nico roy

@after-midnight.bsky.social

149 Followers 143 Following

mtl writer, biochemist, and lover of indie creations. 🦋 active wips: 🌙 🐍💙😈 | https://nroywrites.blog

view of Montreal's cityscape from a building's 11th floor.
TV monitor showing the countdown for the release of Deltarune chapter 5
a man kneels before another, begging for forgiveness, while the other looks down upon him with contempt.
A laptop and a coffee cup on a picnic table on a sunny day.
a traditional acrylic canvas painting of tenna from deltarune. The scene is vertically split in half. The left half of tenna's body is painted in bright, warm-toned colors, standing on stage, smiling, and spotlit from the back by yellow and pink stage lights. The right half is painted in muted, cold-toned colors, and covered by a semi-transparent grayscale filter, which may evoke CRT interference and/or a snowstorm whiteout. The background is cold place, and tenna stands still with a black screen and with the falling snow starting to build up on various parts of his body.
Two discord messages - 1 (username hidden): put that in your query letter 2 (username: nico (aka me)): "this is my character, she's like Saul Goodman meets millennial cringe and says things like 'I'm six feet under the bottom of the fucking iceberg digging toward the molten core of the earth'"
a layered stone statue of a person with their arms up to the sky, standing on a raised platform made up of four stone steps. On the topmost step there sit three jugs: one of whey protein, one of creatine, and the third is unknown as its label is not visible.
[handwritten bullet point notes] - waiting!! WAITING SUCKS. - shit's arbitrary af even when it feels really important/"official" - people in power can bend the rules (yes, even the "written in stone" ones) - pobody's nerfect - ACAB - murder mysteries are extra as hell - bureaucracy is horseshit?
a simple drawing of a man with long blond hair wearing sunglasses, a black scarf, a loose jacket, and pants with the hems rolled up.
a hearty breakfast meal with a mug of black coffee
a scientist falls asleep at their bench while listening to music
Three people, seen from the shoulders up, sit in a waiting area.
a man and a young woman sit together, engaged in what appears to be a captivating discussion! he is speaking, and she watches him intently, the hint of a smile on her face.
A scientist working in a glovebox looks in surprise (or maybe wonder?) upon their work.
A single maple tree stands against a plain white background. its leaves are plentiful, and range in color from different shades of gray to different shades of blue.
A man walks by a set of advertisements at Mary-Two-Axe-Earley metro station.
a pair of gloved hands holding a blue flame.
photo of a rainy Montreal sidewalk beside a shopping center.
a shocked girl. or maybe she's scared? it's hard to tell, because her eyes are replaced by blue flames.
A car pulls up to a flooded intersection. Behind the barricade and the sign reading "rue barrée" (French for "road closed"), a felled tree is lying sideways across the street, its leaves spilling out into the shallow water. Behind the tree, a road sign has also been knocked over.
traditional drawing of the silhouette of a child, in black, flying a blue paper plane on a white background.
a shocked girl. or maybe she's scared? you can't see her eyes, so it's hard to tell.
a snowman wearing a traffic cone as a hat on a closed street in montreal
A smiling woman holds a toddler who stares into the camera with a flat, vacant expression.
Text message exchange reading: Person 1: [redacted] now have their fancy clock installed and it's very underwhelming. Person 2 (me): incredible. Meanwhile, we still have a loose cord and no hook. Person 1: One day we will also have an underwhelming clock, don't worry.
episode title card for 1. "Pilot" - a hand navigates a paper plane.
Intrusive memories flood my mind. My father's attic. The document in my hands. The names in my head, cast behind my eyelids in neon lights. My terrific rage, all-consuming as an oncoming tornado. The ominous sirens ring in my ears. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.
A notification screenshot from ubereats reading "Still thinking about sushi?"
Playlist title - 1920s: The Roaring Twenties! Description - Welcome to the era of naughty jazz and dirty blues! *** THIS PLAYLIST KEEPS GETTING REPORTED BY JEALOUS PPL WHOS HOPING IT'LL BE TAKEN DOWN. I SUGGEST U TO SAVE THIS PLAYLIST IF U LIKE IT, THAT WAY YOU'LL ALWAYS FIND IT EASILY EVEN THOUGH SPOTIFY DELETES THE PLAYLIST NAME AND PHOTO FOR NO FKN REASON
threads post by torbooks reading "you guys are going to freak when you hear about this year's book releases..."
Screencap from a YouTube video by @swellentertainment where the title reads "tiktok is being insane about books again."
a very hasty and rough marker drawing of a rectangular brushed gold vintage lamp on graph paper. there are some notes about the color, texture and interior.
a chemist wearing a turtleneck and a lab coat dozes off at their work bench while listening to music.
A man smiles awkwardly. Behind him, in an open closet, there is a creepy animal face mask, also smiling.
A sleek, solid-colored black 2026 planner with a pen laid diagonally on top.
The empty last car of a light rail train, taken from just ahead.
me trimming the [redacted] in Act II: if I don't have at least a few one star reviews that are like "this character is so insufferable I DNFed" i did something wrong.
"[redacted] frequently gets shit for tone deaf posts and has been cancelled '9.5 times.'"
A keyboard, pen and pencil sitting on a bar-type wooden table facing the entrance to a café.
The Horror Zine does not accept any material that contains adult or sexually explicit content; abuse or harming or women or children; any rape scenes; serial killers; slasher; gore for gore's sake, or splatterpunk. We do not accept any religious or political themes. We do not accept any submissions written in Olde English, Victorian, or 19th century styles. We do not accept any submissions told in a diary or letter or journal format, written in numbered chapters, told as memories, or told entirely as dialogue (someone recounting past events). We do not accept any submissions created with the use of, or any assistance from, Artificial Intelligence (AI). We do not accept fan fiction.
a grey and brown bunny on a lawn.
[...] was against my will. Truthfully, though it pains me, I know he didn't care either way. He can't. I think I've always known it, deep down, but it took me a long time to accept it. Years. I was nothing to him but a shiny object, a transient source of pleasure and entertainment. A breathing antidote to boredom. That's always been the hardest thing to accept, I think - other than the looming [...]
I finally manage to speak my most burning question aloud – certainly not my only question, but the one I came here for, fearful as I am of the answer. “Why did you do it, Jeff? I mean… what the fuck happened?” He shrugs and looks at his hands, now folded neatly on the table. “I dunno. Just lost it, I guess.” I press him. Gentle, but firm. “Did you have issues with them that I didn’t know about?” Again, he shrugs. Shakes his head as though lost in thought. “Nah, man, they were nice guys. Super solid dudes. Sucks things had to turn out that way.” “Was it…” I hesitate. I don’t want to ask, really. But I have to know. “I mean, was it the situation?” He looks up at me, but no matter how badly I want to, I can’t read his face. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Maybe I was deluding myself to have ever thought I could, once upon a time. “I don’t know, man. Maybe.” There’s a pause, which I force myself to break quickly – I’m painfully aware we don’t have much time. “If only we had stayed the fuck home and not gone to that party, huh?” He smiles. “Yeah.” Still carefully minding my voice, my tone, I add, “I think about that all the time. We could be at home playing video games right now if we hadn't gone to that damn party.” “Crazy to think about.” I shake my head. “What’s crazy is how everything went from being completely fine to going to absolute shit overnight.” “That’s life, man. That’s how it goes sometimes.” I frown, locking eyes with him. “That’s… no, Jeff. None of this should have happened. None of it.”
For some reason, the graveyard reminds me of Silverwood Manor – perhaps for its dainty elegance, perhaps for the lingering, delicious eeriness it holds – and I’m suddenly overtaken by the desire to go there. But I won’t. Right now, I need to be here, despite the fact that all I’m thinking about is how unfair it is that she’s below the ground, unreachable, while everyone else remains above. Dad gave me some money to pick up a bouquet of flowers. White roses. Her favorite. I set them on her gravestone. “Hey, Mom. Sorry I haven't come in a while.” I sit with her spirit on the cold, dry, dead grass. There’s no one else in sight. It’s just us and the wind. A tight ball progressively grows in my throat. Again. Why do I feel like I’m about to cry? What is wrong with me? I try to think of how to start this conversation, which isn't really a conversation, obviously, since she's dead and I’m not. Maybe that's the only reason I can confide in her about this. Because she's fucking dead. There are a lot of things I could say in this moment, but what I settle on in the end is the undiluted, awful truth. “Mom? I feel like I’m dying.”