He gently turned Ed's head so that he faced the camera, and with just a little luck, Ling would catch that amazing expression Ed always had when he came.
Ed opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Visibility is that important to you, huh?" he said.
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.
ROY: [calmly] If drinking means acting like an idiot the way you are, I'm going to pass.
"So, we're one gunshot from a civil war. If someone from Hakuro's faction fired that shot, for whatever reason ..."
rated:K-L-V | M+F S+S | Mangaverse | post-series | SP: ch 1-108 | DF: ch 105 | Alphonse Elric | Edward Elric | Roy Mustang | mystery | 354th FG HQ | UST | 2010 Best New Voices, Neophyte | Havoc/Rebecca
Years later when they shipped him off on a belated honeymoon, Roy went without audible protest.
They could profane the inner sanctum; it would be a perfect cat burglary. Her father would never know a thing.
"You're late," Ed tells him flatly. "You should have been here one minute and forty four seconds ago."
Could I burn like that - would the lick of flames on my skin wipe me clean?
Roy Mustang was shipped back home last week. Neat as a parcel of vegetables with the stamp upside-down on the crate.
Roy was silent when Maes came back several minutes later. If he heard the sounds of retching from the bathroom, he didn't say.
Only some things, he knew, could be repaired. Not every broken sword could be re-forged.
"When you put it that way--" Roy conceded. "But it does seem improbable. You promised me a murderer, but are you so sure that it was no accident?"
Smug, he'd stayed just long enough to give his report and then had marched straight off to Resembool with Al lagging behind.
Yes, something was amiss, and Roy Mustang was going to find out what.
"Well... Brother does that, every so often. He really should think before he tries to attack people."
If Ed had his way, his allowance (and all of Roy's salary) would be spent entirely on the most expensive brand of dog food to have ever existed.
And there was a certain look they shared, the one they both used when they thought Ed was being unreasonably stubborn.
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
"I know how things work, sir," the boy continued, laying the watch across his lap.
...the two men drank Roy's good whiskey, clinked glasses and Maes exclaimed that It was about damn time.
"You finally took my advice and settled down! Not quite what I had in mind, of course, but I'm so happy for you!"
It would be a shame if the future Fuhrer got himself killed over something as trivial as a chess game.
...The world is saved. You two can just gnaw on each other for the rest of your lives.
It was getting kind of depressing, though, by the time the color red alone would make him wonder about the child; the flash of a cardinal, a sprig of bright berries, the gaudiness of nighttime tavern lights, and the scarlet lipstick of bar women.
Fullmetal smiled a long, slow smile, the sort that promised evil things were in the near future, and put his boots up on Roy's desk.
"When I walked in on you in the bath, Edward, I wasn't expecting Al to be there too."
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
He hadn't asked Hughes to follow him to this place.
Death could come to Roy on his time. Appointment first. Lunch, maybe.
I didn't know on the phone. I didn't know on the train.
One day Edward was out kicking the crap out of those damn Homunculus with Al...
Today I saw the god of fire, Roy writes in his notebook, knowing he will never be believed.
"...That is an order, Fullmetal, and I will have you court-martialed if you refuse."
They are his signposts and self-inscriptions, cordoning off the book as his own, as something he possesses.
While the Chief practices his best vengeful face and looks up the recipe for a fake corpse in some freaky alchemy cookbook, Breda and the rest of Team Mustang get to deal with the really annoying bits of this operation.
An alchemical reaction of the most ancient kind: sitting down to eat as though filling the stomach could replace the gap in one's heart.
He remembered finding himself asking why the Fullmetal Alchemist would be the one to patch his own clothes.
Roy could've sworn First Lieutenants existed only to invent torture methods for Colonels, but he wasn't about to say that one out loud.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
Even so, you still are a manipulative bastard.
Well, it sure looks like the rumors were true about Wednesday nights, Ed thought, easing inconspicuously along the edges of the room. But I never knew so many soldiers were gay.
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.
There was a loud crack, like the sound of several chopsticks simultaneously being snapped in two, followed by the sound of something heavy falling, the object hitting the ground so hard the earth literally shook beneath Ed's feet.
"Don't go to sleep," he murmurs into Ed's hair, and thinks of their mother, long ago, telling a story about spinning straw into gold.
Roy was enchanted by the sound of her voice, pure like dewdrops in the morning.
This wasn't really what he'd been expecting from surreptitious wartime sex. He'd thought it would be some kind of quickie round the back of the latrines.
And after all, no amount of rain can wash the blood away.
This really was turning out to be a day of surprises, thought Roy.
Even though she wasn’t an alchemist, alchemy tended to stake a claim on all who were associated with it.