Milo (he/xe) 🏳️‍⚧️ 🇨🇦

@milosometimes.bsky.social

578 Followers 300 Following

Horror/dark fiction writer and film tech who sometimes has A Thought. Nova Scotian | Transmasc | Gay | 23 https://linktr.ee/milosometimes

Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. “Callum, here,” Maddox’s arm was still over my shoulder, and he gave it a squeeze, “Is a fisherman!” “Really?” A man from the group, Jeremy, drew out the word. I didn’t like the way that he was looking at me. It was like he was trying to pry back my layers of skin, and see if saltwater ran in my veins, “What do you think of the waters around here?” I scuffed my foot on the ground, trying to kick a pebble loose. It was easier than looking into those analytical eyes, “Haven’t had the time to go out yet.” Jeremy nodded, satisfied, “Good. You should talk to Father Pruit before you do.” Someone made a grunting noise in the back of their throat. Declan’s gaze kept darting around like a cornered animal. The word 'pry' is underlined.
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. An uneasiness tinted the scent of the wind. Nadia’s ad had claimed a picturesque, quiet fishing town. Hard to have a fishing town with only one fisherman. Then, the way Scott talked about the weather. I took a deep breath, and shook my head. I barely got any sleep the night before. It had been the first time in a while where I wasn’t constantly on the move, or worried about where I’d be the next day.  What I really needed was some time sailing. It had been weeks since I was out, and I could feel the itch digging under my skin. The word 'next' is underlined.
The cover of Brainwyrms by Alison Rumfitt
The cover of the collectors edition of The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang
The cover of Holes by Louis Sachar
The cover of A Trans Man Walks Into A Gay Bar by Harry Nicholas
The cover of Beyond Weird by Philip Ball
The cover of Withered by A.G.A Wilmot
The cover of You're No Better by Andrew Joseph White
The cover of Codex Unfertho by Kienn Nguyen
The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy by Lee Mackenzi
The cover of Monstrilio by Gerardo SĂĄmano CĂłrdova
Mid Year Book Freakout Tag 2026 questions 1. Best book you've read so far in 2026 2. Best sequel you've read so far in 2026 3. New release you haven't read yet, but want to 4. Most anticipated release for the second half of the year 5. biggest disappointment 6. Biggest surprise 7. Favourite new author (debut or new to you) 8. New fictional crush 9. New favourite character 10. Book that made you cry 11. Book that made you happy 12. Most beautiful book you've bought or received so far this year 12.5 Coolest cover of a book you read this year 13. What books do you need to read by the end of the year? 14. Favourite Book Community Member
A physical copy of Monitored Activity by Mitch Miller
The courtyard of a foggy old manor with text in front. The text reads: A guide to The Strings of Willis Manor. A 54k adult sapphic domestic suspense.
Two fishing boats sail on a grey ocean, with seagulls in the overcast sky. White text overlaps the grey sky. It reads: A guide to 'From the Sea Fret' a 74k adult queer horror
A book poster of my book "From the Sea Fret" done by @rhover A boat floating on a murky green ocean with a chain that floats down into darkness. Callum Point, the main character, leans over the side of the boat to peer down into the sea.
An abandoned radar station
My hand with the tattoo "You Are Here" along the thumb holds a book. The book is "A Fractured Infinity" by Nathan Tavares.
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. I needed some sort of plan, anything to get me out alive. It was impossible to focus. There were eyes (eyes eyes eyes, always eyes) on me, watching and dissecting me, as I wound my way through the unclaimed landscape surrounding Perne. The eyes – the surveillance – was from the fog (the fog the fog the fog). Fish looking as one, watching as I neared the end– Splotches of rain started to fall when I turned up my dirt road. They felt like ice pellets against my face, and I bowed my head to keep the water out of my eyes. I was about to turn up the walkway to my apartment, when a shout drew my attention.
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. I shrugged, “Saw an ad in the paper for an apartment to rent. Felt right. Though,” I sucked in another breath, “I didn’t do much research before comin’. What’s Perne like?” [BLANK] watched the town for a long moment. He watched two kids scamper in between a dirt alley, and a young woman chatting with an old man at the gas station. There was almost an expression of fond pride on his brow. Almost, because the corner of his mouth twitched. It sent a wrinkle across his face, making his expression read more like duty than pride. “It’s good.” He said finally, “You’ll get to know us soon enough.”
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. Anxiety worms its way up around my legs, making me stumble a few times. The school counselor – Mr. Bennett – said I should seek out medical treatment for it. That there’s medication that can help out. Dad says it’s a family thing, calls it a ‘nerve condition’. I don’t wanna disappoint my Dad. I nearly puke when I see flashing red and blue lights as I turn on their street. Ducking behind a neighbour’s garbage bins, I try to see what’s going on.
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. Conner, a gangly boy in my grade with greasy hair and the beginnings of a mustache, pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He stole them from his older brother. He dares our group of friends to try one, claiming that he smokes them ‘all the time’ but we know that’s bullshit. My group of friends. A collection of boys who grew up on the docks just like me. Most of them have parents that work for my dad, but some have drifted into our ragtag group as the years went on. I’m the only “girl” of the group, but I can hold my own against their maturing masculinity. Always up for a dare, I snag a cigarette and light it with the proffered lighter. It burns the back of my throat, and I inhale so hard I see stars. When I exhale, I’m coughing and gagging, which makes my friends laugh. This is my first cigarette.
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. “Tegan has a reputation. She gets around, she gossips, she meddles. I didn’t want to fuck her and now she tells everyone I’m bad.” [BLANK] raised a brow, “You don’t believe her, do you?” “I…” I found it hard to believe anyone. Everyone wanted something different from me, wanted to mold me into what they needed. The black dots in my periphery grew in size, dazzling into black stars until I couldn’t make out more than what was right in front of me. [BLANK]. He took a step closer. I let him. “Honestly, it’s a shame she’s the pastor’s daughter. Perne might be better without her.” He chuckled, “Don’t let her get in the way of what we have. It’s real, I can feel it. I know you can too.”
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. I stumbled back, hand halfway between covering my eyes or mouth, though I didn’t know which one would be better. A strangled scream tore past my teeth, and I continued to stumble as Ferryman rocked on the waves. My back hit the railing on the other side of the deck. My sides were quivering, all of me trembling and cold. I couldn’t make out a single thought as everything in my mind collided together in a silent explosion. I was heaving, fighting against the feeling of falling deep into an abyss. My brain was in free-fall, plummeting down to a ground that would crush me on impact. That couldn’t be real. I hadn’t slept well for several days and I was just seeing things. I was trying to count my breaths but there were too many to keep up with.
A book poster of my book "From the Sea Fret" done by @rhover A boat floating on a murky green ocean with a chain that floats down into darkness. Callum Point, the main character, leans over the side of the boat to peer down into the sea.
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. The shock of the cold immediately cut through all my layers of clothes. In the few seconds it took to sink below the waves, I was soaked through to my bones. My clothes weighed me down. They acted as anchors, and made my movements sluggish as I tried to get my arms free. I had fallen in with my head pointing down, and I was struggling to orient myself without the use of my arms.
A glass window, with green plants serves as the background. Text is pasted over top. It reads: The Strings of Willis Manor We stood there for a moment, ones exhale the others inhale. Breathing in the comfort of each other, our bodies not quite touching but so close that we could trick ourselves into thinking that they were. She studied my face for a long while, and I hers. The dim, flickering light of the closet made the freckles on her cheeks look like stars. Her eyes, so full of beauty and life, were warm pools that invited me to stay awhile. I wanted to remain in that not-quite embrace for as long as our shared breathing would allow. Andromeda cupped my cheek, her thumb gently sweeping the bags under my eyes. I leaned my head just slightly into the touch, and her fingers traced along the side of my jaw. "I wish we could spend more time like this." Her words were barely audible, spoken for me and me alone. I tried my best to smile, "Why can't we?" Her smile, in turn, was a grieving one. She didn't answer my question, choosing instead to watch the planes of my face in silence.
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. “Folks, can I have your attention please?” Conversations died as she spoke with a distinct teacher’s voice, “I just wanted to thank everyone for coming out tonight. Let’s offer a warm welcome to the newest member of our community, Callum Point!” The scattered applause and attention made me flush. I could only nod and wave awkwardly until the applause died down. Holly’s eyes glittered as she looked at me, “As a welcome to our lovely community, a few of us have gotten together and brought some food. I know how hungry you all must be.” There was some polite laughter at that, and she continued, “So, please, help yourself–”
A glass window, with green plants serves as the background. Text is pasted over top. It reads: The Strings of Willis Manor Usually the quietness of the garden was a welcome respite, but as I wheeled through the pathways, I couldn’t help but feel unnerved. Perhaps it was due to the fact that I was used to eyes always on me. Circling pathways, high hedges and eerie silence. My breath came out of my mouth as a light fog, with my heart hammering in my chest. I rolled deeper and deeper into the gardens.
Two fishing boats sail on a grey ocean, with seagulls in the overcast sky. White text overlaps the grey sky. It reads: A guide to 'From the Sea Fret' a 74k adult queer horror
A glass window, with green plants serves as the background. Text is pasted over top. It reads: The Strings of Willis Manor Mama’s gaze sharpened again, coming back to me, “We are women, Thistle. Not much is truly ours.” I looked at her for a hard moment, “Perhaps that should change.” For once, Mama agreed with me, “Perhaps.” Our brief agreement felt strange. The most tentative of comradery, a single glimpse of what our relationship possibly could’ve been. A mother and a child; two people fighting together against an unkind world. The grief of that possibility was sudden, and I swallowed it down. I didn’t want to think about it, or us. The word 'child' is underlined.
A snippet from a manuscript. A bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside. The place simply smelled sweet. Everything was painted bright oranges, pinks and yellows, with glass displays of candies lining the walls. The layout had changed, but it still echoed with familiarity as I strolled down the single aisle. What used to be my favourite candy? Chocolate. The answer was almost immediate, but there was a millisecond of undeniable hesitation. Milk chocolate, though I never really minded dark. I would scarf down as much chocolate as I could get my hands on, letting it melt on my tongue a bit before swallowing. I found myself in front of a jar of peppermints. The red and white swirl on the small candies matched the awning outside. Immediately, I thought of Naomi. Peppermints were her favourite, though I used to call her an old lady for liking them.
A glass window, with green plants serves as the background. Text is pasted over top. It reads: The Strings of Willis Manor The library took up the entirety of the second floor's West Wing. It was horse-shoe shaped, and had multiple doors that led to different sections, though all were connected internally with large hallways of towering bookshelves. A glass dome served as the ceiling, and a balcony looked down on the main study area. Several telescopes, and star charts, dotted the edge of the railing. I’d always wanted to get a closer look at what the charts said, but I didn’t trust myself to use the ladders. Floating down from the centre of the glass dome was a bronze moon, surrounded by bronze stars. No strings or cables held them up. They just quietly rotated in time with their twins in the sky. Andromeda was sitting at desk by a window in the back. The diffused light of the grey clouds softly silhouetted her as she looked up at our approach.
A glass window, with green plants serves as the background. Text is pasted over top. It reads: The Strings of Willis Manor Mama’s parlour was an attempt at comfort, but fell quite short. The walls were bland, and devoid of any character. It was just a continuation of the decor throughout the rest of the manor, a wholly unoriginal room. Large black drapes dramatically framed the windows that looked out onto the front lawn. The mahogany furniture was outfitted with red cushions, but were firm from lack of use. There was no rug to add warmth to the wooden floors, and the fireplace was dusty from disuse. It wasn’t a place of relaxation. The word "add" is underlined.
A book poster of my book "From the Sea Fret" done by @rhover A boat floating on a murky green ocean with a chain that floats down into darkness. Callum Point, the main character, leans over the side of the boat to peer down into the sea.
A glass window, with green plants serves as the background. Text is pasted over top. It reads: The Strings of Willis Manor. Turning the spoon over in his mouth, he sucked on the metal while maintaining eye contact. Eyes half-lidded, his cheeks had a slight flush to them from the warmth of the soup. Slowly pulling the spoon from his mouth, he tried his hand at a sultry grin. Low, his voice curled out of him, "I heard you had a sister."
A moodboard consisting of 5 images. 4 are centered, and boarded in a white frame. The background image is the inside of a greenhouse, looking up at the glass ceiling. A silhouette of someone sitting in a wheelchair, and looking out onto a sunny day. Three shelves containing corked bottles of various witchy herds. Aged paper, strewn about, all containing handwritten letters and sketches of human anatomy. A hand is holds a plume of black smoke.
A moodboard consisting of 9 images. They're outlined in black. The background is of a grey ocean. Two images are quotes of black text on a grey background. They read "I have the sea foam in my veins, I understand the language of the waves" and "The sea and I are long time lovers" A foggy seaside shack, with an abandoned boat leaning against it. A hand reaching through murky water. On a piece of grey paper is a sketch of a compass in black ink. A pile of grey fish. On dark blue waves, with a dark blue sky and seagulls flying around it, is a fishing boat. A view of a grey ocean through a porthole.
A nine-photo grid as a moodboard. With text overlaid. The text reads: The Strings of Willis Manor A sapphic gothic suspense. The pictures are the following. Black butterflies on yellow walls. A hand with strings. A curved wooden library. Someone drawing an anatomy structure on a piece of paper. A large gothic manor seen through an open iron gate. Papers layered on top of each other with notes and anatomy drawings. The interior of an entryway for an old manor. Two hands reaching up, the fingertips covered in soot. Two people, carrying candles, wander a room with portraits on the walls.
Tilting my chin, my voice was gravely, “If it is such a terrible fate to have a dependent daughter, then you are welcome to look away.” Mama watched me for a second that stretched on for hours. She was looking for me to bow my head, mutter an apology, or look away. I didn’t know why she continued to look, because that was something I had never done, and would never do. Tilting my chin, my voice was gravely, “If it is such a terrible fate to have a dependent daughter, then you are welcome to look away.” Mama watched me for a second that stretched on for hours. She was looking for me to bow my head, mutter an apology, or look away. I didn’t know why she continued to look, because that was something I had never done, and would never do. The word 'never' is underlined.
A glass window, with green plants serves as the background. Text is pasted over top. It reads: The Strings of Willis Manor. The rain continued through to the next day. It left everyone confined inside, and the growing sentiment of claustrophobia was palatable. Willis Manor was a large, expansive estate, and yet somehow the tense feeling charged the stale air. Unlike others, I was confined to my bed. Sitting up was a slow and deliberate process, where my movements were as gentle as I could manage. I couldn’t swallow anything other than liquids, which was a blessing and a curse. My arms quivered when I held them in the air for too long. The word 'liquids' is underlined.
A glass window, with green plants serves as the background. Text is pasted over top. It reads: The Strings of Willis Manor. That perfect stillness crumbled a bit as he shifted in his seat. Pulling his eyes slowly down from where Clementine stood, he racked his gaze over me. The pressure of his eyes sent an imprint of chills up and down all that he was inspecting. "Do you great all your hosts this way?" I squeezed Clementine's hand silently asking if she felt the discomfort too. She squeezed back. "Or just the ones you want to dissect?" Something flickered in his eyes, "Dissect? Where'd you get that impression." I hummed, "Oh, simply because of the way you're undressing me with your eyes. Not lusfully, though. Analytically." The word "perfect" is underlined.
A glass window, with green plants serves as the background. Text is pasted over top. It reads: The Strings of Willis Manor. To her, I was a language she was fluent in. On a day where it was misty out, and the scent of humidity hung heavily in the air, she read my creased brow with ease. Without saying anything, she positioned my chair beside the bed. Making sure the brakes were on, she barely had to ask if I wanted to go for a stroll before I started to pull the blankets off of me. The word "positioned" is underlined.
Two fishing boats sail on a grey ocean, with seagulls in the overcast sky. White text overlaps the grey sky. It reads: A guide to 'From the Sea Fret' a 74k adult queer horror
A grainy screenshot of Evan from the youtube series EverymanHYBRID.
Outlined text over a dark blue ocean. The horizon is obscured by fog. The text reads: From the Sea Fret. My arm is prickly with sharp points of pain, but I’ve been concentrating on breathing steadily. The camping lamp beside us has attracted a few moths. Kharon doesn’t seem to notice them fluttering by, though, as they’re concentrating on finishing my stick-and-poke tattoo. It had been my idea. They mentioned how they were thinking of being a tattoo artist, and I offered to be their canvas. Their enthusiasm was worth the nerves that getting a tattoo brought.
A moodboard consisting of 5 pictures, each outlined in navy blue. The 5th picture is in the centre. A foggy wooden dockyard at night. The inside of a tackle shop. Nets, buoys, and fishing paraphernalia hand from the wall and ceiling. A pile of grey fish. A hand reaching out of grey water, the sky above is overcast. A fishing boat on the ocean. Seagulls swarm it in the air.
A moodboard consisting of 7 images, all outlined in black. A pile of grey fish. A foggy seaside shack, with an abandoned boat leaning against it. The inside of a tackle shop. Nets, buoys, and fishing paraphernalia hand from the wall and ceiling. A hand reaching out of grey water, the sky above is overcast. A lone rowboat out on foggy, grey water. Grey waves spraying foam against an overcast sky as seagulls fly around. Two fishing boats sail on a grey ocean, with seagulls in the overcast sky.
A commissioned portrait of Callum Point - the main character of my story "From the Sea Fret". Drawn by Lance aka @tovomiel. The character has light tan and is covered in freckles. He has pale brown eyes that are prone to squinting, and he’s clean shaven. His mousy brown hair is unkempt and swoops around the midpoint of his neck. His hair is usually hidden beneath a black flat cap. When not wearing a hat, there’s a patch of white hair above his right eyebrow. An oval birthmark peaks out from his hairline. He wears a thick cream knitted turtleneck sweater
A commissioned portrait of Callum Point - the main character of my story "From the Sea Fret". Drawn by Elka Marsden, aka @saintsbeware. The character has light tan and is covered in freckles. He has pale brown eyes that are prone to squinting, and he’s clean shaven. His mousy brown hair is unkempt and swoops around the midpoint of his neck. His hair is usually hidden beneath a black flat cap. When not wearing a hat, there’s a patch of white hair above his right eyebrow. An oval birthmark peaks out from his hairline. He wears a thick cream knitted turtleneck sweater
A commission of Callum Point - the main character of my story "From the Sea Fret". Drawn by Marcel aka @yourdeadprince.bsky.social. The character has light tan and is covered in freckles. He has pale brown eyes that are prone to squinting, and he’s clean shaven. His mousy brown hair is unkempt and swoops around the midpoint of his neck. His hair is usually hidden beneath a black flat cap. When not wearing a hat, there’s a patch of white hair above his right eyebrow. An oval birthmark peaks out from his hairline. He wears a thick cream knitted turtleneck sweater In the picture, he's holding a rope and standing in a cloud of fog.
A lake with fog is the background, with a white text box in the foreground. Text in the box reads: Favourite indie (pt.2). Dove's Eyes by Kienn Nguyen. Rating: 5/5. There is a cover of the book accompanying the text.
A lake with fog is the background, with a white text box in the foreground. Text in the box reads: Favourite Indie (pt. 1). Pray For Him by Tyler Battaglia. Rating: 4/5. There is a cover of the book accompanying the text.
A lake with fog is the background, with a white text box in the foreground. Text in the box reads: Favourite horror. You Weren't Meant To Be Human by Andrew Joseph White. Rating: 5/5. There is a cover of the book accompanying the text.
A lake with fog is the background, with a white text box in the foreground. Text in the box reads: Favourite sci-fi. A Fractured Infinity by Nathan Tavares. Rating: 5/5. There is a cover of the book accompanying the text.
A lake with fog is the background, with a white text box in the foreground. Text in the box reads: Favourite fantasy. A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows. Rating: 4/5. There is a cover of the book accompanying the text.
A lake with fog is the background, with a white text box in the foreground. Text in the box reads: Favourite ya. Old Wounds by Logan Ashley-Kisner. Rating: 5/5. There is a cover of the book accompanying the text.
A lake with fog is the background, with a white text box in the foreground. Text in the box reads: Favourite literary. Midwives by Chris Bohjalian. Rating: 4/5. There is a cover of the book accompanying the text.
A lake with fog is the background, with a white text box in the foreground. Text in the box reads: Favourite historical. Grey Dog by Elliott Gish. Rating: 4/5. There is a cover of the book accompanying the text.