om-g

anonymous asked:

Prompt: Riza always wondered how the Colonel managed to grow his mustache seemingly overnight... until she found him drawing it on one morning in sharpie

A/N: I can’t believe I wrote this.

In hindsight, Riza should’ve known. Frequent trips to the bathroom generally hinted at…bladder infections? Pregnancies? IBS? All of which she’d asked the colonel about in private, awkward silence and flustered faces filling the space between his denials. It was then that she noticed the tufts (or, rather, the suspiciously even dark lines under his nose and above his lip) of “hair.” The fluorescent lights of the bathroom she had followed him into illuminated the thin caterpillar of fuzz like an angel might present a bright, warm sign that said, “Not today, friend! Hell’s THAT way!”

When the musty smell of old urine and bleach gave way to (Is that a Sharpie?) other uneasy scents, Riza had plugged her nose and left the colonel to his business.

Two days later, the caterpillar blossomed into a butterfly. Havoc tried to peer down at it, getting closer and closer over Roy’s desk and into his face until the colonel whipped his hand over his mouth and claimed he was sick. “No one gets near my face,” he’d said, all bravado. Though his voice came up muffled through his fingers. “That’s an order.” 

Riza quickly grew tired of the colonel’s new morning, afternoon, and evening bathroom routines. If he didn’t have an infection or irritable bowels, then what was he doing? And why did it seem like his lip grew a bit darker every time he left the office? How is he growing that abomination so fast? She took to her desk, which had been meticulously prepared for a case such as this, and flipped a tiny switch on the inside of her deepest drawer. The satisfying click signaled the locking mechanism had been disabled, and so she gently (oh so gently) plucked a single, gold-studded razor from under a laminate lining. She stood, and the atmosphere of the room shifted. Havoc, Breda, Falman, and Fuery saluted her, and she saluted them back, an uncertain sweat trickling over her brow. She has a job to do, but can she do it?  

She found the colonel in the bathroom farthest away from the office. He was bent forward over a sink, studying his facial hair in a murky mirror. Riza swallowed hard, let the door slam shut behind her, and said, “It’s time, Colonel. You’re scaring the men. Now lather your face.”  

The colonel went rigid. There’s that Sharpie smell again.  

“No,” he said. “It might smear if I do that.”  

“Smear, Sir?” And then she noticed it. How did she not notice it days ago? That intoxicating Sharpie, perched delicately in his dominant hand. He held it as carefully as one might hold a torch, or a jar containing the ashes of their beloved mother. Her eyes settled on it as his flitted to her embarrassingly extravagant razor.  

Whoever moved first was the winner, and Riza always moved first.  

She managed to whack the Sharpie out of his hand before he could reach for her, and in a few swift movements she had his back craning around the curve of the sink and the water flushing over his face. She kept her forearm pressed firmly over his chest while she threatened to scrape the stained skin off with the razor in her free hand. (She wouldn’t, of course, but the promise that she could was enough to get the colonel to wipe the fake hair off himself.) Roy emerged from the short scuffle with his lieutenant a little red-face, damp, and…black-lipped? He was right about the smearing. The dark ink coated his lips and chin where he’d feverishly tried to rub it off. It looked like someone had doused a fire on his face.  

“What have we learned?” Riza probed, sliding her razor into her pocket like it was a gun she needed to holster.  

“To use something washable next time.”

@sycophanticvisionary because duh we need another thread

   ‘ i’m melody’s mother— i’m amythest, ‘ ami introduces herself to her
   daughters best friend’s dad ( goodness that was a mouthful ) since it
   was the first small play the school put on. ami had tried to be available
   for most of melody’s school activities, but since she was in kindergarten
   and everything had to be a big deal, she only chose the ones her daughter
   actually participated in. this one was a play about sharing. sure. 

   during this whole time, melody had chattered on about how her best friend
   cassie, had to be the worlds greatest friend ever ( in those words exactly )
   
and while ami had no problem with her baby girl having friends, she did want
   to meet her parents before anything more than that was given. 

   her bouncing girl had kindly shown her the seat next to a handsome man,
   dressed in a casual suit with a stoic, but proud look on his face. this was
   mr. macmillian! her daughter had chirped before running back to cassie
   who was giggling behind the backstage curtain with the rest of their class.

   ‘ you must be cassie’s father ?  ‘

this was around the middle of the school year last year, but he was talking to us about a poem and having us find the deeper meanings of the lines, one of which saying something like “the girl leaning away” (not very accurate but you know what i mean) and another student suggested that meant the woman was rejecting some sort of romantic compliment from another person and i blurted out “i reject all of your sexual advantages!” and he looked me dead in the eye and said “you mean… advances.”

and i,

“oh my GOD”