Oy. The idea was bad. I realize that now. Maybe I realized it then. But, then again, I am... headstrong.

I'll try and make it... less destroying of FMA than previously. Sorry to all...

Here is the first chapter for Young Alchemist:

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really, you can take my characters. Nobody seems to like them anyways...

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"There was always a harsh reality with alchemy. It was an exact science. And no matter how much somebody wanted to claim something as their own, it could always be found in some forgotten, ancient tome. Always. Because, really, no one could be original in something like alchemy, right? Wrong!

"For instance, there has only been one alchemist in Amestris with the resourcefulness to use what most would call a crippling disability to his advantage. He used his actual prosthetic limbs to create weapons in tight places. Truthfully, how many could say that they would think of their own body–and yes, this man considered metal to be part of him–as a tool?

"Well, how many could think of it as a sacrifice? Something expendable? Something not necessary? How many people could think to use an arm as payment to keep their brother alive? Only one man I know: his name is Edward Elric. And he is the one I am truly grateful for."

An extremely large man awkwardly sat down in a quaint dining room chair. His size was the only thing a person could distinguish from him because he was wearing a recently polished suit of heavy armor. Not the new kind that was mandatory for all soldiers nowadays, but the kind the one could take photos of when they visited a castle from the Dark Ages. The kind of armor that raised eyebrows and questions all in one go when it was worn in public.

Though, the occupants of the room didn't seem to take notice of the man's strange attire. In fact, he seemed to be the glowing spot in the room. His personality emanated warmth, comfort: a sense of homeliness that made almost any gathering pleasant. The occupants had been attentive while he spoke, for he did not speak as often as they would have liked. Nor as loudly.

Regardless of the first man observed, however, the second one was received with a little more awe, if not trepidation, and the room became wired with polite conversation. He tried to command their attention, but this too was snuffed. And just when their fears were nearly realized–that the second man would blow a gasket because of his notorious short temper and haughty attitude–the saving grace entered the room.

A third member, of which will be observed, entered the room and commanded more attention than the first or second. Not that she wanted it. She, actually, was quietly embarrassed about the softened glances and the quiet murmurings following which definitely had traces of the words "cute" and her name.

The third member merely crawled from her bedroom and scooted down the stairs because her night light had failed in its purpose of keeping the dark away. And she wanted her daddy to check for monsters and get another light up there. All of this was hardly intelligible because of a relentless habit–thumb-sucking, as it were–and the group tittered all hush-hush because the cute little girl was scared of the dark.

Everybody knew the third member was the deadliest person in the room–well, so to speak. This observation is stated so airily in its nature for the simple reason that she was the only one who could keep the second from shouting. She didn't even have to say anything. Just one look with big, sad eyes and glowering and grumbling would cease n its entirety. Because, even with two very-scary looking metal automail limbs, the second member was really a softy under the tough-guy act.

So, without grumbling or hesitance–more with eagerness and joy, rather–the second member excused himself from the table, receiving many polite nods of the head, and hoisted the third member onto his good hip. The one that didn't make "ouchies".

"Well, Therese," said the second to the third, "it would seem that you need a good monster inspector tonight. I'm your guy."

"And a bulb!" By which, the third meant a lightbulb.

The second assented with a very solemn nod of his head. "A good one. One that won't burn out."

"And maybe a story?" The third glanced ever-so-hopefully into the second's eyes. To her, his eyes always seemed softer when he looked at her. It made her feel they were sharing a secret. I'll look at you this way, and you look at me this way! But, shhh, don't tell Mommy!

As much as the second member would have loved to just stay up in his little girl's room and read over all the classic fairytales, he did have guests to attend to. And even though he had been about to so rudely shout at them just moments before, now that his head was not filled with the indignity of their lack of interest, he knew that he had to be a polite host. And a polite husband. He could not just leave his wife to fend off all well-wishers and thanks-givers. So, with a sad shake of the head, the second person replied, "Sorry, Therese. Not tonight. We've got people we've got to pay attention to. But I promise double stories tomorrow, okay?"

"'Kay, Daddy."

Daddy. It was still a strange name. Not exactly unwanted. Just strange. For so long, the second member had been Brother. From Brother to Daddy was quite a big step.

"Wait, wait! Daddy, the bulb! Did you forget?" The look she gave him was so accusing, so hurt, so full of absolute despair that he actually cringed. And the girl in his arms was four. Which was only further justification of the most bold statement that the third member was indeed the most deadliest occupant in the house.

"Course not," he replied. And, in that moment, the hurt, accusing, and despair vanished from the little girl's face. Because she had faith in her Daddy.

He began to head back down the stairs, the little girl clinging sleepily to his neck, regardless of the fact that he had her fragile little body safely in his gentle grip and his assurances that he would not let go. No, it was not a case of mistrust. It was on the opposite pole. The little girl felt comforted by the soft feeling of her father's long hair brushing her tiny hand as he swayed to and fro during each stride. It was the reason she never let go.

The "bulb" was finally retrieved, the third member tucked in with reassurances that, "Yes, tomorrow you get double stories," and, "Yes, Uncle Fonz-y would still be there when she woke up. So yes, you can go to sleep."

Then, the light flicked off, the room less eerily dark, and the third member dropped off into dreams about something sweet and edible, however specifics were never recalled.

Finally, reluctantly, the second member shut the door so slowly that not even a "thud" was heard by the only dog in the house–who had faithfully served as a watchdog for all of his long years. Maybe it was his hearing that was going. But when the second member returned down the stairs and his wife brought out a tray of delicious-smelling treats, the watchdog certainly heard the soft clatter of spoons and forks, because he came trotting over–despite the bad hip–ears pricked up and eyes attentive.

Everyone enjoyed these delicacies. Even the watchdog snuck his fair share. But the man in the peculiar suit of armor–who was observed as the first member, or better known as Al–did not remove his helmet to even taste the treat. In fact, he had not had any of the aromatic food that the second member's wife had prepared.

Just as no one seemed aware of Uncle Fonz-y's–for yes, that is what the third member did often call her uncle–unusual choice in dress, they did not seem to stress about his strange lack of appetite. For it was not strange at all. At least to the merry group that gathered in the dining room and living room, it wasn't. No, most had known since boyhood, and these habits were not new. The man had not eaten a meal since the age of ten, which was–for any normal human being–a rather long period of time to not consume food nor drink any beverage.

The strange phenomenon was vaguely mention in the Al's speech somewhere in the past ten minutes. However, it well be mentioned again for the reader's benefit. The speech had been about the second member, give by the first, and interrupted by the third. The second member was indeed the well-known Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist–as I am sure you are aware, or you would not be interested in these observations involving his life. The third was his daughter, of whom we shall see more in later observations. And the first was none other than Alphonse Elric, younger brother of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

Now, some while back, it can be approximated at around fifteen years or so–the passage of time is not so relevant as the events are during it, good reader–the two brothers suffered the terrible loss of their mother. Devastated as they were, they were hopeful, behind hope. There is a point when one must stop hoping and begin to grieve. And if I am the one to first inform you of this, dearest reader, I do beg your pardon. But the point is, the two boys foolishly thought that they could bring their mother back with a simple math equation, some scribbles on the ground, and a couple of elements and compounds. Of course, this defiles all laws of nature, and the two boys payed dearly for their tampering with the natural order of things. Edward lost a leg. Alphonse lost his life.

Don't stop now! Keep going! Have faith that things will end up properly with Alphonse sitting at the table in a suit of armor rather than floating around in the great beyond. Because, although it is depressing business–boring for some of you who know the Fullmetal Alchemist almost personally–it is a necessary story that needs to be told so that we can return to this point of general happiness.

As it were, Edward realized what had happened. He also realized that he was now alone in the world. And I have never had the hardship of experiencing it, but I hear that it is the most horrifying feeling in the world. I would not wish it on any of you. Well, young Edward, at age eleven, realized this and understood he could not get by without his brother. So, summoning his last strength, he managed to wrestle with some sort of omniscient gate and haggle for his brother's soul. This is the point in the story that our hero, little Edward, loses another limb, as Alphonse pointed out in his speech.

However, it was not in vain, because although he lost a limb, he regained his brother's soul. Which he managed to attach to the suit of armor, which was presently seated awkwardly at the table, trying very careful not to destroy the chair.

Now that we know why Uncle Fonz-y is not eating, that it is not a disease or disorder, we can continue fairly safely in the rest of our observations of the occupants. There was, of course, Edward. I shall not bore you with details of his past because, as I said before, anybody reading this must have some background knowledge of the Fullmetal Alchemist. Or they have heard of his short stature and shorter temper.

In the kitchen was his wife, Winry Rockbell Elric, who felt inclined to childishly reprimand him with a wrench when nobody was watching.

There was Mr. Roy Mustang, who preferred being disassociated from the military that had once been so corrupt. So it was Roy, Mustang, or Roy Mustang. And if you absolutely had to use some term of respect–like Edward was forcing his child to do, not likely out of respect–it was Mr. Mustang.

Then there was Mrs. Riza Hawkeye Mustang, which was really no surprise after all these years. Word on the street was the two finally were looking at a house, not too far away from the Rockbell-turned-Elric residence, which, despite Edward's grumbling, was a great pleasure.

Of course, it wasn't a proper get-together with Mrs. Gracia Hughes, widow of the late Brigadier General Hughes, and his now teenage daughter, Elicia. They blamed the strange clothes and make-up on her father's gruesome death. Really, the girl was missing a father. How could she not go awry.

She had brought her latest boyfriend, who really–even though he was, in Mrs. Hughes's opinion, the worst looking one yet–was very polite and decent to everyone. There was some debate over whether his name was Jordan or Gordon, but of course, not in front of Elicia or Jordan/Gordon himself. After all, talking with a pierced, I hear, is hard. And it is plausible that the young man may have slurred enough of his speech to have to two similar names twisted up.

There was Sid Curtis, widower of Izumi, Edward and Alphonse's teacher. And friend.

Of course there was Major Armstrong, Sergeant Master Fuery, and Technical Inspector Falman. Breda was there as well, but he contributed nothing very worthy to the conversation. As these observations were recorded, I learned, dear reader, that not every little detail can be recorded. And if you would like to be mentioned, something smart must be said. Or you will just be an Armstrong, Fuery, Falman, or Breda. Or a Havoc, but that's only if you smoke six packs a day.

I am straying from the important matters, though. The reason I am fretting over minute details now, dearest reader, is because they are simple and happy. There is no other reason. Remember these happy times, reader, because this will be the last happy day in the Elric residence for quite some time. Please reader, remember the happy things. Remember that, even though I have forgotten completely of the "bulb", in time, I shall be reminded, and I will give new, brighter light. One that the monsters are very, very afraid of.

This was a special occasion the Elric household. It was Thanksgiving dinner–something Edward had learned about during his many travels, some of which are a little more vague than others. And although the idea was derived from pilgrims giving thanks to natives, he said that families also used it to celebrate their thankfulness in general.

So, it was a very historic day, as far as many of my observations have gone, for it was the first Thanksgiving in Amestris.

There was turkey, and mashed potatoes, and sweet potatoes–with brown sugar, butter, and walnuts of course–, spinach casserole, cranberry sauce, fresh oven-baked rolls, and, as I have recently mentioned, a fantastic array of sweets.

The rest of the evening was quiet, filled with comfortable laughter and talk about the good old days–at least the light side of the spectrum. Then they had started to say what they were thankful for. Alphonse had been last, and his speech had been about Edward, as everyone had expected. However, they hadn't expected a sleepy little girl, whom they all knew as Therese, to wander downstairs.

And that is where we began, dear reader. And it is also where we shall end, I am afraid. The rest of the evening would be rather tedious to describe, although it is my duty to do so. You may look up the full observation in another archive. However, this is the end of all I, as the observer, dubbed as important.

I really do stress it as important, dear reader. I really do. Because here, I tried as best I could as a humble observer to paint the picture of love I saw so clearly. Because it was there between old and young, wise and foolish. And, as I have warned before, it shall not be there again, for a very, very long time.

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-yawns- have not slept in 24 hours. -- I don't even know it any of that makes sense. Well, this is what will replace Young Alchemist. Don't worry. That little blemish isn't going anywhere because I need it as a reference. (Well, I suppose the longer it's up there–for some–the more cause for worry).

Anywho, the story will not be all told like this. Don't expect an all-knowing narrator the entire time, constantly and quite annoyingly addressing you as dear reader. Just trying to stress a message. And besides, I just couldn't help myself.

Damn birds are tweeting. I'll never get to sleep. Please Review, cause I seriously earned it this time!!!