ashen-crest

[ashen-crest]

To reiterate:

Trump's transphobic Executive Orders regarding healthcare and Federal documents are currently unenforceable and are not current actionable policy of the Federal government.

Do not despair.

Do not panic.

And most importantly: do not comply in advance.

Staying alive is a radical act as a trans person in Trump's America.

[ashen-crest]

Listen. I know I'm late. I know. A Rival Most Vial has been at the front of my to-read shelf literally since it came out. Literally. My bad.

But I need you to know 2 (two) things.

This has immediately become one of my favorite cozy stories of the past few years, which is remarkable considering I had to put down the book and cry along with Ambrose at one point. But then again, Ambrose telling Eli to call him Ames did make my heart grow about 12 sizes.

On several occasions I was filled with such rage at MaSTeR PeARcE that the only thing keeping me going was my knowledge that the rest of the street are filled with even more rage, and can and will ruin his day at the first opportunity.

Enjoy the rest of your day knowing that every few minutes the fury of a thousand suns enters my soul, quelled only by my love of the rest of the street. That is all.

I love this so much. I’ll have you know that a) I have also cried with Ambrose and b) I am now that much closer to writing a non-canon bonus scene where Master Pearce shows up and all of Rosemond Street punches him.

💜💜💜💜

[ashen-crest]

does anyone here know Godot?!

i stg my code looks fine but the z-index I'm trying to change kEEPS RESETTING

[ashen-crest]

Things are scary.

Maybe you need a soft and gently purring Fancy making big big mashy paws in the air to help you out!

Reblog this to spread the love!

[ashen-crest]

So like, the thief story gang are eating supper with one of the gang grannies, and Poppy and Ivan are scheming about how to get around the beldermen that guard the supposedly secret entrance to the weapons cache that isn't supposed to be broken into all the time but totally is, and Dreya pipes up for the first time all evening to ask "why are the guards called beldermen? What does that even mean?"

Ivan doesn't know. Poppy doesn't know. What about Granny Apple? Does she know?

"Well, it was just like the usual way. Back then the [name of thief gang] was first putting itself together, there weren't all the names for things that we have now. And Old Ant was even dafter then, so he was crafting names for lookouts, and he called them Beholders, because they would behold the surroundings." Granny Apple shook her towel while she shook her head.

"And everyone kept saying it wrong, because most of them were daft in the beginning, had no idea what they were doing, and the name fumbled around until Old Ant thought he found one of the lookouts dead and in his surprise, yelled out that "the belderman was killed!" Which of course only ruined the return thieves sneaking back from their quarry, and Old Ant got booted from leadership, but belderman stayed, as a testament to the fact that whatever you don't mean is what people will remember."

Dreya nods solemnly, because she'll believe what she's told if a granny says it. Poppy has mouth pushed to one side in suspicion.

Ivan asks first, though. "That's stupid, is that really true?"

And Granny Apple looks him dead in the eye to say, "Stupid things last, thiefling. A rumor sticks when it seemed disbelievable, a legend gets told again and again because surely it never happened, and the dumbest things to come out of your mouth will be held against you for a lifetime because laughter is a treasured commodity."

[ashen-crest]

Rock Crystal Flask from Ancient Rome, c.25 BCE: this stunning little flask measures just 5.7cm (2.25 in) tall, and it was carved from a solid piece of rock crystal more than 2,000 years ago

Known as an amphoriskos, this miniature vessel was likely used as a vial for perfumed oils.

Vessels made of rock crystal were rare and highly treasured throughout the Roman world, as the Getty Museum explains:

Due to the limited sources of the material and the labor-intensive process of making the vessels, rock crystal vessels were rare and expensive luxury items in the Roman world. A small amphoriskos such as this one probably contained expensive perfumed oils. This form of flask, with angular handles and a bottom knob, was also popular in ceramic vessels of the late first century B.C.

Rock crystal was also prized for its natural beauty, resilience, and mystical significance:

Like the Greeks before them, the Romans believed that rock crystal was ice that had been hardened through intense freezing. Fittingly, such a miraculous stone was believed to have the powers of an amulet and was highly valued.

The stone's hardness made it difficult to work but also highly desirable because the finished piece possessed a glossy finish and was resistant to scratches. To hollow out the vessel, an artisan used ground emery as an abrasive. Small vessels like this multi-faceted amphoriskos took advantage of the natural elongated, hexagonal structure of the quartz mineral.

Sources & More Info:

Getty Museum: Roman Amphoriskos (Flask)

Seeking Transparency: Rock Crystal and the Nature of Artifice in Ancient Rome

Travel to Eat: Roman Perfume Bottles

[ashen-crest]

[ashen-crest]

A brief storytime:

So way back last summer Alexandra Rowland made a slightly stressed out post about attempting to market Running Close to the Wind, and you know, fair enough, humor is hard to market and also hard to describe and deeply subjective, and bonkers, raunchy, pun-filled pirate comedy is not going to be for everyone.

But I have rarely to never read a book that was so precisely for, like, three people in the group chat specifically, to the point that I was filled with evangelical zeal and compelled to share a couple screenshots, then justly rewarded with plots to heist my phone.

But life got crazy and library waitlists are long and it wasn't until the holidays rolled around that this one particular beloved boon companion from the group chat got around to listening to the audiobook.

He was enthusiastic. He was so enthusiastic that it dropped out of his pirate-and-spy-and-spooky-dildo-filled brain that I was an ocean away with my family in a very different time zone, which is why I rolled over, jet lagged and discombobulated after finally falling asleep, to pick up the phone and hear

"CAKE COMPETITION!"

"Whaaaa?"

"CAKE COMPETITION!"

"So....you read Running Close to the Wind?"

"AAAAAAH!"

And the moral of this story is share books with your loved ones, and read this book in particular if you do like bonkers, raunchy, pun-filled pirate comedy with a capslock-inducing cake competition and a lot of sincerity and idealism to go with the obscene poetry and spooky sex toys, and stop calling me at four in the morning, Adrian.

[ashen-crest]

[ID: a banner showing pieces of lined paper against a wood background, bordered with greenery. The text on the lined paper reads "The Alderwood Workshop." end ID]

Seeking beta readers for a short story!

Hi all!

I have an anthology short due in March, and I'm looking for beta readers for it. Here's the rundown:

🌱 Title: The Alderwood Workshop

🌱 What is it?: a 10k cozy fantasy romance short story in the format of a citation journal, written in 1st person.

🌱 Blurb:

Magical safety enforcer Tabitha Woodlin (Employee of the Month, fourth month running) makes it her life’s work to ensure all wizard towers, magic laboratories, and spell shops follow the city’s strictest health and safety protocols. A promotion to a lead role is her dream—but artificer Briar Heartthorn is turning it into a nightmare. Briar is the one infuriating stain on Tabitha’s squeaky-clean reports. What started as one citation for their workshop quickly ballooned to three, to five, to ten… Soon, Briar is taking up all of Tabitha’s focus with their handsome grins, stupid nicknames, and minor infractions. But as spell mishaps and surprise inspections draw the pair closer together, Tabitha must dig deeper into why Briar is flouting the law, and what—or who—they want for all their efforts.

🌱 Feedback Due Date: February 9th

🌱 TW/CWs: romance, food, casual alcohol use, mention of explosion/fire, anxiety (side character)

🌱 If you're interested: please reply to this post or DM me!

Not able to read this time around, but want to beta in the future? No worries! I'll have another short story (sapphic rival witches) in need of beta reading in April. :)

[ashen-crest]

Nocturne No.20 WIP Intro

Going through my old drafts made me realize there was something I wanted to do with Nocturne No.20, but sadly it can't be done with Tytus in the picture. It changes things too much. But I've had a delightful revelation--- I can write more than one story about my dead composer.

So while Tytus reigns Bring Back Vienna, I'm going back to the roots of Nocturne No.20.

Working title: Nocturne No.20, Part One: Shared Laments of Broken Prodigies, Part Two: The Boy at the Piano

Part 1: A composer and an artist glance around each other, sharing similar fractures from very different pasts, and forming a friendship as strangers in dark and stolen moments.

Part 2: Brought back together by a mutual connection, Delacroix puts a name to the composer he's been curious after. But six years has changed them both entirely. Will their friendship rekindle, or will old scars maintain a rift between them?

Genre: Historical fiction/romance/lgbtq

Taglist: @notwritinganyflufftoday @ashen-crest @howdywrites @alekss-creative-corner @ren-aissance

Entry 1 of Draft 0 beneath the cut...

Delacroix stopped short at the parlor.

Sunlight came in dusted beams through large windows, the bright white of winter reflecting off the white plaster walls inside. A fire crackled in an ornate hearth, but its sound was drowned by the singing of a well-polished Pleyel standing piano and its attending composer.

The piano and its music was almost as brilliant as the composer seated at the bench. He was a slight man with an awkward shape, as though he weren’t as large as he was meant to be. The lines of his face were soft despite an obvious concentration. Curls of rich brown hair rested over the hard arch of a large nose. His brow was relaxed, dark hairs rounded over faded brown eyes. A dull distance reigned the man’s unreadable expression.

The music was quite different from the man creating it. Even has the lines of his face became harsh and furrowed, the music softened. It sang of warm evenings and sweet lullabies. Delacroix all but forgot himself.

Since the man was so thoroughly pre-occupied, Delacroix took in his fill of slender legs and long fingers. Broad hands and the sun catching in his curls. A well-loved coat, worn and patched and repaired and faded to a new color, hung around the composer’s shoulders over a waistcoat that insinuated the coat could have been replaced many times over. Gloves- funny colored with funny patterns- lay atop the piano in a dozen scattered pairs, none like the other except in size. Nothing else adorned the piano. Not a page, sheet, or pen. Whatever was being played was from mind or memory.

“Brilliant.”

The word was surely no louder than the fire’s grumbling, but it ground the world to a halt, bringing a suffocating silence over the room.

The composer regarded Delacroix like a deer aware of its hunter, turning his head just enough to catch him in the corner of his eye. The man stared, and Delacroix let him. Perhaps he was taking stock of a lean, muscled form and broad shoulders under a forest green waistcoat. Of black trousers folded over black riding boots. Of dark brown waves and trim facial hair, the grays carefully plucked. Or perhaps he was being regarded as a nosy arse.

The man wrinkled his nose. Arse it was. “Why are you here?”

Abrasive. Delacroix could handle abrasive. It didn’t necessarily mean unpleasant.

Delacroix crafted a polite and friendly smile to wear. “I was hoping to have a word with Sand and found myself drawn here. Are you… Have we met?”

The composer, whose name Delacroix had an inkling of but desired a proper introduction to confirm his suspicions, flicked his gaze over him one last time and turned back to the piano. “I hate your art.”

“You know me?”

“I know your art. Self-portraits. Same face.”

Delacroix tilted his head, taking a moment to absorb each halting word. The composer’s hand glided along the edges of his trousers to a tarnished gold chain. There was a tremble to his fingers that seemed soothed by twisting and untwisting the chain around his thumb.

“Is that true?” Delacroix asked. He certainly never hung any in any gallery. He kept them at home in a covered stack. “If you know my art, you must know my name.” 

“I might have heard it.”

He began to play again, softer this time, so even the fire could partake in their conversation. Delacroix’s smile deepened to sincere.

“You must be Frederic.”

The man’s eyebrow twitched in barely contained annoyance but his playing never faltered. “Must be.”

“Do you always echo people so?”

“I prefer how other people’s words feel on my tongue. Other people’s words are safer.” He cleared his throat, a punctuation. “You must be a Salon regular.”

“On occasion. Tell me, I’m curious. Why do you hate my art?”

“It’s violent.”

“You find flowers violent?”

“I find your harsh lines and shaded colors violent. And I don’t understand art. Windows are more pleasant.”

“Windows don’t hold much emotion.”

“Neither do your paintings.”

Delacroix had braced himself for insult when he dug along this line of questioning, but he hadn’t expected such an even and unfettered line. Though he very much wanted to interpret it as such, it was not a knife. It was a fact. At least, a fact in the composer’s mind. 

Something dawned on him as he mused. “Do you like any art?”

“No.”

“Do you like your art?”

The question had Delacroix’s suspected effect. The man paused, parsing out whether or not music was art, and then nodded. “I do like music.” The man paused and rested his hands on his knees. “Do you like your art?”

“I…” Delacroix felt his expression falter and shifted to his lips. To a careful, polite smile. “I believe I was told you did not speak much.”

“Mm.” The composer looked about thoughtfully. “I think I speak all the time.” He gave a slight shrug, his thumb twisting in the chain again. “Perhaps no one was listening.”

Before Delacroix could respond, the man beat him to the answer of a question Delacroix had hoped to delay. “Sand isn’t here. Likely won’t be this week. She is attending to a matter in the city. There’s stationary, if you wish to leave her a message.”

“You’re waving me out.” 

The composer went from chain to his hair, tugging at a particularly lively curl over his forehead.

“That’s quite all right. No need for a note, I will stop by another time.” Delacroix heaved a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I enjoyed our conversation. Should I see myself out?”

“I would appreciate if you did. I am occupied at the moment.”

“Of course. I do know where the door is… It’s just. I was hoping you would see me out. You never gave me your name.”

“You never gave me yours.”

“You seemed to presume it.”

“So did you.”

Delacroix smirked and bowed with a flourish, one arm folded over his stomach. “Ferdinand Victor Eugene Delacroix, at your service.”

“Well.” The corner of the composer’s mouth curled, almost playfully. Almost. “Ferdinand Victor Eugene Delacroix, you have a good evening.”

“And yours, Monsieur?”

“If you visit again, perhaps.”

Delacroix paused and then grinned at the invitation. “Next time, then.”

“Good evening, Monsieur.”

[ashen-crest]

directory of black families who have been displaced by the la fires and are asking for donations.

[ashen-crest]

Hello!

I adored a Rival most Vial! It was a stay up several hours past bedtime book.

Here is a drawing I did for you if your boys. I love them.

I love it SO much and I’m so glad you enjoyed the book!!! What a great start to the week!

[ashen-crest]

THEMMMM

LOOK AT THEM

MY BOYS

AHHHHHHH

I adored “A Rival most Vial” by R.K.Ashwick or @ashen-crest.

I had to draw the main couple how I imagined them.

[ashen-crest]

i love characters who are always like fear not, i shall take care of this problem for you….. by sacrificing myself!! and everyone else is like i swear to god if you pull this shit again i’ll kill you

[ashen-crest]

was just talking to @cornchip-harlowe about that! I do have a 3ds, but I think they've since blocked downloading any new games for (and it's on its last legs- big ol' lines going through the top screen. RIP, story of season: trio of towns. may you be ported to the switch one day.)

I have this recurring urge to make a cozy game but:

a) I don’t know any programming

b) I don’t have time to learn

c) I already have two jobs, and

d) there’s GOTTA be an easier way to satisfy this urge than “learn programming from scratch and make your own cozy farming, decorating, and romance sim because none of the games currently out are scratching that itch and you just wanna burrow into the code and do it yourself but you have the programming know-how of a carrot”

[ashen-crest]

[ID: a banner showing pieces of lined paper against a wood background, bordered with greenery. The text on the lined paper reads "The Alderwood Workshop." end ID]

Seeking beta readers for a short story!

Hi all!

I have an anthology short due in March, and I'm looking for beta readers for it. Here's the rundown:

🌱 Title: The Alderwood Workshop

🌱 What is it?: a 10k cozy fantasy romance short story in the format of a citation journal, written in 1st person.

🌱 Blurb:

Magical safety enforcer Tabitha Woodlin (Employee of the Month, fourth month running) makes it her life’s work to ensure all wizard towers, magic laboratories, and spell shops follow the city’s strictest health and safety protocols. A promotion to a lead role is her dream—but artificer Briar Heartthorn is turning it into a nightmare. Briar is the one infuriating stain on Tabitha’s squeaky-clean reports. What started as one citation for their workshop quickly ballooned to three, to five, to ten… Soon, Briar is taking up all of Tabitha’s focus with their handsome grins, stupid nicknames, and minor infractions. But as spell mishaps and surprise inspections draw the pair closer together, Tabitha must dig deeper into why Briar is flouting the law, and what—or who—they want for all their efforts.

🌱 Feedback Due Date: February 9th

🌱 TW/CWs: romance, food, casual alcohol use, mention of explosion/fire, anxiety (side character)

🌱 If you're interested: please reply to this post or DM me!

Not able to read this time around, but want to beta in the future? No worries! I'll have another short story (sapphic rival witches) in need of beta reading in April. :)

[ashen-crest]

haha I actually have both ren.py and twine on my computer, as suggested by @kl-writes in a different rb! I could use it for the romance aspect for sure, but every time I open either program up, I get overwhelmed D:

I have this recurring urge to make a cozy game but:

a) I don’t know any programming

b) I don’t have time to learn

c) I already have two jobs, and

d) there’s GOTTA be an easier way to satisfy this urge than “learn programming from scratch and make your own cozy farming, decorating, and romance sim because none of the games currently out are scratching that itch and you just wanna burrow into the code and do it yourself but you have the programming know-how of a carrot”