Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 1: Protective/School
Word Count: 3165
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye
Warning: NA
Summary: Fourteen-year-old Roy Mustang makes some observations about ten-year-old Riza Hawkeye, and decides to do something about it.
Notes: Young Roy and Riza friendship is cute!

Protective/School

Fourteen-year-old Roy Mustang sauntered down the road, a carefree smile on his face. The day was a warm with a breeze, the perfect day for a walk into town, as far as he was concerned. He had finished all of the work that Master Hawkeye had assigned him, and Master Hawkeye was focused on his research at the moment. So focused, in fact, that he had handed Roy a list of supplies and told him to go to town and take his time. Naturally, Roy had taken his master’s request to heart.

Roy didn’t come into town too often, despite having been here over a year. Usually, he was kept busy with his studies, and when something was needed from town, young Miss Riza seemed to usually have it taken care of. Actually, she seemed to have most things taken care of. She took care of the house, the garden, the animals, the meals, hunting, and her schoolwork too. Honestly, Roy had no idea how the ten-year-old did it. He wasn’t half as responsible at her age. Then again, he had a lot of older sisters to look after him. Miss Riza had no one.

Still, he wasn’t about to waste a chance to take a walk into town and get out of the stuffy Hawkeye Manor. He wanted to socialize with people, see what was new, and wave at some of the girls. The girls here seemed to find him charming, and he just couldn’t disappoint them, now, could he?

Roy figured that most of the girls around his age were either working or in school at the moment, so showing off would be a little more difficult. He knew, though, that his path would take him by the school. He could at least wave to the girls who saw him through the windows of the one-room schoolhouse. Maybe he’d even take his time and walk back by when school let out. He couldn’t help the grin that grew on his face as he thought about that.

His grin faded, however, as he grew close to the school yard. Most of the voices he could hear came from inside the building, but he caught wind of a few that were coming from outside of it. He frowned, not liking the tone of the voices at all. They seemed harsh, and he had to wonder what was going on.

The voices weren’t coming from the side of the school that faced the road, and so Roy, not liking what he was hearing, walked on to the school property with just a minor glance around. No one was outside to stop him. He had just rounded the corner when he saw a water bucket being thrown down, and a familiar girl shoved back. He watched with wide eyes as she tripped over the bucket, tumbling down, and the three boys laughing at her.

“Can’t even carry a bucket of water!” one of them was saying. “How useless are you? Even your own dad replaced you!”

Riza said nothing, just stayed put, and kept her eyes down.

Roy saw red, and he quickly strode forward. “Hey!” he called out, grabbing all of their attention. “What are you doing?”

One of the boys—Thompson, Roy thought his family name was—turned towards him. He was bigger than Roy, but Roy wasn’t going to let that stop him. “It’s none of your business, City Boy,” he sneered.

Roy knelt by Riza’s side, reaching down to help the younger girl up, but his eyes stayed on the three boys in front of them. It had been a while, but he had scrapped plenty of times back in the city. These were unfair numbers, and he was pretty sure that these boys were stronger than he was, but he couldn’t just let this happen. Especially not to Miss Riza.

Before any of them could reply, the bell began ringing, indicating a break, and students came running out of the doors. The boys obviously didn’t want an audience, because they moved away with little more than sneers and muttered promises about “next time.”

Roy watched them for a moment, before turning his attention back to Riza. The girl was on her feet now, trying to brush off her dress, and wasn’t looking at him. Roy reached down for the water bucket, holding it out to Riza.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

Her cheeks flushed, and she grabbed the water bucket from him. “I’m fine,” she said defiantly.

“Are you sure?” Roy asked her again, not sure he believed her.

This time she did look up at him, glaring at him with such ferocity that he nearly took a step back. “I’m fine!” she snapped at him again, and then turned abruptly with the water bucket in her hands.

Not sure of what else to do, he followed her. “I’m sorry, Miss Riza. I just wanted to be sure.”

He watched as she attached the bucket to the rope and lowered it down into the well. “Well now you’re sure,” she said. “So go away. You shouldn’t be here anyway. You should be studying whatever my father left for you to do, so I could have just dealt with that like normal and moved on with the day.”

Roy’s brow crinkled at her words, but he moved passed them quickly. “I’m out on an errand for your father. I think he wanted to be left alone to research today.”

Riza’s lips pursed, and she hesitated only a moment before she began pulling the bucket back up. “Then it’s best you and I both stay away until time to fix supper,” she said, not pausing once in what she was doing. “Although you can probably risk going back sooner than I can.” She had the bucket back at the top by now and turned away with it in her hands. “I will see you this evening, Mr. Mustang.”

It was a clear dismissal, something he had gotten used to from the younger girl. Still, he couldn’t help but stare after her as she made her way back up the hill towards the schoolhouse. Something about what she had said bothered him. He didn’t want to let it go, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do.

Frowning, Roy reluctantly turned away. He had no business being here, and Roy was pretty sure that, if someone had been watching him this whole time, he had vastly overstayed his welcome. Roy continued on into town, taking his time there. Chris sent him a little pocket money each month, although he didn’t always have the chance to use it. Maybe today he would.

It was lunch time before he drifted back towards the school, sandwich in hand. The students were out as well, and Roy scanned them to see if he could see Riza. She wasn’t in amongst the other girls who were sitting together and eating. She wasn’t over with the younger kids who were playing. He didn’t even see her among the boys, which, after this morning, was a relief. He finally spotted her up near the school building, looking as if she were emptying out some water. He frowned. Was she working through lunch? Maybe she was in trouble.

“Roy!” A voice caught his ear and he looked over to see Cassidy Wiseman waving at him. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned and made his way over to her and the other older girls. “Just getting some supplies. Master Hawkeye is doing some research and sent me to town for him.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, grinning at him and batting her eyes a bit. “And what brings you by the school?”

“Curiosity,” he said with a grin. The girls tittered with laughter, and movement caught his eye again. It was Riza, still up near the schoolhouse. His own smile faded a bit. “Say, Cass, think you could answer a question for me?”

“For you Roy, anything.”

He gave her another dashing grin. “What’s up with Riza? Did she get in trouble or something?”

Cassidy and the other girls glanced up to where Riza was just emptying something else. Cassidy’s smile faded a little. “Her?” she snorted. “No. She sticks around the school a lot. Teacher’s pet, that’s what she’s trying to be. Besides, even on the days when she’s not doing work for the teacher, she’s always doing something else like reading, or doing calculations or something. She’s a bit… odd. Never does anything with us, even if she has food.”

“She is odd,” one of the others pipped in. “What’s with her hair? She always keeps it so short.”

“I heard she cut it off so her father can’t use it in alchemic experiments.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, it’s because she’s trying to hard to be a boy. I mean, the short hair, the hunting—and look at her dresses. Patched and bare and out of style and never any stockings.”

“She’s hardly respectable.”

“She’ll never find herself anyone that way.”

“Can you imagine what a disaster it’ll be when she finally starts maturing?”

The girls laughed, but Roy ignored their gossip for the moment, his eyes back on Riza. Things were starting to add up for him. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Forgot something Master wanted me to do.”

Without so much as a goodbye, Roy made his way across the school yard and towards the building. “Hey! Hey, Miss Riza!”

Riza stopped, wastebasket in her hands and glared up at him. “What do you want, Mr. Mustang?” she asked him.

He didn’t miss the way that her eyes lingered on his sandwich for just a moment. “Not much. I mean, it looks like you’re busy. But, well, I bought this sandwich, and I only really wanted a half. I thought you might be interested in the other half.”

Her eyes lit up with interest, but they were quickly guarded again. “And why should I need you to give me anything?”

Right. Her pride. Even at ten she was stubborn. “You don’t,” he said with a shrug. “But it won’t last more than a few hours, probably. I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then sighed, setting the waste basket down. “Alright,” she said. “It wouldn’t do to have something go to waste—at least, no more to waste then buying a sandwich that you can make for free is already.”

She held her hand out, and he reached into his bag and pulled it out for her, giving it to her with a grin. “Hope you enjoy it!” he said.

She just frowned at him. “Thank you,” she said, fairly quietly.

There was an awkward pause, and Roy wasn’t sure what to do next. “Uh, say,” he said. “I still have to finish my half. Any chance I can sit here and eat it with you?”

Riza blinked at him in surprise. “Wouldn’t you rather go eat with the other girls?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Nah. They’re busy talking about dresses and hair. I get enough of that from my sisters.”

“Oh.”

He glanced at Riza, but she wasn’t looking at him, just at her sandwich. After a moment, she sat down, and he did as well. But he kept an eye on her as they ate, noticing how her hand came up to her brush her short locks more often than normal.

Lunch was a short affair, and soon he was off, killing more time and exploring the town and the surrounding area. He supposed he could go back to the Hawkeye house, but instead he felt the need to stick around. By the time that school let out that day, Roy was waiting nearby, the supplies Master Hawkeye had requested with him, and a bag of apples as well. He smiled and waved at the girls that walked by, smirked at a boy or two who looked at him jealously, and then grinned when Riza walked up to him. In the distance he could see the boys from earlier scowling at him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, hands on her hips.

He shrugged. “I had to take all of this stuff back anyway. I just thought it made sense to go back together.” He paused and held out an apple to her. “Apple?”

Riza still looked at him a little suspiciously, but after a moment she agreed. They worked out the packages among them, and started walking back towards the Hawkeye home, Roy doing most of the talking on the way, but Riza chiming in a little.

Over the next few weeks Master Hawkeye stayed focused on his research, giving Roy some work to do, but mostly leaving the boy on his own to self-teach. He did his assigned work, attempted to help out around the house, and did a lot of exploring of the area. It gave Roy a lot more time to talk to Riza too, and he found himself paying a bit more attention to the things she said or the ways that she acted. He had always known that she was treated poorly by her father. But before now, he hadn’t realized that she was having trouble with other kids as well. It was only when she came home one day, her dress torn, and Riza herself looking roughed up, that Roy decided to take matters into his own hands.

Roy liked Riza. Yeah, she was four years younger than him, but she usually seemed a lot older than that. Besides, when you got through her shell, she was funny, caring, and more than capable. He hadn’t quite breeched it yet, but he had seen glimpses of it. He genuinely liked the younger girl, like she was a little sister or a neighborhood kid that he was fond of or something.

It was with that feeling in mind that Roy made the decision to walk Riza home from school every day that he could manage it. Riza was suspicious of him at first, but she could find no real reason to object. The few objections that she did bring up—usually that he should be studying or else her father would be mad—he quickly dismissed. After all, what was alchemy without practical application? And wouldn’t that be better done outside?

Even as the fall temperatures moved further from the warm summer and towards the cold winter, Roy found himself keeping up this habit. Riza slowly started to warm to it as well, coming to expect him. She offered him little smiles, and small bits of biting humor as they walked. When the harvest came in, he would pick her up with things like apples and squash in bags, and she would turn them into meals and desserts. As the weather grew colder, his jacket often found its way around her shoulders.

Even at the Hawkeye Manor, their relationship improved. He would often sit at the kitchen table with her to study or puzzle out texts out loud in front of her. She would do her homework and start cooking. Roy started doing alchemy around the house more, supposedly as “practice” but really as an excuse to fix up what he could and help Riza in any way possible.

It was only when he presented her with a nice, warm winter coat—one made from several too small and too thin coats he had used as source material—that she questioned him.

She took the coat from him, the coat a soft, deep blue with black buttons, thick wool and in a fashion that he had knew was a classic style his sisters love. She felt it, but didn’t say anything, and his enthusiasm for the gift started to fade.

“Miss Riza?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

For a moment she didn’t say anything, just kept her head bowed over that coat, her thumbs stroking the material.

“I don’t understand,” she finally said.

His brows scrunched up. “What do you mean?”

She looked up at him, and he was surprised to see tears in the corner of her eyes. “I don’t understand,” she repeated again. “You walk me home. You buy things I like. You help me around the house. You fix things. You help me with my schoolwork. You seek me out to spend time with me. And now you’ve given me a coat.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand, Mr. Mustang. I’m no one. I’m just a ten-year-old girl who isn’t smart enough to learn alchemy. My own father doesn’t pay attention to me. But… you do all of these things. I don’t understand why.”

Roy was stunned. It had never occurred to him that she might feel this way. “Well, I mean… because I care, Miss Riza.”

Her head jerked up at him at that, eyes wide, almost as if she had been struck. And then, she was whirling away from him, coat still in hand. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “Thank you for the coat, but you should focus on your studies more.”

“Wait.” Roy reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Miss—Riza. Riza wait.”

She stiffened under his touch, but looked back at him, clearly startled at the lack of formality.

“Why shouldn’t I care?” he asked her. “Why shouldn’t I care about you?”

“Because Father only wants you to care about alchemy. He wants you focused only on that. He won’t stand for distractions, and if he thinks I’m one then… then I’m not sure what he’ll do, but he won’t like it.” She turned to face him a bit more, and he could see that her lip was trembling, and her eyes were wet with tears she hadn’t let fall. “I’m not worth caring about. Your studies are much more important. I—”

“No,” Roy said, and said it so firmly she stopped, and stared at him. “No,” he repeated. “My studies are not more important than you.” He knelt in front of her, digging in his pocket for a handkerchief and using it to wipe her eyes. “Listen to me, Riza. No matter what anyone says or does, you’re worth caring about. Even if I’m the only one who ever does it, you’re worth caring about, okay? But I can promise you that there are plenty of other people out there that will care about you. You just haven’t found them yet. But you are worth caring about.”

She stared at him for a moment longer, trembling, and then she threw herself into his arms, sobbing. He held the young girl, rocking her back and forth as she silently sobbed on him. Roy was fine with this. He’d take care of her while he could, even if that meant walking her home from school every day until she graduated.

No one deserved to think that they weren’t worth caring about. And he’d prove it to her one day.

Chapter Text

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: Major Ephraim Miles has been transferred to Fort Briggs, and is more than a little unsure of his position there.
Notes: It’s cannon that Miles arrived after Olivier had established herself at Briggs. And with the war in Ishval raging on and order 3066 looming right around the corner, I thought it would be interesting to explore those early days!

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.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 3: Outside Wedding
Word Count: 752
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: Alex Louis Armstrong, Gracia Hughes
Warning: NA
Summary: Alex Louis Armstrong is about to become the luckiest man in the world, and he knows it.
Notes: Yes, this is a Alex/Gracia ship. I have lots of headcanons and thoughts about this (some of which I’ve shared with friends and on a discord server) and it really deserves a good longform fic. However, I do not have time at the moment for a good longform fic, so y’all get this one-shot instead! Hopefully soon I’ll have time to do this ship justice!

Outside Wedding

Ordinarily, the Armstrongs had weddings inside. They used large, ornate, decorative cathedrals and buildings, decorated them with gilded ornamentations and exotic flowers and fabrics, had roses everywhere, and had a full orchestra playing music while guests dressed in fabrics so expensive that few could afford them sat themselves down in plush pews. Afterwards, a feast full of only the best and the most exotic foods, cooked to perfection was served, and an entire ballroom was set aside just for dancing.

This wedding was different.

Alex stood, waiting at the altar in tasteful, simple suit. The altar he was standing at was not even a real altar, just a simple white trellis adorned with roses in yellows and whites, with small pops of pink and purple flowers here and there. Instead of parade of people by his side, he simply had two men who shortly would be there, men that he had worked with and that understood the significance of this moment. Simple, white, wooden folding chairs made up the seats for the attendees, who were dressed in everything from luxurious fabrics in simple styles, to plain cotton cut into modest clothes. Yellow and white roses decorated the area, with simple pink and purple tulle among them to designate areas. A four-part string quartet was softly playing music. Not far away a buffet with simple yet mouthwatering foods was being set up my workers, with tables and chairs for the guests to sit on. A wooden dance floor had been constructed as well, set under a roof, but with no walls, and simply decorated.

It was not ostentatious, and not at all what one thought of when they thought of an Armstrong wedding. But it was what Alex’s beloved wanted, and he was willing to give her this. He would give her and her daughter anything that was within his means to give.

The music changed, the people shifted, and everyone turned to look at the aisle. First came Sig Curtis, escorting Winry Rockbell-Elric, arm in arm, coming to the front, and then splitting to take their respective places. Ephraim Miles and Riza Mustang came next, they too taking their places. After them Denny Brosh and Catherine came, both of them already tearing up. Elicia Hughes came down the aisle next, scattering flowers from her basket and beaming as she did, until she stood by Catherine. Young Mason Elric came next, taking his place near Denny.

Then, the music changed again, the attendees rose, and at the end off the aisle stood his intended, Gracia, being escorted down the aisle by Roy Mustang. She was resplendent in her white lace dress, its simple design suiting her perfectly. Her veil flowed as she walked, delicately gloved hands holding her bouquet. Her eyes met his, and her smile softened to the one he loved. Alex felt himself tearing up already. When she and Mustang arrived at the front, she noticed, and gave a slight chuckle and a smile at him. His heart swelled with love for her.

“Who gives this woman to be wed?”

“I do, sir.”

“And do you give her in good faith?”

Mustang looked Alex straight in the eyes. “Sir, I give her in the best faith.”

Alex swallowed at the show of trust Roy Mustang was giving him, vowing internally to always honor it.

“Very well. Let us begin.  Loved ones, we are gathered here today…”

The ceremony itself did not take long, although by the end of it both of his parents and all of his siblings save Olivier were crying because of how beautiful it was. Everyone enjoyed the reception as well, laughing, talking, and sharing memories. Alex was more than pleased to hear memories of Maes Hughes being passed around. He was a good man, one Alex had respected greatly, and he never wanted his memory to die.

There was still plenty more of the wedding evening to go when he and Gracia danced their first dance as husband and wife. But if Alex could have stopped time and stayed in that moment forever, he would have been satisfied. He had a woman of beauty, courage, strength and grace in his arms, a woman who was a loving mother, and had a quick wit. A woman worthy of praise and accolade, and she had chosen him.

Alex knew, without a doubt, that he was the luckiest man in the world, and he would give his very heart and soul to loving and honoring this woman, and her family.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 4: Play
Word Count: 1383
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: Maes Hughes, Elicia Hughes
Warning: Beware the fluff. And butter.
Summary: Maes Hughes will do anything for his daughter. Including dragon tea parties that involve eating questionable things.
Notes: I wrote this and even I’m getting cavities. Hughes is a quality dad. I hope I did Elicia justice! Been a bit since I’ve been around a kid her age!

Play

Elicia Margery Hughes let out a shriek and darted out from behind the couch, laughing as she ran. Her footsteps clomped in the old, oversized heels that she was wearing, and the pink feather boa streamed out behind her. A toy crown balanced precariously on her head, only held on because it was wedged between her pigtails.

“Daddy, no!” she said. “We’re ‘pposed to have tea, not play chase!”

Maes Hughes came crawling out from behind the couch, a ridiculous looking tie hanging from his neck, and wooden beaded bracelets on one arm. A green scarf was tied around his waist and trailed behind him, like some ridiculous tail, a bow pinned on it. Tied on his head was a fake horn that was slowly slipping to one side.

“Aw, but I thought dragons were supposed to chase princesses,” he said with a pout.

Elicia was half-hiding behind a chair, but she looked at him, shaking her head firmly. “Mm-mm,” she said. “Not if you’re ‘vited to tea! It’s rude.”

“Ohhh, I see,” Hughes said. “So I have to be a polite dragon?”

“Yes!” she said firmly. “You gots to be p’lite!”

Hughes cocked his head to one side, “What if I’m not polite?”

“Hm…” Elicia paused for a moment, thinking. “If your not p’lite, then you gotta go t’ jail!”

“Jail, huh? Well, I don’t want to do that. So maybe I should just be a polite dragon then.”

Elicia grinned at him. “Uh-huh!” she said. She pointed to the coffee table, which had a slightly tattered table cloth on it, small play dishes set up on it, juice, crackers, butter, and sprinkles on spread out on it. “Let’s go haf tea!”

Hughes grinned at her. “Of course, Princess! I’ll be a perfectly polite dragon!”

“Good!”

Elicia led the way over to the coffee table, stepping around dolls and stuffed animals that were the denizens of the kingdom. Still on his hands and knees, Hughes followed behind, settling on the other side of the table from her. Elicia looked quite satisfied at this, and she reached over to the little toy teapot, full of juice. Bracelets that were too big for her drug across the food.

“Firs’ we drink tea!” she said. Very clumsily, she took it and pour some juice into two small cups. It spilled onto the saucers they were sitting on, some of it dripping onto the tablecloth as well.

“Thank you,” Hughes said, and he reached out for the cup, to bring it up and take a sip.

“Wait!” Elicia said, throwing up her hands. “I gotta give you the food firs’! Then we’n drink the tea!”

“Oh, sorry,” Hughes said, sitting the cup back down, looking very solemn. “I didn’t know that. I don’t get to very many tea parties.”

“’S okay,” Elicia said. “You didn’ know.”

Hughes grinned and watched as Elicia took the crackers out of the package concentrating very hard. Very carefully she pulled them out and laid them down. Then, she picked up a butter knife, and dug it into the butter. She pulled a big blob of it up and plopped it down on a cracker. Then she went back in for more, plopping some on each cracker. Then, carefully, she went to spread it out. Her tongue stuck out as she tried, only for her face to fall as the cracker broke to pieces under the knife. Frowning, she picked up another one to try, only for it to break too. She tried once more, but when this one broke, she let out a little noise, and started to tear up.

“Can I help you?” Hughes asked, and she looked up at him. “I don’t know a lot about tea parties, but this dragon knows how to butter crackers.”

Elicia sniffed, and then looked back up at him. “You do?”

“Mm-hm,” he said with a grin. “Let me show you.”

He reached for the unbroken cracker with its glob of butter on top, and for the knife. Elicia gave it to him, and then watched, fascinated, as he worked and explained.

He used the knife to take a good portion of the butter off. “You put too much on, and that makes it hard to spread,” he said, setting the extra butter aside. “You only need a little bit, see?” he showed her. “And then when you put the butter on, you can’t press down to hard, or the cracker will break.” He spread some of it, and then showed what pressing too hard would do. Elicia watched with rapt attention.

Hughes pulled another cracker out. “Come here, Princess, and let me show you.”

Elicia clomped her way around the coffee table, until she was standing in his lap. Hughes took her hand and put it on the butter knife, and then put his over it. Moving her hand along with his, he got some more of the excess butter, and then started spreading it on the cracker, letting her feel the amount of pressure that was needed. After that, he did it again, and again, lessening his control each time and letting Elicia have a bit more of it, until he thought she had a pretty good idea of how to do it.

Elicia grinned up at him when they finished using up the extra butter. “We did it!” she said.

Hughes grinned back down at her. “We sure did!”

“What ‘bout those?” she said, pointing to the broken and butter sodden crackers from her earlier attempts.

Hughes frown at them. “Well… they have too much butter on them. What do you think we can do with that butter?”

Elica frowned for a moment. “Take it off?” she suggested.

“That’s a good idea,” he said with an encouraging smile. “What should we do with it then?”

“We coul’ put it back!” she said.

“Well… maybe,” Hughes said. He reached over and picked up one of the small plates that contained the broken crackers and butter. “But look what happened when the cracker broke. What do you see there?”

Elicia peered closely at it. “Crumbs,” she said after a moment.

“And what are the crumbs in?” Hughes asked her.

“The butter,” she said.

“Do you think we need to put butter with crumbs in it back in the container?” he asked her.

Elicia thought about this for a moment, before shaking her head. “No, I don’ think Mommy’d like it.”

“I’m pretty sure Mommy wouldn’t like it,” Hughes said. “So what do you think we should do instead?”

Elicia was quiet for a moment as she thought. Hughes waited patiently, waiting to see what she would say.

“We coul’… put it on more c’ackers!” she said.

Hughes grinned at her. “That would work. Do you wanna help me?”

“Yeah!” Elicia cheered.

Working together, the two of them buttered up at least a dozen and half more crackers before they ran out of excess butter. Satisfied with their work, Elicia sat back, grinning. “We’ve got lotsa c’ackers!” she said.

“We do,” Hughes agreed. “We’re gonna have a lot to eat with our tea.”

“Wait!” Elicia said. She looked around, and then stood on her tiptoes to reach across the coffee table, not noticing her boa dragging through some of the buttered crackers.

Her hand closed around the container of sprinkles, and she pulled back. Taking a moment to concentrate on getting the lid off, she then took the sprinkle bottle and a spoon, and poured the sprinkles into the spoon. Sprinkles bounced and missed the spoon, but most of them landed on it. One by one, she poured a spoonful of sprinkles on each of the crackers, until they all contained a small mountain of sprinkles, stuck to them by virtue of the butter.

Satisfied, Elicia put the lid back on the sprinkles, and then moved back around to the other side of the table. She grinned up at her father.

“Kay,” she said. “Now we c’n eat, ‘n have our tea!”

Hughes grinned at her, lifted his juice-filled tiny cup in one hand, and a butter-sodden sprinkle covered cracker in the other. “Princess, I’d be glad too.”

With a giggled, Elicia reached for hers too, and the pair consumed their tea-time snack, enjoying a rainy afternoon of playing with each other.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 5: Secret
Word Count: 4850
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, Vato Falman, Kain Fuery
Warning: Talk of abuse, although mostly hinted at. We all know that’s tied into Riza’s tattoo.
Summary: One night on their way to Ishval, Hawkeye’s tattoo is revealed to the team. The discovery and consequential fallout do not go over so well.
Notes: This is heavily based off of a headcanon session I had with caniusfuria from tumblr some time back. This or something very similar (and more polished) will eventually be part of a longer series of one-shots I have planned.

Secret

Noise interrupted the otherwise peaceful, if hot, desert night. Out of the three tents, the one in the middle was suddenly rocking with commotion, breaking the unusual peace the night had previously brought. Of course, this meant that the occupants of the other tents were woken as well, the shouts and the sight of the tent shaking sending them rushing over to it.

Mustang arrived first, the tent he and Hawkeye shared a little bit closer. He pulled a glove on, eyes sweeping over the area, ready for action. He never had time to assess the situation, however, as Havoc emerged from the tent, a wild-eyed rage about him. Without warning, but with a bellow of rage, Jean Havoc locked eyes on him, and then decked Roy Mustang. The hit was audible, and the General went back hard, hitting the sandy soil with a painful sounding thump. Shouts of surprise went up all around, but Havoc seemed singularly focused as he took another step towards Mustang.

Falman, who had been coming towards the commotion as well, threw himself between Havoc and Mustang, trying his best to hold Havoc back. Fuery, who had come out with Falman, was already by Mustang’s side, helping him sit up, although he kept an eye on Falman and Havoc. Havoc’s rage hadn’t abated, and Falman was struggling.

Lost among the noise was the sound of a tent flap opening. Hawkeye emerged, quick and distressed eyes taking in the scene, even as she clutched a shirt that was clearly not her own around her. Breda, not saying a word, but with a deadly serious look on his face, stayed right next to her.

“What in the name of all the gods was that for, Havoc!” Mustang growled out, starting to stand. Fuery stayed by his side, still watching.

“I saw her back!” Havoc yelled out, still struggling against Falman, still obviously angry.

Mustang stared at him, shocked, before his gaze switched over to Riza.

“An accident, sir,” she said her voice deceptively steady. “The lamp caught my shirt on fire, and they pulled it off of me.”

Breda hadn’t moved from Hawkeye’s side, but his gaze was firmly fixed on Mustang. “You need to explain yourself, General.”

“Explain nothing!” Havoc spat out. “He needs to—”

“Havoc, enough!” Hawkeye snapped out. She stepped up, warning Breda off with a glance as he moved to stay beside her. She moved to stand in front of Havoc, who stopped trying to break Falman’s hold when she moved between him and Mustang. “I will not explain myself like this, nor will I do it while you attack the general.” She glanced back at Mustang and the two of them exchanged a look. “Come with us,” she said, her eyes hard and clearly not accepting any other option.

Mustang and Riza moved off and, after a moment, Havoc shook off Falman, and followed after them.

As the three moved off, Fuery and Falman stared after them, more than a little confused. Breda watched, his look calculating and guarded.

“What… what just happened here?” Falman finally asked, as the three of them watched the other three, who were only a short distance off, although mostly out of earshot.

Riza had planted herself between Mustang and Havoc, which looked to be the only reason that Havoc wasn’t punching Mustang again. Although the group at the tents couldn’t hear what was being said, they could clearly tell that there were raised voices. The conversation obviously wasn’t going well, if the wild gestures and threatening body language meant anything.

Finally, Breda spoke. “…if you had to choose between the general or Riza, who would you side with?”

Both Falman and Fuery snapped their heads towards Breda.

“…Sir?” Fuery asked, the confusion clear in his voice.

“’You heard me,” Breda said, sparing both of them a look.  “Who would you side with?”

Fuery’s brown crinkled in confusion. “They’re… They’re the same side,” he said.

“No, they aren’t,” Breda said. “They’re two different people with two different goals.”

Fuery and Falman exchanged a look.

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir,” Falman said.

Breda scoffed, and looked back at the three who were arguing. Havoc had put himself between Riza and Roy, as if he were protecting her. Breda’s jaw tightened. It was too late for that wasn’t it? He shook his head, and looked back over at the other two.

“She came in tonight. She never said why, just like the other times, but Hav welcomed her in all the same. She looked like she needed it. We moved things around to accommodate, but somewhere in there the lamp’s glass must have tipped up, and the flame caught her shirt on fire. I noticed it first, but Havoc was closer and acted. He pulled it off of her, but that was when we both saw it.”

He paused, his jaw working. Riza had worked her way back between Havoc and Roy, and was clearly angry. Neither Falman or Fuery said anything, waiting for Breda to continue.

“Her back,” he said. “From neck to waist and side to side, it’s covered in a large tattoo of Roy’s matrix.” He heard the sharp intake of breath from the other men but didn’t take his eyes off of the woman in question. “It’s also covered in three large burn scars. One is bigger than my hand, one about half that size, and another the size of my palm. They’re bad enough they destroyed the tattoo, and they’re old.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Falman let out a Drachman explicative. Fuery opened his mouth, only for a loud shout to take their attention back to the other three.

Hawkeye shoved Havoc back sharply, her voice rising up, loud enough to be heard.  “—DARE you determine what’s right or wrong in MY life! That’s for ME to decide and I have MADE my decisions!”

It looked as if Riza was about to fight Havoc on her own, if not for Mustang interfering. He said something that they couldn’t hear to her, and she held her place, although she was clearly angry. There were a few more exchanged words, and then, suddenly, they all split up. Mustang had his arm around Riza’s shoulders, and the two of them walked away together while Havoc turned and went in the opposite direction, heading back towards the camp.

Falman and Fuery said nothing as Havoc came closer, not sure what to say, but Breda simply asked “Hav?” without moving.

Havoc didn’t slow down as he passed them, hands balled up and shaking. “I’m going for a walk,” he ground out, stiff and angry.

Breda gave a nod, and like that, the argument was seemingly over, although absolutely nothing was resolved, and the tension remained.

By the time Havoc returned, an hour or two had passed, although no one was asleep.  He passed by Falman and Fuery, who were by the fire, talking in hushed voices. The light was still on in his and Breda’s tent, meaning the other man hadn’t gone to sleep yet. But more importantly to the blonde, there was still a lamp light on in Mustang and Hawkeye’s tent.

Havoc walked to it, stopping outside of it with an inaudible sigh and steeled his nerves. Now that he was calmer, he knew that he needed to get to the bottom of this. He knocked on the tent flap and waited. There was a pause of activity, and then Mustang’s voice called out.

“Come on in, Havoc.”

Havoc pushed the flap aside, ducking his head as he entered. Hawkeye and Mustang both stared up at him. She had been cleaning her guns, Havoc noted, and Mustang had been reading, and, apparently, icing his cheek, although where he had gotten ice from was anyone’s guess.

“I want to apologize,” Havoc said, and Mustang raised an eyebrow. “But let’s get something straight. I’m not apologizing for the punch—not yet.” He sat down in front of them, face serious. “I’m apologizing for acting without knowing all the information. I saw Riza’s back, and I jumped to conclusions. It an old flaw of mine, especially with people I care about. But until I know the whole story, I’m not apologizing for the punch.”

Hawkeye and Mustang exchanged looks.

“That’s fair,” Hawkeye said, although there was still something strained in her voice. Mustang sat up straighter, putting his book to the side while Hawkeye started nimbly reassembling her gun, and Havoc realized that Mustang was waiting on her to start the story.

“When I was young,” she said as her fingers worked. “My mother died. I have very little memory of her, but I knew that she loved me dearly. Her passing left my father and myself behind. Before mother passed, I know that Father loved me. Or, at least, he was fond of me. I have some memories of him playing with me. However, with mother’s death, his warmth also left. I suppose it was his way of coping, but Father threw himself into his research.” She put the last piece on her gun and looked up at Havoc. “He was an alchemist, you see.”

She took a breath but kept going. “From then on, Father was a cold, demanding, frightening man. He cared only for his studies and for finding someone to carry them on.” Her jaw tightened, and she looked away for a moment, before refocusing on Havoc. Mustang shifted the smallest bit closer to her. “He determined that I was not intelligent enough to continue them. I believe that any chance of regaining his affection died that day, although I didn’t realize it at the time.”

“After that, my role in his life was reduced to housekeeper, cook, maid, and occasional outlet for his anger. I was also expected to keep up with my own studies. As the years passed and the money ran out, I took on additional tasks, such as hunting, gardening, and anything else that needed to be done. He had little to do with me, and after learning what having his attention now meant, I preferred it that way. Father, meanwhile, took on apprentice after apprentice, only for each of them to leave. When I was nine, a new apprentice came.”

She glanced at Mustang, and a bit of a smile touched her lips. “It was a smarmy city boy who didn’t look like he’d last five minutes on his own in the countryside. To my surprise, he lasted much longer than that with my father. Eventually, we grew to be friends.”

Her smiled faded. “However, when Roy was eighteen, and I fourteen, he enlisted in the military. Father did not approve of the military and especially not of state alchemists. He refused to teach Roy anything further, kicked him out, and disavowed him. After that, Father threw himself into his research to the point that I was afraid he would die in the midst of it.”

She stopped, taking in a breath, and Mustang definitely slid closer to her. “When I was fifteen, he asked me for my help. He wanted to entrust me with the secrets of his flame alchemy. Despite everything, I still wanted my father’s affections, and I agreed. For a year he tattooed my back. At first, I thought it would gain me his love, but I soon realized that wasn’t the case. All he cared for was his research. I tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I had no choice but to comply. I was sixteen when he finished. The next year, he died.”

She looked at Mustang. “Roy had come back after graduating, trying to see if he could convince father to teach him the secrets of flame alchemy. He died while talking to Roy. Roy helped me bury him, and we talked. I determined that he truly could use flame alchemy for good, and so I showed him my back.”

Here, Mustang picked up the story. “I was… horrified… to see what Master Hawkeye had done. But at the same time, I was hungry for the knowledge. We talked it over more, and with her agreement, I spent nearly a year there, studying her back. Afterwards, I went to take the test and received my state alchemist title.”

“I decided to join the military as well,” Hawkeye said. “I wanted to help people, too. I wanted to protect our country.”

They looked at each other, and for a moment, they didn’t say anything.

“It didn’t turn out like we had planned.” Mustang finally said. “And we both blamed ourselves.” He reached over and took Hawkeye’s hand. “I found her, just before leaving, patting down the dirt on a grave.”

“It was an Ishvalan child,” Hawkeye said, looking down at their hands. “I couldn’t bare to leave him like that.”

“It was there she asked me to burn her back,” Mustang continued. “I wanted to refuse, but...”

“I was insistent,” Hawkeye picked back up. “There could be no more flame alchemists. I would not be responsible for that level of destruction again. I was the guardian of the secrets of flame alchemy. I would rather die or be defaced then let anyone else learn them.”

“We waited until we were both on furlough, and then… I did it,” Mustang said, his voice rough. “I only burned away the most important parts. I was afraid doing more would kill her. But I burned her, helped her through the worst of the recovery.”

Hawkeye looked back up at Havoc, her gaze steady, sure. “It was my choice,” she said. “It was my choice to have him burn me, and my choice to follow him after that. I could have quit then and there, but I chose to stay and fight for a future where no more Ishvals would happen again.” She paused, making sure she had his attention. “My choice, Havoc. My life. My decision.”

For a moment, Havoc was silent. Then, slowly, he nodded. “That’s… a lot to take in.” He was quiet for a few moments longer, processing all he had been told, and then he turned his attention to Mustang, his gaze still hard. “You worked with Berthold for years. You knew him almost as well as she did. And you didn’t do anything to save her?”

Mustang kept Havoc’s gaze for a moment, and then bowed his head. “That’s correct.”

“What are you talking about?” Hawkeye interrupted. “He made living with that man bearable!”

“But he still left you living with him,” Havoc shot back.

“Instead of doing what?” Hawkeye demanded. “Whisking me away on horseback? That man was a monster, but he was still my father!”

Havoc looked at her, and them, his expression unfathomable for a moment. He looked as if he wanted to argue the point, to say something more, but then he let out a sight. “Right,” he finally said, looking away. “It’s the past. There’s nothing to do about it.” He looked back at Roy. “Sorry for that right hook.”

Mustang let out a huff. “Yeah, well, don’t let it happen again.”

“Not unless you truly deserve it,” Havoc agreed.

He looked over at Hawkeye. “And sorry about… well, I’m not going to apologize for defending you or wanting to protect you, but sorry for not listening first.”

Hawkeye shook her head. “It’s alright,” she said.

With that, Havoc got up, bidding the both a good night. He exited the tent, but he wasn’t ready to settle down yet. He had too much to mull over, but he also didn’t feel like being alone, Looking around the camp, he could see that Breda was out of their tent, looking over something with Falman. But Fuery didn’t seem to be busy. Havoc approached him.

“Hey, Sarge. Wanna go for a walk?”

Fuery blinked up owlishly at him but gave a nod and stood. “Sounds good, sir,” he said.

Together they ambled away, towards the tree line. It was still dark out, and nothing much was said for the first few minutes of the walk. Havoc didn’t feel like talking, but he also didn’t want to be alone. Fuery walked beside him, patient enough for a bit.

Still, after a few minutes, the younger man gentled prodded him. “So, I saw you went to talk to the general and the captain.”

Havoc sighed, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Yeah, I did.”

“Everything get settled?”

“Sort of.” There was a pause, and finally, Havoc spoke again. “It’s not my story to tell,” he said finally. “She’ll tell you when she’s ready. You two’ve gotten close since it all went down. Don’t worry about it, Sarge.”

Fuery made a noncommittal noise but didn’t push it any further. The two of them walked a little further, until finally heading back to camp. They weren’t far out when Fuery spoke again.

“…That was a cheap shot you got in earlier, though.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

There was a beat, and then. “It was pretty satisfying to watch.”

Havoc laughed at the unexpectedness of the comment. “Well, we’ve all wanted to get in a good swing at the general at least once!”

The levity helped, and when they got back to camp, Havoc was ready to go to bed. Fuery headed over to Falman, who was still by the fire, and Havoc headed towards his and Breda’s tent, taking a moment to glance at the tent of his COs, and glad to see the light out in it.

Breda was already in his sleeping bag, reading a book by the lamp light. He glanced up when Havoc came in but didn’t say anything. They both settled down to sleep, neither of them saying anything. Breda was falling into sleep, assuming Havoc was already there, when Havoc’s voice broke the quiet.

“It was her decision.”

Breda paused. “…The tattoo or the burns?”

“Not the tattoo. That was her father’s.”

Breda fell quiet at that, taking it in, not able to find something to say for a few minutes. Finally, he did.

“…that’s messed up.”

“…yeah.”

Neither of them said anything else that night, but Breda resolved to keep a closer eye on Riza from now on and make his own judgements about the situation. He had the basic information he needed for now. The rest would come in time.

The next day dawned far too early for any of them, and far too solemn. The whole team was subdued, and it escaped no one’s notice how Mustang and Hawkeye stuck closer together, and how Breda kept an eye on Hawkeye. By the time they stopped again for the night, everyone was exhausted. Camp was set up, a fire was made, and food was eaten. They moved around the camp after eating, each taking care of what they needed to.

Fuery was sitting next to the fire, tinkering with a radio when Hawkeye stopped in front of him. He looked up at her. She looked tired, exhausted, but as if she had come to a decision.

“Kain. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Sir?”

“You want to know, don’t you?”

Fuery rose to his feet and followed her out of the camp and into the nearby wilderness. No words were spoken at first, and Fuery didn’t push her. He could tell that she was on edge and low on patience. Finally, after a few minutes she spoke.

“What did they tell you?” she asked.

He hesitated. “…that you have a very large tattoo on your back. That’s it’s the general’s matrix. And that there are large burns on it.”

She nodded, not saying anything. Finally, after a moment, she spoke, her voice very detached, clinical, and matter-of-fact.

“My father was an alchemist. His life’s work was studying flame alchemy. He and I lived alone from the time I was four until I was nine. He… was a frightening man. Nothing mattered to him, except for alchemy. When I was nine, the general came to apprentice under my father. He was thirteen. He lived with us until he was eighteen and joined the military. My father didn’t approve of the military and refused to teach him flame alchemy. A year after he left, my father decided to hide his research by tattooing it on my back. It wasn’t long after, that he died. Roy came back and helped me bury him, and I decided that I would show him my father’s research. Unfortunately, it was not used the way that either of us intended. At the end of Ishval, I asked Roy to burn it off of my back. He agreed and burned the most important parts off. After I healed, I made the choice to join him on this path.”

Fuery didn’t say a word as he listened, just taking it all it. The silence stretched between them, and Fuery could tell that she was waiting for him to have questions. He did have questions, but he also didn’t want to push her too far. Finally, after a moment, he asked one.

“I didn’t, um… I haven’t seen it—a-and you don’t have to show me! But Breda said it was big…” He wasn’t sure how to phrase his question.

“Yes,” she replied, in that same detached, exhausted voice. “It covers my back. It holds a lot of information that only a trained alchemist could read.”

There was a moment of silence again as Fuery paused.

“…how long did it take to do?”

“About a year, done in differing sessions with time to heal between.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

The quiet stretched out between them again, and Fuery looked down.

“…did you have a choice?”

This time, the silence came from Hawkeye. “…he asked me, and I said yes. But I didn’t know what I was agreeing to. And by the time I figured it out, it was too late.”

Fuery didn’t say anything, just nodded in understanding. And then, he looked up at her, making eye contact, and searching her eyes. His brows tented back with a wry, half frown.

“…Does it still hurt, or is it numb now?”

Something in her breath caught, and several different things passed through her eyes. Finally, she simply said “…it depends on the day.”

Fuery nodded taking that in. “Thank you.”

Another moment of silence stretched, before Hawkeye sighed. “Let’s head back.”

“Yessir.”

Hawkeye’s tiredness wasn’t hard to see, and by the time they got back to camp, all she wanted to do was sit down. Instead, she headed towards the dishes, knowing it was her turn to take care of them. Fuery headed off to the campfire. Falman was in his tent. Before she could reach the dishes, though, Breda cut her off.

“Already taken care of, sir,” he said. “Felt restless.”

Hawkeye paused, as if assessing him. “…Thank you,” she finally said and, after a moment, she headed off towards her and Mustang’s tent.

He was in there, looking over his journal, and he looked up when she came in. Hayate looked up as well, tail wagging, and moving closer to her. She looked at them, and then at her sleeping bag. Without a word, she reached down and moved it closer, collapsing down on it. Mustang watched her do it, and shifted just a little bit closer. Hawkeye laid there, Hayate cuddling up with her, and buried her face in his fur.

For a while, the silence stretched on. Finally, Mustang spoke.

“Falman came to me while you were gone.”

She didn’t say anything.

“He wanted to know about your back.”

“…what did you tell him?”

“That your father was my Master, that he was a cruel man, that after I joined the military he tattooed your back, and that after he died you showed it me. I told him that after Ishval you asked me to burn the tattoo off of you, and I did.”

She was quiet. “…what did he say?”

“He was silent for a few moments, then nodded, thanked me, and left.”

Riza hummed.

Mustang was quiet for a moment as well. “…what did you tell Fuery?”

“…about the same.”

“And what did he say?”

She paused. “…he asked me if it hurt.” A beat. “He asked me if it still hurts.”

Roy didn’t say anything. Instead, he sighed, set his journal aside, and laid down next to her. He slipped an arm around her, and for a bit they laid in silence.

“…Hawkeye… I have something I’ve wanted to ask you… And I don’t mean it in any offensive way—”

“No, I don’t blame you for what happened to me as a child. You couldn’t have done anything to change it.”

“I could have stopped him from—”

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

Mustang let out a sigh, but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, the three of them just cuddled, until they finally went to sleep.

The fire was still burning, and Breda and Fuery sat by the fire. Breda was using the light to read by, and Fuery had things to tinker with. The silence, though, stretched on, and Fuery’s items went untouched, the young man taking his gun apart instead. The only sounds were that, and the crackling of the fire. After a moment, though, Breda realized that the sounds of metal tinging had stopped, and he looked up.

Fuery was staring into the fire, his gun in pieces on his lap. It wasn’t too unusual to find Fuery staring off into the distance every so often, but something about this struck a chord of concern in Breda. Very softly, he called “Sarge…?”

Fuery didn’t look at him, but shook his head minutely, murmuring under his breath. “It was her father.”

Silence descended over both of them, stretching on until Breda finally sighed, closed his book, and stood. He passed Fuery, tousling his hair a bit.

“Get some sleep, Fuery. Morning comes sooner than you think.”

Fuery gave a noise of acknowledgement but didn’t move. It wasn’t until several hours later that he finally put his gun back together and went to lay down, even though he was certain that he would not get any sleep.

The next day, again, dawned with tension. Hawkeye seemed to be waiting for something, although no one could quite put their finger on what. It lasted through the morning, stretching into the day, until finally Breda took the opportunity to approach both Hawkeye and Mustang as they were traveling.

“Boss. Hawkeye,” he greeted.

“Breda,” Mustang said back, side-eyeing him. “Is there a problem?”

Breda looked at Hawkeye. “You tell me, sirs.” He said. Hawkeye said nothing, but she did glance at him. Breda held his silence, and finally she sighed.

“What do you mean?” she asked him, tiredness in her voice.

“You’ve been on edge since the other night,” he said. “I get it when it happened, and when none of us knew. But we all know now. We’ve all heard the basics of the story. So why are you still on edge?”

For a moment, Hawkeye didn’t say anything. “Because,” she said, tightness in her voice. “You know. You all know. And the last thing I want is for that to change what you think of me. I don’t want pity from any of you, or to think that I need extra protection. I’ve fought for your respect, and I want to keep it.”

“What?” Breda looked at her, a bit of confusion on his face. “Why would we pity you? This gives you more respect from me,” he said. “There’s not a lot of people who could do what you’ve done.”

She looked at him askance. “…Maybe that’s how you feel, but what about the others.”

Breda snorted. “You’re joking, right? All of us are impressed by you. We’re in shock, of course, and we care about you, so we’re protective, but all of us would follow you into battle in a heartbeat. You’ve not lost any respect. You’ve gained, if anything.”

Mustang shot her a wane smile. “You see?” he said. “I told you that you’ve not lost their respect.”

Hawkeye glanced between the two of them, and then up at the others, and hummed thoughtfully.

When evening came that night, and food was passed out and eaten, instead of heading back to her tent, Riza stayed out around the campfire with the men. Falman played with Fuery’s radio, trying to find something to listen to, while Breda and Roy argued over the finer points chess strategy. At some point, Fuery bumped her elbow and handed her a cup of coffee, which she took, returning his smile. Somehow she ended up settled into Havoc’s side, his arm draped across her shoulders, and she let it be. As she sat there, surrounded by her friends, she realized that Breda had been right. None of them were treating her differently. None of them were giving her pity. She still had their respect. With that thought tipping her lips ups, she settled back, and looked at the stars.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 6: Amnesia
Word Count: 4761
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong, Alex Louis Armstrong, Major Miles, Philip Gargantos Armstrong, Armstrong family
Warning:
Summary: Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong has amnesia, thanks to an attack that caused trauma to her head. Alex will do anything to help her get it back—If its possible.
Notes: This will one day be a longer fic. But for now, have this, based off of discussions I’ve had with some friends about this idea! Also, I’ve tossed a few headcanons about Olivier’s past in here—most notably that in her younger days she was taken prisoner by Drachman and tortured for three days. Also, this story gave me the headcanon the her childhood nickname from her father was “rose” because her pink lips reminded him of the pink roses in the rose gardens.

Amnesia

Major Ephraim Miles stood guard outside of the hospital room. He stood at a resting attention, not letting anyone inside who wasn’t medical and previously approved. Any food that came in, he checked over personally. Nothing was allowed in that wasn’t inspected. It seemed like overkill to many of the hospital personnel, but as far as Miles was concerned, it was a necessary precaution. Someone had to protect the general. Especially since she—

Miles’ train of thought was cut off as he heard a sound coming down the hall—a sound he had both been expecting and dreading. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to avoid it forever, although he had hoped that it would wait a little bit longer, perhaps after he had more answers. Fate was what fate was, though, and at the moment, Miles’s fate was coming in the form of a giant, muscled, mustachioed, worried brother.

Miles sighed.

“Major Miles!” Alex Armstrong’s voice came booming down the hall, more worried than friendly, the man himself only just behind it. A frustrated looking nurse followed behind him. Within moments the large man was there, right in front of him, looking as worried as his voice had sounded. “Major Miles! My sister! I heard she is injured!”

“Major Armstrong,” Miles said, in greeting, although he didn’t move from his place in front of the door. The last thing the general needed right now was her brother bursting into her room.

“How badly is she injured?” Alex didn’t push him aside, but he was clearly, upset. “Why wasn’t the family alerted?” He switched his attention to the door. “Olivier! Are you alright?”

“Major Armstrong!” the nurse finally snapped. “Keep your voice down!”

He startled, as if he had forgotten the woman was there. “Ah—my apologies,” he said to the nurse, lowering his volume and intensity a little.

The nurse just huffed, but Alex focused in on Miles again. His hands took the man by the shoulders and he leaned down, his face close to Miles’s. Miles did his best not to react, although it was a bit unnerving.

“My sister,” he said, his eyes boring into Miles intently, “What has happened to her? I need to know!”

There was no avoiding it. But before Miles could say anything, he heard the door behind him open a bit.

“Miles?”

He turned to look. The general was standing in the doorway, looking out at all of them. Uncertainty—something Miles had become used to seeing—in her eyes. Her eyes traveled over all of them, trying to make sense of the sight.

“What’s going on?” Her voice was uncertain, unsteady, and not at all like the Olivier Mira Armstrong Miles knew.

Alex let go of him. “Sister!” he cried out, stretching out his arms as if to grab her in a giant hug and taking a step towards her. “Sister, I’m so glad to see you up!”

Olivier’s eyes widened, and she let out a little gasp before slamming the door shut. Her footsteps could be heard rapidly retreating from the doorway. Alex froze, looking confused.

“Sister?”

“Major!” the nurse said menacingly, and Alex had the grace to look abashed.

Miles straightened his clothes out. “Major Armstrong,” he said. “Give me a minute to get another guard here, and then I will explain everything to you.”

Alex, his sister’s unusual reaction obviously bothering him, simply nodded. “Yes… of course.”

~*~*~*~

Alex looked down at his cup of watery bland hospital tea, and contemplated what Miles had told him.

“…I see,” he said after a moment. “A complete loss of memory, then.”

“She still has what the doctor called ‘functional’ memory. She still knows how to do things. Sometimes if she’s surprised, she’ll react without thinking in the same way she would before. But all of her personal memories are lost.”

“And is there hope of them returning?”

Miles was silent for a moment contemplating his answer. “So far, the doctors aren’t sure. At first, they said to put her in familiar environments and see if it helped. But she couldn’t navigate the dangers of Briggs, so she couldn’t stay there long. North City wasn’t much help either. Central has many more resources and the added benefit of her family here. It’s hoped that the familiar environments will help, as well as whatever other support Central can give. She also has less enemies in Central that would try to take advantage of her condition.”

“Yes, I see,” Alex said, rubbing his chin. “There are other avenues and options that I can investigate that might help her. And when she’s well enough to move to the Armstrong estate, she can be more closely guarded.”

Miles nodded, and then hesitated. “There is… one other thing,” he said.

“Oh?” Alex looked at him curiously.

Miles reached behind him and handed over a wrapped bundle. Alex took it and started unwrapping it even as Miles spoke, and froze when he realized what it was.

“She said that if anything were to happen to her, to give this to you,” he said.

Alex stared in shock at the sword he now held. The Armstrong family sword. Olivier’s sword. Alex’s heart clenched in his chest, sorrow threatening to overwhelm him.

“I will take excellent care of it and safeguard it until she can take it up once again.”

Miles looked at him and nodded.

“…Can I see her now?” Alex asked. “I would very much like to.”

“Yes,” Miles said. “Just do your best to remain calm. She’s much more skittish now.”

“Of course,” Alex said.

They stood, Alex making sure to gather the sword to him and affix it on his belt, and disposed of the tea. The walk back to Olivier’s room wasn’t far, and the Briggs guard outside of it saluted them as they drew close.

“All normal, sir,” he said. “The general asked where you were a time or two, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Thank you,” Miles said. “Major Armstrong and I are going inside.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier replied, and stood aside.

Miles knocked on the door, Alex standing silently behind him. “General? It’s Miles. Can I come in? I’m bringing a visitor.”

There was a pause of silence, and then her voice called out. “Yes, you can.”

Miles opened the door and Alex got his first good look at his sister. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She was dressed in a simple white shirt and gray skirt, with black flats. Her eyes, still sharp, but no longer guarded as they had been, looked over them uncertainly. Fading bruising and a healing gash on her head stood out.

“What are you working on?” Miles asked her, as he moved closer to her and looked down at the bedside table she had something spread out on.

Olivier’s eyes stayed on Alex for a moment, but then her attention turned to Miles. “A puzzle,” she said, and her voice was gentle, subdued. “I’m supposed to put the words to these sayings in the right order.”

“How are you doing?”

She glanced at Alex again, but then back down at the puzzle in front of her. “I’m not sure,” there was hesitancy in her voice. “Some of these sayings don’t seem to make sense, but I think I have them in the right order. Others don’t make any sense at all. I liked the puzzle with the numbers and the boxes better. It made more sense.” She sighed. “But I know this one is supposed to help stimulate my memory, because I have to use recall on it.”

“That’s true,” he said. “You’ve got some of them right,” he said. “This one, and this one.”

“Too bad I don’t know what they mean,” she said. Her eyes traveled back to Alex. “You’re the man who was loud outside of my door, earlier,” she said. “Who are you?”

The question was not nearly as demanding as it usually would have been, and it ate at Alex’s heart.

“This is your brother,” Miles said. “His name is Alex Louis Armstrong. He’s a major and a state alchemist.”

Olivier looked over him, considering. “A major. He’s the same rank as you. But it’s a lower rank than me. And a state alchemist… they use alchemy… for the military?”

Miles nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

Alex’s heart broke at all of this, but for the sake of his sister, he kept it together as best he could.

“Why were you being so loud earlier?” she asked Alex.

“I was worried about you, Olivier,” he said. “I’m afraid my emotions got the better of me.”

She nodded. “I’m your… older sister,” she said.

“Yes,” Alex said. “That’s correct.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” she apologized. “Are you here to try to help me get my memories back?”

Alex felt his heart shatter. “Yes. Yes, I’m here to help you in any way I can, Big Sis,” he said.

Olivier smiled at him. “I appreciate that.”

It was many hours later when Alex finally left, Olivier growing tired and having a headache—something that Miles told him was common now. Miles walked him out, and they spoke of arrangements for Olivier. She couldn’t be left on her own, and Miles couldn’t stay here forever. Alex assured him that it would be no trouble at all for her to return to the Armstrong estate. They parted ways, plans in place, and Alex headed towards the mansion, the sword at his side, piercing him with each sound it made.

Olivier hadn’t once asked about it.

~*~*~*~*~

Olivier looked out the window of the car, her eyes wide as they drove through the gates and up to the Armstrong mansion.

“This is… my house?” she asked, incredulous. “This doesn’t look like the other houses I’ve seen.”

“It’s the Armstrong Estate,” Alex told her. “The Armstrongs are an old and well-known family. This estate has been in our family for generations. You are the current head of our family, so it is yours.”

“But what about our parents?” she asked, looking back at him, concerned. “Where do they live?”

“They live here as well, in their own wing. Father takes care of most of the day-to-day concerns. Mother takes care of the social obligations.”

Olivier nodded. “What do I do?”

“Well, you have the ultimate say in anything involving the family. If you wanted to sell this all and give all our family money away, then you could. Or if you wanted to stay here for the rest of your life, you could. Mostly, though, you look at investments being made and sign off on legal documents.”

She was silent. “…I can’t do that now,” she said. “I don’t understand enough.”

Alex rested a hand on her back. “You will again,” he said. “For now, Father will take care of it all.”

Olivier nodded, looking uncertain. The car pulled up to the steps and stopped. Alex got out first, then waited on Olivier. She stayed slightly behind him as she took all of it in. The servants were standing on the stairs, and their family was standing at the top. Alex had the distinct impression that Olivier wanted to duck back into the car and stay there. Instead, he put a hand on her shoulder, and pulled her a little forward and beside him.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We can all be a little boisterous, but they care deeply for you. And I won’t leave your side.”

She swallowed, but nodded, and allowed Alex to escort her up.

~*~*~*~*~

The meeting with the family had gone well enough. They had all been gentle around her, trying not to overwhelm Olivier. She had, eventually, relaxed, and many stories had been told of their past. The stories hadn’t seemed to prompt any memories, but Olivier had been eager to learn more about herself and her family. It had gone on for many hours, until she had grown tired.

Alex had noticed first, and had called it a night, showing Olivier to her rooms, as well as how to get to him if she had need of him. He had only left her once he was sure that she was settled in and returned to the family.

The atmosphere after that had been a bit morose, as all of them were worried about Olivier. Still, all eventually retired to bed, leaving the mansion quiet and still. At least, it was until something woke Alex up out of his sleep.

“Alex?”

It was Olivier’s voice, and there was a slight panic to it.

He threw back his blankets and made his way to his bedroom door. He could hear her quietly calling out his name again, the panic still in it.

“Olivier? I’m here,” he said, looking for her.

“Alex.” Her voice was coming a little way down the hall, and he went towards it.

She was just around the corner, and he nearly ran into her. She was, as he was, in her night clothes and robe, but she looked distressed.

“Olivier, what’s wrong?” he asked her.

“I—I… I’m not sure,” she said. “I…”

He put a hand on her back. “Here. Come to my rooms. We’ll sit and drink something hot and soothing, and we can talk.”

She nodded and followed him as he led her in and to a sette, only pausing when he pulled the cord for a maid.

“Here,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you want a blanket?”

She shook her head. “No. Its warm enough as it is.”

Alex blinked at that. It seemed that she still retained her cold tolerance and preference. Was that a physical thing, or was it more mental? He wasn’t entirely sure.

A maid appeared then, knocking on the door, and Alex bade her come in. She had, apparently, anticipated such a need, because he brought a tea cart with her, the aroma of chamomile tea rising from it. Alex thanked the maid and sent her away, fixing the cups for both of them himself. He pressed the cup into Olivier’s hand, and she gave him a tired smile and murmured her thanks.

“There you go,” Alex said. “Now—what has you so upset, Olivier?”

She hesitated. “I… I was dreaming,” she said. “And there was this man in it. A big man, perhaps as big as you, with black hair down the center of his head and a long, thin, braid. He had a thin mustache, and a metal arm that wasn’t always a regular arm. He had a big smile, one that took up his whole face. And… and for some reason… he made me sad. I would see him with Miles sometimes, but… he made me sad, Alex. So… so very sad.”

Alex felt his heart break again as she spoke. “That sounds like Captain Buccaneer,” he said. “He was one of your subordinates at Fort Briggs. He had an automail arm.”

“Captain Buccaneer…” she murmured. “I don’t remember seeing him. Where is he?”

Alex took a breath in. “He died, Olivier.”

“Died?” there was a tremble in her voice.

“Yes,” he said. “Do you remember me telling you how you and your men helped this country? How you helped stop a plot that would have taken the lives of everyone?”

She nodded.

“He died fighting for that. He was an honorable man, very loyal to you.”

She looked disturbed and upset. “… I know I’ve lost men before. I think… I think I see them in my dreams sometimes. Why does his death make me hurt like this?”

It was like she was twisting a knife in his chest, but Alex wasn’t going to lie to her.

“You two were very close. You never said it, but I think that you loved him, Olivier, and that he loved you as well.”

“I… loved him?” she said, and took a sharp breath in as soon as she said it. “Oh…”

Alex looked at her, alarmed as tears began forming in her eyes. Olivier was never one to cry, at least, not before, but apparently now that was different. He reached out to her, pulling her into his arms, and let her weep for something she didn’t fully understand.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Olivier leaned away from the window, a hand covering her eyes. “Are these sessions really doing me any good?” her voice was tired, and a bit irritable.

Alex looked over at her, reaching over to pull a shade down on the window of the car. “You seem to be gaining at least some of your memories back,” he said.

“Yes, a few. But is it worth it?” She asked. “It leaves me with a migraine for days, and only fragments. I still don’t know who I was before. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever return to that woman.”

Alex paused, looking at his sister. “…do you not want to, Olivier?” he asked.

She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know who she was, if I was happy as she was. All I know is who I am now. But I don’t know if I’m happy as I am now, either.”

Alex frowned and put a gentle hand on her back. “It is your decision,” he said quietly.

She sighed. “I can’t think straight right now.”

“Then let your mind rest,” Alex said.

The ride to the estate wasn’t much further, and Alex saw her settled into her room. He didn’t expect to see much more out of her for the rest of the day. The Alkehestry sessions left her with a pounding migraine, and she often spent the rest of the day in her bed. Today was no different.

At least, until that evening.

The family was retired to the sitting room where they often spent family time, when a scream pierced the air, a scream full of pain. They all started, Alex, their father, and their mother taking off towards it almost immediately, military and parental instincts spurring their speed. The scream came from Olivier’s room, and more followed it. Philip didn’t even slow down, throwing open the doors to Olivier’s suite, heading straight for her bedroom. Alex was on his heels, gauntlets already on, fearing the worst.

Olivier was still screaming, but there was no apparent cause for her screams. Philip threw back her blankets, but nothing was revealed by them. Olivier was writhing on her bed, screaming, sobbing, fighting, and Philip reached for her, pulling her out of the bed. He sat in the floor with her, their mother immediately reaching to search her over for anything that could have been causing her pain.

“Olivier!” Philip said, shaking her. “Olivier! Olivier, wake up! Olivier!”

There was a gasp from her and then “…Father?”

“Yes, yes, child, yes, Rose, I am here.”

She was shaking, and grasped at his clothes, looking up at him. “F-Father…”

He held her close, shushing her. “Shhh, Rose, it’s alright, I’m here. What happened? Are you hurting?”

“I…” her breath hitched. “I was… I was… I was in a dark place. I was restrained. There were hands… people… men. And then one man—” her breath hitched again. “—one man… he came… he had a metal rod that was white hot. He… he… There was so much pain!”

“Oh, child, oh my Rose, oh Olivier…”

Their father began rocking her, and their mother put herself around them too, both of them forming a safe cocoon for Olivier. Alex backed up, looking at their sisters, and silently guided them out of the room. This wasn’t a place for them to help her. But if any of the memories were to stay gone, Alex wished that the memories of her torture at Drachman hands had been the ones.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Olivier hit the mat and hit it hard. She looked up at Alex, frustration clear in her eyes and body language. She pushed herself up. “I want to try again,” she said.

“Olivier, I think that it’s enough.”

“I want to try again!” she snapped. “It’s almost there… something is almost there.”

Alex paused. “Why don’t we try something different,” Alex suggested. “Perhaps it will help it come.”

Olivier pulled herself up. “Alright.” She looked around and spotted the training swords. “What about those?”

Alex looked over at them, and then gave a nod. He wasn’t sure that she was ready for them, but if she thought she was, then he would try. He went to them, pulling out one for both of them. He took up a stance, and she, taking the sword, did too, although it wasn’t her stance. She was copying his.

Alex had a bad feeling about this. After a moment, she charged at him. He side-stepped and made a move back at her. He could tell that it took her by surprise, but she raised a defense, which, he could see, also surprised her. It was instinctual, not strategy. They exchanged a few more blows, but the match was over in less than a minute, with Olivier on the ground, her sword slid away from her, and Alex’s sword at her neck.

She laid there, shaking, not saying a thing.

Alex relaxed his guard a bit. “Olivier?” he said. He reached out with his hand. “Olivier, are you alright?”

She batted his hand away, and let out a yell, slamming her fist into the mat. “I can’t live like this anymore, Alex!” She looked up at him, her eyes blazing. “I can’t keep doing this! How am I supposed to live like this! I’m not who I was, but there’s enough of her in me that I can’t be someone new! I can’t be anyone anymore! I don’t know who I am, and I can’t live like this! How am I supposed to be who I am, when I can’t even remember things central to me!”

Alex took a step back in surprise. Her temper had been flaring, but she hadn’t had a break down like this yet. “Olivier, we can find a way to work through this. We’ll find more doctors and—”

“No!” she stood up. “No, no more doctors, no more anything!” Her hands went to her head. “I can’t do this anymore!”

“Olivier—”

She looked up at him, eyes blazing. “Get out! Get out, Alex! If I’m truly the master of the house, if I’m truly the head of this family, then get out! Get out of this room, get out of my house! Get out! I want everyone out!” She seized upon the training sword and threw it. It flew across the room and shattered on the wall. She seized the mat, and Alex backed out of the training room as his oldest sister lost her temper, all her frustrations finally coming to a boil.

The next morning Alex returned to the mansion, having honored Olivier’s request to leave. She had an appointment that day, and, if she would allow it, he would accompany her. No one was at the door to meet him, but a maid did escort him to the sitting room. Oliver was waiting in it, looking up at the sword that was on the mantle. Alex didn’t say anything, just stood, waiting. Finally, Olivier turned back around. She looked at him, then looked down a little, shame in her face.

“Alex,” she started. “I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.” She paused, taking in a breath. “You have every right to be upset with me. But… if you’re still willing, I would like your help.”

Alex waited a moment, and then spoke. “You do not need to apologize, Olivier,” he said. “I did some thinking last night. Everyone has been pushing you to return to who you were. None of us have asked what it is you want to do. That isn’t fair of us. If you want to stop your treatments, then I’ll stand by you. And if you want to continue them, then I’ll stand by you as well.”

She looked back up at him, a little relieved. “Then… would you help me through them? I meant what I said about not being able to live like this. I don’t feel whole. I want to. And I think the best way to do that, is to keep trying to regain who I was.”

Alex nodded. “Then I shall stay by your side through it, Sister.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I think we’ve done as much as we can,” the doctor said.

Olivier frowned. “Are you sure?”

The doctor nodded. “Our alkehestrist says that your chi paths are as clear as they can be. He doesn’t feel that further sessions will provide any benefit.”

“What about the memories that are still missing?” Alex asked, knowing that’s what his sister was thinking.

“Those will just have to return on their own—or perhaps they won’t at all. But from what we can tell, you have about 95-98% memory return. Your recall for current events is excellent, and your mental acuity is some of the sharpest I’ve seen.” He closed his charts. “General, I don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t be able to function normally. I would suggest a rest period of about a month before a return to duty, but I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to resume normal life again.”

The room was quiet for a few moments, and then Olivier nodded. “Thank you, Dcotor.”

“Of course,” he said.

They stood, shook hands, and then Alex and Olivier headed out. They were quiet as they walked down the hall.

“…This seems like wonderful news, Sister,” he said.

“It is.” There was a pause. “I was hoping for all of it back, though.”

“I understand,” Alex said.

Olivier just hummed.

The drive back to the mansion was silent, Olivier clearly lost in thought. The minute they arrived, though, she was out of the car, and looking back at Alex. “Come with me,” she said.

Seeing no reason not to, Alex complied and followed her all the way to the family gym. She shed her jacket and walked over to the swords and pulled one off the wall.

“Olivier?” He said. “What are you doing?”

She nodded to the sword on his hip. “You said once that you would keep that until I could earn it back.” She unsheathed the sword she was hold, tossing the sheath to the side. “I’m ready to take my sword back, Alex.”

He blinked at her for a moment, standing there with her hair pulled back, a white sleeveless shirt tucked into a long navy skirt, heeled boots on her feet. Not the Olivier of the past in her uniform. Bot not the sacred, nervous woman who had arrived at the mansion nearly a year ago either. She was some combination of the two.

“Hmph,” Alex tossed his shirt aside, leaving him in his gray trousers and dress shoes. He pulled the sword from its scabbard. “Then let’s see you try.”

She smirked at him—and then the battle was on.

This fight lasted longer than the other one, and Alex was pleased to see his sister’s unique style return. Her spins, her grace, the sweeping motions that she fought with, reminiscent of her talent on the ice—it was all very Olivier, and all very right. Still, Alex wasn’t about to throw this fight—she’d never forgive him if he did—and with the two of them knowing each other’s styles so well, it wasn’t a quick fight.

Olivier was more skilled then him in swordplay, though, and within minutes she had him down, her sword on his neck, her foot on his chest.

“I win,” she said cold eyes staring down at him. “Give me my sword, Alex.”

Without saying a word—as she still had her sword on her neck—he took the sword, and flipped it around with a throw, offering her the hilt. She took it, removed the sword from his neck, and then reached down, unhooking the scabbard from his belt. She stepped back, and Alex set up, watching as she attached the sword to her side.

And as he looked up at his sister, standing there with her fierce pride and the sword back at her side, he couldn’t help but feel like the world was right again. Olivier Mira Armstrong was back.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 7: Feather/Time Loop
Word Count: 4859
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Sheska
Warning: NA
Summary: Sheska is stuck in a time loop and is the only one that realizes it. On top of that, it’s a little hard to convince people to take you seriously when you’re known for being a bit of a conspiracy theorist. She’s just going to have to take things into her own hands this time.
Notes: I have no idea if alchemy could work on time. I have no idea if it could work this way. I even have no idea when this is set (which seems appropriate for a story involving time). But it still made for a fun story!

Feather/Time Loop

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, everything felt normal. She woke up a few minutes late, rushed to get out the door, and barely made the bus on time. When she arrived at Records, she barely had a minute to hang up her purse and coat before she was thrown into the fray, searching and pulling records for nearly every department. She didn’t have time to read them or find out what it was about. All she had time to do was work. She only stopped when her stomach growled loudly enough for Susan to hear, and the other woman sent her out to get some food, chastising her for not eating breakfast.

Chagrined, Sheska left, carrying her newest book with her, and reading it as she walked. She literally ran into Lieutenant Havoc on her way, who barely took the time to set her on her feet before rushing away. She went to the cafeteria, ate some broccoli and cheese soup, ate the unfortunately stale roll that came with it, took time for a little cup of ice cream, and then went back to work, all while reading her book.

Records was still hopping when she came back, and she was sent to the library to get some very specific books that were needed in an investigation. She left and headed to the library to get the books. It didn’t take her long, as the librarians knew her, and just waved her back to find whatever it was that she wanted to get. She got them and then headed out, back to Command. She was curious about the books, though, and was taking a look at one of them when she nearly tripped over a lady.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Sheska said, “I wasn’t looking where I was going! Here, um, let me help you!”

The woman’s hat had fallen over her eyes, an old-fashioned affair, and its very unusual looking feather fell into Sheska’s hand. Sheska tilted blinked at it, taking it in.

“This is an unusual—” Sheska started, but that was as far as she got. Shouts were heard from around the corner, and Sheska looked up, confused.

The woman saw the feather in her hand, seized upon Sheska, and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she had a bit of a headache. She woke up a few minutes late, probably due to that headache, and then rushed to get out the door, although she paused long enough to grab a muffin. Something told her she might need that. The bus was starting to leave when she got to it, but it slowed enough for her to get on. Records was already busy when she got there, and Sheska hung up her coat and purse and got right to it. She was able to lay hands on the records they needed much faster today, and eventually Susan told her to go take a break because she had been working so hard.

She left, taking her newest book with her, although it was oddly familiar. Shrugging, Sheska figured that she must have read something similar in the past. She looked up just in time to step back and out of the way of Lieutenant Havoc, who was rushing down the hall with Lieutenant Breda. They seemed to be in a hurry, but Sheska didn’t bother to listen. She went to the cafeteria, got some broccoli and cheese soup, hesitated over the rolls for a moment, taking her time to pick one, and then got herself some ice cream. She flipped through her book, trying to figure out why she knew what was happening in it.

Records was still hopping when she got back, and she was sent to the library to get some very specific books they needed for an investigation. Sheska frowned at the list, certain she hadn’t managed to read them, but finding them familiar all the same. It didn’t matter, though, and she went on, the librarians waving her back, and she finding the books quicker than normal. She left with them, looking one of them over when she ran into a lady.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Sheska said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going! Here, um, let me help you!”

The woman’s hat had fallen over her eyes, and old fashioned thing with an unusual feather secured in it. Sheska frowned. She recognized that feather from somewhere.

“Say, have we met before?”

There was shouting from around the corner, the woman muttered a curse, and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she felt confused. It was Friday, but it didn’t feel like a Friday to her. It felt like a Sunday, like she should be going to see her mother. Even as she dressed and left her house with a muffin and an apple in tow, the day didn’t feel like it was supposed to be Friday. She couldn’t figure it out, even on the whole bus ride to work.

When she arrived at records, it was busy. She barely had time to hang up her purse and coat before she was put to work. She spent the morning pulling records, almost as soon as they could request them of her. When Susan sent her to lunch, she knew exactly what her new book was about. Even Lieutenants Havoc and Breda rushing down the hall didn’t surprise her. She ate her broccoli and cheese soup, carefully picked out roll, and ice cream all why trying to put her finger on what was so odd about today.

Records was still hopping when she got back, and she was sent to the library to get some very specific books that investigations needed. She was positive she hadn’t read these books before, but she knew exactly where to find them, as if she had. The librarians waved her on back to find them and find them she did. In a daze, she stepped outside, looking over one of the books, trying to figure out how she knew it. She did not see the lady that she ran into.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Sheska said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going! Here, um…” Sheska trailed off, staring at the feather in the lady’s hat. “Have… have we—”

There was time for no more, as there was shouting and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she felt like something was very off. She looked at the time, not surprised by what her clock said, and got dressed, able to find where she had kicked of her shoes knowing which stack of books had collapsed on them during the night. She took a muffin and an apple with her, as well as some coffee, and made it to the bus on time. She sat there, predicting where every person was going to sit that morning. When she made it into records, she already had her coat and purse ready to hang up, and began pulling records, even before they were asked for. It was as if she knew what was going to be asked of her.

Susan gave her a break, and Sheska left, her book under her arm. She paused in a hallway, waiting a moment, and watched as Lieutenants Havoc and Breda rushed by. She got broccoli and cheese soup, and hesitated over the rolls, picking one that she though was stale. She was right. She ate her ice cream, skimmed the book and found she knew all of it, and returned to Records, where she knew she’d be going after a certain list of books. She was right again, even though she had never read these, and she took off for the library, making predictions as to what she would see along the way. She knew exactly where the books were, and she got them. She stepped outside, glancing at the books, but looked up right before she could run into a lady. She reached out and caught her arm.

Her eyes fixated on the feather on the lady’s hat. “Hey—we’ve met before, right?” Sheska asked. “Recently, right? I—” she wasn’t able to say more, as there were shouts from down the street and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she was positive she was going crazy. She got dressed, grabbed breakfast, left, and caught the bus. She knew every person that got on, every bit of their conversation, and exactly what would happen. She knew that she would find records busy, knew that she would be put to work immediately, knew what records would be pulled. She knew when Susan would send her to lunch, knew when to move out of the way of Havoc and Breda, knew which bowl of soup she would end up with, knew which was the one stale roll. She knew which ice cream cup she was going to get, knew every word of her book. She knew that she was going to be sent to the library, knew the booklist, and knew where they were. She even knew that she was going to run into that lady again, the one with the strange feather, and hear shouts and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she knew something was very wrong. She tumbled out of bed, hastily dressing herself, and didn’t bother with breakfast. She rushed out her door, barely doing more than finger combing her hair, and took the early bus into work. Records was already busy when she got there, but she skipped past it and managed to find Major Armstrong in investigations instead. They were busy too, but it didn’t stop her.

“Major, Major!” she said. “Major, something’s wrong!”

“Sheska?” he looked at her, his brows creasing in worry. “Are you alright? You look a little… rough.”

“What—no, I’m fine but, Major, there’s something weird going on here!” Sheska insisted.

“What is it, Sheska?” he asked her.

“I—I don’t know how to explain it, sir, but I think I’m becoming psychic or something!” she said. “I know what’s going to happen before it does!”

Major Armstrong blinked at her, and Sheska could feel the rest of the office dismiss her.

“Sheska, I—”

“I’m not crazy!” she insisted.  “I already know what records you’re going to ask for today!” she said, listing them off. “Lieutenants Havoc and Breda are going to come rushing down the hall around lunch time. There’s going to be broccoli and cheese soup today, and only one roll is going to be stale. I know what’s going to happen in my brand-new released book, and then later I’m going to be sent to the library for a list of books! And then—”

“Sheska,” the major interrupted her, gently. “Sheska, that’s enough. It sounds like a normal enough day. Those are all common things, and we haven’t even gotten a list of files or books together yet.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Have you been getting enough sleep, lately, Sheska?”

“I’m not crazy!” Sheska said, her voice rising. “I know there’s something wrong! How else do I know what’s going to happen!”

“Sheska, why don’t you take the day off.”

“I don’t need--!”

“Sheska,” the major’s voice was a little harder this time. “Take the day off.”

She looked up at him, and felt tears enter in her eyes. If the major wouldn’t even believe her, then who would? She set her jaw and looked up at him. “I’m not crazy!” she said. “And I’ll prove it!”

She turned then, pulling herself out from under his hand, and took off.

“Sheska, wait!” she heard him call after her, but she didn’t bother. Instead, she went straight to records, completely ignoring both Susan and Rachel, and started pulling records—all of the ones she could find that she knew they’d need later. Then, without telling anyone what she was doing, she left, and went to the library to pull the books from there. The librarians looked at her a little concerned but let her go ahead anyway. She pulled them, and then went to sit on the stairs and waited.

Sure enough, at 2:07, the lady with the unusual feather in her hat came around the corner. Sheska reached out for her, grabbing her.

“Wait!” she said. “I want to know what’s going on!”

The lady jerked her arm out of Sheska’s grip, there were shouts from around the corner and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she was wondered if she was wrong. She dressed, left, and caught the bus. She pulled records, went to lunch, stayed out of Havoc and Breda’s way, ate her food, looked through her book, and went back to Records. She went to the library, pulled the books, and then waited. No one made mention of her odd behavior, that she could clearly remember. No one thought she was crazy. It was as if the day before hadn’t happened.

The lady with the feather came by again, and Sheska stood up to block her path. The woman tried to push past her, there were shouts from around the corner and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, it was with a new theory. She turned on the radio. She dressed and paid attention to everything that she could hear or see. She paid attention to the conversations on the bus. She paid attention to the conversations at work. She paid attention to everything she could. And this time, she didn’t try to stop the lady with the feather in her hat. This time she let it happen and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she immediately turned on the radio. It was the same as the day before. She dressed and went to work. She didn’t do one thing differently from the day before. And the day worked out just the same. Every conversation, every step, every motion. Even the shouts from around the corner. They were all the same. And then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she called in sick to work. Sheska was, indeed, not sick, but she needed time to figure things out—and right now she wasn’t sure if that was something she didn’t have, or something that she had too much of. All Sheska knew for sure was that time was repeating—and she was stuck in a time loop no one else seemed to notice.

But how? Why? There could be a million reasons as to why this was happening, and she could have very little to do with it. Although…

She thought back to the conversations she had heard before, the files, the books. Everyone was mobilized looking for an alchemist. Sheska wasn’t exactly sure what she was researching, but it was enough to have everyone in a tizzy. Whatever it was, it was dangerous, and they wanted to stop her. But why? What was she doing? And did it have any connection to this time loop? Sheska bit her lip. Okay, it was time to lay out everything she knew.

By the time 2:07 rolled around, Sheska knew one thing for sure—she needed more information. She would get it the next time around. And then--

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, it was with determination. She got up, dressed, went to work, and headed straight for the records that she was asked to pull. Only this time, she read over them before she gave them, something that slowed her down quite a bit. Susan fussed at her for this, but Sheska paid it little mind. She took more records with her when she went to lunch, watching as Havoc and Breda ran by, and read over them. When she returned, she hid in the stacks with more records, reading over them as well. And then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she knew she needed to do more research. She got up, she dressed, she went in, and she proceeded to grab what she could and read over them. She neglected her other duties, and Susan and Rachel both were upset with her. But Sheska kept reading. And then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she went straight to the library. She looked for the books that she had gotten in previous loops and started reading them. She spent three straight loops doing nothing but reading these books. And then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she knew she needed to try again. She got up, she got dressed, and she headed to work. She went straight to Investigations and tried to talk to Major Armstrong. Once again, he listened, but he didn’t seem to believe her. She could feel the rest of the office laughing at her, even if no one physically did. The major said that he’d consider what she said, but Sheska could tell that she was dismissed, as he was more concerned with finding and catching this alchemist than Sheska’s theory on a time loop.

Sheska then went upstairs to talk to Colonel Mustang and his men. The colonel was surprised, but he, too, seemed to dismiss her idea. Even Edward and Alphonse, who were in the office, seemed to think that her theory was out there.

Sheska insisted, not letting up, and she could feel the judgement of all of them on her. Before Mustang could do anything, though a call came through, and everyone rushed off, leaving her there in the office. Not sure what else to do, Sheska followed them, trying to get their attention, and ignoring orders to leave.

To her surprise, the group rounded the corner, and there was the lady with the strange feather on her hat. There was a shout and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she was disheartened. She didn’t get out of bed, and she didn’t call in. How could this get fixed, if no one would believe her? Would she be stuck like this forever? Forever would really mean forever too, if this was a time loop. Sheska buried her head in her pillow and wallowed in despair. She could take one loop to do this, right? And then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she knew that no one was going to get her out of this, if she didn’t do it herself. So, she stayed home, and laid out a plan. She would need to figure out what this alchemist was doing. She would need to understand it. And she would need to find out where it was happening. She’d also probably need to learn alchemy herself for this to work. It wasn’t something she had done before, but she had read about it. With that in mind, Sheska outlined a plan and committed it to memory. And then—

When Sheska woke up on the next fourteen Friday mornings, she didn’t do her work. Instead, she researched every bit of information she could find on that alchemist as well as all of her works. She didn’t understand them all, but that wasn’t terribly important to Sheska yet. She would recall all the information she could, and then—

When Sheska woke up on the next thirty-eight Friday mornings, she did nothing but study alchemy. She started at the basics and sought out help when needed. She found that she could catch the Elric brothers before they went to Command, and they were very helpful in teaching her things, even if they were always surprised by what she knew. She managed to put most of it off on her memory, saying she just didn’t have the practical part down, but it seemed to work. Between the books she read and their help, she developed a knowledge of the circles and how they worked. It was enough that she thought she might be able to at least comprehend this alchemist’s circles if she came across them. It was after that she could work on developing counter measures. And then—

When Sheska woke up on the next nine Friday mornings, she scoured the city for signs of the alchemist’s work. She found it, and studied it, and realized that it was out of her league. She dedicated it to memory though, so she would have it, and then—

When Sheska woke up on the next sixteen Friday mornings, she worked on developing a counter plan to the alchemist’s. it took a lot of trial and error, and outside help that would never remember helping her, but eventually something that should work was developed. It was just a matter of getting it all in place. If she could do that, then the circle could be broken—and hopefully the time loop too. And then—

When Sheska woke on the next eleven Friday mornings, she tried to implement her plan. But there was never enough time to get things in place herself as well as get to where she could activate it. When it failed for the elventh time, Sheska let out a scream of frustration and then—

When Sheska woke on Friday morning, she knew that to get done what she needed to, she’d have to make a scene. So she got up, pulled on clothes, didn’t bother to brush her hair, and went to work. She stopped in the main hall, took out a knife, and started carving a circle in the floor, which got her more than a little attention. When an MP came to stop her, she cut him off saying that she needed to see every alchemist in the building, and just to prove she wasn’t joking, she activated her circle to make a sculpture that they would have to recognize took some skills.

It did get attention, and she had more alchemists than she realized were on campus show up. There was shouting and yelling and confusion, and Sheska climbed her sculpture and used part of it like a megaphone.

“Everyone be quiet!” she yelled through it, and they all looked at her in shock. “Just shut up and listen to me,” she said, and that raised more than a few eyebrows. “You’re trying to find Miriam Layburg, right? She’s an alchemist that you think is experimenting with states of matter and cosmic forces. Well, you’re almost right.”

Sheska moved one of the pages in the giant book she had created, turning it to show at least part of the research she had done. The fact that she could move a page, had created a sculpture that she could do that with when, apparently, she had developed this skill overnight, raised even more eyebrows.

“What she’s really experimenting with is time itself and the flow of it. And you know what? She succeeds. She succeeds and we’re all caught in this massive time loop. And for whatever reason, I’m the only one that’s noticed!”

“How can we believe you?” someone called out.

“Do you think I can learn how to do this over night?” Sheska snapped out. “I’ve been stuck in this forsaken time loop for 107 days! I’ve had time to learn plenty! And yes—I am rather grouchy about it!”

That seemed to shut him up, and she turned her attention back to the crowd. “I think I’ve devised a way to break this, but I can’t do it on my own. The time loop resets every day at 2:07pm. It goes back to 7:04am. I don’t have enough time to get everything in place and start the process. And I think this would better done with others helping me.”

There was murmuring among the crowd. “If you help me, you can capture her, and break this time loop!”

“What’s this plan of yours look like?” Edward called out, clearly a bit suspicious.

Sheska reached into her bag and pulled out what she had sketched up earlier that morning, tossing it down to him. “Look at that. It has locations and circles that need to be at those locations. They’ll need to be activated at the same time to break it.”

“Big brother, this looks like your work, here,” Alphonse said, pointing at part of the circle.

“That’s because the both of you helped me develop it,” Sheska said. “You just don’t remember it, because it was in other time loops.”

There was murmuring again, although both Elrics, Mustang, and Armstrong stayed bent over her book. They exchanged looks.

“If you know where she’s set up, then how come—”

Sheska interrupted the question. “Can we please save those questions for after this works? There’s no time right now.”

Looks were exchanged again, and the Mustang spoke up. “What do you need us to do?”

Relieved, Sheska let out a sigh. “Alright, I think for this to work best we’re going to need to…”

Sheska laid out the plan, bit by bit, and assigned people to the different tasks. At 2:04 she was standing in front of the library, a circle at her feet, and waiting for the woman to come towards her. And, just as before, the woman did. Only this time, when she saw Sheska, she turned and tried to run away. Sheska cried out, the others tried to catch the woman, she felt the circles activate and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she screamed. She screamed and pounded her pillow and probably woke her neighbors, but she didn’t care. She dressed, grabbed her book, sketched some things out and headed to Command again. She got every one’s attention again. She convinced them, again. And she set the plan in place, again. And when it came time, she was in place, again. Only, the woman wasn’t, and Sheska needed her in place for this to work, and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she wailed. And then she got up and got to work again. Only this time, she also got the MPs involved in finding the woman. They weren’t fast enough, but it at least gave Sheska some information, and then—

When Sheska woke up on Friday morning, she was determined not to fail. She walked into Command. She got everyone’s attention and convinced them of what to do in record time. She gave the MPs the information on where the woman was. At 2:04 Sheska was in place. At 2:05 the MPs reported funneling the woman in her direction. At 2:06, the woman was forced around the corner. She tried to stop and backtrack when she saw Sheska, but there were too many soldiers after her.

So, instead, she launched herself at Sheska.

She knocked Sheska down, and the two of them went rolling. The woman fought like a banshee, but Sheska, tired of all of this, fought back fiercely too. And when her hand closed on the feather, Sheska realized something.

“Sheska, now!” Edward’s voice rang out, and Sheska kicked the woman off of her, slammed the feather down on the circle, and activated it. It lit up and then—

When Sheska woke up, she was not in her bed. She turned her head to see a calander, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was Monday, the date three days after that Friday she had been stuck in. She heard her door open and turned her head towards it. She blinked in surprise when she saw not just Major Armstrong, but also Edward and Alphonse Elric standing in the doorway.

“Oh—she’s awake!” Alphonse said, smiling at her.

“Oh, Miss Sheska!” Major Armstrong came flying to her side, tears already falling from his face. “We were so worried about you.”

Sheska looked over at the date and nodded. “Is that true?” she asked.

“It is indeed,” he rumbled, putting a gentle hand on her head. “Young Edward’s idea.”

Edward looked a little embarrassed, but he also grinned at her. Sheska smiled back. “What happened?”

“After you activated that circle,” Edward said. “Her alchemy broke. Turns out that weird looking feather was, like… a part of it, somehow. You using it helped to break the effect she had on time.”

“I knew it was important,” Sheska said.

“Honestly, its all a bit confusing,” Alphonse said. “We’re still trying to figure it out. We could probably use your help with that, considering you have all of that knowledge in your head. But not until you’re rested!”

“Why am I here?” Sheska questioned.

“Whatever you did, it drained your body of energy,” Armstrong told her. “You were passed out and haven’t woken up until just now.”

“I see,” Sheska said. She sighed, and then snuggled down further in the blankets. “Well… I think that after 111 loops in time I deserve a bit of a break. I think I’m going to stay right here and enjoy all the wonderful new things that the day brings.”

Armstrong smiled down at her. “I believe that’s reasonable. Rest well, Sheska. There will be time for more later.”

The three left her room, and Sheska settled into the bed with a smile.

She was never going to read another time-travel sci-fi book again.

Well… unless it was really good, anyway.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 8: Water
Word Count: 4316
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong, Captain Buccaneer
Warning:
Summary: Buccaneer isn’t sure of his new commanding officer. She’ll have to prove to him that she’s Briggs.
Notes: Yes, I know that Olivier is a Major General and not a Brigadier General. I headcanon that she started out at Briggs as a Brigadier General and then was promoted to a Major General later. I gave the name Wendall to the guy Olivier gave the broken watch to in the series. I also headcanon that Buccaneer was there before Olivier, and he didn’t lose his arm until sometime after Miles arrived and the three of them had become close.

Water

Captain Cromward “Ward” Buccaneer watched as his new commanding officer went through her sword forms. He still wasn’t sold on Brigadier General Olivier Mira Armstrong. She hadn’t proven herself to him yet. Briggs was a harsh place, and for all her seeming strength and even the slight incidents that she had led them through, she still hadn’t proven to him that she was Briggs material yet.

Buccaneer had been at Briggs since his early career. Briggs was where the military sent people they didn’t want to deal with. They hadn’t wanted to deal with him, and his unconventional way of doing things. They hadn’t wanted to admit that his way in the mountains—a lot of which came from the ways of his ancestors, who lived in those mountains before either Amestris or Drachma—just might be better than theirs. So, they had stuck him out here and told him to go play mountain bear in the mountains. That had been fine by him. He excelled up here.

There were lots of people who had been up here for years. Mick Murray had probably been here the longest. Wendall had been here the second longest. Henschel had been here just a couple of years longer than Buccaneer. Doc had come the year after he had arrived, after their old Doc finally kicked the bucket. Neil had come two years after that, even though there was minimal use for an automail mechanic up here. Automail and Briggs temperature didn’t mix well. Their old commander had been here for years as well. Buccaneer had been here when he arrived and wasn’t surprised that he was still here when he left.

Their old commander had been a drunk of a general, too caught up on how he had been exiled to really care about the fort or the men. He did his duty, but that was about all he did. Buccaneer took care of training the new troops that came up, and between him, Murray, Wendall, Henschel and Doc, they managed to keep the fort running well enough to get by. Command sent them just enough supplies to get them through until the next shipment, but everyone knew that they considered Briggs little more than cannon fodder to slow Drachma down and raise the alarm for Northern Command.

Buccaneer had been sure that their old commander knew that too, and it was part of the reason he drank so heavily. Better to die drunk here than not, he’d told Buccaneer a few times. After all, they were all aware that the way most people left Briggs was in a body bag. Few people retired, and fewer people were reassigned. Buccaneer had been sure their old commander was going to be here until he killed himself with alcohol poisoning.

And then he had been sent a retirement letter, and she had been sent to them.

Buccaneer had been suspicious of her from the moment she stepped out of that car. He was familiar with the name “Armstrong.” An old Amestrian family with a strong military history. They were pure Amestrian through and through, high society at that. She had fit the bill, too. Blond hair kept back in a bun. Piercing blue eyes. Full, pink lips. A voluptuous figure. And a condescending attitude on top of that. She didn’t look like Briggs material; she looked like someone who had ridden a family name to the rank of general.

Although, Buccaneer had to admit that she wasn’t as bad as he expected. Her welcoming speech had proved that. She had slammed her sword down on the ground and proclaimed that she would turn Briggs into the finest military institution there was, and make the Drachman forces fear them. She expected all of the men at Briggs to put their all into their work, and she wasn’t going to coddle any of them. It was shape up or ship out. And then she had walked away. It had left everyone blinking and not exactly sure what to make of it or of her.

None of that had been cleared up when she met with Buccaneer, insisting on going through the six-week survival training with him, and declaring it mandatory from then on out. She had also spent the next three months after that working every job Briggs had to offer. She wanted to know how the fort ran from the bottom up, she had told Buccaneer. A good leader, she had insisted, understands the tasks of his subordinates. A good leader knows what the jobs take. She wanted to know and understand all of it.

It had, Buccaneer admitted, softened the men towards her a bit. She was far different from their previous commander. She, at least, appeared to care about them. She was also working on shoring up neglected parts of the fort and making plans to make it more self-sustainable. Buccaneer had heard her making waves on the phone to get what she wanted.

But even with all of that, he still wasn’t sure that she was Briggs. Briggs was more than knowing the troops, or getting things done, or learning a job. There was something much deeper to it than that, and he wasn’t convinced that she was the right material for the job. He was pretty sure she was a good commander, but he wasn’t sure that she was Briggs.

Briggs was solidarity, because no one else was going to look out for them, but each other. Briggs was knowing the soldier next to you, being willing to die for him, and him for you. Briggs was knowing everyone had secrets and baggage, and not asking or caring about it. Briggs was their own culture and traditions, with morbid, off the wall humor that made no sense to anyone else. Briggs was grit and determination. Briggs was knowing that you had a duty to perform, and no one would ever give you credit for it. Briggs was being willing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of the fort.

Their old commander had led them through more than a few Drachman attacks. But he had never been Briggs. General Amrstrong had led them through some incidents as well, but that didn’t mean that she was Briggs either. She had yet to prove her loyalty to the fort—to the men who sacrificed for the fort.

“Captain Buccaneer, sir?”

Buccaneer looked away from their new general as a sergeant walked towards him. Smicht, Buccaneer recalled.

“Yes, Sergeant?” Buccaneer answered.

“Here’s the latest reports from the patrols.” The Smicht handed the reports over to him.

Buccaneer looked through them and frowned. There was increased Drachman activity in the contested area. That was never a good sign. He had noticed that it had picked up a bit since Armstrong had arrived. Was Drachman feeling her out, the same way the men were? It was a possibility. And if Drachma attacked in full without Briggs having full confidence in their commander, it could be a problem.

“Thanks,” he said. He looked back down at Armstrong. “I’ll let the general know.”

Smicht saluted, and then left, and Buccaneer considered Armstrong again. He had his own ideas on how to deal with this, but he was interested to see what she wanted to do. He headed down to the lower level of the gym, and towards her.

What she wanted to do, it turned out, was investigate the areas of report herself. Buccaneer organized a patrol, but he bristled as he did it. Did she not think the Briggs scouts were accurate? They were well trained—he had seen to it himself. They knew how to tell what was what in the frozen forests of Briggs. But he didn’t argue with her. Instead, he went too, wanting to keep an eye on this woman.

He, General Armstrong, and patrol unit left the fort, all in full winter gear. The general had not needed any assistance in putting it on, but Buccaneer did notice her scowling a bit at her hat as the bun she kept her hair in would make it ride up in the back and down in the front. Still, she didn’t let it impact her as they walked, her sharp eyes darting about. Buccaneer approved of that, at least. Staying alert out here was paramount.

They walked until they reached the latest area that the Drachman forces had been seen at. It was closer to the fort then the others, as if Drachma was creeping increasingly closer. The patrol approached it cautiously, on guard for anything. Buccaneer stuck close to Armstrong as she examined the area. She looked around at the snow and at the trees around it. Her frown deepened as she did.

“…There’s something not right here,” she finally said.

“What do you mean, sir?” Buccaneer asked.

“I mean that something isn’t right.” She paused. “Do you notice anything unusual about the snow?”

Buccaneer frowned and looked at the snow. It seemed pristine. In fact, it seemed a little too pristine. “There’s no debris,” he said. “No tracks either. And it seems… smooth.” He was impressed. That wasn’t something that just anyone would have caught.

She nodded. “As if someone had come and put it down for some reason.” She scowled. “I don’t like this.” She looked back at Sergeant Gennis, their radio man. “Call back to the fort. Have them send some men out here with shovels. I want to see what’s under this snow.”

“Yes, sir!” Gennis said.

“You think they’re burying something here?” Buccaneer said.

“It’s a possibility,” she replied. “At the least, they did something near here, and I want to know what.”

There was bite and determination in her voice, and Buccaneer almost felt a grin start to form. He did like that. The general wasn’t through, though. She made them visit each of the locations, and each time the snow was just as unusual. Even if it wasn’t as pristine as the first place they visited, it was clear that the snow had been moved and replaced at some point. More teams were called in to dig and see what they could find.

It was at the location of the one furthest from the fort, the first place that the patrols had spotted the Drachman troops, that they took a break and stopped moving. Mostly, it was because there was no clear place to go on to, or at least, not that Buccaneer could see. However, the general hadn’t ordered them back yet, instead looking at a map, frowning over it.

“…Buccaneer,” she said, beckoning him over with her voice alone. “You know this land better than I do. I want your assessment.”

That wasn’t something he expected, but he came over to look at the map with her. “Yes, sir?” he questioned.

“These are the areas where patrols were seen,” she said, pointing out the areas on the map, “and these are the unusual areas we’ve found. Where do you think they’re likely to go next?”

Buccaneer frowned as he looked at the map and considered the area. Maps, he felt, were useful, but they weren’t the same as knowing the area yourself. Maps didn’t tell you where the tree lines and bushes were thickest, or where you knew the snow liked to pile up and hide hollows in the wintertime, or areas where the river froze and where it didn’t. That sort of thing required on the ground experience.

“…If I were them,” he said, looking down the locations on the map, “I’d say… probably here. Its closer still to the fort, and there’s a small clearing in the forest there. It would be a good place to do whatever they’re doing.”

The general nodded. She looked at the map, and tugged her hat further down on her ears as she did, her bun making the hat ride up again.  “And how would you think that they’d get there?” She asked him.

Buccaneer considered the map again. “I’d go along the river. It’s rapid enough that it’s not all frozen up this time of year. Parts of it still flow.”

“Which parts?”

“Here… here… and here, specifically. Those areas don’t freeze up until the thick of winter.”

The general nodded and fixed her hat again. Buccaneer couldn’t take it anymore.

“Begging the general’s pardon, but why don’t you just take off the hat? Or take your hair down and tuck it inside your coat if you’re afraid the color might give you away? The hat might stay better that way.”

She huffed and thrust the map into his hands. “I’d rather it just function as it was supposed to,” she growled, but after a moment of fussing with it, just reached up and pulled several pins out of her hair instead, letting down the long blonde locks. Buccaneer blinked at her. If he thought it might make her look a little softer, he had been wrong. If anything, she looked more intimidating with her hair down.

“Alright,” she said as she settled the hat back onto her head. “Let’s go. I want to check that area out. If nothing else, we can get a watch on it. And get some men out here to dig.”

“Yes, General!” Gennis said, already turning to the radio.

“Buccaneer. You know these forest best?” It wasn’t a question.

“Of the ones here, yes, sir,” he replied.

“Then you lead the way, Captain.”

That was, again, not something that Buccaneer had expected. It made sense, sure, but a woman like her didn’t seem the type to let anyone else lead. Armstrong was just adding up to one big puzzle in his mind.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, as he took point, leading them through the forests the quickest way he knew how. As they traveled, Armstrong asked him questions about the forest, and what he knew of it. He answered them, and she seemed to take in everything he said. As they drew closer to their target, though, Buccaneer gestured for everyone to quiet down. The general looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I think there’s something up ahead,” he whispered, just low enough for her to hear. “Animals and birds aren’t around as much.”

She nodded, taking that into consideration and gestured for them to retreat a bit. “There might be something ahead,” she said. “We’ll split. Circle and see what’s there. No one act without orders or action from myself. We observe first, then act. Understood?”

There were saluted all around, and then she glanced at Buccaneer. It took him a moment to realize that she meant for him to pair the men off. He did so, quickly figuring out who would work well with each other. They all split, and Buccaneer lost sight of Armstrong as they moved.

He was, unfortunately, right, and as they drew closer to the edge of the riverbank, a group of Drachman soldiers stood there, unloading something. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, and he was far enough away that what little he could hear he couldn’t translate, not with his rusty skills. Still, he watched as they unloaded things from three thin boats, and moved them further up the hill, just past a slight area of rapids that the boats wouldn’t have been able to navigate even if they weren’t going against the current and slightly uphill. He was just about to gesture to the Warrant Officer he was with to move in slightly when there was a crack that caught everyone’s attention, and Private Shaw came sliding out of the tree line from the opposite side and towards the Drachman soldiers.

Immediately, the Drachman soldiers raised their guns, and just as immediately General Armstrong was bursting out of the forest herself. Buccaneer took that as permission enough, and he came up out of the tree line as well, the warrant officer close behind him. He roared, frightening the Drachman soldier closest to him, one that was still retrieving an object out of the boat. Buccaneer grabbed him and tossed him into the river, its frigid waters sweeping him away. He kept his focus on Shaw, though. They had to get him out of there!

He didn’t, it seemed, need to worry. With quick, fast steps, almost faster than Buccaneer thought possible, General Armstrong had made her way towards the Drachman soldiers, putting herself between them and Shaw. Her hand had pulled her sword so fast he barely saw the glimmer of it before she was cutting down one Drachman soldier. She had barely finished with him, before she was moving onto another, cutting him down with a powerful blow. She reached Shaw and hauled him up by one hand.

The poor kid looked scared to death, and she snapped something at him. Much to Buccaneer’s surprise, whatever she said seemed to bolster the kid, and he toughened up. But Buccaneer had his own problems, and so did the rest of the team. This was quickly devolving into a firefight, and one they had to be careful in, unless they wanted to hit their own men.

Buccaneer was just dispatching the men who came after him, when he heard shouts that sounded different from the troops further up the hill. There only appeared to be one Drachman soldier left alive, and he yelled something out that Buccaneer couldn’t translate and picked up one of the objects that they had been carrying up. The general, it seemed, understood exactly what the man was saying, and her eyes widened as she yelled for everyone to get out of there. Not wasting any time, the members of the small group did just that, the general included.

At least, until she saw Eartless on the ground. Buccaneer saw him too. He was bleeding from his thigh. Something must have gotten him there earlier. Both Armstrong and Buccaneer made their way towards him. Armstrong shoved him into Buccaneer’s arms, even as the last survivor of the Drachman party stood and yelled something out, hands poised to throw one of the things they had been unloading down at the group. In a flash, the General was gone, bounding back up the hill, her sword at the ready. Buccaneer got the wounded soldier down the hill to the others but turned back to watch this new general.

“Sir!” the warrant officer interrupted his thoughts. He had one of the objects and was examining it. “They’re bombs! Landmines!”

Buccaneer’s head jerked back towards Armstrong. In a flash, he knew. He knew that she knew, and that she was the best bet for stopping this madman from taking out her soldiers, and that she knew it and acted without hesitation. Her footwork bounded solidly, although, the soldier was quick as well. He moved, and it was almost as if General Armstrong didn’t see it. Her first strike missed him. She jerked her head, her hat falling off, her hair flowing down, and went for a second strike. The second on didn’t miss and the soldier went down, falling back into the pile of landmines. Armstrong turned to run, but it wasn’t quite fast enough. She was barely starting down the hill when the entire stack of landmines exploded behind her. It sent her tumbling down—and right into the icy waters of the river.

“General!”

Buccaneer yelled out for her, even as she hit the waters. It would only take a matter of seconds before she was swept too far down stream. He rushed to the bank. It was likely the rapids would funnel her this way. He just needed to—

There!

He spotted the blond locks and, without hesitation, plunged his arm into the icy river, making a grab for that hair. He felt his hand tangle around it, felt the tug of it stopping momentum, felt her hand come up to his, trying to relieve some of the pressure on her scalp.

He didn’t let go, just pulled on her by her hair enough that he could get a grip on something else, like her shoulder. He seized on something more solid than her hair the moment he could, and her head broke the surface, gasping and sputtering. He used both hands and pulled, pulling her out onto the bank of the river.

She was soaked, freezing, and violently shivering. She tried to say something, but she was far too cold to be able to do much more than gasp. Buccaneer stripped off his coat and wrapped it around the general.

“We’ve got to get her back to Doc now!” He said. “Shaw, Gennis, Bonoff, stay here, and get what’s left. Eartlesss, Nico, we’re going back to the fort. Nico, stick with Eartless. Gennis, call ahead and tell them what to expect!”

There were quickly snapped out “yes sir!”s all around, and then Buccaneer lifted the ice cold General up in his arms. Her wet hair was clinging to her, her pink lips were already turning blue, and there was something foggy in her eyes that she was clearly trying to fight.

There was no more time.

Buccaneer booked it back to the Fort the quickest he ever had, doing all he could to keep her warm. She kept trying to say things, as if she were trying to talk, but Buccaneer knew from experience that the waters this time of the year were mind-numbingly cold.

“I was wrong about you,” he said as they ran. “I wasn’t sure you were Briggs. But you risked your life for Shaw, Eartless, and the rest of us. You tried to stop that Drachman from throwing one of those landmines at us. You were willing to sacrifice it all for us.” He glanced at her. “That’s the Briggs way.”

She looked up at him from the folds of his coat—a coat that he could already feel turning wet—and for a brief moment, he met her eyes. There seemed to be understanding in them, even through her violent chills.

Buccaneer knew these forests and mountains like the back of his hand, and he knew them in every season too. He took the shortest route back to the fort, but even with that, and the added layers of Eartless and Nico’s coats, Armstrong’s skin was taking on a blue cast, her shivering had slowed, and her awareness seemed to be fading. Her hair stopped dripping water, but instead made small noises as the strands froze, along with the wet coats, and Buccaneer’s own arms.

As the fort came into view, Buccaneer could hear a lookout calling out, and then one of the lower doors was opened. He rushed through cleared hallways with the general in his arms, ice decorating both of them. He delivered her straight to Doc, who was on one of the lower and more interior areas of the fort. As soon as he laid her on the bed, Doc and a nurse were unwrapping the coat and starting on the general’s icy clothes.

“Go get yourself warmed up and dried off,” Doc ordered him, keeping her focus on the frozen woman under her hands.

“Will she be alright?” Buccaneer asked.

“Probably. I’ll let you know when I know. Now leave.”

Doc hadn’t slowed once while she was talking, even though she was getting to the lower layers of the general’s clothing. Buccaneer knew from experience that she wasn’t going to slow down or stop to protect the general’s privacy, not with her life on the line, and so Buccaneer left.

He told a lieutenant to find out the status of the teams out there, and report it to him, and then Buccaneer left for the showers. The best way to warm up was going to be to get out of his cold and damp clothes, get a warm shower, and then change into something dry. It didn’t take him long, and as soon as he was finished, he went back to stand outside of sickbay, taking the reports there and waiting to see what Doc’s word on the injured general and soldiers was.

It was a few hours before Doc came out and, seemingly unsurprised to find him there, gestured him in.

“Eartless is going to be fine,” she said, “He took a shot to the thigh. Too deep to be called a graze, but still not enough to bring too much concern. I’m putting him on light duties until I’m satisfied with its healing.”

“And General Armstrong?” Buccaneer asked.

“She’ll be fine as well. She definitely was hypothermic, but it’s nothing that can’t be reversed. We’ve already got her body temperature back up into a low but acceptable range. She’s also got some bruising and I’m worried about the possibility of a slight concussion because of how hard she hit that water. I’m going to have her here overnight, and then recommend rest and limited exposure to the cold for the next few days.” Doc glanced up at Buccaneer. “Eartless told me what she did.” Doc’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Sounds like she really put her all out there.”

“Yeah,” Buccaneer said, and he didn’t bother to hide the relief in his voice. “Can I--?”

Doc waved her hand at him. “Go. Just keep it quiet.”

Buccaneer nodded, and moved back to the curtained off area that the general was in. He pushed the curtain aside and looked at her. She was sleeping, covered in several heavy blankets, her hair spread out to dry, and a portable heater turned on her. Buccaneer watched for a moment, the pure-Amestrian, blonde haired beauty with a sword that they had been sent. For a moment, he just stared. And then, he turned, and stood at ease beside her bedside, keeping guard over his general. She was Briggs. She had proved that. And she had earned his loyalty.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 9: Darkness
Word Count: 499
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Alphonse Elric, Lust
Warning: I think “Lab 3” suffices as a warning ^^;
Summary: When Riza realizes Roy is dead and she can do nothing to the woman that killed him, it feels like all light leaves her life and all she is left with is darkness (a Lab Three fic)
Notes: Yeah, I know, I somehow always end up back here when I do these challenges.

Darkness

Words were muffled. Her sight had narrowed to her hands and the ground they were on. She felt a weight descend upon her. Dimly, she heard Alphonse talking to the woman—to that impossible woman. She heard sounds of alchemy and armor. But around herself, she saw nothing. She saw nothing at all. No way forward. No way to save anything. Nothing. She saw nothing. It was like she was shrouded in darkness.

Her whole life had been lived in dimness. She dared not step out of the darkness for fear her father would take more notice of her. She dared not step out of the darkness in case others saw her and asked her questions. She dared not step out of the darkness because she didn’t know how to do it, didn’t know how to leave it behind.

And then he had come into her life, and he had brought light with him. She had been wary at first, but eventually she had started to enjoy the light and felt more comfortable in it than she felt in the darkness. At least, until it was suddenly and abruptly taken away and she was once again left in the dim twilight she had once lived in. And then that had been overtaken by darkness as well.

He had come back and pushed away some of the dimness, nursed the little bit of light she had clung to, and she had followed it, hoping to leave the darkness behind once and for all. All she had found was greater darkness. Even he hadn’t been able to drive away the darkness. She had felt like the light was leaving, never to return, and she knew that she deserved it.

But then he had brought a new hope, a new light to her life, a possibility to push against the darkness and she had vowed to stand by him, and to make sure that this darkness was pushed back. It was the only way she’d ever see or feel light again, she knew.

And now—now he was gone, and her world was once again plunged into darkness. Her hope for the future was dashed, smashed to pieces before her eyes. The one who drove back the darkness was gone, killed by that same darkness he fought against.

And she wasn’t even there to protect him.

“Don’t just sit there, Lieutenant! Run!!”

“Stay out of my way, boy. This woman wants to die!”

“I won’t let you!!”

Her light was gone, and there was no hope left for her. Only an all enshrouding, all-encompassing darkness. That was all her future held, and she had no intensions of fighting it.

“Leave me, Alphonse. Save yourself.”

Because she was doomed now anyway. And nothing, not even this boy, would be able to pierce this darkness. The only one capable of it was gone, and soon she would be as well.

And so Riza Hawkeye sat there and waited for the darkness to consume her.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 10: Sunshine
Word Count: 506
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang,
Warning: NA
Summary: Roy thinks about Riza’s smile, and what it means to him.
Notes: Inspired by the first and last verses, and the chorus of “You Are My Sunshine”

Sunshine

When Roy Mustang looked at Riza Hawkeye’s smile, it was as if he was standing in pure sunshine. He knew that the thought was cheesy, but it was true. There was something about watching her smile that made him feel warm inside, that left him with this undefined feeling of love in his chest. It was warm, it was special, it was as if he was stepping into the warm sunshine after being caught in a cold stuffy building all day long.

And more than anything, he wished that he could be the one making that smile appear. Mustang dreamed about Riza Hawkeye and her smile. Sometimes his dreams came at night, and sometimes he thought about it during the day. He imagined waking up with her every morning, snuggled together. He imagined planting soft kisses on her face, running his fingers through her hair, seeing her sleepy smile as she slowly woke, planting kisses on her soft lips.

Or he imagined them falling asleep together, allowed to be close, allowed to be snuggled in. His arms were around her, holding her close to him, and he pressed kisses to her temple. They were content with each other, happy just to be together. Her warmth pressed up against him, her breaths, a little content sigh from her as they drifted off to sleep together.

(he dared not dream any further, dared not imagine more of what could be)

The nights that he woke from those dreams were so very hard. Dreaming that he held her in his arms, only to wake and not have her there or anywhere nearby—it was hard and it was heart breaking. It left him feeling empty and made his world feel gray. He missed her warmth, her sunshine, and it felt as if clouds surrounded him.

Worse still were the dreams where she was never his, or where she left him. She found the love and acceptance in someone else’s arms. He was never sure which was worse: to not know the man she left him for in the dream, probably just some random stranger he had seen at some point, or for it to be someone he did know, like Havoc or Hughes or someone from her hometown. The hardest part of those dreams was that he couldn’t begrudge her leaving him. She deserved so much more than what he could give her. She deserved to be happy, even if it was with someone else.

And yet, when he saw her later, as she was just entering the office with her morning coffee, sometimes with Hayate at her side, or when she looked up at him as they worked, or their eyes met when he came out of a meeting she wasn’t allowed in, and she smiled that soft smile, all of the gray of his world seemed to fade away, and all he was left with was the sunshine that she brought.

Perhaps one day, he could bask it, and bring some sunshine to her life as well.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 11: Glass/Royalty AU
Word Count: 2013
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong, Captain Buccaneer, Major Miles, Philip Gargantos Armstrong, Mama Armstrong
Warning: NA
Summary: Princess Olivier Mira Armstrong is not interested in finding a husband. Her parents throw a ball for all the eligible men anyway. Buccaneer just wanted a night out and was given the chance for one by a strange man in a brightly colored shirt who can apparently make limbs out of glass. Somehow, this all works out. Reverse Cinderella Crack AU
Notes: ngl, this was hilarious to write.

Glass/Royalty AU

Once upon a time, there was a Princess. If there was one thing Princess Olivier Mira Armstrong hated, it was pointless balls. She sighed as she sat on her throne and looked out over the gathered crowd standing around in all their finery. Some were dancing, others eating, and just about all of them were looking for ways to improve their standing both with the court and with each other. And every available young man was looking for a way to get her attention.

She snorted derisively. If her father thought that throwing a ball and inviting every eligible young man in the kingdom was going to get her married off, then he was sorely mistaken. This was nothing more than a waste of everyone’s time. She didn’t even know why he was so hung up on her getting married. She had four other siblings to provide heirs for the throne. She’d just pick one of them when the time came.

“Olivier, dear, why don’t you go down and dance with some of your guests.”

Her father’s voice came from beside her, and she glanced over at him. He was sitting majestically on his throne and eyeing a particular group of men. Olivier followed his gaze and blanched. None of those spinless weaklings were her idea of a good man.

“They aren’t my guests at all, Father,” she replied. “You invited them here.”

“Hm, so I did,” he said, stroking his beard.

“But they all came for you,” her mother put in from the other side of her father. “You should at least have the grace to go walk among them and dance with a few of them. There are some smart matches down there.”

Olivier followed her mother’s gaze to a different group of men. They were worse than the other group.

“…you aren’t going to leave me alone until I do, are you?” Olivier asked bluntly.

Her mother looked over at her, a bit of twinkle in her eye. “Not in the least.”

Olivier sighed once again. “Fine. Miles!”

Miles appeared next to her, and Olivier heard her mother sigh. Olivier paid it no mind. They had told her she could pick her own attendant, and so pick him she had. Miles was a married man with two daughters, and loyal to a fault. Olivier knew he was trustworthy, even if her parents had been a bit skeptical.

“Olivier, how are you supposed to catch the eye of a man if you’ve always got your attendant with you?” her mother asked.

Olivier was already standing and attaching her sword to her side. “Mother, if they’re not paying attention to me by now, considering you two set this up specifically so I’d be the center of attention, then they’re obviously not interested.”

Her mother sighed, but Olivier paid it no mind. Instead, she left the dais and headed down the stairs to the floor, Miles right beside her.

“Miles, pick me the least obnoxious ones, please.”

“I’ll do my best, Princess.”

The next hour was spent dancing with man after man. Miles did a good job picking them out. They weren’t bad men—or they wouldn’t be with a few more years on them—but they definitely didn’t catch her interest. They were either, too conniving, too awestruck, or too spinless. Finally, she signaled to Miles that she needed a break, and he nodded. She walked away to the gardens, ignoring the guards that were there, and took a breath of fresh air.

And that was when she realized that she wasn’t alone.

Her head whipped quickly towards the intruder, and her hand rested on the pommel of her sword. But the other person didn’t advance on her, just held up his hands, showing he wasn’t armed.

“Hey, woah, it’s okay, I’m sorry!” the man said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He stepped out of the shadows. “I’m just a regular guy, see? Not a bear.”

Olivier looked him over. He was quite large, with a black mohawk and a thin mustache. What really caught her eye, though, was his hand. It appeared to be made of… glass?

“Who are you?” she demanded of him, not having drawn her sword, but still prepared to. “And why would you say you’re not a bear?”

“Oh, uh, well, you see, people tend to think I’m a bear a lot,” he said. “I’m not sure why, exactly, but it does come in handy most of the time.” He grinned. “Or at least, I think it does.”

Olivier relaxed a little. It appeared that this man was just a guest. And honestly, an amusing one so far. “I can see where that would be useful. Do you mind if I stay out here?”

“No, Princess,” he said. “Its your palace, your gardens.”

She hummed at that. He was right, of course, but she really had just wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to go running off inside and tell everyone where she was. Miles was only one man, after all. He could only hold back so many people from disturbing her.

She leaned on a railing and eyed the man out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be content just to be here. “Is your hand made of glass?”

The man looked down at it. “Whole arm, actually. I’m not sure how it works, but that strange man gave it to me, and it’s been functional.”

Olivier raised an eyebrow. “Strange man?”

The man nodded. “Yeah. Wore really tacky and loud shirts. He said my other arm was too greasy and needed too many repairs, so he gave me this one for the night.” The man shrugged. “I don’t think it’d be much good in a fight, but it lets me eat, at least.”

Olivier turned more towards him, looking him up and down and evaluating the man. “…would you like to find out?” she asked, her finger tapping the pommel of her sword.

He apparently didn’t miss that, and his eyes lit up. “I’d love to test it. Are you sure you’re able to, Princess?”

She drew her sword and got into a stance. “The Armstrong royalty has trained in the art of self-defense for generations. If I can’t fight in a ballgown, then I’m no good to anyone.”

The man grinned and dropped into a stance of his own. “I can’t say I’ve done much fighting in clothes like these, but this should be fun.”

“Prepare yourself,” Olivier said, and that was all the warning she gave before she was charging at him.

The man was quicker than he looked, and he dodged to the side, narrowly missing her blade. He reached out to grab at her, and she spun away, hair and skirt flaring out. She wasted no movement, and charged at him again, aiming for that arm of his. This time, he raised it, and caught a glancing blow from her blade, letting it slide off. He pushed her off of him, and she paused for a moment. The man looked at his arm and grinned. Olivier figured that it must still be in good shape, and so she charged again. This time, he used the arm to block a direct blow, and when the glass appendage held up, he grinned more.

They continued this back and forth fighting dance, until the bells rang, and he turned, startled, just as her blade came down on his shoulder. He let out a bit of a pained sound then, and Olivier saw his arm suddenly sinking lower. The man cursed as his glass arm slid out of his sleeve. Olivier darted forward to catch it.

“Sorry,” he said, “Its been fun, but I gotta go.”

“Wait—you what?” Olivier said.

“Gotta run!” he said. “Thanks for the fight, Princess!”

The man was already moving away, heading through the gardens at a breakneck speed.

“Wait—your arm!”

“Keep it!” came the call.

“What was your name!”

There was no answer.

“Stop! What was your name! Come back here!”

But he was either too far away or was ignoring her commands. Either way, Olivier didn’t like it. Miles, who had been watching them, came out at her raised voice.

“Princess?”

“I want the man this arm belongs to, Miles,” she growled out. “I want to find him.”

Miles, for his part, didn’t even blink at the fact she was holding a working glass arm and that there was an armless man running around somewhere. He just responded “Yes, Princess,” and set to work.

It turned out that finding a one-armed man wasn’t that hard to do. However, finding a particular one-armed man was a lot harder. Olivier, Miles, and an unfortunately conspicuous royal entourage had made their way to every province, city, and town in the country with no luck. Olivier found herself getting more and more frustrated with each failure. How hard was it to find a big man with a black mohawk who was missing an arm?

Well, it didn’t help that many men who were missing arms dyed and cut their hair. Or that more than a few people tried faking having a metal arm.

The house they were rolling up on had to be the last house that existed, and as the carriage rolled up, several men stepped out. None of them, she noticed, were missing an arm. Still, they had the general look of the man, so she got out to ask them some questions. They bowed to her, and one made the offer of tea, but Olivier was in no mood.

“Tell me—is this everyone from your household?”

“Yes,” one replied. “This should be all of us.”

“And you’re sure there’s no one more?”

“Not in our house, your majesty.”

Something seemed off, and she narrowed her eyes. “You’re positive?”

There was an exchange of looks between some of the younger ones. Olivier rested her hand on her sword. “Well?” she demanded.

“…What’s going on?”

There was a new voice coming from the forest, and the entire party turned to see who it was. He was carrying a load of firewood, but the man was large, with a black mohawk, and a metal arm. And, Oliver was pretty sure she heard one of the guards that road with them flinch back and say something about a bear.

“You,” Olivier said. “You have a metal arm, correct?”

 The man looked at them. “Yeah, up to the shoulder.”

“Your right arm?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Take it off.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Take it off.” She nodded to Miles, and he gestured for two of the other attendants to pull the glass arm from the carriage. “I want you to try this one on.”

The man blinked at her, and then grinned. “Alright,” he said, dropping his load of firewood. He reached up and took off his shirt, first, revealing all of his arm, and then pressed the releases that would detach his metal arm. Instead of falling to the ground with a clunk, he was fast enough to reach out and grab it before it hit the ground. He sat it on the dropped wood, and allowed the attendants to come closer and put the arm in. It clicked in, fitting perfectly, and he flexed it around. No one had even been able to get it to fit before now.

“Huh. It still works. I had wondered.”

“You’re the one from the ball. The one who fought with me.” Olivier said.

The man grinned. “Yes, Princess. I didn’t think you’d have this much interest in a handy man like me.”

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

“They call me Buccaneer.”

Olivier glanced at the house, the grounds, and the other men standing there. “Then, Buccaneer, how would you like to come back to the palace with me and become my husband?”

Buccaneer grinned again and reached out with his glass arm to take her hand and kiss it. “Princess, it would be my honor.

Olivier smiled back at him. “Good.”

And they lived happily ever after.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 12: Time
Word Count: 741
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: Maria Ross
Warning: NA
Summary: Time isn’t as steady as Maria Ross once felt it was.
Notes: I have never written Maria before, so I probably didn’t do her justice.

Time

Time, Maria Ross was coming to find, was not as rigid as she once thought it was. Maria had lived most of her adult life on a schedule, often a very rigid one. That was military life, though. You got up at a certain time, you arrived at work at a certain time. You did certain duties at certain points at certain times. You worked at certain times. You had time off at certain times. And if something happened, you were expected to respond within a certain amount of time. Sure, there was variation in there, and duties shifted and changed, and her time off had been her time off, but her life had still pretty much been on a fairly rigid schedule.

Now, though, she had no schedule, no control, and no idea what to do with herself. Xing was a very different place from Amestris. Certainly, it had its own schedule and rhythm, but she wasn’t part of it. She had no place here. She was simply existing, and it made time feel like it was stretching on and on.

When Maria had first arrived in Xing, it had been a whirlwind of getting her in and getting her to a safe place. She had been passed from group to group, from person to person, and had to be ready to go anytime. She didn’t understand the language, and she didn’t know what was going on. But Fu had been with her every step of the way, and she had quickly found herself in the territory of the Yao Clan.

Since then, though, time had seemed to drag on. She got up when she woke up. She dressed when she wanted to. She wandered around the home she was in, wandered around the area. She ate when she was hungry, she went in when the sun went down, and she went to bed when she was tired. Time drug on for her.

And yet, in the back of her mind, time felt like a ticking bomb.

Maria flopped back onto the mat that was her bed with a sigh. She was restless. It wasn’t just that she was a fugitive on the run, and that she would likely never get to go home again, never get to see her parents again, never be able to hold all the people that she loved. It was that she was purposeless here. Maria was not the kind of woman to be purposeless.

She had always hated feeling purposeless. That was one reason she had liked the military. There was a sense of purpose in it. She knew what she was working towards. She knew that she was helping people. It felt like she had abandoned her duty. She knew that she would have just been killed if she had stayed, but still. Her country was in trouble, and what was she doing? Wasting away in a foreign country, not even helping the people around her.

She couldn’t go on like this. But she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to find her purpose when she couldn’t even talk to the people around her. She wasn’t sure how to start over from zero.

Frustrated, Maria rolled over. She spotted the scroll and the brush and ink set she had been given. Learning to write with that was difficult, but at least it was something to do. She had been here two weeks already. It had been about a month since she was accused of Hughes’ murder. And what did she have to show for it? Some sloppy writing on a scroll.

Maria couldn’t stand this! With a frustrated grunt, she rolled herself up onto her feet. She could at least do chores or…or something! Anything to help pass the time, to find purpose again.

She could learn to clean. She could learn to cook. She could learn the language. She could learn her way around town. Maybe from there she could learn the underground again, try to find information about what was going on in Amestris. Maybe she could find a way to help even from here in Xing.

Time didn’t feel like a steady thing for Maria anymore. But that didn’t mean that she was going to let it stay that way. If her time felt purposeless, then she would just have to force some purpose out of it. And maybe then, time would seem to flow right again.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 13: Night/Flowershop/tattooshop AU
Word Count: 4236
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: Vato Falman, Olivier Mira Armstrong, Major Miles, Captain Buccaneer, Doc
Warning: NA
Summary: Vato Falman works at a quiet, little (run-down) flowershop next to a tattoo parlor. He never expected to nor wanted to meet the owners of said tattoo parlor. But typically whatever Falman doesn’t want is exactly what he gets.
Notes: Because if this was going to happen to anyone, it would happen to Falman!

Night/Flowershop/Tattoshop AU

When Vato Falman took the job at North City Flowers, it was with a few understandings. One, he wouldn’t bore the customers with talk of what the flowers mean. Two, he would have to work nights sometimes. Three, he wouldn’t have to interact with the proprietors or customers of the tattoo parlor. Four, this job was in a run-down part of town and awful, so he would be surreptitiously looking for another job in the meantime.

North City Flowers was located in a part of the city (not named North City, ironically enough. Apparently, it had been part of a failed chain of flower shops from North City, and no one had ever bothered to change the name) that was not considered the best part of town. During the day people watched themselves closely. During the night people scurried from place to place as quickly as they could, and only if they had to go out—which few people ever wanted to. In fact, Falman had been certain that he was going to be jumped in the first few weeks of work.

It wouldn’t be too bad, if his boss would just pitch in. His boss was a greasy looking man who clearly didn’t want to be here nights either. Every day before the sun set, he’d make sure Falman was there, take most of the money from the register, and leave. Falman, no matter how much he didn’t want to, was left pretty much every night to finish the day, clean up, and lock up. He didn’t like it, but it wasn’t like he could quit. If he didn’t need this job, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Next door to North City Flowers was the Briggs Tattoo Parlor. Falman had never been inside and had no plans to. He had seen the owners, though. A big, strong man who looked like he could crush Vato just by thinking about it; a tall, Ishvalan man, who seemed unreadable; and the beautiful, blonde woman whose glance looked and felt like ice. They were each terrifying on their own, but together they were more so. Sometimes another woman was there, with short hair and glasses, and while she looked friendlier, she didn’t look like someone to cross either. Falman had no idea what to make of the guy with the cigarette and the loud shirts that often came, usually with grease somewhere on him. The clientele wasn’t much better. Most consisted of a lot of men who looked like they were not people to cross—and Falman had no intentions of doing so.

(They didn’t seem to accept just anyone, though. He had watched them kick out a man dressed in a white suit once, in a very rough fight. There had been a lot of shouting, but he had decided that he was probably better off in the back, and so hid there for a bit, supposedly cleaning it up.)

The Briggs Tattoo Parlor seemed to do a lot of work at night. In the evenings, when Falman was cleaning up, he often heard loud thumps coming from the other side of the wall, and yelling. Sometimes there was music as well. Falman had no idea what was going on over there, but he had decided long ago it was in his best interests not to find out.

And so, Falman lived out his workdays like this. Helping customers pick out bouquets that sent the wrong message, staying late at night in the shop, searching for another job, and avoiding the Briggs crew next door.

Until tonight.

The night started out like any other. He helped the customers, his boss took the money, and Falman was left to clean and close up. The days were getting shorter, which meant it got dark quite a bit earlier. Falman always tried to clean up as quickly as he could, figuring that the less time spent here at night the better, but today had been busy, and there was quite a mess in the back room. It took him a few hours to clean it all up, and by the time he did, it was already much later than he wanted it to be.

With a put-upon sigh, Falman gathered up the garbage, tied it up, and headed out the back to throw it away. There was a dumpster in the alley behind this row of shops, and he headed out to it, moving quickly, hoping to not draw any trouble.

This meant, of course, that he did.

He was just past the back of the Briggs Tattoo Parlor when out of nowhere he was grabbed, pushed up against a wall, and a knife pressed to his throat.

“Gimme all your money,” a voice sneered in his ear.

Falman paled. “I-I-I don’t have any!” he stammered out.

“Don’t gimmie that crap,” the man said. “Gimmie your wallet.”

“I don’t—I left it in the shop!” Falman said.

“Yeah? Then let’s go back to the shop and get it and whatever money is there, flower boy.”

Falman paled more. Either this man saw him coming out of the shop, or he had been casing it out for a few days, at least. “Th-there’s nothing there! My boss—he takes the money when he leaves!”

The pressure on Falman increased and the knife pressed harder on his neck. “I think you’re just making excuses,” the man growled. “Guess I gotta show you I’m serious!”

Before Falman could even start to panic to that, the man was suddenly gone, pulled back with a squawk.  Falman, startled, turned to look.

The big man from the tattoo shop had Falman’s assailant by the collar, pulling him back and up. “What do we have here?” he asked.

The Ishvalan man stepped up. “It looks like we caught a thief.” His face was impassive, eyes hidden behind dark glasses. Falman wondered how he saw with the night this dark.

“I’d say so too,” the big man said, giving the thief a shake. The man tried to protest, but the big man brought him closer. “Bold of him to try on our turf.”

“Perhaps we should take him inside,” the Ishvalan said. “We can let her deal with him.”

Falman saw real fear break out on the thief’s face. “No!” He still had his knife and brought it up quickly. The big man didn’t let go but intercepted it with his other arm. Falman cringed at that, but the man didn’t seem to even notice. He just grinned a feral grin.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he said.

The thief looked thoroughly freaked out, and the Ishvalan took a step closer and jerked the thief’s jacket down, looking at something on his arm. He slid his glasses off to reveal his piercing, hard, red eyes.

“Tell your bosses not to come near Briggs again. This is our territory, and we protect it. Understand?”

The thief nodded, and the big man let him go. The thief scrambled back and away from them, and towards the edge of the alley. The two had already started turning around, when the thief apparently gained one more moment of courage. Falman saw him reach into his belt and pull something out. His eyes widened as he realized it was another knife, and he was about to rush the two men.

“Look out!” Falman called out and, quite without thinking about it, flung the garbage bag full of flower stems and leaves and various other plant-parts that he still somehow had in his hand, right at the thief. The thief saw it coming and ducked, just in time for it to hit a man that was coming up behind him and knock him to the ground mid-stride The thief cursed and scrambled away, leaving the four other men in the alley.

“What the—what was that all about?” The man who had been knocked down was the one with the loud shirts that came to the tattoo parlor. He was sitting up, pushing the bag of trash off of him. “Why did I just get smacked in the face with a garbage bag?”

“Nice save,” the big man said to Falman. “Thanks.”

“Are you alright?” the Ishvlan asked him.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” the man in the loud shirt said. The other two ignored him.

“I…um… yes?” Falman said.

The two men glanced at each other. “Why don’t we get you back inside,” the Ishvalan said. “Buc—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got Neil,” the big man said.

Falman, still quite shaken up, just nodded, and followed the Ishvalan. He only realized that he hadn’t meant the flowershop when he opened up the door to the tattoo parlor. Falman, not sure what else to do, entered nervously.

It was a surprisingly clean and well-organized back room, well-lit and seeming quite pleasant. The Ishvalan man escorted him through it, and into the main room. It was well lit, with several chairs that looked like they could fold down into beds each contained in a small cubicle like area with tools and equipment, and lots and lots of art and examples of tattoos hanging on the wall.

The blonde woman sat in one of the chairs, while talking to the short haired lady that sometimes came by, who was sitting on a couch in the waiting area. Both looked up at the entrance, and both frowned at Falman. He broke out in another sweat.

“What’s this?” the blonde woman said. “Miles?”

“We ran into a little trouble out back,” he said. “Buccaneer’s collecting Neil.”

“Was he hurt?” the short haired woman asked.

The Ishvalan—Miles, apparently—shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He nodded his head at Falman. “He threw a garbage bag and hit Neil in the face and knocked him down.”

The blonde woman raised an eyebrow and looked at him. Falman thought he might pass out. “He did what?” she asked.

Falman parted his lips, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. “I didn’t mean to” and “it was an accident” didn’t seem like they’d be acceptable to this woman.

“Actually,” Miles said. “It was in defense of us.” The woman clearly wanted more, so he continued. “On our way back from getting Neil, we saw this man getting robbed in the back alley. We stepped in and stopped it, and, after a warning message to take back to his bosses, we let him go. He apparently didn’t give up, though, and must have done something. This man yelled a warning at us and threw the bag of garbage he had. The robber ducked, and Neil happened around the corner at the time. It smacked him in the face instead.”

“Kid had a knife,” the big man—Buccaneer, Falman guessed--said, coming in with the man Falman presumed to be Neil. “And was trying to turn back on us. At least, that’s what the shop across the street says.” He looked over at Falman. “He saved us some trouble, it seems.”

“He stabbed you in the arm!” Falman blurted out and was a bit embarrassed that it was the first thing he said.

Both women looked at him alarmed, and the short haired one rose from the couch to hurry over to him, taking his arm—the wrong arm, Falman noted, and wondered why she had picked that one.

“Aw, Doc, you don’t have to worry,” Buccaneer said. “It wasn’t that arm.”

“Wait—your other arm got stabbed? Let me see,” Neil demanded.

“It’s fine. If it can’t hold up to that—” Buccaneer started.

“Let me see anyway,” Neil insisted.

“You had better have him look, just in case,” the blonde woman said.

Buccaneer sighed, but let himself be guided over to a chair, shedding his coat on the way. Falman blinked in surprise when an automail arm was revealed. That certainly explained a lot.

“You,” Falman jumped when the woman addressed him. “Let Doc look over you as well.”

“Oh—no, I’m, um, I’m fine, really, and I, um—”

“Uh-uh,” the other woman, Doc, said, and gently bullied him into a chair. “Let me check you over, free of charge!” she said with a grin.

“Do you usually charge?” Falman asked.

“When I’m at the clinic I do. Gotta make a living somehow. And usually whenever I’m called over here.”

Falman wondered how often that was, but he was distracted by the sound of Miles and the woman talking.

“—had a Drachma tattoo, General.”

“They’re getting bold. We’re going to have to prove it to them again.”

“I know.”

“General?” Falman murmured under his breath.

Doc must have heard him, because she responded. “Yep. That’s what she’s called around here. But that’s because she’s earned it, to be honest.”

Falman wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he said nothing.

The woman—Doc was all he learned of her name—was quick and efficient, and told him that he wouldn’t have anything to worry about, except maybe some residual soreness. He was taken from there back out into the waiting area of the tattoo parlor, where the others had gathered and some sort of drink was being passed around. He felt it would be rude to refuse, so he took a cup and, after he finished it and thanked them for helping him again, he went back to the flower shop to finish locking up. Buccaneer went with him, just in case, and asked Falman some questions about the shop and the flowers while Falman worked. He seemed genuinely interested in learning about the flowers, and Falman gladly shared his information. Not long afterwards, he locked up and headed home, bidding a farewell and thanks to Buccaneer.

The next day Falman said nothing to his boss, and his boss didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. But, on one of his breaks, Falman used what flowers he could to make a bouquet of thanks and delivered it next door. The general was busy with a customer, but Miles took them and put them in a vase where they could be seen.

After that, odd things began happening. There was an uptick in traffic in the flowershop. Men were coming in for various bouquets, usually wanting Falman to fulfill their order. More than once Buccaneer dropped by with some lunch for Falman, or Miles with some coffee. After the General dropped in, they received a few orders from some fairly well-off individuals.

Odd things also were happening with Falman. He usually waved to the Briggs artists, but he somehow often found himself over there at night, hanging out with them after he had locked up. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but it did. He learned that the Briggs Crew—as they called themselves—kept watch over this neighborhood. They weren’t quite a gang in the traditional sense, but they did keep a group called Drachma out of the place. Drachma wasn’t happy about it, but facing down the General wasn’t a good idea, it seemed. Most of the stores and businesses around either knew about this and were grateful, or, as Falman had been, had no idea. The Briggs Crew didn’t care either way. All they wanted to do was keep their area safe.

The crew seemed to consist of the tattoo artists, the doctors and nurses from Doc’s clinic, the mechanic shop across the street, the automail shop next door to the mechanic’s shop, A restaurant called “the cafeteria” that served awful food but somehow stayed in business, an electronics repair shop, a delivery service, a gym that had some pretty intense training, and several individuals who’s places of work weren’t affiliated in any way.

And somehow, for some reason, Falman had been adopted into them. He didn’t feel like he deserved to be, and wasn’t even sure it was a good thing, if he were honest with himself. But they seemed like decent people who just wanted to keep their neighborhood safe, so he went along with it.

It wasn’t until some months later that he had to prove his loyalty.

Falman was on his way home one night when it happened. He was walking down the sidewalk, nearing the edge of the neighborhood when he thought he heard voices. Not wanting to deal with a confrontation, he slowed, and listened in.

“—can’t let her keep bullying us around like this.”

“Yeah. The boss said we’re gonna make a move. Specifically, on her.”

“On the General herself?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s pretty bold. What’s the plan?”

“We cased it out. She usually sends her two right hands home before she goes. That Ishvalan, he heads out sooner, and the bear, he usually sticks around. But about once a month he leaves a little earlier. She’s alone then.”

“Not totally. Someone usually comes by.”.

“Right. That’s why we’re part of the distraction.”

“Distraction?”

“Yeah. All over. It’ll stop anyone from getting there. And that’s when she gets taken out. She’s gone, and then it either all falls apart, or they go crazy and end up getting arrested.”

There were murmurs from the group, and Falman, who had stopped, slowly began to back away. Unfortunately, he was so caught up in what he had just heard that he neglected to see the garbage can behind him and ran into it. It fell with a clatter, and Falman froze, his eyes widening. He could hear the talking stop and then—

“Hey! Who’s there?”

“Ice ‘em!”

Falman bolted.

Falman liked to think of himself as being fairly in shape. He wasn’t going to win any contests or anything, but he could hold his own, generally speaking. But with his slim physique and prematurely gray hair, most people underestimated him, which he was fine with. He didn’t usually set out to impress. However, tonight he wished he were in better shape, and he could only hope that he was underestimated. Shouts followed him, and he was half sure he saw a couple of guns being pulled out. He veered into a side road, heard shots, and knew he was right.

Heart pounding, Falman zigzagged between the streets and alleys, hoping to lose his pursuers. It and out and around he went, until he finally found a hidden area to duck into. He hid there a moment, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath.

He had to tell them. He had to let them know. He had to make sure that the Briggs Crew knew a set up was coming for the General, a plot to kill her.

But… was he brave enough?

He hadn’t meant to be involved in this in the first place. He could just walk away, call the police, let them deal with it. He could have nothing to do with this, just like he should have since the beginning.

But the whole reason the Briggs Crew was a thing was because the police weren’t doing their jobs. The police wouldn’t interfere. And could Falman really walk away knowing about a plot to kill someone and not doing anything about it?

No. No, he couldn’t.

His breathing had calmed, and he was less winded than before. Looking around carefully he slipped out of his hiding place. He had to go back to the tattoo parlor and warn them.

“Hey, Flowerman.”

A voice from behind him spooked Falman, and he whirled around. A man stood there, not far from him, knife in hand and smiling at him. It took Falman a moment to place him as the guy who had tried to mug him a few months back. Falman took a nervous step back.

“Remember me?” the man said. “I think it’s time I got that money from you.”

The man lunged at him, but Falman jumped back, putting himself out of the man’s reach. The man lunged again, and Falman retreated once more. He glanced back behind himself nervously. There was another exit to this alleyway, but it was covered in junk and trash. Still, it might be his only escape. The man lunged again, and Falman backed up once more. Again and again, until Falman was close enough to the trash that was piled up—parts of boxes and crates and full trash bags—that he could feel how unsteady the whole pile was.

Which, actually, gave him an idea.

It was a terrible idea, but it was an idea.

The man lunged again, and Falman had no where to go but forward. He twisted his body so that, hopefully, he could avoid the knife, or at least avoid the worst of it, but he pulled on the stacked garbage as he did, yanking it hard and bringing it crashing down on the man. He wasn’t sure exactly what he felt in his side—could be the knife, could be some debris—but he wasn’t about to let that slow him down. He pulled himself out of the edge of the pile of trash, put a hand to his side, and sped on as fast as he could manage. He ducked in and out of alleyways, doors, and any place he could hide, until he finally was throwing himself against the front door of the tattoo shop. Startled heads whipped up to see him. He was relieved to see that both Miles and Buccaneer were still here, and his relief made his knees week. Miles opened the door, practically catching Falman in his arms.

“Falman?” both the General and Buccaneer were looking at him alarmed. “Buccaneer, go get Doc!” she ordered.

“No!” Falman gasped out. “No, wait! I have to tell you—” He paused as he tried to catch his breath the concern of the three didn’t fade. “I heard… heard a plot… they’re gonna wait for a night when you’re alone, General. Then they’re… they’re going to cause disruptions and keep you alone… and then they’ll kill you. Drachma that is. I heard it!”

He still hadn’t gotten his breath back yet, and his knees felt like they were growing weaker. Was the fading adrenaline affecting him that much?

“Had to tell you…”

“Alright, easy, cub,” Buccaneer said, easing towards him. “You told us. We’ll be prepared. Now let us take care of you.”

“Huh?” Falman looked down, and suddenly realized that it might not be relief that was making him weak at the knees. It might be blood loss. “…Oh.” He suddenly felt very weak and felt himself slipping more towards the floor.

“Buccaneer. Pick him up. We’ve got to get him to Doc now,” The General said. “Miles, after we get him there, start the alert. No one is to go anywhere alone. Be on the lookout. Use our contacts.”

Miles nodded. “Right, General.”

Buccaneer came over and took a hold of Falman, lifting him up. Once he was secured, the four of them set on their way to Doc’s which wasn’t busy this time of night. As they moved, the General looked over at him.

“Thank you,” she said.

Falman didn’t have time to say more before they were heading into Doc’s clinic, and she was taking over, issuing orders and clearing people away. Falman actually wasn’t that sure of how long he was under her care, but Doc fussed at him about how even shallow stab wounds could kill and needed to be treated properly even as she cleaned him up, stitched him up, and laid him back with a unit of blood. She left him resting with the remote to a small TV in the corner. He had spent about thirty minutes in there when the door opened again. Falman looked over at it.

The General walked in a book in her hands and a stern look on her face. Falman looked at her nervously.

“You risked your life for me tonight,” she said without preamble.

“I, uh, I think they were going to kill me either way,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You could have gone to the police.” She pointed out.

Falman shook his head. “They wouldn’t have done anything about it. There’s a reason they’re not here much.”

She nodded, “You’re right. Still, you risked your life tonight for mine—and for all of Briggs. That isn’t something I take lightly.” She put the book on his lap, and Falman had the distinct impression that, if it hadn’t been for Doc, she would have thrown it at him. “You’ve proved yourself,” she said. “When you find one you want, it’s free of charge and by my hand.”

Curious, Falman abandoned the remote and opened the book. It was a sample of dozens of different kinds of bear paw tattoos. He blinked at it, then looked back up at her.

“If I do this, does this mean I’m part of a gang?”

She laughed. “No more or less than a biker gang.” He wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not. “Pick one or don’t—it’s of little consequence to me. But just know, you’re in. You’re Briggs.”

With that she turned and walked out of the small room, leaving Falman there with the book. He looked down at it. How had he, a man who worked in a flower shop, ended up involved in all of this?

Well, there was no turning back now.

Grinning to himself, Falman opened the book to pick out his bear paw tattoo.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 14: Duck
Word Count: 1194
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Berthold Hawkeye
Warning: NA
Summary: Riza goes hunting for ducks, and not just because she needs something to eat, but because she wants to prepare a surprise for someone.
Notes: What I know about hunting ducks I read online as I was writing this. The same with cooking them.

Duck

Eleven-year-old Riza laid in the reeds, still, quiet, not moving and barely breathing. Her rifle was held at the ready, loaded, ready to aim, her finger waiting to pull the trigger. Her clothes were getting wet and muddy, but she had expected this. It was why she had worn these particular clothes, patched beyond decent wear and not fit to be seen in. They were perfect for what she was doing. Now all she had to do was wait for a duck to cross her path.

So she waited.

Riza wasn’t sure how much time had passed before a duck came in her sight. She felt her heart skip when she realized that there were two ducks that were in her range. Two ducks would be better than just one! But she calmed herself. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, as the phrase went. If she could get both of them, that would be great. But if she only got one, then it would be better than none of them. She waited until one was perfectly in her sites, and then—

--she fired.

Her aim was true, and the duck was struck, barely having time to let out a squawk of distress. But Riza didn’t wait to see that. The moment she fired, she shifted her gun and let off another shot at the second duck. It got away, but Riza didn’t try to shoot it again. Instead, she rose from her place in the reeds, tossing her gun up onto the drier ground, and headed into the pond to go after the duck she had shot. It didn’t take her long to retrieve the dead bird, and soon she was back on dry land, dripping water and mud as she, her rifle, and her duck made their way back down the path towards the house.

When she arrived back at the house, she propped her gun against the back wall, near the kitchen door, and headed out towards the barn to retrieve her tools. She had an area set up where she dressed her kills quite frequently, and she quickly took to the duck, taking care of it’s head and feet and defeathering it. She kept the feathers, sure they would be good for something, and carefully bagged up the other parts of the duck that they wouldn’t eat. She could give them to the Millers’ pigs in return for the glass of lemonade Mrs. Miller had given her the other day.

When that was done and the bird was as cleaned as it could be out there, she headed back in the house. The washroom was near to the kitchen door, and she kicked off her boots there. She sat the duck on the counter, and then returned to the washroom, stripping off her muddy clothes and wrapping an old, thin coat around her to use as a robe. She headed upstairs, as quietly as she could manage, and there she cleaned herself up enough to redress and come back down the stairs. She still was in poor clothes, but these were for doing things like cooking and cleaning and were more presentable then what she had been wearing earlier.

Riza got straight to work as soon as she returned to the kitchen. Standing on a stool she pulled down a recipe book and flipped it open. Carefully reading over it, she got to work, getting down pans, spices and other ingredients. She made a rub and scored the duck, making sure to work the spices into the skin. Then she stuffed it with garlic and lemon, fixed the pan, and moved it to the oven. She had set the fire to going in the oven earlier, and it only took a little stoking to get it just right. She put the pan in, and then set to work on the rest of what she needed.

Over the next few hours, she worked hard, making a glaze, preparing vegetables to go along with it, working on dessert, and making sure the apple cider she had made a few days before was still good. It was long, hot work, and she was checking on the duck frequently, trying her best to make sure that it was perfect.

Finally, the meal was done, and Riza, satisfied, took a step back. She pulled down two trays and sets of dishes and worked on plating up the food. She took a bite of the duck, more than pleased with the flavor of it. The trays were fixed up and, carefully balancing them, Riza made her way up the stairs and to the door of her father’s study. She sat the trays outside of the room, and then she knocked on the door. There was no response, and she didn’t expect any. But, still pleased with what she did, she returned down the stairs.

Riza kept an ear out for anything from upstairs, even as she fixed herself a plate. She waited to eat, hoping that she would hear something from upstairs, but there was nothing. She quietly put the extra food away, quietly cleaned the kitchen, and then quietly ate her own food. Then, finally, she returned upstairs to see about the trays.

They were sitting outside the door again, one completely eaten, and one barely touched. Riza’s heart sank, but she dutifully picked up the trays and made her way back down stairs with them. The eaten one she washed up, but as she looked at the one that still had food on it, she couldn’t help herself. She sat down, looking at it, and began to cry.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there before she heard footsteps behind her—footsteps too small and light to be her fathers. The footsteps paused in the kitchen doorway, as if she had taken the owner by surprise.

“…Miss Riza?” She heard Mr. Mustang’s voice. His footsteps moved into the kitchen, came closer. “Miss Riza, what’s wrong?”

She was quiet for a moment, but eventually she spoke. “…He didn’t eat it,” she said.

“What?” Roy sounded confused.

“He didn’t eat it,” she repeated, her voice shaking even as the tears fell. “None of it. He didn’t eat any of his food.”

“Well—I mean—Master was just caught up in his research and, um…” Roy stammered around as he tried to come up with an excuse for her father.

Riza shook her head. “I made this just for him. I went out and shot the duck. I dressed it, I brought it in, I prepped it and cooked it and made all of this. I found a note in the cookbook that it was my father’s favorite, and I made it all for him—it’s his birthday, and I made it for him, and he didn’t even eat a bite!”

Riza dissolved into quiet sobs then and Roy seemed to have nothing to say. Finally, after a moment, he put an arm around her.

“…I’m sorry, Miss Riza,” he said. “It was wonderful. Your father doesn’t know what he missed.”

Riza didn’t respond. She just leaned into Roy and cried.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 15: Edge and Soulmate
Word Count: 740
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Sheska
Warning: NA
Summary: Sheska can see the string of fate wrapped around her finger. She’s learned what its colors and tautness mean. But it’s never been this color before.
Notes: It just seemed an interesting idea!

Edge and Soulmate

No one ever asked, and Sheska never volunteered it, but there was a reason that Sheska believed in things like aliens and ghosts and other supernatural type things. It was something that was passed down to her from her mother, something that was commonly passed down to the women in her family.

Sheska could see things.

The world, fortunately, was not as full of these things as people liked to speculate. Most of them were harmless, thankfully. But there were things that existed. Beings with an otherworldly presence definitely existed. Souls or spirits of some sort definitely existed too, although usually not for long outside of a body. Places of darkness also existed. Many small, harmless creatures that most people couldn’t see existed. And a few old tales were true or had a kernel of truth in them.

One of those was the legend of the red string that led to your soulmate. The story was mostly right, although there were a few differences. One was that the thread didn’t have to be red. It could change colors. Another was that the thread could lead to any number of things. And the other was the idea that the string was always somewhat taut, as it was connected to your soulmate. It only turned red when it was time for you to find your soulmate.

All of her life, Sheska’s thread had been various colors although it had been fairly active. The white, limp thread had turned a navy blue and gotten some tension when it led her to her job at the library. It had turned sunny yellow and respectably straight when it led her to the books or files that she needed to read. It had turned a forest green and pointed straight to Edward and Alphonse when she had met them. It had turned a smiling pink when it led her to the hospital for her mother. It had gone Navy again on the day it led her to the library to talk to the Elric brothers and she had gotten her job with Brigadier General Hughes. It had turned black one night and led her away from the place he had died. And it had turned black and trembled on the day of the eclipse. She had followed its lead then, to try to keep her and those with her out of danger as much as possible.

But never before now had it turned a true, vibrant red, and grown taut, vibrating with anticipation. Sheska had stared at it for days, not sure where it led, and not sure she wanted to know. Even now, she bit her lip, looking down at the happy but impatient string that almost no one but she and her mother could see. She knew what this meant. But at the same time, she had no idea what it meant.

Sheska worried her lip between her teeth, considering it. She knew that she needed to do something. She felt like she was teetering on an edge. It felt as if one move could send her plunging over, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to go. What if she wasn’t ready for a soulmate? What if her soulmate was someone she didn’t like? What if her soulmate was someone who didn’t like her? She realized these were all silly questions—if he was her soulmate, then they would get along, and if she wasn’t ready, then the string wouldn’t be red. But she couldn’t help but worry.

There were other considerations too. She liked how things were now. She liked her life. She liked the people she worked with, and the hospital where her mom was. She liked how things were going, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to shake them up. If she followed this thread over the edge, then she would be. There would be no going back to the way things were now, and she knew it.

But what if she was missing out on something greater? What if this person was someone she liked and could get along with? What if he was able to help her out with her mom? What if it changed nothing, or it changed everything for the better?

Sheska took a deep breath in and made her decision. She fell off the edge of that cliff she felt like she was on, and she fell off it to go find her soulmate.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 16: Photo
Word Count: 726
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Denny Brosh
Warning: NA
Summary: Denny Brosh carries his most treasured moments with him in his wallet.
Notes: Denny is precious and I love him.

Photo

Denny Brosh liked photos. When Brigadier General Hughes used to show off his photos to everyone, Denny had never minded looking at them. In fact, he had dug around in his wallet and shown the Brigadier General some of his own. He always took his time looking at the photos in the paper and loved getting his hands on books that involved photographs. He paid extra attention to details in the crime scene photographs, and if there was a free exhibit where he could go look at photographs, he would go, if he could.

For all of his love of photographs, though, he had very few. Photography was an expensive hobby. It required equipment and chemicals that he couldn’t afford. He didn’t have time to learn how to do all of the requirements for developing photos. He didn’t have a place to set up a dark room. What he did have was one old camera that was used sparingly, and a handful of photos.

Some of the photos hung on the walls at his home. Photos of their parents, photos of births and birthdays. Photos of weddings, photos of achievements. Photos of good times. Family photos. But even with those, there weren’t a lot of them. Getting photos was expensive when compared to their needs, and money was tight. So, the ones that they did have were very prominently displayed.

But there were a few photos that Denny held close to his heart. Those he kept in his wallet.

One was old, creased, and well worn. It was a photo of him, his mom, and his dad at a festival. It had been a fun night, and Denny’s father had sprung for a photo when a photographer had offered to take and sell them one. Both of his parents were smiling, and Denny himself had been laughing. It hadn’t been long after that, that his mother had passed, leaving him and his father alone. Denny treasured the memory the photo had captured.

The next photo was one of him, his dad and his new mom on their wedding day. She had him in a hug, smiling, and his dad was obviously well pleased. It was another day that Denny treasured. He still missed his mother, but she had loved him, too, and accepted him unconditionally.

The one after that was clearly years later, Denny in his uniform, with both his dad and stepmom on either side of him, his siblings, minus the youngest one, around him. It had been graduation day, and they had been so very proud of him.

A series of photos after that showed his dad, stepmom, him, and each sibling, not long after the newest one was born. The last one there was when the youngest had been born, and it showed all five of his siblings, him in his uniform, and his dad and stepmom. That had been the last family photo they had all had together, before their parents had been killed in a car wreck. The next photo was him and his siblings, all together, in a park, smiling. It had been the first time they had been able to all go out together, after Denny had taken responsibility for them. His siblings had organized it, and Denny cherished that day greatly.

There were a few more photos hidden back in his wallet. One was of him and Kain Fuery from their academy days. They were muddy, and sweaty, but smiling. Another was of him and Maria Ross outside of investigations. Maes Hughes could be seen grinning in the background. A candid shot of Sheska and himself was also there, as he tried to stop some books from falling on her. The last one in there was of him and the Elric brothers on the day the brothers left the hospital.

All of these were treasured memories, or treasured moments. They showed the people who were important in Denny’s life, and it gave him comfort to look at them. And now he had a new one to add to the bunch.

Denny looked at the photo of himself, Maria Ross and Major Armstrong in Xing, the major flexing. It was a silly moment, but it was one that Denny enjoyed. He looked at it with a smile, and then slid it inside his wallet, where it would join his other favorite memories.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 17: Dream
Word Count: 879
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang,
Warning: NA
Summary: Riza is stuck in a fever dream, and the imagery isn’t pleasant. Roy is there to help her.
Notes: Because she’s gotta have some awful dreams.

Dream

Riza wasn’t sure where she was. She was home. But she wasn’t. She knew it was home, but this looked nothing like her home. It was hot, so hot, though, and no matter how many windows she opened, in the long hallway she was on, it didn’t seem to cool down. The hot desert breeze seemed to carry everywhere, even though outside of her home there were trees and fields. There was no reason for there to be a desert breeze anyway.

She moved quietly through the house. She knew that something was there with her. Something she didn’t want to disturb. If she wasn’t careful, then she would disturb it, and she knew beyond a doubt that when she did, awful things were going to happen. So, she crept quietly through the house, making as little noise as possible.

“Riza. Riza!”

Riza turned, whirling at the voice. She knew that voice, but she couldn’t place it.

“Riza, hey, are you there?”

She felt compelled the answer the voice, and she tried, but her fear overruled her, and she couldn’t get a sound out. From somewhere down the hall she heard a door open, and then a figure came into view. She knew this wasn’t a figure to fear, though.

“Riza…”

She felt his hand on her shoulder, and she tried to look at him, but her vision was blurry. But she knew he was kind and friendly and wonderful. He was like an angel, and she longed to reach out and just touch him, hold him, but she knew that she couldn’t. If she did, the awful thing would come. But with this angel, she felt safe.

“Riza, let me get you something cool, alright? It might help,” the angel said, his dark hair blowing in the hot breeze and his dark eyes fixated on her.

She wanted to beg him not to go, but her voice still didn’t want to work. Instead, she stood silently in the long hallway, waiting. She didn’t like it here, though, and she tried to move, only to knock something off of a table that wasn’t there before, the thing landing with a loud clatter. Riza recoiled from it, knowing that it had to have heard.

Sure enough, within moments she could hear it getting closer, feel the malevolence, and see the creature—the man, the demon—get closer to her.

“Riza!” he yelled out. “You pushed it off! You need to be still!”

Riza let out a whimper, and took a step back, only to be grabbed by the demon’s arms as it was suddenly in front of her. Arms wrapped around her, and then—

She screamed. She felt the pain of the demon putting something on her back. Something terrible, something awful. She knew it was there. Something terrible that would curse her for all of her days.

“Riza!”

The angel was back, and the demon, with a look at her, fled, dropping her and leaving her there. He left out one of the windows, and Riza didn’t know if she should be relieved or not.

“Riza?” the angel was questioning her again, and she felt it move closer.

“N-no!” she managed to say. “Don’t… don’t touch me…”

She tried to back away from the angel, but she found herself against a wall. She knew that if the angel touched her, something awful would happen to him.

“Riza…” the angel was still reaching out to her, but she had nowhere to go. She whimpered, but it didn’t stop the angel from touching her.

“Ah—” the angel snatched his hand away. “You’re—you’re so hot! I—”

Riza didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying. She was too busy staring at him. Darkness creeped up the angel, changing him from pure white to something else.

“N-no!” she stammered out.

“Riza—” he tried, but the darkness kept coming.

“N-NO!” She yelled.

She watched as her angel transformed into a demon, watch as he changed, and then as fire erupted all around him. It burnt the house down eating away at the ceiling until it was slowly eating away at the walls. He let loose with the flames, and Riza saw it. Her ceiling, her walls, they were slowly eaten away and the desert outside—not trees and fields—were suddenly revealed to her. And her angel turned demon was on a rampage.

She could hear people screaming, see people, fleeing, and she whimpered again.

“My fault,” she said. “My fault. My fault, my fault, my fault, myfaultmyfaultmyfault!”

She lunged herself at the demon, surprised when she felt hands grab her. “Riza,” he said.

“Stop!” she said “Stop, stop stopstopstop!”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m going to make everything right, okay? I promise you that.”

She looked at him and saw that he was fading back towards being an angel. But the transformation was never quite complete. It left him a gray color, neither angel nor demon. She whimpered, and she felt his arms close around her.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” her fallen angel said.

She didn’t reply, just clung to him and cried.

And in her apartment, outside of her dreams, Roy Mustang held the fevered Riza Hawkeye as she sobbed out her fever dream.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 18: Key/Role Reversal
Word Count: 1596
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: King Bradley, Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, Vato Falman, Kain Fuery
Warning:
Summary: After the incident in Lab 3, which left Havoc and Hawkeye hospitalized, Bradly considers just what might be the key to Flame Alchemist Colonel Riza Hawkeye’s heart and what he could do that would break her if she tried anything else.
Notes: A Flame Alchemist Riza AU. Honestly, this is to help me get a better feel for her and how she relates to the team.

Key/Role Reversal

Every human, Bradley knew, had a key to them. Something that was important to them, close to them, that could be exploited. Some people’s keys were easier to find out than others. They wore them on their sleeve, there for anyone to see. Others were easy to see, but hard to get to. However, inevitably, everyone’s key was found out as well as a way for it to be exploited.

Riza Hawkeye, the Flame Alchemist, was someone who had been a thorn in their side for quite some time. She was sharp, dedicated, and didn’t play around. She had a competent team around her, for the most part. They were good at what they did. They didn’t let things slip. Not even Lust had been able to get anything out of Lieutenant Havoc, and she had been pulling information out of men for centuries.

But Lust’s unfortunate demise had helped Wrath figure out Hawkeye’s key—her weakness.

Her team.

Hawkeye was dangerous on her own, there was no doubt about that. She wasn’t the same kind of shrewd and cunning that General Armstrong was, but Bradley knew that she was far from stupid. She wouldn’t risk a move on her own without a team to back her up, and especially not if her team was being held hostage.

Bradley sat back at his desk, tapping a pen and thinking. The time hadn’t come yet to put the idea into play, but he wanted to have it ready if it was needed. Maybe he should even have as much of the paperwork ready as possible. But what exactly to do with her team? What would hit her the most and keep her compliant? He needed to think through the members and her relationships with them.

Bradley shuffled through the files on his desk. First up was Master Sergeant Kain Fuery. He was a promising young man. Lots of talent in communications. He knew how to handle or patch up almost anything and could even make things work that others couldn’t. He was, by all accounts, friendly, generally happy, and a bit naive. Hawkeye seemed to like him, almost in a “little brother” sense, although she never belittled his skills or accomplishments. In fact, she seemed proud of them and of him, even going so far as to chastise people who tried to call his kindness a weakness. She was fond of him.

A man like him would be a boon anywhere. Certain circumstances would, however, take a toll on him and that naivety.  The idea made Bradley raise an eyebrow in consideration. Perhaps that would be useful. Hawkeye herself had once been idealistic, thinking she could use her flame alchemy to protect people. Fuery shared some of that same idealism. Putting him in or near a warzone might wear on the man—and it would wear on Hawkeye, knowing that he was facing the same circumstances that she had. The South and the West were the current hotbeds of conflict. The South, though, had more direct front lines, and ideal place to send the young man to demoralize him. It would hurt Hawkeye, too, to know it was happening to him. Breaking him would help to break her.

That decided, Bradley looked at the next file. Warrant Officer Vato Falman. The man was a walking encyclopedia by all accounts. By the book, no nonsense, and a bit socially awkward. He fit in well with Hawkeye’s team though. She had given him a place and a job where his knowledge was useful and used. She had hand-picked him for her team. According to reports, Officer Falman was blossoming under her command, finding a place where his unique talents were being put to good use and he felt accepted. If Falman were to go somewhere where his talents were useless to him, somewhere his talents were wasted, Bradley was fairly sure that the man would wilt. Hawkeye seemed pleased that Falman was coming into his own. To have her know that he was fading away would also strike at her.

The North was a barren wasteland. North City hardly counted as a city, and there was really little need for a man like Falman. He wouldn’t find a good use for his talents there, and new information would be hard to come by. He would be stuck, and unable to use his most valuable asset. The man was a mediocre soldier at best. He would quickly wilt away there and fade back from existence. He would, Bradley was sure, be of even less use to at Fort Briggs, although that was a bit tricky, as General Armstrong would use anything she could to her advantage. However, Bradly had no doubt that the man would fade away up there, tearing down the confidence that Hawkeye’s team had helped build, and thus hurting Hawkeye as well.

Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda was the next file, and a bit more difficult. The man seemed almost perpetually grumpy, except for a tendency to play practical jokes on people he knew, and an almost paralyzing fear of dogs. He played things close to the vest, typically. He was a good strategist, good at not being noticed, good at getting information. He worked well for Hawkeye, and she praised him for it. He was a man of action, even if the actions were subtle, and was decent at turning a situation to an advantage. Hawkeye liked that about him, that he was always finding a countermove. Perhaps putting him in a place where there were no countermoves would be useful.

The West was in turmoil. It wasn’t the same kind as the South. The South was more trenches and mortars. The West was more sweeping moves and troop movements. It needed commanders. Breda was a Lieutenant, someone who could give commands, but who would still have to take commands. He would quickly understand that he was sending troops to their deaths, and he would come to learn that there was no way out of it. His frustration would build in a situation like that, especially if he knew his talents were being wasted along with the lives he sent into battle. Knowing that would eat at Hawkeye as well as at Breda, and she would waste time worrying about him as well.

Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc was after that. Havoc was, clearly, a man of action. His grades at the academy had been passing, although not great. He excelled in the field though, having an intuitiveness about what to do and when. He could perform just about any task asked of him and was loyal to a fault. He was also fairly easy going and didn’t make too many waves. He was a solid soldier, which made him a little more difficult to place. Under Hawkeye he had really shone, able to lead and do. He wasn’t confined by her and allowed to do what he did best.

A man like that wouldn’t do well with being confined or by feeling like he was useless. Sending him to an assignment where he was stuck behind a desk all day or was asked to do paperwork would be the best way to break his spirit. Perhaps Bradley could send him to Hakuro, who would hate him just because of his connection to Hawkeye. Hakuro would berate him without anyone having to ask him to do it, and that would beat down Havoc’s self-esteem. The only problem with that, was that Grumman out-ranked Hakuro, and could do something about at least some of it.  Still, if Bradley could find a way to make Havoc useless, to squash any self-confidence, then it would cut Hawkeye to the quick. Bradley would just have to do a little more thinking as to where, once the man was out of the hospital.

The last file was on Lieutenant Roy Mustang. Mustang was a lazy man, getting by because Hawkeye let him slide and his teammates picked up the slack for him. Bradley was sure part of it was simply acting, especially when it came to the women, because Bradley had seen the looks that passed between Mustang and Hawkeye. Mustang was almost possessively jealous of Hawkeye and wouldn’t let any man near her if he could help it. It had even taken him some time to warm up to the other members of the team. Hawkeye relied on him to keep people from her when she needed to think or to get work done. He was great at calming her when she needed it, and at creating space for her.

Mustang, Bradley though, he would take for himself. It was clear the two cared deeply for each other, so separating them but keeping them close would just add more to the pain. If he took Mustang as his personal assistant, that would leave Hawkeye without any support system, as well as drive the young man crazy with not being able to protect her. The distance from each other, no matter how indifferent they acted, would kill them inside.

Bradley considered the files laid out in front of him. These five were the keys to Riza Hawkeye’s heart. These five were the keys to her undoing. And when she tried her next move, which Bradley felt would both be soon and be bold, he would stand ready to take the keys to her heart and scatter them to the four corners of Amestris.

If Riza Hawkeye so much as dared to try anything, she would lose everything. Bradley would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 19: Movie
Word Count: 719
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Kain Fuery
Warning: NA
Summary: Hawkeye and Fuery both enjoy the movies. But the veterans have a different reaction to war time movies.
Notes: Based off headcanon talk with @canisfuria. Also, think of this theater like the ones when movies were first coming out. Always something playing, even between movies, like newsreels, cartoons, etc.

Movie

“Are you sure you wanna watch it?” Fuery looked over at Hawkeye as she finished buying the popcorn.

“I might as well try one,” she said. “I’ll never know if I like them or not unless I do.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Fuery walked with Hawkeye into the darkened movie theater. The two had discovered, quite by accident, that they both enjoyed going to the picture shows. They had different tastes here and there, but on the whole, they just enjoyed the experience of watching a movie with a friend, if nothing else. Fuery had a taste for science fiction films. Hawkeye had a taste for mysteries. Hawkeye enjoyed slice of life with some comedy, Fuery liked something with a bit more action. They both enjoyed movies made from books they had read.

Recently, though, war movies had begun to gain a bit of traction. Fuery had heard that they used some real footage and wanted to see if he saw anyone he knew in the films. Hawkeye had been more hesitant, and so far, hadn’t watched one, but she had finally decided to try one and just see. She had reasoned out that if it wasn’t for her, then she could just leave.

There were already people in the theater, and Fuery and Hawkeye shuffled along to two empty seats. They ignored the news reel that was playing, already knowing most of the relevant information anyway. Instead, they settled in, sharing the popcorn, and made small talk until it was time for the movie to start. The lights lowered just a bit, and with a fanfare of music, the movie started.

It was the standard bit at first, with scenery while names scrolled across the screen, giving credit to actors and crew alike. There were several familiar names from all of the other movies they had watched, but soon enough the movie settled into the story itself.

The beginning was a bit cheesy, following a group of cadets who acted nothing like cadets actually do, as they graduated and got their assignments. The banter was a little silly, and the writing a little stiff, but it wasn’t enough to make Fuery want to stop watching the movie, and Hawkeye let out a few snorts at some of the dialogue and continued to eat the popcorn.

The movie progressed, though towards what Fuery had wanted to see. The now privates found themselves stuck in a battlefield, under attack by enemies, and without a commanding officer. They were scared, terrified, and the sounds of war were all around them. They had to fight, had to try to make it out. Real footage was put in here and there, and Fuery examined it closely, trying to see if he saw anyone he knew.

It took him by surprised, then, when Hawkeye stood up in the middle of the battle scene, and even more when she didn’t seem to care that the popcorn spilled. He took his eyes from the screen and glanced at her, even though she was already making her way up the aisle and towards the exit. She looked pale, although that could have been the lighting, and something just seemed off. Fuery’s concern overrode his curiosity about the movie, and he stood up as well, following after her. He had just opened the door that led to the theater, when he saw Hawkeye sink down to the ground, a hand on the wall as her only source of stability.

“Hey—Riza!”

He hurried towards her, slowing only when he got a good look at her. She was pale, breathing hard, shaking. Cautiously, he put a hand on her shoulder. She turned her head to look at him, but it was almost as if she wasn’t completely there.

“Riza?” he said again.

“I can’t—” she said breathlessly, “I can’t go—go back in there.”

Realization dawned on Fuery, and he nodded. “Right. Okay, well, let’s go somewhere else then. There’s a tea shop down the street. Maybe that.”

She gave a singular, shaky nod. Fuery reached down to help her up, giving her a bit of support, and the two of them slowly left the theater.

War movies, it seemed, were not movies for Riza Hawkeye, and Kain Fuery would never ask her to go to one again.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 20: Dog/Cop/Firefighter AU
Word Count: 920
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Black Hayate, Team Mustang
Warning: NA
Summary: Hayate is a Good Boy and helps to Protect. But he’s not sure he wants to do this.
Notes: I mean, tell me the prompt wasn’t perfect for Hayate. Also, I tried to look up Police rankings for this, and find general equivalents to how the team functions in canon. I focused more on the function of the team, and less on the equivalent ranks, because what they do is more important to the story.

Dog/Cop/Firefighter AU

Hayate was a Good Boy. He knew he was a Good Boy. Mistress told him he was a Good Boy. Sergeant Mustang told him he was a Good Boy. The Pack told him he was a Good Boy. He was a Good Boy, and he knew it. He never ate Evidence or The Papers That Couldn’t Be Played With. He always asked to be let Outside when he needed it. He was always quiet at the Signal. He never bit unless it was part of a Mission. And he always, always, always followed Commands. He was a Good Boy and he was Trained Well and he knew it.

Why, on the last Mission, he had done very well! He had stuck next to Mistress, staying silent with her. He had stayed as still as her too, only moving his head just a little as he heard noises from the Pack inside the house they were watching. He could hear Breda’s loud voice telling people to freeze. He could hear Fuery’s voice through the Ear Pieces telling the Pack what he could see. He could hear Havoc’s gun fire. He could hear Sergeant’s voice call out orders.

But he hadn’t moved through that, hadn’t made a sound. He had stayed still and quiet, laying alongside Mistress, hidden in some tall grass. Mistress had her gun, and Mistress was watching for something. Hayate had watched too.

And then someone had come out of the house. He was running, and he had a gun, and he was firing in the house, and Hayate could hear noises from the Pack coming from inside the house. Hayate wasn’t startled when he heard Mistress’s gun fire. Her bullet hit the man in the shoulder, but he didn’t stop. He got back up and started firing again, and that was when Mistress gave the Command.

Hayate had burst from the grasses and headed towards the man. The man had gotten his arm up to fire in the house at the Pack again, but Hayate didn’t allow that. Instead, he leaped at the man’s arm and sunk his teeth into it, keeping the man from firing his gun. The man screamed, fell back, and tried to throw Hayate off, but Hayate wouldn’t let him. Within minutes Mistress and the Pack were there. He had only let go when the Command was given, and he had been praised afterward as a Very Good Boy.

And he was. He always was. But right now he really didn’t want to do what they were wanting him too.

The Pack was back in the Office, and they had been arguing over something today. Hayate recognized some of the words. Court was a place that he and Mistress sometimes went together. She usually had to go to the Stand and if Sergeant or the Pack weren’t there to watch him, he would often go with her. Sometimes they told him to sniff or find things while in Court. He recognized the word “Report.” Report was part of the Papers He Wasn’t Allowed To Tear Up. No one seemed to like Reports, but Mistress made everyone do them anyway.

He was beginning to understand why no one liked Reports.

The Pack had been talking all morning, saying something about Court and Lawyers and Judges and “needing a report from Officer Hayate.” He didn’t know why someone would need a Report with him. Mistress took care of Reports. Hayate kept the mice and other vermin away. They had talked, and finally, they had done something with the Computer.

And now they were trying to put his paw on a wet, black pad that smelled funny. And Hayate didn’t want to do it.

“Come on, boy,” Fuery said. “All you have to do is put your paw here and then on the Report.

Hayate leaned away.

Fuery turned to look up at Mistress and Sergeant. “He doesn’t want to do it.”

“Oh for—this is as ridiculous as the report itself,” Breda complained.

“Let me try,” Mistress said, kneeling down.

Havoc grinned at Breda. “What? You don’t think ‘Team went into house. Lots of noise. Bad Man came out of house and tried to shoot Team. I bit him. He didn’t hurt anyone else. I am a Good Boy –Officer Hayate,’ is a good report?”

“…should we included ‘bad man’ or just leave it at ‘man’?” Falman said. “It could be considered a prejudice on Hayate’s part.”

“Hayate’s p—it’s a DOG,” Breda said. “A Dog! We clearly said K9 unit in our reports! This court is insane!”

Hayate suddenly realized that Mistress had his paw, and was pressing it into the wet black pad. He whined and tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let him. She took his paw, then, and pressed it down firmly on the Report. He tried to pull way, but she wouldn’t let him. When she did lift up his paw, she was apparently satisfied with it, and then began cleaning his paw.

“Did you get it?” Sergeant asked.

Mistress nodded. “Yes. His paw print is there as his signature. Best we can do.”

“This. Is. Ridiculous.” Breda said.

Hayate whined, a little confused, but Mistress just smiled down at him. “You were a good boy, Hayate. Hopefully this will appease the court. You did a good job.”

She rubbed him behind the ears, and then reached into a pocket and held out a Treat. Hayate perked up.

Yes. He was a Good Boy. He was a Very Good Boy.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 21: Pizza
Word Count: 1083
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, Winry Rockbell
Warning: NA
Summary: Ed has encountered some different kinds of foods on his travels. He attempts to share this with Al and Winry, to mixed results
Notes: I mean, we never do see Pizza in FMA do we?

Pizza

“Ed, are you sure this is right?”

“For the last time, Winry, yes, I am!”

“But it doesn’t look right—it’s so flat!”

“It’s supposed to be flat, ya gearhead! I told you so!”

“It’s not like your known for your culinary skills, Edward!”

Alphonse laughed to himself as he watched his brother and Winry fuss and fight over the food they were making, even as they kept working. He and Ed had both come back, he from the East, and Edward from the West and South. Al had spent most of his time in Xing, but Ed had visited lots of smaller countries in his travels and brought back descriptions of all sorts of different kinds of food.

Winry, hearing of this, decided that they needed to try to make some of these, because she wanted to try them too. It had been a lot of squabbling over what to try, but finally they had settled on something Ed called “pizza.” It had sounded good, although it had some strange cooking requirements. For starters, Edward had made him make a flat, somewhat porous stone to bake the pizza on, and, after seasoning it, had gone ahead and put it in the oven to start heating up.

He had gone out earlier and gotten ingredients that were, in his words “the closest we’re gonna get” to what they had used in the land this food came from.  He’d set Winry and Alphonse to preparing the cheese and vegetables and meat while he had worked on the crust, which was the bread part of it.

“Winry,” Edward groaned. “Can’t you just get back to making the tomato sauce and let me take care of the crust!”

Winry frowned, but she did as he asked, stirring the sauce and following the directions he had given her.

“So where did you say you tried this food again, Brother?” Alphonse asked as he continued to chop vegetables.

“A country not to far from Creta, actually,” he said, most of his attention focused on the dough he was making. “It was a pretty cheap food to get, so I ate a lot of it. There were lots of different kinds too.”

“Really?” Winry asked. “Like what?”

“Well, most had a crust similar to what I’m gonna make, but some were thicker or thinner. A lot of them used the tomato sauce, but some had this white, creamy sauce that was alright. And the toppings—there were all sorts of different toppings!”

“Here, Ed, taste this,” Winry said, holding out the spoon for him to taste the sauce. “What kinds of toppings?”

“It needs just a little more sugar,” Edward said. “All the pizzas I tried had cheese on them, although we don’t have the exact kind of cheese here, so we’re going to have to hope this will taste similar enough. But after that it was pretty much anything you wanted. Tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, peppers, garlic cloves, greens, all sorts of different meats. They had these small round sausages that they’d slice extremely thin and put on top. It was pretty popular. Sometimes there were even some fruits on there. There was this one yellow fruit, kind of acidic, but sweet. Seemed to be a point of contention between people if it belonged on the pizza or not.”

“It kind of sounds like stew, except on bread,” Alphonse said. “You make the base, and then you can put just about anything on top, like you can put just about anything in stew.”

Ed paused. “Stew on bread… yeah. I like that!” He grinned and looked down at the dough. “Okay, I just need to get this in the right shape, and they we can start putting everything on it.”

“What’s the right shape?” Winry asked. “Taste this.”

“Most of the time it was a circle, and then it was cut into wedges. That should be good. Put it on to simmer for now.” Ed was busy with the dough. “…I can’t remember if this has to rise or not…”

“Let it sit for a moment,” Alphonse suggested. “You can check on the stone in the oven and help me finish chopping everything.”

“Yeah, okay,” Edward said. He peeked in the over, opened to feel the heat, and apparently was satisfied with that. “These look pretty good, Al,” he said, looking over the vegetables. “I’ll start on the meat.”

“Hang on a second,” Winry said, turning away from the sauce. “You said that just about anything went on these pizzas. So why are we only using this stuff?”

“Because I want you to taste what I tasted! I want you to get an authentic experience. Or, well… close to it.”

“Maybe we can make more than one,” Alphonse suggested. “One like Ed had, and one where we just experiment.”

“There should be enough dough and sauce for that,” Ed said.

“Alright,” Winry said with a grin. “I’ll get out some stuff for the other one, then.

The three of them spent the next few hours making the pizzas, listening to Ed’s stories about the cooks he saw spinning the dough in the air, and creating their own versions of the food. Ed had Al make a flat, wooden tool to put the pizzas on the stone and take them out again, as well as another stone that they had to heat up slowly, but eventually the pizzas were done, and Edward was slicing them up with a round rolling knife.

“Okay!” he said, smiling proudly down at their creations. “It might be a little hot but eat up!”

The cheese was melty and gooey, and the crust hot to the touch, but Winry and Alphonse each pulled a piece of the original pizza to them. Edward eagerly watched them.

“It’s good!” Alphonse said, his eyes lighting up.

“It’s really good!” Winry agreed.

Ed reached for his own piece, picking it up and trying it. “Its… not exactly right, but it’s pretty close!”

“Well, I love it!” Alphonse said, quickly finishing the piece he was holding and reaching for another one.

“Me too!” Winry agreed. “We’ll have to make this again.”

“Yeah,” Ed said with a smile. “Hey—lets try the other pizza.”

They did and while Ed said it had a different palate then what he had eaten before, all three agreed that was good. They laughed when discussing what to try next as they ate their food, the sun setting as the three friends enjoyed their time together.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 22: House
Word Count: 531
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: Von Hohenheim
Warning: NA
Summary: Hohenheim comes home, only to find it isn’t there. He takes a few moments to ruminate on this discovery.
Notes: There are plenty of stories about Ed and Al and how they felt about their house burning down or what have you. I thought one from Hohenheim’s perspective about coming back and finding his house burned down might be interesting!

House

Von Hohenheim stood just beyond the edge of where his house used to stand. It had, obviously, burned down. It wasn’t the first time Hohenheim had seen a burned down house. He had seen plenty of them, helped to put some out, caused some, and even been caught in one a time or two. The difference was this was his house. His, and Trisha’s, and the boys’. It was their home. And now it was just a pile of ash.

He wondered, briefly, if anything had been able to be saved from the house. He’d be satisfied with the safe removal of his family. Likely, they were at Pinako’s, which is where he would go next. Even if they weren’t there, Pinako was likely to know where his family had gone. He hoped that they were provided for and taken care of.

His eyes roamed over the remains of the house. It had burned some years ago. That was easy enough to see. Raising two boys without anything would have been hard. Hohenheim knew that Pinako and her family were likely to help, and the community as well. Hopefully, though, they had been able to save some things, like clothing, or quilts, or something. He had some very old and very rare texts in there too that he was sure would be useful to many alchemists—or to sell for money, if needed. And then there were the keepsakes. Trisha’s wedding dress. Edward’s baby blanket. Alphonse’s first shoes. The china passed down through Trisha’s family. Family albums. Memories.

Hohenheim began walking around the edge of the burned area. He could clearly remember what each place had been. He had built this house. He, and Trisha, and the community. He hadn’t used his alchemy on it, wanting to build it by hand. Fortunately, he had a host of neighbors and several souls inside him that knew what they were doing and helped to guide him in the process. It had taken some time, but the house had been constructed, and constructed well.

He had good memories here. They were some of the few that he had. Trisha had made him learn to live, to truly live. He experienced pure happiness with her. He could remember fights with flour that happened in the kitchen, dancing in the living room together, that time he slipped in the tub, she came rushing to see what had happened, and he was tangled in the curtain and his towel, water sloshing about. He remembered tender nights in their bedroom, being by her side during births, the first cries of his boys. He remembered watching her be such a tender, loving mother, of his sons’ upturned and smiling faces, of the toys left scattered about.

There were so many memories that he cherished that happened here.

And now his house was gone.

Perplexed and not having any answers, Hohenheim turned to head back down the road. Hopefully Pinako still lived in the same place, and she or her family could explain it all to him.

He just hoped that he hadn’t missed too much in the time he had been gone.

He supposed he would find out soon.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 23: Truth/Arranged Marriage
Word Count: 9084
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: G/K
Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Alex Louis Armstrong, Roy Mustang, Olivier Mira Armstrong, General Grumman, Philip Gargantos Armstrong, Mama Armstrong, Scar, Edward Elric, Rebecca Catalina, Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, Vato Falman, Kain Fuery, Sheska
Warning:
Summary: The Grummans were once a powerful family in Amestris. With the knowledge of who his granddaughter is becoming known, he sees a path back to social and political power. Not everyone is on board with this plan though—especially when they weren’t informed they were part of it.
Notes: Based off a headcanon slinging session with @caniusfuria and it blew itself up into this! One day I’ll go back and do this properly.

Truth/Arranged Marriage

Riza glanced over to where Fuhrer Grumman and Alex Armstrong’s parents were talking. This was the third time this month she’d been drug here by Grumman, and then shunted to the side and expected to spend the entire time talking to Alex. She eyed them. They seemed to be deep in conversation about something, and she had no idea what it might be, but she was suspicious anyway. She felt like a child who had been told to go play while the adults made plans, and it ate at her. People making plans for her had never ended well.

“Are you alright, Miss Riza?” Alex’s voice, gentle and kind rumbled next to her.

She turned her attention back to the large man and gave him a smile. “Yes,” she said. “Just distracted. And suspicious.”

Alex looked over at his parents and the Fuhrer. “Yes, well… I can’t much blame you there. More tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” She waited a moment while he poured her tea. “You know you can just call me Riza in moments like this, don’t you?”

Alex smiled at her as he put the teapot back down. “Yes, you’ve told me. But it isn’t considered proper. If I remember correctly, your grandfather wanted you to learn the social graces.”

Riza made a brief face. “Honestly, all of these high society rules are for the birds. No offense, Alex, but it just isn’t for me.”

“No, I understand.” He sat down next her on the small couch. “It can be stifling. Sometimes I think that’s part of the reason Olivier got out and stays away.”

“That… makes sense,” Riza said. She took a sip of her tea and looked around them. “To be honest, it’s hard to imagine her in a place like this. She’s always been General Armstrong to me.”

Alex chuckled. “I can see why that would be hard. But my big sis can be just as terrifying in a ball gown and sharply applying the social graces. I sometimes think that if she had stayed, she would be the most formidable woman high society has seen in quite some time.”

Riza’s lips tipped up at that. “Somehow, that last part doesn’t surprise me. Still,” she sighed. “I don’t think this is the life for me. It’s definitely not how I grew up or been part of my plans for life.”

“It was quite a surprise when Fuhrer Grumman was revealed to be your grandfather,” Alex said. “I can see how that and the introduction to high society would be jarring.”

“It was a surprise to me as well,” Riza admitted. “It raises a lot of questions. How long he’s known, why my mother left, why he didn’t try to find her, why he didn’t tell me…” she shook her head and looked over at them again. “The tricky old coot won’t tell me anything,” she scowled.

Alex chuckled again. “True as that may be, it’s probably best that you don’t refer to the Fuhrer that way in front of people.”

Riza snorted lightly. “Well, I can’t bring myself to call him ‘grandfather’ so I suppose just ‘Fuhrer’ will have to do.”

Alex opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by the sound of his father calling out to them.

“Alex! Miss Hawkeye. Please come here a moment.”

“Of course, father,” Alex said, sitting his teacup down.

Riza had already sat hers down as well, but Alex stood and politely offered her a hand up. Riza took it, as, she had learned, was polite, and then the two of them made their way over to the three older individuals in the room. The three of them looked quite pleased and happy, and Riza was sure that she could see tears the elder Armstrongs’ eyes. Grumman looked far too pleased with himself, and Riza was immediately suspicious.

“Alex, son, we have been talking,” Philip began, “and observing, and I think we’ve come to an arrangement that is most agreeable for all parties.” He reached out, and took Alex’s hand in his, and then reached for Riza’s putting the two of them together. Genevieve Armstrong let out a sniffle. “A marriage arrangement between the two of you has been set. Congratulations!”

For a moment, there was a silence in the room, the only sound Genevieve’s sniffles as she cried at the occasion.

“What?!” Riza’s voice broke the silence, and she wrenched her hand free of the hold it was in. “What do you mean, a marriage arrangement? I didn’t agree to this!”

“We have the blessings of your grandfather, dear,” Genevieve said. “He is, of course, the head of your family, as you have no other living relatives. He’s within his rights to find and provide for you as best he can.”

“I don’t care about that!” Riza snapped out. “It isn’t his decision to make!”

“It is, actually,” Grumman said. “Once you were declared my heir, legally, this is something that I can arrange.”

“I refuse,” Riza said.

“Now, now, Alex is a smart match for you,” Philip said. “We’ve been watching you two. It’s obvious that you get along quite well. It would be advantageous for both families.”

“It would provide you with money and social clout. With just a word anything or anyone you support would have backers behind him.” Grumman said.

Riza stared at him for a moment. She understood what he was saying. If she married Alex, then she could catapult Roy to the top. Fury filled her as she swept her eyes over the three conspirators in the room, and then she switched her look to Alex, demanding to know if he had anything to do with this. He looked just as shocked as she did and shook his head a small amount.

Rage filling her, Riza stood stock still and straight, and then she turned on her heel and began walking away.

“Where are you going?” Genevieve asked her. “There’s still the meal to celebrate.”

“I’m leaving,” Riza said. “I’m going back to the city.”

“That’s a long walk,” Grumman said. “Wait until after the meal, and then we’ll—”

“No.” the word was spat out. “I’m leaving, even if I have to walk the whole way.”

And with that, she made her way out of the door, leaving them all behind.

Alex looked over at the other adults in the room and made a decision himself. “Riza—Miss Riza, wait!” he took off after her, leaving the three behind.

Riza was, it seemed, fast and had a good memory. She had already found her way outside and was going down the steps of the front door by the time Alex caught up with her. She was clearly angry and clearly determined. She reminded Alex so much of his sister in that moment. A strong, beautiful woman rejecting the decisions others had made for her. He admired that about both women, just in different ways.

He caught up with her as she walked—practically marched—down the long drive, her heels in her hand, pantyhose stuffed inside them, walking barefoot. “Please, Riza, wait a moment.”

She didn’t slow. “Did you have anything to do with this,” she demanded of him.

“No! No,” he said quickly. “I knew my parents were looking for a match for me, but I didn’t expect this.” He shook his head. “If this had been an option, I would have approached you beforehand to make sure that you were receptive to it. But I would never ask this of you.”

“Why not?” she demanded again, “This society seems dead set on making decisions for me.”

“Because I see what you and Roy Mustang have, and I would never ask you to give that up.”

She startled at that, and looked up at him, shock on her face as she paused. He held out a pair of shoes to her.

“Please,” he said. “Will you put these on? It will be better than walking in your heels or barefoot all the way back to your apartment.”

She sighed, and then reached for the shoes, sitting down on a small wall to put them on. “…I’m sorry for being angry at you,” she said as she pulled them on and adjusted the ties. “This was just… very unexpected and not at all what I wanted.” She looked up at him. “You’re a fine man, Alex. But you’re not the man for me.”

“No,” he said, “I’m not. That man is Roy Mustang, and Fuhrer Grumman knows it as well.”

Riza sighed and stood back up with the new footwear on her feet. “I need to tell Roy. And we need to make it clear that this idea of a marriage between us is not happening.” She started walking again.

“There may be ways around it,” Alex said. “I can do some research and we can talk to them.” He began walking beside her. “Tomorrow we can plan more. I will find a way out of this for us, Riza. It isn’t fair to you to be thrust into this world and its expectations and rules.”

“We’ll find a way,” she said. “I don’t want to take away your shot at happiness either.”

He rumbled an agreement, and the two kept walking, discussing what they might do in the next couple of days to end this before it became a problem.

They were not fast enough. News of their engagement was in the papers the next morning and announced on the radio as well. It was, naturally, the talk of everyone. Riza couldn’t take ten steps without someone congratulating her or questioning her. By the time she arrived in the office, her face was thunderous, and she still had her team to deal with.

As soon as she entered all eyes were on her. No one said anything for a moment.

“…So…” Havoc said.

“It was not my idea,” she spat out. “And no, it wasn’t Alex Armstrong’s either.” She marched over to her desk and all but slammed her bag down. “It was Fuhrer Grumman’s—apparently, my dear grandfather,” the words were spit out with more sarcasm than anyone in the room had ever heard her make, “can make these kinds of arrangements for me, seeing as I’m his heir or something because of some arcane law.”

“Wow. That’s… messed up,” Havoc said.

“What are you going to do about it?” Breda asked.

“Well, I’m not marrying Alex,” Riza said.

“Obviously,” Breda replied.

“What does he think about all of this?” Fuery asked.

She sighed, a little of her anger melting. “He was blindsided by it too. Neither of us were expecting this. He has more knowledge of high society and its rules than I do, so he’s going to look into what can be done. We just didn’t expect the news to drop this soon.”

“And Mustang?” Havoc asked.

“I told him about this last night,” Riza replied. “So, he’s not unaware. But this whole thing is a mess.” She stopped and let out a sigh. “If this is what Grumman was like as a father, I think I understand why my mother ran away.”

“Well, the boss wanted you to go in and see him as soon as you got here,” Havoc said. “He called for Armstrong too.”

Riza sighed. “Right.” Straightening her back, she went into his inner office.

This was going to be a long day.

Needless to say, the day did not go well. There was no easy way out of this that would not end badly in some way shape or form. Grumman had, as usual, played things to his advantage. If Alex refused the arrangement, he was bringing shame on his family, his parents, himself, and the Armstrong name. That would impact the influence that he was bringing to the restoration of Ishval. If Roy pressed or made some sort of big deal out of this, it would hurt his standing with the public and with society, which would negatively impact his chances for Fuhrer and the restoration of Ishval. For Riza to back out would bring shame to her, make her seem ungrateful, and bring negative consequences as well. Riza and Roy running away together, as her own mother and father did, wouldn’t bode well either.

They could take it to the courts, but by the time anything as far as Riza’s legal standing as Grumman’s heir was concerned would be resolved, the wedding would have long since passed. And, unfortunately, there were legitimate benefits to Riza marrying Alex, namely in the influence she could bring to Roy and to his causes. And, of course, it sent Grumman back into high society himself.

By the end of the day, all three were worn out and stumped.

“I think,” Alex said, “We need to talk to Olivier.”

Roy groaned from his chair, his head on the desk. “She hates me.” He lifted his head. “But do you think she would help Riza?”

“Yes, she would,” Alex said. “She likes Riza. But more than that, she hates the idea of anyone being forced into something they didn’t agree to.”

Riza let out a huff. “Isn’t that what arranged marriages are all about? The fathers get together and pick out where the girl should go—like she’s a prize or something to be given away.”

Alex shook his head. “I can understand why you feel that way, but it is supposed to be a much different than this has turned out. The idea was that loving parents would find someone for their child that would love and protect them. The children trusted that the parents would have their best interests in mind and would give the other person a chance. Even if there wasn’t love to start with, many of these marriages, when done the right way, have worked out wonderfully. The problem is, of course, when the system is abused.”

Riza shook her head. “Perhaps you could trust your parents that much, Alex, but I’ve been used too many times by people that were supposed to look out for me and didn’t. I’m not giving up my agency.”

Alex looked at her, compassion in his eyes. “I understand. And I believe Olivier will as well.”

Two days later they managed to get a hold of her. Alex, Riza and Roy gathered at a small cottage on the Armstrong estate, one far enough removed from the main house that no one would bother them. It took some time, but they did eventually get Olivier on the line.

“Took you long enough, Alex,” she said into the phone. “I assume Hawkeye and Mustang are there with you.”

“Yes, Sister,” Alex said. “They’re here as well.”

“Good.” She paused. “I read about your engagement in the newspaper. I wondered how long it would take for you to come to me.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Riza asked.

Olivier paused again. “It is… a difficult situation,” she finally said. “Our parents are right—It’s a smart match. Hawkeye is a decorated war hero, helped to save the country, is known for her intelligence, high level of skills, and is beautiful. Her connection to the Grumman name is also a boon, as it brings in more family ties and money to the family. Alex is now seen not as a disgraced soldier, but as one who tried to speak out in Ishval. He was heavily involved in saving the country as well. He’s strong, capable, intelligent and considered attractive. The Armstrong name is a boon in and of itself and would definitely bolster the faded Grumman name. As an added bonus, the two of you are already familiar with each other and get along. Logistically it is a good match.”

“I don’t care if it’s a smart match,” Riza said heatedly, “I’m not marrying Alex!”

“Yes, I assumed as much,” Olivier drawled. “Everyone knows you and Mustang are in love.”

“You’re the head of the Armstrong family, though,” Roy said. “Can’t you do something about it?”

Olivier snorted loudly enough to be heard over the phone. “All that grifting, and you still don’t understand high society.”

“Arranged marriages are a norm,” Alex explained. “They are something that parents are allowed to set up for their children.”

“It goes back to a very old law that was never changed,” Olivier said. “Most of the members of high society never saw any reason to change it. There’s very little recourse to it.”

“So there’s nothing you can do?” Roy asked. “Even as the head of the family.”

“Can you tell them that you don’t approve of the match and end it there?” Riza asked.

There was silence from the other end. “That… is tricky. Typically, the parents or guardians are the heads of the families so there’s no conflict. This situation is a bit more difficult. I am the head of the family, which means I have the final say in many things, and that my opinion carries a lot of weight. However, our parents are the ones who get the final say in these matters, unless they are declared incompetent or give up this right.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Riza asked, desperately. Roy reached for her hand, and she held it tightly. “Or anything I can do?”

“I can contest it on the grounds of not being informed as head of the family. That will give us a review period that will delay things,” Olivier said. “It’s only a delaying tactic, though. I’m having Falman do a review of the law to see if there’s anything we can take advantage of.”

“I’m having Sheska do the same,” Alex said. “Ross and Brosh are helping her out.”

“The team has been seeing what they can find out or do as well,” Roy said.

“Rebecca is making waves where she can as well.” Riza said.

“Good,” Olivier said. “The more people working on this the better. If public tide can be turned against it, that will help as well. Hawkeye.”

“Yes, sir!”

“I don’t like people being manipulated like this. We will find a way to help you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Olivier did as she promised, and any further announcements or celebrations were put on hold. That didn’t stop Grumman from assigning Riza and Alex to work together on things, nor did it stop them from being pushed together in high society moments. The tabloids were all over this, managing to grab pictures of private moments between them. The moments, in full context, weren’t romantic, but that didn’t stop the tabloids and papers from spinning them that way. Alex and Riza were seen together more and more often, and they were quickly becoming the media darlings that the country had been hoping for.

It wasn’t going much better in the legal department. There was a chance that the mess could be untangled in the courts, but it would take years, which was something that they didn’t have. Olivier even came down to make the case against this to her parents, but they would have none of it. It was looking like there was no choice but to either go along with it or run the risk of disrupting everything that had been worked for.

At least, until one day when Falman, who had come along with Olivier, and Sheska came running into Mustang’s office. They had a nervous but excited energy about them. The team, Olivier, and the Elrics, who had come when they heard all that was going on, were in the office, trying to brainstorm.

“Sir!” Falman said, “We might have something.”

Everyone sat up straighter.

“You do?” Mustang asked.

“Well, maybe,” Sheska said. “We’re not entirely sure, but it might work, if everything lines up correctly.”

“For lack of a better word, we’re calling it the ‘truth clause’,” Falman explained. “It basically boils down to this: have you ever told the truth about your love?” Falman asked.

Roy and Riza exchanged looks, but Olivier was frowning. “That sounds too easy. If it were as simple as that, hundreds of arranged marriages would have been absolved. What’s the catch?”

Falman and Sheska exchanged looks.

“There are conditions,” Sheska said. “It has to have been a declaration of love to someone else that’s not part of the marriage arrangement within the past three years. It had to have had witnesses, clergy is especially encouraged, and been proven and shown to be true again and again before, during and since the declaration.”

“Sirs, if I may,” Falman said, “we’ve seen evidence of how much you love each other for years. No one who knows you doubts it—including, I’m sure, Grumman himself. The main question is, has there been a confession.”

“And were there any clergy involved.” Sheska added.

Edward perked up. “Alright, problem solved,” he said, and then blinked when everyone just stared at him.

“What are you talking about, Brother?” Alphonse asked him.

Ed swiveled his head back around to look at Roy and Riza. “…Are you serious? That whole business in the tunnels underneath Central on the Promised Day? Did you forget that?”

“We could never forget that,” Roy said.

“But what does that have to do with anything?” Riza asked.

“Geeze, look, if that wasn’t a love confession in your own weird way, then I don’t know what was.” Ed said. “You two weren’t even pretending anymore.”

“Wait wait—what went on in the tunnels?” Havoc said. “I’ve not heard this.”

“Well, he,” Ed pointed at Roy, “was chasing down Envy after Envy confessed to killing Hughes. Only it wasn’t to bring him to justice, it was in vengeance. Hawkeye caught up to him just before he was going to kill Envy and held a gun on him. She pleaded with him to stop, reminding him of some sort of promises they had made to each other years ago and saying that she would take care of Envy for him. It didn’t seem to do anything, and Scar and I put in our two cens as well, not that it made much of a difference.  Hawkeye pleaded with him again, only much more personally, as if they were actually a couple. He asked her what she would do after she shot him, and she said that after the battle was over, she’d kill herself because she had no intentions of going on alone. He surrendered to her after that, saying that he couldn’t lose her too, and apologized her hurting her again. They both lowered their weapons and sat down right there together. It was practically a love confession.”

“Woah.” Most of the individuals in the room looked at each other in shock, even while Roy and Riza looked at each other, clearly wanting to say more.

Olivier, however, was looking thoughtful. “When the sacrifices caught up with the rest of us again, the way the two of you addressed each other was incredibly informal—as one would address a longtime lover, or a spouse, not as a subordinate and commander. That too can be taken as proof.”

“Edward,” Sheska said, “You said that Scar was there, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t he a priest or some sort of clergy of Ishval?”

There was a moment of silence before the room went wild.

“Wait, wait!” Falman said and waited until everyone had calmed down. “There’s one more thing. It has to be public. The declaration didn’t have to be, but the acknowledgement of it does.”

A hush fell over the room.

Roy and Riza looked at each other.

“What would that mean for us working together, sir?” Riza asked. “I made a promise to you.”

Roy looked at her, and then reached over for her hand, intertwining their fingers. “I know. And I made one to you. We’d have to figure it out.”

Olivier looked from them to Falman and Sheska. “What do the fraternization regulations say about two people who are in love?” she asked them.

“Oh, it says nothing about them being in love,” Sheska said. “It talks about romantic relationships and marriage. Love is implied, but not specifically stated.

Olivier nodded. “Are you two in a romantic relationship?”

They both shook their head. “Until our work is done, we’ve denied ourselves that. It’s more important than us.” Riza said.

“Then by the letter of the regulations, you should be fine.”

“…You know,” Fuery spoke up, “I still have friends at Radio Capital. They let me do a show there every so often or fill in. I’m sure they’d love to interview the happy couple of Alex Louis Armstrong and Riza Hawkeye. Especially as an exclusive.”

“If we can get Scar to agree to be on the show—” Roy said.

“I’ll be a witness,” Ed said. “Maybe Al can talk to the chimeras.”

Al frowned at his brother’s choice of words but nodded. “I’m sure they’ll want to help.”

“I can find the Central soldiers who were there,” Rebecca said.

“I’ll call my men from Briggs who witnessed your reunification,” Olivier said.

“You’ve also got all of us to give you a hand about the past,” Havoc said.

Riza looked around the room at them all. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you all so much.”

It took a couple of weeks for all of the plans to fall into place, but that gave Radio Capital time to promote and advertise. It was the talk of the country and by the time the day came, nearly everyone was tuned in. Everyone wanted to hear this interview.

“And now the interview everyone has been waiting for. In the past months an engagement between Alex Louis Armstrong of the Armstrong family and Riza Emmaline Hawkeye, who was recently revealed to be our Fuhrer’s granddaughter, was announced. It was unexpected and caused quite a stir, especially since no interviews or further announcements were made. All the public had to go off of were the pictures that tabloid photographers managed to take.

“But the couple has agreed to give Radio Capital an exclusive interview on how this engagement came to be, what the future holds, and the thoughts and opinions of many of their family, friends and coworkers. We’ve got a high-profile line up for you tonight, so hang on, folks and stay tuned in!”

“Alright, welcome back from the commercial break, folks. With us here to start off are Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong and Captain Riza Hawkeye. Tell us, how did you two meet?”

“The first time we encountered one another was in Ishval. The interactions were brief, as I was a state alchemist, and she was a sniper.”

“I see. So, you didn’t really get to know each other there, then.”

“No. And our tours didn’t overlap by much.”

“That’s right, Lieutenant Colonel. You were sent home early. The common belief was that you cracked under the pressure of war. That is obviously not true.”

“It is, in a way. When I saw the atrocities committed there, I found that I could not stand the thought of being party to them any longer. Unfortunately, instead of standing up for what I believed in, I ‘cracked’ and allowed myself to be removed from the battlefield. It’s one of my biggest regrets, that I didn’t do more to speak up then.”

“But if you had, would it have made a difference?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that I should have tried.”

“I see. Now, Captain Hawkeye, I’m told your experience on the battlefield was different then the Lieutenant Colonel’s.”

“Yes. I was pulled from the academy to serve as a sniper on the front. Snipers are solitary creatures, so we don’t interact much with other soldiers or make many friends. Compounding that, to survive the war with my sanity intact, I pulled my emotions back and built-up walls. Not many people managed to get close to me.”

“Not many. But there were a few.”

“Yes. Most notably was then-Major Mustang. He and I had known each other in the past, but we managed to find each other on the battlefield. He introduced me to Maes Hughes, and he became a friend as well. We grew close, and that closeness remains to this day. I’m certain that if Hughes were still alive, he would be close with the both of us still.”

“Interesting. So, when did the two of you really get to know each other?”

“…I suppose it was just from all of the times working together.”

“Did that happen frequently?”

“Brigadier General Hughes was my direct commanding officer in Investigations. We did a lot of work with General Mustang’s unit when we were in the East.”

“Hughes used to say that Roy attracted trouble like a magnet.”

“That he did.”

“So, you two got to know each other over the years. Was there any time there seemed to be more frequent encounters?”

“Hm… I suppose in the year before the Day of the Eclipse. Roy—that is, General Mustang—had been concerned about a plot in the military. That only grew with the passing of Maes Hughes.”

“I was brought into the fold mostly because of Hughes, as well as because of the Elric brothers. I was more fully inducted after Mustang supposedly killed Maria Ross, who was one of my subordinates.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No, it was all a ruse, and he found a way to let me know.”

“In the planning leading up to the Day of the Eclipse, Alex became a point of contact for many things, mostly because of the connections his family had. It was after that, when we started to become more friendly. When it was revealed that I was Fuhrer Grumman’s granddaughter, Alex helped me negotiate my way through high society.”

“I couldn’t leave Riza to navigate that minefield alone. I knew I could help her.”

“I see. And that’s when romance began to bloom.”

“No.”

“No.”

“No?”

“There’s nothing between Alex and myself but friendship. I value and cherish that, but there is no romance here at all.”

“Surely there must be. You two are engaged, after all.”

“It was the idea of my parents and her grandfather. We were not consulted on the matter at all.”

“Not at all?”

“Not one bit.”

“That seems… unreasonable.”

“I thought so as well.”

“It’s a fairly common and well-used method of high class. Most marriages are arranged. I expected something similar to happen to me one day. However, I did not expect for myself and the potential bride to be completely excluded from the process.”

“Is it common for the children to be involved when the parents are arranging these marriages?”

“It’s typical that the children know and understand that the parents are actively considering someone as a potential partner. Even though there were meetings and outings, neither of us were aware that they were to see if we were a good match.”

“I see. Captain, this must have all be quite a shock to you.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Were you aware of this custom of arranged marriages?”

“I come from a very small town in the east. As a child, I remember marriages being arranged between daughters and sons, but it was a dying way of doing things. Most of the time, if a boy and a girl showed interest in each other, the parents would get involved, just to make sure that the children would be able to work well together and take care of each other.”

“Did you ever expect anything like that to happen with you?”

“…I was unsure, truthfully. My mother passed when I was young, and my father was too focused on his work to care much about me. I was never sure if he would have just ignored me or if he would have married me off to get me out of the way. However, he passed when I was sixteen, so I suppose I’ll never know.”

“It doesn’t seem like either of you are too excited about this engagement. Do you think it was rushed into, and that you won’t work well together?”

“It actually is a smart match on the part of our elders. I am very fond of Riza, and she has said that she feels friendship for me. It’s obvious that we get along, and we have enough common ground that we can work well together. The tying together of the two families and what could be done with that power and influence is also a great boon to either of us. The marriage would be advantageous, and I believe that we would get along.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She’s in love with someone else.”

“…that does change things. Do your elders know about this?”

“I believe that my grandfather does, yes, although I’ve never said so directly to him.”

“I see. Is this a new development for you?”

“No. I’ve loved him for years.”

“If you’ve loved this man for that long, why haven’t you married him?”

“Our positions wouldn’t have allowed for it, not if we wanted to keep moving forward with our work. Married couples aren’t allowed to work under each other due to fraternization regulations. As much as we loved each other, we felt that our goals were more important.”

“I see. And what were these goals?”

“To make sure that another Ishval can never happen again. To keep power in check so that no one man or group of men can order the murder of innocents again. To rebuild Ishval and do all that we can to pay back the harm and pain that we caused.”

“Captain… with what you’ve said here, it sounds like…”

“Yes. I am in love with General Roy Mustang. I have been for years. Even if I can’t marry him, I’m not going to betray that love by marrying someone else.”

“Does he love you as well?”

“Yes. He does.”

“And you’ve always kept this hidden?”

“No. There are people who know—people who have seen our confession to each other. People who have seen our actions towards one another. People who have heard our words to each other. It isn’t well-known, but it is known.”

“….well, with that listeners, we’ll go to commercial break. But expect more when we get back!”

“Welcome back, listeners! We’ve given the Lieutenant Colonel and Captain a bit of a break after the last segment, and now we welcome two more guests that know them well. First Lieutenants Jean Havoc and Heymans Breda. Both have worked under General Roy Mustang for quite a while, and, going along with that, Captain Hawkeye. Tell me, boys—were you surprised at all by the captain’s confession a few minutes ago?”

“Naw. We all knew that there was something between them for a long time.”

“They’re not as good at hiding their past as they think they are.”

“What made you think that?”

“There were these little things. Looks, the way she’d indulge him, the way he would give into her… I mean, it was clear there was some kind of a past there.”

“They kept it professional, though. They didn’t do anything romantic in sight of anyone.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“There was never any hand holding, sweet words, talks of plans together. While it was obvious there was a history there was never any solid clue as to what kind of a history. They could have been childhood neighbors.”

“Yeah, but after the Day of the Eclipse, things changed. They were, I don’t know… more touchy? Although the General was blind for a while there, so he kind of needed touch so that he could get around and—"

“Please hang on viewers, someone is pounding on our glass—it’s a woman. She’s coming in now and—”

“Jean Thaddeus Havoc! You take all the romance out of everything!”

“Aw, Bec, come on. I was just saying—”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Rebecca Catalina, Captain Riza Hawkeye’s best friend. And honestly these two don’t know how to tell a good story—especially a true one.”

“Catalina, we really don’t need—”

“Don’t you start in with me too, Red! Alright, let me tell you how this really goes. Riza and I, we were roommates at the academy. I didn’t get shipped out with her, but before that we were roommates, and after it too. Let me tell you, that girl is good at holding her emotions in. Fortunately, I’m good at noticing them anyway.”

“Please go on, Lieutenant.”

“I’m pretty sure that Riza and Mustang knew each other beforehand. But after Ishval they started working closer together, with her as his adjunct. I knew from the get-go that there was more to these two then met the eye. Oh, of course it wasn’t romantic at first, but there was a connection of some sort there. Over the years I saw it develop into fondness, and then to outright love.  Yes, they both dated others—Mustang more than Riza ever did—but they always ended up back with each other again. Riza would never tell me who she was in love with, but I know a woman in love when I see one! It didn’t take me long to figure it out. And after the Day of the Eclipse, it was even more obvious.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not entirely sure what happened in the tunnels below Central, but I do know that some sleezebag tried to use Riza against Mustang by slitting her throat open, and that whatever it was he tried to force Mustang to do didn’t work. I’m so glad that little pink princess from Xing was there to help them out! She saved Riza’s life! What I do know is that when I saw Riza again, the doctors were trying to keep her from bleeding out again, and one of the first things she did was ask about Mustang. She wouldn’t settle down well until after she had found out that he was alive and relatively okay. When I found Mustang, he wouldn’t settle down until he was sure she was alright. They both had to know about the other first.”

“That wasn’t anything new.”

“Hush you! I’m telling a story!”

“Please go on, Lieutenant.”

“Anyway, they were just worse in the hospital, always asking about the other until the staff finally got tired of it and just put them in a room together. I mean, Mustang was blind, it wasn’t like he could see anything anyway, and Riza—yeah, yeah, Riza, I see you threatening me through the glass, you know you love me—would be able to rest her voice more if she wasn’t constantly asking about him. But honestly, whatever happened down there, it changed them. They were both more driven, but also more open with each other and themselves. To anyone who knew them before, the way they look at each other, the way they talk to each other, the way they support and care about each other—they might as well be confessing.”

“Interesting! So, you three say that you know without a doubt that Mustang and Hawkeye are in love?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Definitely.”

“Alright, well, we’re up against a hard break, but when we come back, let’s hope we can hear more about what happened in those tunnels!”

“Welcome back, listeners! We have quite a treat for you! Sitting before me are two people who I never thought I’d have sitting in my studio, much less together! The Ishvalan known as Scar, and the former Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric! Welcome, both of you.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

“So, my producer says that you two know what went on down in those tunnels?”

“Yeah, we were there—although I wasn’t there for all of it, because I didn’t see the part where Hawkeye got her neck sliced open.”

“I witnessed that.”

“So was there something else that happened in those tunnels? Something before then?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell us about it?”

“…You heard Hawkeye mention Maes Hughes earlier, right? Well, what she didn’t say was how close he and Mustang were. When Hughes was murdered, it set him off. He was determined to find Hughes’s killer. The individuals in the conspiracy tried to pin it on Ross, but Mustang saw through that and saved her instead. But he kept looking for the killer. Down under Lab 3, he found the killer, who confessed. Mustang then set out after him—but not to bring him to justice. It was vengeance, plain and simple.”

“Vengeance?”

“It was. I saw it on the Flame’s face when he had captured his foe.”

“Scar’s right. It was obvious to all of us, but especially to Hawkeye. When Scar and I got there, the suspect had already injured Hawkeye, and Mustang had started to take his revenge before Hawkeye stopped him. I took control of the suspect then, getting him away from Mustang. Mustang demanded him back, and I refused. He threatened, and that was when Hawkeye started talking to him.”

“Oh? What did the captain say?”

“That’s the thing. It wasn’t just what she said, but how she said it. Hawkeye and Mustang had always been incredibly formal around me—around everyone. She always called him ‘sir’ and by his rank, and kept her tone very professional. Mustang called her by her rank and last name, also, professional, usually. But it was like at that moment, they dropped all pretense. They spoke to each other like… like…”

“Like a wife to a husband, like a husband to a wife. They spoke as equals who loved each other deeply and were hurting each other deeply.”

“What do you mean by hurting each other deeply?”

“Captain Hawkeye was pleading with Flame not to kill the individual that we held captive. She said that she would take care of it, but that she couldn’t allow him to walk down the path he was heading. He refused to listen, and Elric and I both spoke up. Elric told him to take a good look at his face, and I told him I had no right to tell him what to do. Captain Hawkeye then pleaded with him again. She spoke of promises made—promises, I could tell, that were as deeply held as any marriage vows.”

“It’s the only time I’ve seen Hawkeye’s hand shake while holding a gun.”

“Flame asked her what she would do after she shot him. The pain that crossed her face was deep and grief-stricken. She replied that she had no plans on going on without him, and that after the battle she would end her life. Flame let loose with an explosion down a side tunnel, and then turned to her. He declared that he couldn’t lose her. They lowered their weapons and collapsed together after that. It was an intense moment of confession between two people who share a deep love.”

“That sounds like an incredible moment you witnessed.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’d ever seen two people show that kind love and devotion.”

“Was that where the captain got her throat slit?”

“No, because I was still there. It happened after I was separated from the group.”

“I was there, though.”

“Can you tell us what happened then?”

“We were captured. A man demanded that the Flame preform human transmutation. When he refused, the man had one of his subordinates slit the neck of Captain Hawkeye to ensure that Flame would perform it. She encouraged him not to give in. In a display of strength, he honored her wishes. I believe that she somehow knew that there were allies waiting for their chance and somehow communicated that to Flame. It was shortly afterward that these allies dropped from the ceiling. As soon as there was an opportunity, Flame was rushing to her side, ignoring all else. I could hear him calling to her. Mei, the Chang Princess from Xing, was able to do something to help stabilize her. When the battle was over, Flame was holding Captain Hawkeye closely. The tenderness was obvious.”

“So you’re saying that you have no doubt that they were in love even then.”

“They were clearly, deeply in love, and confessed it in front of me.”

“Have you seen love confessions before?”

“Yes. Before the destruction of Ishval, I was a priest. I saw many love confessions while serving in the temple. Since returning back to my roots to restore and rebuild my people, I have, again, taken up some of my duties. What I witnessed was as clearly a confession of love as anything I have ever seen.”

“What an incredible story, folks. But hang in there. More is to come!”

“Alright folks, we’ve heard from Alex Louis Armstrong and Riza Armstrong themselves about the way their engagement came about, and why they don’t want to go through with it. We’ve learned that Captain Hawkeye and General Mustang are in love and have been for years. We’ve heard about the way they’ve treated each other over the years from various coworkers, about the confession they had in front of Scar and Edward Elric, about the way they addressed each other as lovers on the Day of the Eclipse from Briggs soldiers and civilians who were involved, about how they loved each other early on from the wife of a close friend, and many others. Now we’re going to hear from the head of the Armstrong family herself, Lieutenant General Olivier Mira Armstrong. General, we’d love to hear your opinion on all of this as the head of the Armstrong family. Were you aware of this? What are your feelings on the matter?”

“This is a complicated situation, mired in old laws and societal rules that are, quite frankly, outdated.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. As my brother stated earlier, arranged marriages are common in high society families. I understand why, in the past, they were common. It was a way for families to ensure that their daughters would be well cared for in a world with limited options, as well as to strengthen ties between families. Ideally, the parents would also be looking out for the children’s best interests as well, including if the partner would be a good one.”

“I see. So, you don’t approve of arranged marriages then?”

“I neither approve nor disapprove of the practice in general. It’s the execution of it I often take issue with, as well as the legally binding ways it can entrap people—especially women—in a day when there is no need for a woman to rely on a man, especially not a woman like Riza Hawkeye.”

“Do you approve of the match between your brother and Captain Hawkeye?”

“I think it’s a smart match. Hawkeye is smart, capable, sharp, and independent. She would be a good compliment to my brother in many ways, and I think that she would adapt quickly to high society life. She would be able to live well and, if I am honest, I wouldn’t mind having her for a sister-in-law. Alex would, in turn provide and care for Hawkeye, and treat her exceptionally well.”

“So, you’re for the marriage then?”

“No. I’m against it.”

“But you just said it was a smart match.”

“It is. However, it isn’t something that both parties want. Hawkeye is clearly in love with Mustang. To force her into a marriage that she does not want would be cruel and would take away her autonomy. My brother would never want to do that to her, or to any woman. He is not willing to marry a woman that does not want the marriage.”

“I see. So, are you absolving the agreement then?”

“I don’t have the authority to do that.”

“But you’re the head of the Armstrong family.”

“Yes, I am. However, arranged marriages fall under the purview of the parents or guardians of the individuals in question. Usually, the parents and heads of family are one in the same, so there is no issue there. The Armstrong family situation is unique.”

“So, you’re saying that both your brother and Captain Hawkeye are trapped in this engagement? That has to be difficult.”

“I’m certain it is. This is why I would encourage more communication before such arrangements take place. There are only two ways to absolve the engagement in a lawful and honorable manner at this point.”

“Oh? What would those be?”

“One would be for the parents or guardians to absolve it themselves. However, neither the Fuhrer nor my parents seemed willing to do that.”

“What’s the other way?”

“For there to be a history of one of the parties being in love with someone else. There has to be evidence of it, a confession, preferably in front of clergy, and a public declaration of the matter.”

“….you mean such as coworkers who have worked with the individuals for years speaking up about it, and Ishvalan priest seeing the confession and it being broadcast on the radio.”

“That would be an acceptable manner in which to do it, yes.”

“So does this mean--?”

“This means that legally, according to the law, my brother and Captain Hawkeye are free to absolve their engagement.”

“Folks, you can’t see this, but through the window to my studio, there are a number of happy people out there. I think this is a good time to take a break. But stay tuned. We’ll have more on this when we return!”

“Alright folks, in studio we have Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong, Captain Riza Hawkeye, and General Roy Mustang. It’s been quite an evening for you all! An engagement, a confession, and now a broken engagement. Tell us, General—do you really love Captain Hawkeye as she loves you?”

“I do. I have for years.”

“How did you feel when you found out about the engagement?”

“Riza called me the night it happened. She and Alex were going to work on ways to quietly try to break it off. Unfortunately, the announcement the next day made that difficult.”

“I can imagine! How do you feel now that the engagement has been broken?”

“Relieved.”

“Captain Hawkeye, how about you?”

“It’s as if a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.”

“You weren’t happy being engaged to Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong?”

“Alex is a fine man and will make a wonderful husband one day. But he’s not the man to be my husband. I hold no ill will towards him. Instead, I’m grateful for all that he did to try to help me out of this situation. He respected my own autonomy, and for that I will be eternally grateful.”

“As will I.”

“Lieutenant Colonel, how are you feeling about all of this?”

“A marriage will not work, arranged or not, if the people in it do not want to be in it. While I will always cherish the friendship that Riza gives me, I am more than happy to help her find her way to her happiness. General Mustang, I know that Riza can take care of herself. But now as this is over, I am entrusting her care to you. I know that you two will take care of each other.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Thank you, Alex.”

“I feel it’s time for me to take my leave of you then. I hope all of your listeners have a marvelous evening.”

“Yes, thank you for your time, Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong. Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong has left the booth and now I’m here with Captain Hawkeye and General Mustang. So, after this confession, do you think you’ll be allowed to work together?”

“We should. The regulations only speak of marriage and dating relationships, not of people in love.”

“So, you two aren’t going to get married?”

“Not at this time. There’s just too much work we need to do and need to get accomplished.”

The door to the studio closed softly, and Alex Armstrong walked over to stand next to his sister. The murmur of voices could still be heard through the window, and Roy and Riza could be seen, hands intertwined as they enthusiastically talked about their plans for the future and for the rebuilding of Ishval. Olivier was standing to where she could look into the window, observing. Behind them, the murmur of other guests could be heard, all of them excited about what they had managed to pull off. Olivier wasn’t celebrating with the others. For a moment, they just stood there.

“…you would have loved her, wouldn’t you?” she finally asked him, speaking too softly for anyone else to hear.

“Yes. I would have given her the world.” He replied.

Olivier hummed. “But the world wasn’t what she wanted.”

“No. All she wanted was him. And so, I found a way to give him to her instead.”

Olivier said nothing, but just stood there. Finally, she let out a sigh so soft that Alex almost thought he imagined it. She turned, pausing to put a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Alex. One day the right woman will come along for you.”

Alex said nothing for a moment, and then only responded with “Thank you, Sister.”

Olivier didn’t acknowledge his words, just walked away, and that was good enough for Alex. He didn’t need any more than that anyway. With his own internal sigh, he turned away from the window, determined not to let Riza know how he truly felt about her.

Before he could go too far, though, something ran into his leg, and he looked down to see a ball, with a little pigtailed girl running after it. Elicia Hughes.

“Sorry, sir!” she said. “It got away from me.”

“It’s alright,” he said, kneeling down. “It’s not the first time a ball has run into me.”

“Elicia! I hope you’re not bothering the Lieutenant Colonel.” Gracia hurried up to him.

“Oh, no, please, it was no bother at all.” Alex said.

“Still.” Gracia looked at her daughter. “You must be more careful. Especially if we go to the restaurant.”

“Restaurant?” Alex questioned.

Gracia nodded. “They’re talking about a celebration at a restaurant. It’s just been decided.”

“Oh! Sit with us!” Elicia said. “Please?”

“Elicia!” Gracia scolded again.

Alex smiled. “I would be honored to.”

Gracia looked up him and smiled herself. “Well in that case, you’re welcome.”

Alex glanced back at the window, and then back at Gracia.

Even if he didn’t have love, he at least had good people in his life. And that would be enough for him.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 24: Letter/Fake Relationship
Word Count: 514
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye
Warning: NA
Summary: There are rumors about this “Elizabeth” that Mustang keeps calling.
Notes: This prompt was just too perfect for this, really.

Letter/Fake Relationship

Every so often certain types of letters would arrive for one Colonel Roy Mustang. They were usually in white envelopes, with a woman’s loopy cursive writing on them, and smelled faintly of lavender. Sometimes they came with a ribbon around them, or a stamp on the back. The stamp was usually of flowers, but there had been other designs in there as well. But all of the letters, no matter what decoration was on the outside, were all from the same woman.

Elizabeth.

No one knew who Elizabeth was. No one had seen her or could describe her. People had heard her voice before, knew she ran some sort of shop, but no one was entirely sure who the woman was. For some reason, she kept talking to Mustang, even though she had to know he was dating other women, and for some reason, Mustang kept going back to her, even with all of the other women he dated. Why, was a mystery that was discussed.

Some said that Elizabeth was in love with Mustang, and that was why she stayed with him. Others said that it was Mustang who was in love with Elizabeth. He just hadn’t completely figured it out yet and Elizabeth was waiting for him. Others claimed that there was no Elizabeth—it was just a code name for any girl he wanted to talk to. Some rumors said that it was actually his secret wife. Others claimed it was actually a high-ranking female officer, or the wife of a high-ranking officer, and Elizabeth was her code name. (In that rumor, bets were on the wife of a high-ranking officer, because no one could see General Armstrong bowing to Mustang’s foolishness).

Whatever the reason and the relationship, though, the letters came for him, and he glowed with glee each time he received one. He usually shoved all other paperwork to the side, much to the annoyance of his adjunct, and would pen her a letter back. How he wasn’t dead yet from the stone-cold looks Lieutenant Hawkeye would give him as he handed her a reply to post, no one knew.

But this strange, secretive relationship stayed throughout the years.

Elizabeth seemed to fade away as Mustang got closer to fuhrership. She became less of a romantic contact and more of a friendly one. Letters still came, but the embellishment seemed to die down. By the time Mustang was Fuhrer, she had all but vanished, and his romantic attention had turned more and more obviously towards Hawkeye, who returned it—something that either surprised people to a great degree or didn’t surprise people to a great degree.

And the rumors still abounded.

But for the handful of people who knew who Elizabeth was—not that they’d ever admit it—everything was as it should be. Especially when one day Catalina turned up with a stationary kit that she claimed a lady named “Elizabeth” had given to her, claiming she had no need of it anymore.

Catalina used it to write out Mustang and Hawkeye’s wedding invitations.

And they were perfect.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 25: Obnoxious/Fairy Tale
Word Count: 779
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang
Warning: NA
Summary: Young Riza Hawkeye does not like her father’s new apprentice, Roy Mustang.
Notes: I headcanon that when he came to apprentice with her father, Riza didn’t like Roy very much. Obviously, he changed her mind! ;)

Obnoxious/Fairy Tale

Miss Riza Hawkeye found Mr. Roy Mustang to be obnoxious. That was all there was to it. She had found him so from the first day she met him, when he had been escorted into her home in shiny shoes and slicked back hair and a vest, and told that he could go into places in her house that she couldn’t. He had grinned at her, and she hadn’t liked it one bit.

She hadn’t expected him to last.

And yet, for some reason, he did. He lasted. Her father kept him and taught him and told him that he had potential.

Riza didn’t think her father thought anyone had potential.

All of that was annoying, and she even acknowledge that she was a little bit jealous, although there was nothing to be done about those circumstances, but that wasn’t what made him obnoxious to her. It was the way he acted. It was the way he treated her—or tried to anyway. It was like those stories that they read in school, the ones that had the girls sighing with dreams in their eyes and the boys puffing up their chests and acting brave.

Those stories, those fairy tales, they were full of gallant men who rode in and saved women who were in awful circumstances. Riza had always found herself annoyed by those stories. She understood being stuck somewhere or in a circumstance and not being able to get out. But why wait for someone to come help you? Most of the time, no one would. The boys who claimed that they would come save the girls if they were in those circumstances were either stupid or liars, and Riza knew it.

No one came to save you, unless they could get something out of it.

That was why she didn’t get along with a lot of the other children at school. They didn’t understand that, even if they lived it. They got nothing out of being friends with her, so they didn’t do it. Yet they still said and really thought that it wasn’t true. They still thought they would do something for no other reason than it was gallant and good. They believed it.

And so did Roy Mustang. Either that, or he was aiming for something. Or he was an idiot, just not in alchemy.

He kept smiling at her, and waving, even when her father was around, even when she ignored him. He would do things for her and do them wrong. He could never fold the laundry right, and he didn’t know the right way to stack the wood. He got the rooms messy when he tried to sweep up the ashes from the fireplaces, and she dreaded the day he tried to clean the floo. He trampled her garden, and he never put the dishes up correctly, and he kept scaring the rabbits away when she was hunting them.

And he kept trying to talk to her.

She didn’t know why, but he would always talk to her. Greet her, ask how she was doing or feeling, ask about her day. He would talk about his after that, ask her questions, sometimes tell her stories about things he had done or read. He even tried to help her on her homework some, which she didn’t need… except on that one math problem. But that was it! But he just talked and talked, and sometimes she thought he talked just to hear the sound of his own voice.

Going into town with him wasn’t any better. He’d smile this particular smile of his, and he’s set the girls to giggling, and some of the ladies to cooing over him. With the boys he’d smile a different way, bragging a bit about this or that. He was always managing to sweet talk someone into something, and it rankled Riza every time. She’d just leave him behind and go on about her business. She didn’t have time for the foolery.

(And then, on the way home, he’d try to take some of the packages from her, insist on it, and carry them, and there really wasn’t anything she could do about it because he was older and bigger than her. She had managed just fine without him before. She didn’t need his help now.)

Mr. Roy Mustang was an overly helpful, arrogant, too talkative city boy, that Riza found completely obnoxious, and doubted that she’d ever like.

No, she’d never like him, she was sure, and she looked forward to the day her father grew tired of him and sent him back.

It’s been two months already. He couldn’t last much longer, after all.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 26: Depth
Word Count: 1082
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Sheska, Denny Brosh, Maria Ross, Alex Louis Armstrong
Warning: Near Drowning
Summary: Sheska can’t swim. This is currently a problem for her. Hopefully someone will save her.
Notes: Sheska needs more love.

Depth

Sheska was completely out of her depth, in quite a few different meanings of the word.

She often felt out of her depth in the military. She had been hired so suddenly that there hadn’t been time for training, and so she didn’t know a lot of what the other soldiers did. It often left her floundering, and would have been worse, she was sure, if she hadn’t already read all the handbooks and regulations.

She often felt out of her depth with her mother. It was a struggle to try to get her mother all the help that she needed, to understand exactly what was going on, to ensure that her mother was getting the best care. Even more so, dealing with the emotions of all of it really left Sheska floundering for good coping skills.

She often felt out of her depth socially. She was so busy with work and her mother, and so caught up in the escapism of her books, that she missed out on a lot of the social culture around her. She had trouble relating to people, or making friends, and in large gatherings she was used to being shunted to the side and forgotten about.

She often felt out of her depth on missions. True, when she was sent out, it was more to verify a book or some piece of information. She wasn’t expected to fight or anything like that. But she was still nervous about missions because if something went wrong, well, what was she supposed to do about it?

But now? Now she was out of her depth in the more literal sense. Water surrounded her, too deep for her to touch, too deep for her stand, too deep for her to even see the bottom clearly. The sides were too far away too, and the current was sweeping her downstream. All of this was made worse by the fact that she couldn’t swim. She had never learned how.

She was sinking, fast, and she tried to kick her legs and wave her arms around, but she wasn’t sure that she was doing anything but wasting her oxygen. Oh, if only she hadn’t been standing so close to the edge! If only she hadn’t been waiting so far back while Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosh had knocked on the door of the house. If only she had been paying more attention or done something when the man came running around the corner.

But she hadn’t, and he had pushed her over—somewhat by accident, she thinks—and she had gone tumbling down into the river to drown.

Her motions were slowing, and the depth was increasing. The sun was becoming more obscured. It was hard to keep holding her breath, and she could feel her jaw starting to loosen up, bits of air escaping it already. She wasn’t sure if her eyes were closing, or if the water was just becoming that dark.

And then, suddenly, there was something around her, circling her from armpit to armpit. An arm. And whoever it was, was pulling her up. It did nothing for her somewhat closing eyes, or the air escaping her mouth, but she could tell that the person was real. The light was getting brighter, and her depth was decreasing. Suddenly, her head broke the water, and there was air she could breathe in. She was clutched closer to the person.

“Sheska! Sheska!”

It was Sergeant Brosh, yelling her name into her ear. He had her, holding her close to him as he kicked them towards the embankment.

“Sheska!”

Sheska tried to say something, but instead let out a small, wet sounding cough, quickly followed by another one, each cough almost sounding like she was trying to cough something up.

“Just hang on,” he said. “I’ll have you back to dry land in a moment.

Sheska looked over to see a strangely ornate landing that they were heading towards, Lieutenant Ross and Major Armstrong standing on it. As soon as they were there, Lieutenant Ross and the major were reaching down to pull her up and out of the water. Lieutenant Ross’s gentle arm steadied her as she coughed up all of the river water she had inhaled and swallowed. It couldn’t have been long, but it felt like forever before she got her breath back enough to look around. They were looking at her with concern, and she blinked at them through water stained and crooked glasses.

“Sheska, are you alright?” Major Armstrong rumbled at her. His hand came to rest at her back.

“Um…” she stared at him, trying to form a response, her arms coming around herself as she realized she was shivering harshly. The major’s hand pulled back for a moment, and then the next thing Sheska knew, his jacket was around her, enveloping her. She pulled it closer around her. Vaguely she could hear Sergeant Brosh pulling himself up out of the water as she sat there.

“It’s alright,” Major Armstrong said. “Take a moment to collect yourself.”

There were footsteps behind her, wet ones, and then Sargent Brosh came into view, kneeling in front of her, concern written all over his face. “Sheska, are you okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner!”

Sheska stared at him a moment, then shook her head a little. “Its…it’s okay,” she managed to get out. She sniffed a little and felt herself starting to tear up.

He blinked at her, and then smiled. “Hey, don’t cry, its okay.” He reached into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief, only to realized that his was as sopping wet as the both of them. Lieutenant Ross handed him hers, and He brought it up to Sheska’s face, trying to dry her tears away. “You’re gonna be alright,” he said comfortingly.

Sheska nodded. “Y-yeah. Thank you.”

He smiled at her, and Major Armstrong’s hands came back down to her shoulders. “Come now,” he said. “I want you to get a look over at the hospital Sheska, just in case.”

She nodded, and the major helped her up, pretty much just scooping her up and carrying her up the stairs. Sheska could hear Lieutenant Ross half teasing, half worrying over Sergeant Brosh, and Sergeant Brosh, sheepishly answering her back.

She shuddered again. Sheska may have felt like she was out of her depth quite a lot. But she had to remember too—she had friends that would help her when she was.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 27: Sword/Western AU
Word Count: 683
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong, Captain Buccaneer, Major Miles, Briggs
Warning:
Summary: There’s a ranch up in the far north regions o’ Montana. It sits in land near the mountains and is said t’ be a place where people with no where else t’ go end up. The name o’ this ranch is the Briggs Ranch.
Notes: I’m gonna go back and spend more time on this eventually, because I’ve watched way too many westerns with my dad and they’re fun.

Sword/Western AU

There’s a ranch up in the far north regions o’ Montana. It sits in land near the mountains, and is said t’ be a place where people with no where else t’ go end up. The name o’ this ranch is the Briggs Ranch, and it’s emblem’s a sword with a rose. This ranch’s run by a woman named Olivier Mira Armstrong. She’s many nicknames: The Ice Queen, the Northern Wall, General of the North. The natives have other names for her as well ‘n’ have learned not to wage battle on her or hers.

There’s a reason that their emblem’s a sword and rose. Olivier Mira Armstrong is ‘deed an Armstrong—yes, those Armstrongs, the ones out back East, who’ve been here since the foundin’. The ones who’re drownin’ in money. The ones who’re helpin’ fund the westward push. She’s of their stock, ‘though she broke ties with ‘em many years back. No one’s sure why, but it happened.

She chose the symbol for the ranch herself. A rose in bloom for the ties t’ her family, ‘n’ for her own womanhood, somethin’ she never counted a disadvantage. Sword’s also a representation o’ her, as she became well known for the sword she constantly carries, and uses with great skill and efficiency. Not many are left alive after meetin’ with her sword, ‘n those that are count their blessin’s and never try again.

The stories ‘round Olivier Mira Armstrong and the Briggs Ranch don’t ‘gree on every detail. They do all agree, however, that she ‘rived up north in the middle of a ragin’ snowstorm, into the small ranch that Briggs was at that time. She held in her hand the deed to the ranch that she had bought out from under them, from the banker, and to the surroundin’ land, somethin’ that caused an uproar ‘mong the men there. She made it plain to them that she was investin’ in that ranch, and that if they wanted to leave, they could, but she wanted ‘em to stay an’ work for her. She hid nothin’ of her plans from ‘em, and most men, not willin’ to brave the mid-winter snows, ‘n havin’ no where else t’ go, stayed. She made Comward “Ward” Buccaneer her foremost ranch hand, ‘n’ once she had earned his respect, the rest o’ the men fell in line.

Within the space o’ a year, she had turned a ranch that was barely survivin’ into a thrivin’ ranch. The cattle were o’ good stock, the men were satisfied ‘n’ strong, the buildings were reinforced. They’d a mechanic, a doctor, and dozens o’ men. She didn’t care where they came from or what they did. If they produced ‘n honest day’s work, then she kept ‘em. She even took on a man who’s part French-Canadian, part native, and part plain ol’ farmer stock, ’n made ‘im her right hand in all matters involvin’ the ranch. They say that he helped t’ negotiate the peace she has with the natives up there, ‘n that he has her loyalty, on account o’ her not looking at the mixed blood of him ‘n his family.

All o’ the men that work for her have somethin’ like that. She’s taken in the worst ‘o the lot, trained ‘em up, changed ‘em, made ‘em int’ better people. She takes in the strays that don’t fit well with polite society. Her doc’s a woman, her mechanic’s an experimenter, and there’s dozen ‘o untold stories ‘o the others. She herself, it’s a-rumored, has murdered more ‘n’ one person who’s tried to cross her men. They say that’s what happened t’ old man Raven, though no one c’n prove it.

But if ya travel far north one ‘a these days, and ya find ya’self in need ‘o employment, ‘n don’t mind working hard, ‘specially if-in you’re on the outs with society, head t’ Briggs Ranch. Look for the Sword ‘n Rose symbols, ‘n’ follow them. It’ll take ya to it, and to t’ her. And ya just might find out, it’s the place ya were meant t’ be.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 28: Fire/Winged
Word Count: 1817
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong, Captain Buccaneer, Doc
Warning:
Summary: Olivier Mira Armstrong will risk everything for her men, including herself. The good part is, they’d risk their lives right back.
Notes: For some reason, I really love this story, which works out great, because it’s going up on my birthday!

Fire/Winged

Briggs was no stranger to emergencies. Usually, though, they came from the outside and not the inside. This time the emergency was inside Briggs, and the troops were scrambling to protect what they could of the fort. R&D was a dangerous section, and this time, despite the safeguards, the danger had manifested. The area was covered in a substance that was highly flammable, an experiment gone wrong, that had exploded, catching fire, and spreading fast.

It was a scramble to try to pull out as much equipment as possible. Many of these experiments were also volatile, and even with an internal structure set up to handle explosions and to contain disasters, the fort could not withstand multiple massive explosions. Every available man had been called in to help pull out as much as possible, even as the flames grew. It only grew harder when the stairs were taken out by something exploding, leaving them only with the elevators and a quick set up of pullies, wenches, and movable cranes.

It was a race against time.

The elevators were cut off by the flames at this point, and most people and goods had been evacuated. As soon as all of them were out, the vents to this section would be shut off, letting the fire burn itself out. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best they could do. One last load was on a pallet that was hooked to a crane, and there was a chain that had been used to wrap around heavier items still accessible as well. Most of the remaining men were on the pallet, just waiting for the last man, one of the new cubs, to get to them. A creaking sound caught Olivier’s ear, and she realized that the ropes of the pallet weren’t going to hold up against the flames much longer.

“Go!” she yelled to the men operating the crane and the pallet took off, zooming upward. The new cub was almost to her, and he looked terrified as he watched the pallet go up without them. Olivier didn’t waste time on words. She reached out, grabbed him, and put his hands on the chain that was waiting, hanging there. “Climb!” she ordered him, and he did, heading up the chain. As soon as he was far enough, she grabbed a hold of it, and looked up at the men waiting on the top landing. Buccaneer and Miles were there, and as soon as they saw she had a hold of the chain, Miles gave the order. The chain jerked as it started to move, winding up as quickly as it could.

It wasn’t enough, though. They were about halfway up when an explosion rocked the lab, the shockwaves slamming into the chain. It swung wildly and the cub managed to hang on, but Olivier, being at the end, was whipped around. Despite her best effort, her grip slipped, and she went plunging back down. The cub and the landing disappeared from view as she fell into the flames.

She hit the ground hard, mercifully not landing in a mass of fire, but bouncing hard against the ground. It took her a moment to gather her wits, coughing as she tried to pick herself up. She was against a wall, surrounded by nothing but flames. There was nothing in sight that she could use to protect herself, not that she was sure it would do much good anyway. She coughed again as she tried to pick herself up off the floor. Maybe there was another way to survive this. But her head swam, and her leg refused to cooperate. She tried to curse, but only coughed more. This wasn’t good.

She looked around herself, as if something might appear to help her. Flames. Nothing but flames everywhere. Flames and smoke and the flammable substance. Her head grew dizzy. She probably wasn’t getting enough oxygen. She tried to roll over, to get up, but her legs just wouldn’t seem to let her. A result of injury, or of oxygen deprivation? She wasn’t sure. She settled herself against the wall instead. It didn’t matter. If her men had done what they were supposed to, they’d be cutting off the oxygen flow to the fire shortly. The fire would burn through all the oxygen in the room, and eventually die. She, of course, would as well. There was no way around it.

Olivier coughed again, and her vision wavered. Was it the heat? Or was the smoke depriving her of that much oxygen already? She wondered what would kill her first: The smoke, the fire, or the lack of oxygen in the room. She supposed it didn’t really matter. Dead was dead, no matter what. At least her bears had gotten out. That was the important part.

The fire was quickly drawing close, and breathing was harder now. Her coughs were move like wheezes. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen. She had heard that oxygen deprivation could be just like going to sleep. That sounded preferable to burning to death. Maybe it meant she would dream. She had heard of people seeing things in fires. It was superstition as far as she was concerned, but right now it was one she wouldn’t mind being true. Dream of her men, or her family, or maybe even a miracle, like something swooping in on wings to save her.

She was gasping for breath now. Whatever was burning was burning hot and fierce, and eating up the oxygen quickly. The heat from the fire was closer. Her vision blurred even more. She couldn’t see anything but flames. So. This was it, then. Too bad. She had a few more things she would have liked to do. She tilted her head up to look towards the ceiling, towards the place she had fallen from. It was covered in flames now. This was to be her death. How ironic. The Ice Queen dying by flames. If she had been able to laugh, she would have.

And then, suddenly, something burst through the flames. No, not something, someone. She couldn’t see who it was, but the figure emerged from above, the fire looking as if it were wings behind him. She blearily stared at the figure. Was this to be her last sight before dying? What a glorious dream to have before death. She’d accept it. It wasn’t a bad hallucination to have before dying.

The apparition landed, looking almost ethereal even with its bulk, and hurried towards her. It wasted no words, just came straight to her. To her surprise, it had a warm, fleshy hand. It took her, and lifted her up, pulling her tight against him. Him? Yes. Whatever this was, it looked like Buccaneer. He had her clutched tightly to him, his other arm wrapped around something, and he was yelling something at the ceiling. Suddenly, it felt like she was flying, going too fast for her to comprehend. Was there a heaven after all, and was she going to it? Heck of a way to go.

But no. They burst through the flames, and she saw Miles and Doc and a handful of other men standing on the landing they were heading for. Maybe this wasn’t an oxygen deprivation dream. Maybe it was really happening. They landed, and then it was all moving too quickly for her to comprehend. She tried to breathe, only to weakly cough. She was shifted in Buccaneer’s grasp, and he said something, but she couldn’t comprehend it. There was too much going on. Voices, movement, shouting, hands. She was put on something, the world still blurring around her, something was put on her mouth, and Olivier passed out.

Olivier wasn’t sure how much later it was when she opened her eyes, but she did know that she was breathing much easier and that she was seeing clearer. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was in sickbay, and that it must be night, as Doc had the lights turned down low. A look to either side showed other Bears sleeping on cots as well, injuries bandaged and cared for.

Movement caught her eye, and Doc moved into her line of sight. “Ah, General,” Doc’s voice was soft, but still understandable. “I thought you might wake up soon.” She reached down, checking over Olivier, and adjusting a few things.

“How are you feeling? How’s your breathing?”

“Be—” Olivier started to talk, but was interrupted by a series of coughs. Doc reached down, helping her sit up, and ran her hand on her back.

“Just keep coughing, General. It’s good for you.” Doc’s hand moved to various places on her back and Olivier vaguely realized that she was listening to her lungs. This was only confirmed when Doc’s hand moved around to her front and Olivier could see the stethoscope. Finally, the coughing fit eased, and after a moment and some more listening, Doc helped her lay back down.

“Just take it easy, General,” Doc said. “You had some pretty bad smoke inhalation. It’ll take you some time to get over it.” She reached for something, and looped some tubing around Olivier’s ears, settling it in her nose. “This is some oxygen to help you for the time being. Do not take it out. I won’t hesitate to upgrade you to an oxygen mask again.”

Again? She must have needed the support earlier. Olivier didn’t fight Doc on this. She took a couple of careful breaths in. “…Status?” she questioned.

“R&D is a wreck, but the fire went out after we cut the oxygen. Miles and Buccaneer are going over the damages now. Neil’s been going over the inventory, but it looks like most things made it out fine. As for personnel, there are several injuries. Most of them are minor and either were released earlier or will be released after a night of observation. The most serious injuries were from the initial explosion, with the exception of you. I expect a full recovery from them, though. As for you…”

She fixed Olivier with a look. “You are not to move from here until I’ve cleared you. You have some minor burns, heavy smoke inhalation, a concussion, and you dislocated your knee. You need to rest. If you’ll stay in bed and not overexert yourself, then I’ll allow you to work from bed. But only if you rest when you need to.”

Olivier nodded. “…No arguments… Doctor.” Breathing was still not the easiest thing, and she would do little good wasting her breath arguing.

Doc gave her satisfied smile. “Good. Then for now, rest. The official reports can wait until morning.”

Olivier nodded, and let her eyes drift closed as Doc walked away. There was work to be done, but she had a competent staff that would take care of it for now. At the moment, she could rest.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 29: Bed/Snowed in
Word Count: 489
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong, Heymans Breda
Warning:
Summary: Olivier and Breda are snowed in while enjoying a vacation
Notes: Bredalivier is an indulgence I will always enjoy.

Bed/Snowed In

Breda laid in the bed, half dozing. He was warm, sleep still clinging to him as he laid there under the blankets in the room of the small house. In the other rooms, the sounds of Olivier moving about could be heard. Her feet padding around, her voice as she talked on the phone, the sounds of her morning beginning. Soon enough, Breda knew, she would come in here and rouse him from the bed. It was the end of their small vacation, and she had a fort to get back to running, while he had security at the Drachman embassy to Amestris to go back to.

It was hard, having separate postings like this while being married. He looked forward to the day they were both at Northern Command, preferably with her in command.

He heard her come back into the room, and his thoughts strayed from what he wanted. He mentally braced himself, expecting to hear her say his name, scold him for pretending to be asleep, and tell him to get up. But to his surprise, he felt the blankets lift instead and the bed dip with her weight. He opened an eye “Liv?”

“Move over,” she demanded. “Let me in.”

Breda obliged her and opened up his arms. She slid right in and settled down. But by this time, he was awake and highly confused. “Liv?” he asked. “What about getting up, and getting back to work?”

“You want to leave?” she asked him.

He closed his arms around her, pulling her closer. “No. But I also want to know what’s going on.”

She settled in a bit more, bending her arms up to hold on to his. “We’re snowed in,” she said. “It’s covering the windows. Pushing on the door barely opened it.” She put his feet on his and he nearly yelped with their cold. “I know. I tried,” she said.

“I believe you,” he grumbled, but attempted to warm her feet up, if for no other reason than he didn’t want them to stay that cold and on him.

“The phone lines are still working, though,” she continued, “and I made a few calls. The storm hit the whole region. The fort, the embassy, North City. No one is going anywhere for at least a few days.”

“Really?” Breda said, tightening his hold on her.

He could practically feel the smile on her lips. “Yes, really.”

“So, you’re telling me that we—that is you and me—are stuck all alone in your family’s cabin,” more like a small house on the property of her family’s winter home, but he wasn’t going to split hairs, “until someone comes to dig us out, or the snow melts?”

“Basically, yes,” she replied.

He grinned, and pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair and neck. “I think I can live with this.”

She laughed, and snuggled into him, clearly satisfied with this herself.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 30: Tree
Word Count: 652
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Riza Hawkeye
Warning:
Summary: When some men attempt to capture Riza to use her as ransom and she escapes, they attempt to hunt her down. Little do they know that it’s the opposite—she’s the hunter, and trees are her helpers.
Notes: I think this would be fun to turn into something longer one day!

Tree

There was just something about trees. Riza had always liked them. When she was a child, she had liked the woods and the way the trees made a canopy. She had like the wide branches that were good for climbing, or even the sticky sap that was good for a turning into a glue. Trees had protected her from elements and gave her fruits and nuts. Trees had hidden her from people wishing her harm. And when she had climbed to the top, trees gave the most spectacular views.

She had grown up running among the trees and in the forests. She knew how to track and how to cover her tracks. She knew how the use the forest to her advantage when hunting or hiding. She knew the signs to look for to help her know that water was near, or what the area around might be like. She knew how to see what hidden dangers might be about. They had been her helpers when she was young, helping her hunt, helping her hide.

Once again, the trees were going to be her helpers.

She had been traveling, and then run off the road. Three men had thought it would be a good idea to take her hostage, hold her for ransom. She was the Flame Alchemist’s adjunct, after all. Surely, he would pay a nice sum to get her back. She had shot one man for their troubles and injured another. The third had attacked her and, while she had defended herself well, she hadn’t escaped unscathed. She had fled into the woods, and there disappeared among the trees.

The men had friends, others involved in this, and they were certain that between their numbers, her injuries and the environment, that they had her trapped. How wrong they were. They were the hunted. And Riza was the hunter.

She moved when the trees provided sound. She used their canopies as cover. She hid among their branches. She used needles and sap and pinecones to lay her traps. When she caught a man wearing browns and greens, she shed her blues and used his colors instead, blending in even more with the surrounding forest. She turned into a part of the woods, moving in and out of brush and trees as if she were a forest creature herself.

The trees protected her.

She slept in them, ate in them, and even, at times, traveled between them. She used them for ambushes and for cover. High up in their branches, no one spotted her. By the time the team found her location, three days later, she had injured or captured a half dozen men, and the other half were scared witless of her.

The team had to hunt for her, as she was deep in the woods. It wasn’t easy for them. The only person who managed to spot her among the trees was Roy, and that was due to years of practice as children. He was the only one who knew to look up, and he smiled at her when he found her.

“You can come down now, Lieutenant,” he called to her.

She didn’t move. “Did you get all of them?”

“Fifteen men in all,” he said, while the rest of the team tried their best to spot her among the trees, only Havoc managing it before she revealed herself and started her climb down. Mustang just smirked at her. “Going back to your roots, Lieutenant?”

“To the canopy, actually, sir,” she said. “You know I’ve always liked trees.”

“So you have,” he replied. “Let’s get you back, looked over and debriefed.”

“Yes sir.”

She was tired and worn, and more than grateful to be able to rest without fear of someone finding her. But as Riza was escorted to the car, she couldn’t help but look back at the woods, and be grateful for the help of the trees.

Chapter Text

Writers Month Day 31: Purple
Word Count: 389
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: K/G
Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang
Warning:
Summary: Purple has always been Riza’s color.
Notes: Wow this is short. Also, I think I need to work this idea into something somewhere.

Purple

Purple was her color. That was all there was to it. When they were children, she had worn faded, drab clothing. At a festival, he had seen her eyeing a lilac ribbon. He had bought it for her and, for once, her surprise had turned to shyness. But she had worn that ribbon for years, weaving it to her hair in many different ways. She always took the utmost care of it, trimming any frayed ends neatly, if remorsefully, and keeping as much length in it as she could. She had been clutching it to herself the day he was kicked out of her father’s house. Even when they had met again, after her father had died, he had seen the ribbon, tied neatly around the neck of her stuffed rabbit.

After Ishval, Roy had noticed that, when she wore civilian clothes, clothes that she got to pick out, she tended towards lavenders and lilacs, choosing those light shades of purple. Something about the color just seemed to draw her in. And, as far as he was concerned, she looked beautiful in it. It was feminine, but not over poweringly so. It was strong, but subtle, cool, with a hint of warmth. It was a pleasing shade that could stand out, or blend in. It could work in so many different situations, and it complimented her skin tone and hair quiet well.

So of course, it had to be one of her colors in their wedding. Her engagement dress was a soft purple that suited her perfectly and looked wonderful in the photos. When she had her bridal shower, she wore a white dress with a purple floral pattern on it. And in her wedding dress, there were small accents of purple in the embellishments.

But those were not the purples that caught his eye.

No, with the ribbons and flowers and decorations of purples and silver, and the flashes of purple from the embellishments she wore, what caught his eye was one, singular ribbon, faded and worn, tied around the bouquet of flowers that she carried. Roy couldn’t help but look from it to her, and she smiled the smile that was just for him, the joy that they shared in that moment, over a piece of purple ribbon, a simple reminder of their deep friendship and love.