Jump to content
Banner by ~ Sparklefan1234
Guidelines

Dusk Haven

User
 View Profile  See their content

  • Posts

    177

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by Dusk Haven

  1. Dusk Haven

    Need opinions

    By Dusk Haven,


    Art
    Hello! I am trying to decide if I want to update Dusk's design. Here is her new design and old design. What do you all think?
    Note: These images are AI-generated as a reference for my artist.


  2. Dusk Haven
    There is a quiet kind of magic in roleplay—not the kind born from spells or stars, but from something far softer and far rarer: two souls choosing to build a story together.
    It begins so simply.
    A character.
    A setting.
    A single whispered line: “Would you like to write with me?”
    And somehow, from that small beginning, entire worlds awaken.
    Roleplay is more than words on a page. It is trust. It is vulnerability. It is the gentle handing over of a character—someone made of their fears, hopes, and secret dreams—and saying, “Here. I trust you to treat them kindly. I trust you to let them grow.”
    Strangers become partners in creation. A scene becomes a bond. Dialogue becomes understanding. And somewhere between replies, something shifts:
    They are no longer just “someone online.”
    They are the pony who remembers how your character takes their tea.
    The one who knew when to pause the battle and let them grieve.
    The one who gave silence when words would have broken something delicate.
    We speak through our characters, yes—but often what we are really saying is:
    “This is how I see the world. Will you walk beside me for a while?”
    Roleplay is companionship in disguise. For the lonely, it is a fire lit in a cold room. You write a character sitting alone beneath a tree, and someone else writes their character sitting beside them—and suddenly, neither of you are alone anymore.
    For the grieving, it is a safe place to break.
    For the joyful, it is a place to pour light into the cracks of another soul.
    For the quiet-hearted, it is a way to speak without ever raising a voice.
    It is not just escapism. It is connection wearing the clothes of fantasy. And there is healing in it.  Not the loud kind. The quiet kind.
    The kind found when two writers pause mid-scene—not to throw spells or swing swords—but simply to write a hug. Or a warm mug of cider pressed into shaking hooves. Or a character whispering, “I’m here. I won’t leave.”
    Sometimes, that is exactly what the writer needed to hear, too.
    But perhaps the most beautiful thing is this: Roleplay is a shared heartbeat.
    You write one line. Someone breathes into it, replies, and hands it back. And what comes alive between you is something neither of you could have made alone.
    Something born of both your hearts.
    So no—roleplay is not “just a game.”
    It is art.
    It is a conversation.
    It is friendship unfolding one paragraph at a time.
    And when done with kindness, it reminds us of something we forget far too often:
    There are people in this world who want to understand. People who will build bridges of words to reach you. People who will stay in the story—not because they must—but because they choose to.
    So, to those who write beside me: now or in the future: Thank you.
    For the worlds we’ve built.
    For the characters we’ve healed.
    For the nights you stayed up late just to finish one more reply—because you knew my heart needed it.
    May we keep writing side by side. May our stories continue to intertwine like constellations. And may we always remember—Where stories meet, so do we.
    Yours in Shadow,
    Dusk Haven
  3. Dusk Haven

    Writing when lonely

    By Dusk Haven,


    Personal
    There are kinds of loneliness that have no language.
    Not the simple kind—where one spends an evening alone and wishes for company—but the quieter, heavier sort. The kind where others can surround you and still feel unseen. Where your thoughts echo only inside your own chest with nowhere to go.
    In those moments, writing is not simply a hobby. It is a lifeline.
    When we write, we are no longer voiceless. The page becomes a listener that never interrupts, never sighs, never tells us we are too much. Ink becomes proof that we were here—that our thoughts existed outside of our head, if only for a moment.
    Writing does not cure loneliness. But it does give it shape, and somehow, once it has shape, it is easier to carry.
    Sometimes writing is a conversation—between yourself and the version of you that still hopes. Sometimes it is prayer. Sometimes it is just a sentence that says, “This hurts.”
    And sometimes, it is a world.
    We build characters not just to entertain, but to have someone who understands. Someone who listens back. For some, these characters become companions—quiet, imaginary, but no less real to the heart that needed them. Quills become bridges. Pages become places where we are not alone.
    I have walked through grief this way. Through heartbreak, and fear, and numbness. I have written to remember who I was. I have written to keep from vanishing. And if you have ever whispered your pain into a page just so it didn’t live inside you anymore—then you understand.
    But writing is not only for sadness.
    It is also for the first brave flicker of hope. For the moment you realize the sunrise still looks beautiful, even when no one is watching it with you. Writing lets us record those small mercies: a warm mug between cold hooves or rain against the window.
    And one day—if you are brave enough to share your words—someone else might read them and whisper, “Oh. It wasn’t just me.”
    That is how lonely souls find one another.
    Through stories.
    Through honesty.
    Through the courage to write, even when our voice trembles.
    So if tonight feels silent, and heavy, and the world seems very far away—write. Not because it will fix everything, but because it might place a small light in the dark beside you. It might build a bench where someone else can someday sit.
    And perhaps one day, those pages will lead you to another soul who has been writing through the night just the same.
    And then—finally—you will not be alone.
    Yours in Twilight,
    Dusk Haven
  4. Dusk Haven

    Understanding

    By Dusk Haven,


    Personal
    There is a special place in this world for ponies who reach out—unasked—and choose to sit beside you in troubled times. The ones who notice the hurt or the quiet joy and stay with you in it. Sometimes they offer jubilant laughter or gentle words of comfort. Sometimes they say nothing at all. They simply remain—a steady presence in the silence. It’s a hoof brushing yours to remind you you’re still here.
    It’s a wing drawn over your shoulders so you can feel the warmth of togetherness when the world feels cold.
    These ponies are rare. They go the extra mile not because they must, but because their heart softly tells them to. I know that feeling intimately. I’ve spent many hours, days, and weeks with the broken, the grieving, the lost. And you wonder, in quiet moments—Would anypony do the same for me? Are you the only one left in a world that seems to love dividing, othering, and turning away from anything different?
    So when you do see it—when someone chooses kindness—it hits all the harder. Because it means someone else still cares, too.
    I hope you’ll choose to be that pony for someone today.
    It doesn’t always mean taking on every burden. We all have our limits, and it’s okay to rest. But if your heart has the room—just a little—offer a shoulder. Share the weight for a few minutes. You’d be surprised how far those few minutes can reach into somepony's life.
    This community was built on the belief that Friendship is Magic. And I believe those of us who are still here—not for fame or attention, but for the stories, the lessons, and the love behind them—we are its last guardians.
    This place is remarkable. Every day it surprises me… mostly for better, rarely for the worst. But every day offers a lesson. Every day offers a new chance to try again.
    So find the ponies you want to walk beside on this autumn trail. You may discover they were quietly hoping someone would walk with them, too. I'm finding mine, and I hope yours are not far behind.
    Yours in eternal twilight,
    Dusk Haven
  5. Dusk Haven

    Pony, Interrupted

    By Dusk Haven,


    Personal
    Hello, dear ponies—and friends of every kind.
    As I near a turning point in my memoir, I wanted to take a quiet moment to explain how I arrived here, why I returned to the company of ponies after so long away, and where I intend to go from here.
    Let me take you back to the Celestial Year of 2013.
    The community then was vibrant, but chaotic. Some would even say unstable. There were those chasing what we called horse fame—ponies who rose to prominence through art, music, business, or by standing close to the right spotlight. Conventions were plentiful, drama was constant, and reputation could be made or destroyed in a single weekend. I was a small voice among it all—careful, quiet, trying not to step on any hooves.
    At that time, Alicorns in fan creations were… not exactly welcomed. If you wrote one, you made yourself smaller, or you were made small. Still, I wrote. I loved it. I built worlds, universes, echoes of Equestria and beyond. Some ponies read them. Some even stayed.
    But the noise eventually outweighed the joy. So I left.
    For eleven years I stayed away—writing only in private, at my own quiet desk (or cabin), with only my partners and the night for company. I wrote story after story. Some I loved. Some were terrible. But I learned from both. And something in me always felt interrupted, as though I had walked away before the last page.
    When I finally looked back at the community, I found something different.
    The loudest voices of drama were mainly gone. In their place were quieter, kinder ones—ponies who cared more about friendship and creativity than recognition. And so, I came back. Not hidden this time. Not in whispers. I stepped into the Running of the Leaves event—and for the first time in centuries… I ran.
    And to my astonishment, I won.
    Not that winning was ever the point. Belonging was. And I did feel it—among @Samurai Equine, @NitobitMoonlight, @TheRockARooster, Roswell @Shiny Silvermoon Shiny, and so many others who made that trail feel alive.
    Which brings me to today.
    If you count the unreleased chapters, my memoir has now passed 180,000 words. I never thought I had so much to say—though I have had two millennia to gather it. Writing my life in my own voice—without masks, without silence—has been healing. Honest. Hard. Beautiful.
    For now, I’ll be stepping back from roleplay. Not forever, I hope. Just long enough to rest, to focus on finishing my memoir, and to return when my heart is quiet and ready.
    To anypony who struggles to find their voice: you can. It doesn't have to be perfect—it just has to be yours. This community, more than ever, wants you to create, to laugh, to be yourself. That is the magic worth protecting.
    Thank you—to everypony who welcomed me back, who read my words, who ran beside me.
    I’ll be around—likely with ink-stained hooves, a mug of cider, and a heart full of twilight—waiting for the first snow or the next story.
    Yours truly, in twilight,
    Dusk Haven
    (I used the spell checker for this with Grammarly Pro.)
  6. Dusk Haven
    On the surface, we all know what this holiday is. Beyond the booming business for every vendor crafting delightful, sugary treats, it marks a change of season — and an excuse to indulge in far too many horror movies.
    From time to time, I like to step back and reflect on what this holiday truly means to me — and this year, I have the privilege of sharing those thoughts with my new (or perhaps returning) forum family, as well as the wider MLP community. And maybe, in doing so, hearing what it means to all of you, too.
    As a general rule, I rarely speak out of character. Dusk is me — just in pony form. My quirks, fears, and passions, even the odd turns of phrase and rhythms of speech, have all been shaped to reflect who I would be if I’d been blessed to live in a world of pastel ponies. Yet, on this celebratory eve, I’ll break tradition to speak plainly, as both myself and her.
    This night — this Nightmare Night, this Halloween — is, at its heart, a time to face and even celebrate fear. I’ve had many fears in my life, and I still have many to face. Beneath the modern festivities and costumes lies a long history: a pagan celebration of the turning year, later shaped into a Christian day of remembrance for the saints. But through every version of it, the theme endures — it’s a night when the things that frighten us seem to live again.
    It’s a night of trickery and treats, of laughter and unease, and for some, a rare chance to be.
    On a night like tonight, we can become whatever we wish. Yes, the tradition leans toward the eerie and macabre, but there’s freedom in it — a space where masks reveal more than they hide. Maybe you’re a pony fan who adores their fursuit or costume, usually kept tucked away in the privacy of your home. Perhaps you’re someone who feels different inside than you appear on the outside. Be that tonight. Celebrate it. Tonight, no one looks twice.
    Sometimes I think we see more of people on Halloween than we do any other day. Some dress as monsters for fun — others to show the part of themselves the world rarely allows. Some wear costumes for a thrill; others wear their truth in silk, feathers, or heels. In every case, it’s an act of expression — a small rebellion against fear itself.
    I remember my Halloweens as a child. Of course, I loved the candy — but honestly, I could have gone without it. What I remember most were the decorations, the people, the dress-up, the energy of the night. Sometimes it was so overwhelming I’d cry — not from sadness, but because it was sensory overload in the best possible way.
    Halloween let me experience life as someone other than that awkward girl who barely had a friend in the world. I could feel powerful, in control, part of a community that joined in celebration of the same night. It was freedom.
    (Even when I clothes-lined myself on a wire I couldn’t see, running full speed through someone’s yard — I remember lying on my back, looking up at the sky and thinking, “The sky looks nice tonight.”)
    I would be remiss if I didn’t honor those who celebrate tonight as a sacred observance — those who keep Samhain and all it represents. Some of my best memories are from those gatherings: bonfires crackling against the dark, shared food, and sleeping beneath the stars. The witches, warlocks, and covens practicing their craft, those reaching across the veil to feel or commune with loved ones — it all came together to form a night that was, in every sense, magical.
    My appreciation for this single night of the year runs deep. I spend months planning and anticipating — not just for myself, but for everyone who finds meaning in this holiday. For those who use it to express, to connect, to heal, or to remember.
    I hope tonight brings you blessings and joy. That amid the world’s noise and hardship, this night offers a reprieve — a moment to exist as you wish to exist.
    Because that, to me, is the true magic of Halloween — of Samhain, All Hallows’ Eve, Nightmare Night — a night when, at last, we are all free to shine in the dark.
    Yours in twilight,
     Dusk Haven
  7. Dusk Haven
    Over the many centuries, I’ve watched countless styles, fads, and trends rise and fade. Ponies have grown beyond old superstitions and prejudice, becoming a far more inclusive and understanding society. Yet even in this brighter world we share, challenges remain, and the journey toward true harmony is far from over.
    I know something of what it means to have a reputation shattered—to be remembered for your worst act instead of your years of service, kindness, and sacrifice. That is a heavy burden to carry.
    But I want everypony to know this: no matter where you are on your path—whether you’re standing on the edge of change or trudging along the long road to redemption—it’s worth it. The cost can be dear, yes. Sometimes unbearably so.
    There’s a quote I’ve carried with me for a long time:
    Even then, even when you’ve paid it all, there is still reason to rise again. There is still life, still love, still the chance to begin anew.
    I’m glad I did.
    And I’ll see you at the finish line.
    Yours in twilight,
    - Dusk "Lily" Haven
  8. Dusk Haven
    As a writer, I’ve always believed I owe my readers and fellow dreamers my best — not perfection, but presence. The care to craft something alive, with color and heart. That’s the standard I hold myself to.
    But I stumbled recently during the Running of the Leaves event. There was a moment in play — a light exchange with a batpony — where I said something along the lines of, “Luna said batponies were refined, elegant, and graceful. You are none of those things.”
    Written out like that, without tone or breath, it reads sharper than it was ever meant to. The truth is, it was meant as teasing — a bit of friendly banter between equals. What I’d intended as playful wit landed instead as a barb. The emotion behind it never made it to the page.
    It’s a simple mistake, one born of haste. I’d written between duties, rushing to stay part of a moment I didn’t want to miss. And in that rush, I forgot that words without tone can become their own kind of weapon.
    I worry I soured the air of the scene. The story fell quiet afterward, and though I know these things happen in shared spaces, I can’t shake the feeling that I was the one who tilted the balance. I hate that. I never want my words to wound where they are meant to welcome.
    Still, this is what writing teaches — that even missteps have lessons. Slow down. Let the heart speak as much as the mind. And remember that tone, like magic, lives in the pauses as much as in the prose. To @Nitobit, I apologize with all the care in my heart. 
    Until next time,
    - Dusk "Lily" Haven
  9. Dusk Haven

    Scam artists

    By Dusk Haven,


    Human world frustrations
    One of the things I adore about my story is the joy it has brought to people. According to statistics from A03, Fanfiction, and Fimfiction, my life has been shared with people worldwide. People have left such lovely comments, but then come the art scammers. They begin to fill up Private Messages, saying they loved my story, but can't name a single scene from it. They throw out numbers like $320.00 for a single character and call it a "deal". They have Discord accounts that are only a month or two old. I paint my writing with vivid imagery, and they say they want me to talk about my style of writing, only to move directly into an art commission talk. What's worst of all is that they assume they are going to get money, and they say, "So let's start now." It is beyond frustrating. I was kind to the first six, then last one, and just said I wasn't interested and blocked. I understand art can be expensive, but I also know it varies wildly. I don't know why I wanted to rant about this, but here I am. I love artists, and I want them to make money from their craft, but the scammers make people run to AI. That takes money out of a real, honest, talented artist. Anyway, it's just a thought.
     
    - Dusk Haven
     
     
     
     
    '
×
×
  • Create New...