Nightmare towering over Kirby, who is using sleep.
Age: ??? (appears to be in their 20s I guess? they also don't know their exact age)
Height: fluid, tends to stay between 5'5"-5'8"
Weight: fluid, never really weighs over 100 for agility reasons
Sex: situational (shapeshifting)
Pronouns: they/them, it/its by default, but they really don't care
Abilities: immortality, regeneration, self resurrection, shapeshifting (limited,) claircognizance, limited clairvoyance, enhanced senses, night vision (animalistic), reality manipulation, telepathy, limited telekinesis, enhanced abilities (strength, speed, etc), limited control over flora and fauna, teleportation (poor control), knowledge of language, timeline jumping (poor control)
Nobody knows where Red came from or why they exist, not even Red. All it or anyone else knows is that they're older than most things, and they can't die, no matter what is done to them. They have no memories of where they came from, or when. Whether that's because of the passage of time or some kind of amnesia is unknown, but it doesn't tend to bother them. (at least...not often)
Red exists in a state of slightly warped reality, being around it can sometimes feel as though you're in a dream of some kind, it's also able to manipulate reality around them and other people to cater to their need or intent. They don't usually intend this to be scary or deeply unsettling (at least not initially,) but can't help it.
Their timeline is never really set, on rare occasions Red will find itself waking up in a different time within 20 years past or future from the modern day. They can sometimes choose to do this, but it can happen at random as they sleep or travel.
It never stays in any place for long, always moving on to something new and interesting. Their methods of travel vary from normal things like bus or train to simply phasing into an area, but since it only has limited control over this teleportation ability, they tend to travel normally. However if it's a place (or even a person) they're very familiar with, it's much easier to teleport there. Any friends they make along the way and in any place they stay however will always be remembered, and Red will occasionally pop in on them to check how they are or stay with them for a while.
Red doesn't tend to speak, at least not verbally. They often communicate through sign language or writing, but they also tend to speak to people through telepathy or sending an idea or a thought into the mind of whoever they're communicating with. Their "voice" in someones mind sounds like multiple people talking in unison to form one voice, when they very rarely do speak out loud, it sounds similar.
When without their mask, one half of their face is almost always covered. The top half by their long bangs, the bottom by things like surgical masks or scarves. Rarely will they show their full face to anyone. Red is a bit insecure about their full face and dislikes unintentionally scaring others. So glimpses of catlike green-yellow eyes or sharp teeth are all you're likely to get of its face under the mask.
They're very curious about and interested in people, they crave connection with others and enjoy making friends. Who exactly they deem "interesting" enough to be friends with varies often, but these people tend to be strange and/or dangerous, Red wants to get in their heads and their lives and see how they can play with them. This intent is usually innocent fun for them, but they forget how fragile mortals can be. In the end they're simply very lonely, and while they love the company of animals, it's not the same as a connection with another person. If not strange or violent, the people whose lives they enter are often very lonely and/or depressed. In this case, Red wants to not just play with them, but improve their life and mind in some way.
Red also has an incredibly violent streak. They are a slasher after all. It sees itself as a force of twisted justice. They brutally punish those who the decided have done wrong, and like to play with their food. Speaking of food, Red has been known to occasionally eat victims. It has no real reason for this aside from the eating being part of its game, or a way of humiliating and desecrating the victim.
They often mess with the lives, realities, and minds of their victims for as little as a few hours or as long as months or even years before actually torturing or killing their targets. It's a punishment for the victim and an entertaining game for Red. They have no specific weapon or method, using whatever they have on hand or decide is fitting for the target and plan.
They're much more forgiving of children and teens. In all their time alive they've very rarely killed anyone below the age of 16. Though, rarely, they will punish children and teens for doing something outstandingly horrific.
Personality wise, Red is odd and mischievous, but generally friendly and fun. They have a combination of childlike curiosity and playfulness combined with a notable wisdom and ability to know anything you're trying to hide (at least they could if they wanted to) that, especially when factored in with their dreamlike aura, can be a bit unsettling.
Wym that's not what happened ?
Hi, we are a Ennard fictive.
We have to deal with phantom wires, well at least we call it that, it’s basically feeling the wires being well within our source we kinda are just a mess of them. Anyways, we have these phantom wires and we hate it, it felt normal when I was just the Animictonic but now I can actually, feel them. It’s wired. - 🔴
(Note from not Ennard: Ennard refers to itself as we)
The curse of an author
By: me. obviously. You say this is yours and you die
This is the first non-fanfic thing I post here, but it’s just my prose LOL! Read and enjoy, maybe get sad.
An author is always meant to be alone, to continuously long and reach for that which isn’t there. To bring into existence a soul of ink that weaves between pages and flies gracefully through sentences. Creating the most beautiful masterpieces not bound by ideas of rationality or human criticisms, but confined in a weak prison of paper. Cruel is the curse of such a character, swiftly mentioned and usually forgotten.
Will they forget me too? The one who lives in a momentary loss of self to develop such pieces of art. Each stroke of a pen a parallel to that which I have thought, are they not parts of me then? I take it with me when I press my wrist upon the page, forced to carry the remimance of ink wherever I go.
My hands always heavy, dripping with idea so when I hover the words will flow. A stream of rapid glistening pure water, stained with the ink of the page. Tainted so universally with sin and written plot of death as it carries into the polluted ocean.
Pages should not be light, with so much darkness drawn on a blank of white they should be heavy. Bearing the weight of the ocean, the profundity of their meaning sunk beneath layers of dark blue and black. Pages have no right being so light, it is unfair that they may fly away so easily; slipping like air through my fingers, so weightless the breeze sweeps them away.
Authors can never be truly happy, restricted to a simulation of fantasy that will never stop pouring. The curse and the miracle, the reason for such a life, and yet responsible for every death. Giving freely all the joy in the world with the power to make and tinker, but never to live.
Falling in love with the works sculpted by calloused hands, with the smell of fresh line and the texture of such a grand work of art. Heart gripped tightly by the beings written into existance, torn apart by their words and actions. Forced to see and create, but never to touch.
Maybe all authors have this void, weakly covered by a spread of words. It is a misery to be an author, so empty we may never love. Without the infinite void one cannot describe the feeling of longing. It may be spectacular, to a character that can be filled with the weight of emotion in ink, the story that passes in the whisk of a page; but for us to continue, we must always have a void.
It may be human selfishness, the insatiable desire to always crave more. No person could ever fill that feeling, so we search for it in words and fictional love. Eating as if I was starved, no delicacy sugary enough to appeal to my sweet tooth. Perhaps I am just attracted to the melancholy, that way I can always feel even if it is despair, and I can always have more to write about. Words never leave, so maybe I’m not letting myself be a character for the sake of not getting abandoned.
I refuse to give myself away, I save myself for my pages. For the fear that nothing will ever compare to that which lives subconsciously in my mind, that no romance could match that of which I long for. That of which I write.
For my true love will always be the blank of a page, my tears the ink that feed and gracefully transform into words that the people consume. To keep writing, I must keep crying, sobbing over that which will never exist other than on page. Thin and frail as it may be, it holds the worth of life inside it. With all the beautiful people and beings living between the lines, dancing and jumping between paragraphs. Unaware of the heavy droplets of pain caused at their expense. One must sacrifice their own happiness to pass it along to others, to watch them fall in love with someone you clutch in a crumpled page.
To see the ones I love unaware and oblivious to the one who creates them, terrified that it is impossible to not live in either worlds. Do I lose myself to my mind, romantizing the thoughts that only bring me agony and never be able to feel them? Or should I settle for that which will never be enough, only digging further into the pit I once tried to fill.
People say it’s better to have loved and lost. An author can never truly love, yet they always lose. I want to experience something as grand as the blinding lights I describe in my pages, the clenching of a heart when I finally fall in an obsessive deadly love. I might be my greatest muse, so every other person just happens to bore me. A couple droplets of reality won’t suffice, too little too much when I wish I would feel the flooding of an ocean infused with all the colors and emotion of a book. I want to feel love so hopeless my breathing catches and I can no longer exhale. If that’s what would bring upon my downfall so be it, at least I would die complete.
If the lines of my letters melt and form into one string will it be long enough to reach me? Will the rope coated in ink be strong enough to pull me out of that trench, or am I just to weak to hold on?
I am doomed with the curse of creation, to live and die incomplete. I don’t get to be the protagonist, or become the villain, and I never get the romantic interest. It means I must love like a character, but people will still love like people. Hopeless romantics will always be just that, hopeless.
Authors are forced with the burden of all the other characters, but trapped and unable to claw out of the pit dug with a pencil. Only an artist may see the profundity of it, everyone else will only a pen impaled in sand. So shallow and never large enough to cause sorrow. They never stick around to watch the tide come in. Nobody but words will ever satisfy, or fill that void which we can never fill. So we keep on writing.
If the pen is stronger than the sword, imagine how much it hurts to be wounded with it instead.
The turmoil in each heartbeat that clutches, pressing until it diminishes as nothing. Living a lie and writing the truth that will never come to light. It’s so dark here, the white page drawn too far in dark ink. The worst thing is, I would choose it every time.
❗- Please respond
🔴- Do not reply
🟠- Okay to ignore
🟡- Looking for genuine advice/opinion
🟢- Looking for comfort/validation
🔵- Be easy/I am unstable
🟣- I don't care how you interact with this vent
🟤- Not a serious vent (annoying but not upsetting or overwhelming)
⚪- Be sad with me
⚫- Be angry with me
The above image actually has no „red“ in it!
Your brain fills the color of the Coca Cola can in from your memory just… Zoom in if you don‘t believe it! 🤯
when it’s quiet, it’s just you and me.
YOU ARE A TRUE BLESSING PLS ACCEPT ALL MY UWUS ;v;
blocked and reported i cannot accept love i will dissolve
people just don't assassinate greedy CEOs and business owners enough anymore