#fullmetal ghostrider

[rokhal]

My fanfic: updates

Updates to Fullmetal Ghostrider, two chapters! We’re finally at the pig farm part!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23620273/chapters/75942353

New Miscellany! Pre-comics, Alberto tells Eli he’s getting married! Reluctantly. Because he knew Eli would pitch a fit.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727132/chapters/75942764

This is despite the fact that I have 5 WIPs.

[rokhal]

Fullmetal Ghostrider ficlet: Rest Stop

They pulled into the rest area, on the border between Wyoming and South Dakota. The land was flattening out, the roads straight. Descending from the endless heights of the Rocky Mountains, they could see ahead of them infinite fields stretching into the East.

"Ringworld," Gabe remarked as Robbie opened his passenger-side door so Gabe could unload his chair.

Robbie made a crackly squawk through the radio. He'd wanted to say huh? but he wasn't thinking it through: how it sounded, as opposed to how it used to feel to say it. Over a week, and he was still getting the hang of this talking car thing. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"That book, Ringworld," Gabe grunted, leaning onto the passenger seat and lifting the folded wheelchair out of the footwell. "That's what the horizon looks like. Like it's rising in front of us."

"You're right," Robbie said, thinking back. The ground never cut off; just sort-of faded into the distant haze. He waited, powerless, while Gabe struggled to get the chair opened and locked, and then held his door just so, so Gabe could support himself on it while he lowered the healing stumps of his thighs down into it. Then he watched through his mirrors and lights and windows as Gabe wheeled himself into the restroom, alone. Three hundred and sixty degrees of vision and all he could see was his brother.

He waited. Played with the tuner on the radio, not running power to the speakers, but just listening. An apocalyptic gospel station. Ranchera. Rock 'n Roll. He tuned into the Ranchera station; it was all oldies, but it made him think of Mom.

Gabe returned from the bathroom after what felt like half an hour. He'd refilled some water bottles. "Alright. Think dinner's cooked?"

Robbie opened up his hood so Gabe could look in, lean against his insect-encrusted chrome grill, and retrieve a package of aluminum foil he'd left on Robbie's engine block. Robbie waited, his mind thrumming with anxiety but his body unmoving, while Gabe leaned over all those hot metal parts.

Gabe hissed. Robbie revved his starter motor, and Gabe yelped. "You scared the shit out of me! I almost dropped the potato!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Robbie said through the radio, and then he rolled down one window so he could repeat himself. "I just -- never mind. Rough week."

"Rough week?" Gabe demanded, laughing. "You can put the hood down, I got it."

Robbie slowly lowered the hood, saw Gabe grinning over it, a tinfoil bundle held between thumb and forefinger.

"This is the greatest week of my life," Gabe said.

Robbie wondered how he might make a skeptical expression. He raised his wiper blades halfway.

"I mean. It's awful. This is awful. But you and me, I feel like we're, like we've escaped, sabes? Both of us."

Robbie put his wiper blades back down. Gabe looked around, looked at the picnic table separated from the parking lot by a scraggly grass lawn, and dropped the aluminum packet on the pavement. "Don't eat on the ground, jesus," Robbie said.

"I'm not eating in the, uh, you," said Gabe. He circled around to Robbie's trunk, and Robbie opened that so Gabe could lean in and pull out his utensils and an old fleece blanket.

"You could," Robbie said. "I don't mind."

Gabe lowered a longsuffering look into Robbie's brakelight. "You do, too. And besides. I've got to sleep there."

And so Gabe sat on the concrete, eating potatoes and carnitas Robbie had cooked on his engine, while Robbie stared off at the faded horizon and back at the rising mountains, his brother tucked close against him in his blind spot, feeling his engine cool and the coolant condense in his radiator.

"Two more states until we get to Tio Elias' farm," Gabe remarked. "He'll be surprised to see us."

Robbie thought back over the decade-plus they'd both spent in foster care in LA. "He'd better be."

[rokhal]

Average person having an existential crisis: Seeks privacy. Reads. Broods. Avoids friends and family. Spends time alone in nature. Goes for a run. Tries a new hobby. Cries.

Car!Robbie Reyes having an existential crisis: “I’m fine.” Dissociates. “Gabe, the best thing you can do for me is focus on your future. Okay?” Lights shit on fire. “Are you sleeping enough?” Looks up his own Facebook profile. “I’m fine.” Fact-checks his own automotive knowledge. “Gabe, we need to figure out how to register you for school.”

[rokhal]

(fic carries warnings for graphic violence, noncon/dubcon)

Q: In this fic, Robbie is clearly analogous to Alphonse, plot-wise, and Gabe is analogous to Edward. Is Eli analogous to Shou Tucker, or Barry the Butcher?

A: Yes.

This chapter is horrible and I’ve been looking forward to writing it for two years :)

[rokhal]

oh no I just realized that Fullmetal Ghostrider puts Eli in the role of Hohenheim unless I conjure up some grandparents or cousins in the Bronx or something

Maybe Juliana’s side

>_<

[rokhal]

Fullmetal Ghostrider ‘verse is actually less horrible than ANGR because in Fullmetal Ghostrider, Eli is just some asshole and he’s not attached to Robbie. They can get away and never see him again.

[rokhal]

fullmetal ghostrider headcanon

Car!Robbie doesn’t perceive any part of the Charger as analogous to his hands, but he’s still a flame alchemist, and when he’s ripping H’s and C’s off oxygen atoms and guiding flammable vapor trails through the air, that feels like reaching out and touching whatever he’s trying to set on fire. So he can still explore objects that aren’t touching his physical body, as long as he doesn’t like them very much.

Implied FMA headcanon is that Roy Mustang literally felt all the flesh charring off the people he’d burned to death during the Ishvalan Civil War

[rokhal]

By routing Alchemist!Gabe and Car!Robbie from Albuquerque to Boise on their wild goose chase trying to find Tio Maldito, I have accidentally (deep breath)

SENT THEM TO WITHIN 2 HOURS OF THE BONNEVILLE SALT FLATS

AKA CAR RACING HOLY GROUND

I must use this

ohboyohboyohboy

[rokhal]

OK so naturally alchemist!Robbie has a massive, MASSIVE car guy boner for The Big Red Camaro, a 1000-2000 horsepower (depending on trim) 1969 Camaro that they had to design a whole separate class for because it was just categorically superior to all the other entrants in the Silver State Classic back in the Eighties and has been breaking records and winning races ever since, with occasional years-long breaks to sit in a museum getting admired.

This level of enthusiasm is expected in a human male, but now that Robbie is also a car, it comes off super weird.

[rokhal]

Fullmetal Ghostrider is LIVE!

No going back now.

The premise here is that Gabe’s ADHD is so bad that he taught himself and Robbie Alchemy off of bootlegged classified textbooks because he was procrastinating on putting together his next D&D campaign.

Enjoy:

Robbie and Gabe’s backstory as two completely average orphans who are both HUGE NERDS in completely separate directions

Robbie being a pyromaniac

Crimes

The Alchemy Boo-Boo

Eli being a dumbass devil worshiper in the ‘90s

And more to come!

[rokhal]

Had a thought:

Alchemist!Gabe has no legs. He uses a wheelchair. He can do the hand-clappy bullshit that comes from sacrificing your legs to Truthdemons, but it would be incredibly inconvenient for him to climb up and down his chair just to reach the ground to put his hands on it.

So he has conductive rods of some kind. Maybe old-style antennas. “Let me extend my Alchemy Sticks. Now watch this.”

[rokhal]

I will make visiting the Bonneville Salt Flats become your fondest, most desperate dream

And then you’ll go there and I’ll be like, PSYCH! You actually went to the Bonneville Salt Flats. Loser

[rokhal]

Point: Even though Alchemist!Gabe is funding their Great American Roadtrip From Hell with alchemized counterfeit cash, I don’t want him to be a hardcore criminal! He’s not Dean Winchester! He’ll only counterfeit when he really needs to!

Counterpoint: Gabe is going to buy a shit-ton of voice-activated gadgets for Robbie because Robbie is a car and doesn’t have any hands, and the only way to find out what Robbie can actually use is to try it out. He’s going to clean out a Best Buy on Day 2

[rokhal]

Robbie and Gabe finally get to Tio Elias’s house!!! Yay!

...

Tio’s not there.

Gabe goes off alone to search public records on hard-copy trying to track him down, while Robbie has a nervous breakdown in the parking garage.

[rokhal]

Today instead of working on my flashfic or going to the gym I’ve made a shitty moodboard of FullmetalGhostrider!Robbie’s interests. He’s 20-22, not sure yet.  He’s taken one semester of automotive technology at the community college, but had to take a break because of his finances. He works at the garage but also does lighting, sound setup, and transportation for local DIY punk bands on the weekends (he taught himself electrical wiring, but he’s got a tin ear) and Gabe got him into alchemy, which is basically chemistry but with magic and chemistry was one of Robbie’s favorite subjects! Robbie specializes in Flame Alchemy, because fire make car go fast.

That car is a Dodge Neon with racing stripes. Robbie can’t afford a decent car, but he believes the car he does own deserves to look its best!

[rokhal]

Fullmetal Ghostrider: Before The Alchemy Booboo

Flashfics from before Gabe and Robbie got into alchemy in my All-New Ghost Rider/Fullmetal Alchemist fusion AU.

Warnings for cursing and light angst.

1. The Art Of Leaving Your Shit Everywhere

Robbie wasn't a neat freak per se, but chaos and slovenliness upset him and motivated him to put things in order, or to harass Gabe until Gabe helped put things in order. This was why the apartment, the kitchen, and Robbie's room were eternally prepared for a visit from a social worker, and Robbie bought colored sticky-marks and paper clips for all his books, and sometimes used them. But expose Gabe to a room carpeted in second-hand clothing, paint-spattered newspapers, and half-finished miniatures, and within ten minutes he would become blind to the mess.

“I can find stuff when I need it,” Gabe protested as Robbie stared down wearily from the doorway.

“Where's your first dungeon manual?” Robbie countered, and screw him for picking the one book Gabe hadn't had occasion to touch for six months.

Gabe relaxed, shut his eyes, took a deep breath. Pictured the manual in his head. If he pushed for the memory too hard, it would be gone, but the knowledge was there, he knew the battered cover, he knew the pages that stuck together from spilling soda on them...

The last night he'd used the thing popped into his head, the GrisleFell campaign with Ty and Nita and Javier, Robbie had broiled some frozen tater tots for them, it was winter so it was a little cold. Gabe had been wearing his windbreaker. He spotted the windbreaker peeking out from under a blanket on the floor, shoved them both out of the way, and triumphantly lifted the dungeon manual.

Robbie clapped politely, leaning against the doorway.

“I told you,” Gabe said.

“Yep, you're right. Point taken,” he said. “You want some help, though? I wouldn't want to accidentally step on any of your mini-figs.”

“I'm fine,” Gabe protested, but no, he wasn't fine, he just couldn't imagine buckling down for the four hours it would take to pick up and organize all this crap. “I mean, actually, thanks.”

2. Robbie Needs To Chill, This Is Not Healthy

“Just, five minutes, get the fuck off my back!” Gabe snarled over the kitchen table, and Robbie stood so fast the chair tipped over behind him, his hands were hot, he was shaking, he couldn't see, he couldn't hold still, and Gabe—didn't he understand how important this was, he had to, he had to, Robbie couldn't do this without Gabe—

Gabe had also stood up. He looked scared, because Robbie needed to hit something, and Robbie was angry, and Gabe couldn't do this without Robbie either. What was wrong with them?

“I'm sorry,” Gabe said in a small voice.

Robbie crossed into the living room where the boxing target stood; the foam was crumbling from sun damage and bits of rubber and sand constantly shed out around its base since Robbie had picked it up at a yard sale that summer. He hit it in the face and its rubbery jaw snapped back. Instead of falling, its expressionless, moldering face stared right back at him, like he'd done nothing. Punching the rubber man did nothing to calm Robbie down, but he couldn't stop; it was like a dam opened inside him, releasing an infinite surge of rage, and he hit the dummy over and over, until its sand-filled base skidded backward on the newspapers it rested on and bumped against the living room wall, until his fists started to slip on its surface and leave smudges on the gray rubber, his breath came hoarse and heaving, and his legs grew weak. Still the dummy stood, facing him, it wouldn't fucking go down, just kept rocking back at him after every blow, and nothing Robbie did made a difference.

Robbie lunged forward, wrapped one arm around the dummy's neck and bit it, high under its ear. The bitter taste and crumbly texture shocked him out of his fugue. This was unsanitary, what was he doing. His hands were bleeding. He collapsed to the floor, but now the dummy was looming over him, and he scooted himself away until his back rested against the TV stand.

“You okay?” Gabe asked, softly, from the kitchen. Robbie heard the sink running, then Gabe came over with a damp dishtowel.

“Sorry,” Robbie choked. “Just had to. Let it out, I guess.”

“I'll keep trying,” Gabe assured him, and that made Robbie feel low as a snake, because Gabe had just told him that he was trying as hard as he could. “I'll do better. I'll get extra credit. History's hard, but it's not hard-hard, it's just...you know.”

“I'm sorry, I know you're trying,” Robbie said. “I wish I could help but I don't have time, I don't know what to do.”

“I can do it,” Gabe insisted. “Go lie down. Put something on your hands. I'll clean off your rubber guy, I'll do my reading. I promise.”

“Okay,” Robbie said.

When he woke up, it was to his alarm blaring at seven in the morning. Time for school, he was starving from missing dinner, and his hands ached from his skinned knuckles to his abused wrists. He didn't have time to ask Gabe if he'd actually done the reading.

3. Oh Yeah There’s A Villain

“Life turns to death,” the being said. “Only life can create new life, and life cannot self-create. Each life is bound to its own death. That is the way.”

“Okay,” Eli said impatiently, both hands clamped down on the edges of his untried alchemical diagram. “But, say, what if someone dies. Clinically. And then they come back. It happens. Does that life have an extra death? Or a pregnant woman. Kill her and the baby. Is that one life, one death? Two lives, two deaths? Baby's not even breathing any air. That can't count for life.”

“It is the way. It conforms to the way.” The being scowled at him.

“I'm just saying, you've got a lot of extra deaths on one end of the scale. You're not in balance. You owe the world some lives.”

“And I suppose you want these lives.”

“I'm the only one asking.”

The being rotated inside the circle, its void-face fuzzing, flickering. “Whole life cannot be restored to the physical plane. Partial life can be had for a price.”

“Partial life.”

“What you call luck, and vigor. That factor that makes the difference between life and death.”

“I'll take it. How much?”

The being lurched forward suddenly, tentacles, spines rising up from its head and shoulders. The light from the circle below it almost went out. Eli whistled. “You would harvest from your own kind?”

Eli snorted. “What else are they good for?”

It drew itself up, collected the darkness around it, filled the space within the circle. “I will give you all the life force useful to your kind, whenever you kill a human being in the name of Blackheart.”

Eli grinned. “Now we're talking. I look forward to a long and fruitful partnership, Blackheart.”