He read his father's old, dog-eared textbooks, fascinated by the mechanics of alchemy.
But at least there was softness beneath the fear, and the eyes apologized to her for her pain, even when the lips did not.
He didn't play anymore, not with reports to file, books to read, notes to scratch out.
"Then I'm gonna rule the world, too," Maes replied, because he and Roy always did everything together.
Ed shrugged, although his expression suggested he was trying to keep from being too smug about beating a man almost twice his age.
But the language of legend and that of alchemical secrecy were linguistic-sisters...
“Brother, don’t be ungrateful! Ling is trying very hard to teach you proper use of the Xingian language!”
"But he's just a kid... he's too short to be a criminal..."
Roy stuck a finger in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as he savored the heavy and rich fluid.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Brother," Al said loyally, and Ed scowled.
Once you promised me that you would dance on my grave. I'm keeping you to that promise, you know.
She hadn't come to confront the sameness of him, but the difference — the nonconformity anyone could mark and everyone did...
Alfons swears he doesn't need glasses - and maybe he doesn't, if he can see such phenomena as the Gegenschein light--but up close he has trouble like this.
They were good boys, and smart, and she trusted them to stay mostly out of trouble. Mostly.
"We'll have you patched up in no time." Edward announced, slicing the leather into short, precise strips. It was irrational, but somehow Alphonse hated those words.
At night, curled shivering on the layers of musty damp leaves under the glimmering stars, Ed lay silently and thought of unspeakable unknowns...
Trisha looked up in surprise to see her guest in the open doorway, barely casting a shadow in the sunlight that streamed in around her.
He was just contemplating a launch, kick and a dash for the window when Armstrong's hands closed in his hair.
Today I saw the god of fire, Roy writes in his notebook, knowing he will never be believed.
"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 Elric was in an exceedingly bad mood.
The metal in his mouth tastes cool and tangy and yummy but he can't eat because he has to find Lust.
"This one's for you, Al." Edward swore, raised the glass to his lips, and braced for the impact.
"Brother," he whispers into the soft warmth of Ed's skin, "Is mom going to get better?"
If Al could have frowned suspiciously, he would have. Instead he relied on his expressive vocal stylings as he propped his brother upright. “What’s in that glass, Brother?”
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
The question "Why learn?" always stops him; he cannot imagine not wanting to learn.
Al thought, grimly, that he was getting rather good at this.
He just carries himself with a certain atmosphere, one that feels like splinters of buildings falling off walls and landing broken or the smell of roasted flesh.
I had asked him, thinking she would say yes, that everything would be okay, that no one would tell my brother no because I know I never could.
rated:G | GEN | Fullmetal |
"We offer you not a world in which your brother died, but one in which he never lived."
Around when the hour of nine rolls up to the door, fat as a bellied barfly, Roy has already taken his jacket off the hook and has gone outside to walk.
Not a fairy, then, Alfons thought in disappointment. The fairies in stories weren't usually so foul-mouthed and excitable, anyway.
It wasn't a nightmare; nightmares leave him shaking and sweating, but now he's oddly calm.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
Who was waiting for him? He tried to remember, but his mind wasn't working quite right at the moment.
Al should've never told his mother the box was a present for Winry.
It was so easy to forget how uneven alchemy made a fight. No ordinary guy ever had a chance.
"I believe my exact words were, 'a microscopically short bean boy the size of a pin'."
On the day the Fuhrer died, it snowed.
Ed's birthday had passed a little over a month ago, while they were still with Sensei.
If there was something Al still deeply enjoyed about his illness, it was seeing Ed play a sort of housewife.
Yet there are still nights that he wakes up to find his hand clutched by a seated Al, who laughs his hollow laugh and asks if he's okay, even though he does not remember screaming.
"... Hey, I thought we were supposed to be celebrating the Boss' release," Havoc protests weakly.