#just the canon ones and not graphic

[silver-snow-writes]

I wrote a thing! Happy birthday Tim, have some focus on your mental health spiralling then building back up

[aroaceleovaldez]

full on feel like pjo tv s2 is not gonna hold up so they need to drag as much attention to the series as they can by using nico as a sock puppet w tsats2

im fully expecting the show to go the way of the movies. it doesnt help Sea of Monsters is almost unanimously the least favorite book of the first series. People frequently forget it even exists or what happens in it, especially more casual fans.

Heck, just look at how little fanfare the second season has gotten so far as compared to the build up to s1. I wouldn't be surprised if s2 totally flops. It would be a little funny.

[uniquezombiedestiny]

disease of the body, disease of the mind

[electricxmayhem]

when I was a teen i made up a team of teen superhero oc’s, but in 2024 i’ve found myself more drawn to the adult characters, and two of the dads fell in love

[name-doggo]

My Favorite FF Graphic Novel Trivia is Knowing that the OOS Graphic Novel Canonically makes Raj and Oscar both Huge Idiots due to the Simple Fact they don't know the Difference between a Screwdriver and Knife

[heirbane]

FIMBULVETR: TERNCLIFF'S TERMINUS.

aka: give us a wrap up for werlyt, squex.

Terncliff had been on the cusp of desperation several times before Endwalker. First, when they believed Gaius van Baelsar came to colonize and eradicate the culture and heritage that the cliffside port had cultivated; second, when his towering form disappeared from the area all together, leaving tints of Garlean occupation without the promise of industry and technology. The magitek units had come, providing the men and women with goods and services beyond any they would have been able to harness on their remote stretch of Ilsabard, and then simply disappeared, leaving infrastructure half-built and their people without the skills to finish it on their own.

When Valens van Varro began to encroach upon Werlytan territory, they had well and truly believed it to be the final chapter for their people. Valens pushed forth magitek reapers, shattering windows and crumbling brickwork with ease. He had been the Imperial officer they truly had expected when Gaius came to their shores over a dozen summers prior.

Valens was the shadow they had feared, and the depths of his depravity saw no end, as violent and unpredictable as the waves against its jagged, rocky cliff side. He had come simply to beckon the wolf out of hiding, the greying hound's children puppeteered by their loyalty.

The strings that bound them to the Empire would gather around their throats, a noose made of good intentions and false hope, and one by one the Imperial Legatus strung them up and let them rot.

Gaius had nothing to bury but broken machinery and the echoes of children at war. When the Warrior of Light finally helped him seek solace for all that Valens had done, he felt as if there was just as little left of himself, too.

It came as a surprise, then, when the sky began to fall, that neither Gaius nor his remaining child turned into their own fear and uncertainty. As the remaining villagers began to transform, skin and bone into decay and death, he and his daughter remained.

What was the end of the world to those who had lost all but each other?

The blasphemy that haunts the forestry around Terncliff screams one night, a sound half torturous and half inhumane, a vicious, guttural laughter that those who encountered Valens van Varro could never forget.

It is dubbed Fimbulvetr. It is a beast not to be ignored, a beast borne of a boy who had his orphanage ravaged by Valens' mechanical soldiers. He had lived through certain death once, and when the sky began to turn red, his peers collapsing into frothing, soot-bleeding things, he believed the worst days of his life were returning. He had fled into the woods, running for his life, until - under the full red moon - he came across the skeletal remains of the Diamond Weapon.

Fimbulvetr towers past the trees. They are part machine and part person, as if it had simply began gathering up the scrapheap remains of a Garlean occupation. When not cowering among the foliage by daylight, they are calling out for whoever can hear them, mimicked laughter and scared sobbing on an endless loop.

With little and less experience in combat and the inability to put down a child the settlement had once known and cared for, panic and unrest becomes palpable. Even if those in Terncliff got aid from others in Werlyt, they were farmers and fishmongers - few had ever involved themselves in conflict by choice.

And so it fell to the man who had seen his own children laid to rest. The man that had slaughtered nine throne usurpers. The man who had extended an olive branch on the Empire's behalf over a decade before and now resided, desolate and alone, at the outskirts of town, still trying to pull the gristly remains of his existence from the broken corpse the Empire had left behind.

He had led before. He would do it again - just once more.

In the ensuing conflict between Fimbulvetr and their cobbled together militia, Gaius cuts down yet another malady of nature. Their wounds weep blood-tinged ceruleum: flesh carves away to steel innards. They laugh. They laugh. They laugh, sick and familiar.

Until they don't, and it is just a boy begging as he had less than a handful of summers before: Don't hurt me. Don't hurt me. Please.

When Gaius awakes, the sky is blue and the moon is silver and full, shadowed by the sun. In the moment he had hesitated, a father looking at a son begging to be put out of his misery, the beast had lunged.

He is told the Warrior of Light appeared. He is told the machina melted into boy and then into soot and ash, that - finally, finally - nothing remained of the Weapons in the cliff side.

When he awakens, it is the middle of the night. Allie is asleep at his side. Severa and Valdeaulin are snoring in chairs brought from his sitting room. There are flowers on his kitchen table and meals in his Garlean icebox.

He is glad to be alive.

Once he recovers and is able to walk again, he adds the boys name to their memorial, etched below the name of his own children.

[tigersizedmonitorlizard]

Many people don't realize this, but a lot of things can be true at once. The sky is blue. Blue is relative term, and the sky only appears as such due to the scattering of particular wavelengths, and even then only sometimes. Blue is real and the sky isn't.

See? It's not difficult.

These were the thoughts crossing my mind as I stood in the museum lobby, patiently watching the comings and goings of all the days' attendees. It was friday, field trip day, my favorite of the week! It fascinated me so to see the human children, small and loud and squishy as they were. To think they became the lanky, well-upright things that escorted them around...I couldn't even imagine. It was just like the primate evolution diorama behind the ticket desk, only in hyperspeed.

A couple students stopped in front of me and ogled for a minute, then scampered back to their line without glancing at the plaque. This happened a lot. I liked to think about what my plaque looked like, especially when people came by and ignored it. I pictured it deep back with gold-etched letters, in some neat and legible script. Shiny, despite it all, enough to see oneself in the reflection. And descriptive! Oh, how descriptive it must be, because after all, there was so much to describe. But at the end of the day, I had never seen it, positioned as it in front of my feet.

The crowds thinned as the day waned, and I turned my mind back to the sky, visible in slivers through the atrium. Today it was the same shade as the fish printed on the map someone had dropped on the floor in front of me, although gradually darkening, as it always seemed to when the humans left for good. I wondered, in which direction did the influence run? Did it turn to night for their absence, or did they flee it? Whatever the answer, it was never shared in my earshot. I was simply left to wonder.

During the nighttime, it was always just myself and my security guard. She walked around a lot. Sometimes she sang. I didn't see her, or hear her, very often, but the museum was large and visitors were recommended to set aside three to four hours to see all the exhibits fully, so I understood.

During this nighttime, however, something was different. There was an intruder. I had heard twice the protocol for this, as it pertained to a visitor-heavy daytime, but never what to do if the museum was empty. Or, almost-empty. You understand.

The intruder didn't look human. Too tall. Too long. It paced outside the doors for a moment before seeming to commit, clawing through the glass like it was a well-worn map in a preschooler's hands. The noise was instant and shattering, and segued into the immediate screeching of an alarm, but the intruder didn't hesitate as it stooped through the doorframe and into the atrium.

"Hey, you!" My security guard had arrived and was shouting, from the very opposite side of the lobby. She held her walkie-talkie in such a way that I realized it could, in the darkness, appear to be the form of a weapon. I thought this was extremely clever, and made a note of the strategy for later.

Unfortunately, the intruder did not seem to be as impressed, as it only snarled and spat a little. It reminded me loosely of the ancient reptile statues I was fairly sure lived on the level above my head. Sometimes children carried very small and soft-looking versions of them, from the area they called a gift shop, and they tantalized me greatly. Did they have soft iterations of me? I had never seen any. But if not, why not? What would it take to merit such delightful imitation?

My security guard was backing away as the intruder got closer, predator-slow and breathing heavy. The claws on its hand-arms clicked against the tile floor with what I felt was an excess of melodrama, and it tail swayed hypnotically, oversized scales playing a soft clinking noise beneath the wailing alarm. It ignored my security guard's orders to stay back, to stay put until police arrived, to exit the costume. It just kept walking, and I could practically taste its sense of smug victory.

It broke into a run as my security guard turned to flee, and in the same instant, I heard the sound of dice clattering against tile. 9, said the voice behind my head that was also my own, mixed success.

You and the monster deal harm to each other.

I didn't hesitate. I exploded off the pedestal and into the intruder, ramming it into the self-serve ticket kiosk. The kiosk was smashed beyond repair; the intruder, unfortunately, was not. It hissed and lunged forward, slashing my sides with its claws and succeeding in piercing one of my shoulders entirely before I could bite the arm in question. The sensation was unpleasant and very much irksome. But, nevertheless, fixable.

Within seconds it had slid its claw back out and retreated a few feet, wary now. I was not a threat it had accounted for. I was not as helpless as my security guard who, I noted approvingly, was nowhere in sight. The intruder lunged for me again and this time I was ready, darting to its right and snapping my jaws where I expected its leg would be.

Success! My teeth sank easily through flesh and well into the bone, nearly meeting again in the middle, and the intruder screamed. Loud enough to drown out the still-ringing alarms, and to even obscure the sirens that I assumed were accompanying the flashing red and blue outside the shatttered doors. As the excitement wore down, I began to feel uncertain. This had been very spur-of-the-moment; I had attacked without thinking, already a horrible faux pas on my own part. Perhaps I had also made a grave miscalculation of intent on the intruder's part, and the entity I gripped did not deserve my wrath

[pardon me], I said aloud, teeth still firmly locked in the intruder's leg. [we may have gotten off on the wrong...foot...ah, if you can understand me, stay still. then i will let go and we can proceed with civility.]

The intruder snarled again and thrashed about trying to find purchase to further claw into my sides and tail, which I took as a reassuring "no". It was a crude miscalculation on its part, too, as the struggling nearly tore its own leg from my grasp. All at once I let go fully and then, before it could writhe too far away, lunged in to bite whatever I could reach. That turned out to be its flank; all meat, no bone. I ripped a gaping mouthful of muscle out of its side but it tore itself away and began to flee, limping rapidly towards the doors through which it had broken in.

The doors that were now, unfortunately for the both of us, filling with the silhouettes of police. The lobby was still dark, illuminated only by the car lights outside. I considered for a moment returning to my pedestal, resuming my pose, burying myself back within mundanity. But, no, wait. That wouldn't work. The syrupy, steaming pulp of the intruder that was still sludging out of my jaws wouldn't go unnoticed for long.

I knew what that meant, then. I needed to flee. The police were moving in, only occupied for now by the intruder having gotten its claws on a few of them. Still, I couldnt help but waver long enough to look at my plaque. That tantalizing mystery which had defined me for the years I'd stood. It had to be good. It had to be poetic. It had to speak to my grandiosity, elegance, power, poise.

It read, black letters on a white-beige backdrop, "'Steampunk Lizard' Donated 2008".

Well.

This sucked.

[andorerso]

Rebelcaptain Trees for @luciechat: Winter/Holiday AU (bonus oblivious pining and friends teasing them)

“Merry Christmas,” Jyn said, almost aggressively as she shoved the clumsily wrapped gift into his hands.

“Oh,” Cassian blinked clearly, a little taken aback by her defensive posture and wary gaze.

She just... she didn’t do gifts, okay? For so long, she had no one to celebrate things like birthdays or Christmases with, and now that she had a family she might call her own, everything was new and big and scary.

Did she overdo it? Was it too much? Too little? Was she supposed to leave it under the tree or give it to him directly? Maybe she should have just gotten a mug or something, or maybe she should have bought three more large packages to shove into his hands like in the movies. Never mind that she probably couldn’t afford that.

Or maybe he wasn’t the gifting type at all, and he was just going to stand there awkwardly because he hadn’t gotten her anything, and then he’d feel bad, which was the last thing she wanted. It was all so confusing; families should really come with a rulebook.

But deep down, she knew there was a bit more to this than inexperience. After all, she hadn’t felt so unsure when she gave Bodhi his gift. His eyes had lit up, a bright smile on his face, and he’d even politely asked her if he could hug her before pulling her into his arms. Then he’d produced his own package that was meant for her and excitedly watched as she tore the wrapping paper to reveal a brown leather jacket that incidentally ended up matching his gift for Cassian.

(Jyn gave him a look when she saw later, and he just shrugged innocently.

“You know Cassian loves jackets, and I thought it’d look good on you too,’ he said and she glowered. If this was what it was like to have a family, it was damn annoying.

She loved it.)

Chirrut gave her a dream journal, Baze gifted her new fingerless gloves (her old one was starting to wear away), and Kay bought her a book. Cooking for Dummies. Even his present was rude, but she loved it all the more for that because it was so essentially Kay.

Only Cassian was left.

She knew the nerves in her stomach were present now because it was Cassian. And the way she felt about him had always been a little... different.

Jyn watched with growing apprehension as he unwrapped his gift, far more carefully than she would have. She tried to ignore the stares of the others on the back of her head, wishing the peanut gallery would turn around and stop treating them like a free show. That was probably a bit harsh as she’d also watched them exchange their gifts, but she knew what they thought about the relationship between her and Cassian, had listened to their playful teasing remarks for hours on end, and she really didn’t need the audience or the smug smiles now when she was already on edge.

Cassian pulled out the red and white sweater she’d knitted him, letting it unfold as he lifted it for inspection. Jyn held her breath, resisting the urge to fidget with her hands. His face was indecipherable, or perhaps she was just too anxious to be able to properly read him now. Either way, the moments ticking by in silence felt like torture.

“I made it,” she explained when he still said nothing, a slight waver in her voice betraying her nerves, “like the others.”

Bodhi got gloves, Chirrut got a scarf, Baze got a hat, and Kay got socks.

Cassian got a sweater.

He finally took his gaze off the sweater to look at her, his eyes shining with an emotion she couldn’t name.

“You really made this?” he asked, something akin to awe in his voice.

“Well, I know how much you like jackets,” she fumbled to explain, “thought you might like a sweater.”

They were both outwear, were they not? It made sense to her in theory.

But maybe she’d miscalculated. Maybe it really was too much. A scarf would have been safer...

Before she could spiral too far, Cassian’s lips lifted into a rare and beautiful smile, and Jyn exhaled a sigh of relief. He was playing on her heartstrings, being as aloof and hard to read as he was. It was really unfair sometimes.

“It’s amazing. Thank you so much.”

“It’s not perfect but...” She hadn’t been knitting that long, and it was her first time trying for a sweater. It probably showed too, the patterns a little uneven and wonky, one sleeve a bit longer than the other, but it was the thought that counted, right?

“No, no, I love it. Seriously. It’s wonderful. I can’t wait to wear it.” He sounded earnest, so Jyn allowed a shy smile to grace her lips. She didn’t want to think about him wearing it, because the image might be a little too much for her poor heart. “I only feel bad now because my gift isn’t nearly as good,” he continued, somewhat sheepish.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, grateful to change the subject from her hand-knitted sweater. It felt too much like a confession, and she wasn’t prepared for that kind of vulnerability yet, especially not in front of everyone.

Cassian reached for a package, much smaller than her own, though that didn’t mean much. He didn’t quite meet her eyes as he handed it over, muttering a quiet “here” under his breath.

Clearly, she wasn’t the only one plagued by nerves. The thought made her a bit calmer.

Unwrapping her gift, Jyn came face to face with a small wooden box. She chanced another look at Cassian who nodded at her to continue, so she opened the lid and her eyes went wide.

Inside on a red velvet cushion lay a gorgeous wavy-edged dagger. Its hilt was golden, molded into the shape of tangling leaves, and held together by an exquisite green stone in the center. Jyn reached for it tentatively, almost reverently, like she was somehow afraid to taint it with her hands. As she lifted it up for closer inspection, the light reflected off the edges of the blade, razor-sharp. She hardly dared lift a single finger to press against it, hissing when it immediately drew blood.

“Careful,” Cassian frowned. He’d been watching her closely the whole time, his gaze burning on her skin. “The purpose of this gift is not to hurt someone with it.”

His words carried a hint of humor, though it was true. Her dagger collection was one of the only indulgences she’d ever allowed herself. It started out as a reward system when she thought she deserved it or a birthday present from herself when no one else was around to give her anything. But the collection grew over the years, and now she proudly displayed it in a glass case on the wall, one of the few precious belongings she had that was worth anything.

But this though... This was...

“This couldn’t have been cheap,” Jyn finally said when she found her voice.

Cassian shrugged, though it wasn’t as nonchalant as he wanted her to think. “I saw it in a window of a shop and couldn’t resist. I was looking for a gift for you anyway. Golden opportunity.”

“Well, I...” Jyn looked down at the dagger she was still clutching, at a loss for words. Which wasn’t unusual for her anyway, but now she really had no idea how to tell him how much this meant to her.

Carefully placing the dagger back in its box, she closed the lid and finally raised her gaze back to Cassian. For a moment, she just looked at him. This complicated, messy, unrelenting, passionate, wonderful man who’d come into her life so suddenly and shaken her to her marrow.

She wondered if he even knew. The impact he had on her.

“Thank you,” she said at last. It didn’t seem enough, but it was the only thing she had, and she hoped her tone, her expression, her smile conveyed what her words could not.

It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.

Cassian returned her smile, his voice as soft as she’d ever heard it. “You’re welcome.”

I feel the same.

(“He was lying, you know,” Kay said to her later when they found themselves alone for a second.

Jyn frowned at him, unsure what he was talking about. “Who?”

“He did not see it in a window.” Kay rolled his eyes like the mere thought was ridiculous. “He specifically went out of his way to look for it.”

“That’s — I —” Jyn spluttered like she’d been stabbed, unable to comprehend.

Kay went on, unbothered, delivering the killing blow. “He said the stone reminded him of your eyes.”

Cassian was going to kill Kay, that was for sure. But not before she killed him for lying to her.

Just after she kissed him senseless, of course.)

[atopvisenyashill]

Fancasts From Atop Visenya’s Hill

-> Patricia Velasquez as Lady Sybell Spicer

[Gawen’s] wife is Sybell Spicer...Lady Sybell's grandfather was a trader in saffron and pepper, almost as lowborn as that smuggler Stannis keeps. And the grandmother was some woman he'd brought back from the east. A frightening old crone, supposed to be a priestess.

[pasta-pardner]

spotify | the tragedy of the gunslinger: chronicled through rock, alt country, and heavy metal.

[softquietsteadylove]

Hiiiii could I ask a fic of a ghost face fic with the eternals I loved Scream and I would die to read Thena and Gil in a situation or a storyline like that!🥹😍🖤🖤🖤

(Happy birthday my dear, sweet @dalhia28! You have been such a supporter of mine from the beginning and I am always happy to see you around)

"Sersi," Thena hissed at her, gripping the Elemental Eternal's shoulders as she cried, "there's no time for that."

"Thena," Sersi sniffled, reeling from the idea that not only was their reunion with their family a stage for Ikaris' betrayal of them, but now he was picking them off one by one. "I-I can't-"

"You can," Thena said more resolutely than she could really feel at this time. But they didn't have the luxury of time--not to grieve for Ajak, or Sprite, or Kingo. "We have to."

Thena pulled Sersi to her feet. The statue of Arishem was too open an area. Ikaris could be silently floating around anywhere in the labyrinthine ship. They were at a disadvantage being split up from one another.

She had to find Gilgamesh.

They were all scattered around the ship while they were conceiving their plan. Thinking about it now, perhaps that too was part of Ikaris' plan. Maybe all this time he had been watching them like a predator, thinking to himself how weak his family was and how easy it would be to hunt them just like Deviants.

Thena kept Sersi close to her, her shield in front of them and her blade in her hand. It would be held aloft, ready to be swung. But Sersi was clinging to her hand like a trembling child.

She couldn't be angry with her--the poor thing had watched the man she loved - her ex-husband - shoot down their own right in front of them. He had told them himself of the murder of their leader and 'mother' by his own hand.

No one would blame Sersi for her tears.

Thena stopped, pressing Sersi's back to the wall with her. The corridors of the Domo were narrow, barely wide enough for two people.

Ikaris passed by.

He never was the best hunter of them. His vision was good, but he was too arrogant to make full use of his hearing, the way they were all able to feel the air bend around them.

Thena squeezed her eyes shut as the air compression and sound of Ikaris firing his lasers sounded one hallway away. The wall he was aiming at clearly relented against the force. Sersi flinched.

"Come on out," his accent drawled as he floated through the new door he had made for himself. He was moving away from them, but it was undeniable that the echo of his sinister tone felt right on top of them. "I'll make it quick, love. For old time's sake."

What a wretched man he was. The Soldier Eternal no longer, nor even an Eternal brother, now he was just Arishem's little murderer.

Thena brought Sersi with her by the hand, although she was highly aware of the sounds Sersi made when she moved. Her clothes made sound, her shoes did (Thena was still barefoot), she wore a pendant that dangled loosely around her.

She still had to find Gilgamesh.

He was somewhere deeper in the ship, healing from the fight in the Amazon. She had to get to him before Ikaris did. If he was able to be woken from his healing, perhaps he could even help them try to move the rest of them to the healing bay. At the very least, their bodies.

Thena paused at every corner, listening for every wisp of air, every moan of the Domo's metal body, every possible sign of movement. She nodded to Sersi.

Sersi's tears were dried, which was already admirable. Sersi was always the one with the most human heart, but it couldn't be said that she was weak in any way. If anything, how human she could be at times was something that made her stronger than most, Thena would say.

Thena nodded her head, telling Sersi to find refuge in Phastos' lab, just outside the healing bay with his equipment. She might find refuge in the greentank, which could offer organic material for her to connect to (it might calm her to be around material she couldn't transmute).

The healing pods were humming, one in particular engaged and glowing gently. Thena dispelled her Cosmic Energy into the air, walking over to it.

Her sweet Gilgamesh.

He had nearly given his life to save her in the rain forest. She would have done the same for him, of course, but it didn't make watching it any easier. And here they thought their worries were over after killing that monstrosity.

The monstrosity they had thought killed Ajak.

Thena knelt down to the pod, tilting her head at the image of him. His face was so still. The lights blaring on his face in the echochamber gave distinct lines and bends to his face. She raised her hand slowly, her fingers nearly trembling at the tips.

Her hand went right through him.

"Thena!"

"Gil!"

Of course. Of course he hadn't been able to kill them all going so undetected. Not even Ikaris could be in two places at once. They had seen him shoot Kingo, and then found Sprite's body, seeing the blood. But seeing meant little when it came to the Illusionist Eternal.

"Easy, Thena," Ikaris muttered, his arms locked around her head and his elbow driven into her. "You know very well not even your thick skull can withstand me at point blank range."

Gilgamesh knew it too, revealed from under Sprite's shroud with a knife to his throat. They were each other's insurance policy--Gil and Thena would never do anything to endanger one another.

Ikaris had always been behind Thena, his eyes focused on her. Sprite had rushed right to the healing bay and woken Gilgamesh with the knife ready, telling him that if he made one wrong move, they would toss Thena's body at his feet.

The perfect hostages.

"Gil," Thena managed to squeak out as Ikaris held her head. If she were human her neck would have already snapped. She could feel the heat building in his eyes against her hair.

"Please," Gil whimpered. He was softer than she was--he had no problem begging and pleading with their assailants for her life. "Let her go. I'll help you."

"Shut up," Sprite's once light and lyrical voice barked at him. "We don't need your help--we don't need anyone!"

Oh, Sprite, of course. Kingo had been right, in his oddly perceptive way of seeing the world through his own lens. Sprite, the unseen and even worse the unacknowledged.

"Tell us where the point of emergence is," Ikaris directed Thena, his eyes both on the back of her head and on Gil and Sprite by the door. "I don't care who. You tell us, we'll spare the other one."

"Thena!"

"Don't move!"

Thena's ear was ringing after Ikaris shouting in it. But Ikaris' lasers were far too deadly, and even with too many targets to look at, it would take a fraction of a second for him to kill all of them.

"Not a muscle," Ikaris glared at Sersi, completing the triangle between Ikaris holding Thena and Sprite blocking off Gilgamesh. She held her hands out, having skidded to a halt at the sight of that familiar and menacing glow. "Or I'll fire straight through both of 'em in one shot."

He could, and they all knew he was capable of it.

Thena's mind raced. They were limited on options. Ikaris wanted the point of emergence, and killing them was merely...a series of steps for him. She could tell him, doom humanity, and for all she knew, still not see Gilgamesh's life spared. The same could be said if he bent first.

"Please," Sersi whispered. Her tears returned. "Please don't do this."

She looked at Ikaris, who had far too many balls in the air. His stance kept shifting as he held Thena's head tight. His eyes cooled slightly, "just tell us, Sersi. Just...you could come with us."

Sersi shook her head faintly, baffled and probably disgusted that he would ask that.

"No, she can't!"

Thena moved her eyes from Gil's teary ones to Sprite's suddenly enraged expression. This could work.

"You said it was just gonna be us!" the small Eternal spat, although rather than point at Ikaris in her rage her hand twitched, jabbing Gil in the neck just a little harder.

Thena flinched but Ikaris' grip held strong as well.

"Sprite," he growled at her.

"No! No, you said Sersi wasn't coming with us!" Sprite continued in her accusations. She glared at her sister, "you're ruining this!"

Sprite was just as old as the rest of them, and yet she really could embody that youth that kept her mind tireless and which Ajak had adored so.

"Sprite!" Ikaris repeated. Things were unravelling, "keep it together!"

"No, you said-!" Sprite whirled around at her partner in crime--the love she had who convinced her to turn on their family. She pointed the knife at him.

Thena let her knees go, dropping from Ikari's hold rather than wrestling free. She slipped away. Gil launched forward knocking Sprite's hand out of his way.

Ikaris fired but Gil called his exoskeleton over him, the same way Thena could hold a shield. He landed a punch to his face, shattering bone the way a bullet would.

"Sersi!" Thena called out, but Sprite was already lunging at her.

Sersi moved instinctively. Her body was designed to recognise the makeup of any material it touched--to react and reformat it. Her hand came up to block the knife, but all it did was fade to water and splash onto the floor around them and into their clothes.

"You bitch!" Sprite raged at her. She'd had enough.

Sersi pressed her palm to Sprite's soaked shirt. She could turn steel to water, why not water back into steel?

Sprite's body jerked as the water collected and, while not much, reformed a blade within her skin. She choked on the air in her throat, "S-Ser..."

The Alchemist scrambled back from what she had done. She looked from the bloodied body of their sister to Ikaris, whose head was half caved in from taking a direct hit from the Strongest Eternal. She looked away.

Thena and Sersi helped each other stand. Gilgamesh came over, bending over their smaller frames and placing his hands gently on their shoulders. The night was over.

"I-I can't-" Sersi shook her head, looking at the body of Sprite splayed on the floor, eerily similar to the staging of earlier. "I didn't-"

"No one did," Thena finished for her, pulling her sister's head closer to her. No one saw their betrayal coming, and no one wanted things to turn out like this, either. No one thought they could kill their own family.

Sprite sprang up.

Gilgamesh pulled them back, Sersi held her hands up and Thena materialised her shield. It happened in two seconds. But a glow of gold flew through the air, clean through the smallest Eternal's body from behind.

Kingo gripped the door frame, his shooting hand dropping heavily as his side continued to bleed from Ikaris' earlier inflicted wound. He looked at what remained of his family, "rough night, huh?"

[cosmicheartz]

psst any cotl fans wanna hear my hc that i think most civilization outside of the lands of the old faith is relatively advanced ( think like 1910s-1920s during postgame and during the events of the game mid/late 1800s to early 1900s )

[somelazyassartist]

Oh shit I've been out of the TAZ loop for MAYBE two weeks bc I've been temporarily focusing on Dungeon Meshi and in that time nobody told me TAZ Live! in Seattle came out????

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

doctor who not on torrent site yet catastrope

[existencebringsonlypain]

Steve is a cryptid

[bijoumikhawal]

Elim Garak 🤝 Hua Cheng

You are really lucky the guy you like is as weird as you are and into the shit that you do, because goodness gracious