Series

Does Joel Die in The Last of Us?
The Last of Us series has captivated audiences with its heart-wrenching storytelling and powerful emotional moments. Joel’s tragic death, one of the most impactful events in the series, has left fans both shocked and devastated.
By Shoaib Rehman8 months ago in Fiction
FIFTY SHADES 4: Revenge Teaser (2025)
The soothing sound of a piano plays as the camera reveals a stunning clip villa for a breathtaking view. The villa is surrounded by rocks with the golden hues of sunset reflecting off the endless ocean. The camera pans over the estate revealing calm and serenity. The view almost looks peaceful. There is a breeze which adds to the nostalgia of the landscape. Time seems to have stopped in this paradise.
By Shoaib Rehman8 months ago in Fiction
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden The wind carried whispers through the towering oaks of Forend’s Forest, weaving between emerald leaves and tangled vines. Here, amidst the deep roots and ancient thickets, Sylwen Thornshade walked in silent communion with the land. She was one of Silvanna’s chosen, a vessel, a voice, a guardian of Nature. Every breath Sylwen took was an oath to the goddess, a vow to maintain the balance between life and destruction.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
Silverfire. AI-Generated.
The snow fell softly that night — not in flurries, but like a hush laid gently over the earth. A quiet so complete, I could hear the faintest creak of old branches, the brittle crunch of frost beneath my boots. I’d learned to listen to the absence of sound lately. Not just notice it — really listen to it. Silence, I’d found, isn’t empty. It speaks. You just have to get quiet enough to hear it.
By Jeremie Nelson 8 months ago in Fiction
Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche
Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche The moon hung low over the ruined chapel, its pale light casting long shadows through broken archways and shattered stained glass. The once-holy ground had become a desecrated battlefield, littered with the rattling remains of the restless dead. They clawed forward, skeletal hands grasping at the dwarf who stood in their path, his breath steaming in the cold night air.Thurgrim Ironhold tightened his grip around his weapon—a massive spiked maul, the head of which was adorned with jagged steel, each edge blessed by the unyielding will of Eniche. His armor, plated and brutal, bristled with spikes of its own, a reflection of the god he served. A deity of war, of discipline, of strength unbroken in the face of evil.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
Dodge and the Elemental Fire Ale
With an audible ‘Snap-Crackle-Ouch!’, Dodge’s worn boots skidded across the scorched rock beneath him, leaving behind the distinct scent of singed leather and nearly sending him sliding into the worst bath of his life in a pool of lava. He landed in a crouch, panting, the merciless heat of the cavern clawing at his lungs like an overeager blacksmith testing his forge.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)8 months ago in Fiction
The Soulmark Theory
Chapter 1: Before it begins Its Spring. Not to warm in this classroom yet. The Teacher opened the windows regardless "a breath of fresh air, for the next class.".
By Kathy8 months ago in Fiction
The Keeper of Forgotten Colors
The world had forgotten color when Elara was a child, the Fade stealing hues like a thief in the night. Skies turned to ash, forests to charcoal, and eyes saw only gray. Paintings crumbled, flowers withered, and the word “blue” became a myth. Elders spoke of a time when rainbows arced and sunsets burned, but to Elara’s generation, it was folklore. Yet Elara, now twenty-three, was different. She remembered. In a crumbling lighthouse on a jagged cliff, she became the Keeper, weaving colors from memories in a world that had none.Each night, Elara climbed the lighthouse’s rusted spiral stairs, her hands stained with impossible shades. In a room of shattered mirrors, her loom—a relic of bone and wire—hummed with power. She wove blue from her mother’s shawl, its sapphire folds swaying as she sang lullabies. Red came from the apple she’d stolen at seven, its juice sharp on her tongue. Gold flared from sunsets she’d chased across cliffs, their warmth lingering in her chest. Every thread cost a memory, erased forever. Her mother’s voice faded, then the apple’s taste, then those sunsets’ glow. Elara gave them willingly. The world needed color more than she needed her past.Below, the town of Graysill scoffed. “Colors?” fishermen muttered, kicking gray pebbles. “Delusions.” But children left offerings at the lighthouse—pebbles smeared with charcoal, chalk, anything resembling hue. Elara collected them, her heart aching for their hope. One stormy night, a girl slipped inside. Kiv, ten years old, with slate-gray eyes, stared at Elara’s glowing threads. “You’re real,” she whispered. “Can you make green?”Elara’s breath caught. Green was her last untouched memory: her father’s laugh, fishing on a lake under emerald pines. “It costs me,” she said, voice like sea fog. Kiv stepped closer, her small hand brushing Elara’s. “Then let me help.”No one had offered before. Elara hesitated, then taught Kiv to weave—not with threads, but stories. Kiv spoke of a kite she’d flown, its tail a ghost of green in her mind. The loom sparked, green shimmering, but Kiv’s eyes stayed gray—she couldn’t see it. “Keep telling,” Elara urged. Kiv’s voice grew bold: meadows where she’d run, limes she’d tasted, a jade pendant her mother once wore. The green thread thickened, vibrant, alive, curling like vines in the air.Rumors spread. Children crept to the lighthouse, then adults, each carrying fragments—memories of crimson roses, violet storms, amber dawns.
By TrueVocal8 months ago in Fiction
The Writing on the Firewall. Content Warning.
The first one - three days before - mene mene ~ "I don't give a shit! Get fucking rid of them! Have they all signed NDAs? Make sure they have, and then I want them gone!"
By L.C. Schäfer8 months ago in Fiction
The Narrator and the Author. Top Story - June 2025.
This is the final installment of The ShambElla Saga... or is it? Table of Contents: Previous Chapter: The Narrator and the Author
By C. Rommial Butler8 months ago in Fiction
The Underground.
This happened back when I was working as an investigative journalist. I was assigned on a project, but the site we were supposed to investigate was far from where I lived. Like, really far. A village way out in the hills. Isolated. No cameras, no networks. Just people and land.
By Ruth Girma 8 months ago in Fiction
Easily Spooked. Top Story - June 2025.
Here I am again, surrounded by chintz, faced with tea and watery eyes, the bloody dog staring at me. What was it Mickey said? I ask the wrong questions. Could be he's right. Well, it's hard to ask the right ones when your stumbling in the dark.
By L.C. Schäfer8 months ago in Fiction