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#fullmetal alchemist
stephysketchy · 24 minutes ago
Whaaaaaaaaaaaat a picture of Ed? An update on that comic I was drawing at least 3 years ago???? No surely not!
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by-nina · 52 minutes ago
For Tonight
AO3 | FFN Rating: T (suggestive content) Genre: Romance Word Count: 700
A/N: Dedicated to my friend @pataytayo, a kindred spirit from afar. I wanted to write straight fluff for you after all the angsty crap I made for Royai Week, but you can have a little spicy romance, as a treat. Happy birthday! ❤ Song inspiration: "So Slow" by Freestyle.
It’s a strange new way to know fire, but not nearly as strange as the fact that they have gone this long without allowing themselves a taste of this pleasure. It’s a natural desire, something that they both know has always been there, something that has been growing the more time they spent jointly devoted to the same dreams.
Fire is an old friend.
It has burned for Riza in every imaginable form in her life. Indeed, in many ways, Riza has been fire herself. Strong and persistent throughout her desolate childhood, unwavering in this life that she has devoted to protecting the lives of innocents and the ones she loves.
Riza has also been forged by fire in the hands of others. Her father had chained her with it by making fire her burden. Roy had freed her from it, with physical flames far less painful than the secrets he burned off her back. Fire has since been an ambivalent force in her life; something she needed to protect, and yet also something she needed to protect the world from.
But it is only tonight, in the dim, secluded comfort of the couch in her apartment, that Riza is meeting fire for the first time in the form of passion. It’s a gentle rush in Roy’s hands as he runs them through her hair, over the curves of her face down to her waist, across her skin as he helps her slide aside piece after piece of her clothing, slowly. It’s an ache and a glow in her chest, in the pit of her stomach and further below, on her lips and his as their breathy, tentative kisses set off sparks.
It’s a strange new way to know fire, but not nearly as strange as the fact that they have gone this long without allowing themselves a taste of this pleasure. It’s a natural desire, something that they both know has always been there, something that has been growing the more time they spent jointly devoted to the same dreams.
It’s persuasive—it easily leads Riza’s fingers down Roy’s chest where the buttons of his shirt come undone one by one, and it guides her against his body as Roy pulls her close into the spaces between his arms and legs.
It comes out in whispers of each other’s name—their first names—and breathy pleas of “touch me here” and “come closer” and “I want you”—“I need you”—
“I love you.”
Roy whispers it first, all at once certain and yearning and nervous—as if he never imagined that Riza has known his feelings for a long time, or that she has been secretly, guiltily hoping for the world to make room for them to find shelter in each other’s embrace.
Riza looks up, interrupting the kisses she has been planting on his partly-bare shoulder, and she can’t even describe the way he looks at her in the dark. She only knows that he looks the way she feels now.
“I love you,” she whispers back. She’s unable to hold back a dazed laugh, a breath of relief from finally being able to say the words. “I’ve loved you for so long.”
His shoulders fall with the release of tension. He smiles, strokes her hair with a trembling yet gentle hand. “I’ve loved you all my life.”
When they kiss again, the fire that has been burning between them seems to have changed. It’s just as ardent, just as warm, just as all-consuming as it always has been throughout their lives. But it has stopped pushing them to touch every part of each other that they can reach, or occupy as much space around each other as they possibly could. Their words have done that—filled the gaps between them and made them feel whole without even becoming one.
The fire tames them now. It lays Riza’s head onto Roy’s chest, where she can hear his heartbeat, loudened by want and yet slowed by contentment. It plants Roy’s arm firmly around Riza’s shoulders—he keeps her close and steady as she presses into his body and traces lazy shapes on his abdomen during the silence that has replaced their hunger to make love. It keeps them intertwined in the tiny space they have carved out together—never mind how their plans have changed for the night now that it is at last clear what they are, what they mean to each other.
Fire is the form that their love takes, even in a moment like this.
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bakemonogatarii · an hour ago
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Why is he so fineeee
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ideyaengine · 2 hours ago
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Since the zine has been out for a while now, I’m now allowed to post my contribution for @fmacookbookzine!!!
This project was a lot of fun! I received my copy a few days ago and I think it came out amazing!!! I’ve tried the red bean soup that I drew for and it was so good!!! I can’t wait to try the other recipes!! (p≧w≦q)
Since Fullmetal Alchemist is my all-time favorite manga and anime, I especially enjoyed working on this one!!! Not to mention I was lucky enough to been assigned to draw my favorite boi, Ling!!!! (ෆ`꒳´ෆ) ˡºᵛᵉ⃛
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robyn-runestone · 6 hours ago
I headcanon that Alphonse braids Edward's hair everyday. Ed doesn't admit it, but he really enjoys it when Alphonse braids his hair and he makes sure it happens every morning. It's kinda like therapy for both of them.
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incorrectfmaquotes · 7 hours ago
Hughes: What does this say? It’s in Xingese.
Roy: Why are you asking me? I’m not from there.
Hughes: Really? You’re of a... Xing-ish persuasion.
Roy: I’m Amestrian, dumbass! I was literally raised in a brothel.
Hughes: Alright, alright. Sorry I brought it up.
Havoc: I’m from Resembool!
Roy and Hughes: NOBODY CARES!
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Ed & Envy
Ling & Greed
Ed & Ling
Greed & Envy
Ling & Envy
Ed & Greed
Ed & Envy & Ling
Ed & Envy & Greed
Ed & Ling & Greed
Envy & Ling & Greed
Ed & Envy & Ling & Greed
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sweetiesplum · 7 hours ago
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"Race, Ethnicity, Gender, Class... Any Type Of Prejudice On The Battlefield Can Only Lead To Weakness & An Increase Of Casualties."
The Nothern Wall of Briggs
The older sister of Mayor Armstrong...
Emily Blunt facasted as Olivier Mira Armstrong in Fullmetal Alchemist
#fancastchallenge by @sweetiesplum
Jour 1 : Fancast Manga/Bande Dessinée
Premier jour du fancast challenge !** Je suis tellement contente qu’il commence ! Merci à tous et à toutes pour l’enthousiasme que vous avez montré à celui-ci ! Ca me fait tellement plaisir ! ♥
Alors, personnellement, j’ai choisi de faire un fancast pour le manga Fullmetal Alchemist. C’est pour moi mon manga préféré, celui qui est indétrônable. Je dirais que s’il ne faut lire qu’un seul manga, c’est celui-là. Pour le personnage, j’ai pas trop réfléchi : c’était la générale Armstrong. Point.
Pour ceux qui ne connaissent pas le manga, Olivier (Olivia en VF) Mira Armstrong est la générale commandant la forteresse de Briggs, celle se situant le plus au nord d’Amestris. Les héros Edward Elric et Alphonse Elric ne font sa rencontre que dans la seconde moitié de l’histoire lorsqu’ils recherchent de l’aide. La Générale Armstrong en plus d’être une leader charismatique, c’est une redoutable stratège militaire et une excellente combattante n’hésitant pas à sortir l’épée de la famille Armstrong pour combattre elle-même. Surnommée l’Invulnérable Mur du Nord ou encore la reine des glaces, la générale Armstrong est clairement le genre de personnage qui bottent les culs à tour de bras pour imposer sa place et son autorité, son frère cadet le Commandant Alex Louis Armstrong inclus. Je pense qu’au vu de la description, ce n’est pas bien compliqué de comprendre que c’est mon personnage préféré. ♥
Quant au choix de la célébrité, je reconnais que j’ai eu énormément de mal à choisir avant de m’arrêter sur Emily Blunt. Le principal impératif a été pour moi de respecter la contrainte de femme blanche blonde et d’une quarantaine d’années environ. Le choix de l’ethnie de l’actrice me semblait important à respecter car, dans le manga, on incite énormément sur les ethnies des personnages notamment car dans le passé proche d’Amestris, il y a eu un génocide ethnique qui laisse encore des traces (Ishbal). Et c’est justement  à contre courant de la pensée raciste des autorités d’Amestris que la Générale de Briggs, descendante de l’une des familles les plus anciennes d’Amestris, décide de fonder le fonctionnement de la forteresse sur le mérite plutôt que sur une quelconque discrimination qui pourrait affaiblir ses hommes au combat. Je trouve qu’Emily Blunt a totalement le profil pour incarner ce genre de personnage, d’où mon choix.
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storming-raumo · 8 hours ago
FMA Gender and Sexuality Headcanons
Brain go brr so I wanted to write down my thoughts about this. List will be big so it will be under the cut!
Ed: Trans Bi, with a preference for girls
Al: Pan demiboy, only really understood he had a somewhat disconnect from their gender after getting his body back, uses he/they pronouns
Winry: Bi, she loves girls so much, Ed is xeir exception, cis but likes xe/xem pronouns as well as she/her
Ling: Gay gay, homosexual, gay, Libramasculine (uses they/he)
Lan Fan: Trans girl, bi ace
Mei: Pan genderfae, uses she/cloud/panda pronouns
Scar: Nonbinary (im 100% sure ishvalans had a cultural nonbinary gender) uses all pronouns, Bi
Roy: Cis Het but has big bi wife energy
Riza: Girlflux Bi, uses she/them
Havoc: Trans Pan with a preference towards women
Falman: Nonbinary AroPan (uses they/ze)
Fuery: Agender Aro Ace (uses xe/xem)
Breda: Cis Gay
Hughes: Cis Pan, has a lot of love to give
Gracia: Cis Het but the biggest ally
Armstrong: Cis Gay
Olivier: Nonbinary Lesbian (uses she/they)
Miles: Androgyne Toric (uses they/xem)
Buccaneer: Trans Gay
Lust: Demigirl AroPan (she/they)
Envy: Nonbinary Omni (they/them)
Gluttony: Genderfluid Abro (ask for pronouns)
Sloth: Agender AroAce (all pronouns, literally doesnt care)
Greed: Pangender Pan (all pronouns)
Wrath: Demiboy het (he/they) [i see all homonculi on the nonbinary spectrum, otherwise he’d be a cishet]
Pride: Neutrois AroAce (they/them)
Father: Agender Pan (he/they)
Hohenheim: Cis Bi
Izumi: Demigirl Bisexual (she/them/ve)
Sig: Cis Pan
Trisha: Cis Pan
Fu: Cis het, loves his trans granddaughter, big ally
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incorrectfmaquotes · 8 hours ago
Ling, laying on the floor: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me, as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of death-
Ed: Dude... Are you okay?
Ling, tearing up: Lan Fan stole my garlic bread.
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utini501 · 8 hours ago
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Underrated character design trope: badass fat guy who is super ripped and could likely bench press an elephant.
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karinakamichi · 8 hours ago
For confirmation Dante was confirmed dead after being eaten by gluttony.
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incorrectfmaquotes · 9 hours ago
What doesn’t kill me should run, because now I’m fucking pissed.
Roy Mustang
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straightjohn2 · 10 hours ago
feeling-horsey said: D --> What is that
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flourchildwrites · 10 hours ago
“I want all my alchemists, current and former, to lay low for the time being while we reassess the State Alchemy program. I am here to ask what you want in return for your service and your discretion.”
Behind the reflective surface of his horn-rimmed glasses, Grumman’s eyes shift to the foot of Alphonse’s bed where Izumi’s cookbook sits open. “Your just deserts, as it were,” he adds with a smirk.
Alphonse doesn’t have to ponder what their plans are.
“All we want is to go home, sir, to Resembool,” Alphonse answers. He smiles to lighten the mood; loose skin pulls around the corners of his grin. “And I’d also like to see a few friends. Maybe try some of the foods from my list before we leave Central."
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Relationships & Characters: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Izumi Curtis/Sig Curtis, Gracia Hughes, Elicia Hughes, Grumman, Winry Rockbell, Pinako Rockbell
Genre: Character Study, Post-Promised Day, Recovery, Just Deserts
Trigger Warnings: Underweight Character
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,967 words (Complete)
A/N: I'm incredibly excited to share the fic I wrote for @fmacookbookzine, Tastes of Amestris! Most of the desserts mentioned in the story have recipes in the cookbook. I owe a special thanks to the zine moderator as well as my betas, Tas and @vino-and-doggos. I appreciate kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes, and reblogs if you feel so inclined.
Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. The repair becomes part of the object’s history and enhances its beauty.
There is a plate in the china cabinet of Pinako’s kitchen that Alphonse likes best. It looks the same as the others with pale pink vines looping along the fluted rim. Yet, this particular piece is set apart from the rest. Once cracked in half, Alphonse’s favorite plate has a vein of gold that binds the fractured parts together.
He was there when it happened on Winry’s sixth birthday. Ms. Sarah assembled an unorthodox birthday dessert in honor of the occasion, an elegant presentation of fresh berries, whipped cream, and puffs of baked meringue. The final touch was a pinch of mint, and once combined, Winry gazed excitedly at her mother’s handiwork stacked atop the fine china. In her wonder, the child’s footing faltered.
All told, it was an everyday accident that had Pinako tutting softly under her breath as she picked up the pieces; however, precious little went to waste in the Rockbell household—a place where broken things (and sometimes people) came to be restored. With the conscience of a healer and the precision of a surgeon, Granny carefully glued the jagged edges together with golden lacquer. Raised lines stuck out along the break and dried, leaving the piece even more beautiful for the story it had to tell.
When Alphonse looks in the mirror now, his face also tells a story. Though, he thinks that it is not a tale the hospital staff wants to hear. They are thankful for the large red letters that read ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamped across his medical chart. They look away from the sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks that stare back at Alphonse from the mirror Sig is holding for him. Each time Alphonse sees himself, he half expects to confront a gunmetal helmet with half-moon holes glowing red and horizontal vents instead of gutting cheekbones. The reality is disorienting but not unwelcome.
Like the metallic bond holding together his favorite plate, Alphonse likes the way his golden eyes gleam with the satisfaction of seeing his and Edward’s bodies restored. All except for his brother’s leg, and perhaps Edward does not regret that loss. It was a price paid-in-full for the people the Elric brothers helped and the lesson they learned, albeit the hard way.
Alphonse’s fingers tremble as he grasps the razor. He glances up from the mirror to the burly bear of a man holding it. “Press the razor to your face and gently pull upward,” Sig kindly instructs. “Let it do the work for you.”
The young man nods and does as instructed, ready to savor the task of shaving for the first time with the most patient person as his teacher. Alphonse takes his first pull of the razor, and it glides across his upper lip with little resistance until, at the very end, his hand trembles again.
He feels a sharp sensation, and while examining his visage in the mirror, Alphonse notices a red mark above the corner of his mouth mingled with traces of shaving cream. Sig holds out a handkerchief.
“You should have seen my first attempt. You did well,” Sig says with a pleasant grin.
A warmth fills Alphonse’s hospital room, crammed with four people who function as a family, just as they did back in Dublith. Edward reclines on the bed next to his brother with his arms stretched lazily behind his trademark braid. Izumi watches the exchange between her husband and Alphonse with a small smile, barely keeping up the pretense of reading her recipe book. She keeps her vigil at Alphonse and Ed’s bedside despite her injuries.
There’s a staccato series of knocks on the door. Between the abrupt sound and the sudden appearance of an officer drenched in Amestrian blue, the spell of domesticity is broken. It is replaced by a colder reality: Ed and Alphonse Elric are being kept by the military. They remain unsure who is being protected from whom and to what end.
Their guard straightens up. A sheen of sweat collects on his brows and the collar of his woolen uniform. His voice is strained as he pulls up into a rigid salute to address Ed. The Fullmetal Alchemist cocks his brow incredulously at the formal display.
“Sorry to intrude, Major Elric,” the officer finally announces, “Mr. Alphonse Elric. You have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Ed parrots; a sharp remark is already on the tip of his pitchy tongue. “If it’s that Colonel Bastard, again, you can tell him-”
“It’s not Colonel Mustang,” the officer interrupts. “It’s Genera- I mean Führer Grumman.”
The collective attention of the room turns as a shorter, older man emerges from behind the guard. He moves slowly and smiles through his thick, white mustache. The deep blue of his immaculate uniform contrasts the faded fabric of the lower-ranking officer ahead of him. Service ribbons in every color weigh down the left side of the gentleman’s long jacket.
“Acting Führer,” he corrects with adroit, disarming syntax. “But then, we’re all friends here. Who cares about a little thing like formalities?”
Alphonse scratches at his freshly shaven upper lip as the usual introductions are observed. It seems that Ed will be doing the talking, and with that in mind, Alphonse expects a brief visit. Nevertheless, Grumman paves the way for pleasantries as well as business. Not five minutes into the discussion, Alphonse realizes that the new acting Führer speaks with authority.
It would be wise, Alphonse decides, to listen carefully.
When Führer Grumman asks Izumi and Sig to step out for an afternoon cup of tea, the request is not a suggestion. The strong-willed teacher rises with the help of her husband, and the couple leaves begrudgingly. Alphonse grins sympathetically at them as they exit. It bolsters his confidence when Izumi returns his smile with an assertive nod.
Grumman does not hesitate to fill the seat their teacher vacated. Gravity bears down on Alphonse’s frail shoulders, but he sits as tall as he can.
“The way I hear it, you boys saved the day,” the Führer proclaims, flashing a set of pearly whites. “I’d say my government owes you both a debt of gratitude.”
With all the rough-edged diplomacy he can muster, Ed responds. “Yeah, well, we didn’t do it for the government, old man. And I’m done being a dog of the military. Whatever plans you’ve got in mind, count us out.”
The Führer’s reaction is nearly nonexistent. Instead, he leans against the hardback of the chair and immediately winces.
“Dreadfully uncomfortable,” he announces, shifting forward. Grumman waves a hand to draw the guard in closer. “Be a helpful lad. See that Mrs. Curtis is given more comfortable seating.”
The young officer scurries off, closing the door behind him, and the older gentleman turns his attention toward Alphonse.
“Oh, I understand perfectly. The military will ask nothing further of you if that’s what you want,” he replies. “But the situation we find ourselves in is unusual—a conspiracy in the upper echelons of the government, a nation-wide episode of unconsciousness, the condition of Alphonse’s body, and the inexplicable connection it all has to alchemy. These are the sort of concerns that fuel the rumor mill.”
The older gentleman pauses, idly twisting the ends of his mustache between his fingers as he divulges the political landscape of Amestris.
“I want all my alchemists, current and former, to lay low for the time being while we reassess the State Alchemy program. I am here to ask what you want in return for your service and your discretion.”
Behind the reflective surface of his horn-rimmed glasses, Grumman’s eyes shift to the foot of Alphonse’s bed where Izumi’s cookbook sits open.
“Your just deserts, as it were,” he adds with a smirk.
Alphonse doesn’t have to ponder what their plans are.
“All we want is to go home, sir, to Resembool,” Alphonse answers. He smiles to lighten the mood; loose skin pulls around the corners of his grin. “And I’d also like to see a few friends. Maybe try some of the foods from my list before we leave Central. When I can eat solids again, that is.”
“Your list?” the Führer asks.
“It was in a book he used to keep,” Ed explains. His tone softens, as it always does when he speaks of his brother. “It listed foods he wanted to try when he was inside... Anyway, I think we lost it.”
“I see.”
Grumman’s response is curt. With a final flourish, the old man straightens his cap and rises from the chair. It seems that he’s heard all he needs to hear.
“I’m going to keep an eye on you boys,” he concludes. “Just the one, mind you, for whatever that’s worth. It’s a fine idea for you both to return to Resembool. Recuperate and rest, and when you figure out what you’d like to do with your time, give me a call.”
The old man produces an ivory card from the pocket of his uniform; a phone number is scribbled on the front. The card itself is an innocuous thing, but the peace offering reeks of political maneuvering. Ed frowns as Führer Grumman places the card on the small table between the brothers’ beds. Alphonse is torn, equal parts intrigued and wary of the strings attached to this phone number.
“The good people here tell me that Alphonse will be ready to travel in four months,” Grumman continues. “In the meantime, I’ll see that you are allowed visitors and suitable food that Alphonse would like to become reacquainted with.”
Alphonse focuses on the task at hand. He thinks of the timeline and of the way Edward approached his recovery from the automail installation. A determined glint ignites in his golden eyes, almost glossy with the lacquer of conviction. Alphonse is weak, but his spirit remains tireless.
“I’ll do it in two,” he says.
Edward, only too happy to put the politics of Central City behind them, nods in agreement.
A month’s time sees Alphonse with his hair clipped short; his once sunken cheeks have regained some fullness. Edward, Sig, and Izumi have long since been discharged, but they take turns keeping Alphonse company from the spare couch of his hospital room. Just like Führer Grumman promised, it’s more comfortable than the standard chairs, but that doesn’t mean Alphonse is content to linger.
Now more than ever, he’s determined to go home, walking unassisted down Resembool’s roads. However, for the moment, it’s all Alphonse can do to steady his awkward gait by digging his toes into mats and bracing his arms against the parallel bars. He thinks something as simple as walking should come easily; his legs have other ideas. Another fall brings his physical therapy to an end for the day, and Alphonse returns to his hospital room.
He takes the bumps and bruises in stride. He makes it a point to smile at the staff even when their treatments bring him pain alongside progress. From the confines of a wheelchair, Alphonse greets his guard—a man called Doug who likes comic books and whistles to fill the silence. Doug never pries and is quick to look the other way when Ed overstays his official welcome.
“Ready for more visitors?” Doug asks.
Alphonse’s face lights up with anticipation, and he cranes his neck to peer around the doorframe. Tawny brown hair and emerald eyes fill his field of vision as the small body of a precocious child lunges toward him. She nearly jumps into his lap before her mother pulls her back while balancing a covered plate with one arm.
“Elicia! Ms. Gracia!” Alphonse greets. Recognition washes over both visitors' faces at the sound of Alphonse’s voice.
“So that’s what you look like,” Elicia observes. She giggles madly, rocking back and forth from heel to toe.
Alphonse is quick to change the subject; he also refuses to think about the way Elicia’s gregarious nature reminds him of a certain someone.
The visit is pleasant and predictable. Gracia frets about his weight and serves him a double portion of adorable pudding domes that mother and daughter whipped up for the visit. The vanilla concoctions are cleverly molded into cat-shaped faces, painted with slanting eyes and curving mouths. Soft and creamy with a hint of coffee, they are as sweet as Elicia.
Between the confection and the company, Alphone passes an hour or more catching up on life and letting the child bounce between the walls of his hospital room. When mother and daughter depart (with promises to return with quiche), the silence feels harder to swallow. Alphonse cannot help but think of Winry and Pinako, of apple pie and strong coffee mixed with the smell of automail oil.
He wants, more than anything, to go home.
The doctors are surprised when Alphonse meets his deadline; Ed, ever faithful, is not. Alphonse leaves Central City General with his head held high and only stops to rest when the hospital is out of sight. His senses are overwhelmed by the feeling of a starched collar against the back of his neck, the pull of a new vest across his chest, and the weight of Grumman’s card in his pocket.
Alphonse follows Ed’s lead through neat cobblestone roads that feel familiar and yet entirely different, steeped in a tactile reality that he can touch, feel, and taste. Thick exhaust from passing cars sticks to the back of his throat on their way to the train station. Yet, the stench is suddenly replaced by delicious aromas wafting from a nearby café.
His rumbling stomach is drawn to a wide store window where rounds of raspberry mousse cake sit proudly on display. Chilled pink and green tinted layers sit beneath a tempting red glaze that appears sticky, smooth, and oh-so delectable. Alphonse imagines that the confection tastes tart and tangy with notes of brandy and pistachios. He wants to charge into the cafe and order every morsel that’s for sale, but his brother has other ideas.
“Better get going,” Ed says, throwing an arm around Alphonse’s shoulders to steer him away from temptation. “We’ve got a train to catch. You’ve been waiting a long time for what Winry’s whipping up.”
Reluctantly, Alphonse tears himself away from the sight but not before committing the name of the confection and the café to memory. He leaves Central swearing that, when the time is right, he’ll be back.
Their return isn’t quite as Alphonse imagined. There’s no hero’s welcome; only a few nods of recognition are offered as they make their way down Resembool’s country roads. But as soon as Alphonse sees the Rockbell residence, a place that marks their journey’s end, accolades don’t matter.
Edward offers to carry him, and Alphonse refuses, bracing himself against his walking stick instead. With gratitude, he thinks of the people that have propelled the brothers along their quest—especially the travelers from Xing. He hopes that they, too, made it home.
And in the blink of an eye, their dream is realized. Den pounces upon Alphonse, recognizing him despite the amount of time that has passed. Winry isn’t far behind. She tackles the brothers to the ground and wraps her arms around them. The trio is a mess of blonde hair and tears of joy.
“Dummies, welcome home!” she exclaims, and for now, Alphonse is inclined to believe this is where he belongs. In this home and amongst these people, he intends to reconcile the pieces of himself while his appetite for the sweet things in life returns.
Winry serves him her famed apple pie on the pink porcelain plate, its halves still bound together by golden lacquer. It’s wonderful and not just because of the flaky crust that crumbles under his fork or the cinnamon sweetness of the soft apples. It’s wonderful because, for the first time in a long time, Alphonse is precisely where he wants to be.
Many apple pies are shared around Pinako’s dinner table. There are also birthday cakes for Alphonse (two to be exact) and pans of bread pudding served with blueberries and vanilla sauce. He eats and laughs and grows stronger by the day.
When Alphonse looks in the mirror now, he still likes what he sees, and the girls in town tend to agree. His favorite white-collar shirts hint at the toned torso hiding beneath, and his square jaw exudes newfound confidence. Yet, his ambition to make their world a better place remains the same—too loud for a quiet country backdrop.
Alphonse realizes that the path he is meant to walk extends much farther. His studies, inspired by the prospect of adventure and letters from a feisty alkahestress, resonate with the Dragon’s Pulse. Finally, Alphonse is compelled to dial the number scribbled on the back of the old ivory card and is delighted when he’s connected to the nation’s most powerful man straightaway.
“Had your fill of Resembool yet, son?” Führer Grumman asks. “Are you ready to add to that list of yours?”
“Funny you should bring up my list,” Alphonse retorts, more than willing to play Grumman’s game of allusion. “There’s this Xingese dessert that Princess Mei Chang goes on about in her letters, a red bean soup. It would be a shame if I never tried it, don’t you think?”
Grumman chuckles. “Suppose you could use some diplomatic credentials for the trip. Try not to cause an international incident until Mustang takes over.”
The golden glint in Alphonse’s eyes makes no guarantees. His well-mannered innocence is tempered by past mistakes and fused with a gunmetal resolve.
“I can’t make any promises,” he replies.
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