You'd have to be inhuman not to quake in fear when she stares you down.
"Tall girls need not apply," Hughes read aloud, without even the trace of a smirk.
rated:K | M+F S+S | Fullmetal | mid-series | First Place, Het & Non-Het | Green Lion Winner | Riza Hawkeye | Roy Mustang | angst | humor | sweet | Elric Kyoudai | 354th FG HQ | 2004 First Kiss, Non-Het
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.
He had lost everything in a heartbeat, on a chance, and deserted his brother, although against his will.
He did not expect an answer even though it was true that Wrath was more likely to speak to him than anyone else, even Winry.
"Listen, bastard... Do you always have to do things the hard way? You never, ever make it easy for me."
This is far more effective, Roy thinks grimly, than any threat of physical violence against his own self.
Two boys, two faces, two fates, alive and dead at the same time, at different times, nothing in common, everything in common, one thing in common: him.
Years later when they shipped him off on a belated honeymoon, Roy went without audible protest.
Nurses in white smocks bustle about a tiny nurses's station, and he is intercepted by one of the younger ones, a new girl he doesn't recognize.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
"Oh, he's probably just studying too hard to notice you knocking," Winly said at first.
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.
Sometimes they race to see who can get to Winry's house faster.
There is only the Now, with Them, although They have not come for a long time.
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.
There was gold in the middle of midnight, and Envy smiled over his satisfaction.
The lilacs would wither all too soon, but until then she intended to indulge herself, carrying the scent of home with her wherever she went.
"All this whiny, pathetic, 'no-one-understands-me' bullshit was suppose to be over in my teens," he told the bottle angrily, "I'm suppose to be an adult now."
Ed glared at him, and Al sighed. Maybe today wouldn't be a good day for Edward after all.
It was so, so much easier just to go hungry than to try their hands at something she'd done so well.
His boyfriend. He wants me to be his boyfriend. He's wooing me with gifts. I'm being courted!
No one talked of Equivalent Exchange in England, but they had a saying that came close: There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.
It does not occur to him until later — years later — that this might be considered a case of sexual abuse.
"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."
People paid a lot of money to see things like this, she imagined.
The sun was up. It was time to start the day, but Roy felt exhausted.
Alfons prays for the day when he will return to a far-off Edward, and somehow miraculously find the words, the actions, to call him back from his imaginary world.
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.
There was no question that the very act of living in this world was to be in exile.
God, he's gorgeous, even cut up. Especially cut up.
For now, he has mastered one world, two worlds; they have mastered him as well, and he is tired.
Twenty-one days, and it all falls down.
Al sits in a doorway puzzling absently over the problem of what array to draw to bandage his arm before he bleeds to death.
He always put his tongue in his cheek when he fired his weapon, and bit down when he grimaced at the aftermath.
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.
"How is it possible for you to be so like him?" she whispered, nuzzling against his throat.
Screaming or crying would have been appropriate. Edward Elric didn't care about propriety. He was laughing.
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.
The tree was wobbly, but with a few kicks and shoves Ed got it to stand up in the corner by the window.
He didn't know exactly what he found so captivating, seeing Edward like this, but he couldn't stop looking.
Half the apple pie was still on a cracked plate on the windowsill, covered with a bowl so it didn't go stale before tomorrow, because it was all he had in the house.
Edward Elric was a fanciful new obsession, an action figure still bound to the cardboard by twisted-ties, and Kimbley had to find a way to properly take him out of his packaging.
If it had been Mustang in charge, and not Archer, Ed would be down there right now, freeing Al. Mustang understood.
"That angel hated God's second born. He was jealous. Why was he so easy to cast aside and walk away from?"
His friend is blushing, ashamed to be seen in such a condition - and this is not new, either, this is not new at all.
If he would permit himself to be honest, Alphonse would admit to Roy that he hates the rain, too.
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.