Born in England at some point in the 20th Century to creatures of unknown species and gender, Kaltia was quickly discovered to be an entirely new breed of Brit; the British yaoi fangirl. Terrified of unleashing this strange creature upon an unsuspecting populace, she was forbidden anime until spring ’04, when a well-meaning friend showed her Gravitation. Rapidly addicted, Kaltia discovered an affinity for teh boysmex, and things might have ended there if said well-meaning friend hadn’t decided to get her hooked onto FMA as well. Kaltia has no life, having sold it for a new motherboard and a better keyboard, and is now regretting the trade as the motherboard is making odd noises. Eh, oh well, she still has her soul. But maybe not for long.
"You. Boy by the window who's been doodling all the way through. What would be the result of this equation?"
What part of 'this is my house' are you having problems with, Fullmetal?"
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
"It's blue!" Edward announced with the voice of desperation.
"Brother," he whispers into the soft warmth of Ed's skin, "Is mom going to get better?"
The boys grow older, wiser and closer, and their mother watches them do so and is proud.
They stand and take notes, eyeing him suspiciously, but he doesn't turn to meet their eyes...
It wasn't a nightmare; nightmares leave him shaking and sweating, but now he's oddly calm.
He staggered to a halt, abruptly terrified of pressing onwards through the mist, and tried not to cry.
Al makes a worried little noise, and Ed raises his head a little. He's been found out, he thinks, and knows he should feel something.
People all have different ideas of beauty, Al knows, and no two ever appear to be the same.
It had been a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Eyes across a crowded room, and all that jazz.
And he was tired, and he did eventually fall asleep, to the vague hum of voices in discussion downstairs.
He would ask questions, even though Al knew he didn't particularly care, simply because he liked seeing Alphonse so animated about something.
"He's a smug arrogant prick and Jean's a lazy bastard with a mouth like an ashtray."
When he received no immediate response, he drew back and let her go, and the aching vulnerability on his face made her blink in surprise.
The reaction is the most intense Edward has ever seen.
rated:G | S+S | Fullmetal | joyous drivel |
Humans are so greedy, the Truth had told him in his dreams; and for all his airs and graces, he is no exception.
He reminds Alfons of himself, in a way, back after he'd been first diagnosed with his illness; when he used to get up and stare at his face in the washbasin mirror every day and think, I am too young for this.
The taste of arsenic is golden, addictive, even it does pave the road to hell.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
He'll fix himself breakfast, and maybe something for Edward as well, if he's feeling charitable.
What could you give a soul trapped in a suit of armour as a present?
When there was no answer, he tried again, but gave up after that. It wasn't like Ed would get eaten by a rabid saucepan, or something.
"You're late," Ed tells him flatly. "You should have been here one minute and forty four seconds ago."
While Al couldn't say he approved, he was certain the Colonel wasn't stupid enough to try anything with Ed on a first date.
The creature tilted its head, eyeing the two men to the side of her, and slid off its precarious perch.
"It's cold and dark and raining, and there are thugs roaming the street - brother, have a heart! He could be killed! He could become kitten stew!"
"I'm not being forced out of another home. They won't be here long, and it's not like they'll be looking for us."
Roy had arched an eyebrow, cleared his throat. "Can I ask what it is about my hand that merits such an intense examination?"
Al can see his handwriting -- which closely resembles the marks a tap-dancing spider might make if it fell in an ink pot first.
Not many people are close enough to his brother to have seen either of the first two with any sort of frequency.
There were many things that Edward Elric didn't want the world to know, secrets to be protected at all cost.
"You are so dead, bastard," Ed said, still in that dreamy tone, and took a step forwards.
Ed tosses four sausages at once into his mouth and swallows almost without chewing, shooting Al a smug, triumphant grin.
He looks like he wants to scold Ed for swearing, but is afraid to; at the thought, Ed forces his expression to soften, and gives his little brother a wan smile.
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.
"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?"
...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...
"He's the Fullmetal Alchemist," Alphonse interrupted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Are you sure you're up to the task?"
It is somewhat odd that two brothers can be so different, yet so close.
"Are you saying," Al inquired, slowly, "that you never believed that I didn't blame you?"
Something that wasn't quite narcissism, wasn't quite masturbation.
"How old are you?" The answer was on the wanted posters, of course, but he wanted to check.
His friend is blushing, ashamed to be seen in such a condition - and this is not new, either, this is not new at all.
Theirs is a strange relationship--they know so little about each other--but somehow it's okay, as though knowledge would throw a spanner in the works.
"Damnit, brother," Alphonse managed, and Ed grinned at him. "I was only away for a week!"
Sometimes he feels like an actor, playing to an especially difficult audience.
It is to such a morning that Alphonse wakes up, light pouring in through the blinds and over the bed sheets.
Every rule in the book tells him that it's wrong, frat-er-nisation, number one cause of discharged officers in peace time situations.
"Stop that," he snapped, flicking the tap on. "Change into something a little more appropriate. You're not him, brother."
"Normal punishments don't work on my brother. We'd better come up with something else."
"Of course, that depends how you define cruel," he adds, amused.
No kinks, no cross-dressing, no tag-team threesomes, and all pets must be ushered out of the room beforehand.
His ruse works; Ed dismisses him - with a harsh, impatient rejoinder that he isn't finished yet - and devotes his attention to his brother.
Boys shouldn't do this, either with their brothers or with any other boy.
...Ed looks bored, but Alfons knows that it's an act, that Ed loves learning and these impromptu history lessons are favourites of his.
"Don't worry about it," he says bossily. "I know what to do. Give me the book--don't close it--ah, thanks."
He's a pessimist with an ego seven miles long; he's a scientist, too, doesn't approve of Al's books.
If he would permit himself to be honest, Alphonse would admit to Roy that he hates the rain, too.
"I know," Ed replies, and grins. "I mean, I can totally see why. Nobody else kisses the way I do."
They say that a wizard lives in the log cabin, on the other side of the dark woods and the silver river.