Intense psychological themes and/or interpersonal conflict.
Ed's arms swept out, taking in the street and the buildings, the grass and the trees and the sky -- "the world and our own minds to understand it! That's all!" Isn't that enough?
It was so easy to forget how uneven alchemy made a fight. No ordinary guy ever had a chance.
I've never regretted keeping you, Envy.
"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.
Ed did not want to die without seeing Alphonse again.
For in equivalent trade, everything has value and therefore everything can be taken away.
Greed reached out for whatever proved she was undeniably, unrepentantly alive.
"Come on," he snorted. "As if I could say no to Al AND Winly looking at me like that."
She would notice when that body's pulse went up around her, the flush of cheeks, and the way the eyes followed her curves.
"It's different when it's Mom," Ed said with a scowl, but he looked at Al's face, and he softened a little.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
It was getting kind of depressing, though, by the time the color red alone would make him wonder about the child; the flash of a cardinal, a sprig of bright berries, the gaudiness of nighttime tavern lights, and the scarlet lipstick of bar women.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Some of the stuff he was asked to investigate was truly stupid shit. A bakery, for instance.
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.
And when you held your breath, where did you keep it, in your lungs or your mouth or your throat?
It is her drive that makes Winry love her. It is the fact that her love doesn't weaken her.
A pure and virtuous soul was nothing short of surprising.
He made the slip-up not whilst in the throes of passion, but rather, sitting quite peacefully at the kitchen table, watching the slender blond cook.
There were good things about having Mustang around, least of which was when one forgot their matches.
Roy had been among the rebels for weeks now, and he'd learned very early on that these men were dangerous, very dangerous.
Al knew better than anyone that Ed, if he put his mind to it, could do anything, and a little thing like missing limbs wasn't going to stop him.
It was well known around Central headquarters that Roy Mustang was lusting after the visiting Major-General.
Every statement directed at me now seemed to be prefaced with "you bastard." I didn't mind; it was as good a name as any other.
His ruse works; Ed dismisses him - with a harsh, impatient rejoinder that he isn't finished yet - and devotes his attention to his brother.
He grabbed the nearest inmate by the front of his shirt and hauled him up. "Where is he!?" he roared.
And he learned to think ahead from his grandfather, over the chess board on the back porch of their home.
There were whispers behind him, words exchanged in a frantic flurry of hisses and low notes.
"Brother," he whispers into the soft warmth of Ed's skin, "Is mom going to get better?"
Humans were fools, and alchemists were the worst of the lot.
Inside the house, the door to the new room his father was building, with the wonderful baby-blue walls and blankets and toys, is shut and locked.
The thought that Elric might be hanging around, watching him like yesterday, was just too creepy to contemplate.
The blow cracked Ed's cheekbone, an audible noise in the quiet room, and he felt and tasted the blood that filled his mouth.
Her original name had been Mary, like the mother of Jesus, and Hohenheim had found that noteworthy; something to comment on, if only in passing.
"You're a lightweight," Roy said dryly, and smiled at the face Ed pulled. "That's enough for tonight, I think."
More than once she thought she half-saw a face in the leaves, formed by a trick of light and shadow, and her steps grew languid and slow.
Once you promised me that you would dance on my grave. I'm keeping you to that promise, you know.
"That would have killed you, you idiot! You wouldn't be destroyed, or erased, or whatever. You would be killed! I would have murdered you!"
But they were no longer young, and they no longer lived together, and Al wouldn't embarrass his brother in front of their hosts by trying to take care of him.
Always on Al's face was that soft, sad expression, paralleled by the fierce unyieldingness on Ed's.
His vision was misted...almost comfortingly so. His hands were slathered in salve and bound with gentle gauze.
He closed his fist around her sash and curled into himself, trying to keep his thoughts away from dark things.
The creature tilted its head, eyeing the two men to the side of her, and slid off its precarious perch.
"I know those court ordered anger management classes were years ago, but you've come such a long way."
"I'm not being forced out of another home. They won't be here long, and it's not like they'll be looking for us."