The Birth of The Timekeeper is the beginning of a story of the primordial elements of creation, one of many but this perspective is captivating.

Ever thought what would happen if you put the two most iconic creatures in fiction, the werewolf and the vampire and have them be in a LGBT soap opera in the style of an anime. Well then stick around and keep reading.

THE CITY WAS SICK—A METALLIC THING COUGHING SPARKS UNDER A CHOKED SKY. THE RAIN SMELLED LIKE STATIC, AND DYNA RELL LOVED THAT SHIT!

📢 Excerpt from "The Last Signal" – A Sci-Fi Mystery Awaits! 🚀 "In the year 2187, Earth is dead. The last survivors have fled. But from the frozen wastes of Pluto, a signal pulses into the void—'WE ARE STILL HERE. COME BACK.' Dr. Elara Voss, a lone scientist listening to the echoes of a lost civilization, makes a chilling discovery: the message isn’t from humans. At least, not anymore. 🔍 What awaits her on Pluto? 🤖 Why does the signal wear a familiar face? ⚠️ And what happens when the last listener becomes part of the transmission? Dive into this eerie sci-fi tale where humanity’s last hope might be its greatest nightmare. Click to read the full story—before the signal finds you too. 👇 (Would you answer the call?)

Story of a soldier that has been marooned on a distant but familiar planet. Chase Gowen Must find out what world he has been captive on and find out why there was no mission to recover him as commander and chief of the Infamous Death Star Battalion.

Agent Teodoro Abhay is the greatest spy in his country of Knosk. Van Jara is the most dangerous criminal in Knosk. The two are sent on a mission to take a doctor doing some 'questionable' medical practises. How will this end?

My husband and I lived in sector A-01, the closest neighborhood to the watchtower. Every job in this world is chosen for you, according to your skills and interests. My chosen job was unique. I was to be an “Observer”. A part of the great leader’s observation team, whose only purpose is to observe, learn, and make sure they do not go off the Rules set forth by our ancestors. “Are you stressed?” My husband stood in the kitchen archway. His arm rested against the wall. He still wore his bed clothes, and his hair was a short mess. "Of course, I'm stressed, but I think I'll be fine," I said, glancing up at him from the kitchen table. "It's not every day one interviews to become a great leader," he said, a gentle tease in his voice. But beneath it, I could detect a hint of the same apprehension that I was feeling.

I remember the night air being particularly dry as I made my way back from the river. There was always this faint metallic taste whenever I breathed on the human side, like iron dust floating on the wind. It reminded me of the enormous Iron walls that stood as a barrier between my world and hers. I clung to the shadows, sneaking past the harsh beams of the spotlights mounted along the wall’s perimeter. They blazed downward, scanning the barren stretch of rocky ground like giant, unblinking eyes. My boots crunched against the gravel despite my efforts to stay quiet. Above me, the wall’s dark metal surface gleamed under the cold moonlight. It rose so high it seemed to blend into the night sky. Built decades, maybe even centuries ago, it was a paradox of old-world engineering and futuristic reinforcement. Steam vents hissed from hidden pipes while sleek sensor panels pulsed with tiny red lights. Whenever a beam of light passed overhead, I froze, my heart hammering in my chest.

...“Kale? Landon?” I call out, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. “I brought dinner!” The sound of small footsteps pattering toward me is usually enough to lift my spirits, but as my four-year-old twins barrel into my arms, something strange happens. The moment they make contact, the world seems to freeze. Their laughter stops mid-ring, their little bodies going rigid in my embrace. “Guys?” I say, panic creeping into my voice. I glance up and see my wife standing at the end of the hallway. Her face is serene, a soft smile playing on her lips, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink. The silence is deafening. I try to speak again, to move, but it feels as though the air has turned to cement around me. Then, a voice, eerily familiar, echoes around me. “This isn’t how it happened, Thomas. You know what really happened.” The warmth of my kids’ arms around me fades. The world dissolves into darkness, cold, and unfeeling...

I started this book a long time ago. I have a couple of chapters but need help/ ideas on where I should take this story.

I was certain death had taken me. Failure. I knew it was a possibility, but it had been the only hope. The walls, the structure of our very universe, had been falling inward. Something had to be done. My people were a harsh, crue,l and selfish society, but they were mine. I could not accept that there was no chance for them to do something good and worthy with their lives if they only had the time to learn. I was given that time, and I have put my life and everything in me on the line to give them the same chance to grow. They were my people, and in trying to save them, I have destroyed them all...Except for my brother. He will be changed, but he will live on... Now, whatever afterlife awaits, I must face it.

This is a poem about having did! DID is dissociative identity disorder. And is something I relate to. so here's a poem about it

“The Parable of the Seed Trader”: Unlock the secret of money in a tale that will transform how you see wealth forever. The Parable of the Seed Trader follows Lira, a curious villager with just three coins, as a mysterious trader reveals money’s hidden power. Is it mere metal—or a promise that builds empires? A tool to leverage more than you own? A phenomenon that multiplies beyond imagination? In this captivating story, Lira turns copper into a thriving trade, not by hoarding, but by mastering money’s dance. With every seed she plants, lends, and cycles, her wealth grows—showing you how to do the same. Want to know why money isn’t what you think—and how it can work miracles in your hands? Read this short, enchanting parable and discover the truth that’s eluded millions. Your three coins could be the start of something extraordinary.

Vincent and Kim have been asleep for a very long time. When last they were wakened, the world was young. There was a great upheaval of the planets crust helping the peoples of the earth to relocate to very long. Why do humans need to make a god of one that is not looking for god hood so Vincent and Kim slept again till the world wake them again

Elira never believed the rumors—whispers of people vanishing, their existence erased without a trace. But when she stumbles upon the ancient blueprint, everything changes. The ink moves. The symbols breathe. And then, it whispers her name. The Guild will do anything to keep it hidden. If they catch her, she won’t just disappear—she’ll be erased, as if she never existed. Aidan begs her to burn it, to walk away. But this blueprint is more than just a relic of the past. It’s a key. A prison. A secret her mother died chasing. And now, it’s waiting for her.

A story idea that I was toying with. I am not quite sure if I will actually continue the story. I am attempting to write a full 200+ page novel. I want it to be perfect, so I am quite harsh on myself.

Jell, Seanbeau (Shawn-bowe), and Capri were sky pirates. Jell was the captain of the skyship. She had bright blonde hair, green eyes and always wore the ship’s uniform, a space-and-sky-jacket. Capri was small with a dark brown-auburn bob for hair, and, though she was 14, you’d think she was still a gradeschooler (If it weren’t for her space-and-sky-jacket.). She was incredibly koi, the opposite of the following Seanbeau. Seanbeau was new to the skyship, Corrola Petronella (diamond of the small crown). He was 18 and horrible at his job. He was outlandishly unhygienic and disturbingly rude. He was completely incorrigible, and Jell wanted him off of her ship.

I wish this was a happy story filled with unicorns, dragons, and fairies—you know, the shit you watch in movies or read in books—but sadly, this ain’t one of those whimsical, happy-go-lucky tales. To tell you the beginning of this story, I need to tell you the end of another.

Sasha had terrorized the commune of Deshrentis for long enough. Her latest punishment, 3 moons in the stalks wearing the Mute Mask, a terrifying helmet that pinches the tongue while locking the jaw open and encasing the rest of the head in pure darkness.

What does it mean to be Lisha? What does it mean to be loved? Can I submit to the will of others? Will I?