So, ok. I have an idea for novel length fic and I think I'm going to start on it as soon as I finish this series. With this in mind, I set my plans for a final chapter, Chapter 10, and will begin work on finishing this fic up this week or sometime next week, as my schedule allows.
Anyway, Onward…
Lighthearted: A Series of Fortunate Events
Summary: In response to the overall misery I've been sensing from my peers recently, I've decided to write a series of fluff-tastic Royai one-shots/drabbles. Hopefully I'm successful, as fluff isn't my usual cup of tea.
DISCLAIMER: ALTHO IT MIGHT BE MOST EXCELLENT TO OWN ROY, I DON'T. NOR DO I OWN ANY OF HIS FRIENDS OR ASSOCIATES.
Concept 7: Hesitation
Concept 7, Idea A
Title: Battle Prayer (Riza)
The population of the battlefield split like the Red Sea: an opening to pursue without hesitation.
Let the shrapnel fly. Let the sky cloud over with smoke.
Let the smell of burning flesh and gun powder burn my nostrils.
I will not give pause to thought or fear.
I move onward, come hell or high water,
gun in hand,
by my Colonel's side.
Concept 7, Idea B
Title: Battle Prayer (Roy)
The population of the battlefield split like the Red Sea: an opening to pursue without hesitation.
Let the shrapnel fly. Let the sky cloud over with smoke.
Let the smell of charred bodies and burning wood surround me, it will not deter me.
Let their eyes flash white with fear, my own stay focused.
Let their guns spray the dirt around me; the bullets will not turn me from my path.
I will move onward,
Fingers raised and ready,
My Lieutenant, My Riza,
By my side.
Concept 7, Idea C
Title: Hypothetical
Hypothetically Speaking, you dialed her number.
And let's say, hypothetically, she answered...
"Yes."
"Lieutenant."
"Colonel. Good evening."
"How are you?"
"Fine Colonel. And yourself?"
"Excellent."
Here there will be a pause, because neither of you are used to this. It will be awkward and you both will wonder how things suddenly became this tense. The moment will stretch and then she will breathe and then you will speak.
"Lieutenant I-"
"Colonel, would you like to come over for dinner?"
"- would, what? Well, yes, of course, I mean, sure. Yes. What time?"
Another pause as you both feel the tug of the undercurrent of hidden speech pulling your conversation forward into deeper waters. This is where things will get difficult...
o
o
o
'Not too late, sir. We have work tomorrow.'
"Eight?", she says.
o
o
o
'Maybe I could stay longer if I came earlier.'
"That late?"
o
o
o
'You're right. I might like it if things were earlier than eight. I said eight thinking maybe I wouldn't have time to cook.'
"I don't have any food prepared."
o
o
o
'Excellent. This is why I called anyway.'
"Well, if that's the case… meet me at that little Italian place on Maple street?"
o
o
o
'No cooking? Perfect. I hate cooking.'
"Sure. What time?"
o
o
o
'Not too late, I don't want you to be too tired to work tomorrow. If we finish early maybe you'll take a walk with me after work.'
"Six ok?"
o
o
o
"Yes. I'll see you."
There's a moment of hesitation. Neither of you want to say goodbye.
She speaks first.
"Well, sir (you wince) I will see you at six."
"Yes. Six."
"Goodbye."
"Bye..."
This of course, is hypothetically speaking only. Your fingers dance along the black receiver of your phone, cold metal warming with the heat of your anxiety.
You pick up the phone and spin the dailer.
Concept 7, Idea D
Title: Domesticity
Her fingers dance across the breadboard, the unfortunate vegetable she was preparing falling in thin slices in a neat pile. You watch, hesitant, before approaching her from behind and resting your hands on her hips and your chin on her shoulder. Her fingers jerk, but her rhythm only slows. Her fingers remain intact and agile as ever.
"Whatcha makin'?"
"Lunch."
She is not as talkative as other sixteen year olds, but that's what most attractive about her. Mindless prattle was never very interesting to you.
Soft, blonde hair brushes your cheek and you turn to burry your nose in it. It's slightly damp from her bath earlier that morning.
She begins to dice the food, taking care to move her fingers out of the way of the glinting blade.
"I hope you're making soup."
A chilly breeze was blowing outside. The smell the sap from the firewood you had chopped lingered on your clothing.
You feel her muscles shifting in her back as she manipulates the chopping knife, feel her hip muscles relax under your touch.
"Yes," she answers.
She drops the knife and turns in your arms.
"Mr. Mustang-"
"Please, Riza. My name."
"Roy-"
"There you go."
"Roy I-"
You push you lips to hers and she squeaks in surprise. This is so out of character for her that you pull back, scared that you have frightened her.
She is not as hesitant. She doesn't wait for you to explain yourself.
She kisses you before your fears can grow.
Concept 7, Idea D
Title: The Deal
"Bumped into Hawkeye this weekend, Colonel."
"Really."
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"Here's the interesting part. She was at the pool hall."
The colonel glanced up sharply from his paperwork.
"With who?"
"Dunno. Some guy."
Mustang's eyebrows knit.
"What'd he look like?"
"Tall. Dark hair."
"Damn," he muttered.
Havoc leaned back into his chair, lighting up his cigarette.
"Snooze you lose, sir."
"Smoking is not permitted inside the office Havoc. Take it outside," Roy snapped.
"Yes sir."
Havoc trudged out of the office and walked out onto the steps of the building where he bumped into Riza.
"Fish took the bait," he said.
"Situation ready to proceed?," she asked.
"Affirmative."
Riza smiled pleasantly.
"Thank you Havoc."
Havoc smiled at the approaching Sczieka, eyes sparkling as she waved to him, a thick tome clutched to her chest with her other arm.
"No Riza," he said, eyes following the sway of the bibliophile's hips.
"Thank you."
Riza nodded and turned to leave when she heard Havoc's voice.
"Lieutenant Hawkeye?"
"Yes?"
"Don't leave him hangin' too long."
"I don't intend to," she answered.
Concept 7, Idea E
Title: Question
"Riza", Roy said, fingers tracing her cheek. She shifted, slipping a leg through his.
Roy's eyes glittered in the darkness of the room. The cool sheets rustled as he drew her closer to him.
She slumbered on as he pressed a warm kiss to her forehead.
He'd asked her this question a thousand times, a thousand different ways.
But he was too hesistant to say these things to her when she was capable of answering.
The possibility of rejection was a heady fear.
"Riza Hawkeye, will you marry me?"
She murmured something incoherent and pushed in closer to his embrace, the warmth of her skin quickly seeping into his.
He sighed and brushed a blonde lock of hair from her face.
Her soft breathing lulled him to sleep.
When she was sure he was still, her eyes snapped open.
"Yes," she breathed. "I will."
Sorry, no lemons. Not feeling very lemony today.
EDIT: FANFICTION (DOT) NET WONT LET ME FORMAT THIS CHAPTER THE WAY I WANT TO. PLEASE BE ADVISED THE O'S USED IN IDEA C ARE ONLY TO ADD SPACES WHERE FANFICTION (DOT) NET WONT LET ME PUT THEM. THANK YOU.