Internalized reminiscence by a character on a series of events.
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.
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.
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
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.
Greed has one, fundamental, flaw.
It was such a beautiful way to die.
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.
"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.
Fingertips drifted over curves, up over hips and thighs and the dimple of ribs, and if my eyes were closed, I could have told you in detail every perfect flaw and scar.
It was well known around Central headquarters that Roy Mustang was lusting after the visiting Major-General.
I, the stray dog of the desert, who sloped long and pale, slashed to ribbons, across the moonlight sands on my journey to God.
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...
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.
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.
The metal in his mouth tastes cool and tangy and yummy but he can't eat because he has to find Lust.
The taste of arsenic is golden, addictive, even it does pave the road to hell.
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.
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.
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
Mustang is possessed, maybe, but not with the feverish intensity that will someday be the trademark of the Full Metal Alchemist.
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.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
They were not used to being alone and when they were together they were not.
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.
Brother wasn't the only one hiding his fears; I was so afraid everything I knew was a lie -- that our brotherhood was a lie.
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.
She could remember his voice, husky with tortured emotion, screaming a name, the name "Edward Elric..."
Very few alchemists believed in God, but all of them believed in books.
In that moment, nature feels alive around her, resisting her, and every small victory of every small breath confirms that she’s alive, too.
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.
You hide it well behind your bluster and your sulks, but the workings of your mind are at once cunningly devious and ruthlessly simple.
It seemed, the man thought, that Ed was a lot like the sun -- warm, comforting -- and at a distance.
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.
I needed something that said 'I am Elicia Hughes, more than just Daddy's Girl.'
He couldn't understand this world, this obsession with his son in the negative.
Envy could rip him and all the worlds in two.
There are things he cannot allow Greed to do.
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Impress, they had told him. Make us see why we should choose you as one of our own.
Life, the Fullmetal Alchemist decided viciously, wasn't fair.
And of course, he does not believe in God anyway, and scorns the idea of predestination.
For now, he has mastered one world, two worlds; they have mastered him as well, and he is tired.
Even though she wasn’t an alchemist, alchemy tended to stake a claim on all who were associated with it.
She clung to him so tightly that his skin was white under her fingertips.
Like other little girls, she wanted to be an actress, the heroine in her own perfect fairytale.
Grandfathers should want different things for their grandchildren, shouldn't they?
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.