What happens when WAFF meets PWP: feeling good, little plot required.
People all have different ideas of beauty, Al knows, and no two ever appear to be the same.
She laughs to see the grand scholar on his stomach on the floor of the living room, reading his sons a fairy tale from a fat little book.
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's heart began pounding in anticipation of the rush he'd feel when the process was over.
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.
Around two o'clock in the afternoon, women around the city began to disappear ... and a crowd, primarily of females, formed along Third Street.
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.
"Ah, Alphonse-kun, I was wondering when you would wake up."
"Of course, that depends how you define cruel," he adds, amused.
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.
The Colonel's staff next door ignored the pleas for help and gunshots.
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.
Alphonse Elric was a gentle soul, and he detested fighting.
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.
"Damnit, brother," Alphonse managed, and Ed grinned at him. "I was only away for a week!"
"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.
Somehow, this volunteer assignment wasn't starting out exactly the way she'd hoped it would.
The only other tradition that was better than eggnog to Al, was that of mistletoe.
"This one's for you, Al." Edward swore, raised the glass to his lips, and braced for the impact.
This is the most perplexing part, for Edward, because often he thinks, how in the hell did I end up with…?
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?
He doesn't have time for any of this, oak trees and summer days and a pale, bony hand twined with his.
"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?"
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
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.
"He's the Fullmetal Alchemist," Alphonse interrupted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Are you sure you're up to the task?"
He felt ten years old and small, pressed against a door that wouldn't open for a very long time.
Ed saw Roy's fingers twitch and curl at his sides as the desire to embrace almost overwhelmed discretion and good sense.
Alphonse settled for a barely audible sigh and hoped that his brother knew what he was doing.
He shuffled into her store nearly six months after she had moved to Central.
It made a lovely picture, with the moonlight streaming in thick and silver under the curtains, and Edward silently cursed everything that came to mind...
This would be so much easier if he could just refuse the man to his face.
A hand was extended, and he finally, finally took it, even if he didn't use it to pull himself up.
They say that a wizard lives in the log cabin, on the other side of the dark woods and the silver river.
His boyfriend. He wants me to be his boyfriend. He's wooing me with gifts. I'm being courted!
He was coming to read Alfons pretty well now too, and from what Al did understand he could give as good as he got.
And he was tired, and he did eventually fall asleep, to the vague hum of voices in discussion downstairs.
"How do you manage to win, even when you lose?" he asked sleepily, some time later.
Ed peeked into the last box and began to grin. "Twelve-layer chocolate cake," he said. "Wow, a whole slice."
He was not ready to be an uncle! He was ready, however, to hit things and curse.
At fifteen he had been intimidating; at thirty, he could be terrifying.
Ed imagined Al's expression would look something like Fletcher's did right now.