avril 14th. (feast) wrote in __kirisaite,
avril 14th.

  • Mood:
  • Music:

_fanfiction_: FMA // 9/45 RoyEd themes

In a sudden fit of inspiration, I typed out some more RoyEd themes. These will be the last I post for a few days, because I'm leaving for Ohio the fourth and not coming back until the seventh. During that time I'm guessing that I won't have stable internet access so...until then, I probably won't post anything here. D:
However, I may have some more themes and maybe a drabble or two when I come back. :)

Title: 45 RoyEd Themes Drabbles
Rating: Anywhere from G to R
Pairing: RoyEd & EdRoy
Genre: Fluff, crack, angst, romance, the like.
Warnings: Yaoi, language, adult situations, possible smut
Length: Drabble collection
Notes: These contain more smutty content than the others so far. :D And by others, I mean: 1-3, and 4-6.

Drabble Seven;
7) State Alchemist

There were several perks to being a State Alchemist–access to the best reference books in Central, almost boundless research funds (that, really, weren’t always used for research), and among several other things, new office furniture on an annual basis.

Roy Mustang particularly enjoyed that fact, because after a while, staring at the same mahogany desktop day after day started to lose its touch after about six months. His favorite part about getting new furniture for his office was breaking it in with Fullmetal. Breaking all of it in.

“All of it” being the two new leather couches, the new writing desk (cherry this time, not mahogany), the coffee table, the re-painted walls, and finally, the new Persian rug that came in late fall. The new comforts were enjoyed by all, and news of more recent additions made a very eager Edward Elric and a proud Roy Mustang.

Of course, with all pros, there were also cons to being a State Alchemist. In Flame and Fullmetal’s case, a certain female First Lieutenant walking in on you as you break in her new desk chair and blackmailing you into cleaning the men’s lavatory was considered a con.

So as Roy, down on hands and knees, sleeves rolled up the elbows, scrubbed a sink until the porcelain shined, he angrily wondered if the benefits outweighed the consequences.

Drabble Eight;
8) Opportunity

Edward Elric had always been skeptical about “opportunity only striking once”, and after several years of testing the theory, he stopped believing in it at all. There was never just one opportunity to find the Philosopher’s Stone–seemingly to the colonel, every freaking city in Amestris was harboring the mythical object–and everyday after he and his brother returned empty handed, he wished that opportunity would just strike them for once and then he wondered if the saying was somehow true and they had missed their chance.
But that couldn’t be it, really. It just couldn’t.

However, Edward was sure that if there was a chance that the old phrase was true, then this was just the type of situation it was talking about.

Roy Mustang was standing outside the military bathhouse in the pouring rain, clad only in a towel, looking very, very perturbed. He pounded on the window, snapped his bare fingers threateningly at the door, but obviously to no avail. Inside, a grinning blond alchemist dangled the navy military uniform in front of the man’s face, safe behind a panel of glass.

It’d been simple, really; Roy had been getting a shower in the bathhouse after hours, and Al, coming home from the library after dropping off some overdue books, had seen a kitten go up a tree. Since he couldn’t find his brother, he’d asked the colonel to come help him get it down. The dark-haired man had rushed out half-naked, assuming it’d only take a few minutes. And that’s where Ed came in.

He rushed into the empty bathhouse after the kitten had been rescued, transmuted the door shut, and held Roy’s clothes hostage inside. So there stood the Flame Alchemist, absolutely useless in some of the wettest weather that Central had seen all year, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Edward sighed and lay down on a bench, Roy’s uniform jacket bundled up under his head. Even if he didn’t put a grain of salt towards that saying, it most certainly did ring true in a case like this.

Drabble Nine;

9) Fire Wound/Scars

Edward bit down on the loose tip of the glove, tongue moving over the rough material and slowly pulling it off, revealing the pale skin beneath it. Roy’s fingers were long and thin, branching off from an elegantly curved hand. The boy’s tongue touched the digits again, slowly sucking on them before working down the limb until he got to the wrist. At this point, the boy closed his mouth, corners of his lips tugging down into a frown, and he scowled at a patch of white crisscrosses on the smooth skin.

“Those are scars, right? How the hell...did you get those?”

Roy lazily followed the alchemist’s gaze, and inwardly groaned when he saw what he was looking at. Honestly, he’d rather not remember how he got them, why the too-white skin was there in the first place...

It was ten years ago and the beginning of the end, the second of September and four months til he went back home. The war was reaching its peak at that time–the Ishbalans were fighting harder than ever but slowly, they were giving up, and the Amestrians were obviously making a hard impression–thus, Roy was needed more than ever. The killings weren’t exclusive anymore, and he was basically ordered to kill anyone who posed a minor threat to their valiant cause.

He remembered every one of their faces, every fateful grimace and the tear-stained bloody cheeks of everyone he slaughtered. And more than that, he remembered the empty feeling of guilt after every death. The burns were from the enemies’ futile attempts to protect themselves one last time, and they were also of his own doing. God, they were horrible times.

He didn’t believe that he would make it through the month.

Edward snapped him back to attention by gently nipping his thumb, and his golden eyes were heavy with concern. “You know, Mustang, you don’t have to tell me. I think I know.”

And maybe, Roy thought, relaxing again, this boy could understand where he’d been.

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic