#( probably . )

[homely-ghost]

Im fucken dead, my wife’s dead, my sisters dead, my nephew’s a bitch.

The best I can do is give my son a good childhood.

Okay, and actually attempt to be diplomatic and avoid war, but the narrative will still hunt my ass.

✨SPIN THE WHEEL TO GET YOUR CHARACTER✨

[kukuzard]

Ramb

He's low-key so awesome please I need more content

[monnaow]

hello melfrank enjoyers

[marcelthemoon]

pretty in mf pink 🩷🩷🩷

[touchofhemlocktea]

IMMORTAL? NO. BUT THE MORTALS WOULD PROBABLY CALL IT THAT.

Dp Prompt

Danny met famine in his first year of life. Malnourished from neglect, despite the efforts of his dear sister, his heart gave out in the early morning.

You have the touch of fate little one. We can not claim you this day, but we will meet again.

The strange toxic green energy that permeates the house pulls, and little Danny will have many nights filled with strange dreams in the years to come.

...

Pestilence comes a few years later, shortly after Danny starts kindergarten. Jazz has tried her best, but the fever spikes in the night.

You have the touch of my kin and fate. Hold on little one. We will meet again.

The green pulls and memory fades into a fevered dream.

...

Danny met Fate in his parents' self-proclaimed greatest accomplishment. Burned in hot plasma and lightning, he dies again and again, screaming.

Fate watches with a smile.

We have chosen. We have claimed.

....

War comes for Danny when humanity embraces hate. The governments of the world have effectively declared the citizens of Amity Park, and the infinite realms, as less than animals, to be destroyed.

These foolish mortals are but ants under your feet. Lead your kin and embrace your true power.

...

Death has ascended. We are complete again.

[yourfavvvintj]

Which of your moots would you date?

sigh how much time do we have

[cleverpaws]

@benrey-did-nothing-wrong

[cainrising]

Hey! I come to you with a prompt : role reversal choscar where Oscar starts lowkey flirting with everyone and its only then that Charles realises what he's like

this took me an age because my sleep schedule has been ABYSMAL these past few days and ive been unable to get anything done, but! sub 2k drabble of role reversal choscar ^^ i feel like i barely complied w this prompt but 😭 my brain got stuck on this, and this is all i have to offer

19. role reversal, additionally: magical realism

"Mate," Lando whispers. Charles has never heard a man sound so viscerally frightened. "What the fuck is wrong with him."

The ‘him’ in question being, of course, Oscar, who for once is not trying to meld with the wall, but is instead smack in the centre of the dance floor, moving like—

Charles doesn’t have the words to describe it. The cognitive dissonance is crippling. His eyes are telling him yes, that is indeed Oscar, pressed back to chest with a stranger, flushed face alight with delight, but Charles’ head is—well. His head isn’t telling him anything. It’s too busy blowing itself up.

Without looking, he fumbles for his drink. Ends up pouring ice cubes into his lap, because he’s a fucking idiot who finished it ten minutes ago when he first saw Oscar grinding on some random woman and consequently forgot everything else. Charles is so far past caring; he scoops the ice cubes up and shoves them into his mouth.

Desperate for something to focus on that isn’t—whatever ill-timed awakening is happening in his nuclear reactor of a brain, Charles clasps his condensation-slick empty glass and asks Lando, a little thinly, over the dizzying thump of music, "How long will this hex last, do you know?"

Hexes are far from a foreign concept. Charles has had his fair share of experiences, some better than others, as have most drivers on the grid. This, however…

Max got hit with a jinx that only allowed him to speak in meows, and even that was easier for Charles to wrap his head around then Oscar under the effect of a personality curse.

“Do I look like his mother?” Lando snipes distractedly, craning his neck to peer into the writhing mass of bodies, where Oscar—and his latest partner—have been swallowed entirely.

Charles tugs at his collar. It’s already unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Still, he’s overheating, almost feverish. Sweating like he does when he’s ill and fighting off an infection. Not too dissimilar of a comparison, Charles thinks, faintly. Except this time, he’s fighting off ill-timed attraction to his colleague in the middle of a sweltering Miami club, and his only moral support comes in the form of Lando, who is too busy having a different sort of breakdown to be of any use at all.

“The witch at McLaren said—” Lando says, leaning towards Charles without turning. Unable to lip-read, Charles has no hope of understanding him. He pokes Lando’s shoulder, gestures to his ear when Lando glances over, and Lando obligingly shouts, “The witch said it’s only 24 hours! So he’s got, like—seven left!”

Oh, thank god.  

“Ayy, cabrón!”

Charles swivels around. Carlos is leaning over the back of their booth, a wild, wide glint in his eyes. He looks, quite frankly, like he’s been rolling in the hay with a rabid tiger. Sweaty and rumpled in the skewed sapphire lighting, perspiration gathering in the hollow of his throat. Charles empathetically relates; he, too, is sweating enough to fill a swimming pool.

Whatever Carlos says is lost beneath a swelling cheer as the music changes, and it’s rather cinematic, how the crowd opens up again, and Charles’ gaze wanders without him really meaning for it to. A big mistake. A dire, unreversible mistake.

His breath leaves him, in a pathetic, croaky rush, all at once.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Lando whimpers, aghast, and—yeah. Yes. That.

Neon lights pouring everywhere, splintering against martini glasses washed up on the frays of the crowd, and cradled within it all, haloed, Oscar’s head is tipped back, alcohol dripping down his throat as some girl licks her shot straight off him.

“Er,” Carlos says, after a stunned moment. Lando rubs the side of his eye with his palm. He looks like a traffic light. Charles can’t tell if he’s about to explode, throw up, or faint. “Something has happened to Oscar, I think.”

“Do you,” Lando says dully. “What on Earth could’ve given you that idea, I wonder."

Charles is one stiff breeze away from making things very awkward.

He seizes his glass in a fit of desperation, and just barely manages to garble, “Drink. Going. Now.”

Carlos calls after him, confused, but Charles is already long gone.

--

It’s cooler away from the pit of body heat and the awful stickiness of leather seating. Charles pushes his hair off his forehead, tugging repeatedly at his collar, tries to fan himself. The bartender, a harried, young-looking woman, is serving a cluster of gentlemen at the far-left end. Charles collapses, elbow-first, onto the bar, and blows out a long, long breath.

He isn’t quite sure what it is. Never in his life has Charles thought twice about Oscar beyond the narrow lens of competition. They had their adoption joke, a year back in Monaco, they’ve played padel together a few times—Oscar has even met Leo, during one of his excursions to the paddock—but it’s this that has thrown the doors wide open. Made the floodgates burst. The dam break. Whatever metaphor: the result is the same.

A behavioural hex, focused on flipping personality traits, the doctor at the medical centre patiently explained to Charles. So Oscar’s usual calm temperament would be overtaken by recklessness, maybe even brashness. His quiet confidence would steadily become louder. He may be quicker to anger. It’s nothing to worry about, the doctor clarified. The hex has such a short duration, and the root of it is so harmless, there’s no point wasting hours crafting the cure. Oscar will be back to normal in no time. It’s a matter of waiting it out.

It's a matter of waiting it out, Charles thinks, repeats. This is all it is. Harmless. So harmless. The most harmless. Oscar acting like the star performer at a Magic Mike show won’t kill him, or Charles. Hopefully.

“Sorry for making you wait so long, sir,” the bartender hastily grabs a glass. “What can I get for you?”

Charles drags up a warm smile. He asks for another of what he had earlier, though, privately, he wonders if it’ll be strong enough to get him through the night. Officially, Lando, as Oscar’s teammate, is on chaperone duty, but because Charles is the one that noticed the hex in the first place, Lando insisted he stuck around. Charles doesn’t quite get the logic, but Lando promised to lend him his Porsche Carrera for the month, and needless to say, Charles immediately cancelled dinner with Lewis. Guiltily, he thinks again, sorry, Lewis.

As his drink is slid over to him, Charles wraps a hand around the stem and reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.

But somebody else gets there first; a card is pressed to the reader, and Charles jerks to protest, mouth opening—

“This one’s on me,” Oscar says.

He is—very close. Charles can feel the heat radiating from him. Can smell the layered amalgamation of bitter perfume and sharp cologne and sterile vodka, and beneath it all, euphoria. Lit up technicolour, the straight line of his nose, slash of his cheekbone, and Oscar’s eyes, wide open.

Charles had never noticed before; always, Oscar has this tired, half-lidded look about him. Calm, maybe. Brief bursts of animation before he droops back to baseline.

Oscar slips his card back into his pocket. He glances over Charles, mouth tugging upwards, before he easily pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes sliding back to the bartender. He looks, Charles thinks, with an odd squirm in his throat, devastatingly alive. He looks unreal.

“Do you mind if I try some?” Oscar asks, head ducking down. His breath is hot on the cartilage of Charles’ ear.

Charles bites around a shiver. Makes a pitched, agreeable noise. Maybe another drink wasn’t a good idea.

Definitely not a good idea, he corrects, as—helpless to stop himself—his eyes drift to watch as Oscar leans a hip against the stool and takes a swig. His lashes flutter over his rosy cheekbones. Charles feels insane with it. Feels like he might be going crazy, because the valley of Oscar’s throat is smooth and long and thick, and it’s still glimmering sticky, and so badly, Charles wants to sway forward and taste. Restless, wants to know if Oscar’s pulse would throb against his lips, if it would be hummingbird fast. If he would be steady, even in this, or unravelled.

Maybe his first drink was spiked, Charles reasons hysterically. Maybe he’s not actually drooling over his nice, polite coworker. Maybe he just really needs to get laid. It has been a while since he and Alex broke up, after all. This is merely—a spell. A phase. He has this all under control.

“It’s good,” Oscar decides, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I thought it might be.” Oscar’s eyes are blown and black. He licks along his lip, scrapes the crystal remnants of sugar off with his teeth. “You’ve always had good taste.”

Charles does not have this all under control.

“Yes,” he says, strangled. Abort, abort. “I like, um. Sweet things.”

Oscar blinks. His damp hair flops over his forehead when he tilts it, and it looks casual, when he idly slumps to rest his chin on his palm, but it certainly doesn’t feel it. Charles can’t shake this idea that he’s locked in a cage with a—a panther, or a jaguar, or just—some sort of beast, and it’s finally deigned to notice him, even though this whole time, Charles has made no secret of himself.

This is Oscar, Charles furiously reminds himself. He’s a giant teddy bear. He doesn’t flirt and unbutton the top four buttons on his shirt, and he certainly doesn’t let strangers spill their shots over him.

Usually, Charles realises, with dread. Usually, Oscar doesn’t do that. Oscar under a hex—Charles doesn’t know who he is.

“That’s funny,” Oscar comments. There is this drag in his voice, like he’s playing with his food. His eyelashes are long as he looks up at Charles. “I also like sweet things.”

Charles squeaks, “Um?”

Maybe he’s having a stroke. Miami is hot, of course, and Charles’ vision is undulating, and his tongue feels useless and stupid, and he can barely feel his limbs, and that’s a stroke, isn’t it? Does he need a defibrillator? CPR? A lobotomy?

Lando. He needs Lando to call him an ambulance. Right now.

“Booth,” Charles blurts, taking a hasty step back. “I need to get back to. The booth. With Carlos. And Lando.”

He doesn’t catch Oscar’s response. There’s so many people surrounding the bar, idling, chatting, bopping their heads to the bass. It’s beyond a mild inconvenience. Charles is bathed in unbearable heat, so many conflicting scents, but superimposed over them all is Oscar. An exhilarated, non-insignificant part of him feels like prey. Or—not exactly. A carnivore staring into the looming void of a bigger predator and learning, for the first time, what it is to fear.

The worst part about it, Charles thinks, is that he fucking loves it. He’s never felt so frightened, nor so alive.

He finds a gap and goes for it, is almost into the thick of the crowd, halfway to the booth, when someone catches him by the waist. Charles knows who it is before he even turns—sharp-sweet-ecstasy. A very bad idea. Maybe the best he’s had in a long time.

“Charles,” Oscar says warmly. His touch is blazing. “Are you forgetting something?”

Is it really so wrong to bear attraction for someone who wears a familiar face, but acts in unfamiliar ways? If you think about it, can he truly be Oscar, if what’s inside is flipped and wrong?

And even if it is wrong, Charles thinks, even if it is wrong—

It is very tiring, to be good all the time.

[notloavern]

Looks like someone got caught! Ruh roh...

this a WIP :33

[provider-of-art]

When I tell you I was freaking out about this part

[prasoooooooooon]

when all you wanna do is just get it over with but like you physically can't do it, and just stay there fighting yourself for your life, crushing to say the least

you cant imagine how hard it is to die sometimes

[itsraining-pebbles]

normal fandom behaviour is assigning characters houses from the series that shall not be named. or maybe godly parents from percy jackson. unfortunately im not normal so instead im assigning the dark age characters a magnus archives fear entity.

also this is my opinion and maybe this is too niche but if it’s not and there’s anyone else with opinions on this then this is me humbly asking for input on some characters (mostly ythae’el kosima, talis, and sal) who i can’t figure out.

mandatory spoiler warning for dark age and also sort of the magnus archives.

theagus (the inspiration behind this whole post) - i have never seen anyone/anything more Eye coded than theagus. like any other character i would accept arguments but theagus?? yeah no. everything he does is in the pursuit of knowledge and he has made so many stupid decisions for more information. also his whole relationship with iridia. the most important part of his character is wanting knowledge. and he is the literal HERALD OF KNOWLEDGE. so yes he is Eye and that is the objective truth (would be interested to hear any other ideas. i just wouldn’t agree)

iridia - similar to theagus in that she is also very extremely Eye coded. like the conversation her and theagus had about joining sentinel?? yeah. she is also super dedicated to gaining more knowledge. also ilithids in general are very Eye coded. and shes an archivist which is already an Eye coded job, even without taking into account tma Archivists

decima - Web. like lets be so fr. her whole everything was so Web coded and thats most of why i love her

hareem - Spiral. hes a fucking liar and (from what we know so far) his entire goal seems to just be entertainment for himself. that is the Spiral

keno - definitely the Dark. like i’d love to just say the End because of his tarot card being death. however keno is definitely a lot more Dark, inspired partly by his character but mostly just because of the bards after dark stream where drew talks about how he came up with keno’s first and last name.

xilyreon - the End. i feel like this is probably the obvious answer because… yeah. come on now. but also because the witchbreed versions of people and the horror of seeing a dead loved one in something you’re fighting is so End coded.

aelys - now here is where i start being willing to take criticism on my decisions. i do feel like in a world where the Fears existed, her main connection to the Fears would be through x so i’m just going to say she’s an End avatar for that reason. but i can be convinced otherwise for earlier chapters aelys.

katari (pre-death) - i’m not totally sure about katari in the early days but after she starts taking levels in barbarian? yeah that is a Slaughter avatar. barbarians to me are the Slaughter bc of the whole thing of unpredictable violence. but i could also be persuaded into thinking they’re an avatar of something else but just with a hint of Slaughter. like katari meaning death and also being called endcrafter does make me think that they did have SOME End vibes pre-dying but idk if i’d call them an End avatar yk?

katari (post-death) - the End. for many reasons including the fact they came back to life, being called endbringer, and the connection to the xilyreon (again, very End)

synnove - tentatively the Web?? like she deffo does manipulate people a lot and does intentionally get people to underestimate her. but also i’m not totally set on this because i’m not sure whether the Web would be her main entity or whether there’s anything else which could fit her better.

jb - for the record i don’t see jb as ever getting involved with the Fears. but again the barbarian thing is very Slaughter coded. and before anyone says i should have put Vast for jb (which im very sad not to bc the Vast <333) i disagree because yes a lot of his stuff manifests through wind and lightning and whatever but his rages and focus are still Slaughter at their core. so i’d still call him a Slaughter avatar, just that maybe he was marked by the Vast at some point.

lenore - marked by the Lonely. avatar of whatever the fuck vaekstaar is (what is he god of btw?? like i havent finished genesis yet so maybe that gets answered but i tried consulting the wiki for this and couldn’t get a solid answer. possibly the Dark bc of the whole Dark Between Stars thing?? unless it’s the Vast bc like. night?? HELP)

valor - avatar of whatever the fuck vaekstarr is but More avatar-y. like previously a casual avatar and now serious avatar. and i KNOW hollows give very End vibes but i’d say this is more of a jonathan sims post-coma situation when the Eye brought him back and he got more monstery.

there’s probably some characters i forgot but for now that’s who i’m going with and what Fears each of them are. i’m honestly just shocked nobody was Stranger or Desolation bc those are usually the most common

and again. please if anyone is reading this then someone help with sal, ythae’el kosima and talis. also garavellir and maravix. bc i actually can’t figure any of them out and this will be bothering me forever.

[rayne143]

Me: my characters, my babies, my precious children, i will protect you, i will never let anything bad happen to you, you mean the world to me, whenever you’re sad i’m sad, i want you to be happy

Also me: *throws tragedy and trauma at them like my life depends on it* are they miserable enough yet?

[ultrakillingmyself]

Man why is it so difficult for people to use non binary ‘nouns with characters

[mushtoons]

making it cute EHEHEHEHE

where my homies at