#but most people who don’t live in deserts or along the equator wouldn’t have gotten the same awareness

[welcometoqueer]

Also! Check the UVI for wherever you live as it gives important information regarding sun exposure and what to do to protect yourself.

Remember the sun is really just a giant, hot, angry, gassy baby that keeps burping up radiation that’ll make you very sick!

be pro-aging but wear sun screen. sun protection is not beauty industry propaganda it will save you. wear it. or else.

[oliver-do-the-twist]

Screw it, I know this short story won't get much attention cause Tumblr hates original content but I want to post it anyway

Mentions of prostitution, minor swearing. around 3800 words

Its a western, but different. Enjoy

The Streets of Midpoint

I believe the town of Midpoint is aptly named. 

It is truly in the middle of nowhere. 

I had gotten stranded here four awful months ago. And I would rather be anywhere than this backwater hick-hole.

I hail from New York, a stark contrast to where I find myself now. The search of furthering my education had forced me to attempt the journey to San Francisco. However, some bandits had other plans for me along the way. 

They left me, horseless, penniless, and without food and water four miles from Midpoint. I was lucky to have found the town before dark. 

I would not, however, call Midpoint a town. There are but three buildings, one store/post office, a small church, and a saloon catering to each of man's deadly sins.

There is nothing but Mexicans and white trash bandits here, just yesterday there was a shootout where one young man lost his life. Once I heard the shooting, I immediately went to my room above the saloon and waited it all out.

I only heard of the young man's misfortune from the bartender. He, in my educated opinion, is the least insufferable person in town. He came from one of the bigger towns, and still held onto some bit of culture that I could hold some kind of enlightening conversation with that didn't involve killing, stolen cattle, poker, or the whore that resided in the room next to mine named Anna.

Luckily for me, the piano classes I took in New York were not for nothing. The kind bartender offered me a job to play his old Baldwin, and in return I got to sleep in the spare room upstairs and get a reduced pay for it. I do not plan to stay here forever, but at least I can bring some real culture to the murders and thieves that live here while I save enough money to take the stagecoach out of here.

The whore is perhaps the most insufferable person in this town. Not because of her occupation, or even the fact of her gender. She is just simply the opposite of me. She is on all day about superstitions, ghosts, and tall tales. I suppose living in a desert of red sand and tumbleweeds one's entire life would do that to a person. Without proper analysis of the world through a rational perspective I can't really blame her for believing in such nonsense. 

Perhaps it is a coping mechanism. Everyone here seems to be on the verge of blowing up either with anger or grief at any moment. I do see it in her at times. It's the wistful look out the window or the small apprehension in her eyes when confronted by certain customers. 

I see that look right now as she turns upstairs with one such man. I noticed he was a weekly guest of hers, always coming on Sundays at around 6:30.  The saloon was mostly empty on Sunday evenings, that must be why he is so punctual. 

Tonight, there wasn't anyone here but me. The bartender had decided to close up early, as he usually does on slow evenings. The saloon had the uncharacteristic aura of serenity as the glasses lay untouched and the card deck at the poker table unshuffled. The only companion I had for the night were the ivory keys at my fingertips as I played my choice in song. 

"Is that a nocturne?" A voice said, startling me from my playing. I had not noticed anyone walk through the squeaky double doors. 

I looked up behind me from my music to see a man in his late twenties. He wore a long dark coat and worn hat. His eyes were clear blue, but clouded with confusion.

Something struck me as odd, no, out of place about him. Even through He wore much the same clothes that every cow hand or bandit that strolled through those doors, there was something about him, maybe the way he held himself, or his walk, that told me he didn't belong in this town. 

"Why yes it is," I said as I stood to greet him.  “I believe you are the first to identify any of the music I've played on that thing that isn't 'Camp Town Races'."

"I have a fondness for Chopin," the man said as he hung his hat on the rack. "I think I've always liked classical music."

That last comment of his struck me as odd, "you think?" 

The man became slightly embarrassed, "well sir, I uh, can't seem to remember much about myself lately."

My eyes widened in curiosity, "ah, you mean amnesia?"

"It must be, I can't seem to recall much of anything."

I leaned back and eyed him, "well, have a drink," I offered as I made my way to the bar, "the barkeep has closed up for the night but that doesn't mean we can't try to jog your memory over a glass or two.”

“That's better than any plan I have,” the man said as he took a stool next to me.

I reached over the bar and rummaged through the bottles of what I considered to be pure acid until I found one of the few bottles of wine. I then poured a glass for each of us.

I told him my name, and how I came to Midpoint. 

“You were on your way to San Francisco?” he asked.

I nodded. 

“That sounds familiar.” He began to rub his head, “I believe I was headed that way as well.”

“Well, maybe we can pool our money and try to get there together, and get away from this awful town.”

The man shook his head and frowned in confusion. “No,” he said quietly, “ I can't leave. I know that. I have to stay here.”

I frowned. Having someone to travel with would have been a lot easier, and this man looks like he could handle a few bandits, unlike myself. “Do you know why you have to stay here?”

The man brought his hand to his mouth and frowned. “No.”

The saloon was quiet for a few moments as the dying sunlight caught the bends and curves in our glasses. I took out my pocket watch and checked the time, 7:07.

Sudden loud footsteps came from the stairs, and it seemed Anna’s customer was finished. Both my companion and I turned around and looked at the abrupt noise. 

The brute looked at me and frowned. He cleared his throat and turned out the door with nothing more than a ugly look and a foul lingering smell.

I scrunched my nose in disgust and turned back to my new friend. “You can see why I want to leave so soon.”

The man chuckled.

“Do you know your name? Or any other name?”

He shook his head again. “I do not. The only thing I can recall is this saloon. I know I have to be here.”

“Well, you're here now,” I said as I took a sip from my glass.

The man looked wistfully into his own glass. 

“You said you liked Chopin. Do you know why?”

“I- I think it has something to do with my childhood. The music you were playing seemed old to me, like from a memory.”

“That sounds promising, would you like me to play more?”

“I wouldn't want to disturb no one. It's nice to just talk to someone who doesn't want to kill me.”

“Well then, let me see,” I said as I leaned my elbow on the bar, “you don't talk like everyone else here, I might even venture a guess you're from somewhere near New York based on your slight accent. But you definitely dress just like the next dusty cattle driver that comes through here. Not to mention that gun you wear.”

“That's another mystery,” he said as he pulled it out and examined it, “I checked it and it's completely empty of bullets.”

“Heh, maybe that's why you have amnesia in the first place.”

He smiled sarcastically, “that could very well be it.”

There was no longer any sunlight outside, only a faint glow on the flat horizon. I finished the last sip of my drink and set the glass down. 

The man turned around at the darkened sky. “I think it's time for me to leave,” he said as he stood up abruptly. He turned around and reached out his hand.

I stood and shook it, his hand was cold from the drink. “oh, are you sure? You don't have to leave so soon...”

“No, no, I have to go. Thank you for the evening.”

“Come back anytime,” I said, still a little confused at his suddenness.

He tipped his hat and turned out the doors, leaving me alone in the dark saloon.

The following week I neither saw or heard of the man with amnesia. I asked a few of the tolerable patrons about him, but no one seemed to know anything. I hoped to see him again, if only to make sure he was doing well, or to find out about the mysteries of his past. But I feared the worst. Anything could happen to a man out here. 

Throughout the week, I had noticed Anna had not been herself. I had barely heard a word out of her mouth, not that I usually tried to initiate any conversation with her. But I noticed every chance she got she retreated into herself. She was unhappy, even more so than usual. Before, she always seemed to be holding onto some kind of hope, and for whatever reason now, that hope had fallen from her fingers.    

Honestly, I didn't want to know about her misfortune, I had enough of my own. I know that's insensitive, but I had to focus on getting out of here with the meager pay I get before I lose my mind to the oppressive heat and the endless desert.

It is now Sunday again, and I just bid ado to the bartender as the clock on the wall struck 6:30. Ever punctual, the selfish brute barged through the double doors and stomped his way upstairs. The thought crossed my mind that he could break into my room and steal my belongings, but I dismissed it. Anyone who saw my room saw I had nothing to steal. 

The only valuables I had were inside my head. Equations, literature, philosophical texts, and most important for the time, pages and pages of music.

I put my memory to good use as I performed my evening show for myself.  During the days, people only wanted the crude drinking songs; the ones with no feeling or soul. Once everyone went home on Sunday evenings, I had the song choice to myself. I kept myself sane by playing compositions from the greats.

I chose Chopin again, maybe out of a small hope the man would come back. 

My hopes were answered as the clock struck seven. Again, I heard no double doors open, but rather the voice of my mysterious friend;

“I think I know why I like Chopin.”

I turned around, and sure enough he was standing there, dark coat and dark hat.

“You're back,” I said with some surprise as I stood up and made my way to the bar. “You left so soon last time.” I began to pour the wine into two glasses and took my same spot as before. “Sit and tell me about Chopin.”

The man sat down on the bar stool across from me and took the glass of wine. “I think I remember my mother used to play his work.” 

“That's a tremendous discovery! How did you find out?”

“It was your playing. It brought me back.”

I smiled, I was glad my music actually helped someone. “Did it bring anything else back?” 

“I’m getting flashes of high buildings, and a few of my mother's words. She, if I can remember correctly, was a deeply God-fearin’ woman.”

“God-fearing eh?” I said with some disapproval. 

The man frowned, the first I saw with real displeasure. “What's wrong with loving God?” he asked.

I put my hands up in surrender, “To each his own I guess, I just don't believe in any of that stuff.”

 “You don't believe in anything beyond this world?”

“It doesn't make any rational sense to me.”

“Well, can you fully disprove its existence?”

I was silent, of course the answer was no, if I knew the answer to everything that would make me God.

“Maybe you should keep an open mind about things you don't know, all I’m sayin’.”

I took another sip of wine. “Do you remember anything else?”

At that moment the brute came thudding down the stairs. He eyed me and adjusted his coat collar before leaving out the double doors.

“What's his business here?” the man asked.

“Y-you didn't guess?”

“I feel like it's on the tip of my tongue.”

“He- was here for the company upstairs if you get my meaning.”

“A workin’ girl…” he said, his hand moved to his breast pocket, and his eyes were on the ceiling. But they held no lust or selfish desire; only a soft ache.

The last of the light of the sun sunk below the horizon. At that moment, the man turned and looked at the changing sky outside. He stood up quickly, “It's time for me to be on my way,” he said.

I frowned, “again?”

He nodded, and I stood to shake his chilly hand, “I’m afraid so, it's been a great evening. Thank you again.”

I barely had time to respond to his thanks before he left through the swinging doors.

I couldn't really tell you what happened the following week. I was too lost in my thoughts for most of it. The days blended together. I played the songs, ate my food, and slept when it got dark, but all my tasks were done with the man's words in my mind. Usually if I came across a spiritual fanatic, I would dismiss them just as soon as I would a fairy tale. The man didn't say anything I hadn't heard before, but those words coming from him for whatever reason stuck with me. I felt like my whole world view was turning over on itself. 

Anna, in the meantime, had changed from hopeless to downright angry with the world. She was almost comparable to a trapped animal at times. Her temper had gotten so bad to the point that the bartender had to threaten to kick her out, as she was driving all the patrons away. She had cooled off a bit at the prospect of having nowhere to sleep at night. But it didn't change her general mood toward people. It just made me want to stay away from her even more.

It's Sunday again and I sit on my bench, playing Chopin. The brute had come through the doors and up the stairs. I can't help every few seconds my eyes flash to the clock on the wall. 6:50, 6:55, 6:57… my fingers continue their rhythm until I hear the seven chimes.

“Have you ever been in love?”

There he is. 

I close the lid to the piano softly and stand to greet him.

“Isn't that a little personal?” I ask, “couldn't you tell me how your week was, or maybe ask about mine? You know, the normal small talk that friends go on about. Or maybe you could tell me why you only show up on Sundays at seven?”

“I’m glad you consider me a friend.”

“Hmm,” I grumbled, “Well come on then, lets sit.”

I fill the glasses and slide one his way as he takes his seat.

“I’m serious,” he said, “Have you ever been in love?”

I sigh, “Maybe, once. I don't really want to get into it. Why do you ask?”

“I think I’m in love. I think I know why I’m here.”

My eyes widened and I leaned forward, “So? What is it?”

The man opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by sudden angry shouts from above us. We both looked to the ceiling, and I realized the voice was Anna’s mixed with the rough brute’s. The voices became louder as they moved to the edge of the stairs, and became clear enough to understand.

“I’m not doing this for you anymore!” Anna yelled, “you can't make me!”

“You bitch! You ain't no woman!” the brute yelled back.

We could see up to Anna’s knees as she stood above him on the stairs, and by the looks of it she was pushing him down one by one. 

“You get out! You never come back!” she said with each push. We watched as she forced him down. Until the only thing we couldn't see of her was her head.

“You shoot my Jake dead! And you expect me to lay on my back for you? You're lucky I don't kill you! Get out! Get out!”

The brute was finally pushed off the stairs and landed on his backside. “He deserved it!” he yelled, “The thief! You're no better than him! Takin’ my money like that! I’ll be back!”

With that, the brute stood up and stomped away without a word. Anna collapsed into a sob on the final stair, her long red hair cascading over her face and back.

I looked over to the man, who's eyes were as wide as saucers. His hand absentmindedly made its way to his chest, he looked down at his fingertips, which to my astonishment, were now covered with blood. 

I exclaimed at his sudden unexplained injury, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes went back to Anna, and he stood up and made his way silently over to her as if in a trance. 

He crouched down in front of her shaking figure. For the slightest moment he hesitated. But nevertheless he reached out in the most tender way possible and held her shaking hands.

She looked up at the hands that were holding hers. Then, in almost disbelief, she looked at the man's face. Her tearful eyes studied him for a long moment. She brought her hand up to his cheek and just felt his skin as she tried to believe what was crouched in front her. “Jake?” she whispered.

The man leaned into her touch like it was life giving. He looked into her eyes, and cradled his hands around her chin. They leaned in for a kiss, the most tender and passionate and mournful kiss I have witnessed in all my years. 

The man then reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a small fortune of bills wrapped in twine, and a ring. He gave the money to her and she clutched it to her chest. He then reached out for her trembling hand and slid the ring on her finger.

She looked at it with tears in her eyes. But she then focused on the growing red stain on his chest, and a panic began to reach her. Her hand reached out and gingerly touched the red, but the man held her hand against his chest, and with ever patience and serenity, shook his head no.

He wrapped her in a hug, and it was the most at ease I've ever seen her be. Her head found the utmost comfort in the crook of his neck, for a moment I thought maybe they had fallen asleep in each other's embrace. 

The glasses around me began to light up in the dying daylight, and only then did the man look up behind him out the window.

“I have to go…” he breathed.

Anna’s grip tightened around him. He leaned into her and whispered something into her ear. She looked up at him, sorrowful understanding now crossed her features. 

They stood up together, and leaned in for one last kiss. She said something to him as well, but only he could hear it.

He turned and looked at the sunset again, there was barely a sliver left on the horizon, and it was retreating quickly. He looked back at her with yearning in his eyes. But she nodded, “I know,” she said softly, “go, I’ll see you again.”

He took a deep breath and brought her hands up and kissed them before turning away. He held her hands for as long as he could as he walked to the doors, but eventually they fell from each other's grip.

He paused right in front of the swinging doors, his hand resting on the top of one. He looked to the dying light again.

Anna suddenly rushed over to him and hugged him from behind, “don't worry,” she whispered, “I’ll be right behind you.”

The man took a deep breath, and Anna let him go. 

He stepped through the doors just as the last of the sun sunk below the horizon. 

Anna stood there watching the street outside for a long time, and I sat frozen on my bar stool watching her. 

When the last glow from the day turned to darkness, Anna turned around and rushed upstairs. A few moments later, she came down with a small trunk stuffed with her few belongings. She pulled a few of the bills from the money she had been given, and stuffed the rest in her bag before heading toward the doors.

“Wait!” I called, “Where are you going?”

She stopped in the same place the man had in front of the double doors. “The coach to San Francisco,” she said, “Like we were going to a long time ago.”

With that, she left. I watched her walk down the street to where I knew the stage was parked, waiting for a good paying traveler.

I was alone in the saloon once again, trying to make sense of what just happened. I reached out and felt the man's glass. It was just as warm as the rest of my surroundings. There was no rational way to explain his cold hands.

I think that's what stuck with me the most that night. I could explain away almost everything except for his frigid hands. I laid on my uncomfortable bed, but no sleep would come. My mind raced until the early morning hours.

It has been a month or so since my strange encounter with the man and Anna, and I am happy to say I am writing this as I sit in a stagecoach on my way to San Francisco. I had finally saved enough money with my meager pay as a pianist to be on my way to real civilization. 

But as I look back at the shrinking town I cannot help but feel a certain sense of spiritual tie to the pathetic little place. What I witnessed here has changed me forever.

Maybe, I think, the town of Midpoint is more aptly named than I first believed.  

[words-writ-in-starlight]

DO NOT READ THE REST OF THIS MESSAGE UNTIL YOU START WANTING FIC PROMPTS BUT UM...I just had a few I wanted to throw at you: daemon AU, things you write on your skin show up on theirs soulmate AU, arranged marriage AU, alchemist!Riza AU BECAUSE REASONS, Rapunzel AU because Roy as Eugene speaks to me, Animorphs fusion where Roy is Jake and Riza is his Cassie, Dragon Age fusion where Roy is the Warden and Riza is the daughter of that one terrifying Warden researches from the Origins DLC...

I already wrote some stuff for the daemon AU because that’s my secret weakness, but soulmate AU’s are NOT a secret weakness in any way.  I meant for this to be more lighthearted.  It is not.

Roy Mustang has not allowed anyone to see him with his shirt off for years, when Miss Hawkeye takes him aside into a hotel room.  He knows what she’s going to show him before the last button on her shirt is undone, but it still makes him let out a breath.

“I--I’ve never seen it properly,” he says, almost a murmur, as if they’re still standing over her father’s grave, and he reaches out without a thought to trace a finger over the coiling line of the alchemical circle.  She doesn’t even twitch at the contact.  

“He never would have done it if he knew,” she says, just as low.  “He never--it never occurred to him that there would be anyone.”

Roy bites back the initial rush of anger.  Master Hawkeye was a good teacher, as such things went, but almost merciless with his students--he had driven away seven apprentices before Roy.  Miss Hawkeye had watched them all come and go, even Roy, eventually, and her father had been almost disinterested in her, all because she had no talent for alchemy.  He would never have thought to ask if his loyal, quiet daughter had a soulmate whose skin might show his secrets.

“He used you as a living code,” Roy murmured, the same thing he had thought when the tattoo began to creep across his own back.  The anger isn’t as far gone as it could be.  

Miss Hawkeye makes a dismissive motion with one hand.  “He’s dead.  I’ll show it to who I want, and you deserve to see the whole thing.  I would have shown you even if I didn’t think it would be of use, out there in the desert.”  There’s a beat.  “You could have gotten someone to examine it for you, or copy it down.”

“I didn’t know who I could trust to keep the secret,” Roy admits, resisting the urge to press his palm flat against the span of her back, the smooth skin between her shoulders.  Her skin is warm and firm under his fingertips, and she’s grown into the solemn eyes and sharp jaw she had even as a little girl, into a woman who stands like she means to lift the world on her shoulders.

Roy’s seen plenty of women in his life, maybe more beautiful than the stubborn girl with her calloused hands and stubborn chin and skin that spoke to his.  Kissed a few of them, slept with some.  But no one’s ever taken his breath away quite like her, in this inappropriate moment to be breathless.

Even the red of the tattoo--a pretty bit of alchemy if he’s ever seen one, he has to admit, a life’s work condensed into a circle and a few notes--matches perfectly with her skin, as if her father chose the color to flatter her.  

It’s an unfairness, Roy decides suddenly, that the symbol of her father’s disinterest in Riza Hawkeye save as an alchemist, or failing that as an alchemical notebook, is beautiful.

“Thank you,” Miss Hawkeye says, and it takes Roy a moment to realize what she’s thanking him for.  For keeping the secret, of course.  

“Your father would be furious with you for giving it to me, Miss Hawkeye,” Roy says, taking refuge in formality.  He’s never quite been able to call her Riza.  A slippery slope he spends far too much time on the brink of, that slide into familiarity.

“My father is dead, Mister Mustang.  I’d prefer that you have any tools you need not to follow.”

She says it with absolute assurance.  She’s always been so assured.

“All right,” Roy says at last.  “Then if you wouldn’t mind lying down so that I can have a closer look.”

All through Ishval, Roy never lets anyone except, once, Maes see his back.  Maes squints at it and says, “I think you need a girlfriend, Roy.  Alchemy won’t love you back.”

Roy freezes, about three days too exhausted to have even thought about stripping his shirt off.  It takes a moment before he can laugh and write it off as an alchemist’s version of a drunken mistake.  Too many shots to celebrate his new watch and rank, see, nothing more.  His aunt would be proud of him.

Maes is smarter than most people give him credit for--talking to him is a masterclass in playing the fool, and Roy’s never taken the man offguard even once--and he never brings up Roy’s tattoo again.

It’s like a flashback, standing behind Hawkeye--just Hawkeye now, Cadet and then Private and then higher, the Hawk’s Eye, his guardian in the shadows--with her shirt on the ground and his fingertips on her back.  Roy knows what a flashback feels like, now.  He trails his fingers over the red lettering and feels the strangest pressure in his chest, as if he’s about to cry for those younger selves, Roy who wasn’t yet the Flame Alchemist and Miss Hawkeye.

“Are you sure?” he asks, barely more than a whisper.

“I’m sure,” she says.  “You know the secret.  No one else should ever have it.”

She’s not wrong.  

Roy is unique, in all the state alchemists who marched on Ishval.  He can count the soldiers lost from his unit on his fingers, and two of them were to a desert flu that ravaged the camp.  The rest were to personal error on the part of the soldiers--wandering alone through violent regions, or falling asleep on guard.  Because where other alchemists turned out with gunmen at their sides, or left such massive collateral damage that they were as likely to kill their own soldiers as Ishvalans, the Flame Alchemist’s men were safe.  They stood back and--snap, snap, snap, Roy leveled villages.  His soldiers went home to their families, with the memory of what the death of thousands smelled like on the wind.

The secret to flame alchemy will die with Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye, if they have anything to say about it.

Roy just hates the reality of how to ensure it.

“Lieutenant Colonel,” Hawkeye says firmly.  “I’m sure.”

Roy lets out a slow breath.  “Okay,” he says, feeling a familiar sort of numbness settle in his chest where he should be sick instead.  “Sit down in that chair, with your back toward me, and find something to put in your mouth.”

Hawkeye produces a belt and clenches the leather between her teeth as if she’s already thought this through.  Then she locks both hands around her wrists, threaded through the back of a sturdy wooden chair so that her chin hangs over the headrest.  She looks like a woman bracing for torture.

“Take a deep breath,” Roy says, and grips her shoulder with one hand, briefly, the only thing he can offer her.  They’ve never said I’m sorry to each other and he suspects that she would ignore him if he said it now.  Then he takes his hand away and pulls on his gloves, and says, “Try not to scream.”

His first burst of flames, oxygen-rich to force the heat higher and as obsessively controlled as any he’s ever used, sears away the top two layers of her flesh.  It’s like trying to do surgery with a hatchet--too deep and he’ll risk her life, too shallow and he won’t take off the tattoo, and it all has to look accidental while covering up the vital parts of the array.  Roy lets the first burst fade and the room is silent except for Hawkeye’s ragged panting.  She hasn’t made a sound.

“Just one more,” he tells her.  

She nods, a sharp jerk of her head, and doesn’t so much as whimper as he snaps again and obliterates the vital part of the equation.

The flames flicker out and Roy stares at Hawkeye’s back, tries to think if anyone would be able to make out the lettering anymore.  If he destroys the writing on her back, his own should follow, even though scars don’t carry along the bond--it just has to erase the ink.  He thinks it’s probably good enough.

She’s trembling, he realizes with a crack in the numbness.  She probably can’t control it--her back is already starting to blister seriously at her left shoulder, and the room smells like burning skin.  There’s no charring, though, and no white bone even at the vulnerable line of her shoulder blade, and the tattoo is, if not unreadable, at least useless without half the circle and all the vital information.

“All right,” Roy says quietly.  “We’re done.  Let me get some gauze.”

The next time Maes sees Roy shirtless, it’s half an accident again--hungover, not exhausted, this time, because Maes insisted that Roy be his best man and therefore match him drink for drink at the bachelor party.  Fortunately, Roy’s alcohol tolerance is about two shots superior to Maes’, so he’s usually the level-headed one.

Usually.

This time, Maes doesn’t crack a joke.  Here, in the relative security of Roy’s apartment, he just observes Roy’s back while Roy eyes him in a mirror.

“Looks like some nasty scarring that took out that tattoo,” Maes says.  “Who’s got the marks?”

Roy considers, just for a moment, telling the truth.  Not one living human being knows--Maes, he thinks, suspects, but Roy’s never admitted it, and Hawkeye would tell him if someone got it out of her, he knows it without a doubt.  But...

Maes is his best friend, the second most trusted person in the world to Roy, and just for once, just for one moment, Roy wants nothing more than to turn around and talk about his soulmate, who is competent and kind and beautiful and perfect, perfect in every way, who he trusts with his life, to save it or take it as needed, and who trusted him to turn his flames against her bare skin and then to tend her wounds in the weeks that followed.  He understands, for a split second, the way Maes talks about his wife-to-be, because he wants that.  He wants to tell someone all the things he loves about Riza Hawkeye until they hate him for it.

Roy turns around with a sincerely apologetic half-smile and lies to Maes’ face.

Maes doesn’t hold it against him.

[technicolorheart9801]

All It Does Is Take: Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Ritsu had been oddly subdued thus far, gazing at the complicated transmutation circle with a furrowed brow.

“Do you see something wrong with it?” Mob asked. “I’ve triple checked all of my calculations, but I could have missed something.”Ritsu stayed silent for a moment, seeming to hesitate, before saying, “N-no. I was… just wondering about her soul. What do we have to offer that could possibly be equivalent?”

To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. And on that day, they lost more than their fair share. Now the Kageyama Brothers are on a mission. A mission that might cost them everything they have left.

Hi! Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up, it's been kind of busy, but, here it is! I hope you're ready for the Cornello Arc with some Mob Psycho flair, because I did change some things. This is only the first part, from the point of view of our favorite prickly cactus son, so please enjoy!

Shige was sleeping fitfully at his side, cheek squished against the window and automail arm twitching at random intervals. Ritsu’s nonexistent neck twinged in sympathy at the uncomfortable looking position, but he knew that attempting to move his brother would be a mistake.

It didn’t happen often, but when Shige’s night terrors got particularly bad, he would lash out at any contact. And while Shigeo couldn’t really hurt him, Ritsu’s metal body could hurt Shigeo. Ritsu had learned that lesson the hard way after the time, just shortly after his automail surgery, his brother had once scraped his hand raw trying to push the suit of armor away after Ritsu awakened him from a nightmare that he couldn’t quite escape the clutches of by just opening his eyes.

And sometimes, in that moment just after Shigeo’s brown eyes snap open, in the millisecond it takes for his pupils to dilate, Ritsu feels something in the air, sees something in the air around his brother’s body, there and then gone again, like the heat mirages outside the train window radiating from the desert sand. But that was only when Shige had a nightmare so bad he stayed up for the rest of the night afterwards, talking alchemy theory with Ritsu in quiet, subdued tones and scribbling in his notebook, subsequently staying up for at least a few nights after until he eventually and inevitably crashed. Those events had only happened twice before, and Ritsu hoped it stayed that way, because nothing he had tried had gotten through to Shigeo at all, almost like his brother didn’t even want Ritsu’s help. And that scared Ritsu more than he would care to admit.

But for the normal kind of nightmare, like Ritsu was pretty sure it was now, he had an effective system in place. Usually just his voice was enough to wake Shigeo, but in the rare occurrence that didn’t work, he rattled his armor as loud as possible. That was always successful, though for what reason, Ritsu wasn’t exactly sure. But he he had a feeling it had something to do with what Shigeo was dreaming about.

So as the city of Lior drew nearer, Ritsu softly said, “Nii-san, wake up. We’re almost there,” To his relief, Shige’s eyes twitched, then opened, and he peeled his cheek off of the window to get a look at the city they were heading for.

“It’s pretty,” Shigeo said that with the sparkle he got in his eyes that you could only see if you looked for it, and Ritsu appreciated the fact that, even after two years, his older brother still loved to travel and see new places and people. It was nice to see that the life they lived now had its merits. It wasn’t all dead ends and crushed hopes.

“Yeah it is,” Ritsu paused a moment before continuing. “Do you think the rumors are true? About the priest. That he performs miracles and transmutes flowers out of thin air.”

“Well, I hope so,” Hoping is about all they seem to be doing lately. “But it could just be a sleight of hand… like a magic trick.” Shige was silent for a second, reaching into his coat and pulling out his little worn-out notebook, grabbing the pencil from within the leather binding. But he paused in his action to start writing, adding as a second thought, “I wish I could do magic.”

Ritsu made a snorting sound through the armor. “I dunno, Nii-san. Alchemists are probably the closest thing to actual magicians there are. You could probably perform in your own street show.”

His brother had started scratching something onto a page in his notebook, not faltering in his smooth motions as he states, with utmost seriousness, “Yes. After I get your body back, of course.”

Ritsu had wondered before what exactly Shige did in that book of his, because there never seemed to be any certain time he got it out or anything in particular he wrote in it. But when he had asked, his brother had snapped the book shut and said, “oh, nothing important, Ritsu,” and made an unusually abrupt exit, saying something about Tome needing to check on his bandages even though Ritsu knew those had been changed just that morning. And that was the only time Ritsu could remember his patient older brother ever shrugging off one of his questions, so he had made a point not to pry into it anymore. But Ritsu had to say that it would be nice to know.

Pointedly not looking at the object in his brother’s hands, Ritsu nodded, stating, “I think you would be the best magician in Amestris,” He let out a disgruntled huff. “Or, you know, at least the most authentic.”

Ritsu hadn’t really expected a response. When Shigeo got out that tiny, leather-bound notebook, he was usually lost to the world until he was finished with whatever he was doing. But his brother always found a way to surprise him, halting the dulled point of his pencil and shifting his eyes to the suit of armor faithfully at his side, taciturnly saying, “Well, it must be true, then, if you think so,” Then giving one of those tiny, knowing smiles reserved just for his little brother before going back to scribbling on his probably almost-full page.

Ritsu felt his shoulders relax and his fists uncurl from their seemingly everlasting tenseness. How was it that even with his absolute inability to read the air or get a clue, Shige still always knew exactly what to say?

Ritsu only wished he could return the favor, because as the train slowly came to a stop at the station, he noticed the tiny shake in his brother’s hands as he tucked his book back into his jacket and the vaguest of tightness to his usual lax expression. Maybe Ritsu had underestimated the nightmare from earlier.

“C’mon, Nii-san,” Ritsu surreptitiously loomed a bit more, not afraid to use a glare where he had to as he made a path through the small crowd at the station. Not that the place was overflowing with people. Lior was a large city, but not all that much of a tourist stop, like Rush Valley. The citizens mostly stayed to their own. “We should find a place to rest for a while.”

Shige looked up (way up) at him and stated, “Don’t you want to look into the priest first?” He pointed up towards the center of the city, where a massive cathedral rose well above all the other buildings. If a religious leader were to be anywhere, it would be there. Ritsu glanced to the boy at his side. That subtle strain in his countenance still hadn’t been dispelled. And no matter how much Ritsu would rather investigate this lead as soon as possible, the best thing to do for his brother would be some distraction. And Shige came first. Always.

But his big brother probably wouldn’t understand if he tried to explain that to him, even though Ritsu hoped he would. He knew better than to trust in hopes. So instead Ritsu replied, “We should get some information from the locals first. See what they think of what their priest has been doing.”

“Mm. That’s a good idea. I don’t know how you think of this stuff,” They wandered over to a nearby food vender, Ritsu pointing out some interesting sights along the way (“Is that a fountain?” “That’s nothing we need to concern ourselves with, Nii-san.”), and as Shige sat down, he already seemed more relaxed. Giving him time to be reminded that he was just a normal kid never failed to get his brother to de-stress a bit.

The tanned guy with a moustache manning the counter had a radio playing on an overhead shelf. “My children who live upon this land. Smile and laugh, for you have been blessed this day. With each tomorrow and yesterday, happiness will come to you if you allow it…”

“So, are you guys street performers or something?” The guy smiling at them from over the counter was rightfully curious about them. A huge dude in a suit of armor and a little kid who looked younger than his 14 years with gloves on in the middle of the desert was a bit of an anomaly. Still, Ritsu was a bit insulted that this random stranger was making assumptions. He hated assumptions.

But Shige didn’t seem offended, sipping his drink and offering a mild, “No, not yet. Do you think we look like street performers?” He seemed excited at the idea, though he probably wouldn’t look like it to most others.

But Ritsu was his brother, and he could read the slightest tilt of Shigeo’s eyebrows and the tiniest way he inflected his voice like an alchemy textbook, looking between the lines and solving the equation within moments. And Shigeo could go from oblivious to surprisingly empathetic at the drop of a hat when it really mattered, learning over the years how to read Ritsu’s expressions and body language even through the layers of metal and walls between them. It was just how they worked, and they worked well.

The guy gave an uproarious laugh that seemed a bit over-the-top in Ritsu’s opinion. Though not everyone knew the difference between Shigeo serious and Shigeo actually trying to have a sense of humor. “Yeah, you do, actually! Who wears a suit of armor in the desert? Or a coat?”

“Well, we-”

“I assume you travelled here. Where did you come from?” Those assumptions again, and the man hadn’t stopped smiling the whole time, and he had interrupted Shige’s sentence. Ritsu didn’t like this man very much.

“Well…” Shigeo paused, making sure that he wouldn’t be interrupted again. “We came from Central.”

Ritsu was pretty sure the man had been smiling for at least ten minutes straight. “Ah, yes, Central… how are things over there?”

This was starting to feel a bit too much like an interrogation and the guy was starting to creep Ritsu out with the way all his teeth were bared with a semblance more of an animal delivering a threat than a human expressing happiness. He decided it was about time they moved on.

“We have to go,” It wasn’t the most delicate or subtle of approaches, and Shigeo was looking at him weird, but Ritsu was ready to leave. Now.

As he was standing though, his helmet hit the ledge above the little shop. The radio was knocked over and broke into a hundred pieces on the stone street.

“Hey, take it easy. I hope you can pay for that,” He was looking at Shigeo as he said it, and Ritsu could see the moment when his brother’s serene demeanor dissipated and a shaky nervousness take it’s place, like it usually did when people got the slightest bit frustrated with him. And just when Ritsu had got him to relax a bit.

Ritsu gave what he hoped came off as a withering glare. “It was an accident, gramps. I can fix it,” Maybe a little alchemy would get the creepy dude to back off some. “Watch and learn.”

He took some chalk that he had stored and drew a simple transmutation circle around the broken remains of the radio. As long as he had all the fragments of the whole, it was just basic alchemy, easy as snapping his fingers for someone who had been studying it as long as the Kageyamas have. But it looked impressive, and that’s all that really mattered. Ritsu activated the array, and within moments, the radio looked good as new and was completely functional again, still babbling all that freaky religious nonsense.

“There, how’s that,” He returned his attention to the shop keeper and was pleased to see that his little demonstration had the desired effect.

“Amazing! It’s a miracle! You must been touched by the great Lord Dimple, his powers gifted to you!”

Ritsu’s satisfaction dissipated a little. “Excuse me? Touched by who-now?”

“Ah, sir, that wasn’t a miracle,” Shigeo stated, and Ritsu mentally agreed. Miracles didn’t exist. “That was alchemy.”

A random passerby joined in their conversation, for some reason. “Oh, so you two are alchemists. Right, I've heard of them.”

Shigeo perked up a little. “Then maybe you've heard of us. We're the Kageyama Brothers,” There were quite a few people joining in now, and Ritsu was reminded of why he had knocked over the radio in the first place as he saw that every single one of them were smiling. Something wasn’t right here.

“The Kageyama Brothers, you say…”

What was it?

“Wait… I do know that name.”

People were starting to crowd around Ritsu specifically now. “The Fullmetal Alchemist, Shigeo Kageyama is that right?”

Wait… Ritsu looked at all the people in the city around him, walking the streets, in their homes, or in his little mob at his feet. They all had one thing in common.

“Wow… So you’re the young prodigy all those stories are about?”

They were all way too happy. That wasn’t a horrible thing on it’s own, but it set Ritsu’s proverbial teeth on edge. And this place might have been pretty ritzy, but not everyone’s life should be nice enough to encourage this much smiling. It could just be Ritsu being paranoid again, seeing something that wasn’t really there, but…

He grabbed Shigeo by the arm and dragged him away without a word, completely ignoring anything and everyone else. It wasn’t worth it.

“Um… Ritsu? Are you okay?” Of course that was his brother’s first question. And while Ritsu would have hesitated in explaining his gut-feelings to Shige a few years ago, he knew better now. It only made the other boy worry more.

So once they were far enough away from the craziness they had left behind, Ritsu replied with, “Something was off. With all the people. They seemed too...too...” He didn’t really know how to explain it in a way his older brother would understand. “You know!”

“Hm. I don’t really know what you mean. They seemed nice…” Shige looked up at him. “But I trust you. We’ll keep an eye out.”

Ritsu sighed through the armor, conflicted. “We could stop again, if you want. To, you know, 'rest' a bit more.” He was a little guilty for ruining Shige’s fun. Despite his shy personality, Shigeo really did like to interact with new people. He just wasn’t very good at it.

But Shige just firmly shook his head and continued towards the temple in the center of the city where they had been heading. “If you don’t feel good talking to them, then you don’t have to,” His big brother looked him straight in the eyes and stated in that once-in-a-blue-moon truly serious voice that he had, “You come first, Ritsu. Always.”

Ritsu’s gauntlets slowly uncurled from where he hadn’t realized they had fisted at his sides. “...Thanks, Nii-san.” Ritsu looked up at the sun and decided, yeah… I guess it does feel good when your hopes are finally fulfilled. He looked down to his brother. And in the most unassuming of ways, too.

[5hfanfiction]

Fangs and other Fairy tales - Chapter 52

Trigger warning for violence.

Camila’s POV 

No, damn it I thought i would have more time, i’m not ready. I haven’t told them everything or prepared them for what’s about to happen next. I mean we’re only at the the border, i wasn’t expecting the wolves to sense us until we were a little ways in at least. I have to act fast or this all could have been for nothing. 

Without sparing another unnerving thought i grabbed Lauren and the girls and made sure they were focused on me and me only; any distractions could cost us our lives. 

‘Guys, whatever happens to me in the next couple of hours you can’t intervene’ i told them and each one looked just as concerned as the next. 

'Mila what does that even mean?’ Dinah asked. 

'Just listen to me okay. They’re not going to kill me. It’s against our laws. But they’re not exactly happy to see me here, let alone with four vampires by my side’ i clarified and Lauren looked around frantically.  

'Camila we’re not just going to let them hurt you!’ she exclaimed and i grabbed her panicked hands. 

'Yes you are Lauren, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. If not for me, do it for our friends. If you attack them they will see it as an act of war and kill you right here and now and my punishment will be even worse’ I knew what i was saying didn’t completely make sense to any of them at this juncture, but they didn’t know how cruel a Werewolf could truly be, especially a severely pissed off one. 

'Punishment for what? You haven’t done anything wrong’ Normani questioned, and just as i was about to reply, a loud, throaty laugh sounded through the seemingly endless woodlands. 

Time was up and i could only hope that my words had taken their desired effect on the four girls who were becoming rapidly aware of the number of bodies surrounding us. Pairs of glowing eyes could be seen every which way and in front of us were a pair of fiery red ones. Dedrick. That old bastard is still alive.

That’s Dedrick Siegard Ainsworth to all of you. He decided to become immortal pretty late in the game, batting at 50 and somehow still one of strongest Alphas in existence, not to mention one of the most feared. And if you even think about harming a member of his pack he’ll tear you to pieces without a second thought. He’s one of those people you can’t quite place, he’s never on anyone’s side but his own but he won’t leave you high and dry either. I guess if i had to stick a label on him i’d say he was chaotic neutral. 

Anyway as i was saying, yes he is an alpha. I guess you could say he's the alpha. I mean god knows he’s been on this planet a lot longer than any of us, some say he was one of the first Werewolves to ever exist. He also has one of the biggest packs this side of the equator and any Werewolf related issue runs through him and him alone. I guess you could say he was like our own supernatural mob boss, he’s at the top with his beta’s and his Luna of course, and then the rest of us are just the bottom feeders that answer to his every word and call. 

There’s a hierarchy which is really nothing more than a glorified power play; every pack must be officially recognized by one of the many old Alpha elders, and if you aren’t given the seal of approval you are known as a 'renegade pack’. More often than not, the people involved in these packs were criminals, pirates or wolves that killed for sport; they were the one exception to the no killing rule. If you killed a member of a renegade pack it was known as something called a 'mercy killing’, and so long as you had proof of their involvement in a renegade pack you would go unpunished. 

Fucked up right? 

Anyway, if there’s one thing Dedrick didn’t stand for it was wolves like me. I guess you’ll see what i mean soon enough… 

'For being a deserter, that’s what’ his voice bellowed and his omegas chuckled and smirked along beside him. I could see the confusion on the girls faces, and the anger buried beneath Lauren’s usually calm exterior already rising to the surface but before i could do anything to calm her i was tugged away from them. A strong arm threw me into an open space before the fist connected to it slammed against my cheek and knocked me straight down into the dirt. Before i had time to fully recover someone came up behind me and locked my arms behind my back. 

'Welcome back Cabello’ they whispered darkly and a cold chill shot down my spine when i recognized who the voice belonged to.

'Austin’ i sighed. 

 Austin Mahone, what a fucking dorito; and i don’t mean the nice ones. I mean the lightly salted ones that taste like ass. Don’t ask where that description came from but somehow it suits him perfectly. Austins had a crush on me ever since we were little and it wasn’t until he hit puberty that being turned down again and again really started to hurt his fragile ego. I was absolutely besotted with Ariana, so much so that i hardly even noticed Austin, but damn did Ariana see just how slimy that dude really was. They would butt heads on a daily basis until Ariana became an Alpha and Austin finally backed off.   

Also, i was officially ranked higher than Austin once Ariana named me her Beta and boy did i never let him forget it.   

'And here i was hoping Dedrick wised up and kicked your stupid ass out years ago’ i said snidely and looked back in time to see another familiar face knock all the wind out of me. 

'It’s kind of ironic really. The last time we spoke you said that if you ever saw me again you’d beat me half to death, and yet here we are’ the guy scoffed and punched me square in the ribs. I know i felt at least two of them break, huh, i guess Brad’s gotten stronger while i’ve been away. 

That’s Bradley Simpson, he’d look like a Simpson too if he got a bit of jaundice - or something equally as horrible. Brad was a bully, always has been, always will be. He literally thought he was the shit (full of shit more like), and that the world revolved around him just because his sister was Luna to the fifth highest world ranked pack. Now for a while i just assumed he was living in blissful ignorance of the fact that it was his sister that people actually gave a damn about rather than him; however it soon became crystal clear that his narcissistic personality was a lot bigger than his brain or anything else for that matter.  

He teased Ariana relentlessly for having a female mate, and asking her how she was going to carry on her bloodline when neither one of us had the goods to make a litter. She then of course grabbed him by the junk and warned him that he wouldn’t have any either if he kept running his mouth off like that and he never brought it up again. But that didn’t stop him from coming after me. It was like he was obsessed with breaking us up, getting in between us, spreading rumors that i had been unfaithful. And one day he went way too far;

Lemme tell you something, you do not, and i mean do not touch another persons mate. But he cornered Ariana and kissed her right in front of me. I swear my eyes turned red that day because the next thing i knew i was beating him senseless with Ariana trying to pull me off of him and that was when i basically threatened to kick his ass if he crossed me again. 

'I just think it’s funny that the only way you could ever beat me in any capacity is with Austin holding me back’ i grimaced and spat out the blood that was slowly filling my mouth onto his nice white shirt.  

'You mangy little mutt!’ he yelled and was about to strike me again when Dedrick stepped in and grabbed his fist mid air. 

'Now, now Brad. We’re not monsters, and we certainly don’t torture our own kind’

'But she spit on me, look at my shirt!’ he whined and i couldn’t help but laugh at how pathetic he really was. 

'I know. Which is why if you’re going to hit somebody, really hit them where it hurts!’ he yelled and delivered a sharp blow to my abdomen then pushed me straight up until i was hovering a few feet off the ground. 

'Stop it!’ a voice called out. I looked up with great difficulty to see where the voice was coming from and saw Lauren moving closer to where we were. Please don’t do anything stupid, don’t retaliate, i’m begging you. 

'Stay out of it blood sucker, this has nothing to do with you’ a bystander called out, and a few muffled agreements were hummed out. 

'Yeah, why don’t you just get back in the hole you crawled your way out of’ another joined in. 

'What hole? You mean your mums vagina?’ Dinah snapped and i winced expecting a fight to break out but neither Dinah nor the wolves dared throw the first punch.

'What did you just say to me bitch!?’

'How bout you come over here and that to my face' 

'Fucking Vampires, think they can just come here and disrespect us like that!’  

'ENOUGH!’ Dedrick roared and just like that the woods fell silent once more. 'What’s your name?’ he asked addressing Lauren directly. 

'My name is Lauren Jauregui and that girl you’re beating the crap out of is my girlfriend, so i would ask that you stop this now. She hasn’t done anything wrong!’ Lauren replied and Dedrick’s expression fell. Uh-oh. He walked towards me slowly, a look of complete betrayal sat just behind his usually calm disposition; for a moment or two he just stood there and then before i knew what was happening a large wolf paw was wrapped around my neck holding me a meter or two off the ground. 

'You’re dating this piece of Vampire filth Karla?’ he growled and i struggled to breathe under his grasp. 

'Y-Yes, she s–aved m-me’

'You mean she FOUND you, deserter’  

Word had spread among the Werewolves that i had survived the attack on my school and they were not happy about it. One of the many rules of our society that’s a little archaic and could use some modernizing is the one where, if your alpha and your pack die in an attack you too must die with them. Think of it like a captain going down with their ship, except all the crew has to stay too and it’ll start making more sense. In a Werewolf’s case, a lone survivor is a deserter because you’re as good as dead without your pack anyway. 

So in their eyes, i not only defied tradition, but i dishonored my alpha by not perishing with them in battle. I was now basically worth to them about as much as a Vampire, except i was extended the courtesy of being allowed to live because of what i am and obviously the girls are too by extension.

'Enough of this, you, grab their belongings and let’s get back to camp before the moon reaches it’s peak. It isn’t safe out here in the open’ he barked and his omegas swiftly moved to gather our things as we were led toward home base. 

'Wait, what do you mean it isn’t safe? This is Werewolf country, we’re the threat here aren’t we?’ i asked but Dedrick ignored me. I was about to ask him again when Brad spoke up. 

'We used to be’ he muttered.

Used to be? 

What the hell is that supposed to mean!? I have a feeling i’m going to find out sooner rather than later. 

A/N: A lot has happened since Camila’s been away, and she’s about to find out she may have bitten off more she can chew. Becoming an Alpha is about to be even harder than she originally planned and with time and every Werewolf within a hundred miles working against them, they might need to start thinking about a plan B. 

What do you think is threatening the fiercest pack animals this side of the river? 

Also, i’ll probably be updating a lot faster because i want to get past the fillers quickly and into the main plot. Whadda ya think of my character choices? eh eh lol And how badass does Dedrick sound?

- Alex XD 

PS: All your comments made me cry, i love you guys so, so much <3