He was also certain that if he gave in and laughed, Edward would hang up and never speak to him again.
Winry had scraped a promise out of Ed.
Winry had never gotten to appreciate the leather pants in her current position as the person who got to unzip them.
It was the truth, but it sounded lame upon Edward's lips; the way her eyes hooded, she seemed to think so, anyway.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
Ed had confessed that he had no idea how the relationships had started.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
A hand was extended, and he finally, finally took it, even if he didn't use it to pull himself up.
Winry sucked in a gasp, and dropped backward in shock.
Open Mike Night at Rush Valley's one and only coffee house attracts a great many of the town's most ridiculous people.
He underestimates the little things, like how long it will take him to put his socks on in the morning, and she comes up the stairs when breakfast is long since over to find him crouched over a torn stocking, blinking back furious tears...
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.
She preferred mechanical work for just that reason; at least you knew with relative certainty what automail was going to do when you did something to it.
Etiquette doesn't quite cover situations like this one.
"They raise the dead. They make creatures to fight in the war. This is Edward! This is your son. You have to see that!"
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
They wouldn't be leaving until well after sunset, trusting Al to guide them through the dense thicket of sassafras and witch hazel to the road.
He wanted to be able to do something like that; tangle limbs and lips and know what it was like to not have a responsibility.
He would have killed, before a nonexistent God and Winry, to be that goddamn spatula.
He was not ready to be an uncle! He was ready, however, to hit things and curse.
“You just need to make it clear to him that he may have an opinion on the matter, but in the end, you’re the one who’s going to be doing all the work. Roy and I had that discussion months ago, and he’s been very cooperative ever since.”
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.
"YOU HAVE JUST INTERRUPTED AN IMPORTANT TRIP. IF YOU WISH TO NOT BE BEATEN WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE, YOU BETTER ABANDON THE TRAIN RIGHT NOW!"
There's nothing wrong with his legs, at least — a sidestep to the right and two paces back and he'd be out the door, if it weren't shut.
Her lover could have been anyone; Edward or Alphonse Elric, Roy Mustang, Ling Yao.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
It made only a semblance of sense, but she understood that the whole truth would be revealed when Ed could be led from this graveyard of the years he had lost.
It was kind of ironic, and kind of inconvenient, that Rush Valley, the capital city of automail, was also hot as hell for half the year.
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.
She looked the wire over for a minute, noting where the insulation had been stripped away for retuning, then tugged it gently, careful not to pull too hard.
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.
"If you've got something to say, say it," she said. "If not, hand me a fork, would you?"
She stands beside him with her arms full of bandages, hoping the day he sees his own danger will come before the day he sets himself alight completely.
Sometimes, he really wished that sleeping dogs would have been left alone...