What happens when WAFF meets PWP: feeling good, little plot required.
"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.
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.
He shuffled into her store nearly six months after she had moved to Central.
This would be so much easier if he could just refuse the man to his face.
He was not ready to be an uncle! He was ready, however, to hit things and curse.
It was the truth, but it sounded lame upon Edward's lips; the way her eyes hooded, she seemed to think so, anyway.
The tree was wobbly, but with a few kicks and shoves Ed got it to stand up in the corner by the window.
Apparently, years of stress had jaded Ed into thinking that if things were looking good now, then something terrible must be around the corner.
"This is disgusting," he said aloud, then poked his head through the door and yelled, "Brother! This is disgusting!"
Winry sucked in a gasp, and dropped backward in shock.
At fifteen he had been intimidating; at thirty, he could be terrifying.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
Somehow, this volunteer assignment wasn't starting out exactly the way she'd hoped it would.
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.
"You know, Al, you don't have to warm yourself in the sun for me."
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
"Huh? Whose fault? Ahahah.. aha..." Ed tried to avoid the topic.
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...
Alphonse Elric was a gentle soul, and he detested fighting.
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 lay back on the couch (in Roy Mustang's office, where else?) and declared , "I'm not wearing this."
Al should've never told his mother the box was a present for Winry.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
The Colonel's staff next door ignored the pleas for help and gunshots.
He was coming to read Alfons pretty well now too, and from what Al did understand he could give as good as he got.
He would have killed, before a nonexistent God and Winry, to be that goddamn spatula.
Heaven is this: a short, crisp October day, the clear sky a great bowl above them, the amber valley a chalice below.
"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?"
He's a pessimist with an ego seven miles long; he's a scientist, too, doesn't approve of Al's books.
Ed's heart began pounding in anticipation of the rush he'd feel when the process was over.
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.
Ed saw Roy's fingers twitch and curl at his sides as the desire to embrace almost overwhelmed discretion and good sense.
The only other tradition that was better than eggnog to Al, was that of mistletoe.
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."
"I know those court ordered anger management classes were years ago, but you've come such a long way."
The only problem was that Ed didn't know what the heck "getting some" was or what he was being congratulated for.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
... 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...
It had been a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Eyes across a crowded room, and all that jazz.
Alphonse washed, and Edward dried (owing to the automail; safer not to submerge), and between the two of them the stack eventually diminished.
It was a game they often played, what would they do once they got their bodies back.
A hand was extended, and he finally, finally took it, even if he didn't use it to pull himself up.
If you want to find Edward Elric in Central City, you have to be a National Alchemist.
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.
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.