Hey there! I go by Yvette/Yeev/Yeevolution! They/Them, 20+ y.o. I'm here to simp for art and find the good memes. I post my art here too sometimes. I post and reblog whatever I find neat, this blog ain't themed. Asks and requests are always welcome! Current interests: Kirby, Trash of the Count's Family, Parrots, etc. Commissions: Open My current pfp is by Michi ♥️
1. Your first OC ever?
2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs?
3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?
4. A character you rarely talk about?
5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be?
6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?
7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories?
8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here!
9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else?
10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design?
11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”?
12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot
13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?
14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory
15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?
16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)?
17. Any OC OTPs?
18. Any OC crackships?
19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)
20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?
21. Your most artistic OC
22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?
23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?
24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why?
25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)
26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will?
27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song?
28. Your most dangerous OC?
29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?
30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection?
31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)
32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why?
33. Your shyest OC?
34. Do you have any twin characters?
35. Any sibling characters?
36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)?
37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human
38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer?
39. Introduce any character you want
40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!
41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!)
42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods?
43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess
44. Something you like about your OCs in general
45. A character you no longer use?
46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly?
47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child?
48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure
49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memes
50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want
If you want, you can tag your ask answers with #yetanotherOCmeme so I can check them out too `v´9
THAT FIRST SITE IS EVERY WRITER’S DREAM DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I’VE TRIED WRITING SOMETHING AND THOUGHT GOD DAMN IS THERE A SPECIFIC WORD FOR WHAT I’M USING TWO SENTENCES TO DESCRIBE AND JUST GETTING A BUNCH OF SHIT GOOGLE RESULTS
He has nothing left. His parents were dead, his uncle sold him, and even the slavers and slaves have passed away beneath the cliff, leaving Roksu at the top, alone. There was nothing to do but stare at the rising sun. It looked beautiful, he knew.
The leftover stars still linger in the sky brightly. He could begin to walk back to civilization at any moment. The stolen cloak sits heavy on his small shoulders, the weight of living pressing down on every inch of him, making every breath struggle to reach the air beyond his lungs. The cold air dried out his throat and made him want to hold his breath but he kept inhaling, in order to exhale again. All to keep living.
He did not ask, 'why me?'
It was a stupid question.
Things happened. Even the slaves in the carriage that went over the cliff knew that. It was simply bad luck. He didn't get dealt a good hand, but that didn't mean he would give up. Frustration burns his heart yet it fuels it all the same, like how the constant combustion of a stars core keeps it from collapsing in on itself. He lived through that frustration, and for that he was grateful.
He's seen many on his same position fall and succumb, sooner or later than himself. Like watching alternate versions of his life, some more and less prosperous. Hes one of many that have tried and failed, but since he is still alive, he must keep trying. Until he fails and dies, or until the day he succeeds.
The stars retreat from the warm glow on the horizon, subdued in that light. He wonders, how do they do it? They get hidden every day, but every night they come to rise again, bright as ever. They'll never reach the brightness of the sun, but in their combined effort, they shine in such a beautiful and unique way.
He reaches up towards those retreating stars and looks at them from in between his fingers. If he could hold on, would they keep shining? Let it shine in his palm, safe in a cage of small pale fingers, allowed to shine whenever and wherever.
Closing his fingers into a fist, he lets himself imagine that he caught one of those stars. Pulled it from the sky and held it gently. Would it be warm? Or hot, too hot for him to hold and burning his flesh in his arrogance? He lingers on that thought and looks at his closed fist, skeletal bones poking through his skin to reveal knuckles and his skinny wrist.
His hand is about to retreat when a light flashes behind his fist. He quickly pulls it back to see a bright and colorful light streaking across the sky. It screams in its decent and he can hear violent pops with flashes of purple and red overtop a luminous white.
A shooting star.
A star?... no way, he didn't make it fall— could he?
He pulls his cloak to himself and runs in the direction as it's falling. His bare feet pad quietly and quickly against the unforgiving dirt road until it gives way to grass and rocks. He holds the cloak to himself with one hand and his breathing grows heavier with each step, a pain twinging in his side and making him wince, but he pushes his feet forward still.
The star shines brightly above him, like a guiding light, and the star is loud in the way that everything around him grows quiet in comparison.
He nearly trips when he steps into a hole in the ground and his ankle twists, but he just touches the grass with his palms and pushes himself forward, running faster when adrenaline pumps into his veins at the striking pain.
He has questions but his eyes trail the star and its long tail. He has no mind outside of the shooting star which he follows. It screeches and he wonders if it will be a monster, ready to close its jaws around his neck. The bright star and its tail dips closer yet to the ground and he holds his breath as it soars downward suddenly.
He hides behind the lone oak tree on the hill as the star crashes into the valley.
He holds his breath. Inching closer to the tree, he presses himself against the bark and grips the cloak with an impassioned hand. In the crater is a white lump.
There's no room for regret. Not now.
The white lump is as bright as the star, making it difficult to see properly, but he doesn't need to worry long as it stars to dim rapidly.
The white turns to grey turns to black, and the colorful lights disappear in the wind. The morning glow reflects off the dull black lump and makes it colorful in a different way, with oranges and a rising pink.
Roksu's eyes widen at the sight. His heart beats heavily in his chest, burning from running so quickly. It pounds at the questions running through his mind.
Did he make it fall?
Will it ever glow again?
Is this his fault?
How did this happen?
What should he do?
That last one makes itself particularly known at the front of his mind, but he comes up with no answer.
The lump shifts in its spot in the crater. Roksu clamps his hands around his mouth to smother his sharp inhale.
Is it... alive?
Every fiber in his body understands that he should be running away, hiding, anything to get him away and out of sight from this strange thing that emerged in their world. Except that isn't what he does.
He watches the rising back of the lump.
It's breathing.
The back falls.
He leans further into the oak of the tree and looks closer at the weird thing.
It inhales. The back falls.
... is it hurt?
He bites his lip and digs the fingers he has pressed against the tree into that stiff bark, waking up to the sting of his flesh being bitten and scratched.
When the black lump- about the size of a crouching man- doesn't move outside of the small movement of inhaling and exhaling, Roksu gathers his courage and leaves the safety behind the tree.
He makes sure not to trip as he steps carefully down the steep hill. His ankle throbs painfully.
The sun is over the horizon now, baring its light down against the star in the crater.
Managing not to trip on a dislodged rock, he skips the rest of the way using gravity and winces when his foot gives out at the last second.
He exhales, breathing heavy. Pulling the cloak against his collar, he stands up and continues moving toward the star in the crater.
The star's back rises and falls steadily. It seems to be sleeping. That may be for the best, Roksu thinks to himself.
He reaches the edge of the crater, more wide than it is deep, and steps lightly into the exposed dirt. It digs into his feet painfully, still holding a residual warmth. Even if it's a little hot, it isn't enough to be burn him, so he keeps going.
The star, the creature, rouses slightly as he approaches. His mind wants to stop but his heart encourages his continued approach.
He steps up to the star, creature, about a few feet away. It's bigger than he thought it was and smaller than he assumed it'd be.
... Should he kick it?
Thankfully he doesn't need to do that, as the star inhales deeply and shifts upward, small bits of dirt falling off its back as it rises.
Black eyes bear down on Roksu.
The star looks like a man. No, a teenager approaching manhood, with short black hair and eyes that reflect the night star, devoid of stars.
The lump was actually the teenager's own cloak, curled around his black attire and black boots.
Roksu looks up at that young face and blinks. This... is a star?
It didn't fit his expectations, but the appearance also oddly fit the name, 'star.' He knew that he wouldn't be able to think of a star without thinking of this teenager again after this.
Roksu's reddish brown eyes meet the onyx eyes. They burrow into each other, trying to dig up answers, yet both finding none.
The onyx eyes blink first and look away from the intense gaze of the kid. It, he, begins to observe his surroundings instead.
Roksu quietly stares at this strange being who emerged from a blistering star.
The star looks back at him.
"안녕하세요?"
Roksu listens to the strange words of the star and finds it extremely funny.
"I don't speak Star, sorry." Still, he puts effort into his response. Even if it was extremely likely that the star wouldn't understand him.
"... 무엇? 나는 당신을 이해할 수 없습니다."
Roksu nods. Yes, there is a language barrier. That means the star won't know he is the one who pulled him, it, from the sky.
He points at himself to get introductions started.
"Roksu." The star blinks at him, then slowly points at himself, unsure.
"... 최한."
"Choi Han," Roksu repeats. The star nods. Roksu points at the star and says it again. "Choi Han," then points at himself. "Roksu."
The star licks his lips and repeats it. "Roksu."
He nods, accepting the attempt. Now they have been introduced. That's a good start. Who knows, maybe 'Choi Han' means 'star.'
Roksu's head falls and he notices his bare feet, one swollen and still throbbing immensely. Hopefully it wasn't a serious injury and he could still walk on it.
Wiggling his toes and finding them painfully functional, he decides not to worry about it.
Choi Han is too busy looking at Roksu's long red hair to notice. He looks awestruck at its color, which made a little sense. It wasn't a terribly common color, and his shade of red was actual red, not closer to orange or pink. The dirty and scrappy nature of it wasn't flattering but neither were his equally scrappy clothes. The only thing saving his appearance was the slaver's cloak that he stole.
Though, maybe the star would be awestruck by any shade of hair. Who knows what a star is used to seeing, anyway.
Roksu takes advantage of Choi Han's dazed state to grab his hand and pull. He doesn't budge from his spot- weighing more than the thin Roksu- but it gets the message through.
"Follow."
The star is pulled.
Roksu climbs out of the crater and struggles to not think about how much his foot hurts. He had already ran on the injury and now he was going to walk all the way back to civilization on it, too. He might as well be asking to get his entire foot amputated.
Still, he hides the pain, hiding the way he favors one side as he walks, thinking instead about how to teach someone how to talk and read their language. Could Roksu learn how to speak star? It seemed that there would be a lot of work to do in order to communicate.
As he's pondering that, he tugs on Choi Han's hand, intending to face the hill he had come from.
An arm slips under his legs and the hand in his grasp falls away without any effort to hold onto his shoulders.
Roksu stiffens like a log.
Choi Han smiles at him.
"내가 널 안아도 괜찮았으면 좋겠어."
He frowns but swings his feet in the hold. Now he doesn't have to risk making his injury worse, but he has to be carried by a star. It felt shameful to make such a being do manual labor.
Even if it's shameful, Roksu slowly relaxes into the sturdy chest, wrapping an arm around the star's neck. His other arm points up the hill.
Choi Han gleams, resembling a twinkling star, and Roksu turns away from that happy expression. What a weird guy-star.
-----------
"The prophecy! Your majesty, the prophecy for the next decade has been delivered!" A priest runs into the throne room and all but collapses to his knees, bowing his head to the red carpet.
King Zed grips his armrest. It was good and bad news to receive a prophecy. A prophecy meant that a significant event would be occurring. Since the priest said it was estimated to predict the next decade, that meant that the event would spell out the fate of the next ten years.
It did not predict anything past that.
However, most 'significant events' regarded wars and famines. The length of time would be how long the war would last, or how long the famine would stretch before it broke. So, whatever the prophecy said, it would definitely be a big deal.
"Speak."
The priest shivers at the cold tone of the king. He lifts his head and bangs it against the floor to gather his wits and remember the words of the prophecy. It wasn't hard- it was incredibly profound, both alike to other prophecies and nothing like any prophecy they've received before.
"I will now repeat the prophecy, your majesty. It reads,
"The boy which falls a star
holds many burdens,
Speaks many lies,
And possesses a great truth.
A war, six stars that wish to take the sky,
The red crown which fights to subdue.
Ten years of darkness, nigh.
Bleed, oh boy of red, to lay the earth with
Crimson Tides, save the pitiful ones and give rise to the star of Night."
The priests low voice slowly rolls over the prophecy's words. The king listens and taps his finger on his armrest.
"... Call the Crown Prince."
The attendant waiting by the door hears this and promptly leaves the room. A brief silence is broken by the low timber of the old man sitting on his regal throne.
"Priest," The king says. "What are your thoughts?"
"My thoughts... Your majesty, I believe we must find the boy who felled a star. He will play a key role in the future, I'm sure of it."
"Then how should we go about it?"
The priest hesitates.
"Do we summon all boys to the palace and ask them if they've felled a star? What age range should we expect a boy to fit in?" The king mildly pokes holes in the priests answer. "A seven year old is as much of a boy as a fifteen year old."
The priest bites his tongue, and the king continues.
"When does a boy become a man? Should we exclude mature children and include lousy adults?"
The king tsks. This is why he called for his son to come here. Speaking with the priest is no good.
"Royal Father," a teenager roughly the age of seventeen enters the throne room and bows politely according to his status. "You called for me?"
"Yes. Alberu, listen to the prophecy for the next ten years and tell me what you believe our next action should be."
A prophecy is a huge deal, but the king comments on it as if it is no more than a small squabble that occurred in the town square. The crown prince also doesn't blink at the news.
He approaches his father and stands off to his side, looking down at the priest, who still has his head in the red carpet.
"You may speak," Alberu prompts the priest.
The priest repeats the prophecy again word for word, willing himself not to stutter in the presence of the two most influential figures in the kingdom.
"Mm." Alberu hums. "That is a unique prophecy."
"Why do you say that?" The king inquires. Alberu speaks minimally, as if answering on paper rather than to his father.
"The prophecy mentions a specific individual. It even goes as far as to list traits and achievements of the boy, as if asking us to find and accompany him in his path. Within seven centuries and hundreds of prophecies, none have spoken about a single person."
"What do you suppose we should do?"
"Find him. We should look from twelve to seventeen year old boys, particularly twelve year olds whose birthdays are near to pass. We don't know if the boy has felled a star yet, so we should leave a few months to give him that opportunity."
"We should look through the entire kingdom? That would take years."
Alberu smiles at the king, as if calmly correcting his father's words. "We have a few years at best to find the boy before the worst of the war is upon us, so we should do our best, Royal Father."
"That's right." The king nods. He stares down at the priest, who sweats cold. "Then, son. What if we don't ever find the boy?"
Alberu's smile remains on his lips, undisturbed. "Then we should do our best to support him, even if we don't know who he is."
"Correct."
Alberu lets his eyes fall on the sweating priest. Even if the priest is trembling, Alberu doesn't feel pity. It wouldn't make a difference.
The king waves a hand and the priest, as if sensing it, stands up and exits quickly with a rushed bow to pay his respects to both the current and future rulers.
With him gone, Alberu elaborates. "You'll be focusing on boys with red hair, won't you Royal Father?"
"That is obvious."
At that, the crown prince closes his eyes. He can't help but think, 'would it be so easy to find such a boy?' The description was both sorely lacking and extremely specific. He didn't know what to think about the prophecy's intention.
"Do you think we'll find him?"
Alberu smiles at that, opening his eyes and staring at the large door which shut behind the priest.
"We will. Definitely."
Somewhere, a fifteen year old boy with a red crown of hair and a newly fallen star begin to make their acquaintance.
----
Fanart this fic idea was inspired by vvvvv also while I couldn't find the artist I did find that this isn't Cale! It's Diluc fanart from Genshin Impact-- which makes the shooting star in the sky make more sense..............
COUGH I'm still sending this out even though I did a fanart inspired fic from a different fandom than mine-
Imagine continually losing everything you begin to love and being so completely isolated with abilities that are pretty much built to perpetuate a state of anguish unless you choose to live in a state of dissociation, and then you get a chance at a new life.
And then you meet the guy whose fault it is.
And then you find out that he's an utter loser.
And then you find out he can't even love anything himself so it's not like he even has a sympathetic motivation.
AND he's trying to take away everything good in your new life, too.
Do you think anyone worked out a deal that in case anyone dies, they would will their corpse to Mary so she could add them to her never ending skeleton army? This way, they could continue to wreak havoc upon their enemies post-mortem?
Hannah: Not even over my cold, dead mana-ridden bones!
Cale: ...Don't you mean "over my cold dead corpse"?
Hannah: No, because if I die, my skeleton goes to Mary so she can have me keep spilling the blood of our enemies.
Cale: ...
Mary: It's true. They even picked out their own name plates.
I only hate certain types of fic the same way I hate mosquitos and ticks. Like get these nasty little buggers away from me but also I respect their place in the ecosystem.
Listen and sometimes? To enjoy running through a beautiful field of grass and flowers (ao3) you have to tolerate the fact that bugs (fics you don’t like) are there and maybe you will even encounter one, but you can use bugspray (filtered tags) to reduce the likelihood of that. Because the alternative is not getting to experience the beautiful field of grass and flowers.
Random thoughts on the orv epilogue part 4/???
AKA: why I will forever believe orv ends happily.
You see a lot of different interpretations of what happens after that hospital door opens, and rightfully so since that’s literally what the authors intend for us to do as readers. After scrolling through all available pages of fanfic for kdj/yjh I noticed that you tend to see imaginings that lean towards that happy ending, even with struggles along the way. Every now and again you’ll see a sort of “bad ending” fic that just dives head first into that depressing what if of kdj never coming back, or coming back but never to be the same. While these are fine and dandy, power to those who write them, personally a happy ending where kdj does come back (if not whole nearly enough to say he truly is whole) and lives his life happily with everyone in the end just fits better with the emotional strokes of orv’s writing.
Orv is about a lot of things, its incredibly fast paced giving us a convoluted plot and numerous characters to meet and watch grow or impact the narrative, its a meta thematic novel on epic proportions. But to me, really and truly, orv is a story about love and is in it of itself a love letter to every story. From the get go orv is a celebrator of stories and their importance to people, the hope and love and power they give people. It’s a narrative paying homage to any and all narratives before it, for their flaws and their triumphs. Beyond stories though, orv is about the love between people, no matter what label is applied, involving each and every one of the cast.
It’s about how kdj, through all his bluster and unreliable narration, can barely remember what it is to give or receive love, or what it means to be genuine, that he’s left fumbling constantly, met with problems his emotional intelligence cannot parce out. About how jihye and the kids become a trio of their own, all them far too young in a world that has made them adults, and how jihye fights to preserve the small spark of innocence those kids have. About how when hyunsung has to save heewon from her own demon he says that he will bear her wrath on behalf of the world, even if it means literally melting as he pushes through her flames to cover her with his steel shields. It’s Jung Heewon falling into despair as kdj leaves her behind again and again because loving a person who values themselves so little is a wound that keeps on growing, pain made all the worse by the fact that kdj means none of it, and would rather nothing happen to heewon, and she knows this, but cannot accept it because that is what her love means. It’s Sangah sacrificing herself over and over again to get their group more information on the future, to protect them in kdj’s place and make sure they all survive. It’s the entire group coming together to teach the kids important skills. It’s kdj waiting at yjh’s bedside after the reveal of ways of survival, for the first time willing to lay everything out on the table and just *talk* to yjh. And when yjh leaves, kdj accepts yjh’s anger and is more than willing to take it all without fighting back until hsy steps in between them. It’s jang hayoung tells dokja that even if you can’t reach at other person, to try anyways, because even the act of reaching out has value, even if it isn’t seen, even if it isn’t heard until it’s too late, it matters. It’s how lee sookyung loved kdj with everything she had, and how that love hurt him more than anything else in the world. About how even when kdj doesn’t consider lee sookyung to be his mother, he still loves her and wants to understand her. It’s how the adoration han myungoh has for his daughter makes him a fundamentally different person. How hades protects persephone until his last breath while persephone plays the ode to their love.
About how kdj saw a world where everything was nearly perfect, everyone was happy even the people he couldn’t save, and couldn’t accept that world because it was one where yjh was unhappy. It’s about hsy taking one look, one fucking look at kdj in that hospital stretcher and realizing that no, he never was lying when he said that ways of survival saved him, and that in turn she had to do whatever it took to make sure he kept living, the world be damned. About how kdj dies at the hands of the person he loves most after fighting yjh over which one of them will be the one to save the other. It’s the way that the 999 round companions travel the worldlines all for the sake of meeting the man who loved them enough to sacrifice everything for them. About how yjh first reacts with betrayal and hurt after finding out that kdj had read about his life, asking kdj why, when yjh is right here in front of him, is kdj still reading. About how yjh then goes on to say that he is the only one who can pass judgement on kdj for enjoying ways of survival, and he has long since forgiven kdj because that is how kdj lived, and yjh accepts that part of him. It’s about how secretive plotter, upon meeting the oldest dream, reacts not with violence but with understanding, and he and the 999 rounds are finally able to be at peace because of it. It’s the way that countless people, not just kdj’s company, went back for another life because they all had things they loved and wanted to save.
It’s about the way that even as kdj is dooming himself to a life of endless dreaming, he wants the people he loves to be happy.
There’s so much love in this novel, such care and loving detail put into describing its many facets and complexities. My rambling here only scratched the moments that I remember most clearly, and even then it wasn’t all of my favorites. In a story so full of love that centers around a protagonist who cannot, for the life of him, even imagine himself living in such a world peacefully, of course I want him to have his happy ending.To love without sacrifice, to love mundanely, simply, and to have all the time in the world to learn what it means. And for his companions, who traveled time and space to bring him home and spent years grieving him, to finally get that chance as well.
