Fan Fiction
MHOS Part 3: The set up. Content Warning.
I get ready for my date with Shawn, taking one last look in the mirror, then I head to the restaurant early so I can scope the place out before my date. It's nothing special, it's small, quiet and have a TV sitting above the bar playing the news. So I sit down, I pull out my little notebook and finish the notes on the last short story I wrote & I watch the news. As I am writing away in my notebook a plate of appetizers I never ordered is set down in front of me. I look up and there is Shawn, wearing an apron, carrying a notepad asking me if I'd like to order yet.
By Her Ellaness♿️3 months ago in Fiction
After-care
Charlie was tossing and turning something fierce in his deep sleep. He had gone to bed in a bad mood. He and Zoey were having petty arguments and then making it up poorly by having half-assed sex. Charlie felt so empty before and after these interactions between Zoey. They used to have hot, passionate intercourse in the beginning of their relationship, but lack of understanding the other’s love language and communication problems caused endless fights over small things that Charlie believed were dumb.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 months ago in Fiction
Falling in Love With Someone From Another Timeline
The Voice on the Radio It began on a stormy Thursday night when Ethan was alone in his apartment, struggling to fix an old radio he had purchased from a flea market. The device was nearly fifty years old and barely functional, but Ethan enjoyed restoring vintage electronics in his spare time. As rain battered the windows and thunder echoed across the city, he adjusted one of the radio's rusted dials. Suddenly, a clear voice emerged through the static.
By Robert Redford3 months ago in Fiction
The Photograph That Changes Every Morning
The Unexpected Package The photograph arrived on a rainy Tuesday morning in a plain brown package with no return address. Daniel almost ignored it, assuming it was another delivery intended for someone else in the apartment building. But his name was written clearly across the front. Curious, he carried it inside and carefully opened it on the kitchen table. Nestled within layers of yellowed newspaper was an old wooden frame containing a black-and-white photograph of a Victorian house standing alone at the edge of a forest. The image appeared ordinary at first glance. The house looked abandoned, its windows dark and lifeless beneath a cloudy sky. A narrow path stretched from the front porch into the woods beyond. There was no note, no explanation, and no indication of who had sent it. After staring at it for several minutes, Daniel simply shrugged and placed it on a shelf in his living room.
By Robert Redford3 months ago in Fiction
MHOS Part 2: A meet-cute. Content Warning.
I'm in a bar on a sunday afternoon, sitting in a booth in the back, people watching with a big messy table in front of me and a big open bag taking up the seat across from me. I'm eating lunch while grading papers and taking notes in a little book, characters, for short stories I write in my spare time. Tragic romance novels, inspired by Romeo & Juliet, where the heroin loses the hero just as they thought they were going to get their happy ending.
By Her Ellaness♿️3 months ago in Fiction
He Talks in His Sleep, But It’s Not His Voice: The Chilling Secret Behind My Fiancé’s Nightmares. AI-Generated.
The rain was beating heavily against my kitchen window last night, matching the restless energy of the young woman sitting across from me. Her name was Sarah. She is twenty-six, a schoolteacher with a bright smile that, lately, had been entirely swallowed by exhaustion.
By Eleanor Vance3 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror of Althazar. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
The iron foundry at the edge of the world ran twenty-four hours a day, fueled by the embers of fallen stars. The blacksmiths who worked there were massive men and women with skin like treated leather and eyes that reflected the white-hot glow of the crucibles. Their task was to forge the armor for the kingdom’s celestial guard—suits of plate mail so dense that no arrow, sword, or spell could pierce them.
By Asghar ali awan3 months ago in Fiction
The Merchant of Shadows
The weavers of the High Steppe did not use wool or silk. They sat on the rocky precipices where the wind whipped through the canyons like a physical weight, and they wove the air itself. Using needles carved from the bones of mountain eagles, they captured the invisible currents, turning gusts into heavy blankets and gentle breezes into delicate, translucent veils that could ward off the fiercest winter frost.
By Asghar ali awan3 months ago in Fiction
My Hazbin Origin Story(MHOS): Part 1 I'm a bitch with a back story. Content Warning.
It's the 1970's and after the law failing to get me justice I have become a vigilante. It started with the demon who defiled me and walked away scott free, but by that point I was so filled with hatred and a deep seeded feeling of injustice that I didn't feel like I had done my part yet. More of them needed to meet their demise. They needed to feel the fear they inflicted on others. They needed to see my face when they felt it. There is no fixing monsters like them, but giving them a reason to be afraid when they watch the evening news was enough for me.
By Her Ellaness♿️3 months ago in Fiction
