Intense psychological themes and/or interpersonal conflict.
Of course, when she was their age she could hardly recite her multiplication tables, much less draw complex alchemical glyphs.
But he kept going back. She knew, and confronted him at one time.
The hand under Edward's intact leg shifted, and the fingers snapped. A wave of heat danced across his skin, and he shivered in fear as the failed experiment died.
Sometimes, when he lay awake and undisturbed for many hours, he almost thought he had even succeeded.
Light was what brought shadow into being; they were cast by its brightness and thrived in its absence...
There were whispers behind him, words exchanged in a frantic flurry of hisses and low notes.
"Then I'm gonna rule the world, too," Maes replied, because he and Roy always did everything together.
The Colonel should, by all that is logical in the world, be less intimidating out of his uniform.
"If you hadn't messed in the mud to get the cat," he pointed out, "your hands wouldn't be so cold. Give me your other."
He didn't play anymore, not with reports to file, books to read, notes to scratch out.
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.
Even so, you still are a manipulative bastard.
It is her drive that makes Winry love her. It is the fact that her love doesn't weaken her.
It was a shame to mark the boy's pretty face so, but considering his abilities, prudent.
"Damn well better be--I bought 'em two days ago and I'm not keeling over yet. Got any dry ones on you?"
"I was your mother once," Dante told him with an air of great drunken magnanimity one evening.
...it was something you had. And if it's something you had, it's something I want.
Faith, he'd thought, was something he'd learned as a child, squirming on the hard wooden pews.
Even though she wasn’t an alchemist, alchemy tended to stake a claim on all who were associated with it.
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.
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...
Ed tosses four sausages at once into his mouth and swallows almost without chewing, shooting Al a smug, triumphant grin.
She would notice when that body's pulse went up around her, the flush of cheeks, and the way the eyes followed her curves.
"Fuck, I have a gang," Ed breathed in horror, about to take a seat.
If he would permit himself to be honest, Alphonse would admit to Roy that he hates the rain, too.
The thought that Elric might be hanging around, watching him like yesterday, was just too creepy to contemplate.
"They raise the dead. They make creatures to fight in the war. This is Edward! This is your son. You have to see that!"
Neither brother seems willing to speak, but their thoughts dip down into similar wells, dredging up the questions that most haunt them.
Ed started to worry that Al was sulking when the cat's neck snapped under Al's hands.
He closed his fist around her sash and curled into himself, trying to keep his thoughts away from dark things.
Are you listening to me, Lieutenant Hawkeye?
Once you promised me that you would dance on my grave. I'm keeping you to that promise, you know.
At night, curled shivering on the layers of musty damp leaves under the glimmering stars, Ed lay silently and thought of unspeakable unknowns...
It isn't often that our darkest fantasies get fulfilled.
"When I walked in on you in the bath, Edward, I wasn't expecting Al to be there too."
The boy's brother stretches out a flesh-and-blood hand towards her, and at that moment she hates him, hates them all.
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.
It wasn't a nightmare; nightmares leave him shaking and sweating, but now he's oddly calm.
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.
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.
And if she listened carefully enough, she could hear Edward reading in a low voice to a gurgling Alphonse.
Could I burn like that - would the lick of flames on my skin wipe me clean?
To her, the Philosopher's Stone is blood and fire: his fire, her blood.
The first time your mother asked you what you wanted to be, you answered, 'King of the whole world!'
It was inconceivable to think that this could ever be called beautiful...but the same could have been said for her once, couldn't it?
He can still feel in his cheeks the faint scratch of beard against skin when his father kissed him there.
Because he had said one year; and dammit, he meant it.
What was it like, Father mine, to die and to be resurrected 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.