What happens when WAFF meets PWP: feeling good, little plot required.
"You know, Al, you don't have to warm yourself in the sun for me."
And he was tired, and he did eventually fall asleep, to the vague hum of voices in discussion downstairs.
Winry sucked in a gasp, and dropped backward in shock.
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.
"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.
Ed frowned slightly; that thought pushed dangerously at the border of sappiness.
He doesn't have time for any of this, oak trees and summer days and a pale, bony hand twined with his.
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.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
It was the truth, but it sounded lame upon Edward's lips; the way her eyes hooded, she seemed to think so, anyway.
He felt ten years old and small, pressed against a door that wouldn't open for a very long time.
The only other tradition that was better than eggnog to Al, was that of mistletoe.
When there was no answer, he tried again, but gave up after that. It wasn't like Ed would get eaten by a rabid saucepan, or something.
"Of course, that depends how you define cruel," he adds, amused.
The showy bastard snapped with a killer grin for their audience and really, Roy was meant for either politics or the stage.
His boyfriend. He wants me to be his boyfriend. He's wooing me with gifts. I'm being courted!
It had been a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Eyes across a crowded room, and all that jazz.
If you want to find Edward Elric in Central City, you have to be a National Alchemist.
"He's the Fullmetal Alchemist," Alphonse interrupted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Are you sure you're up to the task?"
Around two o'clock in the afternoon, women around the city began to disappear ... and a crowd, primarily of females, formed along Third Street.
"This one's for you, Al." Edward swore, raised the glass to his lips, and braced for the impact.
"Are you saying," Al inquired, slowly, "that you never believed that I didn't blame you?"
It didn't fool Al one bit when his brother tried to sneak into their dorm room long after curfew, but that didn't stop Ed from trying.
Ed peeked into the last box and began to grin. "Twelve-layer chocolate cake," he said. "Wow, a whole slice."
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
"Damnit, brother," Alphonse managed, and Ed grinned at him. "I was only away for a week!"
The Colonel's staff next door ignored the pleas for help and gunshots.
This would be so much easier if he could just refuse the man to his face.
"Huh? Whose fault? Ahahah.. aha..." Ed tried to avoid the topic.
"He's a smug arrogant prick and Jean's a lazy bastard with a mouth like an ashtray."
"I know those court ordered anger management classes were years ago, but you've come such a long way."
The tree was wobbly, but with a few kicks and shoves Ed got it to stand up in the corner by the window.
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.
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.
"I must savor every moment of every love letter I recieve to do the sender justice," Mustang said, before proceeding to open the letter.
"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!"
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?
Somehow, this volunteer assignment wasn't starting out exactly the way she'd hoped it would.
Alphonse washed, and Edward dried (owing to the automail; safer not to submerge), and between the two of them the stack eventually diminished.
Heaven is this: a short, crisp October day, the clear sky a great bowl above them, the amber valley a chalice below.
"How do you manage to win, even when you lose?" he asked sleepily, some time later.
Ed's heart began pounding in anticipation of the rush he'd feel when the process was over.
Al should've never told his mother the box was a present for Winry.
He would ask questions, even though Al knew he didn't particularly care, simply because he liked seeing Alphonse so animated about something.
"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!"