#mz-elysium

[cyrilphd]

🌎 for Cyril! (Humanity)

🌎 Do they try to retain any part of their humanity? 

so i think this is a bit more complex than it needs to be owing to cyril leaving the sabbat and joining the camarilla, as well as there not being any path rules in v5 (oops) but i think that, in the past it would have been a taboo for him to be retaining his humanity in the sabbat and had gone through 'trials' to strip that from him...

since he was still kind of public-facing though he would have wanted to keep a hold of it to some extent, just so he could talk to normal humans without instantly scaring them off

since his move to america/the camarilla though he's managed to regain a certain amount mostly out of neccessity and he is pretty alright with having it be that way, he thinks succumbing to the beast is a little bit cringe and does try not to do that....

but all of this is to say that he's still a very not good person but the likelihood of him wanting to go all out and just start frenzying for the fun of it is very low, and that this is all emotional/mental and once he gets the chance to physically turn into a lizard he is doing that

[lelianasbong]

I listened to Kamina's "All The King's Horses" while writing this. If you feel like crying about Wyll today. :)

Titled 'joke's on you i'm into that shit' while it sat in my drafts and you know what..? Still applies. Consider this chapter one of at least two, prompt courtesy of @hiriaeth: "Wyll offering Astarion to feed but feeling guilty bcse it's not just about keeping Astarion healthy it's cause he's really into it for sexy and deeply personal reasons" and @mz-elysium's replies positing masochist Wyll. I can only hope I deliver.

This ended up being very introspective and soppy, slightly gory? And probably only sexy if you're an unholy but SOFT monsterfucker like me, so. Fair warning.

(Still working on my other prompts!)

They are knee-deep in gnolls, which is one thing - but the next, oh, before they've cleaned the blood off their blades they're set upon by what appear to be human slavers. Thayan, perhaps, though Wyll can't say for certain. Normally not much of a challenge for adventurers of their ilk - there are no Red Wizards among them, only the grunts and thieves that make their lives easier, but they are fresh off a much harder fight and haven't had time to rest when the first strike comes.

He keeps the location of his companions in mind as he casts Arms of Hadar, sending necrotic power surging menacingly towards his target. It finds it, he notes grimly as the man screams, and Wyll ducks and takes him with his rapier, bloodspray hitting the soft soil like rain. A few paces behind him Shadowheart's mace crushes the skull of an unfortunate rogue and she's rushing to aid Lae'zel, casting quick healing spells to treat what looks like a sprained or broken ankle and - he winces - some kind of acid burn running up her leg, effectively taking them out of the fight, at least for the moment.

Wyll moves to cover them. Successive eldritch blasts slam into the only archer left, felling him. There are at least three more melee combatants on the field, and that's if they don't have reinforcements. They have to move quickly. Lae'zel stumbles to her feet with Shadowheart's assistance, already swinging her greatsword and Astarion -

He hasn't seen Astarion, until now. Hasn't needed to; knew that he would've slipped into cover of darkness when first the fight began, and that he has. He takes one of their foes by surprise, his whirling daggers at their wicked work as one plunges into her heart, the other arcing across her throat. She falls.

There's screaming, and burning. Someone is on fire to his right - another of their enemies, and over the noxious stench of burning flesh and the rising smoke he sees their suffering ended with a swift strike of Lae'zel's massive sword.

There was one more, wasn't there?

He turns, but it's too late. The enemy is upon him, driven by desperation and fear at witnessing his fellows' violent deaths to strike wildly and carelessly, but it's enough at this range. He can't avoid the blade, can't think fast enough to make the mortal wound a minor injury, steels himself against the impact -

It doesn't come. Not like he expects. The blade bites through his armor and grazes his flesh, but he isn't skewered. He turns to see - Astarion, backlit by the afternoon sun, one hand gripping his would-be killer's hair and the other grasping his shoulder. Faster than Wyll can think, he's plunging his fangs into his attacker's strong neck.

Astarion has kept to his word all these long weeks. Animals and hostiles only, he'd promised, hand over his unbeating heart. And when those bodies inevitably fell in the heat of battle - throats torn, blood burbling through gaping wounds and into Astarion's eager waiting mouth -

Wyll watches the slaver struggle, watches his struggling cease. Astarion is - Astarion is drinking deeply, hungrily, Wyll can hear him swallowing greedily as he devours the man before him. A wicked man, a man who'd every intention of ending Wyll's life just moments ago. He has never seen it. Like this, before. It's too intimate. Through the faint sucking sounds, Wyll's - he finds himself staring at those teeth, and after a moment his one working eye meets Astarion's two, catching over the almost-limp body of his. Food.

He knows it's a mistake as soon as it happens - his head throbs with psionic energy, and Astarion's eyes go wide. He is still drinking as he sees-feels Wyll's morbid interest through their tadpoles: something beyond simple gratitude for thinning their enemies' ranks (as had happened in the past: with all professional gravitas, of course, "I appreciate you doing your part to ensure our little group lives to see another day," he'd say. "One hunter to another.")

But underneath. His tadpole squirms - underneath lies the heart of his fascination, and he knows Astarion is consuming it as surely as he's consuming their foe: for every time he's witnessed an enemy die in Astarion's arms, Wyll is alight with pity and envy in equally terrible measure, a heady concoction that flies in the face of everything The Blade of Frontiers stands for: Gods, I wish it were me.

The body falls. The spell breaks.

They return to camp.

-

There is no use beating around the bush.

With their illithid connection, he knows he's been had. There is no point denying it. He'll have to explain himself or risk being subjected to endless teasing - has to hope that Astarion is feeling particularly magnanimous tonight. Because.

He does want to help. He always has. He feels earnestly that Astarion shouldn't have to go hungry - that no one in their camp ought to go hungry - wading through uncertain days and nights when there was a ready supply of fresh food available. It was only practical.

And yet...

It gnaws at him, how much he wants it. How easy it is to get lost in the fantasy of those sharp canines penetrating his skin, his flesh and blood yielding to hungry ministrations. He imagines his own hot blood coursing through Astarion's body, warming him up. Of being the flush in his cheeks, the throbbing in his loins -

Well.

It's a recurring thought, suffice to say.

It burns within him - something hot and hungry that was stoked inside long before the Hells got their hands on him. He expects Astarion's face to be mocking when he confronts him at camp that evening, perhaps just this side of cruel - the man takes his petty pleasures where he can, and following the life he's lead Wyll can hardly blame him - but instead the rogue's looking at him thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he saunters forward. Considering.

"You know, dear," he says, keeping some distance between them. But not much. "This could be quite fortuitous for you and I," and he gestures between them, easy and graceful, as if there could be any doubt about whom he speaks.

Charming bastard. My, but he is in deep.

Astarion's voice hasn't fallen into a seductive register, as one might expect. The tone one supposes he would've - might've - used to entice innumerable patriars of the past.

Not that Wyll's thought about it.

But he does sound hungry. Underneath the civility, there's an edge. And Wyll is intensely aware of that gaze on him - of his own heart hammering away in his chest, a bird beating against the bars of its cage.

It's almost worse because he trusts Astarion. It would be so much easier if he didn't, if the vampire spawn were just another monster to slay. He could be righteous then, and not want, and not wonder.

But wonder he does, and Astarion's incessant teasing doesn't help. Oh, not that Wyll minds as such - finds him more charming than not, by and large an agreeable menace - but some words rattle in his brain more than others: Astarion admitting within three feet of him, bold as day that he'd favor a taste of Wyll's blood above all others. No question, he'd said, and hasn't that thought kept him up countless sweaty nights.

Perilous were the waters of flattery when the source was such a danger. And Astarion was dangerous - is dangerous, deadly even. And catty, and brave. Surprisingly sweet under all the bluster and defensive sarcasm. He's proven a steadfast ally and delightful company to boot, if a tad knife-happy. And even were that not the case, Wyll thinks. He's of no mind to condemn any creature that isn't actively preying on innocents.

He's not sure if he counts himself among them.

He's struck by the memory of a book he once read, tucked away in his father's study. Certainly not meant to be seen by his young prying eyes, The Salty Mermaid was as debauched as it was dramatic, the salacious and harrowing tale of the mermaid Allura, a beautiful and brave battlemaiden of the sea, and the hapless half-elven fisherman that loved her.

Descriptions of desire and alien anatomy - the salt spray painting the scales of the mermaid's tail, running in rivulets down her iridescent body, slick in secret places. Her lover's tongue tracing them tirelessly, feverish in his devotion to her pleasure. She was known. She was heeded.

To this day the memory of that damnable book inevitably has him swelling in his smallclothes, clenching his thighs in a hopeless attempt to alleviate the arousal that builds in him. He's never thought of himself as a man of peculiar tastes - has always considered himself rather old-fashioned in love, if he's being honest - but it leaves an imprint on his memory that's tied directly to the fire within him - a chord that resonates in every nerve of his body, plucked by Astarion's knowing smile.

He can see his fangs.

Drivel, his father had called it. But still Ulder kept it in his drawer, a shameful but coveted secret tucked away like so much hoarded treasure. An action that befuddled young Wyll at the time.

He thinks he understands it better, now.

He doesn't want to. Use. And that is the crux of it - this mad desire to be bitten feels at odds with his sincere desire to see Astarion well-tended to, however symbiotic they may seem on the surface, and this is the why of it:

Motive is important. He's always argued - staked his very soul on the principle - that intent matters. It's how he's justified seven years in Mizora's service. He signed that contract for the people, and that has to matter, because if it doesn't. If it doesn't, and his soul is damned for naught -

That thought threatens to consume him, or it would if given any chance of flourishing. Wyll does not let it see the light of day. He cannot afford to dwell on such things. So he doesn't.

What does he have that's his? His heart for the Gate, laying there at his father's feet. His soul to the Hells, and now his body: Mizora has taken them both. All he has is his duty to the Coast, and here is someone who needs him, plainly.

He steels himself. Swallows around his shame, and speaks. He owes his friend an explanation - and Astarion is his friend, despite the odds.

"It isn't- I don't want you to think that's why," he starts.

"And whyever not?" Astarion interjects, voice honey-tempered and calm. He is very still, and Wyll feels clumsy, inadequate. He is twenty-four and feels like a foal, stumbling and uncertain. He has never had this conversation before. Hardly understands that which he's so desperate to communicate.

"I want to help you," he says, somewhat helplessly. It feels pathetic. He feels pathetic. But it's-

"But you want it," it's not a question. Astarion's tone is sharp, leaving little room for doubt though his face is not unkind. He nods thoughtfully without waiting for Wyll's response, seeming to have come to some conclusion within himself.

"Yes," Wyll says anyway, because he owes the man an honest answer. It would not do to lie now. He doesn't squirm, but only because he's had a lifetime of uncomfortable confrontations eerily similar to this: he's six years old standing stock still in front of his father, fighting against his trembling legs. He's ten, he's fourteen, he's -

He's seventeen, and Ulder Ravengard says go.

Wyll banishes the thought from his mind, but not before Astarion shoots him a knowing look, surely experiencing echoes of his unwelcome ghosts via the parasites nestled in their heads. He sighs.

"What do you want from me, Astarion? Yes, it's tempting. I don't- it isn't a consideration I want you to place above your own needs. It doesn't matter. We can drop it," he offers.

There is a lengthy pause. He hears only insects in the distant night, his own blood rushing in his ears. There is the faint whisper of his breathing; Astarion's chest is still.

"Or we could not drop it," Astarion responds evenly. Steady. It is a second option. Astarion is giving him a second option.

Something in him buckles, and he takes a step forward. Astarion grins victoriously - excited, gleeful even, the prospect of what's to come lending to his countenance a certain joie de vivre seldom seen on the road. "My dear," he coos, fully stepping into Wyll's space now. "Consider how we might take care of one another." One hand winds about the back of his head, caressing a horn. The other lands on his shoulder and Wyll relaxes into the touch, a familiar gallantry, his arms coming up tentatively to rest on Astarion's waist, earning him a brilliant smile.

It is a peace offering, Wyll recognizes. A familiar script he can follow, and he sighs with relief and gratitude. He has the distinct impression that the other man is indulging him with such pageantry, letting him play the strapping hero come to this poor vampire spawn's rescue in his time of need, offering selflessly of his body, his blood, though it's clear to him now - in his honest heart - that the two of them are offering of one another.

Ebb and flow, he thinks. Like the sea, sure as the steady thrum in his veins.

He feels... quiet. Perhaps it's the thought that if he says it quietly enough, no one but Astarion will know. "Will it hurt?"

Astarion's cool lips are close to his ear. "Only a little, my sweet," he admits, voice soft. "But you may well enjoy that."

Wyll shivers.

"Worry not, O Blade," he says, nosing along what part of Wyll's jaw he can reach from where they stand. "I like that you like it. Do you think I'd rather be where I'm not wanted?" It's not quite a pout in his voice, but something like it. Wyll can hardly argue, so he nods, feeling discordantly shy.

Astarion steps back. Wyll feels suddenly bereft - cold, though his companion's body is not warm by any measure. But he only takes Wyll's hand, leading him out from under the awning and into his tent proper, pulling him down so that they're kneeling together in the faint light of the hanging lantern. Softly instructing Wyll to lay back, sweetling.

He does as he's told. His breath catches. Some monster hunter, he thinks, in a voice not unlike his father's. Considers this moment, considers countless others in his recent and not so recent past. Thinks of the horns on his head and the fork in his tongue.

The tent smells like Astarion. Blankets and pillows especially, but the dusty tomes, the neatly arranged bottles on a shelf are all evidence of his presence. It's not unpleasant. Faint jasmine perfume, and underneath, traces of blood-iron seem to permeate the air and every surface. Evidence of the not-quite-living. Or... no. Perhaps a different, but equally valid form of existing. It makes him shiver.

Wyll's glad they're not doing this in his tent. He can't bear the thought of laying awake every night in a puddle of his own desperate sweat, triggered endlessly by the inescapable scent-memory of this moment. Such occurrences happen often enough already.

He's splayed out like a meal, and with a dull sort of shock remembers he is one. Astarion's leaning over him now, haloed by the glow of the lantern, shadows cast against the canvas walls of their shelter. His pupils are wide and dark.

He's looking at Wyll like he sees him. Wyll meets his gaze, and with a sort of courage that doesn't remind him at all of the Frontiers, tilts his head back to bare his neck.

"How very considerate of you, darling," his companion murmurs. He draws one hand across Wyll's face - across his day old stubble, his chin, down the scarred line of his throat - pausing significantly at his pulse point, which thunders like a war drum, riotously loud in his ears, he can't imagine what Astarion hears - before continuing his trajectory downward to better brace himself against Wyll's shoulder.

Astarion gives it a squeeze before catching Wyll's eye once more. Seeking confirmation - assurance, perhaps, that Wyll is here with him. That he wants this.

He does, desperately. It is too late to play coy; he owes it to Astarion not to attempt such a thing. So he swallows, and nods, and lays an encouraging hand over Astarion's where it rests on his shoulder. For a moment he worries it's too much. Too tenuous a path to tread in this fragile moment, but Astarion does not pull away. The look that it earns him - Wyll cannot put a name to it. It feels tender and put-together, furious and fraying.

"Thank you," Astarion says, simply.

He leans in, and Wyll closes his eyes.

tbc

[its-sixxers]

A set of three Night Road style VTM OC commissions for @mz-elysium!

Matthew Monroe the Ventrue, Charlie Bradley the Malkavian, and Jack Saito the Gangrel.

[badass-at-fandoming]

Hey so I sent an anon ask once about writing for Beckett to which you answered by listing some reads as well as his core personnality traits... do you still have it by chance? I keep searching your blog but I swear for the life of me I can't find it and I totally did not nuke my writers blog where I had reblogged it

Hi @industrialgobs! Lovely to match a face to the one of my fav asks. :D

Here is your original ask about Beckett's personality.

You mention some reads, but do you mean like, general VtM reads or books in which Beckett appears? General VtM reads recs are here, and @ryttu3k's addition and @mz-elysium's addition are even more helpful.

If you mean books in which Beckett appears...oof, that list took me awhile to find, because it's buried in several long conversations. Lemme just list it below:

The Book of Nod

Encyclopedia Vampirica (He has an entry, and if you read the front & back matter you learn about his sire Aristotle & partner Lucita)

The Victorian Trilogy

Vampire the Masquerade: Beckett graphic novel

Year of the Scarab Trilogy

Beckett’s Jyhad Diary

Nights of Prophecy

Gehenna: the Final Night

He briefly appears other places too, like in Transylvania Chronicles IV: The Dragon Ascendant, and Lore of the Clans, 20th Anniversary Edition.

My condolences on the loss of your writing blog! That sounds bad??? I want to read your fic, so I hope you can recover your work. And oops, I'm so sorry about the time-consuming searching of my blog. I should really like, put on an audiobook and make that Beckettology page, huh.

[ryttu3k]

#wtf i need this #what is this (tags by @mz-elysium)

Dark Ages Clan Novel: Tzimisce by Myranda Kalis! Go read it, it's fantastic and heartwrenching, almost singlehandedly turned me into a Sascha Vykos stan (along with Myranda's follow-up chapters in Beckett's Jyhad Diary, which continue the story), and Ilias is one of my favourite creations in the entire World of Darkness.

Myca and Ilias' nicknames for each other are 'my heart' and 'my flower' they are so cute 😭

tfw you literally bite your tongue because your boyfriend is getting turned on by magic and your mutual blood bond just 100% made you pop a fangboner.

[concerningwolves]

Beta reader call

The Blood Enigma is a contemporary paranormal fantasy novel featuring folklore in a modern setting, found family, not-actually-vampires, and the fallout from political intrigue.

Remy Ekhart is a bitterblood: once human, now transformed by vampire blood into something neither dead nor alive. His status as a dead man walking was further cemented seventy years ago when he faked his own death, withdrawing from the world of vampire politics for the sake of his loved ones and his own sanity.

It's a status he should keep, but urged by his sister Thea's pleas and a guilty conscience, Remy agrees to be the getaway driver in a rescue mission. It was never supposed to be a high-risk job, but he suddenly finds himself on the run and in sole charge of Elodie, a child of mysterious origins and even more mysterious abilities. Their one ally is the enigmatic Darren Bell, whose strange faerie magic and dimpled smiles are threatening to break down every barrier Remy has put up to shield himself. With the merciless beast of supernatural politics nipping at their heels, Remy soon realises he is Elodie's one hope at safety – but without access to more vampire blood to sustain him, his time is fast running out.

About the Beta-Reading Process

Novel length: 111,265 words (for reference, that's a little shorter than Northern Lights by Philip Pullman or Twilight by Stephanie Meyer, and a little longer than Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban)

Applications close: Sunday 28th May

Beta Reading starts: Thursday 1st June

Deadline: Friday 30th June, with an extended deadline of Friday 14th July for those who need it.

The purpose of this beta-reading round is to assess strength of large-scale story aspects like:

plot

pace

characterisation

worldbuilding.

(Or, to put it another way: I'm not currently interested in critique on the prose, spelling, or other "small-scale" technical aspects).

The process will work like this:

Applications close on Sunday 28th May

Everyone who applied will hear from me on Tuesday 30th May

Accepted applicants will receive a link to two Google Docs (split the novel to prevent Docs from lagging), and then they can provide feedback in whatever way they like.

(Currently, there will be options to fill in feedback forms, make in-line comments, or leave notes.)

Access to the document will be closed on Friday 14th July.

If you're in interested in beta-reading, here's the beta reader application form

You can also read TBE's first chapters for free, if you'd like to get a taste for the story beforehand.

(taglists under the cut)

@sleepy-and-anxious @theguildedtypewriter  @pheita @dareyoutoread-blog @gingerly-writing @danafaithwriting @d-b-rayne @anaestheticdisaster @siarven @thewritingcaddy @purpleshadows1989 @wortfinder @kayemoriarty @prettylittlelyres @kriss-the-writing-nerd @rainy-rose @magicalwriting @shayberri789 @alternativeforensicscientist @beanenigma @cometkov @lovelycarose @mz-elysium @sorcerersage

@an-elegant-void @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables @zenithsys @horrormama

[lividdreamz]

NEW YEAR’S POSITIVITY TAG

The gist of this tag game that I just made is to spread some positivity/love to fellow writeblrs! Whatever you have to say can be general or geared towards a specific writeblr(s) (I really wanted to say something specific for every writeblr tagged down below, but oh boy would that have taken a while). If you’re tagged, pay the positivity forward (no pressure if you don’t have the time or energy, though. This is all in good fun!)

It has been a very challenging week (and year), as I’m sure it has been for so many people, but I’ve been thinking long and hard about what it is I’d like to do for all my mutuals and I guess the writeblr community in general, and this is really the best I could come up with.

Yeah. I just wanted to say, whether you’ve been with me for five months or five days, I see you, and I appreciate you so so much. I’m not very good at explaining how it is I feel exactly as I feel it, but, like, every time I get a notification or I see you beautiful beanbags on my dash it’s just an instant mood booster. I may not always respond to tag games, or asks, or posts where you guys share your writing immediately but I see them and as I’m sure my tags hint at, I love them. I feel really honored to be a apart of a community so full of talented and creative people. You guys are seriously made my 2022 so much better. Cheers for a (hopefully) amazing 2023!

Happy (belated) holidays to those who celebrate and Happy New Year! Tagging basically every writeblr I know on this hellsite (😭): @thetruearchmagos, @cryptid-s-wips, @space-cadead, @asablehart, @writingamongther0ses, @toribookworm22, @calicojackofficial, @westcountrygothic, @mz-elysium, @wearfinethingsalltoowell, @blind-the-winds, @happystarfishnightmare, @littlepatchofhell, @spookyceph, @jamieanovels, @thatndginger, @aesa, @theskeletonprior, @citruswords, @reowrites, @highlycosmic, @make-the-heteros-upseteros-2022, @blackwidow2005, @ellatholmes, @chayscribbles, @likegemstone, @navarenwizard, @cherrybombfangirlwrites, @toboldlywrite, @thelittlestspider, @maggiefromspace, @shireduchess, @jess-p-edits, @orphicpoieses, @moonandris, @alwaysastrophel, @neshamahs, @kingsinking, @eternalwritingstudent, @gailynovelry, @writingforevren, @unholyspaceprophet, @bittenthehand, @eli-writes-sometimes, @ashirisu, @harrison-abbott

And @alistonjdrake I know we’re not mutuals but I’m a fan of yours so 👉👈 🥺

Now, there are almost certainly followers/writeblrs I’m forgetting, so if that’s you, know I didn’t do it purpose and yes this tag game is for you too. In fact, it’s for everyone who’d like to join in!

[decadentmousse]

@mz-elysium omg your mind……. I hadn’t previously considered this, but I think you’re onto something!

One of the funniest combinations of conversations I’ve ever experienced in my life 😭😭😭

[supersymmetrys]

Last Line w/a Twist

Thank you so much @damnitmyradio for tagging me on this <3

Rules: Make a new post and post your latest line from your WIP & tag as many people as there are words.

Okay so lately I've been working on the second draft for In the Angel's City, this is the last line of chapter 18 :)

“I’d say the same thing, Deven Shaw, the retired actor. I think I might even like you.”

Now for the hard part, I'm tagging: @kjscottwrites @reelvintageworld @touchingmadness @wildswrites @calicojackofficial @falesiacatwrites @phantomnations @writewithfire @the-finch-address @mz-elysium @hysteriwah @isherwoodj @ultraconspiratorial @thedeerwight @eurydicefades @kittensartswriting @asablehart !! No pressure to do this, and I'm sorry if you've done this already and I'm tagging you again!

[midnights-call]

I don’t see many tag games on my dash anymore so I’m starting one that’s probably been done before bc why not!

One WIP = One song

For each wip you have, share a song you associate it with, write it to, or maybe are just vibing to right now! And then tag as many people you’d like to keep it going. For extra fun, if you get tagged again you can do it with a whole new round of songs! Here are mine

Arcanist’s Gambit: The Madness by Nicotine Dolls

Bloodied Hands, Tainted Hearts: Soap by The Oh Hellos

Darkest Depths: Take Me To Church by Hozier

Fated: Somewhere Only We Know by Keane

Sign of the Times: Twinkle Lights by The Sonder Bombs

Starcrossed: Wish You Well by Amir Obe

I’m going to tag a bunch of people to start. No pressure if you don’t want to do it, and feel free to go ahead and do one even if I didn’t tag you!!!!

@phantomnations @florraisons @moondust-bard @thevampireconcept @honeysoiair @goldenbeardedsage @zonnemaagd @mz-elysium @rsdan @memento-morri-writes @poore-choice-of-words @mrlonelynobody @mychemicalnations @mellifluas

[eclecticfiend]

Matthew Monroe - ca. 1880

Clan Ventrue, 9th of the line of Artemis Orthia, Autarkis

Idk if this is what he's supposed to look like (I'm really bad at interpreting descriptions of people and this is the best I could make out of long, serious face, around 30 without loosing my mind over it lol)

@mz-elysium how'd i do?

[writingamongther0ses]

Thanks for the tag! Working on a fake Tumblr reaction-

tumblr.com/explore/trending 1. Atlantis 3. Greek mythology 2. Archaeology 4. LEGO Monkie Kid PassionZeether (follow): Did not expect Doggerland to blow up VeganIceGirl (follow): What do you mean Atlantis is real?! CharmsMural (follow): Doggerland: *blows up* Archaeologists: *start poking around* Atlanteans: WTF is going on?!

I'll tag, with no pressure, @neverthelessgreatness, @dontjudgemeimawriter, @ravenstakeflight, @mz-elysium, @blueinkblot, @surroundedbypearls, @whyylois, and @talesofsorrowandofruin.

Last Line Meme: round 2

Still working, so I guess I’ll go ahead and keep the cycle going with this tag from @sparatus

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words

More chapter 13, more teen girl squad, now with added sneaking into bars (kind of):

I was well within arm’s reach, and that did not bode well for me should he decide to take a swing.

Not counting anything less than 3 letters lmao:

@sam-glade (another poke for you!), @writingamongther0ses, @sugar-phoenix, @thewardenofwinter, @elshells, @ethaeriea, @tabswrites, @sergeantnarwhalwrites, @discoeffect, @astorythatwritesitself, @sparatus & @thetrashbagswasteland (cuz I know y’all are still goin too lmao), @writernopal, @uraniumwriting, @mrsd-writes, @bambino1294 note to self use shorter sentences

[queenslayerbee]

📸 3 photos tag 📸

Find 3 photos/images (they can be anything at all, memes, vintage photographs, quotes, anything) that you feel describe your WIP.

I was tagged by both @nectargrapes and @pinespittinink (thank you!).

Lately I've thought a lot about "One Over Many"; it's an idea that (hopefully) won't lead to anything longer that a mystery novelette. In that story it's been a year since men suddenly disappeared from the world. However, the narrator, Maude, is more interested in a different disappearance that shares the same anniversary: that of Odette Farrow, with whom she's inexplicably obsessed.

(click for better quality and bigger size).

Picture of Rachel Miner (source).

Peitho and Astrea by thegodfather (source).

"Another Declaration of Independence," Harper’s Weekly, 1910; a reimagining of the famous painting by John Trumbull. courtesy of Her Hat Was in The Ring (source).

tagging: @monstrousfreedom @asablehart @flowerprose @mz-elysium @thevampireconcept @westcountrygothic

[mz-elysium]

[ID: a set of four dramatic photographs, each heavy on the contrast and blue-orange saturation and bearing the same white title, The City of Gold & Iron; a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge through rocks and fog; a street in Berkeley at night, lonely streetlights and store fronts; forlorn mountains and trees under galaxies; the Palace of Fine Arts, a rotunda evoking the ruin of ancient Rome overlooking a lagoon. A last banner shows a white gothic W and the series title, Wormwood and author, Mz-Elysium over a swirl of black and red / END]

WIP INTRO : The City of Gold & Iron

↳San Francisco motto : Gold in Peace, Iron in War.

↳ Genre: urban fantasy, personal horror, political intrigue ↳ Origin: Vampire the Masquerade, World of Darkness ↳ Tropes: vampires in 101 flavours, doomsday prophecy, everyone is a villain, hopepunk, friends to enemies, enemies to ???, ensemble cast, many POVs, love is the most important power, religion, corruption arc

For the vampires of the San Francisco Bay Area, war has come and gone. The East Bay’s strained relationship to the City has only gotten worse. In 1944, the streets ran red with elder blood and Anarchs wrestled control from the Camarilla. The revolution came and went. New lords of the high clans stepped in — once rebels, not that many remember.

Now, after fighting werewolves in the wilds, Sabbat in the North Bay, each other at every corner, and the strange Wan Keui, they are tired. The silver tongues of the City sold the Bay back to the Camarilla. The Camarilla might’ve beaten their enemies — but, the crown remains. There was a price.

One by one, the Anarchs have begun to remember why they rebelled. Others relish their newfound power and would do anything to defend it.

Gold fades, as the iron reveals itself.

⚫SETTING

↳San Francisco. The seat of the crown, to which the entire Bay Area owes supplication. After her husband’s mysterious death, an iron-fisted Tremere rules alone. Ex-rebels fill the courts, indulging in the blood and circuses of rebel aesthetics while extracting rent from their vassals.

↳East Bay. Wars have left only fledglings behind. What remains of the die-hard Anarchs has been defanged — or been seduced by Camarilla power. A manipulative older Malkavian sits alone in the University of Berkeley, with no intention of paying the upstarts.

↳South Bay. The heart of Silicon Valley, under the absolute control of a single Nosferatu inventor and his loyal brood. Interlopers are accepted rarely — and with much suspicion. There is an air of bitterness, as San Jose and all of tech’s glittering wealth still doesn’t have the raw power or style of the City.

⚫PLOT

The Captain, an honourable Ventrue, struggles to reform the Camarilla and not drown in the intrigue. Him and his lovers begin the dangerous game of balancing honour and loyalty. The hallowed halls of power has betrayed many, before.

The Stranger, a splintered Malkavian, has not yet seen her first deathnight. Only a fledgling. Only a dreamer. The Camarilla spares none. If a role in their intrigues is not chosen, it will be chosen for her. Her very humanity is at risk and she finds she doesn’t want to run.

The Peacemaker, a kind-hearted Gangrel, and his pack crumbles under the weight of laws — as the prince outlaws what they hold dear. Faith. Magic. Their very clans. Any of the lies they live by could earn execution. Powerless under the crown, they struggle for agency.

Also… 

↳A Brujah sired into the Free State learns what the boot feels like on their neck. ↳A human hunter in the employ of the Vatican begins to wonder if the very monsters she hunts can be saved. ↳A techno-warlock of the Tremere keeps a secret lover of the rival necromancers. ↳A thinblood contemplates the cost of keeping her mortal family. ↳A freed ghoul takes his freedom into his own hands.

and many many more.

Feel free to follow “#vtm: wormwood” or ask me and I’ll tag you in.

[lelianasbong]

@mz-elysium He casually refers to Astarion as a boy or lad.... turns around and reminds him he's a creaky old man. Iconic behavior

"Astarion. Astarion. Where'd that boy run off to?" i'm fine i'mfineimfine

[authoralexharvey]

Find the Word Tag

I've been tagged in... many a thing the last couple of months so... be warned, I'm gonna probably post a lot today. I'm also trying to write a lot today, so all together we should have some new content to peek at. But right now, I'm using the doc as-is for these first couple of post so... here we go lol

Tagged for this an unbearably long time ago by @ozcrowrites -- I super appreciate it! My words were:

Vein(s)

Etienne, already one with a penchant for avoiding the sun, is the palest Simone has ever seen him. The blue of his veins form a garish roadmap up his arms, disappearing into the blood-crusted cuffs of his sleeves.

Distress

Don't have this one yet, looks like!

Thread

His fingers thread through hers, so chilled it makes the hairs on her neck prickle. His pulse beats through their fingers, slow but strong. He doesn't need to speak to make the point known. I can't without you.

Moon

Somehow am lacking this one as well. I swear I've used it at least once but... guess not.

Ethereal

... don't have this one either, but I somewhat expected not to so....

Tagging: @isthiseva @asterhaze @mz-elysium @queenslayerbee @cyruswrites

Your words are: empty, rail(ing), soothe, and pluck.