Dark Winds Over Easton
For my love, who’s always there when times are toughest
For my friends, who’ve stuck it through to the end
For my family, who’ve always allowed me to pursue my passions
For myself; because I finally decided to write again.
Writing has always been a passion of mine. From when I was a little kid, I’ve always had a book in my hand and always wanted to make something that affected others the way some books have affected me. ABDL-specific fiction doesn’t exactly spread to a great audience, but it’s a community I’ve been a part of for a long time that’s, for the most part, treated me pretty well.
I joined this site, initially, because other people from all over recognized me and wanted to see me write again. That’s seemed to recharge my writing batteries, and even if it takes me to the end of my life, I intend to finish this story. I’ve got my plot threads stitched, and I feel prepared to take on this project- the biggest I’ve ever attempted to take on.
By the end of this, I’ve estimated I’ll have written 120,000 words. That’s somewhere between “Prisoner of Azkaban” and “The Half Blood Prince,” as far as length goes. 30+ chapters with a deep, interconnected cast of characters, motives, and some wickedly weaved webs of dark, Lovecraftian horror.
H.P. Lovecract’s works have been a huge inspiration for me recently. Everyone knows C’Thulu, but the man wrote an incredibly exhaustive lore, a pantheon of deities and servants, and his influence is still felt to this day, more so than when he was alive.
This is my biggest project ever. If you’re here, expect to be in for the long haul; the winds don’t blow and we must cross a long stretch of sea, lads.
1: Waking Up With Coffee
There’s a certain wonder about the first day of school. I wonder if any of my teachers are going to suck as bad as my math teacher from last year? I wonder if there’s going to be a lunch table that isn’t instantly snagged by a dumb clique of snobby upper-middle class future yuppies that legitimately only care about how good they look and how their moms and dads are all alumni from ivy league schools, and how they’re DEFINITELY getting in thanks to big donations? I wonder if I’ll be able to keep my head awake during the first ten minutes of my first class seeing as I was up until about four in the morning, and I have to wake up every morning at 6AM? All valid questions, no doubt; but none of them were getting answered without coffee.
The dark circles under my eyes made me look more like I was 18 and not a 16 year old, freshly minted junior. September is a wonderful time of year in the northeast; there’s always a soft wind in the morning to remind everyone that fall is just about to start. The pine needles start to have this weird change in their smell, almost indescribable. There’s a coolness that hangs on every word spoken outside as they pour out of the mouths of students at the bus stop, falling short on their hoodies. I poured my grinds into the paper filter in the auto drip coffee pot, then added water. I turned it on and watched as the clear glass pot below slowly grew darker.
My mother has this innate ability to smell coffee from her room all the way upstairs and down to the end of the hall. If my life were a hanna barbera cartoon, she’d of been floating down the stairs, nose first, the coffee leading her right to me. Instead, she brought herself sleepily down the steps, clad in her pajamas, hair still messy, and shuffled over into the kitchen. “G’morn’ swee’har’...” she mumbled as if she’d completely forgotten how to talk.
“Morning.” I responded. I rubbed some of the sand out of my eyes from behind my glasses, using the cuffs of my long sleeve shirt. It wasn’t a dress shirt; in fact, my first day outfit was plain. A dark grey long sleeve shirt, black jeans with a studded belt, my flat-bottom skater style sneakers and long black socks. The coffee had finished emptying into the pot; I grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet, setting them down on the counter and pouring some into one, and then filling the other.
“I still don’t know where or when you got into the habit of drinking coffee black,” my mother said, finally having woken up a little. She grabbed her creamer and sugar, from the fridge and the lazy susan, respectively.
“I don’t know where or when you got the idea that creamer tastes better with a little bit of coffee,” I yawned, then began to blow into my mug. When it was just cool enough to not burn the roof of my mouth, I took a sip. That first sip made me feel like I’d gotten a whole five hours of sleep; just what the doctor ordered.
“Very funny; you excited?” she sipped her now lukewarm cream with coffee abomination.
“For what? Seven periods of crap I already mostly know to get drilled into my skull so I can fall asleep in class and still do better than half the idiots that go to CHS, plus lunch?” my previous two years had given me a jaded perception of education as a whole. There wasn’t anything I learned in class that I couldn’t find out for myself by watching the history channel- and with all the added visuals those lessons stuck better.
“If I get another call that you’re not doing your homework and falling asleep in class, there’s gonna be trouble,” my black haired mother warned. It wasn’t naturally black; I don’t think any mother on the block, maybe even in town, still wore their natural color- besides a few very red-haired Irish-American individuals who’d always over decorate for Saint Patrick’s Day.
“You won’t get another call because I’m just going to tell my teachers up front that I’m not doing homework. When I ace all their tests they won’t care.” I brushed a hand through my dark brown hair. It was somewhere between my mother’s naturally light brown hair and my father’s black hair. During the summer it would lighten, but as fall rolled around it seemed to darken, and in the winter it wasn’t uncommon for someone to think my hair was actually black. During the summer, the lightness of my hair brought out the dark chocolate brown of my eyes more, but during the winter it all seemed to blend together in a dull sort of way.
“If you say so mister confident,” she took another long sip. “Where’s your brother? He knows you guys have to leave in fifteen minutes right?” I didn’t answer for a moment. With the both of us quiet, we could both hear the water running upstairs.
“The beauty queen is getting her makeup done so she can impress her homeroom teacher and all the hot guys in first period.”
“Luca Antonio Vitaccino, you watch it! It’s his first day of high school, you were the same way!” my mother scolded. I breathed out my nose and smirked. She rolled her eyes, set her coffee on the counter and walked out of the tiled kitchen and into the living room, then up the stairs. I figured that it would be better for me to dip out quickly before she came back down and demanded pictures of myself and my delinquent brother, so I poured what was left of my coffee into a ‘to go’ mug and grabbed my backpack. Dark blue, medium blue, and red accents; it was the only thing of ‘color’ in my entire outfit. I put it in the side pouch, slung it around my back, and slipped out the front door. I closed it just loud enough for my mother and brother to hear me, but not loud enough to get yelled at later for ‘slamming the front door.’ By the time the day was out I was DEFINITELY not going to want to be getting read the riot act about something so incredibly stupid.
As I walked out the door, my phone started to softly buzz a few times in quick succession. I pulled it out of my pocket and partook in the ancient millennial ritual of ‘walking to the bus stop while reading my phone and using my peripheral vision to not run into poles,’ an art that came second nature to both myself, and peers. I glanced at the message, and the sender.
“Happy first day of school little one! Going in padded?”
I rolled my eyes and walked down the sidewalk. “No,” I texted back, “Not for the first day. I don’t have a good excuse for gym yet. It’s every OTHER day though, so some days I may be able to get away with it if my brother sleeps in a little.” I finished what I was going to say and then slipped my phone back into my pocket.
So, I was into some kinky stuff. There was a point in life where it was purely for comfort, and at the behest of Chris, but at this point in my life... not so much. Puberty was hitting its end point; I’d grown to be a whopping five foot six and weighed a whole 125 pounds after gorging out on Thanksgiving dinner, or sunday pasta at my aunt and uncle’s. By the next day I’d be back down to 120. I had to shave every morning now, which completely ruined my old morning routine by five minutes, but at the very least it meant I could SAY that I shaved- which was more than I could say than most of my peers.
That soft gust of wind carrying the smell of pine trees through the air hit me with an intensity that it didn’t normally have. Maybe it was the dew on the grass in the morning that I wasn’t used to smelling, adding to everything. Maybe it was the fact that I didn’t go outside very often unless it was absolutely required. Maybe, just maybe, it was because the coffee I’d been drinking was finally starting to hit me and all of my senses were coming to life. Whatever the reason, it hit me hard, and I was almost taken back to my first day of school EVER- almost. As my mind started to wander, I realized that my short suburban trek was over, and a few blocks away from my house, I was at the bus stop. There stood another boy my age; taller, tanned from a summer’s worth of weekends out on the family boat and by the poolside. Skinny, dressed better than I was with a dress shirt and blue jeans, expensive sneakers and black tube socks similar to my own. Actually…
“Chris, are you wearing my socks?” I blinked down at his ankles.
“Well good morning to you, too, happy first day of school, brat!” he said, putting his hand on my head and ruffling my medium-long hair. I pushed his entire arm aside.
“Oh bite me; seriously though I’m positive those are mine.” I reached my arm back and pulled out my to go coffee cup, taking a few sips. It’d be a little bit before the bus got there.
“I’ve already told you, biting isn’t my thing!” Chris’s light brown hair drifted softly with the wind, and his green eyes looked me over. The sky was dark, the sun not yet being fully up, but it was also a somewhat foggy and cloudy day. Visibility wasn’t completely terrible or anything, but if a monster from the black lagoon suddenly appeared in the distance, I don’t think there’d of been a better time or day for a while yet to come.
“Ah, you think you’re real funny, huh? Cool your jets until I’m done with my coffee.” I took a few more sips.
“I hope that’s a no spill sippy-cup!” He jested. I rolled my eyes. Chris and I had known one another for a while; since elementary school to be exact. To be entirely honest, he was the one who’d gotten me into ageplay in the first place. We both realized in middle school that we had some feelings for one another, and it wasn’t really any secret to anybody that we were in tandem. What I liked about Chris is that he wasn’t as much of a… I guess you could say ‘queen.’ In five or so years if he was sitting down at a sports bar with the guys and chatting them up, nobody would even think to ask if he had a boyfriend. He didn’t shit rainbows or sparkle in the sunlight. Guys like that just didn’t interest me. I’m much of the same way. At least, I think I am. When we were in middle school, when we’d decided to start experimenting, Chris had some… unique fantasies that he wanted to fulfil. I obliged; and the next thing I knew, I was posting on forums and on sub-spheres of social media when I was entirely underage and shouldn’t have been doing so, but I knew a fair number of people doing the same thing so I didn’t really care.
“You’re really testing me today, love,” I took a giant gulp of my coffee. The bus wasn’t even there yet and my cup was already empty.
“Tests start in a couple weeks, but I figure practice tests are just as well,” he chuckled.
“So, fifth period lunch, right?” I shoved my coffee cup back into the side of my backpack. A good rinsing in the water fountain would do it some good, and then I could fill it with deliciously unfiltered, lukewarm school water! Huzzah.
“That’s what my schedule says.” Chris pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, already folded in twenty different ways, and beyond that it seemed to be marked up with a black sharpie pen from top to bottom. I didn’t bother asking about any other classes; Chris was in regular classes throughout all of our academic careers, while I was bored with honors and advanced placement classes. Chris wasn’t, by any stretch, a dumb person. If he was I’d of dropped him off in my mind with the rest of the ‘likable but dumb,’ people section of my brain. He was smart, but he never applied himself. I applied myself even less, I just got the content more for some reason. Again, history channel, probably.
Chris reached behind me and opened my backpack to peer inside. “Didn’t even bring one for the first day, huh?” He zipped it back up.
“Nah, no point. The first day is going to have freshman looking for a place to hide out so my normal spot is gonna be crowded as fuck, just like last year on the first day.” I retorted.
“Language!” Chris scolded.
“English, but I could say it in Italian if you’d like?” With a name like Luca, there was no question where my family hailed from, and there was a part of me that both respected and abused that fact. Sometimes I’d use certain words or phrases to make it seem like I was in the mob or something like that; an absolutely ridiculous thought. My dad was an investment banker and my mother was a professional stay at home coffee-drinker. If she remembered, she was also a professional ‘how many pinches of food do I feed the fish?’ person. Three was the answer but she’d always text me, usually at the worst times, just to double check.
“Yeah yeah, relax ‘mi pisano,’” he chuckled. I heard a few footsteps in the distance, and out of the fog from behind me, there he was. Joey- oh, I’m sorry, ‘Joseph.’ My younger brother; he was born with my dad’s black hair, and none of my mother’s wit. Since last year he’d been… sort of being a giant dick with everybody, and I made sure he knew that I recognized that fact. Chris was a fair bit kinder to him about it, but only to a point. Chris was very good at de-escalating situations. I was very good at pressing buttons like Homer Simpson in an FBI control room.
“Sup, beauty queen?” I taunted. It was a constant back and forth between the two of us; one day he’d start, the next day I’d start, by the end of the week one of us would be on top of the other getting them to say uncle, and the whole process would start over again. Joseph’s nostrils flared. “Oh come on Joey, just a joke! At least you made it to the bus stop this morning.” He’d been cutting classes last year; part of his new ‘delinquent persona,’ he was crafting for himself. But his delinquency was unique; he was sports-focused, but had a passion for art. During lunch he’d be chatting about football or drawing in an art pad. Always, for some reason, he’d draw characters with giant swords. Too much anime, but it made him happy. He wasn’t one of those ‘going to grow up and move into the basement,’ type of kids, though. He HAD a head on his shoulders, he just preferred to put the extra energy into his muscles than into anything else, especially anything academic.
“If you call me Joey one more time,” he started, fists clenched.
“Relax there chief, not on the first day! If you wanna fight me after class one day I’ll gladly meet you in the parking lot, but let’s wait at least a week,” I smirked and turned back to Chris, he was trying to hold back laughter. “So, what’s the plan for after school today?”
“I dunno, probably get online. Stop by your place when class ends, grab your controller and just meet me back at my place,” Chris smiled at me.
“Why so you can shove the controller in his ass?” Joseph butted in.
“Joey, at least if Chris puts something in someone’s ass, they’d feel it. The same can’t be said for you,” Joseph didn’t like that. He threw his backpack to the ground and started walking up to me. His face was red and his short black, spiky hair didn’t flinch in the gust of wind. I let my arms down and my backpack slid off, my coffee mug smacking into the sidewalk pavement below. Joey and I walked up to one another, chests puffed out like the primates we both knew we were deep, deep down, and just as we were about to go at it, a familiar loud slowing screech crept up from behind me.
The school bus, an average looking yellow behemoth that was yet to be filled by more than ten adolescents with incredible complex and severe insecurities, pulled up to my brother and I about to go at it. I looked down at him. Despite an age gap of three years, there were only a few inches between us. Joseph had a long way to go before he was done sprouting. Our eyes were the same color- a deep, dark brown. We were locked onto one another’s gaze. To make my point I stepped forward with a quickness my brother wasn’t used to. He flinched, snarled at me, then reached down to grab his backpack. I did the same. Joseph strode quickly onto the bus and found a seat towards the front. Chris and I sat near the back, on the left side. Two people a seat and we had one of the earlier stops? Seemed like a good deal to me.