#taking a long rest // ooc

[anextravagantliar]

reeeeeeemember…writing is a fun hobby and your mental health and wellness physically come first it is a mandate

[nionom-art]

Man every time I see your art as well as other Miraculous AU writers/artists it makes me really want to make my own au. I've got ideas, but i always worry it won't ever be as good as I'd want it to be or too ooc. How do you get past all those concerns? Do you have a support system for things like this?

Well, one thing that weirdly helps me is knowing that no matter how good I do, someone out there is going to dislike my au- and that’s perfectly okay. I mean, even the best books out there have one star reviews on Amazon, after all. We all have different tastes and interests, which is awesome, actually.

The thing is though, there is always someone out there who will LOVE your work- it’s exactly their thing. One thing I’ve learned is that if you like what you create, others will too (if you want to create a story, chances are there are people out there who want to see exactly the thing your writing about in a story as much as you do).

I am a people pleaser unfortunately, so I worry about people’s perception of me all the time. Keeping this in mind helps a lot with that.

The way I personally get past my own concerns about being ooc or not being good enough is by realizing that all I really need to do is try my best. There’s no way my renditions of specific characters will be completely in character all the time. I mean, look at all the most popular fanfics out there- I guarantee a good number of the characters in those fics are ooc. But that’s what’s cool about fanfiction- we all have our different takes on characters- and I think that’s really awesome. Personally, I think it’s fine for characters to be ooc, not only because it shows the author’s creativity and intent, but, well, also cuz it’s inevitable honestly. So, as long as you’re happy with how you wrote the character, don’t worry too much about them being ooc.

Now, if I ever feel like I’m not getting a character, or am unsatisfied with the way I wrote them, I often ask for another opinion (usually from my sister). She thinks very differently from me, which is helpful for writing characters I wouldn’t otherwise get very well (Lila and Adrien- looking at you). She thinks of all sorts of things I never would have thought of on my own (big thanks to her for being my pseudo editor, haha).

So I would say having a small group of irl or online friends to share your work with really helps- even if it’s just one person. They can give helpful feedback and can offer some support too.

Hope something in here helps!

[anghraine]

I've got a much longer post in drafts about it, but something I've noticed and find kind of odd is how there's so much insistence on the absolute episodic inconsistency of TOS, and writers knowing absolutely nothing about any previous episodes and the production team not really caring about consistency. It seems like almost any time there's a post about repeated themes or characteristics or whatnot in TOS, you'll get "that episode was written and produced entirely after the episode it might superficially seem consistent with or internally related to, but WELL AKSHUALLY..."

Like, for instance, any discussion of Kirk's (very consistent!) backstory and youthful personality in light of his canonical age will almost always get some insistence on how his age is completely up in the air until "The Deadly Years" establishes him as 34 in S2, there's no real consistency about his age in TOS, the internal timeline especially can't be considered significant to any S1 episodes or backstory as originally envisioned, etc. Yet in the S1 episode "Shore Leave," it's clearly stated that a) 15 years before the events of the episode, Finnegan was an older upperclassman who bullied Kirk, who was a "plebe" (first year) at the Academy at the time, and b) Finnegan was 20 then, nailing down Kirk's current age as no more than 33 or 34 (33 seems more probable, syncing exactly with him being 34 in the next season), and as far as I recall, none of the aired episodes contradict this or suggest otherwise.

A scene in "The Conscience of the King" would have suggested he's significantly older, but this was removed and the scene didn't make a lot of sense in the first place. Other backstory details in TOS are consistent with this as well, like the young Lieutenant Kirk being on his first deep-space assignment 11 years earlier c. S2 (aged 23 by the other episodes' timeline).

The production staff actively forced removal of details they considered inconsistent with his characterization and function (often rightly—sorry, Ellison, they were dicks about it but correct dicks). Details established in earlier episodes do recur—the existence of Sam Kirk, his wife, and sons and their good relationship with Kirk are established many episodes before "Operation: Annihilate!", Spock's painful, unexpressed love for his mother is introduced long before "Journey to Babel," Christine Chapel's crush on him is explicitly stated or clearly referenced in background shots over and over in S1 and S2 and is only really resolved as a thread in "Plato's Stepchildren," well into S3. Even specific events in earlier episodes are sometimes explicitly referenced in other episodes, like the Horta and Spock's desperate attempts to save Kirk in the Tholian web.

But honestly, I'm just kind of puzzled about why there seems so much investment in the idea that TOS is purely episodic and lacks all consistency from episode to episode, nothing ever recurs, it's never implicitly or explicitly calling back to other episodes, character arcs don't really happen, and so on.

[altarfates]

So I think I’m going to take a week or so break from writing come back clear out my askbox entirely and just sort of throw out a new plotting call adjust my muse list and go from there. Don’t let this deter you from interacting if we are mutuals I will like post more prompts to slowly start interactions up again.

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn��t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[kittycatred]

[ ooc ]

hii i just wanted to give a mini heads up that im going to be taking a break for a bit here !!

ill catch up on all asks & such whenever i get back !! i do appreciate them though & ill get to them as soon as im feeling better !! :3

[daybreakrising]

i'll be here to do some writing soon but first i'm gonna bask in a minor achievement of mine. some of you may have seen me talk about this here occasionally in the past year (if you're particularly unlucky you would have been subjected to me rambling about it in dms too) but-

on the 26th Feb 2024 i started the insanely big project of gathering all materials needed to ascend & level all my current genshin characters to the 80-90 range (but not levelling to 90, an important distinction to make-). most of the numbers i had to get for regional specialties, boss drops and enemy drops were between 150-250. some regional specialties were over 400. i spent months farming bosses both for their drops and for the various gemstones. i scoured the entire map for the regional specialties every 3 days, grew what i could in the teapot, bought what i could from the various shops (and this was before they implemented the tracking for specialties-). several times i came close to finishing things only to then pull another character that i then needed to farm for, thus extending the project further and further.

and now, over a year later.... it is done. i have everything. all i need now is another 5k exp books so i can actually level them all.

now to farm for all their talents

[reginrokkr]

A little Dain-related musing under cut in reference of the 5.6 AQ!

I'm not saying that he would purposefully do the same as Gold or that he would seek that, but it's exciting to think about her merging with the Shade of Life and as a result, to wonder what heights Dain himself would reach. If anything, considering that it seemed like the Five Sinners along with him might've been somehow equals in terms of mastery of their respective fields / strength wise although he didn't want to get into the Abyss nasties. But if he happens to be deeply connected to the reweaving of all threads of fate, I think that this is grand enough as it involves altering everyone's fate and in order to reach to that conclusion, do something about the Heavenly Principles themselves.

[symphonicsoul]

|| Okay current life updates

Aka what's going on with my hands (still)

Called in to work today because I woke up multiple times last night with both hands / arms up to my elbows going numb in and out again. 🙁

My hands hurt some days and others they don't. If I push them really hard (lots of work + lots of typing) they tend to get mad. So I try to give them breaks from time to time.

Lefty doesn't get nearly as mad as righty does, but lefty had surgery so it better not. If I do A LOT of typing, I pay for it. Which is unfortunate for as much as I'm on disco.

So because of this I have been getting things done but putting them in my queue. Brain wants to make sure I have a steady stream of things going up. It just makes it feel like I'm getting something done but I can't do it every day, so that's where the ✨ queue✨ comes in.

I have it set up as a mix of threads and asks right now.

Please know I have probably answered your thread and it's in the queue and if not it will be soon. It also is helping prevent the feeling of being buried. Which is doing loads of positivity for my mental health.

SO that being said, I am going to continue to just fill the queue to keep it going out as far as I can, because I need to work on some cosplay related stuff for the conventions I'm Guesting at this coming weekend / the end of June.

You guys are always welcome to send me and the puff squad (or Chaos, Oscha, Cid, etc) anything at any time. It will more likely than not end up in the queue though and if some puffle related asks might not have gone up because I don't have graphics made for them yet.

So the queue gives me time to do that because I have a lot of muses to juggle now but it keeps my brain active and I love it honestly.

Thank you forever for being so continuously supportive of me and my muses.

They are CRAZY EASILY crossed over with other universes, so please feel free to reach out if you ever want to write with any of them or multiples of them. Also if anyone is ever interested, I do stream my art on Twitch some times, so please feel free to drop by if you want.

💙 Kira

[dangaer]

saw a post that said: i am a lot but all of it is lovable and that's the energy i think we should take for the rest of the week.

[fatelcved]

what if… i said i might wanna try writing on discord… how would we feel

[lclthlcved]

Chibi lolth as per stream request

[avastyetwats]

Well, I feel stupid. Think I’ll disappear for the night. Maybe the week lmao. Ugh.

[lingeringscars]

Gonna be finishing up my readings for next week (on a Friday? Who even am I?) If anyone wants to chat about dynamics / life / whatever

[grcveyacd]

/ i'm going to get to a few drafts, & hopefully to a few mini bios for a couple of my muses tonight. i have been lurking on mobile most of the day so, i haven't really gotten to any messages on dis.co or anything, i have seen them though and i will get to them here soon <3

[balladetto]

which tarot card are you?

tagged by: plucked from my dash like a bug! tagging: whoever would like to do this but hasn't done so yet!

link // the tower.

where is the line between awakening and self-destruction? is it thin? are you walking toward it? on it? already too far gone? there is nothing more disheartening than trying to find yourself, only to learn that you detest the person you've been looking for. can i tell you a secret? you are allowed to love yourself. required to, even. how can you go forward without it? make no mistake — it is not easy. but it is essential. you will get there, and it will be warm.

number: 16. upright: sudden change, upheaval, chaos. reversed: transformation, fear of change, averting disaster.