Intense psychological themes and/or interpersonal conflict.
Who was waiting for him? He tried to remember, but his mind wasn't working quite right at the moment.
He'd meant to say something but Ed had been so determined, so anxious to be useful, to create something.
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.
But the harsh light of early morning sharpens the hard angles of desperation on Al's face so instead Ed smiles, all teeth, and lies, "Of course."
There are some things that aren't to be tolerated.
Could I burn like that - would the lick of flames on my skin wipe me clean?
He had started to wonder if it was Edward or himself that was farther out of reach at the moment.
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.
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
"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?"
She could remember his voice, husky with tortured emotion, screaming a name, the name "Edward Elric..."
"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!"
The pretenses stopped midway through the second cigarette.
He remembered finding himself asking why the Fullmetal Alchemist would be the one to patch his own clothes.
I've never regretted keeping you, Envy.
"Then I'm gonna rule the world, too," Maes replied, because he and Roy always did everything together.
They stand and take notes, eyeing him suspiciously, but he doesn't turn to meet their eyes...
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.
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
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.
And if she listened carefully enough, she could hear Edward reading in a low voice to a gurgling Alphonse.
I didn't understand that, didn't comprehend why being clean for going into the earth was a good thing until much later...
No public place was safe, a park, a grocery store, the laundromat. Archer would turn his head and there Greed would be, acting casual.
He closed his fist around her sash and curled into himself, trying to keep his thoughts away from dark things.
"You'd be dangerous if you ever figured out what you wanted, Fullmetal."
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
Are you listening to me, Lieutenant Hawkeye?
He hates the military. Maybe he doesn't. Roy and straight-line thinking aren't on speaking terms anymore, though he likes to pretend.
It was a shame to mark the boy's pretty face so, but considering his abilities, prudent.
He grabbed the nearest inmate by the front of his shirt and hauled him up. "Where is he!?" he roared.
Ed tosses four sausages at once into his mouth and swallows almost without chewing, shooting Al a smug, triumphant grin.
The reminder that Roy always managed to know what Edward was doing barely got a half-hearted glare.
"Now, Earth-type world, yes? Spoken language identified as late pre-Galactic English."
rated:M-L | GEN | Alt Universe | TWT | First Place (popular); Second Place (juried) | Green Lion Winner | Alfons Heiderich | Edward Elric | crack | drama | fusion | introspective | 2009 Brave New Worlds, Original
There is only the Now, with Them, although They have not come for a long time.
Roy was far from at ease and he could not sleep, and so, instead, he watched Edward, feeling anxiety and guilt sink claws into his belly and tear into his mind.
A pure and virtuous soul was nothing short of surprising.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
She stands beside him with her arms full of bandages, hoping the day he sees his own danger will come before the day he sets himself alight completely.
They were good boys, and smart, and she trusted them to stay mostly out of trouble. Mostly.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her tobac tin, more to annoy her visitor than anything else.
What do you know, he wanted to scream, what do you know about my brother, what he’s gone through and how far he’s — we’ve — come?
She hated being idle; it ranked far above the petty pain of a mere gunshot-wound in her personal list of annoyances.
There were faces more beautiful, and figures more perfect--he saw them all the time. But none had whatever it was that made him ache for her.
If Al hadn't known how often the older boy feigned unconsciousness in order to stave off these visits, he might have been fooled.
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.
"Brother," he whispers into the soft warmth of Ed's skin, "Is mom going to get better?"
It wasn't a nightmare; nightmares leave him shaking and sweating, but now he's oddly calm.