#RIP Carnelian

[sirstrawberryhead]

CARNELIAN MY GIRLLLLLL (I MISS HER)

(Small rant below)

I normally don’t “hate” things about media but Carnelians character and how little we saw her before she died ENRAGED ME.

She could have been so interesting as a character even if we barely see her and just think of the character interactions w/ the rest of the Jade Winglet (AAAAAAAAAA)

Tui why.

I would love to see her interacting with like, Qibli, or something, or see how she’d react to Moon’s mind reading. Watching her start to trust dragons from other tribes after fighting them her entire life???? I feel robbed and betrayed/hj

We still could have had Peril’s book with Carnelian still alive imo, and that slightly pisses me off

She was a kid :(

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

RIP Moon you would’ve killed it as a romance game protagonist

Moon Rising was a romance novel. There are so many options:

Mightyclaws - The quiet yet vengeful artist

Qibli - The charming outclaw

Carnelian - The brooding ex-soldier

Winter - The misunderstood prince

Sora - The quiet, vengeful, loyal one

Icicle - The abrasive, fierce, loyal princess

Kinkajou - The happy-go-lucky best friend

[powderblueblood]

How about Lacy finding Eddie's writing? 🤭

need you to imagine me listening to a fifth of beethoven from the saturday night fever soundtrack whilst writing this because i became insane and filled it with Clues.............

it's like trying to understand the fucking zodiac killer.

it's all codes and ciphers and scrawls and-- well, she thought she might have been reading that one upside down but it's actually indecipherable any way you twist it.

and it's not like any of it is even written on paper either. torn open cigarette packs, napkins, burger wrappers from the diner. one time a leaf.

because eddie's not like lacy in the way she keeps a journal but eddie's like lacy in that if he's roundhoused with a thought that he needs to remember, he's got to write it down now immediately pronto on any available surface.

which is pretty pointless, since he keeps losing all this garbage and she has to pick it up after him.

she bears over the spread of scraps like an fbi agent, palms braced to the table. there's a thread here, but she can't quite untangle it. she's staring at a pile of shit that says shit like

crabs incident-- bruised like a peach worth biting-- violet like violence??

red tights. tingly. carnelian little carnivore.

track two. treasure.

persephone's hall pass.

seventh grade & as many minutes in limbo. shoulda ripped off band aid.

mage in a mink coat.

well, that last one--

"you dumpster diving now? hard times."

fuck! fuck. told you, rat blood. appearing out of nowhere with no noise no notice to then become the loudest thing in the room. he's like thunderclap, this fucko, like a spontaneous combustion.

he also doesn't even recognize his own handwriting, seems like. she blushes, furious. doesn't know why.

"community service. they have me picking up the trailer trash's trailer trash."

"snitty!" he shoves the bag of chips he's holding at her--an offering, he can't do anything normal around her--and reaches for one of the scraps. lacy watches him like a scientist watching a guinea pig for brain activity-- and his eyes go all wide and panicky. "wait."

"eddie-- hey!" but he's scrambling now, going for all the little pieces of writing she'd been trying to arrange on the table like a pointless puzzle. "don't--"

"where'd you get all this shit, huh?! going through my pockets now, is that it? like a cop?"

"i-- hey, don't you fucking dare-- look, you shed!"

"i shed?"

"you shed. you've got shit falling out of that stupid, enormous nerd binder every goddamn day because you just shove shit in there and don't organize anything, and i wasn't gonna stand around and let you just litter everywhere and--" now it's her turn to be like. wait. crosses her arms, eyes narrow, she's mother superior serving nailed ya bitch. "--why are you all skittish?"

"huh?"

"it's just-- trash, right?" she snatches a burger wrapper out of his grasp. oh this is delish.

"yeah," he grabs, but she's holding it behind her back and god her face is like stupid smirky, "but it's my trash. my--giveit--private... trash."

eddie munson is blushing.

"who's the mage?"

"the fucking.... the what?"

little crinkle as she unfolds a piece torn off a brown paper bag. "mage in a mink coat. who's that?"

"nobody."

"i have a mink coat."

"oh. does that really say mage? 'coz it should say mange." he's such an asshole. she's grinning so wide.

everyone says revenge is a dish best served cold but she bets she could use eddie munson's cheeks as a hotplate and eat right off 'em. it'd taste so much better. lobster bisque. filet mignon. michelin star.

"have you been writing about me, munson?"

his face is all stone-set, mouth all i can't fucking believe this and eyes all i'd cut the brake lines in her van if she wasn't the one scamming rides off me all the time. "li'l miss my life is incomplete without eddie munson wants to talk?"

"called you a neanderthal in the next sentence. don't forget that."

"you're such a beastie."

"carnelian little carnivore, you wrote."

"what makes you so sure it's all about you, huh?"

"context clues."

he glances down. she is, in fact, wearing the aforementioned tingly-feeling-inspiring red tights again today. shit.

"what happened in seventh grade?" she's pointing to the scrap in his hand, one he's managed to keep out of her snatchy little fingers.

she doesn't remember anything significant about seventh grade. but he does, and a knot tightens in his chest and he's about to lie and say something crass about my fist, a stopwatch and a view of you from underneath the bleachers at cheerleading practice-- then final bell rings.

"that is for me to know--"

"--and for me to die ignorant?" she's an active listener.

"precisely, you wench. now get the fuck outta here, i got hellfire."

lacy leaves the scraps.

"i will find out, y'know."

he knows. "you're like a bitch with a bone that way."

"the bitchiest."

[semi-imaginary-place]

Ichikawa intended for Phos to be a failed 7 treasures

Phos is actually a failed 7 treasures because hnk is a deconstruction of Pure Land Buddhism and its failures. Probably anyways, always hard to tell with this series. So Ichikawa sets up Phos to make it look like he is going to get all 7 but then he never does. Like there was massive theorycrafting a few years ago that Padpa was going to give some of his body to Phos and that would make up the carnelian/rose colored gem but that never happened and instead Phose gained Adamant's eye and became "human".

https://semi-imaginary-place.tumblr.com/post/701968850676269056

I think when it comes to Phos being human, it isn't a cut and dry matter, it's not a binary of is or isn't but a matter of enough or not enough. Even before the adamant eye Phos was the closest thing to a human the world had had in a long long time, so human that he pretty much was human (or maybe he did become human, existence proceeds essence and all that). My interpretation was that the adamant eye was sort of the final key to unlock prayer as before Phos wouldn't have known the mechanism for how to pray away the Lunarians. This is all from a literal/plot perspective. Kongo knows that they are broken and cannot pray and knows that Phos is pretty much this world's only chance of liberation/cessation so Kongo puts all hope into Phos that he may make humanity's dreams a reality.

The Seven Treasures stuff is all meta narrative. It was never the Lunarians plan for Phos to get the 7 Treasures, it was ICHIKAWA's plan to make the audience think Phos was going to get the 7 Treasures, so there is is no carnelian that's the point (or that's my interpretation at least). Phos got the wrong 7th treasure, that's the point.

Of course there's also this added layer of how to the those descended from parts of humanity a full human is to a god, as the only one with the power to end their suffering. This all seems to be a reference to samsara and nirvana but... it's twisted. (I swear we all need PhDs in Buddhist philosophy to understand this series lol). In that unlike in samsara (the endless cycle), the Lunarians are trapped in the afterlife but unable to reincarnate and continue the cycle. (There was also the whole moon crater jigoku thing where they're eternally ripping each other apart). Here the Lunarians are trying to end their existences altogether instead of trying to reach enlightenment. They are trying to create a human instead of transcending humanity.

[willow-wc]

The Jade Winglet! (Rip Carnelian) (from left to right and then top to bottom) Winter, Qibli, Moonwatcher, Kinkajou, Umber, Turtle, Carnelian and their wonderful teacher Tsunami! They were really fun to draw! I love Winter and Kinkajou.

[manwalksintobar]

Sirens // Tina Cane

I.

I’ve been meaning to tell you that the skin around her eyes was thin

with blue veins fanning out like ferns     that she was pale for a Puerto Rican

and that she spit and threw change at my feet as I waited to cross the street

to tell you that I wouldn’t let her man take me for hot dogs at the Second Avenue Deli

or to Jade Mountain for pork fried rice     that I knew what a hat like that meant

to say    his diamond crucifix the way he swayed his coat     flicked sunflower seeds

from between his teeth     strutting behind the line of parked cars     I’ve been meaning

to tell you that the parking lot on the corner was not always a dorm     that once I saw her

bloodied and on her back beside a car      that two kids laughed pulling rings off her fingers

as she squinted in the sun     that I put my backpack on both shoulders     readied my key

that I ran from the sound of the sirens

II.

To tell you my dad drove a cab for forty years     kept a red bean he got

from an Ethiopian guy in the back pocket of his Levi’s to ward off hemorrhoids

that he wrote me notes throughout the night on the margins of his fare sheet     stuff

like  “eat yogurt for osteoporosis”     that he listened to Tosca for another life in which

he didn’t have his foot on any pedal     didn’t ever have to chase a punkass kid to get his

money back then end up buying the kid a sandwich      to tell you that he was a Jewish guy

from Brooklyn     what the fuck he’d pound the wheel     cut off cut short     another Brooklyn

fare     not going back there with no return trip over the bridge     to tell you that he drove

like a pro back when the medallion itself was a thing of beauty     deco-like     clicking

its nickel intervals with approximate precision     the weight of it enough to crush

just about anything

III.

I’ve been meaning to tell you that my mother and father once fought

for fifty hours straight in our basement apartment off Second Avenue

that the table fan was set to oscillate as they worked their way through

recriminations     cups of coffee     a carton of Marlboros     that my mother

tossed a day’s worth of meals into her flashing wok at hasty intervals

as my father paced the room     been meaning to tell you that the girls

on the block scraped pavement in their platform shoes like weights just outside

our one gated window     that we often heard Peaches the transvestite weeping

about a Hasid john from Delancey Street or a guy from Staten Island who liked

to rip out her hair     meaning to tell you that they made the movie Taxi Driver

right around the corner the year before     that I thought my dad might have been in it

since he drove a cab     had also been an actor     was once a bartender down on Bleecker St.

that he said I was too young to see such a film and about Saturday Night Fever

my mother said definitely not

IV.

That there was a Nordic Track bought in 1996 still in its box

blocking the way to the coat rack on which my dad hung his London Fog

$3,000 in its pocket for me to collect     as he had requested from his hospital bed     plus stacks of cash

from the safe deposit box    from under his mattress and the Polly-O Ricotta container in the freezer

beside the Eddy’s Light Ice Cream and empty ice tray     been meaning to tell you there was $30,000

in my purse by the end of the day     to tell you that I tried to buy a giant stuffed peacock from a shop

on Christopher St. the day he died     but ended up lugging a duffel bag of twenties to Greenwood

Cemetery instead to purchase a plot for him on the hillI’ve been meaning to tell you that cash

is how a cabbie’s daughter pays her father’s bills     to tell you there was a wall of books by his bed

a broken shutter on a split hinge     piles of newspaper clippings to be filed per a system that didn’t exist

that he left his hack license on the bed-stand with the pocket knife we gave him     the carnelian ring

the paper birthday crown my children made     and made him wear buried in plush animals on the carpet

in their room     that there was a rucksack of photos and mementos from his old friend Wallach

when my dad cleared out his place but never had the wake     to tell you that he never

even opened the bag after humping it up the stairs     just talked to Wallach in his head

every day till the end     about the girl in those photos     about articles he should have read (via Tupelo Quarterly)

[dreadark]

whats your current top 5 arknights operator themes? ik you like endospore (i do too i think it's one of the best. it reminds me of pokemon gen5 ost) and the pallas one i think? but im curious abt the others

and. while we're at it. which ones do you think suck if there are any

always a hard question... probably like

keep the torch (pallas) forever #1 of course it's such a unique style that somehow the only thing I've seen it compared to is beyond the bounds which was also my first thought when I heard it because they really are similar. but what Is this style called... (the word is genre isn't it)

immutable (kal'tsit) I really like how the instrumental has a completely different vibe (imo) it sounds mechanical(?) like along the lines of passenger or rosmontis's themes. but with the lyrics it sounds...graceful? with this sense of longing?? idk what I'm saying I don't actually know anything about music

endospore (mizuki ... #2) it just makes me so instantly emotional somehow it's like 80% of why I like mizuki. and I...don't like IS3 but this theme is so good i can imagine a better version. like...it really is mizuki's last stand

high mists of spring (qiubai) probably half the reason this is here is because it doesn't have lyrics but it's still just a really good theme... I like how emotional guitars can sound, I didn't expect something like this for qiubai but it really works

dormant craving (ho'olheyak) actually I think it fails as a character theme (the sound(?) is good but if you start paying attention to the lyrics they... do not match ho's character. which makes me a bit sad because I assumed she was a more interesting character from the lyrics before I read lonetrail rip) but still it's been stuck in my head for months so I have to include it. I literally have all the lyrics memorized (mostly it's really fun to sing to)

the explanation wasn't asked for but I love rambling. other than the top 2 the other ones will change based on my mood probably

there's... also a lot of themes that I think suck but to not get too much into a rant... recently degenbrecher's theme annoys me... she should've gotten something cool like carnelian or flametail or her own boss theme hello?? how did you make that one so good and then this... (I have this same problem with mudrock...)

but it's like... I guess the song isn't bad just... uncharacteristically wistful..? just not intense enough. does this sound like a 3 time kazimierz major champion to you like why does stainless's theme sound cooler than hers. it's not right

[ivyprism]

The Other Dragons: Horrortale, Swapfell, and Fellswap Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Warnings: Death, sadness, murder, etc.

Volance - Horrortale Dragon Papyrus

Personality: He is brave and bright. He usually keeps to himself. He finds himself preoccupied with other matters. He is a well-known and talented dragon who adores helping and defending the weak. He attempts to defend his loved ones, but when he lost his brother, he became fiercely protective. When necessary, he can be very sassy and often responds perfectly. He appreciates having friends and makes an effort to see them frequently. When it comes to those he doesn't trust, he can be brutal and direct. He is also one of the strongest bosses.

Appearance: He's a dragon skeleton. He has a total of six scars on his face. Five on his right eye and a diagonal scar on his cheek, but they appear to be splintering. He has horns, wings, and a tail. He has a large skeleton dragon form. One of his horns is severely damaged. He's blind in his right eye.

Caedos - Fellswap Carnelian Dragon Papyrus

Personality: Most people characterize him as flirtatious, aggressive, and harsh. When the chips are down, he doesn't back down. He is snarky and very strong. He doesn't like some people very much. Although he is incredibly gentle and caring toward his loved ones, if someone poses a threat to them, he will rip them apart. He never thinks twice about reaching out to assist. He goes for the throat and offers assistance where he can. To keep the people he loves safe, he will kill. He is more bite than bark. He doesn't hesitate to help. He is very fierce and protective.

Appearance: He's a dragon skeleton. He has one gold tooth. He has three large scars on his left eye that cross into each other which lead from the top of his skull to his cheek. He has horns, wings, and a tail. He has a large skeleton dragon form.

Infernos - Fellswap Carnelian Dragon Sans

Personality: He is quieter, more measured, and more severe than his sibling. He will murder to win a fight, and he never backs down. He consistently goes straight for the throat and never backs down. He keeps all possible threats out of his home. He is fiercely determined to defend his haven. Although he rarely loses his temper, he is incredibly passionate, and crossing that line can be dangerous. He won't lose anyone else; he will defend those he loves. He is a hard foe to beat and those who underestimate him die trying.

Appearance: He's a dragon skeleton. He has three two scars on his left eye that are diagonal. He has horns, wings, and a tail. He has a large skeleton dragon form.

Amaranthinos - Swapfell Amethyst Dragon Papyrus

Personality: As they would say, fierce, cold, but flirty. He is incredibly intelligent, pays close attention to detail, and is perceptive of his opponents' emotions. When it comes to a full-on brawl, he doesn't back down and moves very quickly. He takes his responsibility to safeguard others very seriously. He never hesitates to act fearfully because he is a menace. He is fiercely protective and relentlessly pursues anyone he can. He will never lose anyone again since he loves them so much.

Appearance: He's a dragon skeleton. He has a large painful jagged scar on his left eye. He has horns, wings, and a tail. He has a large skeleton dragon form. He has two silver fangs.

Veilios - Swapfell Amethyst Dragon Sans

Personality: He is brusque, gruff, and unrelenting in his pursuit of the kill. He isn't scared to take action to keep his loved ones safe. He is a force of nature and doesn't hesitate; he is aware of this. He is devoted and watchful. He is fully prepared to fight to defend those he loves. He is not hesitating. His bite is harsher than his bite, but he is incredibly gentle to kids. He's never going to let anyone in again. He has a good temper.

Appearance: He's a dragon skeleton. He has two large jagged scars on his left eye. He has horns, wings, and a tail. He has a large skeleton dragon form.

---------

[e-m-p-error]

[ Closed Starter For @static-overlord ]

[ Valentino ]

"You, my pretty, pretty polilla," Puckering his lips and blowing a couple of kisses at himself, Valentino didn't stop there. His words were put on pause long enough for him to lean forward and kiss the mirror instead, then give it a little lick. That last one was a little bit of a mistake, and his face wrinkled up at the taste, but he didn't seem to mind, "Are going to knock him dead tonight."

That was the plan, anyway. He'd never had a problem so far with taking out the Overlords around Ostello's territory. The old weapons dealer had been replaced by Carmilla, and that was a bit of a setback, but Valentino knew he'd have her outfoxed before long.

Running his lower hands over the smooth, wide netting of the sides of his dress, he peered at the lace in the mirror. The floral pattern was befitting the plants in this apartment he was staying in as a decoy, and he loved how the lace fitted over his skin. The most solid part of the dress was the cups for his chest, which opened in a keyhole beneath his pecs to his stomach. A golden web with a brilliant, fiery carnelian stone in the center hung against his skin, warmed by his own body heat.

"If he doesn't want to rip this dress off you and ravage you on the spot," He told himself, poking the mirror and dragging his finger down his reflection's cheek, "Then he's blind, stupid, and not going to have a good time before he falls."

Fluffing his hands through his fur, he purred at his reflection, dragging his hands down further to the fishnets that he wore, and the tall PVC boots that crawled up his thighs, he hummed. Yes, yes, this was perfect. With his eyes all done up with vibrant, glittery red eyeshadow, red lipstick, sharply angled wings on his eyeliner, and heavy, thick false eyelashes, he thought he'd chosen the best possible look for tonight.

If Vox didn't want to fuck him, he sure did.

Blinking when he finally noticed the glaring red numbers on the clock by his bed in the mirror, he whipped around.

"Shit!" Grabbing his clutch purse and his crop half-jacket off the vanity chair, he rushed out of his bedroom and to the front door. He was already eight minutes late to when he was supposed to get picked up. The door slammed behind himself and he locked it quickly before trotting toward the car, knowing which one was Vox's immediately.

[nicosraf]

Can I just say that the part where Lucifer's tears turn into lilies was so ugh! It was so chef's kiss, I read it over and over again.

Just the fact that even in pain, Lucifer was never allowed to be ugly. Pain like that is inherently ugly yet even that is robbed from him as his tears are turned into a spectacle. He is meant to be beautiful and that's all there is, God wouldn't allow him to be anything else.

Maybe I interpreted it wrong but ugh I'd love for you to explain that part to me, I've been ripping my face off trying to find someone who noticed the things I did. I have so much I want to talk about.

You interpreted right! I think the emphasis on Lucifer/Satan's beauty in the Bible is a lil interesting (mostly the passages in Ezekiel 28, which most Christians take to refer to him). There's very little about Satan's strength, particularly as an angel, and I think in media we hear a lot about the powerful and strong Lucifer, rather than the beautiful, wise, innocent one who became vain on account of that beauty, which was what the passages actually say:

You were the seal of perfection,     full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. You were in Eden,     the garden of God; every precious stone adorned you:     carnelian, chrysolite and emerald,     topaz, onyx and jasper,     lapis lazuli, turquoise and beryl. Your settings and mountings were made of gold;     on the day you were created they were prepared. You were anointed as a guardian cherub,     for so I ordained you. You were on the holy mount of God;     you walked among the fiery stones. You were blameless in your ways (NIV Ezekiel 28:12-15) Your heart became proud     on account of your beauty, and you corrupted your wisdom     because of your splendor. (NIV Ezekiel 28:17)

But, at least for humans, beauty is a lot of pressure!! (a lot of models, influencers, & celebrities struggle with body dysmorphia), so I wondered if Lucifer's beauty was ever a burden for him / if he hated his body. And I wondered about God's role in creating that (and knowing it would make Lucifer suffer), and how he would reinforce the idea. (And obviously I wondered what the point of a most beautiful angel even was, which led to the pretty creepy relationship between God and Lucifer.)

I thought a lot about the trappings of beauty, about God forcing Lucifer to be beautiful no matter what (especially in the crying flower scene), and how that was just another assertion of God's control over Lucifer's body (which eventually manifested itself as SA, inspired from Ezekiel 16). I chose Lucifer crying flowers because, as you said, authentic crying is ugly and flowers are pretty. It turned Lucifer's sadness into beautiful sadness.

And there's another major element to it, ofc: God trying to hide the horror of what he's doing, covering it up with flower-giving, an expression of love. But who is God covering the horror for? For himself? For Lucifer? Hmmm

[vacantgodling]

amethyst, roze quartz, and carnelian for paramour !!

thank you thank you!

Amethyst: Who is the Comfort Character™ of your wip

tbh this uh. depends on your version of comfort. MY PERSONAL comfort character is hya. which is why we’re talking about his bitchy ass 💀 however, the most stereotypical and widely accepted usage of the term would probably dictate aloe to be the comfort character and uh rip if that’s the case.

Rose Quartz: Were any characters cut from the wip?

actually no! the cast has only expanded since i started the wip. because this is one of my (rarer) newer wips that isn’t a rehash or reimagining of old characters/old ideas, i didn’t have much to work with when i thought of paramour. literally the only 3 characters that existed when i first thought of it was (1) the character that would become hya (2) the character that would become amon (3) the character that would become the keeper. and they were barely thought out, just placeholders.

Carnelian: Does the story have a lesson to learn? What is it?

OOF THATS A HARD ONE LOL. idk if paramour has a real Lesson so much as it has themes. if you wanted, you could probably make the take away that idk … that rich people suck SO MUCH ASS and they should be thwarted at all costs then, i won’t stop you

[acetylsalicylicacid2]

It’s a cold night. Not dark. Not stormy. Cold. And empty.

Too empty, on the endless plains that never quite freeze, even if the north wind carries snow on his breath. She hates how the plains never freeze, hates how the air never bites like it should, hates how the wind never howls over her thoughts, hates how her bed never feels quite like it should.

She tears a hole in her torso and grabs her lowest rib. Start from the bottom, it’s easier that way. Old advice from her youth, though she doesn’t remember who spoke it. Probably no one, truthfully. It was probably nothing but her own conclusion, painstakingly learned the first few times she did this.

She tears her thirteenth rib from her torso.

Everyone knows about the thirteenth rib. It’s where her body dumps all the love that she can’t show, where it lets the poison settle and crystallize and calcify. It’s where all the little pains grow a nightshade vine and bloom toxic little blossoms until they fruit their terrible fruit. And, like all vines, she must prune this rib every now and then. Ripping it from her chest is the simplest way to do it. Sure, she could cut it off (though that’s a lot of trouble) or see a doctor for some permanent surgery (but that could destroy her), but why? Why go through the trouble when the entire vine could simply disappear? Never mind that it grows back in three weeks. Never mind that the fruit tastes so sweet.

The first rib’s twin cuts through her abdomen, and she grunts. She hasn’t screamed for years. She’s forgotten how. It would be better if she could, though, because this always hurts. She still needs it, at least that’s what she tells herself. The calcium carnelians will kill her otherwise.

She pulls both bones harder, feeling their roots dig into her spine, pull, and oh, how the pain destroys her. She drops them. She pants. She grits her teeth and yanks again and her vision goes white and she hates it and she cries and finally. The roots snap and this set of parasites is gone.

She could look at them, study their wrinkles and whorls, trace the subtle patterns that cover their surface and look for signs of ailments. But today is not a day for studying love. She has other days for that. So instead she tosses them as far as she can and starts stitching herself back together.

When she finishes tying the gashes shut, she stands. The blood on her torso is cold and the wind gently blowing it away, colder. Her torso feels lighter, less constricted, emptier. That’s nothing, she thinks. It can’t be anything. She ignores how her lungs inflate deeper than they had, unhindered by the now-absent pressure.

The wounds will heal in a few days, and in that time, she will think of what could have been, of all the deaths she could have died, and rest. When nothing but scars remain, she will throw herself back across the plains, sprinting or maybe riding to a place she won’t know until she reaches it. She hopes so, at least.

It would be a shame if everything still felt so empty.

[gust-jar-simulator]

Hot Girl Shit AU, with the respective versions of these characters. Shadow is a weird little guy and I enjoy him immensely.

TW: nightmares, some uncanny valley, mentions of murder, gore, brief thoughts of self harm, maybe dysphoria if you squint. Mother issues if you squint.

Characters: Dark, Shadow

~🌒⚔️🐈‍⬛⚔️🌘~

Because he’s made of them, Dark wakes up from a nightmare.

He’s a woman, voiceless and nerveless. Her home is poisoned and her husband is dead, but she doesn’t know it, because something has come back wearing his skin. It’s kind, to her, with familiar music and familiar hands, but the look in its eyes is all wrong- if she holds her tongue and stares at the sea, she imagines it’s the wonder of love. Her husband moves like he’s unused to the length of his legs, the number of his fingers, and his charming smile is a little too wide and careless as he draws her in to dance.

There’s none of the weight of love in his eyes. Just that strange, shallow, uncanny wonder, and he asks her if she wants to sing again with a hand laid too-loose on her bicep, like touching her is a strange thing. She leads him into the start of their wedding duet, and he smiles and claps and tells her she’s wonderful without joining.

…

Dark snaps awake like a curse rather than a person, and the typical hedonism of taking a breath like living things do is choked by the burnt-carbon scent of moon dust.

He died, he died in that temple like a cow in the stall, born for slaughter. Why does he remember?

It’s the closest he gets to feeling either reverence or blasphemy. Nayru bore him. Nayru served him. Nayru bid him be carved and consumed, learned from like a book and burnt like an offering. He should feel something other than deep, abiding apathy. He can almost feel the shape of it, before the feeling slips from him like water.

He’s still choking on moon dust.

Reflections don’t have organs, kept chaste under false skin and phantom clothing. He can’t actually choke, or smell, or breathe except in the way of squeezing and releasing an octorok to watch it bulge and contort. He doesn’t have sweat to despise or real hair to brush. He learned what a dick was by tripping into a man by the latrine ditch outside a bar, drunk on music and strangers’ laughter and the heady buzz of being human.

He’s still not entirely sure how coughing works, but he wishes he could do it to clear the madness in his head.

Don’t sleep too close to the window, Link. The lady in the moon might see you and kiss you in the moonlight, and then you’ll never be yourself again.

Lunatic.

Moon mad.

Alone-

The boiling magic under his armor hisses like oil as he jerks in a painfully human startle. There’s a cough, wet and ugly and ripping out of Shadow’s throat like its own beast. Dark stares, and Shadow’s slitted carnelian eyes flit his way with a watery grin, buckled over with a wrist halfway to his mouth. “Hi.”

“…hi.” Mimicry is easy. He sits up, tries to make a throat-clearing noise, and ends up somewhere in the realm of particularly low humming. It’s not satisfying. “News?”

“Not really.” Shadow leans back against his tree with a noise of idle, casual comfort that digs under Dark’s skin like a rock wedged in his armor. The shorter reflection stretches a little, toes pointing and wrist rolling a bit, tossing his trident to his other hand like a river rock rather than an artifact of darkness. The dappled daylight catches at his purple hair, brings out the jeweled pink-and-blue highlights in it like a raven’s wing.

He’s beautiful, in the way sunsets and mountains are beautiful. It’s… disconcerting, to realize all over again how much color there is in the world. Shadow somehow manages to make purple look warm. Dark’s eyes somehow get stuck on the way Shadow’s lashes fan against his cheek when he blinks, delicate like grass seed and dandelion fluff.

One of those purple brows arches at him, and Shadow gives him a look. “Something on my face?”

“No.” Maybe. Dark can’t tell if he’s feeling his own feelings or just reflections, so he looks Shadow in the eye and decides to move past it. “How did you do that?”

“What, wake up hot?” The other brow ticks up too, the sharp edge of a grin pulling Shadow’s expression into something with too many teeth. “I thought I taught you shapeshifting.”

He’s not an artist. “You did.” Remembering how a tongue should connect to a throat was harder than it should be, considering how many times Link has beheaded something. Dark tried, but it was harder with the… fiddly bits. Chaste wasn’t an entirely inaccurate term for the way Nayru had poured him into shape- he was to be clever, and effective. He didn’t need taste or color or the animal pleasure of scratching his nose to do either of those things. Shapeshifting an approximation of nerves into his magic was difficult, with so many different kinds of touch.

He’s been thinking too long. Thankfully, Shadow doesn’t comment on it with a bizarre patience only reserved for explaining things like bread and milk and the merits of getting a hobby.

Trying to clear his throat again just results in a slightly different hum, and Dark’s mouth twists unpleasantly. “How do you do that? Make… noise, like a Hylian?”

The other reflection blinks at him. “I just… do?”

He’s got a horrible feeling he doesn’t want to confirm, and yet. “So you have the parts for it, then? A trachea, lungs?”

“Well…” Something very near embarrassment colors Shadow’s ears slightly darker, black at the tips of otherwise Gerudo-dark cartilage. He glances off towards the blue horizon, away from their little pocket of grove shadows. “I mean I had some of it, but I didn’t know how any of it was supposed to work until I got a good look at some blown-up people. Sometimes their bits twitch a little, when they’re bleeding out, and I kinda pieced together the idea.”

Hm. He hadn’t considered that. Dark gives Shadow another searching once-over. “So do you really breathe, then?”

“I mean I can? It’s more of a habit than anything.”

“Then,” he sits forward a little, suddenly fascinated, “you can really talk? With the breath through your throat?”

“Dark below, no, who the fuck knows how voices are supposed to work.” Shaking his head with a mildly disgusted noise, Shadow taps his own neck. “Nothing in there, I talk the same way you do as far as I know. Magic vibrations and lip syncing like a washed up bard.”

He frowns, but lets it go, subsiding against the roots of his own tree. It’s easier to exist, lower, pressed against the earth like the sky against the horizon. Shadow always looks half a breath from floating off into it, and sometimes he does.

The shadows are cool enough, Nightmare’s magic signature more of a humming coil burrowed into where erosion scooped hollows beneath the old roots. If he concentrates he can almost taste it, the sharp-tart prickle against his tongue like potentially poisonous berries, a glittering feeling just on the edge of unpleasant. Nightmare’s colorful in his own way, too. His hair doesn’t have the depth of hue that Shadow’s does, despite the color. It’s all in the presence, the static discomfort of him like a storm paused politely in mid-whirl. Poison berries and the clack of shoes on marble and the discomfiting temptation of a daymare flashback, a familiar pain to fall into like a homemade quilt.

Dark resists the urge to scratch at his arms. He can feel a little. He still wants his hero.

He wants a sword through his gut and living breath against his lips and salty fear thick on his tongue like ozone, wants the visceral pull of the Hero of Time’s ligaments dragging bone into violent motion. He wants, in that moment, to carve Link open stem to stern to see what his organs look like, how they’re supposed to work, what he’s eaten and how volcanic ash clings to the frantic, fluttering insides of his lungs, turned out like socks over the endless moon-mad waters of his holding cell.

He takes a deep, deep breath, and it tastes a little less like moon dust. A little more like blood.

That’s workable.

“I’m going to scout,” Dark murmurs, half thinking of their aimless journey and half thinking of the way his hero quailed when he learned how animals were slaughtered. A bear might be fun. It would get him out of his head.

Shadow cocks him a lazy salute with the Trident of Power and gauges its center of gravity, trying to balance it on one finger. “Have fun, don’t burn up and die.”

Dark doesn’t dignify that with a response, but he doesn’t have to. And, for once, he doesn’t compare Shadow’s rough edges to the warmth of someone else’s memories- he simply takes the come back safe as it’s given, because that’s what you do when strange fey men kidnap you from the creche of a goddess and ask if you’d like to commit arson.

He would, and he can, so he does.

He’ll figure out the mysteries of color and touch eventually.

[the-mirage-forest]

Some characters for thou

Here's Amanzi and Watawna! Watawna's been here before but I've barely mentioned Amanzi, Watawna's bio also has been slightly rewritten so I'll include both below the read more :)

Amanzi Unique among The Mirage wielders for being a ghost at the time of becoming a wielder himself, Amanzi is a good example of why the ocean isn’t a graceful thing. Standing 5’6”, around the physical age of 15, and born 9/15/???? meet the Wielder of The Waters. Formally titled Peleti.

Pre-Wielder Amanzi lived on a hunting ship, not just any hunting ship. A GEBD hunting ship, during a time where their baubles were popular and expensive, and the meat was valued. This led many ships to try and hunt the dangerous eels-including Amanzi and his crew. And on a calm sunny day, The Achira set off for what was to be the final time. 

Amanzi loved his crew, they taught him, they kept him, and they loved him back. He looked up to the second mate especially, who cared for Amanzi like he was their own kid. This second mate was known for wearing a glittery object around their neck. On one, chill, autumn night. A pod of GEBD’s approached the ship, without a warning. They began to tear and rip apart the ship and creman alike. It took a mere hour before they were all dead, and the ship at the bottom of the sea. 

Furious at having his life and others torn away from him in a matter of minutes, he became a ghost. A draugr out for revenge against the creatures that ended his perfect life, especially the one that ate the second mate. Right in front of him. Over the years, he killed every GEBD he came across. Even damaging the ships that hunted them, losing himself to the violence, and sight of his goal. He became rotten and disfigured, the coastal towns. Not knowing what he was and fearing him, they called him Peleti. 

This all came to a head many years after the sinking that nobody noticed, the ship and the bodies were still unrecovered. And Amanzi was still furious, a ship caught a gigantic, old, GEBD. Cutting it open, there was a partial skeleton with a glittery blue object around its neck. In an instant, the boat started to rock, splinter into pieces, the waves became rough, it started to storm. In a panic, the crew threw the skeleton, the bauble, and some parts of the fish into the water. The storm ceases, and there’s a few moments of silence. Before the water jolts, glows, and something is spat out onto the boat.

Moving on from that, Amanzi is a sassy fellow. But also a chill fellow, a very chill fellow. Drop something on his foot and he’s fine with it, but he also sometimes gets lazy. Greatly dislikes GEBDs, and regularly hunts them. His poltergeist/vengeful spirit origins DOES make him violent if pushed hard enough though. Though for the most part he spends his time basking in the sun, floating on the water. Generally being lazy.

Watawna

The “younger” of the two Mirage starborn, Watawna Carnelian-Auburn Wells is technically the 2nd-to-eldest sister to the Wielders despite not being one herself. Despite this, they still treat her more like an aunt figure. As she seems to have picked up on her father’s (Metaphorical) softer side.

7’2”, born a few milliseconds after her sister (Something that’s frequently fought about), Watawna spends her days as a pediatrician (focused on the magic side of things). She seems to have her interests drift from place to place and then loop right back around, unbeknownst to anyone. She was a poisoner for a short time, but quit because unlike her sister, she has a better moral code.

Watawna’s something of a kooky aunt figure, the type of person who collects shiny rocks, the type of person who’d get distracted by all the lost stuff they found while cleaning their room. Yes, she’s those types of people with a side of care and bubbliness. Probably intelligent, but really doesn’t act like it. Personally I think she’s a bit oblivious sometimes…but I’ve heard that if she does get mad she crawls along the walls/roof chasing people like a demon in an 80s earth horror movie. Sadly, I can’t say if this is true because it’s literally impossible to annoy her at all that it's annoying in itself

Being a starborn, she’s extremely powerful in her abilities. Most of her abilities makeup what we all know as Hollowlantern Magic. Just like regular Hollowlanterns, she also needs leaves to power said magic. 

The relationship between her and Tempest certainly isn’t tense, they may not act like it but they stick together through and through no matter what. It’s impossible to see one without the other nearby, although fights have certainly happened. Some leaving lots of damage and in some cases, casualties. Both are also of equal strength, although neither really show it. In fact at first glance it may seem more like Watawna is the weaker of the two siblings, but no matter how you cut it. They’re the same in their abilities.

Lives in a house with Tempest that’s nearby Saturn’s house, roughly 4 miles away.

[cruoren]

the void in him had turned carnivorous. the hunger in him had surged at the behest of days spent behind steel walls until he had begun gnawing at his own heart, driven delirious with the dullness of mundanity. the violence here is like a balm, the blood a salve he bathes in. carnage turns cathartic, and it clings to the supreme leader's gloves, where he had ripped out the guard's spine and held it clutched in his grasp. the bones clatter to the ground when he strews the thing aside with barely a grimace. his heart had grown to crave more-than-usual in its recent abstinence, fueled further by its desires. in his other hand, he casually twirls the buzzing lightsaber about. catharsis, indeed, he thinks, after entertaining meetings after assemblies after demonstrations of organizational nature for the past few months. that the negotiations with the outer rim warlords had gone wrong was an inconvenience for the first order, but an entertaining one nonetheless.

in truth, he had barely registered hux's permission over his mind's own insistence that he did not require it. yet, he had waited still. this is politics, and in such statecraft, he knows to adhere to the chancellor's lead. stood at the archway of the fortress, he had waited until the word had been given and the authorisation passed quietly between them like a guillotine, a swift sentence.

his own uniform is stained carnelian — red wraps all around, in his body and mind, until it’s all that is left for hue, splattered across intricate, golden embellishments. a few steps are taken, almost swaying, over a body, or two, which hux's precise blaster bolts had neatly seen to. he sheathes the saber, quietude befalling over the terrain with its hungry buzz silenced. when he returns to the chancellor's side with heavy strides, he is mindful of where he tracks blood, sweeping his cloak aside 'lest it taints the pristine white fabrics.

@acharnemcnt says, teasingly: ❛ good boy. ❜

the imperious remark stuns him into a moment of inaction, catching him quite off-guard. irritation rears its head, but a strand of warm satisfaction, too, wraps betwixt his ribs like a serpent, wringing poison, almost suffocating in its entirety. he cuts it in half before he can fully process its presence. his head cants to the side, brows furrowed. the flush that stains his features is roused merely by exertion, he is certain. a glove comes to wipe a smudge of — someone — off his cheek, dark gaze flickering, dashing away from the other man. instead, he looks onward to the aftermath, the graveyard he had constructed in minutes, ❝ i sensed the beginnings of their ploy hours ago. ❞ ren asserts, halfway between a genuine complaint at having been made to wait to counterattack, rather than being permitted to handle it prior, and an attempt at manoeuvring toward a distraction.

consequently, in statecraft, ren will heed; but when polity fails, he holds no qualms in exacting his own means of governance. ❝ have my knights escort you back to the ship, see if you can rewire the comms (...) i'll attend the remainder of the reception on my own. if it's half as welcoming as the deliberations, i shall enjoy myself thoroughly. ❞

[somethingclevermahogony]

Find the Word Tag

Thanks for the tag @axl-ul!

My words: shabby, miracle, show, chair, fun

Your words: Jagged, rot, moon, fear, gut

Shabby

" Ninma, stop! Leave it!” Narul shouted.

"We need it to save Otilia!" She screamed back. As she scooped up the crown and pivoted to leave, a sickly white hand wrapped around her wrist. She turned, and looked into the hate filled eyes of a Kosheki. The pale man held her tight, snarling and drooling, his shabby clothing torn asunder. She was too scared to speak, her body frozen. The fetid breath washed over her face.

Miracle

Black dots swam in Suru's vision as he dropped to his knees, the Macurian's fist having crashed into his jaw. It was a miracle he hadn't lost any teeth. The Macurian glared down at him and raised his sword for the killing blow. With a terrified shriek, Ninma hurled herself at the man, driving the jagged oar shard deep into his thigh. The warrior bellowed in pain and collapsed to his knees. Ninma scuttled hurriedly back across the deck and out of reach. A torrent of obscenities flowed from the man's mouth as he stood and ripped the shard from his leg, blood running thick and fast down his leather clad leg.

Show

Ninma was quite happy with her bath, her hair had been tended to, no cutting of course, she had made it quite clear that they no shears nor blades were to touch her hair. Her nails had been cut, her skin washed, and fresh perfume added. She felt like a princess again, being fused over and pampered. One of the attendants had even fetched her fresh clothing from some market along with a treasure trove of jewelry; rings, bead, bracelets, necklaces, even a small circlet of silver and carnelian. The shade of red wasn’t quite to her taste but at the very least it had no holes in it. She was eager to show Narul. 

Chair

"You were told to check that the runaway princess was in the bed not that something was in the bed." Wadikir said coldly, tapping his finger on his cheek, the other hand gently swirling a bowl of crimson wine. 

"I'm sorry, sir, I'll be more careful next time. I guess I just misunderstood what I was supposed to be doing. But I've learned my lesson I..."

Wadikir slammed his fist on the wooden arm of his chair. Droplets of wine sprayed onto his blue robes. 

His eyes bulged from his head and spittle flew from his mouth as he roared. " I never told you to talk! Who do you think you are? Do you realize how essential it was to this city that that girl was kept here under our eye? Do you understand the possible consequences of your incompetence? To this city? To me?

Fun

“Where’s Ninma?” 

Otilia smirked and crossed her arms. “Guess.”

Narul groaned and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “Did she go out with them again?”

“How’d you guess?” 

“Shit! Why does she do that? I keep telling her it's a bad idea. One of these days, she’s going to get herself killed. I keep telling Dati not to let her go...”

“She does it because she’s a sixteen-year-old kid, Narul. She’s just rebelling. Besides, you always go off chasing monsters and such, and you never let her go with you. She’s just bored. Didn’t you ever do anything rebellious when you were that age?” Narul threw his hands in the air and exclaimed. “ I don’t do it because it is fun! I’m doing it to protect the village! And no, I didn’t act rebelliously when I was her age. I thought I was going to eat someone!”

Tagging @kaylinalexanderbooks, @illarian-rambling, @pluttskutt, @paeliae-occasionally, @diabolical-blue