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zaebeecee · 5 months ago

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It's Nothing Serious

Secret Santa 2024 ••

Alastor and Anthony have been sharing a dorm for over a year. When Alastor comes up with a project for his social psychology class, it's only natural that he would ask Anthony for his help; after all, who else does he trust more? And besides, it isn't like fake dating has ever gone off the rails in the past, right?

Content: fake relationship, human versions, everyone is old enough to do the stuff mentioned within, drinking, trans Angel Dust, HRT involving needles, fluff and corny romance shit, implied spicyness, a whole lot of characters for a one-shot, Christmas-adjacent situations

•••

Here's my gift for the lovely @luciferfemme for the RadioDust 2024 Secret Santa gift exchange! Fun fact: they made the post that was my primary inspiration for Loveless Bond, for which I remain deeply grateful. Anyway, here you are, darling. Hope you like it!

•••

Six feet tall. Thirty-six years old. Outdated photo of him and his fraternity buddies as the only picture on his profile.

Swipe left on that one.

Five foot eleven. Twenty-nine. Fishing picture, fishing picture, fishing picture, just a dog, fishing picture.

Cute dog, but I don’t wanna hear how big his last catch was all through dinner. Left.

No fats, femmes, or Asians.

Fuck you, buddy. How do I mark a guy as ‘hate’?

Twenty-one.

Like Hell you are, you could be my father.

“Looks like pretty slim pickings in the dating market these days.”

“Holy shit!” Anthony jerked in surprise, nearly throwing his phone right into his dorm mate’s face as he spun around and slipped off the couch. He landed on his ass with a sharp yelp, which only made the guy above him start laughing harder. “Where the fuck did you come from?!”

“Louisiana,” Alastor said with a wide grin, his arms loosely folded on the back of their couch as he leaned over to watch Anthony pull himself up off the floor.

“Ha ha, asshole,” Anthony grumbled. “I thought you were at the library.”

“I was,” Alastor said, straightening up and rounding the couch to plop down next to the other young man. “But it’s the beginning of the semester, Angel, I hardly have that much work to do.”

Anthony snorted. “Since when have you ever gone to the library for legitimate reasons?”

Alastor’s smile sharpened that way it did whenever he was plotting something, and Anthony frowned, leaning away instinctively. In the year that they had known each other, Anthony—Angel Dust, to his close friends—had learned how to interpret many of Alastor’s more enigmatic expressions. When they had first met at the start of Anthony’s first semester at college, introduced to each other as new students who would be sharing a dorm, Alastor had immediately made quite an impression: he was handsome, he was mysterious, he was scary, and he was incredibly unavailable (as made perfectly clear by his laughter when Anthony’s first words to him had been some sort of proposition). It hadn’t taken Anthony long to realize that Alastor simply wasn’t interested in anyone or anything that way; however, it quickly became obvious that it was nothing like homophobia or prudishness, as he had no shortage of time to listen to complaints about the men Anthony was seeing nor lack of scathing opinions on each one of those men.

By the end of the first semester, Anthony and Alastor had become very close friends, to the point that they willingly agreed to remain together in the Spring. Now, in Anthony’s third semester, he had been given the option to move off-campus into an apartment or a house, but he’d elected to stay so that Alastor (who was on scholarship and unable to afford to live outside the dorms) wouldn’t have to get used to a new roomie.

Alastor had been surprised when Anthony told him this, but he had recovered quickly and said something to the effect of ‘I knew you would’. But he was happy about it, and no amount of smug posturing would convince Anthony otherwise.

“So, are we on the hunt for a new beau already?” Alastor asked, leaning around as though trying to look at Anthony’s phone again. The screen was off, but Anthony pulled it against his chest anyway. “I would think you’d be more concerned with your studies this semester, considering how abysmal you failed Calculus this past Spring.”

“Shut up,” Anthony said. “I ain’t lookin’ for a boyfriend, and I ain’t even after a hookup, necessarily. Just seein’ how the pool’s changed in the past few months. Ain’t gotten any better.”

Alastor scoffed, leaning one arm on the back of the couch and smirking at him. “I told you, most anyone you’ll find on those apps are going to be scum, because anyone who’s worth dating won’t be resorting to relying on them.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and turning his head away. “I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction of callin’ you right.” Alastor didn’t answer. “Wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

“You aren’t even looking at me.”

“I can feel it.” Anthony picked up one of their mismatched couch pillows and smacked Alastor in the side of the head with it. The other boy cackled, shielding himself ineffectually with his arms. “Besides, it’s lookin’ like layin’ off the scene will be for the best right now. Feels like half the guys on here are chasers, and the other half got some kinda ‘you’d better not be trans if you message me’ disclaimer right at the top. I don’t wanna deal with that shit right now.”

“Hm.” Alastor’s smile changed to something Anthony might have called a little bit sympathetic, but then, he shrugged. “Their loss,” he said. “Seems like they’d simply feel insecure about you having more testosterone than them.” Anthony laughed, and Alastor’s grin returned. “If you’re going to be off the market anyway, I suppose I should do what I can to make sure you don’t get lonely.”

Anthony smirked, wiggling his eyebrows briefly. “You propositioning me, Al?”

“What– no, stop that,” Alastor said quickly, color rising to his face as he pointed a single threatening finger and ignored Anthony’s cackle. “What I’m saying,” he said, loudly enough that Anthony’s laughter died down, “is that I have a project this semester, and I think it’s something you could help me with, if you’re amenable.”

“Does this involve me losin’ a finger or somethin’?”

“There is a non-zero chance, but it’s highly unlikely.”

Anthony frowned. “...I ain’t agreein’ to nothin’ until you tell me what it is.”

“Fine,” Alastor said, rolling his eyes. “I’m taking a class for my social psych minor this semester, Social Influence and Behavior. Essentially, studying the way that people react to others in social settings and the ways changes in one individual might influence changes in another.”

“We both know I ain’t got a clue what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”

Alastor leveled him with a look. “How one or two people acting weird can make the people around them act weird.”

“Oh, okay. I follow.”

“I thought you might. We were tasked with conducting an informal study over the course of the semester, the subject of which is up to our discretion. I thought you would be perfect to help me out with mine, since it’s… well. It’s fucking with our social circle and seeing how they respond.”

Anthony giggled. “Ooh, that sounds fun. A semester-long prank. Sure, I’m down, what are you thinkin’?”

Either Alastor suddenly looked a little bashful, or Anthony was imagining things. “Well, that’s… part of the reason I wanted to ask you, rather than anyone else,” he said, his voice as hesitant as Alastor’s ever got. “Most of my behavior isn’t considered unusual for me, and I was having trouble thinking of something I could do that the others would view as out of the ordinary. The best option that I landed on was dating someone.”

Anthony’s eyebrows went up. “Dating someone?”

“You see?” Alastor gestured at him with one hand. “You’re surprised by the mere suggestion! It would be perfect!”

“So… wait.” Anthony held his own hands up. “Wait wait wait. Are you asking– I mean, what are you asking?”

“Don’t worry, it wouldn’t be really dating,” Alastor said, and Anthony wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or not. “But you and I really are quite different, and I’m given to understand that sort of thing is subject to quite a bit of social scrutiny, not to mention the idea of me in a relationship is certain to absolutely baffle everyone who has ever met me. And it has the added benefit of the fact that I trust you implicitly and am fully aware that you would not take advantage of this position to my detriment, in addition to the fact that I can rely on you for answers to any questions I might have about how to proceed after a time.”

Anthony was silent for a moment. On the one hand, it was incredibly funny, imagining how their friends would respond to the idea of them being in a relationship. On the other hand, while Anthony would never admit it, he’d been fostering an incredibly annoying crush on Alastor for the past several months and it was only getting worse, a fact that most of their friends (particularly Husk and Cherry) were very adamant Anthony needed to stop immediately. On the other other hand (and didn’t he wish he had more than two sometimes), he couldn’t help feeling deeply touched that of everyone Alastor knew, Anthony was the one that he trusted enough to rely on for this.

Plus, this might get Valentino to leave me alone, so that’s another upside.

“Yeah, sure,” Anthony finally said. “Why the fuck not?”

Alastor did that thing that he did when he was both surprised and excited, the thing that made Anthony imagine he had two big animal ears that had just perked up on the top of his head. “Really?”

“Really,” Anthony laughed. “Sounds like fun, as long as you can handle it.”

Alastor’s expression shifted into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Should be pretty obvious,” Anthony said with a shrug. “The only way this is gonna work is if we don’t act outta character, right?” Alastor nodded. “So… that means you’ve gotta put up with physical contact from me.”

The very idea made Alastor’s body stiffen up visibly. “...you’re talking about public affection.”

“PDA, yeah.” Anthony tilted his head. “Look, nobody’s gonna believe I’m datin’ someone I never lay a finger on, and they won’t buy that you’re actually in a relationship with anyone if you won’t ever let them touch you. You know how physical I am, so if you weren’t willin’ to put up with that, why would we go out at all?”

Alastor sighed, relaxing. “...you make a fair point,” he said. “But I will be setting ground rules, and you will be respecting them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got you, Smiles,” Anthony said. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to make you uncomfortable intentionally, and I ain’t gonna do nothin’ without your consent. Just lettin’ you know that if you wanna sell this, we’re gonna have to commit.” He shrugged. “It’s like acting. Think of it as blocking.”

“...right,” Alastor said. “I can do that.”

“Cool. So…” Anthony hesitated. “Uh… when were you wanting to start?”

“As soon as possible.”

•••

“Good morning, everyone!”

The responses ranged from enthusiastic (Charlie) to barely a grunt of acknowledgement (Husk) as Alastor slung his bag over the back of a chair and lowered himself into it. Niffty leaned across the table, pushing a cup of coffee in front of him. “Here,” she said. “We ordered already. We got you your usual.”

“You’re a peach,” Alastor said, patting Niffty on the top of her head and picking up the coffee cup. She smiled, sinking back into her seat. The morning was crisp with just a touch of the scent of autumn in the air, barely detectable under the bouquet of smells coming from the cafe. While Alastor had always preferred studying on his own, he had to admit that he didn’t exactly mind getting roped into this little study group that Charlie insisted on hosting every Saturday morning. They always sat around the same large table together, Charlie paid for everyone with her father’s money (and Alastor didn’t mind wasting that), and it usually devolved into something more fun than simple school work.

“Where’s Angel?” Charlie asked. “He’s coming, right?”

“He’d better be, I ordered the bitch pancakes,” Cherry said.

“It’s a morning study session.” Pentious brushed his long hair back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the table as a whole. “I don’t think Angel’s seen this side of an ante meridiem hour since he left high school and I’m not positive why any of you keep thinking he will.”

Husk snorted. “It’s a tossup,” he said. “He’ll either show up for free food or avoid it because it means work.”

“He’ll be here,” Alastor said. “Don’t worry.”

Rosie laughed. “What, did you wake him up before you left?”

“I threw things on him until he yelled at me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

No one was giving him any kind of unusual look (as far as he could determine), which was something of a relief; it meant that, no matter how Alastor might have been feeling in the moment, the others at the table weren’t suspicious of anything. It wasn’t that Alastor was nervous—what reason did he have to be nervous? It was only Anthony, and they had known each other for over a year at this point—but, as the one with no experience on how romantic relationships were supposed to be conducted at various points, he was incredibly uncertain as to what he was supposed to expect. Anthony had promised him, repeatedly, that he would do his best to keep from making Alastor uncomfortable while simultaneously doing his part to make their little scheme believable, but that told him absolutely nothing about what Anthony might actually do.

Of course, the fact did remain that he trusted Anthony. When they had first met, Alastor had noted his friendliness, and the moment he registered that it was flirting and had expressed his personal distaste for such things, Anthony had stopped immediately. In fact, outside of a handful of exceptions (bumping into each other in their tiny kitchen, grabbing Alastor by the hand when his bad leg gave out and he nearly fell down the stairs outside the library, that one time he’d helped with a particularly stubborn cuff button that Alastor simply could not fasten one-handed), Anthony had taken pains not to make any physical contact with Alastor whatsoever. Despite his friend’s reputation around campus and in various social circles, Alastor had always found him respectful with his hands, even if he had no idea how to control his mouth.

“Oh, there he is! Hi, Angel!” Charlie said, interrupting Alastor’s thoughts. She raised her hand and he followed the line of her gaze to Anthony, who returned the wave with one hand before he lowered it to stifle a yawn. He headed for the table, letting his bag drop onto the floor and slumping into the chair next to Alastor.

“Morning, princess,” Alastor said with a smirk, watching Anthony scrub his face with both hands. “Long night?”

“Nnh. Sleepy. Coffee.”

Niffty began sliding another coffee across the table, but she froze the moment Anthony leaned over and laid his head on Alastor’s shoulder. Alastor jumped slightly, but Anthony remained still, giving him time to adjust to the sensation without giving away their game immediately. It actually wasn’t that bad, after the initial shock of the touch; as a matter of fact, Anthony was actually pretty gentle as he leaned against him, and the white hair brushing against Alastor’s cheek was soft, but not in a way that tickled or irritated.

Is this what it feels like? I can do this.

Alastor leaned to the side as well, pressing his cheek against the top of Anthony’s head before the other young man could move away. “Well, sha, if you’d gotten up when I told you I was getting ready, you could have walked with me and had coffee sooner.”

“Okay, Mr. My Hair And Clothes Always Look Perfect With Zero Effort. Some of us actually have to work to look presentable.”

“…uhm… here, Angel, we got you coffee too,” Niffty finally said, pushing the mug towards him. She was still staring wide-eyed, and Alastor was fairly positive she hadn’t blinked once.

“Oh my god, you’re perfect.”

While Anthony sat up to wrap both hands around the mug and take a careful sip, Alastor took the opportunity to take a quick glance around. Everyone was staring, a variety of expressions on their faces, but no matter what they were thinking it was quite clear that everyone was confused. Alastor kept his usual smile in place; it was really hard not to laugh when Charlie started to ask a tentative question only to get cut off by the arrival of their food.

Alastor turned his head again at a tugging on his sleeve. “Yes, sha?”

“What’d you get?” Anthony asked, his gaze fixed on Alastor’s bowl of pecan oatmeal like he had no idea what it was.

Immediately, he was hit with sudden inspiration. Instead of answering, Alastor got a small mouthful on his spoon and held it up. “Want some?”

Anthony nodded before opening his mouth, instantly reminding Alastor of a baby bird. Alastor fed him the spoonful (he had seen insufferable couples do that in public before), and Anthony ate it happily, humming one of those little songs he hummed when he thought something tasted really good.

“…so…” Charlie finally said. Alastor looked her direction, and was gratified to see that Husk was staring, his mouth slightly open and his face frozen in an expression of confusion that didn’t know if it wanted to be angry or not. “What, um… what’s going on with you two?”

“Going on?” Alastor asked, his smile widening. “My dear Charlie, whatever makes you think there’s something going on?”

“You don’t share food,” Vaggie said, gesturing between them sharply, her brow furrowed.

Rosie held one hand up, her wrist going limp instantly. “You two aren’t actually… y’know…”

“Of course they aren’t,” Cherri said immediately.

“They aren’t what?” Pentious asked, looking around the table quickly. “What? What’s happening?”

Alastor shrugged, looking at Anthony. “You want to tell them?”

“I like makin’ them wonder.” Anthony giggled a little before rolling his eyes. “Okay, fine. Yeah, we’re datin’, you wanna make somethin’ of it?”

Instantly, Niffty muffled a squeal with her hands, and Husk quite confidently said, “Bullshit,” while Cherri almost shrieked the word ‘bitch’ in shock before vaulting out of her chair and running over to start berating Anthony for not calling her (though why he would have was beyond Alastor; he’d have to ask once they were alone).

“When did this happen?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide and her voice doing that ‘I’m about to burst with excitement’ vibrating thing it did before she burst into happy tears.

“Last night,” Alastor said. “I’m sorry, were we supposed to take out space for an announcement in the campus newsletter?”

“No, no, of course not!” Charlie said, waving her hands in front of her face. “I just— I’m happy for you!”

“…thank you?”

“Ignore them, darling,” Rosie said with a casual wave of her hand. “I’ll simply say it’s about fucking time and let it drop.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes at her, which just made her smile grow. “What is about fucking time, exactly?”

“No no, too late, I dropped it. Niffty knows what I mean.”

He turned to squint at Niffty, who still had her hands clasped over her mouth and was nodding furiously. Alastor narrowed his eyes further. “…have we been the subject of gossip?”

“Uh, duh,” Niffty said finally. “And if you weren’t always so damn mysterious, we wouldn’t have to do that!”

As Alastor was processing this, he felt a knuckle thump his shoulder. He turned to look up at Husk, who was looking down at him with an unreadable expression. “Can I talk to you?”

Alastor glanced down at where Husk had tapped him, then back up; normally, that was enough to get him to back down, but he didn’t budge. “Of course.”

He excused himself and followed Husk out the front door, then around to the side of the building where they couldn’t be observed. Once out of sight, Husk turned to him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“At the moment? Being systematically prevented from consuming my most important meal of the day.”

“Cut the shit, Alastor. You know what I mean.”

Alastor held his hands out as he shrugged. “I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult, Husker. Angel is a perfectly delightful young man. Is there something so wrong with someone wishing to pursue a relationship with him?”

“Normally, no,” Husk said, raising an eyebrow. “But this is you that we’re talking about. You aren’t capable of doing things without ulterior motives.”

“You know me so well.” Alastor didn’t let his smile slip. “What’s next, going to tell me that if I break his heart you’ll break my kneecaps?”

Husk scoffed. “No. Angel’s gonna be in arm’s reach of you, he’ll kill you just fine by himself. But if you’re playing some kind of game, you really might want to rethink this, because while we won’t interfere with whatever he decides to do on his own, his siblings might.”

Oh. Shit. I didn’t think about them.

Anthony’s twin sister, Maria, and older brother, Bernardino—affectionately known as “Molly” and “Arackniss” in their little circle— were textbook examples of avoiding even the pretense of subtlety. While much of Anthony’s speech and behavior could be written off as just him being from New York, Molly had been described as “a Long Island princess who might have a gun in her purse at any given moment”, and Arackniss always sounded like he was a sentence away from threatening to give someone a pair of cement shoes. Alastor wasn’t afraid of them, of course; no, he had only ever feared one person in his life, and that honor belonged to his beloved mother. However, Anthony had made it painfully clear that, whatever issues he had with his siblings (particularly Arackniss), they were his problems and anyone who fucked with his siblings would be very unlikely to see the next morning.

Alastor wasn’t afraid of Anthony, either, but that didn’t change the fact that the thought of upsetting him was deeply unpleasant.

Apparently, he had been quiet too long, because Husk’s expression flattened out into something closer to derisive disbelief. “You didn’t even think about it, did you?”

“I deeply appreciate your concern, Husker,” Alastor said, skirting around the question and laying his hands on either of Husk’s shoulders. “But you have nothing at all to fret about! I know exactly what I’m doing, and Anthony is perfectly capable of handling his family on his own.”

Husk sighed, rolling his eyes. “Your funeral, brother.”

When they returned to the table, Anthony gave Alastor a curious look, but Alastor waved to him, their signal for ‘I’ll tell you later’ when either of them had gossip that needed to be discussed privately. The conversation redirected itself almost immediately, for which Alastor was grateful. He enjoyed being the center of attention, of course, but being barraged with questions made it infinitely harder to just sit and observe his surroundings. That was, after all, the point of all of this.

As they were all getting up to leave, Anthony said, “C’mon, babe. I need some new threads and you said you’d give me your most cuttin’ and brutal opinions.”

Alastor had said nothing of the sort, but he knew coded language when he heard it. “Of course, sha.” He waved to the others, all of whom were staring as they left the cafe together and began walking in the direction of the nearby shopping center. Once they were far enough away and Alastor had determined they weren’t being tailed, he allowed himself a small cackle. “That went well.”

Anthony giggled. “Shit, no kidding. I expected a reaction, but fuck. …hehe.”

Alastor frowned at him. “…what?”

“Butt fuck,” Anthony repeated.

Perplexed, Alastor continued to stare until recognition hit him. “You are hopelessly foul and I hope you walk in front of an oncoming bus.”

This time, Anthony’s laugh was full and genuine. “I’m draggin’ you with me, bitch!” He then directed that smile onto Alastor. “So… I know you didn’t actually agree to shop with me, but d’you mind comin’ anyway? I’ll buy you a soft pretzel.”

Somewhere deep inside, Alastor thought, You don’t have to bribe me, sha. I can’t say no when you give me that smile.

It was a ridiculous thought, but it was far from the first time it had crossed Alastor’s mind, so he dismissed it. “Oh, very well,” he said, playing up the visage of being put-upon enough that no one could mistake it for true reluctance. “I suppose I had nothing else to do, anyway.”

This was going to be a lot of fun, Alastor decided. He couldn’t wait to see everyone’s faces when they learned the whole thing had been a ruse.

•••

Word travels real fuckin’ fast, apparently.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!”

Anthony rolled his eyes visibly as he continued putting away the clothes Alastor had helped him pick out. Molly and Arackniss had been waiting outside their dorm room when they returned, and the moment Alastor registered their presence, he suddenly remembered he had something to do in the library and ran away (like a goddamn coward) before either of them noticed him. Naturally, they had started badgering Anthony instantly, following him into the dorm and hardly pausing for breath, let alone any kind of explanation.

Molly wrapped her arms around her legs, glaring up at him. “What, you think you can just not tell us and we won’t find out? That it?”

“If that’s what it was, I wouldn’t never text either of you,” Anthony said, carefully cutting the tag off of a shirt he had decided he wouldn’t be returning. “I was gonna tell you.”

Arackniss scoffed, not straightening up from where he was leaning against the wall next to Anthony’s closet. “Sure you were, Tony,” he said sarcastically.

“I was!” Anthony countered, flinging an empty shopping bag at his brother. “It happened late last night, I had study bullshit this morning, ain’t like I’ve been keepin’ it for weeks or somethin’.”

He could practically hear his siblings exchanging looks behind his back as he put hangars up in his closet. “...you went to a study session,” Molly said finally.

“Yeah.”

“You. Went to a study session.”

“Yes,” Anthony said, carefully controlling his voice so he wasn’t snapping at her. “You’re actin’ like I ain’t never studied a day in my life.”

“Well… not on purpose, anyway,” Arackniss said.

Before Anthony could counter, Molly said, “Didn’t you say he don’t do… y’know. Sex and stuff?”

Anthony frowned at her over his shoulder. “...yeah,” he said. “Not that it’s any of your business. What’s your point?”

“Well…” Molly looked at Arackniss.

He picked up on whatever signal it was, taking over from her. “Tony, you ain’t never dated anybody in your life, and now you’re sayin’ you’re exclusive with a guy who doesn’t even like sex?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “I don’t care,” he said. “He told me he don’t mind if I keep up my cam work, and anyway, ain’t there more to a relationship than just fuckin’ all the time?”

“Well… yeah,” Arackniss said.

“We’re just surprised you think that,” Molly added.

Anthony turned to them and held up his hands. ‘Y’know what? Fuck both of you,” he said; he didn’t put any real heat in the words, and just looking at their expressions told him they didn’t take it seriously. “I like him, and he likes me, and I don’t give a shit about anything else. And even if it wasn’t for that, I’d stay with him just to piss you off.”

Molly actually giggled at that. “Sounds about right. And I’m guessin’ the aneurysm Ma’d have about you bringin’ home a boyfriend—”

“Who’s both southern and black,” Arackniss interjected.

“—don’t hurt your decision none, either.”

Anthony cackled. “She’s gonna be so pissed, and don’t get me started on Pop.”

“Well, they won’t disown you,” Arackniss said thoughtfully. “I was fuckin’ certain they would when you started your transition. Pops still asks me if you’ve stopped ‘that testosterone shit’ every time we talk.”

Anthony raised his eyebrow. “And?”

“I say no. And then I call you Tony and he hangs up on me.”

He snorted, grinning. If he actually liked his parents, that would have been incredibly painful to hear. Instead, while his parents’ actions made him mad, listening to how his siblings handled it always filled him with a sense of bitter satisfaction. “Ain’t you the best big brother.”

“You fuckin’ know it.”

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Molly asked. “You got bad taste in men, Tony, and a guy like him…”

“I’m sure,” Anthony said. He meant it, too, but in a much different way than either Molly or Arackniss were taking it. Did he really like Alastor enough to put up with this?

…yeah. He did. And that wasn’t going to cause any problems in the future, because he wouldn’t let it. He valued Alastor’s trust and friendship too much to let it.

•••

Alastor had known there would be… reactions, to put it mildly, when news got out that he and Anthony were ‘dating’. In fact, he had been counting on it; otherwise, how was he going to get any sort of data for his project? He simply hadn’t been expecting so many reactions to be quite so visceral or loud.

That study breakfast had only been the first social hurdle. Over the next month, he’d been yelled at by Vox (who’d had a strangely passionate reaction to the news, and for the life of him, Alastor couldn’t figure out why he was so upset), threatened with extreme bodily harm by Valentino, stalked through the library and the rest of the campus by Blitzø and his three little cohorts, aggressively grilled by both Molly and Arackniss, and been stared at by Zestial with an intensity he could feel from the other side of the quad.

It was still funny, of course, but for some reason, it was also sort of… bothering him? Annoying him? He wasn’t sure the phrase that best communicated how he was feeling, just that there was something unpleasant about everyone behaving as though he wasn’t good enough to be Anthony’s boyfriend. Fake relationship or not, it was hard not to take that kind of thing personally.

Maybe that was why, in mid October, he finally broke down and grabbed his phone to make a call.

He was laying on his bed with his head at the foot, turned onto his side with his phone resting on the side of his head without either hand keeping it in place. It freed them up to allow him to pick at the cheap comforter he broke out once it started getting too cold in the building. The phone rang twice in his ear before he heard a click, followed by the soft, comforting sound of a controlled alto voice. “Hello, Alastor.”

“Hi, maman,” Alastor said, unable to keep a smile off his face. “Catch you at a bad time?”

“Nah. Just gettin’ some packages ready for the store this week,” she answered. Just the sound of her Louisiana drawl was soothing after so many unpleasant conversations. “Somethin’s botherin’ you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Alastor still asked, “What makes you think something is wrong?”

“You never call this late unless you got somethin’ on your mind, kiddo.”

He sighed. Either she was too perceptive or he was growing too predictable. It might have been both, for all he knew. “I… did something, and I wanted to tell you about it.”

There was a soft, distant thud, and he could tell his mother had just put down whatever was in her hand. “I’m not gettin’ another letter from your school,” she said; it was almost a question, but it might as well have been a threat.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Alastor hesitated, pulling on a thread in his comforter until it snapped. “I… asked someone out.”

A very long pause followed that, long enough that he almost asked if she was still there. “Is that so?” his mother asked finally. “You went on a date?”

Alastor shook his head, even though she couldn’t hear it. “It’s complicated, but no. I mean we’re dating.”

“I see.” Another pause. “It’s Anthony, isn’t it?”

Alastor put his hand on his phone and sat up. “How the hell—”

“Oh, please, Alastor.” He could sense her rolling her eyes at him. “After everythin’ you’ve told me ‘bout that boy, I knew if you’d be askin’ anyone out, it’d be him.”

He wasn’t sure what to say in response to that. He wanted to say that it was a fake relationship, or… something, he didn’t know what. “...do you think I’m making a mistake?” he asked instead.

“Who knows?” He could hear her chopping something on a cutting board. “But I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, you can’t wait to know if everythin’ you’re gonna do is gonna end up goin’ well. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe it’s not. You won’t know until you do it.”

That was a good point, but Alastor wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Are you happy?”

Was he? Alastor thought for a long moment. It wasn’t something he had really considered, always having considered himself fairly content with his life so long as his decisions were just that: his own decisions. Did that mean he was happy? “...yeah,” he said, his voice soft with the realization that he wasn’t lying. “I am.”

“That’s all I care about. I’m happy for you, baby.”

The rest of the conversation was fairly standard, Alastor asking about how things were back home and his mother asking about his studies. When they said goodbye, he realized he actually felt a lot better. He hadn’t realized how much he needed just a little bit of approval. Everything seemed considerably lighter as he got up and left his small room, heading over to knock on Anthony’s door. “Hey, Angel,” he called. “You in there?”

“Yep. C’mon in, ain’t locked.”

Alastor let himself in, opening the door to see Anthony sitting in the middle of his bed with his medication box open in front of him. “Oh. HRT. Bad time?”

Anthony shook his head, drawing his dose out of the bottle. “Nah, s’long as you don’t mind watchin’ me stab myself.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem.” When Anthony gestured to the bed, Alastor sat down, looking over his supplies. “Need any help?”

Anthony glanced at him. “...you any good at givin’ shots?”

“I… have done it before,” Alastor hedged. “Why?”

“Because gettin’ it in my arm hurts less, but I gotta hold the skin taut, so I can’t do it by myself. Usually gotta do it in the thigh and sometimes it bleeds a lot.”

Alastor tilted his head. “...would you like me to give you your shot?”

“If you don’t mind, yeah.”

“You trust me to do that?”

Anthony raised an eyebrow at him. “If you hurt me on purpose, I’ll stab you with my drawin’ needle myself.”

Alastor chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Anthony showed him the proper place to stab, and Alastor held the skin as taut as he could, carefully slipping the needle straight into the muscle just below his shoulder. Anthony sucked in a breath, but he didn’t make any noise of pain, so Alastor made sure he wasn’t drawing blood before he slowly pushed the plunger down. Anthony made another sound, one that made Alastor feel a little strange, and he aggressively pushed the thought out of his mind as he removed the needle. “All done. Bandage?”

“Here,” Anthony said, offering one out to him. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Alastor removed the little round adhesive bandage and carefully covered the puncture wound. Then, on something of a whim, he leaned forward and kissed the spot. “There you go.”

When he sat up, Anthony was actually blushing. “Uh… thanks,” he said, his voice uncertain.

Alastor felt his own face heating up. Why did I do that? He refused to let it show in his expression or voice, just smiling as he stood up. “You have early class tomorrow. You should get to bed.”

Anthony groaned. “I can’t believe you talked me into taking an 8 AM class,” he complained, not for the first time. “You’re the literal worst.”

Alastor’s smile widened. “I am, aren’t I?”

Anthony flipped him off and Alastor laughed as he left the room, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it for just a second, his hand still wrapped around the handle.

The fuck is wrong with me?

•••

A week after the HRT incident—Anthony wasn’t sure what else he should call it—he found himself in Alastor’s room, both of them sitting on his bed and idly playing gin without paying much attention to it. The cards were just something to do with their hands, most of their conversation focused on the latest gossip and talking about the various upcoming Halloween activities, such as several campus parties, the parade, and the massive haunted house that was always open the whole of Halloween week.

“You gonna go do anythin’ this year?” Anthony asked.

“I never do,” Alastor said, drawing a card from the deck and tossing one down.

Anthony smirked. “That’s why I’m askin’ this year. You wanna?”

He’d expected Alastor to buck at the suggestion, but instead, he looked thoughtful. “What did you have in mind?”

“Haunted house and Charlie’s party,” Anthony said. “Thought maybe, if you were down, we could do a couple’s costume and really weird people out.”

That actually made Alastor perk up. “Yes, absolutely, we’re doing that.”

Anthony laughed. “Great. We’ll go shoppin’ for stuff tomorrow, then.”

The silence that followed was thoughtful. Anthony had known Alastor had something on his mind for the whole evening (for the past week, really), but he wasn’t sure how to ask. It turned out he didn’t have to, though, because Alastor finally spoke again after almost ten minutes of playing cards in silence. “You’ve dated people before, right?”

“Hm? Yeah, kinda,” Anthony said. “Nothin’ that lasted more than a couple’a months, tho. Why?”

Alastor went into a much shorter thoughtful silence. If Anthony didn’t know better, he’d say he was hesitating. “Do you…” Alastor began, then shook his head and started over. “What do you usually do when you’re dating someone? And you don’t have to spare me details just because of my delicate constitution.”

Anthony grinned at that. “Well… we go out, like you and I’ve been doin’. But the dates ain’t usually so frequent.”

Alastor frowned. “Your boyfriends ignored you?” he asked, actually sounding a little bit pissed off on his behalf.

“No, no. I mean… not exactly,” Anthony hedged. “More we didn’t… leave that often.”

“...Angel. I already told you, you don’t have to spare me details.”

“Okay, okay,” Anthony said. “We spent a whole lot more time either makin’ out or fuckin’ than we did goin’ out to dinner or whatever.”

Alastor was quiet for a moment. “...I see,” he said. “And that was… fun, to you?”

“Sure,” Anthony said with a shrug. “You know I like sex. I like kissin’, too. I mean, as long as the guy’s good at it,” he added with a faint sneer. “Why d’you ask?”

“Curiosity. Also, a desire to keep people from catching on,” Alastor said. “I mean… I had noticed those bruises on your neck after you had a successful night out.”

“I never cared if someone saw that I got hickies.” Anthony frowned at him. “...what are you sayin’, exactly?”

Alastor looked somewhat embarrassed. “Simply that it was incredibly common for you to have them, and if you continue to… not… won’t some people start getting suspicious?”

Anthony wasn’t sure how he was supposed to take this. “Alastor, people know you ain’t into this kinda thing. I don’t think people are gonna be suspicious because you didn’t spontaneously grow a libido.” Oddly, Alastor looked even more embarrassed, and now Anthony was positive he wasn’t aware of it. The other young man was actually ducking his head into his shoulders somewhat, and he was avoiding meeting Anthony’s eyes more than usual. Anthony hesitated, but… Fuck it, he thought. He told me to be direct. “Alastor, are you curious about makin’ out or somethin’?”

Alastor threw his hands up before he put his head in his hands, staring down at the cards in the discard pile. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “You’re confusing.”

“Me? The fuck did I do?”

“I don’t know,” Alastor repeated, more insistently. “I’d truly never contemplated this kind of thing before, but I… yes, I suppose I’m curious.” The aggressive way he said it made Anthony pretty sure he had to force it out.

“...you wanna make out?” Anthony asked, trying his best not to sound too hopeful.

Alastor laughed a little, but he didn’t raise his head. “I believe you said you enjoy that provided the guy is good at it, right?”

“You sayin’ you’re a bad kisser or somethin’?”

“I really wouldn’t know,” Alastor said dryly, raising his eyes just enough to give Anthony a single quirked eyebrow.

Anthony shrugged. “If you ain’t done it before, then you can’t say you’re not good.”

Alastor stared at him, like he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “...you know, most people are bad at things the first time they do them.”

“Depends on how fast a learner they are.” When Alastor looked uncomfortable again, Anthony said, “I got a better idea.” Alastor raised his head once more as Anthony moved back to lean against Alastor’s pillow and headboard, then motioned to Alastor to come closer. “C’mere.”

Frowning, Alastor scooted over to him. “What, precisely, are we doing?”

“Cuddles.” When his best friend made a predictably skeptical face, Anthony continued, “All innocent, I promise. Hands above clothes. Won’t even touch your hair if you don’t want me to. Just a test to see how you feel about the closeness.”

“...well… alright.” When Alastor moved next to him, Anthony helped him get settled. They ended up with Anthony still on his back, one arm around Alastor’s shoulders, and Alastor on his side with his head on Anthony’s shoulder-chest-area and arm across his abdomen.

At first, Alastor was predictably stiff, holding himself like he was either ready to spring up at any second or like he was afraid of putting too much weight on Anthony. After a few moments, however, he began relaxing, and Anthony took the opportunity to place his hand on Alastor’s upper arm and carefully run his hand down to his elbow, then up to his shoulder, then back, making sure the touch was firm enough not to trigger unpleasant physical sensation. “How’s that?”

“Mmn,” Alastor said. There was a long pause. “Your sweater is soft.”

“Yep. You comfy?”

“Mhm.”

In minutes, all of Anthony’s fears of chasing Alastor off were replaced with the thought of never being able to get up ever again as his dorm mate gradually became almost dead weight on top of him. He managed to fish his phone out of his pocket, then found a decent YouTube playlist and set the phone up with its pop socket on Alastor’s little bedside table so they had something to do that didn’t require movement.

After nearly an hour, Alastor stopped responding to Anthony. He looked down and couldn’t resist smiling when he noticed that Alastor had fallen asleep, his cheek pressed against Anthony’s chest and his glasses threatening to fall off. Anthony carefully took the frames off his friend’s face, folded them, and set them on the table. He thought about slipping out and going back to his own room, but the moment he tried to move, Alastor’s grip tightened.

Ah well. Fuck it.

It really was comfortable, after all.

•••

It got to the point that they were cuddling every time they were alone.

At first, Alastor had felt the compulsion to make up excuses for his behavior—it was cold, it was more practical so they could read the same book, they were both tired and they could each lay on the couch that way—but eventually he stopped trying. The fact of the matter was simple: he liked it. Anthony never questioned him, thankfully, but he couldn’t help wondering if he was behaving too strangely. After all, this wasn’t supposed to be a real relationship, and sometimes Alastor felt like he was taking advantage of the situation. He had simply never really been in a position to be so close to someone on such a regular basis, particularly not someone he wanted to be close to, and now that Anthony had opened the door… Alastor had discovered he really, really liked the contact.

Snow was falling gently as the two of them left the dormitory together, the moonlight casting silvery light off the blankets of white all around them, illuminating their walk off campus and to the small neighborhood where Charlie, Vaggie, Niffty, and Cherri were all renting a house together. Alastor couldn’t help laughing as Anthony shivered, pulling his hat down over his ears and his scarf up over his face before tucking his hands into the pockets of his huge white coat. “Cold?” he asked mildly.

“Fuckin’ freezing,” Anthony answered.

“You’d think you’d be used to the cold,” Alastor observed; he was cold, too, but he was certainly handling it better than his friend. “Yankee and all that.”

“Yeah well it doesn’t work like that.”

Alastor chuckled. “I’m sure they’ll have cider and you can warm yourself up.”

“Mmn.” Anthony looked at him, curiosity obvious on every inch of what was visible of his face. “Semester ends next week.”

“That it does. You going home?”

“Only if I can’t come up with an excuse to go somewhere else,” Anthony said. “You?”

“Can’t,” Alastor said. “Don’t have the money to travel. The dean’s letting me stay in the dorm over the break. I don’t think I’m the only one who’s staying, anyway.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay with you,” Anthony said. “Unless you’re just dying to have the place to yourself.”

Alastor glanced at him, surprised. “Oh… no, not particularly,” he said. “You know I get bored when I’m left on my own for too long, anyway.”

Anthony laughed. “You’d go through all my shit.”

“I don’t know where half of your belongings have been. No thank you.”

“Shut up,” Anthony said, punching Alastor lightly in the shoulder. “...your project is due next week, I guess?”

Alastor hadn’t let himself think about it very much. “Yeah. I need to finish writing it this weekend.”

“Boring.”

There was something else Anthony wanted to ask, Alastor could almost taste it. He could probably guess what it was, too.

Are we going to tell people it was a prank tonight?

Alastor was glad he didn’t ask, because honestly, he wasn’t sure what answer he would have given.

The house was decorated to an almost nauseating degree with lights, winter-themed foliage, and various lawn decorations of both the inflatable and the non-inflatable varieties. The door was open before they got a chance to knock, and Charlie (beaming from ear to ear as usual) waved them in. “Hi guys! Come on in, come on, it’s freezing outside!”

“You said it,” Anthony said, stepping in past her and pulling off his hat and scarf. His cheeks and nose were all pink, and Alastor had the bizarre thought that it was very cute. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Oh, no, you aren’t,” Charlie said as she took both of their outerwear and hung them up. “Everybody’s in either the living room or the kitchen, and my dad’s here, and I already made him promise to behave so you’d better also behave or I’ll do something drastic,” she added, pointing at Alastor’s nose.

He felt himself go cross-eyed before he nipped lightly at the air towards her finger, making her withdraw her hand. “Like what?”

“Like telling your boyfriend on you,” Charlie said decisively.

Alastor wasn’t sure what to say to that. He settled on, “My, haven’t we grown unreasonably cruel.”

“I’ll beat him up for you, sweetheart, don’t worry,” Anthony said, giving Alastor a wink.

They headed into the room where the Yule party was just getting into swing. Alastor took a moment to absorb the scene: Husk, Cherri, Niffty, and Blitzø were in front of some kind of complicated-looking board game, but they looked more like they were arguing over it than actually playing, while Stolas sat behind Blitzø looking through the rules pamphlet like he was trying to make sense of it; Pentious was sitting in front of Vaggie’s record player, holding up different records to Millie and Moxxie (who were occupying the same chair) like he was getting opinions on what to play next; Vaggie and Luna were at the island connecting the kitchen to the living room and appeared to be doing Jell-O shots; and from the sound of things, everyone else was in the kitchen, which suited Alastor just fine.

He followed Anthony to the center of the room, returning greetings as they were noticed, but they didn’t get far before Rosie appeared and thrust cups of hot cider into both of their hands. “Here, you both look frozen to death,” she said.

“Thank you, my dear,” Alastor said. “How’s the drama this evening?”

“Woefully undramatic,” she said, looking incredibly disappointed. “But I’m sure something will crop up for us to talk about for the next month.”

Anthony grinned. “It better. That’s the only reason I come to this shit.” He leaned closer to her and added in a lower voice, “Then again, maybe someone should just make some drama.”

Rosie leaned in the same distance and responded in the same tone, “If I get my way, I will be.”

“Ooh, dish, what?”

She grinned. “Gonna sleep with Charlie’s dad.” Alastor immediately choked on his cider, and before he could form words, she waved. “Ta, boys,” she trilled, heading back for the kitchen.

“Rosie!” Alastor snapped at her retreating back. “You are a hussy!”

“No, darling, I’m a harlot!”

In spite of the warnings, threats, and threats disguised as warnings, the evening progressed rather smoothly. Niffty was imposing strict limits on the drinking to prevent anyone from getting out of control (“Do not wreck this house, we are renting it!”), which meant the arguing never went too far and no fights broke out, not even from Cherri. When Alastor and Lucifer finally did lay eyes on each other, it was from across the room, but with Anthony and Charlie to steer them away from each other, he didn’t get a chance to do more than tauntingly smirk at the pompous asshole. There were some other people there that Alastor didn’t know—apparently, they were Lucifer’s work friends, but Charlie referred to them as aunts and uncles, so he wasn’t sure what to think—but he managed to avoid interacting too much with strangers, which was usually the reason he didn’t go to parties.

Roughly three hours later, after people had eaten and were milling around again, Alastor found himself sitting on a couch with Blitzø on one side of him and Millie on the other, deep in a conversation about (of all things) French Impressionist film and halfway through his fourth glass of cider when he felt Blitzø nudge his arm with his elbow. “What?” he asked, looking down at him.

“Look,” was his only answer, nodding to somewhere on the other side of the room.

Alastor obliged, his eyes landing on Anthony, who was talking with Niffty (about her clothes, judging by both of their body language). “...it’s Angel,” he said, perplexed. “What’s your point?”

Blitzø rolled his eyes. “God, you’re a fucking dumbass,” he said. “Look, will you?”

He still had no idea what the other guy was on about when Millie went, “Ooooh, I see,” and immediately started giggling.

“What?” Alastor asked, when neither of them explained.

Almost immediately, he felt someone lean against the couch. “Hey, honey,” Moxxie said, leaning down to kiss Millie on the head. “What’s so funny?”

“Look,” Millie said unhelpfully, pointing subtly over at where Anthony and Niffty were standing.

Moxxie squinted at him. “I have no idea what you’re– oh, no, I see.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Alastor said, looking at Moxxie. “What are you three talking about?”

Fortunately for him, Moxxie was basically incapable of not sharing information when he knew something. “Look over his head.”

Alastor sighed, looked at Anthony, then looked up, and– Oh, he thought, color rising to his cheeks. “...isn’t mistletoe a little… corny?”

“Nah, I think it’s romantic,” Millie said, clasping her hands together at her chest. “Besides, y’know Charlie wouldn’t’a put it up if it weren’t supposed t’, y’know, inspire.”

Alastor rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “I don’t– I mean, Angel probably wouldn’t… you know…”

“Are you kidding? You think Mr. PDA would get all embarrassed if you kissed him?” Blitzø asked skeptically. “Besides, he’s standing under it, he’s practically begging–”

“I swear t’ god Blitzø if you say he’s askin’ for it I will eat yer kneecaps.”

“Well, he is!”

“You could always just ask,” Moxxie told Alastor as the other two immediately started bickering about ‘appropriate language’. “And if you aren’t comfortable, obviously, don’t do it.”

Am I comfortable with something like this?

A few months ago, Alastor would have just laughed at the question, or given some kind of sarcastic form of ‘no’ if pressed to answer. But now… he didn’t know if he was or not, and he was finally realizing that he was never going to know if he was or wasn’t unless he actually tried something. He just nodded to Moxxie, finished the rest of his cider all at once, and thrust the empty glass at Blitzø. “This was your idea, so you have to hold this.”

“What– yeah, okay, man, go get some.”

Alastor ignored him, getting to his feet and crossing the room to where Anthony was standing. The closer he got, the more clearly he could hear his voice; he was aware that his own thoughts were somewhat jumbled, but there was one thing he knew for absolute certain. It was something he had been thinking for days, a deeply sober sentiment that he knew the alcohol was not influencing one iota.

I don’t want him to go.

“Oh, hey, Al,” Anthony said, turning when he noticed him. “You’re not leavin’, are you?”

“No,” Alastor said, shaking his head. He thought to say something else, but he didn’t; he couldn’t do anything but just look at Anthony.

Apparently, this was odd. Anthony frowned, tilting his head. “...you okay?” he asked at length.

“What? Yeah. Yes,” Alastor corrected. “I’m fine. It’s just… I…” He wasn’t sure how to say it, and on reflex, he glanced up at the mistletoe again.

It wasn’t meant to direct Anthony’s own gaze, but it did, and the moment he registered the little bit of green decor, his cheeks flooded with pink. “...oh.”

Alastor was only vaguely aware of Niffty scurrying away, giggling. Anthony looked back down at him, both of them at a loss for words. Alastor wasn’t used to his speech failing him, because his words were how he had always navigated through life. It was how he had gotten himself out of trouble, and sometimes into it, for many years. But now… what was he supposed to say?

Anthony wasn’t speaking either. But he also wasn’t moving. Alastor didn’t know what to make of it. All he knew was that all of this thinking was making it worse, so instead of thinking, he would just do something.

When he first leaned forward and kissed Anthony, the other young man gasped, as though so much buildup still hadn’t prepared him. Before Alastor could even think about moving away, Anthony flung his arms around Alastor’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Even though they didn’t part lips, even Anthony was out of breath when they parted, and Alastor was fairly certain both of their faces were on fire.

He only noticed the room was silent when someone yelled, “Hell yeah!” which triggered either laughter or vehement shushing from most everyone else in the room. Anthony immediately started giggling, burying his face in Alastor’s shoulder.

Alastor couldn’t bring himself to look at the rest of the room. It wasn’t just because it was embarrassing, it was because the sight of Anthony flushed so pink and overcome with laughter was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “...are you ready to go?” he murmured.

“Mhm,” Anthony said into Alastor’s shoulder, nodding.

No one seemed terribly surprised when they took their leave, bundling back up in their coats and heading out into the snow once more. The walk back felt both longer than it ever had and so short it was as though it passed in a blink. They were outside the dorms when Alastor took Anthony’s sleeve. “Wait,” he said.

“Y-yeah?” Anthony asked, turning to look at him.

Immediately, Alastor didn’t want to say anything, so he forced out the first words he could without giving himself time to process or second-guess. “Be my boyfriend. I mean… really. My actual boyfriend.”

This time, Anthony was the one who kissed him.

An hour later, they were in Alastor’s room, coats and hats haphazardly scattered on the floor and Anthony’s back against the wall. Alastor grabbed his wrists and pinned them, covering Anthony’s mouth with his own.

Judging by the sounds Anthony was making, he was a fast learner when it came to this kind of thing.

When they parted, Anthony tilted his head back, exposing the line of his neck, and Alastor was unable to resist leaning down enough to kiss his throat. He could feel Anthony’s groan reverberating through his own lips. “Oh, god, yeah,” Anthony moaned. “That’s so good…”

Something about those words, the way Anthony said them, sent a shiver through Alastor’s body. Before he could second-guess it, he bit down on Anthony’s neck, making him cry out and arch his back to press their chests together. Alastor released him. “Too much?” he panted.

“No, no no, fuck no, don’t stop…!”

Alastor bit down again, and Anthony whined, the sound turning into a sort of sharp moan as Alastor began scraping his teeth against his skin. As he began sucking a bruise into his flesh, he discovered that the rougher he was, the more Anthony seemed to like it; by the time he moved away to admire his work, the side of Anthony’s neck was covered in marks ranging from pink to dark red to something bordering on purple.

Anthony was breathing hard. “Fuck, Alastor, you’re so good…!”

Alastor didn’t know what it was, but when Anthony said that, it made him feel like he was going to go insane if he didn’t do… something, he just didn’t know what. He practically growled as he grabbed Anthony around the waist, and his best friend let out an inelegant squeak as he was lifted off the ground and practically flung onto Alastor’s bed. Alastor wasn’t sure how he would feel about this later, but he knew what he wanted now, and what he wanted was to keep making Anthony make those noises.

He stumbled slightly when he kicked his shoes off, but he managed to keep his feet until he could get onto the bed and crawl on top of Anthony, pinning him down and kissing him again. The night devolved into a haze of sensation and emotion, punctuated by Anthony’s whispered encouragement and moans. Alastor wasn’t sure if he was making noise or not—he was too busy listening to Anthony’s sounds to really focus on what he himself was doing—but if the way he felt when Anthony actually moaned the words “you’re such a good boy” in his ear was anything to go by, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what kind of noises he was making.

Eventually, he wasn’t able to form any kind of coherent thought beyond, I’m going to have to rewrite my entire paper.

#hazbin hotel #radiodust #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin radiodust #my writing #radiodust fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfic

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thydungeongal · 9 months ago

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Do you have any suggestions for indies if I'm mostly just interested in DnD/DnD-adjacent experiences? Dungeon crawling, combat, social encounters that exist but are more tertiary to combat, character creation, spells and such, at least some degree of premade spells, weapons, player races/species, monsters, etc.?

I'm actually working on a post about this, basically collecting a huge list of all the "fantasy adventure games" I know of, but since I have kind of stalled on writing it I'm going to take this moment to talk about some of them! :)

First of all, there's the entirety of the OSR (which stands for old-school revival/renaissance/revisionism) out there, a design movement dedicated to replicating the design and playstyle associated with older editions of D&D. Many games that have come from the OSR are just clones of older editions, some are more like offshoots with their own spins on old mechanics. My personal recommendations are Old-School Essentials (a clone of the old B/X set but with lots of supplemental material to expand it with), Basic Fantasy Roleplaying (a Creative Commons RPG that is mostly akin to B/X in complexity but with somewhat less confusing presentation and deeper character options), and Errant (a very interesting "rules light, procedures heavy" TTRPG that focuses on putting an interesting spin on many old-school D&D procedures: there is a free, no-art version of it available).

I'm also going to mention FORGE here: FORGE is very much a game that is inspired by the OSR but also has a bit of modern design to it. It mixes and matches ideas from all over the OSR and I think there's a lot to love about it. Technically classless, but character creation does include choosing two primary attributes which heavily inform your character's strengths.

Staying a bit longer in the "games clearly trying to do a D&D" category, I've heard good things about Shadowdark but have yet to read it myself. What it is clearly going for is a chassis that is mostly recognizable as D&D 5e but with some old-school ideas plugged in, and meant specifically for dark fantasy. It looks very cool and I would love to give it a look at some point.

Break! is one I keep coming back to because it's just so dang nice. Break! is a very old-school style fantasy adventure game very heavily inspired by anime and classic video games, and it's just such a fun game. The game pretty much fits all of your criteria above, with it still being very much a dungeon crawler type of game albeit with streamlined procedures. I highly recommend giving it a look!

And then there's the personal favorite of yours truly, which is Rolemaster. It technically does count as indie and it is very much in the same broad genre as D&D! It's also an insane game for people with something deeply wrong with them! I recommend looking through my posts about Rolemaster before jumping in.

#thydungeongal answers

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bromcommie · 4 months ago

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case of attachment

seventy years of silence v1.2 alt

I would love to hear about BOTH of these, but if you'd rather pick one, go ahead!!! <3

Hiya, thanks for the ask! I'm nothing if not yappy, so you get both <3 1. case of attachment — this is one of the AO3 Tag Bingo ones I started a month ago but never ended up submitting, and now I'm kind of glad I didn't 'cause I want to work on it more. The prompt was Ghosts, which is nothing if not rife with potential considering who I'm writing about. Because I seem incapable of writing full-scale AUs, though, I didn't take it literally, but the fic's also not...completely devoid of supernatural elements, I guess? I'd call it bordering on magical realism, maybe. It follows a couple of episodes throughout Steve and Bucky's lives through the lens of spirits and the various mythologies surrounding them (as well as the individual and collective fears/hopes they're usually inspired by), because that's a 3 am rabbithole I tend to fall down frequently. There's also something fascinating to the idea that the fear of possession is a fear of loss of identity or personhood or control, but also that possession has historically been used as an explanation for aspects of an identity that are unacceptable being actualized or apparent (mental health issues, behavior not correlated to someone's place in society, sexual desire, etc.) I’m not summarizing this very well, but there’s a hell of a lot of fun to be had with the meaning of ghosts and spirits, is what I’m trying to say.

The name itself sort of comes from the word dybbuk, which from what I understand is just a noun derived from the Hebrew word for 'to cling', but was translated specifically as 'state of attachment' on Wikipedia, and I just found that to be a somewhat strange and clunky but really interesting phrase. Not to mention fitting. Every love story is a ghost story and all that, and every ghost story is about the inability to let go.

In any case I feel like I'm on a roll with this one, so I might even publish it soon!

2. seventy years of silence v1.2 alt — Okay, this is the first script the mockup posters series spawned, so pardon the incoming word vomit as it is my baby—and it kind of ties into the previous one in the sense that it's supposed to be not entirely linear nor lucid in segments (hm, it's almost like there is a pattern starting to emerge here...). Anyway: (more or less) solo Winter Soldier movie, here goes.

I just couldn't stop thinking about how there's a whole goddamned movie missing between Winter Soldier and Civil War in more ways than one, and also about just how great it would've been to see Bucky as the WS (but tbh also just as Bucky) explored more as both the vessel for American Cold War anxieties and the ghost—ha—of their horrific consequences, as well as a storytelling conduit for observing several periods of 20th century history, cosidering he's supposed to be a key player in much of it yet is essentially a complete outsider to the world as a whole and (superficially) to the human experience of it all. I just think it'd work well as a lead up to the politics-adjacent events of CW, too. So on a background level I guess that's what I'm trying to do here via flashbacks that piece together the long road so far, as well as what continuity there is to Bucky pre + post-fall.

On a primary level, it's more or less a classic post-CATWS fic in content, if not form: Bucky post-DC trying to stay out of shit but caught between unwillingly retracing his history when Plot Events keep happening, figuring out how to both get the government off his ass and make sure his captors don't get to him without it becoming an outright revenge spree, figuring out who this Steve character is and if he even wants him to find Bucky (although for the time being I'd say present day Steve features less heavily than usual and is not necessarily the explicit focus, which is not to say that he doesn't play a role and that it's still not gay as all hell), and just figuring out what the fuck is going on in general and how to survive. I also loosely borrow from a couple of the comics runs both with the Department X/Red Room stuff and in order to set up an intro to the Superhuman Registration Act/Sokovia Accords, because I fucking hate how CW handled all that. (Surprise, surprise.)

So basically there is...definitely too much going on there. I've put it on hold a little these days until I figure out what exactly I want to do with it and because it keeps breaking my brain, but I still work on it here and there, so there's still hope.

I've already written way too much, but here's a snippet for the hell of it since I was actually just editing this yesterday:

#I need to relearn how to tighten the scene desc in these scripts properly though lol I've been writing prose for too long #otherwise this thing is gonna be a million pages #anyway thanks for the ask! <3 #wip folder ask game #ask game #ask #somanywords #my fic

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tj-dragonblade · 2 years ago

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[Fic] Appreciation

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: E Word Count: 4369 Tags: Top Dream, Bottom Hob, costume, costume from Baldur's Gate 3, Hob looks good in sexy armor, Dream has plans, possessive Dream, inspired by art, groping, anal fingering, public sex, shapeshifting for sex, mild body horror, for sexy reasons I promise, tentacle-adjacent sex, sharing fantasies as dirty talk, coming untouched, over-stimulation, anal sex, possessive exhibitionism as a theme, sweat is sexy, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, un-negotiated shenanigans, the word 'No' is absolutely in Hob's vocabulary but he doesn't often use it

Notes: Sequel to Anticipation. Please find @designtheendless' original inspiring art and additional costume references here, here, and here.

So I scribbled out Anticipation really quick, and then the word Sequel came up a few times, and then Dream reasserted his Horny Little Weasel status and Hob as always is amenable to whatever he wants so here we are. Enjoy.

Summary: Hob wears the costume. Dream has his fun.

On AO3

~~~ "So, how's the daydream buffet?" Hob grins, cheeky. "Everything to your liking?"

"Very much so." Dream's smile has an extremely self-satisfied curl to it, eyes half-lidded as they sweep over Hob for at least the tenth time in the past hour. He's seated on a high stool against the wall, taking in the crowds and noise and lively bubbling humanity around him without having to be directly in the midst of it. He's got a decent line of sight on most of the pub from here, making it easy to track Hob moving about all night.

Which is perfect—because watching Hob, watching other people watch Hob, is Dream's primary purpose here this evening.

And truthfully, Hob is having a lot of fun with the ogling. It delights him and boosts his ego to know that Dream is so invested in the way he looks tonight. He's wearing almost the full costume that he'd modeled for Dream earlier that week; the gloves were more trouble than they were worth and had been left upstairs, but he's got the big fur-wrapped boots and the long high-slit tunic with the plunging neckline and the amulet on his forehead and the cape, which he is seriously considering removing at this point except that Dream would pout. Something about the drama of the cape being necessary to properly sell the fantasy of the very impractical and highly aesthetic armor.

It's not actual scale mail; he doesn't have the muscle tone and stamina these days to wear that much extra weight around for the night. It's dreamstuff, probably, styled as heavy-duty sequins, sturdy but lightweight and so expertly crafted that it looks authentically metal unless you get right up on the fabric and start poking and prying. But it's light enough and moves well and drapes nicely and is overall quite easy to wear, if a little drafty. He's comfortable in his own skin and having this much of it on display genuinely doesn't bother him, so long as nobody gets flashed accidentally; the three sets of chains across his naked hips do an admirable job of keeping the front and back skirts in place where it matters, and he's counting on Dream's promise of 'no wardrobe mishaps' to guarantee his decency.

He sidles up to Dream behind the small round bar-height table, bumps shoulders lightly, bumps his bare hip against Dream too just for good measure. "Glad you're enjoying yourself."

"Indeed." Dream leans minutely into him, while also turning to better face him. "And how do you fare, on display in your very fetching garb, knowing the thoughts and eyes of so many are upon you?"

"Got to take your word for it, haven't I?" he says, genially. "On their thoughts, at least; I might have noticed one or two looks. Very flattering, really." It's been more than 'one or two' and they both know it, but Dream has a tendency to respond with compliments when Hob gets a little self-effacing and maybe he enjoys hearing it, time to time.

Dream's fingertips brush his bare leg, tracing patterns throught the thick hair below where the chains preserve his modesty. "You should be flattered, Hob. Their thoughts are quite…fitting, when such exquisite beauty moves among them." His hand travels lightly around the shape of Hob's thigh, curves slowly up the back of it beneath the armored skirt—not far enough to be publicly indecent, just far enough to send a little thrill up Hob's spine. "And I am immeasurably pleased that I am the one who gets to take you home tonight."

"Aren't you sweet." Hob flutters his lashes coyly to cover the way he kind of wants to swoon at Dream just saying that sort of thing so easily. It's such a far cry from his everyday reserve and Hob is entirely grateful that he gets to see the Dream who will stop and breathe and relax and smile and let himself want things. And if Hob is one of the things he wants, well, so much the better. "Promise, I'm all yours tonight. As long as you don't mind I'm getting a little sweaty down below." His grin is halfway between sheepish and smug, unable to resist reminding Dream that he's not wearing anything under the costume.

"I will clean you up later, never fear," Dream says, with a sweet little glitter in his eye that makes Hob's pulse jump. Dream's enthusiasm for all the everyday mundanities of Hob's human body will never cease to thrill him, either.

He shifts slightly, leaning in, feeling terribly romantic. "I'll hold you to that," he murmurs, and Dream, smiling, says nothing in reply but closes in for a kiss. His hand slides soft against Hob's neck, above the pauldron and the choker, stroking sensually up beneath his hair. The kiss itself is entirely decent, if a bit lingering, but there's still a wolf-whistle from one of the staff behind the bar—probably Sam, but Hob can't be sure. He flips a friendly bird in that general direction regardless as they draw apart.

The pub is lively and crowded, a fine turnout for a Friday night Halloween party and Hob's staff are hopping, keeping everything running smoothly. He's built a good crew and they've got things well in hand; 'supervising' has given Hob the excuse to wander among the patrons sowing daydreams for Dream's benefit, but truthfully he's not needed in any capacity. Which means he's free to spend his time being just another patron himself, here with the king of dreams and nightmares, who has agreed to set down his duties for an evening for the sake of accompanying Hob as his date.

Hob truly is the luckiest bloke alive.

There are as many people in costume as not, and Dream of course is not one to pass up the opportunity to dress with drama and flair. He's wearing something from the same game that he's drawn Hob's ridiculous outfit from, only more practical. It's all black as expected, leather armor over sensible clothing, some golden accents, and he's given himself pretty little pointed ears to complete the look. They've gotten many compliments, together and separately, and Hob can tell that Dream is equally as pleased at the praise for his creative sartorial efforts as he is about inciting daydreams of Hob for the sake of his own titillation.

And on the subject of titillation…

"Y'know, I thought about wearing a plug tonight?"

"Oh?" Dream does not move, barely shifts, but everything about him suddenly conveys paying acute attention.

Hob dimples. "Yeah. Figured, you getting all worked up showing me off, sampling everybody's envious daydreams, maybe skipping the prep time after would be smart."

"But you did not?"

"'Fraid not, nope—changed my mind." He winks. "You made me wear this ridiculous getup all night, you can take the time to get me proper ready once you peel me out of it."

"A pity." Dream's hand snakes down Hob's back as he leans closer, using his body and Hob's cape to hide where it moves next from anyone in the crowded pub who might glance their way. "I should have liked to do this—" his hand slips beneath the extremely accessible back of Hob's costume to stroke down the cleft of his arse "—and find you already open, filled, wanting and ready for me."

"Christ," Hob swears, standing up a little straighter, because in addition to the sultry words Dream is sliding one finger between his cheeks, a finger that is suddenly slick and probing, going straight to his hole and teasing over it. Surely he's not—

"But I suppose I shall just have to make you ready myself, then," Dream confirms, and his finger slips in, easily.

"Dream!" Hob hisses, eyes widening at the intrusion, and then he manages a return smile to a passerby despite himself. "We are surrounded by people! Who know me! And I'm completely naked under here!"

"Yes, I do recall," Dream purrs, and twists his hand around so that his fingertip strokes unerringly over Hob's prostate.

"Hngh—" He bites back a whine, stifles the urge to slouch, to widen his stance, to lean forward over the table so Dream has better access. "You're giving me a massive hard-on and I've got nothing to even attempt to hide it with!"

"No one will notice. Unless you should like for them to."

"No, thank you! Oh god—" Dream's finger is changing, less bony within him, more flexible, wriggling like a tentacle and it feels incredible. Hob is breathing hard through his nose, hanging onto the appearance of normalcy by his fingernails, sweat breaking out all over as he tenses and trembles. His cock is fully tenting at the front of his armored skirt—the sequined material is heavy enough to keep things down a bit, but not completely, and the table provides a little cover for now, but it is still wildly bizarre to be getting a full and thorough prostate massage in the middle of his pub on a Friday night while the Halloween party's in full swing.

"You've got no concern for propriety, have you?" he gasps out, choking back a moan.

"If I had no concern for propriety, Hob Gadling, I would not be showing such restraint in my current actions."

"Mrhnnhh—" Hob is finding his self control sorely tested as Dream's not-finger wriggles inside him, strokes lovingly over his prostate. "Restraint, you call this? Really?" He bites at his lip to keep back the whine in his throat, glances about, but no one seems to be taking any notice of his rising discomposure.

"Indeed." Dream does not let up on his artful expert stimulation. "Were I to cast off all restraint, Hob, I would have you over this table, here and now."

"Fuck." Hob realizes too late that he's blundered his way into a fatal error, that now Dream is going to tell him dirty fantasies while fingering him in public and already he can feel any control over this situation running like water through his hands where they tremble against his naked thighs. "Fuck."

"Indeed," Dream purrs. "I would fuck you, here, in the middle of your fine establishment, on display before all your patrons, let them bear witness to my claim that none might dispute it. But first—" His touch inside of Hob twists deliciously and Hob jerks, just barely keeps down the sound he wants to make, nostrils flaring with the effort and the surge of pleasure through his veins. "First, I would kiss you, as lewdly as I like; I would grind and grope at you as I please with my tongue in your mouth while they watch, and envy." His finger-tentacle rubs firmly, lovingly over Hob's prostate and Hob's mouth falls open; he manages to keep his throat closed and his moan in but his eyes have rolled back in very telltale combination with his mouth and he hopes to god no one is looking right that second.

"Then I would eat you out in the way that you like best," Dream continues, "that they might drink of your cries, the way you beg me for more, and know that it is I who brings you low, who makes your body sing." He's stroking precise little circles in exactly the right spot and Hob's stomach is trembling with the thrill of it, the way the pleasure washes hot and cold in waves all down his bare legs and curls his toes in his big furry boots. One hand is braced on the table in an attempt to keep himself steady and he's biting his lip trying to keep the sounds in; his chest is sheened in sweat beneath his hair, he can feel it, and what must he look like to anyone actually paying attention, all flushed and cozied up to Dream in this slutty slutty costume—

"I would let them see how you gape for me, once I had sated myself on the taste of you, let them see how keenly your body longs for mine and mine alone, despite how they dream of being in my place. And I would make them watch me fill you, again and again, slowly, savoring the way you grasp at my cock, pull me deeper—" His tentacle-finger writhes abruptly inside of Hob and Hob gasps, choking back the cry that wants to escape.

"Fuck, Dream, I am not coming in fancy dress with no underwear on in the middle of my pub—!" He shudders, leaning forward enough to grip the table in both hands, white-knuckled as he fights the raw need to drape himself over it and beg Dream to fuck him properly, to follow through on every word he's just said.

"You alright, Robbie?" The question comes from Rebecca, one of the waitstaff, swinging by on her way back toward the bar. "You're looking a bit flushed."

"Don't think I'm quite feeling my best," he says, voice tight, using every ounce of willpower to keep his tone even and his body under control as he straightens up with Dream's…appendage still inside him. Lightning shoots along every limb with the movement and he swallows his moan with difficulty, managing a trembling smile for Rebecca while his cock throbs, leaks against the skirt of this stupid sexy costume.

"I am taking him upstairs to lie down," Dream cuts in, lacing his fingers with Hob's and covering their joined hands with his other, solicitously, at which point Hob completely loses any thread of the conversation because if both of Dream's hands are on his then what the hell is still wriggling about in his arse??

"Come, Hob," Dream says, tugging on their joined hands. "Let's get you home."

"Hope you feel better!" Rebecca calls after them, but Hob is far too distracted trying to walk with whatever-it-is caressing his prostate to acknowledge her, a death grip on Dream's hand in his and the other clinging desperately to Dream's leather armor as he leans on his shoulder.

"You complete and utter bastard," he gets out through gritted teeth, only the last word betraying the whine in his throat. "What—on earth did you leave in—inside me?"

"It is merely a piece of myself, still fully connected to my consciousness and will," Dream demurs, innocent as anything. "I will retrieve it when it has done what I wish it to do." He lets go of Hob with one hand, fingers of the other—a complete set of them, never mind what's inside Hob—still intertwined, and pushes open the 'Staff Only' door to the back hall.

"Please tell me you're magicking us straight upstairs," Hob gasps as soon as they're through with the door shut behind them, voice wobbling. The dream-tentacle-whatever, he's not thinking too closely on that, it's still squirming inside him like mad, pleasure singing through his body in relentless surges that have him shaking and it feels like it's swelling now, growing larger, stretching him further with each undulation. His naked thighs feel a bit like jelly and the stairs at the end of the short hall seem absolutely insurmountable from here.

Dream makes a cloyingly-sweet little noise of disappointment. "I should like to see you mount the stairs under your own power, though," he says, as if Hob would be doing him the greatest service imaginable in complying. "You are so beautiful like this, strung taut and alight with pleasure, coming apart on the 'gift' I have left within you…" He turns and steps into Hob without letting go of his hand, brushes his mouth across Hob's. "Please, Hob," he says, tongue curling between Hob's lips on the 'L', "won't you let me. Enjoy you, like this, a few moments longer?"

And Hob whimpers, knowing he's done for, knowing he could never hope to say no, taking the tease of a kiss for what it is. "Fine. Fine. As you wish, oh god—!"

The bit of Dream inside him squirms in delight, and Hob's gasping whine falls directly into Dream's mouth.

"I am going to die and it's going to be your fault," he warns, pulling away, voice trembling as pleasure surges through him, and follows on shaking unsteady legs as Dream leads him forward.

The next few minutes are the most exquisite torture he's ever undergone, Dream backing up the stairs ahead of him, pulling him gallantly by the hand, the swollen tentacle of dreamstuff making sweet merciless unrelenting love to his prostate while he tries not to trip over the long skirt of his ridiculous armor or his cape. He stumbles more than once, his shaking legs giving out despite his resolve, pleasure rendering him weak and uncoordinated; Dream is there to catch him each time, cooing endearments against his cheek and pulling him upright again to continue on. He is flushed and overheated, pulse racing, absolutely steaming in his own sweat, moaning helplessly with every deliciously labored step.

The thing in his arse swells and changes halfway up the stairs, no longer a single cohesive surface caressing his insides but what feels like—it feels like a hundred little tongues all licking his prostate one after the other, ceaseless, inescapable, maddeningly delicious. It would be exquisite if he were stationary, if he were kneeling facedown in his bed with his arse up and his thighs spread, letting it work him to climax. It is nearly unbearable like this, shifting inside him with every step and heightening the pleasure coursing through his body with no respite and no relief as he trembles his way up the last of the stairs. His ears are ringing and his mouth is dry, Dream's beautiful face blurring as his vision goes fuzzy; he's clinging to Dream's hand like a lifeline, whimpering uncontrollably as climax surges in his belly.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck oh fuck, Dream—I can't—ohfuckohfuckohfuck—!"

He makes it over the last step as it hits and then he's collapsing in front of his door as orgasm crashes through him, crying out, shaking on hands and knees until his arms give out as well and he's more or less flat on his face, arse in the air, coming and coming all over the inside of the stupid armored skirt. It's pleasure so sharp that his eyes water, tears trickling down his face, voice caught in his throat as it goes on and on. And Dream.

Dream is gazing down at him, riveted, enraptured, as if the sight of Hob writhing and sobbing in pleasure at his feet is the most compelling work of art he's ever witnessed. Maybe it is. Hob wouldn't know, drowning in the throes of his climax, clawing uselessly at the carpet he's drooling on and desperately trying to find the voice to beg for Dream to stop. Because the thing in his arse? Is still wriggling full-tilt, never mind the way he's clenching and spasming around it, never mind that his body is overloaded with pleasure and he absolutely cannot handle any more. His cock is pulsing and twitching untouched, emptied in those first few powerful shots and still dribbling weak spurts as everything convulses repeatedly under the unceasing stimulation; he can hardly draw breath let alone catch it and his heart is pounding furiously.

He's going to die. This is how he's going to go, finally, after six centuries of glorious glorious living, taken out by his stupid sexy eldritch boyfriend and his bloody stupid detachable orgasm finger and Hob wants to scream his unbearable pleasure, to shriek with laughter until he can't breathe for the mirth except he already can't fucking catch a breath and it's too much, too much, so fucking good but too much too much he can't possibly come anymore he's going to die—

And then, mercifully, the thing in his arse goes still.

Hob sprawls limp on the floor when it stops, abruptly boneless, twitching, soaked in his own sweat and come, heaving breath after breath regardless of what he might be inhaling with his face in the carpet—it's not like it'll kill him. His cape settles over him like a blanket.

"Beautiful," Dream murmurs, and all Hob can hear past the pounding of his heart is the abject sincerity underwriting that deep warm voice.

Which makes it all absolutely worth it.

Dream pushes open his front door with no apparent key, bends gracefully down and rolls him over, picks him up bridal style and carries him in. He removes Hob's cape and boots, drops them aside and kicks the door gently closed behind them, and then his arm around Hob's back moves down.

Hob, wrung out and still trembly and floating in his afterglow nevertheless gets his arms around Dream's neck, hanging on as Dream slides a hand beneath his costume and gently touches his arsehole. He has a brief sense of two slender fingers sliding in, and then the warm slick bulk of the tentacle is drawing sweetly out of him. There's an obscenely thick-wet sound accompanying the surge of pleasure that sweeps through Hob as it exits his body, and he moans, panting into Dream's shoulder.

"I daresay you are quite ready for me, now," Dream says, amusement curling through his voice, and Hob can only give a wet shaky laugh of agreement. Whatever Dream took out of him has disappeared, reabsorbed he supposes, and it's left him wonderfully open and slick and distressingly empty.

"Please." Words are returning, slowly. "Dream—"

Dream carries Hob into the bedroom, disappears his own costume and lays himself back in Hob's bed with Hob straddling his lap. He crumples the soiled skirts of Hob's armor to the side, out of the way, and slides himself slick and easy into Hob, who settles back and rides as best his trembling thighs can manage. Which, understandably, isn't much; before long he's just leaning forward again, braced on his hands, holding still and letting Dream fuck up into him. The sharp edge of climax has dulled and he's left with the delicious rhythm of Dream's very normal cock thrusting nicely against his tender swollen prostate, the warm burgeoning of pleasure without the urgency of orgasm behind it.

"Do you know, how many of the people below in your pub would dream of being here in my place?" Dream asks, hands firmly gripping Hob's thighs, thumbs stroking through the hair in time with his slow thrusts up.

"Mmnope," Hob mumbles, mouth slack, captivated by the blue of Dream's eyes holding his and the adorable pointy ears that he's still sporting. "Tell me?"

"A great many," Dream sighs, satisfaction curling from each word. "Dozens upon dozens of dreamers, thinking of you, in wonderful detail…" His hands move to Hob's waist. "You were very inspiring, Hob, and I am well fed on the dreams you have shaped in others."

"Anything for you," Hob says, and he means it one hundred percent.

They move together in relative silence for another few seconds, and then:

"I was thinking," Hob sighs, awash in smooth currents of bliss, "'bout what you said downstairs? We could do it if you like. In a dream?"

Dream makes a considering noise, fingers running idly up and down the silver lace framing Hob's sweaty chest, toying with the thin chain down the middle, still fucking smooth and effortless and the ease with which he does so never fails to get Hob going.

"I don't mean in front of your people or anything, they don't—ahh—they don't deserve that any more'n my staff but—" he tosses his head back, panting, as Dream's cock hits him exactly right. "But I could dream it, and you could be there, and help shape it, and make sure I remember and all. And then you could stake your claim in front of a crowd, live your dr—your fantasy, and I don't have to fake my death early and start over just yet." He grins, warm and happy, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at Dream beneath the slender chains holding the golden amulet on his forehead in place.

Dream's answering smile is slow and smouldering. "Hob Gadling," he purrs, settling his hands on Hob's naked hips, below the rucked up strands of chain. "I am pleased by your generous offer, and I should like to accept it. First, however—" his grip tightens and he surges, rolls Hob underneath him in the blink of an eye without separating them. "First, I would finish what you have begun here in the waking world."

"What I've begun? Really?"

Dream fucks into him, smooth and deep. "It was you, was it not, who displayed yourself so beautifully in this 'armor', who shaped the daydreams of dozens by wandering among them clothed thus?"

"And whose idea was the costume? Hm? Who asked that I forego my ahh—my underwear? Who started fingering me in the—the middle of the pub?"

"I am not the one who requested your presence at my social function, Hob." There's a wicked glimmer in Dream's eyes now, and he's fucking into Hob a little faster, a little harder.

"And I'm not the one who insisted on being allowed to choose the costume in return for agreeing," Hob gasps, legs wrapping more firmly around Dream. "Got no complaints about any of it, have I? 'Course not—oh—'cause here we are—but you're the—nnh—the instigator, you started it—"

Dream cuts him short with a kiss, hot and wet and full of tongue. Hob opens to it eagerly; the warm languid pleasure of being fucked through his afterglow is heating steadily and gaining urgency and he thinks he might even manage to come again, if Dream keeps this up. He tangles his fingers through Dream's hair, holds him tightly, pours all of his adoration and appreciation into the kiss.

When Dream finally breaks away, it's only to concede, remarkably enough. "Very well, Hob Gadling. I started it." He takes Hob's hands from his hair gently, one at a time, interlaces their fingers and pins them beside Hob's head. "And now I shall finish it."

And that is the last coherent sentence from either of them for quite some time.

=== Started: 9/24/23 Drafted: 10/3/23 Posted: 10/21/23

They would like to do a part three, so feel free to subscribe to the series on AO3 and keep your fingers crossed that my focus and their interest holds

#TJs Fics #Sandman #Dreamling #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #wip: a2

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catchingbigfish · 10 months ago

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writeblr re-introduction | catchingbigfish

hi! call me elle (they/them). i'm in my 30s, work adjacent to the legal field in my day job, and i'm studying for my MA in english! i post more about my life over at my main, @prettytothink-so, which is also the account i follow from!

i'm a david lynch obsessive, hence the url/pfp, but i love death bed: the bed that eats as much as i do blue velvet. my primary literary influences are shirley jackson, carmen maria machado, janet fitch, confessional poets, and more recently, a healthy dose of knausgaard.

i write prose & poetry with a heavy emphasis on the body, the darker sides of life, and relationships. my fiction is character-centric, driven by ensemble casts of weird and fucked up people, and characters tend to go through exquisite and grotesque things like body horror, warped and broken time, hauntings, posessions, and sex. my work is definitely 18+ and i try not to engage with minors.

i'd love to get to know other writers, esp if you write/read any of the following:

dysfunctional relationships (particularly with ensemble casts and found or of-origin families)

horror and gothic literature

body horror, nightmares, and dream logic

romance, including sex, and relationships, esp. in horror themes

i like to say i'm always open to ask + tag games, but i'm most likely to respond to an ask game than a tag! if you wanna know more about my wips, see below the cut for my primary projects or check out my wip masterlist:

click the titles for the wip intros!

conversion

status: drafted (80k words); w/ beta readers short synopsis: Rosalyn arrives to campus for her MFA in fashion-making and falls into a group of sick women artists bonded by a disputed diagnosis. She starts faking it to fit in, finds the friendships she'd always wanted, and ends up with a choice between the unthinkable and her new ride-or-die crew.

dark academia/litfic/cult novel. this project has had me in a chokehold for 18+ months and it's the most fun i've ever had writing something. stay tuned for my query journey, coming to you probably near the end of this year!

might've been, never was

status: drafted (55k words) short synopsis: Lily and her friends thought their thirties would be different. They find a way to adopt new bodies, but one of them takes it too far, and the rest have to decide whether to stop her or join in.

a satire in the same vein as conversion. currently vying with the next two WIPs for main focus while betas work through conversion. project playlist is 2 songs: teen idle and celebrity skin. the closest i'll ever come to autofiction because the idea to write "a love letter to being mentally ill in your 30s" came up when i was a teensy bit manic.

seed of the woman

status: drafted (27k words) short synopsis: A woman goes on a Christian yoga retreat hoping to return to some sense of her self. Instead, she's bitten by a snake and goes on a tour through the choices that led her here.

body horror/religious horror novella. nightmare/dream-logic story that's my latest attempt to write something explaining how rational and reasonable a choice it would be for a woman to choose satan over god.

on fire

status: drafting short synopsis: Elissa wakes up one day after being cheated on with the power to consume creative energy from men she seduces.

the novella i conceived on december 21 and outlined and zero drafted on december 24. very similar to SOTW in structure (based on the outline template i made for it, in fact) and similar in its feminine-rage-in-a-magical-realist-world themes; inspired by the baobhan sith figure, the MC is kind of a succubus/vampire/cannibal mix. set at the same university as conversion! i stole this title from a terrible novel i wrote at 19 btw. the emphasis is on "on", like "a treatise on", not being lit on fire. it is very pretentious.

heartbeat

status: outlining short synopsis: A coming-of-age saga about a nonbinary kid who realizes not every carries their heart outside of their body and struggles to figure out what to do with it.

kind of an epic saga in the style of middlesex where a nonbinary kid has to learn to deal with being different, grows into an adult with no coping skills, and all of the dysfunctional family dynamics you would anticipate with me writing it

#writeblr intro #about elle

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kyndaris · 2 months ago

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Peruvian Delights

Back in primary school, some of the books I'd read cover to cover were the Horrible Histories series by Terry Deary. Learning new facts about human history had always been fascinating to me (although, admittedly, most of them were fixated on British and European history). I'd pour over them, committing what I read to memory as best I could (alas, I don't have, and never will have, an eidetic memory). My desire to learn also extended to Horrible Science and Horrible Geography, which proved helpful in Year 7 where I was able to win a point of trivia because I was the only one in my class who knew about the San Andreas Fault.

One of the Horrible Histories books I remember enjoying very much was the one about Incans. And with the film: Emperor's New Groove releasing in cinemas during the early 2000s, I wanted to learn more about his seemingly ancient civilisation that only seemed to be rarely touched.

Admittedly, growing up, I did turn my attention to Aztec and Mayan societies because of the whole blood sacrifices and the removal of hearts, but if there was one place I wanted to visit (besides Egypt and the city of Petra in Jordan), it was Machu Picchu. That and the Nazca Lines, which have featured in many forms of media like Yu-Gi-Oh 5D, as well as in books like Anthony Horowitz's Power of Five series.

Unfortunately, I've not had the opportunity to travel to Peru. So, when the Australian Museum announced an upcoming exhibit of Machu Picchu and the Golden Empires of Peru, I was eager to attend. After all, there was so much I wanted to see and understand about ancient Andean societies. Especially when it came to how the people lived and their belief systems.

The only problem? Finding someone who would be amenable to attend with me.

While I'd initially planned to go on a weekend, Dikottir and I ended up attending on a Wednesday night. He'd, of course, looked up a few events adjacent to the exhibit and discovered Peruvian Nights wherein the Australian Museum would remain open until late with live music, free film screenings and have a smorgasbord of Peruvian-inspired snacks. Or so he had been led to believe.

Spoiler alert: most of his choices were taken from him and we both ended up with Pork sausages with tomato chutney. No beef pies or empanadas. Or even the Peruvian bowl. I mean, there was a salad. But what hot-blooded man, or woman, would choose a healthy salad for dinner?

With our stomachs not quite as full as we had hoped, Dikottir and I made our way into the actual Machu Picchu exhibit. Though we were a tad bit early for our appointed session, the staff were still able to scan our tickets. In, we went, settling down first for an informational video about the various Andean societies and their close ties to nature, before we shuffled off the first hall. Here, it was revealed that the cosmology of the Andean world had three worlds: the Upper World where birds soared and was inhabited by the Sun and the celestial gods, the Here and Now occupied by humans and non-human creatures, and the Inner World which was associated with the night and was where the ancestors lived.

The separation of the worlds was represented by steps. Considering the mountainous region many of them lived in, it was understandable why step designs were found everywhere. This also impacted how they grew crops, utilising constructed agricultural terraces to increase the amount of arable land. Of course, the Incans were not the only ones to use terrace farming. As an aside to Dikottir, I pondered aloud if the rumoured Hanging Gardens of the Babylon had not used similar technology. After all, it would make sense for a 'hanging' garden to, well, hang over the side.

From there, we looked around at the other artefacts on display. Most of it was pottery shaped into specific animals: snake, jaguar, owl and hummingbird. However, there were also ones showcasing hybrid chimaeras.

Given their close connection to nature, many Andean societies had shamans. These were individuals that were able to communicate between the Here and Now and the other worlds. More importantly, they were also bequeathed with the power of animals. This, they were able to channel with psychotropic drugs and/ or fancy headwear.

Of course, when it came to depicting shamans, most of the artefacts Dikottir and I saw showed them as half-man and half-beast.

Oh, to be a were-jaguar or were-owl.

Before we descended down into the Inner World, however, we did get to see several other statues. One, in particular, drew my eye. Like many a civilisation before, and after them, Andean societies put a lot of emphasis on fertility and male virility. A skull-like entity, next to a woman with a gaping hole right below her pelvis, had a huge erect phallus. One he was eagerly holding in his hands.

Next to it were two statues of the ancestors. Apparently, in the Andean afterlife, the ancestors continue to copulate. Their deaths not an end but a new beginning, bringing forth new life. But seeing an artefact titled 'Ancestors masturbating' certainly had the ten-year-old in me giggling. Especially when the woman was clearly doing most of the work as she worked her hand on her partner's appendage.

The Inner World brought us face to face with a shape-shifting hero of mythical proportions: Ai Apaec. A figure of Moche culture, he was a hero known for travelling to different worlds to ensure the continuation of nature's cycles. Along the way, he is gifted with the ability to transform into various creatures including a crab and pufferfish. Along the way, he had a loyal buzzard and a dog to keep him company on his travels.

On his quest to return the sun to the world, and to ensure crops rainfall for crops, he would also be decapitated, his head transforming into a veritable skull. Of course, he is later saved and brought back to life through the power of...um...well...sex. Sex brings him back to life. And it also brings back his ability to propagate.

Honestly, there needs to be a video game about this guy. The lore, his powers and the story itself just lends itself perfectly to the media. Sorrengail, if you're reading this blog post, THIS was the video game idea I was proposing to you. And you can even insert the 'MASSIVE DAMAGE' meme into it if you so chose.

And, best of all, he appears in pop culture! As a villain in the grander Marvel universe! Something almost akin to Ezekiel Sim, the villain of the less than stellar Madame Web film that came out in 2024.

From the Inner World we moved to a different section of the exhibit. This one was focused on the attire of the nobility and how the splendour of their outfits reflected their role and status in society. Even warriors wore impressive regalia made of gold and silver, especially those of high status and close connection to the gods. Of particular note were the nose ornaments and the coccyx protector as can be seen in the picture below.

It wasn't long before Dikottir and I reached the end of the exhibit, which highlighted Machu Picchu. Unfortunately, the information there was a little scarce on details. Though the fortress was not discovered by the Spanish conquistadors, it did fade into obscurity and was retaken by the surrounding jungle. Over the years, locals still retained knowledge of its location but it was brough to the attention of the wider world by a Yale professor, Hiram Bingham.

After we had seen our fill of the exhibit, we stopped by the gift shop. Both of us bought llama rubber ducks for friends we weren't sure we would catch-up with anytime soon. I also purchased a woven bookmark and an 'erotic humorous magnet.' Or so my receipt tells me. Dikottir, too, also bought a magnet. Supposedly as a gift for his mum who seems to share my sense of humour.

With that, our expedition to Machu Picchu and the Golden Empires of Peru came to a close. While we did enjoy some additional music, and dance, in the Australian Museum proper, we later headed towards Town Hall for some light dessert.

And so my date with Dikottir came to its inexorable end.

While I don't mind his company (we do share quite similar views in terms of politics), I'm not sure either of us are romantically keen on the other. We certainly haven't jumped on adding personal phone numbers or officially 'friending' each other on Facebook. Nor do we text on a daily or regular basis.

In fact, during our 'date', I'd find my attention wandering to the others also exploring the exhibit or who were simply at the Australian Museum and indulging in the Peruvian vibe. What surprised me the most whilst there were the number of sapphic couples I saw.

Maybe I'm more sensitive since the CaitVi brainrot, but I couldn't help but somewhat wish I had a woman keeping me company.

Alas, Hinge is now gone. And while I do still seem to have a squish/ crush on someone in my friendship circle, nothing has actually eventuated. Despite the advice I've given to friends, I, too, am a filthy coward.

Time will tell if I'll ever end up with someone.

There's still a Valentine's Day/ Lunar New Year celebration I'm attending soon (which will actually be a couple of weeks prior to when this blog post goes up) where I might meet someone (although it does seem to cater for heterosexual couples more). Until then, dear reader, I bid you adieu.

#personal blog #peruvian exhibit #machu picchu #australian museum #history #andean societies #incans #moche #ai apaec

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digitaldetoxworld · 3 months ago

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The Indomitable Spirit: The Story of Arunima Sinha

In the annals of human history, memories of braveness and perseverance stand as beacons of idea. One such exceptional tale is that of Arunima Sinha, a woman who defied insurmountable odds to carve her name in history. Her story is not pretty much triumph over bodily obstacles but also approximately the boundless electricity of the human spirit.

Motivational story of Arunima Sinha for students

A Dream Cut Short

Arunima Sinha turned into born in 1988 in Ambedkar Nagar, Uttar Pradesh, India. A country wide-stage volleyball player, she harbored dreams of representing her united states of america at the international degree. Sports become now not only a ardour but her identification. However, destiny had extraordinary plans for her.

In 2011, whilst touring on the Padmavati Express educate to seem for an exam, Arunima became the victim of a tragic incident. A organization of robbers entered the educate and attempted to grab her belongings. When she resisted, they threw her out of the moving train. She landed on an adjacent track, and before she may want to pass, every other teach got here rushing in. The impact crushed her left leg underneath the knee. Alone, in excruciating pain, she lay at the railway tracks for hours, crying for assist till she became finally taken to a health facility.

Rising From the Ashes

The accident resulted within the amputation of her leg. When she wakened in the health facility, she changed into no longer just scuffling with bodily pain but also emotional devastation. Losing her leg intended dropping her dream of becoming a professional athlete. But in the ones darkest moments, Arunima made a preference that might redefine her destiny. Instead of succumbing to despair, she resolved to achieve some thing amazing.

During her sanatorium stay, she read about mountain climbing legend Bachendri Pal, the first Indian female to scale Mount Everest. Inspired via her story, Arunima made an audacious selection—she could turn out to be the arena’s first lady amputee to overcome Everest. Her announcement turned into met with skepticism, even ridicule, but she remained undeterred.

The Grueling Journey

Arunima approached Bachendri Pal, who took her under her wing at the Tata Steel Adventure Foundation. There, she underwent rigorous training, pushing her physical and intellectual limits. Learning to stroll with a prosthetic limb became a project in itself, however mountain climbing the best peaks on Earth appeared nearly impossible. Yet, she persevered. She trained inside the rugged terrains of the Himalayas, braving excessive climate, exhaustion, and the limitations of her synthetic limb.

After months of relentless schooling, she set her points of interest on Everest. On April 1, 2013, Arunima began her ascent as part of a crew. The adventure changed into fraught with peril—unpredictable climate, treacherous crevasses, and the regular hazard of altitude illness. Every step was a take a look at of endurance and willpower. At instances, the ache from her prosthetic limb have become unbearable, but she refused to show lower back.

Finally, on May 21, 2013, after fifty two days of relentless hiking, Arunima stood atop the sector's highest top. At 8,848 meters above sea degree, she had conquered not simply Everest however also every doubt, fear, and hindrance imposed upon her. She had come to be the primary lady amputee to obtain this feat, proving that dedication knows no limitations.

Beyond Everest

Scaling Everest turned into handiest the start of Arunima's outstanding journey. She went on to climb the highest peaks of all seven continents, which includes Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa, Mount Elbrus in Europe, and Mount Aconcagua in South America, amongst others. With each summit, she shattered stereotypes and stimulated endless people to agree with in their dreams in spite of adversity.

Arunima also took up the motive of empowering in another way-abled individuals. She established the Arunima Foundation, which presents help and education to aspiring athletes and mountaineers with disabilities. Through her motivational speeches and social paintings, she maintains to uplift and inspire humans international.

A Legacy of Courage

Arunima Sinha’s journey is extra than a tale of resilience; it's far a testament to the countless power of the human will. Her story teaches us that actual courage isn't always the absence of worry but the willpower to push ahead regardless of it. She grew to become a moment of tragedy into a lifelong assignment, proving that no impediment is insurmountable for those who dare to dream.

From the railway tracks to the summit of Everest, Arunima’s lifestyles exemplifies the electricity of perseverance, religion, and unwavering dedication. Her legacy isn't always just inside the mountains she has climbed however in the countless hearts she has stimulated alongside the way.

#Motivational story of Arunima Sinha for students #inspirations #volley ball players

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threewaysdivided · 1 year ago

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Hobson Heckled into Historical Haute-Couture

Continuing the Dan Jones & Dragons gala parade with Hobson, the Flower Crowns' oft-harried Halfling Warlock (played by the ever-wholesome Dan Floyd). Is he trying to massage away the realisation that letting his literally-half-brained patron choose his gala attire might have been a mistake? Is Valse giving him a headache over something else entirely? Did he use Detect Magic in a room full of powerful items and accidentally flash-bang himself? Yes.

More Flower Crowns Gala Outfits: Morenthal | Gelnek

As always, design talk under the cut:

But before that, a short story: I've been following Dan's content on Youtube for... oh jeez, that sure is almost a decade now, both on his current New Frame Plus/Playframe channels and back when he was the primary founder and narrator for EC. His old games education videos helped me get one of my earliest jobs in project work and introduced me to a bunch of media production concepts (like scope management) that would go on to inform some of my own storytelling analysis posts. It was a startling little moment of artistic ouroboros to realise I was mentally running through key points from Dan's own Pose Design 101 video as I was drawing his DnD character. Never expected things to come full-circle like that, but if you're seeing this, Dan: here's to you 🫡 If you're not Dan and haven't already, do go check out his stuff - it's all super well-produced, informative, funny and he's just an overall stand-up guy.

Now: onto the tiny little nerd and his passé party attire

This was a really fun costuming challenge, with a bunch of interesting curveballs thrown in the mix. Unlike the rest of the Flower Crowns, Hobson didn't choose his own party outfit: it was picked out by his patron after Valse kibbitzed him into giving up and letting a heroism-obsessed Fey call the shots. Dan cited Valse as having the fashion sense of Stede Bonnet-as-depicted-in-OFMD, briefing a vaguely 19th century-style outfit that had frilled sleeves and 'would have looked gaudy even when it was in fashion a century earlier'.

Actually dating his outfit was the first challenge. D&D settings are kind of an anachronistic uchronia, with classic swords-and-sorcery fantasy campaigns potentially pulling inspiration points from anywhere across the Arthurian era up to pre-war modernity. Which leads to the question: how do you make something seem dated in a setting where most everything looks vaguely ye-olde-fantasy? The other challenge was that, IRL, the 19th century (i.e Victorian era) was when menswear started taking on a lot of the shapes that would eventually become modern suit and top-'n'-tails fashion. Since Trilby was already going to be wearing classic top-'n'-tails formalwear, I decided to set Hobson's style earlier in the 1800s-1820s and pull in some 18th century Stede Bonnet flourishes to visually set them apart. This article provided some great reference images, and once I hit on the figured silk waistcoat I knew I had a potential starting point.

Colour-wise, I stuck with the burgundy-and-gold palette the Dans gave Hobson in his official gala stream art, since those looked good together and matched up with Dan J's tendency to draw Hobson wearing greens/earth-tones and Valse in reds/jewel-tones. The combination is a lot more colourful and richly saturated than is typical for this style of Victorian-adjacent clothes, which felt appropriate for Valse's gaudy tastes.

Fabric-wise, I figured a fun way to gaudy things up even further would be to lean into the silks and satins that were fashionable at the time, but make all of his outfit shimmery rather than just a single feature piece. As a bonus, silk and satin clothes tend be hot, inelastic and have horribly itchy seams if worn unlined, which felt like exactly the kind of thing Valse's all-form-no-function sensibilities would inflict upon the small, long-suffering fellow. Both these fabrics also have a habit of behaving hideously and ripping themselves apart when worn wet, which makes this a great outfit to, say, accidentally fight an Aboleth in. Poor Hobson.

Some other details, just for fun: 1. Hobson's sketch layers include a drawing of his un-removable cursed left bracer. He's pulled the frilly, puffy sleeve over it but you might spot hints of the shape and the gem if you squint. 2. The reference waistcoat I used had floral embroidery on it. Had this actually been a Hobson outfit, I would have converted them to his garland flower (Forget-Me-Nots), but since it was a Valse pick I decided to make them Senaliesse chrysanthemums; a flower given out to friends of the Feywild's Summer Court as a sign of protection and favour. (It also adds extra layers to Pocket mistaking Hobson for a denizen of the Fey, which is fun).

Close crop on the details because I'm very happy with how they turned out:

#my art #Dan Jones and Dragons #DJ&D #The Flower Crowns of E'lythia #Hobson Bunce #Hobson (Forget-Me-Not)#A Party to Forget #Very fun challenge to communicate the character of someone posing in an outfit defined by a different character's style sensibilities #After so long learning from Dan's content it was really nice to end up using some of those lessons to draw his DnD guy #Albeit somewhat ironic as Hobson's pose is the one I've been the least confident about to date #Dan J. was *very* kind to Hobson with his official gala art #I have been less kind but considering what the 1800s had to offer I could have done MUCH worse to the poor small man #Me and my program's airbrush tools got VERY well-acquainted rendering all that silk and satin #Valse very nearly bedazzled the poor fellow #Pretty funny that my motivation with designing Gelnek's outfit was: this could be fashionable #And then with Hobson's it was: this could ABSOLUTELY be worse #Luckily Trilby was there to stave off the impending threat of a 1800s beaver hat and wasp-waisted jacket combo #In my earliest concept sketch he was going to be wearing some Elizabethan/ Shakespearean-era nonsense #which very much would not have been a good time for him #Another challenge with trying to put Hobson into something unfashionable is that Dan J drew him real cute with nice eyes #He could be wearing a potato sack and he'd still have terminal baby disease #This man's smallness absolutely destroyed me mentally (in the best way)#I put him next to Morenthal in a to-scale drawing and spent the next 30 minutes being VERY NORMAL about it #DnD #D&D #Halfling #Warlock #fanart #3WD

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amadeusgame · 2 years ago

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September Devlog: Full Episode 1 Design Finalized

Per last month's devlog, this month's primary task was to finish the narrative outline and complete game design document for the full Episode 1 release. And I'm happy to announce that this is done, I have a concrete vision to follow, and now it's a matter of ticking off boxes on the to-do list until this thang is RELEASED. I'm getting REALLY excited about this project, and feeling like it is becoming more and more tangible.

Some quick updates before getting into the details:

I'm sure you all heard the kerfuffle about Unity; I've discussed where I'm currently at on the Tumblr blog here.

I went to PAX West (and the Seattle Indies Expo) and talked to a ton of indie devs! I wrote about a lot of upcoming indie games on the Tumblr blog here.

As always check the linktree (https://linktr.ee/amadeusgame) for all resources related to Amadeus. Most frequently updated are the Tumblr blog and Discord server, but these itch.io devlogs will continue monthly as well.

And now, for this month's updates.

TL;DR--

PAX West & Seattle Indies Expo: more details on these events, specifically how much it helped me as a solo dev meeting and talking with other solo devs.

New Mechanics Envisioned: made a new paper prototype & sought playtester feedback to determine final control scheme vision.

Finishing the Narrative Outline: process for sitting down and mapping out the full Episode 1 narrative to guide the GDD

Completing the Game Design Document: process for taking the new mechanics & full narrative to fully outline the design for Episode 1

Recreation: media I engaged with this month for fun and inspiration!

Details below for those interested.

PAX West & Seattle Indies Expo

This was my first time attending PAX, and it was incredibly valuable. The Seattle Indies Expo (an adjacent, and completely free, event) in particular was fantastic, because I got to have really in-depth, one-on-one conversations with a lot of other small developers. So many of us are working on passion projects in our spare time, and wearing 20 different hats - from music composition to coding to project management to marketing - while also doing something else to pay the bills. So it felt very grounding to have honest discussions with so many other people who are all in the same boat. It also helped to find that a couple other developers came to the same answers I did on certain topics (virtually all of us are in agreement that you absolutely have to have deadlines that you take seriously, or you will never finish...), and one of the developers I spoke with mentioned something really helpful: that if you only have 1-2 hours to work on your game a week, decide EXACTLY WHAT you will work on in that time slot beforehand, so you've already started dedicating brain energy to the topic before the time comes.

I met a handful of developers who I'm likely to keep in touch with for the foreseeable future. It was a fantastic opportunity. Those of us out here making niche little passion projects really do feel the passion coming from each other. Gotta find your people and support each other!

I'll go ahead and plug my Amadeus blog Tumblr post on the subject again, because I'm also genuinely excited about a lot of these games: 10 Upcoming Indie Games to check out!

New Mechanics Envisioned

Never forget that busting out the sticky notes/scratch paper is an essential step in game design & development.

One of the major roadblocks I faced last month standing between me and finishing my GDD was that I knew I needed to rework the main interaction mechanic. I liked that it was WASD/point-and-click interchangeable, but it felt very unpolished. So one of my first tasks for this month was to figure out what, exactly, my vision for a polished interaction mechanic was. To do that, I revisited the very first step of game development, and made a paper prototype.

In doing this, I was able to identify the biggest source of my problem: I really like that you can control Amadeus - and not just a cursor, but this makes it impossible to interact with things that he can't get to (like looking at things in the sky). This is kind of at odds with the control scheme that seems most natural for the genre.

The central source of my problem was this:

The most straightforward control scheme for my game seemed to be point-and-click, where you don't have an actor you control but just directly interact with environments.

However; point-and-click mechanics are very hard on my wrists (because I have massively screwed up wrists), and I want to make a game that I can play comfortably - and for thematic reasons, this is all the more important!

Moreover; I just really like controlling a little guy and walking around as him.

I have come up with a solution that I think works well, at least on paper. One of my big goals this month is to prototype it in-engine, and hopefully get it in front of playtesters soon. The good news is that I got a lot of feedback from playtesters that the hybrid control scheme was a plus, and almost nobody used exclusively WASD or exclusively point-and-click, which tells me that my "utilize both" design philosophy feels right. Now I just need to polish it.

My goal is still to have a rebuilt demo, containing more or less the same content as the existing demo (unless...? but let's not get our hopes up too high!) with the new mechanics and control scheme, out this Winter. So far, still on track for that!

Finishing the Narrative Outline

THIS was truly the largest obstacle between me and a complete GDD. It is not possible to list out all assets needed in a game if you don't have a list of every scene in the game, and you can't have a list of every scene in the game without a complete narrative outline. Making the demo was easy in this respect - I already knew how my story started. I also knew more or less how it would end (or at least, several key climactic events). But there is no catharsis in a climax that lacks a rich, engaging, and well-developed journey to get there. That's the meatiest part of the game, and it's what I did not have.

Truth be told, I don't know whether the journey I am writing counts as rich, engaging, and well-developed. But I've finally made it concrete, and I think it has heart. This process was actually very rewarding, because I found that in asking myself questions (what is CHARACTER doing here, how does EVENT happen) I found really fascinating answers that made the entire story much more interesting than the one I initially set out to write.

I started just by creating a document titled "Episode 1 Outline" that looked something like this:

Intro

Prologue

Placeholder Scene

Climax

Outro

The reason I was actually able to get from that to a complete outline in less than a month is because, while it didn't really feel like it, I actually did a lot of "writing" last month. I spent the whole month watching a ton of werewolf movies and taking scribbled notes in my Amadeus brainstorming notebook, so I had a huge pool of ideas that were already swimming around in my head. This month's task wasn't to write a story I had no ideas about, it was to finally draw from all of my ideas and refine/organize them to a manageable and logical format.

Most importantly, I gave myself a deadline to finish this outline, and so the day of that deadline I sat down and looked at my intro, my climax and just thought of the "path of least resistance" to get from point A to point B that flowed well and made sense. The resulting outline is much, much shorter than I had initially envisioned (I had some utter delusions of an Umineko-length monstrosity of an introductory episode) - but it works, it tells the full story, and it's complete. And, as will be discussed in the next section, even this relatively "short" episode has so much to it that if it were any longer there's almost no way I would finish it on time.

I still don't have every single detail mapped out at this stage. That much was true for the demo as well. Many aspects of the story wrote themselves by building the game and the necessity of flavor text, signposting, etc.; so I'm leaving room for that. It is just specific enough that I know exactly what assets to make for it, and I know the purpose of each scene. This lets me write early scenes setting up to payoff in later scenes more effectively. I think it should be a good length to be engaging for the player while still letting me give it some polish. :)

Completing the Game Design Document

This was the big thing I needed to accomplish this month. I actually made solid progress on this last month, but I was unable to finish it because I didn't have a definite narrative outline, list of scenes, or finalized control scheme. Once I had these from my work this month, I was able to sit down and finish this document.

I want nothing more in the world than to share this document, because seeing it complete feels like such a massive victory. It shows that I know exactly what I'm doing and that I have solid direction for the development of Amadeus. It proves that this game is getting made. It's even color-coded!! Unfortunately, it contains absolutely GINORMOUS spoilers not just for Episode 1 but for Episodes 3, 4, and 5, which won't be out for years. So you'll just have to take my word for it.

The "Level Planning" and "Rule List" sections of this document needed the most attention, but they are also some of the most valuable for directing the full game's development.

For the Level Planning aspect, I broke the scenes from my narrative outline down by gameplay type (point-and-click, pure dialogue, puzzle/other) and, in doing so, I found that I gave myself additional ideas for some things I wasn't sure about. Thinking about the narrative in a different way, by breaking it down into gameplay concepts, helped me make certain storytelling decisions and continue fleshing out additional narrative details. This is why I was OK leaving some things vague in my outline - I knew other aspects of development would help me fill in the blanks.

Creating the Rule List is something that, in a way, is helpful as a form of "pre-coding." It forced me to put some thought into how I will actually implement the mechanics I have been brainstorming and prototyping. I already have some ideas, and I already know at least a few edge cases/problems that are going to arise--but that means when it comes time to sit down and actually script things out, I won't be starting from scratch. I've already dedicated brainpower to considering the problem! It'll make it way easier to actually DO, since I've done the first step already.

I know I am repeating myself a lot here, but it keeps coming up because it's important. Putting thought into something before you sit down to "do" it makes it SO much easier to actually do it when that time comes. This entire month has been effectively just that for the whole game: in making this GDD, I have put thought into every aspect of the game's development, so now that I can focus on making it, it's going to be so much easier. I already know where I'm going! What a weight off of my shoulders!!

The last thing I needed to flesh out in the GDD were my asset lists and screen mockups, which there isn't much to say about that can't be inferred from the title. I'll include the mockup for a new menu/settings screen I need to create though to tease some features I hope to implement:

I also included some (annotated) screenshots of the demo to remind myself what the game actually looks like with nicely drawn assets and not mockup scribbles...

Recreation

As with last month, I want to take some time to discuss media I've engaged with this month. This is for two reasons. First, I genuinely believe that it is impossible to create good art without engaging with other art. Second, talking about media I enjoy will probably give you a feel for my tastes, which may or may not inform how likely you are to enjoy the game I'm making. Although the best measure for that is still just playing the demo and seeing for yourself!

This month I spent the majority of my time playing Castlevania: Symphony of the Night with my roommate. Truthfully, I did not actually expect this to be relevant to Amadeus in any way because the genre is completely different. But I've never been happier to be wrong! The Halloween-y vibes are of course relevant as I am writing about werewolves, but I was also just so inspired by several really brilliant game design choices. This game features something that I like to call "style AS substance," and that is exactly what I want to convey in my own game. I also got a fantastic idea for something I've been brainstorming for Episode 3 thanks to this game, but I can't elaborate on that any further at this time.

Anyway, it was a fantastic game, and also fantastic inspiration. 10/10 would recommend to friends.

That's all for this month! There will be another devlog at the end of November, and now that the GDD is done, there should be a lot of development progress in that one. In the meantime, you can always bookmark the Linktree and check back for new resources.

#Amadeus game #devlog #indie game #indie game dev #indie dev

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