What happens when WAFF meets PWP: feeling good, little plot required.
They say that a wizard lives in the log cabin, on the other side of the dark woods and the silver river.
"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?"
Al should've never told his mother the box was a present for Winry.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
He was coming to read Alfons pretty well now too, and from what Al did understand he could give as good as he got.
Al, at 17, had discovered that mornings were unbearable for the first time in his life, and waking up before ten o'clock in the morning was pure agony.
Alphonse washed, and Edward dried (owing to the automail; safer not to submerge), and between the two of them the stack eventually diminished.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
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.
"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!"
He would have killed, before a nonexistent God and Winry, to be that goddamn spatula.
At fifteen he had been intimidating; at thirty, he could be terrifying.
"Huh? Whose fault? Ahahah.. aha..." Ed tried to avoid the topic.
Alphonse settled for a barely audible sigh and hoped that his brother knew what he was doing.
Wasn't young love grand, perfect as crystal, flawless as the summer overtures?
Around two o'clock in the afternoon, women around the city began to disappear ... and a crowd, primarily of females, formed along Third Street.
"Damnit, brother," Alphonse managed, and Ed grinned at him. "I was only away for a week!"
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.
"This is disgusting," he said aloud, then poked his head through the door and yelled, "Brother! This is disgusting!"
"Of course, that depends how you define cruel," he adds, amused.
His boyfriend. He wants me to be his boyfriend. He's wooing me with gifts. I'm being courted!
"Are you saying," Al inquired, slowly, "that you never believed that I didn't blame you?"
There was a lot to be said for experimentation, Ed thought later, when Al was curled up in his arms as Winry fussed in the bathroom.
Both Edward and Winry were on hand day and night, looking for anything they could do to ease his way.
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.
"He's the Fullmetal Alchemist," Alphonse interrupted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Are you sure you're up to the task?"
If you want to find Edward Elric in Central City, you have to be a National Alchemist.
The only other tradition that was better than eggnog to Al, was that of mistletoe.
"I must savor every moment of every love letter I recieve to do the sender justice," Mustang said, before proceeding to open the letter.
A hand was extended, and he finally, finally took it, even if he didn't use it to pull himself up.
"You know, Al, you don't have to warm yourself in the sun for me."
Wouldn't it be easier, after all, to slip from beneath the blankets and return to his own bed, all but unused for the past month?
"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!"
And he was tired, and he did eventually fall asleep, to the vague hum of voices in discussion downstairs.
Heaven is this: a short, crisp October day, the clear sky a great bowl above them, the amber valley a chalice below.
The room had gotten hot and stuffy, and there was sweat on both of his hands, though the sheen on the automail had not come from his own body.
He's a pessimist with an ego seven miles long; he's a scientist, too, doesn't approve of Al's books.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
Alphonse Elric was a gentle soul, and he detested fighting.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
"Do you remember that song Mom used to sing to us?" He asked instead, concentrating on the tiny kinks of the inside of his detached leg.
It had been a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Eyes across a crowded room, and all that jazz.
Ed saw Roy's fingers twitch and curl at his sides as the desire to embrace almost overwhelmed discretion and good sense.
The showy bastard snapped with a killer grin for their audience and really, Roy was meant for either politics or the stage.