Does the dress look okay?
OOC: Most of my Lust cosplay except for my gloves and the tattoo. Thoughts?
Sorry about that. My mental status was in the shitter, so I needed to take a personal break.
But hi guys!
I’ve not been doing too well mentally, and i’m finding it hard to keep up with rps. Sorry if I made anyone feel ignored. It’s not fair to you and i’m sorry.
I will be back when I feel better.
A frown crossed Frank’s face. For some reason, everything on him had shrunk down except for the contents of his pockets. Having found a heavy wallet in his pocket with his name on a card, he briefly contemplated just going to the Military with it, but… still, his name was on it. And a foreign address in Central.
With a bit of asking around, the boy finally made his way to the house, figuring maybe he’d been out of it for a while. He’d had a few health complications in the past, wouldn’t be the first time he woke up somewhere else than his last recollection.
Maybe his dad’d brought him in and he’d wandered off without him even realising it.
Breathing in deeply, he moved up to the door, pushing up onto his tiptoes to pull the string for the bell. For some reason, it felt unusual to be so… short, at a mere 4’11”. Stepping back, he patted down his tidy dress shirt, staring up at the door.
It wasn’t like he was scared of anything in Central. At least, not in the decent neighbourhoods- the military would have his back, especially if they knew who his father was.
When Kimblee awoke that morning, he found himself in a strange bed he didn’t normally sleep in. He was under a ceiling he didn’t see every night, and there were smells that had never crossed his palet before wafting around.
The first thing he did when he got out of bed was look for this mother. He called out to her, feeling dread when he didn’t hear a reply. Grabbing the nearest lamp for protection, he slowly made his way out of the room.
When he found that no one was there, he became even more confused. If he had been kidnapped, then why was he able to walk around freely?
Scanning his environment, he walked into the kitchen. He needed to find out where he was quickly so he could figure out how to get home. Seeing a stack of bills on the counter, he narrowed his eyes.
Then things became more confusing. His name was on the bills, which meant he was the owner of the house. Right as he put the bills down, there was a ring from the doorbell. Walking over, he unlocked the door and slowly opened it, terrified he would face-
A boy? What was a boy doing here? Better yet, why was the boy his age? “Can I help you?” He asked politely.
“What are you talking ab-“
POOF
“…where am I?”
“Yes,” he replied swiftly to the man’s joking. “You probably feel like it, too. At least, I can’t- not imagine you feeling horrible.” Even despite how awfully torn up he felt inside, he couldn’t show weakness. Not to Solf. Not now. Instead, he smiled down at the man, but he couldn’t even blink at this point without threatening to spill tears.
All he wanted to do was take the man and somehow throw him back into his healthy body, and part of it was to stop him from making his stomach turn.
But it wasn’t long after that any stomach turning ceased immediately. As Solf spoke, his body ceased up for just a second, shiver running straight down his spine. Frank was forced into blinking, tears immediately falling down along his cheeks, and just for a moment, he looked utterly crestfallen. He looked down, obviously searching for words, but he just couldn’t keep his expression straight.
Frank knelt down along the side of the bed. Crossing his arms over the mattress, he stared at the side of his lovers’ face, forcing up a smile. “It’s a possible result from war, right?” he breathed out weakly. There was absolutely nothing left of the once proud man, and in attempt to save face, he rubbed his face on his sleeve, scraping his throat. “I mean, you play with death all the time.” Finally, his voice didn’t catch.
Regardless of which way he’d word it, that didn’t stop the throbbing ache in his chest. Or the fact that he was going to lose the other. Solf had probably considered the option tens of times, given how much he had to show up for work, but somewhere down the line Archer himself had just taken it for granted that the man would show up unharmed again.
Reaching out a hand, Frank stroked it down Kimblee’s shoulder and arm, trying to curl his fingers into the man’s remaining hand. “You’re staying very calm under all this,” he murmured quietly. “Still… can I lengthen your time?” Preferably by 20 years. Maybe 40, but Frank himself wasn’t sure he’d last that long.
Reaching over, he gently wiped the tear’s from Frank’s cheek when he was kneeling, looking at the man with as soft as an expression he could muster with half a face. “It was always a possibility that I could die in battle. I just ranked it up to doing my duty.” He shrugged and hissed in pain again, closing his eye.
The 3rd burns weren’t really the problem. Yes, they were on half of his body, but his skin was too damaged to feel any pain. It was the second degree burns and the broken bones he had from the impact. It was the muscles he had to pull every time he wanted to speak.
Kimblee had always known that he could die in battle. It was a simple consequence of the job he had, and the alchemy he practiced. He knew one day, an explosion would catch a bad wind, or recoil on him. He just never thought it would be an explosion from someone else that would do him in.
“The only reason i’m staying calm is because I have been surrounded by death my whole life. Death has always loomed over me, because I was one of his messengers. I actively sent people into death’s arms.” He paused. “But I also realize that death isn’t such a bad thing. Yes, biological functions stop, but it bring an end to pain and you are finally able to rest. Death will be kind to me, Frank.”
Opening his eye, he looked over at Frank. Curling his finger’s in his hand, he looked into his eyes. “You know all the stones are gone, and I highly doubt Marco would actively use medical alchemy on me.”
He curled his fingers tighter around the man’s hand, and spoke gently. “This is it, Frank.”
(Source: thecrimson-alchemist)
Frank had to say that… the other being bald was one of the least of his concerns right now. He could live with a lack of hair - if anything, it was more hygienic, if slightly less appealing. Cleanliness, still, did very much tickle Archers’ interests.
As far as Kimblee’s thoughts regarding him ending his own life, he would be right. Frank’d rather force painkillers down the others’ throat than allowing him to die, as Archer was terrified of not just breaking up his routine, but being alone and death in and of itself. That was a natural force he’d fight against for as long as he could, and if he was going to fight it himself, so was Solf.
After all, to Archer, a perfectly good life could come out of laying in bed all day and just drinking coffee.
Hearing Solfs’ voice come out of the crispy man’s body made Frank’s facial expressions twitch awkwardly. His nostril moved, the corner of his lip jerked down and he blinked excessively for a short while - it was obvious he had no idea what kind of physical response he was supposed to give to this without offending the man.
Moving into the room quietly, the now Major General unbuttoned his coat, doubting he was going to be heading back any time soon. Maybe to feed Shithead. “You look like hell,” he confessed honestly, a tiny breath of a laugh escaping him. Moving into the others’ line of sight, he stared down at the other, his arms very firmly staying at his side. Even if it was a hospital, and even if the other were cleaned, he still looked… damaged. Which was, in a physical sense, the same as unclean to Archer.
So when the man reached a hand for a hug, he was just a little reluctant to lean in and hug the good, or well, better side of his body.
“It was just a celebration of a date,” appointment-loving-Frank instantly replied to the apology. Forcing up the bravest smile he could muster didn’t quite hide the liquid pooling in his eyes though. Not only was Solf on the brink of death, here he was feeling disgusted about the man. “We can do it another time.” Right?
Nervously licking his lips, Frank withdrew from the man, staring down at him. Extending a hand, he carefully stroked it along the man’s healthy part of cheek. He couldn’t even bring himself to lean down and kiss the man, damn it.
Very desperately, he tried to search for words, but when his mouth was left hanging open for a few seconds with nothing coming out, he figured he’d best keep quiet before he’d force out anything stupid.
Kimblee had a feeling this would happen. That Archer would take one look at his charred body and want to run in the other direction. He couldn’t imagine the man changing his bandages, or help him go to the washroom, or feed him. Frank could barely handle Kimblee when he had a cold. How was he supposed to handle him now.
“I look like i’ve been burned in the fires of hell, more like it.” He joked back, the joke coming out more as a statement.
He saw the look in Frank’s eyes. He saw the disgust hiding under a thin layer of speechlessness. He really felt bad for Frank, knowing he had to put up with the bile that was probably jumping up his throat. He wished he could make him happy again.
Then Frank mentioned another time. Another date. Closing his eye, he thought for a moment. Kimblee knew that there wasn’t going to be another date or another time. He had seen these types of injuries before, hell, he gave people these types of injuries. He knew he only had a matter of hours before his heart decided it was too much to take, or his organs would go into shock. Kimblee was going to die, and he had no idea how to tell Frank.
“I know you’re disgusted by how I look. I’m quite disgusted, myself.” He opened his eye. “But you won’t have to deal with it for much longer. Chances are, I won’t wake up tomorrow.” He paused for a moment. “I’ve seen this injuries thousands of times. I know how long people have to live, and incidentally, how long I have to live. I’ll probably just ask the nurse to give me an overdose of morphine and be done with it.” He waved his hand.
(Source: thecrimson-alchemist)
Over the years, it became very obvious Frank was extremely set in his ways. His hair had been kept the same, his routine had been kept largely the same (now with the added activity of cuddling), his consumption of caffeine was still alarming.
At first, Frank’d fought tooth and nail over the additive of a cat, using the excuse of his allergies, but Kimblee quickly threw down that argument. Still, Shithead, as he’d aptly named the cat, had grown on him over a set of months and it wasn’t too uncommon now for the critter to be curled up in his lap while he was finishing up his reports.
Still, a nice even number as a ten could be celebrated with a public outing. Things had cooled down a little with Grumann as the Führer and he felt there was less of a huge threat of getting fired. In fact, he’d even gotten a few promotions over the years. Either Frank was really good at his job or it slowly caught on that he was just an unsympathetic little man with unusual hobbies.
When the phone rang early in the morning, Frank had latched onto Solf and buried his face into his flesh to avoid having to wake up himself, his ever-present fatigue not quite having let up now that he was sharing a bed. At first, he was a little surprised when he woke up later to an empty bed, and it took a while for him to finally wake up enough to realise the other had gone to work somewhere at six in the morning.
God damn it.
Going about his daily routine a lot slower than usual, it was still around noon that he was done. So he ended up doing crossword puzzles.
A lot of them.
When it was finally 3 pm, the man even went as far as to go out and get several bouquets of roses, just to display them and make the room feel in balance. Frank still wasn’t much of a romantic, but Solf was easily entertained by them and it did make the place look a little more cheerful and tidy.
When the office wouldn’t relay any information back towards him when he’d called around dinner time, Frank had just gone out himself, waited two hours for Solf to finally show up before deciding he was just going to have dinner himself. It was either that or passing out while waiting, with Archers’ health still not being top key. If anything, his health was slowly starting to deteriorate.
When he finally got home and called again, a little bit miffed that Kimblee wasn’t just doing his explosive boom boom man thing and coming home for the dinner he himself had almost forced up, they were able to give back some information.
Thirty seconds later, the wheels of Frank’s car screeched as he rushed in towards the hospital. God damn it, just when they were getting the hang of the whole no disasters thing. Surprisingly, for the sake of his own blood pressure, he managed to keep his cool as he entered the building and asked his way around. That general layer of self-preservation was getting torn down as he moved in closer to where Kimblee was staying, though, especially when his touring doctor talked about restorative surgery.
He was already on his second cup of free, bad coffee when he finally stepped into Kimblee’s room, lingering by the door. Downing the remainder of coffee, Frank forced up his testosterone to be a man and moved in towards Solf, but his eyes still widened at the sight of the others’ mauled and bandaged body, knees getting weak.
Any thoughts of annoyance were instantly swept off the table. God damn it once more. And the whole ordeal was making him act purely self-defensive once more, a shaky hand moving up to salute the man. “Brigadier General Solf Kimblee, sir,” was forced out, voice wavering. If Kimblee was even awake, that’d be the first sign of shit being very much wrong.
The bed was uncomfortable, the pain killers weren’t working and his newly shaved head was sending a chill throughout his body.
Out of everything that happened, he was most upset about them cutting and shaving his hair off. It was his pride and joy, even if there was some grey laced between the black. He had long hair his whole life, and there was nothing in the world that would make him cut it.
Except, well, being blown up. But that was not in his control.
He would say that the explosion racked his brain, that he was not thinking normally, but he was. He could get an automail arm, hell, he could get an automail face, but it would take years for his hair to grow back, even if he had hair fallacies left.
He could always stay bald. He thought Shithead looked alright bald.
He wondered how Frank would react. Frank wasn’t the mothering type, but he was one to fawn over Kimblee when he was sick. He couldn’t imagine how Frank would react. He might be mad at Kimblee for being stupid enough to miss a live grenade, or he might be sad that Kimblee missed their date, or maybe he would even be happy that Kimblee was effectively out of the military. Kimblee had no idea how he would react.
What he was scared about was Archer taking a look at his face. He was scared that Frank would talk one look at him and walk the other way, deciding that he didn’t want to be with a scarred cripple the rest of his life. Or maybe Frank would baby him for the rest of his life.
Kimblee kept the thought in the back of his mind that he may be completely crippled. He was on muscle relaxants right now, and he could only move his toes in his torn leg a little bit. He very well could be restricted to a wheelchair, or even a bed.
If this was going to be what the rest of life, reclined to a chair or a bed, he wasn’t going to live it. He would have to find some way to kill himself, because he certainly couldn’t clap his hands together anymore. And he doubted that Archer would take part in any kind of euthanasia.
Hearing the door open, he moved his eye, because he certainly couldn’t move his head, to see who it was. He assumed it was another nurse making sure he hadn’t chocked on his own spit and died.
When he heard Archer’s shaky voice, he felt his heart sink. All he wanted to do was jump the man and tell him to cuddle him. But he was aware that he couldn’t get up and do so.
“Major General Archer. I would say that it’s good to see you, but I can’t see you. You’re going to have to come over to my other side, where I still have an eye.” He tried to turn his head, but he hissed in pain when he found too much resistance.
He paused for a moment. “Fuck it. Get over here and give me a hug before I start crying.” He held up his good arm and motioned him over.
“I’m sorry I missed our date.” He said softly, trying to keep his emotions reserved.
(Source: thecrimson-alchemist)
Ten whole years.
He was honestly surprised when their anniversary hit. It wasn’t that he didn’t think it would last, but it was that it had gone by so fast.
Not much had changed in ten years. Kimblee still had the same haircut, Frank still put way too much gel in his hair, they still spent most of their income on coffee and they didn’t have any kids.
The only difference was that they now had a hairless cat aptly named Shithead.
But today was a big day for them. It was their ten year anniversary, and Frank had actually agreed to have their celebration out in public. Frank, of course, was still very stoic about affection in public, but Kimblee got used to it. And Frank got used to Kimblee cuddling him constantly at home.
Early in the morning, Kimblee got a phone call. His services were required. Kimblee tried to get out of it, saying that if Major General Frank Archer could get the day off, then Kimblee could. But at the end of the conversation, he had to get dressed and leave for work. He kissed Frank on the lips and told him he would be back later.
But he wasn’t.
Kimblee hadn’t even seen the grenade coming. Maybe it was because he was older, or he wasn’t paying attention, but the grenade caught him by surprise. White hot pain seared his skin and nerves, incapacitating him completely. His face had been burned, his mouth had been melted shut, and half of his body was completely ripped apart.
The surgery was long, and they couldn’t fix everything. He would be permanently blind in one eye, his face was scarred for life and they had to remove the stump that used to be his arm.
He was also very well aware that just because he was alive now, did not mean that the chances of dying were gone. He very well could die in his sleep, or die from a massive infection.
Or be killed by Archer for missing dinner.
“Oh, by the way, darling, I was promoted.”
“Why would you get a promotion?! All you do is blow people up for your personal entertainment while I break my back to fill in paperwork and have to visit people to ensure they’re doing their job!”
Still. “Good job. Have fun with it. Enjoy your position of authority over me.”
Kimblee rolled his eyes. This is exactly why he didn’t want to tell him.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. You would get upset, jealous and angry.” He shook his head. “Frank, I was promoted because i’m out in the field. The higher ups are more likely to see my abilities.”
“What you fail to realize is that with my promotion, I have a higher chance of getting critically injured. They only promoted me because it’s an excuse to put me in more dangerous situations.”
“I don’t know how being a Colonel in the military is to your benefit.”
“…You missed the lieutenant part, there, Solf.”
“Oh, by the way, darling, I was promoted.”
