Fan Fiction
🌙 The Thing I Shouldn’t Have Forgotten
The night was shaped like a sigh, long and pulled thin across the sky, the sort of dusk that made streetlights blink awake before their time. Rowan stepped off the last bus with that weird half-present feeling, the one you get after staring out a window too long. His head buzzed with leftover daydreams, the kind that stick to your clothes. He slung his backpack over one shoulder, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and started toward his apartment as the bus rumbled away behind him.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
The Last Lightkeeper
No one had lived in it for years—not since Elias Marrow vanished on a fog-heavy morning and left the shoreline without its keeper. Yet every evening at dusk, without fail, the lantern ignited. A thin beam of gold carved through the dark like a watchful eye, sweeping over the waves with mechanical precision.
By Iazaz hussain2 months ago in Fiction
The Timekeeper’s Last Message
In the towering, neon-soaked city of Zareenabad, where hover-cars zipped between sky-bridges and digital billboards painted the night with electric colors, lived a quiet mechanic named Arib Khan. His workshop was small, buried between high-tech repair shops and drone-delivery terminals, but Arib didn’t mind. He liked small spaces. They made the world feel manageable — predictable.
By Iazaz hussain2 months ago in Fiction
The Weaver's Truth
In a quiet corner of the city, tucked between a bakery and a bookshop, was Elara’s tailor shop, “The Mended Seam.” Its true treasure wasn't on display. It was a threadbare tailcoat of no particular color, hanging on a brass hook in the back, known only to those who were truly lost. Elara called it the Weaver’s Coat.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
🌩️ The Day the World Took a Breath
Nobody warns you about the days that start out painfully average. The ones where your slippers are hiding under the couch, your coffee maker sputters like it’s filing for retirement, and you step outside already feeling like someone hit the “low battery” icon on your forehead. Those days? They’re sneaky. They pretend to be nothing… right until the universe decides to throw a plot twist straight at your face.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
Footsteps Behind the Wall
The first time Mira heard the footsteps, she blamed the old building. Her apartment in Halliston Heights had a habit of making strange noises—pipes cooling, wood bending, air shifting through tight spaces. It was the kind of place where you either learned to ignore sounds or drove yourself mad trying to interpret them.
By Hanif Ullah 2 months ago in Fiction
🚂 THE WINDOW THAT WOULDN’T LOOK AWAY
Jessa Lane pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the train window, watching the town she grew up in shrink into a watercolor smear. The early morning light was soft enough to feel merciful, turning the passing trees into ink strokes and the roads into silver ribbons disappearing behind her. She hadn’t meant to leave this soon. She hadn’t meant to leave like this at all. But here she was at six forty-three in the morning, fleeing before she could second-guess herself.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
The majesty . Content Warning.
The Majesty In a small, rich city called Baybal, there lived a very old woman. It was announced to the people of the city that the woman had to announce the new king who was going to take over. This came as a surprise to the bitter and wicked Kai, the first son of the woman, Sally.
By Uhone Titus 2 months ago in Fiction
Robbers who?. AI-Generated.
It was late in the evening when four men gathered in a small apartment. The air smelled faintly of rain, and the streets outside were quiet. Inside, the room was lit by a single overhead light, and a table in the center was covered with papers, maps, and coffee cups. The men had been preparing for days, but tonight, everything would come together.
By William Ebden.2 months ago in Fiction
THE BEST LAID PLANS
The morning started with that jittery kind of hope that feels like a soft drumline under your ribs. You know the vibe. A fresh sunrise bleeding orange over the neighborhood roofs. Birds chirping like they finally decided to unionize and commit to overtime. And in the middle of it all stood Jessa, clutching her planner like it was a holy relic.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
The Twelve-Mile Home
For a decade, Leo’s life had been a study in motion. His identity was “super-commuter.” He lived in a neighbourhood called Oakwood, but his life was in the gleaming city center, twelve miles and two train rides away. His days were a blur of platforms, noise-canceling headphones, and the hypnotic rhythm of tracks. Oakwood was just the place where his apartment stored his stuff while he was gone.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
