"They just watch," John says, kicking the mop bucket into the broom closet after a hard day's asteroid-cleaning. "I guess chores are like a spectator sport for trolls? It's pretty weird! But... that's trolls for you!"

Now you must endure. Drabbles of the Inquisitor and those who follow.

Every time Edward sees the circle on the back Mustang's hand, he wants to scream, wants to reach across the desk and shake him, wants to wrap his hands around the older man's throat and ask if it was worth it, if this desk and his rank is worth the screaming, crying, writhing, burning bodies of his people - "Something to say, Fullmetal?" Mustang drawls. Edward snaps the file shut, "Nope."

This might as well happen, right? Get possessed by an alien parasite, save the world, get fucked by an alien parasite… it’s all in the same vein. It’s not like this is any more fucked up than the rest of it.