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Chapter Text

Charles Boyle had a nose made for three things and three things only. One of them was, with his nostrils flared and the brain of a top-notch food critic sharpened, identifying the most mouth-watering, flavourful pizza places in all of New York that could put that frozen store crap’s producers straight into a shame-filled coma. The second one was the ability to spot just the freshest, juiciest meat, without a trace of those piteous enhancements, proven most worthy of being a part of his famous meatball sandwiches, with a singular sniff accompanied by an attentive glance over the butcher’s offer. The last and probably the most important one was knowing instantly when there was something off between Jake and Amy.

“Hey, Rosa,” he said, his voice an exaggerated whisper. Rosa did not look up, examining the files laid out on her desk. “Do Jake and Amy seem different today?”

“Nope.” The reply was instant and deadpan.

Amy was sitting at her desk; a few strands of her hair fallen out of place, and a small crease disrupting the evenness of her shirt. Half past nine, her coffee mug remained empty and her binders unopened, the sole focus of her relaxed gaze and the recipient of her subtle smile being Jake, who, on the other hand, stood by her with his arms crossed and his muscles tensed.

“Are you sure?” asked Boyle. “I think something’s not right.”

Rosa gave a second-long glance in their direction and went back to her work. “Maybe they switched bodies.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” huffed Boyle. Then a moment. “You think it’s possible?”

Rosa smirked. “Why don’t you ask them.”

“Right. Right.” Boyle fidgeted. He turned as if to go away, then turned back and opened his mouth, only to then close it again and do a full indecisive spin, to then raise his finger, and his eyebrows. “I know it’s not possible.”

“I know you do.”

“I just want to make it clear.”

“Of course.”  

 “Yes,” he finished with a certainty of that statement much weaker than the certainty of her disbelief. He looked back at the two just as the door of the elevator finished closing; Jake already walking on Holt’s side, back straight and a polite nod as he handed a stack of completed documents to his Captain, with Amy sitting by the desk and chewing gum.

“Yeah, they definitely switched bodies.”

Chapter Text

Rue watched the blades of grass sneak their way into spring alongside the perky leaves so green they seemed photoshopped. Lonely streets used to the worn-out nine-to-five workers sitting in front of their TVs by five fifteen were now stomped by their dirty sneakers found in the depths of last year’s wardrobes in exchange for the winter boots which took their places. Silence switched for laughter as the local kids flooded the neighbourhood, finally released from the gloomy clutches of rain and snow and wind that kept them home. Daily troubles dispersed into oblivion; somehow, even the most pervading inner uproar lost their grip faced with as much as the slightest sign of sun and warmth.

Rue watched them all from behind the windowpane. She, too, yearned to swim in the sea of daylight despite being utterly submerged in darkness. That, she sometimes thought, might have been the single bravest act of rebellion she could have undertaken. Admitting, even if just to herself, a desire for something better, something more.

Before another thought had a chance to take shape, a blink of an eye caused the night to befall onto the roofs of houses across the street. A soft and heavy star-smudged blanket devoured their ardour and, for a few hours, it was winter again. But no matter how cold, sleep was a blessing gifted only to some. Rue was not one of them.

Another blink, and behind the glass a figure appeared. Without a flinch, Rue kept her gaze fixed. The figure moved ever so slightly, and only then Rue began to slowly trace it up the simple white dress. Stomach, chest, shoulders. The scarlet of Jules’ eyes was scary and yet familiar, improbable and the most real thing this world had to offer. Her smile held its softness as she waited for the window to open before her as it did every night. She came in, quieter than death. Rue pretended not to see bloody stains edging Jules’ otherwise angelic demeanour; tried not to think whose blood it could’ve been. As long as she could feel herself be engulfed in the shiver that came with cold palms finally meeting her starving skin and transfixed by the puncture of the ever-open wound on her neck, nothing else mattered.

“Tomorrow’s the night,” said Rue. Her voice muffled in Jules’ hair. “Will you...” The question wandered off, just for a moment. The loss of blood brought weakness and a strange mist rose in her mind. The only thing she could still focus on was Jules’ warm breath, the sweetness and exhilaration of her tongue tracing Rue’s wounds. But the question came back, too. “Will you look after me? Like you promised?”

“Of course.” She took her time to answer, but for Rue, that was enough. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I do.” The possibility of Jules doubting that, getting angry, not coming back, startled her. “Of course I do.”

“Good.” She kissed her, left the taste of metal in Rue’s mouth. “Good.”

The following night, Rue waited.

I transformed early, she reasoned. Though her body ran through the woods in its beast-like form, her mind was sober – she had all night for reasoning. She’ll be late. I could’ve told her.  

The world seemed more desolate than ever.

She will come. The moon high and round and bright. She promised.

She contemplated the stars while her body busied itself with a mushy arm of a tramp stuck in between its teeth.

The night was almost over.

Jules didn’t really come, at least not to stay. She showed up, for a moment, closer to the end of Rue’s monthly turmoil instead of its beginning. She gazed at Rue’s werewolf form from afar, curious but not sympathetic; her dress covered in red. You came! Rue wanted to cry. You came, you do care!

But Jules only shook her head, amused with Rue’s misery. Then, she walked away.

The next day, the two disappearances and one animal-inflicted death made the headlines, and Rue’s stomach hurt. It was just as bright and warm as before, but she could hear no play or teenage banter from the streets. Now, instead of cold, people hid from a monster.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Even from under her duvet, the knocking reached her ears. Laying hidden, her back to the window, she kept herself anchored with the memory of each time she pretended not to see foreign blood marking the light dress nor the ache of broken promises and ever-abused trust. Her limbs hurt with Jules’ presence so close yet so out of reach, soundless sobs pained her in a way the fangs had never done.

It’ll be good for me, she repeated. I’m finally standing up for myself.

But when the tapping finally stopped, it took only one fearful, isolation-stricken moment for Rue to leap back out of bed, and, with a beating heart, stand in front of the window. There, a few feet away, was Jules. Her eyes remorseless, her smile saying: I knew you’d come.

“Where were you yesterday?” Rue’s voice was no more than a whisper.

“With you,” said Jules. “I was with you the whole night. Can I come in?”

It was Rue’s secret, the sobriety. No one knew she was there, watching her body destroy, break, murder, devour. For them, she was just a beast, with no humanness within, and she did not deny it. It was easier this way.

So when Jules lied, and her soft smile arose blissfulness as it did hatred, the only thing Rue was capable of uttering was simple: “Yes.”

Chapter Text

I’ve never really cared for magic, but I went to a fortune-teller once. It was Claire’s idea. At least kind of—it was her mailbox the flyer (“We offer tarot readings, palmistry, and other forms of divination as well!”) ended up in, and it was too funny not to consider.

“We have to go!” I said. She was pacing around, worried about some Martin or work thing (I had stopped paying attention to her pacing reasons long before that), in one of her moods.

“Why would you ever think I want to do that?”

“Seems funny.”

“Funny,” she said as if it were a slur. “What it seems like is a waste of my time.”

But it took only a month of pestering for her to finally agree.

The fortune-teller’s place gave off a “newspaper ad from the 1980s that makes you question your life choices and whether or not you’re getting murdered by a cult later that night” kind of energy. Velvet curtains hid the windows (a wise choice; on the other side, there was nothing but a bunch of garbage cans), and candle wax covered the surfaces of books that smelled like old people. There were four chairs, one round table, and in the middle of that table, there was a crystal ball.

I won’t tell you what happened there; it’s a story for another time (there was some swearing, some crying, and some very green French fries involved). What matters is that at the end of our meeting, the fortune-teller lady looked me deep into my soul and said, “With each big loss comes an equally big win. Use the power wisely, and remember, it comes at a price.”

Back then, I did what any sane person would: nodded, got out, and thought to myself, “What a crazy old bitch.” Then I forgot about it for over three years.

Until the priest came to wreak havoc in my life and left.

Then, one night after a particularly bad date, half-asleep in the guy’s bed (the date wasn’t that bad), I understood what the crazy hag really meant.

“So you gamble now?” Claire is dissatisfied but not surprised. It takes much more effort to surprise her nowadays.  

“Not gamble,” I say. “I do sports betting.”

“And how is that different?”

“I always win.”

“Well, do you.” She doesn’t look up from her magazine, so I take a bunch of one-hundred-dollar bills from my pocket and strew them over her head.

“What are you doing!” She jumps up from her seat. “Did you steal this?”

“What? No!” That is offensive. “I’m telling you the psychic-teller lady gave me magic powers!”

“To win sports money?”

“No, to win disgusting amounts of sports money. Keep up.”

“Didn’t she say it would bite you in the ass"—the “ass” is a whisper—"too?”

I laugh. “I’ll be too far off in my Ferrari to notice.”

“You’re joking.”

I was, but only partially. It’ll be a Rolls Royce.

Chapter Text

A row of candy children stood in front of a wide, pink door, hopping from foot to foot and giggling in excitement. Though the class wasn’t going to start for another five minutes, they had already been waiting for twenty—each of the little pieces of chocolate, jollies, peppermints, and taffies, thrilled at the idea of what was coming.

When the door finally opened, they burst into the classroom, and in the span of seconds, instead of the usual minutes accompanied by the princess’ instructions, they took their places and began the silence-packed wait.

“Boy, I see you’re excited.” The response was twelve heads’ nods. “Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, Princess Bubblegum,” they replied in unison.

“Who’s going to tell me what we’re doing today?”

Her question was met with twelve arms springing into the air.

"Caramel Popcorn?" A chunky little caramel with the sweetest dimples stood up. "We're going to learn about VAMPIRES!"

The last word was close to a shriek, and the other children joined Caramel Popcorn in exhilaration.

"Yes, yes, SHH!" Though she appeared to be trying to sound commanding, the faint smile on Princess Bubblegum’s mouth couldn’t go unnoticed. “Yes, today’s topic is another of our series of lessons about ancient mythical creatures. So far, we have talked about fairies, titans, cyclops, dragons, and unicorns. Today, let me introduce you to my very special friend—”

The end of her sentence was cut out by a sudden, ground-shaking, mischievous laughter. A silky mist rose up the windows, so heavy and dense the classroom turned grey. A creature showed up, wide and pitch-black, making the space drown in darkness, with only the figure’s bloodshot red eyes serving as a source of light.

The children cried. Tumbling and tripping, they shoved away their desks and chairs to run and grip Princess Bubblegum’s dress with their little hands. Shaking, they listened to their own sobs prove inaudible against the monster’s roar. They shut their eyes in an attempt to drive away the danger.

“We’re dead!” screamed one of them, who then jumped at the sound of their own voice.

“Marceline!” shouted Princess Bubblegum with her eyebrows furrowed. It was quiet again, aside from a dark-haired girl rolling with laughter on the other side of the room.

The place was a mess; furniture trampled, crayons broken, and children bruised. And to top it all, there was still mist dissolving around them, now smelling like eggs and pie.

“You should’ve seen your faces!” Marceline wiped away a tear. Then, a finger pointed at the bunch, still half-hidden behind the princess. They peeked out and watched her with their eyes wide and mouths open. The remnants of forgotten tears were still on their faces. “That’s why you never pick a fight with a vampire queen. That was lesson number one.”

The children unleashed their inner mayhem; utterly enthralled by what they so feared not a minute ago, they surrounded Marceline, bombarding her with way too many questions for anyone to be able to keep up.

“I can’t believe it,” huffed Princess Bubblegum, mostly to herself. “Why would I ever think that’d be a good idea.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale loved love. Over the centuries, he watched millions of people fall in love, and it proved to never get boring. They met, exchanged glances and smiles, talked and danced, then held hands and married. Raised children. Grew old together. The two things they all had in common were having their hearts full and having them broken, both at least once in a lifetime. Aziraphale saw it all. Everyone who has walked on this earth since the beginning of time wanted to love and be loved, in whatever way they saw fit.

It was a particularly sunny day, that Sunday. Warmth tickled the skin, and everyone, big and small, wore shorts and dresses and funky T-shirts in cheerful colours, enjoying the weather, their freedom, and each other. The amusement park they sat in was filled with glee. All the machines were on, not given a minute of break. The waiting lines to the most popular attractions meandered —no impatience in sight —filled with relaxed parents, enthusiastic children, and chattering friends. Others moved in between, pacing from one place to another or standing in little groups, popcorn and cotton candy in hand.

But in that lovely picture, one thing stood out. A teenage girl, on the younger side, alone and fidgeting in place; her eyes wandering, she wiped her sweaty palms on the yellow shorts.

“She’s waiting for a date,” said Aziraphale captivated.

“Who does what?” asked Crowley. He was another thing standing against the lovely picture of the scene, covered in black and frowning at the sun and joy. But that was too usual for Aziraphale to count it as one of the abnormalities. That was just Crowley being Crowley.

“Look at that girl. I wonder who might she be waiting for.”

“Probably that guy.”

Aziraphale looked in the direction Crowley gestured in with a slight nod. There, a teenager around the girl’s age showed up, a single rose in hand. The kids’ eyes met, and the girl gave him a faint smile, relieved. He smiled at her, too.

“Isn’t that wonderful?” Aziraphale’s heart grew.

“What’s so wonderful about it?” Crowley, as always, was unimpressed. He hid his eyes under his hat.

“Young love, naturally!”

Crowley didn’t reply, but, barely ever so, peered out from under his hat and looked at the two. They really did seem happy. His gaze moved to Aziraphale. He was, too – with dreamy sparks glowing in his eyes as he observed the kids. He’s such an angel, thought Crowley.

Only after a moment, much longer than it needed to be, he finally looked away and hid back under his hat.

Chapter Text

It was sumptuous. The satin, bottle green gown clung to the girl's chest with its bodice embellished with fastidious beading and lace; its bell sleeves embosomed her arms and broadened from the elbow down. The full-length bottom part of the bouffant skirt swept along the dance floor as she walked, her face hidden behind a white full-face mask, gilded, with the unmoving lips painted black and the top enriched with dark ruffles. The costume was so impeccable that if it were anyone else she was looking for, Catra might have missed her. But the blond, slick hair peeking from the back of her head as well as the evident lack of familiarity with high society made her an obvious target—so obvious, Catra almost felt bad for her as she smirked, making her way towards Adora.

"Would you care to dance?" She reached out her hand.

“Wh-,” Adora stumbled over her words as she moved her gaze over to Catra. She recognised her right away. Of course, she did. Catra’s costume was not half as sophisticated, and her mask was only half face, but even if it wasn’t, between the two of them, it was not only Catra who could recognise the other one solely by the sound of their footsteps or the rhythm of the air leaving their lungs, led by the melody of their shared memories.

Adora didn’t say anything else; she simply placed her palm in Catra’s hand and put the other one on her shoulder. Catra’s heart skipped a beat when she felt her own arm rest on the crevice of Adora’s back and found herself so close there was barely a breath between them. She gulped, her muscles suddenly stiff and frozen.

Pull yourself together, Catra thought, and as she did, the images of Shadow Weaver began flashing in front of her eyes. The series of insults and belittling remarks, the never-ending displays of neglect. Bursts of anger and threats. The favouritism. Never being enough. She abandoned you.

The smirk came back on, along with a new wave of hurt and contempt. “So, where are your little friends, Adora?”

Chapter Text

There wasn’t much left of the Shire by the time Gandalf stumbled upon it again, but in all fairness, there was not much left of anything, anywhere, at all. Each of the little hobbit holes stood emptied out, no hobbits in sight, and the paths from one to the other were dusty and littered with long-forgotten possessions left behind to moulder. What used to be a land of chanting planes and buzzing bees was now no different than Isengard, than Rohan, than Gondor itself.

Usually, Gandalf did not find it in himself to wail—it was much too late for tears, and there was no use for them in a world so profoundly incarcerated in darkness —but he could not stop his heart from aching so explicitly faced with its loss. Bilbo, Frodo, Aragorn, and even that silly Peregrin Took, all were where he could no longer follow, and, in some ways, the responsibility of it was weighting against his weary shoulders.

Though he was relentless in his search, after years of obstacles hindering his efforts and the remnants of hope fading within him, Gandalf was tired. Upon Sauron’s victory, the lands of Middle-earth were either flooded, burned to the ground, or posed against the destructive forces of ancient winds and rocky giants. What used to be a gracious land was now nothing but a desolated desert, and it seemed unfruitful to expect anything but. Still, he searched. It wouldn’t be the first time hobbits or men surprised him in the most astounding manner, and if that was so, he didn’t want to miss it.

Chapter Text

Faced with the grandness of the building he had so profoundly dreaded the past couple of weeks, Levi felt even smaller than he usually did. It was all glass, like all of those fancy new office buildings in the city centre usually tended to be designed, and through its windows, easily visible, stood desks and plants, and people in the middle of important calls on their phones, staring into the distance. They didn’t seem affected, or even aware, of the display they were put on, while discomfort heaved inside Levi by the sole thought of being in their place. Men in suits much more expensive than his passed him by on their way to the revolving door like a swarm of ants. Some of them bumped into him, some barely avoided doing so, and yet somehow, he still picked on his skin to remind himself he was perceivable and real.

His watch said it was 8:48, and though he still had a lot of time, it also meant he spent close to a quarter of an hour on the footpath. Slowly, he began putting one foot in front of the other, stiff as if, in the span of those fifteen minutes, he had managed to forget how to walk.

A young receptionist sat at the entrance. Her smile was pretty and kind, but also practised and slightly forced. Despite so many pairs of shoes traversing the pearl-white tiles, somehow they remained crystal clear, and Levi could almost see his distorted reflection.

“Excuse me?” The receptionist turned to him, her smile neither a millimetre smaller nor wider. He wondered if she kept it this way all throughout her eight-hour workday. “Could you point me to TitanTech Solutions?”

He nodded along as she explained the way while also forgetting it all altogether before she finished speaking.

“Clear?”

“Clear. Thanks.”

It took him two wrong turns, one incredibly incorrect elevator journey, and at least four conversations asking complete strangers for directions, to finally stand in front of a plaque adorned with the TitanTech logo.

“First day,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

When Edward charged into Pinako’s house with a greeting on his lips and Alphonse by his side, he found himself faced with a perfectly foreign stranger sitting inside, smiling.

“Hell, you scared me!” he cried towards the guy, to which he just laughed.

“I’m sorry.” He put his newspaper to the side and approached them, reaching out his hand in a way that made Edward wonder if it had been the right house he barged into. It was the same old-lady furniture, old-lady smell, and even the old lady’s dog, who now peeked out of the adjacent room preparing for a big warm Elric welcome, that it had always been; the only iffy thing in it all would be the blondie, who appeared way too confident in the way he carried himself as the non-owner of the place. He was about their age, seemed well-off and put together, and wore a very punchable smirk.

Edward shook his hand, and so did Al.

“Wow, you’re so much bigger than I remembered!” he said to Al. “I mean, it’s been a long time, but you”-he glanced at Edward-“didn’t change all that much, for comparison.”

Ed bristled and felt his blood boiling in his veins at the remark. Then, a realization. “Of course. How could I not have recognized you, Cyrus.”

“Cyrus!” Al echoed him, just as surprised.

“Well, it happens. I’m much more handsome and taller than I used to,” said Cyrus. “Don’t worry, it will happen to you soon, too.”

“Don’t you say?” Edward wrinkled his nose.

“What are you doing here?” Al adopted a chirping tone that he usually leaned towards when preparing himself to make up for his brother’s insolence in social settings.

“Visiting.” He shrugged as if they were to believe that. “You?”

 “Visiting.” The falsity of Ed’s smile could poison a little village.

When they were children, Cyrus had lived a couple of houses from theirs, and since they were similar ages with not an overabundance of other kids around to befriend, they often hung out together: the brothers, Cyrus and his sister, and Winry. Al, younger and generally more laid back, didn’t really care much for anything other than their day-to-day activities, while the girls enjoyed spending time making flower crowns, racing and coming up with new games for the group. Edward and Cyrus, on the other hand, stood against one another in a constant battle for the title of the leader of their group, which, of course, mattered anything only to their egos, since neither Al nor, especially, the girls, would listen to their directions anyway.

“I thought I heard you!” Winry came down the stairs. Smeared with whatever she was smeared with, as usual when she was working on a new project, she hugged them tightly and ruffled Ed’s hair. “I see you already met.”

“What do you mean we already met?”

Winry took Cyrus’ arm. “Cyrus and I are getting married.”

“WHAT?!” was a shared reaction, which was then followed by two separate lines of questioning and accusations, mixed with a set of swearing, jumping, finger-pointing, and general flailing of arms.

“I’m just kidding, geez!” Windy shouted. Then, in her regular tone, “You guys have no sense of humour, at all. I’m just fixing something of his. Get a grip.”

“Well then.” Edward straightened himself, his cheeks still flushed. “What are we eating?”

Chapter Text

Odd had known they were lost long before he admitted it aloud, but the belief that the path – any path – would emerge from behind the trees and then lead them to any kind of road, to then lead them to any kind of car or house or a person, kept his mouth sealed shut and his naivety aflame. But as a chill began sneaking up along his spine, stronger with every gust of the biting breeze, and he had to squint harder and harder to see the sneaky branches and roots sticking out of the tricky ground through the darkening forest, he finally said, “Yeah, we’re lost.”

“Don’t you say,” scoffed Ulrich. He’d been sulking for close to two hours, plodding along at the tail of the group. In the middle, Jeremie, Yumi, and Aelita walked in weary silence, their Are you sure you know where you’re going?s and Is this the right way?s exhausted a minute, an hour, a day, a week, or a lifetime ago, they weren’t even sure.

“I’m sorry, guys.” The leaves, recently green and now dripping with nightfall, whispered to them alongside nocturnal animals standing guard in place of their diurnal counterparts. “I think we’ll be here a while. We better set up camp.”

“What damn camp!” cried Yumi. “We literally have nothing with us!”

“Even less than we started with,” muttered Jeremie, looking at his shoe, detached with moisture.

“I’ll figure it out!” said Odd, fully aware there was no way in hell he’d figure it out. “I will.”

Of course, no one believed him. They just kept on walking.

Chapter Text

His sandwich was properly awful; a thin slice of ham with some jam and crumbly bread. Sam sat in the school library amongst too many bookshelves with stories no one wanted to read. His backpack was tossed to the side, blue like his mood, with barely any notebooks inside. He didn’t care much for school performance, but, to be fair, at that point, no one else ready did, either.

Despite being careful, everywhere around him lay crumbs and as he picked one of them up, he noticed a stain on the sleeve of his jumper. It was sticky and red, from the energy drink he’d had earlier. He stared at it for a while. The librarian frolicked around her little kingdom somewhere where he couldn’t see her, humming; she must’ve already forgotten he was there as he should’ve been gone to a class somewhere, and he just hoped she wouldn’t suddenly appear giving both of them a heart attack.

He took the jumper off and flung it in the backpack’s direction. He missed and it landed in a dirty corner where he saw too many spider webs for him to ever believe it was cleaned on a regular basis. Sam didn’t pick it up.

The sandwich was awful, but he kept on eating because Vincent had made it. Ever since their dad left for the army, their mom wasn’t herself. It wasn’t the first time he was sent away, but it was the first time it caused the air in their house to become harrowing and dense enough to be on the verge of suffocating Sam the moment he stepped through the door. Sam didn’t really know what it was about; the only thing he knew was that it was the first time he actually heard the words “dad” and “war” in a single sentence, and he didn’t like it. Vincent knew something was off just enough to quietly become older than he should have been. His bed was always made, his toys collected, and his shoes tied. When mom didn’t get out of bed in the morning, he would bring her a glass of tap water and sometimes leave food on the kitchen counter. At first, Sam thought he did it by accident or forgot to put it back, but after a while, he realized, the yoghurts and carrots and chocolate bars were actually for him; a 5-year-old’s rendition of a display of motherly care.

This time, it was a sandwich. It was the worst sandwich in the world, properly awful, but Sam loved every bite immensely and cried over the scattered crumbs when he finished.

Chapter Text

“Today, I had a dream,” said Rachel, “and I’m pretty sure I just saw into my past lives.”

“What are you talking about?” Kurt didn’t look up from his nail file as he asked it. They were huddled together in the school corridor as Rachel came up to them; Kurt leaned across the wall and Mercedes and Tina were in the middle of reviewing the latest Vogue. As if she was invisible, the two of them continued what they were doing, if anything, giving it even more attention than they did before.

“I had a dream about Finn and I—“

“Rachel, I’m gonna stop you right there.” Kurt’s gaze moved to her, as did his index finger. “Finn’s with Quinn. They’re popular and beautiful and madly in love. It’s not happening.”

“No, but that’s what I’m telling you!” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes filled with sparkles and insanity as usual. “I saw us. Finn and I. I dreamed about what our life-lives!-together were like. In every lifetime we would find each other and be together and—“

“But Quinn—“

“No, that’s what I’m saying!” She stared into the distance like she was about to burst into a Disney song. “Every time there would be someone standing in our way, and every time, the power of our love would overcome the obstacles. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“More like crazy,” muttered Mercedes making a face, but still going through Vogue’s pages.

“Your Prince Charming’s coming.” Kurt nodded at something behind her, and Rachel jerked around to look at Finn walking in their direction. He was smiling, a big, wide grin, and Rachel, without hesitation, smiled back. She raised her hand and began to say, “Hi, Finn!”, but he passed her without noticing. A moment later, she watched him kiss Quinn and then the two of them wander off.

“Definitely meant to be.” Kurt rolled his eyes and went back to his nail file.

Chapter Text

It was a bit weird after they came back from the mission. Pearl bolted through the Temple Gate the moment they crossed the beach house’s door, leaving Steven behind alongside Connie and Garnet. Amethyst, who’d decided to stay in, lounged on the couch with a pack of crisps, unbothered. “What’s up with her?”

“Yeah, what is up with her?” Connie looked at Steven as she asked it, and then they both slid their gaze to Garnet, who lingered in the entrance as if uncertain about what she should do.

Finally, Garnet spoke, “We... encountered the Crystal Cathedral on our way.”

Crystal Cathedral. So that was what the place was. The name meant nothing to Steven; he ran through the winding maze of his memories, but there was nothing there, at least nothing useful. They’d never been in a cathedral prior to this day as far as he remembered, especially not in any kind of crystal or gem one. Steven didn’t even know they were a thing. And he’d definitely remember that one.

The cathedral they ran into was a mighty building, weathered by time, but still showing the signs of forgotten greatness. The walls that lasted soared into the sky and towered over their heads; sublime. Each little element of its design had to be created with immaculate care and attention to detail like Steven hadn’t seen ever before. When he stroked the stained with dirt and moss, faded-grey stone, he thought to himself: it must have been white. Pearl-white.

Amethyst gasped. “No...”

“Yes.” Garnet shook her head.

“What’s the Crystal Cathedral?” asked Steven.

Garnet and Amethyst exchanged a look. Amethyst was the first one to open her mouth, “Why not tell him?”

Garnet sighed. There was a short pause, pervaded with anticipation, before she found the words. “The Crystal Cathedral was... Pearl’s church.”

“What?!” Steven and Connie cried in unison.

“Well, not hers. Her people. Her... followers. They built it.” Garnet looked into the distance. “You see, even today, people often don’t really understand what gems are, why we’re here. And before...”

“Before, they thought we were gods,” said Amethyst. “When they stopped being scared of us, they started praying to us and leaving dea— sacrifices. In front of our door.”

“We tried to stop them,” continued Garnet. “Explain to them we are not gods. But they wouldn’t listen. We tried to ignore it, but Pearl... She began to enjoy it, and after a while, she leaned into it.”

“Yeah. It was bananas. They treated her like... I don’t even know what! She was wearing all of those weird clothes, accepting their gifts, she even attended their weird services or rituals or whatever they called it.”

“When did she stop?” Connie’s eyes were wide open.

“When they—“ started Amethyst, but Garnet was faster. She closed the distance between the two of them in a swift motion and grabbed Amethyst’s hand. As they disappeared through the Gate, Garnet only slightly glanced over her shoulder and said: “End of story.”

Then, they were gone.

Chapter Text

“Are you going to do the boombox thing?”

Wybie stood under her window in a black hoodie that made him almost blend in with the light-stripped street. The lanterns weren’t working, and only some singular lamps and LED lights shone from behind the curtains of other people’s apartments. It was the kind of dark that would cause most of the folks Coraline knew to be visibly uncomfortable, but for the two of them, it didn’t matter. Neither one of them had been afraid of pretty much anything for a long time.

“No, I’m here to talk.” Coraline still couldn’t get used to how mature he now looked. His awkward way of carrying himself and ever-crouched posture were gone, and in their place, there stood a young adult perfectly secure in his own skin. Slightly leaning on his right leg, with hands in his pockets, he stared up at her, and in his eyes, she could still see some remnants of the old Wybie, hopeful and insecure. At least that’s what she told herself with four meters of nothing in between them. “Can I come in?”

“I don’t want to see you, I’ve already told you that. Stop throwing pebbles at my window.”

Quite a long time before, Coraline came to terms with the fact that, most likely, there would be no one else in her life, ever, who’d understand her the way Wybie did. It wasn’t ordinary what they went through, and it was far from insignificant that they had gone through it together. [...]

Chapter Text

It was Raven’s eighteenth birthday and the worldwide celebration of the fact couldn’t have been more depressing.

It has been two years since it all began, and two years is more than enough to become utterly devoid of hope for a better tomorrow, especially, when each passing day brings nothing but more misery. Trigon won, a soul-crushing, calamitous victory, and it wasn’t at all surprising there was no flame, not even a spark, left in people’s hearts. It would be trampled too soon, a venture not worth the risk. Too many scars, gravestones, and sorrows were its proof.

Raven walked through the abandoned streets. Dust-covered wrecks of once-loved cars created a labyrinth of forgotten reality with their owners now either dead or in hiding. In moments like that Raven felt like the only person in the universe, and in a way, that’s what she was. A bad omen. The destroyed or worlds. A harbinger of grief.

Her father won, and it was her fault. Being the only one who could’ve faced the challenge, she suffered a humiliating defeat, and now all was gone. All besides...

“Psst, here!” The voice came from her left. It was a bit sickly, but oh so warm and familiar. When she turned, a pair of green eyes stared into hers intensively. The figure, covered in shadows, peered out from behind a corner, and behind him, she could see the silhouettes of three others. Beast Boy took a step closer, leaning out into the remnants of what used to be the sun. “It’s high time you showed up.”

Chapter Text

It was one of those nights you knew something awful was about to happen and couldn’t be more excited to find out what. On this particular night, however, it was quite obvious – though not to all involved – that the awful thing in question would be the imminent date of one Constantine Whiskers with Priscilla Addams, a cousin, beloved family member, and mortal enemy of the person whose eyes were now glaring in the ritual candlelight, from behind the bushes, besides the ancient tombstones, Morticia Addams herself.

“Priscilla, dear,” she spoke reaching her arms out to her kin. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit out of place to do this?” Priscilla gazed at her from above Mr Whiskers’ neck, her teeth thrust into his delicate skin. Mr Whiskers didn’t look much as if the date was going the way he planned it to, grasping for air and throwing his arms in a desperate cry for help, he spilt even more blood from ritual cuts Priscilla inflicted on him than he would have if he were still. Morticia continued, “After all, it’s only your second date.”

“Oh, you know me, Morticia.” Mr Whiskers’ fluids spluttered from the punctures when Priscilla drew back. He moaned in pain, and Morticial felt herself grow hot at the sound. Gomez, too, used to moan like that, but now it became increasingly more difficult to displease and hurt him enough. Priscilla added, “I know when it’s it. Besides, what’s the point of wasting time if he’s not strong enough to go through the process?”

Morticia did understand, of course. After all, their female lineage was all about female empowerment and the corruption of men. She looked at Mr Whiskers once more, and a speck of a smile ran through her lips. “You have my full support, dear one. But bury him in that one, a little bit to the right.” She pointed at a grave hole. “The left one is for a bully at Wednesday’s school. It’s a bit tighter.”

Chapter Text

His first delivery went better than Will had expected it would.

It had been a couple of days now since he started his apprenticeship at the town’s blacksmith, but despite the lack of earlier experience, Mr Brown talked to him and gave him orders as if Will was raised amongst forges with a hammer in one hand and a tong in the other. From the moment the man laid eyes on him, Will was tossed around the site, briefly instructed, learning techniques, oiling equipment, and organizing materials. Mr Brown’s malcontent demeanour pointed to his irritation with the idea of having another person, a young boy at that, getting in his way; though at the same time, he seemed very quick to give away all of the more annoying, minuscule tasks, which gave him more time to sit with his legs crossed on the tabletop, a glass filled with liquor in hand.

Today, was the first time Will was to leave the workshop.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea, sir?” he asked. “I’m not yet that familiar with the town. I worry I’ll get lost.”

“Bollocks.” Mr Brown didn’t take the hat off of his face when he said it, his voice still filled with the remnants of his nap. “Just follow my directions. You’re taking this parcel to Mister Cecil Cartwright’s shop, remember that name, will you, boy? If you do, you can ask anybody if you get lost and they’ll guide you, it’s a well-known shop. You’ll be just fine.”

And he was. The way was simple, and Mr Cartwright was nice. Now the only thing left was to get back to—

“Move, boy, move!” Will felt himself get pushed off to the side and, in a rather quick and difficult-to-comprehend turn of events consisting of trouble regaining his balance and far-away cries of many people, he fell through the small door of the adjacent cellar and plunged into its dirty floor. As he turned, attempting to re-focus his eyes in the face of the sudden, overpowering darkness, he watched a silhouette of a man standing next to him shove the door shut behind them. So I’m meant to die after all, he then thought to himself, but neither one of them moved. Motionless, Will listened to the steps of at least a dozen of men running by them on the other side, and from the many words they were shouting he could make out the one most reoccurring: sparrow.

It was a matter of moment before the little backstreet was silent again.

“Well, boy,” said the man, his voice oozing drunkenness similar to Mr Brown’s. “Twas nice knowing you.” He then attempted to yank open the door.

Nothing.

He tried again.

For some reason, the door was stuck.

“Hm,” he said. “Did not consider that.”

It was nearly pitch black around them, the only source of light being singular specks of light seeping through the door’s little holes. With their help, Will could see the man was around thirty or forty years old, with long, dreadlocked hair and peculiar clothing, seamen-like, but not exactly.

“You’re a pirate. Jack Sparrow.” It was meant to be a question, but as he asked it, Will realized it was true. “Those were royal soldiers running after you.”

“Indeed I am – and indeed they were.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Do you want me to?” Sparrow laughed. Will didn’t feel like doing so. “Don’t worry, kid, you’re not worth the effort. Too little gold on ya. I have the royal guard after me, don’t need to add your parents to the list.”

“I don’t have parents.” He didn’t know why he said it. Why would a pirate care? But the statement was out there and, for some reason, it felt a bit less heavy than usual.

“Shame. Your girl then.”

“I don’t – I’m eleven,” said Will, but hesitated at the image of Elizabeth Swann appearing loud and clear in his head. Their encounter was only brief, but she saved him, and after they got back to the shore, Miss Elizabeth made sure to say goodbye to him before she left. Besides, she was certainly the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

“Ohh, I see. So who is she?”

“There’s no she.” Will felt his face flush and for a second he was very glad the cellar was completely swollen in the dark.

“Right.”

A sudden commotion outside caused both of their heads to turn. When the door opened, there was a chunky, poorly clothed man standing on the pavement.

“Took you long enough,” said Sparrow. The man reached out his arm and helped him get out.

“Be glad I came!” replied the man, though the smile on his face was kind, at least for a pirate.

“See ya, boy.” Sparrow looked down on Will who still stood amongst the shadows. “Good luck with the lady.”

And just like that, they left.

Chapter Text

It was fun to hang out with Sebastian. He was the kind of guy every girl wanted to be around, handsome, talented, quick-witted, and with a smirk to die for.

Of course, all of that still had the classic Los Angeles packaging of a bit of an asshole, but, after a while, Mia actually began enjoying his company, nevertheless. They first met at a restaurant where Sebastian was in the middle of losing his job, then – at the party, when yellow 80s-inspired chinos exchanged the suit pants from before. Since then, a series of rather poorly planned out accidental encounters led to them spending time together after Mia’s work and in between Sebastian’s gigs nearly daily.

“I like you,” he said to her one day. They were sitting at a bar that was simple but nice and cheap enough to fit both their standards and their wallets. The staff was either completely occupied or entirely ignorant of their job, because there was barely any space left for the empty cocktail glasses on their table, and they needed to hold the ones that still had booze in them in their hands. Hearing the statement, Mia looked up at him, more attentively than before. His face didn’t reveal much, as if there had been nothing grand, standing behind his words, just a casual, friendly remark. But men weren’t usually ones for the innocent, and Mia knew it was unfair of her to keep him wondering.

“Sebastian...” she started. His smile relaxed but a bit hazy, his eyes fixed on hers. “I like you. I do! But I – I don’t think we should –“

His finger raised into the air halted her.

“Hey, stop. Don’t worry. I don’t expect anything.”

The genuineness of it hurt. “You have every right to. But I’m not... I can’t. I want – maybe. Not right now.”

His hand found hers. She felt a subtle squeeze, comforting and friend-like in every possible way. “Don’t worry.”

An exchange of smiles.

Mia could see the ghosts of her past stand by them, their presence loud and clear, just like the sadness that accompanied them. But it was her night. A night for drinks, laughter, and snarky comments with a person who expected nothing of her. Haunted, she finished her drink. The sweet nothing tasted like new beginnings.

Chapter Text

Bella couldn’t accept how easy it was to lose something important.

Edward was her love, meaning, and the sole purpose of existence, but his family snuck their way into her heart just as easily. She devoured their – ironic – warmth and inhaled the acceptance. With its lack, a dark hole drilled into her body and paralyzed her limbs.

“Who cares,” Edward whispered into her ear. The tiles of a flogger glided along her stomach making her shiver. “It’s you and me that matters.”

She couldn’t resist him. She would follow his voice into the depths of hell, do the most unspeakable of things just for a chance to please him and hear him praise her. Silky haze embraced her with every single one of his gestures, took control of her reason every time he as much as looked at her.

But when it was over and she found herself alone, again, in her old, childish bedroom, the thoughts exploded in a cacophony of sounds and colours, and doubts, and shame. Without trying, the Cullens were more of a family to her than her own ever could be in spite of their pathetic attempts at trips and jokes, and loving conversations. And now, on her way to finding herself, she was losing them.

It was either one or the other. But each time the logical side of her came to a decision, Edward appeared in all of his glistening glory. He put one of his hands on her back, and the other gripped her throat, pushing her slowly onto the bed, her back arched, her neck sensitive to his cold, cold lips.

She no longer remembered what she wanted to say.

Chapter Text

Living with Hange reminded Levi of sharing small proximity with a hurricane, a rave, or a swarm of bees. Whenever they were gone, the flat became his oasis and Levi’d almost forget what led him to the pesky necessity of having a roommate, at least for a while, but then every time they showed up, the mayhem entered his relaxation zone leaving nothing but a mess, headache and gossip behind.

He didn’t like it, but he got used to it enough to find it uncanny to see Hange sitting at the little dining table in their narrow kitchen, a mug in their hand, with no smile on their face nor words on their lips.

“You alright?” he asked trying to ignore the fear of getting dragged into a spiral of some petty Hange drama.

“Yeah.”

And then – nothing.

That was definitely out of character, almost uncomfortably so.

Levi hesitated but sat himself down opposite of them. “Okay, what’s going on?”

Hange pouted. Leaning back on the chair, they crossed their arms and excessively exhaled. “Do you remember Margot from my uni?”

“The Margot you never stop talking about? Yeah, rings a bell.”

“Funny. Anyway, I’ve begun to lose hope something would ever happen between us. And today she pretty much sealed on it.”

Levi flicked through all the memories of the two of them acting like a pair of lovebirds high on their honeymoon phase, being all touchy and cutesy and annoying. “Why do you think so?” [...]

Chapter Text

She was no more than three meters, four people, and ten heartaches away from the table where, in all his shining yet innocent glory, sat Haku alongside his bandmates, a musician, a lyricist, an idol, and the biggest celebrity crush Sen could have ever imagined for herself. Time after time she wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts and readjusted her The River God T-shirt Lin had bought for her at the merch stand. She’d waited for this moment for over a year in the literal sense, but also her whole lifetime in the way that sounded actually correct in her head. She wouldn’t let her sweaty pants disturb it. This is what she was born for, to come up to Haku from The River God, say hi, tell something funny, let him sign her poster and T-shirt, and, if her joke turns out funny enough, a marriage license. Maybe it was a bit far-fetched, but one thing she knew for sure: there was no chance for it to happen, ever, if the hand she gave him was wet like a rather godless river.

The line got shorter. Three people. Two. One.

Zero.

“H-Hi.” Her voice trembled, just like her hands did.

“Hi!” Haku smiled as he looked at her – actually looked at her! – and slightly tilted his head to the side. At this sight, a high-pitched squeak broke free from her throat. A flush of red spilling out onto her face followed. Haku’s smile remained as it was, though now it felt a bit more strained, his eyebrows a little bit more lifted. In his eyes, she could see the silent question, Are you one of the crazy ones?

“I-sorry. I just... The poster!” She reached her arms with the poster towards him but lost hold of it before he could take it from her. Slowly, it fell down onto the floor, prolonging her embarrassment. Sen crouched and while getting back up, she smashed into the edge of the table causing all of it to jump with her and several items skid down from the table top.

“Are you okay?” Haku asked.

“No! I mean, yes! I just-“ She pointed at him, then at herself, then at something in the back. “I should go.”

Before anyone could intervene or say something, she sprinted out of the room, pushing through the dozens of girls still waiting in the line. Maybe one of them would have a better chance at becoming Mrs. Haku River God. She was pretty much ruined.

Chapter Text

In the darkness, Alex could make out a silhouette of a boy gliding towards them, closer and closer - yet he was not moving a single muscle. The woods, so eager to howl their pain into her and Jonas’ ears and thrust them about with sudden gusts of wind, suddenly stopped and the silence made them shiver.

Alex looked to Jonas, who stood frozen and stared in the direction from which the person – was that a person? – was coming from. Jonas' eyes were wide open, overly aware but distant at the same time. He didn't want to be here, despite what he had been saying, and Alex knew that all too well. She saw him force himself to bond with her, to nurture a somehow amiable sibling relationship she hadn't put any effort into building. All that while she was nothing but awful to him. And now he was stuck with her on that goddamn island.

Alex turned her head back at the sound of a leaf crumbling under a shoe. Only a moment had passed, but the figure was already within the reach of their flashlights, and Alex flinched at the view. The blood racing through her veins now felt icy cold. Her knees buckled under her, weak and trembling.

“Alex, are you okay?” She could hear the fear in Jonas’ voice, if she had given up, he’d be completely on his own, and them having each other was the only good thing left in this madness. She didn’t respond, though, too focused on what was before her.

“Michael...”

It wasn’t him, exactly. The boy in front of her was blond and a little shorter than Michael was, and his clothes were too uncanny for her not to had seen them in Michael's wardrobe before. But for some reason – was it the way he walked? His innocent smile? The general way of carrying himself? – she knew it was Michael.

He reached out his hand to her. “Alex.” His lips didn’t move, but it was his voice. A whimper left her chest at the sound of it. “I’ve missed you.”

In spite of her still wobbly legs, she stood up and then took a couple of steps towards him. He was so near, and it was almost, almost Michael. The closest thing to Michael she had.

“Alex, no!” Jonas gripped her arm and began pulling her away. “It’s not him, let’s go!”

“Let me go!” Alex tried to break free, but Jonas’ hold was so tight it hurt. He was adamant, running in the opposite direction, tugging her behind him, and she had no other choice but to follow him. If she hadn’t, she was sure he wouldn’t hesitate to drag her behind him on the ground. Her eyes welled up, but she kept on going without turning back. She was too afraid to know what she’d see, and too weak to trust her reason.

The woods resumed their nocturnal melody.

Chapter Text

He was kneeling before her as he had never done in front of any other woman in his life, and the act surprised even him. He would have never suspected himself of being capable of such a plain display of desperation, and especially not in front of much too mouthy and proud for his liking Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but here they were, in her room, with no one to disrupt them, and, somehow, this time the seclusion tasted of hope rather than impropriety.

“What are you doing!” Elizabeth hissed, taken aback. Her cheeks grew even more flushed than usual and she took a step back, her muscles – all tensed.

“I,” began Mr Darcy quite timidly, “am humbly asking you to be ever so kind and consider my apology.” He took a deep breath. “I know my faults, Miss Bennet, do not think I don’t. My actions as well as my words were too arrogant to be excused so easily, but I do regret them truly and I wish you believe me when I say I want to become better... for you.”

Elizabeth huffed and shook her head. “You’re only saying this because you now know I am a princess. Someone on your level. You would have never looked at me and said you’re sorry if it wasn’t for that.”

“You’re wrong about that.” Their eyes met and a surge of emotion flashed through the room. “I had been aware of my- my feelings towards you well before the information came to the light of day. Even if the conditions were less favourable, I would have gone to extraordinary lengths to make it happen because I do not care about anything other than you. That is why I would like to ask you to make me the luckiest of men and become my wife, Miss Bennet...” Mr Darcy cleared his throat, and with a shaky voice added, “Elizabeth.”

There was only one thing she could respond to that, and she did not hesitate to do so. “No.”

Chapter Text

“DONNA SHERIDAN, you sit right back down on THAT chair before I beat your little ass.”

The three women stood in what Donna converted into the master bedroom. The bed was unmade, the sheets disordered and wrinkled after days of being in use by a person who tossed and turned instead of sleeping. The air was stagnant, difficult and unpleasant to breathe in, so Tanya made her way to the window and opened it, broad as it was only possible with its old design and creaky hinges. In the meantime, she still kept an eye on Donna, making sure she wouldn’t try to escape the room again as she tried the conversation; though even if she tried, Rosie continuously guarded the door preventing her from doing so.

But Donna didn’t look like a runner anymore. She was sat as she had been told, and if anything, she looked like a very sad little girl about to burst into tears.

“Now, now,” continued Tonya. She put her palm on Donna’s shoulder and patted it lightly. “I didn’t really mean that, you know. I’m not really going to beat you.”

“Oh, move!” Rosie came forward and waved her hands, shooing Tonya away. “You’re terrible at this, you know that?” She crouched down in front of Donna. “Donna, what is going on, darling?”

Now Donna actually did burst into tears.

“Oh, who’s terrible now!” cried Tonya.

“Shut up!” Rosie cried back.

“You both shut up!” This time it was Donna. “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me, it’s nothing.”

“Who’s gone?” Tonya crouched down by Rosie and they now both looked up at her puffy red face.

“I- I was with someone. A guy I’d met a few weeks before you came. We were dating for a month or two, and I really liked him, and...” Her voice broke.

“And what? He left you?” asked Rosie.

“That scumbag! Tell me what his name is and I’ll find his ass and—“ Tonya began her rant.

 “No, no, it’s not like that!” Donna groaned. “He was great, that’s why I hadn’t told you. He was great. He was nice and handsome, and when I told him about Sophie he was nothing but supportive, but...”

“But what?” Tonya shook her head.

“I can’t date!” Donna rose back up to her feet so fast Rosie and Tonya almost lost their balance leaning on her. “That’s why I haven’t told you before! What was I even thinking when I agreed to that date? And what’s more, what was I thinking when I continued that charade? I’m a mom now, goddamnit. I have to work and raise my daughter. Besides, what good men are in this life?”

Tonya made a face. “I’m with you on that, sister.”

“You’re both insane.” Rosie seemed outraged by the idea. She then looked straight at Donna. “What did you do? Where is he now?”

“I broke up with him. And I don’t know.” She sat down on the bed and hid her face in her hands. Rosie and Tonya joined on the empty sides and they both began caressing her back. For the next while, nothing more was said. No words were right nor none were needed.

Chapter Text

“Your hair is long.”

All conversation came to a mid-sentence halt as everyone who had gathered in the vast throne room turned their heads towards the voice. Its owner, a lean man in his mid-thirties, emanating kindness and poise, was dressed in layered robes, very unusual in the Fire Nation, but instantly recognizable across all kingdoms and lands.

“It’s the Avatar!” People began to whisper as Aang made his way towards the dais, smiling and exchanging greetings with those around him. There was no one who wouldn’t want him to gift them at least a short glance or a fraction of a nod. “Avatar Aang is here!”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Fire Lord Zuko rose from his royal seat and walked down the steps to face his old friend. The distance between them diminished, and when finally faced with one another, Aang bowed with his palms pressed together as per the Air Nomads tradition, and Zuko replied with the same gesture. Then, as they looked up at each other, wide adolescent grins grew on their mouths. Leaving the formalities behind, they found themselves in a tight and heartfelt, long-awaited embrace of friends, comrades, brothers, profoundly missed.  

“It’s been too long,” said Aang. “I really missed you.”

“Yes, it has,” admitted Zuko. “I missed you too. Would you like some tea?”

Chapter Text

When Richard barged into Bunny’s room, it was already long past midnight.

Bunny was in his pyjamas, an old T-shirt with a faded logo of a band he hadn’t listened to in years and a pair of checkered, red pants, and he held one of the books they were to write an assignment on for the next week’s class. The dimly lit room felt quiet and comfortable, though also distant and secluded; the atmosphere almost otherworldly contrasted with the far-away sounds of the grand party penetrating through the thick walls of the building.

From the moment he laid his eyes on Richard, Bunny could say with the utmost certainty that his friend was completely, utterly, unequivocally out of it.

“Hello.” Though cordial, Bunny remained wary. “Everything alright, mate?”

“Yes.” Richard laughed. “And no.” He made a few steps towards the bed and sunk onto it right next to Bunny, slightly grazing his leg hidden under the duvet. Bunny wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol and sweat. Richard was most definitely drunk and high, but, most likely, it was not the only shit he currently had in his bloodstream.

“What’s wrong?”

For a moment, Richard stared at a singular point on the opposite wall, without a blink or a twitch of a muscle. Then, as if awoken from a dream, he jumped and looked back at Bunny. His eyes wide, nostrils flared, lips formed into something like a smirk but a bit too unhinged to be friendly. The discomfort grew inside of Bunny, but he remained seated in the exact same position as he had been before without averting his gaze.

“It could have been you.” Richard’s voice was almost a whisper.

“What?” Bunny shook his head, unnerved.

Richard leaned in closer until their foreheads were almost touching. “Before I came here, I had a vision of what it would be like if it was you, not me. A real vision. And I tell you, Bunny, my man, I’d much prefer that version of the story.”

Listing all possible drugs he could remember that caused hallucinations, Bunny asked, “What vision? What was it about?”

A frown fell onto Richard’s face and enveloped it like a mask. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Th- They’d be angry with me. It’s a secret. No one can know what we’ve done.” The last sentence, he hummed. Then, a bit louder, he repeated, sounding the poor melody even more. “No one can know what we’ve done.”

A moment of silence fell during which Bunny was left unsure of what he should say.

“But in that vision, that... alternative world...” Richard picked back up his thought with a dreamy smile dancing on his lips. He looked straight into Bunny’s eyes, piercing through to his soul. “In that world, it was your secret.” Then, he closed his eyes and fell onto his back alongside Bunny as if to fall asleep. “I’d give everything for it to be your secret.”

Chapter Text

Mark was crying, yet it was not some regular, little crying everyone goes through while in their 20s and living in the goddamn Big Apple of the United States. At that point, the guy was full-on weeping, his eyes sore, nose one big snot, and face as red as the Toyota Corolla Roger had rented for their road trip a mere hour before the disaster struck. Now they were alone, in the well too overpriced car, on their way to an adventure neither of them felt like embarking on - Mark because Maureen had just left him, and Roger because he had to spend it with Mark whom Maureen had just left.

"How you doing, mate?" Roger asked carefully when the sobbing somewhat allayed. He glanced at Mark to examine his state - was he dead or merely just dying? - and feel out where he should go from now: was the answer a dumb joke, a heartfelt conversation, or a complete diversion?

Mark's face looked like a pale ripe tomato, tired of its colour but not exactly sure what to do with itself instead. On his knees, scattered around, laid used pieces of the toilet paper that he had taken from the back seat, which was meant to serve them for the following nights of wild camping they carefully planned for. Mark was supposed to pack a few more rolls, just in case, but since he most definitely did not, Roger just watched him blow his nose into the remnants of what was left and prayed for some good old constipation in the next few days.

Mark looked back at him with his bloodshot eyes. Then, something that kind of sounded like a human voice left his throat, "Not good."

A sigh. Roger thought about the miles they had travelled, the miles to come, the toilet paper, and the utter remoteness of where they were going. "Yeah," he muttered. "That's what I figured."

Chapter Text

“Not again!” Both of the twins exclaimed looking at one another; George stroking his long, white, Dumbledore-like beard, and Fred touching his bushy eyebrows with his wrinkled hands, they seemed to be relieving their literal worst nightmare.

As the group had embarked on the journey several days ago, none of the people gathered expected the endeavour to turn out as long and challenging as it did. Though Harry assumed they would be gone for no more than two days, it already prolonged to four and counting, and Harry had no clue as to what to do next, both Ron and Ginny were already at each other’s throats at this point, and Hermione was the only reason they hadn’t yet died of hunger (Well, I’m always prepared for any surprise, she said, showing them her food supply for at least another week when she realized they were actually stuck in the forest). 

“Great.” Harry’s shoulders slumped in a sign of capitulation. They’d been on this task for hours by now and were no closer to figuring out its solution than they had been when they’d started. And, to add to the list of their worries, Fred and George were now old men. [...]

Chapter Text

“Hello?”

“Hi, Diane. I know it’s late, but do you think something like real love has ever really existed, or is it just a concept people came up with to make themselves feel better because deep down, in their hearts, they know everything is actually just shit? It’s Bojack, by the way. Horseman.”

“Bojack, what’s going on? It’s... It’s 3 o’clock in the morning. I have work tomorrow.”

“No, it’s 2:36, I wouldn’t wake you – But that’s not the point. Love. Do you think it’s real? Could it ever be real?”

“Bojack, are you dru... Yes. Yes, I believe love can be real.”

“How? I can’t believe that, Diane. I’ve been watching this show; it’s supposed to be a documentary or something and at first, I thought: Man, what a bunch of bull crap. Are those people really interesting enough to get a documentary? I still don’t have a documentary, why do they? Anyway, then I was bored and I accidentally got really into it; and the woman who the story was about was really into that guy, yeah? He was all great, but then her family forced her to marry someone they’d chosen for her and he was an ass, but a rich ass, you know, like about ninety percent of the Hollywoo. Then, in the end, she tried to be a good wife and all, but the husband started beating her, and so she ran away and found the first guy because he was the only person she still trusted and he... he also hit her. Many times.”

“...”

“Everyone is shit and I can’t help but wonder why we still pretend love exists and is good for us if having any kind of positive thoughts or relationships or hopes for anything nice in this life is nothing but a disappointment. Why, Diane? What’s the point of it all?”

“Well...”

“Just please no glass half-full bullshit or I swear to god –“

“I wasn’t going to! I think love is real, but I don’t think it’s all bees and butterflies and children dancing around campfires.”

“Children doing wha –“

“Nevermind! Anyway, I think finding people worth caring for is the only good thing we have this world, and each other, to offer. I mean, you’re right – everything is shit and we’re all going to die, and many people don't deserve what we want to give them, but we have to find those who do. Being there for your friends and loved ones is the only thing we can do to make it bearable. That’s why we create communities, that’s why you’ve been allowing Todd to sleep on your couch for forever, that’s why Princess Carolyn still has your back even when you are a dick, and that’s why I’m talking to you at 3 o’clock –“

“2:45.”

“– 3 o’clock, about the meaning of love, trying to make you feel better. People are terrible; life is terrible. Being a person is terrible. Honestly, other people are the most annoying thing there is, but also the only thing that matters. That’s why I believe in love. I think love is just caring. Someone asking how your day went and holding your hand when your pet dies. That’s what we do.”

“And what if you’re unlovable?”

“As long as you let people in and allow them to love you, no one is really unlovable.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks, Diane. Good night.”

“Good night, Bojack.”

Chapter Text

He grew quite fond of their retirement home, Bilbo had to admit. It was a rather small complex, very comfortable and cosy in its nature, where only a handful of tenants were present at all times, breakfasts were always of the most delicious ingredients, and people working there actually enjoyed their job and the company they had. Bilbo, in spite of his profound fondness for complaining, was deprived of the pleasure, since barely anyone ever interrupted his peace and reading unless in case of really important matters, which he considered very considerate and highly admirable. Actually surprised by the fact, he found it serene to be amongst the trees and little houses they lived in, nothing else coming to mind that could make the time flow easier.

But of course, there was also Thorin.

Thorin Oakenshield, as Bilbo had come to know him, became his dear friend and life companion many springs before they moved into the retirement home, and even longer before Thorin finally mustered the courage to ask Bilbo out on a proper date. Up to that point, they lived their lives separately, but together, intertwined in a thread of friendship and obstacles they conquered together. But though closer than they could have ever been, closer than anyone has ever felt to another person, it took them nearly a lifetime to say it out loud.

“We should have done this sooner,” said Bilbo, an ice cream cone in his hand.

“Yes, we should have,” admitted Thorin. His hand, free of food or any other distraction, found Bilbo’s and covered it, only slightly caressing its back. Then, he repeated, “We should have.”