#sokka never stops bringing it up. it results in many more hugs

[sokkastically]

zuko, going in for a forearm handshake, suddenly remembering that sokka is ambidextrous, and his brain short-circuiting a little as he stretches out both of his hands:

sokka, of course, happily dives into the hug

[gaysimpsstuff]

Fatgum As a Dad

This was inspired by a conversation I had on a discord server, we all have daddy issues and want Fatgum to adopt us so here’s all the shit we collected.

There are some serious themes in here, mostly regarding the biological parents of the kid, but it’s vague as possible. If anyone wants me to add a trigger warning please let me know.

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It all started when he was a kid, when he learned what an orphanage was. One of the kids in his class mentioned being from one, so when he got home he asked his parents about it. 

“Mom, what’s an orphanage?”

“Well, Taishiro, it’s where children that don���t have parents go. Then people can come and adopt the children. Why do you ask.”

“A kid at school said he’s from one, when d’you think he’s gonna get adopted?”

“He might, not all children get adopted. Some of them stay in the orphanage until they’re adults.”

“BUT THAT’S NOT FAIR!” he shouted. “EVERYONE DESERVES A HAPPY CHILDHOOD!”

“Well, honey, life’s not fair. And not everyone gets a happy life. It’s how most villains are made, actually. They were hurt more than everyone else and couldn’t handle it anymore. Not all villains are like that but many are. I think you should stay away from that kid, Taishiro. He might turn out a villain.”

But he didn’t stay away. And he made it his mission to become a pro hero so he could make a ton of money and help as many people as he could. He’d help even villains, keep them from doing something dangerous and inspire hope in them.

Then, he’d adopt any kid who needed a father. All the orphanages and foster programs would be empty. Homeless children off the street and in his house, being fed and clothed. He’d care for each and every one of them, not wanting a single person to feel like they didn’t belong. 

He finds most of his kids at pride parades. He walks around with a shirt that says ‘FREE DAD HUGS’ and a box full of candy. He remembered one of the kids walking up to him slowly.

“Um.. are you Fatgum?” 

“Yes I am!”

“Can I have a hug?”

“Yes you can, Kiddo!” he got down, and the kid put his arms on his stomach (Fatgum’s too big for anyone to fully hug, the dude’s taller than Allmight!) he wrapped his arms around the kid before he heard sniffles. He looked down and saw that the kid was crying.

“M-my parents never hug me like this!” they exclaimed. “They haven’t since I came out. They want to kick me out when I turn thirteen!” 

“Can I have their number? I’m going to... talk to them.”

He ended up taking the kid’s family to court, and since the parents were going to just kick the kid out anyways, they let Fatgum adopt them, but they kept nagging him about how he was ‘going to be raising a little demon.’

“Then call me Lucifer.” he spat right back. Now, that kid’s grown up, has pride flags all around their walls, and doesn’t ever doubt that they’re loved.

Fatgum probably bakes with his kids. Helping them up onto the counter to mix ingredients and play with the dough. If they mess something up or break a glass, it’s fine. He doesn’t yell at them or sigh and shake his head, he just kissed the kid on the forehead and helps them clean up the mess. 

The food always turns out amazing, and Fatgum always tells the kids that. All of his kids are now Gordon Ramsay level chefs and have probably met Gordon Ramsay. 

No matter what their body type is, Fatgum tells his kids their handsome/beautiful and are model worthy. If anyone comments of one of his kid’s body, whether it be negative or... ‘positive’ in a creepy way, you can expect that they’re getting slammed into the ground. No questions asked.

One of Fatgum’s kids is really good at make-up. Like, really good. So Fatgum did the only thing a rational father would do. 

Ask for a make-up job.

It didn’t end all that well...

“Hold still.. I gotta get the eyeliner on.”

“Gosh, Kiddo it’s making my eyes water.” 

“I know, just hold still... aaaand...... done! Now don’t touch it or it’ll smear!”

“Wow, that looks great! You’re really good at this!”

“Thanks, dad- you smeared it already didn’t you?”

“....Nope.”

Fatgum: I'm not gonna do it, it just seemed like a good option. 

Fatgum not even two seconds later after seeing a trans kid crying: now carrying said child on his shoulders while his spouse is chuckling in a corner after signing adoption papers I did it.

This man would get his kids almost anything they wanted. Especially kids with ADD/ADHD/Autism/Tourettes/Anxiety who need stim toys.

Kid: chewing on their nails.

Fatgum: here take this stim toy, and this one, you chew this one so that might help-

Kid ends up with more stim toys than they can count.

Fatgum: just doing his job 

The Daddy Issues Gang: Hi dad- oh shit wait- Hi- I- fuck- trauma ensues. crying

Fatgum: grabs the daddy issues gang we're going to the nearest courtroom say hello to your new father its me im the father ok lets go.

Kid: um, dad can I talk to you? 

 Fatgum, turning around quickly: yes? 

 Me: ‘he moved so quick, he's mad at me, I'm gonna get yelled at’ Sorry, sorry! 

Fatgum: uh, no. I'm getting you ice cream and a new stuffed animal no questions asked

He'd just know when something's wrong, and he’d be great at comforting.

His usual style of comfort is to let the kid sit on his stomach and tell him what’s wrong. His body is one giant pillow for his kids to lay on, he can fit at least eight of them if they cuddle in closely.

Once filmed a commercial dressed as the Cool-Aid man, and all of his kids were in the commercial.

Fatgum: Busts down wall  “OH YEAH!”

Director: “And CUT! Okay, try a little more aggressive-”

Fatgum, in tears: “I don’t wanna scare my kids.”

As stated before, if anyone makes his kids feel bad he’s punching them to the ground, but sometimes he’s not in a position where he can do that. Like if a Karen mom ever comes over.

"Linda stop bringing lemon squares if you're going to talk about my son that way because they're just as sour as your attitude."

Fatgum but he slaps the toxic members of your family and tells them to do better or he's taking you.

Then takes you anyway because you prefer him.

Fatgum with a sweater that says ‘mr dad guy on it’

Fatgum definitely watches ATLA, and quotes Uncle Iroh daily. When his kids are minding their own business they suddenly hear

“Leaves from the vine... falling so slow...” 

INAUDIBLE CHAOS AND PANIC

Fatgum agency cosplayed ATLA characters on Halloween.

Fatgum was Iroh.

Kirishima was Sokka.

Tamaki was either Momo or Appa.

Maybe get a couple others in on it too, Mirio could be Aang and if Kirishima convinces Todoroki to join for a while he’d totally be Zuko.

Fatgum lets his kids squish his face.

Fatgum used to work with a hero who was hard of hearing, so he learned sign language to help them, and he’s got the skill saved in case one of his kids might be deaf.

So one day, Kirishima invites Bakugou on patrol with him, and we all love that headcanon of Bakugou going deaf, so when he gets pissed at something, he starts insulting everyone around him in SL.

Fatgum notices and starts signing back to him.

YOU’RE ALL MOTHERFUCKERS AND I HATE YOU ALL!

Hey, now, let’s calm down and not call everyone motherfuckers.

FUCK YOU TOO

Bakugou...

Everyone thinks that they’re doing magic, because they’re making all these shapes with their hands and keep looking offended at each other.

Now, Fatgum tries his gosh darn hardest to keep up with the memes, so when his kids come home with good grades, he says “That’s so pog, Kiddo!”

All of his kids are embarrassed.

In the middle of a battle, he throws Kirishima at a villain and they both scream “YEET!” the villain afterwords forever lives in fear of the word ‘yeet’ because he thinks it’ll result in a human rock being thrown at his face.

Fatgum can’t text very well, because his fingers are just too damn big-

sonhsisntextsblooklikehthis'

Translation: so his texts look like this

you learn to understand his texts

Someone better get him a large tablet instead of a phone

If he gets married after he adopts the kids, there’s going to be a huge competition over who does the rings and who does the flowers etc.

If any of his kid’s ever bring home a romantic partner, you can bet your ass he’ll be all over them.

“What’s your average grade?”

“E-eighty percent sir!”

“And do you take sports?”

“No sir, I wish to be a biologist.”

“I see, I see...”

“DAD, YOU AREN”T INTERVIEWING MY PARTNER, ARE YOU? YOU SCARED OFF THE LAST THREE I DON’T WANNA DEAL WITH THAT AGAIN!”

“SORRY, KIDDO! I’LL LET THEM GO NOW! I’ve got my fucking eyes on you. Don’t screw this up.”

Hope y’all enjoy this, if y’all want I can write some headcanons for if Fatgum’s kid becomes a villain-

[koala-otter]

so i have this idea that aang and katara ask zuko and sokka to take care of bumi kya and tenzin for the weekend and i would appreciate if you could give me that 🥺🥺 i love everything you write btw

thank you so much anon!! (and thank you for your patience with this)

I took some artistic license and made it pure Bumi (it came out pretty soft I think as a result, but writing so many kids’ dynamics seemed like a lot for me rn hahaha)

also this is only part 1 of 2 (maybe 3) and is on ao3

a weekend with bumi almost 2k words

Breakfast has just been served on the eastern patio of the Fire Nation royal palace when an attendant rushes over to the Fire Lord’s table. Zuko’s soup spoon has made it halfway toward his mouth while Sokka has been regaling Katara and Aang with a story about his latest trip to the royal tailor—his visits have only become more frequent now that he is officially married to the Fire Lord and has unlimited access to the best silks from Shiruku mountain—and the young parents have been steadily feeding one-year-old Bumi bites of fermented soybean. Zuko returns the spoon to the bowl when he sees the member of his senior staff approaching, the steam of the broth curling up and disappearing in front of his face.

“Yes, Hoshi?” he asks.

Hoshi bows deeply in front of Zuko. “My lord,” he begins, “a messenger hawk has just arrived from the Earth Kingdom.” He rises and turns toward the other side of the table, a scroll held out in his hand. “For Avatar Aang.”

“Thanks, Hoshi,” Aang says, reaching out to take the message. Hoshi disappears back into the palace.

Aang finishes feeding Bumi a piece of sweet potato before carefully placing his chopsticks next to his dish and unfurling the message. The rest of the table falls quiet as he reads, and for a while, there are only the sounds of birdsong and rustling trees from the garden below them. But then Bumi’s chubby hand reaches into his mouth, and Sokka fails to hold in a guffaw as the baby flings mushy sweet potato right onto Katara’s dress. Just as Sokka’s about to let loose into a full laugh, Katara victoriously holds up the napkin preemptively placed on her lap, immediately disappointing her brother. Zuko smiles in amusement. Aang rolls the message back up.

“What is it, Aang?” Katara asks.

“There’s a spirit attacking a village on the west coast of the Earth Kingdom,” Aang says, already rising from his seat. “I have to help them.”

“I’m coming with you,” Katara says determinedly. She shifts Bumi to her hip to stand.

“But, Katara, it’s not safe,” Aang reasons with her. “The spirit’s already ruined half of the villagers’ homes and taken some of them into the Spirit World.”

“Then you shouldn’t go alone,” Katara replies. “They’ll need help from both of us.”

“Okay,” Aang says slowly, “but I really meant not safe for Bumi.” He tilts his head toward the baby boy gurgling on his mother’s hip, his round, little fist once more in his mouth.

Sokka and Zuko watch Katara as she considers her son carefully. Bumi always joins his parents on their travels—they’ve even taken him down the mail chutes at Omashu and on the backs of kangaroos on Kangaroo Island. Leaving him behind seems unimaginable. But a fierce expression lights across Katara’s face, much like the one she gets before endangering their lives to save a village, or when she decides to teach the Northern Water Tribe’s female benders herself. She has an idea, and she will follow through on it.

“Sokka and Zuko can take care of him,” she says matter-of-factly.

Sokka and Zuko exchange alarmed looks as Katara hands Bumi to her brother, and Sokka becomes very concerned with holding the baby up and out from under his arms. Bumi’s always been big for his age, but Sokka’s hands still wrap completely around the upper part of Bumi’s torso, his fingertips meeting across Bumi’s back. Sokka always worries while holding him that his nephew is a very small, very fragile, little human being, but now he feels doubly aware of it, especially as the person suddenly responsible for his care.

“Are you sure—”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Aang says cheerfully. He pulls out his bison whistle to call Appa, but before he blows into it, he turns to the two men still sitting, stunned, on the floor and asks, “As long as you’re okay with it?”

“Of course,” Zuko says, shaking off his surprise. He stands and takes Bumi from Sokka, his arms still outstretched, and tries to hold him in a way that might reassure Katara and Aang that they’ve made the right decision. From their small smiles and intense focus on the sky, however, it doesn’t look like they need much reassuring.

“You’re in good hands, buddy,” Aang says to his son once Appa’s arrived. He gives Bumi’s hand a little shake. “We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Katara kisses both of Bumi’s cheeks and the top of his head, and then tickles his neck to make him erupt into a fit of giggles.

“We’ll keep him safe,” Sokka promises, now standing to put his arm around Zuko’s shoulders.

“I know,” Katara replies with a smile. She hugs her brother fiercely, then Zuko just as tightly, and kisses Bumi one more time for good measure. She only looks a little sad when Aang helps her onto Appa’s saddle.

“Be careful!” Zuko calls after them.

“You’re one to talk, Zuko,” Aang laughs as they take off, and Zuko can only smile and shake his head goodnaturedly, watching as Appa becomes only a speck in the sky.

When Zuko looks away, he finds Sokka still staring into the clouds in great distress. His eyes have gone wide, a grimace is plastered to his face, and if his arm weren’t around Zuko, he’d probably be pulling his own hair.

“Hey,” Zuko says in that soft, raspy voice of his, “they’ll be okay.”

Sokka starts. “I know that,” he says, pulling his arm back.

“Then what are you so worried about?”

Sokka uses both hands to gesture toward Bumi, gurgling away in Zuko’s arms. “How are we supposed to take care of a baby?” His voice is high-pitched and nasal, the way it sounds every time they’re confronted with an impending fight, or when one of his plans does not, well, go to plan.

“How would I know?” Zuko spies drool dribbling down Bumi’s chin and does his best to wipe it discreetly with his sleeve. He sneaks a glance at Sokka in case he’s noticed his grimace of disgust, and then clears his throat and says, “He’s your nephew.”

“Hey,” Sokka says quickly, crossing his arms, “as of three months ago, he’s yours, too.” His tone turns borderline academic, and his arm extends in something like an invitation. “Maybe you could come up with an idea for how to take care of him?”

Zuko frowns in response. With Aang and Katara gone, he and Sokka are the only adults on the patio. The leaves of the trees in the garden below shudder in the wind, no figures present to impede them but insects and their wings. Hoshi is nowhere within calling distance, the nearest guard is somewhere on the roof, and the last royal nurse was dismissed years ago. It is just them and the little table covered in dishes that have barely been touched, the bowls of soup still steaming.

Bumi lets out the beginning of a low wail and immediately succeeds in regaining Zuko’s attention.

Zuko pales and begins bouncing his nephew. “We could start by finishing breakfast?” he suggests.

Sokka immediately breaks into an eager grin and reaches excitedly for Bumi, whom Zuko is more than happy to hand over. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he almost chides himself, suddenly balancing Bumi seemingly effortlessly on his arm. He lands easily back in his seat at the table, holding the baby up so they can both survey the spread before them.

From this angle, Zuko realizes, with Bumi’s dark hair and dark skin and blue eyes, he and Sokka look stunningly alike. It comes not only from the clear markers of their shared heritage, but also in the pure emotion of their faces, Sokka’s so angular, Bumi’s soft and round. The look and smell of the food causes similar reactions in both of them, absorbing all of their attention and analysis. Zuko almost wants to laugh at the sight, an unfamiliar sensation bubbling in his chest and filling him with a welcome warmth, almost like plunging into a hot bath.

“All right, Bumi,” Sokka says instructionally. He moves his chopsticks adeptly over the collection of plates. “Your dad might be a vegetarian, but you’re half-Water Tribe, so it’s your birthright to eat meat. And your mom isn’t here to stop me. So.”  

Sokka reaches for one of the plates, only to spy Zuko looking down at him disapprovingly.

“It’s not like they’re gonna find out!” he says helplessly.

“Katara and Aang are his parents,” Zuko says, crossing his arms, “and we promised to take care of him for them.” He sits down and moves the plate out of Sokka’s reach, much to his husband’s dismay. “That means following their rules.”

Sokka sighs. “Fine,” he acquiesces, his eyes closing briefly in resignation. They open suddenly, and he points a finger in Zuko’s direction. “But when we have a kid, they’re eating meat every day.”

Zuko freezes in response. When he and Sokka have talked about children, it has always been in the abstract, and always in a distant future neither can really envision. They both know of the expectations for an heir, but still, the surrounding language has always been “if;” never “when.” Even the last time it was mentioned, three months before, when a very drunk, very off-duty Admiral Chen made a comment about preparing the navy for toddlers armed with boomerangs and fire, Sokka only mirrored the horrified expression on Zuko’s own face.

Sokka barrels on, clearly not having noticed Zuko’s reaction, or his lack of a response. “Change of plans,” he says to Bumi, who reaches out with his tiny hand to lightly smack Sokka’s cheek. Sokka grins in response. “We’re trying fish.”

The words pull Zuko out of his daydream. “Sokka,” he says warningly.

“What? It’s fish,” Sokka says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s barely meat.”

He pulls off a small piece of grilled fish and brings it close to Bumi, whose eyes widen at the sight. He pulses forward on Sokka’s arm with his mouth open wide, waiting expectantly. With a shift of an inch, the fish lands in his mouth, and Bumi bursts into a loud hum.

Zuko laughs loudly at the sound.

“It’s good, right?” Sokka asks excitedly, already getting more for the baby boy to eat. Bumi nods his head, and his wild hair bounces around him, mouth already open again for the next approaching morsel. “Yeah, get the skin, it’s the best part!”

Sokka looks up to beam at Zuko. “This might not be so bad after all,” he says. His eyes sparkle with an energy Zuko’s never seen from him before.

“Yeah.” Zuko leans forward to feed Bumi his next bite himself, and chuckles when his nephew grows impatient and grabs the fish off of the chopsticks, mashing it into little flakes between his tiny fingers. He only laughs more as Sokka desperately tries to keep any of the flakes from falling on his clothing, but soon enough, Zuko grabs a napkin and distracts Bumi with a piece of sweet potato, cleaning off one little hand at a time. Sokka smiles gratefully at him and pulls Bumi back into his lap, while Zuko folds the napkin back up and places it beside his plate on the table. He settles back into his seat and listens to the wind in the leaves, the vibration of insect wings, the little songs of the birds, and Bumi, humming loudly still with each taste of his breakfast, and beginning to converse with his uncle in his special brand of baby talk.

Zuko smiles. “It might even be kind of fun.”

[the-yellowturtle]

ZKDD Day 30: Forever Family

Title: If One of Your Soulmates Told You to Go Jump in the River, Would You?

Rating: T (cussing, mentioned past character death, brief mention of infanticide)

Summary: Zuko always believed his destiny was tied to the Avatar, he just never thought it would be in this way. (Fruits Basket!AU)

Note: A/N can be found on AO3 (including a chart to figure out your atla zodiac lol) Also! I would appreciate feedback because I’m thinking of expanding on this idea more for the Zutara Big Bang :)

@zkdrabbledecember

A long time ago, the Avatar lived together in harmony with their twelve friends: the shirshu, the flying bison, the tiger seal, the jackalope, the dragon, the koi fish, the ostrich horse, the koala sheep, the winged lemur, the turtleduck, the polar bear dog, and the badgermole.

Unfortunately, those idyllic days did not last forever. Strife was brewing between the Spirit and Human Worlds, and only the Avatar was capable of restoring balance. There was no choice, but to leave the Spirit World and to live among the humans. The Avatar was heartbroken to be separated from their closest friends, but they knew they must do so, or great calamity would befall the world.

The Twelve understood why the Avatar must go, however, they could not bear to be parted from the one that had brought them all together.

“We will follow you. We will join you in bringing balance to the Spirit and Human Worlds,” the Twelve told the Avatar.

“Let us be together forever,” the Avatar responded with joy. “May we always find each other in every life.

From that day onward, the Avatar has always been accompanied by members of the Twelve. For there is nothing on this planet that is more powerful than the bond between the Twelve and the Avatar. They are destined to be together. Forever.

___

Everyone had always thought he was a fool for choosing to pursue the Avatar.

Zuko had been given two avenues to regain his honor, and he had opted to search for the mythical figure that had been missing for over a century. His crew detested his decision, and Uncle… Uncle was apathetic towards his efforts at best; most likely disappointed he could not relive his glory days through his nephew.

He knew others thought that he had given up, that he had never planned on returning to his place in the Fire Nation, that he was too weak and too much of a coward to hunt members of the Twelve. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He would gladly struggle and fight for as long as possible because he knew his destiny. His destiny was to capture the Avatar, and the airbender’s reemergence had proven him correct. It was only a matter of time now.

The first few attempts had gone astray, but Zuko had a good feeling about collaborating with the pirates to capture the waterbender to use as bait. It didn’t matter that Uncle did not agree with his methods, and that Zuko had to set off by himself with only a small squadron. He would prove Uncle and everyone else wrong; he had to.

___

When you were one of the Twelve, touch was the most intimate of things. Any form of embrace would trigger the transformation, so most Zodiac members learnt to dance around it; learnt how to get out of the societal norms that would so often lead to falling into other’s arms.

But Katara thrived on it. She patted heads, held hands, bumped shoulders, and kissed foreheads. She loved to touch others; to get as close as possible. She knew it was dangerous, but she loved it. She wanted others to know that she cared for them.

Before Aang, she had only ever been hugged by her family. Some of her favorite memories were of when her mom would let her transform and spend the whole day cuddling together in the furs. (Only under duress would she admit that Sokka carrying her around like a polar dog pup were also some of her favorites).

For her whole life, an embrace had only ever been a signifier of the utmost trust and affection. Hugs and cuddles were sacred, not a thing to be feared.

However, that was before Aang and before leaving the Southern Water Tribe and before seeing the wanted posters of rumored members of the Twelve.

That was before Zuko had snuck up on her, said that spirits awful line, and sent her careening back into the arms of one of the pirates. That was before time stopped for a moment and her stomach dropped and she thought to herself: fuck .

___

Katara expected to see a few things when she opened her eyes:

The puff of smoke from her transformation? Check.

Her pile of clothes on the ground? Check.

Pirates and Fire Nation soldiers charging at her? Check.

What Katara was never expecting to see —not even after a thousand years — was a poof of smoke similar to her own clearing up, and a turtleduck emerging from a pile of red and gold armor.

Before her mind could even form the question of what in the Four Nations just happened, one of the soldiers shouted, “Prince Zuko is a traitor! Seize him and the tiger seal!”

“Oh no you don’t,” the Pirate Captain sneered, “We’ll be the ones gettin’ the reward for the turtleduck and tiger seal.”

And then all hell broke loose.

With all of her might, Katara bounced her way between the fighting pirates and soldiers, biting and tail whipping as she went. She needed to get to the river; outswimming them was the only plausible method of escape.

She was almost there, the water practically touching her flippers, when she heard a familiar raspy voice command, “Get back! I’m your Prince!” followed by hisses of pain.

Zuko.

Her enemy. The boy who relentlessly chased them around the world, trying to kidnap Aang and destroy any chance at peace. And the boy, who apparently was one of her soulmates. One of the people she had shared countless lifetimes with maintaining balance. The boy who was near the water, but was too busy breathing fire at the advancing troops to notice his surroundings.

She didn’t know why he spent so long pursuing them when he could have joined them, but she did know that he needed some help. And Katara never turned her back on people who needed her.

So she screamed, “Zuko! Go jump in the river!”

___

Zuko did not know what was happening.

He did not know why one of his men stumbling into him caused a tiny explosion. He did not know why he’s suddenly the size of a cat. He did not know why he appeared to have a beak and a shell now. He did not know why his men were calling him a traitor.

Zuko only knew one thing: the spirits hated him.

So he ran because the men chased him. He screamed because they further besmirched his honor with lies. He breathed fire because they attacked him.

He was disconnected from reality; the only thing that felt real was the pounding in his ears and the churning of his stomach.

“Zuko! Go jump in the river!”

It was the waterbender. The tiger seal. She called to him from the river bank, slapping her fins against the water for emphasis. “Jump in the river!”

So he jumped.

___

There was a saying in the Fire Nation navy: A decent sailor knows the changes of the tides; a great sailor knows the cycles of the Twelve .

As important as the knowledge contained in the official seafaring manual was, it did not bring glory to their homeland. Any average Lee could spew off the fuel consumption rate of a Fire Nation cruiser; only the greatest of men could present the Fire Lord with a member of the Twelve in chains. And even then, only the best of them would be permitted to carry out the execution themselves.

Captain Zhao had been granted this honor thirteen times. In fact, he was the most successful hunter of the Twelve in the history of the Fire Nation. Not even the Dragon of the West, with a measly count of three kills, could compare to him. There was a reason the old man was wasting away on a dilapidated rust bucket, and Zhao was being heralded as the Zodiac Killer.

Yes, Zhao was quite proud of his accomplishments, but he wanted more. He had brought thirteen members of the Twelve to their knees before the people of Caldera City, but four of those had been repeats. And where was the glory in that?

No one had ever managed a complete set, but Zhao would most definitely be the first. The jackalope, koi fish, and turtleduck were the only ones left.

The jackalope was still at large in the Earth Kingdom, but was most likely under the protection of Omashu’s Mad King. After dealing with the Northern Water Tribe, Omashu would be the next stronghold to fall to the Fire Nation.

The koi fish had always been the trickiest of the Twelve to catch. This was not due to the koi fish being particularly intelligent or skillful, but simply because it was a creature cursed with terrible luck. Most parents were terrified when their newborn transformed into a fish, and by the time they realized what was happening; their fish child had already suffocated. As a result, it was impossible to know for sure how many incarnations of the koi fish had been reborn since the start of the Hundred Year War.

The koi fish of the Zodiac would be an excellent addition to his collection, but Zhao had it on good authority that there’s an even better prize in the Northern Water Tribe. Besides, it’s been at least two decades since the North had presented the Fire Nation with one of the Twelve, perhaps Zhao would come across a pleasant surprise during his expedition.

And then there was the turtleduck. After confirmation that the previous turtleduck had been an Earth Kingdom warrior, Zhao had been scouring the Poles for rumors. He had assumed the next would be of Water descent, but oh how shortsighted he had been.

How could he have forgotten how often Earth liked to mix themselves with others? The warrior had not been an Earth incarnation, but one of Air.

The current cycle was Fire. And after reading the memo on his desk about reports of pirates seeing a scarred boy transform into a turtleduck, he knew exactly who to look for.

Zhao had always enjoyed the hunt, but this was shaping up to be his favorite. It’s not everyday you get to kill a prince, after all.

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 7

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: I do not own any of the following: Avatar: The Last Airbender, the Grand Prix, Marvel or D.C. comics, or any other cultural references made by any unknown characters not associated with the FMA or FMAB series.

"To the library!" I announced, mimicking Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender as we finally arrived back in Central. Johann had left the apartment before us, in a hurry to check on his lab I assumed, so we left as soon as the first train arrived. Which happened to be at 4:30 in the morning, meaning I was beginning to feel the effects of long term sleep deprivation and was acting ridiculous the entire train ride.

I complained about everything, cried when there wasn't any milk on the drink cart, and had now entered a state of hysterics that made everything a reference to my world's culture - which, to be honest, was hilarious considering Hughes didn't understand one bit of what I talking about when it came to the Grand Prix and binge watching Daredevil. However, the library seemed to be the key to catching his attention.

"I guess we have time to stop by there if you want to-" I hugged him, to tired to realize why or care that I was suffocating both him and Lucha.

"Please? I need a book or something soon, I'm going to die of literature deprivation - so you guys have any sci-fi stuff or is it just fantasy and essays?" The afternoon sun beat down hard as I skipped next to Hughes. I was really looking forward to a nap, this hyperactivity probably wasn't a good sign.

"Sci-fi?" Maes asked, rubbing his chin. "Is that like, science documents or something like that?" I stopped skipping - it was starting to bother my ankles, and the long skirt I was wearing kept getting caught under the toes of my boots.

"Never mind that, you're actually taking me to the library?" I asked, calming down a little. Being cooped up in that tiny train car had gotten me so excited to get out, I hadn't realized he actually agreed to my ridiculously versed request.

"Sure, why not? I sent Gracia a telegram saying we wouldn't be back until supper time, so we have a few hours to kill." I cocked my head to one side, trying to keep from asking if the library had burned down yet or not.

"What about work? Don't you have to file some things on Scar? And what about Maria and Denny, are they my babysitters anymore or not?" I asked, directing the barrage of questions at Hughes but only looked straight ahead at the cracks in the cobblestone street. Hughes' chuckle made me lose my staring contest with the ground.

"Work can wait. Besides, you sounded really enthusiastic about going." Lucha poked his head out of the bag and nipped my elbow.

"Okay, I guess it wouldn't hurt to stop for a little while." And so we made the trek all the way to the first branch of the state library.

The first branch of the state library was, in words, reflective of Amestris' imposing architectural style with a spirit of exciting discoveries and intense focus all rolled into one pristine white building. After a moment at gaping up at the complex, I hurried past Hughes through the double door entrance to breath in the smell of fresh ink and old paper. A familiar smell in an unfamiliar world.

"Mac!" Hughes called after me as I ran down one of the many endless hallways, but he was quickly shh-ed by a librarian somewhere in the labyrinth of paper. I scanned the spines of the books as I softly and quickly padded in between the book shelves. It was saddening to think it would all go up in flames soon, but that was all the more reason to enjoy it while it was still there.

The old books were arranged by the Dewey Decimal system, though I bet it wasn't called that here. After turning down several branches paths, I discovered the small fiction section of the library. And by small, I mean less than two full shelves of mythos about Xerxes and other past civilizations. Despite this shortage of preferred reading material, I dove right in. I grabbed the first four books I could and sat down with my back to the shelves as I opened the first novel, Xerxes' Princess. It was a sappy love story with drama and angst, but it was something.

The princess, Perenelle, was vaguely familiar from somewhere, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. She had an interest in alchemy, and commissioned many temples and sculptures to the gods. She also had a secret love for the slave boy who was the caretaker of the palace. Perenelle however, was destined to marry off to a prince in Xing as a peace offering after a war with the eastern country.

Very cliche in its approach, but it was interesting in that it provided glimpses of what 'modern' 1914 culture viewed as important enough to write about. Like sappy romances that followed a Romeo and Juliet type plot. I had just gotten to the good part, when the king was torturing her lover by chaining him over hot coal, when I could honest to Truth smell something burning. It was the library, or at least something in the library judging by the smoke that was wafting over and between the shelves.

I got up, still clutching the novel to my chest in fear as I looked around. No one was panicking, but that was because there was no one around.

"Hughes?" I called out, fear tinging my voice. No one responded, and no one yelled at me for being so loud. "Hughes!" I called again louder, my voice cracking with anxiety.

I got up and ran back in the direction I had come. Unfortunately, I had absolutely zero sense of direction, which resulted in me being lost. I was somewhere in the history department of the labyrinth when I realized just how lost I was. The smoke was burning my eyes, and each breath felt as if I was breathing the fire itself. It was getting harder to breath by the second, and I could not feel my feet or my hands as stars danced across my vision.

I ended up hiding under a desk, watching the billows of smoke dance around the small alcove I had made my temporary refuge. My breathing was constricted, the breaths becoming shorter and shorter. My vision faded to black, the only thought coming to mind that it would be really disappointing to die now.

"...with her! She ran off before I could stop her-" I awoke to Hughes' voice and many other voices arguing, most of it a muddled blur of murmured sounds, nothing I could really place.

I was lying on my back on something soft, a bed from my best guess. It had a thin blanket, thin enough that I could feel the slight draft coming from the window to the right of my head. The familiar weight of an oxygen mask covered my mouth and nose, and the puffs of air told me I was probably in a hospital. I felt around myself, for Lucha and my bag. If someone had read my notebook all hell would break loose, and it would explain the angry voices I heard around me.

"I think she's waking up." Armstrong's voice boomed nearby, feet shuffling in my direction as I glared against the bright lights of the hospital. It was easier to breath now, but the choking grip of my asthma still made it a challenge.

The faces were blurry, but I could make out who was hovering over me like a swarm of bees. With brooding expressions, Mustang and Hughes stood to the left of my bed, while Armstrong and the babysitting duo were on my right. I was pretty sure Hawkeye was in the room, but she must have been out of my field of vision.

"I'll call the doctor," Riza's voice said, the sound of a door closing indicating her leaving for said medical professional. I tried to sit up, but Roy's hand pushed me down.

"You need rest," He said, his dark eyes piercing and commanding. I sat up anyways, not comfortable laying down on my back. The feat nearly made me pass out again and caused my world to temporarily spin, but it gave me some form of relief to know I was able to move on my own.

"What happened?" I asked as I pulled the mask down for a moment, nearly out of breath from sitting up. However, the thought of someone finding my notebook keeping me from falling back into the lull of sleep.

"There was a fire-"

"I know, what happened after that?" I asked, wondering how someone found me. And from what the show depicted, the library was a pile of rubble. There was a slim chance I could have survived being trapped under that much debris and live, and judging by my luck, I wouldn't have.

"The fire brigade found you just before the building collapsed, luckily no one was killed." Roy shot a glare at Hughes. "Though it was a close call, Hughes." I waved my hand, mostly to get some feeling into it but also to dismiss any hard feelings between the two.

"It was my fault for running off," It was getting easier to breath, if only slightly so. I took the oxygen mask off, not even bothering to ponder if it was even invented yet in my world's 1914 timeline. I took a few deep breathes, readjusting to the environment. Judging by the amount of light coming from the window, it was day - but the dark circles under Hughes and Mustang's eyes said they hadn't slept. "How long was I out?" I asked, bringing a hand to my face to rub my tired eyes.

"Through the night," Armstrong answered, looming over me with his imposing stature as I sputtered in disbelief. All night? Sure, I had passed out from an asthma attack before, but never for that long, at least not without brief moments of consciousness. Maybe it was just the cumulative exhaustion of the past week or two catching up with me. Suddenly, my initial panic that had woken me up returned

"Where's Lucha? And my things?" I looked frantically between the people assembled around me. Before anyone could reply, the door opened as Riza let the doctor in.

He was a stout man, his dirty blonde hair combed back and a pair of small, round spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose obscured his eyes. In his right hand he held a clipboard, in the left he held a mug of steaming black coffee.

Before we continue, let me just explain that I have a hatred for a) hospitals, b) doctors, and c) coffee.

This man was the embodiment of my worst childhood memories - hours in the emergency room and overnight stays at the hospital every other week, doctors who couldn't figure out that it was just damn asthma set off by pneumonia. Coffee from the doctors had pervaded even the most sterile rooms. I was not sure why I disliked coffee so much, it was probably linked to some oppressed memory or some psychology shit like that.

"Try to breath normally, Miss. Irish." The doctor - he had a little name card the read Dr. Klaus - said this as he sat on the bed beside me, stethoscope in hand. It took me a moment to realize I had been holding my breath. I looked up, my musings about my seething hatred for coffee ceasing as the glare of his glasses disappeared to reveal his eyes. His purple eyes. I didn't move as the cold stethoscope traced a path over my chest, clinking against my necklaces.

"Hm, your heart rate is slightly elevated, and your breathing is faster than normal. Under the circumstances, its normal. I'd like to keep her here for the rest of the day just to make sure there are no complications." Dr. Klaus said, looking to Mustang for approval. The man nodded, looking to his subordinates. Dr. Klaus slipped out of the room, the door opening and closing almost silently courtesy of Riza Hawkeye.

"Try to keep a closer watch on her this time." Mustang said as I stared blankly into space, my heart beating loudly in my chest. He and his Lieutenant exited the room with a brief nod to Hughes and Armstrong.

There were a million reasons why he had purple eyes. He could have had some ocular albinism or it could be natural - if Ed's eyes were possible, purple wasn't too far off. He was probably just some normal guy - and it wasn't as if the homunculi knew how much I knew, was it?

And if it was Envy or some other homunculi creature, it would have killed me if it thought I was a threat to their plans unless I was some amazing alchemist they could use as a sacrifice. And judging from my inability to even stay awake in chemistry class, that was a pretty non existent circumstance.

An image of Pride's creepy shadows flashed in my mind and a shiver passed through my body. Hughes shut the window, though it didn't do much to help with the sinking pit in my chest.

"Are you cold Mac?" He asked, looking to the Armstrong Squad. "We could get you a blanket-"

"Where's Lucha?" I asked, needing an answer. It didn't matter if I was going to be killed or worse - if that was going to be the case - I wanted to have the only other living thing I had from my world with me when it happened. The air became tangible with the silence, I could almost cut it with a knife.

"No one's seen him since the fire," Maria finally said, her voice straining with worry for my reaction. I looked down and sighed, gripping the white bed sheet in my fists.

I didn't even miss Lucha, at least not consciously, but without a vessel, I wouldn't be able to communicate with the Truth. And that threw a flaming wrench from hell into my plans and sent my inquiries for the all-knowing being more shattered than my dreams of being a well-off paleontologist.

"And my stuff?" I was surprised at my ability to keep from crying, but the crack in my voice indicated my distress to the four others in the room.

"All salvaged," Denny said, looking to the Major. "Would you like us to fetch it-"

"Yes, thank you." I said curtly, pulling the hospital sheet up around myself. "And, could you please get that extra blanket?"

Hughes smiled at me, his usual smile. The one that made your heart melt and the whole room light up with his contagious optimism.

"Sure, you want anything else?" He asked, pretending to write on his hand with an invisible pen. I rolled my eyes at his antics. It was good to see that side of Hughes. Denny and Maria had since left, both smiling as the scene unfolded behind them.

"Two decks of cards." He gave me a smirk.

"I don't play poker anymore, Gracia said gambling is an unhealthy habit." I reached out to swat at him, but he nimbly moved away.

"It's for 3 to 13 and garbage and stuff like that you big dummy." I said with a short laugh. Armstrong and Hughes looked at each other and then at me. "What?"

"What's 3 to 13?" Hughes asked. My shoulder's fell, but quickly came back up. So much for my grandfather teaching me card games - now it was my turn to teach someone else.

"It's like Rummy, I guess."

"And this 'garbage' game?" I found myself smiling as Denny and Maria came back.

"I'll teach you if you'll play poker with me, Hughes." I said, holding a hand out to him. He shook it, clapping me over the shoulder.

"Deal."

We spent the whole afternoon playing card games. Teaching them all how to play garbage and 3-13 was a challenge; Denny kept dropping his cards after we got past ten, and Hughes still didn't understand how a king was worthless in garbage. Afterwards we, meaning Armstrong, Hughes, and I, played poker using a random assortment of knick-knacks from my bag as chips.

It was actually fun, even with the looming threat of the apocalypse.

I went home that night, the doctor who did the final checkup was not Dr. Klaus thanks to Truth wherever the hell it was. The next few days involved a lot of sleep. As in more than eight hours every night sleep. I barely slept this well even before I woke up in this hellish alternate reality.

Elicia was pretty torn up about Lucha disappearing, but Hughes made it up to her by reminding her that she was going to turn 3 in less than a week. In a little more than a week Hughes would be dead.

The next two days were spent in my room more or less, mourning the loss of Lucha. I didn't feel sad, more of a hollow feeling as if some part of me had been carved away, but a crushing weight of an impending implosion was absent. I did feel a few warm tears drip down my face as I lay in my bed the morning of the second day, staring at the white ceiling. It was going to be a rather lonely journey without the little guy, but I guessed it was going to be one less thing I cared about loosing.

There was a knock at the door, and I didn't move at first, still contemplating how the next week would play out. The knock came again, this time louder. I sat up, wondering why Gracia hadn't answered it yet. It then struck me that she had left not too long ago to buy Elicia's birthday gift while the little girl was at a friend's house for a play date.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, hoping I looked a little better than I felt. I was only wearing my grey and white polka dot nightgown, so it was hopefully Hughes checking in as he had done so the day before. I opened my door, its glass knob turning with a creak.

That was another thing about this world that was charming. Almost all of the doorknobs were glass or brass, as if you were back in your grandmother's house. My house back home was pretty old, and all of the doors had glass knobs that took a few tries to properly open the door. I had somehow made my way to the door, looking at its own glass knob with a nostalgic apathy.

I looked up in surprise at Alphonse's bulking height standing behind Edward's own diminutive one.

"Hi Irish," Alphonse said, his childish voice echoing cheerfully. "We wanted to stop by and see how you were doing." I looked tiredly between the two brothers before stepping aside to allow them in. I could feel the questions burning in Edward's eyes, of what I did not know.

"I'm doing okay," I said, coughing a little as we sat down on the couches, causing nearly invisible dust clouds to float up and irritate my breathing. It would be really useful if Truth had given me my inhaler or something. "How are you boys? Last I saw you, you looked as if a rabid bear had gotten its way with you." Temporarily confused with my odd choice in comparison, Edward answered for his younger brother.

"Much better, thank you." He said curtly, though not impolite in tone. "We were wondering if you knew what caused the fire at the library." I shrugged, happy to get the mini-interrogation done with first instead of making small talk.

"Not sure, I was in the fiction section, smelled smoke, ran, got lost, and nearly suffocated. I really didn't see anyone or anything while I was looking for the exit." Ed nodded, his gold eyes trailing around the room.

"Did you happen to see anything written by a Tim Marcoh?" He asked, only to seem crestfallen when I shook my head, but he continued. "How about Mitch Racom?" I never thought about Marcoh using a pen name or anything like that. I thought back to the manuscripts I had skimmed over, but the cook book wasn't making itself abundantly clear.

"Nope, sorry." The building rumbled gently as pounding footsteps rushed down the hallway towards the apartment, and before I could say another word, Maria and Denny burst through the door in a panic.

"Mr. Elric, sir! You can't go and disappear like that - oh, hi Irish!" Denny rushed, Maria out of breath from their apparent mini marathon. Ed fumed in exasperation. He must have really hated being follow by the babysitting duo.

"I told you I wanted to go see if she knew anything!"

"Don't ditch us like that, it's our job to watch you." Maria asserted. "Besides, we found a lead." I looked up, my mind immediately thinking about a 'lead'. I couldn't recall a specific interest in the start of the first branch's fire, but it wouldn't surprise me if some focus and minor plot details had shifted. Whatever this lead was, it sure caught the boys' attention. "There's a woman who was well acquainted with the materials in the first branch." Ed got up from the couch, obviously with the intent to find the woman ASAP. "Unfortunately, she wasn't working there anymore." The blonde boy huffed, sitting back down.

"That sounds incredibly helpful," He replied sarcastically, crossing his arms in annoyance. I at least knew that they were talking about Sheska, not some random lead on an irrelevant case.

"Is something wrong?" Alphonse asked in his disembodied way, catching my attention. Denny was look at him kind of strangely.

"Oh, it's nothing," He said, his features no longer stoically inquisitive. "Although, if you don't mind me asking, why are you wearing a suit of armor?" I felt a smile briefly flicker across my face as the brothers quickly turned to one another.

"I-It's a hobby!" They said in sync, Maria and Denny obviously sending each other a whisper of disbelief.

"Why are you looking into Dr. Marcoh's work?" I asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen in place of the previous conversation. Ed turned to me, surprised.

"How did you know we were looking for his work?" He asked, suspicious of my intent guessing by the glare in his eyes. I held up my hands in defense, smiling despite myself.

"I read about him when I was doing a profile for Scar's target demographic. He's a medical bio-alchemist of sorts, right?" I said, hoping that sounded convincing. I personally hadn't looked over Marcoh's file, but I did remember seeing it somewhere in my comprehensive collection of State Alchemist paperwork.

"Uh, yeah. Kind of." Ed said curtly, getting up. "So where's this lady at?"

I sulked, upset I was being ignored for the first time since I arrived in this Truth forsaken world. If this wasn't real, I'd be growing mushrooms atop my head. My self pity ended as the trio left, the door closing behind them with a quiet thump.

The reality of how quiet the house was without anyone came rushing back like an icy tidal wave. I looked out the kitchen window, watching them pile into the back of one of the ancient vehicles known in this time period as a car. I sighed, knowing I wouldn't be able to lounge around forever wallowing in my own loneliness. Lucha was important to me, but even I was small in the scheme of what was happening.

After taking a quick bath, sure not to duck my head under again, I dressed in a simple white blouse with a blue overcoat and skirt to keep a low profile. I scribbled a quick note for the Hughes family, seeing the approaching evening. If the excursion I planned took longer than expected, I didn't want to worry my hosts. It felt strange not tucking Lucha into the carpet bag Gracia had given me, but I ignored the thought as I made sure my notebook and belongings were safely hidden away.

I resisted a sigh of resignation to another barefoot escapade as I spent almost ten minutes trying to secure the high button boots onto my ridiculously small and arched feet. After that ordeal was dealt with, I took a quick inventory of myself, habitually reaching for the small pocket knife I usually kept on my person at all times back in my own world.

I decided against stealing one of the Hughes' kitchen knives, reminding myself that I was trying to look inconspicuous. On that note, I grabbed an early cloche hat that adorned a fake flower or two and marched out the door.

I breathed in the humid evening air, the sun casting long shadows as it kissed the horizon and began to lean into its embrace. There were people out, to my surprise. Couples mostly, just enjoying a night out on the town, but a few children putting off dinner and elderly folks shuffling home from the store crossed my path from time to time. I was relieved when I finally made it to Central Park. The very same park I had arrived in.

There weren't really that many people around there, though a pair of familiar soldiers marched by me as I walked down the cobble stone pathway. I must have looked strange, my head swerving left and right as I looked for my target. When I finally found it, I cut across the lush, green grass and slowed as I approached the bench to the right of the structure.

It was a phone booth. I had never actually seen one, not in the lonely little town I was from. It had wooden framework and glass in between. The roof was a domed square, that was a paler than than the rest of the wooden pieces. From the looks of it, the framework was mahogany, probably used for its sheer weight and durability. The glass was tinted just enough for the innards of the booth to be obscured through the translucent glass.

To one side of the booth there was a bench. On the other side of the booth, a gas lamp post stood tall, its light not yet needed as the setting sun sent shafts of its light in blinding force to the earth.

I sat there, simply reflecting on what could or would happen there with my intervention. There were bushes that faded into a small wooded area behind me, and there was also a row of tall bushes on the other side of the walkway. No one would be able to see the murder unless they were lurking in the foliage or walking down the path, but this also meant it would be difficult to hide if needed.

I had five days until Sheska copied down the cookbook, and a few more days after that when the Elrics figure out how to make a Philosopher's stone. That night they would go to the fifth laboratory, and then Ed would spend two days in the hospital, and the day the Elrics and Winry left for Dublith was the day Hughes would die.

That was the plan, as long as I didn't throw a wrench into the plot. From my seat on the bench I could see a wing of Central Command, most likely the wing Hughes left to find a 'safe' line to call Mustang on.

The street lamp flickered to life as it was lit, the growing darkness around me only driven off by the glow of the lamps that were scattered throughout the park. The Central Command wing would be my objective of the next day. I stood up, closing my notebook after double checking that my best recreation of an aerial sketch of the phone booth area was as exact as possible. Somewhere in town the clock struck 6 o'clock, signaling it was time for me to return to the Hughes' residence. Tomorrow would be one day closer to Maes Hughes' death.

I actually didn't get to go inspect the government building the next day, as Gracia had employed my help shopping for Elicia's birthday. If it had not been mentioned earlier, I loathed shopping. It was a completely unnecessary torture in my mind - but if I had a daughter like Elicia who was turning three, I'd spend a few hours staring at party hats to figure out which ones she'd want.

We collected an assortment of various party materials; streamers, hats, those things you blow to uncurl that make a funny noise. Then came the food. We weren't making the cake that day, but Gracia was worried she'd be pressed for time, and that sending Elicia over to her friend's house every other day of the week for shopping didn't seem like good parenting.

So, here we were, in the middle of a busy farmer's' market on the other side of town trying to find some sugar, flour, oranges, and some other ingredients that were so generic I could point them out on the shelves of the Main Street Grocery shop with my eyes closed.

"Why couldn't we just buy them from Miss. Reich?" I asked, slightly annoyed as someone stepped on the hem of my brown skirt. As much as I loved the clothes Mrs. Hughes had picked out, they could be a hassle sometimes. Like right now, when I was more worried about stepping on one of the loose chickens than looking where I was going.

"Watch it!" A familiar, grumpy voice chided as his caged chicken squawked in fright as he dropped it. I murmured an apology for the forty sixth time that afternoon as I picked up the poor poultry and handed it to a certain Johann Adlersflügel. My eyes widened in recognition but before I could say a word he held finger to his lips, and picking up his produce, sped away.

"Johann-"

"Irish, could you help me with this?" Gracia asked, interrupting me with a large bag of fresh flour. As I struggled to hold up the heavy load, I lost sight of Johann.

Maybe he was just coming for Elicia's birthday. But then why the cold shoulder, did he just not recognize me? I was pretty hard to miss, even under all the drab clothes and hat. Maybe he wanted to surprise the Hughes' with his visit. But it worried me that he didn't just tell me, it was just strange.

These thoughts plagued my mind until we returned home, I happy to transfer the weight of the flour to the table. I rubbed my sore arms, noting that I'd need to start exercising now that I wasn't working on the farm every weekend.

Finally, the next evening, I was able to get to the wing of Central Command by the park. It seemed almost like a general government building, with civilians and soldiers mulling about and the quiet chatter of receptionists. To the left of the entrance, there were rows of private telephones shielded by dividers. I stood at the end of the cubicles, looking at the row with an anxiety filled heart that could only speculate how this would turn out without some help from little miss Mary Sue me.

"Excuse me, Miss," A young woman behind the counter spoke, her dirty blonde hair pinned back to frame her childish face. A single rebellious strand escaped, dangling in front of her shiny blue eyes. She probably was a little younger than my sister, Mary. "Can I help you with something?"

"Uh, yes, actually," I said, "Could you please show me to the archive room?" The young woman, her name tag read Adele Müller, cast a suspicious and wary glance in my direction.

"I'm sorry, the archive room isn't open to the public," Adele responded slowly, as if prepared for some big argument to ensue.

"Does this help?" I asked, sliding my beautifully laminated Certificate of Honorary Citizenship over the counter. She blinked in surprise as she lightly traced the Füher's signature. "May I please be shown to the archive room now?"

"Wow," She muttered under her breath before remembering I was still there, waiting patiently for an answer. "Oh, um, of course ma'am. Reggie!" She barked the man's name harshly, though she spoke almost reverently to me. Having the master key card was both a blessing and a curse.

Almost immediately, the soldier quickly flew to the counter. He was familiar, though I couldn't quite recall his name. He readjusted his wire framed glasses with his arm that wasn't in a sling before addressing Adele.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Take Miss. Dy-"

"Irish. Miss. Irish please." I said, catching the woman before she brutally murdered the pronunciation of my name. Unfazed, Adele spewed out the rest of her orders.

"Please take Miss. Irish to the archive room, and assist her in any way you can." Reggie nodded curtly before beckoning to me.

"And Azir, stay out of trouble this time, would you?" Adele added as we walked down the hallway to the right of the entrance. Azir...the arm in a sling…general dorkiness...

"Glasses jail dude?" I exclaimed a bit too loudly in the near empty hallway as the realization hit me. Reggie stared at me in confusion for a moment before I remembered that I was wearing a hat. I took it off, letting my now almost shoulder length white blonde hair tumble down. I wasn't kidding when I said I needed a haircut. It was his turn to have a wave of recognition pass over his face.

"Ishvalan jail guy?" I couldn't hold back a chuckle at his response. "What are you doing here? How are you here? Why are you wearing that?" I blushed as I glared down at the vintage dress I was wearing, the ribbons and lace making me feel very ladylike and pretty when I was trying it on that morning.

"I'm here to check out the archive room, I'm allowed to be here because I'm an Honorary Citizen or whatever, and I'm wearing a dress because I'm not a guy, I'm a lady." I said matter-of-factly as I counted the items off on my fingers.

"Well, I mean you're obviously a girl, um, it's just…" Mr. Azir, or Reggie I guessed his first name was, tried to form some sort of conversational response, and failed miserably. Either he wanted to apologize for mistaking me as a guy, or ask more questions, I couldn't tell. However, the pink flush that crawled onto his cheeks told me it wouldn't do any good to help him dig a deeper hole for himself.

"So, where's this fancy dancy little archive room?" I asked, trying to bring the mood above the awkwardness we had somehow descended into.

"This way," Reggie said softly, making me feel guilty for some reason. It wasn't my fault I looked particularly masculine when my hair was short, so then why did I feel so embarrassed for other people's mistakes?

Ugh, feeling emotions was difficult. I would actually rather spend a day debating philosophy and Marvel comics with Mr. Starks. Actually, I'd rather be debating anything with Mr. Starks than be here doing the crazy shit I was doing.

Mr. Starks had been my AP U.S. History and debate teacher back when I was a wee lil' Irish lass. Mr. Starks was that nerdy teacher that people either loved or hated, depending on their comic book preference. He didn't even look nerdy, if anything he looked like a lawyer or maybe some football coach. D.C. fans never won a debate with him, at least not that I had seen. I was not saying D.C. has bad comics, Truth no.

I was just saying one couldn't try to out-debate Mr. Starks when comic books were the subject of debate. Believe me, I had tried, but no matter what we talk about, Thor always trumped Superman and Captain America always beat Batman whenever Mr. Starks had a say in it. He had quite the way of twisting an argument and using perfectly structured evidence to either prove you wrong or promote his side of the debate.

"Here it is, ma'am." Reggie noted dully, not looking me in the eye as he opened the door to the surprisingly small room.

"This is the only archive room?" I said, recalling the smell and maps of the room from the week or so prior when I had last visited it. I sat down at the end of one of the dark wooden tables, looking from the ornate doors to my seat. It all lined up perfectly with the camera angle from the show, all that was missing was an injured Hughes and Lust.

"Yeah, we have closets and other places with some files scattered throughout Central Command, but this is the main archive room." Reggie said, leaving the door slightly ajar to let some light into the dimly lit room. I nodded and took out my notebook to trace a quick path from the entrance to the archive room before I forgot. It was a short path, which probably explained why Hughes wasn't flocked with concerned soldiers after he escaped Lust's attack. "What are you doing?" Reggie asked, suddenly seated beside me.

Without a second thought, my hand instinctively flew up to meet his forehead with a weak punch. It was merely instinct after years of younger brothers, but Reggie wasn't Matt hoping to steal my diary and ship it all the way to a person in which I took interest.

"Ah, sorry!" I squealed in surprise, not knowing what to do to show it was an accident. "You surprised me, is all." No you dumbass, he was in the room the whole time! You should have just waited until you got home to write it down! Ugh, stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Um, so, uh, what are you doing here in the archive room? Something you wanted to know?" He asked, rubbing his sore head. Reginald Azir. He had a pretty name now that I thought about it.

"I just wanted to know where it was; Lieutenant Colonel Hughes said to look for him here if he wasn't in his office." Reggie looked at me, surprise flashing through his grey eyes.

"You know Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?" I raised an eyebrow to this. I had been living with Hughes for, what had it been now, a month or so? Surely the military was more informed than this.

"I've been living with his family since I got my Honorary Citizenship paperwork. Although, I do have to 'move out' eventually according to Colonel Mustang." I said, using quotation marks for emphasis. Even if it was possible that Mustang could get me kicked out of the Hughes' apartment, there wasn't a law prohibiting them letting me stay there as a friend, at least not a law that I knew of.

"You know the Flame Colonel?" I rolled my eyes.

"I know a lot of people. And I had to meet with the Füher to get my paperwork signed so don't act so surprised." Reggie ignored my advice and continued gaping at me, as if I was his best friend telling him I just met his hero. Kind of creepy in a way. "Close your mouth Michael we are not a codfish."* I said, faking a British accent for effect as I stood to skim the tomes on the shelves.

"My name is Reggie, not Michael." Not-Michael said indignantly once he regained his senses and stood behind me as I searched the books. "Are you looking for something in particular? War history or simplified government structure?"

"You know this room well, I presume." I said, noting the way he occasionally picked a specific book from a nearby shelf to check its back cover. I did the same to discover multiple neat signatures within. Reggie being the newest edition at the bottom of the long list.

"I worked here as a curator before I was transferred to the prison. Obviously, that didn't work out, so now I'm back here. But it's nice, I can't complain - who doesn't like watching books all day?" He added the last part sarcastically, adding to my guilt. If it wasn't for me, he might still have his job at the prison and be one step closer to whatever his ideal soldier position was. Or he could be dead, but you know, the guilt outweighs the pride.

"Sorry," I said, the tightness in my chest subsiding slightly as I slipped around another corner, my hand feeling the spines of the books as I stalked by.

"It wasn't your fault, besides, I guess it's not so bad showing people where they can find answers." Now Reggie sounded guilty. The room had such a strange atmosphere, that the only way I knew how to break the building pressure to say something, was to ask to leave.

"Thanks for showing me how to get here, Reginald." I said as we emerged from separate aisles of tomes. "Could you walk me out, please?" I asked, making sure all of my possessions were still in my carpet bag.

We walked back to the front desk in silence. Not an uncomfortable silence, more of a tentatively calm one that we both feared would shatter if we spoke. With a nod to a curious Adele, I slipped out of the wing of Central Command and headed home through the park.

Something inside of me was terrified about talking to these people and getting to know them, but another part of me felt so liberated and happy for the first time since I woke up in this very park. I just felt so good.

I didn't feel guilty at all; not about MacDougal, not about my involvement with this world, not about starting to love these people as just that - people. They weren't two-dimensional drawings that evoked empathy from the viewer, they were living, breathing, sentient human beings with so much emotion and presence that they physically impacted the world around them.

I was all but skipping along my way, until I came upon the telephone booth. My pace slowed and I blinked slowly a few times as I continued. Death was on the horizon, and caring could only complicate an already delicate balance of the unknown and the known.

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