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Posts by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

The year is 1816. Napoleon has fallen. And summer never came.

The ash still hangs in the air over Europe when Conall Maguire loses everything—his land, his future, and the people he would have died to protect. What begins as an eviction on a Donegal hillside becomes something far stranger: a dangerous passage through the contested waters of the Mediterranean, into a world of ancient enmities, shifting allegiances, and a trade in human lives that powerful men on every shore call commerce.

From the wind-bitten wilds of Donegal to the fog-bound French coast to the spice-thickened air of labyrinthine Ottoman ports, Maguire moves through a landscape of breathtaking beauty and quiet brutality—a man out of place in every world he enters, fluent only in grief and a patient, implacable rage.

Maguire’s only hope is to unravel a tangled web of murder, human trafficking, and dark alliances before the slave market swallows the people he loves forever.
Black as the Sea at Night is an epic novel of empire and its wreckage: the violence that treaties make polite, the lives that fall through the cracks between civilizations. 

A sweeping tale of betrayal, survival, and vengeance, Black as the Sea at Night will leave you breathless to the last page.

The year is 1816. Napoleon has fallen. And summer never came. The ash still hangs in the air over Europe when Conall Maguire loses everything—his land, his future, and the people he would have died to protect. What begins as an eviction on a Donegal hillside becomes something far stranger: a dangerous passage through the contested waters of the Mediterranean, into a world of ancient enmities, shifting allegiances, and a trade in human lives that powerful men on every shore call commerce. From the wind-bitten wilds of Donegal to the fog-bound French coast to the spice-thickened air of labyrinthine Ottoman ports, Maguire moves through a landscape of breathtaking beauty and quiet brutality—a man out of place in every world he enters, fluent only in grief and a patient, implacable rage. Maguire’s only hope is to unravel a tangled web of murder, human trafficking, and dark alliances before the slave market swallows the people he loves forever. Black as the Sea at Night is an epic novel of empire and its wreckage: the violence that treaties make polite, the lives that fall through the cracks between civilizations. A sweeping tale of betrayal, survival, and vengeance, Black as the Sea at Night will leave you breathless to the last page.

Behind the gates, nothing is as it seems.

When Detective Tim Riley is called to a riverside park where a beautiful, affluent woman lies dead—an apparent poisoning, five thousand dollars untouched in her purse—he knows this is no ordinary overdose. The victim is Julie Starkoff, a thirty-year-old Russian-born interior designer and resident of Lakeshore Heights, the gated enclave above Vancouver Lake where the lawns are immaculate, the marriages complicated, and the secrets run deep.

At the other end of the neighborhood lives the Kerrigan family—Celeste, ambitious and volatile; Graham, a former intelligence operative now navigating the subtle indignities of stay-at-home fatherhood for their two children, Emma, 13, and Justin, 10. Their life gleams with suburban perfection. It’s a lie.

Meanwhile, Phaedra Voss—sharp, self-made, ruthless in ways she’ll never admit—climbs the corporate ladder at Beaumont Sinclair one calculated risk at a time. A stolen glance at the branch president’s inbox exposes a sweeping financial conspiracy, forcing her to decide how far she’s willing to go—and whose loyalty she can afford. Her lover, Beaumont’s top broker Derek Thurman, is murdered in a seedy corner of downtown Vancouver, and the political threads running through it reach further than anyone imagined. Another killing makes clear the fallout is anything but contained.

From the fog-shrouded banks of the Columbia River to the gleaming kitchens of the nouveau riche, Lakeshore Heights weaves a noir thriller of infidelity, obsession, financial crime, psychological warfare, and a marriage coming apart at the seams. With an ex-spy at its center, a killer on the loose, and a neighborhood full of people who have mastered the art of looking innocent, Ross Trevelyan’s novel asks the question that haunts every perfect façade: 

What does a man owe the truth—when the truth would destroy everything he loves.

Behind the gates, nothing is as it seems. When Detective Tim Riley is called to a riverside park where a beautiful, affluent woman lies dead—an apparent poisoning, five thousand dollars untouched in her purse—he knows this is no ordinary overdose. The victim is Julie Starkoff, a thirty-year-old Russian-born interior designer and resident of Lakeshore Heights, the gated enclave above Vancouver Lake where the lawns are immaculate, the marriages complicated, and the secrets run deep. At the other end of the neighborhood lives the Kerrigan family—Celeste, ambitious and volatile; Graham, a former intelligence operative now navigating the subtle indignities of stay-at-home fatherhood for their two children, Emma, 13, and Justin, 10. Their life gleams with suburban perfection. It’s a lie. Meanwhile, Phaedra Voss—sharp, self-made, ruthless in ways she’ll never admit—climbs the corporate ladder at Beaumont Sinclair one calculated risk at a time. A stolen glance at the branch president’s inbox exposes a sweeping financial conspiracy, forcing her to decide how far she’s willing to go—and whose loyalty she can afford. Her lover, Beaumont’s top broker Derek Thurman, is murdered in a seedy corner of downtown Vancouver, and the political threads running through it reach further than anyone imagined. Another killing makes clear the fallout is anything but contained. From the fog-shrouded banks of the Columbia River to the gleaming kitchens of the nouveau riche, Lakeshore Heights weaves a noir thriller of infidelity, obsession, financial crime, psychological warfare, and a marriage coming apart at the seams. With an ex-spy at its center, a killer on the loose, and a neighborhood full of people who have mastered the art of looking innocent, Ross Trevelyan’s novel asks the question that haunts every perfect façade: What does a man owe the truth—when the truth would destroy everything he loves.

WIPs coming in 2026-27:

12 hours ago 4 1 0 0
Robert Reich
Robert Reich 29K likes, 2.2K comments. "Could This Actually End Citizens United?"

Montana — yes, deep red Montana — has a plan to effectively neuter Citizens United.

No Supreme Court ruling or constitutional amendment needed.

Here's how it works. https://youtu.be/p1fPbGHe3xE?si=QZRQImV8KYD5Y90r

2 days ago 9089 2844 172 146
😳

😳

Damn

2 days ago 47 14 2 0
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Hourglass-shaped sunset clouds, Santa Fe, NM. 14”x11” oil

2 days ago 3424 383 13 10

"Ruszkik haza!!" they said. And then they made it happen. 🥳

1 week ago 7 1 1 0

🤣

1 week ago 4 0 0 0

I've heard people calling his tweets "bleats" at this point.

1 week ago 6 0 0 0
Video

Kaine: "You don't sucker punch somebody in a bar and then blame your buddies when they don't join the fight with you. If the president wanted the support of allies, he should've respected them instead of putting tariffs on their economies and trash talking them."

1 week ago 25666 6551 660 368
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For the record, I was a Swalwell supporter and had planned on voting for him in the primary. Me believing the women was not political. It's based on the corroboration of evidence confirmed by multiple news outlets, and the Manhattan DA finding enough evidence exists to open a criminal probe.

1 week ago 16221 2293 1182 200

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1 week ago 5 4 2 0

i think vance’s great asset is that the press likes him and sees him as one of their own

1 week ago 5286 755 241 0
Milky Way ⚡️⚡️⚡️™️

Milky Way ⚡️⚡️⚡️™️

Taken by the Artemis II crew. Look at the countless stars. You’d have to be a fucken moron to think there isn’t intelligent life out there.

Not here, mind you, out there. lolz

1 week ago 81 14 6 0

From pg. 217 of a BK draft:

The call of the drums was outside him now, pulling his life to its own. He followed not by choice, but because Virgil’s course seemed to oblige.

#writesky #writingprompt #writingcommunity

1 week ago 9 1 1 0
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Some thoughts about the President of the United States speaking about ending a civilization. The president speaks genocide. Anyone who has been involved in that conversation or associated actions would be complicit. And so we too must speak. Not only about crimes, but about their legal punishment.

1 week ago 7391 2581 167 98

Appreciate the tag!
[6 likes/6 mutuals]

🐈Cats
🍕Pepperoni Pizza
🍔Hamburgers
🌲Cabin in the Woods
👨‍👩‍👧‍👦The Family
🎮Video Games
🛌A Good Nap

@teisha42.bsky.social
@andrewbrucelockhart.co.uk
@licoricemint.bsky.social
@mycelialwriter.bsky.social
@tellthestory.bsky.social
@zeewhitaker.bsky.social

1 week ago 13 1 2 0

True enough.

1 week ago 1 0 0 0
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😂Hey--that was fun!! Thank you, Jared!!

1 week ago 1 0 1 0

Did I miss the part where Americans started supporting genocide and other war crimes?

1 week ago 5 0 2 0
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23 people could stop this genocidal war criminal. That’s it. 23.

20 Republican senators and 3 republican reps in the house and he’d be out of politics forever. But they won’t.

They’re addicted to power. A drug so strong they’d rather see a civilization die than give it up.

1 week ago 16470 5537 894 328

“They were the best of times, they were the best of times…”

2 weeks ago 1484 341 56 9

This pOst could've useD a sharp editOR.

1 week ago 2 0 2 0
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We won't last 33 more months of this.

This must stop.

We must make it stop.

1 week ago 21737 5555 1037 292
When she got to the intersection where she first met Kate, Kate was standing there. At the same time, Sophia knew that she wasn’t. She couldn’t — not unless she grew wings or could run faster than Sophia could ride, and to be fair at this point she couldn’t rule either of those possibilities completely out, but there was something different about the whole thing, and Sophia decided that what made the most sense was that she saw her standing there, but not standing then. It was the most realistic memory she had ever had.

When she got to the intersection where she first met Kate, Kate was standing there. At the same time, Sophia knew that she wasn’t. She couldn’t — not unless she grew wings or could run faster than Sophia could ride, and to be fair at this point she couldn’t rule either of those possibilities completely out, but there was something different about the whole thing, and Sophia decided that what made the most sense was that she saw her standing there, but not standing then. It was the most realistic memory she had ever had.

Memories always take the shortcut.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky

1 week ago 15 1 0 0

Great image!

1 week ago 1 0 1 0
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They rode into the sunset that day. A crumbled asphalt river was their guide, with worn dust paths snaking alongside, occasionally cutting shortcuts over hills, or down to water sources. 
It was a mystery who traveled those paths.

They rode into the sunset that day. A crumbled asphalt river was their guide, with worn dust paths snaking alongside, occasionally cutting shortcuts over hills, or down to water sources. It was a mystery who traveled those paths.

#WIPsnips #shortcut

1 week ago 22 3 3 0
So, they had retraced their steps, more or less, back towards the border. Dray and Mira knew many shortcuts and drier paths, so it had taken a lot less time to cover the distance. They had also stopped at caves, huts and platforms in trees that Bert and Cat hadn’t noticed on the way. They all had water and food caches in them, as well as comfortable bedding and wood for fires. All in all, it had been a much better journey back.
Until they fell upon a group of scouts. The men were wearing armor, carrying weapons and had crow emblems all over. They had been moving stealthily, but Mira had spotted them long before they got close. She didn’t think they were part of a larger army, but rather just a group sent to keep a lookout for dragons. Bert had no idea how any of it worked, but she seemed to know what she was talking about.
The plan was to sit quietly and let them pass, but Bert had messed it up. Of course it had to have been him.
He had belted on his sword, feeling like a big shot. Everything had been going well as they waited for the men to pass. Mira had the four of them moving quietly to stay out of sight. They had been behind a tree and Bert hadn’t realized his sword scabbard had been stuck in a branch. As he stood to follow, he had pulled hard and the branch had fallen loudly on the ground, sending birds flying in fear from a nearby bush.
Cat and Dray had taken off quietly in one direction and they hadn’t been heard from since. Mira had shouted to grab the attention of the five scouts, who had immediately turned to chase her. Bert had followed. Possibly out of shame, but he was telling himself out of bravery.

So, they had retraced their steps, more or less, back towards the border. Dray and Mira knew many shortcuts and drier paths, so it had taken a lot less time to cover the distance. They had also stopped at caves, huts and platforms in trees that Bert and Cat hadn’t noticed on the way. They all had water and food caches in them, as well as comfortable bedding and wood for fires. All in all, it had been a much better journey back. Until they fell upon a group of scouts. The men were wearing armor, carrying weapons and had crow emblems all over. They had been moving stealthily, but Mira had spotted them long before they got close. She didn’t think they were part of a larger army, but rather just a group sent to keep a lookout for dragons. Bert had no idea how any of it worked, but she seemed to know what she was talking about. The plan was to sit quietly and let them pass, but Bert had messed it up. Of course it had to have been him. He had belted on his sword, feeling like a big shot. Everything had been going well as they waited for the men to pass. Mira had the four of them moving quietly to stay out of sight. They had been behind a tree and Bert hadn’t realized his sword scabbard had been stuck in a branch. As he stood to follow, he had pulled hard and the branch had fallen loudly on the ground, sending birds flying in fear from a nearby bush. Cat and Dray had taken off quietly in one direction and they hadn’t been heard from since. Mira had shouted to grab the attention of the five scouts, who had immediately turned to chase her. Bert had followed. Possibly out of shame, but he was telling himself out of bravery.

This one's from Dragon Tongue, which is book one in my YA Fantasy series. My WIP is book 2.

2 weeks ago 11 1 0 0
My MC takes his friend home to Failsworth. As the train system collapsed and cars are only toys for the rich, it's horse and trap all the way. He decides to avoid Manchester because of how busy it was the last time he visited.

My MC takes his friend home to Failsworth. As the train system collapsed and cars are only toys for the rich, it's horse and trap all the way. He decides to avoid Manchester because of how busy it was the last time he visited.

The #WIPSnips word for April 7th is "shortcut" #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity

From book 2

1 week ago 16 2 0 0
I figured where this was going, and we short-circuited a lot of vocabulary negotiations. The roles were, in fact, fundamental to most societies. I did a little drama of ‘first character’ coming into ‘second character’s’ house. The ‘second’ offered food and drink, shelter, and protection. I indicated myself as I stood in that position, and said, “Host.” I switched to the first character position, and used more words. “Guest,” with the same ‘me’ gesture: fingers on breastbone. “Not hurt host. Not…” I mimed yanking something from the ‘host.’ I hesitated a second… but it seemed prudent, necessary. “Not go… other place, no say.” I waved out the windows, at the city.

Their words were ‘gohsih’ for ‘host’ and ‘sholoo’ for ‘guest.’ In almost no time Atosho was able to make things explicit. “You be good guest, I be good host.”

I figured where this was going, and we short-circuited a lot of vocabulary negotiations. The roles were, in fact, fundamental to most societies. I did a little drama of ‘first character’ coming into ‘second character’s’ house. The ‘second’ offered food and drink, shelter, and protection. I indicated myself as I stood in that position, and said, “Host.” I switched to the first character position, and used more words. “Guest,” with the same ‘me’ gesture: fingers on breastbone. “Not hurt host. Not…” I mimed yanking something from the ‘host.’ I hesitated a second… but it seemed prudent, necessary. “Not go… other place, no say.” I waved out the windows, at the city. Their words were ‘gohsih’ for ‘host’ and ‘sholoo’ for ‘guest.’ In almost no time Atosho was able to make things explicit. “You be good guest, I be good host.”

#WIPSnips 7: shortcut

Vibes, even has the same meaning...

#SciFi

2 weeks ago 20 1 0 0
Mac wondered if they'd tested it properly. He'd read too many stories of the shortcuts made by billionaires. Years before, a deep submergence vehicle had imploded while diving on the Titanic wreck. The billionaire engineer involved hadn't tested his design as thoroughly as expected.
Mac didn't want Peekaboo to fall victim to that kind of cowboy ship design. 
The assemblage moved on to the C-5 hangar. As they did so, Mac drew up beside Peekaboo and Bird. "Hey," he said, leaning down to bring his face more even with that of the petite Acoma pilot.
"Hey, Dougie Mac," she said, and gave him an enthusiastic smile that lifted his heart for no reason at all.
"Don't you hit on m'girl," Bird warned and draped an arm around Peekaboo's shoulders. She leaned into him and nuzzled as they walked.
"I'm not hitting on the lady," Mac protested. "I just wanted to say, that was some next-level teardown of that Osprey back there."
"It was just doing my homework," Peekaboo said. "I'm an Osprey jockey, you know."
"I know. Do you know if all those design improvements are actually, you know, improvements?"
"Oh, Doug, have a little faith."
"Yeah, Stalker." Bird passed him a fiendish grin. "Have a little faith. Maybe over there with Xena."
Mac let that float on by. Bird knew him well enough not to be actually concerned. "I was thinking the whole time, Peekaboo, that the Osprey hasn't had the best reputation. Hey, Jarhead! What do they call the V-22?"
"The Widowmaker," Jarhead called back.

Mac wondered if they'd tested it properly. He'd read too many stories of the shortcuts made by billionaires. Years before, a deep submergence vehicle had imploded while diving on the Titanic wreck. The billionaire engineer involved hadn't tested his design as thoroughly as expected. Mac didn't want Peekaboo to fall victim to that kind of cowboy ship design. The assemblage moved on to the C-5 hangar. As they did so, Mac drew up beside Peekaboo and Bird. "Hey," he said, leaning down to bring his face more even with that of the petite Acoma pilot. "Hey, Dougie Mac," she said, and gave him an enthusiastic smile that lifted his heart for no reason at all. "Don't you hit on m'girl," Bird warned and draped an arm around Peekaboo's shoulders. She leaned into him and nuzzled as they walked. "I'm not hitting on the lady," Mac protested. "I just wanted to say, that was some next-level teardown of that Osprey back there." "It was just doing my homework," Peekaboo said. "I'm an Osprey jockey, you know." "I know. Do you know if all those design improvements are actually, you know, improvements?" "Oh, Doug, have a little faith." "Yeah, Stalker." Bird passed him a fiendish grin. "Have a little faith. Maybe over there with Xena." Mac let that float on by. Bird knew him well enough not to be actually concerned. "I was thinking the whole time, Peekaboo, that the Osprey hasn't had the best reputation. Hey, Jarhead! What do they call the V-22?" "The Widowmaker," Jarhead called back.

From Stormbreak. The pilots-in-training are introduced to an improved vertical takeoff and landing plane. Doug, who thinks he knows everything, is warning Peekaboo, who will fly the plane, that it's dangerous. He doesn't know that she test piloted the aircraft.
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity

2 weeks ago 20 1 0 0

I hear a raven's voice from her.

1 week ago 2 0 1 0