Internalized reminiscence by a character on a series of events.
It was well known around Central headquarters that Roy Mustang was lusting after the visiting Major-General.
We were the naive kings of all we surveyed, lingering on the hilltop as we stared at our kingdom of ash, of ruins, of dust.
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
Even so, you still are a manipulative bastard.
Because he had said one year; and dammit, he meant it.
I needed something that said 'I am Elicia Hughes, more than just Daddy's Girl.'
Alfons is a scientific man, and Edward is his paradox.
He had started to wonder if it was Edward or himself that was farther out of reach at the moment.
Sometimes Roy would just hold him for an hour or more, late at night, blind comfort.
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye stands behind Colonel Roy Mustang, laughing silently about her silly dreams, her hand never straying far from the gun by her side.
Rubbing at a fading reminder of one such lesson on his left biceps, he hopes she appreciates what a formidable champion she’s gained.
Life, the Fullmetal Alchemist decided viciously, wasn't fair.
See him move, see him train, see him jump into that air and swing his leg in a complete arch before he lands heavily to the ground in a perfect execution of Sensei's teachings.
He wanted to be able to do something like that; tangle limbs and lips and know what it was like to not have a responsibility.
Impress, they had told him. Make us see why we should choose you as one of our own.
To her, the Philosopher's Stone is blood and fire: his fire, her blood.
He gave, and he gave, and he gave, and he could only hope that it was enough.
It was only after the sheer sensation had abated — only when he felt on solid enough ground to focus on the subtleties of life once more — that the habit began to catch his attention.
Car broke down again, couple kilometers out of the city, so they had to walk for a while, until Alfons couldn't speak for the coughing.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.
Even though she wasn’t an alchemist, alchemy tended to stake a claim on all who were associated with it.
Alfons prays for the day when he will return to a far-off Edward, and somehow miraculously find the words, the actions, to call him back from his imaginary world.
You hide it well behind your bluster and your sulks, but the workings of your mind are at once cunningly devious and ruthlessly simple.
He couldn't understand this world, this obsession with his son in the negative.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
When dealing with the military, it always paid to look ready for inspection. Neatness counted; passion was suspect.
She laughs readily, but no one else, he's sure, has ever seen the double-takes with which she greets his successful deadpan strikes.
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.
She could remember his voice, husky with tortured emotion, screaming a name, the name "Edward Elric..."
He can hear their strained breathing but that's all, and he's never liked the General's silence and he likes Ed's even less.
Lust had memories. They were strange, confusing, painful. But she thought maybe she remembered love. Also hate. They seemed, from her perspective, very much alike.
There are things he cannot allow Greed to do.
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.
She remembers the dreamlike way the pieces seemed to sit on the board—on account of the light, maybe, or perhaps her own faltering memory.
In that moment, nature feels alive around her, resisting her, and every small victory of every small breath confirms that she’s alive, too.
It was such a beautiful way to die.
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.
Two boys, two faces, two fates, alive and dead at the same time, at different times, nothing in common, everything in common, one thing in common: him.
There was one thing that Edward had missed above all others.
For now, he has mastered one world, two worlds; they have mastered him as well, and he is tired.
Greed has one, fundamental, flaw.
The brush began its march through the sunbeam locks, from crown to tail, and Riza pressed her lips to them. "Until then."
Envy could rip him and all the worlds in two.
That day, Ed had pulled his hair out of a braid and tied it up into a neat ponytail.
I know what I feel, I know what I think, and I don't need to chickenscratch the shit down and have the risk of it falling into the wrong hands.
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
I, the stray dog of the desert, who sloped long and pale, slashed to ribbons, across the moonlight sands on my journey to God.
What price for a human soul? Even a body and a leg had left a debt that could cleave the world in two.