Intense themes with a nightmarish edge or grim outlook.
"Have you ever thought about becoming a daddy?" Wrath said.
Al thought of Martel, of Nina. He didn't want to be a chimera.
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.
"I'm sorry Al," he said at last. "For what it's worth, I never meant for this to happen to you."
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.
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
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.
There were three ways to identify the Fullmetal Alchemist, wherever he went.
We were the naive kings of all we surveyed, lingering on the hilltop as we stared at our kingdom of ash, of ruins, of dust.
Envy was no poet -- one could say that he lacked a poet's soul -- but he did recognize beauty when he saw it.
Of all the castle's "guests," Roy was the only one not allowed to leave. Ever.
...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...
This is the smell of ozone from a lightning strike. This is fear.
The cheap ink has blurred and run, but Ed's memorized the gist: Riesenbul needs help; come sort things out.
Screaming or crying would have been appropriate. Edward Elric didn't care about propriety. He was laughing.
But Mustang would hold onto his control easily, manipulating the boy to lose more and more of his.
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.
Heís killing his brother slowly, but he has already promised to do it quickly; what does it matter?
Sometimes, he prays that the hand will come down and Ed will tell him gently they are done, they are going to quit, end the nightmare before it worsens.
Ed began to understand why some people talked to themselves.
What kind of stupid creature would walk willingly and calmly to its own violent, brutal death?
It isn't often that our darkest fantasies get fulfilled.
Before this war, he'd never wiped human blood off his automail.
"If you are going to keep pets, you are going to have to take care of them."
Envy forced down the nasty smirk that threatened to overwhelm him.
Roy had been among the rebels for weeks now, and he'd learned very early on that these men were dangerous, very dangerous.
If she cries, he may have to kill her. He can't stand that sound any longer.
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.
A sin, to mar that innocence of sex, to put physical feelings with intellectual knowledge.
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
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.
"If I do not, I might begin to love you, whom I should hate."
He had lost everything in a heartbeat, on a chance, and deserted his brother, although against his will.
And when the next words followed, barely loud enough to be heard, the General was surprised by the force behind them.
Edward would speak to him, eventually. Any good dog would, and despite his obstinacy, the child could be trained.
It's almost as though Al is the blind one, seeking to memorize his brother's features by touch.
Edward doesn't come back the next night, or the next.
"Mother?" And his voice broke, shattered as he raced to her, arms wrapping around her thin body, embracing the image, the idea. "Mommy!"
On the first night, he comes to her as her teacher.
I've never regretted keeping you, Envy.
He was afraid, so afraid, that something would go wrong, but he couldn't let this go.
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.
Mustang fell into a kind of trance whenever he killed with his flames -- snapping his fingers continually, sometimes so fast that both his hands blurred.
Ed did not want to die without seeing Alphonse again.
If Al hadn't known how often the older boy feigned unconsciousness in order to stave off these visits, he might have been fooled.
"It's getting worse," his brother said as he came in the door.
rated:G | GEN | dark
A small smile crept along her face--this visage made for mischief--and her tell-tale purple eyes narrowed.