My favourite part of every euromusical is where a guy is crawling on the floor and potentially weeping (3 Musketiere, Elisabeth, TdV, MLOR; in spirit also Rebecca and Mozart) and we need more woemn to do that (but!!!! NOT because a man was mean to them!! I want them to have soulshredding existential crises that I can go 'haha gay' about)
feel free to send me asks about my lil guys! i WILL be making comics and fics (with plot <3) with them! other character sheets coming soon! subscribe to the masterpost or iteration tag below!
Some more NEXUS ALPHA art, this time featuring Reefdancer, Hexacorallia's Frame. She's a little shorter than Nexus, but makes up for it in speed and raw punching power. She's also better at moving through water than some other Alpha frames, so whenever a threat is subaquatic or coastal, Hex is often the first on the scene.
max and charles road tripping across america?? who am I. (this idea started consuming my brain approx 24 hours ago and I haven’t been able to let it go since)
the writing process on this one is fast (right now) but it’s still gonna be a long fic so here’s a snippet in the meantime just for fun:
"It's mental," Max says, because he's never really trusted ovals. Feels unnatural, like you're trapped on a hamster wheel, no open road in front of you.
"It's amazing," Charles breathes out, eyes lighting up.
Max can see it then; Charles, glorious and unburdened under the midwestern sun. He thinks it'd be something pretty special to watch. Just Charles and a car, nothing else. Nothing but raw speed and a healthy dose of insanity.
"You think you'd like to do it?"
"Maybe, one day," Charles grins, climbing up the banking.
"You'd win," Max says, and Charles turns to stare at him.
"What?" He shrugs, it's the truth. "In a spec series, nothing to hold you back. Of course you'd win."
No Ferrari to hold you back.
The comment hangs there, for a minute, itching to be heard. Max swears he can feel a prickle on the back of his neck, like any minute he'll turn around and the ghost of Enzo Ferrari will be standing there, glaring at him under the Indianapolis sunshine.
Ferrari, he thinks again. Just to taunt himself. Like Beetlejuice. He glances over his shoulder, wonders if he's going crazy.
"Maybe I would," Charles concedes, shaking Max out of his stupor. It's reassuring in a way, that Charles hasn't lost sight of his own abilities despite the clusterfuck around him.
He smirks at Max. "Since you're too scared to race ovals."
It sounds, in Charles' own complicated way, like a promise. You're the only one that could ever catch me.
"I'm not scared," Max protests, though he does glance at the banking under him in suspicion. "I just don't like them."
Charles laughs, like he sees right through him.
"You can admit it, we're the only ones here."
The Magic was always present in the universe for sure, as it is the threads the dreams of the dreaming beast are woven from. The most powerful, mages of ancient Mars were Mafa. And Mafa Archmagi in particular. The sponge wizards as they were not been able to die from the natural causes, lived for thousands of years, and the eldest of them who learned thousands of the true words, in a tongue of dreams, were capable of creating true miracles – moving mountains, and making the sea currents change their direction. As well as manipulating the life itself… Many of them as well have created many amazing technological wanders such as for example flying ships, or they studied how to treat multiple illnesses, which were usually considered incurable by Fao, and Urons.
Speaking of them, Mafa, were their teachers, in the mastery of magic, trying to give the two legged folks as much as they could obtain through their comparably short lives. But the studying of magic for the Fao often, ended up in the malicious corners, as the humanoid brain is especially vulnerable for the waves of Etherial energy, and some sorcerers ended up going insane. However many Fao, became capable mages, and sorcerers, walking the continent, and helping people in need, as wandering hexers, wind casters in the sea, scholars, and slayers of the creations of evil.
Other kind of the wizarding folk were Hankoo – this word originating from the Oloomuk language language means something between shaman, witch doctor, and the fortune teller. Generally speaking a person, who studied magic without the assistance of the Sponged Ones, mastering their arcane abilities in a more natural way. It is hard to imagine a settlement without at least one shaman, or witch, and in some regions, like for example Mur, every child knows some magical spell or two…
It was, of course, not the first time you had heard silence
(You just didn't know it yet)
In your sleep, or in the aftermath, or the prelude, or just the quiet moment between
(…)
each
( )
beat
(Almost…)
What possessed you, then, on that night, to do that for which there was never any need?
(Do you treat your possessions well?)
Why did you listen?
(You didn't want to.)
Why couldn't you resist?
(You didn't want to.)
What did those awed whispers provoke in you?
(Yes. Blame them. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault. It was-)
Was it envy? A desire to be moved in such a way, to speak of it in whispers ever after?
(Be careful what you wish for)
Vaingloriousness? That you could do what the silence had not? Go where it had not? See what it had not?
(ahahahahaha-)
Or just simple, base, temptation? A glimpse of what you lacked was enough to need to have it, the cost be damned
(the cost: be damned)
And you never realised
How loudly the silence was screaming
It was already too late.
(Too-) late
A voyage, uneventful
Nothing in your wake. Everything had already fled your path.
(Fear the one who drowns. If you offer but a hand, they will take everything, desperate for one more-)
You stepped into the cage. Locked it tight. and
(-drop)
below the waves. Above you, already so receded, your last sight
(-of air)
cold
(Too late)
dark
(Too late)
down and down and down and
crushing
and
(no more)
And it will not be cold, after the cold is crushed.
And it will not be dark, after the dark is crushed.
And it will not be you, who realises, far, far too late
That diving so far from the sun will be no different than flying too close
and it will be too late
and your trespass will be felt
and it will be too late
and in the dark you would have been blind but here She will see
and it will be too late
and She will know
and it will be too late
And She will be the thorns and the maw and the screams and the woundgape and the blood
and rending and tearing and scything and burning and
losing fading regretting mistaking too late too late too late
And She will be ancient and She will be outside and She will be here and She will be unmoving and
and she will not care
and it will be too late
and you will be nothing
and you will not even be dismissed
and you will go
And you wake up.
(You didn't want to)
Again.
(and again. and again. and again. and-)
But you know you weren't dreaming.
(I'm so sorry)
and you are crying but down your cheeks the blood is already drying
(Red, in the sunrise)
And soon it will be gone.
(No trace will remain)
And you are screaming but no-one is listening.
(But I am still here)
And you sit and grieve what no-one will believe.
(I know it was real to you)
That you have lost what they don't know they have.
(You pity them as they pity you)
A life of not knowing that light does not banish darkness, it only obscures it
(It was trying to protect you)
and darkness does not fill the void, it only blinds you to it.
(I was trying to protect you)
And you will speak in whispers ever after
(I was trying to warn you)
So you kneel in the silence
(and the silence kneels with you)
and
(together)
you weep, and you pray
(we weep, and we pray)