He had only meant to pass through the town; it wasn't like much would have changed anyway.
Car broke down again, couple kilometers out of the city, so they had to walk for a while, until Alfons couldn't speak for the coughing.
If Ed had his way, his allowance (and all of Roy's salary) would be spent entirely on the most expensive brand of dog food to have ever existed.
Faith, he'd thought, was something he'd learned as a child, squirming on the hard wooden pews.
"If you hadn't messed in the mud to get the cat," he pointed out, "your hands wouldn't be so cold. Give me your other."
I didn't know on the phone. I didn't know on the train.
Could I burn like that - would the lick of flames on my skin wipe me clean?
Hope was a stone around the lonely young brother's neck, one that broke his back and ironed out his heart, smoothing the wrinkles of time and pain.
rated:G | GEN | Fullmetal | SP: ep 51 |
"You could have roped in the typing pool instead, they moon over the Colonel all the time."
Very few alchemists believed in God, but all of them believed in books.
Edward Elric was in an exceedingly bad mood.
It was so easy to forget how uneven alchemy made a fight. No ordinary guy ever had a chance.
It was only after the sheer sensation had abated — only when he felt on solid enough ground to focus on the subtleties of life once more — that the habit began to catch his attention.
Sergeant Broche smiled in frozen panic at the miniature devil that had cornered him in the officer's mess.
Not a fairy, then, Alfons thought in disappointment. The fairies in stories weren't usually so foul-mouthed and excitable, anyway.
Were Riza to choose, she would be the shield rather than the sword.
"...That is an order, Fullmetal, and I will have you court-martialed if you refuse."
Envy had to admit, Edward Elric's body was convenient for maneuvering around the people in a crowd.
He remembered finding himself asking why the Fullmetal Alchemist would be the one to patch his own clothes.
She remembers the dreamlike way the pieces seemed to sit on the board—on account of the light, maybe, or perhaps her own faltering memory.
"Honestly, Fullmetal, I'm beginning to think that you're more trouble than you're worth."
Besides, no one ever said that tumultuous times had to begin with a fanfare.
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
Even though she wasn’t an alchemist, alchemy tended to stake a claim on all who were associated with it.
Al decided he didn't like that particular grin on his brother's face.
Alphonse worried, but was rapidly won over by his brother's promises.
He tilted his jaw and the kid struck the match, lit it, lifted it to his cigarette.
He was, to sum up, a pretty unpleasant guy to have at the head of your department in the holiday season.
"Pretty!" she says, and kneels to press her palms to the curls and knots chalked on the stones. "Papa! Did you drawed this? What's it for?"
Death overtook Hohenheim unexpectedly on the road to knowledge.
The kid is easily recognizable by his golden hair and eyes, his automail arm and leg, and the obvious chip on the shoulder.
"What do you mean, you're PREGNANT?" Ed yelled through the door.
Words entrance her: the workaday prose of school texts as much as the skylark flights of lyric or the measured music of story.
The pretenses stopped midway through the second cigarette.
There is grass growing on the cinders, ivy covers the old stones.
"Now, Earth-type world, yes? Spoken language identified as late pre-Galactic English."
rated:M-L | GEN | Alt Universe | TWT | First Place (popular); Second Place (juried) | Green Lion Winner | Alfons Heiderich | Edward Elric | crack | drama | fusion | introspective | 2009 Brave New Worlds, Original
...The world is saved. You two can just gnaw on each other for the rest of your lives.
The staff look at each other, look at their automail bottle-opener, and prepare to duck.
"Oh yeah... Huh!" Ed looked around, brightening. "Wow, it looks a lot different upright and not burning."
"For only one arm..." Ed rasped out, gritting his teeth against the pain.
Greed has one, fundamental, flaw.
A spark of interest lifted his pale eyebrows, and he set down his fork.
The cheap ink has blurred and run, but Ed's memorized the gist: Riesenbul needs help; come sort things out.
"We'll have you patched up in no time." Edward announced, slicing the leather into short, precise strips. It was irrational, but somehow Alphonse hated those words.
She hated being idle; it ranked far above the petty pain of a mere gunshot-wound in her personal list of annoyances.
She moves the king again, to its last optional safe square and murmurs, "I'll admit this is not how I envisioned my first night on the battlefield."
If there was something Al still deeply enjoyed about his illness, it was seeing Ed play a sort of housewife.