#but hey it's angsty royai hugs time!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hawkeyebabe · 6 years

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Guys, I couldn’t stop myself, I wrote a fic that I got way too into for this incredibly angsty art by @thesilentwatcher sorry. (please go look at it, it’s perfect and my jaw’s on the floor) (no you’re not going crazy, I’m reposting this as a separate entity just so I can organize the way my works are published)

Title: The Hypothesis and Execution of Sentiment Rating: T (blood, violence, heavy themes, questionable ending) Note: I really did flesh this tf out, it just kind of happened. Just a sprinkle of Royai in there because I have zero self control. It might hurt to read this, who knows, enjoy. Summary: During an attack on Central Command, Riza becomes gravely injured with only Edward as witness.

—–

What they heard first, echoing like distant, crashing waves, over the curve of the buildings and through the limbs of the naked Autumn trees, were the screams. Piercing, unmistakable screams, shouts of mania and cries of panic. They shredded the air like nails, biting into the cheeks of the setting sun, and Riza and Edward exchanged severely alarmed looks.

“You’re a major, Edward,” Riza had said with a joking smile, lightly pushing on his shoulder. “I don’t know why you don’t just stay in the officer’s accommodations on Central Campus. It would be far cheaper than a hotel.”

Edward had laughed and pushed her hand away from him.

“Because no way am I going to be any closer to this hellhole then I have to be. You guys are a cancer.”

“WE are a cancer,” she corrected him. “You’re one of us. You’ve been assimilated.”

She’d widened her eyes, allowed her expression to go blank, and lifted her arm like a machine. Edward laughed again and smacked it down.

“Cut that out Lieutenant!”

“Edward…” She turned towards him, eyes wide, expression blank, no whisper of a joke on her features. The hand returned, strong and demanding, to his shoulder. He did not push it away this time.

“Stay here,” she said sharply.

Something exploded in a place they couldn’t see, and the screams intensified. She held his gaze for a long moment, asking him to heed her, asking herself to protect him, then turned on her heel and bolted towards the sounds of chaos.

Where they had been, the southernmost side of headquarters that was sandwiched between the stone buildings and a small wooded area, things had seemed peaceful. Should no noise be heard, with the grass browning naturally and the picnic tables sitting beneath the trees invitingly, it seemed as pleasant a day as ever. But noise was heard; the noise of people dying, and the noise of people killing.

The images of these peaceful things blurred past her, streaking in dull colors as she pushed forward in pounding boots, pulling herself towards the rising crescendos of hysteria and ill intent, towards the booming, intermittent blasts of explosions and now gunfire, and something whispered to her wickedly that this was anything but peaceful.

The sounds of pandemonium sparked upwards like a firecracker, shrieking over Central, its origin emanating from the north; the entrance. The most populated, most vulnerable area. She ran. The rushing air flowed like river water over her bared arms, her jacket having been left in the office for what she assumed would be a short stroll to catch up with Ed.

She turned the corner to charge up the western side, and saw people running. There was another explosion and chunks of stone debris blasted through the air, whistling and pounding into the dirt. The fear that clawed at her body, ripping into her throat to try and smother her, was pushed down with the heavy blanket of reason and action. She turned the next corner…

“Hey!” she screamed furiously, her gun rising in the air as her legs continued to slam against the ground. The man, whose own weapon was pointed at the head of a civilian on their knees, looked up at her before his right eye erupted in blood and he fell on his back. Riza yelled at the civilian man to escape swiftly as she turned her attention to the rest of the grounds.

Clusters of people were running like a panicked herd, scrambling and tripping and pushing, running where, she wasn’t certain. Away, she thought. Just away. A few bodies in uniform lay dead on the ground, lives given in duty, and Riza felt nausea.

Men dressed in black, armed with rifles or handguns, were scattered around like paint drops. Each one bore a red armband, on it a symbol she did not recognize. It was stitched in hatred, and she hated it directly back. She did not know who they were. She did not care. They threatened the lives of her people.

She shot four more insurgents as she waded her way towards the center of the madness, her body a lone sail in an ocean of mayhem.

A wave of fleeing people pulled back a curtain to the scene in front of Riza, of three men planting an explosive in the barrel of a metal trashbin and pushing it up against the base of the stairs. At the crest of the stairs, the door to Central was firmly closed, likely locked; there were at least 15 people running down those steps, reaching to one another and searching madly for a place to escape, hugging and running and sobbing. One of the men pulled out a match…

The weapon in her hand vibrated savagely at each pull of the trigger, shaking the bones in her forearm and briefly numbing her fingers. The man’s match fell with him, dead. His two comrades flailed for a moment, shoving their arms over their heads in an attempt at cover as they searched her out. The blood in her fingers danced at another pull. One of the men’s hands flailed again, but this time at the impact of her bullet, and he too joined the dirt.

Her index muscles pulled into the weapon, asking it again to fire. It answered no, and it clicked, clicked, clicked, at its empty magazine. She felt her eyes widen, cursing her inattentiveness to count, before flipping her hand back to the leather pouch on her belt, popping open the flap to reach for her next clip —

The proceeding gunshot was so abrupt, so thunderous, she jumped backwards as though struck and whipped her head to the side. A man stood ten feet from her, thin wisps of smoke protruding from the barrel of his weapon, and on his face was insanity.

She felt the shallow cut on her shoulder begin to bleed, but she did not allow herself the time to marvel in her fortune.

Better luck next time, asshole.

Without taking his eyes off her, he shouted at his friends to continue their mission. To pick up the match. With a slap of fear, Riza pushed the magazine into her handgun as she turned back towards the men with the explosive, glancing up to see the civilians and unarmed military personnel on the steps scream at the match being handled, but the shadow in her eye forced her to drop as a piercing shot rang out. She barely managed to tumble to the ground as his bullet whizzed over her head. Rolling on her stomach, she pushed herself back to her feet and immediately fell back down as he shot at her for the third time. The grass pricked into her palms.

Dammit…! Anxiety tornadoed up through her lungs and chest as he shot again and she continued to dodge his untrained shots, her precious few moments between each pop of his rifle dedicated only to the defensive; dropping and rolling and jumping away from the eye of his barrel —

Out of the corner of her vision, she saw something bright, yellow, hot and red, and it twirled through the air like a beacon. For a wonderful, blissful moment, she thought she’d hear his voice, see him and relish in his aide, hear that unmistakable snap and know things would be alright, but her ears were instead met by the voice of a detonation, a bellow and clamor of antagony and flame. Daggers of metal trashbin screamed through the air and skewered the ground.

Someone had succeeded in what she had failed to prevent, and she was completely gripped with a drowning fear for the price of her failure. She spun herself around to look with wide, dreading eyes. Somewhere distantly behind her, she heard the click, click, click of an empty trigger…

She saw rising flames, licking at the smoke hazying overhead, she saw burning grass and crumbling stone stairs…

She saw the ground moving like the ocean, like water, as it scooped up the falling people and shielded them from the flames and debris. She saw a red coat and a yellow braid. A relieved and desperate choke fell out of her lungs at the sight of their safety.

Something cracked into the side of her head, sending her body reeling to the ground and her mind through a fog. The gun fell from her hand, flung in a direction she couldn’t discern. She gasped and grabbed her throbbing skull, feeling warmth trickle through her free-flowing hair. The clip laid in pieces beside her.

Her mouth opened in shock as she saw the man’s boot coming for her face, and she shielded herself with her palms just in time for the toe of his shoe to smack into her hold. Grunting, she grabbed the boot with one hand while the other wrapped around the back of his calf. Sucking in a breath, letting her adrenaline pulse through her without tame or control, she pulled him off his feet, his back smacking on the same ground she was becoming far too familiar with.

The man let out a war cry, a declaration of his commitment to his unjust, cruel, murderous cause, and flung himself towards her. His hands hit her shoulders like a pair of anvils despite her wrapping her arms around his, pushing against him, hitting, yanking. They were heavy, they were strong, they were impending, and they snaked towards her throat despite her every effort to fend them off, and suddenly she could not breath.

She tried to gasp but felt only the bitter and painful disappointment of nothingness.

The dirt beneath her fingers rumbled like an engine, humming, drumming, and the man soared off her body. A log-shaped protruder made of dirt stood in his wake, and behind it, the view clear thanks to the disappearance of the man, was Edward.

“Edward!” she coughed, forcing herself onto an elbow. His hands sparked as he rose from the ground. “You shouldn’t be here!” It was a reprimand, but Riza knew his presence saved more than just herself.

“I thought you could use some help.”

Riza looked away from him, glancing at the thinning crowds and the smoking remains of the bottom half of the stairs leading up to the Central building. The small group that had once been there was running, far enough away to be safe, their backs to Riza.

Beyond the broken steps, up there at the top, stood eight men, shoulders bolting into the wooden doors, guns blasting into the heavy internal lock, shouting and pounding on the door with the butts of their weapons. Someone flung a large bag off their shoulder and unzipped it.

“They must have locked down the building…” she surmised, rubbing her throat, breathing heavy from her fight.

“I imagine they must have some important stuff to protect in there.”

“And important people…” She watched them yell as they ran themselves into the door again. Inside were men and women of the highest statute; generals, politicians, journalists. The quickest way to a statement was smearing the blood of those people on the steps of the most important building in Amestris. A hand reached into the mysterious bag and pulled out something square.

“If those men get their hands on either asset…”

They were nobodies, affiliated with a cause she did not know, but their driving, mad passion to make themselves known left her hollow.

“I’m on it,” stated Edward frankly, running forward without another word, red cloth flowing freely behind him.

“Edward!” she called out immediately. He didn’t hear her over the sound of the detonation of another bomb. The thick oak door splintered horrendously, but did not breach. One of the men who stood too close was thrusted backwards over the steps.

These people were insane; they were grown, brawny, dangerous men. They were enraged; they were driven with detestation. Their brows were turned down and their voices scratched with yells of malice. They were foul. They were killers.

A boy ran towards them, a boy named Edward who was none of those things, and Riza felt her boots collide with the increasingly ashy ground as she followed, her body rigid with fear and her hands tingling with a terrible kind of foreboding.

The men began to shout at each other when they noticed the boy’s approach. They reached into their coats, into their belts. Bodies of metal glinted in the orange sun.

Riza yelled with all her energy, screaming at Edward to retreat back to her, but he did not hear. She screamed for him to stop, but the third bomb that sun setting day shook the very wavelengths of the air so she could not hear even her own voice. The door broke wide open and pieces of wood sailed skyward, rising and falling like rain.

The boy clapped his hands together and slapped the ground, the browning grass weaving together, swimming over and upwards, ascending towards the men and puddling over the entryway they had just created. It blocked them completely, someone yelled shoot him down, and Riza’s heart lurched so aggressively she thought it would stop beating. Voices muddled behind her but she could not perceive who they belonged to. Her legs burned with every step, her muscles numb, as she neared Edward. The redness of his coat tricked her into seeing him covered in blood and it made her very own run cold.

The metal bodies raised. There could have been one hundred of them, or there could have been one. They could have been just an intruder, or the Fuhrer himself. They could have been an entire army. They could have been God or the Devil or anything in between. Nothing would have stopped her.

Edward clapped again. He slapped again. The earth covering the door thickened, ending any kind of chance the terrorists had at entering, and the steps flattened like bread so the men’s ascending comrades sunk into rising air and billowing dust. Her eyes burned, and through the tightness of her throat, she felt a great swell of pride for the young alchemist.

His eyes were down, then up, watching them, ensuring their demise, concentrating wholly on what he’d set to do, on the goal he’d given himself, on the lives he intended to save, and through the dust and smoke he didn’t see the metal bodies at the top of the steps raise at him nor did he see hers clamber around until she blocked his sight entirely.

She barely made it. In fact she feared she may not have, having heard the shots before she came to a complete stop, fooling her into thinking she was a just a breath too late, but the truth was not so. The guns rang out, dotting the smoking afternoon with the sound of desire, a want for a boy dead, and the air in Riza’s body left her gently, ghosting out of her open mouth, and she jerked just barely at the impacts. The reassurance she felt, the incomparable solace at knowing she’d succeeded in sparing him, was spectacular.

She blinked slowly up at the men at the top of the stairs. They raised their weapons once more and yelled at each other, aiming down the sights and forcing back their hammers. That’s fine, she told them silently. I’m not moving anytime soon.

But after a few moments, they began to drop like insects. One after the other, they fell, little red flowers blossoming on their heads or their shirts or their necks. She didn’t hear the bullets sliding into their bodies, but she saw them. She saw them sink.

Who…she wondered, accepting that their threat was gone, as she too fell backwards.

Her head fell over the arm of a young man, and she took him with her to the ground. Her body shook aggressively, but after a moment she realized the jitters were not coming from her.

Edward was on his knees holding her, an arm wrapped back behind her shoulders and a thigh beneath her for support, and in his face was absolute horror. His body wracked irregularly as he took in unbelieving, shocked, panicking breaths.

“No…” He protested, his voice shaking. “No…”

She hadn’t the time to realize that despite the season, she had been sweating from her involvement in the attack. The crisp Autumn air cooled the clamminess of her forehead, and the slickness of the several wounds on her stomach. It was only for a brief moment that the injury pained her so terribly that she couldn’t think, but the sensation flitted away so she was left only throbbing. She raised a steady hand to push against the wounds and blood spilled between her fingers.

A gloved hand pressed over her soiled one.

She was surprised at how easily and naturally a small smile crossed over her features as she looked up at him, looked up at his wide, petrified, scared eyes. It was a smile she called for to mask the unmistakable pulsing pain, and to mask the severity of the situation they’d stumbled into it.

The gravity of the moment, the significance of her wounds and how they felt against her beating heart, came to Riza like speech. It was simple, concise, and transparently obvious, and in a language only she could hear, she knew two irrefutable things; she was going to die, and Edward Elric was the one who was going to witness it.

Oh, Edward…she thought with an utter sadness. I’m so sorry it has to be you.

The corners of her mouth rose further and she lifted her free hand up to his face, the back of her fingers brushing across his cheek.

“Edward…” she said as she studied his peril. “It’s alright.”

Tears welled in his eyes and he failed to fight back a sob. She heard the shouts, the orders, of military men. They were distant and foggy, like they were behind a thick wall of glass. He’s safe…

“No, Lieutenant, no, I didn’t…I didn’t mean…”

“Ed you did nothing wrong, sweetheart…” She’d never called him that before, but as she bled and as he held her, it came off her tongue naturally. He was young. He was good. He did not deserve to be there with her.

“You stopped those men,” she continued softly, “from breaching the building…”

Those impending wounds in her body, pulsing and stabbing, began to grow numb. The back of her throat and the depths of her gut iced like a frost.

“You…saved…so many…”

“Don’t,” he choked. “Don’t do that, please, Lieutenant Hawkeye, please…” He could not stop the sob that wracked his body or the tears spilling down his face. “You can’t go, I can’t let you, dammit!”

“Hey, hey, hey…” Her fingers wiped at the tears. “It’s fine, Edward. Really.”

Her insides trembling, Riza was selfishly grateful for her need to comfort the boy. Without it, without him, she’d be left to swim in the terror she surmised was lurking beneath her strength.

“Listen…” Paresthesia prickled her failing nerves. An invisible sadness pushed against her heart as she pictured his face. “I need you to look after the Colonel for me, okay?” It was a question asked through a calm smile. She coughed weakly, and knew by the bitter taste of iron in her mouth that something red was running slowly down her face.

“He needs…someone to keep him in check.”

Crying, Edward could not stop shaking his head, like the repeat of the motion would chase away the scene. Would chase away the dark figure waiting patiently for Riza to finish consoling him. Would wake him from the nightmare he’d found himself in, from the nightmare she was responsible for. The fingers around her shoulders tightened.

“C’mon, Lieutenant,” he forced. “The soldiers are here, they’re…they’re here, arresting those guys…” He tore his eyes away from her as though realizing his words, looked around wildly, and he screamed,

“Help! Someone please help me! HELP!!!”

But no one heeded his plea. The mania of the event had not yet dissipated, and there were more civilians and criminals than soldiers. No one spared him a glance, or likely even heard him.

“Someone’s…” His chest convulsed as he took in a breath. “Someone’s gonna come…and,” he inhaled terribly. “And get you help, alright? Please…”

She looked up between his eyes, his bright, golden eyes, and she saw him. Saw his past, and his future. She saw a broken boy and a strong man. She saw how he looked at his brother, and how he studied his books; she saw a history in them that was so saturated yet still so incomplete, and she saw something, someone, truly magnificent. In his eyes, she saw herself loving him.

“Don’t let Mustang push you around too much, Edward…keep fighting for you and your brother…I know you will…get your original bodies back…”

The muscles she’d grown with, used since birth, toning and fighting and living with, whispered to her when once they sang. They deteriorated completely until they disconnected, abandoning her, no longer a continuation of mind, as she continued to die. Darkness crept into the corners of her eyes, bleeding towards Edward’s face, and things began to fade.

“It’s alright, Ed…trust me…it’s…alright…”

“Lieutenant Hawkeye, please…!”

“Come on, Edward…” Her eyelids drooped as if she were falling asleep. “Don’t be upset…it’s okay…”

He shook her, a wild attempt to jostle her bleeding body, to wake her, to stop the descent of her eyes, but it did nothing to sway a stilling casualty.

“Lieutenant!”

“Ed…” It was a breathy release of his name. Her index finger moved just barely, a final smooth stroke of his cheek. “It’s okay…”

Her eyes slipped fully closed, the fingers against Edward’s face stopped moving, and the hand fell limp against his shoulder as her head lolled with the absence of life. She became completely, utterly, unquestionably still.

Edward cried openly, then. Cried out her name, cried out a curse. Sobbing, shouting, eyes clenched shut and wet tears falling, desperation clung to him like a wrap. No amount of despair brought her back to comfort him yet he could not halt its onslaught. No amount of regret could halt his crave for her to touch him again, to tell him it was alright even though it was not. Her body was heavy against his, her blood slick beneath his palm, her face pale and her whole self stiller than sleep.

Edward! It’s great to see you! How have you been?

Edward. You really ought to be more gentle with Al. What harm could a little kitten do?

Edward, don’t let the Colonel, or anyone, for that matter, bother you too much. Everyone’s grumpy around here anyway. And they’re old. Go to the library and do your research.

He hugged her close to him, smelling the gunpowder on her clothes and feeling the warmth of her flesh drift away.

Lieutenant, how can you stand to be here all day every day? Aren’t you going mad?

I would have when I was your age. But this is my purpose now. And believe it or not, I do not hate it. But you, of course, would.

Her lips were parted silently, open as her head hung backwards. Pieces of blonde hair stuck to her face, the rest of it splaying both over and under Ed’s arm, rough against his coat.

Hey, Ed. I heard you and Al were coming by today so I brought some of that tea with me. You really should try it, it’s very good. And here are a few of my books for Al; I finished them a long time ago.

The scene fell on deaf ears and and blind eyes. Uniformed men dug out of the mud entrance of Central to detain the living; identical boots marched over the grass to tackle stragglers and lead hiding civilians; ash still falling, still drifting, from the explosions prior, peddling over her black shirt and down her hair.

Some men were born to light things on fire, and some men were born to put those fires out. He’d never noticed the flash of something in her eyes when she’d said that. You don’t need to be both, Edward. You can just be the one who fights for what is good, and what is right. You don’t need to try being the arsonist to be the one who fights them. Trust me…it isn’t worth it.

You’re a good person, Edward. Don’t lose that, okay? It’s a rare thing. And it is you.

“…Fullmetal…”

Ed’s eyes snapped open to look at the knees of a man in blue, and they traveled up to lock with the gaze of Roy Mustang.

But the contact was brief as Roy’s eyes landed on the body in Edward’s hands. He watched him as Mustang fell to his knees.

“Please save her,” Edward spurted, tears dribbling down his cheeks. He didn’t know what else to say, or how to say it. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know anything.

“Please save her…”

The older man wordlessly slipped his gloved hands beneath the woman’s shoulders and knees, and he pulled her into his lap. The limp hand that was against Edward’s shoulder fell to the ground with a soft thud. Blood stained Ed’s pants like a commandment.

“…I can’t…” Mustang finally said quietly.

Edward’s eyes widened, the skin beneath them gray and hopeless, as he studied the officer. You can’t? he thought. You can’t?

“Then…how…?”

Edward, of course, knew the answer. He’d known it the moment his only hope in the form of Roy Mustang had said no.

The raven haired man tensed as he watched the woman in his arms and he just shook his head. He did not tear his eyes from her, and he shook his head, shook his head, like she’d done something disappointing, shook his head…

Remember something, Edward. What the Colonel and I do, or what the military does, or the Fuhrer or the receptionist or the chefs or the accountants or the damned garbageman, do not be concerned with our agenda. Because we’ve had…well, we’re rarely right. Adults don’t know what they’re doing. I certainly don’t. Don’t pay attention to us. Just focus on you and your brother.

Don’t tell him I told you, but the Colonel’s car broke down two days ago. He’s always more short when his machine is broken; he loves that thing too much. Don’t take it personally.

Are you in town for awhile, Ed? Good. I want to have lunch with you boys.

Alright, Edward. Have a good night.

The Flame Alchemist’s features quivered until he finally closed his eyes, slowly, like he’d been made of molasses. Edward sat there lamely, the backs of his hands against the ground, as he watched with his mouth open and his tears falling.

Mustang turned to stone, as still and unmoving as the person he held.

Numbly, without thought, Edward rose to his feet. He blinked and let his eyes drift, felt shock twine around his spine and inside his skull. A faceless soldier had his knee on a person’s back, cuffing him. A man and a woman embraced each other and cried. A mother held her child and spoke tearfully with an officer. There was a person sprinting up the street in black slacks and a grey sweater, a white labcoat draped on his shoulders and a black briefcase swinging with his gait.

Something without reason, something that didn’t just see Riza Hawkeye close her eyes, told Edward to take a step towards him.

I know you’re dedicating your life to finding the answers, Ed, but don’t forget to try and have fun once in awhile.

Ha. What’s ‘fun’ mean, Lieutenant?

Who knows. I’ve never tried it myself. But I think you should.

He took another step. The man looked like a civilian doctor, coming to count the cost and aide out of good nature and service. Ed stepped again, again, and each step he took increased in speed until he was galloping, his arms and limbs turning to jelly, the tears drying and the salt sticking to his skin.

Edward, hey! It’s great to see you.

Edward, please eat that sandwich. I brought it for a reason.

Edward! I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.

Edward, I know you’re stubborn and don’t want to tell anyone if you’re having a hard time. But if you or Al need a place to stay, my door is open. I have a dog and hot meals. What more could you need?

Edward…

…I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?

Yes, he thought bitterly. Yes, you will.

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