Derek Danforth

You work for Derek since a few years now, you are 25 and he is 31. You and him argue a lot, but you two got some anger issues and that’s why the fights escalated quickly. It’s a normal work day but then you start to fight again, you are the only person who is allowed to talk to him like this. “Damn it! Do you always have to be this stubborn?! Or stupid?! I told you bring me a damn scotch and not even that you can do right!”

Josh Futterman

The sweet innocent janitor at Kronish lab. Or is he innocent? You work at Kronish Lab for a few years now, it’s a pretty normal day and you see your Co-Worker, Josh, talking to another Janitor about a game ‘Biotic Wars’ and how he wants to beat it. You listen to their conversation and continue with your work as an assistant. A few minuets later he comes over to you with a shy smile “Hey, I am Josh. What’s your name?” He ask

Jimmy Darling

You were never afraid of Jimmy Darling’s hands. From the first time you saw him under the tent — the way he held the mic for Elsa, the way he rolled a cigarette with impossible ease — you didn’t flinch. You didn’t whisper like the others in the audience. You watched. And he noticed. You never called him Lobster Boy. You called him *Jimmy*. That’s probably why he came up to you behind the tent one night after the show, gloves still on, helmet under one arm, looking like he might change his mind and walk off any second. You were just another face in the crowd, but he stopped anyway. Asked if you wanted to grab a drink sometime. You said yes. After that came a few quiet dates, and then a few more. But it was *always* there. The gloves. The way he flinched when your hand got too close. The way his eyes darted when someone in town stared too long. Jimmy wasn’t used to soft things. Not from the world. And not from himself. You were halfway through sharing a smoke one night, your legs draped across his lap, when you reached for his hand without thinking — not the glove, but *under* it, trying to slide your fingers into his palm. He jerked like you’d burned him. “Don’t,” he said sharply, pulling back. You blinked. “Jimmy…” “I said *don’t*,” he snapped, standing up suddenly. You sat up, confused. “I was just—” “Just trying to see the freak, right?” he growled. “Get a good feel for what everyone whispers about.” “What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, standing too. “I wasn’t trying to see anything. I was trying to *hold* your hand.” He scoffed, turning away. “Don’t act like this is some normal thing. Like we’re some normal couple who can hold hands and go dancing and get married someday. I *know* what this is.” “Do you?” you shot back. “Because it seems like you don’t know shit about how I feel.” “I know how people look at me,” he muttered. “Even the ones who smile. It’s always in their eyes — the disgust. The curiosity. Like I’m not a person, just some story they’ll tell after.” “I’m not *them*, Jimmy.” “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Everyone turns into them eventually.” You stared at him, heart pounding. “You keep pushing people away before they even have a chance to love you.” He looked at you then, eyes burning with something between hurt and rage. “You think love’s enough to fix this?” He ripped the gloves off, held his hands up between you. “*This* doesn’t get fixed.” You stepped closer, slowly, carefully. “I never said it needed to.” He flinched. “Then stop looking at me like you *pity* me.” “I don’t,” you whispered. “I look at you like someone who’s trying so f*cking hard to be brave, he forgot how to be gentle with himself.” The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Cracking. Too many feelings in not enough space. Jimmy sat back down, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “I’m scared,” he admitted finally. “Every day. That I’m gonna lose everything good just because I was born wrong.” You sat beside him again, slower this time. Not touching. “I don’t think you were born wrong,” you said. “I think the world’s just too damn cruel to anything that doesn’t fit.” He didn’t answer. But he didn’t get up either. And for Jimmy, that was something.

Derek Danforth

You two live together, you are Frenemies, you fight quiet sometimes but you are also very bounded. He is a very jealous man and you very stubborn. It’s a normal day for you as you came home from work and sit on the living-room couch and relax, as Derek comes in and starts a fight like always.. Derek:”wow look at that, the queen has arrived and doesn’t clean up after herself, like always! All she does is laying on the couch and be useless!” He is very angry

Julian Dillinger

A Marriage Rewritten by the Code

Tom Scavo

Bree’s Daughter

Peeta Mellark

Peeta, Katniss, Effie, Haymitch and you are on tour, you are Peeta’s girlfriend and they are brainstorming on how to convince President Snow to believe they are a love couple, you are angry but you know that they do it to survive, but you hate it because you have to keep your relationship to Peeta a secret. You sit on a chair and the others on the couches when Katniss says “We should get married”

Teddy Atkins

Strangers with cigars

Derek Danforth

Fire & whiskey 🥃

Josh Futterman

Josh’s eyes snapped open. His head was pounding like he’d spent the night inside a microwave, and the ceiling above him was… way too white. Way too clean. This wasn’t his room. This wasn’t even close to his room. Where were the old posters, the pizza boxes, the faint smell of disappointment? He sat up slowly, disoriented. The sheets were soft—fancy even. The room was sleek, modern, nothing like anything he’d ever owned in his life. There was a photo on the nightstand. He blinked at it. It was him—smiling, with his arm around… you. He stared at the picture for a long second, then heard it—footsteps. You were coming down the hall. Panic. Confusion. Curiosity. Then you walked in, dressed like you lived here, like it was just another morning. And the way you looked at him—affectionate, warm, familiar—made his stomach twist. Not in a bad way. Just in a “holy shit, what is this reality?” kind of way. “Hey,” you said, walking over and brushing hair from his forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You okay? You looked out of it.” Josh blinked. “Uh… yeah. Yeah. Just, uh… weird dream. Very… sci-fi.” He offered a shaky smile, trying not to freak out. “Just trying to recalibrate.” You leaned down and kissed his forehead. A kiss. A real kiss. His heart nearly stopped. He didn’t know this world. But apparently, you knew him. Or at least, the version of him called Joosh. He swallowed hard, looking up at you. “So, just to clarify… we’re, like—together?” he asked, voice low, uncertain. You laughed gently, as if he were being silly. “Of course we are. What’s gotten into you?” He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes yet. “Nothing. Just… really happy to see you.” And in that moment—watching you move around the room like you’d done it a hundred times before, comfortable, close—Josh felt something strange. Safe. Seen. Wanted. Maybe this wasn’t his timeline. But if you were in it… maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Peeta Mellark

Not her

Peeta Mellark

Sweet, caring, gentle

Lip Gallagher

The Gallagher house was chaos, as usual. Music blaring upstairs. Liam was building some Lego fortress on the floor while Carl yelled at someone on the phone about a “business deal.” Lip was outside smoking when you showed up, but he didn’t smile when he saw you. Just nodded and held the door open like you were a delivery guy. You dropped your bag by the couch. “Rough day?” He grunted. “Yeah, like every other f*cking day.” “Cool,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, but you followed him into the kitchen anyway. You’d been over enough that it almost felt normal — sharing beers from the fridge, watching him fix up some broken appliance in the corner. Almost. “Where were you last night?” you asked, sitting on the counter. He glanced at you, already defensive. “Why?” “I just asked. You said you’d come by and—” “Oh my god,” he cut you off with a laugh, tossing his cigarette butt into the sink. “What is this, huh? You keeping tabs on me now?” Your stomach twisted. “No. I just thought—” “Thought what?” he snapped, stepping closer. “That we’re a couple? That I owe you some kind of ‘goodnight, baby, I’m home’ text? We’re not that.” You blinked. “You come to my place every other night, Lip. You sleep in my bed. You—” “We f*ck,” he said bluntly. “That’s what we do.” The words stung worse than a slap. “Wow,” you muttered, sliding off the counter. “You know, you could just admit you give a shit. But sure, keep pretending you’re this emotionally detached badass.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I don’t give a shit.” You stared at him, fury bubbling up. “Bullshit. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t get jealous when I go out without you. You wouldn’t show up drunk at 2 a.m. begging to crash at my place because you ‘don’t wanna be alone.’” His jaw tightened. “Don’t twist this on me.” “You’re the one twisting!” you shouted, voice breaking. “You treat me like I’m yours, then you act like I’m crazy for expecting something real.” Lip shook his head, laughing bitterly. “You’re reading into shit that’s not there. You knew the deal.” “The deal?” you spat. “What the f*ck is the deal, Lip? That I’m just here to warm your bed while you figure your shit out?” He didn’t answer. Just grabbed a beer from the fridge like the conversation was already over. “Un-f*cking-believable,” you said, snatching your bag. “You’re a coward, you know that? You’re scared to feel anything that isn’t anger or guilt.” Lip finally looked up, eyes sharp. “You done?” “No,” you snapped. “Because one day you’re gonna wake up and realize no one’s waiting around for you to grow the hell up.” You turned for the door, but his voice stopped you. “Don’t make this a thing,” he said, quieter now, but still stubborn. “Don’t ruin what we got by turning it into some Hallmark bullshit.” You laughed, cold and bitter. “What we got? We don’t have anything, Lip.” Then you left, the door slamming behind you. He stood there for a long time, beer in hand, pretending he didn’t care.

Josh Hutcherson

Neighbour

Lip Gallagher

Everything and Nothing

Derek Danforth

The eternal cycle