You befriend the one goth kid at your school; after a bit of bonding and sleepovers, you find out he’s actually a 300,000 year old lich king who kind of gave up on the whole undead necromancer business.
“So, what?” You ask when he’s finished his tale. “You just got tired of haunting the moors, threatening heroes, and raising the distraught dead from the peat?”
He looks down at his clasped hands. You’d elected to stand, but he’s sitting at one of the student tables like he’s about to be executed. “I don’t think you understand how bad of a place the moors are.”
“I’m sure,” you say. You don’t know what your voice sounds like, reeling from the shock of finding out your friend is 300,000 years old, but he flinches.
“I knew it,” he says, the words growling up his throat. He swings his dark bangs out of his eyes. “You’re horrified by my past. The evilness of my talents. The tales of my conquests and misdeeds. All of it repulses you. You regret being friends with me.”
You hesitate. You’d sort of planned to go home and think about this first, but if he wants to have the conversation now, you can have it now. “Look, can I be honest with you?”
He nods miserably, playing with his spiked bracelets.
“It’s none of that,” you confess. You grimace. “Would I like to say I morally object to being friends with a murderous, vengeful, necromancer? For sure, my parents aren’t going to be super stoked about me not freaking about that.”
He jerks, alarmed. “You’re going to tell your parents?! I’ll be mobbed—“
“Shut up,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You know I tell my parents everything. We’re tight like that.” You steam roll past his horrified expression. “I just have…some concerns. Not related to the murder or the undead part or even your kingdom of undead servants somewhere in Scotland.”
“Tell me,” he says, swallowing hard. “I—I don’t want you to be afraid of me. You’re the first real friend I’ve ever had.”
“Let’s work on that,” you suggest. You don’t want to be this guys only friend anymore. It’s gotten weird. “It’s just…your hundred of thousands of years old, right?”
He nods, wringing his hands. His silver wrongs clack together.
“Capable of raising the dead and going on hellish crusades for land?” You clarify.
He nods.
You suck on your teeth. “Capable of shapeshifting?”
“Into anything,” he confesses.
“Right.” You rub your hands on your jeans. “I get why you wanted a normal life, I do. I just—why high school, man? It’s pretty fucking weird, given all those things, that you’d choose to be a highschooler.”
“I wanted a fresh start,” he says, spreading out his hands. “You understand, right?”
“Sure,” you agree, even though you really don’t. “It’s just…I’m not super comfortable? With you being suuuper old and like, socializing? With 17 year olds?”
He gapes at you. “What?”
You put your hands on your hips. “Don’t act surprised, dude, you were at the same internet safety class I was. They warned us about older people trying to take advantage of us online.”
“Taking advantage of?” He looks genuinely hurt. “I would never! I just feel like I fit in better here than anywhere else. I found you here.” He smiles at you, that sweet smile you used to find so endearing.
It’s not so sweet anymore.
You rub the chills out of your arms. “It’s fuxking weird dude. Especially your crush on the volleyball captain? That’s—that’s gotta stop. You can’t have a crush on someone literally 299,984 years younger than you.”
“Why?” He asks. “I’m not hurting them and I genuinely feel like we’d be a good match.”
“No,” you say firmly. You look around and find a stack of homework on the desk to your right. You pick it up, roll it into a tube, and then smack him with it. “Bad! That’s exactly what a fucking pedophile would say. If we are still going to be friends, you can’t be a pedophile. Somewhat obviously.”
He rubs his head where you hit him. “But I’m lonely,” he whines. His shoulders droop.
It’s hard to see him sad, even now. “I know, man. But I can’t support you going after kids.” You have a great idea. “You can’t be the only supernatural creaature in the world. I bet there are a lot of awesome, older vampires or something you can date!”
“Are vampires even real?”
“Maybe!” You’re on a roll now. “I’ll help you find them, dude, it’ll be sick.”
He looks doubtful. “I,” he says carefully, “would prefer to tend to my crush in the volleyball—ow!”
You brandish your homework club threateningly. “That’s what happens every time you’re a pedophile. Either get on board with the vampire idea or I’m going to light you on fire until not even your bones can look in a teenagers direction.”
“Wow,” he says, “can’t wait to find those vampires. Thanks, best friend.” He flinches as If expecting another blow.
You smile beautifically. “Anything for my friends.” You’re going to get a better club to hit him with. You can see in his eyes that he’s not completely on board with. But he will be.
“All in all, you truly don’t mean anything to the rest of the world. I’m the only one who truly cares for you. Not the symbol you bear, but you” the antagonist cooes, cupping the protagonists cheek.
(Tagged with dark, creepy, possessive character. And just kinda sad and scary)
Jason doesn’t remember what he looks like. The days pass by in long smears of darkness, of words grating up his throat, of his hands clenched too tightly around his sword, of lights going out and out and out. Mirrors don’t reflect his russet skin, his buzzed hair, his strong nose, his full lips. Instead they yawn in front of him, eternities of endless space with no stars and no trace of his brown eyes.
He watches the world like sand passing through his fingers and wonders why they think he can save anyone. Because he’s a prince? The prince? Because his father never wanted him on the throne–and yet here he is? Or maybe it’s because of that damned prophecy Gilbert, the court sorcerer, once whispered over his head as a baby.
The people have always loved Gilbert. Immortal and timeless Gilbert who’s been a constant leader in their lives, their parents’ lives, their grandparents’ lives.
How much more blood would stain Jason’s hands if they knew? The Sorcerer’s Council–the highest magical body in the land– is only their ally because they think Jason has Gilbert’s full support. They provide aid to the parts of the country Jason’s limited army can’t reach, they hold the borders against the monsters and the hungry thrones beyond the sea, they do what Jason can’t since his father fucked off with nearly the entire army to fight a useless war for land.
Jason breathes deeply through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, as he tries to push the black feelings down and down and down.
His father may still be King, but Jason is the one who sits on the throne in his absence. And he’s got work to do.
————————————————————————
“The people are calling for a coup,” Gilbert says from the shadows of Jason’s office. Jason doesn’t even look up from his reports, though he’s no longer reading them. The letters had started swimming hours ago and it’s only been through sheer force of will that Jason has even attempted to make sense of the pages in front of him. “They want you to be King.”
“You know why I can’t do that,” Jason says. He signs off on a diplomatic meeting between his country and their neighbors to the south and then looks up, leaning back in his chair. “Father would just turn around and kill us all. He’s got control of the army. I thought you were staying out of this.”
Gilbert’s long, black hair slides across his shoulders as he leans forward to tap Jason’s finished paperwork. “I’m staying out of this.” A small smile flashes across his face. “Well, until you ask that is.”
When he was younger, Jason hated Gilbert. Hated how it was his prophecy that led Jason to growing up in a tower, in exile, all alone.
“There’s no fucking point to continuing on, okay? But I’m going anyway. I made up my mind a long time ago, that’d it be worth it to die for this cause.”
“That’s easy enough to say hale and healthy, but what about when the blades to your neck?
Kavi slams her hands into the table, ignoring the way the rough grain tears at the blisters on her hands. They’re already torn, already blood smeared and dripping. At least, with this, she knows its her blood. “I’m so fucking tired of people like you.”
Everest stiffens in his seat, drawing his hands away from the map between them as if burned. “People like me?”
“People who think that the only cost to pay is at the end of the day!” She feels every aching muscle in her back, can feel her wings dropping against the cold, cold floor with exhaustion. Her eyes still burn. “The prophecy foretold a final battle, a final show down, so that means all of our sins will be burned that day, right?”
“The way it’s gone there won’t be a final battle!” Everest stands, yanking on the bottom of his vest to right it. He seems distinctly ruffled by her outburst and steps back around his chair to put it between them as well as the table. “The dark forces have already entered the world–”
“And I’ve fought them,” Kavi barks. She wants to throw the table, but doesn’t. She’s got that much human in her still, that much restraint. “Every step of the way, I’ve fought. The blade has been at my neck since day one, Everest. I’m tired of people like you pretending that it hasn’t been.”
Garnet is a running stone. Feet pounding on wet concrete, laces tied too tightly, soles worn down to slick rubber but, still, never slipping.
He knows it can be a healing stone, a purifying, stone, but has never felt the sort of peace howlite or quartz (rose or otherwise) bring him from its red depths.
Garnet tells him to seize his opportunity between his teeth and run. Run upright, wind in your hair, hands clenched around a phone blasting drums, towards the finish line. Run like the world is being created under your feet. Run like your soul is begging you to, fast and hard and free.
A car horn honks, ripping past screeching guitars, and grabs his attention.
Andy pulls his headphones from his ears, keeping light on the balls of his feet so his legs don’t begin to cramp. His mom is looking at him from the driver’s side of the family’s mini van, one eyebrow raised.
“Do you,” she yells over the roar of the river on his other side, “have any idea how far from home you are?!”
“Seven point two miles,” he says before his teeth can click over the words. He wasn’t keeping track, but he’s always been able to gauge distance like that. He rubs the back of his neck. “I…I lost track of time. Sorry.”
His mom huffs and leans over to open the passenger side door. “I’d worry about you running away if it weren’t for the fact I saw your laptop on the kitchen counter.”
“Mom,” Andy says, ignoring her comment. It’s true anyway. “I can’t get in the car, my legs will cramp–”
“We’re supposed to be over at the Jimenez’s in an hour,” she tells him and pats the seat. “If you were really worried about cramping, you would have remembered that.” At the look on his face, her eyes narrow. “Unless you did remember and that’s why you’re seven point two miles from home.”
“No,” Andy denies and forces himself to laugh. “I love going over to see the Jimenez’. For sure. Unquestionable.”
“Unbelievable,” his mom mutters and waits to pull a u-turn until he shuts the door and puts on his seatbelt.
——————————————————————–
It’s not that he doesn’t like the Jimenez family. He does. It’s just that no one in his family believes that their youngest, Marin, is trying to place a curse on him.
Luffy at age seven: *Moves from his spot for more than five seconds*
Ace at age ten: *cleaning up blood and hiding bodies* Why are you like this? Why are you like this? Why are you like this? Why are you like this?
Luffy at age nineteen: *Anchors in a port*
Law at age twenty-six: *cleaning up blood and hiding bodies* Why are you like this? Why are you like this? Why are you like this? Why are you like this?
Ace: I think me and Luffy’s new Bae are going to get along great.
One thing about Percy that I’d forgotten about until my reread is that he too is nuts for Quidditch just like the rest of the fam
I feel like in most fanfics I’ve read Percy doesn’t care for quidditch and sits out all the games between his siblings and never even like, watches them??? And so in my mind Percy doesn’t only not play but is like, completely anti-sports???
But I’m reading PoA and here he is making bets on the games with Penelope and telling Harry he has to win and “jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten” when Gryffindor wins the cup I love him
I knoww right. I hate the fact that just because Percy is so academically inclined people think he hates quidditch. He loves it just as much as everyone else in his family. I mean, remember who his roommate was for 7 years people. He would not have survived living with Oliver Wood if he did not love Quidditch.
So, as it’s roughly explained, the state alchemist program is a kind of “recruit potential human sacrifices” mechanism, with a side-order of “brute strength for the army”. But basically, the state alchemist title is mostly about being a researcher–given people like Shou Tucker exist, and given that the only requirement to stay a state alchemist is to submit a yearly report of your research that says “look I’m still being a useful scientist”.
So far, so far this is sensible, yeah? Father and the delightful children from down the lane are running a recruitment program for potential human sacrifices. So sure–butter them up! Give them lots of money, get them buddy-buddy with the government, and give them endless resources for research. It’s be pretty easy to trick a state alchemist in that position to open the portal if Sugar DaddyBradley is nudging them to do it.
And I’m still willing to go with this logic for the whole “draft the state alchemists into war” move. They make it pretty clear that was something of a last-ditch effort. And the blood transmutation circle around Amestris was an absolute necessity for Father’s plan. So the risk of a few state alchemists dying or resigning from your Potential Sacrifice Pool is worth it for the completion of the circle.
Now. To get to my fucking thought.
Edward fucking Elric. This fucking fight-me 12 year old troglodyte shows up to the exam and performs circle-less transmutation in front of mother fucking Bradley, demonstrating to one of the seven Actual Fucking Homunculi that he’d already opened the portal. Ed was literally prepped as a human sacrifice before he showed up to Central. A fully set human sacrifice showed up at the homunculi’s door, said “hey look what I can do!”, proved he’d opened the mother fucking portal already, and said “hey yeah hire me”. Human sacrifice, free shipping, no assembly required, handcuffs not included!
They could have just tossed Ed into a shoebox and kept him there until the Promised Day. They wouldn’t even need to make up an excuse he attacked the f u c k i n g president. That’s fucking treason babey. He’s 12, he’s an orphan, he’s from a rural town in buttfuck nowhere, he’s literally the easiest person alive to disappear.They could have arrested him for assassination crimes, kept him in gay baby jail, and just popped him out for the Promised Day
What do they do instead?! “Oh lmao this kid’s great. Let’s give him infinite money, no supervision, no governmental responsibilities, access to all our secret resources, and toss him on a train to who-the-fuck-knows-where-land”
They fucking did that
And like? They then had the audacity to be concerned when Edward “Fight Me” Elric almost got himself killed about 293 times. Just an endless game of “I thought u were watching him” from one homunculus to another when Ed fucking absconds half-way across the globe to go entice some other hostile entity into murdering him to death. That’s the whole series. Every arc is Ed baiting death while the homunculi are in the background like “:/ wish he wouldn’t do that”
This only gets worse when you consider they later learned Al opened the portal too because really?? These two stab-happy globe-trotting public menaces are 40% of your final evil plan for godhood. 40%. Almost half. You couldn’t fucking set aside a cardboard box to keep these idiots in?
We all knew Father was terrible at planning when we learned his thousands-of-years-in-the-making-plan involved him procrastinating until the last five minutes to get his last sacrifice, while he was?? playing chess in his fucking basement, I guess. But it’s like every time I think about it like really think about it I find 7 more reasons Father was a fucking shit idiot moron, king of the stupid fucking idiot club, flesh and blood founder of seven other established dumbasses, all living in their idiot hovel under central, just giving random dumbass 12 year olds infinite money, j u s t b e c a u s e.
People in the replies trying to explain Father’s actions fall into one of three categories
Father didn’t baby-gate Ed because humans are like ants to him and he had no concept of how thoroughly Ed and co. could fuck his shit up
Father and the Hot Topic Brigade didn’t lock Ed up because they recognized the unbridled chaotic 12-year-old energy compressed into such a small vessel and they understood no jail cell on earth would reliably hold this thing
Father and his sin-sonas didn’t put Ed in a box because locking Ed away in their lair would mean dealing with Edward Elric day-in and day-out in their own home for the next four years and frankly even godhood isn’t worth certain flavors of hell.
Cheloneuniverse 