#i made a few hawkes before ed became my boy

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I may be laying on the floor staring into the void, merely vibrating as my brain rots about Veilguard, Rook, the companions, and Solas.

...this is the perfect excuse to replay my canon route.

Apologies in advance: I'm about to make my brainrot replay a problem for everyone and everything in my vicinity.

[awesomedurraworld]

I AM LOVING HOW SOFT YOU ARE MAIZNG RIZA, oh my god 😭😭

idk how he killed the dude, but i imagine it was something someone from the team tight him, maybe Roy himself so he just remembered his instructions - ah

Riza will definitely help him understand that what he did was a needed move if he wanted to save himself and save Roy, it might suck, but it was pure self-defense and that is okay.

She would give lots of hugs and help Him come in terms with it, and Roy when he feels stable enough i think he will do it too, ( i also think he will feel so much guilt because he placed Ed in a position that made him react and kill that person and he just feels guilty ✨)

ALSO, one of Mustang’s men didn't want to carry out the mission at the end? I only watched brotherhood and it has been while since i did but i don't really remember. Falman is the walking Wikipedia ™️ and is very quite man, so it might work?

I don't think Jean would do it, since he is Roy’s man after Hawkeye, Breda is highly unlikely, and Kain is just a 21 year old boy.

But

I am evil but maybe Maes? I dig evil good men, and i loved writing Evil Maes, or traitor Maes i think it would hurt Roy So much, and Maes is like one rank lower than Roy So him telling Roy about a mission wouldn't sound sus, what do you think? 👀

I also wanted originally to include bad childhood to Roy But now as i am thinking about it + your words maybe Chris wasn't a good mom to Roy growing up but they bonded when Roy became and adult? I know few people who went through a similar experience. She feels sorry for how she treated him and he wanted a parent in his life, so maybe before Hawkeye got to the boys, Ed maybe contacted Chris?

I don't think Roy would open up 100% to her, since i think that will be a reaction from his childhood, she is a good lady and he opens up partly but not fully i guess if that makes sense?

She would be like any other mother, upset that her child got hurt and she is making this fuss and Roy is like, “ Ma enough i am fine!”

ALSO IT GOT ME THINKING, what is the real reason Roy was kidnapped? Besides him being a threat of how young and high ranked he is. If that was the issue, the higher ups could have just killed him or something. But what if the kidnapping was to make him speak about the truth about what happened with the Elrics? The real reason? And he just endured months of pain and hurt and abuse and humiliation because he will never throw his kids under the bus and he fought his mom who is worried about him and gah the feels 😩 can you sense it??

Also he 100% lost his mind there and i like to think the first week or so after the Rescue he didn't want to recognize who Ed and Al are as a coping/ defensive mechanism

Riza will definitely handle helping Roy through his flashbacks and episodes since it wouldn't be fair that the boys handle them since they are kids and they are the adults, BUT I do think there are times where Ed and Al had to comfort Roy or at least ground him until Riza or Pinako can guide him outside of his episodes

Also i think he will just stay in Resembool until his physical health is better and his injuries are healed and stuff!

i just adore the small dialog you made up at the end oh my god 🥹 I think Ed would be cuddling Roy under the excuse to “ keep him grounded.” and “ to remind you that you aren't alone and cold.” but in reality it is a grounding thing for Ed himself. A reminder that his dad is alive and here, under him ( since Ed is so he will be using Roy as his pillow most of the time haha ) and Al, He would be there to offer Roy water after nightmares and stuff, i think it would be super cute!! You bet Riza will be sleeping in the same room maybe on the ground?

Also i never shared why i name them the ✨Pegasus family✨ it is actually inspired by this one fic i read that had Ed calling himself and Al Pegasus since Riza is a Hawkeye right- a Hawk. And Roy is a Mustnag is a type of horse. SO WHEN YOU HAVE A HORSE THAT IS CONNECTED TO A BIRD THAT HAS WINGS? WHAT DO YA GET? A Pegasus 💅🏻

Alsoooo i am mentally just thinking about the different tourture that Roy went through since i happened to be an expert ( not something that i am 100% proud about but i gained some knowledge over time and googling.)

Gonna be real, but i cannot stop thinking about recovery fics and how beautiful they are. They are amazing, the way we see the character gets better always just makes me feel so inspired, the way that they learn to get over- or get around- the thing that hurt them. The way that they learn to be alive and living. How to love themselves and embrace what happened to them.

As much as i love these types of fics, i only wrote like, two maybe? With this idea (I love and have written torture more than recovery) . And it got me thinking… why not write a whole recovery fic?

It is no secret that i love parental Roy and Riza to the Elrics, and how they take him after he was being hurt and help him recover and be better and feel better.

BUT

But.

I am proposing another idea. Same child parent dynamic. Roy And the Elrics. Here is what i am thinking:

Evil Millirty hating how good and you Mustang is and they know he is a threat + them setting up to kidnap him by evil gang or something + team Mustang for some reason not being that loyal in finding him + Elrics stop their red stone research and to find their missing dad CO+ THEM SAVING THIER ADULT + FAMILY DRAMA AND PROTECTIVE SONS™️= my new fic idea

Which has traumatized Roy who is trying his best not being so traumatized but in the middle of it all, the Elrics discover How badly hurt thier adult is!

WHO IS WITH ME!!?

[nobodyfamousposts]

Chaton Noir: Akuma-ed

He knew he wouldn’t win for ever.

But he thought that “ever” was still far away!

“No, Chaton, you can’t come with me and that’s final.”

She was being very stubborn today. More than usual.

And no amount of pleading was making a difference. Though he was trying very hard. Nothing was working!

Although…

He slowly looked up at her, eyes wide and pitiful. Almost teary. The look that always made her give in and take him along each time before when he couldn't get her to any other way.

Except for this time.

“I mean it, Chaton." She insisted as she got her bag together. "The class is taking a trip and I can’t risk something happening or you getting lost.”

Even his ultimate weapon failed him!

He pouted up at her.

She sighed sadly and picked him up.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, holding him close. ��But it’s important that you stay here and be good, okay?”

He nestled close to her, happy for the contact but sad and still a little mad because she was leaving.

But he wanted to be good for her, so he nodded. He wouldn’t like it, but he would do it.

“I’ll be back before you know it. And if you’re good, I’ll bring some cookies for you.”

He brightened at that. He did like cookies!

…but he didn’t want her to go.

“It’s okay, Chaton. It will only be for a few hours.” She assured him, setting him down. “I’ll be leaving my computer on the Ladyblog so you’ll know if anything happens.” She paused and turned to the TV, turning it on as well. “And you can watch cartoons while I’m gone so you won’t be bored.”

He looked to the Teevee as bright and colorful people appeared.

Marinette frowned down at him as he still seemed despondent. She didn’t want him to be upset, but it would be too noticeable for her to carry her big bag on this trip to bring Chaton along. And she couldn’t risk Chloe finding him. Or worse, Lila. And while she would have preferred to take him to Master Fu’s, the timing just didn’t work out and Fu had something else he needed to do today and couldn’t look after Chaton.

But while young, Chaton was smart. And he could be mischievous, but he would at least stay in the room and not be too rowdy.

Still…

“I just need you to keep an eye out and protect my room while I’m gone, okay? Make sure nobody tries to sneak in or take anything.” She instructed.

He nodded resolutely, assuring her that she could count on him!

She smiled and patted him on the head.

“Thank you, Chaton. Be good, okay?”

He nodded again. Of course! Because he was a good boy!

But that suddenly became a lot harder when she went down the floor door and out of sight, and he realized just how empty the room was now that she and the Pink Thing were gone.

Quickly, he climbed up to the window and peeked to the outside, watching as his Creator left. He put one hand on the glass, feeling sad.

He didn’t like being alone…

_________________

“Ah, a child feeling alone and worried for his mother! Perfect prey for my akuma!”

In his lair, Hawk Moth sensed the wellspring of emotions. It would be perfect to take advantage of and create a new enemy to defeat Ladybug and Chat Noir!

“Go forth, my akuma! And evilize him!”

_________________

The sounds of the Teevee helped lessen the silence, but it didn’t change the aloneness. He wanted her back. How much longer would she be gone?

He looked to the clock and saw that the 800 had changed to 834. He didn’t know much about time, but he knew that it was the 8 that had to change to a 3 before she would be back.

That would be forever!

Anything could happen to her while she’s gone! What if she got hurt? What if she got lost? What if something happened and she didn’t come back?

But he wouldn’t cry!

He wouldn’t!

…but he missed her…..

A flapping of wings caught his attention and he looked up to see a bug.

What was it called? A “Butter Fly”?

How did it get in here?

_________________

Hawk Moth grinned sinisterly as he sensed his butterfly had reached the target.

“Good! Get closer, my akuma! And then, nothing shall—”

OMN!

Suddenly, all connection to the akuma was cut off.

Hawk Moth started in surprise.

“What?”

He reached out, but all his straining did little more than to make him appear constipated to anyone whom happened to be present.

Try as he might, he could no longer sense anything!

No emotion.

No akumatization.

Nothing.

It was as if his akuma had just vanished!

What just happened?

What the hell was that?

What happened to his akuma?

_________________

Bleck!

Chaton licked his fist to try to get the icky out.

It didn’t taste like butter at all!

It lied!

The butter was a lie!

It should be called a “Butter Lie!” Not a fly!

He felt a fluttering from his tummy.

Looking down, he poked at his tummy where the Lie was. It was being rowdy. And tickling his inside. He didn’t think he liked it much. But what else was he supposed to do with it?

At least he wasn’t alone now!

Maybe it would watch the Teevee with him?

_________________

“I’m back!” Marinette called as she opened the trap door and came back into her room.

The room still seemed to be in order. Nothing was broken. The TV was on.

And there was Chaton sitting on his little cushion and distractedly kicking his feet while he watched the TV. At least until he realized Marinette was there and he perked up. Within seconds, he was hopping off the cushion to stand in front of her, bouncing happily.

She smiled, kneeling down to pat him. “Hey there. Did you have fun?”

He tilted his head but nodded, giving the clear indication that it was, but not as much as when he was with her.

She smiled gently and handed him the cookie she promised. He happily accepted the gift and nibbled at the edge of the treat.

He was adorable. And better behaved than she expected.

“Did anything happen while I was gone?” She asked.

It didn’t seem like anything had, but still…she wanted to hear it from him.

Chaton paused, seeming to consider something...

And then coughed up an akuma.

Marinette stared.

Tikki stared.

Chaton looked back up at them proudly over the fallen butterfly.

Look at the thing he caught! Proud! Proud? Proud of him? Yes?

The akuma twitched, apparently little worse for wear.

Marinette gaped.

“TIKKI!”

_________________

The Butterfly was cleansed and then released.

(Which Chaton was a little sad about since it was supposed to be a gift for her he kept safe till she returned, but then again, it wasn’t made of butter so there probably wasn’t much his Creator could use it for, either.)

Marinette checked over Chaton multiple times to ensure he was unharmed from his exposure to the akuma.

(This, he liked better since it meant she was holding him a lot, though he didn’t like how worried she was because he was fine! Really! He was a good boy!)

Then she hugged him out of relief.

(Much to his joy.)

And gave him the rest of the box of cookies she had promised him.

(Which his tummy liked much more than the Butter Lie.)

All in all, things didn’t turn out too terrible. Though Marinette wasn’t sure she would be making another excursion like this that would leave him alone any time soon.

(Chaton was wondering if he should try hunting the Butter Lies next time….)

And the day ended well...

(Chaton dreamed of Butter Flies and croissants...)

[nights-legacy]

Trading 3 angrys for 1? - Bakugo Katsuki

   Help and Hide Series. Bakugo Edition

   Kirishima Ed.  Denki Ed.  Todoroki Ed.  Deku Ed.  Shinso Ed.  Iida Ed.  Aizawa Ed.  Tamaki Ed.   Hawks Ed.  Dabi Ed.  Shiggy Ed.

     + You are a student at UA and the whole class is on a field trip in Tokyo. On a free day, you all went out and you ran into to old “friends” and things go south. While trying to get away from them, you spot the token hot head of the class and decide to take your chances with this angry person over the angry people chasing you and are you pleasantly surprised. 

Note: My first My Hero Academia imagine!!! Let me know it you want a part two of this and I was thinking of making this a headcanon type for some of the other MHA/BNHA guys too. What do you think??

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      “Over here Mina! I found those little things you’re obsessed with!” I called over to the pink skin girl.

       “Yay! Lemme see! Lemme see!” She came barreling over and nearly ran into me and the table. I rolled my eyes and chuckled. She squealed and call Jirio over to show her. I walked over to another street vendor. Our class was on a field trip in Tokyo and we were given a free day. Everyone agreed on going out and seeing the scene.

       “Ah! Don’t throw squid at me Kaminari!” I heard Deku scream and laughed at the context before turning to see said electric boy chasing the broccoli with a squid arm. I burst out laughing, holding my stomach. I shook my head before wandering farther down the street.

        I was originally from Tokyo before I moved to attend UA. My family are not insanely rich but we are well off. My parents own a house in both Tokyo and Musutafu as well as vacation homes or condos in different parts of the world. I wandered away from most of the class and I really wish I hadn’t.

      “Oi! Lookie here, dudes. It’s Lee’s younger sister Y/N.” A chill went up my spine as I froze from the familiar voice. I slowly turned around to see my older brother’s former three best friends with wicked smiles on their faces.

      I hadn’t seen them since my brother cast them out of his life. He found out that they were bullying me behind his back for god knows how long and immediately cut ties with them. He only found out because I missed covering up an unmistakable wounds from their quirks. He was mad at me for not telling him but was more concerned for me in the long run.

      “H-hey g-guys.” I stuttered, mentally berating myself for being so scared. I’m training to be a Pro-Hero for god sakes! I tried to steel myself against the incoming assault but couldn’t help but inwardly shake.

      “Aw. Is wittle Y/N scared?” Kei, the leader of them teased. “Well you should be bitch!”

     “You cost us advantage with your brother!” Haru yelled as he jerked forward, grabbing my bicep hard. I yelped and he shook me. “Shut up.”

     “We could never…‘talk’…to you about it because Lee never let us near you again. And it became even harder when you went off to that Hero school. You didn’t even give us a chance.” Kei gave me a smirk when he said talk, meaning something completely different the actual definition. “We could have worked things out.”

      “In more ways than one.” Aaron eyed me up and down. “You sure have grown up, little sis.” Kei rolled his eyes and hit him in the chest hard. Aaron looked at him offended while Kei just gave him a ‘really’ look.

      “I’m sure we could have but…” I gulped as I saw Haru activate his laser quirk. “I really have to go right now.” I pointed behind me. “Gotta catch up with the rest of my c-class.” I tried to pull away but was pulled back hard. I looked at them with fearful eyes.

      “Not just yet, bitch!” They laughed and looked at each other amused. I looked around at the people around us. There are not too many people close so I decided to use my quirk. I have a light and shadow quirk.

      “I really have to go.” I said in a firm voice. They looked at me surprised and I gave them a blinding flash. The grip on my arm immediately disappeared and they all covered their eyes as they yelped. I took off running back in the direction of the rest.

      “Get back here!” Kei yelled. I obviously ignored him. I ran and avoid people easily with my high agility. I stopped to take a breath and see how far they were behind me. At first I could only hear them and other people yelling at them but I saw them finally a ways back.

      “Shit, shit, shit.” I mumbled looking around for anyone I knew or something to hide behind. I finally caught sight of Bakugo a few yards away. I bit my lip and wondered if it was worth asking the angry Pomeranian for help against the anger musketeers. When I saw the three close I didn’t think twice. “Ah!”

      I ran over to the explosive boy and quickly grabbed his arm, dragging him over to the close by building.

     “What the hell!” He screamed at me. I flinched but looked back towards the others.

     “Sh, sh! Please, shh!” I tried to shush him but he growled at me.

     “What the hell do you think you’re doing you damn strobe light?” I wanted to giggle at his nickname for me but there was no time. I caught sight of his hoodie around his waist and ripped it off of him. “Hey!”

     “Please, just…I...ah!” I saw them closer now. I yanked the hoodie over my head and made sure the hood was up. I then did the unthinkable without even thinking. I grabbed Bakugo by the collar of his shirt and backed up. My back him the wall and I pulled him close and into kiss before he could even protest.

      “Wha…” He mumbled against my lips, hands falling tense on both sides of my head. He tried to pull away but my grip was vice.

     “Where is that little bitch! I am going to beat her to a pulp when I get my hands on her.” I heard Kei growl from right near us. “She will be so messed up that she won’t even be able to go to brother to rat this time.” I whimpered against Bakugo’s lips and my grip on his shirt tightened. I felt Bakugo stop fighting me.

     “I say we don’t even let her be able to do anything at all when were done with her.” Haru chipped.

     I don’t know what happened but Bakugo relaxed and leant into me. He moved his hands so one of his forearms rested next to my head and the other moved to my hip. What shocked me most is when he started kissing me back. We slowly started to actually kiss each other making the scene more authentic.

     “Come on, let’s check this way.” Aaron said and I heard them move on only slightly, more focused on the man kissing me then the men who were chasing me. I expected Bakugo to pull away as soon as they were gone but it seemed like he moved in even closer, continuing our soft make out session. We only pulled away when we both ran out of breath.

    “Wow.” I said was gasping for the breath he stole. I saw a small smirk grace his lips. “I think they’re gone now.” I whispered. Bakugo chuckled at my comment.

      “Yeah.” He rasped out before leaning back in, starting another make out session. I don’t know how long we were here but we were only brought back out when we heard a chorus of surprised yells come from Kami and Kiri.

     “Woah! Bakubro! L/N! What’s this pleasant development?” Kami asked while adding kissing noises on the end of his question. Bakugo pulled away and dropped his head a little groaning.

     “Dudes! I didn’t know you had a thing for each other!” Kiri exclaimed. :That’s totally awesome.

      “At least there’s someone out there that can deal with your angry ass, Bakugo.” Kami teased.

      “Shut it you damn extras!” Bakugo yelled over his shoulder. I giggled. He smirked when he turned back to me. He reached up and pushed the hood down and pulled my hair from the hoodie, brushing it out lightly with his fingers. He suddenly placed his hand at the juncture of my neck and pecked my lips. “Keep it on.”

       “Okay.” I said softly. He smiled for real before throwing an arm over my shoulder.

       “Come on you idiots! Let go find the rest of our dumb class. It’s getting close to time to head back.” We started walking and they conversation quickly changed comments. As we walked by an off shot of the street, I flinched when I heard their voice again. I felt Bakugo pull me tighter against him and rub his hand up and down my arm in comfort. He leant down to whisper in my ear. “When we get back to the hotel, I want to tell me what just happened and what those douchebags did to you. Is that okay?”

         “Yeah, that’s okay.” I whispered back. He hummed and smiled before pecking the side of my head and nuzzling my hair. I almost got whiplash by how soft he was being to me but reveled in this side of Bakugo that I was quickly beginning to love. Well, more than I already loved this explosion boy. He just didn’t know that yet.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 16

First time reader click here

Summary/TWs: Trouble is brewing. Canon-typical violence, graphic descriptions of wounds and Clint whump. Bad, terrible, no-good medical accuracy. Aliens. Reader is an anxious genius with low self-esteem and PTSD. ✨spicy sadness✨

From now on, chapters will be posted un-beta-ed. She's taking a lil break. 💖💝✨

I liked to think I had made peace with the fact that my boys and girls had one hell of a dangerous job. Natasha, Clint, Steve and Bucky frequently left for missions and while I missed their usual bickering in the background, it wasn't like the tower's common room became absolutely quiet. The fact that they mostly did recon-only missions helped, too, as they would come home unharmed and in one piece. The worry was there but subtle - like setting the table and including silverware for the people who were gone on a mission.

Peter's patrols went less smoothly, usually. He was small and even in his spider-suit, the boy was frequently underestimated by common thugs. Apparently, they didn't know how to read the news - it was blatantly obvious the hero was enhanced. And yet somehow, Pete more often than not sported all sorts of bruises, scratches and tears.

Tony and I routinely tore out our hair over the spiderboy's carelessness. The engineer had a funny way of showing he cared for Peter. Once I got to know him better, my brain dubbed them as Irondad and Spiderson. And it wasn't weird at all, somehow, that I was basically fucking my best friend's dad. Tony never made me uncomfortable, if anything, he went to great lengths to accommodate my whims. Tony continuously found time for me, answered my dumb questions and soldiered through the shenanigans I got up to after having too much caffeine and too little sleep.

Sitting in the quiet, empty common room was unnerving. It was shortly after dinner time - the evening news skipped their usual political debate in favour of the battle that was raging downtown, the reason for my headache and wrung hands.

I missed Tony's running mouth. The aliens the team was fighting looked quite hilarious, murderous intentions aside, and I could only imagine the way Tony and Clint would mock them. Hentai rejects. Tentacle porn knock-offs. The aliens were squid-like, about half the size of a human and very, very slippery, from what I spied on the TV.

An irritated-looking Stephen had me equal parts apprehensive and drooling - one after another, he conjured up a series of small portals, teleporting the aggressive octopods only god knew where. It would have looked incredibly badass if not for the exhausted sheen of sweat I could see on his brow, even despite the camera footage being shaky and grainy.

The news footage showed Tony - Iron Man, soaring contentedly through the darkening skies and taking out the squirmy mass of tentacles with his plasma beam repulsors. Steve and Bucky and Loki appeared too, sporadically, being well-oiled murder machines. Nothing new.

Yet, I worried. The little worm of doubt was squirming full-force. I tried to ignore it, yet pacing, sitting and playing Candy Crush got me nowhere. I pestered Friday to order pizza, the team's usual post-mission order plus a large one for me - stress-eating was better than stress-popping-molly in a tower full of superheroes. It took some courage to admit to myself I'd gotten attached enough to be this much from running away from all that in a blind panic.

And it would be the best option for them, really, because they had much sensible things to worry about than me. Yet every time, my selfishness won against even the most logical arguments I presented. I hated fighting myself but it was all I did - not only I was in love with Tony, I loved him.

Even when he forgot about my existence for five days, to emerge from his workshop with a new piece of tech that revolutionised one or another or something else. I loved him when he annoyed the ever living fuck out of everybody, me included, because I knew that it was hilarious to see people getting riled up over totally trivial shit. I loved Tony Stark when he ran away from his feelings, and everybody else's, because he never managed to run far enough. Or he didn't want to. I loved him, because he was like a multilayered puzzle, complex and captivating and beautiful.

I thought a lot about it, more than people would have noticed. For someone as selfish and goal-oriented as me, Tony lived in my head rent-free most of the time. And nobody would find out if I had the choice because let's face it, I'm a short cameo in his life. I'm a fuckin' catch and even then, I can't expect to hold his attention forever. His genius is too brilliant to settle for one when he could easily have the whole damn world.

Another hour consisted of me pacing and accompanying the pizza delivery boys to the common floor. It was hilarious - they were obviously star-struck about walking the same carpet as their heroes. I could see the faint hope of meeting one of the Avengers in their eyes, their posture. All they got was me - in my sweatpants, Tony's tee and no bra. My tits got the attention they deserved, at least.

My lounging was interrupted by a golden circle noisily appearing in the middle of the room, followed by Clint abruptly falling through it with a pained moan. I froze, the pizza in my mouth turning to ash - Strange poked his head through the hole in space, finding my eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Help him, I don't have much time," He breathed and disappeared, closing the portal behind himself.

The pizza piece flew back in the box as I stumbled, jumped over the headrest, kneeling beside Clint in no time. "Bird, tell me what hurts," I demanded. Not that I had a clue what to do. I mean, I knew basic first aid and...

"My leg," He gritted out, curling in on himself. Fear flooded me, limbs turning to lead. Hawk had a good pain tolerance, I knew he could break an arm and not utter a single syllable until he thought it safe to showcase his vulnerability. "That squid motherfucker stung me, I don't know. My whole body is on fire," His speech was slurred.

I nodded, deciding to limit the touching to only the necessary actions. The leg of his pants was torn and the wound itself was shaped like a whip mark, thin and red and angry. It oozed a yellowish pus-like substance, it smelled bitter, almost like stale water and seaweed salad. I didn't know much about aliens but jellyfish stings, I could work with. A short Google check later, I had an approximate plan.

"Friday, run diagnostics." I ordered, taking a deep breath and filing away the fear, the panic and anxiety for later.

"Mr. Barton has a wound that appears to be contaminated with an unknown chemical that is causing an adverse reaction. The elevated body temperature suggests that his immune system is fighting it. I would suggest a blood test to examine the offending specimens."

A blood draw? I could do that. I definitely, absolutely, could do that.

"Bird, Clint, did you hear that?" I gently touched his shoulder only for him to recoil from my hand, muttering unintelligibly. "Pretty bird, I'm going to help you. Let me." My bedside manner needed improvement - with brain running a mile a minute, I babbled utter nonsense as Friday directed me to the needed supplies. Getting the blood was a feat on it's own - I had to physically sit on top of Clint to get but a tiny vial of the red liquid.

A few tears escaped the emotional fortress I had to build within myself. Clint was in so, so much pain - pain I was inadvertently making worse by touching him. I sprinted to Bruce's lab, feeding the sample to be analysed by Friday, tearing through the room in a hurricane. First aid kit, IV, saline, antibiotics. Restraints, too, just in case.

"Analysis complete. The contaminant appears to be acting similarly to a parasitic infection with a short life-span. Primarily feeds on copper, iron and various metals contained in the human body. Does not appear to reproduce or multiply, my algorithms cannot determine the cause of said behaviour. Calculating..." Friday's mechanical voice paused. "I have calculated the approximate duration of Mr. Barton's symptoms. Onset of critical stage in one to three hours. Complete extinction of parasitic organisms in approximately sixty hours."

"Fri, do you think I have a chance of saving Clint before he goes crazy from pain? And have you figured out what's causing it?" My brain was all over the place.

"I have the best faith in you, miss." The AI sounded almost... Comforting? "I am still running multiple diagnostics. My algorithms suggest the organisms may be attacking the nerve endings - reason unclear."

An idea struck me. A crazy, brash, absurd idea. The pathogen was alien and we didn't have antibiotics to kill it. Even if I gave Clint some sort of medicine, it could go awry really really quickly. Besides, wasn't there a medical team for this..?

"Friday, alert the medical suite."

"Request denied. Per Mr. Stark's protocols, only Sir himself and Dr. Banner are authorized to request medical assistance in case of alien pathogen contamination."

"Fuck. Fuck, that makes no fuckin' sense!" I yelled helplessly. "Okay, do you have blood matching Clint's type laying around?" I asked sarcastically. This protocol pissed me off. What was Tony scared of? That someone would steal alien germs? Too late for that, there were plenty of samples all over the sidewalks downtown.

"A-positive, blue refrigerator, top shelf." Friday's answer was curt.

My hands shook. My whole body shook. Clint was laying in fetal position right where I'd left him and the man wasn't looking better - he became paler, dark circles under his eyes, clammy sweat breaking on every exposed part of his skin. Moving him was out of the question - Clint violently recoiled from me once I tried to touch him.

Reluctantly, I dragged the dining room chairs and piled up whatever heavy things I could on top of them, praying to every god that they would hold a trained man trash around in pain. Then, came the restraints. Belts with clips unlike one could see in a movie with a psych ward. I fumbled with them, then with Clint - very slowly, but I got both of his arms fastened and the man rolled onto his back.

"Wwhat... S'appening..?" Hawk finally slurred, cracking his eyes to see my (probably) disheveled and panicked face.

"This is going to hurt, I won't lie. A lot," I rambled, setting up the tools needed for both a blood draw and a blood transfusion. "I'm not a doctor. I'm not a scientist. You have alien parasites in your blood. I'm going to get rid of em," I announced, not mentioning the fact that I had to Google all the things I was going to do to him.

"S'okay, I trust you," Clint slurred again, moving about much more weakly than before. The tips of his fingers began to turn blue and the blood vessels on his face stood out in a pink-purple web. Not good.

My finest thinking moment: laying out some tarp around the archer and putting on gloves and a mask to minimize the possibility of getting infected. I started with the wound first, carefully wiping away the yellowish goop and immediately sealing it into a biohazard container. Some alcohol around the edges, the wound began emanating a faint wisp of smoke as Clint yelled hoarsely. I didn't even react - man, aliens and their germs were fuckin' weird.

Another biohazard container traveled next to Clint's arm. I had a disposable scalpel in one hand and my courage in another - it was now or never. The vein I was cutting was a minor one, but with Clint's body in total disarray, it was an ugly fountain of pinkish-purple liquid that spurted from it. I was no doctor but blood shouldn't have looked like that.

I stared at the timer on my phone. Twenty seconds, thirty, fifty. Eighty seconds, the blood was beginning to have more of a red hue. Clint's breathing slowed, tremors subsiding by a smidgen. One hundred and eighty seconds, the stream was a healthy deep red colour. With a swift motion, I wrapped up the wound, folded his arm, tied off the blood flow higher up his arm with a spare restraint. Clint wasn't moving much anymore; my hand that periodically checked his pulse shook but dutifully did it's job. His heart was working steady.

Compared to having to drain a friend of his blood, setting up the IV with a transfusion was a walk in the park. My mind was empty of any thoughts but for the actions needed to complete the process.

The container with contaminated blood, closed, sealed and put in a plastic bag, along with the gloves and the tarp. My own exposed flesh, meticulously scrubbed with alcohol until the skin became red and raw. All the instruments, Clint's pants, my clothes - in the bag.

The archer himself was laying still, his breathing steady and calm, face no longer looking like he was one step away from the grave. After undoing the restraints, I wiped down every surface we touched with Tony's vodka - rubbing alcohol had run out and I was too emotionally drained to go downstairs and leave Clint for too long. Whenever the booze collided with a stray drop of blood, a wispy smoke emerged. Such an interesting reaction. Part of me couldn't wait to examine the phenomena together with Bruce. The other part was considering the possibility of having a panic attack in a seafood restaurant.

"Fri, keep an eye- a sensor on Clint for me, will ya? I need a shower and some pants," I denounced tiredly, padding to the communal shower. I found respite, however brief, under the steam for a few minutes. Then I found Tony's old tee and a pair of someone's sweats - I didn't care whose. Post-stress adrenaline shivers had me feeling stark naked in the middle of Alaska despite the room being a toasty, comfortable temperature according to the digital thermostat.

Now I just had to think about what to tell the team.

Propping Clint's head on a decorative pillow and covering him with a soft fleece blanket was the least I could have done for the long suffering archer. The floor was hard but I sat next to him, running a hand through his matted hair, my brain an incomprehensible mess.

✨ TAGLIST OF MY LOVELIES (OPEN) ✨

@another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby

[anthropwashere]

deadfic: our indestructible days ch 1

More deadfic for the Good Intentions WIP Fest, though since the event’s over I’ll spare the poor mod yet more of my horseshit. 

This was, in fact, the first fic I really tackled post 2017 BH watch! And boy does it show. I’m doing y’all a favor by editing it to hell and back before posting any of it, honest. Due to that however, I don’t know how many chapters there will be. At least 4, since that’s as far as I’ve gotten in the editing process. We shall see!

All you need to know for this one is: What if Kimblee didn’t stop Pride from possessing Ed on the Promised Day? :)

Title comes from Puscifer’s “Dear Brother.”

=

The air burns against his flaking skin, molten stone growing dark yet still radiating a dangerous heat. Everyone else has gone after Father, the rattle and scrape of transmuted stone fading. It's just the two of them now, the alchemist and the homunculus, and Pride has the upper hand.

“This container won’t last much longer,” he says matter-of-factly, leaping down to stand before the boy. In the dusty sunlight filtering in from above Edward Elric’s eyes shine, catlike and calculating. His breathing is ragged, spit between clenched teeth. He’s pinned by cords of unyielding shadow. If he struggles much harder, Pride might break something.

That thought demands brief consideration. It would be satisfying to take Edward apart bone by brittle bone, to take his pound of flesh for the damage incurred to his Philosopher’s Stone. The left arm would sever easily, if he but sharpened his shadows. Tempting, yes, but ultimately pointless.

“But still,” he continues thoughtfully, a new plan already fallen into place. “Like my father is, you are of Hohenheim's bloodline. We’re virtually brothers. Which means, Edward Elric, I can use your container. Your body belongs to me!”

It is an easy thing to invade the bloodstream, entering through a thin cut on the boy’s cheek. Pride fills every vein and artery with shadows until Edward’s heart is smothered, his blood sludge. He ignores the screams, the uptick in thrashing. This is tricky work, something only achieved twice before, and he hadn't seen either success firsthand. His Stone is too big for such a little cut. He spares a tendril of himself to stab the boy's chest, wrenching open a wound big enough to deposit his core directly against the thrashing heart within. Connective tissue regrows at a breakneck pace, sewing him irrevocably into a body a thousand times more complex than his original container.

With that taken care of Pride lashes out with a snap of white teeth, unfettering the strangled soul. The body still writhes, pain a thing of the flesh rather than the spirit, but there is less resistance after that. If it's lucky, the boy's soul will be absorbed into his Stone, its energy and knowledge assimilated, made useful. Then again it could simply burn up in the transference, an ember caught in a cold wind.

Either way, that which was called Edward Elric will no longer be a concern.

What a big fuss Wrath made of it, with his story of the man who became a homunculus who became King. A little pain suffered is nothing, when the alternative is death.

Edward’s screaming makes this all the sweeter.

Without its contents, his old container collapses to so much dust and an empty pile of clothing, and— 

—ah. 

There are memories, kept just beneath the surface of Edward’s dying panic. The mind is easy to parse when the soul is absent. Old night terrors, old horrors. Loneliness. What a childish thing to fear.

A heartbeat. 

Another. 

Waiting— dreading— the body’s rejection of him. 

But it never comes. Barely a shudder of resistance, the only lash of alchemical reaction his Stone instinctively healing injuries the boy had incurred.

The silence after that's finished is a breathless, giddy surprise.

Pride tests his new container carefully, casting an unhappy glance at the automail arm he’s now saddled with. It’s an unpleasant weight, cold and heavy; the leg much the same. It'll take time he doesn't have to adjust to them. How pathetic, that humans must rely on machinery to recover from serious injury. Once he’s regained some of his strength he’ll have to do something about them.

Something shifts within him, a sensation not unlike vertigo stealing his breath. Pride hesitates, wobbling on unfamiliar limbs, but the feeling passes. He smiles. A strong bloodline indeed.

“Fight all you wish,” he says aloud. “I've won.”

Even his voice has changed. His true voice is marred, pitched deeper. Weighed down. He is weighed down by this new container. It's strange. This is all very strange. But he must adjust quickly, for the battle isn’t won yet.

He shakes unfamiliar blond hair from his new container’s eyes, looking up through the hole punched through the many underground floors beneath Central Command. Four thin stone pillars ascend through it, stretching all the way up to the parade grounds. Such a distance. Even the sacrifices shouldn't have been capable of stretching so much material so high without it collapsing. What did they do? What was that array they activated that allowed them to perform alchemy again?

The fight has shifted. He must return to the fray, now that he’s been renewed. Father would—

Father expects him to—

No. 

Not yet. He’s not strong enough to rejoin that fight, yet. His Stone was damaged even more than they’d anticipated when he forced Mustang through the Gate. 

Pride sniffs, tasting the air. There are humans nearby; more souls to consume. He licks his lips and sends his grinning shadows upward.

He is hungry.

=

Major General Armstrong kneels beside the body of Führer King Bradley, hating that she's been sideline for what is surely the most decisive battle Amestris has ever seen. Her men are up there, where that pale creature had ascended only minutes ago atop a pillar of molten stone. Bullets and mortars were near useless against the lesser homunculi; what could their Father be capable of?

Her pulse is still racing, a sour taste settled in her mouth. She knows acutely what it feels like to die, and the experience has left her feeling hollowed out in a way she's unsure of how to voice. She remembers a maelstrom of suffering, countless voices begging for release. It's not something she'd wish on a Drachman, let alone endure again. If not for the Elric brothers' father she'd still be trapped in that hell. They all would be.

Is it fear that still makes her heart pound, or cowardice?

Her lip curls. Fear is justified. Fear is the intelligent reaction. To fear something means you're paying attention. Cowardice, however....

She shakes her head. Four of the human sacrifices—Izumi Curtis, Alphonse Elric, Van Hohenheim, and Mustang—had been afraid, and yet still determined to stop that monster. Even blinded Mustang hadn't hesitated to fight on, utilizing the famed Hawk's Eye to direct his flame attacks. It's both begrudging and gratifying, to realize the man has a stronger spine than she'd thought. 

The fifth, Fullmetal, is still below fighting Pride. There'd been sounds of combat, and then screaming, but it's gone quiet now. The distance and echo distorting the sounds had made it impossible to determine who had been doing the screaming. The lot of them on this level have been keeping a wary eye on the hole in the floor since then. They don't know what that particular homunculus is capable of and the only alchemist left here is the serial killer Scar, and he's in no shape to assist. The idiot boy had better not die while the battle's still on.

She eases to her feet, hissing pain despite her best efforts, and cats her sight on the blue sky above. A single blast of power had punched a hole in this underground labyrinth clear through to the surface. How can they defend against something like that?

Bah. Defeatist's talk. The alchemists will do all they can to do just that, and her men will support them. They're Briggs men. They'll do whatever it—

"What the hell?!"

"What is that?!"

She turns sharply toward where the few soldiers who'd insisted on staying behind as a protection detail are gathered. They've all drawn their weapons, aiming at the hole in the floor. Ribbons of—shadows—stretch up from below, splitting open to reveal red eyes and white jaws.

Damn! And here she'd thought Fullmetal had been left behind to fight the homunculus alone for good reason! Was the boy really so useless as to die now?

"PREPARE YOURSELVES!" She bellows, striding toward the lashing shadows. A glance is all she needs to know it would be futile to try and keep distance in a room as small as this. Better to be with her men. She may have lost the use of her sword arm but this is a fight she will not—cannot—leave for her men to fight alone. "Fire at Selim Bradley the moment he shows himself!"

The red eyes narrow. The white jaws grin. Grating laughter echoes off of the stone walls. "That container has been discarded, Major General," the mouths all say in the same mocking voice. "But are you really going to risk injuring this body?"

From out of the depths a figure rises, lifted up on tendrils of shadow to step lightly onto the rubble-strewn floor. Her men curse, guns dipping. Somewhere behind her Mr. Curtis and the frog chimera inhale sharply. She can't blame any of them.

The grinning boy with living shadows curling at his boots is Fullmetal.

"Edward," Izumi's husband says, hushed. The boy pays him no mind, eyes flat and cold as coins.

"It was wise of you to stay behind," Fullmetal—no, Pride—says, still smiling. The shadows stretch and curl, painting the room in streaks of black. "Your contributions to the war effort are greatly appreciated."

Too late, she understands what he means to do. "No! Don't you dare—!"

The shadows strike, and her men begin to scream.

=

"Edward Elric."

His name whispered out of the murk. A voice calling him awake. He can't pinpoint where it's coming from. Everything else is so loud. There are so many people nearby, all of them screaming, all of them begging to die. Everything is so red.

"Fullmetal."

He tries to put a name to the voice. He knows it. Doesn't he know it?

Fraying. He's being... stretched. Pulled apart. Losing his sense of self.

He's losing himself.

"Surely you're not going to roll over as easily as that, are you?"

He... he knows this voice.

A pinpoint of white, searing amongst all this writhing red. The shape of a man comes into focus. White clothes, long dark hair, the wide eyes of a madman, tattoos on his outstretched palms.

"K...Kim...blee...?"

The man smiles. "Ah, so you are still in there. Good, very good."

"Where... what is... this...?"

"We've both become a part of Pride's Philosopher's Stone now. Two souls clinging to our individuality amidst a howling mob of anguish." Kimblee rocks back on his heels, throwing out his hands. His face is a picture of bliss. "Isn't it exquisite?"

He looks away, out at the writhing, the screaming. Nothing but gaping mouths and dark eye sockets everywhere he looks, the barest suggestions of human shapes. Souls. How many died to make this Stone? "It's—loud. No. No, this. This isn't. This isn't what I...."

It's getting so hard to think.

Kimblee looks almost disappointed now. "Tell me, Edward Elric. Are you truly so weak as this? Unraveling at the first glimpse of something beyond your control?"

He looks down at himself. Two arms, two legs. No automail pulling insistently at his bones. Of course not. He's only a soul, nearly as red as the others twisting all around him. He's inside a Philosopher's Stone, which makes him only one more lost soul. Wisps of red peel from his limbs, chafed and scraped away by the chaos pushing and pulling at him from all sides. He's falling apart. Losing himself. Soon he'll be nothing but babbling energy, regenerative power for the homunculus he's become a part of. For... for....

"Pride."

Kimblee raises one curious eyebrow. "That's right."

"Where—Where is he?"

"A bit preoccupied eating to overhear this conversation, if that's your concern."

He—Edward, he's Ed, gotta stay focused, he can't slip again, his name is Edward—strains, struggling to remember what happened. How he came to be like this. He was.... There had been.... Pride. Selim had been badly—injured? damaged?—after forcing the Colonel through the Gate. His container was failing. He'd pinned Ed down—pain, it had hurt—and declared that Ed would be... that Ed's body would be....

Ed's just a soul now. He doesn't have a body, no skin to prickle and no breath to catch, but a chill runs through him all the same. "He. He took my body. He made me his new container. Didn't he?"

"That's right."

No matter where Ed looks it's all souls, no glimpse of what's going on outside this Stone. Ling—and Greed, for that matter—have always had a good idea of what was going on when the other one had been in control of Ling's body. How did they—

Hold on.

Ed looks back at Kimblee, who just smiles pleasantly back. Eating. Pride can't hear them right now because he's eating. The hell does that mean?

"I can't see," Ed snaps, shoving at a soul that's drifted uncomfortably close. His hand is paler, more defined than it was before. He's got a good grip on himself again. He really should've paid more attention when Ling talked about the meditation shit he did while Greed was refusing to share. "Ugh. Where is he? What's he doing, Kimblee?"

Kimblee chuckles and waves his hand. The tempest of screaming parts like a theater curtain; bright light spills in that leaves Ed blinking and shading his eyes. He goes to it anyway. He has to know what Kimblee meant—

His sight adjusts, and he's looking at a bloodbath.

There's red sprayed across the near wall, splashed along the floor, drips and splatters and scraps of tattered uniforms everywhere he looks. A single soldier is in view, firing wildly right at Ed only to have the bullets deflected by a shadow pitted with familiar eyes and bloodstained fangs. The gun in the soldier's hands clicks, the clip emptied, and the shadow cuts him down. Ed can hear the brutal crunch of bone, the muted spurt of spilled blood, the ragged tearing of meat. He hears someone laughing. His voice. His stolen voice multiplied weirdly through the shadow mouths as Selim's had been. 

Ed hollers, twisting away, but Kimblee's white hands hold him fast. The man's voice roars out, ragged with terrible glee. "Don't avert your eyes! Don't look away! That's your body out there, cutting those men down. Take credit for the destruction your hands have wrought!"

"NO! NO! That's not—it's not me—get the fuck off—I don't want this!"

"Then what are you going to do about it?!"

"—no, no, I don't—I—w-what?"

Once Ed's stopped struggling Kimblee all but drops him, still grinning from ear to ear. "I thought about interfering, when Pride first tried to take your body for himself."

"What?"

"I'm perfectly content in here, but he decided to throw away his honor as a homunculus. So proud to be what he is, that very quality he was named for, but the moment he found himself in grave danger he sought to escape into the body of a human." Kimblee snarls. "He's pathetic. A disgrace."

Ed watches his body's left hand rise, pointing at—Major General Armstrong? Her face is a mask of blood, and the rest of her isn't much better. Sig's beside her, one arm slick and hanging heavily, the other supporting Scar who looks like he narrowly escaped a meat grinder. Behind them he can just glimpse Jerso in his frog form, lying so still it's impossible to tell if he's still breathing. The window or whatever out into the real world flickers as—fuck—as Pride looks at another soldier spring out from behind cover. He empties his clip in record time, unerringly aimed at Ed's chest. Do any of the bullets hit? Do they hurt? The soldier's cradling his rifle strangely, one hand clumsily wrapped in bloodstained cloth. 

"Why?" Ed asks, weary. A shadow arcs out, bristling with teeth, and bites through the man. He goes down with a bizarrely muted scream and another spray of blood. "Why didn't you stop him? This—this wouldn't be happening if you'd stopped him!"

Kimblee regards him, eyes narrowed, face unreadable. "Führer Bradley is a homunculus," he says conversationally. "And Greed. His vessel is human as well, isn't it?"

Outside, sounds of crunching, splattering, chewing. Ed watches a clean white uniform stain almost black with gore. "Yeah? So what?"

"I started to think a little, that's what." Another little chuckle. Fuck, this guy really is crazy. He's enjoying this. "The homunculi make such a fuss out of being better than humans. More evolved, above our petty fears and desires. They're so proud to be the puppeteers of this country, the hands on our yokes as they've guided us to this Promised day."

Ed watches the shadows finish off the soldier, nothing but a smear of blood and a couple glistening pieces of meat left behind. The window flickers again as Pride turns his head to regard the last of the survivors.

"It's funny," Kimblee says. "For how much they talk, they so rarely deliver on their promises. So I ask you, Edward Elric. What are you going to do now?"

The General. Sig. Jerso. Scar. They're going to die. Pride's going to kill them. For all Ed knows they might think he agreed to let Pride take his body.

He looks at his hands. He's nearly himself again, or at least as nearly like himself as he can be without his body. He's got two arms here. Two legs too. An arm and a leg, and a body, and the whole damn country on top of it now. He's made way too many promises to fail here.

Ed sets his jaw and leaps out into the light.

[caramelslate]

Day 1 of Moms Made Fullmetal Week!!

It’s a bit late becaue work, but here it is!

Prompt:  Family or Love or Baby-talk

Ao3 link here.

Riza was pulled from her deep slumber by something tugging on her hair. She groaned and turned to the other side, willing for sleep to come back. Still, the tugging continued. Riza groaned and turned her head towards the bedside table at the clock sitting there: ten in the morning.

As a soldier, it was drilled into every one to be a morning person. This proved to be a huge problem for Rebecca who still had to set three consecutive alarms, all within 5 minutes of each other, just to be able to get up. Riza, however, is a morning person, ever since she was a child. So during their time in the military, she was usually the one to wake Rebecca up instead of suffering through the shrill noise of all her alarms.

It was rare enough for her to be home during a weekday, much less for her to be sleeping in. Usually, off days are spent by doing the extra chores around the house, paying bills, or doing laundry. But a particular nightmare kept her up during the night until Roy found her sleeping and curled up on the chair in the living room, an open book on her lap. She must’ve gone back to bed in the early morning hours and was not even aware of it.

As she started to rub the sleep from her eyes, something tugged on her hair again.

At first, she thought it was Hayate. Usually, her dog is well mannered but if he wants something, like his breakfast, for example, he climbs up the bed and snuggles with her. Riza thinks this behavior started to happen when Roy moved in and he lets Hayate up the furniture and even on the bed. His complaints of inhaling dog fur became nonexistent when Riza said that if he doesn’t want dog fur to get everywhere, he has to let Hayate sleep on his bed by the door. Still, she finds the dog curled up by their feet every night.

She turned around, with every intention of scolding Hayate for climbing up the bed again and chewing her hair but instead of a black wet snout, it was something else.

William. Her son.

It seemed surreal to even say that. Now even months later, she found the idea of becoming a mother and a wife seem more like a dream than her actual reality. But here she was, in bed at 9 am on a Tuesday, in a beautiful family house near the city, with her son.

Will’s chubby fingers are wrapped around a fistful of her hair, giggling and laughing. His eyes, very much like his father’s, are shining with delight. He released his grip and flapped his arms up and down, delighted to see her awake. With her reputation as a veteran in the war, especially with the title “Hawk’s Eye”, people tend to look at her and see a ruthless soldier. Detached and cold, only serving the country to fulfill her duty. Some see a hero, some see a murderer. Others who know more of her look at her and see a friend, a colleague, a confidant. Yet, now, nothing else matters because this boy in her arms only sees someone he loves, someone who is his mother.

Riza sat up, a smile etched on her face. She took the boy into her arms and said, “Why are you here, how did you get here?” Her question was answered by a piece of note she found by the bedside table.

He woke up at 6 this morning, so I took him to his crib but he started crying and just stopped as soon as I placed him down beside you. Was out like a lamp within minutes after lying down. Guess he also sleeps better besides you too. I sent Kathy to do all your chores for today so you can stay at home for once. She’ll probably be back before noon.

Just take it easy today. -R

Damn, that man is late for work again. This statement comforted her, the thought of the baby being left alone with her sleeping made her feel uneasy. It was tough during the first few months but she was getting better at leaving him from time to time. It also eased her mind to find something who they trusted to look after their son while both of them are at work. Fuery suggested one of his younger sisters as a temporary nanny. This helped the young girl too as she was going to the city for university and needed extra income. Fuery vouched for her and she trusts him. Having Kathy around the house is a godsend. Also, the fact that the baby likes her is another good thing.

She smiled. “You were crying this morning? Are you hungry? Do you miss Momma?”

Will’s answering laughter is the most beautiful sound she has ever heard. With everything that happened in her life, all the ups and downs, the countless times she came close to dying and losing everything, it was all worth it because of him.

She knows she did not deserve anything she has today. Not the doting husband, the beautiful son, not even the freedom she received. Not when she robbed the people she killed in Ishval.

Still, she would give everything up for her son. Everything.

Riza felt him tugging on her hair again, this time he was chewing on the blond strands.

“You like my hair, do you? Hmmm.” She swayed him slightly from side to side, the way he likes.

After the Promised Day, she decided that she was done with the long hair and got her hair cut up the way she had when she was younger. Partly in preparation for Ishval as scorching hot weather will surely be irritating while having long hair. Also, she welcomed the thought of something new in her now monotonous life, devoid of dealing with immortal super-powered creatures who wanted to take over the power of God.

Now almost a year after her last haircut, it just fell back behind her, brushing against the top of her tattoo.

Her son suddenly became quiet. Leaning over to him, she found him snuggled against the crook of her neck with one fist around her hair and the other inside his mouth.

So he has a fascination with her hair too. Like father, like son then. Maybe she should take a rain check on getting that haircut appointment?

“Honey, don’t.” Riza carefully pried her son’s chubby fingers away from her hair. She stood up, Will in her arms, and headed into the kitchen. Someone, probably Roy made eggs and coffee for her before they left. She lowered the baby down the bassinet they had set up in the living room and fixed herself a plate and much-needed coffee.

She loved lazy mornings like this as she rarely got them. Just her and the baby in the house. Riza quietly watched him in the bassinet, clutching a wooden toy soldier painted with a blue Amestris uniform. Ed has said it seemed fitting when he saw it at an antique store during one of his travels. He figured he’d give it to him when he dropped by shortly after the baby had been born.

She leaned over and stared at him. Will stared back with wide eyes that brought a soft smile to her face. He giggled and reached out his arms, wanting to be carried.

Riza reached down and took him into her arms. She put her feet up the coffee table and settled the baby on her lap. Once again, she found him with a tendril of hair between his fingers.

“Aw, you really love my hair, do you? Is it just the hair or is it me? What do you think?” She playfully moved her thighs up and down, rocking Will slightly, making him burst into adorable giggles again. “Should I just make a wig or something and leave it with you at night, huh? That’s disturbing, so no but what do you think? Should mommy cut her hair again? Hmmm, say Mama. Come on, honey, say Mama? I won’t cut my hair if you say Mama, sweetheart.”

“I don’t even have a say in it?” a voice spoke up.

Looking up, Roy was taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the armchair. He strode over them and kissed the top of her head and then the Will’s, and sank down beside her on the sofa. Noticing the empty plate and cup on the coffee table, “You just got up?” he asked.

“First off, you never had any say in it. It’ll always be this little guy’s opinion. Second, why are you here? It’s barely noon?” Usually, during weekends, when Roy has to leave for work, he usually gets home until after lunch, but it’s barely 11 and he’s already here.

Roy leaned back and sighed, putting up his boot on top of the coffee table next to hers. “They just needed me to attend a couple of meetings and go over some paperwork, which I finished,” he added that last part as an answer to Riza’s questioning gaze. “So once all that was done, I got up and went home. Already missed your lazy morning with the little guy. I don’t wanna miss lazy afternoons too.” He had his arm resting across her shoulder, a finger absentmindedly twirling a tendril of hair.

See? Like father, like son.

Riza rested her head against his shoulder and both of them watched in awe of their son babble unintelligible words like he was making a speech for the entire nation. She sighed.

“What?” Roy looked down at her. She shook her head. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Okay, now I am scared.” Roy muttered which earned him an elbow to the ribs.

Looking at their small apartment, at the dirty dishes on the sink, clutter on the counter, and then to the little human on her lap. “I just didn’t think we’d end up here.” she confessed. “With everything that happened in the past few years, I can’t imagine, not in my wildest dreams, that I’d actually be here, married and a mom, being all domestic. That was the last thing I ever imagined. I mean, we were all too busy trying to stay alive and not get caught arranging a coup.

Roy chuckled. “Are you reminiscing?” Riza snorted then rolled her eyes. “No, I’m just happy.”

Her husband looked down at her with this look in his eyes and pressed his lips against her temple and tugged her closer to his side. “So, the scary Hawk’s Eye baby talks, huh? Roy teased. Riza aimed another well-placed dig into his ribs and leaned away, rocking Will a little, her hands splayed across his back. Beside her, Roy is doubled over, arms across his stomach, fake betrayal etched across his face.

“Oh, stop being a baby. We already have one.” Riza rolled her eyes. Of course, she remembered aside from a baby, she also has a man-child husband too. “And if you ever let that out, I will drag you to the range to keep your ego in check.”

Roy leaned back in and tugged her back to his side, “Don’t worry Mustang. Your secret’s safe with me.”

She made him remember those words when Rebecca made it slip that everyone in the team knows about the baby talk the week after.

[yourprayer]

pop culture - chapter 2

“Adulthood in a town like Derry is even worse than childhood. The listless, empty ramblings of days dragging on in a town that felt like one-size-too-small-shoes sat heavier on the recently graduated than the younger children. Before you were eighteen and responsible for your own lunch money, you could spend your interminable afternoons exploring the surrounding environment, friends of friends abound. Escaping to the arcade and seeing the same films six times at the same theater was an acceptable amount of nothing to do at twelve years old. But when nineteen years hit Bill Denbrough and college acceptance letters didn’t, the sudden, overwhelming, nothingness of nowhere Maine became too heavy to bear.”

chapter 2 (wc: 4.3k)

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Filtered, fading, late summer sunlight drifted lazily through Bill’s bedroom window, landing lightly on Mike’s lap. He looked down at it; it stared back at him. He could feel the gentle heat seeping through his jeans, warming his thigh. He could feel his guilt creeping in, too.

All night Bill had been up worrying himself into a frenzy. The wear was clear on his face; and Stan’s, for that matter. And here was Mike, having slept perfectly soundly.

Could he be blamed for not worrying too much? Sure, Bill’s story had been frighteningly abnormal. But was he wrong in assuming it was only a result of Bill’s continued self-isolation? He had hardly been out at all since graduation. He rarely called, rarely joined in on group outings, rarely connected. Hell, Mike couldn’t remember the last time he and Bill had gone on a bike ride, just the two of them. It was no secret he was stressed over the weight of their impending adulthood. They all were. But Bill especially had been crumbling under the pressure. Mike had just thought… well, he didn’t know what he thought.

But it certainly hadn’t helped.

“... And you’re sure this wasn’t some kind of hallucination. You didn’t smell anything funny, or eat something you usually don’t-?” Bev was asking politely as Mike tuned back into the conversation.

“I’m s-sure.”

“Dude, someone could have slipped you drugs. It happens.” Richie chimed in from the floor, a little too hopefully.

“What the fuck Richie, nobody does that.” Eddie gave him a reproachful look.

“No it totally does, it happened to my cousin once. Someone put acid in his sandwich. He’s colorblind now because of it.”

“Rich, I don’t- wait, he’s fucking colorblind now?” Eddie turned to face Richie fully.

“Bad trips man, they fuck you up.” Richie shrugged. Bill was white.

“... Thanks for that, Richie, but I don’t think your story is helping.” Stan glared at Richie, both hands now on Bill’s shoulders to steady him.

“Continue, Bill.” Ben said quietly, the only one who hadn’t yet interrupted the countenance of Bill’s experience.

“A-a-anyways… After the s-sting and after I f-fell, it st-stayed like that for a minute or so… and th-then there w-w-w-” He gave up on the word with a sigh.

“You’re okay, keep going.” Stan reminded him calmly when it seemed like Bill would not try starting his sentence again.

“Th-there was another st-sting. And then it went away.”

Eddie gulped, then leaned in to Richie to whisper in his ear.

“I think that’s very much your level of weird.”

Richie was visibly shaken.

Mike wondered what the fuck that was about.

“Bev.” Ben said suddenly, coming out of his contemplation and preventing Mike from interrogating Eddie and Richie. “Do you think this has anything to do with what you told me?” He looked at her searchingly.

She thought for a moment, weighing her words.

“Possibly.”

Stan shot her an inquiring gaze. “What is he on about?”

“I had a vision today.” Bev said plainly.

“A vision.” Mike said from his chair behind her, his tone skeptic.

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “It’s never happened quite like this before, but… when I was a kid my family thought I was a prophet. I used to have these dreams, and-”

“A prophet?!” Richie leaned over Eddie, placing a hand on the other boys knee to steady himself, and looked at Bev incredulously. “What in the fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what you think it means, Richie. I had prophetic dreams. It stopped happening after I was in like, middle school, but they used to be fairly frequent.”

“Did you have another one?” Stan asked before Richie could open his mouth again.

“Not while I was asleep.”

Silence fell, and Mike could feel his brow knitting together in skepticism. He tried to stop the thoughts kicking at his mind; everything in him was screaming to discredit all this nonsense. The things they were talking about were… impossible! As much as he loved his friends, he had to say it, they were-

No. Be more open.

“So you had a vision. And you know it was real.” Mike said, trying to keep his tone neutral and not accusatory. Bev nodded at him over her shoulder. “Okay, then, what was it of?”

“It was… well it was Bill’s hands, cupped, holding a bird.”

Mike blinked.

“What kind of bird?” Stan asked.

Richie snorted.

“Pfft, first thing he asks about a psychic fucking vision is the bird breed, whatta nerd-”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Came Eddie’s grumbled retort.

“I don’t know, like a finch or something. A small, brown one.”

Bill looked like he was gonna hurl.

“Hey, do you need some air?” Eddie placed a hand on Bill’s knee, immediately sensing his change in demeanor. Bill shook his head, but didn’t open his mouth.

“Bev and I tried to come up with some idea of what it meant, but, we couldn’t think of anything.” Ben continued when they all felt Bill wasn’t about to keel over.

“But you think it could have to do with Bill’s finger.” Mike sat back, crossing his arms.

“There’s a chance.” Ben supplied.

Richie had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the conversation, his few comments surprisingly far between. Mike had pretended not to notice, but now he could practically see the sweat on his brow. Richie was shifting uncomfortably, and Eddie was watching him like a hawk, concern written on his face. But there was something else there too…

“Around what time of day did this happen, Bev?” Eddie asked suddenly, surprising them all.

“Just after I got off work. About noon, twelve thirty?”

Eddie gave Richie a look. “And you, Bill?”

“A-around the same time…” Bill said quietly, locking eyes with Beverly.

“Rich.” Eddie said quietly, solemnly placing his hand over Richie’s on the floor. Richie swallowed, shakily raising a hand to fix his glasses.

“Okay, Richie. What the fuck is going on with you.” Both Richie and Eddie’s faces shot around, looking at Mike with wide eyes. “You’re wigged. Something to share?”

Stan, Ben and Bev all looked to the boys confused. Bill still looked visibly shaken by Beverly’s story. Eddie looked incredibly guilty, clearly fighting the urge to blurt something out. Richie gave Mike a strange look, almost like he was fighting back the fear bubbling to the surface of his emotions. The two boys looked at each other, Eddie raising a goading eyebrow. Richie shook his head acutely, shrugging and sitting back.

“Nothing to share Mike, my boy, I’m all aces.”

“No, you’re not Richie. Spill.” Stan glared at him. Richie stared back, challenging him.

Richie lost.

“Okay, okay.” He sighed, shifting his weight and settling with his legs crossed, leaning on Eddie. “Something happened to me yesterday too.”

“Same time of day?” Ben said, turning to face Richie better, leaning against the bedpost at the foot of Bill’s bed.

“Yeah.” Richie nodded.

“Do you want me to tell them?” Eddie asked, meeting Richie’s gaze.

“Go for it, spaghetti-o.” He said in a sullen tone.

Oh, this oughtta be good.

______________________________________________________________

By the time Richie had finished his story, Stan’s head was spinning. The new revelations of the afternoon had made him feel a little better about the absurdity of Bill’s situation, but it had only made him more worried about the group as a whole. Quite a few of them were experiencing strange phenomena, and all of them were freaked. Stan, for once in his life, was totally unsure of what to do. Usually he was the level-headed one, the best at taking initiative. But with this… he had no idea what to do.

“Wait, let’s- let’s think about this.” Mike started, standing up. “We have to go over our options. Would you say we should start with figuring out the cause, yeah?” There was a chorus of agreement.

Thank god for Mike.

“So Bill says he didn’t eat anything weird. But what about Richie and Bev?”

“I only had diner food. My usual.”

“I hadn’t eaten anything at that point.”

“You- did you have any food before you got to my house?” Eddie snapped.

“Uh, no?”

“Richie you went all day without eating?! You got to my house at like, midnight!”

“Relax Eds, I do this all time-”

“You do this all the time-!?”

“What about smells.” Mike interjected, giving Eddie an annoyed look. “Literally, anything out of the ordinary you can think of.”

“Other than my fucking ghost of breakfasts past experience you mean?” Richie quipped. “Maybe I had some bunk pancakes, maybe that's why my fucking stomach disappeared!”

Stan was a little shocked at the harshness of the comment. “We’re just trying to figure out what the fuck happened, you don’t have to be a dick about it.”

Richie looked at his lap ashamed. “Sorry.” He mumbled.

The group sat in silence, contemplating, a million thoughts racing through the stagnant air in Bill’s bedroom.

One of them, coagulating, dread filling the room as the light bulb clicked for each of them.

“You don’t think…” Bev said, looking up at Stan and Bill.

“Of course I think.” Stan said after a moment. “How could we be so stupid, of course its-”

“Wait wait wait, you guys aren’t serious, are you?” Mike sighed. “There’s no way-”

“Do you really think there’s any other explanation, Mike?” Ben rejoined.

Eddie and Richie shared a look that ended in the both of them groaning, Eddie resting his head in his hands.

“What? What’s wrong with you two?”

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of that.” Eddie muttered. “For hours we kept going over it, and it never crossed our minds.”

“Shoulda been the first thing that came up.” Richie flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you realize what you’re even insinuating here, guys?” Mike started pacing. “The idea that, well, that- had anything to do with this crazy shit? It’s un-fucking-believable.”

“And what else was it, huh? We all saw it, we all knew something was up, it has to be the reason!” Stan said, standing up. Bill glanced up at his back, almost whining at the loss of his friend (that he had been leaning heavily on) next to him.

“There’s got to be some kind of connection.” Ben stood as well, walking to the window. “I mean, I don’t know about you guys, but the memory is.. Kinda fuzzy for me. I can’t really think of the specifics of what happened but… that’s gotta be it.”

Bill looked down at his sheets. “I don’t really r-r-remember either.”

“So even if this thing did something to us, how the fuck does that work?” Eddie asked, stress clear on his face. Richie noticed and raised his hand to rub circles on the smaller boys back.

“Beats me.” Mike groaned. “But I seriously doubt it.”

“I think we should go back.” Bev said, determined.

“Are you insane?” Eddie looked over at her. “We should never go back!”

“Hey, why not, Eds.” Richie said, sitting up and putting an arm around Eddie. “It could help us find answers.”

“Well you can go without me.” Eddie pouted.

“Hell n-no.” Bill said firmly, his voice finally regaining a normal volume. “We have to go back together. A-all of us.”

“There’s no way I’m doing that!” Eddie shot up, pushing Richie away. “That thing gave me the fucking creeps and I don’t want to be near it again! If it’s- if it’s what did this then we should stay away from it! We’re lucky we didn’t die!”

“Eddie-”

“Don’t Eddie me, Bev! I’m serious, I’m not going!”

Silence fell.

Richie got up.

He and Eddie shared a look.

Eddie lost.

______________________________________________________________

Mike’s old Toyota trundled down the old gravel logging road, the radio playing softly over the slight breeze and the crunch of the tires. Bill had brought his dad’s favorite Blues Brothers cassette, and the opening notes of “B” Movie Boxcar Blues filled the cab of the truck. Bill sat center, between their trusty chauffeur and Stan, who maintained that riding in the back of a truck would be his cause of death someday. In the back, Richie and Eddie took the left side, while Ben and Bev huddled together under their picnic blanket. The picnic in question, a large woven basket taken from Mrs. Denbrough’s inexplicably large collection, filled with snacks and homemade sandwiches, sat in the bed of the truck between them. Bev and Richie were passing a cigarette back and forth across the space, and Eddie scowled everytime Richie got up to grab it from her, peeved at the loss of the heat. He was stupidly wearing only a thin grey cotton hoodie, and he was mourning his thicker coat still hanging up at home. When the cigarette was done, Richie settled in for the length of the ride against Eddie, resting a head on his shoulder and looping his arm through Eddie’s. He tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks. They were just chapped from the wind.

______________________________________________________________

“C’mon jackasses, I told you it’s just right around here!”

“Tozier, slow the fuck down, you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“Relax, Staniel, I’m a professional.”

“Professional asshole.” Eddie mumbled, struggling to find a good grip.

“Professional rock climber first, professional asshole second.” He winked over his shoulder at Eddie, disappearing as he crested the bluff.

“What’s so important that we have to climb all the way up there?” Ben called from the back of the group, groaning at the ascent ahead of him.

“I don’t kn-know, we’ve lost him.” Bill called back, backpack hanging loosely off his shoulders and threatening to fall in Stan’s face.

“Just- keep going you guys.” Mike said through gritted teeth, hauling himself up where Richie had just vanished.

“I don’t even wanna see this dumb thing anyways.” Ben sighed, climbing up after Beverly, who was shyly giggling at Ben’s protests.

Richie’s curls popped out over the edge, followed by his stupid shit-eating grin, right in Eddie’s line of sight as he reached the top. Eddie shrieked and lost his grip, hands flailing as he started going backwards. Richie reached down and grabbed his wrists.

“Jesus Christ Eds, you should be more careful down there.”

“Oh fuck you, Tozier, you scared me!” Bill and Stan shared a bought of laughter below them. “It’s not funny, Denbrough!” Eddie glared down at them. They kept laughing anyway.

Richie proceeded to pull Eddie up over the edge. He had brought them to a grassy bluff, which stretched on to the edges of a forest, a good mile or so past them. The open field was beautiful. Eddie stared in wonder up at the open expanse of the night sky. It was a clear Saturday night; by now it had passed midnight and would count as early Sunday. He walked forward, pulling the sleeves of his sweater back down and shivering lightly. He was mesmerized, as the rest of the losers one by one climbed over the edge to join him, Mike, and Richie.

“Wow.” Beverly sighed, looking up at the sky. “This is a much better view than the quarry.

“Please tell me you didn’t drag us all the way up here for the view.” Stan glared at Richie, who was looking frantically around the clearing.

“No, Stan, I told you, I saw it land over here.” Richie responded distractedly. “It’s gotta be up here somewhere.”

“So to answer your question Stan, no, we came up here to chase Richie’s falling star.” Bev mocked, rolling her eyes as they all started to follow Richie, who had started trudging across the clearing.

“The one only he saw?” Mike laughed with her.

“Hey, I saw it too.” Eddie said defensively.

Bill and Stan shared a look. Bill shrugged. “I’ll a-a-admit it. I saw it t-too.”

“I think we would have felt it if something crash-landed this close to us, Rich.” Ben mumbled. “Besides-”

Everyone fell silent as they reached a downward curve in the clearing. As the plain tilted down towards the treeline, they came to a halt at the top of the hill.

Down where the grass plateaued into flatland and met the trees, was a deep, gaping hole in the earth, a blueish green light pulsating from its center.

“Holy shit.” About half of them muttered simultaneously.

“HA!” Richie turned to face the group from his end on the left. “I fucking told you!”

And then he promptly ran all the way down the fucking hill towards it.

“Richie, what the fuck?!” Eddie screeched after him, torn between fear and frustration, afraid to move. Bill and Mike quickly looked at each other before running down after Richie. Ben and Bev joined hands and followed down at a cautious walk, leaving Eddie and Stan at the top of the hill.

“God they’re so fucking- this is- this is stupid! We shouldn’t be going near that thing!”

“You’re preaching to the choir here, Eddie. No fucking way I’m going down there.”

“Guys! GUYS GET THE FUCK BACK UP HERE!”

“QUIT YOUR SCREECHING EDS! THIS THING’S FUCKIN LEGIT, GET DOWN HERE!”

“NO FUCKING WAY!” Eddie shook his head violently, his breathing growing quicker. “I’M STAYING RIGHT HERE!”

“SUIT YOURSELF, PUSSY!”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Mike shot him a look as they all formed a circle around the hole.

“Sorry, sorry, I just wish they’d come down here and look at this shit!”

“They’ll come when they’re ready.” Bev gave him a placating look.

“Bill, you got my camera in there?” Ben said, pointing towards the backpack.

“Yeah, h-here.” Bill shrugged off the bag and unzipped it, holding it out so Ben could pull out his portable film camera. He waved Bill and Bev to scoot back, then leaned forward over the pit and started snapping photos.

“This has gotta be the thing I saw. It’s a fuckin meteor or some shit.” Richie said excitedly.

“I’m sure Stan would know better, if he would come look at it.” Mike interjected. “Dude’s a science whiz.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s the presiding authority, Mike and Ike! I happen to know quite a lot about science myself.” Richie put his hands on his hips. “First rule of science; hypothesis. What’s ours, ladies and gents?”

“It’s a rock from space?” Beverly supplied.

“Yes, but you have to phrase it smart-like.” Richie snap-pointed in exuberance.

“This rock’s origin is unknown, but is definitely from somewhere beyond Earth.”

“That’s the ticket, Mike! Now, how do we prove it?”

“Guessing?” Bill snorted.

“No, dear Billiam! One word: experimentation.”

A devilish smile crept onto Richie’s face. Bill went white.

“No. R-Rich, no-”

“Tally-ho!”

And with that, Richie Tozier dove down the hole, feet first.

______________________________________________________________

Stan doesn’t think he’s ever heard Eddie Kaspbrak screech so loudly.

Or seen him run so fast.

“Richie! Richie, get out of there!” The other losers were crowded around the hole, calling down to Richie, who had disappeared completely into the darkness of the pit. Stan ran begrudgingly down to the group after Eddie, who vaulted past the others and practically catapulted himself into the hole after Richie.

“Eddie, no!” Ben called, gaping at him as he watched the smaller boy descend.

“Christ guys, get out of there!” Mike yelled, leaning his face down into the hole. “Jesus, I can’t see shit-”

“Do you have a flashlight in there?” Bev said, gesturing at Bill’s bag.

“It m-might not have battery life, b-but yeah.” Bill pulled an old flashlight of his dad’s out of his bag. It took a few smacks to get it to turn on, but once the beam shined true he handed it over to Mike, who resumed his inspection of the hole.

“I can’t see them at all.” Mike grumbled. “It goes on for awhile.”

“I’m going in.” Ben said, handing his camera to Bev.

“No, no way. We just need to get them to climb back out.” Bev said, gripping his hands.

“Richie! Ed! Come on, get out of there!” Mike called down the hole. No response.

“Guys, seriously, what if they’re stuck down there-” Ben protested.

“RICHARD TOZIER! EDWARD KASPBRAK! GET YOUR ASSES BACK UP HERE!” Mike bellowed, before scrambling back from the hole in surprise.

“Jesus, Michael, no need to get formal on us.” Richie smiled up at him as he climbed up out of the pit. “We found something.”

“For fuck’s sake Tozier, you scared the shit out of us.” Ben breathed, relief coursing through him. “Where’s Eddie?”

“I’m here!” Came Eddie’s muffled voice, and his left hand reaching up out of the hole next to Richie. Richie moved out of the way and reached down to pull Eddie out, which resulted in the two of them tumbling over and landing side by side on the ground, Eddie on his stomach.

“We found something.” He declared into the grass.

“So we’ve been told.” Bev raised an eyebrow.

“Look at this.” Richie said in a hushed tone, pulling something from his pocket as Mike helped Eddie to his feet. Richie stood, object in hand, as they all crowded round to see.

In the palm of Richie’s hand sat a rock of some kind, no bigger than a baseball, that was glowing.

The center was a pulsating blue, the greenish hues more visible the closer to the edges the light got. It was rough and crystalline in form, with bits of black and rough particles mixed in around it. The light was low and flickering, much darker than what had been visible from the top of the hill. Beverly gasped in awe, immediately reaching out to take it in her own hands.

“Wow.” She breathed, in awe of the sight. Ben immediately leveled his camera to take a picture. (Multiple. Certainly because of the cool space rock. Totally not because of Beverly’s beautiful expression.)

“What the fuck is that…” Stan pondered quietly, as he and Bill went to take the stone from Bev. They each used a hand to hold both ends, examining the underneath as they raised it above their heads. They passed it to Mike, looking at each other in confusion.

“Is it… getting brighter?” Mike pondered as he held the stone in one hand.

“Sort of looks like it is.” Ben said, repositioning Mike’s hand so he could get a better picture of the stone before taking it in his hand himself. “It feels kind of warm.” He took another shot of it in his palm.

“It wasn’t warm when we picked it up-” Eddie grabbed the stone from Ben, holding it level with his face so he could inspect it closely. He suddenly hissed in pain and dropped it. “Ow, fuck!”

The dew-covered grass where the stone landed began to sizzle. “Whoa, Eddie, you okay?” Richie grabbed at Eddie’s hand, inspecting it for a burn mark.

“That thing fucking burned me!”

The light from the stone grew brighter.

“Uh, guys?”

“You don’t have a mark-”

The hue grew more green, a deep, true green.

“Guys!”

“I think I know when I’ve been burned, Richie-”

“Guys, move!”

And then, there was light.

______________________________________________________________

Bill shook his head as he sat up, grass and dirt clinging to his cheek. To his left was a disgruntled Stan, face down in the grass as he tried to push himself up with his arms.

Across the field, about twenty yards away from him was Beverly. She wasn’t stirring. Beyond her, a few more yards to her left, was Ben, who was hoisting himself into a kneeling position.

Bill turned the other way to see Mike, closer by. He was groaning, and pretty soon Bev’s disdain joined his. Beyond Mike, nearly fifty yards away, Richie was shaking a limp form.

Oh god.

Bill was on his feet as quickly as possible, but hadn’t accounted for the effect the shock would have on his body. He went down almost immediately, bile rising in his stomach as he landed on all fours.

“Eddie! Eddie!” Richie’s frantic shouts started to float across the expanse, each of the others realizing what was going on and attempting to stumble their way over to the two boys.

Bill went directly past the pit as he made his way to the others. He passed the charred spot in the grass where the stone had landed.

It was gone.

“Eddie!” Richie was growing more and more frantic, the panic clear on his face when Mike reached them first.

“Rich, Rich, let go, give him some air.” Mike said calmly as he tried to lay Eddie out flat.

“Why won’t he wake up?!”

“Hey, hey, he’s been knocked pretty hard, okay? It’s gonna take him a minute, shaking him won’t help.” Richie took a shuddering breath, but hesitantly nodded.

Bill and Stan came running over, before kneeling down on either side of Richie. Bev and Ben stood behind them when they arrived, looking down at Eddie’s quiet form with worry.

“Eddie, hey, time to wake up now.” Mike said in a gentle tone, lightly tapping Eddie’s face. A small trail of blood started running out of Eddie’s nose.

Richie lost his shit.

“Eds- Eds, oh my god, look at his nose!” He cried, reaching out to wipe the blood away and shake his face.

“Richie! Be careful with him, he could have a concussion!” Mike yelled, trying to pull Richie’s hands away. The scuffle jostled Eddie more, but the boy still didn’t stir. When Mike was finally able to pull Richie away, and Stan and Bill got ahold of his hands to keep him from reaching out again, they heard a small intake of breath.

“What th-... what the fuck?”

“Eddie!”

Richie lost his handlers and immediately scooped the smaller boy into his arms. “Jesus fucking Christ Eds, you scared the shit out of me.”

“What the fuck happened?” He muttered, rubbing a sore spot on his head.

“That thing fucking exploded.” Stan said plainly. “Right over-” He trailed off as they all turned to look at where the stone had dropped, and they saw nothing but an empty field.

authors notes: here’s a good old flashback sequence for yall!!! i hope maybe soon any questions you have will start to get answered <3 again, a huge thanks to my lovely beta and bff @richiefreakingtozier, the goddess that is sara (follow her u dingnuts!!!) please give a like or a reblog if u enjoyed!!!!

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Haunted Hollywood Host David Del Valle Scares Up More Movie Madness

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“The police don’t believe in monsters,” we learned in Ed Woods’ 1955 B-movie horror favorite Bride of the Monster. But Full Moon Features does, and they know where to find them. On Friday, July 31, the channel and app dropped seven cult classics to their new 20-film series Haunted Hollywood. Every Friday for 13 weeks, they will add a new scary flick. Some of these films are frightening in their content, others for the stories behind the film. For some of these movies, the most horrifying thing is they ever got made in the first place. 

Real life and Hollywood history blend in macabre ways, and no one blends these stories better than David Del Valle. The film historian and agent to the stars hosts Haunted Hollywood, opening each showing with a personal story. Del Valle hosted a series of television interviews entitled “Sinister Image,” speaking with moviemakers as varied as Cameron Mitchell to Russ Meyer. He also produced and was the on-camera host of the only interview Vincent Price ever gave about his horror film career.

For the film Flesh Eaters, a guilty pleasure for horror purists where particles eat their way out of victims’ bodies, Del Valle opens with the story of the mad scientist who spiked their drinks. Martin Kosleck spent his career playing onscreen Nazi villains and perverts, Del Valle got to witness the actor’s debauchery first hand. For Horror Express, he tells the story of the stages of grief Peter Cushing passed through after the death of his wife. For Ed Wood’s Bride of the Monster, he talks about the delusional world of the man who played Kelton the Cop.

David Del Valle spilled deeper stories all over Den of Geek in a terrifying talk about Haunted Hollywood.

Den of Geek: What cemented you as a horror aficionado rather than any other genre?

David Del Valle: I started going to the movies when I was four, or five, or six years old. So the first movies I saw were the Universal horror films, with Lon Chaney Jr. as the Mummy, and Bela Lugosi as Dracula. And then I started watching the films of Vincent Price, especially at the drive-in, when I was in high school, because that’s what they showed, nothing but triple-feature horror movies. So as a kid, that was what I watched, as an escape from school and all that kind of thing. And I’m sure my story resonates with a lot of people, because you start out with that genre when you’re a little boy. That’s the way that works.

What’s the criteria for the films you choose for Haunted Hollywood?

I was given a list of films, and those were what we chose. They tried to find Vincent Price titles for me, because I’m rather well-known for having done one of the only on-camera interviews with Vincent Price on his entire career, called Vincent Price: The Sinister Image. And if you ever buy from Screen Factory, the Vincent Price Collection has my hour-long interview with him. So the first one I taped was House on Haunted Hill.

We dropped with Horror Express with Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. That’s what they call Euro-horror, because it was shot in Spain, and it’s very good. It’s a great movie. It’s called Panic on the Trans-Europa Express, that’s what it was called in Europe. They changed the title for American audiences to something a little more lurid, Horror Express. The cool thing about it, like The Thing, the John Carpenter film, or earlier, the Howard Hawks film, is that the creature absorbs the knowledge of everyone it kills. So by the end of the movie, he’s absorbed dozens of people, so he knows as much as anyone could know about being an alien. That’s a really good movie with a strong narrative, and it’s one of the better pairings of Cushing and Lee, I think.

You tell an interesting story about the death of Peter Cushing’s wife.

When Peter’s wife died, the light just went right out of him, and the only thing he had was work. And if you noticed, and Christopher Lee told me this as well, he lost so much weight, that he weighed like 90 pounds. It was really scary, because his health was at stake. And Christopher would say all he had for lunch is an apple and a slice of cheese. Christopher and his wife, Gitte, invited him for meals, and I think they shot it during the winter, so Cushing spent Christmas with the Christopher Lees.

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I knew Christopher when he lived in Los Angeles, so I would call him up, and he was kind of lonely, because his wife traveled a great deal, and he wasn’t making a lot of films here. He made an Airport movie here. He actually made a film for Charles Band, I believe, called End of the World. I think it’s part of the Full Moon Features.

Vincent Price was dubbed the heir apparent to Boris Karloff after the film Diary of a Madman. Why that film rather than Haunted Hill or The Fly or House of Wax?

Vincent really didn’t become a horror star until he started working for Roger Corman. House of Usher was the film that really put him over, and then he made six more, then he had a contract with American International, and he made a number of horror pictures that really made him a hero amongst the youth culture of that time. Remember, that was the ’60s, so you had drugs, rock and roll, a lot of rebellion. The world was changing, and Vincent Price was like the rock and roll monster. He wound up doing rock videos with Alice Cooper and Michael Jackson, so he had a very different life.

House of Wax would’ve been a turning point, but that was shot in 1953, and he would go back to just being a character for a number of years. And in The Fly, he’s a supporting character. David Hedison is the fly. But House on Haunted Hill is an important picture, because he did that and The Tingler for William Castle. Vincent, he didn’t take a salary, he took a percentage, and House on Haunted Hill made him a millionaire. And then two years later, he did The House of Usher.

Both Karloff and Price appeared in Tower of London. Do you have any interesting stories from that?

Vincent Price was under contract to Universal, and that was the second or third picture he did. He was still very new. He had been a Broadway star. Karloff had already been an established movie star. Vincent’s recollections of Karloff, they became very, very good friends, he said that the first time he was on the set of Tower of London, Karloff was in his makeup as Mord the executioner, with his head shaved, and a hump on his back, and his elevator shoes, and he had an ax. He was the executioner for Richard the Third. And so, he goes up to Vincent, and he goes, “I just want you to know that I’m not as evil as I appear.”

Vincent was just so bowled away by what a cultured, wonderful guy he was. And like Peter Cushing, you will never hear a negative about Boris Karloff. He was beloved by everyone that knew him, as was Vincent Price later on. All these guys of that period were very cultured, very sophisticated men. They were all grateful that they had this niche in which they could work, because they all made other kinds of movies. Vincent Price worked in every genre, and so did all the rest of them, except perhaps for Bela Lugosi. They all did Westerns and costume pictures and film noir and musicals.

One of my favorite Karloff movies is actually a gangster movie, Smart Money. And in Bride of the Monster, Billie Benedict from the Bowery Boys appears just a few scenes from where Kelton the Cop is called a “junior G-man.” Was Ed Wood that clever?

Oh, I’m sure not. I don’t think people were making references and homages in those days. I knew Paul Marco quite well, who played Kelton the Cop, and he was a real character, that guy. I mean, he lived that part. He was one of what you call in Hollywood a “delusional actor.” But those pictures were shot in five or six days.

Smart Money was made in the early ’30s. I think the year that Karloff did Frankenstein. The Criminal Code and Scarface are the movies that Karloff made at the time, because of course, he didn’t realize that that was going to change his life, until the movie came out. He’d been a working actor in Hollywood for 10 years before Frankenstein was made.

You did the last major interview with Vincent Price. Did you learn anything you didn’t expect?

I did my interview with Vincent Price when he had finished a movie called The Whales of August, which was practically his last picture. I worked on one of his last pictures, From a Whisper to a Scream, with Jeff Burr, who’s a great director and needs to come back and make more movies. Vincent, after Witchfinder General, was not really all that comfortable with the violence and the way movies were changing. Edward Scissorhands was really his swan song. I think that’s a beautiful way to go out. Tim Burton just worshiped him. Christopher Lee also made some of his last onscreen appearances for Tim Burton.

Do you think we will see a resurgence of Giallo films like Mario Bava’s?

The era of the killer with the black glove and the white telephone, you’re talking about period films. I did admire The Witch, that’s of course, a period film. And I thought it was very well done, very well-written, very well-acted. Giallo, I love those movies too. But if you compare the two Suspirias, the remake is really a movie on its own. I mean, it really has nothing to do with Suspiria. But the people who didn’t like the remake of Suspiria, didn’t like the aspects of it that weren’t like the old Suspiria, which you can’t remake. You just can’t go back in time and recreate the elements that made those movies work. Mario Bava was a very unique filmmaker, because he was also a cameraman, he was also an art director. He was a renaissance director. Who do you think is interesting of the new directors today?

I’m liking Del Toro a lot.

Yes, Del Toro is a big horror fan. But for me, the best of the Del Toro movies are the ones he made when he was still in Spain. Pan’s Labyrinth and Chronos, I like those a great deal. Richard Stanley is the most intelligent and the most quirky horror director working today. I like The Color Out of Space a great deal, and I’m very anxious to see what he does with The Dunwich Horror.

What about the social horrors of Us and Get Out?

Yeah, I’m not a big fan of those, to be honest with you. But I mean, it’s also, we’re going through a very difficult time now. I don’t enjoy them. They’re not pleasant to sit through, which is why I don’t like the torture porn films that much, like the Saw series. We’re just going through so much now. I would never revisit those pictures, but that’s just me.

Alan Parker died on July31. My personal favorite horror movie is Angel Heart.

I love Angel Heart. I think it’s got one of De Niro’s best. I love Mickey Rourke. I love movies that are set in New Orleans. I love voodoo and hoodoo and aboriginal horror, all of these weird religious things are very quirky. I love The Skeleton Key, which talks about Hoodoo. I like The Believers that talked about Santeria.

Alan Parker, I liked his films. It’s interesting, because Fame doesn’t age well. It’s got some moments in it. The end of it, I Sing the Body Electric is interesting. But for me, the best thing Alan Parker did was Angel Heart. That’s just my favorite of his pictures. He was a very nice man, Sir Alan Parker.

Do you think that the New Orleans voodoo movies might ever steal back the zombie genre from the reanimated corpse?

That is exactly where it needs to go. You absolutely hit it on the head. I said this to Paul Schrader when Cat People came out. That was another one set in New Orleans. Angel Heart is set in New Orleans. The Skeleton Key is set in New Orleans. Yes. And when Dan Curtis was revamping Dark Shadows, I was working for him, and I said, “Dan, if you’re going to remake Dark Shadows, get David Bowie’s wife, Iman, to play Angelique. Don’t get a blonde, blue-eyed woman.” He said, “What are you crazy?” But you couldn’t change Dan’s mind at all.

I wanted to set Dark Shadows in Haiti, and start with Angelique’s curse on Barnabas, but all Dan wanted to do every time you would talk about Dark Shadows, he said, “Forget it. Here’s how it starts. ‘My name is Victoria Winters. I’m on the train to Colinwood.'” Blah, blah, blah. And you couldn’t convince him otherwise. Great lady, by the way, Lara Parker, but Angelique should have been a kind of sorceress. You know what I mean?

I always thought that Angelique was more important than Barnabas. She created him, she created Barnabas.

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I think so, I think so. Of course, my favorite character on Dark Shadows was Grayson Hall as Dr. Hoffman. She was a scream, that woman. In fact, if you ever seen a TV movie of the week called Gargoyle’s, Grayson Hall is hanging upside down a telephone, with her hair in curlers, holding a cocktail. She was a hoot, that woman, and she and Jonathan Frid, what a couple. Very sexually ambiguous, shall we say. That was really the fun of Dark Shadows.

But getting back to your original question, I do hope that if zombies are going to be around for a bit longer instead of them just shambling along, eating brains, it would be nice to set it back into the history of voodoo, and to really use New Orleans, which is a marvelous, photogenic place. Isn’t it? I mean, yeah, I’d love to see more of that.

Will there be any White Zombie or those films in Haunted Hollywood?

You know what? I believe White Zombie is. I would love to do a whole series on the Monogram movies that Lugosi and Karloff made, although the Mr. Wong’s are kind of a snooze-fest, so I don’t know if anyone would want to sit through those. They just put out a Karloff movie called The Ape. It’s probably one of the most boring movies ever made, but it’s out on Blu-ray, so go figure. But I would love to do more Lugosi. I’d love to do the Monogram’s Invisible Ghost, and especially Voodoo Man. These were all shot in nine days, with a very low budget, but they were fun. It’s funny, White Zombie was made right after Dracula, and a lot of people admire it more, because once again, a movie like Dracula didn’t age that well. It has an incredible performance by Lugosi, but as far as Todd Browning, it’s one of the worst things Tod Browning ever directed. At that point, he was battling alcoholism, and I don’t think he was very on set with that picture. Dracula, it’s all Karl Freund, who was the cameraman, and then became a director.

Karl Freund directed The Mummy with Karloff, which is basically Dracula set in Egypt, so those pictures are very similar. The plots are almost identical. It’s just, one’s a vampire, and one’s a mummy, but they both have this obsession with one woman, blah, blah, blah. That kind of thing.

I’d like to see some Val Lewton.

My favorite Val Lewtons are I Walked with a Zombie, The Seventh Victim, Body Snatcher, The Leopard Man, Curse of the Cat People. I even like Ghost Ship. It’s the first appearance of Lawrence Tierney from Reservoir Dogs. Ghost Ship is really good. Larry gets killed by having chains wrapped around him at the end of it, if you haven’t seen that one.

What is it that you most want to bring out about these films or these stories?

I think the important thing with Hollywood in general, is the movies that we’re talking about in this series, everyone who made them was very passionate about them. Everybody made them with a great deal of love. I mean, on one hand, I’ll say, it’s a job. What are you going to do? It’s a job. But not really. I mean, Val Lewton, and Bela Lugosi, and Boris Karloff, and Vincent Price, and Todd Browning, and Roger Corman, they all loved what they were doing. And that is what I think we respond to when we watch these pictures, is that everybody had something invested in them. And it makes us love them all the more, I think. Don’t you feel that way about the ones that you’ve seen more than once? What do you keep going back to?

I watch Angel Heart at least once a year, Phantom of the Paradise.

Yes, yes, I love Phantom of the Paradise. We had a big screening at the Cinerama Dome for the Phantom of the Paradise that was sponsored by a store that’s closed now, called Creature Features, and he got everybody, except of course, the late William Finley, to show up. In fact, I was going to post a picture of me with Paul Williams today, who played Swan. And of course, Jessica Harper. Jessica Harper, man, has been in the weirdest movies. She’s in Suspiria, she’s in a Woody Allen. She’s in Phantom of the Paradise, and she’s good in it. And I love the songs in it. What a clever way to reimagine The Phantom of the Opera. I love that movie. I love a lot of De Palma’s pictures too, of course.

I saw Hi, Mom and Greetings in an art-house in New York, years ago, and I loved the work he did with De Niro back then. It was so improvisational.

People don’t realize that Robert De Niro really started his career with Brian De Palma. For a man that’s known for gangster films, De Niro did his share of genre movies too, didn’t he?

Lara Parker also was in Brian De Palma’s early films.

Yeah. And Lara’s in a great little movie, called Race with the Devil. Peter Fonda’s in it, and Warren Oates is terrific.

In some of the stories you tell, it seems like the players are as haunted by Hollywood as the films. Is that often the case?

Oh, definitely, definitely. The Ed Wood group were kind of on the periphery of show business. They weren’t really well-established. The one thing, as is shown in the Tim Burton movie, Ed Wood attached himself to Bela Lugosi because he was a name, but also, because he really admired him and grew up with his pictures. But what Ed couldn’t understand, as the movie points out, Lugosi was in decline. He wasn’t really getting work anymore. And so, having his name attached to something, didn’t really get you very far, whereas Karloff was a far better businessman.

Vincent Price used to say to me that Hollywood could be one of the most evil places to work, because you’re only as good as your last picture, or you’re only admired because you’re good-looking, or you’re young. And if you’re not good-looking and young, then you have to already been established, and then your name is used because you’re established. So these things, I don’t think necessarily change with time. It’s just that in today’s world, there are no horror stars anymore. I think the closest thing you get to a celebrity in the horror genre are the directors.

Roger Corman, of course, is the most respected and the most famous of all the directors, and he goes to every genre. Roger’s a very unique figure in show business. Next you get someone like John Carpenter. John Carpenter is a horror star director. George Romero had that same thing. People like Brian De Palma are established world-class directors. Ridley Scott, Tony Scott, people like that. But I don’t think there are any horror stars anymore.

I mean, yes, there’s Robert Englund, but Robert Englund is known for one character, playing in the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise, and he made a number of other horror pictures. But aside from Robert Englund, I can’t think of anyone that’s known for horror pictures.

Are there any more recent films which you think would make a list of Haunted Hollywood?

Well, that, I couldn’t really say, because you have the independent horror films. I don’t know. I think the future of horror film, really, is in television and cable. The Walking Dead, it’s a phenomenally successful series, it’s known all around the world, as is Game of Thrones. I thought Penny Dreadful was terrific. I love True Blood.

The real acting, the real great writing is all on cable. And now that we’re in this kind of new world with the pandemic, everything’s going to be online. We’re going to be watching all this out of our homes. I’m kind of pleased with the resurgence of the drive-in. Because when I was a kid, when I was in high school, the drive-in, man, that’s where you saw all the horror films, triple-features. And that’s coming back, because I don’t see movie theaters coming back for a long time now. I think people are getting accustomed to watching movies at home.

Could there be a “Haunted Burbank?”

It’s very hard to tell. I’m not Nostradamus. The future of the business is not something I can see. I just can tell you that based on how we’ve been living the last six months, it’s all going to be on television. It’s all going to be streaming. That’s the future, and you might as well get used to it.

The 20-film series Haunted Hollywood will premiere a new cult classic every Friday for 13 weeks starting July 31 on the Full Moon Features channel and app.

The post Haunted Hollywood Host David Del Valle Scares Up More Movie Madness appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[sincerelymrnaked]

Prologue: Let’s Get Naked.

As I stand on the roof with a sea of students below me, I throw off my shirt and unbuckle my pants — dropping them to my ankles. I spread my arms like Jesus. Look up, fellas. Your saviour dangles above.

“LOOK! LOOK! UP THERE!”

“HOLY SHIT!”

“THAT GUY’S NAKED!”

Applause ripples through the crowd. Cellphone lights twinkle like hundreds of shining stars. Cheers erupt. And my dick hangs there without a trace of shame in the shrivelling October winds.

Those were the days I loved getting publicly naked.

Allow me to explain.  

Once upon a time, I was the guy that would slam a bottle of Captain Morgan, chase with high-fives, and throw my clothes off like a horny teenager about to lose his virginity. Cold or hot, shrivelled or not, my sword was unsheathed for the world to see. Don’t believe me? Take a look at the photo above.

That’s me on a roof overlooking a backyard homecoming kegger in my first year of university. (To those few hundred students who have pictures of me from the other side, please send them over.)

But don’t think that night was anything out of the usual; I got naked at a party every other night. I was the nudist on campus. The streaker of university streets. The untamed party animal who loved exposing his birthday suit like it’s the only outfit he’s ever owned.

Like Batman, I had two alternating identities. I was a diligent student by day, and a raging clothe-remover by night — both unneeded and underserved on college turf. (Okay, I was absolutely nothing like Batman.)

Why did I do this so frequently? Was it an attempt to perpetually establish myself as the life of the party? Was it merely a result of unhinged, drunken debauchery? Did I have some deep-rooted psychological tendencies to become an actual nudist — to be stripped from standards of public decency and throw my middle fingers to the sky with a booming call of “FUCK SOCIETY!”?

Not really.

I think I was just drunk and young and a little too proud of my pal downstairs. It’s also possible that I was just an attention-hungry ass-wipe. But for purpose of philosophical exploration, let’s dig deeper.

Something I realized during those early nudist days in university is that people often came to parties and felt the need to succumb to a rigid system of social interaction. To be more specific, some girls couldn’t be talked to because boyfriends were watching them like hawks a few red solo cups away. Some guys would punch you in the throat if you so much as looked at them funny. Some students worried about how they were dressed — if their shirt had spilled beer on it, if their jeans had too many holes, if bomber jackets were still cool or if it was time to convert to denim. They wondered if their opening question should be “what’s your program?” or if that’s too lame, if their ex-boyfriend would get jealous by the guy whose cheek they’re kissing in their snap story, or if those frat assholes overcharged them for expired beer excused as “apple cider.” (Okay, that last one is a whole other story, and really irrelevant to where I’m going.)

Maybe…just maybe…showing off my penis was my absurd way of saying: Fuck all of that.

No, really. Stop laughing at me. I’m serious.

Maybe it was a signal to everyone around me that some fucks aren’t worth giving. That social situations shouldn’t be so calculated. That sometimes you just need to let go of your bullshit, despite the tension boiling inside you during the one time you’re supposed to be set free.

I’m not trying to sound like a hero (okay, maybe I am), but when I got naked, social anxieties were dismantled. People danced a little harder to the thumping speakers. Guys and girls laughed a little more freely. More people got naked! The caliber of entertainment was raised. And it was all thanks to Mr. Dangle and his two bouncing sidekicks. (Send over potential superhero catchphrases.)

But here’s the thing. The free-spirited nudist within me was eventually tamed and leashed, restrained by the expectations of…dare I say it…maturity.

Eventually, I started realizing that initiating a party vibe by exposing myself was just no longer the mature thing to do. It was time I grew up, threw on a sweater vest, and stayed up late studying in a hipster café with a pumpkin spice late. Ha-ha just kidding! Fuck those guys!

But it was time I acted my age and kept my clothes on.

In third year I gained a position as an editor for my university newspaper. I’ve always had a passion for writing, and the paper was an outlet that allowed me to proficiently hone my skills. Weekly editorials, op-eds, and content management collectively buckled me down and satisfied a yearning to engage readers. I was an editor for two years, and I wouldn’t trade those days for anything. Somehow I became civilized — though among the transformation, I’d never admit it.

Within that time, I stopped going out as much as I once did. And when I did go out, I didn’t drink half of what I used to. I didn’t care that much about cutting loose — which is normal for most students after two years of keg stands and morning hangovers. But somewhere along the line, after I stopped streaking, I started caring a little more about how people viewed me.

For a while, my most dreaded question was: So…what’s next for you?

My favourite response was: Well, I’m an English Major, so probably unemployment.

But beneath the well-timed laughter, I was quietly scared shitless. I’d come a long way since the raging nudist I once was, but maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. Where I once was able to act like an idiot in front of everyone, I now found myself deeply concerned with where I stood. All the fucks I once tried to dismantle were returning in a whole new way. But these fucks were way bigger than party interactions.

When you hit 22, you’re automatically expected to level-up. You require hard and soft skills, a repertoire of professional experience, a clear-cut career path, and over 500 connections on LinkedIn. You’re supposed to have a calendar of job interviews, a booming resume, or an incoming salary that makes momma serve you a few extra servings of turkey during Thanksgiving dinner. You’re supposed to be in control — and if you’re not, you’re supposed to pretend you are. And that’s a whole new world of anxieties that needed to be overcome.

But my dick couldn’t help me this time.

A few months ago I was sitting in an interview when the employer shot me a request I didn’t expect: “Tell me about your days in college. Outside of the classroom.”

“Well, let’s see. I was a degenerate frat boy that drank too much, made too many stupid decisions, and got completely naked far too often,” I thought about replying.

My actual response: “I definitely knew how to have a good time.”

“Well, that’s good to know. It’s important that you don’t work too hard. Have any crazy stories?”

I hesitate, searching the files of my mind for a story that doesn’t jump overboard on the rocking ship of vulgarity.

I land on the coconut story — a tale where I chucked a coconut out the window of my fraternity brothers’ apartment and accidentally hit a cab driver’s bumper. (Yes, you read that correctly.) When my drunk buddies and I tried to flee the scene, it just so happened that the door was jammed and we were locked in the room of the crime. The cops came but they couldn’t come inside because of the jammed door. We ended up drinking and smoking more, as if we’d never get caught, until a security guard, the cab driver, and the two police officers finally broke into a living room reeking of booze, marijuana, and a bunch of sweating dudes in their boxers. (At some point within our intoxicated problem solving, we concluded that it would look less suspicious if we looked like we were all settled for the night in our underwear. Made zero sense.) They interrogated us one by one, and eventually said we’d be called in to meet with the Dean. But none of us were ever called.

The dude was rolling on the floor laughing. No, obviously I didn’t get the job, idiot. But that’s not the point.

If there’s one thing I’ve come to realize it’s that honesty is the most attractive attribute among humanity. When somebody is real with you, you know it. You feel it. There’s something about honesty that connects people together, establishes relationships, and even fosters success. Honesty is as daring as dropping your pants on a roof. It’s showing that you’re not afraid to reveal who you really are, that you’re proud of where you stand, and that you feel no need to hide or hold back.

Maybe we all need to get naked a little more often.

I’m just another 22-year-old kid entering a world of suits and ties. I’m just as scared as anyone else. I want to be a writer. I want to be a published novelist. I want a lot of things. And there’s a lot I haven’t figured out. I’m afraid of being alone. I’m afraid of not being loved. I’m afraid of not becoming great, as so many others are. There’s a lot I don’t know.

But somewhere among the catapult of expectations, I need to find absolute acceptance with who I am. If I want to be a great writer, I need to be willing to expose my greatest fears. I need to be willing to uncover my perceptions and experiences, without holding back, allowing my words to reveal what’s really there. And that’s what this online novel is all about.

Through these stories, I’ll rise naked before you with the honesty of each sentence. Here I’ll streak freely along the page.

To live lives of acceptance, to dismantle the anxieties that surround us, we must be vulnerable, honest, and uncovered. We must stop clothing ourselves with expectations.

Because fuck your pants anyway.

Sincerely, Mr. Naked.