#(i do this to myself by writing in cursive-like font)

[distant-velleity]

kai remembers he has other ocs (rare)(not clickbait)

please forgive me for my rough chinese/any mistakes, i have the literacy of a first grader and the grammar of a baby

translation:

Ruixing: “Wow~ You guys are so great~ Truly handsome~ How about we be friends? ♡” Jamil: “…I feel a bit uncomfortable…” Silver: “…Ruixing, is that really you?”

~

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs @casp1an-sea @nahelenia

@skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @scint1llat3 @nyx-of-night @nemisisnemi

@sillyslipperybananapeel @beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @lumdays @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

@taruruchi

[echo-heo]

Hello! re-typing this because i'm too lazy to copy-paste from @epenethesis,

I spent a great deal of time learning about various scripts, however this has been to the detriment of my ability to create new original ones as they have been too closely associated with existing ones.

I heard from them you may have advice, and i thank you wether you do or do not as long as you answer.

Be well, internet stranger.

Hi! So to introduce myself briefly I do type design & calligraphy and something I do often is learn historic scripts and styles from manuscripts etc and thats how I get feels for things. I think if you learn more about different styles of the scripts and notice patterns it'd help u make more original looking scripts. In any case, here are some of my general advices on creating & learning scripts:

1. scripts have rhythm, visually and in stylus movement

Scripts tend to have repeated elements. strokes, joints, spacing, etc. For example, lowercase latin has vertical weight between the baseline and the x height, and this is its natural resting space. Occasionally letters have ascenders and descenders. horizontally, letters have semi-evenly spaced downstrokes (see letters like m and n) with the writing pattern of ↓→↓→ etc.

2. "Intermediate stage" does not exist.

Something that people do commonly while evolving a script is that they create intermediate stages that do not have patterns or rhythms, but these intermediate scripts should be on their own self contained systems

3. Scripts have multiple styles simultaneously that influence each other.

Scripts don't simply evolve linearly. Modern latin has so many styles and that is the case for most scripts. Modern Greek letterforms are a fusion of original Greek minuscule forms and forms evolved from uncial (sigma has both, with the final form deriving from uncial)

4. Consider the motion of the pen

Some nib shapes make it harder to draw strokes in certain directions, and in general strokes going from left to right and top to bottom are more common because generally it is easier to pull than push. some writing utensils allow you to write in any direction, and often from switching from the former systems to the latter, scripts gain seeminglt redundant and complex looking connective strokes. (think javanese and copperplate calligraphy) Limiting stroke directions also helps with consistent writing rhythm. (try drawing a square multiple times with one stroke in one direction, you will find that it is significantly harder to keep it square than breaking it up into multiple strokes) (Note: Contrary to popular belief writing on leaves isnt what makes indic scripts look loopy and geometric, it is the unfamiliarity with the various scripts by people who perpetuate this myth)

5. Different styles with different quirks may be used for different purposes

Short titles and signs may use bold and ornate styles (black letter, lombardic capitals, aksar mul, bold cleric script, kanteiryu, kufic) or archaic styles (roman capitals, seal script).

Formal body text may use either space-efficient blocky styles (black letter, uncial, cleric script, jain nagari style) or more balanced organic styles (humanist, regular script, etc).

Informal body text may use semicursive (italic, bâtarde, running script, etc) or cursive (grass script, etc)

6. Don't trust online sources on script evolution

study your manuscripts and form ur own perception of things cause so many people are Wrong on the internet

---

Now for a more practical example, this is how i made Ekavathian:

I came up with this asemic sketch, borrowing the rhythm from Javanese and the diagonals from Lontara.

We felt that this was too visually cluttered, so I simplified the shapes and picked letters.

I iterated on it, writing text to see how it feels and making the letters feel more natural to write

I began working on the font, and I started with the square thing and expanded from there. I wanted it to have an indic pen angle with some stroke modulation

I settled on this for the stroke pattern. Feels natural for the kind of shapes i have.

This is my handwriting after making the font (brainstorming cursive idea) and its kinda funny how I got better at writing a completely made up script lol

In any case if you have questions about specific things ask me any time

[imnotasuperhero]

Deep, in the dark, you’ll surrender your heart.

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: What started like a playfull banter leading to a nightstand, turned into something else in the span of hours. (There’s a small part containing smut that I set the font in cursive and it doesn’t affect the story if you scroll past it)

A/N: I’ve gotten this request Tuesday night and it refused to leave my mind untill I created it, so here it is! An over 4k gigant that had taken a night off my life, literally. I’ve been writing and planning since last night at 8pm and It’s past 7 am now, which I hope helps you dismiss any possible mistake since my two braincells are squeezing their fuel thank. Enjoy!

“I agree. That specific shade should be garnet instead of burgundy.” You commented, leaning into the stranger sitting at a barstool with her sight lost into space.

“I-” The body in front of you stood petrified for a few seconds too long. “What?” Frowned the brunette looking back at you with a quizzical expression.

“You’ve been staring at that wall for so long I thought you were analyzing it.” You shrugged. “Is this seat taken?”

“See if I care.”

You smirked, asking the beardy man for your drink.

“Interesting choice you went for,” the woman beside you noted, clearly hearing your order.

“You see, when you’re in my line of work, you’re forced to combine things even in random aspects of your life.” You spoke confidently, determined to try a new bed tonight.

“That’s so, huh?” The green eyes beauty sipped from her drink, and you felt your legs tremble at the ghosting smirk perched on her lips.

Thanking the man, you dragged your glass in her direction. “Wanna try it?”

“How do I know you didn’t pay the guy to roofie me?”

Clicking your tongue, you faked your best deception look. “Damn it. You’ve got me.”

The playful smile on those red lips captivated you in ways you never thought possible. “If something happens to me, know that you’ll have to watch your back for life.”

“I’m good at defending myself,” you winked, earning a hearty laugh from her.

Seeing in anticipation how the stranger brought your cocktail to her lips, you choked at the low moan she breathed after the cold, sour drink collided against her taste buds. “I see you know what you want,” she nodded just to take the drink out of your reach. “Nu-uh, this is mine.”

“Am afraid it won’t be free,” you warned, and you patted yourself on the back when you noticed the stealthy deep intake of breath she took.

“Is it beet what I taste?” She scrunched her nose in a way that made you smile.

The following hours were spent talking with that beautiful woman that has taken your breath away from the other side of the bar in which you met your friends at. You could always rain check for another day.

Wanda, as she introduced herself, was a woman of many achievements and the CEO of some growing interior design company located on the outskirts of Manhattan island and, just like you, she didn’t lack the guts to do whatever she pleased which, being honest, you embraced with open arms.

Sending a quick text to Charlie, you extended your arms, smirking when Wanda accepted the gesture, after considering it for a moment.

To say the distance to her place was taking so long was an understatement. Luckily the car had a tinted window that separated the driver’s space from you both, not that you would mind if it didn’t. Lord knows the things you’ve done in the backseat of multiple taxis.

Wanda’s intoxicating lips casted a spell on you for all you could do was try to win the prevailing war between you both. Your hands rummaged upwards, squeezing with just the right force, taking a throaty moan out of her.

But what had you gasping was the sudden weight on your laps.

“Someone’s needy,” you rasped, moving your lips from her lips down her throat, kissing and sucking on her pulse point.

“You’re the one who drugged me,” Wanda moaned, moving her hips against your bare thigh.

Moaning, you grabbed her waist, guiding her through the chasing. “In my defense, you were warned,”

“Shut your smartmouth and kiss me.”

But before you could do so, the car came to a stop, making her grunt. “Hurry up,” she commanded moving off of you, waiting to exit the car.

After she got out, you quickly closed the door, following her to the entrance of the captivating facade.

The simple yet strong lines of the elements conformed an appealing look, calling you to understand the unique blend of the different textures intricated in a good-looking puzzle of warm colors.

“Nice contrast,” you commented, scrutinizing every single aspect of the exterior of the house in front of you. 

“I can give you a tour later,” Wanda spoke a few feet from you, the expectation clear in her green eyes.

“Right,” you rushed inside, not able to scold yourself for admiring the modern style.

“The way you chose abstract-” you stopped mid-sentence when Wanda’s slender finger burned the skin on your lips.

“Less talking, more kissing.” She smiled something impatiently.

“Yes, ma’am.” You smirked, capturing her lips once more, re-exploring every single spot you could reach.

Stumbling through your steps, your hands held tightly onto Wanda’s hips, your fingers itching to be in contact with the softest sking you could only imagine in your dreams.

“Zip,” she indicated as her hands reached for yours.

Doing a quick job of the zip at her back, you broke apart from her lips, looking intently into the darkened green eyes as your hands brushed the thigh fabric down her pale skin.

You could only gasp as your eyes ran down her body excruciatingly slowly, determined to take in her natural beauty.

Once her black dress was discarded on the floor, you quickly strip to your underwear to then push her softly to the bed.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you vowed looking at Wanda in her birth suit, fusing with the sea green of her silky sheets.

Smiling softly, Wanda took your hand, bringing you on top of her. “Show me.”

You didn’t need more indication than these words for the hungriness inside you roared at the hallucinating taste of her lips.

Your tongue fought against hers, in a game of dominance that only the strongest one would win. You constricted the muscle of your thigh against her core as Wanda’s hips bucked upwards with expertise, coating your warm skin with the sticky substance and you made a mental note to taste her. But for now, you worshiped her body like the goddess she was.

The sheets wrinkled in her fists as your teeth marked her burning skin, sending her into a spiral full of ecstasy.

The painful moan she released when you moved forward just right enough had you grumbling at the need taking over you.

“Don’t hold back,” you ordered her, kissing her as deep as you could, not having enough of her. The tips of your fingers itched with electricity the more your hands explored her lustful body, and the willpower to keep her wanting was dropping critically fast.

With one last kiss to her lips, you began a long but enjoyable trip down the sea of warm, smooth skin, feeding a hunger you didn’t think you could ever fill.

Sloppy, wet kisses pampered Wanda’s skin, sending her to cloud nine as she gave into the pleasure you provided her, turning her into a complete mess under you.

The nails dipping on your back took a guttural grunt out of you, which only served for you to bite just above her pert nipple. You smiled when Wanda trembled under you, jotting down your discovery on your mind for later use.

“Please,” 

“Hmm?” You growled, too busy sucking on her pinky nipple, as your free hand pinched and massaged her other.

“I need you,” Wanda cried softly, thumping hard against your overcoated thigh.

Sighing expectantly, you left her breast with a pop.

Looking up, you made sure Wanda’s eyes stayed locked on yours as you descended through her sternum down to her lower stomach, amazed by the utter craving reflected in her darkened pupils.

A primal moan escaped you when your tongue lapped at her folds, your taste buds coated in that elixir you’ve got the pleasure to discover.

Not getting enough of it, you poked and licked every single corner you could reach, enjoying the animalistic moans coming from over you.

“Oh, fuck!” Wanda cried when your tongue entered her. “Don’t stop.”

Grunting, you obliged.

She asked you to show her your devotion, and you just did that for a few more rounds, until she asked you for mercy.

“You sure you can’t give me one more?” You smirked against her lips, gradually slowing the pace of your fingers after guiding her through her fall.

“Maybe later,” she wrapped her arms around your neck, bringing you closer to her, enjoying the mixed warmth of your sweaty bodies.

Giggling, you decided to give up. Propping yourself on your elbow half on top of Wanda, your hand started to draw invisible patterns on her chest, quietly listening to her humming.

“Wonder what other qualities you withhold,” Wanda mused, breaking the comfortable silence that settled between you two a few moments ago.

“Not to brag about, but I’m doing well in life,” you shrugged nonchalantly.

At the silence settling once again, you looked from the hand in her chest to Wanda’s eyes, questioning silently.

“Go on a date with me,”

Your fingers stop mid-movement as those words sunk in. She wanted… more?

“I don’t do dates,” you shifted uncomfortably, retracting your hand to your personal space.

“It doesn’t mean marriage, you know?” Wanda frowned at your refusal.

“I don’t care. I’m not looking for more than what this is. A nightstand only.” You remarked on every word, making sure she understood.

You heard her sigh pregnantly as you stood up, dressing up.

“Do you even know who I am?” the brunette stood up, too, walking around the bed to reach you.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” you hissed internally at those words. “I’m not interested.”

“I’m Wanda fucking Maximoff! You should be glad I looked at you,” the woman stepped forward, sending chills down your spine. The look in those green eyes that held so much glint a few moments ago shifted to one of anger. Her body stance alerted all your senses and you choked at the need to win the match once again, fucking that rage away.

Instead, you grabbed her shoulders, moving her closer just enough.

“Goodbye, Wanda fucking Maximoff.” You walked away, leaving a steamy Wanda behind.

A week passed since your encounter with Wanda and she hadn’t been able to expel you from her mind. The captivating, mysterious persona you possessed had her hanging with unanswered questions that, with the way you gave but held back, only seemed to grow by the minute. And the plans and documents she had on her desk only added to the headache her eyes were acquiring the more she looked at the different colors and textures.

‘I need you’ she sighed sending the text, turning around in her chair to enjoy the skyline in front of her. The imaginary finger scratching at her brain was getting the best of her, affecting her work.

The grasp on her phone faltered for a moment as the chiming startled her.

‘It’s an easy day. Come over to the bakery and we’ll talk.’ Wanda smiled gladly. She knew she could always count on her friend.

Stepping into the chilly air of mid-October, Wanda snuggled into her velvety coat and decided against driving. It was just a few blocks away and she knew for sure she could use some oxygen.

“I ordered your usual,” the redhead greeted as Wanda took a seat at their designated table.

“You’re a blessing,” the brunette thanked. “I was praying you were free.”

“That bad, huh?” Natasha smiled pitifully.

“Remember I hooked up with a girl last week?” 

Wanda wasn’t someone to avoid subjects. She didn’t had the time nor the strength to kick around the bush. Much less when it was something that took over her whole life.

“Thank you,” Natasha thanked the young girl placing their food at their table. “She’s stalking you?” The smirk on the redhead’s lips made Wanda’s blood boil. “You should get used to it by now, Wands. Or better yet, create an alter ego.”

“Haha, very funny.” Wanda snarled, taking a bite of her cinnamon roll. “She basically discarded me like some piece of-”

“As your best friend, you had it coming a long time ago, babes.”

Those words ricocheted through her mind, suddenly realizing some… no. She was a goddess and everyone knew her worth. 

“I’m serious, Nat! She didn’t even allow me to ask her out.” Wanda cringed at the whine in those words. You’ve come around like a brick wall and all she wanted to do was to climb it up. 

And boy, did you come.

Wanda looked up from the sweet treat on her plate at the sound of the voice that haunted her since the day you left.

“Y/N!” The brunette witnessed quietly how -her- Natasha stood up, hugging you as you giggled, unaware of her presence.

“Long time, no see.” You smiled, keeping an eye on the barista preparing your order.

“Dude, yes! I’m sorry for not going the other day-”

“You’re okay, Nat. I knew it was a long shot for you to be back in time.”

“Really. We can meet tonight if you want.”

The whole interaction panged at Wanda’s heart as she saw you interacting so carefree with someone who wasn’t her. And the fact Natasha had known you all this time didn’t ease the betrayal she was starting to feel.

“-Wanda.” The brunette came out of her reverie at the calling her name and she’d be lying if the look of indifference in your eyes sent her soul to the underworld.

“Hi,” you acknowledged her with a polite smile.

Before she could answer, you hurriedly kissed Nat’s cheek, claiming you were in a hurry and your order was ready.

The feeling of emptiness invaded Wanda once again, forming a lump in her throat.

“What’s wro- It’s her?” Natasha asked scandalized. Her green eyes wide open.

“That’s Y/N,” Wanda sighed, looking defeated at your attitude.

“Oh, my.” Natasha sat back down, her gaze full of pitiness. “I’m sorry, Wands. She’s… she’s out of reach.”

“You have to help me,” she begged.

To be honest, Wanda was tired of portraying someone she really wasn’t. She’s been for a while now. Her own past molded her to protect her heart and never let her naive self show again. But if the last few days served for something, was to show her she might have found the person she could trust her heart to. If only she could have you.

“I don’t know,” the redhead squeezed her hand supportingly. 

”You know her, Nat. Why is she closed up to me?”

“It’s not you, Wanda.” Natasha smiled tenderly. “She… she has her own dilemmas, too. Just like you,”

Looking down at the design in front of you, you sighed tiredly as your mind seemed to refuse to let go of the encounter from hours ago. Wanda’s sad face was engraved into your retinas, making your chest inflate with something akin to sorrow with every breath you took.

But you’ve made your peace with your change of character. You valued yourself too much to be left as a second option for some businesswoman. That kind was never a nice feature.

You just couldn’t take the risk. Your heart weighed more than any pretty face with a killer body that invited you to their bed.

Thankfully, the knock on your door took you out of your head, smiling at the grumbling of your stomach as the time on your phone read 8 pm.

“Did I ever tell you I love you?” You greeted the redhead, grabbing the bags out of her hands.

“Once or twice, but it better be true for that cost me a lung,” Natasha smirked as she saw you licking your lips at the food in front of you.

“I’ll pay you back,” you shrugged, hurriedly placing both pairs of chopsticks beside the containers on the wooden coffee table.

“How about you design my future house for free?” Nat tried walking into the kitchen, looking for the cold bottle of wine and two glasses.

“You know you’ll need to buy me more than this, right?” You clicked your tongue, earning a laugh from your friend.

“We’ll discuss it another time,” she sat by your side on the floor, taking the remote to choose a movie.

Content, both of you decided on a lighthearted movie as you dig into the delicious sushi calling your name, commenting here and there throughout the whole duration. 

The weight in your heart lifted a bit as you smiled at the peace the redhead provided you. No matter how long you’ve been apart, your friendship was always intact.

“So,” Natasha spoke as the credit rolled on the darkened screen. “Have you got an offer yet?”

“Still waiting,” you sipped from your wine, enjoying the tingly sensation.

“I might have found you a nice spot,”

“You what? For real?” Your eyes almost fell out of its sockets at the words. “Oh, my lord, Nat!” You launched yourself at a giggling redhead. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It was nothing,” her long arms wrapped around your waist for a moment. “They asked if I knew someone and I thought of you.”

“You’re the best, really!” You gasped cheerily, breaking away from the hug.

You couldn’t fit more happiness in your chest. Granted, you still had to get interviewed and everything, but the idea of taking a break from the hustle of being your own boss looked like a great vacation after working solo for the last 2 years.

To say that night you were unable to sleep was an understatement for all your mind could think of was the different projects you’d direct for the next few years. No more deals with the clients nor complaints about prices.

Feeling optimistic, you looked at your reflection one last time before confidently walking out of your apartment with a steamy travel mug of coffee in hand. The blasting music coming from the speakers of your car had your head bobbing at the beat, adding to the feeling of pure joy you experienced.

But said joy muted into nervousness as you stepped through the floor-to-ceiling doors of the building. The bodies scattered around unbothered by your presence.

“Hi,” you greeted the lady at the front desk. “I’m here for the design team director’s interview?”

“One minute, please.” The blonde smiled warmly before tapping away on her keyboard. “Take the elevator to the third floor, then walk straight to the office at the back.”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled, fasting your grip on the strap of your portfolio bag as you walked the directions you were given.

Stopping by, you knocked on the ginormous wooden door, you straightened yourself, confident enough to not think about the looks the people working on that floor were giving you.

You prayed silently as the muffled voice on the other side invited you to come in.

But all the nervousness and expectations you had flew outside the window at the woman sitting in front of you.

“Y/N,” Wanda gasped, standing up and walking slowly towards you.

You took a deep breath and allowed yourself to calm the turmoil forming inside of you.

“I should've known better,” you grunted thinking back on the comfortable space you found Natasha last Thursday. You should’ve known someone like Wanda wouldn't stop until she got what she settled her eyes onto. 

“No, please stay.” Wanda hurried to the door, blocking your way.

“Is the position even open?” You changed your weight from one foot to the other, feeling the previous cheery feeling slipping through your body.

“It is,” Wanda said, hurt showing in her eyes. “It was just a coincidence Nat knows a potential talent to replace Julio.”

“I’m sure someone else will pop up,” you sighed, ignoring looking her in the eyes. The magnetic pull between you both,  getting harder and harder to ignore.

“Please. Just give us a try. The company, I mean,” Wanda corrected herself.

Looking up to those green eyes that liked to hunt your dreams sometimes shined with hope and you couldn’t resist. Not when you had finished the last project and had nothing to do until you found something else.

“Whatever,” you walked over to the desk, unbeknownst to Wand’s toothy smile.

“Here are a few of my designs,” you handed her the black leathery folder, fighting the urge to pay attention to Wanda’s reaction to every page she inspected. 

Focusing on every single detail in Wanda’s minimalistic office, you quietly calmed your erratic heart as you dried your hands on your jacket.

After a few minutes of silence, the brunette hummed approvingly and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“They’re really good, Y/N,” Wanda smiled proudly at you and you felt your heart do a somersault at the look in her eyes. “I like how detailed your lines are.”

“Thank you,” you smiled shyly.

“I have a question, though,” Wanda closed the folder and placed it on her desk, her intertwined hands over it. “I only see your designs lead towards the simplistic, detailed styles. How do you manage with Victorian style?” The perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in a criticizing way and could only stand still, hiding the unsettling tickles on your stomach.

Was that still ongoing? You knew there was always someone who wanted their place overcrowded with furniture that only served to suffocate you the longer you stayed inside the room. But never thought it was something this company specialized in.

“It makes me cringe, but I can put the client's wishes over my comfort,” you answered honestly.

“Good, because as the head of the interior design department, you must be open to things that give you nightmares.” Wanda smiled, trying to win your trust.

And that she did. Every new interaction she pulled out of you, served for you to see her as Wanda the person and not as your boss. With every project you both discussed, the closest you two became and what started like an overstay on a stormy night to finish some big project, turned into impromptu after-hour at least once a month. And Wanda couldn’t be prouder of herself for fooling you into deadlines that could easily be met the following day.

“Food is here,” Wanda informed you, walking towards the door. “Hope you feel like having Thai.”

“Sure,” you agreed, your attention focused on the different palettes of blues trying to find the right shade for this nursery. Unaware of Wanda’s soft gaze on you.

One of Wanda’s oldest clients asked for her to be the one who designed the brand new house he wanted to gift her daughter, and of course, she thought this was a great way to have you stay longer. 

The more you opened up to her, the harder it was for Wanda to give up her hopes. And in consequence, the deeper she felt for you, like an innocent girl walking towards a spooky candy store filled with the sweetest treats you could imagine.

“Let’s take a break,” she suggested entering her office, looking at your couched form painting on the plan under you.

“It’s okay, I can multitask,” you shrugged.

Sighing, she walked over and took the coloring pencil off your hand. “I’m not asking,” she looked sternly at you.

“Fine,” you huffed, following her to the small sofa adjacent to her desk.

Allowing the comfortable silence that settled between you, Wanda ate her noodles thinking of the right way to say what she needed. 

The curiosity was taking the best of her and the fact that Natasha was secretive about it only added to the itching feeling eating her from the inside out.

“Can I ask you something?” 

Wanda could only smile softly at the innocent look you gave her as you nodded with the chopsticks still in your mouth and a single noodle escaping your lips.

“Why you refuse to go on dates?” She braced herself for the stormy argument about to start.

Only, it never came.

“Why so insistent?” You swallowed, allowing your shoulders to fall.

“It’s the only thing that haunts me every moment since we hooked up,” Wanda explained honestly, seeing how your face shifted from discomfort to resignation.

“My ex was a lawyer. She always put her work over me, no matter how much I tried to get her to come home before midnight.” You spoke softly and Wanda felt a pang in her heart at the disappointment in your voice.

“After I stomp down my foot, I promised myself to never be the second option for someone else. If my girlfriend can’t stop working to come to our bed, then she could never be the right one.”

“I’m sorry,” Wanda could only ache at your confession, the tugs at her heart only pulling further, imagining you alone in bed feeling so small in the nighttime.

“You know not everyone is the same, right?” She tried, tiptoeing into the idea forming in her mind.

“Says the one who stays after hours every other day,” you smirk.

“I don’t like being alone,” Wanda thought it was only fair to share her own issue.

Your small laugh got Wanda frowning. What could be funny about this?

“Nat would be all braggy about this,” you nodded in the negative. “She said we were meant to be,” you looked up at her and Wanda’s heart missed a few beats.

“Wouldn’t doubt that,” the brunette smiled at the thought of her friend teasing you equally as she did with her.

“Can I kiss you?”

If her heart was having trouble beating by itself, she was sure she now needed a cardiac pacemaker for the dizziness that appeared for a second or two.

Smiling brightly, the brunette launched herself at you, savoring the lips she’s dreamed of for so long.

“Is this some default movement?” You smirked as she settled on your lap.

“Oh, hush. It’s not like you don’t enjoy it,” Wanda countered attaching her lips to yours, not having enough of you.

“Does this mean I get to take you on a date?” She asked hopeful, after breaking the link for much-needed air.

The look of playfulness that she found in your eyes made her squeal in anticipation.

“One missed date, one late anniversary, hell; even one plan canceled at the last minute, I walk out of your life.”

Wanda could only nod frantically at the prospect of you having accepted her. The foggy dreams at the back of her mind cleared away as her determination lighted brighter than ever.

“You have my word,” she leaned down to seal the pact with a kiss.

She knew that it was too soon to jump into the pool. But having you in her arms after surrendering your heart to her, Wanda made it her mission to never leave you down. No matter what trouble she got in, she’s had the emptiness of her heart be filled by you and she couldn’t retribute you any other way than to put you first above anything else.

As always, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated (:

Taglist: @summergeezburr​ @red1culous​ @wandabear​

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Modern Thranduil x anxious reader

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 1:

A Dance with tardiness

Synopsis: An antisocial, anxious writer in her early 20s attends a ballet class under the teachings of a mysterious, reserved, austere dance instructor. They form an unlikely within their solace and past.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

A/n: This fanfic doesn't follow along the lines of the hobbit but rather a loosely spin-off au that only uses some characters. I do not own the right to them as they are Tolkien's characters and I respect his creation. (even if the characters might be ooc). Feel free to comment, reblog and like. Let me know if you'd like a chapter 2.

I tended to daydream often, more so when I listened to the music. The tune and tone of the song that played one after the other sent me to the realms I immersed; typically, anyone would daydream into another realm far better than their own: a princess, pirate, elf, fae—anything. My imagination is my realm of comfort, a sealed bubble that I can freely roam however I wish. Unfortunately, within fantasy, we must face reality. Within my reality, I’m not much of an importance, at least not one to have a whole written memoir about. I’m more of one of those faces you’d pass by in the street or grocery store, not giving any second thought to. Though I’d prefer it that way, I’m not much of a talker but rather a writer; I’m more fluent in my words than my speaking. Every attempt I’ve made, I’ve stumbled or become still; my chest would rise heavily and lower deeply. I always asked how people can do it, how they can speak—talk—communicate like it’s a piece of cake. I’d rather shroud myself in my isolation than speak to another living being.

At my desk, in my somewhat clean apartment, I was planning my next latest story in a saga of 3 books. So far, I’ve managed to get in contact with a publishing company via email who were willing to get behind the idea of a feature-length young-adult romance novel, a romance novel about a pirate king and a fae queen. The first chapter was still relatively underdeveloped, yet I’m willing to spend an entire day finishing it. I had only five months to publish the entire chapters. I’ve been a fantasy fan ever since I was a child. To me, fantasy is what the word impossible turned into possible. For ten years, I’ve been writing, and never once has it stripped me of what I truly adore.  

Whilst my fingers pressed against the keys on my keyboard, I received a text message on my phone from the side of my desk surrounded by papers. It was from my mom, who was wondering about my well-being. As always, I respond with the usual ‘everything’s going well—I’m pumping out new chapters for my new novel, ‘A Puncture in Time’, you know—the one with pirates and fantasy, new chapters soon to come ;)’. Even though she’s smart enough to see through my little façade, she writes back, ‘Hey listen, I know it’s hard right now, but I can assure you, things will get better; it just takes practice; I know you’ll meet someone you’ll find it easy to talk to’. I sighed heavily; within her words, I have faith, yet doubt. Should I choose to believe her, bite the bullet and try to speak up or wallow in a lie that can send her mind at ease? Before I wrote back, she sent a post with a link. I furrowed my brows as curiosity swelled my thoughts, my finger tapped the link. It was an ad. An ad for ballet classes. I thought it odd why she would send me something like this: I’m no dancer; I’m certainly no ballerina.

I replied with a question mark ‘?’.

A message bubble popped up: ‘…’ I awaited her reply.

As she was still typing, I took the liberty of glancing through the ad quickly. The tab loaded with a cursive font in bold ‘Les danseuses se réjouissent’. Scrolling past the stock images of ballet dancers, I came across a small section of different levels offered: beginner, Intermediate, and advanced. My mind raced with doubt; I had no experience in ballet, at least not since I was a young child. I wondered to myself, ‘Do I really want to take this? After all, I’m not exactly one for groups’. However, my mind was put at ease when my eyes came across an option for ‘one-on-one private lessons’. At least, I wouldn’t be with people who were far more experienced—let alone a group; the thought of many eyes staring at me—would have my heart sink. As I clicked the option, I was astounded; there were no reviews, pictures, or even a description of the instructor. I was sceptical. Surely, if you were to teach a class, you’d have at least a brief introduction of yourself. Even as an author, I have a concise introduction in my publications. I lightly sighed, weighing my options; on the one hand, it’ll please my mom, get me out of the apartment, and keep me fit; on the other hand, despite being private, I’m meeting someone I don’t know. Who knows what this person’s intention is, even if it’s for a class.

Finally, I heard a ‘ding’ as she replied, ‘Please try, at least for me; it’ll be good for your health, and you once mentioned you wanted to be a ballerina. I know the world isn’t always what we want it to be, but I know you can make it shine; I’ve seen it in your novels; give this a chance, give them a chance, to show them how you can shine, because I know you’ll be the brightest star there :).’

My eyes softened as I read every word; I couldn’t deny she had a way of getting through to me. She was always a caring woman, along with my dad. They were the only two people I could speak to without pressure or the weight in my chest.

I pressed back onto the tab with the private lessons. I clicked to see the booking dates—there’s an option to book for tomorrow, and the price is only $45 per lesson. For the price, it wasn’t too bad; yet still expensive. I filled in the details required to send the booking through, yet my finger hovered as I was about to press ‘confirm’. My mind came to a tussle of thoughts and hesitations; this would be the first time, in a long time, that I would speak face-to-face with an actual living being. However, I recalled Mom's words, ‘Because I know you’ll be the brightest star there’.

Breathing in—I pushed it, I pressed confirm.

I did it. I’m going to attend a ballet class. My head slowly lowers onto my desk, surrounded by papers. My hair dangled over my forehead. The adrenaline that reached the height of my mentality came crashing down. It’s like going on a rollercoaster you didn’t ask for, coming from the highest point of the rail down to the pit below. I start to feel light-headed. I want to sleep. I want to stay here. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. What if this doesn’t work out?

I rose slowly from my desk chair, picked up my phone, and texted, ‘I’ve booked lessons for tomorrow…I hope you're right about this.’

I watched as once more, awaiting her response, ‘…’

‘Oh, I’m so happy, you’ll fit right in, I know it :)’ she texted.

I didn’t respond. She’s pleased, at least.

I decided to call it a night; I’ve had enough pressure for one day. I logged off, cleaned the papers on my desk, pushed them into a neat-ish pile and headed to the bathroom to shower. As I opened the door, I went inside to set down my pyjamas by the medium-small bathtub’s acrylic side rim. My bathroom isn’t big exactly, but neither is it small. It’s moderate for what it was: a bathtub, shower, toilet, sink, and a medium-sized mirror in the same room. It’s not precisely palace material, but it helps soothe my thoughts. I held my hand out as I turned on the shower, feeling the trickling water against my skin. The temperature quickly changed from cold to warm in just five seconds. Once I was satisfied, I stripped bare, sliding my long-sleeved green shirt off and sliding my darker tracksuit pants. I tossed my unmentionables inside the bathtub. I stepped inside the shower, allowing the warm water to run freely down my skin. I shut the shower enough to have a slit entrance still. I grabbed the soap, rubbing it over my skin, arms, legs, and body. I splashed water on my face as the water rinsed the suds away. I hovered my hands in my eyesight, glancing closer at my fingers. I could see the redness and patches from where I’d picked my skin; it’s a habit I developed since childhood. The habit would annoy Mom, often whispering or saying straight, “Stop picking”, even touching my hand to remind me. Unfortunately, this habit hasn’t subsided; I sometimes even look at my skin with little care, picking the cuticles or rough patches.

Once I finished scrubbing my body with soap, I turned off the water and opened the shower door to step onto the bathmat. I grabbed a towel from the single towel rack located beside the shower. I dried my body, running the towel over my skin. As I wrapped the towel around my body, I glanced at my face in the mirror above the sink. They say eyes are the most expressive in emotion. My narrowed, pinkish lips thinned.

I snapped out of my gaze, continuing to slip on my long blue pants decorated in owl prints, then, the next, a long-sleeve top with the basic purple on them topped with a giant owl embroidered in the front area. Owls have always resonated with me, whether it's their symbolism or captivating beauty. I placed the towel on the side of the bathtub’s rim. I picked up my previous clothes and took it into my bedroom. My bedroom was also medium sized, having a queen-sized bed and an oaken cupboard with a mirrored wardrobe. My room was decorated with tiny figurines I’d collect overtime, albeit from movies I’ve fancied or books. I placed the clothes in my hamper basket behind my door. My body relaxed when my eyes lingered toward my bed, the messy, deep blue sheets draped to the left side. I dismissed the thought of tucking them in for the time being, only plonking myself onto the mattress and wrapping myself within the single cotton sheets and doona drifting off.

Dreaming is the easy part, letting what visions came to my mind run wild. Sometimes, it’s suitable for inspiration, but other times, it's nightmares. The imagination is still enchanting, although, this time, it was peculiar. I was in a birdcage decorated with gold; the entrance was bolted shut; my hands gripped the golden rods holding the cage together. I tried to scream but to no avail. I tried to shake the cage, yet I was too small to provoke movement. My body lowered, feeling the coldness of the metal plate below. I had nothing but rosy ribbon pointe shoes. I suddenly felt myself, in no control, rise as though my limbs were attached to strings. I started to dance, my arms and legs stretching to fit the perfect movements. Eventually, I stopped mid-movement, standing on one leg while extending the other behind. I couldn’t move; I was frozen in place. I could do nothing but shut my eyes.

Suddenly, I woke up; my eyes fluttered open from the confusion I had just endured. Rising from the bed, I pondered for a few seconds. ‘What on earth did I dream about?’. My hands pressed against my face, trying to comprehend my dream and reality. I pulled the sheets off me and got up for the morning. A typical morning for me results in the usual routine: dressing, brushing my teeth and hair, and then looking forward to what the day offers me. Until I remembered that I had booked that class. I typically picked out green tracksuit pants with a white singlet, hoping that would suffice. I picked up my purse and headed out the door to my car. I entered inside, placing my purse in the front seat as I turned on the white car. I noticed outside that it started to snow. Snow is beautiful, especially the little snowflakes that fall into your hand and dissolve upon touch.

As the car started, I prepared to drive to wherever it was that awaited me. The location was further from where I lived; it must’ve been at least twenty-eight minutes. The drive wasn’t particularly bothersome for me; when you live in New York, you get used to the traffic.

As I drove, the snowflakes emerged in more significant numbers. Eventually, I found parking just next to the side of a café. I wasn’t aware if it was for the staff or guests. However, it seemed empty with only a few cars, so—if I get called out on it, I’ll move my car. No one seemed to notice, so I assumed I was okay. I grabbed my black parker from the back and zipped it up. Exiting the car, I stopped to admire the snow falling for a few seconds. It was January 4th, so the snow season was still here. My hands shoved in my pockets, beginning to wander toward where I needed to be. According to the ad, it was building ‘52’; it was vague, I know, but it was the details given. I trudged through the snow, seeing building after building, until I came across something with the number ‘52’, where I needed to be. My hand gripped the gold-looking handle attached to the glass door. As I entered, I came upon a staircase; I took one step after the other. I quickly glanced at the ad to see what floor it was on, yet to no avail. Was it the ‘4th floor? Oh god, oh god, please don’t resort to me asking someone. My fingers started to twitch; I raised one of my fingertips to my lips, feeling the rough patches. My thumb started scraping off the first layer, and small blood trickles formed. I ran my fingers over my lips again as I trailed up the stairs. I could feel my chest becoming heavier, my mind swell with thoughts of self-doubt. Suddenly, the anxiety soon started to subside as my eyes saw the sight of a door. My fingers hesitantly wrapped around the door handle; I took one breath in, trying to be brave. I pushed it open—only for my worst nightmare to come to life.

My breathing became heavier, my heart sank, my eyelids widened, and I could feel myself hyperventilating. There was a group of ballerinas staring directly at me. There must’ve been at least four? Five? Looking my way! Their ages varied, going into their late 20s.

The one brunette asked in French “es-tu perdu, cherches quelqu’un”.

I couldn’t concentrate; my mind dwelled with clouded thoughts of judgment. I pressed my finger against my lip, trying to feel the rough patches.

Another asked in English, “My friend asked if you’re searching for someone”.

Quickly, my eyes diverted to the ground, avoiding their gaze. “I-I-, pr-viate, less-on”. I stumbled over my words.

“Lessons? Private lessons?” the girl spoke once more.

I nodded, avoiding eye contact.

As I quickly glanced, a middle-aged woman in her mid-forties stepped closer; I assumed she was the dance teacher. “Are you referring to the private dance lessons advertised? the one taught by Mr. Oropherion?”.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my words. Mr Oropherion? Is he the teacher I’m with?

“I-Is. This. Right. Floor.” I tried to sound out the right words, but it was impossible. Perhaps my conscience was right; perhaps this was a terrible idea.

The middle-aged woman, confused, pointed toward the direction I needed to go. “you’ll need to head up one more level, then head to your right” Her voice was calm with a hint of soprano.

Still avoiding eye contact, I left, not even saying thank you, focusing on wanting to escape. I closed the door in front and let out a heavy breath. My head lowered to touch the tip of my hands. I wanted to melt in that moment; I wanted nothing more than to return home. However, I reminded myself that I was doing this for Mom. I breathed in once more, looking up at the door; my hands quickly released, and I began to walk quickly, edging further up the stairs. My mind came crashing down, feeling the dreariness wash over me. Feeling tired, I finally, at last, came across the door I needed to be. It was blank, the painted white withering away around the edges. My hand reached the doorknob, feeling the roundness, turning it slightly. I could feel the adrenaline kick in. I was hesitant, but my nerves started to build.

I started to whisper to myself, “Just a general hello, that’s all it takes—

You're doing this for Mom—

Give them a chance to show them how I can shine; give them a chance to see who I am because I’ll be the brightest star there”.

 I breathed in, closing my eyes and opening the door. As I tried to force my eyes open, I was confused. There was no one here. It was an empty space surrounded by mirrors with bar beams attached to them. My eyes scanned the room, yet no one was there. I suppose I should be relieved, maybe the teacher had caught a sickness and decided to ditch the whole class. I wandered further inside; I might as well take a quick peek. I unzipped my black parker with a furry hood, tossed it on the coat hanger and took off my shoes, leaving my white socks on. I stood in the middle of the dance room, embracing the quiet ambience. I looked in the mirrors, reflecting my figure. Was this even what ballerinas wear? Who even is Mr. Oropherion? If he doesn’t show up in the next 15 minutes, I’m heading off and not returning.

Perhaps Aelwynn, the fae queen in my novel, would’ve also been able to dance freely and eloquently in movement. I still wonder what would entrance the pirate king Sarek Salazar. I never pictured him to be devilishly handsome, though. I suppose Aelwynn would be a beauty, but there must be more to it—beauty can only go so far in their bond; what would their obstacles or hardships be? Perhaps the fae queen is somewhat intertwined with difference, the opposite of a fairytale. Aelwynn is fair, kind, beautiful and strong; she meets all the criteria for something otherworldly, yet what if Sarek is her opposite, a beast? No—What if he was average, a gross-looking thing? Pirates are anyway; what if he wasn’t powerful, just an average man with greed—and the dynamic changes, challenging Sarek to choose between the love of his life or treasure?

Or he would choose—

Suddenly, I heard a male voice emit behind me: “You best have a thorough explanation, girl. Do not even think about squandering my precious time.”

My breathing became heavier as I realized someone was speaking to me. I did not turn around; I was afraid to. Instead, I avoided eye contact, too paralysed to move. My head stooped low, and my hands stood to the side. He spoke again, “Clearly, you are here for a reason, are you not? I’ll admit your intrusion is rather fatuous.”

I didn’t glance up; I couldn’t look; I needed time to gather the words to explain. What should I say? Hey, sir, some ballerinas told me to come here, and I fear speaking to people.

“I see you have a mouth; that means you must have a tongue. Go on, speak.” His voice was deep and tranquil, composed yet icy.

I took a deep breath in, slowly turning around. As my legs moved, I slowly gathered the courage to look into the man’s eyes, even if I muttered a ‘hello’. It would be enough. As my head glanced up to meet his, I noticed his appearance.

He—was like—something out of a fairytale. His face was lean and chiselled; his eyes were like ice; his blueish-greyish irises complemented his cold gaze. His hair tressed down like water reaching his chest, light like snow. Whilst his skin was pale in comparison, a fair tone in colour. His attire seemed far more affluent than mine, donning a black trench coat with white underneath. His trousers complimented the darkness of his coat, and his black loafers were polished. I glanced at his right finger, an oval-shaped ring with a diamond glass stone crafted in sterling silver.

“Did you hear me not the first-time girl?” his tone turned stern.

My mouth moved, finally finding the words to speak. “H-hello, I’m Y/n”.

 “y/n?” he muttered.

My eyes glanced downward once more as I slowly nodded.

“So, you have a voice after all, pray, tell. Why are you lingering in my domain?” he said shortly.

I muttered “private lessons”, though my voice sounded like a whisper.

“Ah, so you’ve seen the ad; I suppose you haven’t wasted our time after all, although you are five minutes late; I expect punctuality, to be exactly on time at the hour.” His voice sounded stern once more.

Well gee, it’s not like it’s my first time here, and gotten lost. My eyes still avoided his; I couldn’t look up, so I nodded.

He didn't react when I avoided his gaze, dismissing it. However, he commented on something else: “Your posture is lamentable. Stand up straighter like so.” The tip of his finger lightly touched my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. I didn’t turn away precisely, yet I still flinched. My breathing slowed down as I once more met his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned.

“You stand there like a bird, wounded by the natures of evil, ignorant of the world’s knowledge, caged and sheltered from the shadows that lurk within the realm. Tell me, little bird, care to spread your wings?” I glanced at myself in the mirror, standing straighter. I could feel the flush in my cheeks, but I didn’t say anything, only breathing slowly.

 His finger pulled away, and he turned his back to me, walking away.

“I expect to see you here tomorrow at exactly the seventh hour of the night”.

“Do not make me regret my decision, or you shall return to the cage from where you came, little bird”, He muttered.

With that, he walked out of the room, distancing himself further and further away. At that moment, I stood in disbelief for a few seconds, trying to understand what had happened. However, once my thoughts were collected, I gathered my things and scurried out of there, wanting nothing more than to enter my car. Once I exited the building, I was hit with the coldness in temperature as it touched my face.

I opened the car door, tossing my things in the back, turning the engine on. I looked back, trying to see the building to the left. As I drove, my thoughts were plagued with astonishment. I didn’t look away; I maintained eye contact for longer than three seconds, and—I managed to speak my name without stumbling over my words. My emotions displayed were as if I’d seen a ghost. Yet—his face—his appearance—it reminded me of snow; I always loved snow; even when I was a child, it was the happiest of my memories. I recall when my parents took me to the park; I was fascinated by the sight of the winter wonderland, my face lighting up with delight and laughing with joy. I always find that snow rekindles the fond memories I have.

Perhaps Mom was right after all; this might be the start of something I’ve never been able to do. Talk.

[boyfhee]

hii could you please give tips on how to find fonts for your fic banner + the the font you have in your tags and navigation page. i also want to know how to find aesthetic pictures like you find them. i also want to know what are the best times to post on tumblr, and i also want to know how do you over come writer's block and get ideas fpr your fics/headcanons. sorry if i am being a bother and sorry for asking too much. pls do ignore me if you dont have time. i am sorry

hello ^_^ please don't apologise for asking, i'm always ready to help if possible :]

— FONTS

for banners, i use canva and the fonts provided there. some of my favourites are abril fatface, bernoru, burgues script, charm, coterie, slight, more sugar, apricots. there are a bunch of free options so just hit and try to see which one suits your design the most

for tags and navigation, i use yaytexts. cursive one is the cursive script, paragraph of text on the pinned is in sans serif and title is in sans serif bold. you can scroll down the styles column to find these

— AESTHETIC PICTURES

i use pinterest and there is no way except searching and curating your feed. try to specify your searches as much as you can. some keywords are : white typography ( or any colour, ) [ brand ] aesthetic, [ colour ] gradient, acubi. try using visual search or reverse image search. you can download images from mood boards on tumblr too

— POST TIMING

you need to know your audience for this, as in their demographic distribution, when they are most active. for me, it's usually after 6 pm ist. to find yours, try posting at different times and see when you got the most notes in a specific period of time ( like an hour or two, or more maybe ) that is most likely when your readers are most active.

there isn't really a set way to find or maybe i don't know that yet, but another way to make sure your work reaches more audience is self reblogs. it simply means reblogging your work every few hours, preferably two or three ( you can schedule it ) to make sure it hits almost every timezone. the icymi tags are for this purpose only

— WRITER'S BLOCK

i get the worst writer's blocks and i literally force myself to write or else i will be posting once bimonthly TT what i recommend in writing whenever you get inspiration. it can be anywhere, you don't have to worry about grammar, vocabs or sentences, just jot down the ideas as soon as you get them.

another thing i do is read a lot. it helps me get back to writing, sometimes gives me inspiration. reading helps with vocabulary as well so that's double the benefit

— INSPIRATION

songs, movies, webtoons, prompts on tumblr or pinterest, books. you need to keep your brain juices flowing. try to think about how a single dialogue prompt can be used in fluff and angst works both, for example. sometimes, random scenarios come to me out of no where, but i think you will get there when you start writing / get in the flow of writing

alternatively, discussing with friends, other reads / writers, reading ( very important, i cannot stress enough ) can help you come up with ideas for fics. for headcanons, a thousand of them have been done you can literally start by picking one and doing your take on it.

[k9effect]

Heyyyyy :D

I'm curious... How exactly do you make a font??? What did you do to create the Maverick Font???? 😱😱😱😱

This is awesome btw! I'm going to use it to make him write cute letters!!!!! :P

Ayeee thank you!! Okay lemme do a break down of how I did it:

So this was all inspired by someone in another server saying they just traced some of the letters from his calendar for some art and I went "oh, I think I'm insane enough to make a whole font with absolutely no experience and only google!"

So I grabbed the calendar screenshot:

And from there I isolated as many letters as I possibly could to get a good reference for how he writes each letter. I organised it like this initially:

Obviously there was going to be missing letters. I managed to get 21/26 characters just from the calendar which was pretty sick! In hopes of getting the others, I figured I'd see what Tom Cruise's handwriting was like and see if it fits. I found one photo of a card he signed but I'm not 100% sure if the writing was actually his cause his handwriting is more curly and cursive. This is that card:

So then I ended up with this (I decided to do numbers as well):

From there i just started tracing the letters and writing them out myself to try and get ones that I liked and felt looked good and matched his style. I also wrote a bunch of notes analysing some of the letters so I could try and keep it consistent:

Planning Page looked like this in the end (I think you can zoom in on this one and read my notes loI):

From there I took the ones i liked the best, put it into a 1000x1000 canvas (probably an overkill size lol) and cleaned it up as nice as I could! I saved them all out as transparent PNGs:

Then I found a software, Calligrapher I believe, that creates fonts, downloaded the template, imported all the PNGs and made the punctuation I was missing and then uploaded it! Saved the files and here we are!

I honestly still can't believe I pulled this off, and from only one screenshot of his handwriting! I'm over the moon excited to see what people make with it!! I don't expect to be credited everytime someone uses the font or anything but I'd love to be tagged to see what people make!!

Thank you for the ask!!!

MAVERICK HANDWRITING FONT LINK HERE!

[whlskr]

My art program does not have a font tool, its Achilles heel. I do all the lettering myself, and it always looks so rough to me because I actually write in some sort of bastardized cursive.

It's either legible ugly or beautiful incoherence, much like life

[syn4k]

Haii I checked out ur website for ashes and was bored so i modified like 3 things (in my browser) so if u want u can use the code!

<html><head> <meta charset="UTF-8"> <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0"> <title>The Ashes Homepage</title> <meta name="color-scheme" content="dark light"> <style> body { font-family: Comic Sans MS, Comic Sans, cursive; display: flex; flex-direction: row; } body > * { display: flex; flex-direction: column; padding: 5px; } </style> </head>

<body> <section id="about"> <h1>Ashes, The Website</h1> <h2>(because i needed to organize the links or else shit would get out of hand real fast)</h2> <p> Welcome to this extremely barebones Neocities that my friend Quincy gave me the idea to make! I know there's a really low chance that anyone would ever try and make a duplicate of it but just in case, hello this is the official thing, the person typing this is tumblr user/ao3 author extraordinaire darubyprincxx, but you can just call me/us Keys or Six.</p> <h3>So, what is this for and why does it even exist?</h3> <p>About eight months ago at the time of writing this, I started writing a fanfiction titled "(i'll tend to the flames, you can worship the) ashes" <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/42601899">over on ao3</a>, named after the chorus of <a href="https://youtu.be/crq-qc_r6Jk">this The Longest Johns song</a>. The fic is set in the aftermath of the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIh39HoDzao&list=PLehe4fdjKD0-jvHil8N_5hpLDnA-u85mW">Empires SMP Season One</a> apocalypse and features characters played by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@GeminiTayMC">GeminiTay</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@fWhip">fWhip</a>, and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@Pixlriffs">Pixlriffs</a>. The reason why I am up at 11:30 PM eight months later teaching myself HTML for this is because since then, I've talked about it a lot over on our Tumblr and done some things in other places as well. There's a whole ass playlist that can be found on two platforms, a dedicated tag for it on our blog, and even an unlisted YouTube video of us reading the first chapter of the fic.</p>

<p>Basically, the project has sprawled over quite a large portion of the Internet since we've started it, and I wanted to have a centralized place for all that external stuff for ease of access and also because the opening notes on the fic itself are getting really, <em>really</em> long.</p> <p>For now, this page will probably stay extremely bare-bones- just a couple of paragraphs of important shit, hyperlinks, and dark mode. I finally defeated dark mode. It is 12:45 AM and the site colors are successfully not flashbangy.</p> <div></div></section>

<section id="meta"> <h2>Links for Things About and Related To the Fic</h2> <ul> <li><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/42601899">Direct link to the fic on ao3</a> </li> <li><a href="https://darubyprincx.tumblr.com/search/ashes+au">Tag for the fic on our Tumblr blog</a> </li> <li><p>Fic Playlist </p> <ul> <li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLOPTPqrotfhU6ln39eg1pG_qCzegoM0Ub">(YouTube)</a> </li> <li><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2HzC6x58YiSxyCr9Na0d6N?si=9486aaa1cf9048e5">(Spotify)</a> </li> </ul> </li> <li><a href="https://youtu.be/amnh3xAr_vw">Chapter One Narration (Unlisted)</a> </li> <li><p>Masterdoc (where we explain the nuances and symbolism and shit in the fic) [Coming Soon]</p> </li> </ul> <h2>Use Cases</h2> <p>I, the author of this work, give permission for those who wish to do so to download this fic for noncommercial uses such as sharing between friends or backing up physically for archival purposes, to make art (whether visual or musical) of scenes depicted in the fic, and to share snippets of the fic via screenshot or use in a video or article with credit to me via link to the work itself and naming me as the author. I ask that no extensions or fic of this fic (theories do not count) be written, for personal preference reasons.</p> <p>I do not give permission for people to repost my work without my explicit permission, pass it off as their own, use the fic in A.I datasets or submit its content in any way, shape, or form to A.I machines, or use it for commercial use in any way, shape, or form. Any of the actions mentioned in this paragraph go against the author's word for how this fic may be used and some of these cases can have actions taken against the perpetrator.</p> <p>If you have any questions about the points mentioned above, please email me at <a href="mailto:darubyprincess@gmail.com">darubyprincess@gmail.com</a> or send an ask to <a href="https://darubyprincx.tumblr.com/">my Tumblr blog</a>. </p> </section> </body></html>

This one has a two column layout and automaticaly switches to light or dark mode based on the users preference!

If u wanna add the auto style switch (which is importiant for accesability) then you can just paste

<meta name="color-scheme" value="dark light">

into the head element if you want!! (dont forget to remove the background-color and color properties from the css or theyll override it)

this is all /nf so feel free to delete or ignore the ask :3

this just deleted the original colors. thanks though i guess

[extasiswings]

For the ask game: 1, 2, 5, 28, 35! Hope you're having a good week<3

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

It depends on whether I'm writing in Word or Google Docs. In Word, I'll change the default so that I write in Times New Roman, but in Google Docs I'll just stick with the default of Arial. I think it's less that I care and more that 12pt TNR font in Word was what I was taught to use when writing anything on the computer (creative writing or otherwise) so it's what makes my eyes happy against the formatting.

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

Yes, I could absolutely write my stories exclusively by hand if necessary. Although I don't write everything by hand, I will break out the notebooks fairly frequently--sometimes it's for privacy, sometimes it's convenient, sometimes it's just because it helps my brain work better to put my thoughts down that way. Always pen and always cursive.

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

The second I post a multichapter WIP that doesn't have the next chapter written, but has future scenes written, and say that it shouldn't take too long to update because it's practically almost done...at that moment, I have totally screwed myself and I will not finish the fic without at least one hiatus of a month or more. Same if I update something that I haven't updated in awhile and mention feeling motivated and like I know where I'm going, because inevitably I will get smacked by real life responsibilities.

28. Who is the most delightful character you've ever written? Why?

The most delightful character I've ever written? Hmm, that's a tough one, but I may have to go with the Diaz sisters. Partly because sibling dynamics are fun as hell to write and partly because there's a lot of freedom in playing in the sandbox of characters who have never been developed in canon (and therefore anything is fair game).

35. What's your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

They're not run-on sentences, they're an aesthetic. Just ask Charles Dickens.

[lunarsilkscreen]

Writing

I thought I answered this before... Then again there's a thousand of these things.

What is my writing process?

Typing is second nature to me; It's easier for me than to speak out loud.

Growing up in IRC, AIM, and Online Games without voice chat options does that to you I suppose.

So when I'm typing; it's closer to speaking. Laughing, emphasis, Lol and *italics*, punctuation; it's all part of my speech patterns.

Many people, when they write; they write the words they best feel would explain what they're saying, but it's much different when they speak. They usually slow down for typing.

I do not.

It's both beneficial; in that it's quite easy to express myself, and a detriment; as words are quite easily misinterpreted.

It's a crap shoot when I ask for feedback on my works, because it's a 50% chance their mind is blown when I type and 50% chance they're like "I have no Idea what your trying to portray here."

So, feedback in this avenue seems like wasted effort; except to gauge what people think I said, and correct from that.

My history is that I've been reading and writing before I could walk. (Exaggeration)

When I was young I learned Software Development practices at a very high level, including how to type understandable comments.

While in the military; I became quite proficient in professional writing--Too many Performance Reports and Admonishments and Counseling letters will do that.

I also had a hand in writing a few Technical Orders. (Military Manuals)

But I keep coming back to this speak-type casual writing; because it's easier to talk about most things in this way--at least to me it is.

Which may or may not have come across in my Stream of thought streams.

My process is to write what I'm hoping to read, or be said; it sometimes comes as a surprise to me when it feels closer to watching a podcast/YouTube than it actually coming directly from me.

And then I re-read it figure out if that's actually what I'd like to read; or if it comes off wrong; or whatever.

The offline world doesn't realize exactly how much digital life has benefitted mine and human literacy.

Something about expression being lost in Type vs Writing.

And there's some truth there; even the font change from handwriting to zero-emphasis font can truncate meaning.

That's why we use many fonts and emphasis and italics and bold and underlines and strikethroughs and emojis!

There is no doubt that we have lost meaning in many old texts, especially when they started being printed in the paper.

Back then; cursive writing must've felt fluid as speech. But with the emphasis lost; we can slowly watch as history, context, meaning--is lost.

If you can't tell if somebody is being silly, truthful, or snivy... How would you be able to parse anything but it's what you thought they wrote as if they believed it at face value.

Even the elderly don't know what's been lost; they just know *something* has been.

So when we talk about the "winners writing history"; (they're too busy "winning" to write history books btw;) it's not that they intentionally wrote it wrong, it's that the language shifted.

Super-Double-Minus-Good still means bad; you know.

And the youth always seem to come up with a new word for "Booty" every day.

[darf-es-blutig-sein]

(I hope that in three or four years there's still someone here who wants to write with me, who fits to me and my roleplay style, my muses and who doesn't have a blog which makes me uncomfortable with just scrolling through it. So called 'purple prose', a side-long rule catalogue which makes me so alerted that I couldn't relax writing with this person without the fear of unconsciously doing something wrong. Cursive words, randomly underlined words, three free spaces between words which are pink and have a fancy font. The fanciest of fancy icons. A fancy looking tag. I'm uncomfortable with all this if it's done too much, and it isn't as if a blog like this would want to write with mine that looks plain and simple because I prefer it this way. On top of this there suddenly had been the trend occuring where it's obviously sus to write the face claim.

I don't want to get told what kind of muses I should play, how my blog should look like just because it's the opinion of the majority. In my early twenties I probably would have tried harder to fit in, but now I don't care about fancy looks anymore and I couldn't bring myself to make my blog look fancy as well and put way too much, in my opinion useless energy into thinking of how to make it look 'cool', since it would just feel wrong.

Besides of that, I'm mostly so fucking intimidated approaching and getting approached by strangers. There is no way I could plot something with a complete stranger. It's a big deal for me to send in a meme. If it gets eaten then by tumblr I just can't bring myself to ask them if they have gotten it because the fear is too big they ignored it on purpose and I'm the first person stepping back then and make place for them to interact with the people they truly want to interact to. I don't want to be in the way. If someone has already a lot of interactions and favorite persons then I don't want to get in the way with my presence either. How should I find my place among them? Ending up as the fifth wheel and being the last one getting responded to can trigger my survival instinct so heavily that I lie in bed at night and get a panic attack.

But that aside, it's somehow sad that unfollowing / softblocking / blocking is so much easier apparently than reaching out. And if reaching out is just about liking a picture, for example. Comment onto a muse pic. Anything that reassures me that I'm /seen/ what makes it easier for me to reach out myself.

I never claimed this is a hobby truly fitting to me because of my issues. Writing on my own, yes, this is probably rather what I'm supposed to do. But I won't quit rp. I found quite some cool people here with who I can have much fun, people who prove me that they see me and that I'm not just any background noise or suck all my energy. I just can hope they stay. In Rp staying isn't for granted at all, I'm always prepared for others leaving and then I come up with the 'it was fun as long as it lasted'.

JRP is pretty much dead, and I can't find a place in the indie rp scene. I can feel that I don't belong there. So what's the future for all this?)

[poenikolahance]

What fonts can be used? This site is a font download site and choosing the right one affects the story and the audience – which do you like? (screenshot them) and then think pirates….which fonts should be used then?

On dafont any font can be found to fit your style of art for whatever reason you need it whether it's for a title, name, description or even a game gui. You can pick from any category, including fancy, cartoon, comic, groovy, old school, curly, western, eroded, distorted, destroy, horror, retro and more. Even language style such as Chinese or Japanese to give it a foreign look so that it matches your theme and attract your viewer with your artwork. i personally like any fancy or bubbly font as its bold, big and still readable for those who struggle to read cursive fonts, such as myself.

I like these because they're large and very presentable, while still adding character to anything you write about or showcase

As for pirate fonts i think these fonts are the best since back then people used to write with more fancier writing and it could also determine who a person is, however these fonts just sit the best with me just because they have curls and arent too hard to read.

Rusilla Serif & Laurasia

[sunrenity]

hii could you please give tips on how to find fonts for your fic banner + the the font you have in your tags and navigation page. i also want to know how to find aesthetic pictures like you find them. i also want to know what are the best times to post on tumblr, and i also want to know how do you over come writer's block and get ideas fpr your fics/headcanons. sorry if i am being a bother and sorry for asking too much. pls do ignore me if you dont have time. i am sorry

sure sure!!

01.ㅤFONTS ( banners & tags + navi )

for banners, i use canva, since most of the fonts are free. i use the fonts which i think fit the most and the ones i ike the most etc!! like moontime, dreaming out loud sans, cmu serif, virtual, the seasons, coterie, amsterdam four, ...

for tags and navigation, i use yaytexts. for most of my tags bold (serif) — 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 ,, cursive (serif) — 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 ,, or bold/cursive (serif) — 𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆

02.ㅤAESTHETIC PICTURES

for aesthetic pictures i use pinterest. you only have to be specific when you search for something, so that the pictures will match, example: (color/brand) aesthetic, (color) soft aesthetic, (color) vintage aesthetic etc. you can also use moodboards!! (from tumblr or pinterest)

03.ㅤPOST TIMING

understanding your audience is crucial. especially knowing when they are most active. for example, i usually post around 12:25 pm due to my school schedule, but yesterday i tried posting around 6 pm (as i'm having vacation and basically sleep till 12 pm now...), which seemed to work well. but i'm still figuring out the best time for me. you should also try posting at different times and see when you get the most notes in a specific period of time, ( like an hour or two ). this will help you determine when your readers are most active.

additionally, consider self-reblogging your posts. i typically self-reblog 6 to 9 hours after the original post to reach other time zones and maximize visibility.

04.ㅤWRITER'S BLOCK

when i get writer's block, i make myself write at least five sentences. this way, i have something to build on when i return to writing. additionally, i jot down even the smallest ideas, whether it's just a word or a sentence, in my notes. this ensures i don't forget them and can hopefully develop them later.

or i leave it in my notes for months and slowly forget about it... 😁

another helpful strategy is to read more of others' work. this can inspire new ideas for your own writing. (It's helped me a lot !!)

05.ㅤINSPIRATION

you can find inspiration from songs (lyrics can help you, you should also pay attention to the themes and narratives in your favorite songs, as it may help), prompts or movies etc, even from your own experiences

i hope this helped anonnie !!

[thecomfygay]

here's another write during a breakdown

"The date is June 8, 2023. The time is 7:18 p.m. I am sitting in my bedroom on my computer chair at my desk and writing on this chromebook and listening to sad music. I am typing in a cursive font because I don’t want to be able to read everything while I am typing. Okay, let’s start. 

I am feeling unappreciated by everyone, I never feel that I am enough, and that all I do is never enough. I love with my everything and it shows with my passion and communication. I put effort in on my end and what do I get?, nothing. We all deserve what we can give to others. 

I don’t know why I can’t give up on him. He has never understood my feelings for him and I have continued to love him endlessly with my life and what does he have to show for it? He says he loves me, but I don’t know if I have ever believed him because there is nothing to show for it besides our conversations and our fucked up past. Obviously that isn’t a reliable thing to turn to. He has never put in enough effort for anything involving us like I have. 

I shouldn’t have gotten myself into this if I knew from the beginning that I would end up sad and alone again. That’s where my stupidity and words come in. I convinced myself that this time would be/is different and that I was doing it because I have always been in love with him unconditionally and that I wouldn’t get fucked over in the end. I just wanted to say fuck it and tell myself that we deserve to be happy and that we’re really good for each other, but obviously we aren’t because where have we always ended up?, NEWS FLASH! NOT TOGETHER! Let’s put something into perspective for a second. I have seen him love someone for real and it wasn’t me and that has me wondering why. I need to see and feel that supposed love from him or it’s not enough for me to continue this relationship because it doesn’t feel like enough of a relationship to me with no effort on his end."

[cracksofmtdoom]

Well nothing shocking here. It is 4 am and I’m up. Still got a bit of crack. Well not exactly but at least a hit or two. Yay!! It has now become nearly impossible to see any way out of this mess. Both of us are just doing the wrong thing over and over and over. I had really hoped that she could be strong enough to keep me from falling further. Be the rock that I really need. But she has instead followed me down this pit of failure and pain. It hurts me badly to see her in this state. It takes a heavy toll on her physically and mentally. She does not take proper care of herself. We have a void between us. The drugs cause the same goddamn problems each and every time. And the stress of having to come up with the money for this vile soulless cocksucker kills me. I hate him. But yet here I am yet again smoking his product. I am sick. I am an addict. I am powerless. I’m wasting the precious time that I should be spending with my son. Wow. I had typed a whole new sentence or two regarding the Hellicorn but it did not get saved somehow. Ok take 2.

Oh the countless times that I have failed. At sooo much for sooo long now. It needs to end. Period.

I have failed many. All of them ones whom I claim I love and care for. And yet almost each one them still, without question, genuinely love me. I am worthy of love. I am. I deserve to have a healthy happy productive meaningful life again. They are all pulling for me and want to see me happy, at peace, sober and alive again. I long for that. I have an absolutely incredible family that I am so very grateful, proud and blessed to be part of. We are all kinda fucked up in our own strange ways. But we are family. We look out for each other, take care of each other. Love and respect each other. It’s a beautiful thing. I shut them out, I fell victim to the family affliction of addiction. As my father, his father and his father’s father. It isn’t isolated to one side or the other, but I believe it is the Bartels bloodline which is more influential if that word makes sense. Anyway, it’s an awful soulless faceless monster which consumes all that was and is good in you. It is ugly. It is sick. It cares for nothing. It begins to kill the soul. I have to wonder after this much time lost and on a frantic pace, what remains of my soul…. I know that it’s still there. Battered, burned and broken. But there and desperately clinging to me. I need to let go. Enough is enough. I do want to feel alive again. Intermission

I do enjoy this font. Cursive writing is cool. It’s a dying thing though. They no longer teach it in school. No need when you don’t really have to write, typing being the majority of time

Strange little thought stream I guess. And I was just thinking of the fact that I have a lot of people to make amends with. To not let their continued love and support be in vain. I have long standing relationships that I would like to rekindle when possible. I have so many things I want and need to do and be to be the best possible father to B. I’ve been a terrible father and have let him down far too many times and missed out on a lot of important time and events in his life. He’s at a delicate point at this age. I was already on the wrong path by his age. I need to be there for him. Goddamn. How awful I am. This twisted mockery of me that is. There is good in me. I am a good person and deserve to love myself and those around me. To put this burden aside and stop the madness and the continuing suffering. I am a father and that is an awesome responsibility and a great privilege to have the opportunity to do good, to instill values and wisdom and praise and love the human being that you created and give him the best you possibly can and show him what a real father is like.

[dreamofjoys]

"So, Rook. I, uhm, I wrote a poem for you, but I'm too embarrassed to read it to you myself." I look away with a deep blush on my face. "Here it is. Just read it and please do so quietly. I think if I had to hear the words again, my heart would leap from my chest." I shove the romantic poem to his chest while looking away from him. (Context, exchanging love poems as a form of confessing.)

WARNING: implied stalking (just usual rook behaviour…..)

he has been watching you for a few weeks now, so it’s expected that he knows you have been diligently writing a poem out just to confess your feelings to him.

he may or may not already know the content of your poem. he thought it would be better if you surprise him with your writing skills, but if you had read your poem out loud beforehand… chances is that he probably heard it.

rook accepts your poem gracefully, grinning ear to ear at your flushed face that is as red as a tomato. “oh mon cheri, don’t worry! it seems like i won’t be the only one receiving a poem today!”

he grabs the wax sealed stamped envelope in his blazer, handing them over you as you stared at the letter in awe, impressed by the gold coloured cursive font on the letter.

“you may go home and read it. remember to tell me about your response tomorrow!” rook bids you goodbye, instantly disappearing from your sight.

you frowned, slightly disappointed to see him off. did he perhaps not like you? the handwritten poem in the envelope said otherwise.