#the third and the mortal

[zoeflake]

3rd and The Mortal - Shaman ᴴᴰ

[lesdeuxmuses]

The Third And The Mortal - Memoirs (Indie Recordings, 2021)

[myykster]

I can never draw them being serious I’m srry

[synthwayve]

Sometimes I think about how nobody says Micolash’s name out loud in game

[ironladders]

yeah

[carelessflower]

do you think the reason alec was so frustrated and acted irrationally when magnus dodged or refused to tell him anything about his past or more about him is because it reminded alec of how his parents would treat him. close, there’s a special bond there for sure, but he was always in the dark, depending on any scraps they feel pity enough for him. needed to not ask question, to go out of the line, to simply act like everything was fine. and because magnus was nothing like maryse and robert, didn’t reprimand alec for his irritation, his anger, alec wanted to push and push, to see how far the limit stretch, until everything was out of his control

[soath]

The thing about Bells Hells is that asking their opinion on anything is like setting up a political survey at a rave under a bridge or in some sort of especially niche genre specific goth club or backstage at an off-off Broadway conceptual show; you’re going to get really interesting answers! They are not going to be representative of the general population in the slightest. There is a faction of people who think we need to solve this by introducing one Designated Average Relationship With The Universe Dave to the polling sample, ruining their beautiful natural diversity of guys-who-could-be-in-the-musical-RENT. To which the wise man says: “Never!” This is the little freaks with half baked philosophies and unresolved personal issues party. More pressingly, it has been noted that Bells Hells doesn’t seem to realize that their relationship with power writ large is bafflingly different from the average Exandrian. This is an problem, but it’s one that could be in-character, one more extension of an admirable commitment to trauma-informed alarming theological opinions.

[kaleidoru]

i'm feeling sad, so i redesigned an oc i never got to use from 2011

[mr-eatyourheart]

It'd be funny if Tarkat!Johnny acted how Mileena does when she's feral. Which is..mastering saying words that can mean both sexual and cannibalistic things.

Johnny: "I would love to lick you off my fingers, pretty boy! Let me have a taste"

Kenshi: "..."

Kung Lao: "Gross...Kenshi?"

Kenshi: "...🤔"

Kung Lao: "KENSHI?!"

[vsm4k]

I miss them 😔💔

[rotationalsymmetry]

Imagine being Orion in A Deadly Education.

People are mostly not that interesting to you. They don't like you so much as they like what you can do. Maybe at some point you tried to really connect with someone, and it didn't go that well, so you didn't keep trying. Fighting mals though? You're good at that. It makes sense to you, unlike most of the things people do. It's rewarding -- intrinsically rewarding -- and people seem to be happy that you're doing it? Because they don't like doing it but it benefits them. So, basically no downside.

And you go off to school and it's full of mals, and people think you're great because you fight the mals, and you ignore them as best you can when you're not fighting mals for them. (You're polite, your mother always wanted you to be polite and you don't want people to be mad at you. But you don't do anything beyond being polite.) And people seem to think you're doing a good thing. So. It's ok. It's good enough. The world makes sense, more or less. This is what you're for.

And one day you see a soul eater go under another student's door, and you destroy it like you always do. Except this person is mad at you. Which makes no sense. No one's ever been mad at you before, not for fighting mals. So apparently you did something wrong even though you only did what you always do which has always been right before. But you guess you should probably make it up to her? So when she says she needs to go to the shop at dinner you offer to go with her, why not?

Except somehow she's mad at you again. So you have to make it up to her even more now, you guess?

(You don't like it when people are mad at you, but you know what to do when people are mad at you. You Make It Up To Them, usually by doing whatever they tell you to or fighting a mal or both, and then they stop being mad at you. You prefer to understand why they are mad at you, but most of the time it makes no sense, and you know what to do when it makes no sense to you why someone is mad at you.)

So you guard her door while she fixes it. Which takes her a weirdly long time. You've just taken down several mimics, you're bursting with mana, you'd give her some if she asked. Mana has never been a scarce resource for you; on some level it hasn't really occurred to you that it could be a scarce resource for anyone else. People aren't that interesting to you, you don't think about them much, except when someone tells you to, like your mother making you do flash cards of other kids' names. But she doesn't ask, and she doesn't cheat either, she does things the long and hard way, which makes a third thing all coming from the same person that doesn't mesh with your pre-existing worldview. She's fascinating.

And then she pulls on your mana like it's nothing and she's even more fascinating. How did she do that? Is she a malificer? (Is that why she keeps being so mean to you, when nobody is ever mean to you?) What's going on?

And you've never voluntarily fought alongside anyone else before, but she's good to fight with. She's annoying, but she does also point out things you missed or didn't know.

And she stands up for you, in a way that nobody has ever stood up for you before. She's not nice. She's the opposite of nice. But it's starting to dawn on you that being nice is not the same as something else that seems like it should go with being nice. And if El is not nice to you but is that other thing, maybe some other people who are nice to you are...not that other thing to you?

It's a lot to think about.

Anyways. You like her. You're not very interested in people. But you are interested in El.

And then you have the best day of your life, when you've gotten to take on more mals and scarier mals than you've ever taken on before, and you did it and you were good at it, and you kind of didn't want to leave but you were supposed to leave because that was how the Mission worked, and then you were about to die because you missed the bell and the cleansing fires had started and there was nowhere to go, but at least you were going to die next to El.

But she didn't think she was going to die, and she cast a wall of mortal flame (who does that?) and it worked as a firebreak and you didn't die and no one had ever saved you before. That wasn't how the world worked. Who was this person who kept breaking the rules of how the world worked like they didn't even apply to her?

(And then you look around and she isn't there and you kissed her earlier when you thought you were both going to die, and she, uh, didn't react well and oh no, what if you've ruined everything what if you like her but she doesn't like you like that what if she won't want to be around you any more? What if the one interesting person in the entire world doesn't think you are interesting?) (it'd be ok, right? It was ok before.) (it wouldn't be ok. So maybe it wasn't ok before either.)

[lesdeuxmuses]

The Third And The Mortal - EP's And Rarities (Indie Recordings, 2021)

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

[swordblade]

The face card is insane...

[yougyattabekidding]

I don’t think Johnny likes weed pou

[guardianofthedawn]

Kenshi: *dumb* I like your eyes.

Johnny Cage: *also dumb* Thanks, I need them to see.

Sento: *dumbfounded* …are you sure you wish to choose this one?