Fan Fiction
The Question That Changed My Life
The morning sun spilled through the cafĂ© window, painting the wooden table in soft gold. Nora sat alone, her journal open, a black coffee cooling beside her. At 31, she was a freelance copywriter in Austin, cobbling together a living from blog posts and ad campaigns. Her life was a patchwork of deadlines and solitude, a far cry from the dreams sheâd scribbled in that journal years ago. Today, though, something was about to shiftâa single question, asked by a stranger, would crack her world open and change everything.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Pink Heart in the Cage: Escaping Societyâs Expectations
The morning sun spilled over Melbourneâs skyline, painting the Yarra River in hues of rose and gold. Zara stood on her balcony, a chipped mug of coffee in hand, her eyes tracing the cityâs pulse. At 26, she was a graphic designer at a sleek advertising firm, her days filled with client briefs and tight deadlines. Her apartment was a Pinterest board come to lifeâminimalist furniture, pastel cushions, a vision board pinned with quotes about âhustleâ and âsuccess.â But inside her chest, a pink heart beat wildly, trapped in a cage of expectations she hadnât built but felt bound to. Today, that heart was stirring, demanding to be let out.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Man Who Left the Moon Behind
I was the last man to set foot on the Moon. Not because we stopped going, but because no one ever came back after me. It was called the Prometheus Project. A private venture boasting billion-dollar tech, cutting-edge suits, and more AI than any one person should trust. And I'm a washed-up astronaut with nothing left to lose. My wife had passed from cancer, my son no longer spoke to me, and my name had faded from every headline. Prometheus offered what I thought was redemption. -Or at least an escape.
By peter thoithiabout a year ago in Fiction
The Chicken Who Dreamed of Clouds
Once upon a time, in a dusty little barnyard nestled between two sleepy hills, there lived a chicken named Perry. Perry wasnât your ordinary chicken. While most hens were content to peck around for seeds and gossip about roosters, Perry had bigger dreams; sky-sized dreams.
By Basote Lakhpinabout a year ago in Fiction
wrestling story- a reunited family
the camera pans backstage to a the entrance of the building where its basically a army out there and they are everywhere. the ceo is seen walking backstage and theres people at every door basically and every corner of the building. something major is going down but no one knows why and the crowd belives that it has to be a storyline right becaue why else would the show still be going on.
By josh napperabout a year ago in Fiction
Tomura Shigaraki Character breakdown.
This is about the boy who was never meant to become a man â and the man who was never meant to be free. Tomura Shigaraki. Once, he was Tenko Shimuraâ the grandson of a hero, the child of a shattered legacy. But names are fragile things. They crack beneath the weight of grief, and his did too.
By Aira Shinazugawaabout a year ago in Fiction
Fear, Alone: The Quiet Words That Haunt Us
The morning was soft, the kind of dawn that draped the world in a hush, as if the sun itself was hesitant to rise. Clara sat on the edge of her bed, her bare feet grazing the cold hardwood floor. Her apartment was small, a one-bedroom in a quiet corner of Portland, where the walls were thin enough to hear her neighborâs coffee maker hiss each morning. At 29, Clara was a poet, or at least she had been, before the words stopped coming. Now, she was a barista, a listener, a keeper of secretsâher own and othersâ. The quiet words, fear and alone, lived in her chest, heavy as stones, whispering truths she wasnât ready to face.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Unspoken Pact
The Unspoken Promise The first thing Leo remembered was the cold. A damp cardboard box, the sharp scent of wet pavement, and the overwhelming *bigness* of the world. Then, warm hands. Gentle, despite their calluses. They lifted him, and a face swam into view â round, young, with eyes the colour of the sky just before twilight. Ben. Ben smelled of old books, engine grease, and a faint, comforting sweetness like warm bread. Leo pressed his tiny, shivering body against Benâs jacket, and the cold began to recede. That was the pact, unspoken but absolute, forged in that rain-slicked alley: Leo would chase away Benâs cold, and Ben would be Leoâs sun. For twelve years, Leo lived by that pact. He learned the rhythms of Benâs life: the frantic scramble of early mornings punctuated by toast crumbs Leo would hoover up; the deep sighs as Ben slumped onto the sofa after work, Leo immediately claiming the space beside him, a warm, heavy weight against Benâs thigh; the quiet concentration as Ben tinkered with old radios in the garage, Leo content to watch, nose twitching at the scent of solder and dust. Leo learned Benâs silences. There was the tired silence, which Leo answered by resting his chin on Benâs knee. There was the worried silence, brows knitted, which Leo countered by nudging Benâs hand insistently until fingers absently scratched behind his ears, the tension slowly easing. And there was the deep, aching silence that sometimes came after Ben looked at the framed picture of the smiling woman â Benâs sister, Leo somehow understood, gone too soon. That silence Leo met by simply leaning his full weight against Ben, a solid, breathing bulwark against the invisible tide of grief. Life wasnât always warm radiators and shared sandwiches. There was the terrifying thunderstorm when Leo, normally stoic, trembled violently under Benâs desk until Ben crawled under too, murmuring nonsense words into his fur until the storm passed. There was the time Leo ate an entire chocolate cake and spent a night at the vetâs, Benâs face pale with fear until the all-clear. There were walks where Leoâs nose led him into muddy disasters, resulting in shared baths that were more splash-fight than hygiene. Ben changed too. The round face sharpened. Lines appeared around his sky-blue eyes, etched by laughter and worry in equal measure. His hair receded, silver threads appearing. Leo watched it all, his own muzzle greying, his joints sometimes protesting the morning run to the door. He understood time, not in hours, but in the deepening grooves on Benâs face and the slower pace of their walks. His pact remained: warmth for Ben, Ben for Leo. Then came the winter of Benâs discontent. Leo sensed it before Ben spoke â the longer silences, the restless pacing, the absence of the engine-grease smell replaced by the stale scent of the apartment. Ben stopped tinkering. He sat for hours, staring out the window at the falling snow. The worried silence became constant, thick and suffocating. Food lost its appeal for Ben, and Leo, ever attuned, found his own appetite waning. One afternoon, the silence broke. Ben dropped onto the sofa, head in his hands. A low sound escaped him, raw and broken, unlike anything Leo had ever heard. It wasnât just worry; it was despair. Leo felt it vibrate through the floorboards, through his own paws. The cold was back, colder than that damp cardboard box. Leo didnât nudge. He didnât whine. He hauled his stiffening body onto the sofa beside Ben. He pushed his head forcefully under Benâs arm, ignoring the resistance, until his muzzle rested on Benâs chest, right over the thudding heart. He licked, once, a rough swipe across Benâs stubbled cheek that tasted of salt. Ben flinched, then froze. Slowly, his arms came down. Trembling fingers buried themselves deep in Leoâs thick ruff, gripping hard. Leo stayed perfectly still, a steady anchor in the storm. He felt the shuddering breaths against his fur, the dampness spreading. He held the silence now, not with worry, but with an unwavering presence. *I am here,* his steady heartbeat thrummed against Benâs chest. *Your sun is still here. The cold doesnât win while Iâm here.* Minutes stretched. The light faded outside. Finally, Ben took a deep, ragged breath. He didnât speak, but his hand moved from gripping to stroking, slow and deliberate, tracing the familiar path from Leoâs head down his back. The terrible, frozen silence thawed, replaced by a fragile calm. Ben didnât magically recover overnight. Job applications were filled out, rejections came. But the crushing despair lifted, inch by inch. Leo was his shadow, his silent co-pilot. On bad days, Leo would bring Ben his worn tennis ball, dropping it insistently on his lap until Ben, despite himself, gave a weak smile and threw it down the hall. On better days, they walked, slower now, Leoâs tail a metronome of cautious hope. Years layered upon years. Leoâs walks became short strolls, then just brief trips to the backyard. His hearing faded, his sight grew cloudy. But his sense of Ben remained sharp. He still knew the exact moment Ben entered a room, still felt the shift in the air when Ben was sad. One crisp autumn afternoon, much like the day Ben found him, Leo lay on his favourite patch of sun-warmed rug. Ben sat beside him on the floor, leaning against the sofa. Leo felt Benâs hand, older now, more bony, resting gently on his side, rising and falling with each laboured breath. He felt the familiar warmth radiating from Ben, the scent of old books and warm bread stronger than ever. Leo was tired. So tired. The pact⊠heâd kept it. Heâd chased away the cold. Benâs face, etched with time and love, filled his dimming vision. Ben leaned closer, his forehead touching Leoâs. No words were needed. The warmth, the loyalty, the twelve years of shared sunrises and storms â it was all there, in the touch, in the shared breath. Leo took one last, deep breath, filled with the scent of his sun. The warmth was complete. The pact was fulfilled. He closed his eyes, not to the cold, but to the enduring light of Ben. And beside him, Ben wept silent tears onto the grey fur, whispering a promise of his own into the quiet room, knowing the truest friend heâd ever have was leaving, but the warmth theyâd built would never truly fade. Leo slept, dreaming of warm hands and a sky-blue gaze, forever his home.
By Hazrat Umarabout a year ago in Fiction
When the Future Turns Against Us
A haunting reflection on our world disguised as entertainment What if your phone judged you? What if your memories could be replayed, paused, or erased? These arenât just questionsâtheyâre nightmares brought to life in Black Mirror, a show that doesnât ask for your attention but demands your soul. With its eerily plausible technologies and morally gut-wrenching twists, Black Mirror drags us into futures so familiar they could be now. And thatâs what makes it terrifying. If you think this is just another sci-fi series, think again. Black Mirror is a mirror, cracked and cruel, held up to the darkest parts of our humanity.
By Bubble Chill Media about a year ago in Fiction
redemption vs revenge
jason vs zeke at new years eve ppv "redemption vs revenge" in the first ever weapons death match the number one contender battle royal is going on in the main event of tonight show and zeke is domating even though everyone- faces and heels try to get him over the top rope and out of the match. it comes down to the final 5 which includes zeke. out of nowhere the announcers get a annoumcent thru their headphones about a backstage matter and theres a army of sercuitry gaurds in the parking lot. they are all laid out scattered all around the parking lot. zeke stands in the middle of the ring with the other 4 each in a corner of the ring and they all do a huge move on him basically at once however its basically does no damamge to him and he sends them back down into the corner with huge moves of his own one by one. then the roof comes off the place as jasons music hits and he stands at the top of the stage. its obivios that it was jason who destroyed the laid out sercutity gaurds in the parking lot. zeke motions to jason to come down to the ring as the other 4 fighters all look at each other and they each slide under the bottom ropes and jump the barricades to get the hell out of the way because they and the crowd knows what we're about to see. the annocuers themslefs should they stay or go as well. the last time we saw jason was months ago when jason was taken out by zeke himself and he tried to not only take jasons carrer but his life and holly rushed out to stop zeke. we haven't even seen holly since the night after because when zeke demanded to know why holly stoped him from hurting jason even more she accidently revelaed that she stoped zeke from destroying jason because she loves him. everyone knew we would get to this point sometime due to the fact that jason would of course come back to avenge hollys attack. and now we're here. jason takes off his shirt and all of the bangadges that covered his arms and he starts walking down to the ring poping the crowd. the announcers say screw it and they take off away from the ring side area as well. jason stands on the ring apron and zeke once again dares him to enter and jason enters getting face to face with the man that he wants dead basically now. all of a sudden they both just start thoriwng massive punches at each other and they battle all over the ring. jason mananges to send zeke over the top rope which elimaites zeke because of the rule of if the fighter goes over the top rope he is eliminated. they still remain fighting all around the ring side area with everything that they can get their hands on, finally the ceo waves down the state police to break it up however all that does is piss jason off more because their stopping him from getting his hands on zeke. all he is seeing is the color red so he drops as many state police offiers he can before both him and zeke are finally placed in handcuffs as the crowd chants fight forever. even with jasons hands handcuffed behind his back he still decides to roll into the ring and quickly jump the turnbuckle taking out zeke and any number of the state police officers that just happened to be in the way. finally the match countines and there is eventually a winner. however that isn't the end of the match because they put jason and zeke into the same police van, zeke laughs becuse hes broken out of his handcuffs but jason smiles bevasue so has he and they go to war inside the dam police van. which is only ended because basically all of the police mens, officals, the locker room makes their way into the van to break it up. for a moment there is just a entire backstage area with basically everyone down dead and just jason and zeke standing.
By josh napperabout a year ago in Fiction
