#Dear Mr Fuhrer

[theblueeyedfirebender]

Fanfiction Masterlist.

(Updated 10/9/24)

The following are my works over on AO3. It's mostly oneshots, mostly Royai (plus one Zutara), and the more I disassociate from reality the longer this list gets.

Bon appétit ❤️

The Art of Living On

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 3.9K

She has never done this. Has avoided it at all costs. Because she is unfit, she tells herself. Her hands are made for firearms and filing office paperwork, not soothing fussy babies. Her edges are too sharp, too jagged to provide comfort to anyone. She is scarred and bloodied and barely knows the love of a mother herself.

But the baby wails, pleading.

Written for Royai Week 2024, Day 2: Appreciate

This story was adapted into a podfic (audiobook, but make it fanfiction) by @klainelynch. Listen here.

(domestic fluff, light angst with a happy ending)

Death and Taxes

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 5.4K

“You’re proposing we marry,” Hawkeye responds, slow and dangerous, “for tax purposes?”

Something prickles beneath Mustang's shirt collar. He resists the urge to tug at it, instilling his voice with an even coolness as he pretends to examine his cuticles. “A mutually beneficial arrangement, wouldn’t you agree?”

(marriage of convenience)

The Counteroffer

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 2.7K

On the eve of Mustang’s inauguration as Fuhrer, Riza Hawkeye submits her resignation.

My very first Royai fanfic, and my first attempt at creative writing in literal years.

(light angst with a happy ending)

Hourglass

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 1.6K

Riza Hawkeye never intended on living past age thirty-two. It wasn’t that she wanted to die. She simply did not expect to live.

Written for Royai Week 2024, Day 5: Gift

(angst with a happy ending)

Uncle Zuko

Katara x Zuko

Rating: T

Word count: 2.6K

Of all the things his hands have held - from dragon eggs and ancient texts to the element of Fire itself - this is by far the most precious, the most powerful: a new generation, one born into a world without war.

Zuko is forced to hold Sokka's baby, and feelings happen. I published this story years ago on FFN under a different title. This is the updated/revised version. I haven't written much of them lately, but Zuko & Katara are, and will always remain, my otp.

(domestic fluff)

The Bookshelf - WIP

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 2.3K

“It has a ladder.” Falman remarks, impressed.

(Or: Fuhrer Mustang gifts Hawkeye a bookshelf, and the rest of the Team starts to figure things out.)

(fluff, humor)

Strong Whiskey and Slanted Light

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: G

Word count: 908

His team is alive. The Elric brothers have their bodies back. Havoc can walk again. And from her place in the driver’s seat, Riza Hawkeye - alive and breathing - glances sharply in his direction, brows raised in a rare moment of removing her attention from the road ahead. He doesn’t miss the way she winces at the sudden movement of her still-healing neck. “Sir?”

“It’s just a question, Lieutenant. I’m curious.”

Written for Royai Week 2024, Day 1: Curiosity

(light angst, mutual pining)

Mrs. Mustang

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 999

“And how are you this evening, my dear?” he murmurs, the playful formality simmering between them. His bowtie has gone missing, Riza observes. As well as his tailored jacket, and the top few buttons of his collared shirt are undone. Suspenders hang loose around his hips, and the scent of his cologne - a blend of tobacco, leather, and vanilla - drifts to her, freshly applied despite the lateness of the hour.

“Very well,” she responds over the rim of her wine glass, wondering if the darkness is enough to conceal the heat creeping into her face. Likely not. “Only I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘my dear’.”

(fluff)

As You Were

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 2.4K

Maybe it’s the fact that she’s dropped his honorific.

Maybe it’s the fact that they are somehow both alive. Maybe it’s the fact that he can see her, when he’d believed with such certainty that he never would again. He can see her and she is beautiful, and for once he doesn’t understand why he ever chose to banish that thought from his mind when it is so clearly the truth.

(angst)

The Flame Alchemist's Daughter

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 6.4K

The ink is a burden. The knowledge is a curse.

Disclaimer: I wrote this before I fully understood the mechanics of Mustang's flame alchemy (I literally finished the series in March 2024; I'm new here, so my bad). I realized later that some of the implications here would not make sense in canon. That said, I still love this story. I'm proud of it and it's freaking fanfiction so who cares.

(angst)

Checkmate

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 1.6K

In the wake of his election victory, Roy Mustang makes a very important visit to Fuhrer President Grumman.

Prequel to "The Counteroffer."

(fluff, light angst)

Four

Riza Hawkeye x Roy Mustang

Rating: T

Word count: 2.2K

Each time he has laid eyes on Riza Hawkeye’s tattoo, the course of Roy Mustang’s life has been permanently altered.

(angst with a happy ending)

[miuarchiv]

Scenario from a Friedrich Paulus book

Бланк Александр. Вторая жизнь фельдмаршала Паулюса Read with Google translate, accuracy not guaranteed.

· Walter, but Sie

An unpleasant conversation at RH’s office

“He was the most terrible figure among our statesmen,” Field Marshal Paulus felt it necessary to share his opinion. “Cruel, cunning, treacherous. I once ‘had the honor’ of being invited to talk to him.” “As you understand,” Paulus emphasized, “a summons to Heydrich was not an ordinary event even for an OKH general. And I went to see him very worried. ......The Obergruppenführer inquired about my wife's health," Paulus continued. "Apparently he knew about her from his wife: Helena Constanze and Lina Heydrich belonged to some kind of charitable society. "Your wife, General, is the object of constant attention from our fashionistas - they say her outfits are as magnificent as they are expensive… Where do you get so much money, my dear?" Heydrich joked. "I, for one, don't have any." Then he wiped the smile off his face. "Our Aryan women are now choosing a strict style of dress - there is a war and the fatherland is fighting," he noted. This was a clear hint at the non-German origin of Helena Constanze - "our Aryan women"… "But I," Heydrich finally dropped the joking tone, "of course, did not invite you to talk about the outfits of our ladies. "We are talking about your future trip to Bucharest and Budapest… We would like to ask you about something…" The Field Marshal fell silent. There was no continuation of the story.

Paulus, without any apparent connection to what was said, remarked: "Someone said it right: everyone imagines others in their own image and likeness. This is a very true thought."

The Field Marshal did not mention Heydrich again: the conversation remained unfinished. Only some time later, Paulus's close friend, his former first adjutant Wilhelm Adam, finished the story.

After talking about fashions and the modesty with which an Aryan woman should behave, Heydrich got down to business: "So, we have a favor to ask of you." He immediately picked up the telephone receiver and said quietly but rather insistently: "Schellenberg, please come to see me."

The head of the RSHA's foreign intelligence service immediately appeared and told Paulus in a peremptory tone: "Mr. General, we know that one of your relatives in Bucharest serves as the head of the cipher department of the Romanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. We will call him Stefan. Another of your Romanian relatives - we will call her Rosita - married a communist who is in preventive detention. We also know that your third Romanian relative is married to a man who remained in Bolshevik Bessarabia. Finally, and this is the main thing, we know that you, Mr. General, are a true patriot and a loyal soldier of the Fuhrer… Schellenberg fell silent, brazenly examining Paulus's face. Most likely, he wanted to understand what impression he had managed to make on the young general. Apparently, the scout caught the confusion on his face and, considering the issue resolved, stated the main thing without any disguise. - So, in a few days you are going to Bucharest. We cannot guarantee that the Romanians are always honest and open with us. And if your relative Stefan could help us to verify this, we would highly appreciate such a service.

Paulus literally choked with anger. Without hiding his indignation, he asked Schellenberg again: - You wanted me to recruit Stefan for you? Did I understand your proposal correctly? - Well, why state delicate issues so simply, - Schellenberg said with feigned offense. - It's about strengthening the relationship of trust, nothing more. - No, thank you. I'm a soldier, Herr Colonel (Schellenberg then held the rank of SS Standartenführer, which was equivalent to a colonel in the army), and I'm used to speaking frankly, without any beating around the bush. I'm not suited to the role of recruiter of agents, I don't know how to steal other people's codes. My job is to fight, and if necessary, to die for the Fuehrer and the Fatherland.

And then Heydrich, who had been silent the whole time, intervened: - We are not forcing you to do anything, Herr General. Walter simply asked for a small favor. The reasons for your refusal are clear to us, we respect them. After all, you don't want to endanger a close relative of your wife.

And even at that moment Heydrich did not miss the opportunity to sting Paulus. He supplemented the statement he had just made about understanding his position regarding his relative with a clearly offensive phrase: “And such a generous man – after all, he manages the family accounts of the Rosetti family.”

Seeing Paulus’s face flush again, the owner of the office stood up and said conciliatorily: “Let’s forget about this conversation. Walter, you are free to go.”

· Rumors are everywhere

At the same time, there was a version among the officers of the General Staff that Heydrich sent men with sledgehammers to smash to pieces a marble tombstone over one of the half-abandoned graves in the Leipzig cemetery, where his grandmother with a non-Aryan name was supposedly buried."

RH 's paternal grandmother was Ernestine Wilhelmine Lindner, his maternal grandmother was Maria Antonie Mautsch(Slavic in origin, but not Jewish anyway).

[sszeemedia]

Dharamshala International Film Festival—a visual treat for cinema lovers

Dharamshala International Film Festival—a visual treat for cinema lovers

The 11th edition of the Dharamshala International Film Festival continued to bring visual treats to filmmakers and cinema lovers with a range of screenings in the hilly town of Himachal Pradesh. The four-day film festival began on November 3 in collaboration with Picturetime’s MDMT (Mobile Digital Movie Theatre) to screen a wide range of documentaries, independent features, shorts and animation…

[oneisallallisone]

All I Know, All I Know Greedling x Reader fic Chapter 7

In a land ruled by alchemy, there are some who would call you a sorcerer. You intend to understand what this means. Along your journey you end up getting mixed up with two strange brothers, a military conspiracy, a potentially world-ending event, and the avarice of something more than human.

Previous

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

_______________________________________________________________________

All I Know, All I Know

Chapter 7: Shadows

“Hello?” 

“Hey, (y/n), Maes Hughes here. Edward told me that you were going to be staying here in Central while he’s away. I was just calling to check in and ask if you needed anything?” 

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Hughes. I am okay right now, though.” 

“Alrighty, well you let me know if that changes! Don’t hesitate to reach out.” 

“I won’t. Thank you, Mr. Hughes.” 

“Anytime. Take care now, (y/n).” 

“You as well.” 

- - - 

“So Maes Hughes…” you said, twirling some pasta onto your fork. A full day had passed since your phone conversation with the Lieutenant Colonel, and you found yourself at the Armstrong family mansion for dinner. The Major had invited you after a long day of pouring over old books in the library. After finding nothing useful, you didn’t have it in you to refuse a meal. “He’s someone we can trust, right? He seems to know Ed fairly well.” 

A grim expression fell over Armstrong’s face. “Yes. Hughes is…he knew everything about the Fifth Laboratory that we did. No word of your abilities were mentioned to him, but he knew you were involved in the incident with Ed. He was helping us look into the identities of the mysterious people you and Ed encountered inside the lab. Hughes…was a trusted ally and a dear friend.” 

“Was?” 

“He was murdered late last night.” 

Your fork fell from your hands. “You can’t be serious.” 

Armstrong nodded. 

“No…no that can’t be right. I talked to him on the phone just yesterday morning!” 

Armstrong took a breath to steady himself. “I’m so sorry, (y/n), but it’s true. They found his body in a telephone booth a few blocks from Central Command. We have no idea who killed him.” 

The room tilted. You didn’t know Hughes very well, but you knew that the Elrics and Winry were fond of him. And one of the first things he did on his final day alive was call you to make sure you were doing alright. It felt like something a parent would do for their child’s friend. The food and bile in your stomach lurched.  

“Major, is there a bathroom nearby?” 

“Out in the hall, fourth door on your right.” 

“Thank you.” You stood up from your chair more abruptly than you meant to. Once you were in the bathroom, you clutched both sides of the sink as the world continued to spin. 

“Calm down, calm down,” you whispered to yourself. Not only because you were trying to resist vomiting up your dinner, but because you felt your power surging beneath your skin. Begging to be released. You closed your eyes to shut out the spiraling world—sure the Armstrongs had enough money to buy twelve replacements of whatever you could accidentally break, but you didn’t want to put them through the trouble if you could help it. 

When the world finally steadied itself, you opened your eyes. 

A shadow stared back at you in the mirror. 

Just over your shoulder. 

With a sharp gasp you whirled around, already constructing a violet sphere you could hurl at whatever that thing was. 

But as soon as you turned around, it was gone. There was nothing there but a particularly shadowy part of the bathroom. You hadn’t bothered to turn on every light when you first walked in, but still. You were certain that what you saw wasn’t just a dimly lit area of the room. It couldn’t have been. 

This shadow had eyes. 

- - - 

The Major was gone the next day. Apparently the Fuhrer was doing a routine inspection in the South, and Alex was to be one of the people accompanying him. But you were still welcome at the manor to train. 

In the same courtyard you and Ed used for practice, Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosh had agreed to run you through some drills. The sky was more overcast than the ones of late, and the wind brought a crisp chill in the air. You kept your bearskin cloak on while training this time. 

“Alright,” Sergeant Brosh said after setting up the final practice dummy, “Let’s see how you do against these guys!” 

With a deep breath and three swift punches, you propelled your power at each of the wooden mannequins. They splintered to pieces. 

“Oh. Well that was…fast.” 

Lieutenant Ross stepped forward. “Step back, Sergeant Brosh. I think (y/n) needs something a little more dynamic.” 

Maria raised her fists in a defensive stance and began to circle you. You mirrored her actions. 

“Lieutenant, I don’t want to hurt you,” you said. “I don’t think hand to hand combat would make for a fair fight against someone using sorcery.” 

Maria raised her pistol and aimed at your torso. 

Cursing loudly in Drachman, you crossed your arms in front of your chest to make a shield. Once the purple barrier was between you and the Lieutenant, you kept one arm raised to maintain it while your other arm swung wildly and sent a blast towards the Lieutenant's weapon. Though you were lacking a little in precision, the force was more than enough to knock it out of her hands. 

You let your shield drop when the pistol hit the grass. “You could have warned me before you pulled a gun on me!” 

“Relax, I wasn’t actually going to shoot you.” Maria’s smile was almost proud. “And besides, you could have warned me before nearly breaking all the bones in my hand.” 

“You pulled a gun, how did you expect me to react?” Even as you were yelling, you felt the adrenaline wear off and turn into another sensation. Something that fluttered, something that sang. A smile crept onto your face. 

Soon the courtyard was filled with laughter; yours, Ross’s, and Brosh’s combined. 

- - - 

“The sorcerer is very quick on the offensive.” Pride stood before his Father and siblings. “Their defensive capabilities seem to be improving as well. But still, they lack a certain amount of control.” 

“And what of their background?” Father asked. “Do you have any idea where they might be from?” 

“I’ve heard them use Drachman words. Their attire also seems to be that of a Drachman style.” 

“Hmm.” 

Lust raised an eyebrow. “Shall we use them to carve the Crest of Blood up north? We could lead the Briggs forces astray, cause them to attack Drachma unprompted. Maybe our little sorcerer would want to defend their homeland.” 

“Let me do it,” Envy said, leaning forward. “I love manipulating humans.”  

“Perhaps,” Father said. “But there is still much we do not know involving this sorcerer…Pride, do you know the Drachman word for what they are?” 

The small homunculus nodded. “They have referred to themself on a few occasions as a koldun. Only in secret, to the Elric brothers and their mechanic friend.” 

“Well then,” Father said. “Ultimately we must determine whether the koldun can be manipulated for our purposes, or whether it’d be best to remove them from the board entirely.” 

Gluttony perked up. “Can I eat them?” 

Lust patted his head. “Patience, Gluttony.” 

“If you do decide you want to remove them,” Envy said with a grin, “I’d be happy to do the job.” 

Lust’s laugh almost sounded like a groan. “Still angry over them besting you at the lab?”

 Envy’s grin deepened. “Not at all. I just want to be the one to put them in their place.” 

“My, my, if those humans have a true sorcerer in their ranks I’d say you're in quite a bit of trouble there, pops,” Greed said from above. Even while chained over a pool of molten liquid, nothing could wipe the smug smirk off his face. “Can we get this over with? I’m already bored of listening to you all.” 

“Greed,” Father said, almost sad. “You are a son and a piece of my soul. Why is it that you would betray me?” 

“You should know that better than anyone, dad.” Greed’s smirk twisted tighter. “You made me this way. I’m only being who I am. And I simply had more ambitions than to spend the rest of my life working for you.” 

“And if I asked you to work for me again?” 

“Never.” 

“As you wish.” 

Gears whirred. The burning pool rose as Greed was lowered. 

Not even a homunculus as headstrong as he could keep from screaming.

[mandareeboo]

If you’re accepting drabble prompts, something on Selim/Pride 2.0 in the aftermath of the series? I’m really interested in what ideas you’d have about him

Mama doesn't talk about dad very often. Selim finds a few photos one day, and spends hours staring at them, rubbing his thumb over the visage of Fuhrer Bradley. He looks very stern, but there's a twinkle in his eye. Selim can't help but think he looks very, very angry.

When mama does talk about dad, it's always about war. "He led his troops through the Ishvalan War."

"Ishvalan?" Selim asks, because the word feels familiar. "How come?"

Mrs. Bradley hesitates, then sighs. "One of our own shot a child, dear. It was horrible. But your father had to protect his people."

Selim thinks of the patch across his eye and shudders. Maybe that had happened in the war, too. "Am I gonna have to go to war, mama?"

"No," she says, sharply enough to make him jump. "Central has refused any further Bradley blood in the military. In respect for the late Fuhrer's wishes."

But if he did war, why would he want me not to? Selim thinks. But he's glad, really. The eyes of the soldiers scare him. "I don't wanna kill anymore, mama."

She sighs and pulls him close. Selim can't decipher the twinkle in her eye, either, even as he realizes the mistake in his sentence. Normally, mama corrects his grammar. "I know, baby. I know."

[poppy-pelican]

But I Want It Anyway (fic)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

Summary: “Yes. I don’t want just any baby. I want yours.”

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541878

“He can’t possibly be serious!” Riza said, reading over the letter Mustang dropped on her desk. They had been working in Ishval for just six months—now wasn’t the time to go gallivanting north to Briggs of all places.

“Oh, he’s serious. Threatened to reassign you to Central if we didn’t both leave by the end of the week,” Mustang said, leaning on her desk.

“Central might be better than a cross country trip just to ‘see how the people are doing’ at Briggs,” she said under her breath.

Mustang tutted at her. “Really? You would abandon me just to avoid a road trip?”

Riza quirked an eyebrow. “To Briggs, General. I’d rather walk across the desert to Xing. Barefoot.”

He laughed then, and she knew he agreed with her. Falman seemed to like it up there, and a visit with him would be a nice bonus, but it was still cold, far away, and unnecessary.

“Grumman must want eyes he can trust in Briggs—or some other secret objective he refuses to tell us.”

Riza had an idea of a possible secret objective, and it’s why she considered calling her grandfather’s bluff on his threat to reassign her. He even requested she stop in Central to check in with him.

Very suspicious.

“Some secret objective,” she tapped her chin. “I’ll try and weasel it out of him when we get to Central.”

“I’m sure you’ll have better luck than I would,” Mustang said, shaking his head. “I guess I better go let the team know. You want to start working on a plan for the interim?”

She agreed, saluting as he left. There was a lot to finish before they could depart, but she picked up her pen and went over the letter closer, decoding it. While Riza trusted Mustang, her grandfather was an eccentric, nosy old man, and he liked to add messages in code whenever he sent something to the new general—knowing he would pass on the letters to his adjutant. Riza would have happily shared them with Mustang if the messages weren’t so embarrassing. The last one had congratulated the “most beautiful captain in the military” on her promotion.

She cursed under her breath as she finally unscrambled the message: I want some grandkids.

Sometimes she wished she could snap her fingers and burn something.

 *

 Roy found Havoc up to his armpits in the water of a newly constructed canal. The team was overseeing the project, the idea being to restore infrastructure so the rebuilding of Ishval would be running smoothly before long. Breda and a couple of their Ishvalan recruits were in the water with him, diving periodically.

“Shit! General!” Havoc stuttered, standing at attention. The soldiers gave clumsy, wet salutes, all of them looking sheepish.

“Going for a swim?” Roy asked, baiting them.

“Well. Havoc lost his wedding ring, sir. This is life or death,” Breda explained.

Roy snorted. “Rebecca will kill him.”

“Hey!” Havoc yelled. The Ishvalans laughed.

“I can’t lose one of my men over something so frivolous,” Roy drawled. If not for the presence of the Ishvalans, and their discomfort with alchemy, Roy would use a quick clap to search for the ring. Instead, like the others had, he stripped down to just his undershorts and jumped in.

“Oh, this is nice,” Roy said, surprised. It was technically autumn, but Ishval was still oppressively hot. The water was cool without being freezing. He was beginning to see why it was taking the men so long to find the ring. No rush when it felt so good.

“A bit of moisture can be good for you now and then,” Havoc teased.

“Shut up, I used to be blind. You’ll want my skills for finding this ring you stupidly lost.”

“Sorry, sir,” Havoc said, disappearing under the water again.

Roy took a turn, sliding his hands along the floor of the canal until he had to come up for air. It was too late in the evening for there to be enough light to see the ring.

“You have to face the truth, Havoc,” Roy said, slicking his hair out of his eyes. “Your child is going to grow up parentless. Rebecca will kill you. And then I’ll have to imprison her for homicide.”

Havoc splashed him, but he got a big laugh from Breda and the others. Rebecca had been an especially moody pregnant person, from what Roy had seen. Hawkeye doted on her even more than Havoc did. On one of Rebecca’s visits to the office Roy found her with her feet up on Hawkeye’s desk and Hawkeye feeding her some of her secret stash of chocolate. Not so secret, really, given that Roy had already discovered it, but he wouldn’t point that out.

Finally, the wedding ring was found by Breda, who demanded Havoc get it resized to prevent this from happening again.

They all crawled out of the canal, sopping wet and high-fiving one another. Of course, that was when Hawkeye appeared, while they were all still soggy and laughing. And mostly naked.

Roy expected some teasing about slacking off or their state of undress, but instead she averted her eyes.

“I finished a rough plan for our absence,” she said, gesturing to a file in her hand. “I guess it can wait until you are dry. I can see you were all…busy. I’ll just leave it on your desk, General.”

He sighed. He should’ve known she’d excuse herself. She was the epitome of professional. He wondered if she would’ve helped search for the ring in full uniform.

“Absence?” Breda asked. “Who’s leaving?”

Roy explained the fuhrer’s orders, and his men were as baffled as he and Hawkeye. No one could guess what went on in Grumman’s crafty old mind.

“I hope Hawkeye makes it back before the baby is due,” Havoc said. “Rebecca will miss her.”

“I think it shouldn’t take that long,” Roy said. “We might have to avoid the train and take a car—” too many tracks still out from the Promised Day, “—but even then, with Hawkeye planning our route, we’ll be back with time to spare. She won’t want to miss being there for Rebecca.”

Havoc grinned mischievously. “I don’t know, maybe you two should…take your time, if you know what I mean.”

Roy shrugged his shoulders, accustomed to this kind of teasing. Hawkeye had never given him any signal she wanted to be intimate with him—probably because of the anti-fraternization laws. If she gave even a hint that she wanted him…That would be different. He’d schedule in a year at Briggs if it meant having her in his bed.

*

Riza was reluctant to visit her grandfather after his strange mission assignment, but after six months in Ishval, she also wanted to see how he was doing in office. And there was his personal assistant who made the best lemon tea in Amestris. Riza was convinced he added a shot of whiskey or something into it because it never failed to relax her during her visits.

Through her letters, her grandfather was already up to date on Ishval’s status, so he pried into her personal life over tea.

“I’ve been helping Rebecca set up a nursery.” Baby Havoc was due in just two months. A surprise pregnancy. It had been a hurried, shotgun wedding, but Rebecca and Havoc were blissfully happy, even with him stationed in Ishval. Rebecca had retired from the military so she could follow him. It meant Riza had her best friend nearby—and a willing dog sitter. When the time came, Riza would return the favor as an honorary aunt and spoil the little one.

“Is she enjoying her pregnancy?” Grumman asked.

“As much as she can, I think. She complains, but I know she’s thrilled.”

“Ah, yes. She was always family-minded, wasn’t she?” Her grandfather’s eyes twinkled.

“Yes, always husband hunting,” Riza said slowly, feeling like she was about to step on a hidden landmine.

“What about you?” he asked, attempting nonchalance. “Any interest in a husband?”

“Ha, no,” she said firmly. What she had with Mustang would have to be enough for now. If he ever asked for more, then maybe…

“What about babies? A husband isn’t necessarily a requirement, but they help. Wouldn’t you like Catalina’s baby to have a friend?”

And there was the landmine, blowing up in her face. She never expected the painful, almost instinctual longing that erupted with it. She pictured a chubby little baby with black, messy hair and brown eyes. The vision was there before she could stomp it out, and stomp on it she did, hard.

“Some day.” She couldn’t lie.

“When?” he chuckled, refilling her tea. “You want to be my age when your kid is a teenager? I don’t recommend it.”

“Well—"

“I’m not trying to be a nosy old man. This time,” he amended. “I just know it’s easy to put these things off, expecting the perfect moment to appear. It won’t. It might sneak up on you like it did our dear Miss Catalina—now Mrs. Havoc. Or it could pass you by entirely.” His eyes grew soft. “I don’t want you to waste your time on someone who doesn’t want children.”

“It’s complicated,” she said sourly. He knew that.

“Then perhaps find a new man. One who is family-minded.” He sighed. “I know your father wasn’t the best example for it, but there are plenty of men who embrace parenthood—and are good fathers.”

Like Maes Hughes or Havoc. Her gut told her Mustang would be a wonderful father, and she knew he liked children from the way he interacted with Elicia. But his thoughts on becoming a father himself? It was another one of those forbidden topics between them. Something a subordinate shouldn’t ask her superior.

But her grandfather was right. She didn’t want to miss her chance.

 *

 It was Roy’s turn to drive, and an hour into it, he was already bored. There were more cows than people now that they had left the city, and it was dreadfully uninteresting. And Hawkeye had been oddly distracted ever since her visit with her grandfather the day before. She almost drove through a stop sign while leaving Central that morning, and she was unusually agreeable about letting him drive. Then there was her silence, giving minimal answers anytime he tried to engage her in conversation. Maybe she hadn’t slept well?

He was about to look and see if Hawkeye had dozed off when she broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something, sir? A…personal question?”

Roy furrowed his brow. “Go ahead.”

“You know, Rebecca being pregnant has given me…” Her voice was unusually high. “Do you think—given everything I’ve done—do I—should I even be allowed—” She huffed. “This isn’t coming out right. Let me be direct. I want a baby. I’m just not sure I deserve one. After…everything.”

Roy’s mind went blank, barely able to keep the car on the road. Then he gathered his wits to answer. “Of course you deserve a baby,” he said.

She made a skeptical noise. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine explaining to my child one day that I killed dozens of innocent people.”

Roy knew what she meant. His darkest memories, the ones he did his best to bury, were of the families he murdered in the extermination. Did he deserve to have children? Happiness? No.

But if he said that, did that mean Hawkeye didn’t deserve that either? Unbidden, an image of her with a round, smooth belly taunted him. He could see it perfectly. She’d insist on working far beyond what she should until he bullied her into putting her feet up like Maes did for Gracia. Then he pictured a little girl with dark, spiky pigtails, her eyes brown and innocent like Riza’s when she offered him the secrets of Flame Alchemy.

Then he imagined that little girl lost in flames, her eyes now an Ishvalan red.

He shuddered, his hands tight on the wheel.

But the world was different now, so he answered with the truth. “I think it’d be cruel to deprive the world of your child, Hawkeye. They will grow up in a better world than we did. It’s something…to strive toward.”

“Hmm,” Hawkeye said, but he could hear the smile in the hum.

“You never seemed the baby type before,” he said accusingly, as he spoke he realized how wrong he was. She babied her dog. Black Hayate was the only creature he’d ever seen her openly affectionate with. Hell, she mothered everyone—even Rebecca Catalina. Hawkeye hadn’t had a boyfriend in a long time, he knew. While Roy occasionally went on dates, entirely for show, Hawkeye started turning them down a few years ago—right around the time this unspoken thing between them had grown into something they couldn’t ignore yet couldn’t acknowledge. She gave him her fidelity, and he found himself returning it. He hadn’t gone home with a date in years.

Then it hit him. She—she wanted a baby. Meaning, someone needed to father this baby. And she hadn’t asked him.

“I don’t plan on having a baby anytime soon,” she said quietly, “but maybe once the groundwork in Ishval is finished…”

“That’s probably less than two years away,” he said, incredulous. Hawkeye having a baby in the far future was one thing, but in the near future...Why hadn’t he considered this before? She wasn’t much younger than he was, and all their friends were beginning to settle down and procreate. He was an idiot for expecting her to just wait around patiently until the right time for them to be together arrived. Whenever the right time would be. He thought she would let him know.

Maybe she’d realized he wasn’t worth waiting for.

“It is,” she said. “The fuhrer reminded me there’s no perfect time to have a baby, and I don’t want to put it off so long that…I miss my chance.”

“I see. Understandable.” He glowered at the road ahead. Was she breaking up with him? Not that there was anything tangible to break, but it felt like that was where the conversation was leading.

“Depending on the timing, I could even train a replacement to be your adjutant. And I’d return to the military after my maternity leave. I don’t want to retire like Rebecca did.” The idea of a substitute in Hawkeye’s place made him stupidly irritated, though not as much as the idea of having to watch her grow some other man’s baby in her belly. He wanted to burn something.

“You’ve really thought this through.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. Why would she bring this up at the beginning of the trip? Did she want him to keep his distance when they were going to be in such close quarters over the next few weeks?

“I thought I might have to convince you this could work,” she said. He chanced a look, and her cheeks were a lovely pink.

“If you want to find a man to have a baby with, I won’t stop you,” he said, feeling flustered and unsure of himself. And foolishly heartbroken. It’s not like they had made promises to each other. They hadn’t said a word about their relationship. He would be an asshole if he told her no on behalf of his feelings.

“Oh. All right,” she said. He wished he wasn’t driving so he could better read her expressions.  

The car fell silent again. His boredom lost, Roy stewed over the idea that his beloved subordinate wanted a baby. With someone else.

*

Riza was an idiot. Of course Mustang didn’t want children with her. They hadn’t even kissed. It would be a big jump to go from that to making a baby, she just thought…Well. It didn’t matter.

But the idea of having a baby with someone else was abhorrent. If Mustang wasn’t the father, she didn’t want a baby at all. She stared out the window, swallowing back the lump in her throat.

She hadn’t just wanted a baby, she’d wanted his baby. That was what she hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell him outright, giving him an opening for a polite rejection—which he had taken. Not once had he brought up the possibility of being the father of her hypothetical baby. He’d been all for her having one, just not with him. It felt like a slap to the face, though she knew he must have his reasons.

Whatever they were.

She suddenly flipped from sad to offended. Maybe she didn’t want the polite rejection.

“I thought you liked children,” she said, crossing her arms.

She eyed him, growing confused as he squirmed in his seat. “When did I say I didn’t like children?”

“You didn’t. I’m just trying to understand you.” She hesitated, always afraid to put things into words.

“What else do you want from me? I thought we went over it as thoroughly as we could. It’s not like you’re pregnant now.”

“What else do I want from you?” She parroted, indignant. “So you just don’t want children at all?”

“Me? Why does it matter if I want children or not? You’re the one who wants to run off and have babies.” Oh. She saw it then, the slump in his shoulders, the clenched jaw. Her superior, the smartest, dumbest man she knew.

“I think you’ve misunderstood, sir.” She paused for a beat. “Roy,” she said, his name soft and shy on her lips. She put her hand on his shoulder.

“Please enlighten me,” he demanded hoarsely. Oh no. She’d hurt him. She rushed to correct him.

“I was inarticulately asking if you wanted to have a baby with me.” Her sweater suddenly felt stiflingly hot. The question was out there, no takebacks, no polite rejection.

“Ah, yes. I misunderstood,” he said, sounding strangled. She sighed, pulling her hand back. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked while he was driving. Or sober. Maybe she should have started smaller—proposed an affair while they were away. That would’ve been less shocking. No, she’d skipped several steps and went straight for the long-term commitment.

He let the car slow to a creep, then pulled over underneath a lone tree in the grass. There was nothing but pasture for miles. At least it was a pretty spot for her superior to lose his mind. Her heart thundered in her chest, even as she kept her expression patiently neutral. She straightened the hem of her skirt.

“Do you know what you’re asking, Hawkeye?” He still wouldn’t face her, staring resolutely ahead.

“I believe I made a lot of points proving I do,” she said stiffly.

He looked at her then, dark eyes filled with want. In return, her belly knotted with desire. She had seen that expression a few times when they were alone and no one else could witness it. He would look her over until she was too tempted to endure it any longer. She either averted her eyes or excused herself. There had never been anything they could do about it before. Even now, he was still her superior. She just didn’t care anymore.

“It means you want me inside you,” he whispered, leaning toward her, his larger frame invading the small space of the front seat. Her breath caught in her throat. “You’re asking me to come in you as many times as it takes to get you pregnant.” Her whole body tightened as his words sank in. Explicit words. Nothing could be playfully misinterpreted now. “Are you okay with that?”

She took in an unsteady breath, holding his gaze. “Yes. I don’t want just any baby. I want yours.”

He groaned before launching himself past the last few inches of space between them. His mouth crashed into hers, arms snaking around her waist, whisking her into his lap. He devoured her, tongue seeking and stroking, sending shockwaves down to her toes.

There had been a reason she had not so much as kissed him before. Once she started…she knew she’d never be able to give him up. His hands slipped under her sweater, which he swiftly removed. Then his mouth was back on hers, and she moaned as he groped her breasts, shoving her bra callously out of the way so he could cup them fully. It was like he couldn’t get to her skin fast enough.

Realizing he was dominating the moment, she adjusted her body to straddle him, grinding down on his erection, desperate for friction. With the skirt flared over her thighs, the thin material of her underwear did little to muffle the sensations of pressing into him.

“God, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he gasped, his hips thrusting up to meet hers.

“Me too.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“But then we can’t work together anymore,” she said, giving up kissing to nibble on his neck instead. She wanted to work as his adjutant as long as she could.

“No one has to know.” He tilted her back until he could dip his head down to wrap his lips around her breast, knocking most of her reasoning for why this was a bad idea out of her head. It was actually a very, very good idea. “We’ve kept secrets bigger than this. And like you said, it’s not like you’re going to get pregnant right now.”

She whimpered.

“Rushing into that would be a bad idea.” His words were teasing as his fingers traveled down her side and under her skirt, pushing her underwear out of the way. She was slick and hot with desire, and she dug her hands into his shoulders, holding onto him as he eased two fingers inside her, his thumb working her clit rhythmically.

She sighed, leaning forward to capture his mouth again, though it made it more challenging for him to maneuver his fingers. She shifted higher on her knees, giving him space to move.

And oh. She clenched down on his fingers, rocking gently to stimulate that bundle of nerves that felt oh-so-good, gasping with each pulse of his hand. She was close, embarrassingly wet and ready for him.

“I want you in me,” she said, her head falling to his shoulder. Her legs trembled.

“Not yet,” he replied, sounding like he was gritting his teeth in concentration. “You first. Then I’m going to sink into you—feel you wrapped so tight around me—”

She let out a throaty whine, her whole body tensing from her breasts through her center, down to her curling toes. She clung to his neck, holding herself up on shaky legs as her release flooded through her, rippling on his fingers still buried inside her. There was a moment of perfect contentment before she began thrusting down on his fingers again.

“More,” she whispered, her mouth pressed hot against his ear, his messy hair tickling her nose. She loved how his hands became a flurry of action, undoing his belt and shoving his pants out of the way. His erection sprung up, hard and leaking.

“Fuck, sorry,” he said through his teeth, tearing her underwear in two in a feat of complete desperation. She almost laughed in shock until he rubbed the head of his length against her opening.

Instantly, she was as needy as he was again. She sank down on him slower than she wanted to, but it had been a long time, and her body stretched in an achingly good way as her core accepted him. It occurred to her then that while they had just been saying she shouldn’t get pregnant right away, they had nothing to protect against pregnancy here in the car. Oops. It was so unlike her—but so was riding her superior in a car in broad daylight. Maybe Roy’s impulsivity had made an impression on her at long last.

“Do you—do you think we could then? Have a baby?” To hell with it. “Or two?” she asked between kisses.

He moaned. “Yes. Yes, I want it so much. I don’t deserve it, but…I’m a weak man.”

She laughed softly. “I think the world deserves to have your child in it, too.” She kissed him soundly, willing all her love and devotion to reach him.

When she pulled away, he stared back at her, dazed and utterly blown away. “I must have done something right to have you by my side.”

“Or on top of you,” she said slyly, lifting her hips and sliding back down sharply.

“Damn, I really want to finish inside you,” he hissed, groping for her hips and guiding her pace as she brought him closer to orgasm.

“I want that too.” She shivered at how animalistic she was becoming. Her sensibilities flew out the window as her body’s craving for him consumed her every thought. She wanted him to fill her with every drop of come he could.

“I shouldn’t,” he said, more to himself. “But I want to,” he tugged her down onto him, hard.

“You should,” she said, then kissed him, toying with his tongue. He was so hard and stiff inside her, and her body was so, so ready. Drenched and aching for him. “It’s a bad idea but I feel like I’m going to scream if you don’t finish in me.”

He groaned miserably. “Riza. Don’t say things like that.” His thrusts grew erratic, like he was holding back.

“Roy,” she countered. “How likely is it that I’ll get pregnant from just one time?”

“Not—not very likely,” he gasped.

“I’m willing to risk it…if you are,” she said, squeezing her thighs and tightening around his cock. “I’ll do what you want me to do.”

“You mean that?”

“I do. I’ll have no regrets either way.” The frustration she’d feel at him pulling out would be…astronomical. But she didn’t want him to have regrets either.

“I love you so much,” he panted, abruptly reversing their positions so she was flat on her back, their legs crammed against the car door. Her arms went up to brace herself as he began to slam into her urgently, losing all pretense of control.

“Roy, please. Finish in me,” she murmured against his shoulder, biting down on it gently. She wanted him to remember her asking for it, so he could never doubt she wanted him again.

He buried his face in her neck, their bodies crushed together as close as humanly possible as he spilled inside her, his cock so deeply buried there was no mistaking his intentions. Her body felt hot and achy—like she would be ready for another round as soon as he was.

For now, she wanted to hold him against her half naked body, savoring the scent of his shampoo in her nose and the feel of his hips snug between her thighs.

She spent years loving him, now she wanted him.

*

Roy was reluctant to move away from the lovely heat of Riza’s body. It was only the promise of leg cramps that finally convinced him to sit up and help her find her sweater. He sighed in disappointment as she fixed her bra and tugged the sweater over her head. There was still an uncharacteristically mischievous twitch to her lips, and she openly stared as he tucked himself in and buttoned his pants. Holy hell, he wanted her again as soon as possible—in a bed, where he could stretch her out and take his time.

What a whirlwind. One minute he was convinced she was breaking up with him, the next he had bluffed his way into getting her to say the dirtiest things he’d ever heard leave her mouth. More reason to love her.

“Still no regrets, sir?” she asked, hiding her torn underwear in her purse.

“No,” he said, distracted as he considered she was now wearing nothing beneath her prim and proper skirt. He could run his hand up her thigh and feel how wet she was—coated with his release.

He cleared his throat and started the car. They needed to find an inn, and soon.

“What about you, Captain?” He watched her face carefully this time.

“Maybe it was a bit…premature to get so carried away, but no, I regret nothing.” She pressed her lips together. “Well, maybe the itinerary I made. We’re going to be late for our reservation.”

The beginnings of a new erection stirred. “The damage is done,” he said, shrugging. “We might as well take our time.” His hand slipped under her skirt, up to her inner thigh, a part of him still expecting her to smack him away.

No, she let out a breathy, pleased noise. He turned the car back off, deciding he couldn’t go on without hearing her fall apart on his hands again. Or maybe his mouth. He grinned as she willingly parted her legs.

And he’d thought he’d have to convince her. At this rate, the whole itinerary was going to need rearranged.

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 14

Fighty fighty fight time!

For the record, I chat with a coworker about shows every now and then, I’ve gotten him watching RWBY and update him on my Brotherhood progress. He was quite happy to hear that I’d gotten to Greed, and the implications thereof. I had been under the assumption that all the Goths were working together, but Greed is clearly working on his own plans independent of the main group. That accounts for the main Goths (Lust, Gluttony, Envy) and our immortality-seeker (Greed), which leaves Sloth, Wrath, and Pride unaccounted for. Looking forward to how they’re represented! Episode 14 - “Those Who Lurk Underground” Huh, same intro. We’re definitely past the midpoint (14/26), does Brotherhood not change? Hey, it’s Central! Overhead shot like when Mr. Freeze was casting a city-wide TC. Roy’s walking through a hallway as a bunch of Shadowy Officers gossip. Roy finds their skepticism amusing. Time to talk with the boss… only Fuhrer Bradley’s away? “Inspecting the South”? But that’s where the Elrics went. Maybe I’m being suspicious, but that’s an awfully big coincidence right after Bradley pushed to keep the Philosopher’s Stone experiments suppressed. In the sewers now, Dolcetto’s leading the Chimeras with Al in tow. Sudden sniffing (man that place has to stink even worse for Dog-Man), and they tense up, Roa just says it feels like old times. Ayup, there’s the eyepatch. Bradley’s outside the Devil’s Nest, not looking too happy. “What an interesting discovery for such a routine inspection.” Oh, oh my. Looks like Bradley’s in fighting mode, and he brought Armstrong and some mooks with him. I knew Greed was gonna get stomped by Izumi, this is overkill. [Bradley]: “Move in!” Ed and Izumi are facing off against Armored-Greed now. Who starts laughing at “a housewife and a hotheaded brat.” Yeah, let’s see how funny you find it after oh come ON! Don’t you run away you coward, we’re just getting to the good part. Bleh, what a time for Izumi’s internal injuries to act up.

Ok good the troops are here. Medic for the lady! Back to Al, who’s struggling against Martel. Worm your way to freedom, buddy! Aw, but Greed just showed up. Still love his smarmy attitude and how he nonchalantly says things have gotten “a little out of hand”, but you’re still holding my boy Alphonse. [Bradley]: “I can’t let you do that.” Ooooh! Was disappointed when Greed split and Izumi keeled over, but maybe we’ll get a good fight scene this episode after all! The Fuhrer is here, swords already drawn. Bradley starts monologuing about how it sucks getting old. Body stops moving the way you want it to, so he’d rather get this over quickly and go home. Greed just laughs and says he should retire- goodbye armor hand! Fight fight fight! Looks like Greed’s hand is regenerating, but nowhere near fast enough to take on Bradley who’s beating him like a pinata. Elsewhere Roa is going hand-to-hand with The Mighty Armstrong (who shed his shirt offscreen, of course). Or rather, hammer-to-hand. Actually, make that majestic statue-to-hand since Armstrong morphed the hammer into something far more fetching. [The Mighty Armstrong]: “Behold! *sparkle sparkle* You have just had the rare pleasure of witnessing the famous Armstrong statuary technique!” Gasp! Roa, how dare you simply throw away such a piece of art! The uncultured barbarian Hulks out to the point that even a direct Armstrong punch to the face doesn’t stop him. This one might take two. The Gun Mooks are dealing with the rest of the Chimeras as Ed and Izumi are taken to safety, per the direct orders of Bradley. So confirmation that Bradley knew there were at least Human-Chimeras there, if they’re carrying out prior orders. But how did he know? Oh dear, Armstrong is still facing Ogre-Roa, slammed into the wall. And may Leto smite you for the damage to Armstrong’s temple by scraping his face against the wall! Trading punches, The Mighty Armstrong commends his adversary, and in his mercy offers Roa a chance to surrender. But Roa oh come on you Mooks! I know you’re following Bradley’s orders but just wait a second and you might get a prisoner to question! Or just shoot the guy whatever. Until sudden rescue from Dolcetto, he cuts a pipe and the Chimera’s make their escape in the steam. Back to Greed, who’s pulled a Deadpool and regrown his hand. Punching, he knocks Bradley’s eyepatch off? But immediately gets sworded through the neck. [Bradley, with a scarred white eye]: “I understand why you’d think you have an advantage over a man like me since I possess neither your impenetrable Ultimate Shield, nor an Ultimate Spear that can pierce any substance. But I’ll tell you a secret. Do you know how I managed to distinguish myself amongst the storms of bullets on the battlefield time after time, to rise to my current position?” [Greed, who’s been better]: “Y-You’re…” Wait Wait wait wait His eye, his scarred eye, the one the eyepatch was covering Uruboros, his pupil is the uruboros symbol WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?! Bradley’s a Goth?! One of the Homunculi? Ok ok hold up, let’s recount. We’ve got the Main Goths (Lust, Gluttony, Envy) and Greed on his lonesome. Greed knew of the others in that they “didn’t talk anymore” but not that they had access to Soul Armors like Al. And he didn’t recognize Bradley, so no connection there. But Bradley knew enough to come hunting Greed when the Elric Brothers got close, so the jury’s still out on him working with the Main Goths ala the Lab and coverup. Which implies that he’s connected to Hughes’ death but that’s a whole ‘nother thing, we’ll come back to that. So Bradley’s a Goth/Homunculi, possibly connected to the Main Goths pending confirmation, separate from Greed and seeking to kill him for unspecified reasons. So if we’re sticking to the Seven Deadly Sins naming theme, which is he? Sloth? Maybe a play on his super-speed power, but all the others have powers connected to their ability rather than in spite of it. Wrath? Again, generally calm attitude but maybe it’s a mask and he certainly gets angry when our characters haven’t been around to see it like here and against Mr. Freeze. And oh my Leto if he actually is Wrath I am going to scream, I was calling this asshole Fuhrer Fury just based on the eyepatch. If “Fuhrer Fury” was Wrath all along I’m done, I’m just done. That leaves Pride, which I can see as being the top dog of the Military, ties into his speech just then about distinguishing himself. So minor ironic support for Sloth, combat ability supports Wrath (uuuuuugh!), and status supports Pride. [Bradley]: “I may not have the protection of your Ultimate Shield, but I clearly see your weakness with my Ultimate Eye.”

The Goth of Undetermined Name withdraws his swords, and Greed collapses to the ground. [Bradley]: “Now then, Greed. How many times am I going to have to kill you before you stay dead?” Ok, creepy shot of Bradley’s Uroborus eye glowing in a shadowed face. Far away from the Reveal, Martel’s keeping Al put, wondering where Greed is. Footsteps? Hey, Greed’s coming back looking a bit worse for wear. Bradley let him go? Nope, just led him along with a sword through the neck. Jeez, just finish him off already, don’t drag it out. Oh, Al’s keeping Martel from getting out, saying that Bradley will kill her. Trying to protect your captor? Bradley says he’s killed Greed 15 times now, wonders how many more it’ll take. But don’t fret Greed, help has arrived! In the form of severely wounded Dolcetto and Roa. Huh. Despite them being kidnappers and failing to appreciate fine art, I can respect their loyalty to their boss. Misplaced and bound to get them killed, but still. Respect. And even before they go to die against Bradley, they tell Al to protect her. Cue heartwrenching screaming as she pleads for Al to let her out to help her friends. And Bradley cuts them down. [Greed]: “Whoa, that was a little excessive. Killing me is one thing, but they’re not coming back.” [Bradley]: “Pitying the lost lives of your pawns? Pathetic.” [Greed]: “Excuse me? Are you senile? Did you forget who I am, old man? I’m the living incarnation of greed. Those weren’t my friends, Bradley, they were my possessions! Money! Women! Henchmen! They’re all possessions! So killing my henchmen is the same as stealing from me! And I don’t let people take what’s mine!” Ok, you’re still overall a bad guy and I want you to lose, but damn if that wasn’t one of the most Slytherin things I’ve ever heard. It’d be better if you saw your henchmen as, you know, actual people. But still, that is an excellent way to phrase the Slytherin ideal of self-interest.

[Bradley]: “Greed… you grow more pathetic by the second!” The Fuhrer unleashes on Greed now, a lovely fluid fightscene until Bradley stabs Greed again and tells him to stay put, he’ll be right back. Guuuuh, I’m getting shivers of seeing this man who just slaughtered the Chimeras walking towards Al with sword drawn, even as he calmly asks if Al’s been hurt and if he can help him at all. And then Martel uses her control of the armor to grab Bradley by the throat. Oh. Oh jeez. Al was pleading for Martel to stop, Martel was screaming for Bradley to die… and Bradley just put a sword right down through the armor. There was *shunk* noise… and then blood started gushing out of Al’s armor. That’s… that’s a thing. Guh blood’s splashed onto the sigil in the armor, that if anything is Al’s physical form that is him wait what? Blood-triggered flashback? Al’s getting his memory back! He did meet Truth like Ed, went through the gate and saw things as his body was torn apart, right at the end he saw Mama Elric? But Truth is smiling that creepy smile and Ed’s grabbing onto his own body what is… Oh god. The viewpoint is looking at young Ed from inside a Transmutation Circle. The Transmutation Circle. And a blackened limb is reaching out. … Al snaps out of it to the sound of Ed’s voice. He asks if Al’s ok, Al asks if Ed’s ok. He’s covered in blood- Ed’s been opened up. The body’s been removed, but the blood is still there. [Al sobbing]: “I couldn’t save her.” Ed tries to tell Al it wasn’t his fault. But this isn’t something you can just brush off with a “Let’s go home, ‘kay?” Bradley’s walking up, saying that he needs to ask them both some questions before they can leave. He asks if they’d known Greed before. And if they traded any information with him. Ed says no, and the military was never mentioned. But I thought when Greed talked about Human Chimeras- [Bradley]: “That isn’t my concern. Let me be more specific.” The Fuhrer has an awful lot scowling armed guys behind him. [Bradley]: “If you arranged a deal or shared any knowledge with him… Then I’ll execute both of you right now.” Ed still insists nothing was said. Now Bradley’s pressing about his metal limbs and any connection to Al’s armored body… before he chuckles about Ed being an honest kid and leaves, telling Ed to take care of his younger brother. ...what’s your game, Bradley? Why are you doing all of this? At the butcher shop, Izumi’s in bed while Bradley visits her in his dress blues. Offering protection? Wait a minute, he’s seriously trying to recruit Izumi as a State Alchemist while she’s bedridden from internal injuries. Ah, so it’s “protection” he’s offering. When Izumi doesn’t bite he just says he’ll be back (quick zoom to his eyepatch), “perhaps you’ll have had a change of heart.” Outside, Ed’s cleaning Al’s breastplate and chatting with Armstrong, saying that Greed had a Uroboros tattoo. Like the Goths at the lab, that he told Armstrong and Hughes- Oh come on! This episode has been brutal enough, do not add “tell the Elrics about Hughes’ murder” to the mix! No, I think Armstrong understands that’d be too much for now. He just tells Ed to not do anything rash, and leaves. Now that they’re alone, Al tells Ed that his memories of Truth are back. A brief lighthearted moment when he imitates their “weird” teasing, but nothing about how to get their bodies back. Ed says that it wasn’t a bust, reminds Al about how there was unrest in the military about the Stone and that Bradley said he was looking into it. [Ed]: “Well Greed was obviously connected to them somehow. But if so… why’d the Fuhrer slaughter everyone? If he was trying to figure out what they’re up to, why didn’t he catch them and make them talk?” There’s only one answer to that: he didn’t want them to talk. He wanted what they knew to die with them. The Elrics don’t seem to have caught onto this yet, I guess not knowing that Bradley is a Goth like we know leaves it murkier. They don’t know, so they’re going to get closer. We return to Central, travel through some pipes, and hear a familiar voice. [Lust]: “Welcome back, Fuhrer. How was your inspection of the South?” Oh crap. Fuhrer’s saying that both “Fullmetal’s younger brother” and “their teacher” are candidates for human sacrifice. The leader of the Military is working for the Goths? At best I was hoping he was another independent Homunculi like Greed was, but this? This is bad. Not to mention that Izumi has a target painted on her back now, since apparently Bradley can see those who have met Truth with his Ultimate Eye. Oh, and he’s brought a present, a wayward Goth. Greed wakes up to see that “the gang’s all here”. Are all the Goths present at this little meeting? Confirmation that it’s Lust who has the Ultimate Spear technique in the form of her Fingers of Doom. Gluttony (still trying out diets) and Envy (“Please! For the last time, get a new outfit!”) are there too. Sloth is namedropped, Lust says he’s being kept working. Which brings Greed to the ��new addition”, Bradley. [Bradley]: “I am Wrath the Furious.” Leto DAMN IT, he really was Fuhrer Fury. Come on! To the humans, he’s the leader of Amestris (holy crap did we finally get the name of this country?), but in truth he was created by Father for the plan. Greed is shocked at the idea of a Homunculus that can grow older. “Can”? Bit of teasing between Greed and Envy who does NOT like being called ugly- [Father]: “Stop your nonsense. Both of you.” Oho, the aforementioned Father, maker of the Goths! Methinks we finally get to meet the Big Bad of the show! Father chides the kids to act better- beard beard beard beard beard WHAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTT!!!?!?!!? I know that facial hair! Is that- Are you- Father is Papa Elric?! [FATHER]: “You are both my son and you are a piece of my soul. So why would you betray your loving father?” Greed just says he was being true to his nature, he didn’t want to spend his life working for Father. And when asked to come back, he refuses. Father takes this… not well. As in, he sloooowly dips Greed into molten metal. Greed goes out yelling that he’ll see his siblings in Hell and he’ll give Pops a stomachache. Lots of pipes later, Father downs a toast to The Promised Day… and their undying loyalty. “Talk about cheesy” indeed. After this little family reunion, Bradley/Wrath is taking a walk when a voice called [Selim] calls out “Father!”. Right, Bradley did say in the first episode that he’d have a story for “his boy”. But how does this work, being a Homunculus and all? Tied into how it’s unusual that he can age? We end with charming little family chatter, [Bradley’s Wife] (yes, that is her official subtitle name) worrying about his age, and Selim getting all excited to hear about The Fullmetal Alchemist and saying that he wants to become a State Alchemist to help out his father one day. [Bradley]: “You never know, Selim. Maybe you will help me out someday.” Credits. ...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[amuseoffyre]

Fic: Inverse Omens - 1941 - London

Notes: I’m posting this one early today, because I won’t be around in the evening because I’m trying this strange thing called a social life. Also I love this chapter like burning :)

1941 - London

Distant sirens were wailing as Crowley hurried up the path towards the church. The searchlights were stabbing up at the heavy clouds and he could smell the rain in the air. He hugged the book more tightly to his chest, praying that everything would go to plan.

Why they would choose this place of all places for a meeting point seemed a bit on the nose. He knew who they were. They knew he knew. No one, they had laughed, would look for Nazis in a Church.

Crowley had smiled and laughed with them, but he had been to Germany only a few weeks ago and plenty of Nazis could be found in churches. Many of them liked to use it as an excuse and even though Aziraphale hadn’t asked – hadn’t even spoken to him since that stupid, awful day in St. James’s Park – he put a little temptation as well as a miracle of courage into a few minds to ensure there were a few less Nazis to take Her name in vain.

He paused at the door, taking a deep breath, then stepped into the building.

The place was alight with candles, warm and glowing and welcoming. It should have felt safe and sacred, but the presence of the two men – at the altar, for Heaven’s sake! – made him tighten his hands around the book he was carrying.

“Mr. Crowley.” Glozier said, smiling. “We were beginning to wonder if you would come.”

Crowley forced a smile onto his face and walked briskly down the aisle. “Well, I would hate to disappoint you now,” he said, his cheeks hurting with the effort.

Mr. Harmony rose, a hungry look in his eyes. “You have the book?”

Lord, Crowley wished he’d never agreed to it. He could have found a false copy. He could have lied. He could have done anything but stretch out his hands, holding out the tome to the man. “As requested, the Sefer Raziel HaMalakh.”

Harmony’s eyes gleamed greedily as he snatched the book from Crowley’s hands. He didn’t even flinch, but then, maybe he wasn’t a human who was meant to feel the power bound up in the tome. It was Her will, of course.

Harmony opened the gnarled and ancient covers, leafing through pages that had been copied and recopied more times than Crowley could recall. Behind his glasses, his eyes widened and he looked over at Glozier. “It’s the real thing.”

Glozier moved closer, bending to peer down at the book. “You’re certain?” Harmony muttered something in German, which made his partner grin delightedly. “Marvellous. You have done very well, Mr. Crowley.”

Crowley sighed inwardly when he heard the click of the gun being cocked. Just once, he thought sadly, it would have been nice to be wrong about people. But then, they were Nazis and there wasn’t really much more you could expect from them.

“Don’t,” he said wearily.

“Don’t?” Glozier said, amusement all over his face. “You think this is how it works, Mr. Crowley?”

The angel pinched the bridge of his nose, one hand on his hip. “Rose?”

A second gun cocked, this one behind him.

“Who–?”

Crowley lowered his hand, giving them a tired smile. “Spy, Nazis,” he introduced. “Nazis, spy.” He jerked his thumb towards the back of the church. “Now, if you don’t mind, she’s going to arrest you and I’m going to go and get a drink.”

He turned around to face Captain Montgomery, only to find her gun pointed at him and not at the two men at the altar. She gave him a crooked smile and shrugged, as if she hadn’t played him like a fiddle and walked him right into his own discorporation.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” he exclaimed, spinning around to face them. “She’s with you?”

Well, he thought bitterly as they grinned at him, you wanted to be wrong about someone didn’t you, you idiot.

“And sadly, she will also be killing you.”

“Right.” Crowley looked at the floor, blowing out a sigh. “Right. Of course. Why not? Killed by Nazis in a Church on a Sunday. Perfect. Just fantastic.” He threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Bet you’re having a great laugh up there, aren’t you? Ooooh, he took the book to give to the humans again! Bet he won’t see this coming!” He threw his arms wide. “Come on! Give me a break!” His voice faltered and he dropped his arms. “Please?”

“Prayer won’t help you now, Mr. Crowley,” Glozier said, “but we do appreciate all you have done, so we will make it a quick–”

The door of the church crashing inwards interrupted him, followed by an “Oh, holy fuck! Ow!”

Crowley whipped around, startled. He knew that voice. He would recognise that voice anywhere, and there he was. Aziraphale, bouncing down the aisle like a badly-buoyed balloon, bobbing from toe to toe. “Aziraphale?”

The demon waved vaguely, every step accompanied with a fresh profanity. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, fucking Nora, bloody buggering bastarding ow!”

God, it was good to see him, but not here. Not in a church. Not when they had guns trained on them and everything had been left so horribly wrong.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

Aziraphale flashed a pained grin at him. “Messing with your business arrangement!” He held up a bundle of books tied together with string. “Let this one go and I’ll give you some tasty prophecies for you to take back to your Fuhrer. Binns, Shipton, Nixon. First editions too.”

Books. Aziraphale’s books. He never let anyone near them. He rarely even let Crowley look at them, unless he wore his white gloves and promised not to break any spines. And after the years they hadn’t spoken to one another, he’d still brought them here to trade for…

Crowley’s legs trembled under him, his hand leaping to his mouth.

“Prophecies?”

The angel was close enough to feel the prickle of covetousness from Harmony, pricking away at the soft warmth that was threatening to smother him.

“Aziraphale, don’t,” he said urgently. “They’re your books. You don’t need to give them away. I’m fine.”

Aziraphale pointedly looked at the guns as he lightly bounced on the spot. “Fine. I see.” He jerked his head towards the door as Harmony snatched the bundle of books from his hand. “Go on. Bugger off. I’ll tidy up here.”

“I won’t!” Crowley shook his head. “Not this time.”

“I think,” Glozier said, his smile audible, “you misunderstand the situation, Mr. Crowley. Whatever your… ebullient friend’s intentions are, we are the ones who hold the guns. We will take your books too, since you have brought them all this way.”

Crowley saw the gleam of hellfire in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Oh no.”

The demon’s smile split his face. “Oh, don’t worry, my dear,” he said, looking beyond Crowley’s shoulder at the two Nazis. “I won’t do anything to them.” He tilted his head, staring at them, unblinking. The way he was moving lightly from foot to foot made him sway like a snake. “I rather think hubris might.”

“Enough,” Glozier said. “We are done wi–”

“Ah,” Aziraphale took slinking steps forward. “Before you get around to it, you should know that in about thirty seconds, a bomb is going to be dropped right on this building. Shoot us, if you like, but you’ll have to be damned quick if you want to get out alive.”

Glozier snorted. “Very amusing, but we know the bombs will fall on the East end tonight.”

Aziraphale flashed a serpentine grin, his fangs lengthening. “Even odds?” he said, then snapped his fingers.

Above them, something was screaming down from above.

Crowley stared at him. “Oh no, no, no, no! Aziraphale! You didn’t!”

Behind him, the Nazis swore, scrambling up and scrabbling for the books.

Aziraphale’s expression softened as he smiled at him. “Only a little one,” he said. “Although we may need a real miracle to get out of this alive, dear boy.”

“A real…” Crowley’s breath hitched and he closed his eyes, calling on every bit of his power as the bomb struck.

Sirens were wailing again, louder and closer. Somewhere nearby, a panicked child was screaming in terror, and as the dust settled, Crowley uncurled his fingers. His palms were sticky where his nails had dug in, but it had been enough and Aziraphale was standing there, face turned up to the moonlight, sighing with relief.

“Oh, that’s much better.”

Crowley shifted from one foot to the other, rubble rippling under his feet. “You didn’t– I–” His throat felt too tight and he wanted to believe it was the dust making his eyes sting. “You’re being kind to me again.”

The demon looked over at him with a small, quiet smile. “Obviously.” He dusted flecks of ash from his sleeves, then looked around forlornly. “I probably shouldn’t have brought the original books, should I?”

Crowly stared at him. “Oh! Oh, wait!” He turned on the spot, searching around in the rubble, scrambling across it gracelessly. “Ah!” He sprang up victorious, a bundle of perfectly-tied books in one hand, his own book in the other, and beamed at the demon. “The least I could do, since you came all this way for me.”

Aziraphale stared at him, looking more dazed than Crowley had ever seen him before.

Crowley hopped back over the rubble and held out the bundle, then looked down at the book in his other arm. Well, of all the people who would appreciate and take care of the book as it deserved, he could think of no one better. “Would you like this one as well?”

“This one?” Aziraphale echoed, looking down.

Crowley held out the other book to him.

The demon’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s…”

Crowley nodded. “I think you’re the best person to look after it.” He held it out. “I can’t say thank you, but…” He shrugged with a tentative smile. “Please?”

A dazzling beautiful smile lit the demon’s face and he nodded, taking both bundle and book with such reverence that Crowley knew at once he had been forgiven for the mess in the park and that he had made the right choice.

“Do…” He hesitated, then adjusted his hat. “I’ve got a car now. Would you like a lift home?”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft and wondering, “I would be delighted.”

(Post-notes: The book Crowley brought with him is a Medieval grimoire called The Book of Raziel. There are reasons why this is relevant :))

[biinarysttars]

Pride!

Djkfdghd I have more feelings about Pride. Like a Lot more. I should put this under a readmore but I’m going to force everyone to read (or at least scroll past) my thoughts

favorite thing about them: He’s a fantastic antagonist! He was so well built up to, and he was almost a surprise. I remember when I first saw Selim Bradley... well okay I thought he was the Fuhrer’s butch daughter, Celine Bradley. But then after that my next thought was “man I sure hope there’s nothing Up with this kid”, and as I said that I immediately knew that there Was. I might’ve started out as an Envy stan, but I loved Selim the second I saw him & that translates into my feelings of him being a villain. So just. Everything, I guess, is my point

least favorite thing about them: I mean?? I sorta wish that there really was nothing up with that kid. But I’m not that upset about it, all things considered, because then there would be no Pride so!!

favorite line: There are So many. I’ll limit myself to 2 because those are the ones that showed up on the website lmao but here we go:

"Stop this. Stop this. PLEASE STOP!!!"-- His last words. That’s so!!! Compelling to me. The begging, the shame, the desperation. Idk, this is the first we’ve seen him emote through the whole show, and what we see is Pride’s fear.

"Wrath and like do not exist in me. There is no wrath, or lust, or sloth, or greed, or gluttony, or envy, such emotions have fled from my father. My name is Pride."/"I'm not angry. I'm never angry."-- I love this detail? Idk the Pride I RP @pridesshadows​ is absolutely OOC but this is something I’ve paid special attention to. Also! He’s only ever introduced himself, to my knowledge, with the phrase, “My name is Pride.” So. Idk, I love it when there’s Details for me to pay attention to

brOTP: Bold of you to assume Pride could have a friend. That being said I know that IC Envy doesn’t like him that much, but like. On the RP blog I absolutely Love RPing with Envy so that, I guess

OTP: Bold of you to assume Pride could land a S/O!!! I mean. I’d smooch. But also I run the risk of getting killed. So. Y’know, give or take lmao

nOTP: Pride x anyone. Don’t put him near anyone. A canon thing that’s been said is that he doesn’t care about anyone-- he doesn’t think of anyone as anything but as a tool, and the second that tool fails him, he throws it away and gets a new one. Lock Pride in a box. He’s my fave but he deserves to be alone

random headcanon: I have 3 and they’re all vaguely related

His persona as Selim Bradley isn’t entirely fake-- when he was Actually that young, he had a similar innocent and curious nature. This was torn down after a few century’s years of abuse and whatnot

Pride’s main role is to pose as a student and gather information-- keep up with trends and language and things

He likes to cook, even if he doesn’t eat. He just likes to Make Food & then throw it out I guess

unpopular opinion: I really like his ending. I don’t know if this is a “popular” opinion but I once saw someone complain about how he “becomes” Selim Bradley for real at the end, saying that it “redeemed” him. First off. No. Pride died! He’s dead now!! Now it’s Selim Bradley, a Good Boy who cares about birds and does his best and loves his mom!! I went on a whole rant, but ultimately, I love his ending because it’s not his. It’s Mrs Bradley’s. She lost her husband and her son, and she learned the truth about them, and probably wondered what she’d had to begin with!

songs i associate with them: Okay this one is solely about my RP blog dfjkghdf but I have a Playlist that details Pride’s feelings in 5 songs over basically the entire course of the RP “plotline”. It has All Eyes on Me, his feelings when Father left the homunculi and by default, him in charge of the plan; perfect nothing as he tries to fulfill the plan as it steadily slips through his fingers; ‘Cause I’m a Liar from when he starts treating people worse and worse and starts lying to himself about the plan still being a thing; ECHO is his character crisis as he struggles with a “purposeless” existence; and finally, Ghost Rule is him finally admitting to himself that he’s given up. Also!! Evan’s concept comes from For Forever from Dear Evan Hansen, and sometimes I think about their wedding to Voices in My Head from Be More Chill, and also sometimes in the shower I sing a very emotional Requiem again from DEH, and it’s Pride’s Feelings about everything he’s done

favorite picture of them:

I did it really quick so it’s kinda bad but fgdhjkgh please Enjoy

[smckinggun]

alright! chapter 1 of a jean/gracia drabble!

It has all started with a wedding. The wedding of Roy and Riza. Once the news got out, the entirety of the Mustang team paid each other their bets and had a laugh about how long they knew. The ceremony was all it could ever be. A very formal Military affair. All the en and women, excluding the bride, who were part o the Amestrian Military, all wore their formal uniforms. Riza wore a fairly simple, yet beautiful gown that complimented her.

Jean Havoc being one of the men in question. The most emotional moment of the entire ceremony was beforehand, when Roy had requested he stand in for Hughes as best man. There was a joke to break the tension from the taller blond. “What, I wasn’t your first choice?” A laugh was shared before he responded with how honoured he would be to take up such an important role. The respect he held for Roy, even after all they had been through, was still as strong as when he first agreed with his goals.

Up amoungst the other groomsmen, Jean found himself feeling nervous, almost as though he didn’t quite belong in the place he stood. It was not meant for him, he kept repeating mentally. It was meant for the new Fuhrer’s late best friend. A man he couldn’t even seem to hold a candle to. Yet there he stood, for all to see, watching his ever stubborn commanding officer finally get married.

After the “I do”s, they left for the dinner and reception. At the dinner, Jean had prepared a speech, as was his duty to the bride and groom. He shared their highs and lows, their laughs and sorrows. He finally rose his glass, a toast to the bride and groom, and added, just before people could put the glass to their lips, a toast for the man who gave it all for Roy to be at the top. A couple tears were shed at the mention of Hughes, but was held well. Though his heart was in his head as Jean sat back down, Roy assured him that it was greatly appreciated.

Then the dancing and alcohol. Also known as, the only time Jean was actually allowed to light up a smoke. He had placed himself down after dancing with Riza’s Maid of Honour, Rebecca. He was already sore from the dancing, leaning the cane he required on the table he sat at. The creak of the chair sounded the signal of him not moving for a while.

Tired eyes scanned the dance floor as it became free for others to dance on. He watched as Roy and Riza across the room spoke to one another. God only knew what they were talking about. Rebecca came back over to ask if he would dance again that night, but Jean declined, complaining of his back and legs. She lightly teased him about it before quipping a small “Suit yourself” and dancing off.

“You’re goign to set the table cloth on fire if you fall asleep like that, dear.” A sweet voice chimed Jean from a short nap he hadn’t realized he had taken. He realized the cigarette was dangling from his lips, nearly ready to fall onto the table cloth, before he plucked it from his mouth and raised it toward the source of the voice in a halfhearted “Thanks”.

However, the source of the voice was one he’d never quite heard before. She was quite pretty, young looking, and yet, mature in her body language. She looked like a mom. She had also made a motion, asking to sit, to which Jean waved his arm with a nod, allowing her to take the empty seat as he snuffed out the cigarette butt.

“I loved your speech.” She spoke so softly, Jean hadn’t caught what she said over the music and dancing. “What was that?” “I loved your speech, at dinner!” Her voice almost strained to go louder than it could.

“Ah, yeah. Thanks. Took a while to get right. Wasn’t sure what I should’ve gone with but I’m glad other people liked it.” A halfhearted grin made its way to his features. In that moment, he felt a smaller, softer hand place itself atop his own. “I also liked your toast to Maes. Thank you for that.” The look in her eyes was one of gratefulness and grief, two emotions Jean wasn’t even aware could be conveyed together. Were they close? “Uh, yeah. It only felt right. Roy originally wanted him for his best man. Return the favour, I guess. I didn’t want to screw that responsibility up, not on his special day.” The sincerity in Jeans tone made her tired smile widen. It almost saddened him to see it on such a gentle face. The loose grip her hand held on his own tightened. It almost  looked as though she were about to cry, an iconic shine in her eyes that only happened when tears sat on the brink.

“Hey- hey! What’s wrong? You okay, miss?” His spare hand moved to catch the tear as it fell from her eye. Shock took her features. She must have not expected to cry, as her own spare hand went up to wipe the tears away herself, causing Jean to retreat his. “I... I apologize. I’m alright. Oh dear, I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Gracia.” Suddenly, the tired smile seemed to fade slightly, revealing a semi-genuine one. One that was sweet and seemed to tug at the worn out strings in Jeans heart. That was when the fluttering began in his gut.

“Wait, Gracia, as in, Gracia Hughes?” She had come over to thank him about the speech and toast to her late husband. It had been years, and Jean had never even met her at all in that time. It seemed like a crime for him to have not met her before. Suddenly, a lot of things about her began to make sense, her motherly nature and kind heart. No wonder he married her in the first place. The look on his face as he made the connections, caught her attention as she spoke up again. “I’ve... started going by my maiden name again, actually. It’s been quite a while. Calling myself a lonely widow was becoming an environment I didn’t want Elicia to grow up in. I want her to be happy, to home to a mommy and a daddy... even if her daddy is gone.” Gracia’s body language and expression bore such genuine weight that Jean could feel it across the table. It had been a process on everyone, including her. He had to wonder when she had decided to try and move forward in such a way. “Ah, sorry about that. I’ve never properly met you before. You can probably blame Roy. I’m Jean Havoc.” He kept the hand that was beneath hers motionless, for fear she would take it away the second he brought any kind of attention to it. If anything, he wanted to roll his hand over to take hers in his. Hold it for comfort.

Suddenly, the smile, that million cenz smile with a thousand different emotions hidden behind it, grew soft at the mention of his name. It made Jean’s heart feel light, reminding him to breathe. She repeated it, just to hear it on her own lips. “Jean. A lovely name. I believe Roy has mentioned you in passing. You and,” she chuckled and it sounded heavenly to Jean’s ears. “Mrs. Mustang, are the marksmen of the team, right?” It was odd having her know such information, though it shouldn’t have been too uncommon. He’d jab Roy in the side about it later. Possibly after all is said and done with the wedding. Though he gave a nod, moving a hand to the back of his neck. “Yeah, that we are. Out of everyone on the team, she’s got the best aim. She’s the hawk’s eye, ain’t nothing gonna change that or take it from her.” A cheeky grin as he spoke, reminiscing about their training in the shooting range, friendly competitions of who could bullseye the furthest target. He was naturally a close second and took it in stride. “That’s good to hear. At least we know she always has his back now.” Her gaze moved to that of the newlyweds, giving a wave to Elicia who was sat upon Roy’s knee.

In a way to bring the conversation back to her, Jean cleared his throat, slightly adjusting his position in the hard wooden chair. Hard to be the least bit comfortable in such a thing with a bad back. “So, how’s Elicia been doing in school? We don’t get nearly as much updates anymore.” Shit, the thought afterward. Probably shouldn’t have said that. Surprisingly, Gracia merely turned her attention back to him, a motherly appearance to her smile. “She’s doing very well, actually. She seems to be struggling a bit with math but I’ve been tutoring her as much as I can. I’ve had to start working, as the military pension isn’t enough anymore.” Jean had completely forgotten about the compensation given to the family of a deceased war veteran. He knew it would get Elicia through college, but not how it really lasted for the home. He found that his hand from beneath hers had finally rolled over to take her hand into his own. To his surprise, she never retreated it back, instead, holding his hand in return. “What are you working as? Are you struggling at all between work and home?” Jean knew of the struggles vaguely. He could only imagine a sole caretaker providing as well as being there for her daughter. He wanted to help, not just because of the position bestowed upon him, but out of concern for both Gracia and Elicia.

“It’s alright, Jean, honestly. You don’t need to concern yourself with us. You do what you do best, alright?” The way she spoke, like a mother telling her child there wasn’t anything wrong after having cried prior to the child walking out. Don’t concern yourself. How could he not? She actively sought him out in the first place to thank him, taking a seat and not immediately leaving after giving her thanks. “Please, I’d like to help you, in any way I can. As a friend, if that’s okay.” Such a bold assumption, considering they had only met that evening. Though she seemed shocked at first, she gave a chuckle before it turned into a laugh. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, but it was such a graceful laugh. One he’d never experienced before.

“Alright, I accept. However, that means we’ll need to be on a friendlier basis. I’ll give you my address and you can come over or lunch. Does Thursday next week work for you, Jean?”

He couldn’t believe it. The wording she chose, it almost sounded like she was asking him out on a date. He would have gladly accepted either way. Though he tried to assume a date was not what she meant. It was with friendly intentions. Of course it wasn’t a date. “Yeah, that works perfectly! Thank you for allowing me to help you, Gracia.” Though he himself was unsure of the extent he really could help, he was going to do anything she asked of him. He had also moved his other hand on top of hers, giving it a light squeeze before letting it go completely, allowing her to have it back. “And I’ll give you the house phone so you can call if something comes up, alright?” Gracia slowly slid her hand back to her side of the table, reaching into her hand bag and pulling out a small note pad and pen. Mom’s really are prepared for any situation. She wrote, quickly and in neat handwriting, her address and phone number, and ripped the page out, hanging it to Jean with a pleasant smile. “I’ll leave you be for the evening if you’re busy. I have to get Elicia from her Uncle Roy before he spoils her too much. And don’t be a stranger. You can drop by before then if you want.” She stood from her seat, and with a nod of her head, spun on her heel and was off to retrieve her daughter.

Jean gave a small wave to her before looking at the page before him. A small message was also written onto it along side the other information. “Be sure to call and stop by often” with a small heart beside it. That alone made the fluttering in his gut worse. It was there every time she smile, every gentle word she spoke. Fuck. He was in deep.

[writinganiki]

Greed x Reader 3

Ling’s eyes lit up when you accepted his lunch date proposal, though at the time the word ‘date’ never even came close to crossing your mind. “I know just the place, best street food in Dublith, trust me!” He excitedly started walking off, turning around to make sure you were following and closed his eyes with a big grin when he noticed you were. “I’m sorry again about last night,” he said slowing his pace a little to match yours, “I guess the best way to put it is that I wasn’t really myself.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little, you could tell that Ling was being really sincere and the guy definitely had a certain sweetness and charm that was completely absent the night before. “Don’t worry about it I guess,” the response came a little quietly, almost automatically ,before you had even considered your answer, “Alcohol can do crazy things to people.” You were following right behind Ling at this point, his steps seemed light and quiet, almost like someone who’s had to hide or do some sneaking in his past. It wasn’t something uncommon for you to recognize around here, Dublith had it’s share of thieves and pickpockets and it was always good to keep an eye out on busy days in the market. The two of you continued far into the marketplace, past the areas you normally did your shopping and over towards the textile and fabric district. “Are there really food stands over here that are good? Usually I just eat at one of the vendors towards the center where there’s a big selection.”

Ling waved his hand gently, “No no, there’s far too much competition and focus on presentation and show to attract customers over there, the real talent is always hidden away.” He led you up to a little makeshift stand built from some old wood with a wavy tin roof, the kind you’d see on top of sheds, the smell of fresh meat wafted towards you, carried on a grill’s smoke. Running the stand was an older couple, hunched over and wrinkled with age and experience. The woman stood at the counter, smiling at passerbys and adjusting their displays while her husband was manning the grill and large soup pot behind her. Ling greeted them with a wave and a smile, “Afternoon Grammy! How are you this afternoon?”

The old woman perked up, “Oh Ling, dear so good of you to drop by, and you brought a friend!” She greeted him with a familiarity, almost as though they had known each other for years and years.

“Yup!” Ling responded with a small laugh, “This one here’s been around a while but has never eaten at a stand outside of the center hub! I had to show her what real food tastes like.” As he spoke, Ling bent over to examine various sweets and cakes on display at the front counter. “These from your batch?” He lowered his voice, “Your sweets are always better than Gramps’.”

The old woman winked in affirmation, “You’re just in time too deary, Granpa Colm just threw down some pork skewers a moment ago.”

Ling turned back to you, “Is pork okay with you?”

“Huh?” You snapped to attention. Listening to the friendly banter between the man and the old woman, you had started to zone out, relaxed by the comfortable atmosphere of the little stall. “Yeah, it smells great, I’d love some!”

“Great, we’ll take a pound cake too, can’t say no to taking some sweets, you know how greedy I get for sugar.” Ling and the old woman giggled and you found yourself joining in a bit as well. You weren’t quite sure why, but his cheerfulness was infectious.

The two of you received your food, Ling paying for the order, before walking off. “Why don’t we find a place to sit down and eat for a second?” You proposed.

“What about your errands.”

You smiled a little, “I think I can be a little patient, besides this smells amazing.” You made your way over to a bench resting against a nearby building’s storefront, sitting down to enjoy your meal. “I guess I should say sorry for being a little cold last night, too.” You took another bite off the skewer. The meat was seasoned with a little spice and what you thought was a hint of salt and lime, it was leagues better than any other street food you’ve tried. “I was kinda grumpy after a rough day at work.”

Ling waved his hand dismissively, “I was the one out of line. You said you were an automail mechanic right? That’s a tough job, requires both brains and brawn, I’m impressed.”

You couldn’t help but smile as your face tinted the slightest pink, “It just felt like the right job for me, I’ve always liked tinkering with stuff and had an interest in science but couldn’t get the hang of alchemy. Plus I want to stay as far away from the military as possible.”

“I understand that sentiment, before Fuhrer Mustang took over there wasn’t much love for the military and even still it’s not for everyone.”

“Yeah,” you looked down at your food, “I lost my mom in the Ishval conflict, and dad was gone long before then. I know now that the military itself isn’t bad, that it was just the people behind it, but I still don’t like conflict.” You paused a moment, collecting yourself, “I’m sorry that was really personal and out of nowhere.”

Ling looked over at you with a warm smile, putting a hand on your shoulder and giving it a small pat, “Everyone’s been through rough things, no need to feel ashamed of wanting to talk about your experiences. Wisdom is an important thing horde.”

Looking up, you met his eyes, “Yeah, you’re right.” His words were incredibly warm and comforting. The tone in his voice gave way that he spoke from experience, and his eyes looked much older than the rest of him.

You had finished the meat, tossing the skewer into the trash that sat nearby when Ling reached into his pouch and pulled out the pound cake, unwrapping I and splitting it in half before handing some to you. “Here, sweets are always good for the heart.”

“Isn’t that yours though, Mr. Greedy?” You couldn’t help but tease and giggle back, completely engrossed in your moment alone with the new stranger.

“Yeah, but sometimes you have to give up something to get something even better.” He placed the half of the cake in your hand before placing his hands on his lap and standing up. “It was nice spending time with you, but I don’t want to intrude on your day any longer, but I hope a made up for everything.”

“You definitely did Ling,” the answer came after a split second, almost holding back the question of if he had to leave so soon. “Thank you.”

He smiled again, that same warm smile that was so completely different than the previous night and started to walk off. “Oh!” He called back, having started to take a few steps. “I never caught your name.” You called it out to him with a pep in your voice and he nodded, “It’s a nice name, I’ll definitely remember it. See ya around.” And with that farewell he made his way around the corner and out of sight.

[bleedingcoffee42]

Request- Dinner with Bradleys

“Dinner at the Fuhrer’s house....damn.”  Maes Hughes sat back in his office chair and put his feet up on his desk as he watched Roy pace back and forth on the green rug in front of him.   

“I know...what the fuck?”  Roy said and ran his hand through his hair.  He had almost run into Mrs. Bradley in the hall and in the exchange of apologies and introductions she had somehow managed to invite him to dinner to make it up to him.   He was trying to excuse himself from that potential awkward engagement but the Fuhrer himself walked up and insisted.   Now he was going to be a guest at dinner tonight and he was confident in his ability to handle it, but also overwhelmed by the prospect.  

“Selim Bradley has some fascination with alchemy now.”  Hughes said and put his hands behind his head to think about the implications of all this.   It’s not like the officers in Central could hate Roy more than they did and it wouldn’t be a bad stepping stone to Central if he could make a good impression with the Fuhrer’s family.  “So, maybe he wants lessons?”

“What?”  Roy asked.   “I’m not a teacher.”

“Then maybe the Bradley’s are looking to spice up their love life with a...guest?”  Maes said and Roy stopped in his tracks and looked at him appalled.  He laughed.  

“Maes...”

“Roy, you would not believe some of the weird shit I have to investigate around here.   The Top Brass is into some kinky stuff and some of it I’m surprised there is a name for.”

“I know.  My Mom built a business around that...demand.”  Roy said and shook his head.  “Stop trying to fluster me.”

“I am trying to distract you.”  Maes leaned back in his chair and swiveled a little.  “Just go to dinner.  I can’t believe you went through this much trouble to get out of Elicia’s recital.   Good thing I’ll take pictures and we can have a slide show when you get home tonight.”

Roy kinda felt a little bad about that.  He did coach Elicia on her singing....well maybe not so much coach as steal her microphone and sing duets with Maes in their living room.  The recital however, sounded like a live action “Shirley Temple Infomercial” and he wasn’t too upset about not going.   “What do I wear?”

“Pants.”  Maes said.  

“Asshole, you know I meant uniform?  Dress or regular?”  Roy could see him smile, god why was he having fun at his expense.  Bastard was supposed to be helping him to the top!

“Normal.   Don’t make it weird.”  Maes said and then eyed his mess head of hair.  “Don’t slick it back either, that makes you look like you’re trying too hard.  Bring a pie.....or melon!  The Fuhrer loves melon!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

“This melon is delicious!!”   The Fuhrer’s face glowed with excitement.  “You say it’s a hybrid variety?”

“Yes, sir.”  Roy said and cut into his perfectly cooked stake as Selim Bradley sat next to him and tried to hide vegetables under a pile of fat in the corner of his own plate.   Fuhrer Bradley had yet to take a bite of his dinner, still fussing over the novelty of random melon he picked up in the market district on the way over.  

“We must plant this.”  Bradley beamed.  “It’s a delight!”

“Honey, eat your dinner!”  Mrs. Bradley chided and rubbed her husband’s hand affectionately.  “Colonel, I am so glad you joined us!  Selim really enjoyed your basic alchemy lesson, but clearly didn’t comprehend that part about ‘matter not being created or destroyed’ since he’s trying to hide his veggies instead of eat them.”

Selim huffed and reluctantly started to eat the hidden vegetables.  

“You’re so good with kids, are you planning to have some?”  Mrs. Bradley asked.

Roy almost laughed, then realized she was serious.   He was awful with kids! He only started talking with Selim about alchemy because he kept going on and on about Fullmetal and wanting to be like him when he grew up.  He cleared his throat but before he could answer, the Fuhrer answered for him.

“The good Colonel isn’t married yet, dear.”  Bradley said with a smile.   “Which is a shame because I think my staff would be more serious about his requests to transfer to Central command if he showed some maturity and settled down.”

What...what? Roy stopped chewing and stared at Bradley. He winked at him.  That weird old person with one eye wink that said, ‘I wouldn’t be winking if I wasn’t trying to drop a hint because it’s weird when I only have one eye’.  

“Oh.”  Mrs. Bradley said and then focused on Mustang.  “Have you not met the right girl?”

Before he could answer Bradley spoke again.  Clearly he was not going to be able to say anything here and he heard Selim mutter something about ‘at least it’s not me’.  

“Clearly you have a problem just settling on one.”  The Fuhrer took a bite of melon and grinned.  “I hear your reputation is well earned.”

“Oh Colonel, tell me you’re not one of those types.   You seem so nice.”  Mrs. Bradley said.  “I was hoping you’d be a role model for Selim but if you’re...well let’s just say it’s a bad example to set.  Especially when you are mentoring a nice young man like Edward Elric.”

“Your personal life reflects your attitude towards your professional life.”  The Fuhrer said.  “A man who let’s a reputation like that develop, clearly doesn’t need to be tarnishing the upper echelon of my staff.   I thought with you being such an esteemed alchemist your dedication would be through and through...”

This was taking some weird turns.   What the hell?   Roy finally put his fork down and said in the most sincere voice, “I give you my word Fuhrer, that my reputation is simply an exaggeration.  I...date a lot to find the right girl to settle down with.   Perhaps I would have better luck in Central?”

Bradley laughed.   He appreciated the way the man turned that right around.  “Well, I am happy to hear that.”

“I know some wonderful single ladies, Colonel.  Probably all a little young for you though.”  Mrs. Bradley said.   “And the others way too old.”

He was too young, now too old?  There was no winning here.  Roy was now focused on proving himself a suitable candidate for promotion or transfer and apparently that meant proving himself husband material.  Fine.   Rich old people did odd things at dinner.   “Of course I trust your judgement, Mrs. Bradley.”

“So you do want to get married?” Mrs, Bradley asked.   “Have kids?”

He would have agreed to anything to get out of this weird conversation and onto a topic like why there was ranch dressing in the quiche.  Roy gave her a dazzling grin, his most handsome and attractive grin sure to win over anyone.  “Absolutely.  Unfortunately it’s something that eludes me.  I work long hours and it’s difficult to meet people.  Dating has been more of a set-up by friends these days, hence all the girls I end up seeing.”

“What about the Armstrongs?”  Mrs. Bradley asked her husband.  “So many girls, none married.”

“Olivier has shot me down and Catherine is a little young for me.”  Roy said.  He couldn’t remember any of the other girls names.  

“Oh.”  Mrs. Bradley then said.  “What About Miss Douglas, my husband’s secretary?”

Roy had seen the woman and although she was OK looking she reminded him way too much of Ed and Al’s Mom.   Dead Mom was a bit of a turn off.   “Not sure we have much in common?”

“How about that bodyguard of yours?”  Fuhrer Bradley asked.  “Hawkeye?”

Now the feeling of weird was replaced with dread.  He could feel that eye on him.  “She works for me and I wouldn’t dream of fraternization...”

“And if she didn’t work for you?” Mrs. Bradley asked seeing a weakness and pouncing.  “You would consider it?”

“I mean....Hawkeye is just a subordinate.  I never thought of her like that.” Roy lied.  God he could feel Mrs. Bradley just locking on and targeting him now. 

“Someone who works that close to you, you have to get along...right?” Mrs. Bradley asked.   “That’s what marriage is about!  Partnership and respect. Perhaps you’re missing what is right under your nose!”

“Lieutenant Hawkeye has refused promotion in order to stay your bodyguard.”  The Fuhrer said.  “Repeatedly.”

“Clearly she thinks very highly of you?”  Mrs. Bradley smiled.  “If she accepted one of those promotions than you would be free to explore that!   My Husband needs a new bodyguard.  We lost one in that attack the other day when that man broke in our house and attacked him.”

Woah...wait...what?!?  Roy’s eyes darted to Bradley.  He was trying to take Hawkeye away? ”Sir, are you taking my bodyguard?”

“Well, think of it as giving you both an opportunity for advancement.”  The Fuhrer smiled.  “If you can prove yourself serious and mature enough for a stable relationship than maybe you can also find yourself a transfer to Central. Basque Grand’s office is still vacant, I would love to find a capable individual to fill that position but I need someone with....more at stake than just his career.  I want a man who is dedicated to the military and to the future of Amestris.  You don’t quite get that perspective unless you settle down and want a better world for your kid.”

Selim smiled at the stunned Colonel and with his other hand pushed his vegetables off the plate and into his napkin.   

[sweatersexual]

1983

Winry and her granddaughter come out to each other. Characters include Ed, Winry, and two OCs. Past WinPan.

As a kid I remember hopping out of the car the minute we pulled up to Grandma's house, tearing up the dirt path all the way to the doorstep. This is the first time I've ever been hesitant to open the car door.

Saundra squeezes my shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “You always make it okay.” I peck her on the lips, though I still have butterflies in my stomach. I can't remember the last time I felt this nervous. I've never brought anyone to meet my grandparents, and I have no idea what they'll make of my having a girlfriend.

We both climb out of the car, and my grandmother steps out on the front porch to meet us.

“Jeanine! You look so beautiful!” She hugs me and asks, “Who've you brought with you?”

“Grandma, this is Saundra.”

She takes a step away from me and shakes Saundra’s outstretched hand. “It's nice to meet you, dear.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Elric,” Saundra says in her politest voice.

She invites us in for sandwiches and asks about school, which is going fine. So is my internship. She and Grandpa don't really understand the field I'm going into, but she's interested in what I have to say about it all the same.

I'm quick to turn the conversation to Saundra, though, because she's an engineer. She's surprised to know how up to date Grandma is on all the latest research.

“My granny worked every day of her life, and so will I. And my husband and I think that if you're not learning every day, you might as well be dead.” The front door opens, and she says, “Speak of the devil.”

“Sorry I'm late,” Grandpa says. “High school research reports are coming up, and of course they left their books stacked open on top of each other, you’d think they were hired to murder the bindings.”

The Risembool Public Library is Grandpa’s baby. When Risembool became a more established city, he advocated for its creation. Forty years later, he’s still running it.

“Well,” says Grandma, “book mercenaries aside, Jeanine’s here.”

I get up to give him a hug. “It’s so good to see you,” he tells me.

“Good to see you, too, Grandpa.”

He asks, “Who’s your friend?”

Saundra smiles uncomfortably at being called my friend, and I smile back reassuringly. I will set my grandparents straight on what exactly our relationship is . . . once Grandpa gets to know Saundra a bit more.

I tell him, “This is Saundra.”

“She’s an engineer,” Grandma adds.

“Oh no,” says Grandpa. “Poor Jeanine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grandma says testily.

“She’s probably been sitting here for the past half hour, bored to death, while you’re talking shop with Saundra. Good thing I came home to save her.”

Grandma hits him playfully. I say, “It’s never boring listening to Grandma.”

Grandma smiles. “No need to kiss up to me, Jeanine. You already won the award for favorite grandchild.”

“I have to defend my title.”

“So Saundra,” says Grandpa as he sits down with his sandwich, “tell us more about yourself. How does Jeanine know you?”

“I grew up in East City, and I met Jeanine at school.”

“What part of East?”

“By the fire station that used to be an army base.”

Grandpa nods. “It was smart of the city to convert it. That way it actually became useful.”

Saundra seems a little surprised by Grandpa’s politics. “Jeanine said you were a vet.”

“So I have enough experience to know our military hurt more than it helped. Still is hurting, if I’m being honest. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mustang had the old stomping grounds converted in order to hide something. He was always lousy with secret plans.”

Saundra asks, “You knew Fuhrer President Mustang?”

“He was my commanding officer and a major pain in my ass, pardon the language.”

“That’s Ed’s way of saying he misses him,” says Grandma.

“Nonsense. I said that plenty of times when he was alive. To his face, even.”

“They were close.”

“I was close to punching him in the face.”

“May he rest in peace.”

“I’d pay good money to see that.”

Saundra gives me a look that says, Is your grandpa for real? I smile and give a little shrug back.

We start talking about all the other ways East City has changed over the years. Which are the “good” and “bad” parts of town, what the popular restaurants are, the coffee shop chain that’s popping up all over the place.

“Jeanine and I like the local-run place by our apartment best,” Saundra says. “We go there all the time.”

“I didn’t know you two were roommates,” says Grandma.

Saundra looks at me, and I take a deep breath. “Actually, roommates isn’t the best way to put it,” I say. “Saundra’s my girlfriend.”

“That’s great!” says Grandma. “Congratulations!”

“That's nice,” says Grandpa. “Real nice.”

Grandma elbows him. “Ed! Is that all you have to say?”

“What else am I supposed to say?”

“Congratulate them!”

“You already did!”

“She wants to hear it from you! She wants to know you approve!”

“If I approve?” Grandpa’s eyebrows rise, and probably his blood pressure as well. He turns to me and says, “Jeanine, you're a grown woman. You don't need approval from some old fogey like me. Your grandma may call me obtuse, but I can read in between the lines. You've been nervous about introducing us to this Saundra, who seems great to me, but even if I didn't like her I'd support you one hundred percent. Or at least eighty-five percent, if she really seemed terrible.”

“Ed!”

“Kidding! I'm kidding!” Once Grandma seems placated, he continues, “But really, Jeanine. You've been acting like you’re scared of what we might think, and frankly I find that insulting. I thought you trusted us better than that.”

“Grandpa, it's not that I don't trust you . . .”

“We just didn’t know whether you’d be comfortable with the idea of two girls being together,” Saundra says.

Grandma and Grandpa share a look. Grandma says, “We must not be doing our job right if you think we might not accept you or anyone you love. We should have made it clear that we’re more than comfortable with two people of any gender loving each other. Did your mother never tell you about me and Paninya?”

“Your friend from Rush Valley? What about h- ohhh. You were together?”

Grandma looks a little wistful. “She was my first kiss. And she was a wonderful girlfriend, though it didn't last.”

“What happened?”

“We were teenagers. You know how young people can go through relationships. We both moved on, but stayed close friends.”

“Wow,” I say. “I can't believe I didn't know you had a lesbian phase.”

Grandma's smile freezes in place. “It wasn't a phase. I'm attracted to both women and men. The fact that I chose to spend my life with your grandfather doesn't change that.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean . . .”

“I know you didn't, sweetie,” says Grandma. “A lot of people get confused. But it's a lot simpler than they think.”

“Yeah,” I say, and turn to look at Saundra. I remember our first kiss, the time we spent in the alcove together, and how well our hands fit together. She takes my hand, and it becomes more than a memory. “It really is.”

[rivier]

Potoooooooo

I’m procrastin8ing on the fic front, very slightly.  Next part is Yeovil, which is mostly there in my head (role-play, cruel vegetarianism and, of course, How Poor Mrs Glott Was Done Away With).  But even though it should be a shortish chapter, I’m thinking it’s a very slightly er, un-thrilling one compared to the one after, which will be Oxford (fun, mayhem, betrayal, attempted murder, drugged groping, possible murder (definitely a corpse, and given who’s wielding the knife can there be any doubt?), FUN!) 

So I’m sort of shying away from the first fence a bit, by reading everyone else’s writing prompts and looking at fan art (THANK YOU GUYS THANK YO SO MUCH I’M TRLY SORRY I’M SHIT AT FEEDBACK) and studiously not looking for any more pictures of Herr Künstler*.  

So m, would anybody like to poke me wth an SS-GB fic prompt, please? Anything short and sweet I can pt a fragment together for - line of lyric, photograph, a sensory sensation (smell touch etc)....?  Something very random, but not space aliens or barista!AUs, please.  And no death - I want to think about light, frothy, harmless things... you know, set in our beloved Nazi-infested beaten-Britain** AU of rationing and cruelty, her har. 

* don’t you just love the way if you’re an English speaker with (like me) a mental age of 5, so many perfectly innocent German words sound like out-takes from Carry On Right Up Your Fuhrer?  “Oh, you enormous Künstler, Lars.” “Hey, what’s that funny smell, is there an Ausfahrt near here?” “I’m so hungry I could suck on a Knoblauch...”

**or anywhere really, just broadly contemporary to canon, because I’m boring***.

*** Selling this well, aren’t I!  Any takers?

ETA - is it really humid & sweltering in Blighty right now or is that just geriatric ole me?  I feel permanently overheated and listless all damn day and night long & it’s been days.  Weather reports don’t seem to be pitching their usual fit about how it’s an insane heatwave & we’re all dropping like flies, so maybe it isn’t? Thermometer on my bedroom tower fan thingy says 23, 24, 25 but I honestly can’t remember if that’s tolerable / normal for the UK this time of year or not.  I am working from home this week, so sitting hunched over two sweaty little computers doesn’t help, also no office colleagues I can compare menopausal jokes with to find out if it Really Is Just Me, Dear.

If it isn’t me, I wish it would piss off & go back to being a normal spring.  If it is me, ignore the last 2 paras please. Crank, CRANK!

[hellyeahgeorgeorwell]

Letter Explaining Why Orwell Wrote 1984

To Noel Willmett

18 May 1944 10a Mortimer Crescent NW 6

Dear Mr Willmett,

Many thanks for your letter. You ask whether totalitarianism, leader-worship etc. are really on the up-grade and instance the fact that they are not apparently growing in this country and the USA.

I must say I believe, or fear, that taking the world as a whole these things are on the increase. Hitler, no doubt, will soon disappear, but only at the expense of strengthening (a) Stalin, (b) the Anglo-American millionaires and (c) all sorts of petty fuhrers° of the type of de Gaulle. All the national movements everywhere, even those that originate in resistance to German domination, seem to take non-democratic forms, to group themselves round some superhuman fuhrer (Hitler, Stalin, Salazar, Franco, Gandhi, De Valera are all varying examples) and to adopt the theory that the end justifies the means. Everywhere the world movement seems to be in the direction of centralised economies which can be made to ‘work’ in an economic sense but which are not democratically organised and which tend to establish a caste system. With this go the horrors of emotional nationalism and a tendency to disbelieve in the existence of objective truth because all the facts have to fit in with the words and prophecies of some infallible fuhrer. Already history has in a sense ceased to exist, ie. there is no such thing as a history of our own times which could be universally accepted, and the exact sciences are endangered as soon as military necessity ceases to keep people up to the mark. Hitler can say that the Jews started the war, and if he survives that will become official history. He can’t say that two and two are five, because for the purposes of, say, ballistics they have to make four. But if the sort of world that I am afraid of arrives, a world of two or three great superstates which are unable to conquer one another, two and two could become five if the fuhrer wished it.1 That, so far as I can see, is the direction in which we are actually moving, though, of course, the process is reversible.

As to the comparative immunity of Britain and the USA. Whatever the pacifists etc. may say, we have not gone totalitarian yet and this is a very hopeful symptom. I believe very deeply, as I explained in my book The Lion and the Unicorn, in the English people and in their capacity to centralise their economy without destroying freedom in doing so. But one must remember that Britain and the USA haven’t been really tried, they haven’t known defeat or severe suffering, and there are some bad symptoms to balance the good ones. To begin with there is the general indifference to the decay of democracy. Do you realise, for instance, that no one in England under 26 now has a vote and that so far as one can see the great mass of people of that age don’t give a damn for this? Secondly there is the fact that the intellectuals are more totalitarian in outlook than the common people. On the whole the English intelligentsia have opposed Hitler, but only at the price of accepting Stalin. Most of them are perfectly ready for dictatorial methods, secret police, systematic falsification of history2 etc. so long as they feel that it is on ‘our’ side. Indeed the statement that we haven’t a Fascist movement in England largely means that the young, at this moment, look for their fuhrer elsewhere. One can’t be sure that that won’t change, nor can one be sure that the common people won’t think ten years hence as the intellectuals do now. I hope 3 they won’t, I even trust they won’t, but if so it will be at the cost of a struggle. If one simply proclaims that all is for the best and doesn’t point to the sinister symptoms, one is merely helping to bring totalitarianism nearer.

You also ask, if I think the world tendency is towards Fascism, why do I support the war. It is a choice of evils—I fancy nearly every war is that. I know enough of British imperialism not to like it, but I would support it against Nazism or Japanese imperialism, as the lesser evil. Similarly I would support the USSR against Germany because I think the USSR cannot altogether escape its past and retains enough of the original ideas of the Revolution to make it a more hopeful phenomenon than Nazi Germany. I think, and have thought ever since the war began, in 1936 or thereabouts, that our cause is the better, but we have to keep on making it the better, which involves constant criticism.

Yours sincerely, Geo. Orwell

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 10

Time to watch Brotherhood, the charming show where absolutely nothing bad is going to happen this episode, right?

Right?!

Starting off with [EXPLOSIONS], looks like a flashback to the Ishvalan Civil War/Genocide, troops in blue running and falling as they charge Ishvalans in a ruined town. Up until there’s a snap of fingers, and the screen turns red. And out of the smoke comes Roy, thinking about how he’ll do everything he can to protect the people he loves.

Jeez. This show’s not pulling any punches when it comes to the reality of war, is it?

In the aftermath of the attack, Roy’s explaining this philosophy of protection to Hughes, who likens it to a pyramid scheme. And the only one who really profits from such a scheme is the one at the top of the pyramid. Hey, Fuhrer! How’s the weather up there?

Roy continues to be incredibly unsubtle about his goal of becoming Fuhrer, Hughes jokes that it’ll at least be fun to watch. And maybe his “naive idealism” can do some good? But as easygoing as Bradley generally acts (this is the guy who easily cut down Mr. Freeze, moves at Homura speeds, and ordered a freaking genocide), I don’t think he’s just gonna step aside if Roy asks nicely.

Back to the present, seems Roy was remembering this as a dream, taking a nap in his office. Not much time for sleep, with all the preparation for the Central transfer.

Episode 10 - “Separate Destinations”

Well, that music’s not ominous at all!

In the hospital Ed’s recounting what happened in the Lab, complete with illustrations. Armstrong and Hughes are discussing the ouroboros tattoos and TC, and all the other mysteries surrounding the case. Of course, any answers they might have gotten are now under a ton of rubble.

...Is that really such an issue? I mean, a good portion of the cast are matter manipulators, can’t Armstrong just punch the boulders out of the way?

Hey! Stop eavesdropping, Brosh!

Ross is smart enough to not sneak a listen on her superior officers. And ooooh dear, it’s the big cheese himself.

Bradley says he’s stopped by for an informal visit. Heard that Ed was injured, thought a nice melon might cheer him up. Um. Ok?

Uh oh. Bradley picked up that Armstrong has been “checking up” on some of the senior staff. And he’s frowning now. Um.

“And now you… my revered Fullmetal Alchemist…” holy crud his voice went all gravely

“Tell me what you know about the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“And I hope for your sake… that you don’t know too much.”

This is bad this is really bad the Goths were bad enough but if the Government really was running that Lab then these guys just trashed a project of Bradley crap crap crap

Wait, what?

“Ha ha ha! I’m only kidding! There’s no reason for you to be so uptight!”

Hold up, what the hell was that all about?

Bradley’s saying that he knows there’s been some suspicious activity in the military lately, and something “needs to be done about it.”

...I’m still mostly convinced that you’re up to something, Bradley. But I’m not sure what.

Ooh, seems all the researchers assigned to officially study the Philosopher’s Stone have been going missing. Goth’s covering their tracks? And Bradley shows elements of being a spymaster, even with his informants he doesn’t know how much the Military’s been infiltrated, beyond “they know a lot about us.”

Now, a direct order from the Fuhrer; “To forget this matter and all that it concerns.” Since the best defense against spying is discretion, they need to keep this to themselves… up until Bradley thinks the time is right to confront them directly.

Hmm. I’m getting elements of conflicting plans here. The Goths are up to some evil involving Ed as a “sacrifice”, the leader of a genocidal government that was researching/making Philosophers’ Stones… There’s something going on here, I just can’t quite pin it down yet. Need more info.

Then all this plotting is interrupted by Bradley going out a window to escape his bodyguard. Still not seeing the Fuhrer in the best light, but you can’t deny that the character Bradley is a riot.

Winry stops by with some train tickets for Ed. Where are you off to, before you’re even healed up fully? Dublith? Play on Dublin? Oh, we finally get to meet this mysterious Teacher! Who even now has the Giant Suit of Armor shaking in his plate boots. A tough taskmaster?

Ed points out the town on a handy map, looks like it’s in the Southern Quadrant. But something shocks Winry about the trip, a town right before it?

“It’s the holy land of Automail engineering. It’s Rush Valley!” Well someone’s excited. Ooh, do we get Winry traveling with the Elrics? Also, predicting an upgrade in Ed’s future, if Winry’s that impressed with this place. What’s so special about it

Aw come on Ed, stop being such a pill. It’s not like you’re hurting for money as a SA. Maybe there’s elements of wanting to keep her out of danger (because you poor boys are trouble magnets), but you can do it! Also, moves my ship along? Please?

[Huges]: “She’ll make you a fine wife, someday.”

[Ed]: “Don’t start that again!”

Speaking of wives, Hughes is heading off to work, Elicia’s being painfully adorable, asking if Daddy can get home early that day. (!) Hughes says he’ll try to get back as soon as possible (!!), Mrs. Hughes tells him to not be late (!!!), Hughes says he’ll probably not see Winry again before she leaves (!!!!!), oh my LETO how many death flags can they wave at us?!

Damnit damnit damnit he is so dead. Why? Why do you have to kill off Hughes?! Guy’s a family man, he’s funny, he’s lighthearted. There’s enough tragedy in this world of lost limbs and genocide and soulbatteries already, you don’t have to up the ante! Uuuuugh. So annoyed at the blatant post-credits last episode, I’ve been delaying watching this one because I was so afraid of this. Gonna stop watching those from now on, too much spoilage potential.

“Oh, and tell the boys I said goodbye.” AAAAAARGH

“You just make sure to come visit us anytime you’re in Central, okay? Our home is your home too. ‘Til then… Take care of yourself.”

AAAAAAAARGH

Uuuugh, let’s try and move on. The Blond Kids are off on the train, Ed explaining that they’re off to visit Teacher for a couple of reasons, namely he’s tired of losing fights. Sadly he and Winry start squabbling about fighting, she wants them to stop. That’d be nice, Winry, but someone’s gotta stand up to the Goths. Also, they want to center themselves, boost their morale, and seeing an old teacher might help with that. As well ask her what she knows about the Stone.

Wait, what? Ooooh crap. They haven’t seen her since before the Incident, have they? So they’re gonna walk up to their Alchemy Teacher and have to explain “Yeah, I lost two limbs and my brother lost his entire body because we broke The Big Rule of Alchemy. So about some more alchemy training?” They are so dead.

Back in Central, Hughes is doing some research, going over the riots in Liore. Hey, don’t you diss Leto, random underling! Been a lot of stuff going on in the East Quadrant, as well as the North and West. Not the South? Current theory is they’re all too scared of the Elric’s Teacher to mess with her turf.

Suddenly, Hughes stands up, says he’ll be in the Archive room. Figure something out?

In the room, music’s picking up, Hughes is circling places on a map. What is- Oh. Oh my Leto. I think I just realized.

Liore, other uprisings, the Ishvalan Genocide...

The Philosopher’s Stone needs human sacrifices, and a Transmutation Circle.

We’ve already seen there can be a TC the size of a city.

Who’s to say there can’t be one the size of a country?

That’s it. That’s their plan. Craft a nation-sized Alchemy reaction. Create the True Philosopher’s Stone from the sacrifice of thousands, if not millions.

But whose plan is it? The Goths? The Government?

...but Hughes isn’t going to find out, is he? A long-haired silhouette just walked in and closed the door.

[Hughes]: “Cool tattoo you got there.”

[Lust]: “Those are your last words? Wouldn’t you rather scream?”

Leave him ALONE

NO

Wait, he got out? He got stabbed through the shoulder but he got out? How oh HELL yes knife to your fucking forehead, you bitch! You don’t mess with

FUCK YOU NO

you got a knife to the brain you don’t get to just calmly take it out no

Receptionist starts joking then realizes that Hughes is injured, he just walks past and says he needs a private line. Yes ok need to tell Roy about his but she’s not as dead as you think she is.

Wait what Hughes why are you walking away. Oh right Military either infiltrated or in on the whole thing, can’t use a military line. Get to a phone booth, use an outside line. Holdup while Eastern receptionist follows protocol, yet another STUPID death flag as Hughes drops a picture of his family… but this took too long. There’s the sound of a gun cocking-

Wait, Ross?! What are oh nonono please just be misguided don’t be part of the conspiracy.

Oh. Right. The Goths have a shapeshifter.

Come on, Hughes. Keep stalling, the phone’s not hung up so if it’s connected then Roy can hear this and get you help. And while the knife didn’t kill Lust it did slow her down so yes you’ve got another one you can

You. God. Damned. Bastard.

Envy has taken the form of Mrs. Hughes.

A shot is fired.

Only now, when it is too late, does the call get through to Roy. And Envy hangs it up.

[Envy]: “You humans don’t make any sense to me. You throw away your lives for nothing.”

hughes comment indicates hughes Goths inhuman hughes chimeras?

“Gracia… I’m so sorry… Elicia… Remember, Daddy loves you… I’m sorry.”

And Hughes bleeds out in a phone booth.

...The Blond Kids are enjoying pie on the train. It was baked by Mrs. Hughes. As was a quiche.

Ed talks about how Hughes is annoying, stopping by his hospital room every day.

Al thinks they should figure out some way to thank him next time they’re in Central.

We’re spared the scene of Hughes being discovered. But now we bear witness to his funeral.

[Elicia]: “Mommy? Why are they putting all that dirt on Daddy?” [Gracia]: “They’re burying him, dear.” [Elicia]: “But if Daddy gets buried, then he won’t be able to do all his work.” [Gracia]: “Elicia…!” [Elicia]: “Daddy said he has a bunch of work he needs to do! No, stop it! Stop putting dirt on him! Daddy!”

Armstrong is crying. Bradley is visibly shaking. Roy looks down.

The sun sets, as Roy chides Hughes for going and getting promoted to Brigadier General, rather than helping him climb through the ranks.

Riza walks up to the colonel. Who admits a large part of him wants to figure out human transmutation now.

[Riza]: “Are you alright, Colonel?” [Roy]: “Yeah, I’m fine. Except… It’s a terrible day for rain.” [Riza]: “What do you mean? It’s not raining.” [Roy]: “Yes. It is.” [Riza]: “Oh. So it is.”

…

Time resumes as Riza goes guns-akimbo at Scar, who dodges into the alley. The alley with Al still in there. Uh oh. And oh my Leto Roy, don’t you dare complain at the lady who just saved your life. “Useless on rainy days” indeed.

…

Roy’s investigating the events of Hughes’ death now, looking into the Archive Room. A trail of blood went to the phone room, and the receptionist reports that he came in, but then left without dialing a number. Roy identifies the code Hughes used as one used only for military emergencies. But he doesn’t know why.

Riza brings Armstrong, who says they have a list of suspects, but can’t determine their identities. And when Roy presses for details, Armstrong has to refuse. Right, the order from Bradley, he can’t talk about the Goths. But he does get a workaround, saying the Elrics were in town for a few days.

From all that, Roy’s able to determine a group is suspected of the murder, an officer above Armstrong ordered him to keep quiet, and the events involve the singular goal of the Elric Brothers: The Philosopher's Stone. Roy’s clued into the conspiracy now. So, in order to solve the mystery and get vengeance for Hughes, he’s going after the senior staff. With Riza at his side.

And so the episode ends, with Roy on a manhunt in the military, and the unknowing Blond Kids cheerfully laughing as their train heads south.