A Murder Of Crows, otherwise known as Amanda Lever, has written in fandoms from Fushigi Yuugi, Trigun, and Inu-Yasha, has trouble finishing the massive projects she starts (having 3 multi-chapter stories sit, unfinished, to date) and tend to write things no one else would, like Kikyou/Gravesoil smut (don’t ask) and manages to win awards for it. Still, she continues this pattern in FMA; she prefers honest-to-canon work, disdains AU most of the time, and dabbles in yuri and yaoi only on odd days. In short, she’s just another ficcer on the web.
Winry sucked in a gasp, and dropped backward in shock.
It made only a semblance of sense, but she understood that the whole truth would be revealed when Ed could be led from this graveyard of the years he had lost.
She preferred mechanical work for just that reason; at least you knew with relative certainty what automail was going to do when you did something to it.
It was the truth, but it sounded lame upon Edward's lips; the way her eyes hooded, she seemed to think so, anyway.
He would have killed, before a nonexistent God and Winry, to be that goddamn spatula.
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.
"YOU HAVE JUST INTERRUPTED AN IMPORTANT TRIP. IF YOU WISH TO NOT BE BEATEN WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE, YOU BETTER ABANDON THE TRAIN RIGHT NOW!"
He was not ready to be an uncle! He was ready, however, to hit things and curse.
He was also certain that if he gave in and laughed, Edward would hang up and never speak to him again.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
A hand was extended, and he finally, finally took it, even if he didn't use it to pull himself up.
Her lover could have been anyone; Edward or Alphonse Elric, Roy Mustang, Ling Yao.
Roy had not wanted to cry for many years; he hadn't wept since Ishbal.
It was growing to be habit, restless energy that ran under his skin after she'd just ran her hands over it.
rated:M-L | GENM+F |