Catchall for cross-genre fiction.
"Yeah. Him again. The Colonel doesn't know when to quit, does he?"
Ed stalked into Mustang's office, growling illtemperedly under his breath.
There are things he cannot allow Greed to do.
"That's what you said last time. And the time before that. And," he added, dragging the feather upward with maddening slowness, "The time before that."
See him move, see him train, see him jump into that air and swing his leg in a complete arch before he lands heavily to the ground in a perfect execution of Sensei's teachings.
It is snowing in earnest by the time the fire has begun to burn low, but neither boy wants to move to add more wood.
There was one thing that Edward had missed above all others.
His tone was all weary patience, as though explaining to a child why candy was out of the question until after dinner.
"You. Boy by the window who's been doodling all the way through. What would be the result of this equation?"
"Up," said the demon, as the blinding force of a million suns illuminated its frame and set an evil light to its eyes.
This new life was staggering - more so, the feel of Alphonse's shoulder, warm and flesh beneath his cheek as the train lurched out of the station.
"This is blackmail," Ed growled, but he pulled open the bathroom door.
“Brother, don’t be ungrateful! Ling is trying very hard to teach you proper use of the Xingian language!”
Between Ed's commanding presence and the fact that Al had been an impressively large suit of spiked armor, it had been hard to get to know him much.
The sunrise is spectacular, and it is the first that Edward has been awake to see in years.
"We'll have you patched up in no time." Edward announced, slicing the leather into short, precise strips. It was irrational, but somehow Alphonse hated those words.
Alfons had never had anyone his age to horse around with, Edward thought, and as cerebral as he was he probably didn't get in many street fights.
When she prayed the next day, she only whispered the bits about sin, because how could anything that felt that good be wrong?
Rubbing at a fading reminder of one such lesson on his left biceps, he hopes she appreciates what a formidable champion she’s gained.
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didn’t hear you come outside."
He'll fix himself breakfast, and maybe something for Edward as well, if he's feeling charitable.
It shouldn't have been a surprise that he would run across on Jean Havoc, sitting just underneath a "No Smoking" sign outside in the afternoon sun.
And there was a certain look they shared, the one they both used when they thought Ed was being unreasonably stubborn.
"Brother," Alphonse said, voice soft with horror, "I think that Winry's going to kill you."
Some of the details he needed, of course, they wouldn't have; no non-alchemist would know. And most of the details they had, he didn't want.
What part of 'this is my house' are you having problems with, Fullmetal?"
The feeling came more naturally than anything he'd known.
Yeah. Get it right and be honest, it's a little too good, a little too everything to let go of just yet.
Envy forced down the nasty smirk that threatened to overwhelm him.
Smug, he'd stayed just long enough to give his report and then had marched straight off to Resembool with Al lagging behind.
His arms weren't big enough to encompass all of himself, and Edward always got the pieces that he couldn't reach.
I noticed, Ed told him with as much edge as he could muster.
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
Sometimes Roy would just hold him for an hour or more, late at night, blind comfort.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
"You know we need to catch that train to Central, and you were being unreasonable. If we're late getting back again, General Mustang's going to have a fit."
The feel of hands on his shoulders woke him, one metal and one flesh, and it was the chill in human fingers that told him how cold the night had grown while he slept.
It was only after the sheer sensation had abated — only when he felt on solid enough ground to focus on the subtleties of life once more — that the habit began to catch his attention.
What do you know, he wanted to scream, what do you know about my brother, what he’s gone through and how far he’s — we’ve — come?
"It's cheating," he declared at last, "To pick a fight while I ache."
The water streamed clear and icy through his fingers- and all at once he straightened, laughing, to flick the last few drops into his brother’s face.
They shared the same eyes, the same hair, and a level of intelligence ... and sometimes, Ed felt far too much like he was his father's son.
It was the last moments of the change that had always held Ed rapt, had always thrilled him with the knowledge that whatever came into being, every tiny detail of it, was his creation.
With a sense of rising dread, Alphonse raised his fist to pound for admittance, worry tinging his voice. "Brother? Are you alright in there?"