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fullmetalfears · 9 months

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Hoenheim is one of my favorite characters in the OG FMA manga and Brotherhood. He made me love the sad immortal that hates themself trope, and in general I find the combination of failed father figure, gentle kind person, and the violence he accidently did to his people make for a dynamic character.

But I do 100% think FMA made the other characters far too quick to forgive Hoenheim for leaving the boys.

In the manga, it was directly said that Hoenheim wrote back home but in the anime you get NOTHING. Either way, the man left for a decade, during the most important period of his children's lives as children... because he felt like a monster. Not because he was actually doing things to his kids, but HE wanted to live like a human.

It's shitty. It's awful. One of the people that Ed and Al were supposed to rely on most left because he couldn't get over his own misery. Instead of waiting even a few years to make sure they could even take care of themselves better before leaving, he left before they could even really remember him at all.

I say this not because I don't think it was a good character decision. In fact I think it's tragic in a way that the series needs. The lack of clear lines between monsters and people, where one of Hoenheim's worst decisions is leaving his wife and kids, something that any person can do.

Hoenheim's real flaw when it comes to his family is not valuing that people want him to be there.

Which makes his final offer to Ed to sacrifice himself take on a different light.

In canon, the manga/anime make it clear that Ed calling Hoenheim a shitty father was meant to be as much Ed chastising Hoenheim for not understanding they won't use philosopher stones as it is an acknowledge that Ed accepts him as his father.

But to me, it shows that Hoenheim still hasn't learned why leaving was such an awful blow to the family. Yes, Trisha died because he wasn't there but even if he came back ten years later, did he still expect it to be from a loving family? Did Hoenheim expect the world to stand still while he left?

Hoenheim is still sacrificing himself after all this damn time. He still doesn't see that being there for his kids could invaluable. Maybe they grew up without him, and hell, maybe he doesn't deserve a second chance after so long, but for the boys, making sure you live to the next day is their entire philosophy. And Hoenheim, is willing to give that next day up.

In context, he's giving himself up for his boys after all this time of putting his own feelings first, but he would still be gone. What's worse, in Ed's perspective it's an impossible choice. If Ed couldn't have thought of another way to get Al back, Hoenheim basically offered Ed a chance to kill him in exchange for his brother.

You know. Killing. The one thing that Ed will not fucking do.

Hoenheim doesn't understand Ed. He also even after all this time doesn't get that living for them and to move forward would be the best thing he could do.

So yeah. I adore Hoenheim but the manga/anime kinda does a clumsy job with him. It does such a good job of setting Hoenheim up as looming negative premise in the beginning and then the story overcorrects in trying to make you like him that it forgets that, yeah, leaving your wife and kids for a decade is kinda bad actually!!!

It doesn't help that no one else is angry at Hoenheim. Izumi knew the boys as small children, presumably orphans and yet greets Hoenheim warmly. In the manga the people of Risembol are baffled on his arrival but otherwise move on. Pinako WHO BASICALLY HELPED RAISED THEM is just sorta neutral towards him. Even Al isn't angry. He just wants his dad back which is fine, but it leaves Ed's anger as an outlier, like it's childish of him not to understand.

By the time of his death, Hoenheim doesn't really learn anything. He's forgiven because he really was a good dude and he felt really bad about leaving for a decade so he can totally be forgiven by everyone right?

Right.

So yeah. Hoenheim? Great character, but awful dad which is part of why he's a good character but the story really pulls its punches about him.

~Luna

#fma #fma manga #fma:b #Hoenheim #van hoenheim

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fullmetalfears · 9 months

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On her way to kick her ex-dad's ass

#other's art #fullmetal alchemist #alexander fma #nina tucker

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fullmetalfears · 9 months

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Psychology teaches us that personality and identity are a lot more complicated than just who we are. Because, who are we exactly? Which version of yourself - the one in front of family, in front of friends, by yourself - is the REAL you? Because we are all these people. We put on personas in different situations and around different people. For example, my professional artist self is different than the self I show my partners is different from the self I show my best friend is different from the self I am by myself. But I'm all these people, combined together.

"Ok cool what does this have to do with the AU?" I hear you shouting.

Who is Trisha Elric? Who is Jon Sims? Who is Oblivion? In our AU, these are all people with complicated identities predicated on the need to show up in different ways. Trisha is different from Mom. Jon is different from Gramps and the Heirophant. Oblivion is different from Sloth and Martin.

Oblivion especially is an interesting example to discuss BECAUSE of his dichotomy with identity. His isn't Martin anymore. Martin Blackwood no longer exists. But he's still a sliver, a history, of Oblivion.

He will never be Martin Blackwood again. But that doesn't mean that identity still doesn't exist somewhere within him. Sharing vague memories, thoughts, and old feelings, sometimes he feels like he understands Martin, who he used to be. He rejects it, he mourns it, he loves it. But Martin Blackwood can no longer exist. The share a soul but not a life. Oblion is his own person now - Martin is just who he once was.

Sloth is simply the name given to him while working with Father. He's the passive, confused, and angry man who dug tunnels to give himself time to think. He thought he had no other choices - after all, living is a bit of a pain and confusing already.

Oblivion is the identity he chose for himself. Granted a combination of several things, but Oblivion: the neutral party, the one with choices to make, the complicated monster - is the one he CHOSE.

~Foxy

#fullmetalfearsau #fullmetalfears au #oblivion #fmf worldbuilding

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fullmetalfears · 11 months

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some AU stuff to think about...

(god I love the misery and despair so much 😭)

#other's au #fma

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fullmetalfears · 11 months

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~ Foxy

#fullmetalfearsau #fmaxtmaau #fma #fma 03 #fma manga #fma:b #tma #cw: character death #cw: illness #fanfic #ao3 link

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fullmetalfears · 11 months

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Our first fic! Please enjoy!

~ Foxy & Luna

#fullmetalfearsau #fmaxtmaau #fma #fma manga #fma:b #fma 03 #tma #fanfic #ao3 link

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fullmetalfears · 1 year

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references!! subject to change bc character design is my death sentence. also some sillies bc is it really fma if ed doesnt get called short/kid at least once

#other's au #fma

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fullmetalfears · 1 year

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One of my favorite aspects of crossovers is trying to combine the worldbuilding of one franchise to another. Trying to transplant ideas and concepts so that even when one set of characters is fully in a different location, you still see the full potential of the characters in a new location.

For this AU I just adore playing with the fears. In specific, the fact that the fears are in a new world means that they reflect the fears of the people within it. The fears being a reflection of our own fears is something I think is generally underutilized in fics. So it would make sense that they would change in confronting entirely different cultures and "magic systems" as it were. In FMA's case, Truth already exists and precides as its cosmic force as it were. The fears combining into Truth and then morphing it to have properties of the fears and Truth is just such a fun option. It lets us make alchemy that much more horrific, change the homonculi to have more fear related powers, but also, gives us other options when it comes to Jon's abilities.

With the change in fears, it felt correct to change what type of avatar Jon became. We have a system where Jon uses alchemy to distill essentially pills of fear to consume. It's not satisfying but it works to keep him from hurting people especially when there aren't written statements anymore. However, it has a different consquence where Jon can transition between fears without 100% realizing it. Foxy wrote a "confession" earlier. They're statements but their connotations are different as well as how they're given. To put it bluntly, Jon becomes a confessional of sorts for people who have faced fears. The hierophant, aka a "priest" but also a companion who gives advice.

Jon slowly transitions from being an avatar of the Beholding to becoming an avatar of the Maker. He listens and gives advice, as the people speak their "sins". He is judgemental to those who wrong him, and he is not afraid to make you feel such shame that it boors into your immortal soul.

It's fitting, how someone who became a god even for a brief moment, knows how to put the fear of it in others.

~Luna

#fullmetalfearsau #fullmetalfears au #jonathan sims #fmf worldbuilding

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fullmetalfears · 1 year

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Oh my dear bystander you are very sorely mistaken.

[Image Description: Digital art of Oblivion and Jon from the fullmetal fears AU. Oblivion is a tall white man with short black hair and red eyes and freckles. He has an ouroboros tattoo on his left cheek and a blank expression. He's wearing a long sleeved baggy shirt and black pants with red interconnecting lines and circles across the chest of the shirt, the pant leg, and to his hands. Jon is a shorter older man with fully grayed hair pinned up in a bun and a bushy mustache. He has scars around his eyes, on his neck, and hand. His eyes are closed and has a cane as well. He's wearing a long sleeved green sweater with a white collared undershirt underneath, a blue plaid shirt, brown work pants, and brown work boots. End ID].

Oblivion, also known as the homunculus Sloth, and in a previous life, Martin Blackwood. He's a mysterious anomaly among the other homunculi, rolling in and out with the fog to sit alone away from the others. No one knows much about him or what's going through his head. Not even Jon, anymore.

Jonathon Sims stands beside him, the 'Witch of Resembool' and known as 'Gramps' to the Elric brothers and Winry Rockbell. He lives alone, reclused in his family's old home, where he peacefully tends to his cows and conducts his research, which he prefers to keep to himself. Oddly, he seems to look much like his father, as well as the other Sims men, who settled in Resembool ages ago. Despite this long history, he's reluctant to speak of any family, and reluctant to get involved with others in the village.

~Foxy and Luna

#fullmetalfearsau #reblog

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fullmetalfears · 1 year

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[Image Description: Digital sketches of Jon from the fullmetal fears AU. On the left is a full body sketch of Jon, a shorter older man with fully grayed hair pinned up in a bun and a bushy mustache. He has scars around his eyes, on his neck, and hand. His eyes are closed and has a cane as well. He's wearing a long sleeved green sweater with a white collared undershirt underneath, a blue plaid skirt, brown work pants, and brown work boots. Top right shows two sketches of his head, side-by-side. The left is a close up of his face, outlining the scars around his eyes, face, and neck. Its labelled "Scars." The right shows the back of his hair. Its shaggy, pinned back in a high bun, with shaggy hair hanging down to his shoulders and braids tied randomly into the locks. Its labelled "Winry Braids." Below are detailed pictures of his eyes; open, empty sockets surrounded by long eyelashes. Finally, below them is Jon's name and title: "Jonathon Sims, the Hierophant." End ID].

Just a couple more detailed sketches of Jon.

~Foxy

#fullmetalfearsau #fmaxtmaau #jonathon sims #tma #fma #fma 03 #fma:b #fma manga #art

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fullmetalfears · 1 year

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~Foxy and Luna

#fullmetalfearsau #fmaxtmaau #jonathon sims #martin blackwood #tma #fma #fma 03 #fma:b #fma manga #oblivion #art

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fullmetalfears · 1 year

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Confessions of Lieutenant Mattias Cameron, collected June of 1911

It's funny how I used to think death was the scariest thing that could happen to a person.

I wonder when that changed. Was it when I became a soldier? Was it the Ishvalan War?

No. No, I don't think so. I was still afraid of death then. I was still proud of my vocation, my role in the war. I was proud to be a soldier despite that fear and I reveled in the victory of life. I was the one that made it. I was one of the heroes.

I can see the odd look on your face. You mentioned you weren't originally from here - from Amestris, from Resembol. You have to understand, little boys in Amestris, no matter where, all played war games when they were children. War touches the culture of this country in the same way God touched Ishval. Our parents and teachers encouraged us just as much as the government, for, you see, being a soldier was a source of pride.

Soldiers were heroes. Soldiers were martyrs.

Soldiers were the reason we could live as comfortably as we did in Amestris.

I was afraid to die but I was proud to fight. I was proud to be a soldier, like my father.

War, though, is hell.

They don't mention that part. It isn't the glory the adults always made it out to be.

It's dirty. It's bloody. It smells rancid.

It's horrifying what you're willing to do to your fellow man to survive as a hero instead of dying like a martyr. Camaraderie becomes your main source of comfort. You have to trust the man by your side because he could be the reason you live or die.

It's funny the sort of friendships you'd keep on the battlefield. Almost everyone had their small partnerships and unofficial squads outside of battle. We'd exchange gifts and stories and letters from home - in an odd sense it kept up morale. Nothing like the looming threat of your own mortality to quickly build trust.

One, though, stood out among them.

His name was Marcus. He'd never told me his last name, but it seemed as if he wasn't too attached to the thing anyhow. He was tall, and thin, with dark hair and almost piercing eyes. I always felt a chill when he'd pass me by.

He often spent his time away from the others during our sparse downtime between raids and battles, always seeming content to keep to himself, not that the others would give him much of a chance to join in.

He was a quiet, introspective man, the type you'd expect in academia over the battlefield. There was always something on his mind, always something swirling and tumbling inside, away from the view of others. I wouldn't describe him as cold so much as reserved. He just didn't mesh well with other soldiers. From the start, he was very openly cynical of the glory and heroism promised by our peers.

I suppose that's what had initially caught my attention. I felt betrayed. I felt alone. I felt angry. I needed something - someone - to take it out on.

I hate to admit that I followed the others in ignoring and belittling him, too. When, one day, I knocked one of his books out of hands into the sand by 'accident,' he immediately apologized to me and asked if I was alright.

For some reason, that alone made me stop hating him. Maybe it was the genuine kindness and concern in his voice, or maybe it was the way his icy blue eyes studied mine, prodding deeper than just the initial question. Either way, my anger was gone. It just didn't seem to matter anymore.

Eventually, I started to consider him my best friend.

He never would speak of home or family, but he could tell you anything you'd want to know about Xingese plants and their practical applications. I would always catch him reading something new and he was always eager to share with an interested listener. I was, admittedly, jealous by how well-read and intelligent he truly was. I honestly found it amazing that no one else took notice. Made me feel rather guilty and sad for him.

His company was a welcome distraction from the hell around us. We saw many comrades die.

He was with me the day my leg was blown off, and I experienced the crawling fear of death for the first time in my life.

I remember distinctly thinking how cold his hands were, as he tried to stop the bleeding.

He visited me often, in the field hospital.

I remember asking Marcus what he wanted to do if he made it out alive. He, of course, insisted I rest and not worry about such things - after all my fever was rather high and I was quite obviously delirious - but I insisted. I was scared for him. I don't remember why, but I was so scared for him.

He still didn't answer. He just sighed and tried to continue our conversation from minutes before about what he'd read recently, something about ancient sea creatures.

I interrupted his lecture again to ask him if he'd become a scholar or a teacher, with how intelligent he was.

With another sigh, he gave me a curt 'no,' and tried to bring me back to the topic with an entry from his book.

I asked about his family. If he had a girlfriend or friends to return home to.

He hesitated that time. His voice became much smaller.

"No," he said softly. "And it wouldn't matter anyways."

I must've made some sort of odd face then because he laughed.

"Don't worry so much about me. I still have both my legs."

I grumbled something about him not being funny, then asked if he wanted to come with me, if I survived. That I had a sister who was still single and she was cute and my father would love the extra help around the shop.

He simply gave me a sad smile. "You will."

And that's where he left it.

Oddly enough, it was almost bittersweet when the war started to come to an end. Things were changing and shifting so quickly, I was afraid I'd be lost in the chaos. But Marcus was there. As the first rumors begun to spread, as the shots started to die down, Marcus stayed by my bedside.

He’d said himself that he had a feeling that things were almost over. The look on his face was an odd one. Almost regretful.

It couldn't have been more than a couple weeks after my incident when the news officially came down.

I think I asked him again, then, where he would go. He answered that he would simply 'be around.'

I didn't like the look in his eyes.

He looked tired. When he talked, he sounded foggy. He stopped bringing his books around.

Another week passed.

His visits became shorter. News and updates from the battlefield began superseding his usual topics. Everything he said almost sounded robotic and cold. The air around him felt cold.

The last time I ever saw him, I asked if he was feeling ill.

He just gave me a wry smile.

"It's nothing, Mattias."

The next day, the official orders came down. The war had ended. The wounded would get priority and be moved to a military hospital in Central.

I never saw Marcus again.

I asked everyone I could who would listen - nurses, superiors, fellow soldiers - where was Marcus? Was he injured or was he still alive? Could they tell him where I was?

All answered me with odd looks.

"There's no one that goes by just 'Marcus' here."

"I haven't seen anyone with that description here. Are you sure you're thinking of the right person?"

"That tent has been empty since Colin died. It's just storage, now."

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

It got to the point where I was stuck in prolonged observation at Central Hospital while they watched me for signs of shellshock.

Or worse.

Even I started to think I was imagining things.

Did you know that the human brain can create false memories? The doctors had told me it wasn't so far-fetched that with the amount of stress I'd been under, what with the war being as difficult as it was and losing my leg and all, that I would have created a comforting presence, a friend, to keep me grounded. Apparently, with severe shellshock, it's not unusual for the mind to do such strange things to keep itself safe.

Over time, I accepted that answer. I didn't have much of a choice, really.

After all, either everyone else in the world was wrong. Or, I was. I may not be well-read. But I'm not stupid enough to think it could logically be the former.

It took a while, but I managed to recover. Physical therapy and working with doctors to process my experience helped. After a few months, I was in a well-enough state that they felt comfortable sending me home.

I'd managed not to linger too much on it.

It was about three months after I'd settled back home with my younger sister and father that I finally had worked up the energy to unpack my things from the battlefield. My nerves had been pretty frayed since I returned, what with my mental state and the loss of my leg and my pending automail surgery. I didn't want to look at my things, let alone handle them. I didn't want to remember my fallen friends and the blood and the fire. I didn't want to think about Marcus.

I think it was my sister who finally convinced me to unpack my bag. The typical talk of closure and how I'd feel better having the mess cleared instead of just looking at it.

She was right, she always likes to rub that in, but it took a while for me to work up the courage to start. I found myself stopping every few minutes. The memories made me feel ill.

At the bottom of the bag, once the clothes and letters and other personal things were cleared away, was a book.

An encyclopedia on Xingese plant life.

I nearly dropped the damn thing. I did, actually. The cover was cold as ice, biting into my fingers and burning them like fire.

The pages spilt open when it hit the floorboards, and a slip of paper slipped out. It was a photograph of a tall, thoughtful young man with dark hair and icy eyes. His aging mother and father and two younger children, a little boy and girl, stood at his side.

The back read: "Remember - Ma, Pa, Millie, and Danny 1898"

I stuffed the book and the photograph away somewhere deep in my wardrobe.

I never found out how they ended up with my things, or how to contact the family in the photograph. I think I tried once or twice to show it to a few military officials but after a few warning looks from a few higher-ups, I decided to give up.

'Marcus' didn't exist, whoever, or whatever, he was. Not anymore, at least. I'm still not sure if he ever truly did.

I wonder if his family knew. If they remembered him. If they even existed, either.

I got a cold chill when I looked at them, staring back with the same icy eyes.

All I know is, I no longer fear dying, not in the same way I did before.

Death is simply the end of life. We leave behind memories, objects, people. We existed. And we can find comfort in that fact.

But, to stop existing, to be erased from this world, to be a shadow, a drifting thought… I think there's few things I find more terrifying than that.

I can't stomach military work now. My pride as a soldier died ages ago. I run a bookstore in town now, with my wife. I've even started reading more often, too. Still not incredibly well-read but...

I find it to be a good distraction from the cold.

Confessional ends.

~Foxy, beta read by Luna

#fullmetalfearsau #fmaxtmaau #tma #fma #tma fic #statement fic #cw injury #cw mentions of war #long post #fma 03 #fma:b #fma manga #confessionals

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