Snowcatwhiteangel - Untitled

edward elric and the case of the many parental figures

Roy: Maybe now you two will start listening to me.

Ed: Unlikely.

Al: But feel free to keep trying.

Edward Elric: *breathes*

Roy Mustang: I would die for you.

Riza Hawkeye: Can you stop w/ this shit honestly Colonel.

Also Riza Hawkeye: ...

*glances at Ed for like 0.2 seconds*

*whispers* I would die for you

Honeybear headcanon/fic idea, when Rhodes left for his first deployment, Tony was very lonely and missing him and couldn't do anything cause don't ask don't tell (fucKING patriarchy), so in kinda stupid move Tony goes to get a tattoo in honor, and actually the artist adopts him cause he's so smol and nervous and genuine. Well when Rhodes discovers it, he's very honored and repays Tony ;) so it becomes a thing for Tony to get a tattoo on his thighs for each deployment

I changed some things a little bit, but I love this prompt. Tony+tattoos is my weakness.

(note: all those numbers are random lol)

***

When Rhodey graduated and was assigned to the Aviano air base in Italy, Tony was happy that at least Rhodey would be able to live abroad like how he always wanted. He was also glad that Rhodey would be in Italy, the best place in the world as far as Tony’s concerned, and a country where he knew the language, and Tony would be able to drag Rhodey to all his favorite places when he went to visit him.

After seeing Rhodey off at the airport, Tony went to the tattoo parlor two blocks away from his apartment that he always walked past on the way to school. He walked in and got a tattoo on his left thigh, right below his hipbone – 617, the number of the room Tony and Rhodey shared when they were freshmen.

(A year later, Tony went to visit Rhodey and they drove to the Carbonell family’s villa in Venice to celebrate Tony’s 18th birthday over an extended weekend. Rhodey saw the tattoo for the first time when they were lounging by the pool. Tony ended up getting the best present he could have ever asked for that year.)

After four years in Italy, after Tony took over the company and moved to California, Rhodey requested a location transfer and packed his bags for Los Angeles. Tony welcomed him home and showed off his new tattoo, inked right under the first one – 530, May 30th, the day Tony and Rhodey finally got together that summer in Venice.

The great thing about the Air Force was that they didn’t deploy their men too frequently, so Tony and Rhodey were always able to spend time together. But it was inevitable that Rhodey would eventually be assigned off-base for a few months for special duties, so when Rhodey was sent off for his first deployment since moving to LA, Tony went and got his third tattoo – 138, the last three digits of Rhodey’s serial number.

It became a tradition. Whenever he and Rhodey were apart for long stretches of time, Tony would go out and get another tattoo.

518, the day they flew back to Massachusetts to get married715, the flight Rhodey took from Venice to Boston to surprise Tony for Thanksgiving502, the day Tony escaped the Ten Rings and Rhodey found him in the desert101, the number of flowers in the bouquet Rhodey got Tony for their first wedding anniversary

The list goes on.

All the tattoos were numerical, each one a representation of a significant event in their relationship.

There was only one exception. A single J marked on Tony’s shoulder blade, complementing the T that Rhodey has inked on his.

Alphonse: Someone tell my cat hair isn't food

Roy: Hair is food

Maes: Anything is food if you don't care about survival

a good take

Brotherhood hc: Ed and Al were always on pretty even footing when they were still on their journey, but the moment Al gets his body back Ed starts having watch-the-crib-at-night Parenting Anxiety? In the hospital after the Promised Day, Ed breaks out of his room three times before they just move his bed in where Al is. His three million parents keep telling him "Listen, you need rest too, he's taken care of" & Ed's like "bUT *I* NEED TO TAKE CARE OF HIM WHAT IF HE NEEDS ME" "Ed it's ok" "NO"

10,000 times yes.

I’ve always loved Ed’s “Only I can protect Al” moments in fanfiction, but it’s true they were on pretty equal footing in canon.

I’m imagining all his parents protesting at first but then realizing that if they’re in the same room they can watch over both of them at the same time.

Fullmetal Alchemist doodles 💖💖

Signature

It’s a few days following the Promised Day. Al is regaining his strength, although it happens slowly. Ed, save for the occasional spike of pain through the puncture wound in his arm and the dull soreness in his body, is more or less back to normal. He still has a lot to do before the two of them can leave for good—accounts to close, resignation forms to hand in to the military, personal budgets to balance, tabs to pay. What may be weeks’ worth of paperwork he needs to get sorted out before he can finally close the military chapter of his life. He plans to get the jump on it while Al recovers, so the two can return to Resembool as soon as Al’s ready.

So hardly 72 hours following his defeat of Father, Ed is standing at the hospital check-out desk, running through a mental laundry list of loose ends he has to tie up. He flies through the hospital check-out form—name and date of birth and signature and home town. The secretary at the desk takes the papers and makes a small noise. It stops Ed just as he turns to leave. “You’re not 18 yet, are you?” she asks.

“No. Why?” “Then you need someone to sign the parent or guardian line. You can’t check yourself out until you’re 18.” “I’m a state alchemist. I’m pretty sure that qualifies me to check myself out of a hospital if I want.” “Sorry. These are different rules.”

Biting back a comment, Ed twists back down the hallway. He keeps his eyes peeled for the names on the door, hoping (though he knows he’s wrong) that maybe Hohenheim stuck around for a suture or two. He passes Mustang, who can’t help but comment, “You’re in a rush today.” “Of course I am. I’ve got about 800 different forms to sign before the military cuts me loose, and I can’t even check myself out without a parent’s signature. Where’s my stupid excuse for a father?”

He doesn’t stop to gauge Mustang’s reaction. He rounds corners, climbs stairs, sharp eyes bouncing back and forth from room card to room card. Nothing with “Hohenheim” on it. Nothing even close. His arm aches—both do, actually—but he hardly notices past the aggravation brewing in his mind.

And after 20 minutes of rounds, he ends up back at the secretary’s desk, more flushed than before, arms folded over his chest. “My dad’s not here. How much do I have to pay you off to let me go?” She looks up at him, somewhat confused, and somehow much more tired than before. She blinks behind dusty glasses. “Oh…No, you’re free to leave now. …I guess.”

“Well why didn’t you tell me before?” Ed asks. She pulls his form out and pushes it back to him. Ed takes it, turns it, scans it. All the parts he’d filled out are still there, but the bottom has changed since he last saw it. On the line, in tight blue ink, is “Col. R. Mustang, (Military Commander)” Ed blinks, brow knitted, because the line goes on: “Lt. R. Hawkeye” is looped in neat cursive beside it. Black ink below: “Izumi Curtis” then in thick blockish letters, just the word “Sig”. Taking up the most space, and done in the neatest, most brilliant cursive font: “Major Alexander Louis Armstrong”. To its right is an almost flat line, with just enough bumps to perhaps say “Gen. Olivier Armstrong”. A flowery “Maria Ross” and a messy “Denny Brosh” (both in to visit Major Armstrong). A “Zampano”. A “Jerso”. A “Heinkel”. A “Darius”. “Tim Marcoh” is squished in the paper’s dwindling space. “Kain Fury” “Heymans Breda” “Vato Falman”…

Ed glances up to the secretary, who looks suddenly so tired. “We just… At least one of those is…probably valid. You’re free to go. You’re released.” Ed nods, smiling and peddling backwards. His one metal leg clanks with each step. “Right, thank you!”

The secretary leans over her desk, shouting to keep up with his happily retreating figure. “Just so you know, these are official documents. Patient protocol is not a game. It doesn’t reflect well on me if your Colonel thinks it’s okay to round up half the hospital to sign–this is not a “get well” card–just…Please tell him not to do this again!”

“Oh sure thing,” Ed shouts back. “But that depends on how difficult you plan to be with Al.”

“My cat realizing I am watching him do what I have repeatedly told him not to do”