RW Grimm (grimm222001) wrote in fm_alchemist,
RW Grimm

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Fic dump!

Title: Soundtrack Drabbles Volume One

Rating: T

Number of drabbles: 33

Warning: Spoiler warnings for whole series.

Summary: Thirty-three drabbles based off the song titles of the first FMA OST.  All are either Roy-centric, Riza-centric, or RoyAi.  Genres vary from angst to humor.  For those of you who go to, you might've read these already.  Enjoy

A fun fact: I did these because my mind went brain dead trying to do the RoyAi100


Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

John Howard Payne (1791 - 1852)

#1 Way Home

His home was his sanctuary, the only place he truly felt safe. His home protected him, supported him, loved him.

They say that animal, no matter where they are, can find their way home. Roy Mustang was no animal, but somehow, he knew where his home was, no matter where he himself was.

This was because his home was in the form of Riza Hawkeye. No matter where she was, as long as she was by his side…

He would be home.

After all, home is where the heart is.


Real meaningful endeavours, the biggies in human existence, often require the sacrifice of others.

Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider, Northern Exposure, Northern Lights, 1993

#2 Equivalent Exchange

He couldn’t believe it, after all these years, he was thinking about it again. The ultimate taboo, forbidden alchemy.

Human transmutation.

Would it be that hard?’ he thought, staring down on the grave, his onyx eyes clouded and distant.

He still knew every calculation every transmutation circle developed, every ingredient needed.

He’d never forgotten, only locked it away.

And now, the possibility was in his grasp, the possibility to bring Maes back.

For his wife…for his daughter…for him.

The Elrics had failed, but they had thought a few drops of blood could make up for a human soul.

Roy wouldn’t make that mistake. Equivalent Exchange. He would give up something as valuable as Maes’ life, something of equal value.

But what that was, he did not know.


Roy didn’t respond as Riza approached him, only continued staring at the gravestone, his body as cold as the carved rock. His mind had gone on overdrive.

Something of equal value to Maes’ life.

He knew what it was…

who it was…


Would Roy do that? Could he do that?

To gain back Maes’ life, give up Riza’s.

Kill the women he loved to get back the best friend he lost.


How could he even consider such a thing?

He as a person could never do that, never. It would make him a monster, waking up everyday knowing he had killed Riza, he was the reason she wasn’t by his side.

But, he as an alchemist, could. He had the recourses the power, and the drive to do it.

“We alchemists are such sad creatures,”


Sometimes you find you want a baby when you least expect it, the same can be said for who you want the baby with.

-RW Grimm

#3 Melissa

He should’ve been doing his paperwork, but he wasn’t.

And since he couldn’t do much else without Riza noticing, he would think.

Sometimes he thought about serious matters, like becoming Fuhrer.

Other times he thought about much…less serious things.

Today was one of those days where his mind was on the latter.

“Hawkeye,” he called, staring not at her, but the wall ahead of him…no…beyond the wall.

Riza looked up from her own work, knowing Roy was going to ask her another stupid so he could avoid doing work.

Some were less innocent than others.

Does Black Hayate have a birthday?”

Do you think you would ever wear a miniskirt?”

What about a frilly maid outfit?”

Why don’t wear your hair down more?”

If you were a food what kind would you be?”

Does bondage appeal to you at all?”

These were just some of the many idiotic (or perverted) questions the colonel asked her. She couldn’t even imagine what today’s would be.

“Could I ask you a question?”

She had the strong impulse to say ‘no’ but decided against it. Once he asked the question she’d answer (for the sexual ones she had to lie so as not to add to his fantasies), glare at him, and tell him to get the hell back to work.

“Yes sir,”

A small smile appeared on his pale lips. “If you ever had a child…what would you name it?”

This caught Riza off guard. What kind of question was that?

But, instead of yelling at him for asking such a personal thing, she replied curtly “I don’t intend on having children sir,”

She thought he’d leave it at that, but he didn’t. “Then hypothetically speaking, if you had a child, what would you name it?”

Hawkeye didn’t say anything for a long while. She just stared at him, though his eyes were glued to something else, something she couldn’t see.

“…If it was a girl…I would name her…Melissa,”

Roy’s smile grew. “Melissa…I like that name,”


What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.

William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Romeo and Juliet", Act 2 scene 2

#4 Title

After he had passed the exam, after he became a state alchemist, Roy Mustang had received the title of Flame Alchemist.

Receiving the name Flame Alchemist, Roy had a number of doors opened for him, hundreds of alchemic books and secrets were in his reach. He could learn more, become better, make a difference in a world that needed it.

Under the name of Flame Alchemist, Roy had become the military’s lap dog, a choke collar digging into his flesh at all times. In times of need, it would nearly suffocate him as he was dragged off to fulfill the will of his master.

In Ishbal he had killed families, murdered innocents, eternally stained his hands with blood, and his mouth with alcohol.

He did this all in the name of the military, all under the name of Flame Alchemist.

He hated his name.


The opposite of the religious fanatic is not the fanatical atheist but the gentle cynic who cares not whether there is a god or not.

Eric Hoffer (1902 - 1983)

#5 Heavenly Spirit

She had never thought much about religion. It wasn’t a thought worth her time. There were too many non-spiritual matters that required her full attention.

Roy was an atheist, but most alchemists were. Something about understanding the world in such a scientific way must have drained away any spiritual faith they’d had.

She had always thought there was something, but she never elaborated anymore on it… until Roy’s battle with Bradley.

When she’d found him, bloody and unmoving she had cursed the gods for doing this to him, to her.

There were no gods that protected those in need, she concluded. There was no glowing being who’d come and save Roy.

The only one there was her.

She got him to a hospital.

She had taken care of him as he recovered.

No gods had saved Roy, she had.

And that’s where her belief now stood. Whether or not there was a god, gods, or goddess, they didn’t deserve the faith of the masses, masses that saw these gods as their saviors, who help those in need.

Gods did not save people.

People saved people.

Heavenly spirit be damned.


Write a wise saying and your name will live forever.


#6 Avenue

“Come on sir,” Fuery urged, his brow lined with sweat. “What is it?”

Roy avoided contact, staring intently at his desk, burning a hole threw it with his gaze. “Just let me think for a second…”

“You’ve had enough time already Colonel!” Havoc snapped. “Tell us!”

Roy growled. “Fine…it’s…it’s…”

“Spit it out Mustang!”

“It’s…Likorish Mi,”

Breda’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding,” he and Roy’s other subordinates did their best to contain their laughter. “Do you have any idea what that sounds like?”

Roy gnashed his teeth together. “I’m well aware what it sounds like…” his eyes shot to Breda. “Butter Biscuit,” Falman. “Cheeky Boi,” Fuery. “Butch Blow,” Havoc. “Noah Sexington,”

The colonel leaned back in his chair smugly, letting the weight of what he said sink in.

Finally, Havoc spoke. “Who the hell thought of this as the way to choose your stripper name?”

“Yeah,” Fuery whined. “Not every pet or street name is appropriate for a stripper name,”

“Damn right,” Havoc muttered sourly before turning to Riza, who sat apart from the small group, working. “What about you Lieutenant?”

Riza looked up from her work, glaring daggers into Havoc. “You don’t expect me to figure out what my stripper name would be, do you?”


Riza snorted and went back to her work. “You shouldn’t be wasting time like this,” her hand slithered to her hip holster. “You all have work to do,”

“Come on Riza,” Roy insisted. “Do this for us, and I promise to make it up to you,” he smiled suggestively, and Havoc resisted the urge to gag.

Riza sighed. “Fine…Boo Boo Third Avenue,” her glare didn’t waver, burning into every single one of the men, just asking them to laugh.

None of them did.


Memory, turn your face to the moonlight
Let your memory lead you
Open up, enter in
If you find there the meaning of what happiness is
Then a new life will begin
Lyrics from Memory, from the Musical CATS by Andrew Loyd Webber

#7 Memories

Riza Hawkeye could remember the first time she’d met Roy Mustang. He had approached her from behind, she wasn’t sure what he’d wanted nor did she ever find out. All she knew was, because of her short hair, he’d thought she was a petite man!

Roy Mustang could remember the first time he’d seen Riza Hawkeye (from the front). It was after he’d regained consciousness; she’d knocked him out for calling her ‘boy’. He hadn’t been hurt enough (in her opinion he figured) to be taken to the infirmary. Instead she’s dragged him to her tent (how she did that alone he wasn’t sure), and laid him on her cot. The first thing he saw was her beautiful auburn eyes…filled to the brim with contempt in murder (yes, murder in adjective form, they were that scary!).

Riza didn’t know why she’d brought him back to her tent. Was it because she felt bad for punching him? No. He deserved what he got. A more likely explanation was that she didn’t want to get into trouble for striking a fellow officer, and a superior no less!

Roy couldn’t help but notice how beautiful this woman was. The military uniform really didn’t do her justice, nor did her hair cut. Her bottom lip jutted out, just slightly, giving her a serious yet endearing look.

Riza didn’t know why this man just kept staring at her, but it made her uncomfortable. Was he thinking about something perverted? What a pig! Honestly, she couldn’t believe this man. Now she was really glad she’d punched him.

“What’s your name?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly regained her composure. Out of duty, she saluted. “Private Riza Hawkeye sir,”

He smiled, staring up at her with half-lidded onyx eyes. “You have such beautiful hair, you should grow it out more,”

Riza Hawkeye had never, and would never, forget her first encounter with Roy Mustang.


#8 Favorite Daughter

Her father had been a soldier, fighting in the name of Amestris. He died fighting, only weeks before he birth.

Her mother had also been a soldier, just like her father, and her father’s father. She had been forced to take temporary leave during her pregnancy. She had taken permanent leave after she died giving birth to Riza.

She had no other living relatives, save her grandfather on her mother’s side. She was grateful for him taking her in, raising her. But still…

She would rather have her real mother and father any day.

She knew nothing of them, her grandfather found it too painful to speak about them. She didn’t know if they were strict or lenient, serious or fun loving. She preferred to think of them as kind and loving.

On the humid nights she couldn’t sleep, she’d lie in bed and imagine the life she’d never have with them.

They were always smiling, always happy. Her mother had the same hair as Riza, and her father the same eyes. They would kiss and hug her, tell her how much they loved her.

They would tell her she was their favorite daughter, and she’d giggle and say she was their only daughter.

When she dreamed of her parents she cried.

Her grandfather was always confused as to why his granddaughter’s pillow was always wet.


If all the world's a stage, I want to operate the trap door.

Paul Beatty

#9 Pint-sized Alchemist

Clothes rustled and fell to the floor, hands groped body parts, fingers racked through hair. Lips and tongues battled fiercely for domination as the heat rose between their bodies.

“Did you lock the door this time?” Riza murmured against his teeth.

A hand slithered from the curve of her hip, and flipped a small latch on the door.


She moaned into his mouth as his scorching fingers returned to her equally hot skin.

“Isn’t Edward supposed to come see you soon?”

Roy groaned, why did Full Metal have to come up now?

“I took care of him,” he replied smugly.

Satisfied, Riza crushed her body against his, not a sliver of light could get between them. Their teeth clicked and cut into their dueling tongues, trying to choke the other.

However…as the tango between the two escalated…

“I can’t believe him!” Ed seethed. “Send me on a wild goose chase will you Colonel Pony?” Ed’s voice echoed throughout the cramped vent, his face burning red.

Several hours ago that jack ass Mustang had sent him and Al on a ‘special mission’ that had sent the two brothers running all over Central.

Around three in the afternoon (they’d started at eight in the morning) it occurred to them that Mustang had sent them out to keep them busy, away from him.

Ed had put it, with very little tact, that Mustang was probably with some woman, doing it on his desk.

That’s how a plan of revenge came to the brothers…well, just Ed, Al didn’t want to get involved. That was just fine with Ed, Al couldn’t fit in the narrow air vents anyway.

Now, with a camera in hand, Ed had the perfect plan to embarrass Mustang and whatever woman he was with. He was right over Mustang’s office, he could see the desk through the narrow slits of the shaft.

He couldn’t see anyone, but he could hear voices; one was distinctly Mustang and the other…was defiantly female…

“How do you know he won’t show up?”

Roy could have cried. They were so close! He’d almost gotten her bra off!

“Why are you so paranoid?”

Riza’s eyes narrowed. “Do you remember what happened last time?”

Roy smiled confidently. “That’s why I locked the door,” he gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. “Don’t worry. There’s no way that pint-sized alchemist is going to show up—”


There was a loud thump from the vent above Roy’s desk. The next thing they knew, a broken vent lay on the floor, along with a fuming Ed.

He didn’t seem the least bit flustered by his entrance. He smiled triumphantly, as he held up his camera, snapping off shot after shot. “Let’s see how respected you are when your subordinates see you’ve dragged—” he stopped short, his eyes widening. “Lieutenant Hawkeye?”

Riza’s eyes could have melted steel. Her raging eyes flashed to Roy. “Never again! Not if there’re people in the building!” she turned to Ed, and the boy was suddenly reminded off a cat about to catch a mouse, and then skin it and gut it. “Edward, give me that camera,”

That was when it dawned on Ed that the shots of a camera were nothing compared to the shots of a gun.


Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.

Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)

#10 Harmony

They say everyone has a soul mate.

They say that some people are just meant to be together.

People think if they find their soul mate, all will be perfect, they’ll have no squabbles, they’ll live out their final days together.

But she’s never believed in that drivel. A person chooses their own destiny, a person chooses their own true love.

Real love is not so easy. All have their difficulties, even lovers. There will be fights, there will be obstacles. But if they truly love each other, they can overcome.

Sometimes she likes comparing love to music.

If not done correctly, if the lovers aren’t understanding and open, it can be painful and bitter, off key.

But if done correctly, if the lovers forgive and listen, it can be a beautiful masterpiece.

Harmony is not easily achieved.

But when it is, it’s a beautiful thing.


A cynic is a man who, when he smells flowers, looks around for a coffin.

H. L. Mencken (1880 - 1956)

#11 Unrest

Riza Hawkeye’s mind was in a state of unrest…and pure rage.

She hadn’t meant to pick up the phone the same time Roy was using it. She hadn’t intended to intercept the call.

She had hung up right away, before he could know a third person had entered the conversation. But she’d stayed on just long enough to catch a few words.

“…Gloria…flowers…she’ll love them…”

Riza’s teeth ground together. He was getting some women named Gloria flowers!

She couldn’t believe him; he was seeing another women behind her back!

Gloria…she was probably a tramp, she had to be. And Riza was sure she was a bitch, the kind Riza would love to clock over the head with something big and heavy.

She would take care of Gloria later, now she had to plan on how to punish Roy. After a half hour of neglecting her regular duties, and throwing most of her pens at Fuery like darts, she came up with the perfect solution.

She was going to shoot him in the head…no…first the groin, then the head.

No man cheated on Riza Hawkeye! Not even Roy Mustang!

“Excuse me, are you Riza Hawkeye?”

She looked up from her desk, taking in a man in a bright blue uniform; he had a big smile on his face, so wide and cheery Riza was actually unnerved. In his hand was a large bouquet of flowers, a mixture of…well, Riza wasn’t sure, she knew nothing of flowers. The cheerful man held out the flowers to her, his smile widening (if that was possible).

What the hell?

“These are for you, from a secret admirer, complementary of the Gloria Flower Company,”


The most powerful person in a woman’s life is the one that holds her heart.

-RW Grimm

#12 Infiltration

He had finally done it.

After years of trying to succeed he had finally broken through her tough wall, and reached her heart, her soul.

He didn’t know it though, it had actually just occurred to her.

But now he dominated her thoughts. Every time he spoke her body responded, whenever he spoke her legs turned to jelly, just firm enough to keep her standing.

The way he held himself, the way he could take command in a snap. And his hands! Skilled fingers she dreamt of every night.

Roy Mustang had infiltrated her soul, stolen her heart.

He held her mind, body, and soul in the palm of his hand.

And he didn’t even know it.


It's just human. We all have the jungle inside of us. We all have wants and needs and desires, strange as they may seem. If you stop to think about it, we're all pretty creative, cooking up all these fantasies. it's like a kind of poetry.

Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider, Northern Exposure, Mister Sandman, 1994

#13 Despicable Acts

As a child, her grandfather had preached to her about ‘despicable acts’ aka sex (a taboo subject that children were forbidden to know of). He would rant on about how she was never to perform these acts (without actually telling her what they were), for the same reason all parents do.

As she got older he became more lenient, pushing her to marry, though didn’t want her having sex before that (unbeknownst to him, that didn’t really work out).

She hadn’t been a virgin the first time she and Mustang had ravished each other on his office floor. But it was the first time she had had an experience like that, and the first in a long time she’d felt something deeper than lust.

He had become a drug to her, addicting. She couldn’t go through half a day without thinking of his smooth skin, his hard muscles, his handsome smile.

She couldn’t help but dream at night, about raking her hands through his hair, his fingers digging into her hips, their legs tangled in a passionate dance.

If it was so wrong to perform despicable acts…

She was an absolute sinner.


Everybody believes in something and everybody, by virtue of the fact that they believe in something, use that something to support their own existence.

Frank Zappa (1940 - 1993)

#14 Fortify

Fortify: to strengthen, to erect defenses, to add alchohal to.

Roy Mustang wasn’t a strong man in his own eyes, he needed help, he needed another person there to support him. Otherwise, he would fall to earth and become buried in his own failure.

She gave him that strength, that support. In his times of need she was there to protect him. She was what he needed to keep from falling, to keep standing tall.

She was his wall that he could lean on. She, whowas so different from himself.

She kept him going, kept him fighting kept him climbing.

And when things got too rough, even for her, he could always count on her to slip a little alchohal into his drink.


Fate chooses your relations, you choose your friends.

Jacques Delille

#15 Fate

She had never believed in fate, in destiny. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that one’s life had been decided before they were even born.

It wasn’t fate she met him, it wasn’t destiny, it wasn’t the divine intervention of some unseen all-powerful being.

It was the decisions and actions of some superior officer, of whose name she couldn’t even remember, and their decision to transfer her.

That one action had caused a ripple effect.

Everything that happened between them, everything they had seen together, endured together

Was not fate…

It was cause and effect.

That was what she told herself…

When she thought of him.


In her own odd way…

It was the only way she could deny her love for him.


The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.

Blaise Pascal (1623 - 1662)

#16 Invasion

When had it happened?

When had her face, her voice, her very being invaded his heart.

His body reacted whenever she was near, and he was thankful for the baggy uniform pants (though they didn’t help that much).

When he skirted his paperwork, staring into to space, he’d picture her in a mini-skirt (or less) under him, on top of him, against the door, on the couch, his desk.

But all his thoughts, all his feelings were forbidden, direct acts of fraternization.

When he became Fuehrer…

He would get rid of that rule once and for all.


An ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness.

Elbert Hubbard (1856 - 1915)

#17 Parting

Before he’d left, to go after the Fuehrer, she had stopped him. He was half way out the car, but she pulled him back to her, cradling his head in her hands.

She kissed him, hard, desperate, filled with years of yearning, years of restraint now gone. He responded with equal vigor, his hands roughly pulling their bodies closer.

Just as his hands began inching beneath her shirt she pulled away, gasping for air, gulping it in like she hadn’t breathed in years.

She smiled and gazed at him with lustfully hazy eyes, and told him there would be more when he got back.

It was an enticement, a bribe, very unlike her.

But she had never lied to him before.


Sometimes self-control is the last thing you want.

-RW Grimm

#18 Pathetic

She scowls, glaring at the man above her. “Pathetic,”

He snorts, before attaching his lips to her neck, sucking and nibbling on the soft skin. “How am I pathetic?” he asks between kisses.

“Not you,” the words come out in a moan as his hands occupied themselves along her body.

“Then what?” he whispers into her ear, his warm breath curling around her. She shivers.

“Your willpower, you can’t even do one day without throwing me on your desk and—mpph,”

He silences her with a hard, tooth clashing kiss, his hands gripping her waist tightly as her own snake around his neck, her fingers disappearing into his hair.

When he pulls away, they are both breathing heavily, gazing at each other with eyes of passion.

He smirks. “Then both of us are equally pathetic Riza,”


The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget.

Thomas Szasz, The Second Sin (1973) "Personal Conduct"

#19 The Atonement

Some people believed if they confessed their sins to holy men, and ask for forgiveness, it would be granted to them.

He had never agreed with such a belief.

Why should people be forgiven for their crimes without so much as lifting a finger?

People should seek to make better what they had done wrong.


He wouldn’t ask another to forgive his sins, he wouldn’t ask another to wash the blood from his hands.

No, he would do it himself.


Love is warmth

-RW Grimm (cause she's in too much of a hurry to get a real/good quote)

#20 Beaming Sunlight

The sunlight creeps over the rooftops of the city, its rays glinting across them.

It climbs a cool wall, so slowly it seemed as if it doesn’t want to be discovered.

Reaching a window, the soft light gleams against the glass and light pours into a small bedroom.

The sun’s soft glow baths the two figures in its warmth, heating their slick skin and tangled sheets.

It’s like an alarm.

Their eyes crack open, black gazes into auburn.

But even though they are awake neither gets up, neither leaves the bed.

They stay where they are, in each other’s arms, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the warmth of their bodies.


We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?
Ray Bradbury (1920 - ), Fahrenheit 451, 1953

#21 Philosopher’s Stone

She and Winry had something in common.

They both loved men driven by a goal, an obsession.

Their obsessions blinded them sometimes, made them unaware of those who loved and cared for them.

Men were so stupid sometimes.

But unlike Winry, Riza was able to stay by her loves side, even if he didn’t notice her feelings.

It was better then being separated from him, to be unaware of his condition, living with the constant fear that he would never return.


One is left with the horrible feeling now that war settles nothing; that to win a war is as disastrous as to lose one. Agatha Christie (1890 - 1976), Autobiography (1977)

#22 Ishbal

I hate myself for what I did.

So much blood and ash still covers my hands.

How many years has it been? It doesn’t seem like many.

But it really has been a long time, and I still haven’t let it go.

All the lives I took, all the families I destroyed.

Life was meaningless out there, it was taken away so casually.


My hands, no matter how much I wash them, have the disgusting feel of ash, and blood.

As soon as I close my eyes each night I see it in my dream…no, nightmares.

Shooting. Bullets rain down from the bullets of soldiers.

Snap. My fingers making the spark, setting another father or mother aflame.

All I want now is to make things better.

Change is in order, change that I will bring. But that is still a long way off.

Red as the flame, red as the blood, red as my bloodshot eyes.

End this guilt and pain I cannot, atone for it I’ll try.


What I am actually saying is that we need to be willing to let our intuition guide us, and then be willing to follow that guidance directly and fearlessly.

Shakti Gawain

#23 The Heavens

-When in need, look to the heavens, raise your arms and proclaim your faith. Your savior shall come-

Tantalus 28:14

This was a verse his parents had often read to him as a child. They had been religious God loving people.

How ironic their son grew up to be an atheist.

But that verse had always stuck with him, whether it was because his parents had drilled it into his head or he held some belief in it, he wasn’t sure.

Possibly the latter, because it reminded him of his second encounter with Riza Hawkeye. It had been two weeks since he first met her, since she’d punched him for thinking she was a man.

It was an insufferably hot day, he was supposed to be off duty, but because the soldier who was on duty had come down with food poisoning, he had been forced to take up the position. So naturally he was in a sour mood. He had raised his hands to the heavens, balled into fists, and cursed the Gods.

She, who had been walking by at the time, stopped and saluted him before saying. “Forgive me sir, but quit acting like such a baby. No matter how sexy you are, you’re still a grown man.”

Okay, she hadn’t called him sexy, though she had called him a winy idiot. But that wasn’t what was important.

It was the first time he’d realized that she was now a part of his life, he knew somehow that she would stay with him.

She would become his aid…

His protector…

His savior.


One man scorned and covered with scars still strove with his last ounce of courage to reach the unreachable stars; and the world will be better for this.

Joe Darion, "The Impossible Dream"

#24 Scar

It would always be there, the scar.

The scar he’d given himself to seal his wounds.

The wounds given to him by Lust.

The bitch of a sin that had told her he was dead.

The news that had made her feel anger, sorrow, and hopelessness all at once.

Feelings that had overwhelmed her, to the point she’d lost the will to live.

She had wanted to die, to be by his side in the afterlife.

But then, as if the fates had taken pity on her, he appeared, beaten but alive.

Fear had still clung to her, despite her sudden happiness; his wounds were serious, his eyes swimming with death.

But he had made it, as had she. She had never been happier in all her life, he was still with her, still with her…

These were the thoughts and emotions that coursed through her, every time she saw that pale smooth scar.


You know the saying: 'the grass is always greener on the other side'? Well, it's utter b.s

RW Grimm

#25 Ominous Clouds

He should have known something was going to happen that day; there had been clouds outside his home, dark and foreboding.

Somewhere, deep in his heart he knew it would happen eventually, but it was something that was easier to ignore than to worry over.

But the sad truth is that nothing lasts forever, to think that way is utter naivety.

He wondered how she would deal with it, would she be calm and professional about it, or would she go off the handle and pull out her gun?

It didn’t really matter, what was done was done; you can’t change the past.

“Hayate,” he mumbled. “Couldn’t you have held it in for two more minutes? You’ve been so good the past few weeks,”


I never resist temptation because I have found that things that are bad for me do not tempt me.

George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)

#26 Taboo

Taboo, forbidden fruit, sweet and addictive, dark and sinful.

Their relationship could be described with these few words.

Fraternization was forbidden, but that just made it all the more desirable, exciting.

One couldn’t be without the other; they needed each other’s bodies, their warmth, their love.

They were in their own paradise, their own Garden of Eden. But if any found out, they’d be cast from paradise, separated.

They wouldn’t let that happen. Nothing would separate them.

Even with the constant danger they would continue on, after all…

The forbidden apple is always the sweetest.


Just because I've never done any of these things, doesn't mean I can't write about them.

RW Grimm

#27 Amestris

All the places I’ve slept with Riza

At her place (nearly every room)

My office desk (I find that one so kinky)

Eligos Restaurant (the bathroom)

Shower (that’s always fun)

Trains (nearly every time we’re on one)

Ripwell Motel (that one made me feel dirty, the room not the sex…well, mostly the room)

In the car (it’s a little awkward but it’s worth it)

Stairs to her apartment (we were lucky no one showed up)

“Sir,” Riza growled, her auburn eyes filled with vehemence, her fingers digging into the paper, punching holes into it. “What is this?”

Roy smiled innocently, like a small child. “Just a list of where we’ve had sex. I could have added a lot more but I wanted to spell out ‘Amestris,”

“I am aware of that sir,” she said through gritted teeth. “You made a list like this earlier, spelling out a specific word with floor, under your desk, chair, and kitchen table,”

His innocent smile became more seductive. “Yeah, I liked that one too,”

“You shouldn’t be doing these lists at all, but if you must, do not leave them out in the open where anybody could find them. Also,” she came around his desk, standing directly in front of him. “We’ve never had sex in your chair,”

Roy’s eyes widened. “Really?” he grabbed her hand. “Well let’s change that,” he pulled her down.


You've got to take the bitter with the sour. Samuel Goldwyn (1882 - 1974)

#28 Reunion

Two years they’d been apart, two years since he’d left her behind.

Now he was back, within the privacy of her office. She, sitting behind her desk, and him standing before it.

Their reunion, both could tell, wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“You’re back,” she muttered, not looking up from her paperwork.

He cleared his throat. “I came as soon as I found out where you were,”

“Really?” the lack of emotion in hr voice stung him.

“I’m…I’m sorry I left you…the way I did,” the words came out uneven and heavy with guilt.

“Would you have come back if I had gotten pregnant?”

“Of course I would!” he cried, too quickly, too hastily.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’d come back for illegitimate bastard child,” he saw a tear trickle down her cheek, staining her beautiful skin. “But you wouldn’t stay for me?” she choked out hoarsely, pain and anger laced into every word.

There was nothing more he wanted to do than take her in his arms and hold her close, tell her it was okay, that everything would be all right.

But he couldn’t.

He had caused the hole in her heart.

But he couldn’t fill it.


Men have a habit of ruining romantic moments.

RW Grimm

#29 Warmth

Sitting on the couch with your lover, snuggling under a warm blanket in front of a warm fire. The perfect romantic setting.

That could be so easily ruined.

“Riza, if I were a women, would you still want to sleep with me?”

She raised a delicate eyebrow, and he was sure he saw her eye twitch. “What?”

Roy grinned. “If I were a women—”

“Why would you ask that Roy?”

He shrugged. “Couples seem to have questions like this: ‘If I got into an accident and didn’t look the same way I used to, would you still love me?’ ‘If I were missing an eye, would you still love me?’ ‘If I didn’t have any—”

“I see your point,” she muttered. Roy leaned forward expectantly. “But I’m not answering such a stupid question,”

Roy nodded slowly, but on the inside he was smirking. Everything was going according to plan. “Okay, if I promise to never ask a question like that again…will you answer my questions about your sexual preferences…like bondage?”

She bit her lip, he knew she was battling over which set of questions was worse. But hopefully, before the night was up, Roy would know if Riza Hawkeye appealed to bondage.


There are many ways of breaking a heart. Stories were full of hearts broken by love, but what really broke a heart was taking away its dream - whatever that dream might be.

Pearl Buck (1892 - 1973)

#30 Heart of Steel

Part of being a soldier meant she couldn’t let stressful situations get to her, she couldn’t lose her resolve.

She was the perfect soldier.

Nothing could break her, nothing could take away that professionalism.

Except him. The fear of losing him.

She had felt that once, her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces when she had been told, by an untrustworthy source, that he was dead.

And she had believed every word of it, because it was a fear she was so ready to believe.

Her, the perfect soldier, had always been prepared for those words.

But never had she thought that her steel heart would shatter like glass.


Once upon a time there was a boy named Peter Pan, who decided not to grow up.

Quote from Peter Pan (2003 movie)

#31 Road to Manhood

In the military there is a right of passage.

You are not a man, a soldier, until you have killed your first enemy soldier.

Roy would have been happier staying a boy.

Even if it meant being belittled and insulted, he wouldn’t care.

He’d want to stay a child forever, innocent and pure.

It’s easier for a child to wash the dirt form his hands, than a soldier to wash the blood from his.


Do you know what friendship is... it is to be brother and sister; two souls which touch without mingling, two fingers on one hand.

Victor Hugo (1802 - 1885), The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Chapter 13

#32 Brothers

Maes had been by his side for years.

He had always been there when Roy needed him, always.

He loved Maes, like a brother.

And now he was gone, he felt like a piece of his heart, his soul.

But as he stood before his friend’s grave, he was not alone.

Another he loved dearly stood by his side.

Their fingers intertwined tightly as they stood in morbid silence.

She was still with him, as long as he still had her, he could go on.


Hate the sin, love the sinner.

Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)

#33 Unerasable Sin

Nothing could wash the blood from their hands, nothing could lift the burden of their sins.

Killing was killing, no matter what the reasons.

He killed because he was forced to; she did it to protect him.


They were sinners, sleeping under a red sheet in each other’s arms.


All they had was each other, two military dogs with blood on their jaws.



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