He hates the military. Maybe he doesn't. Roy and straight-line thinking aren't on speaking terms anymore, though he likes to pretend.
The easiest way to destroy an enemy is to destroy those he depends upon.
Ed's birthday had passed a little over a month ago, while they were still with Sensei.
He was just moving to light the stove, casting about for a match to begin the flames that would cook their dinner, when the voice drifted in from the other room.
Faith didn't hold much of a place in my life; science was my passion, something I could see, something I could feel, could make sense of.
And while he didn't know the Niisan that had been to hell and back again with a grin on his face, he knew his Niisan, and he knew that prison was not at all where he belonged.
What kind of stupid creature would walk willingly and calmly to its own violent, brutal death?
He made the slip-up not whilst in the throes of passion, but rather, sitting quite peacefully at the kitchen table, watching the slender blond cook.
For now, he has mastered one world, two worlds; they have mastered him as well, and he is tired.
In the winter months the ground was too hard to dig ditches, so instead they chipped rocks.
...but he must take a moment to compose himself, all the same, before he can look through the small window.
"Don't worry," Greed had whispered. "I'll take care of your little death."
He's a pessimist with an ego seven miles long; he's a scientist, too, doesn't approve of Al's books.
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
Fear kept Al's metal arms at his sides, shaking slightly with each of Edward's pained moans.
No one talked of Equivalent Exchange in England, but they had a saying that came close: There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.
Al thought, grimly, that he was getting rather good at this.
Ed glared at him, and Al sighed. Maybe today wouldn't be a good day for Edward after all.
What he remembered of ice cream, more than the taste, was how messy it had always been.
Al sits in a doorway puzzling absently over the problem of what array to draw to bandage his arm before he bleeds to death.
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.
"As you can see," she said to Mr. Elric, wryly, "Appreciate them while they're at this age, because they turn into teenagers in the blink of an eye."
Who knew how long it would take to find Al and take down those who'd conspired to feign his death?
But when the acting commander of the Intelligence branch, the man who controlled her widow's pension, requested and required this service... well... well.
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
This is the smell of ozone from a lightning strike. This is fear.
"Mai--" Ed didn't finish his sentence as he stared at the three-inch stack of letters in Foley's hand.
He was glad his expression rarely reflected what he felt on the inside.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
The color red was a distraction. The color red was him. Him--Mustang's own constant distraction, the waving red banner amidst the dull color that painted his everyday life.
It's important that a little light always comes in, even if it's only enough to see shadows and outlines, and not words at all.
The Fuhrer always used that word. Ripe. Like fruit to be devoured .
He runs out of ink halfway through the page, and with a quiet sigh dips his finger in the inkwell...
The lilacs would wither all too soon, but until then she intended to indulge herself, carrying the scent of home with her wherever she went.
Everything — Ed's wishes, his remaining dignity, even his trust — was going to have to come second to Ed's life.
Nurses in white smocks bustle about a tiny nurses's station, and he is intercepted by one of the younger ones, a new girl he doesn't recognize.
Alphonse worried, but was rapidly won over by his brother's promises.
Edward doesn't come back the next night, or the next.
This new life was staggering - more so, the feel of Alphonse's shoulder, warm and flesh beneath his cheek as the train lurched out of the station.
He remembered finding himself asking why the Fullmetal Alchemist would be the one to patch his own clothes.
He looks like he wants to scold Ed for swearing, but is afraid to; at the thought, Ed forces his expression to soften, and gives his little brother a wan smile.
Sometimes, he really wished that sleeping dogs would have been left alone...
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
Roy wondered how far Alphonse would go to prove his point.
Breathing. Fuck, he did it every day of his life, why was it so hard all of a sudden?
"I'm not your brother," he told the sleeping figure; it rang hollow.
Someone had clearly forgotten to tell Roy that he was much better at starting fires than stopping them.