Intense psychological themes and/or interpersonal conflict.
If Al began to forget things, then Edward would remember anything and everything for the both of them.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
It is her drive that makes Winry love her. It is the fact that her love doesn't weaken her.
It was easy enough to start a fire, with the appropriate array and dry wood.
They stand and take notes, eyeing him suspiciously, but he doesn't turn to meet their eyes...
Ed woke up slowly, and wished he hadn't.
He was just moving to light the stove, casting about for a match to begin the flames that would cook their dinner, when the voice drifted in from the other room.
"Mai--" Ed didn't finish his sentence as he stared at the three-inch stack of letters in Foley's hand.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her tobac tin, more to annoy her visitor than anything else.
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.
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.
He tilted his jaw and the kid struck the match, lit it, lifted it to his cigarette.
He would come to understand later that what she meant was, Iím stronger than you.
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.
The blond shook his head lightly, probably in amusement, "I'm really sorry but he's normally not like this to strangers but your resemblance? is very striking, Roy."
His name. His name on wet, bloody lips. Edward turned his face away, his lips in the long, dark hair.
Ed glared at him, and Al sighed. Maybe today wouldn't be a good day for Edward after all.
They'd been on the run so long, Ed had long since lost track of the last time he'd slept in a bed instead of in an abandoned barn, or under a hedge.
She knew the instant she opened the door and saw their blank faces.
He was, to sum up, a pretty unpleasant guy to have at the head of your department in the holiday season.
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.
He felt ten years old and small, pressed against a door that wouldn't open for a very long time.
"Honestly, Fullmetal, I'm beginning to think that you're more trouble than you're worth."
He read his father's old, dog-eared textbooks, fascinated by the mechanics of alchemy.
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.
Alfons swears he doesn't need glasses - and maybe he doesn't, if he can see such phenomena as the Gegenschein light--but up close he has trouble like this.
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.
The creature tilted its head, eyeing the two men to the side of her, and slid off its precarious perch.
He thought, for a fleeting instant, that he ought to feel some kind of guiltóbut he couldnít muster any.
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.
"Are you saying," Al inquired, slowly, "that you never believed that I didn't blame you?"
He would have been crying for a long time, but the tears seem to have frozen in this damn cold too.
Gone was the helpless, kicked-puppy look from those purple eyes.
Ed shrugged, although his expression suggested he was trying to keep from being too smug about beating a man almost twice his age.
"Aww, is the rough and tough Elric crying for his dead brother?" sneered a voice in his ringing ears.
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.
He couldn't understand this world, this obsession with his son in the negative.
...it was something you had. And if it's something you had, it's something I want.
"He misses me," came the quiet whisper, a hope that maybe this madness would end, that maybe, maybe, he could be released, that he could go home.
He's been after her since the day they met. He'd been a newly-made Major and, at the time, the youngest State Alchemist ever. She'd been a Colonel going on Brigadier General.
High school and sexuality are hard enough to deal with, without adding high explosives to the mix.
They were good boys, and smart, and she trusted them to stay mostly out of trouble. Mostly.
"Beautiful," he purred again, a smile curling the edges of his lips, and Roy shivered despite the heat.
The boys grow older, wiser and closer, and their mother watches them do so and is proud.
Among them he walks, the man whose name only God remembers.
I didn't understand that, didn't comprehend why being clean for going into the earth was a good thing until much later...
Because he had said one year; and dammit, he meant it.
Here, all is one, one is all, but everything is also nothing.
I'm lying through implication, but the kid won't know that, and after all the stuff I've done, lying has gotta be my pettiest sin.
"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?"