I bring forth EnWin material!
I've been meaning to join this community for a while now, but had nothing to contribute until now. The first time I ever heard of EnWin was a fanfic over at fanfiction.net. I don't remember it's author or title but I believe it was a series of different/random pairings of which the first chapter was concerning Envy and Winry. At first I just skipped that cause I was weirded out by a while later I just started liking the idea more and more. Unfortunatly now I cannot find it, if anyone knows what it is I'd love you forever if you could give me the link. ^^
Anyhoo since I recently completed my birthday two days ago I decided to give myself something to do so I took up the thirty kisses challenge and guess which couple I picked. <3 I just finished up my first theme today, so this is what I have for you. Also in one of the past entries someone was asking about the picture in sin's colorbars and I found it so I have that for you. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy fic and pic :3
Title: Three Stages.
Author/Artist: Emely
Pairing: Envy/Winry
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Theme: #2 Letters
Disclaimer: Envy, Winry, Ed, and all other mentioned characters and
property of Hiromu Arakawa.
Other: Very, very, very slightly AU. Spoilers for episode 50.
Three Stages
People always assumed that we would end up together; in fact all the village people of Rizenbul assumed we were. Ever since Alphonse had moved out of the house the three of us shared to start a life with Rose a couple acres down they automatically assumed the natural. A boy and a girl living together by themselves. They must be an item, right? Somehow it seemed as if people had thought our fate together was written in stone. We had grown up together, literally. Our parents and theirs had been friends for many years before our births, and to often I was sleeping at her house, or she was sleeping at my house. The three of us: her, Alphonse and I would always play out in the fields from dawn until break when the music of our parent's horrible cassette tapes floated over the plains; when mother's flash light would flicker on and off, beckoning us home. She was the one who made my automail, she was the one who repaired it all the times I managed to break it, and in all honesty I did think we had something for each other long ago. The arguments, the yellow, the uncomfortable confessions of any sentimentality we held towards one another was proof of that.
In any case, whether we did or didn't, everyone was wrong. Perhaps by staying with her as much as I could I had hoped something might have evolved, but once I learned about the letters I knew it was to late. They only came once a year. It made me wonder how she could stand for someone who only wrote once a year, and for all I knew never, ever visited or called or did anything. But who was I to talk? My letters and visits had been rare too, and they were usually only for an automail repair.
I grew to both love and hate those letters. The days prior to when they usually came found Winry happy and excited, she plowed through repair after repair as if they were nothing. She'd be doing things she usually didn't do, such as cleaning and singing bizarre songs that didn't make sense. Though she was a horrific singer it still made me smile too, the mood was infectious. Her eyes would seem brighter, her hair silkier, and her wrench (and all other tools) would almost completely cease to connect with my head. Something my brain was quite grateful for. When they arrived she'd let out a squeal I had once thought was reserved only for automail. She'd get that same sparkled-eyed look (only of course if she thought I wasn't looking) and pick her letter up with a flourish.
I got into the habit of watching her those nights in secret out of worry (and, alright, admittedly curiosity). For the longest time she'd just stare out her window balcony, lying on her bed with her back turned to the letter. In time I grew to learn that Winry had three distinct stages of emotions when it came to these mysterious letters. Happiness shown when she first received them and a bit before, that fear that kept her awake through the night before she opened them, and then a crashing and maddening depression, heartbreak.
After an hour of lying in that position, to afraid to open it she'd eventually muster up the courage to do so and gently turn over. She would pick up the letter gingerly as if afraid it explode, gently bring it to her lips and place a gentle, hopefully kiss against the seal. Then she'd open them and read. Her eyes would begin steady and strong, but as she read down the letter they'd become weaker, duller, and silent tears would stream down her face. After reading it a dozen times she put them under her mattress and just lay to silently weep until sleep overtook her. It was the same process each and everytime, each stage would pass by accordingly. It was almost painful to watch, I don't know why I still continue to do it. Nor did I know why she read them so many times. It's like watching or reading a movie or a book with a tragic ending over and over again, as if by doing that you could somehow alter the ending. The bad mood would last for weeks. She wouldn't sleep or eat properly, repairs would be slow, and I'd always have to be cautious of those damned tools of her. Fortunately Winry was a strong woman and she'd pick herself up everytime and the whole process would start once again next year.
I always feared what would happen if she fell, and never stood up again.
Though often I still feel guilty, I feel justified by my actions brought out of concern for my best friend. One day when she was visiting Wilhelm to fix up their horse's automail leg I entered her room and lifted that mattress.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I found out, I would never
have fathomed it.
My first reaction when I finally found out who this mysterious writer must be was to just go insane. Of all people, of all the endless, countless residents of this planet it had to be not only someone I knew, but him. How had they met, when had they met, how long had this relationship been going on? Was she fucking insane? He must be lying, he must be deceiving her. This was the only explanation for this, but in his letters he was completely honest, and through his honesty revealed the secret of why he never visited her.
Homunculi long outlive a human. It wouldn't work. His companions would harm her. It wouldn't work. He still remained ever the violent harpy, yet he wished to shield her from that part of him. At this I had to snort, it wasn't a part, it was him. Envy was a monster through and through. They usually contained all the same excuses. They normally started out alright, asking questions that would never be answered since there was no return address, telling of what he had done the past year. Those must have been ridiculously censored, and I felt Winry knew this too. What I couldn't understand was why she felt for him the way she did knowing what he was really like. I knew her well; she wasn't the type to be blinded by love, though this certainly seemed the case. So why? It was a question I couldn't get out of my head. Why would she let herself be used?
It took a while of reading through all the letters (of which there were 6, but from what I managed to conjure myself this must have begun when she was about fifteen and Al and I were still searching. She was twenty-three now, meaning they had their 'relationship' for nearly ten years). I couldn't see it at first, they (though valid points) all seemed like excuses to me to drive her away. But then it occurred to me that it was rather pointless to drive someone away when they weren't with you to begin with, and that if that really was his purpose he would have just stopped writing these letters. More significantly however, was one in which I was mentioned.
Each homunculus fit their name somehow. Gluttony was obvious; he ate everything he could get his hands one. Greed, though when it came down to it was a good guy, was still driven by his insatiable needs for all things earthly. Wrath could be sweet sometimes, but completely psychotic others. I would know. It was my limbs he was after. So naturally Envy would be a very envious creature. Even if he didn't love Winry, by making her care for him he must have felt some claim to her. So it was understandably a huge shock when I read his suggestion to Winry to go to me.
He really did care about her, and she, by never following his advice showed she cared for him.
Though he didn't want her to continue pining for him, he had still left her and was hurting her by making her wait. It was ironic, almost tragically human that he had done the same thing the person he hated most had done. Our Father. Though I still hate Envy as much as ever, perhaps even know a part of me wants this to end. As I hear her weeping over his seventh letter, I hope that next year the stages will end, and leave her with only happiness he can provide for her.
Tis all for now, hope you enjoyed it. Here's the picture now: http://www.neoborn.com/network/fmaplanet/gallery/details.php?image_id=613&sessionid=340d40e022fdb50d750770315576a38b
Anyhoo since I recently completed my birthday two days ago I decided to give myself something to do so I took up the thirty kisses challenge and guess which couple I picked. <3 I just finished up my first theme today, so this is what I have for you. Also in one of the past entries someone was asking about the picture in sin's colorbars and I found it so I have that for you. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy fic and pic :3
Title: Three Stages.
Author/Artist: Emely
Pairing: Envy/Winry
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Theme: #2 Letters
Disclaimer: Envy, Winry, Ed, and all other mentioned characters and
property of Hiromu Arakawa.
Other: Very, very, very slightly AU. Spoilers for episode 50.
Three Stages
People always assumed that we would end up together; in fact all the village people of Rizenbul assumed we were. Ever since Alphonse had moved out of the house the three of us shared to start a life with Rose a couple acres down they automatically assumed the natural. A boy and a girl living together by themselves. They must be an item, right? Somehow it seemed as if people had thought our fate together was written in stone. We had grown up together, literally. Our parents and theirs had been friends for many years before our births, and to often I was sleeping at her house, or she was sleeping at my house. The three of us: her, Alphonse and I would always play out in the fields from dawn until break when the music of our parent's horrible cassette tapes floated over the plains; when mother's flash light would flicker on and off, beckoning us home. She was the one who made my automail, she was the one who repaired it all the times I managed to break it, and in all honesty I did think we had something for each other long ago. The arguments, the yellow, the uncomfortable confessions of any sentimentality we held towards one another was proof of that.
In any case, whether we did or didn't, everyone was wrong. Perhaps by staying with her as much as I could I had hoped something might have evolved, but once I learned about the letters I knew it was to late. They only came once a year. It made me wonder how she could stand for someone who only wrote once a year, and for all I knew never, ever visited or called or did anything. But who was I to talk? My letters and visits had been rare too, and they were usually only for an automail repair.
I grew to both love and hate those letters. The days prior to when they usually came found Winry happy and excited, she plowed through repair after repair as if they were nothing. She'd be doing things she usually didn't do, such as cleaning and singing bizarre songs that didn't make sense. Though she was a horrific singer it still made me smile too, the mood was infectious. Her eyes would seem brighter, her hair silkier, and her wrench (and all other tools) would almost completely cease to connect with my head. Something my brain was quite grateful for. When they arrived she'd let out a squeal I had once thought was reserved only for automail. She'd get that same sparkled-eyed look (only of course if she thought I wasn't looking) and pick her letter up with a flourish.
I got into the habit of watching her those nights in secret out of worry (and, alright, admittedly curiosity). For the longest time she'd just stare out her window balcony, lying on her bed with her back turned to the letter. In time I grew to learn that Winry had three distinct stages of emotions when it came to these mysterious letters. Happiness shown when she first received them and a bit before, that fear that kept her awake through the night before she opened them, and then a crashing and maddening depression, heartbreak.
After an hour of lying in that position, to afraid to open it she'd eventually muster up the courage to do so and gently turn over. She would pick up the letter gingerly as if afraid it explode, gently bring it to her lips and place a gentle, hopefully kiss against the seal. Then she'd open them and read. Her eyes would begin steady and strong, but as she read down the letter they'd become weaker, duller, and silent tears would stream down her face. After reading it a dozen times she put them under her mattress and just lay to silently weep until sleep overtook her. It was the same process each and everytime, each stage would pass by accordingly. It was almost painful to watch, I don't know why I still continue to do it. Nor did I know why she read them so many times. It's like watching or reading a movie or a book with a tragic ending over and over again, as if by doing that you could somehow alter the ending. The bad mood would last for weeks. She wouldn't sleep or eat properly, repairs would be slow, and I'd always have to be cautious of those damned tools of her. Fortunately Winry was a strong woman and she'd pick herself up everytime and the whole process would start once again next year.
I always feared what would happen if she fell, and never stood up again.
Though often I still feel guilty, I feel justified by my actions brought out of concern for my best friend. One day when she was visiting Wilhelm to fix up their horse's automail leg I entered her room and lifted that mattress.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I found out, I would never
have fathomed it.
My first reaction when I finally found out who this mysterious writer must be was to just go insane. Of all people, of all the endless, countless residents of this planet it had to be not only someone I knew, but him. How had they met, when had they met, how long had this relationship been going on? Was she fucking insane? He must be lying, he must be deceiving her. This was the only explanation for this, but in his letters he was completely honest, and through his honesty revealed the secret of why he never visited her.
Homunculi long outlive a human. It wouldn't work. His companions would harm her. It wouldn't work. He still remained ever the violent harpy, yet he wished to shield her from that part of him. At this I had to snort, it wasn't a part, it was him. Envy was a monster through and through. They usually contained all the same excuses. They normally started out alright, asking questions that would never be answered since there was no return address, telling of what he had done the past year. Those must have been ridiculously censored, and I felt Winry knew this too. What I couldn't understand was why she felt for him the way she did knowing what he was really like. I knew her well; she wasn't the type to be blinded by love, though this certainly seemed the case. So why? It was a question I couldn't get out of my head. Why would she let herself be used?
It took a while of reading through all the letters (of which there were 6, but from what I managed to conjure myself this must have begun when she was about fifteen and Al and I were still searching. She was twenty-three now, meaning they had their 'relationship' for nearly ten years). I couldn't see it at first, they (though valid points) all seemed like excuses to me to drive her away. But then it occurred to me that it was rather pointless to drive someone away when they weren't with you to begin with, and that if that really was his purpose he would have just stopped writing these letters. More significantly however, was one in which I was mentioned.
Each homunculus fit their name somehow. Gluttony was obvious; he ate everything he could get his hands one. Greed, though when it came down to it was a good guy, was still driven by his insatiable needs for all things earthly. Wrath could be sweet sometimes, but completely psychotic others. I would know. It was my limbs he was after. So naturally Envy would be a very envious creature. Even if he didn't love Winry, by making her care for him he must have felt some claim to her. So it was understandably a huge shock when I read his suggestion to Winry to go to me.
He really did care about her, and she, by never following his advice showed she cared for him.
Though he didn't want her to continue pining for him, he had still left her and was hurting her by making her wait. It was ironic, almost tragically human that he had done the same thing the person he hated most had done. Our Father. Though I still hate Envy as much as ever, perhaps even know a part of me wants this to end. As I hear her weeping over his seventh letter, I hope that next year the stages will end, and leave her with only happiness he can provide for her.
Tis all for now, hope you enjoyed it. Here's the picture now: http://www.neoborn.com/network/fmaplanet/gallery/details.php?image_id=613&sessionid=340d40e022fdb50d750770315576a38b