Syd (xkesshoux) wrote in fm_alchemist,
Syd
xkesshoux
fm_alchemist

  • Mood:
Drabbles! As requested, they are written. Writing as they come to me, not really in any particular order. ^^;

Title: Family (for jov)
Rating: PG-PG13 (Language, and suggestions, and drabblefied, laughable childbirth)
Genre: Crack/Humor (more strongly leaning towards general humor than crack, really.)
Word Count: 483 (Could've sworn it was longer than that...)
Challenge: RoyxRiza on the subject of children.

Fuhrer Mustang could remember the exact moment when his most valued General had first come to him for a little “talk.” Really, he should have seen it coming. She was a woman after all.
--
“Sir.” Riza’s tone was clipped as always, even though they were lovers now. “Permission to speak freely, Fuhrer, sir!”

“Permission granted, General Hawkeye, and for crying out loud we’re in my private off—“ that was cut off with the click of a safety. “Right, permission granted, General,” the dark haired man sweatdropped slightly. “At ease. Please, have a seat.”

Upon his suggestion, Riza promptly seated herself on the corner of the Fuhrer’s desk that just so happened to give Roy the best view up that tiny little skirt he’d managed to get her in—only under vow that the rest of the women in the military would continue to adorn their current uniform, but it was worth it. “Roy, I’ve been thinking. It’s time that we disclosed our marriage and started a family.”
--
Roy had laughed when she’d said it then. “You want to have KIDS? That’s rich, Riza, really!” He hadn’t been laughing later.

Roy Mustang, esteemed Flame Alchemist, Fuhrer of the Amestris military and bedecked with more medals than should really be legal, was not prepared for becoming a real father. Sure, he’d played the father figure for Edward and Alphonse while they’d been in his care, but surely Riza knew he wasn’t father material!
--
He still remembered the exact moment she’d come to him after work, tears in her eyes and a smile on that usually stern face. “I’m pregnant, Roy…we’re going to have a baby…”

Once again he’d laughed. ”Oh, you scared me for a second there, hon, I thought you were SERIOUS! April Fool’s, right?”

He was most definitely not laughing while Riza was giving birth all over the brand new upholstery, favorite gun locked and loaded against her husband’s temple with a deathgrip on his hand, cursing his very existence with every contraction. ”Now, now, honey…let’s not forget who wanted the baby…” –BANG!- “I mean yes, you’re going to kill me because I’m a worthless stinking bastard and all this pain is my fault and GOD DAMN WILL YOU LET GO OF MY HAND I THINK YOU JUST BROKE SOMETHING!”
--
Now, the Fuhrer only wished he could go back to the glare of Riza’s that meant ‘Do your paperwork, NOW, Taisa, or you’re sleeping on the COUCH!’ Now, the glare meant diaper changing or lullabies, feeding, screaming, messy baby. Now, the glare meant HEADACHES and going to work smelling like VOMIT, DIARRHEA, and SHIT.

Roy Mustang seriously never understood just what was so great about having kids. He supposed the only good thing was once ‘his daddy’s arrogance’ and ‘his mother’s sense of humor’ was old enough to walk, the bullets weren’t aimed mostly at HIM anymore.



Title: And Then The World Went Splodey (For 4ti3k4t35)
Rating: PG-13/R (For language, sexual implications, and utter brain breakage)
Genre: CRACK. PERIOD.
Word Count: 382
Challenge: HavocxGreedxKimbleyxArmstrongxDorochet


Greed was a pimp. No, seriously, Greed was a major fucking pimp. If it looked relatively human and spoke like a human, yeah, he’d fuck that.

Kimbley was a whore. Period. Zolof J. Kimbley was a grade A whore. If Greed wanted it, he could get it for him. If Greed thought it was erotic, he could practically get off on just that notion. Aside from that, Kimbley was fucking easy.

Dorochet was loyal. Well, loyal and horny as a dog, of course. Dorochet was such a horny dog that he could be found on any given night humping legs. The more legs to hump, the better, as far as he saw it. And if it somehow involved REAL sex, who was he to complain?

Armstrong was…sparkly. Loud, sparkly, strong, sparkly, overfriendly, and did we mention he SPARKLED? How could he resist Kimbley when the little man came to him practically begging for release? And then there was Greed and his ability to become hard at will, and Dorochet with the way he’d give the best massage to his leg muscles! Oh, and Greed wore sunglasses, Dorochet was colorblind, and Kimbley liked flashy things, so none of them minded his sparkles! It was perfect!

Havoc, on the other hand… Well, Havoc was drunk. And when I say drunk, I mean PISS FUCKING DRUNK. And more than a little high. This was, of course, thanks to Kimbley spiking the punch, and Greed switching the blonde’s nicotine with pot. That was only, however, the first time. After Havoc had sobered up again and woke up in the middle of the most gut wrenching post-orgy mess, it really hadn’t been that hard to get him to come back down from the ceiling fan. Aside from the fact that the fan had broken, of course. Havoc had deemed himself blinded by Armstrong’s sparkles, fond of Dorochet’s puppy qualities, enjoyed arguments with Kimbley, and hell, Greed smoked! What was better than a smoke buddy, eh? In the end, he decided it was all good.

And then the writer’s brain imploded and ran from her ears and nose like a goopy gray matter and bloody mess from the images put in her brain of this pairingLUNACY. On her grave was written: “MY EYES! THEY BURN! ALSKJSDLFKJSDLJ!” The End.


Never fear (no really, you should!) for many more drabbles shall follow! List of all requests and progress (with links!) HERE!
Subscribe

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Comments allowed for members only

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 27 comments