Intense psychological themes and/or interpersonal conflict.
He underestimates the little things, like how long it will take him to put his socks on in the morning, and she comes up the stairs when breakfast is long since over to find him crouched over a torn stocking, blinking back furious tears...
And of course, he does not believe in God anyway, and scorns the idea of predestination.
Humans were fools, and alchemists were the worst of the lot.
"And search for free porn." Havoc pointed out.
There was a terrible vulnerability to Roy when his cover slipped, and it made Ed uncomfortable.
His name. His name on wet, bloody lips. Edward turned his face away, his lips in the long, dark hair.
He grabbed the nearest inmate by the front of his shirt and hauled him up. "Where is he!?" he roared.
"Just who're you calling..." Edward's voice stuttered to a halt as he saw where the man was pointing. "...short?"
"When you put it that way--" Roy conceded. "But it does seem improbable. You promised me a murderer, but are you so sure that it was no accident?"
Winry could not imagine going so far for someone whose name you couldn't even say. She couldn't imagine going so far without allowing yourself to say his name.
He thought, for a fleeting instant, that he ought to feel some kind of guilt—but he couldn’t muster any.
Any girl would be driven insane if she was the youngest child and the only girl in a family of six children.
It wasn't easy to imagine how he had been mistaken, because Al could swear that even from a distance, a hanged man looked very different from a tent post.
He runs out of ink halfway through the page, and with a quiet sigh dips his finger in the inkwell...
Some of the stuff he was asked to investigate was truly stupid shit. A bakery, for instance.
I didn't understand that, didn't comprehend why being clean for going into the earth was a good thing until much later...
An alchemical reaction of the most ancient kind: sitting down to eat as though filling the stomach could replace the gap in one's heart.
They are his signposts and self-inscriptions, cordoning off the book as his own, as something he possesses.
When night fell in Ishvar, night vision or no vision, flares or no flares, there was nothing you wanted to do less than draw attention to yourself.
The blow cracked Ed's cheekbone, an audible noise in the quiet room, and he felt and tasted the blood that filled his mouth.
What he remembered of ice cream, more than the taste, was how messy it had always been.
After all, Edward needed her help in catching the syndicate known as 'Soldiers'.
What things Envy learns of his master's nature, of his future and his past alike, are those things which he has divined on his own, and nothing more.
Al loved the way his brother's face turned inward, his golden eyes unfocusing and a little smile coming to his face...
If he would permit himself to be honest, Alphonse would admit to Roy that he hates the rain, too.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
As always, there was a spark of hope in the younger Elric's expression, and it dug its claws into him as it had every day for the past eight months.
If killers and empty assassin armor hadn't frightened him, half a foot of park bench shouldn't leave him feeling so useless and pathetic.
It was easy enough to start a fire, with the appropriate array and dry wood.
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
Some of the details he needed, of course, they wouldn't have; no non-alchemist would know. And most of the details they had, he didn't want.
No public place was safe, a park, a grocery store, the laundromat. Archer would turn his head and there Greed would be, acting casual.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her tobac tin, more to annoy her visitor than anything else.
But you never thought of it as a handicap, did you, as something just the same as being blind or deaf.
Staring, he couldn't tell the difference aside the eyes, aside from the cloudy sunlight of his hair, just a whisper darker than his beloved's.
Tonight it is a comforting chatter, in a strange way, that takes Lan Fan's mind away from Young Master's perhaps impossible goal.
According to Hughes, Major Mustang was close to promotion and as his subordinate, it was her prerogative to try and help him to reach the next rung of the ladder.
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.
Ed began to understand why some people talked to themselves.
He recalled lifting it cautiously up to his nose, and then back away from the stinging, spicy herbs along with the smouldering scent of tobacco.
He'd meant to say something but Ed had been so determined, so anxious to be useful, to create something.
"Come on," he snorted. "As if I could say no to Al AND Winly looking at me like that."
The voice hit Ed like a blow, and drove the breath from his lungs. "Where are you?" he shouted. "Where are you?"
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
The feel of hands on his shoulders woke him, one metal and one flesh, and it was the chill in human fingers that told him how cold the night had grown while he slept.
For instance, Havoc knew that Hawkeye was not fond of gunmanship.
Here, all is one, one is all, but everything is also nothing.