A Very Warriors Christmas by ChaseClouds, literature
Literature
A Very Warriors Christmas
Firestar looked proudly around the ThunderClan camp, where all of the Clan was in the Christmas spirit. There was Dustpelt, Thornclaw, Graystripe, and Lionblaze rolling an obscenely large pine tree into the center of camp, and Jayfeather yelling at caroling Apprentices. Ivypool and Dovewing were set to work on the task of decorating the hollow with holly. (When they ran out, they improvised by using Hollyleaf's fur, which for whatever reason was stockpiled heavily in the medicine den). Firestar sighed. All was right in ThunderClan.
Brackenfur trotted up to Firestar, a somewhat worried glint in his eyes. "Hey, Firestar, why do we celebrate
FMA FANFIC: scene from outside by TheMadWoman-Ellie, literature
Literature
FMA FANFIC: scene from outside
FMA FanFic
I don't own FMA wah
AlWin RoyEd
Violence and vulgarity
The sound of bullets and chaos filled the air as two brothers dashed from the chaotic mansion. Alphonse Elric was panting heavily, most of his strength already weakened by earlier events. His older brother, Edward Elric was trying to find a safe place for them to dodge the explosions.
Brother where are we going? Alphonse breathed out, trying his hardest not to collapse on the cold concrete.
Just a little further, Al. Im getting you the hell out of here. Edward turned his head, spotting their exit from the iron-closed gates.
Alphonse st
Remember
Alphonse Elric closed the fridge in a huff. "Brother?"
"Yeah?" Edward Elric asked from his seat at the table, reading the newspaper and taking a sip of his coffee. He had developed a real taste for coffee lately. He didn't know why.
"We don't have any more of those muffins left. I thought you said you bought some more." Al had a habit of scolding his brother, despite their obvious age difference.
"I did. You're just not looking hard enough," Ed said, without looking up from the newspaper.
Al checked again. Nothing.
"I checked at least seven times, Brother. Still nothing."
"Are you looking in the fridge?"
"Yes," Al said, quite
Alphonse sat quietly, leaning against the tree. Ed was pretty sure he was in the meditative state he sometimes acquired: it seemed to help the younger Elric deal with the stress of never sleeping and sensory deprivation. Edward watched the clouds above them, hoping for a break in the rain, waiting for the next train.
It had been a little less than eight months since his certification. Exactly eight months since his birthday, and the day he helped deliver little Elysia.
He popped open his silver State pocket watch, and stared down at the rough etching he'd scribbled in.
Don't forget 3 Oct 11 He squeezed it in his flesh hand.
One year ago t
There were the good days. Days when he would laugh, tease Winry, chase Den around the yard, spar on the pretense of checking Al's reflexes and strength. He would pour himself a glass of lemonade and sprawl under a tree, reading until he fell asleep with a contented smile on his face. He would stare at the back of Winry's head with a funny little smile, and Al would dare to think he was happy.
Then there were the bad days.
They always seemed to come right after the days when he seemed the happiest, like he was coming down from a sugar rush. He would be in high spirits at dinner, joking and eating with gusto, then tickle Al just to hear him l
Everyone called Edward Elric a genius, but that doesn't mean he knew it all. Automail, for example, would always be something of a mystery to him. Oh, he knew the mechanics of it, at least in theory. Winry was a Grade-A Gearhead and always happy to explain in painstaking detail how every single wire and bolt and gear worked in tandem to make his arm move on command. With stars in her eyes and long blonde hair flipping around in her tight ponytail, Winry could go on for hours without ever getting tired or even stopping to eat.
Seriously, Ed had seen her do it!
He remembered being seven years old, making the innocent, yet huge mistake of
His black eyes watched her pull her gun. Rain mixed with blood to plaster his jet-black hair to his forehead. It was raining buckets which made vision difficult enough. Add that to the gash across his head bleeding heavily and his visibility was almost down to zero. The woman in the black dress and gloves in front of him had used her knife-like fingernails to slash his head. He had fought with her for an hour now. He had been holding his own and had even started to win when the rain started. With his gloves soaked and his alchemy useless, the tables had turned and now Roy Mustang's body was covered in gashes. Many of them were deep and