M/F romantic relationship in preliminary or ''puppy love'' stages (hand-holding, kissing). Does not include canonical relationships.
Gentle and wise and intelligent and kind... and so unlike anyone she'd ever known in Xing...
You could attribute it to teenage rebellion, if you liked, or to homunculus-hormones, which could be quite fierce, or heck, maybe she was just living up to her name.
Sometimes it was easy to forget she was a conscript. Other times, it was impossible.
He had believed, until that moment, that he had moved beyond carnal wants and human feelings.
"I'm sorry! Look, I'll fix it. I didn't know it was going to turn out this way!"
Winry could not imagine going so far for someone whose name you couldn't even say. She couldn't imagine going so far without allowing yourself to say his name.
But he glanced behind himself for Winly, and it was a terrible, bittersweet thing.
"If you've got something to say, say it," she said. "If not, hand me a fork, would you?"
It had been a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Eyes across a crowded room, and all that jazz.
Etiquette doesn't quite cover situations like this one.
He was not ready to be an uncle! He was ready, however, to hit things and curse.
It was kind of ironic, and kind of inconvenient, that Rush Valley, the capital city of automail, was also hot as hell for half the year.
"Just remind me, even if the alternative is to sleep on a ice cube, NEVER to share a bed with you again.
It’s February in Central. There’s nothing better to do.
"I know how things work, sir," the boy continued, laying the watch across his lap.
Al knew better than anyone that Ed, if he put his mind to it, could do anything, and a little thing like missing limbs wasn't going to stop him.
She would notice when that body's pulse went up around her, the flush of cheeks, and the way the eyes followed her curves.
I needed something that said 'I am Elicia Hughes, more than just Daddy's Girl.'
Winry sucked in a gasp, and dropped backward in shock.
"Mother?" And his voice broke, shattered as he raced to her, arms wrapping around her thin body, embracing the image, the idea. "Mommy!"
"They raise the dead. They make creatures to fight in the war. This is Edward! This is your son. You have to see that!"
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.
More than once she thought she half-saw a face in the leaves, formed by a trick of light and shadow, and her steps grew languid and slow.
After all, Edward needed her help in catching the syndicate known as 'Soldiers'.
He shuffled into her store nearly six months after she had moved to Central.
But when the acting commander of the Intelligence branch, the man who controlled her widow's pension, requested and required this service... well... well.
He didn't need chalk, or ink; hell, if anything, blood was a better medium for this purpose.
It was the truth, but it sounded lame upon Edward's lips; the way her eyes hooded, she seemed to think so, anyway.
The last thing she remembers of him was his voice begging a stranger to keep her safe. Begging for her useless life.
Nothing made sense anymore.
It didn't fool Al one bit when his brother tried to sneak into their dorm room long after curfew, but that didn't stop Ed from trying.
There's nothing wrong with his legs, at least — a sidestep to the right and two paces back and he'd be out the door, if it weren't shut.
This, too, was a pain that Edward had inflicted only on himself, but neither Roy nor Al had dared to say so.
The first thing Gracia bought after her husband died was a stepladder.
"Do we still have cucumbers? Or I guess I could transmute a mold, do you need this dining chair?"
They wouldn't be leaving until well after sunset, trusting Al to guide them through the dense thicket of sassafras and witch hazel to the road.
"My neighbors would start saying things behind my back if I took home a suit of armor."
When he received no immediate response, he drew back and let her go, and the aching vulnerability on his face made her blink in surprise.
Roy cleared his throat, and stepped up to the podium. "Welcome to Elric Fanciers Anonymous," he said.
Instead of being the result of too many hours in the rain; though, this fever seemed to be caused by Winry.
But they were no longer young, and they no longer lived together, and Al wouldn't embarrass his brother in front of their hosts by trying to take care of him.
"No one shuns their duty in Xing," she said, firmly and leaving no room to brook argument, the way her elders had always passed the maxim to her.
When Havoc came back from lunch, he wondered why Hawkeye was picking up scattered papers with a small and warm smile on her face.
"Oh, he's probably just studying too hard to notice you knocking," Winly said at first.
Such strength. Such dignity. Such discipline. So not the person she was supposed to seduce.
There was really too much good happening today to allow room for imperfection, in his humble opinion.
She stands beside him with her arms full of bandages, hoping the day he sees his own danger will come before the day he sets himself alight completely.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
In that moment, nature feels alive around her, resisting her, and every small victory of every small breath confirms that she’s alive, too.
Water fills her ears without stopping them, just as grief does her mind, and she drums her fingers on the wooden slats in time to the litany of her failure.