Extreme waff, bordering on saccharine.
People all have different ideas of beauty, Al knows, and no two ever appear to be the same.
It was so strange, the way Alphonse's suddenly reduced size could make Edward look suddenly so much bigger.
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.
"Al," Ed said seriously and leaned forward to look up into his brother's glowing eyes, "if he had mind control powers, you would tell me, right?"
And he was tired, and he did eventually fall asleep, to the vague hum of voices in discussion downstairs.
As much as he loved his family, Alphonse Elric wouldn't have traded these moments alone for anything.
I noticed, Ed told him with as much edge as he could muster.
Not many people are close enough to his brother to have seen either of the first two with any sort of frequency.
"It's cold and dark and raining, and there are thugs roaming the street - brother, have a heart! He could be killed! He could become kitten stew!"
Humans are so greedy, the Truth had told him in his dreams; and for all his airs and graces, he is no exception.
At fifteen he had been intimidating; at thirty, he could be terrifying.
When there was no answer, he tried again, but gave up after that. It wasn't like Ed would get eaten by a rabid saucepan, or something.
"Can I trust you," Ed's dewy eyes were huge and he looked somehow younger than he'd ever looked before.
If there was something Al still deeply enjoyed about his illness, it was seeing Ed play a sort of housewife.
There were many things that Edward Elric didn't want the world to know, secrets to be protected at all cost.
The brush began its march through the sunbeam locks, from crown to tail, and Riza pressed her lips to them. "Until then."
Schezcka pushed her glasses up, using the glass reflection to hide her eyes.
She laughs to see the grand scholar on his stomach on the floor of the living room, reading his sons a fairy tale from a fat little book.
What could you give a soul trapped in a suit of armour as a present?
Red. It looked strange on him, the red did, strange and somehow distressing.
It is somewhat odd that two brothers can be so different, yet so close.
He staggered to a halt, abruptly terrified of pressing onwards through the mist, and tried not to cry.
"He's a smug arrogant prick and Jean's a lazy bastard with a mouth like an ashtray."
"In case you hadn't noticed," Ed went on, poking Roy in the chest, "I am no longer twelve."