#[ it's a terrible day for rain // roy mustang ]

[mooneytried]

These two are voiced by the same person btw

[blorbologist]

Cat’s Cradle - Chapter 9

Ch 1 … Ch 8

[Hey y’all!! A heads up - in this chapter there’s the aftermath of a car strike.

The animal survives and will experience a full recovery, but if this is distressing to you, you can jump to the vet office at “Mr. de Rolo?”. The AU resumes its more fluffy nature after this brief two-chapter dip into trauma for Percy and the animal - I promise you no animals die in this fic.]

Percy’s going over his schematics one more time before casting when the doorbell rings. 

Frowning, he double checks on the kittens - sleeping soundly after their last feed - before turning down the hall. Time enough for two more rings. It better not be a delivery, or -

“Hey - oy! You’re one of Scanlan’s buddies,” says the short woman at the door. Percy has to wrack his brain to put a name to the face - mostly because he sees a lot of his friend in the eyes and broad mouth. Kaylie - Scanlan’s daughter. He hadn’t known she lived close by. 

Percy opens his mouth to greet her, but Kaylie immediately sobers, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Well, this sucks. Do you have a cat?”

He furrows his brows. “In an auxiliary capacity, you could say. Why?”

Kaylie sighs more heavily than someone her size should. “Right. So.” She runs a hand over her face. “Fuck, just - come with me? I think - I think it got hit by a car.”

Percy’s stomach drops. He does not think to put on his jacket or shoes, striding out after her in his shop slippers. The puddles soak through them before he’s halfway to the lot, before he sees the shape Kaylie points out. Carefully pulled to the side of the road. 

“Fuck,” Percy breathes, when he can. The exhale hurts because he’s running and he needs that air, but fuck, fuck, fuck - 

It’s Curio. 

“Bastard hit her, stopped and kept on goin’-” he thinks it’s Kaylie huffing behind him. Distant.

The gravel chews at his knees through his pants as he kneels. Percy hesitates to touch her, hands shaky and hovering closer than they've ever been. 

Curio purrs - a desperate attempt at self-soothing. The damp head lifts, blue eyes blown wide and whiskers trembling. Her face is black, but for the rust brown on one cheek.

She looks almost as he remembers, but the hints of what lays hidden on her other flank. One hind leg has an angle fit only for wrought metal. The weeds are red in spots, space between the rocks shiny with worse than rain.

Her chest heaves - stuttering and uneven and huge for her little body. She's so small - not skinny, just small. Lanky in the limbs. No more than a kitten herself, he realizes. 

“You poor dear,” Percy rasps. On a hunch, he tries, “Tsk tsk tsk.”

Her purring picks up its pace.

“Help me get her to my truck - we’ll use my jacket.” It’s bitterly cold - half soaked, laying on the side of the road for gods know how long, the poor cat has likely had it worse. Kaylie hovers, saying something about finding the address of the nearest vet.

Curio damn near screams when Percy touches her back to move her. He flinches, hard. His hand comes away rust red. “I’m sorry - be brave, please be brave.”

The rain lapping at his eyes and cheeks make it difficult to see what he's doing as he eases her onto the makeshift stretcher.

He'll manage. He's seen worse. 

(It stopped raining hours ago.)

--

“Mr. de Rolo?”

It’s forty-eight minutes after he’d handed Curio off to a vet when someone takes him aside. Or tries to - Percy can’t quite stop pacing, and flinches away from the hand on his shoulder to continue his trek. Back and forth through his personal hell. 

The too-clean scent of the emergency vet is not helping. 

He can’t make a call. He can’t make another phone call. Not like last time. Gods, not like last time.

“She should make it,” she says first, no-nonsense. Percy half expects it to fly in one ear, out the other - instead it rattles around almost painfully sharp, splintering into a tension headache. “It seems the car grazed her back end.” She crosses her arms, giving up on offering comfort when Percy keeps pacing. “A lot of what you saw was road burn. Looked worse than it was, though it’s unclear if they can save her leg.”

“Good - good.” Percy finally stops when he feels he needs to, to have enough breath for a response. He can guess why they might have sent someone to talk to him, and this is - this is good, good, better. “Don’t worry about the cost - whatever it takes, just do whatever it takes to save her.”

The woman - she has curly hair, resisting the bun it’s pulled into - nods, letting out a sigh he was not supposed to hear. She hands him a sheet of paper - initial cost analysis, his eyes glaze over familiar expenses in new context. “This is the best we can estimate so far, though with surgery-”

“I know,” says Percy. 

Another nod. “Thank you, sir. We did want to make sure you are capable of bottlefeeding her litter while she recovers. A crash course can be offered, no charge, but the sutures will be delicate, and -”

“Wait.” Percy lifts a hand. The headache is almost twisting, digging in deeper, interlocking with buried hurts to churn and curl. A storm, or turning cogs. “We have her kittens - she’s a stray, she had abandoned them in my workshop. I’ve been feeding them for a week and a half, now.”

Furrowed eyebrows are never a good sign. 

“Are you sure?” The technician, or vet, or intern, or whoever this person in white smelling of blood and antiseptic (mortician, mortician, mortician) presses. Presses, like fingers into the wounds. 

Because she says: “There are clear signs she’s nursing at least one kitten. Dirty areola, missing belly fur.”

“Fuck,” Percy breathes. 

--

He calls Vex outside the emergency vet, as far as he can get from the clinical white and buzzing lights and everything he had meant to leave behind. Under a tree, with the gasoline stench of cars masking the worst of what clings to his clothes. There was wherewithal to leave his credit card, just to assure them he was still here, he wasn’t running, please don’t stop working on her, please don’t think he abandoned her.

Ringtone is different. Sights are different. Smells are different. Percy takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes - everything itches with unshed, panicky tears.

“Hi, Vex,” he says, before she can even breathe a hello. “I’m sorry - I know you’re at work-”

“Percy.” Somehow the firmness is soothing. Grounding. “Percy - what’s wrong?”

“At the emergency vet, on Cloudtop Av.” Her inhale makes him spin - she must think the kittens, clear up quick - “Curio was hit by a car. They think she had another kitten, hidden somewhere.”

“Darling, breathe.” Vex’s voice drifts away for a moment - hard to be certain if it’s a trick or her moving the phone away for a moment. “Breathe with me, alright Percy?”

“Time is-”

“Not that desperate, not yet.” And, because she knows him so well: “You won’t think clearly like this, Percy. Just try it, for me, alright?”

He tries.

He’s no good at it.

He gets very good at it.

In, hold to Vex’s silence, exhale long and low with her. A cycle that repeats until it’s the only thing turning, not his head or the world and there’s some semblance of control over him. The shaking won’t stop. That’s fine, it rarely does. Just gets worse, like now.

“I’ll handle it,” Vex says. “You stay there - I don’t want you driving like this, Percy. When did you last feed the little ones?”

He counts. “Hour and a half, two hours ago.”

The shifting of cloth and hair speaks for her nod. “Alright, alright - not perfect, but doable. I’ll be by to pick up your spare key soon, darling. The kittens will be okay. Focus on Curio, and yourself.”

“But the -”

“Kittens,” Vex repeats, with emphasis. She grows quiet, though the phone tattles on the racket around her - a door slamming, things being shoved into a purse, her shoes on laminate. “I’ll find her.”

[yourwakingnightmares]

A funny story about my introduction to FMA:B.

So I watched the first few episodes, and decided I really liked this ‘Roy’ guy. I’ve always had a bit of a thing for fire users (Zuko, Pyro from X-men), and Roy was just... mmm. Perfect.

So I told my friends on discord how I liked the realism of the whole ‘he’s useless in the rain’ thing, and it made me laugh. And several of them responded with, “It’s a terrible day for rain.”

And I laughed. Because it was funny, right? Haha, Roy’s useless in rain.

And THEN... That episode rolled around. And suddenly, I realize that this is not. funny. at. all.

So I jump on discord, @ my friends, and say, you guys are all dicks. WTF.

And one of my friends responds back with, “HA! She finally got there! It took a week, but best thing ever!”

All I could think to say was... “Well played, sir. Well played.”

So after I finished the show, I got my teenager watching it with me. And he too likes Mustang, so after the showdown with Scar the first time, my son says, “That’s pretty cool, ma. I like the fire guy not being able to make fire in the rain.”

And I couldn’t resist. I told him, “It’s a terrible day for rain.” And we laughed.

And then we got to that episode, and he just stared at me for a minute, before saying, “That was uncalled for, ma.”

[basemondo]

Poor li'l meow meow

[sheila--e]

The sky so beautiful fuuck why is it that the sky in scenic locations always sucks but the sky in front of my shitty window is always gorgeoys. gorgas. gorgos. beuutfiful 😍

[phntasmgoria-moved]

7/7

FINALLY

[fatexchanged]

tag dump (ic edition) !

[cupcraft]

Who else still wakes up thinking about Roy Mustang saying "It's a terrible day for rain" ans then bawling his eyes out and Riza like piecing together his grief. Like are you fucking serious ill die right now

[flameleads]

Anonymous asked: i'm doing a rewatch of fmab & realized for the first time that mustang's line "it's a terrible day for rain" essentially is "i'm not crying it's raining on my face" do you have thoughts sdfg

Friend, don't get me started on what that scene makes me feel. I say as I figuratively roll up my sleeves and get to typing. There is a lot to unpack with just that scene alone, and I have so many thoughts about just it and what happens afterward.

Let's start off with why showing even this little amount of emotion is a big deal. Roy is a person who has a public image he must keep in place in order to properly ascend to the Presidency. In order to keep those above him off his trail, he has to make himself appear lackadaisical, womanizing, easily angered, and somewhat detached. He cannot have friends. He cannot appear close to anyone. He cannot show how capable and intelligent he actually is. So, with this scene, he waits until everyone but Lieutenant Hawkeye is gone to show even just a sliver of emotion, that Hughes's death affected him---because of course it did. Hughes was his best friend, his confidant, someone he fought alongside in Ishval, the person who was going to help him rise to the top. He's going to be emotional, but, being the man he is, he still does not feel like he can show much.

I take the phrase itself as having a couple of different meanings. One is exactly what you said while another alludes to how he can't use his alchemy when his gloves are wet (shown in episode 5 of FMAB). This is him speaking in metaphor: he's saying that he's vulnerable, and he feels useless. He couldn't do anything to save his friend, and that devastates him. The phrase is actually conveying a lot in just a few words, and, to me, it's one of the most powerful single pieces of dialogue in FMA as a whole. I may be biased, though, as someone who writes for Roy.

Then, I have to talk about how Roy handles his grief afterward. Wait, no---he doesn't. That's the point. He never deals with just how much grief he's carrying around when it comes to Hughes. As the series progresses to the point of the Promised Day, Roy gradually breaks down. His public image starts going with it bit by bit, especially when he loses his team. The manga shows this in a little more depth, honestly, but it's worth noting that, even before Laboratory 3 happens, Roy's not taking care of himself. Nothing matters. His grief is eating him alive. Hughes's death weighs heavily on him until he finally gets to confront Envy. He lets anger mask his grief, and thus we have Flames of Vengeance / Beyond the Inferno.

This scene, when I first watched FMAB, destroyed me. To this day, it destroys me because that grief is almost tangible. By saying "It's a terrible day for rain," Roy lays out his grief, his love for Hughes, and how useless he feels in the face of it all. He made his words count.

[svattii]

It’s a terrible day for rain

more here

[flourchildwrites]

A HUGE thank you to @teaplease1717​ for this unexpected (and AMAZING) gift, commissioned from the incredibly talented @meifangirls (Mei)! You are so sweet and thoughtful, Mo. I’m happy to have met you and to have such a caring friend during this difficult time.

I wrote a little something to go along with the Royai angst because, you know, it’s Royai angst. It’s just what you do. Heed the tags.

A Terrible Day for Rain...

There are stars on their shoulders and tears in her eyes when the sad news from the East makes its way to the Führer’s office, courtesy of an urgent telegram. Even the sky knew it was coming and dressed in a dour shade of gray to mark the passing of a formidable lady. Mustang is no stranger to loss, but Roy-boy has a less practiced facade. When he sees his subordinate’s sad eyes, he steels his bravado, knowing precisely what the telegram folded neatly in Hawkeye’s hand will say. 

It’s hit so close only once before — when Maes died. And that absence never fills or fades. Time, Roy knows, does not dull the ache of what is lost to the relentless forward march of life. Madame Christmas, or maybe (just this once) she would permit him to call her Aunt Chris again, is gone.

Hawkeye is quick to excuse the Führer’s staff for the afternoon. If they notice the tears at the corner of her eyes, they say nothing, merely content for an extra hour of free time while living the bright lives of young, brash officers on the rise. The Captain holds her superior’s gaze as his staff filters out, and the second the ornate double doors close, Hawkeye is gone. She is replaced by Riza, his childhood friend, clenching the telegram in her fist.

“So, it’s happened,” Roy says, rising from his chair and leaning forward, arms braced against the cold surface of his desk.

“Yes, sir.”

“When?”

“In her sleep, last night. Doctor said she didn’t feel a thing.”

That information is meant to soften the blow, but it doesn’t. Roy rises and walks to the window, gazing out at the somber sky and the passersby in the courtyard below as he fights a bitter urge to call a spade a spade. Painless or not, Aunt Chris is still dead. Biological or adoptive, she is still his mother, and somehow, the Earth still has the audacity to keep turning.

Riza is by his side when the first tear streaks down his cheek. She wipes it away with the stiff material of her sleeve and presses their foreheads together.

“She wouldn’t want us to mourn her,” Riza states, and this much, Roy knows to be true. “But I won’t tell if you won’t.”

A messy chuckle dislodges itself from Roy’s throat, and if he feels like a roughed-up, knock-kneed schoolboy in need of his Aunt’s protective hugs, he doesn’t say it. With Riza, he never needs to. They grieve in front of a stormy backdrop and wrap their arms around each other as much as they ever have at four o’clock on a workday afternoon. It’s a small slice of peace before the whirlwind of plans and questions sets in.

There’s never a good time for this type of weather, but with Riza by his side, Roy believes he can endure the rain once more.

[musing-and-music]

Regency AU

A Royai and Havolina series, by Musing_and_Music

Riza lives in her father's house with Rebecca Catalina, daughter of a gentleman of lesser rank (as Berthold likes to recall the young ladies). She's fallen in love with Roy Mustang, who'd been her father's protegee. However, despite his money and good looks, he doesn't have a high rank in society. Mister Mustang has a valet, Jean Havoc, who looks very nice in Rebecca's eyes. The difference of ranks between them and the impropriety of their relationship is not an obstacle to their love.

Series of OS written in one hour for the fma_60min prompts on Twitter. (this post will be updated with each new OS)

through the thunder and the rain. Rating G | 1134 words | Royai | Theme: "Rain". “It looks like it will rain today,” she said as she took a toast and spread some butter on it. “Will you study in the library?” “Actually, I had another project in mind,” Roy replied. He sounded hesitant, and Riza’s interest rose. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to bring you somewhere, Miss Riza.”

Meeting in the library. Rating T | 899 words | Havolina | Theme: "Alternate Universe". Rebecca was about to take the book she’d begun the day before when someone coughed, startling her. “God! Jean!” She cried as the tall blond man appeared in front of her. “I’m not sure about the first one, but I’m definitely the second,” he replied with a wide grin, bending toward her.

Happy new year, miss Riza. Rating E | 1277 words | Royai | Theme: "Holidays". Her cheeks burned when she recalled his words the last time she’d spent some time with him. “I want to make you mine in every way possible,” he’d whispered in her ear, leaving her yearning, her core aching.

I want him, he wants me, that's all that matters. Rating M | 1219 words | Royai | Themes: "Snow" and "Tears" | Chapters 2/2. Riza stirred and her eyes fluttered open. She sighed, feeling the best she had in months. She was warm and comfortable, and two strong arms were circling her waist. Her eyes fell on the bedroom around her and memories from the night before came back to her mind. A large smile spread on her face as she recalled what Roy and her had done. She suppressed a giggle. At last they had made love. Roy had been so tender, so gentle, and so strong at the same time. She’d felt safe and loved and precious under his caresses and thrusts, she wanted to feel that way again and again. And go check make the moment right by the amazing @goneadrift, with the Havolina part of chapter 2!

A house and a home. Rating T | 1494 words | Havolina and Royai | Theme "Domestic". Riza had settled in Central City after her wedding with Roy Mustang, leaving Rebecca with her family in East City. Rebecca missed her terribly, and letters weren’t enough for them, so Riza had invited her for a few weeks to stay in their new house. Rebecca had accepted wholeheartedly. That meant she would see her best friend again after five long months. And she would see her love again too.

The sight descending toward me took my breath away. Rating T | 427 words | Royai | Prompt given by @klainelynch: Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference. Roy gets home after a day of work, eager to greet his wife and make their day better

Peace is our future. Rating T | 1478 words | Havolina and Royai | Theme "Future". “I want us to be able to do that everyday,” she murmured. “I’d like us to not be a secret, Jean.” Jean stopped playing with her hair and cupped her cheek to lock their gazes together. “Then marry me, Rebecca.” Her breath caught in her lungs. “What?”

TBA...

[artistfingers]

do you have ant fic recs for fma? I just recently finished both series

!!!! yes, i am overjoyed to give FMA fic recs!!!

Here’s a little scattering of nine ten of my favorites—almost exclusively complete FMA:B AUs, and one or two pre-or-post-canon ones as well.

The little ★ beside an author means I recommend checking out their whole archive.

Fic links & summaries below the cut (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

i'm still, still dreaming magnificent things by @anthropwashere ★

“Brother,” he says, dismayed. He reaches out to touch Ed’s hunched shoulder, to comfort him, to help him on his feet, to carry him bodily to the Rockbells’ house if he has to to make sure Ed will be okay—

—but his hand passes right through Ed instead.

(An AU in which Ed is eleven, terrified, in pain, and alone on that terrible night, and he doesn't think that some small scrap of Alphonse might be salvageable from the Gate. He crawls out of his house instead, thinking he's killed his little brother—and Alphonse's ghost is forced to watch the years pass him by, invisible and mute, trapped in the in-between and blaming himself for everything that's gone wrong.)

hell (in high water) by @presumenothing ★

They weren’t even meant to stop in Resembool.

Wouldn’t have, if not for the torrential rain that had forced everyone to disembark instead of continuing on to the next stop, and Roy makes sure to include the appropriate dismay in his voice when he reports this to East Command over the train station’s phone.

The Switch and the Spur by colonel_bastard

Something tickles at the corner of his mouth, and on instinct, Roy reaches out with his tongue to quell it. To his horror, he disturbs the rest of a large black fly that has been drinking his sweat.

Welcome to Ishbal.

maestoso by novalotypo

Edward Elric is about eleven when he stands up, makes an extended effort to knock as many books off the old bastard’s shelves as he can, and says, “Fuck the military. Al, you interested in music at all?”

Everybody's got their own ideas of retirement.

The Elrics don't even do retirement, what with the world trying to blow itself up every other month, but this shit has got to take the fucking cake.

Be Kind, Rewind by icewhisper

Maes Hughes died on a Tuesday night. When Roy woke up the next day, it was Tuesday morning. It kept being Tuesday morning.

Demon Alchemist Series by @metisket ★

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re doin’ your best. It’s just your best isn’t quite good enough, Colonel. So while you’re doing whatever the hell it is you do, I’ll be here cleaning up after you.”

It's Not a Big Deal by hangonsilvergirl

(6:50) I thought you wouldn’t want to be left hanging re: my dick epic

(6:51) Pun again unintended

(6:52) And wow that makes it sound like I want to tell you the magnum opus of my own dick

***

An AU in a modern setting where Edward and Winry don't know one another until he texts the wrong number.

Inappropriately, naturally.

To the Night Sky by @problematic-ranowa★

They tell him he lost his mind. He doesn't remember anything else, so he believes them. But if that's the case, then why does he sometimes feel like he doesn't belong here... and neither does that little, annoying, blond kid named Ed? Parental RoyEd, not traditional amnesia fic.

Stock Market Crash by VIKAN

Stranded in the middle of the Eastern Desert, Roy Mustang must try to get himself and a concussed Edward across it safely before he completely loses his mind.

Thermal Flux by artistfingers (does this count?? ehh sure it counts)

Winry prided herself on her situational awareness, quick thinking, and high bullshit threshold. Hell, for Colonel Mustang’s team, those qualities were all but requirements. It also meant that she was well-equipped to handle a stranger bleeding out in a blizzard—even with the eerily familiar face, never mind the shoddily alchemized perforating trauma.

But automail built straight from her childhood designs?

Well. She might need a slightly higher bullshit threshold after all.

[yourwakingnightmares]

So, I had a thought about Roy Mustang, and wanted to share. (Please read all the way through, I’m a huge Roy fan, despite how the first half of this post may seem, this isn’t an anti-Roy post, but rather a character study of sorts).

So normally, throughout the show, we see that Roy is calm, cool, and collected. He doesn’t show any emotion really, beyond smugness, or satisfaction at times. It takes the death of his best friend before we actually see some real emotion from him, and even then, he tries to hide it away, with the infamous, “It’s a terrible day for rain.” line.

Compare that -Mustang, sitting in his office with his team, or Mustang interrogating Major Armstrong following Hughes’ death -to what we see when he goes after Lust. When he goes after Envy.

That’s not even cold anger. That’s burning rage. In those two scenes, Roy is legitimately terrifying. He’s cruel. 

His words to Lust, for example: “You said I couldn’t kill you, but I’d like the opportunity to prove you wrong. So how many times is it gonna take?” Or with Envy later, “Isn’t it interesting how quickly the tongue can be turned into a mess of boiling grease?”

That’s borderline sadistic, when you think about it. We see other people in the show get angry. Hell, in that same scene, Riza starts shooting, cursing, “You bitch!”. We see Ed -many, many times -lose his cool and start cussing out his enemies.

This is something different, though. This isn’t the desperate anger, a person pushed to the edge, and in emotional turmoil.

Roy in those scenes isn’t conflicted. He’s not in turmoil. He’s not desperate. He’s pissed. This isn’t a righteous fury, or desperation. This is rage.

So how do we fit this into Roy’s character? The man who deeply cares about his subordinates, who tries to protect the two boys under his command as much as he can, the man who’s a ‘lady’s man’, suave, cool, and collected? How does this aspect fit in?

Well, like most of Roy’s character development, we have to go back to Ishval. In Ishval, when a twenty-three year old Roy decided that he’d do what it took to get home, so he could ‘climb to the top of the pyramid’ as Hughes puts it. He’s willing to do whatever he has to, to try and make things right.

So he puts it all aside, tucking it away in that little black box in the back of his mind. The betrayal he feels by his government? Black box. The guilt over what he’s done? Black box. The horror at what he’s seen? Black box. The choices he’s had to make? Black box. As he tells Ed, “We keep moving. Whatever it takes. Even if it’s through a river of mud.”

Roy Mustang is the king of denial, the ruler of suppressing, the undisputed champion of compartmentalization. For a decade, this is how Roy survives. This is how he avoids eating a gun, how he gets up in the morning. He just doesn’t think about it. Shoves it down, and hides all those things away in the deepest parts of himself.

So what we see when Roy loses it? When he brutally tortures Lust and Envy? Roy is letting all that pain, all that self-loathing, all the guilt, the shame, the betrayal all out in those moments. What we see there is everything from Ishval making itself known.

And what makes it worse? Roy knows that this aspect of him exists. He knows what he’s capable of, when he opens that black box and let’s it all come bubbling out, like a volcano finally erupting, destroying everything in its path. We know he knows this... because he tells Riza that part of her job is to be ready to kill him if needed. He knows that each time he opens that box, that he lets himself feel everything he’s kept hidden away, tucked in the darkest corners of his mind, there’s a possibility that he’ll lose it; that he’s dancing along the edge of a knife, ready to topple off.

He knows exactly what he’s capable of. That he could very easily become worse than Kimblee. That there’s a part of him that’s just as broken, and dangerous, as Kimblee is.

Both suave, swarmy Roy and cruel, rage-filled Roy are the same person. He’s able to be suave and collected because of that rage. But that rage exists because he’s forcing himself to be so calm and rational.

These two aspects showcase Roy’s trauma in a heart-breaking way. Neither one of them is the ‘Real’ Roy at this point. The real Roy Mustang -the boy who wanted to protect people, who volunteered, the young idealist boy who told Master Hawkeye he was going to help -died in Ishval.

These two disparate parts of his personality are all that’s left of that boy. The man he so desperately wants to be, and the angry boy raging at the injustice and unfairness of it all.

[iluci3l]

the fullmetal alchemist fandom in a nutshell

roy sparky sparky boom man

haha ed is smol

haha ed hates malk

FMA 2003 vs FMAB everywhere, ft. the ones that like both

alphonse is too perfect too pure we must protecc

we’re all simps for FMA wemen

hail Arakawa sensei

Nina. Hughes. Greed. Trisha. *sobs*

it’s a terrible day to rain

haha doggirl

mustang is useless

fuck Shou Tucker all my homies hate Shou Tucker

oH nO bRothEr’S sOuL-

Scar killed Mufasa

Hughes is markiplier

snAp snAp spArk spArk it’S time to liGht Up the diGgY-digGy dArk

never try to revive your mother children

envy=palm tree

the one at the beggining of the first opening isn’t Ed

✨equivalent exchange✨

october 3rd: *exists* FMA fandom: my time has come (we’re almost in december but anYwAys)

[teaaavis]

a little something (and happy new year!)

Heyo there, @royaidaydreams! I’m your secret santa, and I apologize for the extremely late gift; I hope that I could have sent this earlier. You preferred Royai and nothing else (lol) so here goes! I hope you enjoy!!! (I don’t use AO3 or anything but if I did I would link it for you, sorry.) Also, huge thanks to @fmasecretsanta2020 for organzing this unbelievable event!!!

six battles fought and one battle won 1 ( one ) : young.

The floorboards creaked and whined under his feet as he walked across the vast room, two pairs of footsteps melodically echoing throughout the house. The only thing that stood in his way of leaving the Hawkeye estate and the military was the blank wooden door. The pleasant breeze of air that slipped in through the crack of the door warmed his feet as he put down his trunk with a muffled bump. Mustang had stopped walking and placed his hand on the numbingly cold brass doorknob; then he twisted it, the door swinging open, and nearly bumping the wall like its squeaky hinges did nothing to prevent it. Mustang turned around and almost toppled his leather case holding his belongings over, but he righted it before picking it up again. Gentle steps sounded behind him, and he slowly looked up to see a blonde girl with coppery brown eyes staring at him with a delicate hand on the door. 

"You'll come back, won't you, Mr. Mustang?" she questioned, remaining her hand on the door as she took a step closer to the crow-haired young man. Her brown eyes scanned his face as if searching for a reasonable answer, "Will you?" she repeated after she took notice of the uncomfortable pause between him and her.

"I- uh," Mustang opened his mouth and closed it twice before planting a small frown on his face; he knew that there was no point in returning here; Berthold Hawkeye was dead and gone from the household. "I- maybe, think I will." he glanced a soft, worrisome look at the smaller figure, and she continued to stare at him. 

"Where will you go now?" Hawkeye asked, a gentle breeze brushing her pale hair across her face.

But damn, did she look so beautiful in that pair of clothing, blond hair barely reaching her shoulders; he wanted to draw her closer to him and wrap his sturdy arms around her fragile figure and tell her that he never wanted to leave her side. But Mustang had already told her- and his passed teacher that he would commit his time to the Amestrian Military, and there was no turning back now. 

"Miss Hawkeye, I do believe you know where I'm heading next, so there is no need to ask," Mustang rubbed the back of his head and dropped his arm back to his side with a lengthy sigh. "I plan to help the military with the use of my flame alchemy; if you ever do see me again, it will be a long time until I rest my eyes on you again."

She continued to lay her eyes on him for a long time, then crossed her arms in front of her and put a solemn look on her face, "Then just stay safe, would you?" 

Roy felt the heat creeping up his neck, which spread across his face, resting on the tips of his ears and his cheeks; he certainly wouldn't have expected that to come out of her mouth. "Of course, yeah," he diverted his gaze to a small crack in the floorboards, which caught his eyes, "I'll try." Mustang cast his glance towards the pale-haired young woman standing before him, and it was that he knew he had owed his former master's daughter more than he could give. 

"I, uh," Mustang stuttered; he knew this sentence wouldn't come out the way he intended, and if it did, the young alchemist knew he would certainly be on the sinking ship; there was no way that she even thought of him more as a mere friend. "Nevermind."

He raised a hand to her; his frozen hand remained there for a fleeting few seconds, but he decided to drop it then, "Goodbye, Riza Hawkeye."

Mustang watched as her penny- pecan colored eyes softened just a tad bit, and she gave a quiet sigh that silently spread over the rustling of the bare branches and the gradually dying grass that was slowly turning a grey-green color. She cast a somber look at her passed father's apprentice, and a sad smile soon filled her expression. 

"Goodbye is too permanent," she murmured while crossing her arms into a v- shape in front of her frame, "Until next time, Mr. Mustang."

He turned around. 

The last thing he saw in color beside her beautiful eyes was a small blade of green grass in the middle of a barren patch of dirt. 

2 ( two ) : battles and burns.

The Flame Alchemist. The three words that she'd help create, and now the soldiers of Amestris on the Ishval- Amestris battleground tossed it around as if it were something to be proud of- unquestionably, it was something that the Hawk's Eye of Ishval wouldn't take in. She wasn't sure if revealing the secrets on her back was worth it; Hawkeye knew that she intended the destructive flame alchemy was for the people but right now, her once sturdy thoughts were crumbling before her. 

Left and right, the scarring of the pale Ishvalan grounds and the annihilation of the citizens who lived there was to be permanent, and even though she hadn't been here for long, she knew that the alchemists, especially the Flame Alchemist, had reached a high death toll. 

The Hawk's Eye sighed and peered through the sniper's scope, watching as a small burst of brilliant orange, yellow and red flames erupted into the air; she wondered what it was like to kill so many people at a time just with the snap of the fingers. It wasn't until long after another man that she'd never seen before, this time with glasses, which she scrutinized through the lens of the sniper; he turned around and faced the Flame Alchemist. She watched them closely with light interest, positioning herself so she could watch every last movement, and Hawkeye wondered if pulling the trigger on him was a good idea; and it was easy, too easy to pull the trigger back a little more, but instead, she decided against it and put down her sniper with calloused hands. 

"I trusted you," she said to him, later that day, her hands tightly fisted in her lap, nearly torn- up, pale coat and near navy uniform covered in wrinkles, "I trusted you, and this is what happened?"

He reached an arm out to her, and in the dim light of the lantern beside her, she saw that part of his tan coat was partially scorched black, but what drew her eyes to his hand was the unmistakable red of a fresh burn. The small ebb of warmth radiating from his arm faded away as he pulled back his arm; his other hand brushed the healing wound, and he dropped both his arms on his lap. 

"I told you to be careful, Major Mustang."

"And I was; this wound barely distracts me; besides, this only a minor wound, it hardly hurts."

"Well, you should have known to be more careful," she shot back, eying the fresh red of his skin, "And I doubt that you even treated the wound."

Mustang rubbed the back of his head with his uninjured hand, sighing, "Yeah," he huffed, pulling a face, "But as I said," he eyed the sniper with onyx- colored eyes, "I don't need it."

She plastered a "do you seriously want to play this game with me right now" look on her face but then stood up and opened the flap of the large tent, stepping outside into the rocky terrain. She popped her head back into the tent, looking at the Flame Alchemist sitting on the near- broken wooden crate, "Who was that man with the broken glasses and black hair just like yours?" 

"Oh, you must have seen him," Mustang paused and turned to look at the Hawk's Eye, "Hughes," his eyes turned slimmer than they usually were, "His name is Maes Hughes."

3 ( three ) : rain.

"Colonel," she whispered from behind him, handing him his midnight- colored military coat, which he wrapped around himself, and watched the lieutenant stop, the grass flattening under her shoes, blue uniform ruffling in the soft wind.

He watched the stone grave with the name Maes Hughes engraved into it so intently as if it might move, but when the grave did not, he gripped the uniform cap tucked between his arm tighter, "Alchemists as a whole, we are horrible creatures, aren't we?"

The lieutenant gave no reply, and he carried on quickly, "There's a side of me that's desperately trying to crack the theories of human transmutation right now," Mustang paused, trying to burrow whatever feelings and thoughts he had for his dead friend right now, "I think I understand what drove those boys who tried to- " he cut himself off abruptly, "bring back their dead mother."

He kept his eyes on the grave, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lieutenant Hawkeye shift, "Are you all right, Colonel?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled in reply, taking his cap by his right hand and setting it on his head, "Except," he tilted his head upwards, the brim of the hat just almost covering his eyes, "It's a terrible day for rain."

At first, he knew she wouldn't get the statement, hearing her, "What do you mean? It's not raining." 

He felt the sleeve of her coat brush lightly against his, and that word useless that she'd always called him when he fought in the rain just suddenly got to him, and he felt a wet substance sliding down his cheeks. "Yes, it is."

She directed her gaze towards him and responded, "Oh, so it is. Why don't we head back? It's getting chilly out here."

Soon, Mustang felt the small of her hand on his back as she directed him to his car in silence; desperately, he wanted to believe the truth was just a dream; one of his most valuable subordinates and a treasured friend ripped away from life so quickly. Running his fingers through his neatly pulled back hair, he let it fall back to its usual unkempt state; he sighed and crossed his arms. 

Gazing at Lieutenant Hawkeye, he wondered how she could keep the same emotionless look on her face- not daring to let a flicker of movement dash across her face. Focusing on the darkest brown of her eyes, he noted how she concentrated on staring ahead of her, hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel. He didn't know what he looked like at that moment, but, god, he must have looked so desperate at that moment. 

Desperate to hold her, to take her into his arms, tell her everything he wanted to, but of course, he scolded himself for thinking of such an idea- and would she even let a man with bloodstained hands hold her? A man in which he wielded a dangerous power that had killed so many? Emptying the thought from his mind, he blew a loud exhale, which attracted a glimpse from the lieutenant, which only lingered on him for a second or two. 

But Mustang knew he needed to find Hughes's killer quickly and avenge his death, knowing that the killer could notice the lieutenant and take her away, just as they did to Hughes. He would still protect the lieutenant at all costs, but inside, he knew that she didn't need his protection; that she would be just fine on her own. 

What he didn't know was that he would be completely wrong. 

4 ( four ) : sorrow.

There was no way. She refused to believe it- but after all, they were facing a Homunculus. The Homunculus had told her she had killed a sacrificial pawn, and if Alphonse was still alive, the Colonel and Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc somewhere else, then that meant she had already dealt with one of them, meaning that it was either Colonel Mustang or Second Lieutenant Havoc. Or maybe she was dead, and she was the sacrificial pawn, and this was all a nightmare because, of course, it would be impossible that Roy Mustang had perished so quickly; and killed by this monster of all things. 

She told herself to remain calm like she always would, but Hawkeye couldn't dream of the fact that she would have to carry on without him, missing out on everything they could have had together; but instead, grief, fury, and boiling rage channeled through her veins. She pulled the trigger of her handgun as bullet after bullet hit the Homunculus; echoes of screaming bounced around the vast room of Laboratory 5, and she didn't know if it was her or not, but it didn't matter. 

Her comrades in the military knew her as the Hawk's Eye, earning that name from the fact that she never, or once in a blue moon, missed her target. Usually, she would make sure that perfection and accuracy came in her shot, but her mind was so jumbled, one of her bullets only grazed the monster's shoulder. She threw aside another of her handguns and continued firing, hoping, pleading, for this creature to die before her, and maybe he just wasn't dead yet. Ignoring the shocked Alphonse Elric at her side, maybe confused at her sudden rage and her crazed behavior, but she didn't care who saw her at this moment or not. 

But the fact that she'd failed to protect him, something tremendously crucial that he'd trusted her with from the very day she became enlisted under his command; it tore her apart. Down to her last bullet, she pulled the trigger with great force, lowering her arm slowly and reluctantly, then collapsed on the cold floor, hands clenched together firmly. She didn't know at that moment, but there was a part of her eager to end her life right there and join him; the Homunculus, still alive, uttered something which sounded like static to her. The floor, blurry between the tears forming in her eyes, warped and pathetically fell to the ground; and when she heard a clacking sound, grey metal stepped in front of her, she knew the younger Elric brother was trying to save her. 

They both bickered for a moment as to whether to run or not and of course, she remained there, slumped over, hearing the sound of strange material piercing through metal. Telling Alphonse to run for the last time, he'd fought back, telling her that he had seen so many people die before him, and with this chance to protect her, he would. And when a new voice entered the room, she was suddenly yanked to the side by cold metal; that wrapped around her body; but no, how could it be? 

Flames engulfed the air around her, heat rising quickly from abrupt and large flames near her; the wall that Alphonse Elric had transmuted earlier shook as something from the other side rammed into it. Painful shrieks and screams reverberated through the room as she imagined the flames created by his hand submerging the Homunculus. It took time for it to be over, and when it was, an enormous cloud of smoke blew in front of her eyes, with the following, quiet sound of something like sand blowing into the air filled the room. Behind the transmuted wall, she heard something clatter to the ground and the familiar grunt of pain from the colonel. 

Released from her spot, she dashed over to the colonel, not caring to wipe stray tears on her cheeks; and at that moment, she was glad that Alphonse had saved her back a few moments ago. Asking about her superior's wounds, he only responded with a question if she was unscathed and a thanks to Alphonse, quickly adding in to fetch the injured Havoc. 

After the sound of metal faded away, she turned back to the colonel, who gave her that crooked, small smile that she was fond of- a smile that filled her with the feeling of reassurance. Feeling raven eyes lock on to her, she gave a small smile; and maybe, she thought, he had stared at her a bit too long.

The understanding silence between them was interrupted by the return of Alphonse and the colonel's voice, so quiet it was like a whisper, "Help me up, would you?"

She stood up, brushing one of her hands briefly across his before planting her hands on his broad back before hoisting him upwards. 

5 ( five ) : color.

"Your precious woman is dying."

Chasing the shape-shifting Homunculus, Envy, the one who had killed Maes Hughes, down the winding tunnels was a real game to play, and after he'd blasted that creature to a despicable green worm, she just had to step in and prevent him from going over the edge. And what an idiot he was back when they were still in the tunnels, when he had told her to end the burden she carried around every day, her response was already a bullet to the head. He remembered the flames that had come with his anguished cry, and he hated, despised, loathed, what this woman could do to him. Then she had saved him again. 

But now, all he could do was watch her die in front of his eyes as he called out her name, no, her rank, frantically. 

As he strained against his captors, he watched as her precious lifeblood smoothly and swiftly flowed out of the deep gash in her neck; her hand on her crimson, bloodied neck did nothing to hinder the bleeding. He watched as her eyes dulled, her beautiful blonde hair starting to stain red from the blood that spilled on the stone floor, a red puddle spreading farther and farther from the lieutenant and closer and closer to him. Trying to shake the two men holding him down off of him, they held him tightly, the anonymous man with the gold tooth speaking again, but with fear coursing through his body, the man's words were unintelligible. 

Hawkeye, looking so vulnerable and weak, mouth slightly open, body limp against the ground; he wanted to embrace her with unwilling ferocity, even if it was the last time. A flare of hope grew as she saw movement in her eyes- a signal, which informed him to buy a bit more time, and after a short while, his saviors appeared, the youngest throwing some weapon at one of the führer candidate's head. Taking the sword of the stunned- and hopefully dead man, he stabbed the other man holding him captive, and dashed to the lieutenant, pleading, praying that she hadn't left him yet. Usually, stepping on something during a full sprint would have tripped him, but the urgency flooding through him kept him going. As one of the other candidates raised his sword to cut him down, he snapped his fingers, releasing an explosion of fire, blowing him away. 

Letting out a panicked cry, he supported her weak body in his arms, not daring to let her go; he was with her, and everything was going to be all right, and why wasn't she opening her eyes? He watched, powerless as she twisted and turned in his grip, the warmth from her body fading, blood still slowly oozing out of her fresh wound, and god, was she slowly dying in his arms? 

Then, a flurry of pink, purple, and white entered his vision, accompanying a small voice, and in seconds, she had patched up the wound. Thankful, he told her, "I owe you one," and turned his attention back to Hawkeye, who had slowly woken from a daze; he watched as a pair of eyes opened. 

And suddenly, his world was in color again, pale skin against the black and blue of his uniform, red against the yellow of her hair, and he found himself wondering for the first time how her stunning eyes were that shade of brown. 

But color or her eyes didn't really mean much right now; there was only one thing that he really fancied at this moment, the only thing that comforted him; but right now, he loved that smile she gave him. 

6 ( six ) : dark mornings.

She wondered what it would be like for it to be pitch black in the middle of the day. The thin curtains did nothing to filter the sunlight pouring through the open window, which made shadows that danced across the floor. And of course, he wouldn't be able to see those either, but as she described the way the beams of warm light hit her skin and the tiny view of the leaves blowing this way and that in the wind, a feeling of commiseration flooded through her. 

Beside her, he pawed his face dramatically with bandaged hands and hung his head in defeat; black strands of hair drooping. Standing up on uneasy feet, she padded over to the colonel, who must have heard the creaking of the hospital bed and the soft shuffling of her feet. Sitting down on the soft mattress in front of him, she reached out for his bandaged hand, knuckles brushing gently across the palm of her hand. 

He lifted his head and looked in the direction he thought she was sitting, which was the wrong way, so she cupped his cheek, turning his head towards her. Pale grey, blind eyes widened, and he gripped her hand tighter, and was he blushing?

Thin sheets and a blanket wrinkled as she leaned backward, whispering small sentences that went back and forth between them. She did not manage to exchange many words between them before silence filled the room, and they sat there, enjoying the company and the silence. Mustang stared at her, maybe staring at nothing, then blurted out, "It's a shame I can't see you." The colonel repeatedly and quickly blinked as if he was embarrassed but showed no signs of being so. 

Fidgeting with a bedsheet with her free hand, as her other hand was still occupied by the colonel, who was now running his thumb across her knuckles, she only smiled in response. Avoiding his comment, she started unwrapping the bandages on his left hand for him, which the doctor had instructed to do every morning. "What is the first thing that you want to do with your sight back?" she questioned, pulling away from his firm grip and strolling over the small medical cart left at the other end of their shared room. She started reaching for the new roll of gauze and the ointment when he replied, a bit too quick. 

"Probably spend some time with you," he replied, smirking at the sound of Hawkeye sighing in response, "or maybe hurry over and see what Alphonse looks like."

"You most certainly won't be traveling anywhere until you get you're completely healed and have your sight back."

He nodded as she sat back beside him and lifted his unwrapped hand, applying the ointment, then covering his hand in the fresh, clean covering. Tranquility filled the room as there was nothing more to be said, and the only thing she could hear was the ripping of the old bandage stained a dark red with old blood. It took a while, treating both hands, but after she finished, she threw away the used materials and took a seat next to the colonel. 

"Sir-" she started but was interjected by her superior by, "I told you that you don't always have to refer to me formally." 

Continuing, she crossed her legs, "-what is it like to be blind?"

He looked at her, scoffing, "I guess it feels like you're drowning in darkness, never seeing the moon or the sun that rises every day. I  constantly feel lonely, as I can not see anyone," he paused, reaching for her hand, but instead found her leg but gripped it, "and I can not see you."

"They're always dark mornings."