#the ishvalan traitor is back

[aka-lambda]

I tried to sketch again this 2021 drawing for the hairstyle challenge and my style changed a lot.

[qs63]

Why Alex Armstrong is a coward

Oh god, It hurts to write that sentence. I will start this by clarifying that this is NOT an Armstrong bashing post. He's one of my favorite characters. That being said, the characters of FMA have shades of gray, and Alex Armstrong is not an exception to this. Despite this I haven't encountered any discussions about the controversial side of his character.

That's why I decided to write this.

I think we all can agree that Alex is one of, if not the kindest character in the series. I also think we all agree that him refusing to play a part in the Ishvalan genocide was righteous. Where I disagree, with what might be the majority, is whether that action alone makes him a good person.

The truth is that Alex left the war not because he's a better man than the State Alchemists that stayed behind. He left because he COULD, and THAT is a privilege that probably nobody else in the battlefield had.

Think about it. Alex deserted a war. He defied direct orders from the Fuhrer, and he wasn't dishonorably discharged or even demoted. Why? Because he's an Armstrong. His family is rich and powerful, having served in the military as Generals for seemingly generations. He's as close to royalty as you can get in a Military State, and that status is what allowed him to leave the war pretty much unscathed.

That wasn't an option for the soldiers who, had they defied orders, would have been branded as traitors to a State that had absolute power. Had Roy, for example, turned his back to the war he would have lost his rank, his state watch, and any chance to influence the country in any meaningful way. He would've ended up either a rebel like Isaac McDougal — and very likely die without achieving anything — or a depressed old man like Marcoh. That's assuming they'd let him walk away without executing or imprisoning him for the rest of his — probably short — life.

Yes, Alex's actions were righteous, but also born from a position of privilege that no one else had. However, that doesn't make him a coward. What makes him one is what he did after leaving the war��� which is nothing.

Alex could have used his family's power to try to change the system that had failed him and so many others. Instead he turned away from his own convictions and accepted his place within the military, fading to the background, never to rise through the ranks, without goals or ambition. Compared to Roy's own struggle to change the system, Alex's actions could be described as self-serving. The only person he ended up helping by leaving the war was himself. This is why, despite the fact that he refused to kill Ishvalans, I wouldn't call Alex Armstrong a better man than Roy Mustang, or Isaac McDougal, or Tim Marcoh, or any other soldier that struggled against the system.

And that's fine!

Not everyone is meant to lead a rebellion. Not everyone has the strength to change the world. That doesn't make Alex a bad person, he's not, but it does make him the coward Olivier says he is.

[limetameta]

New lore for MCU (metallic crimson universe) where I decided to have Rebecca Catalina be a musician aka a trumpet girl because i think thats peak Catalina content. Anyway she and Kimblee back when they were stationed in the same HQ together (first two ish years post Ishval) were assigned in charge of the Central City Military Marching Band. Nobody wanted to do it so they gave it to the rookies. Kimblee was in hell. Catalina was trying to get with the clarinet players. The Saxophone player specifically wanted to end them. Honestly two international scandals happened because of Kimblee’s choice in repertoire (done on purpose so theyd assign him away from this monstrocity). This was part of the reason why they transferred Catalina to the East.

Why was Kimblee assigned to this in the first place? Yeah Maes Hughes is a spiteful son of a bitch sometimes you know, and Kimblee really fucked him up by killing those people and then destroying his not a piano-piano in the Psych Eval flashback chapter. Maes was like OH YOUD RATHED PLAY MUSIC THAN REPORT IN ON TIME? HAVE I GOT THE PERFECT REMEDY FOR YOU

Cut to Kimblee doing everything in his power to get fired from the marching band. He doesnt even play a marching band instrument. Hes just here for organisational purposes and he hates it.

Cut to the marching band, per Kimblees explicit instructions, playing the Old Amestrian Anthem* in front of the Ishval War veterans and the Fuhrer President.

*in my head after the civil war they changed the anthem to get rid of any aspect of Ishval from it. Meanwhile the old one has a whole block with their melody. Like in my head the Anthem holds inside it 5 blocks like for each section of Amestris , Central, South, North, West, East and in the Eastern part the music is very Ishval coded to reflect each part of the country its a bit of a mishmash but the text is all like Glory to our Green Dragon, May the Fuhrer reign forever etc etc Might of Amestris supreme.

Anyway after the Ishval Civil War they changed the Eastern part to get rid of any traces of Ishvalan influence.

Well Kimblee fucking hates being in the marching band. So he instructed the marching band to play the Old One. Why did everyone follow along? Well they fucking hate Kimblee being in the marching band with them too. So they would be happy to say he threatened them with alchemical violence.

Anyway its Amestris Day. All of the Ishval veterans are present in Central City. The Fuhrer is there.

They play the Anthem normally. First the Central portion. Then they go straight to the East one which is already controversial but ya know a lot of the Ishvalan war vets are from the East so it might be an homage- no - no that is not an homage that is Ishvalan music that is not an HOMAGE AT ALL WHAT DO YOU THINK YOURE DOING CUT THAT OUT RIGHT NOW SECURITY ARREST THESE TRAITORS

and its like

But we didnt know Fuhrer President. We didnt get the new anthem at all :((( this isnt our fault. Blame the Marching Band Conductor aka Kimblee.

Meanwhile Kimblee is like: My fellow officers, this should be all the proof you need to see that I am not made for this job. I thought that WAS the old anthem :)

They put him in jail for a week.

Maes Hughes holding his head in his hands as he goes in the prison to bail him out, telling him hes been banned forever from the Marching Band.

Kimblee’s smiling like a content cat the entire time.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Lunar New Year! Anything FMA, please and thank you!

Ed rests his head against the back of his seat, used to the lunges and sharp turns of what Maria considers driving. The heat of the Ishvalan desert inside their car is oppressive enough that he almost tells Brosh to roll down the windows, but the promise of sand blasting them all in the face keeps him from it.

“I really wish they hadn’t sent you to another one so soon,” Denny frets, pressing the back of his hand against Edward’s forehead, “You still haven’t recovered from the last one!”

Ed pushes him away, not bothering to open his eyes, “I’m fine.”

“Sir, I’m serious, I think you have a fever,” he says, pressing his hand back up against his commander’s flushed skin.

Maria laughs. Ed opens a single golden eye to glare at him. “Lieutenant, we’re driving a tin can in the middle of the desert. I don’t have a fever. I’m melting.”

“That’s not much better,” he frowns.

Ross looks away from the endless stretch of desert to say, “He’s not totally wrong, sir. I do wish you had more time to recover between villages.”

“I don’t,” Ed looks away, “I hate how long my recovery period is, I wish – I just want this war finishedso we can go home. Whatever it takes.”

Maria and Denny share a look in the car’s mirror. “We know, sir,” Ross says after a long moment, voice soft, “we know.”

The Ishvalan war won’t end itself, after all.

~

Maes bursts into their shared tent, currently being shared with two more. “Do you want the bad news or the worse news?” he asks, his grin manic enough that dread pools in Roy’s stomach.

Riza pauses in the middle of cleaning her guns.

“Well, what is it?” Havoc snaps, fumbling for another cigarette.

Maes dramatically flings himself onto his cot with a little bounce that has more to do with the man’s sense of drama than any sort of spring-like characteristic the mattress might have. “We’re being sent reinforcements.”

They all stare. “That’s good news,” Roy says, then pauses. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

Riza goes white. Havoc’s cigarette falls out of his open mouth and lands harmlessly in the sand.

Roy’s hands clench into fists and blunt nails dig into the roughened skin of his palms, “That – that murderous, traitorous–”

“None of that,” Maes says sharply, wagging a disapproving finger at him. “Nothing even close to that, especially while the kid is around. Marco and Armstrong’s deaths were ruled as unfortunate accidents.”

“They got in his way and he killed them in cold blood,” Roy snaps.

There’s a creak as Maes sits up so he can look Roy in the eyes. “Then you’re not going to get in his way, are you?”

Roy stays silent.

“Are you?” he presses. “Elric decimates whole cities, leaves behind nothing but rubble and bloody body parts because whatever he does literally tears people limb from limb, and none of us,” he shift enough to send a piercing glare to both Riza and Havoc, “are going to get in the middle of that, are we?”

“Be reasonable, Roy,” Riza says cooly, “he may have killed Armstrong on orders after all.”

They all look at her, momentary distracted. Havoc asks, “Who’s?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Elric may be going where the Fuher sends him now, but surely you haven’t forgotten who his commanding officer is?”

Havoc winces. “Ow. She wouldn’t really–”

“Send her too powerful, blood thirsty subordinate to kill her disgraceful younger brother?” Riza reassembles the gun with sharp, precise movements. “Absolutely. She recommended him for a promotion right after.”

“Okay, I don’t like the kid either, but that promotion was because Fullmetal also took out Ishval’s holy city and all their elders while he was at it,” Havoc points out. “The brass had been trying to take that city for months and Elric did it in a single night.”

Riza shrugs, “Whatever makes you feel better. Either way – I wouldn’t leave my back open to either Lieutenant Colonel Elric or General Armstrong if I were you. You’ll be lucky if all they do is stab you in it.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Maes mutters, but he continues starring at Roy, who crosses his arms and says nothing at all.

~

They’re parked about a mile from their destination. Denny looks out the window and whistles, low enough not to wake his commanding officer from his place snoozing in Denny’s lap. “Very impressive,” he says, looking out at the make shift camp, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. “Don’t they have alchemists at this base? Major Armstrong could have bui–” he abruptly cuts himself of and looks down, making sure the kid is still asleep.

“Yeah,” Maria says, arms folded over the wheel and her head resting against them. “I miss him too.”

Denny’s seen Ed like this too many times to count, eyes bruised from exhaustion and uniform rumpled as he curls up in the back seat, head pillowed on Denny’s thigh. The fact that his breaths are coming even and smooth is all that’s stopping him from telling Maria to turn around and take them somewhere else, anywhere else, just for a little bit. But this is a war. There’s nowhere for them to go.

Edward’s hair is pulled in a bun on top of his head, too hot for anything else, and Denny slowly unwinds the waterfall of his commander’s hair and braids it so it’s one less thing Ed will have to do when he gets up.

He misses Major Armstrong. But he’s gone and Edward is here, their duty and their responsibility.

“Wake him up,” Maria says grimly, pushing herself upright. “Time to face the music.”

[elrics-inferno]

Why is one of the first things that we ever learn about Roy Mustang the fact that he is useless in the rain?

So at this point, I think we’ve all heard or realized that Roy Mustang’s rain/water motif is not just a physical limitation for his alchemy but also a symbol for his regret and “uselessness.” It’s a brilliant metaphor that elementally balances him out. 

And it’s introduced the moment we meet him. 

While it does serve as a bit of comic relief during the extremely intense first episode, the significance of it being in that episode is still important to Roy’s development and how the audience develops their understanding of him throughout the series. 

First, we need to contextualize it. The first episode is centered around Isaac McDougal, the freezing alchemist (as in an alchemist who freezes, not a really really cold alchemist, although “Isaac the Really Really Cold Alchemist” would be a fantastic name. Anyways). Isaac’s goal is to freeze over Central Command via a city-wide transmutation circle using a philosopher’s stone. 

The plot of the first episode is a parallel to the plot of the entire series, and it is full of foreshadowing. In terms of exposition, it isn’t very subtle. The basic exposition of characters like Ed, Al, and Roy is pretty much told to us through dialogue. However, that choice is justified. For people who are completely new to the FMA world, as I was when I watched this two years ago, the first episode has a lot going on. New members are not only meeting all the characters, but they are also trying to put together what alchemy is, where and when this is taking place, and who they should be rooting for. And THAT is where the brilliance (in my opinion) comes in. Watching the first episode through for the first time, the audience is rooting for Ed and Al (because they are the protagonists), and the military (because our protagonists trust them and are part of it). When our protagonists are told to capture Isaac and to view him as a traitor, we do, too. It’s only when Isaac confronts Ed about his beliefs about the military that we start to question our own. But even then, we aren’t given enough information to understand why we should question the military. However, watching the episode in hindsight, our loyalties are switched. Isaac becomes the hero trying to take down the evil military, and Ed, Al, and Mustang become the villains. 

So, back to Roy. During the first episode, aside from getting the basics of who he is and what he does, we don’t learn much more about him. Just these two things: 

1. He is a veteran of something called the Ishvalan War (and the Ishvalan War is apparently controversial based on conversations between Isaac and Roy and Isaac and Kimblee).

2. He can’t make things go sparky sparky when he gets wet. 

And those two things are arguably the most important parts of who Mustang is and what he has been through. 

First, let’s talk about Roy, Isaac, and Ishval. As the first episode unfolds, the audience knows nothing about what happened in Ishval. But Roy and Isaac do. In hindsight, knowing how Roy feels about the Ishvalan War and what he did there, why on Earth would he be calling Isaac a traitor? Roy knows that the military is corrupt (although not to the extent that he will). Roy’s biggest regret is blindly following orders in Ishval. Roy has his eyes set on becoming the Fuhrer and changing things. Roy is literally a genocidal war criminal who stages a coup from an ice cream truck and overthrows the military. And somehow Isaac is the traitor?

Roy is following orders because he has to in order to achieve his goal. He is putting on a loyal-to-the-military act and biding his time until he can admit to the world that Isaac was right. 

Er, that his ideals were.

See, Isaac is Roy’s elemental opposite. Isaac is water, Roy is fire. He is also Roy’s narrative foil. While Isaac’s plan lacked patience and was too rash to ever succeed, Roy’s plan has taken him and will take him years, and he has been extremely careful curating it. It’s ironic to me that the character associated with water would act more rashly and have less patience than the character associated with fire. That’s not to say that Roy doesn’t act rashly. Roy’s impulsiveness and vengeance-driven actions are some of his greatest setbacks as a character. 

But Roy is also intelligent and strategic in achieving his greater goals. His dependence is on his closest allies, while Isaac’s dependence is on a philosopher’s stone. And while the characters do not yet know the ingredients for stones in the first episode, Isaac’s use of one to accomplish his ultimate goal is what sets him apart from Roy and the Elrics. And yes, Roy does use a stone to regain his eyesight, but he does not depend on one during his coup. I would even argue that Isaac’s use of a philosopher’s stone could also be foreshadowing Roy’s eventual use of one in addition to foreshadowing the overall plot. It’s also important for us to see Isaac defeated in the first episode because it shows us that although philosopher’s stones remove the law of equivalent exchange, they do not make the user all-powerful. At the end of the day, the user can still be defeated.

Another difference between the two is how their limitations are presented in this episode. Isaac’s alchemy is unlimited because of the philosopher’s stone, but the first thing we learn about Roy Mustang’s alchemy is that he is limited by water. This leads me to the second point. 

Establishing Roy’s limitations in the first episode does a few things for us: 

First, it establishes that he is dependent on Riza and trusts her in his most vulnerable moments. That even though Riza knows how easily Roy can be overpowered, she still chooses to stay by his side, protect him, and help him accomplish whatever he sets out to do. 

Second, we get a peek at Mustang’s creativity and perseverance. His determination and intelligence is displayed in how he overcomes the limitations presented, and it makes us want to root for him. 

Third, it gives us some information as to how alchemy works. We see a few types of alchemy in this episode: Ed’s without a circle, Isaacs’s with a circle and elemental, Roy’s with his transmutation circle gloves and unique flame alchemy, and Major Armstrong’s forceful style. This helps us get an idea of the varying styles of alchemy, varying ways of how it can be used and manipulated, and the different forces that use it for their benefit or the benefit of others.

Lastly, it begins the “uselessness” theme. It tells us that even though Mustang is an extremely powerful alchemist, there are still things that he can’t control. That there are forces that can overpower him, and the best thing he can do is to get back up and try again until he accomplishes his goal. We also see Roy’s anger at those forces, the ones that render him unable to do anything. And we see him use that anger to fuel his alchemy and overpower them.

“The power of one man does not amount to much, but however little strength I am capable of... I’ll do everything humanly possible to protect the people I love, and in turn they’ll protect the ones they love. It seems like the least we tiny humans can do for each other.”

Roy Mustang, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

[isnt-it-pretty]

I love Ishvalan Ed & Al, but consider, Ishvalan Mustang.

Mustang, a half Ishvalan, half Xingese boy who was raised with the knowledge of Ishvala. Who went to live with his Xingese aunt when his parents died, and his entire world was turned upside down. 

Mustang, who decides he wants to learn alchemy because why would Ishvala give them that power if it wasn’t meant to be used? If it wasn’t meant to help people. Who goes to the door of Bertholdt Hawkeye and convinces this Amesterian man to teach him alchemy. Mustang who eagerly learned everything because he’s seen the worst of the world and wants to change it.

He joins the military for the same reason as Heathcliff. He wants to make a difference, he wants to end the systematic prejudice against Ishvalan people within the military.

Mustang, who becomes the very first Ishvalan State Alchemist in history  He is the Flame Alchemist. The fire of the desert, the heat of the sun, the determination in the heart of every Ishvalan. 

And then the war getd worse. And then more people die. And then there is talk of stripping soldiers of their rank, of how they’re traitors. And Mustang looks at one of his friends, the only other Ishvalan he knows, and they run.

He runs before order 3066 comes along, before Ishvalan soldiers are arrested for treason, before State Alchemsits, Mustang’s friends, are sent to murder his people. 

So him, hiding in his aunt's bar, follows.

In this universe, Mustang still fights under the heat of the desert sun. He still listens to the screams of dying men as he snaps his fingers, only this time, its Amestrian’s he's sending home in coffins. He is the Flame Alchemist, the heart of all Ishval. He is a sinner, but people look up to him because they’re desperate.

He meets Hughes on the battlefield, and both of them just... stop. They were best friends once, but now Hughes is an Amesterian Soldier and Mustang is a terrorist, a traitor, the reason so many men will never see their families again. They don’t kill each other. They talk. Even on the battle field with the sound of bullets ringing through the air, they find the way to share words. It's a risk, but eventually they smuggle letters. Mustang learns of Gracia, of Hawkeye. How his masters daughter followed him into a war he’s now fighting on the opposite side of.

In the end, they send Kimblee after him. It's a brutal fight, with bullets and fire and explosions. Kimblee ends up with burns coating his body, Mustang ends with a useless arm, laying on his back in the hot sand. He would have died, if not for the sniper who was supposed to kill him.

Hawkeye takes a shot at Kimblee. She takes Mustang and runs, because her father is dead, she has nothing left but this boy barely older than her. Hawkeye, who stands against her country to fight alongside her friend. Hughes, who commits treason quietly by letting them go, by smuggling letters and supplies, who works alongside Madam Christmas to protect her boy. 

Mustang, who tracks down Ed & Al to protect them, because he knows that the military will come for them sooner rather than later, who looks at Winry and knows who she is, because he knew her parents. He had the utmost respect for the doctors who risked their lives (and paid with them) to keep his people alive.

Just. Ishvalan Mustang. Born from two countries, and Amestris hating both sides of him. The way that would change the world, his character, and his story.

[envythepalmtree]

Miles headcanons

- Anti-Ishval propaganda started LONG before the civil war, since that’s how genocide in the real world works. Miles grew up with stereotypes and people assuming he was dangerous because of what he looked like.

- At school, Miles studied his ass off, became top of his class, and tried so hard to break every single stereotype and prove that he Wasn’t Like Them.

- When he joined the Amestrian military, long before the war, he had friends who called him a traitor because... you know... he’s helping their colonizers. Some other Ishvalans agreed with him that only way to get the Ishvalan people treated right was to show them that they could be good enough, too.

- He’s so guilty about this but there was always a part of him that wanted to prove his worth to the Amestrians more than he wanted to help his own people,,

- He’s supposed to say he fell outside the parameters for purging, but the truth is that every Ishvalan in the military (and there were very few of them) was asked to renounce their heritage, proclaim loyalty to the state, assimilate completely into Amestrian culture and erase themselves. The others refused. Miles didn’t. He can’t tell everyone how much he misses his traditions. How much he misses wearing Ishvalan clothing and prayer and holidays. He spent his whole life running from that part of his identity, and he can’t have it back.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Writers Month Day 2: Cold/Coffee Word Count: 2203 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Major Miles, Olivier Mira Armstrong, Captain Buccaneer Warning: NA Summary: Ephraim Miles has been transferred to Fort Briggs, and is more than a little unsure of his position there. Notes: I know that the idea of Miles being married and having a wife is due to an early fan translation and not the official translations of the manga, but I find it fun to play with! AO3 || ff.net

 _________________________________

 Cold/Coffee

 Whoever had told Ephraim Miles that Fort Briggs was cold had been wrong. Fort Briggs was colder than the underside of an ice cube. He had never felt a cold as deep as this, which, he supposed was part of the reason he was here. Miles was under no illusions as to why he had been transferred not only to the north, but specifically to Fort Briggs.

It was because of his Ishvalan blood. It was because he was a risk to the military. It was because they were suspicious that he could be a traitor to the military in favor of Ishval. (Could he be sure that they were wrong? Even he wasn’t sure.)

He had settled his wife and daughter in a home in North City. It wasn’t much, but it was what they could find at the time. People weren’t as willing to rent or sell to him when they saw his looks. It had been difficult. Karissa was going to look for them a better home while he was gone. She was a smart, strong, shrewd woman, and Miles has confidence in her abilities. He trusted her judgement. She would be alright. His daughter would be alright.

He just hoped that he would be alright.

Miles squinted and looked out at the frozen ground beyond him He had been dropped by the transport at the beginning of the road that led to the fort. Apparently, he was to walk the rest of the way. Well, so be it. It wasn’t as if complaining about it would make any difference. Shouldering his pack, Miles began the journey.

The wind cut through him as he walked, freezing him down to his bones. He distracted himself by going over what he knew about his new posting and his new commander. Fort Briggs was, basically, a giant wall that stretched from mountain to mountain in one of the more passable areas of the Briggs Mountains. For about five miles or so beyond it, the land was contested between Drachma and Amestris. Both countries claimed it. Neither had been quite willing to start a war over it. Both had people on it. There were regularly skirmishes on it.

The fort was currently under the command of Brigadier General Olivier Mira Armstrong. She had been in command of it for the past three years. Within those past three years the fort had gone from being regarded as little more then cannon fodder that would allow time for an alert to be raised and Northern Command to be mobilized to a force that would hold its own and beyond, giving no quarter, leaving no weakness, and using Northern Command as their back up.

The change could be laid at the feet of General Armstrong. She was one of Amestris’s elites, blonde haired, blue eyed, and, according to rumor, ruthless and cold. She came from a noble family, a wealthy family, who could trace its roots back to the founding of Amestris. Her family had a strong military tradition. She, herself, had been a member of special operations units, worked undercover missions, led troops in the west, and was successful in all that she did.

…Which made Miles wonder just what she was doing up here.

That wasn’t really his concern, though. He knew why he was here, and why she was here wasn’t important. What was more pressing to him, was what she would think of him. He had been sent to be her adjunct, and that meant that they would need a good sense of trust. And that was where his concern came in. She was a pure-blooded Amestrian with a pedigree that was impeccable. He was a mixed-breed mongrel with obvious roots of an enemy the military was fighting. He couldn’t discount the possibility that she would look at him, sneer, and immediately dismiss him.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He could only deal with scenarios that could be for so long. He had braced himself for the worst and spent the rest of the time focusing on the landscape around him. He had been warned to stick to the road, and so he did. There was snow everywhere. It was an icy landscape, although, he noticed, not a barren one.  There were enclaves of trees dotting the landscape, and here and there he could see animals or the traces of where animals had been. The land itself had small dips and rolls in it, hard to see in the pure whiteness of the ground around them. They left him with the uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched, followed, and to be honest, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

It took him a few of hours of slogging through the snow to arrive at Fort Briggs. Learning to move through it had been tricky at first, but it really wasn’t that different then sand, once he got the hang of it, at least as far as the slickness of it. The difference was that in some places his footsteps sunk down in the snow as he walked. He quickly learned how to look for the places in the snow that looked either packed down or iced over enough that he wouldn’t sink. By the time he arrived at the fort, he was exhausted, sweaty, and absolutely freezing.

The fort itself was the most imposing building that he had ever seen. It had looked big when he got his first glimpse of it. It had grown larger and larger, rising to impossible heights. But more imposing than that was the woman who was waiting on one of the landings of the Fort.

She stood there, her hair down, her coat open, both blowing in the wind. A sheathed sword was in her hand, the sheath resting on her shoulder, and he had the distinct impression that she knew how to use it well. Her full lips were pursed, scowling, and her blue eyes pierced him, somehow colder than even the snow that was pelting his face. Behind her stood a hulking giant of a man, black hair in a mohawk that ended in a braid, a thin mustache, and a look that immediately told Miles where his loyalty lied

“We expected you sooner, Major,” her voice rang out, and command in it was clear. This was a woman used to commanding people and having orders followed. Her eyes swept over him.

Miles immediately saluted. “Apologies, General,” he said. He offered up no excuses or reasons for his apparently late arrival. He had none, and she didn’t think that this woman would accept them anyway.

For a moment, she said nothing, then just snorted and turned away. “Buccaneer! He’s all yours.”

“Yes, General, sir!” the hulking man said. He grinned down at Miles even as General Armstrong walked away. Somehow, Miles was not reassured. “Welcome to Fort Briggs, Cub,” he said. “Let’s see how fast you learn.”

Fort Briggs, Miles quickly learned over the next few weeks, was brutal. The rule of the land was survival, and the force driving everything was General Armstrong’s iron will. She was a terrifying woman, and he had barely had any interactions with her yet. He couldn’t figure out if that was because she rejected him as her adjunct, which meant that he shouldn’t count on staying here for long, or if she was just waiting for him to get through with his training period.

Miles had learned from Buccaneer that everyone who arrived at Briggs went through a six-week training period. It taught them the dangers of the mountains, of the winter, and the workings of the fort. Survival skills were heavily emphasized, as was an intimate knowledge of the fort. General Armstrong insisted that everyone know how the fort functioned so that in emergencies anyone could step up. According to Buccaneer—who wasn’t a bad fellow, just a little rough around the edges, and demanding in his requirements—even the general had gone through the same training when she arrived. It wasn’t an order then, though. She had chosen it herself, so that she would be able to understand and command effectively.

Miles could respect that.

However, the woman was still confusing to him. She clearly commanded the loyalty of her troops, almost to a fault. The men were both terrified and in awe of her. The only bad things anyone had to say about her were actually compliments from them, or things that they just brushed off, as one did a minor inconvenience.

She still had barely done more than glance his way.

Today, though, as he trudged back inside the fort, he stopped short in surprise. General Armstrong was standing there, looking over the troops as they came back in. Her eyes immediately darted to Buccaneer, who was being helped in by Stodds and Worshel, even as Lieutenant Jamin was speaking quickly to her. Her eyes met Miles’s for a moment, and he felt as if he were being assessed. Then the moment passed, and he was seeing to the rest of the patrol coming in and she was issuing orders.

The fort was locked down tightly. Everyone went on alert. Northern Command was contacted and anyone coming was ordered back. No unnecessary communications were permitted. It was standard procedure after a patrol was attacked by a Drachman patrol. Miles stayed up most of the night, writing his report on the incident and checking up on Buccaneer, who, Doc assured him, would be fine. He took his turn on the top of the fort during the coldest hours before daybreak. Aside from feeling as if he were freezing his sideburns off, nothing happened, and when he was relieved of duty, he gratefully came back inside. He was barely a dozen steps in, however, when he was suddenly stopped.

“Major.” He blinked, looking over at General Armstrong. She stood there, as if she had been waiting on him. “Walk with me.”

All he really wanted to do was find something warm to drink and go to bed, but all he said was “Yes, sir,” and followed her.

For a few moments, they walked in silence.

“Buccaneer told me what happened out there,” she said. She glanced at him. “He was rather complimentary of the way you took command.”

“Very kind of him, sir,” Miles commented back, non-committally.

She hummed. “Your training period is almost up,” she said. “You were assigned here to be my adjunct. But I don’t take commands on assignments in my fort from anyone.”

Miles just gave a neutral sounding noise. Here’s where it came. She was going to dismiss him or reduce his role. At least if he worked in the lower levels he’d be warmer. He hoped Karissa hadn’t put in an offer on that house yet.

“Instead,” she continued, “I wait until the training period is over, look at the data and recommendations, and then make the assignments from there. Just because Command thinks someone will work in a position doesn’t mean it holds true here at Briggs.”

That, Miles had to agree, was probably true. Briggs was definitely its own ecosystem, and there was no way that Command could accurately assign people to it.

“However, based upon your performances and Buccaneer’s recommendation, I have already made my decision on you.” She paused. “For the last week of your general training, after you finish, you will report to me for your training in how to be my second in command.”

Not expecting that, Miles’s feet stuttered, not exactly tripping, but definitely not a steady gait. “Sir?” he said, questioning.

She didn’t miss a beat. “You’ve proven yourself capable from the beginning. When you first arrived, you were late. It was because you were not provided with the proper equipment. Your coat was substandard, and you were not given snowshoes as you should have been. And yet you persevered and gave no excuse for your tardiness. It was ignorance on your part, I know, but your determination was still impressive. You approached every ounce of training with focus and attention, learning the workings of the Fort as well as survival here in Briggs quickly and without complaint. You’ve proven that you are intelligent and think on your feet. You are capable of accomplishing tasks even without the right tools.”

She pushed open a door, and gestured for him to follow her, continuing to talk. “You are exactly the kind of man we need here at Briggs, and the kind I need at my right hand. It will be a demanding job, but you are up to the task.”

They were in her office now, he realized, and she was waiting on something from him. There was, really, only one thing that he could say to that. He saluted. “Sir, it would be an honor.”

One side of her lips tipped up, as if she had been expecting this. “Good.” She turned away for a moment, and then faced him again, holding out a cup of coffee to him. “Let’s discuss your new duties.”

Miles took the cup, letting its warmth spread out on his hands. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to be a better posting than he thought.

[firewoodfigs]

amendes honorables

Summary: Riza Hawkeye is appalled to discover that her fifteen-year-old daughter has indicated interest in a boy. Her husband thinks she’s being a little bit of a hypocrite.

(thank you @waddiwasiwitch for hosting @moms-made-fullmetal-2020 ! ^_^)

read on ao3

~x~ 

Roy Mustang was having a very hard time trying to contain his laughter while lazing on the bed with his morning coffee in hand.  He was trying, really - his absolute, darnedest best - palms over mouth, holding his breath, distracting himself with boring, draggy books about legal positivism. But try as he might, it was very, very entertaining to see his stoic Captain, now beloved wife, getting so riled up over their daughter’s predicament.

Between the two, everyone always assumed that he would be the overprotective parent, but Roy knew better. He knew his wife like the back of his hand and had correctly predicted that she would be the paranoid parent who would impose a stringent “no-dating-until-you’re-an-adult” rule. Of course, every rule came with loopholes, and the definition of an “adult” was left up to her (legally, it should have been eighteen or twenty-one, but Roy believed that in Riza’s mind it probably ranged between thirty to forty, or more).  

“Stop laughing, Roy. This is serious!” Riza exclaimed, thoroughly flustered by the fact that their daughter had been the recipient of so many confessions, letters, chocolates and whatever frivolities teenage boys thought girls their age enjoyed receiving on Valentine’s Day.

Given how attractive her parents were it was no surprise that Rae Mustang was the apple of many young boys’ eyes at the juvenile age of fifteen. With thick, raven black hair like her father’s, her mother’s sharp features, and eyes like wood smoke in autumn - a lovely blend of her parents’ - it was hardly surprising that boys were attracted to her like moths to light, and while some girls were envious of her for winning the genetic lottery others had graciously accepted defeat.

Her mother was of course, acutely aware of this curse, or blessing, whatever one might choose to call it, and had taken it upon herself to confiscate gifts and letters she had received on that wretched holiday, on the excuse that it was hardly inappropriate for a girl her age to receive such things, and really, what did boys know about love at that age?

Riza had declared over dinner that night that professions of undying, profound love at that age were nothing but intricate lies designed by deceitful young boys, and Rae shouldn’t bother herself with it.

(Roy wanted to call her out for being a hypocrite there and then, but she shut him up with a threatening glare before the first syllable even left his mouth.)

In response, she’d nodded dutifully before returning to the steak and frites on her plate - courtesy of her father, who had taken it upon himself to “whip up a fantastic dinner for my lovely girls on this holiday about love” and “blessed it with a chef’s kiss” afterwards, but alas.

Alas. Her little girl had inherited their talents in covert operations and somehow managed to hide a very important gift and letter from her mother’s prying hands, and it didn’t take a genius to guess that it was gifted by someone she was interested in.

Riza had been utterly mortified when she found the traitorous piece of evidence sandwiched in between her chemistry textbooks (Rae had attempted to use some kind of alchemy she’d learnt from her Uncle Ed a few weeks prior to seal it, but there was something faulty with the array that foiled her plans in the end), which therefore led to the current situation of her pacing frantically around their room as she rambled on and on to her husband.

(She still didn’t know whether to be disappointed or proud of her daughter for possessing such a natural penchant at hiding things, but it was probably the former.)

Finally, she stopped pacing and turned to glower sullenly at her husband, who was hiding his laughter behind a book that he was pretending to be engrossed in. “I think she should be grounded, Roy. We can never know for sure if she’s been secretly planning dates behind our backs with this - this boy - mmph -” her words were muffled by a passionate kiss and a suffocating embrace.

“Relax, Riza,” he chuckled as he held her close in his arms to soothe her frazzled nerves. “We don’t even know what the boy is like. What if he was like me when we were younger?” He lifted his index finger and thumb to his chin, as if stroking an imaginary beard (Riza and Rae had conspired together to shave that blasphemous mustache off his face in his sleep) and pretended to be deep in thought.

Riza balked. “I didn’t like you when I was fifteen, Roy.”

He put a hand up to his heart in mock hurt. “Don’t be cruel, Riza. I know you did -”

“You did, I didn’t. Back to the topic at hand. I believe the appropriate punishment would be to ground her, and she most certainly owes us an apology for lying and hiding such scandalous affairs behind our backs.”

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in surrender, hoping it would ease the scowl on her face. It did somewhat, and so he decided to help his daughter with a little… negotiation. “You can ground her if you think that’s proportionate and necessary, but let’s give the boy a chance. We could have him over for dinner,” her frown was returning, and he hastened to add, “which would give us the perfect chance to interrogate him and analyse their rela - friendship, of course.”

The thought of being able to question him excited Riza just the slightest. She did love a good cross-examination, after all, and no one would touch her daughter without first crossing her. “Fine,” she relented. “I’ll talk to her tonight.”

Roy grimaced at that thought. His wife could be the living personification of the Spanish Inquisition when she put her mind down to it, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be a bad mix with the notorious teenage hormones that plagued everyone at fifteen. “Be nice, Riza.”

~x~

“You can come in, mom,” came her daughter’s trembling voice from behind the door.

Well. It seemed like they were already off to a bad start. As she opened the door slowly she could see her daughter’s quivering frame hunched over her literature homework, the likes of Austen and Bronte all strewn across her table messily as she tried very bravely to hold in her tears.

She groaned internally. Already, Riza felt her resolve weakening, and it was difficult to remain angry at such a sweet child (she often wondered what she and Roy did to deserve such a lovely daughter, but her husband deemed it necessary to discuss, in great detail, how Rae was made, so she never vocalised that thought ever again). She sat on the corner of her bed and beckoned for Rae to come sit with her, and as soon as she sank into the duvet as she placed a comforting hand over her shoulder.

So much for being strict.

Before she could even say anything, though, Rae started apologising frantically, words tumbling out of her mouth like a gushing stream. “I’m so sorry, mom, I know I shouldn’t have lied to you and I know I’ve disappointed you and I know I shouldn’t have and I’m just, I’m so sorry,” she stuttered, choking over her sobs. “I just… I know it would’ve upset you, but he’s… he’s a really nice boy, but I know what I did was wrong, and I’ve let you down, and I’m so -”

“Rae,” Riza called, her tone stern but gentle. “Okay, one thing at a time. I’m not going to lie, I am disappointed that you hid this from me, and there will be consequences, but I forgive you. I always will,” and she pulled her in for a hug, stroking her soft tresses tenderly as Rae sobbed into her shoulder and threw herself into the embrace.

… It truly was a challenge trying to pull a stern hand on her daughter. Her colleagues would’ve found this incredulous, and she never thought austerity was something she would ever struggle with, but Rae had proved her wrong. While she was supposed to be at the age of rebellion - Riza supposed this was it, the defining act - her daughter was quite the little darling, full of sunshine and joy, and it made it very hard to remain angry with her for long. In some ways, she reminded her a bit of Alphonse, although Rae had been adamant that her Uncle Al was wrong - dogs were better than cats.

Another point to Rae.

And though it was equally difficult to swallow her pride and admit that she had overreacted a little, just the slightest, over the gifts that had swarmed her table, she supposed it would only cause Rae to feel like she couldn’t trust her. “You… you can tell me these things, Rae.” Riza wanted to say she wouldn’t get mad, but that would just be an outright, blatant lie. “It’s better than hiding, or lying.”

“Really, mom?” her eyes glistened with hope, and really, it was hard to say no to a face like that. Riza would give her the stars and a mountain made of gold and diamonds if she just asked for it.

“Yes, really. In fact…” she remembered her previous discussion with Roy. Compromise, Riza. “You can invite him over for dinner one of these days.”

A watery smile crossed her daughter’s face, and it was so hopeful that Riza couldn’t resist chuckling a little. “But you, young lady, are still grounded, and will continue to be so for two weeks.”

She nodded glumly, as any other fifteen-year-old would be at the prospect of having to come home immediately after school, but otherwise relented and gave her mother another hug. “I understand, mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I forgive you.” She grinned at the thought of being able to grill this young man, both literally and figuratively. “So, when’s a good time for dinner?”

~x~

Riza had been… surprised, to say the least, when she opened the door to come face to face with a tanned-skin boy with white hair and distinctly red eyes that shone like a dreadful mix of rubies and garnets.

An Ishvalan.

Her immediate response had been to apologise to Rae instead - for how could he bear to look at her and Roy in the eye and seriously say that he was alright with who they were? If he’d bolted there and then, or threw the bag of cookies that he’d painstakingly prepared as a present in her face out of anger or animosity, Riza would have honestly accepted it and forgiven him regardless.

But instead the boy - who introduced himself as Elyas - had proceeded to remove his shoes before asking politely if it would be alright to come in, holding out the dessert he’d prepared with such a delightful eagerness and enthusiasm, and really, it was impossible to reject him.

“Of course, come on in,” she said invitingly, swallowing the bile rising in her throat as she observed Roy’s equally shocked expression. But he said nothing, only smiled welcomingly as he set up the dinner table and thanked him for the wonderful gift.

She’d almost lost her composure when he mentioned that he was an orphan, when Roy asked about his family, but as if reading her mind Elyas immediately sought to qualify his statement with “I’m very sure you two had nothing to do with it, Mr and Mrs Mustang. They died in an accident not too long ago, not because of the Ishvalan War. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. If anything, we should be the ones apologising. I understand if… if you are uncomfortable being here,” Riza whispered quietly, suddenly feeling like an incorrigible mother.

Underneath the table, Roy stretched out his hand to rest a palm on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles with a padded thumb. She responded in kind, knowing that the same sentiments, though unsaid, were on his mind as well.

Elyas, though, amazed them all by thanking them. Them, a pair of cold-blooded war criminals.

“Ah, well,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly with an open palm. “I’m alright. If anything, I’d like to thank the both of you for rebuilding Ishval. My parents often emphasised that it was General Mustang’s office that improved the lives of many Ishvalans because of the trade relations with Xing, and we’ve all benefited greatly from that.”

He flashed them a sunny smile, and his eyes conveyed everything they needed to know - that’s in the past now. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Mustang, and thank you for having me over for dinner.”

“Not at all, we’re more than happy to have you here, Elyas.” Riza was unequivocally sure that she owed Rae an apology instead, and vowed to speak with her again tonight.

Her husband had offered to do the same as they stood at the sink together to wash the dishes, but after what happened she thought it best to speak with Rae separately herself first, and so his only response was a reassuring, understanding kiss to her forehead.

“We’ll work it out together, Riza.”

~x~

“Can I come in, Rae?” Riza knocked hesitantly, the nausea and guilt that had settled in her gut previously making an unwelcome resurgence.

“Of course, mom!” Rae skipped happily to where her mother was as soon as the door was open and gave her a tight hug. “Thank you so much for tonight.”

“Not at all,” she smiled weakly. “I think I owe you an apology, Rae. I… I wasn’t expecting him to be an Ishvalan.” Her daughter was not ignorant to the sins that they had committed decades ago, because she’d made it her personal duty, alongside Roy, to explain history accurately to her - for both of them had agreed that it would be worse if she found the truth out by herself.

And Rae, kind, innocent Rae - bless her heart - had accepted the harsh reality of who her parents were with a grim nod, but after a few hours of introspection she’d knocked on their door to tell them that she still loved them regardless, and that she was proud to have parents who were working so hard to rectify the injustices they’d committed.

But this… this was quite a different story. She wasn’t sure if Elyas was just being courteous earlier, or if he was genuinely alright with who they were, with the wrongs they’d done against him and his hometown and entire culture. How could he? “I do apologise, Rae, if I’ve ruined anything.”

“What? No, mom, you didn’t! When I sent him off at the porch just now, he said that he really enjoyed dinner - said that you and dad are great cooks - and that it was an honor getting to know the both of you personally.” She grinned giddily, like a young girl happily in love. “I… I know why you feel that way, mom. But believe me, you can believe whatever he said. He’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met, and…” her feet shifted in embarrassment as she confessed quietly, “that’s one of the reasons why I…”

“Why you like him?” Rae nodded shyly, pink mottling her pale cheeks flatteringly.

“I see. Well, I can understand that, Rae.” She bent down to whisper a secret in her ear, one that only she could hear - just in case her ridiculous father was snooping around somewhere trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. “I liked your father when I was fifteen, too.”

Rae giggled and smiled brightly at her mother when she heard her admission. Then, looking up at her mother curiously with her best set of puppy eyes, she asked, “Does that mean I’m not grounded anymore?”

“No, you still have a week more to go, Rae,” and while her daughter responded with a petulant, disappointed sulk she could still see the happiness sparkling in her eyes. “But feel free to ask him over for dinner anytime.”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Haven (24/50)

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] [AO3]

Summary: A traumatised young alchemist on the verge of a nervous breakdown leaves Ishval in the middle of the night. Through a mixture of providence and sheer stubbornness, Roy Mustang finds his way to Resembool entirely by accident. 

Characters: Roy, Hohenheim, Trisha

Content Warning: Suicidal thoughts and PTSD.

I kind of… broke Roy a bit here. Don’t worry. He’ll get better.

==

Roy Mustang was eighteen years and two days old when he was deployed to Ishval as a very newly-licensed state alchemist. 

He was not ready for what happened after that. 

He knows that if he’d been able to follow the path that he’d originally set out - enrol in the military academy and graduate there, complete his apprenticeship under Berthold Hawkeye within the normal length of time instead of getting swept up in the whirlwind of fast-tracked licensing - then things would be different. He would still have had to do all the terrible things he’s had to do, but he likes to think that he would have been slightly more mentally prepared for them. Even just a couple of years as a buffer would have been enough. He would have been fully prepared for everything that he would have been expected to do, and he would still have felt horrible, but he wouldn’t have broken down. He doesn’t think so, at least.

As it is, Roy is now a couple of months shy of twenty-one and it feels like he’s clinging on to his sanity by a thread. The smell of burning flesh won’t leave his nose and he’s lost count of the number of times he’s woken up screaming with Hughes’ concerned face hovering above him. 

Things had been just about manageable until Lieutenant Colonel Sherman vanished. Roy wishes he knew what happened to her. She’d always kept an eye out for him and the other wet-behind-the-ears alchemists barely out of short trousers. Then she’d had one argument with General Abrams too many and then she was gone. He doesn’t know whether she deserted or whether she was shot for insubordination behind a tent somewhere. 

All Roy knows is that if he doesn’t get out of Ishval right now, he’s going to steal someone’s sidearm and blow his own brains out, because he can’t go on like this any longer. He curls up in his bedroll, looking over at Hughes and thinking about Hawkeye just a couple of tents away. He can’t leave them here in the middle of this hell, but at the same time, he can’t stay here either, and surely it must be better to vanish like Sherman did rather than leave them to deal with the aftermath of his very final departure from the world. 

The bombardments are heavy tonight, and Roy wonders privately if it’s artillery or just Kimblee on a spree. 

Still. Whoever it is, they’re providing good cover, as Roy very quietly gets out of bed and pulls his boots on, filching Hughes’ sand overcoat because Hughes is taller and his coat comes down to Roy’s ankles. 

He leaves everything else behind. Uniform, spark cloth, pocket watch, anything that could identify him or slow him down. Roy sneaks out of camp wearing boots, boxer shorts, an undershirt and someone else’s sand coat, and as he continues to creep away, he thinks that he really has tipped over the edge into insanity. Someone’s going to find him gibbering in a ditch in the morning. Maybe he’d get discharged and sent home then. 

Maybe not. 

He has a choice between heading east into the desert or heading west back towards Amestris, and he’s got enough sense left to know that wandering into the desert isn’t a good idea despite how incredibly inviting the notion is. 

He keeps ploughing forward through the contested zone, keeping to the shadows, keeping out of sight, but in reality not caring too much if he’s caught and shot. He’s not sure what sense of innate self-preservation keeps him going whilst his thoughts are spiralling,  but he keeps going nonetheless, not knowing or caring where he’s going, as long as he keeps moving, and keeps out of sight.

X

Roy doesn’t know how long he walks for. It feels like years. 

Once he’s crossed into Amestris proper, it starts raining. Roy can’t bring himself to care. In books there’s the idea of the rain being a purifier, washing away people’s sins and leaving them clean and fresh. Roy can’t see it that way. The rain is just turning the dust and sand of Ishval into mud, making him feel even more stained and broken, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel properly clean again, not after everything that’s happened. 

He pushes on, not even sure where he’s going or what direction he’s going in anymore. Maybe wandering out into the desert to die alone would have been a better option. At least it would have been warm and dry rather than cold and wet. 

Maybe dying face down in a muddy ditch is what he deserves, but despite the dark thoughts running through his head, he keeps moving nonetheless, trudging on through the night into the dismal day and back into darkness again, keeping to fields and hedgerows, away from the main roads. 

It’s only when he sees a little house on the top of a hill in the distance that Roy receives a new lease of life, remembering that he hasn’t eaten for a couple of days, and he’s suddenly ravenous, knowing somewhere deep down that if he wanted to die he should have just given up and done it by now. 

He can't really ask for shelter when he’s a deserter and a traitor and probably wanted by the military already, but he’s not thinking that far ahead right now, and as he approaches the house, he can make out an expansive vegetable patch outside it and the smell of ripening tomatoes. They won’t notice a few missing, surely...

Roy crouches down behind the tomato plants as a light comes on in the house upstairs. He can see shadows moving around and curtains twitching, and he stays as still as he can, hoping they can’t see him. With any luck, the pale sand coat is now dirty enough not to be noticeable in the moonlight. 

There’s no luck. More lights are going on and the door is opening, and someone is coming out into the rain.

On instinct, Roy snaps, but he left his gloves miles away and it’s pouring with rain anyway. The figure comes closer, holding out an umbrella over him, and Roy makes out a man with long hair wearing a raincoat and rubber boots over pyjamas. He holds out a hand to help Roy up off the ground.

“You’ve come from Ishval, haven’t you?”

Roy looks down at the drenched sand coat and military issue boots. He can’t really deny it. 

“Well, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Come into the dry.”

Roy finds himself in a warm kitchen with a woman in a dressing gown making tea. 

“There’s no need to hide under the tomatoes,” she says, pouring hot water into the pot. “We don’t bite. How long have you been out there? I’ll go and run you a bath, you’ll catch your death. Just leave your wet things in a heap by the door, we’ll deal with them in the morning and Edward, I told you to stay upstairs.”

The woman bustles out of the kitchen, and Roy gets a glimpse of a tousled golden head around the door before she chivvies him away and up the stairs. 

Roy just stands dripping in the doorway for a few moments, not entirely sure he’s not actually lying in a ditch somewhere and this is all a fever dream.

The man brings over a couple of blankets and goes to pour the tea. Elsewhere, Roy can hear hot water pipes clanking and hissing, and he finally realises that he’s very cold and very wet. He strips down completely, reminded that he was so out of it that he managed to walk here from Ishval in little more than his underwear, and wraps up in the blankets, taking tentative steps towards the kitchen table. 

“You seem very calm about all this,” he ventures. “Has this happened before?”

The man shrugs. “You’re the first person we’ve ever found in our vegetable patch, but you’re by no means the first person that the village has taken in on the run from Ishval. Both Ishvalans and military runaways; we get them all and we take care of them all. We always have. War is a horrible thing and we do what we can to mitigate it.”

He looks like he must be in his late thirties, but there’s something in his unusual golden eyes behind his glasses that gives Roy the impression that he’s seen centuries’ worth of violence in his time. 

He gives a tired smile. “My name is Van Hohenheim. Welcome to Resembool.”

X

Whilst Roy has always firmly claimed not to believe in God, and that Ishval only strengthened that lack of belief, when he looks back on his first night in Resembool, he thinks that something outside of normal human power must have happened to have provided this safe haven just at the moment when he was on the knife edge of despair. 

Hohenheim and Trisha let him into their home with no judgement and no expectations, giving him tea and food and a hot bath and spare pyjamas. They give him a makeshift bed in Hohenheim’s study, and when he wakes up screaming from nightmares of Hughes and Hawkeye paying the price for his desertion (Hughes was shot point blank in a phone booth, of all places, and Riza had her throat cut with a sword that looked suspiciously like Bradley’s), Hohenheim just gives him a knowing look from where he’s working on something at his desk. They talk about nothing of importance until the sun comes up and the rest of the family start to stir.

He meets Trisha and Hohenheim’s two boys in the morning, and they’re obviously intrigued by the stranger who turned up under their tomatoes in the middle of the night. Alphonse is more reserved, but Edward has no fear whatsoever.

“Are you an alchemist?” he asks. “We get a lot of them coming here from the east.”

Roy looks down at his hands, remembering everything his alchemy has done and his stomach churns with the memory of that awful stench that still won’t leave him behind.

“I was.” 

Whether he’ll ever be able to use it again without needing to throw up afterwards is another matter entirely.

“That’s enough, Edward.” Trisha’s tone is firm as she flits around the kitchen, getting ready to leave on some kind of errand. Edward opens his mouth to protest, but a look from his mother silences him. 

The other alchemists who’ve arrived in the town probably didn’t arrive in quite as dramatic a fashion and in quite such a hopeless state. He can understand Edward’s curiosity - he could tell from the moment he set foot in Hohenheim’s study that he’s a master of the craft to rival Berthold Hawkeye and Basque Grand - but at the same time, he’s grateful not to have to talk about it, and Edward dutifully doesn’t ask anything more.

A couple of hours later, Trisha returns with a familiar face that Roy has never really entertained the hope of seeing again. 

At least he now knows the identity of at least one of the other alchemists who made their way to Resembool.

Alex Armstrong smiles at him, a smile that’s both sad and sympathetic at the same time. 

“It’s good to see you, Mustang.”

[eskalations]

Smoke and Gunpowder, Chapter 5

A/N: Below the “read more” since it’s a bit long!

Summary: Even now, in the privacy of her room and away from the prying eyes of their government, he stiffened at her proximity. The careful lines drawn between the two of them seemed to blur at times like these when they were alone and out of uniform. In the dim light of her room, it was easy to imagine that they were just a quiet country boy and bold city girl again. (ROYAI GENDERBEND AU)

AO3 | FFN

Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Chapter Summary:

There was no way he could be here. The last time she had spoken to him, he had not said a word about joining the military. She had always thought he had wanted to become an engineer or something of that nature. Surely, with his father's notorious distaste for the State Military, the young man would have never considered becoming a part of its ranks – right?

A/N: Another chapter down! I thought it was finally time to introduce Maes Hughes. Most of the dialogue in this chapter has come straight from the manga, since I wanted to keep this AU as much in the realm of canon as possible. The only slight change that has been made is to the timeline. In this AU, Mustang joined the Military Academy in 1905 post-Master Hawkeye's death, while Maes Hughes graduated from the Military Academy in 1906 instead of 1905. Other than that, everything is pretty much the same from the original telling of this. Don't worry about the slight lack of Royai in this chapter, this was mostly used as an opportunity to build up some backstories. We will be returning to Ishval in other chapters, so you WILL get to see more of their time together during the war.

Please let me know what you think! Comments are always welcome!

-

Ishval, East Area - Summer of 1908

"Mustang!"

Over the dull ringing in her ears, the young Major could just make out the sound of someone calling her name. The voice sounded familiar, though she couldn't be sure. Under the burning sun of Ishval, hallucinations were prevalent – and she had had more than her fair share since arriving here.

However, when she glanced back at the group of soldiers huddled around the water trough, she sighed gratefully. Running towards her was a dark-haired man with glasses situated over his sharp, Amestrian features.

"Hughes!" She called from the wash station, her tired voice tinged with relief. Oh, how good it was to see a familiar face amongst this hell. Maes Hughes, as always, had impeccable timing. "So you're here too?"

The man, who was four years her senior, had to stop for a second to catch his breath. Under the heavy wool of their uniforms, any minor exertion of energy suddenly became a marathon of effort. Once his breathing had finally returned to normal – a bright grin broke out on his features. It didn't escape the young woman that the smile didn't reach anywhere near his eyes though.

"Hey it's been awhile Musta – ," Maes paused as the girl reached out to give him their customary fist bump. The overcoat she was wearing over her uniform slipped, giving way to the single star on her shoulder. This caught the man's attention immediately. "Oh! Now you're 'Major Mustang,' aren't you?!"

Raina could tell the words were meant to have a competitive edge, given the man's own lower status – however, she could hear a great amount of pride within them as well. His smile only grew bigger as their fists touched.

After taking her certification to become a State Alchemist, Raina had insisted on being given the opportunity to earn her keep by joining the Military Academy. Though she would be instantly given the title of Major due to the nature of her skills, she still wanted to pay her dues and learn what it was like to be a REAL soldier – one who wasn't just intended to be used as a human weapon. She wanted people to respect her and acknowledge that she had earned any rank she had received by merit rather than chance.

This was more of a challenge than she had expected given her age and gender. Though the State Military did not discriminate between male and female – that didn't mean the lonely cadets of the Academy didn't. She was 16 when she entered the Academy, the Fuhrer himself approving her enrollment and bypassing the normal age requirements, which caused tongues to wag throughout every branch of the military. Her male counterparts in class had ogled her, seeing her as nothing more than a nice thing to look at while they completed basic training.

Hughes had always seen her as the little sister he had never had. After their initial competitive streak in the Academy, the two of them had found that they were a backwards set of kindred spirits. Hughes with his endless optimism and unrivaled wit and Raina with her fiery determination and lofty goals. The pair had become quite the undefeatable duo during their time at the Academy.

Unfortunately, others didn't hold her in as of high regards as Hughes, despite her already promised title upon graduation. In fact, that only seemed to add more fuel to the fire.

During her time at the Academy, the men had constantly whispered about the young and beautiful Flame Alchemist. No matter how many times she tested at the top of her class or received amongst the highest marks in her physicals, her fellow cadets never seemed to take her as seriously as she would have liked. The only one who truly ever saw her as a threat was Hughes himself.

Hughes with all his enthusiasm and desire to be the best had seen the young Mustang for what she was – competition. Never had he focused on the fact that she was a girl, all he saw was a fellow soldier. Thus, began their competitive streak.

Over time, a bond had formed between the two. After having taken her leave of the Hawkeye residence, Raina had begun to miss the constant male presence she had grown used to when she was out east. Though Maes Hughes and Ray Hawkeye were about as different as night and day, it was the steady nature of the two that seemed to bring Raina such unmatched comfort.

While Hughes had graduated long before she had, the bond they shared was one she was never able to replicate in her remaining years at the Academy.

It figures that they would both end up in Ishval. Pretty much everyone was ending up in Ishval.

"To be more precise, it's a position equivalent to a Major," She removed her ignition gloves, waving them in front of him as a reminder. It wasn't like she had to put much effort into gaining her current rank. "Actually, I only have as much authority as a Captain."

While she dipped her hands into the cool water of the wash station, Hughes released a victorious whoop. "Ha, same as me then!"

"You became a Captain? When?" There was genuine curiosity in her tone. Hughes sure had climbed the ranks quickly, even without the help of alchemy. She splashed water in her face, letting it cool her heated skin.

"Just now!" He remarked brightly, handing her a towel. "Out here, people high and low keep dying. If you gain a little credit…"

Raina paused with towel in hand, glancing over at the man to see what had caused him to stop. It was the first time during their conversation that their eyes had met. Hughes looked uneasy.

"You…" The man had to clear his throat before continuing. "You've got a different look in your eyes."

Yes, she supposed she did.

Toweling off the dampness that still lingered on her skin, Raina threw the used towel into a waiting basket. She and Hughes walked off to the side, allowing the soldiers behind them to gain access to the basin. Despite hearing the disappointment in his tone, Raina found it impossible to look away in shame.

"You do, too." She met his gaze head on. "They're killer's eyes."

Hughes smirked, though there was no real humor behind the action. "Yeah."

With that they chose to distance themselves from the camp, knowing that their conversation was about to take a dangerous turn. One could almost say traitorous. If the look in their eyes was any indication, then it certainly didn't seem like either of them was terribly happy about what they had been called to do.

Once the voices of their fellow soldiers were but a mere hum in the distance behind them, they stopped walking. The endless Ishvalan desert went on for miles in front of them. Off in the distant sky, they glimpsed a large plum of smoke, signaling that another Ishvalan town was also under siege.

At the sight, Maes sighed heavily.

"It feels familiar, like it was just a while ago." The man gave another humorless laugh, turning to face his companion. Though his eyes shined with mirth, he couldn't hide the pain that lingered behind them. "Your eyes were sparkling at the Military Academy. We all sure talked about this country's future."

Raina remembered those days quite vividly. Despite her dour mood from earlier, she couldn't fight back the smirk that appeared on her features. "Yeah, we sure did."

Hughes hadn't been the only one she had shared her vision for the future with. It was one of the last things she had ever spoken to Master Hawkeye about. Oh, how he would be disappointed in her now. The exact worries he had for his flame alchemy had come to fruition and there was very little she could say to defend herself.

"How funny it is to think about that beautiful future now."

"Raina, you know this stuff wasn't a part of that beautiful future." Hughes rarely used her first name. He had always made sure to address her just as he would any other man in the field – to validate the respect he felt towards her. However, at the sight of her guilty countenance, he chose to throw that out the window. "This wasn't what any of us imagined."

They walked a few steps, passing by a gaggle of dead Ishvalans already covered in sand. Neither reacted to the sight.

"How's life here?" The Captain asked casually, stepping over some rubble as they made their way further from the camp. "I haven't seen you since I graduated."

They continued in that vein, discussing what they had seen since being called out to the field. It seemed much the same – gunfire and blasts. The only objective at this point was complete annihilation of the Ishvallan race, plain and simple. They knew of nothing else. Every morning was the same.

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Hughes!" They paused their chat as a fresh-faced cadet ran to where they stood. The young man was puffing by the time he caught up to them. There was a letter in his hand.

"It's Captain," Hughes grumbled as he turned to receive the young cadet.

"Oh! Excuse me!" The soldier raised his hand to salute his superior, apology evident in his tone. "It's a letter!"

The man handed it over to him before taking his leave – catching wind that this was very much a private conversation. Hughes turned the envelope over in his hands to read who the sender was. The exclamation that escaped him had Raina jumping in surprise.

"Oh!"

"What is it?!" Raina asked, one hand clutching at her heart. You just couldn't scare soldiers like that. Hughes was unperturbed by her reaction, too busy rubbing the parchment against his cheek.

"It's MY beautiful future!" He held up the envelope for her to read. Raina had to squint to read the tiny cursive.

"Gracia? You've got yourself a woman?"

"She's in Central!" The man brought the envelope to his chest, raising one fist in an impassioned fashion. "She's been waiting for my return all this time."

Raina snorted at the display, hardly able to believe this man was the same one that was a killer on the battlefield.

Noticing her less than stellar response, Hughes smirked. There was a playful glint in his eyes. "What are you disappointed that I'm no longer on the market?"

Raina gave him a wry grin. "Not at all, I'm happy for you."

During their time at the Academy, their relationship had been brought to question many times by their fellow cadets. Since most of the boys spent their time shamelessly flirting with the young girl, they had a hard time imagining that any man would try and befriend her. To them, the entire friendship had to be a cover up for some kind of sordid affair.

But their accusations simply weren't valid. If anything, Hughes had become a surrogate big brother to her in the Academy. He was constantly helping shield her from unwanted advances, although he knew she could handle herself just fine. She had been offended for a while at his behavior, until she realized this was just a part of him. He was protective of those he loved.

By graduation, their supposed romantic relationship had become somewhat of a joke between the two of them.

Hughes gave her an appreciative smile – however, it soon slipped from its place, replaced by one of sheer anxiety. Under the hot, midday sun, Hughes went white as a sheet.

"It just occurred to me – what'll I do if some other guy is making a pass at her?!" Raina opened her mouth to calm him fears, but Hughes ignored her – continuing to mutter near incoherently. "No there's no way that Gracia would leave a great guy like me to have an affair."

"Hughes – "

"No no no!"

"Hughes, I don't think – "

"But there's still no way the guys around her would leave such a great woman alone!" The man grabbed his face in a dramatic fashion, his turmoil evident in the fearful expression on his face. Raina was not amused by the display.

"Hey!" The frustrated shout stopped the man's ranting. He turned to where his friend stood with an annoyed look. "Hughes, I'll give you one word of advice."

The Captain raised a single brow, curious as to what his companion had to say.

"It's a common pattern in movies and novels. Guys who talk happily of their families or lovers on the battlefield?" Hughes nodded, hanging on every word. That was until Raina made a pistol with her fingers and pretended to shoot. "Have a higher chance of dying."

"Not funny, Mustang."

"It's true! How can you talk about such things out here?" She pointed an accusatory finger to his chest, her expression hard. "How can you talk about that when you're out here killing?"

"What are you saying you don't have ANYTHING light hearted to talk about?" Hughes countered, hands on his hips.

As their squabble continued, both failed to noticed the sound of sand shuffling behind them. One of the Ishvalan men that they had passed, whom they had assumed to be dead, had risen from the rubble, knife in hand. He raised it high above their heads before either of them took notice of his presence.

Once Raina realized that a shadow was descending upon them, she turned to face the threat head on. Hughes had already pulled out one of his own blades, but the girl was completely defenseless with her gloves still stuck in her pocket.

Before the man could plunge the knife forward - a shot rang out.

Both soldiers stood in shock as their attacker crumpled to the ground – blood pouring heavily from a fatal wound to the head. The red liquid stained the sand at their feet, running under the thick rubber soles of their boots. Neither said a word as they silently stared at the scene in front of them.

Regaining her senses, Raina quickly pulled out her gloves, sliding them in place over her fingers. "A shot?"

The girl's eyes were scanning the area for any potential threat that could still exist, when Hughes reached out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, blade already back in his pocket.

"It's okay." He assured her, his eyes glued on the sniper tower that lay in the distance. "We have a 'Hawk's Eye' on us out here."

Raina fought the urge to jolt at the name, her heart beating a million miles a minute. "Hawk…?"

There was no way he could be here. The last time she had spoken to him, he had not said a word about joining the military. She had always thought he had wanted to become an engineer or something of that nature. Surely, with his father's notorious distaste for the State Military, the young man would have never considered becoming a part of its ranks – right?

Not noticing her distress, Hughes continued. "Yeah, it's a still nameless sniper. It's become quite a topic among us. He's still a cadet in the Military Academy, but at any rate, he's got a good arm. It seems they brought him all the way out here because of our dismal numbers."

His companion nodded in acknowledgement, though she could barely hear him over the roaring in her ears.

"To think they had to pull out a fresh recruit like that." Hughes shook his head in disbelief, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. "This must be the end."

Raina's eyes never left the tower, even as they began to walk back into camp.

Could it really be…?

-

As night fell over Ishval, the distant sound of explosions and gunfire lowered to a buzz. Soldiers milled about campfires, swapping stories over meagre rations while they passed around bottles of liquor. One would never know that most of the men, who were drunkenly singing bar songs off-key and swaying with their arms around each other, were cold-blooded killers.

Raina had stuck by Hughes' side for most of the day, catching up on events that had transpired since they had last saw the other. At this point – she knew Gracia's favorite flower, her favorite position, her blood type, and many other details about the woman that she would have rather remained a mystery. However, she had way too much on her mind to really be too frustrated with Hughes' seemingly endless prattle.

She was still distracted by her own thoughts when Hughes called out to a group of snipers huddled around the campfire.

"There he is!" Before the Major could say anything more, Hughes called out to a cloaked figure seated by the fire. "Hey! Thanks for before. You were the one that shot that, right?"

"Yes," A deep voice answered from beneath his hood.

Raina's blood ran cold.

The sniper stood to his full height, a single hand raising to remove his head covering. The moment his flaxen blonde hair was revealed, the young soldier knew exactly who their savior was.

Ray Hawkeye was in Ishval.

His familiar features were hard against the dancing light of the fire. The sharp cheekbones and pointed nose that she had become so well acquainted with both looked much the same as they had the last time she saw him. She supposed he did look older – it had been four years – but other than that, he was still the Ray Hawkeye that she had grown up with.

The only difference was his eyes. Those amber pools used to have a gentle quality to them. Now, they were hardened by war.

Now, they were the eyes of a killer.

"It's been awhile, Miss Mustang." His tone gave nothing away as his gaze fell on her. "No, perhaps I should call you 'Major Mustang' now."

Though to anyone else, his tone would have come off as highly professional, she knew him too well to fall for that. There was a hint of accusation in the way he said her new title. Even over the den of the still rowdy soldiers, she could hear the disappointment in the words he spoke.

Maes was confused by the interaction, letting out a sound of confusion. Both the soldier and the sniper chose to ignore him.

"Have you begun to remember?"

"How could I forget?" She swallowed hard, her voice shaking with immense guilt.

Of course, she remembered. She remembered nearly every conversation he had engaged her in for the two short years she had lived with him. She remembered every smile, every joke, every story shared between the two of them, that spoke of friendship rather than the strictly professional relationship that he had tried to build up with her – and she most definitely remembered what they had given each other the last time they were together.

Ray Hawkeye had given her flame alchemy, while she had given him hope.

'Some hope,' She thought as they continued to stare at one another.

Hughes at some point had decided to remove himself from the situation, joining in on the drunken shenanigans taking place around the fire with pictures of Gracia held in his hands. Raina would have laughed at such a sight if she wasn't so flustered by the events of the day. Never would she have believed she would see him here.

With Hughes gone, the two drifted away from the camp. Learning her lesson from last time, Raina didn't dare remove her gloves. When they were safely hidden behind a half wall of bricks, Hawkeye set his sniper rifle down before turning to her.

Raina Mustang had seen Ray Hawkeye beaten down before. She could remember the hard looks he would give her when he walked out of his father's study after receiving a verbal lashing. His amber eyes would appear defensive, just daring her to say a word about what had transpired, but there would be sadness there as well.

The Hawkeye that stood in front of her was beaten down – but in a way, that she had never seen before. This wasn't just a young man who was considered a disappointment to his father, this was a young man that got thrown into a war when he didn't believe in what he was fighting for.

Raina could relate to this man, more than she had ever been able to relate to him before.

The silence stretched between them until Hawkeye's quiet voice finally broke it.

"I was afraid of my father."

The admission was so quiet, that Raina half believed she hadn't actually heard it. She supposed though, that this was nothing new. She knew that Ray and Master Hawkeye had never seen eye-to-eye. Though Ray would always gaze at her coldly when he left his father's study, it wasn't enough to erase the memories she had of the voices she had heard beyond those doors.

'You're no good,' Berthold Hawkeye would say to his son from behind the wood, vitriol evident in his tone. 'You never took to alchemy, so I had to take on an apprentice just to ensure that my research does not die with me. The least you can do is help protect it. You act like it's such a burden to bear when really you are nothing more than the keeper of it.'

Raina had never understood what they were fighting about until the day of Master Hawkeye's funeral. That was also the day she had come to understand where the bruises on Ray Hawkeye's skin had come from and why he always seemed to be plagued by dry eye.

She knew he was afraid of his father, but god she never thought he would admit it.

He took her silence as a signal to carry on. "I was afraid because the sight of him absorbed in his research was as if he was possessed by something."

Raina nodded. "I remember."

She knew exactly what the man meant. Master Hawkeye would sometimes go days without speaking – days without eating – all for the sake of his research. He was practically catatonic during those episodes of extreme hyper fixation, and there was very little either she or his son could do to shake him out of it. As he got closer and closer to death, the episodes got worse and more volatile. He would yell and scream if you tried to deter him from his research. It was like a little piece of humanity left him every time he made a new discovery, like some kind of twisted form of equivalent exchange.

"Yet," He continued, sighing deeply. His dark eyes turned to the stars as if searching for an answer. His face grew remorseful. "I still believed in my father's words that this great power would bring happiness to many people."

Raina could remember Master Hawkeye carrying on about how important his research would be in building a better future. Despite his violent behaviors, the man was genuine in his desire to see his work be used for good.

Hawkeye switched his gaze from the stars to his hands. The hands that now could kill with only the twitch of a finger. Rough and calloused, he now had sniper hands.

"I truly believed alchemy could be used for the good of the people and that the military would protect this country's future…" His eyes moved to meet her own dark set. The disappointment in his expression was evident. "Please tell me, Major. Why are soldiers, who ought to protect citizens, killing them instead? Why is alchemy, which ought to bring happiness to the people, being used for murder?"

His words were like a knife to her heart.

She knew why he was posing this question to her. There was no mistake about it. Just as she had remembered every conversation between them, he had taken note of them as well. He remembered what she had told him when she ran off to join the Military Academy – the hope she had instilled within him that led him to handing over the secrets to flame alchemy.

He remembered that hope, because It was the same hope that had thrown him straight into a war.

[aka-lambda]

I missed my FMA OC Dalila Graves so much.

[jeminy3]

Our Winter Was Warm.

Originally written for a secret santa exchange on an FMA fandom server with my friends for Christmas 2018. Specifically for Ange, a sweetheart and lovely au/headcanon-jammer in regards to anything with Roy/Hughes/Gracia. They wanted Hyuroi fluff + Gracia, and we'd talked about Hughes wanting a 2nd child named Elias with either Gracia or trans man Roy (referenced in their fic here), so this seemed the best gift for them. Not published till now because of life shit + bonus drawings I've added.

My original summary: Secret Santa gift for Ange. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I did the fluffiest hyuroigracia I could think of - married and having a baby on Amestrian Christmas <3 16k words and yet it still doesn't feel like enough, I could write forever about them ;_; but then I'd never finish, lol. This was very self-indulgent for me. Anyone is free to read if you are into it, I put a lot of work into it, and tried to be tasteful about the pregnancy and trans stuff, hopefully it is ok! Read the Google Doc here.

Read it on AO3 here. Features: hyuroigracia poly pile, trans man Roy being pregnant, Amestrian Christmas, baby Elias arrives, lots of headcanons, mostly fluff with bits of angst. Set in a divergent 03-ish universe where Hughes lived. 

---

Roy wakes from dreaming, startling a little.

The nightmares seem to have lessened lately - maybe, he's not sure - either way, at least he wakes somewhat gently this time, the horrors of his brain ebbing back into his subconscious to be forgotten, for now. They leave him to blink at his surroundings and realize that he is not there again - he is in bed, at home, safe and warm within his bedsheets.

His eyes adjust to the dim, warm light of morning streaming in through the window curtains, casting everything in a sort of glow - the cozy wooden furniture, the haphazard toiletries on the dresser, the white porcelain lamp on the nightstand beside him, with pink flowers painted across its surface. Roy takes it all in, and for a hazy moment, wonders how he even reached this point in his life.

A lot has happened this past year - over a year and a half now, actually. It's been a whirlwind of events since the scarred Ishvalan appeared, and the Elrics made their grisly discoveries. Since then, Roy has exposed a deep-seeded corruption with his own government, lead a quiet, deadly rebellion against it, and personally destroyed the monster at its heart - or at least, its strongest pawn.

He gave up his dream of Fuhrership in the process, becoming branded and cast out as a traitor to his country afterwards, but in the eyes of many, he was a hero - a real hero this time, not a monster with a hero's title. Despite occasional bouts of regret, he thinks this particular exchange was worth it - figuratively, and almost literally, conquering his own Pride and ambition for the greater good.

But what feels more poignant in this moment is his more intimate accomplishments.

With enough funds and string-pulling, Roy has fully buried both his past, and past identity. Within the past few years, he finally changed the last of his records to reflect his chosen name, cutting all ties to the lonely, miserable child he once was. And even more significantly, he's changed his body as well, with an expensive, secretive chest surgery that took great pains to arrange, endure, and recover from - all without drawing suspicion. But it was done, and Roy couldn't be happier with the results.

More surgeries were a possibility, of course, but for now Roy was content with himself - he's not looking to change anything internal quite yet anyway.

Not long after that, in the midst of the chaos of the unfolding conspiracy, he finally gained the courage - or just enough blind idiocy - to finally confess the depths of his love for his dearest, dearest friend. If it made him less of a man, or even a person of dignity, ultimately it didn't matter. To keep his heart closed to it, to hide it any longer, would have slowly destroyed him.

And unbelievably - his feelings were reciprocated. Wholeheartedly, genuinely, and for a period of time that Roy had been foolish to blind himself to. The love of his life loved him back, and nothing had made him happier than in those moments when they finally consummated the years of tension and affection between them, and promised to never again be apart.

And with the blessings of a mutual friend just as dear, and their renewed devotion to each other, they could all face the danger of the previous years together.

Roy eases out of his own thoughts as he listens to the quiet breathing of another body next to him - and he turns to see the aforementioned dear friend and dearest love, Maes Hughes, lying next to him in their bed.

To his mild surprise, Maes is also awake. His usually-slick hair now a messy, unkempt mop on his head, his bare, glasses-less green eyes squinting at him. It's unfair that he's still attractive like this.

"Mornin'," he says, smiling warmly.

Roy gives him one of his many incredulous smirks. "Awake too, huh? Why didn't you say anything?"

Maes shrugs, then reaches up with a hand to brush at Roy's hair with his fingers. "I like watching you wake up. You're cute."

"No I'm not," Roy growls, but there's no real bite to it, and he's trying and failing to bite back a smile at Maes' touch. "I'm smart, charming, suave, sometimes irresistible- but I am not cute."

"Wrong. You're adorable," Maes says matter-of-factly, and he leans forward  to peck him on the forehead, as if he were a precocious little child.

Roy grumbles again, frustrated both by the gentle contact and being momentarily unable to think of another retort - instead, he decides to enact his revenge by reaching up, wrapping an arm around Maes' shoulders, and gently, but assertively, pulling their mouths together for a kiss.

Maes is the one to growl a little now, and returns the gesture with affectionate lips and tongue.  He's strong and hearty beneath Roy's touch, in good health save for a few new scars across his torso, some aches and pains he'll complain about sometimes. But he's allowed to - it's not every day one faces undead, unkillable homonculi and lives to tell the tale. The same went for Roy - he has his own share of injuries, resulting in several new scars and a small limp in his step, but between the two of them things could be much worse.

Eventually they are sated with their kissing, for the moment, and the two pull away to gaze at each other warmly.

"So- how you feeling?" Maes asks.

Roy blinks at him. "About what?"

"I mean- you know, in general. Still don't feel any different?"

"Oh. Mm... I don't know," Roy murmurs, searching the ceiling with his eyes. "But I do feel a little weird in the stomach, as I think about it..."

Maes' eyebrows lift up significantly. "Oh ho- stomach, huh? I think we know what's coming, then," he says, with a maddeningly knowing tone and even more maddening smile.

Roy rolls his eyes. "Ugh- I'm really not looking forward to that."

Maes just snorts. "You signed up for it, hun."

"I know," Roy says with a deflating sigh.

"You'll be fine, darling, it's only for a few months," Maes says. "...And I promise, I'll be right there keeping the hair out of your eyes when you're barfing your guts into the toilet."

"My hero ," Roy drawls with sarcasm, snickering lightly.

Maes snorts again, then rolls forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Hey, I'm your husband now. I'm supposed to do stuff like that."

Roy smiles, but there's something wavering in his dark eyes, a bit of sadness in his tone. "Ah, Maes- if only that were true in the records..."

Maes is crestfallen for a moment, reminded that in the eyes of the Amestrian law, their recent betrothal was bare-bones at most - a loophole in the civil partnership clauses, really - and kept tightly secretive from anyone who wasn't a friend or accomplice. A proper marriage between men like themselves simply wasn't possible (yet) - much less a second marriage to give an already-taken man another partner.

But the moment passes, and Maes reaches forward and takes Roy's hands in his, considers the second ring on his finger - a brilliant silver-white band, complementing Gracia's gold one and matching Roy's own.

He intertwines their fingers, and kisses lightly at Roy's knuckles. "Someday, darling, someday. Things'll change. But even if it doesn't, as far as I'm concerned I'm yours forever, and you are mine, and I'm the luckiest man in the world to have Gracia and you both."

Roy just looks at him the whole time, looks with eyes soft with love and affection, and a smile just as warm.

- And that smile falters slightly as Maes lids his eyes and tugs his smile into another knowing smirk. "...Besides, since when did you start caring about the legality of a situation?"

Roy blinks, looking adorably bewildered as he searches the ceiling for an answer. "Er- When it involves the man I love?"

Maes' eyes crinkle, and he releases their hands to wrap an arm around Roy's shoulders and draw him in to laugh into his neck. "That's a shitty answer."

"I know," Roy says, snorting softly.

They cuddle together 'till the laughter dies down, and Maes proceeds to kiss Roy again, now along his neck and collarbones, working steadily down towards his chest. He nuzzles his face into the dip between his pectorals, presses his lips against the variety of scars there, surgical and otherwise. Roy sighs with contentment, petting at Maes' hair and squirming slightly when a ticklish area is touched.

Maes moves down further, trailing kisses until he's reached Roy's belly button, where his stomach is still flat and toned - but there's a bit more softness to it than usual, at least to Maes' senses. Which are, admittedly, fairly clouded with excitement due to recent developments.

He hums into his Roy's skin. "Mm. You feel softer already."

Roy snorts against him. "Bullshit."

Ignoring that, Maes keeps humming as he nuzzles at his stomach, his voice rising into a recognizable melody - a children's lullaby, one he often sang to Elicia when she was smaller and more frightened of the night.

Roy snorts again. "They can't hear you, you idiot- Gracia said it's barely the size of a pea by now, there's no organs yet."

"You can never start too early," Maes sing-songs, his lips tickling the skin of Roy's belly.

Roy suppresses his laughter. "Start what? Inducting them into appreciating your terrible singing voice?"

"Oh c'mon, I'm not that bad," Maes grumbles, drawing away to frown at him. "Honestly, I feel sorrier about them listening to you for the next eight months."

"Shut up," Roy laughs, and lightly shoves at Maes' shoulders to get him off him. Maes, being the larger and broader man, responds with a playful growl and a lunge, trapping Roy in a bear-hug in which he is helpless to a barrage of kisses against every part of his face.  Knowing better than anyone when he's strategically out of his depth, Roy surrenders to being nothing more than a giggling mess in Maes' arms.

Suddenly there's a shuffle of footsteps, a creak of the bedroom door, and the voice of a four-year-old girl cuts through their rough-housing.

"Daddy! Stop it! You're gonna squish the baby!" Elicia cries out, a little arm stretched precariously up to the doorknob, her other arm pointing accusingly at her father.

"And Mommy says to wake up, breakfast is almost ready!" she adds, the original intent of her interruption.

Roy and Maes stare at her - then at each other - before Maes throws back his head in laughter.

"I am not squishing your other dad, honey," Maes wheezes, "I'm keeping him nice and warm, see?" He demonstrates with a much gentler version of his previous bear-hug, enveloping Roy into his warmth. Roy himself merely smiles with bemusement, and enjoys the attention.

Elicia sticks out her tongue in disgust, at both her father's blatant affections and complete disregard for her concerns. "Then put another blanket on him! If you squish my baby sister I won't ever forgive you, Daddy!"

Maes laughs again, but relents this time, releasing Roy and sitting up from their bed. "Alright, alright, honey- I'm sorry. Tell Mommy I'll be up in a minute. Does she need any help?"

"Nope! You burn things!" Elicia exclaims, hilariously irreverent, and she turns and darts back into the hallway, haphazardly closing the door behind her.

Maes rolls his eyes - "No respect, even from my own offspring," he mutters under his breath - as he rolls himself up and out of bed, and makes his way towards the dresser to prepare for the day.

He stops midway to circle around to Roy's side and give him another quick peck on the forehead. "You heard the little lady - time to get up. We've got that thing to get to, after all."

"Of course, " Roy sighs despondently, wishing he could spend another hour or so basking in the heat of Maes' body and bedsheets instead. But the day must begin eventually, and he follows Maes' example and rolls himself in the direction of the bathroom to freshen up.

---

After a quick shower, a change of clothes, and a delicious breakfast courtesy of Gracia's fine cooking, Roy returns to the bathroom to brush his teeth and apply the rest of his usual toiletries in preparation for the outing this afternoon.

He was looking forward to it - it's a clear, sunny day of the weekend, and so, members of his and Maes' former squadrons have planned a get-together on the outskirts of Central, in a park popular for such gatherings, per Havoc's recommendation. ("It's perfect for families," he'd said. "Or at least mine - my folks n' I went there all the time.")

It's far from the first time they've held such gatherings together since he and Maes retired, and it certainly won't be the last - they're opportunities for their still-military-bound colleagues to unwind from their stresses, discreet exchanges of updates and information, and of course, quality time to spend with good friends.

Roy's mind wanders as he continues his routine - he wonders what bitter complaints Riza will no doubt bring up, seeing as she’s stuck helping navigate the massive power vacuum in Central as it’s officials scramble to appoint a new F��hrer  - when a strange feeling jerks him out of his thoughts suddenly.

There is an odd, twisting sensation in his belly - the "weird feeling" he'd mentioned to Maes earlier, but it was more intense now. Not incredibly so, but certainly more noticeable. Roy quietly ignores it for now, praying it won't get any worse as he continues with the gelling and smoothing of his hair and light application of face-powder.

But, of course, minutes later his stomach is slowly churning, definitely turning nauseous now, and Roy rolls his eyes toward the ceiling and sighs again. He's not sure what's more disappointing - that Maes was right after all, or that he'll be throwing up most of Gracia's wonderful meal.

Instead, Roy decides to prepare for the inevitable - he washes the gel out of his hair and powder off his face, lifts the toilet seat, and calls into the bedroom:

"Maes? Come here a moment - it looks like I'll need your hair-lifting services after all."

"I told you," Maes calls back.

"Just get in here."

---

An hour or so later, Roy has recovered from his nausea enough for their little family to be well on their way to the hangout - namely, through one of Gracia's odd variety of home remedies. This time it consisted of making Roy suck on a slice of lemon, claiming that its sour, citrus-filled scents and flavors were a natural counter to nausea. Despite his reservations (and intense dislike of said flavors), the remedy worked, and his stomach has settled (for now).

That still didn't stop him from complaining about it through most of the drive.

"-Still, of all the days for it to start ," he groans from the backseat. "I'll be spending the whole time refusing everyone's food and drinking nothing but fruit juice, I just know it."

Gracia, sitting next to him, has been comforting him with a hand rubbing his shoulder. "You should be fine, dear, it's been a while already... but if you start feeling queasy again, just stick to small things, like crackers. You know, nothing heavy on the stomach. Besides, if worse comes to worse, I brought more lemons."

Roy only groans again, rolling his eyes this time. "Everyone's already getting suspicious of me after quitting alcohol, cold turkey, without even an announcement - and now, nibbling on crackers and lemons for my stomach? I may as well wear a damn sign on my head."

Maes, in the driver's seat, glances back at them with a frown. "And what's so bad about that? You're gonna have to tell them eventually , Roy, it's been a month already. If you wait any longer, well-"

Roy cuts him off, anxiety filling his tone. "You know why I can't tell them yet, Maes, not until we know for sure- wait, what's that?"

He cuts himself off because at this point they've entered the park at Central's outskirts - a lovely, well-kept swathe of grass and trees within sight of its eastern river, dotted with tents, benches, playgrounds, and other recreational structures. But what's strange is that, in the distance, one can see a particular group of benches that's decorated with flower bouquets, bunches of balloons, and strings of ribbons, all in pastel colors of blue, pink and white. The people setting up these decorations, along with various food and drinks, are hard to make out at this distance - but they appear to be their friends and ex-coworkers, all in casual wear.

Maes makes a curious "Huh," sound at this, and makes another, more worried sound as they pull into a nearby parking space and see more clearly that the distant human figures are definitely their friends (Major Armstrong's massive frame is unmistakable at any distance).

"It's a party now? What's the occasion?" Roy asks out loud. "It's not a holiday today, is it?"

"Not that I know of," Gracia says. "The colors look like something for Children's Day... but that was a month ago, wasn't it?"

Maes glances nervously between his partners and the apparent celebration, chewing his lower lip. "Uh- yeah, yeah, pretty sure. I, uh- I dunno, hun."

In the meantime, Elicia, who had been spending most of the drive quietly busying herself with her favorite doll's hair and dresses in the passenger seat, has tossed it aside in favor of bouncing in her seat at the mention of a party. "Party! A party!" she cries, clapping her hands. "I wanna go! I wanna go! Can I go to the party please, mommydaddy?"

Maes shushes her with promises of yes, she will be going, right now in fact, as he carefully unclips her seatbelt and helps her out of the car as everyone else steps out.

As the family approaches the party area, sunlight glints off a pair of large glasses on the distant face of Kain Fuery, and when he notices them, he waves a greeting with an exuberant wave of his arm. Then he turns to the others and distantly calls, "Hey! Looks like the guests of honor finally arrived!"

The others turn to him, then to Roy and the Hughes', and break out into excited waves, hellos, and even a little applause. Fuery, meanwhile, jogs down the small slope between them to take Roy's hand in an enthusiastic handshake, giving him a beaming smile. "Ah - salutations and congratulations, sir! We're all very happy for you and the good news!" he exclaims.

Roy hardly has time to wonder at all this strangeness going on, for as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, he finds that he can hardly get a word in edgewise as his other former squad-mates approach him with the same boisterous congratulations.

Havoc (who Roy briefly realizes he might need to either put distance from, or ask him to put out his cigarettes around him for his health), runs up and claps a hand to his shoulder, all but shouting, "Mustang! You old so-and-so, I didn't think you had it in ya! Congrats, man!"

Breda flashes a cheeky grin from behind Havoc's shoulder. "Good luck with the new additions," he chuckles. "You'll need it."

Meanwhile Falman approaches from behind, somewhat cautiously, as he often is in social situations. But he seems nonetheless chipper as he claps quietly, saying, "Wonderful news, Colonel, congratulations." The addressing of Roy's military title was a habit he still had to break.

And bringing up the very rear was Riza, a bit hampered by her dog, Black Hayate, attempting to entrap her legs with his leash in his excitement. But she still offers a warm smile in his direction as she makes her way down the slope.

Maes' friends, consisting of Major Armstrong, Maria, Denny, and Sheska, also swarm him and Gracia with the same amount of bewildering praise and applause, and the same greetings of "congratulations" and "great news" (and Armstrong nearly crushing Maes' bones with one of his hugs, again).

All the while, little Elicia claps her hands in a mimic of Falman and intensifies her bouncing, singing "congratulations" right along with everyone else.

Between Roy's sputtering and Maes' breathlessness, Gracia was the one to finally get in the burning question - she spreads her hands, gestures in a shushing motion, and raises her voice in a tone not unlike one she'd have used in her days as a librarian.

"Hey- excuse me, everyone- what's all this about?"

At that, everyone quiets, their greetings devolving into confused noises and stares. For a moment, an awkward silence falls, but its quickly broken by a nervous, mousey Sheska. "Well, you know- you said you were, um- expecting again, with Mr. Mustang, sir," she says, addressing Maes. "At least, you told me over the phone that time. You seemed so excited, so I thought it was only fair to-"

"-Y-you what?!" Roy blurts out.

"Uh, yeah," Denny Brosh chimes in, "she told me when we were drinking last weekend, so of course, I told Maria-"

"-And since they knew, it seemed only fair to tell the Major," Maria continues;

Armstrong, smiling merrily through his mustache despite the confusion in his eyes, says "-And I was so moved by the blessed news, I simply had to tell your former squadron, Mustang sir. They seemed to know already, informing me of your behavior as of late;"

And Havoc, quirking his mouth around his cigarette, finishes with a shrug. "-So we decided to turn this hangout into an early baby shower for you guys to save you the trouble. I did say this place was great for families, after all."

If Roy could see himself in these moments, he'd be amused at how quickly the color drained from his face, then returned tenfold and turned his face and neck a bright scarlet color. By the time Havoc finishes his last sentence, he's covering his face with both hands and wishing he had his ignition gloves on hand in order to obliterate his own existence - but of course, that wouldn't be fair to his unborn child, so perhaps a better target would be his damnably excitable, loose-lipped husband.

He loosens his grip on his own face to better see said husband, who is now also sporting a deeply flushed complexion, scrubbing at his neck and avoiding eye contact with everyone except Roy himself - a mistake.

As soon as they lock eyes, Roy's shame boils over into an unbridled rage, and he brings down his hands, clenches them into fists, and proceeds to wave them erratically while shouting obscenities at Maes.

"Goddammit Maes, you goddamn big-mouthed idiot ! I told you not to say anything! Now everyone knows and we have all this bullshit when we don't even know if it'll even-!"

Maes spreads his hands in surrender and shrinks away from his incensed partner, spluttering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Okay okay, I got excited and let it slip to Sheska, and maybe one or two others, but I swear that's all-"

Quickly, Gracia gets between them to play peacemaker, attempting to seize Roy by the shoulders and saying "Roy, stop, please, it's alright-"

Thankfully, the mood passes. As soon as she lays hands upon Roy, a pallor passes over his face, and he grows pale again - then he keels over and starts dry heaving, his nausea returning with a vengeance.

The others can only look on with equal parts worry and amusement as the Hughes family tends to their newest and oddest member(s) - Gracia supporting Roy as he wobbles on his feet, Maes offering apologetic hugs and forehead-kisses, and Elicia looking upon the whole scene with the most amusing look of confusion a four-year-old could wear.

Riza, having finally given up on making Hayate stop squirming and barking at all the excitement, rolls her eyes and sighs deeply behind Havoc and the others.

"I told you this was a bad idea," she grumbles.

---

But the party wasn't a bad idea after all - after the initial misunderstanding, Roy calmed down from his nausea and somewhat-violent mood swing, and everyone was readily understanding, considering his condition. The party was enjoyably smooth afterwards.

True to his fears, Roy did end up consuming mostly crackers and more lemon slices, broken up by the occasions he was brave (and hungry) enough to eat more. But he did avoid actually-heaving, so it was a victory overall.

Besides refreshments, their friends also brought gifts, ranging from congratulatory cards to supplies for the new family member - mostly diapers and cleaning supplies, safe options and arguably, the most useful. No clothes except for a pair of tiny, white-ribboned shoes from Armstrong - purchased from a clothier who has provided high-quality infant clothing to the Armstrong family for generations, he claimed - and as Roy held the tiny articles in his hands, he found himself fighting an onrush of tears at the idea of the tiny person who would be filling them someday soon; then proceeded to angrily deny the redness in his eyes, curse at his hormones, then at Maes for cooing over him and attempting to calm him with more hugs and kisses.

As evening approaches and the small party winds down, Roy finds himself pretty much spent on the social side of things. After making this known, his friends and partners courteously allow him some needed time alone, which he spends sitting at a bench slightly apart from the others, pecking at leftover food scraps, as his stomach's settled again.

"Roy," the voice of Riza says softly as she approaches, and he turns to her with a smile. Close friends since teenhood, he's never minded her presence even when his energies were spent, and he nods for her to sit beside him.

"I tied up Hayate by the tent poles," she says as she settles in. "Looks like Elicia finally tired him out."  She jerks her chin towards the black-and-white-furred dog flopped on the grass near the pole he was tied to.

"And likewise for her," Roy adds with a chuckle, nodding towards a bench nearby, where a content Gracia gently rocks her daughter's exhausted form in her lap.

Riza smiles warmly at the scene. "Aw- so sweet. Hard to believe that'll be you too, months from now."

Her smile takes on a mischievous slant as she turns it back on Roy, looking at him from the corners of her eyes. "Or maybe not. You seem to have that 'motherly glow' already."

Roy scoffs loudly. "Oh, don't you start too- I get enough of that crap from Maes as it is. Besides, that's a myth anyway - your skin might change color in some areas, but it doesn't glow ."

Riza doesn't laugh much, not outwardly - but you can see it in her eyes, clear as day, if you know what to look for. Which Roy does - and it always annoys him.

"Probably, yeah," she replies. "But you do seem happier."

"I am," Roy says, pursing his lips, then bothering the bottom one with his teeth for a moment. "And, honestly... kind of terrified?"

He phrases it like an unsure question to take the edge off - he isn't sure why, he should know by know that Riza can always see through his bluffs, and always has over the years. And it's been equal parts annoying and comforting, because on the one hand, nothing gets past her, but on the other, there is no one better than her to divulge one's honest insecurities. Especially ones that he hasn't admitted to any of his other friends at this party.

So Roy can only blame his own niggling demons of anxiety for trying to mask this admission at the last moment.

Familiarly, and thankfully, Riza just looks at him, nodding. "That's understandable," she says matter-of-factly.

"I mean, I'm sure it is," Roy stammers, trying to spill himself freely in her understanding presence. "It's a lot to- you know- it's just so much . Between the pregnancy and the birth, that'll be hard enough, and not just physically. And then with everything afterwards- I mean, it's a whole person , Riza-

He takes a breath in response to a pleading look in Riza's eyes, one she often uses to silently tell him, Please, sir, try to breathe.

A little more centered, he continues. "I just- I've never done this before. And... to be honest, I never thought I would . I've never really thought of myself as a parent before. I mean- let's be honest, I haven't made the best decisions with children lately..."

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling his nervous heart pounding in his chest. But Riza only nods slowly, considering him and his words.

"True enough," she says finally. "But things were different then- and those boys were an exceptional case, one that wasn't always in your control. In the end, I think they made their own decisions... I wish you wouldn't blame yourself so much for them."

Roy only sighs despondently. It's something he's heard before, from multiple people - a nice reminder, but it seemed there would always be a part of him that would blame himself for what happened to the Elric brothers (among many, many other things).

Riza meets his eyes. "Honestly, I think you'll be just fine, Roy. You've  changed. You might not have noticed it, but I have."

Roy suppresses the temptation to laugh at that, since she's being sincere. "Really. How?"

Riza cocks her head slightly, searches the surrounding grass for words. "You are... kinder," she says. "More gentle, more selfless. Which only makes sense, I suppose - in giving up your ambition, you let go of some of your selfishness, in a way."

She meets his eyes again. "But I think the fact that you even agreed to this, and decided to see it through, is what really shows who you are now. The Roy that I knew only a few years ago would never do this."

At this point Roy is flushing nearly to his neck again, staring down into his lap and trying vainly to do something with his hands. "You- You flatter me too much, Lieutenant."

He can practically hear the cheeky smile in her voice. "I only speak the truth, sir."

Roy scratches idly at his neck before finally deigning to look at her again. And she is smiling, but its less cheeky than he imagined. It's equal parts sincerity and amusement, and she brings it closer as she moves to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Even if you mess up, you have not one, but two partners by your side - loving, protective, and already experienced in child-rearing. Between the three of you, the baby will want for nothing."

And now she's all sincerity, almost beaming at him. She leans further and offers him her other arm in a rare gesture, coming from her - a hug. Which Roy welcomes, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and welcoming her warmth against his. Riza isn't the sort of person to give physical affection very often, if at all, so when she does it's for something she deeply, deeply cares about.

He has to fight back an urge to cry, again - and again blames it on his rampant hormones, damn them.

"I'm proud of you," she says softly, pulling away and meeting his eyes. "After losing so much, starting from nothing- and now, you have a family."

Roy blinks away the wetness from his eyes, wipes them with one hand. "Well, so do you- I mean, you've come far as well, Riza."

And she has - she was, like him, a fellow orphan of Amestris’ constant warring. However, she was courageous enough to forge a new name for herself and her future, distancing herself from what little family she had left when they ultimately proved to be cold and uncaring. In some ways, she is far braver than him - so Roy never minces his words about her.

She brushes at her bangs with one hand, slightly flustered. "I guess so- I'm happy too, work troubles notwithstanding. I do have my work cut out for me, after everything's that's happened."

"You have support too," Roy assures her. "And mine as well, even if I can't be there leading the charge anymore. You'll be fine - both of us will."

"Here's hoping," Riza says, smiling warmly.

---

Months pass, and the blooming Spring mellows out into a lazy Summer around Central. The flowers fade, the grass dries, and Roy no longer complains of nausea - now he gripes about his weight as he slowly grows rounder.

His fairly-toned physique from years of military training had already started smoothing out since his retirement, but the pregnancy only hastens this process - at this point, he's outgrown most of his dress pants and shirts and has surrendered himself to wearing mostly loose shirts and casual short pants. Maes and Gracia have no qualms with these new developments.

Despite his anxieties, Roy's progress is smooth, according to Gracia, their books on the subject, and the specialist he's hired for this occasion - they came with high marks after overseeing his chest surgery and successfully keeping it under wraps. And if all goes well, they'll be overseeing his delivery soon.

One morning is particularly warm, and Roy trudges into the kitchen, already tired and sweating - it is entirely the worst time of year to be hormonal and gaining weight. As he opens the fridge to search its contents, he’s tempted to stay there just to bask in its cool air for a minute longer - and to look for something cold and sweet to sate his hunger.

“If you’re looking for more cookie dough, don’t bother,” Gracia’s voice pipes up from across the room, startling him slightly. “I’m not making any more.”

Roy plays off his flinching by smoothing his hair and forcing a chuckle. “Ah- I was not doing that, actually, just cooling myself off a bit,” he says, which was partly true, so it definitely wasn’t a lie. “But, uh- no cookies today, Gracia? Why?”

Gracia, making breakfast at the kitchen stove as usual, rolls her eyes at him. “Because a certain someone nibbled at the dough so much throughout the day that when I finally baked them, at least a third of it was already gone. And even after the cookies were done, someone ate so much of them there wasn’t nearly enough to last everyone for the month. Elicia was looking forward to having dessert every night instead of, you know- only two or three.”

Roy stares, gaping dumbly at her for a moment - then snaps his mouth shut into a frown, huffing softly. “Well- that wasn’t entirely my fault. If it weren’t for the baby giving me these damn cravings-”

“You’ve had a sweet tooth for as long as I can remember, Roy, don’t blame the baby for that,” Gracia tuts at him. “You’re just using them as an excuse to give up your self-control.”

“I- Well- Ugh. Fine, I’m sorry,” Roy relents, ears burning with shame at this point. Not for the first or last time, he wonders why he insists on surrounding himself with people who had a penchant for seeing through his bullshit.

Gracia laughs brightly, finishing off the last of her cooking and turning off the stove. “Don’t apologize to me,” she says smugly, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. “Apologize to your future self when you’re spending twelve hours in labor to deliver our child.”

Roy’s mouth drops open. “Twelve hours ?”

“That’s what happened to one of my old coworkers,” Gracia says, nodding grimly. “Too much ice cream, too small in the hips. They had to open her up to deliver her son - and no surprise, he turned in at nearly eleven pounds at birth. And his mother never did lose all the weight she gained.”

Roy swallows nervously, feeling a chill up his spine - then remembers he’s still standing in front of the open fridge. Feeling plenty cold enough, he carefully closes its doors. “That’s, uh- that’s rough.”

“Oh, that’s not even the worst of it,” Gracia chuckles, and she straightens and turns to pour herself some coffee from the pot on the stove. “I’ve heard so many horror stories, you wouldn’t believe it - bearing children is very difficult. A lot can go wrong, and badly.”

“So I’ve heard,” Roy mutters, recounting articles he’s glanced over in the newspapers, about mothers losing their lives in the effort to bear their children; babies born with terrible illnesses or deformities that claim their lives before they’ve even lived a year, or leave them crippled for a lifetime; countless tragedies that leave orphans, widowers, and other such suffering in their wake. To say he was anxious about his own child’s birth was an understatement.

He glances nervously at the small curve of his stomach as he moves to sit at the kitchen table, sighs harshly and runs a hand through his hair again.

Gracia hums sadly across the way, and after an awkward silence, she joins him at the table while setting down their plates of breakfast. Roy looks at it, but does not feel hungry anymore.

“I wish I could say it gets easier,” Gracia says, still crestfallen in her tone. “But then you have a newborn on your hands - totally helpless, completely dependent on you. Your whole schedule revolves around them, which usually means you’re alternating between sleeping or staying awake for two hours at a time. And that lasts for a year, at least.”

She smiles a little, plucking herself up. “But then they start getting a personality - it’s so fun, watching that develop. And then they’re walking and talking - of course, that’s the toddler years. You’ve seen some of that already.” She chuckles at this last part.

“I do,” Roy says tiredly, now recalling the evenings he’d spent babysitting a smaller, more hyperactive Elicia in the years before he married Maes. In his misguided, pining state, he probably thought he could win favor by looking after his daughter - and this partly worked, as it led to a closer friendship with Gracia, tearing down the awkward walls between them.

He bows his head and sighs again. “Ah, Gracey- if I didn’t know better, I'd wonder if all this was even worth it."

Gracia chuckles again. "Well, you are bringing a whole human being into the world. Then raising them as your own, giving them the best possible start towards their future- Of course there's going to be prices to pay for that sort of thing."

When he looks up, she’s twirling her fork at him, wearing a wry smile. "Didn't you Alchemists have a rule about that? ‘Equivalent exchange,’ right?"

She lowers the fork to rest her chin on her knuckles. "It's kinda like that - this is our version of Alchemy, in a way."

Roy stares at her for a long moment - then crumples into a long and loud fit of laughter.

"Ah, Gracey," he says as he comes down from it. "You're so much better than any Alchemist."

Gracia laughs too, at that - then suddenly leans over to peck him on his cheek. "So are you, dear."

The affection catches Roy off-guard, a bit, and he spends a few moments blinking dumbly. He opens and closes his mouth to retort, but when nothing comes to him, he grumbles, and busies himself with poking at his breakfast. "Hmph."

---

Roy still suffers the occasional mood swings as he progresses, which is normal, according to Gracia and the doctor.

But what isn't normal is how deeply, deeply low Roy's mood becomes at times - when his movements become sluggish, his appetite diminishes, and he no longer finds joy or laughter in much of anything. At his absolute worst, he spends one morning unable to get out of bed at all - and both his partners know this can't entirely be blamed on the pregnancy.

"Dear, please," Gracia says softly, kneeling by Roy's bedside, gently brushing his mussed hair out of his eyes. His plate of breakfast sits on the nearby nightstand, untouched. "You need to eat, now more than ever."

"I know," Roy mutters, but he doesn't move, still curled within his bedsheets with his face half-buried into his pillow. His eyes are red and tired from too little sleep and too many tears.

"At least a few bites, or a nibble," Maes murmurs at his other side, his form curled around Roy's own, hugging him from the back, his face nuzzling his husband's ear. "You need it. So does the baby."

"I know," Roy repeats, but again he makes no move to obey them.

"Darling," Maes kisses into his hair, "Please. Try."

Roy squeezes his eyes shut, and his breath hitches, but he says nothing and still doesn't move.

Gracia keeps gently stroking his cheek. "At least say something," she pleads. "Tell us what's wrong. We're here, we'll listen."

Roy's breathing becomes erratic for a few moments, as if pushing back a quiet sob. But eventually he settles and opens his eyes, seeming to get up the nerve to speak his mind.

He chokes out, "What... did I do... to deserve this?"

"Deserve what?" Maes asks.

"All of this," Roy says, voice watery. "You, and Elicia, and the baby- how..." He swallows, and clears his throat. "...How can I bring life into this world when I've brought nothing but death?"

Gracia and Maes exchange glances, understanding. Gracia less so, but she is very familiar with the look of helplessness that again crosses her husband's features, the look that Maes gives when he remembers that Roy went to Ishval and he did not, and he will always, always be sorry about it. That he couldn't be there to stand by Roy's side, to share in its horrors, its suffering, and all he could do ever afterwards was try to put him back together with kind words, soft smiles, slices of Gracia's homemade pies.

It wasn't enough - never enough - but it was something , and it helped.

So again, Maes blinks back his tears, then adjusts himself so he can wrap his arms around Roy's shoulders and take his hands in his own, gently intertwining their fingers and bringing them down to touch the small dome of Roy's belly.

"You saved my life, darling. Multiple times. That's not nothing," he says, kissing into the crook of Roy's neck. "You've saved all of us - our friends, our family, even the whole nation."

Roy squeezes his eyes closed again. "But, Edward-"

"That wasn't your fault, dear," Gracia interrupts, her hand joining Maes' and Roy's. "Whatever happened down there, that was his battle, not yours. He's strong - wherever he is, I'm sure he's doing just fine."

"Yeah," Maes agrees. "We have to believe that... He'd hate for us to worry over him anyway. You know him," he adds, forcing a chuckle.

Roy sighs, but he nestles a little within Maes' hold. "Mm. I wish I could... Believe, that is. In anything."

"...What about our child?" Maes asks, his hand at Roy's stomach rubbing gently. "You can believe in them. They'll be here soon, after all."

Roy's eyes lose focus, and he exhales again. "Ah, even then- I'm still... scared they might not."

Gracia starts, her face pinching with worry. "Dear, please, don't even think of it. You're doing so well, even more than the doctor predicted- please, don't risk it all by worrying needlessly. Don't-"

She takes a breath, bows her head slightly. "Don't be like me."

Maes makes a strained sound. "Honey-"

"It's fine." Gracia flashes a small smile in Maes' direction, then turns it toward Roy, who still stares out at nothing in particular.

"Roy," she says. "You remember before I had Elicia, don't you?"

"Mm." Roy makes a noncommittal noise. He must remember those times, but he makes no effort to make it obvious, so Gracia sighs and decides to remind him.

"We miscarried so much," she continues, exchanging soft glances with Maes. "The doctors never could find out what was wrong with me. It was awful - and neither of us breathed a word to anyone, we were so ashamed. At least, I was."

She squeezes Roy's hand in her own. "We only told you after you found me crying after dinner, that day. I thought I was broken, and worthless, and all these terrible things - and that only made it worse. I was my own self-fulfilling prophecy."

She bows her head and leans in, planting a kiss on Roy's knuckles, near his stomach. When she looks up again, his eyes are looking intently at her, soft with pain and sympathy. He does remember.

"Without you and Maes, Elicia wouldn't even be here," Gracia says. "And she'll always be my little miracle, but I can't put myself through that again. You'll never know how truly, truly grateful I am for you doing this for us, Roy. For our family."

When she meets Roy's eyes again, they're wet with tears on the verge of spilling. This time she leans over to kiss his cheek, and wipes away the wetness with her thumb.

"I'm so proud of you, darling," Maes says behind him. "All of us are. Even Elicia - she's so ready to be a big sister. It's kind of funny, actually - she acts like she'll be ten years older instead of four."

"God, she does," Gracia says, chuckling softly. "All she talks about lately is all the toys and clothes she's going to share with her 'little sister,' and all the food she's going to make for her. She keeps asking me to show her how to cook dinner now - and she can't even reach the stovetop without standing on a chair."

Maes snorts with laughter. "God, that's adorable - how is she doing by the way, cooking-wise?"

Gracia levels a knowing smirk at him. "Well, she's a step up from you, Mister Water-Burner."

"Oh, ouch- ouch . You're so cruel, honey," Maes whines, feigning hurt.

Gracia laughs harder now, shaking her head. "Cruel? I've been trying to show you how to cook for years , but when you're not making jokes out of everything, you're turning it into something not even dogs would eat. It's pretty sad when a toddler's a better student than you."

Maes laughs, hard, dropping his forehead against Roy's back until he composes himself. "Oh Gracey, you're so mean ," he drawls out. "That's it, I'm only sleeping with Roy from now on. He wouldn't make hurtful jokes about his poor husband's cooking skills. Isn't that right, darling?"

Roy doesn't appear to respond for a moment - but listening carefully, one can hear erratic breaths and a slight shifting of fabric, and his shoulders and chest tremble within the blankets and Maes' arms. But there are no tears - Roy is quietly snorting into his pillow and suppressing soft laughter.

"Hey- are you laughing ?" Maes exclaims. Roy tenses within his grip, now squeezing his eyes to suppress a grin threatening to break out on his face.

"You're laughing, aren't you. I can't believe this. Both my wife and husband, laughing at my expense," Maes says, withering into laughter. Gracia does the same, and Roy's resolve crumbles, and it isn't long before all three of them have devolved into a shared laughing fit.

The mood was lighter, and it was warmly welcomed.

And later on, after more lighthearted conversation and gentle encouragement, Roy's depression lightened to the point he could sit up and eat a slice of toast and spoonfuls of porridge without much issue. He still stayed in bed most of the day, and only ate a bit more as it went on, but by the evening his body's needs began to outweigh his lack of appetite and he ate ravenously of his dinner, and he could sleep soundly through most of the night.

He improved slowly - at least, his mood didn't often dip into such a low point after that, but when it did, Maes and Gracia were once again there to hold him and remind him how much he was loved, and loved others in turn.

...Or to make more jokes at Maes' expense. Those helped too.

---

Fall is here; the greens and yellows of Summer have faded into shades of red, gold and brown, the leaves of trees darken and cover the ground, and the air grows colder.

Roy's moods have improved, along with his health, and now his child's movements can be felt within him. At first, it was strange and exciting -  there are few words he can find to express how simultaneously incredible and incredibly weird it is to feel a tiny person moving around inside him.

By now, the novelty has worn off - Roy could swear that the child shifts only in ways to spite him, pressing up into his lungs when he's trying to eat, or down onto his bladder when he lays down for the night, and he ends up struggling against his own unwieldy body to get up and use the bathroom for the umpteenth time. Or, usually, they just kick him constantly. At this point he's welcomed Maes' attempts to sing lullabies to their unborn child to soothe them. It actually seems to work, sometimes.

Between all this, even more egregious weight issues, and his ever-rounder appearance, no one blames him for his complaining now. Maes and Gracia offer as much comfort as they can, like taking turns offering him massages every evening, especially for his sore feet.

At least one positive is that the colder weather means he can sequester himself in large, billowing sweaters and pants, offering much in comfort and hiding his un-flattering figure.

Elicia, however, delights in these developments, as it proves that the reality of her becoming a big sister is drawing ever closer. She often puts her hands to Roy's stomach to feel its movements, and keeps asking him and everyone else when the baby will arrive.

One morning, Gracia, after making some calculations, says the delivery should occur right in the middle of winter - "Right around the Winter Solstice, actually," she says, jabbing her pen at the day marked on the kitchen's calendar. "Could even be the day of-  that'll be interesting," she chuckles.

Maes scratches at his chin. "Well- shit. We'll be with your folks all week to celebrate... We really should have planned this better, hun," he says, directing this last statement at Roy.

Roy, seated at a nearby table with his chin balanced on one hand, rolls his eyes at his husband. "Don't look at me- You're the one who decided knocking me up in Spring instead of Winter was a good idea. It's usually the other way around, you know."

Maes turns several shades of scarlet at this and starts spluttering. "I- Well- Y-you agreed to it!"

"I did," Roy sighs long-sufferingly, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair to ease his sore back a little.

Gracia giggles at the two of them. "Oh well," she says. "It's fine, really. I'd rather it happen with more people around anyway. Feels safer."

"True, but- what're we gonna do for the kid's birthdays?" Maes wonders aloud. "They're going to live the rest of their life being forgotten. I had a coworker like that, y'know- poor girl was born on Couples' Day, so people either didn't believe her, or treated all the cheap chocolates as her birthday presents. Terrible."

"Yes, the poor thing," Gracia says, shaking her head. "But I think this is different - city-folk don't really celebrate the Solstices anymore, so maybe they'll end up getting birthday presents from their city friends, and Yule presents from the family."

Maes rolls his eyes. "So they'll be spoiled rotten instead. Great."

"I don't see anything wrong with that," Roy says, grinning.

"You be quiet," Maes tuts at him. "I thought you were an orphan , you hypocrite. Don't you want our child to appreciate things?"

"Of course I do," Roy says, patting his stomach with an air of pride. "They're going to appreciate getting lots of money and free things every year."

Maes sighs, shaking his head. "Terrible. Absolutely terrible."

Gracia just laughs harder.

---

Weeks later, and it is only a few days before the Winter Solstice - or Yule Time, as some people still call it, like Gracia’s family.

Roy is due any day now - and at this point he's more or less numb to the constant dysphoria, anxiety, and dozens of other unpleasant symptoms. He is very heavy, very grumpy, and just wants his child to be born so he can finally hold them in his arms and be done with this.

The family does their best to make him comfortable in these final days - which now includes Gracia's kind-hearted parents and their siblings, as they are now rooming in their family home for the holiday.

The house isn't massive, or terribly luxurious, but true to Gracia's family, it is the very picture of coziness: old rugs and paintings adorn the walls and floors, wood and earthen furniture throughout, and large, worn sofas with plenty of throw pillows and blankets.

It’s a proper abode for generations of a country-born family staying true to its roots, constructed by a patriarch of Gracia's forefathers. This is most evident in the Yule decorations that now adorn everything - the front of the house wears wreathes of pine needles and sprigs of holly on its doorways, tied together with ribbons of red, green and gold. Within the house proper are various bells, knick-knacks and decorations on the walls and  furniture, wicker baskets filled with candies in the kitchen, and all sorts of pleasantly-scented candles throughout.

Everything is concentrated in the main parlor, where a small evergreen tree stands proudly in its corner, covered in the highest concentration of these decorations. More baubles, ribbons and bells; dolls and figurines made of fabric and clay; preserved pinecones, berries and flowers; garlands of tinsel and colored beads. And it's all topped off with a hand-worked, golden metal star at its tip, allegedly made by a grand-relative skilled in metalworking. It’s construction is somewhat rough, even at a glance, and makes the part of Roy that was still a haughty State Alchemist wonder why the family didn’t hire one to make the star with a much more efficient metal transmutation - the rest of him chastises himself for being so shallow. He is deeply privileged to now be a part of such a family, rich in its history and heirlooms.

Beneath the tree's branches and surrounding the large pot holding its trunk, is a pile of wrapped presents, glimmering with shiny colored paper and bows. It captures the fascination of child and grown-up alike - mostly the children. Some of the more excitable ones, like Elicia, need to be kept under close watch to ensure they don't open them ahead of time. Roy feels grateful that his child is not yet among them.

And yet, for Roy, this place  inspires a strange mix of both homeliness and alienation in him - the first and last time he was here was over four years ago, on the Solstice that followed Maes and Gracia's wedding.

It was a bittersweet occasion for him, marked with equal amounts of happiness and heartache because of still-buried feelings for Maes. In the presence of his friend's family, and that of his new wife, he felt like an intruder with no business being there; his attempts at socializing were  cold and aloof when he wasn't drowning his feelings with rum and hard nog. Between his awkwardness and the chaos of the past few years, he'd politely declined further invitations back here.

But things are different now. He is different - it's just as Riza said all those months ago. Roy feels more relaxed, less caged within his own defensive walls, and has been having an easier time opening up to everyone - and in turn, others open up more to him. Of course, it helps that his partnership to Maes and Gracia now makes him a more proper member of the family, but even without that difference, the overwhelmingly warm vibes here suggests they would have welcomed him just the same, even all those years ago.

(Being very heavy with child also helps - he's too exhausted to put up many walls to begin with, gets plenty of sympathy and attention from just about everyone, and can't retreat back into a bottle even if he wanted to.)

Right now, sitting with Gracia's mother and father in the parlor, wrapped in conversation, he is the very picture of comfort: wearing the loosest sweatpants and the biggest, puffiest, Yule-colored sweater Gracia could find for him, covered in large throw blankets, and sipping from a mug of warm chocolate milk in his hands.

His only source of discomfort is of course, his unborn child, who still shifts constantly - there's also an occasional, somewhat-painful pressure inside him that comes and goes, but Gracia says these 'fake' contractions are common at this stage, so he does his best to ignore it.

Sebastian, Gracia's father, leans from the sofa with his elbows on his knees, recounting tales from his past as a war journalist, when times were simpler, and war was as well. His talk of the old-fashioned photography and recording equipment they used back then would be of endless fascination to Fuery. For Roy, he appreciates the wartime experiences, and can share his own to a sympathetic ear.

Gabriella, Gracia's mother with a history as a nurse, is more concerned with baby-talk: both embarrassing stories of Gracia's early childhood, and concerns about Roy's health and that of their new step-grandchild.

“-And that’s why Amestris never tried to push its borders eastward, and thank God for that,” Sebastian is saying. “We already have our hands full with the North.”

“You can say that again,” Roy groans, recounting the almost-war with said country not long ago. It’s still a wonder that his efforts dissipated the conflict, even if it’s merely boiled down into a cold war now. “Anyway,” he continues, not wanting to dwell on the subject, “This eastern desert - what’s beyond it?”

“Eastern countries, and then the ocean, I presume,” Sebastian replies, idly scratching his beard. “They say Xing is over there too, but who knows, no one’s heard from them in decades. Probably for good reason, knowing us.”

“True,” Roy hums sadly.

“It had a name too, that desert,” Seb continues, searching the ceiling for a memory. “And a weird one - something like... Silk-sees? Serk-sees? Or was it more of a "z" sound..."

Gabriella interrupts him, one of many times already. "We get it dear, the name was weird. Say, Roy, have you all picked out a name for the baby yet?"

Roy, slightly awkward but becoming familiar with these rapid changes in subject, stutters in response. "Ah- we do, actually-"

"C'mon Gabby, what d'you take us for?" Maes cuts him off, balking. "Of course we've got names picked out. If it's a boy, Elias. If it's a girl, Eleanor. Easy."

Gabriella laughs, shaking her bobbed hair. "Easy, huh?" she teases, "Sure it's easy, when it's more "el" names. Couldn't think of anything else?"

Maes blanches at her, sputtering again. "Hey- they're nice names! It'll be cute when they match with Elicia! Gracey likes it too!"

Gracia was giggling softly. "C'mon Mom, it's Yule Time. Lay off the teasing a little, yeah?"

"Aw- But it's so easy ," Gabriella says, smirking mischievously.

Sebastian, rolling his eyes at most of the exchange, turns back to Roy. "You're the one actually having the child - did you have any names in mind, Roy?"

Roy shrugs at him, pursing his lips. "Honestly? Not really. Naming things isn't really my strong suit."

"You could've asked me," Riza suddenly pipes up, leaning above them on the sofa with her elbows on the head-cushions - she's here early on in the week to help with party preparations.

"I would have suggested some good names," she says, pouting slightly.

Roy cocks his head to look at her, giving her a stink-eye. "You named yourself after a bird of prey and your dog after a violent weather pattern. Forgive me if I don't exactly trust your particular taste in names, Lieutenant."

Riza rolls her eyes. "Fair enough."

---

Another difference this year is the absence of Maes' family members - aside from one of his nicer cousins, none of the Hughes are here. There were a few phone calls giving well-wishes and happy-new-years a few weeks ago, but other than that, it's been radio silence from them.

It's fair to assume that this was foretold by a letter they received about a month prior - one that Maes frowned down at and said, "Hm. It's from my parents."

They had not heard from his parents, or most of his relatives, since Roy and Maes announced their retirement from the military and their romantic partnership thereafter (which didn't go into detail, but the fact that Roy had permanently moved into Maes' and Gracia's home should've been enough of a tip-off).

The letter spent the majority of that day laying on the kitchen counter, untouched - only towards the evening, after Gracia had retired to put Elicia to bed, did Maes finally open it.

Roy didn't get a chance to see its contents, but did witness Maes' expression darken considerably as he read it, and heard him mutter something about "lifestyle choices" and "unsightly partners" under his breath with intense disdain.

"Maes?" he'd asked him, out of concern, but his husband only spared him a glance before briskly turning and walking back into his office. Roy followed him, cautiously- and peered into the room soon enough to see him crumpling the letter into his fist, raising it to throw it into his trash can.

"Maes," he said again, softer this time. Maes lowered his arm, and turned to look at him fully - and Roy could more clearly see how his eyes burned with something cold and bitter.

Maes let out a long, angry breath through his nose, and a beat passed. "...You're lucky, in a way," he finally said. "You lost your parents before you got to know who they really were."

"Mm," Roy hummed, starting to understand this now.

Maes turned away, sighing again. "You never had to grow up and realize that you've been living with a pair of hypocrites all your life. Talking all the time about how much they loved you, how much they cared - but when you needed a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to listen, they pushed you away, told you to suck it up. Nothing you did was ever enough for them."

He unfurled the crumpled letter, stared at it. "I did everything they expected of me - I got good grades, I joined sports teams, I even got a girl and settled down. And I worked hard - I reached Major without ever even touching an Alchemy textbook, Roy, you know how much I busted my ass for that. And you know what they said to me? When I showed them my credentials? 'Oh, that's nice, but your cousin's a lawyer and makes even more money than that. Don't you think you could do better, dear?'" He mimicked a flighty, nasally voice, probably mocking his mother.

"And now, after all this time, they send me this shit- " And Maes slammed the letter onto his desk, violently, causing a whipping sound of paper-on-wood that made Roy flinch, but the suddenness of the act was what really made him shrink away - he rarely saw Maes so angry like this.

Maes, meanwhile, seemed to snap out of whatever rage-like stupor he was in once he realized Roy was frightened - he blinked, then started toward Roy and wrapped him up in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, kissing Roy's hair. "I'm just- I'm so tired. The things they said about you..."

He took a breath, then drew away, giving Roy weak smile. "But it's fine. They're not coming to Yule with us anymore - and good riddance."

"They're not?" Roy wondered at him, recalling the very few times he'd seen Maes' family - who seemed like fairly well-off people of the upper middle-class, decent folk, if a bit stilted in their mannerisms. Maes never seemed comfortable around them, and he rarely spoke of them in all their time together - it seemed there'd been good reason for that.

"No, they aren't," Maes said, kissing at Roy's forehead again. "And you know what? I'm fucking relieved . This could actually be the best Solstice I've ever had, because for once I don't have to pretend that I'm happy around anyone."

He lowered his hands to Roy's stomach, looked at him softly. "Because I am. With both of you."

Roy had felt his eyes watering, at once heartbroken and brimming with joy for his dear husband, and he returned his affections with a long, tender kiss and embrace.

When they drew away, Maes asked him one last thing. "Roy- just do me a favor, okay?"

"Anything," Roy said.

"Keep me honest," Maes said, his expression soft, open, painfully vulnerable. "When I tell the kids I love them, make sure I mean it."

"Aw, Maes," Roy said, resting his head against Maes' chest. "Don't worry. You already do."

When Gracia heard the news later, she readily agreed with both ideas - good riddance to Hughes' family, and "Goodness' sakes, Maes, if you were any more earnest about your children, even I couldn't stand you."

---

The absence of Maes' family was not long missed - in their place are select members of Roy and Maes' former squadrons this year. They're a welcome presence in the house, and a great help with the preparations. Gracia's parents welcome them warmly - and are in agreement that Maes' family are better off gone, after hearing the news.

Some, like Armstrong, Maria, Fuery and Havoc, will only be here for several hours of Yule's Eve, planning to spend the holiday proper with their families; those without much of a family to go back to, like Riza, Breda and Falman, are here for the entire week; and those who are absent entirely are spending the extra time with loved ones who need it, which are Denny with his many younger siblings, and Sheska, who is staying with the Rockbells to offer her support.

Sheska even sent a letter in advance, and when an evening wound down and allowed time to spend on it, Maes reads it aloud to Gracia and Roy in the parlor:

A wonderful Solstice to you and your families, Mr. Hughes, Gracia, and everyone else. Special regards to Mustang and the new baby, I hope everything goes well. Miss Winry and her grandmother need all the help they can get after everything that's happened - you know, with Alphonse and that homonculus boy - I think they're all in need of a good Solstice. Rose and Paninya are here as well, and they send their regards. Miss Winry does too, and sends congratulations for the new baby to Mr. and Mrs. Hughes.

Maes frowns a little after reading the last line. "Nothing for the man actually giving us the baby," he mutters under his breath.

"Honey," Gracia whispers, catching his attention to shake her head at him. He looks at her, seated at his side on the couch, then looks to his other side, where Roy lays curled within his throw blankets against the armrest. He stares out at nothing, seeming to be in a low mood again, and Maes isn't sure if it's from the day wearing him out or his comment on the letter.

Maes lowers his eyes. "Sorry," he says.

Roy glances at him, then away, and just shrugs. "It's fine," he says distantly. "It's what I expected from her."

He's not talking about Sheska.

---

Days later, and it is finally Yule's Eve. The merriment in the household only grows as Fuery, Havoc, Maria and Armstrong arrive to partake in the festivities.

True to Roy's prediction, Fuery spends most of the evening deep in conversation with Sebastian about the technical wizardry of years past; Havoc enjoys playing Big Brother with Elicia and her little cousins; Maria aids in the last of the holiday dinner preparations, to the appreciation of Gabriella and her sisters.

Armstrong, meanwhile, does what he does best - being himself, as grand and boisterously as possible.

Early on, when his loud greetings rang out through the house and his massive frame approached Roy and Maes in the living room, a look of real, genuine terror flashed across Maes' face for a moment - and within the next moment, he'd whipped out a protective arm in front of Roy.

He said quickly, "M-Major! I would ask that you, uh- refrain from your usual form of affections, seeing Roy's current condition-"

Roy attempted to protest at the same time. "Wh- for goodness' sake Maes, I'm not made of glass -"

But both were drowned out by Armstrong's bellowing laughter. "Ah, please, no need to worry, sir! I wouldn't dream of laying hands upon your husband in such a state. I merely wished to extend my congratulations again - and a humble offer, if you do not mind."

He extended a massive hand forward, which Roy took, surprised at the man's gentleness in his grip, for once - at the same time he asks, "An offer, Major? What kind?"

Armstrong nods, and after exchanging less-gentle handshakes with Maes, replies, "In regards to your coming child, sirs - I've heard they will arrive very shortly! If you have need, the Armstrong family midwife and her assistants are eager and ready to help at a moment’s notice! They come highly recommended, believe me-"

He starts into what will no doubt be a tirade about the many good qualities of this midwife and her team, and how they assisted in bringing multiple generations of Armstrongs into existence, but Roy hurriedly gives him a polite shushing gesture and cuts him off.

"Ah- I'm sure she is, Major but uh- we have the midwife thing covered already, don't worry."

Armstrong stuttered mid-sentence, stared in confusion. "Ah- Oh. By whom, if I may ask?"

This would be answered just later that evening.

---

And sure enough, there is one last guest who has arrived fashionably late to the house - one that Roy has waited for anxiously.

When the doorbell rings and an all-too-familiar voice is heard across the living room, he lights up brighter than any flame could produce, and grunts his way to his feet to meet them at the door personally.

Shuffling in through the doorway, in a flurry of winter fur coats and bags, is a somewhat-portly woman of middle age, dark-haired and dark-eyed, well-dressed and made-up, with a beauty mark on one cheek. This woman is known to most as Madame Christmas, the owner of a once-prolific bar-and-brothel in East City; In reality, she is Chris Mustang, Roy’s aunt and foster mother.

She is the only living relative of his family, having survived either by miracle or her own wit; she took him in and raised him as her own, bringing him out of the orphanages and under her wing, in honor of her brother and sister-in-law; she and her girls gave him the ideal home and family to rediscover himself in the wake of losing of his parents; and they have taught him everything he knows about secrecy, subterfuge, and weaponizing one’s charms into a fine, precise point.

Her knowledge spans a grand swathe of subjects that most people would call “unsavory,” but among her clientele and employees, they are nothing less than essential. Among her skills is several years of experience in midwifery, and ensured that Roy’s mother had a safe, successful delivery on the day of his birth - she has, quite literally, known him for his whole life - so it is only appropriate for her to do the same for Roy and his own child all these years later.

In short, he would be nothing without her, so Roy he gives her the best hug he can muster, despite his large stomach getting in the way. But she squeezes back with just as much affection, even as she draws away with a sarcastic frown on her face as she looks upon him. Her first words to him are, "My goodness, Roy, you're huge ."

Roy snorts, then breaks down into a fit of giggles. Maes and Gracia laugh their way to the doorway to also greet Chris, along with several women that are both her fellow charges, and Roy’s adoptive sisters.

They’re equally surprised and delighted at Roy’s condition. “Oh my! You all must be so excited;” “Wow, you weren’t kidding, you look ready to pop!”; “Roy dear, you should really sit down…”

“She’s right, darling,” Chris says, agreeing with the last one. “You didn’t tell me you were this close! Goodness, didn’t I teach you any sense? Sit down, sit down, before you throw your back out…”

Roy, still laughing, lets himself be lead away and back to the sofa. “You did, Auntie, you did- It’s just- ah, it’s been too long. I missed you.”

And he means it - Chris and the girls were a constant well of support for him until recently,  as when the string of serial killings and conspiracies started up a few years ago, Roy was quick to call her up and advise her to leave the country for their safety. Chris begrudgingly obeyed, moving out westward and re-establishing herself there as best she could. Now that things are relatively settled (finally) and changing for the better, she’s recently moved back to Amestris - just in time to spend their first, proper Solstice together.

“Hmph! Then you could have called or written me more often, you sap,” Chris retorts, but there’s rarely any bite to her banter.

“Calls don’t go out to Creta,” Roy says as he settles back into the sofa. “And I wrote you as often as I could, Auntie. It was, ah- pretty crazy for a while there. I’m sorry I didn’t write more.”

“I’ll say,” Chris says, rolling her eyes. “The Cretan newspapers were having field days with it. I almost started getting worried about you - then I heard you blew up the Führer.”

Roy laughs again. “I did, I did. That was… ah, man. There’s so much to tell you, Auntie.”

Chris smiles at him - a real, genuine smile - and takes his hand, gently, something she hasn’t done in a long time.

“Well, I’m here now, darling. Tell me all about it.”

---

And talk they did, for many hours - between introductions to Gracia’s family and Roy and Maes’ squadron members, the details of the past few years’ adventures, and plenty of embarrassing stories of Roy’s childhood, there was no shortage of conversation.

Soon enough, it is near-midnight - Armstrong, Fuery, Havoc and Maria bid their farewells and left long ago, the children have been put to bed, and most of Gracia’s family have retired for the night as well. Only Roy’s little family (minus Elicia) is still awake, bleary and yawning as they curl up together on the parlor sofa, still exchanging stories.

Chris, slightly buzzed from the wine, is still deep into the ‘embarrassing stories of Roy’s past’ part of their conversations. “I always knew you’d tie the knot with Maes someday, always knew,” she’s saying, side-hugging her adopted son and admiring the silver ring on his and Maes’ fingers. “It was just a matter of time - for you to get up your nerve, of course.”

“Oh, c’mon ,” Roy whines, suppressing a yawn at the same time. “I wasn’t nearly that bad. And you know there were other reasons I was hesitant.”

“I know, darling- but it’s still funny,” Chris says, smirking.

“Was he, now?” Maes says, grinning wolfishly. “I have an idea of how long you hid it from me, but I’m dying to hear your side of it, Ms. Mustang.”

“ Maes- ” Roy starts, but Chris leaps upon the chance before he can protest it.

“Oh, it was practically star-crossed ,” she waxes. “There were sparks from the moment you first met. He’d talk about you all the time when he called me from the Academy - as in, how much he hated you.”

Roy groans, and Maes throws back his head in laughter. “Ah, man- that checks out,” Maes wheezes. “I was a pretty big asshole back then.”

“ Was ,” Roy drawls sarcastically, earning him a playful jab in the shoulder from his husband.

“Shut up, I’m better now!”

“Debatable,” Gracia murmurs sleepily from the other end of the sofa.

“Don’t you two start again-”

“You three are adorable ,” Chris laughs. “I’ll admit, I was worried when you and Gracia hooked up and poor Roy was left out- but I’m glad it’s worked out now.”

Maes’ laughter grew uncomfortable. “Ah, well, I- I didn’t know. Or I wouldn’t open myself to it, I guess. I just- didn’t think it was an option at first, you know?”

“I know, dear,” Chris says. “I’m sure your family didn’t help there. We’ve all had our run-ins with conservatives - my brother probably would have balked at the idea if he were still here, rest his soul.”

“My father,” Roy muses at the mention. “Do you think… would he have accepted me, Auntie?” He asks with genuine curiosity, only tinged with sadness at its edges. Chris frowns, and thinks, and hugs Roy more closely.

“With time, darling, with time,” she says finally. “He was still a good man. And people change, they always do.”

“Yeah, we changed,” Maes says, after pecking Roy’s cheek with affection. “We went from hating each other’s guts to this . Pretty crazy, huh?”

“Yeah, Roy hums, growing quiet as he feels another pang from a fake contraction creeping upon him - he’s been dealing with them on and off all day, but they feel more intense than earlier in the week...

“And say, I wanted to ask,” Maes continues. “If you liked me for that long, why didn’t you say anything? I mean, I’m sure Ishval had to do with it, but-”

“That is part of it,” Roy murmurs. “But- hm. It’s uh, hard to explain,” he trails off, suppressing a grunt of pain.

Chris eyes him for a moment, then takes over in his explanation. “You see, Roy was in a very… tenuous place in his life, you could say. When he started attending the Academy, he’d only recently changed his name and started his medications, as I recall.”

She exchanges glances with Roy, who nods to confirm this.

“-Oh,” Maes says. “So you were still… in-between, kind of?”

“In a sense, yes,” Chris replies. “Physically and emotionally. Very insecure, very frightened, poor thing. He’d call me many times to talk about how scared he was of anyone finding out about his ‘secret’. And we all know how the military tends to treat people who are… different .” She says the word with a disgusted sneer.

Maes hums, nodding. “Yeah, yeah… didn’t want to get too close to anyone, then.”

“That, and he couldn’t allow himself to,” Chris continues. “Opening up his heart to anyone would risk his career, maybe his life, but most of all, it would’ve betrayed everything he was building up about himself. Admitting to being in love with you, a man , would’ve made him no different than the young lady he once resembled.”

She shrugs, frowning slightly. “...That was misguided, obviously, but like I said, he was young and insecure. And, obviously, Ishval didn’t help with that.”

Maes nods slowly, frowning. “Mm. I see.”

He looks back to Roy, seeing something pained in his husband’s face, and huddles closer to wrap his arms around his shoulders and press his face into his dark hair. “But I wish I could… y’know, really understand, completely. So I can be better for you,” he murmurs softly.

Roy snuggles against him, his warmth a small balm for his pain, both from his stomach and the memories. “That’s okay,” he whispers. “Just trying helps. Just being here, for me- that helps.”

He feels another pang, more acute this time, and can’t quite suppress a groan from it. Chris sits up at his other side. “Darling, what’s wrong? Are you-”

“False alarms, Auntie, false alarms,” Roy says hurriedly, a little strained. “It’ll pass in a minute-”

“Roy, you’re due at any moment , Gracia says, now sounding more awake. “Those might not be false anymore.”

“Hey hey, easy now,” Maes says, supporting Roy against him. “I know I kept joking about the baby being the best Yule present, but I wasn’t serious- ”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Roy cuts in, leaning away, breathing easier since the pain was now fading. “It’s passing now, I’m okay- just like I said.”

There’s a beat of audible relief between everyone. Chris shakes her head, still frowning with concern. “Still, too close for comfort- you should really get some rest, dear. It’s late anyhow.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Maes says. “C’mon honey, let’s go to bed already.”

Roy gives a small sigh, mainly at the prospect of trying to stand up again. “Alright, alright…”

---

Maes was a light sleeper for as long as he could remember. This was useful after becoming a soldier, needing to be alert at all times on the warfront - it was not useful after he came back to city life, gained a stressful, overworking job, and was expected to still function as a normal human being. After that, he was nearly an insomniac.

He has spent many long, lonely nights alone in his own bed, with his own wife and child - he has spent countless more before he was married at all. Being married a second time, to a second partner, has not lessened this - but it has made it a little easier. Because at the very least, he can be comfortably trapped between two partners and feel safe, no matter what his paranoid brain tells him, and lying still and quiet between them for long enough can finally set him drifting into unconsciousness.

So it’s just his damn luck that on this particular night, Yule’s Eve, of all evenings, he is tired and content enough to actually fall asleep within a reasonable span of time, and sleep soundly - and then be rudely shaken awake only a few hours later by a trembling hand and distressed voice.

“Maes- Maes, Gracey, wake up. You were right, I think- ugh- I think it’s coming-”

“Ngh- Roy?” Maes drawls out sleepily. “What- What’s coming?”

“The baby , you idiot, we- ow- we need to go- ”

“Coming…?” Gracia yawns awake. “What- Oh, oh god, Roy-”

Gracia’s form jerks to an upright position at his other side, jostling Maes further, and now there is no hope of him returning to that blessed space of mind where he is genuinely sleepy - instead it is replaced with panic over the realization that Roy is in labor.

“ Shit- ” he curses, and all but leaps to his feet from their shared bed - tight quarters in an already-small guest room - and haphazardly gets himself dressed as Gracia eases Roy to his feet, taking him through the breathing exercises they’d been practicing for months in preparation for this. They ease the pain, allegedly.

Maes can’t really tell as they shuffle out into the hallway, watching Roy double over from the contractions when they come, wishing he could do something, anything - he hates feeling helpless, and didn’t enjoy this when Elicia was born.

They turn a corner towards the living room, and he nearly jumps out of his skin - coming down another hallway is Chris and a few of her girls, wearing robes and holding oil lamps.

Chris’s eyes widen at the sight of them, and she lifts her lantern to look better. “It’s happening?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” Maes and Gracia say, almost in unison.

“Hmph! I knew it. C’mon then, we’ll take my car, it’s roomier.”

---

The next several hours are a blur, between the haze of pain Roy is experiencing and the panic everyone else is having. The car ride consisted of Gracia sitting by him in the back seats, breathing in time with him in their exercises, and Chris at his other side, instructing him to rock himself to and fro to ease the pressure. Maes and one of his sisters, Bridget he recalls, sat at the front of the car, struggling with maps and directions in the pitch-black of the night, toward the Central hospital where his specialized doctor would ensure a discreet delivery.

There was a lot of yelling and cursing, mostly from Maes against Central’s ‘backwards-ass street system,’ but at some point they finally arrived and Maes all but launched himself from the driver’s seat to run inside and schedule with the doctor. Soon, Roy was being lowered into a wheelchair and sped along into an operating room by a nurse, meeting with his doctor, and then entering the painful, arduous process of childbirth.

He tries not to dwell on anything - if he does, it’s on the small things. Gracia and Chris squeezing his hands as they lead him through various pain-relieving positions; Maes kissing his sweating forehead and muttering small prayers; everyone’s praise and encouragement at even the smallest amounts of progress.

In short, it’s as awful as Gracia warned him it would be, even with painkillers - but eventually, blessedly, he hears the tiny cries of the child he’s brought into existence, and when they are cleaned and brought into his waiting arms, he is told they are a healthy baby boy. As planned, he is named Elias Mustang Hughes.

Poor Elicia - she was looking forward to a sister.

---

The golden light of morning peaks over dark winter clouds, and gently streams through the plain curtains of the hospital room  - morning is here, on the Winter Solstice, and Roy’s family has welcomed the birth of their son.

There was a flurry of emotions within and without him as Roy first held his child in his arms - rampant thoughts of “oh my god I’m holding a tiny person in my arms that I made inside my body and he’s here and he’s mine ”; Maes kissing him over and over, practically sobbing with happiness; Gracia all but climbing into the bed with them to hug him, also crying; Chris nearly shoving them both aside to get a closer look at her new grand-nephew and saying, “Oh, Roy… he looks like your mother, a little.” And that got Roy’s waterworks flowing as well.

Things have calmed down by now - Gracia has taken Elias aside (making Roy begrudgingly let go of him) to feed him milk formula she’d prepared ahead of time, seeing as Roy was not equipped to do so; Maes is pacing the room and whispering curses at himself for forgetting his camera in all the rush; Chris has pulled up a chair by Roy’s bedside to tell him more stories about his parents and the days he himself was an infant.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, and it creaks open - a nurse peeks in, saying “Excuse me - Hughes family? You have visitors- erm, a lot of them.”

“Oh, uh- let them in,” Maes stammers as he goes to the door, and he opens it fully.

Once again there a flurry of activity, for as soon as the door is thrown open, a small throng of people and things make their way inside the room. Gracia’s parents and aunts, Elicia and her cousins, Roy’s sisters, and Riza, Breda and Falman, all file inside with armfuls of boxes, baskets, and other containers filled to the brim with Yule decorations - the decorations from the house, Roy realizes, as they set about placing them around the hospital room in a similar manner to how they were back at the house.

Sebastian, broad and strong, even carries the entire Yule tree into the room with Breda and Falman’s assistance, setting it in the corner and piling the wrapped presents underneath it, just like it was in the parlor.

The nurses and doctors, of course, are none too happy about this; neither is Gracia, because the noise and commotion makes little Elias start crying again, and she has to place him back into Roy’s arms to calm him. Gabriella apologizes for everyone, but soon the work is done and things have settled again.

Bridget, who was nowhere to be seen during his labor, Roy realizes belatedly, turns to them and smiles triumphantly after placing the last of the decorations. “Sorry for the mess,” she says. “I called the house while you were in delivery to tell them the news, and Ms. Gabby had the best idea - since you guys would be stuck here and missing the party, we brought the party to you !”

Roy doesn’t know what to say to this; Gracia’s anger is calmed, but still thinks the whole thing’s a bit excessive (but it is something her mother would absolutely do); Maes is completely flabbergasted, mouth hanging open stupidly.

This is quickly rectified by Elicia approaching her mother and father to berate them - “You made me miss the baby! Why didn’t you wake me?!”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Gracia tells her, lifting her into her arms to make up for it with hugs. “But it was the middle of the night, and we were in a hurry.”

“You wouldn’t have liked it anyway,” Maes says nonchalantly. “Just a lot of screaming and crying. But look, honey- this is your baby brother, Elias.”

Elicia stares at the bundle in Roy’s arms - then pinches with disgust. “I thought it was a girl- and he’s so ugly .”

“He was just born , dear, give him a break,” Roy says tiredly, but he’s laughing too. “You looked a lot like this when you were born too, as I recall.”

“Gross!” Elicia cries, shaking her pigtails, and Maes and Gracia are laughing as well.

And the rest of that day was just as enjoyable - the other guests acquainted themselves with little Elias and extended praise and congratulations to the family; presents were given out and opened with much joy and appreciation;  food and drink was brought and shared over happy conversations; even music was brought in the form of Riza’s portable radio to smooth out the atmosphere with pleasant, quiet jazz.

The Yule gifts ran the gamut from clothes and candy to tools and appliances, some a perfect match to their recipients, others not so much, but nonetheless appreciated - after all, the most important aspect of the gift-giving was the well-wishes given alongside the physical presents. According to Sebastian, the ancient tribes of Amestris who started this tradition exchanged nothing more than small good-luck charms under their trees, for hope to survive the rest of the bitter winters.

For indeed, there is an overwhelming atmosphere of hope in this hospital room - for love, living, and a brighter future, especially after the strife of the past several years. For Roy, this is most evident in the new life he now holds in his arms.

---

Nearly a month later, the Hughes family have long since returned to their home with little Elias in tow - and as Gracia also warned, it is very tiring to care for a newborn. Especially with a somewhat-bratty four-year-old who must now deal with the reality of no longer being the sole center of attention from her parents.

But between the three of them, it’s manageable - two people to exchange shifts of sleeping and tending to the baby, a third person to tend to Elicia’s needs.

It was harder in the beginning, with Roy not only being new at this, but also very drained from the effort of delivery - luckily they received helpful visitors every few days after the Solstice, in the form of Gracia’s relatives, Chris and the girls, or members of Roy and Maes’ squadrons. For those who were absent, it also serves as their first opportunity to see little Elias and extend their congratulations (Armstrong, in his usual form, burst into tears at the sight of the child, he was so happy).

So far, only Elicia is unimpressed with her baby brother - on top of not being a girl, she complains of his small size and inability to walk, dashing her hopes of a new playmate anytime soon, and that he does nothing but sleep, eat, cry, and soil his diapers.

Again, her parents must remind her that he is mere weeks old, and she was much the same at that age. And again, she does not believe them. Ah, children.

One morning, finally feeling hale and healthy enough, Roy spends a few hours sitting outside on the porch with his coffee, watching morning traffic go by as the sun rises over Central’s skyline.

And it’s strange - he feels kind of empty, somehow, despite how full his life is. He must be slipping back into his low moods again - Gracia warned of postpartum depression as well. He tries not to dwell on it, as usual - he sips his sweetened coffee, watches the sunlight dance upon steel and wood rooftops, and wonders what sort of person his son will grow up to be.

He can’t settle on an answer - who could, with how broad the possibilities could be - but he does hope beyond all hopes, that Elias, and Elicia as well, will be better than the terrible mistakes their fathers have committed and still live with.

There is a shifting behind him suddenly, and the opening and closing of the front door - Roy turns to see Maes joining him on the porch, pulling up a deck chair beside him.

“Good mornin,” Maes says, pecking Roy’s cheek. “You’re up early. Feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Roy says, shrugging. “How are the kids doing?”

“Eli’s been fed, so he’s down for the count for now,” Maes says. ���And Elicia’s still sleeping. Gracey’s tucking in for a nap while it’s safe, and sent me to check on you.”

“Oh,” Roy says. “Well, like I said, I’m fine, so…”

“Are you?” Maes asks, eyes searching. “I mean, I know it’s been a while, but you had a rough time of it- if anything’s bothering you, you can tell me, hun. You know I’m always here.”

Roy frowns, and attempts to deflect him again - but as usual, his husband’s pretty, pleading eyes make it hard to keep up any facade for very long.

He sighs sadly. “I don’t know- I’m still tired, I guess. And I keep thinking…”

“Of what?”

Roy pauses, thinks for a long while, bothering his lower lip with his teeth again.

“Maes,” he says finally. “What are we going to tell them? About us, and what we’ve done?”

He swallows, thick with emotion suddenly. “How- how do I tell my son about Ishval ?”

Maes’ smile fades, his mouth a thin line, and he sits back, turning away. He searches the skyline for a small eternity, eyes squinting, as if searching for the answer. But eventually, he closes his eyes and exhales, and turns back to Roy.

“We’ll tell them everything,” he says solemnly. “The good, the bad- all of it. They deserve to know. We have to be better than the old bastards at Headquarters.”

“Mm,” Roy hums sadly. He’s right. He usually is.

“And then,” Maes says, taking Roy’s hand, squeezing it. “We’ll tell them to be better than us.”

He meets his eyes at that, and Roy can see something misty behind Maes’ glasses - and feels a prickling in his own. He dips his head and leans in, letting Maes hug him by the shoulders and lean against him in kind.

They watch the rest of the sunrise together. They hope that someday, their children will see something similar - a sun rising on a better world.

END.

[queencamellia]

FMA!AU BNHA

Note: This fandom has taken over my life. This is a longfic. Lots of plot. Lots of ship. Todomomo centric, but LOTS OF GODDAMN SHIPS.

Oh, and traitor theories. That too. Mystery. Huzzah.

"look like the innocent flower” Summary

...but be the serpent under't.

In a world of alchemy, revolt plots, and civil unrest, Colonel Shouto Todoroki and Lieutenant Momo Yaoyorozu must find a way to preserve the peaceful regime of All Might.

Unfortunately, the Homunculi are lurking. And they’ve already taken action.

“I wonder...who is the traitor?”

[Fullmetal Alchemist AU]

[TRAITOR THEORIES WOOO]

[Plot] [Almost Gen tbh] [Lots of pairing hints tho]

LINKS

Ao3 LINK HERE

FFN LINK HERE

Alternatively, you may read it under the cut!

In his childhood, when Shouto dreamt of becoming an alchemist, he imagined defeating evildoers and saving civilians like the tales his mother used to tell him. He never dreamt of bringing honor to the family, of proving himself worthy of the Todoroki name, of his name reverently spoken over drinks, and of a brilliant future filled with glorious victory.

Shouto never needed that. He never cared for that. He never wanted that.

He just wanted to help.

He dreamt of children who would thank him for saving their parents life; he dreamt of the poor who could lead better lives in peacetime. He dreamt of a world where love, compassion, and kindness didn’t have to be snuffed out because they were considered “weak” or “useless.”

Shouto did not dream of tears, loss, anger, and despair. He did not dream of the futile battles in which he fought to live, not protect. He did not dream...no, he never quite realized that there would be blood on his hands.

Before him was nothing but an obscure cloud of smoke. Black specks of ash fell upon his navy blue uniform like gentle snow, but he paid no mind to them. Shouto stumbled past a pile of rubble, his soot-covered hands reaching out and searching. The thin layer of frost covering his fingertips suddenly burst into action, travelling down the devastated city block and covering the grimy street with ice.

Revitalized, Shouto continued to make his way down the street with renewed vigor, pushing past rubble and coughing. “Bakugou,” he called, carefully stepping over a piece of demolished concrete. “Bakugou, I know you’re there.”

To his relief, he heard a cough resound from underneath the remains of the ruined building. “Fucking snipers,” his fellow alchemist cursed, looking rather unfazed as he threw a rock off himself towards the side. The blonde grumbled under his breath, attempting to pick out the pieces of plaster in his hair. “I hate fucking snipers. They always have to pick the tall buildings. Shitty bastards just want to make themselves harder to catch.”

“That’s what snipers typically do,” Shouto deadpanned, unimpressed by the Explosions Alchemist’s stellar vocabulary. He glanced around the building, unable to detect any signs of life; even so, Shouto remained vigilant, his right glove off and prepared to freeze anything at the slightest notice. His left glove, as always, remained on but firmly useless.

Bakugou’s cold eyes, which so severely contradicted his fiery personality, were a jarring reminder of their situation. They were State Alchemists at war.

“This fucking sucks,” Bakugou complained, kicking at a rock. His voice lowered. “I didn’t sign up to be an alchemist so that those government bastards would ship me off to do their dirty work.”

“What did you expect?” Shouto couldn’t help but ask.

Bakugou sent him a disbelieving look, shoving his hands into the pockets of his long, dark blue trench coat. If Shouto looked closer, he could make out the faint glint of silver. They had all been issued their special State Alchemist uniforms only a few days prior: it was easier to identify the amount of significant casualties, then. “I don’t know,” Bakugou growled. “But not this. I didn’t sign up to fuck over some weak bastards who can’t even fight. I thought I was gonna actually fight someone halfway decent at fighting.”

Shouto, too accustomed to the crude alchemist's speech, automatically translated the words in his head. It was Bakugou’s way of expressing his distaste for murdering civilians; despite his abrasive nature, Bakugou never wanted to be a villain (a war hero). He just wanted to be a hero.

Shouto let out a noncommittal hum, glancing upwards at the sky in hopes that it was dark enough for them to return to camp. Although he tolerated and (dare he say it?) enjoyed Bakugou’s company (on rare occasions), Shouto felt unease well in his chest. Something about today had been far too easy: they had only encountered one Ishvalan alchemist in the early morning. The alchemist had been weak; Bakugou was more than enough to defeat him while Shouto evacuated the civilians.

“Oh, sure. Bite me with your fucking holier-than-thou attitude, Pacifist Alchemist.”

Shouto’s lips curled downwards. Although “Pacifist Alchemist” was hardly his official epithet, the moniker had stuck after soldiers witnessed him evacuating several civilians: people quickly realized that Shouto actively avoided causing direct harm to civilians and the landscape if possible, which was how the title was born. Although he didn’t particularly mind it, he knew that his father would be less than pleased. Endeavor had always favored the logical, quickest, and most efficient solution. It was a trait to be both admired and feared.

But Shouto...Shouto wanted to use his Ice Alchemy for good, if possible. He didn’t want the alchemy that his mother had so lovingly taught him to be used for murder.

“I’m called the Freezing Alchemist.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pacifist,” Bakugou snorted, the fight in him essentially sapping away as he squinted at the sun. “How much longer? Two hours? Three hours? You think the old geezer would care if we came back early?”

Shouto considered the notion logically, then replied, “Brigadier-General Aizawa won’t care, but the troops will.”

Bakugou looked like he was about to launch into a tirade about how he didn’t give a shit about the morale of the troops, but surprisingly closed his mouth and decided against it. Even the often-irate Explosions Alchemist knew the importance of maintaining the all-powerful image of Amestris’ State Alchemists: they were the elite of the elite. Every country had their set of state alchemists; if their alchemists were weak, then it reflected badly on the country’s strength.

Instead of blowing up, Bakugou narrowed his eyes and searched the perimeter. Shouto took that as a signal that they were going back to work; immediately, the Freezing Alchemist exhaled, shutting his eyes. A flurry of cool air sent the dust flying once more, ice forming in the cracks of the broken buildings; as instructed, it was a way for Amestris to quickly mark its newly acquired territory until the troops could advance and secure the area.

While Shouto had been securing the premises, his fellow alchemist had climbed onto one of the piles of concrete blocks in order to survey more of the area. They quickly fell into their usual after-battle routine: Shouto was to search for survivors, while Bakugou was to check for enemies. Although they had their differences, the two alchemists moved as a single movement flawlessly with an ease acquired only through weeks and weeks of practice.

Silence presided over the clearing for several minutes until Bakugou let out an annoyed grunt. “Fuck,” he cursed, drawing Shouto’s attention immediately. The ice user quickly strode over to the rubble, climbing up the pile with relative ease. His eyes surveyed the area, searching for what Bakugou might have seen, when they landed upon a group of badly-concealed soldiers approaching the west.

“They're heading for the camp,” Shouto concluded, already halfway down the pile of rubble as he rushed through the street. They rounded the corner, intent on stopping the squadron of soldiers when—

“Half-and-half!”

Shouto had barely a second’s warning before Bakugou literally launched over to him and knocked him to the ground, a bullet whizzing over his head. “Fuck, it's an ambush!” Bakugou cursed, scrambling off of him and ducking behind a piece of rubble. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Shouto found his voice. “We're sitting ducks out here; we need to find cover,” he murmured under his breath, examining the fallen bullet. “But where?”

“Less thinking, more fighting. Get on your feet!” Bakugou barked, clapping his hands and slamming them into the ground. Shouto knew what that meant; immediately, he scrambled away, Bakugou at his heels as the ground exploded behind them. The dust kicked up by the explosion was enough cover to give them a few seconds of respite.

Suddenly, the air felt warmer, the frost nipping at Shouto’s fingertips melting away. A ferocious gale of wind blew away the smoke, exposing their location.

“There’s an alchemist,” Shouto realized. “Two alchemists, perhaps.”

And if the previous move had been any indication, it wasn’t a coincidence that the enemy alchemists had the type of alchemy to directly counter theirs. Bakugou and Shouto had grown rather notorious amongst the alchemy world. They were in an open area, surrounded by snipers and enemy alchemists who they couldn’t even spot.

All in all, Bakugou summarized their shitty situation rather pleasantly. “We're fucked.”

An onslaught of bullets flew over their heads; immediately, Shouto formed a protective wall of ice, only for it to melt away again. Bakugou cursed, dragging him behind a stone pillar before he could get shot. The rocks in the explosion-user’s hands morphed into his ever-trustworthy grenades; it wouldn’t be enough.

Shouto’s mind raced at lightning-quick speeds. Was this how he would die? Covered in soot, in the middle of a foreign country beside his loudmouth companion? He couldn’t die: Shouto wouldn’t die until he ensured that everyone (his siblings, his mother) could live peaceful, prosperous lives. What could he do?

It was almost comical how Endeavor’s voice popped up in his mind; despite everything, he had learned many important things from his father. Think logically. Survey the area first, Shouto. Think from the enemy’s point of view. How would they strike you?

Maybe...maybe I should…

He glanced at his left hand.

Suddenly, a loud series of screams resounded. As quickly as they had started, they abruptly stopped. Bakugou and Shouto exchanged wary glances, but when the temperature suddenly died down, the Explosions Alchemist must have realized something. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Bakugou snorted, a smirk curving on his lips. There was an almost fond note to his voice. “The Hawk’s Eye strikes again. Prissy bitch. She always had the best timing.”

Shouto had heard of the epithet before. After all, soldiers talked. “The sniper, correct?” he question, tilting his head. “I heard that she’s quite accurate.”

“Accurate is an understatement,” Bakugou countered grudgingly. “She never fucking misses, no matter the target nor the distance. She’s probably at least a thousand meters from here.”

Shouto sighed, nodding at him. “We should probably head back to camp and report about this to Brigadier-General Aizawa: that’s two more alchemists down. If they’re aiming for us, we probably shouldn’t wander around here for too long.”

“Fucking finally,” Bakugou muttered under his breath, stalking off. “Come on, Half-and-Half. I’m sick of these fucking ruins.”

----

To Bakugou’s growing annoyance, they never made it back to the camp. Instead, they ran straight into the squadron of enemy soldiers they had spotted before; apparently, the fuckers weren’t planted there simply for the ambush. The Ishvalan soldiers were busy engaging with a squadron of Amestrian soldiers: from the looks of it, the Amestrians were heavily injured and losing. Bakugou cursed, glancing to his left to where Half-and-Half stood.

He never understood why the alchemist was so fucking calm. It irritated Bakugou to no ends; no matter the situation, Colonel Shouto Todoroki always maintained his same annoying deadpan face. They were even on the brink of fucking death minutes ago, and all the ice-user could do was stare apathetically at his hands!

“Shitty ice bastard,” Bakugou grumbled. Then, louder, he declared, “HEY, YOU BASTARDS! GIVE ME A CHALLENGE, WILL YOU?” Immediately, heads turned to face him.

Unhesitatingly, Bakugou jumped into the fray, baring his teeth at the Ishvalan soldier in front of him. “Well? Come on,” he invited, his fingertips itching to make things explode. “Let’s do this.”

---

“Thank you so much!”

Shouto blinked, unable to mask his surprise as he pivoted on his heel to face the bowing Amestrian soldier. He silently gestured for her to stop bowing, examining the soldier analytically. She was a petite girl, chestnut brown locks framing her cherubic face quite nicely. Her eyes sparkled with sincerity as a grateful smile graced her lips. “You and Lieutenant-Colonel Bakugou saved our lives, sir,” she added.

“It’s no problem…” Shouto said hesitantly. He wasn’t used to interacting with anybody outside of their small group of State Alchemists. “Your name?”

The girl gasped, mortified. “My apologies, sir! I forgot to state my name and rank. First Lieutenant Ochako Uraraka! It’s an honor to meet you, colonel.”

“Just Shouto is fine,” Shouto allowed. “Are...your squadmates alright, Lieutenant?”

“Then, just Ochako is fine. Or Uraraka, if you prefer that. Most of them are alright, although we should be heading back to camp as quickly as possible,” she replied dutifully. Uraraka gestured to two soldiers to her right, who had been lingering awkwardly. “I think two of my friends would like to join the conversation. Meet Captain Tenya Iida and Second Lieutenant Izuku Midoriya.”

“It’s an honor,” Iida, said, nodding his head. “Thank you for helping us. We were caught unprepared, and I hate to think of what might have happened without your assistance.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shouto offered. Then, he turned to the second lieutenant. “And you as well.”

As if he couldn’t hold back any longer, Midoriya blurted out, “You’re the Freezing Alchemist, right? How exactly does your alchemy work? Does it work in all climates? How do you form the ice in the desert like this? I assume you use the water particles in the air, but it still doesn’t explain how you—”

“Midoriya!” Iida hissed under his breath, jabbing the soldier with his elbow.

Midoriya blinked, then blushed when he realized the torrent of words that just escaped his mouth. “O-oh, I’m so sorry!” he stammered immediately. “Alchemy just fascinates me a lot, and I’ve heard so many stories about you—”

“Instead of focusing on Half-and-Half’s alchemy, why don’t you spend more time developing your hand-to-hand skills, Deku?”

As always, Bakugou’s arrival was dramatic, his voice marked with annoyance as he literally landed beside Shouto, having jumped off a stray boulder to intervene in the conversation. Shouto liked to think that the explosions-user could have done well in drama, but he couldn’t imagine Bakugou spouting off Shakespeare with a straight face.

“Kacchan!” Midoriya exclaimed, a hesitant smile blooming on his face. “You were really cool out there.”

Bakugou snorted. “I’m more than fucking cool,” he declared arrogantly, crossing his arms over his chest and effectively cutting off whatever conversation they had going on. Shouto let out a long, suffering sigh.

“Bakugou…read the mood…”

“Well isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Bakugou shot back. “You can’t socialize for your fucking life, Half-and-Half. It’s a miracle the guys back in the military academy didn’t tell you to fuck off.”

Shouto blinked, then tilted his head. He chose not to address the socializing jab as it was somewhat true. Instead, he revealed, “I didn’t attend military school.”

“Eh?” came the surprised voices of not only Bakugou, but also the other three soldiers.

“My father sent me to a private academy,” Shouto explained. “The people there were very amiable.”

Bakugou looked unconvinced. “You had friends?”

“I suppose,” Shouto said slowly, “I had one friend.”

Before any of them could respond, however, Shouto’s eyes caught upon a shock of black hair approaching the group of soldiers. Plenty of people had black hair, but he could never forget that ponytail—

“Fucking finally, Hawk’s Eyes!” Bakugou exclaimed, drawing her attention. “Taking your damn sweet time, weren’t you? Where the hell were you during the scuffle?”

“I believe that was hardly a scuffle, Lieutenant-Colonel Bakugou,” came her voice, lined with amusement. “And I see that you all handled yourselves just fine.”

Bakugou scoffed. “Yeah, whatever. Half-and-Half, meet—”

“Yaoyorozu?” Shouto asked, cutting off the explosions-user as his eyes drunk in her appearance. Yes, even though she was wearing the navy blue coat of the Amestris army and had cut her hair shorter, the woman standing before him was undeniably Yaoyorozu. His chest felt tight; it felt as if he could hardly breathe as his eyes remained steadily trained on hers.

Silence had fallen over the group. The female sniper pursed her lips together tightly, stepping forward.

“Todoroki,” she acknowledged, her cool eyes softening the slightest fraction as they met his. Slowly, a smirk curved over her lips as she pushed a stray strand of ebony hair behind her ear. “Or...should I call you colonel, now?”

[blxxdingheartchernikova]

About for Mobile Users

Karla in her uniform (without the coat)

Karla in her civilian clothing

More below the cut.

TRIGGER WARNING IN ADVANCE: mentions of alcohol, rape, self-harm, and blood

Basic Information

Full Name: Karla Ivanovna Chernikova

Age: 24

Gender: Female (she/her)

Birthdate: February 19, 1890

Place of Birth: Virnikov, Amestris

Height: 5'5" (165cm)

Weight: 130 lbs (59kg)

Profession: State alchemist within the military forces of Amestris

Military Rank: Major

Aliases: Bleedingheart (her state alchemist title)

Alchemic Catalyst: Blood (mostly her own)

Ethnicity: Half-Drachman, half-Amestrian (though the Drachman features show the most)

Spoken Languages: Amestrian, Drachman

Primary Station: Fort Briggs, Amestris

Commanding Officer: Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong

Physical Appearance

Hair: Bright red, slightly wavy, reaches approximately a few inches below her shoulders. Wears it in a tight bun while in uniform, most often wears it down when out of uniform.

Eyes: Rich forest green. Tends to have a rather serious light in them.

Body Type: Slightly pear-shaped; her hips are wider than her shoulders though not by much. Her hips and bust are just large enough to give her body some slight curve, though it is almost invisible when she is in uniform. Also fairly well-muscled due to her military life and training. Has extremely pale skin, a trait given to her from her father.

Clothing: Typically wears her military uniform. However, her civilian clothes tend to consist of long skirts, long-sleeved shirts, and tall boots, along with a long overcoat if she is staying in the north.

Dominant Hand: Left

Marks/Scars/Tattoos: Multiple cutting scars line her right arm due to the use of her alchemy, and some more jagged scars line her left arm for the same reason. Many scars on her back, neck, and legs from battle injuries as well as torture in Drachma, and scarring from a brand inhabits her side from the same treatment.

Family

Ivan Konstantinovich Chernikov (father): Ivan is a native, full-blooded Drachman. In his younger days, he was an assassin, carrying out orders to slay whoever he was told. Soon after an attempt on his own life, however, he fled south to Amestris, becoming an illegal immigrant in the process. There, he met his wife, and they held a private marriage behind closed doors. Some years after having his daughter Karla, he was discovered by the Amestrian military, and he was deported back to Drachma. There, he lives as a wanted man, continuously dodging the military there in order to retain his life. Whether he is still alive or not is unknown to Karla, for she hasn’t seen him since she was fourteen years old. He is a redhead just as she is; the Chernikov line is known for having practically no other hair color than red. The trademark Drachman blade Karla carries as a weapon was initially Ivan’s assassin weapon; he gave it to her as a present on her twelfth birthday.

Liesel Anneliese Chernikova (mother): As much as Ivan is Drachman, Liesel is Amestrian. She comes from an old, full-blooded Amestrian line as well; however, she met Ivan Chernikov at age twenty-three and had Karla a couple of years later at age twenty-five. In contrast with Ivan’s and Karla’s red, Liesel’s hair is blonde, and she shares her eye color with her daughter. She is a bit overprotective; she rather vehemently disagrees with her daughter’s choice of career. She is only this way, however, because she does not want to see Karla go down the same path Ivan did: possibly being deported or killed. She is a strong woman, however, and she is the chief of the relief and recovery defense force in Virnikov due to the frequency of the village being attacked by Drachman soldiers.

Personality

The first thing one will notice at a first glance of Karla is her stern, serious expression. This is one she has worn for many years, ever since the day her father was taken from her. She is always very serious and snarky, though she can also be quite formal and polite. Another factor of her personality is her blunt honesty; if she is thinking something about a person, she will not hesitate to let that person know as bluntly as she can. Karla is very straightforward, and she seemingly has no knowledge or caring about social etiquette. This has backfired on her before, and she is often branded as rude or even as a bitch because of it. However, she cares nothing about how other people see her; the only people she really cares about are those who have proven worthy of her respect to them.

She holds no love of the military even though it is her profession. She is fully willing to admit that her only reason for enlisting is to find a way to bring her father back into Amestris, for she has an incredibly close relationship with him and misses him dearly. She has been a member of the military since she was seventeen, though her rank has not moved once. She fully believes this is due to her ethnicity. She has encountered blatant hatred and racism more than a few times due to her clashing bloodlines, and she feels she has become stronger due to it.

When she was nineteen years old, she was sent to Drachma on a spy mission in order to gather intelligence on their next attack against Amestris. Karla took this task on more than willingly, considering herself to have more knowledge on Drachma than any of the other forces. Though she was able to gather some information, unfortunately this resulted in her being caught by the Drachman military, and she became their prisoner. She ultimately stayed in Drachman prison for around four months as a prisoner of war, where she was tortured, raped, and branded with the Drachman word for traitor. She later managed to escape and return to Amestris with the aid of a fellow prisoner, though it was one who gave his life for her escape.

She is a competent, agile fighter, as taught by her father. While her determination is seemingly unmatched, her regrets and shadows of the past remain to haunt her at every turn. She will fully admit she has killed before – a task unavoidable to one in her position – and although she has heard it said that it is for the good of the country, she doesn’t believe that in the slightest. Her first kill was one that scarred her deeply, for it was an Ishvalan woman during the civil war, and nightmares of both this and her imprisonment in Drachma disturb her sleep frequently. She will often awaken in a panic, being nearly inconsolable.

When it comes to love and relationships, Karla is a bit of a novice. As with the rest of her social life, she is incredibly straightforward when she finds someone she likes, and she does not hesitate to tell them her feelings. However, when she does form a romantic relationship, she tends to attach herself completely to them, and is not one to stray away and find another unless something impactful breaks it completely. Despite all this, she is a very sexual being, being quite experienced in getting into bed with many others. She sees nothing wrong with this, as she sees sex as a necessity for human life. She is attracted to intelligent people, regardless of gender; if someone does not fit her profile of intelligent, she will not bother with them.

In accordance with her Drachman nature, Karla is a drinker. Her favorite alcohol is hard Drachman vodka, and she will oftentimes refuse to drink anything else. She isn’t quite as heavy of an alcoholic as others tend to be, but when she feels the need to drink, she does so, and she will make it last as long as it takes to make sure her problems are forgotten. Alcohol is one of her escapes, and she uses it quite a bit.

[randomrviewer]

What if Rada had run into Stanno sometime between Danika’s birth and Ishval restauration? – a fan-variation on fanfiction by Cap’nHoozits.

 (...)

 Everybody thought the worst of her. One look at her child was enough for them to make up their minds. Danika did not have pure Ishvalan features, and thus could not have come out of a proper Ishvalan marriage. The little girl’s black hair and blue eyes were reason enough for the world to shun her mother. No matter where Rada went, it was always the same. People considered her with pity, contempt, or conceited superiority. So she never stayed anywhere for too long. She feared how much worse it would get if anybody found out what she had done.

 After all, the one person whom she told the truth rejected her in the most cruel way. And he had been the man she loved.

 Nothing had ever hurt her more than the disgust in Stanno’s eyes. Not even the pain inflicted upon her by the State Alchemist could compare with the repulsion painted all over her fiancé's face. All she wanted was for him to embrace her, to tell her it was going to be okay, and he pushed her away. Hit her so hard she fell to the ground. Called her a whore. Said that she threw away her dignity and sold her family out. And left her to her own devices.

 To a woman whose entire family had just been murdered, by the man she personally begged for mercy, this was like a nail to the coffin.

 In the years to come, she’d come to believe Stanno’s assessment of herself. She may not have specifically said yes to that soldier, but she did say she would do anything he wanted. She would have done anything, truly anything to save her family. Alas, her desperate gamble went wrong. And thus her life had ended.

 (...)

 She’d never have expected to come across Stanno again. Yet meet again they did, in an empty storehouse where they both happened to be looking for shelter. The place was practically falling apart, but it was raining and beggars could not be choosers. Stanno’s expression left no doubt that he had no intention of taking back the judgment he passed two years prior. He still considered Rada filthy, a traitor to their race. And Danika, the child in her arms, was even worse piece of trash than she was.

 Rada clung to her daughter, whom she loved despite the circumstances behind her conception, and waited for Stanno to throw them both out, like the garbage he thought they were.

 For moment, the longest moment of Rada’s life, the man she once loved stood over her, seething with anger, while the rain drummed on the miserable roof above their heads and Danika whimpered in her arms.  

 He did not throw them out. He did not say a word. He uttered something that could be interpreted like silent swearing and sat down.

 Apparently, they were not worth his fatigue.

 Temporarily safe, Rada caressed her daughter’s back, seeking to calm herself rather than the child. She was already thinking about where to go next, once the rain has passed.

 When that happened, Stanno told her to come with him.

 She remained speechless for a few moments.

 He said he was leaving, and if she wanted to come along, she should hurry the hell up, cause he would not wait for her.

 Still very much shocked, she trotted after him.

 (...)

 In the years to come, she would often analyze their interactions post genocide. Wonder why Stanno wanted her around, if he had condemned her so easily when they met last. She’d come to convince herself that his initial reaction to her story had been the product of their circumstances overall. That he cared for her, despite everything, but could not bring himself to offer her comfort when his own heart was bleeding. Alternatively, those years in exiled changed his perception somewhat. Perhaps he was still disgusted with Rada, but realized he had nobody else in the world. That, or he fancied keeping around somebody he could treat as inferior with no repercussions. Whatever his reasoning was, he wouldn’t say, and Rada knew better than to bother him. She was not the type to look a gifted horse into the mouth.

 (...)

 They travelled together from then on. Whenever they could, they sought employment. Rada scrubbed floors and did the dishes. Stanno cleaned stables and carried heavy loads from point A to point B. Sometimes they dug through garbage bins, looking for scraps. Sometimes Stanno went as far as to steal. Nothing much – an apple here, a piece of bread there, a doughnut when he was feeling particularly bold. When Rada expressed her concerns about those activities, he told her in a firm tone that he was merely taking back a small portion of what the Amestrians had taken from them. Also, she should be grateful that she had such a resourceful man by her side. Rada swore she appreciated him, and that was why she was worried about him. He told her he would be fine. That was the end of discussion.

 At some point Danika called Stanno “dada”. He eyed her dangerously and insisted she calls him “Zhaarad Stanno”. Rada took the hint and that’s what she taught her daughter to address him as.

 The little girl learned soon enough never to look her mother’s companion in the eye. She dropped her head as soon as she sensed his presence and did her best to remain absolutely still. Yet, even on her best behavior, she could never please the man. Stanno could hardly tolerate her, and did not bother trying to pretend it wasn’t the case. He insisted on cutting Danika’s hair as short as possible, and hiding the rest under a scarf – so she’d appear at least a little bit less suspicious to Rada’s potential employers. Once he went as far as to try and bleach it pigeon droppings.  

 It tore Rada’s heart to see her little girl suffer. Yet, she could not bring herself to hold Stanno’s repulsion with her child against him. Danika was a living proof of what was done to his betrothed. A constant reminder of her dishonor. How could he not hate her?

 Truly, Stanno was as much a victim of the circumstances as Danika was. If it weren’t for the war, he’d still be making beautiful furniture and lavishing Rada with loving attention. He’d still be the man she fell in love with, one she wanted so badly she couldn’t sleep at night. This was the man she pictured when she though of Stanno. Not the grumpy, bitter day laborer, who complained about everybody and everything.

 Kind as she was, Rada decided to treat Stanno like partner in misery, and make his life as bearable as possible. She wanted to believe she could make the difference. That she had the power to make him smile again. It was a chore and a half just to keep him remotely satisfied, but Rada was quite determined. It wasn’t just her future that was on the line, but also Danika’s. The poor child deserved a proper family. If Rada devotes herself to Stanno completely, he may start to see her daughter in a more favorable light. Perhaps he could even be persuaded to let the girl call him “papa”.  

 This possibility gave Rada all the motivation she needed.

 (...)

 When Rada told Stanno about the baby, he was overjoyed. He embraced her and pet her still flat stomach. He searched far and wide for cloth and rugs to provide her with some more comfort. He worked extra hours to obtain quality food for her. When she expressed her concerns for him, she shrugged and said he was stronger than she thought he was. Then he offered to rub her back and feet.

 Those were happy times. Rada shed tears of relief, seeing that her efforts were paying off. Stanno was coming back to her, emerging from the darkness of despair. It was almost as if she was his guiding light. The thought filled her with pride and hope. For the first time in forever, the future did not seem scary.

 There was just one little obstacle yet to overcome – Stanno’s treatment of Danika, which has not improved one bit. Still, Rada remained hopeful. The Great Temple was not built overnight. There will be a breakthrough eventually.

@capnhoozits