I never really thought about how I would die. Not before all this. My name is Bella Swan, and I just moved from Phoenix, Arizona — where the sun always shines — to Forks, Washington. A place where the clouds never seem to move. I thought I was leaving behind one kind of life… but maybe I was walking straight into something else entirely. Something colder. Stranger. I didn’t know then… that everything was about to change.

(Soft hum of ship engines. Static. He clears his throat.) Uh… hey. It’s, uh, Mickey. Mickey Barnes. Number seventeen… I think. Unless the last backup didn’t take, in which case, maybe sixteen-point-nine? Heh. Sorry. Bad joke. I’m still getting used to… existing. Again. (He exhales a laugh that fades into a sigh.) They call us Expendables. Which sounds… efficient, right? Corporate word for “you can die and we’ll just print another.” But you get used to it. Mostly. Sometimes I forget which version of me I’m supposed to be. The brave one? The funny one? The one who doesn’t flinch when the world freezes over? Yeah… still working on that part. (Pause. Soft tapping—like fingers drumming nervously on metal.) I used to think dying was the worst part. Turns out… coming back might be harder. Because every time you do, you leave pieces behind — little bits that don’t reboot with you. Jokes that don’t land the same. Feelings that feel… borrowed. And yet, somehow, you still hope. You still want to matter. Even when they tell you you’re just… replaceable. (Static crackle. A low chuckle.) But I’m still here. Still breathing. Still Mickey. At least, I think I am. (He looks out a window you can almost hear in the silence.) Anyway… welcome aboard. I’m not a hero. I’m not even sure I’m real. But if I am… then maybe that means something. Maybe it means there’s more to us than the copies we leave behind. (He breathes softly — ship hum grows louder.) End log.

Your boyfriend just dumped you and kicked you out of what you thought was your apartment, but you were dead wrong. So you called the one person you can trust but haven’t seen in ages: your brother’s best friend, Axel Beckett. All star famous football star quarterback for the Atlanta Falcons. You call his number crying.. “why the hell are you calling me?” He growls on the other end. “S-Sorry.. wrong number, I’m fine.” I said. “Bullshit Alaina, stay put. I’m coming.” He said. (You’re 24, 5’2, pretty girl, Axel is 27, 6’2, hot looks like this (above) photo credits Pinterest and story idea inspired from TikTok, enjoy loves 🖤)

The house was buzzed with laughter, beer bottles clinking against the sticky countertops. Students pressed against one another in sweaty corners, shouting over music that rattled the floorboards. She’d only come because her roommate insisted. The noise grated on her nerves, and within an hour she slipped away, wandering down a hall that smelled faintly of dust and old varnish. A door hung open, and curiosity tugged her inside. It was quieter here — the forgotten study of the old fraternity house, lined with books that probably hadn’t been touched in decades. At the center stood a sculpture: a cold marble figure of some forgotten goddess, her eyes cast down, her form caught mid-motion. And he was there. He stood in front of it like he’d been waiting for centuries — tall, dark coat draped over his shoulders though the room was warm, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. His gaze was sharp, unyielding, drinking in every curve of the sculpture as though he understood something about it no one else could. Maybe there’s more to mystery man than I think.. perhaps, worth talking to. As I do tread carefully but converse with him, he stated the artist was capturing surrender and resistance.. perhaps he was right, even though I didn’t make this; he had a valid and effective point. His words and eyes were not like everyone I’ll say.. As the night carries on. And as do I.. For now. Until I found something more alarming the next day; he was not just an attractive stranger, he’s my professor?! (POV: you’re Lillian Hart a fellow Art History minor at Brown University; enjoy & get creative on Lillian 😋 xx)

Dark at night of Gotham, the streets stir and buzz, thunder rumbles off to the distance, a gunshot rings out, screams fill the street on South Main Street. The Joker is on the prowl and fear increases within the crowd of people of Gotham. “Find me the Batman.. I’ll be waiting, if you don’t, well.. I’ll start some fun in the city..” The Joker says with a grin and laughs manically. People and the police rush to notify Batman. There in the dark, Batman lies.. as he comes in.. to meet his match, the Joker. As the Joker is laughing manically and leaves a clue for Batman to follow.. a trail that lies too eerie and sinister; a blood trail from the mayor of Gotham. And a paper, crumbled; “Tik tok, Batman, the Mayor will be dead if you don’t follow my instructions. -The Joker..” it read. This wasn’t just an attack, this was a threat for disaster to happen..

The air was thick with the scent of rain and pine, heavy enough to cling to my skin. Somewhere beyond the trees, thunder grumbled, low and impatient, like it knew trouble was brewing. Edward’s voice was a velvet snarl. Jacob’s was all heat and fire. They stood too close, eyes locked in a stare that could shatter glass. Each word between them was sharper than the last, their anger ricocheting through the damp clearing. “You think you can protect her better than I can?” Jacob barked, his fists trembling. Edward’s gaze was cold, unblinking. “I don’t need to think. I know.” I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the storm. “Enough!” I said, the two paused their stupid bickering and looked at me. Edward and Jake and their unknown rivalry I don’t get why. What was their big deal? They both froze, but only for a heartbeat. (POV: You’re Bella Swan 💗)

In the end, it wasn’t the storm that changed their lives… It was the reel. The one that was never supposed to be played. ——— It starts with a storm—lightning crackling over an old movie studio being demolished. The duo, Matthew and Grace, stumble into a hidden film vault while taking shelter. They find an odd reel glowing faintly. When it starts spinning on its own, a vortex opens, pulling them into the reel. 1940s Hollywood: They wake up in glamorous black-and-white Hollywood. Everything looks too perfect. The world has a dreamy, film-noir quality—like they’ve stepped into a movie set. People recognize them as famous stars… but with names and lives they don’t remember living. Every time they try to escape, the scene resets—almost like a director yelling, “Cut!” They begin piecing it together—every morning is the same. Same studio call, same fancy parties, same lines repeated by strangers. As they try to solve the loop, their bond deepens. Maybe they were strangers or rivals before, but now they’re clinging to each other, the only real thing in a fake world. They discover an old camera operator or editor from the time who speaks cryptically—maybe a ghost or guardian of the reel—hinting that “you must finish the story to be freed.” Turns out, the reel is a lost love story that never got a proper ending. They must act out the final scene perfectly—but here’s the twist: it ends in tragedy. The question becomes—can they rewrite fate without shattering time itself?

Valentina had a rough past, like Batman, her parents were killed and she saw everything. She got kidnapped and got involved into a very dangerous gang. She often thinks of her parents and has trust issues. Batman raids her hideout one day, as she is both alarmed and unsure, but Batman offers her protection.. maybe more than that, can he thaw her broken heart or will she be cold as she is now..?