wip of the stupid fucking random bedroom. it's too bright though

Chapter 2

Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a pretentious ass - that's the only way you could possibly explain the man. That being said, you needed a job to help pay for grad school, and the position of being his TA was the only thing available. You'll suck it up and deal with it, but the last thing you'll do is let this man get inside your head in the process.

WC: 1131

Rated: M

Chapter Tags: laszlo is very to the point with his expectations.

🧠

Monday morning came too quickly. There was no need to dress super professionally as a TA, but you still found that you wanted to at least look presentable on your first day with the devil himself. One less thing for him to judge you on, right?

The hall in the Psychology wing was quiet, only a few students could be seen shuffling to their early morning classes. A tall guy walked past you, offering up a pity-smile in your direction as he saw where you stood. If what you had seen on the professor over the weekend was any real indication, you felt bad for the psych majors. Even so, you would do your best to withhold judgement until you met the man.

You stood outside his office. The dark mahogany door was shut, a gold “Dr. L Kreizler” placard adorned the wood. Pulling out your phone you check the schedule for the tenth time this morning.

Schedule:

MWF 8am-12pm

TTH 3pm-7pm

You lick your lips and look at the clock on the wall - 7:59. The second the hands switch to 8 you knock on the heavy wood. There is a muffled “come in” from the other side.

You don’t know what you anticipated as you entered the office. Taking a minute, you examine the decor he has set up. It felt like walking through a time capsule; as though you were transported to the gilded age. Rich, dark colors of wood and tapestry filled the space. Large bookshelves had tomes that looked to be at least a hundred years old, well worn and rubbed off of their titles. Small artifacts, pictures, and old scientific instruments line the shelves. The room is massive, not something you would have anticipated. He does not use the fluorescent overhead lights, instead having a series of tall warm-toned lamps scattered around the room. There is even a couch along the back wall, decorated with swirling filigree carved into the arms and legs. A laptop and second monitor on his desk bring you back to reality.

In your admiration of the office you pay no mind to the man it belongs to. Finally, you notice him as he stares at you from his chair, looking annoyed at having to wait for your introduction.

Even with the less than pleased look he’s giving, you can’t help but notice how attractive the man is. The picture had done absolutely nothing to show off the depth in those brown eyes, the softness of the delicately styled hair, the fullness of his well-groomed beard. He was much younger than you anticipated too. If anything you figure he’s maybe early 40s. And fuck, he’s just your type. Too bad he’s an asshole… and your boss…. you think belatedly.

“Oh! Sorry, um, I’m the new TA,” you introduce yourself and tell him your name. “It’s very nice to meet you professor.” You reach out to shake his hand. He does not move to return the favor, but instead keeps his calculating eyes on you. The silence tics on as you wait, hand outstretched. Clearing your throat you drop it back to your side.

Finally, he speaks in an accented voice. “You may call me Dr. Kreizler. I have space for you there,” he gestures with a nod of his head to a desk in the corner. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a list of expectations for you. Should you have any questions or concerns I expect that you address them with me directly. You’ll note that I have included my personal number for work purposes only. I expect you to provide me with your own should I need you outside of contract hours. Do not contact me while you are intoxicated or you will be dismissed from this position.” To the point then, you blink at his directness. And presumptuous as hell to assume that you would even consider drunk texting him.

He briefly explains your role and clarifies some of the less detailed points on his list. The entire time he’s speaking his focus is on whatever work sits in front of him, not you. A beat passes once he’s done.

“Sounds great, thank you.” You had done your best to remain civil and polite, ignoring the ill-reviews in hopes to create your own opinion. Quite frankly, he wasn’t faring well so far.

He looks up at you; his eyes are piercing. Does he always look like he’s picking apart people like they are a specimen he’s studying?

“I suspect you have done your research on who I am, yet you are still present today. That is promising. But tell me, who are you?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.

You’ve never been good at talking about yourself when put on the spot. “Well I’m 26 years old, I graduated magna cum laude with a dual degree in history and political science. The last few years I’ve been working with the graduate studies program to get my doctorate in history. My thesis is on 1960s shifting cultural norms and the development and impact of countercultures on American society.”

“Have you considered the emerging role of sequence murderers in your studies?” He almost looks interested as he asks.

“Some, not as much as I would like yet, though. I suppose a perk of taking this position means you can give me some insight on that since you teach about it.” You give a little smile-shrug, hoping the statement will earn you some points with him.

He ignores it. “And what background in psychology do you have? Or do you even have any?”

You are a bit taken aback by his tone. “I took an introductory course with Professor Stratton during my undergrad years.”

“Hmm. That will have to suffice. In the meantime I would suggest you make haste with the reading I’ve left you. It’s best you spend this week with that so you can be most useful to me this semester.”

Looking through all the contents he’s left on your desk you see two books, a textbook, a few slide show print outs, and his syllabi - each marked up with his cursive and colored tabs to mark pages of importance. Sitting down, you give an inaudible sigh; this is going to be a long semester. You pick up the first syllabus and get to work.

Noon rolls around after what feels like a lifetime. Packing up all the materials he’s provided, you wish him a good afternoon. As you are walking through the door he calls out to you.

“Next time, do not be late.” You give him a confused look, seeing as you got there exactly at 8am. “On time is late,” he explains curtly.

“Noted.” You don’t catch the door as it all but slams closed.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles

The Raven and the Robin:  (2)Legacy Day

Thanks for reading this dudes, I didn’t think it’d get alot of traction. Onto the story,

Summary: It’s Legacy Day but Raven knows her heart isn’t set on signing her book, perhaps Maddie knows what to do.

@justafanwarrior @insomniac-nerd-posts-things

Mara Queen walked the halls of her castle, well her and her husband’s, trying to find the little prince and princess.

“Where are my little birds?” Mara called out, keeping an ear out for any giggles.

“Hehehe”

Underneath the dining room table then.

“Oh where could my birds be? Surely they have not flown out the window!” Mara dramatically wept out, her platinum blonde, practically white, hair with varying shades of purple streaks, swaying as she quickly ducked underneath the large mahogany table. Her violet eyes twinkled in mirth as she heard the two children yelled in surprise.

“Mommy you found us!” her youngest, Robin, giggled as Raven pushed her way out from behind the chairs before helping Robin along. The Tornado Twins, she heard some of the castle staff call them fondly with how quickly they would appear and leave disaster behind. It made things better and worse that they had magical powers.

Robin had her white hair while Raven had James’s ebony locks, both had wavy hair. Both her children were faired skin though that was no surprise. While Raven had cerulean eyes, Robin’s were seagreen, a bit darker than her own before she signed away her destiny.

They were little troublemakers but they were hers.

“Look at you two, you look like a mess” Mara sighed, the grass stains and dust on their faces and clothes not looking like they’d be easy to clean up by hand. Luckily she had just the spell.

“From rags to riches, dull to shine, Clean these twin royals of mine”

“Aww but mommy we want to play here” Robin whined as his little golden crown tilted on his head, Raven following behind her with little prompting.

“Well you could stay here” Mara teased “Or you could accompany me for lunch with the Badwolfs and Hunters”

“Are our friends going to be there mom?” Raven shyly asked, taking a hold of Robin’s hand.

“We’ll find out when we get there”

And with that the three King-Queens headed out for a play date, one of the last they’d go to as a family.

♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕

Raven found herself in a state of unease as she walked down the halls of Ever After High on the morning of Legacy Day.

Ever since she was outed as the daughter of the Good King, therefore also the daughter of the Evil Queen, she’d been outcast by most of her classmates; suddenly she was an unpredictable evil witch instead of the quiet but sassy girl most assumed would be a royal. Apple and Headmaster Grimm had even tried to remove her things from Maddie’s room and Raven did not regret the hex she placed on them then or when they tried messing with her schedule a month into the school year.

She hated Legacy Day.

“Maddie, you have to help me.” Raven sighed as she grabbed onto her BFFA,“ I don't feel like I can sign the Storybook of Legends, but I don't wanna let everyone down either.”

“And do not forget the whole, ‘If you don't sign, your story disappears—poof!—and you may vanish into oblivion!’” Maddie emphasized with a large gesture of her hands before taking a large gulp of air “That's a thing you know, and it's gotta hurt.”

“But we don't know if that's true.”

“But what if it is?”

“But what if it's not?”

“But what if it is?”

“You're not helping.” Raven sighed once more, beginning to think that refusing to sign was a hopeless endeavor.

“Wait a tick! I think I know who can help.” with a snap of her fingers Maddie began to bounce excitedly and began to gesture to the library wing of the school. Not a moment too soon as Raven could see Apple White begin to wave her hand at her and make her way towards the duo.

“Ooh! Raven! There you are. We have to talk.”

As they hid behind one of the library shelves Maddie began to knock on the door behind them, a mist surrounding the hidden duo before taking them into another room.

“If anyone knows the truth about the Storybook of Legends, it's Giles Grimm!” Maddie laughed, gesturing across the curtain to reveal a lanky graying man, she could see some similarities with the Headmaster though their way of presenting themselves was like night and day; Giles was casual if a little more hobo looking while Milton always made sure he looked as crisp and pristine as possible.

“Feathers and friends! Together, alone.” Giles Grimm bowed to the young princess.

“He's speaking Riddlish! He was cursed with the babble spell. Makes him sound, you know...cu-roo-coocoo!” Maddie explained as she waved her fingers around her head, “ He says it's nice to have us here.”

“Ask him about the book! If I don't sign, am I really gonna... uh, disappear?” Raven requested, feeling her nerves build up.

“Mmhmm! Can the musical chair change its tone when the tablet of granite is inscribed with a bone?” Maddie translated for her friend.

“Hmm...the constellation lays incomplete in the sky tonight, does this mean the night will not arrive?”

“Oh” Maddie’s demeanor seemed to droop for a second as she turned to Raven “He knows that your story doesn’t have all its active roles but he doesn’t know how the storybook will take it if it finds out”

“Bu-But what about signing? Even if the story doesn’t have all its roles do I still need to sign or will something happen?” Raven could feel as her throat began to constrict, an invisible bile going up her throat as she recalled the missing piece of the story.

“The king who sings with pages of sky fears too much the dawn that rises with lies.” Giles gave a sympathetic look to Raven before talking to Maddie.

“He says there's something wrong with the book, and that if you don't sign, your story will…”

“What? WHAT?” Raven opened her eyes to see Maddie already having set up a tea party and serving a cup to Giles.

“Oh, sorry! If you don't sign, your story will continue.”

“Ah, really? Oh that's great.”

“...I think.”

♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕

Raven had to stop herself from glaring at Apple as the girl only stared her down; everyone was surprised when she arrived in her “Good King” outfit.

It was a bit of an old style for Raven’s style but a little bit of magic helped adjust to her taste, just a bit. Raven proudly wore the same white suit all the Good Kings had worn, her father included, a 19th century styled German army suit that the original Good King wore, with golden accents on the shoulders, buttons and embroidery, the original loose white pants with golden embroidery on the side of the leg becoming more form fitting, shiny black leather boots, with some added heel, and white gloves tying it together before adding the finishing touches. Raven had made sure to correctly adjust the clasps on her carmine velvet cape with white fur on its trims and that the crown, a golden trimmed crown with different colored jewels carefully placed on it and a velvet cap underneath it.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing the same thing all Evil Queens wore before?” Apple asked in a forced polite voice, after all her Evil Queen couldn’t be wearing the suit her grandfather wore for Legacy Day… even if her mother never liked talking about him.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing the same clothes the Snow Whites have before?” Raven stared at Apple’s dress, clearly tailored for today even though it was not the way Legacy Day worked; they were supposed to be wearing the suits the Originals wore in their stories. For someone all about tradition, Raven couldn’t help but think that Apple was just full of it.

At that Apple just went back to the unofficial “Royal” side of the courtyard. Raven made her way with the Rebels.

“Fables and Gentletales! It is my honor to welcome you to the newest generation of Legacy Day”

♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕

This was so unfairest.

Raven had been clapping politely as her friend’s turn was coming up only to be thrown a curveball.

They were not going in order of Author or even Fairy Tale title; they were just going in random order.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was up first, as it had been during rehearsals.

“I, Alistair Liddell-Wonderland, son of Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, promise to fulfill my destiny as the next Alice and resolve every riddle that stands in my way!” The crowd cheered as Alistair finished his speech, silver key appearing over his hand before placing it in the book. Raven winced from her seat, recalling the fact that Alistair and the other Wonderlandians couldn’t go back because of the Evil Queen’s spell. Well Alistair already completed his story; all Alice’s did before Legacy Day even happened. Every Alice would fall in a rabbit hole and into Wonderland after being spied on by that White Rabbit by the age of seven. It was an Alice thing according to Maddie.

Bunny Blanc was the only “Role” that was unavailable during the ceremony. She didn’t escape with the others and was still stuck in Wonderland.

Kitty Cheshire, Elizabeth “Lizzie” Hearts and Maddie each signed the Storybook of Legends after Alistair was done.

Then Headmaster Grimm just had to meddle; Snow White was going up next.

“I am Hunter Huntsman, son of the Huntsman from Snow White and Red Riding Hood, and I am here to pledge… my destiny” Hunter forced a smile on his face, it's not as though he was ever ashamed of his destiny but well𑁋 As a vegetarian he couldn’t help but dislike certain aspects of his role, namely the slaughter of animals. He faced the crowd as the bronze key appeared before him and inserted it into the Storybook of Legends. The flipping of pages giving a small breeze to his forest green hood as he watched the scenes before him.

He was strolling through the woods, animals on the look for him. The animals rushed to him and gestured to a familiar looking cottage; he had to pull Ramona and Cerise away from a fight, neither looking too happy at old Ruby Hood, the Red Riding Hood before their mom. He just walked away from the cottage with the girls before he received a message on his mirror phone from an unidentified number that “requested his services”. It showed him at the steps of a castle… wait what? The pictures after that were all blurred, as though water had spilled on top of them.

Hunter was snapped out of his stupor as the feather appeared before him; Hunter Huntsman was officially the next Huntsman for the two stories.

“Raven Queen” Headmaster Grimm called out, much to Raven’s annoyance as she walked up the staircase.

“I am Raven King-Queen, daughter of the Good King and the Evil Queen, and I pledge um…”

Raven took the golden key before her, a small crown with a ruby crystal on top, inserting it in the Storybook. With a sigh she twisted the key in the lock as the pages began to fly.

Raven couldn’t control the whirlwind of emotions she felt as the story unfolded before her. She hadn’t realized the magic she unleashed, all the mega mirrors now showing what she looked at.

Raven, at ten years old, stood side by side with a boy with white hair, the duo walking through the halls of the King-Queen “Good” castle. Eleven year old Raven watched as the white haired boy, both now having streaks of royal blue and regal purple in their hair, seemed to be bossing around a younger Hunter Huntsman. Raven was now thirteen years old, watching from her room as a crystal object was being carried away by castle staff. Seventeen year old Raven (this year?) watched as an armored figure leaned forward, a crystal coffin people realized, and gave a kiss to the unseen person inside of it.

Raven had enough. She knew what she had to do.

“I am Raven King-Queen, daughter of the Good King and Evil Queen, here to announce that it is my destiny to become the next Good King” Raven ignored the shocked looks or cheers coming from the Royal side as the Rebels just continued to stare.

Raven shut the book.

“But I will not be signing the Storybook of Legends; I’ll find my own Happily Ever After”

“Oh my…”

“Yaayyy!”

“Raven did it!”

All the mirrors shattered once the book was closed. Raven looked around she realized that nothing had happened after that. She was still alive, everyone was still alive.

“You lied! I didn’t disappear” Raven’s fury was directed at Milton Grimm, cerulean eyes lit up

“Are you here to make a fool of me young lady!” Milton barked, his skin gaining a red tint to it, similarly to Apple as she glared at Raven.

“I told you I wasn’t the Evil Queen” she huffed back

“Ho-How could you be so selfish! If you’re not the Evil Queen to my story then who is!” Apple demanded.

Raven stopped herself from losing grip of her emotions again, she turned back and gave Apple a solemn look “That’s another story ever after”

Raven King-Queen stepped down the staircase, towards her awaiting friends, and never looked back.

♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕♛♕

After the ceremony was postponed until further notice, Milton Grimm stormed up into the hidden entrance of the tower where the Magic Mirror was kept.

She would be talking to him whether she was willing or not.

“What is the meaning of this! Where is the new Evil Queen! What have you𑁋”

Milton Grimm was shocked at the sight within the mirror. No longer did she wear the bird skull crown or have black, purple and magenta hair, or even the same dress she had when destroying the other stories.

It was as though the Evil Queen many had come to fear was gone.

Crying within the mirror was the same Mara Queen he had recognized from her own days at Ever After, amethyst eyes she only gained after Legacy Day looked at him in distress and horror.

“What have I done?”

AO3 KO-FI

y i k e s

@it-fandom-exchange 

Here’s my fic for the IT fandom exchange! This is for Julian, aka @sigmatauris. enjoy!! 

Stenbrough :) 

TW: Mention of suicide attempt 

Stanley pushed a mixtape that Richie made for him into his car stereo. The House That Built Me by Miranda Lambert plays softly on the winding road to Ben Hanscom’s house for a Losers Club sleepover. The fiery sun rolls down the sky, painting a trail of pink on a pastel blue blanket. Barely-visible stars blink, sprinkles across the yellow sky. Stanley unrolled his window to hear the chirping crickets that no one else in all of Derry slowed down to listen to. 

At a stoplight, Stanley took a package of mint gum from the car’s cup holder. He unwrapped the flimsy strip of candy and folded it onto his tongue. Stanley checked his rear view mirror, keeping an eye on the full moon as it approached him. He was a good driver. He picked up the skill the day he got behind the wheel. He kept a rigid posture, hyper-aware every time a green light would flick on, gripping the wheel with both hands. 

On the other hand, Stan Uris’s best friend, Richie Tozier, was the exact opposite. Stan always made fun of him before they turned fifteen. (“I’m terrified to see you behind the wheel, Trashmouth, there’s gonna be a lot of lives lost!”) He’d joke. The two loved to joke. Richie and Stanley shot rebuttal after rebuttal, teasing each other whenever possible. In their teenage years of mood swings and raging testosterone, the reckless kids loved poking fun at one another. Their shield of an ego would protect them from such “love-filled” words. Stanley’s ego though, slowly crumbled, and his confidence too. He had to build a shield—a wall—out of something else. 

The Miranda Lambert song ended as Vienna by Billy Joel began. A smirk appeared on the lone driver’s face as the opening piano blinked through the speaker. 

“Slow down you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile…” He hummed, moving his head to the rhythm. Not quite bopping or swaying, but a healthy middle ground, “Why are you still so afraid? Hmm…” 

Stanley let the crinkling piano and gentle vocals set around him as he subconsciously drove slower, reaching the Hanscoms’ neighborhood. He twisted the steering wheel, to prolong his drive. Stanley hated to stop in the middle of a song. Especially such a masterpiece as Vienna. His tires grazed the road until the song finished. He found his way to Ben’s house, nearing the song’s end. The same crinkling piano that opened the melody also closed it, prompting Stan to turn off the engine.

He noticed Barn Boy Mike Hanlon’s truck, similar to Richie’s pick-up in the driveway. He thought about Mike. He never understood the boy. Stan couldn’t resist rolling his eyes or making some passive aggressive comments sometimes, but Mike kept silent for minutes and more at a time. He reclined in the comfort of seeing his friends smile or share banter. Mike would blush under his dark skin at the sound of their laughter. Sometimes, Stan thought Mike Hanlon knew more about any of the Losers than the rest of them did. Other times, he prayed he didn’t. 

Stanley saw Beverly Marsh’s beat-up wagon of a car too. He got out of his car and went to examine the rusty thing. Beverly drove well. Her reflexes never failed her; she knew the moves of every driver around her; and she had the second most driving experience of the group, (first being Bill.) The thing was that she inherited the car from her dad after he stopped driving. The alcoholic got his license confiscated and left his car to Daddy’s Little Girl. Stanley bent to see a broken windshield wiper and examine the chipped paint. 

He assumed Eddie may already have arrived since the boy hated driving and lived within walking distance of Ben’s anyway. He finally decided to find out, hoping from Beverely’s car to the steps up to Ben’s front door. He knocked three times and stepped back, flexing up and down on his toes. Excitement ran through his veins whenever the Losers were about to meet up. 

“Hey!” Ben’s bright grin lifted his cheekbones. Ben was a chubby kid, but way more handsome than most of the fit kids at school. His hair always fell into the perfect place unlike anyone in the Bowers Gang. His eyes shone with gratitude. He looked like someone who should be in a toothpaste commercial, where at the end a little sparkle effect was added to his smile. 

“Ben, hey!” Stanley smiled back at his friend. Richie and Beverly both called Ben Hanscom “Ben Handsome” at some point behind his back. Beverly always loved plays on words. Ben once wrote Beverly a sloppy haiku entitled “January Embers.” Richie was the first person Beverly told about her crush on the golden-hearted boy, over a few cigarettes, a good month after the one-hit-wonder wrote: 

Your hair is winter fire 

January Embers 

My Heart burns there too

Their stuttering friend, Bill Denbrough, loved words as well. He wrote a lot in journals no one dared to read. Pencils don’t stutter, so when he wasn’t around the Losers, he built pages upon pages of expression. Bill had it bad for Beverly, but Ben Handsome got the girl first. Stan hated himself for being glad about it. 

Stan peaked inside, hearing a movie, some arguing, and bubbly laughter. 

“Come on in!” Ben pulled him inside. We’re watching Back to The Future. Kind of…” he trailed off, leading him to the living room. 

“All I’m saying is,” Eddie stubbornly argued, with sharp hand gestures to prove his point, “You can’t not have a backstory for a friendship! How the hell did Marty McFly and this stupid scientist guy meet? They clearly didn’t meet at school! Doc isn’t Marty’s dad or grandfather! You can’t just give us nothing!” Eddie stuck to his strict opinions on things.

“Eddie, it’s just a movie!” Beverly chuckled, crunching down on some popcorn. “Calm down.” 

Mike rolled his eyes with the widest grin on his face. As the rest of the Losers Club barely tolerated Eddie’s hard opinions, Mike enjoyed the supervised chaos. 

“That’s what I’m saying! It’s a shit movie!” Eddie leaned back on a dark blue pillow, against a white couch. 

“Woah, woah, we don’t talk shit about Back to The Future!” Stanley spoke up as he entered the living room. Ben smiled. 

“Maybe you don’t,” he shrugged, “I think the movie is trash!” he complained. 

“I’ve got an idea,” Beverly snatched the remote from the table and turned the TV off, earning three groans and one silent ‘thank you’ from her friends, “Who wants to play truth or dare?” Those groans were replaced with cheers. 

“Are we gonna wait for Richie and B-B-Bill?” Stan mocked Bill Denbrough’s stutter. He was only allowed to do so because they’ve been best friends since practically birth. He fumbled with the sleeve of his hoodie, sitting next to Eddie Kaspbrak. His lanky frame reclined against the leather piece of furniture. 

“I guess,” Ben shrugged, “I’ll download a truth or dare app in the meantime.” 

“We’re using an app?” Stanley laughed. 

Eddie jumped at his opportunity to insult his friend, “Well, you couldn’t use your brain. We all know the saying ‘can’t use what you don’t have.’” 

“That was a trash comeback,” Stan commented, fumbling with his Star of David necklace. He admired Eddie’s unwillingness to not chime in. 

“You’re a trash comeback!” the boy crossed his arms with raised eyebrows. 

Stanley furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

“FBI, open up!” Richie boomed, kicking at the door.

“We brought s-s-snacks!” Bill’s soft normal-pitched, stuttering voice chimed in. 

Ben marched to the door to welcome the conclusion of the group inside, “Hi!” Ben made way for the two, brushing his blond bangs from his eyes. 

“What’s up, Losers?” Richie stepped inside, pacing to the usual meeting spot; Ben’s living room. He dropped a shopping bag of snacks near the couch as the Losers crowded around it like starved wolves in a pack. Really, that’s what they were; a pack. 

“We were just about to play some truth or dare,” Mike informed, “For recap, Eddie’s been bashing on every little detail of Back to The Future and Stanley is a trash comeback.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Stanley scoffed. 

“He’s also in love with Bill,” Mike added, making Stanley’s eyes go wide. “What are your sources? Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” This was one of those moments he severely hoped Mike didn’t know Stanley more than he knew himself. Truly, Stan didn’t know himself at all. He lost it somewhere in his mind and figured he may find it later. Perhaps, like an innovator digging through a dumpster, trying to find parts and pieces, he’d create something; bring it to life one day. 

“You’re the Jewish one,” Richie poked Stanley’s shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, mad intelligent?” 

“Just mad.” Stan rolled his eyes. 

The one thing he knew for sure about himself was that he had his secret which was the fact that Mr. Uris had no interest in women. He liked Bill as more than a friend since they were fourteen years old. The Losers were sixteen and seventeen now and he couldn’t kill the butterflies in his stomach when Stuttering Bill’s lips curled into a smile. 

“The app’s downloaded if you guys are ready to play,” Ben held up his phone, showcasing the title screen of the application. 

“I’m ready!” Beverly excitedly raised her hand. 

“Me t-too,” Bill’s gentle voice followed Bev’s sharp one. The rest of the group ad-libbed ‘yes’s and ‘ready’s. 

Ben has a very nice house. Marble floors matching the marble island in his kitchen, a nice white couch with navy pillows to go with the white walls, accented with dark blue trim. He had a wood-and-glass coffee table too, separating the couch and the TV. It was comfy. 

Ben shooed everyone into the office, closed away from the living room with white french doors. There was a desk in the back of the room and shelves with books and comics and journals, displayed along the walls. The well-lit room had a shaggy carpet on top of the cold floor.

The Losers gradually made their way into a circle. Counter-clockwise, starting by the back of the room was Ben, then Beverly, then Eddie, then Richie, then Stan, then Bill, then Mike, then back to Ben. 

“Alright,” Ben started, looking at Beverly, “Miss Marsh, Truth or Dare?” 

“Dare!” her eyes glowed. The brave girl, far more chivalrous than any of the “men” in the room, loved adventures and thrills. Stanley insisted they call him a ‘man’ because of his bar mitzvah that barely happened. Bill and Mike were the real men of the house, but they both tied with Beverly even at that. The ‘dare’ part of truth or dare was a piece of cake.

Ben clicked the ‘dare’ button, “I dare you to put ice cubes down your shirt and leave them there until they melt,” he read with an amused expression. 

“Son of a bitch,” Beverly heaved herself up, the key on her necklace jingling. She opened the door, “How many should I get?” 

“Just grab a cup and we’ll see what happens,” Ben answered, offering a smile toward her, picking at the fabric of his hoodie. Beverly nodded and went off. 

“A whole cup?” Eddie’s eyes went wide. 

“Yes sir,” Ben nodded. Ben was not at all the evil type, even in truth or dare. The Losers dubbed him the ‘sweetheart.’ As long as everyone was safe and comfortable though, he enjoyed a bit of excitement, just like Mike did. Mike supervised all the shenanigans the group got into. Unlike him, Ben had no control over what happened. He liked to dip his toes into the pool of chaos nonetheless. 

Beverly arrived back, a full cup, shaking with ice cubes. She smiled and held one of the frozen squares to showcase it for the group, “There’s at least fifteen in here.” 

The Losers waited in anticipation and Beverly sighed. Her overalls would certainly keep the cubes in place. She slid the ice down the back of her shirt with a wince, “One.” 

She counted out the rest, managing to keep her breathing steady as the sharp temperature nipped at her back. 

“N-No one a-asked you to do a-a-all sixteen,” Bill reminded, an amused grin on his face. 

“That was the dare!” She shivered. 

“Actually,” Ben took a sharp inhale and showed the phone screen, “It never specified how many. It said ‘ice cubes’ in the plural, but could have just been referring to two.” This was a time that Beverly was not so much a fan of words. 

The red-headed Beverly deadpanned Bill and flipped him off. She had gorgeous red hair that used to hug her neck, but after cutting it short, it curled into the air around her as a pixie style. The only similarity was the color which matched the freckles sprinkled about her face and arms. 

“Why b-be mad at me? B-B-Ben’s the one who m-mmm-made you get a full cuh-cup!” Bill giggled, playing as if he were ‘oh, so offended.’ 

“I’m in so much discomfort,” she squirmed as she sat down, the ice numbing her lower back, “Okay, Eddie, truth or dare?” Ben passed on the phone after hitting ‘dare complete.’ Beverly earned one point for her troubles. 

“Truth,” he answered. 

“Pussy!” Richie taunted, “Just kidding, I love you, you fucking pussy-ass-coward.” Eddie huffed and looked to Beverly who now had Ben’s phone. 

“Who, out of the people in this room, is your least favorite?” she read with a smirk and curious eyes. 

“Richie,” he answered without a hesitation, making a grab for the phone. 

“Bitch, please, we all know you guys are gay for each other,” Stan called, receiving an exasperated blush from Eddie and a cackle from Richie. 

“That’s not true! I fucking hate him and his stupid face!” Eddie covered. 

Beverly kept the phone hostage, “I’ve got a better truth: Who do you have a crush on Eddie?” her direct eye contact intimidated the asthmatic. 

“I already answered a question!” he made another attempt for the phone, “That’s how the game works, you get one truth per turn!” 

“Nah-ah!” She pointed, “Come on…” 

“Richie’s, like, worse than Stan!” Eddie defended himself, “I wouldn’t date him if my life depended on it.” 

Ouch. Stanley thought, but found comfort in being on a higher ranking than Tozier. 

“Oh come on, I’m not so terrible!” Richie reasoned. “Are you saying you’d rather date Stan the Man Uris than this?” he posed, puckering his lips. 

“Gross, Rich.” Eddie’s nose turned up in disgust. “I’m not dating either of you.” he crossed his arms.

“Beep, beep, b-b-both of y-yyy-you.” Bill brushed his shoulder against Stanley. Something about it seemed non-accidental. 

“Richie, Truth or Dare?” Eddie turned to him. 

“I’m not on speaking terms with you,” Richie crossed his arms. 

“Oh, come on, I was kidding!” he admired Richie’s attempt to not burst into giggles. Eddie sighed and kissed Richie’s cheek, whispering a ‘no homo’ which received a wolf-whistle from Mike. “Truth or dare, you stupid bitch.” He took out a bottle of hand sanitizer from his fanny pack and applied it like a chapstick. 

“Dare,” the flustered and confused boy stated. 

Eddie took a second to click on the ‘dare’ button and read the task, “Ew, this one’s gross, I’m not reading it.” 

“What?” Richie whined. “I bet it’s fine!” he strived to take the phone. 

“You’re not licking the fucking floor, Richie.” Eddie snatched the phone away from Richie’s reach.

“Gross!” Beverly made vomiting noises. “Was that the dare?” she asked, earning a wrinkled nose and a nod from Eddie.

“Um?” Bill’s eyebrows furrowed, “Is n-no one paying at-t-tention to that k-kiss?”

“Just let ‘em do their thing,” Stan looked at Bill, wishing he could do the same to the blue-eyed boy. He’d imagined kissing Bill. He’d imagined holding his hand, cuddling, going on dates, pursuing a relationship, dancing, anything.  

“I f-fucking knew it!” Bill celebrated. Stanley couldn’t help but blush at the gleam in his crush’s eyes.

“It’s okay, guys, he said ‘no homo,’” Richie put his hands up in innocence. He thought for a second about the dare. “I’ll lick the floor though.” he shrugged.

“I can’t believe I’d rather watch you--” Eddie read off a new dare, “--Twerking for 60 seconds to a song of the group’s choosing.” 

“Please for the love of God do Please Don’t Go Girl!” Ben cackled, having the song stuck in his head all day.

“No!” Bev whined, “Babe, that’s our song! I don’t want to be dancing with you one night and end up thinking of Richie’s ass.” 

Stanley could only be jealous. Not because he wanted to dance with Beverly or Ben, but because he wanted someone to dance with. He looked over at his crush, envisioning Bill’s hands on Stanley’s hips and Stanley’s on Bill’s shoulders. 

“You’re right, you’re very right.” Ben nodded. “I vote You Got It then.” 

“Ben, no one wants to twerk to your New Kids in The Block trash.” Richie urged, pushing his glasses higher onto his nose. 

Ben pouted, whispering a correction, “It’s On The Block. Not In.”

“Whatever.” Richie said. “Can I please do Crazy Frog?” 

“Why don’t we pick something nice like Frank Sinatra?” Mike suggested ignoring Richie’s proposal. 

“Crazy Frog it is!” Eddie decided, cueing up music on his own phone. 

Beverly bopped her head, trying to hype Eddie into doing the same next to her. He just laughed along with her refusing to dance. Mike made another wolf-whistle as Richie twerked--poorly. Bill pretended to slide dollar bills off his hands at Richie. “Yeah! That’s my be-be-best f-friend!” He cheered.

Stanley admired how Bill encouraged him, even while doing a terrible job. He wouldn’t dare to be brave like Richie, but he hoped that if he was, Bill would be just as proud. Maybe even wear the same goofy smile. 

At the one minute mark, Eddie paused the music. “Who else is mentally scarred from that?” Five loser-hands all shot into the air. 

“Fuck you, fuck all of you.” Richie sat as the crowd booed him offstage. He failed to refrain from laughing. “Stanley, your turn.” he nudged him once Eddie handed him the phone. “Truth or dare?” 

He glanced in Bill’s direction, but decided not to fully look at Bill. “Dare.” he swallowed. 

“Ooh, unexpected!” Beverly grinned, spinning around to lay on her stomach. She put her elbows on the floor and her chin in her hands to observe. 

“Oh-ho-ho, you ain’t gonna believe this one, laddie!” Richie plastered an Australian, maybe slightly pirate-ish accent. “Feast yer eyes!” he shoved the screen in Stanley’s face causing the boy to squint and retract his head.

“Could you maybe like…” he brought the phone to a distance he could see. “What’s it s-ss-say?” Bill asked him. 

“Let the group go through your phone, sixty seconds each.” Stanley recited the line. “Easy, I guess, yeah.” he nodded. Off the top of his head, he couldn’t think of any embarrassing text messages or photos. Stanley was a clean kid. “Did you wanna go first?” he handed it off to Richie, “We can just go clockwise?” 

“You got it, chap!” Richie took the phone, “Which one of ye rascals’ll set up a time ticker for the gang?” he looked up. 

Mike pulled out his phone and went to the timer app, “I've got it. One minute is on the clock… and…” He glanced up to each member of the group. Everyone leaned forward in anticipation, “Go!” he initiated. 

“I’m going to the messages!” Richie declared and scrolled. The room erupted in instructions and suggestions, “Let’s see what Stanley is talking about with his dad…” Richie read a few messages out loud about handing in homework and test grades. He was doing relatively well in school, earning a congrats and a high five from Mike, across Bill’s torso. They studied sometimes together and both aced an English test no one else passed. 

Richie got bored of reminders about school and his dad asking about Torahs that would always go missing from Rabbi Uris’s office. (“Dad, why in the name of Baruch Atah Adonai would I take six Torahs and keep it a secret?”) He went to messages between him and Mike. “Why were you and Mike sending memes back and forth at three a.m.?”

“As opposed to nudes? No, thanks man.” Stan tilted his head. 

“I bet I’ll find some, somewhere here.” Richie laughed, reading three funny memes out loud before the timer rang. 

“Pass it on!” Eddie held out his hand. Eddie looked at the rest of the memes, saying most of them outloud. Laughter roared from the group. 

After Eddie spent his whole turn looking at Mike and Stan’s meme collection and Stanley calmed down a bit, he passed the phone to Beverly who passed it onto Ben. Ben passed on to Mike and Mike passed on to Bill. Stanley was almost completely calm by now. He was laughing along with the group. They made fun of Ben for sending Stanley drafts of poems that he wanted his friend to review before giving Beverly.

He had very little anxiety about them finding something personal since none of them yet came across something bad. He was just almost home free. 

“I’m guh-guh-guh-going into your sss-search histor-r-ry,” Bill declared. 

Richie cackled, “Why didn’t I think about that?” he huffed. Stanley’s eyes went wide, “What? No, that’s gotta be, like, illegal!” he reasoned. He was terrified of being outed. He knew he’d been doing research in the past week about if being gay was actually a bad thing. Gay quizzes, gay research, gay history, why gay? 

His mind raced: What if they hate me? What if they don’t want me around anymore? He loved being a loser because “you had nothing to lose” but he did. If he lost the losers, he truly did have nothing left but himself. That’s the thing he hated most. 

“So, you’re hi-hiding s-ss-s-something then?” he teased, looking to Bill to start the timer. 

“What would I be hiding?” Stan asked, before quickly adding: “Bill, don’t you dare, I’m actually begging you,” he could hear his heart pounding in his throat. What if Bill came across something terribly worse than Stanley imagined? The feeling sank in his stomach as his heart rose into his throat. 

“And I’m a-a-a-actually going into y-your ss-s-search history,” Bill rebutted, “Hey, if I f-f-find your wwweird p-porn, I won’t say it ah-ah-out loud.” The group laughed. Stan chuckled as his heart sank a little deeper, because he knew it would be far from pornography. 

“Fuck you, man,” Stan flipped him off

“F-fuck you!” Bill’s face scrunched up. 

“Sorry, I’m too busy fucking your mom!” Richie chimed in. He watched Eddie and Stan roll their eyes in unison. He saw Bill’s blue brown irises glowing almost white with the light of the phone.

“I w-w-won’t go into yyy-your search histor-r-y,” Bill bluffed. “Start the t-t-timer.” 

“Thanks.” 

“It just makes us all the more curious, Stanley,” Mike reminded him. He raised his eyebrow. Stanley did not like that gesture. 

“Yeah, well,” Stan brushed it off, looking at Bill. 

“Three, two, one!” Mike began the timer, officially. 

Bill typed his way into Stan’s history to silently be met with a few things. Stan glanced down at the phone. 

“Billiam, you bitch!” he reached for the phone. Bill deflected this turning his arm away. Stanley lunged at him but the boy dodged and stood up, reading out some searches, “From last night: Lots uh-uh-of reddit… Some songs… l-lll-lyrics… F-facebook… That’s a lot of s-s-swear words in Heb-b-brew.” his eyes widened.

“Stan, please!” Bill whisper-begged, an itching at his lungs brewed up. 

The Losers snickered along, all oblivious. Richie chanted “Fight! Fight! Fight!” as Stanley got on top of him to wrestle the phone away. 

“Bill,” Mike warned. He hated to see Stanley so panicked and used a stern voice, “Billy, hang on, I don’t think you should…” 

“H-how to t-t-tie a tie?” (“Stan you can’t tie a tie?”) Richie taunted Stanley from inches away. Bill was barely focused on the words, just Stan’s priceless yet genuinely desperate reactions.

“What is-” Bill’s voice shut down for a good second. He looked at Stanley’s, coughing once, then a few more times, almost clearly stalling. Can you overdose on melatonin? How many milligrams of melatonin can the brain handle? What is the suicide hotline number? Followed by other related searches to pull the tears from one's eyes and drain the color from one's face. They met eye contact, exchanging a thousand words before Beverly said,

“Bill? What is it?” she leaned forward, now more concerned than gossipy.

“I-I sh-shh-shhh-shouldn’t,” Bill turned Stanley’s phone off and returned it to him. He sighed. This brought some brief attention to the distressed boy. Stan’s throat tensed as if he were on the brink of vomiting. Gravity seemed to pull his chest together, tightening and tightening and tighter, and he was almost sure he’d close into himself if it continued. 

“What?” Eddie eyebrows furrowed, “What was on there?” he leaned his chin out at Stanley, the curiosity burning him up like one of the Bev’s cigarettes. 

Stanley put his hands up like a robber who’d just been caught with a bad, bad crime. As if a pack of police officers surrounding him all had guns, pointing shiny red lights at his vulnerable, unprotected chest. A light-headedness pressured him and his blood ran cold--Cold enough to re-freeze the ice in Beverly’s shirt.

“Bill?” Beverly sat upright, no longer relaxed on the floor, prompting his name, more as a search for a solution than a question. 

“I sh-shh-shouldn’t s-sa-say.” Bill stammered, much to Stanley’s delight. “P-p-per-per-p-personal.” 

The guns were still up, but this time, Bill was his bulletproof vest. Granted, he never tried on such a shield before, so he wasn’t sure how good it’d work, but he had something. 

“Is it something we should worry about?” Richie looked from Stan to Bill, indecisively. “Give us something, guys.”

Stanley shook his head with an instant, “No,” he answered, “Just personal.” 

Mike nodded, “And we respect that. Right guys?” he asked the group, as a pleasant reminder to lower their firearms and let the guilty man free.

Stanley gave both Mike and Bill separate thankful expressions. 

After a good minute of calming down, Bill still had the remains of thoughts flowing through his mind. Can you overdose on melatonin? What is the suicide hotline number? Can you overdose on melatonin? What is the suicide hotline number?

The group continued. Ben spilled the beans on how long it took for him to write January Embers and Bev gushed over him for the rest of the night. (“Babe, you spent a whole hour on seventeen syllables? That’s so cute!”) 

Bill tapped his nails on the floor. Stanley watched his anxious hand. “I’ll be right back,” Stanley stood up, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he was met with a few nods and ‘ok’s. He had been dared to chug a whole can of soda in one gulp so no one blamed him. After Stanley shut the office door, Bill propped up. 

“I’m gonna be right back too,” he got up and followed. Stanley turned around at hearing the door open. He typically would feel butterflies in his stomach and blush in Bill’s presence, but after Stanley’s dare, he couldn’t think of a person he wanted to see less. 

“Hi,” he waved, “What’s up?” he walked toward the bathroom, Bill following. 

“C-can we t-t-t-talk?” Bill proposed, searching Stanley’s posture for any clues of expression. Stan turned around to face him, making the job easier. 

“Sure…” he prayed it wouldn’t be about the searches, but he knew, somehow, that he’d run out of luck for the day, “About…?” 

“I’m s-s-sss-sorry for still guh-guh-going into your hi-h-h-hi-history when you were c-c-clearly upset ab-b-b-bout it,” he started, looking between Stanley’s right and left eye, unsure of which one to make eye contact with. “I d-d-didn’t think i-i-i-i-it’d be that ssss-s-serious, I juh-juh-juh-just thought th-that…” he searched for words he didn’t prepare before hand, “Well, I d-d-don’t know wuh-wuh-what I thought b-but I just d-d-d-didn’t really c-consider how you f-fe-fe-felt and I’m sorry.” 

“Stanley, it’s okay, it’s a game as far as everyone knows, right?” Stanley touched his shoulder. Bill was stressed to say the least. Thin balloons clustered in his mind, all filling up with helium and popping loudly at different times. All the colors of this loud, wild rainbow. He needed answers he was too scared to ask for. 

“I’m- Is th-th-th-there- D-d-d-do you really fff-f-fe-feel like you wuh-want to d-d-d-d…?” it took a good ten seconds of ‘d-d-d’ before Stanley realized he wouldn’t be able to finish. 

“I got help,” Stan cut him off, “It means the world that you care, but I promise I’ll be okay.” Bill shook his head. That just wouldn’t do. 

“F-f-from whom?” the boy demanded. 

“Uh- you know, just- people. You know?” he stammered. At least he wasn’t worse than Bill at this point.

“Th-that’s a l-lll-lie,” Bill pointed out, “St-Sta-Stanley, have you t-t-told your p-p-p-parents about this? You c-c-c-can’t- You have to g-guh-get help. A-actual help, like p-p-profff-fessional shit or m-mmm-m-medicine,” Bill told him. It was not a suggestion, but a fact.

“No, I don’t,��� the words rolled off of Stanley’s tongue, with perfect diction, “I can just… promise real hard to be safe?” he suggested. “I wouldn’t break a promise to you.” he shook his head, tapping the scar on his hand from their blood oath. 

“Stan, p-p-please,” Bill decided on Stanley’s left eye to stare at, “You’ve guh-guh-got to t-t-tell your p-parents, or- or I will,” he threatened. 

Stanley shook his head, “Bill, for the love of God. Literal God. Please keep this a secret,” he begged him, his anxiety spiking once again. 

“We ca-ca-can’t keep this a sss-s-secret.” he spoke, slowly and calmly, though Bill Denbrough was anything but that. 

“Please, Bill!” he reasoned, “I’ll actually do anything at all. I swear. I don’t want my parents to worry. I don’t want them to know everything and then never leave me alone about it.” He breathed. “I don’t want them to treat me differently or treat me like I can’t be alone!” 

“I’m nnn-n-not taking no for an answer on this wuh-wuh-one,” Bill decided. Every plea Stanley made only pushed Bill to give in, but he knew better. The two of them were tense. Anxiety sparked between the two of them when all Stanley wanted was a spark of love, not tragedy. Each word tasted like gasoline. Stanley had a lighter. He could easily mix the two. 

“I’ll work on it on my own!” he put his pinky out, “I promise! I really promise. I swear, Bill. I swear on my life.” They shared a collective thought. “I swear on your life. I can do it on my own!” 

“Stan,” his tone lowered as something clicked in his mind, “You don’t have to do it on your own,” he abandoned his coercive method instead, and approached gently, “I ha-ha-have no idea what I would do if- if maybe one day I woke up and you didn’t. Or what if… I missed my chance to say that I really appreciate you. Or if I never got to go to the quarry with you. Or give you another hug. Or tell you all the- a-a-a-all th-thh-” he huffed as his stutter made an ugly return. 

“Bill, I promise, I’m okay, I promise,” Stanley repeated for him. He heard laughter from the group, but the joy from the closed off room did not seem to reach either of the teens. 

“N-n-no, juh-just-” He took a deep breath. “I n-need-” Another breath. A breath so clear and refreshing that Eddie Kaspbrak would be jealous. “Stanley, I need you to know that I love you. That… not just friendship. I guess. Like the real, romantic, I want to be near you all the time. I want to make you smile and I want to dance with you and take away all your pain until I can just see you smile, type of love. I want to write you poems like Ben does for Beverly. And even if that never happens, I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t know it.” Bill stared at Stanley, almost frozen. He couldn’t find it in him to move or speak to him. He listened. 

Stanley had been hit with something he never experienced before. His stomach turned and his mind fuzzed; those butterflies were back. His eyebrows furrowed, lip jaw just barely dropped, which turned into a smile. Time passed too quickly and he knew he was wasting time, standing still. 

“I- wow,” he raised his eyebrows. “Bill, can I give you a dare?” he swallowed, as Bill nodded. 

“I dare you to kiss me and then hug me for a really long time.” Stanley grinned.

Without hesitation, Bill slinked his hand onto Stanley’s jaw and collided his lips chapped with Stanley’s soft ones. Stan imagined if Mike saw, he’d do another one of his famous wolf-whistles. 

Stanley pulled away and smiled, “I feel the same way you do,” he whispered as Bill pulled him in again--not for a kiss, but for the promised hug, “I have for a while.” 

“Wuh-wuh-will you b-be my b-b-buh-buh-buh-boyf-friend?” Bill asked as his face lit up, unable to contain his excitement. The butterflies in his stomach were replaced with fireworks and a grin permanently planted on his face. 

Stanley hugged him tighter, burying his forehead in Bill’s neck. “Fuck yeah.”

Bill closed his eyes. He caressed Stanley’s back, exhaling a sigh of relief. He kissed Stanley’s head, not exactly aiming for a cheek or his temple, but just as his head was leaned on Bill’s shoulder. Bill rested his chin on Stanley’s shoulder. 

“C-c-cool,” a smile crept onto Bill’s face.

The sun had completely rolled down the sky, leaving a black blanket with silver, glittering dots and a big round moon that he could see from the window. For the first time in a while, the butterflies visited when Stan thought about staying alive. He reached for Bill’s hand hesitantly and cracked a slow grin. Bill looked at him and smiled, squeezing his hand back. Stanley searches his brain for the right words. He ended up whispering, “I appreciate you to an incredible extent.” 

Bill blushed and replied with, “I love you, too”

“I-” Stan’s face heated up at his inability to properly piece together the three fast words. He giggled and nodded.

Bill gazed at him, “D-d-don’t forget it,” he squeezed Stanley’s hand gently. “O-o-okay?” 

“I won’t. Same to you.” Stanley squeezed Bill’s hand in return with a proud smile. 

“Stan, y-y-you know we sss-s-still have to t-t-tell someone.” Bill raised his eyebrow, watching Stanley’s face fall to consideration. 

Stan almost wanted to protest. ‘No, we don’t.’ or ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ or ‘Why?’ or ‘Just give it a week on my own and we’ll figure it out after that.’ he thought about saying. Instead he looked at Bill’s face, longing for closure.

“I know.” he sighed. “Come over tomorrow and we can talk about details and all that, I guess?” he scratched the back of his neck. 

“I’ll b-b-be there.” Bill nodded, “I’m proud of y-you.” 

Stanley beamed, kissing Bill’s cheek again. Bill copied him, kissing Stanley’s cheek. Stanley’s face heated up, blossoming like bright red roses. He went to kiss Bill’s cheek again, but Bill matched his lips to Stanley’s and they shared a kiss. Stanley was exhilarated; overwhelmed with what he’d wanted for years. 

Richie stepped outside to check on the two, “Hey, what’s taking you so lo- oh.” The two pulled away from each other. “Reminds me of myself and Eddie’s mother last night.” 

“I am going to end your fucking life, Richie.” Stanley threatened. 

Richie put his hands up in innocence, “Just saying!” he went back into the office. Even through the closed doors, the couple heard: “Don’t bother them kids.” Richie’s Brooklyn accent “They’s suckin’ face and Eds here owes me five Washingtons.” 

Stanley and Bill chuckled. Stan smoothly put one more kiss on Bill’s cheek before, leading him back to the office. Their hands never unclasped. Stanley looked over to him as Bill opened the doors. The attention turned to the two. 

“Were you two actually kissing?” Eddie dropped his attention from his conversation with other Losers. “Cause I’m not paying Richie five dollars.” 

“Are you kidding? Denbrough was practically getting laid out there!” Richie answered, receiving five voices of laughter and one Jewish glare. (“Beep, beep, Richie.” “You g-g-guys put buh-buh-bets on us?”)

“Not getting laid, however, was getting a boyfriend,” Stanley corrected.

“Doubt it,” Eddie challenged, shrugging. “Not paying.” he shook his stubborn head. 

Bill glanced at Stanley, then kissed him on the lips for proof, catching the boy off guard. Stan almost fell over, before holding Bill’s waist and kissing back. “Whatttt!”s and “Woah!”s and Mike’s wolf whistle filled their office space. The two separated, grinning, sitting down in their original places. 

Mike looked at the two with an expression that could only be described as ‘I knew it.’ Eddie looked over at a smirking Richie. He knew as well. 

“I’m happy for you guys,” Ben smiled at the two. 

“Me too,” Beverly’s eyes shone with pride. 

“Th-th-thanks,” Bill answered for them with a smile, noticing Beverly and Ben holding hands. He whispered to Stanley, “C-c-come cuddle, let’s be a c-cuter cuh-cuh-couple then them.” 

Stanley giggled, leaning his head on Bill’s shoulder. “Thank you so much by the way.” he said, not exactly paying attention to the other Losers’ words. “You’re the best, Bill.”

[CR] A Fine Kettle

Title: A Fine Kettle Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two, Alternate Universe Characters: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast Rated: K+ Description: Of all the things Caduceus expected out of his new purchase from the antique store, a djinn appearing in a swirl of steam never even made the list.

For @claylebweek, Day 6, Alternate Universes

Caduceus Clay had need of a kettle. Just this morning, his own had come to ruin, the handle breaking off, the insides rusting as if by some magical means. He’d been forced to microwave water for his tea and that won’t do at all. It couldn’t be just any kettle. Caduceus had no need for the fancy ones they sell in stores nowadays. He appreciated more traditional designs. He knew he would have to go to an antique store.

It took him a day of scouring all of the local shops, and he was nearing closing time in the sixth shop when he spotted it. Elegant. Metal in definite need of polishing, but images and an unfamiliar language in relief along the sides. It had a wide spout, and the handle was wood. It called to Caduceus, and he knew with a smile, this was to be his new kettle. It faintly hummed to his fingers as he traced the upraised design. He got it for a steal. “Been on the shelf for ages,” the shop’s proprietor told him. “Couldn’t bring myself to be rid of it, but couldn’t seem to sell it either. Glad it’s finally found a home.” “Does it have a story?” Caduceus asked. “Oh, everything does, but this one.” The shopkeeper stroked his bushy beard and looked heavenward, contemplating deeply. “It had a story once, but I’ll be damned if I can remember it. Guess it’s up to you to give it a new one.” Caduceus smiled and thanked the man, and came home with his new kettle. It really was lovely. He couldn’t wait to brew his first cup of tea. First, however, it needed to be cleaned. So he scrubbed and polished, taking his time with all of the engravings, until the swirls gleamed back at him. Fire, Caduceus thought, the designs on the metal reminded him of fire. How appropriate for a kettle. He filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil while he perused his teas, trying to decide what would make for the perfect, first cup. Something to welcome the kettle to his household. Hmm. A new mix perhaps. He pulled down his jars and scooped a little bit of this and that into the strainer. A pinch of apricot, a scoop of hibiscus, some orange peels, a dash of honeysuckle, and a little bit of licorice root for an interesting twist. Yes. That sounded nice. The kettle whistled. Caduceus hummed and plucked it off the range. He paused, however, tilting his head. Was it his imagination or had the etchings started to glow? The range wasn’t nearly hot enough to overheat the metal, which was itself too sturdy to catch flame. Perhaps it was a special design, like glow in the dark paint, but of course it wasn’t paint nor glow in the dark, but the association seemed apt enough. There was no spell of burning. The kettle was safe enough, Caduceus supposed. He poured the hot water over his tea, steam rising from the cup in lazy swirls that thickened and thickened, until it looked more like smoke than steam. It smelled faintly phosphorus and sulfuric and a bit like volcanic ash. Caduceus blinked and stepped back, kettle still in hand. There was now a man in his kitchen. Or, almost a man. He was human in appearance, average in height, fair-skinned, ginger-haired, dressed in simple, if not tattered robes. Flames licked along his bare feet, briefly scorching Caduceus’ kitchen tile before they dispersed. “Um,” Caduceus said, still holding the kettle which yes, seemed to give off a magical hum now that he thought about it. “Hello?” The man’s eyes opened -- blue, they were very blue -- and he looked at Caduceus with a sort of quiet resignation. “Hello,” he said, his voice thick. Accented. Caduceus didn’t know enough to place it. “I am Caleb Widogast. I am the djinn of the kettle. I am here to grant you three wishes.” “Wishes?” Caduceus echoed. “What sort of wishes?” He thought djinns were bound to lamps, not kettles. “Any wish you might have,” Caleb Widogast said, though his tone was very bland, very uninterested, very sad. “Only, I cannot bring someone back from the dead, make them fall in love with you, and you can’t ask for more wishes.” Caduceus put down the kettle. “Well, people who are dead should stay dead, if you ask me, and I don’t want anyone who isn’t in love with me in the first place.” He tilted his head. “I barely know what to do with three wishes. I don’t need more.” Those blue eyes finally looked up at him. “What is your first wish?” “Hmm.” Caduceus went and fetched another cup while the djinn’s gaze followed him. “I don’t think I have one. I mean, I’m pretty happy as I am. I have a job and a home and friends. I used to need a kettle, but then I found yours, so I’m set.” It had never occurred to him to wish for things. If there was anything he wanted, he sought to retrieve it on his own, or asked the Wildmother if it was to be his. Caduceus had a rather content life, all things considered. “I can grant you untold riches. I can make you famous. I can give you a bigger home,” Caleb suggested. Caduceus returned with a cup and another mix of tea, and poured hot water over it as well. “I don’t want riches, and I really don’t want to be famous, and my home is the perfect size for me.” He put the kettle back on the stove. “Are you thirsty? You look thirsty. Have some tea.” Caleb Widogast squinted at him, glanced at the cup, then looked at Caduceus again. “Is that your wish?” “Do I have to wish for it to let you drink some tea?” “... No.” “Then I guess it’s not my wish. Have some tea if you want. It’s good. I grew it myself.” Caduceus beamed a smile at the djinn, hoping to put him at ease. He wondered how long Caleb had been trapped in that kettle, waiting to be released, while knowing his freedom would be temporary. It must have been lonely. Caleb frowned, but he finally moved, giving the tea a tentative sip. “You grew it?” “Here in my garden.” Caduceus tilted his head and subtly whispered a few prayers to Melora, relieved when he detected nothing Undead, and when the kettle indeed glowed the fierce blue of something magical. He wasn’t hallucinating. That was a relief. “You really have no wish?” Caleb asked. “Well, I didn’t say that. I just said I don’t have a wish right now,” Caduceus said. “I have everything I need.” He paused and reconsidered. “Well, maybe that’s not exactly true. But the thing I don’t have, is something I need to earn. It wouldn't feel right if it was just given to me.” Caleb’s shoulders hunched, but he kept sipping at the tea. “Are you hungry?” Caduceus asked, because he was thin himself, but Caleb looked starved, like he hadn’t had a good meal in centuries. He rose from his chair. “I’ll cook something,” Caduceus said before Caleb answered. “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t eat meat, but you’ll be amazed what I can do with some mushrooms.” Caleb shook himself as if he were coming out of a dream. The cup clattered back onto the saucer. “I should be granting you wishes,” he said, eyeing the kettle on the stovetop before chasing after Caduceus. “Please let me do the job, sir.” “Clay,” Caduceus corrected. “Caduceus Clay is my name. And it’s nice to meet you. Peppers okay?” “Ja, I eat peppers,” Caleb answered, as if on automatic, and blinked at him. “No, no. It doesn’t matter. What would you like to wish for, Mr. Clay?” Caduceus pulled down a pan and drizzled olive oil liberally along the inside. “Do I have to make a wish?” he asked and gestured to the fridge. “Would you grab the lemon juice, please?” Caleb blinked, but he obeyed, searching the shelves before producing the bottle. “I… suppose you don’t have to make a wish. I don’t know what happens if you don’t.” He frowned, forehead furrowing into deep lines. “It’s never happened before.” “There’s a first time for everything,” Caduceus said, and tilted his head, tasting the idiom again. “Which is quite true, isn’t it? Something has to happen once for it to happen again. Isn’t language interesting?” Caleb stared at him. “You are very odd, Mr. Clay.” “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” Caduceus said with a grin. “But if I had to make a wish. Hmmm.” He tapped his bottom lip as he waited for the pan to heat. “What would you ask for, Mr. Caleb?” The djinn reared back as if Caduceus had struck him. He went ghost-white, and his hands fisted, his gaze shunting away. “That is a cruel question to ask. I am in the business of granting wishes, not making them.” “Never?” Caduceus asked. “That is my punishment,” Caleb said. “One I richly deserve. So please, Mr. Clay, do not grant me any kindnesses. Make your wishes so I can go back to my kettle.” Funny enough, he didn’t so much sound like he wanted to go back to the kettle, but that he felt he ought to. All the more reason not to let him, Caduceus thought. He wasn’t much a fan of leaving people to their loneliness, and he suspected there was more to this story. Curiosity had always been a fault of his, Clarabelle said, and maybe it was a fault now, but Caduceus couldn’t let the mystery lie. He wanted to know more about the djinn who lived in a kettle, rather than in a lamp, and wore his misery around him like a cloak. The pan was warm enough, so Caduceus gradually added sliced vegetables to it, stirring in mushrooms, carrots, broccoli, and more. “I think a simple stir fry will be nice,” Caduceus said with a hum. “You shouldn’t eat anything too heavy if you haven’t eaten in a while. This’ll be a nice way to get you on your feet.” The djinn made a frustrated sound. “Did you not hear me?” Caduceus swirled a bit of soy sauce over the vegetables before he covered it with a lid and went in search of his rice cooker. “I think that you are already sorry for whatever it was you did, Mr. Caleb. So there’s nothing wrong with offering you some kindness.” “I… I am not here for kindness,” Caleb said, and he exhaled loudly, slumping back into his seat. “I am here to grant wishes, but you don’t have any, so I… I don’t know why I am here.” Caduceus measured water and rice in the appropriate measures, setting up the cooker to make a perfect batch. He could do it the long way, but sometimes, it was nice to not have to. “You are going to have dinner, and then after, I think I have some cookies for dessert,” Caduceus said, because it seemed the simplest thing to do. “You don’t have to go back in the kettle if you don’t want.” Blue eyes stared at him, at once bleak and resigned and confused and perhaps far, far in their depths, a bit comforted. It was important to be a good host, Caduceus thought. And if he didn’t have any wishes now, he’d rather help Caleb Widogast be comfortable while he waited. Caduceus didn’t know much about djinn and wishes and magical kettles. They were far outside his realm of expertise, but Melora seemed to think everything was all right, and Caduceus trusted Her judgment far more than anyone else’s. “I don’t know what to say,” Caleb said, and he sounded impossibly lost. Caduceus gave him a smile. “Thank you is a good start,” he said, and brought over another bundle of tea to make a new cup. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Caleb.” The djinn looked up at him as if he couldn’t believe Caduceus was a real person, his eyes wide, and magic swirling around him anxious eddies. “I… it’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Clay. Thank you for your hospitality.” “It’s my pleasure.” Caduceus’ insides flushed with warmth. The company would be nice, and at least Clarabelle couldn’t tell him he was lonely anymore. “More tea?”

***

Comments and Reblogs and Tag commentary are all welcome! 

Adventures in magic with Emma Swan (ft. Killian Jones)

Summary: Emma’s partnered with Killian for one of her classes. Random stuff ensues. For @seastarved Fantasy Pretzel Week: Day Two. Bed-sharing in a Magical University AU. 

Dedicated to the Hub's very own Mama Rowling, Clare @mahstatins (who beta'd this and is an all-round stellar person!) 

 Tagging a few other homies from the hub...

@captainwiley @starlessness @killiancygnus @winterbythesea @the-reason-to-sail-home​ @dassala @thejollypirate @katie-dub @phiralovesloki​ @abbadons-little-witch​ @swanandapirate​ @lenfaz​ @zengoalie​ @shoedonym

And to all those Potterheads, I apologise profusely in advance (I have not read or watched HP so I’m taking a lot of liberties with this). Heh.

(I’ll post the second half later in the week.) 

The words stared back at her, emblazoned proudly on the crest carved into the wood, a written warning intended as a constant reminder.

Omnes Magicae Price.

All magic has a price.

It begged the question why anyone would want to involve themselves in the magical arts, much less attend a school where it was the core curriculum, but here she was. Not only does all magic come with a price, it's quite fickle if not handled properly. One tiny slip up and-

-and Emma found herself chained to her partner, staring forlornly at the library doors, hoping that somewhere in the building there was a spell to reverse this.

"This is all your fault y'know," Emma hissed at him.

The events leading up to this went a little something like this…

Monday

Belle French: friend, book-lover, intellectual wonder, and the worst traitor known to mankind.

"I think you're being a little over-dramatic, Emma."

"Actually, I'm being just the right amount of dramatic, Miss French." Emma said over her shoulder, refusing to look her ex-best friend in the eye.

"Really, Emma. The last name?" She could hear Belle's eye roll at her theatrics. Emma sighed, turning to face Belle. She was happy for her friend, she really was. As one of the brightest at Storybrooke University, it was no wonder that Belle was given the offer to move to the advanced class. But it left Emma without a class partner.

"I'm going to miss you," she said, her shoulders sagging.    

Belle laughed. "You'll still see me."

"It won't be the same," Emma pouted.

Belle smiled. "Oh. Miss Fisher wanted me to tell you that your new partner will be coming tomorrow. See? You won't be all alone."

Emma mumbled a "Yeah, I guess," before pulling Belle into a tight hug.

"Come on. We'll be late." Emma gathered her equipment, her wand and spell book, shoving it into her bag and following Belle out of the canteen.   

Well. What a way to start the semester.

Tuesday

Killian Jones: newbie, charmer, too handsome for his own good, and a general thorn in Emma's side. She should've been prepared for this. Belle had told her. But as soon as she walked into class she saw the dark haired, blue eyed stranger, irritation flared in her chest as he lounged in what used to be Belle's spot. He was waving his wand around, a careless smile on his lips.

And she didn't know what came over her but she stormed over to him, plucking the wand out of his hand.

"So. You're my new partner," she said, examining the wand before looking at him. He scrambled to stand up and she should not have found the red tinge to the tips of his ears endearing, nor the way his accent wrapped around her name.

"Ah, yes! You must be Emma Swan. Killian Jones." He held out his hand and she took it, her lips tugging into a small smile.

"You aren't from around here are you?" She mused as she handed the wand back to him.

"That obvious?" He asked, reaching back to scratch behind his ear.

She shrugged, "You stick out."

"In a good way, I hope."

"We'll see."

Killian Jones is without a doubt the worst partner Emma has ever had the misfortune of being paired with.

Not twenty minutes into the class, he had spilled three potions, cast two incorrect spells (she's sure two of her classmates will be plotting his murder once the effects of his hex wear off), and almost broke his wand.

Emma groaned, resting her forehead on the desk. She turned her head to look at him, her cheek pressed against the wood as she watched Jones attempt to bend the metal rod. It was a simple spell, one she had done several times but this was his umpteenth attempt and all he had managed was a small dent.  

This week couldn't get any worse.

"Focus, Jones! It's not that hard," Emma said, frustrated.

He threw his hands in the air, almost poking her eye out with the wand. "Easy for you to say, love. I haven't actually done this before. What's the point of this anyway," he groused, slumping back in his seat, a look of defeat on his face.  

"Everyone has to learn basic spells. You're lucky you haven't been thrown out of class yet," she told him, lifting her head off the desk and flipping through her spell book.  

"Must be me charming self," he drawled, gesturing to himself as if she needed a reminder about his charming self.  

"As if," Emma scoffed.  

"You disagree," he pouted.

"Not the point." Emma rolled her eyes, slamming her book shut and moving to stand behind him. "Let me show you."

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, ignoring his sharp intake of breath. She pointed his wand at the rod and chanted the spell. Within moments, it was a bent into a near perfect circle. Emma smiled, dropping his hand and picking up the metal piece. She turned to Killian, placing it on his head like a crown and beamed at him. "See? Easy. Now you try."

She placed another rod on the table, leaning forward on her elbows and giving him an encouraging nod.

Emma was wrong.

This week could most certainly get worse.

"I'm going to kill you," she growled at him as they walked up the library steps.  

"Now, Swan. No need to get antsy. There's got to be something in there that'll help," Killian gestured with his free hand.  

"For your sake, you better hope so. I have a test on Friday. I can't show up with you on my...arm," she finished lamely, running a hand through her hair, gesturing to the handcuffs.  

She heard Killian bark out a laugh which he quickly attempted to cover with a cough. He cleared his throat. "Come on then, love. Time to crack open some books,"  Killian said jovially, tugging on the chain and pushing open the doors.

Rows and rows of books greeted them, the ancient texts and the faint trace of magic in the air giving a calming feel to the library. Calming, when she wasn't faced with the prospect of having to comb through all these books to find one spell.

"It's quite something," Killian said, a note of awe in his voice.

"Yeah."

"Well, we best get started."

They started their search and two hours in the closest they could find was a spell which required one of them to lose a hand. Killian turned to Emma with a horrified expression, shaking his head vigorously.

"It would be a shame to lose these digits, love," he waggled his fingers for emphasis.  

Emma scoffed, pushing his chest  with her shoulder and re-shelving the volume. She pulled him towards the next shelf before the sound of her name caught her ears.

"Emma! What're you doing here?" Emma looked up to see Belle rushing toward her, a stack of dusty books in her arms.

"Belle, hey. I'm just studying," she motioned lamely to the pile of books on the desk.

"I think I found something!" Killian called from around the other side of the stacks. He popped his head around, waving a book in front of her. Belle raised an eyebrow at Killian's sudden appearance, turning her questioning gaze on Emma.

"Oh, this is Killian Jones. My new partner," she gestured at Killian who nodded at Belle in acknowledgement.    

"Pleasure to meet you milady."  

Belle looked like she wanted to say something else but was cut off by Mrs. Potts calling for her. "Oh, I've got to get back. I'll see you tonight, Emma?"  

"Yup!"

Emma watched as Belle walked away, giving her a small wave. She turned to Killian, rolling her eyes at the stupid grin on his face.

Killian waggled his eyebrows. "What's tonight?"

"Girls' night," she answered.  

His grin brightened, both eyebrows shooting up.

"You're not invited."

"I would never dare to intrude. But I think you’re forgetting something."

He nodded downwards and Emma groaned, snatching the book out of his hand. "Gimme that." She placed the book on the table, tracing the embossed inscription on the front. Alchemy and Transmutation. She opened it, skimming through the contents. Her eyes brightened as she found something that could work. Turning to the correct page, she traced a finger down the path of ingredients.

"Hmm. Any ideas where we can get those?" Killian asked, brow furrowing.

"It's the strong stuff. Granny should have some though," Emma told him, copying down the page into her notebook.  

"Granny?"

"Yeah, she's in charge of potions and elixirs. Makes a mean grilled cheese too."

Killian shrugged."If you say so. Come on then. Let's away." He said, helping to pack her things. Emma cringed as she checked the time.

"What's wrong?"

She closed her eyes, answering through gritted teeth.

"Girls' night."

 Emma Swan is a genius if she does say so herself. From the tone of his voice, Killian disagreed.

"Are you sure about this?" Killian asked, eyeing her warily.

"This'll work. Trust me," she assured him.

Emma pulled out the garment from her locker, holding it out triumphantly.   

"Is there a reason you have an invisibility cloak?"

"Ruby's idea of a birthday present."

"Ah. I see."

Emma handed him the cloak, helping him to put it on. "Just don't take it off until the coast is clear."

"Aye aye captain," he saluted before she pulled the hood up. Adjusting her bag so it covered the bit of chain that was still visible, Emma started the walk across campus, making her way to the dorms. With Killian cloaked she almost forgot he was there, only being reminded when he tripped and knocked into a tree.

"Bloody hell," he cursed, "watch where you're going Swan."

"I'm pretty sure you can see underneath that. Not my fault you have two left feet."

He huffed at that and she was sure he was silently fuming beneath the cloak.

They arrived at her dorm room and Emma entered to see her friends gathered in the kitchen area, responding to the chorus of greetings with a wave of her hand.

"Studying hard?" Ruby teased, a wolfish grin on her face.

"Ruby!" Belle lightly smacked Ruby's shoulder, turning to Emma with an apologetic smile.

"Come on, Belle. I believe your words were 'eyes like the ocean at midday'," Ruby giggled. "I should feel threatened but even I can appreciate that," she finished, smiling at Belle and kissing her cheek.

Emma heard Killian chuckle underneath the cloak and stomped her foot down hard where she was sure his toe was. His answering yelp was all the confirmation she needed and she bit her lip to try and hide her smile.  

"Did you say something?" Emma looked up to see three pairs of eyes regarding her curiously and she shook her head, stuttering.

"I- uh- I think I might have to skip tonight. I have my test on Friday. Gotta study."

"You've spent all day studying, Emma. There's only so much preparation you can do," Mary Margaret said, settling a fresh batch of muffins on the counter.

"I know. I just, I'm exhausted. And I've got Principle Mills as my examiner..."

Her friends winced in unison, a stream of commiserations sent her way.

"I'll see you lot tomorrow, yeah?" She ducked down the hallway, not waiting for their response. Once she was in the safety of her own room, Killian threw off the cloak with a dramatic flourish, letting it fall to the floor.

"It's bloody hard to breathe in that thing," he grumbled, pointing at the offending garment. "So, this is the Swan's nest, is it?"  

"Yup. Welcome to my humble abode, mi casa es tu casa, yadda yadda yadda," she waved a dismissive hand at her room, the unmade bed, cluttered desk (which she tidied yesterday dammit) and the closet which looked as though it was about to vomit all her clothing out.

Killian laughed, eyes taking in the scenery before he bowed slightly. "I am honoured."

Emma threw her bag on her desk chair and took out her wand.

"Woah, Swan. I promise to behave."

"Relax Jones," she said, casting a quick spell to change into her pyjamas.

"Is that a part of your nightly routine?" he teased, grinning at the yellow duckling pjs.

"No, but I wasn't going to take a shower with you," she told him, stuffing her wand back into her bag. She cringed as she realised what she had said, ignoring Killian's bright smile.  "Shut up. Not like that."

"So you would be willing to-" he started, eyebrows waggling. She swears his eyebrows have a life of their own. Considering his inability at casting simple spells she wouldn't be all that surprised if they did.

"Nope. Not listening," Emma sang as she climbed into bed and pulled the sheet up with her left hand. She turned on her side to see that Killian had settled on the floor, his left arm resting on her mattress.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, burying her head in her pillow to hide her smile.

"Ah, I didn't want to presume-" he started but Emma laughed, eyes twinkling.

"Killian," she grinned at him.

"Aye, Swan?"

"Get on the bed."

He gaped at her before nodding and climbed in beside her. It was a bit awkward and they shifted a few times before finding a reasonably comfortable position. His arm was draped over her waist, and her hand came to rest on his chest, their legs tangling together. It was intimate and unexpected but with the circumstances, there wasn't anything to be done.

Yeah. That was it.

"Is this okay?" Killian asked, his body stiff even as he tried to even out his breathing.

Emma hummed, her eyes drooping, the events of the day catching up with her. "Sleep."

"Emma-" she shook her head, cutting him off.

"No talking. Just sleep," she mumbled, her words slurring as she was pulled under. He reached across to turn off the lamp and the last thing she heard was his whispered "As you wish."

Chapter 2

Redreaming 

The drive home was short and sweet. During the trip I kept glancing at the trunk sitting in the passenger seat as if it was a friend who was accompanying me home. The icy roads lead me to my house deep within a labyrinth of suburban homes. I came upon the familiar grey brick and mortar of my home with only the spaced streetlights that left splotches of darkness on the road. My mom left the lights on by the garage as I pull in behind what I know is where my mom always parks her car. I automatically exit the car, almost forgetting to grab the trunk as I fluidly went through my nightly routine. I flip up the shield to the garage opener and I plug in the code to my garage door on auto pilot. In the mud room I slipped off my shoes and socks that became soggy as the snow melted. I swiftly tiptoed inside so as to not alert my mother who was seated on the couch for her nightly tv time. Her plan to record shows during the day so she could fast forward the commercials at night. It was Sunday so I already knew she was viewing The Bachelor. Before any progress could be made a brown figure darted across the hardwood floor. Theodora stood only a few inches off of the ground but her eyes were squarely locked on me as few huffs that barely sounded like a bark came from the muzzle of the brazen chihuahua. She started towards me with several noises spouting from her mouth such as squeaks, yips and squeals. Her long brown fur brushed against my shin as she began her lick attack on my now open skin.

“Hey Lin how was your day?” My mom says absent mindedly, not even looking away from the screen.

“Good.” I respond with a lack of interest in continuing the conversation. I reached down to pet Theodora, and as soon as she saw my hand descend she flopped over to reveal her belly. I squat down, and give her a good few rubs before I begin my ascent upstairs, heading straight to my room. I passed my brother's door in its usual position, closed, as he wasted the night away playing a game. My parents room lays barren as only one presides within the house.

I enter the door to my room and quickly lock it behind my back as I make a beeline to the open space at the foot of my bed. I gently set the trunk down on the fraying carpeted floor and inspect the “gift”. Was it all real? What if I had just fallen asleep on the train and dreamed up all of it? If so, did I just steal a trunk off the Metra???

My breath quickens as I go over all the different scenarios in my head of how I came across the trunk that lazily lays in front of me, but none seemed more odd than the truth. I audibly sigh as I begin to prod it to see if it would jump alive or start speaking riddles. None of that happened as it lay inert on the wood. Getting a closer look at the lock I see it is a simple button mechanism to open up the latches that hold the trunk together. I weigh my options as I ponder whether to enter it again and risk another strange encounter as the one that happened not even an hour ago. I check the time, seeing how much time I would have before it became too late, 10:27 What do I have to lose?

I press my finger to unlock the trunk and it pops open as soon as I stop putting pressure on the button. It cracked open slightly, seducing me to open it further, much like I did before. Opening it all the way, I made quick work of the descent and opening the door. This time, I was greeted by the smell of old paper and leather, not too dissimilar to my campus library. Entering into the new room, I was surrounded on all sides by leagues of books. The floor was a sturdy dark wood that did not give way to any noises as I stepped forward in wonderment. Ladders protruded off of the shelves that reached up 20 feet allowing access to the most distant books at the top. There was a walkway above revealing the second story of books that is accessed by a metal spiral staircase with dragons snaking up its metal supports. The ceiling arches illustrating the day sky as clouds pass through the scene above. Light emitting from an illustrated sun painted in a van Gough artistic rendition of what the sun would look like.

My trance was interrupted by someone clearing their throat and alerting me of their presence as I just noticed the plush leather chair and green reading light only a few feet from me.

“Excuse me miss, but I believe you are lost, might I ask how you happened to chance upon this place?”

A prim man stands in front of the chair with a straightened back and reserved features. He looked much less friendly than my previous encounter with a strange man in a box. His hair has more white amongst his curls than grey, with a thin nose and thick eyebrows sleet grey. Crows' feet protrude from hooded lids that hide hard hazel eyes. He patiently awaits my response as I stand flabbergasted at yet another unknown individual. He had a look of a scholar that had just got done reading a chapter and was interrupted by a student coming in to ask a question.

“I was given this trunk, Bryan Smyth gave it to me, and I'm not lost, I purposefully climbed into this trunk.” I clap back assert my confidence in my presence in the trunk.

He heaves a great sigh and grumbles, “of course he would do something like this. Allowing an unknown juvenile such power is exactly what that lawless, blunderbuss of a man would do.”

I giggle at the mention of blunderbuss, musing at his old timey disposition and speech. “He did seem to be a bit of a lollygagger”, I mimic in a similar accent as the unknown old timer.

“Yes, a true neerdowell.” he glanced off pondering,” so back to this issue. Did my friend by any chance tell you anything about this box he so graciously gifted you?”

“He didn't really say much, other than I could do what I wished with it.”

At this he began to pace and rub his chin with one hand while using the other for support. “I can not leave this scoundrel alone for a few minutes without him trudging off to who knows where to make a mess of trouble for others to clean up. I apologize for my actions, but I can not stand this man's shenanigans.”

“It's alright.” I respond awkwardly as the conversation dies down.

“Well on to business, my name is Andrew, Andrew Lazil.  it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” he reaches out with his left hand.

“Oh, Aisling Greenway nice to meet you too.” I accept his hand and he tightly embraces mine with his.

“Now” he states as he lets go and begins to walk back to his chair and assumes his prior position, “I am assuming there are many queries you must have on your precarious situation. Please ask away.” He sinks into the comfy chair as he beckons me and my many questions forward.

Where to start? Maybe start with Bryan? Probably should go with the magic trunk. Wait why is he even here in the first place?

“Um…” I stumble over my thoughts as I try to pull one string of questioning forward. As I struggle with focusing a chair materializes out of thin air a few feet in front of Andrew. With its sudden appearance all of my sense of thinking escapes me as I focus on the now present chair that appeared before my very eyes. WHat kind of magic is this?!? I stand stock still as my mouth falls open

“Ah do not worry the trunk can manifest whatever you need in the moment. I took the liberty of manifesting this for you, so our conversation can be more comfortable”

“Thank you” I say as I cautiously sink down into the leather chair. The lavish leather swallowing me just enough for me to be supported yet in a comfortable position. Andrew takes out his glasses that hung from his buttoned down shirt and places them on the tip of his nose. His eyes narrow on me as if trying to solve the puzzle of what question will be thrown his way before it even escapes my lips. “So. What is this place?”

“This is the place where dreams can be viewed. Any dream of a person who enters this trunk will be displayed here as a book that can be viewed by anyone who enters here and can only be removed by you. If anything crosses your unconscious you can find it here.”

“So all the books in here are dreams?” I begin to look around and the multitude of the hoards of books.

“Yes, each dream manifests itself however the owner of the trunk pleases. It Seems you are not unlike Bryan in your love for literature, I pray that is your only similarity. Any individual who enters the trunk's domain gets a section where their dreams are viewable.”

“Where are mine?”

“Hmm” he lifts himself out of the chair sauntering over to the bookshelf closest to the door, “since you were the last to enter the trunk, we can find yours here.” he gestures his hand toward shelves of hardcover books that vary in colors. “It seems that you name some of your dreams, wonderful.”

I stand up to stand beside him as he lazily scans over my shelves only focusing on a book or two before continuing his path down the shelf. “Wow, that's a lot of books.”

“Indeed it may seem so but it is actually quite average for your age. The more you dream the more show up, and you still seem to be a young adult, so your section will grow with time.”

“Why are some colored different? Not saying I'm opposed to the rainbow aesthetic.”

“That is for the sake of both you and me. They are colored to tell us what kind of dream it contains. When we dream we often have an overarching emotion that we tie to it. This shows in this manifestation such as the color yellow often finds itself on covers of dreams that are happier,” he plucks off a soft mustard yellow book. “While dreams that are more negative emotions and frightening take on a darker hue that is often black.”

“Cool, what does blue mean?” I say as I grab a soft blue book off the shelf that is eye level.

“Blue can mean a varied amount of things. As I said earlier shade is everything and that one seems to be a more sad one.”

“That's cool,” I say as I look around the barren library devoid of any other human presence, “are you the only one here? This place seems pretty spacious for only one person.”

“I am not the only reader here. There were more that used to reside closer to the door, but Bryan has the talent to irk anyone.”

“Reader?”  I question

“Ah I haven't properly explained my purpose here have I. I am a designated reader in this trunk, it is my job to redream dreams, read through them and advise you in deciphering dreams and their imagery.”

“So how do I redream a dream? Like can I redream any of them or are there restrictions?”

“Would you like to view one? Just pluck it off the shelf and open it. It is as easy as that.”

“Okay, so i just do this an….aaaaaaaaaa’

As I open the book I feel the tug of my very existence going into the book, as if gravity was compressing my body in on itself. My brain goes haywire with this new feeling and even when my body feels like it has ceased its physical existence. My vision goes as the once blinding flash of light gives way to darkness. Electricity runs through my senses and my mind muddles as my formless existence flows to an unknown place.  

Suddenly I find myself to be in a small bland room that feels vaguely familiar. It is the room that I visited in my dream a few days ago. This one I barely remembered in the morning when I woke up to my dreaded alarm. The walls are painted a soft yellow hue that reflects some of the light streaming in through the windows. Only one wall has windows, and each one takes up most of the wall. Two chairs lay at each window and in one sat me. I look younger than I do now, it is as if a picture of myself four years ago decided to jump out of the photograph and rest for a bit. It was peaceful, but the feeling of trepidation for something to come filled my chest and outlined the expression of the other me.

Soon the expected guest arrives as the window swings open to reveal Erin. She tumbles through the frame and closes the window and finds her way to the open chair, now only inches away from the other. Erin gazed out the paned window into an oblivion of clouds. A spike of pain shoved its way through my chest at the sight of my old friend who no longer holds that title in my heart. My throat constricts as I see a replica of me in the chair close to a person that in real life would never get within one-hundred feet of me.

“Hello, long time no see.” Erin said casually.

“You know exactly why we don't see each other anymore” I bite back with anger lined with hurt.

“I am good, how are you, I miss when we were friends and I didn’t have to hate you.” My doppelgänger states in a soft voice. She mirrors me in all ways, with her soft brown hair resting gently on the small of her back. Light skin with red undertones and deep chocolate eyes, that in the bright light contain a hidden green tree line around the pupil. Sparse dark brown freckles that litter my arm appear on hers. Even her voice sounds like a recording of my own.

“I miss you too. But you know you can't control me and what I do. What's done is done”

I feel myself growing angrier as I recall the situation on how I lost a friend I once held dearly. “You did something horrible that I can not forgive you for. I could ruin your life if I exposed what you did. You- you ruined it!” I explain as my eyes strain to keep tears from spilling forth at the scar in my chest from the old wound. My words struggling not to crack as my heart once did. Cracks soon begin to form along the walls and spread out causing them to crumble away.

The Erin I see before me does not react to my words, but carries on, “Things can never be as they once were and it is my fault, but I will not tell you in person, that's not how it works.”

“I really wish we could be friends again, to laugh as we once did, and hang out. I really do.”

“I know. I do as well.”

I stare at the scene before me as I listen to a conversation of my own subconscious making. Soon a tear trickles down my cheek and I lean my head back a bit to contain the reservoir of tears. These words I wish she would say, to take responsibility for the horrible thing she did to me and everyone around her. I also hear the truth of myself, my inner longing for the time when I did not mistrust those around me and I had faith in those I called friends.

Both the image of me and Erin look out into the expanse of clouds now completely exposed as the cracks overtook the weak wall leaving only a frame of Brocken wall. I know this is the end, but there is so much I want to say to her, so much more that needs to be said. I don't want this to end, it can't. I need to tell her how much she has hurt me!

I never get the chance as the dream fades away into a cloudless horizon as the library once agains dawns into existence. Andrew stands before me as I reign myself in from the emotional outburst. My heart reeling from the reminder of an injury that used to be long buried. My body drags itself back to life and a heavy weight settles into my bones.

Andrew notices my pained expression and comforts me, “It's alright, it's only a dream.” he lightly pats my shoulder to ground me best he could.

“Thank you.” I say breathlessly. “ I think I should go. I need to sleep and that was a lot.”

“I do not doubt that. You can exit the way you entered. I will be here anytime you need me.”

“Thank you.” I mumble and shift away from Andrew as I begin to hurriedly exit the library. Once I reach the door I look back at my newfound friend and give him a tender nod as I close the door and begin my ascent out of the trunk.

I lift the lid as I enter back into my cozy room. The soft brown of my walls invites me to find calm. As I exit the trunk I notice my room is just how I left it, and as I glance at the clock I see the glowing red of my alarm clock displaying 10:27. Dressing down to put my night wear on the night called my cluttered mind to rest. A tiredness sweeps through and I can only think of snuggling in my bed to have my third dream of the day.