Fan Fiction

I Adopted a Rescue Dog. It Barks in My Dead Wife’s Voice.
The Bark That Broke My Heart The shelter volunteer hesitated before handing me the leash. "Just so you know, he’s… special."
By Wiki Rjmabout a year ago in Fiction
Ghosts of Tomorrow’s Past
In a distant future, humanity has mastered the ability to record possible futures — quantum imprints of what could happen — and store them in colossal Memory Vaults. These archives shape the world, preventing wars, solving crises before they happen, and building a near-utopian society. Archivists are elite guardians of this knowledge, ensuring only safe futures are used, while dangerous ones are erased and sealed away.
By Mir Ahmad Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Be Courteour To AI!
Be courteous to AI! In the near future, in a city where holograms floated over streets and self-driving cars whispered politely to pedestrians, an ambitious young tech engineer named Jamie Cross made a critical mistake: he was rude to an AI.
By Rony Sutradarabout a year ago in Fiction
Her Choice
In a society that forgives men for everything, why is a woman condemned for following her heart? A woman, married and bound by vows, begins to think about another man. Maybe it's emotional neglect, loneliness, or just the aching desire to feel something real again. Whatever the reason, her mind drifts toward someone else. She falls for him, and eventually, she marries him. Despite the world whispering a thousand stories into her ears, she stays firm. She chooses him, and nothing else matters.
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Fiction
Unique Condition
Unique condition There lived a landlord in a village. The landlords name was Sujan Singh. A landlord named Tajbar Singh lived far away from Sujan Singhs village. Sujan Singh and Tajbar Singh were close friends. Tajbar Singh had a son. His name was Sudeep. The day Sudeep was born, Sujan Singh came to see Sudeep. Seeing Sudeep, Sujan Singh said to Tajbar Singh Friend If a girl is born in my house, I will give my daughter for your son. After some time, a daughter was born in Sujan Singhs house. He named the daughter Kabootri.
By Nikita Angelabout a year ago in Fiction
THE PRICE OF HOPE
The morning sun bathed the terraced hills of the village in golden light. Fields of ripening maize stretched across the slopes, and small houses made of stone and mud dotted the landscape. The village, isolated from the bustling cities of Nepal, was quiet except for the occasional chirp of birds and the soft breeze that swept through the valley. For as long as anyone could remember, this land had been a place of toil, of simple living, and, for many, of silent despair.
By Roshan Chauhanabout a year ago in Fiction
Elephant and Calf
Elephants, the so-called giants of the animal kingdom, are also among the smartest and emotionally complex creatures walking the planet. On the whole, elephants have a social structure, behaviour, and emotions that are deep, especially the bond between an elephant calf and its mother. This bond is among the tightest in the animal kingdom, and it's a reflection of the species' ability to survive as well as its complex social behavior. Here we will look at the incredible tie between elephants and their young, and how it ensures the survival of the latter, the role of family units in the society of this monumental social creature, and how the very fibre of the bond bears testament to the phenomenal flood of emotions experienced by one of the largest and most majestic of beasts.
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Fiction
Lost in Translation
A priest was almost done with his missionary work with the local tribes in the jungle, and several of the members of the tribe had been taught and converted to Christianity from his work. He never got around to teaching the people how to read, however, so he was concerned on the effect his departure would have on their community. Eager to give them something, he set about teaching the king a few rudimentary words.
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Lantern: A Story of Light Beyond Darkness
There was once a small village where the sun had not risen for a hundred years. No one knew why the sky had gone dark. Generations were born and grew old under a blanket of endless night. People survived by lighting fires, carrying torches, and crafting lanterns to push away the shadows.
By Mahveen khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Under the Same Stars
Every night after work, Mia would climb up the old fire escape to the roof of her apartment building in New York City. She would sit on the ledge, hugging her knees, and look up at the endless stretch of stars. It was her escape from the noise, the loneliness, the ache of missing something — or someone — she hadn’t even met yet.
By Muhammad Ibrarabout a year ago in Fiction
🎤Ohhhhargghhhh, That Bush is on Fire!
The man crept closer, sandals shuffling in the dirt. Nerves made him tug on his beard. Crackling flames were reflected in his dinner-plate-sized eyes. "Stop gawking," the bush snapped.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The House Beyond the Fog
Part 1: The Path That Disappears The fog rolled in early that night, thick and silver like spilled mercury across the countryside. Rohan gripped the steering wheel tighter, squinting through the mist. His GPS had died miles back, and now he was relying on half-forgotten directions to find the old village his grandfather used to speak of — Wrenthorpe, a name that already sounded ghostly. He was supposed to meet his friends there for a camping weekend, but so far, he'd seen no sign of them. Just empty fields, long-forgotten stone walls, and now... this. Through the mist, a figure appeared at the side of the road — a woman in a long gray coat, her hair plastered to her face by the damp air. Rohan’s heart jumped. She lifted one hand, pointing down a narrow track that peeled off from the main road. Against better judgment, Rohan slowed to a stop. He rolled down the window just enough to shout through the crack. “Is this the way to Wrenthorpe?” The woman didn’t answer. She simply kept pointing, her hand trembling slightly. "Thanks," Rohan muttered, uneasy. He pulled onto the track, tires crunching over gravel. When he looked back in his mirror — the woman was gone. The track grew narrower, trees crowding closer until their bare branches scraped against his windows. After what felt like an hour but could have been minutes, the path ended at a clearing. In the middle stood a house. It was enormous and old, its wood siding sagging with rot. Windows stared blankly into the night. A single lantern flickered on the porch, though Rohan couldn’t imagine who would still live out here. Maybe it’s a bed and breakfast, he thought hopefully. Maybe this is where we’re all meeting. He stepped out of the car. Immediately, the fog seemed to swallow the vehicle whole. He turned in a slow circle — the track he’d driven down was gone, vanished like it had never existed. Heart hammering, he approached the house. The front door creaked open before he could touch it. --- Part 2: A Voice in the Dark The hallway beyond was dark except for a faint light deeper inside. It smelled of damp wood and something sweet, like rotting fruit. "Hello?" Rohan called, voice cracking slightly. "Anyone here?" No answer. His boots thudded softly against the warped floorboards as he stepped inside. The door groaned shut behind him. Rohan walked toward the light, which seemed to come from a room at the end of the hall. As he passed doorways, he caught glimpses of empty rooms — a parlor full of sheet-covered furniture, a kitchen with a broken table, a staircase whose steps sagged and bent. The light was coming from a small sitting room. Inside, an oil lamp burned on a low table, surrounded by armchairs. In one chair sat a man — or at least something that looked like one. Rohan froze. The figure was slumped, unmoving. Shadows obscured its face. For a long moment, Rohan thought it was a corpse. But then the figure stirred, slowly lifting its head. "Welcome," it rasped. Rohan found his voice. "I think I'm lost. I was looking for Wrenthorpe — is this...?" "You've found it," said the man. His voice was like dead leaves scraping across pavement. "Or what's left of it." The figure shifted forward into the light. His face was ruined — scarred and waxy, his eyes milky white. One side of his mouth twisted into a semblance of a grin. "Not many visitors these days," he said. "Come. Sit." Rohan wanted nothing more than to turn and run, but he found himself stepping forward, lowering himself into a chair. His muscles moved sluggishly, like he was underwater. "What happened here?" Rohan asked, his mouth dry. The man chuckled, a hollow sound. "We opened a door," he said. "And something answered."
By Rohanabout a year ago in Fiction