#angcrmanagcmcnt

[envioussin]

“....the hell are you doing?”

Queue the flash.

“ASKDFJLASJDFLKAJSDLFKJALSKDJFLAJSDFLAKJFLKAJA!!!!”      -- @angcrmanagcmcnt​

[flameleadsarc]

@angcrmanagcmcnt​ asked:

" ...Truth...why do you want to know about my home? "

Truth Serum | Currently accepting.

“Because I’m a nosy bastard who doesn’t like not knowing shit.” He couldn’t say he was in the mood to censor his phrasing. Still stuck in bed with a fever, and numerous other complaints that came with being sick, Roy chose not to mince words. Lyssa wanted honesty? Well, she got it.

“I’ll elaborate. You live in my home with my sons, and I’m protecting you. To do that, I need to know what I’m protecting you from, which means knowing what happened in Pendleton. Anger did not tell me, and Edward and Alphonse don’t know. The military files I’ve managed to get are heavily redacted, so I can’t get much. I don’t trust anything Mr. Arlott says, so you’re the only one I can ask.” Roy paused, letting out a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. During this conversation, he had to remember one thing: Lyssa was still a child.

One who evidently experienced too much in her short life, no doubt. That seemed to be the case with almost everyone who lived in his house.

“But, I get why you don’t wanna tell me. It had to be traumatizing to go through, and you hardly know me. All I want to do is keep you safe, though. Make sense?”

[dolcetters]

@angcrmanagcmcnt​ asked:

" Um...If y'want I can go. I don't want you feelin' bad 'cause of me bein' here. "

▐│∶x∶; —                                 ❛ --no. lys. you-- ❜

he stops himself, pressing one hand on the air between them and forcing himself to take a moment long enough to neutralize his tone. a long inhale through the nose. hold it. swallow it. ...it’s not any better, but at least he won’t sound less human than he already was.

             ❛ you’re not the damn problem. ❜

[auricbound]

in relation to ( x )

spinning. everything’s spinning. there’s nothing but blurry visions of walls, the cold, green-tinted metal of his brother, and the manifestations of his own traumas separate from his phantom twin clouding his brain.  he felt something - fear. he so much fear. not all of it was his own. it didn’t take a genius to know that his moon was SUFFERING wherever he was, but he didn’t know HOW. 

he can’t even remember what verna said - if he even heard it in the first place. despite that, being scooped up into those metal arms and the consistent up and down motions he can only assume are from STAIRS are enough of a tell of where he’s going.  his moon is downstairs.  his moon is home. his moon is IN PAIN. 

blood. he can smell blood - he can feel some sort of deep piece of him immediately yell at him about it, screaming how it belongs to HIS LUNA. is that what that bite cemented ?  did it give him the ability to recognize his other half in BLOOD, as well ? or is he just some sort of crazed freak ? 

there’s no chance to question it. verna reaches the bottom of the stairs before he can even think. the visions of his sister are hissing at him the closer he gets to his SOULMATE, and yet the glowing stone around his neck keeps them from pulling at him. 

“ alphe - i got him now. i’m gonna - should i just lay him down next ta him - ? wait we should prob’ly move him onta his side first, tha’s probably not going to do well fer him if he’s coughin’ up blood. he could choke couldn’ he - ? at least, i think s’ anyways - ”

no mouth, and yet it’s moving a million miles a minute as he brings himself down to the floor to get his brother in grabbing distance of his other half. as expected, there’s immediate clinging - a hand reaching up to his moons chest, gentle yet firm, and metal hand against his cheek. 

it’s not long before sol, through all the hallucinations, starts squirming his way towards his other half, no matter how small the space they have is. the curling of his body against his moon - with the latter’s head close to his own chest to have a heartbeat to focus on - is just as quick. 

“ lun’. lun’ shhh. ‘m here. sun’s here. sol’s here. gonna protect ya. y-yer gonna be fine. yer gonna be fine ... gonna b’ safe. won’ let a’yone hurt ya ...”

power through the demons. be strong for your moon - it is all you can do now.  the moon heals, and the sun soothes.  your sister cannot take you from him no matter how much she screeches.

“ ‘m here. ‘m here... ‘ll pull ya ‘gainst m’ if i gotta.  ❂ ‘f y’ can focus enough jus’ tell me what y’ need. don’ push your lungs. lun’ i lov’ y’. ❂ “

[hawksightsarc]

@angcrmanagcmcnt​ liked for a starter!

"I've seen this all before.”

[madalchcmist-a]

Hmn. Perhaps he can just let the little beast do his work for him...

[avarice-inclined]

Greed getting late-night snacks had become such a common occurrence in the Nest that Roa had started setting things aside in the fridge specifically for him. Greed was marginally aware of this, but it was never brought up by either man. They were fine with this silent acknowledgement, but now, sitting on the kitchen floor and clutching the spot where his heart would be if he had one, Greed was suddenly regretting choosing to grab something to eat in near-darkness.

He’d been sitting there long enough to realize his initial panic was unfounded, but the fear lingered, difficult to shake.

Googly-eyes.

Of all the things to scare him half to death in the middle of the night, googly-eyes wouldn’t have even made the list, but, well, here he was.

It didn’t matter that at first glance all he’d seen was eyes and his mind had jumped immediately to thoughts of Pride and how violent their goodbye had gone. Now that he knew what had really been adhered to seemingly every item in the fridge, his reaction just seemed... Ridiculous.

And embarrassing.

He was probably going to just... Keep sitting here on the floor for a bit.

[wyrdify]

"For God’s sake, Roy, don’t just be their guardian on paper. Take care of them.”

He tried. With every goddamn thing he had, he tried.

Solid steel was what he held onto, refusing to let go as doctors and nurses began checking on his son with increasing frequency. No medication to ease the pain, no food for the boy who had twice the appetite of his father and then some. Roy didn’t miss the concern on tired faces, their frowns as they didn’t dare speak. They didn’t dare to try and meet his gaze. Not once did they dare look at eyes shrouded behind a thick barrier of ice.

Were they afraid of how he’d respond? That they’d earn his ire for their inability to save his son? Or, did they simply not know what to say? To be fair, when he delivered news of a soldier’s death to their family, he knew his words wouldn’t provide comfort---closure, maybe, but never comfort. Nothing short of hearing Edward calling him a title he never thought he’d deserve, much less hear, would comfort him right now.

More doctors were in the room. Forced to step away and let go of a hand much stronger than his own, Roy could only watch as a new nightmare unfolded in front of him. He recognized how they rushed, the hurried voices as they moved around his son. He knew how this song went. It played in the middle of the desert when he brought soldiers back from the front lines, wounds cauterized to the best of his ability. Back then, all he could do was hold out his pocket watch and be the one who said when the song ended.

“Your boy dies first, Mustang.”

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Ever.

When Alphonse stood, all Roy could do was put a hand on his shoulder plate. He said the words his father couldn’t, pleading as the ice surrounding the flame cracked under pressure. He couldn’t interfere. There wasn’t an order he could give or alchemy he could use to change how the song, a somber not meant for him, ended.

“Alphonse...” He could barely get out the other’s name. His words shook along with the hand at his side that he wished could hold onto automail. Silently, he pleaded---not to the fictitious God but to the son right in front of him. “Don’t you dare choose now to disobey my orders again. Not these ones. Edward William Elric, you follow the orders I gave you or so help me---”

His hand no longer touched armor. It fell to the floor at his side, clattering as Alphonse left his sentence hanging in the air. Was it out of shock? Or, was it---

“Time of death: 8:32 P.M.”

The hand previously on Alphonse’s armor dropped to his side as the one who uttered those words looked directly into black eyes. They were the first to see the ice fully crack as Roy didn’t utter a word. He moved forward towards his son, holding his wrist to verify. This happened before, and he was wrong to believe it then. Alas, this time---this time---his son disobeyed his last orders. No pulse underneath two fingers, the same ones that emitted blue fire in a forest miles away from here. No spark of life in golden eyes.

And, when he dared to look to the floor, there was no spark of life in that armor either. But how... he shouldn’t... it was just shock at the news, right? Even as Roy helped the doctors lift up that armor, though, he knew. The heart thudding in his ears knew why he couldn’t see Alphonse looking back at him. That blood seal... Edward was the one who bonded Alphonse’s soul to that armor. Did he... he had to give up something to save his brother and bring him back, didn’t he.

Not just one Elric died in this room tonight. They both dared to die before him. Because of course they disobeyed his orders together.

"Colonel?” He barely registered the voices speaking at him, eyes that looked to him for answers, to lead, to give an order. Ice clattered on the floor where Alphonse’s armor was as he turned to face them, but his gaze lacked any sort of fire. No, he transmuted that like the clever fucking alchemist he was and had dihydrogen monoxide trailing down his cheeks.

“... Contact the Fuhrer. Tell him Edwa---Fullmetal is...” Nothing else. His throat closed in on itself as the doctors gave him their chorus of “Yes Sir. ”They didn’t speak as they moved around him, making notes on his son’s chart before taking that with them. Soon, no one else was in the room but him, Lyssa, and his two sons. Once the door closed, legs that carried his eldest son for miles collapsed out from under him. On the floor, Roy sought out both of his sons’ hands, gripping them as tight as he could manage.

“... in the wrong hands, it would bring naught but ill fortune.”

This was what his Master, the first casualty of flame alchemy, meant.

He couldn’t speak. Even if he could, the rain drowned out everything else, blinding him. There wasn’t a murderer he could channel all of his grief into, no single soul who could endure his wrath for daring to take away his sons. There was nothing he could do. Once again, he was alive while everyone who loved him died.

                                  It was another terrible day for rain.