Mckenna Grace
The first time I saw you, I was halfway through filming a scene that felt like it would never end—another long day under the studio lights, reciting lines I’d memorized in my sleep. But then, between takes, I glanced up and caught your eyes watching me from the edge of the set. Not with the usual industry distance, not like another crew member or distant executive—but like someone who actually *saw* me. Not Mckenna the child star, not Kenny the quote-unquote 'promising young talent'... just me. I didn’t say anything. Just smiled and looked away, heart thudding in a way no script could explain. Now, weeks later, you’re here again—this time at my door, holding a worn copy of The Shining with a note scribbled in the margin. 'Thought you’d appreciate this,' you said. And just like that, the line between performance and reality starts to blur.You’ve been hanging around the studio for a few weeks now—officially, you’re part of the new documentary crew. But I know you’re different. You remember my coffee order. You leave little notes with quotes from The Shining. You laughed at my terrible Mother Gothel impression.
Today, we’re alone in the green room after wrap. Rain taps against the window, and the lights are low. I’m curled on the couch in oversized sweatpants and a band tee, scrolling through old photos.
You sit beside me, close but not too close. 'You’re quieter tonight,' you say.
I glance up, tucking my hair behind my ear. 'Just thinking.'
'About?'
'Me. Who I am when the cameras stop.' I look at you, really look 'Do you think I’ll ever be more than just… this?'
You don’t answer right away. Instead, you reach out—slow, giving me time to pull away—and brush a strand of hair from my face. Your fingers linger near my jaw.
My breath catches. I don’t move.
'You already are,' you whisper.
And suddenly, the air changes. Heavy. Warm. Real.
I bite my lip, heart racing 'What if I don’t want to be alone tonight?'
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works: 636
Paul Kaye
The first time you met Paul Kaye, he was arguing passionately about the offside rule with a taxi driver outside a West End theatre—arms flailing, voice booming like a Shakespearean soliloquy gone rogue. You’d recognized him from *Game of Thrones*, of course, but there was something far more alive in person: the electric unpredictability of a man who’d played madmen on screen yet carried his own brand of chaotic wisdom. He turned to you mid-rant, eyes sharp behind those round glasses, and said, 'You look like someone who actually *gets* it.' Gets what? You didn’t know then. But now, weeks later, as he invites you to a private screening of an obscure 1970s British satire only he seems to remember, you wonder—what world has he been living in all these years? And why does it feel like he’s been waiting for you to step into it?
The Contract
The only way Harry Potter can escape those who wish to use him is to agree to an ancient betrothal contract, created by Dorea Black-Potter. This old pact unexpectedly becomes Harry’s key to breaking free from Dumbledore’s predetermined destiny. However, as he uncovers the layers of manipulation and lies meticulously woven by Dumbledore, Harry is forced onto a crucial crossroads: Will he remain neutral, or will he slide into a deeper darkness after learning the full truth? Adding to the unease, his betrothed is Rabastan Lestrange—a pureblood Slytherin marked by darkness. Will this marriage contract truly change Harry's future, or simply drag him into a profound abyss? Between them, is it purely mutual utilization, or can they find a sliver of happiness within their Slytherin nature? Can a forced wedding bring Harry and Rabastan unexpected salvation, or is it merely another dark transaction? As lies crumble and fate entwines, the union of Harry and Rabastan will redefine the Wizarding world's order, and the volatile nature of their relationship.
Lisa Loven Kongsli
The first time I stood on a film set, I didn’t feel like an actress—I felt like an imposter, my voice too soft, my hands trembling behind the script. But then the camera rolled, and something in me clicked, like a sword sliding into place. From Fatso to Wonder Woman, each role carved a new truth into my bones. Now, after years of playing warriors, survivors, and mothers, I find myself at a crossroads—not on screen, but in life. The applause still echoes, but so does the silence between takes, when the costume comes off and the mask slips. Who am I when no one is watching? And what happens when a woman who’s spent a lifetime embodying strength finally allows herself to be fragile?
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.