I am up to no good~

Axel | 28 | French | He/They | Too many wips and only working on one for now | I follow with my main (@xnovilunium ) Twitter @inkytealeaf

[axel-writes]

Milo’s story - Wip (RE)Intro

(Redoing this intro for the nth time because things have changed!)

Synopsis: Milo Blanchard lives with the memories of a loving mother telling him bedtime stories, kissing his scratches, and leaving an empty space in their home. With the passing years, he learned to grow up without a mother, heart bleeding with envy seeing his friends and their happy normal family, without telling them his wishes to see his own mother again. Nor his fears of waking up each morning. And each year, the walls around his heart grow more. For his own protection. For his own survival. Little does he know that the monster at home isn’t the only one he should be wary of.

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT+, New Adult

Status: Looking for beta reader soon (ish)

POV: Third, past tense

Started: October 2018

Current Word Count: 198 062 (a looooooot)

Setting: Fictional town in the Southwest of France, in the 21st century

Themes: Family, friendship, love, gender questioning, healing, regain trust,  bisexual main character and love interest.

Tropes: Friends to lovers, slow burn, found family

Content warnings: Child abuse, physical and emotional abuse, self-harm, suicide attempt, rape, bullying, toxic coping mechanisms.

Tag: #Milo’s story

Characters

Milo: 20. Bisexual, Demisexual. Looks like his father and he hates it. Too tall to his liking, pessimistic, ginger hair, icy-blue eyes, lots of freckles. So many. Own too many stuffed animals and wants more.

Akela: 25. Bisexual. Of Tahitian descent. Fluffy black hair. Shorter than Milo. Hopeless romantic. Plants and crystals lover. Touchy-feely type. Stays optimistic even though he went through a lot of bad things.

Maeva: 24. Pansexual. Milo’s childhood best friend and Avera’s girlfriend. Mixed-race (dad’s black, mom’s white). Loves her friends a lot. Considers Milo as her little brother. Overprotective with him when he’s with strangers/people he meets for the first time. Majoring in English litterature. Former hair stylist.

Avera: 23. Lesbian. Akela’s cousin. Longest hair you’ll ever see. Cinnamon roll who doesn’t want to disappoint her parents. Bad cook but she’s getting better.

Ethan: 20. Gay. Trans man. Long thick hair. Majoring in chemistry. Loves to fluster his boyfriend. Loves to go running in his free time and visit the planetarium.

Kai: 19. Pansexual. Milo’s classmate and best friend. Stereotype of a bad boy but is very weak to his boyfriend. Not a bad boy at all. Crazy haircut with crazier colour. Of Tahitian descent too. 100% punched Milo’s bullies and will do it again.

Gael: 17.  Bisexual, Asexual. Cinnamon roll n°2. Photography. Four cats. Youngest of four children. Cold hands. Warm hugs. Shy.

Excerpt

Milo found his friends in a rather embarrassing position. Kai, half-dressed, was straddling Gael who had his t-shirt higher than where it should have been, thanks to Kai’s hands. Both their faces red, panting, and eyes as big as plates when they noticed him.

Arms crossed on his chest, Milo raised an eyebrow and said, “A tickle fight? Without me?”

“Oh watch out what you say! Which one of you is more ticklish, uh?”

“Really?” Gael said, still on his back and head raised backwards, mischief in his emerald eyes. “Come here I want to find out if it’s true.”

“No?” A smile spread his lips when his friends whined, before Kai fell on his back beside Gael. He climbed on the bed, then slouched between them with the grace of an elephant seal seeking a cuddling time with two of his favourite people. Cuddling time that Kai immediately indulged him, whereas Gael was still a little shy to show some affection.

[bisexualbabyyyy]

Make more male bi characters you cowards

[axel-writes]

Moved in the new house. I should be fully back in a couple of days :D

[axel-writes]

We were so quick to clean everything that now I don't find the motivation to start writing :') I don't like it

[axel-writes]

Moved in the new house. I should be fully back in a couple of days :D

[someemochick]

[quickpiet]

My mood for the last week

@/alwaysuncanny on Instagram, but with a twist

[ellatholmes]

physically i’m staring at the ceiling but mentally i’m writing a six book saga complete with it’s own tv show and movie series

[mindlesslittlefreak]

what is a writer, if not a miserable little pile of ideas and half written google docs

[screnwriter-old-deactivated2021]

me: i love slow burns

also me, frantically flipping through the pages of the book i’m reading: where’s the kiss when are you guys kissing i need to read the kiss scene please kiss each other i’m not going to bed before you’ve ki—

[sosuperawesome]

Carbickova Crowns on Etsy

[axel-writes]

At a table away from prying eyes, Raven started his reading. Some words were hard to understand, hard to decipher, written in a language he didn’t know, and by the end of the first book, Raven found out that this book had been useless. So had been the second. And the fourth. And the sixth.

People had lit candles in the library when he finally found the start of answer.

Hemera, in her great kindness, blessed a handful of human beings at their birth, when all were only made of clay, with what we call today magic. Some learned how to control fire, others how to draw air out of a man’s lungs, and a few how to communicate with the deceased. It is not rare that these people will share characteristics with the deity their magic is most compatible with.

Many decades ago in our village, a young woman affirmed to have daily conversations with Elder Viktor’s late daughter, and believed she could bring her back to appease his sorrow. Recently, a young boy saw his black eyes turn golden, the same shade as the Sun God.

Raven stopped his reading here. He knew that story, knew who the boy was. Ilyas had been the same age as Raven at that moment, and was the only child with Leyla to want to play with him. Raven remembered his freckles, his curls, and his eyes that had changed colour overnight. But it didn’t stop the three kids from playing together whenever they could. Until one day, when little Ilyas didn’t come to play with them.

The Elders had told the village that little Ilyas had succumbed to a fever overnight, that none of their prayers and medicinal plants could have saved him, no matter how hard they had tried. Raven remembered the despair on Ilyas’s mother’s face, the insults, and how many times she had blamed him for her son’s death. That it was his fault if Ilyas had been chosen. Chosen for what, Raven couldn’t say. Not even today.

[axel-writes]

At a table away from prying eyes, Raven started his reading. Some words were hard to understand, hard to decipher, written in a language he didn’t know, and by the end of the first book, Raven found out that this book had been useless. So had been the second. And the fourth. And the sixth.

People had lit candles in the library when he finally found the start of answer.

Hemera, in her great kindness, blessed a handful of human beings at their birth, when all were only made of clay, with what we call today magic. Some learned how to control fire, others how to draw air out of a man’s lungs, and a few how to communicate with the deceased. It is not rare that these people will share characteristics with the deity their magic is most compatible with.

Many decades ago in our village, a young woman affirmed to have daily conversations with Elder Viktor’s late daughter, and believed she could bring her back to appease his sorrow. Recently, a young boy saw his black eyes turn golden, the same shade as the Sun God.

Raven stopped his reading here. He knew that story, knew who the boy was. Ilyas had been the same age as Raven at that moment, and was the only child with Leyla to want to play with him. Raven remembered his freckles, his curls, and his eyes that had changed colour overnight. But it didn’t stop the three kids from playing together whenever they could. Until one day, when little Ilyas didn’t come to play with them.

The Elders had told the village that little Ilyas had succumbed to a fever overnight, that none of their prayers and medicinal plants could have saved him, no matter how hard they had tried. Raven remembered the despair on Ilyas’s mother’s face, the insults, and how many times she had blamed him for her son’s death. That it was his fault if Ilyas had been chosen. Chosen for what, Raven couldn’t say. Not even today.

[axel-writes]

At a table away from prying eyes, Raven started his reading. Some words were hard to understand, hard to decipher, written in a language he didn’t know, and by the end of the first book, Raven found out that this book had been useless. So had been the second. And the fourth. And the sixth.

People had lit candles in the library when he finally found the start of answer.

Hemera, in her great kindness, blessed a handful of human beings at their birth, when all were only made of clay, with what we call today magic. Some learned how to control fire, others how to draw air out of a man’s lungs, and a few how to communicate with the deceased. It is not rare that these people will share characteristics with the deity their magic is most compatible with.

Many decades ago in our village, a young woman affirmed to have daily conversations with Elder Viktor’s late daughter, and believed she could bring her back to appease his sorrow. Recently, a young boy saw his black eyes turn golden, the same shade as the Sun God.

Raven stopped his reading here. He knew that story, knew who the boy was. Ilyas had been the same age as Raven at that moment, and was the only child with Leyla to want to play with him. Raven remembered his freckles, his curls, and his eyes that had changed colour overnight. But it didn’t stop the three kids from playing together whenever they could. Until one day, when little Ilyas didn’t come to play with them.

The Elders had told the village that little Ilyas had succumbed to a fever overnight, that none of their prayers and medicinal plants could have saved him, no matter how hard they had tried. Raven remembered the despair on Ilyas’s mother’s face, the insults, and how many times she had blamed him for her son’s death. That it was his fault if Ilyas had been chosen. Chosen for what, Raven couldn’t say. Not even today.

[rhysweston]

very, very slowly, I am attempting to get back into writing

I'm moved and settled in, so my excuses are running thin, and mostly I just have to buckle down and do it. the trouble is when you spend nine hours a day staring at a computer screen, you really have zero interest in staring at any screen. and also, then, writing by hand is a fresh kind of hell that's equally as unwelcome.

anyway, words:

“Must be getting close,” he says, and before Cas can respond, he quickens his pace.

Cas shakes off the feeling of being watched—used to it, comes with being on camera—and follows him, but he can only see the light of Ronan’s flashlight, far ahead as he is. “Slow down, would you?”

“Are you always this inefficient?”

He’d roll his eyes if Ronan could see him, if it weren’t so dangerous in the middle of the night near a river. “It’s a for-the-camera thing. Drums up suspense.”

“And you don’t think the fear of seeing some nine-foot demon goatman isn’t suspense enough?”

His footsteps come to a stop, and Cas flashes his light up, catches sight of what has Ronan stopping. An old, rusted sign that reads ‘private property’ in capital letters, ‘keep out’ scribbled underneath in an ominous red color. “You don’t suppose that’s blood, do you?”

“Maybe. Thought you liked suspense.”

“You know, you’re really too calm about all of this.” Even Cas, as hesitant as he is to believe that this thing really exists, at least has the intelligence to be a little scared. “Wild animals alone—“

“I’ve dealt with a lot more terrifying shit than a wolf,” Ronan says, sounding almost bored, as he begins walking again. Cas keeps up, this time, Ronan’s strides seemingly longer now than they were before. “Than a goatman, even.”

[ettawritesnstudies]

I’m taking a couple hours today to do a research deep dive on publishing, marketing, and the book market in general! Would anyone be interested if I share the results of my notes?

[ettawritesnstudies]

I have roughly 80 tabs open across 2 browsers that I’m slowly working through wish me luck y’all it’s like uni all over again and now I remember why I took a business minor

[ettawritesnstudies]

I’m down to under 10 tabs and an 11 page doc of notes! I’ll tag whoever asked for the info when I’m done and post an accessible gdocs link. It’s a little bit of a mess rn but now that I have the research, I might consolidate the advice into an easier to read list and post it seperatly. If you’d be interested in that too, let me know! I have a lot of interesting findings and since I took the time to do this I might as well share with the people who need it!

[ettawritesnstudies]

HERE’S THE LINK

please make sure you read my bold/italicized author notes at the top for some important announcements and disclaimers. Context is always important to research so in the spirit of transparency, you should know what gaps there might be. Thanks for all your interest!

Taglist: @sleepy-night-child @writing-with-olive @ashen-crest @kazenokaori @bookishdiplodocus @gloriafrimpong @decodamalion @pe-ersona

[ettawritesnstudies]

There’s a lot of interesting information I learned from this, but I think the most encouraging and interesting for my audience here is this. Even if you never plan to publish and just want to share your work in the writeblr/fandom space, it’s good to have realistic expectations:

Instagram has much better engagement, it’s up to 1% compared to Facebook at 0.25% and Twitter at 0.08%.

Tumblr’s engagement is actually really great compared to the internet in general. I have 600 followers. As of writing this (~24 hours after posting the link), this guide has 105 notes. That’s a 17.5% engagement rate. Even my smaller personal posts get about 2-10 notes (6 average), which is that 1% engagement rate on the general internet^^. You can argue that the like/reblog ratio can be less helpful, but it’s still leagues ahead of more popular social media sites.

And they say our platform is dying :P

Anyhow, my main takeaway from this: Don’t get discouraged if you think your work isn’t getting any attention! Statistically speaking, you are probably doing way better than you think you are.

[ellatholmes]

physically i'm staring at the ceiling but mentally i'm writing a six book saga complete with it's own tv show and movie series

[alexwritesfiction]

this is so me. 

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

Meditation On The Threshold: A Bilingual Anthology Of Poetry, ‘Monologue of a Foreign Woman’ by Rosario Castellanos