Internalized reminiscence by a character on a series of events.
He has seen the desert. Seen her scorched and scarred beneath his steady hands. Stepped in her tattered remains, tasted her ashes with every breath.
It is what people say to him because they cannot think of any other way to relate to him, this boy who has the heavy title of 'Full Metal Alchemist'.
Roy Mustang often looked back on his wedding night, recalling what he had thought about his subordinates; even now, they were his family, his safety, his friends.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
Faith, he'd thought, was something he'd learned as a child, squirming on the hard wooden pews.
He had started to wonder if it was Edward or himself that was farther out of reach at the moment.
Even so, you still are a manipulative bastard.
The human body (or rather, the nearly-human homunculus body) is really an incredible thing.
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.
They were not used to being alone and when they were together they were not.
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.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
Rubbing at a fading reminder of one such lesson on his left biceps, he hopes she appreciates what a formidable champion she’s gained.
When the lines didn't matter, when the lungs weren't working in labor of sweet industry worlds, then it was so easy to see where they might be all born of the same blood.
It was such a beautiful way to die.
The taste of arsenic is golden, addictive, even it does pave the road to hell.
The metal in his mouth tastes cool and tangy and yummy but he can't eat because he has to find Lust.
There is immortality deep within us that has nothing to do with corruptible flesh and earthly demise.
Grandfathers should want different things for their grandchildren, shouldn't they?
His arms weren't big enough to encompass all of himself, and Edward always got the pieces that he couldn't reach.
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.
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.
For now, he has mastered one world, two worlds; they have mastered him as well, and he is tired.
She laughs readily, but no one else, he's sure, has ever seen the double-takes with which she greets his successful deadpan strikes.
Mustang is possessed, maybe, but not with the feverish intensity that will someday be the trademark of the Full Metal Alchemist.
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.
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.
Sometimes Roy would just hold him for an hour or more, late at night, blind comfort.
The question "Why learn?" always stops him; he cannot imagine not wanting to learn.
And of course, he does not believe in God anyway, and scorns the idea of predestination.
Like other little girls, she wanted to be an actress, the heroine in her own perfect fairytale.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
Of course, when she was their age she could hardly recite her multiplication tables, much less draw complex alchemical glyphs.
"We'll have you patched up in no time." Edward announced, slicing the leather into short, precise strips. It was irrational, but somehow Alphonse hated those words.
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.
He has lots of women like her, who would like to be his anchor, and too many of them confuse that for throwing themselves head first into the ocean.
She feels like an intruder, eyes watching her from empty rooms, and every stair is a memory she dares not to disturb.
The brush began its march through the sunbeam locks, from crown to tail, and Riza pressed her lips to them. "Until then."
"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
The feeling came more naturally than anything he'd known.
There are things he cannot allow Greed to do.
It didn't really sink in when you saw the thing, all clumsy dangling wood and leather straps, like the arm of a marionette in a kids' puppet show.
You hide it well behind your bluster and your sulks, but the workings of your mind are at once cunningly devious and ruthlessly simple.
She moves the king again, to its last optional safe square and murmurs, "I'll admit this is not how I envisioned my first night on the battlefield."
She could remember his voice, husky with tortured emotion, screaming a name, the name "Edward Elric..."
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...
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
Very few alchemists believed in God, but all of them believed in books.