Internalized reminiscence by a character on a series of events.
Grandfathers should want different things for their grandchildren, shouldn't they?
Even so, you still are a manipulative bastard.
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.
The human body (or rather, the nearly-human homunculus body) is really an incredible thing.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
Sometimes Roy would just hold him for an hour or more, late at night, blind comfort.
She could remember his voice, husky with tortured emotion, screaming a name, the name "Edward Elric..."
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.
Even though she wasn’t an alchemist, alchemy tended to stake a claim on all who were associated with it.
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.
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.
"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.
There is immortality deep within us that has nothing to do with corruptible flesh and earthly demise.
There was no question that the very act of living in this world was to be in exile.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
Life, the Fullmetal Alchemist decided viciously, wasn't fair.
Mustang is possessed, maybe, but not with the feverish intensity that will someday be the trademark of the Full Metal Alchemist.
Sometimes, he prays that the hand will come down and Ed will tell him gently they are done, they are going to quit, end the nightmare before it worsens.
Like other little girls, she wanted to be an actress, the heroine in her own perfect fairytale.
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.
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.
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.
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.
To her, the Philosopher's Stone is blood and fire: his fire, her blood.
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
The brush began its march through the sunbeam locks, from crown to tail, and Riza pressed her lips to them. "Until then."
Of course, when she was their age she could hardly recite her multiplication tables, much less draw complex alchemical glyphs.
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.
Here was the corner where she retreated, reloading her gun as she prepared for another kill.
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.
I, the stray dog of the desert, who sloped long and pale, slashed to ribbons, across the moonlight sands on my journey to God.
There are things he cannot allow Greed to do.
What price for a human soul? Even a body and a leg had left a debt that could cleave the world in two.
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.
He couldn't understand this world, this obsession with his son in the negative.
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 gave, and he gave, and he gave, and he could only hope that it was enough.
There were precious few memories remaining, now, dimmed with the passage of time and the years that he’d spent lacking a flesh body, but he kept them close to him all the same.
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...
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.
Falling back into the sun-warmed grass, Al smiled to the skies, offered them his hopes and dreams on a gilded platter of golden eyes.
She laughs readily, but no one else, he's sure, has ever seen the double-takes with which she greets his successful deadpan strikes.
He had started to wonder if it was Edward or himself that was farther out of reach at the moment.
Faith, he'd thought, was something he'd learned as a child, squirming on the hard wooden pews.
Rubbing at a fading reminder of one such lesson on his left biceps, he hopes she appreciates what a formidable champion she’s gained.
Greed has one, fundamental, flaw.
In that moment, nature feels alive around her, resisting her, and every small victory of every small breath confirms that she’s alive, too.
That day, Ed had pulled his hair out of a braid and tied it up into a neat ponytail.
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.