#♘ WRITING

[aviiatrix]

// Considering how long I had to be gone because of summer semester and the burnout I had, I'm putting this out there to try and start other interactions. I am still answering what is left in my inbox, but I thought I'd try to get other stuff going that I'd hopefully gain more muse for! Like this for a few memes from Riv.

If you're a multi, specifying the ones you'd have the most interest receiving for would be easier, but if not I'll just do as usual and play muse roulette at random.

[gwaynes]

something something nett & gwayne fleeing kings landing. on the road. a sense of desperation. provisions scarce. no retinue, no dragon. just them.

[saiibeo]

// I’m a little slow answering because my brain is fuzzy and I woke up too late so no ADHD meds today but

Friendly reminder that River is this strong ty and gn—

[think-like-a-poet]

Can you write something about Lewis not finding his dog and he saw Y/n with him in the park, you can write smthg about it and what comes after

wc: 513

Lost and Found ♘ Lewis Hamilton

Lewis was lightly panicking as he looked around the park. He had let Roscoe run around for a bit. He knew that his dog wouldn't go far away from him and he always made sure he had the dog in his eye sight. Except for today.

Lewis had turned around once at the sound of someone falling off his bike and he looked to make sure he was okay. When he turned back, the dog had escaped his eyesight. Everywhere he looked he couldn't find him, even when calling his name.

"Roscoe, come here boy." He yelled as he clapped his hand on his legs. People around him gave him weird looks, but that didn't matter. All he needed was to find his dog.

Lewis ran around a bit more, trying to spot a lead where the dog could have wandered off. Could he call 911 for a missing dog?

His head shot up by the sound of a voice speaking. "Lets find your owner, sweetie." He turned to see a woman knelt down beside his dog, who was wagging its tail excitedly as it sniffed at her own dog.

Lewis walked towards you, roscoe, and the dog's tails started to move by the sight of his owner. "Is this your dog?" you asked as you looked at the man. You couldn't help the blush that formed on your face when you saw him. He was very handsome.

"Hello, boy, I looked for you. You can't just walk away." Lewis put the leash back on and gave the dog a pet on his head. As he stood up his eyes locked with yours. "Hi, sorry. Thank you for finding him." he said gratefully, trying to sound calm despite his racing heart.

"No problem. It is more like he found me. Probably wanted to play with Nalia." You pointed to your own dog, a Bernese mountain puppy.

Lewis laughs as he sees the two dogs play, but the leashes make it difficult for them and they are soon wrapped in the leash. "They like each other."

"Maybe we could arrange a play date for them. If you are okay with that."

"I am sure he would like that." Lewis answers with a smile on his face. He couldn't help but sneak glances at you throughout the conversation. "My name is Lewis, by the way and this boy is called Roscoe."

The woman smiled and introduced herself, "Nice meeting you Lewis. I am Y/N, and this sweetheart is Nalia."

"Can I have your number?" Lewis asked, already looking for his phone. "For the play date for the dogs of course." he quickly added.

You smiled at his attics as you grabbed his phone to put your number in it. " Here, you can text me and I will have your number too."

Lewis thank you and you both said your goodbyes.

"I wouldn't mind if you called to plan a date for us," you smirked as you saw him turn around quickly. You just smiled and waved at him as you walked further with Nalia.

---

Tag list: @hiireadstuff @nikfigueiredo @elliott-calls @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e

[zae-heeyyy]

@zae-heeyyy's Masterlist

________________________________________________

♘ Arthur

♖ John

♛ Requests

________________________________________________

♡ fluff | ♤ angst | ♢ smut 18+ MDNI | ♧ platonic |

________________________________________________

Chiaroscuro ♘♡ You're very fond of silk scarfs and Arthur Morgan. Pastiche ♘♡ ♤ You and Arthur escape through writing. Recalcitrance ♘♡ ♤ You and Ms. Grimshaw just can't get along. Seraphic ♘♡ ♢ You are Arthur's angel.

Stelliferous ♘♡ You stargaze with Arthur.

Erudition ♘♡ ♤♢ Arthur teaches you how to read.

Valor ♘♛♡ ♤ Arthur takes you on one of his adventures.

Resumption ♘♛♡ ♤ You and Arthur revisit the past.

Boisterous ♘♢ Arthur takes you to The Loft.

Hiatus ♖♧ You meet John during his year away from the gang.

[jessamine-rose]

♙ ♘ ♗ Chess Piece ♖ ♕ ♔

………..hi. I would like to present the side story to Disjecta Membra, a collection of bonus scenes + epilogue told from Pierro’s POV. Do enjoy this fic and suffer  ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

A big thank you to @diodellet for her peer review, @frogchiro for her help in my Pierro characterization, and @seakicker for the fic inspiration!! I’m still questioning how I ended up writing for the Jester, and you can thank them for making it possible <3

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, coercion, blood, violence, death, psychological trauma, self-deprecation, alcohol consumption, Dottore is here, spice, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: Female reader who is a fallen goddess, pre-release Pierro

♡ 5.4k words under the cut ♡

i. pawn

The entire forest is consumed by mist.

He walks down the path, maneuvering around the haze. As the mist shifts, he rushes to an unobscured patch of grass to elude its grasp.

Another blind spot. How many more areas are free from her surveillance?

Knowing his savior, she’d detect his location once the mist touches him. Despite their heart-to-heart conversations, the fact remains that his life is in a god’s hands. It would be good to know the way around the forest without her guidance.

Remain vigilant. If he isn’t careful, he may end up like the lost animals ensnared in her hunting traps.

After a few more blind spots, he finds a familiar stone path. The area is cleared of mist to reveal weathered gravestones and deep blue flowers. He walks along the perimeter and stops in the heart of the cemetery, where a veiled figure is sweeping the fallen leaves.

He hides behind the trees.

In her human guise, the God of Mist is indistinguishable from an ordinary human. Her expression is solemn as she cleans and greets each gravestone.

“Fane.”

“Kay.”

“Algos.”

“Charis.”

And so on. Such devotion to one’s followers is unheard of; then again, the mere fact of ______’s kindness sets her apart from the gods who destroyed his nation.

Her friends and followers are fortunate to have a peaceful resting place. If only he could say the same for his own compatriots.

The statues are next. She approaches the shorter figure and plucks the dead flowers out of its cracks. Her voice takes on a lighter tone.

“Pasithea, your flowers have outnumbered mine. I can’t tell if it’s because yours are multiplying or if mine are dying out. Either way, you’re as competitive as always.”

A bitter laugh escapes her lips. She lifts her veil.

The Khaenri’ahn peers closer at her face. This is an expression which he has never seen during their meals together. The smiles directed at him are usually gentle and uplifting, never this desolate. When she greets the other statue, her smile disappears completely.

“Hello, Oizys,” she whispers. “Happy birthday.”

He tenses. Despite ______’s assurance that she holds no grudge against Khaenri’ah, her loss is strongly felt. The Child of Night’s absence looms over them in the tableware he uses, the chores assigned to him, his next destination.

She checks his grave. “Not even a blade of grass? What kind of plant will satisfy you? You’re so picky until now.”

His gaze shifts to the statue’s Claymore. The weapon is real, bearing the telltale marks of a Field Tiller’s attacks. Just how many of his people were cut down by that blade?

“The Khaenri’ahn is doing well,” his savior continues. “It won’t be long until he leaves for Miseria. I know, you’d be furious…but what do you expect me to do? How could I leave that poor thing to die?”

That poor thing.

He can’t tell if he feels more relieved or offended by that statement.

“...I’m sorry.” She disperses the mist around the statue’s eyes, meeting its discolored gaze. Her voice shakes as she looks around the cemetery. “You…all of you know that, right?”

How long has she been weighed down by grief? Is this not the same person who claimed he would one day move on from the calamity?

All of a sudden, the mist rises. The Khaenri’ahn huddles closer to the tree to avoid it. Through the haze, he watches as ______ stomps on the barren grave and bursts into tears.

“Why did you even bother to come home?!” she shouts. “To see me one last time? To put a stop to my waiting? To…to punish me with the sight of your corpse?!”

Is this what will become of him? Will his vengeance ever amount to recovery?

The statue blankly stares ahead.

Her voice breaks. “It’s not fair that—why did it have to be you? When will it be my turn?!”

Or will he, too, live the rest of his life burdened by his own survival?

The Khaenri’ahn resists the urge to leave his hiding place.

For what feels like ages, the only sounds in the cemetery are the anguished cries of his savior. Still sniffling, she calms the mist and faces the statue again.

“I…I have to leave,” she says softly. She casts a strained smile at her friend’s likeness, cheeks glistening with tears. “I’ll come back with your cake tonight, okay? See you later.”

With that, the statue’s eyes are concealed once more. She sets her broom aside, and the Khaenri’ahn leaves the cemetery.

He is able to retrace his steps without difficulty, but the lingering pain from his injuries is debilitating. Before he can enter the temple, a hoarse voice calls out to him.

“What are you doing outside?” ______ approaches him, her veil back to its usual style. Under the sheer fabric, a frown crosses her face. “I thought I told you to rest.”

Does she suspect anything?

“I needed some fresh air,” he replies, keeping his voice light.

“I see…”

The mist swirls around them. The Khaenri’ahn meets her gaze, holding his breath.

The curiosity in her gaze gives way to concern. “Let me accompany you next time. I don’t like the thought of you wandering the forest alone. What if you get hurt?”

As though she doesn’t already fret over him at the slightest lift of a finger.

He walks past her. “You need not concern yourself with that possibility.”

Spoken too early. Pain suddenly shoots up his broken ankle, causing him to stumble. He almost falls, if not for ______ catching him.

“Are you all right?!”

How humiliating.

He avoids her gaze. “Thank you. You can let go of me now.”

______ is unconvinced. She keeps a firm grip on him and examines his new scars. “Let’s go inside, dear. I’ll check your injuries.”

“If you insist,” he mutters.

…Up close, his savior’s puffy eyes and dried tears are visible under her veil.

“Where were you, anyway?” he asks.

“Oh, me?” The smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I was just tending to the achlys flowers. Moving on, I’m baking a berry shortcake later. Would you like some?”

He hesitates. “That would be lovely.”

It is futile to offer comfort to someone who clearly refuses it. What could he possibly say to her as one who has just recently lost his own people?

No, that isn’t the right mindset.

If grief will not leave him, he must make it into what fuels his vengeance. Only after his weaknesses are burned away can he become strong enough to rebel against the divine.

He walks through the mist this time.

Only then will he be in a position to wipe her tears.

ii. knight

The religious art is disappointing.

Pierro studies the weathered fresco. It depicts a veiled figure hovering above a crowd of faceless followers, isolated by swirls of mist. The subject’s face is eroded beyond recognition.

She was wrong. None of her sacred depictions can compare to their model.

He touches the figure with a gloved hand. The image is divine, passive, untouchable. He doubts that the original face has the kind eyes and gentle smile from his memories.

“Sergeant Luda.”

A Fatui subordinate rushes towards him, bowing slightly. “Yes, Lord Harbinger?”

Pierro gestures to the fresco. “Extract this painting from the wall and include it in the list of artifacts to be transported to my personal estate. I expect no transit damage.”

“Noted, my lord! Do you have any other orders?”

“I have but one command. Demolish the temple before you leave.”

“Excuse me?” Luda’s tone turns doubtful. “You want us to destroy this place? All of it?”

He gives her a cold look. “Must I repeat myself?”

She bows again. “N-No! Forgive my blunder, Lord Harbinger!”

“That is all, Sergeant.”

With that, Luda quickly stands up and barks a few orders at her coworkers.

Pierro looks around the temple ruins. No mist hovers over ______’s old territory. Several Fatui subordinates are sifting through the debris for surviving artworks and relics.

Would she ever forgive him for erasing her existence from the world? Can he say the same for himself, with the knowledge that he is committing the crime against his homeland?

“My lord!” Another subordinate enters the temple and kneels before him.

“Lieutenant Daniil,” he says. “I presume that Agent Leonid has departed from the forest adjacent to Miseria.”

Daniil nods eagerly. “Correct, sir. According to my spies, Agent Leonid has made a full recovery from his injuries. He and the previous defectors have permanently settled in the city.”

About time that traitor left her company. “Punish the next traitor. The attackers need not follow them this time; just ensure that they reach the forest in a wounded state.”

“Yes, my lord!”

“That will be all.”

Pierro approaches the next set of scattered fragments. The old manuscripts have been reduced to yellow shreds. He pieces together what seems to be a quote by █████ herself.

“May you find refuge in every place where my blood has mixed with the air.”

He smiles to himself.

His savior is truly too kind for her own good. With how easy it has been to orchestrate a hostage situation, ______’s voluntary surrender is guaranteed.

He wonders if she will recognize him during their reunion—or even welcome him, given his new status as the director of the Fatui. If she doesn’t, he will still consider it a pyrrhic victory.

It is only proof that he has outgrown her mercy.

iii. bishop

Their reunion goes as planned.

It doesn’t take long for ______ to accept their new power dynamic. Prior objections aside, she quickly adjusts to her new life as the Jester’s partner. She is an elegant sight in her Snezhnayan dresses and Khaenri’ahn jewelry.

…Pierro does miss their peaceful days of home-cooked meals and friendly conversations. His darling’s fear and respect is as frustrating as it is gratifying. She isn’t afraid to challenge him with moments of petulance.

For what it is worth, she no longer addresses him as “dear” or her other patronizing pet names. At times, their double-sided arguments are quite engaging.

At any rate, his other objective has been achieved. The new resources acquired from ______’s relinquished territory serve more purposes than the Lord of the Hearth’s fire.

“Jester, I come bearing a report on our latest Archon Residue experiment.”

Pierro looks up from his signed documents. “Dottore, I expect impressive results since you took the initiative to request a meeting with me.”

The Doctor closes the door behind him, smiling. “You will be pleased to learn that we are making progress with the remains of the Goddess of Consciousness. Her powers have manifested in the test subjects, albeit their mental faculties remain incoherent.”

Pierro recalls ______’s last visit to Zapolyarny Palace. She didn’t seem to recognize the melody sung by the test subjects.

“Rectify that side effect immediately.”

“As you wish.” Dottore looks up from his research notes and glances at the empty sofa. “Is your darling currently at home?”

“Does her presence have any bearing on your report?” he asks sharply.

“No, it doesn’t. I was merely curious, given that I’ve only had the privilege of meeting her once. Oh, but I did find something very interesting in the test subject’s speech patterns.”

Pierro grips his pen. “Go on.”

“Imagine my curiosity when I noticed a recurring name,” he continues. “‘█████.’ The test subjects kept shouting that name—quite hysterically, I might add. Initially, I brushed them off as an insignificant friend of the deceased god until I made an important recollection.”

Dottore walks over to the sofa and runs his hand along the headrest.

“Do you remember our first meeting, Jester?”

“How is this relevant?” asks Pierro. “I recruited you in Sumeru and you eagerly accepted my offer. I can vividly recall your hysterical reaction to your new title.”

“No, after that. If my memory serves me correctly, you inquired about the House of Daena’s religious archives. After which I noticed a few ancient books and manuscripts amongst your luggage, most of which referenced a divine being known as █████.”

He knows.

Dottore adjusts his mask, a crimson twinkle in his eyes. “I did question your interest in that unknown god. If we can obtain the remains of the God of Mist, as we did with our current specimens and the Lord of the Hearth, I can use—”

“Dottore.”

The air grows cold. The Doctor pauses, meeting Pierro’s glare.

He puts down his pen. “You should know by now that I am not one to entertain baseless assumptions. Moreover, I must address your previous invasion of my privacy.”

“Oh?” Dottore approaches the desk, eyes wide. “I presumed that you could fill in the blanks for me, seeing how none of those ancient texts are listed in the Fatui’s libraries. Shall I ask your darling instead? I heard that you acquired her from the same location which sourced the new Archon Residue specimens.”

Enough of this.

“I advise you to watch your words, Zandik,” says Pierro. “My partner has nothing to do with your little investigation. I do not pry into your private affairs, particularly the Akademiya scholar you have been stalking, so it would do you well to reciprocate the gesture.”

A moment of silence passes.

“Of course. I know better than to pry into forbidden knowledge.” Resigned, Dottore picks up his research notes and flips to another page. “Before I leave, I have another report to share with you.”

Pierro picks up his pen. “Proceed."

“In seemingly unrelated news, I have the results of the chemical test you requested. For the most part, I identified common household substances in the carpet samples you sent me…apart from one compound.”

“And that is?”

“Among the chemical components, I found low traces of Archon Residue.”

So his suspicions were correct.

Dottore’s smile returns. “I wonder how such a substance ended up in your estate. But given your earlier admonishment, I won’t pry into the matter any further.”

Pierro gives him a stern look. “If you have nothing more to report on, you are dismissed.”

“Very well. I bid you a good night.”

With that, Dottore places the research notes on the desk and leaves the office.

That explains the information from his spies.

Pierro reads the second report.

He did find it quite odd that ______ requested an extensive tour of the estate and was later seen with a bandaged thumb. So she had claimed her prison in his absence.

How clever of her.

It was wise of him to lock the doors to his personal quarters. Until it is necessary for him to divulge his awareness of her scheme, he should avoid formal meetings in his estate.

Despite his irritation, he can’t help but feel impressed.

Well-played, ______.

iv. rook

The replicated festival is a success.

Since her birthday, his darling has been more docile. The smiles directed at Pierro are more soft, cheerful, paired with brighter eyes. Their dinner conversations are more relaxed.

However, her kindness remains a double-edged blade.

“Hello, little ones.” ______ crouches down in the snow, a warm smile on her face. “May I know your names?”

The children eagerly crowd around her, small hands grabbing at her dress and veil. One child takes advantage of their eye-level position to play with her necklace, to which she laughs and lightly scolds him.

“No, you can’t have it. It’s from—wait, don’t pull the chain!”

He should have kept her at home.

“Lord Harbinger.” The orphanage caregiver gives Pierro a nervous look. “If the children are bothering your partner, I can send them to their rooms.”

He turns to face them. “There is no need. You may proceed with your report on the next batch of recruits.”

“Thank you for your leniency, my lord!”

Pierro casts a final glance at the courtyard. His darling is managing the children quite well, all things considered. After saving her necklace, she carries the offender and lifts him high above her head. Her laughter has never sounded more lively.

What a heartwarming sight.

He will allow it, so long as she doesn’t object to their fate.

*✧･ﾟ

“You appeared to be in high spirits earlier.”

“Are you referring to the orphans?”

The bedchambers feel less empty with ______’s presence. She lies on her side of the bed, an enthusiastic smile on her face.

“They were adorable! Those precious lambs asked me to participate in all sorts of games. You should have seen little Damien; he kept running around and ‘defeating’ me with a wooden sword.”

Damien Morozov, eight years old. Already shows promise in swordsmanship.

Pierro hangs his coat in his wardrobe. “Are you partial to the company of children?”

“I guess so.” She takes off her veil, eyes dimming. “I used to play with my young followers often. Why do you ask?”

“I was merely curious. You were quite eager to entertain the orphans’ antics.”

Would she be as loving with their own children?

Pierro unlocks the drawer. His old Khaenri’ahn attire remains in good condition. He can still remember the time ______ mended his clothes, requesting permission to cover up the holes with her embroidery. Every little star and diamond seemed to breathe new life into the fabric.

If he is ambitious enough, he can envision it clearly. A new set of embroidered clothes for a smaller frame. A family portrait displayed in their manor. Tiny pupils shaped like four-pointed stars, sparkling with innocence. His darling’s gaze filled with love and devotion.

“Pierro? What are you looking at?”

He closes the drawer. “That is none of your concern.”

______ gives him a suspicious look. “If you say so.”

Now is not the time to entertain such delusions.

The divine rebellion has barely begun. Likewise, so long as his darling remains an unwilling captive, he would be a fool to imagine any semblance of a happy family with her.

It is a tempting thought, however.

Pierro locks the drawer and approaches the bed.

For whatever reason, his darling has morphed into her true form. Her skin is dusted with gray dots and swirls resembling mist. A clear reminder of her divine nature.

His gaze stops at her wrists.

Even with her divine markings, her bruises are evident. The same can be said for the dark blemishes on her hips and knees.

He observes her exposed face this time. It was quite satisfying to provoke those honest expressions out of her. He couldn’t get enough of the look in her eyes.

Neediness, trepidation, absolute submission. All for him.

His hand slams down on the pillow, a few centimeters away from her head.

“Pierro?” She startles, turning her head to face him. “What is it?”

He doesn’t offer an explanation this time, just leans down and kisses her. His other hand pulls down the neckline of her dress.

“Hey…ah! Stop!”

She lightly shoves him, only for her wrist to be easily pinned to the mattress.

Pierro pulls away, ending the kiss. His other hand traces the curve of her chest, eliciting another soft gasp. “Have you taken your contraceptive recently?”

She looks away, biting her lip. “I…”

He puts his hand under her chin, tilting her face upwards. “I asked you a question, ______.”

His darling looks so powerless beneath him. So easy to break. To desecrate.

She nervously meets his gaze. “I…I did.”

“Excellent. Then I don’t need to hold back.”

He sets his own mask aside and kisses her with more fervor.

The Old World is no place for the future of Khaenri’ah. Until absolute peace has been achieved, that dream will have to remain a fantasy.

Until then, his darling’s affection will solely belong to him.

v. queen

The Snezhnayan winters are becoming more frigid.

“Is the temperature of the room to your satisfaction?” Pierro drapes another blanket over his darling’s shoulders. “Inform me if you need another blanket.”

She gives him an exasperated look. “There is no need to coddle me. My human vessel isn’t that frail, you know.”

Says the person who once drowned him in blankets and hot tea on a rainy day.

“The nights will be colder at this time of the year. There is no harm in looking out for your physical health.”

“Then the same can be said for you.” Despite her earlier remark, she wraps herself in the blanket. “Even I can’t stand the Snezhnayan environment. Don’t you get sick of the cold?”

Pierro glances at the window. Outside, another blizzard paints the sky with swirling snow. White, frigid, nothing like Celestia’s sea of flames.

“I am rather impartial to this nation’s climate,” he replies, returning to the sofa.

A chessboard sits on the low table, along with a bottle of fire-water. ______ empties her glass and refills it to the brim.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I did not take you for one to overindulge in vices.”

Another glass finished. “You drank nearly as much as I did.”

“I know my limits.” He confiscates the bottle and hands her a glass of water. “That is enough wine for you. Any more, and you will make a fool out of yourself later.”

She rolls her eyes, but drinks it and lowers her veil. “All right. Shall we continue our game?”

Regardless, he will be the sole audience to her inebriated theatrics.

“If you are so confident that you can play with a clouded mind.”

His attention returns to the chessboard. ______’s opening move was a direct challenge. No mercy, then.

He moves a black pawn. “Disregarding the climate, you have become well-adjusted to Snezhnaya. I must commend your growth over the previous year.”

“You think so?” She stares at the chessboard, assessing the pieces. “That isn’t a big achievement, seeing how all I’ve done is behave in the estate like a model prisoner.”

A model prisoner who remains strategic.

“I beg to disagree. From what I have seen, your current conduct and level of education are befitting of your new status.”

The expression under her veil is doubtful. “You’re just being nice. My studies, this dress, the title you gave me…it doesn’t make me any more worthy for the New World.”

Her next move is clumsy.

Pierro easily counterattacks. “I shall be the judge of that.”

The game continues. Chess pieces are toppled. With each sequence, the influence of alcohol becomes more apparent. ______ begins to mumble, sway slightly, make bad moves.

“Another loss.” She frowns at her toppled king. “No fair…how are you so good at this game? How many victories would that make for you?”

Pierro touches her cheek. He can feel her warmth through the fabric of his gloves.

“You should rest,” he decides. He places the chess pieces back in their original squares. “Can you walk to the bedchambers on your own or shall I escort you?”

“What a chivalrous offer,” she scoffs. She gathers the sacrificed pawns, only for the pieces to slip out of her loose grasp. “You are insufferable, you know that? Impossible to comprehend…”

He might as well take advantage of her openness. “Why do you say this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” ______ rests her head on her palm and peers at him with glassy eyes, chess pieces forgotten. “For starters, while you have been concerned about my health all night, I have no doubt that you will scold me tomorrow and make me study despite my hangover.”

“You wouldn’t have to suffer from a hangover if you had drunk less wine,” he shoots back.

She shakes her head. “Honestly, I can’t figure you out. One moment, you’re absolutely cruel and strict towards me; next, you make me so happy that I almost forget our arrangement. It makes me feel so conflicted, the way you treat me…I hate it.”

“So why do you endure it?”

“Huh?”

The office feels more humid. Perhaps she had involuntarily raised her mist.

Pierro holds her arm, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You claim to be a weak deity, yet my research states otherwise. And despite your powers, you have never made an attempt on my life—both in the past and in the present. Why is that?”

She stares back at him, eyes wide behind her veil. “That…”

He glares at her, strengthening his grip. “Are you truly as foolish as you are kind? Or does your mercy stem from pity towards that poor thing you saved all those years ago?”

For a few seconds, his darling is silent. She looks away, her arm limp in his grasp.

“Of course not. I…I just don’t want to get in your way,” she mumbles. Her gaze trains on the medals displayed on the wall. “You’re amazing, you know that? You became stronger…found a new purpose in life…now you’re actively changing the world for the better.”

He could get drunk off her praise.

“So it would be a shame if you lost it all because of me,” she continues. Then she shakes her head, smiling. “But what am I saying? You will never let that happen, no matter your fondness nor gratitude towards me.”

He lets go of her arm. “There is no use in reflecting on that theory.”

“Really now? If the Tsaritsa ever viewed me as an obstacle, would you kill me for her?”

Would he?

When was the last time he found himself at a loss of words? As far as he can recall, it was years ago—back when the Tsaritsa posed a similar question.

-

“The God of Mist? I did not know she was still alive. So she saved you in the past, and now you intend to overthrow her and keep her for yourself.”

Pierro cleared his throat. “I humbly request your permission, Your Majesty. Apart from the elimination of a potential threat, the subjugation of █████ will provide the Fatui with a new territory and invaluable resources.”

“Yes, and I imagine that you recognized every possible benefit prior to this discussion,” she said knowingly. “You have my permission. I trust your judgment.”

“You have my gratitude,” he replied, bowing.

“Oh, but Pierro?”

He looked up to face her. The Tsaritsa was the opposite of his previous savior—pure, sacrosanct, a kindred spirit who had chosen the path of vengeance and revolution. From her lofty throne, she couldn’t look more divine.

Her gaze was cold. “Remember where your loyalties lie.”

Without hesitation, he kneeled before her.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

-

“It is illogical to compare love and worship,” he finally says. “Do not ask a question you already know the answer to, especially one which you will likely forget in the morning.”

“All right.”

The look on her face shows pure understanding. Yet despite the tears welling up in her eyes—from fear? Disappointment? Heartbreak?—her smile seems genuine.

“I am glad to hear that,” she says, voice trembling. “Any other answer, and you would be no better than a lovesick fool.”

How did she appear during their first chess game? Compared to the savior of his memories, the god before him looks so fragile. Acquiescent. Openly vulnerable.

This time, she doesn’t protest when he lifts her veil. Pierro leans over the table and brushes his thumb against her flushed cheek, wiping away her tears.

“Rest assured, I will never allow such a situation to happen,” he says softly. “My final choice would not be without internal strife.”

After all he has endured, such a scenario would be the greatest loss in his life.

“And why is that?” she asks.

“Because above all, you are the only good thing left of the Old World.”

vi. king

“Pierro.”

“Psst, Pierro.”

“Rise and shine…”

“Wake up!”

At the sensation of the pillow hitting his face, Pierro grimaces and catches her wrist.

“What do you want?” he mutters, opening his eyes.

______ looms over him, eyes faintly glowing in the dark. “Finally, you’re awake.”

He turns to his side and glances at the clock. “Is it already past midnight?”

She gives him a bright smile. “Happy anniversary!”

No wonder.

Pierro lets go of her wrist and sits up, facing the window. The sky is still dim, on the cusp of twilight. The lingering darkness is dotted with stars.

“Did you feel the need to greet me as soon as you woke up?” he asks drily.

Despite her nightgown and bedhead, ______ looks full of energy.

“Yes,” she replies. A proud smile plays across her lips. “This marks the ninety-ninth time I said it first.”

“Don’t look so triumphant,” he tells her. He brushes the loose strands of hair away from his face. “It will take centuries for you to catch up to me.”

“I know. So have mercy on your dear wife and let me have this one victory.”

He might as well. These days, her celebrations are solely limited to their birthdays and milestones. For this day alone, he will let his darling have her fun.

He still hasn’t returned her greeting.

“Happy anniversary,” he says with a soft smile. “Are you going back to sleep?”

She shakes her head. “No, so neither will you. We might as well prepare breakfast now that we’re awake.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I saw the menu last week, along with what you planned for lunch and dinner. Wouldn’t you say that our banquet is too much for two people?”

At that, she holds his hand and intertwines their fingers. The dim light is caught in the pale blue gems of their rings.

“Of course not,” she smiles. “After all, we are commemorating the day I was shackled to you for all eternity. Such a tragic event deserves a grand celebration, doesn’t it?”

Pierro presses a kiss against her knuckles. “If you insist.”

How long has it been since their wedding? In her Khaenri’ahn gown, his darling was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Her happy tears marked her ultimate resignation.

His darling is extra touchy throughout their daily routine. Eye contact in the bathroom mirror. An unruly necklace clasp and corset strings. Fleeting touches as she helps him change into his own suit.

“You may open your gift after breakfast,” Pierro informs her as he puts on his mask. “I believe you will find it to your satisfaction.”

She turns to him, fully dressed. Her divine marks have faded into her human guise. She looks elegant, dignified, perfect for a Harbinger’s spouse.

“How exciting. After all these years, you never fail to surprise me,” she says. “I hope you are equally receptive to your own present.”

Pierro slips an embroidered handkerchief into his pocket, taking a moment to admire the new four-pointed stars. “I can only imagine what design you came up with this year.”

Their daily routine is over. Before they leave the room, ______ faces him and pulls him into her embrace. Her grip is strong.

“Hey, Pierro, how much longer until the rebellion ends?” she asks.

He wraps his arms around her. “Why do you ask?”

Thin wisps of natural mist swirl around them, weak and bloodless.

She leans into him. “Ever since the Fatui began acquiring the Gnoses, you’ve been even busier. Do take a break once in a while. And don’t put yourself in danger, you hear me?”

Her hands tremble. The mist rises, enveloping them in a cold haze.

“I find it insulting that you still entertain those fears,” he shoots back. He steps out of the mist. “As I said years ago, it will take more than a vengeful god or your antics to dispose of me.”

The mist disperses.

“I’ll trust you with that.” ______ releases him, a sincere smile on her face. “The sooner the New World is achieved, the sooner you can rest. And the more time I have with you.”

Under her veil, her eyes shine brighter than the stars. She is still speaking—his real name, whispered in such an adoring, reverent tone.

He should enjoy their special day while it lasts. Once their private party comes to an end, it will be back to work. Back to Zapolyarny Palace, his petulant Harbingers, Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, the future of the New World. But today, he can enjoy the present with his darling.

At the last whisper, he smiles and pulls her closer. Lifts her veil. Silences her with a kiss. Holds her gaze, staring into those hopeful orbs which reflect only him.

“I look forward to it.”

♡

Read the Author’s Note here!!

To think Pierro would end up with the longest, most twistedly wholesome side story…….how tf did that happen ;-; Also hahaha cheers to Dottore appearing in another Harbinger’s fic for the second time. Chemistry reference, anyone?? :>

Thank you to everyone who expressed their love for Disjecta Membra!! I didn’t expect so many ppl to like my version of Pierro and Savior! Darling, and I hope you all enjoyed Chess Piece. Do inform me of your suffering brainrot and consider sharing this to spread the Pierro agenda~

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @kocherry @mirdance @victoria1676 @mnemosyneechan @artiifex @pierroswife @fluffy-koalala @lcveaesop @teabutmakeitazure @nicebonescomrades @ansy-tea @oofasleep @leftdestiny-posts @thescribeoflostmemories @elysiasfiance @frostedclementine

Thank you for your interest in reading!! @yandere-romanticaa​ @ddarker-dreams​ @cinnamonest​ @yanmaresu @gum-iie

[ayeohtee]

Erwin x Reader

(in all my one shots i will write hange as a woman. i know they’re technically nonbinary but i see her as a woman)

[been a bit, enjoy!]

♘ ♛ ♘

The company dance was something you looked forward to every year. The company you worked for was no doubt prestigious and extremely formal, you wouldn’t expect anything less from one of the best law firms in the nation.

But you’d never had a date to the dance in the four years you had worked for Zackary Enterprises. In fact, you began to feel lonely every time you walked through the doors to the lobby of the main office the night of the dance, everyone’s arms occupied by their partner. Every single person except for you. Well, except for you and your coworkers Erwin and Levi.

Levi, whom you had become well acquainted with and had also won a couple of cases with, had never had any interest in romantic affairs. You would say it was surprising, but with his stoicism and his lack of care for anything beyond work, it really didn’t.

Erwin, on the other hand, was someone who was known throughout the law industry for singlehandedly winning plenty of trials. A walking legend when it came to the courthouse and a brilliant asset to Zackary Enterprises. So brilliant that his services cost well over $1,500 per hour worked on his assigned cases. Of course, that meant his work was usually bought by people who earned more money than half of the company combined, but you were surprised at the distances people would travel just to work with him, the furthest you were aware of being the niece of the UAE president.

It started as an admiration for him. You looked up to him, figuratively and literally. And then after months, you shocked yourself when you realised you were slowly gaining a type of fondness for him. You deemed it ridiculous, your crush on the blonde. You had only spoken with him a handful of times, all of those times accompanied by Levi or a mutual friend Hange. Perhaps it was his eyes or the confidence he carried himself with. Or the softness in his expression when he was at ease during the conversation. His aura, maybe? The atmosphere that hung around him even?

You weren’t sure what it was, but something about him always drew your attention to him. Like a moth to a light. Your friends always talked to you about how Erwin would bring you up in random conversations they held. It often grasped your attention, the way you became the topic in conversation. It was rather intriguing, if you were to be honest.

The talks with your friends often had you convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, he admired you similarly to the way you admired him. Then the thought occurred to you, perhaps you’d go to the dance with Erwin as your partner. But you were far too cowardly to ask him yourself, his presence alone made you want to shrink back into the shadows and stay there forever. You had to mentally thank Levi and Hange for being by your side each time you managed to hold a conversation with him, without them you were sure you would’ve collapsed.

So you waited. You waited for days, weeks even, just hoping he would come to you and ask you to the dance. Walking through the office during the week you’d find him looking at you, and when he noticed you looking at him he’d simply smile and wave. You were never one to refuse the return of a distant greeting, reciprocating the action more often than not. But it wasn’t a conversation, one that revolved around the dance.

You were beginning to lose hope at this point. There were no signs of him asking you to the dance and you were readying yourself for another dance you’d arrive alone to. Tapping your pen against your desk, your cheek resting against your fist as your elbow was propped up on the desktop, you’re startled as one of your coworkers walks into your office and greets you, the pen you held in your hand falling and clattering onto the table. Looking up, you see Miche looking at you with an apologetic expression.

“Oh, hey.” You return as you lean back in your chair. “What’s up?” He looked around your space, observing the few certificates that lined the wall behind you.

“Nothing, nothing. Just wanted to see if you needed a hand, I’ve just handed in my last report for the day and the boss said I could go home if I wanted to,” the blonde states. You raise an eyebrow, gazing around him and at the door that was left slightly ajar. At that same moment, you find Hange walking past and then casting a glance into the room, making eye contact with her.

Her eyes widened, and then you blink and she was gone. You blink again in confusion, wondering if you had imagined the woman or not. You forgot Miche was talking to you until he started laughing nervously, which was a bit out of character because he wasn’t one to talk much. This whole conversation seemed completely out of character for him, so you tuned back in after his small nervous laughter.

“Hey, um, I was wondering if you had anyone to go to the dance with.” He asked, eyes only meeting yours for the briefest of moments every few seconds. You hum quietly, staring at him unblinkingly.

“I don’t.” You answer shortly, thinking if this was heading where you thought it was heading.

“Would you maybe wanna go with me?” His question would’ve surprised you if it weren’t so predictable. You will admit, you wanted to decline. You didn’t know him very well, and with how fidgety he was you could nearly guarantee he had some sort of crush on you. Though, refusing meant you were going to show up to the dance alone yet again.

The dance was the coming Friday, which was two days from now, and the chances of Erwin asking your cowardly self to the dance were slim to none. Showing up alone was one of the last things you wanted, so with a sigh, you agreed.

“Sure. I’ll go with you.” Your voice was neutral and you felt bad for your lack of enthusiasm. He was clearly excited as you agreed to his invitation, but you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that it was Miche in the position you wanted Erwin in. Your heart sunk a bit, but you muster up your best smile as he sheepishly bid you a farewell and exited your office, leaving you perplexed and speechless. Why? You weren’t sure, but imagine your surprise as Erwin glared at the man as he entered as Miche left.

You watched him enter your office, expression hard; not a common expression that would usually make his face home. His long strides leaked confidence, his jaw set tight as his usually warm eyes were now stone cold.

“Mr Smith, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask calmly, only to be surprised but his rather cold response.

“Darius had me look over your report on the murder case you solved a fortnight ago. Do it again, you��re lacking many details.” His tone was cold and you shrink back in your chair slightly, reaching for your pen again so you had something to fidget with.

“I- uh, yes of course. Many apologies.” You manage to get out, taken aback by Erwin’s sudden cold tone. It hurt, you shamefully recoiled in your seat as he cast you a glare, a glare that you didn’t know you earned. He left, closing the door a little louder than you expected and you flinched a little in response.

What did you do wrong?

But little did you know, Hange and Levi heard all of it right from the moment Miche asked you to the dance, and Erwin heard you agree to the invite. He didn’t realise it, or rather he refused to acknowledge it mentally, but it ignited some type of distaste in him. The thought of you with Miche irked him and he didn’t know why. So why he took a sudden emotional turn on you was beyond him, and as he exited your office he had to fight the urge to slap himself in the face.

The look on your face as he demanded you redo your report; a report that was flawless, it nearly made him apologise. But why was his change in behaviour your fault? Why was it influenced by you and your decisions?

As he walked through the office, he felt eyes on him. Maybe his voice was louder than he thought and the office heard how he spoke to you. He stopped in the middle of the office and turned to look, but no one seemed to pay any mind to him. All until his arms were seized in the hands of Hange and Levi as they dragged him back to his office.

“As the smart one,” Hange begins. “I don’t think your brain could’ve been any more smooth than in that exact moment right there.” She was pissed, Erwin could sense it rolling off her in waves. Levi moved to the far wall, leaning against it with his arms folded, head shaking in disappointment. He never needed to word his thoughts for Erwin to understand. The three have known each other since the very beginning of law school, so reading each other was never an issue.

Until it was an issue.

That’s when hiding anything from the two became impossible, and Erwin could barely escape them when it came to his emotions. Which is exactly why they were absolutely pissed at him for acting that way towards you after you responded to Miche the way you did.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the blonde tried anyway. Both Hange and Levi rolled their eyes simultaneously, clearly not buying it.

“Are you actually demented?!” Hange exclaimed.

“Lower your tone, idiot,” Levi hissed, demanding the hysterical glass eyed woman reduced her volume. She ignored him, Erwin stared at her blankly.

“Are you done? I’d like to get started on a new case I’ve been assigned to.” Erwin’s voice was monotonous as he walked across the room and settled in his chair behind his desk. Hange huffed in fury.

“Levi, you deal with him. He’s so damn infuriating to even look at right now,” Hange says with grit teeth as she pulls at her hair, facing the wall. The raven clicked his tongue, turning from the brunette to the blonde.

“I don’t know if you’re blind or just an oblivious idiot thats needs to be kicked but she’s been waiting for you to ask her to the dance.” Levi informed, annoyance lacing his voice. Erwin looked up from his desk at the raven, and then to the brunette whose back was still to him.

“She was waiting for me to ask her to the dance.” He repeated dumbfounded. He was going to. He just didn’t know how to, and if the timing was going to be right and if you’d even agree-

“Yes, you stupid bastard!” Hange fumes, turning back to Erwin with fury in her eyes. “She was waiting for you. You! And now Miche’s got her!” Her arms flailed about as she emphasised her feelings with movements. The blonde remained silent.

“Hange, get out.” Levi snapped and she turned to glare at him. “Now.” It took her a moment, but she scoffed as she stormed across the office and through the door, slamming it behind her.

“Levi,” Erwin says neutrally. The raven only returned with a glare as a response, pushing himself off the wall and pacing to the door.

“Sort your shit out. Fucking talk to her, apologise. Just don’t make such stupid moves again.” And then Erwin was left alone in his office with a head of questions and a heart of guilt.

You were waiting for him, but he caught on too late.

[dontyouworrydaddy]

hi!! i stumbled across ur blog and i loved ur writing so i thought i’d drop a request ^_^

so…. 141 x famous! reader

like…. HEHHEHE

like im talking realllyyy famous

celebrity type

ESPECIALLY WITH SOMEONE LIKE SIMON… POLAR OPPOSITES

ofc there would be some problems but whenever they get on leave reader just immediately frees up her schedule for the time he’ll be back !!

concert? sorry…..

touring? oops…

YK? HEHEH :3

𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫

Task Force 141 x gn! reader

YOU ARE A GENIUSSSSS!!!! OH MY GODDD I absolutely love this idea and I‘m soooo excited to write about it.

Thank you so much! I hope you love this one💘

♛ ♕ ♚ ♔ ♜ ♖ ♝ ♗ ♞ ♘ ♟ ♙

Simon Riley

Simon had always been the quiet and private person. Just a simple guy in the army who has a high position.

You, known simply as "Little Star" for the world, which you got the name from Simon, are a phenomenal actor and song writer, making millions out of acting in songs you produce.

It was a love that had surprised everyone, including themselves. Polar opposites in every sense, but they say opposites attract, and in your case, it couldn't be truer.

"Hey my little star." Simon murmured as he walked through the door of your shared apartment. He had just returned from a long, grueling mission.

You looked up from the colorful bouquet you were arranging, your face lighting up as you rushed into his arms. "Simon! You're back! I've been counting the minutes."

Simon's usually stern expression softened as he held you close. "I missed you too," he admitted quietly.

Months passed the last time you saw him and it wasn't always easy, of course. Simon's work often kept him away for long stretches, and the secrecy surrounding it meant that there were many moments he couldn't share with you. But whenever he had leave, you had a knack for freeing up your schedule, as if nothing else in the world was as important as those moments with him.

"Hey, y/n.." Simon would say, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and love. "I can't believe you're here with me."

You'd smile and reply, "Of course, Simon. You're my priority when you're home."

It wasn't always smooth sailing. You were the extrovert, and Simon was the introvert. He preferred quiet nights in, while you loved going out with friends. But you learned to compromise, to find joy in the little things.

One evening, you sat on the couch with a pile of board games in front of you. "Come on, Ghosty, let's have some fun tonight."

Simon raised an eyebrow but couldn't resist your infectious enthusiasm. "Alright, little star. You're on."

The game night ended up being filled with laughter, playful arguments, and a hot make out sessions. But amidst the chaos, there was a connection that ran deeper than any mission or song/show.

Ad you both lie on the bed, out of breath, you notice Simon looking… distracted by something. "What's on your mind, Simon?"

He sighed, looking at you. "Sometimes, I wonder if I'm cut out for this. The darkness, the secrecy... it's a lonely path."

You sat down beside him and took his hand. "Simon, you're more than your job and past. You're a person with a heart, with emotions, and you have me. I'll be your light in the darkness."

Tears welled up in Simon's eyes, and he pulled you close. "I don't know what I'd do without you, You."

Love was the force that held you two together. It was in the simple moments like cooking dinner together, sharing stories about your day, and in the way Simon's eyes lit up when he saw you waiting for him.

Simon looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "You mean everything to me," he said. "I don't say it enough, but I love you more than words can express."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you replied, "I love you too, Simon, more than anything in this world."

John MacTavish

The first time you met, it was in a bar on the outskirts of a small town. John had just returned from a covert mission, weary and battle-scarred. You were seated at the corner of the bar, reading a book and sipping a glass of wine. John couldn't help but be drawn to you, the serenity in your eyes a stark contrast to the chaos he had witnessed.

"Can I join you?" he asked, his voice gruff from days in the field.

You looked up from your book and gave him a soft smile. "Of course, you can. You seem like you could use some company."

That night marked the beginning of a connection that would change both your lives. You and John spent hours talking, discovering that you had little in common on the surface, but something profound connected you deep within. He regaled you with stories of his missions, and you listened with unwavering attention. You spoke of your passions and dreams, and he hung onto every word.

Despite the challenges of John's career, you made it work. Your relationship was a blend of late-night phone calls, handwritten letters, and stolen moments whenever he was on leave… and some moments with you and him in his car, somewhere quiet. There were also times when it seemed impossible, the worlds you inhabited so far apart, but every time he was home, you dropped everything just to be with him.

One evening, as the two of you sat on a quiet beach, watching the sun dip below the horizon, John took your hand in his and said, "I can't believe you make time for me every single time I come home. It means the world to me."

You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "You're worth it, John. You make my life feel complete, even in the midst of chaos.. where I‘m stressed with my open life."

Your relationship was a rollercoaster of emotions. There were nights of tears and longing, but there were also days of pure happiness. When John was deployed, your world revolved around waiting for his safe return and it was also the time you weren’t really home because of you tourings. And when he was back, you created moments that felt like a lifetime's worth of love in every stolen kiss and embrace.

One night you whispered to your boyfriend, "John, I never thought I'd find someone who understands me so completely. This is why my upcoming Album is about you."

John held you close, his voice full of love, "You, my love. I can't imagine facing the world without you by my side. I‘ll make sure to listen to it even if I‘m in the middle of a battlefield "

You both laughed as you laid in each other's arms, you both found love and solace amidst the chaos of your worlds.

John Price

In a chaotic city of England, you and John Price were a match that shouldn't have worked, yet somehow, you complemented each other perfectly. Your life, filled with the fame and glamour of the city, was a whirlwind of events and you touring through the UK.

Despite your wildly different lives, your love was undeniable. John would often tease you, saying, "I still can't believe you make time for a rough old captain like me." And every time, you'd respond with a smile, "You're worth every second, John."

In the evening, you stood on the balcony of your penthouse apartment, gazing at the city lights. John wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing a tender kiss to your neck. "I can't believe you've cleared your schedule for my leave again."

You turned to face him, placing your hands on his chest. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be, babe."

He smiled, his blue eyes filled with warmth. "You know, I never thought I'd find someone like you."

"You're my everything, John," you confessed, your fingers tracing his stubbled jaw. "I love you."

His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, and for a moment, the world around you disappeared. In the midst of this whirlwind romance, love was the constant that held you both together.

Over the years, you faced your fair share of challenges. John's demanding career and your busy social life often pulled you in different directions, but whenever he was on leave, your schedules aligned.

As you cuddled on the couch, John traced a finger along your cheek. "You're everything I've ever wanted," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you replied, "And you're my rock, John."

Kyle Garrick

It was one of those rare moments when you both had some time off. Kyle, exhausted from his rigorous military duties, looked forward to spending his leave with you. You, on the other hand, were in the middle of an art project, but you knew just how much he needed this break. So, you cleared your schedule with a quick text that read, "I'm all yours when you're back, love."

As you waited for him, your mind wandered back to the first time you met. It had been at an art gallery where your work was being showcased. Kyle had stood there, captivated by the vibrant colors and abstract forms on the canvases. He approached you, and your worlds collided in a beautiful mess of colors and light. You'd never met anyone like him, and he'd never met anyone quite like you.

Now, as you prepared for his return, you couldn't help but smile at the memories that flooded your mind. The first time he'd attempted to sing with you, ending up with cringing as he heard himself singing over your instrumentals and how you'd laughed until your sides ached. He, in turn, had shown you the discipline and honor that came with his job, and you admired him for it.

Finally, the day came when Kyle returned home. The excitement in your heart was palpable as you rushed to the airport to greet him. When you saw him walking towards you in his uniform, it was like something out of a movie. You rushed into his arms, your emotions bubbling over.

"I missed you," you whispered, your voice filled with love.

Kyle held you close, his strong arms wrapping around you. "I missed you more, you have no idea."

The drive back home was filled with laughter and stories of what you both had been up to. Kyle had a knack for making even the most mundane military anecdotes sound fascinating. You, in turn, shared the progress on your latest album, and he glanced at your creativity.

Once you were home, you cooked his favorite meal, and you both sat down to eat. As you sipped wine and shared stories, the hours slipped away. The love and connection you both felt were undeniable.

Later, you found yourselves snuggled on the couch, watching a movie. Kyle's fingers traced lazy circles on your hand as he said, "I can't believe how lucky I am to have you in my life. You make everything look so normal, even in the midst of chaos."

You smiled and nestled closer, your head resting on his shoulder. "And you bring a sense of order and purpose into my world. Together, we make the perfect blend of chaos and discipline."

As the night wore on, you realized that this was where you both belonged – in each other's arms.

[aviiatrix]

// So I was going to answer stuff today but something happened which made it possible that I won’t be able to find the motivation.

I had to drop all of my college classes due to a professor screwing me over before the classes fully began and I was unaware me being dropped from that course had taken me under my required credits for financial aid to fully pay for my college.

Good news is I’ll have a hell of a lot more free time until Summer semester. Bad news is— I’m set back for an entire semester when I was at least over 50% done with my degree here and was very close to finishing my other degree as well.

[daydreamingqueen1]

✰⋆My Masterlist⋆✰

➯ Requests are open! Leave me a prompt or an idea you'd like me to write <3

Fandoms I'm in: Marauder's Era | Harry Potter | Criminal Minds | Haikyuu!! | Jujutsu Kaisen | Attack on Titan | Loki | Marvel | Sherlock |

I do ships as well as x reader

LGBTQ+ welcome!

You can request Smut or dark topics as long as you are respectful about it, I reserve the right to accept or deny the request. I'll write only what I'm comfortable with.

If the fandom you'd like me to write about is not here consult me anyway, I've just written my main ones but I'm into a lot of shit

⋆☽ Marauder's Era (Harry Potter) ☾⋆

Jegulily (James x Regulus x Lily) :

House christening - Fluff & Smut | 7.1k

James and Lily throw a house warming party and invite Regulus to spend the night.

People watching - Fluff | 1.0k

Reggie watches James ask Lily out yet again.

Rosekiller (Barty Crouch Jr x Evan Rosier) :

Shotgun - Smut | 3.1k

Where Barty and Evan go in a road trip and enjoy the ride.

Wolfstar (Sirius Black x Remus Lupin) :

Touché - Fluff | 1.0k

Bits and pieces:

little blurbs or threads of thought about the marauders.

What if (Regulus Black)

Three's already a crowd (Peter Pettigrew)

Anger (Sirius Black)

Twelve (Sirius Black)

♙ ♘ Criminal minds ♘ ♙

Spencer Reid x Reader:

Sweets thief - Fluff | 1.2k

You've been stealing sweets from your resident genius.

Puppy eyes - Fluff | 1.3k

You bring a stray puppy to the BAU, how's Spencer going to react?

Push-up Bra - Fluff | 0.6k

Spencer seeing you for the first time in a push-up bra.

Lingerie - Fluff | 1.3k

Spencer panics a bit after buying you a provocative set of underwear.

[lobster-tales]

I Want You, I Need You, I Love You

Rating: T

Summary: The story of how Ambrosius befriended and fell in love with Ballister during their time at knight school.

A/N: This fic is a gift for my best friend @pastelwitchbitch (who's name, ironically, is only one letter off from 'Nimona'). She asked me to write a Goldenheart backstory with a few specific requests. Quick disclaimer I have only seen the movie, I've never read the graphic novel and I am taking some liberties. Nimona will not be in this one.

This work is available here on AO3.

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

Ambrosius had never known what it felt like to need.

To want, sure: he had wanted lots of things. He wanted to live up to the honorable memory of his ancestor, Gloreth. He wanted to eat toast with jam, his family's homemade grape jam, a jar of which he kept with his belongings, and always brought to the dining hall for breakfast to share with his best friend Todd. He wanted top marks to impress his family, and he wanted to spend his Free Days climbing trees and Free Nights stargazing at Aunt Penelope's observatory.

But need was a stranger to him. At least, until he met Ballister.

He knew Ballister's face before his name, or rather, the half of his face that showed underneath the long, unkempt dark hair. He was invisible among the other students at first, blended in easily.

But after the queen saw his ferocity on the training ground, even at such a young age, she announced her favor towards him despite his lack of noble blood, making him a target for the other children. At first, Ambrosius, like the rest of the noble children, whispered about Ballister, how he wolfed down his meals, always showed up late to class, how he had a persistent stink that never seemed to wash out. He was a short, thin child and thus earned the nickname Baby Bal, as being called a baby was the worst offense any child could suffer.

Their voices never raised above a whisper, though, because they all knew Ballister was talented, and could easily best them all despite his stature. Most acknowledged that fact with jealousy, but Ambrosius always admired him, if only in secret.

One morning, Ambrosius had foregone his usual trained politeness for annoyance. The annual knighting ceremony had been broadcast the night before, and all the children buzzed about the event well past bedtime, keeping him from sleep. Wiping his tired eyes, Ambrosius reached into his pack for his jar of jam. But it was gone.

He was surprised first, then angry. But Ambrosius kept his wits about him and said nothing during breakfast, only surveyed the other boys while they ate. His search ended with Ballister, and the undeniable violet glisten on his bread.

Still Ambrosius waited, not wanting to be caught by the knights. He waited until the students had set off on their morning jog around the institute's campus, until he and Ballister were concealed by an overgrown structure, at which point Ambrosius shoved him in mud and accused him of the theft.

Ballister was stunned. Maybe it was due to the lock of hair always hiding half his face, but it was only in that moment, as he lay back in the mud staring up, that Ambrosius realized how large and mournful Ballister's eyes were. There was no guilt there, just resignation.

Unfortunately, Ambrosius had not calculated for the security cameras watching the area, and within seconds, an older knight marched forward and condemned them both to spend Free Hour in the Quite Room.

Despite its name, the Quiet Room was filled with the rattling of a barely functioning air conditioner that, much like the snoring older knight who 'guarded' the space, was long overdue for replacement. After a few minutes, Ambrosius confronted Ballister. "Where is my jar of jam?"

"I don't have it," muttered Ballister. "I gave it back to Todd."

Ambrosius paused. "What do you mean 'back'?"

Ballister explained that Todd gave him some jam at breakfast then stuffed the jar back in his pocket. Had he known the jar belonged to Ambrosius, he would never have taken any.

The two spent the rest of the hour in silence as Ambrosius considered this. When the hour was up, he all but dragged Ballister to the yard, where Todd was laughing amidst a group of children.

Ambrosius marched right up to Todd with Ballister in tow and demanded he flip out his pockets.

Todd kept his cool, though. "Let me guess--Baby Bal told you that I'm the one who took your jam. Well, he's a liar."

"Prove it," Ambrosius challenged. "Let's see your pockets."

Reluctantly, Todd obeyed. Ambrosius felt the fabric and found it sticky. "You're the liar," Ambrosius said, hurt.

"Oh, come on!" said Todd. "Who are you going to believe? A street rat or me, your best friend?

"You're not my best friend." Ambrosius judged him, then announced with great gravity, "You're a baby."

A horrified gasp traveled through the students. Todd's eyes widened. "No, I'm not!" he insisted.

But it was too late, as all the accusing fingers aimed towards him and began chanting, "Baby! Baby!" until Todd burst into tears and ran off.

The evil defeated, Ambrosius turned back to Ballister in triumph, only to find him gone.

The next morning, Ambrosius abandoned his usual seat next to Todd, instead claiming the empty spot beside Ballister. "Want some?" he asked, offering the jar of his family's jam.

Ballister hesitated, wary for a moment, but eventually gave in. He bit down on the spread, a soft smile blooming as he chewed.

And Ambrosius never shared his family's homemade grape jam with any of the other children ever again.

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

Ambrosius spent the next few days in Ballister's company, partially out of guilt, but more-so curiosity. He watched Ballister wolf down his supper and laughed, telling him, "Whoa, slow down! It's not like it's going to run away."

Ballister paused at that, his soulful eyes flickering around the table as if to make sure no one was paying attention to them. "If I don't eat fast enough," he said in a low voice. "Sometimes the big kids take my food."

At this, Ambrosius felt so sick to his stomach that he couldn't eat, and insisted that Ballister finish his plate for him.

As the days went on, Ambrosius understood more and more that Ballister's unusual behaviors were rooted in survival rather than laziness. He was late to class because he took the long way, as it was fully surveyed by security cameras unlike the blind spots of the direct route. His underlying stink was from avoiding the bathing area, where the other boys would tease him for his wiry body.

While Ballister had accepted these truths and adjusted accordingly, Ambrosius refused. He linked himself to Ballister, glaring down anyone who even thought about judging him. Uncertain about his new companion's attention, Ballister continued to cast his eyes downward, though Ambrosius instructed him to hold his head high. "You're the best of us," he reminded him. "You deserve to act like it."

Slowly but surely, Ballister got in the habit of lifting his chin, but never showed any sign of arrogance. Instead, he just offered that shy, sweet smile.

It was that same smile that lingered in Ambrosius's head during training. He had a hard time reconciling the intense, focused warrior Ballister with the gentle Bal. How could he possibly keep all that passion swallowed in those deep, mournful eyes?

When the week's Free Days came, Ambrosius took off with the other students to spend time with his family. On returning, he shared his new adventures with Ballister and asked what he did with his Free Days.

"I just trained some more," said Ballister.

Ambrosius frowned at this. "You didn't spend time with your family?" A long moment stretched while Ambrosius waited for him to reply, until he understood that Ballister's silence was more than an answer.

When the Free Days returned, Ambrosius stayed behind at the institute with Ballister. Training one on one turned out to be much more effective, and he was amazed at how much Ballister knew. He taught Ambrosius all manner of tips and strategies, how to get a faster strike, a more powerful cleave. Without the presence of their classmates, Ballister loosened up, cracking jokes and even poking fun at Ambrosius, who was surprised and relieved at the change. After they washed up, Ambrosius suggested they spend the evening at his aunt's observatory.

Glad to see her nephew with a friend, Aunt Penelope set up two sleeping mats in the observatory, allowing the boys to spend the night beneath the glass windows and clear night sky.

"Bal?" Ambrosius asked sleepily, lying back. "Why do you want to be a knight?"

He considered his answer. "It's not that I... want to be a knight. I mean, I do, of course I do, but it's more like... I need to be a knight." His voice softened. "I need to protect people. I need to fight for the weak. I need to make sure that no kid ever grows up without a family..." He didn't say it out loud, but Ambrosius heard it all the same: like me.

Even though it was dark, Ambrosius saw him more clearly than ever. While Ambrosius had chosen knighthood, his family's status ensured that he always had other options if he changed his mind. Aunt Penelope, for example, despite being a descendant of Gloreth, had opted for a quiet, studious life. There were many paths Ambrosius could walk.

But Ballister had no choice. He worked as hard as he did because there was no other path, no other destiny. Ambrosius had never known need, but now, as he watched Ballister stargaze, the distant light sparkling in the void of those deep eyes, he finally understood what it felt like to need.

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

Weeks passed, then months, then years, in which time it became known that Ambrosius and Ballister were inseparable in every sense. They grew together, facing every battle at each other's side until their greatest foe yet reared it's ugly head: pubescence.

To the great dismay of Ambrosius, Ballister was not only the first to finish his growth spurt, but the first to sport facial hair. Ambrosius had often fantasized about having a lush beard to match his golden locks, and was mad with envy. Ballister, however, found the fast growth too much of a hindrance, as paired with his own long hair, he started feeling more and more overheated while training. So, he decided to cut his hair closer to his scalp. The combination of these physical changes drew a new crowd to Ballister, one he was unsure how to face.

He arrived back at their shared dormitory one day with a grave expression, concerning Ambrosius.

"What's up, Bal? You look like you've seen a ghost," he chuckled.

But Ballister was unamused, and wordlessly held out a crumpled piece of paper. Ambrosius read it's contents, only to burst out laughing.

Ballister said grimly, "Grizelda gave it to me."

Ambrosius whooped, "Your first girl number! We should celebrate!"

And celebrate they did, at their favorite booth in their favorite diner, eating their favorite food: nachos.

Even after food and root beer, Ballister was still solemn, so Ambrosius threw a sliced pepper at him and asked, "What's with you? Don't you like her?"

Ballister straightened his shoulders. "She's a strong warrior and comes from a good family."

Ambrosius decided not to point out that he didn't answer the question. "So what's the problem?"

"What if she wants me to hug her?"

"Then hug her."

"What if she wants me to hold her hand?"

"Then hold her hand."

"... What if she wants me to kiss her?"

Ambrosius paused, diagnosing the source of Ballister's anxiety. "Ohhh, so that's it. You haven't had your first kiss yet." He pouted his lower lip playfully, "Have you?"

"Shut up," Ballister muttered, face turning red. "Neither have you."

Before Ambrosius could respond, they heard snickering from the table behind them. Embarrassed, they both decided to continue the conversation when they were safely in the dorm once more.

"What's the big deal?" Ambrosius asked, flopping onto his messy bed sheets. "It's just a kiss."

Ballister's eyebrows had been knit with worry all night. He perched on the edge of his bed, which he made every morning. "What if I'm... bad at it?"

Ambrosius had never considered that angle. In his mind, kissing would come as easily to him as everything else had. He didn't think kissing would require any skill, but if it did, then just like any skill- "Then practice first."

Ballister wrinkled his nose. "How?"

"Like this." He held up his hand, curling his index finger and thumb to create a mouth-ish shape. "I'll do it, too, see?"

"I'm not kissing my hand."

"Fine," Ambrosius shrugged. "If you want to be a bad kisser, that's up to you."

Ballister mulled it over another moment, then gave in and raised his hand to his lips. "Ready?"

"Go."

The mouth noises seemed to echo in the small room, until finally they both pulled away, uncomfortable. "Well." Ambrosius asked, "How was that?"

"I don't know! I don't know what it's supposed to feel like!" Ballister fell back on his black comforter, head in his hands. "I'm doomed."

Ambrosius ached to see his friend in pain, and a thought struck him. It was a gamble, but he would do anything to make Ballister feel better. "Okay so, no on the hands. Maybe you should practice on a real person."

He raised his head, eyeing Ambrosius warily. "Who?"

Steeling himself, Ambrosius placed a hand on his own chest.

"No."

"No one has to know, Bal, we'll take it to our grave."

Ballister sat up again, resting his hands on his knees. "But wouldn't that count? As the legal 'first kiss'?"

"Practice doesn't count," Ambrosius reassured him. "It's like kissing your mother. If... your mother had a beard."

He huffed, but Ambrosius could tell he was seriously considering it. After a long pause, Ballister muttered, "Fine."

They knelt on the floor, facing each other. "Alright," Ambrosius said. "You... you be the guy first."

Ballister nodded sharply, like he was accepting a mission. He leaned in close, cheeks burning red, puckered his lips, and jerked his head forward.

"Hey!" Ambrosius fell back, startled. "What are you doing? It's a kiss, not a headbutt!"

"I'm being confident!" Bal said, though he was anything but. "Girls like that."

"Yeah but they don't want to be attacked!"

"Okay, you go first then, since you're such an expert!"

"Okay, I will!" Ambrosius rose and took a deep breath. "First off, I think you're supposed to do this-" He gently grabbed either side of Ballister's head, cradling his jaw in both palms. "And then you do... this..." He leaned in close, so that their noses were brushing, both keenly aware of each other's warm breath. "And then..." Ambrosius pressed his lips against Ballister's, surprised at how soft they were. He thought the beard might tickle, but it actually felt kind of spiny and... good.

He didn't know how long they were locked. Several seconds, savoring the strange, new sensation, until Ballister pulled away suddenly.

"What?" Ambrosius asked, concerned. "What, did I do it wrong?"

"No," Ballister said breathlessly. "Um, no that was..." He straightened his shoulders, regained his composure. "That was acceptable." Very official.

Ambrosius shook his head and grinned. "Your turn."

Ballister mirrored his action, cradling his jaw, but took it one step further as his finger tucked a strand of gold hair behind Ambrosius's ear, causing his face to flood with heat.

The second kiss was even better than the first, if that was possible. Ambrosius leaned into him, placing a hand behind his neck and pulling him closer. Ballister parted his lips slightly, and they tasted each other. Ambrosius's tongue dared forward, drawing a clean line along Ballister's lower lip, and the action elicited a pleasured hum from Bal.

This time, they both broke away, panting. They shared a deep blush and a series of stammers.

"Well that was-"

"Yeah that was-"

"Good."

"Great- oh... yeah, good."

"No no, I mean... it was great."

"Cool."

"Cool."

"...I need to-"

"Yeah, me too-"

"You want first shower or?"

"I'm gonna go for a walk!"

"Great!"

"Good."

The mission completed, they stuck to their word and decided not to speak of it. Ballister did indeed go on a date with Grizelda, and as far as the student body was concerned, she was his legal first kiss. Ambrosius, not wanting to fall behind socially, asked out Liliana and shared his first kiss with her. Both love affairs, if they could even count as such, only lasted a matter of weeks if not days, but their purpose was fulfilled.

But Ambrosius and Ballister knew the truth, even if they would never admit it to anyone, not even each other.

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

They were nearly at the end of their schooling when it happened. Something remarkable, during an otherwise unremarkable moment.

Ambrosius and Ballister ensured that they shared most classes, one of which was Sir Buntwhisk's history. He was a particularly severe knight, with beady eyes and a perpetual scowl: a demeanor that, paired with his unusual name, made him an easy target for the immature students, who not-so-affectionately referred to him as Sir Buttwhisker.

Ambrosius thus dedicated this class to doodling, passing the small, usually crass drawings to Ballister in secret with one goal in mind: to break his composure. He had really only succeeded once or twice, sending Ballister into a choked laughter that he failed to hide with a cough, muttering something about the changing weather.

But today when Ambrosius passed the doodle, he got the same reaction as always, regular as clockwork. First, the annoyed wrinkle of Ballister's nose, followed by the resigned stretch of his arm to accept the paper. He unfolded it and smiled, a soft smile, and shook his head fondly. His eyes flickered to Sir Buntwhisk, careful to avoid notice as he scribbled something onto the note and passed it back.

Ambrosius had drawn a pictogram of Sir Buntwhisk's unfortunate nickname: two semicircles for the butt with whiskers protruding from the side of each cheek.

However, Ballister had drawn two neat lines connecting the semicircles to create a heart, as well as two eyes and a mouth so that now, the doodle was of a heart-shaped cat's face.

Ambrosius glared at Ballister, only to be met with that same soft smile and deep eyes, sparkling with mirth.

A completely unremarkable moment, one they had shared many times before. But this time, Ambrosius was changed.

Now, every time he looked at Ballister, he felt his heart flutter, like a small bird was trapped there. His breath would come sharper, his face would feel hot. In the past, Ballister was often in his thoughts, which was to be expected considering their closeness. But now, Ballister was every thought. Ambrosius found himself going out of his way to be near him, found himself lying awake at night just to listen to the pleasant rhythm of Ballister's breath across the room.

It was so unfair. Here he was, undone and unhinged, flustered all the time and yet Ballister was blissfully unaware, going about his days as if Ambrosius was not in yearning agony for every second.

Weeks passed this way, Ambrosius trying and failing to come up with a plan, or even gathering his wits enough to explain his condition to Ballister. But his efforts were futile, and he resigned himself to the miserable ecstasy of Ballister's presence, convincing himself that it was enough.

"Are you okay?" Ballister asked one day, concern weighing down his already solemn expression. "You've seemed... off these past few weeks."

"I'm fine!" Ambrosius lied. Poorly. "I'm totally fine, I feel great, never been better!"

Ballister's frown deepened. "You sure?" To Ambrosius's dismay, he placed his cool knuckles against his forehead. "You feel hot."

"I'm fine!" he screeched, swatting Ballister's arm away like it was an insect. "Really! I'm just... stressed. About, uh... finals."

"... Ambrosius," Ballister said with sympathy, like he was speaking to a child. "Finals are months away."

"Well, you know!" His voice was too loud. He took a moment, forcing himself into some semblance of composure. "I just... want to do well."

Ballister stroked his beard thoughtfully. "If you're that worried, maybe we should dedicate a Free Day to studying each week."

That was just like him, always the problem solver, ready to make the situation better without knowing he was making it so much worse.

But Ambrosius heard himself say, "Sure, Bal. Thanks. I owe you one."

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

Studying wasn't quite as miserable as pining, but it was pretty damn close. Long days poring over dusty textbooks, filling out page after page of notes, until Ambrosius's weary mind was nothing more than a sea of numbers and jargon. He even started having nightmares about math--math!

But at least it helped distract him from his aching heart. The feelings were no longer a storm brewing, but an overcast sky: still not ideal, but tolerable.

Until the day a banner appeared above the main hallway, and the clouds parted.

Spring Promenade: the yearly end of the term celebration to reward students for their hard work, a tradition dating back centuries. Also the perfect opportunity to make a move. If Ambrosius still couldn't muster up the courage to confess his undying devotion, then asking Ballister to Prom would be a close second.

Tragically, Ambrosius lacked the power of planning that Ballister seemed to brandish so effortlessly. He fussed about for weeks, struggling to brainstorm the perfect means. Definitely not anything public: Ballister was easily embarrassed and would likely run before Ambrosius could finish the question. Maybe a handwritten note on scented stationery, tucked in the pages of his favorite book. But what if he didn't see it in time? Or what if he did but somebody had already asked him? Or what if he didn't want to go at all? What if he-

"Are you going to Promenade with anyone yet?" Ballister asked casually, during one of their study sessions.

Ambrosius's heart was in his throat, but he managed to choke out, "N-no, not yet. Are you? Going? With someone?"

"Well, Liliana invited us both to go with her and Grizelda. What do you think?"

"Yes!" he said, too quickly, and recovered with a "I mean, sure. Whatever."

"Great." Ballister grinned. "It'll be so much fun to go with friends." And he continued to study as if the words hadn't crushed Ambrosius's heart like an empty root beer can.

Finals flew by. Ambrosius did extremely well, which was unsurprising considering how many beautiful days he sacrificed to studying, though Ballister was still top of the class. The stress of exams was nothing more than an afterthought in Ambrosius's mind compared to the preparation for Promenade. He had finally formed a plan: during the dance, he would pull Ballister aside and confess in a sweeping, romantic monologue, so well-written and heartfelt that it would be impossible for Ballister not to return his affection.

By the time Prom arrived, Ambrosius had narrowed his thoughts down to the--sixth? Seventh? He'd lost track--final draft of the confession, stuffing the script in the pocket of his golden suit jacket.

He had envisioned himself arriving at Ballister's doorstep, waiting to see him come down the stairwell, just like in the movies. But Ambrosius forgot they lived together, so they ended up getting dressed in the same room.

As Ballister adjusted his black tuxedo, Ambrosius pulled out a small box from under his bed and shoved it in his hand. "Here."

"What's this?" Ballister frowned at the contents, confused. "A favor? For me?"

"I-it's traditional," Ambrosius stammered. "And... and you know, since we're not going with anyone else..."

Ballister beamed at him, and Ambrosius thought he might melt at the sight. "That's so thoughtful, Amb. Can you help me pin it on?"

The golden flower and ribbons nearly blended in perfectly with Ambrosius's suit. Ballister admired it in the mirror before his face fell. "I didn't get one for you, though."

"It's okay! I don't mind."

"Wait, I have an idea." Ballister loosened his black tie and pulled it over his head, then did the same for Ambrosius's golden tie. Ambrosius wondered if he imagined the slight blush that crept over Ballister's cheeks as he switched the ties. "There," said Ballister triumphantly, surveying them both in the mirror. "Now we match."

Even though Ambrosius's parents had never met Liliana's or Grizelda's parents, they all seemed in perfect collusion, constantly arranging and rearranging the four teenagers for pictures until Liliana lost her temper and commanded them to stop, as they were now running late.

The institute's dining hall had been transformed, covered in balloons, bright lights, and sparkly decorations that hung from the ceiling. A long banquet table held an array of appetizers including a massive charcuterie board, with a large bowl of red punch at the end. A live band performed onstage while students mingled and danced.

After an hour or so, Ambrosius felt brave enough to take Ballister aside and out to the empty bleachers of the training field.

"What's up?" Ballister asked, mirroring Ambrosius by leaning on the rail.

Ambrosius cleared his throat. "Well, Bal. Ballister. Bally hoo, my old pal Bal." He gently punched his shoulder, trying and failing to pretend the action wasn't awkward.

Ballister just blinked at him patiently. Why was this so hard?

"We, uh, we've been friends for a long time," Ambrosius said.

"Yep."

"... Long, long time. Years."

"Sure."

"... Most of our lives, really."

"Ambrosius, is everything okay?" Ballister's soulful, worried eyes seemed to swallow him whole. It was now or never. Ambrosius reached into his pocket for the speech.

"Am-BRO-sius!" a voice hollered. Ambrosius bit back an annoyed groan as Todd bounded up the bleacher stairs and threw his arms around them both. His breath smelled like something that was definitely not red punch. "You comin to the afterparty, dude? My folks are out of town and we are gonna get cray-zayyyy." He clapped Ballister's shoulder. "You can come too, Mr. Vale-DICK-torian!" And then he fell apart laughing at his own terribly unfunny joke.

"Yeah..." Ambrosius didn't even try to indulge him. "Can you actually give us a minute, Todd?"

But Todd ignored him, dragging him back towards the dance. "Come on, Am-bro, my date's been asking about you all night. She's never met a descendant of Gloreth."

After a series of introductory hand shakes and more loud whoops than Ambrosius ever wanted to hear again in his life, he finally broke free, emerging onto the crowded dancefloor. The band stirred up one of his favorite songs, and he scanned the room for Ballister, hoping to ask him for a dance.

He froze. There in the center of the dancing couples, Ballister swayed to the music with Liliana in his arms.

When he caught Ballister's eye, Ambrosius turned away. He ran down the hallway, past the startled, lip-locked couples, and climbed the stairs to the not-so-secret roof entrance. He burst out of the metal door, catching himself on the railing as he fought back tears beneath the starry expanse.

"Ambrosius?" Ballister's voice. But Ambrosius couldn't bring himself to turn and face him.

"I'm fine," he said curtly. "You should get back to Liliana, finish your dance."

Ballister paused. "She... just wanted to dance while her girlfriend was in the bathroom."

"... Girlfriend?"

Ballister sighed and joined him on the railing. "Look, I... I didn't tell you because she asked me not to say anything, but Lily's had a crush on Grizelda for months. She didn't ask her to Prom because she was scared of getting rejected, so that's why she wanted us all to go as friends. Then it turned out Grizelda felt the same way so they got together right before Prom." He studied Ambrosius, not understanding the ironic pain laid bare on his features. "I wouldn't have danced with her if I knew how much it upset you." He thought for a moment, his fingers absently toying with the gold favor pinned to his chest. "... Why did it upset you?"

Ambrosius gazed at Ballister, watched a spring breeze ruffle his dark hair, his mouth still in a questioning pout. Even after all these years, he remembered what it had been like to kiss that mouth, the gentle prickle of his beard. He wanted to kiss him again.

No. He needed to.

Ambrosius reached up, cradling Ballister's head in his hands, ignoring the surprise on his face. Ballister only had the chance to say, "What are you-" before Ambrosius consumed the words, pressing his lips to Ballister's with a delicate force.

It was even better than he remembered. Once the surprise passed, Ballister leaned into him, even hummed contentedly.

Reality hit, and Ambrosius broke away, mortified. "S-sorry! Fuck, sorry, I'm doing this all out of order-" He fished for the speech in his pocket. "I was supposed to do the romantic monologue first, then I could-"

"You wrote a romantic monologue?" Ballister spoke slowly, as if in a daze. "For me?"

"Yes." Ambrosius cleared his throat and read, "'Bal, we've been friends for a long time, and you know that I- Mmph!" He didn't get to finish as Ballister crushed their lips together again. He kissed the way he trained, with intense passion.

Ambrosius savored it for a moment before releasing him with a breathy chuckle. "Can-can you let me finish? I worked really hard on this."

"Right sorry." Ambrosius only managed to inhale before Ballister linked his arms around his waist and captured his mouth again, murmuring against his lips, "Actually, you can tell me later."

☾ ♞ ♘ ☀

"'And so Bal, all of that said,'" Ambrosius read. He was lying back, head on Ballister's chest. They had discarded their tuxedo jackets, having loosened their swapped ties and unbuttoned halfway down their shirts. The clothes all stank of sweat: years of training had given them both enough stamina to dance for nearly two hours straight, right up until the end of Promenade. "'You're my best friend and... I love you.'" He twisted around to see Ballister's glowing face. "Well? What do you think?"

Ballister kissed his knuckles. "That was beautiful. But your grammar is atrocious."

Ambrosius gawked at him. "What?"

"Amb, you're almost a legal adult and you still say 'all of the sudden'? It's 'a'. 'All of a sudden'." He took the paper from Ambrosius's shocked fingers. "Not to mention your spelling. For Gloreth's sake, Amb, sound it out: 'de-fin-ite-ly'. You wrote 'defiantly'."

"Are... are you actually critiquing my heartfelt declaration of love?"

"It's called constructive criticism."

Ambrosius swiped the speech back, pretending to be offended. "You know what? I take it back. I don't love you."

Ballister chuckled. "You can't take it back."

"Oh yeah? Watch this." He wiggled his fingers like he was casting a spell. "I don't love you anymore. In fact, I hate you," he said playfully.

Ballister kissed him again, this time much more tender, before resting his sweaty forehead against Ambrosius's with a soft smile. "I love you too."

[lxdymoon0357]

Hello can u do a Rashta X Reader Hcs on how Rashta would act if the reader is a Noble who felt bad for her and Helped her escape

How would she react to seeing the reader again Before and after Rashta Became Empress??

(The first Rashta x reader request I've received, well other than than the yandere one, but a singular Rashta request that only puts spotlight on our relationship with her? I'mma die here but write it up to you!!!! Also Angst warning...)

Rashta X Reader:

I don't think...I'm ever gonna let you leave...

♘ Rashta who became friends with you after you saw her seven months pregnant trying to climb a tree in your estate to get some fruits, you instantly stopped her and got yourself a ladder and offered her some of the rarest fruits in your estate's garden, you later on found out she was the slave belonging to Rimwell family.

♘ Though she greeted you informally, she was bubbly, lively and a kind person, along with being beautiful, she was also thoughtful and always though how she could help someone in need, no matter of their status or colour. You would also always keep track of how she's doing in the Rinwell estate.

♘ You were great friends with her and sooner or later, the Rimwell family got to know your companionship with her and they banned her from leaving the estate worrying if she told you about her abuse.

♘ You knew they were horrible people and your assumptions were right seeing how they treated Rashta and soon you got a spy installed there who became the most trusted employee of the family, your spy who knew everything going on inside the place reported everything to you and eventually you learned about Lotteshu going to kill Rashta's child, though you couldn't do anything you allowed her chances to escape in which she succeeded.

♘ Unfortunately, you lost track of her after she began running away, and you couldn't find her for a few weeks after that, until you received a invitation for a banquet in celebration of the emperor's new concubine.

♘ You saw Rashta there, dressed up in a cute blue dress talking with a few aristocratic ladies, but seeing how she was talking and behaving you realised that she still hasn't been educated and still isn't accepted by the empress.

♘ But since you didn't want to take her spot-light, you stayed near your own group, not too far from her, but even through the whole dinner, even when she saw you, she only glared at you, making you all confused, but you didn't interact with her the whole night...

♘ This happened many times and eventually you both didn't even glance at each-other, once Rashta bumped into you on purpose and it started a rumour about you being one of the people who bought her when she was a slave, this hurt you a lot, eventually you stopped caring about how she was doing in the palace and stopped attending banquets held in her honour, including one of her pregnancy.

♘ But you would often have people give you information on her and sooner or later you learnt that the Rimwell family again got into contact with her, but this time you couldn't do anything as you both weren't close anymore.....

♘ The Rimwell family was blackmailing her by using her first child Ian, saying they would reveal her baby and her backstory to the imperial family and so would get her banished...

♘ Later you learnt how the empress's brother sneaked in abortion pills in Rashta's meal form your dear friend working as a servant at the castle, but you couldn't do anything..

♘ Sooner or later, you had to compulsorily attend the divorce of the emperor and empress, where the empress got the permission to remarry and she ended up remarrying Heinry, the king from the Western Kingdom, and Rashta was declared empress.

♘ Everybody in the empire was doubtful of Rashta being the empress, including you, you knew she still wasn't educated enough, how would she be able to handle a huge empire without knowing the basics of it???

♘ Soon, you had biggest gut feeling something horrible was going to happen between the Eastern Empire and the Western Kingdom due to the feud between the emperor Sovieshu, the ex-empress Navier, King Heinrey and Rashta...

♘ Fortunately, you were right, a huge war broke out between the Western Kingdom and Eastern Empire, luckily as you were one of the huge nobles, you were able to store enough supplies to keep you and all your servants and their family healthy and safe under your watch...

♘ The eastern empire was defeated and it became a part of the Western kingdom, making it the Western empire. Luckily all your closed ones and you were safe, but even then you wished you could have the chance to meet Rashta once again as your dear friend.

[acespaceacepilot]

wyll ravengard, my beloved

♘⚔♡ a wyll playlist on spotify with themes on leaving/going home, the weight of sacrifice, and atonement

(song list + lyrics that made me chose them below the cut)

don’t let them see you cry - manchester orchestra

so breathe while you're alive / let the big band play as you tap leather with your fingers / and i tried to write in style / but the words just come and i write them as soon as i see 'em

passenger seat - death cab for cutie

i roll the window down / and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road / and the strong scent of evergreen / from the passenger seat as / you are driving me home

open arms - november ultra

love with open hands / love the fool who smiles / the wisdom of the damned / love with open heart / let it burn you, consume you / take over who you are

meet you at the gate - jayne trimble

there was a field, and at the brow of a hill / i had a vision, time stood still, you were holding / the world in your hands, you said / "come on up what are you waiting for? / you are willing, and i am able / to take your load, your heavy load— / i am stronger, than the beasts of this land / i have a softer touch than any human hand."

(no one knows me) like the piano - sampha

you know i left, i flew the nest / and you know i won't be long / and in my chest you know me best / and you know i'll be back home

love love love - the mountain goats

king saul fell on his sword when it all went wrong / and joseph's brothers sold him down the river for a song / and sonny liston rubbed some tiger balm into his glove / some things you do for money and some you do for love, love, love

17 - youth lagoon

surrounded by nothing / but the nothing's surrounded by us / but it's just me in my room / with my eyes shut / oh, when i was seventeen / my mother said to me / "don't stop imagining. the day that you do is the day that you die."

wheels roll home - the antlers

don't go before you leave / every second we got, we gotta make believe / that you'll be right back like you never left / like you mailed yourself to your return address / in a self-stamped envelope / you'll revolve 'round the globe / but / when your wheels roll home (x3) / no more you roam

don’t haunt this place - yellow ostrich

don't haunt this heart, don't haunt this place / your heart beating slow as it beats out of pace / … / this was hard, it was fun, we should do it again / give ourselves some time, ten years from the day / i need you now, i need you then / i never want to feel this again

only the young die good - saintseneca

if only the good ones die young / i'd pray your corruption come / swift like a thief in the night / right i pluck my right eye right out / yanked from your slumber / what ominous portent / dangles in your face / rife with sprites falling on knives / crowd into your gaze

the boy who blocked his own shot - the thoughtlife

i'll grow old, start acting my age / be a brand new day in a life that you hate / a crown of gold, a heart that's harder than stone / and it hurts a whole lot but it's missed when it's gone / … / and if it makes you less sad, i'll move out of the state / you can keep to yourself, i'll keep out of your way / and if it makes you less sad, i'll take your pictures all down / every picture you paint, i will paint myself out

salt circle - eliza mclamb

i'm tender as a soft warm palm / and i don't know how to deal with my anger yet / when i was younger i'd curse the thought / of thinking all of them / and i'm afraid of losing my mind / cause then i'd lose my place / oh, nothing keeps me here as much as / the sight of my own face

dyin day - anaïs mitchell

be it work or be it rite? / father, tell me / brings us to the mountainside / every day a dying day / be it work or be it rite / oh my sweet babe / we come to make a sacrifice / every day a dying day

welcome home, son - radical face

ships are launching from my chest / some have names but most do not / if you find one, please let me know what piece i've lost / peel the scars from off my back / i don't need them anymore / you can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars

believe me - james and the shame

i think you want an answer / i'm not prepared to give / 'cause the one i gave you said that, that ain't it / must be something that i want / … / i don't think it's true / i'm not asking you to agree / i'm just asking you to believe me / you say my heart was never true / that might say more 'bout you

boy with a coin - iron & wine

a boy with a coin he crammed in his jeans / then making a wish he tossed in the sea / walked to a town that all of us burn / when god left the ground to circle the world

devil’s resting place - laura marling

i woke up one morning to know that i had gone / finally taken the step and jumped right off the wall / when you come to call on me that's why my eyes are glazed / i've been with the devil in the devil's resting place / i am loathe to say that i have been to stay / i've been with the devil in the devil's resting place

little soldiers - the crane wives

now the aftermath will ring with songs you've sung / all of our words sent home in boxes / i fought with tooth and nail before the flag had flown / but you were already gone

c’mon baby, cry - orville peck

i can see the sadness in your eyes / you've been tryna hide what you left behind / they say it's darkest before the dawn / but you've been smiling for so long / a thousand teardrops can't be wrong, no

another travelin’ song - bright eyes

well i'm changing all my strings / i'm gonna write another traveling song / about all the billion highways and the cities at the break of dawn / well i guess the best that i can do now is pretend that i've done nothing wrong / and to dream about a train that's gonna take me back where i belong

[oblivions-dawn]

𝐃𝐨'𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐫; 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

─[✦]─ ❝ᴡᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜɪᴍ sᴀғᴇ . . . ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ғᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ.❞ ─[✦]─

Age: 29-32 Pronouns: He/Him Gender: Male Sexuality: Gay Height: 5'7 Birthsign: The Lady Race: Khajiit [Suthay] Class: Khopesh/Shield Warrior Alliances: The Companions Family: Dro'Razhid - Father [alive]; Ka'therra - Mother [alive]; Tsriaji - Sister [alive]; Fahema - Sister [alive]; Qa'azda - Sister [deceased] Love Interest: Farkas

For lore and extras, please peruse under the cut below!

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞;

Do'Shavir was the third born to a merchant family in Orcrest, Elsweyr. He started dreaming of adventure from a young age, and his dreams were often encouraged, especially by his youngest sister. After she passed away from an illness, Do'Shavir worked hard to support his family and even set up his own stall to sell wares on the side. Once he made enough money, he purchased his own sword, then set off into the world shortly after, promising to send letters and money back to his family. For several years, Do'Shavir found work in the Fighters Guild in Cyrodiil, and he was relatively happy. Eventually, however, he was blamed for an incident that wasn't his fault, and he had no choice but to leave the guild. He headed north into Skyrim and heard rumours about the Companions. He tracked them down to Whiterun and joined them, much to Vilkas' chagrin. Despite the general distrust of strangers they held towards him at first, he proved himself and is well liked within the Companions, even among the more disgruntled members. He kept his word about writing home, which he does often when he has the time.

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬;

♘ Do'Shavir makes an appearance in my sequel fanfiction, Breathless, in Chapter 3, Missing. He also appears in the subsequent Chapter 4, The Hunt. ♘ While out for a job in Darkwater Crossing, Do'Shavir was kidnapped and taken to Helgen along with Ulfric and several Stormcloaks. He is traumatised by the destruction he witnessed there and has a fear of fire. ♘ Due to his experience at Helgen, he was sent out by Farengar to retrieve the Dragonstone at Bleak Falls Barrow, which he did successfully and brought back to him and Delphine. ♘ He still feels immense guilt over his youngest sister's death and often blame himself for her fate. ♘ In his flower crown, there's lavender, dragon's tongue, and tundra cotton. ♘ Do'Shavir is right-handed. ♘ His eyes are serpentine. ♘ He silently prays for those he has slaughtered, as he believes there was no choice. He wishes them safe passage to whatever afterlife they believe in. ♘ Some time before the events in Breathless, Do'Shavir and Agmaer banished the Pale Lady in Frostmere Crypt.

For information on other OCs, you can find them under Senu's Skyrim OCs!

[troublesomecousin]

♘ - a memory of their sibling(s)

♘ - a memory of their sibling(s)

It had been years, nearly a whole lifetime it felt like since he'd last seen Orin. But well, Kevin had been living in England for longer now than he had New York, so it made some sense that it felt that way. The wide-eyed kid he had been when he and his mother had moved to be closer to her family had been replaced with a moderately surly teenager, but standing here now with his brother he still felt small. A decade and change difference in age would do that, but Kevin was still disappointed by the fact that he still felt like a baby even now that they were nearly the same size. Plus, he knew how to swear properly now! That made him an adult! "Mum's gonna flip if she finds out you got me these. I think she might kill you first then me," Kevin said, unsure of what else to say as he stuck the pack of cigarettes into his pocket and stuffed the dirty magazines inside his coat. He'd only asked for the cigarettes, but Orin had been grinning ear to ear when he'd practically shoved the paper bag into his little brother's hands. Kevin had almost thought to say something about them not exactly being his taste, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful. That and he wasn't sure he was ready to tell anyone about his "preferences". "S'don't tell her," Orin replied with a shrug as he started back toward the house. Kevin quickly followed after him, his hands sweating a bit as he carried his contraband with him. "You do know how to lie I hope. Woulda figured you'd have inherited that skill from our dad...and besides, your ma loves me. She'd just kill you." Kevin rolled his eyes. "Yea, yeah...I know. She's got a thing for dumbass Americans." "Don't be such a little snot, Kevvy," Orin retorted, reaching over and ruffling the other's hair, much to his displeasure. But Kevin kept his irritation silent, frowning instead before turning his gaze toward the ground. "It's unbecoming of a young man...shit, when'd you get tall? Baby brothers aren't supposed to get tall." Stopping dead in his tracks, Kevin couldn't hide his agitation this time. He glowered at Orin from behind a now disheveled lock of dark hair. "It's been eight years. You stopped writing. What? Did you think I stop growing when you're not around? Think I'm still a kid?" "Kevin..." Orin's voice was uncharacteristically soft, all jocularity lost as he stood there staring. His lips curled slightly as if he was going to say something nasty, and Kevin braced himself, but nothing angry came. "I don't know...I don't think any of that. I just...I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean anything by it." Kevin let his shoulders relax, having until just then not realized how much he had hunched them. He sniffled, trying to contain any further embarrassing displays of emotion. "Fine..." he replied, starting up walking again, this time Orin was the one lagging a few steps behind. "Just...don't do that again. Don't forget about me, okay? Promise you won't." Orin placed a hand on Kevin's shoulder, and despite himself, Kevin did find the warmth and the weight soothing. He didn't get this sort of feeling from anyone else. Not his mother, his step-dad...he'd missed feeling protected by someone outside of himself. "I won't, kiddo. I didn't...I promise." "And promise not to call me 'kiddo'." "No."

[asimplearchivist]

☼ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☼

☼ 𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ☼ ☼ [header(s) credit] | [divider(s) credit] ☼ ☼ Follow @asimplearchive and turn on notifications for updates! ☼

𝐈𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

‘ 𝕭𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝕲𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕾𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖑 . ’ | 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙 | ☆ / ♡ ♧ ♦ ♣ / ♔ ♕ ♗ ♖ ♘

[ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⤏ (Cullen Rutherford/MGiT!Inquisitor!Reader) 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 ⤏ A collection of idyllic, pastoral, cozy scenes from quiet retired life in the fereldan countryside, featuring one Cullen Stanton Rutherford and his reputable bride (as well as his three siblings, a pair of mabari, and a litany of other characters both familiar and not). 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⤏ mild/implied/referenced sexual content (nothing explicit), referenced past body mutilation/scarring thereof, limb loss, (inaccurate depictions of) ptsd, trauma, flashbacks/night terrors, anxiety attacks, depression, nervous breakdowns, self-imposed isolation, vague references to past witnessed horrors, mild intoxication, bug/insect cw... [more tags to be added] 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼 ⤏ (mostly) canon compliant, post-canon, post-trespasser, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, flirting, teasing, angst, insomnia, cooking, sharing clothes, berrypicking, foraging, horseback riding, baking, swimming, bathing/washing, skinny dipping, fishing, napping, tree climbing, writing a memoir/autobiography, cloud watching, bug catching, pranks, mischief, babysitting, picking flowers, bouquets, drying flowers (mentioned), flower crowns, picnics... [more tags to be added]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈 🍃 𝕾𝖑𝖊𝖊𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕴𝖓

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕭𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖋𝖆𝖘𝖙

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕳𝖊𝖗𝖇 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐕 🍃 𝕬𝖓𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖑 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐕 🍃 𝕺𝖚𝖙𝖋𝖎𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖊

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐕𝐈 🍃 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕰𝖝𝖕𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐕𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕱𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐗 🍃 𝕿𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝕮𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗 🍃 𝕮𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖉 𝖂𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐈 🍃 𝕭𝖚𝖌 𝕮𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕻𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕱𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖘

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕻𝖎𝖈𝖓𝖎𝖈

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐈𝐕 🍃 𝕾𝖚𝖓𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝕺𝕽 𝕾𝖚𝖓𝖘𝖊𝖙

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐕 🍃 𝕱𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖞!

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐕𝐈 🍃 𝕳𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝕭𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕬𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖔𝖔𝖓 𝕹𝖆𝖕

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕿𝖊𝖆 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖞

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐈𝐗 🍃 𝕱𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗 🍃 𝕺𝖈𝖊𝖆𝖓 𝖁𝖎𝖊𝖜

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐈 🍃 𝕾𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝕮𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕱𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕱𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖙

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕽𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖞 𝕯𝖆𝖞

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕 🍃 𝕾𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝕮𝖆𝖗𝖊

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐕 🍃 𝕶𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈 🍃 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕹𝖔𝖔𝖐

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕮𝖔𝖟𝖞 𝕶𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖓

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 🍃 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝕯𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐗 🍃 𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝕷𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐗 🍃 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖟𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈 🍃 𝕭𝖔𝖓𝖚𝖘