#viewed ooc -

[penofdamocles]

~ a kiss that tastes like sugar and soul ~

((here's that physical affection mads mentioned getting! he's too nervous to post a photo of a kiss but they're very cute and i'm proud of this piece so i'm posting it anyways. he's getting smoochy with @cookiietiime and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future :^)

[seashaper]

Their Worst Mistake.

It’s peaceful. They’ve been happy, lately, and with far fewer negative thoughts on their mind, Madison Rook feels very calm in their serene setting of choice. The few inches of water layering the ground of their floating island world (Laminar, Mads had called it? Sure, that works.) soak into their skirt as they sit crosslegged in the motionless sea, under the glittering night sky and drifting islands far above. The silence and stillness around them allows them to focus on the water, mirrorlike so long as they don’t move a muscle, cold against their skin. It’s 2 hours into this quiet, extended half-meditation when they close their eyes, sinking deeper into this peaceful trance..and feel a ripple. The water moves, somewhere distant but not too far, and as the displacement moves the water from there to here, Rook immediately pinpoints the direction it had come from, and stands up to move closer. The disturbed water disrupts their trail, and sort of gives them away, but in this wide, open space, it isn’t like the visitor can hide. Their first thought is Patches, bubbling rage rising in their throat at the thought of her uninvited presence before they swallow it down. No, she would know better by now. Their friends would have asked first, Jake can’t get down here..there’s only one other person who would wander this empty sea alone.

The ripples stop, for a moment they think the visitor might have left, but then Madison Rook sees a winged figure not far off in the distance..and they see a black, spreading stain, swirling in the water they shift with their movement. They recognize it instantly. Blood. Their blood. ..His blood. They sigh, and the concern lessens, he’s probably just here to do the awful thing they both do from time to time, and they don’t want to be near him like that..but then, they look up. The figure is gone. The ripples spread out from the edge of a deep body of water.

Madison Rook stands in the shallow water, watching the drifting, inky blood, and rolls their eyes, exasperated with the angel’s disappearance. He must’ve seen them, and left out of shame. That’s fine. It’s not like they could’ve helped, anyways; neither of them could really be helped, at times like that. It’s best to let Mads Altair work through it alone and move on. He’ll bleed, he’ll go down, he’ll wake up, head home, and hug Bo for a while, but in the end, in the morning, he’ll be mostly fine. As fine as he ever can be, when he does that to himself. Not that they can judge him, but even without judgment Rook can still feel bitterness toward their copy. Everyone knows he does it. It hurts their friends to know. Every time, every sinking blade, it hurts their friends who wish he didn’t, and although they still can’t help but do the same, Rook hates him, in the moment, for causing even more pain. Right. He can deal with his self-destructive actions on his own. Rook turns on their heel, unfolds their starry wings, and flies up and away, to continue their peaceful moment in cleaner waters.

**************

It’s only a day before someone asks where Mads is, but 2 before he’s actively sought out. Hinata teleports to find him..and arrives at the angel’s infinite pile of swords. Imbued with his power, regenerating and eternal as he was, they’re all that’s left. His friends struggle to confirm his death, abduction, or active isolation, but Rook watches the people they love search desperately for the *real* Mads in a haze. They think they know, but they don’t want to be sure. Recalling the moment, the when and how, the sorcerer can deduce exactly how Madison Altair would’ve done it. How long it would’ve taken. How far, far too late it already is. What they saw in the endless shallow sea isn’t something they can admit to their friends without being thoroughly confident in what it means. They try to convince themselves they’re wrong, maybe something had happened after that, maybe S had gotten him, they couldn’t have been the last person to ever see him above water, but no other direction bears fruit when explored, and eventually, Madison Rook breaks down, no options left but to admit what they’d witnessed and accept what it means.

Madison Altair had finally managed to disappear forever.

Everything shatters. Rook had seen their friends respond before to their own death, and they had been guaranteed to come back. The weight is so much more immense, this time. The tiefling doesn’t know what to say, what to do, how to help, they try to at least provide company but Madison Rook can tell that their friends, especially the ones who blame themselves for Madison Altair’s last resort, can see, in his duplicate, the same heavy heart and dark desires that dragged him down, and worse, the same face as someone beloved whom they will never meet again. 

All the while, Rook is numbly in shock at the sudden hollowness in their life. They had accepted leaving themselves behind, when they changed, because Mads still held the role they wanted to play, Mads kept everything they threw away, they held relief that their changes wouldn’t erase who they were. But he’s gone, now. All the light and color they’d grown used to seeing in the corner of their vision while they sulked, cuddled, and did spellwork is gone, the castle left in greyscale. With his absence, Rook no longer feels welcome; they’re just a ghost. A reminder. They take their things to the other castle, the simulation they’d awoken within, empty, silent, and unreal. Just like them. That’s where they belong. There are so many silent days and nights spent huddled alone in their closet, weeping for the pain they couldn’t prevent, for the theoretically endless life they’d watched suddenly vanish, for their deep, endless loneliness.

There’s a horrible distance from themselves when watching their friends mourn Mads, everything he was, gone forever, no trace, nothing to regenerate or hold or bury, not even an entire other person who shares his heart and soul. They may as well be dead too, as much of who they are is grieved as fully lost. Mikael tries to reach out, he always does, but they can’t stand to try and take his brother’s place, when they’re just a poor copy, a faded shadow, a disappointment to the man they were long ago, who didn’t even try to save a very important life. They know everyone knows that they didn’t even try. It’s their fault, and even if no one says it, everyone knows, especially Rook. They may as well have killed him themselves. Their sin haunts them, and they can’t escape it, no matter how much ‘blood’, fake twice over, worthless and disgusting, is spilled. Alone, useless, and changed, reset and altered so many times over, with no one to know or care what parts of themselves are destroyed and remade by their violent desperation, Rook struggles to recognize themselves. Maybe that’s better. Maybe their friends will take them back now that they’re nothing like Mads, and their presence won’t cause everyone to hurt. It doesn’t matter if they would. Rook doesn’t remember being wanted anymore.

Interspersed through the 3 months leading up to this are strange moments. Out-of-place recognition, the strongest deja vu they’d ever felt, a sense of deep loss for something they’re mostly sure they never had, usually a piece of magic they feel should be there but isn’t. Worse than that, they relive scenes they don’t know, triggers of memories they can’t recognize but feel the pain of all the same. Their magic, in general, feels wrong, throughout, but they attribute that to a disconnect with its source, a punishment from the sea for letting their other self drown. If anyone could have saved him, it was them. Even the ocean knows that Rook failed everyone. They almost let it take them, they would deserve it, wouldn’t they? But it’s truly impossible. The water won’t fill their lungs; the ocean’s hatred is only in their mind. Or maybe it isn’t. Either way, It provides no escape. But Rook doesn’t try that too hard. A sense of doubt keeps them going. Through their spiraling descent, their isolation and pain, something feels deeply wrong. It feels as if their mind is being partially suppressed, their thoughts dulled, despite them being seemingly as messy and stumbling as they always were. At first that sense makes everything worse, but as they reset and change, it remains, and they start to grow suspicious. Something in them is smarter than this. Despite how foolishly lost and destroyed they feel, how broken they know they are, something just under the surface is analyzing this period past the filter of strong emotion, and what the strange moments mean.

One day, everything clicks. Madison Rook doesn’t call themselves that anymore, Madison is dead, they have no right to the name– and they barely resemble him now, anyways. They stare in the mirror, using their magic to change, recreating forms they barely recall through their resets in a vain and listless attempt to reignite their sense of self. Running out of ideas, on an instinct, they grow their hair long, change the shape of their body and face, just so, a far different change than those they’d been through in this version of their lifetime..and recognize themselves instantly. This unfamiliar familiar face, the realest version of them they’d never seen before. They don’t understand how they know it, until they do. The scattered, half-ignored pieces come together, flashes of pain they shouldn’t know, their strange, missing magic, the behavior of their friends..so dim in their mind now, but it was strange, wasn’t it? Would their friends and partners really abandon them like that? It doesn’t seem right, now. None of this seems right, except for the face in the mirror. The longer they stare, the closer they lean, the harder the tiefling thinks, the more the cracks show, literally, until the locks around their mind, enhanced through magic and hours more of study than they should have at this moment, fall free, and they realize. There is no world where any of this should happen. They know a better life than this, they know themselves too well for this hollow, shapeless feeling to exist. It shouldn’t. Nothing should be this way. How is it supposed to be?

They remember. 

Madison Rook is supposed to be saving someone, right now. Someone deeply important to them, abducted and afraid, and they’ve spent- months? Moments? Too much time suffering alone, pain they’ll never be able to unlive, but maybe it’s not too late. There must be a way out. They can see the flaws in this reality, now, the cracks spread across the mirror, and, dropping this form, leaning back to get momentum, Rook slams their horns into the glass; everything shatters, the simulation-within-a-simulation bathroom falling to pieces around them, leaving them in a void, until it fades into another, less personal setting. Now in their more human-passing form, Rook stands with their eyes closed, processing the information that’s come rushing back to them, and pushing out of the empty place they’d just been in, suppressing that void, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t true, Madison Ruarc is fine and so are they, or at least they will be, for now, until their important task is done. It’s suppressed, they’re present, and they take a deep breath, straighten up, and dramatically billow their cloak just to feel a little more like their badass self.

Now to go find their friends.

[learningeye]

> Perceive a Deity.

Madison Aurel, newly ascended god of second chances, chops ingredients in the kitchen of Season's Harbor, increasingly uncomfortable as he feels a pair of green eyes burning reverant holes in his back. His wings are out of the way; they don't seem to fold up like an angel's do, but it's His form, and He can control it, so for the time being he looks rather mortal in the thus uncramped kitchen. Only a few differences remain to differentiate from normal, and yet they still fixate on him like the second sun in the sky. Thankfully, Mads still can't sweat, so his awkwardness doesn't show, and his beautiful golden hand pauses with the knife as he picks up and drops a handful of chopped-up licorice into a sizzling pan of various materials being heated on the electric stove. 

“What did you add this time?”

Sarandiel speaks up from their perch on the counter across the room, tucked under the cabinets where they hold Violet and Mafdet cradled in their arms while they watch the new god cooking his monstrosity. There would be a smell of burning sugar in the air among the scents of the pan's contents if Mads Aurel hadn't concealed it with an alternative pleasant citrusy scent, a little flex of some slight temporal influence; a peek into the past half hour when he had made something entirely different involving grapefruit and orange zest. 

Madison Aurel adjusts the handle of the pan and picks up a half-empty package of off-brand red vines to show them without turning around. “Licorice. Thought it might be an interesting overtone to the spearmint toothpaste.“

That answer is met only with pondering silence. The little mortal certainly isn't judging or questioning him, rather, working to understand His holy blueprints for this alchemical creation. 6 ingredients in and they're still mostly lost, really. ...They might need a hint.

”My Uncle, what are your intentions in this activity? Are you going to test the limitations of your potentially altered method of consumption?“

Mads pauses for a second in thought, putting down the knife. ”I hadn't thought of that, actually, but this /would/ be a good chance to test that stuff, too, for sure. Nah, kid, not yet anyways, right now I'm just trying to make a mistake.“

”A mistake...?“ Sarandiel tilts their head, Mafdet batting at a curl as it dangles within her reach. ”Can a decision be considered a mistake if it is acknowledged as a mistake and purposefully chosen for that outcome being subjective success?“

A laugh with a light in it that warms the soul bubbles up and continues as the deity turns with shaking shoulders to lean his elbows on the counter and face his human onlooker. He grins, reaching into the bag of licorice he's still holding for a piece of candy.

“It /absolutely/ can, I know this because I've made a billion mistakes like that in my life and every single one was still a varyingly stupid and incorrect course of action despite, or partially because of, the fact that I was fully aware of how bad an idea it all was. A mistake's a mistake, even if made with confidence. And I can help fix those mistakes now. Like this 1.”

Madison Aurel drops the piece of licorice on the floor. They both watch it fall, and stare in silence for several seconds.

“5 second rule. Guess I fucked up. Maybe I should try again..” 

Grinning wider, Mads raises a hand and twirls 2 fingers counter-clockwise; nothing else had changed, but in an instant the licorice is back in his hand, fresh out of the bag.

Sarandiel blinks hard, mentally jarred by what felt like a sudden jump backward in their awareness of time. A few seconds lost, but it still feels accurate, and that particular instinct has literally never been wrong. Their bright eyes widen, a soft gasp expressing their awe at His power. 

“That is far greater than your previous manipulation of time, a firm and careful grasp of the timeline in which you dwell... You truly have gained godly ability, my Uncle.”

“Thanks, I noticed,” Mads chuckles, putting the un-dropped licorice in his mouth and turning back to the stove. ”That's barely anything, though. I'm going to make this mistake, it won't work, and then I'm going to try again. Keeping a few ingredients with each batch that work, switching things up, I'll probably make more mistakes but that's the point, and when I'm done and I finally have something I'm satisfied with, I'll have only spent half an hour cooking, and only used the ingredients once. I might be wrong on the first part since this is Nata's timeline, specifically, she's probably got a handle on keeping that linear, but maybe I'll ask if she'll let me fuck around with it. I have ideas, I have high hopes, I have full confidence in my abilities, this is amazing actually.“

The counter-huddled human nods throughout, acknowledgement, understanding, and finally agreement with His assessment. “It is certainly quite marvelous to perceive. May I ask a question, my Uncle?”

“With how many questions you ask, kid, I think it's probably more time efficient if you don't check in every time, the answer's probably gonna be yes. What's up?”

“Do you believe prayer or worship would benefit you in any way? I have established these preferences firmly with Mother, but it is your final word in all matters regarding enacted devotion to you.“

Flinching, he taps the spatula in his hand against the edge of the pan a few nervous times. ”That's..not necessary, really, we're already on normal person equal terms, let's stick with that.“

”Are you certain? Perhaps there is an unknown part of your nature that requires such religious acknowledgement.“

”..I mean. I'm not, that's fair, but I guess you can test it real quick. Um..go ahead and try to pray to me, I guess. Silently. And don't project it at me yourself, I'll know if you do.“

They nod, and press their hands together, closing their eyes in a long-practiced gesture. Mafdet rubs her head on Sarandiel's freckled knuckles as they chant their dedication in their head.

Mads sets the spatula down hard when he hears a surprisingly clear voice in the back of his head, having genuinely expected nothing; it's not like S ever heard any prayers.

(My Uncle who art before me, I come before you in humble gratitude of your allowance and support of my reputational redemption, and for permitting my presence in order to enact this overwriting of established associations initially, despite the discomfort endured for my sake. Thou art a compassionate god.)

To his surprise, the new god genuinely feels as if he grows as a being, the slightest bit, upon receiving the sincere gratitude for Mads' previous enactment of his current domain. The compliment just makes him feel nice, and he smiles softly, though still unsure whether to discourage this or not.

“So, I /did/ get your prayer, interestingly, and it helped a bit, but you really don't have to do that on a regular basis, that was the only thing I've done to help you in my specifically relevant way, anyways. I'm just Mads Aurel, still. But let me know that way if you need anything fixed, that's a neat option. Anything at all, I can say that literally now, heheh.”

Raising their eyes, Sarandiel nods further, though distracted by the surge of joy they feel at being the first mortal to successfully pray to this new god. There has always been such a deep sense of comfort to having a deity all to themselves. “I will do so if necessary, and restrain from expressing such contact if not so. May I bring offerings, at least?”

Who is Mads to say no to sincere teenager offering him the handmade, passionate gifts he's familiar with them 'offering' to Nata? They always seem to make the kid so happy to present and receive praise for. ”Sure, Andy. Don't go wild with it, but I'll give you a favor back for every offering, okay? That's how I'm gonna do this, in general. I'll never pass up a chance to bring more joy to someone who's already grateful for me and my efforts. It just makes sense. Probably less of that for people giving me stuff with no motivation beyond getting, though.“

”I gladly accept this newly established statute of worship. You are quite generous, and I am certain that all you bestow your blessing of opportunity upon will also deeply appreciate your gifts.“

”Well, thanks, I sure hope so. I want to be a well-liked god, at least.“

For a few more minutes, Mads Aurel quietly continues his concoction, and Sarandiel pets their kitten and dragon, until Mads hears their voice in that same place in his head. 

(My Uncle, may I humbly request a pause in your experimentation to potentially receive a physical embrace?)

He laughs quietly to himself and puts down his tools again to turn and cross the kitchen. Sarandiel unfolds, gently setting their kitten and plush toy on the counter before climbing down and wrapping their arms around Mads, face disappearing behind curls and His ribcage. They can feel Mads' vast, beating pulse in His soul, the perpetual life expression of a conceptual being far beyond their imagination. He's also very warm, and they feel particularly safe, like there could only ever be a happy ending while he's here.

The god holds his little relative back, deciding quite firmly the same expression of safety they feel the other side of. They /will/ only have a happy ending. He may be undoing harmful mistakes for those he helps, but for those immediately around him, Madison Aurel is going to make sure no one gets hurt in the first place. He finally has the power to do so, and then some, and that inherent objective knowledge makes the aching weight of failure fade into long-dismissed memory. He's going to be the best god he can be in the next 4 days; for the people he wants to help, and just as importantly, for himself, he swears in the conscious depths of an endless soul, with all the power behind that silent oath as a god this righteous can imbue.

[bustedgps]

First Encounters

(Part 1)

Fifteen-year-old Jacob Park sits at the top of the fence, reaching a hand down to his younger brother Eric to help him climb over, their older brother Ken waiting on the other side below them. The brothers were on summer break, Eric having just come home from his first year of college across the country, and with their parents out of town the three of them decided a camping trip was in order, like old times. So they drove the couple hours out into the middle of nowhere past some old middle of nowhere mountain towns until they found what they were looking for. Nice woods, tucked away in cascade foothills, and the ancient “NO TRESPASSING” sign on the fence may as well have been a formal invitation. The sun was just dipping below the tops of the trees as Eric dropped to the ground on the interior of the fence, with Jake following shortly after.

“Alright, you two.” Ken puts his hands together and looks at his younger brothers. “Stick close to me. We find a spot to settle in, and bed down for the night. No wandering off out of earshot, no climbing things that aren’t meant to be climbed.” He gives a pointed glance to Jake. “I don’t want anyone getting h- are you even listening?”

Jake wasn’t, he was already wandering ahead. “Yeah yeah, stay close and all that. Come on, we’ve gotta beat it before it gets dark!”

Ken groans, shaking his head and adjusting his pack on his shoulders, following behind as Eric takes off after Jake. This was going to be a long night.

—

Dark set in quicker than the boys expected. Shadows loom over them with a heavy hush, the trio much closer together than when they started off. Eric scans the trees above them, receiving a weird look from his oldest brother.

“Eric, what are you doing?”

“Looking for bats.”

“Well, stop it, we need to see where we’re going.”

“Let the kid live,” Jake says, “Bats are cool.”

As the older two argue over bats, Eric pauses and squints at a shape through the trees in the distance. It takes a second to get the attention of the others.

“Hey,” he half-whispers, “Do you see that? Up ahead.”

The older boys stop, looking ahead on the trail. The flashlight beam passes through the trees, crossing a thinned clearing to faintly illuminate an old, concrete building towering towards the sky. A hush falls over them as they look, lights coming together to better illuminate the distant tower.

“Wow…. hey, didn’t you say this place was a mine before?” Jake looks over to his older brother.

“Yeah, that’s probably some old storage building,” Ken pushes past a tree to try and get a better view, “But it’s all broken now. Should probably keep back, don’t know how stable that thing is.”

“Uh-huh.” Jake looks over to Eric. “I’ll race ya.”

“Don’t-” Ken can’t even get the words out before the younger boys are charging ahead with their flashlights, shoving past ferns and tripping over blackberries. Eric takes the lead and Jake laughs as a huckleberry branch scratches his face on the way past, only an inch from his eye. They nearly make it to the edge of the woods when Eric stops suddenly, and Jake nearly crashes into him.

“Hey- why’d you stop?”

“I saw something.”

“Saw what? It’s probably just a deer.”

“It was way too big to be a deer.” Eric looks up to Jake, and Jake’s blood runs cold as he sees the look of fear on his younger brother’s face. He falters, but needing to be the brave one, sets his jaw and looks on ahead to the tower.

“Okay, then…. Where? What did you see?”

The two quietly scan the base of the tower, piles of debris obscuring the view. Ken catches up to them, about to tell them off only to be met with a “shh!” from the other two, the seriousness on their faces telling him all he needed to know. He looks ahead with the others, squinting his eyes, all three of them trying to make out any sight of….

There!

Movement!

Spotting something through the old doorway, Jake shines his light on the entrance, the beam just barely casting enough light to see a few inches beyond. That few inches was all that was needed. Just barely outlined in the darkness was a figure. Human, if the strong arms and overalls were any indication, but as tall as a bear and with a face vaguely resembling one. The light reflected off of what he realized was bone, falling away into the void of the crude mask’s eye socket.

It was looking at him.

And then it moved.

“Run!” Ken shouts and pulls Jake back by the shoulder, grabbing Eric by the arm and cutting back through the undergrowth as fast as he could. Jake staggers, dropping the light as he follows. There’s no time to look back. He follows what light he can see ahead, tripping and skipping over fallen logs and clumps of vegetation. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, his eyes searching the darkness for any trace of familiar landmarks that were obscured by the fog that had started settling in around them. All he can see is his brothers, so he breaks for them, barely managing to keep up in the darkness, unable to keep track even of where his feet fall.

SNAP

His face hitting the dirt is the first thing he registers before the worst pain in the world shoots up his leg. He stifles a cry, knowing what a broken bone feels like as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. He must’ve tripped, somehow…. He doesn’t hear the shouts or the crashing until a hand grabs his shoulder to pull him up, Ken taking hold of his arm and Eric shining the light on him, and inadvertently, a dull and rusted piece of metal becoming slicked with blood.

“Holy fucking shit,” Ken drops Jake’s shoulder and falls to his knees, quickly trying to assess the situation as Jake just stares in shock at the steel contraption clamped around his ankle. The old trap was clearly built for a much bigger animal, teeth digging wounds around crushed bone. The pain was blindingly intense to the point where he barely felt it at all, just the immense pressure holding him there. A heavy chain snakes off into the undergrowth, tethering him to the spot. The sight felt absurd, the agony only numbed by sheer disbelief.

“Eric, help me with this. Put the light there and help me hold him. Jake, once it’s open you have to pull your leg back okay? Listen to me, Jake!” Ken’s panic barely snaps Jake back to the moment, the adrenaline kicking back in. He was trapped and he had to get out, before whoever, whatever that was back there could catch up to them. Ken gets back to his feet and pulls Jake up, Eric helping hold him upright and focusing the light on the trap.

“One.”

Jake holds his breath.

“Two.”

He covers his mouth with his hand and shuts his eyes tight.

“Three!”

Ken steps on the metal protrusions hanging off the side of the trap, and the tension on the jaws is released. Quickly, Jake pulls his foot back, the jaws snapping shut again as his brother steps away. There isn’t even time to say anything as Ken tosses Jake’s arm over his shoulder and takes his weight.

“It’s coming, we have to hide.”

The trio slowly, more quietly, makes their way a bit deeper into the woods and hides underneath a clump of ferns. The sound of footsteps through the brush gets nearer and nearer until it pauses, almost upon them.

Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe.

The white-hot pain in his leg and the sheer panic of it all pushes Jake past some kind of tipping point. His breath softens in his throat, the world suddenly far away as the shadow of the masked figure looms over them.

Don’t breathe.

Seconds feel like hours feel like nothing as the shadow lingers, and passes over them. The creek of rusted springs can be heard, before the footsteps slowly made their way off into the distance. Whatever danger just passed is gone from Jake’s mind as his brother takes him by the arm again. They move slower now, Eric leading with a stick in front of him to protect from traps as Ken half-carries Jake. It feels like eternity by the time they can see the fence, the moon just barely peeking over the tops of the trees.

Jake regains his senses enough to pull himself up the fence with difficulty, Ken sending Eric over first before pulling Jake up and over. They sit at the top for a second, breathing and shifting Jake’s broken leg over the top while trying to move it as little as they can. The fear is ready to fade, when the brush starts to move again. Ken jumps, pulling Jake down with him, recognizing no time to stop, pulling his brother along to make distance. As they do, Jake looks back over his shoulder, watching as the wretchedly smiling figure pulls itself from the brush.

It stops at the fence.

[sarandiel777]

> Lose the game.

@millenniumdueled​

> “Didn’t I tell you this game would reveal the nature of your heart? Cheating is against the rules, you know.”

Several of S’s eyes rise from the array of cards before them to Yugi’s other self, several sets facing up while the rest lay concealed on the table. They could see everything, every placement of every card they’d created in the astral plane, and they’d had no issues matching pairs until now, thinking this game a simple one, an easy win against an overconfident mortal for the information they needed. Partway through this insignificant human had even upped the ante, offering his own soul for his loss, in exchange for S raising their own offer. Sure, why not; as if he could ever win Madison’s soul from them. Everything was under their control, everything was going exactly as they’d wanted it to...until just now. Their opponent just wasted his turn with an incorrect choice, and S had reached for their own selection before their hand stopped, inches away from the immaterial paper. The underside was dark. Not black, not blank, just...dark. Out of sight. They didn’t frown, but a few of their eyes narrowed, glancing around at the other cards. A few more of those appear dark to them as well, just enough to prevent them from picking an obvious pair. 

All it would take to win was two more matches. The darkness was unexpected and intriguing, but no real obstacle. This must be what he had meant when calling it a “Shadow Game”. They had peered closer at the card inches away from their unnaturally long fingers, metaphysically squinting through the shadows, and broke through to the pattern beneath just moments before the other Yugi spoke.

“It isn’t cheating when I make the rules,” they hiss at their opponent tonelessly. “Your magic means nothing in my world, I have every right to ignore it. I am the one in control, here.”

The striped green wallpaper begins to distort, the crooked framed eyes hanging around the small room fade into a nebulous void of red and purple shadows. It isn’t quite fear that strikes them as their realm shifts without their say, but bewilderment, and several eyes dart around the space while the rest focus intently on Yugi’s other self across the table.

“What is this?” 

“Your penalty game.”

“How dare you-” Something catches the corner of part of their vision, reaching down from the void above them. String? String, thick and black, that wraps tightly around their wrist when they try to grab it and pull. S starts to pry at their restraint, finding no knot, not even an end to the thread. While they struggle, more strings descend around them, catching their stretched, grasping limbs and fingers and pulling them apart from each other. The last string trails down the back of their head, through their hair, but instead of wrapping around their neck, seems to imbed itself into the nape of their neck. Once it does, every thread goes tense at once, all pulling upward toward some unseen source of manipulation. 

The god finds themselves unable to move, to do more than glance around urgently in...fear? They haven’t felt fear in a very long time. It’s hard to recognize, and the unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling makes them angry, more so than they already are when they begin to move outside of their control. Fear, rage, panic, none of them matter when they can’t even open their mouth. S’s fingers twitch in their strings, and their right hand reaches for their left. Rolling up their too-loose sweater sleeve, green like everything else, the god digs into their “flesh”, grip sinking in like a hot poker into wax. There’s no blood or anything resembling it. Only a sickly green light pouring out from the growing hole, then, underneath it, within it, a bright purple glow. They shift their own soul out of the way without wanting to, the skin of their left hand collecting into a chunk of green that sits just above another hand, layered underneath, in that familiar vibrant shade of Madison Altair’s eyes and soul, veined through with their own green. Every single part of the god is screaming their protest, they haven’t lost, they would never lose, they can’t lose this, this is how they pull his strings, without it he could escape them, maybe for good, they can’t scream, they’ve never lost control before. With a tight, forced grip, S’s body- soul- takes the hand and breaks it off below the wrist, right at the gradient. It doesn’t exactly hurt, and comes off like a chunk of soft clay, but it’s horrifying to them all the same, seeing their power over Madison before them, being held by someone else, out of their reach and power, yet still in contact with them.

The strings pull tighter. The hand is squeezed, hard, around the wrist, and in moments, appears to simultaneously shatter and melt, falling into a mass of swirling purple sparks that trail to their feet and vanish. Finally, abruptly, the strings vanish, though they were never really there at all, and S falls limply to their knees, shaking violently. Their hands hit the ground, their left reforming out of what had been wrapping up the stolen limb, and they scrape at the nothing that remains of Madison’s soul piece. Despite their lack of real lungs, S breaths heavily, many minds racing within their soul at what had just happened to them, but the loudest cries out at how much power they’ve just lost. How much control over their puppet this mortal has just taken from them. They want to crush Yugi’s other self, destroy him, but he seems to have power in this strange, twisting realm within their realm, and there’s no time to risk it. Without taking a moment to threaten him, though they very much want to, the god dismisses their visitor from the astral plane; the man and his shadows instantly disappear. All that’s left is them in their little green room, on their hands and knees, staring at the place where the key to their puppet’s soul had spent its final moments. They spend a few moments there, looping on the thought several times before letting out a bottled-up scream so full of divine rage that a crack runs deep through the depths of the astral plane; a suddenly pulsing, throbbing line of breakage that they can feel, see, but do nothing about. Not anymore. Not without Madison’s soul.

So this is how his pain feels. The agony of watching his body move without him in actions he would never take. They don’t regret causing that. They still believe he needs and deserves it. But that it was turned back on them? The firm memory of that lack of control will stay with S, just as with every other memory they’ve collected. They’ll dwell on it, and one day, they’ll have their revenge.

But until then, all they can do is watch from afar.

[yifftwiceplz]

[emberoops]

so are we to take it that you feel no remorse in getting offended easily, and snapping at people who, by any other metric, haven't done anything offensive? that when you take offense to something innocuous and look back on the situation later, only to realize you were wrong, you don't lament your volatility? but you will see others do the same and sneer at them, call them self-important and prideful, then deny your hypocrisy. ok.

[Ember rolls his eyes and deletes this one.]

[voot-floop]

Vox hatsune miku okay……..

[wowieeitsisa]

DRRETRO AND PEST WASN’T A DUO I WAS EXPECTING TO LOVE SO MUCH!!!!!!! Thank you Dream Parasite Lore and Dialogue for DrRetro update AURRRGH

Do you understand how normal I am abt this? PEST TRSUTS DRRETRO ENOUGH TO GIVE HIS GUEST CODE TO HERRRRR

[vinyldiskk]

Forget about all my other aus tbh. To appease my own hyperfixated mind, I made a swap au with no demand whatsoever. Welcome to my Soukoku <--> Suegiku au! A quick rundown on everyone below.

CHUUYA: After the incident following Verlaine and Rimbaud taking young Chuuya out of the labs, the path changes when he's given to the government as planned. Raised to be the most ideal weapon an ability user can be, he's perfectly loyal, perfectly powerful and perfectly emotionally stunted, as a tool should be. Akin to a little victorian boy in how little he knows about the world.

DAZAI: Previously involved with criminals, he accepted a deal to change sides in order to be a powerful tool for the government after being caught at an young age. Why? Mostly out of curiosity. His previous life didn't give him what he wanted, so maybe this one would. A bad choice from a teenager as now he can't leave no matter how much he may (deep down) want, so he's quite jaded. He has no care whatsoever for the people he's protecting, buut he's really good at lying.

JOUNO: The ‘pale harbinger’ of the port mafia, the youngest Executive in its history. He deals with people that could come up as… complications in the mafia’s day to day operations. Surprisingly sweet to his subordinates, though how much affection is genuine and how much is manipulation is a grey area. A constant thorn in Mori’s side, but a needed one that makes the PM stable. The brains in double black on the times they work together.

TECCHOU: An executive of the port mafia, but it would be more adequate to call him it’s dog. He specializes in assassination, but he also deals with protecting the trade routes for the other major port mafia businesses. A very aloof figure to even his subordinates, of which he doesn’t have many as he’s a one man army and prefers to work that way. The overwhelming might of double black when they work together. He delivers justice how he sees fit, working with the mafia under the genuine believe they do what's right.

[multifandomsimagine]

Imagine Jake and Max competing for your affection

"Though most of you did well on the test, there are some of you who need to study a bit more." Mrs. Villalobos announces as her eyes look around the room. The bell rings and the whole class wastes no time to stand from their seat and make a break for the door to lunch. That does nothing to dissuade the Spanish teacher as she makes sure to call out as you all leave: "We have another test next week so please use the weekend to brush up on your notes."

You step out of the room with Jake and Max by your side as you make your way to the cafeteria. Paying no mind to the other students who ran past you three in an effort to be one of the first in line. "How did you guys do?" You ask.

Jake is the first of the two to speak up. With a sigh, he reaches into his back pocket and takes out the folded-up test. Unfolding it, he passes it to you. Though it's fairly crumpled up, you - and Max who looks over your shoulder - can clearly see the C+ written in bright red ink at the top of the paper. "I thought I had studied enough but when I saw vosotros, I knew I was done for."

"A C+ isn't bad." You say in an attempt to comfort him. "You could definitely get an A for the next one."

Max has the opposite reaction, making no effort to hide his snickering though he stops when you hit his shoulder and give him a glare.

Jake gives him a hard stare. "Well, what did you get?"

"An F."

"That's worse than my grade and you're laughing at me?!"

The Thunderman boy shrugs. "Yea but I don't care about my grade unlike you."

Before an argument can erupt between the two, you speak up. "I can help you study. We can meet up and study in my room." You're looking at Jake so you don't see Max's eyes widening in surprise and the glare he gives him.

Though Jake was not undeterred by this instead took please in the other's displeasure. "That would be really helpful. Thank you [Name]." He stops walking and pulls you into a hug. You happily returned the gesture and so you don't see the smug look Jake is giving Max. Despite the fact that he doesn't want to be a villain anymore, there are some moments where his mischievous nature comes out and he can't help but rub it in Max's face as he nuzzles the crook of your neck.

"Okay that's enough," Max says with a hint of annoyance, pulling the two of you apart and pushing Jake a bit too roughly and maintaining a grip on his shoulder. . "Could you help me study too, [Name]?"

"I thought you didn't care about your grade." Jake raises an eyebrow.

Max's grip tightened, tilting his head to give Jake a tight smile. "Well, I changed my mind." Facing you, he gives you a more relaxed and genuine smile. "When is this study group going to meet?"

[penofdamocles]

you're probably right, you'd be pretty terrible as a permanent god, but why not give it a test drive for a few days? congratulations! you've been temporarily promoted from divine servant to divinity.

M!A: for 4 days you're a god of a specific concept. it's not my choice or yours what kind, but i bet you'll be a good fit for your domain. if not, at least it'll be entertaining. good luck!

Madison Aurel can feel his soul intensifying in power even before he's done reading the ask, the passive circulation of energy he's used to churning into a tempest of brightening sparks within him. There's something growing in his chest, a light reaching through his soul and awakening every spark into a bright and burning flare. It's familiar, but he's only ever viewed it from afar, in the most powerful of his friends and enemies: divinity, truer than his original variety, and something he recognizes only a moment before the entirety of the angel shines in a blinding purple light, dropping his phone and whiting out in his mind. Rays of golden purity shine through the soul's glow as it's remade in the image of none but itself, with power, purpose, and the inherent nature of the concept that built it from the start and drives it on to this day, a powerful idea structuring the new deity's abilities and expanding the reach of what problems this soul can fix. The golden light takes shape and spreads from the blazingly bright purple silhouette, shining wings of a more natural kind, a similar smaller set beneath them. The light shines behind and around the soul's head to form a proper and intense halo, the form it alights far beyond passing for human with its featureless, blinding energy, until 2 eyes open on its face, and all that light pulls in, condensing into shining points of light within the eyes containing all that represents the dark-haired man forming out of this faceless divinity. Madison Aurel takes shape, now native to the form he'd chosen for himself with a few changes, enforced expressions of his nature that he won't end up minding: shining golden hands that fade to the tone of his skin partway down his forearm, sparkling, colorful jewels dotting the gold across his face, and both pairs of wings, spread behind Mads as he catches his balance, dizzy and overwhelmed from how much he's just been given. The new god's domain and purpose come to him as abruptly as his angelic instructions had shaped him at the beginning, but just like then, Mads now possesses knowledge, not necessarily understanding. He doesn't understand, but he knows, and he knows how deeply entrenched this domain of his has become, something he already valued and prioritized becoming the center of his existence. The god of second chances. To give, to take, to offer merciful hands unconditionally, to pull those lost in despair to their feet and forward, to remake lives for the poor souls left at dead ends of their own making or others'. They've always been important to him, but now they're everything. It's stressful how much responsibility he suddenly feels for those in need of these opportunities, but he can't do anything about that right now, especially not on the multiversal scale he feels urged to; for now, all he can do is ask another brand-new god for some help, scrambling to pick up his phone like the clumsy dork he is, all while feeling far stronger inside than ever before.

..Well /that's/ not what I was expecting, good job catching me by surprise? You made me lose my game but I guess that's a reasonable exchange for sudden godly power????

[seashaper]

>> Madison Rook sees the red flags that their angel counterpart has chosen to ignore, already pushing it with the water, now he’s going to fully submerge himself? Really? Rook vividly remembers what happened the last time their ‘brother’ had sunk under deep, cold water, the fear they’d had to calm, and the inevitable mental scars that had to come with that act for its perpetrator. They have their suspicions, and after how close things came the first time, the arcanist decides to be better off safe than sorry.

They sit invisible off the banks, watching Mads Altair wading into the water, boots left on the shore. His wings unfold from his back, and Rook sighs, deeply, magically silenced, pressing a hand to their face. He couldn’t have forgotten the circumstances entirely, could he? Those violet feathers begin to soak up water, and the tiefling stands up, ready to move forward. The angel’s bright blue head disappears under the flow, deeper than he expects as his bare feet slip from under him, the current knocks him off-balance, and his now water-weighted wings begin to drag him down. 

The water filling his ears, silencing the world, submerges Madison Altair in a similar memory, a much more painful 1, a deep, aching pain and fear of what’s to come filling his chest. Tears come to his eyes, the fear makes him gasp, and immediately he’s choking on water, starting to thrash beneath the surface. His head hits a rock and things go dark faster, but not for long.

It wasn’t possible to move much faster than Rook did as they glimpsed the first sign of thrashing; quickening their spell with an internal surge of power, they take Control of the river where their other self had submerged. With a gesture of their long, invisible staff, the water’s flow turns in on itself, then to the shore, ejecting the sopping angel onto the smooth stones and dirt before quickly retreating to its normal state. The staff turns to a wand, and with a now-familiar, more precise gesture, Rook draws the water from Altair’s lungs, allowing him to cough and gasp for air, but they see the black blood dripping from the side of his head, the dizziness in his eyes. ..This is the perfect opportunity. 

Shadows gather in Mads Altair’s eyes, filling the gaps in his head trauma induced lingering darkness as he coughs up the last of the water, and the pulse-pounding terror of nonexistence expands from that memory into his soul, convinced despite the breathing that this might still be the end.

“This is the second time, Altair,” the now-visible tiefling states, as if Mads could see them anyways. “You haven’t even apologized for what you did to me, but I’ve saved your life twice, now, 3 times, technically. And I never even held it against you. But if you’re going to be a dick about even taking responsibility for your own cruelty, remember, I apologized for what I did the second you confronted me. And I’ve left you alone, despite it all. I knew you hated having me around, and I respected that. But you still think I deserved it, don’t you? Do you still? After all I’ve done for you, and for everyone else?”

It would be so easy to hurt him. So easy to make him feel what he made them feel, to even the smallest extent, and Rook has to take a moment to breathe while Mads hyperventilates without response, but they knew from the start they wouldn’t return his cruelty in kind. Still, they can’t help but leave him to panic for a moment while they consider their next action. Stepping closer to him, they reach for his hand wrapped around his head and pull his watch free, tossing it nearby. The same way the angel had done to them, sword in hand..but instead of spearing him to a tree, Rook presses a hand to his huddled head. 

In an instant his life-or-death terror fades into dizzied confusion, which intensifies as he floats up several feet into the air, still blind as his knees and feet leave the ground. “Wh- hey, what’s- you can’t-” he can’t get his words together in time to assemble a real response, but as his vision returns to a painfully sudden flash of silvery mist, he sees himself alone floating in place 15 feet overover the shore, his watch below him, out of reach. Altair wiggles in the air, drenched wings flapping weekly, but he can’t budge, and there’s nothing to pull himself along on. It takes some sparks along his skull clearing his thoughts enough to realize what Rook did, and that it’s temporary, before the loud cursing in the middle of nowhere begins.

[learningeye]

How does your oc relax? Describe it.

(( Uncle Madison Conor has not returned this evening, and Sarandiel paces up and down the hallway anxiously, mimicking a habit of the angel's own, anticipating his arrival any moment. When it does not occur and their feet start to hurt the little human stops and sighs, turning back to their bedroom to duck inside.

The floor in here is rather cluttered, but that isn't an obstacle, with a flash of shiny green mist Sarandiel Steps to their half-curtained bed, on their knees and already looking around to select some companions. Mafdet lies curled up on Leofric's back, quietly purring, but yawns and opens her eyes as they pick her up gently, tucking the kitten into their jacket's wide, fluffy hood. Taking Lavender, Ladon, and a large partly-weighted frog into their arms, Sarandiel simply blinks and is suddenly in one of the large black plastic bubbles within their walls, unlit but full of blankets and pillows. With a gesture, four points of purple and green brighten in the air, before dimming to a lesser intensity and drifting around them. With a deep breath and another heavy sigh, Andy is positioning their toys on and around them, the frog draped over their shoulders like a pretend hug, comforting enough to work sufficiently in tandem with the tabby kitten now loudly purring against their chin and neck, curled up in the front of their hood. A call to the audio system starts a gentle jazz playlist, to drown out the remainder of the silence.

Reaching into a wider pocket on the side of their green jacket, Sarandiel draws out their grimoire, covered in engravings but black as void. The pillows shift beneath them as the warlock settles back into their dim, cozy little den and flips open the book, losing their immediate concerns in Learning more, ever more, every time something different, maybe even a few facts to tell Uncle Mads later, when he returns.

[bustedgps]

"..Well we're home now, everything's okay.... yes, I know. I'm sorry for worrying you. I'll look after them better.... Okay, goodnight."

Jake's older brother Ken hung up the phone. It was four in the morning, and the three boys had just gotten back from the emergency room. Jake was on the couch, with stitches and a splint around his ankle to worry about. The last several hours were a blur he was only starting to come out of. Ken paced away from the phone, running his hands over his face like he usually did when he was trying to fix a problem.

"I can't believe we managed to stumble into that. Somebody's property.... we should've listened to the signs...."

Jake watched his brother as he eventually stopped to look at him. "You're lucky, you know?" his older brother scolded, "If you'd run off alone to a place like that...." Ken shook his head. He didn't want to think of the consequences. Instead, he just sat down next to him on the couch. "Look, I'm glad you're safe.... but mother and father can't know about this. If they knew you got hurt, and we were tresspassing...." He didn't finish the thought.

Jake struggled for a moment to find something to say.... but in the end, all he could do was nod. Ken gave a curt sigh in return. "Uh-huh. Right. Who knows, maybe this will discourage you from jumping fences for a few weeks. Bear traps.... who still uses bear traps...." With that, Ken pushed himself up from the couch. "I'm putting Eric to bed. I'll be back down in a few minutes."

Ken left the room, and Jake could hear his footsteps disappear up the stairs. Left alone, he frowned and looked down at the splint on his ankle, trying to piece together the events of a night he couldn't really remember.

[darkest-before-dawnclan]

🩸 A thousand teeth, and yours among them, I know 🩸

Welcome to Darkest Before Dawn, a Clangen comic by @needlepine!

How it works:

Like the game Werewolf, a cat in one of the clans is actually a were-beast in disguise! It is up to the chosen ten cats to discover the identity of the beast (based on the random relationship values/events in Clangen).

Unlike Werewolf, the chosen cats must also figure out a way to stop or kill the beast before it kills them.

This comic also incorporates the random events present in Clangen. The cats can still be killed by injury, illness, and random chance, along with the monthly attacks by the beast.

One moon in-game represents one week in the comic. Every fourth comic is the new moon, which is when the beast appears and has a chance to kill.

This probably goes without saying, but this comic will contain blood and animal death. Please steer clear if this will bother you.

🩸 Wish our cats luck on their journey! They'll certainly need it. 🩸

-> BEGIN THE GAME (Week 0) <-

All comics linked in order under the cut.

🩸 🩸 🩸

Week 0 (Introduction)

Week 1

Week 2 TBA