OKay
can somebody in this fandom who possesses an ounce of artistic talent please draw Riza Hawkeye as that Turkish sharpshooter from the Olympics please please pretty please
the-blue-eyed-firebender reblogged
chat drop your fave war criminal in the comments
royai fic recs?
Ahhh friend you've read my mind! I actually started making another Royai fic rec post and it's been sitting in my drafts for a couple of days! Thanks for the ask, and enjoy! ❤️
Yet Another Royai Fic Rec
(I keep making these.)
Rating: G
Word Count: 2.2K
Summary: On a night out with the team, Riza's attempts to avoid dwelling on today's date are almost working.
Excerpt: “Stay on beat!” shouts the Colonel while watching their feet, one arm in the air, the other slung over Breda's shoulders, with Havoc at the end of the line. The patrons begin to clap to the rhythm of their footfalls and she watches as the Colonel looks up and around, smiling and glassy eyed, shirtsleeves rolled, jacket discarded, and collar askew, crushed under Breda’s forearm. All three are breathless and rosy cheeked, grinning through their concentration.
“Louder!” he yells at the pub’s revelers, laughing as men begin to bang on the tables and stomp their feet from their seats. They are all going to be in sorry shape in the morning.
My thoughts: A vivid bar scene, a lighthearted moment with the Mustang team, and a lovely, quippy exchange between our two favorites. If you're looking for meaningful fluff, this story really hits the spot. And the song is just *chef's kiss*. It's that good I was fully expecting it to be a real song, not just part of this story. I was highly disappointed when I typed the lyrics into Spotify and nothing came up.
Rating: T
Word Count: 4K
Summary: After telling the Colonel not to perform human transmutation for her sake, Riza finds herself slipping away. She has a conversation with an old friend about life, death, and Roy Mustang. (NOT a major character death fic!)
Excerpt: The man sitting next to Riza felt like he’d been there for as long as she could remember, and yet she knew he hadn’t been for a long time. Time felt more difficult to grasp than ever before. As a sniper, it would warp as her focus narrowed on a target, or in meetings where the speaker felt too self-important to get to the point. Seconds and minutes rarely felt like the allotted times they were supposed to be, but this situation brought an entirely new sensation to time distorting.
Riza sat up to get a better look at her companion. “Maes?”
My thoughts: Gut wrenchingly emotional and poetic, amazing characterization, and the scene this author created was so vivid in my head it was like watching a movie. The dialogue here is poignant and bittersweet, and Maes Hughes is captured so beautifully it's almost painful. Gosh, I love this piece, A+ angst with a happy ending.
Rating: T
Word Count: 2.9K
Summary: A selection of letters exchanged between Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye from 1903 to 1908.
Excerpt: Dear Mister Mustang,
It pleases me to hear that you’re finally getting along with your rival. I must say, antagonizing someone over a piece of quiche is very strange.
My father is well, thank you for asking. Sometimes I hear things in the night–terrible sounds that I cannot explain, coming from the attic where he keeps his office. I have a sense that something is going to happen soon. But sometimes I wish I was an alchemist, so that I might understand him better. You probably think that’s silly. It probably is!
I hope your birthday was fun. Did you do anything exciting? You strike me as someone who enjoys their own birthday very much.
Best,
Riza Hawkeye
My thoughts: This one is a masterpiece, full stop. I've read this one several times, and keep coming back to it. Each letter is a progression of their long-distance relationship, a token of their importance to one another and how it deepens over time. And I love the poignancy of the strikethroughs. Roy's second to last letter absolutely shattered my heart, I actually had to stop what I was doing to absorb the feelings it gave me.
I first found this story by listening to the podfic version by the incredibly talented @klainelynch, who performs it so well. Highly, highly recommend.
Rating: T
Word Count: 3.6K
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Riza wakes to find that her memories are gone. Her colleagues, best friend and her -surprisingly- very caring superior are there to offer help.
Excerpt: For the second time she locks eyes with the man in the coat.
“What’s your name?” he asks her quietly.
“I-,” she begins. Her pulse thunders against her temple. The man’s eyes bore into hers like he already knows the answer. So she gives it to him, because the realization is too heavy for her to carry alone.
“I don’t remember.”
The room goes deadly quiet.
My thoughts: This is one of the first fics I read in this fandom. It gets rec'd a lot, and for very good reason. This story is captivating right out the gate. I feel like memory loss is a trope often used but seldom done right. This author has done it right.
And this dialogue. THIS. DIALOGUE. Oof it just sizzles. The team's banter. Rebecca and Mustang's bickering. Mustang's gentleness and his suave sense of humor. Perfection, all of it.
The characterization is spot-on, especially for Riza, which is so impressive as she herself doesn't know who she's suppose to be, and yet she still comes across as herself (does that make sense?)
the-blue-eyed-firebender reblogged
“he’s a war criminal” “he’s obsessed with gaining power” “he’s caught in a cycle of revenge and violence that will only destroy him” ok? have you considered that he’s sexy
The rising dragon of the Amestrian seal shines up at her in pressed gold.
Three signature lines occupy the bottom of the document. The first is filled out in a sprawling, pompous hand.
Fuhrer President Archibald Grumman
The second line is signed in bold, practiced strokes. The signature is as familiar to her as her own.
General Roy Mustang
The third line is blank, awaiting her own hand.
And below, the date effective is written, again in Mustang’s penmanship. Tomorrow. The date of his inauguration.
“Sir, I -” Riza's mind whirls. Too soon. She’s not ready. He’s not ready. His fledgling administration won’t even be off the ground. She has too many responsibilities, and no one is trained to take her place. Fuery and the others, they’ll be blindsided -
“There’s more.” The General urges hoarsely. He’s come around to her side of the desk and leans back against it stiffly, his eyes trained on the office door at her back. He crosses his arms, tucking his hands beneath his biceps in a posture that both feigns casualness and hides his trembling fingers. His breathing is clipped and too fast.
She lifts the discharge paperwork, revealing the document beneath.
A marriage certificate.
Blank.