Fanfiction: Envied of the Bees (Fullmetal Alchemist)

[nebroadwe]

Title: Envied of the Bees
Fandom: FMA (manga version)
Character(s): Ed, Winry
Pairing(s): Ed/Winry.
Rating: PG (for language)
Word Count: ~3750
Warnings: Spoilers for events through chapter 72.
A/N: Written for the 2007 EdWinry "Fire and Ice" Challenge to the prompt "bee sting" (and wherein it won "Best Use of Prompt" and took first runner-up for "Audience Favorite". Woohoo! Thank you!) This story takes place in an imagined future after the events of chapter 72; it's already slightly AU, but I trust that won't dampen anyone's enjoyment. I was pretty proud of this piece even before my peers weighed in with their opinions -- I'm still feeling my way into writing romance and this is the first story I've written in which the POV character actually gets a little action. :-) Crossposted from nebroadwe to Höllenbeck (i.e. hagaren_manga, fm_alchemist, fullservicefma, ed_winry, winrylovers, fma_het, fma_writers, and fma_fiction).
Dedication: For Denise, who read it first and giggled in all the right places.

---

"Love is ... a pleasure stirred and kept alive by difficulties.
There must be a sting and a smart in it."
-- Montaigne, Essays
      Ed walked out under the wide eaves of the disused tobacco barn, trying not to limp visibly. He humbugged his way around the corner, then abandoned pretense and staggered to the nearest patch of ground not overrun with prickers. Leaning against the wall, he sank into a tangle of dead weeds and new growth, releasing a small cloud of disturbed insects and pollen for the wind to disperse. The sun threw a warm glow on the facade above his head, glazing the pale chinking orange. Ed tilted his head back to stretch the kinks from his neck and spine, as if they were more aggravating than the shooting pains in his right foot, and watched the light recede up the exposed wood. Who needed a clock when you could see the seconds slipping away like honey leaking from a jar, or count them by the raw throb of blood through your veins?

      He grimaced, wishing that any of his accumulated aches were severe enough to distract him from the impatience gnawing at his nerves. This long detour around Central was only the latest delay he and his companions had encountered in their helter-skelter flight from Briggs. They'd met check after check in the north, driven repeatedly off-course by hostile weather and Loyalist patrols, but each dodge had kept them alive for another mile, another day, until they'd crept at last down out of the broken lands ruled by the mountains and found central Amestris basking in the warmth of an early spring. They'd been able to hurry then, taking full advantage of the season's gifts: cover in the verges; fresh greens and new-laid eggs for the dinner-pot; and copious trade up and down the rail lines of the country's industrial heartland. Hopping one freight after another, they'd crossed in hours distances that would have cost them weary days afoot.

      But, like all good things, that convenience hadn't lasted. He and Al had decided it was best to avoid Central altogether rather than gamble that they could axle-swing through the city undiscovered. Too many people, they'd explained to Winry and Mei Chan. The yards are too well-guarded and we're too well-known (Ed would have amputated his other arm before using the phrase too conspicuous where his brother could hear). And, though neither admitted it aloud, Ed knew that Al was as reluctant as he to set foot on ground controlled so closely by the homunculi and their Father -- not with what they now carried, and especially not with two girls in tow. So they'd rolled out of their last boxcar at a siding above Fitcher's Rest to cut south-west through farm country, following back roads bordered by cornfields and cow pastures. Ed forced himself to admit that so far everything had gone as planned. In a few more days they'd reach Burlton, where one of Central-and-Southern's spurs terminated; they could catch another rattler at a crossing and make Dublith in a week.

      If the weather holds, he couldn't help adding. And nobody sees us or --

      A jumble of noises yanked him out of his brown study -- familiar noises: his brother's softly clashing sabatons and the bean-girl's chirping voice and Winry's laughter. Ed tensed. Can't she keep it down? You'd think they were on a picnic, not hiding from the homunculi and the military and the Truth knew who else ...

      He slumped lower among the weeds, but no one came searching for him. Instead, they headed away toward the pond, Mei Chan chattering like a house sparrow and Al clearly shortening his stride to match hers. Refilling the canteens, Ed guessed. Good. He needed just a little more time to convince his foot to stop behaving like a brass band. If he dismissed everything but the drum corps, he could charge any stumbles to the ground tonight. 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.

      He saw as keenly now in the dark as the cats he loved: no compensation for his bodiless state, but neither he nor Ed shied from using the advantage. When Al had spotted the overgrown ruts in the hedgerow near dawn, his brother had needed no prompting to investigate. They'd hoped for a secluded clearing -- when the barn loomed into view, Ed had scarcely been able to believe their luck. The walls were thick and solid, the shingling intact, but no leaves hung drying from the tier poles and none of the surrounding fields was under cultivation (unless some fool had decided to raise a crop of evergreen millet and thistles). The others had quickly made themselves at home; Winry'd had them unpacked almost before Ed finished scouting. We may be sleeping rough, she'd said, but at least we're under a roof.

      Her enthusiasm for that small luxury had irritated Ed as much as the bad pun. At this point on their journey, he liked to think it didn't matter where they slept, as long as it was hidden and reasonably defensible. He'd found it difficult not to snap at her when she laid out everyone's bedrolls with the solicitude of a hotel chambermaid expecting a big tip. She's never complained about where we camped before -- what's the big deal now? It's not like she's home safe --

      He heard the swish of someone's legs through the knee-high grass, walking without concealment; then, as if his thoughts had called her up, Winry poked her head around the corner. Her hair was still drying from the cold-water wash she'd given it before supper. Though she'd ponytailed most of it back, loose sidelocks coiled in random directions around her face. "Hi," she said.

      Ed grunted dismissively.

      She waded over to sit next to him anyway, crushing more millet and sending another swarm of dust mites aloft. "Give me your foot," she said, but when he crossed his legs to present his automail, she shook her head. "No, the other one."

      "What for?" he asked, trying to act as if it didn't feel ready to drop off at the ankle.

      Winry put her eyebrows up and looked at him. He returned the look for ten seconds for form's sake, then capitulated and offered her his right leg. She hitched forward to take his foot in her lap, unlacing his boot and easing it off. "Step on a bee, did you?"

      Ed shrugged as she pulled down his sock. Well, what was there to say? "I was ambushed"? He'd seen the hive in the sycamore tree thrusting its mottled branches over the eastern shore of the pond -- that's why he'd gone for a splash on the opposite side when his turn came to wash. He'd hadn't expected to find bees in the waxy green patches of nutsedge along the bank any more than he'd intended to put his socks on until his feet were dry. And then the blasted insect had used its dying breath to send its friends a distress call; he hadn't even had time to slap mud on the welt before half the colony charged him. He'd legged it back to the barn, hopping and swearing until he got within earshot of the others, eluding his pursuers with an abrupt excitation of the air between them. He'd nixed, perhaps too firmly, Al's suggestion that they raid the hive for honey, but otherwise he thought he'd done a pretty good job pretending the incident hadn't happened. Dammit. He hated being fussed over and he'd certainly walked off worse injuries than this.

      He had to admit, though, that Winry wasn't fussing (she reserved that for damage to his automail) and that she knew how to examine his sole without tickling it. "We didn't think you were just footsore," she said.

      "We?" Ed asked. Damn, damn, damn! If his ailments were being diagnosed by committee now, he might as well go and drown himself in the pond. Not that he cared what Bean-Girl thought, but Al was a world-class fusser.

      "Yeah. Mei Chan volunteered to fix you up with her alchemy."

      "Oh, sh-- "

      Winry took a firmer grip on his leg, preventing him from rising. "Calm down," she ordered. "Al distracted her. She's teaching him about medicinal herbs." Keeping hold of his ankle with one hand, she reached into her jacket pocket with the other and produced a few green leaves, egg-shaped and thickly veined. "They found a patch of lamb's foot right out back, lucky for you. Mei Chan says they have something like it in Xing, but they use it for eye problems. Here." She waved the leaves under his nose. "Chew these up and I'll make you a poultice."

      Ed sighed, but opened his mouth and let her feed him the lamb's foot. The herb was bitter, but not unpleasantly so: toss it with some sliced pecans and oranges, drizzle it with vinegar and oil, and he'd even call it tasty. Winry fished a damp handkerchief from her sleeve and flapped it around while he chewed; then she folded it into a long rectangle and held it beneath his chin. "They're getting along well," she said.

      Ed, discerning a cue, spat out his cud. "Who?"

      Winry let the question hang for a few seconds as she gently pressed the pulpy mass against the sting. Ed twitched all over at the contact, but she tied the cloth over the arch of his foot before he could jerk away. "Sorry. Al and Mei Chan."

      "Cat people," Ed grumbled, seizing gladly on the change of topic. "The way they fuss over feeding that thing now, you'd never think Al stuffed it full of table scraps every day in Central." According to the Bean-Girl Alchemist, her pet's digestion was very delicate: tender greens, sweet flowers, and the occasional piece of fruit were what it wanted, though in a pinch it could survive on coarser fare. Ed's own experience of the beast had led him to conclude it had the appetite of a goat, zestfully ingesting anything that got within range of its jaws, from C-rations to human flesh -- but try telling that to Al. You're scaring it, Brother. It's a defensive instinct ...

      Winry rolled up his sock and tucked it into his boot. "Ed, I don't think it's a cat."

      "Well, it's sure as heck not a dog." He wriggled his toes, relaxing as the poultice began to counter the effects of the apitoxin. The brass band slowly broke formation, its members peeling off by ones and twos, leaving the field to the quiet influence of the lamb's foot. Ed resolved to sneak some of the leaves into his own pocket before they left ... just for emergencies, of course.

      He glanced sideways at Winry. Judging by the self-satisfied smirk playing hide-and-seek with her dimples, she knew exactly what he was thinking. In that case, Ed decided, thanks were unnecessary.

      He propped his right ankle on his left as Winry settled in beside him, idly knotting and unknotting his bootlaces. The last of the sunset lingered in the treetops to gild the young leaves tatting intricate patterns against the sky. A pair of mourning doves called back and forth to each other across the clearing, their voices mellow as wooden flutes. Ed felt peace all around him, like warm water, and instinctively held his breath.

      He'd have given every cen in his research budget to be able to release that breath and float. These days, when he didn't collapse onto his bedroll in snorting exhaustion, he slept in spurts, waking every hour or so to exchange looks with Al, like watchmen meeting on their rounds. All's well -- all's well. But peace and safety were an illusion. Rats as well as doves nested in lonely barns; bees hid in the nutsedge; and the homunculi tunneled under Amestris like wasps. He couldn't let his guard down, not until he knew the danger was past.

      And he couldn't lead anyone further into danger who still trusted a roof to shield her from it.

      "Listen, Winry," he said, "when we get to Teacher's, I think you ought to stay there."

      Her fingers froze, fouled in the laces. "No."

      "Don't -- look, I know you want to go to Rush Valley, but it's not safe." He leaned forward to catch her eye, but her head swiveled away. "They'll know where to find you," he insisted, willing her to believe him, "and nobody there can protect you."

      "And you think your teacher can?" she asked. "From the military, and from those ... things?"

      Ed managed not to shrink from the question. On the rare days when he slept deeply enough for nightmares, sometimes he walked into Izumi's house to find Gluttony picking his teeth with her finger bones -- and sometimes he sat in her kitchen, telling her everything he knew or suspected about the homunculi and their plans, and when he finished she smiled at him with Envy's gloating mouth. "She's a powerful alchemist, and she hates the military," he answered, certain of that much. "She wouldn't spit on them if they were thirsty. And her husband, Sig, he's ... " He stopped, because Winry had turned to face him and he couldn't lie to her, not even by omission. "They'll take care of you," he said, hoping that would be enough. "And when this is all over, you can go to the Valley, I promise."

      She frowned, her eyes steel-blue in the shadow of her brows. "What makes you think I want to go to the Valley?"

      He grinned at her, half-knowingly, half-quizzically. "Well, of course you d-- "

      "I want to stay with you!" Her lips pursed shut; she lowered her gaze and her voice. "With you and Al, I mean. I want to help." Her hands squeezed the mouth of his boot into a shallow oval. "I want to fight."

      "Winry!" He couldn't believe it. After all they'd been through, he couldn't believe he was hearing this from her. Seven different synonyms for idiot jostled for precedence in his larynx, choking off any rational response he might have made.

      Winry leaped immediately into the breach. "You heard what Major General Armstrong said -- "

      "Before or after she kicked us out?" Ed interjected, recovering.

      "-- what she said," Winry continued, glaring at him. "The military can't fight this battle alone. It's everyone's war, everyone in Amestris."

      "No!" Ed drove his right fist back against the side of the barn. Small chunks of clay, gouged loose by the impact, fell to the ground between them. Hell, didn't she remember that rubble-strewn alley in Central and the gun she couldn't fire? Didn't she remember what she'd told Scar in Briggs about not seeking revenge? Damn the Major-General and her speeches! "Not yours!"

      "Yes, mine!" She flung the words back at him with such force that he flinched. "Because my parents died in Ishbal! Because half Granny's patients, and Master Garfiel's, lost their limbs there! Because you -- because if we don't all stand up to this -- this evil, we might as well be helping it!" She snatched a breath and hurried on before he could interrupt. "I don't know what I can do yet, except your automail maintenance. And walk halfway across Amestris," she added, with a fleeting smile. "But Granny always says, For want of a nail ..." She touched his right wrist with the tips of three fingers. "Let me come with you."

      Only a quarter of the way, walking. Staring at their hands, soft flesh and tempered steel, Ed knew better than to think Winry's tentative gesture belied the strength of her resolve. He struggled to find the words to remind her that she had no place on the front lines, that the battle belonged to him and Al and the bastard Colonel and Major-General More-Mouth-Than-Sense ... Or no: maybe not to her, either. "She's wrong, General Armstrong," he said, thinking it through as he spoke. "Fighting -- fighting isn't going to beat them. They don't care whose blood gets spilled to draw their circle." Unwillingly he recalled the raveled wraiths of Xerxes, pleading for release, and swallowed bile with the salt-rust taste of memory. "The whole country could revolt," he concluded, "and they'd just make sure all the big battles happened where they needed crests of blood."

      "But they have to be stopped somehow," Winry said, not arguing this time, but as if she, too, were rethinking the problem.

      Her forefinger traced little circles on the plate below his wrist, clockwise and counterclockwise. Bees, Ed remembered irrelevantly, were supposed to communicate with each other by dancing like that. He wished Winry herself were so cryptic; then he could pretend not to understand what she meant. "I know," he replied. "But fighting isn't the answer; I've ... fought them enough to know." All those losing battles and Pyrrhic victories and not a thing to show for his efforts but broken bones and shattered automail and more questions than he'd started from home with, including the ones he'd been sidestepping for the past month. If Teacher doesn't have any answers, what then? And what about Al? How much time can we waste on this? He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his chin. "There has to be another solution."

      "In alchemy?"

      "Maybe." His left hand went reflexively to his waistband to check the envelope tucked beneath his shirt. The scribblings of a self-taught Ishbalan alchemist were a meager foundation on which to build their hopes of victory. Yet he and Al had gone searching for the Philosopher's Stone on evidence that was little more than rumor and found a reality solid enough to bruise themselves against. All we have to do is solve the riddles -- me and Al and Teacher and Bean-Girl. "But that's not something you can help with. And -- " Ed turned his other hand over and gripped Winry's, palm to palm -- "and I don't want them using you to get to me ever again."

      Her fingers tightened around his. "I won't let them," she said.

      Ed scowled at her. "Yeah? How?"

      Her expression hardened, like blown glass cooling into fragile rigidity, and this time Ed mentally kicked himself for being seven kinds of idiot. "It doesn't matter," he went on before she could answer. "Everyone I care about's a target -- I can't protect them all, but I will protect you." He swallowed his pride and abandoned argument. "Please, Winry. I lost Mom. I almost lost Al. I don't want to lose you."

      Winry's eyes and mouth rounded. Ed had a moment in which to congratulate himself and another in which to marvel at the power of the word "please" -- guess Mom was right -- and then she swooped forward and kissed him.

      Her lips collided mostly with his cheek, but the edge of her mouth just nipped the corner of his. He was too astonished to recoil, sitting as stupidly still as Mei Chan's cat when Al stroked it. She rocked away from him afterward, blushing. His own skin tingled where she'd touched him; he felt the heat spreading across his face like an inflammation. "What -- what was that for?" he stuttered.

      She bent forward again; he leaned prudently back. "For caring about me," she said.

      Ed ducked his head, surreptitiously rubbing the side of his mouth to check for a welt. Is that all? Of course he cared about her -- had he ever given her a reason to think that he didn't? Or that he, well ...

      (Lieutenant Hawkeye eyed him across a kitchen table forty miles and three months distant. "You love Winry, don't you?")

      Dammit, why were all these women ganging up on him? Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron ... hell! "Yeah, well, sure," he said gruffly. "Just don't get any funny ideas!"

      "Like what?"

      It was difficult to judge in the gathering dusk, but Ed was certain that Winry wasn't half as parboiled with self-consciousness as he felt. And now she was smiling at him -- scratch that, she was grinning. Practically giggling. Isn't she embarrassed at all? She cocked her head, waiting patiently for an answer he realized he didn't yet have. "Like -- like -- " Well, like kissing him again, for one. Everything she did improved with practice; the next time she might hit him square on the lips -- and why the hell was he worried about that?

      No: why the hell wasn't he worried about it?

      Ed squashed that notion with the same vehemence he reserved for intimations of defeat and waved off its accompanying swarm of fancies before they could start harassing him as well. "Like changing the subject!" he said. This conversation had had a point once; he wasn't going to be sedu-- distracted from achieving his objective. Drawing himself up, he barked at Winry, "You're staying with Teacher, and that's final!"

      She did giggle then, mercifully dropping her chin and stifling the sound before it rang out to disturb the crickets courting in the weeds. Ed eyed her with mingled apprehension and disgust. What is this, spring fever? If so, it was desperately ill-timed: he already had plenty to worry about without having to contend with people ki-- laughing instead of doing what they were told. He hastily marshaled his scattered wits, preparing a bombardment of common sense and logic that would annihiliate whatever resistance she mustered next.

      But Winry said nothing and the hair falling loose across her cheek hid what little of her expression he might have glimpsed in the twilight. A couple of early glow-worms winked in and out among the witch hazel's withered florets; somewhere above a mockingbird whistled and rasped. After a while Ed noticed that the silence between them was growing less uncomfortable as it lengthened ... and that he was still holding Winry's hand. He fidgeted briefly, but she ignored the hint and he gave up. At least automail didn't sweat. And the first pinpricks of starlight were poking through the sky; they'd be leaving soon enough.

      "Sure is -- sure is warm out here," he said. His voice rose and broke, vocal cords slipping like a bad belt; he cleared his throat and tried again. "You'd think it was almost summer."

      He heard Winry sigh. "Not yet," she said. "We've got a long way to go."

---

[Acknowledgments: Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) was created by Arakawa Hiromu and is serialized monthly in Shonen Gangan (Square Enix). Copyright for this property is held by Arakawa Hiromu and Square Enix. All rights reserved.]

Comments

[milchstrasse.livejournal.com]

Ah, so it was you~! Congratulations on winning! I really loved this piece, and Ed is freaking adorable in this one.

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Yep, it's me. (I figured the fact that there was actual smooching in this story would throw people off the scent. Heh. Not that I'm doing so great identifying other people's work, but after artemisrae posted those drabbles the other day, I pegged her entry by process of elimination.) This is my first EdWin from Ed's POV and I spent a lot of time working out exactly what he would and wouldn't be saying to Winry. I wanted him to be not quite entirely lacking in clue about his feelings, but far enough behind her that she could take him by surprise. I was pretty sure I'd pulled it off, but it's intensely relieving to discover that other people think so, too.

[milchstrasse.livejournal.com]

For a first try at EdWin, that was really impressive! I thought your Ed was spot on, and I liked how the story was written in a straightforward, rather unsentimental fashion, but remains very sweet. Er. I also liked how you used the "reciting the periodic table to distract himself from you know what" detail; when he did that in the manga it was just too funny.

To be honest, I've never read EdWinry fic before this contest, so when I was going through the entries, I was really surprised (and impressed) by the quality of the entries. I had no idea this fandom had so many good writers. (I should've gotten into this sooner.)

Coincidentally, my entry for the contest was my first EdWinry too. XDDD I did fan art though.

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

For a first try at EdWin, that was really impressive! I thought your Ed was spot on, and I liked how the story was written in a straightforward, rather unsentimental fashion, but remains very sweet.

Oh, good. Phew. My attempts at writing romance have been hampered by the desire not to be clichéd about it; when you're competing for originality with everyone since Anonymous scratched out the first amorous pictogram, that's a really high bar to set. So I've been going through and trying to eliminate any hint of sentimentality I can find, on the grounds that it's much harder to write in clichés when you're not being sentimental. Which leaves me with the problem of making sure that the sentimentality is replaced with something close to genuine feeling. Which is hard.

I also liked how you used the "reciting the periodic table to distract himself from you know what" detail; when he did that in the manga it was just too funny.

I worried about that a little; I liked the joke, but I was concerned that repeating it from the manga more or less intact would come off as too blatant an homage. Unlike, say, the "Xiao Mei is a cat" joke, which had a little room to spread out and develop into its own riff on the basic idea.

To be honest, I've never read EdWinry fic before this contest, so when I was going through the entries, I was really surprised (and impressed) by the quality of the entries.

Yeah, some good stuff in this contest -- I can't wait to see who's responsible for what. And if you're still looking for good EdWin, I'll take this opportunity to plug my favorite EdWin writer, tobu_ishi, whose hundred drabbles (http://www.scimitarsmile.com/alchemy/01fiction/01_tobuis_ewt1.php?author=tobu%20ishi&list=01_tobuis&title=Ed/Winry%20%20%20Themes) are simply spectacular. I'm quite fond of her rendition of Ed and Al's childhood proposals to Winry; I can't imagine the scene any other way now.

[milchstrasse.livejournal.com]

> it's much harder to write in clichés when you're not being sentimental.

I'll have to agree with that. And romance is much more refreshing to read when the writer doesn't spend every other paragraph getting into the character's heads. As a reader, I'd like to be given enough space to think and speculate a bit and not be spoonfed.

And oh, thank you so much for the rec. I'll definitely check those fic out.

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

I'll have to agree with that. And romance is much more refreshing to read when the writer doesn't spend every other paragraph getting into the character's heads. As a reader, I'd like to be given enough space to think and speculate a bit and not be spoonfed.

[tosses confetti into the air and blows party horns] I've finally found my ideal reader! :-) I'm always advising other people to back off, set the scene and let the audience draw the conclusions. I'll take the implicit over the explicit any day of the week.

[milchstrasse.livejournal.com]

> I've finally found my ideal reader!

I'm sure a lot of other readers feel that way though. XDD And not all writers have a knack for subtlety, so when I do find something that's written without melodramatic flair, I instantly take notice. (I read the fic you linked to, by the way. Lovely work! The last drabble is particularly striking.)

[fractured-chaos.livejournal.com]

I'm always advising other people to back off, set the scene and let the audience draw the conclusions.

Really?! I don't think I -ever- heard you say that to me :D

*coughs*

Okay, okay... And you know something? i keep trying to remind myself of that every time I write. I admit I phail more often than not. XD

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Really?! I don't think I -ever- heard you say that to me :D

Wouldn't dream of it. Hey, was my nose always this long?

And you know something? i keep trying to remind myself of that every time I write.

Well, [blush]. Hey, if it helps, I'm glad I said it. I've gotten good concrit from this fandom, so I'm pleased to be able to give back.

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Coincidentally, my entry for the contest was my first EdWinry too. XDDD I did fan art though.

Which of the other two were you?

[milchstrasse.livejournal.com]

Oh, I posted using my art journal (eisenkleid).

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Hey, I voted for you! (Then again, so did just about everyone else. :-) I don't know bean one about art, but I did like the way the pale greens and yellows worked together to make the light look like early morning near shallow seawater, and the way the light fell on Ed's face and elbows and Winry's elbows and knees.

[milchstrasse.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much! I personally think my illustration fit the other person's prompt more than the prompt I got, but I didn't realize it before it was too late.

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Heh. My story tried to start writing itself before I even got the prompt, which wasn't helpful. I made notes on the central points (the argument, mostly) and tried not to commit to anything I couldn't revise.

[milchstrasse.livejournal.com]

It's kind of hard when you're set on doing something then suddenly you get a prompt that doesn't have anything to do with the idea. You're lucky you were able to wrap things up neatly then! (That and you're a far better planner than I am. I actually forgot to draw the bucket with the shells in and didn't notice until I was finished coloring. <-- dumbass)

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

These things happen. I kept getting my rights and lefts mixed up with respect to Ed's automail. I don't have a highly eidetic imagination and I kept waffling over which side of Ed Winry was sitting on, which made it difficult to keep track of whether she was, say, holding his automail hand or his flesh one. I should have made myself a reference diagram, like I'll do sometimes for house floorplans, but that made me feel too silly. ("Don't you know your right from your left?")

[fractured-chaos.livejournal.com]

Delightful! :D

And congrats!

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Thanks!

On another topic, I do intend to get around to registering in the forum, btw. My life just got a wee bit busy in July (Otakon, Harry Potter, Shakespeare, etc., etc., etc.).

[fractured-chaos.livejournal.com]

Hooray! I'm looking forward to your input!

[kahel16.livejournal.com]

Aww, that's so sweet! So nice.

Ed's really cute when it comes to subjects like these and I just love him. He knows he loves Winry but he's really... what? Scared? I think to admit it. And considering that this is your first EdxWin fic in Ed's POV, I think it's pretty good. I love it ♥

Congrats!

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I was trying to put across the idea that while Winry's further ahead of Ed in acknowledging their mutual feelings, Ed's not unaware, exactly ... it's just not at the top of his brain. He's got other things to worry about, after all, and when he does stop to consider that he might really like Winry, it embarrasses him as much as it attracts him. But he'll get there in the end, heh, heh, heh.

[kahel16.livejournal.com]

Not only that actually. If he assessed himself that he likes Winry, then most likely the Homonculus would know and they would use her as a trap that could lead to his death. He does know that he likes her, but he doesn't let that feeling totally envelop him because it wouldn't really do anything good to his goals of killing the homonculus and ending all the wars that's happening. He does know that he needs Winry, and he can't function well without her. I think he wants to be with her, but he can't. He likes her too much that he would endure the pain of being away from someone you almost love in order to protect that person.

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Yeah, they've already grabbed her once, just knowing she's Ed's childhood friend. I tried not to push that whole aspect too hard in this story, though; I wanted this to be more about the awkward moment of romantic realization (she really likes me! and I ... really like her? oh, NO ... :-). And about the fact that, while Ed isn't quite prepared yet to deal with his feelings cognitively, he's still expressing them in other ways: he wants to protect Winry; he doesn't pull away from the kiss; and he doesn't try all that hard to withdraw his hand from hers. Bit of a tightrope walk, but a good writing challenge.

[kahel16.livejournal.com]

Maybe I just looked in it to much XDDDD

And a good result too ^__^

Good job!

[artemisrae.livejournal.com]

Oooh this one was yours! This was my favorite out of the bunch - there were so many little things I loved in this - the fact that Ed is kinda there, but not quite there yet, the teeny bit of Mei thrown in there (it really amused me when Ed called Mei and Al "Cat people"), the description of Ed's nightmares with Gluttony and Envy, and, of course, the kiss, which was awesome and totally an awkward teenager kiss. The whole scene is just wonderful - I could easily see it happening in canon.

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Thanks much! I couldn't resist throwing in the "Cat people" joke, given that Mei's switched her crush to Al these days. :-) I knew what Ed's nightmare was about from early on, but it took a bit to get the language right (the teeth-picking was a late solution, but I liked it when I thought of it: awful without being too graphic). And that kiss -- boy, did I labor over that. I didn't want it to be banal or sappy, but I also wanted it to be reasonably vivid and properly awkward, and I also also didn't want to belabor the mechanics or the reactions. Oy. There were a couple of times when I scrambled out of bed to make notes so I didn't lose track of possible solutions (only one of which worked out, as it happens). But it seems to have paid off. I'm pleased people are enjoying it.

[artemisrae.livejournal.com]

Half the reason the "cat people" joke was so funny was the way Winry frankly followed it up: "Uhh I don't think that's a cat,"

And yeah the teeth-picking was what really made the scene for me - I could picture it so clearly. I'd love to see someone make a fanart of that.

And yes, the kiss was delightfully awkward. I loved the way Ed follows it with that half-terrified realization - next time Winry's going to hit his lips.

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Half the reason the "cat people" joke was so funny was the way Winry frankly followed it up: "Uhh I don't think that's a cat,"

I heard that exchange so clearly in my head when I was first laying out the dialogue line for this story that I knew it was right. :-)

And yeah the teeth-picking was what really made the scene for me - I could picture it so clearly. I'd love to see someone make a fanart of that.

Brrr. I'm not sure I'd want to -- I don't actually picture things too clearly when I imagine them; I have to do it all with language. One thing I've discovered as I've done more writing, particularly short stories, is that a good description isn't necessarily elaborate or exhaustive; sometimes it just puts a detail or two front and center and they drag the rest of the scene with them. An unusual, yet still logically consistent detail is best: something that wouldn't be the first thing you'd think of when looking at the scene, but which has the ring of truth once you read it. That's tough to do, but worth it when it works.

And yes, the kiss was delightfully awkward. I loved the way Ed follows it with that half-terrified realization - next time Winry's going to hit his lips.

Snortle. Yes, poor lad, he's doomed and knows it. It was tricky to also get in a sense of awkwardness from Winry's side, as well, since I was in tight-third with Ed. I worked and worked and worked on describing the actual moment to make it sound properly impulsive without overframing it. She's not quite as embarrassed as he is to have made the gesture, but her giggling afterward is a touch more nervous than he's picking up, too.

[lyricnonsense.livejournal.com]

I absolutely adored how awkward Ed and Winry's kiss was, and the scene was just so well set that I could practically smell the grass. After reading yours, I was very very glad I didn't do a kiss for Scars and Consequences, because it would certainly have come off cliche and sappy. (And I did a kiss-ending for the winter contest, so it was already feeling a little cliche.)

It deserved Best Use of Prompt for sure. :)

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

I absolutely adored how awkward Ed and Winry's kiss was, and the scene was just so well set that I could practically smell the grass.

Hallelujah! One more rung up the ladder of romantic representation (I must be on number three now :-). And I'd like to thank the Maryland Departments of Parks and Agriculture for all the information on plants and trees I yanked off their websites, having decided arbitrarily that a Maryland-like climate was what I wanted, so I could use the tobacco barn. :-)

After reading yours, I was very very glad I didn't do a kiss for Scars and Consequences, because it would certainly have come off cliche and sappy. (And I did a kiss-ending for the winter contest, so it was already feeling a little cliche.)

Turnabout -- my attempt at a winter fic didn't end with a kiss, though it did have an implicit confession and a rather less boggled Ed. But I think the way S&C was set up precluded any kissing all by itself; it's all about the worry and the tension and the distance between the protagonists that doesn't dissolve once the misunderstanding's cleared up. Dratted homunculi, delaying everyone's happy ending.

[windfeathercat.livejournal.com]

I started off in a very bad mood reading this (caused by outside influences, not the story) and spent the first few paragraphs reading in mean knit-picky editor mode. The overgrown country side and the plant details got to me fairly quickly, and I went from irritable to interested. Really though, as someone raised by a full blown plant lover, the species choice was delightful, especially as I tried to figure whether the ecology was new or old world based. The sycamore gave it away. I just love how plant names sound in stories, they make everything more vivid and are often lovely in and of themselves.

Apart from plant babble, I want to say that the whole interaction between Ed and Winry was perfectly human. The change in emotion led by dialog was fluid, engaging and revealed both their thoughts and intentions and, just, I liked it a lot. I liked that neither of them had quite figured out the other or themselves for that matter. I liked the bee sting. I liked Ed thinking of Mei and Roy and Olivia by less than polite nicknames. I liked Al being a world class fusser. I threw my head back and cackled when I got to "Everything she did improved with practice; the next time she might hit him square on the lips --"

Oh yeah, and that metaphor about doves and rats and homunculi was well placed and just pulled a lot of thoughts together in a very nice way.

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

I started off in a very bad mood reading this (caused by outside influences, not the story) and spent the first few paragraphs reading in mean knit-picky editor mode. The overgrown country side and the plant details got to me fairly quickly, and I went from irritable to interested. Really though, as someone raised by a full blown plant lover, the species choice was delightful, especially as I tried to figure whether the ecology was new or old world based.

Thank you very much! I did try to make sure that everything fit with everything else -- I started by researching recommended herbicides for tobacco fields, to get a sense of what sorts of weeds take them over when you're not looking. (I also spent far longer that was probably necessary finding the term "evergreen millet" for "Johnson grass," because the Johnson in question is, AFAICT, a specific person and I didn't want that breaking the WSOD of anyone who happened to know it.) Then I checked birds and insects as well. I'm so glad it hangs together for someone who knows more than I about these things.

I threw my head back and cackled when I got to "Everything she did improved with practice; the next time she might hit him square on the lips --"

[grin] That came early, once I had the kiss itself figured. Canon Ed is delightfully unintimidated by Winry's talents; he's never bothered by the fact that she's good at what she does, only by her enthusiasm or recklessness or vulnerability ... or, in this case, his own. :-)

Oh yeah, and that metaphor about doves and rats and homunculi was well placed and just pulled a lot of thoughts together in a very nice way.

Worked hard on that. The notion of the homunculi as wasps arrived first, in the note-making stage, as I was trying to think of ways to carry the "bee sting" through the story metaphorically as well as literally. It floated free for a while before settling down as part of that transition (which got stronger once the mourning doves showed up as part of the soundtrack). Keeping the prompt in sight without making a big deal out of it occupied a lot of my energy in revision. Especially the implicit kiss-as-bee-sting metaphor, which I kept toning down. No need to hit everyone over the head with it, eh? :-)

[starsparklez-2.livejournal.com]

Beautifully written, your style surprises me. I was caught off-guard at least trice in this. Bravo. I think you kept them IC enough too. Loved it, great work, will be looking forwards to reading more EdWinry from you. :)

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

Beautifully written, your style surprises me. I was caught off-guard at least trice in this.

Oh, excellent! I love it when I can surprise people. May I ask where I caught you?

Bravo. I think you kept them IC enough too.

Good. I worked hard, as I think I mentioned upcomment somewhere, to think how the characters would be reacting at this point in the story -- FMA being shonen, all the relationship developments tend to be handled slowly and subtextually, so I felt it necessary to proceed with caution. Then there's the fact that romance is not my native idiom ...

Loved it, great work, will be looking forwards to reading more EdWinry from you. :)

Thanks! I have a couple more ideas in the queue, but I really must finish "The Weight of the Paper" before I forget what I intended to do with it.

[dreamer1789.livejournal.com]

And that, ladies and gentleman, is the art of perfection. ♥

[nebroadwe.livejournal.com]

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the art of hyperbole. :-) No, no, far from perfect ... but I do think it's pretty darn good. And I'm glad you enjoyed it.