#wyrdify

WYRDIFY, FLAMELEADS & HAWKSIGHTS.

“ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐋, 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄? “ a very long pause, and that impish, devilish, sun-grin lights his face. he’s clearly in heaven if he believed in it. but the prodigy does not, and so he’ll settle with this apple pie. 

wait. 

does this bastard know he’s --- never mind when they do the date of his birthday he can say alphonse did it. because he did, right? right. a stealth mission so he won’t have to see his face -- hell, he can do it for the shock factor. right? right.

“ ... you think because you’re the colonel you have rights to my pie? okay. i’ll shoot. what’s your toll?” what could possibly measure an apple pie. is he really challenging him to his slice of pie. the audacity the nerve -- very roy mustang. the perpetual weird thorn in his side that sometimes smiled at him and he didn’t get it. adults sure as hell were weird in central. almost like he ca---never mind. sometimes even geniuses couldn’t process everything.

.... is he actually going through with ‘that plan’?

For every 🔖 I will draw my muse!

Palette Meme || Accepting (Slowly)

It was the near three months of recuperating bedrest that always made him fidgety , and when he was back on his feet ( literally ) it didn’t matter who it was that got to fill up for all that lost time. 

All it was was a mere simple bump into him in the mess hall , one of the new shrimps who talked too big for their position. He was dragged out by his uniform , and all Emil remembers is the familiar sting of the syringe and he was out. He’ll find out who it was -- he wonders who made it there fast enough. 

      he knows the drill. he’s like a child that got called to the principals office. What he doesn’t know is what his penalty is going to be this time. He rubs the sore spot on his neck and takes a seat in front of the other. 

“  hurts “ he says out loud a calloused hand moving to ease a spot so sore, trying to make his garbled voice sound as pathetic as he could. He wanted to make him feel so bad , but he knows his chances are low. 

{ ♙ } someone’s cup of tea || Accepting || @wyrdify​​ / @flameleads​ { ♙ }

          [ Wasn’t that thoughtful? Amid that seasonal transition of temperatures, it has been rather chilly in the office. Fuery’s even taken to wearing his coat indoors, on the chillier occasion. Thankfully, he’s too deep in focus to feel the chill, is only snapped from it at the sound of clinking porcelain. ]

     ❝ For me, sir? ❞

           [ A steaming cup of tea, delivered by his colonel, alongside a tiny tray of additives. Is the coat too obvious? Ah, well. Before knowing whether cream, sugar, or honey is to be desired, Kain will taste it first. And even before he brings it to his mouth, catches a waft of warm cinnamon. After a sip ( youch, singing the tip of his tongue! ), there’s no doubt about it: a yerba mate, from much sunnier climate than here. Brewed with spices that reminisce cozier times; beyond that cinnamon, there are notes of star anise, cardamom, lemongrass, and what he’s certain is a touch of ginger. And if he trusts his nose, Kain thinks he even smells orange zest.

            Even after he swallows, the pleased exhale he breathes feels soothing in his throat. Must be one of those premium, imported teas the higher ups use. Now Kain can understand why: it’s comforting, like sitting by the furnace thru a rain storm. ]

"Trouble? No, no trouble. Actually it's been pretty quiet." A smile spread across her face, "I think they got scared off by the new 'guard dog' hanging around." Kisara giggled.