22yo Writer and composer. I'm here to share my work and enjoy yours.
https://linktr.ee/felitt
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PFP and banner: Avatar and Sketches of Osmond, Morticia, Luna, Sergio and Andrés (my OCs) by @vulpsart
Hello everyone, my username is Felitt, but you may see me go by felittworks, f3li, or other variants. I'm a 22 y.o webnovel creator, book author, and writer. You can find me on Tumblr (as you can see :p), Ao3, and RoyalRoad. I highly recommend that anyone reading this adds me on Discord too!
-> felittw0rks
I wrote and translated The Adapted (originally L'Adapté in French), which traces the story of an apathetic teenager navigating his fragmented humanity in a place filled with corruption and elitism, but also friendship and trust. It's a psychological and philosophical webnovel that explores trauma, revenge, redemption, angst, loneliness, friendship, and the fragmentation of the self in the present era and near future. You can read the book here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57943810
I write for free and for fun, but I may also take paid comms from anyone who wants to support my work. My favourite genres involve tragic, dramatic, psychological stories with intellectual and philosophical undertones, and I love depicting cynical, morally-gray, and fragmented *deep* characters. Angsty writing involving depictions of guilt, trauma, depression, and moral conflict is my thing. That's what I write the most about, and if you appreciate that kind of stuff, you're in the right place.
I also compose music in my free time, though I haven't been doing much of it due to my studies.
Though French is my main language, I can very confidently and comfortably write in English, not just for (web)novels, but also artistic and philosophical essays. I also have some experience in screenwriting because of having been involved in the writing of a game (which never saw the light of day, unfortunately).
I write original fiction and original characters. I don't typically write fanfictions, but I don't mind commissioning them. I do NOT write smut/erotica.
Ask and tag game friendly. I'm looking forward to building a community of readers, writers, and fic-enjoyers here (tho been struggling with finding an audience for my writing as of late).
Trivia:
I love the rain/thunder, and my favourite season is Fall/Autumn.
I enjoy kombucha, tea, and coffee.
I like talking philosophy, psychology, and any other academic interests.
Huge narrative gaming and anime fan.
Favourite authors if I have to pick any: Dostoyevsky, Camus, Orwell, Dazai, and Shelley.
I like to write tragic characters and situations, but then balance it with hope to cope with the grief it makes me feel.
Credits to @vulpsart for the pfp and header, go check out her work :3
Thank you so much for the tag, my lovely @that-one-writer-person!
If the following doves who spent oh so much time and energy on our marketing month would like to, though there's no pressure at all my ravens~ Here's the tagging list I'd love to see! First is of course the lovely and wonderful @ctrl-4rt-delete, a blessed soul who shared so much with us all! Also on my list is the incredible @sarnai4, the wondrous @daphnevermeer, the fabulous @meiyohakobune, and of course the fantastic @thegreatpitch!
Many more of you probably helped us all with marketing month and I appreciate every doe and deer who provided anything you could ~
My description for Iridescent Notion would have to be, 'Everyone has a mental arc' because Iridescent's coming of age and woven with mental health, makes them sound like emo poets out of context though lmaoo
I'm pretty sure I'm not following anyone making a novel currently, so here's some pretty cool people from two different writing communities im interested in!
Thank you so much for the tag, my lovely @that-one-writer-person!
If the following doves who spent oh so much time and energy on our marketing month would like to, though there's no pressure at all my ravens~ Here's the tagging list I'd love to see! First is of course the lovely and wonderful @ctrl-4rt-delete, a blessed soul who shared so much with us all! Also on my list is the incredible @sarnai4, the wondrous @daphnevermeer, the fabulous @meiyohakobune, and of course the fantastic @thegreatpitch!
Many more of you probably helped us all with marketing month and I appreciate every doe and deer who provided anything you could ~
My description for Iridescent Notion would have to be, 'Everyone has a mental arc' because Iridescent's coming of age and woven with mental health, makes them sound like emo poets out of context though lmaoo
I'm pretty sure I'm not following anyone making a novel currently, so here's some pretty cool people from two different writing communities im interested in!
Thank you so much for the tag, my lovely @that-one-writer-person!
If the following doves who spent oh so much time and energy on our marketing month would like to, though there's no pressure at all my ravens~ Here's the tagging list I'd love to see! First is of course the lovely and wonderful @ctrl-4rt-delete, a blessed soul who shared so much with us all! Also on my list is the incredible @sarnai4, the wondrous @daphnevermeer, the fabulous @meiyohakobune, and of course the fantastic @thegreatpitch!
Many more of you probably helped us all with marketing month and I appreciate every doe and deer who provided anything you could ~
My description for Iridescent Notion would have to be, 'Everyone has a mental arc' because Iridescent's coming of age and woven with mental health, makes them sound like emo poets out of context though lmaoo
I'm pretty sure I'm not following anyone making a novel currently, so here's some pretty cool people from two different writing communities im interested in!
Chapter 3: Bittersweet Encounters || Replaced by Blue Ribbon
Chapter 1 here!
Chapter 2 here!
CW for the subject matter in this chapter!: It goes on about cult sacrifices and goes into slight detail on what that might entail in the first half! You have been warned :)
——————————————————————————————————————————
Purple bruises under Victor’s tired gaze from a sleepless night, carried by coffee that created tremors in his limbs as nothing else had gotten to his stomach, growling from its emptiness. He ignored it. It wasn’t on his mind, not his dire focus. The birds tweeted outside the window as the sky had turned blue when the sun had risen to greet the day, the soft but pale light of early winter coming through the window that lit up the page on which he had handwritten notes. He studied the gifted book thoroughly all night without resting. The pages were in a different language, one he could understand, but in an old way of speaking to a degree that was hard for him to decipher. He learned the language of French from many visits and as a boy he studied it, he was practically fluent. In Britain it was a common second language, if one didn’t understand they must’ve been highly uneducated, one who simply couldn’t read a restaurant menu. When diving into the pages his knowledge had proven useful, but the way it was spoken his mind twisted in confusion, complicated explanations in a language he thought he knew thoroughly. As limited as he was in his medieval understanding of the French language, he could make out most of what it said.
He wrote down what he understood in his native tongue to understand to his full potential, reading over and over before carefully repeating it in English with the tip of his fountain pen.
• Vismas can heal any damage to the body, following with a stinging sensation.
• In 14th century France, people would use it in rituals.
o Sacrifices (animal and human), self mutilation, mixed with blood and drank. Often used in groups.
The book entered with a section all about the history. The first time he wasn’t sure he read it correctly, too cruel to bear, his stomach weak only when given description with no image to show for the cruel things. He felt gracious to not be given any visual examples. It went all about medieval France and the small cult being shunned by the local community for its nefarious deeds. Going over that part was quite disturbing, reading the sickening things they did: human sacrifices as the leader commanded it to be done, even babies being set on stone and sliced open for the blood—their purity said to be sacred—mixing it with the vismas and drinking it. It turned Victor's stomach reading that, making him question how good of a thing it may be, thinking back if he should’ve even touched it. The description was gory and cruel, multiple paragraphs going on about the leader Estelle who seemed to turn the group rancid when in power. Most likely the group went with it all from the insanity caused by the substance.
• Can be used as a drug, ingesting could cause sickness and death. Taking it in small doses can get you a high of euphoria. It can be strongly addictive.
o If taken too much in multiple doses it can cause blue stains on the body, like dry spots of skin in bright blue. In most extreme cases plague blisters, except glowing the blue vismas and oozing liquid with a pungent rotting smell.
o Taken frequently can also result in an increase of paranoia, increased melancholy, mood-swings, sweating, nausea and vomiting, as well as organ failure.
o Victims went insane after a period of constant ingestion, turning mad.
— Becoming more irritable, increase in strength, becoming violent, increase in paranoia, lack of coherent thought—”de la pure folie”, pure insanity.
Only a fool would wish to play around with such a strong substance, an addict whose purpose was to indulge in anything they could get their hands on without thought, only that of the body’s need for something to help it deteriorate quicker. Yet, such a thing was worshipped; Cadeau de Dieu, God’s Gift; the mighty one who created life and death, love and misery, euphoria and pain, bringing it to his weak disciples in one single crystal to be crushed into liquid sapphires of an intoxicating juice; a laudanum concoction with nonsensical power.
As descriptive as it was with its history and the multiple properties the substance had, none told anything about a ring around someone’s neck.
Was it a symbol of association? The cult was perhaps still alive, made its way to England and had gotten his once love tangled in its trap? But she was so smart, never would fall under manipulation of such false hope. The book stated no such sign of association; giving him the ability to rest his shoulders, except not having any assurance to disprove this theory he couldn’t completely let it go, his skin still crawled with what could be.
Under the contents about the cult it went over the symbols—never saying it was a cult, a religion it said; yeux de dieu: eyes of God—a drawn picture of it clear as day: an eye with streaks coming from it, making it look to be shining, with a star as a pupil and one single tear falling from it; a sacred symbol. The members wore this symbol in a scar that would be burned into their chest, and or a more simple approach, blue ribbon to be worn on the wrist to indicate their association with the cult. It never said anything about using the vismas, specifically saying it was a ribbon of fabric to be worn and the hot plate to burn was to be clean of anything.
There were many drawings within the book like the example of the eye, a picture of Estelle, the leader, who was drawn as if holy mary, a draped fabric over her as she glowed. She cried in some, not of sadness, but with a mad-looking smile, reaching for the light above as she was the closest to god, that’s what the book described at least. Her tears sacred, ones that naturally glitter with vismas. She was described as strong, yet emotional—her strength in her emotions. Her nude body spiritual in its pure form, said to be worshipped in quite a vulgarly sexual manner. There were drawings of her with a halo and wings like an angel, the woman was cherished as if she could touch heaven with her hand reaching out to the sky. There were ones on her knees reaching up while crying; a strange way to depict a leader; on her knees, naked, crying, yet was seen to be powerful. Perhaps the images were to make her relatable to her followers, she was one of them who could also be weak yet stay in power and they could too if they followed—that was only a theory. Each image the ink seemed to be laced with the substance as it glittered in the light.
There was so much history, yet nothing about the ring around Ottilie’s neck.
Deep into the book, each page being flipped carefully as the delicate paper could crumble easily. Almost to the last page, the door knocked, catching him completely off guard. Victor’s head jolted up in surprise of the uninvited visitor. Closing the book with the left behind ink-black feather in between pages to keep his spot. As it closed he could get a whiff of the strong smell of leather bound and decaying pages, as well as catching the sweet yet smoky scent embedded within the soft hairs of the feather. That scent took him back to the closeness of how that woman approached. Dangerous she felt. As tempting as she was, he was a loyal man—one who was now free of courtship, but strived to save it.
Another knock echoed through the small abode, he was inclined to answer it.
Aching as he arose after a long night of sitting down in the same position, he tried to hold steady on the table as he got together his crutches. Another string of knocks, creating a seething headache with each pound. He yelled to be patient of his coming presence, one that moved slowly to the door as his leg didn’t work as it used to, being forced to limp instead of stride. At the handle, he swung the door open with force, greeting his visitor with an unwelcoming grimace
“What do you want?” He snarled, before his sharp glare softened as it met his visitor. “Oh… It’s you.” His tone was harsh before soothed when seeing the same boy from before, whose eyebrows had settled in a worried pinch, a tremor shaking the box secured with twine he held. “Why are you here?” He questioned, looking the nervous boy up and down with slight irritation as he was bothered at the pinnacle of discovery.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Griffiths, but…um…goodness where is it,” he stuttered while speaking, holding the small box under one arm while reaching with his other in his pocket to rummage around. “Aha!” Pulling out a familiar silver shine which Victor’s eyes glowed upon. “I believe you dropped this. It seemed to not be in the best shape so I fixed it up for you and wanted to return it as soon as possible,” Teo explained, holding out the locket.
Victor let him drop it into his hand, being able to look closely at the repaired chains that were previously broken, the hinge that once failed by his own temper good as new as it held perfectly with a click locking it together, holding a new shine it didn’t have before. It looked brand new, polished to perfection with an empty spot in need of a picture.
“You went through all that work?”
The locket he raised close to his face, holding it by the chain so the circular silver pendant hung before his eyes, squinting to see the rough details that already needed a fix gone. The scratches, rust, the dirt and grime that always needed to be cleaned to then be procrastinated for another day now finally set free to a perfect polish, showing its true beauty that hid for so long. Looking at it like this made him feel guilty for the way he left it so long, not to mention leaving it to rot, his heart breaking in a tender crack with the nurturing bandage of someone being so kind as to do the chores for him.
Teo nodded. “It’s no trouble,” he assured, a proud smile on his face, much more relaxed than the tense countenance he wore before.
Victor looked back up at him, momentarily glancing down each street before stepping back and holding the door open. “Come inside. It's cold out, I’m sure you’re freezing and in need of a warm fire. Perhaps I can get you a cup of coffee."
“You don’t mind?”
Victor shook his head. “I insist. This item is very valuable to me and inviting you in for a drink would be the very least I could do to thank you for your valiant effort.”
“I will admit, this cold is getting to me and sitting down by the fire does sound nice,” Teo admitted, taking a step inside while thanking Victor enthusiastically. “Though it is a bit late for coffee, don’t you think?”
“Not for an insomniac like me.”
Victor closed the door behind him.
“I’m sorry to hear you didn’t get enough sleep,” Teo tried to sympathize as he took his tweed coat off, as well as his bowler hat, to be placed upon the standing coat rack.
“Don’t concern yourself, it’s my fault,” he insisted, leading Teo to the parlor that was dressed in emerald green.
“Would you like help?” Teo inquired, holding his back as to catch him if he took the wrong step.
“I’m fine,” Victor insisted in a quick snap, using his free hand to slap Teo’s away.
Teo nodded, that same worried pinch upon his forehead manifesting as he bit his lip, wishing to take back his words he embarrassed himself with.
“Right, sorry,” he responded, taking his hand back quickly.
“You take a seat, make yourself comfortable,” Victor suggested, motioning toward the matching set of seating, a long sofa and two chairs beside the fire he could choose from.
“Thank you,” Teo nodded, choosing one of the singular chairs beside the fire, setting the box he brought on the end table next to him.
“Would you like coffee?”
“Why not,” Teo convinced himself. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, I already brewed a batch.”
Victor went to make a cup, leaving Teo in the room to settle. That he couldn’t do. He felt the need to wrestle by either swinging his feet from where they hung, twiddling his thumbs, pulling the natural coil of his dark brown hair for it to spring back in its bunch position and then again repeating.
The new batch Victor prepped this morning to carry the dose from the long night was still warm. Not long after leaving the room he steadily came back out with the mug, not hot enough for the steam to erupt in the same coils of Teo’s curls, but enough to warm someone up in the winter. Carefully with one hand he entered the room with the mug that almost dripped with each limp he took, the liquid swooshing in waves before placed next to Teo on the table in front of him.
“I hope this will suffice, I’ll get the fire going.”
“You’re spoiling me,” Teo said, taking the cup from the handle.
“You’re my guest, it’s nothing. Please, make yourself at home.”
Victor crouched down in front of the hearth, grunting as he did as if older than he was with the weak knees of an old man. Taking a few of the heavy logs which were stacked next to the chimney that stood tall in bricks, reaching up to the ceiling, throwing the wood in the small empty cave, ash from previous fires exploding with each set tossed in carelessly. By the second log Teo set his drink down mid-sip to lend a hand.
“Don’t overwork yourself, you’re injured,” he concerned, trying to help him set the log down.
“I already said to not concern yourself with me, I’m fine,” he insisted. “Please, it will only hinder my abilities if you hover over me.”
“Right, my apologies.”
Teo backed away, fighting the urge to pitch in. Holding his hand out, his fingers tense, before pulling back again and softening at his side. His cheeks did flush at the moment of messing up, biting his lip and looking away to try and hide his expression, sitting back down like Victor insisted he do.
Pouring kerosene over the wooden logs, putting it with the rest of the tools for the fireplace: poker, shover, brush, tongs, and a bellow all on the rack holding the steel objects that had seen better days. Stealing matches from his pocket he threw a lit one into the prepared pit to then burst to flames. They could both feel the rush of heat, still the room was cold, but it was now bound to warm.
Victor joined him, sitting in a chair across from him.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Teo said, taking another sip of his, at this point, lukewarm coffee.
Victor’s head nodded sluggishly as the coffee hadn’t completely gotten rid of the sleep he never got, but enough to acknowledge Teo’s words even if he couldn’t completely process them, his speech tattered with half thoughts.
Caffeine was known to awaken someone of their lull, but Teo was already alert, his eyes perked to watch every detail. Victor’s presence he set focus on, seeing the way he sat so relaxed within his chair, body languid in its position. One could tell easily Teo’s heart raced with a flutter of anxiety not keeping him still. His gaze pepped up at everything—the smallest details, like the moment Victor opened his mouth to speak, his tone of voice—as bubbly as it was—rambled on in his response to whatever Victor had to say as if feeling the need he had to say something, otherwise it was too quiet. He said that, “It’s so quiet,” then went on to try and liven the conversation. The risk of messing everything up all consuming when one couldn’t keep still, yet his words tried pulling more out of Victor with genuine interest. Last time Victor saw him, he spoke with that same light conversation and bright gaze that anyone could trust easily. You could tell he was loyal from the bright way he shined, the sun of a Leo—though Victor wasn’t too interested in astrology, still he knew almost everything from the books he read to pass time. Leo’s are loyal, charismatic, and naturally magnetic no matter who they are. From how Teo caught his attention he could tell he had that magnet, even when one was barely alive and sleep called his name. Teo had his own call; his alertness luring out Victor’s own, however his eyelids still needed to be caught from drooping.
After reading books on astrology, whether ancient or newly published, Victor started remembering dates and taking notes of birthdays, observing how those acted. Leo’s could always charm someone, a natural born magic. He never believed strongly in it, though he did believe there was something to old practices and analyzing the stars was an ancient art. After reading so heavily into the complicated system, he started only taking notes, seeing it not for what it is, but what it might be.
“When’s your birthday?” Victor inquired, raising an eyebrow, sharing the same curiosity about the other.
“July 14th, 1868. Why do you ask?” Immediate in an honest answer.
“Curious,” he shrugged, not adding on.
Teo was a Cancer, but he must’ve had Leo somewhere in his chart, most likely rising. Victor didn’t care to ask more, too tired to chase the string of curiosity.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Teo interrupted the slow morning air, quick to grab the box he had brought with him to give. Victor tilted his head at his presentation. “I made these for you. It felt rude to come completely empty handed.”
“What are they?” He inquired, taking the box and unwrapping the bow of twine it was tied with.
“Cookies,” Teo answered, taking in the unnerving empty beat of silence after, uneasy with how Victor may think of it while watching his reaction with a held breath. Biting his lip, twiddling his thumbs. “My family owns a bakery,” he spurred in an attempt to fill the stressing silent space.
“I see,” his words trailed off as his tired eyes, previously struggling to stay open with lashes fluttering, shot open at the sight of chocolate and vanilla placed next to each other upon a circular plate of sweet crumbly bread, seeing himself and his blonde beauty Ottilie. He couldn’t help but sigh.
“Do you…not like it?” Teo inquired, his knee bouncing from his position.
“No, it’s fine,” Victor assured, but Teo focused on the way he didn’t smile. “It’s just…just…” His words kept trailing as the feeling of loneliness consumed him, all the memories of enjoying the simplicity of a cookie all came back at once so intensely—the soft spring sun with a chilling air that Ottilie’s giggle cut through, or surrounded in the warmth and smell of a cafe that had fresh baked bread and piping hot coffee they both bonded over in enjoyment with the bliss of a cookie, him writing by himself in his journal for Ottilie to surprise him with a kiss on his cheek while presenting the cookie. He never thought of himself as a sweets person before her. He couldn’t help fading into the comfort of them—more so the memories of them.
“It’s alright if you don’t like them. Not everyone is a fan of sugar, I get it,” Teo interrupted Victor’s silent spiral of staring blankly into the dozen.
Teo reached to take it back.
“No,” Victor grunted, a more intense manner of expression than intended, holding the box close.
“Uh…Alright,” he stuttered, his hand pulling away.
Victor sighed, his thumbs caressing the corner of the cardboard, as if a little girl clinging to her beloved doll. Both fell silent due to Victor’s sudden surprise of emotion, he had so much feeling, yet he didn’t know how to let it out, so he sat there; it was strong, if he moved he might’ve shattered with shards he wouldn’t know what to do with, how to start picking them up when so many fell every which way. He stood still. Teo didn’t know what to say, as much as he fidgeted, his rosary in his pocket close to him and the beads you could hear bumping into each other with a small clinking, nothing went further. The clock ticked, the fire crackled, his jumping leg pattering on the fine rug that had lost itself, its red dimmed to maroon in the need for suds to soak out the grime of dirt under shoes and tobacco smoke. Victor needed a cigartette, the phantom smell of a craving teased upon his upper lip into his nostrils, the feeling of burning his lungs he desired. His coat—that he hadn’t taken off since putting it on yesterday, as comfortable as he’d like to settle in his own home, he always felt too cold—slipping out the box of cheap cigarettes he preferred, lighting one with the same matches he lit the fire with. Offering them with a motion towards Teo, he shook his head, declining. He breathed in, a long hearty huff, for the smoke to be exhaled in a large cloud.
“Do you have any plans for Christmas?” Teo asked, hesitantly, but in need to fill the quiet sound with something brimming.
The silent sound that was a much slower volume than Teo operated himself with, discombobulated and untrained sparks flying in his system while Victor’s was a more solemn tune, no sparks flew, only one flickering light that went out, taking its time to revive in its barely working—not a light, but a hot red wick that refuses to light, smoking at its failure. His cigarette burned down with another puff, ash extending upon the stick as it followed where the fire drew, another cloud exhaled out his dry lips. He was a silhouette in the fog. Teo waved the smoke out of the way to try and see him better.
Victor’s head lifted slowly from the box of cookies, his light grey eyes shifting towards Teo who endlessly squirmed, a wind-up monkey with cymbals who was wound again and again, high energy that never seemed to go down. The rosary beads, as quiet as they were, a distraction his eyes couldn’t help to draw to, as well as his leg, a constant patter, along with the clock ticking. Quiet enough to hear everything at once, adding to the painful beat against his brain. He took another drag from his cigarette before finally speaking.
“Christmas,” he muttered, pausing for the ash to extend once more on his stick with a long huff. Exhaling, causing another wave of fog within the other that hadn’t completely disbanded yet, his cigarette he tapped against the crystal ash tray beside him on the end table. Many used buds from previous occasions bent and at their ends, buried along grey ash, matching his bland irises that didn’t seem very focused as they sauntered whatever way they liked around the room. The table matched with the one next to Teo’s chair. Opposites of each side, set in the same environment. A monkey with a cymbal, one battering again and again, one who was never wound in the first place. “Ah, yes. It’s close isn’t it?” He took his time to respond with a gritty low tone.
“Yes, in a few days,” Teo responded, quick in a flash, passing another rosary bead and another between his fingers while his leg jumped up and down.
“Really?” He whispered his response, a slight amused smile along with it as if learning it for the first time.
Perhaps instead of amusement it was mockery. Teo operated with a rapid heart beat, heavy chest; he could’ve taken it any way.
It was the first Christmas like this one—somewhat. The first without Ottilie in a long time. Every year they’d spend with each other, his parents weren’t the most pleasant so he never visited his, hers didn’t like him so they’d get a short visit only of her before running home into his arms. They’d prepare a feast only for the two and they’d eat in the small dining room only fit for a few people—perfect for their arrangement. Sitting by the fire—this very hearth—cuddled next to one another while he read and she had fallen asleep upon his chest, staying warm as the winter cold reigned without seasonal snow, but London’s signature rainfall. As dreary and depressing as the rain was, it was never depressing when she was there. They’d take long walks under their umbrellas in the rain when most people stayed inside, laughing along with each other from jokes that weren't very funny, but to them they were. Her laugh was contagious, snorting and not afraid to laugh from her chest, not a feminine giggle, but a hearty eruption of laughter. He loved her. The time he took into contemplating and acquiring the perfect gift for her was months on end. Making her smile, laugh, love with him was all he needed. Her parting was his doom, a storm crushing his home already in turmoil. A tremor started infecting his hands as the weight fell so heavy upon his chest, his headache swinging in raging circles within his skull.
Teo said something, but he was too in his head to hear, inaudible fog of his voice traversing through the smoky haze, unable to travel all the way without getting lost. “Are you alright? Victor?” He gave concern, calling upon him and stopping abruptly—cutting himself off—when his eyes could tell him Victor was there again, however still an uneasy focus followed them.
His blood thread through his veins as if chasing, his attention being asked for was pinching his sore bloody spots—a beat in his temple continuing.
“Yes, sorry. I,” he paused, looking down to the cookies. “I appreciate your gift, it means a lot to me you put such an effort in. I…I seem to have fallen upon illness.” The illness he ails himself with, his own thoughts a torture when returning to what was. “I think it’s best for you to leave,” Victor said, holding his tone down in a grumbly tone as he tried not to let it loose in a rougher, scratchier, louder, and enraged feeling it wanted to manifest as.
He didn’t know what this feeling of sorrow was, he never had to deal with it so strongly before. He failed to push down where it belonged. Not being able to control himself only made his blood rush faster, a grimace not being helped showing on his face, the grip on the box tight. Embarrassing it was. The heartache inducing the heat that flared up in his face, making his jaw clench into his teeth, close to breaking.
“I’m sorry?” Teo asked for him to repeat, he couldn’t hear from the low tone, leaning closer with his ear facing Victor. A polite smile still on his face, no matter how shaken he seemed to be.
“Leave! Just leave,” he shouted, to then loosen into a soft solemn whisper, gruffly and stiff in his inability to express anything honorably, hiding his scrunched face in the palm of his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he faltered, looking at him with confusion laced with pinched stress. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble. I’ll go,” the last words he struggled with as he no longer could present himself as charismatic as he was, finally broke down to Victor’s crass mood.
Tears erupted from his green eyes like dewdrops upon leaves; the buildup coaxed into falling out, whether he liked it or not. He started sniffling trying to keep the snot in, the drops of whatever fell wiped upon his button-up’s sleeve to leave a stain.
Red was all Victor saw in the moment, from wistful blue to disconcerted red, never mixing to think through, but to be agitated in the feeling. There was no room for sympathy. Seeing Teo in such a sorry state gave Victor regret, but it was swept away with the battering pain inside his head and being absorbed in memories. He quietly watched Teo rush out the door, repeating apologies through soft whines as he hurried on his coat to then be gone.
The cigarette he was almost finished with as he couldn’t keep his lips away had been snuffed out, pushed into the tray with the rest of the abandoned buds. The cookie box sat comfortably in his lap between his shaking hands. Taking one of the sweets, he took one and bit into it. It was well baked, the perfect amount of icing with the right texture that crumbled onto his tongue, but it was bittersweet. A treat it was, except it wasn’t right.
With a gritty slicing yell from charred lungs, airy as it released in a way he never used his voice before. He threw the cookie against the wall and it broke on impact, crumbs falling from the destination, destroyed and uneditable at the curved trim of where the wallpaper met the wooden floor. Victor didn’t feel any better, he still felt horrible. He yelled again, not caring how thin the walls may be and what the neighbors say, hitting himself in the head and gripping his hair.
The clock ticked, the fire crackled, and he was there. Huffing in a way one does when catching their breath from a long run, but it was only his steam engine heart firing off coal. Consumed by loneliness. A wind up that was clanking and buzzing, soon to slow.
He was a wreck. Never thought of the perfect gift for Ottilie when the dates drew closer, even if he couldn’t, why had he not put the thought into it? His mind was already filled with her, reminded of her by the simple glance around his living room: the vases left around she often tended, now home to dead flowers from her not being there and him procrastinating ever touching them, "They're still good, still beautiful,” he’d excuse; the lamp she’d have on when reading a book of her choice, huddled in the corner of the sofa; even the curtains she’d throw open when the morning arrived. Now it was different.
It was over when she said the words, “I don’t want to be with you anymore. It’s over. Please, leave me alone.” So emotionless; not happy or sad, angry at what he might’ve done to have displeased her in such a way. Nothing. Then she left. Did he not even deserve to have natural human emotion wasted on? If it was as less of a deal she acted it was, why did he feel this way?
Writers, how should I promote my novel? And when should I start promoting it?
This is will be my first, I’ve just started my first draft and I feel I should try and get some sort of following before the time comes to publish it, but when? AND HOW?
I’m an amateur writer, have been honing my craft for two years now, currently working on my first novel!
Here I post short stories—though focusing on my long term project, that has slowed that posting—, flash fiction, once in a blue moon a poem (I’m not really a poet), and sometimes random things here and there.
I created this account to find my writing community and if you want to interact with the community don’t be afraid to holler! I invite criticism on my work to be the best writer I can, so I ask you to give me feedback!
I usually write either horror or romance, I am a big lover of anything gothic! Though I did start on fantasy and still love it so scroll down and you may see some of that (keep in mind that would be my old work) or I may post some fantasy still!
You’ll know it’s my writing when I sign it with my signature ;)
- 🫀
More about my novel below!
Replaced By Blue Ribbon
My story is set in 1893, London, following a man named Victor Griffith whose life has not been gracious. His lover, Ottilie, broke up with him to then be with the man he hates. Being forced to watch in the shadows as his ability to dance beside her upon the stage has been stolen by his leg had broken when taking a misstep.
Finding a strange substance that he recognizes upon his lovers neck, he is determined to know more and learning of its dangerous nature. He is determined to win his lover back! Find what curse had been put upon her and set her free before the ballet sets course for Paris where they will be holding a grand performance.
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It’s a drama, tragedy, and romance—however there are mentions of sexual assault in it (if I ever post any of those passages here I will add a warning!) and I preface this by saying there may be scenes of that nature, but it’s not romanticized, but the tragedy of the story.
Ottilie is trapped with her abuser under a magical spell that is said to have no cure. Victor will still try his best to save her no matter if there’s a cure or not! He wants her safe and sound.
There’s mentions of queerness that is tried to be kept a secret—even forbidden as our character thinks it to be, trying his best to be morally right with the feeling he cannot sweep away the sin.
And other twisting dynamics that add to the whole thing!
—————
If you liked Phantom of the Opera, Night Circus, or Interview with a Vampire (or any Anne Rice) you may enjoy this!
After some work, I'm glad to finally present to you all the book trailer of my novel 'The Adapted' available on RoyalRoad, Ao3, and Patreon. My Linktree is pinned under my presentation wall. I really hope you enjoy this book trailer, as it's the first time I've made one, so the quality is probably not optimal, but hey, it is what it is. Likewise, I hope you'll take pleasure in reading my novel.
Hello everyone, my username is Felitt, but you may see me go by felittworks, f3li, or other variants. I'm a 22 y.o webnovel creator, book author, and writer. You can find me on Tumblr (as you can see :p), Ao3, and RoyalRoad. I highly recommend that anyone reading this adds me on Discord too!
-> felittw0rks
I wrote and translated The Adapted (originally L'Adapté in French), which traces the story of an apathetic teenager navigating his fragmented humanity in a place filled with corruption and elitism, but also friendship and trust. It's a psychological and philosophical webnovel that explores trauma, revenge, redemption, angst, loneliness, friendship, and the fragmentation of the self in the present era and near future. You can read the book here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57943810
I write for free and for fun, but I may also take paid comms from anyone who wants to support my work. My favourite genres involve tragic, dramatic, psychological stories with intellectual and philosophical undertones, and I love depicting cynical, morally-gray, and fragmented *deep* characters. Angsty writing involving depictions of guilt, trauma, depression, and moral conflict is my thing. That's what I write the most about, and if you appreciate that kind of stuff, you're in the right place.
I also compose music in my free time, though I haven't been doing much of it due to my studies.
Though French is my main language, I can very confidently and comfortably write in English, not just for (web)novels, but also artistic and philosophical essays. I also have some experience in screenwriting because of having been involved in the writing of a game (which never saw the light of day, unfortunately).
I write original fiction and original characters. I don't typically write fanfictions, but I don't mind commissioning them. I do NOT write smut/erotica.
Ask and tag game friendly. I'm looking forward to building a community of readers, writers, and fic-enjoyers here (tho been struggling with finding an audience for my writing as of late).
Trivia:
I love the rain/thunder, and my favourite season is Fall/Autumn.
I enjoy kombucha, tea, and coffee.
I like talking philosophy, psychology, and any other academic interests.
Huge narrative gaming and anime fan.
Favourite authors if I have to pick any: Dostoyevsky, Camus, Orwell, Dazai, and Shelley.
I like to write tragic characters and situations, but then balance it with hope to cope with the grief it makes me feel.
Credits to @vulpsart for the pfp and header, go check out her work :3
After some work, I'm glad to finally present to you all the book trailer of my novel 'The Adapted' available on RoyalRoad, Ao3, and Patreon. My Linktree is pinned under my presentation wall. I really hope you enjoy this book trailer, as it's the first time I've made one, so the quality is probably not optimal, but hey, it is what it is. Likewise, I hope you'll take pleasure in reading my novel.
After some work, I'm glad to finally present to you all the book trailer of my novel 'The Adapted' available on RoyalRoad, Ao3, and Patreon. My Linktree is pinned under my presentation wall. I really hope you enjoy this book trailer, as it's the first time I've made one, so the quality is probably not optimal, but hey, it is what it is. Likewise, I hope you'll take pleasure in reading my novel.
