So, you named your dog after a Nordic god?”
His mouth twitches. “Yes. It’s a bit of a theme I have going. I have eleven more at home.”
Nesta’s eyes widen. Twelve dogs? That’s absurd, but also kind of hot. “And what did this sweet boy do to deserve being named after the god of tricks?”
The man laughs, looking down at Loki with adoration. “Well, there’s two reasons. He was a real troublemaker as a puppy, but he also learned tricks quickly. He’d just… decide not to sometimes. Little shit.”
She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face, imagining this gentle giant wreaking havoc.
He watches her like he’s trying to memorize the image.
“And you?” he asks, voice deceptively casual. “Do you have a name?”
Nesta hesitates. He’s a stranger. A dangerously good-looking stranger. But Loki presses closer, tail thumping again, and something about him feels… safe.
“Nesta.”
His gaze flickers with something like intrigue. “Nesta,” he repeats, as though testing the weight of it on his tongue.
She should look away. Should retreat back into the walls she’s so carefully built. But instead, she hears herself ask, “And you?”
“Eris,” he says simply.
Eris. The name fits him.
For a long moment, they only look at each other, Loki sprawled content between them as though orchestrating this entire encounter.
Eris eventually lowers himself into the grass at the edge of her blanket, unbothered by the expensive clothes he’s wearing. Loki immediately shifts, resting his heavy head in Eris’s lap but keeping his body stretched across Nesta’s. It feels strangely like a claim.
Even more strange, she has a vision of more of this. Of park days and lazy Sundays, lounging together while surrounded by dogs. She shakes her head to get rid of such forward thoughts.
“You’re not from around here,” he says after a beat.
Nesta narrows her eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve been coming to this park every day for two years, and I’d remember seeing you.”
Her stomach flips again. He says it so matter-of-factly.
“Well, maybe I like being unpredictable.”
His smile sharpens. “I have no doubt you do.”
The air thickens, charged, though nothing overtly flirtatious has passed between them. Just words, looks. The cadence of something building.
Nesta smooths a hand down Loki’s side, grounding herself. “So. Do you always let him terrorize strangers?”
“Not always.” He leans back on his palms, long legs stretching out with easy grace. “Just the ones worth meeting.”
The implication hangs there, bold and unashamed. Nesta’s lips part, but no retort comes.
Eris only smiles faintly, tilting his head as though waiting for her to argue.
Instead, she laughs, quiet and disbelieving. It feels rusty, pulled from a place she hasn’t touched in a long time.
Eris looks almost startled at the sound. Then pleased.
They talk until the shadows stretch long and the sun bleeds orange across the horizon. About Loki, stubborn but loyal. About books—Nesta admits, grudgingly, that she likes romance; Eris confesses to reading philosophy in his free time.
It’s easy. Too easy.
When Loki finally stands, shaking himself off and looking expectantly toward the path, Eris rises with him. He lingers, though, one hand curling around the leash loosely.
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he says quietly. Not a question, not even an invitation—just a simple statement of fact.
Nesta should scoff, should tell him not to assume. But instead, she finds herself nodding. “Maybe I will be too.”
His smile is slow. Satisfied. “Good.”
Then he’s gone, striding across the grass with Loki at his side.
Nesta watches him go, her body inexplicably light, her chest full in a way she hasn’t felt in years. She smiles to herself, knowing she has a reason to get out of bed tomorrow.
You’ve Got Mail (Neris’ Version): A Modern Epistolary Fic - Chapter 3!
Banner by: @themadmorrigan
Status: Multi-chapter (in progress)
Rating: T (sorry folks, no sexting)
Relationships: Nesta Archeron x Eris Vanserra, background Elucien
Co-written by @themadmorrigan and @itsblobross for @nerisweek 2025!
Read Chapter 3 here!
Start at the beginning!
Summary: Nesta Archeron did the one thing you’re never supposed to do: text the number on the bathroom stall. To her surprise, she and the mysterious stranger on the other end have more in common than she could ever have expected.
Their days fell into a rhythm where Nesta found that the rigor of routine gave her a focus. She would start her days early, having never been one to wallow in the bed until the last few months, and eat breakfast with Eris. Her appetite was practically non-existent but different dishes were always offered by Holly. They didn’t care if she ate half a grapefruit or a sugary pastry as long as something was eaten. Eris, a creature of habit, ate the same bowl of porridge every day. He added nothing to it – no honey or fruit – and when Nesta had commented that it was boring, he claimed that it was the only stability in his life.
After breakfast, they would take a brisk walk of the grounds. Often dew still soaked the grass, but on fresher mornings, it would be crunchy with frost beneath their boots. The smokehounds would accompany them until Eris gave the command for them to race away. They’d scatter across the grounds, hurtling after rabbits or each other. She’d declined the invitations to ride, but often Eris would leave her at the stables to spend time with his horses or he’d depart elsewhere – likely to the Forest House.
From there, Nesta would return to the house and Holly would ply her with more food. It was disguised as the servant inventing new recipes and desiring Nesta’s opinion, but a mouthful here or there was more than she ever usually permitted herself in her own self-punishment so the servant would burst with pride when Nesta ate.
During the day, Nesta would work her way through the passages that Eris recommended, noting down questions as she went to be asked later. Her readings alternated between a history of Prythian – from High King Fionn to the formation of high lords, the first war, and Amarantha’s curse upon the land – and a theoretical understanding of magic. Fire was the dominant magic in the Autumn Court but rarer strands such as rot and manipulating crops existed. The theory of magic was more difficult. She had never been one for abstract theories, far less where magic was concerned. Eris had likened it to a muscle that could be grown and trained, but one that still had a limit. Magic, she feared, was best understood both theoretically and practically.
When she wasn’t reading, Nesta found joy in napping. One of the rooms on the second floor had a glorious view of the forest and after her first session where she fell asleep in a chair beside the window, a blanket had appeared. The next day, a foot stool. On the third day, the wooden chairs were swapped out for comfortable arm chairs and a fire burnt in the hearth. It had her stilling for a moment, ready to flee, but she noticed that it burnt via magic rather than wood and the tension left her body.
At dinner, she’d reunite with Eris. He would ask about her day and she would pull out her list of questions regarding her reading. Eris answered the best he could as to why Fionn was overthrown by his lover and his general although the actual history grew murky. He recounted the night that a curse was placed upon Prythian, recalling that he had almost not attended due to a dispute with his father.
‘How did you survive it?’
‘How I survive everything,’ he said as he topped up her glass of wine. ‘Pure spite, Nesta.’
Wine only emerged at dinner – and not every night. She no longer thought of it as a crutch or a way to hurry herself into oblivion. It was simply wine, not to be feared or longed for, just wine. It didn’t alter her day if she had it or not.
Most evenings were spent together, despite Eris’s insistence that she was free to spend her time away from him. Foxglove would appear with the sunset too and conjure up more foods for Nesta to try. Eris would play piano for her, sometimes the harp although he made many mistakes which made her laugh. Nesta finally admitted that she too could play the piano and joined him on occasion. Despite his insistence that he was a horrible person and his motivations were all for his own self-interest, Eris was kind. He could be snappy and sarcastic, matching her own temperament, but he often swept her up into unwanted embraces. Not just Nesta either. She’d caught him carrying a thrashing Holly towards the river where he threatened to toss her in if she didn’t make an apple pie. One of the servants from the stable brought his wife and newborn babe one day and Nesta had watched from the window as Eris did not hesitate to scoop the babe into his arms and introduce her to his smokehounds. He was a mystery. And this version of him, she was certain, few ever saw.
In the weeks that she had spent under Eris’s care – because it had been care, despite his occasional remarks that she was in fact his prisoner and must do as he said – Nesta had not missed the Night Court, not once. Her demands to be returned there soon ceased and Eris would joke that she was a model prisoner and welcome to stay as long as she liked. The room became more like hers. More gowns were provided, different blankets too, all in the colours she preferred without her asking.
The heir was sarcastic and quick-witted, but he did have a heart. Sometimes.
‘Eris, it has been long enough. I have searched every book and can find nothing. At the risk of sounding like a fool, what are the Fänggen?’
His hands braced on the table as Eris erupted with laughter. ‘It has killed me that you didn’t ask.’
‘What are they?’
Mirth kept his lips twitching. ‘They’re not real. A bed time story of wood sprites who guard the forest. I told Holly and Foxglove to play along.’
‘Eris Vanserra, you wicked beast,’ she snarled, shoving him in the chest.
It only made him laugh harder and then the dogs started up with their barking again.
‘You are all impossible.’
With swiftness, Eris crossed the room to stop her from leaving. ‘Nesta, Nesta, sweet Nesta. We don’t have to know all of the answers. I have had a lifetime in Prythian whereas you’ve had a couple of – dare I say – miserable years. It is perfectly fine to ask for help.’
‘Help me train my magic.’
His face soon changed from amusement to grave. He took her hand, the heat from it searing through her. ‘Truly? Or is it a jest at my expense? I would deserve it.’
‘It is time,’ she admitted. ‘Every day, it longs to be used. There is only so much I can read about it. More and more, the concepts are getting lost on me. I need- I need to try it. To understand.’
His thumb traced the curve of her finger. ‘I will be with you.’
‘Is that a threat?’
There was a brightness to his eyes. In his own den, Eris Vanserra was a different male. ‘Cruel.’
In the books she had scoured, there was little to be found when it came to a carranam bond. Eris had likened it to searching for a grain of salt upon a beach. It was a bond so rare that there was little history recorded. For that reason, Eris insisted upon documenting every experiment of theirs so carried a journal and ink with him into the forest.
‘Firstly, see if you can manipulate my magic,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves.
Fire trickled from his fingers in a ribbon of gold that wrapped around Nesta’s wrist. The heat panicked her at once and Nesta threw it away to the ground where it fizzled out.
‘It won’t burn you,’ Eris reassured you. ‘I still have a layer of control on it. Get a feel for it. See how it moves, how heavy it is in your hands.’
It was difficult, like moving someone else’s limb. It was heavy and awkward, but she did succeed in passing it between her hands a few times. When she came over shaky from the exertion, Eris called for a stop.
‘But I’ve done nothing,’ she protested weakly. ‘All I have done is move it a couple of times.’
Eris steered her towards a tree to lean against then handed a skin of water. ‘On the contrary, you have done something that few in history have ever achieved: you used another’s magic.’
Their practise wove into their daily routine, usually straight after breakfast when Nesta had the most energy. Each session seemed to tire her more than the last, but Eris proclaimed it was a good thing because the muscles were working harder. He was the one to enforce breaks – sometimes a few days at a time to keep up her strength. His magic became easier for Nesta to manipulate. She couldn’t make the fancy little birds from flame that he did, nor could she pulse the flame to send a message as Eris was fond of doing to get her attention when she was in her room rather than get off of his backside and find her – but she could move it, flare it stronger or weaker, and pass it back and forth to Eris like a ball.
Her own magic was its own beast.
It seemed to be jealous that she had such control over Eris’ magic. Instead of wanting to break out, as it had tried for months, now it refused entirely. It would only go to Eris after tireless coaxing. Her magic was a traitor.
‘It hates me now,’ she lamented over dinner one day.
‘Well, you didn’t use it for a long time and now it’s a little bit jealous.’ Eris dipped a slice of buttered bread into his soup. ‘It likes me though.’
‘Everybody likes you,’ grumbled Nesta.
There were other servants within the home and the grounds although Holly and Foxglove were the main two overseeing the running of the house. All of them fawned after Eris. He was kind to them, kind in a way that she’d never seen from anybody of his status. He’d ask after their wives or grab their children and lift them to his shoulders if they came along for the day. It was rather strange trying to marry the two versions of him together in her head. The dogs loved him. He could calm the horses too and spent a great deal of time grooming them. Once, on their morning walk, a squirrel had snatched a piece of apple from his outstretched hand. She’d stared and stared, trying to figure out the trick, whilst Eris sauntered off ahead, whistling as he went.
After a few weeks of training her magic, frustration took the place of pride. She was no closer to managing her own magic than when they started. Eris was holding back because he had full control of hers and could forge it with his will.
‘I can’t do it,’ Nesta grunted. She kicked at the tree then yelped from the pain shooting up her toe. ‘I will never be able to do it.’
‘Not with that attitude.’
She exhaled through her nose to try and stop herself from striking Eris with the back of her hand – a fact he well knew because he was pressing his knuckles to his teeth to keep from laughing.
‘No. Do not laugh at me,’ warned Nesta. ‘I never wanted this power. I never asked for it. You have had a lifetime to train it. And it is so hard for me. How much more do I need to try? Nothing is ever fair.’
‘You can do this.’
‘I can’t.’ Her voice echoed through the trees. ‘Stop telling me that I can because I can’t. I cannot do anything right. I am useless.’
Eris tossed off his waistcoat and it hooked upon a branch. He strode over, sighing with great theatrics then put his hand over Nesta’s mouth, muffling her words.
She thrashed against him, but Eris held tightly.
‘Enough of that constant negativity.’
Nesta rocked her head backwards. His hand remained covering her mouth. ‘No. Not until you promise never to say a bad thing about yourself again.’
Nesta did the only thing that she could think of and licked the palm of his hand.
Eris released her, eyes wide with shock.
‘Did you just lick me?’
Their eyes met for a long moment then both of them broke into laughter. It went on and on, ringing out through the trees. Nesta clutched at Eris’ shirt to keep herself upright. It had been so long since she’d laughed this way. She couldn’t even recall when it had last been. She tipped her head up to look at Eris who was bright-eyed from his laughter.
Then the world seemed to tilt.
A feeling of pressure built in Nesta’s chest making it difficult to breathe. The laughter died on Eris’ face and it went slack instead. He was scared.
Like a string pulled tight to her rib, Nesta felt it form between them: the mating bond.
