No romantic plot or subplot; no identifiable pairings outside canonical relationships.
Mustang's men watched her warily from their desks, all twitchy and afraid to meet her eye. That was good: nervous dogs were easier to train.
Al should've never told his mother the box was a present for Winry.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
The boy's brother stretches out a flesh-and-blood hand towards her, and at that moment she hates him, hates them all.
"This is blackmail," Ed growled, but he pulled open the bathroom door.
A false peace, rotten at the roots: he would dream for the rest of his life of the brother he could not touch and think those dreams his due.
The pretenses stopped midway through the second cigarette.
If she cries, he may have to kill her. He can't stand that sound any longer.
Al's slightly hollow voice positively echoed with embarrassment but he bravely soldiered on...
“Brother, don’t be ungrateful! Ling is trying very hard to teach you proper use of the Xingian language!”
The feeling came more naturally than anything he'd known.
...Edward saw red - but he took a couple of deep breaths before answering. He knew a real kicker now, thanks to Hawkeye.
Faith, he'd thought, was something he'd learned as a child, squirming on the hard wooden pews.
Envy mused that this was what it sounded like when a spirit broke, a large pop of a fictitious heart, the snapsnapsnap of each rib cage.
"This one's for you, Al." Edward swore, raised the glass to his lips, and braced for the impact.
Greed has one, fundamental, flaw.
Roy was silent when Maes came back several minutes later. If he heard the sounds of retching from the bathroom, he didn't say.
But the harsh light of early morning sharpens the hard angles of desperation on Al's face so instead Ed smiles, all teeth, and lies, "Of course."
"Mai--" Ed didn't finish his sentence as he stared at the three-inch stack of letters in Foley's hand.
Surrounded by foes, he passed through them unseen, unheard, unmarked — one more gray ghost among the damned.
And everyone knows, when a homunculus is in trouble, there’s only one place to go!
"Brother," he whispers into the soft warmth of Ed's skin, "Is mom going to get better?"
If Al could have frowned suspiciously, he would have. Instead he relied on his expressive vocal stylings as he propped his brother upright. “What’s in that glass, Brother?”
"Pretty!" she says, and kneels to press her palms to the curls and knots chalked on the stones. "Papa! Did you drawed this? What's it for?"
The advantage to being so distinctive-looking was that sometimes Edward didn't have to look for people; they found him first.
Ed's arms swept out, taking in the street and the buildings, the grass and the trees and the sky -- "the world and our own minds to understand it! That's all!" Isn't that enough?
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
"We offer you not a world in which your brother died, but one in which he never lived."
As stated in the catalog, our Model 436b Hairless Ape is highly customizable, designed with the discerning deity in mind.
You hide it well behind your bluster and your sulks, but the workings of your mind are at once cunningly devious and ruthlessly simple.
Roy could've sworn First Lieutenants existed only to invent torture methods for Colonels, but he wasn't about to say that one out loud.
"You'll be up against the wall before you know it, Mustang, right where you belong, eating the bullets of a firing squad for breakfast."
She accepted the label and its implication without argument, lifting the revolver and sighting along its barrel.
I didn't know on the phone. I didn't know on the train.
"...That is an order, Fullmetal, and I will have you court-martialed if you refuse."
Ah. Fans. He preens slightly into his coat, sits up just a little taller on his haunches. Fans he knows how to deal with.
Al thought of Martel, of Nina. He didn't want to be a chimera.
Okay, his hair wasn't brushed, and it had been a while since he'd gotten a bath, but he didn't think it was anything to blush at.
At night, curled shivering on the layers of musty damp leaves under the glimmering stars, Ed lay silently and thought of unspeakable unknowns...
Once you promised me that you would dance on my grave. I'm keeping you to that promise, you know.
I had asked him, thinking she would say yes, that everything would be okay, that no one would tell my brother no because I know I never could.
rated:G | GEN | Fullmetal |
"You could have roped in the typing pool instead, they moon over the Colonel all the time."
Like the touch of Izumi-mommy's hand in mine, like her voice in my ears.
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
"We ought to have a toast," Ed says, frowning into the depths of his bottle. "They always do when they're having a drink in someone's memory."
He looks like he wants to scold Ed for swearing, but is afraid to; at the thought, Ed forces his expression to soften, and gives his little brother a wan smile.
"Well... Brother does that, every so often. He really should think before he tries to attack people."
"What do you mean, you're PREGNANT?" Ed yelled through the door.