The molten glares, slight limp, and foul mood, Mustang knew, could all be explained away by the early morning and foul weather. The sudden collapse and loss of consciousness... couldn't.
This was supposed to be the end. All the movies and books he'd been raised on pointed to the same thing: now that they'd beaten the bad guy and saved the day, they were supposed to get their happily ever after. They were supposed to get their moment to mourn the dead, celebrate the living, and carry on with carrying on. Reality, though, is never that kind.
*On Hiatus* Part 2 of the War Dogs 'verse. Adrenaline seeped into his veins. A patchwork of memories drifted before his eyes: a village under threat, a frantic meeting, and a decision - his decision - that he would distract the oncoming enemy to buy Mustang and the others time to escape.
Edward couldn't really say it was peaceful in the trenches after the sun had fallen, but at least it was a reprieve from the blood-soaked hell that took place during the day.
Part 1 of the War Dogs 'verse. With all the conflict and tension between Amestris and Aerugo, it was inevitable that a war would break loose. Mustang, though, had always thought that he would be able to keep his young prodigy away from such a nightmarish ordeal.
Hours' long stakeout? Check. Terrorists hellbent on destruction? Check. Mercurial blond alchemists who throw a wrench in even the most carefully laid plans? Check. For Mustang and Hawkeye, it's just another day on the job.
His eyes dart toward the brass telephone crouched atop his desk, and he wills it to end its hours of silence, to finally, finally, finally crack the tense, cold office air with its shrill screams. If he's honest with himself, though, Roy Mustang knows full well that he's never been good at waiting.
Dull, tedious stake outs? Check. Terrorists hellbent on destruction? Check. Waiting for hours to collect information, only to have certain blond alchemists get in the way? Check. For Mustang and Hawkeye, it's just another day in the military.
"He could have died tonight, Roy." The words would have been easier to accept if Maes had shouted them, struck him across the face, threw his half-empty tumbler across the office.
He was just another new client. Winry had dealt with plenty of those before. But his arms were too close and his voice curled around her neck, and her mind screamed at her, do something - anything - to get away. Post-series. Warnings inside.
It was just for one night. Then, come morning, they'd drag their half-frozen asses - slowly, painfully, but they would - back to the Amestrian trenches and act like good dogs of the military all over again.
He remembers feeling so damned proud-like his heart might burst and the joy might overflow-as he treks up the dirt road with his flesh-and-blood brother. Remembers the tremor in Winry's voice when she whispers, Welcome home. Wonders if maybe, just maybe, he could feel this way forever. He should really have realized that's not the way the world works.
Edward squeezed his eyes shut, forced air into his lungs, searched wildly for the scratched and dented armour that was his younger brother... And found him. Missing legs, missing helmet, chest plate cracked and blackened and pocked and lying fifteen feet away. Covered in granite sand and white ash and wood splinters. But he hurt so much. What could he do?
Bits, drabbles, and scenes featuring Resembool and its famous trio. Chapter twelve: Unexpected Guests. "Who was it?" Winry asked. Edward sighed and ran a hand through his bangs. "Just a couple of beggars."
Mustang said nothing, taking in the slumped shoulders and limp, dull hair; the skinned knuckles and the bruise that circled his left wrist; the heavy footsteps and the way that he favoured his left leg. The young man was spiralling downwards, he knew, but he was powerless to stop it. Post-series. Warnings inside.
In fear for himself and his family, Draco Malfoy agrees to aid Voldemort in his evil schemes. Unfortunately for him, the Weasley twins are a lot better at original tortures than the Dark Lord will ever be. Slight, unwilling H/Dr; post-GoF.
Because, when the snow melts and brings the spring, a child knows that the days of innocent fun will always return and, like friendship, will always remain.
Two years, and he was still a pawn in this bloody, endless war. Two years, and still, he fought and killed without thought. Two years, and he did not even know if he was still a "Human Weapon," or just a weapon like the rest of them...
At 11:59 on the thirtieth of July, Death Eaters terrorized the Muggles of Privet Drive; at 12:00, only smouldering ashes remained of Number four, Privet Drive.
It's amazing how a little alcohol can cause one to lose any and all inhibitions. This is an important lesson that Edward learns the hard way... Much to his commanding officer's chagrin.
Pre HBP. A reluctant 16 year old Harry Potter was brought by none other than his loving girlfriend to see Santa Claus one Christmas, so that the two famous characters might have a picture togther. The ensuing events, though, were far from what was planned