So I fully believe 100% that Ed was crushing on her since they were able to start talking. And when they are about five and starting school, he starts doing those typical things boys do when they’re crushing, like throwing balls of paper at her and pulling her hair and getting jealous at every boy who talks to her, especially his little brother.
He’s the one that initiates the fight with Al about marrying her and when Al gets shut down because he was too short, this became the entire reason Ed couldn’t stand the idea of being small, even though he can’t remember.
I have another one based on this video I saw of two toddlers giving each other kisses and I fully believe they kissed when they were babies.
Some others include Ed finding Den as a puppy and giving her to Winry, comforting her during the storms she used to be afraid of, Winry telling Ed is hair growing was cute and him deciding to keep it.
I also think that at least once, the three go on a little journey without telling their parents and are missing for a few days. Like a Stand By Me type of thing. Not really Edwin, but they are all adventurous kids so I can see it.
🐶🐱🐭🐹🐰🐻🐼🐨🐯🦁🐮🐷🐸🐙🐔
Old Age/Aging headcanon:
Let’s say 40-80
So this is a couple that has been together longer than anyone in Resembool. They have little parties, take people in, and are like the unofficial leaders of the village.
Everyone loves them, but as they get older these two make the most inappropriate jokes around their friends. If anyone has ever seen Meet the Fockers, well that is pretty much them. They are serious goals and even though they make fools of themselves, couples aspire to have a relationship just like them.
Also, I believe these two (mostly Winry) build little additions to their house such as a wrap around porch and they have this cute swinging bench and every night she sits on his lap and they watch the sunset together.
They are also those grandparents that spoil little kids and they love to tell stories, especially about Ed’s leg.
Winry learns a lullaby from either her mother, Trisha, or Gracia, and she sings it to her children, grandchildren, and even to Ed when the pain of his past becomes too much.
And no matter how many parties they have, Ed can never hold his alcohol like Winry. She’s a master drinker and most of the times Ed is drunk, he forgets he and Winry are married and clings to her talking about how they should be married and how sad he’d be if they aren’t. One time he thought they were both still in their 20s and talks about having kids.
And as a closer, these two die in the same bed at the same time. They know it’s coming and they happily embrace, reminiscing and they share the same dream about their lives, start to finish, until their death.
However, the morning did start with rather a lot of screaming. The little one had woken from increasingly severe night terrors, and now she clung to his neck like a soft, squirmy, tearful bib.
“Did you have a bad dream?” Ed asked his daughter. She nodded violently, sniffling into his shirt.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head with equal enthusiasm. The little pigtails Winry had lovingly curated the night before were bobbing at half-mast. He tried to untangle some of the knots with his fingers, but quickly exchanged that endeavor for a new tactic.
“Do you want ice cream for breakfast?”
She sniffed once, hesitant, half-expecting the offer to be rescinded. Then, tentatively, she nodded.
“Don’t tell your mother,” Ed said, giving the hallway door a nervous glance as though Winry would materialize behind him with a lecture about nutrition.
Downstairs, he spooned up two generous bowls of ice cream, and sat opposite his daughter as she solemnly scooped half of it into her mouth.
“It was a really bad dream,” she said, once fortified by dessert. “There was a lot of yelling. I think that was me.”
Ed nodded. “Yes, that most certainly was you.”
A dribble of vanilla ran down her chin, and she wiped at it, leaving a sticky smear across her face. Ed leaned across the table with a napkin.
“There was lightning inside our house. And lots of hands.”
Ed stopped. His arm still extended across the table, napkin hanging from his fingers.
“Then everything was white for a minute, and I was crying…and I hurt a lot, and it felt real.” She looked at him, forehead creased over huge, watery blue eyes.
Beneath his sickness over the nightmare, Ed’s stomach churned with a new kind of horror: the kind he imagined Hohenheim must have felt when he looked at his sons, and he knew what they had done, and what they had seen.
“It wasn’t real,” he said. He wiped the ice cream off her chin, and pinched her fat cheek.
“But it felt real—”
“A nightmare is only as real as you make it,” he interrupted, telling himself as much as her.
The kitchen door creaked open. Winry stood on the other side of it, rubbing her eyes. Ed yelped, sweeping both bowls off the table and into his lap.
“Why are you two up so early?” she croaked. Her hair was a sleepy nest of tangles, and her thick slippers slapped softly across the floor as she shuffled over to the table. Instead of sitting down next to Ed, she leaned on the back of his chair, resting her chin on top of his head. He caught a comfortable whiff of old automail grease, lemongrass soap, and toothpaste.
“Ice cream,” he admitted.
“Mmm,” Winry hummed. “Leave any for me?”
Ed offered her his own unfinished bowl. She took it from him, holding it at eye level in front of his face as she scooped a spoonful into her mouth. A cold drop landed directly on his nose, and he jumped.
“Hey!”
She rapped him on the forehead with the butt of the spoon. “It’s your own fault for digging out the ice cream at five thirty in the morning.”
“It was under extraordinary circumstances,” Ed muttered.
Winry set the bowl and spoon back down on the table. She sighed, her cheek pressing warm against the top of his head.
“I know.”
: : :
The brothers were sprawled out beneath the big apple tree in the backyard. Winry and May sat with matching cups of coffee at the outdoor table. May began laughing heartily at something Winry said, holding her round, expectant belly while her shoulders shook. At the back of the yard near the fence, the young Rockbell-Elrics were enthusiastically experimenting with their blunt kunai: a gift from Xing that Ed strongly suspected originated with its emperor.
Alphonse was drawing squiggles in the dirt with a short stick. The squiggles morphed into stick figures, into cursive letters, into sharply angled renditions of the distant mountains.
“I miss when you were better at alchemy than I was,” he said suddenly.
Ed snorted. “Yeah, those four seconds were really fun.”
“No,” Al insisted. “I mean it. I really miss that.”
“I wasn’t the gifted brother, Al. Just older.”
Al sighed deeply, and set down the stick.
“I miss trying to overtake you in skill. It was your progress that guided me, Ed, and now I don’t remember what that felt like.” He shut his eyes, wiggled his human fingers. Enjoyed the dirt that caked underneath his fingernails.
“There’s no one to be greater than anymore.”
Ed grinned. “For my humble little brother, you sound damn conceited.”
Al gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I suppose so. But…don’t you understand?”
Ed nodded, slowly. He picked up the stick Al had dropped, and drew a circle in the dirt. It was a flawed shape; the circumference shivering under an unsteady hand.
“See?”
His voice held no sadness. If there was a trace of melancholy, it was sleeping underneath the heavy years of contentment: that what had happened to him was what should have been, and that what he sacrificed had been worth its loss.
FMA appreciation life 