#☼’( ᴇᴀʀᴛʜsʜᴀᴋᴇʀ [main verse] )

[cromwellharvests]

“ I don’t mean t’ pry, madam minister, but... is everythin’ alright? y’ look troubled. ”

@kiryuiegerin​  ♥’ed

[cromwellharvests]

“ —I seem t’ remember th’ dorm you lived in havin’ some fairly strict rules... are you allowed t’ have a phonograph in your place? ”

@canisfuria​  ♥’ed

[cromwellharvests]

“ excuse me; would you mind ‘f I sat here? it seems th’ car’s fillin’ up faster than I thought– of course, it’s alright if not. ”

@tacetnix​  ♥’ed

[cromwellharvests]

“ ah— sorry! I don’t mean t’ watch y’ like a hawk, I just... well, I’ve never seen someone work on somethin’ like this before... what’re you doin’ to it? ”

@autometallums​  ♥’ed

[cromwellharvests]

“ mmmmmm... oh, I just don’t know. don’t you think it’s a little... much for me? ”

@deathleads​  ♥’ed

[cromwellharvests]

“...I’ve been told a few times that I’m a very forgiving person— or that people think that about me, at least. Sometimes lovingly, sometimes with a bit ‘f worry, like they’re scolding me a little... an’ if I think about it, I know they might be right.” There’s a wistful sort of hum on her words, spoken quiet and thoughtful, as she lays out the flowers she’d picked from the garden on a tea-towel, sprawled across the counter before her; dutifully cutting the thorns off roses, and removing leaves low on other stalks.

“I’m not very good at holding grudges, is all– I never have been. It’s always felt easier t’ try and move on, t’ believe that someone can change, or that they will, someday, an’ t’ let go of that hurt, th’ sadness and anger. T’ not let it poison me, and me into something I’m not... really, it’s a bit selfish of me, deep down. I’m eager to forgive as much for myself as for them.”

A paring knife is snatched up from the work surface, brandished carefully in one hand, with her thumb securely laid against the back of the blade; steady, and controlled, as she measures it against the stems to chop along the bias.

“...but I don’t recommend it.”

Her head cants from one side to the other, low-hanging ponytail following the motion with a gentle swish.

“That is to say, I’m not going to push anyone else to forgive someone else, if they don’t feel that they want to. 'f someone hurts someone else— however deep, however badly— they aren’t entitled forgiveness just because they apologize. They might well be sincere, maybe they can show that they’ve changed... but that doesn’t change the fact that nobody owes anyone else their forgiveness.” Another slice against the grain of another flower’s stalk.

“And that’s alright... sure, it might upset someone, ‘f they’ve done their best to make amends. It might be frustrating– but ‘f their apology depends on bein' accepted, then it’s not a real apology in the first place.”

Then, she’s quiet for a moment, lookng at the sprawl before her. Lips which know how to hang in a smile better than anything else wane down to a line, almost unreadable; a shadow which briefly steals her features disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Emily’s hands gather up all the flowers, squeezing them into a neat bundle at their bottoms, to drop them in a vase pre-filled with water.

“There are some things that can’t be forgiven. No matter how hard you try, or even if you want to... your heart won’t let you. But I don’t think that’s a ‘bad’ thing.” 

Delicate fingers nudge blossoms around, fixing the arrangement, but her gaze remains a bit distant. 

At the very least, she hoped not.

[cromwellharvests]

A basket presented first-and-foremost, with the top of a wine bottle peeking out amongst other assorted sundry, and his grinning features over the top. “ There’s my second favorite alchemist in all ‘f Central City! ” though that’s a title he’d just as readily brandish for Edward (or Alphonse) were they around, so, shh. 

“ I remembered y’ sayin’ last time that you weren’t in th’ same building where Em saddles up most often, so I had some folks point me in the right direction—” he bobbles the goodie basket in hand,

“ —I’m back in th’ city on business, this time, but I wanted t’ make sure I thanked y’ proper for helpin’ me figure my way around before. ”

@deathleads​  ♥’ed

[cromwellharvests]

@sunlilted​ asked possibly my favorite question of all time:

what is the most difficult part of Easy's alchemy? was it the research, the trials / testing, the process of learning at all?

Dropped low in the middle of a valley between mountains, Wiradu is a little town, blessed with a great many things— good soil, mostly mild weather, a stream which plays host to schools of migrating fish... but it also, predictably, lacks a lot of other things typical to larger settlements. 

When Easy happened across the scribblings, notes, and handful of books that her great-grandfather left behind, she had very little idea as to how to begin parsing them out, and fortunate though her little town was to have a library, they certainly didn’t have any additional texts on alchemy, and there was no-one in town with relevant expertise to offer, either. Any initial learning she did was entirely self-driven and self-motivated, which lead to a lot of frustration. Trial and error after error after error. 

But despite the lack of guidance and seemingly insurmountable hurdles at the start, she kept beating her head against it, determined to not only understand the concepts, but make them useful for her community. From all the stories, Zachariah was a very charitable man, and bright, too— he wouldn’t have put all the work he did into this craft and these theories for nothing. So she begged to go along on trips into East City and New Optain, determined to find any books or scraps of paper she could that might help bridge her gap in understanding.

Really, it feels like she skipped a few steps. That’s what made the research so difficult— jumping headfirst into alchemical texts with no beginner-friendly introductions is like picking up a book in a completely different language, relying on borrowed words and a few familiar concepts to carry her through. She spent countless hours reading, sketching, testing, and reconfiguring to try and make sense of it all. But, of course, it was all worth it for those moments when a one-in-one-hundred attempt turned out as she expected, and every little inch of progress was made.

Once she had a grip on the basics, things definitely grew easier. She’s fairly bright, and a natural problem solver, so the process of stringing together the new repertoire of tools once she understood them wasn’t nearly as difficult as getting a handle in the first place. Still, there was a lot of additional studying to do to make the impact she hoped to. Alchemy is only a fraction of the equation, lumped in with biochemistry, agricultural, and environmental science. 

The trials and testing really aren’t that difficult— tedious, at times, maybe, but she’s very passionate about the work, so it doesn’t feel draining— the difficulty today (and what will most likely remain), is in the research, because there’s just so much which goes into consideration for the methods and practice she’s trying to develop. Stacks upon stacks of research documents, soil surveys, regional agricultural reports, and various relevant science texts end up on her desks at work and home at any given time, with no end in sight. But, such is the nature of the pursuit of knowledge: a true student is a student, eternal.

post-script:

one of the more difficult qualities of implementing her signature alchemy, as it’s known, is control. controlling the intensity, the depth, and the extent of deconstruction and displacement. similar to how roy manipulates the size and strength of his flames with focus and intention, it takes a great deal of restraint and practice to do what she does without disastrous repercussions. 

(of course, that sheer destructive quality was part of her marketing scheme to appeal to the military’s sensibilities in the first place, but... y’know. she’s not actually Like That).

[cromwellharvests]

[ late night for you, too, huh? I was just about to head out, after I drop these off. ]

@stonedeafdog​  ♥’ed

[cromwellharvests]

In a predictable turn of events, Emily had long since stolen his dog away, announcing that she was taking Biscuit on a tour of the neighborhood, with the promise to be back before lunch, but otherwise content to leave him to his own devices. A merciful gesture, as far as most were concerned, given how late his train had gotten in the night before and, further, how they’d stayed up far later after— as the siblings were wont to do. (How she had so much energy already was a mystery, but hadn’t that always been the case?).

After sleeping in just as late as his body would allow, he started making himself at home. Music on the phonograph gently stirring, a quick breakfast thrown together, and a brief walk through her hard-won backyard garden slowly bringing him to full keel... as well as a cup of coffee to help it all along.

Luckily, he was feeling pretty bright and bushy-tailed by the time a short series of knocks fell on the front door, drawing him up and out of his seat with no hesitation. Half owed to his good-host instinct, and the other to his figuring it was just Easy returning from her walk with something she picked up along the way (which kept her from unlocking and opening the door herself), he tossed the door ajar without another thought.

“ Ah— ” there’s the second thought: dawning on him as he quickly realizes his dog is nowhere in sight, nor the sister who’d heisted her in the first place. The lady at the door looks perfectly nice, and neatly put together at that, but it is not, in fact, Emily Cromwell.

" ...Uhm. Hello there! I... guess you were probably looking for Miss— uh, Major Cromwell? ”

@windbornee​  ♥’ed

[cromwellharvests]

@stonedeafdog​ said:

He's covered in dirt when he slams the basket in front of her. He doesn't mean to come off so aggressively , this is just a " look i finally managed to actually grow something please be proud of me " kind of moment.

Certainly enough to get her attention, to say the very least; as her heart skips a beat and body jumps an inch in her seat, it’s only lucky that she pulls the pen in her hand back instead of making a long, sharp mark across the page in surprise.

 A moment of shock that, thankfully, settles quick, recognizing who it was first and foremost, and what he’d presented so forcefully. If it weren’t for the distraction, she might have grinned at the state of him, all-too-familiar with the tell-tale signs of hard work in the soil. But instead, she pulls the basket closer and softly sifts through it, briefly gathering a few of the fruits of his labor into hand, giving them each a good measure. Soon enough, Emil’s rewarded with the praise he sought— bright eyes selling the excitement even before her lips can catch up.

“ Did you grow all these? ” she’s careful not to block her mouth as she speaks, even while still admiring a particularly lovely squash. It’s a small assortment, but a hale and healthy one; in colors that never fail to spark her joy. It’s all she can do to free her hands for the next line, beaming as she signed [ ‘They look wonderful! It must feel nice to see your hard work pay off... do you know what you want to make with them?’ ]

[cromwellharvests]

@reigningsniper​ said: She kisses each of Emily's knuckles, her thumbs rubbing gently across the back of her hand. Odds were that she would need nursing, bedrest. But this time Emily had fallen prey to a knock on the head and a twisted knee. No specific targets this week. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Releasing her hands, Riza reaches for the now room temperature bag of ice. "I'll grab a new one from the freezer, and make you something to eat. Rest your eyes for a bit, ok?"

if it weren’t for the painful singing in her senses or the hazy feeling from the medication meant to tune it out, she surely would have swooned at the gesture. even still, she manages a meek smile and warm gaze through her lashes, (which hang low– unfortunately moreso from drowsiness than affection). she was... very accustomed to taking care of herself. insisted on it, more often than not, happily down-playing any harm that came her way if it meant not troubling another. some small part of her still nags that she should assure the lieutenant and send her off... but it is small, indeed.

Riza had made it clear— in some ways a request, in others a demand— when they came back together... that Emily would have to understand, and accept, that she was going to look after her the same way the alchemist did, in turn. that she wanted to. ‘it’s alright if it takes time.’

...they have a lot more in common than one might think, at first glance.

“ okay. ” she breathes. before she’s drawn entirely out of reach, though, Easy moves her hand to cover Ri’s, giving it a steady squeeze; and waits for dark brown eyes to catch her own.

“ ...thank you. for lookin’ after me. ”

[cromwellharvests]

"Whatever you're making already smells wonderful. Let me help."

the aroma which had no doubt teased her away from whatever scant work work still remained was that of an oiled garlic bulb roasted to a warm golden hue, alongside a tray of seasoned hazelnuts, which joined the cloves for the last ten-or-so minutes of their bake. both once-oven-residents cooled on the counter ‘til the garlic could be handled, at which point the Wiradun had begun to gently squeeze the soft flesh out of each clove, into their own little bowl...

there’s a deep pot half-full with salted water, fresh linguine noodles hung on a rack nearby, ready to be blanched in their happy little bath en route to their final destination in the well-loved, wide saucepan sat on the back burner, with a splash of olive oil already coating the bottom. little bits of prep she’d already gotten out of the way, to help make the process trundle on faster once the heat really started. but it wasn’t all done, of course. 

so when Riza’s arms lazily circle her waist, words landing somewhere close to her ear after a breath is drawn in from her hair, she doesn’t have to disappoint, (though some part of her wants to insist on taking care of her — ‘you’ve worked hard enough, sugar, i can do this’ — she knows Ri wouldn’t offer if she didn’t want to help)... but first, she relaxes. leans back into the other’s arms and breathes her own long, heavy breath, sighing out contently while her hands slowly keep on.

❝  you’re helpin’ me plenty right now, ‘f that counts. ❞ Easy half-teases, with a chuckle, before reluctantly straightening herself again, and reaching for a rag to clean the oil from her fingers.  ❝ but I suppose you could also get th’ herbs ready— I’ll need a heaping handful ‘f that basil over there, ‘s well as a couple pinches of dill an’ chives. all finely chopped, but don’t get too meticulous about it. ❞

uniformity was for decorating cakes and arranging flowers; cooking had the privilege of being, (at least sometimes) the more carefree cousin, where it mattered less how perfectly cut and cornered everything appeared compared to all the other senses. the smells, the taste, even the sound as butter sizzles... 

they’re both the sort that need more excuses to slow down and unwind. hence her choosing a meal that could be made with a little laissez-faire, while still turning out something comforting, and of course, indulgently delicious. 

and it’ll be that much better for being made together.