To Bryce the highway is an artery, something that bleeds in greedy gushing pulses across North America. It scares him as much as it did thirteen years ago when he stumbled north across the Texas-Oklahoma border. He gazes solemnly out over the road as Beck floors the gas pedal, shoulders drawn almost up to his ears. His phone is plugged in the car’s aux cord but nothing is playing. For a moment, Bryce wonders if they’ve made a huge mistake.
And then Beck shakes himself awake, lets out a wild whoop, and breaks into untethered merry laughter. The kind of laughter that brings an infectious grin to Bryce’s face. He hasn’t heard Beck laugh like this in a long, long time.
Beck rolls down the windows and flings his left arm outside. “Fuck this state! Let’s get outta here! Bry, you can pick the music.”
i just discovered tumblr borrowed the one good feature from twitter: pinned posts. fucking incredible. i have to get on this.
✁ max
✁ 21
✁ they/them
✁ i go by apocellipses or apocellipse in other corners of the internet, namely Flight Rising, Pinterest, and Ao3 :-)
i write original fiction; mostly fantasy and sci-fi novels, but i’ve dipped my toes into contemporary and romance at times. i write for lots of different formats, especially video games, so you might not see some of my finished products for quite some time! here are the projects you’ll see the most updates about on my blog.
➟ What’s Left
a small-town fantasy novel about friendship, romance, the warmth of others and the cold inside yourself.
Bryce Hernandez is a werewolf, and he’s done running away. His cozy little hometown of Doorway, Vermont welcomes him and all the other dangerous, mythical, magical weirdos that come its way. Sure, maybe life isn’t perfect; he can’t seem to pick a major, his HIV medication turns every night into a series of bizarre nightmares, and his transformations seem to grow more out of control with every full moon. But when his best friend, Beck, decides to quit his job and leave town, it turns Bryce’s comfortable stagnation upside down. Now, he has to decide what home really is, and whether to risk everything he knows to follow it.
tag | playlist | pin board
➟ Inertia
a sci-fi short story about a planetary disaster and the disparate groups of people who must work together in the aftermath.
After the bombing of the settler planet Herschel, thirty escape vessels have been dispatched to emergency stations. In the chaos of the evacuation, one of the oldest families in colonized space has lost their four-year-old heiress, the young Francesca Solaris—who’s trapped on board the same vessel as the bombing’s prime suspect. With the galaxy’s law enforcement out of intercept range, it’s up to the Herschel disaster’s survivors—a band of hapless civilians, wanted criminals, sardonic AI, and runaway royalty—to make sure Fran arrives to the rendezvous point alive.
tag | playlist | pin board
➟ Rift
an adventure game about protecting your world from something that should never have been hidden for so long.
Magic, as everyone knows, is illegal in Hawksbourne. So necromancer and self-proclaimed libertarian Riddick never thought he would serve as anything more than an advisor to his country’s bloated military in exchange for a life of relative peace. But his regional officer, Fortesia Wylde, has added a new condition to his parole. If Riddick wants to keep his freedom, he must join a band of travelers to journey west, through the deadly mountains and across the blighted western half of the continent, to the site of the legendary Rift. But everybody knows the Rift is just a myth.
Right?
tag | playlist | pin board
➟ By The Wayside
an rpg about timesickness, mental illness, and childhoods that last forever.
Your name is Jasper Everett, and you are not supposed to be here.
You are supposed to be in 2008, in Quebec, with your three best friends in the world. But you fucked up, bad. You slipped, you jumped forward in time, and you don’t know how to get back.
You start to think maybe Oregon isn’t so bad, even Oregon a decade in the future, until your childhood friend Devon moves into town. He’s 26, an adult—one who thinks his best friend died years ago. But you’re here. The future is here. And you don’t think you can go back anymore.
Hi, so, I absolutely love your wips and I'm especially sold on the idea of an RPG? It's not something I see often so I'm super psyched for that one specifically. However, the general plot basis for the other three are all so cool? Can't wait to see more from you!
A pensive bard on a quest for answers, Sophronia Nightingale has taken it upon herself to investigate the unsolved disappearances and murders of many local villagers while also memorializing them in songs she performs at their funerals. Her investigation will soon lead her to an alluring witch who dwells within the local forest, where she hides secrets far more grim than Sophronia ever imagined.
She sat alone at the back of a bustling tavern, the mead-soaked voices of the other patrons providing a melodic ambience by which to think and weave her latest tale. Three days had passed since her most recent investigation had come to a close, another success, if one could ever call any murder investigation a success. Someone was still dead, no matter the outcome, and another family was still left shattered.
"It's finished." She stared at the parchment before her, evaluating each word of the ballad she had spent hours pouring over that evening." I hope it brings them some comfort, at least." She folded the parchment and secured it within a pocket on the inside of her coat.
"Done writing for the night, Sophronia?" A deep, dulcet voice flooded her thoughts, pulling her from the trance she had succumbed to upon beginning her task hours ago.
"Oh!" She gasped, the sudden question catching her off guard. She had not noticed anyone approach her table. "Osgood..." She smiled as she turned to face the rosy old man standing next to her. "Yes, I'm finished for the night. I managed to write the entire song in one sitting this time."
"Sounds like a cause for celebration then!" Laughter bellowed from the jovial tavern keep as he walked to the nearby bar. "It's rare you finish one of your stories this fast. Any reason this one was different?"
She fell silent, pearly fangs biting into her bottom lip as she contemplated her answer.
"It's always easier with cases like this, I suppose, when the murder isn't just some random act of violence perpetrated by a stranger. Those are the cases that leave me lost for words, because they're always so nonsensical. In the case I wrote about tonight, a man was killed by a scorned business partner turned secret lover. That's easy. That makes sense to me. I'm not saying it's right, but it's easier for my mind to think and write about someone killing a person they knew in the heat of passion rather than someone picking a stranger off the street for slaughter as if selecting a piece of meat at the butcher shop."
As she spoke, Osgood prepared a drink and returned to her table. He sat in the chair next to her and placed a silver tankard filled with shimmering scarlet liquid on the table between them.
"I don't know how you stand thinking about such things so often, regardless of the situation." The aged man's once cheerful face had twisted into a solemn grimace." Have a drink. It's your favorite." He nodded toward the beverage he had placed upon the table.
She picked up the tankard, but paused before raising it to her lips. "Bloodmilk cider as usual?"
"Ah, but not just any bloodmilk, Sophi." Osgood grinned. "This bloodmilk is my own special blend, a recipe I've been working on for months, ever since the last harvest. You won't find it anywhere other than right here, at The Blooming Thistle Tavern." The proud brewer beamed, eager to receive feedback on his latest creation.
"I didn't know you were growing bloodmilk fruit."
"That's because I didn't want you to know. I wanted this moment to be a complete surprise. Now drink, enjoy, relax, and tell me that you love it." He chuckled.
Sophronia obliged, tilting the tankard up to her lips, and allowing the sweet liquid within to spill into her mouth. The flavor was unlike anything she had tasted before, refreshing, warm, and relaxing. Osgood had outdone himself.
"How did you make this, Osgood? It's amazing. I've never had bloodmilk cider as good as this before." She was almost baffled that a human brewer could manage to craft such a masterful blend of flavors.
"Impressed, are ya?"
More than impressed, she was enamored.
"Absolutely. How much of supply do you have of this?" She was already considering the possibilities for rationing the cider out until the next harvest. Bloodmilk fruit only bloomed in late autumn, and winter was still unrelenting. Springtime was weeks away, and autumn would come many months after that.
"Don't worry yourself. There's plenty to last. Besides, you're the only one around here who drinks the stuff, aside from any rare Viren travelers who may happen to pass through here. Humans don't much enjoy the metallic taste of blood. I even tried a swig of this brew for myself, and it's terrible!" The stout man reached into the pocket of his stained trousers and pulled out a shining flask. "Now this is a drink!" He pressed the flask to his lips before turning it upside down in the air, a rush of honey elixir cascading down his ashen beard.
Sophronia frowned. Just the thought of the wretched flavor of human mead was enough to make her nauseous.
"I need to be going, Osgood. I have to attend the memorial ceremony tomorrow to sing the elegy, so the last thing I need is to drink too much bloodmilk cider tonight." She stood and wrapped her dark coat around her, concealing her tiny frame within the thick layers of fabric and wool.
"Be careful walking back. You know I worry about you." He stood as well, towering over her as he pulled her into a tight embrace. "Tell Rosaria I said we need to get together again real soon." He ended with a wink.
"Osgood! I do not want to know any details! I'm leaving!" Sophronia covered her ears as she sped toward to door, desperate to escape before learning about the budding romance between Osgood and the owner of the Magenta Moon Inn where she stayed. "Thanks for the bloodmilk cider!" She called out from the doorway before stepping into the somber chill of another winter night and heading through the darkness for home.
The inn Sophronia had been renting a room at for the past year gleamed in the distance, the fragrance of baked cherries heavy on the cold wind. Rosaria was no doubt toiling away in her kitchen as she did every night, preparing an assortment of pastries for the next morning's free breakfast bar. The candied aroma quickened Sophronia's pace, and her leather boots echoed against dark cobblestone as she hastened down the path for home.
A small bell chimed on the wall above as she stepped through the front door of the Magenta Moon Inn, and a smiling woman soon emerged from a corridor concealed behind a floral tapestry.
"Sophi!" The woman bounded across the room and extended her hands toward Sophronia, umber palms cradling a fluffy tart. "Just for you." She smiled.
"You always know just what I need, Rose." Sophronia took the small cake in her hand, squishing its moist surface between her pale fingers.
"I thought you could use a pick-me-up before the service tomorrow. Did you manage to finish your ballad? It's not like you to wait until the last minute to write an entire song." Her kind fuchsia eyes gazed deep into Sophronia's, as if trying to uncover some hidden sorrow.
"Yes, it's finished. I know I usually work on the memorial ballads while the investigation is ongoing, but this time was so much different. I've never worked a case like this, as in an active case where the murder happened only weeks ago. I'm used to investigating cold cases that have gone unsolved for years, and as I'm working on those cases, I find myself drawn to write poetry about the person whose life I'm reconstructing. It helps me clear my mind and see aspects of the case I may not have considered yet. Those investigations tend to carry on for months as well, so I have quite a bit of down time to write."
Sophronia paused to take a bite of the sticky pastry that seemed to be melting between her fingers. The perfect blend of sweet and sour, she savored the morsel as long as she could before speaking once more.
"With this case though, the murder had just happened. The Sentinels were still involved, and I've never had a family come to me for help with an active murder investigation before. They only come to me after months or years have passed without answers, when they are desperate for any help they can find. This case was intimidating, if I'm honest. I felt a lot of pressure to do everything I could for the family as fast as possible. I didn't want this to turn into another cold case."
"Do you think you'll take anymore active cases, if you're asked to by another family?"
Sophronia sighed and swallowed a second bite of cake before she answered.
"I don't know. I want to say yes, but... the strain this one put on me was so immense. Maybe if I have some time between cases. I don't think I could handle another case that involves so much raw emotion any time soon though." Her violet eyes stared upward as she became lost in vivid memories of her most recent investigation. "Watching people go through the trauma of losing someone they love to murder is painful. I can't get his sobbing widow out of my mind. She was so broken. I've never seen someone as empty as she has been for these past few weeks."
The pair stood in silence for a moment, Sophronia eating her dessert while Rosaria watched. The snapping embers of a scarlet chimney fire chattered across the room. Sophronia turned her mournful gaze toward the inferno, and her eyes softened as she watched the kaleidoscope of crimson flames swaying in the quiet.
"I'm going to bed now, Rose. I have an early morning tomorrow." She walked toward a dim hallway, wooden floorboards creaking with each step she took. "Thanks for the treat, by the way. Oh, and Osgood sends his regards." Sophronia grinned as she watched a deep blush creep across Rosaria's face.
"Get some rest!" The elvish woman retreated to her kitchen in a whirlwind of brunette curls.
Sophronia continued into the shadows, guided to her room by the faint light of lanterns that lined the rustic walls. She delighted in the gloomy atmosphere of the inn. Along with Rosaria's pleasant demeanor and excellent daily buffets, the melancholy murk made the inn feel like a true home to the bard.
The door to her room opened with a low creak, and the familiar scent of smouldered cedar wood invited her into the darkness. She stepped inside and locked the door behind her. The metallic jingle of the bolts clicking into place soothed her tired mind, a lullaby that signified she was alone and safe for the night once more.
I know you mentioned starting a taglist after your second chapter, so I'll just add briefly that I would love to be added to it!
As for my thoughts on this chapter, I really enjoyed it. I read it in a single go, the pacing was really pleasant and you laid out worldbuilding and plot elements all at once without ever once overwhelming me. I'd also like to note that your more prose influenced descriptions were so perfectly put. You didn't underplay or overwater your descriptions and it just came across as very pleasant to the eye so I think you're doing really great in that department.
I love Sophronia already and I'm looking forward to what she does next in all of this.
in need of writer mutuals who want to share reads!
if you're an active writeblr interested in becoming mutuals and swapping reads on wips, please reblog this post!
just browsing the writeblr tag for new people to follow is not doing me much good. although i have made a few new mutuals who are lovely, some users just seem aloof and uninterested in communication, so i'm posting this request in hopes of making some new writer friends. <3
I know you already started following me and left a comment on my one post but I'd just like to say that you are always welcome to reach out to me if you want to exchange wips and talk together. It's important us writers stick together and support each other!
HEY LOOK! IT'S THE REWRITE NO ONE ASKED FOR BUT ARE GETTING ANYWAYS!
Wow, look, it's an original post. Anyways, I'm hyperfixating at the moment (as I have clearly warned) on the Dragon Age series and as such have just started my playthrough of Origins with my Grey Warden, Sarros. You can expect lots of updates and thoughts as I build my headcanon up around this series from Origins to Inquisition and eventually The Dread Wolf Rises. Warning that I will and do deviate a lot from the set canon lore and choices, but I also do my best to make it fit into the world as smoothly as possible. As time progresses, I will be updating this post as my DA:O rewrite and informational masterpost.
Some things you should probably know about me and this project as I start this rewrite:
i. As I have a tendency to dig deep into lore and history and other similar things, there are going to be a lot of spoilers lingering about as I play/write. If you don't want to be spoiled, try to avoid reading any of my posts tagged under the dragon age games.
ii. I am a worldbuilding, dynamic twisting, character developing fanatic so that is a big piece of what I will exploring alongside the story/rewrite itself.
iii. I explore multiple explicit themes and complex concepts in this rewrite so I'll just say it now, I will be tagging and leaving warnings on posts that delve into these things. I want to make sure people know what they are about to read/reading.
iv. Some of my lore will be generalized to the entire series while other portions will be specific to certain games. You will understand what I mean later on.
v. I'm going to reiterate this so there isn't any confusion. I do not follow strictly to 'canon' whatever people may consider that to be. A large portion of this is in many ways exactly what I called it, a rewrite. Some things will line up with the games and other things won't.
MASTERPOST LINKS.
Prologue; Tributary
Sa (in progress)
Brief Synopsis: Before the conflict that came with the burden of being a Grey Warden, Sarros led a life that ended in broken promises, damning mistakes and the death of a once promising boy.
Hello. I'm Cecil. I was part of the writeblr community a few years back but decided to start fresh as I've had to take several unforeseen hiatuses previously. Excited to hopefully be back in the loop.
DETAILS.
I am a twenty-two year old English major who has a double focus in creative writing and classic literature. Being a scorpio sun, virgo moon, virgo rising, I can honestly say that I am a bit complicated at times, and I do happen to use he/him pronouns. I write about a lot of different things as I am a part of multiple fandoms and have a handful of original works in progress. Additionally, I like to write about books and essays I read as I am a bit of a literary theory fanatic, so expect some of that.
Science fantasy and horror are my main genres when it comes to original work, but as you can probably guess, the genres of the fandoms I am part of don't abide by this rule. I write a lot of explicit and mature material, but I do always make sure to link tags and add warnings so that everyone makes sure they know what they're reading/about to read.
IMPORTANT NOTICE.
I will eventually put together a pinned masterpost reiterating some things about myself along with some of my writing tags, but until then, feel free to check out my tags page as I have a lot of general and specific things there for you to check out. I am currently surviving the end of the semester so my activity is probably going to be spotty for a bit. In the meantime, I'll be trying to keep up with casual little updates here and there
ENDING NOTE.
I want to thank anyone who took the time to read this so far, and whether you write original stories or fanfiction, I'd love to get to know you better! Feel free to reach out to me in whatever way is most comfortable to you if you want to talk. Can't wait to see all of the talented writers here in the writeblr community!
Some interesting words you'd like to know if you're feeling unproductive or bored :
Thundersnow : (n.) a thunderstorm with a brief heavy snow instead of rain.
Numinous : (adj.) Having a strong religious or spiritual quality; indicating or suggesting the presence of a divinity.
Bucolic : (adj.) Relating to the pleasant aspects of the countryside and country life.
Eulogize : (v.) Praise highly in speech or writing.
Ominous : (adj.) Giving the worrying impression that something bad is going to happen; threateningly inauspicious.
Abasia : (n.) (Medicine) An inability to walk, especially in an individual who has no demonstrable sensory impairment or motor weakness; an instance of this.
Abstruse : (adj.) Difficult to understand; obscure.
Equinox : (n.) the time when the sun crosses the plane of the earth's equator, making night and day of approximately equal length all over the earth and occurring about March 21 (vernal equinox or spring equinox) and September 22 (autumnal equinox).
Efface : (v.) Erase (a mark) from a surface.
Secession : (n.) The action of withdrawing formally from membership of a federation or body, especially a political state.
Commensalism : (n.) (Ecology) a type of relationship between two species of a plant, animal, fungus, etc., in which one lives with, on, or in another without damage to either.
Jaleo : (n.) A lively dance of Andalusian origin, or the music or handclapping which accompanies it.
Zambra : (n.) A kind of flamenco dance.
Elysian : (adj.) Relating to or characteristic of heaven or paradise.
Macerate : (v.) (especially with reference to food) soften or become softened by soaking in a liquid.
Airhead : (n.) an area in enemy territory or in threatened friendly territory, seized by airborne troops for bringing in supplies and additional troops by airdrop or landing.
Ergometer : (n.) a device designed to measure muscle power.
Minacious : (adj.) Menacing; threatening.
Cabasset : (n.) a morion of small size.
Zealous : (adj.) someone who spends a lot of time or energy in supporting something that they believe in very strongly, especially a political or religious ideal.
Saudade : (n.) (in Portuguese folk culture) a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a person or thing that is absent.
Vomitorium - 1: (n.) Each of a series of entrance or exit passages in an ancient Roman amphitheatre or theatre./ 2: A place in which, according to popular misconception, the ancient Romans are supposed to have vomited during feasts to make room for more food.
