"I forgot my....the ticky thing? It's...it's round and it...tells the time..."
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.
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.
Not many people are close enough to his brother to have seen either of the first two with any sort of frequency.
“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.
Sweet nothingness, just feeling, no Stone, no pesky mental commentary or guilt, and just this goddamn sensation that eclipsed the sun.
"He's the Fullmetal Alchemist," Alphonse interrupted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Are you sure you're up to the task?"
Faith didn't hold much of a place in my life; science was my passion, something I could see, something I could feel, could make sense of.
The first time was not a night of magic or fireworks, not something dreams were made of, not something that either of them planned on repeating again.
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.
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.
If it didn't rain so often, Ed thought, he might feel a little more like he could make plans.
Boys shouldn't do this, either with their brothers or with any other boy.
Humans are so greedy, the Truth had told him in his dreams; and for all his airs and graces, he is no exception.
Alphonse settled for a barely audible sigh and hoped that his brother knew what he was doing.
"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.
"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."
Twenty-one days, and it all falls down.
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.
The desire to go wandering again, to never settle down... it worried Alphonse.
I'm going to kill Ed when he gets back, Al told the General. I just thought I should tell you in advance in case there's paperwork.
Who knew how long it would take to find Al and take down those who'd conspired to feign his death?
There were three ways to identify the Fullmetal Alchemist, wherever he went.
"Yeah," Fuery chips in, "you're always the one to stop Ed from doing weird stuff, not the other way around."
With a sense of rising dread, Alphonse raised his fist to pound for admittance, worry tinging his voice. "Brother? Are you alright in there?"
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didn’t hear you come outside."
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.
"Brother," Alphonse said, voice soft with horror, "I think that Winry's going to kill you."
"I'm sorry Al," he said at last. "For what it's worth, I never meant for this to happen to you."
"Damnit, brother," Alphonse managed, and Ed grinned at him. "I was only away for a week!"
It's almost as though Al is the blind one, seeking to memorize his brother's features by touch.
The only other tradition that was better than eggnog to Al, was that of mistletoe.
It's important that a little light always comes in, even if it's only enough to see shadows and outlines, and not words at all.
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.
He was just moving to light the stove, casting about for a match to begin the flames that would cook their dinner, when the voice drifted in from the other room.
Sometimes Al thinks that somewhere back in the Armstrong family tree lurks an alchemical accident in a sequin factory.
All it took was a push of his hand and the twist of a small brass key to put it out of sight.
The creature tilted its head, eyeing the two men to the side of her, and slid off its precarious perch.
He realized for the first time that Edward, who he was used to seeing shadowed by blood and sweat and his own private sorrows, was actually beautiful.
Sometimes he feels like an actor, playing to an especially difficult audience.
"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 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.
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.
But suddenly, when Al had his body back, it was like picking up an old book and learning something new.