#title needed

Send “prosthetic” for an AU where my muse has a prosthetic limb.@burningflamesofhell

Riza stared down at it. It. It didn’t feel like her, like it was apart of her. Winry had told her that she would grow more comfortable with it,but right now it still felt very alien to her. A shiny, metal arm and foot, onethat reached to her thigh. It gleamed up at her. She stared at it. She couldsee it, she could move it, although not easily yet, and she could sort of feelit, although it wasn’t the same. Her new automail leg.

Memories pulled at her as she stared at it, saw the reflection ofthe light in the metal.

She replaced the clip in her gun. This was not going how it wassupposed to. Yes, she knew that not everyone was happy with their presence in Ishval, but they had met with the elders, they had worked with the people, they had explained what they wanted to do. They knew that not everyone was happy with them being there, even if their intentions were good, but they had still never expected something like this.

This group was too well armed. There were too many of them.Even with the Colonel’s flame alchemy and the rest of their team, this was morethen they had expected. Mustang was aiming his flames and precisely aspossible, trying to keep damages and deaths to a minimum. Riza had his back, asusual, trying also to keep her shots to non-lethal areas.

Riza took advantage of a lull in the action to look around, to tryto asses the situation--and that was when she saw it. “Colonel!” shecalled out, pointing toward a small grenade launcher that was being set up. Heturned, but she had been too late in warning him. It fired before he could sendup flame to stop them. Riza had seen where it was aimed, though, and she wasalready in in motion.

Running as fast as she could, she threw herself in front of him, trying to push him out of the way. The grenade didn’t hit them--but it did hit the crumbling wall that was next to them. She had managed to get him out of the way, but she herself couldn’t move in time, and the wall fell on her.

After that, all she could remember was pain, crushing pain, radiating through her leg. Voices yelling over her, more pain as she felt things being moved, the Colonel over her, Havoc tying a belt around her leg painfully tight, and her hands curling into the Colonel’s jacket, as tears fell and waves of pain washed through her.

So I’m planning to write a Spock baby’s daddy/pregnancy fic. Whilst I’ve got the basic premise in my head along with ideas. I don’t know what to title it.

So far all I can come up with is Baby Half-Breed which is kind of mean and derogatory in my opinion. Or You, Me and Baby Makes Three.

Any ideas

I’m scrapping WIP1. Not getting rid of it, just starting over. It’s bad; it has no plot, the characters are undeveloped, and i’ve realized there’s some shitty tropes i put in because i’m lazy (and unaware).

I’m giving it a proper title this time. I’m keeping more or less the same main characters, but i’ll be giving them the attention and sensitivity they (and potential readers) deserve. I’ve been playing with these characters for a few years now and I think this break was what i needed to realize what has to be done.

Sigh

Jaehee let out the breath as she sat at the bar, slumped, one hand on her cheek, propping her head up. She stared blankly into the glass of wine siting on front of her, her heels hooked on the legs of the stool she was on to keep her balance. People had long ago stopped trying to talk to her here. They had learned that the lady in the business suit did not want to talk, did not want to be bothered. The only time she did, was when she was drunk, and even then all she did was cry about her job, and feeling betrayed by a friend for a guy that she had loved, and how alone she was.

That, fortunately, was few and far between, though, as most of the time she also had a stack of work to take home and do as well. The last time had been a couple of weeks ago, and she still wasn’t sure how she had made it home, nor how she managed to work the next day with the pain she was in.

Today was simply another stop in. She had a pile of work with her again, planning on heading home after this, probably opening the new bottle of wine in her refrigerator while she worked. She rubbed at her chest absently, ignoring the slight pain she felt there, and took another sip of her wine.

Part of her knew she should stop. Part of her knew that she really shouldn’t be here. But how else was she supposed to cope? How else could she deal with the mess her life had become? She couldn’t do anything to change it, and this was the best she got.

SEND “ARE YOU SICK?” FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION TO YOURS PLACING A HAND ON THEIR FOREHEAD.@gluttonous-brunette(I’m afraid that I don’t know anything about AoT, but I’m assuming you know stuff about FMA, so I’ll let you figure out how this works!)

Riza shuddered away from the hand that was placed on her forehead, and looked up at the voice that had asked the question. It took her a moment to process the question, and to place her thoughts in order. Was she sick? She certainly didn’t feel well. She was hot, and her throat felt dry, and her head hurt.

@magicofmuses

Riza blinked up at the Colonel in surprise, not expecting to see him here this early, or to hear him address her as if he had been waiting on her. She paused in the door, looking at him, slight confusion on her face. He looked as if he had been there a while, and as if he had been up, not sitting down.