This is the chapter that changed the rating. Sorry everyone. Should this count as 10 drabbles or 1?

Kalki by E.S. Pothumus

Roy could feel the heat of the chase, the adrenaline rushing through his veins, making him heady and clear headed. He had forgotten this feeling, the pounding of his heart in his chest, and the under lying sense of inevitability.

Panting heavily, he skidded around a corner, finally loosing Edward in the confusing twists and turns of the Central-slums, back alleys he knew like the back of his hand. Stopping to lean against a nearby wall, Roy sobbed quietly and hoped that tomorrow, Ed wouldn't be so peeved about the kiss, if only so that he could replace the impenetrable mask.

Making a killing-Phantom Planet

As far as Roy was concerned, making a killing was quite a simple thing. One blast of fire could reduce many dozens of people to ash, but as he gazed across his desk at the short boy that had loudly interrupted his reminiscing, he had to smile at the utter recklessness, rash, naivety he found there. The mentality of one that has never massacred entire towns. Making a killing, and making a life , had at one point coincided. Now, he was ever so glad that they didn't.

Walking on the Moon-Sting

The morning Roy woke up with a hangover, he hadn't thought anything of it. At first. It was a usual occurrence in his life, nothing to be alarmed about. But the shifting at his side was a cause for alarm, especially since he didn't recall ever having left his house last night. And as he gazed through sleep bleary eyes, head throbbing in time with his heart beat, which was accelerating at an exponential rate, Roy Mustang felt like he was walking on the moon. Waking to an Edward snoring lightly beside him threw him off balance so mcuh he was likely having a serious heart attack. It was like all time had slowed, and every moment he made was slow despite despite feeling weightless. That day, the flame alchemist swore he'd never drink again.

Arborstone-Jeremy Soule

It was as if he was being carried by fairies, lots of tiny little hands gripping and pushing so that he could move through a pure white realm. It was a dream, one of surreal and unnatural beauty. The Beauty of the tragic, the innocent, the seductive, even the destructive, and in the middle of it all, he saw that familiar head of jet black hair surrounded by flames.

Pictures-Paul van Dyke

Roy sat on a bench, camera around his neck, sighing every other minute as he surveyed his surroundings. He was searching, always searching, for some kind of inspiration. He found it sometimes, but it was always fleeting, never captivating enough to hold his attention, or his affection for long. The families strolling along seemed too tame, he wanted something that would blow him away, ignite a spark in his innermost being, something, someone he could become obsessed with.

Glancing toward the swing set, he froze, and then compused, bringing his camera to his eye and snapping an impulsive picture of the young blond man that was literally right in front of him.

Now if only he could get this young man to remove his clothing for a certain amount of time so that he could do all sorts of…professional things to him. Yes most defiantly professional. He'd have to ask of the boy was interested in becoming his private model. Yes, there was finally something in this world that he wanted to take pictures of.

Let me live-Queen

Why don't you take another little piece of my heart? All you ever do is take. Take take take. Why can't you let me move on, let me go forth and start over. Please. This is more than I ever thought this, thing, between us would become. I just can't handle it anymore. I've been struggling with it for so long, that I just want you to twist, cut, crush, make this thing die. Stomp all over it so that we don't have to come back to this spot, so that we can never return to this unhealthy piece of heaven. Let me go, let me, let me, let me…please...Ed. It hurts too much.

Straight Back-Fleetwood Mac

The dream was never over, it has just begun. Just begun. Because now, we have the rest of our lives to live in contentment. To fight, yell, and scream. To love, laugh, and feel. You, we, haven't lost anything at all. All we've done is gained. Finally. Because although you've confessed your feelings to me, and I see you trembling before me, shoulders stiff and back straight, awaiting my answer, all I can do is smile. Because I'm deliriously happy, and although my dream has come true, I know that it's only just begun. For both of us.

I got the sun in the morning-Broadway music(lol)

Living with next to nothing to his name, as an outlaw, a hunted man, former general Roy Mustang couldn't feel happier. He was finally free of Hitler, on the run from a mad man and his minions. Now he was one of the very people he'd been brought up to hate, yet, he was more content than he'd ever been. With the sun shining on his skin, and the moon to light his way at night, he couldn't very well form a proper complaint.

Even when he'd found the poor cripple on the road, and decided to take him along. He hadn't begrudged the other half of his food. Even with his obvious accent that gave him for german, the other had just looked at him strangely, and continued to eat, shooting him confused questioning glances every few seconds, golden hair shading confused, yearning, equally golden eyes.

Ex-General Roy Mustang grinned toothily. He had everything he needed right here, a companion, the sun in the morning and the moon at night.

Corrupt-Depeche Mode

Alphonse watched as his brother slowly but surely destroyed their commanding officer, seducing and whittling at the poor man's façade, corrupting him, staining him darker from the dark grey he always imagined him to be. He knew that he should put a stop to it, convince his brother not to pressure the man, but he found the staining of Roy Mustang was more fascinating and captivating than he ever thought possible. He almost wished he could be the one to corrupt the handsome male the same way his brother was, slowly but surely.

At one point he knew that this was sick. He felt wrong, a little corrupted himself. It was sinful, this lust, this sadistic tension he felt for his brother's desire. But he couldn't stop himself, not when staining the colonel even darker a shade of black was his only obsession.

Dirty Life-IMA Robot

Tell me this is a dream, he whispered as a blond head bit, sucked and licked. He was high out of his mind, the needles lay a few feet away gleaming at him in mock parody of the stars. Tomorrow, he probably would only be able to recall a fraction of what was currently happening. He was gasping, whimpering, crying, screaming as the other agonizingly lay claim to his body, and in his drug induced state, his heart and soul as well. It was so dirty, dirtydirtydirty. But as blood, cum, and sweat dripped down his thighs, mixing into one revolting but horribly beautiful substance, he found he really couldn't care less.

A/N:OMG wow…some of those were disturbing….hm. hope you liked some of them. I'm feeling slightly morbid at the moment. Maybe a little depressed, so I guess this outcome is to be expected. Die writers block die!

Also DO NOT OWN FMA OR ITS CHARACTERS, or the songs I wrote them too. That is all.

-newmoongirl