#✥ ⁖ ⊰ SNIPER: i’ll follow you into hell. ( hawkeye. ) ⊱

[thatrandomcatoverthere]

She devil part 1

Photo not mine. Honestly, I was just listening to Dying by lil peep and it inspired this so I’m not sure which direction this story will go. I plan to make this a series, it depends on how I feel about this part in a few days. 

Bucky x Reader 

Summary: Y/n was a lone wolf assassin that Bucky found during a mission scoping out a hydra base. Even though Bucky convinced her to join the avengers, she doesn’t get close to the others. She hides her secrets well, and spends her nights getting high. Bucky wants to learn more about her but doesn’t expect it to be so hard even if he is the only one she talks to. 

Warnings: Weed (i refuse to write about hard drugs as I’m highly against them personally), minor depression, canon typical violence but it may include non-canon violence and gore later on, may include smut later on, cursing. This may include things that are triggering to some at some point, please proceed with caution. 

Bucky had found y/n scoping out the same hydra base as him and Steve. When they finally had an attack planned she had taken it upon herself to snipe multiple soldiers from the tree line. After that the two decided she could prove useful especially since she shared the same hate for hydra. She originally wouldn’t give her real name, “She Devil” is all she would give when asked. She was a woman of few words. Very rarely would you hear her say a full sentence unless she was talking to Bucky. 

Y/n laid down in her bed on top of her fluffy black comforter and sighed. She had just got done with some nightly training with Bucky. She refused to do training in the mornings with the others unless mandatory. She was zoned out when a knock to her door snapped her out of it. “Come in.” She said already assuming it was Bucky. The metal armed male walked in and leaned on the doorframe, “You know eventually you’ll have to train with the others and open up right? I’m not pushing, but they’ve been asking if it’ll ever happen.” 

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Was all she said. Bucky chose not to argue or push any harder, “Just something to think about Y/n.” With that he left closing the door behind him. She didn’t waste any time to lock her door and pulled out her dab pen. It was the easiest way to smoke without anyone smelling it. She took a few hits, after a minute the world around her became jaded. She felt happy, like everything from her past was nothing but a thought. She laid back down and let her eyes close. The world was spinning around her as she fell into a soft slumber. 

She knew she should stop doing this, it was the only way she could properly sleep without every noise waking her up. 

The next morning she woke up with a start, the peaceful dream she was having shifted into the vivid memory of her first kill. 

Deep inhale. Slow exhale. The scope of her carbon fiber cheytac m300 aimed onto her target. She didn’t know what he did wrong to get a hit on him in her organization, but she had orders to follow. 

Deep inhale. Slow exhale. Squeeze the trigger. He fell.

She hesitated a second, a child ran up to him. It looked like his daughter, she was bawling and holding him. She felt sick as she swiftly packed up her gun into a guitar case. 

She felt sick at the memory. She found out later that he had threatened to spill the whereabouts of her organization to police. It made her wish she hadn’t killed him, she would not have suffered 6 more years with them. Wiping away tears that had found their way down her face, she went to shower. 

Steve looked up, it was rare others were awake at 6AM like him. By now he was used to Y/n being awake too. He watched as the girl walked into the kitchen to make herself some coffee saying nothing to him but “Good morning.” 

“Good morning Y/n, sleep well?” She nodded pouring her cup. He caught the hesitation though, the split second it took her. The pause she took while pouring the dark liquid. The deep inhale and the raise of her heartbeat. 

He eyed her wondering if he should say something, but quickly decided against it. She would open up in time. “Just a heads up, you, Bucky, and Nat are being sent on a mission today. The debriefing will be at 9 o’clock sharp.” He was taken back when she said more than three words after that. 

“Where to this time Captain? Siberia is too damn cold, please don’t be there.” She surprised herself honestly. When she was around Bucky or Steve she felt welcome, like she could be herself. It was still a work in progress to hold a conversation with Steve, but she was trying. “South Africa this time, so it’ll be hot. I would pack light.” 

The debriefing went by fast, Y/n was nervous she had never been on a mission with Nat. Excitement of seeing THE Black Widow in action coursed through her veins, but she tried to hide it. The trio were in the quinjet, Bucky was in the bathroom when Nat decided to speak up. 

“So why “She Devil”? Iron man is obvious, Captain America was given, and Hawkeye is just fitting. What’s your name story?” Nat looked over at Y/n hoping she would respond. She was trying to trust the sniper more, but there was nothing about her. Her hometown, her parents, everything up until the last year and a half. But she the h/c haired girl had been with for almost a year of that. It was amazing how long she kept to managed to keep herself hidden from the team. 

“It’s a long story.” 

“We have the time, it’s another 6 hours until we land. You can trust me Y/n, truly.” 

Y/n knew better, it was easy to spot an interrogation. She couldn’t and wouldn’t spill her secret unless she had to. Silence. Nat realized she wouldn’t win this and stayed quiet after that. 

 A week later, the group was ready for the attack. It was simple after Y/n scoped the area. Go in through the unused back entrance, take out the target and get the hell out of dodge. At least it was going to be simple. Until Y/n heard a yelp from her red haired companion. She had grown to like the ex-assassin over the past week, even started to talk a bit more. Thats when she saw it, the crimson liquid leaked out of Nat’s side. Bucky wasn’t out of the building yet, and the girls were surrounded. “Bucky Widow was hit and there’s at least ten of them around us.” Y/n said low enough that the hydra agents could not hear it. 

“Can you take them? Keep Nat safe I’ll be out there in about 60 seconds.” They didn’t have that much time. Y/n knew what she would have to do, but it would spill her secret. She would have a lot of explaining to do later. 

Suddenly her e/c orbs turned a dark red. Two black devil horns sprouted out of her head, along with a long devil tail that had a triangle tip at the end from her tailbone. Her canines got sharper and longer. It was a fierce sight to see, but also terrifying to the poor agents who had to deal with her. It was all a blur to Nat, who was sitting leaned up against a wall her hand on her side. 

Y/n pulled out a pistol and with an unnatural speed shot two of the agents. Her tail wrapped around the gun in one mans hands and yanked him to her as she jabbed her dagger into his chest. She quickly took care of the rest, it was effortless for her. The form granted her speed no human could hope to have, and eyesight and hearing similar to a hawk looking for its prey.  

Bucky ran out right when it finished and was about to aim at the she devil. He froze when he recognized her hair. He looked at Nat, she was in and out and losing a lot of blood. He made quick work of picking her up as he and y/n ran to the quinjet. Y/n taking care of any hydra they came across on the way. 

Y/n stayed in her room for the next two days, it took a toll on her body to transform into the She Devil. Not to include she really did NOT want to have the conversation about what happened. She knew it was all caught on footage, she had plugged a usb into a computer at the facility that allowed Tony to go through their footage. Ranging from a few months before to the present. Everyone in the compound had to know about it by now, it was only a matter of time before someone dragged her downstairs about it. 

Those two days she spent high of her rocker, she wanted to feel something other than fear and disgust. She hated what she is, she was born a mutant. She had just taken another hit when a knock sounded through her room. She ignored it at first before Bucky barged straight in. 

“What do you want?” she tried to say to him but it came out kinda jumbled. He put two and two together when he saw the pen. “Are you high right now?” He asked already knowing the answer. Her half lidded eyes and slower responses were enough of an answer, “How’d you know Buckaroo?” 

He stared at her when she said that. Was this her? The real Y/n? He so badly wanted to see more of it, but he didn’t want her to push him away when she sobered up. The last hit she took caused her to relax too much as her horns sprouted again. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to come and talk to us about what the hell scene you made on the mission.” He walked over to her and attempted to grab her hand and make her stand up. She pulled away quickly, “Then what? I get kicked out?” 

That’s what this was about. The reason no one had seen her for two days straight. He sighed, “Look I’ll try to convince Steve to let it wait until tomorrow but you better be sober when I come to get you. Though you at least need to go visit Nat in the med bay today when you sober up. She wants to personally thank you. Oh and I’m taking this you can have it back tomorrow after the meeting.” 

With that he swiftly grabbed the dab pen and left. Leaving behind an upset y/n.

When she finally sobered up later that day she waited until she was sure everyone would be in bed. She finally left her room and went to visit Nat, they had got close during the mission. When she entered the room Nat looked up from her laptop, “Hey She Devil.” 

She was giving y/n a rare smile that no one ever got to see. “Hey Nat, How ya feeling?” 

“Much better than the other day thanks to your quick work of those agents. I’m actually glad in a way that I got shot. I got to see something new about you.” 

“So you don’t hate me?” Y/n had dropped her barriers around Nat. She knew she could trust her now, it was strange for both of them honestly. Y/n rarely opens up around anyone, and Nat barely knew anything about y/n a week ago but already began to trust her. “Of course not, you saved my life that day. I gotta admit, it’s nice to see the real you. I hope one day you’ll fully open up.” 

They talked for almost 2 hours before deciding it was getting late. When y/n woke up the next day, she finally left her room. She slept terrible that night due to Bucky forcing sobriety on her, so when Cap saw how tired she looked he was surprised. Surely she would’ve spent those days locked away sleeping. She didn’t say good morning this time. She didn’t even glance at him while she made her cup of coffee. “Meeting at 10. Be there y/n.” when he got no reply he continued, “It’s nice to see you out of your room again by the way. Mornings are lonely when the quietest person alive isn’t around.” 

That earned a small smile from the girl who stayed staring at her coffee. But it was gone within a split second and replaced with a straight face again. The morning went by slow as y/n dreaded the meeting, already knowing it was about her. She was seated in the living room next to Bucky on the couch when JARVIS alerted them that the meeting was in 5 minutes. “It’ll be ok Y/n/n, all you have to do is explain what happened, and what the She Devil is. There will be questions, but no one will condemn you for any of your answers. We all have red on our ledger, it’s about time you explain some of yours to us.” Bucky reassured her on the way there.

When they arrived, she sat in-between Bucky and Nat. Glancing around the room she saw Tony, Steve, Sam, Wanda, Vision, and Thor. Just then Fury walked into the room and he immediately put his gaze on her. Locking eyes, well eye to eyes, with her. 

“Y/n Y/l/n. It’s been a while. I believe you owe all of us an explanation on what the hell that was on the mission.” He sounded irritated but intrigued at the same time and y/n didn’t know how to feel towards it. Her anxiety spiked high and Bucky grabbed her hand reassuringly under the table, something that did not miss Nat’s attention. Then all eyes were on y/n when she began to speak. 

“I apologize for not saying something sooner about it. I owe all of you an explanation of my past. So here goes nothing.” 

Author: I did not expect this to be so long, I will make a part 2 in a few days hopefully. I fell in love with this the more I wrote. 

 @dreaming-about-fanfictions​  I wrote this too dang early in the morning, but I hope you enjoy this one as much as the last and thank you for your support 😊

[fullmetalscullyy]

closer - chapter 3

fic title: “closer” by travis

rated: t | words: 5686

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

ao3 | ffnet

“They… They’ve…”

“Shot?” Breda exclaimed before Roy could formulate his sentence.

No. No, they couldn’t have been shot. That wouldn’t happen. They were working a simple case just gathering evidence. They wouldn’t get shot from doing that. That would be ridiculous. He’d just been talking to Hawkeye a few hours ago and she was fine. She hadn’t been shot.

Then why was there so much blood on Catalina’s uniform?

“What happened?” Havoc asked, staring into space. His voice was quiet and dazed. Roy watched as he swallowed, the Lieutenant’s Adam’s apple bobbing twice.

“Where are they?” Roy cut in. Reasoning cut through the haze that had formed over his mind after hearing that news. His brain had stuttered a few times but was now whirring as it processed Catalina’s announcement at a mile a minute.

Catalina’s gaze flicked to Roy’s, holding it for a moment longer than he could bear. Roy opened his mouth impatiently, about to demand that she tell him right now, but she eventually answered.

“Grumman is on his way to the hospital.”

“And Riza?” Roy asked desperately, sensing there was a big “but” coming.

Catalina looked uncomfortable before she answered, and Roy felt a shiver run up his spine. “Still at the site of the shooting.”

“What?” The whole team’s gaze snapped to hers.

Catalina swallowed, taking a shaky breath. “We got Grumman out. They sent him out. Riza’s still in there though –”

Roy wanted to vomit but his brain hadn’t caught up with the current conversation yet. He was saying words but wasn’t taking much of it. He picked up certain words and that was enough to piece together what had happened.

“Who sent him out?” he asked, beginning to walk towards the door.

“It’s a hostage situation, Roy.” Catalina’s eyes were large and worried. She rung her hands in her lap, fidgeting to try and control her emotions. “They won’t let her leave. I don’t know who they are,” she added, sensing his next question. “But… It’s bad. I’m so sorry.”

“Let’s go.”

Before he could take another step there was a tough restraint on his hand. Roy spun, coming face to face with Eve.

“Roy,” she whined, batting her eyelashes at him and pouting. “But we have dinner to go to.” His gaze snapped down to her eyes, burning with such fury that Eve paused, no longer swinging their joined hands together.

“Is she for real?” Havoc asked loudly to the room.

Eve glanced around at everyone’s thunderous expression, seeming to shrink in on herself.

Good. It’s what she deserves after that behaviour.

“We’re done,” Roy told her, voice deathly calm. He snatched his hand from hers, striding out of the room.

“Roy!” she cried, sounding like she was going to burst into tears. “Don’t go!”

“Seriously, who even is this bitch?” Catalina asked furiously, stopping to look back at Eve. Judging by the look on her face Catalina was ready to fight her there and then.

“Nobody,” Roy stated, tearing open the door to his office with force.

“If you leave right now, I’ll –!”

Roy spun on his heel, face murderous as he approached his former girlfriend. “If you think for one minute you are more important than Hawkeye being fucking shot, you’re delusional.” He was mildly surprised when her face twisted in anger.

“I knew there was something going on between you two!” she accused, raising a finger and poking him hard in the chest. It just made him angrier. “You bastard!”

“There was nothing,” he growled. “And I don’t care for the accusation. Our friend is currently being held hostage and you have the balls to tell me not to go? That we need to go out to dinner?” He scoffed. Despite the anger on her face, the longer Roy spoke the smaller she seemed to become. He wondered to himself what he ever saw in her if she had an attitude that stunk to high heaven like this. He wondered how he hadn’t seen it sooner.

You weren’t thinking with your head, Roy boy. That was true.

“Get the fuck out my office.”

“No, let’s settle this right now!” she exclaimed. He didn’t have time for this bullshit. “Pick. Me or her. Know that if you –”

“Easy.” He turned on his heel and breezed past the rest of the team, who begun to move without question, following him to go and help Hawkeye. Not before he got the satisfaction of seeing Eve’s mouth drop open in pure shock.

Of course, he would pick Hawkeye. It had always been Hawkeye for him.

“This isn’t over!” Eve screeched.

“Breda?” Roy barked.

“On it.” He remained in the office, approaching Roy’s desk phone and dialling security. Breda would remain with Eve to ensure nothing went amiss and that security escorted her from the building. While Roy hated to do it to him at a time like this, Roy also couldn’t have her snooping through the office or trying to tear the place apart in a fit of rage as an act of revenge.

Dealing with Eve came second for Roy right now. Hawkeye was first.

“It’s dead,” Breda stated. “The line, it’s dead.”

“How had that happened?”

“Doesn’t matter right now. Fuery, get security.” They heard Eve squeak the word behind them in disbelief, but Roy ignored her. “Once it’s dealt with both of you meet us there.”

“Sir!”

“What happened?” he asked Catalina as he marched out the office. “Tell me on the way,” he ordered.

*          *          *

When they arrived, the street was in chaos. Roy barked out orders to officers to connect to Fuery’s communication network and allow them all to talk efficiently to one another. He set up a perimeter, stationing soldiers around the jewellery store so any chance of escape would be stopped. These people needed to pay for what they’d done here today, and Roy was set on the warpath to make sure that happened.

They had both been inside the jewellery store when the shots were fired. Roy could see the window the bullets had pierced, the evidence in the fractured glass. Catalina had run in to help after the snipers had been immobilised – there had been two. A man had entered from the back room, holding her at gunpoint and telling her to step back from them both. Both hands raised, she’d done so and been forced out the building before the enemy barricaded the doors, sealing them in.

After she’d rushed back to the General’s car and called in the situation, the doors had opened and she saw Grumman’s body fall out, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

“A parting gift!” the man had yelled, followed by laughter.

Cautiously, Catalina had approached the body to find him still alive but losing blood. A lot of blood. It was pooling easily on the concrete beneath him, so she hoisted her commanding officer up and dragged him to the car. MP’s had already begun to flood in, and she passed Grumman over to the paramedics, rushing him to the nearest military hospital.

Riza, however was still left inside.

Unable to do anything further – and because Mustang wasn’t answering his phone in the office – Catalina drove straight to HQ after she’d gotten Grumman sent off to hospital, but as she’d left, she’d heard screams. A woman’s screams.

Roy’s face was set somewhere between seething and grim the whole time he listened to Catalina’s tale about what had transpired.

“Fuery?” he asked into the communication device in his ear. “You there?”

“Here, sir.”

“Get me through to the phone in there.”

“Understood, sir.”

It rang seven times before someone picked up.

“Well, well, well boys. Who do we have here?” a confident voice purred into his ear. His stomach tensed in response, ready to punch the confident smirk that was no doubt on this man’s face. “Could it be the infamous Colonel Mustang here? Ready to swoop in and save his precious woman?”

Those words jolted him back into a memory. They were underneath Central. Riza bleeding out on the floor, throat slit. The gold-toothed doctor grinning over her. And Roy… Roy restrained and unable to help her. He’d begged her with his eyes, tears collecting in them as he strained to be close to her in that moment, to help her, to hold her, to save her.

“What do you want?” he snarled.

“Just walk on in here and we’ll get this all sorted out.”

“Colonel!” he heard Riza scream. “Don’t –!” There was a pained yell, the silence. Roy began to move.

“Roy!” Catalina shouted, restraining him with a hand on his chest. “You can’t go in.”

He glared at her. “Like hell I can’t! Did you not hear that?”

“I did,” she replied, and Roy paused for a second, noticing the tears in her eyes. “But what happens if you storm in there? They will probably kill her. We can’t lose her. You can’t. Not like that. Not again.”

Catalina was right. That’s why he was ready to dive head-first into this because after almost losing Riza Hawkeye on the Promised Day, Roy vowed he would never let something like that happen again. And here they were, a few months down the line, and it had.

He couldn’t go through that again. The reason for it bubbled just under his skin – an emotion that he didn’t want to acknowledge because if he did, he felt like he might shatter. He definitely would if this all went to hell and Riza didn’t walk out of that store.

“Think,” she urged. “Just think about what you’re going to do right now.”

The voice in his ear chuckled. “That’s right, Colonel,” he crooned. “Think. Think about those flames you want to cast to consume us. But you can’t use them today, can you?” he asked, appearing disappointed that this was the case. “Because if you do, you might hurt the dear Lieutenant. She’s already had a taste of fire. Let’s see if she wants another?”

Roy felt his world stand still as a gunshot echoed through the earpiece. Everyone seemed frozen, time slowing to a standstill as they all processed what they’d just heard. He was the first one to move though. This time Catalina didn’t try to stop Roy as he surged forward. Another gunshot went off and the MPs and officers trained their weapons on the door to the store.

Havoc and Breda had their weapons out and ready to fire behind Roy and Catalina. Fuery brought up the rear, abandoning his communications post and joining them. He had his back to the store, eyes scanning rooftops in case the man inside had any more friends.

It took a few tries, but Roy and Catalina kicked the door down. Roy burst through it, vaulting over the furniture used to block it easily. His head whipped back and forth frantically, hand raised and poised to snap. Oh, he would barbeque those men if they’d done anything to Riza.

He rushed around a display case, stopping short when he spotted Riza.

She was alive.

His breath caught in his throat and tears sprang to his eyes.

Her face was swollen on one side. The eye barely visible. A cut ran over her cheekbone, the skin bruised and a clear sign she’d been struck multiple times on the face. Riza was leaning heavily on her elbow, one arm resting across her midsection. The latter arm was drenched in blood, the fabric around her wrist dripping with it. However, he noticed the material on the shoulder of her bad arm had been torn away. That’s where Catalina said she’d been shot.

And where a gunshot wound should be, there was a large scar. The skin was blistered and red. It was a burn.

“She’s already had a taste of fire.”

Before Roy’s world could turn completely red, he watched her sag back against the wall behind her, head hitting it painfully.

“Riza,” he breathed, skidding to a halt on his knees beside him. Anger later. Riza first. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.” He pulled her body against his, arms wrapping around her sore arm gently while the other snaked underneath and held her midsection. It was an awkward hug, but Roy needed it.

Again, he was transported roughly back to the Promised Day. Roy shuddered.

It had happened to her again and he’d been powerless to stop it.

Riza had shot the two men. The gun in her good hand was still smoking when he’d entered. But what would’ve happened if it had been the opposite? She’d have been left to be murdered by these two men, alone.

There was a reason they let Grumman go, Roy theorised. They didn’t need him. For whatever reason, these men were specifically targeting Riza either just for her, or to get to him. The latter made bile rise in his throat. Too often had she been used like that. And he’d let it happen again.

“Colonel,” she managed to get out, her frame shuddering as he held her.

“Are there any others?” Riza shook her head but then whined in pain during the action, her head stilling as her face contorted. “It’s all right,” he soothed, kissing the top of her head as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Sorry, don’t move.” He lifted his head and peered over the display cases, removing the hand from her injured shoulder to press it gently against the side of her head, clutching her even closer to him. The paramedics were running their way, directed by Catalina. Havoc and Breda were already removing the injured and groaning men. Fuery entered through the back room to scope it out and check it was safe. But even though there was all that action, all Roy could hear was Riza’s laboured breathing. Nothing penetrated their little bubble.

“It was… It wa…”

Her body went limp in his hands.

“Riza?” he asked quietly, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. “Riza!”

The paramedics shoved him out the way as they loaded her onto a stretcher. They were out the building and away in the ambulance in record time – before Roy could even rush in after her.

“I’ll drive,” Havoc stated and the whole team squeezed into the one car. Car safety rules be damned today.

The wait at the hospital was agonising. Over and over again in his head Roy thought about what could have happened, what he could have done differently to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Maybe you should have worked on the case together like you planned all along and not let yourself get distracted. Her downfall is on you leaving her to pick up your slack.

His inner voice was always right.

Another thing that was bothering him was how had this even happened anyway? They were visiting the site of the case to give it another once over. Now that Riza was on the case it would make sense for her to visit so she could get a feel for what had happened. How had those men known she’d be there? That Grumman would be there? And who the fuck were they?

These thoughts gnawed at him, eating him alive as they all waited in silence. He just wanted to know she was okay. If he knew that he could function and discover what the hell had happened today.

The overwhelming feeling that he’d ran out of time washed over him and Roy lowered his head to his hands, letting out a shaky breath as he tried to calm himself down.

Don’t waste another minute with her, he’d told himself after the Promised Day.

Crying won’t help Riza. You’ve got to be strong. For her.

“Riza Hawkeye?” a doctor called quietly into the room of waiting soldiers. Each’s head snapped up and the woman appeared taken aback by the sudden movement.

“Yes?” Catalina asked, desperate for an answer. They all were.

“Riza Hawkeye is out of surgery,” she announced. “She’s stable at the minute but not out of the woods yet.”

*          *          *

Roy closed the door of Riza’s hospital room quietly behind him. His heart ached to see her hooked up to every machine like this. Wires were draped over her torso as they monitored her vital signs. An IV went into one part of her arm while another went into another vein, this time with blood. A tube was connected to her nose to give her oxygen.

Sitting heavily on the chair by her bedside, Roy grasped her hand tightly and squeezed. He bowed his head, lifting her hand to his forehead and he held it there as he took in a shaky breath.

“Oh, Riza,” he whispered. When he lifted his head, his heart constricted painfully all over again, taking in the sight of his strong Lieutenant and bodyguard looking frail and ill in a hospital bed.

You vowed that after the Promised Day you wouldn’t waste another minute with Riza Hawkeye. Where was that vow in the last few weeks? When Grumman specifically asked you to involve her in the case, and you got so caught up in it yourself then abandoned her to do it alone? With another woman, no less?

Bastard.

Shame washed over his entire being and Roy heaved a breath, feeling like a complete and utter failure. If only he hadn’t left the other night. He didn’t even have the energy to think about Eve right now. She was so far off his radar after today that she meant nothing. All those weeks wasted with the woman who suggested going out to dinner after finding out his oldest and dearest friend had been shot and was being held hostage.

She always did have an uncanny ability to interrupt any moment he tried to share with the Lieutenant –

No. Today she was Riza. They were so far beyond superior and subordinate right now. Especially with the way he was feeling.

Don’t think about it! You’ll only make it worse for yourself.

But that’s what he deserved after how he’d been treating Riza recently.

He loved this woman lying before him, but he despised how it took her getting shot for him to realise it. Roy supposed he always had. No, he knew he always had. But putting a name to it made it real and while under the scrutiny of the homunculi he couldn’t put Riza in danger like that. Eve was a distraction, if anything, to subconsciously tell himself that everything was all right and as it should be between them.

But you did put her in danger today, asshole, because you abandoned her.

He couldn’t look at the bandages on her injured shoulder just yet. Burn scars. It made him too angry. She’d already been tainted so much by fire thanks to him, and now it had happened again. The bastards had cauterised the wound to keep her awake and alive for longer, so Riza could play along in their little hostage charade. He was glad she’d shot them.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the tears finally falling. His entire frame shuddered as he cried, continuing to press their joined hands against his forehead. “You can’t leave me,” he begged. “Not like this. We still have so much left to do. I…” He trailed off, trying to compose himself. “I have so much to tell you. I… I love you, Riza Hawkeye. With my entire being. So please…” His voice cracked. “Please wake up.”

There was no answer from Riza. Just the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside her bed.

Roy bowed his head once more, letting all the emotions pour out of him the in the dim hospital room. In his grief, he didn’t notice a figure by the window of Riza’s door, peering in and watching his suffering.

*          *          *

“Riza Hawkeye,” Roy told the nurse when she asked what the patient’s name was. “She’s just recently been moved from the ICU.” They’d just gotten the call two hours ago that she’d woken up for the first time and was being moved to a ward and out of intensive care.

She was getting better.

Catalina had come right here while Roy was in meetings regarding Ishval with Havoc and Breda, that’s why he was late.

“Oh yes, of course. She’d in Ward 4, Room 20. Oh, she’ll be glad to have some more visitors,” she announced brightly. “Her sister arrived about half an hour ago.”

Havoc and Roy shared a look.

Riza didn’t have a sister.

Roy took off like a shot down the corridor, eyes frantically scanning the sign on the wall for Ward 4. It was on the third floor. They were on the ground.

“Call security to that room,” Havoc ordered the nurse. She seemed baffled, flummoxed at such a command. “Do it now!” He caught up with Roy just as he begun to move towards the stairs. They both took two at a time, bursting through the door of the ward, much to the surprise and outrage of the patients and nurses, respectively.

“Sir! You can’t run like that in here –”

“Get security to Room 20!” Havoc called back to her over his shoulder.

When they entered the room, Roy felt his world slip out from underneath him.

Riza was there lying in bed. Her face was peaceful, the pillows around her rumpled like they’d been moved just recently but not put back to make her comfortable. But what drew his attention away was the loud solid tone from the heart rate monitor beside her bed.

“No,” Roy muttered shaking his head.

Nurses pushed past him, shoving both Roy and Havoc out of the door as they chattered, barking orders at one another. The door slammed in his face and Roy blinked at it, that beep still managing to escape through the cracks, grinding painfully right into his very soul.

No, this couldn’t be. That sound was wrong, right? That wasn’t what was supposed to happen. She was on the mend. She’d been moved out of the ICU. She was getting better.

“Clear!” a nurse shouted and the sound pierced Roy’s ears painfully. There was the sound of the pads jolting a body, the bed squeaking as a body moved on it.

Riza’s body.

The tone continued.

Roy backed away, shaking his head vigorously, muttering the word “no” under his breath repeatedly. When he hit the wall behind him, he paused, ears straining for that steady beep to return that meant her heart was beating.

Nothing. Just one tone.

Roy slid down the wall in time with the tears tracking down his cheeks. He didn’t notice Havoc running down the hallway at a sprint away from him. He didn’t notice Catalina running past him to follow Havoc. He didn’t hear Breda calling his name, didn’t feel the gentle shake of his shoulder.

Just that one, single tone.

The door opened, letting that tone free and filling the hallway, Roy’s mind, his entire soul.

She can’t be gone.

“Fuery!” he heard Havoc call distantly. “Get down here!”

He couldn’t bring himself to care that Havoc was shouting.

“Breda!” Havoc called.

The shadow to Roy’s left passed over his body, Breda taking off at a run towards his comrades.

Roy didn’t care what was happening.

All he could care about was the woman he loved, the person who’d owned his heart for years – he’d just been too dumb to realise it and too scared to admit it when he did – was gone from this earth, leaving him behind.

The door before him burst open, a pair of bare feet hurrying towards him, but stumbling on the way. Two hands gripped his face, wrenching his head up to meet their gaze. Whisky coloured orbs stared back at him earnestly, their mouth moving as they called to him, but no sound penetrated the fog of losing the woman he loved.

He hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her.

“Roy!” a familiar voice shouted – but it was faint. The hands on his face continued to reposition as they desperately tried to get him to listen. Sound began to return to him as he began to recognise that voice and those eyes streaming with tears.

“Roy,” Riza Hawkeye begged before him, sobbing. “Come back to me,” she whispered, pressing their forehead together.

“Riza…” he whispered. Then he realised. This wasn’t a ghost. He could feel her hands on his face, the thumbs stroking his cheekbones, the fingertips in his hair.

She was… alive? But…

Roy surged upwards, wrapping his arms around Riza’s body, squeezing her tightly. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent as he felt her body shaking with her tears. His own wet her skin too. His body felt ten tonnes lighter as he held Riza Hawkeye, the woman who’d come back from the dead.

That was twice now.

“No!” a woman shrieked down the corridor. Roy pulled away and turned his head, confused, and saw Eve trying to escape Havoc’s hold. She thrashed but she was no match for the towering Havoc. He just watched her struggle, wincing as she clawed at his bare arms with her catlike nails. “Get away from him!”

Roy shifted, shielding Riza from view, which was slightly more difficult as her arms were still looped around his neck and Riza didn’t want to let go of him.

A doctor walked up behind Eve, pricking her neck with a needle. Before long, she went limp. “Just a sedative,” he explained, sweat forming on his brow after witnessing that exchange.

But Roy didn’t care about Eve. He spun in place, feeling like he was coming face to face with a ghost.

“You’re… okay?” he asked in disbelief, gaze roving over her body to make sure she was still real.

“I’m all right, I promise,” she whispered, gripping his face again. “I’m alive. I’m so sorry for that, but I’m alive –”

Roy silenced her by crushing his lips against hers.

*          *          *

“I overheard the men talking,” Riza explained, voice still quiet and weak. “Eve had organised a group of hitmen to take me out.” Her gaze flicked to Roy’s to see him staring at the floor, gaze hard and his entire body unmoving. The anger rolled off him so easily that everyone in the room had picked up on it. Riza thought that if anyone were to touch him, he would shatter into a million little pieces. That’s how tightly he was wound right now.

Riza was part of the reason for that, and she felt guilty because of it. But it had to be convincing for her plan to work and there was no way of knowing how compromised he was after spending time with Eve. If she’d planned the group to take her out – which, coincidentally, included her brother who seemed very on board with making the Flame Alchemist suffer after some incident years ago back in the East – then she may have set up a bug of some kind to keep tabs on Roy. It wasn’t an insane thought. She did always have the uncanny ability to find out exactly where he was at any time of the day.

As Riza lay feigning unconsciousness after waking up from the men cauterising her bullet wound, she listened to them talking, discovering Eve’s whole plan. Eve had finally had enough of her that she’d sent the hitmen to take her out. She’d somehow found out she’d moved to work for Grumman and taken it from there.

Riza was still baffled that the woman was willing to take it this far. One thing Riza knew for sure was that this woman was a psychopath. Straight up. That was already obvious to Riza in the way Eve had treated her whenever she saw her, but this was taking it to a whole other level.

Riza had feigned sleep when Eve had entered her hospital room. She’d anticipated an event like this. If her men couldn’t do the job – not to mention the fact Riza had shot her brother – then she would do it herself.

“It was supposed to be me,” she’d growled at Riza in her hospital room, ripping a pillow out from underneath her head. Suffocation. How creative. It took every ounce of her self-control, not to mention supressing years of military training, to remain still in that bed while Eve muttered to herself about who Roy was supposed to love.

Obviously, she was jealous of Riza’s relationship with him. But… there was no relationship. That was the kicker. Eve just didn’t believe Riza when she told her. Eve was adamant there was. They cared about each other, sure. They shared a strong bond because they’d literally been through hell together multiple times. But there was no romantic relationship.

No matter how much you want there to be.

As if he loved her.

She was his teacher’s daughter, the shy girl who barely spoke a word to him growing up unless he managed to coax it out of her.

But that kiss… The way he’d held her… The look on his face when he realised that she was still alive.

Did she dare to believe…?

“Want a job done,” Eve had muttered under her breath. “You’ve got to do it yourself.”

Under the bedsheet Riza pulled at the chord of the electrode stuck to her chest, leaving the machine to let out a loud tone that could be heard down the corridor. Eve had panicked, shoved the pillow back under her head and bolted.

She thought Eve had returned when Roy and Havoc burst in. She had her eyes closed before she saw her next visitor, assuming it was either Eve or the nurses, but was shaken to her core when she heard Roy’s heart-breaking denial that this was happening.

A tear rolled down her cheek as the door slammed shut. They continued when she was helped out of bed by a nurse. She hugged her body as they pretended to use the defibrillator to bring her back to life.

When she couldn’t bear it anymore, she burst out the room. Seeing Roy broken on the floor, tears streaming down his face, and looking positively devastated, Riza’s breath caught in her throat.

“You… faked your own death,” he choked out. Riza’s eyes found his again.

“It was my idea, sir,” Catalina interjected, raising her hand. “I knew there was something wrong with that woman.” She gestured towards Roy with her head. “She fucking told you to go to dinner after finding out Riza had been shot and was being held hostage.” Riza watched as Roy’s eyes flashed at the memory. Riza almost laughed. Why did that not surprise her, coming from Eve?

“Riza told me what she’d overheard in the store this morning. I knew it was Eve that initiated it all. So, we took a chance and it worked. I really am sorry that we kept you out of it, but we had no idea if you’d been compromised by Eve by a bug of some kind. Seeing how far she was willing to go it wasn’t hard to hypothesise that bugs were a possibility.”

Roy sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his hands. Riza felt her stomach flip as she watched him. She hadn’t wanted to make him suffer like that, but it had happened now, and their plan had worked. Eve was now in custody beside the two men who had kept Riza and Grumman hostage.

“Leave her to stew there a few days,” Havoc scoffed, showing no remorse for the woman.

Roy nodded. “I’ll need to until I feel calm enough to talk to her.”

A few hours later the team said their goodbyes and left for the night. Roy, however, remained in place, staring at the floor.

“I’m sorry for doing that to you,” Riza whispered, breaking the loud silence that had settled over them both. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was her,” she added, looking down at her clasped hands. Every time her fingers moved there was a twinge of pain in her shoulder, but not enough to bother her. When she’d thrown her arms around her commanding officer – her cheeks turned pink at the memory with a tinge of embarrassment at her misconduct thrown in there too – that had set her injured shoulder on fire, but it was worth it. It was what she’d needed.

Roy scrubbed his face, spine straightening in his chair. He moved from sitting opposite the bed to the chair by her bedside, Riza watching him carefully as he did so. Surprised, Riza saw him grasp her hand tightly.

“I thought I lost you today,” he murmured, examining their hands entwined together. Riza wold never admit it, but it looked and felt right. “Twice. That was a lot for me to go through.” Riza nodded in sympathy. She remembered when she thought she’d lost him to Lust underneath Laboratory Five. “But it did help me realise a few things.”

“Oh?” Riza inquired when he didn’t elaborate.

“I love you, Riza Hawkeye. Have for years.” Her jaw went slack as she stared at the obsidian eyes burning into her soul. “After the Promised Day I vowed I would never waste another second with you, but because of my own insecurities I did. I was too scared to bring up what had happened that day because I didn’t want to upset you and I didn’t want to ruin what we already had.” Riza gave his hand a quick squeeze in comfort. “So,” he began, taking a deep breath. “Here’s to no more wasted time?” he asked uncertainly. There was worry in his eyes, thinking she might turn him down.

As if.

“I love you too Roy. Here’s to no more wasted time.” Riza raised their joined hands like it was a toast, tears clouding her vision. They fell once Roy kissed her softly, solidifying their agreement.

[bleedingcoffee42]

Eureka AU- Part 6

The obligatory hospital episode where we throw medical words around like commas and hope nobody questions them.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Roy sat down on the floor of their laundry room where Riza chose to set her military foot looker when she moved in.   It never was unpacked, it just remained here as a piece of furniture they set their clothes bins on.   It was one of the few pieces of décor she brought to this home, one utilitarian wooden box painted in olive drab that stuck out like a sore thumb against all his simplistic pieces.    He didn't realize until now that she really didn't have anything of her own, except for this.  

Sure there were clothes, but who looked to the closet for possessions to define a person?   He felt like he was opening a buried treasure chest, a look at the history of one 1st  Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye prior to her arrival in Eureka.   This predated him, and he hated that he never really opened up the discussion about her past in case she did want to share it.   Instead he felt like he was invading her privacy as he opened the truck to go through it's contents.    

He was limited for time and he didn't want to dwell on it long.  After this was over, he would tell her in great detail about Hughes and ask her if she had anything she wanted to share.   He looked at a neatly folded pile of fatigues and lifted them out to set aside.   Her dress uniform hung in the closet, that she wouldn't dare wrinkle.   Then there was a belt and holster.   Some blankets.   Boots.   A gun cleaning kit and mess kit.   Knives.    And a small safe with a touch pad key code lock.   That he grabbed and immediately entered the code: 0611.

The case opened and there was a gun.  No surprise.   The journal secured to the lid was what he was after so he grabbed it and locked the box back up.   He opened the little book and saw meticulously kept, handwritten records of dates, times, coordinates and operations.   Causalities, notable events.  A record of every military action she had been a part of, starting with a confirmed kill as a cadet on the first page.

He blinked.  She hadn't even graduated yet and they sent her to the field as a sniper? A sniper.  She wasn't just a great marksman, she was one of the elite!   Then the pages of dates and times and numbers, bodies that piled up as she carefully pulled the trigger.   Recorded yardage, recorded shots, wind speed.  Everything bit of data to record this except for the target's name.

She was just a kid.

He had to focus.   This was all something for later.   He quickly flipped through the pages, keeping his eye focused on finding keywords: vaccination or Raven.  Finally he found the entry.   It was a mere six months prior to her coming to Eureka.   An engagement in the desert.   Something about seizing artifacts.   Her special ops team had been given a vaccination to protect them from an ancient virus that was suspected to be in the tomb they were vandalizing.   Well of course it wasn't writing in the ink that way, but he could read between the lines.  He saw the hesitation and the gap in the journal where she debated on what word to use, 'preserving from grave robbers' was written a lot harder than the rest of her sentence.   So he had his answer, the date and time of  her vaccination against a virus that had completely eradicated the people of an entire city-state in ancient times.  An advanced civilization who didn't stand a chance against this plague.

Roy was going to call Ed with the information, but instead chose to take a picture and text it to him.   There was a lot to digest in the entry and he didn't want to be the one to choose what was delivered as data and what wasn't.   He snapped a photo of the page and cropped it so it contained nothing but a description of the event.  The kid would never compromise Riza, he trusted him to use this information wisely, so he sent it.  Watched the confirmation that it was received and read and got back a text in reply.

“I get to be there when you take this fucker down.”

If only Ed knew that the battle was going to be in court, not some showdown in the streets.   It probably went a lot further than Raven, it's not as if some General was sitting in his room at night cooking up vaccinations like Meth.   He had a military contractor create this, he had someone tasked to create and distribute this for him.    Tracing it back to Raven would be next to impossible.   It went through the system like a root that broke through the pipes and was feeding on the sewer water.  

“We made this.”

Roy stared at that text.   Then another one appeared.

“We made the first one.”  

Roy closed his eyes.   Goddammit.  

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Roy made it back to the infirmary just as Ed arrived with the data he collected.   “So, where are we?”

Ed opened the door to reveal he had his brother Alphonse working on something with Dr. Marcoh.   Mustang went in the room, eyes glued to the dry erase board as the two worked out their thoughts for all to see.   “The original Xerses vaccine was made specifically for Hawkeye's team.”

“So you've checked personnel records?”  Roy asked, knowing the answer already. Riza was the loose end, it was important enough Raven got his hands dirty delivering the murder weapon.

“They're all dead.”  Dr. Knox said from the corner.   “The rest of her team is already gone.  Died in their sleep, shipped home and the plane went down.”

Roy could feel his rage brewing.  

“I made the vaccine.”  Marcoh said.   “I remember it clearly.   They sent me some cloth that was a burial shroud, from a tomb that had been excavated and the air had killed the grave robbers.    The instructions were to produce a vaccination for this antique strain in case the team going in to this vicinity was exposed.”

“There is nothing wrong with that, doctor.”  Roy assured him.   “You did save lives.”

Alphonse Elric stepped back from the board.   “The vaccine itself is not the issue, it's the administration of this recent booster that is.  The booster was made to specifically cause a response, to overwork the system which has an already built up immunity and can target what was injected.  It's a modified virus made to feast on it's weaker self.”

Roy looked at the notes on the board.   A vaccination meant to attack the very specific signature of the previous vaccination.  Something that would be in nobody else's system in the century unless the were given the first Xerses Vaccine.  So now it was attacking the host body itself.  “Well that is way beyond Raven's creative ability and comprehension.  Who the hell made this?”

“If I were a corrupt asshole who stole priceless relics from a war torn country,” Ed said.  “I would say that I had the money to spare to fund a private lab to create something for me.  We forget what it's like to not work here, someone out in a lab dying for funding and freedom would jump at the chance like this.”

“Especially with the spin that it's for the people.”  Alphonse added.

“For the refugees.”  Marcoh chimed in.

“For fucks sake.” Knox snapped and stood up to rush into the room with his patient.   He saw the vitals spike and knew the inevitable was here.  Her body was rejecting the baby to try and increase it's chances for survival.   She was suffering a miscarriage which under normal circumstances would be fine with just careful monitoring, but he was concerned about hemorrhaging in her current condition.  It was time to leave the cure to the researchers, he was here to be a doctor for his patient.

Roy was in the room immediately, following Knox as he tapped on monitors and lifted up the sheet and cursed to himself.   Roy didn't need him to tell him what was happening, he needed him to not say what was happening.   “Can we stop the bleeding?”

Knox looked over at him, eyes pleading with him to not go into detail with what was going on because he wasn't an idiot.   “Go help them find a cure.   There is nothing you can do here.”

Roy wanted to stay, it seemed right, but Knox was correct.   He was needed elsewhere.  So he turned around and went back into the observation room where Marcoh met him with consoling eyes and the Elrics searched his face for answers to their silent question.    They didn't need to know.   “What are the odds that we can attack this virus and not do more harm?”

“It's the only option we have.”  Marcoh said sadly.  “Odds are stacked against us.”

“Fuck the odds.” Ed said.  

“Brother.”  Al said and Ed went over to the board and circled the word Xerses Virsus.  

“We might not know what this mystery scientist made, but I bet we're a thousand times better than that hack!”  Ed said.  “We make our own virus to attack our known variable, Marcoh's Xerses Virus itself.   Then we'll know the worst case scenario of what we're dealing with and take the next step which is to figure out how to destroy what we made.”

“We don't have that kind of time.” Alphonse protested.

“We don't have a choice.”  Ed said.  “And if we run out of time I'll open the gate again and put her somewhere were time stops.”

“What the fuck, brother?”  Al's gasped and everyone looked to Al.  The portal wasn't something they understood at all.  He would dare open it again?  And jeopardize Hawkeye?

“Years off someone's life is better than no life at all.”  Ed snapped. “I'll make that sacrifice.   I'll make it.   She saved us and that's just equivalent exchange as I see it.”

Roy didn't say anything as Ed stormed out and screamed about getting to work.    Al mumbled about 'cheating death' and 'throwing limbs at God' before following his brother out of the room.   Marcoh just picked up his things and nodded before leaving.    Roy stood there and chose to ignore the reference to their Necromancy experiment gone wrong and pick up the tablet Marcoh left for him with the specs on his original Xerses vaccination.  Then he went into the room to be with his wife while they lost their first child.

[lazywriter7]

Winterhawk rec list

So thanks to Tales of Suspense, more peeps than ever are getting curious about Winterhawk - FINALLY GUYS, GOD HAVE YOU BEEN MISSING OUT. Following are some very obvious recs for the average newbie to this incredible ship.

(Any author who has been mentioned here who may be uncomfortable with it - lemme know and I’ll take your stuff off this list)

leave the gun on the table by Traincat

Bucky Barnes wakes up in the future, joins the Avengers, reunites with Steve, makes some new friends and some old enemies, gets called Robocop and tries to figure out the future, himself, and Clint Barton's middle name -- all while being haunted by his past, the things he can't remember and the creeping suspicion that Black Widow knows something he doesn't.

Clint Barton’s Super Secret Snipers’ Club by sara_holmes

Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club. (Invitation and pending mental health evaluation required.)

"When Steve brings Bucky back to the tower for the first time, Clint’s first thought is that Tony Stark’s pride and joy is quickly becoming a less of a very tall and expensive ‘fuck you’ in the faces of investors who don’t believe in self-sustaining energy, and more of a superhero rehabilitation center."

Boyfriends, compromises and learning to like oneself.

Silhouette by mariana-oconnor

After a mission in Mexico goes wrong, SHIELD Agents Barnes and Rogers are given the job of hunting down the notorious Hawkeye and the Black Widow, the only problem being: no one even knows what they look like.

On the other side of the law, Clint's enjoying messing with their new SHIELD shadows, especially seeing how close he can get to Agent Barnes without him realising, but he makes the mistake of getting attached, and that makes everything more complicated.

I’ll Keep You Safe Here With Me by sara_holmes

Yes, Clint is avoiding the other Avengers. No, he does not want to go back to New York. But then again, he didn't exactly want to be kidnapped by the Winter Soldier either. Really, he just wants to go back to bed.

Trainwreck Through A Rear Window by flawedamythyst

Through Clint's big main window, you could see straight across the street and into the apartment opposite, where a man was standing, staring at Clint as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. When he caught Clint's eye, he just shook his head slowly.

The guy in the apartment opposite spends way too much time watching Clint make a fool of himself, which wouldn't matter as much if he weren't also smoking hot.

I Don’t Remember How by Ava_Kelly

"How the hell did they wash you," he mutters as he raises from the chair.

"Hosed the blood down," comes from behind as the Soldier follows him toward the bathroom.

Clint almost screams right then and there.

What do you Mean we Left Clint on Mars by sara_holmes

“What do you mean we left Clint on Mars?”

Cap’s incredulous voice cuts through the stunned silence of the cockpit, loud and shocked. He’s standing there with his cowl in hand, gaping at the holo-screen at the front of the jet. Next to him, Tony is standing with his hands on his head, mouth hanging open in a similar fashion. Over on the other side of the cockpit is Jane, who has both palms clapped across her mouth like she’s trying to hold back hysterical giggles.

For his part, Bucky is just staring at the screen like he can’t quite believe what’s going on.

under the mountain by flawedamythyst

Clint let out a long sigh. “So, to recap: we can’t get ourselves out, we can’t talk to the others, we may run out of air, my shoulder is dislocated and Doom is an asshole.”

Clint and Bucky get trapped in a cave.

Sing Me That Old Song Again by mariana_oconnor

After breaking free from Hydra's control, James Barnes is keeping his head down. Captain America and his team are miles away, and he's better off alone. He's not expecting to be found by an Avenger. An Avenger who proves hard to get rid of.

Somehow, in spite of himself, Hawkeye ends up growing on him, and he realises that maybe alone isn't the best way to be.

But as Bucky's working out his own past, Hawkeye's coming face to face with his. They never should have gone to Budapest.

The Chains that You Refuse by OddityBoddity

That time Bucky and Clint broke into Asgard.

Aaaand to round things up, visit the awesome blog of @winterhawkkisses​ if you’re ever in the mood of beautifully written drabble-y winterhawk goodness. I could really go on and on with recs, but I’ll stop myself for now (until further demand? ;) )  I realise now we have a sore deficiency of comics Winterhawk, but hopefully that’ll change soon with how the winds are currently blowing <3

[tanoraqui]

this is so sappy that I’m almost embarrassed, but, anyway, some Roy/Riza headcanons:

Roy couldn’t do such precise aim with his flames in the Ishvalan War; he learned afterwards, after Riza asked him to burn the flame alchemy notes off her back, because he wasn’t going to touch her until he knew he could control the fire like a surgeon’s blade

he didn’t quite mean to do it until he was doing it, but the way he set the sheet of flames against her back, an instant of pain so bright and fast that it didn’t hurt until afterwards…the burn ended up looking a lot like half-folded wings

“Just like a hawk,” he joked weakly, as he held up a mirror for her to see. 

(Just like an angel, he did not think then. One of the old sorts, guiding and righteous and needing to say “Be not afraid” first thing, each time they appeared to mortals.)

He might have thought it a bit later, when she accepted his offer for a job. She didn’t until he’d burned the patterns off her back. That’s when she knew he was serious. She offered to follow him into hell the next day, while her back still stung under her uniform.

(Riza is no alchemist, but obviously the diagrams on her back weren’t her only knowledge of flame alchemy. She was her father’s note-taker for years, as his hands grew unsteady and his coughing fits worse. Too much smoke in his lungs, from before he’d perfected the flames.)

honestly, I’m content with them never being in a real “romantic” relationship. Why do you need that, when you already have “If you’re going to shoot me, shoot me. But then, after you do that, Lieutenant, what are you going to do?” “I can tell you, I have no intention of carrying on my myself. This fight will be my last. After this is all over, I intend to kill myself, and remove my secrets of flame alchemy from the world.” I’ll follow you into Hell if you ask (if I have to send us both there myself, so the world never has to face anything like us again.)

the answer, of course, is that they don’t NEED to, but it…might be nice. Good for them. A bit of happiness. A bit of openly loving each other, and by proxy, themselves. Imagine a world where Roy gets to say, one evening, “I once said that I never feel more human than when I’m fighting real monsters. I was wrong. This…” (he holds her a little closer) “This is even better.”

“Are you admitting you were wrong, sir?” Riza teases.  “It happens on occasion, Captain,” he replies loftily.

(yes, she’s gonna get promoted, though not that much - go too far, and you have to stop being an aide. Yes, she draws the pay of a brigadier-general anyway, because everyone knows what her job really is. Yes, they will use military ranks in bed. Why would you even doubt that.)

I’ve given it a lot of thought and if those last few episodes didn’t get them to kiss, nothing dramatic will. No “I thought you were dead” moments for Roy and Riza. Nah, I’d Josh&Donna them - if this romance is going to be the Unexpected Happy Thing, that’s how it has to start. They get a bill through Parliament to seriously defund the military, or a major step towards Ishvalan reparations, or, hell, it’s a holiday party. There’s been a bit of alcohol, though not much for either of them - just enough that Roy is tipsy. He notices Hawkeye is gone and he finds her outside, leaning on the balcony in the moonlight, and he thinks once a sniper, always a sniper and he thinks, I should probably go back to schmoozing. But mostly he thinks, as she stands there in the moonlight, keeping watch over the darkness and smiling at the warm light and sound of the laughter and glasses spilling from inside, god, she’s beautiful. So of course Roy “symbolically and temperamentally associated with fire from Day One* Mustang is the one who kisses her first. Then stumbles back apologizing, retreating to formality and leaning on his alleged drunkenness, and it’s been so many years that it takes a few days for even Riza “associated with clear sight in every literal and metaphorical way” Hawkeye to realize that maybe this isn’t the world’s worst idea.

Anti-fraternization rules still exist, but they know what they’re doing and literally who is going to challenge them? Nobody, that’s who. 

[trashpandaorigins]

The Shrapnel In Your Heart

*Epic music cue* There was an idea…to bring together w group of remarkable people (well one weaponized super solider later mentally deranged torture victim and one mechanized rodent) so that when the time came they’d fight the battles (well mostly each other plus some aliens) that we never could, (or let’s be honest wouldn’t want to fight at all.)

---

“Buck?” Steve looked at him in concern. “You okay?”

Bucky turned to face him, the familiar what-has-Steve-roped-me-into-now feeling washing over him. Robots and cryo and aliens and now a damned space-raccoon. You have got to be kidding me, Stevie. “Put me back,” he demanded. “I’m done, this is it, I wanna go back in cryo.”

OR: Rocket and Bucky go on a mission together. It turns out they have a lot more in common than they realized.

WARNING: Graphic depictions of violence, PTSD, discussions of torture

This fic was written by myself and the amazing @skarabrae-stone go read their Avengers and Stucky fics on AO3 (same username) and on their blog! 

Bucky wasn’t fazed by much. After all the shit he’d seen and done, saving the world wasn’t that big a deal. Even the aliens weren’t much of a stretch—and anyway, they looked pretty much like the stereotypical humanoid creatures he remembered from the sci-fi novels he’d read as a kid. The green woman even reminded him of Romanoff, which was comforting, in a scary kind of way.

Then a gun-toting raccoon walked in, arguing with what looked like a giant talking tree, and Bucky backed up right into Steve.

“Oh, hell, no.”

“Buck?” Steve looked at him in concern. “You okay?”

Bucky turned to face him, the familiar what-has-Steve-roped-me-into-now feeling washing over him. Robots and cryo and aliens and now a damned space-raccoon. You have got to be kidding me, Stevie.

“Put me back,” he demanded. “I’m done, this is it, I wanna go back in cryo.”

“Bucky--”

“There’s a talking tree, Stevie! What the hell!”

The tree in question tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, reluctantly, to see it scrutinizing him with solemn eyes.

“I AM GROOT,” it announced in a voice that started out deep, then cracked like a teenager’s.

“And if you got a problem with that, you can deal with me!” added the raccoon-thing.

Bucky blinked. “Uh.”

“Of course we don’t have a problem,” said Steve, smooth for once in his life. “Just haven’t met many—uh—non… Earth… people… before.”

“I am Groot?”

“We got that, thanks,” said Bucky irritably, brushing past the tree-thing as he followed Steve further into the interior of the spaceship. “Seriously, Steve, how the hell do you always get mixed up in these things?”

“Talent,” said Steve vaguely. “Did you see where Thor went? I wanted to ask more about the Infinity stones….”

Bucky sighed, rolled his eyes, and trailed after him, cataloguing exits and hazards as he went. The ship smelled like gun oil, charred leather, and old blood, familiar scents in this decidedly unfamiliar environment. He was doomed to follow Steve, he knew, wherever he led him; it was an old pattern, as old as their friendship, and as they walked along he couldn’t help mutter the mantra they’d picked up in the thirties: “ Here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”

“I am Groot!” Groot folded his arms, glaring daggers at the human who muttered to himself.

“They are stupid humies,” Rocket agreed.

“Hey! What did I tell you?” Peter demanded, hands on his hips. “We’re not calling anyone stupid.”

“That cave-man-looking guy called Groot a tree!” snapped Rocket. “Flarking racist.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “C’mon dude, I told you, we need to make nice with these guys. They’re the only ones who can help us defeat Thanos.” Apparently realizing that Steve Rogers had already left, he quickly motioned for his team to follow him.

“Fine,” Rocket conceded, falling in behind him. “But that cave-man one gives me the creeps.” Everything about this whole situation gave him the creeps. Humans couldn’t be trusted, and there were so many of them. If Groot were his full size, perhaps Rocket might have felt better, knowing he could perch on the flora colossus’s shoulders, but it hadn’t been that way for a long while now.

“His name is Bucky Barnes,” Gamora hushed him. “And apparently he’s dangerous, and Rogers’s boyfriend or something, so try not to antogonize him.”

Peter gave the raccoon a pleading look as all of them caught up with Steve Rogers in the Milano’s main bay.

The Avenger smiled, a little awkwardly. “This is a nice ship you’ve got here.”

Peter nodded, but Rocket looked around at the strange new people. The broad with the red hair moved with the same sort of warrior’s grace as Gamora. He wondered who could take who in a fight.

“I appreciate you all coming here,” Steve continued. “As you know, Thanos…”

“Thanos must be stopped!” Drax interjected, resulting in a few stares. But Rocket watched Steve nodding his head in agreement.

“You’re right, he must be stopped at any and all costs.”

As Steve spoke about their best approach, Bucky listened, knowing how much all of this troubled his best friend. It wasn’t enough that Steve had saved him, he felt he had to save the whole world, too. Had to be the upstanding leader. Bucky knew how much that responsibility weighed on Steve’s shoulders.

He sympathized, of course, but it didn’t make him love the plan.  Sure, they needed to figure out what the hell was up with these giant portal things. Ironman was checking out the one in New York, which left the one in Wakanda for the rest of them to tackle. But Bucky would have been a hell of a lot happier in the ground troops with King T’Challa than dinking around with magic alien technology in the middle of Thanos’s army.

“We can’t just go rushing into this,” Steve continued. “We need to know what we’re dealing with. This is a reconnaissance mission, not an attack. Once we understand what Thanos is doing, and how he’s doing it, we’ll be in a much better position to beat him in the long run.”

It made sense, Bucky had to admit. On the other hand, he’d been part of enough of Steve Rogers’s harebrained schemes to know that all their carefully laid plans would probably fall apart the minute they got there.

"Banner, Foster, and Strange are going to get in close so they can figure out how exactly this... portal thing works. Group Alpha will be their protection detail. Groups Beta and Charlie will run interference, draw attention away from Alpha so they can get the information they need. Everyone else is staying here, with T’Challa." Steve looked around, making eye contact with everyone.  “Any questions?”

They shook their heads.

“Okay. Here are the groups, then. In Alpha, we have Thor, Gamora, Mantis, Groot, me, and Bucky. In Beta, Falcon, Witch, uh… what was your name again?”

“Drax. Drax the Destroyer,” responded the tattooed alien.

Steve nodded, affirming. “Drax, yes, Quill, and Nebula.” His eyes scanned the group. “Loki, Hawkeye, Widow, and… uh… the racoon...”

“I’m not a raccoon!” The very distinctly-raccoon-looking one snapped, baring his teeth.

“Of...of course.”

Bucky had to hold back a laugh. Steve tried to get him to be as polite as possible, but even the gracious Steven Rogers occasionally slipped up.

“Rocket,” Quill said. “His name’s Rocket.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Steve earnestly. “My mistake. Anyway, you four are in group Charlie.”

Rocket growled in displeasure.  “Nuh-uh! Either Groot comes with me, or I don’t come at all!”

“I am Groot!”

“Oh ‘I don’t know you, I don’t know your life ?’ Bullshit,” Rocket fired back.

The adolescent tree-alien rolled his eyes, folding gangly arms. Bucky could only stare in semi-bewildered irritation.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in the back. “According to you, Groot is still an adolescent. I want him to be with the strongest group, so we can protect him if need be. Rocket, you and Quill both stated that your strong suit is melee fighting. Alpha group is basically doing guard duty. We need you in the distraction team.”

It made sense. All of Steve’s choices made sense, evenly dividing varying skillsets between the groups. There was only one thing that didn’t compute…

“Steve,” said Romanoff, “Group Charlie doesn’t have any super-soldiers.”

Loki glared at her. “I’ll have you know I’m a god--”

“And not one who’s particularly good at fighting,” she retorted. “You don’t count.” She returned her focus to Steve. “Clint should switch out with someone a little less… breakable. No offense, Clint.”

“None taken.”

Steve frowned. “I put Clint on your team so you’d have a sniper.”

“So put Barnes in. He’s a sniper, and enhanced, and he’s a hell of a lot better in hand-to-hand. No offense, Clint.”

“None taken.”

Bucky saw the mulish expression on Steve’s face, and sighed. This was 1943 all over again. “Captain Rogers,” he said, in the tone he used to use when about to disagree with one of Steve’s more foolhardy plans. From Steve’s expression, he recognized both the tone and the meaning of the title—during the war, he’d only ever called him “Captain” when Steve was being ridiculous.

He lifted his chin slightly, looking Steve right in the eye. “She’s right. Team Alpha doesn’t need me, and I’ll be a better asse—I can be more useful running interference.”

Steve’s brows drew together, a line of worry creasing his forehead. Bucky could read the expression without hearing a word: What if something happens to you, and I’m not there?

Bucky responded with the tiniest of shrugs, one corner of his mouth tugging upward ever so slightly. It’s a war, pal. Nothin’ you can do about that.

Steve sighed, shoulders slumping. Okay, you win.

“Alright, Sergeant Barnes,” he said aloud. “You’re on Team Charlie. Clint, Alpha. It’ll be dark in two hours. We’ll move out then.”

The group broke up, everyone heading in different directions. The racoon— Rocket , Bucky reminded himself—had been staring at him for the past five minutes. The old Bucky probably would have responded to this with an aggressive swagger and a “Whatchoo lookin’ at?”.  Now, he just stared back, wrapping the quiet menace of the Winter Soldier around him like a second skin. This tactic didn’t seem to work all that well on Rocket, though; the second the meeting adjourned, he marched over to Bucky and looked him up and… well, further up.

“What the hell kind of a name is Bucky?” he demanded.

Bucky just looked back at him, long enough to make it uncomfortable, before giving him a predatory grin. “The kind that sticks.”

—

Darkness fell, bringing with it a flurry of activity as everyone prepared to move out. Rocket found Bucky Barnes staring out one of the windows with a grim expression. From this vantage point, the purple glow in the sky was clearly visible.

“Doesn’t even look real,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the portal. “I thought I’d seen it all, but…”

“You ain’t even left this planet before. You ain’t seen nothin’,” Rocket retorted, but the hair on his neck rose with Bucky’s. He looked over the humies— well, he guessed the one in the fancy green and black getup was a god of some sort. Whatever, didn’t matter to him.

“Just follow me.” As he led them down the corridor of the ship towards the small pods, he couldn’t help looking around for Groot, already assembling with his team. This would be their first time apart since…well he never wanted to dwell on that day ever again. The teen looked at him. For once he wasn’t glaring, just...anxious. For a second, Rocket could almost see those large, friendly, worried eyes of his original Groot.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright, buddy.”

Groot didn’t seem convinced. Rocket managed a sardonic grin before splitting off.

“Don’t touch anything,” he said, opening the smaller ship pod. Enough for four to fit if they squeezed. Widow, or Natasha, as Rocket had heard Rogers call her, slid into the seat beside him, instantly looking over the ship’s monitors and rigs.

“Impressive.”

Rocket smirked. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, humie.”

Bucky sat in the seat behind Rocket, stuffed like a sardine in this tin can of a ship. I’m in a spaceship being piloted by a raccoon. Steve, I swear if we get through this…

He immediately identified the exit of the ship, as well as three other possible escape routes if need be, running through the index of threats and means of attack as well as getting out. It had large windows, breakable with enough force, he suspected.

The ship detached from the Milano with a series of whirs and clicks.

“Hold onto your butts,” Rocket advised.

“Rodent, if you crash this ship…” Loki began.

Rocket said nothing, but his ears flicked back, flat against his skull, and he punched the ignition. The ship’s engines burst out blue flames as they were propelled upward out of Wakanda’s atmosphere.

Bucky gripped his seat involuntarily. Small, enclosed, tight, strapped in. Like in that lab. He shook his head, wishing Steve were there. But Steve wasn’t there. He couldn’t be, even though Bucky knew that he wanted to. He shouldn’t have to always be there, he thought, not for the first time.He shouldn’t need to babysit me.

Romanoff laughed, breaking Bucky from his thoughts. For all her apparent callousness, she did have a nice laugh. “Stark would love this technology,” she mused, running her fingers over the controls. “He’d pay a huge sum for even the blueprints.”

That appeared to get Rocket’s attention. “What kinda sum are we talkin’?”

Their conversation washed over Bucky, a distraction from all his anxieties about this situation.

“And you modified it to go through… what do you call them, jumps?”

“Yeah, nothin’ to it, really.”

“You’re intelligent for a vermin,” Loki observed.

Rocket whipped his head around. “Call me vermin one more time, pal, I’ll shove you outta this pod before you can kiss your fancy ass goodbye,” he snarled.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as the raccoonoid turned around to face Loki. Metal implants, two. Just below the collar bones. He winced, remembering the feeling of scalpel against skin, foreign metal inserted roughly into his flesh. As grateful as he was to have regained his memories, there was a lot he wished he could forget.

___

They landed in the shelter of an alleyway, hidden from any prying eyes. The silence that greeted them upon opening the doors was eerie.

No city should be this quiet , Rocket thought. The only sound was a weird, high-pitched hum that made his teeth ache and his fur stand on end.That’ll be the portal.

“Okay,” said Romanoff quietly. “We’re going to get as close as we can, scope out the situation. Once we’ve got a clear idea of where Thanos’s troops are, we’ll make a distraction. All clear?”

“Yes, little spider,” Loki said. “We know. We’ve been over this. It’s hardly a difficult concept—or do Midgardian minds need so much repetition to retain simple information?”

Rocket had been about to make an equally snarky comment, but he wasn’t about to agree with Loki. He was starting to seriously dislike the guy. “Hey, shut it, Mr. I’m-a-big-deal-just-because-I’m-a-god,” he snapped. “Widow’s in charge of this mission, we’re taking orders from her.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I am a prince of Asgard. I am only here because these puny Midgardians begged me for help—”

“Oh, really?” Romanoff folded her arms. “‘Cause the way I heard it, you’re here because all the rest of your bridges got burned.”

The god-guy started looking kind of pissed off. “I can’t believe I’m wasting my time—”

“So let’s stop wasting time,” Bucky interrupted. He didn’t speak loudly, but there was something about him that made everyone else pay attention.

It’s like he’s a grenade, thought Rocket, and everybody’s scared someone’s gonna pull the pin. It didn’t make sense, though. The guy was big, sure, but not as big as Drax, and he didn’t act like he was spoiling for a fight. So far he just seemed kinda quiet—and yet some instinct told Rocket that he was dangerous.

“We all know what our jobs are,” he continued, still in that soft voice that belied the tense posture of his body. “Widow. Orders?”

Romanoff’s mouth quirked upward in the smallest of smiles. “Thanks, Sergeant. I’ll take point. Barnes, take the rear. Loki—you can disguise our presence, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it. Let’s move out.”

Bucky followed them, gun at the ready. Always ready. He scanned the area constantly, alert to the slightest noise, the slightest sign of movement through his night vision goggles. Rubble crunched and rolled underfoot as they stalked through the abandoned place, the shadows flickering weirdly in the portal’s purple glow.

“Ay!” Rocket cried.

Bucky glanced down, pointing his gun, only to realize his boot was squishing something soft.

“Watch the tail, asshole!”

“SSSSSHHHH! Quiet, you’ll give away our position!” Romanoff snapped, not even glancing over her shoulder. For one stomach-dropping second they stood still; finally, she signaled them forward.

Don’t think about the threats, Bucky reminded himself, eyes looking up, down, and side-to-side for any enemies. Well, think about them, but... just follow Widow’s orders. Follow... Bucky halted as Romanoff threw up her hand, signaling them to stop.

There, down in the entrance of an underground roadway tunnel, sat several odd-looking creatures. They were spindly, but heavily armored.

“Awe, damn,” Rocket muttered, “They got Kree armor.”

“Care to elaborate?” asked Romanoff.

“It means they’re gonna be harder to take out than we initially thought.”

“Bullet-proof?”

“At a distance, anyway,” Rocket told her. “Knives, though… those get through.”

Romanoff shook out her shoulders, taking a deep breath in preparation for the fight. “Well, then. Close quarters, it is. Shall we?”

Loki grinned, stepping forward with the humans, and Rocket swallowed his fear, covering it expertly with his own snarl of a challenge. He ran between Bucky and Romanoff, clearly the ones who would offer the most protection.

At close quarters, guns were practically useless anyway. Instead, they threw themselves into the fight, kicking, punching, and stabbing as more attackers came streaming in. Rocket ended up next to Bucky, using the guy’s height as a distraction while he took out the aliens who didn’t think to look down. It was a lot like fighting with Drax, except that Bucky didn’t laugh and yell challenges at his opponents, or take risks. He was brutally efficient, taking out his opponents with knives to the gut or eye, or punches that sent them flying.

Rocket stabbed another guy in the thigh, then leapt aside as Bucky smashed his face in with a single swing of his fist. They finished off another couple in similar fashion, and then, suddenly, all was quiet.

Looking around, Rocket saw that the ground littered with corpses. The other team members straightened from their own fighting stances, looking around cautiously. Romanoff glanced at Bucky.

“Hey Barnes, you hear anything?”

Bucky appeared to listen intently for a moment, then shook his head. “No hostiles in the immediate vicinity.”

“Good.” She nodded to the rest of them. “Good work, team. Let’s keep going.”

As they fell in behind her, Rocket noticed that Bucky’s gloves had come off, or been torn off during the fight. Where his left hand should be, there was only gleaming metal.

Huh. He shivered, memories of such enhancements flashing through his mind. Watching that arm swing, he was hyperaware of the cybernetics in his own back. That job’s precise... beautiful even… from an engineering standpoint. But there’s no flarking way he’d have been able to make that himself. The raccoonoid eyed it warily as they continued onward, gaze traveling up from the hand to the elbow. Wonder if it’s an entire arm. Modified. Enhanced. Engineered.

As though sensing his scrutiny, Bucky turned to look at him. “What?”

“Your hand.” Rocket shrugged, whispering as they headed into the underpass. “That’s top-grade shit, that is. Must be worth over a million units.”  He was practiced at brushing things off casually. But in his mind, the enhanced raccoon couldn’t help but wonder if this strange human had gone through a similar torture to what he had suffered. It wasn’t possible, was it?

Bucky frowned, unsure of how to respond. But he knew how the Winter Soldier would. He’d  ring that furry little neck. Or shoot him down. That’s all it would take. One bullet, anywhere on his body. It wouldn’t be hard at all. Like snapping a toothpick. Stop it. STOP IT. He tried to force the thoughts away from his mind. Stop coming up with ways to kill him.  How’d the tiny little creature even manage to make it this far?

“Barnes!” Romanoff snapped.

He looked up as she motioned for him to get down. Rocket and Loki were already crouching.

“That’s a Radatet bomb, right there,” the raccoonoid whispered, pointing at the strange, black, circular object bolted to the wall near the end of the tunnel . “We can’t get past it; it senses motion and thermal radiation.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Loki hissed.

Bucky examined the bomb as best he could from this distance, trying to decipher it. There had to be some way…

Loki leaned forward, his fingertips glowing with an eerie green light.

“NO!” Romanoff shouted, but too late—Loki made a throwing motion, shooting a beam of energy at the thing.

Bucky was moving before he so much as thought about it, grabbing the nearest person (Rocket), and flinging them both toward the closest maintenance alcove. The thing detonated as he ran, and he rolled forward, the raccoonoid still caught up in his arms, as the blast hit. In the minimal shelter of the alcove, he crouched for cover, using his back and left arm like a shield against the flying debris.

The roar of the explosion and rumble of falling masonry blocked out all other sound, dust exploding everywhere in a haze of cloudy smoke. Something hit Bucky in the back, slamming him against the wall of the alcove; Rocket made a whimpering sound, the bolts in his back digging painfully into Bucky’s sternum.

Then, above the noise, there was a loud groan, then a crack, and suddenly the ground underneath them gave way. They plummeted down into darkness, and Bucky kept just enough control to roll when he hit, somewhat mitigating the impact of his fall.

It still hurt like hell.

Above them, around them, debris was still falling, and Bucky rolled a bit further, out of the way, and curled into a ball, waiting for it to end. At last, the noise subsided; in its absence, everything was strangely muffled, save for the ringing in his ears. His muscles felt like they were on fire, and he was pretty sure he’d cracked a rib—unpleasant, certainly, but far from the worst injuries he’d sustained on a mission.

Painfully, he sat up, taking in his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see—the rubble above him was blocking out most of the light, and the dust in the air was thick enough to obscure everything else. If it wasn’t for his mask, he was pretty sure he’d be choking right now.

A cough from nearby had him reaching for his Glock, scrambling to his feet with far less grace than he normally used. Before he could aim at anything, however, Rocket emerged from the gloom, the fur on his arms smoking.

“You—” Rocket coughed again, stopped, and pulled something over his face— some type of gas mask, Bucky realized after a second, as Rocket took a deep, rattling breath and tried again.

“You alright there, pal?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, a little dazed. “Yeah, I’m… what about you?”

The raccoonoid shrugged, a little stiffly. “Nothin’ a soak in the jacuzzi won’t fix.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “You have a jacuzzi?”

“Well, nothin’ wrong with wishing.”

“Uh huh.” Despite the urgency of their situation, Bucky couldn’t help smiling a little. It was the same kind of thing one of the Howlies might say— humor to lighten a dark situation, because if you thought too much about what was going on, you might just give up in despair. He’d done the same thing, once; nowadays, he mostly just tried to survive.

“You still got a com?” he asked, peering up at the hole they’d fallen through. It wasn’t much of a hole anymore— blocked by giant pieces of concrete and rebar, it would be difficult even for him to get out that way.

Rocket shook his head. “Musta lost it on the way down.”

“Okay. I’m gonna see if the others are… what happened to the others.” He really hoped they survived, because if they didn’t, Steve would go all sad and stoic and probably charge a machine-gun nest to relieve his feelings, and Bucky just could not deal with that right now. Also, he liked Romanoff—or at least, he respected her, which was close to the same thing.

“Do you think they’re—I mean, they were closer to the blast,” said Rocket, crossing his arms. “They might not—”

“I know,” Bucky snapped. He didn’t believe in God, not anymore, but he couldn’t help praying—or maybe just wishing really, really hard—anyway.Please, please let them be okay. Please let them be alive.

He took a deep breath, air acrid in his lungs, and turned on his com.

A string of Russian invectives met his ears, and he sighed in relief. Romanoff, at least, was alive.

“You mother-fucking son of a bitch, you could have gotten us killed! What the hell were you—”

“Romanoff?”

“Barnes,” she said immediately, breaking off mid-sentence. “Where are you? What’s your status?”

“Functional,” he said automatically. “No immediate maintenance required,” and then flinched. “I’m alright,” he corrected himself. “Rocket’s okay, too. We’re—under the tunnel, I think. What about you?”

“Scrapes and bruises, nothing major,” she said. “Loki did some weird god-thing and got us out of the blast zone. We’re… outside the tunnel. Or, where it used to be, anyway. Around five hundred meters southwest. Can you meet us there?”

“Negative,” said Bucky. He paced the tunnel as he talked, peering at their surroundings. “We’re blocked in, here. It’s gonna take some digging to get out.”

“You need rescue?”

“Nah. We can—I think this is a service tunnel, we should be able to get out. It’s just gonna take awhile.” He glanced at Rocket. “The two of you should get started on the mission. We’ll come find you once we get out of this mess.”

“Are you sure?”

“That okay?” he asked Rocket.

“Sure.”

“Yeah, we’re sure.”

“Alright, then.” She took a breath, clearly audible over the com. “We’ll meet you when you get out. And, Barnes?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get yourself killed. I can’t face Cap’s disappointed face if I come back without you.”

“Noted,” he said dryly. “I’ll try to keep myself in one piece.”

“Do that. Over and out.”

“Over and out,” he repeated, and switched off his mic. “Well,” he said to Rocket, “I guess we’re on our own.”

“Seems so.” The raccoonoid shrugged, then bent to examine the heaps of debris all around them. “If I had my stuff I could dig us outta here no problem, but I left all that junk on the ship.”

Bucky pushed experimentally at a concrete slab, noticing as he did so that his sleeve had been completely torn away in the blast, leaving the metal arm exposed. The servos made a loud grinding sound in protest, and he winced. Clearly the fall hadn’t done it any favors.

Rocket’s head jerked upward at the sound. “Hey!”

“What?” Bucky asked warily. The last thing he needed was for this furry little alien to make a big fuss about his arm.

From his belt, Rocket pulled a small vial and tossed it to him. “You’re no good with a gimpy limb. That stuff is Havarax ointment, works wonders. Illegal in seven quadrants, but it does the trick.”

“Huh.” Bucky looked down skeptically at the phial in his hand, some unknown alien scribble dotting the crumpled label, then turned to watch the creature assess the situation, his tail flicking back and forth as he walked on two legs.  

“Five-hundred meters southwest.” Rocket ruminated on what he’d overheard. “We didn’t fall straight down—” pointing upward. “We must’ve been pushed a ways from the original blast on a diagonal… so depending on where Romanoff and bug-helmet guy ended up, we could be a good ways away.”

“I didn’t think to fall a certain way,” Bucky bit back. “I was too busy making sure you didn’t get crushed.”

“Yeah, and then you dropped me!”

“The entire floor fell out from under me!”

“Tsch,” Rocket’s tail flicked away the statement as if it made little difference. “Way I see it, we can either try to dig directly up and try to find them above the surface, or we can wander around down here and hope we come up near enough to wherever they ended up.”

Bucky flexed the fingers of his left hand, trying to push away his annoyance and concentrate.

“That metal thing don’t got a navigation system on it, does it?” Rocket pointed to his arm.

“Nope.” Bucky found himself smiling again. “Does yours?”

Rocket’s ears flicked back in his mask, the little ear flaps going down. Under lighter circumstances, Bucky may have found it sort of cute, in the way of a little dog that gets pissed when its owner puts a costume on it.

“No,” he grunted, turning away.

Bucky nodded. So it’s true. Those metal bolts… sounds like he didn’t ask for them, any more than I did. He uncapped the ointment and sniffed, wincing. “Smells like road-kill.”

Rocket laughed. “Yeah, but it works.”

Bucky pumped a dab onto his hand, the off-white viscous glob making his stomach turn even as he wiped it on. Immediately, he felt a cool rush flow through his hardware, relaxing the kinks it had suffered on the fall down.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly, throwing it back to Rocket.

The raccoonoid looked at him. “I think I got a plan if we decide to climb out right here, but uhhh… I’m gonna need that arm.” He pointed at Bucky’s metal limb. "It comes off, right? If not, I bet I can fix that."

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, trying to hide the way his heartbeat had suddenly kicked up at the idea, at the memories. Repulsors fired, and he threw up his arm, trying to shield himself; blinding, searing pain, sparking through his shoulder and straight into his spine; no arm, no weapons, Stark advancing in the metal suit, Steve in harm's way, while he lay there helpless, no way to fight... His mouth tasted bitter, coppery, and he realized he was biting his lip, hands clenched at his sides.

For his part, Rocket’s stomach coiled, recognizing that look. It was the “bad memories coming back, but you’re trying to hide it” look.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he tried to recover lamely. “And I don’t actually need your arm. It’s just a joke.”

“It’s not funny.” Bucky glared at him.

“Yeah Star-Dork doesn’t think so either.” Rocket paused. “Seriously, though. What is up with the arm? How did you even get that?"

Bucky shrugged, clearly trying to seem casual, but Rocket could hear his heart racing. "Buncha evil fuckers captured me, decided to turn me into a killing machine." The servos on his arm shifted like the scales of an angry snake. "I wasn't much good to them with just one arm, so they made me a new one."

Rocket tilted his head. “Nice workmanship, though.”

“Yeah, well.” He glanced down at his arm, brushing the fingers of his other hand against it. “This ain’t the one they made. T’Challa’s people gave me a new one, after—look, why the hell are we talking about this? You got a plan to get out of here?”

Rocket opened his mouth, ready with a smart remark, but the guy was all tense, his hands all clenched like he was ready for a fight. It wasn’t often he decided to go with tact, but at the moment… well. There was something familiar in the way Bucky held himself, like he’d been kicked around so much he was just waiting for someone else to step up and have a go at him. Rocket knew what it was like, to have someone else’s fingerprints all over your body, permanent reminders that no matter what you did, you’d never escape what was done to you, what you’d become. So maybe, just maybe, he could scrape up a little empathy. Bucky sure as hell wouldn’t know the difference.

“Yeah, I got a plan,” he said instead, thinking better of it. “Walk down this tunnel, see where it goes… and shoot anything that moves.”

It was hard to tell Bucky’s expression behind the mask, but his posture relaxed, his voice taking on a confident, almost cocky tone, almost as though a whole new person was breaking through. “Well, it’s simple, I gotta give you that. You got anything to shoot with? ‘Cause I lost my rifle saving your sorry ass, all I got left is a coupla pistols.”

“Uh, yeah.” He fumbled a little, confused by the sudden alteration in Bucky’s manner. “I still got my XR-16 Xandarian Rifle.”

“Ammo?”

“About a hundred rounds.”

“Okay, I got… fifty pistol rounds.” Bucky drew a pistol, flicking off the safety. “Guess we’ll have to pick our shots. Let’s head out.” Without waiting for Rocket’s reply, he stepped forward, down through the dark.

__

Rocket squinted as he walked, allowing Bucky to lead the way through the tunnel. Everything inside him made him want to jump up on the humie’s shoulder. A safe spot, perched. He pushed the instincts to the back of his mind, concentrating instead on the dim black ahead, rifle poised at the ready.

He watched the metal arm. Buncha evil fuckers captured me and decided to turn me into a killing machine. So many questions. Was there a chance that this human knew what he himself had gone through? Rocket longed to ask him, but bit his tongue.   Don’t go there. Don’t you dare go there, you pathetic piece of pelt!

“You play like you’re the meanest and the hardest, but really you’re the most scared of all.” Yondu’s words echoed in his mind to this day. He was right. So, so right. But maybe he wasn’t the only one for whom it was true.   No!  He chastised himself as they continued, he couldn’t, wouldn’topen up like that. He swallowed hard. Loneliness curled in the pit of his stomach.

Bucky stopped, holding up his fist.

“What?” Rocket barked, masking his inner emotions.

“I heard something.” Bucky crouched, peering through the shadows.

“What?”

“Shut it,” Bucky hissed, aiming at the roof of the tunnel. For once, the raccoonoid obeyed. They crouched in silence, waiting. Bucky’s own breath caught as a large hissing creature slithered down from the wall of the tunnel. Leaping forward, he shot three times and rolled as it was about to land on him, large sinuous body still slithering even as he turned to see its bullet-ridden form. What the hell?

“The flark is that?!” Rocket cried.

“I was about to ask you,” Bucky admitted.

“What, you think just cuz I ain’t from here means I know every wacked-out creature there is?!”

Bucky turned back to the reptilian thing. Its tail was still twitching. He carefully nudged it with the butt of his pistol once it had stopped moving. “Must’ve come through one of the portals. Be on your guard, there could be more.”

Rocket nodded, looking through the scope of his own weapon.

Bucky moved forward, reloading as he went. The tunnel walls curved slightly, dark mold and runny streams of minerals making brown and brass-colored muck that seeped out from the cracks. Another scurrying sound.

BAM! Rocket fired.

Bucky whirled, then shook his head. “That’s just a rat.”

Rocket looked at the dead thing skeptically. “It’s pretty big.”

“Maybe you’re just small.”

Rocket’s red eyes narrowed, aiming his gun ahead, just past Bucky. “Yeah, well, my gun ain’t, so I suggest you keep walkin’!”

Bucky shook his head, laughing as he crept forward. It was an empty threat if he ever heard one. They navigated the tunnel with acute wariness; Bucky glanced above, around and even below them, as he’d been trained. But through the length they walked, the only sounds were rats.

“Exactly how long are these tunnels, humie? You got any idea where the hell we even are?” Rocket demanded, clearly impatient after a while of sneaking about and false alarms.

“Hey, I told you I don’t have a navigation system, here,” said Bucky. “You got a better idea, be my guest.”

Rocket huffed, and then… huffed again. He stopped, sniffing.

“You got a cold, or something?” Bucky asked.

“No, there’s… there’s an air current. An opening, somewhere.”

Bucky looked around, then up, searching for a break in the tunnel walls. “There!” He pointed upward, where a patch of stars was just visible through what he suspected was a manhole. “We can get through up there.”

“How the hell are we supposed to get up there?” Rocket demanded, craning to look upward.

“I thought you had a plan.”

“I told you it was a joke!” Rocket cried, looking up at the manhole. “Unless that Wakandan arm thing can scale tunnel walls, I’m out of ideas.”

“You’ve broken out of twenty-four prisons! Or was that another joke?”

Rocket lifted his gun to his shoulder. “No, it ain’t a joke! But this ain’t a prison. It’s a tunnel. Do you see any security cams I can override, any weapons? No! All that’s down here is rats, and water and mold and that weird space lizard!”

Bucky waved his hands, exasperated. “Okay, keep your shirt on, Christ. We’ll think of something.” He peered upward, ignoring Rocket’s muttering.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “I got an idea, but… you’re probably not gonna like it.”

Rocket’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

He took a breath. “Well, it looks like it’s about twenty feet up, and you’re pretty small, so… um… I could throw you.”

There was a moment of silence.

“ Throw me?” said Rocket incredulously. “Are you outta your mind ?”

“Not unlikely,” he answered. “But honestly, I think it’s our best shot. Once you’re up there, you can tie a cable to something and throw it down for me to climb up.”

“We don’t have a rope,” Rocket pointed out.

“Yeah, we do.” Bucky unclipped a spool of cable from his belt. “We can use this.”

“That little thread ain’t gonna hold your weight, pal.”

“It’s vibranium, I could dangle a struggling rhinoceros off the Brooklyn Bridge and it’d be fine,” says Bucky impatiently. “Come on, we gonna do this or not?”

Rocket shook his head. “I only understood about half of what you just said,” he grumbled. “Anyway, I’m still stuck on the part where you throw me into the ceiling . I don’t wanna end up as a buncha mush on the roof of this tunnel.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, invisible under his goggles. “I’m not gonna throw you into the ceiling, I’m gonna throw you through the hole in the ceiling. I’ve got good aim, I’m not gonna miss.”

The raccoon looked at him for a few seconds, considering, before he said, “Throw somethin’ else through, first, and if you make it I’ll go.”

It was a pretty reasonable request, actually, so Bucky shrugged and headed over to the wall. He punched the concrete in a couple of places, ripping out a large chunk. Behind him, Rocket swore in startlement; he ignored him and headed to the space under the hole. He took a second to judge the angle, then threw, straight through the center of the opening. There was a thump as the projectile landed on the ground above.

He turned to Rocket, dusting his hands. “There. Now do you believe me?”

When Rocket spoke, his voice sounded a little funny, like he maybe got some grit in his throat. “Okay, humie. I guess we may as well give this crazy plan of yours a try.”

Bucky smiled to himself. Finally. He hoisted Rocket up, grunting as the raccoonoid squirmed in his hold.

Breathe, just breathe, they aren’t going to take you apart again, Rocket reprimanded himself, clenching his teeth as Bucky’s arms lifted him up. Being held like this, suspended, was different from being up on Groot’s shoulders. Everything in his mind yelled at him to bite Bucky’s hand. They held him up like this to transfer him from his cage to the gurney cart. They held him like this to transfer him from the gurney cart to the table. The table with the knives and…

“Ready?” Bucky asked. He could feel the creature’s body tense as it fought the urge to thrash. He knows what it’s like to be restrained. Best I can do is make it quick.

Rocket swallowed. “As I’ll ever be...Wait!”

“What?” Bucky demanded, exasperated.

“....don’t tell Quill.”

“Alright I won’t,” he promised. “Okay 1….2…” Bucky threw, having already measured the distance. He bit back a laugh at Rocket’s cursing as he was propelled upward, the end of his tail disappearing through the top of the manhole.

“Got it?” Bucky hollered upward.

“I should flarking leave you down there!” Rocket answered, looking down on him.

“Do you have the cable?” The creature said nothing, but the cable fell down, and Bucky grabbed it, hoisting himself up.

“Thanks,” he said, grabbing the small paw Rocket offered. Bucky glanced around. W indows shattered, street covered with debris. No sign of Romanoff or Loki. None of Thanos’s goons, either.

“ This cable thing is great,” Rocket commented, wrapping it up. “Wakanda, man, wouldn’t be a bad spot to retire.”

Bucky pulled off his mask, taking a deep breath of cool night air. In his mind, he pictured the towering waterfalls and miles of open grassland, the beauty of all that vibranium, not only in weapons but transportation, technology, everything. “No, it wouldn’t.”

There was a click as Rocket removed his own mask. “I don’t see the others anywhere.”

“No.” Bucky glanced around, uncomfortable in the open. “Let’s get behind something, then I’ll call Romanoff.”

“Can you see a water tower from where you are?” Romanoff asked over the com. “It’s got murals of butterflies on it and shit?”

Bucky scanned the horizon. “Yeah—about a mile east of us, looks like.”

“We’ll meet you by that.”

“Roger.” He flipped off his mic with a sigh. “Okay, we’ve got a rendezvous point.”

Rocket hefted his gun. “Well, then, let’s go.”

They headed out into the night, slinking between the shadows like ghosts. There was something intrinsically familiar about this, watching someone else’s back in an occupied city. Bucky half expected Falsworth to materialize around the corner, signaling the all-clear, or to hear Jones and Dernier whispering in French, probably working out some crazy new way to blow something up.

Instead, gunfire erupted from up ahead, sending up a cloud of debris and shattering the glass of the building next to them. He whipped around towards the noise, raising his pistol as he searched for the shooter. There. A squat, marshmallow-like creature perched on the balcony of a ruined apartment building, directly across the square from them He fired, once, twice. Target down.

His mind snapped into computer-mode, running through the litany. Second enemy, at three o’clock. Three shots in quick succession, chest, head, neck. The alien went down. The noise attracted others, and Bucky took out three more popping out from a nearby alley.

Footsteps, heavily armored foe. Bucky twisted, reaching out for the alien who charged him, and kneed it in the stomach, gripped its arm and flipped it onto its back on the ground. Its cry was lost to the cracking sound of broken bones as he crushed its windpipe beneath his heel.

Rocket looked on as Bucky seemed to dance seamlessly, bringing down each alien who attacked. He picked one up and threw it into another, then shot them both as he ducked another alien. At some point, he’d drawn a knife with a twelve-inch blade, which he used to run another alien through the rib-cage. In a bloody dance of metal and fire he twisted, punched, kicked, jumped, and shot.

He was moving too quickly for Rocket to shoot without risking hitting him by accident, and the racoonoid found himself just watching as he mowed their attackers down. He fought the way Gamora and Nebula did, with an absolute ruthlessness and economy of movement—but they were more than half cyborg, created by Thanos for murder. Bucky was just human… wasn’t he?

Finally, Bucky slammed the last of the aliens to the ground, grunting as he tugged his knife free of the hole he’d created in its chest.

“What’d they do to you?” Rocket whispered, looking around, bewildered, at the fifteen aliens who lay strewn like fields after a storm. No normal human should be able to fight like that... he thought, turning around to examine the carnage.

Bucky glanced at him, then frowned, moving closer. He raised a hand, as though to touch Rocket’s collarbone, where the metal implants were visible above the collar of his shirt. For a long moment, the two of them just stood there, staring at each other. Then Bucky’s hand dropped, and he took a breath.

“Same sorta things they did to you.”

Rocket felt a little chill raise the fur along his spine. “Fuckin’ scientists,” he muttered. “Buncha nutcases, the lot of ‘em.”

Bucky bent to pick up an alien rifle, checking the magazine for ammo with practiced efficiency. “Yeah, give a guy a white coat and a couple prisoners and all of a sudden he thinks he’s God,” he said.

Rocket snorted, hand going to his own gun. “Doesn’t make em’ immune to bullets, though.”

A sharp grin stretched Bucky’s lips. “No, it doesn’t.”  

They walked together down the street, Bucky’s large strides stepping over debris where Rocket had to scramble. He resisted the urge to smile at the sight of the small creature brandishing a gun nearly as big as himself as he hopped over the rubble strewn across their path.

Movement caught his eye, and he raised the alien rifle without thinking, firing up at the empty window of an adjacent building. The sniper returned fire, and Bucky ducked behind a statue, using the figure’s sweeping robes as cover.

BANG! BANG!

Bucky fired several more rounds, unable to get a good shot at the sniper. More gunfire erupted around them, and he turned side-on, minimizing the amount of target he presented. Above, the alien sniper moved, a head coming into view for a split second, and Bucky pulled the trigger.

BANG, the alien went down, and Bucky lowered his rifle.

BANG, BANG...BANG . He whirled around as the noise continued, just in time to see one of their attackers go down in a spray of greenish blood. Empty cartridges littered his feet, but the shots kept coming. The last alien hit the ground, and he looked up, wild-eyed, and realized the raccoon had scrambled onto his shoulder and continued firing.

“Thanks,” Bucky managed, still perplexed. He hefted the Rocket’s weight on his shoulder; it wasn’t much, barely the weight of an additional gun.

“Yeah, no problem.” he murmured, sounding almost… embarrassed. He made as if to clamber down again, but Bucky put up a hand to stop him.

“Why don’t you stay up there?”

Predictably, Rocket bristled. “I don’t need a piggyback ride, humie, I’m not your pet parrot.”

Bucky tilted his head so he could meet his eyes. “I ain’t giving out free rides, pal. I could use you watching my six, and it’s a hell of a lot easier if you can just face backwards.”

For a long moment, Rocket just stared at him, expression unreadable on his strange features. Then, “Alright,” he said. “I got your back.”

Bucky knew that tone. “What?”

“Nothing! It’s...just that I...I ain’t never fought with anyone like that since…Groot...”

“The angsty tree teen?”  Bucky asked, peering around to make sure the coast was clear.

Rocket’s ears flattened. “No.”

“…Okay.” Bucky knew all about sore subjects. He wasn’t about to push on this one. He started forward again, scanning through broken doors and shattered windows as he went.

“Not the one you met, anyways….” Rocket whispered.

Bucky glanced up at him, surprised at the continuation. “Who was he, then?”  

Rocket thought for a long time, then said, with more gentleness then Bucky had imagined possible from the scrappy little creature, “Your Steve. My version of him, anyways.”

Bucky stopped walking, floored. “My Steve?”

“I saw you guys making gooey eyes at each other on the Milano. ”

He started walking again, feeling mildly horrified. “You and a… tree… creature? Is that—how does that work ?”

“Eew! Not like that, you creep!”

“You said he was like your version of Steve!”

“I meant the—the best friends forever part, not… ugh… gross…”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” said Bucky, feeling relieved. There were some things in this brave new world that he just didn’t want to think about. He eased himself around the corner of a building, compensating for the slight weight on his shoulder. “So…” he said, more gently, “what happened?”

Rocket sighed, rubbing his paws over his muzzle and then the fur between his ears in a truly raccoon gesture. “He’s… dead. Sacrificed himself to save us on the battle of Xandar,” he said.  “He died shielding us from the impact.”

Bucky listened, trying to push the impossibilities and doubts from his mind. Trying to stop questioning how absurd this all was. “Sounds like something Steve would do,” he muttered. Selfless Steve Rogers.

A crater had been blasted in the middle of the street, and he edged around it, not wanting to fall again. The desolation was getting to him; Wakandan cities were normally so beautiful, so full of life, and this felt terribly wrong. Like Italy.

“Damn bleedin’ hearts,” Rocket said, without much vitriol attached.

Bucky could only nod. The water tower drew slowly closer as he walked, its lights still gleaming in the strange purplish dark.

“This Groot, you two were partners?” he finally inquired. “Where did you meet? The Hundred Acre Wood, with all the other woodland creatures?”

“Very funny,” Rocket answered dryly. “We broke outta prison together. It wasn’t long after I escaped...escaped them .”

Bucky could feel the creature’s grip tighten on his shoulder and the top of his head, tense like a coiled spring ready to go off.

What would I do if Steve died…? He shuddered to even think of it. He knew he ought to say something, but didn’t know what. I used to be good at this. Or maybe I was only ever good at it with Steve. He thought about that, for a moment, trying to recall. He remembered, now, the way Steve sometimes looked at him during the War— hopeful and kind of sad, like a kicked puppy. He hadn’t known how to handle it— everything had seemed too big, too raw, too out of control, and it had taken all his self-control not to throw down his gun and run away screaming. Follow Captain America into the jaws of death . Well, he’d done that, alright.  

“Steve broke me out of a Nazi prison camp,” he found himself saying. “During the War. Well, I guess that wouldn’t mean nothing to you, but— they were—well, they were just about as evil as you can get. And the place I was at, they were—doing experiments. I was one of ‘em.” He kicked a rock in front of him, watched it bounce along the ground. “Little idiot got himself turned into a superhero, took on the whole damned compound all on his lonesome, trying to find me. Nearly got himself killed.”

“But he found you?” Rocket sounded… anxious, almost, as though reassuring himself. “You got out.”

Bucky peered around the corner of a warehouse, searching for signs of movement. He didn’t see any. “Yeah, I got out. And then they fucking took me right back again.” He took a shuddering breath, not sure why he was explaining this to this odd, violent little alien. Somehow, though, now that he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “I—I thought there couldn’t be—worse than what they’d already done— I thought, the stuff they did to my— to my body, I could… I could take it, if I had to. But they took my brain, and they— they just yanked everything out, took away—everything that wasme , filled it up with their evil bullshit. And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

“They gave me sentience,” Rocket whispered, so low that Bucky could hardly hear him, close as they were. “I never asked for it. I don’t even know what I was before I became what they made me. Love, friendship, family, I never knew what those things were.” He shifted, claws digging into Bucky’s shoulder. “They forced sentience on me, but they took yours away, didn’t they? Or they tried.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Shit, I can't imagine what’s worse.”

Bucky nodded, trying hard to stifle his shaking. It’s true, he thought. He clenched his fists to try and keep the memories at bay.

“They made you do things, didn’t they? Terrible things.” Rocket said, hushed.

The only sound between them was the crunch of broken pavement beneath Bucky’s boots. “Yes,” he whispered, trying to shut out the memories.

Rocket looked away, to the point where Bucky wasn’t sure if he was actually speaking to him.  “But at that point you were already so fucked up you didn’t even question if it was right or wrong, huh?” His tail flicked, brushing across Bucky’s face. “Sometimes you don’t even question it, now. And that Steve guy, your boyfriend or whatever, you’re so worried that someday you’re going to revert back into what they tried to make you and you’ll go ape-shit and kill him, ain’t that right? Even if it’s just for a second…...a  second’s all it takes.”

He was shaking now, his grip on the back of Bucky’s head borderline painful. “That’s what it was. Just a second. Just a split second, I decided to crash my ship into the Dark Aster, and send it plummeting down.” Aggression, impulsiveness, total lack of self-preservation or consideration of consequences…. traits those scientists had conditioned him into having. “…I destroyed our only means of escape. Wasn’t thinking...so Groot he, he grew around us and…” He sniffed. “Well, there wasn’t much left of him after the fall.”

“A second is all it takes…”

Bucky was pretty sure the creature was crying, at this point, and he couldn’t blame him. How many times had he seen Steve throw himself into danger on his behalf? Or, God, how many times had he nearly killed Steve as the Winter Soldier? Poor little guy. Universe sure dealt him a bum hand, just like it did me.

“I...I’m sorry,” he managed. “About your friend.”

“It’s not your fault.” Rocket mumbled.

“Hey! Listen to me.” Bucky took a deep breath. Hope they found a cure for rabies by now , he couldn’t help thinking, and reached up to pat Rocket clumsily on the shoulder. “It’s not your fault, okay? If I blamed myself for every death I inadvertently caused, I’d be far less sane then I am now—and I’m barely sane as it is.”

He felt the raccoonoid go rigid at being touched, but then he relaxed, allowing the contact for a few seconds before shrugging Bucky’s grip off of him.

BANG!   Bucky instantly snapped back to reality as dust from the misshot of a gun grazed his boots. Rocket hoisted his own gun with one arm, still perched on Bucky’s shoulder with the other. “Up there!”

The ex-Winter Soldier pointed his own gun, looking through the scope. There, in the sixth story window. Another one of those alien-like creatures, armored with Thano’s telltale garb. Bucky fired. Quick! Shoot them before they shoot you. He fired, once, twice, ignoring Rocket, who was struggling to keep his balance.

Bang! Bang! Concrete flew up all around them; the aliens had some kind of mortar. Shit! Too much firepower! Cursing once more, Bucky ran, ducking and weaving as shells exploded around them, Rocket clinging desperately to his neck. With a burst of speed, he ducked down a narrow alleyway to their left, chest heaving as he slid down the wall to a sitting position.

“What the f—flark?!” Rocket cursed, all his fur standing up.

“Shh! Just wait a sec!” Bucky waited. Breathe. Just breathe. Wait. After a few precious moments, he lifted his gun, pointing it around the corner and slowly poking his head out, scanning the street outside for movement. It was deserted now, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

As if on cue, Bucky started at the sound of explosive gunfire behind him.

“AAAAAHHHH!!!” Rocket’s screaming laughter over the rattle of machine guns strangely assured Bucky, sending the thrill of the fight through his veins as he ran forward once more.

They weaved in and out of the buildings, around the corner, and he skidded to a halt. Shit!

He was staring down the barrel of a mounted gun. Behind it, one of Thanos’s goons grinned yellow teeth. Bucky pulled the trigger. Click.

Shit! No more ammo . His stomach tensed, Steve’s image flashing across his mind as he dropped the rifle and drew a pistol.

In the next second, Rocket launched himself from his shoulder. The raccoonoid landed squarely on the alien’s face, biting, scratching and punching. Bucky ducked just in time as the alien was knocked sideways, firing off the weapon. It pulled a knife from its belt, frantically jabbing at Rocket, who jumped off him and picked up his abandoned gun.

“Rocket!” he shouted, but the little creature shot the alien once, twice, three times, four, over and over until long after it had collapsed, lifeless.

“What?” Rocket turned to him, blood dripping from his arm as he hefted the weapon that was twice his size over his shoulder. “I said I got your back.”

You just shot that thing into oblivion, and we need to conserve ammo. “You’re bleeding,” Bucky said, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. He didn’t really feel like having an argument about unnecessary force just now—especially as it would be highly hypocritical.

The raccoonoid glanced at his cut. “Just a graze, humie. I’ve had worse, and so have you.”

Bucky nodded, conceding. “Glad you’re on my side,” he said, grinning. “Remind me never to piss you off. You know, you’re quite a force to be reckoned with, for a raccoon.”

He shifted his gaze to the empty buildings around them, on the alert once more. What he didn’t see was Rocket, who had climbed onto his shoulder again. His eyes were bright, chest thrust out in pride, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

__

“Widow?” Rocket whispered, leaning forward on Bucky’s shoulder and into the shattered first-story window of an apartment building a little while later. “Yo! Fancy boy with the bug hat? You there?!”

Bucky snickered. “Shhh! We’re not there yet.”

After waiting a moment in silence, they continued onward. Stepping down off the cracked stairs, Bucky checked his nine and three directions, all clear.

“You seem pretty calm about our situation here, bald-body,” Rocket commented, picking at the small wound in his side.

Bucky shrugged. “Not like I haven’t seen worse.”

Right. Torture. “How long did they have you, anyway? Those Nazi people.”

“HYDRA,” said Bucky absently. “They changed the name. About… seventy years. Give or take.”

“Seventy years ?”

Bucky turned another corner, sliding against the cracked concrete and crouching between the traffic barriers, now deserted. “I was on ice for a lot of it. Cryogenically frozen. But… yeah.”

Rocket didn’t know a whole lot about humans, but he was pretty sure that was most of a human lifespan. “Flark,” he breathed. “You really did lose everything. Family… friends… hell, I bet you were a standup guy before they did what they did. Going off and fightin’ in that war.”

“Mmm,” Bucky muttered, ducking under a partially-collapsed archway.

“They cut into you and tore you apart. So bad that your body was no longer yours. It belonged to them. You belonged to them. You were a tool, a plaything. That arm—” Rocket gestured to the metal limb— “That’s a Wakandan upgrade. But those Nazi psychos must’ve given you another one.”

Bucky glanced at the metal arm.

“That’s not the only thing they did to you, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t.” He suddenly fired at an alien who jumped at them down from the rafters. It fell dead before them, and Bucky stepped over it, apparently unfazed. “I told you they messed a lot of shit up, alright, can we not go down that road again?”

But Rocket wouldn’t be deterred. “It’s what’s in the inside that’s really fucked. They yanked everything out, like you said.”

Bucky walked forward, checking his gun as the rounded another deserted street.

“They messed up your mind…...your heart.” Rocket’s voice choked, lost in his own memories of Halfworld.

Bucky sighed, stopping for a moment to lean against a wall. “Everything that was me, remember? I meant it when I said everything .”

In Rocket's head, bright lights glared. Steel tables, blades, the smell of blood and fear… He swallowed, hardly aware that he was speaking aloud. “Cut into pieces with their scalpels and those machines… That’s what they wanted right? A machine. That’s what they tried to turn you into.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, taking a deep breath, “they tried.” He glanced up, smirking. “Look at us now, though. Sure, we’re a few potatoes short of a bushel, but… they’re dead. We’re not. So from where I’m standing, looks like we won, huh?”

Rocket grinned back, a surge of warmth filling his chest. Take that, fuckers. After all that, we’re alive.

“What about you? You were just an innocent… creature… and they—they tortured you…”

Rocket stared incredulously at the only person in this whole damn galaxy who perhaps understood, truly understood what he’d been through. He shook his head. Out of all the creatures in the damn galaxy. Not even Yondu, not even Groot, fully knew what this humie knows. What a world.

“So you don’t remember anything at all?” Bucky asked, unable to silence his curiosity.

“Just smells.” Rocket said. “Trees, dirt mostly and other things...fur, I think. Musk.” He shook his head, snapping out of it. “Guess that’s why I don’t mind having Groot around. He smells like a tree.”

Don’t mind having Groot around. Bucky almost snorted. That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. He recalled the raccoons that rummaged in the bins behind his childhood apartment in New York, and had a vivid mental image of Rocket popping out of a trashcan, gun and all. He bit back a laugh at the thought. The prickly little creature probably wouldn’t appreciate the joke.

Rocket suddenly tensed, whiskers twitching.

“What is it?” Bucky looked around, but couldn’t see anything.

“Someone’s coming,” the raccoonoid swung his gun around, aiming at where they had just passed.

Bucky switched his mic on. “Romanoff?” he whispered.

For a moment, there was only silence. Bucky waited, holding his breath. All the fur on Rocket’s neck stood up.

“There you are!”

Bucky lowered his gun, sighing with relief as Romanoff and Loki rounded the corner.

“We thought you’d gotten lost,” said Romanoff, a flicker of genuine relief barely audible before she cleared her throat and resumed practiced practicality. “We set off one of the explosions, but there’s still the illusions left to do, and we need a full team for that.”

“We tried to get to you. There were a lot more aliens than we thought,” Bucky explained.

“Well, you’re here now. Let’s finish this up.”

“We can’t,” said Loki. “My Rendelian crystal is missing!”

Romanoff gave him a look of flat disbelief. “Don’t tell me you lost it?”

He huffed in frustration. “I had it right here, in my pocket! Rendelian crystals don’t just get up and walk away!”

“You’ll have to do without it,” said Romanoff impatiently. “We don’t have time for this!”

“I needed that crystal to channel my power! I can’t create that kind of illusion without some kind of focus!”

“Sounds important,” said Rocket innocently.

Bucky cast him a sharp look. Years of dealing with Steve’s bullshit had made him very familiar with that particular tone, and it never meant anything but trouble.

“Yes, it is!”

“Valuable, too.”

“It’s practically priceless!”

Rocket reached into his pocket, smirking. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’d be willing to give it back to you for, say, a few thousand units.”

There was a taut moment of silence, like the instant before the release of a bowstring. The scene could have been a photograph: Rocket smirking, Romanoff wary, Loki slowly going incandescent with rage. Bucky could almost hear the snap when it broke.

“You!” Loki snarled. “You insulting, insufferable little freak!” He lunged towards Rocket with incredible speed.

The raccoonoid hunkered down on all fours on instinct, fur bristling, but Loki was too quick, grabbing Rocket by the scruff of his neck and held him dangling, snarling and spitting.

“I’m going to skin you alive and roast you on a spit, you little animal!” He jabbed a finger at Rocket’s snarling muzzle. “I don’t know who made you, but they should’ve killed you the first chance they got. You rat! I…”

Click-click.   The mischief-maker stopped short, the barrel of Bucky’s rifle pointed squarely between his eyes.

“Put. Him. Down,” Bucky whispered dangerously.

Loki’s expression shifted from furious to incredulous before settling on fear as he stared at Bucky’s murderous face.

Bucky’s rifle didn’t waver; rage was coursing through him, cold and hard and dangerous as ice. “I’m not asking again. Release him.”

The Asguardian swallowed, then let go, dropping Rocket to land all fours on the ground.

Bucky slammed Loki against the wall, arm to his throat. He’d rather scare the man than kill him, but right now, he wouldn’t be shedding any tears if he gave Loki a few bruises to remember him by.

“I won’t be told what to do…” Loki’s breath shook as Bucky pressed his arm harder into his neck, pinning him to the wall.

“You will apologize to him. You will respect him and you will never speak that way to him again. And if you threaten him one more time…”

“Boys,” Romanoff drawled, still leaning against the opposite wall of the alley, “Let’s calm down a bit, shall we?”

“Apologize,” Bucky growled, drawing a knife from his belt. “Now.”

“Barnes, come on, calm down.”

“It’s— just—a rodent,” Loki choked out, either stupid or suicidally confident.

“Yeah,” said Bucky, baring his teeth. “And I’m just a brain-damaged assassin.” He touched the knife tip to the place where Loki’s ear met his skull; a cut there wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt like hell. “I don’t like bullies, pal. You got five seconds.”

“Alright!” gasped Loki. “Alright! I’m—sorry. There. Happy?”

“What are you sorry for? Tell him, not me.”

“I’m sorry I called him—you—those things! And threatened you!”

“And…?”

“And I won’t do it again!”

Bucky stepped back, letting him fall. Turning, he caught Rocket’s eyes.

“You crazy son of a bitch.” Rocket’s tone sounded closer to awe than anger. “I coulda handled him.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, sheathing his knife and picking up the rifle. “But I don’t let nobody talk to my friends like that. Not on my watch.”

Rocket opened his mouth, then closed it again, apparently at a loss for words. Before anything else could be said, Romanoff stepped in.

“Okay, if we’re done with all the posturing, could we please focus, here? Rocket, why don’t you hand Loki the damned crystal, and we can get this over with.”

Wordlessly, Rocket threw the thing to Loki, who accepted it with a grunt.

“Follow me,” Romanoff ordered, and the rest of them stepped in line behind her.

Rocket trailed behind Bucky, running a hand through his fur. “Uhhh, listen… thanks for what you did back there.”

Bucky glanced down at him, a smile coming to his face. “Any time,” he said sincerely.

It felt good to stand up for someone again, to do something simple and good. It had been a long time since he defended people, protected them.Steve would be proud. The thought of it made his smile widen as they headed out.

__

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Rocket dove out of the way as the delivery van he’d been sheltering behind vaporized under an energy bolt from an alien gun. “Bucky, where the hell are you?”

Three shots rang out in quick succession, followed by a sudden silence.

“Taking out the sniper,” said Bucky over the coms. “You okay?”

“Of course I am, humie. Take a little more than that to take me out,” Rocket bluffed, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing. “We done here, or what?”

He still couldn’t see Bucky; the guy was on the rooftops somewhere, but he seemed to have an ability to blend in just about anywhere. Off in the distance, the illusions Loki had set continued to flare and crackle like fireworks. They needed to get out of here, before Thanos’s troops caught them.

“Romanoff?” Bucky asked. “What are your orders?”

Silence.

“Romanoff?”

Another, nerve-wracking silence, then a cough, then Romanoff’s voice. “Yeah, I— sorry. My com got—” She broke off.

“What the hell is going on?” Rocket demanded. “We need to get out of here!”

“Much as I hate to agree with the—”

“Shut up, Loki,” Bucky snapped. “I’ve got Romanoff. Meet me by that— is that a burger place? Whatever. The place with the sign.”

Rocket hurried to the storefront indicated, ears swiveling to catch any hint of attackers. Nothing moved; for the moment, their little section of the city seemed to be deserted. Loki met him at the door, pointedly looking over his head, like it was beneath him to acknowledge a rodent . Rocket gave a little hiss. Same to you, asshole.

“Hurry up, Bucky,” he snapped into his com. “We don’t got all day.”

Bucky didn’t answer. Instead, he rounded the corner, carrying—oh. He was carrying Romanoff, and the way her head was lolling against his chest did not bode well.

“What happened to her?” Rocket demanded, hurrying forward.

“Knife wound, maybe broken ribs, not sure what else,” said Bucky. “She was under a pile of dead aliens when I found her. Loki, I’m gonna need that coat.”

“I—” Bucky gave him a dark look. “Coat. Now.”

Loki huffed, but stripped off his coat and handed it over.

“You two keep a lookout. I’m gonna bandage her up.” Bucky laid Romanoff on one of the tables inside, cushioning her head on his own jacket, then began cutting Loki’s coat into strips. The knife was still stuck in her thigh, which was probably the reason she hadn’t bled out already—but there was no way they could get her back to the Milano without jostling it. It needed to come out.

At least she’s already unconscious, he thought, and set about making a tourniquet.

Romanoff woke up just as Bucky finished bandaging her.

“Fuck,” she groaned, and then, “Barnes?”

“Hi,” he said, ridiculously awkward for someone who had her blood all over his hands. Then again, maybe that had something to do with his awkwardness. Usually being covered in blood didn’t mean he’d just saved someone. “How are you feeling?”

“Alive,” she said drily. “Which is honestly more than I was expecting, so I’ll take it.” She pushed herself up on her elbows, uttering a slight hiss of pain. “What’s the damage?”

“It missed your femoral artery by about half a centimeter,” he told her. “I put a tourniquet on and packed it with those vibranium bead things of Shuri’s. Other than that—I think you’ve got at least one broken rib, but nothing’s poking through, so I’m gonna assume you’re not about to collapse a lung. Did you hit your head?”

Romanoff shook her head. “Nope, just— moved wrong, fainted.” She looked disgruntled. “I hate it when I do that.”

“It happens to the best of us,” he assured her solemnly.

“Super-soldiers,” she muttered. “Okay, we need to get out of here, back to the pod. Are Rocket and Loki okay?”

“They’re fine. We need to get you to the Milano before you lose any more blood— or before that tourniquet starts causing problems. The pod’s too far away.”

“I see.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t suppose Thanos’s minions left any alien ships lying around here?”

“Hey guys!” Rocket called from outside. “There’s a bunch of hoverbikes out here!”

As it turned out, only one of the hoverbikes was working, but one was all they needed. After a short debate, Loki and Romanoff took the bike back to the Milano, as (a) Loki could create illusions to mask their presence, lessening the risk of them being attacked, (b) Romanoff needed someone bigger than her to support her in case she lost consciousness again, and (c) there was no way Bucky was leaving Loki and Rocket alone together.

As the hoverbike disappeared into the distance, Rocket turned to Bucky. “Well, guess it’s just us again.”

“Yeah.” Bucky wiped his bloody hands on his pants, then slung his rifle over his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get back to the shuttle.”

___

“Groot!” Rocket launched himself at his friend, wrapping his arms around Groot’s legs as far as they would go. “Buddy! Are you okay? You ain’t hurt?”

“I am Groot.”

“What d’you mean, ‘Of course not’? You coulda been— you coulda been—” Rocket’s words were lost as he wound his arms even more tightly around the tree-like creature’s leg. The teen rolled his eyes, making an annoyed huff, but he made no attempt to pry Rocket off of him, and even grew several vines around the raccoonoid’s torso in what Bucky could only interpret as a tight hug.

Bucky snorted, and tried to cover it with a cough.

Rocket glared at him. “You got a problem, pal?”

“Not me,” said Bucky innocently, but he couldn’t quite keep the smirk off his face. “Just gotta say, for a guy who goes on about other people beingbleeding hearts , you’re kind of a sap.”

Rocket’s reply was drowned out by a shout from down the hall.

“You didn’t tell me he was here!” Steve came barreling into the room like he was about to take down the entire Third Reich, and skidded to a halt in front of Bucky.

“Bucky!” he said breathlessly. “Are you— I mean—can I—”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Just get over here, Stevie.”

Apparently that was all it took, because the next second, he was enveloped in Steve’s arms, with Steve’s face buried in his shoulder. Bucky held on tight, bringing his right hand up to cradle the back of Steve’s head.

“Yeah, okay, darlin’. I got you. You’re okay.”

“I thought I lost you,” Steve mumbled into his shoulder. “When they came back , and Nat was injured, and you weren’t—you weren’t—”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Bucky rubbed his back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “But I’m okay. I came back, Steve. I came back to you.”

Behind him, Rocket said something in a sarcastic tone that probably meant it was directed at him. He turned his head enough to look over at the raccoonoid.

“What was that?”

Rocket crossed his arms, but his whiskers were twitching in what Bucky was pretty sure was a grin. “I said, it takes one to know one, buster.”

Bucky patted Steve’s hair, noticing that Groot’s— tendrils? Vines? Appendages—were still wrapped firmly around Rocket. Something was expanding in his chest, a great, light pressure like a balloon, filling his lungs and heart and buoying him up. It took a moment to recognize the feeling ashappiness.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Yeah, it does.”

THE END

[screensirenfic]

The Grandest Of Sins - Chapter 6 - Playing God

“There’s a special place in hell for blasphemers and heretics...”

Muttered Scar; already quiet and brooding, he’d taken to contemplating as they stood watch on the rooftop opposite to Shou Tucker’s home.

“I’ll see to it that the Sewing Life Alchemist reaches it promptly.”

She knew there was little else he hated more than Alchemists who meddled with the forces of life and death; let alone ones who played God with his creatures, creating monsters that were not quite man, but similar enough to enter that uncanny valley that made you think twice before killing them.

“We’ll leave the Elrics out of this; right..?”

She asked; still uncomfortable with the concept of killing the child, not when there was a chance he might help her.

She’d read the eldest Elric boy’s file. 

Though it wasn’t detailed how he’d lost his arm and leg, nor how his brother had found himself imprisoned in the form of a metal suit of armour, she knew enough about the forbidden arts to work out how it happened.

Children playing God - Human Transmutation; perhaps the most costly example of Equivalent Exchange - an act she knew they were lucky to escape with their lives from.

But now they were searching for a Phillospher’s stone, and for a moment she had the foolishness to hope…

“I won’t be responsible for what happens if they get in my way…”

He refused to make any promises. He was honest like that.

He held no love for Alchemist, and had no mercy, even for ones that were children. 

It was probably lucky that the Ishvallens were cut down before they could uncover more of the Alchemic arts, otherwise he might’ve worked out the cause for the Elrics’ unusual predicament, and if he did, there would be no mercy for the brothers.

 “And the daughter..?”

She asked; almost nervous to ask what would happen to the soon-to-be orphan.

“I will do what I must.”

——————————————————————

Every Amestrian knew to be cautious when approaching the edge of the Great Desert; the ongoing skirmishes in and around Ishval becoming less and less containable as of late and spilling out into the borderlands, but Eveira was considered to be as safe a town as one could get on the road back to Eastern.

To see smoke rising off its charred buildings; the gutted remains of a once prosperous town, was unnerving for even an experienced soldier.

They’d been cautious on their journey to Xerxes, avoiding staying in the semi-safe haven lest they risk bringing in rebels from Ishval in some sort of reprisal against King Bradley’s troops.

Now the town lay as empty as the Forgotten City; dwindling flames eating away at the bones of its being.

“What the hell happened..?”

Muttered Breda; his sore rear forgotten in the midst of what looked like the remnants of a battleground.

Mustang couldn’t answer that outright, but his gut could already tell him exactly who were responsible for this carnage.

He dismounted his horse; his men following his lead as he began to step his way through the charred foundations and smoking ashes of what might’ve once been a grocers, judging by the blackened remains of what looked like produce crates. 

“Ishvallens…”

He muttered; crouching down to brush his gloved hand over the scorched ground, revealing the dim bronze of a pendant dedicated to their God.

“Abrams, Breda; keep your eyes open. We may not be alone.”

He barked orders to his subordinates; the men offering him firm salutes, before spreading out to recon the rest of the town.

“You want me to get a bird’s eye view; Sir?”

Asked Hawkeye; her trusty sniper rifle already off her shoulder and in her hands, ready on his command.

Mustang gave her a silent nod; the woman making a beeline for what once was the tallest structure in the town - the bell tower.

“Sergeant Havoc; don’t let the girl out your sig-“

He began to order, when a thunder of gunfire filed the air, forcing all 3 of them to hit the deck as Ishvallen rebels flooded out of the abandoned ruins opposite.

[julystorms]

Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye

(no longer accepting)

A+: OTP

LOOK. I did not expect to like a ship this much, but here we are. It’s such a good ship. Fandom misinterprets half of it and it weathers the storm. It’s so good. Two people whose lives intersected at one point and get tangled up in all kinds of genuinely terrible shit for the rest of their lives...yet they don’t become hateful spiteful people. They just keep pressing on. Together. To make changes they want to see happen in the world. 

Like there is nothing about this ship that doesn’t mess me up. Roy as a kid basically, so well-meaning. Wants to learn flame alchemy. He meets Riza and maybe they were kind of friends or maybe not; we’re not really told. But after the death of her father, she sees how much Roy wants to make a difference and she feels like she can trust him. He’s a good person. He wouldn’t betray her. So she gives him the secrets to flame alchemy.

And look not to sidebar too hard here but her getting that tattoo in the first place is questionable on so many levels. Her father was a scummy sunnuvabitch if you ask me. He was selfish and he used her. Here, you can guard the secret. Not with your mind, though. I’ll put it on your back so that you can’t even see it. Only someone else can get the secret via using you--via putting you (whether by asking or forcing you) in a vulnerable position of undress for hours at a time. Riza is just a vehicle for her father’s research; was she ever even a person to him?

And the thing is, Master Hawkeye knew it was dangerous and he still put it on her. He wouldn’t train Roy how to use it, right? Because the poor guy was just too young and naive! Rather than explain to Roy why it was a bad idea, even gently telling him how the real world worked, without even trying to reason with him, he Dumbledored it up and forced this terrifying burden on his daughter--not knowing or maybe just not caring that there might be people out there willing to hurt her to get that knowledge. She could have been used by other people for the rest of her life. And she doesn’t even know what it says. There’s some misogynistic crap hiding in that metaphor.

But Riza thinks, hey, Roy is a good person and he means well; I like the way he looks at the world and I like his enthusiasm. His ideals are good and pure. So she gives this part of her to him...and he spends a lot of time sitting with her just staring at her naked back studying the information there. We don’t know how she feels about it. Maybe she feels she’s doing a service to the world. Maybe she’s bored and feels a little used, like a worn textbook--at least until Roy says something or does something that lets her know he knows she’s a person--that she’s living in that skin and it’s not just warm parchment for him to study.

And then Roy breaks the code. He’s a boy, yet. He breaks the code and learns flame alchemy and then he goes to war and takes it with him--thinks he’s fighting for his country, thinks maybe it’s for something good. He realizes really fast that he’s put himself into a terrible position. He kills people, far more than Maes does. Far more than Riza manages to as a sniper. He just wipes human lives off the face of the planet and he barely has to think about it.

(Except he does. He can’t stop thinking about it.)

And then he runs into Riza on the front lines and sees what he’s done. Roy can’t take all the blame, of course, even if he wants to. Riza is her own person and he’s always known that about her; he’s always seen her as capable of making her own decisions. She chose this life for herself.

But she chose it based on the things he said; she believed in his incorrect idealistic view of the world they lived in. 

Her father was right about flame alchemy but he was a terrible person for everything he did. His research yielded something terrible and rather than throw it away he put it on his daughter’s skin. He spent his life chasing something and couldn’t bear the idea of leaving the world with nothing to show for it. Master Hawkeye never saw Riza as a good enough thing in his life, probably because he barely acknowledged her existence--spent his life chasing the secrets of flame alchemy instead of forging a bond with his own child.

And because of all this, they both end up fighting a war they don’t believe in, doing terrible things because they don’t know what else to do. What’ll happen to them if they just refuse to fight? Will they just die? Be killed? It’s a tough place to be in and it’s impossible to enact change from six feet under the ground. Roy acquires new ideals and Riza does too: starting with her back.

She makes another decision, this time to destroy her father’s research even though it means her own pain. Wouldn’t the government love a hundred men with power like Roy and minds soft as porridge? They could have it if they knew what was on her back. She’s spent all her career hiding that tattoo enough that nobody knew what it was, but she can’t do it forever. How long before someone comes looking for her father and finds her--thinks she knows something?

She honestly knows nothing but they could get the information from her body, and her body is her own. She has autonomy over it and asks Roy to destroy it with the very thing it yielded: flame alchemy.

And Roy does so--not with any delight. He’s hurt so many people with that secret. The last person he wants to hurt with it is Riza but in many ways he’s already hurt her with it, too. What’s one last time, right? When she’s demanding it? When he knows it has to be destroyed somehow and there’s no good way of doing it--not without letting someone else see it. Can they trust anyone else with it? She couldn’t even really trust him.

Except that she could, and she did, and does; even after all they’ve been through, she still trusts him. With it. With her body. With her heart, too. She’ll follow him into the depths of hell, not because she loves him so much, but because she’s a murderer, too; because she’s not a better person than he is and they both know it. Because they’re in this together. They have each other’s backs and by the time the main series gets moving, it’s clear they have each other’s hearts, too. A delicate balance between them, holding each other up. 

And look, they could betray each other at any point but they never do. Riza knows Roy and she’s always known him. He’s a good person. He made a mistake that cost him his innocent view of the world, and in a manner of speaking, cost her hers, too. But it was her choice to join the military just as it was her choice to give him the secret. He didn’t coerce her into anything; he only spoke his mind. She had the freedom of choice. She trusted him then and she trusted him again when she saw what he was doing on the front lines and how he hated it--hated himself. And later, when she knew he’d do anything to fix the corrupt government they’ve all been living under that would allow this to happen, that trust only grew.

Because Roy was willing to get into power only to pass laws that would put him on trial and get him sentenced to death for his crimes--crimes he was ordered to commit and didn’t refuse. Riza was willing to do the same. That is another choice she makes, to aid Roy in achieving that goal knowing exactly what will happen to the both of them. She will be with him always. They are the same. She will follow him into hell in this way, too: willingly.

Look, Roy and Riza are often portrayed as this cute sweet loving romantic couple but their bond was forged in tragedy and they will spend the rest of their lives atoning futilely for the crimes they committed. Roy might have killed more people but he didn’t have to stare at them through the rifle scope. Kimblee might have been intentionally cruel with his comment to Riza about finding satisfaction in eliminating a target but the reason she flinches when he says it is because it’s true. She does feel that spark of satisfaction when she hits her target--when she kills someone.

They aren’t this deeply sweet and fluffy couple. They have been drowning in guilt for a large percentage of their lives and they will probably feel that way until the day they die.

The reason they’re such good characters is because they actively try to make change so that something like that doesn’t happen again. And they’re a good couple because everything they do is founded on this immensely deep trust and understanding of one another. They share a bond that nobody else in the entire series shares--not even Maes and Roy (though their bond is another very strong lovely one created under similar circumstances, Maes was at least just a regular soldier during the war; what makes this especially tragic is that Maes dies for this cause but Roy no doubt feels it should have been him instead; he’s the one who would deserve it, after all).

And I know the atrocities they committed are pretty awful, but I like that both characters are very human in this way. They made terrible choices and mistakes and know they can never make up with that. They’re also wise enough to know they can’t make up for it with their lives, either; they are only two people. The best good they can do in the world is to use their power and brains to get in a position where they can make and pass laws to prevent further atrocities, even if in making those laws, they sentence themselves to death. They were never paying for their crimes with their lives by dying, but by living. It doesn’t change what they did but it’s incredible to think about.

[egoiistas]

at the center of the world (3)

tag || ao3 || ffn

Amestris becomes a harrowingly silent place on the afternoon of the Promised Day and only the survivors at the center are left to tread over it. Within a few hours, they won’t be the only ones wandering.

Rated: M. it’s a horror/zombie au fic. - or it tries to be Warnings: Blood, Death, Zambees, Cursing

Chapter 3/11

Scar

Silence dampened the survivors’ mood like a cold sweat. They fixed their gazes to the floor knowing their weariness would not be relieved any time soon.

Except for Roy Mustang; he stared into the distance with narrowed eyes.

Scar found it difficult to quantify Mustang’s augury. Each time the Flame Alchemist appeared he was a different man. shedding who he was before, molting like a Kingsnake. He had witnessed the haughty, overconfident military officer so secure in his ability and his ghost, back in the tunnels, moments away from losing himself. He had read in the newspapers of Maria Ross, and had wondered what kind of arrogant soul subverts their own system to coldly burn a woman beyond recognition. Scar had felt the heat of Mustang’s legendary flames when he incinerated the mannequin soldiers with controlled unrelenting power. The tales he had heard of one of the most prolific killers in the massacre did not represent the man who held his subordinate with inordinate concern. Scar’s skepticism was not without warrant and he wasn’t alone.

“This is a joke, right?” He unraveled his arms, looking at his chimera brethren for reassurance and finding none. “Everyone’s soul just got sucked into this ...this thing and now you want me to believe there’s war coming?”

“Whoa whoa wait, Mr Gorius - let me,” Edward Elric turned, cocksure, “how the hell are you so sure about this?

“Ed,” the teacher admonished.

“No, I’m serious. What’s the big idea? If they arrived, why does it have to be war? Can’t we, you know, talk?”

Mustang frowned in Edward Elric’s direction. “Yes, we can. But we risk putting ourselves in more danger that way.”

“How?” Edward Elric looked around the room. “None of us have the military uniform. We aren’t armed -- Most of us anyway.”

“Don’t be blinded by your naivete, Fullmetal.”

“Was that a blind joke?” he quickly intercepted.

Ignoring him, Mustang pressed on, “Think about it. Their first assumptions of us won’t be of innocent passerby that happened to have survive a strange phenomenon--”

Like a child, the young alchemist interrupted, “But why not?”  

“Fullmetal,” Scar watched Mustang take a deep breath; one to maintain temperance, to be sure. “On many things, I appreciate your insight as you and your brother have prodigious abilities in alchemy and most sciences. However, I wouldn’t trust your military intelligence expertise as far as I could throw you.

“Under my watch, I made damn sure you did not see the front lines of war. These are organized coercive forces, one of which will not pause because we have women and children. Our neighbors aren’t well-versed in alchemy, if they have any true grasp of it at all. Their foundation wasn’t forged from it. They’ll think we’re spies or, at the very least, assume we’re all alchemists -- they have every reason to assume hostiles on sight.”

The elder Elric sat back down on the hospital bed, the spring creaked and filled the void.

“I can tell from your silence that you don’t believe me.” His patience was wearing thin, Scar noticed. “I’m not asking your to believe me; I am telling you.”

“How are you so certain?” The Curtis woman asked him with a softer and more understanding tone than the accusatory ones Roy Mustang received earlier. “You have to let the layman understand. We don’t automatically jump from national catastrophe to war between foreign countries.”

The scowl that was on the Colonel’s face softened. “I would love to give a simpler understanding; believe me, Mrs. Curtis. It’s a matter of amassing military experiences and strategies over a decade. Despite what some of you may think, I didn’t get to Colonel on just good looks.”

“Jury’s still out for that.”

While Edward Elric’s joke earned him glares, Scar turned inward. He couldn’t deny Mustang’s tenure in the Military. The Amestrians implemented tactical finesse and organizational prowess on top of their overwhelming forces. The Ishvalans relied heavily on guerilla warfare: hiding behind dunes, rigging the roads with homemade explosives, and raining gunfire from crests of valleys. His time training in the vaulted temples showed him the way the desert people fought. Before the Amestrian assault, their occupation was limited to dealing with brigands or deserters looking to pillage wreaking havoc in a district or two before attempting to disappear into the perilous desert.  But it was tacticians they lacked. That, along with the lack of alchemical warfare, resulted in the darkest times of his life and for his people.

He didn’t expect Ishvala to answer his prayers like this, he thought grimly. Ishvala forgive us.

“Oh yeah, this entire time… back in headquarters.” Darius interrupted Scar’s musings. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that Scar didn’t noticed the hostility that seeped in through the walls. Nudging those at his sides, he continued with a subtle barb to his words. “That’s right. The Flame Alchemist, Colonel Roy Mustang? I didn’t forget.”

“Uh.” Mustang’s mouth hung slightly ajar, confused by the sudden declaration. “You’re going to have to excuse me if I don’t immediately recognize you.”

“I remember too.” The shortest one Jerso nodded and further explained, “We were in the military before we were turned into science experiments. Central HQ was so busy the day you transferred from the East with your retinue.”

“The Hero of Ishval -- really awful stuff you did out there.”

“Get to the point,” he mutteed.

“Forgive us if we’re a bit...cautious of the alchemist with such a high rank within the military.” Darius said to Edward Elric. “The womanizing one. And really, really ambitious. Highly destructive too.”

“Are you finished?”

“How do we know you’re not just like Kimblee? Tossing us out as soon as you’re done making sure you’re safe.”

“He might be a bastard, but he is no Kimblee.”

“Is that so?” He directed his gaze to Lieutenant Hawkeye. “Say, how did you get that nasty cut on your neck?”

Her palm quickly met her bandaged neck.

“That’s enough.” He stood abruptly and would have toppled forward if not for Lieutenant Hawkeye’s quick hand to his shoulder. Straightening himself, he said, “I’ve said what I needed to say and there’s no obligation to stay with this group if you desire to leave. Lieutenant. Fullmetal.”

“Sir.”

“What is it?”

“We’ll need to gather sufficient supplies to transport Alphonse. Perhaps we can do so with an ambulance. Lieutenant, we’ll need to get you some firearms.”

Scar noticed May’s eyes staring at him - almost pleading. He nodded at her and she spoke up, “If we stay, where will we go?”

“East.” Edward Elric and the Colonel Mustang said in unison.

“If they’re coming from the South and the West, it only makes sense,” The small alchemist said before Mustang could explain.

“There’s a military hospital 20 miles East of Central. Far away enough to avoid the crossfire.”

One of the chimeras grunted.

“To stay here within Central is assured death. You have three days to decide,” Mustang said emphatically

The silence that settled this time felt more at ease. Pensive, not hair-raising, but still agitated with lack of options.

“What will we do until then?”

“Gather supplies and munitions. We should probably travel in pairs, in the event I’ve miscalculated and their advance moves faster than I anticipated.” He sat back languidly.

“I have one matter left to attend to in Central and that is to bury my husband.”

“Teacher-”

“I’ll join ya,” Darius walked with Izumi as she exited and passed a glance at Mustang that he missed. “This hospital already seems too cramped.”

”We’d like to go the radio station where our comrades were last seen and  stop by the military’s armory on the way back.” Lieutenant Hawkeye relayed in typical militaristic fashion. “We would likely need someone else to join us.”

“I’ll go.” Scar gripped the upholstered armchairs to stand. A flash of indiscernible emotion flashed through the sniper’s eyes before it disappeared.

May bounded over to him as Scar spoke, and stopped mid-stride. “Mr. Scar,” May spoke in low tones, “but you’ve only just healed.”

He didn’t say anything, only acknowledging her with a stare.

“Then I’ll come-” May stopped and hesitated with the rest of her sentence - the panda cat mirroring her emphatic gestures. She stole quick glances to the bed where Alphonse Elric spoke with a concerned Edward Elric.

“No, stay here.”

“But I wanted to talk in private - about Xing and... something else.”

“It can wait,” he said, watching the pair leave.

“When you get back then…” he thought he heard her say, but he followed Mustang and Hawkeye before May started to answer.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he heard Mustang tell her.

“Scar,” she greeted instead of replying and Mustang perked.

“Thanks for joining us Scar.”

“Are you certain you’re up for this?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”  

She thinned her lip, nodding her head in silent acquiescence.

“We’re going to the radio station to find our comrades and then detour to the military armory that is on the way back.”

“Where’s the armory?”

“Halfway through the city. I’ll commandeer a vehicle to get there and back.”

The clouds drifted in front of a late afternoon sun when they reached the radio station.

Car doors closed - his and then another. Lieutenant Hawkeye went to help Colonel Mustang despite the newfound  independence from his walking stick. Scar used that moment to glance at the streets. It was the industrial side of Central, but surprisingly vacant compared to the amount of people on the sidewalks he saw on the way there. Lieutenant Hawkeye swerved through wrecked cars that had lost their operator mid journey. Some had caught on fire and were still smoking and smoldering.

In response to this, Mustang had wondered aloud how many people had actually left their stove on. Many people told the Ishavalan he was a severe type, but even he recognized the joke and thought that it was insensitive to make one in light of this situation. To his surprise, Hawkeye had frowned and asked if he was thinking about the gas trapped inside the buildings.

Scar turned back to the two storey building; the orange tinge somehow seemed ominous bouncing off the darkened windows. The inside proved to be just as dark. Amestrians favored sealed, closed spaces allowing sunlight to venture in through their own mean, in comparison to the open windowed architecture of Ishval. During his time in exile, Scar never got to properly venture into an Amestrian home - always on the run, in alleyways, or abandoned places -- hiding amongst the shadows.dusty from the settling of the air, not from moving grains of sand.

He climbed up the stairs where the Lieutenant had already started moving bodies.

There were already beads of sweat glistening on her forehead and her face looked haunted, white as monk robes. Her hands slid down her face before she noticed Scar standing in the room and quickly composed herself.  ”They’re not here, sir.” Her eyes looked at Mustang as she spoke, glancing at in Scar’s direction briefly, and he noticed her fear. He wasn’t sure why, but she was shaken by whatever her findings were.

Mustang shifted his position to the sound of her words. “What do you mean?”

The sniper stood from her crouch, raking a hand through her loose blond hair. He noticed her mouth trembled despite her efforts.  “You said they would be in the radio station building. They escorted the First Lady to radio station, correct?”

His brows narrowed, “Of course, that was the plan.”

Lieutenant Hawkeye cleared her throat. “At present, the employees of the radio station are here, Mrs. Bradley is here, Maria Ross and even Brosh. But Breda, Fuery, and Catalina are not.”

Maria Ross rung in his ear for a moment, unsure if he heard right as he recognized the flicker of hope that dashed across Mustang’s greyed eyes; his subordinate’s told a different story. “Are you saying they could be alive?”

She switched looks from one corpse to the other, “I’m-I’m not sure I-”

Curious, he peered at the corner she was slowly approaching, dipping down to the green-carpeted floor.  

She straightened to a stand without a word.

Quick to catch on, Mustang asked, “What is it, Lieutenant?”

A moment passed before she turned on her feet, “It’s Hayate.” She cradled a medium-sized dog with a black coat and white paws. It’s small eyes were closed, its chest didn’t lift and its paws didn’t twitch.

Canines were a rarity in Ishval and his purpose in the desert disallowed him the luxury of domesticated animals. If anything the only other time the Ishvalan saw sadness like this for an animal was May’s tearful concern during the disappearance of Xiao May.

The woman petted the dog’s chin and ruffled his ears, her neck looked strained with the tendons appearing like cable cords underneath the thin skin. He may not have heard it, but she inhaled quick like she suppressed an emotional exhale at his expense. She appeared tense and immediately noticed when Mustang tried to approach. “No, don’t,” she warned.

He affirmed her with a nod when she looked over. He watched her guide the colonel back down the stairs, well-trained in schooling her expressions, and carrying the dog in her arms.

The Colonel stood by the rear doorway of the broadcasting building and Scar purposely made his feet sound louder. The dark-haired man turned his head in acknowledgement, “Hawkeye said she’ll only take a moment.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“I remember when Fuery brought in the pup. It was during a downpour in East City and he was trying to find a home for the dog out of the goodness of his heart, unable to just leave it out for nature to take its course.”

He looked at Mustang curiously.

“Breda was allergic, Falman said he’d read up on dogs and would rather get attached to the temperament of a labrador than a Shiba Inu.” He smiled into the distance as the memories, Scar assumed, replayed in his mind’s eye. “Havoc said he’d take him if only to eat him. She snatched him from Fuery’s hands with conviction and named him then and there.

“‘Black Hayate.’ We told her that that was just as bad as eating the thing. He was her companion and he couldn’t love her more. Fiercely loyal.” Mustang looked down, kicking his feet like an embarrassed child over the doorplate. “I hope you’re not standing there so I can pretend I was talking to myself.”

He almost chuckled, but it turned into breath escaping quickly through his nose. “I’ve learned it's not an unusual thing for an attachment like this to happen. May is very close to her pet panda cat.”

“I only wish we met under different circumstances.”

“Those are regrets for a different world.”

He only saw Hawkeye moving her arms, kneeling atop the grass with the orange backdrop of the sky decorated with some pointed trees.

She met with them at the doorway. The borders of her eyes were red, matching the pert tip of her nose. Her schooled expression broke for a moment with the corner of her lip twitching upwards in the way mourners did.

Before Scar could hear the break in her voice, he was interrupted by the scraping noise of a chair haphazardly scraping across the wood floor. He followed the noise across the ceiling.

They climbed to the top floor as briskly as they  could with narrow walkways and tight doors and back into the station’s microphone room. A woman in pink was standing in the middle of the room with slanted shoulders and favoring her right leg.

Something wasn’t right. He felt it in the thick of his bones, rattling in the space where vestiges of his faith lied.

“Mrs. Bradley?” Hawkeye said, confused as the First Lady began to turn. “She was on the floor, she had no pulse. You heard me, right?”   Something wasn’t right.  He examined the slow moving body. Her eyes were blank, her mouth hung slack jawed and her arms limp, a posture unbecoming for the wife of a dignified leader.   

“Mrs. Bradley?” She called again and began to step forward.

Scar blocked her with an arm and shot a cautionary glare, “I wouldn’t.”   The old woman’s eyes switched between him and her, swaying arms like pendulums. “D-Dear…?”   Up until then the Colonel was silent beside her, observing without his eyes. “Do you hear... growling?”   “No sir, no one is--” Hawkeye slowly mumbled to him, unable to tear her eyes away.   The First Lady’s slack jawed mouth tightened and opened at the same time as she lunged towards Lieutenant Hawkeye. Without a moment to react she took a step back, and the elderly woman crashed into her hard enough to tackle her to the ground.

Seconds felt like hours as he watched, frozen from the sight as the so called Mrs. Bradley tried to bite the face of the Lieutenant. She held her back only by a hand to her forehead as it chomped down on its own teeth like a feral animal.

Getting control back of his wits, Scar seized it by the scruff of the collar and pushed it away harder than he intended to from her light weight. He helped the Lieutenant up.

“What’s happening?”

“Give me a moment, sir. The threat isn’t over.”

He kept watch on Mrs. Bradley and he heard the sniper pull out her pistol.   It danced in front of him, swaying. The eyes weren’t right, everything about it moved inhumanly. It growled again and lunged towards him. He heard the Lieutenant bark, “Get back!”; but with only a moment’s time to react, blue light filled his vision and Scar’s tattooed arm extended out in front of her. Blood painted the floor underneath her as it shot out of Mrs. Bradley’s ears and eyes as if she were crying blood. Her mouth remained eerily opened as she plummeted to the floor.   She exchanged glances with him as she clutched Mustang closer after tucking away her firearm. “The previously presumed dead Mrs. Bradley attacked me.”   “She attacked?” Mustang parroted.   As if she felt the same chill Scar did, she continued, “Yes and we need to leave.”   The rest of the corpses seemed to twitch and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was his imagination or not. He chose to err on the side of caution instead of waiting to find out with the pair following behind him.

Sunset burned across the horizon as they exited. He was beginning to think this day would never end.

He hated to admit that his nerves were frayed. He could feel the blood drained from his face, the cold that suddenly set in a warm, spring evening. Scar marched ahead as Hawkeye struggled guiding Mustang back with haste and without him tripping.

Central Headquarters loomed above the tops of buildings; the epicenter of it all.

  “What do you suppose that was?” Hawkeye asked Scar, finally reaching the bottom step.   His lip thinned, pushing the dread down his throat. “Of our teachings from Ishvala, a body rising from the dead is a horrible omen. One of the worst. If what you said is true and that woman was truly dead, then there is an inexplicable evil behind this.”   He stopped suddenly, spotting it first.  A man outfitted in the Amestrian military uniform limped across the street, dragging his bleeding leg behind him. “He shouldn’t be able to walk...” But it didn’t seem to bother it. They froze where they stood. Scar hoped it wouldn’t notice them.   “Why did we stop?” The naive question broke the aching silence.

Scar glanced at the Colonel, forgetting once more about his blindness.     The thing turned and he realized it was armless. It noticed them immediately and in its stillness, it looked up to the bleeding sky and released a shrill cry so animalistic and raw that he covered his ears. He looked up and it hadn’t moved from its spot, but his heart was pounding as the adrenaline rushed through his veins.

He was about to accept that nothing had happened, but suddenly behind him, bodies began to emerge from the crevices between buildings, from homes and shops and flooded the streets.

Hawkeye pushed Mustang into the car and instructed him to get in at once.   “What was that?” He asked, rubbing a bump on his head.

“The dead,” Hawkeye answered gravely, buckling in her safety belt. “The dead are rising.”   “The dead? What do you mean the dead?”

She didn’t answer him; she appeared to focus on trying not to hit the people that had tried to get close to the vehicle. More and more people walked towards them as they passed each row of streets.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye!”

Lieutenant Hawkeye slammed the brakes and Scar almost left his face printed on the back of Mustang’s seat. “They’ve surrounded us.”

All at once, the sacrificed started tapping at the windows with their hands, demanding entry to their haven. Was this it - Is this Ishvala’s fitting punishment?

“I can’t move forward, there’s too many of them.” Hawkeye announced and, without her knowing, gave him his answer. “Scar! Can you make a pathway?”

“Through them?”

A crackling noise came from the driver’s side of the window. A man, groaning loudly, had picked up a rock and began tapping it against Hawkeye’s glass screen. “Scar, can you or not? Do it from your side. Straight down this road will lead us back to the hospital. Take the Colonel with you please.” The tapping was getting more insistent and the tip of the rock had pierced through.

“I’m not leaving you behind.” Mustang said soonafter.

He nodded to Hawkeye’s instructions and forcefully swung open the car door, knowing a handful of sacrifices back. He used his right arm to sunder the road for a short escape. He ripped Mustang out of his seat by his arm.

“We have to go back - or at least wait for her!”

“You heard her. These things are dangerous and we have to get moving.” Scar tightened his grip as the Colonel tried to free himself.

“Lieutenant!” He called out and it turned the heads of the sacrifices that were in a stupor. “Ri-!”

“I’m right here, sir.”

“Don’t do that.”

Scar let go of his arm, but their little pause had encumbered them, placing them in a worse situation than being trapped in a car.

“I don’t think these things are friendly or patient,” She muttered sardonically.

Scar searched for an opening, calculating an exit strategy. The blockade of bodies made that almost impossible for all three of them. In the back of his mind, a quiet, meek voice recited a prayer to Ishvala for his safety and the safety of those still living.   “Lieutenant,” Mustang beckoned. He pulled a glove from his pocket and slipped it through in his fingers.

Scar watched dubiously, brows cinching together in concern.

“Sir?” Hawkeye responded, glancing at the overwhelming number of sacrifices.   “Be my eyes.”   “Yes, sir.” 

A/N This is a chapter I am least proud of since Scar isn’t a character I normally write :’D

[lightsaberss]

The Wedding (Part One)

The list of things he would do for Winry was pages, and pages long. He'd tried to write it down once to prove a point - and win an argument - but she'd stopped him once he got onto the fourth page, and the list had gotten more and more ridiculous. However, on that list, the following things hadn't appeared:

1) Being a human dummy for her to plan, and also practice, Hawkeye's wedding hairdo.

2) Attending the wedding of President-Elect Fuckface and Shining Paragon of Duty Former Captain Riza Hawkeye, with his very, very, very pregnant wife.

If they managed to get through this weekend in Central without Winry giving birth, or anyone finding out about his own recent past as hair stylist mannequin it was going to be a miracle. He could put up with the latter, just about, but he was going to hover around Win just in case. The idea that she could just go into labour here, so far from home and their plan was terrifying, and there was no way in hell that he was letting her out of his sight for more time than it took for her to go to the bathroom, which she did all the time.

That's why he was one of only two men sitting in Rebecca Catalina-Havoc-Whatever's living room while the girls gushed over the bride. Al was with him, because Ed had given him no chance to refuse as he physically dragged him along with him and Winry from the hotel. However, he was being no help, as he was just talking about Alkahestry with Princess Mei. Usually Ed would've butted in, or at least listened with great interest (just because he couldn't perform Alchemy anymore, didn't mean he'd lost any academic interest he had in the subject), but he was worried about Winry, who kept rubbing the small of her back in between doing… whatever it was she was actually doing to Hawkeye's hair.

It felt like a victory when he managed to wait until Winry was done with Hawkeye's hair (it was now in some kind of ridiculous - but he had to admit - pretty updo. At least, he thought it was called an updo) before he went over and rubbed her lower back for her. He pointedly ignored CataHavoc's (Havolina? Fuck, he should just call her Rebecca, or it was going to get weird) 'awwww's' and comments about how adorable they were. He hoped that Al was proud that he was growing as a person.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, just everything aches today," Winry complained, but let him steer her to the chair he'd just vacated, and she flopped down as elegantly as any heavily pregnant woman could. "I can't wait until this kid's out and then you can carry it around for a change."

"As long as it's not today," Ed said. "And I'll carry her around all the time."

"Stop calling it a girl, we don't know that!" Winry argued. Not for the first time. Or the hundredth. It just felt weird to call his kid an it, and there was only a 50% chance he'd be wrong. He'd taken worse odds in the past.

"Fine. Him. Happy?" Ed asked.

"Oh, you know that's not what I meant at all!" Winry said, but she was amused rather than angry. Ed could tell by the fact that she had yet to actually threaten him with violence or anything other than a scolding.

Okay. So. Maybe he hadn't grown as a person that much, as he got embroiled in the stupid argument about what to call the baby before it was even out of the womb. It was the same argument they'd had almost weekly since they'd found out they were going to be parents. It was weirdly comforting, and it took his mind of the nightmare scenario that was Winry going into labour in the middle of the ceremony.

"Oh, wow!" It was Rebecca's exclamation that made them stop bickering. There was Hawkeye, in her wedding dress, and even Ed had to admit that she looked really nice. It was a high necked ivory gown, to cover her scars, Ed guessed, and while he didn't know enough about dresses to describe it more accurately than 'ivory, lace, and some sparkly bits', he thought she looked elegant. Beautiful and elegant.

***

Roy felt like he'd been waiting forever for this. Ever since he first kissed her, just after he figured out how to turn flame alchemy from a concept into a reality, through every little moment they'd shared together since then, he'd been waiting for this moment. The moment where he gets to scream to the world; Look, I'm hers, and she's mine! Only without any literal screaming, because he was certain that would make her walk out of the registry office before he could stumble over an apology.

This, for him, was the true beginning of the next part of their plans. It was also, he knew, incredibly selfish. He could be President without her as his wife, he could change Amestris with her as his adjutant, his bodyguard, and his assistant. Being married wasn't something that would help them reach their goals any quicker than staying as they were, it was just that doing this would make them happy.

For years, he'd thought - they'd both thought - that being happy was a sin, that they weren't worthy of it after everything they'd done, and maybe some people would agree with their past views. Maybe they would be right. Roy honestly didn't care. It had taken the almost destruction of Amestris at the hands of the Homunculi, and the rebuilding of Ishval to put things into perspective for him. That maybe in his personal life he could be selfish, they could both be selfish, and happy, and still work towards making this country a better place.

Today was the true, and honest, start of that happiness. Now, all he had to do was wait for her to show up.

"She'll be here soon, boss." Havoc said, catching him in the act of checking the time on his pocket watch. "I remember when me and Becca got married, this was the worst part. I could've sworn she wasn't gonna show, but she did."

"I remember, you almost threw up on my shoes." Roy reminded him. "Although that might've been the hangover, rather than nerves."

"I wasn't that hungover." Havoc said.

Roy's response was interrupted before it even begun, as the doors opened and the Elric's, and Princess Mei slipped inside to take their seats. A quiet fell over the guests as the music started, a quiet filled with anticipation that turned to wonder as Riza walked into the room, accompanied by her grandfather.

To him, she was a vision. Her dress clung to her curves alluringly, and she sparkled as she walked towards him, the light catching on the tiny gems that had been embroidered onto her dress. Her beauty had always been able to strike him dumb, and take away his ability to be charming and suave, and this was no exception. By the time she reached him, and he took her hand, he had just about regained enough speech to tell her how beautiful she looked. How he was going to manage his vows, he had no idea.

***

Rebecca was not going to cry. She was going to keep it together. The sight of her best friend marrying the Matchstick and being well and truly happy for the first time in for-fucking-ever was not going to make her tear up, god dammit.

She wiped at her eyes carefully, trying not to smudge her make up too much, because if she looked like a panda in the photos later then she'd just die. She was so focused on Riza that she almost didn't notice her husband staring at her instead of the happy couple. They'd only been married a year, and even if it was stupidly sappy to say, it didn't feel like long at all. Rebecca grinned at him, but nudged her head towards Riza and Roy to try to get him to pay attention to them.

Still, it was very sweet, and she'd kiss the hell out of him later as a reward.

***

It turned out, to no one's surprise, that Edward Elric actually cared very little about weddings that weren't his own. Even then, Winry had to explain to him using very small words (while holding a very big wrench) why he had to help plan the wedding and no, he couldn't just turn up, and no they were not just going to elope and get it over with.

Still, at least this wedding was quick and didn't involve any hokey religions.

It was that, and the way Mustang initially stumbled over his vows, that reminded him of his own wedding, and he slid an arm around Winry's shoulders and kissed her temple affectionately.

"Love you, Win." He whispered into her ear, and smiled.

"Love you too." She said, her voice strained.

Ed handed her a hanky. Freaking hormones.

***

Riza's heart was beating a million beats per minute, and she didn't think she'd smiled so much or so brightly in her life, especially not in front of so many people. She'd been nervous about today for weeks, not about getting married to Roy, but about standing up in front of everyone and being the centre of attention. It felt ridiculous now that Roy was the one staring at her, because no one else in the room mattered.

No one else in the room had mattered from the second she'd walked into it.

She'd spoken how vows clearly; to love him, support him, and to always watch his back. They were simple vows, but honest, and everything else had been promised a thousand times before in few words and many actions.

Embarrassingly, considering she was a sniper by trade, her hands trembled with excitement and nerves as she slipped the ring onto his finger. She had to stop herself from laughing happily, when his hands did the same.

This happiness was selfish, she knew that. These giddy moments of child like glee at the mere touch of his hand on hers in the middle of this ceremony was nothing more than self indulgent selfishness that she had struggled to believe she was allowed. She was allowed it, and she was going to indulge in it, and let herself be happy.

"You may now kiss the bride." The officiator announced.

Riza giggled quietly, so that only Roy could hear, before he took her in his arms and kissed her. The crowd cheered, and unable to resist showing off, Roy dipped her as he continued to kiss her. She clutched at his uniform jacket to stop herself falling to the floor, and happily returned the kiss.

Tomorrow they would go back to fixing their country. Today was just for them.

[atasteforsuicidal]

"#fics where tony makes the whole tower and not just clint's floor accessible also makes me happy af" excuse me but i need these fics pls for science

Hmmmmm. I’m not sure I have anything -explicitly- about that, it’s usually in the details, but I’ll see what I can find!Here are my bookmarks for things that were tagged with Deaf Clint Barton, though, for starters.

But, okay, let’s see... This is probably going to devolve into something a little more general, but, eh. Mostly because one of the really common things is Tony making better hearing aids for Clint, which isn’t so much about the tower.

Titanium

Okay, tbf, it is on Clint’s floor in this one, but I think it’s reasonable to assume these features would be everywhere in the tower.

He creeps down the hallway, mentally accounting for the odd angles that he had Tony leave in the apartment. They make for great cover, but are terrible for sightlines.

[okay, not so much about accessibility, but Tony accepting the designs requests of one of his paranoid superspies, yes pls]

--------

“Just give me a second, I can’t hear anything you’re saying.” He taps the one corner of the counter he’s kept clean ever since Tony installed this feature. The counter lights up and displays a blinking cursor in the corner. “Okay, now talk. JARVIS will let me know what you’re saying

”Why do you need JARVIS to tell you what I’m saying? lights up the counter for Clint to read.

--------

The lights flash. On. Off. Beat. On. Beat. Off.

It’s the code that he worked out with JARVIS for non-world-ending emergencies.

Call to the Colour-blind

“What was that?” Bucky asks, pointing at where the light was on, next to a modern atrocity that Tony said was a chandelier. Clint follows his gaze and nods in realisation.

“It comes on whenever JARVIS is interacting with me. If I don’t have my hearing aids in, writing will appear on the nearest surface - like subtitles?” Clint explains and Bucky nods, interested. “Stark designed it when I told him about my hearing problems - he likes to be helpful,” Clint’s voice drops into a whisper, conspiratorially low. Bucky smiles.

“Doesn’t like people to know he has a bleeding heart?” Bucky suggests and Clint grins.

Clint Barton’s Super Secret Snipers’ Club

When he gets into the workshop, Tony is sitting at his desk, slouched back in his chair with a tumbler of what looks like whiskey in hand. He’s still in his suit trousers, white shirt and red tie, though the shirt is rumpled, the sleeves rolled up and the tie pulled loose. Not a good sign. Clint keys in his code and the door opens, and he steps in cautiously.

“What’s up? Skybot said you wanted me.”

“Upgrades,” Tony says, and picks something up off the desk, spinning his chair around to face Clint. His eyes are suspiciously bright, and Clint isn’t sure how much he’s had to drink. He hates being around Tony when he’s drunk like this; he trusts Tony but it still sets him on edge.

Clint steps forwards and his brows shoot up in surprise as he sees what can only be two minute in-ear hearing aids held in Tony’s fingers. He walks forwards and takes them, looking at them closely.

“You did these tonight?”

“You’ll get fourteen thousand hertz at about 16 decibels with those, instead of the thirteen thousand five hundred at twenty that you get at the minute,” Tony says vaguely. “Quite a jump on paper, but I guess you’ll have to tell me how much difference it makes.”

“Should be able to hear Hill whispering that she’ll throttle me across the table,” Clint says, impressed. “But only if Fury isn’t threatening me at the same time.”

Tony snorts, eyes fixed on his monitor. “Still having trouble with background noise?”

“Sometimes,” Clint says. “Thanks.”

--------

He’s in his room attaching fletchings to a new set of arrows when his phone flashes at him; a familiar blue light that tells him Jarvis has a message for him.

“What’s up, Jarvis?” he asks as he puts down the glue and reaches for the phone. A line of text appears on the screen.

Someone is trying to get your attention. You may want to turn your ears on.

“May want to turn your ears on,” Clint mimics in his best approximation of a British accent, dropping the arrow and pushing himself up off the floor. “What was Stark thinking when he programmed you.”

Another line of text appears.

Clearly he was thinking about how best to utilize me to annoy and frustrate his fellow Avengers.

--------

“Have you still got my old BTE’s?” Clint asks, and Tony sends him a pained look.

“What did you do to the new ones?”

“Just slept in them, want to give my ears a breather.”

Looking at him curiously, Tony cocks his head. “Why not just go deaf for the day?”

Clint shrugs, evasive. “Not an option today.”

Tony mutters something that Clint doesn’t catch, but seems to realize what he’s done straight away. “Everyone is having a shit day, it seems,” he says, and walks over to one of the cabinets. He digs around in a drawer that’s labelled Hawkeye - and that doesn’t leave Clint feeling a little odd at all - and then comes up with his old hearing aids. Well, he says old, but they certainly weren’t purple last time he wore them.

“What did you do?” he asks as he slips them on. They feel strange behind his ears after so long, but he’s just relieved to have them.

“Well I wasn’t just going to upgrade the one set, was I?” Tony says, and glances back towards the rear of the workshop.

“I love you,” Clint announces as he switches them on and Tony’s voices comes though amazingly clear. Hell yeah he upgraded them, this is awesome. He can hear just as well with these as the new ones.

--------

“It moves as well as your real hand,” he says, and Bucky lifts it, flexes his fingers absently, staring down at the metal that’s shining dully in the light.

“Yeah, until it doesn’t,” he says deprecatingly. “When Stevie bought me here, he said there was someone who’d be able to do maintenance on it. Fix it up if anything went wrong.”

“Well he wasn’t lying,” Clint says. “You trust Tony to touch it?”

Bucky shrugs. “Steve trusts him,” he says, but Clint hears the unspoken ‘but I’m not sure I do,’ that’s obvious in the hitch of his shoulder, the twist of his mouth.

“I trust him to make my ears,” Clint says, reaching up and tapping the hearing aids. He's still wearing the BTE's; Bucky has admitted that he finds it easier when he knows if Clint can hear or not, and the in-ear hearing aids are all but impossible to spot. It's a small concession to make, so Clint doesn't mind.

Bucky’s eyebrows go up slightly. “Yeah,” he says slowly, like he’d not thought of that. “Yeah, I guess. But they’re not attached to you. I’d have to be there in person."

I know there have definitely been others, but I either didn’t love them enough to bookmark, or they’re not tagged, but I’ll keep skimming through my general Clint bookmarks, if you’d like ♥

[mustangtaisa]

Hollow (2/3)

Part 1

Part 3

This is also posted on Fanfiction.Net and AO3.

Pairing: RoyxRiza Genre: Angst, Drama Word Count: 1286 Summary: Roy and Riza run headfirst into a trap and are taken hostage by an insane man that wants nothing more than to see them suffer for putting him behind bars. Their resolve and loyalty to each other are tested and somehow their captor manages to tear them apart.

Warnings for violence, suggested violence, and mild language.

---------

Dark, painful, cold. These were the first things that came to Riza’s mind when she slowly woke and groaned as the severe pain in her head and abdomen became apparent. She went to rub her head, only to find she couldn’t move her arms. Looking down, she frowned at the straps binding her to the chair she sat in.  She pulled at her bonds and twisted in an attempt to loosen them, but like it had with Roy, it only served to tire her.

“Ah, the little lady finally wakes.”

Riza’s head snapped up and she scowled at Finch who met her hard glare with a deranged smile. She wanted to shoot that slimy grin right off his face. He wandered over to her, dragging his hand lazily over her chair as he walked around it. Riza did her best to ignore the unnerving chill that went down her spine at his proximity.

“Where’s the General? Tell me what you’ve done with him or I’ll...”

“Or you’ll what?” Finch leaned down from behind her, his face far too close to her ear for her liking. He gripped her shoulders and chuckled. “I don’t think you’re in any kind of position to be making demands, my dear.”

Riza clenched her jaw, balling her hands into fists and glaring ahead defiantly.

“You will pay for this,” she said, tone quiet and deadly.

“Perhaps,” Finch said, moving away from her. “But unlikely, considering where you are currently. How do you expect to punish me if you’re all tied up?”

Riza remained silent, refusing to waste any more of her words on him.

“Not going to speak any longer, hm? That’s fine, I don’t mind the quiet ones.”

Finch picked something up off the table in front of Riza and the glint from the dim light that reflected off of the object revealed it to be a knife. Hawkeye didn’t react, her stoic poker face in place as Finch approached her, inspecting the knife as he flipped it casually. He leaned down close to her and lifted the knife, the glare from the metal hit her eyes, but she did not turn away. She stared straight ahead, gaze unwavering even as he pressed the knife gently to the side of her face.

“It is a shame though,” Finch muttered, so close that his breath ghosted over Riza’s face and she had to fight not to cringe. “I’ve always had a soft spot for screamers.”

Finch applied pressure to the knife, just enough to break skin, and he slowly dragged it down Riza’s face, a line of blood following in its wake. And still Riza did not move, did not make a sound. Finch grinned as he pulled the knife away and leaned in close to languidly lick the blood off the side of Riza’s face and she shuddered in disgust, expression contorting into a grimace.

He pulled back and laughed, setting the knife back down on the table.

“You know, I’d be a fool not to notice the way Mustang looks at you. After watching you two closely for only a few days, I know there must be something more between you. I will use you to break him. Ha! I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees you after I’m done.”

Riza grit her teeth and refused to look away from the wall in front of her, refused to give him the satisfaction of any kind of reaction. She would not let him win.

----------

Sweat dribbled down Mustang’s forehead as he struggled against his bonds again. If he could just free one of his arms it would be all he needed. He could clap and use alchemy to get out and help Hawkeye. He didn’t care what happened to himself. As long as she was safe it would be enough.

The door to his room opened and Roy stalled in his movements, glaring up at the man who dared to hurt Mustang and his most precious subordinate.

“Where’s the Captain?”

“Ah, so beautiful, both of you concerned for the other.” Finch smirked. “She’s fine. For now.”

Roy pulled at his restraints and attempted to launch himself at Finch who just laughed at him.

“Now, now, there’s no need for that.” Finch said, stepping closer to Mustang. “I won’t do much to her. I’m just going to make a few...suggestions. What happens will all be up to her, really.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

“You’ll see,” was the only cryptic response Roy got before Finch punched him, his head slamming into the back of the chair from the unexpected force of the blow, knocking him out cold.

-------

How long had they been locked away by Finch and his mob? Hours? Days? Roy didn’t know. He was disoriented and tired and just wanted to see Riza. Needed to know if she was even alive or not. Was anyone even looking for them? Did anyone know they were missing? So many questions ran through his mind and he desperately wanted answers.

After everything they’d been through, to be taken out by a mobster, not even an alchemist, seemed ridiculous.

Light flooded the room when the door suddenly opened and Roy squinted, trying to make out who it was that entered. The silhouettes of three men stood in the doorway. Roy recognized the one in the center very well. Finch motioned at Roy with both hands and the two men behind him moved to unlock the straps holding him down.

Roy cursed inwardly at his lack of strength. He was loose, he was free, if only he had the power to fight against the men that held him.

“What are you planning now?” Mustang said, trying with all he had to sound menacing, but failed. In his weakened state it came out as more of a groan of pain.

“I’m taking you to see someone very important to you.”

Roy didn’t miss the tinge of excitement in the insane man’s tone.

They walked down a long corridor, turned a corner, and entered a room that was much like the one Roy had been locked in, only brightly lit and well furnished.

As soon as Roy stepped foot into the room his eyes fell on Riza and widened in horror. Her clothes were torn and covered in blood, her nose and fingers appeared broken, lips split in several places, a long gash ran down the side of her face, and bruises covered her face and arms. But what hurt the most was her expression. This was not the Riza he knew. She looked broken, despondent, tired. It was almost like she wasn’t there.

She didn’t even look at him when he muttered her rank.

“See, Mustang? She’s still alive. Aren’t you happy about that?” Roy glared at Finch and said nothing. Finch turned to Riza and put a hand on her shoulder. It made Roy want to tear the man apart. “Tell him, miss sniper. Tell him exactly what you told me.”

Riza finally met Roy’s gaze and held it.

“I never cared about you,” she said, voice like ice, cold and unfeeling. “How could I after you used flame alchemy to take so many lives?”

And there they were, the words Roy had always dreaded hearing. The thoughts he knew she harbored, but hoped she didn’t. She felt betrayed, hurt, bitter because he used the gift she gave him to kill innocents.

The others in the room didn’t know the depth of what Riza spoke, but Roy understood all too well. It was like a sucker punch to the gut.

He stared into her dead and distant eyes and felt cold, empty, numb. Hollow.

[meinbruder]

Ok here’s tags, I know for a fact I’m missing characters but there’s so dang many I’ll come up with some on the fly later

✥ ⁖ ⊰ HEADCANON: ed. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ HEADCANON: al. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ MUSINGS: ed. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ MUSINGS: al. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ AESTHETIC: ed. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ AESTHETIC: al. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ SCENERY: i want to see this world with my own two eyes. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ MUSIC: can you hear me now? ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ IC: ed. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ IC: al. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ OPEN: ed. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ OPEN: al. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ CLOSED: ed. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ CLOSED: al. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ FULLMETAL: a lesson without pain is meaningless. ( edward. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ ARMORED: inconveniences do not make me miserable. ( alphonse. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ GEARHEAD: your hands were made to give life. ( winry. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ FATHER: nothing left but family photos and broken promises. ( hohenheim. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ MOTHER: we just wanted to see her smile one last time. ( trisha. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ GRANNY: don’t worry. we’ll come home soon. ( pinako. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ TEACHER: one is all‚ all is one. ( izumi. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ FLAME: if you believe the possibility exists‚ do whatever it takes. ( mustang. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ SNIPER: i’ll follow you into hell. ( hawkeye. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ STRONG ARM: passed down the armstrong line for generations! ( armstrong. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ ICE QUEEN: the briggs way is survival of the fittest. ( olivier. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ DOCTOR: find the truth within the truth. ( marcoh. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ SERGEANT: she’ll be fine. he knew all along. ( brosh. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ SECOND LT: she would never do anything like that. ( ross. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ ISHVALAN: nameless catalyst for reform. ( scar. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ PRINCE: a king is no king without his people. ( ling. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ BODYGUARD: would give anything for him. ( lan fan. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ OLD MAN: would follow him to the ends of the earth. ( fu. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ PRINCESS: so much you could teach me about this world. ( mei. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ HOMUNCULUS: return to the flask from whence you came. ( father. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ LASCIVIOUS: she who deemed us sacrifices. ( lust. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ VORACIOUS: a failed attempt at creating a gate. ( gluttony. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ ARROGANT: don’t underestimate the tenacity of humans. ( pride. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ AVARICIOUS: all you wanted was friends like these. ( greed. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ JEALOUS: envied the very ones they spat on. ( envy. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ FUHRER: heavy is the head that wears the crown. ( bradley. ) ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ PROMPT: it’s been a while since we’ve sparred‚ hasn’t it? ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ OOC PROMPT: an application for leave. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ INBOX: alchemic notes are typically written in code. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ MUN ANSWERS: i’m calling from an outside line. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ ANON: what we transmuted wasn’t our mother. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ DRABBLES: i’m going to write that down in my journal. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ CRACK: yeah...i was thinking we should try to bring mom back. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ PROMO: humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ SELF PROMO: i’m your friendly neighborhood state alchemist! ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ WISHLIST: i just want to try some of winry’s apple pie. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ SAVE: pose for a picture where everyone is smiling. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ MUN ART. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ MUN FACE. ⊱

✥ ⁖ ⊰ HIATUS NOTICE. ⊱