#alchemicelric

[loyaltyforged]

@muses-of-kira asked: (@alchemic-elric ) 🩹

Send  🩹  to  patch  my  muse  up  after  a  fight. | meme

Even though she is trying desperately to hide it, exhaustion is evident on her features and deep brown eyes are averted, laced with annoyance. Lan Fan knows the alchemist means well, but she doesn't find her wounds severe enough to warrant treatment. That's not to say they aren't – they are clearly still bleeding with no signs of letting up – and when paired with various other scrapes, bruises, and potentially fractured or broken bones, the guard does look more than a little worse for wear.

Ed is not someone to argue with anyhow; he's stubborn, much more so than her. Aside from his unwillingness to let this go, she's simply too tired to put up a fight like she normally would and that's why she had lost the argument in the first place.

Brow scrunched in thought, Lan Fan remains quiet, letting her frustration with him gradually fade from a boil to a simmer. She hated having to be patched up like this – it made her feel weak. An ache in her chest surfaces as she remembers when she lost her arm, how completely and utterly useless she felt lying in bed while Ling and Edward fought the homunculi in her place. The guard lets out an involuntary sigh, closing her eyes as the not-so-distant past weighs heavy on her mind, and she hopes that her friend doesn't notice.

[saturnbxrs]

the elric brothers

(rewatching fmab rn and reminiscing)

[flameleadsarc]

@alchemic-elric​ asked: 🎁 + Papa's Boys

That’s a Wrap! | Currently accepting.

It was one of those days.

Boots accustomed to storming onto battlefields and into offices tiptoed inside. Shed in near silence, shaky hands struggled to untie their laces and put soles to the floor. The coat stayed on, a blanket of security around wary shoulders. His mind screamed as he put his back to the wall. Safe---it was safe here. For goodness’ sake, he was home. He could stop sipping on air. His lungs could stop seizing.

Any second now, his sons would notice he came home. They’d see hollow eyes staring back at them. They’d see him, the embodiment of fire, shivering in his coat. They’d see a glove adorning one of his shaky hands, and they, like the intelligent, observant, and caring boys they were, would ask questions. They’d worry.

What was he supposed to say? It was so stupid. He was on his way home from running a couple of errands---picking up a couple books, some flowers, some intelligence, and a new scarf. Simple shit. One minute, he was on his way to his car. The next, he heard what he thought was a gunshot. Glove on, bag on the ground, and hand poised to transmute, he faced the source of the shot in two seconds. The hellhound was out, and he was prepared for war.

His eyes deceived him. It wasn’t a scared Ishvalan holding up their hands in the form of surrender. An ordinary Amestrian woman stared back, terrified as she got out of her car that just backfired. That was all it was.

“I’m so sorry,” she pleaded, “You’re Colonel Mustang, right? I didn’t mean for---are you all right?” Her voice got through to him, and he lowered his hand as he gasped for breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t--”

“It’s not your fault, miss.” His voice came out so quiet then as he forced his hand in his pocket. No, he wasn’t wearing his white cloak. Just... ordinary day clothes in Central City, not a sector in Daliha. “It’s me who should be apologizing. Are you all right?”

He couldn’t remember the rest of the conversation. Everything was a haze. It often was when the hellhound was involved, especially when it had to retreat. He knew he managed to at least sort of soothe the nerves of those in the area---or, he hoped he did. Driving home was foggy too. Did he leave everything he bought behind? Well, it wasn’t inside with him, and he didn’t recall bringing it into the car, so... shit.

With a sigh, he hid his face in his hands. Two sets of footsteps sounded near him, one of them completely metal. There they were: his boys. The lights of his life. How was he supposed to explain that he could have very well killed someone today because his stupid brain heard a noise and thought he was back in Ishval? Wasn’t he supposed to protect them from that? Fat lot of good that did. Edward bore a scar because he failed just that.

Once he heard the two of them approach, he looked up to meet their gaze. Lying... he could lie with the best of them. He was raised a liar. It was safer to lie and hide the truth away since no one could be trusted. But, his boys? The lights of his life, two people he considered family? They started to learn his tricks---he partially blamed Madame Chris and the Lieutenant---by now. Not only that, but... as hollow eyes stared back at them, the hellhound barely held back on its chain, he made an executive decision: he didn’t want to.

He was so tired.

“I’m raising my white flag tonight, boys.”

[wyrdify]

closed starter with @alchemic-elric​

He didn’t like anything about this assignment.

Lieutenant Hawkeye, now serving under Fuhrer Bradley, delivered it to him herself. According to their most recent reports, Southern Command lost too many soldiers due to their ongoing border war with Aerugo. The skirmishes happened with increasing frequency---Roy read through the assignment a few times during the long train ride down. Initially, Amestris was hesitant at sending any State Alchemist due to previous history with Ishval and the fact that Scar was still at large. But, desperate times and all that.

Why send both of them, though? Ed didn’t need to be in the middle of a war zone. Had it not come from the Fuhrer himself, Roy would have argued against the premise. He could handle this by himself considering his record. Perhaps Bradley wanted someone there to watch the Flame Alchemist’s back since the Hawk’s Eye couldn’t. Or, maybe he wanted Ed to see what war was like, a reminder of what he signed up for. As if he didn’t have that shoved in his face every damn day.

The briefing from Southern Command covered most of the same material they read in their report. He and Ed were to assist in regaining control of Resit. Strategically, they’d act as the main offense while Southern troops provided support---standard routine for the Flame Alchemist. Their current Commanding Officer, a general he already forgot the name of, gave them the full plan while in transit. He wanted this battle to be over quickly with as few Amestrian casualties as possible---no mention of whether or not he preferred Aerugonians dead or alive.

That, among the circumstances and timing of this assignment, had him on edge. With a couple minutes left before they reached Resit, Roy looked to Ed.

“You ready?”

[thegoldensage]

@alchemic-elric​ a starter I owed you! :)

                 After the Promised Day, Hohenheim had spent a great deal of time in a hotel in central, visiting his boys in the hospital and making sure that they would be alright, but now he had been invited over to see visit where he was currently living with Colonel Mustang and have dinner. Dressed in his usually white shirt and vest and dark pants, Hohenheim made his way across the city with his hands shoved into his pockets, admittedly nervous about his visit as it was almost as if it were an invitation back into his life... which he had never thought would ever happen... and that made him extremely grateful.

                 Hohenheim kept his head down, every once in a while glancing at the piece of paper with the address on it to make certain he found the right place. After he finally found the right apartment, he stood outside for a long moment before he knocked and waited for Edward to answer the door. “Hey, Edward. It’s good to see that you’re doing better.” He said with a smile once he saw his eldest son on the other side of the door. 

[cromwellharvests]

“ FULLMETAAAAAAL! ” the name comes as an announcement, no fancy microphone necessary to carry the deep, authoritative voice which bellows it out. Who knows how long he’d been waiting to burst through the front door and shout that, arms thrown to the sky— but it was no mystery how self-satisfied he was; Nolan’s grin was about ready to stretch right off his face. 

If it weren’t so par-for-the-course, maybe the neighbors a half-mile off would have spared more than a momentary glance, but, alas, they know better.

His excitement doesn’t ebb in the least as he trots up to meet the alchemist halfway, instantly outstretching a hand to take some luggage— determined to start the ‘good hosting’ energy straight away. “You made it! And in one piece, at that— welcome t’ Wiradu, champ.”

@alchemic-elric​  ♥’ed

[galeleads]

                     “Oh please edward, we all know he leaves his brain with his timecard at the end of each work day.”

[bledcrimson]

𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲! 𝐚𝐡, 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧, wings of the soul still blazing— & here lays the young alchemist in the destruction left in the wake of one man’s sorrow & wrath. it is, perhaps, for the first time that jack recognizes how young his adversary truly is. too young for a sorrow like that. too young to carry the ghosts on his back. he finds himself wondering what tragedy could’ve brought someone so young to ...

" don't touch me. " , @alchemic-elric​ 

the young alchemist’s voice brings the self-proclaimed king from his thoughts; calloused ( recreated ) hand pulling back ( when had he reached out in the first place? ) from an arm bent awkwardly, unnaturally. 

how was it, then, that someone heartless could still feel that hollow calm? the bent arm is metal. he has not broken this youth’s body. he finds himself relieved, despite everything— it seems that this day, mercy still exists in him. ❛ go home, then, young alchemist. tend to your wounds. ❜ 

❛ cherish the days in which you are allowed to live. next time, i will not show you mercy. ❜