Author's notes: So. I haven't slept in forever, I have a migraine, I Excuse any grammar or spelling errors; I wrote it on my iPod, and I am From Roy's POV. I made him extremely stupid in this. This whole thing I don't own Fma :( ~~~~~~~~
am high off medicine and my brain decided it would be lovely to shit
out a pointless little thing, and thus, this was born. . I wrote it
in like… fifteen minutes, and it has no real purpose. Mostly it's
crack. Just… only read it if you're okay with losing some brain cells.
too tired to edit it properly. One day I'll come around and fix it.
O.o Also, anything like /this/ is in italics.
is just stupid. I'm seriously warning you. I don't even know if it's
funny or just plain stupid xD To me it's funny, but I'm so buzzed that
the moon is making me giggle. v_v I also apologize if it changes
tenses. I tried for present but I think I accidentally used past
soemtimes. :'O
What I wanted to wake up to on my first day off work was a sliver of
sunshine peeking through my beige curtains, house quiet and maybe some
birds chirping on the windowsill. What I actually wake up to is rain
pattering down hard on the window, thunder cracking in the dark sky,
and my house smelling like someone had taken a bunch of old socks and
burned them. I groan, burying my face in the warm, soft pillows of my
bed for a moment. I hated rain and coldness, and I already know the
cause of the pungent odour, and both of those factors made me just want
to curl up under the blankets and die.
Despite that, I decide to suck it up and get out of bed, shivering
when the cold air touched my cozy-warm skin. Did I mention I hate
being cold? My face probably looks like death as I stuff my feet into
the black slippers near the foot of my bed and grab my (also black)
housecoat from where I'd thrown it on the ground last night before
going to bed. I shuffle out of my room and down to the kitchen,
already knowing what I would find there.
"Goood morning!" the familiar voice chirps, and I sigh.
"Why are you here?" I grumble when I walk in, plopping down at the two
chair dinner table. "Whenever you decide to come over and cook, I'm
always my house will burn down or we'll all die from poisonous gases."
As if it was perfectly normal to be standing in my kitchen, using
my stove and my pots and pans, frying what looked like shrimp and
for some odd reason, apple slices (I'm not even going to ask), Edward
turns and gives me his usual shit-eating grin.
"Hey, it's only been twice this week."
"You know it's only Wednesday, right?"
"Eh," Ed shrugs. I exhaled slowly, trying not to get too frustrated.
Ever since I'd given him an extra key to my house― in case of
emergencies― he'd taken it upon himself to come and make me breakfast
at least five times a week. I can't say it bothers me that he comes
over so often, but I do wonder why. I mean, you'd figure he'd be
spending time with Alphonse and Winry now that their bodies were back
to normal and ignoring me because I'm such a 'bastard', but instead he
comes over so often it's like we're in a relationship or something.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't like that idea, but since that
basically makes me a pedophile, I try not to think about it too much.
Anyways. "Well, what are you making today? Yet another concoction of
death?" I'm not even exaggerating―the other day he put relish, raw
fish and (I shit you not) strawberries on a slice of bread and made me
eat it, claiming it a work of art. I guess since he couldn't use
alchemy anymore, he'd decided to take his angst about that out on me
and make cooking his new pastime. I always ate whatever he gave me,
though, because it made him happy. Even though I usually ended up
almost dying.
His glare makes me roll my eyes. "Why Roy, honey," he says sweetly,
batting his eyelashes, his voice thick with sarcasm I could
practically taste, "I thought you loved my cooking."
I eye him suspiciously as he chops what looks like lettuce (again, I'm
not going to ask) with the biggest steak knife I have. "If you can
call it cooking. I call it… 'putting a bunch of random shit together
and forcing Roy to eat it because I secretly want him to die'. Or not
so secretly," I add as an afterthought. "You're trying to kill me,
aren't you?"
Ed glares again, crossing his arms (which are both flesh now). "I am
not, bastard. It's called creativity. Try it."
"I'd rather not, if it's going to make me think cooking like that is a
good idea." I stand up, walking over to check what he's cooking. My
earlier guess was right; there is indeed some shrimp and apple slices
frying in the same pan, and he is in fact chopping lettuce. Sometimes
I wonder if the Truth traded his limbs for part of his brain.
"Edward, you realize these three foods have absolutely no common
ground and that no sane person eats them all together, right?"
"Shut up," he retorts, bumping me aside with his hip. It doesn't do
much since he's so tiny, and I barely budge. He grabs the fork on the
counter and stirs the mixup in the pan a couple times, not seeming
affected by how weird it smells, a grumpy look on his face. "It's not
my fault you have no food. I just used what I could find, dammit. And
get out of my way, fattie."
I snort sarcastically, not moving at all. "Wow. That hurts."
"I hope so."
He just took something from the cupboard―Oh my god, is he honestly
pouring vanilla extract into the pan? Does he even realize what he's
doing? I grab his wrist.
"Ed, that's vanilla. Why on earth―"
"Don't judge me!" he snaps. "Vanilla tastes good, apples taste good
and shrimp taste good so all together it should be awesome!"
"You eat shrimp?"
He'd started chopping the lettuce again, that adorable (again, I am a
horrible pedophile), irritated look on his face once more. It never
really leaves whenever I'm around. "Yeah, I eat shrimp. Why?"
"Isn't that cannibalism?"
On hindsight, I don't think it was the best idea to say that while
he's holding a knife. The look in his eyes tells me that running for
my life is a really good idea, and so I do just that.
"You fucking bastard!" I hear him screech, his footsteps following
close behind as I retreated into my bedroom and locked the door behind
me. His fists pound on the door. "I'm going to poison your food! And
shove it down your throat! I hope you fucking choke on it and die,
bastard, goddamnit, you don't call me small―" Over the years, I've
gotten pretty used to his rants, but they always amuse me―they're so
creative. He probably spends hours just sitting in his room practicing
them because damn, some of the insults flying from his mouth are insane.
"Are you done?" I call when he stops to take a breather.
"No. I'm not done. In fact, you should watch your back, bastard.
There's a ninety-nine percent chance of a shitstorm and it's coming
right at ya." He kicks my door and stomps away, muttering curses and
insulting me with words that were obviously meant to offend but really
just amuse me.
I realize then that I'm pretty immature. Oh well. I open my door a
crack, peeking out to see if he's waiting for me to come out so that
he can dismember me with that huge steak knife. Huh. I guess he
actually went back to the kitchen. For some reason, I feel
disappointed, but I ignore it.
Giving him a few moments to cool off would be a good idea, however. I
decide that I should get at least somewhat dressed and quickly shuck
my housecoat off, tossing it onto my bed. I grab a pair of sweats and
slide them on, and I'm in the middle of grabbing a T-shirt when
suddenly, thunder cracks, and I realize a cold draft in blowing in.
That's strange… I thought I'd left my window closed?
Suddenly, with a feeling of cold, prickly dread, I feel an evil,
ominous presence behind me. I slowly let go of the shirt I'd been
grabbing and look back. Directly behind me is Edward, his gold eyes
narrowed and a sadistic, slightly terrifying and psychopathic grin
playing on his lips. And damn, he's holding the steak knife.
The blade gleams in the light from my ceiling fan. I frown at him, not
really all that nervous because I know he wouldn't actually kill me
(though I wouldn't put it past him to try some serious torture and/or
maiming), and ask, "How did you get in?"
"I told you to watch your back. You really shouldn't leave your
windows unlocked. People can get in easily."
"Most people can't climb up the side of houses like you, Ed. Are you
secretly spider-man?"
"No. According to you, I'm just a shrimp."
"But… shrimp are awesome." Okay, well, now I'm a bit nervous. That
blade is too close for comfort. It wouldn't be so bad it he'd move it
up a bit, towards my stomach, or down to my thighs; but nope, he's got
it right in front of my crotch. I try my hardest not to flinch.
"Don't try to and kiss my ass, Mustang. You can't take it back."
"I'm not― seriously, be careful with that knife, will you?"
He snickers. "Are you scared or soemthing? Jesus, man up, you pussy."
"Listen, any self-respecting man would be freaking out when there's a
shrimp―I mean, I mean, a person holding a knife that close to his
privates."
"Maybe I'll cook them in your next meal."
"That―oh god, no, you're sick." And I can't help but cringe. "Look,
I'm sorry. I'll never call you a shrimp again. In fact, you're getting
pretty tall. You're up to my chin now, I think." Mostly I'm babbling,
but can you blame me? You try having a knife right up in your
business. It's not fun.
He rolls his eyes and places the knife down on the table beside my
bed. Thank god. "Fine," he says, smirking. "I guess I can forgive you,
since you're such a girly-man and you look like you're ready to cry.
But only if you admit something."
I want so badly to make a snide remark about how he must not know the
horrible fear of being castrated because he lacks the parts necessary
for castration, but I bite my tongue. So far, I'd escaped death by
knife, and I just have to get past death by random food mixup; I don't
really want to add something else to that. I sigh. "What is it?"
"You have to admit that I, Edward Elric, am the most awesome,
talented, amazing, tall, sexy person on the face of the earth." Upon
seeing the look of amused disbelief on my face, he adds, "Say it, and
I will throw the shrimp and apples and stuff out and you can order us
pizza."
Well, either way I was going to be the one that got the down side of
the bargain, so I sigh. "Edward Elric, you are the most awesome,
talented, amazing, tall person on the face of the planet. Good enough?
What kind of pizza?"
"Hell no. You didn't say sexy. Hot works too, though. One of those."
"What?" I demand, exasperated. "Seriously? I'm not saying that. I
could go to jail!" Especially since it's true!
"I don't give a damn! Say it!"
"You realize how weird that is right?"
"It's only weird if you make it weird," he retorts.
"How is this my fault?"
"I mean that you'd only make a big deal out of it like you are if you
think it's true."
His logic is so messed up. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah! You think I'm sexy!"
"How on earth do you come to these conclusions?"
"Because! If you didn't think I'm sexy, you would have just said it
and then gone on with life. But since you're making a big deal out of
it, you obviously think I am sexy, and that's why you don't want to
say it!"
"That's not even―"
"You think I'm sexy!"
"I do not―"
"Iiif you want my booddy~"
"Edward―"
"Aaaand you think I'm seeexyyy~"
I'm going to murder this kid. "Edward Elric."
"Coooome on honey tell me sooooo~"
My patience finally reaches its limit. "Fine! You're sexy and hot as
all fuck, Ed! Now stop singing, stop dancing like a stripper, and tell
me what kind of fucking pizza you want."
"Pepperoni! And I'm just being sexy. Which you totally think I am!"
I give up trying to argue with him. "Okay, Ed. Whatever. I think
you're sexy, and I want to get into your pants. Believe what you will."
He throws me a saucy grin. "Oh, I will believe it. 'Cause I know it's
true."
I decide to turn his logic back onto him. "You know," I say in a high-
pitched falsetto, mocking him, "since you're making a big deal out of
it, you obviously want me to think you're sexy."
"Duh, didn't we just make that clear?"
"If you follow that logic, it also means you want me. Why else would
you want me to think you're sexy?"
His grin falters, and I can tell I got him. I smirk, deciding not to
comment on the light pink flush on his cheeks.
"I win this round," I tell him smugly.
He growls and punches my arm, hard. "You're a pervert."
"I'm not the one that started to do a strip-tease in the middle of a
man twice his age's room."
"I was just playing around, bastard!"
"Mhm, whatever you say."
"Order the fucking pizza already, you asshole."
As if this moment wasn't annoying (yet amusing) enough as it was, the
fire alarm downstairs suddenly went off, the shrill and high-pitched
sound making us both jump about a foot in the air. Ed swears, grabbing
the steak knife and bolting it out of my room, screeching something
about me being an asshole and making him forget the element is on.
Resisting the strong urge to tear my hair out I run after him, half
worried he'll trip and impale himself on the knife but mostly just
afraid he is going to burn down my house. I'm not surprised when I get
to the kitchen and am greeted by the sight of Ed screeching and
dousing the oven (which is, much to my dismay, on fire) with foam from
the fire extinguisher that had been under the sink.
When the last flame dies under the foam, and the fire alarm stops
blaring, I give him a long, flat glare that I hope conveys all the
homicidal thoughts I'm currently having. He grins nervously and shrugs
bashfully.
"Told you I was hot."
~~~~~~~~
Weird formatting is weird. O_o No flames though, please. There was enough in this story thing .
I'm not even sure what the point of this is… Review if you want. O_O I
don't blame you if you now think I have mental problems. This is what
sleep deprivation does to me. I become stupid.