#erix does things

my credit card due date is the 21st and I need 400$ to meet my minimum payment requirement

this is a ten year old AU that I'm finally starting to try and write down instead of it simply living in my head rent free. it is very creatively titled 'that one where roy gets automail', which I'm sure you can't possibly guess the contents of. (this is a working title and I just haven't bothered to come up with anything better sounding in a decade because the fic is barely even a fic yet so it doesn't matter.)

okay okay. basic background info. so blah blah Roy gets hurt on a mission and ends up needing his right arm amputated. as soon as he finds out this is necessary he starts doing the math in his head about automail. ofc he ends up going to Winry as a mechanic/engineer bc why wouldn't he. this tidbit is set after he's been through port surgery and is about to have his new arm connected for the first time.

(narrator voice: he will not, in fact, stop writing this shit in the middle of the night.)

low lamp light/soothes the soul snippet of the upcoming chapter three

Roy hums softly. "I'll be okay, Ed." He wipes more drying tears away with his thumb. "It might take a while, sure. You've got me there. But I will be okay. Okay ?"

Ed takes a few deep breaths, each exhale shuddering on its way out.

"Okay."

Roy regards him for a moment. "You know I love you, right, kid ?"

Ed's breath hitches, at that.

He— he knew. He did. It's just that…. neither of them have said it. Not like Roy does with Al. It's easy to love Al. He's Al.

Ed— Ed didn't want Roy to say it and then change his mind.

….He's been waiting for the other shoe to drop since he was twelve.

Ed ducks his head, though he doesn't dislodge Roy's hand. Roy is patient with him, continuing to brush his thumb back and forth under Ed's eye in a gesture that really shouldn't soothe him as much as it does.

there's a lot to be said about this movie, the beautiful cinematography, the excellent acting, everything about Rocky. but I'm stuck on the funeral

Ryland Grace only knew his own name because he was told by the shipboard computer aboard the Hail Mary. he only knows Yao and Ilyukhina's names because he can read them. he has no memory of these people, no connection to them that he knows of for certain, only what he can infer and guess at from his immediate circumstances. he doesn't know anything about these people, only that they were here and now they are gone.

and yet, still, he collects their photographs and the letters from their families and he eulogizes them as best he can from the evidence he's able to gather of their lives. he gives them those photographs and letters to keep, in death, even though they are both long gone, and he lays them to rest as kindly as he knows how.

he had to carry them in his arms to bring them to the airlock. he had to hold them, had to bear their weight, had to lay them down gently on the cold metal floor because there was no dark earth for them over eleven lightyears away from home.

the kindness of it. the compassion, the humanity of it.

when he gets out of his consult, Ed wanders past Al's room, but when he looks in on his brother he's asleep. still, he stops by the bed long enough to drop a kiss on his forehead before slipping back out. he'll just go bother Mustang for a while.

when he gets to Mustang (and Hawkeye's) door, though, he hears voices inside. Mustang, sounding angry. really angry, not the affected annoyance he usually puts on with Ed. he can't make out what's being said through the door, Mustang's voice is too low in both tone and volume for that, but he can definitely tell he's mad. Ed has only heard him really, truly angry a small handful of times these past few years. he's never been on the receiving end of it directly but it's still kind of freaky to see him like that when he's usually so collected.

then he catches Hohenheim's voice. and yeah, okay, that's fair. Ed fully understands getting pissed the fuck off whenever that guy talks.

it kind of sounds like Mustang's going on a tirade in there, even if Ed can't really hear the contents. the idea of Mustang ripping Hohenheim a new one is actually pretty fucking funny. Ed almost wishes he was in the room to see it. and had popcorn.

then it gets quiet, and Ed leans closer to the door, straining to hear. there's a low murmur of voices, calmer sounding now.

then there's a telltale crackling sound, a flash of red through the tiny gap under the door, and Mustang's cry of pain.

Ed is kicking open the door before he fully realizes what he's doing. Hohenheim is looming over Mustang and has a hand on Mustang's face, which he lifts off after a last few flickers of red fade away. Mustang clutches his face with a groan, and it's so scarily reminiscent of when he was first dropped through to join them in that bearded bastard's creepy lair and they realized he was blind that Ed's stomach drops right out of him. he didn't think Hohenheim would hurt anyone here, even if he's a fucking jerk, but maybe he was wrong. maybe, Ed thinks with mounting panic, watching Mustang cover his eyes with his damaged, bandaged hands, it was a mistake to let his bastard of a biological father anywhere near the people he loves.

"What the hell did you do to him, you bastard ?" he spits, and Hohenheim watches him for a moment, wearing that same dispassionate face as the day he walked out their front door. it only makes Ed madder. Mustang is making these horrible little sounds in the back of his throat, and it's just like the Promised Day, just like when he tried to push himself up off the ground after falling flat on his face and Ed realized that not only was he blinded by Truth but his hands had been ruined—

"I am leaving. I have used the last of my power, and I am dying. I don't have long left if I wish to return to Resembool, and to your mother's side at last."

what ?

what the hell kind of—

Ed doesn't know what the hell to make of that. what the hell ?

Ed decides to be mad about it. it's easier to be mad at Hohenheim than anything else. he points at him, angry, and opens his mouth to go on a tirade of his own.

"Fuck you, Hohenheim, that isn't—" and it's then that he gets a good look at Hohenheim's face.

he— he looks old, suddenly. the air is punched out of Ed's lungs as he takes him in. his hair, the same color as Ed's, is shot through with silver and white. his stupid beard, too. there are deep trenches carving their way into his face, wrinkles forming around his eyes and mouth, frown lines on his forehead, skin going from supple and richly colored to pale and washed out and covered in spots.

"--funny," he finishes weakly. "What, what the hell ?"

I am dying. I don't have long left.

Ed swallows roughly. his— he might not really consider Hohenheim his dad, but--

as if reading his mind, Hohenheim says, "I am sorry, my son."

Ed shoves down the everything else and pulls his anger back up like a shield. "Fuck you, you don't get to call me your son."

everything fades out. he's not even really aware of whatever vitriol he spits out. it's easier to check out, to let his mouth run on autopilot for a few minutes, to watch himself shout down his biological father— dying, dying, he's dying— as if it's someone else. Ed's body screams itself hoarse, and when it's done it takes a few long moments for Ed to come back to himself, panting, throat sore, positioned protectively between Mustang and Hohenheim, hand swept outward to gesture behind him.

Ed registers some of what he's just said.

did. did he just call Mustang his—

"I am glad that you have had people who care for you," Hohenheim says stiffly. even his voice is changing.

Ed— Ed doesn't like it. he doesn't like any of this. he still doesn't even know what Hohenheim did to Mustang.

"Edward," Mustang says roughly from behind him. Ed can feel heat in his cheeks, but he steadfastly ignores it, turning around to set a hand on Mustang's shoulder.

"What, what is it ?"

"It— hurts. The— the light."

Edward freezes.

did. did Hohenheim—

the light is flipped off, and Mustang sighs in relief. he drops his hands from his face, blinking heavily, a few tears escaping and rolling down his cheeks.

he lifts his head, squints at Ed, and then his eyes go wide.

"Oh my god," he breathes. "Oh my god. Ed."

Ed opens his mouth to ask, but then Mustang cradles his face in his hands, the bandages scratching a little against his cheeks, and then Ed realizes that Mustang is looking at him.

Mustang smiles, true and unguarded. he laughs, nearly hysterical. "Edward. Edward, I can see. I can see you."

Oh.

Ed fumbles for Mustang's shoulder and then pulls him into a hug. Mustang wraps his arms around Ed and squeezes, and it's almost too tight but it's just right at the same time. Ed squeezes back as best he can with only one arm, his right held tight in a sling and pinned between them.

here's a bit I wrote last night.

OTL

I need 300$ to meet my minimum credit card payment on the 21st

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