just-callmejay - Tumblr blog

just-callmejay · 4 months ago

Text

False Start - Chapter 1

False Start (2636 words) by just_callmejay

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Edward Elric/Alternate Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell

Characters: Edward Elric, Alternate Winry Rockbell, Alphonse Elric

Additional Tags: 503 Day | Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell Day, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking, this fic will (eventually) have all of the 503 week prompts for 2025, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa, Ed and alternate Win are currently broken up but this fic explores their healing journey, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary:

It's been years since Edward last saw Winnifred, and it's been even longer since he's thought himself worthy of her. When he runs into her again with an extra seven years of experience and maturity under his belt, he takes the opportunity to apologize. His candid sincerity may earn him a second chance, but will a second chance be enough to fix things?

Or, read below the cut

Edward Elric has never been a man of faith—even calling himself 'spiritual' would be a stretch. He most certainly would never call himself 'religious,' lest some teenage version of him keel over from humiliation. Still, as he nears the age of thirty, he can't deny the appeal of the beautiful cathedrals he wanders past each afternoon. One day, years and years ago, he even stumbled into one during some special Mass.

Half-drunk, half-angry, belligerent and inconsoleable once the liquor had distilled itself into tears, he tripped over his own leg and sprawled like a starfish in the aisle between the pews. The parishioners ranged from disgusted to empathetic, but all Edward had wanted was a fight. He'd wanted to shout, and curse, and beat the very God that had trapped him here—had trapped them all with false promises of better days to come.

"Don't you see?!" he wailed as some kind stranger rolled him onto his back. "What does it matter? What's the point?" No one answered him, really. He was scooped up and dragged to the priest's own lodgings for the night.

In the morning, he left drenched in sweat and shame, but not before the priest offered him an opportunity to confess any sins that may have been plaguing him at the time. Edward refused and told the man that he honestly thought that religion was pointless, a complete waste of time only intended to fool the masses and keep precious few in power.

He returned that night to use the confessional, anyway.

"Tell me, child, what troubles you?" the priest said from the other side of the partition.

Edward shook his head and cleared his throat, sure that the smell of alcohol had to be seeping through the holes in the screen between them. "I don't think…you won't believe me," he finally said, dropping his head back against the wall behind him. "'S'all bad. Everything I've ever done." The priest offered a hum of acknowledgement, and Edward felt stupid for even entering the church in the first place. There was no anonymity here—what other drunks had been offered refuge and comfort recently?

"Do you have…examples, maybe?" the other man asked, and Edward barked out a laugh.

"Oh, boy. Lots of 'em, I'm sure, but you'll think I'm crazy." Edward closed his eyes in the dark and took a deep breath, trying to focus more on its sound than the scent of incense that seemed baked onto every single surfance.

"We live in times of madness, my friend. I doubt your sins are much worse than anyone else's."

Ed paused his self-flagellation only briefly before letting out a long sigh. "I killed my mom. And my brother. And my dad." Silence rang between them, and he cleared his throat as discreetly as he could manage.

"Did you?" the man asked, "Or do you simply blame yourself?"

Edward thought hard about the question—harder than he probably should have, honestly, because he ended up vomiting all over the floor on his side of the partition.

For the second night in a row, Edward slept in the priest's spare bed, and for the second morning, he left the cathedral stinking of booze and regret.

Now, as Edward crosses the same threshold five years later, he can't help the way his entire being relaxes. He understands, as he does with most things these days, that religion is not some monolith of dishonesty as he once believed. He ducks his head in greeting when he sees the priest in the hallway, who offers him a kind smile in return.

"Edward! It's good to see you, son. Will you be staying for Evening Mass?" he asks, reaching for a handshake.

Edward chuckles wryly and clasps the other man's hand, grasping his arm with a grin. "I think you know the answer to that one, Father," he responds, a gentle denial that he's expressed dozens, hundreds of times before. "I'll clear out before people start filing in, don't worry."

"You don't have to, you know," the priest counters, tone as light and friendly as ever, and Edward simply shakes his head.

"I think it's for the best, Mike. I'm sure plenty of folks remember me well enough as the drunkard who spoiled your first Christmas here." Ed nods in toward the double doors that lead to the nave. "I'll only be a few minutes."

"Alright," Mike sighs, the noise exaggerated as he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and Edward laughs. Mike releases Edward's hand and motions as if to usher him inside. "Be careful if you head up to the pulpit. We have someone here working on the altar."

"Finally getting a new one?" Ed asks as he places a hand on one of the doors and leans into it.

"Sister Violet was kind enough to offer the funds," Mike says, though his tone belies some underlying gossip that Edward would be all too happy to indulge in were he not so eager to leave before the service, "and to suggest a lovely young lady with the right talents to install it."

Ed laughs as he pushes his way into the chapel. "You'll have to tell me about it next time."

Mike pats him on the back with a laugh of his own and agrees, "Next time!" before continuing his path toward his quarters and leaving Ed alone.

Once inside, Edward takes a slow breath and closes his eyes, basking in the quiet that follows the sound of Mike's receding footsteps. When he opens his eyes again, though, the air in his lungs turns to lead. There, stood just in front of the altar, is probably the last person in the world who would want to see him right now. Before he can turn to leave, she lifts her gaze and pins him to his spot as recognition, then anger, then annoyance work their way across her face.

"Edward," she says curtly, turning back to her work with a speed that makes his head spin. "I thought you were anti-religion, or whatever." She holds a rag to the lip of a bottle and turns it to soak up some of its contents. Stain? Varnish, maybe?

He swallows around the lump that's settled at the back of his tongue, dropping his eyes to the floor and clearing his throat. "Y-yeah. I mean, I still…still am…but it's peaceful here, so…" He swears he can hear her roll her eyes. "I—look, I can go."

She sighs. "You're so dramatic." He looks up to see her facing him again, hands on her hips. "It's a public building."

He can already feel his cheeks flushing as he nods and glances away again, the thirty feet of space between them feeling both miniscule and insurmountable. "Right…"

When he meets her eyes once more, she gestures to the dozens of pews that line the aisle. "Well? Don't let me stop you." Edward ducks his head once in acknowledgement and makes his way to a seat as far from her place in the sanctuary as he can get.

There's an extended stretch of relative silence, but his thoughts are far too loud for him to enjoy it as he usually would. He studies the stained glass window closest to his chosen seat as his mind races in the least productive way possible. Before long, there's a hand on his shoulder that sends him scrambling over the raised bit of wood at the end of the pew, struggling to get his feet under him and turning to face whatever made the contact in the first place. When he finds her there, both hands raised in an effort to pacify him, his shoulders immediately slump.

"It's just me," she offers gently, and he sighs and runs his left hand through his hair. "I just wanted to…" she drops her gaze and lets her hands fall to the seat of the pew with a shrug, "…check in, I guess? Since you kind of disappeared on me."

Ed drags both hands down face before shoving them into his pockets with a slow exhale. "I'm…I've been okay," he replies, and for the first time in his life, he's pretty sure it's true. "Listen, Winnie, I'm sorry—"

She scoffs, but Ed's heart soars at the sound because at least she isn't crying. "It's not your fault," she mutters with a shrug. "I'm not her."

A pit settles in Edward's stomach. "And I'm not him," he says softly. There's a long pause as he stands and she sits. Soon enough, the first members of the congregation start to filter in, and Ed looks toward the entrance as the doors creak open and a couple of deacons kick doorstops beneath them. "You wanna get out of here?" he asks after a moment, and he's almost surprised when she agrees.

"Yeah, sure," she says, tone noncommittal even as she stands and rubs her hands up and down her thighs. "Let me just…pack up. I'll meet you outside?"

He nearly offers to help, but she's already halfway down the length of the pew before he can force out the words. Awkwardly, he strides toward the vestibule as slowly as he can and barely keeps himself from watching her as she moves. He manages to exit the building without being recognized or stopped again—Father Mike must be somewhere else, donning his robes, or saying his prayers, or whatever he does to prepare for Mass. After glancing up and down the street, he takes the steps down to the sidewalk and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then the lighter she had given him for their first anniversary.

"You still have that?"

He turns at the sound of her voice, then looks down at the gift with a wry laugh. "Ah, yeah…I'm a sucker for nostalgia," he says with a shake of his head, then pulls out a cigarette for himself and holds out the pack. "Smoke?"

She raises a brow, but takes one from him anyway. "Since when?" She adjusts the bag slung over her shoulder and checks her pocket for a lighter of her own, but Edward strikes the flint on his and holds it up for her. She places the cigarette between her lips and leans forward to catch his flame, then straightens and takes a slow drag that leaves her in a sigh as she raises a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "Thought your vice was booze."

Ed shrugs as he eyes her for a moment, then lights his own cigarette before tucking the pack and the lighter away. "Two? Three years? This is cheaper," he replies, though it's not entirely the truth. "Takes up less space, too. A carton of cigarettes is way smaller than the mountains of bottles I used to rack up." He takes a pull and shakes his head a tad. "Al got pretty fed up with the mess, so."

"I recall," she hums. "I thought I was gonna marry you, remember?"

He raises the smoke to his lips and inhales as his heart twists in his chest, and a strange silence settles between them. "What a mess that would have been," he mumbles, trying for humor where they both know there is none.

"You're telling me," she grouses. "You probably would've spent the wedding leaning on the altar." Edward feels sick.

"I really am sorry, Winnifred," he tries for a second time, and she sighs and reaches up to scratch at the scar above her eyebrow with her pinkie, cigarette held gracefully between her index and middle fingers.

"I know, Ed. I know you are." She steps back to allow a man past them, and Edward does the same. "So am I." She meets his eyes for the second time since he entered the church, and he feels just a little bit lighter for it. At least until she looks down again and scuffs her shoe against the ground. "Like I said, I…I'm not her. I'll never be her. And it wasn't…fair of me, I guess, to push things like I did."

Edward starts shaking his head before she's even finished speaking. "Winn, no. Okay? You're not—what I did to you was wrong. You're not some stand-in, alright? And I never should have treated you like one."

She wraps her arms around herself as a gust of wind rushes past them and gives him a conciliatory nod, though her shoulders find her ears in a stilted shrug. "I…appreciate that," she finally says, and Edward nods as she reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Well—hey, I've gotta get back, so…" She looks up at him again, and Edward feels like he's drowning. "It was good seeing you."

"I…y-yeah," he manages, ducking his head and flicking the ash from his cigarette as he eyes its dull ember. "You, too, Winnie."

There's a pause before she huffs, and when he looks up, she's digging through her bag for something. He blinks, and she's handing him a small piece of cardstock. "If you need anything fixed." Her eyes flit to his automail and back up, a silent reminder that they really are so similar.

"What—?"

"You're limping," she deadpans.

Ed's brows raise a tad, though he isn't sure why he's surprised by her perceptiveness. "It's the weather," he excuses, but he takes her card anyway. "But thank you. For the offer."

She squints, obviously skeptical. "The weather?"

"It rained all last week!"

She sighs and takes another drag of her cigarette as she considers him. "And that's all it is?"

"That's all it is," he confirms. He doesn't tell her about the broken elevator in his building, which has only exasperated the issue. He's been so sore for so long that he hardly notices the pain anymore, but she knows that. He tucks her card into the pocket in the inner lining of his coat.

"Well, I guess we were wrong, then." She wraps her hands around the shoulder strap of her bag. Edward must make a face that betrays his confusion, because she continues, "You don't need me."

The pit from earlier returns and somehow manages to simultaneously lodge itself in his throat and drop so hard into his stomach that he nearly doubles over. "I don't…Winn, that isn't—"

She shakes her head, and he stops talking. "No, it's good," she assures him. "That's a good thing." She lifts onto her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek before he can even process that she's moved and says, "You look good, Ed." She pats him on the chest, right over her card, right over his heart. "I've gotta go, but give me a call? We should catch up sometime."

Edward's hand covers his cheek as she walks away, and he can't hardly believe it. He finishes his cigarette on his own walk home, his pulse pounding in his ears as he replays the interaction again and again. By the time he reaches the apartment he shares with his brother, he's almost glad to find it empty. Once he's toed off his shoes and removed his coat, he takes a brief moment to consider her final words. He swallows down his anxiety, reaches into the inner lining, and pulls out the small card with little more than her name scrawled in her own handwriting.

General Repairs and Handiwork Freddie Rockwell Be sure to ask the operator!

Edward takes a breath and sighs, then hangs up his coat and wanders into the kitchen to set the card on the small table next to the phone, the smallest of offerings to a god who has never believed in him as he whispers, "Please, please…don't let me hurt her again."

#my writing #maple writes #503week2025 #503week #fma edwin #fma #fma fanfiction #edward elric #winry rockbell #fma 2003 #cw: smoking #likes are great but reblogs are better <3

5 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 2 years ago

Text

The Worst Kind of Grief

the kind no one gets because nobody's dead, or nobody anyone knows. it's the kind that comes with a deep-seated dread and years and years you loathe.

And no one will get it when you can't quite cry or when things don't make sense, because who understands that sort of "I'll die," but someone who can't make amends.

Because those amends aren't yours to make, they aren't your wrongs to right, and though each day, you stretch as you wake, you dread to sleep each night.

"the worst that could happen" is your greatest fear, the thought of "Blink and you'll miss it." the balance between "I wish you were here," and "I'm at the end of my wits."

Because what can you do, and what can you say when "family ties" feel so loose? And how can you stand to face the day when those ties slip tight as a noose?

#jay writes #my writing #original piece #original poem #poetry #reblogs are allowed and appreciated <3 #art #cw: noose

11 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 2 years ago

Text

"I know..." the blond begins, staring up at the starless sky, "...we said we wouldn't talk 'bout it," Octavius' heart skips, "but if you hadta pick one, what was the worst thing about bein' with me?"

Octavius looks out at the street again and swallows. "Just one?" he asks, and he knows that Jed can hear the sobriety in his voice despite the moonshine they've been drinking.

Jed snorts in an attempt to dispel the tension. "Yeah, asshole, just one."

The windowsill down the hall from Sacagawea's exhibit has become their nightly spot in the year since Ahkmenrah's release. Sometimes someone will open the window for them, offer them a brief gust of nighttime air, but usually they sit and stare through the panes.

Jed says it makes him feel like he's stuck in the fairytale with Rapunzel, stuck in a place so high off the ground with only a window to look out of.

"Well, not only a window," Octavius says, a vague shrug lifting his shoulders as a light breeze slips through the tiny gap one of the Civil War mannequins opened for them. "We do have an entire museum the size of Rome to explore." Comparatively, Octavius reminds himself, and only in physical size. There are only so many exhibits to see, after all, and most of them leave their displays during the night, so it can be hard to really know what some things are meant to be.

"What's that movie you like so well?" Jed asks, squeezing through the tiny gap and praising the mannequin's foresight to hold it open with a pencil between the swinging frames. "Notre Dame, somethin'?"

Octavius takes a moment to consider his response. He knows why Jed has mentioned this movie. "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," he says, following his friend through the gap.

"And what's that thing Frollo says? In the church?" Jed continues, reaching inside his vest and bringing out a flask. The chilly night wind may be enjoyable compared to the stale air conditioning of the museum, but it's more bearable with a bit of booze to warm their cheeks. He takes a nip from the flask and offers it to the General. Octavius takes it and swallows a swig, if only to soften the blow of Jed's next words. "'A pretty prison, but still a prison’?"

"Magnificent," Octavius corrects, looking down at the flask in his hands. "'You've chosen a magnificent prison, but it is a prison nonetheless.' That's the line." Jedediah nods. "Although, I feel that is a bit harsh for this place," Octavius tries.

Jed huffs a laugh through his nose and takes a heavy seat against the window frame. "A conqueror with nothin' t' conquer," Jed says, gesturing to his companion, "an' I'm an explorer with no explorin' t' do." The blond shakes his head. "Nah, 'Tavius, this is a prison, like it or not."

Octavius eyes his friend briefly, then takes another drink and sits next to him. "Well, if I am to be imprisoned...I'd rather it be in your company."

The two look at each other for a moment and stare, and Jed shakes his head before leaning to snatch the flask back. "Take that damn thing off, wouldja?" he gripes, sipping from their shared drink. "I can't take you seriously with a toothbrush on your head."

Octavius balks at the cowboy's words―"Fur trapper! I ain't a cowboy, alright―ain't even from here!" Jed had said once―but a half-offended laugh makes its way out before he obliges. "Well, then, you should take your hat off, should you not?" he asks, raking his fingers through his hair and relishing in the relief the breeze offers as it cools his sweat-soaked hair.

"Nnnnope!" Jed declares as he sets the flask between them. "My hat's stylish."

Octavius rolls his eyes and draws one knee up to rest his arm on as he looks out at the city.

After a long silence, Jed takes a breath, then pauses and sighs. Octavius looks over at him with a raised brow. "I know..." the blond begins, staring up at the starless sky, "...we said we wouldn't talk 'bout it," Octavius' heart skips, "but if you hadta pick one, what was the worst thing about bein' with me?"

Octavius looks out at the street again and swallows. "Just one?" he asks, and he knows that Jed can hear the sobriety in his voice despite the moonshine they've been drinking.

Jed snorts in an attempt to dispel the tension. "Yeah, asshole, just one."

Octavius' jaw flexes as he mulls over his answer. "I suppose..." he takes a breath and sighs, shaking his head, "...the fact that I am...no longer allowed to know you in that way."

Jed looks over, and Octavius can feel his stare. "Wha'd'ya mean?"

Octavius reaches for the flask and takes a larger gulp this time before setting it down again. "I know you, Jedediah. In ways that no one else ever will. I know your confusions, your frustrations, the level of determination you have when attempting any task...but so does everyone who meets you." Octavius looks down at his armor with a wry shake of his head. "No one else knows the way..." he takes a deep breath, "...the way your hair smells at the precise moment the magic takes hold, or what it feels like to hold you as it fades in the morning. No one else knows about the elation you felt alongside your brother when he got his first gray hair. No one has seen you fall apart over his deaths the way I have. No one else..." Octavius shakes his head as he trails off. "And I am no longer the one who should be allowed to know these things," he finally says with a slight shrug. "So, yes, that would be...the worst thing about having been with you, Jedediah. The fact that it is over."

There's a long stretch of silence between them, then, and Jedediah looks straight across the street and into the darkened windows of an apartment. Or, well, they think it's an apartment, anyway. They still haven't been able to pin down who lives there.

"Is this..." Jedediah's voice is hoarse when it interrupts the quiet, and he clears his throat before he continues, "...hurtin' you, too, 'Tavius?"

Octavius nods without speaking, but Jed knows the answer without looking at him, anyway.

"Then what the hell are we doin'?" Jed asks, and Octavius thinks he's never sounded more broken.

Octavius shakes his head and says, "I don't know."

#jay writes #natm jedtavius #my writing #night at the museum #night at the museum fanfic #natm #natm octavius #natm jedediah #I have posted this on my main blog but I'm posting my favorite pieces here too #likes are great but reblogs are better

2 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 2 years ago

Text

Robbed

Robbed, begged for, borrowed, pled for, what was mine soon became yours. Are you proud my happy's gone? Are you proud to be my mom?

Not all would be glad to give, lose their due to use a sieve, drop the right to speak their mind, just forget and leave behind

all the pain and sorrow caused just so you could be the boss. Are you pleased with yourself now? No? Just listen, hear me out

and see the way you've hurt me. Watch me cry with scraped-up knees, Hear my pleas and desperate sobs, I don't know how to say "I'm robbed."

#jay writes #my writing #original piece #original poem #poetry #edited this for formatting reasons

6 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 2 years ago

Text

Hey there, all, I'm still kicking around. I know I've used this account sparsely for fanfic in the past, and I'd like to get back to that, but I would also like to start sharing original works and taking commissions. DMs and askbox are always open, and I'll have to make a more comprehensive post later, but those are the basics.

I'm back!

#not writing #jay jabbers

3 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 3 years ago

Text

You've Got it All (503 Week 2022 Day 4: Tears)

When Edward had given up his military title and position for a relaxed gig teaching one quarter a year in East City with decent pay and plenty of time to spend with his family in the country, he’d thought that would mean safety for his wife and children.

There were some folks in Resembool, however (yokels), who didn’t like the new forward-thinking Fuhrer, nor his military history. The Ishvalan War had affected Resembool, too, after all. Where was their pension? Where were their aid centers? When would they get reparations?

These noisy few had raised as many problems for Edward and his family as they possibly could, from refusing to babysit to spreading rumors that he and Winry had never actually gotten married—an outrageous claim, really. The town had been flooded with Rockbell-Elric family friends for an entire week before the service.

So Edward had made sure to forward the town’s “concerns” to Mustang by way of dropping in to talk about how reasonable some of them may or may not have been. He really would have preferred to stay out of politics after spending so long digging through lie after lie, but when his car had been keyed and he’d had bricks thrown through his windows, he’d decided that it would be in his family's best interest if he at least raised the issue with his friend.

The attacks had stopped after that. At least, for a while.

When Resembool had received nothing but a formal address from the Fuhrer over the radio, the townsfolk had regained their wanton desire to harass the Rockbells, and Edward resolved to withdraw his children from school. He had already been looking at homes in Central or Rush Valley for months, but Winry was still adamant that Resembool was the best place for them.

“It’s where we grew up,” she began from across the living room as she straightened a throw pillow on the couch, “and I want them to have that experience, too.”

“Winry, Sarah has come home crying six times in the past two weeks, and Liam doesn’t even want to leave the house anymore! I can’t…protect them from that…” he responded from the doorway, his voice firm, though quiet.

“So? Kids are mean, Edward. You were a mean kid; how many times did I come home crying about something you did?” She turned to him, brows pinched in exhaustion and irritation. It had been a long day, and she was still dressed for work, her newest pair of coveralls zipped all the way up in the October chill. He had yet to get ready for bed, either, still dressed in a pale blue button-down that had long since come untucked from his black slacks.

“This is different, Win, and you know that. No ten-year-old should be as withdrawn as Liam has been lately." He crossed his arms as she straightened the workbooks on the coffee table.

"You were withdrawn at his age!” she tried, gesturing vaguely with one hand.

“I,” his eyes widened, and he let out an incredulous laugh and pointed up the stairs as he stepped forward a fraction so that his hushed words were clear, “was an orphan planning a felony at his age!”

Winry flinched at his tone, biting her lip. Ed sighed and turned a quick circle as he ran a hand through his hair before closing the space between them and gently placing his hands on her shoulders when she stood up. “Look, I know...that this wasn’t the plan...but since when do either of us stick to plans? It could be exciting!” he offered in a whisper, leaning his forehead against hers. “You could start another branch of Rockbell Automail; we can...we can still have that life, it would just...be somewhere else.”

Winry's blue eyes flicked between his for a moment, and finally she asked, "What are you afraid of, Ed?"

He closed his eyes briefly and pressed their foreheads together even tighter. "I'm afraid of the people throwing bricks through our windows, Winry. Do you know how many times I've almost been beaten up just getting groceries? I don't…I don't want that for them."

Her shoulders slumped, and when he opened his eyes, he noticed she'd closed hers. “There’s...not really another option, is there?”

“Well, sure there is. There’s always another option, Win, we just...haven’t found one we’ve liked yet.”

Winry shook her head and pulled away from him, her face contorting into a mix between frustration and confusion. “I don’t underst―Ed, what are you trying to get at here? Do you want to move, or not?”

He trailed his hands down her shoulders to lightly grasp her fingers. “Of course not, Winry. I love Resembool, but it’s not safe here anymore. All I’ve―” he cut himself off and looked toward the stairwell before lowering his voice and meeting her gaze again, “all I’ve ever wanted was to keep you safe…” There was a weight in his chest that aged him by at least five years; this decision would be excruciating for both of them. “I’ve never been great at compromises―I couldn’t even agree to let you have the side of the bed that you wanted.”

Winry sniffed, and a small laugh bubbled past her lips despite the conversation. “No, you couldn’t."

“I don’t want to make this decision without you, and it isn’t one that I can make for you. If we can figure something else out, I’m all for it, but right now...right now, this feels like the only thing that will solve the majority of our problems.”

She sighed and nodded a little, conceding. “Alright...well, let’s...list the pros and cons?”

He smiled softly. “Some pros of staying in Resembool?”

“Granny is here, so we wouldn’t have to drive anywhere to visit her.”

“The kids enjoy their classes,” Edward offered.

“Sarah’s piano teacher lives in town,” Winry said, nodding.

“Your client base around here is pretty steady.”

“There’s...well, there’s…”

Ed cupped the side of his wife’s face as she scrambled. “Our memories,” he said. “We had our wedding here...the kids were all born here―we were born here.”

Winry took a deep breath and sighed, closing her eyes as she tried to stay rational. “Our p...our parents are here…”

The ex-alchemist’s shoulders fell slack as his heart squeezed. “No, Win...our parents’ graves are here…” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight as he nestled her head beneath his chin. He could feel the shudder in her breath as she relaxed into him. “They’re...they’re with us, Winry...you know that…” His hand came up to run through her hair as he kissed the crown of her head. “Your dad’s laugh, your mom’s face, their recipes and attitude, you’ve got it all, Win. I don’t need them here to see that.”

She let out a sob, and he felt her hands fist in the front of his shirt as he began to sway with her. She squeaked out a few unintelligible sentences, and Ed rubbed her back, slow and soothing. "B—Gramma—" she finally choked out, and Ed pressed another kiss to her temple.

"We could ask her to come with us?" he suggested, but they both knew that Pinako would never leave Resembool again. The mountains were her home, and she was far too old and much too stubborn. "Or we could bring the kids out on weekends. The train ride isn't too bad now with the track they built a few years ago." There was a new rail line between East City and Rush Valley, which would mean only one train change on the trip to Resembool instead of two or three.

"What—what about East City?" she suggested pulling back to peek up at him. "I mean—y-you already teach there…"

Ed's brows raised a bit, and he pursed his lips in thought. "That might be a nice middleground, yeah." He offered her a smile as one hand came up to brush away the remnants of her tears. "Not sure what the automail market is like there—"

"Wide open." Winry's lips were beginning to split with a smile of her own.

Ed grinned and peppered kisses across her cheeks and nose, drawing a peal of giggles from her even as she sniffled between them. "There's that Rockbell tenacity!" He cupped both sides of her face and brought her lips to his. "I'll start calling around some of my friends up there in the morning, yeah?"

She nodded and beamed up at him, the tear stains on her cheeks a mere shadow of her hesitation. "And I'll start calling to set up some connections for materials and deliveries."

His smile softened as he studied her face. "Yep…you've got it all."

((would you look at that folks I'm BACK happy 503 week I'm like 40 minutes late for today anyway fjsjfh @503week yayyyyyy! also forgive me if this seems rough and unfinished bc it is

also also idfk how to do a read more on mobile anymore I Apologize))

#503week 2022 #my writing #fma #fma fanfiction #fma edwin #Edward Elric #Winry Rockbell #Day 4: Tears #eyyyyy 40 minutes late but #this is actually repurposed from 503week 2018 'Protect' but I think it fits idk #I'm back from the dead bitchesssss #likes are great but reblogs are better #jay writes

12 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 5 years ago

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric & Alphonse Elric, Alphonse Elric & Winry Rockbell Characters: Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric, Pinako Rockbell, Alphonse Elric, Wrath (Fullmetal Alchemist (2003))|Mentioned, children ocs - Character, Liam Rockbell-Elric (Child OC), Sarah Rockbell-Elric (Child OC) Additional Tags: Cross-Reality Dreams, Depression, References to Depression Summary:

Dreams are a solace for Winry. They have been for years. In dreams, she’s not alone; she has Edward, and Al visits, and she and the oldest Elric have a gaggle of blond children. She has her grandmother in her waking moments, sure, but everyone else is gone. Her parents dead, Ed and Al trapped in another dimension likely never to return―all four little more than backs in the distance of her memory.

(Hello! Long time no see! This was written as a project piece for @fullmetalnet‘s November event! I was part of the Amestris faction, and Winry is my favorite character. I thought I’d take this opportunity to compare and contrast the different outcomes of her story in each anime. Enjoy!)

13 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 5 years ago

Link

13 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 5 years ago

Text

I know I haven’t posted on here in a while, but is there any chance I could get a few writing prompts/ideas sent to me? I’d really appreciate it!

#maple gabs #not writing

0 notes

just-callmejay · 5 years ago

Photo

!!!!! I've never had someone draw a scene from one of my fics before (outside of a Bang)! Thank you so much! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

One day by @maples-pages

#carrot-love-to-draw #carrotlovetodrawwithcolors #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #young royai #royai #fma #fma brotherhood #fanfiction illustration #fanart #One Day #I'm sobbing dude tysm ;u;

39 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 5 years ago

Text

One Day

The first time she kissed her Colonel was the last time she kissed her Colonel. It was slow and soft, but also urgent and emotional. She grasped the curls she’d memorized, twisted her fingers into his scalp as the grease and soot from his hair dirtied her hands and cleansed her soul. The feelings that the Hawk’s Eye constantly tamps down suddenly escaped as Riza was allowed this one moment of freedom. Tears streaked her bloodied face and made their way down and over the rugged flesh of the fresh scar on her neck, and for the first time in what felt like ages, she laughed.

Keep reading

93 notes · View notes

just-callmejay · 5 years ago

Text

One Day

Colonel Mustang was startled and confused at first, his hands reaching out to grip her shoulders as a way to steady himself. The distant memories of his time at the Hawkeye Estate filled his mind as her scent engulfed him completely. Her warm lips molded to his just as he remembered them, though they were torn and worn from a day of worrying them between her teeth.

Unseeing eyes drifted shut as bleeding hands found the sides of her face and brushed away tears that he knew he was at fault for, and he pulled her even closer, humming a chuckle in response to her laugh.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Sir…” she whispered as she pulled away, her heart shriveling as their contact was broken. “How very unprofessional of me,” she managed, her voice thick as her throat closed around her words and threatened to strangle her.

Suddenly Roy was lost in the dark once more, alone in a way that only his faithful Lieutenant could understand. He took a slow breath and tried to formulate a response. He nodded once and cleared his throat, but his words were as scratchy as his hospital gown. “Of course, Lieutenant. I…” his chest constricted as he took a shuddering breath and huffed out a sigh, “I completely understand.” And the Colonel did―he still does―but that never stops Roy from reminiscing.

He remembers the long summer days spent in the Hawkeye library, a shy, short-haired girl slipping in every few hours to bring him a fresh glass of lemonade and a welcome distraction from his research. He remembers their talks, and the feel of her palms before rifles and handguns calloused and blistered them. He remembers sneaking out with her at every possible opportunity, remembers stifling his laughter as they crammed into a hall closet because her father was walking by, remembers her brown eyes seeming to glow in the darkness as they stared at each other, daring the other to make a sound.

“Shh! Roy, hush!” she whispers, giggles giving her words pitch despite her attempts at silence. “Roy, here he comes!” she says, pressing a hand against his lips as her father shuffles toward them.

They each hold their breath as the man wheezes his way down the hall, and Roy grips Riza’s arm gently to help steady himself.

He studies her carefully, the light in her eyes filling his heart with so much joy that it hurts. He searches through the brown and tries, really tries to find the soft-spoken young woman he met just a few months ago, but she isn’t there anymore. Now a firecracker, Riza exhilarates him, and he can only pray that he does the same for her. His cheeks have warmed slightly at the words that come to his mind and stick in his throat, and all he can do is gently pull her hand from his face as he rests his on her waist.

Riza’s own face pinkens at the contact, and they’re suddenly lost in each other. He can hear Master Hawkeye pouring himself a midnight cup of tea and heading back down the hall, but his heart is racing for another reason entirely. He briefly wonders to himself how the faint flickering of the hallway candle is bright enough–kind enough—to grant him such an amazing view, and before he can stop himself, he’s shut his eyes tightly and pressed his lips to hers.

Riza makes an involuntary noise in the back of her throat, caught off guard by his actions. Just as she begins to ease into the kiss, the moment is shattered as the closet door opens to reveal her extremely cross father.

Roy jerks away and bangs his head on the shelf above them. He bites out a curse and looks between his mentor and the girl who’s stolen his heart.

“Sir, I―!”

Before he can manage to stammer out an awkward explanation, Riza grabs his hand and drags him past the old man, sprinting through the house and out into the yard and beyond. Her laughter breaks the silence of the night as he stumbles after her, his lanky form awkward and clumsy.

“Riza!” an angry Bertholdt calls after them, but his voice is weak and distant.

“R-Riza, don’t you—shouldn’t we stop?” he pants, but she doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t ask again. She looks so beautiful, so free, that he can’t fathom the idea of forcing her to return to the house that keeps her prisoner.

He smiles to himself, half a chuckle escaping as he recalls the feel of her jerking him along by the arm. He can almost remember the exact curve of her shoulders, the texture of her palm against his, the swoop of her hair just above the nape of her neck. Almost.

Suddenly Riza screeches to a halt, chest heaving, and Roy bowls over her, unable to stop so abruptly. They crash spectacularly, and Riza shrieks with giggles even as the gravel road bites into her palms. He stutters out an attempt at an apology as he rolls off of her, but she just shakes her head and flops onto her back, staring at the sky with the biggest grin he’s ever seen.

“Riza...are you sure this is a good idea? Won’t your father kill us?”

She scoffs and shakes her head as she closes her eyes. “I don’t care what he does.” There’s more than a touch of rebellion in her voice, and Roy can’t believe how stunning she looks.

“He might kick me out...send me home…” he says softly, lying next to her and grasping her hand gently. He threads their fingers together and studies her profile, bringing the back of her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

Her chest rises and falls evenly as her eyes search the stars for a reason to go back. “We should leave,” echoes between them, and it takes a moment for her to realize that she’s the one who said it.

“Riza…” Roy breathes against her wrist.

“We should. We’d be together...we’d be safe…we’d be...free…” She closes her eyes as the word escapes her, and Roy can’t help the flutter in his chest that accompanies the suggestion.

He purses his lips as he examines the look of peace on her face, takes in the shudder the word holds. Just as he starts to form a response, Riza seems to come to her senses and shakes her head, moving to sit up.

“No, that’s ridiculous.” She starts to stand, her only anchor Roy’s hand.

“Riza,” he says softly, drawing her attention. “One day, I promise I’ll run with you. I promise.”

He shakes his head and smiles wryly, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Lieutenant,” he manages, his voice rough and choked.

“Sir?”

“I’m afraid it may rain soon.”

“I see. What would you like me to do for you, sir?”

“Turn down the lights. No visitors.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hears her stand, hears her chair scrape against the floor, hears the light switch flick, hears the door open.

“Riza,” he breathes brokenly, his throat closing. “Please stay.”

He can almost hear her nod. “Of course, Roy.”

AN: Hello! Long time! I haven't been working on many one-shots lately, but here's something small for Royai week that I wrote ages ago!

#my writing #likes are great but reblogs are better #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Royai #Royai fanfic #Royai week 2020 #fma fanfiction #fma brotherhood #FMA Roy #FMA Riza #FMA Royai #fma #fmab #angst #post-promised day #jay writes

93 notes · View notes