What happens when WAFF meets PWP: feeling good, little plot required.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
People all have different ideas of beauty, Al knows, and no two ever appear to be the same.
He doesn't have time for any of this, oak trees and summer days and a pale, bony hand twined with his.
This would be so much easier if he could just refuse the man to his face.
"He's the Fullmetal Alchemist," Alphonse interrupted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Are you sure you're up to the task?"
The Colonel's staff next door ignored the pleas for help and gunshots.
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.
He would ask questions, even though Al knew he didn't particularly care, simply because he liked seeing Alphonse so animated about something.
Apparently, years of stress had jaded Ed into thinking that if things were looking good now, then something terrible must be around the corner.
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.
If you want to find Edward Elric in Central City, you have to be a National Alchemist.
It was a game they often played, what would they do once they got their bodies back.
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.
"I know those court ordered anger management classes were years ago, but you've come such a long way."
They say that a wizard lives in the log cabin, on the other side of the dark woods and the silver river.
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."
"Damnit, brother," Alphonse managed, and Ed grinned at him. "I was only away for a week!"
Ed frowned slightly; that thought pushed dangerously at the border of sappiness.
His boyfriend. He wants me to be his boyfriend. He's wooing me with gifts. I'm being courted!
"Ah, Alphonse-kun, I was wondering when you would wake up."
Ed saw Roy's fingers twitch and curl at his sides as the desire to embrace almost overwhelmed discretion and good sense.
"How do you manage to win, even when you lose?" he asked sleepily, some time later.
The only problem was that Ed didn't know what the heck "getting some" was or what he was being congratulated for.
The showy bastard snapped with a killer grin for their audience and really, Roy was meant for either politics or the stage.
Heaven is this: a short, crisp October day, the clear sky a great bowl above them, the amber valley a chalice below.
He was coming to read Alfons pretty well now too, and from what Al did understand he could give as good as he got.
At fifteen he had been intimidating; at thirty, he could be terrifying.
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.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
He felt ten years old and small, pressed against a door that wouldn't open for a very long time.
"Huh? Whose fault? Ahahah.. aha..." Ed tried to avoid the topic.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
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.
Ah. Fans. He preens slightly into his coat, sits up just a little taller on his haunches. Fans he knows how to deal with.
He shuffled into her store nearly six months after she had moved to Central.
"He's a smug arrogant prick and Jean's a lazy bastard with a mouth like an ashtray."
The only other tradition that was better than eggnog to Al, was that of mistletoe.
Somehow, this volunteer assignment wasn't starting out exactly the way she'd hoped it would.
He's a pessimist with an ego seven miles long; he's a scientist, too, doesn't approve of Al's books.
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.
"Of course, that depends how you define cruel," he adds, amused.
This is the most perplexing part, for Edward, because often he thinks, how in the hell did I end up with…?
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.