hihowareyawrites

[hihowareyawrites]

your royblee fics are 😩😩 so good. the only one feeding me rn is you

you're very welcome (:

[hihowareyawrites]

Did You Know I’m Utterly Insane?

Cross Posted from AO3

No pairing; Solf J. Kimblee character study

Summary: Solf J. Kimblee was not a man who was uncertain of anything, generally. He felt completely aware of everything he said and did. His refusal to continue his father's business, his eagerness to leave home, and his fondness for destructive alchemy- yes, it was never anything he was unsure of. But now and again, he did question his well being.

Solf J. Kimblee was not a man who was uncertain of anything, generally. He felt completely aware of everything he said and did. His refusal to continue his father's business, his eagerness to leave home, and his fondness for destructive alchemy- yes, it was never anything he was unsure of. But now and again, he did question his well being.

If nothing else he was defined by his savior faire- his uncanny ability to enter a situation and claim it, appearing dominating and submissive all at once. He would not hold the conversation captive, but rather steer it with small comments and gestures. It was something that made those around him captivated by his presence, and also, wary of his aura.

But of course, he knew what he was doing.

He would observe others, their empathy and their compassion. The way they felt for others. He wondered what that must be like, to see the pain of another person and truly understand what it is they were feeling. It was something he found trying. He'd given the effort as much as he could, he must feel some care for his mother (or so he thought), since he did intend to give her some of his income provided by the state.

But was it compassion? Or was he just repaying a debt he felt he owed her, out of respect? Respect was an easy emotion for him. He could acknowledge another person's ability or conviction, and he could respect them. But that didn't necessarily mean he cared about what happened to them beyond that.

No, perhaps he cared more for vanity and social status than he'd thought. The delicate thought and meticulous eye he would give to his appearance was unlike the passing glance offered to those suffering around him. But he couldn't understand what he was supposed to feel, then.

He did feel however, anger. He had a reservoir of bitterness welled up in the black of his heart, something he felt could devour him from the inside. He had no desire to truly help people. Some might credit it to late teenage angst, or perhaps a typical anger issue distinctive of young men. But he didn't find either apropos.

The creation of his alchemic specialty was with that distinction; that he had no internal drive to aid the masses. It would get him nowhere, he felt. Of course he was capable of preforming standard alchemy, he could do it if he needed. If he wanted. But he didn't want to.

He channeled the frustration, the apathy, the anger, the distaste for things around him, for people, into his work. Maybe it was because his father pushed such a rigid lifestyle on him. Maybe it was because no matter how hard he saw his mother work, she could never get ahead. Maybe he was just born with a natural affliction. The reasons didn't matter, the results did.

When he'd first arrived in central for his exam, he found it was a much different place from his small hometown. It was large, it was loud, it was a city. It had the capacity to house so many, but were those on the streets then, the remainder? He'd passed a number of homeless people, starving and cold and sad- and he found he felt nothing. No concern to help them, no desire to do more. He only thought it was the way of nature, survival of the fittest, and moved on. He felt nothing.

It occurred to him that perhaps, his view was unnatural. Perhaps his lack of concern for others wasn't standard, and he felt for the first time ever, a sense of inferiority. What genetic trait was he denied that allowed others access to an emotion he couldn't attain? What sort of defective make up did he have that rendered him unable to feel and act as everyone else does? He'd never an issue with memorizing algorithms or music or languages, and yet the simplest task of all was something that would not come easy to him.

But he could pretend it did. He studied them, the people around him. The ones in the large central office, the ones he passed on the street, the ones who sat near him in wait. He studied them all, and carefully built a persona.

When it came time for his interview, he imagined what each of his emotional models would say- how they would react. His skills were enough to award him a rank of major, a coveted watch, and a unique title. But he applauded himself on his ability to fit in with the masses. He allowed himself a sliver of haughtiness, that they did not truly know the man they had employed. He considered they had seen through him and simply did not care, but his ego preferred the former.

He did however tell them of his indifference to committing murder on behalf of the state, how it was a duty he would gladly uphold for his military. They praised him for his candor, and his loyalty. This seeming confession of psychopathy was overlooked. This confession meant nothing.

He found these brief moments to be the most rewarding; the only time where he truly felt like he might be happy. Deceiving others, earning praise, things that others may find unbecoming traits.

In training, he found his objective difficult. Many of the tasks were laden with bouts of heroics. Saving this civilian, protecting this city, et cetera. He found it banal if nothing else, but moreso uninvigorating. Why should he care if one more person were to die? Or perhaps one hundred more? What could they possibly offer, if they hadn't the will power to keep themselves alive of their own accord anyway? He hadn't become a state alchemist to be a charity worker, he had become a state alchemist for... now what was the reason again? It didn't matter, he found comfort in being apart of something.

While reading one night, he came upon studies of sociopathy and psychosis. He tried to separate himself from them, but found it harder as he skimmed the psychology book further. Yes, perhaps he did relate to this- perhaps his feelings were symptomatic of personality disorders he'd only known in passing until now. But should that make him a bad person, if he was suffering from an illness of the mind? Some may applaud him for seeking a normal life anyway. He applauded himself. He was twenty three, and doing well enough.

Still, there was a dull ache in his chest, for something more.

Only a few years later, they were being sent to war. He found purpose in his orders. They were giving him a command, a standard to perfect. It didn't matter what the order was, he was determined to be the best at it, regardless.

His new favorite hobby was walking down the streets, post-destruction, and admiring his own work. There was the exhilaration of the act of course, but there was nothing quite like enjoying the afterglow of the efforts either. He'd liken the entire experience to sex, but without the obligation of human connection after. This experience was all he needed to feel alive. He wished the war would go on forever, that he could live this way for the rest of his life. Every day would be a new opportunity to best himself, and he would seek enlightenment with every attempt. Yes, that would be ideal.

He tried to make acquaintances, to associate with living people, but none could understand him. It wasn't that he wanted nor needed to be understood, but he desired some sense of comradery with anyone here. Even though the uniforms on their backs were the same, he felt as though he simply had many enemies he could not and should not target.

When he was handed the stone, a tangible shard of human souls, there was an immediate connection. This small crystallized object, formed from human suffering, had more in common with him than any of the people around him. It existed only to cause chaos. It too was burdened with a tempest of agony, and he used it to inflict the same on those around him. This stone was truly the only thing that he understood, that understood him. It too existed merely to cause suffering.

He'd not be separated from it. He took their lives solely to preserve his possession- it's possession of him. He held out his hands promptly, to be cuffed. At the movements of his arms those around him recoiled, knowing full well what his hands were capable of. Surrender however was not a known attribute. He stood on trial and accepted any guilt. He did not flaunt it, he simply agreed. His assigned lawyer threw down his papers in frustration; why must this man cooperate with the jury and not his own attorney? He admired his new home, a stuffy, dark and damp cell, and shrugged off the gnawing feeling of claustrophobia. Surely, this is where he would spend the last of his days. He would be handed the death sentence eventually, right? It was only a matter of time.

And then 6 years went by. And there was nothing. Truly, he would be left to rot here. He announced full guilt in the crimes he committed, and they allowed him to live. This confession, too, meant nothing.

There was an emptiness growing in the pit of his stomach, so deep he thought the stone would become lost in it. What is all of this for? What was any of this for? He couldn't remember now.

And soon he was released. With bravado and a false sense of self entitlement he announced his deserving of freedom; truly, if they would release him after all this time, he had earned it. But there was still a confusion, a lack of certainty. What his goals were, what his plans were. He followed orders diligently, set himself to one goal and chased that goal. Chased it until it impaled him through the side. Chased it until it dared make him feel humiliated in front of dozens. Chased it until he was told to give up, and focus on something else. Failure was a new feeling.

Or, it was until it started to occur again and again. And then he began to realize that he was never succeeding at anything. The praise and acclaim he had earned in Ishval meant nothing. Now, he was unable to accomplish any given task. He stood in apoplexy until the order was given to rescue Pride, and he decided he would not fail again.

And though hard he did try, he found himself truly recounting his life's purpose as he lay on the ground hemorrhaging. His life force escaping out his throat and onto his tailored suit. In this moment, he confessed his crimes and his failures, to himself. He recounted them and, for the true first time in his life, felt regret. Regret he had not accomplished more. He realized then, while he had confessed his crimes to others, he never truly had to himself. And upon doing so found he was remorseless. And found that aside from orders given from others, his actions were without goal or purpose. He realized, only now in death, that he had never truly had free will. His conviction was a ruse, he acted only on the conviction of others.

"There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis; my punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing. "

Solf J. Kimblee was not a man who was uncertain of anything, generally. Except for his own identity and reason for living, he questioned only when it was too late.

#solf j. kimblee #Solf J Kimblee #kimblee #fma fanfic #fma #Fullmetal Alchemist

[hihowareyawrites]

Plagiarism

Cross posted from AO3

Roy Mustang/Solf J. Kimblee

Summary: “Wouldn't that be romantic? To die together like this, in a not-so-metaphorical blaze of glory?”

“Romantic isn't the word I would use, but if it'll stop another genocide like that from happening, you can call it whatever you want.”

Scrambling up to his feet again, Roy braced himself against the brick wall of the alley he'd been herded into. He bit his cheek when he was roughly thrown against it, and the taste of iron slowly greeted his tongue. He shot a glare to his assailant, standing casually between him and his only escape route.

“Is this why they let you out of prison? Some sort of assassination...?” Roy wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, taking with it a bit of blood that spilled over his lip and leaving a smirk in it's wake. “Is the Fuhrer really that nervous about me and my team?”

“On the contrary,” Kimblee began, his arms folding across his chest “my release may have been at the Fuhrer's behest, but I'm here of my own accord.”

“So you just missed me that much?” Roy did his best to allow his stance to fall into something more casual, though he was prepared to attack at any sign of aggression. His old comrade (though a term he used loosely) seemed to consider him for a moment then spoke again finally.

“Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist and eventual Hero of Ishval. Boasting the most impressive kill count from the war, the savior of Amestris. It doesn't take a lot of scouring to find any documentation that would shower you with praise like this- and yet, only half of it is true.” He stood in place, but Roy could tell he was resisting the urge to pace as he spoke, something he'd learned about him in the war; Kimblee never seemed to lecture in place. “Perhaps the second most impressive kill count, but certainly not the first.”

“Is that all? You came here to complain about the military's lackluster bookkeeping?”

“Maybe that's all it means to you, but how would you feel if someone else was given credit for your hard work?” Roy could tell the point he circled around now, what this was all about.

“I wouldn't be at all concerned if the 'hard work' that was credited to someone else was acts of murder.” At Roy's dismissive comment Kimblee hastily approached him in motion uncharacteristic of his usual casual saunter. He splayed his hands on either side of the Flame alchemist against the wall, only an inch below eye level, though it didn't stop him from looking up to meet Roy's gaze.

“While you were showered with accolades and praise, I was left to rot there, to be completely forgotten.” Though his expression was fairly neutral, Roy could tell from the vitriol seeping into his tone that his agitation was rising. He'd never known Kimblee to be a jealous man, he never seemed to care much for the titles or praise they gave him during the war, but maybe that's because it was actively being given to him instead of wrongfully taken away. “You left with an enviable title and rank to match- and yet, did really really earn any of it?”

Roy steadied himself and looked at Kimblee with conviction.

“You made that decision. You killed those officers, you surrendered yourself. And for what? For fun? This is no one's fault but your own. You were impulsive and you suffered for it- there's nothing I could have done to change that.”

“Oh I don't blame you, I don't think you demanded that notoriety, but you still took it. I didn't think that by killing those men my entire existence would be erased, like I'd never set foot in that bloody sand pit to begin with.” At that there was a flicker in his dark blue eyes that made Roy feel like he would have stepped back further, if he wasn't already pressed against the wall. “And here I thought the Flame Alchemist was all abut honor and virtue, yet here you are doing whatever it takes to get what you want. Maybe we're not so different after all.”

The very idea of the comparison made Roy's stomach turn, to be compared to someone like Kimblee. Roy was accustomed to Kimblee's lectures, he endured many of them in Ishavl, though normally Kimblee was beneath him when he decided it was time for one.

“You're willing to take whatever you need, just for that. But even if no one else does, you'll always know you never got here on your own merit. You don't have guts to do what it takes to-” Kimblee swallowed his words when Roy's gloved hand was poised to snap at any moment, only a small amount of space between them.

“You're right, I am willing to do what it takes, and if that means taking out the two most prominent murderers of Ishval, I'll do it.” Kimblee considered him for a moment then moved one of his hands to press against Roy's shoulder. Even through his uniform, he could feel a burning from the array on Solf's palm, like he was ready to ignite at any moment. He'd felt Kimblee's hands on him this way many times before, grabbing his shoulders or laced around his neck, but never had he felt the genuine danger emanating from them like he did now.

“Wouldn't that be romantic? To die together like this, in a not-so-metaphorical blaze of glory?”

“Romantic isn't the word I would use, but if it'll stop another genocide like that from happening, you can call it whatever you want.”

Kimblee laughed in a way that Roy almost felt was genuine, and pulled his hands back to his sides. “Will you never humor me? Even after all this time?”

“Never.”

#roy mustang #Solf J Kimblee #royblee #fma #fma fanfic #Fullmetal Alchemist

[hihowareyawrites]

Unfamiliar Intimacy

Cross posted from AO3

Roy Mustang/Solf J. Kimblee

Summary: To reach out and touch someone without the expectation of feigned intimacy or sure destruction was something that had become unfamiliar to him, enough that he almost expected Kimblee would burn to ash and crumble under his fingers and he'd be left alone to cleanup the mess of his remains.

When Roy awoke that night, covered in sweat and mind racing, he instantly reached off the bedroll to clumsily grab for his pocket watch to check the time, only to find it wasn't there.

Of course it wasn't. This wasn't his tent, this wasn't his bed, and he wasn't alone.

He laid on his back and stared up at the black of the ceiling, hidden in shadows and indistinguishable from the walls, and breathed steadily to quell his pounding heart. He had nightmares every night, it didn't matter. He would wake up and check the time, sometimes fall back asleep. Usually he couldn't and he would pace anxiously until he heard the bell sound to usher him to the barracks for some semblance of breakfast. He'd sit with Hughes and Hawkeye, and they would try to keep the conversation light. Armstrong used to join them too, before he was sent home.

But that wasn't the case tonight, because Roy was a guest in another's quarters. His eyes started to adjust to the dark and he turned his head to look at the back of the man asleep next to him. In this position, Kimblee's frame appeared even more slight than usual and Roy recalled the events of a few hours prior and sighed; he really should stop doing this.

This was only the fourth time he'd fallen asleep here, and only the second time Kimblee had let him stay, choosing instead to just sleep next to him rather than give him an hour of rest then wake him up to send him back. He considered the brief amount of time Kimblee did let him sleep there to be the Crimson Lotus alchemist's way of showing kindness and he was appreciative of that. He had to admit though, there was some comfort in waking up and not being alone.

He reached out to touch Kimblee's back and expected him to reach out and grab his wrist, he was always curiously aware of his surroundings, but instead Roy's hand tangled slightly in Kimblee's untied hair. He rested his fingers in it a moment then pulled back hesitantly, snaking his hand down slowly to rest on the smaller man's hip lightly. To reach out and touch someone without the expectation of feigned intimacy or sure destruction was something that had become unfamiliar to him, enough that he almost expected Kimblee would burn to ash and crumble under his fingers and he'd be left alone to cleanup the mess of his remains.

The urge to hold him with compassion bubbled in Roy's mind and he debated it for a long while, or what felt like a long while. Time had become a bit meaningless now. If Kimblee responded to that by assuming Roy was trying to kill him and frantically pressing the arrays on his palms against Roy and blowing him to pieces, it might be a better end than the ways Roy had thought up himself (which usually involved polishing off a bottle and unclasping his government provided pistol). He weighed the possibilities in his mind and decided he would take the gamble and wrapped his arm around Kimblee's waist instead, moving in closer to him until his back was pressed flush against Roy's chest. Even through the sleeveless undershirts that separated their skin, Roy could feel the warmth radiating from Solf's body in a way his personality never quite seemed capable of imitating.

There was no recoil or response, no reaction. Kimblee didn't instinctively whip around to attack him, so Roy chanced another move of intimacy and pressed his face against him as well, the lower half of his face buried into the dark tresses in front of him. He inhaled deeply and breathed in the scent of smoke and ash and military standard shampoo, and exhaled. Nothing and no one here smelled truly clean anymore.

They stayed that way for a while, Roy relished the feeling of another person against him, alive and breathing and in assumedly no danger of slipping away at any given moment. No risk of his heart stopping and leaving Roy alone here. It was strangely comforting and Roy found himself drifting back to sleep not long after.

Hours later he woke up and his arms were empty, and he thought it felt appropriate for the circumstances. He shifted slightly and out of the corner of his eye saw Kimblee adjusting his uniform, ready to leave. He seemed to notice Roy stirring and reached into his pocket and pulled out his own silver watch and clicked it open, studied it for a moment then closed it and returned it to his pocket.

"There's about an hour left until the first bell. You're welcome to stay here if you want- but don't let anyone catch you when you leave. I don't feel like explaining that to anyone today." He considered the taupe jacket for a moment then set it back down with his belongings. "And make sure to close the latch on your way out." He tied his hair back and silently left Roy there, alone. He had expected to be swiftly evicted, but being allowed to stay was true to Kimblee's brand of compassion; diminutive but notable.

Roy couldn't fall back asleep, but he did enjoy laying in a bed that smelled like someone other than himself until the dreaded bell sounded, demanding that he get to work.

#roy mustang #solf j. kimblee #Solf J Kimblee #fma #fma fanfic #fullmetal alchemist #royblee

[hihowareyawrites]

i don’t really update this much but over the next few days i’ll throw my works that i havent posted here up

[hihowareyawrites]

ur hisoka fic is. Wonderful

thank you! i’m glad you like it!!

#Anonymous

[hihowareyawrites]

yes pls pls update your hisoka fic

Your wish is my command... stay tuned

[hihowareyawrites]

I personally would love a chapter 3!! :)) I just finished reading the two chapters tonight and loved it. Your writing style is really good

thank you! if i can get around to it sometime next month, i’ll try to update it then. thank you for your support!

#Anonymous

[hihowareyawrites]

You can fuck hisoka??? Ch. 3??

I had actually thought people forgot about it. Would anyone be interested in an update to that?

[hihowareyawrites]

Amore Amaro

Cross posted from my AO3

Solf J. Kimblee/Reader (18+)

Summary:  On your way up to Fort Briggs, it would be just your luck that the weather would turn and force you to pause your incline at a local hotel. The military was of course footed the bill, and oh, how cheaply they addressed it. You had initially quirked an eyebrow at the room with a single queen bed, but you had no qualms over your inevitable sleeping arrangements.

On your way up to Fort Briggs, it would be just your luck that the weather would turn and force you to pause your incline at a local hotel. The military was of course footed the bill, and oh, how cheaply they addressed it. You had initially quirked an eyebrow at the room with a single queen bed, but you had no qualms over your inevitable sleeping arrangements.

You had laid next to your travel companion with the curtains drawn enough to let slivers of moonlight seep in, though there was still almost no visibility. You were having trouble sleeping, and you had initially tried to pique his interest in idle conversation, and he would of course respond in turn but the weighted reality of the situation hung heavily in the small room. It wouldn't have been your first time being intimate, since you had worked together in Ishval and soldiers had to pass the time some way, but it would potentially be the last time in a while given there would be dew opportunities for such frivolity at the Northern Fort. Though had presumed he wouldn't have been up to the task given he was only just in the hospital, your suspicions were deemed untrue when the hand that had rested on your thigh briskly grasped your shoulder and readjusted you from laying on your side to your back, as you stared up at him looming over you.

Kimblee's expression was, as always, almost unreadable. His eyes looked near reflective in the minuscule moonlight in the room; like some sort of predator in low headlights. A smile slowly slid along his lips until he seemed to be observing you fondly, one hand on your shoulder still and the other splayed out next to your head to hold his position above you. He had moved fast, you didn't even noticed until you felt the warmth of his legs on either side of you.

“You were just in the hospital, you know.” You chastised him. “Imagine how much time we would lose if you hurt yourself again.” He seemed almost taken aback by your comment then laughed lowly, but seemingly genuinely.

“I wasn't planning to make this such an extreme event, unless that's what you're wanting- I can certainly try meet your expectations regardless of any handicaps then.” You rolled your eyes at his comment and reached up to touch the back of his neck.

“Just don't hurt yourself.” You pulled him down with your hand and met no resistance.

“I'll certainly try not to.” His sentence trailed off quietly as you felt the heat of his mouth on your neck, your muscles tensed under the graze of his sharp teeth. Your other hand snaked up around his back to grasp firmly as you felt his tongue lave over a blossoming bite mark.

“Nothing too noticeable- we have to be professional you know.” You reminded him weakly.

“Why not? You think everyone will know what you've been doing?” He teased you by hovering higher, threatening to leave another obvious mark on the long line of your neck.

“Who I've been doing.” You corrected with snark and he chuckled against your throat, it sent a shiver up your spine to hear so close to your ear. The hand on your shoulder slipped lower, stopping to rest on your breast but doing nothing more to stimulate

“I think it would be a rather fetching look on you...” He spoke slowly and his husky voice held a tone of sultry. In response to his own words he used the pad of his thumb to roll your hardening nipple through the thin fabric of your nightgown, easily accessible since you neglected to wear your sports bra to bed. You shivered under the touch. “I think I might like for everyone to know... to see your neck and know exactly where- who they came from...” You felt his hand tighten only slightly around your breast as his wrist rolled almost timidly, fondling you too lightly for your own desire.

“You can be so self centered...” You mused, but turned your head slightly to kiss his temple affectionately. He chuckled again, slipping his hand down to hike up the edge of your nightgown too slowly.

“Yes, pride has always been a rather notable bane of mine. But know that it can be a boon as well, after all...” He paused when he'd lifted your nightgown up under your neck, just above your flushed clavicle and exposed your body entirely. “I do take pride in my work,” He started again, long fingers brushing delicately over the elastic waistband of your underwear. “so I do work hard to be successful at everything I do.” He moved to grace your collarbone with the sharpness of his teeth briefly before pressing his lips against your stiff nipple.

Doing all of this underneath blankets had its merits, you felt much less exposed than you would otherwise, but the trapped heat made the intoxicating intimacy all the more present, and you felt almost dizzy when he nipped at the underside of your breast, the hand not used to steady himself dancing along the edge of your underwear still, sometimes dragging the rounded edges of his nails over your hip bones playfully. Your hands on his back and neck both touching his hair now. You would have been admiring how soft and well kept it was, if he wasn't clouding your mind with foreplay.

“You tease too much.” You wriggled under him in an attempt to hurry his attentions.

“Tease? I hardly know what you mean.” You felt Kimblee's hand finally slip past your waist band and gasped when his cool fingers met your slick heat. “I'm simply admiring how beautiful your body is, I can't help but appreciate the finer things...” In a deliberate motion, he pushed two slender fingers in, “...like how excited you are.”

You rolled your hips against his hand excitedly, desperate for any friction. He hummed in approval and gently moved his wrist to push and pull his fingers back and forth. Now and again you would feel him separate and scissor them inside you and groaned lowly. His fingers weren't particularly thick but they were long, and he was certainly articulate with them. You felt the cool palm of his hand start to make continuous contact with your clit and tried to intentionally move against it. Kimblee seemed to notice and retracted his hand, earning him a complaint from you.

“Tsk tsk, if pride is my bane then yours is surely greed- don't get so antsy. We have all night.” You swallowed hard at the idea that he could (and would) edge you all night, but dared not mention it and put the idea in his head; he would certainly run with it.

He sat back and shrugged the comforter off his exposed shoulders and grabbed your hips hastily. In the dark of the room the white of his sleeveless undershirt was a beacon and your eyes began to focus slowly. You looked up at him curiously. Curse him, still wearing his undershirt and boxers while you lay here almost completely bared for him. As the thought passed through your head you felt him tug your underwear down and toss it aside. Now, completely bared.

You watched Kimblee's pale arms move as his dangerous hands moved against your legs to grasp them at the knee, lifting you up and pulling you towards him suddenly. He hooked one over each of his narrow shoulders and slid his hands down past your bottom to the small of your back to support you. The position wasn't comfy on your neck but it wasn't unbearable. You adjusted your shoulders anxiously, staring up along your body at him. The revealing position and the way it gave him ample ability to see you so well made your cheeks flush.

“Hold still...” Kimblee advised you lowly and you could feel his breath against you; you thought you could have come undone from that alone. You felt a shudder of electricity prickle at the base of your spine as he licked your folds experimentally. His hands still held in place, was it alchemy or arousal?

You tried to bring a hand up to his hair again but the angle made it too difficult so your arms fell limp beside you, you could do nothing but relish the feeling of his grip on your waist and his tongue on your heat. He was so expertly involved, the way he knew to circle your clit lightly or stop and close his mouth around it and swallow hard. His recollection was impressive, it had been years since you'd done this in Ishval, you mentally congratulated him on remembering everything you were particular to.

Occasionally he would press his face against you sternly and push inside you as far as his tongue would reach then slowly move back and drag it up again. Still, his eyes never broke from you, locked onto your face as you closed your own in pleasure. Now and again you would chance opening your eyes, meeting the cold and piercing blue of his own, but it made you feel embarrassed. You felt yourself edging closer, thinking this time he would certainly allow you your euphoria, but he sensed your tensing muscles and once again pulled away when you were close. Your heartbeat still fluttering, you could have yelled at him.

“D-Dammit, Kimblee!” You admonished him harshly. “Why did you-”

“Patience.” He lightly lowered your body again until you were on the bed again, grounded. His tone was almost condescending, but it almost always was. You huffed and sat yourself up as he rose on his knees still, and he watched you curiously. You placed your hands against his sharp hip bones and nuzzled against his stomach, pressing your body flush against his and felt the stiffness of his arousal against your sternum. You nudged the cotton of his undershirt up to kiss along the dark hair on his navel down to the elastic waistband of his boxers, fingers tracing down to grasp it and pull it down just far enough to let his erection fall forward, no longer confined by the tight waistband. You glanced at the scar forming on the side of his waist, the one that landed him in the hospital you'd left only hours ago.

“Now who's excited...” You mused thoughtfully. He gave a small smile and shrugged as you hastily took it in your mouth, your hands holding the bony notches of his hips to steady yourself. He was far less sinewy than he'd been in Ishval, now reverted back to his defaultly lithe frame, though you almost preferred it as it seemed to represent him better.

You mimicked his motions from earlier, circling your tongue around the head and urging yourself forward, breathing through your nose and swallowing hard when you felt him twitch in your throat. A hand suddenly laced through your hair and threatened to pull, but instead slid down to hold your cheek with unfounded tenderness. You knew enough of him that it was no guise, he did pride himself in being an attentive lover if nothing else, but you hoped he was granting you at least some special treatment in addition.

You didn't really pride yourself on your oral sex skills however, though he didn't seem to mind your hesitancy. The hand on your cheek tightened a bit as your tongue swiped the prominent vein on the underside and he exhaled deeply and pushed your head back.

“Alright, alright. Let's not get too carried away.”

You smiled wryly at the gossamer string of saliva that connected your lips to the head of his dick before wiping it away with the back of your hand.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to drag this out.” You smiled up at him. The smile on his lips slipping into a smirk.

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I'm just teaching you some patience. You always do things in haste you know. You should relax.” In response to his comment you leaned back against the pillow again, leisurely.

“I don't know what you mean.” You said. Kimblee snorted in response.

You enjoyed toying with him, but from your position you couldn't help but look at him with great reverence. The limited moonlight painting silvery hues over his sinuous form, the contrast of his raven black hair, still tied back, against his pale complexion. The glossy, lascivious look in his half lidded eyes, or the way he looked down at you from this angle as if he was ready to devour you at any moment. Undershirt still rolled up enough to expose the concave of his stomach, boxers still pulled down enough to expose his flushed cock, occasionally twitching with his anticipation. Everything about him seemed inhuman and ethereal, but of course that could also be a side effect of your growing feelings for him.

Of course, his ever-observant eyes caught you effortlessly.

“You know it's rude to stare at someone like that. You'll make me embarrassed.” You could have kicked him for opening his mouth and ruining your vision.

“I'm just taking your advice... a little patience, a little admiration. But I really would like if you wouldn't make me wait too much longer...” Your face was clearly flushed and you felt your wetness between your legs, as they stayed spread on either side of him.

“What's the magic word? Remember your manners...” One hand slipped under your leg to bend it at the knee, almost pushing it to your chest, as the other grabbed to position himself at your entrance. You shuddered as you felt the heat of his head prod against you, stopping of course before he'd actually given you what you wanted. You didn't care much for his perception of you now; you were desperate.

“Please, Kimblee...” You looked up at him and into his cold eyes deeply. “Please, Solf...”

The use of his first name made the corner of his mouth twitch into an even hungrier smirk, he leaned forward and his lips brushed against your temple. “Of course. Anything for you, Y/N.” He said, his tone almost sarcastic and teasing, but he made good on his promise and finally pushed forward as you inhaled sharply.

His breathing was almost inhumanly shallow, but you could feel it against your ear, hear it- a tangible proof of his humanity. You swallowed hard before moving your body against him, he laughed lowly against your ear and you shivered.

“What did I say about patience?” Despite his chastising, he pulled his hips back only a tiny bit, before pushing them forwards again. The hand hooked under your knee held you tightly in place, and the position felt more and more comfortable. There was an intimacy in such deep penetration that you almost forgot you were simply friends (with benefits) and not longtime lovers sharing a much awaited reunion. Your arms wrapped around his neck tightly as you felt a pressure forming and knotting in your stomach as you began to stretch to accommodate him. He slipped a hand down between you gently rub small circles around your clit, you broke and let out a small moan at this and he chuckled lowly; clearly pleased with himself.

“There's no need for such restraint, you don't have to hold back.” Kimblee told you definitively. You could feel the fabric of his clothes against you, your own nightgown twisting under you uncomfortably. He sped up and you moaned again, pulling reward after reward from your vocal chords. He moved to pull out further and push in deeper, the long thrusts more stimulating for both you and himself. You could hear his breathing quickening, the occasional vocalization pushed you further; you loved hearing his voice like that.

You grasped at his back hungrily and pulled him closer to you, swiping your tongue over your dried lips. He'd since started biting at your neck again, higher than before, the curved bridge of his long nose brushing against your jaw. He pulled back slightly to press his forehead against yours and your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met his but it dissipated quickly when you felt him press his lips to yours. You had never kissed him like this before, the romantic in you celebrated. Your tongue laved against his.

He tasted like peppermint and undertones of whiskey from the hotel bar you'd spent time at just over an hour ago. The distinctive strands of hair that always hung over his face brushed against yours and reminded you; you were getting close now and if he stopped again you'd walk out and finish off yourself, so you reached one of your hands from his back to grasp beneath his long ponytail, grabbing his thick hair by the root and tightening your grip. He broke and moaned lowly against your mouth and in only a few more thrusts you came undone, clenching around him tightly as he rolled his hips against yours slowly as you descended from your high.

He never stopped moving however and after you'd started to relax, you urged him to continue and it only took a moment of faster, harder thrusts for his hand under your leg to grip you tighter, and him to pull away from your mouth to growl into your shoulder as you felt him finally catch his own release. You noticed of course his neglect to pull out.

You stayed that way for a while, until he let go of your leg and pulled back, pulling out of you and readjusting his clothes. You pulled your nightgown down and winced at the distinct feeling of semen spilling out and most certainly onto your only pajamas. You hoped Briggs had a good washing machine.

“I take it you're not too concerned about conception then, huh?” You asked him as you reached for a tissue on the nightstand and slipped it under the edge of your nightgown to absorb what you could. He had already walked over to the window to crack it open slightly as he lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke out into the night air. The moonlight cast upon him fully now, and you couldn't help but smile at how disheveled he seemed to look; ponytail loosened and eyelashes still fluttering as his refractory set in.

“You don't seem terribly concerned either.” He looked at you smugly. “But also, I did happen to get all your paperwork when you were assigned to me; I know you're infertile.” He took another long drag from the cigarette and then snubbed it out against the wood of the windowsill, tossing the mostly unused remainder out into the snow and closing the window. “Sorry, did you want one?” He asked as he was about to return the case to his coat pocket.

“No thanks, I don't smoke. But I will take at least a little bit of your body heat, you let a lot of cold air in when you did that.” It was your turn to smirk at him, and he barked a laugh.

“Of course, of course. Anything for you, Y/N.”

#solf j. kimblee #solf j kimblee #fma #fullmetal alchemist

[hihowareyawrites]

Hey i was reading the story with Kimblee, stigma. Will there be any new chapters? Or is it complete? Anyway i enjoyed your work. Thank you for your hard work.

hi! there will be 5 chapters!

chapter 3 is a prelude to the NSFW content, chapter 4 will be the NSFW content, chapter 5 will be something of an epilogue. 

the NSFW won’t be more than a handjob so don’t get your hopes up too much for actual sex, but i do have stuff like that as well.

thank you for your support !!

#asks #solf j kimblee #fullmetal alchemist #Anonymous

[hihowareyawrites]

The Ulterior Motive of Symbiosis

Cross Posted from my AO3

Roy Mustang/Solf J. Kimblee (18+)

Summary: "If you would fuck me as savagely as you kill Ishvalans, maybe we could get somewhere."

Roy laid down his hand of cards on the make shift table and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Looks like I win again."

Hawkeye set her cards down silently and Hughes dropped his to the table as well. "Damn it Roy, at this rate you're gonna be the only one here with any smokes at all, I dont even know how you manage to use em all." He gathered the winnings (4 cigarettes) and passed them off to his friend, who tucked them away in his cigarette case. He wouldn't say of course that they weren't all for him. Speaking of which, he did have somewhere to be...

"I think I'll turn in for the night, I'm feeling pretty exhausted." He faked a yawn and stood up.

"Already? But it's barely dusk, you can go another round can't you?" Hughes tried to bargain with him, not knowing where he was going or what he was planning, but still wanting his best friend to be in kind company for as long as possible. Roy wished he could stay.

"Sorry, I really don't think I could. We have a big mission tomorrow, they're sending all the state alchemists out to try one big attack, see if they can't end this in one go." Roy dreaded the idea. Another man at the table scoffed.

"Tell em to just send Kimblee then, he could take out the whole damn country on his own and he'd have a great time doin it too. Somethins not right with that guy." He shook his head and lit his last cigarette. Roy almost wanted to agree with him.

"We'll see. Have a good night." He gave a casual salute and pulled his beige overcoat over his uniform and walked in the direction of his tent. Once he was sure he was out of eyesight and not being followed, he made a duck into an alley and emerged in the other unit's camp, the one lead by Kimblee. His tent being as far from everyone elses as could be allowed. Partially by his own request, partially by the request of others.

He rapped on the fabric a bit, then pulled it open to step in "You here?" He asked, but it was empty. It was unlike Kimblee to be late, to anything in general, but especially to their meetings. He figured he might as well wait for him. If Roy knew Kimblee as well as he thought he did, he probably didn't want to know what he was doing on his own. He was pulled from his thoughts by the tent flap opening behind him, and his host casually stepping in.

"Well now, breaking and entering are we? How rude." Kimblee's tone was teasing and his expression casual. He closed the flap behind him and made sure to clasp the latch, which felt like a padlock to the other occupant. "Sorry I'm late, I had another very important meeting, it would seem I'm terribly popular today." His long hands slid into his pockets and he looked at Roy expectantly.

"The same kind of meeting that you and I have?" He felt nauseated at the idea of Kimblee acting this way with anyone else, that maybe he wasn't the only one. Not surprised however. Kimblee laughed lowly.

"Nothing of the sort. Our lovely superiors simply wanted to give me a gift for my efforts, and a weapon all the same. We'll see how it goes tomorrow." He slowly approached the Flame alchemist and removed a hand from his pocket to press his index finger to Roy's forehead. Kimblee was an inch or so taller than Roy but in this moment Roy felt like he was towering over him and almost recoiled from the cool touch of his finger against him. "Were you feeling jealous? Possessive maybe? Don't worry, you're the only one I spend my time with this way." The way his eyes narrowed reminded Roy of the time he'd seen a feral cat eat a dead mouse outside of his parents house; Kimblee's eyes were the same as the hungry felines.

"I don't care who or what you do in your spare time." It was a half lie. Roy started to remove his overcoat and military issued jacket. "Let's just make this quick." Kimblee scoffed, and his expression neutralized.

"You act like you don't want this- if there are things you'd rather be doing, the door is over there." He removed his finger from Roy's forehead and pointed to the exit of the tent instead. "You won't get lost, I'm sure." This time it was Roy's turn to scoff.

"What I want to do and need to do are different. Just stop wasting time." Mustang felt like Kimblee appreciated his harshness or demanding tone sometimes, but he also knew Kimblee wasn't a man of empty threats; at least twice he had outright refused to partake because of something Roy had said, and sent him out with nothing but a bad attitude. He studied Kimblee's face to see if he'd crossed the line, and was relieved when Kimblee's blank expression turned to smile again, though there was nothing reassuring about his smile ever.

"Alright, alright. You have no patience." Kimblee took a step towards Roy again and there was only a few inches between them now, as he elegantly sunk down to kneel in front of him. Roy was a little surprised, normally Kimblee would immediately tell him to fuck him and wantonly lay on his back until Roy could muster up the strength and arousal to do so. If he was planning to help him get there, he must really be in a good mood. He watched as pale fingers undid his pants, working around the belt and layers of the Amestrian uniform, and pulled him free, not even half hard. "You never seem excited when you come here." Kimblee told him matter of factly. His cool hand snaked around Roy and lightly started to stroke him, and Roy could feel Kimblee's warm breath on him as well; it helped.

"I don't think I could be as excited as you get. About anything here." Roy exhaled heavily and his hand found itself against Kimblee's head, feeling his hair. It was soft, but Roy could feel the sand in it, and knew his must feel the same. He was reluctant to, but pushed the other alchemist towards him, indicating he wanted something more.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Kimblee asked him, and Roy knew he would get the answer anyway. Kimblee always gave him answers, whether he liked them or not. "I think you just like to feel sorry for yourself- you care less about what you're doing here, and more about how you can spin it to benefit your image." Before Roy could protest this, he felt Kimblee lick a long stripe up his length and it twitched to life, quickly hardening under the other man's affections. Kimblee was, surprisingly, never rough with him. Not physically anyway. His touch was always surprisingly soft, and careful. He let his voice be his weapon and his hostility and temper could infect his words, scathing and harsh.

Roy gasped at the sudden change from the gentle touch of Kimblee's cool hands to the hasty and hot feeling of his breath and tongue against him. "You just want pity." He stopped to say, then want back to the task at hand, finally taking the other man into his mouth fully.

"You... you're wrong..." Roy could barely argue, his mind was clouded with pleasure instead. "I just... this isnt what I..." He couldn't properly think, properly speak. He was ready to go, but Kimblee didn't stop, which was much like how he was with everything he did; unwavering despite the protests of others. Roy finally tugged on Kimblee's hair, grasping his long ponytail firmly. "S-stop... or you won't get to enjoy this." Kimblee pulled off him but a smirk slowly spread on his face.

"Are you implying I'm not enjoying it already?" He should have expected that.

"You know what I mean. You need to get ready." Roy was stripping the rest of his uniform off now, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. Kimblee stood up and rummaged through a box near the bedroll and leaned back with his hands on his hips.

"Hmm, seems I'm all out. Did you bring any? Or will we have to do it without? I'll live if we do." Kimblee gave Roy a questioning glance and it took him a moment to realize he was referring to any sort of lubricant. He picked up his pants from the ground and dug through the pockets, relieved when he found the lotion he had put in there earlier, not even for this very reason.

"You're in luck." He announced as he tossed it to Kimblee, who was peeling off the last of his own uniform. Of course, unsurprisingly, he was already hard. "And I almost didn't bring it."

"I could have managed without, what do you take me for?" His question was almost antagonizing. He sunk back down on the bed roll and whistled for Roy to join him, as if he was calling a dog. He handed the bottle back to Roy. "Do it for me." And his tone held unquestionable authority. Roy admittedly liked to watch Kimblee prepare himself, but he wasn't entirely opposed to doing it if he was told to. He spread the viscous liquid over his fingers and nudged the equal officer's legs apart. He felt self conscious under Kimblee's steady gaze, as if he was being judged on his ability to finger another man. His sharp blue eyes felt like daggers in Roy's skull.

"Do you have to stare at me like that?" He asked, his slicked fingers hovering close.

"Does it bother you? Do I bother you?" Kimblee asked him, but he knew the answer already. He just liked to see what he could drag out of Mustang.

"I just don't need judgement from someone like you." Taking a cue from Kimblee's actions earlier, Roy pushed a finger inside him before he could retort, earning him a breathy exhale from the other alchemist instead. He hesitantly pushed in and out before adding a second, and hastily a third. "Is that alright?" He asked.

"Someone like me? What, ah, does that mean?" Of course, Kimblee hyperfocused on the statement Roy didn't need his response on, and ignored the question he did. "Who am I to you, that makes this... this so bad?" His tone was smug but his voice shook. Roy figured he wouldn't have an answer to his question until he answered this one.

"You... you're a psychopath, you enjoy this, you enjoy this... the killing, the hurt, the blood, you don't see anything wrong with it. You don't ever wish you could go home. You don't ever want it to end. You-" Roy had to bite his lip to keep himself from rambling, realizing he had begun moving his hand much more roughly than he intended. "You're just..."

"Easy major, you're going to make me blush..." Of course that didn't mean anything, there was already a notable flush on Kimblee's pale face. When Roy met his gaze again, he found it less sharp, less calculating. His eyes were glossy and unfocused, and he figured that was answer enough. He removed his fingers and heard Solf gasp, and started to grab at the lotion to add a little more to himself when Kimblee grabbed his wrist clumsily.

"Don't... I still want a little friction at least, you'll take all the pleasure out of it." Roy knew that Kimblee wished he'd be tougher with him, hurt him more. There were times he would demand Roy take out his anger and frustration on him, and Roy would comply, roughly pulling his hair or grabbing him too tight. And he would sob out "sorry"s that Kimblee never asked for, never wanted. When he was done he never actually felt better, just more tired. He could sleep better, but only from exhaustion.

He reluctantly accepted this and dropped the bottle, lining himself up as Kimblee fell back on the bedroll, his pale arms splayed above his head. When he laid like this, the hollow of his stomach between his ribs and hips made Roy feel ill. Did he refuse to eat? Did he have some uncaught disease? His form was so lanky that he-

"Are you going to fuck me, or aren't you?" He was pulled from his thoughts suddenly. It sounded unnatural, Kimblee swearing. Even here he seemed determined to uphold his image, of a kind, gentlemanly presence. But Roy knew the truth, who he really was.

He reached out and took hold of Kimblee's hips, the bones of them pushed out enough for him to grasp, and slowly sunk into him, without any hesitancy until he felt their skin touch. Kimblee's tent being so far from the others meant that it was unlikely anyone would hear them, could hear them, but still he made Roy work to hear him croon. Kimblee rolled his hips as if to urge Roy to move. Even with preparation, and what little was left of any lubricant, he was still tight and hot and Roy was embarrassed to say that he liked the feeling.

His grip on Kimblee's hips tightening, Roy unsheathed himself slightly then pushed back in, his pace slow but even. Kimblee was patient with him, but not always, and it never lasted too long. Roy worked himself up into a faster and harder pace, grunting and closing his eyes. He didnt want to see what he was doing, who he was doing. He pretended it was someone else, that he was back home, that he'd found someone who loved him, who cared for him, who reassured him that this war wasn't his doing and he wasn't to blame- that the orders he followed weren't his own will. It almost worked until Kimblee spoke at him again, flatly.

"If you would fuck me as savagely as you kill Ishvalans, maybe we could get somewhere." One of his hands languidly stroked his cock now, as if Roy fucking him wasn't doing enough for him. Roy knocked his hand away.

"Shut up. Just... don't talk..." He hated knowing it, seeing it. His actions and their consequences. He wanted this to be over, even though he came asking for it. He started thrusting rougher, faster.

"I'm sorry, am I, ah, ruining your fantasy? Would you like me to pretend to be s-someone else?" Kimblee's voice trembled only slightly from the harsher fucking, and Roy could hear him panting slightly. "T-thats your problem, you... you... turn away from reality. You can't accept what's real: that we're here, what we're doing. Y-you hide... and when reality knocks on your door, you, ah... ah, you put of your walls, walls of self deprecation and victimization... you can't-" Kimblee's speech was broken by Roy's hand across his face, the slap resounded in the small tent and despite how much he wanted to, Roy didn't let up. He moved faster and harder, and Kimblee's hand gingerly touched the reddening spot on his cheek, his expression one of mixed emotion: surprise, pleasure, confusion- he didn't know what to feel, and Roy watched his face accept pleasure as the winning bet and he moaned lowly as Roy pushed into him at an especially enjoyable angle. "Yes... like that..." he demanded.

"When I said shut up... I meant it." Roy's voice was a low growl but he was determined to see this through to the end. He splayed one hand on the ground, only just past Kimblee's hip so it knocked against Roy's wrist with every thrust. His other went to grab at the other man's cock, tight enough to give him friction, but loose enough that he didn't have to move his it, his hips knocking against him pushed him against Roy's palm over and over again.

It didn't take long after that, Kimblee's back arched sharply and the hot, wet release coated his stomach and Roy's hand, and he made a noise that made Roy think he might cry, but it was enough to get Roy there himself and he groaned his release into the other man. He felt dizzy and overheated and his hand stung from the impact to Kimblee's face. After a few minutes he regained his composure and pulled out, his breathing returned to normal and he haphazardly looked for his clothes on the ground. It was getting dark out, and there was only enough light in the tent for him to see, just enough.

"I wish you would start out that enthusiastically, then I wouldn't have to lay into you like that. But you should probably hear it anyway." Kimblee reached for a handkerchief to clean the semen off his stomach, and grabbed for his pants on the floor. He pulled them on, his boots and his undershirt and seemed to consider his jacket, and then dropped it to the ground again. "Do you have them?"

Roy turned to look at him, holding out his tattooed palm expectantly. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out his winnings from earlier, handing 2 of the 4 cigarettes to Kimblee, who followed him outside to enjoy one. They smoked together quietly. When it was dark, Roy decided to leave. He couldn't tell if he felt better or worse.

"Hey." He looked at Kimblee, unable to make eye contact. "Do you really think it's true? The things you said?" Kimblee almost barked a laugh.

"Have I ever been one to lie?" He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. "You speak your self pity so dogmatically, you never consider the views of others. You think that the world is black and white, you're unable to think dialectically." Roy almost wished he'd never asked, unleashing Kimblee's desire for berating him. Or what he thought was berating. "You might start to feel better if you could see the world from others perspectives." Kimblee's hands found his pockets again and he shrugged. "But what do I know? I'm sure you don't need advice from someone like me."

The way he said those words held enough venom that Roy thought he may have actually offended Kimblee by saying them. It was silent for a while, then Kimblee spoke. "Are you excited? For tomorrow."

"Hardly. I just want to go home." Kimblee ignored him. Why did he even ask?

"I'm looking forward to it, you seem to think that I enjoy killing- that taking someones life is what makes me glad to be here. It's just a byproduct." He admired the tattoos on his palms. "I just want to use my alchemy to its fullest extent, to feel the power that I've worked so hard to create, to truly see what I can do and the extent of my own abilities. Don't you feel like that too? Don't you enjoy seeing the fruition of your efforts?" Roy swallowed hard.

"You're going to end up in jail." He stated bluntly. This time, Kimblee did laugh.

"If I do, will you come see me? I'd appreciate conjugal visits." Roy couldn't tell if he was joking.

"You're insane. I'm not marrying you. I don't think anyone would."

"Well that's not very nice. I'm sure there's someone out there who would." Roy doubted it, but he didn't say it. The next day, after Solf had successfully destroyed the remainder of the Ishvalan rebellion with some extreme advancement of his power, he killed 5 superior officers, and was sentenced to life in prison. Roy never did visit him.

#solf j. kimblee #roy mustang #mustang/kimblee #fma #fullmetal alchemist #nsfw

[hihowareyawrites]

Symbiosis

Cross Posted from my AO3

Roy Mustang/Solf J. Kimblee (18+)

Summary: Roy and Kimblee relieve stress

The lantern in the flame alchemist's tent flickered and cast a wide array of shadows against the fabric walls of his tent and given his current position he was thankful the fabric was thick enough not to allow anyone outside to know what exactly he was doing.

Among a list of things he thought he'd be doing in Ishval, fraternization was not one of them. But against his better judgement, he wasn't alone in his tent or on his bedroll and he was reluctant to admit that this was one of the few things keeping him sane in this war. He stared up at the ceiling as he laid on his back, wishing only that preparation didn't take so long so he could rush right into the parts that made him feel human again.

By no means would he call it "making love" because there was no love involved. But it wasn't entirely empty either, and mutually beneficial. He sat up a little on his forearms, the other alchemists weight still pressing on his thighs as he sat on them, his legs bent, his knees occasionally brushing against Roy's waist.

Kimblee's arms were crossed as he prattled on about something, Roy admittedly let his voice become white noise. Sometimes he liked the sound of it. He would occasionally nod to pretend he was listening, but of course, Kimblee knew he wasn't. He uncrossed his arms and pressed his hands flat on the Flame's hips and leaned forward, his face only a short distance from Roy's.

"Am I boring you?" His head tilted slightly and Roy couldn't avoid his sharp gaze from this distance.

"Sorry, I guess I'm a bit distracted..." If he wasn't actually a bit excited for this, he might have forgotten he was lying naked on his bedroll with the naked form of the other man sitting just above his knees. Kimblee looked contemplative for a moment then leaned back to sit upright.

"Its fine. I suppose we'd better not waste any more time then. That is..." Kimblee noticed Roy's only half hard erection. "If you're still interested." He idly patted his hand behind and to the side of himself until he found the bottle of lotion Roy had set there, not taking his eyes off Roy's face. The other major flushed a bit.

"I am. Sorry, it's not you, it's just been a rough day." At that he held his hand out and waited til he felt the cool lotion poured into his hand and slowly started to try to work himself back up.

"That's twice now you've apologized for things I don't particularly care about. Don't worry." Mustang watched him spread lotion over his pale, slender fingers and lift at his knees a bit as he reached behind himself to prepare. "We'll get to it soon enough." He winced, barely noticeably, as he pressed one, then two fingers inside himself. Sometimes Roy did it for him, his fingers shorter but a bit thicker to prepare better, but admittedly he liked to watch Kimblee do it himself. He could feel himself getting harder from watching the other alchemist ready himself.

After a minute or two Roy felt he was back to full arousal and Solf felt he was sufficiently ready so they decided not to waste any more time. Roy didn't need to move, Kimblee placed his hands on either side of him and pulled himself forward until he was at a much better angle. In the process the friction of the thinner man's cock against his own sent a shiver of pleasure up Roy's spine. It reminded him of the first time they'd done this.

Admittedly, it started as a fight. Kimblee mouthed off to him (as he was prone to doing) and Mustang had had enough. In the lonesome area of destruction he'd tackled him to the ground and there was such little resistance he wondered if Kimblee wanted him to strike him. But the close proximity of another person, the strange intimacy of the closeness, Roy hated it but soon he was grinding his hips down for any friction against the other warm body. At the time he felt guilty, like he was using the Crimson Lotus for his own selfish desires, but it didnt take long for it to be reciprocated and Roy hastily undid both their pants and simply pulled them free to roughly frot against him. He buried his face in the other's neck, listening through his own groans to hear him occasionally pant. Only in minutes was he spilling onto himself and his equal officer, who followed not long after.

Their interactions after that had been a bit awkward (or, Roy was awkward, Kimblee apparently had no issue), until Roy had cornered him leaving an empty common area and hesitantly requested a repeat performance, and Kimblee was all too happy to oblige him. After that it became a weekly thing, sometimes more than once. Roy loved feeling any sense of human intimacy.

Now he'd lost count, and they'd promoted from simple grinding or handjobs into full penetration, and at that thought he was pulled from his reminiscing by Kimblee asking him if he was good to go, to which he'd almost laughed.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" His hands laid on the other alchemist's hips as he felt his cool fingers wrap around him to position him at his wanting heat. Mustang felt himself prodding and it took a lot of self restraint not to snap his hips upwards and take him fast and hard.

"Don't you always?" Kimblee's expression was smug as he said this but lost his edge as he forced his body down in one quick motion, his teeth clenched only slightly behind his smirk to keep himself from keening openly and potentially getting them in trouble. A lot of trouble. Roy grunted at the motion and his hands on Solf's hips tightened a bit.

"Doesn't it... hurt when you do that?" Roy asked him as he adjusted to the feeling. Solf almost laughed.

"Of course it does. That's one of the best parts." After a minute of adjusting he placed his hands on Roy's waist again and steadied himself as he pushed himself up again and sank back down. The slowness to start was more for Mustang than for himself.

Roy usually laid back and let Solf do the work, which he didnt seem to mind. He would let himself fantasize sometimes, pretend it was someone else, which he thought might be a bit unfair to Kimblee but he also didn't seem to care what Roy did so long as he was still able to get his fix as well.

How Kimblee was able to maintain such a calm demeanor through this was something Roy always wondered about. He studied his face, the light flush against his pale complexion or the way his blue eyes, half lidded and fluttering occasionally, seemed unfocused and concentrated at the same time. The only sounds he made were barely vocalized pants or small sighs, distinctly his own voice. Now and again Roy couldn't hold back and would thrust his hips up just as Solf came down which would earn him small moans from the Crimson Lotus, that he admittedly enjoyed.

Normally Roy was content with this, letting Solf ride him until they'd both peaked, but the frustration of the day pushed him into a state of anger and aggression, something he knew Kimblee would appreciate being taken out on him (he was such a masochist) but was reluctant to let it take control of him. Partially because then Kimblee might start to expect it, and partially because he didnt want to be thought of that way by anyone, even Kimblee. But the longer this went on the longer his desire for a bit of roughness did. The occasional snap of his hips or tightened grip was alerting enough that all at once Kimblee stopped and smirked at him. Even though Roy was completely inside him, Roy felt as though he was not the one in control, the way Solf's sharp blue eyes stared down his long nose at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Why are you holding back?" He asked him, his tone gentle but it only slightly veiled his antagonism. "I can tell you're not satisfied with this pace..." He moved his body only slightly and Roy exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I don't want to take out my frustration on you, not in this way. It's not directed at you." His thumb flicked lightly over Solf's sharp hip bones, an idle distraction as he avoided looking in his cold eyes.

"You can take it out in here, or you can take it out out there. To me it really doesn't matter, but I have a feeling you'll just continue to internalize it." A cool, pale hand rose to lightly place the tips of his fingers against Roy's cheek and Roy's down turned gaze glanced a small portion of the tattooed array on Kimblee's palm. "At least with me, you know I'll still be breathing after. Doesn't that offer you any comfort?"

It did, a little, and Roy weighed the options in his mind.

"Come on Flame, we haven't got all night. What do you prefer to hear, their screams, or mine?" At that his finger tips slowly fell from Roy's face and in that moment of contemplation Roy decided to be impulsive and just do what he wanted. He could be killed tomorrow, he might as well.

Mustang pulled himself up to a proper sitting position and hastily grabbed at Kimblee's long legs until he'd adjusted him into a more appropriate position, pulling them around his waist.

"Well now, I see you've decided to-"

"Don't talk." Roy didn't need Kimblee's conversation right now, just for him to take it. Roy grabbed at him again, under his thighs, and lifted him up and pulled him back down roughly- in time with a sharp thrust of his own hips. The other man gasped sharply and seemed to hold back a moan. Roy repeated this, trying to pull any vocalization he could out of him that wasn't needless talking. "Now who's holding back?" It was his turn to smirk.

"Trying... not to get you... in trouble..." Solf's sentence was broken up by small sounds from his throat, that could have been moans if he'd let them.

"Didn't you say you'd let me hear your screams? At least give me something." Roy quickened his pace, roughly slamming his hips up as sweat beaded on his forehead. He felt almost close now. He closed his eyes and pressed his head to Solf's shoulder, he could lose himself in that tight heat and he felt his heart flutter a moment when he felt arms wrap loosely around his neck.

"You'll have to do a bit more then... if you want that..."

Mustang could tell Kimblee was determined to make him work for it, he wouldn't just give him what he wanted. He was partially thankful, all the work and determination would wear him out much quicker and he'd sleep better. He was a bit distracted and thought he heard the other alchemist say something along the lines of 'wont you touch me?' and the way he asked was a genuine question but Roy could tell he wanted it.

"B-beg for it... beg me to touch you..." He stopped roughly bouncing him on his lap abruptly and settled for slowly grinding his hips up, and he could tell Kimblee wasn't pleased with having it taken away from him. In all the times they'd dont this, this was perhaps the first time Roy had seen him so wanting, and he figured he might as well take advantage of it. Waste not want not.

Kimblee exhaled shakily and let his eyes meet Mustangs. His pride was at stake but he figured he might as well grant him this, and he was more than willing to sacrifice his pride a little given how close he was.

"Please, Mustang...Roy..." the emphasis on his first name made Roy's grip tighten. "I would really like for you to touch me... please..." Though he seemed somewhat hesitant Roy could hear the wanting in his voice and see the desire in his body language, either the way he would try to roll his hips or even the way his cock would twitch every few moments. The corner of his mouth curved into a smile. "Please... if you don't, I don't think I can come..."

Roy could tell if he let him keep going he would be the one in control, making Roy touch him and using his pleas as a weapon. He was more manipulative than Roy gave him credit for. He moved a hand to hover above him and asked "Do you really want it?"

Seeing Roy's hand so close to touching him but still unwilling ignited something in Solf and his eyes seemed to flicker. "Yes... please I..." He rolled his hips again in an attempt to brush against Roy's hand, who pulled away when he was close. "I need you to..." Now it was Roy's turn to smirk.

"Alright alright." And suddenly tightly wrapped his hand around him, thrusting up into him sharply as he did so. For the first time, Roy heard Solf make a sound unlike himself, in a genuinely pleasured moan, much louder than either of them had been willing to before. "That's right... that's what I want to hear..." He wasted no time, and immediately worked his pace back up, roughly fucking the other alchemist in his lap while his hand frantically tried to jerk him off. He found he liked to occasionally slow down for only a moment then suddenly increase his strength and speed because upon that incline he could pull the most wanton of moans from Solf. Each one edged him closer to his own climax and he was falling fast. He was determined to see the famed Crimson Lotus fall apart first though.

It didnt take long, only a few more rough strokes and erratic thrusts and Roy felt the hot, wet heat on his hand and stomach and heard Solf make a shaky keening noise that wasn't quite a scream but it was enough to push him over the edge and release inside the other man, and in that moment his impulsivity owned him again and he leaned forward to kiss him- the first time he had in any of their encounters. He tasted like coffee and vaguely of tobacco but weirdly Roy liked it and savored him for a moment longer, riding out his climax, and pulled away after it had ebbed.

They stayed like that for a while until Mustang moved Kimblee enough for him to pull out and stand up and grabbed a spare cloth that would have been used to clean a gun (if he'd used one) to wipe off the semen on his stomach and hand, and tossed it to Kimblee to do the same. After that Roy tossed it with the other few clothes he had to launder and pulled his pants up, noticing that Kimblee had already redressed and was adjusting his uniform jacket, that he eventually decided to leave open in the front. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, taking one out and holding the pack to Roy. "Join me?" He offered and Roy decided it wasn't a terrible way to spend their afterglow together.

They stood outside his tent, smoking in silence. Roy watched Kimblee exhale smoke and flick the butt of the cigarette a few times with his thumb as it hung between his middle and index fingers.

"Never really took you for a smoker." Roy said finally, inhaling his own.

"Not often. Sometimes it just feels appropriate." He turned to give Roy a knowing look. "Wouldn't you agree?" Roy simply nodded. "You know after all this time, this is the first time you've ever kissed me. Are you feeling a bit more attached perhaps?" Kimblee gave Roy a genuine smile that he was unfortunately unable to return given his current emotional state, but let it go. After another few minutes of silence Kimblee bent his leg up and put out the remainder of the cigarette on the heel of his boot and flicked it off into the sand. "I think I'll turn in for the evening then. I'll see you tomorrow." Even though he sounded as sly as ever, Roy could tell he was tired. He watched him walk away, his dark ponytail swished behind him.

"Wait-" Roy called after him, and he stopped abruptly and turned to look at Roy questioningly. "Why do we do this? What... are you getting out of it?" A wry smile touched on the Crimson Lotus' face and he sauntered back to Roy and clapped his tattooed palm on his shoulder, leaning in to talk quietly against his ear.

"At the risk of sounding sensitive, sometimes I like to feel like someone here likes me, even if it's only while he's inside me. And you?"

"I..." Roy couldn't bring himself to say that he felt bad. That maybe he was just using him. He could only be honest enough and say: "I like to feel like... I'm not just here to hurt someone. That I can make people feel things other than just... pain here. And it's nice to feel someone close to me." Kimblee seemed to accept this answer and leaned back to give him a sharp glance but smiled anyway.

"Its mutually beneficial then." With that he turned to leave and Roy did not stop him, only watched him walk into the darkness of the camp to his own tent.

#solf j. kimblee #roy mustang #mustang/kimblee #fma #fullmetal alchemist #nsfw

[hihowareyawrites]

Algebraic Notation - Ch 2

Cross Posted from my AO3

(no pairing), FMAB

Summary: Post-Promised Day, Ed and Al run into a woman in Central who bears a striking resemblance to a face from their past; through her they learn that truly, he was just a human like them.

They'd chosen a small cafe just a few blocks away from the train station. They'd come here a few times with Maes Hughes a while back, so it held a special meaning. On the shared cab ride, Ed and Al introduced themselves and properly met Selma Kimblee. After placing their orders, Ed contemplated how to speak to Selma. If she was anything like her son, she would notice anything, everything- any body language that could give away his feelings or any mood they displaced into the environment, she would notice. He would have noticed. Ed spoke first, he decided.

“So, Mrs. Kimblee...”

“Please, call me Selma. It's true I've kept the name but my husband and I divorced a long time ago.”

“Right, Ms. Selma... Do you live in Central?”

“No, I live in a small town outside of East City. When I got married, we had moved there as that's where my husband was from, but I was born in East City. My husband set up his shop there and that's where we stayed I suppose.” She stopped to thank the waitress for her tea, taking a slow sip as Ed and Al thanked the waitress for their respective orange juice and water.

“What kind of shop did he own?” Al asked her kindly.

“My husband was a tailor, primarily. But he also specialized in things like embroidery and really anything to do with textiles. That man could make anything look like it was worth double its cost.” She dropped 2 cubes of sugar into her teacup and stirred it idly. “My son- Solf- he wasn't bad at it either, but he was more inclined to put his focus into alchemy, and my husband wasn't very happy about that. He'd always say, 'who will take over this place when I'm gone?' and I would never have an answer for him...”

“Alchemy is like that, it really grabs you...” Ed recalled his own childhood filled with alchemy books, crude alchemic statues and his mothers smile. “Al and I, we started at a young age too, our mom was so proud to see what we could make.”

“Our dad, he was an alchemist, and a really good one. I think our studying it reminded our mom of him.” Al smiled warmly at her.

“I see.... forgive me for asking, did you boys lose your father...?” Ed and Al seemed taken aback at first but their quick recovery diverged into smiles not long after.

“Yeah... we did, recently.” Ed began. “But to be honest, we didn't really see him for most of our life, so I can't say we were super close....”

“Still, he did what he could for us, and that's really what matters.”

“I wish I could say the same for my husband.” Selma gripped her teacup a bit tighter. “My husband was a fairly... selfish man. After he'd decided that Solf would be of no use to him, in his own business, he expected us to have another child. And I had no issue with that, but my body didn't want to cooperate... and so he left. I would say Solf was about... seven years old.”

She unknowingly spoke directly to the part of Ed that still held resentment for his father, for leaving when they needed him. For abandoning his family. He thought for a bit.

“Did... did he hate him?”

“What?”

“Ki-... Solf, did he resent your husband... for leaving like that...”

With no attempt to hide his emotion, Ed could tell Selma read directly into what he was saying and why he said it. Al said nothing, but stared down at the glass of water in front of him intently.

“He did, at first. In time he grew to accept that sometimes, people are just selfish for their own reasons... perhaps that's why he ended up where he did.”

“You mean... in prison?” Al's tone was cautious as he approached the subject of her son's imprisonment.

“Yes... when he was deployed, to the war in Ishval, he was only 24 years old. I was against it of course, I didn't want my son going to fight. But we didn't really have a say in the matter, and...” She looked down and away, unable to meet the eyes of the Elric brothers across from her. “...the day he left for Ishval, that was the last day I ever saw my son ever again.”

They sat in silence for a while. The waitress had returned and placed their plates in front of them, but no one moved to touch it. And how could they, with an aura like this surrounding them. After a moment, Selma spoke again.

“You know I... was never told he was released from prison. While he was there, they never let me visit him or speak to him, saying it was for my own good. All this time, I thought that's where he'd be. And then I received a letter from the military, stating my son- that Solf had been released over a year ago, and that he had died in combat. After what he was imprisoned for, they took him back as a soldier again, deployed him into missions, and when he died...” Her voice began to quiver and it was obvious she was using all her strength to maintain composure. “When he died... I didn't find out until so long after. And all they could give me was this.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the familiar pocket watch. “There were no remains. Nothing for me to see or confirm. I came to Central today to retrieve all and any belongings pertinent to Solf, and this watch is all I have.” She clicked the top, and after a few presses it finally opened, the time incorrect. “And he hasn't touched it in so long, the battery is dead. I bet he hasn't seen it since the war.” She clasped the watch again and set it aside.

Ed swallowed hard. Admittedly all this time, he'd had a hard time thinking of Kimblee as a human, as person. His allying himself with the homunculus aside, there was always something about him that seemed ominous or unnatural. The way he carried himself, his uncanny attention to detail, his impressive ability of recollection. Even just the way he walked seemed fluid and thought out, like everything he did was not of this world. But still, to know he had a mother, who loved him so very much, a father who betrayed his family's trust, hobbies or goals... there was a small part of Ed that wished they could have met under better circumstances. That maybe, outside of this conflict, he had the capacity to be just a normal guy.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard Al start to talk then stop. He looked over at his brother's face and could see the struggle, the emotion fluttering back and forth. To some degree though, he was appreciative of being able to see it... to see Al show emotion at all.

“M-Ms Selma...” he finally choked out, his fists were clutching the fabric of his slacks. “I have... something I need to confess to you...”

“Al-” Ed put his hand on his brother's shoulder.

“Brother please... I need to talk to her.”

Selma looked at Al with kind but curious blue eyes. Their sharp angle had reminded them of Kimblee, but they had never known him to look at anyone so kindly.

“Ma'am... I don't know how to say this in a way that... is going to make sense but...” He hesitated now and again, carefully thinking of the best way to phrase this. “I... I was there, when he- when Solf died.” His eyes rose to meet hers and found her expression unchanged, still kind, and listening. “I can't really explain what happened.... but I feel like I could have saved him. It's my fault he's not here and... I'm sorry.” His voice quivered with guilt and recollection. He didn't blame Heinkel for what he did, the spur of the moment thinking saved their lives. If he hadn't, Kimblee would have killed them for sure. But that didn't mean they had to leave him there, with Pride.

“Can I ask you something, Alphonse?”

“Of course-”

Her voice became a bit straighter now, fixed with conviction;

“Did he suffer? My son... was he....” She trailed off as Al became choked up. Against his strong will, a single tear fell into his tomato soup.

“I'm sorry... I can't say for sure, but... it was not that easy...” Al debated on sparing her feelings or being honest and felt that a lie about that would only spare her so much. The pain that he must have felt, lying there, dying slowly, alone... even for an enemy, it wasn't something Al wished on anyone. As he clenched his eyes shut and prepared for the hurt to unfold on this woman's face, he was pulled from his thoughts by a warm hand on his shoulder and looked up to meet the kind eyes and warm smile of Selma.

“Alphonse, if I can't even bring myself to cry, there's no reason you should.” Al wiped his eyes and smiled back at her, thankful if only for the sense of forgiveness he felt in her maternal gaze. Her hand returned to her to grasp the handle of her teacup again and she sighed.

“My son... he did things that I don't understand. I don't think I ever will. Things that would have many assume he was a very bad man. Perhaps... that is equivalent exchange. His death was merely a reflection of his actions here.” She lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip, and lowered the cup a little to speak. “But perhaps it's the wishful thinking of a mother to think that her child isn't all bad... that the boy I raised never disappeared.”

As Ed and Al mulled over her words, she set her cup down and clapped her hands together. “Now then let's not let our food go to waste then.” With that the mood shifted and they spoke of things like alchemy, automail and learned of her own hobby in floral arrangements. Here or there she would mention Kimblee- they learned that he was rather skilled at floral arrangements himself. That it was partially what inspired his state alchemist title, Crimson Lotus. That while he kept a great deal for himself, given that he was satisfied with his unique brand of alchemy, most of the research fund given to him by the state was sent to Selma, instead.

“Ma'am,” Ed began, finishing his last bite of food. “if it's okay for me to ask, how old would Solf have been now..?” He had to admit he was a bit curious, he didn't know that much about him.

“Well, his birthday would have just passed in the beginning of July so, he would have been 31 now.”

“I see...” He didn't say aloud that he was thinking “Mom was around that age too when she....”

“You know, I do have this...” She reached into her purse and pulled out her pocketbook. Quickly she was able to access a small folded rectangle, which she unfolded and handed to Ed. “It's a bit old, from a few days before he left, but it's all I have really.”

Ed took the photograph and bent it back against the sharp crease to get a better view, and Al leaned over to look too. It was an old photo of Selma and Solf. She looked a bit younger, a bit less tired. Ed thought it was strange to see Kimblee wearing the traditional Amestrian military uniform, but he was still otherwise recognizable as himself. His expression characteristically complacent however a bit softer, a bit kinder, as he stood next to his mother, whom was a great deal shorter than him. If he stood at around 5'10, she must be only about 5'2. She seemed thinner now, as well.

“Handsome thing, he was the spitting image of his father.” She smiled and her voice turned jovial; “I was always hoping he would bring me home a grandchild some day.” She chuckled to herself and called the waitress over for another cup of tea, this time one without caffeine. Ed handed the photo back to her. “There was one girl who I thought might become my daughter in law some day, but he cut that off as soon as the Fuhrer issued Order 3066.” She accepted the cup back from the waitress with gratitude, and then noticed Ed and Al's perplexed expressions. “I'm sorry, have I said something wrong?”

“I-It's not that, we're just a bit surprised to hear that is all.” Al laughed nervously.

“Er we just thought he might be...” Selma chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“Gay?” Both brothers laughed and nodded. “You wouldn't be the first, and I myself think that was probably half true, he just never found the time to tell me...” Her lemongrass tea bubbled from the movement of her hand then settled. “It wouldn't have mattered to me either way.”

They finished and paid their bill and departed towards the train station. “Will you be taking the train too ma'am?” Al asked her politely.

“No, there's still quite a bit I need to do here in Central. A lot of records pertaining to Solf are still here, so I'm going to be collecting them all...”

“Right... then this is goodbye then.” Ed extended his hand to her and after an unsure moment she shook it, and repeated with Al. “I'm sorry we couldn't offer you more peace of mind...”

“It's quite alright. You boys helped me plenty. If you're ever passing through East City, do feel free to stop by.”

Ed almost raised his hand in a salute before considering it and turning it into a wave instead; Al waved as well, and Selma repeated.

The Elric brothers boarded their train and took their seats and reclined as the train jostled in its departure.

After about 20 minutes Al turned to Ed. “Hey Ed...”

“Yeah?”

“Did she remind you of mom too?”

Ed had to stop for a moment to consider; he wouldn't have said it out loud before, but she did. Her undying love for her son, regardless of who he was, was something that reminded him of his own mother.

“A bit, yeah.”

“Do you think... our mom would have smiled so fondly when she thought of us?”

“...Definitely. Most definitely.”

#edward elric #alphonse elric #solf j. kimblee #fma #fullmetal alchemist #original character

[hihowareyawrites]

Algebraic Notation - Ch 1

Cross Posted from my AO3

(no pairing), FMAB

Summary: Post-Promised Day, Ed and Al run into a woman in Central who bears a striking resemblance to a face from their past; through her they learn that truly, he was just a human like them.

The clunking sound of Ed's leather boots on the polished floors of Central's main office brought more attention to the two brothers than Al wanted. “Really Ed,” he would say, “can't you dress a little more professionally?”

“Who cares?” Ed scoffed and folded his arms behind his head. “It's not like they can get me in trouble for it, big deal.” Truly his apathy towards the military and its officers hadn't change. The brothers had only just departed General Mustang's office but 5 minutes ago, only here to review information with him regarding the Promised Day. Nearly a year later, and he was still filing reports about it. He was certainly kept busy. “You think they're gonna do anything about all that?” Ed asked Al eventually. “Can't imagine how many of those guys were in line with it...” He was intentionally vague, but Al understood anyway.

“I dunno... there were a lot of people involved, but how many are still alive? I can't believe it's all over though...” The clicking sound of his cane on the ground punctuated their walking, and as they waved to the secretary in their departure Ed noticed the clock in the lobby and suddenly panicked.

“Oh jeeze Al look at the time we're definitely gonna miss our train!” He hurriedly ran to the door and swung it open as Al hobbled after him. Ed watched behind him as Al tried to keep up. “Come on come on!”

He ushered Al and suddenly turned to run out the door as he heard Al's warning of 'Brother look out!', but it was too late and he'd already felt himself collide with someone and topple to the ground. In a short moment Al was upon them and chastising Ed.

“Ed, you need to be more careful- you can't just run all over the place without looking where you're going!”

“Yeah yeah... it's my fault...” Ed rubbed his head idly and jumped to his feet suddenly and extended a hand down to the woman rubbing her wrist. “I'm sorry ma'am, I wasn't paying attention, please lemme help you up.” Her sharp blue eyes met his golden ones and felt a strange sense of nostalgia that he couldn't quite place that was quickly dissipated by her kind, maternal smile. She reached a pale hand up to take his and got back on her feet, her long dark hair fell to her back, with her long forelocks clipped back and out of the way. She wasn't especially tall, but she was rather thin, and while it was fairly obvious she was middle aged she had a sense of feminine beauty that betrayed her years.

“I'm sorry, I was standing in your way. I guess I must have just zoned out a bit...” There was something about her eyes, that both Ed and Al noticed, that made her seem sad, uncertain, perhaps confused. Ed noticed that in their collision she had dropped a handful of papers and quickly bent down to gather them up for her. “Well thank you-” She began.

As Ed gathered up her documents his eyes idly scanned over a few words here and there. 'Apologies', 'sorrow', 'regret', 'death'. He was able to deduce that she must be here to have been informed of the death of a loved one. His golden eyes softened when he considered the pain of losing someone like that, a child or a parent. He noticed among the belongings was a familiar pocket watch- a state alchemist? He wondered if perhaps it was one of the ones lost to Scar until his eyes glanced over the word 'Crimson' and he did a double take. At a closer examination he found the only name he thought he could associate with the word in the the addressing of the letter to a Selma Kimblee and felt his heart skip a beat. He must have been staring longer than he intended to, because after a moment she asked him “Did you know my son?”

Ed stood and handed her the papers, unsure of how to answer. What could he say? 'Yeah, but he tried to kill me a few times, we were on bad terms' or something? He considered for a moment how to skate around it when he decided to settle for a simple “Yes ma'am, we did.” Al gave Ed a confused glance but when it was met with Ed's certain eyes, he settled and waited for more details.

“I see...” Her grip tightened a bit on the papers, but her eyes remained dry, something both Ed and Al were thankful for; they were both terrible with handling women crying. “I'm... sorry, if he caused you any trouble.” Ed considered for a moment the best approach to take and at her down turned eyes, studying the papers clutched in her hands, he clapped her on the shoulder.

“He and us, we weren't always on the best terms, we didn't see eye to eye persay. But in the end, he saved my butt. I might not be here if not for him. So I think we're even.” Ed's warm smile at this seemed to soften her gaze. Al looked questionably from his brother to this woman and cleared his throat a bit.

“Ed, I think we might have missed our train, what do you wanna do?” They definitely missed their train.

“Ahh, shoot, the next one is in a few hours then, isn't it?” Ed scratched the back of his head thoughtfully and the woman (presumably Selma) looked at the boys apologetically.

“I'm sorry- this is my fault, I kept you boys here...”

“Don't worry about it ma'am, we're really not in that much of a rush.”

“Then why were you running out the door....” Al smiled and shook his head at his brother.

“Hey, if you're not too busy, would you like to grab somethin' to eat with us? Not to be presumptuous, but maybe you'd wanna talk a bit more positively about-” Ed hesitated, it would be weird to say 'Kimblee' to someone who shared the name. Sometimes Ed forgot that wasn't his given name. “-Solf.” He finished. The name felt weird on his tongue.

All at once Al understood the situation and Ed had to envy his ability to keep his composure, but he could tell the guilt well up in Al's eyes. Al had spoken to him, after that day. He blamed himself for Kimblee's death. “We shouldn't have left him there” he would say. “We had Dr. Marcoh with us, we could have saved him”... Ed could tell that Al had so much he wished he could say to Selma. So much he wished he could apologize for. All at once Ed returned to the matter at hand at Selma's quick refusal of:

“Oh no, I couldn't- I would feel like I was taking advantage of you boys.”

Ed grinned and pulled out his pocket watch and saw her eyes widen. “Trust me, I get a pretty decent paycheck from this place, it's no trouble at all. I insist, really.” Her eyes softened and a gentle smile touched on her face, and she gave him a kind admission of 'alright'.

With that, they departed Central office.

#edward elric #alphonse elric #solf j. kimblee #original character #fullmetal alchemist #fma

[hihowareyawrites]

Book

Cross Posted from my AO3

(no pairing), FMAB

Summary: Book: a move that a player has learned to play in a particular position in the opening without the need to “calculate”; Kimblee shows Roy something he's kept from Kanda.

Exhaustion is what Roy felt when he exited his tent into the harsh Ishvalan sunlight, followed by guilt, hunger, and a desire to immediately return to his tent until the war was over. Unfortunately, that was a luxury he did not have. Weary and ashamed from the previous night of what he could only describe as wanton murder, per request of their own military, he felt he might gag at the thought. Everyone around him had the same eyes whenever he'd venture a glance to meet them, 'the eyes of a killer' he thought. Still this feeling wouldn't permit him any time away from the battle, and thought if he was going to be here, he might as well try to keep up some energy.

The Flame alchemist sauntered into the larger tent, their makeshift barracks, to try to stomach some food. General Gran, his direct commander, was incredibly strict on keeping state alchemists separate from regular soldiers. They had their own table, their own group of tents, anything to keep them segregated. Roy could only guess it was because they were seen as weapons, not humans. He passed by Isaac McDougal, the Freezing alchemist, exiting on his way in. The other man gave him a knowing look, empathizing with Roy's position. Was he really that easy to read? He quickly hurried inside and made himself a plate of whatever was left- mostly bread and butter with some fruit. No matter how careful he was, it always seemed covered in sand. He'd cut his losses for now.

Making his way to the table designated for state alchemists specifically, Roy found his pace slowing. There were a few people he didn't have any pleasure spending time with. Firstly, his foster father, before his foster mother divorced him. Wretched man, never spent a day smelling like anything other than whiskey, cheap cigars and lasciviousness. Secondly, General Gran himself, he talked too loudly and too aggressively and made Roy regret coming here in the first place. Thirdly, a member of his own squad, Solf J. Kimblee, who idly resided at said table casually flipping pages in some sort of dirty, singed notebook. Roy's last experience with the Crimson Lotus alchemist was only somewhat decent, but he knew it was all formalities (wasn't Kimblee always?)- this man cared nothing for Roy's perception of him, only kept a friendly face because he felt like it.

Still, he was hungry, and he wasn't very well going to sit on the ground. He tried to be quiet when approaching, but of course Kimblee noticed him approaching. Because of course he did. “Major Mustang, how nice to see you.”

“Yeah.” Roy couldn't say the same to him. He sat across from him and began to tear at his bread, only a little staler than yesterday's. He'd avoid conversation if it killed him, but let his eyes wander to the dirty book that his colleague thumbed through. Kimblee seemed somewhat scrutinizing, occasionally narrowing his eyes at paragraphs as if trying to extract information from it. “What's that?”

“Oh this? Just something I happened upon yesterday when I was assigned to the Kanda district.” He tapped his fingers on the pages twice and it made a crunching noise, as if it could fall apart any moment.

Roy saw the Kanda district, or what little was left of it when Kimblee was done. Absolutely destroyed, unlike anything he'd ever seen. The destructive power this man held was incomparable and Roy understood why people had started calling him the military's trump card. He would be hailed a war hero for sure. Kimblee turning a page brought Roy from his thoughts as he delicately pulled pages apart, stuck together with blood. Roy felt his stomach turn.

“Unfortunately, it seems like it's just a cook book. Just any old cook book.” Kimblee emphasized how ordinary it was, and Roy understood his meaning. Alchemists often coded their work in things like this, and Kimblee was implying...

“Wait, you don't think Ishvalans practiced alchemy do you? You know as well as I do that it's taboo for them to even thi-”

“Perhaps, but there were rumors of some thinking it could be used against us. I found this book in the possession of a man I happened to kill yesterday in the Kanda district. Let's see, glasses, about 5'10, wound directly in the right- no, left side of his stomach.” He rattled off the details of this man and his demise with such certainty that Roy promised himself to never lie to Kimblee, he would never get away with it. “Unfortunately, it seems it's just an ordinary cook book. Still, I suppose it might be worth keeping around. Are you a fan of foreign food? You might find it useful.” Kimblee closed the book delicately and pushed it across the table to the Flame alchemist. He must be extremely confident that this book was nothing more than a regular cook book. If such a person did exist in Ishval, would they really keep notes like this on them?

Roy picked up the book and gently turned it over in his hands. He couldn't help but notice the spine, the bindings, seemed torn, as if there were notes removed. It occurred to him that in between the regular recipes, there could have been notes. If they existed, this was a ruse, and the real ones were out there somewhere. Not wanting to be labeled a sympathizer here, Roy tucked that information into the back of his mind, thankful only the notes actually made it away from here and out of Kimblee's hands. But Kimblee of course, was already aware. Roy presumed he did not outright say it, to see if Roy would. Instead, he pushed the book back to the Crimson Lotus.

“You're looking a bit thinner than usual, I think you might find this more useful than I would.”

Kimblee looked almost offended at first, but smirked and took it back anyway. As quickly as his sinister glance had appeared, it disappeared and he feigned embarrassment.

“So you've noticed, I guess. I can't seem to keep food down here, at least my uniform still fits.” At the mention, he stood up and left the book on the table. “I'll let you look it over a bit more still, once you've finished you can return it to me. I have a special assignment today.”

“Doing what...?” Roy wasn't sure he wanted to know.

“The doctors Rockbell, just seeing if they need any assistance.” Roy didn't trust his tone but he didn't question him. The military truly had no care for sympathizers it seemed. “Have a good day, Major Mustang.”

Roy watched Kimblee depart and when he was sure he was gone, he took the book out behind their tents, and burned it. If there was anything he needed there, he wouldn't find it. He would simply say it was an accident in the heat of battle.

He'd soon find out it wasn't necessary. The Rockbells had been killed, by a wounded Ishvalan. Kimblee's team was no help to them. Only a day later, after he'd successfully destroyed any major areas of revolt, Solf J. Kimblee killed 7 superior officers without reason and was arrested- life in prison. Roy found it ironic that his arrest was caused by the murder of guilty parties, but felt safer with him gone.

A month after that, they went home.

#roy mustang #solf j. kimblee #isaac mcdougal #fullmetal alchemist #fma

[hihowareyawrites]

Swiss System

Cross Posted from my AO3

(no pairing), FMAB

Summary: Swiss System: A system of pairing tournaments whereby players are paired against opponents who are doing about as well as they are. Wherever possible, players get about an equal number of games with Black and White, and will not play the same opponent twice; Roy and Solf are assigned guard duty the evening following their dispute.

Pulling his rifle from it's rack in his tent, Roy Mustang sighed heavily in contempt for the night to come. He should have known better. Kimblee was only goading him, right? He shouldn't have lunged for him, no matter what he said. But Hawkeye looked so frightened at his words alone, he couldn't just sit there and let him prattle on. Still, Kimblee hadn't seemed at all bothered by Roy's grip on his collar, or how close to getting punched in the face he was. The same couldn't be said of the patrolling general, who punished them both by assigning them to overnight guard duty, together.

In Roy's opinion, the guard duty wasn't the punishment- spending time with Kimblee was.

The sun hung low in the sky over Ishval and the orange glow cast along the rubble around them made the hair on the major's neck stand; why had they been tasked with causing so much destruction? The question was rhetorical, and Kimblee's response to him earlier echoed in his mind: “because that's the job we were given to do, that's what we signed up for.”

Logically, he was right. Roy couldn't argue with anything he said, and that angered him even more. The fact that Solf J. Kimblee was correct, and he truly was naive not to see it.

As he approached the outskirts of their camp to stand guard, he noticed his guard partner was already there. Ever the punctual one, Kimblee stood with his rifle over his shoulder, idly observing the destroyed town beneath the cliff fall their post overlooked. At Roy's approach, he turned to acknowledge him, giving one of his friendly smiles. “Good evening, Major Mustang. Glad to be working with you tonight.” He'd extended a tattooed palm to Roy, who knew the destruction it could cause and shook it anyway, almost wishing the Crimson Lotus would blow his hand off and send him home.

“Yeah.” Was all he could offer in response, he couldn't lie and say he was glad to be working with Kimblee. He let go of the fellow alchemist's hand (how was it so cold in this temperature?) and walked over to the small bit of rubble piled up for them to sit on. With the amount of lives Kimblee took only just today, it was sure to be an uneventful evening, but long nonetheless. He figured he'd better set some ground rules, while he could. “Let's get one thing straight, neither of us want to be here. We're both more than capable enough to do more serious work. This is a punishment, not time to hang out. I have no intention of acquainting myself further with you, Kimblee.” Roy's lack of title when speaking to his equally ranked officer struck the other as impolite, but he would disregard it for now.

“Why, Major Mustang, surely I can't be that terrible of company.” Kimblee stalked over to him and sat beside him. He pulled one knee up to his chest, laced his hands over top, and rest his chin on them. “I apologize to have so deeply offended you earlier.” His words were earnest but his tone was nonchalant, and Roy could tell this would be a very long night.

“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to.” Truly Roy didn't fight for himself, but for Hawkeye's sake. She was the most upset by it, she was the most disturbed by Kimblee's words. And yet, Roy also found himself a bit... jealous? Not long after that argument, the sniper did approach him and say she couldn't deny what Kimblee said, and she felt so upset with herself that he was right. The fact that this man had made her acknowledge something and feel that guilt, was not something that sat well with the Flame alchemist.

Kimblee seemed aware who Roy was referring to, and looked away wistfully. “The woman, then.” He thought aloud.

“That's right. Whether or not what you said is true, this isn't the time to say it. Just because you're cold hearted enough to take lives so easily... doesn't mean it comes as naturally to the rest of us.”

“Cold hearted, eh...” Kimblee echoed Roy's words thoughtfully. For once Roy thought perhaps he offended him, and against his better judgment considered taking his words back, but he would be lying if he said he didn't feel Kimblee was every bit as cold hearted as he was perceived “Perhaps you're right, maybe I am cold hearted. But, it does make me a rather efficient weapon in our situation. It seems being cold hearted is exactly the trait our military finds valuable.”

God, he really did like to hear himself talk. The sun was beyond the horizon now and dusk had settled in. There was silence for a while, and Roy was thankful, until Kimblee spoke again. “Dusk is my favorite time of day. What's yours?” How arbitrary. He was just making polite conversation, and yet it made Roy angry. Everything he did made him mad.

But that sounded more like a personal problem, the more he rolled the idea over in his head. For just this evening, he would humor this man, and see if perhaps they had some common ground.

“Late afternoon. I like the sun to be high. There's something optimistic about it.”

“Hm, how interesting. What's your opinion on astrology?” That sure came out of nowhere. Kimblee was an alchemist as well, so he should be just as critical of made up sciences as any alchemist, but Roy would be lying if he said he didn't check his sign in the paper every day. Just out of curiosity of course.

“It's foolish, and favored by young girls. But I do know my sign, if that's what you're going to ask next. I'm a Leo.”

“I see! How thoughtful of you. I don't particularly subscribe to it, but it is interesting. August, I presume?”

“That's right.”

There was a long silence before Roy realized that he had given Kimblee information about himself without asking for anything in return. Equivalent exchange and all, he would learn this man's star sign.

“And yours?”

Kimblee laughed lowly at this, though it sounded somewhat genuine.

“I'd like to know what you think, how you perceive me.” It was painfully like him to do this. It was so very Kimblee to request information and give nothing in return. Roy unfortunately knew very little about astrology other than some basics so his guess was as good as anyone elses. He pondered a moment and gave a sidewards glance to Kimblee's hands still rested on his knee. Two arrays, huh...

“Gemini...” Roy guessed idly.

“Hm, that's wrong, but nice try. You're in the correct range. For your efforts I'll reward you and let you know that I'm a Cancer.” Roy had to stop himself from making a bad joke and accusing him of actually being cancerous, and finally settled on a simple 'I see'. “You know in Xing, they have their own zodiac, but it's based on the year rather than the month.” Was Roy really going to come out of this experience with only updated knowledge on global astrology? He guessed there were worse outcomes.

“No, I didn't know that... do you know them?” He was a bit curious. He'd heard women liked astrology, and if it was something he could potentially use on his plentiful dates, he wouldn't turn that down.

“I do, but I'll need to know the year you were born.” So there was the monkey's paw, Kimblee was going to know more about Roy than he really needed to, and Roy cursed himself for being so curious. A birth date though shouldn't be too incriminating.

“1885. August 16th. Do you need my blood type and shoe size too, or of have you gotten what you needed?” Kimblee turned to look at him and feigned surprise, then smiled.

“No, that should suffice. 1885 is the year of the rooster. How appropriate, in some ways they're likened to phoenix... bird of flames and all that. Coincidentally, you're one year older than myself.” Roy hadn't realized they were so close in age and almost felt happy to be the older, if only by a year. That's at least one year of superiority he had over this snarky man.

“What about you, are you going to make me guess again? Because I don't know any of them enough to-”

“Dog. My year is the dog.” Roy was taken back a bit that he was interrupted and upon recovering thought is words over.

“I see.” There was another long silence. The sun had completed disappeared and the sky was dark. Roy stood up and walked around to Kimblee's opposite and sat back down. This seat was small enough that their backs touched and it made Roy's skin crawl; as if he could catch whatever it was that made Kimblee so uncanny simply by resting against him this way. Again he felt a small pang of guilt. Kimblee was perfectly docile here, not going out of his way to harm anyone or anything, perhaps Roy misjudged him? Maybe he wasn't the man Roy thought he was? He contemplated for a while and investigated further. “So... do you like dogs?”

“I'm actually more of a cat person myself... I appreciate how self sustainable they are. They are independent, and intelligent.” Roy was almost personally offended but unsurprised by Kimblee's answer. If Roy looked hard enough, the Crimson Alchemist reminded him of a cat. Always perched somewhere staring harmlessly, seemingly docile and inattentive, maybe even affectionate occasionally. But seemingly without warning, the likelihood of getting scratched seemed fairly high. The idea of Kimblee as a small, harmless cat eased him. “I don't mind dogs however.” The addendum to his statement pulled Roy from his imagination. No, he was not a domestic cat. He was much more akin to a panther. The way he would skulk around, his sharp movements and reflexes, and his utter brutality.

“I could have predicted that.” Roy expected a snarky retort, but got none.

An hour or so passed and it was the dead of night, and Roy forgot how cold it was outside their tents in the desert evening. He considered making a small fire, but that would really make their position as guards rather compromised. Not that he needed it, he was rather accustomed to the cold and didn't mind it. The same couldn't be said of his companion however. A chill ran up the Crimson Lotus' spine and Roy felt it in his.

“I take it you're cold then.” He stated matter of factly.

“Ah, you could tell then? I'm not exactly accustomed to this weather... I must not eat enough iron.” Roy could hear the thrum of his fingers on the rock they sat atop. “When I'd heard we would be stationed in the desert, I was a bit happy about that. At least during the daytime, it's rather nice. My worst fear was being stationed in Briggs.” Roy smirked at the mental image of Kimblee in Briggs, far too cold for his liking, under the harsh command of their respective Iron Wall.

“Yeah... I don't think I could handle that either. Not just the weather, but the officials...”

“Yes, I've heard she's rather something to behold.” Kimblee considered for a moment before asking Roy, “What is your opinion of Major Armstrong?” Roy perked up at this.

“Olivier's brother?”

“Yes, our Strong Arm alchemist.”

“My opinion of him... he's quite powerful, if a bit eccentric. He has a lot of political pull given his family, so a good ally to have. Someone I would very much like to work beside.”

“But here?”

“I don't understand your meaning...” Kimblee shifted slightly and Roy felt him move and was thankful when he didn't turn to face him.

“It's true, he may be a powerful alchemist, and he may have political pull, and he may be the most reliable ally there is... but on this battlefield, perhaps none of that matters.” Roy's heart sank as their conversation drifted back to the war. And just when he thought they were acclimating to one another. “Remember how earlier, you had said I was “cold hearted”?”

“...yes, I do remember.”

“As I said, whether or not that's true...” It is. “... that just means that I'm more suited to this kind of work. If I'm cold hearted,” you are “then the reverse would be true of Armstrong. Despite his strength, his values, everything that makes him a great man... it does make him rather ineffective here, wouldn't you say?”

Roy considered his words for a moment. Logically, yes he was right. But did he want to give Kimblee the satisfaction of knowing that? Not really. Still he didn't want another night of this so he bit his tongue as best he could and said only “I suppose.”

“Objectively speaking though... I don't believe he is weak.” At that Roy's attention returned to Kimblee.

“Go on.”

“Personally, I don't believe being warm hearted or cold hearted is necessarily the determinant of one's strength. Rather, the conviction yielded by that heart. Whether or not you are kind or cruel, your dedication to your disposition is truly what grants a person strength.” If Roy didn't know better, he would think Kimblee was complimenting Armstrong. He couldn't find fault in what he was saying either. “For what its worth,” He began “my words to you earlier weren't meant to incite you. I simply believed if you could see things from my perspective, this work might not be so hard on you...”

Roy sighed. It's true he didn't feel a necessarily malicious intent from Kimblee earlier, and there was no secret his views and feelings were just a different standard than others, but was Roy really ready to allow himself to accept him? To accept this man who delighted in the destruction of others' lives to be his ally? His mind turned these ideas over and over for what felt like forever. “I see.” Was all he could offer Kimblee in response for now.

The night seemed to move at a decent pace after that. Neither of them said much, the occasional comment about current events back home. Little by little, they learned a bit about one another. Roy told Kimblee small details of his life only, and thus that is all he learned in return. He learned that the Crimson Lotus alchemist wasn't a fan of citrus, that his family worked in textiles, that before being sent to the war, he split up with a girlfriend and wasn't terribly broken up about it; he had no expectation for her or anyone else to build their life around him. Roy learned that Solf J. Kimblee was indeed human, like him and everyone else here. And that fact made him comforted and scared. If he truly was a human, just a normal human, how could he possibly feel so little for killing others? Could Roy become that way too? Would Roy become that way too? He just didn't know.

By the time morning came, both of them were a little worse for ware, and reluctant to go about the rest of the day without sleep. As they prepared to part ways, Kimblee was approached by a lower rank officer requesting his presence with General Gran, saying they had something for him to help aid them in their mission and get everyone home quicker. As he turned to leave Roy stopped him. “Wait-” Kimblee turned to Roy, his tired eyes asking what the Flame needed with him. “What is it that you tell yourself... to make being here easier every day?” To that Kimblee had no hesitation, a chesire-esque smile spreading across his face.

“It's just a job.” He said, and turned and left towards his request, leaving Roy standing there to ponder that sentence.

#fullmetal alchemist #fma #roy mustang #solf j. kimblee