That was when the nightmare had begun, when the world had become stone walls, sterilized laboratories, and lights so bright as to make little red capillaries snake across both boys' eyes.
There were precious few memories remaining, now, dimmed with the passage of time and the years that he’d spent lacking a flesh body, but he kept them close to him all the same.
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.
For an instant, a look passed between them, and Alphonse could almost imagine that he saw his own emotions reflected within the eyes of his brother.
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.
"You paid for him to have sex?" Mustang says incredulously, putting his pen down on the table top and shoving the form away. "You bought him a prostitute?"
The desire to go wandering again, to never settle down... it worried Alphonse.
“Are you all right, Loincloth Witch Alphonse?” “Y-y-yes,” the young hero stammered, feeling as though at any moment his heart might leap right through his ribcage.
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 is immortality deep within us that has nothing to do with corruptible flesh and earthly demise.
All it took was a push of his hand and the twist of a small brass key to put it out of sight.
It wasn't enough just to know what chemical components went into a human body, not if the structural knowledge was completely lacking.
Al crouches down on a dune looking down on the camp and draws an array in the sand, thinking of Gunnar with a dull pang of grief.
"Your arm," said Al, smiling apologetically. "It's kind of heavy."
"I know," Ed replies, and grins. "I mean, I can totally see why. Nobody else kisses the way I do."
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.
"All this will do is give your soul access to the feelings that should be in your body right now, just like a normal teenage boy."
There was gold in the middle of midnight, and Envy smiled over his satisfaction.
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...
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad.
There were three ways to identify the Fullmetal Alchemist, wherever he went.
After so many years in the dark, Edward Elric had discovered he had a libido after all, and it was unfortunately exacting its frustrated vengeance upon one Alphonse Elric.
"Don't worry about it," he says bossily. "I know what to do. Give me the book--don't close it--ah, thanks."
"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."
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
"It's blue!" Edward announced with the voice of desperation.
"Hi Brother!" the other end of the phone chirped, and Ed's shoulders immediately went from tense to jelly.
As always, there was a spark of hope in the younger Elric's expression, and it dug its claws into him as it had every day for the past eight months.
It is somewhat odd that two brothers can be so different, yet so close.
"Are you saying," Al inquired, slowly, "that you never believed that I didn't blame you?"
"You aren't Envy, are you? Because if you are, I'll kick your ass and find out what you've done with my brother."
If it didn't rain so often, Ed thought, he might feel a little more like he could make plans.
Al can see his handwriting -- which closely resembles the marks a tap-dancing spider might make if it fell in an ink pot first.
With a sense of rising dread, Alphonse raised his fist to pound for admittance, worry tinging his voice. "Brother? Are you alright in there?"
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
Apparently, years of stress had jaded Ed into thinking that if things were looking good now, then something terrible must be around the corner.
"It's cheating," he declared at last, "To pick a fight while I ache."
The sunrise is spectacular, and it is the first that Edward has been awake to see in years.
In the summer they competed at climbing through the twisting branches, risking life and bruises to collect baskets of fruit and bring them back home.
"Stop that," he snapped, flicking the tap on. "Change into something a little more appropriate. You're not him, brother."
He could imagine the words Fix typed as coming from his brother, and it afforded him a little bit of indulgence in his horrible, sinful, uncontrollable urges.
The room had gotten hot and stuffy, and there was sweat on both of his hands, though the sheen on the automail had not come from his own body.
His brother seemed to like it when the leather left marks, a residual token of ownership, even when the collar (by job-dictated necessity) had to be removed.
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.
Alphonse settled for a barely audible sigh and hoped that his brother knew what he was doing.
He runs out of ink halfway through the page, and with a quiet sigh dips his finger in the inkwell...