Amwriting - Blog Posts

Necrotic Dawn (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/369797013-necrotic-dawn?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=LadyBunnette Necrotic Dawn is a dark fantasy novel with psychological thriller elements, exploring the twisted fates of twin sisters Aurora and Ember. For the past ten years, the sisters have been secretly protected by the dragon Ilios, who harbors a forbidden love for the cynical Aurora. When Aurora is suddenly kidnapped by the manipulative Loki, Ilios is forced to team up with the Ember, who has secretly been infatuated with him ever since she was young but always kept it secret due to his relationship with her sister, to try and rescue her. As Ilios and Ember delve deeper into the mystery, they find themselves drawn into a web of dark magic, hidden agendas, and psychological manipulation. Aurora, meanwhile, battles her own internal turmoil as she grapples with a growing attraction to her captive despite his role in taking her to the capital to face the king who executed her father. With the sisters' fates inextricably linked, Aurora, Ember, Ilios, and Loki are all forced to confront their deepest desires, darkest secrets, and the blurred lines between love and obsession. As the tension builds, the page turning story takes a series of chilling, unexpected twists, leading to a climactic confrontation that will leave readers questioning everything they thought they knew by the last page. Necrotic Dawn blends elements of dark fantasy, psychological suspense, and twisted romance into a gripping exploration of the duality of the human psyche and the corrosive power of unchecked ambition.

Wolfstar and Drarry oneshots (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/263133870?utm_source=android&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=Saffire078&wp_originator=10YAc4xkoVOYS89bizlHOLfMGDhLlHqDxVWNQ73PKbqq86GzoOenEL9bmBEf4ktkDZTO6p76P%2Flc42zQu%2FpgTl%2F9%2FfZ8p9Ly51XWa86OBp2PdYcpONlLJw1f9koL3sCJ Just some investors for you lot The general trigger warnings. Self harm depression death ECT. Oh and also SMUTTTT

leather jackets and woollen jumpers - Wolfstar (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/262141046?utm_source=android&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=Saffire078&wp_originator=JebmaXLsvfjxZc%2Bf0fjhCvxeW6Zw5E5p6KR5Nj%2BDKFhI1TU7LFflEoosW%2BrbnYGy42gwa02ZavVx59a5qgOhlIT3LjcGsX%2BwkBC%2BKHqCeOUfSjCr5Z09e3MEi8s2uodg Wolfstar muggle AU with a little Jilly Smut will be in this story so if too young please refrain from reading. TW homophobia, possible metion of suicide and death.

The Art of Writing: Crafting Stories from the Soul

Writing is more than just putting words on a page; it’s an art form, a way to translate the deepest parts of your soul into something tangible. It’s about finding the right words to capture a fleeting emotion, a vivid image, or a complex thought

When I write, I’m not just telling a story—I’m creating a world. I’m giving life to characters, building landscapes from scratch, and weaving together plots that mirror the human experience. Writing is my way of understanding the world around me and the world within.

But writing isn’t always easy. It’s a journey filled with self-doubt, endless revisions, and moments of frustration. Yet, it’s also a journey of discovery, where you find your voice, uncover hidden truths, and learn to embrace the beauty of imperfection.

Writing is my therapy, my passion, my escape. It’s how I make sense of the chaos, how I connect with others, how I leave a mark on the world. So, I keep writing—through the struggles, the joy, the uncertainty—because in the end, it’s all worth it.

"Every writer knows the magic that unfolds when pen meets paper . Through every chapter, every character, and every twist of the plot, I lose myself and find myself over and over again. Writing is not just a passion; it’s my way of breathing."

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜᴅʙʟᴏᴏᴅ | Theodore Nott (on Wattpad)

Siempre me imaginé una novela de romance con Theodore Nott pero en vez que sea con un personaje dentro del mundo mágico pensé. ¿Porque no con una Muggle? siendo el hijo de un mortífago y rodeado de comentarios sobre la pureza de la samgre esto se me hacía muy interesante. Asique si sientes la misma curiosidad que yo, te invito a leer y decirme que te parece ;).

 https://www.wattpad.com/story/370478169-%E1%B4%9B%CA%9C%E1%B4%87-%E1%B4%8D%E1%B4%9C%E1%B4%85%CA%99%CA%9F%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%85-theodore-nott?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=MadMaggs En los laberintos sombríos del mundo mágico, Theodore Nott, hijo de un mortífago encarcelado, se ahoga en un mar de excesos y desesperación. Pero cuando una enigmática bailarina muggle irrumpe en su vida, despierta en él una obsesión peligrosa. Entre el hechizo de su baile y la barrera de sus diferentes mundos, Theodore se debate entre la redención y la perdición, enfrentando un dilema que desafía todo lo que creía saber sobre el amor, la sangre, su estaus y su vida mágica. "𝐖𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐍𝐨𝐰, 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐈'𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭" (𝘔𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 - 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘈𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤)

The Last Straw - Short Story

It’s been months since I’ve seen them—three months and nine days, to be exact. That last, monumental fight echoes through my mind as I sit, waiting, in our favorite cafe. It was a mutual decision to take this break, I remind myself. We just needed time to cool off from the fight and better ourselves before we tackled the whole “serious relationship” thing again. The idle chatter of the other customers, the clanking and hissing of the coffee machines, and the muted pop music emanating from the speakers on the wall do nothing to dull my nerves.

I glance at the clock above the door and, noting that they’re definitely late now, check my phone as well. No messages. My stomach clenches as I turn my attention back to the door. I shouldn’t be surprised by their tardiness, considering they've never been particularly concerned about timeliness.

The door swings open again and in they finally walk. In our months apart, nothing has changed in their appearance and, despite my anxiety, that warm feeling only they can create spreads through my chest.

“Can I get my usual? With almond milk this time, though. I’m on a diet.” Their voice cuts through the cafe as they order their drink. The barista nods, sets up their order, and charges them. They scan the cafe and, spotting me, saunter over to our table.

“Long time, no see, huh?” They greet me, giving me a relaxed smile. Without waiting for a response, they add, “I love what you did with your hair. I told you that color would look great on you.”

“Thank you! You were right, I really like it.” I comb my fingers through my hair as I speak, proud of this change I’d managed to make. “It’s faded a bit-”

“You should’ve cut it shorter,” they cut in, their smile giving way to a speculative frown. “That length makes your face look fat.” Their tone is remarkably light as they say it but it still makes my stomach drop. Of course I didn’t get it right.

Before I can come up with some sort of response, the barista calls out their order. The table shakes gently as I tap my foot against its leg and watch them retreat to the counter. It was just a comment about my hair; we can still salvage this.

“Excuse me, but I need a straw.” Again, their voice cuts through the cafe, this time dripping with that familiar annoyance of being inconvenienced.

“Oh, I’m sorry, someone must’ve just taken the last one,” the barista replies quickly, her voice squeaking at the threat of a true confrontation. “Give me just a second-”

“Is it really that hard to do your job?” They demand before the barista can even step away from the counter. “No wonder you all make such little money at these jobs. You idiots can’t even keep the straws stocked.” Without waiting for the barista’s response, they storm back to the table.

Silence settles over the cafe for a moment as the others watch their return to our table. They take their seat, pointedly pop the lid off of their cup, and take a sip. The flavor must meet their standards since they don’t speak up to the barista again.

They quietly study me over their coffee before asking, “How have you been? Haven’t fallen in love with someone new while I’ve been gone, have you?” Their tone almost feels joking but their fingers clench around their cup of coffee, white from the pressure.

“I’ve been fine,” I offer, carefully watching for any sort of new reaction as I speak. “I made a lot more progress with my novel, so I’ll be-”

“Did you meet anyone new?” They interrupt, their tone as sharp as the pinning stare they give me.

“No, I didn’t meet anyone new.” I match their tone as best I can, hoping it at least somewhat conveys my intention to not let them walk over me again. “I’ve been looking into querying-”

“Good,” they reply, leaning back in their chair and setting their coffee on the table. “I met someone pretty cool at a bar a little while back. They actually live in the other wing of your apartment complex. I barely even recognized it was the same building, they decorated it so nice. Your place doesn’t have to look like such a dump, you know. A few nice rugs, some original art, and boom, no one would be able to tell it was practically falling apart.”

I listen quietly, considering their comments as I sip my coffee. They ramble on, talking about their new job, their joy from seeing me again despite my ugly hair, and their plans to travel to the east coast. They’re in the middle of telling me about the pie they made earlier this week when I finally speak up again.

“Do you even care?” I ask. My leg bounces under the table, the only outward sign of my anxiety that I’ll allow. They raise their eyebrow at me, a smirk forming on their lips.

“Do I care? About what?” They question back. “About you? Yes. About my new job? Also, yes, even though it pisses me off sometimes. I care about a lot of things.”

“You don’t even-”

“I think the question here is whether or not you care about me.” They plow on, leaning forward and planting a firm hand on the table. “You disappeared for three months and didn’t contact me at all. We took this break for you and you took your merry time, torturing me with your silence. Your parents even said you’d told them not to talk to me.”

“I think that’s enough,” I say and, even though it comes out quieter than I intend, they stop talking immediately. They stare at me in shocked silence as I continue. “I thought we could make this work, but I’m done.” I get up from the table, retrieving my coffee as they process what I’ve just said.

“You can’t just break up with me,” they finally say, their eyes narrowing at me as they rise from their seat. “You think you’ll get on without me? Who else do you have-”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t contact me again,” I say, keeping my voice even as theirs rises. “Goodbye.” I turn and make my way to the barista’s counter, drop an extra tip in their jar, and leave the cafe.

This is a piece I wrote for a creative writing course I took recently. I don’t have any current plans to continue it but I thought it’d be nice to share it with you all! I hope you guys like it!

The Loner - Short Story

Birth

Like most children, the Loner was born crying. Unlike most children, the Loner was also born fighting, squirming violently in the arms of the doctor as he tried to hand them to their mother. Their parents never quite knew what to do with them as they grew up, that vicious fighting instinct sticking with them even as they learned other ways to vent their emotions. When the Loner finally learned to speak, among their first words was the persistent repetition of the word “doom”.

Early Years

The Loner’s childhood was filled with just that: loneliness. Since learning to talk, they never quite learned to filter their language. The topic of doom—with occasional variations of “the end of the world” and “Armageddon”—was almost always on their lips. Their parents came to ignore it, pretending it wasn’t happening, just like they did with everything else they deemed odd from their child. The children at school never managed to do the same. They always did their best to steer clear of the Loner, even when all they wanted was something as harmless as teaching their peers how to efficiently sharpen a stick into a spear.

The Collection

Shortly after the Loner entered second grade, a secret collection of food began to grow in their bedroom. They quickly discovered the short lives of the bananas and ham and cheese sandwiches their mother packed for their lunches. The cans they stole from the pantry, however, never seemed to fail them as the other foods did. Cans accumulated in every hidden corner of their room: under the bed, at the back of the closet, and at the bottom of their toybox.

The Model

High school shop class quickly established itself as a favorite of the Loner. They were allowed to build whatever they wanted, so long as they made sure to complete their actual assignments, and it was in that class that they built their first bunker model. Wood sanded perfectly smooth held the shape of their dream home and they could barely hold back their excitement over their creation. The Loner proudly showed the model off to their parents and, met with their characteristic disappointment and disapproval, resolved to keep it hidden on the top shelf in their closet. Only they could truly appreciate the craftsmanship.

Higher Education

College was never in the Loner’s plans. Their parents begged them to go, but there was nothing they could do when the Loner signed up for a survival camp instead. It wasn’t different from most other summer camps, aside from the poisoned water and the death of four campers. There, the Loner finally received the final pieces of their education and when they returned from camp, they were ready to move out into the world on their own.

Home

The Loner’s first home was, as it would turn out, also their final home. They hand-built their fortress in a section of forest just near enough to society to reasonably live. Everything about it was perfect from the complex water filtration system, to the diverse garden in the greenhouse, to even the armory hidden in the basement. Their favorite part of their home was none of those details, but rather the bunker nestled below the basement. It matched that first prototype almost exactly, with only a few important differences in the air filtration system and the food storage. As the rug that laid before their front door said, this was truly their “Home Sweet Home”.

The Outbreak

The day the first outbreak aired on the news, a persistent knocking came at the Loner’s door. They knew who their guests were even before checking the security cameras; their parents, old teachers, and old classmates crowded at their doorstep. Everything the Loner had warned and tried to teach them about was coming true and they begged the Loner to save them. The Loner contemplated their options for dealing with their unexpected guests for a while—days, actually—before making their decision. They knew they’d be hated for their choice but, as they reasoned with themselves, they only had accommodations for one.

Survival

Long after those guests rotted away, the Loner lived peacefully in the fortress they’d built. Every aspect of the survival system they’d created served them dutifully. Despite its perfect working condition, they spent much of their free time even further upgrading their home, just for fun. As soon as the Loner managed to fix the local telephone lines, communication was quickly revived in the surrounding area. It took some time, but a close community of survivors eventually rose from the ashes of their fallen society.

They knew it was still too dangerous to travel outside so underground tunnels were soon built between the survivors’ homes, further connecting their new community. After a month of heavy negotiation, a simple trade system was established in their community, allowing proper sharing of all of their resources. The Loner was everyone’s go-to person for whatever they might need, and the Loner’s prices were always the fairest in the community. Despite the unlivable conditions beyond their walls, the Loner eventually settled into a comfortable life. They finally weren’t alone.

Death

Of all of the causes the members of the old society died from, the Loner died peacefully of old age. The friends they’d made in local survivors made the journey to their fortress to stay with them in their final hours. It was a peaceful release, the most peaceful the survivors witnessed in the many years following the outbreak, and it was the end of the Loner’s long life.

This is a piece I wrote for a creative writing course I took recently. I don’t have any current plans to continue it but I thought it’d be nice to share it with you all! I hope you guys like it!

Last Line Tag

Thank you for tagging me, @feathered-inkling! I think this was actually just a random bit of writing based off a prompt I found but hey, it still counts!

They tried to push themselves back to their feet as she left the room but, realizing the futility of the thought—and yielding to their own exhaustion—they laid their head back to the floor in resignation.

As usual, I won’t directly tag anyone. If you see this and want to do it, however, feel free to say I tagged you!

It’d been years since he’d last seen him, but there was no mistaking that crooked nose or the mole above his left eyebrow. Nothing was left of the sunny little boy he’d caught sneaking crumbs from his birthday cake, but years of missing his older brother couldn’t have possibly been easy for him.

- Excerpt from one of my WIPs

Last Line Tag

Thank you for tagging me, @musicofglassandwords!

I’ve mostly just been editing/revising old writing lately, thanks to being really out of practice. Here’s a bit from my most recent writing that’s actually new though!

He tore the note from the journal and set it next to her belongings before gathering his own and heading back outside. Securing the bag of supplies to the saddle, he mounted Sage again and headed back towards town.

Not the most interesting bit, I know, but for once it appears I actually finished a scene when I finished writing. What a shocker.

Tagging: @radley-writes @eggletine @wildler

I don’t have a ton of mutuals in the writing community here so I’m not tagging too many people. Feel free to skip this if y’all want and, for those of you that see this but weren’t tagged, feel free to tag me if you’d like to do this as well!

7/7/7 Tag!

The wonderful @radley-writes​ tagged me for this (thank you!). You can read their post here! 

Rules: Seventh page, 7th line, 7 sentences. 

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As soon as she left, Charles slumped back in the seat, closing his eyes as the noise of the crowd washed over him. He’d have his dinner here and, with any luck, would get a room at another inn. That didn’t seem too bad. As long as he got a decent night of sleep, he’d be fine. 

With a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and looked out at the crowded dining room. More people had shown up since he sat down, mostly younger people like him, from what he could tell. A group pushed through the crowd and settled at the booth next to him, their loud conversation preceding them the whole way.

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There isn’t much for action or dialogue here, since this landed on a bit of a transition. It’s also from draft one of my current WIP, which hasn’t really been edited much yet, oops.

I don’t have anyone in particular to tag, but if you’d like to do this too, maybe tag me so that I can see your writing!

True sky (on Wattpad) http://w.tt/1qzQWDG Tsuna was always ignored by his family. When his little brothers Yuki and Takashi returned from Italy where they trained to be Vongola heirs. They didn't know that Tsuna isn't no-good child like they thought he is. Suprise! 1 Vongola generation is back~ Will they accept twins ? Sorry this is my first fanfic! T^T

“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”

— Louis L'Amour

Morwen, Feanor y la traición Elfica (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/rZmGEU886U Feanor, un Elfo un tanto peculiar, que tiene un flechazo (nunca mejor dicho), por Morwen, una Drow un tanto bestia, y juntos descubrirán lo que es la traición. "Feanor hizo su paseo matutino cuando de repente vio animales corriendo y oyó un pequeño silbido rozando su oreja, al observar lo que era, vio que se trataba de una flecha, asustado, se da la vuelta y observa a una drow cazando, desde ese entonces supo que la quería volver a ver."

Haikyuu final arc hc's and oneshots (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/267665948-haikyuu-final-arc-hc%27s-and-oneshots?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=weeb_bokeeeeeeee&wp_originator=iu34WZq6NnThlsyMVJmK1W95DzpwYlwk2WrSVjo0BTgCyteadrR3gYNL5Llv2OOWOCYhad9Q8AHS7y%2BoYfCm7wT%2BR6cVscmZUR5hx4wUflNPiA8X8817D%2Fyxbo9cuTi7 

 Includes many time skips

MSBY black jackals and Schweiden adlers included

 i can't find any of these on wattpad, tumblr or any other place

 soo yeah head cannons oneshots yk it that's the drill

 started: 28/04/21 

ended: ?

New playlist !!!!!!

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#playlist

Random things I wrote amidst exam stress....

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#poetsofinstagram #poem #life #sky #world #living #poems #poetsociety #poetrycommunity #poetsofig #poets #womanpoets #words #foryoupage #blue #green #georgia #tbilisigeorgia #poemoftheday #new #writers #writer #writing

I decided to write a story.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF DEATH,MURDER, AND VIOLENCE

Chapter 1- I’m God.

My brother does not have a grave. He now has nobody no no body. All I have now are notes he left in his books and I wished there were many,many yellow notes so I could keep reading his mind.

My brother does not have a grave and I could give him mine. But would he take it ?

My hands were never stained from blood ,not yet. So I’m not a sinner, yet. But I have a gun in my bag. How far will I go without being a sinner?

Mr. Winston's son had a vase in his room. It was an odd placement , with no match to its environment. The vase , bright yellow and golden stripes blinded me every time. But I always spent too much time looking at it. Maybe because I love yellow. Mr. Winston's son had a smile that I never liked -too fake and yet he wins people over,like the lottery.

“You don’t speak much do you ?” His smile falls casually. I nod.

He continues and this time like every single time ,it’s a proposition that rests on the table between us.

He slid the file to me.

Mr.Winston's son wants to kill his father. He wants me to kill his father. I’ve never killed any father and only watched mine die , but to get to this room , that is enough.

Mr.Winston’s son wants me to kill his father and mostly I would have said no. But my brother is dead and I can only blame two - Mr. Winston and God.

So for just a day, I want to play God.

When I agree to his proposal, I see doubt lingering in his eyes. I’ve only lived as long as him but I read people like I’ve been alive for years.

He gifts me a gun and salvation.

I don’t smile as I leave.

Dante and Virgil in Hell, William Adolphe Bouguereau (1850)

Excerpt from prologue :

Death does not knock. She comes unannounced, barging in brutally and leaving behind an inert body. Adanna never expected death to leave behind her father’s corpse, sprawling in the middle of their great chamber, letting his putrid scent spread through their little household. No blood and no disease — just gone. This is what alcohol did to a man — or so the old lady living on the street used to say. How could Adanna have known she was right ? No one ever listens to the blather of the seniles.

A deceased man could not speak anymore, could not lie, nor drink, nor hit. The only thing her father could do was lie there on the ground with vacant eyes, facing the ceiling, his mouth partially open, emanating a breath that held no warmth. The overwhelming smell lingered in every corner, clinging to her hair and the dying plants. There was only one reason why she hadn’t gotten rid of the body sooner : a need, sharp and gnawing, was driving her mad.

Rotting flesh is bitter, Adanna realised— far too late, after a few days.

Kneeling in the mud, retching the sour tang of decay still clinging to her tongue, she cursed the moment her teeth had sunk into cold flesh, driven by an odd curiosity, urging and impossible to justify. Patience always made for finer meat— or so she thought. But, Death was imminent and thus it demanded immediate consumption.

Thought ?

St. Clara orando en el coro de San Damián, José Benlliure y Gil 

As they gather to pray, voice humming with holiness, the devil on my shoulder will whisper louder than their hymns :

"Take ! Take ! Take !

Make her yours !"

And I want ! Want ! Want !

- Aelenist

My character study

#day1 : sharing random quotes from my book

Hare with young, oil on panel, Henriette Ronner-Knip (1821-1909)

Whoosh, whoosh. This is, now, the time when sun holds its highest place in the sky. this is when you step through the warm field of blooming poppies, lily sprouts, and tulip buds.

On this path of nurturing life, growth awaits you, welcomes vitality. Make a wish for a spark of life. Whether you seek a bountiful harvest, the blossoming of youth or fertility, The path of the hare leads you to the temple. Encounter his effigy. Offer him your devotion. Present your prayer.

When your wishes align with nature’s rhythm, only the hare can satisfy it. Always leave offerings—young fruit trees, tender buds or fresh herbage—to display your gratitude.

- Aelenist

(Context : snippet of a story with different types of gods with different utility. Please give feedback !)

I just published "A/N" of my story "First Comes Hell, Then Comes Heaven". https://my.w.tt/gSutDDx471

A Single Drop (on Wattpad) http://w.tt/1PNUpZ1 Ivona Angelo has found peace and love with her new life in Australia when the past she hoped to escape catches up with her; threatening the lives of everyone she loves. To protect them she has to face Aquarius, a witch despised by all, but doesn’t want the consequences of what will happen by accepting that power.

Hetalia one-shots (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/252571615-hetalia-one-shots?

The unknown love (on Wattpad) http://my.w.tt/UiNb/3bCprxKNvG read to found about what it is about yeah i use their real names but i don't mean anything bad about them and none of the pictures that i use are mine and sorry for my english if its bad