"It's just as I said. You respond best to a firm hand, and mine suits you very well, doesn't it?" (No Millennium Items AU.)

Without words, Lan Fan's feelings are clear: outside of battle, her automail is a thing of shame, a deformity, a repellence. Mei Chang feels the fierce desire to prove her wrong—to demonstrate to her that nothing about her could ever be truly ugly.

It'd be ludicrous to suggest there's just one thing Alphonse loves about Fletcher Tringham, because so many of her qualities are so inherently lovable; in fact, he'd go as far as to say there's little about her that's not worthy of some degree of admiration.

Russell Tringham has a way with words and little self-control. For John Belsio, it's sometimes a frustrating combination. Russell/Belsio.

If love was a game, you would never play nice. / Russell Tringham is unbecomingly picky in selecting a suitor.

In his quest for the Philosopher's Stone, Amestris' youngest State Alchemist uncovers a nationwide conspiracy that threatens everything he holds dear. Sound familiar? Not quite.

Just a moment. The kind you want to bottle up to enjoy fresh all through your life.

With Belsio, there'll be no catch, because John Belsio just doesn't operate that way. He doesn't do double-meanings or hidden messages; he doesn't mince his words, telling things the way he sees them with frank, sometimes brutal honesty that makes Russell Tringham's silver tongue shrivel to uselessness in his mouth. What's more, Russell doesn't mind it at all. (Russell/Belsio)

"You're welcome to bring a guest, if you'd like," Mugear continues. Then, when Russell lifts an eyebrow, he says, with an infuriating waggle of his own, "I'm sure there's a lady friend of yours you'd like me to meet, eh?" (In which Russell needs a fake girlfriend, Winry volunteers, and it's not easy being queer. Modern AU.)

Simple people, Al thinks. The thought makes him smile. The world is complex, but for how it makes them suffer, its people deserve to be simple. Al deserves to be simple; he deserves to like simple things for simple reasons, society be damned.

"Greed," Ed murmurs. He recognizes the name. He hasn't come close to forgetting the homunculus he fought in Dublith: tall and lanky, the Ouroboros symbol on his left hand, a smirk framing those pointed teeth. Not much has changed, really, except that he's taken refuge in Russell Tringham's body.