#cleruere

[those-gremlin-grapes]

I miss her 😭

[scrion7]

clervie symbolism

Want some more angst for your doomed yuri?

See that pendant Best Girl is wearing? It's some sort of bluebell flower (that I guarantee has some flower language meaning that someone could decipher)

Crucabena is holding a pot of flowers that is an exact match for Clervie's pendant. So when Crucabena says,

"I should have pruned this flower long ago, not waited till it wilts. How grotesque. Wouldn't you agree?"

She's actually talking about the person heavily implied to be her biological daughter. Implying that Crucabena thought her daughter had failed in some way, and as punishment sent her to die at her best friend's hand in order to motivate Peruere to win the battle royale to become king.

Anyway fuck Crucabena (not in the sexy way (unless you're into that))

[rylarts]

“I heard that in Snezhnaya, colored light dances in the sky at night…”

[megistusdiary]

you know what would be cool? peruere x clervie royalty au where they're king and queen

jumped on this ask because YES i am here for that. just like i am for new mother/father cleruere

(longer post utc. no smut)

peruere as the strict, cold-hearted king

clervie as the gentle, kind queen

their 3 children (lyney, lynette, and freminet)

peruere teaching them strategy, how to use weapons, hunting, etc.

clervie teaching them how to paint, sing, and crochet 😊

aside from the children, clervie and peruere would make a formidable royal duo. oh, and don't you ever even think of speaking ill of the queen, otherwise you'll find your head severed from your body by the king's sword.

peruere is a ruthless king, though she protects her subjects. clervie (and sometimes the children when they're well-behaved) is the only one who gets to see her softer side.

she will kneel before her queen if she asked. she would hold clervie tenderly to her chest, humming in that soft tone she knows clervie adores.

and imagine them attending balls together. clervie is absolutely gorgeous in her fashionable gowns while peruere prefers more elegant and functional suits.

every dance shared between them is so full of love. peruere is gentle with her queen, holding her hand softly, only her eyes, so loving, betraying her neutral expression.

sigh.... i love them :(

[edgeray]

🌸 madoka anon back! can i request arle finding clervies reincarnation later? with or without memories and how arle will handle it

To Find You Again

(Arlecchino & Clervie)

A/N - So… it's been a while huh? Guess I'm back for a little bit. Did you guys miss me? I missed you guys (please talk to me T^T it's been so lonely).  I am so sorry for taking so long to make this 🌸 Anon. Anyways, platonic arlevie because reincarnated clervie is a child while arle is an adult.  As you guys may have known, I was working on the follower special, and the reason I haven't posted it yet is because I haven't finished 💀. I know. Writing has been on and off for me the entire month, and I think I burnt out from just writing about one piece so much. That, with the added stress of finishing this before school started, and also me not knowing how to start the smut was just a fuck cluster of me procrasinating from writing because the solution to your problems is obviously running away from it :D. I was simultaneously exhausated and antsy to write. Anyways, with school approaching, instead of putting it off, I decided it'd be better to get the requests out of the way so I can get back into the groove of writing without having to focus on the oneshots.  TLDR; Going back to writing requests because I'm sick of writing the specials. 😭 I'm not abandoning part 2 or part 3, because god forbid I throw 9k words in the trash, but lord do I need a break from that writing style. They will be worked on steadily but they will happen… someday.    Content warnings / info - some angst :(, maybe bittersweet ending, 1.7k words.

There is a reason that Arlecchino favors a certain shade of red. The type of vibrant scarlet that leaves her breathless for the slightest second, and she cannot help but admire. Because in that single brief length of time, she is thrown back to when she was no older than six or seven, when she was just Peruere–underneath a tree, a small box in her hands, the sun beaming down at her, knees in the dirt, her curse creeping up her fingertips–and then warmest set of emerald eyes peering upon her. Memories, some fond but largely agonizing, swarm her thoughts, rising in waves that threaten to swallow her whole. 

Over the years, she's learned to stay afloat above the fickle waters, no matter how many times they resurface in varying sizes. Except today is when the waves tower over her, as it crashes into her body, shaking her to her very core, the very foundation of her memories disturbed. All caused by a single engagement in the middle of the Fontainian streets. 

Arlecchino often enjoys strolls when her work allows respites; they are refreshing to the mind, and the beauty of Fontainian architecture never fades away. Walking along the path, she hears small footfalls approach behind her, and then something collides into her body. The weight and negligible force of impact tells her it's a small person, a child, she confirms when she hears a high-pitched voice. 

An apology tumbles out of the child's lips. “I'm sorry!” 

And Arlecchino stiffens immediately, as her ears suddenly ring with those two words, familiarity bleeding through each utterance, because she knows of this voice. This is the same voice that has haunted her dreams for a decade, only this time, it's not whispered, not sapped of all of her previous vitality. Arlecchino is sixteen again, loose sword in hand, the press of a body against her chest, and surrounded by smoke, ashes, and blood, and all she knows is her last words. 

I'm sorry. 

Arlecchino looks down with a gaping expression, lips parted and eyes widened as she stares down at a mop of hair, the color of that ever damnable shade of red, carmine. Gleaming jade stones gaze back at her, and Arlecchino thinks of the impossible–reconsidering every preconception about death. Everything but her attire matches that out of her memories. Many explanations come to her for this child's appearance, but they mock the Harbinger's own recollection of her past. 

“I'm really sorry, ma'am!” The imposter repeats again, before looking down at her shoes, to hide away from any disapproving expressions. 

Had it been one of her children, she would have chided them on their spatial awareness. Had it been any other witless child, she would have scowled and shooed them away. But even with the knowledge that this is a fake, that the girl this child resembles could never return, she cannot help herself when this girl looks so much like her. 

She crouches down to the child's eye level, placing a tender hand on the top of their head, suppressing the urge for her fingers to card through the locks, just to re-experience one final time. She has to be no more than six or seven years. 

“What is your name?” Arlecchino inquires with a softness she seldom had for anyone.

“Clervie.” 

Arlecchino’s breath hitches, and she wills her face to remain still, betraying none of the internal turmoil inside of her. What kind of trickery was this? It's not plausible for Clervie to be alive, not when she had buried her a decade ago, so how could this child stand before her? It'd ease her if she chalked it up to coincidence, but the resemblance is uncanny. Fate works in inexplicable ways, and if it is at play here, then perhaps that is the only explanation. Only Arlecchino contemplates what it is that fate has in plan for Clervie: does it intend to redeem Clerive, or punish her? Or perhaps, was it to punish the Harbinger herself? 

This Clerive seemed to have not a single drop of recollection of her. Forgotten was Peruere, like ash drifted to the wind. 

“How old are you?”

“Six.” 

Further eye contact with the child proved to be too unbearable. Arlecchino observes around, seeing no adult making their way to them.

“Where are your parents?” 

“They're at home.” 

Multiple parents? Arlecchino prays to her Majesty that this Clervie did not have her own version of a Crucabena. A miniscule, selfish part of Arlecchino wishes that her answer was that she had no caretaker. If that was the case, Arlecchino almost wouldn't hesitate taking Clervie to the House of the Hearth, if only to keep this Clervie, no matter if she doesn't know of what occured in her past lifetime, close to her. Anything to replace the emptiness that her Clervie left her with, to pretend that she still has this seldom source of her content. 

She knows that her Clervie would never forgive her, if she knew. And Peruere knows that Clervie longed nothing more but freedom, freedom from the House of the Hearth. Even if this is not her Clervie, she could never trample what Clervie achieved for her own selfish gain. Even if Crucabena was no longer there, Arlecchino could never subject Clervie to the cruelties of the Fatui, could never subject Clervie to herself.

(Arlecchino lays alone in the darkest of nights, when the stars do not shine on her. During such sleepless periods, she contemplates that if Clervie could see her, would Clervie see her in place of their late Mother? 

Peruere is afraid of the answer.)

Clervie is free. There is no need to cage her again when she is always meant to be with the wind. 

But when Arlecchino sees this fake, but undoubtedly, Clervie, she cannot help but want to relive the pleasures of reading books in the window sill with the moon and constellations, climbing trees to collect its bearings, or delighting in cakes. A foolish, naive part that Arlecchino thought she had long buried resurfaces, and it longs to reenact those placid memories. 

“You should not be outside without your parents, Clervie,” Peruere states. “Did you run away?” 

Does this Clervie wish for freedom, just like she did before? The same freedom that she can only sought by death? 

The child shakes her head. “I can't find them. I lost them somewhere.”

The Harbinger lets out a relieved, inaudible sigh. Maybe fate decided to be kind to Clervie this lifetime. 

“Would you like me to help you look for them?” Peruere finds herself asking without a single thought. 

Clervie beams, and perhaps it hurts more than any blade that could pierce her skin. Still, she commits it to memory. 

“Yes.” 

“Do you want me to carry you so you can see better?” Peruere inquired. Admittedly, this is more out of selfishness than for Clervie's benefit. However, she wants to replace the memory of the last time she had carried Clervie's body, broken and bloodied it was when she brought her dear friend to her burial place. If, for the briefest moment between the tides, she would like to fool herself with this memory, then she wishes that she is allowed just this. 

Clervie nods her head, and Peruere carefully picks up the child in her arms, before standing up from her crouching position. 

“Wow, you're so tall!” the six-year-old admires with a wide grin. 

The Harbinger faintly smiles but says nothing. 

“What's your name, ma'am?”

Peruere stops before she's taken 5 steps. It's instilled in her for her to state Arlecchino, the Knave, Fourth Fatui Harbinger, but on her tongue lies another name. “It's… Peruere.” 

“Per…uere?”

Peruere nearly shudders from her utterance, but nods. 

“Can I call you Perrie instead?” 

Arlecchino is the Fourth Fatui Harbinger, her power nearly comparable to that of a god. She has faced Crucabena's Kingmaking, she has endured the icy prisons of Snezynayan, and she has fought countless enemies. Arlecchino is all but weak, and yet she crumbles from a mere innocent question, from a child of all people.

“Yes, you can call me Perrie,” she answers far too quickly then she would like to. 

The Harbinger traverses around the Fontainian streets with the child in her arms as they look for adults similar to Clervie's description. They seem nothing like Crucabena, Peruere notes.

“Perrie, why did you stop when I asked you your name?” is the first question that Clervie asks on their search.

“You remind me of someone that I knew.” 

“Oh…” Silence, then, “You're really tall. Do you think I can be tall like you?” 

You never got the chance to, Peruere almost says, but dismisses it immediately. “I do not see why not. You have plenty more to grow.” 

Clervie hums, before her attention flits to Peruere's hands. “How come your hands are like that?”

“I painted them,” Peruere says and winces at the answer her mind conjured up. Nonetheless, it's more than convincing to the child.

“Wow… they look really cool! You painted them yourself?”

“I did.”

“Can I touch them?” 

“I suppose.” 

The conversation flows as awkwardly as one would expect with a six-year-old. Peruere is now privy to random tidbits of this Clervie's life: her favorite pastimes, preferred animal, and favored dishes, and favorite plants. The Harbinger finds it unsurprising that this Clervie still pleasures in reading novels, ravishes cake, and admires Lumodice Bells. Then she discusses why she had been out earlier today: her parents intended on getting her new clothes but lost her after she was distracted by the window displays of a bakery. 

Peruere allows her to talk, wordlessly indulging in the youthful spirit that this Clervie exhibits. It is nearly evening when Clervie exclaims sighting her parents, and Peruere hesitantly approaches the couple. 

It takes more strength than Peruere knew she possessed to let Clervie down. Clervie sprints to her parent's arms without a second thought. Clervie's parents thank Peruere for reuniting them, and promise Clervie that they would visit the bakery to buy the cake she eyeing so much.  

It is clear that Clervie has her own life to attend to. Fate chose to be merciful to her, and Peruere knows she cannot interfere with Clervie's life more, no matter how much she wishes it. Clervie is content, without Peruere.  

Arlecchino turns on her heel, intending to leave without an additional word, but Clervie calls out to her, waving frantically. 

“Bye-bye Perrie! Thank you so much!” 

Peruere glances back over her shoulder, a faint smile stretching on her lips. 

“Goodbye Clervie.” 

In your next life, let us know each other more familiarly. Until then, live the carefree life we both yearned for. 

[inkperch]

Angsty Arle thought:

She hasn't so much as lifted a sword, since the day she struck Clervie down.

[daisukekambehateaccount]

i'm flabbergasted that cleruere is even considered a problematic ship? this is an argument brought up on tiktok though so if you don't care about them feel free to scroll past

the argument that cleruere is a proship because 'they're siblings' makes no sense. when presented with the argument that the social structures within the house of the hearth is similar to that of an orphanage, some retorted with "the house and regular orphanages are two separate things". exactly! use that logic and apply it to the house of the hearth under crucabena, and the one under arlecchino.

"mother's" house and "father's" house are two separate things. crucabena was a cold and cruel "mother" who encouraged her children to kill one another solely to determine the most powerful. the environment was one in which you could be alive one day and not live to see the next. it wasn't an environment where you could easily connect and form close bonds with your siblings, because there's a good chance you'll have no other choice to kill them or be killed by them in an indefinite period of time. "mother" purposely did not create a healthy environment where the children are all given a safe space to form meaningful bonds with one another.

arlecchino on the other hand, is much, much different. as we know although arlecchino appears cold on the outside, but in reality she is not nearly as cruel as crucabena. her coldness is to an extent, and it's clear that she only wishes to remain neutral and stick to the rules that she had set for herself and to the house. though in some cases her own emotions act otherwise and she can no longer remain impartial, she finds a way to work with/around it, such as using memory-erasing flames to exile members from the house as opposed to the easier method, direct execution. arlecchino is the direct opposite of crucabena. she is genuinely creating a home and family for the children who never had one.

that's why we don't really see people shipping lyney or lynette with freminet. although like clervie and peruere/arle, they grew up together in the same house, lyney lynette and freminet were raised in an space that allowed them to bond like a real family and love each other as such. clervie and peruere were childhood best friends turned doomed yuri.

[dreemurrinthenight]

since i keep getting them mixed up when i see fanart i’ll just pop this comparison here

just saying, they look terribly similar

[knavesflames]

🍓arlecchino smut:

•arlecchino x virgin!reader (corruption)

•arlecchino x virgin!reader (soft)

•arlecchino x ballet dancer!reader

•arlecchino tying you up and eating you out part one

•arlecchino tying you up and eating you out part two

•ballroom dancing with arlecchino (this one is more suggestive)

•arlecchino whispering dirty things into your ear while you ride her

•vocalist!arlecchino x groupie reader

•bunny!arlecchino x reader

•sucking Arlecchino’s dick

•arlecchino gagging you

•ceo arlecchino bending you over her desk

•arlecchino talking you through it

•pretending you’re a virgin but you’re not (arlecchino x reader)

•convincing arlecchino you’re not a virgin but you are

•mafia daughter!reader x arlecchino

•hitman!arlecchino

•brat tamer!arlecchino

•ovulating!reader x arlecchino

•gym rat!dehya x reader

•what would arlecchino like?

•arlecchino and her hands

•kinktober week one— vampire!arlecchino

🍓arlecchino angst:

•”promise”, a cleruere fic

•arlecchino uses you to get over clervies death

•arlecchino uses you to get over clervies death part two

•arlenora angst (inazuma quest)

🍓arlecchino fluff:

•arlecchino cooking

•arlecchino x insecure reader

•arlecchino x insecure reader part two (fluff, but suggestive)

•arlecchino and curvy insecure reader

•fathers day arlecchino

•biker!arlecchino

•arlecchino x reader who doesn’t feel pretty

•touchstarved!reader x touchstarved!arlecchino

•reader with sh scars (tw)

[shalomniscient]

Glad that Arle came home to u Sev how’s your break been u chilling do anything interesting? 🐍

hey 🐍 nonnie !! my hiatus has been going fine, starting to feel better and slowly emerging from the trenches (although accidentally seeing a good cleruere work will send me right back there lmao) and i'm slowly settling back into the groove of writing, i suppose. will spend the next few days clearing the inbox, and then working on the requests. thank you for your patience !!

[makiandcheese]

okay so far the arlecchino pairings i like the most are

1. alrecchino and her childhood doomed situationship (clervie/peruere or is it cleruere??)

2. arlecchino/furina

3. alrecchino/columbina

Im gonna add these to my list later

[scrion7]

oh no i made cleruere more angsty

So, Clervie was killed by Peruere because Crucabena wanted Peruere to become 'King' of the house, and Peruere wasn't really motivated to do that. But what if I made it worse?

During that scene when Clervie was patching herself up, Peruere implies that Crucabena was the one who did that to her. Knowing that, and considering Clervie's kindness, she'd want to do something about it. The best way to stop Crucabena would be to win the Toddler Battle Royale and become the next Knave, but Clervie is not really shown to be much of a fighter, and she probably knew that. On the other hand, Peruere definitely is. Therefore, Peruere should become the next Knave to stop the child abuse.

Problem, Peruere doesn't want to be the next Knave. Bigger problem, to be King, Peruere has to defeat all the other children, and there is no way Peruere would seriously fight Clervie.

QED, the best (ok not really best but certainly most angsty) way for Clervie to solve all of these problems is, clearly, impale herself on her best friend's sword, imply Crucabena was responsible for her actions to motivate Peruere, and then take herself out of the running for King by dying.

You know, normal things you do for your best friend.

Of course, Peruere would probably disagree, but Clervie's doing this for the rest of the house! Saving the world by sacrificing yourself is probably fine, she'd understand.

"The world means nothing to me without you!" -Peruere, probably

...yes, I've been listening to Honkai World Diva recently, what of it?

[scrion7]

just realized my budding clervie/furina childhood friends AU slots very neatly into resolving the plot holes of the Fatui!Furina au. Post archon quest Furina would have no reason to trust Arlecchino, but she'd absolutely trust (ghostly) childhood friend Clervie and her best friend Perry. Also Furina heard (and laughed) about the pet spider funeral and other toddler shenanigans Perry got up to, neatly replacing Furina's fear of Arle with "Man, I can't believe I was ever scared of the girl who got convinced that spiders would weave rainbow webs if they're fed Skittles" "Why the fuck would Clervie tell you that"

[edgeray]

*slams the door of your inbox open*

DOMESTIC ARLEVIE

what if. what if arle gets clervie a bouquet of lumidouce bells as a little surprise one day, and whenever she goes to give them to her, she finds that clervie got her a bouquet of rainbow roses. and arle hasnt ever gotten flowers from anyone before so shes just kinda flabbergasted

i love gay people, i wish they were real

Bells and Roses 

(Arlecchino x Clervie)

A/N - gay people are real. i mean, you exist, right? also sorry this took so long. mbad, but hope you like this one still. Content warnings / info - character death (jk), clervie is alive! au, 0.9k words

Seeing the Knave at a flower store is a strange sight to many, practically unfathomable to most. What business does the ruthless, cunning Harbinger have with such an establishment? Perhaps it was a secret Fatui hideout, or an innocuous place for the Fatui to gather and share information. After all, for what other reason could there be for her to be at some niche, local shop? That's what most of the public would assume. 

The store owner knows otherwise. 

“The usual batch of Lumidouce Bells?” The store owner greets her as she enters inside. In the few exchanges that they've had, the store owner learns that the Knave favors directness and efficiency over false pleasantries–no need to waste time on pleasantries or probing for answers that could get him killed. Arlecchino nods and she waits for him to return from the back to retrieve the banquet she pre-ordered. It takes no more than 2 minutes to enter and leave the store, flower bouquet in hand. 

On the rare occasions that she's out in public to purchase these flowers, the masses around her always wonder what the flowers were for. Were they being used as some sort of mockery to one of the many that have fallen to her flames? Creative, but that is not the case. Still, she does not correct them. Few know of the true reason why she buys Lumidouce Bells, and they are limited to her children and to the “Mother” of the House of the Hearth.

As she makes her way to the House of the Hearth, Arlecchino wonders if her cheeks would flare the same color as her hair like the last time she offered her flowers this around, just like the last. If her emerald eyes would gleam more beautifully than any aurora once more. If her lips would curve up into a smile, warmer than any fire Arlecchino could produce.

Arlecchino returns home, greeted by her children before she searches for her. She enters the living commons, a blaze stirring inside of the Harbinger when she spots Clervie reading to the children surrounded by her. Arlecchino stops, observing the scene with a lifted heart for a few moments. Almost instinctively, her red haired head perks up and she locks eyes with her husband, her smile growing at that instant. Arlecchino gives Clervie an acknowledged nod before heading to their shared bedroom, knowing that Clervie would follow soon after. 

As she expected, the bedroom door clicks and the knob turns, her beloved stepping inside. 

“Perrie,” she greeted, her arms wrapping around the Harbinger's frame. 

“Clervie,” Peruere graces her with her own matching beam, a hardly discernible quirk of her lips. She raises a charred hand to Clervie's cheek, stroking it with her thumb as she tilts the shorter woman's head up to peck her forehead. 

“Your outing went well?” She inquires as she places a chaste kiss on her husband’s jaw. 

“Yes. I have something for you,” the Harbinger states before presenting the bouquet hidden behind her back. Like every time, Peruere finds herself enamored by the soft glee on her wife's face, her expression alight by the gesture. Clervie's eyes crinkle as her grin stretches wide, and she takes the flowers with hands as delicate as her love. 

“They're beautiful,” she says, her words repeated but no less untrue. Her tone bleeds fondness, hinting at her gratitude. However, Peruere was uncertain that the flowers were truly that magnificent–not when it couldn't hold a candle to her beauty. Nonetheless, she does not refute the statement. 

“I have something for you too,” Clervie says, and Peruere wonders if it's another pastry or cake that she impulsively bought. Setting down the bouquet of Lumidouce Bells, Clervie walks to the window, and on the sill, Peruere notices an extra vase that wasn't there this morning–it doesn't contain usual Lumidouce Bells. The red-haired girl grasps the vase before walking towards Peruere, and she finally recognizes the flowers.

Rainbow Roses. 

“I took the liberty of placing them in a vase. I wanted them to stay as fresh as possible before you return. I hope you don't mind,” her beloved states.

Peruere takes the vase in her hand, held with a tenderness that nothing else can experience except all things of Clervie. The familiar pitter patter of her heart starts again, and warmth swirls within her once more. 

Peruere was never one for flowers, even when many found themselves drawn to it–Clervie is such an example. Flowers are far too fragile for her to hold, and often carry sentiments dainty for the likes of her. Rainbow roses are the only exceptions to her general indifference, as they were the ones planted in the House of the Hearth when Crucabena still reigned. They made the orphanage then just a touch more colorful in a House where its vibrant colors were soon fading from view. 

And, the hue is so similar to Clervie's hair. Such rich colors that only remind her of Clervie's vivacity. 

“Thank you,” Peruere manages to say, the slightest bit of abashment in her delay that Clervie does not fail to notice. With Clervie, her hardened exterior will always crack without fail. 

“For someone so stoic, you really are a romantic,” Clervie hums. Peruere lets out a faux indignant huffs. 

“I love them,” she says, the rare affection among her words and eyes as she regards the flowers. But the two of them know that the Harbinger signifies more than just her appreciation for the flowers.

‘I love you,’ is what Peruere says wordlessly. 

[edgeray]

The Sun Sets Again

(Arlecchino x Clervie)

A/N - Hi anon! If you plan on requesting again from me make sure to give yourself a name/emoji! Thank you for being my first arlevie request, and feel free to request more of this ship in the future–I love arlevie and have been meaning to write them. I want to thank @myfrierndscallmebun for giving me a summary of Puella Magi Madoka Magica to let me write this; I hope it's okay if I don't make this with magical girls, mainly because I don't know how to write that. This took so long because I love arlevie and I didn't want it to suck <3 this is short because i haven't been able to get in an angsty enough mood since i'm writing this during my vacation, but this will probably be picked up again when i have more ideas / if pt.2 is requested. for that reason, no happy ending :)

Content warnings / info - character death(s), angst, teenage romance, 1.9k words

I.

In the evermoving cycle of pain and torment that the House of the Hearth embodies, there are a few constants that Peruere is aware of. One such constant is that Peruere herself is strong, strong enough to consistently gain Mother's attention and strong enough to survive the kingmaking event. She is strong enough to where her other siblings remark her with poisonous envy and jealousy, disdain in their gazes whenever they view her. She is strong enough to win duels against her other siblings. Peruere is aware of that. 

Another constant that she is aware of, though the notion seems to escape from her other siblings’ mind, is that Mother does not love them. She is despicable, but it is her honey-coated lies and sugar-dipped promises that deceives the more ingenuous bunch, though at this point, Peruere often wonders if the children choose to follow her because out of naivety or dubiety–unable to accept that the family and home given to them is just a mechanism to supply the Tsaritsa more useless fodder. 

Finally, the last constant that Peruere is aware of is that Clervie's touch burns her in a way unlike the cursed flames inside of her do. Clervie’s side is soothing, like what a house with a hearth is supposed to be: a warm flame that coats her like an embrace. She finds that underneath Clervie's eyes, Peruere melts, crumbles, and dissipates because Clervie is the sun that provides her life, and without her, Peruere would be little more than a withering flower. This is the one constant that Peruere would like to be eternal, to forever be burned by Clervie’s rays of light. 

—

Peruere does not remember when Clervie's light was lost–what event caused the final embers of her will to fade away. She does not remember when the sullen, hopeless expression worked its way into her once softened face. She does not remember when her eyes, once brimming with determination, lost their emerald glint that Perueure always found herself enamored with. She does not remember when her sun was extinguished, leaving the moon to wander the night sky, blind and alone. 

Perhaps if the moon had reached for the sun once, the moon could share what little light she had. Maybe if she did, the sun wouldn't be snuffed out. 

—

Clervie's weight is heavy against her as she holds Clervie, futilely trying to grab onto the life that is bleeding out of her and onto her hands and the ground. The pitter-patter that Peruere had often slept to was fading underneath her cursed fingertips. The verdant eyes are replaced with a faux, dimmer gemstone. Peruere is cursed, perhaps she has no right to ask for the Archons’ regard, but she asks for them just this once, pleading with the Archons to save her dying sun. When Clervie's warmth is finally gone, dissolving into nothingness, she knows that the Archons have ignored her calls and that she has been abandoned. The moon is dyed red from the sun's blood. 

The previously dormant blood flames roars to life, brewing within Peruere and its fiery inferno incinerating the crimson moon. Flames enrapture Peruere as she cradles her friend, unsaid words charred the moment they escape her tongue, whispered confessions fleeing like wispy embers. 

(Why must it end this way? Why did you leave me? How could you do this to me? What of the aurora?) 

Peruere burns and burns until her blood fire consumes her and she reaches nullity. 

II.

When Peruere opens her eyes again, she is not met with the expected incinerated landscape around her. Instead, her knees rests on the familiar texture of chartreuse grass, and she sits before a vaguely familiar tree and a dugout hole. A small wooden box is held in her smaller-than-she-recalled hands, her palms are gritty with small clumps of dirt stuck to it. 

Her eyes flit down to the black sweater and short set she dons, a previous attire she was fond of until she outgrew it at eight years old. Most notably, however, her curse had only reached the knuckles of her chubby, baby hands. 

This must be a memory of the past. A flashback to one of the most significant moments in her life, she knows how this scene will play out. Comes the burial of Bambi is Crucabena's daughter, Clervie, who befriends her through the offering of cake. And since then, their friendship has blossomed. 

As if on cue, a soft crunch sounds from behind her, and Peruere dares whip around. 

Long pink-red hair and emerald abysses suffocates Peruere in a chokehold; she is breathless and the oxygen from her lungs are pried out.

Clervie remains exactly as she remembered, with her frilled white dress matching with her white headband, and that stubborn strand of hair refusing to stick down. Holding that tray of the two petite cakes. 

But for a memory, Clervie seems far too vivid, far too realistic–like she is alive. The six-year old child stands before her, the sunlight making her hair shine and her skin glow. Her facial features do not lag, shifting as smoothly as her locks flowing in the wind. Even her soft chewing and gulp is audible.

Peruere misses Clerive's question altogether, too distracted by the internal battle of deciphering reality. 

Clervie is not alive, no matter how it may look. She cannot be deceived by the lifelike image, because Peruere knows that Clervie died by her hands, her blood stained on Peruere's hand, and Peruere is still alone, abandoned by her sun. Peruere still hears Clervie's final words, only whispering into her ear a few minutes prior.

(“You will be a great king. I'm sorry. Thank you.” It still rings through my ears. How can there be a king without a queen? How can you leave me?) 

Clervie is dead. She is dead, forever gone, burned to ashes by her blood flames–

“Um… hello? You don't have to say yes if you don't want the cake.” 

Everything comes to a stop. 

That is not what Clervie says. Clervie is supposed to step back, flustered by Peruere's comment of how spiders cannot eat cake. 

This is not the memory that Peruere remembers. 

—

Peruere waits for the dream to end, for her to be plunged back into a reality where her much older self cradles her dying sun, waiting for dawn that will never come. Except, each morning, the sun rises, and Clervie still remains by her side after days have gone by. The actions that she takes in this ‘dream’ affect the dream's events; perhaps this is her new reality, and not just a dream. Still, Peruere is cautious. What did that make her previous lifetime? A nightmare, or a vision for the future?

Perhaps the Archons have answered her prayers, their way of saving Clervie. 

Peruere would be foolish not to use this opportunity. Even if this is a dream waiting to end, she will make the most of her time with this Clervie. 

Clervie is startled, but welcomes Peruere's unseeming attachment. Peruere finds herself overly physically affectionate, but it is to make up for lost time in her past lifetime. Often, the two can be seen, hand in hand, fingers entangled as if they could never be separated, like two halves of a celestial body fitting together perfectly. The moon follows the sun's every step, forever in the sun's shadow. 

—

Reading novels has always been Clervie's favorite pastime. Although past Peruere preferred searching for any stray insects in some decrepit corner of the House, this Peruere wants to savor as much of her potentially limited time with Clervie–that involves reading the vast variety of books besides the pink-haired girl, often admiring the stars in Clervie's eyes whenever she learns discovers something. Here, when her sun shines so bright, it's almost blinding. 

She learns more of the aurora that Clervie dreams of. She learns of the nation's creatures, each one appearing stranger than the last. She learns of the stars and constellations. Each new thing that they discover about the world, Clervie promises that they'll see them together. 

It is in these moments, that, regrettably, Clervie sounds the most like Mother–spilling promises that will never be fulfilled far too effortlessly than what Peruere likes. Peruere does not tell her what fate had in mind for them, that almost a decade later Clervie would rather choose freedom over remaining by Peruere's side.

Lately, her primary fascination has been whimsical romance novels, of brave knights saving the trapped princess, of cursed beasts reverting back to men from the power of a single kiss, of two people on opposing sides seeking comfort in one another. Of love. Love, which is often described as the fluttering of stomachs, the blushing of cheeks, the beating of hearts, the meeting of lips. Peruere does not know if Clervie had this interest in this specific genre before; perhaps Peruere wasn't attentive enough then, or this was a new event entirely, somehow catalyzed by the miniscule alterations Peruere created. 

Either way, it leaves Peruere wondering. If there was such a specific label for those certain types of actions, then what could characterize the abnormal warmth that she feels with Clervie? Is this another symptom of love? Peruere hopes not. 

Mother's love is cruel enough; how much crueler would Clervie's love be? 

—

Peruere was wrapping Clervie's bandages when it happens. The two of them are older, now the two of them are nearly sixteen. 

“You should stop arguing with Mother, Clervie… you keep getting hurt,” Peruere notes with a sigh and a shake of her head. 

Clervie dips her head, as if a bit ashamed from the light scolding, before resolutely shaking her head. “I can't do that, Peruere. You know that.” 

Clervie's just as stubborn this time as she was in their last life and just as beautiful–a dawning sun before a rising moon.

Peruere notices the cut on Clervie's bottom lip. She leans in to gain a closer look, a cotton puff in her hand as she approaches nearer until their noses are just a few inches away. Clervie's breath cascades against Peruere's cheeks, its warmth contagious as it spreads to the rest of her body. Peruere’s body ignites, a fire blossoming inside of her chest and an incessant sensation claws at her ribcage. 

“There's a cut on your–” Peruere begins but she's interrupted when Clervie pushes forward, and their mouths slot together clumsily. Clervie tastes like rainbow roses and of freedom. She tastes of a warmth that always coaxes her, of a home that comforts her, of a love that seems plausible. But it is all too brief when Clervie pulls away, a stammering apology tumbling out of her sweet lips.  

Peruere pulls Clervie back towards her, hoping to get more familiar with the taste of the sun–hot and encompassing.

— 

Still, her efforts weren't enough. The outcome of the kingmaking event is just like her last lifetime. She couldn't dissuade Clervie, she couldn't convince Clervie to live, to struggle harder against the chains of fate, to fight against Mother. Again, Clerive didn't listen to her suggestion. Clervie, with her sweet smile and those eyes to which Peruere would always melt under, strolls up to her, and again Peruere's sword impales her. 

(Again, she didn't pick me. She decided that she cared about Mother too much. Why would you pick Mother over her? Why do you keep choosing the one who hurts you the most over the only one who cares for you? Why do you keep leaving me?)

This time, Peruere understands. 

The sun doesn't need the moon–only a moon needs a sun to shine.

Peruere's vision fills with red again, and the blood flames devour her. 

III. 

Peruere's eyes open again.  

[edgeray]

hello 🍉anon here once again, I was wondering if you could do an Arlevie angel fic with a black winged Arlecchino (not really a fallen angel but an angel with black wings) that is caused by her curse and a Clervie who is a normal angel who Arlecchino thinks is someone who has it all and is well liked by the others only to realised that it’s the opposite. As they start to grow up they get more close and Arlecchino gets more open with Clervie (they would hold hands, cuddle and some kisses in the cheeks here and there).

Blessed and Cursed Angels

(Arlecchino x Clervie)

A/N -  hi 🍉 anon, sorry this is super late but i love this idea. i've always wanted to write angel arle because I think her having wings is a super cool idea (hyv doesn't pop off with a lot of things, but they def did with arle's boss form) and i just really love wings aesthetically. also, arlevie for the win, i love the two sm.   I don't know how to create plot so I threw random worldbuilding that doesn't make sense :D. (You can tell this is how I wrote dragon! arle). I tried to make this follow your prompt as much as possible but my brain could not handle not having a fleshed out AU. Not as good quality as I wished it, but at least it's completed? I think you can tell where I gave up. 🥲 I sincerely apologize, something with the way I was writing was not clicking with me. I really wish I could have wrote this better. Content warnings / info - weird worldbuilding that i pulled from my ass, Arlecchino is called Peruere here, 1.4k

Peruere remembers the first time her fellow angels casted gazes of contempt on her when her down feathers appeared, blackened ends at the base. Eyes widened and mouths agape as her peers pointed at her back, and her elders sunk back and viewed her as if she were a devil. She was only just a fletchling, a child that hadn’t even developed her wings yet, when she was shunned out from every society of angels, as they likened her to the beings of hell. They thought of her as an intruder, a foreign threat to their perfect kingdom even when she was born behind these very walls. 

Peruere thinks that the beings of hell would be kinder to her than these preachers of purity and benevolence. 

She does not know why she was born with these wretched, charred wings, these damnable pupils of hers, or these destructive, revolting claws. Perhaps if her parents lingered, she would know, but they had abandoned her when she was young; maybe they had seen the signs of a demented angel before everyone else, and fled. 

An angel's life was a simple one in comparison to a mortal. There is one purpose of an angel's existence, and that is to guide mortal souls to the gates of heaven. Great status comes to the angels that have guided the most souls, often meaning the elders held the most power. Unfortunately for Peruere, any semblance of prestige has been stripped away from her since birth. After all, what mortal would want to be greeted by a sight such as her, an appearance befitting something from that inhabits the land of the guilty? 

If only Peruere could pluck her own feathers, rip off every single one from their base, and grow a new layer of feathers that were snow white. If only she could declaw herself, tear off every hideous, monstrous feature of hers. Even then, even if it were possible to change her appearance, she could not change her eyes. She will remain the black angel, remain isolated and outcast, even if there's not a single feather to her wings or her fangs are chipped away. 

She wanders the mortal plane alone, never to return back to her homeland. There is nothing there for her, though the humana realm is no different–at the very least, she can observe and entertain herself with the human's antics. How they cry, bleed, and laugh, is so unlike the angels, so complex in their ways that she can't help but wonder how at the end of their lives their souls can just be divided into two definitive groups. Do angels even bleed? What a boring existence. 

At the very least, humans have milk tea.  

Peruere swipes some mortal's drink off the counter, exiting the little establishment that humans call a ‘café’ with little regards, thanking the inept man (though, of course he cannot hear her). It is fortunate for her that although she is not considered an angelic being, she has all of an immortal's powers–able to choose when to be privy to others. Such is useful when she wants to delight in human customs without their arbitrary conditions. Why slave away at ‘jobs’ for slips of exchangeable paper when she is above them, a being that they can barely comprehend? 

The beating of wings alerts her as she halts in the middle of the street, turning around to face the direction of the sound. A lone figure stands on top of the building Peruere just exitted. Folded golden wings are the first thing that the black angel notices, next being the long, carmine hair, and then knowing jade eyes. Golden wings are signifiers of highborns, the one most favorably looked upon the angels due to their blessed bloodlines. 

It is because of beings with these golden wings that she is exiled from angel land. Peruere glares at her. 

“Most angels don't choose to assimilate to the human realm,” the golden-winged angel replies, playfulness in her voice. 

“I am not most angels,” Peruere answers merely, a bit of edge in her voice as her wings tenses in preparation for flight. She clenches the drink in her hand a little tighter. 

“Most angels like you don't typically linger in the human realm,” the outcast immortal states. 

The other angel's wings unfold and flap, flying the highborn angel down onto the concrete sidewalk and landing in front of Peruere. The shorter angel begins circling around her, observing her as if Peruere is a new earth specimen she's never seen. 

“You're a curious case. Your wings are neither white or gold,” she observes out loud. 

“Aren't you highborns too occupied with guiding souls?” Peruere spats out.

“I am. I don't want to.” 

Peruere narrows her eyes. “What kind of angel are you?”  

“A tired one,” she says, her smile weakening, and Peruere's grimace falters. 

“We do not feel things like fatigue,” Peruere retorts. 

The angel lets out a sigh. “I thought you of all angels would understand. I don't want to surrender to an existence with a predetermined purpose.” 

“So you're abandoning your duty as an angel? But you're a highborn. It is your kind that values our duty the most.” 

“Like you, I want to experience more than just a simple existence. Is that so wrong?” 

The black-winged being untenses, before looking away from the golden-winged angel, observing the humans. The way they interact with another, bumping into others, moving to the side to let others pass, stopping and hugging another as a greeting. There are so many nuances to a mortal that angels lack. “I suppose not.” 

Peruere jerks her head as she feels something bristle against her feathers, shivering upon the touch. The other angel's hands brush against her feathers, making the cursed angel suck in a breath. Her contact is soothing, as is her tone when she whispers, “These are so lovely.” 

The highborn leans further in, her front nearly pressing against the side of Peruere while her arms snake behind to further explore the appendages, curious fingers slipping underneath her contour feathers and digging into the sensitive base. An indescribable sensation flutters within her and heat swells in her cheeks while the black angel shivers. 

“You're not afraid?” Peruere breathlessly asks, her heart hammering. 

“Do you want me to?” The shorter being hums, her other hand tracing down to the clawed hand of Peruere, gently following along the edge of her claws. “You're no devil, so why should I be?” 

Her words do impossible things to Arlecchino's body. She's stunned into silence. 

“I'm Clervie,” the angel finally introduces herself. 

“Peruere.” 

“Well, Peruere,” Clervie starts with a wide smile, and Peruere never knew her name would sound so heavenly on someone else's tongue. “Why don't you show me around the human realm? Seems like you've already found some exciting things.”

Clervie's gaze flits towards the plastic cup in Peruere's free hand. She removes her hand from Peruere’s wing, but she never stops holding her hand. Peruere sighs, relinquishing her drink, along with her heart to the angel. 

—

“You know, most humans would consider this romantic,” Clervie says besides her, her head nuzzled into the side of Peruere’s neck. Clervie's wings are spread out, folding over the two's snuggled bodies like a gentle embrace. Peruere's eyes flick from the large screen to the highborn angel, then to their intertwined fingers. 

“Humans find the strangest things romantic. They are so infatuated with seeking emotional attachment, they'll find the very notion in anything and everything,” Peruere huffs. Clervie giggles, the most ethereal sound to exist, a sound that Peruere wouldn't mind hearing all the time. 

“You know, it's at least nice to pretend. They seem happy doing it.” 

“They seem stupid doing it,” Peruere grumbles and stays focused on movie.

“They have their moments of ingenuity. Such as this,” Clervie points towards the screen with the tip of her wing. “And popcorn.” 

Peruere lightly flicks at Clervie's feathers. “If you finish all the popcorn, you're the one getting more.” 

Clervie pouts. 

— 

“Don't you want to try it out?” 

“Must we?”

“But all the humans around us are doing it.” 

“We are not humans.” 

“Can I do it to you?” 

Peruere rolls her eyes but sighs defeatedly. The other angel beams radiantly as she leans in, pressing pillowy lips against soft cheeks, her arms wrapping below her wings and pulling her close. She pulls away, gazing back at Peruere. 

“How was it?”

Peruere breathes out steadily. “It was okay.” 

Clervie's expression noticeably brightens, and her wings fluff up in excitement. “See, I told you you would like it!”

“Shush. Do it again, will you?”