Comedy, slapstick, and (sometimes) bad puns.
The Colonel's staff next door ignored the pleas for help and gunshots.
The magazine told him he was doing it all wrong. First, it said he was boring. Then, it said he was bad in bed. Next, it said he was inconsiderate. After that, it told him he was gullible.
You had to hand it to Roy, he certainly knew how to keep his cool.
The Full Metal Alchemist, of course, accepted his assignment with all the gravity due his station.
Sometimes Al thinks that somewhere back in the Armstrong family tree lurks an alchemical accident in a sequin factory.
There was a lot to be said for experimentation, Ed thought later, when Al was curled up in his arms as Winry fussed in the bathroom.
The air feels cold against Al's face, and even colder down his naked back.
She had heard all the lines before. Pinako was a female in a mostly male line of work, after all.
Not a fairy, then, Alfons thought in disappointment. The fairies in stories weren't usually so foul-mouthed and excitable, anyway.
"Do we still have cucumbers? Or I guess I could transmute a mold, do you need this dining chair?"
Eventually, Roy had to take things into his own hands. Was it really his fault that it had ended up so literal?
Ling tried to cover his way with sly smiles and clever lines; he played at being a fool (and did it very well), when he was anything but.
Okay, his hair wasn't brushed, and it had been a while since he'd gotten a bath, but he didn't think it was anything to blush at.
Let me start by saying that I love my grandchildren. Actually, they’re my great great grandchildren, but that’s repetitive and makes me sound old, so screw that.
No kinks, no cross-dressing, no tag-team threesomes, and all pets must be ushered out of the room beforehand.
Edward Elric was notoriously known for his intense dislike of milk.
Fullmetal was starting to turn slightly purple, now, which definitely clashed with his coloring...
"You'd think the Colonel would have plenty of experience in dealing with irate brothers by now."
Let it never be said that whatever his obsessive tendencies, Edward Elric was unable to enjoy life's simpler pleasures.
"For only one arm..." Ed rasped out, gritting his teeth against the pain.
He underestimates the little things, like how long it will take him to put his socks on in the morning, and she comes up the stairs when breakfast is long since over to find him crouched over a torn stocking, blinking back furious tears...
Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly.
His boyfriend. He wants me to be his boyfriend. He's wooing me with gifts. I'm being courted!
“Um, you must’ve learned that from Colonel Bastard. You’d better not be flashing that at the nurses. Or at me, ever, ever again.”
He could imagine the words Fix typed as coming from his brother, and it afforded him a little bit of indulgence in his horrible, sinful, uncontrollable urges.
"Huh? Whose fault? Ahahah.. aha..." Ed tried to avoid the topic.
Unfortunately, Winry's 'own devices' were becoming the death of Pinako's various household devices.
With two younger sisters himself, he knew well that siblings quarreled, but never to this extent.
It was just the men today, sitting around drinking coffee and playing cards and waiting for the paint to peel or the Fuhrer-in-Training to request they do something.
It doesn’t disappoint, never does; Ed is standing on the corner when the car arrives, all sharp moody edges and obtrusively coloured blue shorts.
"I know, I know, the deal is whoever's on bottom gets to pick your shape, but really, this is ridiculous."
"I'll have you know I'm in a committed monogamous relationship."
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
Right. He saw their little game. They wanted to freak him out, break his mind into little pieces. He could resist.
"...Sir..." he tried, beginning to compose himself again. "Don't you think...ah...that this isn't very professional of either of us?"
"We ought to have a toast," Ed says, frowning into the depths of his bottle. "They always do when they're having a drink in someone's memory."
Ed growled under his breath, color high in his cheeks, and pulled away.
Winry was ten when her grandmother commented that she already needed training bras.
The kid had said she was into ... different things, but in all his years Greed could not recall ever having found eggs a helpful sex aide.
They would have had a bitter bitchfight had both suddenly not stopped and realized it was all Roy's fault.
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.
"Stupid bullies," Ed grumbled, limping for a few steps before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be feeling it. "Call me a girl, will they?"
The voice hit Ed like a blow, and drove the breath from his lungs. "Where are you?" he shouted. "Where are you?"
ROY: [calmly] If drinking means acting like an idiot the way you are, I'm going to pass.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.