Mikkeneko lurks in an abandoned cave high up on a cliff, occasionally venturing out to throw fics down onto the heads of unsuspecting passersby. She is Sloth of the Seven Sins, a title whose appropriateness is under continual debate. Her diet consists entirely of cave mice and lichens, which probably accounts for the lingering taste of angst in her writings, especially as she has not yet quite figured out what lichens are. Travellers would be wise to avoid this mountain pass after about two o'clock in the morning, at which time Mikkeneko is said to exhibit mad drunken behavior and finds just about anything funny.
Some of the details he needed, of course, they wouldn't have; no non-alchemist would know. And most of the details they had, he didn't want.
And everyone knows, when a homunculus is in trouble, there’s only one place to go!
The Full Metal Alchemist, of course, accepted his assignment with all the gravity due his station.
He doesn't love Scar. The idea is ridiculous, but they are all they have left, each other's bodies rocks against the tide of strangeness, unfamiliarity.
...but he must take a moment to compose himself, all the same, before he can look through the small window.
Louis Alex Armstrong has been seriously wounded... BUT THE SOUL STILL BURNS.
It was so strange, the way Alphonse's suddenly reduced size could make Edward look suddenly so much bigger.
Ed's birthday had passed a little over a month ago, while they were still with Sensei.
It does not occur to him until later — years later — that this might be considered a case of sexual abuse.
It was a game they often played, what would they do once they got their bodies back.
Hope — he could almost reach out and touch that hope, hours away, maybe, just a few ticks of the clock and an array or two later and it could be real.
"We offer you not a world in which your brother died, but one in which he never lived."
"She loved him," Ed said. Crack, snap. Another flower joined the pile.
He knew, as he had never known before, his own body; the strength and flexibility in every limb, every joint, every bone.
Alchemy. It's all fun and games until somebody loses a limb and creates an abomination.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Brother," Al said loyally, and Ed scowled.
It took you long enough to make your call. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to work a phone.
"What do you mean, you're PREGNANT?" Ed yelled through the door.
He was just contemplating a launch, kick and a dash for the window when Armstrong's hands closed in his hair.
Gloved hands shot out and grabbed the book in question, dragging it off the shelf and holding it to the light.
There was a crunching noise from Roy's direction, as of teeth biting through the edge of a porcelain cup.
There was something almost funny about the surprise on Roy's face.
"But we're going to be late on her birthday," Ed fretted, and Al had to suppress a long-suffering sigh.
"As you can see," she said to Mr. Elric, wryly, "Appreciate them while they're at this age, because they turn into teenagers in the blink of an eye."
"Edward," Hawkeye said kindly, "has it occurred to you that you and Alphonse may be spending too much time alone?"
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
Sergeant Broche smiled in frozen panic at the miniature devil that had cornered him in the officer's mess.
"Stupid bullies," Ed grumbled, limping for a few steps before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be feeling it. "Call me a girl, will they?"
"I'm not your brother," he told the sleeping figure; it rang hollow.
"What part of self-defense was it to write 'BIG FAT NINNY' on his forehead in permanent marker?"
He was looking forward to the prospect of a hot meal in the cafeteria; even if it wasn't exactly home cooking, at least it was hot, and it was fresh.
But we the people of Ishvar endure, by the grace and mercy of Ishvarra we endure, and so long as we live we will remember.
"It's good to hear that Fullmetal is in good spirits, if he's being so obtrusive in showing off."
With two younger sisters himself, he knew well that siblings quarreled, but never to this extent.
"Oh yeah... Huh!" Ed looked around, brightening. "Wow, it looks a lot different upright and not burning."
Today I saw the god of fire, Roy writes in his notebook, knowing he will never be believed.
"This is blackmail," Ed growled, but he pulled open the bathroom door.
"I believe my exact words were, 'a microscopically short bean boy the size of a pin'."
Okay, his hair wasn't brushed, and it had been a while since he'd gotten a bath, but he didn't think it was anything to blush at.
The dizzy whiteness rushed over him again; bright, hurting, noisy, afraid, hard, can't remember, Niisan...
The voice hit Ed like a blow, and drove the breath from his lungs. "Where are you?" he shouted. "Where are you?"
Ed opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Visibility is that important to you, huh?" he said.
Now Ed was into his favorite mode, bitch-at-the-bastard-father-who-ditched-us.
In the summer they competed at climbing through the twisting branches, risking life and bruises to collect baskets of fruit and bring them back home.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
"You and I? Sleeping together?" Hughes snorted disdain, and spared a hand to push his glasses back up his face. "Ridiculous!"
Both Edward and Winry were on hand day and night, looking for anything they could do to ease his way.
But when the acting commander of the Intelligence branch, the man who controlled her widow's pension, requested and required this service... well... well.
Alfons is a scientific man, and Edward is his paradox.
He didn't need chalk, or ink; hell, if anything, blood was a better medium for this purpose.
Roy smiled slowly as Edward approached his desk, his usual careless pose turned into something... challenging.
It's not the same at all when the patient choking back cries of pain and thrashing against the straps is her friend and playmate and brother.
"Alchemy is intended for the public good. If it wasn't anything illegal, why the need for secrecy?"
"You aren't Envy, are you? Because if you are, I'll kick your ass and find out what you've done with my brother."
"For the last time, we are not having this conversation!"
You could attribute it to teenage rebellion, if you liked, or to homunculus-hormones, which could be quite fierce, or heck, maybe she was just living up to her name.
Roy cleared his throat, and stepped up to the podium. "Welcome to Elric Fanciers Anonymous," he said.
Apparently, years of stress had jaded Ed into thinking that if things were looking good now, then something terrible must be around the corner.
"You'd think the Colonel would have plenty of experience in dealing with irate brothers by now."
It didn't fool Al one bit when his brother tried to sneak into their dorm room long after curfew, but that didn't stop Ed from trying.
Ed jabbed accusingly with an automail finger — nearly putting out Mustang's eye as he did so — and shrieked, "You're a crossdresser!"
No alchemical reaction could sustain fire without fuel forever.
He can do the math; he knows that with two of them and only one of her, there's no good way for things to come out even.
"It's blue!" Edward announced with the voice of desperation.
You had to hand it to Roy, he certainly knew how to keep his cool.
This would be so much easier if he could just refuse the man to his face.
Roy was enchanted by the sound of her voice, pure like dewdrops in the morning.
Instant formulas for your pairing of choice! Simply add prose and stir well!
"All this will do is give your soul access to the feelings that should be in your body right now, just like a normal teenage boy."
There were three ways to identify the Fullmetal Alchemist, wherever he went.
"In case you hadn't noticed," Ed went on, poking Roy in the chest, "I am no longer twelve."
Ed loved his brother, and would take his company as a roommate over anyone in the world — except one; but he made a damn lousy substitute for a girlfriend.
"You'll be up against the wall before you know it, Mustang, right where you belong, eating the bullets of a firing squad for breakfast."
For a few minutes they sat in silence, looking out over the sun-dazzled water. There didn't seem to be much to say.
"How is it possible for you to be so like him?" she whispered, nuzzling against his throat.
As much as he loved his family, Alphonse Elric wouldn't have traded these moments alone for anything.
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
Edward doesn't come back the next night, or the next.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
"For only one arm..." Ed rasped out, gritting his teeth against the pain.
When night fell in Ishvar, night vision or no vision, flares or no flares, there was nothing you wanted to do less than draw attention to yourself.
The thought that Elric might be hanging around, watching him like yesterday, was just too creepy to contemplate.
All a very neat, very efficient system, Kessler thought; raw material and outgoing product in perfect balance, a regular production line built into flesh.
Ed woke up slowly, and wished he hadn't.
Breathing. Fuck, he did it every day of his life, why was it so hard all of a sudden?
Ed was normally a cheerful, friendly drunk, thank goodness, but the slightest hint of reproach or anger on Al's part would send Ed into a crashing depression.
The kid packed a pretty good punch, Greed thought idly.
rated:M-L | S+S | Fullmetal |
Al didn't complain about his brother's occasional delinquency, so Ed didn't have room to complain about Al's taste in boyfriends.
This is far more effective, Roy thinks grimly, than any threat of physical violence against his own self.
Typical Ed; overprotective, hypocritical, condescending, and for some reason fundamentally incapable of treating Al as an equal.
It's important that a little light always comes in, even if it's only enough to see shadows and outlines, and not words at all.
Fullmetal was starting to turn slightly purple, now, which definitely clashed with his coloring...
The momentary flash of grief and longing took him by surprise, as it always did.
"How do you manage to win, even when you lose?" he asked sleepily, some time later.
But still they see, from the languid, liquid (inhuman) grace of her walk, the sway of her movements, the tattoos on her skin that she is something not quite human.
"If I do not, I might begin to love you, whom I should hate."
It's almost as though Al is the blind one, seeking to memorize his brother's features by touch.
"You have no idea how good you look right now," Roy said.
"Fuhrer my ass," Edward said. "He's still nothing but a perverted old man."
Pillow talk, with the Fullmetal Alchemist, was shop talk.
To he who seeks, let him find. That was Ed's motto.
Let it never be said that whatever his obsessive tendencies, Edward Elric was unable to enjoy life's simpler pleasures.
Nobody knocks at their house; there is only one person who ever comes and Edward doesn't need to knock.
But there would be no alchemy crackling to his command, not in this world, and the thought of swinging a weapon against this man left him cold in agony.
"Tonight," Roy breathed in his ear, tickling the hairs on the back of his neck, "there will be no safe word. Do you understand?"
The first thing he was aware of when the aftershocks faded was an automail hand on his throat.
Everything — Ed's wishes, his remaining dignity, even his trust — was going to have to come second to Ed's life.
"Just talking and showing won't help much. He needs to try things before he can get them right."
That was unacceptable. Anger was to be expected; disgust was not allowed.
Every statement directed at me now seemed to be prefaced with "you bastard." I didn't mind; it was as good a name as any other.
Somehow, this volunteer assignment wasn't starting out exactly the way she'd hoped it would.
The sweet morning snaps like a fragile pane of glass and Al is sobbing, the sounds tearing up out of his chest and throat before he can stop them.
Right. He saw their little game. They wanted to freak him out, break his mind into little pieces. He could resist.
"It was a while ago," he offered nervously. "Before your time. He's, uh, well, he was a persistent bastard, and... You're not mad, are you?"
This, too, was a pain that Edward had inflicted only on himself, but neither Roy nor Al had dared to say so.
Ed frowned slightly; that thought pushed dangerously at the border of sappiness.
Of course, the jar was really the professional female companionship fund; or, as Ed liked to sarcastically call it, the pussy kitty.
Why was Ed still letting this fear haunt him? How long was the lingering pain of these old wounds going to hang between them?
She laughs to see the grand scholar on his stomach on the floor of the living room, reading his sons a fairy tale from a fat little book.
"We don't know for sure." Ed rested his chin on his metal arm, gazing unseeingly out the window. "But people go in there, and they don't come out."
...when he presses his hand against the scraped array and wills it to activate, he can't help but send a whispered prayer to it. Please work. Please, please...
Roy had been among the rebels for weeks now, and he'd learned very early on that these men were dangerous, very dangerous.