Envy/Ed - Random philosophy in my drabbles is more likely than you think
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist / typochronicles!verse if you squint
Title: Lines
Pairings: Envy/Ed
Rating: PG-13 again, just in case.
Prompt: "Blurred"
Warnings: I believe Priyanka described it as "almost sinister!Ed." General Edvy-related disturbingness. Other than that, not much.
A/N: Random ruminating on what it means to be human, for some reason. I don't even know.
The line between loving someone and wanting them dead shouldn't be this easily blurred.
One moment you'll be pressed against him, your hand on the side of his face in that way you know he hates (he seems to hate anything comforting and gentle and - normal at all - and maybe that's why you do it) and the next, without anything even having happened, you jerk away, wishing you could dig the fingernails of that same hand deep into his skin, peel it away, see what he's really like under these layers upon layers of disguises he hides behind, but you never do.
But that's not how it works. You don't ask questions. You just guess the answers.
And there's that thin line between human and - not - you watch him walk when he thinks you aren't looking, something in the way he tilts his head or blinks or - the smallest details, things that shouldn't even matter. And he tells you he isn't. He likes to remind you every chance he gets that he's the superior one, he should be the favorite, not you, he could be where you are right now, further, if he tried - and that's another time that you think he might just be human underneath. It's such a petty human emotion, envy, really, (but of course you'd never say it to his face, even if whatever kicks and punches he throws at you have ceased to hurt by now), it's only wanting what someone else has, what he doesn't have, and what's more human than that?
Title: Lines
Pairings: Envy/Ed
Rating: PG-13 again, just in case.
Prompt: "Blurred"
Warnings: I believe Priyanka described it as "almost sinister!Ed." General Edvy-related disturbingness. Other than that, not much.
A/N: Random ruminating on what it means to be human, for some reason. I don't even know.
The line between loving someone and wanting them dead shouldn't be this easily blurred.
One moment you'll be pressed against him, your hand on the side of his face in that way you know he hates (he seems to hate anything comforting and gentle and - normal at all - and maybe that's why you do it) and the next, without anything even having happened, you jerk away, wishing you could dig the fingernails of that same hand deep into his skin, peel it away, see what he's really like under these layers upon layers of disguises he hides behind, but you never do.
But that's not how it works. You don't ask questions. You just guess the answers.
And there's that thin line between human and - not - you watch him walk when he thinks you aren't looking, something in the way he tilts his head or blinks or - the smallest details, things that shouldn't even matter. And he tells you he isn't. He likes to remind you every chance he gets that he's the superior one, he should be the favorite, not you, he could be where you are right now, further, if he tried - and that's another time that you think he might just be human underneath. It's such a petty human emotion, envy, really, (but of course you'd never say it to his face, even if whatever kicks and punches he throws at you have ceased to hurt by now), it's only wanting what someone else has, what he doesn't have, and what's more human than that?