warm and fuzzy, gentle, sweet, maybe a bit of sap.
He has lots of women like her, who would like to be his anchor, and too many of them confuse that for throwing themselves head first into the ocean.
"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."
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.
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
His ruse works; Ed dismisses him - with a harsh, impatient rejoinder that he isn't finished yet - and devotes his attention to his brother.
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
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.
Tenderly, Ed's flesh fingers threaded into hair that he had created — short and bronze-gold, the same downy texture that he'd recalled from childhood.
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.
The desire to go wandering again, to never settle down... it worried Alphonse.
Roy Mustang often looked back on his wedding night, recalling what he had thought about his subordinates; even now, they were his family, his safety, his friends.
"It's cheating," he declared at last, "To pick a fight while I ache."
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
That was unacceptable. Anger was to be expected; disgust was not allowed.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
It doesnít disappoint, never does; Ed is standing on the corner when the car arrives, all sharp moody edges and obtrusively coloured blue shorts.
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
The water streamed clear and icy through his fingers- and all at once he straightened, laughing, to flick the last few drops into his brotherís face.
His tone was all weary patience, as though explaining to a child why candy was out of the question until after dinner.
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
When Havoc came back from lunch, he wondered why Hawkeye was picking up scattered papers with a small and warm smile on her face.
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didnít hear you come outside."
It was so, so much easier just to go hungry than to try their hands at something she'd done so well.
Itís February in Central. Thereís nothing better to do.
It is somewhat odd that two brothers can be so different, yet so close.
"Tall girls need not apply," Hughes read aloud, without even the trace of a smirk.
rated:K | M+F S+S | Fullmetal | mid-series | First Place, Het & Non-Het | Green Lion Winner | Riza Hawkeye | Roy Mustang | angst | humor | sweet | Elric Kyoudai | 354th FG HQ | 2004 First Kiss, Non-Het
There were precious few memories remaining, now, dimmed with the passage of time and the years that heíd spent lacking a flesh body, but he kept them close to him all the same.
Theirs is a strange relationship--they know so little about each other--but somehow it's okay, as though knowledge would throw a spanner in the works.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
His friend is blushing, ashamed to be seen in such a condition - and this is not new, either, this is not new at all.
"Don't worry about it," he says bossily. "I know what to do. Give me the book--don't close it--ah, thanks."
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
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.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
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.
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad.
Wasn't young love grand, perfect as crystal, flawless as the summer overtures?
It is to such a morning that Alphonse wakes up, light pouring in through the blinds and over the bed sheets.
Roy had arched an eyebrow, cleared his throat. "Can I ask what it is about my hand that merits such an intense examination?"
Usually when he wanted something he just took the steps he knew were necessary to getting it.
It was a lousy day, depressing and the color of the sky on his way home reminded Ed of the color of the Gate and he just felt helpless and sorry and lonely and bad.
He had never dared to dream that things could get better, astounded as he'd been by the way air tasted spilling over his tongue...
I know what I feel, I know what I think, and I don't need to chickenscratch the shit down and have the risk of it falling into the wrong hands.