Intense psychological themes and/or interpersonal conflict.
He had only meant to pass through the town; it wasn't like much would have changed anyway.
There was a loud crack, like the sound of several chopsticks simultaneously being snapped in two, followed by the sound of something heavy falling, the object hitting the ground so hard the earth literally shook beneath Ed's feet.
You want to break him just once; see what he really is beneath that cool exterior.
Roy could've sworn First Lieutenants existed only to invent torture methods for Colonels, but he wasn't about to say that one out loud.
After all, one didn't have a high ranking officer fall into one's lap every day, and Greed was not one to squander someone with that much potential.
At night, curled shivering on the layers of musty damp leaves under the glimmering stars, Ed lay silently and thought of unspeakable unknowns...
For an instant, a look passed between them, and Alphonse could almost imagine that he saw his own emotions reflected within the eyes of his brother.
Zinnsoldat, they named it, the Tin Soldier, in reference to their former service and in acknowledgement of their current uselessness.
It is to such a morning that Alphonse wakes up, light pouring in through the blinds and over the bed sheets.
She hated being idle; it ranked far above the petty pain of a mere gunshot-wound in her personal list of annoyances.
For instance, Havoc knew that Hawkeye was not fond of gunmanship.
Besides, no one ever said that tumultuous times had to begin with a fanfare.
"You are the only one who has acknowledged me," she suddenly whispered , "since he's been gone."
I could sleep here, soundly, knowing that I followed in his footsteps, lay in the same beds, held the same forks and glasses, and spoke with the same people he had protected.
She paced the wide, marble floor, visited each of the soaring windows, feeling every supple sinew beneath her skin move with the perfection of the young.
He would have been crying for a long time, but the tears seem to have frozen in this damn cold too.
Greed reached out for whatever proved she was undeniably, unrepentantly alive.
Al makes a worried little noise, and Ed raises his head a little. He's been found out, he thinks, and knows he should feel something.
No public place was safe, a park, a grocery store, the laundromat. Archer would turn his head and there Greed would be, acting casual.
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.
"Come on," he snorted. "As if I could say no to Al AND Winly looking at me like that."
He can still feel in his cheeks the faint scratch of beard against skin when his father kissed him there.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
The voice hit Ed like a blow, and drove the breath from his lungs. "Where are you?" he shouted. "Where are you?"
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.
The first time was not a night of magic or fireworks, not something dreams were made of, not something that either of them planned on repeating again.
He doesn't love Scar. The idea is ridiculous, but they are all they have left, each other's bodies rocks against the tide of strangeness, unfamiliarity.
When Winry found him, he could not help but clutch at her, babbling almost hysterically.
Among them he walks, the man whose name only God remembers.
There are some things that aren't to be tolerated.
Yet there are still nights that he wakes up to find his hand clutched by a seated Al, who laughs his hollow laugh and asks if he's okay, even though he does not remember screaming.
"You can't do that! This is a shounen series!" he hissed.
The room had gotten hot and stuffy, and there was sweat on both of his hands, though the sheen on the automail had not come from his own body.
She could remember his voice, husky with tortured emotion, screaming a name, the name "Edward Elric..."
What he really wanted to know was something else - a question of 'why', quite likely.
Dodge or block, it was still a whirlwind of events that could end up with him either winning or losing.
Light was what brought shadow into being; they were cast by its brightness and thrived in its absence...
If it didn't rain so often, Ed thought, he might feel a little more like he could make plans.
Of course, the jar was really the professional female companionship fund; or, as Ed liked to sarcastically call it, the pussy kitty.
In matters of love and loss, it could be argued, the principle of equivalent exchange did not exist.
Predator-sleek and supple like a malignant-looking trickster, blurring the lines between human and inhuman, male and female, dead and alive.
Theirs is a strange relationship--they know so little about each other--but somehow it's okay, as though knowledge would throw a spanner in the works.
He'd meant to say something but Ed had been so determined, so anxious to be useful, to create something.
She accepted the label and its implication without argument, lifting the revolver and sighting along its barrel.
"We don't need those little bastards. We'll make our own family."
I was talking with Al one day. And I was explaining how a long-term relationship is like a religion. They both have similar hallmarks...
And if she listened carefully enough, she could hear Edward reading in a low voice to a gurgling Alphonse.
"Pretty!" she says, and kneels to press her palms to the curls and knots chalked on the stones. "Papa! Did you drawed this? What's it for?"
Like the touch of Izumi-mommy's hand in mine, like her voice in my ears.