hotdonnamt

[lauffcuer]

((I love how I start rewatching 03 and IMMEDIATELY start remembering all of my headcanons

like I may prefer 03 HEAVILY but I love a lot of the brotherhood characters: Olivier and the Briggs group, (greed)Ling, Lanfan and Fu (Hoenheim being a philosopher’s stone)...stuff like that, and I remember that I went OUT OF MY WAY to make a mixed canon, yes it’s basically still 03, but with my favourite aspects of Brotherhood.

I even thought up a way for an 03 version of Greedling to happen! And it’s not even THAT farfetched))

[combustiblegarbage]

this is less directed at u, and more so that other anon, but as a black person who personally enjoys brown edits of the elrics, its definitely not to take away from the message of the story. Its just nice seeing rep within ur fav characters. also, while this is probably a much more controversial take, xerxes were in a desert civilization but they were super pale?? that's not bad in itself, but it does feel strange when you acknowledge how liore was entirely whitewashed in bh compared to 03, plus arakawa’s history of whitewashing in her own work (her reboot of arslan senki took a ton of dark skinned characters in the og and she made them pale asf in the remake). but like u said, amestrian doesn't necessarily mean white, and there's dark skinned characters in both series who are treated as amestrian civilians. I do agree about the ishvalan aus can be weird tho, i remember back when people even made the military characters like riza or kimblee ishvalan?? (and made kimblee commit genocide against his own people?) so while i do agree that fma fans can be super tone deaf and racist, i dont think giving a character dark skin is necessarily bad, especially if its being done by poc :)

totally agree! i think the other anon was also thinking of when white people racebend the elrics to be ishvalan in order to like, focus on the Trauma of it all while not acknowledging that (certainly in 03) we have a whole TWO sets of ishbalan brothers you could focus on instead of choosing the very conspicuous blonde haired golden eyed kid who works for the military that committed genocide!

when poc reinterpret skin tone or race of their favs, it generally doesn't have the same weird fetishy undertones (fetishy as in fetishizing the trauma of being dark skinned for the manpain)

thanks for the ask, lovely to hear your thoughts!

oh also sidenote there's nothing controversial about how weird it was that xerxes was full of aryan dreamboats lmfao. that was a bad fucking move on arakawa's part

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Haven (41/50)

Summary: They say Resembool is a haven, and they’re right. Lush pastures, quaint country town, farmers’ markets on Saturdays: a bucolic paradise.

But it’s more than that. Resembool is a haven for the runaways, the deserters, the people who don’t want to be found…

The Resembool community knows there’s something odd about Hohenheim, but they’re not going to let that stop them helping him out. This is Resembool after all, a place where no one has to hide and neighbours help neighbours, be they building a fence, chasing a sheep, or trying to save the country from an evil they inadvertently helped release centuries ago…

Or: A series of slices of life in an AU in which Hohenheim never leaves, and several broken state alchemists find hope and home in Resembool.

Rated: T

==

Haven

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [36] [37] [38] [39] [40] [AO3]

Summary: Receiving the latest news from Central, Marcoh, Sherman and Armstrong reflect on those they’ve left behind.

Characters: Marcoh, Alex Armstrong, Sherman (OC)

==

“Ab?”

Tim is rather concerned to find that Ab hasn’t moved from her position studying the newspaper at the kitchen table for the last ten minutes. It would be more understandable if she’d turned the page, but she’s still staring at the headline splash.

“Ab?”

Eventually she looks up. “McDougal.”

“Pardon?”

“McDougal.” She touches the paper and Tim leans over to read the front page upside down. Isaac McDougal, the Freezing Alchemist, attempted to freeze over Central Command last night and was killed for the trouble.

“Oh. He was one of yours, wasn’t he?” Although Tim’s time in Ishval was spent in completely different fields to Ab, he knows she took charge of several combative alchemists coming to the front for the first time, Alex and Roy among them. A lot of them came under her command at some point or another.

Ab nods. “Yes. He was one of mine. The fearsome foursome. Me, Armstrong, Mustang and McDougal.” She gives a snort of laughter with no humour behind it. “They put us together because we were supposed to work with the four elements and be unstoppable. Roy had fire, I had air, Isaac had water and Alex had earth. The Ishvalans called us the Four Horsemen.” She pauses. “I was Death.”

“Famine.” 

Tim looks up to see Alex in the doorway. “They called me Famine,” he explains. “Making the ground so that nothing will grow there. Ab was Death, they always speak of Death coming on wings on the wind. Roy was War, burning everything in sight to the ground. Isaac was Pestilence, turning water into death. I saw the paper.”

“I always wondered what happened to him.” Ab sighs, staring out of the window. “War makes you selfish. I wouldn’t say that I didn’t give any thought to the rest of you when I ran. I did. I just knew that I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I wouldn’t be a good commander to you all if I’d stayed. I knew I was leaving you all in a hell hole I was escaping, but I thought that if I just left, then you’d be reshuffled under someone who’d keep an eye out for you, like Grand. I hoped you’d be ok, because I knew you wouldn’t have been ok if I’d stayed.” She sighs. “It was always you and Roy I was most worried about. You were so passionate and Roy was so, so young. I was never quite as worried about Isaac. He was always distant, in a way, the type to keep to himself and take care of himself. He was friendly with Kimblee, and we all know how that one turned out. I never thought that Isaac would go that route, but I never thought he’d do something like this.”

Alex shakes his head. “No, me neither.”

“Still.” Ab pushes the paper away from her with a sigh. “What’s done is done and we can’t change it, no matter how much we might want to.”

“It would be so lovely if we could just cut years out of our lives,” Tim agrees. “But we owe it to everyone to live with what we’ve done and the consequences of that, however much we may not have anticipated those consequences.”

He nods towards the paper, which Alex has taken up, beginning to study the front page intently. 

“I know,” Ab says quietly. “The guilt never goes away. It just finds new ways in which to surprise you. I was never surprised by what happened to Kimblee, though. He was the kind who thrived out there.”

“And I gave him the power to thrive even more,” Tim points out. He wonders if they ever managed to get the Philosopher’s Stone back off him, or if he still has it there in prison. Surely they must have figured out how to get it back, but at the same time, Kimblee can’t exactly do anything with it where he is, and there are other people in the military whose hands Tim would much prefer it stayed out of. 

“He worked it out.” Alex puts down the paper and Tim and Ab both look at him, confused. “McDougal worked it out. The transmutation circle. He’d worked out what was happening.”

“What?” Ab leans over to skim the text again.

“He’s reported as having shouted ‘do you know the shape that this country is in?’ before he was taken down.”

Tim shivers. It could be a coincidence, but since they all know what shape the country is in and what that means for the country in the coming year, it seems just a little too close for comfort.

In a way, though, it gives him a little bit of hope. Not a lot of it, especially considering what just happened to McDougal, but the knowledge that there are other people out there who have worked out what’s going on makes him feel less like they’re five traumatised war veterans, one refugee of the population they massacred, one accidental immortal and two enthusiastic teenagers against the entire country. 

“Oh, Isaac.” Ab sighs and runs a hand through her hair before getting up and leaving the room. Tim knows better than to follow her. 

“We’ll need to be careful,” Alex says. “If these are the lengths that they’ll go to in order to try and protect their secret, then we need to watch how we tread. I know that we have the advantage of being anonymous out here in the middle of nowhere, but if they catch on to us…”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence; Tim knows exactly what he’s thinking. They’ll be taken down with the same extreme prejudice as McDougal was, and they won’t have the honour of being named on a front page splash. They ensured that they were persona non grata in Central many years ago, and Tim does not regret it. 

“We will be. We’ll be all right.” Tim wishes he felt as confident as he sounds and decides to change the subject. “It does make me wonder how many other people may have worked it out independently and just not acted on it yet. We might end up with more allies than we anticipated.”

Alex contemplates this for a moment. 

“I haven’t had any contact with Olivier since Ishval. I’m beginning to think that maybe I should warn her what’s going on.  I should warn the rest of my family.”

Tim’s heart goes out to Alex. Of all of them who have ended up here in Resembool, he is the only one who left family behind in the heart of Amestris, and he hasn’t seen them for years now. He’s in semi-regular letter contact with his youngest sister (Tim thinks Alex feared Catherine would scour the country looking for him if he hadn’t reassured her he was safe), but she is sworn to secrecy and the rest of the Armstrongs do not know where he is. 

Tim is never normally glad not to have family. Well, that’s not strictly true. Ab, Alex, Roy and Riza have become his family now, a rag-tag little family but a family nonetheless. 

“Do whatever you think is best,” he says to Alex. “But I think it might be a weight off your mind if you knew that they were all informed, even if they don’t choose to do anything with that information.”

Alex nods and leaves the room to go and set the wheels in motion. Tim can only hope that everything they are planning comes to fruition, and that all their warnings will turn out to have been unnecessary in the end.

[greeblingyaoza]

Just because it’s been on my mind, here’s some of my unpopular or at least maybe somewhat controversial FMA opinions. Just for fun. Putting it under a read more because it’s kind of long and I also don’t know how to make things short and simple at all, lmao. 

-I find Greed smoking to be very unattractive. I find it unattractive in general, anyways. I know he smokes in 03, and it may be implied in the manga, idk, but I just grew up to despise cigarettes due to how I grew up and I just...the smell...the way it discolors things and sticks to things... I love Greed but he’d just have to keep it outside, away from me, lmao. 

-I find Ling/Greedling to be more attractive than first Greed. There, I said it. I love Greed. First Greed is very attractive, don’t get me wrong. But I’ll be honest...when I first watched FMA, he really was not my type. Not quite pretty boy enough for me, I guess. After I got to know his character later on...he naturally became more attractive to me. But I still have a bias towards the overall Greedling look. That’s totally my type. 

-I know some people see the slapstick in FMA as glorifying abuse, but I think that’s a stretch. I don’t think Winry is automatically an abusive wife because of the slapstick in the series. Going by Arakawa’s works, she seems to enjoy using physical slapstick a lot. Maybe physical slapstick is not something that should ever be used for comedic purposes, but it happens in so many cartoons that it seems to be kind of the norm. It personally doesn’t bother me, and I can see where it my bother some, but I don’t think it’s something Arakawa or her characters should necessarily be condemned for. 

-I don’t think the reason that the fandom seems more saddened by the Nina situation and Hughes’ death than the Ishvalan genocide is necessarily because the fans are racist. Nina and Hughes were named characters the viewers got to see and maybe even get attached to. They were also personal to Edward’s story and experience. Yes, the Ishvalan genocide is definitely a greater tragedy, but it happened pre-series, and there weren’t any Ishvalan characters shown who died in the genocide for people to get attached to beforehand. It’s kind of like watching an anime where lot’s of people die, but lot’s of those people are background no-name characters. Of course people are going to care more the named characters that were established in the story. That said, I’m most saddened by Greed’s death above all else in the series. Yes, I realize the genocide was worse, but Greed was a character that I love and feel attachment to. It’s just that simple to me. 

-It’s okay to be a Kimblee fan. Liking villainous characters who are all around bad people is totally okay. It’s different if someone is excusing their actions. Envy literally killed an Ishvalan child with no remorse. He’s still pretty loved. I like Envy as a character, but he/they’re still a pretty remorseless piece of lizard dung. 

-The thing with Nina doesn’t make me as sad as most people. I knew about it way before watching the anime and it’s been memed so much that I feel unaffected by it at this point. 

-I think Roy and Riza are inherently good people at heart and don’t deserve to suffer/die/be unhappy for the rest of their lives because of what they did in Ishval. They’re working hard to make things better and help the Ishvalans, and that speaks volumes to me. 

-I’m neutral on whether Roy should have stayed blind or not. Either way, I’m fine with it. I can see both sides of the argument though. 

-Lan Fan isn’t as bad or flat of a character as some people may think. The anime missed out on a big part of her character development, though granted it’s because her Japanese VA couldn’t be available to do those parts. It’s understandable, life happens, but it’s still kind of disappointing. Also, she’s not just some obsessed Ling fangirl. She doesn’t even act that way. She’s protective of him mainly because it’s what she was raised to do. That said I totally think she loves him and Lingfan is beautiful. 

-The color blindness thing with Ed and Miles was poorly executed. I won’t lie. But I can also see where it came from and can understand where Arakawa/dub script writers/etc may have thought it was “progressive” or “good.” I myself used to think that was a good way of thinking until I learned better. Also, I think the dub did make it sound worse than it was originally intended, but it may have still been a bit...eehhh beforehand. I get where it’s a flaw that shouldn’t be ignored, but I don’t think Arakawa/the series should be dragged for it either. Good intentions, poorly worded/executed. 

-I can see Ling being bi/pan, even het. Not so much gay. 

-I don’t see the Win/Fan ship so much. I get where it would be interesting if they actually had some meaningful interaction in the show, but they didn’t. In theory maybe I could see it? But I usually don’t pay much attention to ships that don’t have a lot of canon backing/heavy interactions. So it’s probably just a personal preference for shipping. 

-I’ve said this before, but I really don’t like the idea that Ling went back to Xing, took his 50 wives, had babies with them, and continued the same twisted system that’s hurting his country. It does’t align with the fact he said he’d accept all the other clans and not continue the clan wars. 

-Adding to that, I don’t like when people say Lingfan CAN’T happen because Ling MUST take these wives and have a bunch of babies, and he has no choice in the matter, or he wants to keep the 50 wives system for some reason (because he wants trophy wives??Idk?) Or you know, because Lan Fan is a guard and it would never be allowed. No one knows for sure what happened after he went back. Lingfan could totally happen...or not. No need to shatter hopes.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-Not saying fma is some ultra feminist series or feminist at all (not intended to be at least), but I think the female characters are in general well rounded and have different things they do in their lives, and that makes it feel more realistic. We have badass fighters, leaders, guards, housewives (nothing wrong with being a housewife if that’s what someone wants), mothers, mechanics, etc. It may not be perfect but the reason it gets praised so much for female characters is that it does them better than a lot of anime. Could it be better? Yes. But there are those that claim that FMA is just so misogynistic that it may have well been written by a man (I’ve seen this)...and well...can’t agree at all. It’s pretty well handled considering cultural context. 

-03 and Brotherhood are good in their own ways. I prefer Brotherhood a million times over (plus the manga!) for my own reasons (Ling and Greed’s development are huge reasons why) but sometimes the hate for 03 gets a little out of hand. A lot of people hate it only for not following the manga and characterizing the characters a bit differently. However, that was a part of the point. It was supposed to be different. And Arakawa herself approved of it and loved it (also if anyone thinks they “took her work and bastardized it” she wanted them to make it different). The 03 vs BH comparison arguments are so tiring and pointless. Actually when I see people who think 03 is so superior and constantly put down Brotherhood, it actually at times made me feel bad for preferring BH (because I’m insecure), and drove me further away from 03. I also know that 03 fans have to deal with people crapping all over their favorite series far more than BH fans do, so it’s all annoying. 

-There should be more FMA Pokemon aus. The characters with Pokemon teams. I’m always a slut for Pokemon. 

-Greed has a good heart. (Is this unpopular? Probably not, but adding it anyways)

-Ling is a good-hearted caring person who would try to do the best for his country and people and make it a better place. (Probably not unpopular, just have to say it. 

-Ling and Greed, at the end of the day, are wonderful people, no matter their flaws. 

-okay these opinions are becoming less unpopular so it’s time to stop. 

I may have more, but I just can’t think of them right now. If anyone wants to debate or throw their opinion in, feel free too. Also feel free to reblog with your own unpopular opinions. 

[cry-stars]

Sentence Challenge (Pt. 4)

Hey, I finished my 100 sentences challenge!! (I think… I may have missed a couple of words along the way somehow…) It was a lot of work but it was fun, and it gave me a lot of good ideas for my longer Kimvy story (which will probably be in the works until the day that I die). It felt really good to complete something as well (I don’t think that I’ve ever completed a writing challenge before now… *nervous laughter*) More Kimvys once again, mainly in canon-based AUs; the POV split was fairly even this time, compared to the last groups of sentences.

Buried:

Envy hated it, but the growing realization that Kimblee was important to them was growing  more and more difficult to subdue.

Battle:

In the few rare, very rare moments when they could actually agree on something and have a plan of action, they were an unstoppable team, and no Ishvalan warrior or no gun from Aerugo could put a scratch on either of them.

Orchid:

The old rhyme for babies meant nothing at all, but Envy viciously ripped petal after petal from flower after flower—one of them would surely tell Envy what they wanted to hear.

Grandiose:

Xerxes, which Envy knew all about and where they had apparently lived, seemed incredibly ancient, foreign and colossal, although Kimblee had no doubt that Envy’s fantastic tales were fabricated.

Hidden:

It didn’t matter what they shifted to: as soon as Kimblee had gotten a look at their eyes he could somehow always tell that it was them in disguise, and those “Is it Envy?” guessing games had stopped being funny for Envy ages ago.

Wicked:

“You have to see that I’m a heretic, while you’re repulsive in an inhuman, monstrous way—there’s a difference, dear.”

Trial:

“One mistake and that’s it—Father only likes perfect beings, after all, and amusing as you are, I’m not convinced that you’re all that.”

Staggering:

The difference between what he saw now and what he remembered was astounding, and Kimblee could only look with horror at the thing shivering in the jar in his hand (horror towards the creature, or was it towards himself for ever having admired such a thing?)

Passion:

It was almost a pity, Envy thought carelessly, that nothing that they could do could ever have the same effect on their alchemist as that accursed Stone.

Forest:

He was… blinded, as hard as it was to admit as much, but, forced as he was to go through Envy for most of his information, it was nearly impossible to separate the image of that grinning figure from the larger goings-on of this conspiracy.

Beguile:

Envy had to smile in that deceptively innocent way, had to stand just so that the wind brushed their hair just barely against Kimblee’s face, had to tell all of their ridiculous tales in that voice, and they knew perfectly well what they were doing, of the way that they were trying to rob him of his rationality, he was sure of it.

Whisper:

“I hate you… so much…” Envy choked out in a whisper, not knowing whether the words were true or false, or somewhere in between.

Placid:

Envy hated his calm, logical responses to their every complaint, and the way that he would just stare when he didn’t approve of what they said, and… and the way that he would sit there, unmoving, and put an arm around them and just listen as they cried into his shoulder.

Glove:

One hand reached tentatively for the other, and the other silently accepted the gesture, and the fingers of both hands, bloodstained and guilty, intertwined, and it was remarkable how well two hands of such different sizes and strengths fit together…

Leave:

Envy had made their stance clear, and Kimblee refused to stay where he wasn’t wanted.

Sky:

“I love sunsets—that sky just brings back so many memories, doesn’t it?”

Necklace:

“I’m only wearing it because Lust insisted on it, so don’t feel special, Crimson,” Envy muttered, rolling their eyes, fingers playing at the thin silver chain, and managing to somehow look adorable despite their dour expression.

Sentimental:

It felt like something out of one of Lust’s sugar-sweet fairytale books, Envy thought dazedly as they stood there, arm awkwardly outstretched, and as Kimblee knelt before them, pale eyes staring up Envy’s arm, his lips lightly pressed to Envy’s hand.

Throne:

“There’s a place for you, I promise” they would say, grinning carelessly, but Kimblee already knew that his chances at being remembered were slim, that he was only one among many favoured people vying for power after the Promised Day—assuming that he survived at all, that is.

Sea:

His eyes weren’t blue enough for anything; they couldn’t be compared to the ocean (too pale) or the sky (they were almost grey—not nearly blue enough) or aquamarines, or sapphires, or anything, but they were distinctly Kimblee, and that was… good enough.

Wander:

He’d only be here for one day before going off to “fetch” Scar and Marcoh, so it only made sense that they’d drive around the town together, see the sights, reminisce, just for a little while.

Myth:

“Homunculi,” he murmured, “are theoretical, artificially created, fantastically powerful, astoundingly beautiful beings.”

Season:

He died, quickly and pointlessly, like all human deaths, and thus ended a season in Envy’s life, a small span of a very few events, a time that would never come again.

[egoiistas]

at the center of the world (3)

tag || ao3 || ffn

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

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

Chapter 3/11

Scar

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

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

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

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

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

“Ed,” the teacher admonished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jury’s still out for that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get to the point,” he mutteed.

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

“Are you finished?”

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

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

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

Her palm quickly met her bandaged neck.

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

“Sir.”

“What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

One of the chimeras grunted.

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

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

“What will we do until then?”

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

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

“Teacher-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, stay here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for joining us Scar.”

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

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”  

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

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

“Where’s the armory?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His brows narrowed, “Of course, that was the plan.”

Lieutenant Hawkeye cleared her throat. “At present, the employees of the radio station are here, Mrs. Bradley is here, Maria Ross and even Brosh. But Breda, Fuery, and Catalina are not.”

Maria Ross rung in his ear for a moment, unsure if he heard right as he recognized the flicker of hope that dashed across Mustang’s greyed eyes; his subordinate’s told a different story. “Are you saying they could be alive?”

She switched looks from one corpse to the other, “I’m-I’m not sure I-”

Curious, he peered at the corner she was slowly approaching, dipping down to the green-carpeted floor.  

She straightened to a stand without a word.

Quick to catch on, Mustang asked, “What is it, Lieutenant?”

A moment passed before she turned on her feet, “It’s Hayate.” She cradled a medium-sized dog with a black coat and white paws. It’s small eyes were closed, its chest didn’t lift and its paws didn’t twitch.

Canines were a rarity in Ishval and his purpose in the desert disallowed him the luxury of domesticated animals. If anything the only other time the Ishvalan saw sadness like this for an animal was May’s tearful concern during the disappearance of Xiao May.

The woman petted the dog’s chin and ruffled his ears, her neck looked strained with the tendons appearing like cable cords underneath the thin skin. He may not have heard it, but she inhaled quick like she suppressed an emotional exhale at his expense. She appeared tense and immediately noticed when Mustang tried to approach. “No, don’t,” she warned.

He affirmed her with a nod when she looked over. He watched her guide the colonel back down the stairs, well-trained in schooling her expressions, and carrying the dog in her arms.

The Colonel stood by the rear doorway of the broadcasting building and Scar purposely made his feet sound louder. The dark-haired man turned his head in acknowledgement, “Hawkeye said she’ll only take a moment.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“I remember when Fuery brought in the pup. It was during a downpour in East City and he was trying to find a home for the dog out of the goodness of his heart, unable to just leave it out for nature to take its course.”

He looked at Mustang curiously.

“Breda was allergic, Falman said he’d read up on dogs and would rather get attached to the temperament of a labrador than a Shiba Inu.” He smiled into the distance as the memories, Scar assumed, replayed in his mind’s eye. “Havoc said he’d take him if only to eat him. She snatched him from Fuery’s hands with conviction and named him then and there.

“‘Black Hayate.’ We told her that that was just as bad as eating the thing. He was her companion and he couldn’t love her more. Fiercely loyal.” Mustang looked down, kicking his feet like an embarrassed child over the doorplate. “I hope you’re not standing there so I can pretend I was talking to myself.”

He almost chuckled, but it turned into breath escaping quickly through his nose. “I’ve learned it's not an unusual thing for an attachment like this to happen. May is very close to her pet panda cat.”

“I only wish we met under different circumstances.”

“Those are regrets for a different world.”

He only saw Hawkeye moving her arms, kneeling atop the grass with the orange backdrop of the sky decorated with some pointed trees.

She met with them at the doorway. The borders of her eyes were red, matching the pert tip of her nose. Her schooled expression broke for a moment with the corner of her lip twitching upwards in the way mourners did.

Before Scar could hear the break in her voice, he was interrupted by the scraping noise of a chair haphazardly scraping across the wood floor. He followed the noise across the ceiling.

They climbed to the top floor as briskly as they  could with narrow walkways and tight doors and back into the station’s microphone room. A woman in pink was standing in the middle of the room with slanted shoulders and favoring her right leg.

Something wasn’t right. He felt it in the thick of his bones, rattling in the space where vestiges of his faith lied.

“Mrs. Bradley?” Hawkeye said, confused as the First Lady began to turn. “She was on the floor, she had no pulse. You heard me, right?”   Something wasn’t right.  He examined the slow moving body. Her eyes were blank, her mouth hung slack jawed and her arms limp, a posture unbecoming for the wife of a dignified leader.   

“Mrs. Bradley?” She called again and began to step forward.

Scar blocked her with an arm and shot a cautionary glare, “I wouldn’t.”   The old woman’s eyes switched between him and her, swaying arms like pendulums. “D-Dear…?”   Up until then the Colonel was silent beside her, observing without his eyes. “Do you hear... growling?”   “No sir, no one is--” Hawkeye slowly mumbled to him, unable to tear her eyes away.   The First Lady’s slack jawed mouth tightened and opened at the same time as she lunged towards Lieutenant Hawkeye. Without a moment to react she took a step back, and the elderly woman crashed into her hard enough to tackle her to the ground.

Seconds felt like hours as he watched, frozen from the sight as the so called Mrs. Bradley tried to bite the face of the Lieutenant. She held her back only by a hand to her forehead as it chomped down on its own teeth like a feral animal.

Getting control back of his wits, Scar seized it by the scruff of the collar and pushed it away harder than he intended to from her light weight. He helped the Lieutenant up.

“What’s happening?”

“Give me a moment, sir. The threat isn’t over.”

He kept watch on Mrs. Bradley and he heard the sniper pull out her pistol.   It danced in front of him, swaying. The eyes weren’t right, everything about it moved inhumanly. It growled again and lunged towards him. He heard the Lieutenant bark, “Get back!”; but with only a moment’s time to react, blue light filled his vision and Scar’s tattooed arm extended out in front of her. Blood painted the floor underneath her as it shot out of Mrs. Bradley’s ears and eyes as if she were crying blood. Her mouth remained eerily opened as she plummeted to the floor.   She exchanged glances with him as she clutched Mustang closer after tucking away her firearm. “The previously presumed dead Mrs. Bradley attacked me.”   “She attacked?” Mustang parroted.   As if she felt the same chill Scar did, she continued, “Yes and we need to leave.”   The rest of the corpses seemed to twitch and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was his imagination or not. He chose to err on the side of caution instead of waiting to find out with the pair following behind him.

Sunset burned across the horizon as they exited. He was beginning to think this day would never end.

He hated to admit that his nerves were frayed. He could feel the blood drained from his face, the cold that suddenly set in a warm, spring evening. Scar marched ahead as Hawkeye struggled guiding Mustang back with haste and without him tripping.

Central Headquarters loomed above the tops of buildings; the epicenter of it all.

  “What do you suppose that was?” Hawkeye asked Scar, finally reaching the bottom step.   His lip thinned, pushing the dread down his throat. “Of our teachings from Ishvala, a body rising from the dead is a horrible omen. One of the worst. If what you said is true and that woman was truly dead, then there is an inexplicable evil behind this.”   He stopped suddenly, spotting it first.  A man outfitted in the Amestrian military uniform limped across the street, dragging his bleeding leg behind him. “He shouldn’t be able to walk...” But it didn’t seem to bother it. They froze where they stood. Scar hoped it wouldn’t notice them.   “Why did we stop?” The naive question broke the aching silence.

Scar glanced at the Colonel, forgetting once more about his blindness.     The thing turned and he realized it was armless. It noticed them immediately and in its stillness, it looked up to the bleeding sky and released a shrill cry so animalistic and raw that he covered his ears. He looked up and it hadn’t moved from its spot, but his heart was pounding as the adrenaline rushed through his veins.

He was about to accept that nothing had happened, but suddenly behind him, bodies began to emerge from the crevices between buildings, from homes and shops and flooded the streets.

Hawkeye pushed Mustang into the car and instructed him to get in at once.   “What was that?” He asked, rubbing a bump on his head.

“The dead,” Hawkeye answered gravely, buckling in her safety belt. “The dead are rising.”   “The dead? What do you mean the dead?”

She didn’t answer him; she appeared to focus on trying not to hit the people that had tried to get close to the vehicle. More and more people walked towards them as they passed each row of streets.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye!”

Lieutenant Hawkeye slammed the brakes and Scar almost left his face printed on the back of Mustang’s seat. “They’ve surrounded us.”

All at once, the sacrificed started tapping at the windows with their hands, demanding entry to their haven. Was this it - Is this Ishvala’s fitting punishment?

“I can’t move forward, there’s too many of them.” Hawkeye announced and, without her knowing, gave him his answer. “Scar! Can you make a pathway?”

“Through them?”

A crackling noise came from the driver’s side of the window. A man, groaning loudly, had picked up a rock and began tapping it against Hawkeye’s glass screen. “Scar, can you or not? Do it from your side. Straight down this road will lead us back to the hospital. Take the Colonel with you please.” The tapping was getting more insistent and the tip of the rock had pierced through.

“I’m not leaving you behind.” Mustang said soonafter.

He nodded to Hawkeye’s instructions and forcefully swung open the car door, knowing a handful of sacrifices back. He used his right arm to sunder the road for a short escape. He ripped Mustang out of his seat by his arm.

“We have to go back - or at least wait for her!”

“You heard her. These things are dangerous and we have to get moving.” Scar tightened his grip as the Colonel tried to free himself.

“Lieutenant!” He called out and it turned the heads of the sacrifices that were in a stupor. “Ri-!”

“I’m right here, sir.”

“Don’t do that.”

Scar let go of his arm, but their little pause had encumbered them, placing them in a worse situation than being trapped in a car.

“I don’t think these things are friendly or patient,” She muttered sardonically.

Scar searched for an opening, calculating an exit strategy. The blockade of bodies made that almost impossible for all three of them. In the back of his mind, a quiet, meek voice recited a prayer to Ishvala for his safety and the safety of those still living.   “Lieutenant,” Mustang beckoned. He pulled a glove from his pocket and slipped it through in his fingers.

Scar watched dubiously, brows cinching together in concern.

“Sir?” Hawkeye responded, glancing at the overwhelming number of sacrifices.   “Be my eyes.”   “Yes, sir.” 

A/N This is a chapter I am least proud of since Scar isn’t a character I normally write :’D