dale cooper (ignipotent) wrote in fm_alchemist,
dale cooper

Schadenfreude [Chapter 3] -- RoyxAl fic [Set in WWII Germany]

Title: Schadenfreude
Author: Shadow
Pairing: RoyxAl
Warnings: AU, Nazis, Sadistic!Roy, ANGST.
Rating: R (For now)
Summary: Alphonse Elric, a half-jewish boy living in the Warsaw ghetto is offered the chance to be "saved" by the high-ranking Nazi soldier Roy Mustang. With the desire to live and locate his brother, he accepts, not knowing what lies as his payment.
Chapter: 3/?
Previous Chapters: One Two

Warning: This fan fiction features many controversial issues that may be offensive to certain people. Please be aware that this piece of writing is a Hagaren AU based in World War II Nazi Germany. There will be death, sadism, and Nazis in the future. This does not mean that I like or condone Nazis and their beliefs in anyways. I find them to be disgusting and ignorant monsters like most people. All curses toward people of Jewish heritage are not to be taken seriously for they are just used to give the fanfiction a sense of realism. This fic also features slash relationship between Roy Mustang and Alphonse Elric. Please heed this warning before you start reading. I really do not want to receive flames for what I have explained.
- Shadow

Disclaimer: I do not own Hagane no Renkinjutsushi (FMA) in any form, I am only a fan.

Author’s Note: I know that my history is not 100% correct, but I’m trying. This fan fiction does touch on a sensitive issue, and I’m sorry if it has hurt or insulted anyone in anyway. I’m not a fan of Nazis as I said before. This note is mainly targeted to the person who sent me two flames. ^^; Also, I apologize for this story not being updated sooner. School caught up on me and I had to struggle a lot to actually get this chapter written out.


Chapter 3

Alphonse had many things taken from him during his brief existence: his home, his mother, his brother, and his dignity. His identity had been the only thing that remained--not only that, it was what defined and held him together in times of despair. Now, what did he have left? His old identity was no more than discarded paper, left to ebb away with time while the new persona forced upon him embodied all that he despised. He was now Alfons Heiderich; a name so similar to his own, yet utterly different at the same time. It was ironic that the Nazi had chosen such a name, though perhaps it was just to be spiteful. Roy was quite talented at that.

He wanted to flee from this place of torment, but what good would come of it? Only hell lay beyond the heavy of oak door of Roy’s villa, and Alphonse doubted that he would make it far before a bullet lodged itself in the back of his skull.

The name itself was not what distressed Alphonse the most, it was the position the Nazi had forced upon him.

He was now a member of the SS, and worst of all--he was serving directly under Roy.

The shock that hit Alphonse had still not settled in yet, leaving him disillusioned and vaguely dumbstruck. He suspected that Roy’s true intention for “taking him in” was merely a cover up for the desire to torture a Jew. Wasn’t enough for Roy to destroy a young man’s identity, but to also sentence him to take part in an order that he clearly despised? If the Nazis had never taken power, maybe his brother and him would have been together. Perhaps then, he would still have all his friends--Winry, Pinako, Russel, Fletcher, and countless others. But now, he was part of that society.


Days passed into months before immense changes began to encroach upon Alphonse’s life.

He filled his days with household chores, usually small tasks such as preparing dinner or cleaning the house. The work was handled with very little enthusiasm, as he was only carrying them out to avoid Roy‘s anger. His old bruises had faded, but as they disappeared, new ones came to replace them in a matter of days. Roy was like a volatile bomb, changing dispositions at any given moment; most of the time for the worse.

Alphonse had managed to settle into the house, as Roy had been decent enough to allow him a guest bedroom. It was especially useful when the Nazi was feeling especially testy, which was most of the time.

As time passed, Alphonse hoped that the Nazi’s words were just a farce meant to frighten him into submission. It seemed quite possible now, as Roy had not mentioned anything about his enlistment since that night in the study. That belief was the little piece of hope he held onto, using it to impel himself when things seemed utterly inconsolable.

Roy had picked up the habit of trying to mold Alphonse into the “perfect” German citizen, stressing that it was essential if he wanted people to believe his knew persona. Alphonse just regarded it as another reason for the Nazi to shout at him. The demands included “improving” his German, even though it was already up to par with most German citizens. It was not his fault that his dialect had soft lilt, since Germany was not his home country; Alphonse and Edward had lived in France with their mother until they were 10 when they were sent off to their Aunt in Munich after her passing.

As Alphonse wiped the last plate clean in his usual afternoon dish washing, he wondered how many more sacrifices he would have to make and how many more tears he would have to shed.


“Of course, sir.”

The abrupt sound of a telephone crashing against a wall brought an end to the peaceful morning atmosphere. Curses followed as the telephone clattered against the floor, a mangled heap destroyed in a bout of anger.

“God damn, that bastard.”

Roy hovered above his large desk, his once-occupied chair thrown sideways across the floor as his anger continued to elevate. An indignant look was set upon the Nazi’s face as he continued to throw his temper tantrum, which included throwing everything accessible across the floor. He continued to curse as he pulled off his uniform jacket, tossing it upon the discarded chair in an exasperated fashion. A large hand ran through mussed-up hair as the Nazi reached for the large whiskey bottle set upon his table, which had luckily avoided the storm called Roy Mustang.

“I thought we had worked this out, dammit,” he took a deep drink from the bottle, “…but it seems though sniveling bitches had to pull the rug out from under me.”

Roy Mustang had risen quickly through the ranks of the SS, using his charm, wit, and sheer domination to defeat his adversaries. He had been dubbed by many as one of the Nazi regimen’s most ruthless officer next to Hitler and Joseph Mengle. As he jumped leaps and bounds through ranks, his connections with fellow officers grew prevalent and strong--an advantage that I had helped him many times through the years. Reaching Obergruppenführer had been surprisingly enough for Roy, for he was now satisfied with gorging upon the power he possessed. Pulling a few strings here and there had landed him a cushy job as head of the Warsaw Ghetto; it allowed him leisure and a chance to exploit his power as Obergruppenführer.

His job here in Warsaw had ended with the hard words of the Nazi higher up during the prior phone call. There was nothing he could do, though--how could one be head of a ghetto that would soon have no inhabitants?

The Nazi took another swig from the whiskey bottle before heading out the door.


2 Days Later

Alphonse found it unpleasant to wake up upon a wooden floor after having been shaken and thrown roughly across the room. He rubbed his arm painfully as he stumbled up onto his feet, his eyes catching sight of the Nazi in front of him. Before he could even begin to question the Roy, a bundle of cloth was flung toward him abruptly, nearly missing it as he quickly held out his arms. He glanced at the gray fabric that lay in his arms, suddenly realizing its significance.

“I refuse to wear the uniform.”

“You don’t have the right to refuse, Alphonse.”

“I said, I refuse.”

“Please be aware that if you plan to make problem this, I will have to punish you.”

“I won’t wear something that represents what I des--,” Alphonse’s retort was interrupted as long fingers wrapped around his chin, forcing him to face the dark-haired man. His fingers dug deeper into the boy’s skin as he waited for that ever familiar cry of pain.

“Remember Alphonse, you are my pet,” he smiled darkly, “Your job is to please me in whatever way I desire.”

His opposite hand inched down toward the belt of Alphonse’s pants, his graceful fingers deftly removing the article.

“Also, don’t you remember what you are now Alfons Heiderich?” the fingers continued to his zipper, “You are a Nazi--a SS officer serving directly under me.”

Alphonse began to whimper as he fell victim to the Nazi’s control, his legs shaking as he felt the fingers drag along the coarse cloth, lingering as they reached his crotch.

“Subordinates are supposed to follow their leaders, Alfons,” he spoke, “…and you will follow mine, even if I must undress you myself.”

Alphonse released a shrill cry as the pants were finally removed, jerking back suddenly in an attempt to escape the man’s grasp.

“F-fine, I’ll put it on...”
“Good boy,” Roy smirked.


Alphonse sighed sadly as he tightened the belt around his waist; he was losing himself within this sinful cloth.

His body stiffened as Roy made his way back into the bedroom, an amused look set plainly upon his pale features.

“I’m amazed, Alphonse,” he mocked, “It actually looks quite flattering on you.”

Alphonse shifted his head toward the floor, intent on counting the cracks in the wood as he tried to block out Roy’s spiteful comments.

Roy approached the boy gradually, moving to straighten out creases in the uniform’s jacket. His dark eyes hovered over the boy, glancing at him as if he was a toy to play with.

“Look at me, Alphonse.”

Alphonse adjusted his face tentatively toward the Nazi, flinching as he leaned across his body to reach for something upon the bed.

“Your hair is too long for a proper German Nazi,” spoke Roy as he walked behind the boy, a pair of scissors within his hand. He snipped at Alphonse’s hair until the once tie able strands lay short against his neck. The final touch was the standard Nazi cap that Roy placed against his head, pulling down the brim so that it shielded Alphonse’s face.

“We’re leaving now.”

“Leaving…what are you talking about Roy? I don’t understand,” mumbled the bewildered boy.

“I have been transferred to a new station,” he replied, “Since you belong to me, you will be coming.”

Alphonse did not struggle against the Nazi’s demands, knowing that it would only bring fruitless results.

“Where are we going…?”

The dark-haired man ignored the boy’s question, walking out of the room with Alphonse upon his heels.


What lay beyond those doors as Roy unfastened the locks was something Alphonse would never expect to see in his life. Large tented trucks drove slowly past them, looking to be carrying livestock packed tightly next to one another. As Alphonse adjusted his view of the trucks, he found his livestock assumption to be untrue. It was not animals that the automobiles were carrying, but hundreds of humans packed together like sardines compressed tightly within their can. The sight immediately filled Alphonse’s stomach with disgust, nearly causing him to retch. If that was not enough, he recognized one of the children stuffed mercifully between two large men to be one of his old students.

Alphonse remembered her; she was the girl who would sit in the front of the ramshackle classroom with wilted flowers set gracefully into her hair.

“Roy, what’s happening?” Alphonse nearly screamed, “Where are they taking them? Stop them, please!”

A hand clamped against his mouth, preventing him from uttering a single more word. Alphonse heard Roy curse before grabbing his arm tightly as he dragged him off.

He felt himself thrown thoughtlessly into the backseat of a car, followed by Roy who sat down in the seat beside him.

“We are ready to depart.”

“Yes, sir!”

Alphonse straightened himself out against the back of the seat, his eyes settling on Roy’s form warily.

“You never told me where we’re going,” he whispered in a broken voice.


Alphonse stared vaguely.

“A death camp.”

Roy smirked cruelly before setting a lighted cigarette between his lips.


  • Post a new comment


    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