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[personal profile] nyagosstar
Technically my vacation started last night at 7:01 PM, but I'm not here to quibble over details. he point is that I don't have to go back to work until the 20th which is pretty much the most fantastic way to start January that I can think of. And the best part? I don't have to worry about getting to/from work around the huge amount of snow that's supposed to be dumped on us in just a few short days. Snow is soooooo much more acceptable when I don't have to be out in it.

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about FMA and some of the prompts from the [livejournal.com profile] fma_fic_contest journal have really caught my attention, so I thought I would dump them here as a tidy way to keep all of my stuff together.

This first piece is something I wrote thinking it was going to be what I was going to submit as my prompt, but it never worked as well on paper as it did in my head. It did, however, help my to write my actual prompt, and it's Roy and what's not to love about Roy?

The second is my actual entry for prompt #93 and the third is my entry for prompt #95. I love the idea of prompts, they're a great way to get back into the habit of writing, which I both firmly support and am trying to do. Both actual prompt entries were beta'd by [livejournal.com profile] sainnis, though, because I wasn't paying attention, I think I failed to mention it when I posted them originally.

Writing, like bananas, is good.



Untitled

With the snap of a finger, I can set the world aflame. Ignition cloth, alchemical reaction, and an innate understanding of how fire lives and breathes and I can reduce a beating heart to a pile of ash. One of the most destructive forces of nature at my command and the ability to wield it so innate that I cannot now remember what it was like before I knew the power of an array.

When I was young, I didn’t understand when my teacher warned me to keep this power out of the hands of the military. There was a time when I though there was no greater deed than to serve my country through my alchemy. I enlisted, filled with optimism about the good I could do, the people I could protect, never imagining that the power in my hands could be used for destruction.

Ishbal burned that optimism out of me. The heat of the desert, the stench of burning flesh and the heartless efficiency of the military machine scorched my emotion. I sealed myself against the memories and the guilt. I though cold ambition was all I had left after Ishbal.

And now this.

There are no words for the frozen rage in my heart, body and mind at the death of Maes Hughes. He died because of me. He died for me. I was object of his final call. His wife, his child, his life, all left behind empty and unfinished. Never has there been a man less deserving of that gift.

This attack wasn’t random, it wasn’t accidental. Maes discovered something in his research he couldn’t discuss on a secure military line. Armstrong implied military command itself is at the heart of the conspiracy. There is nothing else for me to do, but go after them. I won’t be able to hide for long, but I’m past caring. I’d feel sorry for them, if I could feel anything beyond this glacial stillness in my soul.

I’ve faced what I did in Ishbal. I’ve come to terms with my responsibility for the Elric children. I can accept my part in what has happened with Maes. No great work on my part, no penance will ever be enough to balance out my wrongs, but I have to believe that my desire to make things right, to make this country better grants me a stay, if only for a while. I know what’s in store for me, in the end—the absolution I’ll never claim.

But you, you my Fuhrer, you should know what you’ve brought to your doorstep. Fire will be your end, the flames of justice meted out from a frozen heart and steeled against mercy. All of your plans will be burnt beyond recognition. I will destroy all you’ve built. I will take your place and your life. Your reign is at an end.

I am coming.



At Your Doorstep

“Sir? What are you still doing here? It’s late.”

Roy signed his name in a flourish and glanced at Hawkeye. “I’ll be leaving soon. I just had some paperwork to catch up on.”

The look she gave him, frankly, did not belong on the face of a subordinate. “I don’t remember leaving anything for you to finish.”

“It’s just some personal business.” He laid the letter flat on the desk, waiting for the ink to dry. He should have expected that Hawkeye would take the page. It was on his tongue to order her not to read it, as it was none of her business, but she was a fast reader and done by the time he made up his mind.

“Sir,” she started, carefully. “Colonel Mustang. You cannot send this to the Fuhrer.”

Roy leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, exhausted and heartsick and ready to be done with the day. “I thought it only fair that he receive some sort of warning. A military man deserves to know when death is at his doorstep.”

“That may be the case, but sir, if you send this, you’ll be tried for treason. You say you’re going to destroy everything he’s built, that you will take his place and his life. That’s not fair warning, that’s a death threat.”

“More of a promise, I think.”

“I doubt the military tribunal will care to quibble over semantics.” She held the page as if to tear the letter in half.

He held up a hand. “If you destroy it, I’ll just write it again.”

When the page was little more than parade confetti, she dropped the remains in the trash can and dusted her hands. “Write it as many times as you like. So long as you never send it. Sir.”

Roy put his pen to paper and began to rewrite the letter. It seemed only just that since Roy had set his sights on the Fuhrer, the man should know his intentions. It was more than he deserved, far more than the Fuhrer had ever given Maes, but Roy was trying to make Amestris a better place. He could be the bigger man.

“Sir, I really do think you should head home.”

“I’m just getting to the good part.”

Hawkeye took the pen from his hand and the paper from the desk. “Somehow I don’t think fiery death can really be considered the good part. Please, sir. Don’t you think it’s been a long enough day without this?”

Roy closed his eyes, wondering if the icy ache in his chest would ever go away. He though Ishbal had been bad. He though the desert had burned out his ability to feel, but the death of Maes Hughes was nothing compared to that pain.

Where Ishabl had left his soul scorched and dry, the loss of Maes because of Roy, for Roy walled off everything behind a glacier of ice. And Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, knew there wasn’t enough fire in the world to break through. For all his power, for all his control, he couldn’t fix this and the cold rage Maes’ death had left behind was, if he admitted to himself and no one else, better than the crippling sorrow of Ishbal. His rage gave him focus and purpose.

Getting killed by a firing squad before he ever got a chance to kill the Fuhrer, however, was not part of the plan. “Perhaps you’re right.” Roy opened his eyes and stood, refusing to acknowledge the pity reflected back at him in Hawkeye’s face. “Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

Outside, the night air bit into lungs too used to being indoors. The streets were quiet in the late evening and he had, perhaps, too much time to think. He was halfway home before he changed his mind. Perhaps signing his name to a letter was an ill-conceived plan, but he wanted the Fuhrer to know that someone in Amestris was on to him. He jotted a single line onto a slip of paper and dropped it into a mailbox. Bradley deserved to know and he deserved to fear.

I am coming



Half-Life

“Brother?”

It was late. The house was still; the wind had died and something outside had hushed the crickets into silence. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we’ll ever see Dad again?”

Ed clenched his flesh fist to avoid any sound. He hoped that some day their paths would cross and Ed could show the old man exactly what abandoning a family did to the kids. He hoped he got to show Hohenhiem their burned-out house and the grave of his wife. To cause even a fraction of the pain his leaving had caused Ed.

Honestly, though, if their mother’s death hadn’t brought him back to their lives, what possible reason could draw them together now? No, Ed didn’t expect to ever see Hohenhiem again. Not that it mattered.

But it was the anniversary of their mother’s first death. Al was still stuck in a cold suit of armor and Ed was still missing half his body. They were no closer to any of their goals and most days it was a wonder they could take care of themselves. And after all, Al was his brother, the only real family he had left.

“Yeah, I think we’ll see him again.”

Al made a pleased little humming sound that echoed through the hollow metal. “That’ll be nice, won’t it?”

Ed grunted and turned over to face the wall. “Goodnight, Al.”
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