“Civil War”, Guns N Roses, Roy Mustang
Roy Mustang leaned forwards in the chair, rubbing his gloved hands over his face with a tired weariness that never seemed to vanish these days. Within seconds he had pulled back, examining the very material that had just skated across his expression.
They were just gloves, really. Just cloth. Just material of with slightly more qualities than regular cotton.
And yet, just minutes before, snapping that cloth together had created the smoldering wreckage that now lay in front of him. Cloth had created this. Cloth and a state of mind.
Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a woman’s sobs rose up to fill his ears. It rang through his entire being, shaking him to his core. And just like that, he buried his hands again. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this.” How did men like Kimbley enjoy such torture and manslaughter? Such genocide? These people were dying without reason. There was no profit here. The Ishvalans were scared. They trembled at his approach. He heard their whispers when he wasn’t being assigned to kill them. He was nothing less than a devil in their red eyes.
Shuddering from the tears that now fell from his eyes, he let his face lie in hands that would never feel clean again.
“Let Her Cry”, Hootie and the Blowfish, Ed/Winry
There weren’t many things that Edward Elric was afraid of. Losing his brother was high on that list. Losing anyone important to him, really. And there were a few things he didn’t particularly like. Milk was a fine example.
A good combination of the two, though, was tears. Particularly Winry’s tears. They were far too common for his liking and they were something that Edward didn’t know how to deal with particularly well.
Of course, there were times she’d cried when he’d messed up and upset her. Edward didn’t like those times. The way she would look at him, her body tense and defensive. And there were the sad times, like when Granny Pinako had passed away, easing off in the night.
But… her tears weren’t always for bad reasons. Sometimes Winry cried for good reasons. Like when he and Al had arrived back home, full and complete. Like when he’d asked her to marry him, nerves racing through him and thinking that those tears might’ve been a “no”. Like when they’d held their son for the first time, crying in the hospital room.
Those moments still threw him for a loop, but he could look back on those moments and give a little, secret smile. Tears, perhaps, were not always so bad.
“Love Story”, Taylor Swift, Al/Mei
Mei couldn’t help but look back on her younger days with a small smile. It was hard to remember at times – five years could distort memories in all sorts of ways – but there were things that she would always, always be able to recall. Most of them revolved around the man fast asleep in her arms, his dark golden hair brushing against her chin.
Alphonse had always been her prince charming, ever since the beginning. He’d even shown up in his shining armor, the clanking noise of his hollow form forever etched into her brain.
And who better than a prince for a princess? She was no empress, as she thought she might would be one day, but that hardly mattered. Better to be princess to the knight in shining armor than a ruler to thousands.
“She Likes Me for Me”, Blink 182, Roy/Riza
Riza watched her superior from across the room. She was, of course, already prepared for the evening ahead. Military balls were an occasion of much affair and it had become an unspoken agreement for the past years that the two would accompany each other to the events. It simply made sense, and that was all there was to it.
She couldn’t deny, though, that she enjoyed watching his expressions as he appraised himself in the mirror. Colonel Mustang was ever the vain man, brushing at his scruffy black hair with a disgruntled expression. She knew he could’ve slicked it back with his traditional “formal” approach, but the men always liked to tease him and tell him he looked like a sleazy salesman. It was no small wonder that he was wrestling with his unruly mop, trying to tame it into submission. He hated to be insulted.
The woman allowed herself a laugh of amusement that sounded like nothing more than an exasperated exhale before shouldering her handbag (that concealed her weapon, of course). “Come on, Colonel. We’re going to be late.”
“Otherside”, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Greedling
The wave of feeling that washed through Greed was like viewing something at the corner of your eyes. It was familiar, and yet it wasn’t. He knew that it was pouring out from Ling – the man couldn’t disguise his thoughts from the homunculus, although he tried – but something about it… He had felt this before. This urge to protect what was his. And the fierce urge that was welling up from the little prince was so very like he had been with his chimerical possessions.
And all this at the appearance of a cloaked figure in a mask. Although he immediately tried to pluck information from Ling’s mind, he was only met with a huge wall. Something about this person was precious. Something was causing the little prince to guard the cloaked person from even Greed himself.
Well, this was interesting.