The color red was a distraction. The color red was him. Him--Mustang's own constant distraction, the waving red banner amidst the dull color that painted his everyday life.
If Al began to forget things, then Edward would remember anything and everything for the both of them.
Alfons swears he doesn't need glasses - and maybe he doesn't, if he can see such phenomena as the Gegenschein light--but up close he has trouble like this.
It was getting kind of depressing, though, by the time the color red alone would make him wonder about the child; the flash of a cardinal, a sprig of bright berries, the gaudiness of nighttime tavern lights, and the scarlet lipstick of bar women.
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
But he glanced behind himself for Winly, and it was a terrible, bittersweet thing.
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
It hurt, somehow, to know that there was no one now who could see past the mask if he didn't want them to.
"You. Boy by the window who's been doodling all the way through. What would be the result of this equation?"
That was the problem with girls these days... they just didn't know how to deal with a little pain.
It wasn't easy to imagine how he had been mistaken, because Al could swear that even from a distance, a hanged man looked very different from a tent post.
What he remembered of ice cream, more than the taste, was how messy it had always been.
It is what people say to him because they cannot think of any other way to relate to him, this boy who has the heavy title of 'Full Metal Alchemist'.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
The idiot prince still couldn't be bothered to figure out the different notes and coins, probably because he'd never actually paid for anything in his life.
In a blur of red and flying braid, Ed is on his knees before her.
And of course, he does not believe in God anyway, and scorns the idea of predestination.
Ah. Fans. He preens slightly into his coat, sits up just a little taller on his haunches. Fans he knows how to deal with.
She'd barely managed not to wail But it's Yoletide! and prove herself both spoiled brat and country bumpkin.
"Honestly, Fullmetal, I'm beginning to think that you're more trouble than you're worth."
Stay observant! Amestris needs you!
Yet there are still nights that he wakes up to find his hand clutched by a seated Al, who laughs his hollow laugh and asks if he's okay, even though he does not remember screaming.
Very few alchemists believed in God, but all of them believed in books.
He was only human though, and he had given into his rage at having to deal with Edward's dysfunction--and now Edward was gone, and it looked more and more like he might not be coming back.
The advantage to being so distinctive-looking was that sometimes Edward didn't have to look for people; they found him first.
Brother likes to pretend that he doesn't care what goes on in the military unless it directly affects him. Or, you know, directly offends him. One or the other.
"...That is an order, Fullmetal, and I will have you court-martialed if you refuse."
It was just as his body heat was beginning to bring the sheets up to a reasonable temperature that the noise caught his ears- an ugly scraping sound, unnatural and harsh in the silence of early morning hours.
This really was turning out to be a day of surprises, thought Roy.
Alphonse worried, but was rapidly won over by his brother's promises.
Not a fairy, then, Alfons thought in disappointment. The fairies in stories weren't usually so foul-mouthed and excitable, anyway.
It would be a shame if the future Fuhrer got himself killed over something as trivial as a chess game.
They were good boys, and smart, and she trusted them to stay mostly out of trouble. Mostly.
This is the smell of ozone from a lightning strike. This is fear.
"And search for free porn." Havoc pointed out.
You've only been awake for thirty-six hours, staged a coup, fought a bunch of monsters and nearly died a few times. It's not as if you've had a tough day.
rated:M-L-V | GEN | Mangaverse | post-series | SP: up to ch 108 | DF: ch 105 | Dr Marcoh | Alex Louis Armstrong | Alphonse Elric | Cdr Grumman | Dr Knox | Edward Elric | Riza Hawkeye | Roy Mustang | death | mystery
At night, curled shivering on the layers of musty damp leaves under the glimmering stars, Ed lay silently and thought of unspeakable unknowns...
For in equivalent trade, everything has value and therefore everything can be taken away.
Edward Elric was in an exceedingly bad mood.
As much as he loved his family, Alphonse Elric wouldn't have traded these moments alone for anything.
"Now, Earth-type world, yes? Spoken language identified as late pre-Galactic English."
rated:M-L | GEN | Alt Universe | TWT | First Place (popular); Second Place (juried) | Green Lion Winner | Alfons Heiderich | Edward Elric | crack | drama | fusion | introspective | 2009 Brave New Worlds, Original
He can still feel in his cheeks the faint scratch of beard against skin when his father kissed him there.
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.
Ed did not want to die without seeing Alphonse again.
Fullmetal smiled a long, slow smile, the sort that promised evil things were in the near future, and put his boots up on Roy's desk.
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.
"Well, I guess she can't keep him away from every bitch in heat around this place."
An alchemical reaction of the most ancient kind: sitting down to eat as though filling the stomach could replace the gap in one's heart.
Tomorrow: having to talk to fucking Hohenheim. The day after tomorrow: the apocalypse. No pressure, eh?