hello and welcome to the interest check for the royai big bang (2024 edition).
register your interest here
what is a big bang?
a big bang is a fan-led event in which writers and artists collaborate together to create long-form content. each writer gets a selection of artists drawing for their story, and a beta-reader if they choose. this event gives creatives a chance to bring their ideas to life in the form of creative teams. ever had a nagging idea for something long or intricate? now you’ve got the chance :)
as this is a royai big bang, the only conditions are that the content created is focused on roy mustang and riza hawkeye – platonic, romantic, or otherwise!
the plan is to not only foster the creation of long-form content specifically for royai, but to create some beautiful epubs of these fics as well as the anthology. i want everyone to feel proud of what they’ve created!
the current plan is to have 5 big bang writers, and 20 anthology writers, and about 30 to 40 artists. collectively this group will create over 600,000 words of royai fanfic, and approximately 120 different pieces of fanart.
a big bang, indeed.
FAQ
EVENT TIMELINE
if you have questions not answered by either the FAQ or event timeline, then please send through an ask to the blog.
I wanna let you know that I'm embarking on the journey of rewatching fmab years after I first watched the series, just so I can enjoy your new royai fanfics to the fullest extent
Oh my goodness that is so very kind to say! The story still gets me, even after all these years...
Oops, I tried to write a thing to figure it out. Teen Royai here.
Pardon the smelling errors...
...Also the fact that it’s not finished.
“Your face is gonna get stuck that way if you’re not careful.”
Riza huffed and pushed up from the floor to lean back on her heels. She’d been scrubbing for the better part of three hours and her shoulders ached. She glanced up at the boy who leaned against the doorjamb with careful nonchalance, throwing him a resentful look. His pristine sleeves and tidy, decidedly not sweaty hair was almost offensive. Riza stuck her tongue out at the older boy and tossed her rag in the bucket; slate-grey suds spilled to the floor and she cursed her carelessness. She’d have to scrub that part again. “My face isn’t gonna get stuck like anything.”
“Yes it is. Like this.” Roy squinched his face into something ugly - a cross between a warthog and an old crone. His face relaxed before he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “My aunt tells that to all the girls at home. Sour expressions get stuck.”
“That’s not true!” Riza said, her mood growing more dour by the moment. For some reason, that happened every time Roy entered the same room as her, especially when he mentioned his ‘sisters.’ In Riza’s mind, they inhabited a world of lace and ruffles and fine food. A place she would never know and never fit into, with her knobby, work-roughened hands. They were everything she was not. “My face won’t get stuck.”
Roy shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”
Riza sighed. “What do you want, anyways?”
“It’s too hot to study.”
He was right of course. It was nearing midsummer and it grew hotter by the day. Most folks in the town whiled the worst parts of the day on their front porches, fans in one hand, cool drink in the other. Riza scrubbed floors.
“It is not,” she said flatly. She knew the real reason why Roy had no interest in working on his alchemy today. Father was in town for the morning, straightening out a few financial affairs. Or at least, that’s what he said when he left the house. More often than not, he returned from days like these in a sour mood with the smell of whiskey on his breath. Apparently their money situation was so bleak her father needed something to keep the edge off. Riza cleaned hardest on these days; it made his homecoming somewhat easier. “You just want to get out of studying while Father is away.”
“Maybe I do,” Roy said with a slit-eyed smile. “I was hoping you didn’t wanna clean floors in this heat...”
“Of course I don’t!” she sighed. “But it has to get done, doesn’t it?”
“It is done.”
Riza spun in a slow circle to survey her work. The floor was a perpetually dirty one; no matter how many times or how hard she scrubbed, it always looked grubby. It frustrated her to no end. She glanced up at Roy, who was now studying his fingernails with feigned interest. His eyes darted to hers and he smiled.
“I have a favor to ask,” he said.
Riza wasn’t entirely sure where this was headed, but she knew she wouldn’t like it. “I have other chores to do, Roy...”
“It won’t take long,” he wheedled. “And it might help you feel better. It is a hot day.”
“Just what are you getting at?”
A blush crept over the boy’s cheeks. He looked away, suddenly bashful, and muttered something under his breath.
“Come again?”
The boy whispered again. Only a few syllables popped out, but nothing intelligible.
“Just say it, Roy!”
Roy growled. “I don’t know how to swim!” he shouted.
Riza was so taken aback she hardly knew what to say. Growing up in the country as she did, it was unheard of for someone Roy’s age never to learn how to at least paddle without drowning. In this region, swimming was as natural and necessary as breathing. Riza swam nearly every day in the summers before her mother passed. She’d been told she was quite good at it - a regular fish. Even after her father buried himself in his work and she took over the household chores, Riza still found time to sneak away for a dip from time to time.
“Really? You don’t?” she finally managed.
Roy - uncomfortable in his ignorance of this one thing - shifted from foot to foot and shook his head. “Where would I have learned how to do a thing like that?” he said hotly.
Riza set her hands on her hips, regarding him with an appraising eye. She could not help feeling more than a bit suspicious. She wouldn’t put it past Roy to fool her, to play some elaborate trick. It wouldn’t be the first time. He seemed to enjoy torturing her.
But Roy simply smiled at her, innocent and completely earnest. “Please?” he said.
“Fine.” Riza stood, brushed off the front of her pinafore, and took hold of his wrist.
It was midday, the busy time when bugs whirred and keened from under whisper-dry grass. There was no wind; the air felt stuffy and heat billowed from the earth beneath Riza’s bare feet. The bank leading down to the pond at the edge of her father’s property was much greener than the rest, the blades slick and moist. Riza slipped a bit as she descended into the bowl. She only managed to catch her feet when Roy placed a steadying hand on her hip. He grinned down at her as she tried to awkwardly push away. She tried not to let it bother her.
Roy’s foot caught the overturned chair. He let out a startled, broken cry, stumbled, and nearly fell. A wordless keen tore through his throat. She was slipping and he was blind and he was useless. Utterly useless. He was killing her. “Help me! Shit! Somebody…” Roy’s shoulder glanced against the wall and he began to unravel. He let out a single, broken sob. His knees lost all tone and he slid to the floor, Riza still held tightly in his arms. His voice faded to a soft moan. “Help me… she… she…” Roy buried his face in her hair. Even now, she smelled of lavender. Of gunpowder and mineral oil. Of her.
From Chapter 11 of Reverberations by Antigone Rex on ff.net.
