#and riza wants to strangle him so bad

[courtmartialme]

pregnant riza going through mood swings because i need her to tell roy to kill himself and then cry about it😚😚😚 good thing roy loves her a lot and is having fun getting to see riza being so honest about her feelings whether it is because they didn't have what she wanted at the store or because she said he should die lmao

[fullmetalscullyy]

uncertainty

summary: Riza sustains her Promised Day injuries at the same time Roy is pinned by Pride in the transmutation circle

an: tldr i was consumed by this idea all evening. the narrator, probably: this is the darkest timeline

this was originally supposed to be “riza gets her promised day injuries AFTER roy goes blind” but it evolved, grew arms and legs, then ran away from me. but. i am still v invested in that original idea so. why not play about w and write the same thing/something similar twice right? yolo

also. its been like. 4 and a half hours of work so if u see any mistakes no u didn’t <3

shoutout to those who left encouragement/interest in this idea and to meg for spurring the bradley being Bad idea along <333

rating: t | words: 3262 | tags: graphic depictions of violence, angst, angst with a happy ending, promised day, canon divergence, royai

read on ao3 

“Let him go.”

Riza orders the Fuhrer to step down, to remove his swords from the Colonel’s hands, to stop piercing his flesh. Her gun is trained on him easily and Riza discovers she has no qualms about shooting the man in charge of the country. She will not hesitate to do so if he so much as breathes in the wrong way.

After his appearance, and his assault on the Colonel, Riza had watched the tips of Bradley’s swords pierce through the Colonel’s palms, had seen them bury themselves in the gaps in the stone beneath her commanding officer. With her heart in her throat, Riza had inhaled sharply and drawn her weapon without pause, training it on Bradley’s head.

Riza’s voice didn’t betray her raging emotions within. For years – over a decade – she’d kept them under wraps for a variety of reasons. And even now, faced with this horrifying scenario, she did not let them surface. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t do it again. Not after her confrontation with Lust. She’d made a promise to the Colonel, and separately, in private, to Roy, not to.

“You were always an exemplary soldier, Lieutenant Hawkeye, following every order without question or complaint,” Bradley remarks. His spine straightens but does not remove his swords from the ground beneath the Colonel’s palms. He does not stop from looming over Mustang but turns his head to look at her. It’s reminiscent of a shark swimming right towards its prey, going for the kill, but Riza does not let that analogy get to her. She strengthens her grip on her pistol instead. “What has changed now?”

He’s toying with her. If she argued against any of his orders while his hostage, he’d have her killed.

A memory suddenly pops into her mind.

“You could always court martial me, sir.”

Riza’s eyes flick to quickly look down at the Colonel, lying pinned, helpless, and watching her anxiously on the floor. Mustang never would, but she misses the days where she could argue lightly against his orders and do what she felt was right and just by him and others she cared about and supported.

The doctor with the gold tooth writhes in agony above the Colonel, Bradley, and Pride, trying to call out for help and salvation, but the homunculi ignore him. Unfortunately, Riza has to as well, for she has seen how quick Bradley is and has felt the terror and harshness of Selim’s shadows, so cannot let herself slip for a second. If she does, it may cost her life. Or the Colonel’s.

“Simply doing my duty to this country and it’s citizens, sir,” she replies evenly. She holds no remorse for her actions. Not after the Fuhrer took her hostage for so long and the team discovered he was part of a scheme to try and kill everybody.

“Your duties involve following my orders, Lieutenant.”

Bradley is reminding her of her position as he trains his single eye upon her, but Riza tries her best to ignore it. It’s unnerving how piercing his gaze is, but she holds steady. She will not give into him and his intimidation.

“I am the highest authority to you. At ease, soldier.” He bites out the words, forcing them out as he tries to keep a lid on his fury.

“Not this time, sir.” She will not blindly follow his orders. Images of the desert flash inside Riza’s mind. Not again.

It angers him, but before he can react properly, Pride quite possibly saves her hide.

“We don’t have time for this, Wrath,” Pride sneers suddenly. He glares at Riza and she stares back, unflinching. She’s an expert at this by now after so many months under their scrutiny. She will not fall now at the final hurdle.

In response to Pride, Bradley angles his head towards him, looking away from her, and Riza feels herself relax momentarily. She does not turn complacent. Far for it. She’s too wired and on edge with the Colonel pinned in a transmutation circle underneath a homunculus’ feet to be close to any semblance of calm. But with Bradley’s gaze no longer pinning her, it’s a welcome reprieve. Her shoulders relax and lower a fraction.

“Enough of this conversation,” Pride continues. “We’ve got more important things to do.”

“Of course.” Bradley sounds so calm that it causes the knot inside Riza’s stomach to tighten. It’s the same knot that’s filled with unease and uncertainty regarding their current situation. It trembles and contracts as she stabilises herself and recentres her weapon so it’s ready to make a kill shot if need be.

“We have more important things to do,” Bradley repeats quietly to himself. His voice is without emotion, completely different from the rage-tinged tone he’d used just moments ago. Under his moustache, Riza sees a small smirk. One corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

In a flash, he rips the swords out of the Colonel’s palms, causing him to cry out in pain. They must have snagged on his skin because his loud gasp was laced with anguish.

Riza fires unflinchingly as Bradley charges at her.

“Lieutenant!” The Colonel’s cry is a gasp. She knows he fears for her, but she cannot focus on that right now.

Her finger does not let up on the trigger and it is relentless. She doesn’t have time to pay attention to it, but behind Bradley, Pride’s shadows dance around the room and she cannot fathom why. If she could spare enough of her concentration and tear it away from the charging homunculus, she’d realise the shadows were protecting Pride’s main body from her bullets flying behind the Fuhrer.

Bradley is too fast. He ducks underneath her weapon and outstretched arms, swinging around to her back.

Before she can blink, Riza can feel the kiss of cold metal on her throat.

Shit.

Her eyes widen, and so does the Colonel’s. His teeth are gritted together as he’s trapped in the transmutation circle, but his eyes meet hers immediately. It’s interesting to note how her own gaze zoned in on his during her sudden moment of helplessness, but Riza knows exactly why. She does not deny it to her heart.

“You’re a pest,” Bradley hisses in her ear.

The metal moves easily against her skin, like a knife moving through butter, and she hears the Colonel yell. As her body crumples to the floor he calls to her. He barks her rank, pleading with her to stay with him and focus on him. Her head hits the ground hard, and she’s dazed for a second. Her vision turns grey, and she cannot focus on anything, but still hears the Colonel calling out to her.

“Hawkeye!”

The others try to surge forward to intervene, but Pride’s shadows lash out and keep them at bay, pushing them backwards towards the outer wall. The homunculus forces them away from the two on the ground, preventing them from helping.

This is it.

She’s lying on the floor, bleeding out, with no one to assist her, and the Colonel is going to be forced to open the portal against his will.

She was supposed to watch his back and protect him. She was supposed to make sure no harm came to the Colonel so he could forge ahead and set in motion the plans he’d voiced to her over a decade ago. This was not how this was supposed to happen. Things changed in nanosecond and Riza’s brain has whiplash from trying to keep up.

“Do it, Pride.” Bradley’s anger is back under control. The bout of rage he’d experienced while advancing on her is gone. Or, it is back underneath his mask, hidden out of sight but simmering just below the surface.

Riza’s eyes meet the Colonel’s – no, Roy’s. His eyes are wide and panicked. She watches him strain against the dark tendrils holding him in place, but his struggle is futile and probably harming him. Through blurring vision she can see the colour red around his hands and up his forearm. The restraints must be cutting into his skin. Her mouth opens, asking him to remain still and not hurt himself. To not harm himself trying to escape to try and help her.

Impossible, she thinks to herself. Roy Mustang would tear the world apart for you. And you, him.

“Colonel –!” She wants to cry out to him, but with her injury it’s just a croak. A strangled, garbled call that doesn’t sound much like anything.

“Lieutenant!”

The homunculi ignore Roy’s cry, filled with such helplessness and anxiety. His expression is one of horror as their predicament hits him full force. His fight abates slightly, it stutters as his chest heaves with panicked breaths while realisation settles upon both their bones simultaneously.

They’re stuck and completely at the mercy of their enemies, with no hope of escape. No hope at all.

“It’s a shame to waste a soul,” Pride remarks quietly, sounding as though he’s talking to himself as he stares at the struggling doctor. His eyes lower lazily and focus on Riza. “When we have a perfectly good one right there.”

“Do it, Pride,” Bradley repeats, snapping this time. His mask is slipping.

Pride’s gaze lingers on her for a fraction of a second longer before turning back to look at the Colonel. His expression is unbothered by what he’s about to do. The complete opposite to the terror Riza can feel building within her.

You’re going to die, and he’s going to be forced through the gate.

“What will be taken from you Colonel, I wonder?”

Roy’s pained scream fills the air and infiltrates the gaps between her ribs. The sound cuts through her painfully, rattling her bones and constricting around her heart. She was supposed to prevent something like this from happening, but she didn’t.

Her vision fades and blurs even more intensely than before as the blue light from the human transmutation turns almost white. She cannot breathe. She cannot think.

The light winks out, leaving nothingness. The doctor falls to the ground, rolling slightly from the impact but Riza can no longer focus enough to determine what has happened to him.

You’re dying and he’s gone.

There was still a chance… A toll must be paid to pass through the gate so he may return alive, able to press on forward and achieve their goals and beat the bastards who did this to them today…

But it will be without her.

As Riza lies there, in a pool of her own blood, hearing her comrades call desperately out to her, a tear escapes from her lids and runs down her temple. She’s breaking her promise to the Colonel, to Roy. She’s leaving him, but it’s against her will, just like he had been forced through the gate against his.

She doesn’t want to leave him.

Images are flashing through his mind as he travels to the gate. It’s too much to bear inside his head. It feels like information is being stuffed into his brain far too quickly, and there’s too much. It’s overflowing. He sees snippets of his life, his past, and perhaps, what is yet to come?

Then there’s Riza, lying on the ground, clutching at her neck and lying in a pool of her own blood, but Roy blinks and she’s gone.

“Riza,” he gasps, the memory of what was done to her penetrating the fog inside his brain. It consumes him and his eyes squeeze closed. It does nothing though, it’s all he can see. It’s seared into his brain. He cannot escape the image of her dying, and him unable to help her.

The white room he suddenly finds himself in is featureless and unforgiving in its brightness. It hurts his eyes. Roy is reeling from arriving in the sudden and jarring expanse of white nothingness he finds himself in after passing through the gate, but he still squints and looks around frantically, looking for Riza, for some familiarity, momentarily forgetting himself as he’s overcome with his grief.

“What happened to her?” He demands an answer from the white being with the chilling smile. “Where is she?”

His questions go unanswered. When Roy starts to advance on it, the being simply smiles at him. After he takes about five steps, something secures around his aching wrist and jerks him backwards. Looking frantically down, wondering what is halting his approach, he realises with horror that these… things look similar to what Pride had used to restrained him before within the circle.

Not again.

“Is she okay?” His frantic cries are ignored.

Roy fights the tiny hands but there is no use. He cannot best them and it's worthless to try, but he continues to shout, beg, and pressure the smiling being to tell him what happened to Riza. To ask if she’s all right and going to live.

He has to. He needs to know.

Roy is drawn backwards, through a towering doorway, and into an inky black existence. Just like before, the last image he sees before everything goes black is chills him to his core. That white thing is still smiling at him in the distance, and for the first time since arriving there, Roy’s hoarse voice falters.

He will not receive any answers. He can yell until he is blue in the face, but no one will tell him if she’s okay, if she’s alive, or what happened to her. Terror was a constant companion after seeing Bradley’s sword slice through Riza’s flesh, but now panic was threating to overcome him once again.

Roy cannot lose her. He can’t.

The doors slam with a finality, leaving him in complete darkness that Roy gets the feeling he will never be able to escape from.

He’s blind.

The last thing he saw was Truth’s unnerving smile, and before that it was Riza on the floor, bleeding out and dying in front of him. That image was the last thing he saw in this world and it’s burned into his mind forever. It will not leave him be in his sudden pitch-black world.

He hates it. Abhors it. He wants to escape it but can’t. It’s with him always. A companion that lays out all of his failings before him. Roy chokes when he thinks about how she was left lying there, alone, critically injured, and he did nothing, could do nothing, to help or ease her pain.

Father tosses him around like a ragdoll, but Roy is still trying to adjust to being blind. He’s blinking furiously, hoping it will all turn out to be a horrible nightmare, but it’s futile. No matter how many times he blinks he cannot shift that image of her.

Is she even still alive?

He will not accept anything less.

“Sir?”

His head whips up and swings around frantically in its search. Roy thinks he may have been mistaken but… It is entirely possible his mind is playing a cruel trick on him, but he would also recognise her voice anywhere.

There’s a pressure on his forearm that commandeers his attention.

“Roy?”

The voice sounds scratchy. It catches as it pronounces the ‘y’ in his name, but Roy is filled instantly with recognition. The muscles of his face go slack as he stares wide eyed, yet unseeing, at the person he knows is in front of him.

Relief explodes within him. Muscles all over his body quiver and shake with it, and Roy cannot help himself. Every consequence, and everyone else, be damned. He surges forwards and upwards to his knees to wrap his arms – albeit clumsily – around Riza Hawkeye’s shoulders tightly.

He doesn’t even need her to confirm it. He knows it’s her by the smell of her shampoo and the faint smell of her perfume. It’s barely there underneath the smell of blood and the day’s grime, but it’s there, with him. It anchors Roy completely and tears surge into his eyelids.

“You’re alive,” he whispers.

Hands clutch desperately at his back. “I’m alive,” she confirms quietly.

Roy doesn’t care. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, and as an afterthought he realises he was lucky. It was not her injured side his face happened upon. Underneath his lips her skin is smooth and unmarked by the homunculi’s cruelty.

Roy inhales deeply and his eyes squeeze tightly closed as he savours the feeling of holding her, of knowing she is alive.

The last time he saw her, she was bleeding out. Dying. Chance, fate, or whoever, were smiling upon him today though, and Roy is grateful. He will take it. Roy doesn’t question her survival, just takes it at face value because that’s all he’s ever wanted in this last traumatic hour.

She’s alive.

Riza is alive.

His worst fear, his nightmare, had not come to pass after all, when it had seemed so likely before and he’d been left floundering, not knowing what the outcome would be.

The ‘how’ can come later. A tear escapes from beneath his closed lids and Roy simply rejoices in that fact while they have a quiet moment together. Another one follows suit when one of her hands lifts to rest upon the back of his head and pats it twice. It seems like a simple, friendly gesture, but he can feel the way the fingers of her other hand tighten their pressure upon his back. She’s still clinging to him and does not let up.

She’s alive. He can’t see her, but he can feel her touch and hear her breath.

“Are you okay?”

He wants to laugh. The joy bubbles up inside his chest when he hears the concern laced within her voice, simply because he is so happy to hear it.

Even if he cannot see her, this is enough for now.

“Are you?” He has no time to focus on himself. Not when the last time he saw her, she was so near death.

“Mei patched me up,” Riza explains, sounding hoarse.

Roy vows that owes that young alchemist a life debt. He will work until his dying breath to ensure it is paid for saving Riza’s life.

He pulls her in hurriedly for another embrace. It affirms that she is really there and breathing, and alive.

What he’s about to say is risky, but he’s in the mood for it. After what they’d just been through, Roy feeds the impulse because he needs her to know what he’s truly thinking.

Just in case.

When it came to Riza Hawkeye, his decisions always did have the tendency to be ruled by his heart, and while Riza still involved her heart completely, she was always the more level-headed and reasonable one, given their circumstances as subordinate and commanding officer.

Still, the situation called for it.

“I love you.” It’s whispered against the skin of her neck. Roy knows Riza hears him because her body stiffens with surprise.

Riza doesn’t respond until after a beat or two. It’s a simple nod, but it’s enough to know she acknowledges what he’s said. Roy doesn’t expect her to reply. They both know where they stand with one another and have done for years. The first time the sentiment had been expressed was after he returned from the academy, so this is not a shock revelation. It’s a means of comfort. A reassurance. And Roy feels it needs to be said. It’s also been a while since he’d last said those words to her, but right now it feels like it’s been too long. Another wrong in his book, but one he could correct immediately.

“I love you too, Roy.”

He blinks, surprised that she has said it back to him among the company of so many people, but they must not be paying attention to them.

Roy tightens his arms around her.

She’s alive, and she knows how he feels about her.

She knows.

They both do.

She’s okay.

That one thought eases all of his fears and leaves him feeling light, like he’s floating on air, so he buries his face into the crook of her neck once more to find an anchor.

[presumenothing]

Would you ever write uhhhhh Wrath!Riza AU?

your brain, anon. i like it

-

aqua regia (for destruction, ice) // AO3

Not all that burns is fire. 

(Or: Riza becomes Wrath.)

-

i. 

In another world Riza Hawkeye might have asked the Flame Alchemist to burn away the circle on her back, might have looked at those scars in the mirror and pretended they could lift any of the weight from her shoulders.

In this world that is the least dangerous of everything Wrath carries: a stone at her core red as her eye behind the rifle scope, as hands complicit in plans to burn up this country tearing the heavens from their sky.

She cannot walk away from death as easily as Lust or Envy can, but when the elixir had slid into her veins Riza had burned from the inside and Wrath had walked away with that fire still in her veins, always searing beneath skin that she doubts mortal flame can scar.

(“Now hold still, dear girl,” the scientist had said, gold tooth gleaming dull in lab-light, “it’ll hurt worse if you struggle,” and Riza had remembered Berthold Hawkeye saying the same thing to Wrath at ten and fifteen and eighteen, red on her skin red underneath red burning its way into her heart, and it had been a lie then too.)

.

ii.

Wrath is angry at everyone and everything at once; furious at the ones who had found a cadet with steady hands and steadier soul and saw fit to unmake that, at herself, at those who knew how blood-drenched this country was and kept painting it anyway. The first time she had seen Roy Mustang again she would have snapped his neck clean in half if not for the knowledge of how valuable State Alchemists were in the chessboard of this country.

(That, and her own distaste for the heat of blood over her own hands. Riza has heard enough from Father and the other homunculi to surmise that the previous incarnations of Wrath had loved blood like the edge of a blade freshly sharpened on diamond.

But she is a sniper – the best markswoman Amestris has ever seen, even before they gave her an eye that could see through anything. Why else would they have chosen her?)

She is the Hawk’s Eye, the Fury of Ishval, hell and its woman scorned all in one, and she makes it known in constellations of bullets and impossible shots, precise and deadly as any alchemist’s array.

Riza had been angry too, when she had let herself be, but hers is a cold ire, locked beneath glaciers and the burn of frostbite.

Wrath makes no such pretences. Wrath answers to a dead woman’s name, and Officer – Lieutenant – Major Hawkeye holds her anger boiling right under the surface, scalds her hands in it and fires the next shot.

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iii.

Roy Mustang holds her at a careful arm’s length.

It might’ve been offensive if it weren’t so ironic. He of all humans should know what it means to hold flame in your hands: let one weakness slip and fire would burn it right through like so much dry grass.

Then again, maybe it’s that same familiarity that breeds wariness. Riza would hardly know. Fury is not the absence of fear, but in her case it’s fairly close anyway.

Either way, it’s the same distance that prevents Mustang from recognising Wrath’s work in doctoring the Elric brothers’ documents a whole two decades older. 

He decides to take Havoc with him, citing something about the persuasion of fellow Easterners; Riza remains in East Command and doesn’t wonder how he will react to finding out that the alchemists he is looking to enlist as human weapons are just barely a third his age.

Not even half of hers, unless you counted the several years since she had become Wrath. 

Company for you, Riza thinks none too quietly, and Wrath bristles, shoving her away to wrest back control.

(Riza lets her. This is exactly the duty she’d been assigned – locating potential sacrifices among the State Alchemists and beyond, so there’s not even any insubordination for Wrath to report, even if she won’t realise until much later how spot on she’d been to find one who’d already been through the Gate.

For now she listens to the Flame Alchemist’s empty-handed return from Resembool, hears him say with seemingly unwarranted certainty I saw the fire in his eyes, and this time she does wonder how he can notice that yet miss the same thing in hers.

Riza knows what she sees in the mirror, after all, even if she always has one eye hidden behind a false lens and swept fringe.)

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iv.

Wrath, unsurprisingly, finds the Fullmetal Alchemist an absolute riot. 

Eight pints of unrefined rage wrapped in red with the volume cranked up to fifty percent past maximum, and if you had asked anyone at all to name one person in this room who might be the personification of fury itself – well.

Edward Elric gets angry in a way that neither of them know how to be. Riza runs cold where Wrath veers hot, but it’s always controlled, the reins another line in the delicate balance between them; in contrast Edward is an explosion, angry and incandescent with it, and sometimes Riza almost wishes they were like that too.

(No you don’t, Wrath mutters over the scratch of a pen.

Riza blinks and sighs, blacking out a line of expletives about Hakuro and the latest shitshow he’d thrown at them; homunculi weren’t much for paperwork. It’d make some things easier, you have to admit. He gets things done.

Like getting himself nearly killed three separate times in a week, ooh, aren’t you supposed to be babysitting the sacrifices, Wrath? I’d like to see them doing it–

Riza doesn’t sigh again, but it’s close.)

Neither of them feel particularly bad about keeping silent over the Elrics’ search when she’s sitting right here, but on Riza’s part it’s mostly because she’s seen enough to be certain that Edward at least would never use a Philosopher’s Stone if he learned what had gone into its making.

Wrath is just looking forward to the day he does find out. Now that’ll be something to watch.

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v.

She meets Greed walking down a hallway one afternoon, nodding cordially at the flurry of salutes as he passes each of his people.

Wrath doesn’t miss a beat with her own salute. “Your Excellency.”

“At ease, Major,” the Fuhrer replies with a wave of his hand, but he slows down anyway. “I hear young Elric has made some – acquaintances, shall we say, from Xing with exceptional sensing capabilities. He does collect the most interesting people. I’m impressed.”

“Fullmetal doesn’t take kindly to being called young, sir,” Riza says. “I did hear the same, but I haven’t had the chance of meeting them yet.”

(Not for the first time, she wonders why they had thought it a good idea to put Amestris and all that it represents in Greed’s hands. If humans are possessions to be had, what stopped him from deciding that he’d rather keep it all for himself in the end?)

The Fuhrer smiles, benign as any lethal poison. “Let me know if you’d like some time back in the East, I’m sure your grandfather would enjoy a visit too.”

“I have my duties here, and I’m afraid I’m not much of a chess player. It would only bore General Grumman.”

Wrath’s hands do not tense at her sides, but only because they’re both too disciplined for that. Her aim is every bit as true as his swords, and she might not be able to die and walk away unscathed but neither can Greed; how dare he, Riza thinks.

How dare he, Wrath seethes in agreement, and perhaps it’s time to let some things slip to the Elrics after all.

(She is angry at them, for taking this entire plan one-and-a-half steps closer to fruition, but Riza is angry at everyone; this is just par for the course.

The difference is that she is even angrier for them. Riza barely remembers her mother, and if Berthold had still been alive Wrath would have killed him anyway, so she cannot honestly say that she understands the Elrics in that regard.

But Edward rages at the universe demanding equivalency from it while Alphonse aims cuttingly sharp remarks and wonders about his humanity in the next breath. They would be furious if they knew, anger burning hot and frigid cold, and she is Wrath and Riza Hawkeye and both and neither – this, she understands.)

.

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+1.

“There was something I’d wanted to ask of you, after Ishval, if – things had been different,” Mustang finishes blindly in more ways than the literal, and it’s irritating what a production he can make out of not saying if I hadn’t mistrusted you.

Riza’s fringe is properly out of her eyes for the first time in years, not that he can see it, and she’d walked away from the Promised Day essentially unscathed but the Philosopher’s Stone is gone now along with Wrath; if she did ask the Flame Alchemist to burn away the circle after regaining his eyesight it would even scar over properly.

She won’t. She knows she won’t. 

Wrath had known it too. Riza still hasn’t quite parsed the jumbled impressions of those last moments, but above all of it there had been mirth. Amusement, because they had both looked at Riza’s soul unfolding around them and recognised the anger there that was hers. Had always been, only shut away and sunk deep in ice. 

If she has any fire in her veins now it is only proverbial, but she is still the Hawk’s Eye, the Fury of Ishval, and there’s more than enough left to burn the next person who tries to lay hands on her.

She looks at Roy Mustang now and continues to not snap his neck because he might be the best hope for this sorry excuse of a country, and anyway if she strangled an injured man in his hospital bed Wrath would laugh at her from another plane and say told you so, he had it coming.

“I’d rather you continue not asking it, Colonel,” Riza says, controlled as ever, but the anger is her own and she relishes the cold-hot burn of it. “I was Wrath, sir, consider yourself lucky that I didn’t let my finger slip on the trigger anytime during Ishval.”

Mustang winces, like he’d managed to avoid consciously putting it together until this point. “I suppose that, ah, rather answers it anyway. So that’s a no to supporting my bid for presidency?”

“That depends on your plans. Which you can tell me about after I’ve returned from my month’s worth of personal leave,” she adds pointedly, and turns to go instead of adding that Greed’s not exactly a high bar to beat anyway. “Have a speedy recovery, sir. Good day.”

Mustang’s expression as the door closes suggests that he’s actually okay with having a second-in-command that has been angry at him for years, and she’s… not sure what to do with that, really, but maybe she can work with it. Maybe.

(Fury is not the absence of fear, nor a dearth of kindness; the Elrics are proof enough of that. Riza knows what she saw in the mirror this morning, familiar and foreign all at once, and she’ll just have to figure out the rest from there.

Perhaps she’ll drop by Resembool and stay for a bit. She’s not angry at anyone there, not anymore – it might be a nice change of pace for once.)

.

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EDIT: NOW WITH ART FROM ART

(more fics here)

oh boy. this was literally stream of consciousness on my part with even less planning than usual, impossible as that sounds – all i knew i wanted was for wrath!riza to be much more like greed!ling than wrath!bradley, because otherwise what would be the point. 

but then even as i was writing i realised how many people riza would have reason to be angry at, justified or otherwise: roy for the whole flame alchemy thing, the elrics for getting into this mess, even grumman for leaving her with berthold if he’d even suspected what was going on (and for the record, wrath would 100% killed berthold on riza’s behalf if he hadn’t already been dead)

and then i dithered on how to finish this (and indeed whether to finish it at all, i was tempted to throw hands after the second to third sections) but then my three brain cells summarily went GIVE RIZA HAWKEYE AGENCY GIVE IT BACK TO HER and fuck yeah i agreed. so here we are. in this verse roy never asks her the whole “guard my back but also shoot me if i go wrong” thing, because it’d just be… utterly ridiculous, in context, and also it’s possible that riza ends up leaving the military entirely or goes to support olivier for fuhrer instead. wrath would certainly appreciate the hell outta that

anyway this is a mess and probably the most ooc riza i have ever written but i hope y’all enjoyed it anyway

title notes: aqua regia aka regal water, a nitric/hydrochloric acide mixture so named by alchemists for dissolving noble metals like gold + a bit cribbed straight off robert frost

[krisseycrystal]

rated: t

fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

prompt: “I’ve Got Your Fower, Babe” w/ Ed/Ling

requested by: @greecllings

my next fluff bingo prompt!!! THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE AH bless made me realize how much i need to write more of these two. damn they’re so fun. hope u enjoy !!

also feel free to request anything you see open on my fluff bingo! card!! 

- o - o - o -

Your Fool [Read on AO3]

Or, five times Ling held Ed’s proverbial flower while he threw himself headfirst into a fight, and one time Ed returned the favor.

- o - o - o -

The first time it happens, Ling isn’t prepared for the red jacket unceremoniously dumped in his arms. He is hardly prepared for the sight of Edward rolling his flesh shoulder, either, swearing up a storm as he strolls up to a stranger, shouting, “Hey! You wanna go? Yeah! Then let’s fucking go, bastard!”

This is why you let me be in charge, sneers the voice in his head. You clearly can’t control him.

“I don’t want to control him,” Ling confesses quietly, mesmerized as he watches Edward suplex a fellow automail wearer two or three times his size. “I wouldn’t get to see this happen.”

Whatever chaotic majesty of mud-wrestling the shit out of a random nobody this is. 

Why was Edward fighting this guy again?

Greed doesn’t answer until the brawl is nearly finished. Ling can practically hear a smug, knowing grin in his voice. Why, your highness…enjoying what you see?

Ling smiles. 

Despite what the homunculus likes to pride himself on, Greed hasn’t managed to know Ling inside and out yet if he thinks he’s going to get a rise out of him with that kind of poking-and-prodding.

“Of course I am,” he hums as he watches Ed once again drop the giant boulder of an ex-soldier into the dirt with a squelch. Ed is covered with the brown muck; it soils the golden shine of his braided hair and smears pale bronze of his sun-warm skin. It sticks the white button-up he wears close to his form. But the toothy grin the alchemist sends the prince’s way over his shoulder afterwards is still, somehow, pearly white. 

Ling’s fingers dig into the scarlet red of Ed’s jacket.

“Wow,” Greed and Ling say at the same time, but for entirely different reasons.

- o - o - o -

It’s funny to watch the ones who underestimate Edward. Sometimes, it’s the alchemist’s height that throws people off. The fools pick a fight because they think it’s an easy win. They say something uncalled for and Ed, inevitably, rises to the bait. 

Ling’s favorites are the ones that assume Ed is weak or slow because of his automail.

They are hunkering on the outside of an already-pretty-outskirt town up north that’s not north enough to be covered with snow year-round, but north enough to be hilly and craggly and with one of those neighborhoods that’s considered “historical” or some shit like that. It’s Greed and Ling’s turn for a supply run but Greed never does any actual chores so it’s Ling that sets out after guilting a sour-faced Ed to follow him as the pair of arms that will carry their bags back to camp. 

Except it’s somewhere along the way from the pharmacy to the grocery that Ling realizes he’s lost Ed and he’s not entirely sure how or why until he finds him in an alleyway between two dilapidated glasswork buildings. His flesh shoulder is pressed to the wall. Three burly men surround him.

The bag of medicine is held loosely in his hand.

“Well?” one of the idiots presses. The ringleader, if Ling had to guess.

Ling half-wonders if he should wait but then thinks what Ed would say if he knew he just stood there, so he puts a flat hand to the side of his mouth. “Yo, Ed! I’m open!”

“What?”

The muggers’ split-second of confusion ends the instant the white plastic pharmacy bag lands in Ling’s open hands and Ed’s metal fist collides with the jaw of the one pinning him to the wall. 

The fight is, rather unfortunately, over in a matter of seconds.

“Bastards.” Ed rings the wrist of his flesh hand with cool, metal fingers as he stands above them.

“H-how…?” the one now missing a tooth and eating snow to pay for it, rasps. “The hell’s a kid with automail so fast…?”

“You haven’t ever actually met someone with automail, have you?” The frown on Ed’s face is heavy and thick. Disapproving.

There’s something about the silence of the shamed privileged that Ling, who is undoubtedly yes, another privileged, will never tire of.

Ling’s chest is warm with pride. There’s a thousand and one more words he thinks he’d like to say to thumb-tack on to the end of this conversation. Something that will nail the idea into these thick knuckleheads that they are fools to have ever thought people who go through something like automail surgery are weak prey. 

But the words never make themselves out of his mouth because he must have a pretty dumb look on his face.

Ed’s giving him a weird stare. “What?”

“What?”

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Play it cool. Play it cool. “Like what?”

Ed’s nose scrunches up. He shakes his head. The ends of his golden tail dance against his shoulder-blades. “Whatever. We’ve got groceries to get, right?”

“Right.”

- o - o - o -

They reach the slums of Kanema and for the first time in who-knows-how-long, Edward sees his father, which is precisely when Ling prompts Greed to stick out their arm.

Ling can feel the question on Greed’s tongue that doesn’t surface. Maybe he’s already figured out the answer, because for the first time ever, the homunculus listens to him and outstretches one hand. Nearly immediately, the sleeping roll Edward had tucked under his arm flies into it as Ed flies at his father.

Oooo. Nice sucker punch. And at his old man, too. 

He’s holding back, Ling hums. 

It’s perhaps the only time Greed has ever willingly held something not his own.

- o - o - o -

For as many strengths as Edward Elric has, he has just as many weaknesses. Chief among them is his prioritization of Alphonse at the cost of anything and everything else, especially of his person. Though Ling supposes these faults are a given when said younger brother was the reason Edward had, for so many years, only one arm.

There is a period of time in between the Promised Day and when Ling ought to return to Xing that both Elrics are hospitalized as their bodies recover from their selective transformations. It is during these days that Edward, just as Ling predicts he will, doesn’t leave Alphonse’s side.

Ling, in turn, for some reason, though he tells himself over and over again it’s not because he misses the constant company of the damn voice in his head, hardly leaves Ed’s.

Riza Hawkeye convinces Ed to step away once Alphonse has gotten used to sleeping. The boy falls to slumber at odd, random moments, but he loves every minute of it. Edward, as Riza points out, can’t make water boil any faster by watching it.

So Ling oh-so-generously follows on Ed’s heels to the cafeteria because if there’s one thing Ed could be productive at while his brother is resting, it’s feeding himself and the future Emperor of Xing who really should be halfway across the desert by now but who’s keeping track.

Their trays of food are in their hands when they catch wind of a joke from a nearby table. Something about the amount of food on someone’s tray and that “twig kid” who could probably use it and oh, speaking of which, have you seen that guy? Supposed to be one of those amazing alchemists Mustang likes? He looks like something out of a horror movie--

--and Ling takes Edward’s tray out of his left hand without Ed even needing to ask.

Briefly, Ling wonders if it’s any use warning Ed he shouldn’t be using the arm still in its sling, but then he sees the look of terror on the military visitors’ faces and he doesn’t think of it again.

- o - o - o -

After months of separation and penned “I miss you’s” scribbled out to be replaced with, “How’s the winter in Creta?” Edward finally finishes his westward travels and returns home. And after he’s in Resembool for a month, or maybe it’s two, he relents to Ling’s persistent, annoying letters and agrees to visit Xing.

Alphonse warns Ling over and over again that Edward will be grumpy when he arrives. 

“He wasn’t kidding,” the young man says with earnest eyes that look so much like his brother’s, “when he said the reason he wasn’t going to travel east was because of his automail. It’s not going to be easy for him to cross that desert.”

Ling promises it will be fine. He will arrange for every comfort; Ed will want for nothing and know no pain during his journey.

Edward arrives on Ling’s palatial front doorstep with burns up his left thigh and a crick in his back and two sun-bitten ears and with a new straw hat Ling has never seen him wear before clenched tight in his hand. The instant Ed sees Ling, he launches into a train of expletives about the abysmal care that had been afforded to him and if Ling really wanted to see him so bad how come he didn’t give him a car instead of a horse and damn it he’s thirsty.

One of the horsemen handling his luggage mumbles something Ling doesn’t hear and immediately, Ed is on him.

It is second nature to grab the crumpled straw hat as it flies through the air.

Alphonse makes a strangled noise of distress, exhaustion, and maybe a little of, “I don’t know what I was expecting.” He launches himself down the steps at Edward to pull him off the attendant. “Brother!”

Ling has never seen anything more wonderful in his life. 

He plops the straw hat on his head and smiles.

- o - o - o -

It shouldn’t have to be said that an emperor does not fight.

It is assumed and understood that an emperor has trained assassins and warriors for a reason: that they handle his battles for him. He does not throw down his gauntlet or undo his robe. He is above the dirtying of his hands. He should not have to stoop to irrational, emotional displays. He is detached. His will is executed, while he can remain unchallenged.

But before he is an emperor, Ling is Ling.

And Ling is a lover.

And there comes the day he and Edward share a secret kiss behind the orchid tree in his palatial gardens and their fingers intertwine and that is the day that changes everything.

Edward has changed over the years.

So has Ling.

But Ling cannot and will not change his loyalty.

They are walking in the gardens together, again, as they have found that they like to do after they changed from two “I’s” to a together “we.” Ling idly spins an orchid they had found fallen on the stone pathway. Edward walks at his side, hands folded behind his back. Ling looks to him and smiles and thinks how badly Edward would hate to hear how much he looks like his father, now.

Then they hear the murmurings of a handful of court scholars who are also, at this early afternoon hour, taking refuge in the gardens. 

They hear Edward’s name.

It’s either “fucking ex-alchemist” or “fucking an ex-alchemist” and “for what?” in the same breath but Ling doesn’t want to nor need to hear the rest.

Edward’s dark scowl is replaced with confusion at the orchid dropped in the center of his palm. When he sees Ling’s face, however, even that melts away into a handsome, devilish smirk that Ling would hungrily press against his mouth if his hands weren't busy rolling up his robe sleeves.

“All right,” Ed says and twirls the orchid stem in between fingers that were once metal. “I’ve got your flower, babe.”

Ling does not round the hedge corner as an emperor. 

[experimentaldata]

When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go

A Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood fic. 2748 words. Rated T - Smoking and alcohol mentions, war mention, mild language. Set in Season 1 roughly, pre Maes-Hughes-you know what. 

6:00 PM = Ed

   It was raining again. He hated the rain.

Not as much as the Colonel, of course. It’s not like it rendered him totally useless. But losing his limbs had turned him into a human barometer. Each drop in the pressure meant that his stumps ached, and the the pain usually lasted until the weather changed. He’d woken up the night before from the pain, then slept uneasily until it was time to report for duty that morning, careful not to stir. He didn’t want Al to see how much it hurt him. Al had enough to worry about as it was. And he’d only blame himself. Ed could see the looks Al gave him when he thought he wasn’t looking. So he’d stayed still, and gotten up like he normally did, exuding only his typical amount of grumpiness. Thankfully, their day hadn’t involved a lot of moving around. They’d spent it in the East City library, reading and re-reading alchemy texts until Ed’s eyes ached almost as much as his arm and leg. Lieutenant Hawkeye had borrowed the Colonel’s car to drive them back to their hotel room, and left them with a picnic box for dinner, courtesy of the Hughes.

    Ed ate the entire crock of chicken soup and four whole wheat rolls despite himself. It had been a long day, and the warmth from the food sank into every crevice, warming him inside and out. He described the taste to Al, who added it to the “to eat after my body’s back” list. The pain receded to the background as he ate. In its absence, he felt hollowed out - the tension keeping him on alert had finally let loose. Then it hit him. The wall he had held up all day against fatigue was finally breached. That darned soup. He told Al not to wait up for him, he was just gonna finish some research in their room. And he tried, he really did. Sprawled out on the bed, his jacked and boots tossed over the chair in the corner, he willed his eyes to stay open. Just one more page. Maybe chaper 5 of Complete Biological Processes for Alchemists would have the answer. Maybe if he held his head up. Loosened his collar. Put his head on his arm. Rested his eyes just for a second.

8:00 = Al

    Al hadn’t heard from Ed in awhile. He wondered how long it would take him to fall asleep. Ed thought he could hide it, but Al knew it had been a bad pain day. He always knew. It must’ve been really bad for him to go to bed this early--usually he stayed up at least until he had eaten dessert. The double slice of cherry pie Mrs. Hughes had packed was still on the table though, next to the bottle of milk, both untouched. Al could only imagine how warm and fragrant that pie was. He scribbled a note about it in his food journal, then went to go check on his brother. As he suspected, Ed was sprawled out face-down on the bed, his head laying on his right arm. His shirt was hiked up a bit from tossing and turning, and one of his socks had fallen to the floor. Al shook his head. Sleeping with his tummy out again. And no blanket. He crossed the room softly and laid the blanket from his bed over his brother. Ed didn’t move. Out like a light, he thought.

    He sat down in the chair by Ed’s bedside. It would be nice to sleep himself. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to fall asleep. He remembered so much about what it was like to have a body - he could imagine the taste of foods he’d tried before, the feeling of his favorite clothes and blankets, even smells he liked. Falling asleep, however, was a memory that eluded him - it was something you felt by not feeling anything, after all. But about a year into heir quest to get their bodies back, he had developed a work-around. He couldn’t sleep anymore, at least not like other people. But he could dream. It had started as small bursts of deja vu during the lonely nights he spent watching over Ed. Over time, he had figured out how to enter his memories at will each night, reliving them in a daze until he lost track of time. It wasn’t quite as good as sleeping, but it took him away from this body, and this strange place they were living, if only for a few hours. He leaned back in his chair and looked inward, calling up whatever memory his soul decided to play back for him tonight. And then Winry walked into the classroom, and those boys were teasing her, and he was telling Ed not to--

10:00 = Riza

    Riza felt like a frayed rope. The week had been meetings on top of PT exams on top of paperwork Roy forgot to file. She’d strangle that man, Colonel or not, one of these days. All he had to do was sign his name and save the both of them from a week of heartache and a note to his file. But that might get in the way of his sucking-up time. Stupid state dinners, that sort of thing, she thought with a laugh. She poured herself another ounce of bourbon and sighed. It was getting late. Black Hayate was curled up in her lap, twitching in his sleep every so often. Probably hunting rabbits in his sleep, she thought with a smile. At least one man in my life never lets me down.

    She took a long sip of her drink and sighed, letting her head sink into the back of the chair. No end in sight to all this chaos. Roy’s ambitions of becoming Fuhrer and current position as colonel meant he was forever in strategy meetings, personnel conferences, and diplomatic events. And he always wanted the hawk’s eye there to watch his back. She could read a room faster than he could blink, and their five-minute post-meeting conferences proved more useful than weeks of departmental consulting. Never mind that she had her own men to attend to, and that she was stuck cleaning up the mess after Roy was inevitably late with something, again. And he wonders why I drink, she thought. Well, that was one reason. There were other reasons why she needed help from a bottle to sleep at night. But she wasn’t going to dwell on that. No need to remember the past, in all its technicolor gore and misery. That was then. This was now. Now was a fireplace, and an armchair, and Black Hayate snoring, and her clock chiming - ten o’clock already? Better head to bed, then. Early morning PT drill tomorrow, and she had some new recruits to beat some sense into. Slowly, she peeled herself up from her chair, swaying slightly as Black Hayate jumped down off her lap. She laughed at his little sleepy whine and--was that a hiccough? Damn. She’d had more than she thought. Oh well. Her head was going to hurt tomorrow regardless. She slunk back to her bedroom, undressed down to her undershirt and threw herself into bed.

12:00 = Jean

    What a night. First the cafe, a delectable steak and an even more delectable date. Damn, he thought, flipping over onto his back and pulling the blanket up. She was so hot. His eyes danced across the void of the ceiling as he traced the memory. From the cafe to that dive bar, where she had impressed him with both the quality of her conversation and the quantity of shots she could take down. She could drink him under the table, he thought, if they were going for that. But this was a Thursday night, so they left the bar and went instead to...a dance hall. Jean wasn’t exactly sure how that had happened. But he was sure of how he felt watching her move through the crowd. She had waist-length hair that tumbled down in waves to her waist, swaying as she did in time to the music. He chuckled to himself, and kicked his feet out from under the blanket. Still feeling the warmth from that one, he thought. He hadn’t wanted that night to end. But by eleven, the weeknight crowd had started to thin out, and in the absence of its energy, their conversation had stalled. A few minutes later, he was waving sadly at the bus as she sped off to her apartment. He stumbled back to his, alone.

    He didn’t know what it was about him. Every date he had had for the past long while started out well enough. They would talk, offer a cigarette, maybe get a coffee. Something would spark. They’d go out. And at about the 6-hour-of-acquaintance mark, she’d mumble some excuse about an early morning shift, or an elderly aunt, or...he thought one girl had even made up a kid sister she needed to babysit. Regardless, they’d thank him for the lovely evening, and there he’d be. Sleeping alone, like he always did. He heard the clock in his neighbor’s apartment strike midnight. Tomorrow morning was gonna be rough, he thought. He had to report at--0400? 0430? Sometime. The lieutenant would have his head on a plate if he was late one more time. Sleep. Now. Gotta focus on not focusing, Jean. Don’t focus on falling asleep. Just let it happen. Just breathe. In and out. In. Out. in. out. in...out...

2:00 = Gracia

    Being a mom is hard work, Gracia’s mother had told her. She remembered it well. That day when they had finally made it to her family’s hometown, six months after they found out they were going to have Elysia. Her mom had thrown a big party at her childhood home, and invited all the surrounding friends and relations to stuff themselves on her home cooking and wish the newlyweds well. Gracia joked that she was trying to make everyone as fat-looking as she was to save face. Her mom had just laughed. And that’s when she told her, her eyes blinking back proud tears, how hard it was to be a mom, and how proud she was that Gracia was going to be one. It was one of her favorite memories of her mother. Her mother lived just long enough after that to see her granddaughter one time, on her first birthday. Three generations of her family were under the same roof, for the first and last time she could remember. It was heavenly. With her mother there, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

    What she wouldn’t give for some of that magical mom power right now, she thought. She could see Elysia’s outline in the doorway, lit from behind by the hall nightlight. Somehow she had woken up right as her daughter crossed the threshold of their room, though she couldn’t hear anything over Maes’ snoring. Must be that special sixth sense moms get. Elysia had thrown up, it turned out. Her little face was stained with tears. She had tried to clean it up herself with her blanket, then stood in the doorway until mommy woke up. She knew she would. She was right. One set of fresh sheets, a warm washcloth, and a changed nightgown later, and her baby girl was tucked into bed again. She looked up at her mother and tugged at her sleeve. Would mommy sleep with her tonight? Gracia sighed. Between the kicking, the stuffed animal tossing, and the sleep talking (she inherited this from her father), sleeping with mommy meant mommy not sleeping much at all. But those brown eyes looked up at her, and Gracia melted the same as she did the first time she saw them. Yes, mommy will sleep here tonight. And now, installed in the toddler bed with her daughter’s feet planted in the small of her back, there was nowhere else she’s rather be.

4:00 = Pinako

    Old age changes a person. It used to be, Pinako thought, shifting to her left side, that she could just look at a bed and fall asleep. A lifetime of hard work will do that to you. She had proudly worked her way through four years of uni, two more of automail training, and another two of apprenticeship without ever missing a night. Early mornings were when she got her best thinking done, anyway. And that’s how it had been for the past forty years. But as she neared seventy, things were changing. She slept fitfully now. Every small noise might wake her up, even the ones she was used to. Tonight, it was the dog barking at heaven only know’s what. She muttered some choice words and eased herself off of the bed. Better go shut that dog up before he wakes up anyone else.

     She found the dog on the porch, holding the freshly-killed mouse he had caught in his mouth. More like a cat, that one was. Well, it was good for him to earn his keep. She patted him on the head and sat down in her rocking chair. She had left her pipe on the end table beside it. Hmph. Getting forgetful in her old age as well as sleepless, she thought. She tamped down the bowl and lighted her pipe, blowing a test smoke ring out into the starry night sky. Yep, still got it. She smiled contentedly and smoked for awhile, the dog curled at her feet. It was quiet out here. A light breeze whispered in the apple trees her and Yuriy had planted so long ago. The pipe got a little too warm, so she set it down and just rocked for a while. Maybe I should just stay out here tonight, she thought. Not like I was getting much sleeping done inside. It was going to be time to get up in a few hours, anyway. Just stay here, keep rocking. Let the wind blow. Stay quiet. Be still. Rock back. And forth. and back. and forth.

6:00 = Roy

    Ishval. All he ever thought about these days was Ishval. The rain wasn’t helping. He had been stuck inside going to meetings all week. Mind-numbing stuff. This is not why he’d signed up to be a state alchemist. All these meetings and paperwork were getting in the way of...what? Sometimes, if he was being honest, Roy didn’t really know. At first, the path had been clear. Take this job, accept this assignment, fill out these forms. Drag yourself through enough mud, they’d assured him, and your gilded cage was waiting for you at the end. So he had, in central command, then at Briggs, and then - Ishval. There were some things you just couldn’t unsee, things that played out again and again on the blank wall you were staring at, trying desperately to put out the fires in your mind so you could sleep.

    Tonight, it was the hospital camp they had taken, early on in the conflict. His superior officer assured him that the wounded were to be taken alive, as prisoners, unless absolutely necessary for the safety of their men. The position they held was valuable, and wounded Ishvalans didn’t pose much of a threat. But of course there’d been complications. It was an ambush. The rebel troops burst at them from all directions, and the order was given to light up the camp. Together, he and Kimblee had reduced the entire area to ash and rubble. They’d celebrated that victory that night, bits of wheelchairs and stretchers littering the ground around their bonfire. Another victory like that might have killed him.

    Roy rolled over to his other side and willed himself to close his eyes. He hadn’t slept a wink all night. Make that the past three nights. Damn, this rain had to stop. He could hear it pattering merrily on the windowsill outside, mocking him. He felt so useless in the rain. Lately, he’d felt useless anywhere. What was this all even for? What was he trying to do? Could a country like Amestris really be saved? Could it come back from the brink of destruction? Could it ever atone for Ishval?

    Just as his mind had given up trying to solve that conundrum, he jerked awake. His clock struck 0600. Time to get up.

[zetalial]

My top 10 favourite FMA 03 episodes

Hey, I figured I’d make a list. Everyone likes lists, right?

This was going to be just the list but then I decided to add some thoughts and add pictures so now this is a long post… I’ll be counting down from my tenth favourite.

10. Episode 23: Fullmetal Heart/Heart of Steel (whichever title you prefer)

Odd choice, much? This is only a breather episode yet for some reason it’s one of my favourites. Maybe it’s because the characterisation of everyone is just great. You’ve got Edward, Maria Ross, Hughes, Winry and Alphonse all interacting and going through all the aftermath of Lab 5 and it’s just the kind of episode that appeals to me. It’s got some moments of humour as well as the angst. I’ve already made a separate post on this episode actually.

There’s a negative in that Al’s identity crisis is present here and that’s not my favourite arc. That actually gets more focus in the next episode though. I wouldn’t exactly call it an eventful episode either unless you love intense conversations like me. (Hughes is the best, by the way.)

9. Episode 8: The Philosopher’s Stone

Better known for being the Barry the Chopper episode. It also comes immediately after Nina so a lot of it deals with the aftermath of that. Of course, where Fullmetal Heart is a breather, this is the opposite. This is where the evil writers decide to twist the knife that was the Nina incident by putting our beloved 12 year old hero through even more emotional turmoil. As a lover of angst,  and exploring fallouts, I loved this episode. (I debated including the Nina episode, Night of the Chimera’s Cry, for this list but chose this one instead.) The encounter with Barry is always very striking, seeing how worked up Ed gets and how unnerved he is. Meanwhile you’ve got Al keeping a clearer head trying to move on while Ed’s not ready to yet. Meanwhile you’ve got other characters around but not able to provide comfort. Mustang, Riza, Winry, even Hughes.  Seeing human Barry adds to the lab 5 arc later on too.

Negatives might be that it’s too angsty, I can see it being a turn off. Villain is very blatantly evil. I personally don’t mind that sort of thing though. Also Winry is present but doesn’t do all that much.

8. Episode 17: House of the Waiting Family.

I swear this list isn’t all Breather episodes! But, yeah, this one deals with the fallout from the Scar battle some and does a bunch of other stuff. I’ve already made a separate post about this one too. It’s an episode of recovery, and family. Ed and Al embracing the past they’ve left behind once more. You’ve got Ed visiting his mother’s grave, Winry encouraging Ed and Al to come home again, Ed almost confessing his guilt about the transmutation to Al, Winry finding Ed’s watch and the message inside, Al having trouble remembering the past, Ed and AL reflecting on their home they lost. It’s a good reflective episode. Family is one of the central themes in FMA, and this episode certainly gives that feeling. It’s a pleasant episode with only a little angst and plenty of humour and heart.

7. Episode 31: Sin

I feel like this might be another odd choice? This is the moment where they reveal the origins of the homunculi and how they do it is absolutely enthralling. Izumi explaining how she tried to bring back her unborn child. Wrath letting himself be led to the island. Izumi attempting to strangle him, but unable to do it. Wrath strangling her. Ed and Al’s horror and instinctive denial as Wrath reveals what the story has been building up to. And there’s all the other stuff that’s going on to. Sloth and Envy fighting Greed. Kimblee and Archer meeting and agreeing to work together. Lust and Gluttony in a group of refugees, intending to cause trouble. This episode is so named to focus on the Homunculi and it very much does. The scene between Envy and Wrath is absolutely enthralling. These are the stories that FMA 03 thrives on, in my opinion.  It ends with Al of all people furiously attacking Wrath, so it’s hard to resist not going straight to the next episode.

6. Episode 47: Sealing the Homunculus

This one is right near the end of the series. I was sorely tempted to go with 48: Goodbye. These two are pretty equal in my mind really. This one is more exciting though. Lust is incredible, her fight with Wrath is one of my favourites, she can switch between being utterly ruthless and vulnerable in an instant. Her end completed her character arc in such a compelling way. She’s one of my favourite characters and you can see so much of it in this single episode. But she’s not alone! It’s also got Sloth and we finally get to understand her motivations and feelings while she also meets her demise. Ed and Al both go through more emotional turmoil even though it’s framed as a triumph for them. Wrath is being Wrath. And it leads so tantalisingly into the next episode.

Negatives might be how Al defending Sloth is a touch frustrating. Also Wrath is being Wrath. Yes that’s a positive and a negative.

5. Episode 13: Fullmetal vs Flame.

What’s that, a light-hearted humorous episode with only a small amount of angst? This episode is a gem. It pretty much ties up everything that came before and leads very naturally into everything that comes after. I’ve been thinking that if people wanted to watch 03 but have already seen BH, this one wouldn’t be a bad place to start if you don’t want to retread the beginning at a slower pace. (Though you do miss out on some nice episodes). Beyond that, this episode is loads of fun. The fight displays Mustang’s abilities well, shows off the relationship between him and Ed, Hughes is awesome as usual, Al has a cute cat and did I mention the scene where Mustang loves dogs? The little bit of angst mostly comes from Mustang and some trauma he has from Ishval, leading into the Scar battle next episode very well. He’s being built up great. This episode is simply awesome.

4. Episode 3: Mother

Ah, there’s the mix of darkness and family I love. I’m always mentioning this episode and I love how it explores Ed and Al’s past and shows their characters and how they decided to perform the human transmutation. At first it’s heartwarming and then it’s heartwrenching. Ed and Al have always been my favourite characters and seeing their backstory explored in such detail is wonderful. Have I mentioned the part where they walk away from their burning house while Bratja plays with Al narrating? How about Ed coldly standing at the grave swearing to bring their mother back while Alphonse is crying?

3. Episode 51: Laws and Promises

Right to the opposite end of the series. The last episode is so very striking to me. See Ed and Al sacrifice themselves for each other is spectacular. Dante’s plan so quickly unraveling and I’ve talked about how much I love Envy’s final scene before. The epilogue ties off the series fairly well while still leaving things open-ended. Mustang’s fight with Pride is awesome. His scenes with Riza are lovely. Ed’s scenes with his father are interesting. Dante’s demise. Wrath getting to live and getting automail Winry made for Ed. Izumi teaching Al more alchemy. That final speech that closes the series, where the title of this episode comes from. It’s strangely optimistic and hopeful. It’s nice.

2. Episode 28: All is One, One is All.

Another backstory episode. It features Ed and Al’s survival on Yok island with older Ed and Al reflecting on the past. I think this episode builds to its climactic point of Ed and Al coming to understand what Izumi wanted to teach them very well. I’ve made a post about this episode too. (I talk about episodes I like, okay?) The appearances of Wrath leading up to another nice cliffhanger ending are also nice. It’s another episode of reflection and I love it. Young Ed and Al are always great.

And finally:

1. Episode 22: Created Human

I loved the aftermath of Lab 5. I loved the origins of the homunculi. I love when Ed faces emotional turmoil. And I absolutely love this episode where the Lab 5 arc reaches its dreadful conclusion. Everything about it is great. The moral ambiguity, the homunculi’s goals, Ed getting pushed to the brink, physically and emotionally, just everything that Envy and Lust do, even the older Slicer brother advising Ed. Everything has been building to this moment and it’s executed brilliantly. It makes you start to feel sympathy with the homunculi when they compare themselves to Al’s own inhuman state. It makes you feel Ed’s desperation to save his brother. Al protesting but everyone ignoring him. Envy and Lust talking about equivalence. When they reveal that everyone the brother’s has been working for was leading them here. That moment at the end where the military steps in to save the brothers. Scar doing his own stuff and deciding to help them. There’s even the delightful moment where Mustang breaks the fourth wall at the beginning.

Yeah it’s my favourite.

[lenaisanerd]

i know it’s expected that i be serene

When Clary texts Simon requesting Fullmetal Alchemist, he knows something's up. But Clary seems to be in denial, and so Simon dispenses the ultimate cure-all: Hanging out with her best friend. (ca. 3500 words)

tunes.

Read on AO3.

 This story was co-written with my darling @raisehades. Please enjoy the hard-earned fruits of many late-night Google Docs comment battles.

Clary: can i come ober

  Simon: Ofc

  Are u okay?

  Clary: yes i just want so talk and cuddle or something

  Simon: Okay. Want me to set up anything?

  Clary: fma? 2009?

  Simon: I gotchu

Simon was slightly worried.

First of all, Clary wasn’t usually this reserved in her texting. Her lack of exclamation points coupled with the request for her favourite show could only mean one thing: his friend was way more down than she was letting on.

But he would deal with that when she brought it up because, well, he was also happy; Clary and him used to do this a lot – go over to each other’s (parent’s) place to hang out and watch something they both more or less enjoyed and maybe even talk about their lives and their feelings and- stuff.

But ever since the whole… half-angel manic pixie dream girl mom reveal (the HAMPDGMR) and everything that went down in consequence of the HAMPDGMR, they simply hadn’t done this sort of thing anymore. Sure, they hung out with all their other friends, at parties at Magnus’ loft or karaoke night at the Hunter’s Moon. And while that was fun, it was different when it was just the two of them.

Even during their brief dating stint, there wasn’t much they did that they’d done as friends. Simon had enjoyed what they’d done together, of course, but looking back it had been obvious that this wasn’t ideal for them.

Ideal was this: Lugging the connector cable for the TV into the vicinity of his laptop, powering both up and then loading a site with English subtitles of Hiromu Arakawa’s masterpiece Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

Also ideal: Clary bringing weird snacks with unpronounceable names from the Polish bodega down the street from their old high school. That store had become their first stop after class when they were younger and would sneak candy into movie theatres or curl up on the couch in Clary’s living room and watch Audrey Hepburn flicks with Dot. Simon was almost certain he would be able to eat some and keep them down by now.

Well, actually, in a perfect world, Simon would have loved to cook something for Clary (the food at the Institute was a far cry from what any sane person would call comfort food. Or edible). But one of the results of moving out of his mom’s place just after he’d become a bloodsucking creature of the night was that he owned basically no dishes, or pots, or kitchen utensils.

Even compiling his stuff with Maia’s (who had lived next to a Chinese restaurant for her entire adult life) yielded five plates, one bowl, two chipped mugs, and somehow a ridiculously large amount of cutlery. So cooking anything more than a bowl of cereal was out of the question until they got around to buying some usable stuff. Simon could already see himself and Maia filling their birthday and Christmas/Hanukkah wishlists with basic household items for years into the future. Ah, the joys of adulthood.

Still, this was almost the Saturday morning of his dreams. In the past year, Simon had come to understand that while moments of normalcy were few and far between, when one came along they had to hold on tight for as long as they could. Which was exactly what he was planning to do.

“I’m telling you, Polish Bodega lady has to be a Downworlder. We just have to find out what flavor she is.” Clary started on her new favourite topic as soon as Simon opened the door. She draped her damp jacket over the back of a kitchen chair to dry, dropped a plastic bag on the table, and re-tied her wet ponytail.

Simon started rummaging through the contents of the bag. “Okay, one: I don’t like “flavors”, at all, two: how do you know she’s not just a normal human being who just happens to own a windowless shop where she basically lives 24/7? Oooh, you brought those weird milk drops!”

Clary had her back turned to him while she stretched as far as she could to reach the plates and mugs on one of the high shelves above the sink, not quite managing it. “She never sleeps. Sometimes I come by that store when I’m on patrol, and she must be there all night. Every night. And every day, too. Either she never sleeps, or she has at least two clones.”

“Maybe she has an identical twin sister.” Simon took pity on her and handed her the dishes. Clary took them and ducked out under his arm from between the sink and his body in one fluid movement. Then she set to digging through the fridge for some soda for herself, and a bag of A+ for him, hugging the plates and mugs to her body with her free arm.

“I think I caught her staring at my runes. She definitely at least has the Sight.”

“Oh, so your angel-ninja sense is tingling? Tell me, is there a type of demon that loves to disguise itself as an old lady and watch reruns of Polish soap operas?”

“There’s only so many demons that can be terrorizing Manhattan bankers at a time, you know.”

Simon let out an undignified snort of laughter, of the kind that, had he been drinking at the time, would certainly have made him exhale his drink through his nose. Clary stuck her head over the fridge door grinning triumphantly. Then she emerged fully from its depths with a bottle of coke wedged horizontally under her chin, the plates under her arm, right hand holding the mugs, and left hand holding the blood bag. Standing up was a precarious balancing act, and Simon rushed over to take the bottle from between her chin and collarbone. After he snatched up the bags of sweets from the table they continued their procession into Simon’s bedroom.

Maia and him had moved in together just after New Year’s, into a tiny two-bedroom apartment in Fort Greene. They had decided against sharing a bedroom, though, mostly because of their sleep schedules. As Maia had put it, one partner strangling the other because a certain vampire keeps making noise all through the night while a certain werewolf is trying to sleep is not very conducive to a healthy relationship. Of course, they often spend the night together anyway, although those weren’t the nights when they did much sleeping.

“Come lie down, thought you wanted to cuddle,” Simon said, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him. Clary flopped down and threw her legs over his. Balancing the snack plate carefully on her lap she fluffed the pillows behind her and finally settled down.

It was several skipped episodes, an entire bag o’ blood, and a good two thirds of the coke later when Simon got to find out why  exactly  Clary was in such urgent need for Comfort TV Time.

“Did you know jat Ling’s name doejn’t need the ng sound at all? It’sh Lin in Japanese and”, Simon swallowed the milk drops, “the Chinese translation both, so they just changed it for us for some reason.”

“You’re going to regret eating those,” Clary said with such a comical expression of distaste on her face that Simon couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself. I won’t mop it up, though.”

Simon was still grinning when Clary reached forward to pause the episode on a rather unfortunate still of Major Louis Armstrong in motion.

“Do you think Izzy would like this,” she said, suddenly serious.

“Who wouldn’t like Fullmetal Alch- ”

“You’re right. Of course she would. Continue.”

Simon took her vague gesture towards the screen as a command to unpause. About half a minute later she piped up again, this time not even bothering with the pause button. “Her favourite character would have to be Mei-Chang.”

“Really?,” Simon indulged, reminding himself that he had in fact watched this episode several times in his life(un-life?) already and could live (hah) with not catching every subtitle, “I would have thought Olivier, Lan Fan… or maybe Riza? One of the really cool badass ladies.”

“Izzy may be a really cool badass but trust me, she loves little girls with a passion for science. Did I tell you about that dinner party at Magnus’ place? She was off in a corner with Madzie all evening, talking about chemistry or something. It was adorable.”

“Yes, I – I don’t know how I managed to forget. You’ve told me about it... several times now.” Simon was quite proud of his wallowing pause here.

Clary said, “Well.” and when Simon looked over to her she was visibly re-invested in subtitles. He suppressed a fond headshake and decided to let her have this one.

The next time they got through a good fifteen minutes during which Clary only noticeably stopped herself from interrupting twice and Simon started quietly wondering if eating those drops was a bad idea after all.

“Could we invite her to something like this?”

“Izzy, you mean?”

“Ah, yes. I just mean, like, we’ve hung out at the Hunter’s Moon and the Institute and stuff but I don’t know, would she like just… watching anime? Snacking?”

Simon really did put up with a lot, huh. “I don’t know, what do you think?”, he said in his least exasperated voice and leaned forward once again to press pause. He looked over to Clary, who was searching through one of the bags of candy for the last red one with the utmost concentration.

“I think she’s probably never been able to do something like this but that… she’d probably like to try. And I guess it depends on the show if she’d enjoy it. Her attention span is better than ours’ for sure, though. Maybe I’ll ask her.”

“Instead of me?! I’m hurt, Fray.” Simon placed a hand over his unbeating heart and pulled what he hoped to be the most devastating pout since Shrek’s puss in boots. He probably didn’t succeed in that.

Clary repaid his efforts by hitting his shoulder. He whined out an ooow and curled up to smoosh his head into Clary’s side. Her shirt muffled his sigh, and she recoiled from his breath, pushing him away with a giggle.

“Simon, stop that! You know I’m ticklish!”

Instead of letting up, Simon wrapped his arms around Clary’s waist.

“Zis vasn’t my decision.” Simon was using his best Bela Lugosi accent. Clary’s eyes widened in mock horror and the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You brought zis on yourself. If Izzy is going to be your new best friend now, you must face...ze octopus!” His legs wrapped around Clary’s knees while she wriggled and squirmed and laughed.

“Hang on, what do you mean ‘my new best friend’? Simon Lewis, you’re not suddenly getting jealous, are you?” Clary asked when she had successfully freed herself from Simon’s grasp and they were both lying on their backs, looking at the ceiling.

“Pssh. No,” Simon lied. Clary had the decency to look slightly guilty. “Maybe you just have a crush on Izzy, ever thought about that?”

He had expected a pillow to the face for that tease, or another assault on his shoulder, or a bit of banter. What Simon had not expected was Clary suddenly looking all serious.

“Huh. You know, I’ve never considered that. Thanks, Simon,” she said, and Simon was quite proud of himself for being as good at identifying sarcasm as he was, but he really and truly couldn’t tell what Clary was thinking then. As his friend leant forward to unpause their series he decided she must just be a bit tired of antics for today. Understandable, really.

Yesterday’s summer storm had turned into persistent rain. It pitter-pattered against the fire escape and the windowsill, occasionally cutting through the sound coming from the TV’s speakers. During the peak of the heat wave, Maia and Simon had opened all the windows in the apartment to let in a breeze and had jammed whatever was handy at the time underneath to keep them from closing. There was a guitar foot rest wedged in the crack of Simon’s bedroom window.

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“I definitely have a crush on Izzy.”

The pause button had never been pressed so quickly. It would have been a world record, if world record judges liked to hang out on rickety fire escapes peering through windows to see if random teenagers performed laws-of-physics-defying feats from the comfort of their beds.

Simon lay back down, face to face with Clary. She seemed way more casual than what Simon thought was appropriate for the situation.

“So…Izzy. Isabelle. Really tall, beautiful, kinda scary. Terrible cook. We’re still talking about our Izzy here?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Simon let that sink in for a minute.

“And, uh. How long have you known?”

Clary let out a hollow chuckle. “Consciously? About 30 seconds.”

Simon sat up. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Clary. I know you won’t like hearing it, but I’ve been your friend for over ten years, so I feel it is my duty to tell you this: You are such a dumbass.”

With a big sigh, Clary rolled over and buried her face in a pillow. Simon could barely make out her voice, but what she said sounded distinctly like a whine.

“What was that?”

Clary came up for air. ”I know.” Definitely whiny. With a very long vowel sound.

“I mean, you’re in so deep that I’m surprised you don’t need scuba gear yet.”

A groan.

Simon bumped her shoulder gently with his elbow. “Did I make you skip to the ‘wallowing in your own misery’ phase of having a crush?”

“No, it’s just...I can’t believe I never noticed.” Clary sat up, her legs crossed, facing Simon. “I only spent, oh, the last year with Izzy, every day. And– and looking back on some… things, it’s becoming really clear that I’ve had a crush on her for a while. And now I just feel like the biggest idiot in the world, and also what the fuck do I do now, Simon?” While she spoke Clary had let her head sink into her hands. Simon was of the opinion that they had just passed ‘wallowing’ and were well on their way to “breakdown”.

Simon leaned forward and, as gently as he could, pried Clary’s hands away from her face and held onto them for safekeeping.

“Hey, slow down, ‘cause this is bringing back really bad memories of pre-finals all-nighters.” This at least got a little smile out of Clary. “Now, can we back up just a bit to the ‘things’ you’re currently re-examining?”

Clary thought for a moment and then answered slowly, as though she was choosing her words with care. “Like, for example, why I love when she does my makeup. She’s really focused and just gets so close to my face and then she does that thing were she bites her lip and narrows her eyes, and sometimes I just want to lean forward and… kiss her?”

Immediately and seemingly instinctually, a grin tugged its way up the corner of Simon’s mouth. “Should I go get that scuba gear?” Clary rolled her eyes in response, but continued her recounting of Isabelle’s many virtues.

“And, uh, I always pick Izzy as a training partner, even though she does not go easy on me, because I kind of like when she kicks my ass.”

Simon only held in a dirty joke by viciously biting his own tongue. Clary was in distress. In distress.

His friend looked up at him from behind a strand of hair as if sensing his struggle but, judging by the nearly imperceptible untrackable movement of her eyebrows, refusing to acknowledge it. She headed on.

“Like, Izzy isn't really like anyone I've ever met before? And it's so - uh, exciting? Just to see her, like, do things her way. From the start she's made me feel like I belong, when, like, no one else really bothered to try?” Clary exhaled and shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe that's a bit much. I mean, what if we start dating and it immediately goes sideways? It’s just - we have too much history together. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense?”

Simon frowned. “No, I get it. She's really important to you.” He tilted his head to catch Clary’s gaze again. “And I know you’re really important to her. I don’t think one bad date could end your friendship. Also, you’ve known her for a year. If you want to call that ‘too much history’, I guess it might be, but when has that ever stopped you?”

Clary barked out a laugh. “Yeah, our relationship wasn’t exactly a success, though.”

“Okay, that’s fair, but Izzy isn’t me. And you aren’t the same you you were a year ago. Things are different.”

Clary looked ready to argue again, but kept quiet. Her body language was singularly vulnerable but her expression was more thoughtful than anything, brow furrowed tightly. She picked absently at her fingers which were still stained with oil paints, green and purple and gold. The rain continued its assault on the fire escape.

Eventually, after a long moment of silence, Clary stretched out on the bed next to Simon and, tugging at his shoulder, gently nudged him to lie down too. Clary tilted her head so it was lying against his shoulder and they lay there listening to the city they had been hearing their entire lives. But it was different now, wasn’t it? Simon had super vampire hearing and Clary had her angel ears and this wasn’t the city they had known anymore, because they knew what hid under the surface. But then, well, New York had never been the city they thought they knew. Simon had meant what he’d said: Clary had changed, and he had changed, and their old world felt lifetimes away. A year ago he would have said this was a bad thing. Today, he... wasn’t so sure.

“Should I tell her, do you think?”

“Hmm? What?”

“Izzy.”

“Oh.” Simon tried to get his train of thought off the existentialist detour track. “Uhh,” he said, intelligently, “I don’t know. Give me a sec.”

“Yeah, of course. Can you think while we watch?”

Simon nodded and Clary unpaused the episode. She propped her head up on her hand to get a more comfortable angle at the screen, and Simon’s eyes caught on the rune on her neck, right against the edge of her jawline. That was the first one, the healing rune that had seemed so out of place the night he’d found her by the church. By the Institute. Now, he couldn’t really imagine Clary without the runes, each a different part of her new life. There were the quick, simple ones Jace had drawn in the beginning, joined by the strong, decisive strokes of Isabelle and the slender script that indicated Alec, and of course Clary’s own hand, elegant and curving. Some for protection and some for strength, for courage and speed, fresh ones and older, darker marks. There was a story for every single one. A bit of experience. A battle won or lost.

He didn’t often dwell on this, but it sometimes occurred to Simon just how strong his best friend was. She had been through so, so much and come out on the other side a victor, maybe through luck, but also through sheer stubbornness. It was one of the things he loved (and sometimes loathed) about Clary. Simon was extraordinarily grateful that, even though both of them had lost a life, they had gained a new one, and one that had the other in it.

“Clary.”

She turned her head so she could look at him. One side of her face reflected the  flickering lights of the TV. “Yes?”

“I think you should do what you think is best. Trust your gut. You’re gonna be fine.”

Clary looked disappointed. “That wasn’t much of an answer, oh great oracle,” she said.

“Well, that’s the only one you’re gonna get. This oracle is closed for the day,” Simon replied. He crossed his arms over his chest to emphasize his statement. Then, very quickly and stumbling over his words a little, he added: “I just really respect you and I think you’re really smart and have good judgement, and you can sort this out for yourself. Also if anything goes wrong this means you can’t blame me, so–” The rest of the sentence was cut off by Clary rushing to hug him. Her shoulder banged into his chin rather painfully. He would, of course, not have it any other way.

“Thank you, Simon. I love you.”

Simon smiled into Clary’s shoulder. “Love you too, Fray.”

[vino-and-doggos]

Duality, chapter 4

Read on AO3

Chapter Length: 4,557 (full length total so far: 15,959)

Rated: E

Status: Incomplete (4/?)

Summary:  Roy Mustang is a young man, dealing with his burgeoning sexuality, a difficulty alchemy teacher and his hard-set daughter, and a good-looking cadet that also likes quiche.

All beta thanks go to @flourchildwrites, who is not only the best beta, but an amazing friend.

This chapter was inspired by Janieshi’s Espionage. If you haven’t read this classic yet, please check it out!

Chapter 4: Soldiers and Second Chances

A year passed faster than Roy ever thought a year could pass. The oppressing warmth of summer made way for falling leaves and crisp air. Soon, crisp air became downright cold with a side of precipitation, which didn’t stop as the weather got warmer, but it was more bearable knowing that green buds were sprouting, dotting the stark landscape. Before he knew it, it was July again, and the heat had returned in full force. He had been with the Hawkeyes for a full year. And he was finally beginning to perform basic transmutations. The apprentice had never been so happy to see a piece of chalk.

That afternoon, as Roy sat in the front room to practice drawing the arrays that Master Hawkeye assigned him, he heard a soft knock on the door. Looking hesitantly toward the closed study, Roy knew that there was no way his master was going to let Miss Riza’s lesson be interrupted just to answer the door. He sidled over, thinking how strange it was that this was the first time someone had come calling in the entire year he had been there. Roy opened the door a crack and saw a man dressed in Amestrian Blue.

“Oh, good afternoon, young man,” the soldier lilted. His Eastern accent was prevalent, almost disarmingly so. Roy cast him a wary look. He was a year older than when he arrived, and damn it, he had actually grown a few inches. In all reality, at sixteen, Roy only had a few more months before he could enlist himself. Well, with his Aunt Chris’s permission of course. A question from the soldier broke Roy from his thoughts. “Is Master Hawkeye home?”

“He is,” Roy affirmed; he didn’t want this young man to think he was home alone. “However, Master Hawkeye is preoccupied with something important.”

“I figured as much,” the soldier chuckled sheepishly, using his hand to ruffle the back of his close-cropped hair. “I just came to see if he had changed his mind. He never does, but that doesn’t mean the military is going to stop asking.”

“Change his mind about what?” Roy asked curiously as he opened the door further.

The soldier stuck out his hand. “The name is Barnes, kid. Jimmy Barnes.”

“Roy Mustang,” he said curtly. Still, the eager student returned the polite gesture and grasped the soldier’s - Barnes’s - hand. Roy was conflicted; on the one hand, Barnes didn’t seem like he was there on a malicious mission, and honestly he wanted to know a bit more about his master from someone who didn’t live in the same house as he currently resided in. But on the other hand, Roy felt like he should shut the door and return to his studies, protecting Hawkeye’s privacy.

Making a decision, Roy stepped outside onto the front stoop and closed the door behind him. “What exactly does the military want with Master Hawkeye?”

“I can’t believe you’re his apprentice and you don’t know!” Barnes chuckled. “Berthold Hawkeye is the only known alchemist who practices flame alchemy.”

“Flame alchemy?” Roy responded, hesitantly, but also somewhat eagerly. He watched the young cadet’s eyes light up.

“Yes! His transmutation circle can take a tiny spark and turn it into a towering inferno of flame! I’m not an alchemist myself, but I’ve heard rumors from people who have seen it in action,” Barnes sighed wistfully.

“And the military scientists and alchemists can’t figure it out?” Roy questioned.

Barnes shook his head. “They’ve been trying for the better part of the past decade. But they can’t seem to get the transmutation circle right, and even when they get close, well... From what I understand, they’ve blown up a few laboratory workspaces that way.”

Roy made a strangled sound between a laugh and a groan. The soldier chuckled in return.

“But anyway,” Barnes continued, “with the tensions in Ishval rising, flame alchemy would be an asset to the Amestrian military. Hawkeye doesn’t even have to become a state alchemist if he didn’t want to. I’m sure the alchemists would settle for having him on as an independent contractor.”

After a key phrase, everything else the soldier said had an overtone of radio static. “Tensions in Ishval?” Roy echoed. This was the first he had heard about it. 

Barnes nodded in the affirmative, but threw a furtive glance over his shoulder in retrospect. “Not a whole lot of news has reached any of the papers yet. So it seems like the military’s trying to keep a lid on the conflict, but it’s going to boil over soon. The Ishvalans aren’t happy with being rounded up and put in one spot. The locals aren’t comfortable with the Ishvalan religious practices. If you ask me, everything is a little bit strained.”

Roy took in this information. Ishval wasn’t that far from East City. Any sort of conflict could quickly spread to where he was. Would his alchemy training cease if a war broke out? His face must have demonstrated some kind of discomfort because Barnes’s demeanor suddenly changed. Roy carefully smoothed his features again.

“But I’m sure the military can handle it! Many upstanding men, like yourself, have joined up. Have you given it any thought, Roy?”

Roy shook his head and said out loud, “No, I haven’t.” Inwardly, he was floundering. What the hell kind of questioning was this? Master Hawkeye would be proud of his student’s placid facial features.

When Roy thought about joining the military and taking up arms, he remembered the military men who frequented his aunt’s notorious bar. Sure, there were some nice ones. The old man that Madam Christmas always saw privately in her own room once or twice a year seemed nice enough, though Roy had never had a conversation with him. But the old man had to be for the Madam to trust him like that, right?

The other soldiers that came to Christmas’ bar, however… They left something to be desired. The dirty men often came in with sunken eyes and haggard souls, but with the application of a bit of alcohol, they became raucous and rude to the girls, sometimes to the point of having to be forcefully removed from the premises. They entered in packs and would get sloppy drunk.  They left horrid messes in the men’s room that I had to clean up, thought Roy haughtily. From what he knew, there was nothing appealing about military men.

Well. Except maybe the dress blues.

Barnes seemed okay from what Roy could tell. But it was hard to base someone’s entire personality off of an interaction that, so far, had only lasted a few minutes.

The soldier seemed to notice the younger man in front of him was deep in thought. He waited a few moments before saying, “If you haven’t really thought of it before, now might be the time. You seem like a good kid, and if anything does happen in Ishval, we could use soldiers and alchemists alike. We’re not that bad,” he said, flashing a winning smile at Roy, who got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time he had given this speech to a local youth.

“I suppose I’ll think about it,” Roy conceded. Just thinking about it wouldn’t cause any harm, would it? “Why did you join? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Barnes looked thoughtful while answering. “I guess I just thought I should protect my family. I’m the oldest and the only boy, and I’ve always felt like I needed to watch out for my little sisters. What better way than to step up and defend the nation as a part of the military?”

Roy nodded solemnly. That did make sense. He, too, was the only boy in a group of sisters - the fact that Roy-Boy was the youngest didn’t weigh on him too much, though. The parallels were enough.

“But anyway,” Barnes continued, “could you please just pass along the message to Mr. Hawkeye that, if he’s interested, to contact General Grumman?”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Roy nodded sharply.

Barnes turned crisply and proceeded down the walkway. Roy let the chilly air wash over him as he entered the house, thankful once again for the cross-breeze that cooled the house down every night. Master Hawkeye and Miss Riza were still shut away in the study.

Heaving a sigh, Roy got back to tracing arrays onto pieces of scrap paper.

~

The following morning, Roy entered Master Hawkeye’s study as he had every day for the past year. Today started differently, though, when Roy was the one to begin their discussion. If there really was a war on the horizon, it would be best to broach the subject earlier rather than later, right?

“Master Hawkeye, there was something that I was supposed to bring to your attention.”

“Oh?” his superior questioned, curiosity obviously piqued.

“A soldier was here yesterday, asking for you,” Roy started. He faltered almost immediately when he saw the dark look set into Hawkeye’s face. Gathering his courage, Roy continued. Just because the master didn’t look happy didn’t mean that the message was going to remain undelivered in its entirety.

“He wanted you to consider joining the military as a state alchemist, or at least become a contracted researcher to teach the enlisted alchemists flame alchemy.” Even Roy was surprised at how steady his own voice held.

Hawkeye scoffed caustically. “I’m sure he did. And I’m sure he told you how much money I would make, and how much prestige the position would bring, and how it would be good for the citizens of Amestris!”

“Not quite, sir…” Roy started. This was the most he had heard Master Hawkeye speak, outside of reading excerpts from textbooks and asking the corresponding questions. Shocked at his master’s reaction, but ever the academic, the student couldn’t help himself. “What exactly is flame alchemy?”

“Precisely what it sounds like - a bad idea!” snapped Hawkeye. 

“But it sounds like prestigious research! Sir, you have a general in the Amestrian Military asking for your research! It couldn’t be that bad!”

“You know nothing, boy,” Hawkeye spat. “This research is dangerous. Flames consume, and they consume quickly and without regard for anything else. In the wrong hands, a person, a family, an entire village could go up in flames with the snap of a finger!”

“But sir, it could also help people! Can you imagine how much easier controlled burns for farmlands would be with an alchemist who could manipulate fire? Or utilizing an alchemist to keep heat on a steam engine? The positive uses for flame alchemy are endless. Surely the good outweighs the bad!” Roy protested.

Hawkeye suddenly got quiet and turned away from Roy, walking towards the dark, sooty fireplace. “Have you ever been burned, Mustang?”

“Burned, sir?”

“Yes, boy, burned. Be it from the stove, or spilling a hot mug of tea on yourself, or…” the master paused, looking at the embers left from the chilly spring nights months ago, “touching a fire.”

“Yes, sir, I have,” the apprentice confirmed.

“It’s not a pleasant sensation, is it?” Hawkeye paused, looking at Roy. “Long after the initial injury, the pain remains. It aches; it throbs. It might even blister or disfigure. Fire is not forgiving.”

“Still, sir,” Roy started quietly, trying a different tactic, “wouldn’t the money be helpful? You can’t tell me that an income, a salary, wouldn’t make a difference for you? And for Miss Hawkeye, too? That way she wouldn’t have to hunt for food -”

“That’s enough.” The words were spoken calmly but were by no means warm. The fiery rage in his master’s eyes had been replaced with forbidding glaciers. Wrong tactic.

“You are my student. You have been graciously accepted into my home, into my life, and into my daughter’s life. Have you ever gone to sleep hungry, young Mister Mustang? Have you wanted for anything that I did not provide for you during your time here?”

Roy swallowed thickly, and his poorly-masked ambition slid slowly down his throat. It settled in the pit of his stomach, now fully morphed into regret. This was it. One conversation. One damn conversation and his apprenticeship was gone. Out the window, flying west, back towards Central. He must have stayed silent for a beat too long because the next words out of Hawkeye’s mouth felt like a nail in a coffin.

“Get out of my office.”

“Sir,” Roy attempted to protest, but it came out weak. His throat was tight, and the threat of tears burned at the back of his eyes.

“GO!” Hawkeye commanded.

Roy promptly spun on his heel and flung open the pocket door to the study. Pushing past a startled Miss Hawkeye on the stairs, the apprentice - or was he? - retreated to his room. He closed the door behind him and slid down the door frame, drawing his knees to his chest. Quivering breaths racked Roy’s chest as his head rested on crossed arms. 

Great job, Mustang, you really fucked this one up, didn’t you? he thought bitterly. 

He was furious with himself, enraged at Master Hawkeye, and pissed off at Barnes. Why bring this up every year if this was the reaction? Was the soldier usually on the receiving end of this outburst? Or was Roy just unlucky enough to have been the person to answer the door?

Raising up, eyes still closed, Roy rested the crown of his head against the door and slowly opened his eyes to look toward the ceiling. Drawing a few shuddering breaths, he calmed himself and started to think of a plan.

~

The sun was high in the sky before Roy moved from his spot against the door. He began gathering his things with a solemn finality. There was no way that Master Hawkeye would let him continue his training. He questioned his master. Such disrespect would not be tolerated. His teacher was many things; forgiving was not one of them. It didn’t matter that Roy was not the true instigator of the conversation - the soldier had no bearing on Berthold Hawkeye, and Mustang knew it. If the guillotine was coming down on someone, it was going to be the apprentice.

He had one chance, one last-ditch effort to convince Master Hawkeye to let him stay and finish learning all that he could about alchemy. On the off chance that didn’t work, however, he didn’t want to waste time attempting to gather his things.

Roy’s beaten suitcase was loaded with clothes, and the smart leather satchel that Madam Christmas sent him for the winter holiday of her namesake last year was stuffed with notes and Roy’s books. He was prepared to make a clean break if need be.

Taking one last fortifying breath, Roy opened the door and silently made his way down the stairs. 

As he approached the study, he heard hushed voices speaking frantically. The yong alchemist paused and shrank back against the wall, not unlike his eavesdropping sisters. Curiously, he inched his ear to the edge of the doorframe and listened intently. It was the most words he had ever heard pass between father and daughter in a single conversation.

“He blatantly disrespected me, what else was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Father. How about you tell him about your research?” Roy heard Miss Hawkeye incredulously answer; he was shocked that she seemed to be advocating for him.

“That isn’t possible, and you know it. You’ve seen how dangerous that research is, Riza! Out of everyone, you should be the one most vehemently against me telling that boy anything!” Hawkeye hissed.

“He deserves to know,” she responded, voice deadly.

“I wasn’t aware you were so fond of the boy,” Master Hawkeye said, an almost sarcastic lilt to his voice.

“I - I am not!” Miss Hawkeye defended. “He’s just here to study alchemy - all kinds of alchemy. That should include the specialty of his own master.”

“But it’s -” 

“Say dangerous one more time,” the girl said so quietly that Roy had to strain to hear. “All alchemy is dangerous. Flame alchemy is no exception. It all lies in what the person practicing it decides to do with it. It all lies with you deciding to trust him. Mama trusted you. And, let’s be honest - will you get over another apprentice leaving?”

Roy chose this moment to make himself known. Slowly crossing the threshold, he saw his master and Miss Hawkeye standing in the middle of the room, staring each other down, their postures stiff and unyielding. Hawkeye’s imposing stature was back in full force, making the slight frame of his daughter seem even smaller than what she was. The boy countered the tense situation with a very small smirk that ventured nowhere near his eyes.

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” Roy said smoothly - coolly. He drew himself up to match his superior’s rigid posture from across the room.

“Riza, leave us,” Berthold directed her with a point.

The look on Riza’s face betrayed her sharp nod and acquiescence to the directive. Roy’s eyes wanted to follow the movement as she walked out the door, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact. As soon as he heard the tell-tale snick of wood against wood, indicating that the pocket door was closed, Roy launched into the speech he had been ruminating on for the past hour.

“Sir, I understand that I was in the wrong in questioning your motives. I sincerely apologize. But, it doesn’t matter how curious I am about your research. My curiosity isn’t important. And it also wasn’t my place to question your decisions. What is important, however, is that I feel I haven’t learned everything I came to learn. And what is your decision is whether or not I am allowed to stay and further my training.

“A year’s worth of tutoring in alchemy just barely got me to drawing transmutation circles. I sat down and I read the books. I learned the theory; I learned the compositions. I memorized, recited, questioned, and answered. I could go somewhere else and learn more with the foundation you’ve given me. I don’t want to go somewhere else. I want to continue with the master that I started with. I want to stay here. But if you are asking me to leave, I will do so without turning back.”

Roy paused, just short of panting, feeling breathless. His mind flashed to his packed belongings on the bed in his room - the room - upstairs.

“Are you quite finished?” Hawkeye said quietly.

The boy felt heat start to redden his cheeks and did his best to halt the color in its tracks. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the master continued, “because I have no intention of forcing you out. You are free to go at any time - you’ve known this from the beginning. But I don’t believe that I’ve bled you dry of your potential yet.

“You’re smart. Sometimes too smart for your own good. I’ve already given you all the tools to piece together the basics of flame alchemy. Handing my research over to you would be... unsafe.” Hawkeye paused. “In ways you cannot yet comprehend,” he ended, bitterly.

Roy felt properly chastised. In the few hours of contemplation before this confrontation, the boy really perceived this to be a “don’t shoot the messenger” situation. He was only doing what was asked of him!

In retrospect, though, Roy realized that he did come off a touch ungrateful for the provisions of the Hawkeye family. And, just maybe, he questioned the methods of the master a bit too deeply. He was, after all and throughout everything, a guest.

But more than anything, the young alchemist sensed a foreign emotion emanating from his master, something completely different from the intellectual confidence he usually excluded: fear. 

On a basic level, Roy understood. Like Miss Hawkeye said, all alchemy could be dangerous depending on the wielder. But flame could spread quickly, out of control before it ever had the chance of being tamed. On a more complex level, though… How was one supposed to perfect what one’s own master appeared to fear? 

All in the same breath, Roy felt relieved. He wasn’t out of an apprenticeship. He didn’t have to return to Central. Most importantly, however, he didn’t have to find another alchemy master to teach him. The thought of staying, of continuing with Master Hawkeye, filled Roy to the brim with giddiness.

A genuine, yet cautious, smile broke Roy’s face. He was staying.

His thoughts turned to his packed bags upstairs. Bashfulness, apprehension, and dread flooded Roy’s system. Yet again he had acted hastily and let his emotions take control.

“Thank you, sir. For the second chance.”

Berthold’s face also donned a small smile. “Thank you for being up front with me. It’s been a while since someone was so frank. It’s good to know that I can rely on you to keep me steadfast.” 

As Roy nodded, his master crossed the room to clap a hand onto Roy’s shoulder, reminiscent of the first day that the apprentice had arrived. “No lesson today.” 

Before the student could breathe a sigh of relief, however, Hawkeye proceeded. “Continue drawing those transmutation circles I assigned you yesterday. Read the next chapter of The Analysis of ‘Exposition of the Hieroglyphical Figures’ and be prepared to discuss the importance of mercury and the sun.”

Instead of deflating like he normally would, Roy nodded and simply said, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Dismissed.”

Roy spun on his heel and, gently this time, slid the pocket door open and made his way up to his room. All things considered, he believed he got off easy. But that didn’t alleviate the slightly uncomfortable, sheepishness he felt as he climbed the steps to his room (his room). The book that Master Hawkeye wanted him to read from was packed and ready to go - like the rest of his things.

Knowing that he was able to stay, though? That gave Roy all the confidence he needed to unpack and return to life as it was, so to speak.

With a spring in his step, the young man opened the door to his room, and went to grab the suitcase and the satchel off the bed to unpack… only to discover that neither were there. Curiously, he opened the top drawer of the dresser and found his clothes within. He quickly flung open another drawer, then another. Someone had unpacked his suitcase.

Traveling over to the small desk the apprentice had installed in his room approximately three months after moving in, he realized that his satchel, too, had been unpacked. The contents of it adorned the desk - notes in a neat, organized pile, books stacked smartly according to size. Just as his mind started to process what he was seeing, Roy heard a noise behind him. Whipping around, he saw Miss Hawkeye leaning casually against the doorframe to his bedroom.

Quickly, he said, “Thank you for unpacking my things. But you didn’t have to do that. It would have been terrible to pack them up again if your father had kicked me to the curb.”

Miss Hawkeye scoffed, “Like he would have done that to his favorite apprentice.” With a roll of her eyes, she pushed herself off of the trim work and into the room proper. “I don’t know why you pulled a stunt like that anyway,” she said, a disapproving tone in her voice.

“How was I supposed to know he’d react like that? It’s not something I was expecting at all!” Roy responded defensively.

“I’m sure the soldier told you that they ask him every year. What did you think, he turned them all away politely after inviting them in for tea?” she intoned.

“Well, no, but -” Roy started. Miss Hawkeye cut him off.

“No buts. You still have too much to learn. He still has too much to teach you. Neither of you are allowed to throw in the towel just yet.”

The wheels in Roy’s head started turning, the cogs fitting together. Between this statement and the bits of the conversation he had eavesdropped on before, he realized his hunch might be correct. 

“Why, Miss Hawkeye, do I dare say that you are in favor of keeping me here? Might you actually like me?” His disarming smile was turned up to eleven, charm oozing from every pore. To his utter delight, the cheekbones of the young woman in front of him turned a delightful shade of pink.

“Absolutely not,” she vehemently denied. “You’re just the most promising alchemy apprentice to cross the threshold of this house. I would hate for Father to have to start all over again with someone half as talented as you.”

“So now I’m talented?” Roy teased as the flush on the girl’s face grew darker.

Through gritted teeth, Miss Hawkeye growled, “Good night,” and spun on her heel, shoulders hunched up to her ears and her hands balled into fists at her sides. Right before she closed the door with a bit more force than Roy thought was necessary, he could have sworn he heard her mutter “conceited boy” to herself.

Chuckling, the apprentice shook his head. But then thought seriously about the character witness that he apparently had in Miss Hawkeye. She noticed how hard he was working, how much he was trying...and how smart he was. She noticed that he was giving his all to this alchemy training. And she thought it was unfair that her father was not reciprocating the same level of trust and knowledge in this apprenticeship.

Just as he thought he had her at least somewhat figured out, Miss Hawkeye went and scattered every piece of paper in his mental file about her, the one still titled “Master Hawkeye’s Daughter.”

In that moment, Roy realized that the girl wasn’t protecting him, not really. It was most likely - almost guaranteed, in fact - that she was looking out for her father, and her father alone. Though it appeared that Miss Hawkeye was siding with the apprentice instead of his master, Roy thought back to the last thing she’d seethingly said to her father.

And, let’s be honest - will you get over another apprentice leaving before he’s learned?

Miss Hawkeye was, in a way, taking steps to ensure that her father would continue thriving. By cutting out a place in the shape of Roy’s silhouette, she was attempting to entice him to finish training one - one - apprentice completely. In doing so, this could give Master Hawkeye a sense of fulfillment that could, once again, turn him into a proper alchemist, instead of a recluse locked away in a mansion-sized house.

Sinking into the chair at the desk, Roy sighed. Even though the sun still hung high in the sky, Roy felt spent and more than ready to retire. Nevertheless, he opened his textbook, taking out paper and a pen to jot down notes. From that moment on, Roy resolved to raise his personal bar and study longer hours, reviewing even more than what he was currently.

In that moment, Roy made a vow to himself. He would gain Master Hawkeye’s trust. He might unlock the secrets to flame alchemy along the way. Most importantly, though, he would give his master a reason to possibly prosper once more.

[catgluue]

1, 13 and 44 for the Fanfiction Writing Ask, please! 💕

1. How old were you when you first started writing fanfiction?

I was probably 11 when I started writing REALLY REALLY BAD Harry Potter fanfiction that was literally just me ripping off Tamora Pierce novels and the Paradigm of Uncertainty fics. And then I moved onto script form lord of the rings parodies because the first movie had just come out and yes I’m that old no one @ me. (Please @ me)  I also have a TON of FMA fanfic from 2006 languishing on ff.net that I keep alive because I’m proud of how much I’ve improved. 

13. Who is your least favorite character to write for? Why?

If I don’t like a character I don’t write for them. That being said, I’m a Capricorn and I tend to dislike many things I’m not good at purely because I like to be good at things. I struggle with writing kids these days so while I love Ed as a character I feel like I have a hard time doing him justice. And writing actual children is a nightmare someone come strangle me for committing to a three part Royai kidfic that necessitates writing a toddler. 

44. What is the last line you wrote?

I haven’t been writing much lately thanks to my bff Depression but judging from my timestamps and where I popped up in the document when I opened it, I’m thinking it was this paragraph from an oft-reworked crackfic masquerading as fluff: 

“What I want to do...” he trailed off, and Riza's heart was in her throat. He hadn't touched her like this in years, possibly not ever, and it occurred to her that they were completely alone in the study room,with no one even nearby. He threaded his fingers through her hair. “Should it really matter what I want? I should do whatever is advantageous. Whatever will get me to the top.”

[fullmetalirin]

FMA Brotherhood: Episode 19

FMA Brotherhood Episode 19: "Death of the Undying"

Kain Fuery manages to save Hawkeye, with Mustang coming to defeat Gluttony. Alphonse meets up with the group and they pursue Barry, who chases his body into the depths of the third laboratory. The group splits into two teams. Mustang and Havoc are ambushed by Lust, resulting in both men being grievously wounded and left for dead. Lust then confronts Barry, slicing him to pieces. Hawkeye, believing Mustang to be dead, desperately shoots Lust repeatedly with minimal effect. Before Lust can kill Hawkeye, Mustang appears, having cauterized his wounds, he repeatedly incinerates Lust until her philosopher's stone is depleted. No longer able to regenerate, she crumbles to ash. Barry's soul survives, but his blood seal is scratched out by his human body, which kills both of them. Edward returns to Resembool and heads toward the Rockbell residence where he sees his father Van Hohenheim at the grave of his mother Trisha Elric.

Mustang flashes back to Hughes' death when Riza doesn't respond and freaks out.

Then we cut back to Ling expositing. Oh joy.

Gluttony is strangling Riza. She's emptied her clip into his head but he's not dying. It's pretty gruesome, we see his wrecked eyeball. She empties another clip and pushes him back a little, but they're out of ammo again. For some reason, they just stand there like idiots instead of running. Fortunately, Mustang steps out of his teleporter and uses magic to generate force out of nothing to throw Gluttony out the window.

Riza yells at Mustang for saving her because lolwomen. Later she does thank him and then he's the one telling her to keep in professional, because women are just crazy nagging hags who don't say what they mean and need strong manly men to keep their heads in the game.

I really don't like the cracked-skin effect on the homunculi. It looks so fake, like a low-res CGI model.

How did Alphonse know where they were? Did Ling tell him?

Al informs them about homunculi's powers. Despite this they're going to continue to waste all their ammo shooting Lust later, because they're idiots.

Mustang uses Barry's rampage as an excuse to investigate the laboratory, which is clever. Barry doesn't kill anyone because serial killers are such polite people. Al has cartoon face during this, which I guess is appropriate since he really doesn't fit in here.

Lust shows up and Havoc gets distracted by her jiggle physics when he looks at her tattoo. As Tumblr helpfully explained to me, this is actually groundbreaking feminist representation because while it looks indistinguishable from normal anime objectification see it's actually making fun of Havoc for being a pervert and no, Tumblr, it's pandering. Perv pandering doesn't stop being perv pandering just because a woman drew it. But okay, sure, it's not that bad by the very, very low standards of anime, so maybe I can put up with it as long as it doesn't…

…do… that.

Guys, this is not making fun of perverts. Havoc is a hero and Lust is a villain. This is letting perverts be in on the joke. Tumblr, please for the love of God shut up about Brotherhood being so tasteful in its depiction of boobs, because it's not.

Anyway. Lust taunts Mustang about Hughes' death and then… looks actually pained when he shoots her (where Gluttony barely flinched). Why did she do that if bullets actually hurt her.

There is some gross banter about getting Lust on her knees. I'm sure this has also, through some strange Tumblr alchemy, been transformed into groundbreaking feminism.

Then Lust shows off her Philosopher's Stone because the author needed a way for the characters to learn a homunculus' weakness and couldn't think of a way to do it that didn't involve handing Lust the idiot ball. I've heard this is slightly less stupid in the manga and she only does this after Havoc gets injured, is that true?

Like I said before, this reveal utterly baffles me. So after all that buildup, the homunculi are just... monsters powered by magic. That’s so boring. They can no longer be used to ask questions about personhood and humanity -- I mean, maybe they could if the show actually committed to them being alien and different, but it doesn’t. What this comes down to is just that Philosopher’s Stones and rulebreaking magic is cool, so the homunculi have them so they can be cool boss monsters. Except they’re not cool. In OG, they were puzzles that required special knowledge and preparation to defeat; that’s cool. In Brotherhood, as we’re going to see, you beat the homunculi by just punching them in the face until the author decides they’ve run out of HP. They’re just damage sponges. And just as I revile damage sponges in video games, I revile them in TV shows too. Characters just throwing the same attacks at each other for five episodes is not interesting.

I also hate that this means Philosopher’s Stones are absolutely everywhere in this continuity instead of something actually special, a theme that will continue.

Lust says homunculi still have human feelings. Wow, what a dumb idea that no one would ever want to read about. It sure is a good thing Brotherhood decided to completely forget about this and just make homunculi boring boss monsters, huh?

Then, despite Lust using her claws as instant-kill ranged attacks in every prior fight scene, she now switches to sloppy, easily-dodged melee swipes, because Lust is really hogging the idiot ball today.

Mustang says he can decompose the water into hydrogen and oxygen to create an explosion even with wet gloves. This is totally inconsistent with what we're previously told, which is that creating oxygen is the easy part for him. He shouldn't need a spark to manipulate the air content, that should be a separate thing. This just seems like the author showing off a trick she remembered from chemistry class. It sure would be interesting if alchemy actually worked like this all the time, but Mustang never needs to do anything like this elsewhere.

Then despite having just been told that homunculi don't die when they are killed they walk right back into the room, because the idiot ball's really getting around today.

Cartoon when Mustang complains about being treated like a match. Because a climactic battle is definitely the time for that.

Then Lust FINALLY uses her spear-claws and stabs Havoc through the spine which, in a rare appearance of consequences, actually does paralyze him until the epilogue when Dr. Deus ex Machina heals him because consequences are for losers. I'm also a bit unclear on how she severed his spine without also severing his aorta.

Mustang realizes he can use Lust's Philosopher's Stone to heal Havoc and rips it out of Lust's chest. Lust screams in agony, implying this does actually hurt her, so again, why did she show it to him?

Lust's body disintegrates, but she's able to reform around the Stone. It's really gruesome. Somehow this does not crush Mustang's hand in the process, but she does finally stab him… nonfatally, because she's got the idiot ball again.

Bradley shows up outside.

Lust says Mustang was a candidate for sacrifice but she's killing him anyway. Uh, did she run this by the others? She then leaves him for dead instead of finishing him off because the idiot ball is strong this episode.

We then catch up to Barry, who tells us souls reject incompatible bodies. Al freaks out at this, but fortunately this will never matter for him.

Lust shows up to whine about how she has to kill Al. No, you don't. Just leave. You control the government. Bradley can give you another hideout at a moment's notice. The most important thing hiding here was you, and you just blabbed all your secrets anyway. Just cut your losses. You idiot.

Lust once again taunts someone into shooting her and once again staggers and screams in pain, because the idiot ball's terminal now. Shouldn't she also know she's running out of lives and this is maybe not the best idea right now?

Al vows to protect Riza because he’s tired of watching people die. It’s a nice moment that also happens way, way too early in his character arc. I like Al as the childish, out-of-his-depth foil to Ed’s easy confidence. This moment works better as a climactic ending reversal than as an offhand detail a third of the way through the story. If he’s just another noble heroic alchemist, he’s redundant with all the others we already have.

Meanwhile, Riza is hysterical and ineffective because she's a woman in a shonen anime.

You know, more seriously, I would like to point out that giving a female character awesome gun skills doesn't actually mean anything in a story about how non-guns are really awesome. We see a lot of great gunplay from Riza, but it's always alchemy that actually saves the day and gets all the focus. It's moving the goalposts. Sure, we'll give the woman a cool skill… that we will then choose to make useless in the context of the story. It's such tedious faux-feminism, going through the motions so you can say, technically, that you have a "strong female character" without actually doing anything to respect them or integrate them into the narrative. For every "strong female character" in Brotherhood, there's a male character who's stronger. Women are still, fundamentally, supporting characters – they're awesome because part of the male fantasy is an awesome support staff, but the boys get to be more awesome and the boys get to be who the story's actually about.

I really want us to start being more critical of representation like this. Treating strong female characters like a list of checkboxes is so totally wrongheaded. Characters don't exist in a vacuum. A skill that's impressive in one narrative or one power level may be completely meaningless in another. We need to look at characters within the context of the narrative they inhabit, relative to other characters and the framing of the work.

To prove my point, our resident Gary Stu has just appeared to show Riza up and beat the boss fight literally without moving a single step.

BUT TELL ME AGAIN HOW THIS SERIES IS GOD’S GIFT TO FEMINISM.

Mustang is using Havoc's lighter for a starter, despite explicitly establishing that it was busted earlier.

Mustang fireballs her again.

He also drew a perfect transmutation circle in his own blood and perfectly cauterized his internal bleeding despite explicitly saying he doesn't know medical alchemy. Now that his jacket's opened, we also get to see he's been hiding a Superman physique this whole time. You could put this in a parody of male power fantasies and I'd say it was too unbelievable.

Mustang fireballs her again. We get a gruesome close-up shot of her skin burning off.

Mustang fireballs her again.

Mustang decides he can kill this regenerator monster powered by the thing that supposedly has infinite energy by just killing her enough times, because he's read the script.

Mustang fireballs her again.

We get a closeup of her Philosopher's Stone, and coincidentally also a closeup of her tits.

Mustang fireballs her again.

And again.

I'd like to point out that every single one of these fireballs is ENORMOUS. Alphonse has to create a stone wall to hide behind so Riza isn't charbroiled too. We can see the entire room lighting up. I'd also like to point out this is in a SEALED UNDERGROUND ROOM, and FIRE REQUIRES OXYGEN. OXYGEN IS NOT INFINITE. If he lights the whole room on fire, he is DONE. HE USED UP ALL THE OXYGEN IN THE ROOM. HE CANNOT KEEP SPAMMING FIREBALLS. And I don't care what fanwank you can pull out to justify this, because the bottom line is that someone winning a fight by endlessly spamming the same move is terrible writing. This is not a climactic boss fight, this is just the Gary Stu showing off how awesome he is.

And through all of this Lust has done absolutely nothing except writhe and scream in agony, because Mustang is a Gary Stu therefore fire stunlocks everything. Only at the very end does she actually try to attack him, remembering she can spear people through the brain just in time for him to kill her while her spear is INCHES away from his face, because he's very awesome.

Also, HOW IS HE NOT BURNING HIMSELF HERE. HOW. HIS ARM IS IN THE EXPLOSION. HOW.

Meanwhile, Lust can still talk but somehow not extend her spear one more inch. Her Philosopher's Stone disintegrates, so the woman has nobly died to teach us that you can kill homunculi by just hitting them until they run out of HP, because that's so interesting.

And then Mustang collapses from his wound now that it no longer matters, invoking the very important power of the Not-Sue: see, he did all that while he really was one step away from death, that totally makes him less sueish and not more!

Mustang ignores Riza to praise Al for protecting her.

Bradley, our other resident Gary Stu, is revealed to have been watching the whole thing. He for some reason does not kill Mustang, thus establishing who has the greater Sue power.

Winry is sulking and hoping the man comes back safe because that's her purpose in life.

Then we end with more Barry, because we really needed that. His body is somehow still not dead, and erases the seal on the one part of the armor that stayed intact, killing them both. What was the point of this?

Then the show remembers Ed is supposed to be the protagonist. We cut to him for five seconds to discover Hoenheim has conveniently returned to Resembool at the same time as him.

Conclusion

A lot of people tell me that OG was misogynist garbage and Brotherhood is super progressive.

I don't know what anime they watched, but I just saw the sole female antagonist – and let's take a moment to reflect on the fact the sole female antagonist is Lust – die a gruesome, disgusting, sexualized death less than a third of the way through the story because she was too busy flashing her tits to actually fight, for no other reason than to show how awesome a dude is.

This is my breaking point. There is no coming back from this. I don't care how awesome Olivier is. Anyone who recommends this show as full of ~great female characters~ without thinking this content deserved even the teensiest of caveats is not anyone whose judgment I trust.

And sure, let's be real here, I watch anime, I'm willing to put up with some misogynist crap if there's something else worth my time. But this has established, very definitively, that there absolutely will not be anything worth my time. Lust, as we will see when we continue with OG, was an incredibly important and complex character in the original anime, absolutely crucial to the narrative of the homunculi and many of the things I loved about the story. And this is what Brotherhood does with her.

And that's not even the only awful thing about this episode! Ed wasn't in it at all! Mustang's takeover of the narrative is complete. He's the one who got to solve the mystery, fight the villain, and save the day, pretty much singlehandedly. And I'm sorry, but even if he wasn't an insufferable Gary Stu, Mustang just doesn't interest me as a character as much as Ed. I like him as a deuteragonist to Ed's protagonist, not the other way around. So no. This episode really hammers in that there is absolutely nothing here for me.

But lucky you, I read a plot summary of all the episodes after this, and I know the very next one is something I want to complain about too! So we'll keep going for one more episode. One last nail in the coffin.

[fullmetalscullyy]

royai + “you make me feel safe, like im allowed to be anything i want” 👀

meg ur mind,, anyone want some young!royai 👀

thank you for the prompt friend i really appreciate it!! i hope you enjoy

for reference this is set after roy decodes the secrets of flame alchemy on her back

rated: g | words: 1913

“It’s a beautiful sunset,” Riza breathed.

Roy hummed in agreement, his fringe tickling his forehead as the breeze caught it. “It really is.”

It took every ounce of his power not to turn his head to look at her instead, finding her far more captivating in the light than the setting sun.

They were sitting on the porch step of her father’s house, looking out over the fields and beyond. In the evening breeze the growing wheat moved like water, swaying back and forth creating a sea of gold. In the distance they saw the doors of the neighbour’s barn close for the night, sealing the horses inside, safe and secure. The sky was burnt orange, the orb of the sun just kissing the horizon as it fell. As it lowered, so did the temperature by a fraction, but it wasn’t enough to cause any kind of proper discomfort.

A fleeting thought crossed Roy Mustang’s mind, that he could shuffle closer to his companion so they could keep each other warm. If he were at his own house back in Central he would have offered a blanket and draped it over her shoulders.

“I’ll miss sunsets like this back in Central.”

Regret flooded him, his face dropping when he saw Riza’s own smile fall from her face. Her head tipped forward to look down at her knees. On her neck, the top of her tattoo peeked out from her slightly too big, open collared shirt. The sight of it made Roy’s stomach twist. He’d spend weeks deciphering that monster, but time hadn’t made it any easier to look at.

“I’m sure you will,” Riza replied, her voice barely a mumble.

He cursed himself for removing that smile from her face.

“I’ll keep it with me, though,” he hastily added, “like I do with every moment I’ve spent here.”

His face turned crimson as his brain blurted out what he was thinking before his mouth could stop it.

Tentatively, Riza peeked out the side of her eye. Her fringe was half obscuring her vision, and Roy hoped and prayed she didn’t see how bad his embarrassment was. The smile she was fighting to keep off her face told him his wish had not been granted.

“Thank you, Mr. Mustang,” she replied sincerely.

He couldn’t be too annoyed at his inability to think before he spoke because it returned a pleased smile to her face after all.

“You’re welcome, Miss Hawkeye,” he managed to get out. “What will you do with yourself?”

A deep sigh heaved through her body, expanding her chest and back before exhaling quietly. “I don’t know.” Her eyes lifted to look out into the fields. The light accentuated the gold in her hair, but also the colour of her eyes. They looked amber in the fading sun. Beautiful.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You’ve already done so much.”

“I could always do more. If you’d like me too, of course,” Roy offered. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

The look she was giving him… Her head cocked, her fringe falling to the side while she regarded him. It looked like she was smiling, but her expression was quizzical. Like one was trying to figure out an amusing puzzle.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she dismissed with a mysterious smile.

Roy blinked at her, trying to discern what that smile meant.

They returned to silence. Roy was still stumped by that look she’d given him. Settling back in his chair, he contemplated it further inside his mind, turning over the nuances of her tone and changes in expression.

“Thank you. For everything… Roy.”

His head snapped up at the use of his first name, returning him jarringly to the present. That tiny, appreciative smile was back, making his heart stutter twice in such a short space of time. The way his name had sounded coming from her… It was breathed, like it was a forbidden secret. Under the watchful eye of her father he’d always been Mr. Mustang. That title was sacred to him, because that was what Riza called him, and vice versa with her, for Miss Hawkeye. But… Hearing his first name spoken so openly after all this time…

He wanted to hear it again.

“You’ve done so much for me recently,” Riza continued, oblivious to how hard his heart was pounding inside his ribcage. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Any time, Riza.”

The name was foreign on his tongue as he tested it out, but he enjoyed every moment. It felt like a step forward in a promising direction. Like the shackles her father had on her were finally lifted, letting her be free and grow into her own person, and not just his caretaker.

A flush covered her cheeks, making Roy wonder if it had anything to do with the use of her first name.

“What?” He wanted to prompt her, to find out if that was the reason for her cheeks prettily turning pink in the last light of the day.

“It’s nothing,” she stammered quietly. Shoulders bunched up to ears, chin tucking into her chest as she tried to hide from him.

“Riza, what is it?”

He had a habit of prodding too much. Riza Hawkeye was not one to be poked at and investigated, especially not by him. Whatever needed to be revealed would come in her own time and she would never be rushed. However, Roy’s eager inquisitive streak had gotten the best of him. He just hoped, in hindsight, he hadn’t made her retreat further from him, effectively ending their conversation completely.

With a breath held tightly inside his lungs, he observed her form as she shied away, hoping she would answer. Hoping he hadn’t pushed her too far into a corner.

“It’s been tough, but you being here through it all has helped a lot,” Riza murmured. Her shoulders relaxed and her head tilted, eyes catching onto movement on the path before them. A worm was making its way across the concrete, its movements slow and patient.

“It has?” Roy was bewildered. He didn’t think he’d helped that much. He’d just taken the secrets from her and imposed.

Riza nodded, her expression changing to assurance, moving away from idle contemplation. “It’s made me happy.”

Her reply, so simple and spoken as if it was the truth of the world, made colour rise up the young man’s cheeks.

“Roy?” Her inquisitive expression was wondering why he’d turned away from her so sharply. It was to hide his blush, but she didn’t need to know that.

Upon hearing her reasons, a warmth spread across his chest. It trickled down through his ribs and settled into his heart, burrowing in deep as something he would keep with him for the rest of his days.

He’d done that for her. She’d kindly opened up her home and her sanctuary to him. It had felt like all Roy had done recently was take and take. The feeling of being able to give something back in return was welcome. Not that Roy Mustang thought the indomitable Riza Hawkeye needed any kind of protection from the likes of him – the image of her rifle resting against the wall by her front door flashed into his mind – but it was… nice. He felt useful to her. And that was something he wanted to be.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, schooling his expression. He could blame the heat of the evening on the flush of his skin if she asked. “I’m glad I could make you h – happy.” He cursed himself for the sudden onset of a stutter.

“You do,” she replied confidently, turning back to look out over the fields. Her confidence dwindled slowly, turning timid as she opened her mouth to speak further. “You… make me feel safe.”

It was so quiet he had to strain and concentrate, but when the words sunk in Roy was afraid his heart had stopped beating. His head turned sharply to look at her, but she was looking back down at that worm, shoulders back up at her ears.

Well. Now it was going to be even harder to return to Central alone.

“I do?”

His question was stupid. His brain couldn’t comprehend anything else, so it left his lips with the same intonation as his feelings towards it. He wished he could form something more coherent for her in what felt like a pivotal moment of their evening. Riza was being open and sharing. It didn’t happen very often, so he should be cherishing this, not staring at her blankly in surprise.

“Yes,” she whispered shyly. “It was… hard. Not having Father here. Knowing he was really gone, and it was just me left.” Her voice had grown stronger, her shoulders peeling down from her ears one final time as she voiced her thoughts and well-hidden feelings. “Your assistance has reminded me that I’m more than just his daughter, the bearer of his secrets.”

Riza’s head turned. There was a fire in her eyes, a confidence, and Roy was trapped by it. Held steady by her determination.

“You make me feel safe,” she repeated slowly, testing out her wording while her cheeks became covered in a dusting of pink, “like I’m allowed to be anything I want. Sharing my burden with you was the best decision I’ve made,” she nodded, confirming it for herself.

“Oh, um.” Roy continued to stutter.

Expectantly, Riza had looked up at him but her head cocked as he sat there staring at her instead.

He didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t know what to reply. If anything, that sentence made his yearning to stay even stronger. The dedication was on the tip of his tongue. Lips parted but no words left him, just a strangled sound.

“I’m sorry if that was too bold of me, Mr. Mustang,” she apologised, casting her gaze away from him. Retreating from him. The use of his title stung.

No! The voice in his head yelled the reply but it didn’t quite make its way out of his throat. She’d just bared her soul to him and all he could do was stare.

“No, no,” he reassured hastily, hands waving in front of him. Roy shifted on the step, moving closer. It caught her off guard, and Riza flinched in surprise. “No, not too bold at all,” he added. “Thank you. But I feel unworthy of such a praise from you.”

“Just…” Riza sighed as she looked into his eyes, suddenly very close. “Thank you,” she finished, completely sincere.

“Thank you in return, Riza.”

“What for?” Her brow creased in her confusion.

“For opening yourself up to me. With… your father’s work,” he gestured over her shoulder at her back, “and for just now.”

Tentatively, Roy reached out for her hand and placed his atop hers. A quiet gasp left her lips, making him smile.

“Thank you for trusting and believing in me,” he murmured.

“It’s an easy thing to do, I’ve realised.” Her admittance was shy, but her voice held strong in volume. She didn’t retreat away from him.

“I’m glad.” His smile almost split his face in two.

Both of them remained sitting there, looking up at the dark sky as they waited for the stars to come out to play. Their joined hands never parted, both of them shrouded underneath the warmth of a single blanket.

[liberty-flight]

Royai Week 2017-Day Two: Black Tie

“Why am I here again, sir?” 

He turned his head to study her stony expression. For a reason he was still trying to ascertain she had been acting cagey and agitated during the event. She wouldn’t tell him the reason no matter how he asked, instead Riza gave him half answers and deflected the question.

“I had a plus one?” Roy guessed, keeping his eyes on her as he spoke. She wasn’t looking at him, instead her eyes were fixed determinedly on the group of people on the far edge of the room. Her hands occupied by the shawl she held to herself.

Riza’s lips thinned into a small frown at the reply but she said nothing more, it was concerning him. He knew that she was not one to complain and she seemed much too jumpy to simply be agitated with being here.

It wasn’t his favorite type of event either, the gathering was little more than an excuse for a prominent family to show off their wealth and network with other individuals of prominence. After turning down an invite to attend a horse race from the same family Roy could hardly refuse the invitation to attend their little party without seeming like he was snubbing them.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth that they were so insistent on becoming acquaintances with the “Hero of Ishval.” The invitation was somewhat last minute, but it was an invitation all the same.

As for Riza he just wanted someone there with him, someone he knew and trusted. His sisters were in Central and there wasn’t anyone else that he knew. Coming alone had just seemed miserable and dangerous.

A few months after the war had ended and Roy still scared himself with his own temper. It seemed like such a sudden development after trying to return to ‘normal’ life and one of the ways he had found to combat it was to remain in the company of other veterans. He wasn’t sure why, maybe because they understood the horror of the war and he felt less like he was being driven mad from the praises from people oblivious to the murders he had committed.

Now he stood in a sharp tuxedo in a disgustingly lavish venue in the presence of people who would have considered him the lower class scum of Central before the war. His bow tie felt too tight, but he’s sure he’s loosened it twice already. Anymore and he feared it would come undone.

Riza’s growing discomfort sent a sharp stab of guilt through him for asking her to come. He hadn’t given her the exact reason, but maybe he should have.

She was wearing a beautiful dark green dress. Long and form fitting, cinched at her waist, the shawl she held matching in color. She wore simple makeup, lips painted a strong but not overly vibrant red, eyes accented by eyeliner and a bronze colored eyeshadow. The only jewerly she wore were her simple silver stud earrings and a simple silvery clip in her short hair.

He had never seen her dressed so nicely, his heart twisted at the sight of her. They had never needed to dress so well in the time before the military, and he knew Riza wouldn’t have had the money for such a dress even if they had. Nowadays they simply saw each other in their uniforms. Even military events had them wearing their dress uniforms.

 It left him to wonder which, if any, of her old clothes she had kept or if she still wore them.

“Are you angry with me?” He finally asked.

She finally turned to look at him, her expression softening but still tight around her eyes. “No, sir,” she was quick to assure him.

He gave an unsatisfied frown in response, prompting her to smile in return, small and indulging it did nothing to ease him. 

For now he let it be.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Roy was ready to peel off his clothes and fall face first onto his bed. He shouldn’t feel so tired from just a party but it had felt like an extremely long test of his patience.

Most of all his curiosity and worry about Riza’s mood had his thoughts running in frustrating circles the whole night. She had remained in the same mood the whole night, her words seeming sharp and tense when she spoke. No one else seemed to have noticed, but they didn’t know her the way he does. She remained at the edges of the room, to him it had seemed like she was attempting to melt into the walls.

Now that they were in his car and headed to their homes he could finally ask her and hopefully the privacy would mean she would answer honestly.

“Why are you stopping?” Riza questioned, puzzled.

He killed the engine before turning to look at her. She seemed less tense and jumpy than at the party, but she still held her shawl in a death grip.

“What’s wrong?” Roy asked gently.

She looked away from him, her eyes on the dashboard.

“Nothing, it was just...not an environment I’m comfortable in,” she said, voice level and eyes not moving from the dashboard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his guilt at asking her to come rising.

Roy hesitated then laid his hand on top of Riza’s, which was still fisted in her shawl. When she didn’t object or pull away he rubbed his thumb over her hand in silent apology.

“I didn’t want to go there without...” Roy trailed off, now the one to look away but keeping his hand on hers. She knew about his bouts of anger. She and Hughes were the only ones who knew about them, how they weren’t just him acting out when in a sour mood.

“I understand. And you couldn’t really refuse,” she reminded him lightly. Then, “I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to be so obvious with my discomfort.”

He squeezed her hand and looked up to meet her eyes. Though her expression was sympathetic and genuine he still thought she looked nervous, shoulders tense. He brushed his thumb over her hand again.

“What else?” When she opened her mouth to refuse her spoke over her. “Your hands are still clenched, Riza. You don’t have to tell me, but if there’s anything I can do to help...”

The use of her first name stilled her for a moment and then she released a long breath.

She looked away from him again, this time removing her hand from his. He let her, his worry spiking at her withdrawal. Riza’s expression was shuttered and she seemed to shrink into herself.

He said nothing, waiting for her to gather her thoughts.

When she spoke next it was in a small voice.

“My dress...”

Confusion was quickly followed by surprise. He was about to speak when she turned in her seat, her back to him. 

With a resigned movement she released her hold on the shawl, letting it drop below her neck for the first time that night.

Understanding, anguish, shame, and guilt all crashed through him, a strangled sound half between understanding and surprise leaving his throat.

Even with the high collar the dress still had an opening at it’s back. Burn scars and lines of ink marring her pale skin.

“I-I couldn’t find one that I could wear so last minute in any of the stores,” she explained, speaking quickly as if to defend herself. “And I didn’t own anything that was appropriate for this event. This one worked but..” she trailed off as she hurriedly pulled the shawl back up, once again covering her back.

“I was nervous the whole night,” she finished, her hushed voice verging on a rasp.

She didn’t turn around, not wanting to see Roy’s expression. She knew it would be one of agonized guilt and she felt terrible for having told him, but she hadn’t wanted to lie. He knew of this secret already, hiding it wasn’t something she felt like doing.

Besides, Riza was selfish enough to admit that despite the guilt the reminder would bring him that she wanted to share it with him. Wanted the comfort his understanding brought her.

No one else could know how tortuously paranoid hiding the tattoo made her. Sometimes she felt like she was going crazy, keeping vigilant while at the same time convincing herself that no one was going to jump from the shadows to skin her and set Amestris aflame.

She jumped at the hand on her back, then relaxed. She felt wrung out after being so tense for so many hours. It reminded her of Ishval, her very soul as taut as a piano string, eyes on the target, ears on her surroundings. Alone in her sniper’s nest wondering if the sound she heard behind her was her imagination or an enemy. Everything so distant and yet so close through her scope, the only thing that felt real after countless hours was the feeling of kickback from her rifle. As if even she herself had ceased to be a real person.

“Riza.”

She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the cool window. Roy’s voice was steady and understanding, but she could hear the pain too.

“I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” she murmured in apology, not moving from the window.

In response she heard Roy slide across the seat until his body touched hers. His hand at her back moved to her shoulder and a gentle tug had her turning back to face him.

His eyes were sad but there was a smile on his face. “You can always tell me anything,” he assured her. “Especially things concerning your back. You entrusted it to me, after all.”

She nodded, not knowing what to say, but understanding his sincerity and basking in his comfort.

She settled into his side, allowing him to put his arm around her waist as she leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“And you entrusted yours to me,” she reminded him.

“Thank you,” she added, hugging him closer.

His grip on her tightened in a warm reassuring squeeze.

[tsaritsa]

The Possession of Isra Wright // ch ii

this fic can also be found on ao3 or ff.net

The rebuilding Ishvallan community is rocked by the uncovering of an exorcism gone horribly wrong, resulting in the death of a young woman at the hands of her own family. General Roy Mustang and his team suddenly find themselves embroiled at the centre of a military scandal that threatens to not only undo their three years of hard work, but also the military itself.

FIRST CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER

Roy turned to Riza, and nodded his head back towards Aledia. “We should probably get going,” he said, grabbing the towel and water bottle from the sandy bank and scrubbed his still-dripping hair with the towel quickly. “I want to have a shower before dinner tonight.”

“The water was not refreshing enough for you?” she teased, kneeling down to wrap up the used knife and chopping board up in cloth.

Roy laughed. “If there weren’t another five hundred sweaty guys around me, then perhaps.”

Riza stood up, arms cradling the ice box and wrapped utensils carefully. “Shall we?” she asked, nodding towards the exiting crowd of people.

Roy nodded. “I saw you tackle Rebecca before,” he said carefully, as they followed the large group going back to the town centre. “What was that about?”

Riza groaned and her shoulders slumped. “She was being nosy. I swear she’s becoming more like your mother every time I see her.”

Roy held a still-bloody hand to his chest in mocking incredulity. “My mother is a wonderful influence on people. Look at how I turned out!”

Riza shook her head in disbelief, opting to not reply. They walked in companionable silence for a while, watching the young children running through the crowd, yelling to one another in a mixture of Ishvallan and the common tongue. It was becoming an increasingly common sight now, and though many non-Ishvallan Amestrian’s didn’t seem to understand the importance of reviving a nearly dead language, almost everyone stationed and living here could speak it to some degree – Riza had a much better grasp on the language than he did, but she had always had the advantage when it came to patterns and memorising words. That, mixed with her studies of the Xingese dialect that the traders used and her schooling knowledge of Auregean and Cretan meant she was becoming quite the polyglot.

“Samir seemed to be in good spirits today,” Roy said quietly, eyes on the horizon that was becoming increasingly redder with each passing moment. “I don’t think I’ve seen him like this since Lāeshembha last year.”

Riza nodded. “Last year didn’t bring the rains we needed – but I’ve no doubt this sandstorm-” she gestured to the oncoming storm “-will be bringing a lot of rain. The Malkhā won’t be a lake for much longer.”

“Don’t forget that Samir laughed,” he replied. “That should probably be an omen for rain in itself.”

Riza laughed. “I’ll let Basir know it’s a recommendation for the Elder’s to consider.”

They had reached the centre of Aledia now, and the smell of burning incense was becoming stronger and nekhlo smoke was rising lazily into the sky. Strains of melody and singing could be heard and the front of the main Ahmanhe had been converted into stall upon stall of traditional food and drink. Though lunch had only been a few hours ago, Riza felt her stomach grumble in anticipation. Even in the blazing heat, one could not get enough of the various meats and breads that came out for festival celebrations – particularly kafirghī – a dish consisting of flatbread, filled with goat’s cheese and spices and cured goat meat. It was only available during the summer season due to the conditions needed for curing the meat, and she looked forward to it every year.

A hand on her forearm made her pause. “Sir?” she asked, eyes meeting his. He inclined his head towards the apartment building where most of the higher-ranking military were based. “Shall we?” he commented. “I don’t know about you, but I really need a shower right now and I left my keys back home.”

Riza snorted. “How convenient that I appear to have a set with me,” she remarked dryly, following him away from the dispersing crowd towards the building.

“Because I can always put my trust in you to remember what I don’t,” he countered, taking the ice box and wrapped utensils out of her arms as they neared the entrance. “We just make such a wonderful team!”

Riza sighed, rummaging around in her pocket for her set of keys. “I was hoping to grab some of Nazahah’s kafirghī before she sells out,” she muttered, opening the door with a little more force than strictly necessary. “You know she does the best out of anyone here, and-”

“The ones you made last year were really good though,” Roy interrupted, following her into the foyer area and jerking his head to his left side. “And I don’t think Nazahah will sell out without you buying at least fifteen of the bhu’jahle ones. I think she makes extra just for you.”

She turned to retort but instead frowned at his erratic behaviour. “Water in your ears?”

He nodded, before jerking his head rather violently to the other side. “I had to dive for the second fish. He got through my net.”

“Sounds like someone should’ve spent more time on his net rather than monitoring the last chāna contest,” she muttered under her breath, closing the main door behind them. She made her way to the stairs, quickly climbing two at a time. “The water didn’t look too muddy this year though,” she called back, finding the key for his apartment swiftly.

“Reminded me a bit of the barracks during training,” he replied, scrunching up his face. “The smell that is somehow terribly fresh but stale at the same time? I never thought I’d have to deal with it again.”

Riza laughed softly, and unlocked the door to his apartment. “I believe that may just be a consequence of being male,” she replied teasingly. “I don’t have any bad memories of how the barracks smelled.”

“Lucky for some,” he muttered, moving to the kitchen. He motioned to the ice box he was holding. “Do you want these in the fridge or the freezer?”

“Freezer please,” she replied, following him into the small space. “I doubt I’ll have any room for food after tonight. Could you put those into the sink?” she passed him the wrapped knife and board. “I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

“Sure. Where are Hayate and Eliza?”

“Probably where we left them on the bed,” Riza answered, grabbing the water jug from the fridge and sitting down at the small kitchen table, covered in manila files and paperwork. She grabbed the glass she had used at breakfast this morning and filled it up. “It will be too hot for them right now. Tonight – we should take them to dinner, the exercise will do them some good. Hana’s been asking after them as well.”

“How is she?” Roy asked, wrapping the filleted fish in waxed paper and tying it off with string. “I haven’t seen much of her of late.”

“She’s good,” Riza said, pausing to take a large drink of water, wincing a little at the sudden not-burning sensation on her teeth. “That library excavation is taking more time than she expected, I think. A lot of the scrolls are apparently quite delicate.”

“How is she going with the translation? I know Samir was going to help her, because the language was similar to the chants and prayers-”

“I doubt she’s even at that stage yet Roy,” Riza said gently. “Even if they had one scroll that was in good condition the shift from the environment it was in to another would be more than enough to damage them. I know Ishval’s not the most humid place on earth but-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he groused, holding his hands up in apology. Placing the wrapped fish in the freezer, he put the lid back on the ice box and placed it under the sink. “Remind me to give the remains of the fish to Hayate and Eliza before we leave – it should stop them trying to nick food at dinner tonight.”

“You mean it’ll stop Hayate. I swear Eliza has hollow legs.”

Roy grinned, sitting down in the chair opposite her and wiped his once again sweaty brow on the towel still slung around his shoulders. “What’s the time now?”

She checked her watch. “It’s just past four o’clock. If you take a shower now I’ll be able to have one as well after you and we’ll still make time for dinner.”

“Or we could share the shower and save the water?” he asked, eyebrows waggling. “You know you want to.”

Riza tried not to let the smile on her face grow. “You’re terrible,” she chided, getting up and putting the jug back in the fridge. She heard the scraping of his chair as he stood up and followed her, the heat from his body tangible as he closed the distance between them.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?” he asked, strong, warm hands resting on her hips, thumbs drawing lazy patterns on her waist. She made to bat his hands away, but he was too quick – now she stood boxed into the corner of the kitchen, her hands held down firmly by his own. Riza laughed, a little embarrassed. “Rebecca said that my poker face in regards to you was awful today,” she said quietly, brown eyes meeting his dark ones. “She said that I was ‘wet for Mr. Sparkypants’-”

“Are you?”

She took a moment to think, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth – she heard a strangled noise come from deep within his chest and grinned.

“I think I would be lying if I said I wasn’t,” she breathed, still smiling as his lips crashed onto hers. It was not a harsh kiss, nor was it overly tender. It was pressure, the good kind, and heat – so much heat. Roy was a man much like his alchemy that defined him – warmth and burning all rolled into one, a delectable frenzy and dichotomy that made her weak at the knees as he shifted even closer – hands loosening their grip on her own in favour of trailing up her body, coiling and threading through her hair with such deliberateness and holding her just so.

It had been weeks since they had let themselves act like this – weeks filled with late nights of paperwork and awful reconstituted coffee, nights that ended in glances and nods and the unfair acceptance that this was how it was, how it had to be, and how it would be for many moons to come. As she snaked her arms up around his neck to keep him close, she could sense the niggling feeling that what they were doing was wrong (and it was very very very wrong, if anybody ever actually saw them they would be over and done for and all their work would crumble into dust) begin to slip away in favour of the returning warm curling feeling, low and deep in her gut, growing with each passing second of just-right pressure, warm breath and bitten lips. A sigh escaped her as he shifted towards her jaw, savouring in the soft bites that would not mark for long, as his hands lessened their grip on her head and began to stroke the edge between her neck and scalp, causing her body to be overwhelmed with pleasurable shivers. After a while it became more ticklish than enjoyable, and she pulled back from him, giggling and swatting his hands away as best she could.

He cradled her head then, thumbs running over cheekbones and pushing back wisps of hair that had escaped her hair tie, before kissing her again, softly, and intimately this time. Far too often they would have no choice but to be harried and quick; moments filled with desperate touches rather than measured caresses. Far too frequently nowadays there was not even time to spend together as friends, let alone as lovers – and though they both understood complicitly that Ishval was and would always be their number one priority – today was a time when their responsibilities could fall to the wayside in favour of celebrating with and as the common people.

Roy kissed her once more, tenderly before gathering her up into his arms and pressing his lips to the spot between her neck and shoulder. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into her skin, voice cracking as his hands traced hidden lines and marks underneath her clothing. “This season has been hell.”

Riza exhaled shakily, fingers stroking his damp hair gently. “We survived it though,” she murmured back softly. “We always do. The rain will come and we can rest until autumn arrives.”

He laughed unsteadily at that, arms growing even tighter around her. It was a familiar ache – never quite enough to makes up for the minutes and months and moments lost between them – but it would have to be enough for the time being.

Roy pulled back from her after a while, and she smiled warmly up at him as she pushed his hair out of his eyes. “You deserve a break,” she said quietly, fingers trailing down his jaw. “Even Samir had noticed how hard you were working.”

He caught her hand with his own and held it close to his jaw, kissing the middle of her palm softly. “Is it enough?” he asked, hand tightly gripping hers. “I see how much we’ve done, but there is still so much left to do and-”

She interrupted him with another kiss, her feet on tip-toes as she strained to meet his height. “It will have to be enough,” she scolded him lightly; twining her fingers with his and pulling him close. “This is a team effort and I will not have you work yourself ‘till your death when others are there to support you.” He nodded slowly at this, and exhaled unevenly.

“Thank you,” he said simply, quietly, and they stood there for a while, hands clasped and breathing slowly, revelling in the few moments when General and Captain fell to the wayside in favour of truer names.

Riza could practically feel the edges of his mouth upturn into a no doubt shit-eating grin before he spoke. “Still keen on that shower then?” he asked brazenly, melancholic mood all but forgotten as his thumbs began to stroke over the backs of her hands. She turned to face him properly, smiling sweetly up at him.

“I would love to,” she began, trying her best not to snicker at the excessively confident look on his face. “But I’m afraid there’s a problem…”

Roy frowned. “Problem?”

“Yeah.” She squeezed his hands, before pulling away to his confusion. “You absolutely stink of fish, honey boo.” She kissed him on the cheek swiftly before ducking out from under his arm. “Go and have a shower and I might change my mind.”

Roy hung his head in defeat, before nodding and wandering in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll hold you to that,” he called, before shutting the door behind him.

Lāeshembha – fishing festival that occurs at the end of the drought season.

Malkhā – the main river that runs from the mountain ranges that separate modern-day Ishval from Amestris.

Ahmanhe – place of worship for Ishvalla.

Nekhlo – type of slow growing tree indigenous to the Ishvallan region – when treated correctly, burns with a very pungent aroma. Often used for festivals, or to bring peoples’ attention. The bark can be scraped off and prepared to make mekhlo (which is where the name comes from for the alcohol).

Kafirghī – a flatbread that is stuffed with herbs, goat cheese and cured meat.

Bhu’jahle – a method of preparing goat’s milk to produce a cheese that is very soft and creamy.

Chāna – traditional Ishvallan stew, made with goat and root vegetables. Typically a spicy dish.

[popculturedruid]

Birthdays and Annoyances

I've been missing, I'm sorry, I still love all of you! Good news: it's the lieutenant's (Riza Hawkeye) birthday today! I've been working with some people in the Marvel Cinematic Universe - Agents of SHIELD, specifically. Well, trying, they are closed off - I blame it on them being spies. :D Bad news: Loki, yes the Loki from the same universe, won't leave me alone and I don't know why. I have considered the very possibility that he's the reason the agents don't interact much. Loki and I had an interesting start to this whatever relationship we have going on. Months ago, around March or so, he just showed up out of the blue, large as life, without any input on my side. This was very strange, as I'm usually dabbling in an entity's universe before they show up. During that time, I was still very much creating a relationship with my Fullmetal crew. The MCU wasn't on my radar, and to be honest, Loki isn't my favorite guy - sorry, I've always rooted for Hawkeye and Coulson, so I'm not a huge fan. But he nevertheless showed up. And we irritated the absolute shit out of each other. He was very much doing the whole "burdened with glorious purpose" shit, and I couldn't care less. I told him if he wanted to hang out and be cool, he could, but if he was gonna do the whole "midgardians are lower than me" he could gtfo. I think it honestly amused him while it simultaneously made him angry. I had "heart" as he put it. He seemed to loved fighting with me. Which is fair, because I loved knocking him down a peg every time he got uppity. I also told him he could only be around if the others were cool with it - they weren't so much. But I'm not sure everything was what it seemed on the outside. I didn't trust him and let him know that repeatedly. But sometimes he honestly just seemed like he wanted a friend - before he lapsed back into dipwad mode. There was one day I was just having an absolute shit day, and in the little headspace the FMA crew had created, they were trying to calm me down. Loki came in absolutely irritated, like when someone wakes you up rudely from a nap, or if you're trying to do something and your neighbors are being super loud. He came in like he was going to take it out on someone, but he wasn't mad at us, oddly enough. He seemed mad at whatever caused me the mental anguish and he wanted to go strangle it. I'm writing this and it seems ooc but that's what happened. He tried to get close trying to (comfort?) figure out the problem but the others pushed him away bc we didn't trust him yet. That kept him irritated but he sat down in a chair facing away like he was going to keep out everything else bad. It was honestly a weird experience, but he did stay around for another few weeks, even though I kept telling him he wasn't getting any worship from me, and we were all on equal footing. My other soulbonds really weren't fond of him, and when I finally went and had a one on one chat with Loki (what I usually do when trying to start up a relationship with a new entity), I had to specifically tell Ed and Mustang to stay out of proverbial earshot just so I could actually talk to Loki. That conversation was one of the last times I saw him, actually. He tried to show me how powerful he was with his magic tricks but I just stayed on task and laid out ground rules. It was a bit of an odd conversation since he had initiated the relationship himself, but we still had it. That was months ago. After that, some soul searching has occurred in other areas in my life not related to pop culture paganism - I will admit, some of it fueled inadvertently by Loki; and I found new entities - once again, led there inadvertently by Loki. So it would seem obvious why he has showed up again, right? He wants to help me out? Why? He doesn't "help people out." But he also doesn't seem to be nearly as egocentric this go around. The whole "glorious purpose" thing isn't a thing at the moment. Is he still proud? Yes. But for some reason he seems slightly vulnerable, which isn't great, bc I don't trust him enough to think it's safe to open up to try to help him. I suppose it must be asked why I let him stay around. It has to be because it absolutely fascinates me. I haven't often heard of soulbonds choosing a person out of the blue. The next question is why does he bother? It's obvious I'm not going to do what he wants, and he's definitely a "do what I want right now" kind of guy. I think it's just curiosity. Why did he come back? I am grateful for the nudges my life he helped me with, but he didn't even do those directly, it was more just the reminder of him that helped with those. So... what's he up to? Are these just random thoughts? Time will tell. And, as I've said it so often now... damn it, Loki. If any of y'all know of anyone who works with MCU Loki or you work with him yourself, hit me up. Otherwise, comments and questions are always welcome.

[onceandalwaysenglishmajor]

Rebirth

THE GREED!HUGHES FIC IS UP. My computer is on it’s last legs, but I finally managed to get it typed. Really pumped about this fic, actually. I hope you enjoy it as well. Definitely moved cannon around to make this work. @ladywiltshire @dailymaeshughes

Read on AO3 here.

Bido crept after the Fuhrer. He knew in his heart this was a bad idea, but the Fuhrer had Greed, and everyone else… everyone else was dead. Bido scrunched his eyes shut for a moment. He couldn’t think about that right now. If he just followed Greed… Maybe, just maybe, everything would be ok.

Bido followed the Fuhrer all the way to Central, then deep beneath the city. Not good, not good, not good, not good, Bido chanted in his head. But still he followed. The scene that followed was like something from a nightmare. Bido watched from the rafters as Greed screamed and cursed as he was lowered into a vat. Bido shoved his fist into his mouth to keep from crying out, tears streaming down his face. The leader, Father, they called him, collected a red liquid from a little spigot at the base of the cauldron they dropped Greed in. Father studied the liquid for a moment.

“Well, Greed, maybe I’ll have use for you again someday,” he said before tossing the vial to Envy. “Put that somewhere safe, until we find a decent host vessel.” Envy muttered about not needing someone so useless as Greed and stomped off. Bido followed.

“Useless fool, Envy muttered. “Never did anything for us, just ran off to ���live his own life’. What an idiot. He got what he deserved. Good riddance. Now, I suppose it’s time for Lust and me to have some fun.” He grinned evilly. “That Hughes has been poking a little too close to the Truth, and it’s time to do something about that.”  Shoving the vial in a cupboard, Envy stomped away. And Bido did something he had become very very good at in the Devil’s Nest: he stole the vial.

Continuing to follow the Homunculi didn’t seem to be a good idea. But Bido did it anyway. At least it gave him a clear path out of the hell hole under Central (and this from someone who lived ---had lived--- in a place called the Devil’s Nest) and out into the open air again. Why he continued to follow after that was a question Bido couldn’t answer. Really, he should be running as far away as possible. When the Homunculi entered the Central military headquarters, Bido stayed outside, hiding himself in some bushed behind a phone booth.

“Greed,” he asked the vial cradled in his hands, “What am I supposed to do now?” Tears streamed down his face, and Bido curled in on himself, a little ball of pain. How long he stayed like that, Bido didn’t know. A commotion by the phone booth caught his attention.

           “I need to speak to Roy Mustang now!” a voice barked. A moment of silence as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line, then a string of numbers. Bido watched in horror as Envy cornered their prey, switching faces with a manic smile. The man hesitated, gun wavering in his hands. And Envy struck. Bido waited until the Homunculus was gone before creeping out of the bushes. The man in the phone booth lay in a pool of his own blood. He was still alive, but barely. Bido looked at the vial clutched in his hand, then back at the man. This was probably an awful idea. But everything had been awful since the Fuhrer showed up under Dublith. It can’t get much worse, Bido decided. Cradling the man’s head in his lap, Bido uncapped the vial and coaxed the liquid down the man’s throat.

***

Not dead then, Hughes thought. But this might be worse. Like burning and freezing at the same time. Like his very soul was under attack, being torn slowly to ribbons, surrounded by a dense red fog.

Well, your soul is under attack, another voice intruded smoothly. Name’s Greed, and this body is mine now.

Like hell! Hughes thought back at him.

Feisty, aren’t you? No wonder you go in trouble with the family.

Family… That THING that attacked me… I’m sure it was a homunculus… You’re a homunculus?

Bingo! Give the boy a cookie! Though I’m what you’d call the ‘black sheep’ of the family. The red fog started to coalesce, forming a face, fangs bared in a leer.

You’re doing quite well, fending me off. I didn’t expect so much resistance from the original soul.

I have too much to live for, Hughes growled. The face, Greed, laughed.

I like your spirit! Greedy for life. I’ve got control now, I suppose there’s no harm in letting you stick around. You amuse me.

What the hell? Hughes asked, though it no longer felt like he was being torn to pieces.

I’m only going to say this once, because I don’t do explanations, Greed said. I’m a homunculus. I think you figured that bit out. This body is now mine. Got that? Mine. I’m letting your soul stay because I find you amusing. So, you’re also mine. The end!

***

Greed opened his eyes. Bido peered down at him nervously.

“Greed?” he asked. “Is... is it you?”

“Yeah, I’m Greed,” the homunculus started, only to be interrupted by the rather lizard-faced man letting out a sob and clutching Greed tightly to his chest.

“I thought I’d lost you forever!” he cried rocking back and forth. Greed was so shocked he didn’t pull away.

“Um,” he started, fully intending to ask who the hell the lizard man was, but he was again interrupted, this time by a pair of Amestrian servicemen, a dark-haired man and a blonde woman.

“Hughes!” the man cried. He only refrained from dropping to his knees next to Greed at the woman’s quietly bitten ‘sir!’. Greed pushed himself out of Bido’s lap, into a sitting position.

“Listen, all this attention is flattering, but I don’t know any of you people.” Mustang’s face fell and Bido let out a strangled sob.

“We need to move,” Hawkeye said calmly. Greed noted that she’d drawn a gun at some point. Not that it could hurt him, but the little lizard man who seemed so fond of him… Mine now, Greed thought, well, a bullet could definitely hurt him.

And the Hawk’s Eye doesn’t miss, Hughes added helpfully in the back of Greed’s mind.

“The car’s just around the corner,” the woman was saying. “Can you move?” This was directed at Greed, her voice carefully neutral. He staggered to his feet with a wince.

What the hell happened to you? he asked Hughes mentally.

Your siblings, Hughes replied drily. Out loud, Greed said,

“I can manage.” He started a little when Bido slipped under his arm, supporting him. Mustang led the way, Hawkeye following covering the group with her gun.

“Ooo, this is nice,” Greed cooed, sliding into the back seat. Mustang and Hawkeye had a quick, whispered conversation that ended with Hawkeye in the passenger seat, handgun still at the ready and Mustang in the driver’s seat.

We’re doomed, Hughes said morosely. If I’m still alive, this might kill me.

What are you going on about? Greed asked.

Roy’s driving. If we survive this trip, it will be a miracle. Before Greed could respond to Hughes, Mustang punched the accelerator, throwing Greed back into the seat. Hughes might be right about this he thought sourly.

“Do I even bother to ask where we’re going?” Greed asked.

“No,” Riza told him firmly.

She’s pretty, Greed thought. I wonder…

Don’t even, Hughes chided him. First, she’s totally off limits. Second, Roy would roast you into crispy crunchy pieces. Third, he wouldn’t get the chance, because Riza would take you out herself. And I’M still in here too, and would like to keep my body intact.

MY body, Greed corrected distractedly. The rest of his focus was on not engaging his ultimate shield and digging his claws into the smooth leather seats.

“Sir?” Riza asked as Mustang brought the car to a stop. “Do we really want to use the same location as where we kept Barry the Chopper?” Roy shrugged.

“Well, we already know it’s a decently secure location, and our equipment is still here, so we can radio the rest of the team for back up.” It was silent as the moved into a somewhat rickety room, empty except for a rundown table and a couple chairs that had seen better days. Greed and Roy sat down at the table. Bido hovered just behind Greed, as if he was still afraid to let the homunculus out of his sight, while Hawkeye took up a defensive position by the door.

“What makes you think I’m just going to go along with this?” Greed asked. Mustang’s shoulders sagged, just a little.

“Your powers haven’t fully settled into Hughes’ body yet. The cut across his, your forehead hasn’t healed yet. You’re still vulnerable.” Mustang took a deep breath through his nose. “And… we might be useful to each other.” Greed cocked an eyebrow at Mustang.

“Now you’re speaking my language! What did you have in mind?” Greed asked. Mustang winced.

“An exchange of information,” the colonel said.

“Mmm, I’m already in the head of military intelligence,” Greed said, tapping the side of his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that!” Greed leaned his chair back, crossing his ankles on the table.

“Who the hell are you?” Mustang asked, doing his best to keep the pain of seeing this… this thing that looked like his long time best friend but wasn’t out of his voice.

“I don’t usually do freebies, but, notoriety is one of the many things I want, so, I’ll tell you who I am. I’m Greed the Avaricious. I want it all. Everything you can think of. Money, power, sex, status, prestige. I want it all. I am Greed distilled and personified. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a homunculus. Though if I’m reading Hughes’ memory right, the existence of homunculi was part of what he wanted to tell you. Why did you show up just then, anyway?” the homunculus asked. Mustang ran a hand through his already messy hair.

“Hughes called me. I caught a little bit of what sounded like an attack, so I got his location from the dispatcher. I guess I was too late.”

Don’t let him beat himself up, Hughes spoke up in Greed’s mind. He’ll worry it like a dog with a bone, obsessing over whether or not he could have saved me.

He’s not my friend, it’s not my job to comfort him, Greed thought back. He could feel the displeasure radiating from Hughes, but chose to ignore it. It was his body now, and Hughes was just one soul. He’d had centuries of being formed from a philosopher’s stone, he could deal with cranky souls. He dragged his attention back to Mustang.

“I guess I was too late, though,” Mustang was saying, “because when we got there we found you.” He frowned. “How did,” he gestured vaguely to Greed, “this happen, anyway?” Greed paused. He didn’t actually know. His first memory was of arguing with Hughes as he fought for control of the body. Bido made a small noise, as if seeking permission, so Greed nodded magnanimously. No sense in admitting there was something he didn’t know.

You know, I can feel you rolling your eyes in there, he told Hughes irritably. Settle down, this probably concerns you too.

I thought nothing concerned me anymore, Hughes responded snarkily, as I’m just a soul sharing your space…

Just shut up and listen, would you? Greed told him.

“It all started under Dublith, after we grabbed Alphonse Elric…” Bido started.

“Alphonse Elric?” Mustang shouted, slamming his hands on the table. Bido flinched. Greed glared at Mustang.

“Hey, leave him alone!” Greed growled. “You’re the one who wanted him to tell this story.”

“Are Ed and Al all right?” Riza asked. They all turned to look at her, having almost forgotten she was there. Her focus was on Bido, though.

“Are the Elric brothers all right?” she repeated softly. Bido nodded.

“Yes, their teacher showed up, then Fuhrer Bradley, and that’s when things went horribly wrong for us…” he shuddered, looking at Greed in desperation.

“Everyone else… the rest of the Devil’s Nest gang…” he choked, “are… are dead!” He buried his head in his hands.

Comfort him! Hughes scolded inside his head. But Greed was frozen. Flashes of another body, of another life, of a group of chimeras like Bido who were under his protection, who were his swept through Greed’s mind. Coming back to the present, Greed found himself gently patting Bido’s shoulder. Did he decide to do that? Greed wondered, or was it somehow Hughes’ influence? No, that was impossible. Bido pulled himself together to continue the story, explaining how he had stayed hidden and followed the Fuhrer, and everything that had come after, up to pouring the vial (which he hadn’t known was a philosopher’s stone) down Hughes’ throat.

Things that seem like a good idea at the time…Hughes commented drily.

“I can’t believe he melted me down!” Greed said irritably. “Well, I can actually, this is the guy who makes homunculi who are vice personified… But he melted me down!” Greed huffed. “So you’re out to take down my baby brother, Wrath, right? The one you know as Fuhrer Bradley? Why don’t you set your sights a bit higher and take out my old man while you’re at it?” Greed glanced at a rather dazed Roy Mustang. “If that’s your goal, I’ll cooperate. At least until we take Father down. Then all bets are off.” He leered at Mustang, and threw a wink at Riza for good measure. That shook the alchemist out of his stupor, though his lieutenant acted like she hadn’t seen.

So that’s what Hughes meant when he said she was unavailable… they’re a couple.

I wish! Hughes muttered. They should be, but they won’t. Military regulations, Roy’s ambition, the shadowy past they have that neither one of them will talk about…Hughes heaved a long-suffering sigh. If you’re going to be using my body, please remember to pester Roy about needing a wife. And by ‘wife’ I definitely mean Riza, but don’t say that. I have bets going about how long this is going to take them.

What is with your pathological need to parent everybody? Greed asked. He could feel Hughes’ mental shrug.

Pay attention, I think they’re going to decide what to do with you… us.

That’s not denial, Greed threw at Hughes before turning his focus fully outward. Roy and Riza were finishing up a non-verbal conversation. Totally married, Greed noted.

Put money on it, I’ll add you to the pool, Hughes chimed. Roy stared at him, hard. Bido shifted nervously behind him, even though the full intensity of the glare wasn’t directed at the chimera. Greed didn’t flinch.

“The lieutenant and I have decided to accept your offer. There are a couple other people I trust that I’m going to call in, then we can discuss… how we proceed.”

“Team Mustang, right? Breda, Havoc, Fuery, and Falman?” Greed asked. Mustang cocked his head.

“Yes… but what did you call them?” the alchemist asked.

“Team Mustang. That’s the label in Hughes’ mind.” Greed said.

You didn’t have to tell him that! Hughes scolded. The faintest ghost of a smile brushed across Roy’s lips.

“He would,” Roy muttered, barely audible. He continued, louder. “My team are the only ones we can trust. And you can’t just wander around Central wearing Hughes’ face. We’ll have to figure something out, maybe fake your death…”

“And why can’t I ‘wander around Central’?” Greed pouted. Mustang looked at him pointedly.

“As much as you look like Maes Hughes, you’re not him. And I’m not going to let a homunculus rummage through any more state secrets than I have to,” Roy threatened.

“Is that so?” Greed glared back.

“Boys. Enough.” Riza’s commanding voice cut through the tension, and both Greed and Roy leaned back. How does she do that? Greed wondered.

“But I agree with the colonel,” Riza continued, “you can’t go to work as Maes Hughes. We’ll have to figure out an alternative.” As Greed watched, all the color suddenly drained from Roy’s face.

“Oh my god,” he said, “what do we tell Gracia?” Hawkeye’s face dropped, matching Roy’s pallor. She stared at Greed in horror.

“Who’s Gracia?” Greed asked. Hawkeye and Roy just stared at him, too caught up in their own thoughts. Hughes, however, had no such issues.

Gracia is only the most wonderful woman on the entire planet! And she married me! And… no wonder Roy’s panicking, I should probably be panicking too, but there is no way we are letting them tell her I’m dead when I’m not dead… Well, this is going to get complicated. But Gracia is so strong…” Hughes continued babbling about the virtues of his wife and Greed felt his jaw drop just a little.

“Wife?” he said not realizing he was speaking out loud as well as to Hughes. “I have a wife?”

No, Hughes corrected, I have a wife, and you’re just currently renting space in my body.

How are you so chill about this situation? Greed asked. Really, you should be curled into a ball of existential doubt right about now. I mean, you managed to survive joining with a philosopher’s stone, but even so, why the hell are you so calm?

Would it change anything? Hughes asked pragmatically. It happened, I have to deal with it. I’ll have a break down later, after I know my family is safe, will that work for you?

You’re almost as snarky as Envy, Greed told him.

I refuse to be compared to someone your conscious labels as ‘the garbage lizard’, Hughes responded.

“We can’t tell her this,” Roy said, finally having recovered enough for speech.

No, no, no Hughes chanted.

“I agree, sir,” said Riza. “Maybe the idea of faking his death you suggested…”

Like hell! Hughes growled. Then the deluge started. Memories, emotions, overwhelming sensations, all focused on Gracia. These were… Hughes feelings? What was going on? Greed felt his control slipping. What? How could his control be slipping? Greed scrabbled to regain his mental balance in the face of so much raw emotion, but it was too late. Hughes had momentarily gained control. He blinked.

“Roy?” he asked. Mustang frowned.

“Yes? It hasn’t changed?” Roy said, an edge to his voice.

“Roy!” Hughes wrapped him in a quick spontaneous hug, lunging across the table. Roy stiffened.

“It’s me! It’s actually Hughes. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to maintain control, though. Greed is not happy. So I need you to listen to me. DO NOT lie to Gracia about what happened to me. Don’t do that to her. You don’t realize how strong she is. She can probably help, honestly. GRACIA NEEDS TO KNOW.” He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened again, the cheerful brown had been replaced by a hard purple. Greed planted his hands on the table, panting heavily.

What the hell was that? Greed growled.

I couldn’t let them lie to Gracia, Hughes said, utterly unrepentant.

Don’t do that again, Greed said.

No promises, Hughes replied blithely. Greed groaned.

You’re impossible, he groused.

You better focus, Hughes said. Roy’s starting to look worried.

Greed turned his focus outward.

“Do what he says, for the love of all things good, and don’t lie to his wife!” And there was no more talk of lying to Gracia. Much talk of what, exactly they would tell Gracia, but not of leaving her out of the considerations.