"Mother?" And his voice broke, shattered as he raced to her, arms wrapping around her thin body, embracing the image, the idea. "Mommy!"
When Winry found him, he could not help but clutch at her, babbling almost hysterically.
Screaming or crying would have been appropriate. Edward Elric didn't care about propriety. He was laughing.
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.
As it got later, Al could hear the night in the strange world deepen. Nights of terror, here, a country full of dead people.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
What kind of stupid creature would walk willingly and calmly to its own violent, brutal death?
She feels like an intruder, eyes watching her from empty rooms, and every stair is a memory she dares not to disturb.
He had believed, until that moment, that he had moved beyond carnal wants and human feelings.
He had never dared to dream that things could get better, astounded as he'd been by the way air tasted spilling over his tongue...
"Beautiful," he purred again, a smile curling the edges of his lips, and Roy shivered despite the heat.
PR, we need PR, he kept telling himself, but at this point he didn't think he could string more than two sentences together.
She accepted the label and its implication without argument, lifting the revolver and sighting along its barrel.
That was when the nightmare had begun, when the world had become stone walls, sterilized laboratories, and lights so bright as to make little red capillaries snake across both boys' eyes.
The nurses knew all about these interludes, of course, but it was not something they could do anything about.
Winly was touched, really, that even after two years without seeing one another, Ed still wrote her letters.
To her, the Philosopher's Stone is blood and fire: his fire, her blood.
There was no question that the very act of living in this world was to be in exile.
How do you find someone who barely existed in this world now that they're gone?
"This one's for you, Al." Edward swore, raised the glass to his lips, and braced for the impact.
"That would have killed you, you idiot! You wouldn't be destroyed, or erased, or whatever. You would be killed! I would have murdered you!"
"But we're going to be late on her birthday," Ed fretted, and Al had to suppress a long-suffering sigh.
Red. It looked strange on him, the red did, strange and somehow distressing.
He was glad his expression rarely reflected what he felt on the inside.
Dante took the seat next to the bed, and handed a mug of tea to Trisha.
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.
They say that a wizard lives in the log cabin, on the other side of the dark woods and the silver river.
But we the people of Ishvar endure, by the grace and mercy of Ishvarra we endure, and so long as we live we will remember.
"Mai--" Ed didn't finish his sentence as he stared at the three-inch stack of letters in Foley's hand.
It is a photograph that brings them together, and that's as it should be.
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.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
"I know how things work, sir," the boy continued, laying the watch across his lap.
Always on Al's face was that soft, sad expression, paralleled by the fierce unyieldingness on Ed's.
The house rumbled gently, as a cat purrs, and Alphonse tied off the braid, pressing his hands to Edward's scalp one more time before dropping them to his side.
I didn't know on the phone. I didn't know on the train.
"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."
Who was waiting for him? He tried to remember, but his mind wasn't working quite right at the moment.
It was not fair to the boy to get tripped up by what he looked like, especially not when he had avoided it for so many years already.
He's getting so awfully, awfully tired of pictures, but they won't just stop coming.
But he glanced behind himself for Winly, and it was a terrible, bittersweet thing.
Al himself had asked for nothing, except the one thing that Hohenheim wouldn't give him. Freedom.
"She loved him," Ed said. Crack, snap. Another flower joined the pile.
...but he must take a moment to compose himself, all the same, before he can look through the small window.
He runs out of ink halfway through the page, and with a quiet sigh dips his finger in the inkwell...
"I won't be an example!" He could still hear her voice wailing in his ear. "I'll choose how I die."
It seemed, the man thought, that Ed was a lot like the sun -- warm, comforting -- and at a distance.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
In the winter months the ground was too hard to dig ditches, so instead they chipped rocks.