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livlaughloveluke · 4 months

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ᡣ𐭩 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗽.𝟭

child of dionysus x luke castellan 🍷

IN WHICH… the man you hate just can’t seem to leave you alone

warning! this fic contains- swearing // alcohol mentions // shitty parents // use of y/n // angst // daddy issues! // spoilers to tlt // probably not book accurate // implied sex!! // no actual smut, but definitely heavy illusions to sex (both characters are 18) // loss of virginity // drugs (medicinal) // blood // reader wears a swimsuit?? // reader gender isn’t mentioned i think // mentions of death/drowning // ends on an cliffhanger!!!

[a/n]-we’re just going to say tlt takes place in 2005, so luke and will have been born in 1986. also, incase you didn’t know, Hera doesn’t have any demigods, so her cabin is empty :)

part two is in progress, just wanted to put something out until then. also kinda ends on an odd note because it wasn’t intended to be multiple parts

🎧- night shift by lucy dacus

6.6k words (oopsies)

You hated Luke Castellan above all else.

Coming from you, that was a pretty bold statement, considering that you had a fiery hatred for plenty of things. Whether it be people who smacked their gum too loudly or ignorant gods who brushed off their children with no remorse, everything seemed to unwillingly ignite a spark in you. However, someone in particular really seemed to piss you off.

The mere sight of his stupid curls and even stupider scar hadn’t always awakened such a burning rage in you; in fact, he used to do the opposite. He was fourteen when you first met him.

April 13th, 2000

Luke had been placed into the chaos of Cabin 11, the other campers unfazed by a new demigod living with them as they carelessly bumped into his shoulder while playing tag. Old magazines scattered the wood floors, and dust covered the edges of his scrappy bed. With a sigh, he threw his bag onto the floor and escaped the overwhelming sensations provided by his siblings.

The light tour Chiron provided was seemingly useless as he mindlessly waltzed down to the lake, unsure of another quiet space to go to. He performed a quick glance around to ensure he was really alone, and then plopped down onto the rocky shore with a groan. Without his father and now Thalia, he wasn’t sure if he’d survive a night at this bullshit camp.

“You okay?” You emerged from the woods, staring at him with a concerned expression. He jumped slightly, startled by your presence since he literally just checked to see if he was alone. “Oh, uhm, yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked, noticing the way his tone was so unconvincing while sitting down next to him and staring out at the view. It wasn’t typical of you to be so welcoming, but you had recently received dessert privileges back after getting them taken away for punching some Aphrodite girl, so a cheery mood was accompanied. He glared at you, slightly annoyed by the way you interrupted his moment of peace. But then again, you weren’t really bothering him, so he figured you could stay. You were also breathtaking, so how could he shoo you away?

“No.” Luke replied honestly after a moment of silence, a slight grimace decorating his features while thinking about his long past.

“Fair. I’m sorry about your friend.” You said, your voice filled with empathy rather than pity as you kept eye contact with the horizon despite the cooling wind that turned your eyes glossy and ruffled your neon orange shirt. “Thanks.” He muttered as the memories flooded his mind, to the point where he had to clench his teeth together so he wouldn’t cry.

“I’m Y/N. Child of Dionysus.” Turning around, you offered a friendly smile until you realized he had his head buried into the crook of his elbow and emitted gentle sniffles. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Did I say something? I’m trying to work on it, I swear-“

“Does it ever get easier?” He interrupted, although his request came out muffled as he whispered into his skin.

“Well… sorta.”

“Sorta?”

“You get used to the whole Greek God thing, I guess.” You reply, avoiding the question he was clearly implying about his father being present. It wasn’t one you typically liked to talk about, along with most of the other campers with daddy issues. The truth was, you hated the gods for abandoning their children, but speaking out about that would have some brutal consequences. Let’s just say you would lose more than just dessert privileges for a week.

“I’m heading down to the bonfire; you should join.” You said after another long pause of silence, standing up and dusting the particles of sand that had collected on the bottom of your denim shorts.

“Okay.” He stood up, wiping his eyes, and followed you as you hiked through the trees.

“So, why were you stalking me again?” Luke spoke up with a sarcastic tone, stepping over the large tree trunks that had fallen down onto the forest floor.

“Woah, I was not stalking you, newbie.”

“Sure looked like it when you magically appeared out of the woods.”

“Well, I wasn’t, okay? Mind your business.” You snapped, the caring facade slipping away as you stared at him harshly enough to pierce his heart.

“Jeez, sorry.” Luke looked down at his feet, feeling a little guilty for being too pushy with practically a stranger. After seeing his suddenly reserved body language, you stopped the hike and faced him.

“Don’t apologize.”

“What?” His gaze averted back up to meet your cold expression.

“Don’t apologize. I was being a bitch. Stand up for yourself.”

“Uhh..” Luke was now extremely confused, looking around as if this was some sort of prank show with the way you switched up so fast.

“Let’s try again. I’m gonna say the sane thing, and you’re going to stand up for yourself. Kay?”

“I don’t-“ He started, but was quickly interrupted by you.

“Well, I wasn’t, okay? Mind your business.” You repeated from earlier, making your voice sound even ruder as you dramatically exclaimed.

“N-no? Is that what I’m supposed to say?” He questioned, still nervously glancing around and searching for some sort of explanation or another person hiding in the undergrowth to reveal it was a silly joke. You raised your eyebrows in disbelief at his terrible performance, blinking slowly as you scoffed.

“Oh gods. It’s not what you say; it’s how you say it. Be more confident.” Stepping back, you repeated the sentence again. “Well, I wasn’t, okay? Mind your business.”

“No.” Luke said, this time with more pride, although he kept staring at you for a sign of approval. “Good!” You supportively with a grin, turning to continue your walk. And after a sassy eye roll, Luke followed behind.

“Just trying to protect you from the Ares kids. They can be assholes.” You happily explained, a little too cheery for someone who just snapped at him.

“Yeah, okay.”

Luke knew he should be bothered by your interesting behavior. I mean, most would, but deep down, he liked how you were empathetic in such a strange way. It made him feel human, instead of like a tourist attraction that people whispered sweet nothings to and stared at curiously.

“Don’t take anyone’s shit, and soon enough you’ll be swimming in kleos.” You stated, swaying with every step and providing plenty of hand gestures.

“Kleos?”

“Glory. Everyone here is basically fighting to be respected.”

“Oh. Shouldn’t everyone just be respectful?” He obliviously asked, ducking under a low, hanging branch.

“They should, but they aren’t. But with glory, it makes you important. People sit up when you walk in the room; stay out of your way; things like that.”

“Wait, so I just have to stand up for myself, and suddenly I’m all important?”

“Sometimes. Usually, though, you have to major in some skill. Archery, sword fighting, healing, etc. You been claimed yet?”

“Yeah, Hermes.”

“Oh.” You replied, dissatisfaction noticeable.

“Oh??” Luke questioned, offended and sounding a little more rude than he intended.

“It’s not really a bad thing. Just different demigods are usually good at certain stuff. With Hermes, they typically tend to be good liars.”

“What’s your talent?” Luke asked, causing you to go quiet for a minute while thinking.

“Well, I’m really good at poker. That’s about it.”

“You’re a good talker, too.” He said, causing you to shoot him a threatening glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you give decent advice, and you’re pretty welcoming. That’s a plus.” He instantly backtracked.

“Half of the camp would disagree with you on that. Turns out hostility doesn’t get you the best reputation.”

“You’re hostile?” Sure, you may have had a little anger management problem, but hostile? You seemed sweet enough to Luke, at least.

“I don’t talk to all the newbies like this.”

“Then why me?” Luke, from his understanding, wasn’t special. He didn’t stick out. He wasn’t super hot, smart, or funny. He was just average, in his opinion.

“Dunno. Why not?” You said, which wasn’t entirely true. He just seemed different, like he was hiding more beneath the surface. Similar to a puzzle that you needed to solve, except if you didn’t, you’d be burdened with a painful itch of curiosity for the rest of eternity.

“Hm, Fair. But what should I try to achieve kleos?”

“Don’t go for archery or healing; the Apollo kids will smoke you. Maybe sword fighting? I could show you the basics sometime.”

“Sword fighting it is.”

May 21st, 2001

"Where were you during arts and crafts?" You asked while sitting down next to Luke at lunch, clearly irritated by his absence during this morning's activities.

"I was-" He tried to explain, but you had already taken his hands and begun to inspect them, your touch shutting him up. You huffed in annoyance while gently tracing over his callouses and cuts.

"You were training again."

"I just needed more practice. I didn't mean to-" He started, feeling remorse for not showing up, but you were there to quickly interrupt him.

"Save it. I have bandages back at my cabin; let's go. It's the least you can do for leaving me with your siblings all morning." You slammed your hands on the table, standing up and practically dragging Luke to follow you (he would have followed even if you didn't force him).

Once a long distance away from the pavilion, you brought up a topic he wasn't the most comfortable with. "Training to prove yourself?" He swallowed back his anger, not wanting to lash out at you, despite the fact that you could obviously take it.

"Maybe I am. Who cares?"

"I do. Stop caring about the gods so much."

"Easy for you to say. Your father's here." Luke mumbled mockingly under his breath, barely above a whisper, but you heard.

"I'm not sure he even knows my name. He's a drunk dumbass, not exactly great dad material." This shut him up, his gaze traveling to the dirt floor until you reached Cabin 12. Silence and tension filled the air as you opened your backpack, scouring for the gauze and anticipatant. Gripping his wrist with a rage-filled force, you carefully rubbed the Neosporin over the red cuts and wrapped his palms with the stretchy material gifted by an Apollo friend.

"Don't say I don't care about you. You know I do." You whispered, breaking the quiet atmosphere and filling it with fiery love.

"But he doesn't."

"So?"

"He's my father. He should."

"You should stop focusing on what you don't have. Working yourself to the bone won't improve your relationship."

He didn't respond, not having an argument or a sassy comment whipped up, because you were right. He manufactured this mindset that if he was good enough, if he had glory, Hermes would finally notice him and would finally love him. However, there was always a little voice in the back of his head that made him doubt all of his hopes for a family. You just amplified that voice like a microphone.

"And you left me alone with your brothers. Bleh." You smiled, trying to lighten the mood a little while tying off the first bandage.

"C'mon, they aren't that bad."

"You should have heard how they were talking about Julia from Aphrodite Cabin."

"Ew." He laughed, looking at you while you concentrated on wrapping his last hand. You looked so stunning like this, with your pearly teeth peeking between the skin of your lips and your eyes squinting while focusing on making sure it was perfect. He was truly a dumbass, focusing on the gods while you were right in front of him. "Done." You said while tucking in the end of the gauze. He hinged his hand open and shut a few times to make sure it was sturdy, and of course it was.

"Thank you." Luke praised you, not just for patching him up, but for caring.

"Anytime. Hey, I made you something during arts and crafts." You dug through your plastic junk drawer, clinking around all the junk in search of something specific.

"Hm?"

You snatched up a small beaded necklace from the drawer before extending your hand and showing it to him. It was crumpled up, the flimsy string intertwined with itself and the beads out of order, so he picked the jewelry up and awed at the handmade piece. It was wooden beads painted in deep burgundy paint with your first name spelled out in Greek letters, strung on black elastic.

"It's gorgeous." Was all he could manage to utter out, still starstruck by the thoughtfulness of your gift.

"Thanks. We should probably get back to lunch before it's over." You replied, and for the first time in Luke's year of knowing you, you look flustered. You nervously glanced down at the laces to your shoes and fiddled with your fingers, even swaying from the tips of your toes to the back of your heels.

"Yeah, yeah." He agreed, slipping the necklace on and walking out with you behind him. For the rest of the day, he was all smiles and giggles, with others unsure of why he was in such a good mood. Until the inky night sky swallowed the bright blue light, and nightmares came with it.

Most demigods were prone to the occasional bad dream, but Luke was a frequent victim of Hypnos’ curse. Every other night was filled with images of losing what he loved, but he was too embarrassed to talk to someone about it, so he suffered silently.

That night, the dreams were particularly horrific, to the point where he awoke covered in sweat and probably some tears, too. His mind debated whether or not sneaking out and waking you up was a bad idea, but the thought of staying awake alone in his bed another minute scared him more than any profanity you could throw at him for interrupting your “beauty sleep.”

Tiptoeing silently outside the hot cabin, his heart pounded as he traveled to your room next door. He was still in flannel pajama pants and an old tee shirt with some vintage band plastered on it, the chilling wind erupting goosebumps.

Luckily, your bed was right next to a window, which he promptly (and quietly) tapped on to wake you up. A few groans and twists later, you slid open the glass and gawked at him.

“Luke, what the fuck are you doing?” You whisper-yelled, praying to the gods none of your siblings woke up and started bitching.

“I had a nightmare.”

“You woke me up at two in the morning because you had a nightmare?”

“Please, I just need someone to talk to.” Hearing the desperation and seriousness in his voice, you couldn’t possibly reject him, no matter how tired you were.

“I’ll be out in a second.”

Sliding the window shut, you slipped on some sandals and exited to see Luke, who was standing on the porch.

Walking down the steps with him tracking behind, you waited until you were isolated by the lake to talk. “Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been having really bad nightmares lately, and I know that sounds stupid, but I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Have you tried talking to the Apollo kids? It’s not rare for them to deal with insomnia.”

“Well, no. It’s humiliating. It’s taken me a year to talk to you about it, and you’re my best friend.” Luke skimmed past the term ‘best friend’, unsure if you felt the same. It was stupid; you were definitely his best friend, but what if he wasn’t yours?

“First of all, it’s not. But I don’t mind talking to them. I can say I’m having nightmares, and they’ll probably give me melatonin, and then I can give it to you.”

“You’d do that? Smuggle drugs for me?” He spoke softly, the moonlight enchanting his features.

“Course. You’re my best friend.”

December 27th, 2002

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You yelled at Luke in the empty Hera Cabin, angrier than ever. Word had spread to you like wildfire of a quest Luke had accepted, despite the fact it was a suicide mission.

“Listen-“

“No! You told me you didn’t care about the god’s approval anymore. And now you’re going on some bullshit quest?! You’re a fucking dumbass.”

“I just need one chance to prove myself to him.” He pleaded, begging for you to understand and forgive him, even though he knew you weren’t the “forgive and forget” type. Honestly, he was about 80% sure you were still holding a grudge against him for stealing the dessert off your plate three months ago.

“Why aren’t you happy where you are? You’re the best swordsman at camp in three hundred years; half the girls here are in love with you, and everyone practically worships the ground you walk on!”

“I don’t care about them.”

“Do you not care about me, either?” You spoke softly, which was a dramatic shift from the heated yelling a few seconds ago.

“What? Of course-“ Luke cared about you more than anything— more than himself or any silly god. It wasn’t very far-fetched to assume that he even loved you, although his anxious self would never admit anything of the sort. But this quest was a dream of his, and it wasn’t possible for him to just give it up.

“Whatever. I’m done with your bullshit.” You cut him off and stormed out, leaving him to watch you walk away with an aching pain in his heart. That wound was left open as he set out for his journey that night, along with two other campers who were slightly underqualified.

The quest went to shit the minute they left camp’s solace, with monsters attacking from every direction. However, he and his companions were able to make it to the guarded tree with only a few minor injuries.

Until Luke reached for the golden apple and was sliced by the dragon who protected the fruit. Blood gushed out of the cut that decorated his eye as he stumbled away. The loss of blood and shock caught up to him, and eventually he lay in the arms of his friends, fading in and out of consciousness.

The idea that your life flashes before your eyes when you're near death is indeed true. Memories of previous years flooded his brain, from his childhood to his teen years (which mainly consisted of you). As the light faded away, all he could think of was how he never admitted his love to you and how your last interaction with him was an argument.

The next time he awoke, he was in the camp infirmary, dazed as he slowly blinked the sleep away from his eyes. The teenage nurses yelled at him as he slowly stood up and deliriously walked outside, but he couldn’t care less. He just wanted to see you and apologize. His near-death experience was a wake-up call, a sign that what he was feeling towards you wasn’t just friendly admiration.

Luckily for him, you were waiting for him outside, sitting on a wood bench as you anxiously bounced your leg. As he stumbled out the door, you immediately stood up and rushed towards his weak body. What caught him off guard was the way you hugged him instantly, wrapping your arms around his torso while burying your head in his chest. For the first time in days, you were able to breathe, inhaling his musky scent rapidly. The fight had taken a toll on you. You lied awake at every night scared out of your mind that he would die hating you.

“I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things, I was just angry at you for leaving me, but-” You rammbled into the cloth of his shirt, the vibrations on his skin making his heart flutter.

“Don’t apologize.” He said with a loopy smile, making you laugh with relief while remembering the first time you met. His original plan of confessing his love to you the moment he woke up with a dramatic spiel was immediately thrown in the trash as he looked at you from above. The worries of ruining this magical friendship you had spent two years building overtook the joys of the possibility that a new relationship would blossom. So for now, he was comfortable being friends with you. Best friends.

The stares from others went unnoticed, Luke too enchanted by your warming touch to see the way others gawked at him from afar, like he was a monster. Not until the next day, when he wasn’t drugged, at least.

When he looked in the crowded bathroom mirror the next morning after plenty of rest, it almost scared him. His gash was a beaming red with dried maroon blood on the edges and a violet hue discoloring the nearby skin. Swallowing nervously, he did his best to clean it up with warm water before rushing to the picnic tables for breakfast, where you sat munching on cereal.

“You’re the most brutally honest person I know. How bad is it? Like, can I even show my face anymore?” He blurted out, causing you to glance up with a slight panic. After a few seconds of consideration, you replied.

“It makes you look badass.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Go get something to eat and come back to talk to me.” Luke responded with a nod, heading off to grab a quick breakfast. With a tray of pancakes in his hand, he returned and sat down across from you.

“So?” You waited eagerly for some explanation of his trip.

“It went like shit. You’re right, I’m not good enough.”

“Woah, I never said that.”

“You implied it.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you shouldn’t rely on your successes or failures to determine your worth.”

“Same thing.” He retorted with a scowl, stuffing his mouth with food.

“Not even close. So, what’d you learn?”

“That I need to train harder.”

“Holy shit, you are a dumbass.” You said with a long blink and a theatrical sigh.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. How’s Annabeth?” Annabeth and you were always so different, but somehow that made you closer. She spent her hours strategizing and acting like an adult, and you spent yours playing games and wishing you were younger. Regardless, she was like a little sister to you.

“She’s… like usual.” Luke replied with a crinkle of his lips.

“Mm, so she’s still forcing herself to be an adult at nine?”

“Yeah, just about.”

“We should get her to play poker with us one night. Help loosen her up a little.”

“Not a chance.”

March 19th, 2003

You and Luke stood side by side, anxiously waiting for Capture the Flag to start, while Chiron yapped about the rules. You’d already heard the whole spiel of instructions multiple times, so naturally you grew bored, and your mind wandered off to the boy beside you.

He looked like a true warrior, with his pointy metal helmet that somehow sharpened his features. Over the past few summers, he had grown significantly, and the puff on his cheeks had thinned out. Needless to say, he wasn’t short of admirers.

You painfully watched as hundreds of girls fawned over him and even began to dread getting ready in the bathroom because of how many praises were thrown at him.

Luke sensed your annoyance from afar, although it wasn’t hard to notice by the way you scowled every time someone approached him with a new compliment. However, he thought you were just envious of the praise he received. In reality, you felt threatened, like someone would steal your spot in your best-friend-who-sometimes-flirt-with-each-other relationship with him. He would never let it happen though, even if you weren’t aware.

“Let the games begin!” Chiron yelled, snapping you out of your daydreaming session.

“You take the east side of the forest, I take the west, we meet up in the middle, right?” You wanted to confirm the Athena cabin’s strategy with him, to which he replied with a quick nod.

“Mhm. See you on the flip side.”

“See you on the flip side, Castellan.” You both turned to the different small groups that you were leading, setting out on foot to start your plan.

Annabeth and a few other geniuses had spent the past two weeks carefully crafting a flawless plan for today’s Capture the Flag game. You and Luke would attack, traveling into their side of the woods, while the rest would defend.

While you might not have been the best swordsman, you were a master of trickery and deception and decent at fist fighting. Plus, you had a solid team backing you up.

“So basically, we just need to fight some of the red team and then meet up with Luke and his group in the middle. Kay?” You instructed to your acquaintances, who diligently followed behind you as you hiked through the evergreen trees, until you saw a few of the other team lurking around. With a surprise attack, you were able to defeat them, with little of your squad lost in the process.

You kept on trekking through the dark depths of the forest before spotting some of the best members of the red team, specifically Sam from Ares cabin.

They were the biggest asshole around, and extremely cocky for someone who was the second-best sword fighter in camp. Plus, they were always trying to get in your pants, along with every other counselor who was old enough. To be frank, they were super hot, but you weren’t interested in anyone currently. Well, anyone who wasn’t Luke Castellan.

Knowing you wouldn’t win this battle, you shuffled to the bushes and silently watched while thinking of a good plan.

“Nice try. Up. Slowly.” Sam said unexpectedly, causing you to sigh with frustration and calmly stand up, along with your teammates.

“So, you can either give up now and save yourself the trouble, or we can do the whole fighting thing and eliminate you that way. Your choice.” They stated with a smile, only egging you on.

“What a little bundle of joy you are.”

“Hm, okay, fighting it is.” They sliced for your stomach, the metal of their blade clinking with the iron of your breastplate. You were stunned at first, but immediately charged back while his goons attacked your friends.

The sound of swords slicing and heavy grunts filled the woods, alerting Luke, who was a decent distance away. Most of his teammates had been eliminated, so now it was just him and one other member. He lightly jogged to the scene, not caring too much.

Meanwhile, your group was putting up a solid fight, but so were they. You clashed swords relentlessly with Sam, while your teammates suffered a bloody battle. In a mere minute, all of your team had surrendered, but so had all of Sam’s team.

With every second that passed, your efforts got messier and energy your got lower, and it was apparent this wasn’t going to be your victory. With one clean slice, Sam nicked your arm violently, and you let out a scream in response. Unbeknownst to you, Luke heard your pain and panicked, changing his pace from a careless jog to a speedy sprint. His partner yelled at him, confused, but Luke just kept going, despite his muscles that ached like fire.

You grew exhausted, now just weakly defending yourself from every attack. Seeing how unfocused you became, Sam took this opportunity to swipe your feet with his leg and send you tumbling to the ground, disarming you in the process.

Both panting heavily, they shakily brought the blade to your neck and stepped on your torso to prevent less squirming.

“You’d be a lot hotter if you weren’t such a bitch.” They said, and before you could come up with a witty reply, Luke had charged from behind. Slicing at Sam with adrenaline-fueled anger, he instantly knocked them down to the floor.

“Don’t ever talk to them like that again, or I’ll seriously fuck you up. Okay?”

“Okay, Jesus! What are you, their boyfriend or something?”

Luke wasn’t sure how to reply, so he didn’t. Was this too protective of him? No, he was just helping a friend. Right?

“Just say you surrender already.” He mustered up.

“Fine, I surrender.” Sam mumbled, and Luke took his sword away while they fled. Then, he turned to you, who was watching the whole thing from the floor.

“Holy shit, thank you.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. They hurt you?” He replied with a grin, helping you up with his right hand.

“Nothing bad.” You responded, twisting your arm to get a glance at the cut. He winced with empathy while grabbing your wrist so he could get a better glance.

“Ouch. Go to the infirmary. It’s bleeding a lot.”

“Whatever. Go get the flag, trooper.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. With a sly salute, you both headed your separate ways. Luke had a pep in his step as he jogged to the bright flag, forgetting all about his partner, who was somewhere in the trees far behind him.

You headed to the nurse, getting it cleaned and patched up easily before setting off to the lake. Sitting on a pointy rock, you waited mindlessly for this stretched-out game to end. Technically you were still in, but your match with Sam was enough fighting for the day.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long, because Luke emerged from the forest a few minutes later carrying a gleaming red flag with pride.

Standing up, you cheered with excitement as you ran up to him, squealing like a little girl. He stopped in front of you and dug the pole into the rocky shore with a grin. Still in awe, all you could manage out was a toothy smile in reply.

“Congrats, Castellan.”

“Eh, it was no big deal.” He joked, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Whatever. Bonfire tonight!!” You laughed and made sure to yell out the last sentence for all of your teammates, who whooped with glee.

When the sun drifted down the horizon that night, you and dozens of campers headed down to the shore, where a sparking fire raged. The flames danced as you sat around, scattered on different logs. You currently sat on the floor next to Luke while he sat on the wood, leaning your back against the dead tree and ever-so-slightly brushing up against his legs.

Everyone had noticed your change in attitude over the last few years. You seemed bubblier and more happy because, well, you were. Falling in love with someone who had a chance of reciprocating feelings was heaven. Every long stare from across the room and gentle touch made your skin crawl with adoration. Maybe you should tell him. But why ruin everything?

As the night stretched on and the violet sky dissipated into a jet black that was freckled with stars, you grew sleepier. And after the third yawn in only ten minutes, you decided it was time to hit the hay.

“Okay, I’m calling it quits. Night guys!” You stood up before turning to Luke.

“Goodnight, Luke.” You whispered in such a caring tone that he felt shivers down his spine. Speechless, he watched with hearts in his eyes as you walked away.

“At least try and be discreet.” One of his friends laughed as soon as your figure went unseen.

August 2nd, 2004

“Absolutely not. No way!” Annabeth yelled at you.

You, Luke, and her all sat on the floor of Cabin 12 playing Uno because apparently gambling “isn’t appropriate for an eleven-year-old.” The problem was that you liked to make up your own rules, while Annabeth strictly stuck to what was written in the instructions.

“Beth, everyone plays this way! Just take your six!”

“If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?” She gave you her signature death stare.

“What are you, my mom? Luke, what’s your opinion?”

“Do not drag me into this.”

“I quit. I’m heading down to the lake, you guys wanna come?” You stated, slamming your mountain of red cards onto the floor and jumping up to search for a bathing suit in your dresser.

“I have archery training.” Annabeth said, grabbing her stuff and walking out.

“I’ll go.” Luke replied a little too eagerly.

“Okay. Meet me at the docks in ten?”

“Sure.” Using his bandaged palms to push off the wood floor, he left to go change.

Slipping into your black swimsuit, you threw a baggy shirt over it and skipped down to the shore, where Luke was waiting with his feet in the icy water.

“Hey.” You alerted him of your presence while sliding off your cover and tossing it down beside you. His breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but gawk at the slivers of your exposed skin. Nervously swallowing, he weakly replied. “H-hey.”

Ignoring the way he stuttered and stared, you jumped into the cool lake. The blue water engulfed you in a refreshing embrace, rolling off your skin as you emerged from the surface.

“I’ll race you to that buoy over there.” You pointed to the white float that bobbled up and down.

“Deal. Winner gets loser’s dessert for a week.”

“Deal.” You took off before he was even in the water, pushing off of the wood dock to accelerate forward.

“Cheater!” Luke yelled playfully before jumping in and following your path.

Eventually, he caught up and even reached the buoy first, grinning triumphantly as you paddled towards him.

“I hate you.” You mumbled, but the beaming smile plastered on your face told another story.

“Fine, you can keep your dessert privileges, but I still want bragging rights.” He offered, not caring a smidge about anything but making you happy.

“Gods, you’re such a good person.” You said, knowing you would have taken his food and flaunted on him for the next seven days.

“Race you back?”

“Fuck no. I’m tired.”

“I’ll carry you. The waters not too deep; you can sit on my shoulders while I walk.”

“You’ll drown.”

“I’m pretty ripped; I think I can manage carrying you one hundred yards.” He jokingly replied with a flex of his bicep, which was definitely appreciated by your wandering eyes.

“Sure. I’m not saving you if you do end up drowning, though.” You climbed onto his shoulders, and he gripped your calfs to help stabilize you and because he really just wanted an excuse to touch you.

“That’s a pretty badass way to die.” He said while trailing through the fresh liquid.

“To die while swimming through five-foot-deep waters?”

“Well, not when you phrase it like that.”

“How would you phrase it?”

“Glorious hero meets his fate at the lake with another counselor’s thighs wrapped around his head.”

You both froze with shock when he uttered his suggestive remark, even Luke not realizing his mistake until after. He felt his cheeks go hot and nervously tried to apologize for making you feel uncomfortable.

“Oh my gods, I swear I did not mean-“

You cut him off with a deep and angelic laugh, clearly not hurt by his poor choice of words.

“You’re a dumbass.” You choked out through heavy giggles, and he instantly relaxed upon realizing you didn’t think he was a complete pervert. Every laugh you released was like a weight off of his shoulders, and that was when he knew he could not shove his feelings down anymore.

Hours had passed, and you two ended up watching the sun fall by the lake while sharing a cherry red and white striped blanket. Not a word was whispered as you rested your head against his shoulder, his curls dripping onto your skin. He couldn’t help but smile as he felt your slow inhalation of the crisp air.

Once night arrived and the cicadas started chirping, it was finally time to break the comforting silence.

“I’m gonna go shower.” You said while slowly standing up and letting the towel drape off of your body.

“Me too.” Luke replied, getting up and placing the towel back on your shoulders so you wouldn’t have to brace the chilling breeze in a swimsuit. As you walked away, he couldn’t help but stare.

“Wait, I need to talk to you once you’re done. Meet me in the Hera Cabin after we’ve showered?” He called out after you, to which you nodded in response.

He needed to confess how he felt about you immediately, or his chest might actually explode. He needed to tell you about how his heart raced every time your touch lingered a second too long, how he ranted to Annabeth every night about the things you did that made him swoon, and how he was madly, head over heels, in love with you.

Once the musk of lake water had fully washed off, you headed to the infamous empty cabin, where Luke was waiting. His hair was still wet from the shower, causing his curls to separate, and he fidgeted with his fingertips while anxiously waiting for your arrival.

“You okay, Castellan?”

“No, I’m not, actually. I need to tell you something, like right now.” He stuttered out, his lip crunched up like he was in pain.

“You’re scaring me a little, but I’m all ears.”

“I love you.” Luke blurted out, the tension in the air increasing significantly with just three words.

“What?” It seemed as if the world had stopped, even the birds quieting down for a listen.

“I’m in love with you.” He repeated, like it was no big deal, like it was second nature.

“You love me?” You whispered out, almost like it was unheard for you to be loved.

“More than anything.”

You swallowed, thinking for a second while he awaited a response.

“I love you too.”

With the conformation of your words, he leaned in until the tips of his nose rubbed against yours. His lust-coated eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips, making it apparent what he wanted. Luke breathed in your fresh scent heavily while watching and waiting for a reaction—for you to pull away or do something.

Trailing a hand up into his hair, you delicately pushed his head until your lips met. His skin was honey-sweet as you gingerly kissed; it looked like something out of a romance movie. He forced himself to be a gentleman and pull apart after a few seconds, no matter how much he wanted to kiss you until his oxygen ran out.

Looking up into his eyes, you craved more. This built-up tension between you two was finally erupting, and it needed more than just a little kiss to be satisfied. So, you took charge and feverishly leaned in for more.

His hands cusped your cheek, carefully avoiding any boundaries you might have set up. That was until you snagged his bottom lip with your teeth, and he lost all self-control. The sweet kisses turned into a full-blown make-out session as he steadily snaked his hand down your torso and to the fat of your ass.

Only breaking for air when absolutely necessary, passion filled the atmosphere, along with hushed moans from the both of you. Luke warily trailed his hand upwards to your chest, and you could tell where this was heading. Panting, you removed your lips from his and spoke up.

“I’ve never.. I’m still…”

“Me too. Do you.. still want to?” He revealed, his heart racing while still daintily grazing your skin.

“Yes. Please.” You desperately nodded, like death was approaching if you didn’t continue. With that, he laid you down on the squeaky mattress of an unused bunk bed and hovered over.

“Gods, you look stunning.”

୨୧

part two in progress…

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MASTERLISTS 𓏲𝄢 REQUEST / TALK TO ME 𓏲𝄢 RULES

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x you #luke castellan angst #liv’s writing !#pjo series

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amandabbbbb · 4 months

Text

summary: stalker!rafe who saves pogue surfer!reader from the obx storm!

tw: stalker!rafe, dark!rafe but that’s just him tho, a storm, idk anything about boats or surfing

word count: 564

you were used to big waves. surfing is your life. you are no professional but you thought you could handle the obxs storms waves but turns out the roughness of the salt water was too much for you.

“hey hey it’s not safe out there come here i can help you get home,” a tall man yelled from his yacht, reaching out a hand for you. you felt stupid being out in a storm. when you lost the pogues and got pushed out to sea you knew your idea had become deadly so the strangers help might save you.

“here lemme help you. you are way too delicate to be out here in these tough waves, pretty girl,” rafe smirked, pulling you out of the water.

“i’m fine but i guess i’m used to smaller waves,” you said with an insecure giggle. “i’m y/n. um i live on the cut. you said you could get me home?” you said with a nervous smile, never meeting this handsome man before.

“why don’t you stay a while y/n? i got fresh clothes that you can wear and beer and snacks if you’re hungry. seriously whatever you want. i’m rafe.”

rafe was so excited to be around you. he’d been watching you surf from his yacht for months. staring at your body from a far wasn’t doing it for him anymore so when you took off your wetsuit rafe audibly moaned, standing up fast and coughing staring at your body in the pink bikini he only saw from a far distance.

“thanks, rafe but i need to get home. you’re really sweet but my friends will be worried since i got pulled into sea by the waves.” rafe made a fast excuse looking out on the horizon.

“i don’t think my boat will make it to shore. it’s just pouring now and it uh l-looks real bad. we um should probably just stay out here for the night.”

“are you sure because i think a yacht this huge can handle a storm like this.” you laughed staring at him confused.

“you think you know yachts y/n? you’re a pogue, stick to your surfboard,” rafe said laughing. you didn’t like his obnoxious joke but brushed it off.

“ya whatever, i’m a pogue. so what? can i get some clothes? i’m about to turn into a ice cube.” you rolled your eyes while walking down to the cabin exploring the living space of the boat. it was a scene straight out of a frat house nightmare, old beer cans and porn magazines.

amongst the clutter, a picture caught your eye: a girl in a pink bikini, surfing on a vibrant wave, laid provocatively on his bed. you reached out to inspect it, but he snatched it away before you could get a closer look “umm so you live here, rafe?”

“does it matter?” rafe frowned as you put on his old shirt and sarah’s sweatpants over your bikini, you asked “no but um where am i gonna sleep stranger? you know this is a major stranger danger situation right now.” you laughed, pointing at the both of you.

he smirked at your bubbly personality that he’d seen from afar as he would watch you at kook and pogue bonfire parties.

“next to me,” rafe said, watching your every movement. “no, that’d be weird. i don’t even know you. i’ll sleep on the couch, it’s no big deal,” you said so casually. mad at your rejection, rafe stood up, hovering over you.

“just seriously y/n. you can trust me ok? just stay in the bed with me, it’s cold out,” rafe said with intensity. as you noticed his blue eyes getting darker and his body getting closer, he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “you know,” he whispered, his voice sending ripples of unease through you, “you always fidget with your necklace when you’re nervous, your fingers trace its outline when you’re anxious.”

your heart skipped a beat. how did he know about that? it was like he could read your mind. feeling exposed, you backed away. his gaze locked into yours, making you feel vulnerable and like he had uncovered parts of you that were meant to stay hidden. you noticed the storm seemed to be calming down since rafe pulled you up on the cameron’s yacht. a perfect getaway.

“you know what uh i- i can handle these waves. don’t worry about me. thanks for helping me though,” you said as you bent over to pick up your wetsuit and surfboard. he grabbed your bicep forcefully pulling you up. he thought of every excuse but couldn’t manage to create one.

“no, no you can’t leave ok.” rafe stated, grabbing you by the wrist firmly. “yo dude, don’t fucking touch me. i don’t even know you.” as you scoff at him, you look deep into his blue eyes and recognize him, letting his rough hands grip onto your waist. you couldn’t put your finger on where from.

“dont fucking dude me. god you are such a pogue. y’know you do know me. i’m rafe. i’m someone you can trust y/n. imma proactive person. if i wasn’t there to help you get out of those waves who knows what could’ve happened to you. i protect you. i’ve been protecting you for months for fucks sake and you don’t appreciate me.”

a/n: idk maybe a part 2 is needed??? send me ur thots!

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rogueshadow1124 · 13 days

Text

AFTERMATH OF VICTORY

[Task force 141 x reader]

Summary: when the task force have had a long mission and need some well needed rest they decide to relax away at base but not without a little amusement.

Word count: 1566

Warnings: none?

The moon cast a silver glow over the desolate landscape as Task Force 141 trudged back to their base, exhausted but triumphant. The mission had been long, grueling, and fraught with unexpected twists, but they had succeeded in their objective. Now, they were returning home, their once pristine uniforms now smeared with mud and blood, the marks of their labor.

Y/N, was leading the way, her boots crunching against the gravel of the path leading to the base. Her hair was tousled, and her face was streaked with dirt and exhaustion, but her spirit remained undiminished. “Seriously, did we have to spend half the night hunting down that rogue operative?” she grumbled, casting a sidelong glance at Ghost, who was walking beside her.

Ghost, his face concealed by his mask, simply shrugged. “That’s what we do. Find the bad guys and make sure they don’t get away.”

“Yeah, but couldn’t we have had a less complicated mission? Maybe something involving less running and more relaxing?” Y/N replied with a sarcastic edge.

Soap, who was a few steps ahead, laughed, turning back to face them. “What, you mean like a vacation? We’ve been over this, Y/N. We don’t do vacations.”

“Right, because that would be too easy,” Y/N shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Instead, let’s do something that involves getting shot at and blowing stuff up.”

Price, the team leader, had been quietly listening to the banter. He stepped forward, his eyes scanning the horizon. “We’re almost there. Just a bit further and we can drop this gear and get some much-needed rest.”

The team pushed on, their fatigue making each step feel heavier, but their shared camaraderie keeping them motivated. When they finally reached the base, the contrast between the harsh night outside and the warm, inviting interior was palpable. The base was lit with a soft glow from overhead lights, and the hum of the heater provided a comforting background noise.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, the team began to shed their gear. Y/N tossed her tactical vest onto a nearby chair with a resigned sigh. “I swear, if I ever see another assault rifle, I’m going to lose it.”

Ghost, who was methodically removing his gear, chuckled softly. “You say that every time. Give it a week, and you’ll be itching for the next mission.”

“Yeah, well, don’t remind me,” Y/N said, flopping down onto the couch with a loud thud. “Right now, I’m all about the relaxation.”

Soap, ever the cheerful soul, grinned as he flopped down beside her, sprawling out with a contented sigh. “Now that’s more like it. No more dodging bullets for the next few hours.”

Price, taking a seat in a nearby armchair, nodded in agreement. “Let’s take advantage of this downtime. We earned it.”

The base’s common area was a cozy, albeit slightly cluttered, space. There were a few worn couches, a coffee table strewn with old magazines, and a small kitchenette in the corner. The room exuded an air of lived-in comfort, a stark contrast to the sterile, high-tech environment of the rest of the base.

Y/N leaned back into the couch, her legs stretched out and her arms folded behind her head. “You know, I was thinking,” she said, looking around at her teammates, “we should really start planning something fun for once. Maybe a team outing or something?”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, though it was difficult to tell through his mask. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

“Bowling,” Y/N said with a straight face. “Or maybe laser tag. Something where we can all be terrible at it together.”

Soap chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, that doesn’t sound half bad. I haven’t been bowling in years.”

Price leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Bowling, huh? I’d love to see Ghost’s form on the lanes.”

“I’ll have you know,” Ghost interjected with a rare hint of defensiveness, “that I have impeccable aim.”

Y/N snorted. “Impeccable aim in a combat situation, maybe. But I bet you’d struggle with a bowling ball.”

“I’d like to see you try to beat me,” Ghost replied, the hint of a challenge in his voice.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Alright, it’s a deal. But be warned, I’m a force to be reckoned with when it comes to recreational sports.”

Soap raised his hand, as if taking an oath. “I’m in. But we need to add laser tag to the mix. I want to see Y/N try to outshoot Ghost.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Y/N said, her voice full of competitive spirit. “You’ll be eating my dust, Ghost.”

As the conversation flowed, the team’s laughter filled the room. The tension of the mission seemed to dissolve as they reveled in each other’s company. Price, with his usual calm demeanor, joined in the banter, his laughter a warm sound that added to the sense of camaraderie.

Y/N turned to Soap, who was now lounging comfortably on the couch beside her. “Remember that time we were stuck in that warehouse for hours because of a broken radio? We ended up using our tactical gear to play a game of hide-and-seek.”

Soap grinned, his eyes sparkling with recollection. “Oh man, I remember that. You were so sure you had the perfect hiding spot, but Roach found you in less than five minutes.”

“That was because he cheated!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing her hands up in mock outrage. “He used the thermal goggles to find me. Totally unfair.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you decided to hide in plain sight,” Roach, who had been silently observing from the corner, said with a smirk. “You should have known better.”

Ghost, still removing his gear, shook his head. “You all are a bunch of children. I can’t believe we survived a mission with this kind of behavior.”

Y/N laughed, a bright, genuine sound that resonated through the room. “Hey, if we didn’t have fun, we’d all be losing our minds by now. This is what keeps us sane.”

The team continued to share stories, each tale adding to the warmth of the evening. As the hours passed, the initial high-energy banter settled into a more relaxed and comfortable silence. They had earned this moment of peace, and they savored it.

Price stood up and moved to the kitchenette, rummaging through the cabinets. “I think it’s time for some coffee. Who’s in?”

Y/N groaned dramatically. “Ugh, you’re a sadist, Price. It’s late, and you want to keep us awake?”

“You know as well as I do that we’re all going to be up in a few hours anyway,” Price replied with a grin. “Besides, coffee’s the least we deserve after tonight.”

Soap raised his hand. “I’ll take one. I’m not ready to sleep just yet.”

Roach, who had been quiet for a while, finally spoke up. “I’ll have a cup too. It’s been a long day.”

Ghost nodded in agreement. “I’ll take one as well. Can’t hurt to stay alert.”

Y/N, realizing she was outnumbered, reluctantly agreed. “Fine, I guess I’ll have one too. But only because I don’t want to be the only one not caffeinated.”

As Price brewed the coffee, Y/N leaned back into the couch, her gaze drifting around the room. The dim light cast a soft glow on the faces of her teammates, and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for them. Despite the harshness of their missions and the danger they faced, moments like this reminded her of the strength of their bond.

Price returned with steaming mugs of coffee, handing them out with a satisfied smile. “Here you go. One round of coffee for the night owls.”

Y/N took her cup, cradling it in her hands as she took a sip. The warmth of the coffee was a comforting contrast to the cold night air. “Alright, let’s make a toast,” she said, raising her mug. “To surviving another mission and to the best team in the world.”

The team raised their mugs in unison, clinking them together in a makeshift toast. “To us,” Price said, his voice filled with pride.

As they drank their coffee, the conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics. Y/N found herself enjoying the ease of the moment, the simple pleasure of being surrounded by friends who understood her and shared her experiences. The laughter and banter continued, and the weariness of the mission seemed to fade away.

Eventually, the coffee was gone, and the team began to wind down. They stretched out on the couches, their bodies relaxing into the comfortable cushions. The room grew quieter as the conversation dwindled, each member lost in their own thoughts or drifting towards sleep.

Y/N, feeling the weight of exhaustion finally catch up with her, snuggled into the couch. Her head rested against the armrest, and she closed her eyes, a contented smile on her lips. Despite her usual fiery demeanor, she found solace in these quiet moments of companionship.

Soap, noticing her relaxed state, gave her a playful nudge. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep. Don’t let us keep you up if you’re tired.”

Y/N opened one eye, giving him a lazy smile. “Nah, I’m good. Just enjoying the rare peace and quiet.”

#x reader #x y/n #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #roach cod #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #cod

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punk-in-docs · 2 years

Text

🕷 Don’t Need Telling Twice 🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader

10.4k words

Summary: Movie Night at Eddie’s place. All the little things that sneak into the cracks in between new love and affection. So I was intending to get a lot filthier with this but somehow it turned out sweet enough to rot your teeth- Eddie being insecure. Wayne being parental, Pencils being nervous. Let’s see how they iron it out man. (It’s really just me waffling about insight into these two lovebirds)

Saturday morning in your scruffy yet clean kitchen. Stereo cranked high. Melded into your happy place.

The bright slip and drip of the opening guitar licks to ‘Should I stay or should I go.’ Joe’s condescending spitting voice begins. You twirl around with the greased baking sheets in hand.

The kitchen is warm, it’s got this odd glow about it, from the slanted sun gushing in through the cream drapes that have yellow flowers on them. The shabby wood cupboards and the creamy tiles of the breakfast counter with its little peach-pink roses, which is now cluttered with baking trays.

Entirely rose tinted in your view. But you’re blasting the Clash. Loud enough to wake the neighbours.

You’re making cookies for your date tonight. Moms tattered pink apron hanging limp off your body from too many washes. Really it’s a scratchy old thing.

This morning did come around quick. Sunrise like a copper-red wound knifing slashes across the sky. Burning the whole horizon to that fantastic blood orange. You’re too squirmy to sleep. Too excited.

Seeings as you were up early, you put it to use and ran to the store. And now you were knee deep in cookie batter. Chocolate chip. Little starbursts of Cocoa powder and flour dusted everywhere. Head banging, head shaking and hair flicking along to Joe Strummer and his ridiculing tone.

You kick the walnut stained cupboard door closed. It’s wonky and juts out like a stubby tooth snapped off a jaw. It’s always been like that.

Every door in your kitchen creaks. Whines all aged. The appliances have their knacks and sticky tricks that come with years and years worn behind them. Temperamental.

Sure even your whole house is nothing fancy. You’ve never had that much money to scrape together, or give a shit that the whole place is dated. One thing wins favour over all that; your place is cosy.

It’s stuffed with life. Scored deep with it. Consumed. It’s not some ultra chic monotone black-red wasteland. It’s got posters and art on the walls, the crazy bohemian touches that come from your entirely whacky mother.

Sure this house wasn’t all that. But she made it great, and celebrated it in it’s own uniqueness.

Same goes for the best kind of people too. She’d say that to you with a wink.

Handfuls of pennies and some imagination went a long way. Clicking her tongue and shooting you her fierce brand of optimism that seeps out her every pore: eternally unflinching.

A lot of it, this house, echoed its funky warm pattern after the musical, magical, mental, woman who birthed you.

Forever hunting thrift stores for funky things. Weird shaped clocks. The Who posters. 60’s pop art. French Impressionism posters. Stupid cartoon lamps with Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck on the shade. Broken and chipped from the Goodwill but she liked that it wasn’t perfect or level.

She bought prints of famous artworks. Degas. Van Gogh. Millet. Flower drawings, or pressed leaves and flowers behind a sheet of glass. Not one piece of furniture matches in your living room. Or any room. The rugs are old and squishy soft, worn to death. It’s whacky to say the least. But you’d take it over any home they’re always flashing from the interior pages of a magazine.

She has blue daisy pillows on the couches. Always buys godawful cheap lemon candles that are all sugar acidic when they burn. But it cements that scent of home to you now.

There’s no inch of wall space not covered by frames or colour. One day she got up and impulsively painted your kitchen a bright buttery yellow. Just because. Flowers stamped everywhere cause she saw the idea in some hippy book.

And she filled this house with second hand books, too many, spilling over with them. She crammed your home with laughter, and literature, arts, and so many idols of your taste in music came from her.

You wouldn’t trade her for the entire world.

Flighty and bonkers as she is. You hate her being away so often, and with Charlie gone off now with her serious boyfriend, it does chip at you on the sadder days. Being here alone. It gouges just that little bit more when she’s not around.

The days when Linda says something particularly cutting, or times when jocks insults jab just that little too deep. You do miss her then. You can’t hate her for it. her job is a real earner and it makes her so happy. She brings you back souvenirs from every little corner of the globe she’s seen. Postcards. Snow globes.

She trusts you. She always says you’re her favourite kid in the world. That she knows of.

She’s not like some of the other Hawkins Moms you’ve seen. Not at all. The ones who all go to the same lousy hairdresser for the ruler straight highlighted bob. Go to Jazzercise on Thursdays. Hate their ignorant husbands. Wear beige cardigans and chunky gold jewellery and are the queen of boring casseroles and insist their kids be in bed by nine.

Then there’s her. Jagged and wound down and much looser. Etched in coolness. Less controlled - more quirky. Crazy hair even on a good day. Cherry ice cream smile. Young by their standards. Berkeley dropout. Strolling around in her suede fringed jacket and a Patti Smith t-shirt and boot cut jeans.

You’ve always seen the way other moms raised their brows at her appearance. They think she’s trashy. A single mom who dresses and eats and acts the way she does.

Scoffing behind her back at the rhinestone jacket or her vintage cowboy boots. She’s punchy. She doesn’t give two shits. She loves both her kids passionately and would be the first to swing a punch, split her knuckles open for you. Always in your corner. No matter what.

She had you both so young and braved through your dad walking out. Good riddance. He never did have the balls to do the important shit.

She told you that once you were just on the cusp of being old enough to understand why he wasn’t around.

Told you as she wrapped her arms around you and engulfed you in a hug. Smelling like Yves Saint Laurent Paris and gold Newports. She kissed the top of your head.

He couldn’t hack responsibility babe. He had his chance. Too bad he blew it. Cause I happen to think you’re the coolest pair of kids in the world.

She bucked up and scraped money together and it stung a bit sure. Pinched the corners of life at times. But she turned the back of her Brooke Shields shiny hair to the stares she gets in this town. Flipped the bird to those Carol’s and Susan’s who dared to judge her.

Somehow they thought she was a deadbeat mom. But she’s now raised two honour roll kids. First Charlie. Now you.

You’re on track for Indie State. Charlie went to Purdue. She said she’d love you even if you wanted to flip burgers or fix greasy old clunker cars for a living.

The phone shrills out loud as you’re scooping sticky chocolate chip dough into the greased sheets. It clumped between your fingers.

“Hang on.” You call out with no patience to the ringing, as you lean over to pluck it from the wall. Cradle it between your shoulder and ear. Trying to locate a dish rag for your smeared messy hands.

“Yeah.” Figured it would be someone for Mom, or a telemarketer.

“How’s it hangin, Pencils.”

Immediately a grin bursts on your lips. It’s Pavlovian. He smiles. You echo it.

You hear his voice? Ok then. Your stomach flew to bits. All fluttery like confetti.

“Well well well. If it isn’t my favourite metal head.” You say as you balance your trays down. Bumping the counter with your hip.

He chuckles through the phone. You hear the crackle of his exhale. You can picture his smile and it’s doing something to your guts that is just, crazy.

“Hey, c’mon now. Play fair. You never told me you were seeing other metal heads? I bet it’s that lanky haired bastard from the pizza place on Beechwood Drive, in his Slayer tees.” He twirled the old green phone cord around his finger. It clacks around that chunky silver ring of his.

He’s so quick to step up and play around and you love it. You can hear the jokiness layered on his voice. Hear him moving around cause staying still is his worst nightmare. Typical Eddie.

God. Look at you. You’re both twirling the phone cords around your fingers like middle school girls. Crushes thick in your throats and smiles. Choking your hearts fully. Paper airplanes tossed with love notes folded inside. Initials crossed together in a pink love-heart.

“Yeah.” You tease. “But his hair isn’t as great as yours. And don’t you know by now that I’ve got guys lined up around the block. I’ve had to have a ticket booth installed.” You pick up your wooden spoon to mix.

“Oh I’m so sorry, Linda. I thought I rang my pencils.” You hear the soft scuff of his laugh.

“Hang on one second, my lipgloss needs refreshing.” You pout. “And I feel like I should be singing ‘If I only had a brain’.”

He beams and it’s so wide his cheeks hurt.

“That’s not the Wizard of Oz I’m hearing over there pencils, right?” He deciphers.

“Saint Joe of Strummer. Our lord and saviour.” You tell him proudly. Cursing when you splodge a little of the sticky dough on the countertop. Looking around for the dish rag.

“I’m of the Anti-Christ church myself. Ozzy is my devil and I’m bound to obey.” He leers. His voice drops and it slithers between your legs to hear it get deep.

“Mmm. Sounds kinky.” You flirt. Trying your hardest not to drop dough on your bare toes where you’re scooping it to the tray. He’s a great distraction to your focus.

“If you’re into blood play and satanic practices baby, I got some great news for ya.” He fiddles with the empty microwave packets on the kitchen counter.

Chicken pot pie from two nights ago. The Kraft mac n’ cheese that he shovels down like air. Usually scraping it out the pan, eating it with a too big wooden spoon. As he reads a rock magazine at the kitchen counter.

“Sadly no. Dungeon stuff only. Oh and leather. Face masks. Lots of whipping too. And biting.” You tease.

“Hang on. Lemme get a pen and some paper… I’ll make a note…” He rustles around like he’s actually searching for it. Wiry body with the twisted phone cord wrapped around his torso.

You smile at his eagerness to please you.

“I don’t think you need to take notes, Munson. Last time was pretty sensational.” You blush. Mixing your batter and flirt is creeping onto your lips.

“Yeah?” He asks. “Jesus. You’ve no idea. It’s been driving me crazy. I should be committed. Look, I couldn’t even wait til tonight to hear your voice. I-“ He sighs in wanting. His tongue was tripping away from him. He drew back. Worried he was being too much.

He couldn’t wait. He had to call you.

“Munson. You never have to be sorry for calling me.”

Cause, I fucking like you.

“You know, you can call me Eddie. Pencils.”

“First name basis? How brazen.” You rib.

“Yeah, later on I was planning to show you my ankles. Risqué or what?” He flirts. You chuckle.

He’s wandering over to the window and flicking the curtain aside with his fingertips to see the same old drab and murky Forest Hills staring back at him.

“What would the village elders say-“ You gasp. “My reputation will be in tatters.”

“Not possible. Your name isn’t Linda.”

“I may have to kiss you for that one.” You warn.

“I’m very open to that.” He says very quickly. Twirling a packet of reds around the shiny surface of the table. Considering lighting one up. The rush of your voice is his nicotine until he hangs up.

You close a cupboard door and Eddie’s ears perk at the sound. “Learning drums over there?” He seeks.

“I’m baking.” You offer up.

Phone at your shoulder and between your ear still as you mix the dough with your other hand to fold in the chocolate chips. Shaking the packet and watching the chips fall. Plinking into the thick batter. It’s very messy and clumsily done.

“Tell me you’re wearing a tiny pink Betty Crocker apron?” He all but purrs down the phone. Licking his lips.

“It’s pink and frilly.” You drawl.

“Mmm. More-“ He rasps down directly down the phone. Grinning. Holds it right to his mouth to talk louder into the receiver.

“Pretty heels too. Lacquered hair like Donna Reed. Whole shebang.”

“Fuck.” He twirls hair around his finger. Almost bites down on his skull ring.

“The images in my head are so unmatched right now. You’ve no idea.” He charms.

“Damn.” He moans again. It’s low and it strikes a direct chord with your pussy.

Shit. You’ve had delicious filthy dreams about those moans. Your hands on that hard dick of his.

“Yeah and don’t forget my strand of pearls.” You grin.

He splutters. Oh he could give you pearls if you wanted them. It’s what he’s been dreaming of.

Such a horny boy.

“You’re the perfect date you know. Kinky as fuck, into whipping and leather. But pearls and baking.”

“You don’t even know what I’m baking-“

“You say pot brownies pencils, I’m gonna go out right this second and buy a goddamned ring.”

“Remember the four C’s. Colour. Clarity. Carat. Cut.”

“Shit. You want a diamond? Hmm I was thinking more along the lines of a pop ring. More in my budget. Or maybe something out the claw machine in the arcade.” He bargains.

“I like a man who puts in the effort. And, hey I’m not picky. I’ll take it. Diamonds are way overrated anyhow.” You decide.

“And just to lay your mind at rest I’m making Extra Chocolate, chocolate chip cookies.”

He cradled his aching throbbing heart. Hand splayed over his chest. Made a groaning noise like he was mortally wounded. A crackle of the sigh rattled the phone.

“Alright. You’re officially too good for me. I’m gonna have to hang up.” He jokes. You laugh.

You really hope he doesn’t.

“Don’t do that.” You ask quietly. “I need to talk to someone sensate. I beg of you.” You urge. “I had to listen to Linda bitch all the way home on Friday about how low fat ice cream sucks, and how much she wants to bang James Spader in Pretty in Pink.”

“Wow that really says a lot about her taste in guys.” He commented. She really was Tiffany-twisted, that girl. Wrapped up in her own over groomed looks, bouncy blonde curls, and sex life. Lived by rules out of Cosmo magazine and fad diets.

“My ears wanted to commit suicide by the time I got home. Thank god cause as I got out the car she started to mention the words sleepover and boyfriend and I just about had the sanity to slam the car door, before anymore came out.”

“Wise move baby.” He beamed.

You preened at the nickname that did dirty things. Finally you now had the cookies ready for the oven.

“Alright...” You clunked the wooden mixing spoon down. “First wave of troops going in. I’ll you know their condition after battle. Hopefully they make a worthy addition to our night as I am trying to impress you with my passably mediocre baking skills.” You charm.

“Hey don’t practice too hard now. You know us guys like em stoopid.” He puts on a southern-belle twang.

“If you can navigate yawself round a tree girlie. Keep on walkin. Them slick city fellers can have ya.” He drawls.

Your laugh makes his whole mood hop into giddy.

“You’re such a goof.” You smile. He couldn’t wait to see that grin of yours in person again. In a mere handful of hours-

“I didn’t need another incentive to be impressed by you, pencils...” He smiles. Tone slipping back into genuine. “Already there.” He offers.

Before you can respond. Hurricane Munson struck elsewhere.

“And uh, Whatever condition those troops are in. I’ll take it. I’m not picky either. Charlie. Tango. Bravo.”

“Good.” You answer. Twiddling with the corner of the dish cloth. Fondness settled like warm oozy mush on your chest. Inescapable.

You could spend hours down the phone listening to Eddie crack his jokes. Twirl around. Get distracted. Put on stupid drama club voices like he was at Hellfire

“There aren’t trees in the way of your trailer are there? Cause I won’t be able to navigate round them all on my own.” You joke in reference to his earlier remark.

“You’re the perfect lady.” He sighs in a sweet hum.

“Oh and uh, I picked the movies for tonight.” He suddenly announced. Sounding cheeky. Brimming with it.

“Yeah?” You asked with inflection. “Yeah.” He answered. With none.

“You’re not gonna tell me are you?” You clued up.

“Leave me to have my wicked wicked fun.”

“VHS tease.” You complained all snarky.

“Scoot your pretty ass over here and come see for yourself you coward.” He dares. Tongue tipped out between his smiling teeth.

“Six still good?” You check. Up on your tiptoes and swirling around the tiled floor. Stomach swooping with anticipation.

“Golden.” He answers.

“Guess I’ll see you then. I’ll be the one in the skirt.”

He sucks air through his teeth. “Ah same here. I hope we don’t clash.”

“Bye, Edward.” You joke. He gasps.

“Mm. Definitely gonna have to let you see my ankles now.” Comes his voice. Smile traced on it. You could tell.

“I’m counting the minutes.” You dip your voice low.

“See ya.” He parts. Slinging the phone back into it’s cradle on the wall. Smile charged to megawatt from your conversation. He wants to twirl and flip his hair. Goddamnit. He couldn’t keep still.

Then he drags his eyes to his surroundings. The crushed beer cans crumpled up on the kitchen counter, and the coffee table. The overflowing ashtrays. Trash in the kitchen. The dishes. The laundry strewn sofa. The dust- he chews his lip.

It was like he was seeing this place through fresh eyes. And it needed rectifying. He rolled up his sleeves.

Shit. He needed to hustle.

It was fair to say Wayne and Eddie had to grow used to living with each other.

The veil of constancy was Eddie’s safety blanket when it came to the gruff and earnestly stoic man, that was Wayne Munson; he pretty much remained himself. Didn’t change much.

Liked his bacon crispy. Made a peach cobbler that would blow your socks off til next Tuesd ay, but couldn’t assemble a sandwich neatly at all. Used to drive big semi trucks across the states. Did the crossword in the Hawkins Gazette. Adored Billie Holiday. Collected comical mugs. Liked strong coffee with cinnamon and had a dislike for cilantro. Loved old spaghetti westerns and that twanging soft country music he always hums too, which had carved space out of his soft-soppy Tennessee heart.

He had hatred for people with nasty gossiping sniping souls. Ugliness born inside, he thinks people don’t ever shift it on or lose that. He worked his fingers to the bone for the modest home and the little money they raked by on. He was unfailingly honest and generous. He had few words to give. He was Eddie’s weather-beaten yet reliable rock.

Eddie can imagine that Wayne getting to know him was more of a challenge; tricky to navigate; herding cats, walking on-knives-and-eggshells kind of difficult. How do you get to know someone when their character is set on shifting sand?

Thing is. Eddie never really changed that much.

He’s still the starry-eyed kid leaping on the couch, shredding air guitar to Metallica in filthy sneakers cause the moment just ran away with him. He’s the one making a huge show of not stepping on cracks in the pavement cause he’s down enough as it is. Not breaking mirrors, ever, and picking up sidewalk spilt pennies. And apologising and stepping over weeds in the trailer lot. Not trampling them underfoot.

Eddie was still the boy inside that felt bad for struggling weeds. The one to feel sorry for a squashed little dandelion.

Wayne wrenched open this home to this kid as a stranger. Barbs and shame-wrapped guilt set in his heart that he didn’t know his brothers own kid better than he did. He kept to his lane. He stayed out the way of his brothers numerous convictions. Remained a stranger to trouble.

But then, when need came knocking; he offered up, no questions asked. The way a bird offered the gentle lift of their wing, to something foreign needing shelter, in a warm bramble nest, from the raging storm.

Eddie will never forget the first words he heard out of Wayne’s mouth. Around the corner of some bland police precinct. Warm. Firm. Dependable.

“He’s my family. He’s blood. That’s enough. Kindly let me see him.”

He didn’t regret stepping up to bat for one minute. Maybe he’s grouchy and he’d never fully ‘get’ or approve of everything his nephew did, or enjoyed. But he didn’t chew him out, or pick at him for it.

He learned what flavour pop tarts Eddie liked best for breakfast. When he needed sleep or help. When he needed space. When to warn him to watch his attitude, or his mouth, or manners, and when to back off. Parental things.

Eddie was a stale eyed kid when he first met Wayne. Perhaps innocent and maybe just jaded enough to see beyond the rose-tinted prism of childhood. He was jaggedy-rough round the edges and not worn into himself yet. Caught up in the hard knocks of social care and down-and-out on his luck, as a mostly unwanted eight year old. That stuck some nasty pins in his ego pretty early on.

Wayne could see how Eddie kept expecting to be shuffled on elsewhere. Big shining eyes that a puppy would envy under a scruff mop of hair. Clutching all he had for dear life. His scruffy collection of tattered comics and stubby pencils and half broken toys.

Kept looking around the trailer like he shouldn’t get too attached. Sat gingerly on the edge of the sagging bed. Shouldn’t make mess or get comfy. Cause soon, he’ll have to pack his scrappy things into that sad cardboard box and eek out a wobbling lipped goodbye. Sad that home hadn’t stuck, again.

Eddie kept that empty scruffy little box sat in the bottom of his closet for six months. Just in case.

Wayne threw that box right in the trash.

Bought him a beat up old turntable. Put a shelf up in his room and a stood a few second hand fantasy paperback books on it. Bought him a few new things that didn’t belong to someone else first.

Wayne watched Eddie fall into stability. To learn how to put roots down. Grow steady and then in quick spurts, into who he was. In that way kids do. The way they grow into clothes that were too big. Shoes that would eventually fill out to fit their steps.

He watched the love of music come blasting in. Middle school. Rolling Stones magazines. Catching Black Sabbath on the radio one day. The appreciation for that loud thrashing dirty-steel rock he now loves. The one that ran vein deep. His idols with the crazy scruffy long hair. He discovered Ozzy and Axl, Judas Priest and Lemmy.

Watched him sew on badges that he bought for pennies at dime stores, and get bloody fingertips cause he really was useless at needlework. Found his signature rings at a cool vintage place outta state. Watched him saw off the arms of his denim jacket and come home with a swing in his step and a DIO shirt from the goodwill - a twinkle in his eye. Determination threaded in this burgeoning passion. Tip of the iceberg.

A plan Wayne. I have a well executed, thorough plan. Foolproof.

Mmmhmm. Is this gonna end up exactly like the last plan you had, kid?

Let’s find out.

Gone from the sweet boy who was too scared of everything, and everyone boring, and being judged, and now he’s turned inside out, full circle, to become this genuinely sweet young man, who turned against that boring tide of beige normalcy.

Eccentric and whirly with the unfocused energy that never burned out. Dynamite blaze kid. Even when he tried to hide scrapes on his knees, and raw knuckles. A shiner that he let his shaggy fringe cover, from an attempt to fight and claw back.

He still gave Wayne that shocking toothy grin with a fat lip and a busted nose, cause he was actually stupid proud of himself - and the way he stuck up for some freshman. The tiny nerdy one who had a carton of milk poured over his head by the meat head jocks. Having pages ripped out his science textbooks by them and spread to the wind like leaves.

Eddie sat beside the newbie with bleeding raw knuckles, cracked jokes, sellotaped those torn pages back together - wonky. Just to show that someone out there, cared.

The smiles became armour, devil horns and Gene Simmons tongue. The hair started to grow out into rioting curls. Doe eyes glinted promiscuity; to those who didn’t know him well enough to know there was no shred of malice anywhere in him.

Eddie collected parts of himself, the way someone would laundry plucked off the line- like the badges and pins he secured on his chest and flashed around for fun.

He found his first DND board and his dice at a yard sale. And then came that sweet head-muzzy strain of Colombia gold, and Reefer Rick and light frothy cans of beer on an empty stomach. He found acceptance. Ripped jeans and scuffed knees. The exquisite pin pricks of a scratchy tattoo the day he turned 18. Asked if he could wear the old sagging leather jacket he found hung in the back of the closet, from Wayne’s younger and more hip days.

The way he went full bonkers-gaga over seeing his 24 fret NJ warlock in the window of a music store in town. Bursting big heart eyes over it and saving up for months. Awfully tempted by the idea of some piercing, somewhere, but nearly fainted when he got in the shop. So that was the end of that. He founded Hellfire and he protected his fellow freaks. Scraped together his high school band.

Collected the little lost sheepies in armfuls, in bunches, so that no one within his reaches would ever have to sit and console that festering hungry chasm of being an unwanted kid, with nowhere to turn.

Cause Eddie knew well enough, it was a bottomless gremlin pit with gnashing teeth, and it would take take take as long as you bothered to feed it.

And all that learning and comfiness, and living, now it currently tapered down to Wayne not being at all surprised, by watching his nephew shaking frail little spindly spiders out into the doormat, talking soothingly to them.

Shooing them out off the glossy pages of his rock music magazine. Telling them to get used to the brave new world of Forest Hills outside these four walls.

“-And kudos by the way for eating the flies. Appreciate you for that. Sorry I’ll have to take down those cobwebs. Consider this your eviction notice.” As he jimmied the last one off the paper and it crinkled noisily. Bracelet on his wrist jingling.

Wayne is peering over the shield of his paper. Coffee steaming away in a chipped Snoopy mug by his side. Cigarette dangling from his fingers. Watching Eddie crouch right at the mouth of the trailer door. Holding it open and watching the insects lope away in new brave directions.

Pieces of clarity started to to swim together when he takes a look at Eddie’s clothes.

Different to his normal threads on a Saturday night; Either he’s kicking his feet into reeboks, shouldering on his leathers and vest to go out a party at some place, and come back reeking of grass and beer breath. Or; he’s shuffling around in his thread bare plaid pyjama pants and a ratty AC/DC tee, asking what’s for dinner through a smeary eyed yawn.

This is neither; he straightened up to go and neatly return the magazine to his room, as opposed to throwing it down to rest in any old place. Odd.

Wayne took notice of his clothes. Black jeans that were suspiciously clean of ash stains or frayed knee holes. His long sleeved black skull tee rolled up to his elbows, ink on display. Chest blazoned with a band name he’s never heard of, and down the sleeve too in gothic red. His hair was all fluffed up - like he’d finally discovered what a comb was.

Eddie saunters back into the room. Flitting from place to place. Shoving beer cans in a bulging garbage bag. Along with empty crushed food packets that he left out. Sweeping crumbs off the counter with his bare hands. Probably over the floor but the effort was there- picking cigarette butts off the floor that he was careless enough to drop.

And Wayne didn’t even have to shoot his usual look, clearing his throat at him, about that nasty habit. He was clearing up entirely on his own. Without prompt.

He was rushing. Rushing was the antithesis of Eddie’s speed. A thin film of sweat on his brow under that choppy lollop of a fringe. He’s crammed garbage bags full. Shoving stuff inside.

Says something under his breath that sounds like “shit” as he darts back into his room. Wallet chain jangling behind him. Socked feet thudding softly on the carpets.

He keeps an ear open for what sounds like commotion. Frantic tidying. The shuffling of clothes by the armful. Closet doors shutting with a thwack. He talks to his guitar as he hums and tidied.

“I know I know. Sweetheart. I should have done this earlier. Don’t look at me like that…”

He rounds up his dirty clothes and does a sniff test - again. That was the third time tonight.

Movement clattering along the hall. Socked feet storm back to the washer. He’s stuffing an armful of mostly all black clothing into it like he’s trying to dispose of body parts in there. Ramming in so much he has to shut the door quick.

“Rat bastard.” He hissed after he shook the dream fresh laundry powder in and slams it shut. Punches it for good measure. His rings clack on the metal-metal contact. Shook his fist out I n the air cause that hurt more than he thought it would.

Now he’s back to the trash bags in the kitchen. Looping them up and walking across the door to dump them outside in the garbage cans. Hopping across the sharp gravel in socked feet like a jumping hare.

Wayne sees that determined set in his brow as the door snaps open and back in slams Eddie at a million miles a second. Frowning at everything he sees. Sloped brows. Mouth curled into a grimace.

He comes to empty the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table near Wayne. Well, it was an old soup can that somehow turned into an ashtray. Annoyed that he missed it. Muttering to himself. Scooping away dust. It was like watching a one man ant farm.

This led to him now being stood on the couch, suddenly reorganising the shelf behind it. Batting cobwebs away from mugs and wiping a hand on his jeans.

“Jesus. I mean how dusty is this place?” Eddie asks to no one in particular. Not expecting an answer.

Silence. Rustling.

Wayne folds up his paper and nicely slaps it down on the arm beside him. Folds his hands in his lap. “Eddie.”

Eddie turns around like a doe eyed deer caught in semi headlights. Twisted at the waist. Back of his shirt riding up over his lithe waist. Peek of his back and his plaid red boxer band showing over the back of his jeans.

The bony notches of his spine poke through skin where he’s leaning over. He blinks owlishly at his uncle. One foot braced on the back of their elderly moth-eaten couch.

“What the hell you doin?” Wayne asks with kind bewilderment. Shaking his head at his kid.

“Spring cleaning?”

Wayne’s eyes narrow as he lifts his hand up and sucks on his cigarette. “Sure?” He checks.

“No?” Comes the answer. Carefully. Wincing. Wayne takes a breather.

“There’s cobwebs. And, dust.” He explained. Pointing to the wall before him. “Look see, dust.”

“Why the sudden aptitude for household chores there, huh?” Wayne asks as he nurses his cooling coffee.

To his shame they don’t exactly keep the place pristine. He tries his best, but on some days work takes it clean outta him. Eddie’s room resembled a garbage tip bomb-site most likely.

Eddie swallows. “You know. Just- some light maintenance.” He shrugs. That was the most plausible answer his brain spat out upfront.

“On a Saturday night?”

“I’m um, totally slammed on Sunday.” He admits. Clapping off his hands.

“Kid. How stupid do you think I am. Because frankly, all I’ve seen, is all I need to see. If you get my drift.”

Eddie turns away and continues his frantic cleaning. Polishing a mug with his shirt sleeve.

“I have… guests… coming over tonight.” If he makes it plural maybe he can get away with it.

“Your DND club.” Wayne guesses. This earns a snort from the metalhead.

“I once saw Gareth eat pizza off the canteen floor. Like I’d bother dusting here for those doofuses.” He grins.

“Then question remains; who are you dusting, and laundry-doing and taking out the spiders for?” Wayne leans forward and asks. Scratching the stubble at the side of his grizzled jaw.

Eddie clings to silence. Which he never does. Never ever does this boy exist without noise bursting out his mouth. Looks like a sheepish kid again.

Wayne’s gaze meets his. ‘Well?’

Cause he would support whomever Eddie chose to bring home. Girl or boy, or undecided. He’s no dummy. He’s got eyes in his head. He’s seen things. The little quirky tics in Eddie’s character when he likes someone. He knows his kid pretty darn well enough by now.

“A girl.” Eddie concludes turning away, like it was casual, cool, and nothing to get worked up over. No biggie. Just… the girl of my dreams. So what? I can be casual about this. It’s totally fine. And normal. Normally fine.

“A girl.” Wayne nods.

“Change this record. It’s skipping.” Eddie leers. Pointing a funny wagging finger at his relative.

“This girl. She royalty or something.”

Eddie cuts a look. It’s just bordering on grumpy and peeved.

“Listen, she ain’t coming to inspect the place or audit us. A little dust and clutter isn’t gonna put her off spending time with you, now is it.”

Eddie sighs. Itched the back of his head. Screwed his eyes shut.

“No. See man. I wanted to be presentable. Cause when she walks in this trailer, she’s gonna be expecting me to look and act like sleazy, greasy trailer trash. And I just. Wanna-“ he clenched his fists.

“Just wanna be….presentable.” He mumbled. Repeating. As he softly scuffed the couch arm with his foot. He sighed. Rubbed a dusty knuckle in his eye until stars scrawled black and bursting.

“Goddd. Look at me. I’ve showered twice. And I untangled the knots out my hair. I used that fancy bar soap I got for xmas that smells like lemons. I brushed my teeth for a whole two minutes. May have used a splash of your cologne. That stung like hell by the way.” He added naughtily. Pinching the collar of his shirt in two fingers and flapping it up and down to cool himself off.

“I’m sweaty. My hair feels itchy. I don’t know what I’m gonna say. She’s gonna be stunning, and awesome and I feel like I’m having a heart seizure or probably a stroke over here. I don’t know man. Fuck-“

Wayne let’s him get it out. As he’s learned with Eddie sometimes it’s best. He often just needed a ramble. To let his tongue lash til he ran dry.

He kicked the couch again. Harder. Still standing up tall on it.

“What’s she like, this girl. She into the same kinda stuff as you?” Wayne enquired.

It dipped muzzily into his big soft heart seeing Eddies mouth hooked right up into a petite smile when he asked about you. One side curls.

“No she’s, uh, she likes Punk music and Bowie, Talking Heads, Billy Idol, and like, you should hear her, she talks about all these artists and shit I’ve never heard of. It’s amazing-“

She’s entirely too good for the likes of me.

“She’s so cool. Effortlessly cool y’know?- And creative?! She likes scary movies and she works in the record store. She hates jocks. I cannot believe she’s actually bothering to look twice at a moron like me. Super senior, King of the freaks.” He jabs his fingers into his bony skull clad chest.

Because Eddie didn’t think it was exactly a secret that flunk out’s like him, were never exactly crawling in babes, or cramming in dates on the weekends.

“I really like her.” He mumbled openly. Wiping palms on his jeans. That’s what this effort all whittled down too.

He couldn’t meet Wayne’s eyes as he said it. It seemed to good to be true. His hopes were so little. Floundering seeds.

He wanted this to go well. He whirled his eyes elsewhere and fidgeted through his words. Typical Eddie.

“I gathered as much from your general-“ Wayne waved his hand around in the air of the living room and towards the kitchen “…Running round. Giving me whiplash just watching you, kid.” He stubs out his cigarette.

Eddie stays where he is. Stood couch top. Absorbing the information Wayne fed him.

“Why don’t you get down from there. Leave the dusting the hell alone. And just relax.” He soothes. Always a balm to the frizzy fraying nerves.

Eddie looks like it could be a trap if he dares to let himself chill out. You say it like it’s easy.

“She must like you to come all the way out here to spend time with you. Just be yourself. I guarantee you, that’s what she’s interested in. Not the state of this place.” He shifts in his chair and groans a little. Adjusts his legs.

Eddie let’s out a huff. Slumps down the sofa and throws his body onto it. Crazy hair flicking after he moved. It’s fluffier too. Some lame attempt at his own hands to pretty it up from its usual insanity.

“What you guys planning on doing?” He seeks. Sips his coffee. Distraction worked well, too. He often found.

“Ordering pizza and watching a couple movies.” Eddie says up to the ceiling. Scanning for cobwebs. Fiddling with the rings on one hand. One knee twitching up and down.

He had the stack of videos ready on top of the TV. Night of the Living Dead. Nightmare on Elm Street. And then Ghostbusters for something undeniably cheesy. The microwave popcorn in the kitchen. A number for the pizza place hemmed in on the fridge with magnets, as per usual.

Wayne makes a soft noise at the back of his throat at hearing that. A smile creeps on his lips. He idly reads the folded back of his paper.

“What?” Eddie quizzes.

Wayne’s smile grows if anything.

“I may be an old man. But I was young once. I do happen to know what that means.” He stared Eddie down in that parental way.

“You’re gonna be careful with this girl, right. Safe sex ain’t no joke.”

That did it.

“Aww man, c’mon.” Eddie choked, cringing, as he launched himself up out the sofa and quickly scurried away like a jangly pillar of goth black missile. Aimed sharpish in another direction.

“It’s a first date, by the way. I’m not gonna be breaking out the condoms and whistles and bells here.” He lets out.

He’s shaking his head and losing himself in the confines of his room. Music is softly shredding out the low stereo. Alice Coopers ‘Welcome to my Nightmare’ sneers softly into his room. He cranks it up.

Wayne stood up. Smiling and shaking his head in making his kid cringe. Gathering his things for work. Walking to the kitchen slowly to empty the dregs of his cup. Leave it in the sink for later. He grabs his things as he walks on past the front door. Heavy work boots crushing soft on the carpets and then the lino.

He walks right up to Eddie’s door, peers into the clustered metal gilded mess of his room.

Shocked to notice he could actually see the floor. And the raunchy pin ups were safely shepherded away inside the closet. The playboy magazines he pretends he doesn’t know about shoved under the bed. The dresser and side tables were still messy as. There’s been an attempt at making the bed. The sheets are straightened and tucked in.

“Listen now, you’re 20 year old man, and you have a zipper. I won’t say any more than that. But you best play it safe. Y’hear?”

“NO.” Eddie fairly shrieks.

“Not listening anymore.” Comes the answer as he faffs around and pretends to be busy with some things in his closet.

“Eddie.” Wayne smiles.

He turns back around and stands up. Expression of limited enthusiasm.

“Wayne. I am the town fuck up in a lot of ways. But not in this way.” He marched back to his bedside. Throws the blue Trojan condom packet up in the air and catches it. A silent ‘see?’

His uncles brow crooks up. Shuffling his wallet into his jeans. Pulling on his heavy fleece lined denim jacket. “Jeez. Those things still in date?”

Eddies face falls.

“They expire?” He flips the packet and looks at the back.

“Lord. I am gettin out of here. Save me some pizza would ya.” Wayne dismisses with a shake of his old head.

This high school romance thing was better left a young man’s game.

Eddie thinks he forgets how to breathe, when the buttery headlights of your car slant into the big window of the trailer.

He poked his head out the door earlier. The air is cool out tonight. Hung with moisture, so thick you could sip at it. Icy cold like a dirty clear martini. The kind of night that bloats up and leaves the taste of wet grass on your tongue.

The headlights are a sobering neon yellow under the cushy spring night that was churning slowly in dregs and streaks, to a violet. Lilac bathed air punched with cold. One of those night slow nights that gets slipped into dark majesty, and the stars cluster bright like winking pearls.

Eddie’s eyes have been on the windows for an hour. He’s paced groves in this thick matted carpet, he’s sure of it. Eyes set on the windows like he’s on a mission. Trying not to chew his nails. Got him acting like a pound mongrel waiting for their owner to come home.

The car lights flick off. Engine cuts dead.

And now he can hear the slam of your car door. His heart rockets into overdrive with scary amounts of adrenaline and stabbing excitement that will, he’s sure, undeniably make a moron out of him before then night is out.

You’re stepping up the creaky porch. He knows those snaps and shifts of the old steps. You’re knocking on his door.

He takes a deep breath. Fills his crappy sentimental lungs, that he placated with a cigarette, twenty ache filled minutes ago.

He cannot open the door fast enough, and the sight of you the other side, roundhouse whirls into his chest. Smacks right between the ribs. Fists him by the front of his t-shirt and yanks-

You’re like that song Wayne hums and taps his feet too, when he makes eggs on a Sunday mo rning. ‘Like being hit by a falling tree, woman, woman what you do to me.’

“Ah woman bearing beer. You’re definitely welcome inside.” He grins. Leaning against his door.

He thinks he keeps on imagining how pretty you are. But here you stand with the cheap orange light of the trailer washing back over you, haloing your body like a wash of heaven, and he’s gotta remember not to stare.

You’ve brushed this smoky-sparkly purple eyeshadow on. Nightshade purple like the sky out tonight. Big lashes all dark too. Your lips are pink shiny and glossy. (You so totally stole a tube from Linda, naughty pencils)

You’re wearing a brown corduroy skirt and a black polo neck. Long brown leather boots up to your calves. Your hair is so silky. Eyes shimmering this angel honey warmth at him.

You’re holding an eggshell coloured plate of Saran-wrapped cookies. Piled high and dark chocolate. In your other hand you have a six pack of coors and something else-

“Best part?” You begin.

You hold something up, tilt your head and there’s that smile.

The thing you hold, it’s all canine teeth and fake tufts of hair. Two triangle ears. Tacky acetic smell of plastic. “For the Heist.”

A wolf man mask. A smile leaps onto his lips.

“You think of everything.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Got yours I hope Pencils?” He asks with a levelled look as he widens the door for you to step in.

“It’s in the car. Messes up my hair.” You shrug. You climb up the last uneven wedge of a step and move to come inside.

“Hey.” You smile. He liked that you goofed around first. Went traditional greeting second.

“Hey back.” He said softly. Pretty smile all wide. Espresso dark eyes fixed unendingly on your face.

You nervously chew your lip and gaze down. You want to lean over and kiss his cheek but didn’t want to overstep or be weird about it.

You clunkily flounder on the doormat. Self doubt lingers on your fingertips. You wish you could just escape into the confidence to lean over and kiss him like you did the other night. But then you had a belly of vodka and Dutch courage backing you up.

Decide hand him over the plate of cookies. He can smell the cocoa and sugar sneaking out when he takes the thing off you. “For you-“ you gift.

“Troops made it. Well done boys.” It makes you chuckle. Wiggles the plate in one hand and talks to the cookies.

“Hope you got a sweet tooth. I made so many.”

“Always.” He answers to your enquiry. “My diet is 98% Oreos and mini powdered donuts.” He beams.

You nudge the beers in your hand too. “Fridge?”

He takes them off you gently. “Yeah, here, gimme.” He bundled them up and stepped past you. The door snapped shut behind him and you took in the space as Eddie padded to the fridge.

You smile as you gaze around the walls. The scratchy orange curtains. The warmness of the lamps splashing up light. A very well beloved couch and all the mug keepsakes and hats on the walls. It’s cosy. It’s a home. Capital H. Just like yours. You can see that from one glance.

The Campbell’s soup can used as an ashtray cause the actual red glass ashtray next to it was overflowing with pocket junk. The plaid shirts yet to be ironed, crumpled somewhat clumsily in a laundry basket. Some sepia family pictures tacked to the space above the counter where the sun won’t bleach them. The red pansy pattern on the sofa that clashes with the lone saggy yellow throw pillow. The marbled malty brown carpet.

A place that sure wasn’t fancy, but had character and warmth in swathes more than anything designer and clinical green money could buy. It’s a sagging trailer sure, no hiding that. But you imagine with a cold shower of outside patting at the roof, these friendly yellow walls would swallow you up in their charming blanket of old cigarettes, male cologne and powder dreamy detergent. Some scratchy record playing blues and a snuggly throw on that couch, it would be a sort of enclosing haven.

“It’s uh- not much. But… a place to crash or to hang your hat, as Wayne says.” Eddie trails off. Setting the cookies on the counter. Nodding in jest towards the numerous baseball caps.

“I like it. Honestly. You should see my house. Moms hippy-bohemian posters and pretty strange sense of interior decor reigns strong.” You tell him.

“I’d like to see that.” He says as he clunks beers in the ancient whirring fridge. You smile over at him. You nod and share eye contact.

“Come through the front door this time though, perhaps. Save your ass from that thorny rose bush.” You encourage warmly.

“Awh. You’re worried about the state of my ass.” He preens. Leans against the counter and gives you moony eyes.

“Damn right. Someone’s got to be.” You answer back.

“Thank heaven it’s you.” He simpers. Smile

Slowly crawls up and your stomach warms all dizzy. You bite your lip.

“Drink?” He offers. Hands splayed over the counter. “We got Pepsi, ginger ale.”

“Actually, a beer would be great.” You nod. Cold buzz light give you some courage to finally bump your mouth to those soft sweet lips you adore. And had missed.

You should have done it tonight the second he opened the door. Damn politeness. You should’ve sprung on him.

“Two beers. Coming up.” He grins. Drums the counter with open slaps of his hands. Dives for the fridge.

You unzip your boots. Worried about getting wet marks on the floor.

“Princess. Your shoes are probably cleaner than this carpet.” Eddie explains wryly from behind the fridge.

Coming back to see you standing into the mushy carpet in your bare feet. Painted toes mulberry purple. Sparkles glitter gritty over the deep paint.

“It’s the principle of the thing now, Munson.” You say as you toe them off. Stuff your socks inside. You place them by the door and wander over to the jut of the counter. Standing the other side looking at him. His skin itches and leaps with the realisation of your smiling at him. He more than likes it.

He’s got the beers before him. Cracking them open. The fizz and the hoppy mist. He slides yours on over for you to catch like a saloon bar in a western.

“Mi’lady” He says as he raises his can up for you to crash them together in a toast. A tinny clank where you toast. His rings clack on the side of the can.

“Thank you, gallant Knight.” You flatter. After taking back a cold hop filled sip.

It makes you think of that slanted drunken time in Kyle’s garden. Sharing polite sips of a warm beer. Stealing glances under fringes and sparing longing looks.

You watch his brows raise with surprise at your choice of title. “And here, I thought I was the jangly belled jester dude. Or the scrawny but lovable bard.” He grins all toothy.

“Fraid not. You’re my Knight in shining DIO vest.” You tell him.

If you had to, you’d rearrange the entire solar system by hand to see the sight of Eddie Munson blush again the way he is now. His cheeks full with it.

He scratches the back of his neck and looks like he wants to twirl away and hide in his hair all bashful.

“You rescued me from the pack of Ogres and brought me healing Campbells aid. Not to mention some very seriously delicious behaviour in a closet.” You played along. Fiddling your fingertips along the edge of the counter. “That’s Knightly behaviour, my guy.” You nod.

“You’d be ok with being my maiden then, huh?” He can’t ignore the very bloated intent behind those words. Chews the inside of his lower lip. He can taste beer and he’s so aching to kiss you again.

“More than ok.” You met his longing brown gaze. Those melty eyes standing stark under that chippy fringe. “Hey, as long as you don’t think I’m the Dragon. I’m fine with whatever.” You hold your hands up.

His smile brightens. “I think we all know who the dragon is, pencils.”

You laugh.

His heart swoons.

And then it twirls somewhere different. He looks intent. Like he wants to grab something but can’t. Pent up. Like he’s digging fingers into the counter to keep from something else.

“Ok, excuse the shit outta me but, fuck it, I should have done this the second I saw you tonight.”

He suddenly bursts into movement around the counter. You follow where he rounds it in record time. Chain jangling. Socked feet padding the floor.

Emotions are chunky jagged things that can’t contain him. Slip off his body like oil slick. Beat off him like rain bouncing off concrete. It can’t contain him or maybe it’s the other way around.

He comes your side and you can barely have a breath before he’s cupped your neck either side, so gentle, and pushed his lips onto yours in a kiss so sweet it made your brain wipe blank.

His body cages you back into the counter. Tile top digging the back of your waist. Your hands flounder for a second. You smile to his lips before your hands come to his back. His belt buckle jams to your skirt and it makes your stomach flutter with want.

He tastes the same and it’s a flavour you’re oddly fascinated by. Smoky brush and hoppy beer. Maybe a little acrid but you don’t mind it. So traditionally Eddie it makes your knees wobble.

His thumb is soft on the line of your jaw. Savours the way He languidly kisses you out of breath. He swallows a sugary clasp of a little gasping noise you made. Wants more- more more more of them. He’s caught in your orbit and never wants to fall out of this clutch of your gravity.

Tastes the gloss off your mouth and he prays you don’t think him a massive perverted creep for this.

When you break for air, his lips don’t wander far. Spit wet and near yours and now he’s wearing sugar high pink gloss too. His nose lays along the line of yours.

“Sorry-“ He gasps.

He may have short circuited your brain with that kiss. Glitched something out for sure.

“I don’t see what sorry has to do with that.” You murmur softly. Leaning up to brush your nose into his. Try to contain this harsh vein buzz he’s got going in you.

“Inviting you over to my trailer and mauling you.” He gasps as he rakes a soft brush of hair off your cheek. Back tenderly behind your soft ear.

You push on your tiptoes. Capture his mouth in a slowly melting peck. Hand sliding across his cheek. Palming a cheekbone. Fingertips nesting in that dry wild mane.

“I don’t mind a little mauling.” You explain. He rests his hands on your hips with a self satisfied chuckle. Thumbs stroking the waistband of your skirt.

“Not very Knightly.” He quipped. Going dumb the way you plucked kisses at his mouth in-between his attempts to speak.

“Chastity is overrated. I’m not waiting in a fucking tower to protect my virtue.” You tell him.

You’ve got his fucking chest skipping and his heart is on the roof of his mouth. Cheeks ache from smiling.

He holds your waist like he’s afraid you’ll move or drift away. Ridiculous. You’ve patiently waited to get here. You’re not budging. Eyes set on yours. The wet gloss glimmer of your lips and those eyes he pathetically wants to stare into like he’s discovered a new form of Eden.

“I can’t believe I didn’t work up the courage to talk to you sooner.” Bursts out his mouth before he can stop it. A shy little confession that he feels very nerdy to have given a voice too.

“Wanna know something?” You tell him all softly. Stroking over the wavy tips of those choppy bangs.

“If not guess I’ll just kiss it outta you…” He decides. Eyes dizzily on your lips. His hips sway into you and he tilts his head to plant a sweet kiss at the corner of your mouth.

“I think I had a crush on you from the very second you got sat behind me in history class.” You explain.

You couldn’t help it. There you were all wrapped and stirred up in your love of punk and anarchy. And then in walks this crazy, messy leather clad and metal dipped kid with doe eyes and trouble stroked deep into his smile. The frenzy and the non-conformity. Clutched you good.

“Why do you think I always tapped on your shoulder asking for a pencil, pencils?” He teased. But he wasn’t done;

Sense slotted into place.

“Do you know why I call you that by the way?” He checks. Voice such a soft chasm of purity.

“I assumed the way I’m always covered in graphite and ink, and paint splatters.” You shrugged.

“No.” He raises your hand up and marks a kiss the back of it. “But I do really dig that look on you.”

“Alas-“ He continued. “Its because you never snapped at me. Never once rolled your eyes or ignored me when I tapped on your shoulder. You didn’t dismiss me the way everyone else did.”

You’re floored. Stood pinned to this counter and you’re so touched.

“You always gave me a pencil. Always. And you smiled at me as you did it. Didn’t tell me to keep it with disgust or bark that you wanted it back right after. Look at it like you’d contract rabies from being touching something I’d used.”

You indeed smiled at him. You asked about the patches on his vest. About the bands you’d not heard of. Told him the answer to a random question of the pop quiz if you saw him struggling. Twisted around and caught sight of the horned devil skull he was doodling and thought it was cool.

You lit up when he came into class or when he said something funny. And sure, he did show off in the hopes it would earn that beam of yours. He always felt like opportunity slipped out his hands when you scurried away after class finished.

He tried every day, to stay and catch your eye- make you laugh again. Just something to rouse that little kernel of connection he had to you. And when he saw you around you were always alongside the blonde one he assumed was too cool to approach.

“Wow, we’re morons. It’s only taken us this long to get things going.” You supplied casually.

“Pencils. Trust me. I noticed you beside that blonde poodle friend of yours a lot. I thought how pretty and awesome you seemed. Would’ve tried to talk to you, but I kinda thought you hated me.” He admits with a wince.

“Why?” You ask almost sadly. Ready to crunch up your own conscience in guilt.

“That’s what people usually do. They don’t even get to know me they just decide to skip right to the ‘hating my guts’ part.”

You shake your head. Boldly.

“Not this people.” You say. Cupping his cheek. “And I’d like to spend a lot of time proving that tonight.”

Your free hand slunk to his waist. Holding him with a perfectly lovely touch that has his knees swooning. Fuck it, yes. He could swoon too.

He smiles at that. And it’s so stunningly honest it makes the slippy walls of your heart ache. Lays his lips onto yours again.

“What’s say we order this pizza, get buzzed and uh, do some very dirty hand stuff on the couch whilst we pretend to be interested in it?” He grins.

“Perfect.” You slip up and kiss him again. Arms crossed over his shoulders. Body entirely pasted to his.

“Does this mean we’re officially dating now?” You ask him sweetly when you pull back. Not having moved one inch away. Engrossed, entangled and entwined.

“It better.” He nudged his nose to yours. And it really was as simple as that.

“Fuck. I wanna kiss you again. Can I-“ He started, and before you can even answer. Before your tongue can shape and push words out your teeth. He’s on you again.

“Baby. We’re way past asking permission.” You break away and breathily tell him as the kissing gets heavier, more intense. Arms squeeze harder. Getting closer when there’s no room to spare already. Crushed. No breath. It’s glorious.

“Don’t tell me that.” He flirts. If you give him free-reign, you’ll never be able to reel him back again. You just won’t. He’s far too, far gone.

“Believe I just did.” You tell him. Ballsy.

He leads you stumbling by the waist over to the couch. Smiling. Nibbling your lower lip. Sucking and his tongue sweeping yours. Knocking and kissing, knees touching. Falling and falling into each other again. You gasp where you awkwardly clash together on the lumpy couch cushions.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that one Pencils.” He teases. Face all blushy and definitely love-drunk. Kiss dazed. Funny how you’d quite forgotten about those beers all of a sudden.

“Bring it on, Munson.” You urged.

🕷️This here? Oh no biggie. Just the next part of Eddie x Pencils 🕷️

My taglist for the JQ babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx

#eddie munson #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #Eddie Munson fluff #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x original character #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #super freak series #stranger things s4 #stranger things #i would die for this man #punkwrites

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brokehorrorfan · 2 months

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EC Comics, the influential horror comic company that gave us Tales from the Crypt and more, has been resurrected by Oni Press. Broke Horror Fan has an exclusive first look at the covers for Cruel Universe #3 and Epitaphs from the Abyss #4.

Cruel Universe #3 features work from Cullen Bunn (The Sixth Gun) and Davíd Rubín (Sherlock Frankenstein), J. Holtham (The Handmaid’s Tale) and Kano (Gotham Central), and Zac Thompson (Cemetery Kids Don’t Die) and Dan McDaid (If You Find This).

It will be published on October 2 with five cover variants: Cover A by Greg Smallwood, Cover B Dave Johnson, EC Homage variant (1:10) by Jay Stephens, Artist Edition variant (1:20) by Johnson, and Archive Edition variant (1:50) by Rian Hughes.

Epitaphs from the Abyss #4 features work from J. Holtham (The Horizon Experiment) and Raúl Allén (Dune), Amy Roy (The Lonely Store) and Claire Roe (Dark Spaces: The Hollywood Special), and Jay Stephens (Dwellings) and David Lapham (Stray Bullets).

It will be published on October 16 with five cover variants: Cover A by Lee Bermejo, Cover B James Stokoe, EC Homage variant (1:10) by Jay Stephens, Artist Edition variant (1:20) by Stokoe, and Archive Edition variant (1:50) by Rian Hughes.

Read on to see the rest of the cover variants and learn more about each title.

The world's most existentially devastating comic magazine plumbs new depths as Cruel Universe #3 begins a manned expedition to the extremes of human existence and imagine the terrifying possibilities of what to expect when the best of intentions meet the cold, hard reality of our worst instincts. The world and everything you hold dear within it may be doomed to the cold touch of entropy... but at least you can keep this comic as a souvenir!

Every tombstone tells a tells a tale in Epitaphs from the Abyss #4 – the next unrelenting issue of EC’s flagship horror title! Fueled by the vengeful spirit of the legendary EC Comics, we proudly present all-new tales of the macabre and merciless from some of the top talents with a penchant for dragging you down to the bottom stair of despair!

#ec comics #tales from the crypt #epitaphs from the abyss #cruel universe #horror #greg smallwood #dave jonson #jay stephens #rian hughes #lee bermejo #james stokoe #exclusive #article #book #gift

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crissiebaby · 8 months

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Bab Rats: Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: This POV story contains diaper usage, humiliation, masturbation/diaper sex, hypnosis, gender transformation, breastfeeding, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

Commissioned By: Strawberry

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*TICK! TOCK! TICK! TOCK!*

The second hand on the analog clock echoed rhythmically across the bright waiting room with blue and pink walls. It was a mostly baron space save for a few waiting chairs and couches, some magazines that no one reads on a coffee table, and a receptionist's desk with no one sitting at it. Needless to say, it wasn’t the friendliest environment for the waiting room of an ABDL diaper company.

That being said, neither of the two people sitting in the waiting room paid any mind to their surroundings. Instead, their thoughts were on the insane roles they were volunteering for within said diaper company. “Please mark all kinks and fetishes you are comfortable with,” read Hanna as she worked through the rather lengthy stack of documents held together by the metal clamp of a clipboard. All of the classics were accounted for, from ageplay and bondage to the more intense topics like body modifications and sensory deprivation. Her face became flushed as she began ticking off box after box.

Likewise, her male counterpart, Sam was equally flustered by the kinks he allowed himself to tick off. He peeked up from his clipboard at Hanna before angling his clipboard away from her further in embarrassment. In the back of his mind, he knew that embarrassed feeling was something he was just going to have to live with from now on. After all, both he and Hanna were willingly handing over their privacy and autonomy to a fetish diaper company.

“HELP WANTED: Does a life filled with adulting wear you down? Do you ever wish you could spend your days living in padded luxury just like CrissieBaby? Well, now you can! The CrissBaby Diaper Company is looking for subjects to participate in our brand-new Bab Rats Program. Members of the Bab Rats Program will live on-site and have all of their needs catered to while working with our team of testing specialists!” That’s what the advertisement said as Hanna and Sam were struggling to find any sort of work. It almost seemed too good to be true, even with the ad’s final caveat, “NOTE: Due to the private nature of our company’s work and the various changes our subjects may sustain during testing, members of the Bab Rats Program will become permanent residents of the CrissBaby Diaper Factory.” It was a dubious warning given in no uncertainty. However, in spite of that warning, Hanna and Sam were merely two of the thousands of hopeful applicants who sought to give up their bodies and souls for a lifetime of free diapers and zero responsibilities.

Signing her name and dating the final page of her contract, Hanna let out an anxious, yet exhilarated sigh. Growing up a sheltered girl from the East Coast, she’d always dreamed about being sent back to diapers against her will and turned into an adult baby for the rest of her life. Little did she know that she’d be sentencing herself to a perma-diapered existence: a thought that made her chuckle as she printed her name on the bottom line.

Sam, meanwhile, was equally as tense as Hanna, though without her excitedly horny energy. On paper, he had everything going for him. He was an attractive guy and a college senior with a bright career in electrical engineering on the horizon. It was his hidden fetish for all things ABDL that inevitably did him in. Part of him didn’t believe he had even the slightest chance of being picked for this program. So, to find himself selected as one of the lucky candidates was as jarring as it was bittersweet. Was he really about to throw away his future like it was nothing? As he hesitantly signed his name in broken cursive, it almost felt as though his right hand was making that choice for him.

“Hey…uh…Sam was it?” said Hanna, her voice catching the intensely focused Sam off-guard. She scooted across the couch she was on, inching closer to him as she continued, “Are we just supposed to hang onto these or do they want us to set them…somewhere…” Her ADHD-riddled brain trailed off as she briefly glanced down at the list of kinks he had checked off.

It took Sam a few seconds to register what she was looking at. He immediately shielded his clipboard again, this time wrapping an arm around it and hugging it to his chest. His actions brought additional rosiness to Hanna’s cheeks and caused her to retreat, leaving a strained silence to grow between them.

Mercifully, it was only moments later that the double doors stationed to the left of the reception desk parted, and a smartly dressed woman in a lab coat entered the stilted waiting room. “Hanna? Sam?” she said, waiting for nods of affirmation from her two subjects before continuing, “Excellent! My name is Dr. Isla Madrigal. I’ll be overseeing your progress throughout the Bab Rats Program. Think of me as your new boss…or caregiver. Whatever fills your diaper. If you’ll please follow me, we can get started,” Pushing up her glasses on the bridge of her nose, she spun around on her back foot and opened one of the doors widely for Hanna and Sam not unlike an owner luring pets into a cage.

Hanna promptly stood up and let in a deep lungful of air. She was ready for the rest of her life to begin. Shoving any lingering doubts to the back of her mind, she approached Dr. Madrigal and handed her the keys to her life in the form of a thoroughly vetted contract. “Th-thank you,” she said, her voice cracking slightly due to the height disparity between herself and the kind doctor.

“Of course, Hanna,” said Dr. Madrigal, shifting the clipboard under her arm and petting Hanna’s head softly. She smiled down at the pink-haired shorty, mentally noting how easy it was to make Hanna blush and how dutifully she submitted. Her attention then turned to Sam, who had yet to leave his seat, “Samuel, I’m afraid we must get a move on.”

“O-One second,” stuttered Sam as he frantically moved to finish his documents. He’d never been a speedy test-taker in school, which was unfortunately a trait that carried over to his adult life. He quickly ticked off a few more fetish boxes, wanting to make sure he didn’t leave anything out before scribbling his name on the bottom line. If only he had taken his time, he may have noticed that one of his checkmarks was a tad longer than the others, stretching into the box directly above it. Sadly, he failed to notice this as he rushed to hand off his clipboard to Dr. Madrigal.

With both clipboards in hand, Dr. Madrigal waved Sam and Hanna through the double doors and into a narrow hallway that looked akin to something one would find in a hospital. The blank, white walls were lined with various numbered doors, giving the space a sterile feeling that only bolstered Hanna and Sam’s unease. Thankfully, it wasn’t a far walk from the waiting room to their next destination.

“Ah, here we are!” said Dr. Madrigal as they arrived at a door with the number, 1096, hanging in its center. She unclipped her badge from the breast pocket of her lab coat and scanned it on the card reader to unlock the door, “Welcome to your new home.”

When the ad promised that members of the Bab Rats Program were going to live like CrissieBaby, they meant it. The nursery that Hanna and Sam were ushered into was like something out of an ABDL wet dream. From high-end tech pieces such as the Walker Pro and Auto-Changer to the diaper shelves filled with every variety of CrissBaby brand diapers under the sun, this was a diaper fanatics paradise. Neither Sam nor Hanna could hold back their child-like wonder as they stared across the landscape of their new nursery with mouths agape.

However, for as eager as Hanna and Sam appeared to be to dive head first into all the fun their new surroundings could provide, neither subject moved far beyond the doorway as if waiting for someone to pinch them and wake them up. Luckily, Dr. Madrigal was standing by to reassure them that their new home wasn’t going anywhere. “Make yourselves at home, cuties! You have a bit of time before our first scheduled tests so feel free to play and explore the area,” she said before gesturing to the large pane of glass line positioned on the wall behind her, “If at any time you need anything, either myself or a member of my staff will be in that room monitoring your progress.”

With such an onslaught of important information being thrown at them both visually and verbally, Dr. Madrigal could practically hear the dial-up internet tone ringing over both their heads as they processed what she had said. “W-Wait. We’re living here…together?” said Sam, his big smile fading into concern as he noticed the pair of cribs sitting next to each other, one pink and one blue. It was a tough pill for his ego to swallow as he realized he would now have to share this giant, one-room nursery with an attractive girl while being diapered 24/7, “Why can’t we have our own rooms? No offense, by the way, Hanna.”

“None taken,” chimed in Hanna, who was also grappling with the idea that she would now have to change both her clothes and diapers in the presence of a guy she’d just met, “Or how about maybe we could at least get like a barrier for the changing table? I can be flexible.”

Sadly, Dr. Madrigal could only shake her head at Hanna and Sam’s earnest request. “Apologies but the Bab Rats Program works off a buddy system for both accountability and emotional support. I’m afraid you’ll be bunking together for the foreseeable future,” she said, playing up her sorrow for their situation. In reality, this was her program, and she intended to keep it running like a well-oiled despite any reservations her subjects may have initially, “As for privacy, I’m afraid it’s of vital importance that you both remain visible to my staff and me at all times. I’m afraid that subsequently means you’ll remain visible to each other as well.”

Hanna and Sam were left speechless by this news, with neither of them possessing a single argument to aid their cause. All they could do was slowly come to terms with the conditions of their new living arrangements. They supposed they shouldn’t have necessarily been surprised by the lack of privacy but it was still a shock to the senses to be told all personal privacy was now revoked. Like it or not, they were now roommates living under the watchful eye of the CrissBaby Diaper Company.

*BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!*

“Oh, shoot! That’s the alarm for my next meeting. I hate to cut our intro short but I really must get a move on,” said Dr. Madrigal, backing away from her subjects and stepping through the doorway as she spoke, “I’ll be back later today to conduct your first tests. Try to get yourselves cozy in the meantime. Have fun!”

And with that, the door sealed behind her, leaving Hanna and Sam alone together once again. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, Sam knew the first thing he wanted to do was make sure Hanna felt safe around him. “Um, we can work out a system so that we don’t peek at each other whenever we change,” he said, his focus struggling to avoid the eye-candy buffet of ABDL products scattered about.

“Y-yeah, we can always just stand in the corner Blair Witch style if we have to,” responded Hanna, chuckling at her own joke. Unfortunately, based on the odd look Sam gave her, he wasn’t super familiar with the reference. Clearing her throat, she extended a hand toward Sam, “I’m sure we’ll figure something out. Now, I say we try to stop worrying and enjoy ourselves a little. I mean, you can’t tell me you don’t want to try out like everything in here.”

Snickering alongside Hanna, Sam knew he couldn’t deny the truth in Hanna’s statement. “Oh, I most definitely do. Guess we both have to get used to being our diaper pervy-selves around each other,” he said, placing his hand in Hanna’s and shaking hands with his new roomie, “Also, dibs on the Walker Pro first.”

Playfully pouting in response to Sam’s diligent dib-calling, Hanna responded, “Not if I get there first!” Without warning, she abruptly broke from the handshake and took off running in the direction of the Walker Pro.

Not wanting to concede to Hanna, Sam giggled as he chased after her. “Oh, no, you don’t!” he shouted, casting aside any concerns he had and taking a moment to enjoy everything that CrissBaby Diaper Co had to offer.

TO BE CONTINUED…

-------------------------------------------------------------

SubscribeStar: subscribestar.adult/crissiebaby pixivFANBOX: crissiebaby.fanbox.cc All CB Links: linktr.ee/crissiebaby

Edited by AllySmolShork

Special Thanks to Our CrissBaby Diaper Company Investors: BlossomBitchDolly BlushyBen DD Exminister Gun1242 JFN LittlePissy PrincessKittenLizzi Strawberry Sweetsamantharebecca

#ab/dl #ab/dl art #ab/dl stories #ab/dl girl #crissiebaby #diaper art #diaper stories #diaper humiliation #dirty diaper #diaper messy #wetting diaper #diaper hypno #hypnosis #crissbabydiaperco

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louisupdates · 2 months

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Louis Tomlinson expands the 28 clothing universe with a football-inspired collection

The Doncaster-born singer, Louis Tomlinson, continues to expand his horizons beyond music with a sophisticated football-inspired collection.

POR: ALEJANDRO CARRILLO JULY 29, 2024

Louis Tomlinson’s clothing brand, 28 Clothing, presents a new collection under the theme “Home and Away”, featuring a captivating color palette that includes enchanting lavender hues. The brand name is a tribute to Louis’ favorite number, 28, which he also has tattooed on his hand.

Furthermore, it nods to his hometown, Doncaster, by including a flower inspired by the White Rose of York in the logo, a symbol widely used in the region, including Louis’ beloved Doncaster.

The brand stands out for its production of unisex clothing, demonstrating the versatility of each piece. The new collection includes turtlenecks, sweaters, football shirts, sweatpants, and socks.

Third round of success

This is the brand’s third collection, and like the previous ones, it is expected to sell out quickly. In fact, the Lavender Ecru sweater is already sold out. The previous collection, launched in December 2023, was also a resounding success.

The brand’s off-pitch style guide continues to evolve, featuring half-zip jerseys with digitized graphics and the characteristic “OFFICIAL PROGRAMME” inscription. Elegant short coats and checkered sportswear sets inspired by referees effortlessly transition from city to pitch, while turtlenecks with the number “28” arrive in light blue tones.

Color-blocked t-shirts, paneled skirts, and nylon pants complete the range, anticipating the next collection with floral embroidered MA1 bomber jackets arriving later this year.

Prices range from £15 to £120.

About 28

Louis Tomlinson, the former One Direction member, took a big step into the fashion world with the launch of his own clothing brand, 28. This name is not a random choice but a tribute to his squad number at Doncaster Rovers, his local football team since childhood.

Louis’ passion for football is evident in every piece of the 28 collection. The first line, inspired by vintage style, evokes the nostalgia of 70s and 80s football matches. Checkered tracksuits, t-shirts with the text “Official Programme”, and lightweight hooded sweatshirts are some of the garments that make up this summer collection.

28 is not just a clothing brand but a way to connect with a community. Louis seeks to create a space where football and fashion lovers can feel identified. The brand reflects his own personality, combining his casual and relaxed style with a touch of sophistication.

28 is a brand that represents Louis Tomlinson’s passion for football and fashion. With a design inspired by vintage style and a message of community, 28 has become one of the most popular clothing brands of the moment.

We hope you enjoyed this article about 28, If you did, please share it with others. You might also be interested in reading our article about Diesel, or browsing other reviews in our Luster English section.

#louis tomlinson #28 clothing #28 clothing drop 3 #louis press #6.8.2024

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badomensteablog · 6 months

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In less than a decade, Bad Omens have built an impressive career. They are one of the most popular new bands in the hard rock and metal scenes. Nowhere is this claim made more evident than on the Hot Hard Rock Songs chart this week, where they are far and away the most successful act, no matter how one looks at the numbers.

This time around, Bad Omens claim six hits on the Hot Hard Rock Songs chart, Billboard’s ranking of the most-consumed tracks in the genre. To put that sum into perspective, the ranking only includes 25 spaces. Only one other act owns more than one spot on the tally this week. Bring Me The Horizon claims a pair of wins, as one of their hits returns for another spin on the Hot Hard Rock Songs chart.

Bad Omens rules the Hot Hard Rock Songs chart this week with “Just Pretend,” which has turned out to be a massive hit in the genre. That track is a non-mover in first place, and it has now earned 48 stints on the throne. That’s an impressive number of weeks at No. 1 on any Billboard ranking, and it accounts for more than half of the 80 frames the tune has spent on the list.

The American band claims the highest two spaces this frame, as “The Death of Peace of Mind” sits at No. 2. That tune lifts from third place, where it ranked last week, to give Bad Omens control over the highest two rungs on the list.

Bad Omens bookends the top 10 on this week’s Hot Hard Rock Songs chart by also appearing at No. 10. The group and singer Poppy push to tenth place with “V.A.N.” which returns to the highest tier once again after previously peaking at No. 8.

Down at No. 16, Bad Omens earns another win on the Hot Hard Rock Songs chart this frame with a collaboration. They’re jointly credited on the track “Novocaine” with fellow hard rockers Too Close To Touch. Coincidentally, that track appeared at No. 10 last week, so Bad Omens replace themselves in that spot.

Two tunes from Bad Omens find their way back to the Hot Hard Rock Songs chart this turn, helping the band increase their impressive winning streak on the ranking. The group owns the lowest two positions on the roster, as “Artificial Suicide” and “Nowhere to Go” lift to Nos. 24 and 25, respectively.

— Written by Hugh Mclntyre for Forbes Magazine

#bad omens #badomensteablog #badomenscult #forbes magazine

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scraftyisthebest · 6 months

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With the recent reveal of Gibeon owning a Shiny (White) Zygarde, many people have been trying to use this to insinuate that Horizons may take place in a separate continuity/timeline/universe from Ash's story.

However, I disagree, and I think that not only does Liko's show still take place in the same continuity as Ash's story, but that such sentiment is frankly something that goes without saying. If they truly wanted to create a new, separate continuity, why wouldn't they just use a new version of Ash to establish that? And in such a case, I believe they would be much more liberal about using legacy characters because such characters would be new versions of them, not the ones we know: the fact that they're largely avoiding acknowledging legacy characters for the most part implies they're still out there in the world Liko and Roy are travelling. It would also needlessly complicate things like potential meetings which have immense marketing value like an Ash and Liko meeting down the line. The world Anipoke has taken place in is so large and has gone through so much worldbuilding with still more potential for even more, that Ash and Liko can viably exist in the same world without crossing paths. There's no business or storytelling benefit to making Horizons a new continuity, as Liko and Roy are fundamentally different characters with a different space in the world from Ash to begin with, and it would be a total waste if they just dropped all the worldbuilding they had done over the past 26 years. Thus, it is most certainly in the same continuity as before.

---

Now on to my main point, I think there is a much simpler explanation to the existence of Gibeon's Shiny Zygarde that can justify why it exists even with the existence of Squishy and Z2, and in that same world. And one that I think may raise very interesting implications for this story and where we may be headed. Also one that mirrors the games, particularly SV and its deal with Terapagos and the Paradoxes.

I believe that Gibeon's Zygarde, alongside the Black Rayquaza and the rest of the Six Heroes who were believed to be Lucius's companions, are honorary Paradox Pokemon who were magically willed into existence by the power of Terapagos.

It is easy to miss, especially if you don't stop to think about it, but Terapagos's power, aside from being the harbinger of the Terastal phenomenon, is the power to create paradoxical things. It can "create" things using its power, things that originate from human imagination to those who believe certain things about them, but when you stop to think about those things, it makes no logical sense for them to exist in the way they are explained.

This is especially evident in the actual Paradox Pokemon from the games. Sada and Turo willed them into existence using their "time machine" and believe them to be Pokemon from the ancient past and distant future, or the one we "see" in the Crystal Pool being from alternate timelines. But as their names imply, their existence is a paradox: their whole deal is that they're not supposed to actually exist, and yet somehow, they got willed into reality and given life and physical existence. The dubiousness of their existence is enforced by their drawings in the Scarlet/Violet books, created 200 years prior to the game's events by Heath and his expedition team, contradicting the fact that Sada/Turo only created the time machine 10 years prior to the game's story. The dubiousness of how they came to be is also reinforced by their only other mention being in the Occult magazines, which are questionably trustworthy at best. We know that their existence started in Area Zero, a place filled with Terastal energy thanks to Terapagos, thus the latter is the creator of them.

The paradoxical nature of Terapagos's power is also reflected in the Crystal Pool event at the end of Indigo Disk, a place where you can seemingly talk to the dead, and Terapagos summons a Sada or Turo who was alive, supposedly before they created the time machine. And you give them Briar's book in exchange for the Scarlet/Violet book. But the more you think about this event, the less it actually makes sense, and the only conclusion you can make is that if it were our own Sada/Turo, the entire game's timeline would implode upon itself.

Now on to the anime, Gibeon is now known to have been a companion of Lucius. Lucius and his friends have the stories of their adventures chronicled in books and legends. This incidentally also parallels how the Paradox Pokemon are chronicled in Scarlet and Violet the games. But when you stop to look at everything, aside from Terapagos, the nature of the Six Heroes' existence is incredibly dubious at best, to the point where it's questionable if those six ever actually existed, or if they did, how they came to be. The same would likely apply to Gibeon's Shiny Zygarde. The Black Rayquaza is the biggest example: aside from being a Rayquaza, it is always shown glowing and crystallized, likely surrounded by Terastal energy. It may have even been created by and willed into reality by Terapagos itself, literally formed by Terastal energy. This is sort of hinted at very early on, when Liko's pendant, which was Terapagos, and Roy's special Poke Ball, which unleashed the Black Rayquaza, resonated with one another, and the Black Rayquaza didn't emerge until it resonated with Terapagos, which may imply that it wasn't actually in there and Terapagos used its power to will it into existence, alongside the other five heroes. The other Heroes seem to have abnormal traits as well, such as a giant Arboliva and two of the heroes being legendaries, and they only "awakened" once the Black Rayquaza did. This may imply they weren't real, and the only one of Lucius's Pokemon who wasn't willed into existence was Terapagos itself, who used its power to "create" companions for Lucius and its friends.

The same may apply to Gibeon's White Zygarde as well, who may have been willed into existence by Terapagos. This Zygarde, along with Rayquaza, are the biggest anomalies not just in their different coloration, but that they were literally owned by someone, which in the anime world should not be possible as major legendaries like them are largely above being owned by Trainers. Them being Paradoxes willed into reality by Terapagos would explain this.

This is most certainly an interesting turning point, and may raise a lot of questions to the true tale of Lucius and his friends, and what Rakua truly is. One thing is certain though: Terapagos and its special powers surrounding Terastal energy and the creation of paradoxical things seem to be playing a major role here.

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the-passenger-if · 1 year

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We get to see Roach tease the MC about their romance insterests; how would Roach tease the ROs about being interested in or having a crush Newman? Roach's sense of humor is great and them embarrassing everyone around them is top tier friendship trolling.

Happy May!

And happy October to you, anon n_n”

I imagine Roach would tease Fiama while they're stuck in the cabin, maybe while Newman is cleaning themselves in the bathroom:

“Good for you,” Roach says, and Fiama looks at them.

“Are you talking to me?” She holds Bruno closer to her.

Roach chuckles. “No need to use the kid as a shield. You’re obviously taken.” They throw a pointed look at the bathroom, before looking at her again, “In more ways than one.” When Fiama's only answer is staring back at them, Roach stands up and stretches themself. “Hey, it's fine. To be honest, you duped me; I thought you would get up and leave, yet here you are.”

“And I should care about what you think because…?”

Roach grins. “Oh no, you shouldn’t.” They look like they want to add something else, but their amused expression turns softer little by little. “You’ll take care of them, won’t you?”

“I’m planning to,” Fiama replies, her chin high, and Roach realizes she doesn’t appreciate the sudden probing. It’s fine; they wouldn’t either.

“Good. Good for you,” they repeat. “Good for them.” And they mean it.

●○●○●○●○●

They would tease Jonny in the cabin too because Roach has no chill:

“How does it feel to be the latest obsession of a monstrosity from space?”

Jonny doesn’t look at them, but his eyes jump to the tiny bathroom before shooting elsewhere.

Roach sighs. Thinks about resting their head against his shoulder for half a second before just going for it. Jonny doesn’t shake them off, but he tenses up—more than he usually does, for a longer time than he usually does. “Jonny-boy…” It’s a plea but they don’t care.

“You two are laughing at me.” Not an accusation, just facts being stated, which is worse somehow.

Roach rests their forehead against his shoulder. “We so aren’t.” They nudge Jonny until their friend sighs. When they look up, he is watching them with a blank expression. “Maybe you’re just that enchanting?” Jonny clicks his tongue, and Roach hugs him. “They are into you, dumbass. They really are.” He says nothing; he just stares wide-eyed, so ready to believe them, and also so afraid. “Don’t chicken out now.”

“I… no, I won’t.” Jonny swallows down and makes to stand up so Roach lets go of him.

When both of them are on their feet, Roach gives his skinny ass a friendly slap. The unimpressed look Jonny throws them has them holding up their hands. “For good luck. Go get them, stud.”

●○●○●○●○●

Lastly, they would tease Horizon before shit hit the fan in CH7. They would invite themselves into the Domini’s cabin one evening receiving a vexed look for their trouble:

“So,” Roach begins, paying no mind to Horizon. “Domini, you are a smart cookie. Do you like crosswords?” When they blink in confusion, Roach holds up the magazine they brought along. “Been squeezing my brain for over ten minutes and I can’t find the right word.” They lie the magazine on the table, clear their throat. “Group of whales. And it’s a three letter word.”

Horizon thinks about it for a moment before saying, “A pod.”

Roach grins as they jot down the answer. “Hah, I knew asking you was a good idea. Alright, another one, a container for holding and pouring liquids that usually has a lip or spout and a handle.”

This time the reply is immediate. “Pitcher.” Horizon approaches the table as Roach counts the squares and lets out an impressed whistle. “You’re a walking thesaurus, Domini.”

“Well, I—”

“Third one: someone who is in love slash sexually aroused by their own deity.” They look up at Horizon forming a perfect o with their mouth. The shocked look on the Domini’s face almost makes Roach crack up then and there. “Well well well, this crossword is spicy.”

After that, Horizon isn’t in the mood for games anymore; they are quick to usher Roach out and close the door behind them. Roach is giggling to themself when Horizon reappears.

“And the word is theophile,” the Domini hurls at them.

Roach opens their mouth, reply at the ready, but Horizon shuts the door in their face. Of course, that doesn’t deter them in the slightest. “And you would know everything about that, wouldn’t you?”

#ask #spoilers #tp fiama #tp jonny #tp roach #tp horizon #actually the word seems to be theosexual #but apparently that wasn't a thing before 2001?

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chickensoup-4-mysoul · 1 year

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herculean(drrr x f!reader) - chapter 1

chapter 1 - Warm Welcome

synopsis: (Y/N) Brigall. An aspiring fashion student far from home, visiting the rousing Ikebukuro to study the distinguished styles that the city has to offer. It's clear to those around her that she most definitely came to the wrong place.

But unbeknownst to even herself, she's exactly where she's meant to be.

word count: 4,158

A/N: hello! this is actually a story that i have on ao3 under chickensoup4mysoul, i wanted to transfer it to this blog :) i’ll be posting individual/lumped chapters here, but you can find the rest over there!

warnings: minor violence, attempted kidnapping

"i got a taste of the good life, i was feelin' alright and i was in the backseat, it was a long day i was in a taxi on the cross island parkway,, good life - sammy rae & the friends

Despite it being well into the night, the subway was still pretty full. Many men and women returning from a tiring day at work, some preparing for a grueling night shift, others getting ready for a night on the town. Your grip on the pole tightens as everything suddenly skids to a stop, the doors of the small space opening. You are one of the first to leave, itching to free yourself from the tight confines of the train car. After all, you had been crammed into nothing but tight spaces for the past numerous hours; a plane, taxi, busses, and a couple of subway stations. While there had to be a quicker way to complete the journey to Ikebukuro, you didn't mind gaining experience in traveling. If you were going to be living here for a year, you needed to know how to get around!

On the other hand, the presence of just as many people in the station didn't give you much more room to breathe. You know what? You'll get used to it. This is a city! An excited buzz seemed to overtake you at the reminder of where exactly you were.

Ikebukuro. A big city as city-like as cities could get, yet still so underrated where you were from. You had only been familiar with the exact location for a short while before you actually moved there.

Weaving through the labyrinth of individuals, you became increasingly aware of how everyone seemed to blend together. A blur of beige skin tones varying in darkness and lightness, arrays of wardrobes combined into a muted color scheme. You briefly wondered how much you, a visitor, stood out. Perhaps your choice of dress didn't do much to help.

Your platform sandals clicked against the tile of the subway station as you made a beeline for the exit. Of course, comfort was important when traveling, but not at the expense of style. A pair of striped culottes and an adorably lettuce-trimmed tank-top did the trick. A classic juxtaposition of a simply styled intricate pattern and an intricately styled, solid color. With some cute chunky jewelry as accessories, you had put together quite the ensemble for your first night in the bustling city.

Despite the independent course of study you had taken, you couldn't doubt that you had quite the knack for fashion. A knack that you were sure could lead to a wonderful career. The plan was to attend university, solidify your studies, and gain some connections that would kickstart your profession as perhaps a consultant? Designer? However, you decided that before that, you should take a gap year to expand your horizons. After all, you had only explored the world of fashion available at your fingertips through magazines and the internet. Even with your affluence, your father had never found much use in petty vacationing.

Ah, father.

A smile of adoration overtook your face. Your beloved father. A wealthy man who took you under his wing when you were an infant and raised you singlehandedly. Even though his scientific studies greatly pre-occupied him, he always ensured that you were well-taken care of. Even now, as you are so far away, he's providing abundant financial support for your pursuit of your dreams.

So loving, so generous. Your heart swells at the thought.

A pleasant chill racks your body as your skin meets the cool night air. Now this was the feeling that you were looking forward to. While still crowded with life, you now had the beautiful night sky, accentuated by the towering skyline.

The journey to your apartment was a bit of a walk from the subway station. However, you'd be damned if you were going to run straight inside after being couped up for so many hours. Looking at the directions on your phone, you walk away from where it instructs, opting to follow the cluster of light that you hoped was some sort of shopping center.

In terms of cities that never sleep, Ikebukuro gave New York a run for its money. The plaza buzzed with the chatter of numerous conversations. Unlike the subway station, there was thankfully a bit more space as people passed you in different directions. You treat yourself to a short walk, figuring you deserved it. Peeking at different storefronts as you pass, you take note of the places that interest you. A cute bakery, a pet store, a gift shop, and--oooo you would definitely need to explore that clothing store!!

You catch a glimpse of one of the mannequins and your heart has been won. You can already picture a million ways to style those pieces. Although, your wardrobe was extensive enough and you shouldn't waste father's funds...

Aw, what the heck. It was for your studies after all!

You are face to face with what feels like a wall of stone, scarcely cushioned by draping fabric.

"E-excuse me, I'm sorry!" You back up from the wall, looking up to profusely apologize to your victim.

"Is no problem! Place is full of people, best to watch where you are going." He smiles down at you. Far, far down.

Even with such a friendly disposition, there is an obvious aura of power surrounding him. However, any fear you would feel towards him is stifled by his adorable accent. Seems like you weren't the only foreigner after all.

"Of course, you're right. May I ask, would you happen to have been...er... born somewhere else?"

The dark-skinned man beams, seeming proud to answer such an awkward question. "Yes! I come from Russia. You are new face. Not from here either, I am correct?"

You laugh bashfully, discomforted by how seemingly obvious it was. "You caught me! This is my first time in Japan and I'm checking out the area."

"Ah, could not tell! Your Japanese, it is very good. Better than mine."

A sense of pride and relief washes over you. As part of the preparation process to move here, you obviously had to pick up some Japanese lessons. Luckily, you were assigned a great teacher that helped you understand the language. It was one of your main anxieties that you wouldn't be able to communicate with people, but it seems like you're doing better than you had anticipated! You beam gratefully at the man.

He catches you eyeing the flyers he's holding and immediately pushes one into your face. You take it from him, immediately taking note of the words "Russia's Sushi" written crudely in Japanese.

"You are by yourself, yes? I can assure that Russia's Sushi is the best place in town! Good when you are hungry, or when you need help with anything," his demeanor suddenly shifts, his gaze sobering in a matter of seconds, "Anything at all."

"O-oh, thank you! I will definitely visit the next time I'm in the area." You're put off by the abrupt change in atmosphere.

"Soon, da?" Uuuuh, you feel threatened.

"Da! Soon, very soon!" You begin walking, deciding now was the time to continue on your way. "It was nice meeting you!"

It was only after you turned away from his kind smile and wave that you realized you didn't get his name, nor did you give him yours. You shrug it off, deciding not to worry about it. He's always gonna be at the sushi place, isn't he? You could find him later, no problem.

Just a couple more minutes, you promise yourself, as you walk past one last strip of storefronts. As you approach the window of a comic book store, you're startled when the door swings open. Two walking stacks of manga emerge in front of you.

Wait, not manga. Their faces are obscured, but you can identify a woman in a long black dress and a man in a blue hoodie. They each seem to have put too many eggs in one basket, teetering back and forth to handle the weight of towers of books.

"You sure this is all of them, Erika? We had to search every aisle of this place!" the presumed male asks.

"Of course, Yumacchi! All 50 copies of Super Tragic High School Life. Can't believe they tried to hide them."

You feel faintly guilty for eavesdropping on their conversation, but they're walking just ahead of you as you all head in the same direction. As they continue their chatter--sounded like there was some sort of special edition hidden in this series of books and they were deadset on finding it--you notice that their loads are becoming gradually harder to carry, swaying and tilting. Suddenly, the boy moves too sharply, upsetting the balance and causing his stack to tumble over.

Only a few steps behind, you scurry ahead to his side, reaching up and pushing the stack back into place before the damage is done.

"Woah, thanks! That was a close one." The boy's face is still obscured as the he expresses his gratitude.

"No problem, it'd be painful to see so many books in mint-condition be ruined-woah!" You push back another unsteady book with your fingertips, barely reacting in time to catch it. "You wouldn't need help carrying those by any chance, would you?"

Even with their faces covered, the pair turn to each other and seem to engage in some sort of silent communication. After a moment, they turn back to you.

You follow them through the streets of Ikebukuro, having lightened a third of each of their loads. It was a wonder how they were able to find their way around; even with you helping, the stacks still reached the top of their heads.

"Took you guys long enough! And what are you doing with all that crap?"

The presence of a new voice startles you. It was laidback and reminded you of a teenager's, not too different from the youthfulness of your companions'. You must have reached your destination. As Erika(?) explains how hard their escapade was, you hear the sound of a trunk opening before your stack is suddenly taken out of your hands. It was the man (Yumacchi?), who placed it next to the other two stacks they had stored in the back of a van.

Without any books in the way, you see that the man is blonde. It's hard to place how old he really is, his face carrying a youthful gleam, but not completely absent of mischief. His eyes are slanted and there seems to be a mystery as to what color they really are.

"Wha-? Woah!!" As he turned back to face you, his face seemed to light up in surprise.

Nevermind, they are a lovely shade of amber. In a flash, you are face-to-face with the energetic duo. The girl, you notice, wore a black cap over dark, braided hair. Her dark eyes shined with the same excitement as her partner's. They were both cuties, you did admit, but you were more occupied with the invasion of your personal space.

"You're a foreigner!" they exclaim in unison. WOW OKAY was it THAT big of a deal?

"Hey hey, Yumacch! Doesn't she totally give off Michiko vibes?"

"You're absolutely right, Erika! Definitely the same exotic, fashionable vibe..."

You're not sure how you feel about being called "exotic", nor do you have any idea who this "Michiko" character is. Unsure of how to respond to their aggressive advances, you smile bashfully. Their faces are suddenly pulled away from you, a pair of heavy hands yanking them back by the shoulders.

"Hey, knock it off! Quit scarin' people with your crazy talk." Another new voice joins the fray. Gravelly and masculine, and honestly making you feel some type of way.

Your savior is a taller, tan-skinned man. He's dressed unobtrusively, his dark green jacket and jeans doing very little to catch the eye. A beanie cuts off some of his face, but you can still make out intense, dark eyes and a stern expression. Erika immediately whines at him for being no fun. Your ears perk at the name "Dotachin" and you wonder if it's some sort of nickname. A small distance behind him is another man, possibly the owner of the teenager's voice. His brown hair is long in length and he dons a swanky vest on top of a button-up. You muster up a sort of appreciation for his rustic sense of style.

"Sorry about those two. Judging from their pestering, doesn't seem like you’re a friend of theirs."

“Nope! Just a random stranger off of the streets,” you jest, and relish in his apparent amusement at the statement, “I’m (Y/N)! If it hasn’t been made clear, I am visiting from out-of-town. Just arrived in Ikebukuro tonight. You’re...Dotachin, right?”

You are proud of yourself for not bursting out into laughter at the way his face contorts in a matter of seconds. The others do not extend the same courtesy, snickering at his annoyance. You can’t help but notice the glare that he sends Erika.

“Uh...no. Please. Never call me that. Kyohei‘s fine.” His eye seems to twitch for a moment and you feel a little bad. A little. “The two idiots are Walker and Erika. Guy over there is Saburo.”

Ah, so Yumacchi was a nickname as well. The two offenders are currently flipping through the manga, obviously too impatient to hold off their search. Sparing a glance at the blonde, you ponder the Western nature of his name. Erika, seeming to have calmed down, addresses you with a smile.

“So, it’s your first night here, huh? You’ve gotta be crazy to be walking around by yourself,” Erika comments, oblivious to the offensive implication of her words. You shrug, not really blaming her.

“I mean, it’s a big city, so I understand some risks but surely nothing could be any worse than what we deal with back home!” You intend to laugh it off, but the others don’t seem to share the same sentiment.

“You got color gangs back home? Kidnappings down the street?” Saburo remarks from his place against the van.

“A vicious slasher?” Erika chimes in.

“Full-out brawls in the plaza? Oooo, how about a headless rider?” Walker.

Nothing strikes you more than pure bewilderment. Of course, there was a fair share of activity where you grew up, but you were admittedly sheltered from all of it. Seems like there was a lot more to this city than you had initially thought.

“You seem like the kind of person that avoids trouble.” You feel a strong, warm hand on your shoulder and realize that it’s Kyohei’s. He seems to pull it away upon eye contact and you miss it immediately. “As long as you’re smart, you can probably steer clear of all of that.”

You smile and thank him, inwardly relieved that you had found people to tell you all of this.

“Well, I guess I should head home in that case. Wouldn’t wanna run into anything!”

“Where are you staying?” Kyohei asks. You unlock your phone to pull up the location of your apartment. However, you curse at the realization that you had gone very far off-route. Erika and Kyohei peek over your shoulder and notice your dilemma.

“We’ll give you a ride back!” Erika wasn’t offering, but outward stating. Kyohei nodded in agreement and Saburo was already starting the van up again, seemingly unbothered by the task. Welp, no reason to refuse at this point. Not like you were eager to trek back on your own, either.

“Let’s go then, and get out of this damn cold.” Kyohei gestures to the corduroy jacket you had tucked under your arm, “Don’t understand how you can just walk around carrying that jacket like an accessory. How are you not freezing your ass off?”

Compared to the van gang(that’s what you're calling them now, you’ve decided) you’re definitely more scarcely covered in your tank top and sandals. The weather had no bearing on you though, and whatever excruciating cold Kyohei was talking about was just a pleasant chill to you.

Walker and Erika squeeze into the back, reaching back from their seats to search through more copies of the manga. You squeeze in with them, right behind Saburo in the driver's seat. The two otakus are preoccupied, leaving you to engage in small talk with the men in the front.

Kyohei is polite, asking you simple questions about how your traveling went, if you had made any other friends (You hide your grin at the word "other"), and what had brought you to Ikebukuro. You appreciate the effort, answering accordingly and avoiding oversharing. Saburo and Kyohei chuckle at the mention of a really burly, dark-skinned Russian man who, despite his open demeanor, couldn't help but be intimidating.

"Sounds like Simon, alright," Saburo comments.

"No need to worry about him. Dude hates violence. If anything, you'll want him on your side," Kyohei explains.

You hum, fiddling with the folded flier in your pocket. "Is the sushi any good?"

A huff. Probably his attempt at stifling a laugh, whatever it was, you're kind of charmed by it. "It's...good for what you pay for it."

Not exactly the most promising answer, but you'll take it. Price isn't necessarily something you need to worry about, but it seems like the place holds sentimental value. You decide that you would visit, especially if this group seems to frequent the place.

You continue giving Kyohei your life story, explaining your passion for fashion and how you came to Ikebukuro to explore the bold, nuanced styles of the city. You notice Kyohei quirk a brow at this and he even glances back at you.

"'Nuanced', huh? Why not somewhere cozier, like France? That's, like, a capital, right?"

A simper overtakes your lips at his attempt at understanding the topic. "France is overrated. I wanted somewhere where the fashion wasn't necessarily for the sake of fashion, y'know? Like, Saburo didn't wake up this morning and say: 'I'm gonna wear this snazzy vest today, because that's what Sedgwick would have wanted.' He probably just wore it because it was the first thing he spotted in his closet--and that's candid, and that's valid."

"Um...thanks?"

"And that's what makes Ikebukuro such a fashion hotspot!!"

Your rant doesn't stop there, but Kyohei respectfully listens. It's nothing he hasn't experienced with Erika and Walker's manga obsessions or Saburo's Ruri Hijiribe fixation. Still, there was something about your sense of wonder, the many things you seemed to be looking forward to--in Ikebukuro, of all places--that rubbed him the wrong way.

...

"You seem smart, you can probably steer clear of all that." Kyohei grimaces at Erika's embarrassing attempt at an imitation of his voice.

"How macho of you, Kyohei! Sounds like something the wounded warrior hero says to the girl that he secretly harbors feelings for, but doesn’t reveal them to keep her safe!” Even in the small space, Walker still finds a way to gesture in excitement, definitely almost hitting Erika in the face.

“Right?? Dotachin saw a lovely young damsel in distress and knew he had to protect her!”

“Shut up, willya?”

As they drove away from (Y/N)’s dropoff point, the new visitor was still a topic of conversation. Mainly, how “macho hero” Kyohei was towards her. Granted, it wasn't unusual behavior for the man, but the pair of Otakus would not just ignore his acts of chivalry, towards a young woman, no less.

“Hey, Saburo.”

The driver hums, joining Kyohei in blatantly ignoring the foolishness occurring in the seats behind them.

“I’ve heard a lot of things about Ikebukuro, but nothing about it being a fashion hotspot.”

“Yeah, me neither. Sounds like bullshit to me.”

Kyohei stares at the rapidly moving passerby, deep in thought. Whatever this girl was here for, she certainly did not come to the right place. The idea of people so naive walking straight into the ticking time bomb that is Ikebukuro troubled him, and that wasn’t just regarding (Y/N).

He heaved a sigh, dismissing the unnecessarily convoluted thoughts about someone he had just met. It would be fine, he decided. It was just another random citizen, one who didn’t seem like the type to get wrapped up in the sort of trouble that plagues the city.

What’s the worst a fashion student could get sucked into?

...

Besides being stylish, your platform sandals were also the perfect level of comfort for a long day of travel. Even when you were walking for such a long time through the plaza, not once were you complaining about your feet being sore or tired.

Yeah, walking was great! Running? Not so much.

That was the main thought spiraling through your head as you all but sprinted through different alleyways.

You thanked your new friends one last time before sliding out of the vehicle. After they drove off, you turned to look up at your apartment building. However, you immediately noticed something strange.

The structure in front of you was not nearly tall enough to be any sort of apartment. You checked the GPS on your phone and realized that you had gotten off on the wrong side of the street. Looking closer, you could catch a glimpse of a much taller building, a small distance behind the building in front of you. You heave a sigh as you realize how long it would take to reach it.

As you walk down the sidewalk, you notice an opening between two of the buildings. It turns out to be an alleyway, most likely leading to the other side of the street. You turn without hesitation or second-thought, distracted by the c onvenience of the shortcut.

You quickly realize that the alley isn't a straight shoot to the other side and have to turn in a different direction. In an attempt to return to your intended route you turn again. And again. and again.

So it turns out it wasn't just one building standing between you and sweet, sweet relaxation, but actually 2 or 3. Frustration begins to build as you only seem to get more and more lost.

"This is ridiculous, I should be in bed by now! Just how late is it?" You think to yourself, taking a quick break to check the time on your phone.

"Not very smart to be wandering this late at night, is it, young lady?"

It was a wonder how you were able to dodge the bat that was swung in your direction. After that lucky break, you immediately tumbled in another direction, desperate to avoid your assailant. However, as soon as you thought you could shake him off, another man appeared in pursuit of you as well.

"Dammit, she's fast!" You hear from behind you, and you realize that a third has joined the fray.

Your sandals aren't comfortable, no, but they don't deter your speed. The different walls and turns become a blur to you as you sprint past, desperately trying to find a way out of the apparent labyrinth you've walked into.

As you round another corner, you collide with someone else; one of the men that were chasing you. He crumbles to the ground as you stagger backwards, nursing the sting of your forehead. Your back comes in contact with another, small body and a pair of weak arms wrap around you.

"H-Here! She's here!"

The third musketeer appears and your victim, a stout, unkempt man, sluggishly picks himself up from the ground. They are all terribly out of breath, and its pretty obvious that they're out of shape. A tall, lanky man with glasses approaches you, the bat in his hand indicates that he was the one who threw the first blow.

He's seething, infuriated by the chase, his teeth grinding and eyes on fire. He raises the bat and your breath is caught in your throat. The weapon remains suspended in the air, ready to deal damage. After a moment, he deflates, a sinister chuckle seeming to rise from the deepest parts of him.

"You've caused us a lot of trouble, you know that?" The bat falls to his side, he holds out his other hand to the chubby man beside him. You twitch, noticing the quivering frailness of the arms that were locking you in place. The boy holding you couldn't have been much older than you were, of college age.

"Unluckily for you, we're not gonna end it for you so easily." He's been handed a cloth. After watching his friend douse it in liquid from a bottle, you don't want it anywhere near you. "With where you're going? You're gonna wish you'd died here..."

It's so dark now, you can't imagine how late it's gotten. All you can see now are the glints in his glasses, and the cloth descending upon you.

The glints of glasses. The feeling of helplessness. Shrinking under the eyes of someone who has no sympathy for you. Whatever happened to you, it didn't matter to them.

The corner of your mouth twitches. It feels familiar.

That's funny.

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