A Bachelor’s in writing from a hippy environmental liberal arts college; I’m an amateur artist, rat breeder, anime otaku, fantasy-geek, tea snob, pseudo-intellectual, Unitarian Universalist, socialist, priest-fetishist, and Pisces-- a sarcastic, kinky, silly goofball who holds nothing sacred, and is (obviously) a complete loser. A pierced, tattooed, alcohol-swilling, potty-mouthed, walking/talking lawsuit-waiting-to-happen who frequently doesn’t wait for my thoughts to reach my mouth before beginning to speak (or my hands before beginning to type, for that matter)... a series of ongoing contradictions with a taste for Chinese food, DDR, Jeopardy-like factoids, boysmut, and noncon. I like my music excessively loud, and I like to sing along. I live in a suburb of Minneapolis and St. Paul, and am attending an ecumenical liberal seminary school to get my Master’s degree.
He did not expect an answer even though it was true that Wrath was more likely to speak to him than anyone else, even Winry.
It seemed, the man thought, that Ed was a lot like the sun -- warm, comforting -- and at a distance.
He gave, and he gave, and he gave, and he could only hope that it was enough.
For the first time, he suddenly understood that there was worse than death.
But the language of legend and that of alchemical secrecy were linguistic-sisters...
Light was what brought shadow into being; they were cast by its brightness and thrived in its absence...
Hohenheim had been familiar with death, but his own still took him by surprise.
What was it like, Father mine, to die and to be resurrected again?
Faith, he'd thought, was something he'd learned as a child, squirming on the hard wooden pews.
Ed stalked into Mustang's office, growling illtemperedly under his breath.
There was a terrible vulnerability to Roy when his cover slipped, and it made Ed uncomfortable.
What kind of stupid creature would walk willingly and calmly to its own violent, brutal death?
His desire for everything and everyone meant subversively that anything the alchemist blew to high hell was his: possession by association.
There is immortality deep within us that has nothing to do with corruptible flesh and earthly demise.
Unexpectedly, the door flew open with a loud bang, steps sounded on the tile, and a very familiar, very cranky voice said...
"Beautiful," he purred again, a smile curling the edges of his lips, and Roy shivered despite the heat.
Roy was far from at ease and he could not sleep, and so, instead, he watched Edward, feeling anxiety and guilt sink claws into his belly and tear into his mind.
Envy was no poet -- one could say that he lacked a poet's soul -- but he did recognize beauty when he saw it.
Most people knew enough to leave Envy alone when he was so clearly unhappy.
In matters of love and loss, it could be argued, the principle of equivalent exchange did not exist.
He wanted Hughes to know how many lines he had crossed in his lifetime.
"That angel hated God's second born. He was jealous. Why was he so easy to cast aside and walk away from?"
It wasn't a matter of getting his own way. It was simply a matter of getting.
"We don't need those little bastards. We'll make our own family."
It isn't often that our darkest fantasies get fulfilled.
There are some things that aren't to be tolerated.
Here's the game then: I'm gonna tell you what I want you to do, and you're gonna do it exactly as I say.
They were not used to being alone and when they were together they were not.
From saint to sinner, from mother to whore… She was far more beautiful in death than she'd ever been in life.
Predator-sleek and supple like a malignant-looking trickster, blurring the lines between human and inhuman, male and female, dead and alive.
Alchemy, the science of turning lead into gold, was never about actual, physical transmutation.
The blow cracked Ed's cheekbone, an audible noise in the quiet room, and he felt and tasted the blood that filled his mouth.
One never grew entirely accustomed to having nightmares, Ed had found.
Even now, when Envy was nowhere near him, he was still too close; he was still under Ed's skin, rubbing him raw.
"You just can't get enough punishment, can you, you little masochist?"
Envy would never let him forget that the price of pride was destruction, and that those who infringed upon God's domain were damned.
There were lines that should never be crossed and things one should never wish for, and sometimes even the best of intentions were not enough.