Comedy, slapstick, and (sometimes) bad puns.
"Let me get this straight — you want to kiss me to support a theory!?"
With a sense of rising dread, Alphonse raised his fist to pound for admittance, worry tinging his voice. "Brother? Are you alright in there?"
After three years, two months, fourteen days and five hours of anticipation, Roy heard a knock at the door to his house.
Al decided he didn't like that particular grin on his brother's face.
This really was turning out to be a day of surprises, thought Roy.
Alphonse settled for a barely audible sigh and hoped that his brother knew what he was doing.
"I remember the flavor too; it was strawberry. It's still his favorite."
"You and I? Sleeping together?" Hughes snorted disdain, and spared a hand to push his glasses back up his face. "Ridiculous!"
The door opened, and all the energy Ed had been ready to put towards transmuting the door into a pile of sticks drained out of him through his feet.
"No funny business!" Ed thundered, not fooled for one minute by that innocent look.
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
"Well... Brother does that, every so often. He really should think before he tries to attack people."
"I'm going to plant a few solid pounds of Risembool milled steel right in her catty, smirking face is what I'm going to do!"
The kid is easily recognizable by his golden hair and eyes, his automail arm and leg, and the obvious chip on the shoulder.
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.
Ed growled under his breath, color high in his cheeks, and pulled away.
Any girl would be driven insane if she was the youngest child and the only girl in a family of six children.
Ed jabbed accusingly with an automail finger — nearly putting out Mustang's eye as he did so — and shrieked, "You're a crossdresser!"
"Our boy here hasn't done a lick of work since eleven am, and she hasn't noticed at all. D'you think she's in love?"
"Just remind me, even if the alternative is to sleep on a ice cube, NEVER to share a bed with you again.
He was also certain that if he gave in and laughed, Edward would hang up and never speak to him again.
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.
"I'll have you know I'm in a committed monogamous relationship."
Let me start by saying that I love my grandchildren.† Actually, theyíre my great great grandchildren, but thatís repetitive and makes me sound old, so screw that.
The staff look at each other, look at their automail bottle-opener, and prepare to duck.
Really, who said that a woman's sex life had to end at 60? An experienced woman had a lot to offer, and Pinako was quite, quite experienced.
"There is no corresponding word in your language. There is consort, but most people seem to think that that is some kind of advisory position. Then there is wife, which is a bit closer to the true definition--"
As far as Edward was concerned it could just take for-damn-ever if it wanted because thatís how long he could go without taking to the Bastard.
"...Sir..." he tried, beginning to compose himself again. "Don't you think...ah...that this isn't very professional of either of us?"
"Bill for repair of said hotel after occupants of said room 'incited riot'?"
This would be so much easier if he could just refuse the man to his face.
Sometimes Al thinks that somewhere back in the Armstrong family tree lurks an alchemical accident in a sequin factory.
Not a fairy, then, Alfons thought in disappointment. The fairies in stories weren't usually so foul-mouthed and excitable, anyway.
It was, and he hated to admit it, an intriguing proposal. Ed wondered who the General had leaned on to get it written in just such a way to make his alchemic blood tingle.
Roy was enchanted by the sound of her voice, pure like dewdrops in the morning.
There were whispers behind him, words exchanged in a frantic flurry of hisses and low notes.
That was the problem with girls these days... they just didn't know how to deal with a little pain.
He mostly trusted his brother to be able to put a nearly-three-year-old to bed by himself, but...Al should probably check, just to be sure.
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.
Are those little flamels on his pajamas? Where the hell does he shop, Alchemist Cliches 'R Us?
Eventually, Roy had to take things into his own hands. Was it really his fault that it had ended up so literal?
Smug, he'd stayed just long enough to give his report and then had marched straight off to Resembool with Al lagging behind.
Thank you General Mustang. At least that creep was good for something. Winry still wasn't convinced he was good for Ed.
He lay back on the couch (in Roy Mustang's office, where else?) and declared , "I'm not wearing this."
"My neighbors would start saying things behind my back if I took home a suit of armor."