FMA: 52 Flavours, Prompt 52
Title: Bid Me Hold My Peace
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Theme no.: 52. speechless with the memory of a drowned moon.
Pairing: Ed/Winry
Rating: K
Summary: Ed’s no poet, and he’s even worse at complimenting Winry.
Notes: Written for
52_flavours. This is one of those fics that I started writing with a definite destination in mind, and then halfway through it skidded off and ended up where it did. Warnings for more silly fluffiness. Post series, intending to be manga verse and pretty much assumes that everyone lives happily ever after.
He found Al and Winry on the very outskirts of the festival, lying on the banks of the river, away from all the lights and music and organized chaos of Central’s Harvest Festival. Ed was still unsure what the exact point of the festival was - Central had no farmland, and it was technically still late summer and there was no harvest to speak of, but every time he had presented his arguments Winry would start rhapsodizing about the new dress she’d bought and Al would start rattling off the list of festival foods he wanted to try and Ed’s protests would quickly get lost in the other two’s excitement.
The pair lay on the bank, their gold hair mixing and reflecting pink and blue in the light from the festival behind them, giggling and passing a bag of fluffy spun sugar back and forth. Ed stomped up behind them and stared down at them, frowning.
“You ditched me!”
“Did not!” Winry instantly argued, sitting up and pulling the hem of her dress back down over her knees. “I said to you, me and Al want candy, and you said, oh no, I see Colonel Bastard is over there, and then you went and hid behind two fat women in frilly dresses.”
“That’s when you ditched me!”
“That’s a lie! We told you exactly where we were going! It’s not our fault you went and got yourself lost!”
Al tugged at Winry’s hair.
“It’s too hot to get this riled up,” he informed her mildly, and she smiled at him before crossing her eyes at Ed.
“You’re right.” Winry flopped back down next to Al and reached for the bag of candy before offering it to Ed. He shook his head and instead dug into his pants pocket, tossing some coins at Al.
“Go get us some shaved ice.” Al sat up, and picked at the change before standing up and rolling his eyes at Ed and walking back up the bank.
“You know, if you want to be alone with Winry, you could just ask me,”
“I like cherry!” Ed called back, neither confirming nor denying his brother’s words. Winry giggled again and reached up, taking his wrist in her hand and tugging him down to sit next to her.
The night was warm but this close to the river there was a little bit of relief to be found, and with a pleasant sigh Ed flopped onto the cool grass next to her, closing his eyes and feeling as the muscles of his limbs slowly relaxed in turn. He could still hear the music and chattering of the festival behind him, but if he focused really hard he could feel more than hear Winry’s breathing next to him.
After a moment Winry shifted next to him, and when he opened his eyes he saw that she had rolled onto her stomach and was propping herself up on her elbows, watching him intently.
His defensive questioning of her studious look died in his throat as he looked at her. Some men were romantics - they could look at a lady like Winry and instantly come up with ten lovely metaphors for her long blond hair or some wonderful classy way to describe her body or use powerful imagery to explain her smile - all things Ed noticed, and loved, but Ed was no poet and was even worse at complimenting Winry. When she had come down the stairs and met him at the front door that evening in her new dress that she’d been gushing over for a week, all he’d really been able to do was blush furiously and manage to stammer out some nondescript compliment that he couldn’t even remember at this point.
Ed was much more at home with science books, dry technical texts that bored the pants off of most people even as he devoured them. Lying there under Winry’s scrutiny, he suddenly remembered reading a passage on blue moons - how sometimes after a large fire smoke in the atmosphere would distort the light from the moon and make it literally appear blue in color. Ed had never seen such a thing, but he was struck with the thought that if he ever did see a blue moon, he would be reminded of Winry’s wide, earnest eyes watching him.
He must have blushed at the thought, because Winry tilted her head and asked almost teasingly, “What are you thinking about?”
Ed blinked and looked away, seeking out and finding the real moon, a silver crescent against the inky black sky, and shrugged as best he could laying on his back.
“Nothing.”
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Theme no.: 52. speechless with the memory of a drowned moon.
Pairing: Ed/Winry
Rating: K
Summary: Ed’s no poet, and he’s even worse at complimenting Winry.
Notes: Written for
52_flavours. This is one of those fics that I started writing with a definite destination in mind, and then halfway through it skidded off and ended up where it did. Warnings for more silly fluffiness. Post series, intending to be manga verse and pretty much assumes that everyone lives happily ever after.
He found Al and Winry on the very outskirts of the festival, lying on the banks of the river, away from all the lights and music and organized chaos of Central’s Harvest Festival. Ed was still unsure what the exact point of the festival was - Central had no farmland, and it was technically still late summer and there was no harvest to speak of, but every time he had presented his arguments Winry would start rhapsodizing about the new dress she’d bought and Al would start rattling off the list of festival foods he wanted to try and Ed’s protests would quickly get lost in the other two’s excitement.
The pair lay on the bank, their gold hair mixing and reflecting pink and blue in the light from the festival behind them, giggling and passing a bag of fluffy spun sugar back and forth. Ed stomped up behind them and stared down at them, frowning.
“You ditched me!”
“Did not!” Winry instantly argued, sitting up and pulling the hem of her dress back down over her knees. “I said to you, me and Al want candy, and you said, oh no, I see Colonel Bastard is over there, and then you went and hid behind two fat women in frilly dresses.”
“That’s when you ditched me!”
“That’s a lie! We told you exactly where we were going! It’s not our fault you went and got yourself lost!”
Al tugged at Winry’s hair.
“It’s too hot to get this riled up,” he informed her mildly, and she smiled at him before crossing her eyes at Ed.
“You’re right.” Winry flopped back down next to Al and reached for the bag of candy before offering it to Ed. He shook his head and instead dug into his pants pocket, tossing some coins at Al.
“Go get us some shaved ice.” Al sat up, and picked at the change before standing up and rolling his eyes at Ed and walking back up the bank.
“You know, if you want to be alone with Winry, you could just ask me,”
“I like cherry!” Ed called back, neither confirming nor denying his brother’s words. Winry giggled again and reached up, taking his wrist in her hand and tugging him down to sit next to her.
The night was warm but this close to the river there was a little bit of relief to be found, and with a pleasant sigh Ed flopped onto the cool grass next to her, closing his eyes and feeling as the muscles of his limbs slowly relaxed in turn. He could still hear the music and chattering of the festival behind him, but if he focused really hard he could feel more than hear Winry’s breathing next to him.
After a moment Winry shifted next to him, and when he opened his eyes he saw that she had rolled onto her stomach and was propping herself up on her elbows, watching him intently.
His defensive questioning of her studious look died in his throat as he looked at her. Some men were romantics - they could look at a lady like Winry and instantly come up with ten lovely metaphors for her long blond hair or some wonderful classy way to describe her body or use powerful imagery to explain her smile - all things Ed noticed, and loved, but Ed was no poet and was even worse at complimenting Winry. When she had come down the stairs and met him at the front door that evening in her new dress that she’d been gushing over for a week, all he’d really been able to do was blush furiously and manage to stammer out some nondescript compliment that he couldn’t even remember at this point.
Ed was much more at home with science books, dry technical texts that bored the pants off of most people even as he devoured them. Lying there under Winry’s scrutiny, he suddenly remembered reading a passage on blue moons - how sometimes after a large fire smoke in the atmosphere would distort the light from the moon and make it literally appear blue in color. Ed had never seen such a thing, but he was struck with the thought that if he ever did see a blue moon, he would be reminded of Winry’s wide, earnest eyes watching him.
He must have blushed at the thought, because Winry tilted her head and asked almost teasingly, “What are you thinking about?”
Ed blinked and looked away, seeking out and finding the real moon, a silver crescent against the inky black sky, and shrugged as best he could laying on his back.
“Nothing.”