eastprince

[eastprince]

Rainbow Fruit Salad

Recipe by The Cozy Apron

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[eastprince]

🌿 a study of oranges 🍊

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[eastprince]

Lemon Pancakes

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[eastprince]

“the sun” by edvard munch

1911; oil on canvas

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[eastprince]

alchemsol​:

| Ed rolled his eyes. Like Roy gave a single rat’s ass about them being part of his job. ‘Something like that’ for sure, given he was who he reported under, but he somehow severely doubted that entailed needing to make sure that they were both well off physically. If not to further his own means, anyways.

And, begrudgingly, “I won’t need therapy.”

| Still the bastard’s fault, though. But hell, if he did go to therapy, what were they going to do anyways? Hand him a bag of cocaine and say that it’d make him feel better if he snorted some of it? Amestrian psychology didn’t do much good to begin with.

|He still didn’t look up as Roy approached, dully acknowledging the bag of groceries(?) being placed onto the table. His eyes only flicked upwards as he felt a palm pressing against his forehead, the corners of his lips quirking downwards instinctually. 

| And, if only to make matters worse, he voiced what he’d silently been dreading.

‘Fever’.

| His tongue swirled around the crevices of his mouth, stamping out the dry spots that had suddenly welled up inside. The hand still resting on his injured leg curled inwards, and he shook his head, hung low.

“…I don’t have a fever,” he mumbled in such a tone so uncharacteristically soft, head averting to an entirely different direction. “I don’t get sick. I’m probably just overheating.”

| ...It couldn’t have been because of the bullet, right? Did he have to check up on the wound later? There was a quiet sort of avoidance to the topic he’d never liked to touch at all, and it’d been the same reason he’d gotten into it with Alphonse in the first place earlier.

| He hadn’t remembered much about what that’d been like, after all.

| Regardless, saying he was ‘just overheating’ was a goddamn lie. He’d always been dramatically easy to get chilly, and the weather wasn’t quite helping either. Everything was a clear lie. 

He just wished things could be left at where they were.

Roy drew himself up to full height, an indescribable look in his eyes that was neither pitying nor cold.

A fever... Come to think of it, that wasn’t much of a surprise, was it? Between the cold weather and recovering from a gunshot wound, Edward getting sick was little more than an inevitability. And while he wouldn’t claim to be an expert, Roy doubted that having two automail limbs was much help in that regard.

What did catch him off-guard was Edward’s response. Roy had expected only what he’d learned to expect from him: something like a snarky reply, arms crossed over the chest, a haughty turn of the head that befitted his ego. Maybe he expected that because that might have been his own reaction in the same situation. But that wasn’t what he got. No, instead Edward hung his head low and even as he lied through his teeth, he sounded soft. Quiet. Wrong.

It wasn’t like him.

“Think what you want,” said Roy, crossing his arms over his chest. “That isn’t going to make you any less sick.”

Sick with a fever no less. It was just his luck to come home only to have to take care of a sick, stubborn teenager. He wasn’t going to sit around and feel sorry for himself, though, and so he redirected his thoughts to the more important question at hand: the question of what to do. It wasn’t as though he could just leave him like this.

“Just—stay there,” he started, exasperation lacing his voice. “That’s an order, Fullmetal. I don’t want you passing out in my living room.”

As Roy spoke he stepped around the coffee table and, moments later, disappeared into the hallway. The first order of business, seeing as he called bullshit on the ‘overheating’ excuse, was to find a blanket (or two) and force the kid into some much needed bedrest.

#alchemsol #☾ i. - What a tough country. | interactions #☾ g. - I don’t need your guilt or your pity. | angst & hurt/comfort #☾ c. - THE COMMONER. | edward elric #☾ v. - The day before tomorrow. | canonverse #(roy mustang is unaware of the horrors) #(ft. society if I hadn't lost my og reply...)

[eastprince]

Meyer Lemon Loaf Cake

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[eastprince]

alchemsol​:

| Ed continued staring down at the notepad in his hand blankly. He knew that he’d been writing down notes– he remembered that, and the papers crumpled up and wrinkled in their spread on the coffee table said that much. But… fuck, what’d he been writing again?

| …And then Roy was asking why exactly Al had left, and he grimaced.

“S’none of your business,” he hissed through his teeth, mechanical fingers travelling down to his leg and squeezing the skin around where the bullet had been bandaged up. Sore. “Why do you care, anyway?”

| Glancing back down, he snuffed. He, in a very pathetic and barely noticeable form of retaliation, refused to even look up as he heard the approaching footsteps. He could feel as Roy stared at him, even still, and he frowned deeper.

“…Gee, tell me what you really think,” he grumbled, glancing momentarily to the book in his lap. Medicinal alchemy…?“Would it shock you if I told you I feel like shit, too?”

| …Well, he did feel like shit, though. He wasn’t really shocked that, according to Mustang, he even looked like shit. He felt rather dizzy. And there had been the light tremor to his hands that he hadn’t known was there before. And apparently, he couldn’t even remember anything for more than five minutes. But that could also just be attributed to his memory stinking the second he got distracted.

“Y’know, you’re not supposed to tell kids that they look like shit, Colonel. That’ll give ‘em a complex later in life. Really.” He paused, face dead as stone. “If I start succumbin’ to societal beauty standards by the time I’m twenty-five it’ll be all your fault.”

…What a menace.

"Because you—both of you—are, for the time being, in my care. That makes keeping track of you two part of my job.”

Or something like that.

The hissed-out response was telling, though. Between Edward not knowing where Alphonse had gone and getting pissy over the question of why he’d left, Roy felt he had reason enough to assume that they’d had an argument. Probably over Edward being stubborn. That tended to be the main catalyst of their arguments whenever he had the misfortune of hearing them.

And if he had to guess, Edward being sick probably wasn’t unrelated.

“Really now?” he deadpanned, matching the other’s expression. “Then you’ll have plenty to talk about in therapy.”

Roy set the paper bag down on the coffee table and, once he was sure it wouldn’t tip over, he crouched beside the sofa. From here he could see the shake of the kid’s hands. Definitely unwell. And when he pressed his hand against Edward’s forehead, his frown deepened and his brow creased further. He was hot to the touch.

He pursed his lips.

“Just as I thought,” he said, pulling his hand away and standing back up. “You have a fever.”

#alchemsol #☾ i. - What a tough country. | interactions #☾ g. - I don’t need your guilt or your pity. | angst & hurt/comfort #☾ c. - THE COMMONER. | edward elric #☾ v. - The day before tomorrow. | canonverse #(roy mustang has surpassed the low low bar of not calling a child ugly)

[eastprince]

cinemagraph artist

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[eastprince]

alchemsol​:

| Being shot in the leg, of course, wasn’t fun in prospect. At first as soon as the sharp pains had turned into an aching soreness it hadn’t been so bad; more like a day off school and not much else. Since he didn’t have to go to work, and all. Whether that was good or bad considering his entire… situation, was beyond him.

| Of course, getting around was a bitch, given the wound was still closing up. He had to put most of his weight onto his left leg, which strained and chafed where his skin met his automail port, and the light amount of pressure he did put onto his bogus leg still hurt.

| It’d been around somewhere midday when he started feeling sick. It’d been sweats, at first; out of nowhere, even though he hadn’t been doing much at all. And then it’d been the dizziness when he stood up to go check the fridge for any snacks (which disappointingly hadn’t turned up fruitful), and then it’d been the overwhelming nausea.

| …And, in his defense, he’d been feeling absolutely horrible when he’d begun snarking at Al for expressing his concerns.

| In the meanwhile, he’d decided to get off his ass and actually do something. He used his highest efforts to find some book at least mildly interesting in Roy’s shitty, shitty ‘house’, followed by a notebook and pen, and began to write down whatever new that he learned. Or what theories he might have.

| That hadn’t ended up much fruitful, either, but he’d been too exhausted to go back beyond that point. The notes scattered about the coffee table in front of him were half-assed and almost illegible, and what was capable of being made out was likely comically terrible to anyone who even understood a smidgeon of alchemy. 

| …As the door jingled and clattered its way open, Ed’s head turned.

…Had it been that dark before?

| For a moment, he was caught off-guard entirely, even to the point of neglecting Mustang’s announcement of rearrival. Maybe he’d been fainter than he thought. He did feel a bit colder than he did before, too…

| But that meant Al must’ve been out for a while by now. Momentarily, he felt a flash of concern, all before he remembered that he was still supposed to be pissed at him and he just felt the same way that he had before all over again.

| Speaking of Al…

“Out.” He said, flatly. “Dunno where.”

| Quickly, he changed his gaze from Roy’s face back to his notes– before blinking. How long had he been holding this notebook? And when he looked at it, really, he realized that he couldn’t even read a single thing there at all. If he looked down, he’d see a similarly unfamiliar book still parted open on his lap.

| Stranger still was the sweat matted to his face, followed by the pale everything else.

‘Out.’ 

Roy sighed, supposing he should have surmised that much. That certainly explained why the door was unlocked. It didn’t explain much else, though.

“And why, pray tell, did he leave?”

How bold of him to have expected a peaceful night off. He jostled the bag of groceries in his arm, walking closer to the coffee table—and by extension, Edward—to get a better look at the notes scattered across its surface. He’d attributed the illegible scrawl to distance, but now that he was up close, it didn’t look any better. Even the reports that he knew had been rushed on the train up to East City had been readable. Yet the writing all along the papers looked sloppy. Shaky. He couldn’t make out a single word.

When his gaze flitted back up to Edward, he paused. His brow creased, his mouth opened—

“Man, you look like shit.”

Now that he could see Edward up close, he could see it wasn’t just looking pale or tired. He could see strands of hair matted to his face with sweat, how pale he really was, and the fact he didn’t look all too steady. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if the kid was running a fever right now.

Shit. He really did have a sick teenager in his house.

#alchemsol #☾ i. - What a tough country. | interactions #☾ g. - I don’t need your guilt or your pity. | angst & hurt/comfort #☾ c. - THE COMMONER. | edward elric #☾ v. - The day before tomorrow. | canonverse #(did roy lose his self-restraint or did he just want to tell ed he looks like shit. come back tomorrow at 8pm to find out!)

[eastprince]

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ♡

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[eastprince]

—-☆ starter: @alchemsol​

By the time Roy turned onto his block, the sun had just about set. 

He’d only been off of work for an hour, maybe two, and it was already dark. Exhausted, he parked his car, took out the brown paper bag full of groceries he’d bought for dinner, and closed the door firmly behind him. Almost unwittingly his gaze flickered up toward the house that was his only by technicality; it was a narrow house, one that he rented rather than owned, and he wished he could simply walk in and collapse on the couch and sleep there.

Yeah, that’d be nice...

If only there wasn’t a sick teenager in his house right now.

Well, he didn’t know about sick. When he’d left in the morning for work, Elric had seemed a bit unwell, but that was all. It didn’t seem like anything that couldn’t be fixed with some water and a nap. Yet as Roy walked up the little pathway up to his front door, he felt uneasy. Maybe it was because it was completely silent; there were no voices floating through, muffled by the door, nor bickering, nor anything else he’d come to expect from the Elric brothers. Just silence.

Roy fumbled for the key only to find the door already unlocked. It opened easily and it closed just as easily behind him. And still it was too quiet; there was no clanking of metal, no padding footsteps—nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“I’m home,” he called out.

He walked further in, paper bag cradled in one arm, and he was stopped short when he stepped into the living room.

It was a mess. Or rather the area centralised around the couch was a mess. The coffee table was cluttered with papers that he certainly hadn’t left there; on some of them he could make out scrawled handwriting that looked far messier than the neat cursive he was used to seeing in Fullmetal’s reports. And Fullmetal... He looked worse than he had when Roy left that morning. A lot worse. 

Roy just barely had the restraint to keep from telling him flat-out that he looked like shit.

"... Where’s Alphonse?”

#alchemsol #☾ i. - What a tough country. | interactions #☾ g. - I don’t need your guilt or your pity. | angst & hurt/comfort #☾ c. - THE COMMONER. | edward elric #☾ v. - The day before tomorrow. | canonverse #(my followers like what do you mean y'all are writing sick comfort for ed AGAIN) #(well you see this time it's ed's dad comforting him . it's different)

[eastprince]

alchemsol​:

| Yeah, right. It felt that at this point Winry had just come over to fight, and even though she was… technically right, he preferred to think that she wasn’t in the matter. After all, he was still trying to vainly convince himself that he wasn’t sick.

| Ed sighed noisily as he watched her puff her cheeks out, side-stepping as she forced her way through the door. The graze made him frown, if only because he didn’t want her sick, even though thinking that such small contact would do that was irrational. 

| Quietly, he closed the door behind her. He continued to grip the side of his head– aching, still, following suit in her footsteps as she moved about.

“Sure,” he hummed, voice flat. Not as annoyed as before though. “Don’t mind the mess. I already told you that I was in the middle of doin’ dishes.”

| ‘The mess’ being the dust and scattered buildup littering every surface, although not terribly overwhelming. It just… needed some dusting and sweeping. The living room was covered to hell with papers and assorted contents from his emptied luggage from Aerugo, however.

“Geesh. You’re in such a mood today.”

Winry stood still for a moment, looking wide-eyed at the living room. It was only when she heard the door close behind her that she caught herself, walking further into the house and pretending she hadn’t been staring.

That must've been the mess Ed was talking about: the heap of papers and other odds-and-ends that seemed to cover the room, accented by the dust that settled elsewhere. She watched the floor, taking care not to accidentally step on anything.

Geez. Ed had mentioned getting stuff done around the house, but she still hadn’t expected it to be so... well, messy.

“Only because you’re being dense,” she quipped back. Her boots thunked against the floor as she stepped around the mess and toward the kitchen.

... But was he wrong?

It wasn’t that she was actually mad at him, she was just—frustrated. He always had to be so stubborn. And she was worried, too. Not just because he was sick, either; when she walked into the kitchen, it looked like it’d gotten the same neglectful treatment that the rest of the house seemed to. It wasn’t horrible, it just...

Winry shook her head and set the box down on the kitchen table, beginning to wish she’d brought soup instead of an apple pie. She stared at it for a moment, contemplative, before turning in Ed’s direction.

“Um... A little late on the spring cleaning, aren’t we?”

#alchemsol #☾ i. - What a tough country. | interactions #☾ g. - I don’t need your guilt or your pity. | angst & hurt/comfort #☾ c. - THE COMMONER. | edward elric #☾ v. - A brighter future. | post-promised day #(winry like maybe i shouldn't assume my bestie isn't taking care of himself In General!) #(as if that hasn't been her whole life since she was 12)

[eastprince]

alchemsol​:

| Ed was entirely incapable of noticing as Winry stepped forwards, at least at first. His head– the side of it, anyways– was still cradled by his hand, eyes screwed shut as he tried to force the dull throbs to the back of his mind.

| Until he felt her hand pressing against his forehead.

“I don’t have a fever,” he sighed, despite knowing damn well that he was lying. “M’probably just sweating. I’ve been up for a while anyway.”

| With his eyes finally open, he rolled them, all before propping off of the door and shaking his head. In reality, he knew that he had a fever. He simply didn’t want to acknowledge it. But he needed something– anything to keep his mind off of that.

| He hated the concept of being sick. Ever. He simply liked to think that he was invincible in that regard, when in reality, he was essentially the opposite. Automail did that to you. Especially when the weather changed.

“Are you gonna come in or not? And I’m lettin’ you freeze if you keep talking my damn ears off about bein’ sick.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Sweating? Ed, I can tell the difference between a fever and a work-out.”

Winry didn’t buy his excuses, not for a second. She could tell that he was sick; it was plain as day! Why was he even trying to lie to her, a doctor (sort of), of all people? If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought it was for his own benefit.

What gives? she wondered, once more cradling the box with both of her hands. Being sick sucks, but it’s not the end of the w...

Oh.

That could be it.

At first she’d thought it was him being stubborn like always, but she wondered if it was because of what happened when they were little. The epidemic. She wasn’t really sure, but...

... Well, she was decided, then. She was going to help Ed whether he liked it or not. 

Winry puffed her cheeks out huffily at the threat-slash-invitation. She would have quipped right back, too, if it weren’t for the well-timed gust of wind that left her shivering and clutching the box in her hands, wishing again that she’d dressed just a little bit warmer.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming in,” she grumbled, stepping forward and brushing past Ed. “I’ll put this in the kitchen, okay?”

#alchemsol #☾ i. - What a tough country. | interactions #☾ g. - I don’t need your guilt or your pity. | angst & hurt/comfort #☾ c. - THE COMMONER. | edward elric #☾ v. - A brighter future. | post-promised day #(winry like 'why is my friend irrational' *remembers the trauma* Oh) #(couldn't do outfit consistency not enough icon options </3)

[eastprince]

alchemsol​:

| Winry visiting was a pleasant surprise, sure, even if his legs were currently fighting the overwhelming urge to buckle beneath him. Particularly his left. His left ached, ached like hell, and he mentally noted to put some scalding water on it later.

| …’Are you sick’?

“Mmh, no,” he muttered sharply, shaking his head as he pressed his body weight into the doorway. “Just tired. I’ve been tryin’ to get stuff around the house done. Weather isn’t helping.”

| He spoke in short, punctual sentences, if only a result of the headache pounding against his skull. He lifted a hand to the side of his head, eyes drifting shut for a few moments as he counted his breaths.

| He was not sick.

“But now I’m curious. What’s in the box?”

Winry frowned, watching Ed more closely as he leaned into the doorway. He looked tired, she’d grant him that much, but it seemed like he could barely even keep himself upright. There was no way he was ‘just tired’; he had to be sick, she could tell. And that was when the realisation hit her properly:

Ed was sick.

How sick, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she didn’t like the way he sounded, she didn’t like the way he looked, and she sure as hell didn’t like the way he tried to change the subject.

With an especially stubborn look on her face, Winry stepped closer. She readjusted the box so it was held from the bottom in one hand; she pressed the back of her other hand against his forehead, her lips pursing.

“You have a fever,” she said decisively, pulling her hand away. “What the hell are you thinking, being out of bed like this?”

#alchemsol #☾ i. - What a tough country. | interactions #☾ g. - I don’t need your guilt or your pity. | angst & hurt/comfort #☾ c. - THE COMMONER. | edward elric #☾ v. - A brighter future. | post-promised day #(winry is once again reminded her bestie is a complete idiot)

[eastprince]

📖 A-Z CHARACTER CHALLENGE 🔤

WITH @HANAE-ICHIHARA

   ↪ 23/26 - Winry Rockbell ✧ ウィンリィ・ロックベル { Fullmetal Alchemist }

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[eastprince]

alchemsol​:

| Everything, of course, ached.

| Every bone in his body sent dull aches and pains throughout his entire being, almost unbearable, but terrifically familiar. It was a common occurrence that happened each year, but he’d been used to it by this point. In his mind, the best thing he could do was ignore it and persevere.

| …Which, of course, meant to ignore the bile constantly crawling up his throat. The slight shake to his legs and hands. The cold sweats. There were the headaches, too, just as pounding as waves on a shore.

| It’d been far worse when he was younger, given the arm. The arm still did ache– what was left of it, anyway– the metal screwed into his bones and flesh that the doctors couldn’t remove without getting rid of the arm entirely. The metal circling around his nerves. He could still feel it when he stretched wrong, sometimes.

| And the area around his thigh was swollen, he knew; puffy and red. Warm baths usually helped, but he couldn’t stay in them too long. Massages were probably the best thing man had ever invented for this time of year.

| Of course, he still tried his damndest to brush all of that off. His hands, stinging and soaked, were busied with the dishes in the sink that he’d been procrastinating on for the past god knew how long. Things had been piled up, and the house was far beyond overdue for a cleaning. There was gunk under his fingernails that made his throat burn even more, and his back and leg protested horribly from standing too long.

| But he needed a distraction. Any kind of distraction. He simply ignored the fact that he had a fever, and when he looked in the mirror, he was paler than usual. He hadn’t even such as bothered taking any medicine.

| He was not sick.

| With a sharp inhale, he turned his attention to the door as one– two, three knocks interrupted his train of thought. He turned the faucet off (…that had been on?) and wiped his hands haphazardly onto his pants, all before quickly pacing towards the door.

| …Hell, he thought to himself, gaze following the living room as he made his way, I should’ve just cleaned the damn house first.

“…Winry?” He muttered as the door opened, although it sounded more like a croak in reality. He almost winced hearing himself, before laughing awkwardly. Certainly only to ease himself. “Hey, what…”

| Momentarily, he regretted not cleaning the house sooner even more. Especially as his gaze flickered down to the box in her hands. Right.

“What’re you here for? Last I checked, you don’t exactly do visits off business.”

Winry absentmindedly rocked on her heels as she waited, still looking at where the swing used to be. That was only until the door began to open; her head turned to the sound—

—and she stared at Ed standing there in the doorway.

“I... came by to give you this,” she said slowly, hands curled around the box, “but...”

He looked bad. Scratch that, he looked awful. He looked pale, far more than he should, and that was nothing on how his voice sounded. She’d expected him to be a little under the weather when she’d come over, but this was something else.

“... Are you sick?”

#alchemsol #☾ i. - What a tough country. | interactions #☾ g. - I don’t need your guilt or your pity. | angst & hurt/comfort #☾ c. - THE COMMONER. | edward elric #☾ v. - A brighter future. | post-promised day #(winry voice ed you dumb bitch)

[eastprince]

in my heart Ed still retained his short king status into adulthood

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