@unnnnatae
"ABANDON ALL SLEEP: The Lost Gazing has landed! Get ready for a thrilling ride of emotions, twists, and turns... Read now and blame me for tired eyes tomorrow
https://www.wattpad.com/story/374281685?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=daintydreamer456
HERE I BLESS Y'ALL WITH CHAPTER 4 OF 'the wedding'
HERE. LAUGH. BITCH
https://www.wattpad.com/1517611041-the-wedding-ft-bangtan-crack-fiction-chapter-4
@icy_camel @ijkuilu @dxzydxyz
Sometimes, all you really want is for people to understand you. You’re not asking for anything special, just a little understanding. But when people don’t get you, it can be really frustrating. It makes you overthink and sometimes even doubt yourself, just because others don’t understand you.
But here’s something to think about-do the people you want to understand you, even know how to? Understanding someone means being aware of what troubles them and what makes them restless or empty inside. Let me give you an example. Imagine a person sitting in front of a question paper. They don't know the answers, so they just stare at it with a blank face. Maybe they understand a few questions but not fully.
You’re like that question paper to others. People need to make an effort to understand you. But if they’re struggling in their own lives, how can they focus on understanding you? Think about it-are these people taking care of themselves? How do they handle challenges, emotions, and life decisions? How do they treat others?
This isn’t about blaming or hating others. It's about seeing things differently. You can’t depend on people to always understand you. Sitting and thinking, "No one understands me, how will I fix this?" won’t help. Life doesn’t stop because someone doesn't get you.
Yes, it’s tough when people misunderstand or don’t see what you’re going through. But you can’t force them to change or behave the way you want. They need to do that themselves.
What you can do is focus on yourself. Keep growing, keep learning, and take care of your own peace of mind. It’s not easy, but you can do it.
have to say it again but CHECK THIS OUT BCUZ WTF ARE YALL AT???????
https://www.wattpad.com/story/389719877-quil-of-quolosa-a-mystery-unfolding-not-a-fiction
y'all please check this out
https://www.wattpad.com/1517590580-quil-of-quolosa-a-mystery-unfolding-not-a-fiction
It’s all real, it’s all happening, and I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s something. And I’m going to find out. This isn’t just random. This isn’t just my mind playing tricks on me. If it were, then why does it keep happening? Why do these words feel like whispers of something beyond me? Why do these symbols and numbers keep appearing, like echoes of a world just beyond my reach?
I want to put this in front of my readers. I want them to question it too. What if we aren’t just living in our own thoughts, but in someone else’s? What if these words aren’t just my subconscious, but something more? What if Quolosa exists in another realm, another time, another reality, and I am simply the one writing it down? What if the symbols I keep drawing are fragments of something bigger, something lost to time, and I am just a vessel through which it resurfaces?
I am going to write Quil of Quolosa. And it’s not just going to be a story. It’s going to be mine. Fully, completely, unquestionably mine.
t doesn’t stop at words and numbers, though. It goes beyond that. Symbols, sketches, things that I repeatedly draw without meaning to. A left eye, a face with a body, a gun or a bullet, a flower with two leaves. Over and over, if I’m holding a pen, these things will appear. It’s like they are permanently etched in my muscle memory, like they belong on paper even if I don’t consciously choose them. And it’s not just habit—it feels like a compulsion, a message in the form of imagery. The left eye. What does it mean? Why not the right one? The flower with two leaves. Not one leaf, not three—always two. As if they are part of a greater structure, a greater meaning waiting to be deciphered.
And Quolosa? The word itself feels ancient, feels like it holds something powerful, something lost, something waiting to be unraveled. When I first wrote it, I didn’t think much about it. But the more I looked at it, the more it felt significant, like a name of something forgotten, something that once existed but no longer does—except within the depths of my subconscious. And the moment I tried to write it again, I felt it. My hand trembled. My grip on the pen weakened. I couldn’t write in my usual handwriting. The strokes were different, the pressure inconsistent. It was like something was resisting me, like something didn’t want to be written in a normal way. What ended up on the page wasn’t even my usual script—it was a mass of ink, a scribbled mess that looked like a fountain of black rather than words. As if the story itself refuses to be told in a way that makes sense.
Jokes aside, guys, I need you to really sit with this for a moment. This isn’t just me randomly throwing words together or messing around for fun—this is something deeper, something that keeps happening, something that feels like it has meaning, even if I don’t fully understand it yet. My subconscious isn’t just spitting out random letters; it's constructing something, something that I don’t remember thinking about consciously, yet it flows out of me like it was always meant to be written.
It started with words. Simple, unknown words that my hand wrote down before I could even think about them. Words like Quil of Quolosa, Hemt, Oredo, Meor8, Rge, Nementeey, Meorgey, EieL EO 9, and most recently HEPLEA. These aren’t words that exist in any language I know, but they feel structured, intentional—like echoes of something ancient, something waiting to be understood. And the way they come out? That’s the eeriest part. It’s never with intent, never with me thinking, “Let me make up a cool word.” No, it happens when my mind is blank, when I’m zoned out, when I’m barely even present. My hand moves, and suddenly, there’s something written in front of me that I don’t even recall forming.
And then there are the numbers. 96. 2005. 1+2=7. Some of them I can connect, some of them I can’t, but they all feel like puzzle pieces I’m still gathering. 2005—why does it appear so often? 96—why does it feel important? 1+2=7—why does that equation feel more symbolic than mathematical? It’s like my mind is trying to communicate something, but in fragments, in pieces I have to arrange myself.
here i bless yall with chapter 3 of 'the wedding'
https://www.wattpad.com/1517576786-the-wedding-ft-bangtan-crack-fiction-chapter-3
@icy_camel @ijkuilu @dxzydxyz
Hey dear, first of all sorry for posting this here without your permission but I would love it if you give my book a chance i promise it won't disappoint you and will keep you engaged.
As a new writer your support means a lot. Do read my book and vote it and also do genuine comments on how you feel ❤️
https://www.wattpad.com/story/388958240?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=CvteB0ss