Fan Fiction

The Second Chance. AI-Generated.
The train station platform at 7:00 PM was cold, slick with rain, and bathed in the yellow glare of hummed overhead lights. I pulled my wet coat tight around my shoulders, watching the tracks stretch into the dark fog. I was thirty-eight years old, exhausted, and carrying a briefcase filled with documents for a life I didn't particularly care about anymore.
By M.Fiazabout a month ago in Fiction
A Tribute to Star Wars: A Jedi Holocron
On Movement, Moral Discovery, Liberty, and the Living Force Power says: Look what I can do. The moral asks: What did I have to become so that I would never need to do it?
By Chase McQuadeabout a month ago in Fiction
Before the Rain. AI-Generated.
The air always changes right before the rain begins. The wind slows down, the leaves on the big oak tree turn their undersides to the sky, and the sharp scent of damp soil fills the porch. It is a quiet , heavy moment where the whole world seems to hold its breath.
By M.Fiazabout a month ago in Fiction
One Last Letter. AI-Generated.
The yellowed envelope sat at the bottom of my metal mailbox, tucked beneath a utility bill and a colorful grocery flyer. My name and address were written across the front in dark blue ink. The handwriting was unmistakable—slanted, sharp, and unmistakably David’s.
By M.Fiazabout a month ago in Fiction
The Cafe's Empty Chair. AI-Generated.
The small brass bell above the door of the café always rang twice when the wind blew. Every Tuesday afternoon, I sat at my usual table, drank my coffee, and stared at the empty seat near the big window. It was a simple dark wood chair with a small notch carved into the back.
By M.Fiazabout a month ago in Fiction
The Last Passenger. AI-Generated.
The 11:45 PM train out of the city was always quiet, but tonight felt different. Rain was heavy against the window, blurring the yellow streetlights outside into long streaks of soft light. I leaned my head against the cold glass, feeling the hum of the engine beneath my feet. I was completely exhausted—not just from a long day at work, but from months of feeling like I was living a life that wasn't really mine.
By M.Fiazabout a month ago in Fiction
MHOS Part 29: Fashion for the Hunt. Content Warning.
Gwendolynne Hanuse 13:26 (0 minutes ago) to me Part 29: Husk walks me to the front door and pulls me in possessively before kissing me good bye and it makes me just a little bit sad. I can't deal with him, or Alastor, or think about hunting. I need to get lost doing other things.
By Her Ellaness♿️about a month ago in Fiction
My Neighbor Left Me a Key With One Strange Warning. AI-Generated.
Old Mr. Henderson was the kind of neighbor who kept his lawn immaculate and his interactions brief. For six years, our relationship consisted entirely of polite nods over the fence and the occasional wave while taking out the trash. So when he knocked on my door on a rainy Tuesday evening, holding a heavy silver brass key, I was completely caught off guard.
By M.Fiazabout a month ago in Fiction
Every Night at 2:17, Someone Knocked on My Door. AI-Generated.
The first time it happened, I brushed it off as a half-asleep delusion. It was a cold, sharp Thursday in mid-November, and the wind outside was howling through the bare oak branches in my front yard. I woke up abruptly to three heavy, rhythmic knocks on my front door. Knock. Knock. Knock. I rolled over, blinked at the glowing red digits on my alarm clock— 2:17 AM —and assumed it was a lost neighbor or a confused delivery driver. But when I pulled back the window curtain, the porch was empty. The street lay dead silent under the amber glow of a single streetlight.
By M.Fiazabout a month ago in Fiction
“Stay inside longer”
Grim took a look at Gnarly’s new one bedroom apartment. It was clean, small and comfortable. Minimal furniture and no mess. Not like how they were used to living. They usually lived together in different places with a vagabond type of environment wherein nothing was ever really homey, secure or even close to being cozy.
By Melissa Ingoldsbyabout a month ago in Fiction
MORGAN BLACKHAND: THE MAN WHO OUTLIVED THE LEGEND
2077. Night City remembered Morgan Blackhand badly. That suited Morgan just fine. Most famous Solos eventually became drinks at the Afterlife. Their names survived because their bodies didn’t. Stories became bigger than the people inside them. Details changed. Witnesses lied. Drunks improved the endings.
By Alejandro Arangoabout a month ago in Fiction
How Silence Helped Me Reclaim My Life. AI-Generated.
The quiet hours of the early morning have a distinct way of stripping away the noise of the world. Long before the city wakes, before the rush of traffic and the relentless ping of notifications take over, there is a sacred pause. I sat by the narrow window of my apartment, watching the dark sky slowly soften into shades of muted violet and pale gold. In my hand, a mug of coffee grew cold as I stared at the blank page in front of me.
By M.Fiazabout a month ago in Fiction