*fma

So @greedfma and I decided to do an art trade on the concept of Greed as a human and our takes on that!

The one thing I especially loved about the original FMA versus Brotherhood was the concept of the homunculi being created as a result of trying to bring back a person and I always wondered who Greed was beforehand since we know about a few of the others such as Envy and Lust.

Here’s my headcanon put shortly: Greed, or at the time, Garen Nicholas, was from a middle class family originally. His father worked at the local university where he eventually went. They were not incredibly rich but they were decently well off. He worked his way up after their deaths and earned his title as an aristocrat. He was afraid of death and age more than anything which his lover at the time, Dante, would take advantage of and offer him the opportunity of immortality. The disappearance of Garen Nicholas came without any notice and unbeknownst to everyone in that city Dante took his life and gave him a new existence. He died at the age of 27 and was reborn as the homunculus now known as Greed.

her vibrancy

A/N a short 400 word drabble for Conchi’s ( @meiosis2 ) BEAUTIFUL PIECE I LOVED the sparkle and the stars and it was so gorgeous… why do Fuhrer and First Lady pieces strike a cord with me? ANYWAY. 


She shimmers like the stars in the night sky.

He shifts, unable to keep the stoic, militaristic expression that was expected. Yet, Roy sees a wonder to behold in his First Lady.

She glides down the grand staircase and with each step, he tries not to hold in his breath. The violet-colored taffeta from her gown glimmers against the soft light, the shawl hanging loosely from the bends of her arms flutters with her descent. Her golden hair is formed into an intricate twist like a crown, exposing the length of her neck. It must have taken hours for her to prepare, but she makes it looks effortless, wearing her scars proudly.

In truth, any radiance emanating from him originated with her.

Every spark that cracked from his fingertips, every flame that illuminated his path, he owes it to her. His lighthouse that guides him in his own storm. The vibrant center in which he unabashedly orbits. His dazzling queen.

Once at his back, now by his side.

While nothing could trump the day of their small and unembellished wedding, a similar sense of pride swells where he can finally admire her. Without fear. Without hesitation. After years and years of dancing along the line of waning professionalism as they tirelessly worked towards their mutual goal, the evening arrived where he could simply be hers amongst a crowd that could no longer tear them apart.

If their guests murmured or the music of the orchestra played, sound fails to register through his ears. Someone makes a comment into his ear. The Fuhrer processes none of it as his senses are trained on her and the Hawk’s Eyes focuses on him.

He meets her at the bottom of the staircase and she is nervous, judging by the subtle twitch of her lip or the faint wavering of her chestnut eyes as it caught the light.

Riza gently places her hand on his and the room seems to empty. She fills his senses with the smell of rosewater and cordite as he brings her closer by the small of her back.

He leads in their practiced waltz and she steals glances to her sides, looking around. The nervous tick ever present. “Seems like I’ve made an impression.”

He smiles unbidden, watching her lips curl in return. “I didn’t realize anyone else was in this room.”

She relaxes. “You’re right, there’s no one else here.”