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alicepink-me · 4 years

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The New Guardian

New story idea I’m trying. I thought of this back in October and have been writing it since then. It’s very different from my past works and I’ve added a lot of characters and plots that are completely my own. I love reviews and comments. I’ll be posting updates daily.

Story Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng is an adult in the real world, guarding the Miracle Box in Master Fu's place. She's in love with Chat Noir, but refuses to tell him her feelings. New holders appear to fight the duo and shake up their lives. Marinette makes a tough decision about her future as Ladybug.

Chapter 3: The First Encounter

Marinette laid asleep on her bed, kwamis around her, passed out. Her earrings started to vibrate like a phone, waking her. She rolled over, ignoring them as she tried to stay asleep.

"Marinette!" Tikki called, flying in front of her. "Chat Noir is trying to call you."

"Let it go to voicemail. I'll get it later." She groaned. The kwamis flew up.

"But what if it's important?" Tikki whined.

"Ugh, fine." Marinette shot up and stood on her bed as it bounced. "Tikki, Spots On!"

She transformed and pulled out her yo-yo. One new voicemail from Chat Noir. She clicked on it.

"Good evening, M'Lady, I hope you're having a nice day so far, but we have a few visitors waiting for us by the Seine." His voice spoke. "A trail of spikes are scattered in the street, blocking traffic, so I'm assuming they're trying to make a scene similar to yesterday's. And without knowing their demands, it might me best not to keep them waiting much longer."

The message ended and Ladybug groaned. "Of course."

. . .

Ladybug followed the trail of spikes and found Chat Noir standing in a defense pose on one side of the road with three unknown heroes on the other side. One sat on a lamppost, another laid on a bench, and Ginger stood with her hand on her hip. Marinette landed next to Chat Noir.

"Took you long enough." The one on the lamppost said. The other on the bench sat up.

"Why are you guys just staring at each other?" Ladybug whispered.

"They insisted we wait for you." Chat answered without breaking eye contact.

"Oh. Why? What are they waiting for me for?" She scanned them.

"I don't know." Chat replied.

"We're not here to fight you today." The one on the lamppost said. She had loose, mid-length, black hair with dark pink highlights and dark eyes. She wore a pink and black outfit that matched her hair. She had a mysterious sword-like spike on each arm and leg. They looked as if they almost grew out of her skin.

The one that laid on the bench was a man dressed in purple. His outfit was very similar to Chat Noir's but without the bell. He had dark brown hair, blue eyes, and dark skin. Each one of them seemed like normal miraculous holders, but they all looked like warriors.

"It's nice to see you again, Ladybug." Ginger smiled.

"Wait, so we aren't fighting?" Chat straightened.

"Why are you guys here?" Ladybug asked. "I see you brought friends, Ginger."

"We have questions for you and to make it fair, we will tell you about us. Deal?" Ginger said. "But . . . if you don't cooperate, we will use force."

"We already know about your miraculous, but we'll tell you about ours." The man said.

"I'm the lily miraculous holder." Ginger said. "You already know my hero name is Ginger. I have the power of pollen. Pollen stains." She looked at the bottom of her foot. "It's practically paint as you've probably already noticed."

"I'm Magenta." The woman on the lamppost said. "I'm the rose miraculous holder. I have the power of thorns. They're sharp, they can stab things, they can cut things . . . you get the point."

The man on the bench crossed his arms. "I'm Lavender and I'm the lavender miraculous holder. It's pretty straightforward. I can calm you down and make you fall asleep instantly."

"Our powers are from the Gardenia Miracle box." Ginger said. "We've gone through years of training in order to get the opportunity to even be considered for a miraculous. It wasn't handed to us so easily like you two. We had to earn ours and with them, we are sent on missions."

Magenta rolled her eyes. "We are sent on missions, Ginger, not you. This is your first one and you barely qualified."

"I'm still a part of the team, Magenta." Ginger's eyebrow twitched.

"You're only 18 and you're new. We are not a team."

"Well yes, but if you count that us three and the temple were gone for 172 years, then I'm actually 190 years old." Ginger turned around. "And I graduated at the top of my class and was given my miraculous instantly. I'm just as qualified as you and Lavender."

"If you were as great, you wouldn't be graduating with your class." Magenta growled. "You'd surpass them enough to leave them years earlier."

"Sorry, not everyone is a prodigy like you." Ginger shrugged.

"Enough you too." Lavender stood up. "If you two would stop fighting, maybe we could finish this." He turned to Ladybug and Chat Noir. "Your miraculous are all different. The Ladybug has earrings and the Black Cat has a ring. All of us from our Miracle box have rings; the same type." All three held up their hand. "They look like diamond wedding rings right now, but when we aren't transformed, they just look like cheap candy machine rings. Each one is a different color, hence why our names are colors."

"So . . . are you good or bad?" Chat asked, Ladybug hitting him in the arm.

"We can be either." Lavender answered. "Whatever our mission is and whatever is approved by the council of guardians determines that."

"So far, no, but if you don't comply with our wishes, we'll be Paris's new Hawkmoth and Mayura." Magenta smirked. "Your master already let this city down by losing a few miraculouses, which it turn resulted in those two villains. It's funny how he brings this city such harm even after his death."

"He doesn-" Ladybug stopped herself, her eye twitching. "What wishes? We don't owe you anything."

"Which one of you is the new guardian?" Ginger asked, neither moving.

Chat Noir seemed to lean more towards Ladybug. Magenta squinted her eyes before swiping her hand over her forearm, launching a spike. Chat Noir jumped in front of Ladybug and hit the spike to the ground with his baton. Another one grew on Magenta's arm to replace it.

"It's her." Magenta straightened.

"So what if I am?" Ladybug glared. "What do you want with me?

"The Miracle Box." Ginger answered. "We need it and both of your miraculous. It's that simple."

"And why would we do that?" Chat asked. "I kind of like destroying things."

"It's not up for debate." Lavender said. "They don't belong to you and they never have. You must give them back."

"The council wants the entire box back and you have no right to keep them from us." Magenta said. "If you will not listen, we will take them by force."

"Looks like we'll be fighting after all then." Chat smirked.

"Bring it on kitty cat." Lavender smirked, walking forward.

"Lavender!" Ginger yelled. He stopped. "Not today." He glared. "Ladybug and Chat Noir, you will see us again . . . and Ladybug . . . you will surrender."

"That won't happen." Ladybug insisted.

"We'll see." Ginger said before running away.

Magenta snapped her fingers and the spikes disappeared. The other two left. Ladybug turned to Chat Noir to see him holding his fist out.

"Pound it." He said, stepping closer.

"We didn't even do anything."

"It's our mission." He smiled. "And we didn't necessarily lose."

Ladybug smiled. "Pound it." Her fist hit his. It had been so long since they'd done that. It brought back so many memories.

"Alright, I gotta get home. Keep the Miracle Box locked up." Chat said, backing away. "Sleep with one eye open incase those three have some secret plan."

"I will, Chat Noir."

"Stay safe."

They both split.

. . .

Adrien grabbed a glass and opened his fridge for some grape juice. His room had been remodeled after he graduated, so now, he has a mini kitchen. Since he stood up to his father and they now co-manage the Agreste brand, he hasn't had much time to play foosball and watch every movie ever made. Besides managing, he designs apparel and continues modeling, but on his own terms.

Plagg flew over. "So you got to see Ladybug again?"

"It's not the that big of a deal, Plagg." Adrien took a sip.

He opened the cheese cabinet. "I haven't heard you flirt yet and that's kind of scary, so something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. I just don't know if I should. We're adults now." Adrien took another drink. "Ladybug might just think I'm immature for that. I've had a crush on her since I was fourteen. It's highly unrealistic that we'd ever be together let alone her have any feelings for me."

"But you still like her." Plagg joked.

"I do." Adrien sat down. "But after Kagami and I dated . . . I realized . . . I only ever truly loved Ladybug. She was the one." He sighed. "But she never liked me."

#miraculous ladybug #MIRACULOUS: TALES OF LADYBUG AND CHAT NOIR #marinette dupain cheng #Adrien agreste #new story #ladybug #chat noir #ladynoir #alice pink #alicepink-me #the new guardian #kwamis #romance #emotions #temple

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little-bit-of-cinnamon · 5 years

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Cafe Helado con Leche - Sonny x Pete

Would you please write a fanfic about them? Maybe that cliche Pete comes in and buys the same coffee order every day so /of course/ Sonny memorized it and... cliche occurs. Would you please write a fanfic about them? Maybe that cliche Pete comes in and buys the same coffee order every day so /of course/ Sonny memorized it and... cliche occurs.

Following Pete and his coffee from ages 8-18

2.1k words

Mentioned minor character death but nothing heavy

Disclaimer!! All the spanish used is my own, correct me if I’m wrong!! I’m conversationally fluent but I’m not by any means claiming that all spanish used is correct or perfect

Some had said that Pete was too young to be drinking coffee, but he didn’t mind. The coffee at the de la Vega’s bodega was cheap and it was something he could rely on, a daily routine. So, ever since he was hardly taller than the counter, he went in every day. Saved quarters and dimes from couch cushions and sidewalks to be able to pay for a medium iced coffee with milk. It was among the few consistent things in his life.

The person behind the counter changed with the years but the taste of the not-too-bitter and sometimes-too-cold coffee stayed the same. When he first started coming to the bodega he was met with Señora de la Vega and a heavily accented “Aren’t you too small for this caffeine, hijo?” but she gave it to him nonetheless with a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” he was on his way.

Drinking coffee made him feel grown up. With no family consistently supporting him Pete was forced to grow up fast. If he had to walk himself to school and make himself dinner like an adult then he at least deserved to drink coffee like one, even if he was only eight. His routine remained constant for two years before anything drastic happened. He would walk to the bodega after school and order his drink, politely chatting with either Señor or Señora de la Vega as it brewed. In the fall when he was ten the bodega would be closed some days. Pete didn’t think much of it. He ignored the headaches that the lack of caffeine caused and waited for the next day when he would stop by again. On the days the store was open the owners seemed tired, less chatty so Pete quietly waited for his drink, not wanting to bother them with unnecessary conversation. Throughout all this, the “Thank you, ma’am” or “Thank you, sir” and the “De nada, hijo,” stayed the same.

Around Christmas time the bodega was closed for weeks. Pete didn’t dare go anywhere else for his coffee. It wouldn’t be the same. He used the dollar he saved each day to buy art supplies and he began to fall in love with painting. He started to spend more time with the kids in high school and learned how to use spray paint. His art on abandoned buildings was like a physical representation of any emotions he hadn’t learned how to express.

He was walking home with his paints in his beat-up backpack when he noticed a light on in the bodega across the street. Hastily looking for cars Pete ran across and stepped inside, the familiar sound of the bells jingling as he opened the door. Behind the counter was not the owners he had gotten used to over the past couple years but a boy, hardly sixteen, looking exhausted and reading a textbook. He didn’t even seem to notice Pete walking in.

“Hey man,” Pete said when he approached the counter “can I get a medium iced coffee with milk?”

“Café helado con leche? Are you the same guy my parents used to talk about?” The boy smiled, wrinkling the edges of his tired eyes. “They used to talk about a little guy with that same order coming in every day”

“Yeah, that sounds like me,” Pete said. “Your folks own this place?”

“They did. They, uh, actually passed a couple weeks ago.” The boy’s smile faded as he placed Pete’s order on the counter. “That’s gonna be a dollar.”

Pete put his folded dollar bill on the counter, too embarrassed to make eye contact. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Not your fault,” the boy said, opening his textbook and pulling a notebook from under the counter. “Have a good one.”

As time went on and Pete continued painting he began to earn a reputation around the barrio. People began to think of him as delinquent, a teenager with no respect for authority or the community. It didn’t bother Pete much because he knew they were wrong. He wasn’t trying to harm anyone. He was trying to express himself in the only way he knew how. Pete was thirteen one day when he entered the bodega. He opened his backpack to fish out the dollar for his coffee, his spray cans knocking together and making a soft metallic sound.

“Aren’t you too small to be tagging buildings?” The resemblance between Usnavi and his mother had never been so obvious.

He continued to see Usnavi every day and eventually stopped trying to convince him that he wasn't actually so rebellious or criminal. Pete got his coffee and Usnavi got paid.

Besides, Pete wasn’t too worried about what his local bodega owner thought of him. He had a good group of friends who would hang out with him so he had something to do instead of going home. Pete had a solid group that he could go out for dollar slices with and who would walk anywhere but home with him, ignoring their curfews. The high school kids who taught Pete to paint had since graduated, leaving him to make friends in his own classes and in the neighborhood.

That was how Pete met Sonny. Pete was alone that day, his friends busy with work or family or whatever reasons they provided that they couldn’t hang out. But loneliness was an issue that a greasy slice of pizza from the parlor down the block could easily solve.

He got his slice and sat at the bar seating at the window. People watching was one of Pete’s favorite ways to pass the time.

“Yo,” Pete turned in his seat and say a boy, maybe a little younger than him with a green baseball cap and the gap of a missing tooth. “Can I sit here? You look lonely.” Before Pete answered the boy was already climbing into the seat next to him. “Go for it, man. I’m Pete by the way.”

“Sonny,” the boy, or Sonny, replied through a mouth full of pizza.

Pete and Sonny talked and talked until they were forced to order more food or leave. Two slices later they parted ways, but not before making plans to meet there the following day. Pete could tell that they would soon have a unique friendship as he already felt that he had known Sonny for years. Pete learned that Sonny was, in fact, younger than him, twelve to Pete’s fourteen. He learned that Sonny’s parents stayed in DR and he lives with his cousin. He told Sonny about his absent parents and his love for art. It was easier for Pete to talk to Sonny than anyone else, even though they had just met.

Pete and Sonny transitioned from getting pizza together to walking around the barrio together to Sonny watching Pete paint and so on. Soon, whenever they had a free moment they were together.

That summer they were walking down the block, talking about nothing and everything. The sun was pounding down on Pete’s back, enhancing his mixed skin tone. “Damn, it’s hot out.” Pete wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Wanna pop into my cousin’s bodega and grab some ice cream? It’s three blocks that way.” Sonny offered, pointing down the street.

“Hell yeah, Sonny. I knew being friends with you would have benefits.”

They turned down an all too familiar street. “No fucking way,” said Pete, shaking his head as he stepped inside the bodega.

“What?” said Sonny “Something wrong?”

Before Pete could answer Usnavi stepped out from the back, wiping his hands with a towel.

“Sonny, is this the friend you’ve been hanging around with?” Usnavi spoke to Sonny but stared directly at Pete.

“Yeah, Usnavi this is my friend Pete. Pete, this is my cousin Usnavi.” Sonny walked to the freezers for something to cool off with.

“We’ve met,” said Pete. “What’s up Usnavi?” Pete gave Usnavi a small wave and followed Sonny to the ice cream.

“No no no, Sonny you can’t be hanging around with him anymore.”

“What do you mean? Pete’s my best friend.” Sonny headed to the counter, confused.

Pete said nothing, frozen in his tracks.

“Sonny, do you know how hard your tios and I have worked to give you the best life possible? Pete is bad news. I will not let you throw away the life we have worked for so you can hang out with some punk. I just won’t.” Usnavi kept his voice calm and level and it somehow hurt Pete even more.

“He’s not a punk, he’s my best friend. Usnavi, I thought you trusted me.” Sonny looked as hurt as Pete felt.

“I trusted you to make good choices and look who you ended up with. If I can’t trust you to make good choices in your free time you won't have any at all. You’re working here this summer. Pete, you should go.”

Pete knew that Sonny was calling out to him but he was too hurt to actually hear what he was saying. He went outside and walked straight home.

Fortunately, Usnavi’s plan backfired. Having Sonny working at the bodega allowed Usnavi to do paperwork and tasks that he would typically leave until after closing during the day. When it was slow Usnavi would go into the office in the back and work. This allowed for Pete and Sonny to spend more time together than ever.

“Hey, Sonny. I’ll take a medium iced coffee with milk.”

“You got it.” Sonny turned to start making Pete’s drink. “Man, it blows that I have to work here now. I can’t believe Usnavi got so mad. Aren’t there some kinda labor laws or whatever?”

“I guess it’s not that bad. He can’t make you work forever and he’s gotta pay you. Now you can like buy me pizza and stuff.” Pete pushed himself onto the counter, swinging his legs.

“Is my pizza buying ability the only reason you hang out with me?” Sonny handed Pete his coffee.

“Not the only reason.” Pete took a sip. “You also make me coffee.”

Despite Usnavi’s complaints, Pete and Sonny never grew apart. As Sonny got older he gained more independence and Usnavi realized he can’t dictate who he spends time with anymore. Pete continued to hang around the bodega after school and on weekends and Sonny began to willingly work the register, now having actual uses for his paychecks.

“Hey, Sonny.” Pete walked into the bodega and threw his backpack down behind the counter. “I’ll take a-”

“Medium iced coffee with milk. Damn, Pete do you really think I wouldn’t remember after like two years?” Sonny began filling the cup with ice.

“You know me so well it’s scary.”

“No,” Sonny poured the coffee. “I’m just smart enough to notice a pattern when you get the same thing literally every day.”

“Fair enough.”

As time passed Sonny and Pete transitioned from Sonny sitting on the counter eating grape nerds and complaining about homework to Sonny sitting on the counter with Pete standing facing him, stealing quick kisses and resting his forehead on his boyfriend’s. They had it good.

The transition from best friends to boyfriends was easy. They already spent so much time together, creating a nice domestic routine. They’d known each other for so long and cared about each other so deeply that not much changed about their relationship. It was hard for them to not fall in love. It was natural, necessary.

As Pete grew as an artist he was able to make money on painting commissioned murals and artwork for buildings and organizations. He was currently working on painting a brick wall of a rec center. As soon as his shift for the day ended he headed for the bodega, where he knew Sonny was working.

“Hey, Sonshine. It’s hot out there can I get a-”

“Café helado con leche?” Sonny finished for him. “Right here.” Sonny pulled Pete’s already made coffee from the fridge under the counter.

“You really are the perfect boyfriend, huh?” Pete took a sip, “When’d you make this?”

“Um, ten minutes ago?” Sonny glanced at the clock. “Soon as I knew you’d be done working.”

“Yep, definitely perfect.” Pete leaned over the counter, intending to give Sonny a chaste peck but Sonny took hold of Pete’s jaw, pressing further into the kiss. The counter made things a little bit awkward but it was nothing they hadn’t done before. They were lost within each other, too distracted to hear the office door open and close.

“Ay, carajo. No kissing on the clock.”

#in the heights #sonny de la vega #Graffiti Pete #graffiti pete x sonny #ith #twist writes

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janiedean · 5 years

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I still think call me by your name's age thing opens a lot of doors to malipuation, but please explain since I'd like to see this from a native Italian's point of view

… anon I have an entire tag for that which is under /tagged/cmbyn-discourse, but very quickly because honestly this discourse should have burned even before existing:

one: any relationship can be manipulative. even in between people the same age. in itself it means nothing;

two: in italy the age of consent is fourteen except specific cases that imply people having sex with someone in a position of power directly over them. but as the coming-of age is eighteen, seventeen year-olds are more or less considered mentally closer to eighteen than fourteen, because sure af someone who is almost about to get to the age where you can drive/vote/drink without hiding your ID sure as hell would feel closer in attitude, interests etc. to an eighteen year-old than a fourteen year-old. seventeen yo people are almost adults, not children. which means that unless it’s an exceedingly problematic situation (ie 17yo person with their 40yo teacher or something of the kind) no one goes to assume that the 17yo can’t know what the fuck they’re doing, especially because a good amount of people have lost their v-card before they can vote;

three: twenty-four is nowhere near as bad as people on here assume and like sorry but if you take any random 17yo person ever and ask them ‘would you rather have casual sex with someone younger than you or with a hot university student in their mid-twenties’ 99,9% of them will tell you they’ll take the hot uni student and not the fifteen year-old in hormonal crisis, so here no one would think that the age gap is inherently problematic in lack of other issues first of all the seventeen year-old;

four: given that in the US people at seventeen can drive and enlist in the army (here they can’t do either, at most they smoke/drink under the radar and in theory it’s forbidden) I don’t see what the fuck is so terrible about a 17yo person banging a 24yo person vs a 17yo enlisting in the damned army or having a driving license like sex isn’t a bad thing and it doesn’t have to be *manipulation* and seven years of age gap is really not that much esp. when we’re discussing young adults;

five: listen guys I don’t wanna be that person esp. because I’m not lgbt and so on but like….. let’s be fucking real here:a) the author of the book has literally damn said: “I haven’t come across many bisexual characters,” says Aciman. “A lot of people believe they’re totally heterosexual or gay. I’ve never been one or the other. I couldn’t imagine writing about people whose sexuality is anything other than fluid.”, from which I would suppose he’s not straight;b) luca guadagnino, director of the damned movie, is gay, is out (which in italy is not a given) and last I know was dating a man;c) james ivory, writer of the damned movie who has also won the oscar for that one script, has been openly gay and out since the freaking seventies, his partner (ismail merchant) produced his movies, was behind maurice and a helluva lot of lgbt-themed movies and adaptations of e. m. forster’s work (forster ie another gay man who wrote books).now, I’m not bringing the actors into it because I don’t like to speculate about people’s sexualities, but most people behind that movie and who had most decisional say in it ie author of the original novel, director and script-writer, are, guess what, either gay men or fall under the mlm definition. now: can people just please let gay men/mlm make the fucking movies they want? like. I’m pretty damn sure that they would know best if their movie might be a bad influence or something.

also, guys not to be that person but as far as lgbt movies about gay men made by gay men or mlm go, cmbyn from what I gathered/I’ve been told (bc I still haven’t seen it yet I KNOW I DIDN’T HAVE TIME AT SOME POINT I WILL) is pretty much tame as hell. if anyone on here had watched any single movie of fassbinder’s or derek jarman or any single lgbt director from the 70s-90s they’d find way more problematic things than a seven-year age gap in between two people who have a damned summer fling and then go on their separate ways, and fyi at least one of the gay guys I know that I’ve heard discussing the movie irl said it was absolutely amazing except for the ending AAAH THE ENDING SUCKED and he obviously wanted them to end up together and not the way it ended. like. can we all… just….. chill on this especially when it’s a movie made by gay men about gay men and I’d assume they’d know the issue better than people who aren’t? thanks.

also: it’s been a year and a half. like. let this die. this discourse didn’t have the rights to even be alive for this long.

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #cmbyn discourse #i mean guys seriously??#slkgjklsdkljgkdl #Anonymous #ask post

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rei382 · 6 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang Characters: Edward Elric, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc Additional Tags: Loveless!AU, Jean/Riza in the background Summary:

When Ed walked into the office, he still had that tiny hope that maybe his co-workers could be adults and just… ignore the fact that he no longer had those stupid cat ears on. And good riddance to that tail, too.

Time for me to post my gift for my FMA Secret Santa ~ @fullmetalgunfire this is for you <3 Hope you had a great chrsitams, and wishing you an even better new year!!

You said you liked AUs and actually I had this thing going on it my head I’ve been wanting to write in FOREVER so... hehe... there you go!

I hope you will enjoy it <3

It was a beautiful day in November. The sun was out, warming up the chill autumn air. The leaves on the trees wore their beautiful red fall colors, with a few of them decorating the boring, paved area right in front of the main building. Even the morning breeze was being nice to him today. He liked this time of the year. Of course, he preferred summer, when it was warm and nice and the girls always wore short skirts and low cleavage tops, not to mention the ever-existing possibility of pools and bikinis… But autumn was nice too. At least it meant that end of the year bonuses were drawing closer.

Jean took a deep puff of his cigarette, letting the nicotine fill his lungs, calming all his nerves and making him just a little bit less unready to face Monday morning. He let the smoke soak in his mouth for a short moment before letting it out slowly, watching it as it dissolved into the air. He was so focused on this rare moment of serenity before the storm that he almost missed a familiar face in the crowds.

A familiar face with a certain change to it.

Jean let out a little yelp of surprise, a giant smirk smeared over his face, and pushed himself off the wall. “Look who’s here, only fifteen minutes late!”

“Since when are you the boss? And what about you, huh? You’re not exactly in the office yet either.”

Jean raised his eyebrows, his smirk ebbing away ever so slightly. “A rough Monday morning, huh? I thought you’d be in a better mood,” he paused, and reached with his hand to pat Edward’s head. His head that only had his signature blond hair as decoration. It felt strangely empty. “Looks like someone had a very nice weekend.”

Elric pushed his hand off, looking even more annoyed than he did before. Jean’s smirk broadened at the sight of obvious redness in his younger co-worker’s face. “My weekend is none of your business, Havoc.”

“Yeah, alright, but you know you can’t hide it. You gonna step in the office today, and I don’t even need to say anything but everyone’s gonna see that finally, our youngest, most innocent – “

“Innocent my ass – “

“ – soldier in the entire military – “

“See, now you’re just extravagating, I wasn’t the only one in the headquarters to still hve – “

“ – has lost his ears.”

The red on his face got a few shades darker and his eyes went wide – as if he hadn’t realized until this very moment when Jean pointed it out: that the moment he steps in, everyone’s going to know, just like Jean did. For a short moment he was just staring at him, and then he pulled his hoodie over his head and walked around him, clearly trying to hide. Jean let out a snort of laughter and turned to look after him. “You remember you don’t have the tail either, right?” he called, and turned back, still laughing. He took one more whiff of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground, shaking his head. He stepped on it to turn it off before walking back into the building.

Today was going to be a great day. He knew it.

He almost skipped his way to the office, and when he reached it, he felt like he had missed something. It was strangely quiet, with a very heavy feeling. He immediately took a look around, searching for the man of the hour, and found him sulking at his desk, doing his best to hide from everyone.

Jean almost felt bad for him, but then, he really couldn’t figure out what was so embarrassing about it. If anything, it was a moment to be celebrated; especially since it happened so late. He was probably, what, twenty-four by now? Twenty-five? Jean sat at his desk and picked up a pen, playing with it in his hand. Ah, the magical time of early twenties.

He slid with his chair sideways, leaning in to Breda. “Yo,” he whispered, getting his friend’s attention. “Noticed the new style our friend here is wearing today?”

Breda smiled. “Hard to miss. A big change, that is. Thought he’d be happier when it finally happened for him, you know? We just tried to congratulate him and – you know. Ended up with my hearing impaired. I mean… figured it’d happen way, way sooner… you know, he’d been friends with that Winry since – hell, you know, I think since they were kids~”

Jean chuckled. He felt almost bad, knowing he was the one who sent the former Fullmetal Alchemist, notorious for his temper, up here already pissed off. “You figure so, too, huh?”

Breda shrugged. “I mean, who else could it be?”

“Right. Who else? Yo, get Brosh over here, let’s see what he thinks.”

“Hold on,” Breda turned away from him. “Hey, Brosh!” Jean was a second away from hitting him and asking him whether he was crazy. “Get over here for a second, I need to ask you something about that case we’ve been working on the other day.”

“Huh? I thought we were done with that – “

“Yeah there’s this one loose end, do you have a minute?”

Brosh grunted, but got up and walked towards them. “Yes?”

“Sit down, sit down.”

“Hey, Breda, I have a lot of paperwork to – “

“Sit down,” Jean hissed, and Brosh sat down on the little chair at the edge of the table. Jean and Breda leaned in towards him. Suspicion replaced the annoyance on the younger man’s face. “Who were you thinking the happy girl is?” Jean whispered to him, gesturing with his head in Elric’s direction.

Brosh looked at the both of them, and then let out a sigh. “You called me over for that? Isn’t that clear? He finally did it with his mechanic girl. What’s her name. Rockbell. I mean… was pretty clear they liked each other even when they were, what? Fifteen? And besides, she was here this weekend. Saw them at the station on Friday evening just before I got on the train to my fiancé. Can’t believe you’re wasting my time on this… Sheesh.”

Jean exchanged looks with Breda. “Well, I suppose that settles that. Hey, Brosh, when did you lose yours?”

The younger man arched his eyebrows. “My ears? I think it was like, my eighteenth birthday. Went drinking for the first time since, you know, I became an adult and all… found that girl at the bar, really cute. Have never seen her since, she disappeared before I woke up the next morning. A real shame, I really liked her.” He shrugged. “What about you, Breda?”

“For me it happened a little late… I was twenty one, and just found my first serious girlfriend. We were going out for a few months… and then this one night she invited me in. To have some tea, she said,” Breda smiled, and Jean let out a chuckle.

“The old come-up-for-tea trick! Yeah I played that one back in the day, too.”

“Is that so? So why don’t you tell us about your first time?”

Jean smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Well, you see, I was seventeen, and there was this beautiful, very busty girl at school that really digged me, she’s been chasing me for weeks and – “

“Why are you lying to them? You still had your ears when you were at the military academy. I remember.”

Jean looked up and glared at the interrupter. “What? No, it was – “

“Oh, don’t you try to pretend, Jean,” Riza, stunning as always, leaned on his desk, smiled at him before she turned back to the others. “We attended the same year. You must’ve been… what, twenty… three? You kept trying to hide your ears – “

“Shut up, honey – “

“It was cute, really. No one bought that.”

Breda and Brosh both laughed. “Wow, we had no idea you had your ears for so long! A late bloomer, huh?” Brosh said.

Breda pat him on his back. “You know, I think – I think I might’ve seen you trying to hide your ears – it was you! We were all making fun of you but we had no idea – hell, Havoc!”

Jean felt his cheeks burning. He played with the ring on his finger, turning it about. “Fine, yeah, okay – so I might have still had my ears… until I was twenty four.”

Riza chuckled and reached to entangle Jean’s hand in hers. “It’s okay, I think it’s cute that you had your ears for that long. You were waiting for the right person.”

“Yeah, I was. Guess I should’ve waited just a little bit longer to find my real love.” He reached over to move his fingers over the back of her hand. “When did you lose yours then? I don’t even recall ever seeing you with them.”

“Oh. That happened when I was fourteen.”

Jean almost choked. “F – fourteen?!” A short glance around him told him the other two men were just as shocked. How come – how come he didn’t know that? Not that he cared, really, he loved her just the way she was and it didn’t matter to him but – but he was just shocked.

“Yes. But after that I figured it wasn’t as good as everyone said it was and waited until my next serious boyfriend. He proved that the books were right and my boyfriend at fourteen just did not know what he was doing.”

“I – uh – wow.”

“Yeah, who knew you were such a party, Colonel!”

“And – and me? Where am I on that scale between that boyfriend at fourteen and that guy at – “

“Nineteen, I was nineteen then. And you’re fine. Don’t worry. Would not have married you had you not lived up to my standards. Anyway, leave the kid alone and get back to work, will you?” She squeezed his hand and walked away.

“Four. Teen. Man, you’ve got yourself a player there.”

“Kind of embarrassing, but hey, looks like you got lucky with that one. Anyway, I’m going to listen to her and get back to work.”

Jean smiled. “Good idea.” He felt lucky to have Riza. For four years straight now they were together, one of which they were husband and wife, and Jean had never felt. It was the only good thing that came out of his injury. She was there with him in the hospital, there through the recovery – and there after he was well and walking about freely. He didn’t even imagine she was there because she felt anything other than pity for him – until he asked her up front. Her reply was that he was an idiot that he didn’t know anything. Then asked him out for dinner.

She was not easy, but he loved her with all his heart.

He wondered if that was the kind of thing the little boss managed to find.

The sound of a door opening made both of them straighten in their chairs and look up. General Mustang just stepped out of his inner office. He looked a little tired in Jean’s opinion, but then, everybody tended to look tired on Mondays. He saw him glancing in Edward’s direction, and moving on. Jean got up from his chair and walked to him.

“Hey, boss,” he said as he caught up with him.

“Anything on your mind, First Lieutenant Havoc?”

“Yes, actually – what did you think about our new, uh, situation at the office?”

Mustang arranged his uniform coat and kept walking. Jean heard some movement from behind him. A quick glance showed him that Edward had sank even deeper in his chair.

“I have no idea what you are referring to, First Lieutenant.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you didn’t notice! Our boy finally became a man! Turns out his girlfriend Winry was visiting this week and – “

“And what, First Lieutenant?”

Jean frowned at the cold tone of his boss’ voice. He figured he’d be just as happy about the new discovery as the rest of them – hell, he was sure that if he wasn’t the first one to spot Edward today, Mustang would be the first to call him out and ask for details. “And – well, you know! His ears, Boss! Don’t you want to know?”

“Why would it be my business to know? What make you think it is any of your business? Leave him alone, he’ll tell you if he wants to. Now, if you don’t have anything work related you need from me, please stop wasting my time and kindly return to your seat and get back to work.” Mustang reached towards the door handle, pushed it open, and left the office.

Jean really did not expect that reaction from him.

He turned back to Breda, who shrugged at him. Jean shrugged back and did as he was told. Maybe the Boss just didn’t have his morning coffee yet.

The door opened again, making Jean look up. Maybe Mustang finally came around and –

And instead of Mustang’s firm, manly attire a girl in a mini skirt walked in, looking a little flushed – as if she ran her way here. Jean immediately recognized her as Winry, little boss’ girlfriend.

He looked at her as she crossed the room, tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear as she nervously greeted the other people in the room. He and Breda exchanged knowing smiles as she went directly towards Edward. She called his name and he looked up at her. She gave him a little bag, which she said he forgot his lunch at home, which, apparently, made him almost as red as his conversation with Jean this morning did. They talked for a little while, and then she walked away.

Jean’s eyes followed her as she bid her goodbyes when he suddenly noticed something. Just at the point where her shirt met her skirt, her kitten tail was waving right behind her. Jean looked upwards, and there they were. Her kitten ears, right on top of her hair, just like they’ve always been.

Just like they were missing on Edward’s head this morning.

Something was not right. It couldn’t –

“Hey, Havoc?” Jean looked at Breda just as the door closed behind the girl. “I don’t think it was her.”

Jean nodded, his shock probably written all over his face. But if not her, then…

Who?

Assholes. Idiot, stupid assholes. What, did they think that just because they were whispering he could not hear them?

Not that he didn’t get any interesting pieces of information there, but he had that tiny hope that maybe his co-workers could be adults and just… ignore the fact that he no longer had those stupid cat ears on. And good riddance to that tail, too.

Not that he cared all that much about what that – meant – but it was just really annoying.

He should’ve known they’d think it was Winry. He knew they’ve been suspecting it ever since he was twelve. Total bullshit. Sure, she wasn’t bad looking at all but she was – a sister. He couldn’t be attracted to her even if he swung that way. And besides, it was clear to him from the very beginning that Alphonse wanted her, and fuck if he was going to stand in his brother’s way. He ruined everything else in his life, he had zero plans of ruining that for him too.

When she came for his automail adjustments (yes, he was soon going to hit twenty-four but was still growing!) he had no idea she was going to make such a mess out of his life. Sure, it was fun seeing her, and when she asked if Mustang would like to have dinner with them, since she didn’t see him in forever and she always felt like she owed him for all the help he gave him and Al back when they were teenagers, he felt a little awkward, but figured, how bad could it be.

“Come on, let’s just invite him over. I’ll cook.”

“It’s not that, Win, I just – let’s go out instead, okay? It’s Central, not Resenbool. You want to party, there’re a couple of really nice places around…”

“That’s a great idea! I’ll invite him. What’s his phone number?”

“Win – “

“Phone!”

He should’ve known that she knew. Winry wasn’t stupid, and besides, he already knew that Al knew. He wondered just how many times the two have talked about this, trying to come up with a plan – because he knew both of them, and knew that each of them, on their own, would’ve tried to meddle with his life ‘for his own good’. Separately, Ed stood a chance. But with both of them together, as a team? He wondered just how long it took them to cook that one up. His only hope was that Mustang would say he was busy – hell, it was Friday night, he surely had some – some date, or something. But no. Winry called and it turned out that out of all the Friday evenings, he was free on that specific one.

He heard a door opening, and saw Roy stepping out of his office. He glanced at him and felt his cheeks burning up. He looked away.

…he looked away. It was really hard not to notice how handsome he was. The way his hair framed his face in the most perfect way; the way his lips twitched when he smile, the way they moved when he talked. It was so much easier to ignore this at work – when he was all wrapped up in that ugly ass uniform that made no one look attractive in any way. But out here? In that plaid dress shirt that looked maybe half a size too small, stretched over his biceps and just a little over his chest. Not that Ed didn’t know that despite the fact he spent most of his day stuck behind a desk, the Flame Alchemist kept his body in good shape.

Ed cleared his throat and tore his gaze away, taking a sip from his beer instead. He swallowed. “I don’t know. It’s okay I suppose. I don’t hate it. Even got used to the uniform.”

Roy chuckled. “Then I suppose I should tell you that you should start wearing it like everyone else, without that hoodie of yours.”

“Aw, but I like this hoodie!”

“Your hoodie looks horrible. Tell him Roy!” Winry returned to her seat on Ed’s other side.

“I didn’t say it was horrible, just that it is unprofessional.”

“Shut up, both of you!”

Winry and Roy both laughed, and ordered another round of drinks.

He heard Havoc’s question, and wanted to bury himself under the floor. What if he told the truth? It’s not like he would care. But he didn’t. He was actually – protecting – Ed’s privacy. Ed felt relieved and grateful when the door closed and Mustang was no longer in the room. For a few blessed moments the office was quiet. No talks about him losing his ears, no speculation. Just the sound of papers rattling about as the people worked. He looked at his own paperwork, and was just about to grab the first document off of the pile when the door opened again. He looked up, expecting to see Roy coming back, but instead he could only see Winry coming into the office. Why – why did she have to – now they were all going to know –

“You really gotta lose those,” she said, a healthy flush to her cheeks and a glass half full of some disgusting looking pink liquid in her hand. She reached with her other one and stroke his ear. It tickled, and he moved away, flattening his ears down on his head. “I know you want to – “

“You forgot the lunch I made you!”

Ed blinked. He murmured an apology and took the paper bag she handed to him, and placed it on his desk, right next to a pile of papers he’d been ignoring for the past week or so. “Thanks, Win. I hope they didn’t give you trouble getting in here.”

“No, not at all, don’t worry. Just, you know eat it, and not the crap they serve at the cafeteria. I didn’t suffer cooking in your tiny kitchen to have the food thrown away, okay?”

Ed rolled his eyes. “No one asked you to ‘cook in my tiny kitchen’.”

Winry gave him a look. “No, but I didn’t see you complaining about it either.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll eat it. I hate the shit in the canteen anyway. Besides, I don’t think I feel like spending time in there today as it is. Don’t need more of – never mind. Thanks.”

“No problem. Now get off your ass and give me a hug, I got to catch the train.”

Ed shook his head and smiled as he got up and hugged her. They held each other for a moment and then she let go.

“Take care,” she said, and waved as she walked away. Some of the guys stared after her. Ed turned his eyes away. He knew that no one would think it was him and Winry now. His only hope was that no one would know the truth. Why couldn’t she just –

Ed sneaked a glance at Roy and felt his cheeks burning. He waved his tail behind him slowly, nervously. Did she have to bring up that subject now? “Yeah, maybe I do. But you ain’t got no right to say anything to me. I mean, what about you? Me, I didn’t have a relationship like, ever, but you’ve been in one for like three years.” From the corner of his eye, he could see the curious look on Roy’s face as he looked at him. Why did he have to say that? It was one thing that everyone knew he’d never… but not having any relationship at all?

What if Roy thought he was a weirdo?

Winry blushed and played with the diamond ring on her finger, the sparkle gem catching Ed’s attention. “Al and I, we decided to wait until the wedding.”

He let out a snort of laughter. “Your wedding? That your idea, or his?”

“Edward, don’t be mean,” chided Roy.

“Like I said,” Winry cut in before Ed could make any kind of retort. “We decided. Mutual decision. Three years, what a couple more months? Besides, it’s not like we don’t do anything. Just, uh, you know… not the thing. You can do a hell lot with – “

“Please, please Winry, that’s my little brother you’re talking about, spare me the details!”

She laughed. “You asked.”

The weight of their stares was almost too much to bear. He got up and walked towards the door, murmuring that he had to use the restroom, just in case someone would wonder where he had disappeared to.

Even the corridors felt intimidating. He felt as if everyone were staring at him. He felt as if every conversation was about him. He knew he was just being paranoid; he wasn’t interesting enough or important enough to have people talk about him. And still, he couldn’t shake that feeling. He pulled his hoodie over his head again and made his way to the nearest restroom, barely even watching where he was going. After all, by now, he had more or less knew this place by heart. He reached the door handle and pulled it -

…and let out a yelp of surprise when he almost fell as someone else was just pushing the door to step out. A hand, a strong, firm hand held onto his arm, preventing him from falling backwards and helping him stabilized himself. He murmured a thanks before trying to walk past the man, but he wouldn’t let go.

“You should be more careful.”

“Thank you for letting me use your bathroom - whoa! Be careful there!”

The hold on Ed’s arm surprised him, the other man’s touch making his skin burn. It was almost strong enough to hurt, but he didn’t care. He chuckled nervously, trying to hide the feelings the touch induced in him. “I’m good, I’m good,” he reassured Roy and straightened himself. He turned his head, and found himself staring right into Roy’s eyes. He suddenly realized just how close they were; he could feel the other man’s breath fluttering over his lips. He smelled like fresh wood, alcohol, and a hint of that tasty cheese-flavored snack the bartender gave them. He wanted to -

“Fullmetal? Are you there?”

Ed snapped back to the present. Roy’s hold on him was starting to ache. How long was he lost in his own thoughts? He moved his arm and the older man let go of him. Was it just him or did Roy just hesitate slightly before letting go? “That’s not my name anymore!” he said, and then realized that maybe he was being too harsh. He took a breath, trying to calm himself. “Yeah. Sorry. Should’ve looked where I was going, I know, blah blah blah. I’ll be back in the office in a minute, okay? I just gotta use the toilet, I have to – ”

“You don’t owe me explanations for your bodily needs. Do whatever you need to do.”

“Great, thanks for your approval,” Ed said, feeling his face just keep getting darker. Why did he have to say that? As if things weren’t weird enough. He moved, making room for Roy to walk past him; he did, and Ed took a step into the room, rushing to hide himself in one of the stalls, completely ignoring the lieutenant who was just washing his hands and was eyeing the little encounter he had with Mustang curiously.

…he smiled nervously, and moved a little. “Sorry for that. Fucking stupid house, there’s this little nail in the floor – right there – “ he pointed, and saw Roy moving his head too from the corner of his eye. “Probably left over from some… I don’t know, closet or something, that used to be there. Already gotten used to that, but you know, still sometimes when I’m not paying attention…”

“What were you paying attention to, then?”

Ed looked up and saw that he was mistaken, and Roy was looking directly at him. He was very well aware that he was still holding his arm. His body felt hot, and his head was still light from all the beer. Was he imagining, or?...

“I – “ he started, but Roy’s hand was tugging at him, inviting him closer.

How could he say no?

Ed knew he was there for a little too long already, but he didn’t feel ready to face the outside world yet. He felt so ashamed. He was making such a big deal out of – out of something so small and unimportant. But it didn’t feel small to him. Winry wasn’t much help either. He was actually relieved, this morning, knowing she’d be leaving. He wasn’t sure how much she was going to share with Al – but he certainly hoped she will, at least, keep her assumptions to herself. Letting Alphonse know something happened was one thing; but to tell him who, that was a whole different thing. At least it was going to be a while until he will have to face that consequence.

He had to be braver than this. He got up and flushed. He left the restroom, facing a very annoyed-looking soldier who said something to him about not being considerate, which Ed ignored completely. He made his way back to the office, and sat at his desk, pulling a random document and pretending to work on it.

The day crawled by sluggishly. Ed found it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything, even after the stares eased and everyone were busy with their work. When lunchtime arrived, it was a relief to have an excuse to stop pretending he was reading and to have everyone else leave the office, and, while it wasn’t as good as it was yesterday, the lunch Winry packed for him was still way better than anything they ever served at the canteen. Being alone in the office helped him relax and finally shake the feeling that everyone were still staring at him. It was nearly time to get back to work when he heard a voice calling his name. “Colonel Elric, will you come to my office for a moment?”

Ed looked up from his empty lunchbox and stared in the direction of the voice. Never before had Mustang’s office looked so intimidating; not even back when he was a teenager, and had made more mess than what he was supposed to clean up. He swallowed, but got up and walked towards the inner office, dragging himself as slowly as he could. Eventually he found himself at the mouth of Hell. He crossed the door step, finding the devil himself sitting there, seemingly calm, collected, right behind his desk. His head was bowed down, his hair falling over his eyes like a veil as he read one document or another. He waited for a few seconds, but eventually he lifted his eyes.

“Come inside. And… close the door, please.”

“Close the door.”

“I – uh – are you sure?” Ed breathed through Roy’s lips. He wanted Roy to tell him that he was sure; that he wasn’t going to leave. He wanted to stay in this moment. “The driver…”

Roy’s tongue creeped out of his mouth to wet his lips. Ed could feel it as it lightly brushed against his own lips. He closed his eyes, his tail waving slowly behind him. “I could get another one later. I already paid him for all the way to my house, he won’t mind. Do you want me to stay?”

Ed reached behind him and closed the door, smiling as he rose on the tip of his toes and crossed the few millimeters still separating them. The kiss was hesitant at first, but it quickly escalated, making Ed’s breath hitch. He started leading Roy into the bedroom, slowly, hesitantly, but it seemed that the other man wanted this just as much as he did.

Ed turned and obediently closed the door behind him. “Yes. You, uh, wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Sit, please.”

Ed hesitated for a moment, but eventually, he slowly walked away from the door and towards the sofa in front of Roy’s desk. He’d sat on it so many times before, and yet today seemed different. The room was uncomfortably quiet for what felt like forever. Did Roy feel as awkward as Ed felt? He glanced up, almost shyly. The older man looked just as collected as ever.

Ed should’ve known. For him, he was just one out of many. One more name to add to the list. What difference did one more night, one more conquer, make for him?

Nothing at all.

He crossed his arms over his chest, sinking a little in his seat as he brought his right knee up, crossing his flesh leg over his metallic one.

“I tried calling over the weekend.”

Ed knew. He heard the phone, every several hours. He counted; there were seven calls in total. Winry kept nagging him to pick up – she even threatened to do it herself – but he never did. Not because he was afraid. There was just nothing to be said over the phone. “Sorry, I was busy. Couldn’t pick up.”

“I wanted to apologize for Friday night.”

Ed let out a short snort. Of course. Of course that would be why he called him here. He was right to not pick up the phone – there was no point. Obviously, Ed was not up to his usual standards and the whole deal was just a fuck up. A big fuck up that got even more fucked up because they were working together, and so, Mustang had no choice but to apologize when, had Ed been a complete stranger, Roy could’ve just ignored it and moved on.

There was a heavy lump in Ed’s throat, and he cleared his throat shortly to try and make it go away. It didn’t, but he decided to risk talking anyway. “Don’t sweat it. There is nothing you need to apologize for.”

Ed looked up, gathering all his strength to keep his features neutral. Roy was looking straight at him, his expression a mixture Ed found it hard to decipher: something between sympathy and curiosity, but there was also something else there, written in the fine lines. Hope? It was probably just his imagination.

“Maybe. But I would still like to put it out there. If we – if I had done anything you felt, or feel, uncomfortable about, I am deeply sorry. I didn’t mean it.” He didn’t flinch under Ed’s stare; didn’t so much as moved a muscle.

“Is this okay?” the question fluttered over Ed’s skin as Roy’s hands traveled over his body, tugging at the button of his pants. It was hard to breathe, hard to talk, hard to think – all he knew was that this was what he had dreamt about since forever, and it felt just as good as he imagined it would, and better, much better. He was almost not scared at all. He moved his hips towards Roy and captured his lips in another kiss. Roy got the message and Ed felt the relief of not being confided inside the tight jeans anymore.

“I – no, what?” The lump in Ed’s throat grew thicker. “I meant it. You have nothing to apologize for. We’re cool. Actually, I think I should probably apologize for, uh, my lame-ass hospitality, and all that.” He felt as if Roy was examining him; and maybe he was. But he kept his eyes straight ahead, doing his best to not show the turmoil that was going on inside him on his face.

“You should probably go.” Ed stared at the wall. The euphoria that washed his entire body had eased; in its stead he felt exhaustion. He wasn’t sure how to interpret all the strange things he was feeling; he was sated, but he wanted more. He felt awkward, and self-aware, and ashamed, and he wanted to be alone just as much as he wanted Roy to hold him forever.

He wondered if Roy already regretted coming here, or if it will come later. He was too scared to turn and look at his face, too scared of what he might find there. Disgust? Disdain?

“Are you sure?” Ed tried to ignore the way the air brushed against his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if Roy was really asking, or if it was just out of courtesy to not seem too eager to be given the green light to leave. It was most likely the second.

“Yeah. I mean… you know, Winry’s in the other room and… probably shouldn’t see you here in the morning, and… and you know, my bed isn’t big enough for two people.”

He knew these were just excuses, and he knew that Roy will know it too. He was hoping that he’d call him out on it; say that they managed just fine. That Winry will know anyway. That at least Ed couldn’t hide it, even though he could always just lie and pretend it wasn’t Roy. Not that Winry will buy it, but he could always try.

But Roy didn’t argue. There was just silence for a few seconds, and then the hand that was trailing lines on his bare back disappeared, and he felt the weight of the bed shift as Roy sat up.

He could hear him moving about and the rustling of clothes being picked up and worn, and then the door closed, and Ed was alone.

He looked down, trying to fight the heat in his cheeks. He was acting like an asshole, and he knew it. Roy didn’t really do anything wrong; he wanted it. Roy even asked him, more than once, and Ed said that it was okay. He didn’t know what made him feel so uncomfortable… after. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good; it felt amazing. Roy treated him gently, after all, it wasn’t as if Ed could hide he’d never done this before, and Roy turned out to be very caring and careful. It was almost too good to be true.

Therefore, it had to be. It had to be a dream that will fall into pieces as soon as he woke up, and therefore, he had to cut it on his own terms.

So why did he feel like he didn’t do the right thing? Why did he feel ashamed – not for being with Roy, but for asking him to leave? Why did Roy talk as if – as if he thought he hurt him somehow?

“It was your house. It was your right to ask me to leave.”

Why did he think he heard sadness in Roy’s voice? He looked up. “You – didn’t want to? Leave, I mean.”

“Not unless you didn’t want me to stay.”

Ed frowned. “So… you… wanted to stay?”

Roy’s voice sounded soft. “I would’ve preferred to stay with you.”

Ed remained quiet for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he should believe what Roy was saying now; but he had no reason to lie. Ed had given him an easy escape – he told that they were okay, that he didn’t mind. He could’ve just stopped the conversation there and let him go.

But he kept him here. He looked genuinely hurt that Ed just tried to dismiss the time they spent together. Was that the reason he had been so quiet when Ed asked him to leave? Was he hurt that Ed didn’t want him there?

But he wanted him to stay. He wanted him to tell him that he wasn’t leaving him. He was mad at himself for not understanding this sooner. Roy didn’t argue – because he thought the reason Ed asked him to go was that Ed regretted what they did. This was so messed up. He was so messed up. “Shit,” he muttered, and looked up to meet Roy’s gaze. The other man was looking at him, waiting for him to say something. He looked as if he was expecting him to burst – to yell at him, or punch him for what he did and what he said. No; this couldn’t be right. “I – uh – do you – do you wanna go out? I mean, after work. Like, for dinner, or something. I don’t know.”

Roy chuckled shortly, and Ed felt his cheeks burning even hotter than before. Did he manage to mistake the situation again? Was Roy – was that bastard laughing at him? He was about to call him out on it, to swear at him, to call him all kinds of names he rightfully deserved, to punch him and to get out of this room and never return – but before he could do any of that, the other man spoke again. “Are you asking me on a date, Fullmetal?”

Somehow, the amusement in Roy’s voice didn’t sound as if it was mocking; he sounded… hopeful. Ed was so shaken he didn’t even tell Roy not to use his old title.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “No. Maybe. What if I am?”

“Well, if you are, then I might ask you when.”

Ed’s eyes went wide. Did he – was that – a yes? “I don’t know. Friday evening? After work?”

“How about I take you out for dinner eight o’clock tonight?”

“T – tonight?!”

“If tonight is not good, I could do tomorrow evening as well”

“No – I mean, tonight’s fine.”

“Great. I will pick you up at eight then.”

Ed looked up. Roy was smiling at him, chin resting on his palms as he leaned forward a little bit. Ed mirrored his smile. “Eight o’clock tonight. Alright.” He repeated that in his head. A date with Roy tonight. It sounded even more surreal when he phrased it like that – but it made him happy. Happier than he felt in a long, long while. His smile broadened. “You’re buying.”

“I pay you more than enough to be able to pay for yourself.“

“So? You’re getting paid more than me. You’re still buying. And bring a lot of cash, I eat a lot.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Yeah, we will.” Ed let out a short chuckle and then he turned back towards the door. He could hear noises from the other side, signaling that everyone were already back from lunch. It was time for him to get back to work. Or at least, pretend to get back to work; he doubted he could concentrate on anything work related right now. But it didn’t matter at all.

#fma secret santa 2017 #royed #loveless #fanfiction #fullmetalgunfire

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The 'Deadpool 2' Cliches That Aren't Part of the Joke

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The 'Deadpool 2' Cliches That Aren't Part of the Joke

[This story contains spoilers for Deadpool 2]

The following is a spoiler-intensive conversation about Deadpool 2 — the new R-rated superhero film starring Ryan Reynolds as a sassy, fourth-wall-breaking, self-healing potty-mouth mutant. It’s the latest installment of a monthly series of chats between between Eisner Award nominee Alex de Campi and Heat Vision contributor Simon Abrams.

The David Leitch-directed sequel includes Deadpool newcomers Josh Brolin as Cable, a gruff military mutant from the future; Julian Dennison as Russell, the teen mutant Cable is out to kill; and Zazie Beetz as the ultra lucky Domino.

There are spoilers and discussion of superhero movie fatigue ahead.

Simon Abrams, Nimrod Devotee: Before we watched Deadpool 2, I tweeted a prediction of what the movie would be like. I hastily deleted that tweet because I wanted to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Still, it’s worth noting that I didn’t expect much from the film, despite kinda liking the first one:

— Zazie Beetz and Josh Brolin will walk away with the film, and Ryan Reynolds will do far better than many expect.

— The action sequences will be better than the first one, including at least one great, probably noisy set piece since the film is directed by David Leitch, one half of John Wick‘s co-directing duo, and the solo helmer of the under-rated soviet-era spy thriller Atomic Blonde.

— Otherwise, more of the same

— Bollywood actor Ranveer Singh’s Hindi-language dub [he voices Deadpool] should be available in all territories.

Almost none of these things happened, except two: 1) I still want to hear Singh —the guy who chewed up every scene he’s in of the controversial Bollywood period romance Padmaavat — dub for Reynolds 2) Reynolds is, in fact, terrific at what he does.

But that second point is what makes me most resentful of Deadpool 2: I was already going to grade this film on a curve — but I still didn’t walk away satisfied!

Full disclosure: I used to love the look of Deadpool when I was a kid, though I never really read the X-Force comics. But when I was in first grade, I made a Deadpool-shaped paper-mache mask in art class. And when I was a teenager, I enjoyed comic book writer Frank Tieri’s take on the character. And later, in college, I thought that David Lapham and Kyle Baker’s more “adult”-oriented Deadpool — he breaks the fourth wall because he’s probably schizophrenic — was OK.

But holy crap, I walked away from Deadpool 2 feeling angry at Ryan Reynolds — a comedic actor whose work I’ve enjoyed since Two Guys, A Girl, and a Pizza Place — just because he did his job too well: giving emotional resonance to a lot of lousy ideas (which he co-wrote and co-produced) that are conceived without much inspiration.

I think the word “inspiration” is key because I spent much of Deadpool 2 worrying that I was not meeting this film at its level. I kept thinking, “This is as good as this sort of material gets.” Until Reynolds punched a bag of cocaine into his face and then made spirit fingers/jazz hands. Then he paused with great comedic effect after Wade “Deadpool” Wilson is shot to bits by Brolin’s dour future mercenary Cable. Reynolds even had great chemistry/banter with Brolin in that one scene where Wilson hugs Cable, and then notes that they’re dick-to-dick, which understandably leads Cable to reciprocate by poking an off-camera dagger into Wilson’s nuts. In these moments, I knew exactly why I disliked Deadpool 2: nobody was working as hard as Reynolds to sell me this rancid bill of goods, and that includes the otherwise good Brolin, Beetz, Dennison, and Eddie Marsan.

At this point, I’ll let you explain why the film’s tedious shift towards semi-serious melodrama doesn’t work (because I agree with you, and think you have a great point). And I’ll do it with a wink because breaking the fourth wall, and being preciously “exhausting,” as one character describes Wilson, is all part of the Deadpool 2 experience. Take it away, de Campi!

Alex De Campi, Anarchist Aficionado: I was so excited to see this film. Do you remember? Finally we were seeing something I wanted to see! And I love Ryan Reynolds as a comedy actor. I’ve loved him since Blade: Trinity, which is up there with Bad Boys 2 and Crank in terms of Terrible Films I Adore. I want Reynolds’s films to be great, because he is incredibly talented and makes things more fun whenever he shows up. But dear God in heaven, can we please have a superhero film that’s not built on the backs of dead girlfriends and daddy issues?

I’m done. I’m done with superhero films at this point. All I wanted was a big, dumb frat-boy movie with Reynolds being funny and some good fight scenes. And what I got was an X-men movie by stealth with Emotional Resonance (tm), boring, badly-paced fights, and maybe one joke in 15 landing. Oh and the girlfriend killed in the first five minutes. And sure, Zazie Beetz was in it (for about half an hour), and she was great. But hello, male filmmakers: throwing in a female supporting character does not make it okay for you to make the white male hero’s character actualization based on damage to female bodies (and/or black bodies, and/or queer bodies). Stop it. You’re not being daring, you’re just being puerile and lazy. You know what’s daring? Writing an established relationship where the woman is not damselled. Yeah, it’s HARD, isn’t it? But look at 1934’s The Thin Man, which is one of the greatest comedies of all time: Nick and Nora start off the film happily married, continue the film happy, and end it happily married! And their banter is what makes the film. If they did that eighty years ago, you can do this now, folks. I mean, there is the slight issue that Reynolds and Morena Baccarin have zero comedic chemistry on screen but hey, you cast it, you deal with it.

I have to admit I haven’t seen a lot of the recent superhero films. There are just too many, too often. Same with Star Wars, tbh — Han Solo is my favorite Star Wars character and I can’t even motivate myself to see that film because didn’t I just see a Star Wars film? I passed on Infinity War because it’s too long, has too many characters, and fave characters die at the end (yeah, I know, one of my most-loved films is Nashville, STFU).

But here’s the thing: the superhero films that have really resonated with female viewers have either starred women (Wonder Woman), or been completely without dead love interests or daddy issues. We all know that the reason Cap: Winter Soldier did so well with female viewers is 1) great fight scenes and 2) because the traditional role of the damselled girlfriend actually went to a male character (Bucky) who was, because male, then allowed to come back stronger and save the hero, right? That was radical and interesting in the context of these films. Similarly in Shane Black’s Iron Man 3, Pepper is damselled but she comes back stronger, a main character/superhero in her own right, and saves Tony. In Black Panther, the female co-leads all had equal or greater screen time than Chadwick Bozeman, and storylines that gave them actual agency beyond being love interests, and ladies to be imperiled to advance the plot.

The other thing I’m 100 percent done with is screenwriters mining my childhood for brownie points rather than working to create a compelling story. My enjoyment of this film shouldn’t be predicated on getting who Shatterstar is, and understanding jokes about Rob Liefeld’s inability to draw feet, yet here we are. That’s why so many of Deadpool 2’s jokes don’t land: they’re not funny. They’re just about the film cozying up to you and trying to dole out little dopamine hits of “Ooh, I understood that reference!”. You can’t just set the Content Cannon to “Ready Player One” and batter the audience into submission with Alpha Flight jokes and Yu-Gi-Oh references. That’s not writing!

Deadpool was a genuine lowbrow delight. But Deadpool 2 feels like Marvel Studios got its claws into it as a potential launch pad for other things. There’s a line near the end where Baccarin’s Dead Girlfriend tells Wade he can’t join her in heaven yet because “these people need you”, and I legit thought they were about to pan over to Ike Perlmutter and Kevin Feige like “Yo.” Alas, it was only a pan to Wade’s “found family” in the film. Ah, man, I can’t get over how much I wanted this film to be good, but ugh. I’m tired. The massive hype of these films, the poor writing, the dull, dull fights and then the fact that it always just ends up a bunch of white men doing stuff, with token diverse supporting characters. I’m done giving you folks money.

Abrams: I’m with ya. The line in Deadpool 2 about “bad writing,” and about how “exhausting” it is to be around Deadpool — as he’s conceived in these films — set me off. A friend of mine argued that the dead girlfriend subplot wasn’t meant to be taken so seriously. But c’mon, so much of the plot relied on Wilson’s personal growth, no matter how adolescent/tongue in cheek the attendant one-liners may be. What’s next, the plot is only incidental? Then why have one at all? If Deadpool 2 is a joke delivery system, one with a rapid-fire, Naked Gun pace of gags, then how does one excuse the fact that only one in fifteen jokes land? Applauding a movie with fourteen dud jokes in about three minutes is a bit like fondling a treadmill, and arguing that the burn marks on your face aren’t as bad as they look.

Which leads me to your talking point about being done with superhero films. I used to sneer at film critics who wrote about feeling exhausted by these films. But it’s a crisis-intensive, never-ending cycle of emotionally and humorously lightweight entertainment. And after a while, I came to realize: just because you and I expect — or maybe just hope — for more from these films doesn’t mean we have to feel bad for disliking them. People who don’t write about these films understandably don’t care about this kind of thing, but I have to agree with Bilge Ebiri when he argues that “For the moviegoer — or the film critic — who dutifully trudges out to these pictures all year long, the effect is a seemingly ceaseless, soul-eating series of global and cosmic calamities that mostly stopped being bracing or suspenseful or even all that interesting some time ago.”

Simply copy-and-pasting that quote makes me feel defensive, like I’m the mean-spirited hater who’s over-thinking it, over-analyzing, over-simplifying, etc. Many critics are even, by this point, downright resentful of the same blockbuster-loving readers that they rely on for feedback. Because who wants to be constantly dismissed for picking on a mega-production that was made by people with more money than God, and have little need and less concern for our criticism? Who wants to criticize films that, after a while, start to feel critic-proof?

Deadpool 2 isn’t as bad as the Marvel movies have gotten lately, but it bored into my head with its consistent mediocrity. And for two hours, I felt like a drunk stand-up comedian was wiggling his fingers in front of my face, and boasting about how he’s not touching me, he’s not touching me. This guy used to be funny, but his act sucks now, and he’s feeding off of the energy of the room, who are — like the auditorium-full of moviegoers at last week’s screening — totally into his new loutish schtick. So for a while, I felt like I had been taken hostage, like I had to just smile politely, and then grade this childishly ineffective button-pushing act on a curve.

Then I remembered that I liked Deadpool, and thought “No, no, it’s the children who are wrong,” I mean, “No, no, this movie is just bad, and I need to focus on accounting for the many ways that it is bad.” So here we are.

Can we talk about the lousy fight scenes? And the stuff about how, as you said, a good chunk of the jokes rely implicitly on comics fans’ knowledge of super-tropes, and fan-service-y Easter Eggs, like DP’s momentarily grey costume, the taxi cab’s Alpha Flight ad, and the orphanage’s M-Day posters?

De Campi: You know, when you’re a woman in a male-dominated industry, like comics, the first thing the harasser dudes say to you when you call them on their behavior is, “Can’t you take a joke?” Oh, the dead girlfriend’s a joke, what’s the matter Alex, can’t you take a joke? Nah. And I especially don’t have to pay you money for the joke. But then it’s like the film tries to talk out of both sides of its mouth at once, since the ha-ha dead girl joke is also the underpinning of the entire film’s emotional arc: Deadpool’s search for redemption, in the person of a young mutant with anger issues who is gratingly unlikable, and whose own emotional arc also falls flat. But enough about that. Let’s talk about fight scenes and CGI.

Look, there’s no nice way to say this: the film looks cheap. The lighting is rough as old boots, the costumes and makeup look bargain-basement, the CGI is barely above “mobile gaming” standard, and just…Colossus. Colossus doesn’t work. Every time he’s on screen, I’m not thinking, “Wow, cool,” I’m thinking, “Eesh, that looks bad.” Beyond that, the fights are dull, with bizarre pacing that involves stopping in the middle for no reason. The fight choreography is nonexistent, which is a surprise, coming from one of the John Wick guys. It seems the directors can’t manage the amount of characters they have in the fights that are scripted. Deadpool had great fight scenes; Deadpool 2 doesn’t have a single memorable one. There’s not one shot I’d steal. And hey, it’s fine to not have a big budget. Then you just focus on doing simple things well, rather than big things very badly. I learned this lesson shooting music videos, and believe me, it’s the most important lesson in the business.

There’s also a lot of failures of internal logic in the film. On the one hand, it’s Deadpool, who cares. On the other hand, the one scene where I laughed until I cried was the baby-legs scene, itself a derivative of one of Deadpool’s best gags. But why, when Deadpool blew himself up early in the film and woke up in the X-Mansion, did he not have baby appendages? And when everyone starts going back and forth in time near the end, there’s only ever one of that person. So Deadpool goes back in time to fix a mistake by Past Deadpool, but it’s like Past Deadpool vanishes while Time Travelling Deadpool steps into the scene (except for once). Why aren’t both Deadpools in the scene? It would have been funnier, and then maybe they could have cut some time off that lingering and not-funny extended death scene.

I’m still mad at this movie, Simon. I feel like they had to work really hard to make it this mediocre, squandering one of Hollywood’s best comedy-action talents in the process.

Abrams: Yes, I’m increasingly upset about the sheer laziness of Deadpool 2‘s jokes and wink-wink crass-ness. Because, like we said after we saw the movie, this kind of nerd-pandering shouldn’t be so nerve-shredding. We are the target audience. We know who Deadpool creator Rob Liefeld is, and even get the in-joke about how he can never draw feet well. But do you remember when Shrek was a huge deal, and many critics understandably complained that its success established a trend for the use of pop culture references as punchlines? It’s the same problem that many people (including me) have with Family Guy‘s frat-guy gags, only their jokes hit two out of fifteen times, despite being so proudly retrograde that they make you not want to wade through the other thirteen.

Deadpool 2 has the same problem: so many of the jokes conclude where they should develop. I didn’t even like the baby legs joke because I thought that routine didn’t work as a sight gag, despite the fact that it never seems to end. As if the very idea of a computer-generated baby dick is hee-larious. The Basic Instinct reference that’s embedded in this routine is bad, but the fact that one character calls attention to it is even worse. Please stop nudging me, movie, I get the joke, I just don’t think you’re good at telling it.

Same thing with the action set pieces. Like you, I was disappointed by the fight scenes given how cluttered and busy they were. CGI Colossus was bad, but I expected that after the first film. Juggernaut was worse, I think, since he looked like he came right out of the Marvel video game advert that preceded our advanced screening. I’m also 100 percent with you about how the film has too many supporting characters, and therefore too many sub-threads to cross-cut between during the big fight scenes. That said: I laughed during the terrible “Thunderstruck” montage, where a handful of established X-Force members die horrible, premature deaths. That was funny. But, well, one in fifteen, right?

A fun parlor game for you: what comes next for the R-rated super-film now that Wolverine’s dead, and Deadpool’s already had one sequel? There are bound to be more R-rated Marvel films after Deadpool 2 rakes in a ton of booty. Also, they practically have a mandate to make more of these things now that Logan‘s Beyond–Thunderdome-Meets-Mark-Millar script got an Oscar nomination. Will Marvel/20th Century Fox stick with soft-R mutie stories, or expand to the superhero universe? Maybe we’ll get a Foolkiller story, or even a Death’s Head II programmer (stop rolling your eyes, I can see it through the Internet) Or, and maybe this is a better question: will more ever really mean more in these films? Because these films keep attracting talented performers, directors, screenwriters, etc. But lately, nothing extraordinary seems to come of it.

De Campi: Oh, please, the filmmakers have already teased an X-Force movie. This wasn’t a sequel so much as it was a platform, and boy did it feel like it. I think what I mourn most about Deadpool 2 versus Deadpool was that I was hoping for a small, focused movie with a few characters that was heavy on the funny and the action. Instead, I got another bloated Marvel film with 800 characters bouncing in and out of the story too fast for me to care.

I have this thing I call The Unified Theory of John Cassavetes: certain filmmakers do a difficult thing so well, they make it look effortless. Think about Johnny in the 1970s, running around shooting pretty, well-framed handheld in New York with Ben Gazzara and his pals improving away. Now think about all the terrible, terrible American indie film that that style spawned. Not every filmmaker is Ryan Coogler, or the Russos/Markus & McFeely, able to juggle eighty hojillion characters and make it look easy.

I just wanted to trim so much fat off of Deadpool 2. The R-rated superhero films that work are small, focused films, allowed to play in their own little fenced-off playground. But Deadpool 2 tried to go big, and that’s where it suffers: it tries to do too many things, too quickly, and in the end doesn’t do any of them well.

Deadpool 2

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