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buckyschair · 1 month ago

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✸ WHAT HE DOESN'T KNOW ✸

ILLICIT AFFAIRS ✸ PART TWO

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: After reconnecting with your old flame Azriel, you can’t get him out of your mind. Now, it’s your husband’s birthday, but who’s gonna give you a gift? After all, what he doesn't know won't kill him... AKA closet quickie with Azriel at your husband’s birthday party

Content Warnings: contains smut 18+ MINORS DNI, cheating (WITH, not ON Azriel), alcohol, female reader, shitty husband (not physically abusive), casual shadow bondage, PIV sex (no protection bc they are faeries and this is fiction, but put on your mental magic condom if you must), gross liberties taken with whatever’s going on with the Hewn City, swearing, no use of Y/N

Author's Notes / Housekeeping: 1. This is a part two to my previous fic Illicit Affairs, I would highly suggest you read that first so that the context makes sense, but not strictly necessary 2. Reader’s husband is a guy I made up, named Lustere. He works under Mor’s dad so he’s a minor political figure in the Court of Nightmares (he’s introduced more in this part, but saying it here for clarity) 3. This fic is not based on Eurovision’s plot at all I promise haha but HEAVILY inspired by that one line from Scotty Doesn’t Know: I did her on his birthday ;)

Enjoy!!

Word Count: 6.8k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Despite the world shifting force of your collision with Azriel, not much changed afterwards.

The days slipped by, transient and thin as ever.

Although admittedly, after your late night rendezvous, your games died down. You still lit a fire on occasion out of habit, but the fantasies had lost their power to distract you.

Without the ability to make your thoughts a refuge, your thoughts began to bite back, and they played dirty. They consumed you.

It was not the gentle kiss of fantasy but the harsh swallow of reality that haunted your days and your nights, your psyche irrevocably tied to the painful present. You were shocked to find it so mind numbing.

Nothing in your life was your own. How have you put up with it all these years? As a female in a court of males and fuckery, nothing was yours. Every piece of food that passed your lips, every sip of wine, every fancy dress, bought with your husband’s credit.

So what could be yours?

Even as your heart despaired, some small part of you whispered, and your soul curled involuntarily around a persistent, subtle flicker. Your eyes had begun to catch shadows everywhere. Wherever they lurked, you wondered, were they his?

You hoped the answer was yes.

Regardless, their presence soothed you. They were a reminder.

Azriel.

What you had with him, however gossamer thin, was yours. No one else’s.

One night had been enough; the secret fueled you.

The parties were easier to organize, the house more orderly than ever. When the dullness threatened to deaden every nerve, your memory was quick to recall the thrill. It kept you back from that brink.

However, it was a pity that the fresh fuel was poured into such futile efforts, the most interesting of which was planning boring events for your and your husband’s social world. You were certain your eyes would soon dry out from a lack of entertainment.

One of these events was a celebration.

Your husband’s day of birth.

When Lustere had first entered your life, now centuries ago, you had honestly been relieved. He had represented a chance at a new life, maybe even at love. Mostly, he had promised an escape from your father’s home. In that, at least, he had proved useful. Not so much for the rest.

If you heard the voice of hope now, you would hardly recognize her. Her gentle song had died centuries ago, along with a part of your soul.

As his day approached, you thought you ought to feel something, some joy, some excitement, perhaps some pride in the male he had become. All you could muster was a temporary damper for the decades of resentment.

Luckily for you, you were in charge of the whole event, including the guest list.

“Who do you want me to invite?” you asked him casually after dinner one night, well in advance of the event.

Lustere sighed condescendingly, the sound score of your life. “Aren’t you supposed to be handling this? I’m so very busy these days.”

Your eyes crossed from your stacks of papers to where he was pouring his third drink of the evening. Busy indeed.

“Of course, dear. I’ve got it covered, I just want to make sure I don’t leave anyone out.” Your tone was as sweet as the smile plastered to your face.

“Don’t leave anyone out!” he urged you with your own words, as if it were a new thought for you to try out. “Invite everyone important.”

You bit back a bubbling retort, your sweet smile tasting sour. “I’ll see to it.”

“Good, good,” he mumbled dismissively.

“It will be a lovely event; and, more importantly, no one who matters will be snubbed.” As you spoke the words, Lustere turned to you slightly– almost even looking at you.

His face was set in a scheme, so he looked pained. “On second thought, maybe we could uninvite that one guy. You know, the courtier with the annoying wife?”

“We can’t uninvite them, not when they haven’t been invited yet.”

“Maybe their invite could get lost in the mail.”

Your eye roll was internal, but you wished you could slap it into his mind. He never listened.

“Consider it done,” you agreed.

At least he was predictable.

In his self importance, Lustere had asked you to ‘invite everyone important’.

How convenient, you smiled to yourself as you penned another name on the provisional guest list. Azriel could easily be considered a most important guest.

One gift for yourself on your husband’s birthday. You’d earned it.

✸✸✸

“What are they doing here?!”

For a second, your heart leapt to your throat. With a cordial smile, you turned away from the guests you’d been chatting to, only to face your husband’s hushed accusation.

Lustere’s anger was rare, thank the Mother, so when it reared, you never knew what to expect.

“Who?”

You scanned the room; it was full of your husband’s acquaintances, colleagues, and enemies alike.

“Her! And that shadowsinger!” his words were a flustered whisper.

It was a different emotion that caused your heart to jump then. You followed his glance to find the male in question, linked arm in arm with the Morrigan.

You swallowed a smug smile at your husband’s discomfort at her presence.

Not that you could have known that he found her unsettling… but you’d certainly hoped. He nervously eyed the side of the room where she and the Illyrian made a frightening pair. Oh, that damned Illyrian.

Your pulse quieted as you drank him in.

If he would be the death of you, you’d only be grateful.

Azriel looked devastating. His usual leathers had been exchanged for slightly more formal slacks. His siphons still gleamed, but his powers were reserved in accordance with the casual setting. He still looked intimidating as ever, while the blonde on his arm was just as fearsome in her gorgeous get up.

“Oh!” you fumbled momentarily; your vision stuck across the room, your mind caught up in a particular tangle of sheets. “I saw you speak with him at that event last month, so I thought it might be a nice gesture to invite them. I didn’t honestly expect them to show up.”

“Well,” he smoothed his panic into a self-satisfied smile. Your palms itched. “It was a good thing I talked to them, then. Clever.”

You knew the compliment was addressed to himself, not you.

For an insufferable bastard, you sure suffered.

“Have you greeted them yet?” his question grated you.

“Not yet, I hadn't been made aware of their arrival–”

“–Well, don’t wait too long, dear. You wouldn’t want to be rude, hm?”

With that, Lustere moved away to greet some other guests, but you only dimly registered the movement, his critique.

Your eyes were focused on the shadowsinger.

Azriel was here.

And Mor was with him.

Among your husband’s upper court colleagues, you’d gotten creative with who could reasonably be considered a part of his circles. If you could invite the Steward, surely the Overseer and her friends were fair game as well. You’d invited the lot of them, on that whim. As you approached them, you cursed yourself for your liberties with the guest list.

You hadn’t seen Azriel since that fateful evening. The male rarely visited the city, and here he was, twice in as many months. Your gut roiled, you wished you’d had time to prepare.

But you had prepared, you told yourself. You knew how to play this role, the hostess. It was one you’d mastered over the years.

It was easy to slip into now, thanks to centuries of playing the part.

Azriel and the Morrigan’s diffident eyes piqued with interest as you glided to stand before them with open palms.

“Greetings to you both!” You presented yourself with a subtle bow, and they in turn introduced themselves. It was the picture of sophistication.

“It’s a pleasure to be officially introduced,” Azriel said, and his voice flowed like honey.

His words were perfectly cordial, yet they sent a rush through you.

You didn’t need to remind yourself; you were hyperaware of the fact that this was the first time you were formally meeting him, at least to the public.

Before you could answer him, Mor was sweeping in with artful compliments about the event, finishing with a resounding “-and you look divine.”

Kindness suddenly made the daunting warrior glow, her face open and shining as her armor fell away to acknowledge your work. It was wonderful. You hoped your husband was watching.

“Why, thank you. This old thing?”

You twisted to show off your garment, and your heart swelled to match her radiance.

It was actually an old gown, pulled from the back of your closet. It was the dress you’d worn centuries ago, on your first anniversary with your husband.

As you’d primped for tonight, he had even complimented it: “I like the new dress,” he had said. “You should wear things like that more often, it's far better than the usual sort you wear.”

You had bitten your tongue, but his words still stung. You should have known better than to have expected him to remember the dress. You weren’t sure why you’d chosen it for tonight. For some reason, it had felt auspicious when you’d seen it twinkling at the back of the wardrobe.

“Oh, they don’t make them like they used to,” Mor said wistfully, eying the fine material. She was oblivious to how she had soothed the sore subject with her simple compliment.

“They certainly don’t,” you agreed, and your eyes drifted to the shadowsinger.

Through your daze, you gave them the welcome spiel, and pointed out some familiar faces that they could chat with.

“We’re honored to have you here, enjoy the evening,” you admonished with a genuine smile. You turned to continue your cycle through the room of guests, already spotting your next mark.

“Where could we find a drink?”

Azriel’s words froze you in your tracks. Mor was agreeing with him, firing off her order for him to fetch. His eyes were on you.

“I’ll show you.”

The words escaped before you could think.

He nodded and stepped towards you to follow your way.

You didn’t move.

He looked stunning up close.

Several tendrils of dark hair had escaped the hold of his gel. His shadows were relegated to his wings, camping out like bats in a cave. You swallowed thickly, remembering how they had felt on your own flesh, how sensitive his wings had been to the slightest touch.

During your welcome and introduction facade, his amber eyes had been stoic, an unreadable mask. Now, they flared briefly with confusion as you stayed paused.

It rocked you back into your body, your mind addled but present.

“Yes, of course– this– this way.”

Luckily, no one was paying attention to you, next to a presence so commanding as the spymaster’s. No one noticed your momentary lapse– no one except him.

Azriel fought a smirk as you wove through the room together.

His rough hand came to hover at your lower back, and you bit your tongue at the soft contact.

“Here we are.”

All too soon, you’d arrived at the bar. It was centrally located in the room, which was crowded, but not so crowded as to obscure the main attraction, especially not from eyes as keen as those of the spymaster...

Azriel was casual as he ordered his and Mor’s drinks.

“And a whiskey, neat.”

Your eyes snapped to him, and he had long been looking at you.

“For the generous hostess,” he murmured.

You felt your cheeks heat, and you hoped no one would notice your blush.

“Thank you.” You belatedly remembered your manners as he pressed the glass to you.

“I owed you one.”

Your mouth went dry.

He was being bold. Anyone could have heard his little comment.

The imposing Illyrian took a long drink out of the elegant vessel. Your mind flashed back to a different night, when his lips had been on another glass. Your pulse fluttered as you recalled the last time he had drunk from your husband’s collection, and the things he’d done to you after. Foggily, you wondered if this would prove a similar potion.

He frowned at the dark liquid suddenly, before grunting, “Except technically, I suppose you’re funding this one, too.”

“Guess you owe me another one.” Your words were light, flirtatious, even as your lungs stuttered.

“I’ll get my best people on it.”

At his wry humor, your laughter was breathless, hardly a wheeze

“Actually,” you winced, “this would be on my husband’s credit. As was the last bottle…”

“Ahh. And where is the male of the hour?”

You gestured broadly, shaking your head and rolling your eyes with impressive coordination as you took a gulp. Damn, the male knew how to order a drink.

“Around. It’s his party.”

When you caught his eyes again, it was clear he didn’t give a damn about the male of the hour.

Heat flared in your chest as he pinned you with his gaze. Azriel’s eyes were heavy lidded as he watched you watch the room. He took another delicate sip of his wine. It was indecent, how perfectly his lips perched on the edge of the glass, how his tongue darted out to swipe at the liquid that stained them.

“Speaking of which,” you said, and shook yourself out of reverie, “I’ve got to make the rounds. Enjoy the party.”

He took his time watching you go before returning to lurk by Mor’s side.

For you, the evening passed in a blur of greetings and introductions, false laughter and sparkling beverages. Desserts were passed around right on cue, just as the toasts were begun. You kicked them off, your toast to Lustere short in contrast to the tall tale it told. Just your style: brief and full of lies.

Lustere’s grateful smile and kiss at its conclusion was just the same, an empty facade. At best, it was a convincing performance; at worst, it was still the best you could expect from your lifelong consolation prize.

Once upon a time, if you’d tried, you could almost fool yourself into thinking it was real. But you'd since stopped fooling yourself; the trick had only worked the first few hundred years.

Reality was the only vow you honored now.

As Lustere’s friends and associates began to serenade him with vacuous praises, you slipped away from the crowd. It was a moment to check on the staff, see about how things were flowing and if they needed anything.

Without looking, you felt someone’s eyes on you, as if in a concentrated beam. The intensity felt palpable. It was like a spotlight, even as you wove unnoticed through your own guests.

Tonight wasn’t about you. You’d made sure it wouldn’t be.

You grabbed a nearly empty tray of desserts from an attendant, directing them to pick up a full one from a table. You gestured towards the other side of the room with your free hand and a kind word as you moved towards the back rooms.

“The room’s unbalanced, we need more trays over there– oh, shit.”

You swore as you crashed into something. Firm hands steadied you reflexively before you could drop the dish.

Your gut swooped as you turned to see what you’d wandered into. The platter was pressed between you and none other than the shadowsinger himself. If you didn’t know better, you’d say Azriel looked amused.

“Careful there.”

“Sorry,” you gasped out. He waited a moment longer than necessary to release your arms. Slowly, you peeled away, angling the tray horizontal again.

With horror, you noted the crushed pastries smashed into his elegant vest.

“Cauldron boil me.” You were sure everyone could see your blush now. Luckily, the platter hadn’t dropped, so the accident hadn’t drawn much attention.

“It’s fine–”

“–no, it’s not. Come with me. Quickly.”

You gripped his wrist. A quick glance told you that no one was looking.

Only Mor had witnessed it, and she just snorted. At your clumsiness, or the droning speech being given at your backs for your ass of a husband, you didn’t know.

You didn’t care. You had more pressing concerns at the moment, as you led the important guest from the main room to the small prep kitchen at the back of the venue.

“I’m really so sorry about this, sir,” you blustered as you swept into the tight space. Several attendants looked up from where they’d been arranging desserts on trays.

“Hey guys, we need more hands out there,” you addressed them. “The far side of the room is starving.”

Dutifully, they picked up their trays while you ushered them along.

“You should look where you’re going,” he commented, tentatively, as they all filed out of the kitchen, leaving you and Azriel alone. You wetted a rag, wringing it out before handing it to him to clean himself up.

“Clumsy me,” you hummed. His jaw was tense as he swiped at the crumbs on his torso. It was kind of distracting.

“How have you been?” he asked without preamble, now that you were alone.

You relaxed instantly at his casual tone. “Good.” It was hardly a lie. “Busy,” you amended. That was the full truth.

“Nice event.”

“Thanks.”

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Azriel cut abruptly.

You snorted.

“No one deserves this much pomp. It makes me sick.” Your eyes widened as you heard yourself.

You’d been alone with Azriel for less than a minute, and here you were voicing your innermost, honest opinions. You had never shared anything like that with anyone, not even your husband, let alone this practical stranger. Yet the words were true, and you could hardly take them back.

“Have you ever had a party like this?”

You cocked your head at his question before answering slowly. “Yes. Right now in fact.”

“No, I mean, something like this, but for you.” He said it so casually, focused still on wiping a smear of frosting from his clothes.

“Oh.”

Who would plan something like this for you?

The answer was hollow, but definite. Nobody.

Some of the society’s husbands did big parties for their anniversaries, their birthdays, whatever excuse they could find to buy liquor by the barrel.

You’d had a lovely ceremony to officiate your relationship with Lustere, but that was it. How long ago had that been? Through a blur of centuries, you pictured the party. You’d planned it alone, and it had honestly been breathtaking. What a waste.

“Um, no. Never,” you laughed, too loud. You didn’t need his pity.

Azriel hummed, undeterred from creating a quiet moment with you. “Me neither. Every year though, my family insists on doing a special dinner. I wish they’d forget it, but since I refuse to do a whole thing like this,” he gestured around and widened his eyes in emphasis, ”I bear it annually.”

His words struck you funny. Your mouth continued ahead of your senses as you urged him, “You should let them.”

“What?”

He looked up at you in confusion, but you didn’t relax your knit brows.

“You should let them throw you a party.” Your conviction was sudden, but swift, and final. “You deserve to be celebrated, you should give them the chance.”

He dismissed your suggestion with a firm shake of his gorgeous head. “I’d hate it.”

“How do you know that?” you pressed. His face twisted in regret as his confession launched from his tongue.

“‘Cause I hate this.”

“Yeah well, that makes two of us,” you admitted.

His brows rose at that. If he’d expected you to sink any personal pride into the event, he was sorely mistaken.

Then his eyes dipped to your toes before lazily arcing back up your figure, and his expression shifted from surprise to something less innocent.

“Surely you didn’t mind the excuse to pull out that damned dress.”

You jumped on his playful tone. “Careful there, mister, I have a husband.”

Azriel’s laugh was just as irreverent as his next words, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

His eyes crinkled as his lip curled in humor, and you liked the look of it on him. He wore all his faces so handsomely; menace, humor, lust.

The latter of which was gradually blooming now, as if called into being by your imagination. His gaze still held a speck of humor, though at a lower pitch. There was mischief dancing in those hazel pools, dark and unmistakable as his eyes devoured you.

The male slowly stroked the damp towel against his abdomen in a deliberate show. The cloth was as dirty as his vest now, covered in sugary smears. You couldn’t help but picture what you knew was under his shirt, the ink that whorled its way down his front, dipping below his waist.

The silence was charged, the only sounds were the wet rustle of the towel and your own shallow, erratic breaths.

His vest was as clean as it was going to get with such sloppy motions. Now he was just rubbing the stain in, so you grabbed it and took over, helping him brush away the last of the frosting.

“This venue has a cloakroom, isn’t that ridiculous?” you feigned casual conversation as your heart raced, your fingers twitching at his stomach. “This whole city is under a mountain, there’s no weather. And no one has bothered with the custom of overcoats in centuries.”

The words weren’t subtle, the hint bold faced and loaded.

“You’re unbelievable,” he accused. Azriel shook his head even as a coy grin melted his hard features.

“Who, me?” you said innocently. He grabbed your wrist that was still swiping at his lower stomach. The frosting was long gone.

“You planned this.” His words were definitive.

It wasn’t a question, but your chin dipped in confirmation anyways.

“Why?” he pushed.

“Why do you think?”

The venue had been a choice, as had the single perfumed invitation, as had the short staffing; all manufactured by you. It was all perfectly calculated, down to the timing of the toasts and the spill of the dessert tray. It had all been a part of the plan: your master plan to get him here, alone, in this very moment.

Azriel swore as comprehension hit him, his mind wrapping around the totality of your little plot. Anxiety built in your gut.

Was this foolish? Well, of course it was, but it really would be if he didn’t–

“Think you can keep quiet for me?”

The swelling panic in your chest melted instantly at his suggestive words, his voice a wicked rasp that set your skin on edge. Something bubbled in your chest, like an overeager gulp of champagne that wouldn’t settle.

You arched your brow, “Can you?”

A shit eating grin broke on his face at the challenge, and he growled.

“Do your worst.”

You matched his expression as something snapped between you.

He used his free hand to angle you up to meet his lips in a hungry kiss. Every list, plan, plot, and scheme crumbled at the warmth of him, dissolving it all into sweetness.

Every late night hour spent scheming had been worth it, just for this moment. His hot mouth on yours, your hands tangling in his hair.

He shifted against you, and you gasped as you felt him hardening at your lower stomach.

“Fuck, baby. This is all I could think about the second I walked in. You in this outfit… fuck,” he panted as your mouth shifted to taste his jaw. You whined into his skin as he ground against you, demanding some real friction.

“You need me too? Or do you want to suck me off right here?” he growled.

Arousal flooded your core at his dominant tone. You pulled back to look him in the eye. His pupils were blown out, his lips swollen.

“Not here,” you pleaded.

His look was wicked as he saw your reaction, but he didn’t push you.

Instead, he allowed you to lead him through a different door, a few steps down a hallway, and into a small room. You sent a silent blessing to whatever architect included a much disused cloakroom in the venue’s design. Well, much disused until now.

The instant the door closed, his lips were locked on yours.

“Eager?” he teased hypocritically between rapid kisses as you fumbled blindly for his belt.

“I’m sort of multitasking,” you panted.

His brow arched.

“I’m running this show!” you explained hurriedly. “The toasts just started, but they won’t go on forever. Eventually someone might come looking for us, or me at least.”

His mouth fell open, but you cut him off.

“Don’t look so worried, Azriel, we’re right on schedule.”

The male huffed out a laugh, and shook his head. By the light in his eyes, he was impressed.

“You’re killing me, baby. You’ve been killing me all night.” His words were a groan.

He said it like an accusation, so you retorted in kind, “Yes, and I’ve been planning for a month to get twenty damn minutes alone with you because I’ve been totally balanced and not at all because you’ve been killing me just the same.”

That shut him up.

He sucked in a breath, and his face set with determination.

“Well, then,” he said. “I guess I’m going to have to show you a good time.”

He wasted no time reattaching his lips to yours, this time with renewed fervor, before he pressed you against the wall. One of his rough hands came to grip your neck, angling your head perfectly for his strong jaw to set to work. Between his hard body and his looming wings, you were caged. His palpable power sent a thrill through you, rattling to your gums and winding right to your center.

Deftly, he undid his belt in one swift movement with his other hand. You whined as you felt the leather smack briefly across your thighs as it fell to the floor.

You felt his hum through his tongue on your teeth.

“Another time, maybe we’ll use that.”

“Oh gods,” you whined.

His grip on your hips was like a vice, and your pulse was a riot under his rough fingers on your throat.

“Maybe I’ll have Rhys throw a fête here instead of the main hall for my birthday this year,” he murmured darkly against your lips.

You gasped and his tongue swept in again, muffling your pleas. His taste was as intoxicating as you recalled, the flavor of wine and salt heavy on his thick tongue.

“Would you like that?” Azriel pressed. “Maybe you’d even let me taste you, hmm?”

“Anything,” you moaned as his wet mouth replaced his hand along the column of your throat. “I’d plan the damn party just to get you alone for five minutes.”

His teeth scraped bluntly at your jugular as he grinned.

“I thought party planning was a special privilege, only to be enjoyed by a female’s husband,” he teased.

“You’re right, that would be downright improper. I’m not that kind of girl.”

His chuckle at your collarbone was sinful, the sound of it echoing down to your core.

“No, no. I wouldn’t want to taint your honor.”

“No,” you echoed absently as he placed open mouthed kisses along the neckline of your dress. It was a light fabric, but it was suddenly smothering. Your skin burned; you were desperate for more contact. His heavy hands and scalding mouth weren’t enough.

“Please, Az,” you urged.

His belt was undone, as were the top buttons of his vest, but the two of you were decidedly too decent. It would hardly even make a scandal at this point, to be caught fully clothed.

“You want it?” he glanced up from your chest, spit straying along his sharp jaw. He growled, “You can have it, baby. I’ll be generous, after all I didn’t bring a gift.”

You only whined as his hands smoothed down your form.

With a final kiss to the exposed tops of your breasts, the Illyrian knelt to the floor.

Azriel looked debauched; his carefully groomed hair a mess from your hands, his vest askew, and his eyes blown with lust. His powerful chest was heaving as his hands carefully skimmed up your calves. He pushed the bottom of your dress over your knees, kissing the soft spot inside there. He continued to mouth at your thighs as he hiked your skirt up.

For all your careful planning, you had no remaining nerve to urge him to hurry. His tender handling was addicting, the closest thing to appreciation you’d felt in decades. And to feel it so intensely, so viscerally, so physically? It hardly felt fair to call it a vice.

What others took for granted, you could only indulge in the dark closets of your own life. If you’d be damned to be blamed, then so be it.

Because Azriel looked like a statue on his knees for you. His composition was darkness and light, pleasure and pain, right and wrong. In this moment, he was a blissful concoction of it all, and you wanted to drink every last drop.

“You look lovely tonight," he praised with a kiss to your inner thigh. The compliment was almost jarringly polite paired with his next move, as he lewdly brought a finger to press over your clothed core. The fire that had burned low in your belly was stoked at the contact, flaring to a throbbing need.

With swift fingers, he pulled your undergarment down your legs before slyly stuffing them into his pocket.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he dragged two digit through your soaked folds. “Even prettier than I remembered.”

You choked back a moan as he drew circles over your clit. It was torturous, and as his large wings blocked the rest of the dim room from your vision, you felt the thrill of his overwhelming power, his meticulous skill.

One of your hands wove into his hair, the grip both imploring and terrorized as he sparked wave after wave of pleasure until he was satisfied with your near broken state. Your other hand skimmed down his chest when he eventually stood before you.

At the scrape of your nails towards his need, he groaned, “That’s right, baby. You want to take it out for me?”

With shaking hands, you undid his slacks. He hissed as you freed his aching member, his tip angry and swollen already.

He dragged himself over your glistening folds torturously for a brief moment. You whimpered and he laughed darkly before he lined himself up, teasing you with the barest pressure of his tip.

You clawed at his shoulders, his hips, trying to urge him to get to it. With one of his hands holding your hip, and the other balanced on the wall beside your head, Azriel was the picture of leisure.

He had no sense of urgency about these things, you were learning.

“Gonna let me have my way with you, huh? That’s a good girl.”

Slowly, he pushed himself inside, bottoming out in one brutal stroke. You cried out and he slapped a rough hand over your mouth. Your eyes flashed wildly as he began to fuck you in earnest.

“That’s it. Take my cock like a good girl.” he growled.

He set a punishing pace, finding his own sense of urgency at last. He filled you so perfectly, the stretch just right. The scrape over your spongy walls was agonizing as he pummeled you. One particular harsh thrust had you crying out again, muffled against his fingers.

“Gotta be quiet, baby, can’t have anyone finding us like this.”

His expectation was impossible when he abruptly yanked your top down so your breasts spilled out.

“Happy birthday Lustere, alright,” he groaned sarcastically before sucking one of your breasts into his mouth.

You dissolved into another whimper at his wicked words and the warmth of his mouth on your tender flesh.

“You’re bad,” you moaned as the sick sound of your sex filled the tight room.

If this was bad, maybe the world had it backwards, because why did it feel so good? Why did you feel so complete, falling apart shoved against a wall in a closet at your husband’s party? Especially with a male you should hardly be on a first name basis with, let alone close enough to moan his so unabashedly.

That was all it was, you elected to believe. The secrecy, the illicit nature of the connection. That was the basis of its appeal.

Not the particular partner, though he was rugged…

And he was charming…

And his teeth were ghosting your neck in a way that made you want to scream…

But of course, you could hardly whimper at full volume. It only made you want to yell more. The resulting noise was a breathy strangulation, more vibration than real exhalation.

“Azriel,” you cried, and you felt him twitch inside you.

His hips snapped faster and the light in his eyes was wild.

“Are you close, angel? Fuck, we’ve gotta be fast.” He made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “It’s so twisted. All I want is to take my time with you. Look at you, doing so well for me.”

His praise was as invigorating as his thrusts, which were growing sloppier with each breath. His stamina wasn’t the issue, it was the waves of pleasure numbing his body that caused him to tremble before you.

You clenched around him and he swore, gasping as his body stilled. Azriel pressed his forehead to yours as he came, and somehow it was more intimate than you were prepared for, your fingers threading through his damp hair.

His lashes fluttered shut and his mouth parted, gone wretched with bliss. The feeling of his hot breath and sticky skin on your face made you want to kiss every inch of his flesh.

Even as he pulsed inside you, he brought his thumb to rub tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. In moments, he had you coming undone as well. He quickly regained enough function to fuck you through it, his thrusts shaking. When you cried his name, he caught it with his mouth, stifling your crude noises as you convulsed around him.

The sensation had him half hard again, but he pressed a kiss to your throat and held you still as you both came down from your highs.

“Happy birthday to me,” you muttered into his cheek.

Azriel wheezed at that, an arrogant smirk winning out through his fatigue. “Was that worth it?”

“Definitely,” you breathed, your fingers brushing his hair back into some semi respectable waves.

Ignoring your efforts to put the two of you back together, he captured your face in his hands and planted a buzzing kiss on your mouth. He lingered longer than you expected, tasting you and savoring your warmth.

“Okay, Azriel, time’s up,” you sighed after an indulgently long moment.

He nodded, but held your face a moment longer before tapping your hips twice and sliding himself out. You both groaned at the absence, bodies still slick and buzzing.

As he tucked himself away, he looked oddly contemplative for someone who had just had a quickie in a closet while on the job.

You smoothed down your dress, disregarding your missing underwear. It’s not like anyone would notice, least of all your husband, who hadn’t approached you like that for decades.

While you did your best to tame your wild hair, Azriel looked like he was far away. You tried to hurry, mistaking his distance for discomfort in the aftershock of the interaction. In moments, you were fully decent, and at least mostly presentable.

Azriel paused you with a silent gesture as your hand met the door. A shadow slipped back in and around his ear, and he nodded.

The pair of you slunk back down the hall to the still empty kitchen, and you tried not to think about the slick still mixing on your upper thighs under your dress.

Before you could push on to reenter the party, the shadowsinger grabbed your arm. His expression was serious when you faced him

“I want to hire you.”

You laughed at his bizarre words. What was he implying? “What, you want me to plan your birthday party? I’m not sure if you can afford me.”

He joined your laughter, and you threw away your whole schedule at the sound. Surely you could allow yourself an extra moment here with him. All that was waiting was worthless, anyways.

“You know, I'd actually love to see that,” he smiled. The simple gesture made your insides heave, which you attributed to the recent intrusion on your guts.

You wiped your eyes, attempting to tame your doubtlessly ruined cosmetics as you joked with him. You weren’t sure why, but you needed to hear that laugh again. “It’ll be a hit. We’ll only serve whiskey and there will be no food so everyone gets blasted way too hard– ooh, and the servers will be in their undershorts–”

“–I can't wait,” he cut you off. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“Okay,” you sobered up at his tone. “What then?”

“Well, you obviously have some covert skills…”

Well, you think, that’s one way to describe centuries of spying on your cheating piece of shit husband, and more recently, coordinating this… whatever this was.

“...And you can arrange a seamless rendezvous,” he continued, now listing your achievements on his roughened fingers.

You blushed at the innuendo, still lost to his meaning.

“...And your husband works under the least trustworthy son of a bitch I've ever met,” he finished.

“So?”

“You're in a unique position,” Azriel explained cryptically.

Your brows scrunched. You hadn’t had anything but a sip of champagne since the sip of whiskey earlier, yet you were thinking through a thick haze. All you could think of were innuendos about unique positions…

“A unique position for what?” you asked.

“As an informant, of course. You could be very useful.” The words were casual, but you saw how his amber eyes were set with strange emotion as he extended the offer in a deep tone.

Azriel’s words echoed in your mind, hollow to anything else. You could be very useful.

Something surged through you at the word.

Useful.

You could be useful.

Very useful.

How long had you grieved of the uselessness of your work, the incessant, all encompassing meaninglessness of your labors? How empty it all was, how vacant each day left you. How fruitless too; all these years, giving yourself over to nothing, and winning nothing in return.

You swallowed the emotion rising at your throat, and a grin bloomed on your face in its wake.

“What do you need me to do?”

✸✸✸

“Where have you been?”

For all your scheming, your husband’s voice wiped your mind blank. Voices whirled around you, echoing happy and careless in the large room.

“Lustere, I–”

“–There’s empty platters out here, it looks cheap.” You blinked as he looked around in annoyance. “Aren’t you going to do anything about that?”

Leave it to him to interrupt you. You needn’t have prepared such an elaborate excuse for your absence when you couldn’t even get a word in.

And sure enough, just as you’d planned and predicted, you hadn’t been missed.

“Of course, dear.”

He only gave you a curt nod. Before he could turn away completely, you found yourself reaching out with a gentle hand, and something akin to affection slipped into your tone. “Are you enjoying yourself, Lustere?”

There was no tenderness as he looked in shock at your hand on his arm, only confusion.

“Of course,” he said in a self-evident tone. Your husband looked around the room, cataloguing the faces of his guests. “Everyone important is here.”

Your fingers on his arm went numb. Everyone important had been there.

Only you hadn’t been there.

You had been three doors away, wrapped up in darkness with another man.

Despite his ignorance, what Lustere said was true: everyone important to him had been there, everyone who mattered.

Just not you.

The tenderness curdled in your chest. Whatever short candle you held for Lustere, died in that moment. And yet, ever the good wife, you dutifully nodded at the side of his head.

“Good. I'll go fix the attendants.” And see if they haven’t picked up any good gossip from this high profile crowd…

Something warmed inside your chest as you felt the ghost of your promise to Azriel still fresh on your lips. Your game with him had expanded, in one breath.

No longer were you nothing to him, to anyone.

You were to be the spymaster’s eyes and ears on the corrupt inner workings of the Court of Nightmares.

And you had nothing to lose.

✸✸✸

ENDNOTES

Thank you for reading!! Please comment if you enjoyed it, I actually spend quite a bit of time on these haha so I love to hear from youuu. I also love to chat in my inbox or dms so don’t be shy!! I’d love to hear what you think is gonna happen next.. ;)

I fear I have made this plot far FAR too elaborate than cheating smut would sensibly demand. So! Stay tuned for at least two or three more parts of angst and smut and fluff!! HAHA!!

Oh and Lustere should fuckin’ watch himself… lest a terrible accident befall him… sooo whose knife should it be team?? >:))

258 notes · View notes

sunniedesi · 1 month ago

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The Decay of Andy and Leyley: the bad, the ugly and the terrible

Now that it’s been a while since I finished the Decay route, I think I’m ready to finally analyse this chapter as a whole. I’ve collected my thoughts and read through a couple of people’s opinions here and there… just to be utterly disappointed. I knew casual fans generally didn’t understand much of the subtext for tcoaal, but damn are they completely lost with this one. Maybe it’s the fact that I only interact with a small echo chamber of the fandom that does get it, but after all the terrible takes I’ve had the displeasure of seeing, I think it’s time I leave my own. There is quite a lot to comment on, since this part of Decay builds upon several plot points of the story: the quarantine, the entity, lord unknown, and namely, the main duo’s upbringing and relationship. While I’d love to pick apart every nook and cranny of this episode, this analysis will only focus on Andrew and Ashley’s relationship, as that alone has plenty of things to dissect for one post. I will also comment on some of the changes done to the previous episodes and what that could mean for the next routes. (More below the cut, this will be a long one).

But before I begin anything I want to start with a disclaimer of the obvious; yes, this game is fucked up and the relationship is toxic, horribly so (wow, who would’ve thunk it?). If things weren’t messed up before then they certainly are now, so I understand why nobody would want to touch this game with a ten-foot pole. In fact, I’ve noticed many let’s players who’ve previously played it either not mentioning it or going as far as to delete every video they’ve made on it (not dropping names here but I had a couple of videos in my watch later taken down mere minutes after I saved them because of this). I often see people saying “it’s just fiction” as a defense for talking about this, which is totally valid, but my view of it is a bit different. It is fiction, yes, but also something that could very easily happen in real life and that a lot of people could (unfortunately) relate to. That’s what makes it uncomfortable and gross, and that is exactly the reason why we should talk about it. As per words of the author “although unpleasant, true [CHAOS AND MAYHEM!!!] can only be achieved by unearthing the root cause of one's issues and addressing the underlying decay.” Even if you think it’s icky and gross that doesn’t disqualify it from existing. Moreover, it calls for analysis as to why it makes you feel gross, which might I add is an impulse reaction to something much deeper than a simple “nooo they’re related,” as there are many layers to this from a moral, ethical and psychosexual perspective.

So… let’s talk about it.

The Bad: Andy and Leyley

The beginning of the episode tells us a lot about the upbringing of our characters, though most of it was writing on the wall if you paid attention during episode 2. We play as Andrew, examining his psyche and going through the motions of how to be a walking disappointment. As he cooks, cleans, excels at school and sets order in his family, he accomplishes a level of independence many don’t reach until adulthood, all before the age of 10. Yet every single mistake, as small or out of his control as it may be, is a cause for reprimanding. Renee doesn’t spare the emotional rod with him per se, expecting Andrew to go above and beyond for tasks that she should be responsible for. And whenever her live-in maid complains or dares to set an even playing field, such attempts are crushed by repressing him further into his shell. Berating, insulting, belittling him.

Nothing he does is ever enough, and it can’t be, lest giving him hope of ever meeting others’ expectations, of ever doing better. The more suppression, the less of his independence, say or personality, the easier to control. The less of Andrew the better. And as such, Andy was born: a sorry replacement for Andrew’s essence, easily malleable and capable of becoming everything you want him to be. Many believe Andy is a result of Leyley, but really

Andy was a nightmare of Renee’s own making. And speaking of nightmares, Leyley’s origins aren’t much different. Having a second child as a middle finger to your disapproving family is no good if you don’t intend to raise said child. But what’s the need when Andy is there to do it? Disciplining a kid aching for attention is far too taxing for Renee, especially one with as much attitude as Leyley. So, instead of inflicting more trauma as she’s done with Andy, she lets him pass his own over to her, creating a direct pipeline to the cycle of abuse. It should be noted that in one of the new visions available we see that Renee is an older sister herself, and was expected to also go above and beyond for her sister despite being completely disregarded by her family.

In other words, her treatment of Andy and complete neglect of Leyley are anything but surprising. It’s all she’s ever known. (Not excusing Renee, I hate her with a passion, but it’s important to know where everything is coming from).

Funnily enough, Leyley’s personality isn’t as innate as many believe. It’s easy to see her as the “difficult child,” but in reality, everything she does is a cry for help. We’re dealing with a lonely, undisciplined girl, disregarded by the world as a crybaby and a freak, left to be raised by trash TV and her clueless older brother. The result of this terrible concoction is a self-loathing, marshmallow spine of a boy and a lost, shrieky viper of a girl. Neither can like each other, because they don’t like themselves. And neither can help the other, because they refuse to see themselves for what they are. These are Andy and Leyley, the antagonists of the story.

As much as people have difficulty separating Andy and Leyley from Andrew and Ashley it must be noted that, from a narrative perspective, these are entirely different characters. Andy and Leyley are the immature, worst traits of our main duo personified: Andy is a paranoid pushover garnering resentment every time his buttons are pushed, while Leyley is nothing more than a scared little girl, terrified of abandonment and terrified of change. The more they push and pull, the more they test and bring out the worst in each other, the more they decay. But if these are Andy and Leyley, then who are Andrew and Ashley?

The Ugly: Andrew and Ashley

I believe the cliffhanger route is where we get to see the most of these two, though glimpses of them can be seen in the Shots and Such route. Andrew we know (thanks to his lengthy pov) is a crude and relentless antisocial who can’t stand anyone. He only does so out of keeping appearances, instilled by his mom, but just like her, is incapable of caring for anything. Something Ashley is very quick to point out when they were children.

We also see he’s very manipulative, sly and finds fun in (mentally) messing with people and romanticising the shit of his life, perhaps as a way to feel something other than the misery it bestows upon him. However, not playing nice can only bring trouble, so he hides behind the mask of the innocent pushover (Andy). Needless to say, this is a life full of lies and deception, utterly unsatisfactory. It will never fulfill his true desires and can only push him further into nihilism. But what are his true desires?

Well, to be seen and understood, the one thing no one’s ever bothered to do. No one except the mess of his own making. Ashley, the girl Andrew raised, is full of wit and charm. As seen in the flashbacks, she’s perceptive and quickly calls bullshit whenever she sees it. She doesn’t play nice, she doesn’t put up a front, she’s everything Andrew could be if he wasn’t afraid to show his true colors. This last bit is why I would argue Andrew is so drawn to her, that and of course all of the trauma bonding. As Andrew says himself, his attraction is pathological, i.e. unreasonable and irrational, a result of his loneliness and conditioning from childhood. And as much as I agree that it is paraphilic in nature, I do believe there is a logical side to his attraction; Ashley is loud, obnoxious and annoying. Carefree and unbothered, the flip-side to his Andy facade. In fact, she hates having to keep up appearances and how everyone around her is a phony. For Andrew, the man that has endured years of suppression and self-loathing, it is a relief, it is liberating to have someone just as bad as him. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid of him. Someone who could meet him at the same level; an equal.

Continuing with Ashley, one of her most emblematic traits is that she’s self-assured and doesn’t care about anything or anyone except for Andrew. This is quite the contrast to Leyley, who is incredibly insecure, selfish and does not care for Andy, only the reassurance he brings. And how do we know Ashley cares about Andrew if Leyley does not? Well…

This flashback is the single most important piece of information we get from the whole chapter. So let’s analyze it from the start. Julia takes Andrew to visit Nina’s grave, bringing back a slew of emotional turmoil he’s still haunted by. He immediately goes home to unpack it with Ashley.

(because god knows he was thinking about her the whole time he was talking to Julia). Ashley shows her first signs of maturity in the conversation that ensues, accurately pointing out the impending doom of Andrew and Julia’s relationship, and being a little more… introspective.

It’s clear that Leyley’s view of relationships is skewed, to say the least. She barely distinguishes romance from platonic love and has a very childish take of sex being "gross and all men want.” I’ve seen many people, before and after this chapter release, theorize that Ashley is asexual, something that’s always bothered me to no end. It’s one thing to just headcanon a character having “x” sexuality for the sake of it, but here people were using a headcanon to explain a critical part of her characterization, one of her Leyley traits. It is reductive and misguided, not to mention a terrible example of what asexuality would actually look like. Because this isn’t an innate characteristic from Ashley, it is a sign of immaturity, and to a certain degree, also insecurity.

Leyley has been conditioned her entire existence to believe she’s loathsome and undesirable, so anyone sticking around would never be out of their own volition. It would have to be a transaction, give and take. If Andy and Leyley marry it would have to be this way, a selfish exchange on both ends. But as she says: “different is fine, sometimes.” This is Ashley talking, taking into consideration Andrew’s needs for once and for all, which is the reason she made a move after he woke up. She understands his needs and is willing to put out for him, thinking maybe it could be good for her too.

But boy does he fumble hard. Which I don’t blame him for, dude wasn’t in the right headspace at the time. Though this is the moment that set Ashley’s development far, far behind square one. She didn’t take the rejection well. For once she was doing what he wanted, and he pushed her away (mixed signals much). He began being very cold to her afterwards (albeit in a fruitless attempt to repress his feelings, which as we see through the puzzle sequences, the more he crushed his feelings on the outside, the further they spread on the inside). The moment Andrew reached out for her again, a year later might I add, he did it because of Ashley, or rather Leyley, needing to be reprimanded and set on the right track (with the massage parlor job).

This sealed the deal for Ashley that the only way to secure Andrew’s attention was the way that Leyley used to do with Andy: bitch and moan until he pays attention. In other words, it’s Andrew’s fault that Ashley is the way she is… though he’s not entirely aware of it, as seen in parts of his pov. And to a certain extent, Ashley also plays a part into why he’s so apprehensive to the idea of liking her. Her childish nature and refusal to grow up is proof to Andrew that if she were to indulge his desires, it would be to keep him around, but it wouldn’t be reciprocal (which is ultimately what he desires the most).

This is my main takeaway from the cliffhanger route. I won’t be theorising much on what the outcomes for this route could be (more on why later), though I will be referencing this heavily for the analysis of Shots and Such.

Also the symbolism in this scene is quite strong (couldn’t fit it into the previous paragraphs but wanted to bring it up anyway).

Her painted nails are trashy, and Julia's nails are painted. Andrew stares in silence as Julia rings away...

Also:

This is after you destroy the Leyley plushie on the wedding cake scene, to retrieve Ashley's choker (which can later be used to create Andrew's partner... which also grants you a star). Originally, the plushies were watching cartoons, but now that Leyley is gone... something else surfaces. Interestingly enough, if you refuse to destroy it when prompted, the narrator will say "what are you, some Andy?" And if you try again after that, it won't allow to you to tear it apart, saying "you've made your choice." Very strong symbolism there. Let's move onto Shots and Such now.

The Absolutely Terrible: the Decay of Andy and Leyley

A terrible, disgusting, horrifying and necessary ending. Necessary to really discern the differences between Andy/Leyley and Andrew/Ashley, plus why the former will ALWAYS be a pointless, troublesome pairing. They hurt, abuse and tear each other down in the most sadistic and depressive ways possible. Long gone are the days of their playful banter, they are now replaced with just plain ol’ spousal abuse. Even when they try reviving their spark with their quick banter about the vacuums, it is soulless and dry, the damage done to their dynamic far too damming to ignore.

They are never honest with each other, and they’re always afraid and resentful of the other. The only thing keeping them together is codependency and lame sex that sometimes distracts them from how miserable they feel. The one sex scene in this chapter reads like a dagger to the heart, because it is everything neither of them wanted to happen. Andrew yearned for something reciprocal, for him to be seen. And as much as he begs and pleads for Ashley to understand, Leyley’s fear of abandonment overtakes her, diminishing the little trust she had for him and respect she had for herself. As a result, they both hated the encounter, and the only two solutions are ending themselves or committing to a life of such misery.

In the splat ending, we indulge Andy’s desires of ending it all, and Leyley reluctantly follows, scared and unsatisfied until the bitter end, but unwilling to let go of her Andy. In the Shots and Such ending, we indulge Leyley’s fantasies of a forever union, which turn out to be anything but the ideals she had for Andy and Leyley’s marriage. It is more of the same old horrific abuse, dishonesty and bickering over nothing, with maybe one glimpse of honesty forced out by the alcohol every once in a blue moon.

No matter the end, they’re both together forever as Andy and Leyley, dragging each other down into the lowest of levels. It’s pointless and bleak, and it certainly sent the fandom into a frenzy. You think the people defending Andrew “I’m normal” Graves or the people saying Ashley “did nothing wrong” were bad? Well, just as this route brought the worst out of the Graves, it also brought out the worst of these fans.

Every time I look into the comments section of a video or discussions for this chapter, it’s a constant shit-flinging contest of who had the worst upbringing, who has the worst personality, who is the most abusive, (which most people seem to be pointing fingers at Ashley for that one). It’s all blah blah blah who’s the woest of the woe. And worst of all, plenty of men (they’re almost always men) saying “Andrew should beat Ashley up some more.” I understand that Ashley’s worst traits as Leyley were amplified in this chapter, but honestly, men who had that takeaway from this chapter disturb me more than the game itself. Heck, even mother-of-the-year Renee calls bullshit on this:

(context: this is a rhetorical question, the answer being no, obviously.)

Let’s get one thing straight: no character here is worse than the other. They’re both awful, they both beat each other, they both abuse each other and they're both victims of each others’ abuse. The tragedy here is that they are as much victims as they are perpetrators, with no end in sight, because the more one hurts the other, the more retaliation ensues. Characterizing one as the worst is, again, completely reductive and overlooking the point of the ending: nothing gets better because neither got better. We only saw Andy and Leyley in this route, with brief glimpses of Andrew and Ashley, that are quickly crushed by their inability to disengage from their toxic habits.

I think it’s clear to see how Ashley is regressing more into her fears (Leyley), given the threat of being murdered by the only person she has left forced her into that state. She doesn’t want to die, she’s terrified of death, and wants the security she believes Andy will bring her back. Except Andy is the one harboring resentment, as Andrew is the one trying to work past it. And to the people who think we’re playing as Andrew and Leyley in this route because “we chose Andrew,” no we’re not. There’s a reason the beginning of both the Andy and Andrew (shots and such) routes look the same in terms of the area we explore in the demon realm.

There’s a reason why he keeps devolving further and further into resentment for Leyley. The “Andrew” choice means nothing if Ashley refuses to stop being Leyley. And her regression is reinstated by the selfish decision to kill Andrew in the bullets ending (and yes, I’m calling it selfish, since it is once again denying Andrew of his need to be rid of the Andy and Leyley dynamic). This reinforces Andrew’s belief that Leyley doesn’t want him, that his love is one-sided, and that she doesn’t care for his needs. The moment this choice (shooting Andrew) is set in stone it’s game over for both, because one can’t heal without the other. Again, nothing gets better because neither can get better.

The only difference between both routes is that when we pick Andy, Andrew surrenders. He’s hurt, battered and confused, but Andy’s instinctual need to please Leyley reigns above all. He knows it won’t get better, he doesn’t know how to make it better, so to hell with it. If we choose to be Andrew, Andrew never surrenders, insisting there must be a way to fix this, but can’t due to Leyley’s insistence. This leads to Andrew's decay, as he devolves into a mixture of Andy’s resentment boiling over and Andrew’s sadism. The logical part of him (which is Andrew’s lingering care for Ashley) tells him to disengage from the fighting. But his resentment (Andy’s decay) is overpowering his love for her. It gets to the point where both Andy and Andrew become undistinguishable, as they have melded to become his most deranged self. Surprisingly, something similar happens with Ashley, who also struggles to surrender in this route. There are two moments of honesty in the Shots and Such route, the only moments we get to see Andrew and Ashley completely. First is Andrew comforting Ashley’s sobs:

Here, Ashley was actually honest with him for once, which allows both of them to open up. This exchange is much more lighthearted compared to the rest of the route because both are meeting each other at the same level, talking through things together, addressing their happiness and where they want to go. Ashley shines through, taking genuine interest in Andrew’s happiness, but before things can settle…

Ashley must face her fears of freeing Andrew, trusting him. And she doesn’t, because let’s remember, we chose Leyley in this route and let Ashley decay. So once again, things go back to how they were, pointless resentment. There was also a time where Andrew opened up, and that’s when he was drunk out of his mind.

He put his front down, enough to indulge in his paraphilia but not enough to fully express his love. The mixed signals are strong with this one, which further confuses Leyley. However, when they go to sleep that night, Andrew opens up about his needs, about needing Ashley to see him for the mess of a man that he is and still accept him. Ashley takes the stage, reassuring him that she knows all his secrets and loves him regardless. Andrew is honest about why he pushes her away, because it’s the last thread of normalcy he has left. However, things quickly go back to normal, when Leyley refuses to give him a kiss due to all the times he pushed her away. At the end of both of these scenes, we hear a sad music box tune, a sad reminder of how crucial these scenes are. How easily things could be fixed with the care and honesty they warrant, and how easily they fall apart out of simple reluctance and conformity.

This is a constant thread we see in their relationship, throughout flashbacks and present time, as well as symbolisms throughout Burial and Decay. The choice to not only trust, but to be honest with one another despite their fears could’ve been the fix they needed all along, the one thing they needed to mature. Their bond is so fragile, so easily twisted, that the only way to salvage any semblance of tenderness is to address their underlying decay. I find it funny how there are still people (few but still some) who were disappointed to see that Decay wouldn’t be the "normal" route. I read a few comments of people wanting their relationship to be fixed and be a normal sibling dynamic. To which I just have to say, that is way more delusional than the people who expected any routes of this game to be all fluff and rainbows.

The relationship was already screwed from the get-go, but here’s the hard pill to swallow: having a normal relationship is not the fix they need nor want. The paraphilia has consumed Andrew so thoroughly that his only solution is to completely wipe his brain or fully indulge in it (possibly the two routes of episode 4), while Ashley has to let go of her selfish, childish desires to recognize the Andrew she wanted has been there all along if she cares to meet him there. Is it an unsavory solution? Yeah. It’s gross, morally and ethically reprehensible. But that’s just who they are as people. And accepting themselves for who they are is ultimately the last ditch effort they could ever take to salvage this volatile, fragile relationship. I mean, this optional dialogue really puts it best:

(This is the single line of dialogue that actually made me tear up btw, not even the splat/shots and such ending tore into me so much as this line).

The Coffin of Andy and Leyley is, at its core, a cautionary tale of generational trauma and the cycle of abuse. How far will people go if pushed to their limits? Is it ever possible to remedy yourself once you’re at the point of no return? And is that remedy worse than the sickness itself? Can the doomed ever be redeemed? And if so, what are the necessary steps to take in order to redeem yourself, before it all goes dark? Andrew and Ashley can keep longing for one another all they want, but until Andy and Leyley are ripped and torn to shreds, neither will improve, and are fated to decay in the coffin of a different apartment, one built out of their own hangups and fears. We’ll see what episode 4 has in store, I trust the author will give us a satisfying conclusion. And speaking of the author…

The Meh: Changes to Episode 2

This new update brought about a couple of changes to the previous episodes as well. Namely, the wording for the decisions that split the story into Burial and Decay, as well as revamping the Burial route. I’ll be honest… I’m not a big fan of some of these.

For starters, this new update made me realize the author, as offline as she appears to be, is keenly aware of people’s opinions of the game and takes quite the contrarian attitude to people who miss the point of the story (something I can’t blame her for entirely, and seems to be the reason why things escalated so much in this chapter). Take for example the Grave Mistakes vision, Andrew explaining why they’re not addressing the Toxisoda thing anymore, and going as far as to add a bloody sprite for Ashley in the Burial route (something a few people were complaining about back in the day). Also, there is an optional dialogue in the highschool flashback that feels like a clapback to the Renee mod:

I’m glad the author is aware of people’s criticisms and takes the time to sort through them, but part of me wishes she didn’t try to over-explain some plot points. The thing that I originally loved about the game was the subtle storytelling, how it takes you a couple of playthroughs to fully understand everything lying beneath the surface. It plays tricks with you and makes you think about the characters’ true intentions, goals and desires, all the way until they spiral out of control and pretenses can’t be kept anymore. I liked that Ashley has a little back and forth between wanting to trust Andrew, being unable to because of her insecurities, and falling back on the trinket. But now…

The choice kinda spells it out for you already. For one, the choice of dialogue feels a bit clunky and also redundant given the next couple of lines confirm this already. The change in the olive branch choice, with it now being reflect/decline, doesn’t bother me as much, but this feels a little too in your face. Same thing with the changes to the Burial vision. I like that you have to put the green plushie back in the cage at the end, as it’s something you also did earlier in the puzzle, so it feels less contradictory. But the change to this line…

It’s honestly giving too much away. People go through the Burial route because they want the siblings to trust each other, and they select the left door for the questionable outcome because they want to make the questionable choice. However that route turns out, whether good or bad, is for us to find out as we play. And mind you, I already know it’s not ending so well given the hex Andrew gets in Burial is the same as in the Decay Andy route. That just cannot be any good. Plus, the fact that Burial is all about burying things under the rug. I suspect that while Decay is more about Andrew due to its reflective nature, Burial will be all about Ashley due to her nature of compartmentalizing. I imagine both Burial and Decay will have their own good and bad routes, but I’d rather not jump the gun into assuming what each will pan out to look like, as chances are I’ll be completely mistaken.

And I say this as a good portion of the fanbase was proven wrong with this new update, in terms of what Decay and Burial are about. The general consensus used to be Burial = romance, Decay = hate. Some fans even came up with the bizarre defense that the game is not so bad because the incest is totally optional! It's on the player to pick it. All the while you have Andrew grabbing Ashley's belt loops and cuddling her on the couch in both routes...

I can appreciate asking people to look at what's beneath the surface and analyze things a little more critically, but that was just plain wrong lol. In the back of my mind, I always hoped that Decay would address some of Andrew's feelings to completely shut down all the "optional" nonsense. Welp, that it did... way more than I anticipated.

Anyway, my point with this last bit of the rant was that I hope these changes don’t become a trend of the author trying to make things clearer for normies or paying any mind to them, as that would only cheapen the storytelling. Those who get the story get it, and if not, they can read people’s shizo analyses online. But I don’t need my hand held throughout the game; I like figuring things out on my own. To wrap things up, I’ll just say I’m very happy with the outcomes we got. They were terrible, but necessary for the reasons explained above. I was originally very scared of the Decay route, as I didn’t know exactly what to expect and angry Andrew scares me. But this has quickly become my favorite episode of all and I can only hope the next ones do it justice. Keep cooking Nemlei, you’re doing good.

#tcoaal #the coffin of andy and leyley #visual novel #andrew graves #ashley graves #hyperanalyzing the shit out of pixels

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llamabois · 3 months ago

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TO LOVE AND HATE, ENDLESSLY

Synopsis: You and your twin sister (MC) have been spending time with your parents. They decide it would be fun for you guys to play dress up and guess who is who. Caleb ends up joining in to your dismay.

No warnings are needed other than a bit of swearing, lol.

Side note: tried to use some pilot terms, but I might've failed lmao.

Taglist: @justpassingdontworry @macaronnya @itsmekalou @caramelizedpopcirn @xiaorixx

You are your own worst enemy. Not that you'd ever have expected that. It's been two weeks since your mirror reflection has come back into your family's life, and while you're happy for your parents, a part of you wishes you ate her in the womb.

Her eyes crinkle in the same way yours does, a smile a little lopsided. When she gets nervous, she plays with her fingers as if doing so will make a spell to banish away her fear. Just like you.

The first fear you've ever faced was your own reflection, so now you've learned to put two fists up to face your inner demons. You try bonding with her. Asking her about her childhood.

She tells you about how she grew up with her amazing childhood friend Caleb. Told you how he was almost like a brother to her. Almost, but not quite. Her eyes stir with a muted desire that matches your own when you look into his beautiful purple irises. She doesn't acknowledge this. Neither do you.

Shadowboxing is not an art you are unfamiliar with. For you were your first enemy. And you will be your last. Until you break bread with the parts of you that your heart has never understood; You will break bones and wreak havoc on your own psyched up psyche till nothing but the two of you are left breathless yet still attached.

Yet you still choose not to face him. Not until you're forced to.

Your parents have decided to take some time to do all the things they've always wanted to do with both of you but never could. And this time, you two were playing dress up.

Due to the fact that your hair was long (even though you've been thinking of cutting it recently,) you both sported the same bun with a pretty extravagant dress. How your parents got them, you'll never know.

"My goodness, you two are identical!"

Your sister laughs at this comment and turns towards you. "I've always felt like there was a part of me missing. At least I know it wasn't because my heart went dumb."

You want to feel warmth in your chest. You want to feel sorry for your dear twin who suffers from a heart condition after you lost her. You want to love her. Yet your fists are still up, and your heart is hidden on your sleeve.

And to think you're feeling this way all because of a damn man.

There's a ring at the doorbell, the two of you had changed again to match into some more casual clothes. Your mom excitedly goes to open the door. You pay no mind as you look at your sister and smooth out her hair that looked a little frazzled.

She looks at you intently, shocked by the sheer awe of looking at yourself outside of your body yet still within yourself.

She knows you're not all too happy to see her. And she has a feeling she knows why.

"Girls," your mom calls excitedly. "Guess who's here!"

You both look to the entrance of the living room, and your stomach does flip when you see who is standing there. His frame large against the small door. His eyes, some what in awe.

Not for you, of course, never for you.

"Caleb, dear, would you like to play a little game with us?" Your mom asks with a clap of excitement.

"Guess who is who between the two of them."

"We've got 3 out of the 6 times, right? Not bad, huh?" Your dad chimes in, proud.

As if not being able to tell which daughter you've held in your arms and taken care of the past 23 years of your life is something to be proud of. You digress.

You were identical.

"Sure," Caleb says as he takes a seat on the couch. Casually, he leans into the crook of the chair away from your parents. Manspreading like he owned half of the chair with just his presence. Purple eyes watched you both intently as you both switched positions a few times.

You tried to keep your expression neutral. But you knew that Caleb would probably be able to tell right away who his beloved Pipsqueak was and who was just a Bandit.

You both continue to circle each other. As you look at her, you look at yourself. A yin yang behavior. To circle each other endlessly till parts of you bled into who you've hated to be. To both be exactly alike, yet nothing at all the same.

To be yourself is to love and hate endlessly.

"And stop." Your dad says, clapping once.

You both look toward Caleb, who gazes intently at you. His eyes are heavy on your body. You want to look away, but everything within you wants to fight for a stupid victory. So you don't.

"This is pipsqueak, and this is my angel." He says, pointing at your sister and then you.

"Angel?" You question. "How did you come to this conclusion, Colonel."

"Well first," he smiles. "Pipsqueak doesn't call me Colonel. So you just proved my point, my dear mechanic."

Dammit.

"Okay, what else."

Caleb gets up from his spot on the couch and makes his way towards you, as if she wasn't there. As if no one else was around.

"Well...my dear angel often as a really defiant gaze when she looks at people. Especially me. Sometimes it borders on hatred I think." He smiles. "Unless it was something else." He whispers.

You look away.

You choose to run from his words rather than listen to them. How could he know that you wanted to jump into his skin, and carve a piece of yourself into him permanently? That you wanted the weight of his body on top of yours. The warmth of his chest, the desire in his eyes, the whirling of the mechanical arm that was never going to be a part of him yet still held a part of you every time that you tinkered with it in your workshop.

How you wanted the sound of that robotic arm to lullaby you to sleep as he wrapped himself around you brought his real arm to your stomach and caressed it gently.

He truly knew nothing.

Son of a bitch.

"True," you chuckle with a dark gaze. "But it doesn't border on hatred. It is."

"Oh, you know that isn't true."

"What i know is that there are somethings you don't come back from, and if you don't step out of my fucking face, I'll make sure that you face a death you don't came back from." You fake a gasp, "Oh damn, I should say, again. Shouldn't I."

Your sister watches your back and forth. At first, with amusement, but then also a sense of wrongness.

Like she wasn't supposed to be here.

She could tell there was something between you two. Something that was more than hate. It was desire. A language is so often hidden between the lines but felt so easily.

She had no place between that. After all, she was just Caleb's childhood friend, right?

Maybe she did feel something for him, a sense of belonging like no other. To have someone take care of you and treat you as a precious jewel when the world was determined to crush you. Caleb did that. He treated her as if she were a jewel. A diamond.

She shakes her head. She would be fine without him. Afterall, when this bastard blew the fuck up, she had to do everything on her own. And she'll continue to do so.

Or at least... she has her family still there with her.

"Oh angel, you wound me deeply." Caleb jokes sarcastically. But you're not having any of it.

"Would you like another fatal wound? I think we can make that happen."

At this point, your mom and dad left, and your sister also took her leave. Something about going to go change.

Caleb chuckles as he deepens the space between you two. His warm hand caressing your face. You want to throw something at him. Whether it's a chair or yourself, you can't decide.

"How did you know it was me." You asked again.

He comes closer, enough to feel his breath hot on your face. Enough for your eyes to linger at his lips a bit too long to be just friendly.

"Because," he whispered. "I'd know your little eyebrow quirk anywhere."

His hand traced your leg.

"The way you favor your right leg over your left when you stand, because of a classroom mishap you had when you were still studying at the DAA."

"The way you quirk your head to the left when you've been waiting for too long." His hand traced the nape of your neck. Then, he cupped your face and tilted your head towards him.

"The way your lips quiver with unspoken words. Your eyes, hungry."

How could he not know. It was the same look he gave you.

Not because you looked like her.

But because you were just you. Beautiful, utterly brilliant, bright-eyed, and amazing you.

He presses his lips to yours. The dryness of them, ticklish against your moist ones. His hands in your hair, as he breathes you in like you're the last bit oxygen he has left in deepspace.

You throw your arms around him. Your body flush against his, this moment, a dream. An endless yearning fulfilled like you've finally caught the sun after riding into the sunset.

Was this desire? Was it love? You don't know.

But you wanted to explore what it felt like to be loved.

Like a word lost in translation.

"Ay! I know yall are lovey dovey but no pda in my living room!" Your dad calls from the other room.

"Sorry, dad!"

He didn't want you to be her. He wanted you to be yourself.

And to be yourself is to love and hate endlessly.

#love and deepspace mc #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace oneshots #lads caleb fanfic #lads caleb trash #lads caleb #yearning #mutual pining #what if MC had a twin #a bit of prose

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pierroettie · 2 months ago

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TWEWY SWAP AU 1/4 (for now...)

hiiii everyone... it's been a minute but I decide to redo the artwork and design work for my au and I figure I'd start posting about it!!

So let's get into it....

click 2 read 🫡

Yoshiya "Joshua" Kiryu (swapped with neku)

If you haven't seen my other post, the premise of the swap au is that each character keeps their personality and entry fees (with small changes) but they have swapped what roles they play in the story.

In this case, Joshua is no longer the composer, but the proxy of the composer neku. His personality is about the same, but because he gets the chance to interact with more characters and develop a bit more than in the game, he's ultimately a bit more like how he is in dream drop distance; the same guy just a lot less malicious and a lot more helpful.

Since Josh doesn't have any entry fees in og TWEWY he simply has Neku's fees instead. Because Beat & Shiki swap weeks as well, Beat is Josh's entry fee for week two rather than Shiki. His cause of death is also the same as Neku, but with Neku being the perp instead. Much like Neku, Josh also has 2 player pins and is able to use multiple psychs.

In TWEWY, Josh and Neku are parallels anyways, so their character arcs are pretty similar; closed off with their own ideals, getting dragged into forming relationships with people, realizing life ain't so bad, etc. Swap Joshua will essentially have the exact same character arc as Neku. The other characters will be a bit different, and I will detail Josh's relationship with them in their own posts respectively.

Design Notes:

Joshua's original design is pretty simplistic as a way to contrast with the other characters. Now that he's the protagonist, I figured I'd give him a little bit more detail. I slightly changed his hair, added a belt, a necklace (choker), and a wrist cuff much like what Neku has in his og design. His belt and his shoes match cuz why not I, love checkerboard stuff so it was a bit self indulgent lol. The stars on his sweater are a reference to his NEO design.

I'll hopefully be posting Neku soon so if this interests you just keep an eye out! :)))

#digital art #art #fanart #twewy #the world ends with you #joshua kiryu #joshua twewy #au #alternate universe #character design #crab canon

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twilightcitysky · 2 years ago

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Everything Is Meant (long S2 analysis, part 1)

I cannot figure out for the life of me how to make gifs so this will have to be a gif-less essay. If anyone more tech savvy than me wants to reblog with relevant media, please do!

I've seen a lot of people saying how Aziraphale's actions in the final ten minutes come out of left field and are OOC, and when I first watched the episode I felt the same, but now I think I couldn't have been more wrong. And I don't think Aziraphale is being controlled... I think the entire season showed us exactly what was going to happen.

On first watch, what struck me was the number of plot points that seemed disconnected. I couldn't figure out how Job related to the present, or the Victorian era, or the Nazi zombies (still at sea on the zombies part tbh). I didn't know where the Maggie/ Nina subplot was going, or why we were bothering with it. Then I put my "psych hat" on and it was like seeing one of those 3D pictures come into focus. It's a psychological networking rather than a plot-driven one, which is what Neil told us to expect.

Detailed analysis under the cut, with spoilers:

I went back through the season in my head and started asking myself: why is this element there? What does it contribute?

1. Start with scene one. Why include it? Does it matter for the climax that Az knew Crowley as an angel? YES. It's actually huge. Angel Crowley was joyful, he was bursting with delight at creation, he was idealistic. He wanted to be a part of everything rather than run away from it, and that's still how Aziraphale feels. He loves being a part of things. He's a joiner. He's a landlord. He dances at clubs and he makes human friends and he learns magic. Crowley the demon doesn't seem to want any of that, and I think that's hard for Az. He wants Crowley to be free of the cynicism he thinks prevents him from enjoying life now. At some level, I think he senses that Crowley is depressed (empathy's not his strong suit but I'm sure he's aware that Crowley's in a "what's the point of it all" kind of mood; see the eccles cakes scene). He wants to fix it. Aziraphale is a fixer. Metatron offers him a chance to do that.

Another thing is that Aziraphale knows Crowley ended up Falling just for asking questions that seemed innocent. That's not okay with him. He thinks that with the two of them in charge they can actually MAKE the changes that Crowley wanted to see way back at the beginning, starting with a suggestion box.

2. Okay, now Jim. Obviously Gabriel/ Jim is the central mystery, but why does he matter? First and foremost: he's there to show Aziraphale that angels can CHANGE. Gabriel terrorized and threatened Aziraphale. Az has been terrified of him. He ordered Aziraphale's execution. And now here he is, drinking hot chocolate, doing noble self-sacrificing things, with morals that suddenly align with Aziraphale's. What an absolute game-changer that must have been! He thought Heaven was unfixable, but here's Gabriel in his shop for weeks, slowly convincing him otherwise.

Then two other things happen. First, they find out that this all happened to Gabriel essentially because he fell in love. He was fired and his memories were stolen and the only reason he recovered was because Beelzebub happened to give him the one thing that could save him. That must have seemed like incredible luck. Now, how does Aziraphale feel about memories? He lives in a bookshop that is stuffed to bursting with the records of all of human history, essentially. His memories of his time with Crowley are incredibly precious. He sees, there at the end, that everything he is can be taken from him as a punishment for falling in love. Aziraphale doesn't have a magic fly container. He'd be forever robbed of Crowley, his life, himself. It's a very real threat in his mind when Metatron intervenes.

Which brings us to the second thing. Metatron saves Gabriel. Not only that, he prevents him from being punished for loving Beelzebub and lets them both go. What better way to win currency with Aziraphale? HE doesn't want to go off to Alpha Centauri, he never has, but suddenly he sees that Metatron might protect his relationship. And he's probably the only entity with the power to do so.

So we come to two conclusions: Aziraphale, when he goes off to talk with Metatron, is feeling like maybe it's not intrinsically bad to be an angel. He believed all the angels sucked, and only God was good... but now he sees that even Gabriel can change. He met Muriel, and he likes them. (He also had a huge crush on angel Crowley, which is neither here nor there but he loves Crowley in all his forms.) So if Crowley became an angel again, would that really be so bad? In his mind, it wouldn't change who Crowley is. It would just make them both safer and allow them to be together. (He's wrong! And Crowley doesn't see it that way! But this is a key miscommunication. Aziraphale doesn't really believe that becoming a demon changed Crowley. Back to the first scene, which Aziraphale references during the Job minisode. In his eyes, Crowley is the same person (just more cynical because of what's happened to him)-- so why would it matter if he's an angel again? I truly don't think he was trying to save Crowley, or saying that Crowley would be Better as an angel. To him, it doesn't matter what Crowley is. Which is reductive and harmful, but not the same as thinking Crowley needs rescuing from himself.)

Second conclusion: he sees that an angel and demon can be in love, but they have to run away to be together. Gabe and Beelz couldn't go home again. Earth is Aziraphale's home, but after the attack on the bookshop he learned that without Heaven's protection he can't really keep them safe there. Metatron says: "Come with me, do this thing, and you can have guaranteed safety AND be with the love of your life". Poor Aziraphale wants this with every fiber of his being. All he's ever wanted was for Crowley to be safe. He's never been able to offer it. Over the past four years, he thought they were safe, but he's just learned that he was wrong.

This is getting long. Continued in Part Two!

#good omens #good omens analysis #good omens meta #good omens season 2 #good omens season 2 spoilers #gos2 spoilers #everything is meant #the psychology of it all #forumulating a TV show in my spare time what can I say #crowley #aziraphale #character analysis #putting the pieces together

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megalomaniacz · 6 months ago

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Heyy, I love your stories! Could you do a Caitlyn kiramman from arcane x fem reader? It can be about whatever

CAITLYN “KILLSHOT” KIRAMMAN 🏀 PT1

basketball caitlyn x cheerleader reader

pt 2

you were now sulking, feeling like the most hated human on campus, and almost none of it was your fault.

you cheered on the court before they played. giggled on the side with your friends. sat comfortably forgetting there was an ongoing prank war between your mates. felt something crawling on your head, and you got up screaming causing caitlyn “i never miss” kiramman to become distracted and lose her shot.

not only was the crowd silent, but every single person was eyeing you so cruelly, you were sure their gazes were hot enough to make you explode. you hid in the locker room bathroom until the game was over, tieing and untying your shoes, when the team came in.

“well that was certainly a game.” one team member breaks the defining silence. “kiramman never misses a shot.”

“and i still haven’t. that idiotic cheerleader was an unnecessary distraction, screaming and babbling like a bird. that doesn’t count, not in my book.” you began to bite your lip, unsure of how to face her. “i’m an excellent player and today doesn’t change that.”

“i thought you would be red in the face about it, i mean we’ve never seen you freeze up like that.” another player interferes.

caitlyn rolls her eyes, drinking from her water bottle. “and the world kept spinning.”

it took you a total of 72 hours to prepare everything for your apology to the team, especially caitlyn. you baked them cupcakes to enjoy after their next practice, scolded your fellow cheermates for the spider attack, declared the prank war over, wrote up a long apology letter and bought flowers for caitlyn.

you were now delivering them wearing your best sweater and your nicest skirt. she was loaded, got her own fancy off campus apartment and everything. you put in extra work trying to get her address.

when you knock on the door, a tall rough looking man wearing a pit stained shirt open it. he scratches his beard before looking you up and down. “are those for me?” he asks, pointing to the flowers.

you take a deep breath, internally cursing the dumbass kid in your psych class that gave you the address. $20 down the drain. you clear your throat and look up at him with a smile. “uh, no i was looking for someone named caitlyn. blue hair, a bit taller than me. does she live in this building?”

he crosses his arms. “now why the hell would i tell you? you some kind of stalker fan freak? the one writing lavender scented love letters?”

a laugh gets caught in your throat, then you realize that you do indeed look like one of her stalker fans. the kiramman “cuties” as they call themselves. caitlyn has been recognized recently for her skills as a player, and the obvious reason, her attractiveness. shes always stopped for pictures on campus, and was even on the news once.

“i promise i’m not a stalker. i’m here to apologize to her for-“

he huffs. “stalking. i’ve had enough of you and your collective. don’t you have any hobbies? you should be taking medicine for this, you freaks.”

before you can defend yourself, caitlyn opens the door next to his, and steps out. “relax jayce, this is the cheerleader i told you about. the screamer.”

the man, jayce, laughs then goes back inside. “good luck with that, kid.”

you’re left awkwardly staring at caitlyn. eyes looking everywhere but hers, biting your lips. “i uh, brought these for you. and there’s an apology letter in there-“

“do you want to come in?” she interrupts you.

you nod, looking her up and down. she was wearing a pleated skirt with blue tights and a white polo shirt. her hair was up in a bun, held together by a small flower clip. mary jane’s on her feet and you could smell her perfume as you walk past her into her apartment. a mix of wood and cinnamon hitting your nose.

her apartment looks like it’s right out of a magazine. fancy lamps, samsung fridge, an entire bookshelf in the living room filled with books. you take your shoes off and place them by the door, then you walk around admiring her place.

“this is beautiful.” you say, a glimmer in your eyes. you hear her laugh from behind your, then you turn around to see there’s a gun in her hand. panic ensues and you fall to the ground behind her large dining room table. “i’m sorry i made you miss your shot! pleasedontkillmeplease i have concert tickets for next month and i really want to go!” you beg, heart beating so fast you can hear it in your ears.

caitlyn laughs and you feel like you’re going to piss yourself when you hear her place the weapon down. “relax, i’m not going to kill you. i was just cleaning it. you can come out, promise i’m not gonna hurt you.”

you carefully stand up, then scurry across the room to give her the now crumbled letter and messy flowers. “i just wanna give you this. i’m so sorry about the other day there’s this prank war thing- it’s so stupid- but it’s over now and i’m sorry.” you breath, finally looking her in the eyes.

her face is stoic at first, then she smiles, taking her hair out of her bun and sitting on the couch. “thank you. this is all very sweet of you, but i’m always getting flowers and letters. how about you do me a favor?” she pats the spot on the couch next to her. you take a seat, feeling a swell of anxiety.

“be my date to this party my friend is throwing?”

#bunnie can speak? ☆#bun’s asks ꕤ #bun’s anons ˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐 #lesbian #wlw #wlw post #sapphic #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn arcane #arcane fanfic #basketball au #cait x you #caitlyn x you #caitlyn x y/n #arcane #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman x you

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penisbutterjellytime · 6 months ago

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Got to the end. Behold... the Rook I finished with

The pouty elf...

more elf screeshots

Okay after 7 hours Veilgaurd has finally downloaded

#loved running around and the hair boing boinging #i say finished and not first bc I did make a Qunari soldier but I just wasn't feeling them #you know when you try to make a character that ticks all your favorite design traits but then it just leads them to be super uninteresting?#idk when i'll have time to replay but I will def make a dwarf since that's what i've picked in all the previous games #speaking of that wow I really need to finish those games bc I had no idea what the fuck was going on and why half the time #spoilers for the rest of the tags be warned #I originally was going to pick Lucanis as a romance but I didn't save Treviso so I got blocked lol #so I went with Emmerich since I went with mourn watch (i just wanted to be kinda goth tbh)#kinda wanna go back and see if I have a save before I romanced him though and try Davrin #cause he has gotta be the funniest bitch in the entire party #teasingly bullying me for being a mourn watcher and then feeding me to the griffons...#plus so many of his companion quest are so idk date coded??? Like I bet they translate really well if you romance him #and if I do a dwarf I'll romance Neve and or Harding maybe Bellara Neve def tho #I'm a save the best for last kind of guy but also idk if i'm gonna replay the game that many times lol #got up to dating taash in my Qunari (t4t Queernari4Queernari) play but again... never finished #idk if i care enough to do a Lucanis play #initially this was just me fucking with the character customization screen and unfortuatly became woefully attached #this shit ass cunty little elf has taken a firm grip on my psyche #can't a hater get a break???😔#i decided to give solas a happy ending since I got mythals blessing and forgot to change the inquisitor and the default is a female elf #who romanced solas #but next play my elf is punting his stupid ass into the Fade

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mochinek0 · 2 months ago

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Daminette December: 10-First Kiss Fail

Adrien stood in the park, excited for today's plan. He had spoken to Marinette about going to the arcade. They had a special prize for Ultra Mega Strike 4; he just knew she would love it.

Their friends had found out about his feelings for her and rallied behind him. They had been helping him plan dates. Aya had been the biggest help, accidentlaly letting it slip that Mairnette felt the same. They had gone to the movies to see the new Jagged Stone movie; he had found out she had made some of the outfits and had asked her questions. He remembered the café she use to go to with Kagami and asked her about her designs. Today was simple; a walk in the park and video games. Maybe, he could actually confess this time.

"Adrien!" Marinette called out.

He turned around and there she was. Her style had changed, but she was still the same Mari. She was wearing a red crop top, with black shorts with tights underneath.

'And just like that, red is my favorite color all over again.'

Adrien wasn't sure when he moved. It was almost as if he had teleported. One moment he was in the middle of the park, the next he was in front of Marinette with his hands on her cheeks.

'Why are my hands on her cheeks? Am I getting closer?'

Blinding pain shot threw him as he found himself on the floor. He looked up to see Marinette furious and her fist out in front of her.

'Did....did she just...punch me?'

"Why would you try and do that?" Marinette screamed at him.

Adrien looked at her confused, from the ground and chuckled, "Why wouldn't I kiss my girlfriend?"

"Since when am I your girlfriend?" Mari questioned.

"Since.....we started dating?" Adrien spoke, confused.

"And when was that because news flash, you're not my boyfriend!" Marinette cried out, "I thought you just wanted to catch up and hang out! That's what you told me!"

"Well, yeah." he winced, "But I thought-"

"Adrien, you told people for years, that I was only a friend." Mari declared, "'Who, Marinette? No' she's just a friend. A good friend. A great friend.' You used all those words to describe me, but never as someone you wanted to date."

Adrien remained speechless, not realizing how deeply those words had carved into her psyche.

She sighed, "I'll admit that I had a crush on you when we were in Bustier's class, but I also helped you get with Kagami. I helped you with your dates because you asked. Hell, I dated Luka during that time' he asked me out and I thought he was sweet. Then, there was that disaster with Lila and you telling me to 'take the high road'; to let her lie to everyone. Your friends are your friends; they're not my friends anymore and haven't been for years."

Adrien got up from the ground and confused, "But Alya said-"

Marinette let out a loud groan, "Adrien! I haven't talked to Alya in years and whatever she told you, was before she became Lila's best friend!"

He gulped, "Marinette, I'm sorry. I didn't think a kiss would bother you that much. Please, I like you and-"

"Adrien." She spoke, softly, before shattering his world, "I have a boyfriend. If for one moment, I had thought any of our outings were dates, I never would have gone with you."

"Oh." He answered.

"I'm sorry that isn't what you were hoping to hear, but this isn't a 'I just got over you and I'm trying something.' I've been in a relationship for three years! I visit his family every year!"

Adrien slowly nodded his head, terming to grips with his heart breaking.

"I.....I think it would be best if....if we just never see each other again." Mari spoke, hesitantly.

Adrien quickly lifted his head up.

'Not see her again? Never?'

"No!" He shouted, reaching out to her, "I can change!"

"This isn't about changing, Adrien." She answered, "This is about you assuming something and taking my boundaries for granted! You're finally acting like a fifteen year old boy but we're eighteen now. You need to realize just how far you are behind, socially and emotionally. What you just did, i could have you arrested for sexual assault."

Adrien remained silent as he took her words in. He was finally able to see Marinette for the amazing woman she was, but he was too late. She had outgrown him and stated he was acting like a child.

"There; you have been unfollowed, blocked from my accounts, and my accounts are now private. I may just have to talk to.my clients and move them elsewhere." Mari sighed, "I'm not even sure how you found them in the first place, but I don't need the others harassing me, like they did in Middle school."

He gulped, "Isn't that going a little too far? The...the assult?"

She rolled her eyes, "There it is again, the 'High Road' bullshit! Majority of us are now adults! Caline was never a good teacher; she was the 'fun one'. This is reality, Adrien! There is no more 'second chances', 'I didnt mean it' or 'I swear, I'll never do it again'! This time, I can sue your friends for defamation, slander, and harassment! And if you ever tru to do what you just did, again, I won't hesitate to get you for sexual assult!"

Adrien stared as her, the situation sinking in.

'She's right. We're adults now. I've been acting like this was the same Mari who stumbled and babbled at me. This isn't the same sweet Mari who wore her hair in pigtails and wore pink. This wasnt the Mari who tripped in flats. No, this woman is different. This Marinette is confident and commanding. This Marinette had long hair and wore combat boots.'

Then, it hit him....when had she stopped looking his way? When had she stopped smiling at him? When had she gotten less clumsy? When had she stopped wearing pink? Why had he stopped noticing her?

"Everything okay, Habibiti?" a guy questioned, walking up.

"Yes, My Dove." Marinette replied, kissing him.

Adrien watched silently. It hurt to watch her be so happy with someone else. Her 'Dove' was taller and more muscular with a glare that rivaled his father's.

"Who is he?" The guy questioned.

'Fuck!'

"An old acquaintance. " Marinette answered, "He had a question for me. There was a misunderstanding, but I took care of it. Nothing to worry over."

"Should he try anything-" the guy growled out.

'Here it comes!'

"Break his arm for all I care, Habibi!" Mari shouted, making him gulp, "Just know Bruce will make you pay out of your own pocket and that means less to donate to the animal charity, next month."

"Tch." He grumbled, turning away.

Mari smiled, "Soooo, Damian, where are we going on our date? You mentioned a surprise."

Damian chuckled, "It's wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, Habibiti, but Tom and Sabine have approved of you staying with me for the week."

"Really?" The designer asked, excitedly.

He simply nodded and her smile brightened, as they walked away. He saw that smile; the same one that use to be just for him.

'I wish that was me holding her hand. I wish I wasn't an idiot all those years ago.'

"Dude, are you okay?" Nino called out, with everyone running up to him.

"That was brutal." Ivan commented.

'Fuck! I forgot they were watching! It probably would have been a lot worse if they had jumped out and confronted Mari about what she said.'

"Adrien?" Spoke Alix.

He shrugged and chuckled, "I wanted normal, right? Figures the first time I try and kiss a girl, I get rejected."

Adrien noticed something winced and some look away.

"She wasn't wrong." He whispered.

"Huh?" Nino asked.

"I never asked her out on a date." The model confessed, "I got......nervous. I mean it was Mari and she's been....I thought-Why didn't I notice her back then?"

"We did try hinting at it, years ago." Alya spoke up.

"Well, my brain hasn't caught up. I'm still years behind and I feel like I lost a chance with someone wonderful!"

"Maybe or maybe not." Nathaniel replied, "That's what dating is."

"It might last forever. " Mylene smiled, looking up at Ivan.

"Or....it might not." Alya shrugged, frowning at Nino.

"I think your dad knows better than any of us." Nino pushed back.

Alix sighed, "I didn't know she didn't see us as friends."

Alya sat on the grass, "Me either."

Mylene and Ivan sat down as well.

Adrien sat down, "I don't know when she changed and I....never noticed. It was like I was seeing Mari from Bustier's class and then glass shattered! Then, there was this older version of her, pissed off at me!"

They started laughing.

"I think we all stopped noticing." Alix admitted.

"I'm sorry for telling you something I thought was still facts." Alya spoke up, " I didn't mean to get your feelings hurt. I was a bad friend, to both of you."

"We all were." Nino agreed.

"Maybe we can leave a note with her parents." Nathaniel suggested, "Just to let her know we know we messed up."

"Let's get you a drink!" Nino cheered.

"Nino!" Alya shouted back.

"You tell us you kind of woman and we'll help you from there." Ivan smiled.

"So far, colored eyes are on the list." Adrien admitted, sheepishly.

"Don't forget woman who will kick you ass." Smirked Alix.

"What?" Adrien asked, confused.

"Kagami. Marinette." Alix answered back, "You looked like you didn't know if you should run away or try and kiss her, again."

Adrien remained silent, but his red cheeks gave away his thoughts.

"Guy's a masochist and doesn't know." Whispered Nathaniel.

"We're gonna be there all night!" Nino whispered back.

"Any guys you were into?" Alix pushed.

They watched as the blush spread from his cheeks to his ears.

"Party time!" Cried out Ivan.

Everyone got off the ground and began to drag him away.

'Sorry, Mari, for not noticing you before. I hope whoever he is, makes you happy. You look happy.'

@maribat-calendar-events

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