Intense themes with a nightmarish edge or grim outlook.
Roy had been among the rebels for weeks now, and he'd learned very early on that these men were dangerous, very dangerous.
"If you are going to keep pets, you are going to have to take care of them."
I've never regretted keeping you, Envy.
"...If I...really went insane...I mean, completely lost my mind..." Ed said, carefully, "do you think you'd be able to stop me?"
If Al hadn't known how often the older boy feigned unconsciousness in order to stave off these visits, he might have been fooled.
He was only human though, and he had given into his rage at having to deal with Edward's dysfunction--and now Edward was gone, and it looked more and more like he might not be coming back.
When the lines didn't matter, when the lungs weren't working in labor of sweet industry worlds, then it was so easy to see where they might be all born of the same blood.
This was always my favorite part of the day, when I could observe the wicked gleams of a glare I wasn't meant to see.
Of course, when she was their age she could hardly recite her multiplication tables, much less draw complex alchemical glyphs.
Al thought of Martel, of Nina. He didn't want to be a chimera.
He had lost everything in a heartbeat, on a chance, and deserted his brother, although against his will.
Ed did not want to die without seeing Alphonse again.
It isn't often that our darkest fantasies get fulfilled.
"Mother?" And his voice broke, shattered as he raced to her, arms wrapping around her thin body, embracing the image, the idea. "Mommy!"
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.
"Have you ever thought about becoming a daddy?" Wrath said.
"Listen, bastard... Do you always have to do things the hard way? You never, ever make it easy for me."
It was just as his body heat was beginning to bring the sheets up to a reasonable temperature that the noise caught his ears- an ugly scraping sound, unnatural and harsh in the silence of early morning hours.
And when the next words followed, barely loud enough to be heard, the General was surprised by the force behind them.
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.
He was afraid, so afraid, that something would go wrong, but he couldn't let this go.
Neither brother seems willing to speak, but their thoughts dip down into similar wells, dredging up the questions that most haunt them.
All it took was a push of his hand and the twist of a small brass key to put it out of sight.
"I'm sorry Al," he said at last. "For what it's worth, I never meant for this to happen to you."
Ed began to understand why some people talked to themselves.
Edward doesn't come back the next night, or the next.
His brother seemed to like it when the leather left marks, a residual token of ownership, even when the collar (by job-dictated necessity) had to be removed.
A small smile crept along her face--this visage made for mischief--and her tell-tale purple eyes narrowed.
Before this war, he'd never wiped human blood off his automail.
Envy was no poet -- one could say that he lacked a poet's soul -- but he did recognize beauty when he saw it.
It's almost as though Al is the blind one, seeking to memorize his brother's features by touch.
This is the smell of ozone from a lightning strike. This is fear.
He didn't know why they would do this to him, why they would stare with sad eyes and sad lips, with mouths turned down for the frowns that came.
...when he presses his hand against the scraped array and wills it to activate, he can't help but send a whispered prayer to it. Please work. Please, please...
Edward would speak to him, eventually. Any good dog would, and despite his obstinacy, the child could be trained.
On the first night, he comes to her as her teacher.
"If I do not, I might begin to love you, whom I should hate."
From saint to sinner, from mother to whore‚Ä¶ She was far more beautiful in death than she'd ever been in life.
The cheap ink has blurred and run, but Ed's memorized the gist: Riesenbul needs help; come sort things out.
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
"It's getting worse," his brother said as he came in the door.
rated:G | GEN | dark
Of all the castle's "guests," Roy was the only one not allowed to leave. Ever.
What kind of stupid creature would walk willingly and calmly to its own violent, brutal death?
But Mustang would hold onto his control easily, manipulating the boy to lose more and more of his.
There were three ways to identify the Fullmetal Alchemist, wherever he went.
He just carries himself with a certain atmosphere, one that feels like splinters of buildings falling off walls and landing broken or the smell of roasted flesh.