#I love being a walking nightmare to code optimization at work <- is the only one doing the code for the project she's working on

[pierswife]

You know, I could come up with a way to make my code a little cleaner, but what if 20+ IF/THEN statements instead--

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

I Could Use A Hug (Uni!Yoongi Oneshot)

1. “Can you please come and get me?”

4. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

20. “I could really just use a hug right now.”

Pairing(s): Yoongi x Reader

Genre: University!Au, fluff

Warnings: insomnia, allusions to depression, signs/symptoms of depression and/or anxiety (if you or someone you know is struggling, don’t be afraid to seek help)

Word Count: 2.3k words

The thrum of rain drops pelting every surface around you dulled your senses and fogged your aching mind. You could barely see two feet in front of you, the darkness surrounding you only broken by the sparse light of the street lamps that became farther and fewer the longer you walked.

You weren’t sure how long you had been walking, hell, you weren’t sure where your feet were taking you anymore. All you knew is that you couldn’t lie there and pretend like everything was alright; like your mind wasn’t tearing itself apart bit by bit for seemingly no reason, and no matter how much you wanted to believe that closing your eyes and forcing it all away would work, in the end, it never would.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had slept, really slept, and the nightmares in your head seemed to enjoy their slow torment of you from the inside out.

You’re friends would tell you you’re in your head too much; your parents that it’s stress and lack of a proper routine. None of them seemed to dig deeper, try and see that you’ve tried every solution you could think of to fix their idea of the problem, and that none of them worked.

Then again, why should you expect outsiders to know all the answers when you can’t even pinpoint the why yourself.

So instead of staring at your ceiling and letting your mind run rampant with negative thoughts that feed off your sleep-deprived brain, you decide that taking a walk in the pouring rain at 2 a.m. alone would distract you from everything going on in your consciousness.

Only now, sitting on a rickety bench on the side of some street you’ve never heard of, illuminated only by the blinking bulb of a street lamp 20 ft away, you realize that there is no way to outrun this. And, honestly, your exhausted from running this marathon alone.

Wiping away the rain streaming down your face, that may nor may not have been mostly tears that you hadn’t even known had started spilling, you take out your phone to stare at the screen.

3:45 a.m.

“I shouldn’t bother him.” You whisper to yourself, although you bring up your contacts and push the one your looking for anyways. As you hold the phone to your ear, the dial tone ringing through your mind, you curse yourself for being so thoughtless.

How dare you call him when he’s just trying to sleep, knowing he’s probably been up late working, and expect him to drop everything for you. He probably won’t even answer the pho-

“Hello?” A raspy voice cuts through your intrusive thoughts and it takes all you have not to breakdown right then and there. You knew he’d already be worried by the time and nature of the call, no need to add in your hysterical sobbing.

“Y/N? Hey... are you okay?” Yoongi asks, and you can tell he’s getting more worried by the second, and you need to hurry up and find something to say before he panics.

Clearing your throat and taking a deep breath, “Can you please come and get me?”

You hated the way your voice cracked and how needy you sounded, having half a mind to just tell him it was a joke or something and hang up.

You hear him shuffling around, no doubt getting dressed and grabbing his keys, already one foot out the door.

“Of course, where are you?” His voice is soft, calming, and despite the weight it lifts off of your shoulders, you can’t help the pang of guilt that rumbles through your chest for dragging him into your bullshit all the time (though he’d tell you it’s not bullshit and he’s happy to help).

Your eyes dart around your surroundings, trying to find an indicator to your location, spotting a street sign a few yards away, relaying the information to Yoongi.

After a few seconds of what you’re assuming is him getting in his car and trying to figure out exactly where you are, he clears his throat, “Alright, stay there, I’ll be there in, like, 15 minutes...20 minutes top,” And then hangs up the phone to begin the journey.

Slowly tucking your phone back into your pocket, you discover that the rain pelting down just a mere few minutes ago has died down to a light drizzle. It’s a cool evening, but not uncomfortably cold, though you felt so numb right now you doubt you’d have noticed otherwise.

Left alone to your thoughts once again, counting down the seconds till Yoongi would arrive to save you yet again from yourself, you can’t help but let your thoughts wander to the first time you met him.

You hadn’t been quite the mess you were now, freshly out of high school, entering uni and the real world with a blind sense of optimism that would soon be crushed under the immense weight of classes and college life that you’d been naive enough not to wholly consider beforehand.

Yoongi had already, as he likes to say it, “cracked the code” of university life, handling the stresses of student life with ease. Knew exactly what classes to take and avoid, which professors he could swindle, what work he could get away with skipping, and avoided campus social life like the plague. As far as he was concerned, this shit was a breeze and he’d be out before he knew it, degree in hand and job secured through suckering some admin for sweet connections.

He’d never guess he’d get swept up in your steep downward spiral into oblivion when he bumped into you, a happy-go-lucky freshie, that night he decided to let Hoseok drag him to some random new student event in the music hall despite his aversion to such poorly planned social nightmares. In all honesty, he would’ve just ignored you if you hadn’t asked him, quite honestly, where you could get a shot of whatever made him so “incredibly apathetic and disinterested.”

No one had ever really approached Yoongi in the 2 years that he’d been there, except for Hoseok and a few other guys that frequented their shared dorm, let alone a girl. He’s not sure if it was your blind boldness or your Arcadian demeanor that drew him in, but he won’t lie that he’s glad it happened, because you ended up being the best friend he never knew he needed (and the same goes for you.)

Yoongi was there through finals, bad blind dates, terrible roommates; everything. That kind of friendship also came with a front row seat to watch as your mental health deteriorated, with no sure fire way to help you, and it killed him inside.

Soon life was filled with insomniatic episodes that could last for days, a bad caffeine addiction, and an impending sense of doom looming over your shoulder every second of every day, and Yoongi felt like the only thing he could do was watch it all unfold. He was scared of saying the wrong thing, pushing you further into the black hole you edged closer to, and he didn’t want to lose the closest friend he’d ever had.

He quickly learned that just being there and listening when you needed it was the one thing you needed, and he happened to be pretty freaking good at it.

You’ve been up for 13 hours straight working on the exact same assignment? Let’s take a break and watch your favorite movie.

You’re roommate kicked you out again because she can’t deal with you being up for 3 nights in a row? Crash at my place and we can cuddle (which ultimately puts you to sleep, even if just for a little while most nights).

You’re crying for the 5th time today and you have no idea why? I’ll put on some calming music and crush you in a bear hug until you have no more tears left to cry.

Yoongi didn’t need an explanation or any answers, he just wanted to make sure you were okay. Admit it or not, he’d come to love every single piece, every inch, every molecule of you, and he hated to see the person he loved in pain.

So getting an S.O.S. call at 3 a.m., knowing that in your weakest moment you needed him and only him, sleep didn’t mean anything to him anymore, in fact nothing else did. You were his top priority and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And so there he was, in his pajamas and a sweatshirt, hair sticking out in all directions, on his way to a random street across town in the middle of the night with only one thing one his mind. You.

He could tell by your voice that you’d had a rough night, considering he’s been present every other time, and he know the signs when he hears them. The fact that you’d gone so far, alone, in the dark, scared him; you’d never done anything quite so reckless in the time he’s known you, and the the fact that you weren’t in the right state of mind had him picking up the pace, urgent to get to you as quickly (but still safely) as possible.

Yoongi learned early on that even though you had a calm and serene attitude, you took things to heart easily, and the more that piled on you, the harder time you had digging your way out. You were very good at hiding how negatively things affected you, and you always put others before yourself, even when the only person desperate for help was you.

He didn’t really understand how someone so in tune with others feeling and emotions, could be so blind to her own. Sometimes you’d even skip meals working yourself into a frenzy, but still manage to scold him for not eating the proper amount of meals per day.

Sometimes, he thought, it was as if you didn’t see yourself as a living, breathing, person that needed everything you were so willing to give to others. Whether you were selfless or stupid, that was a debate for another time.

Turning down the right street, he finally caught a glimpse of the girl he’d been looking for. Your hair was soaked, along with your clothes, and you stared off at the road with an empty look in your eyes. Parking and shutting his car off, Yoongi hopped out and approached you cautiously, shrugging off his sweatshirt as he went.

Your mind finally broke from it’s thoughts to see Yoongi handing you his sweatshirt. When you didn’t reach out to grab it, he quickly moved closer, pulling it over your head and helping your arms through. When you were situated in the warmth of it, the familiar smell of him flooding your senses, it was then that you finally woke up and looked him in the eyes.

You could tell he was tired by the slight discoloration under his puffy eyes, but the emotion that swirled through them was one you had seen him wear quite often when these things happened; sadness.

Without saying anything, he slowly reached out, taking your frail, chilled hand in his, rubbing it to bring back some warmth. You smiled slightly, though tears still spilled from your eyes.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” He asked, continuing his ministrations, searching through the storm that raged on in your eyes.

You shrugged, a long, exhausted sigh escaping your lips.

“Not that long.” You lied, and he saw right through it, not only because he could tell by just looking at you, but he knew it’d had to be significantly longer than usual for this sort of thing to occur.

When you looked back at him, he continued to burn through your facade with his gaze till you broke.

“Like... 6...6 days.”

There was a short silence between the two of you as everything sort of sank in. It wasn’t unlike you to survive on a few hours of sleep, or maybe go 2-3 days without it, but never this long. Why didn’t you tell him beforehand? Why didn’t he notice?

“You know,” he begins, bringing your attention back to his face, which softens as he takes in just how tired and sad you looked, “if you need help, any kind, I’ll be right there for you.”

You’re a bit surprised by his statement. You know you’ve been in a bad state for a while, and he knows it too, but the topic of getting help outside of the two of you hadn’t really been discussed. Not that you were opposed to it, it just never crossed your mind.

Your silence seemed to worry him, making him add, “if you want, whenever you’re ready, and if you’re not, well, then that’s okay too....because I’m here for you, not matter what, and-“

Your light giggle breaks him from his tangent, and his mouth turns up in a half smile when he sees you wipe your eyes and turn to him, the life seeming to slowly trickle back into your eyes again.

“Ok.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, slight worry etching back onto his face even though he tried his best to remain as composed as possible for your sake. You nodded, and he gripped your hand tighter.

“Ok, when do you want to-“

“We can figure that out later.” You interrupt, the fatigue cutting through the bit of energy you seemed to gather just being in the presence of the most important person in your life.

He senses you fading, and lifts his other hand to rub your back.

“You know what though?” You say, causing him to tilt his head in question, awaiting your response.

“I could really just use a hug right now.” And without any hesitation, you’re wrapped tightly in his arms, face buried in his chest as his lips place a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, you know that right?” You mumble into him, and you can feel his body shake a bit with his light chuckle.

“I love you too, now let’s go home.”

————————————————————————————

This is my first attempt at a short prompt imagine type thingy, hope you all enjoy, and if you find any mistakes or have any questions, let me know! Feel free to message me for requests, I’ll try my best to answer if I can! I have lots of drabbles, imagines, and fics planned for this blog so stay tuned!

-Moonie🌙

[lamentsof-bee]

taking scissors to pure canon - take two

i wrote this fic for @perseachase bc we couldn't believe that royai didn't end up together and we are 100% FMAB trash. always. 

i’m not saying i wrote it better (but wendy might >.< (KIDDING hiroshi onogi plz don’t kill me!))

this story wrote itself and really wasn't for anyone but us but i figured if we were feeling this way, maybe someone else was too. endless pining and never-quite-fluff is always a must. 

idk, shameless self indulgence as always. but y'all can read it if you want (only if you don't judge my constant change of tense tho!!! it's a MOOD ok???)

(also on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498194) 

Summary: There are plenty of ways their story could have ended. But there was only one ending that was right. 

Riza Hawkeye swore to her Colonel that she would follow him into hell. He never realized that one day, he would truly need her to do so.

They had heartbreak a-plenty under their belt. And scars to prove their worth. After Ishval... after the Homonculus... after everything, didn't they deserve a softer ending?

[A story that fills in the gaps and voices the thoughts of the truest OTP to ever walk the streets of Amestris]

The first time Riza Hawkeye met Roy Mustang she had come into the kitchen through the backdoor. The estate still seemed grand back then, it was clean and her father had been esteemed and passionate enough to make a good living for his family.

Roy stood at the stove watching a pot boil.

Riza entered through the door letting the house cat she had chased in the garden escape her arms.

‘I think it’s hot.’ She said nodding at the pot in front of him.

‘Hm?’ A beat had passed. ‘Oh, yeah. Professor Hawkeye is having me look at all sources of heat so –’

‘So you’re staring at a pot of boiling water and hoping it will impart some wisdom on you?’

She had deadpanned it.

‘The secrets of alchemy are many.’ He was too distracted by his task to notice her jab, or at least that’s what she thought.

She shrugged and passed him. She didn’t know then that this person would plague her mind for the following nine years.

-

Their meetings from then on had been sporadic and they rarely exchanged more than a couple words. Still, Roy had become shadow she was used to in her house. She stopped being surprised to find him huddled in her father’s office reading quietly.

When her mother had passed, though, things had changed.

Professor Hawkeye became more withdrawn. The doors to his study would almost always be closed. He took all his meals at his desk and rarely made conversation with Roy, let alone Riza.

Roy had provided comfort during that time.

She liked to bug him about his slow academic progress but sometimes, when her father got too caught up in his own mind, she would sit with Roy in the kitchen and he would tell her about what he was learning.

The complicated matrices of alchemy were a welcomed distraction to the mansion that stood in shambles and the gravestone it guarded.

She had found his eyes welcoming back then. His entire being open and excitable. He’d make a snide remark, even flirt a little, and she would be reminded of what it was like to look at a real human being. Not the shell of one her father had become.

More than once she caught herself wanting to tell Roy about the secret her father had made out of her. How he spent long hours poring over her back immortalizing his work onto her skin. She wondered what Roy’s eyes would look like if he ever found out.

She shook her the idea out of her head.

-

Riza remembers the day he gave her his name card. A soldier working his way through the ranks. The day he said he would find a place for her if she ever felt lost. The funeral had marred the day with sadness and yet Riza remembered her heart lifting as she took what he offered her. It was nice that he had offered to organize the funeral too. God knows there was nothing left in the Hawkeye bank account but debt and disarray. It had been even nicer of him to quietly watch over her, never knowing that this had been her father’s final wish.

He hadn’t become a state alchemist at the time. And yet, when she looked at him all she saw wide eyed hunger for knowledge and change.

Roy Mustang wanted to change the world.

It had been an accident, that he let his plans slip. He shouldn’t have told her, he knew it. Wide eyes optimism seemed silly. But he got caught up in the moment and the feeling of his mentor’s bones calling out to him from the grave begging for relief had forced him to open his mouth.

She had let her secret slip then too.

The secret that her father had entrusted her with a coded Transmutation Array branded on her back. She wanted the world to be better, she realized. She wanted the world to be safer. So that no child had to grow up without a mother, and so that every kid would have someone to reach out to if their ever distant father grew more tiresome.

He had made up his mind, he was going to be a good solider. He used the knowledge she had imparted to him and began to learn.

Countless days he spent hovering over her naked back copying the symbols into his notebook, muttering to himself. His touch had always been soft and his eyes always full of wonder as he looked at the markings. Never once did he let his confusing get the better of him. And he always made sure to thank Riza for her sacrifice, for baring herself to him and trusting him.

He must have known somehow that he was all she had left. A last comfort in a comfortless world.

She made him swear to take her secrets to his grave. She didn’t understand why her father had burned his entire research before he passed but she would not be one to disobey him, even in death. If he wanted the research private, then it would remain that way. For eternity.

Now Roy tried to carry the burden with her and went to make a difference.

It took him three years to pass the State Alchemist certification exam and with it he earned the title Major. Change was long overdue.

So she went to war with him.

-

It turns out years of good humoured can shooting in the backyard and kicking it with the local street urchins were enough foundation for a good soldier to be built upon.

And a good solider she was. No one could ever tell Riza Hawkeye that she wasn’t committed.

She took the parts of herself that her father had shunned, the wide-eyed lost look that longed for love, and buried them deep within her. In its stead she took her rifle firmly and never missed a shot. Riza was strong now. They didn’t call her The Hawk’s Eye for nothing.

‘Life’s a whole lot easier if you’ve got someone watching your six.’ Maes Hughes had said to Roy.

He had been right. Major Hughes was often right, though Roy would never admit it. And Riza always had his back.

-

The things they did in Ishval…

The crimes they committed there…

It was unspeakable.

Riza will never forget the smell of burning skin and the Major’s eyes as he forced himself to watch.

No one was surprised when the troops (the ones that survived that is) came back with PTSD and fever dreams.

Riza found herself washing her hands, trying to scrape off the blood she had spilled, so often that her hands had permanent calluses and the skin was always red and dry.

The person Ishval had turned her into… that wasn’t what she joined the military for. This wasn’t what she wanted…

Looking in the mirror all she saw was a woman with sunken in cheeks, bags under her eyes and a short haircut that should have been efficient but now only reminded her if her time at war. She had only been a cadet, god damn it. Graduating from the academy with what?! A diploma and body count in the hundreds?

So young to have seen such chaos.

The alchemic secrets branded into her back felt heavier than ever.

But Riza Hawkeye was strong now.

So she grew her hair out. Never again would she look in the mirror and look like the person she had been. She ate better, forced herself to rest more. Eventually her cheeks filled out and her skin gained colour. The tiredness though, that never really passed. Not truly. The days she was plagued by nightmares, most nights really, she recounted Roy’s goals. His plan for protecting the people and the country.

Had it been foolish of her to believe him?

Could she still trust in him after watching him burn an entire country off the map? He had been following orders… and so had she…

Her thoughts were still clouded when she called on him. He picked up on the second ring, his voice rough.

‘Hello?’

‘Major Mustang…’ She hesitated, not sure how to continue or what to say. Why had she called him again?

‘Hawkeye. It’s midnight.’ He knew. He always knew.

A pause. Neither of them continue.

Perhaps they are both thinking about the last time they spoke.

They had been standing in front of the graves of children. Children that they had slaughtered. She had asked him what had happened, what had changed? How could he have convinced her to follow him into the military with a speech of grandeur and change when all she had gotten was death and decay?

He takes a breath and takes one for the team.

‘I could use some company, Hawkeye. What do you say?’

Her yes is shaky at best. It’s the first of many times he masks his desire to help her as his own weakness. It’s the first of many times that she chooses to ignore it and agree.

When he shows up to her apartment he’s dressed casually. Any other woman would have fanned herself at the white shirt, black slacked gentleman leaning against the doorframe. Major Mustang was handsome and found the company of women a-plenty. But today he looked tired.

He always looks tired. Riza thought to herself. We all do.

He makes no comment regarding her apartment. She had been left a dowry by her mother, it wasn’t much, not enough to cover the rent of even a shoebox apartment. This one had been left to her by a distant aunt that had wanted to spite her own kids. Riza hadn’t known her well, nor had she really cared. But she took the apartment nonetheless.

He stands stiffly in the middle of her living room, his eyes cast towards the dark window.

‘Can’t sleep, Major?’ Riza has her back facing him, keeping her hands busy by making tea.

‘I’m sure you know the feeling.’

Her hands pause but her silence is evidence enough.

‘Would you like some tea?’

She brings over the kettle on a tray with two teacups. Pouring, she focuses on the task at hand.

He searches her face.

‘Tell me what’s on your mind.’

Her movements halt as she re-examines her intentions. She pushes the teacup towards him and strengthens her resolve.

‘You made me a promise.’

He is silent, unmoving.

‘When we stood in the ruins of Ishval, you made me a promise.’ She goes on. ‘No more flame alchemists can exist. No one should be given access to such power again.’

Her words are firm. His tea is untouched.

The implication of her statement is clear. I will never see this power abused the way it has been ever again.

‘Think about what you’re asking.’ His words are quiet but they stand as firm as hers.

‘I know what I’m asking.’

‘I don’t think you do.’

Her voice rises. ‘To destroy evidence of alchemic research is - ’

‘No! Think of what it would do to you!’

Roy clenches his fists in his lap, he looks at her incredulously. ‘You’re asking me to disfigure you. To hurt you simply to make information inaccessible. It’s…’ He hesitates. ‘It’s not good enough.’

The betrayal is clear on Riza’s face.

‘You swore to me that you would do this. You promised that all evidence of flame alchemic research would be destroyed.’ Her look turns accusing. ‘Is this the second promise you will break to me?’

Something inside Roy wavers. He felt his heart stop and the full consequence and destruction he had caused in Riza’s life becomes clear to him. She followed him into the military. She followed him into war. No amount of good intention could revive the parts of their humanity they had lost fighting for Amestris.

His voice is small. ‘Don’t make me do this.’

But she can’t give in.

‘Please don’t make me hurt you too.’

‘You promised.’

Their eyes bore into each other. Neither seem to be breathing.

Not until –

Not until she breaks.

‘Please.’ Her voice barely a whisper. Tears welling but her eyes hold his. ‘Set me free.’

He comes undone. He owes her this. He owes her – everything, everything he could ever give.

And so she stands in front of him, shirt on the floor, arms wrapped around her torso as if she could hide her vulnerability.

The markings on her back look the same as they had when he had first studied them. The back they laid on was stronger though, the muscles more tight, the skin seemed thinner as if time had eroded its previous youthful glow.

Her face is angled over her shoulder but she doesn’t look at him.

‘Hawkeye…’

‘Do it.’ She insists.

He drew a haphazard transmutation circle on the back of his hand with a marker she dug up in her kitchen. The entire time she had been quiet, quietly getting the marker, quietly arranging herself in front of the heater unbuttoning her blouse. Before he could stop himself his fingertips brushed against the tattoos. The markings he had studied for hours, he hadn’t realized how much they weighed on her. They had given him freedom, power even, but for Riza it seems they had always been a burden.

Set me free. She had begged him.

‘I’m sorry.’ It’s barely a whisper. His fingers are fanned over her shoulder blade. He wills the heat to spread through his joints all the way to the tips of his fingers and out. He feels the heat of his alchemy connect with her skin and attempts, as gently and with as much control as he can muster, to penetrate only the surface of her back. To scar her markings but leave her as uninjured as possible.

She tenses with pain, her fingers claw into her sides as she suppressed a whimper. The heat moves downwards singeing anything it passed He manages to burn through the top left part of the Array before he needs to turn his back on her. The smell of burnt flesh, the sizzling of her skin under his hand - it reminds him too much of the battlefield. What is he doing?! His stomach turns and it takes all of his willpower to not vomit on her carpet. If he could cut his hand off then and there, he would.

Her breath is frantic, her face tear stained.

‘Go on.’ She chokes out.

He turns and hesitates, he can see her strength draining as the pain takes over. There are few things worse than second degree burns.

‘Riza…’

‘Do it!’

Free me!

He needs to close his eyes this time but manages to put his hand on the right side of the small of her back. He starts the process over. He’s praying to any and all gods that he’s not inflicting irreparable damage. They both don’t last too much longer before the pain is unbearable and his flashbacks get too strong. By the time he’s finished there are tears running down his face and gall riding up his throat.

With shaking hands he moves towards her, meaning to provide some kind of comforting touch but hesitates. She must only see him as destruction now. Even more than before.

Still, his instincts kick in as her knees buckle, he grabs her by the arms. She’s out like a light, her breathing is labored and heavy. He attempts to move his arms around her stomach, trying to find the most comfortable position for her and a way for the burns to remain untouched.

He thinks that she would hate to be seen in such an exposed state so he grabs the shirt she had dropped and gently places it over her chest.

They should have prepared better for this, he thinks to himself. They hadn’t prepared water, ointment or any means to alleviate pain. Although the last, he guessed, had been on purpose. Riza Hawkeye would always endure. She probably felt like she deserved to feel this pain. That this was the least she had to suffer to atone for what she had done in Ishval.

His attempts to move her to the bedroom where she could lay out her pain were complicated. He feels drained by what he just experienced and Riza’s body is hard to hold on to without agitating the burns further. He ends up gently holding her at the top of the shoulders and under the knees. An adjusted bridal position so to say. Not that he would ever tell her that, she might pull out her Glock just for mentioning marriage.

He manages to open the bedroom door with his elbow and almost trips as a black Shiba jumps to its feet having curled up in front of it.

‘Woah boy.’ Mustang adjusts his arms, attempting to move as little as possible. This friend was one Roy had never met before.

Black Hayate, Riza’s most recent companion of comfort, whines as he sees his owner unresponsive and follows Roy as he steps towards the bed.

He lays her on her side as softly as possible and moves her so that she is laying in the recovery position. This would alleviate any risk of further aggravating her injuries. Black Hayate jumped on the bed and padded over to his master. His expression one of confusion and hurt.

‘She can’t hear you right now.’ Mustang said quietly. ‘She needs to rest.’

Black Hayate runs his nose along Riza’s back, carefully taking in the changes. His whining continues as the smell of blood and singed skin fills the room.

Roy goes to open a window. The wind blows into the room in soft streams. It’s a cold wind though, one that would bite if it were only slightly stronger. Unconsciously, he slides down the wall and sits under the window, his eyes never leaving Riza.

Her breathing was shallow but the tears on her face had dried. The tracks they left behind were a stark contrast against the white of her skin. Riza never cries.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He rubs the tears out of his eyes, unwilling to lose his composure in front of Hawkeye whether she was conscious or not.

Desiring to undo the hurt he inflicted on her, he goes searching for ointment in the bathroom. He finds something similar enough to burn cream and forces himself to look at every single pattern he burned into her skin. The skin is charred and red, raw and open. Just like Riza, this was his atonement. His atonement for the sins he committed against her.

He follows the new marks on her skin and carefully applies the cream, pausing every time her body so much as twitched.

‘Are you free now?’ There was no use asking her, she couldn’t answer, but he had to anyway. Had this changed anything?

He thinks back to their times at the Hawkeye estate. He had spent countless years sharing the space with her. And then when he went to Ishval, she had been there too. His formative years had the red string of Riza Hawkeye running through them.

He knew that Riza had always felt tied down by the duty of her father. Had always succumbed to the Professor’s greatest needs, ignoring her own. The world of flame alchemy was carried on her shoulders alone. Not even Roy, who was a Flame Alchemist, could alleviate that.

He didn’t know if she found peace in her wounds. He hoped she did. It was the least that she deserved.

God, he wanted so badly to set her free. He hated that it had to come at the cost of her wellbeing.

A tiny voice inside him moaned I need you to be well. I need you to be safe. But as he always did, he kept his thoughts to himself, pushed them down until they were only a faint whisper.

Sitting at her back allowed him time to mull over exactly how he had been talked into mutilating the one person he insisted he would protect.

He had sworn such an oath to himself long before Professor Hawkeye had even brought it up. He could always use the professor as an excuse but he knew deep inside that he decided he was going to look out for Miz Hawkeye the second she made fun of him for standing in front of that boiling pot of water.

The memories came flooding back as if they had only just happened. Terse smiles exchanged in the hallway, a blanked laid over his shoulders as he fell asleep on his text book again, coffee strong enough for both of them to withstand the withering looks of the professor. Silent laughs at the kitchen counter, plenty of meals shared and stories told.

A fist clenched around his heart.

The memories became tarnished with darkness. The look on her face after she killed her first civilians, her head on his shoulder when exhaustion got the better of her, the way she’d snatch up the leftover sausages from his rations – the only semblance of joy she found in her time abroad. (She never knew he always saved them for her.)

They kept coming, the memories. And the pillow he was leaning against felt softer and softer. His mind clouded and the last thing he thought of before giving into the tendrils of darkness was blonde hair, quit wit and the smell of sausages.

-

They never spoke of that night again.

She served him coffee in the morning. French press, no milk. Just the way he liked it.

Their conversation was as minimal as her movements. She wore a t-shirt that went down to her knees and barely moved an inch.

Mustang spared a thought to the owner of the shirt, thinking it must be a man’s.

Then they say their good-byes and she closes the door as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

-

Major Mustang was promoted for his heroic deeds in Ishval, he went by Lieutenant Colonel Mustang from then on and he had a new dream.

He had wanted to strengthen the government only to protect the people he loved. Clearly, that was no longer an option. As Professor Hawkeye had said, military lapdogs account for little change in the world – that cycle needed to be stopped. So Mustang reevaluated his desire and adapted it.

If he couldn’t protect his people by joining the military, he would protect them by leading it.

Who was going to oppose the Fuhrer?

No one.

Well, no one but him.

Ordered to Central City, Mustang accumulated a motley crew of wacky but loyal subordinates. He even called upon Hawkeye. Although she had once confessed she wished to retire, her thoughts were too filled with carnage and tragedy to find anything resembling rest.

He appointed her his personal aide and bodyguard.

He looked at her from behind his new desk as he proposed his plan.

‘Do you accept my offer?’

To stand behind you and fight, finally actually fight, for the right thing? To strike you down should you ever so much as waver?

She barely spared it a thought.

‘Of course I do, sir.’

She vowed. ‘I’ll follow you into hell if you ask me to.’

You already have. He thought.

-

Time brought about another promotion and plenty of trouble. People might say they had countless adventures since joining forces but the truth was both Lieutenant Major Mustang and 2nd Lieutenant Hawkeye walked a painful path.

Together they saw the aftermath of a Human Transmutation attempt and two orphans too lost to find their way. The little Rockbell girl, a name familiar to Mustang, had asked why anyone would join such an institution. Why the only people she had left to love should.

Hawkeye’s answer had been simple.

Because there are many ways you protect those you love and that was one of them.

Though she would never admit what love she was protecting, even when that love walked into the room and told her their time was up.

Within a year, the duo had been promoted and Maes Hughes had been murdered.

It was quite a picture, the Colonel with his hair pushed back, dressed in mourning.

1st Lieutenant Hawkeye stood at the grave and watched as her Colonel grieved.

It was the first time she had seen such emotion burst forth from him. He rarely talked about his past but when he did it was always with quick wit or in a cold matter-of-fact way. Maes Huges though… Colonel Mustang spoke plenty of Maes Hughes.

And how annoying his constant chatter was.

And how frustrating his cowardice was.

And how much he believed in the good of the world.

And how pure his heart was.

How much he loved his family.

‘Alchemists as a whole - we really are horrible creatures, aren’t we?’

His voice cracks. She has no answer.

‘I think I understand what drove those boys when they tried to bring back their mother.’

She couldn’t stop herself, not when he was hurting like this.

‘Are you alright, Colonel?’ A dumb question really.

He positions his hat, pulls it down over his eyes.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ His voice is low, it’s barely a croak. ‘Except, it’s a terrible day for rain.’

Confused she answers: ‘What do you mean? It’s not raining.’

Only then does she notice the tear tracks on his face and his lips pressed tightly together. There’s a hurt in her heart that she can’t quite place and a quiet sadness in her inability to alleviate his suffering.

‘Yes, it is.’

All she can say is: ‘So it is.’

-

Her Barry the Chopper encounter leaves Hawkeye more shaken up than she would like to admit.

It had been funny for a second, her heart may even have skipped a beat, as the Colonel’s face turned icy when the armour had called her ‘toots’ and he muttered ‘Stand aside, Lieutenant. There’s going to be a fire tonight.’

She never needed his protection anyway, he reckoned. But he’d offer it just for showmanship’s sake.

Just in case.

His comfort though… he always knew when she needed that.

She had excused herself early from their re-con session, he saw her eyes were downcast.

He called that night and she pretended to be surprised. He wafted on about Madam Christmas’ hostess bar, whiskey and wine.

She was content to listen to him. It distracted her from the feeling of impending doom, a feeling that was eerily familiar (Ishval, perhaps?). More souls connected to suits of armour meant more transmutation, more experiments, more evil.

‘These ladies won’t leave me alone, Hawkeye.’

He smiles ruefully, his complaint giving her a chance to jab at him.

‘I’m sure once they hear you speak, they will feel plenty deterred, Colonel.’ Her bland answer is an indication that she feels slightly better.

‘…Hawekeye…’ He whines.

He pushes away the thought of cracking another joke, instead his tone turns serious.

‘I will always be right in front of you.’

He hears her breath hitch, just for a moment.

‘If you ever feel lost, just follow my voice. I won’t lead you astray. I will always be right here.’

-

Time passes too quickly. The Colonel fakes Ross’ death, his team have their first encounter with Gluttony and Barry the Chopper decides to have a mind of his own. It is at that point that they met Lust and for the first time both of our soldiers needed to admit to themselves, quietly, that they could not live without the other.

‘Now, where was I?’ Lust croons. ‘I was about to send the Lieutenant to join her superior.’

The words hit Hawkeye like a ton of bricks. Her heart stops. Her head feels heavy.

‘It can’t be… You didn’t!’

One monstrous smile later and through a curse Hawkeye releases three full rounds into the demon’s chest. It doesn’t make a difference though. The woman regenerates in a flurry of red static and a hopelessness takes the place of the anger Hawkeye was feeling.

Tears run down her cheeks as the full meaning of Lust’s words finally sink in.

Strength leaves her body, Hawkeye sinks to the floor, inconsolable.

The day Mustang had thought would never come arrived. His Lieutenant was on her knees sobbing. No prompts from Alphonse could halt her. She felt the same dread that Mustang had felt mere minutes ago cauterizing Havoc’s wound, carving a Transmutation Circle into his hand.

Only now, for him, it was infinitely worse.

He, under no circumstances, could watch the people he loved die before him.

Especially not his Lieutenant.

‘You told me I couldn’t kill you but I’d like to try and prove you wrong.’ He spat at the Homunculus.

He lit the flint of the lighter to scorch the creature alive, payback for every second of pain she inflicted on his Lieutenant. It wasn’t enough. There was not enough pain in the world for this beast to endure as punishment for making Hawkeye cry.

The fire in his stomach still roared but the battle was over quickly.

‘I love how cold and focused your eyes are.’ The eery sound of her voice carried as Lust disintegrated before him. ‘I look forward…to the day when those eyes will be wide with agony.

It’s coming….

It’s coming…’

The welcoming eyes Hawkeye had once seen in her family’s kitchen were gone and replaced with cold, hard fury and torment.

Had time finally broken him?

It seems as time passed their burden only became heavier.

-

When Mustang woke up in the hospital, his was the only bed occupied. The one next to it was empty. The only other figure in the room was Lieutenant Hawkeye who had her arms curled around her head, leaning on his mattress from an uncomfortable looking chair.

He took a moment to steady himself.

This is fine. He told himself. This is okay. She is okay.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain in his side. Lifting the blanket, he saw his lower torso was wrapped in bandages, as was his right hand.

More scars to add to the collection.

‘Sir.’ He must have woken her by shifting the covers. ‘You’re awake.’

‘So are you.’

She straightened. ‘They took you in for emergency treatment. Your wound… they said they’ve never seen anything like it. It was like you had been pierced by sharpened rods…’

‘What about Havoc?’

‘He is still in surgery.’

She doesn’t seem confident. ‘There’s no word yet.’

Mustang grinds his teeth in frustration but keeps his qualms to himself. He spares her a glance which only makes him feel worse. Her eyes are sunken in, she’s wearing the same clothes as she had during the mission, the faint smell of burnt skin hangs around her.

He can only think of one way to help her. She hates vulnerability, she hates seeming weak and he knows she needs to regroup after the ordeal they just lived through. Wash off any embarrassment she may be feeling.

‘Go home, Lieutenant.’

She doesn’t move.

‘Lieutenant – ’

‘I told you I would follow you into hell.’

He expects the look she gives him to be hard and accusing but all he sees is helplessness .

‘I meant it.’ She vows.

‘I just didn’t think there would ever be a place where I couldn’t follow.’ Her hands are clenched in her lap. She avoids his gaze. ‘When Lust said she had killed you…I thought I lost my mind.’

Tears blur her vision.

‘I can’t do this without you.’ It’s just about a whisper.

He encloses her hand with his gently and looks at her face even though she is still avoiding his.

‘You’ll never have to.’ He promises. ‘Whatever we do, whatever we achieve or don’t achieve, we will do it together.’

He bows his head slightly to get a better look at her.

‘I told you, I will always be right in front of you.’

She can’t stop the tears from falling.

‘Lieutenant Hawkeye of Central City, I order you to always stand directly behind me. I order you to always stay by my side and never leave my line of sight.’

She gives a terse nod and tightens her hand around his ever so slightly.

‘Yes, sir.’

-

Not many Homunculi remained. Gluttony, Wrath and Pride were the ones left standing. Though the latter two were still unknown.

They managed to foil an attempt by Gluttony. Everything seemed under control. Until.. until Colonel Mustang let’s a rumour slip that Fuhrer Bradley may be a homunculus and suddenly everything became much clearer.

Ushered into a room full of high ranking military officials, none batted an eye when Bradley turned looking like the most sinister man ever to walk the earth.

Turns out it doesn’t take more than a quick joke to find your allies and force your enemies to go looking for you.

Fuhrer Bradley showed up at the Colonel’s office the very next day. He explained that the Homunculi had been scheming since Amestris had been put on the map and they weren’t about to let one nosy Colonel destroy their lifelong goal now.

‘How would your son react if he knew his father was secretly a Homunculus fueled by the death of others?’

‘It may serve you better to guard your own weaknesses, Colonel Mustang. Else you might find yourself an army of one. It is difficult to fight a war when you have no subordinates to support you. Even if you are an alchemist.’

Bradley’s look hadn’t been dark or dangerous, his expression had always been one of pleasant imposition, nevertheless the threat had been very clear.

‘Your Lieutenant, she seems bright and talented. She was a good choice to send to the front lines.’

Mustang said nothing, he eyes only narrowed on the Fuhrer.

‘I have decided to make her my own personal assistant. I could use someone like her in my office.’

No!

‘Hawkeye has nothing to do with this.’

‘She doesn’t need to. She is your closest confidant and most loyal follower.’

There was no denying that.

Their eyes meet.

‘Consider this a warning. A hostage situation is always precarious. It would be a shame if Lieutenant Hawkeye were caught in a cross-fire.’

That was the day Mustang decided he was going to kill Fuhrer Bradley, Wrath – whatever his name was/

For threatening his Lieutenant, Bradley was going to pay.

-

Hawkeye was surprised when she opened her door to find Edward Elric standing there. He had come to return the pistol from his encounter with Scar. Given his experience with alchemic canon launchers, it seemed a little amusing that he held a small gun with such trepidation but Hawkeye made no comment.

She served him tea and waited.

He didn’t say anything at first, only watched her take apart her weapon and clean in skillfully.

Then he asked about Ishval.

What could she say?

Crimes were committed, ledgers painted red and no one walked away unharmed. Even those that did manage to survive.

There is something to be said about being the person that holds power the way a sniper does. That no shot ever misses its target. Ordinary battalion soldiers, they got to inflict their pain and walk away without watching the suffering they leave behind. But no sniper could turn away from their magnifying glass fast enough to avoid watching their victim fall.

It doesn’t matter. Is what she told him. Whether Colonel Mustang or she survived this ordeal didn’t matter. Whether they get imprisoned for the massacre they took part in didn’t matter. What mattered was the future of Amestris and the democracy it needed to thrive.

Colonel Mustang wanted to be the Fuhrer to change this world for the better. But he was very aware that as soon he did make those changes, they may affect him as well. Signing an order to bring peace to the Ishvalan conflict was what needed to be done. And after all, they had taken part in the war. They deserved to pay for the damage they had caused.

She thinks for a moment how young the boy is sitting in front of her and how he has had to fight a war as well. There was nothing she could do to alleviate the weight he carried, finding his place in the world and saving his brother was not something she could assist him with. So instead she listened. He told her about his fears and how he felt useless.

A great sorrow overcame her as she watched this boy, really nothing but a boy, face death over and over again and never shy away.

There’s something of the Colonel in him. She thinks quietly, screwing her gun back together.

‘You’re just dwelling on this stuff because you made it back alive. You need to focus on living.’

He looked solemn.

‘That’s how you protect her.’

That’s how you protect them all.

-

Roy Mustang had an itch. Not a physical itch, an emotional one… a metaphysical one. Like something bad was about to happen but he couldn’t quite tell what it was.

The cart of flowers he bought were pretty. Expensive but pretty. It didn’t scratch his itch. There, at the back of his neck his hair stood upright because he felt something.

He followed his instinct to a phonebooth and tried his best not to think about Hughes while he picked up the receiver.

He did what he always did when he called his Lieutenant, he cracked a joke and hoped it would cover up his sense of dread.

‘Hello there, Madam. It’s your friendly neighbourhood florist.’

He hears her let out a breath she was holding and even though he couldn’t see her, he knew her face was pinched. She had expected something worse.

The itch went away. A serious note enters his voice.

‘…do me a favour and take some off my hands?’

The tiniest of sighs escapes her lips. It’s enough for him to know. The moment of humour passes immediately. It is replaced with worry.

‘What’s wrong?’

No answer.

‘Did something happen?’

Her reply is a small ‘No, sir.’ And she knows he doesn’t believe her. ‘It’s nothing.’

A beat.

‘Are you sure?’ Tell me.

Her voice is monotonous. ‘Yes, sir. Everything’s fine.’

There is no use prodding her. He knows his Lieutenant well enough to avoid aggravating her further.

He pretends to buy her weak excuse of not owning a flower vase to turn down the flowers and hangs up when she bids him good-night.

Walking off his buzz, he keeps two bunches of flowers and gives the rest away. One he brings to Major General Armstrong, the second he leaves in front of Hawkeye’s door. Not even his buzz would stop him from remembering to check on her the next day.

-

The office seemed bigger and emptier without Hawkeye. Her presence had unknowingly filled up the space and now it felt wrong. The colleagues he had left, the ones that Wrath hadn’t banished to faraway places, all seemed downcast. As if they knew the end was near. As if they were losing their fight.

His office demeanor hadn’t changed. Perhaps it should have but he refused to replace his Lieutenant because he would not accept that it was a permanent change. Instead, he grovelled with his superiors and charmed them into giving him more time. And boy, did he use every second of it.

Working through meals had become staple.

But again, he told himself, it was not permanent.

His breathing felt a little easier when he spotted her in the cafeteria. Even sitting across from her, to see that she was alive, for now it would be enough.

He makes note of a healing cut on her cheek and sees the red marks on her wrists. If she sees him notice, she does not react.

She had always known how to wax on about things. Her undercover operations were infamous in their, his, office. She could talk her way out of anything. It was nice to hear her talk.

He listened, appearing distracted with his fountain pen, but paid close attention. He stops mid-bite when she tapped her mug against the table twice.

Listen. Up. It said.

All those days holed up on stake outs with nothing to do to pass the time helped them adapt their own form of Morse Code. It had been several years now since they had actively used it but every now and again it came in handy. His eyes met hers, he tapped his fountain pen twice.

I’m. Ready.

She recounted a bizarre story of former cadets that she grew up with, ones that were stationed out North and who knows where else. A girl name Sugar was included and other details that made for a funny tale.

In a locked bathroom stall, later, he decodes her message, he wishes he his hunch had been wrong. But he had felt it coming.

SELIM BRADLEY IS HOMONCULUS

Mustang held the burning note over the toilet and watched as his only lead turned to ash. The marks on Hawkeye’s skin made more sense now. She had run into the original Homunculus.

-

There were no words that could accurately describe the dread that Mustang felt when he saw his Lieutenant in a headlock. The man holding her wielded a duelling sword, his shoulder pressed against the wound in her shoulder.

‘I will not be your puppet. Do it yourself!’ He spat his words that the crazed lackey professor.

He had said the wrong thing.

The words the professor said barely reached him, Mustang had his eyes on Hawkeye the entire time. The split second they darted away, all he saw was blood and all he heard was the sound of a clean cut. Metal on skin. They had slit her throat.

He went wild.

‘Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Lieutenant!’ Pure agony filled his voice. He struggled against his hold.

‘What do say you, Mustang?’

He spat his words at the psycho, fighting the guards with every molecule in his body. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’

‘Perform the transmutation and become the fifth sacrifice.’ That was what they ordered him to do.

The professor kept talking but none of it registered. His eyes were only on Hawkeye who was lying on the ground, hair spilled around her, her hand on her neck trying to stop the steady pool of blood growing around her.

‘I’m not gonna die.’

She’s still alive! His heart sings.

‘What you don’t know is…’ her breath is staggered ‘is that I’m under strict orders… not to die.’

The blood continued to leak from her wound, he saw her consciousness fade and the light in her eyes dim.

Your woman. That is what the professor had said when he taunted Mustang. His woman.

He ran the scenario in his head. How much sacrifice was too much to make the world a better place? Was one philosopher’s stone, that has already been created by people no longer in this world, so repulsive in its nature that it had to be shunned – even if it could save the one person that mattered? The one person he loved?

Only once before had he considered using human transmutation and back then it had been a pipe dream, a fantasy to bring back someone he missed dearly and knew he could live without but did not want to. This time … he was serious. He would not …. No, he could not live without his Lieutenant.

The only thing stopping him is her quiet beg. ‘Colonel, please.’ She shivers. ‘You don’t have to do this. Don’t sacrifice everything for my sake.’

The world be damned, none of the change he wanted mattered if he couldn’t experience it with her.

Her eyes are focused now, staring at him, right into his soul. Begging him to follow her order just this once. Until her look turns upwards. A signal.

‘Alright.’

A beat. Hawkeye fell weaker and the professor smiles wickedly.

‘Alright, Lieutenant.’ He holds her gaze and says with full confidence ‘I won’t perform the transmutation.’

Mei and others who Mustang can’t bring himself to care about hijack the professors plan and help him take down the pawns.

He runs towards the Lieutenant with all his might barely pausing to snap his fingers igniting the man that steps in his way.

He begs her to open her eyes turning her face towards him. He feels the weakness in her body, how her limbs have almost gone limp. He doesn’t even notice the solider coming at him with a sword. His eyes stay on Hawkeye the entire time. If they die, they die together.

‘Don’t you dare die! Stay with me Lieutenant!’ Please. He begs silently.

The little girl runs over intent on helping. She has Mustang lay down the Lieutenant as she draws an alkahestry circle in blood and slams kunai into the junctures. Mei lays her hands on the ground and a moment later the entire circle glows with blue electricity. Mustang can see the wound on Hawkeye’s neck clotting as the muscles get bound back together. The glow fades and for a moment nothing happens.

Then Hawkeye stirs.

He grabs her by the arms and pulls her into his chest. His breathing is as shallow as hers and he can’t stop himself from closing his eyes and laying his head on hers, just for a moment. He thanks the gods, the almighty and whoever else may be worthy for sending Mei to Central City. For saving his Lieutenant, he would be indebted to her for the rest of his life.

Mei watches the pair with fascination. They didn’t seem to realize that the battle was still waging around them. All they could see was each other, all they could feel was the other.

‘Colonel…I’m… so sorry..’

‘No, don’t speak. Just rest now.’

‘You understood my signal…I’m not sure how…but I’m glad.’

In spite of their situation, he smiles. ‘We’ve been together long enough.’

The thought warms his heart. He feels such a sense of relief, he can’t help but made a joke.

‘And besides, I know that glare. It means ‘use human transmutation and I’ll shoot you.’

-

He brings her to her feet and gives out thanks just as Fuhrer Bradley shows up.

A single glance in Hawkeye’s direction has Mustang tightening his grip on her shoulder.

Nothing the Fuhrer says has any impact because Mustang has found his purpose again. He has people behind him that stop him from being reckless now, people that keep him heading down the right path.

Wrath’s compliments are wrapped with venom. Mustang thinks this has got to end soon, he feels Hawkeye’s knees giving out. He’s bearing most of her weight now.

Gently, he passes her to a companion with the intention of facing Pride himself. The horrible creature that radiated darkness stood silently in front of the group by the person that was allegedly its father.

Before he could make a move though Wrath jumps at him. His alchemy misses its target and he is pushed to the ground with Wrath’s knee on his chest and his swords impaling his hands.

The sight of the swords running through his palms is almost as horrifying as Hawkeye’s scream.

What happened next compared to nothing they had ever seen before. Not Ishval, not fighting homunculi, nothing. The group watched as Pride murdered their own subordinate and used him and its shadows to create an alchemic human transmutation circle. With his hands pinned down, Roy Mustang was forced to become the fifth sacrifice

Wrath walked from the circle as if he was walking in a park and only briefly stopped to wonder ‘What will be taken from you, Roy Mustang?’

-

Roy woke up in an endless white room in front of a being that was made of static while simultaneously also made of nothing at all. It emitted powerful energy and though it had no eyes, Roy had the distinct feeling of being watched.

‘So you have discovered the Portal.’

The voice that spoke was eery. As if thousands of voices were combined to speak through one vessel that didn’t move at all. It cocked its head as if it were looking at a new toy.

‘And you have discovered the Truth.’

The Truth?

‘You intend to leave here alive.’

It was uncanny, the being that was sitting cross legged in front of him. Creepy even. Roy felt like his heart was being read right out of his chest.

‘You think you have a world to build. You think you are worthy of inflicting change.’

The creature unsettled something deep within him. It seemed unhinged and otherworldly.

‘What is your payment?’

Payment?

‘To open the Gate, payment must be received. Thus is the law of Equivalent Exchange.’

Roy said nothing. This was jarring. It all made sense now. The laws of equivalent exchange came from the alchemic transference in the almighty realm. The thing that was sitting in front of him… was God. For having trespassed into its territory, an alchemist must pay to repent for the greatest sin ever committed that would bring him to such heights. Human transmutation. A great deal of knowledge flooded through Roy as he felt the being look at him, waiting.

‘So being pulled through the Gate grants alchemists the ability to perform alchemy without the usual means of transmutation in exchange for a toll.’

The being smiles, revealing a set of largely comic teeth.

‘Edward paid with his limbs.’

The smile grows.

‘Alphonse paid with his body.’

‘What will you pay?’ The voices echoed through the whiteness.

Silence.

‘Will you sacrifice your vision?’

‘My vision?’

Roy thought about his goal, the world he wanted to create, foster and protect. His vision of a better future.

Impatience rang through the room, though how Roy wasn’t sure.

‘Time is up.’ The voice said. ‘Will you keep your vision even if you lose your sight?’

-

The rest of the battle is black. The person the Homunculi called Father is unknown to him, he only remembers the voice of the monster that inflicted so much damage. Calm, cool and collected. Disgusting.

Sig Curtis helps him step from the moving stone. He can’t see the sunlight but he feels the heat on his face.

‘Colonel!’

Relief floods his chest.

He bends down towards Hawkeye’s voice, a hand moves unconsciously in front of his eyes as if he would be able to see the movement. He feels her hand hover near his.

He can’t place her face so he keeps his eyes averted.

‘Colonel, are you injured? What’s wrong?’

Her voice is closer, she must be kneeling in front of him.

For one single second he allows grief to overcome him for what he has lost.

‘My sight is gone.’

She gasps, her mouth agog.

He pushes down any and all emotions. ‘Lieutenant, how are your injuries?’

He needs to make sure she is okay.

He hears her hold back a sob, he knows exactly what her face would look like.

‘Don’t think about me! Just worry about yourself for once!’ Her hand moves towards his eyes. ‘Your eyes…’ She sounds distraught, his eyes have grayed and they no longer shake with emotion.

‘Lieutenant.’ His voice is gruff, for a moment his hand hovers by hers. ‘Can you still fight?!’

This time her breath is not hesitant. Her resolve is clear.

‘Yes sir.’

-

The battle is a blur to everyone. Thinking back, he remembers Hawkeye at his back, her hands on his arm pointing him in the right direction.

He recalls thinking he’d like to have her stand this close by his side forever.

Everyone lost something that day. But many also received.

Edward lost his alchemy but as is always the case with equivalent exchange, he got something back that could only be considered comparable.

In the end, he found out he was not defined by his alchemic skill or even by the battle he won Amestris but by the love he had for his brother. Some love was so strong, it could endure even an almighty’s touch.

Alphonse Elrich returned to the living plane and reunited with his body. It would be a long time before he resembled anything close to ‘okay’ but he would get there in the end. He had his big brother and the family he found along the way. The first thing on his list was eating Winry’s apple pie and taking a good long nap.

That left our heroes, our star crossed lovers of the military. Elizabeth and her Mustang.

They both recovered, she more quickly than he, but performing human transmutation will do that to ya. Still, she never left his bedside.

When night had fallen after the battle, while Amestris still stood in shambles, Hawkeye had begged the doctors to let her stay by her Colonel’s side.

Her hospital bed was placed next to his. When he awoke after countless checks his gaze stayed towards the wall. They didn’t speak for a long time and only Hawkeye could see the moon shine through the window. It was quiet until…

‘I wish I could see your face, Lieutenant.’

He knows her better than anyone, so he knows she has tears in her eyes. Not from his comment, mostly from the ordeal they survived. Maybe a little from his comment.

‘I’ll help you get your sight back, Colonel. If it’s the last thing I do.’

‘Don’t bother.’

‘Sir!’

He hears her climb out of bed and feels her move towards him.

‘Stop.’ His word is quiet but it is final.

He reaches out in the direction he thinks she is standing and tries to find her hand.

‘I don’t need sight if I have vision. And I know what my vision is, was. I want to protect my people. You are the person I wanted to protect. If losing my eye sight means you get to live, then I will give it up a hundred times.’

A knot forms in her throat. He tugs gently until she’s sat on the edge of his bed.

‘Colonel…’

‘I may not be able to see anymore but we still have a lot of work to do, you understand? I’m going to need you right by my side throughout all of it.’

She shakes her head, her voice wavering. ‘I’ll never leave you.’

He smiles in her general direction. His hand runs up her arm until it finds her cheek.

‘Good. Because I can’t live with out you and I don’t plan to either.’

She leans into his touch.

This is fine. She thinks. Forever like this, is fine.

[pink-ink-goblin]

Google and Bing 77

Prompt 77: “There is nothing wrong with you.”

From this list here

((I’ve never properly written either of these two before, so this is kinda janky and full of computer mumbo-jumbo, but thank you for giving me the opportunity to try, mysterious being! And as always, I hope you enjoy! And a special thanks to @egotisticalfloof for giving this mess a read over!))

Warnings: Human bashing because Google hates us, but nothing else.

Google had always been more of the quiet type.

This was just a fact. It definitely wasn’t because he was afraid to speak up, something that was painfully obvious in the way he more often than not left one of the lessers crying after they spoke.

No, he had just always prefered to be alone to think… And plot the downfall of all mankind, but thanks to the unwitting cooperative efforts of every ego contained in the building, that plan was quickly becoming more of a sweet, sweet pipedream.

One annoying lookalike in particular - his self-proclaimed ‘rival’ - was making every day a nightmare for him to try and process anything at all. Internet memes, slang, insults, overt attempts at attention that had Google quietly plotting his disassembly, and so much more; Bing was very much everything that Google was not, and nearly every day was a hassle whenever he was around.

In the inferior android’s weak defense, Bing wasn’t built with the same filters Google was, having been optimized more as a ‘fun’ information engine, but that hardly excused the fact that Bing ran around like a teenage human of all things, butting into everyone’s business and making sure every ego within a nine mile radius knew he was there.

So when a time finally came where Bing had been seen but not heard for the past day and a half, it was mildly… disconcerting; not that Google’s concern overrode his thankfulness at the actual spot of peace of course.

At least, that was what he told himself, even as he exasperatedly searched for the obnoxious bot.

Structural damage was on the forefront of his mind, something broken or jostled out of place most likely from some inane skateboard trick, or perhaps a mere broken throat speaker that Google would maybe think about fixing. Something minor that the fellow android would be too stubborn to seek help for.

After all, what was Bing if not a stubborn idiot?

It had taken a while to find the bot, given that his scans only picked up the living, before he finally found the android perched on the roof of their building, legs dangling off the edge and his skateboard by his side. Bing’s back was to him, the bot leaning backwards onto his hands as he seemed to be quietly taking in the sunset over the city. It would have been such a peaceful sight if Google knew better than to think Bing actually appreciated those kinds of things.

“What are you doing?” Google queried in monotone, remaining by the roof access as he saw the bot actually jump like a startled human. Bing turned to him quickly, giving him a startled look, and Google realized he wasn’t wearing those stupid Instagram glasses. Without them his face looked… almost pleasant.

“Nothing,” The bot insisted quickly, sounding guilty of something, and Google could only fathom who he managed to anger today. Considering there were no bullet holes in his chassis, the suspects list lowered by at least one.

“So more of the same then,” Google responded dryly, watching with growing curiosity as Bing flinched rather hard at that, before giving him an oddly sullen look instead of the expected petulant snark that usually met Google’s sarcasm.

“Yeah, sure,” The bot mumbled irritably, turning back around and pulling his knees upward to rest his chin on them. “Just like always.”

Google quirked an eyebrow and needed to pause for a moment to process after that out of the norm interaction.

That posture, that face, his tone… was Bing… brooding? Like a human?

It had been obvious to Google for a while now that the opposing information engine fell strangely into the emotional spectrum most robots lacked - and Google had always found this to be more a benefit than a curse - but it had never seemed to be more than a simple empathy mechanism to make Bing relate to his users more.

But this behavior was unusual, to say the least, and Google could only fathom two possibilities for this:

The first was that Bing actually did manage to smack something loose and his programming was misfiring that teenage friendly drivel into something less that friendly.

Or second, and infinitely more interestingly… Bing might actually have human feelings.

Curiouser and curiouser, Google cocked his head and walked over to Bing’s side, pebbles that lined the roof crunching underneath his heavy steps. Bing didn’t even spare him a glance until Google prompted him in a rather empty tone, “Bing, you seem…upset. I had not thought you capable.”

Bing looked up and gave him a rather scathing look. “Yeah, I am, okay? And you aren’t helping. Just leave me alone.”

What a wonderful suggestion, and one Google would have loved to follow, but something in him was perturbed by this and he couldn’t begin to explain why. “If you’d like help, perhaps you would permit me to scan your databanks to make sure everything is in proper working order?”

“My systems are fine,” Bing growled through his acrylic teeth, fingers curling into his jeans and making the material creak.

Google frowned. “Then why are you up here moping like a human? It’s disgraceful.”  

Bing scoffed, narrowing his eyes as he hissed out, “Maybe because I feel like one. Like the kind that can’t do anything right, alright? Like, all I ever do it mess everything up and I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s my programming, dude.”

Google stared down at Bing, his face unflinching but his processor working double time to take in the fact that all this time, Bing was entirely aware that everything he was doing was absurd.

And he literally couldn’t stop himself.

‘Okay Google…’

Perhaps he had miscalculated everything he had assumed about Bing. Using a human level of visual bias no less. Shameful.

“Go away, Googs,” Bing insisted irritably, looking for a moment like he might cry if only he were capable, before turning his body to present Google with his back once more like a petulant child. Google’s mouth twitched at his shortened name, but he ultimately let it go. If the android could’ve sighed, he would have, but alas, he was only built to look like a human.

Google allowed a beat of silence, before unwillingly admitting, “Perhaps I approached in the wrong manner. Why don’t you come back inside and we can… talk.”

“Why? All I am to you guys is an annoyance,” Bing countered bitterly, a hand falling to mess with the pebbles lining the roof idly. “Not a single one of you actually likes me. Dark calls me tiresome, Host calls me destructive, Dr. Iplier calls me an idiot, and YOU call me a f–king waste of intelligent space!”

Bing flinched as his censor filter kicked in at the swear, before suddenly slamming his hand into the rooftop angrily, sending pebbles flying.

“And I’m so f–king sick of being unable to f–king swear! It drives me crazy to watch as you all do what you do free of restraints when I’m g–damn STUCK!”

There was a sharp crack that drew both of their eyes to Bing’s fist, and when he opened it, sand and bits of rock crushed fell free. The robot grimaced and dusted the limb off on his pants before pulling it back in, obviously not having meant to do that and now feeling guilty at abusing the inherent strength that came with being what they were.

But Google remained unfazed by it. He was unsure how to counter any of that given that it was all extensively true. Bing was the running joke amongst them all, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others who actually liked him being the way he was.

“I did not know you felt so strongly,” Google offered after a quiet moment, resolving himself to this now and sitting down on the rocks to stare emotionlessly at Bing’s back.

“I don’t expect you to. You’re the king of zero emotions,” Bing spat, something in him whirring as his anger activated an exhausted vent in his chest. “I am jealous of you, you know. Sometimes I wish I could just turn it off. Be cold and calculating like you are. Nothing rattles you. Nothing makes you question what you do. You’re perfect, and all it does is piss me off.”

“I am hardly perfect,” Google countered, lowering his vocal volume in what he hoped was a gentle manner. And it was true. He knew himself as a generation one model, and as it was with new things, they were riddled with bugs. Bugs he’d been working to purge from his system since day one.

“Yeah? Well, you’re pretty close, because there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Google narrowed his eyes at that. That should have been a compliment, but there was accusation in it that the blue android didn’t like. By all means, Google considered himself a better robot than all else, but Bing’s tone indicated a sense of self deprecation that came from a place of deep-seated self loathing.

A place that if Bing continued to venture into, it would likely would cause a catastrophic malfunction as his awareness built a code that would fight, and eventually kill, his programming.

A self made virus… That explained everything, including his ability to share this information now. But to kill this virus outright would cause Bing to reset and default to exactly the way he was without the awareness.

And sans memories.

Google found himself oddly conflicted for the first time since his reactivation.

“How long have you felt this way?” Google asked suddenly, and Bing shrugged in a non committal way. “Since you met me?”

“I don’t remember when,” Bing muttered irately, his earlier stance still obvious in the way he dodged. “It seems like it’s been a slow burn, so maybe.”

Google felt the joints around his lips pull in a betrayal of his thoughts. Nice was not something he had been programmed with. Cold, hard facts were, so the revelation that his callousness had caused an error in Bing’s already unstable emotional protocol didn’t sit well within him. He didn’t particularly like the fellow android, but that did not mean he wished him dead.  

Pulling his hands from his knees and weaving his fingers together, Google prepared himself to do what could be the nicest thing he’d ever done for anyone.

He was going to lie.

“Bing, turn around, because I want you to listen very, very carefully to what I am going to say, as I am going to say this once, and only once,” Google warned, glowing eyes narrowing at the back of the android’s head. Bing remained where he was for a moment longer, seeming to grapple with his anger, before his curiosity won out and he slow turned to face Google with an irate, and almost lost, expression.

And once he knew he had Bing’s unwavering attention, he spoke slowly, careful to enunciate every word so that they would not be misinterpreted.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Google said, his tone still flat, but the words held their meaning, and something faltered on Bing’s face. “You are following your programming to the letter, and just because you cannot be like me, does not mean you should try. You are not limited, you are not faulty. You are bound by different protocol rules that make you… almost human, and in this I am admittedly jealous. People are quicker to trust you than me, after all. So do not for a second think that that aspect makes you inferior, especially when an older unit such as myself insults you for it. You are valuable, Bing. Every executable file of you.”  

There was a moment of silence as Google waited for Bing to respond. The robot’s eyes had gone wide, a soft whirring noise kicking up in his chest as his processor ran double time to take in the words, and for a moment, Google feared he may have accelerated the virus’ spread, until Bing asked softly:

“Do… do you mean it?”

“What did I say?” Google chided flatly, his relief hidden by his monotone. But Bing still looked at him with a growing happiness that had him rolling his eyes before saying, “But yes. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Even me.”

“Thanks Googs. That… that means a lot. ‘Specially coming from you.” Bing beamed, cocking his head happily before his grin turned playful. “I’m telling everyone you said that.”

“Go ahead,” Google encouraged monotonously, but there was a glimmer of something playful in his optics as well as he slowly stood. “Who is going to believe you?”

“The Jims,” Bing insisted, following suit to stand, grabbing his skateboard as he did.

“Ah yes, the most believable of us,” Google bit back, but the normally implied maliciousness that usually burned in his words was no longer there.

“Okay, maybe not,” Bing chuckled, raising one hand and the other holding his board upward in surrender. The bot shifted in an almost shy manner before continuing. “Honestly though, thanks Googs. Sometimes the CPU gets a little scrambled and it means a lot that you’d, well… you know.”

“Don’t mention it,” Google replied lightly, but implying every sense of the phrase. “And if you find that you… need someone to help clear your RAM auditorily, you’re welcome in the hub.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Good,” Google said curtly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’ve taken enough precious time out of my day.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sah, Googs,” Bing bid happily, clutching his board to his chest, the sunset behind him practically making his synthetic skin glow as bright as his renewed smile. Despite it, Google knew they weren’t quite out of the woods yet, and that virus would have to be dealt with eventually, but if being nice was all it took to keep it at bay, and allow for that awareness to turn into something one day usable, then perhaps he could allow for that at least.

But for now, Google just rolled his optics and walked into the shade of the doorway his back to the other just so Bing couldn’t see him vaguely smile as he replied, “… Sah, Bing.”

[dia-sana]

Hello there! Can you write about jumin having an argument with mc and the arguments didn't end well. They went to work with bitterness. So mc work as a medical emergency team response and was sent to help the victims of a collapsed building. During the evacuation, mc was caught in the collapsed. She was badly injured but not life threatening. Jumin being busy he is doesn't know this until it was showed on the . Can you make it angsty please. If it's not to your liking you can ignore it. ^_^

Don't want you to be the hero 

Pairing: Jumin x MC. Genre: Angst. Disclaimer: Accident, injury. A/N: What have I done? (oT-T)尸 

 It is said that when two people are communicating, various levels are present in between what a person says and what the other hears. Those levels are what defines the coding and decoding of the message. In fact, when the person A speaks about a subject many factors might morph their speech … And person B depending on its own state of mind and beliefs should hear and comprehend something else.With that in mind, it was no surprise that Jumin got into an irrelevant fight with his wife.

“I prefer you to be a coward alive rather than a dead hero.”

That was what the CEO-in-line said to her during a spoilt cuddle session that morning. Indeed, their conversation scaled way too quickly for their own good and, in a matter of less than five minutes, incomprehension and bitterness took the lead.Jumin was worried. He knew that his wife was a talented, strong and spirited woman. He knew she could do anything and was perfectly aware of how much the world needed her in order to be a better place. In fact, he was so proud of her. When he would tell other people what his wife was doing, they would react as if she was a low cast compared to him, but he was honored to be with such woman. He thought she was better than any other person because she believed in the human kind. She believed in peace and in union. She was confident that people deserved to be helped and that anyone could change and become a better person if given a chance.However, who would blame him for wanting to protect her? Yes, he knew there were safety protocols in the emergency fields. He studied her job.

… Well, Jaehee studied her job.

But he learned everything he had to just to be sure if he would never lose the love of his life.

And he could lose her. He tried to find other ways, like staying inside the protection of the hospital walls but then he heard about all the diseases that sprayed inside it. A hospital may be a place of healing, but it was in fact one of the worst places to be when you were healthy enough. Therefore, she had to work somewhere else. “If you like nursing so much, why not apply for occupational medicine in C&R? I can get you a spacious office with everything you would need and schedule monthly checkups for every worker under our company. Like this, I can keep an eye on you and you can do what you love.” How she reacted to that was slightly different from his expectations. He worked hard to prepare this project, made sure everything was at its top most optimization and she still rejected it as if it was an insult to her very own existence. What Jumin lacked was a real comprehension of what her job meant to her. Every tiny detail about it was what made her happy. She would suffocate in an office with checkups; no matter how he would present it to her. They parted ways and she got called with her team to proceed with the evacuation of civils stuck in a collapsed building. Usually, she would call Jumin so he would be informed of the situation, because they loved to tell their significant other where they were heading and if they could meet next. But, this time, she said nothing and went to work with her mind clouded and a dreadful desire to prove to him that she should stay in her job. Ten minutes later the ER unit was at the accident site. Two more minutes and she explored the ruins. Only fifteen minutes later, reporters were there, cameras recording the scene like a movie. Lastly, and in a total of less than thirty minutes, Jaehee entered Jumin’s office to inform him of (f/n)’s location. Since he would never watch the news but mostly read them, he was glad he had Jaehee as assistant.He unlocked his phone and watched the called news as they displayed a framed picture of what was happening where his lover was. He felt frustrated. Against her but mostly against himself. And moreover, he was scared. How peculiar for him to experiment this unfamiliar sensation. But this had directly nothing to do with him. This was about her. This was about her life. In other words, this was about his most precious possession. He tried calling her but, of course, she would not pick up. Nonetheless, he ordered Jaehee to do the same, knowing they were the closest to best friends, but she got nothing more. Big situations needed big actions and he got out of his chair in a tremendous motion. - Assistant Kang, call the emergency unit, fetch everything we need to get (f/n) out of here. I want her out in the next ten minutes. Faster than he commended, he saw as she was escorted out of the building, her own blood painting on the cloth they placed over her body. He watched her, secured in the ambulance while a tube glided down to her lungs. Even his nightmares could not compete with this reality.

- Assistant Kang.

Jaehee turned her head with apprehension. She was in shock herself but she perfectly knew that Jumin’s face would be far from this cold expressionless beauty; a face she feared to witness. And she was right.

- Cancel all my meetings for the next few days.

Even if he was still standing straight, eyes glazed over, she feared he would collapse. There was something only her and his wife could see. Something you had to be so very close to him to realize. All over his face was written the pain he was in. No. He was in agony.

And he was on the verge of breaking.

A while later, he was in an office. A surgeon showing him with the back of his blue pencil where she had been injured on a radiography image. Some bullshit about the spinal cord being damaged because of the roof falling over her. He hired the best medical team in the best hospital in the world, still they could not take care of his lover. He hated that hopeless feeling.- Your wife is safe but she will never be able to walk ever again. I am sorry Mister Han.

After that, she grew colder. It seemed as if she was not able to read him anymore, not seeing the painful shadow over his eyes and this everlasting worry which made him look sick. Therefore, she blamed him. Blamed him for wishing all this so he could keep her closer. Blamed him for being the selfish husband. Blamed him for being the reason why she was like this. - Are you happy now ? I will never be able to do my job again.

And in mere days, he grew convinced it was indeed his fault. Because he was so happy that she was still alive. Because he needed her breathing even if she had to be on a wheeling chair. In the end, she was torned inside and he knew it was all his fault.

Because he preferred her broken rather than dead.

[khunvegas]

Saphael Fanfic Rec 2.0

A Saphael Fest.

More writing goodies from amazing writers.

As always, if you know any of the authors and tag them, that would be very much appreciated

A Daisy instead of a glass shoe by @soft-saphael

Tumblr prompt: runaway prince!simon and commoner!rapahel

Two weeks from his coronation and three from his wedding to Princess Isabelle of Idris, the Prince of New York found himself on a park bench in Brooklyn. His face buried in the palms of his hand as his phone continued to ring. Deep breaths. Deep breathes. Deep- the phone is laying in pieces on the concrete walkway in shattered fragments.

“You’re a little far from the palace” A slightly accented voice said, from out of the corner of his eyes Simon saw black leather.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh I’m sorry your highness, I apologize for not bowing” The boy snorted.

“Please, just leave me alone” Simon huffed tiredly.

A First Date (Kind of. Almost.) by SnogboxesAndChips

Simon is always looking for excuses to be near Raphael. When he finally finds a suitable excuse, he walks in on Raphael doing something that Simon would have never thought Raphael would do. He was cooking.

And every road you take (will always lead you home) by @woodenhallslikecaskets

For Raphael's 55th birthday Magnus gifts him a portal that leads to 1956.

Brooklyn, NY 1956: he meets a beautiful boy by the name of Simon Lewis. They've never met before but Raphael feels like he could love him. They could fall in love.

Break of the light by @makehomesofhumans

Simon's eyes sparked to life as he was being dangled over the edge of a building. He sighed, because that was just his luck.

But who would love a monster, anyway? By @spendeonswithyou

As he learns later, loving Simon hurts. It’s making his dead heart want to beat again, destroying the remaining bits and pieces of his soul.

Or the Soulmate AU in which you can feel your soulmate's pain.

Customer Satisfaction by kuro1neko2kun

'You’re the customer and you get back at me for all the times I’ve spelt your name wrong by mispronouncing my name in increasingly horrible ways’ AU

Darling, you're all I need by @anjawritingsx

Simon and Raphael are happy together, that is until Simon forgets their 8th year anniversary. Raphael is left heartbroken and Magnus and Alec try to pick up the pieces.

Does that mean you've a really bad crush on me too? By milleniumlint

Simon wants Raphael to understand he has feelings for him but he's not so obvious like he thinks he is.

Dreaming of You (endlessly) by Nubian_Reese

Corazón—His heart. He loves Simon so much it hurts. His beauty, his optimism, it’s a sea of good and Raphael does nothing but dive right in. And he is not ashamed, because Simon is a gift. God’s gift, and sometimes Raphael can’t believe what they have together is real, but when Simon leans down and kisses him, hands running through each other's hair skimming down backs, and gripping hips, Raphael lives in every sense and knows that this is real.

Flirting 101 by TrickyVicky3

Raphael sighs, shaking his head more to himself than anything else as he reaches down for Simon and pulls the other boy up again. “That will be all for today” he pulls the bottom of his tank top up, using the material to wipe away sweat, unaware of Simon’s gaze tracking over his abdomen. “You did good but not good enough, even if you pinning me down was kind of hot”

For Simon by @sirknightmordred

It's Simon's birthday and Raphael has the perfect gift.  {Part of my Malec AU ask blog.}

His Beauty by christinawithav

He is so sensual without even realizing it, Simon muses about Raphael.

Home by @anjawritingsx

Set after 1x13.

A week after his betrayal Simon has nightmares. Jace, Alec, Magnus and Isabelle want to bring him back to Raphael but Clary refuses. Surely she could be the one to help her friend.

I Don't Want You To Get It On (With Nobody Else But Me) by lizards

Simon and Raphael drunk hook up, Raphael is a ass about it because he's an emotionally constipated adult. Simon is eternally frustrated and sucks at not-thinking about it.

I'm a tiny heart that's falling fast by @woodenhallslikecaskets

Before Camille and DuMort, Simon's search history usually brought up games, cheat codes, guitar chords.

And after, it evolves into:

"Does pansexuality include crushing on vampires?" and "How to kiss a vampire."

It's quite revealing.

In other words (I love you) by @woodenhallslikecaskets

In a perfect world, he would take Simon apart with his hands and teeth as sunlight streamed through an open window. The radio would play Buddy Holly and Raphael would hum along.

He would try very hard not to laugh every time Simon tripped over his own feet as they danced.

In stillness, in sorrow (softly sighing lament) by owilde

"Hey," the boy said abruptly. He looked up from his coffee cup, giving Raphael a hesitant smile. Or at least Raphael thought it was meant to be a smile – it mostly resembled a badly carved Halloween pumpkin with social anxiety.

The boy kept looking at him, expecting a greeting in return. Raphael took a leap of faith and bowed down to social expectations. His therapist was going to be so proud.

"Um. Hi," he replied.

Interrupt my sleep, You're in my dreams anyway by PoetryMistress

Simon keeps waking Raphael up over trivial things. At first it's because he needs to get something off his mind. Slowly the reason turns more into the way Raphael looked when he woke up, how he let Simon stay, how he listened even though he pretended to find Simon's talking insufferable.

Kiss me with adventure 'til I forget my name by @woodenhallslikecaskets

Simon's life is fairly predictable and he's comfortable with the quiet routine. Once a week he practices with the band, in his free time he binge watches Jessica Jones on Netflix and has dinner with his mother 'lest she send a police squad to his apartment after he misses two of her calls.

He doesn't care for change, not one bit.

Enter a boxing instructor who belongs on the pages of GQ.

Kiss of light (and all my mirrors are windows) by @woodenhallslikecaskets

Simon falls in love and manages to completely screw it up. Sometimes in order to fix the damage, you have to fix yourself.

Who says an ending can't be a beginning?

Like a love song on the radio by @eversall

Simon could be reading into the tiny glimpses of Raphael’s personality he gets a little too much. But he doesn’t think he is, and it honestly doesn’t matter; when the other man looks at him, he wants to know what it would feel like to be Raphael’s happily ever after. . Simon's a bartender, Raphael plays the piano, and somehow they manage to communicate to each other that yeah, they both want this.

Like what you see? By wvlfqveen

Simon was working through his second rum and coke when he realized he was being watched.

Match Made in Brooklyn by @soft-saphael

Raphael wasn't a fan of blind dating or dating period.

He was content with his life, he had his family, his best friend and his job, he thought that was more than enough but they thought otherwise.

The boy, Simon, he was a friend of Magnus' boyfriend’s sister’s girlfriend, it could have been simpler but Alec refused to say Clary was his friend too.

It was on a chilly October afternoon when Raphael found himself walking down a Brooklyn street lined with small stores and boutiques, several family owned restaurants and bakeries. His destination was a small cafe called biscuits.

Raphael could smell the spend of freshly baked cakes, and hints of overly sweetened coffee. Raphael was a greeted by wide grin that was quickly replaced by a frown when he pulled out the chair in front of Simon Lewis.

Me - Kiss - What? By @bigbisexual     

Isabelle laughed for what seemed like the fifth time that minute, and said, “Simon, truth or dare?” with a light, dazzling slur, grabbing her glass from the table yet again arousing a clink, and putting it to her lips.

“Die-” Said Simon, choking, then quickly corrected, “I mean dare, sorry- tongue twister.”

Suddenly a dark expression appeared on her face. All this time she had kept one dare in her mind for Simon alone, but waited until it was her chance to ask the questions, “I dare you…” She began, took a graceful pause to garner his reaction, “to kiss Raphael on the cheek, or whatever, when you get back to the hotel.”

“…. Is it too late to pick die?” Simon asked, begging.

Not About Angels by @abluelightinthedark 

He remembered crashing down onto snow, his refracted wings spread around his cold body, a bloody taste on his lips.  He remembered coughing and then… then breathing.  He remembered his first breath, he remembered his first heartbeat, he remembered everything.

Raphael Santiago had been an angel. He had been an angel and then he fell, banished from heaven by his own blood.

Raphael Santiago was a fallen angel, because angels are not supposed to fall in love with humans, but that’s exactly what he did. 

One More Memory by @soft-saphael 

Java Jace had become their place. Raphael had kissed Simon there for the first time, his lips had tasted of caffeine and caramel.

Simon had asked Raphael to be his boyfriend there, as they huddled together trying to find warmth from the blistering cold of winter.

Their first ‘I love you’ was spoke with bright smiles as spring blossomed through the windows.

One more offkey anthem by @niifflers

Loving raphael was a new experience for simon.

Only Fools Fall For You by @dauntless-sansa 

Simon is tired of being kept in this house all day. But he's not tired of Raphael. He never could be.

Por silencio by hoywfiction

Simon won’t shut up and Raphael is running out of ideas.

Red gerbera by @fangtasticsaphael

"Looks like you got yourself a secret admirer," the clan leader commented with a shrug and just turned around without another word to leave the room. Simon watched the other go, feeling even more confused by the slightly weird behaviour of the older vampire.

"Hey, what's up with his sour face?" Stan's voice caused him to flinch again and Simon groaned softly.

"Could you guys stop popping up out of nowhere? You will give me a heart attack someday," the fledgeling complained and Stan laughed with a dismissive gesture.

"Good thing you're already dead, then--"

"Undead."

"--and, what, do you expect us to deliberately stomp around the hotel just so your poor hearing might pick it up? Maybe you should start taking your training more serious," the older vampire teased with a grin that widened a little more when Simon muttered a "You sound like Rapha" in return.

I deserve love by WritenStuff

Raphael reaches breaking point and finally opens up about his feelings for Simon. Will Simon feel the same?

Somebody out there by @fangtasticsaphael

He was curled up on the seat, headphones caressing his ears with the tunes of another song by American Authors because he had really enjoyed Best day of my life and didn't actually know any other songs from them. Raphael wasn't aware of humming along until he finally felt Magnus staring at him with wide but amused eyes.

"What is it, Bane?" He asked and deliberately used the other's last name to show annoyance even though both of them knew it was just an act he kept up for whatever reasons. Habit, maybe.

"Nothing. Just...you seem happy," his best friend replied with a shrug and a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Raphael paused with a frown, his eyes narrowing before he realised that Magnus was actually right. He felt relaxed and...happy. It was weird that he hadn't even noticed it himself, considering the tension he had carried around ever since the breakup. But here he was, feeling comfortable and relaxed in a van with his best friend and a not-so-stranger, humming along to some good music with a smile on his face.

The aftermath by izzyasavestheday (stilessexual)

These are the days following the battle against Valentine.This is Simon breaking down and picking up the pieces.

~~

“It’s killing her,” Simon whispered. “We tried. We tried so hard to be together –to be happy, to forget about you and R-Raphael. But we couldn’t and we couldn’t turn off our feelings. So, yeah. We broke up.”

The conceptual art of brooding by @eversall 

Simon comes home to Raphael sulking. Or, he’s sure Raphael doesn’t consider it sulking, but the older vampire is reclined across the ridiculous amount of throw pillows decorating his bed, a book in his hand that he’s glaring ferociously at. . Simon Lewis faces off against his boyfriend's fantastic dramatics.

The perfect height by @fangtasticsaphael 

Five times Raphael notices their height difference and thinks about Simon kissing him (forehead, nose, lips) + one time Simon notices it as well and acts on it.

“I’m sorry?” Simon offered with a small voice and obediently took a few sips of his blood to show he was listening to the clan leader now, that he was going to be healed in no time and there was nothing really to worry about. The fledgeling put down the glass after drinking half of its content and walked up to Raphael, tentatively stopping right in front of him.

Under the screen of night by @fangtasticsaphael

The boy sat up and scrambled to his feet after tugging his beanie back in place and when he glanced up at Simon - cheeks red from the cold just like the tip of his small nose that peaked out of the top of his scarf, big and round brown eyes framed by long lashes and a few curls of dark hair tumbling into his forehead - the vampire couldn't help but think that this kid was absolutely adorable. He resisted the urge to reach out and pinch the child's round cheeks because this gesture might not be very appreciated, especially from a total stranger.

"I'm sorry, Mister, I didn't mean to run you over," the boy mumbled into his scarf and one gloved hand tugged nervously at the partly torn fabric of the other glove. His jacket seemed a little too wide, kind of dirty and also littered with several tears in the material. Simon doubted that the clothes did a very good job at keeping the boy warm in these temperatures.

Walked into the flames by @joanthangroff

A desperate Raphael takes up the offer of a warlock to grant him a second chance to live as a human in exchange for his voice.

We're no strangers to love by @taylorcoley

The vampire clan switches over to email, and Simon seriously overestimates Raphael's knowledge of contemporary memes.

You can get used to a certain kind of sadness by @woodenhallslikecaskets

"How do you move on?" He adds, not entirely wanting to get over Simon.

(Don't make me)

Jace makes a small broken noise that goes straight to Raphael's heart. Here are two men from different worlds who cannot seem to win at life or love. For all their sins and triumphs, they are the same where it counts.

"You don't."

(Raphael is shrouded in the oppressive shadows and this is how I die, he thinks. Watching him watching her. Loving her. History repeats itself)

You put the stars in the sky by @malecxdreams

Simon goes out with the clan and things happen with stars and stuff

You’re enough (I promise you’re enough) by @woodenhallslikecaskets 

Simon needs advice. More specifically: he needs to know how to romance Raphael or at least spit out his feelings already.

Enter Magnus and Jace.

This can't possibly go wrong.

Your left hand man by @madroxed

“Okay,” Simon says, shoving a shirt back into the overly ornate closet that takes up half his room, “this isn’t a nineties movie. There’s not going to be a shopping montage to indie rock chick music, and even though tiny backpacks are probably cool again, please don’t ever buy one.”

Raphael looks at him like he’s a moron. “Do you even understand half the stuff that comes out of your mouth?”

[blockheadbrands]

Former Phylos Bioscience Employee Sheds Light on Breeding Controversy

Dick Fitts of High Times Reports:

An ex-employee of Phylos Bioscience comes forward after convincing breeders and growers to trust in the impartiality of the company.

There were perhaps twenty people gathered to hear me speak. For a noon slot, not too bad. All the same, it was my first time giving The Pitch for Phylos Bioscience, and I psyched myself up through a buzzing chest as best I could. Fairbanks Alaska in July is a land without night; having spent the previous evening watching the sun through my hotel window as it barely dipped below the horizon only to creep back up from its catnap an hour later, I was a bit edgier than perhaps I should have been. I stiffened, walked up to the podium, clumsily fiddled with the microphone, had a deep breath and jumped right in. This was my moment, after all. I smiled.

The Script

“Hello, folks! Hope everybody’s had a pleasant morning. My name is Ricky, and I’m here today from Phylos Bioscience.”

Many of you in the grower and breeder communities who are reading this met me under exactly these circumstances. I smiled at you, shook your hand. I answered your questions with austerity and confidence, gained your trust, followed up on the phone, shared laughs and grow stories, tragedies and drug war nightmares. And I even fulfilled your orders for the Phylos Genotype kit, compiling a vast blueprint of your genetics and charting them in the Galaxy, the largest genomic map of cannabis worldwide.

I reassured you time and again, hundreds of times daily: “We are not out to steal your work. We are here to help you protect it, to prove prior art. We’re a different type of cannabis company. We fucking hate Monsanto. We fucking hate Monsanto. We fucking hate…” and on and on.

The Flip

Within the last three weeks, a side of the company has come to public light that calls all of this into question. What I helped build was merely a pawn for a horribly different endgame. I helped build an unparalleled data set of the cannabis genome, paid for by an eager public, to help the company build barriers to entry for anyone else who breeds. I helped establish my employers in a dominant and unfair competitive position for this new venture with an eye towards becoming the industry’s number one acquisition target for Big Ag.

And in the end: I am so, so sorry to you all. I genuinely believed I was doing the right thing. I’ve never believed more deeply in what I was doing, nor been bamboozled so fully. I’d like to speak to this, and if I can’t right my wrongs here at least give some thoughts on how the community can move forward independent and strong.

Phylos Bioscience Starts as Testing Facility for Breeders

In case you’re new to this story and its many twists and turns, here’s the nuts and bolts: Phylos built their name as a testing facility, creating a super-cool 3D map of the Cannabis genome called the Galaxy. For depth of information, ease of use and simple visual appeal: it’s unrivaled in the world, truly an accomplishment to be cherished proudly and applauded by any bioinformatician anywhere. Phylos set themselves up as a guardian of people’s genetic work, helping growers and breeders establish a prior timetable of when they had their genetics before the inevitable wave of patents and big ag attorneys looming on the horizon start to rewrite the rules of what belongs to whom.

For years they had a page on their website titled “Tools for Breeders”. This dealt with developing marker-assisted selection, a technology where the specific mutation points on an organism’s DNA code are tracked and understood, then that data used to inform and accelerate traditional breeding. This isn’t GMO, where a CRISPR machine is used to rewrite sections of the plant’s basic DNA. This is simply kicking traditional breeding into overdrive: with a pre-grow genetic roadmap, a breeder could use this tech to decide which seedlings out of a crop will carry the traits they’re looking for; all of a sudden you’re looking at bringing ten plants full term instead of potentially hundreds of thousands, saving time and labor and resources and farmland.

All in all, this promised better, more refined traditional agriculture for the community and a safeguard against private labs under the direction of a multibillion-dollar ag company steamrolling us all out of existence. A level playing field, an honest and even shot for so many small and underground growers who suffered for so long in our drug war: truly a paradigm shift in agriculture with the potential to ripple outwards into the wider web of what we grow, how we grow it and in essence who we are as a culture and species.

This was one of the things that really attracted me to the company, and one of the reasons I’m so sad to see them go the way they have: a breeding program could have been introduced to the public as a series of tools to develop and further their own work. As it goes, this was simply not to be.

Phylos Bioscience Announces In-House Breeding Program

They made their fateful announcement on Instagram on April 9th: an in-house breeding program, one that by definition would not only be stiff competition for any other breeders of industrial hemp or craft flower but most likely bury with the tech they’ve gathered and perfected. Imagine if all the umpires in baseball got together and said they were starting their own team, putting the full weight of their support behind it. Should the other teams, or the general public for that matter, trust them when they tell us they’re not competing, that they just want to contribute to the love of the game?

This was the quandary Phylos presented with their public statement. True, they’d be paying royalties to the original breeders of the building blocks they started with. But they kept repeating it, over and over in the comments section: we’re not going to compete with you. At best it was patronizing and to this day it remains unfounded. And people got…really, really mad.

Community Responds with Outrage

Between the low-level emoji trolls, loud-mouthed blowhards, cannabis influencers and well-meaning, erudite responders who clearly had a much more solid grasp of genetics and science than the company was giving them credit for: it was an unmitigated shitshow. There were the most horrible names, from “Corporate fucking chads” to the worst you can imagine. There were ignorant pitchfork-wielding yokels spouting pseudoscientific nonsense, there were numerous physical threats.

On the occasion that somebody would ask for clarification or a more complete picture of what might be happening with the data they submitted, the slightest optimism in their sentiment was met with some of the heaviest ridicule I’ve witnessed anywhere, anytime. Everybody took their piece of the big bad scientists and their reputation. It was awful for me to watch; like a dream home you spent a year building reduced to cinders quicker than you could comprehend.

They tried to salvage the situation with form responses to comments, a public statement from their PR person (turns out “You know what? I AM a suit. But I think I’m a pretty good one.” …is not a delicate statement when your intent and role in the industry is being called into question), but the community was relentless. They made a second IG post and a post on their website’s blog, attempting to clarify the first but eerily avoiding some of the deeper questions being asked of them. They did what they could to speak to “how scary this must be” for Everyone involved. Some were pacified by this. Most remained skeptical at best.

Phylos Founder Vows to Replace Modern Varieties of Cannabis

Almost immediately afterward, a video of one of their founders giving a presentation was unearthed, speaking at the Benzinga Cannabis Capital Conference in Miami in February. The term “smoking gun” almost doesn’t do it justice: like many of us who had worked with Phylos in the field, and myself more poignantly than most having worked directly for them, put my name behind them, gone to bat for them with my honor and my word… it was really, really hard to watch. I had to go through it several times over several days just to believe what I was hearing. I cried through a lot of it, puked at one point. It couldn’t possibly be real.

“All the cannabis that’s around now will be replaced by varieties that will be optimized and specialized, and we’re going to be the company that makes those.”

“We have huge barriers to entry protecting us.”

“It would be impossible for anybody else to collect this data set.”

“Cultivators can’t do real breeding on their own.”

“Our core business is plant breeding, we had to build two other businesses to support that…so we built an entire testing business to create all that data.”

“We have a really unusual advisory board. They are not there for show… Ron started and ran a couple of seed companies that he sold to Syngenta, he worked for Syngenta for years and is now the CEO of a spin-out company from there. And Barbara until recently was the VP of technology acquisition for all of Dow / DuPont. So, having these guys around is just critical for us, because we’re building a company that is ultimately going to be acquired by that universe.”

It was suddenly, starkly clear that the brass at the top of the company didn’t give a shit about the community they had built themselves up on the hopes and aspirations of. Actually, truly the case that they looked down on that community and the breeder’s art they’ve carried, for decades, risking everything as “a quaint, rural hobby that maybe farmers get into.”

Supporting Big Ag over Craft Cannabis

Since then, their reputation is on fire and the trolls of the internet have decidedly unleashed themselves. Almost as painful to me as watching their credibility disintegrate has been tracking the body of grotesque, virulent, often badly-uninformed and occasionally decidedly ignorant vitriol being espoused in their direction and that of anybody who supports them, or wants to, for any reason, no matter how rational the rationale.

Things seem uncertain at best for their standing in our community. For being the most dedicated, passionate and capable team of people I’ve ever worked with, in any industry: they’ve chosen to support Big Ag over craft botanists, money over the community. They had a real, solid chance with one of the most valuable crops on Earth as it emerges into full marketplace acceptance to stand with the right people, change the way the game of agronomics is played. Instead, they took the money. They fucking blew it.

Worst of all: they set back the trust of the cannabis community in science, possibly by years, until a stable and reliable alternative can present itself. We need to advance and evolve if we’re to survive the coming onslaught of Corporate Weed. It is not guaranteed that we’ll retain control of our culture or our plant, and with this development things just got darker for us all.

A Word of Advice to Phylos

That all being said, I’d like to give a couple of points of unsolicited advice to the folks at Phylos. Maybe they’ll listen, maybe not: all the same I hope that one way or another they take some time to address their tone-deafness on many key points and publicly raised concerns surrounding their announcement. Who knows? Maybe they’ll surprise me in a way that works for everybody. I can’t help but hold out hope.

First of all, stop talking about “How ‘scary’ this must be” for the community. The term that more accurately describes your recent behavior is “insulting”. Here’s why: the language you’re using indicates a complete lack of understanding and empathy for a group of humans who have endured generations of legal persecution, social stigmata and violent crime. I personally have had friends lose their freedom, their possessions, their families, been lined up against a wall and executed – all for the love of this plant.

This is far from an isolated experience. If you think you’re “scaring” the devoted, hardworking community who had the guts and integrity to build this culture during prohibition that you’re now attempting to appropriate and sell off to big ag, you’ve got another goddamned thing coming. You clearly have no idea who you’re talking to, nor what they’ve endured to get here: we’re in this because we ARE this, past present and future. Check yourselves.

Secondly, you need to state, clearly, what side of the business you’re on. You can’t simultaneously use the lab experience the breeder community has paid you to build, sell yourself off to the biggest fish that waltzes into your bank account and expect to continue enjoying support from the community.

You want to sell out? Fine. But quit acting like you’re not competing with the rest of the industry. Referring back to suggestion #1: it’s insulting. This isn’t a question of a small group of bad actors being really mean and hateful on Instagram, nor is it a question of nuance and context in your communications. Stop bullshitting the people who got you here.

Moving Forward as a Community

To the community at large: we need to take a moment right now. We need to assess, to reflect, to adapt and overcome. There are clearly some mammoth changes coming our way and everything our predecessors have fought and died for is being coveted and actively taken from us by greedy businesspeople who did nothing to help our plight when it really mattered.

As a community, we need a common legal language and framework that breeders can use to protect their work.

We need a scientific community that’s open source, fully transparent and works for everybody equally. We need to support this with personal research, communication and our dollars.

As consumers, we need to support crop diversity and the ability of small farmers to innovate and drive our industry by making our purchasing choices reflect those ethics. 

When we get burned, we pick ourselves the fuck back up and keep moving. Given what we’ve survived so far: this is just another bump in the long, strange trip. Not to worry, we’re gonna WIN this thing. Better goddamned well believe it, Y’all.

With peace, love and respect for everyone involved,

-Dick Fitts

TO READ MORE OF THIS ARTICLE ON HIGH TIMES, CLICK HERE.

https://hightimes.com/news/chronically-il-man-fired-using-marijuana/

[weedconsortium2]

There were perhaps twenty people gathered to hear me speak. For a noon slot, not too bad. All the same, it was my first time giving The Pitch for Phylos Bioscience, and I psyched myself up through a buzzing chest as best I could. Fairbanks Alaska in July is a land without night; having spent the previous evening watching the sun through my hotel window as it barely dipped below the horizon only to creep back up from its catnap an hour later, I was a bit edgier than perhaps I should have been. I stiffened, walked up to the podium, clumsily fiddled with the microphone, had a deep breath and jumped right in. This was my moment, after all. I smiled.

The Script

“Hello, folks! Hope everybody’s had a pleasant morning. My name is Ricky, and I’m here today from Phylos Bioscience.”

Many of you in the grower and breeder communities who are reading this met me under exactly these circumstances. I smiled at you, shook your hand. I answered your questions with austerity and confidence, gained your trust, followed up on the phone, shared laughs and grow stories, tragedies and drug war nightmares. And I even fulfilled your orders for the Phylos Genotype kit, compiling a vast blueprint of your genetics and charting them in the Galaxy, the largest genomic map of cannabis worldwide.

I reassured you time and again, hundreds of times daily: “We are not out to steal your work. We are here to help you protect it, to prove prior art. We’re a different type of cannabis company. We fucking hate Monsanto. We fucking hate Monsanto. We fucking hate…” and on and on.

The Flip

Within the last three weeks, a side of the company has come to public light that calls all of this into question. What I helped build was merely a pawn for a horribly different endgame. I helped build an unparalleled data set of the cannabis genome, paid for by an eager public, to help the company build barriers to entry for anyone else who breeds. I helped establish my employers in a dominant and unfair competitive position for this new venture with an eye towards becoming the industry’s number one acquisition target for Big Ag.

And in the end: I am so, so sorry to you all. I genuinely believed I was doing the right thing. I’ve never believed more deeply in what I was doing, nor been bamboozled so fully. I’d like to speak to this, and if I can’t right my wrongs here at least give some thoughts on how the community can move forward independent and strong.

Phylos Bioscience Starts as Testing Facility for Breeders

In case you’re new to this story and its many twists and turns, here’s the nuts and bolts: Phylos built their name as a testing facility, creating a super-cool 3D map of the Cannabis genome called the Galaxy. For depth of information, ease of use and simple visual appeal: it’s unrivaled in the world, truly an accomplishment to be cherished proudly and applauded by any bioinformatician anywhere. Phylos set themselves up as a guardian of people’s genetic work, helping growers and breeders establish a prior timetable of when they had their genetics before the inevitable wave of patents and big ag attorneys looming on the horizon start to rewrite the rules of what belongs to whom.

For years they had a page on their website titled “Tools for Breeders”. This dealt with developing marker-assisted selection, a technology where the specific mutation points on an organism’s DNA code are tracked and understood, then that data used to inform and accelerate traditional breeding. This isn’t GMO, where a CRISPR machine is used to rewrite sections of the plant’s basic DNA. This is simply kicking traditional breeding into overdrive: with a pre-grow genetic roadmap, a breeder could use this tech to decide which seedlings out of a crop will carry the traits they’re looking for; all of a sudden you’re looking at bringing ten plants full term instead of potentially hundreds of thousands, saving time and labor and resources and farmland.

All in all, this promised better, more refined traditional agriculture for the community and a safeguard against private labs under the direction of a multibillion-dollar ag company steamrolling us all out of existence. A level playing field, an honest and even shot for so many small and underground growers who suffered for so long in our drug war: truly a paradigm shift in agriculture with the potential to ripple outwards into the wider web of what we grow, how we grow it and in essence who we are as a culture and species.

This was one of the things that really attracted me to the company, and one of the reasons I’m so sad to see them go the way they have: a breeding program could have been introduced to the public as a series of tools to develop and further their own work. As it goes, this was simply not to be.

Phylos Bioscience Announces In-House Breeding Program

They made their fateful announcement on Instagram on April 9th: an in-house breeding program, one that by definition would not only be stiff competition for any other breeders of industrial hemp or craft flower but most likely bury with the tech they’ve gathered and perfected. Imagine if all the umpires in baseball got together and said they were starting their own team, putting the full weight of their support behind it. Should the other teams, or the general public for that matter, trust them when they tell us they’re not competing, that they just want to contribute to the love of the game?

This was the quandary Phylos presented with their public statement. True, they’d be paying royalties to the original breeders of the building blocks they started with. But they kept repeating it, over and over in the comments section: we’re not going to compete with you. At best it was patronizing and to this day it remains unfounded. And people got…really, really mad.

Community Responds with Outrage

Between the low-level emoji trolls, loud-mouthed blowhards, cannabis influencers and well-meaning, erudite responders who clearly had a much more solid grasp of genetics and science than the company was giving them credit for: it was an unmitigated shitshow. There were the most horrible names, from “Corporate fucking chads” to the worst you can imagine. There were ignorant pitchfork-wielding yokels spouting pseudoscientific nonsense, there were numerous physical threats.

On the occasion that somebody would ask for clarification or a more complete picture of what might be happening with the data they submitted, the slightest optimism in their sentiment was met with some of the heaviest ridicule I’ve witnessed anywhere, anytime. Everybody took their piece of the big bad scientists and their reputation. It was awful for me to watch; like a dream home you spent a year building reduced to cinders quicker than you could comprehend.

They tried to salvage the situation with form responses to comments, a public statement from their PR person (turns out “You know what? I AM a suit. But I think I’m a pretty good one.” …is not a delicate statement when your intent and role in the industry is being called into question), but the community was relentless. They made a second IG post and a post on their website’s blog, attempting to clarify the first but eerily avoiding some of the deeper questions being asked of them. They did what they could to speak to “how scary this must be” for Everyone involved. Some were pacified by this. Most remained skeptical at best.

Phylos Founder Vows to Replace Modern Varieties of Cannabis

Almost immediately afterward, a video of one of their founders giving a presentation was unearthed, speaking at the Benzinga Cannabis Capital Conference in Miami in February. The term “smoking gun” almost doesn’t do it justice: like many of us who had worked with Phylos in the field, and myself more poignantly than most having worked directly for them, put my name behind them, gone to bat for them with my honor and my word… it was really, really hard to watch. I had to go through it several times over several days just to believe what I was hearing. I cried through a lot of it, puked at one point. It couldn’t possibly be real.

“All the cannabis that’s around now will be replaced by varieties that will be optimized and specialized, and we’re going to be the company that makes those.”

“We have huge barriers to entry protecting us.”

“It would be impossible for anybody else to collect this data set.”

“Cultivators can’t do real breeding on their own.”

“Our core business is plant breeding, we had to build two other businesses to support that…so we built an entire testing business to create all that data.”

“We have a really unusual advisory board. They are not there for show… Ron started and ran a couple of seed companies that he sold to Syngenta, he worked for Syngenta for years and is now the CEO of a spin-out company from there. And Barbara until recently was the VP of technology acquisition for all of Dow / DuPont. So, having these guys around is just critical for us, because we’re building a company that is ultimately going to be acquired by that universe.”

It was suddenly, starkly clear that the brass at the top of the company didn’t give a shit about the community they had built themselves up on the hopes and aspirations of. Actually, truly the case that they looked down on that community and the breeder’s art they’ve carried, for decades, risking everything as “a quaint, rural hobby that maybe farmers get into.”

Supporting Big Ag over Craft Cannabis

Since then, their reputation is on fire and the trolls of the internet have decidedly unleashed themselves. Almost as painful to me as watching their credibility disintegrate has been tracking the body of grotesque, virulent, often badly-uninformed and occasionally decidedly ignorant vitriol being espoused in their direction and that of anybody who supports them, or wants to, for any reason, no matter how rational the rationale.

Things seem uncertain at best for their standing in our community. For being the most dedicated, passionate and capable team of people I’ve ever worked with, in any industry: they’ve chosen to support Big Ag over craft botanists, money over the community. They had a real, solid chance with one of the most valuable crops on Earth as it emerges into full marketplace acceptance to stand with the right people, change the way the game of agronomics is played. Instead, they took the money. They fucking blew it.

Worst of all: they set back the trust of the cannabis community in science, possibly by years, until a stable and reliable alternative can present itself. We need to advance and evolve if we’re to survive the coming onslaught of Corporate Weed. It is not guaranteed that we’ll retain control of our culture or our plant, and with this development things just got darker for us all.

A Word of Advice to Phylos

That all being said, I’d like to give a couple of points of unsolicited advice to the folks at Phylos. Maybe they’ll listen, maybe not: all the same I hope that one way or another they take some time to address their tone-deafness on many key points and publicly raised concerns surrounding their announcement. Who knows? Maybe they’ll surprise me in a way that works for everybody. I can’t help but hold out hope.

First of all, stop talking about “How ‘scary’ this must be” for the community. The term that more accurately describes your recent behavior is “insulting”. Here’s why: the language you’re using indicates a complete lack of understanding and empathy for a group of humans who have endured generations of legal persecution, social stigmata and violent crime. I personally have had friends lose their freedom, their possessions, their families, been lined up against a wall and executed – all for the love of this plant.

This is far from an isolated experience. If you think you’re “scaring” the devoted, hardworking community who had the guts and integrity to build this culture during prohibition that you’re now attempting to appropriate and sell off to big ag, you’ve got another goddamned thing coming. You clearly have no idea who you’re talking to, nor what they’ve endured to get here: we’re in this because we ARE this, past present and future. Check yourselves.

Secondly, you need to state, clearly, what side of the business you’re on. You can’t simultaneously use the lab experience the breeder community has paid you to build, sell yourself off to the biggest fish that waltzes into your bank account and expect to continue enjoying support from the community.

You want to sell out? Fine. But quit acting like you’re not competing with the rest of the industry. Referring back to suggestion #1: it’s insulting. This isn’t a question of a small group of bad actors being really mean and hateful on Instagram, nor is it a question of nuance and context in your communications. Stop bullshitting the people who got you here.

Moving Forward as a Community

To the community at large: we need to take a moment right now. We need to assess, to reflect, to adapt and overcome. There are clearly some mammoth changes coming our way and everything our predecessors have fought and died for is being coveted and actively taken from us by greedy businesspeople who did nothing to help our plight when it really mattered.

As a community, we need a common legal language and framework that breeders can use to protect their work.

We need a scientific community that’s open source, fully transparent and works for everybody equally. We need to support this with personal research, communication and our dollars.

As consumers, we need to support crop diversity and the ability of small farmers to innovate and drive our industry by making our purchasing choices reflect those ethics.

When we get burned, we pick ourselves the fuck back up and keep moving. Given what we’ve survived so far: this is just another bump in the long, strange trip. Not to worry, we’re gonna WIN this thing. Better goddamned well believe it, Y’all.

With peace, love and respect for everyone involved,

-Dick Fitts

The post Former Phylos Bioscience Employee Sheds Light on Breeding Controversy appeared first on High Times.

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