Fan Fiction

Gentle & Healing
We learn how to care for others, how to show compassion, patience, and understanding—yet when it comes to our own hearts, we become harsh critics. Healing begins the moment we decide to speak to ourselves with kindness instead of judgment. Gentleness is not weakness. It is strength wrapped in softness. It is choosing peace over pressure and progress over perfection. ealing Starts With Awareness Many emotional wounds are not visible. They live quietly in our thoughts, shaped by past disappointments, unmet expectations, and words that once hurt us. Often, we carry these wounds without realizing how deeply they influence our daily lives. Healing begins when we become aware of our inner dialogue. Ask yourself: How do I speak to myself when I fail? When I feel tired? When I fall behind? If your inner voice is critical or unforgiving, it may be time to replace it with gentler words—words that heal instead of harm.
By Awa Nyassi2 months ago in Fiction
🚆 Leaving the Map Behind
I packed my bag three times before I closed the zipper. Not because I needed more things, but because I needed more courage. Every item felt like a decision. What version of myself was I bringing with me. What version I was finally leaving behind.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
✍️ Ink on a Moving Target
A character learns what it feels like to be revised while still breathing I notice it before it happens. There’s a tightening in the air, a faint tug behind my eyes, the sense that the floor beneath the sentence has gone soft. That’s when my author pauses. That’s when I know I’m about to change again.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
The Voice Behind the Mirror
"We hit something. I think we hit a deer." "That wasn't a deer. That sound was too solid. Like a stone wall." "The engine is dead. Try starting it again."
By Fathi Jalil2 months ago in Fiction
How to Survive the Night Shift Alone
Step 1: Enter the Building Quietly The night puts its shadow around you,--and it is silent and alert. Be careful when approaching the front door, taking every step. The old hinges' complaint evokes pity, and even the slightest creak echoes more loudly in the silence. Motion sensors are blinking slightly, and they are in synchronisation with your beat, and you wait until the rhythm gets steady. Feel the resistance of the lock by gently inserting the keycard, then use force only when necessary. Every moment of silence as well as every intentional movement is essential; a false step would trigger something intangible, hidden, and on the alert.
By ZUBAIR2 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror That Refused to Forget 🪞
The mirror hung in the hallway between the bedroom and the bathroom, framed in dark wood that had softened with age. Its surface was not cracked, not warped, but no longer perfectly clear. When light struck it just right, faint marks appeared — smudges that never fully disappeared, no matter how carefully it was cleaned.
By Zidane2 months ago in Fiction
NEON BLOOD EMPIRE
The night the city tried to kill her the sky was burning red and the alarms never stopped screaming and Nyx Virel stood in the middle of Sector Nine with blood on her hands not all of it hers watching a skyscraper collapse like a dying giant behind her while drones hunted her name through the air the city of Axiom Prime was not supposed to look afraid it was built to dominate to control to erase weakness but tonight it was trembling because Nyx had stolen something that was never meant to be touched the Core Seed a living quantum intelligence buried under the city for two hundred years and every gang every syndicate every artificial god connected to the grid wanted her dead Nyx did not run because she was scared she ran because standing still meant extinction and as she jumped across broken rails and burning streets memories flashed of the moment she met Kael Draven the man who taught her how to survive how to shoot without hesitation how to love without fear and how to trust in a world that punished trust the moment she landed hard on the steel bridge her comm crackled with his voice calm sharp alive telling her he was coming that he would get her out like he always did but this time the city itself had turned into a weapon and the gangs were not just criminals anymore they were armies enhanced by illegal cybernetic rituals feeding on fear and data and Nyx knew this was no longer a job gone wrong this was war and she was at the center of it whether she wanted to be or not
By Diab the story maker 2 months ago in Fiction
The Bicycle by the Creek 🚲
The bicycle lay on its side near the bend of the creek, half-hidden by tall grass and reeds that whispered whenever the wind passed through. Its paint had once been blue, bright enough to catch sunlight, but years had softened it into something closer to the color of the sky just before rain.
By Zidane2 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of Ordinary Days. AI-Generated.
Every morning at exactly seven-thirty, Imran unlocked the shop. Not earlier. Not later. The key turned with a soft resistance he had memorized years ago. The bell above the door rang once, then settled. He switched on the lights, straightened the counter, and placed the ledger in the same position it had occupied for as long as he could remember.
By Mehwish Jabeen2 months ago in Fiction
🎄 The Christmas Elevator That Refused to Be Normal 🎄
The elevator in the Hollyberry Heights apartment building had one job. Go up. Go down. Do not talk. And for eleven months of the year, it did that job beautifully.
By Zidane2 months ago in Fiction
The Falcon Who Left the Cliffs
There was once a young peregrine falcon who believed the elders spoke too often and listened too little. They told her stories of the cliffs where they nested—how those gray stone walls had stood for thousands of years, shaped by wind and sea, yet strong enough to carry generation after generation of falcons. They spoke with reverence, as if the cliffs themselves were living elders. But the young falcon felt only discomfort.
By Jhon smith2 months ago in Fiction
🌩️ Writing Stories That Breathe Inside a Storm
Introduction ✨ Storms are not just weather. In storytelling, they are pressure systems. They compress emotion, distort time, strip characters down to essentials, and force decisions that calm days allow people to avoid. A storm changes how characters move, think, speak, and remember. It disrupts routine and reveals truth.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction