And yet another fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood
Title: Dynamics
Fandom: FMA Brotherhood
Pairing: RoyEd, Havoc as supporting character
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Warnings: Potential cursing, implications of sex, more music geekery, obvious metaphors, artistic liberties taken with canon material (which pretty much means I took the characters and told canon to go to hell... It's almost an AU, but not quite.)
Summary: Roy and Ed's relationship through the eyes of Havoc and the terms of music. Similar to Reverberations, but not quite as good...
Link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7509780/1/Dynamics
Jean Havoc never claimed to know much about Edward Elric and Roy Mustang, and especially not about their strange relationship. No, Havoc didn't know much about Ed and Roy, but he did know music. His mother had forced him to learn a strange instrument with too many buttons that he didn't know they had in Amnestris. She called it a clarinet, and watched over him like a hawk as he learned to coax melodic squeaks out of the thing. Grudgingly, although he would never admit it, he grew to like playing the instrument, even after he moved to Central away from his mother. Although no one knew (except Riza, but that was a whole other story, because he didn't mean for her to know), Havoc knew music. And because he couldn't understand it any other way, he looked at Ed and Roy's relationship through musical terms.
Havoc knew how difficult it was to get a perfect note out. You couldn't blow too softly, or nothing would happen. But if you forced it, gave it more air than the reed could hold, it would protest loudly and painfully. Anyone who'd tried to play in the upper register on a clarinet had found that out the hard way. Tuning was also a problem. If you didn't set your mouth-teeth, lips, tongue-exactly right, the note would turn out sharp or flat. Sure, you could adjust the instrument, but that would just make a different note out of tune. Yes, music was a fickle thing. She (Havoc always thought of the concept of music as a she) demanded perfection and rebelled in subtle ways when it received anything less. She could be loud and tempestuous, or surprisingly soft and subdued. He had some control over the music, through his fingers and his lips and his lungs, but once he set her free, she did whatever she damn well pleased. Nominally, the concept was easy to understand. Put these fingers here, and this note will play. Of course, it was never that easy. Even if the note had a good tone and was in tune, the other elements would all rush in to bother him-dynamics, articulation, rhythm. Sometimes Havoc looked away from the music and played the highest note he could as loudly as he could-embouchure be damned. That always made him feel better, but also slightly guilty for having used his clarinet in that way. And although he'd sometimes leave his instrument sitting in his closet for weeks, swearing that it was a waste of his time, he would always pull it out again to coax out a few more notes.
...
Roy Mustang never claimed to know anything about music. He played the piano, but that was simply a function of his social climbing rather than any passion for the arts. He read the notes and played them at business functions to charm his superiors and any females that might be near (except Riza-she never seemed to be impressed). No, Roy knew next to nothing about music, but he knew Edward Elric.
Roy knew how difficult the little alchemist could be. You had to tread lightly with him. If you ignored him, he would grow huffy and annoying, but if you were too condescending or patronizing, he would explode in a rage of self-imposed insults. He would make his disapproval known, often painfully. Everyone at Central Command who had ever made a short comment around Ed knew that. But only Roy was brave enough to do it on purpose, just to make the boy scream. He deserved it, the way he never let you know where you stand. Some days Ed was all energy and movement, bustling around demanding research funds and cursing his superior at every turn. Other days, he was tired and beaten and sometimes even scared. It was these days that scared Roy the most. He tried to comfort Ed as best he could, but whenever the lines of their relationships shifted, there were a thousand new problems to deal with. And then there were the additional issues-the age difference, of course. Throw in his attachment to Al and Winry, his obsession with the philosopher's stone, his automail, which could be damned inconvenient at certain times, and you ended up with a very frustrated Roy and a very difficult Ed. But then Ed would stop and do something completely unexpected, and it was all worth it. Still, he could never seem to figure Ed out completely. He knew how to play Ed like a piano, where to put his fingers and mouth with exactly the right amount of pressure to make the most beautiful sounds (Roy liked this more than he ever had schmoozing with his piano). But all the time, he'd find something new, brush up against some new note which had been previously unknown to either party. And sometimes it was difficult, and even painful, but when he hit it perfectly, the music was reward enough. Seeing Ed, surprisingly docile in the morning light, hair unbound, was always such a shock, though a welcome one. It always reminded Roy that he could play Ed, with his fingers and his mouth and his words, but in the end, Ed would always do whatever he damned well pleased. This would often result in Roy shouting at the boy angrily, goading him to respond, which he always did unrestrained and explosive. And they would scream insults across Roy's desk until someone stormed out, braid flying as the door slammed. But later, Ed would always creep back into Roy's life, into his office or his mind or his heart or his bed-and often all of the above-and everything would be ok. Sometimes it was Roy who would do the creeping, abashedly apologizing to a petulant child who happened to mean the world to him. And no matter how much Ed blustered petulantly, he would always acquiesce, and Roy would wake to find that Ed had chosen to stay in his bed the next morning. No matter how much they fought, they always found their way back together again in a crash of notes, desperate and docile and dramatic. And it was worth it, every time.
Fandom: FMA Brotherhood
Pairing: RoyEd, Havoc as supporting character
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Warnings: Potential cursing, implications of sex, more music geekery, obvious metaphors, artistic liberties taken with canon material (which pretty much means I took the characters and told canon to go to hell... It's almost an AU, but not quite.)
Summary: Roy and Ed's relationship through the eyes of Havoc and the terms of music. Similar to Reverberations, but not quite as good...
Link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7509780/1/Dynamics
Jean Havoc never claimed to know much about Edward Elric and Roy Mustang, and especially not about their strange relationship. No, Havoc didn't know much about Ed and Roy, but he did know music. His mother had forced him to learn a strange instrument with too many buttons that he didn't know they had in Amnestris. She called it a clarinet, and watched over him like a hawk as he learned to coax melodic squeaks out of the thing. Grudgingly, although he would never admit it, he grew to like playing the instrument, even after he moved to Central away from his mother. Although no one knew (except Riza, but that was a whole other story, because he didn't mean for her to know), Havoc knew music. And because he couldn't understand it any other way, he looked at Ed and Roy's relationship through musical terms.
Havoc knew how difficult it was to get a perfect note out. You couldn't blow too softly, or nothing would happen. But if you forced it, gave it more air than the reed could hold, it would protest loudly and painfully. Anyone who'd tried to play in the upper register on a clarinet had found that out the hard way. Tuning was also a problem. If you didn't set your mouth-teeth, lips, tongue-exactly right, the note would turn out sharp or flat. Sure, you could adjust the instrument, but that would just make a different note out of tune. Yes, music was a fickle thing. She (Havoc always thought of the concept of music as a she) demanded perfection and rebelled in subtle ways when it received anything less. She could be loud and tempestuous, or surprisingly soft and subdued. He had some control over the music, through his fingers and his lips and his lungs, but once he set her free, she did whatever she damn well pleased. Nominally, the concept was easy to understand. Put these fingers here, and this note will play. Of course, it was never that easy. Even if the note had a good tone and was in tune, the other elements would all rush in to bother him-dynamics, articulation, rhythm. Sometimes Havoc looked away from the music and played the highest note he could as loudly as he could-embouchure be damned. That always made him feel better, but also slightly guilty for having used his clarinet in that way. And although he'd sometimes leave his instrument sitting in his closet for weeks, swearing that it was a waste of his time, he would always pull it out again to coax out a few more notes.
...
Roy Mustang never claimed to know anything about music. He played the piano, but that was simply a function of his social climbing rather than any passion for the arts. He read the notes and played them at business functions to charm his superiors and any females that might be near (except Riza-she never seemed to be impressed). No, Roy knew next to nothing about music, but he knew Edward Elric.
Roy knew how difficult the little alchemist could be. You had to tread lightly with him. If you ignored him, he would grow huffy and annoying, but if you were too condescending or patronizing, he would explode in a rage of self-imposed insults. He would make his disapproval known, often painfully. Everyone at Central Command who had ever made a short comment around Ed knew that. But only Roy was brave enough to do it on purpose, just to make the boy scream. He deserved it, the way he never let you know where you stand. Some days Ed was all energy and movement, bustling around demanding research funds and cursing his superior at every turn. Other days, he was tired and beaten and sometimes even scared. It was these days that scared Roy the most. He tried to comfort Ed as best he could, but whenever the lines of their relationships shifted, there were a thousand new problems to deal with. And then there were the additional issues-the age difference, of course. Throw in his attachment to Al and Winry, his obsession with the philosopher's stone, his automail, which could be damned inconvenient at certain times, and you ended up with a very frustrated Roy and a very difficult Ed. But then Ed would stop and do something completely unexpected, and it was all worth it. Still, he could never seem to figure Ed out completely. He knew how to play Ed like a piano, where to put his fingers and mouth with exactly the right amount of pressure to make the most beautiful sounds (Roy liked this more than he ever had schmoozing with his piano). But all the time, he'd find something new, brush up against some new note which had been previously unknown to either party. And sometimes it was difficult, and even painful, but when he hit it perfectly, the music was reward enough. Seeing Ed, surprisingly docile in the morning light, hair unbound, was always such a shock, though a welcome one. It always reminded Roy that he could play Ed, with his fingers and his mouth and his words, but in the end, Ed would always do whatever he damned well pleased. This would often result in Roy shouting at the boy angrily, goading him to respond, which he always did unrestrained and explosive. And they would scream insults across Roy's desk until someone stormed out, braid flying as the door slammed. But later, Ed would always creep back into Roy's life, into his office or his mind or his heart or his bed-and often all of the above-and everything would be ok. Sometimes it was Roy who would do the creeping, abashedly apologizing to a petulant child who happened to mean the world to him. And no matter how much Ed blustered petulantly, he would always acquiesce, and Roy would wake to find that Ed had chosen to stay in his bed the next morning. No matter how much they fought, they always found their way back together again in a crash of notes, desperate and docile and dramatic. And it was worth it, every time.