#Rise of the Mage WIP

[hawkeshep]

re that ask me stuff post, who are your canon pcs in the dragon age games?? what are their names, what class/race, who did they romance?? I love learning about other's pcs!

HOOHHHHHHmygod thank you for asking this 🥹

I was actually going to make a separate OC sheet on my pinned post where I go into more detail and share screenshots, and you’ve just pushed me to actually finish that! But in the meantime...

DAO:

Admittedly, I have not played DAO in a hot minute, but...

-My Warden’s name is Cliodhna Amell, and as you can tell by the last name, she is a human mage! I have yet to fully flesh her out, but she is a blood mage who romances Alistair. Her main party is Alistair, Zevran & Morrigan. She puts Anora on the Fereldan throne, and stays a Grey Warden searching tirelessly for the cure with Alistair.

trips and falls and 7,373,839 pictures of Hawke fall out

AHEM—

DA2:

-Next up is the actual light and love of my life my Iris Hawke, my favorite local idiot. She is my Fereldan-Tevene special mage rebellion princess and she romances (this word seems pale in comparison to the depth of her feelings for him) Fenris (think rivalmance but with me laughing maniacally in the background while manipulating the game to make it so I don’t ever have to be mean to him). Iris genuinely does not have a main party in my headcanon, as she takes the whole merry band out with her to do Kirkwall's dirty work. She predominantly utilizes fire (maximum chaos) and specializes as a force mage. Later, after Kirkwall has beaten her, her friends, and her family down enough, she dabbles with blood magic. Yes, this goes Extremely Poorly™️. More at 10!

Post DA2, and with her family now scattered across Thedas, she decides to go on the run (with Fenris, and soon their son, close behind) to protect Kirkwall from the Exalted March that never came.

(I actually have her entire story mapped out and could talk about specifically her for hours on end, I have stopped myself)

DAI:

-Miss Vaenera Lavellan the woman that you are. Unfortunately, I am predictable as hell so she is also a mage (what can I say? I love fire). As Clan Lavellan's Second, she straight up wasn’t even important enough to attend the actual Conclave, standing juuust far enough away that she just barely heard the cry for help from the Divine inside (war flashbacks to the wrong voiceline playing: what’s going on in here 🧍‍♀️) But genuinely, the worst case of wrong place, wrong time as the spare to the heir. Her rise as Inquisitor is a rocky one, leaning heavily on the advice of her advisors and Enchanter Vivienne. To keep that amazing streak of luck going, she romances Solas! What started out as reluctance to trust, followed by frequent visits to hear of his amazing stories and abilities as a dreamer mage, turned into regrettably, a lot more than either of them had bargained for. She is a predominantly storm magic Knight Enchanter, with a party mainly consisting of Solas, Sera & Blackwall.

Post-Trespasser and Pre-Veilguard, she actually joins the efforts of the Shadow Dragons, freeing slaves and fighting corrupt mages alongside Dorian, my Hawke and Fenris, as well as the occasional stint as a Red Jenny with her good friend Sera.

DATV:

(tbh she is a total WIP, but I will do my best)

-Visenna de Riva, EASILY the scrappiest Antivan Crow there ever was, and the bane of Viago's existence. Not too much info on where I want to go with her just yet, but she (YOU GUESSED IT!) is a mage with a spellblade specialization who romances Lucanis. Her main party is Davrin and Lucanis!

Aaaaaaaand let me stop myself so I can finish my nicely formatted sheet!

Thank you so much for asking and I would really love to hear about your OC's as well, if you'd like! 💜 Please tag me if you have any writing on them!

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tags @mysticstarlightduck @theink-stainedfolk and probably many more!

Wip Aesthetic Tag

Rules: Make a moodboard for your WIP, a playlist (3+ songs/music will suffice but it can be as long as you want) and describe the Vibe of your WIP.

Oh god, I'm really bad at aesthetic stuff. No clue why, I just feel like it's never cohesive. That said, here's my best stab at Mystery of the Mortal God.

⚙️Moodboard🌿

🎵Music🎶

Instrumental (pulled from my character playlists):

Flight of the Silverbird

Ponyo's Sisters

HUNGRY!

Exclusive Coupé

A Murder of Crows

Wings (Aether 2)

The Quiet Earth

Vocal:

I Want to Conquer the World - Bad Religion

Supersonic - Bad Religion

Harlan Road - NewTown

Black Lipstick - Chicano Batman

The Reckoning - Dom Fera

Norwegian Wood - Buddy Rich Big Band

Call me Call me - Steve Conte

🩸Vibes🏵

A walking, steam-powered vardo lurches over a yellow-flowered marsh and under a sky of curious stars. Red, sparkling smoke rises from its chimney. Muddy footsteps are left in its wake like the trail of a mechanical dragon. It seems like a place of magic, which is fair, as it's the home of a witch. She sits with a lit pipe and a tabby cat purring on her lap, quietly contemplating a distant, stolen song. Even in the peace of the moment, her mind is alight with grand schemes and dreams of adventure.

In the capital of a thousand peoples, there stands a detective office lit by golden lamps. It's busy - goblins, elves, and lizardfolk rushing every which way in hopes of managing the many crimes wrought by rogue mages. At its heart resides a beat of calm in the eye of the storm - an opulent office out of place for its cushy decorations and color coding fit for a palace. This is also fair, as working at its desk is a prince of sorts. The prodigal heir to divine contracts and a deadly curse. He shudders at the knowledge of his bloody fate, yet pursues it nonetheless.

On the side of a lonely road, in a lonely land, under stars that are not curious, but disappointed, lays a wreck of bronze and steel. It bleeds black on green. It is confused by this. Where is the red? Where is the pain? It remembers another place - gray and icy and riveted. It remembers two eyes surrounded by shadows and a grin hanging in the dark like a half-moon. Hate closes in like a frigid wind, piercing through any amount of heart or compassion. It will have revenge.

Tropes include slow burn romance, revenge quests, magic as a science, and mad scientists. Genre is fantasy steampunk.

Snappier character descriptions include a braggadocious redneck mage with a chip on her shoulder the size of a mountain, a prissy, gossip-loving detective with a deadly curse, and a sweetheart of a maybe-robot with some terrifying instincts hidden behind a fog of amnesia. All of them, due to personal quests, will end up banding together to defeat a would-be demigod, facing cunning traps, summoning ritual shenanigans, and their own conflicting personalities. Will they survive? Will they join the villain? Who's to say? All I can assure is that if they fail, it'll at least be in a blaze of glory.

Heavily inspired by the Foundryside Trilogy and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

I'll tag @spideronthesun @kaylinalexanderbooks @ominous-feychild @galactic-mystics-writes and anyone else who wants to play!

[everlastingday]

wip wednesday

i am sending all my love to all my american friends, especially my queer and bipoc friends. i have no words for how truly awful this all is, and my heart goes out to everyone who is affected by this in any way, shape, or form. please be kind to yourselves, and stay safe 💜

i wasn't sure if it was appropriate to share anything today, but @heartstringsduet's post inspired me, and i hope that this can at least distract you from everything else for even just a minute, so here is a snippet from the prologue to my tarlos dark academia au.

--

Carlos remembered the day that he first stepped off the bus and onto the grounds of the Valentia Institute as if it were yesterday. The crisp autumn air, the sun peeking through the foliage, the smell of fresh-cut grass — it was as if he'd stepped off the one-way bus and into a different dimension. One that was trapped in time, and never seemed to age along with the rest of the world. No matter what happened over the next few years, he could never bring himself to hate the place. It was truly magical, both figuratively and literally.

The Valentia Institute was a place where mages were created. Anyone could attend, in theory, as long as they had enough magic running through their veins. That was the deal — give the Institute three years sequestered away from the rest of the world, and the world would be your oyster. It wouldn't matter what your socioeconomic status was before you entered the Institute; once you were an Institute graduate, it unlocked almost every door in society for you. 

Carlos never wanted to learn magic. He had the affinity, sure, and sometimes it came in handy when he needed to light the fireplace quickly, but he never yearned for it the way that others did. He liked his life —he had a steady job working in the city as a social worker, and while it wasn't the most prestigious job, he liked it a lot. He liked feeling like he could make a difference in other people's lives. His life was simple. Uncomplicated. Perfectly fine.

His life irreversibly changed four years ago when his best friend, Iris Blake, got accepted into the Valentia Institute. He was happy for her, truly. They grew up together, and even studied to become social workers together, but while he was content with working directly with the people on an individual level, he knew she always wanted more. She wanted to be the one making laws, changing policy, and making widespread changes. 

The Institute's rules were public knowledge. Three years without any contact with the outside world, and after that, its students entered back into the world as fully-formed mages, instantly rising to the upper echelons of society. Magic played a strange role in society. It was ultimately still secondary to the curse of capitalism, but if you weren't born wealthy, it was the fastest way to climb up the social ladder. There was, of course, also just the inherent prestige that comes with wielding magic; its powers are undeniable, and a mastery of any magical affinity automatically made you a valuable member of society. 

Three years passed, and Iris never came back out, and Carlos just knew in his bones that something wasn't right. In the initial months, he tried to investigate what happened to her on his own. He'd filed a missing persons report, but the police weren't doing anything about it. His friends and family told him that she probably just found a better opportunity somewhere else, and that three years was a long time. Maybe she just moved on in her life, and forgot to look back. 

But Carlos never believed that for a second. He knew Iris. She wasn't the type of person to just leave without a word, and when applications for the Valentia Institute opened up, he knew he needed to take matters into his own hands. The Institute was notoriously secretive. Sure, everyone knew it existed, but beyond the most basic knowledge? It was a locked vault. Nobody even really knew where it was located, though it was widely speculated that it was likely somewhere in New England. Carlos had a lot of questions, and he knew that the only way he was going to get some answers was to find them from within the Institute itself.

--

open tag for anyone who feels up to it, and please feel free to tag me as well 💜

[trevelyawn]

WIP: cullen visits the prisoner.

Cullen moves through the hastily assembled camp. Soldiers stand with straight backs and tense muscles, fists clenched over their chests, waiting for their superior to pass before they continue about their business. The Commander reaches the prison as Solas, the mysterious elven apostate that had approached their encampment and offered help, strolls from the building. Hands behind his back, he acknowledges Cullen's presence with a nod and steps aside to allow him to pass. “Any change?” Cullen asks. He is uncomfortable around the apostate but given what he has heard from Leliana, knowledge of the Fade and its machinations is an expertise they cannot afford to dismiss right now. Best not to make him feel too uncomfortable. Solas shakes his head. “She is stable, as is the Mark. I cannot say when or if she will wake.” Head held high, he moves to pass Cullen. He stops. “She is a Mage.” When Cullen doesn't respond, Solas continues, “I know of your past with the Order.” It sounds like an accusation; judgement. That life was gone. Cullen was unlearning prejudices and hatred, and he vowed that things would be different.

Squaring his shoulders, he makes no reply. Old hinges creak when he pushes the door open and enters. He follows lit torches to the isolated chamber. A lone guard sits bored in a chair, the two front legs hovering precariously as he leans back against a stone pillar. At the sight of the Commander, he startles, chair clattering as he jumps to his feet to stand at attention. Cullen acknowledges him with a nod and moves towards the only occupied cell in the dank room. It takes a moment for Cullen's eyes to adjust to the dark as he looks into the cell. He can make out the shape of a woman laying on a bedroll. Her chest rises and falls with even breaths and Cullen listens to her soft exhales. It's surprising how calm she is in slumber, as though she hadn't just fallen from a Fade rift at the site of an explosion that had killed hundreds and left a gaping hole in the sky. He lifts his gaze to her face. Her features are soft, lit by the orange glow of torchlight, and cuts and grazes mark pale skin. Her hair looks almost black; short, loose waves resting on a straw pillow. Realisation washes over him in a wave and his stomach lurches, heart skips a beat. He knows her. Shaking hands reach out to grip the cold bars separating them. “The Seeker and Spymaster. Retrieve them,” he manages to say. When the guard hesitates and doesn't move, Cullen fixes him with a furious glare. With waning patience, he barks an order. “Now!” Red in the face, the guard sputters a panicked yessir! before tripping over clumsy feet in his haste to depart. Hurried footsteps quieten and Cullen waits for the creak and loud thud of the door to let him know that he's alone. He thinks back to when he had last seen her. Kirkwall crumbling, the Circle ablaze, and mages, apostate and Circle alike, forced to flee at the risk of their lives. She didn't want to leave, didn't want to run and have to start anew, but Cullen had forced her to go. Meredith may have been lyrium-mad and consumed by her fear of mages but she had amassed a desperate following teeming with those that believed that the threat of blood magic was too great and that all mages needed to be put to the sword. He had come to terms with never seeing her again.

[decafdino]

Wip Wednesday!! Shoutout to the tarlos haven discord for helping me keep on top of my writing with sprints. Here's a little preview from my most recent sprint:

And TK had had some trust issues after that, but he worked hard to get over them. It was easy to push his uneasiness around strangers away when his dad came back a few months later, badly wounded and left changed by something very few people could understand. TK had wanted to be strong for his father, to show him that while something inside of Owen's mind had shifted, his son would always be the same, strong young man he could one day pass the crown onto. It didn't matter if his parents stopped talking to each other for days on end. It didn't matter that he began to drink himself to sleep every night, just to quell the voices in his mind telling him of all the horrors on the other side of the castle wall. It didn't matter that he started feeling more like a statue on a pedestal than a person, that he was always more admired than seen. As long as his parents had hope in something, had hope in him, all would eventually go back to being right.

Then, he had met Alex, and he had finally felt seen. Alex told him he was beautiful and impressive, and it validated everything TK had strived for so long to achieve. He told TK he was strong and brave and special. It was everything he had ever wanted to hear, especially when his mother and father had been too busy to say it to him themselves.

And then one day, Alex had changed. He met Mitchell, and it turned out TK wasn't so special after all. Suddenly, it was abundantly clear to TK that the image he had strived for so long and so hard to cultivate of a strong leader was nothing more than exactly that: an image.

And when those emotions had taken over all his rational thought, when he was useless and broken and half-dead from drink somewhere in the middle of the Western Woods, TK had given up. He decided then that he would never be a good king, much less a good mage or even a good person. He would never trust his heart to anyone else again, if only to spare himself the pain.

But that's not all there is to the story, is there? the little voice of hope pushes. It isn't over. Something changed.

"I got brave again," he says to himself. He spits at the floor when too much bile rises in his mouth. "Which means I got stupid. Thinking I could go anywhere in this kingdom, as long as I had someone who cared for me so much always by my side."

He can picture Carlos' wounded look in his mind. His small frown and wrinkled forehead. Do you hate me for giving you that? The ability to live freely? he says.

TK rubs the small few tears he has left to give on his shoulder. "Of course not, my love," he answers truthfully. He doubts he ever would have been brave enough to leave home in the first place without Carlos stepping into his life.

Then live a little longer. He imagines Carlos' warm breath on his cheek, the small, loving pressure of a kiss to his lips. I am coming for you. I swear it.

thanks to @whatsintheboxmh @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom and @emsprovisions for the tags!

[new-royston-cursebreakers]

Call for Readers!

Are you a fantasy reader? Like YA? Queer or enjoy queer themes? Want to help someone's 49,000-word manuscript be the best it can be? Want somebody with 3 years of workshop experience to help you with your similar-sized manuscript in return, or even help you with short stories, poems, or just bouncing off ideas? Any or all of the above?

As you gleaned, I'm looking for alpha/beta readers for my 49,000-word YA queer high fantasy novel, which is as of yet unnamed! I say alpha/beta because I've seen conflicting definitions floating around, but here's what I'd ask for:

Comments on style and descriptions

Feedback on pacing and length

Help with strengthening character arcs and stakes

Any other comments that you might want to include!

More information about my WIP can be found on my blog and pinned post, but here's the synopsis:

Neor, a young woman talented in the magical arts, is sent across the continent to apprentice at the Mages’ Guild. Soon disillusioned with the Guild’s strict teachings, she jumps at the opportunity to follow Sacha, one of the greatest mages in the world, and learn from her. However, a time-travel spell gone wrong—or right—leaves Neor in a distant, bleak, unknown time with no idea what role the spell wants her to fulfill. She finds herself stranded with Vultarne, a violent tyrant who wields Sacha’s staff and rules the land that once was or will be her home. The more Neor explores this distant time, the more she uncovers the hidden truths of her own time. Eventually, she finds she must rise up to do what’s right for the sake of a brighter future.

It's got fae. It's got weird magic. It's got a character with face-blindness. It's got a spoiler that prevents me from talking a lot about it on this blog. And by gosh, it's got a fleshed-out world.

If you want to help me make it shine, then follow this link here and do be aware of the content warnings in the form! Thank you!

[confused-bi-queer]

2023 Lee's Fics Recap

Thank you @forabeatofadrum and @ic3-que3n

There’s no Six Sentence Sunday today, but I do have a recap:

This year, I wrote several things, so I decided to self promote everything that went out this year in AO3 as a recap as well. Thank you for this amazing year!

FINISHED

ponerte a dormir (T, 1.8k)

Simon agessively makes a stressed Baz go to sleep

Bacterial Infection (T, 1.9k)

Simon has an infection, Baz takes care of him

repetition makes perfection (M, 2.1k)

After a nightmare, Simon makes sure to remind Baz he loves him

Family Line (M, 18.1k)

What if Simon knew the Mage was his dad and nothing changed?

Thrown Away And Left Out (E, 3.5k +)

Drunk Sex & Getting Back Together

every inch of you (E, 2.1k) From Erotic Grope Fest 2023

Simon forcing Baz to love himself during sex

The Sixth Chain (E, 3.6k) From Carry On Countdown 2023

Simon explores his “being marked” kink and Baz his silver one

WIPs I take to 2024

Diving Right Into (E, 2 chaps in of 4, 14.4k +)

What if Baz did have a tail instead of Simon during 8th year?

The Rise and Fall Of Us (M, 13 chaps in, 80,2k +)

A Ballet AU in which Baz and Simon star in the first gay ballet ever, about the Chosen One and his enemy-turned-lover vampire. A lot of trauma and very slow burn

ABANDONED

Protecting you like a Pitch (M, 18 chaps in, 85.2k)

Simon reports the Mage’s abuse and with Baz’s new help, they might do some changes at Watford

MALMAGE

burnt logs and ashes (T, 1.3k) From Carry On Countdown 2023

The Mage visits Malcolm during 2018 Christmas and leaves for good

[zmwrites]

Writemas 2024: Day 23

I'm so sad I only have one more prompt to write! But I still thank @agirlandherquill for these prompts and hosting this event.

WIP: Remnants

Prompt(s): "One day, the purpose you serve shall be greater than this." + "We are the same, can't you see it?" + The pain of fighting

Words: 695

Notes: Set before the book starts, so no Damir. But we do get to see Radka at 17/18 years old! It was fun to revisit her. I really need to get back to editing the first draft.

The field hospital was engulfed in chaos. There’d been a battle nearby and now casualties were pouring in faster than they could treat them. There were only so many mages, so many assistants, so many supplies. They couldn’t save them all. They had to try.

Radka grabbed supplies from the storage room and walked swiftly—never run, the floor was littered with debris and spots of slick blood, and the last thing she needed was to twist her ankle or trip and knock her head—to where Olesya was working on a kid whose leg had been blown off by a bomb. Olesya’s hairline beaded with sweat, and her eyes were screwed shut as her hands twisted through shapes as she tried to stop the bleeding; a losing battle, based on how pale the kid was. 

So many of their patients were just kids. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t how the world was supposed to work.

Kids, a voice in her head scoffed. They were the same age as her. If they were just kids, she was just a kid. A wave of nausea rose within her. She was just a kid.

She squashed the panic rising in her throat. It wasn’t the time for such thoughts. Survive now, process later.

Radka left the supplies with another assistant and stepped outside. She needed to breathe. Just a second, just a few inhales of the crisp winter air. Just to get the taste of blood off her tongue.

“Tempestborn.”

Her shoulders tensed as she looked around for the source of the voice. There were tents full of patients scattered about, but none close enough to house the speaker.

“Why are you hiding all the way out here, Tempestborn?”

Radka looked down. A middle aged man sat against the porch, looking up at her. The snow around him was stained red. She swore and jumped down the stairs to assess him.

“Why didn’t you come inside?” she demanded.

“Because I am beyond saving,” he replied.

“You don’t know that.” She found the source of the blood, a shrapnel wound to the chest, and applied pressure. She needed a mage.

“I’ve known this was how I was going to die for years.”

“No one knows how they’re going to die,” she said. He seemed a bit old to be one of the duty-bound, save-the-world types that frustrated her to no end with their conviction that the only honourable way to serve their country was to die for it.

“Tempestborn. Radmila.” The man rested his hands on hers. “Do you not remember me?”

She looked at him closely, imagining him without the blood and dirt that covered his face. A cold, heavy weight took root in her stomach. “You were with the Great Seer of Kastal.”

“I was.”

Of course. How else could he know the title the Great Seer had bestowed upon her?

“So I ask you again: why are you hiding so far from Pyarovsk?”

“Because I don’t want to die,” she answered honestly. It didn’t matter; he’d lost too much blood and had minutes to hours of life left.

He laughed. “We are the same, can’t you see it?”

“What do you mean?” she demanded. She shifted her weight; snow had soaked through her skirt, melted by her body heat.

“We’re already dead.”

Radka snarled. “Maybe you are, but I’m not. I refuse to die because some old man said I have to.”

“That’s not how fate works,” he said gently.

“Fuck fate.”

He smiled softly and brought her blood-covered hands to his lips, pressing reverent kisses to their backs. “One day, the purpose you serve shall be greater than this.”

The man exhaled and died with his own blood staining his mouth.

“I don’t want to serve a purpose. I want to live,” she whispered. She took a shaky breath and stood. There was nothing more she could do for the man, and she’d been away from the patients inside for too long.

Fate would have to drag her back to Pyarovsk if she was to fulfill her so-called purpose as Tempestborn. Nothing and no one could make her go back willingly. Not ever.

[myreia]

wip wednesday

oops I guess it's not Wednesday anymore, but!! ty for the tags, @thevikingwoman & @hylfystt! 💖 tagging @gatheredfates @anneapocalypse @fourteenthz @tsunael @bearlytolerant @roguelioness @ardberts @lilas @galadae @coldshrugs a bit from the divergence of the heart sequel I am picking away at. Just very 🥺 about Aureia and Hilda's friendship.

The frozen air rings with the sound of a single shot.

Aureia frowns and lowers her rifle, squinting at the target. It smolders in the distance, a plume of black smoke rising from the side she struck, looking for all it’s worth like some animal bit a chunk out of it. She huffs, blowing hair out of her face with a puff of breath. After all this practice she should have hit the bullseye, and every time, without fail, her rounds go off course.

“Hmm.” Several paces away, Hilda leans against the wall, shaded by the overhang. She scuffs her boots against the snow, oblivious to the melting icicles above. “You’re sure you loaded that right, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure you held your stance the way I showed you?”

“Yes.”

Hilda chews her lower lip and makes a face, dark brows drawing together. “Well, somethin’ is wrong. Could be the rifle. Could be you.” She sniffs and rubs her hands together, tugging at the worn wool fingerless globes. “Why don’t you try again?”

“Again? You think I haven’t been trying?”

“Oh, I’ve been watching you try. That’s for certain. Sometimes these things take practice.”

“Practice? You think I haven’t been practicing—”

“You’re no markswoman, that’s for sure.”

“Never said I was.”

Hilda smirks. “I thought as a mage you’d have better aim.”

Aureia rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Magic covers a far greater area,” she says, gripping the rifle with unfamiliar hands. “I can afford to be a little imprecise because I know it will hit. Marksmanship is another story, I gather.”

“You ever shot a bow?”

“Yes. No. Sort of.” She blows out an irritated puff of air. “I fell down a hole once and it was the only weapon I could find.”

“You… fell.”

“Yes.”

“Down a hole.”

“Yes.”

Hilda’s lips twitch. “Gods above, don’t make me ask what kind of hole.”

Aureia turns around, snow half-melted snow flying around her feet, and rams the butt of her rifle into the ground. “Get me a drink tonight and I might just tell you,” she says, deadpan.

Hilda throws her head back and howls with laughter. She leans over, clutching her stomach, ruby eyes glimmering with glee. Aureia grins, chuckling to herself, and lets her laugh it out. Truth be told, the story of the Palace of the Dead and what she found down there is not the kind of story for casual conversation. At least not one without multiple drinks.

[cat-esper]

I thought I'd redo my intro post and this time make it ✨pretty✨

I'm Cat [she/her | aroace] and I write sci-fi and fantasy with a dose of cosmic horror. I love mixing genres and general experimentation. Whether my work is marketable or not is less important than having fun. My absolute favorite things are found family, robots, and time travel, and I am a firm believer that platonic relationships can be just as fierce and important as romantic ones. Most of my novels are set within a shared universe I call the Starfish Saga and that's my main focus, though I do have quite a few exciting projects outside that.

I am quite shy but love making new writer friends and am open to tag games and ask games and other sorts of writerly socialization.

I have...a lot of projects. A worrying amount I try not to think about. But! Below the cut, you'll find the ones I'm focusing on for the time being, now with new and improved titles.

Books of the Starfish Saga

The Last Paladin | YA science fantasy | 12 part series

When Chelsea Seaver's parents are abducted by aliens, she embarks on a grand adventure across the galaxy--making friends and learning magic on the way--to bring them home.

Status: books 1-3 drafted

Intro | WIP tag

Incantations of the Mad Mage | YA epic fantasy | 6 part series

In order to honor her dead mentor, battle mage Arna Vaughn races against the Sforia Empire to locate six legendary magic spells that have the power to end a bloody war; whoever finds them first will change the course of their world forever.

Status: books 1-4 drafted, editing book 1

Intro | WIP tag

Records of the Spiral | YA portal fantasy | 4 part series

Three misfits stumble into a surreal world inhabited by strange creatures and watched over by the eldritch Enochians; it's a place they belong to more than Earth and if they don't want to see it destroyed, they'll need to stop the very beings who created it in the first place.

Status: drafting book 1

Intro | WIP tag

Music of the Spheres | YA science fantasy | standalone

Shay Finnegan leaves everything behind when he decides to become a light-wielding Paladin, a protector of the galaxy, in order to find a higher purpose and avoid the fate that haunts him with the words you will bring everything to ruin.

Status: rewriting for the millionth time

Intro | WIP tag

Red Ghost | YA contemporary fantasy | novella

Mel Black joins a ghost-killing organization in order to free the spirit of her dead friend from a fate worse than death, but saving him might just mean the end of humanity.

Status: pending edits

Intro | WIP tag

Nightland Nexus | epic fantasy | 5 part series

As tensions rise across the worlds, a group of characters seek to satisfy their own ambitions, but they'll need to team up and unite the worlds to prevent a long-dormant Darkness from awakening.

Status: world-building

Intro | WIP tag

Sundial Fates | YA sci-fi western | 10 part series

A time machine crashes on the edge of town, launching three reluctant teens into the biggest adventure of their lives. They may be able to face down alien invaders, mad scientists, and unfathomable entities, but can they face the truth about themselves?

Status: overhauling the plot/updating the lore

Intro | WIP tag

Other Projects

The Zodiac Circuit | post-apocalyptic sci-fi | duology

Rhys Valencya reluctantly teams up with an android in order to stop her own family from resurrecting the lich that almost wiped out humanity centuries ago.

Status: drafting book 1

Intro | WIP tag

Androids Don't Rust | time travel | standalone

With human extinction inevitable, four androids are sent into the past to retrieve data for the Archive that will outlast humanity.

Status: very early planning stages

Intro | WIP tag

Robbery on the Hell Express | weird western | novella

Occasional partners and oftentimes enemies, Harlan Nye and John Callahan team up to rob a ghost train--betrayal, deadly wraiths, and a lethal race against the clock mean they may not make it out of this alive.

Status: planning

Intro | WIP tag

The Chronicles of Josephine Mercer | dark pirate fantasy | ongoing series

In a darker version of the 18th century Caribbean, mutineer and newly self-appointed Captain Josephine Mercer escaped the navy with a ship and ambitions that would see her become the bane of the British Empire.

Status: research/world-building

Intro | WIP tag

Liminal Spaces | urban fantasy | 5 part series

Caffeine fueled video game artist, Ref Sanderson, comes home one day to find his daughter is missing. Turns out, she's been making new realities in her free time. Now she's trapped in one and he'll need to learn how to enter and fabricate realities himself in order to save her.

Status: plotting

WIP intro coming soon

Other Starfish WIPs I'm technically working on, in the background, that I probably won't talk about unless someone wants me to:

The Siege of Coracaltone: a space opera about cinnamon roll wizard Flynn on a quest but gets sidetracked by space pirates (waiting for a rewrite)

Pirates vs Dinosaurs: cosmic horror about, you guessed it, pirates and dinosaurs and the slow dissolving of their sanity (drafted and just waiting for editing time)

Dreams of the Spiral: a prelude to Records of the Spiral about the band Red Tape Rocket and the summer things got really weird (still being planned)

If any of them pique your interest and you'd like to be added to a taglist, let me know!

[keldjinfae]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @dear-massacre... um... a week ago? More? Less? The point is, I was tagged to share a snippet from a WIP, and for the first time this year, I actually have something to share. This is from the first part of what is going to be a stupidly long series that fuses Teen Wolf with Skyrim, Life in a Northern Town. Even just posting this, I'm already reformating parts of it in my head, so that should give an idea of how very much "in-progress" it is:

The village of Falkreath was known for its graveyard. Rather than an actual Hall of the Dead where the deceased citizens of Falkreath Hold were entombed, as was the custom in most parts of Skyrim, they instead joined the ranks of a large, sprawling cemetery. The resident priest of Arkay oversaw their burials and otherwise kept to his nearby home, where he held rites for the god of life and death, and led mourners in services for their departed loved ones.

Outside of the small hold capitol, the cemetery was nearly <i>all</i> that Falkreath was known for. The Pine Forest had legends of its own, and the old magic of the woods was often enough to spur wary travelers past the unassuming road leading to the village in their haste to break through the trees before nightfall. Those who were brave (or avaricious) enough to shrug off superstition and remain found that the villagers had long embraced its reputation, and that death had inevitably settled into their way of life.

From the innkeeper at Dead Man’s Drink to the alchemists selling poultices and poisons at Grave Concoctions, Falkreath’s citizens were well-practiced in attracting the business of the morbidly curious. Just like they were similarly adept at drawing their attention <i>away</i> from the mages who placed the wards on the graves that made sure the dead remained restful, or the men who dug the graves in the first place. Death may have been the village’s tourist trap, but the actual trappings of death were bad for business.

Which meant having to slip out of the house just before dawn and stumbling down to the cemetery, still half-asleep, if Stiles wanted to catch up to Isaac before he was finished. The sounds of his trek across one side of town to the other were exaggerated by the slumbering stillness of the early morning, from the sharp crack of the door's creaking hinges as it closed behind him, to the crunching of grass and dirt beneath his feet, made crisp by the frost that had settled overnight. In less than an hour’s time, the sun would warm the earth just enough to clear away the frost, but a thick fog would rise up in its place, looming over most of the hold like a burial shroud until nearly nightfall.

Stiles moved quickly through the dark without a need for carrying a torch or casting Candlelight, able to find his way as the stars were gradually washed out of the sky. He’d only made it about halfway to his destination before he started to regret not throwing on more clothes despite his haste to leave without waking his father, curling his hands together and blowing into already-stinging fingers to warm them before tucking them under his armpits. He kept his arms folded tightly over his chest as he passed by the beginning of the long, stone wall dividing the cemetery from the rest of the village, and it wasn’t much longer after that he was able to make out the faint, flickering glow of a lantern in the distance.

Isaac Lahey was tall even for a Nord, his head and arms still popping up above the ground every few seconds while he drove a shovel into the frozen earth.

[thana-topsy]

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you to @mareenavee for the tag! I tag @expended-sleeper @viss-and-pinegar @anxious--ace @kookaburra1701 and @moriche

WELL this is a WIP that may never see the light of day, honestly. It takes place during [vague hand gesture] but sometime after Halfway to the Sky ends. Honestly, I just kind of wanted to write Aiden and Harukar talking and getting to know each other outside of everything that had happened on their journey. So, I've cut out the bits that spoil how HttS ends, but have a Giant Nerd and a Vampire basically going on a date:

Word count: 1267

---

"But indulge me, if you will: what would you be doing had Sarel never come to you?”

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if you don’t know the truth of his arrival.” 

“It’s neither here nor there. He’s in your life regardless. So, tell me about yourself. What are your interests? What drives you, outside of parenthood?”

“Is this a date, now?” 

Harukar gave another small shrug, and Aiden felt heat rise in his cheeks. Implications of their non-date aside, it was a good question. Aiden was slightly terrified at the fact that he didn’t have an answer readily available. 

“I’ve always wanted to prove myself as a scholar. I’m no great mage, but I know the theory behind most schools of magic backwards and forwards. It makes me a good enough teacher, but teaching isn’t really my passion.”

“So, what is?”

Aiden thought for a long moment, letting the question roll through his mind. “Research, I suppose. History. I feel most at home surrounded by books and manuscripts. Piecing together clues from the past, finding parallels between different theories, drawing new conclusions. It’s thrilling to prove an old theorem wrong.” He groaned. “That sounds so pathetic, I know.”

“Not at all. The life of an academic is attractive to many people.”

“I just wanted to do something that had never been done before—ask questions other scholars were too afraid to ask. I just wanted to find the thing that would change the history books, something attributed to me. People would hear the name ‘Aiden’ and their first thought would be of me, and not the damn Direnni Prince!” 

“How many siblings did you have?” Harukar asked. 

The question caught Aiden off guard. “Er, four. I was the…” And then it dawned on him. “Middle child.” He sighed and covered his eyes with his hands. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

“You speak terribly of yourself so often. It frustrates me. And, if I’m honest, it makes me rather angry with whoever it was that put these thoughts into your head.”

“Would it be better if I spoke too highly of myself? Thought myself Auri-El’s gift to Mundus?”

“There’s a third option, you know.”

Aiden smiled and took a sip of wine. “What about you? What would you be doing now had you never become a vampire?”

“Well, I’d most likely be dead, considering I’m about two hundred years past my expiration.”

 Aiden snorted into his cup. “Fair point.” He chuckled and wiped droplets of wine from his cheek. 

Harukar appeared to think for a moment. “I probably would have died a warrior with the Ash’abah. We aren’t known for our long lifespans. So, in many ways, my affliction afforded me the ability to do much more than I might have otherwise been able to. And, despite everything, I feel that I’ve been able to do a lot of good. So I’m thankful, in the end.”

“Do you ever get tired of trying to constantly see the good in life?”

Harukar smiled. “No. Nor do I tire of trying to see the good in people.”

Aiden flushed with unwanted heat once more. “So, you said that you’ve had children, adopted or otherwise. I assume they’re all grown up?” 

“Or dead, now, yes.” 

“Dead?” 

It was Harukar who averted his eyes now. “The unfortunate aspect of having a long life. I pity elves who take human partners.”

“Ah, yes. I worried about that with Collette. Briefly, that is. Our relationship—” Aiden bit his tongue. The wine was loosening his lips already. “Well, that is to say, if you could call what we had a relationship, it didn’t last very long. So it’s less of a worry, now.”

“Collette?” Harukar tilted his head curiously. 

“She was basically a mother to Sarel. We’d… attempted a relationship before I began my research into the Falmer, but of course it ended in disaster. As all my relationships do.”

“And how many have you had?” 

What a shameful question with an equally shameful answer. “Three, I suppose. If you count a teenage fling that lasted less than a month. And then the second one was with a fellow student when I was at the College of Sapiarchs. They all end the same way: her being the first to call it off. I just—I never seem to know what they want from me!”

“Pardon?”  

“Women. They confuse and elude me,” Aiden confessed, taking another long sip of wine. “I think I’m better off alone.”

Harukar wore a strange look, seeming to take a long moment to study Aiden. “Forgive me, this may be too forward, but… I had assumed you preferred men.”

Aiden snapped to sit up straight, letting out a too-loud laugh. “What? Why?” 

Harukar gave another one of his infuriating little shrugs. “Just a feeling, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m not. I don’t.” He hesitated. “At least, I don’t think I am… or do. I’ve never—”

Don’t lie to his face, Aiden. 

Ah, of course, it had been too long since his little Daedroth had interjected. 

We both know the fantasies that occupy your mind, alone, with only your hand to keep you company.

Aiden cleared his throat. “Even if a man showed interest in me, I’m not sure I’d even know what to do.” This conversation was getting out of hand. 

“I find it’s very much the same, regardless of sex or gender. The mechanics vary slightly, is all.”

“You mean, you’ve—” Aiden tried not to gape. “You’re—?”

“I’ve had many partners in my life so far. Men and women, and a few that fell somewhere in-between. I don’t really have a preference. It all depends on the person.”

“Oh… So, then—er—what do you find attractive in a partner?” 

Harukar hummed thoughtfully, looking off and to the right. “I like those with a quick wit. I rarely hold back my own sarcasm, so someone who doesn’t feel put off by that kind of humor. I also tend to be drawn towards more…bookish types. I think, being raised a warrior, I seek my opposite in a lot of ways.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I very much am.” There was a playful glint in Harukar’s glowing eyes. “I’m also attracted to passionate people. Those who have a spark for life, one might say.”

“Is that—” Aiden did manage to catch himself that time and clamped his mouth shut. 

“Is that what?”

“Sorry, no. That… I feel like that would have come out wrong. It would have been rude.” 

Aiden might as well live with his foot in his mouth, he could hear his sister saying. Anything he thinks, he says. (It had been many, many years since she’d made that observation, and Aiden had thought that he’d improved since then.)

“Now I’m curious.” 

“I was going to ask if the attraction to… that ‘spark for life’, as you said, was because you were…” Aiden gestured vaguely in his direction. 

“Ahh, because I’m undead.”

Aiden smiled, though it was more of a grimace. 

To his relief, Harukar laughed. “You should have just said it. It would have been funny. It’s one of the things I like about you.” 

“That I have the chronic ability to fit my entire foot in my mouth?”

“Mmm, I understand it’s a quality that’s probably unbecoming of an Altmer.” Harukar leaned on the table, propping his chin in his hand. “But I find it charming… most of the time, at least.”

He finds you charming. He’s attracted to men, he likes bookish types, and he finds you charming.

Most of the time…

Aiden cleared his throat before refilling his tankard with another heavy pour of wine. 

--- These fucking guys...

[valiantvillain]

WIP Wednesday

The Heart is a Hearth (title also a WIP bc yikes)-Chapter 1

Pairing: Asala Mercar (Qunari Shadow Dragon Rook) x Lucanis Dellamorte

_____

Asala had not expected a great many things as of late. She had not anticipated letting loose ancient elven mages parading as gods, for one. Nor taking up residence in a secluded pocket of the Fade for another. Yet somehow it was the underwater prison that had left reeling. No, not somehow, she knew exactly way. Her stomach twisting and turning on the gondola beforehand had reminded her exactly how and why. In a choice between two seaside cities, she thought she had picked the lesser of two nausea-inducing evils only to come up severely wanting and already down two potions she most definitely would have appreciated having right about now.  

She lurched against a pillar webbed through with cracks and painted with a splash of blood, one hand curled around her midsection as she grimaced. Dammit, she’d known they were going to Treviso, she should have taken one as a preventative measure. But then she would have been here and down another and who knew how long they would be down here hunting for their supposed god-killer.  

“Rook, are you...” Harding trailed off beside her, likely debating if the sudden green pallor was but an effect of undersea lighting or just the colorful warning of fast-approaching seasickness. Unfortunately, for the both of them, it would not have been the first time the scout had borne witness to it. Either way, concern knit her brow and Asala felt a pang of guilt for worrying her.  

“I’ll be fine,” she managed after swallowing hard. Still just the beginnings of churning in the stomach, not a rising in the throat. Small mercies. She offered a reassuring, if rather wan, smile, then reached for one of her potions. “Two should be enough to get me through. Though it would have been nice to know this place was underwater before we left.”  

“Yeah, would have been nice to have some time to prepare,” agreed Harding, casually. It was a distraction. One Asala knew and appreciated. It kept her mind off the cloying brine assaulting her nostrils, the metallic tang of the blood.  

Brine, blood, and gatlock. And the fourth thing she didn’t care to entertain lest she invite it. The first two were obvious, present, pressing on her from all side and splayed out before her in a river of robes and carnage. The gatlock, though, liked to linger long after you caught the smallest whiff of it on the wind. Burning your nose and clinging to your throat like motes of ash. Live among the Qunari long enough and you could scent the barest acrid trace of it. It was somewhere in Treviso, but given the circumstances, it had seemed ill-timed to mention. Certainly not without any proof other than a trained nose and memory crystallized like a fly in amber.  

The bottle was smooth beneath her fingers, the opaque glass unadorned save for a coat of mint-green. Different enough from the regular healing potions to not be mistaken for the other, similar enough for others not to notice. The bouquet of mint and lavender hit her nose before it did her lips, soothing and familiar, one for the stomach, the other for the mind. It went down less like a medicine and more like a cordial but nonetheless her face pinched with the swallow. As a child she had liked the sweetness, now it was a tad overpowering. But maybe that was the nausea talking.  

Harding sighed; brow furrowed. “After a year, how do we even know he’s still alive down here?”  

Caterina had seemed so certain he was. Though who was to say if all her information was entirely accurate or if perhaps the First Talon wasn’t immune to some wishful thinking. Or maybe she was just that confident in her grandson’s ability to stay alive.  

“We don’t,” said Asala when she was certain the potion had begun to work the edge off, even if it felt like a snake was beginning the slow, meticulous process of coiling around her lungs. “But he could be. And even if he isn’t then the least we can do is bring his actual body back. For closure, if nothing else.”  

Asala took in the trail of corpses lying in their black Venatori robes like gaudy funeral shrouds. Someone had to have killed them. And if this Lucanis was as good as Caterina said... 

Optimism tugged at the corner of her mouth. 

“But if he is, then it looks like we’re on the right track.” She threw Harding a small smirk. “Follow the bodies and see where they lead?”  

Harding beamed back at her, only slightly wincing against the purpling bruises marring half her face.  

“As solid a plan as any at the moment.” 

Already Asala could feel the effects of the potion starting to soothe the churning in her belly. Loosen the serpent’s slithering hold around her chest. As for the tide rolling in through her skull, well, she would grin and bear it. And ignore the pounding of the sea against the iridescent walls of the Ossuary, each one fracturing the wards further.  

Eyes forward and keep going. Focus on Lucanis. Let purpose push. 

---

The deeper they went, the tighter her ribcage seemed, the more each rumble of the currents sent her stomach roiling. Usually contained by the potion, a deep breath, and a hard swallow. The fighting helped distract her. It made her focus on the magic, brought her back to her body as her muscles recalled the steps of battle like a dance. Focused on the crackling heat of the fire on her cheek a mere second before it arced from hand to target.  

One step at a time. Spells on the tongue. Don’t linger on the cages bearing corpses.  

As the last barrier crystal shattered in a shower of red, Asala massaged her shoulder. As though that would rid it of the phantom weight of pauldrons and the ghostly clink of chains in her ears.  

“Have I ever mentioned I hate prisons?” The remark was grim, but the wan smile stubbornly stuck to her lips.  

“Only everytime we’re in one,” replied Harding. Asala was grateful for the veneer of cheer. Yet it gave way to something else as her gaze fix upon where her fingers gripped her shoulder. “Rook, how long were you a saarebas?” 

It was a question she was used to now. The sort she had been asked a thousand times to the point that it sprang practiced and easy to her tongue.  

“Well, I was six when my magic manifested. It was fire, of course.”  

“Yeah, you said you burned a-what was it again-a tamassran?” 

Asala nodded. “Not on purpose, obviously but I guess that’s how I found out you shouldn’t get too into telling a story. Then the dreadnaught happened when I was about ten-it's hard to tell when you don’t have a nameday-so about four years.” 

Long enough to know how a collar felt around your neck and manacles to leave their marks. Not long enough for them to start sawing off her horns.  

The compound where they used to shove the lot of them used to look quite a lot like this. When one thought about it though, all prisons tended to look the same by design. Next to her, Harding frowned.  

“Look, Rook, we don’t have to-” she began to say, then stopped herself to recalibrate.  

Behind the door, they could hear muffled mutterings, the undeniable rhythm of chanting laced with an edge of panic. The pull of magic in the air like cords being pulled taut, greedily pulling threads from the already tattered Veil to weave them thicker.  

Beneath the sick and the nerves, realization fell upon her like mist. They were about to find their man. In what state would be anyone’s guess. Regardless, they would pull him out of this pit of misery. One way or another.  

“No, we do.”  

It didn’t matter if they needed him. Nor did she particularly care if Lucanis Dellamorte was the god-killer Neve and his grandmother promised. She wouldn’t have left anyone to rot down here.  

Breathing deep of the fetid briny air, she pushed open the doors to find some rather familiar looking black-robed figures around a structure of crystals. Fear came off them in waves, washed through their hurried, desperate chanting. It seemed that whoever they were keeping in that crystal was bucking the reins of their control.  

Which meant he was here. He was alive. He could get out.  

And maybe, just maybe, a few of them might share the same modicum of sense as some of their fellows back in that Minrathous bar.  

“We don’t need to fight,” she called out, holding her hands out before her, albeit with her staff in one hand. “We’re just looking for Lucanis Dellamorte.”  

The Venatori might not surrender but she could at least give them a chance. It was better than nothing. Sure enough, however, her mercy turned out to be a waste as the chanting resumed in earnest, calling upon the Old Gods of Tevinter. Old Gods that both were and weren’t her history. 

Behind her, she could hear the rasp and stretch of Harding’s bow knocking an arrow at the ready, curses springing simultaneously to their lips. Threads of magic pulling suffocatingly taut an instant before they were cut clean by a flurry of wings and motion, purple and arcane energy filling her vision and she knew without blinking that the dagger sharp after images would brand the backs of her eyelids for hours to come. Yet she could not look away, transfixed by the whirling of wing and blade, following each move as though studying the steps of a dance, fascinated by the skill, the dexterity, even as the realization washed over her like a cold wave. Demon. Abomination. And Lucanis Dellamorte.  

There was no denying it. It could not have been anyone else. Who else would execute a handful of mages with such merciless efficiency? And one needn’t be a mage to know he had a demon in him. The glowing eyes would have been evidence enough but the wings, beautiful and corvine as they were, seeming as though they would even be soft to the touch, would not have been the work of even an expert mage. It was nothing of the physical realm. And she felt the air of the Fade around him.  

Lucanis Dellamorte had been changed. But he was alive. Asala could work with alive. Alive she could bring home. Possessions could be dealt with. In time, anyway.  

A storm of thoughts that swirled around her head alongside the dizziness that had been haunting her every step, adding to the anxious pressure pounding against the confines of her skull. Then, in what had seemed but the span of a single second, a man stood before them surrounded by bodies. Short, dark-haired, and sporting the tell-tale dark blue leather of the Antivan Crows. One who appeared surprisingly poised given the circumstances, if somewhat bewildered at their presence. He narrowed his eyes at his newfound, and likely unlikely, rescuers, if he even considered them that. Who was to say what he thought of two strangers barging into his escape. Especially when one so happened to be a Tevinter mage, though maybe the horns would give him enough pause or just general confusion for her to explain.  

“I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here.” 

To her relief, he did not move to lunge at them and give them a taste of what he had given his captors.  

“Who are you?” It was not suspicion he eyed them with, not exactly. More like disbelief. A rather collected disbelief given everything and the smell of blood and decay mingling with the sulphureous salt of brine. “Who sent you?” 

“Lucanis Dellamorte?” She said, glad to see a spark of recognition his eye, in the pinch of his brow. “I’m Rook. Caterina sent me.” 

“Caterina...” he trailed off, as if combing through his memory to fit the face to the name. “But...you are not a crow.” 

They were that obvious, were they, Asala almost wanted to ask. But she bit her tongue, opting to instead lower her hands and release the tension in her shoulders. They had found their man and found him alive. That was half the battle won already. So Asala smiled, despite Harding’s white-knuckled grip on her reluctantly lowered bow out of the corner of her eye. 

[whump-card]

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing!

below the cut for implied noncon!

“Hm,” Edelgard tilted his head, a smile returning, “I believe it’s necessary for us to try something different.” “What?” Ailen gasped, but before he could demand further explanation the mage hands pulled him down hard onto his already-bruised knees. The alchemist cried out in pain, tears running afresh; any focus, any mental wall he had erected was broken. The hands pulled him back until he was steeply leaning, a pair on his hips holding his pelvis up, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his ass. His arms were twisted and pushed through his shirt; then the garment was tossed aside while his arms were pinned behind his back, making his body arch upwards farther. Strong grips closed on his thighs and knees, pushing them apart. Ailen wept throughout, his panic rising as the instinctual need to struggle returned. He fought against the spectral hands, but they only held him tighter and forced his body to curve more in response. A hand pushed the back of his head up, making him face Edelgard once more. “What are you doing?” Ailen pleaded, “What are you going to do?” “Just keep looking at me, my little alchemist,” the wizard replied, “Just like that, you’re doing so well.”

[rhikasa-archived]

Introduction & Navigation

last updated 05.11.2024

about me

Hello, and welcome to my blog! My name is Erin, I use he/they pronouns, and this is my writeblr. I’m an occasional writer at the moment due to burnout, so posts containing snippets of my writing will remain elusive for now. Despite being rather sporadic when it comes to posting writing from my own wips, I do still love being given opportunities to ramble about them.

A few things to know about me:

I’m 23 years old, and my birthday is on April 4.

I’m a queer (nonbinary & ace), neurodivergent adult.

I have a BA in English Literature, but I initially attempted a degree in Creative Writing (a horrible decision really).

For those interested, I’m an Aries (sun) / Virgo (moon) / Leo (rising), and my personality type is INTJ.

I love animals; my family currently has three cats, a dog, three tortoises, a snake, and several fish.

My favorite genres to read and write are fantasy and science fiction.

I’m tag game and ask friendly! You’re welcome to tag me in writing related games, or anything else you’d like me to see, and don’t be afraid to stop by my inbox to ask questions or simply wave hello. Do be aware that I might be slow to respond most days because of social anxiety and/or lack of spoons.

navigation

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taglist masterpost • wip masterpost

tag games • wbw • sts

my wips

World of Skies Universe

The old guardians have vanished, slain by the warrior of darkness long ago. Memory of them has all but faded from the minds of mortals who have not lived under their divine protection and thus they have fallen to legend, but there are those who hold the hope that someday angels will return when the need arises.

Children of the Maar

summary in progress...

Elysian

Stolen from her former life, Saeth is taken to a world beyond hers; a hidden moon known as Elysium, where she learns about a secret society isolated far away from the hostile planet below. Very few in her position ever choose to resist their new life of luxury, but for Saeth, she would rather be up there with her wife or not at all.

Kinder

Generations ago, the last of humanity was forced to flee into caves far below the land they had once called home. Although the first few years were full of struggle to adapt, the magnificent city of Eldoris was built. Few alive today remember the feeling of sunlight on their skin, and fewer still are aware of the atrocities committed in the darkness that has kept a fragile peace for the residents within.

The Huntress & The Wolf

The small town of Aerilon is left shaken after the discovery of a brutal murder by the river’s edge. Disturbing markings upon the victim leave some of the towns folk to speculate this was not the work of another human being, but a nefarious creature hidden in plain sight, only revealing its true existence beneath the light of a full moon.

The Lost Generation

The last generation of mages has been decimated, their magic stolen from them by outsiders. When a young girl named Julia inherits powers that were not intended for her to receive, she is hidden away on Earth until she learns how to utilize her gift.

Witness

summary in progress...

[snowfolly]

Writing Patterns

I was tagged by @ollysoxisfree and @icybluepenguin thank you both so much!!

No pressure tagging @yurissweettooth @tragedybunny @tallymonster @queen-scribbles @brabblesblog & anyone who wants to do the thing!

Rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

I’ve not got a lot of work out since I started writing again later last year, but this is what I’ve got! A few of these lines are about hunger and longing, but otherwise I don’t think that I see much of a pattern (other than that they all revolve around Astarion lolol.)

(All of these works are one shots aside from Endlessly)

-

A Time Before: There was a time before blood, gods… a time before the incessant gnawing in his stomach, his palate ravenous for blood and blood and BLOOD and gods please MORE BLOOD and…

A Simple Life: “Imagine though, if we had stayed back in Evereska we could have had a simple life. Well… at least compared to the ones we’ve lived. Perhaps my bitch of a mother would have sold me off to your family to wed you — for a handsome dowry of course,” Tali mused, staring up at the night sky and the thumbnail of a moon that bled the faintest silver light upon the land, “can you even imagine? We would have been absolutely miserable.”

Nothing Can Make Up For That: For a time Astarion had screamed ceaselessly in the perpetual darkness, scratching his fingers to tatters, to the bones. They healed in a short time, as they always did, but he would run them ragged again and again.

Devoured: It seemed to Astarion that all he had ever known was hunger. Before his death he had only been peckish though; he had gathered a taste for riches and glamour rising through the ranks of Baldurian society.

Endlessly: Astarion glared at the fire from his makeshift excuse for a tent as he assessed the bizarre situation that he had found himself thrown into. He felt like a stone tossed across water, careening wildly and destined to sink.

(WIP) Night Blooming Flowers: “Keep em’ closed, love,” Tali breathed into his ear and Astarion grinned from the side of his mouth, exposing a coy glint of fang in the golden candlelight. He entertained his songbird’s little game by holding one pale hand over his eyes, though he desperately longed to behold his lover, whose lips now lingered so very close to his skin.

(WIP) untitled: Astarion eyed the ring under the glass, dazzling in the pale mage light set above the display. It was a pretty thing for the most part, a patterned gold band with two fine peridots surrounding an intricate enamel death head. The hollows of the eyes were set with small black diamonds, and it was the skull itself that he didn’t much care for. A memento mori.