Author's Note ::

This is my first "real" story to be published, and though it is no Mark Twain, I'm quite proud of it. In case you're wondering, (probably not, but I think I'll say it anyway) I often daydream in geometry. Stuff like this is the result. Also, I feel like I should just say this before you get any further: I don't actually feel that way about Esmerelda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame! I actually loved all the characters in that story! (Or the Disney movie, at least.) So if you like Esmerelda, or if your name is Esmerelda, please don't be mad at me! Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoy it, and I'll see you at the bottom.

Once upon a time in Amestris, there was a beautiful young girl named Esmerelda. Her skin was white as snow, (even though she spent a lot of time outdoors and really should have gotten a sunburn or a tan) her eyes were brilliant emerald green, and her hair was jet black with crimson highlights in it, from all the sunlight. She had a hourglass figure that caused married men to do double takes, and when she spoke, nature would fall silent to listen.

"Okay, this is total BS!" yelled the humiliated authoress. "Why the hell should I have to write this Mary Sue crap? And why does it have to be EdxOC? I love Al!"

"Because," said Esmerelda in a sickeningly sweet way. "Mary Sues must be written, or else Fanfiction will be nothing but good, original stories with realistic characters, and nobody wants to read that!"

"Fine," grumbled the authoress. "But this is my story, so you're going to play by my rules!" She grabbed a pen and began rewriting the introductory paragraph.

Once upon a time in Amestris, there was an average young girl named Emma. Her skin was pasty and covered in freckles from all the times she'd been sunburned, her eyes were a dull gray-green, and her hair was black. She'd once tried to highlight it with red, but failed, so she now had brownish streaks all through it. She was flat-chested and underdeveloped, and she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

"Hey!" yelled Esmer... Eh... Emma. "What gives? I'm supposed to be perfect! And what the hell kind of name is Emma? Mary Sues must have beautiful, unforgettable names!"

The authoress rolled her eyes. "Well, nobody's perfect. Besides, every time someone is described as having an 'hourglass figure,' it makes me think of Barbie dolls. When I was a kid, my best friend and I cut off all the hair on my Barbie dolls, tied them to helium balloons, and cut the weights off so they flew away and got sucked into the engines of jet planes. So no perfection for you, Miss Mary Sue. And as for naming you 'Emma,' for one thing, Esmerelda is a crap load of letters and syllables. Therefore, it is both a pain to write and say. And another thing: Esmerelda was the name of the gypsy girl in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I never read that book, but I saw the Disney movie, and she dumped the poor hunchback for the good-looking guy, which automatically makes her a bitch. So there."

Emma stuck out her lower lip and allowed her eyes to fill up with tears. This trick always worked on everyone; whenever a Mary Sue cries, everyone wants to make her smile again.

The authoress laughed. "I made you a normal girl, Miss Mary Sue!" she said happily. "That pouting thing doesn't work anymore. Now suck it up and let me write."

One day, as Emma was wandering through a random town that she happened to be in, she bumped into a short boy in the middle of the street.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE COULD BE PASSED OFF AS A MEMBER OF THE LOLLYPOP GUILD!"

The authoress rolled her eyes for the second time in as many minutes. "You, Mr. Fullmetal Alchemist, sir," she said. "Now, I will tell you the same thing that I told the bitch over there." She used her pen to point at Emma. "Suck it up and freaking let me write!"

"Um… Brother?" said Alphonse timidly. "I think you should listen to her."

"Oh yeah?" sneered Edward. "Gimme one good reason."

The authoress tapped the pen against her chin, pretending to contemplate something. "Well," she said slowly, making sure that Edward was listening. "I have this notebook. See?" She held up her sparkly blue notebook. "Whatever I write in this, you automatically have to do. So if I were to write, say…" She scribbled something quickly.

Edward jumped up, raised his arms high above his head, and screamed for all to hear, "I AM EDWARD ELRIC, AND I AM A MUNCHKIN!"

Ed's eyes widened as soon as he realized what he'd just done. Every living thing within earshot was staring at him, and most of them were laughing. He turned, very slowly, to face the authoress.

"You. Will. Die," he said. "Very. Very. Painfully."

"I know," the authoress said nonchalantly. "But I might as well have some fun while I can." She sat down in the middle of the street and continued writing.

Emma stared for a few moments at the boy she'd just knocked down. "Are you okay?" she asked, concerned.

"Y-Yeah," replied the boy, staring back into Emma's eyes. "I am now."

"Why the hell did you make me say that?" snapped Ed.

"Because," said the authoress. "It says so right here in The Mary Sue Manual: Everything You Need To Know About Writing Mary Sue Fics." She flipped the elephantine manual open and read aloud.

"When a Mary Sue meets the man she is destined to be with, he must be at a loss for words whenever he is supposed to speak. Be sure also to include cheesy, cliché one-liners about love at first sight and so on." She snapped the book shut and pointed at Ed.

"You. Love struck. Now."

"Hey, aren't you Edward Elric?" asked Emma with a smile. "I've heard of you. Even though everybody else automatically assumes it's Alphonse, because he's a huge suit of armor, I automatically know it's you, since we're soul mates."

Ed blinked a bead of sweat out of his eye, knowing that if he didn't follow that sadist of an authoress's script to the letter, she'd make him do or say something horrible again. He shuddered involuntarily. What if she made him wear a dress? Or worse - what if she made him wear a dress in front of Mustang? He would never live that down. But he would be willing to do almost anything to get away from this creepy girl who reminded him so much of an ugly prostitute.

"Uh, yeah. I am Edward Elric," he said, praying to whatever god there was that he would wake up from this torturous nightmare. "I am. And this is Alphonse."

Al waved at Emma, and would have smiled if he could. The authoress had told him that if he just went along with what she wrote, she wouldn't make him to anything out of character. "After all," she had said. "This is EdxOC. Your character doesn't even have to be here; I only wrote you in because you're my favorite." And so, pleased with the way the day was going and filled with hope that he might actually get a girlfriend despite being an empty suit of armor, Al took a step back to allow his brother some "alone time" with his "soul mate."

Al stood beside the authoress, who was enjoying watching Emma gushing over how Ed was her hero, and how she was brilliantly skilled at alchemy. As funny as it was, though, it didn't even begin to compare to Ed's WTF face.

"You won't make Brother do anything bad, right?" asked Al uncertainly. "I've read a few fanfictions before, and there was some pretty questionable stuff."

The authoress shrugged. "Hell no," she said. "I hate lemons. Don't tell Ed that, though. I love watching him squirm."

"Alright. I was just checking." Al didn't try to hide his relief. "By the way, is Emma really good at alchemy?"

The authoress opened her notebook and started scribbling. After a minute, she snapped the notebook shut again. "Not anymore," she said with an evil grin that only crackfic authoresses ever use. "Too bad you can't eat popcorn. It'll greatly improve the show." She pulled out her notebook again.

As Ed and Emma were staring romantically into each other's eyes, suddenly Kain Fuery ran past, holding a bowl of extra-butter popcorn. He handed it off the authoress and then doubled over, panting heavily.

"Why… Did I… Have to bring… You popcorn…?" he gasped in between breaths.

"Because," said the authoress. "Hawkeye caught Mustang burning his paperwork, and if I hadn't brought you here, you'd be caught in the crossfire. So, to repay me for saving your life, you get to be my chore monkey for the rest of the story!" She clapped her hands together delightedly.

Fuery wasn't sure how to react. He had run roughly a hundred miles just to give this random stranger popcorn? And now she expected him to work for her? The first lieutenant wasn't going to be amused with this excuse for leaving work in the middle of the day. He was about to voice this thought when he noticed Ed having a staring contest with another random stranger. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he suddenly decided that he wanted to stick around for a bit.

"Uh… Sure," he said. "I'll work for you. But only if you make sure that Lieutenant Hawkeye doesn't kill me for missing work."

The authoress broke into a huge smile that could almost pass as angelic. "Great! Do you think you could run into that store over there and get me an iPod? I can write some money into your pocket and some songs onto it, but I can't write random objects appearing for me, since I'm not a character in this story."

Fuery reached into his pocket. Sure enough, his hand clasped around enough money to buy a nice iPod. He jogged off and returned a few moments later with the device. The storekeeper had been awfully confused; he had no idea what the iPod was, or why it was sitting on his shelf. He had accepted the money, though. Fuery handed it to the authoress, who flipped to a blank page in the back of her notebook and wrote down a long list of songs before inserting the ear buds, cranking up the volume, and continuing to write.

"My name is Esmerelda," said Emma.

"Not it's not," said Ed. "The authoress changed it to Emma. Remember? She said that Esmerelda was a bitch."

"Whatever!" exclaimed Emma. "Does it really matter? My name could be Eugene for all you care, and you don't care, because I am a Mary Sue, and this is EdxOC, therefore you will fall in love with me no matter what!"

"You're not a Mary Sue," sighed Ed. "Mary Sues are supposed to be perfect; You're a flat-chested freak. Besides, why the hell would I fall in love with you? Everyone knows that Winry and I are soul mates."

"Actually," interrupted the authoress with a snigger. "RoyEd is the most popular Fullmetal pairing on Fanfiction. So almost everyone thinks that you and the Colonel are soul mates."

All the color drained from Ed's face. "You're not serious," he stuttered. "Me and… that bastard? Who the hell would actually think that?" The authoress raised her hands in the universal gesture for don't look at me.

"I dunno. I always thought it made Mustang a pedophile, since he's an old man and you're a minor. But that's a good idea of what I'll do to you if you don't do as I say." She grinned evilly once more. "I'll put you in a dress and set you up on a date with Colonel Mustang."

Ed became even paler, if that was possible. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would. Now ask her out." The authoress uncapped her pen and started scribbling furiously.

Ed gulped, then continued with the nightmare this story was turning into. "Hey, even though we just met, will you go out with me?" he asked Emma. The Mary Sue's eyes lit up.

"Of course I'll go out with you! Should it be a romantic candlelit dinner in a fancy restaurant, or a picnic in the park, or should we just go back to your hotel room right now and-" She was suddenly cut off as Fuery ran up and put a piece of duct tape over her mouth.

"Thanks, Kain," said the authoress. "That was about to get graphic. I'm hoping to post this story as a rating of T or lower. So no making babies!" She glared pointedly at Emma, whose happy look faded a bit. The authoress then turned to Ed.

"Okay," she said. "She's accepted, and I really don't feel like letting her talk again for a while, so we're just gonna skip ahead to the date scene." She, Al, and Fuery huddled up and started debating how best to torture Ed.

Edward shifted uncomfortably between his mismatched legs. Today had been a strange one, all right. He'd woken up that morning in Central, jumping out of bed and declaring that he knew how to get his and Al's bodies back, and all they had to do was get on the train and ride to this small town that wasn't even listed on any maps. He had been so pumped, it hadn't even occurred to him to wonder where the idea came from, or why he was so certain when he had no solid proof. Now that he was here, he realized that it had simply been an idea planted in his head by that evil authoress so she could bring him here and torture him. And here he'd thought he could actually get his brother's body back…

"Wait a second!" said Ed to no one, turning a gaze that was both hopeful and slightly crazed on the authoress. "You can do anything by writing it in that book, right?"

The authoress held up her notebook. "Pretty much, yeah."

"If I do as you say without complaining, can you restore Alphonse's body?"

She thought about it. "I don't see why not," she said after a minute. "But you'll have to do whatever I tell you to, without a single complaint. You really think you can do that?"

Ed nodded eagerly. "Anything. I'm sick of false leads. If you can fix him, I'd even be willing to go out with Colonel Bastard."

The authoress tucked this bit of information into her mental filing cabinet under the label of blackmail & schemes. It might come in handy if she ever decided to write a RoyEd crackfic.

"Okay," she said. "I, the authoress, hereby swear on my stack of manga that I will return Alphonse Elric to his human body as long as you, Edward Elric, do as I say until the end of this story." She held out her hand, and Edward grasped it in his automail one. They shook, and Ed returned to his designated spot.

"Are you really going to return me to my body?" asked Al quietly. It seemed much to good to be true, and he didn't want to get his hopes up. Much to his surprise, however, the authoress smiled and nodded.

"Yup. Truth be told, I was going to anyway." She winked at him. "Don't tell your brother, though. The more cooperative he is, the faster this will go."

"Okay! Ed clapped his hands together, as if to say Let's get this show on the road. "There's just a date, right? I can do that. Where to?"

The authoress pondered it for a few moments, before deciding. "How about a romantic walk on the beach?" she asked. "I suck at date scenes, so it can just be one of those deep, emotional type deals."

"The beach?" asked Ed, confused. "But we're in a landlocked country. Even on the south border, the ocean is still two hundred miles away."

Emma grabbed Ed's flesh hand. "Never underestimate the power of a Mary Sue!" she exclaimed. "To the beach!" Nothing happened for a minute as the authoress scribbled furiously in her notebook, and then the gathered party vanished in a cloud of pink vanilla-scented smoke.

When the gag-inducing smokescreen cleared, the group had been magically transported to a gorgeous beach. The white sand stretched out for miles in every direction, except in front, which was where the crystal blue water was. (Even the beaches in Mary Sue fics are perfect.) Emma, still holding Edward's hand, dragged him away from the others, towards the water.

"Come on," she said. "Romantic beach walks are only romantic if no one else is around to overhear our deep, meaningless dialogue."

The authoress nodded in agreement. "Yeah. You guys go. We'll hang out here." She turned to Fuery.

"I need a beach chair. One of those ones that reclines. And not a cheap-o one, either. Also, a big umbrella, and some pink lemonade. God, I hate the beach." She kicked her feet wildly, trying to de-sand them. "Need anything, Al?" Alphonse said that he didn't, and when Fuery returned with her chair, the authoress sat down and removed her shoes. When she turned them upside-down, enough sand to fill in the Panama canal was shaken out.

"Reason number one why I hate the beach," she muttered. "Reason number two is the sun, and reason number three is because all the crappiest romance scenes always happen at the beach. Maybe I should just have a shark eat that Goddamned Mary Sue?"

Al sweatdropped, which was technically impossible, seeing as he didn't have pores. "Um, I think that might be a bad idea," he said softly.

The authoress nodded her head. "You're right," she said. "Sharks get enough bad press already. Maybe a jellyfish, then? I hate those things."

Fuery adjusted his glasses nervously. He hoped that this girl was all talk, and had no real plans of killing anyone, Mary Sue or not. "Maybe you should just get the romance scene over with so you can go back to writing something you're comfortable with," he suggested.

The authoress applauded happily. "Good idea, Kain! You get a cookie!" She wrote Fuery reached into his pocket and pulled out a cookie in her notebook.

Fuery reached into his pocket and pulled out a cookie. He didn't even bother to marvel at the fact that it was fresh-baked, straight out of his military jacket. He just ate it quickly, ready to go home.

But the authoress hadn't stopped writing yet, so that meant this particular misadventure was far from over.

Meanwhile, Ed and Emma were walking down the beach, hand-in-hand, having a deep discussion.

"My parents died when I was six months old," droned Emma. "I raised myself. I also taught myself alchemy, and became a State Alchemist when I was eleven, which means I'm officially the youngest-ever State Alchemist."

Edward hadn't had the opportunity to speak much since arriving, and he cut in here. "You can do alchemy?" he asked. "Lemme see."

"Okay!" Emma gushed happily. She clapped her hands together and pressed them against the sand. A few straw bolts of blue lightning flashed, and when it was done, the Mary Sue was holding a small tiara made of glass. She handed it to Ed to examine, which he did.

The detail was minute and perfect, with little roses and snowflakes intertwined together to form the gorgeous headpiece. Emma ducked slightly, and Ed placed the crown atop her head. He would have been impressed, had he not known that the authoress was back with Al, controlling everything easily.

Al, he thought to himself. This is for you, little brother.

Emma was back to babbling about herself, which Mary Sues are apparently good at. Ed was starting to regret not taking the Date-With-Mustang option, when Scar appeared out of nowhere.

"State Alchemists who have sinned against God," he said menacingly. "Prepare to meet Him."

Back at the umbrella, Al made a gasp sound. (Yet another impossibility, seeing as he didn't have lungs.)

"Brother's in trouble!" he said. "I have to help!"

"No, you don't," replied the authoress without looking up from her notebook. "This is the good part. Just sit tight, and you'll be back in your body in a few minutes, and we can make out."

Al did as he was told before the authoress decided to write it. He was the only one who'd been fully in control of himself from the beginning, and had no desire to lose that now, so close to the climax.

Emma gasped. (Not impossible for her, seeing as she did have lungs.) "It's Scar!" she said.

Ed pulled Emma behind him and took up a defensive stance. "Back off, bastard. Even though I really want to throw this Mary Sue at you and run as fast as I can, I have to protect her as if I loved her, or else the authoress will torture me!"

Scar shrugged. "It makes no difference to me. I was just brought here to advance the plot and put the authoress back in comfortable waters, since she hates romance. If I get to destroy two State Alchemists as well, then it's a lucky bonus." He took a few slow, menacing steps closer, preparing to deliver his "Holy Retribution."

"Ah, shit!" said the authoress. "I used the word 'menacingly' twice in as many minutes, and referring to the same character! That's so uncreative!" While she was distracted, she temporarily lost control of the three characters down by the water's edge, which meant that the fight she had originally been planning to stage suddenly became very real indeed.

Scar charged, right arm outstretched. Ed ducked, barely avoiding becoming human hamburger meat. Emma, despite being a legendary alchemist, sat off on the side, watching. She had read somewhere that it wasn't proper for women to fight, and also that two-against-one was unfair and mean. So she watched as her "true love" fought for his life and hers, not even offering to help.

Ed clapped, transmuting his automail arm into a blade. He ducked and weaved, attempting to get close enough to deal some damage, but always being driven back. The fight stumbled into the surf, and Ed randomly and without any warning tripped over a clam, falling on his butt. Scar stood over him, victorious.

"And now," he said darkly. "You die."

"Darkly!" said the authoress. "That's a good one! Okay, let's see…" she brought herself up to speed. "Holy crap! Ed, you damn klutz!" She scrawled several long paragraphs and sat back with a sigh of relief. "That ought to do it," she said.

Despite what the book had said about women fighting and two-against-one, Emma knew that she couldn't just sit back and watch Edward die. So, like the brave Mary Sue she was, she ran down to the water and dove in front of Edward, just in time to take Scar's attack full-force. Scar was mildly surprised to see that he had killed the girl on accident, but she was a State Alchemist, too, so he supposed it didn't matter.

"Oh, well," he said. "You next." He made a move to attack Ed again, at which point Fuery charged in, screaming like a maniac and throwing cookies, which seemed to be supplied infinitely by his pockets. Scar was pelted mercilessly with oatmeal raisin, the most evil off all cookies.

"No!" he cried. "They look like chocolate chips, but they aren't!" He never stood a chance. Fuery stood there, chucking cookies long after Scar had been vaporized by "nature's candy."

Edward knelt in the water, cradling Emma's head tenderly. Despite the nature of Scar's attack, there wasn't a scratch on her. Also, she was - amazingly - still alive. Her breath came shallow and fast, which generally means that the character is dying painfully.

"Edward," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I'll always love you."

Ed knew that he should be crying, but he was too relieved. "I'll never forget you," he said honestly. "I mean, today was probably the worst day of my life, thanks to you and that damn authoress. So, yeah. I'll never get it out of my head, even if I want to." And, with that heart-touching final scene of… um… love, Emma died. Ed sat with her in the water for a few minutes, then he stood up, leaving her facedown on the beach, and trudged back to the authoress and Al. (Fuery was still trying to get rid of all the evil raisin cookies, which refused to stop reappearing in his pockets.)

Edward pointed his automail index finger at the authoress, who was now reclining in her beach chair and wearing a self-satisfied smirk.

"Alright, bitch," said Ed. "I played your stupid game. Now fix Al."

Still smirking, the authoress wrote a final paragraph in her notebook, and snapped it shut.

Al began to glow brilliant red, like the Philosopher's Stone that he was supposed to become in the anime. Ed averted his eyes, and when he looked back, the glow was gone, replaced with his flesh-and-blood brother. Though Al's body had spent the past four years sitting in front of the Gate with no nourishment (or clothing), he had been fully restored to perfect Al-ness, and was dressed in a white shirt and khaki pants.

The brothers embraced, and Ed decided that the date with a Mary Sue was worth it, even if she was ugly. Of course, he had no idea what to do next without the authoress's guidance, so he sat down to drink pink lemonade and watch the panicking Fuery throwing cookies at Emma's corpse as Al built a sandcastle and the authoress began plotting her next venture in crackfic-writing.

THE END

(FINALLY)

Me again! If you liked it, review and subscribe. (Just in case I ever finish anything else.) If you hated it, I would really like to know why. So if you hated it, please review and tell me what I did wrong. I'm a big girl; I can take it. I will only get mad if you flame me without providing a valid reason. (Example: "You suck, just because you suck.") So if you think that Emma wasn't Mary Sue-ish enough, let me know. If you think I could have ended it better, (Believe me, I suck at endings. Plus, I finished this at 3 AM.) then let me know. Also, if you want me to write more, positive reviews may motivate me. (Though not as much as a cookie. As long as it isn't raisin. I wasn't kidding when I said raisin cookies are evil.)

Special Thanks To: My cat, for listening as I argued with myself on how best to end this little "venture in crackfic-writing."