If she cries, he may have to kill her. He can't stand that sound any longer.
They shared the same eyes, the same hair, and a level of intelligence ... and sometimes, Ed felt far too much like he was his father's son.
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.
"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
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.
Yes, something was amiss, and Roy Mustang was going to find out what.
Ed did not want to die without seeing Alphonse again.
Car broke down again, couple kilometers out of the city, so they had to walk for a while, until Alfons couldn't speak for the coughing.
He's getting so awfully, awfully tired of pictures, but they won't just stop coming.
If Ed had his way, his allowance (and all of Roy's salary) would be spent entirely on the most expensive brand of dog food to have ever existed.
Ling was an expert at this shit, he really was: making Ed feel too bad to say no to him, throwing out weird, cheeseball compliments that made his cheeks fire and froze his brain before he could brush them off
Winry had never gotten to appreciate the leather pants in her current position as the person who got to unzip them.
Some of the details he needed, of course, they wouldn't have; no non-alchemist would know. And most of the details they had, he didn't want.
Ed opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Visibility is that important to you, huh?" he said.
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'.
She'd barely managed not to wail But it's Yoletide! and prove herself both spoiled brat and country bumpkin.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
Fear kept Al's metal arms at his sides, shaking slightly with each of Edward's pained moans.
He’s killing his brother slowly, but he has already promised to do it quickly; what does it matter?
Alfons Heiderich, this universe's most cruel mistake, came round from the other side of the crumbling brick wall, and Ed found himself again wondering if the man existed solely for his personal torment.
But he glanced behind himself for Winly, and it was a terrible, bittersweet thing.
He mostly trusted his brother to be able to put a nearly-three-year-old to bed by himself, but...Al should probably check, just to be sure.
What he remembered of ice cream, more than the taste, was how messy it had always been.
Even Hawkeye could be caught off guard, and the men moving in too late, even five seconds too long, too far away.
Ed remembered that Al's first word was 'Mama', and his second one was 'Niichan'.
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.
Sometimes they race to see who can get to Winry's house faster.
It hurt, somehow, to know that there was no one now who could see past the mask if he didn't want them to.
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?
Very few alchemists believed in God, but all of them believed in books.
It took you long enough to make your call. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to work a phone.
"You. Boy by the window who's been doodling all the way through. What would be the result of this equation?"
Al's slightly hollow voice positively echoed with embarrassment but he bravely soldiered on...
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.
"Just who're you calling..." Edward's voice stuttered to a halt as he saw where the man was pointing. "...short?"
"Honestly, Fullmetal, I'm beginning to think that you're more trouble than you're worth."
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.
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
He's seen quite enough of the military hospital in Central, and much as he likes the nurses, he was still glad when he thought they were through with it.
He can still feel in his cheeks the faint scratch of beard against skin when his father kissed him there.
At night, curled shivering on the layers of musty damp leaves under the glimmering stars, Ed lay silently and thought of unspeakable unknowns...
But they were no longer young, and they no longer lived together, and Al wouldn't embarrass his brother in front of their hosts by trying to take care of him.
What do you know, he wanted to scream, what do you know about my brother, what he’s gone through and how far he’s — we’ve — come?
This is the smell of ozone from a lightning strike. This is fear.
Because he had said one year; and dammit, he meant it.
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.
You'd have to be inhuman not to quake in fear when she stares you down.
"When I walked in on you in the bath, Edward, I wasn't expecting Al to be there too."