Fan Fiction

The Shift That Doesn't Exist
The Shift That Doesn't Exist Reed Morrison had been working the night shift at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner for three years, four months, and sixteen days. Not that anyone at the diner acknowledged this. Linda, the manager, continued to look mildly confused whenever Reed showed up for work, as if seeing them for the first time. The payroll system, however, had no such confusion—Reed's checks arrived with clockwork precision every two weeks, made out to "R. Morrison" in slightly faded ink.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Fiction
Sick and Sweet
There he goes, his sixth cigarette of the afternoon. It's not like when he's on a "power trip" (like last night), but even so, I know some kind of nonsense is about to start, and I'm going to have to play my part, too. It's a routine, it's destructive, and it's damn addictive.
By Maggie Z4 months ago in Fiction
The Quantum Locksmith
The bell above Elias’s door didn’t tinkle; it hummed a faint C-sharp, the resonant frequency of their particular slice of reality. His shop was a chaotic museum of what-ifs and almost-weres. Gears turned without touching, crystals hummed with captured starlight, and on the wall hung keys of every description—not for physical doors, but for temporal and quantum ones.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Organization . Top Story - September 2025.
“Take the Bermuda Triangle, for example.” Rolan said, gesticulating wildly with his 8th, or possibly 9th, Styrofoam cup of coffee.
By Sandor Szabo4 months ago in Fiction
The Night of Screams
The village of Dargahpur had always been a quiet corner of the world. Tucked between green hills and thick forests, it was the kind of place where time moved slowly. Life was simple: men worked in the fields, women gathered at the well, and children played barefoot in the dust. For generations, peace ruled here. The biggest excitement was the endless chain of gossip.
By Muhammad yar4 months ago in Fiction
Taking a Moment for Peace
Taking a Moment for Peace The world feels louder than ever. Every time we turn on the television, scroll through our phones, or tune into the radio, we are met with a flood of headlines. Some tell stories of hope and progress, but far too many speak of riots, shootings, war, political conflict, natural disasters, and countless forms of unrest. It often feels like humanity is stuck in an endless cycle of crisis after crisis, and it can become overwhelming for the soul.
By Wings of Time 4 months ago in Fiction
In This Memory
That we lived in the house so long after what happened is something I'll never understand. We sealed up her room but the house itself was an altar to her presence. You couldn't walk over a creaky floorboard or see a line on a wall from one of her markers that didn't flood your mind with memories so vivid and strong it felt like a stroke. God, did we miss her.
By Wings of Time 4 months ago in Fiction
"The Days I Didn’t Want to Be Here—and What Saved Me"
Some stories are hard to tell, not because they’re unclear, but because they are too clear. So vivid, so real, that every time you speak them aloud, they hurt all over again. This is one of those stories.
By fazalhaq4 months ago in Fiction
The Lantern of Willowbrook
Start writing... In the year 1784, the village of Willowbrook lay nestled between rolling hills and a gentle river that sparkled under the morning sun. Cobblestone streets wound between timber-framed houses, their chimneys puffing delicate smoke into the crisp autumn air. Villagers moved with a rhythm as old as the hills themselves, tending to gardens, fetching water from the fountain, and greeting one another with warm smiles. Every morning, the bells of the small church rang softly, announcing the start of another day in the peaceful village.
By Muhammad Riaz4 months ago in Fiction
The Dream Market Auction
The air in the underground vault was thick with expensive smoke and desperate desire. This was the Veiled Bazaar, where the hyper-rich of Neo-Sanctuary came to buy what they could no create themselves: real, unfiltered emotion. Lysander moved through the crowd, a ghost in a tailored suit. He was a Dream Trader. His product was humanity, bottled and sold by the milliliter.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
Stagnant Waters
Special Agent Thomas J. Beeman stood at the edge of the brackish green backwater, looking over his surroundings. Taking a deep breath of the humid, putrid-smelling air, he almost gagged. The Mentholatum that he normally used to cover crime scene smells didn’t seem to work here. It appeared the stench of death and decay was one he’d never get used to.
By Mother Combs4 months ago in Fiction
AI Is Coming for Culture
We stand at a moment unlike any in recent memory — a crossroads where culture, creativity, and technology collide in ways that promise both beauty and disruption. Artificial Intelligence (AI) isn’t just an assistant or tool anymore. It’s becoming a collaborator, rival, mirror, and sometimes even a challenger to what we once thought was uniquely human.
By Shohel Rana4 months ago in Fiction