What happens when WAFF meets PWP: feeling good, little plot required.
"I know those court ordered anger management classes were years ago, but you've come such a long way."
Ed imagined Al's expression would look something like Fletcher's did right now.
They say that a wizard lives in the log cabin, on the other side of the dark woods and the silver river.
Ed saw Roy's fingers twitch and curl at his sides as the desire to embrace almost overwhelmed discretion and good sense.
It was the truth, but it sounded lame upon Edward's lips; the way her eyes hooded, she seemed to think so, anyway.
"Hey! She did it blindfolded! No one else could do that! And better her than that old hag!"
He would have killed, before a nonexistent God and Winry, to be that goddamn spatula.
"Ah, Alphonse-kun, I was wondering when you would wake up."
Ed frowned slightly; that thought pushed dangerously at the border of sappiness.
At fifteen he had been intimidating; at thirty, he could be terrifying.
Ed's heart began pounding in anticipation of the rush he'd feel when the process was over.
"Of course, that depends how you define cruel," he adds, amused.
... to prove his point, he wields his tongue as he would a pen, hastily spelling out the letters P-E-R-V-E-R-T with his saliva...
"Huh? Whose fault? Ahahah.. aha..." Ed tried to avoid the topic.
The showy bastard snapped with a killer grin for their audience and really, Roy was meant for either politics or the stage.
"Are you saying," Al inquired, slowly, "that you never believed that I didn't blame you?"
Al should've never told his mother the box was a present for Winry.
He's a pessimist with an ego seven miles long; he's a scientist, too, doesn't approve of Al's books.
Heaven is this: a short, crisp October day, the clear sky a great bowl above them, the amber valley a chalice below.
So, really, it was only fair that Ed's first, instinctive reaction when Roy hit the ground after slipping off the roof was to snort and tell him, "I told you so."
"You know, Al, you don't have to warm yourself in the sun for me."
Somehow, this volunteer assignment wasn't starting out exactly the way she'd hoped it would.
The house rumbled gently, as a cat purrs, and Alphonse tied off the braid, pressing his hands to Edward's scalp one more time before dropping them to his side.
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.
More than once already, Edward had regretted turning down the offer of a ride home, despite the fact that the little house he shared with Alphonse was nowhere near where Havoc lived.
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.
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.
Both Edward and Winry were on hand day and night, looking for anything they could do to ease his way.
A hand was extended, and he finally, finally took it, even if he didn't use it to pull himself up.
"He's a smug arrogant prick and Jean's a lazy bastard with a mouth like an ashtray."
He was not ready to be an uncle! He was ready, however, to hit things and curse.
"How do you manage to win, even when you lose?" he asked sleepily, some time later.
He was coming to read Alfons pretty well now too, and from what Al did understand he could give as good as he got.
"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!"
And he was tired, and he did eventually fall asleep, to the vague hum of voices in discussion downstairs.
"This one's for you, Al." Edward swore, raised the glass to his lips, and braced for the impact.
He doesn't have time for any of this, oak trees and summer days and a pale, bony hand twined with his.
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.
It was a game they often played, what would they do once they got their bodies back.
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?
Ah. Fans. He preens slightly into his coat, sits up just a little taller on his haunches. Fans he knows how to deal with.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
"I must savor every moment of every love letter I recieve to do the sender justice," Mustang said, before proceeding to open the letter.
If you want to find Edward Elric in Central City, you have to be a National Alchemist.
Alphonse Elric was a gentle soul, and he detested fighting.
His boyfriend. He wants me to be his boyfriend. He's wooing me with gifts. I'm being courted!