#probablement pour “from derry”

[nofreakinnameforyou]

ENZO VOGRINCIC (1993) - Uruguayan

crédit: noname

[agaypanic]

Hey :) I was wondering if since it’s a leap year you would maybe write a oneshot or blurb or smth with James Maguire x reader (maybe like Quinn!reader from your series??) where she proposes on the 29th of February bc it’s a tradition that comes from Ireland?? I just think it would be so cute bc he just totally wouldn’t see it coming and I’ve never seen anyone do it in a fic before

Leap Day (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

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Summary: You, the girls, and James are now well into your twenties. Life is perfect, except for one little thing that’s been on your mind. After taking with your friends about it, you figure you should take matters into your own hands.

A/N: won’t put it on my series masterlist, but this could be seen as an epilogue of sorts to the fella series (even tho it’s not finished yet lol) but obvi it can be read as its own thing. Also im american so sorry for any terminology and such i get wrong. reader, james, and the girls are obvi aged up

***

If you had told your younger self that you and your friends ended up staying in Derry after finishing school, she would’ve thought you lost your mind. All she thought about was graduating and leaving home, traveling the world, and escaping her pain-in-the-ass sister Erin and somewhat crazy family.

But if she saw the life you had now, she’d probably understand. Because you had everything you truly wanted.

You had a nice little job close to your flat where you managed a bookstore. It was a quaint shop that became a frequent stop for some of the local teenagers. Erin also stopped by every now and then to boast about what she had already read.

When you weren’t working, you were with your friends. You were a bit more tame than you were in your adolescence, but that all usually went out the window when Michelle got a drink or two in her. Which happened often.

But the best part of your day was when you’d go home to see your boyfriend of many years, the love of your life, James Maguire.

“So, what’s goin’ on with you and him, anyway?” Michelle asked as she messily poured everyone a glass of wine. Every now and then, you and the girls got together for a night to get drunk and catch each other up on anything that happened since the last time you’d gotten together. For some reason, you and James were a bit of a hot topic tonight.

“What d’ya mean, Michelle? You know what’s going on with us.” You laughed, taking your wine glass from her.

“I mean, when are the two of you getting hitched? Has he even popped the question to ya?”

“Believe me, Michelle, you’d all be the first to know if we got engaged.” You said a bit glumly, downing your drink and waving your glass around for Michelle’s attention to fill it again.

“He still hasn’t asked you?” Clare asked with an incredulous look. From the start, she had been a big supporter of your and James’ relationship. If it was up to her, you’d probably have a few kids and a house in the countryside by now. “You’ve been going out since we were sixteen! And you just turned twenty-five a few months ago, didn’t you?”

“Yup.” You responded, popping the ‘p.’ “Nine years and no ring.” You held your bare hand up to prove your point. “But I don’t mind too much. As long as we’re together, that’s really what matters.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Clare cooed.

“It’s shit.” Michelle countered.

“Michelle’s right, Y/n,” Erin said, grabbing a crisp from the bowl in the middle of the table. “You’ve been waiting for James to propose since we finished at Our Lady Immaculate; admit it.”

“Have not!” You laughed at the absurdity of your sister’s sentence, but the looks everyone gave you made it die down. “Okay, maybe a little. But not seriously! It was just like a dream, you know? Like Erin thinking she’ll get published or Granda thinking Ma will actually divorce Daddy.” 

Everyone giggled, except for Erin, who was grumbling about your little jab.

“Be serious, Y/n!” Clare laughed, patting your hand. “You’ve been waiting for him to ask for a long while.”

You looked down at your glass, swirling the wine around with a sigh. 

“Maybe a bit.” You answered quietly. It hadn’t really nagged at you too much until recently. After all, you had been together for almost a decade, and everyone else around you seemed to be getting engaged or married. You loved James; truly, you did. But it felt like you were missing out a little. “But I’m fine with waiting.”

“The question is, Y/n, how long are you gonna have to wait until he actually does it?” Erin asked, leaning forward to stare at you. You shrugged, not really knowing the answer and not really wanting to respond.

“You might as well ask him, Y/n!” Your cousin Orla said with a grin. She was always an optimist. “He might just be scared you’ll say no!”

“You know, now that you say it, that’s probably why he hasn’t asked yet,” Michelle said, taking a sip from her wine glass that had been filled more graciously than anyone else’s. “After all, James is a pussy.”

“Don’t call my fella a pussy, Michelle!” You reprimanded, yet you still laughed along with everyone else.

“I can call my cousin what I want. And the fact is that he’s a pussy!”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea, really,” Clare said when everyone’s chuckles had died down. She gasped. “This is a leap year! You could ask him on the twenty-ninth!”

“That’s next week, Clare.” You said a bit nervously. Of course, you’d marry James in a heartbeat. But the thought of proposing, especially so soon, made you a bit sick to the stomach. Now you realize why James probably hasn’t asked you yet.

“It’s either next week or another four years, Y/n,” Michelle said with a teasing smile.

You gulped, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. As you thought about it, you had to admit that it wasn’t really a bad idea. Sure, you had less than an ideal amount of time to plan everything out. But you could probably get something small but nice together.

“Okay… Who’s going ring shopping with me?” The girls squealed at your question, getting up to surround you in a drunken group hug.

***

It was the twenty-ninth, and you were a nervous wreck. The ring weighed heavy in your pocket as you paced around your dining room. Dinner was sitting waiting on the table, and you were playing your little speech of love over and over in your head. All you needed was James, who should be home soon. But as the minutes ticked by, you wished the clock would freeze so you could have more time to prepare for this.

“Darling, I’m home!” James called out as he opened the door, and you realized you were out of time. You skipped out to the front hall to greet your boyfriend.

“Hi, Jamie.” You cooed, giving him a hug and kiss on the cheek before stepping away so he could hang up his coat. 

“Sorry I’m a bit late, needed to finish some things at the office.” 

“Oh, that’s okay, hun.” You waved your hands, both to dismiss his unneeded apology and to get rid of some nervous energy.

James gave you a quick peck before walking off to the bedroom to change, leaving you to overthink a bit more. You wanted tonight to be perfect. James deserved nothing less than that.

To pass the time, you grabbed a candle and placed it in the middle of the small table, finding a lighter to light the wick.

“It’s so nice to be home,” James murmured as he walked over to you, arms slinking around you to pull you close to his chest. He buried his face into your neck, leaving a kiss or two before taking a deep breath. “Dinner smells good.”

“Thank you, Jamie.” You turned your head to kiss his cheek before pulling away from him. The two of you sat down and started putting food on your plates.

You talked about anything and everything, James leading most of the conversation, which you were grateful for. You felt that if you had to talk too much, you’d either stutter too much or end up spoiling your surprise. James held your hand most of the time, playing with your fingers absentmindedly as he talked about something amusing that happened at work.

Eventually, your plates were clear and your cups were empty. James was finishing up a story about something a few of his lads had done while they were all watching some sports game you didn’t know much about. You knew that now was your time.

“Jamie?” He hummed, perking up at the sound of his name. 

“Yes, love?”

“I love you.” You didn’t really know how else to start.

“I love you, too, N/n,” James said, smiling as he squeezed your hand.

You took a deep breath, about to give the speech that you’d been preparing in your head.

“I’ve known that you were the one for me since we were fifth years. Probably since I first saw you at the bus stop. That’s probably crazy, knowing something like that so early and so young… But it’s true.” You laughed, thumb sweeping over his knuckles. “These have been the best years of my life, being with you. And it might be a bit selfish of me, but I want more of them.”

“Y/n…” James whispered, tilting his head. “What are you saying, darling?”

“We have a bit of a tradition here.” You say, wiggling your hand from James’ grasp and standing up. “Ladies’ Privilege, Bachelor’s Day, whatever you fancy calling it. Where on Leap Day, girls can propose to their fella.” You stuck your hand in your pocket, fiddling with the ring. “And seeing how it’s Leap Day now, and I have a ring and all, I guess there’s just one last thing to ask.”

James’ expression turned even more stunned when you got down on one knee, now holding the silver band up in front of him. 

“Will you marry me, Jamie?”

In the few seconds of silence after that question, you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. He looked at you stunned, and you desperately wanted to know what was going through his mind. How long would you have to kneel on the ground for him to give you an answer?

But then he smiled brightly, and all your worry slipped away.

“Of course, I’ll marry you!” James slipped out of his chair to join you on the floor and grabbed your face, giving you a long and deep kiss. You gripped his curls in your free hand, the other resting on his shoulder. When he pulled away, he let out an airy laugh. “I never thought I’d be the one being proposed to.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” You giggled with him as you slipped the band onto his ring finger. “Happy Leap Day.”

“Happy Leap Day, indeed,” James said before kissing you again.

[asexualasshat]

Y’all remember the tiktok trend where grown ups realized that they’d forgotten how to skip. Headcannon that one, a few years after Derry part 2, Richie is being a silly sappy little fellow. Starts skipping while he and Eddie are a park or whatever. He grabs Eddie’s hand to bring him along for the ride. And Eddie??? Understands the hypothetical concept of skipping. And yet his feet? Doing a sort of botched gallop.

And Richie LOSES IT! Starts roasting him. And Eddie is freaking tf out. He’s yelling but also still trying to figure skipping out. You can’t really tell if he’s yelling more at Richie or at himself. And he’s still galloping away. Richie is on the ground, holding his face in his hands to muffle his laughter.

Eventually, Richie gets up and he starts coaching Eddie. Twenty minutes later, they’re hand in hand, skipping down the path.

Richie didn’t have a choice but to tell the losers everything. And the groupchat?? LOSES IT! At first? Just roasts tf out of Eddie at first. Ben comes to his defence pretty quickly. And then asks “when was the last time you guys skipped? Are you sure you remember?”

And the accusations fly right back at Ben. Asking him if he can skip. And Ben??? In his office wearing his fancy designer work clothes???? Takes a video of himself skipping. And he sure can skip! When he’s done showing off he comes close to the camera and says “we just had a daughter. I’ve prepared.”

And again, they’re going wild. Within minutes, videos start pouring in. Bev is first, obviously immediately ready to support her husband. She’s a dazzling skipper. She’d win first prize in a skipping competition. The technique is impeccable.

Stan is next. He gets Patty into it as well, to know one’s surprise. Neither is perfect. Patty’s footwork isn’t perfect but she has pizazz. Stan is pure technique, to the point that it’s awkwardly stiff. But the pair are smiling and skipping so it doesn’t even matter. Their own daughter just toddles around in the background. Kind of embarrassing for her, but she doesn’t know what embarrassment is yet.

Mike is out in a field, phone probably propped up on his water bottle or a log. He’s mostly just frolicking around, but there’s a few solid skips in there. It’s gloriously cinematic.

Audra is on camera next, and bill can be heard saying “show me! I want to see.” She hangs in the air longer than any mortal should be able to. Her flowy dress flounces out. She giggles in response to bill saying “wow!” and “you’re really good!”

But then hepassed the phone to Audra. Of course they don’t think to stop filming in between, so you hear all the shuffling. Audra says “okay, show me!” And Bill?? The bitch can’t get his feet off the ground. There’s no elevation at all. Audra is losing her mind. She’s scream laughing. Bill looks devastated.

A moment after his own roasting begins, bill texts back “so does this mean I’m a bad dad?” And immediately it turns to dad comfort. Ben’s “kids don’t usually start to try skipping until they’re four. You have two years to practice!” And Stan’s “your son is going to see you learn and grow as a man. You’re setting a great example.” Its really quite wholesome.

Obviously someone filmed it in the park. The world sees the graceful pursuit of Eddie learning to skip. Twitter obviously loves it because it so so silly and sweet. Richie tweets something stupid like (and funnier than) “bet your husband can’t skip, either.”

And Bev, because she has notifications on for Richie, immediately replies with Ben’s video and saying “my husband could beat your husband”

More videos start pouring in. Stan keeps their video as a groupchat exclusive, but tweets from his rarely active account “Richie I literally taught you how to skip when you were 6.” Richie responds calling him a bitch.

Bill posts their video saying “watch me realize I can’t skip.”

And later. Hours later. Many. Hours. Later. Audra posts a video to her insta story. She has taught Bill how to skip. Is it graceful? No. Does it have technique? No. Could you call it good? No. But goddamn he skipped.

Eddie holds it over him for weeks that he’s the better beginner skipper

[unicorn-spirit-studios]

http://www.sonicspirit.net/new_normal/index.php

Fun fact! I still haven't figured out whether Shine's a ruminant like deer or a hindgut fermentor like horses!

Ruminations

I fled. My hooves clattered loudly, scraping uncomfortably on the pavement as I sprinted as hard as I could, frantically trying to unfurl suddenly awkward wings, dragging them against the air to escape.

There had to be an explanation. Of course there was, it was me. I couldn’t have done this. I did it. It was me. There was no way I was contagious. I’d ruined her life. It didn’t make any sense. Just because this was a boon to me, didn’t mean it would be a boon to anyone else. There had to be another way this all worked. I’d destroyed her life.

I frantically scraped my wings against the air and fought to get aloft, not paying attention to my escape beyond going away. I tried to think, tried to quiet the clamor of self-reproach. I had to have an option. There had to be a way to find out anything about this whole situation. There had to be someone who knew something.

A scent, a feeling of tightly contained–almost painfully contained–burning echoed through my mind. Of course, he might know. I didn’t know how long The Fancy Man had been…what? Post-transformation? “Like me?” I definitely didn’t know what words he’d use to describe himself. But I was reasonably sure he’d been fully transformed for some amount of time before I’d initially run into him. He’d almost had to have been, surely a change this big would have interrupted his life and job, at least at first. I banked my flight. I hadn’t tried to initiate contact since the night I’d staked him out and given him my own contact information, nor had he tried to connect with me. But as much as I wanted to respect his need for autonomy, he might have the experience to give me the answers I needed.

For Steel. And also to soothe my guilt. And really, knowing anything about how and why these seemingly random transformations happened would be nice. My breath snorted through my nose with each wingbeat, the news station appearing in the distance. I smiled sardonically to myself. Imagine, actually getting answers about anything from a news station.

I was still breathing hard, my fur wet with sweat, when my hooves clattered onto the flat roof of the news building, cloven toes splaying for traction on the concrete. Without the cooling wind roaring by me, I felt hot and tired, my limbs loose and watery. I glanced around for a good hiding place to duck behind. Like the few times I’d come to scope out the Fancy Man’s workplace before finally confronting him, his scent clung to the floor of the roof, despite the breeze. It seemed to be a favored place for him to take breaks or perhaps come up and think. But though it was clearly his spot, I could still catch snatches of the scents of a few humans, probably coworkers who made less frequent visits to the edifice’s precipice. Not anyone I particularly wanted to deal with at the moment, especially in light of the questions buzzing inside my head like angry wasps.

My options of hiding places were limited, but I managed to find a place to huddle that would keep me out of immediate sight of the door to the roof, and hunkered down to wait. I sighed, trying to get comfortable, thoughts that he wouldn’t be up here today, that I’d just waste my time and Steel’s waiting up here biting at me like flies, leaving me twitchy and irritable. I tried not to lash my tail in my anxiety, admonishing myself to hold still.

The door burst open, one voice pouring out with the sounds of two sets of dress shoes emerging from the stairs. I fought to stay still and not blow my cover. The Fancy Man’s co-worker talked at him amiably.

The Fancy Man’s own voice was tight, “That’s great, Derry. Fine.”

“So then, he asked me to actually go camping! I told him, ‘Look, Jake, I love playing squash with you, but I have a wife at home!’ Can you believe it!?”

“...Right.”

“See, Jimmy!”

“James.”

“That’s what I like about you! You’re not one of those gays!”

“What.”

“You actually understand regular people! You’d never hit on a straight guy like me! You’re alright!”

“I’m not…sure. Fine.” The Fancy Man held up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Can I…”

“Oh, sure, sure, your ‘Quiet time,’ right. Those things’ll kill you!”

“If I don’t get them, I might kill you.”

“Haha! Oh, Jimmy,”

“James.”

“You’re a regular card, my man! Have your death sticks, then!”

James’ co-worker left out the roof entrance door, leaving him alone (with me, not that either man knew that). He sighed out his stress, rolling his head back. I felt a little bad to interrupt his break, but…

‘Are we contagious!?’ I burst out.

And then he burst. Into a whole-ass dragon. Whoops.

[thegayclownbook]

I wrote a little video essay on beverly marsh‘s adaptation into film but i probably wont turn it into a video essay so here it is.(yes i‘m obsessed with beverly let me live):

The Bob that never happend - Beverly Marsh

Content warning! @buse, s3x, ch1ldr3n are involved in said things

It by Stephen King first takes place in Maine, 1958. As we meet the loser Club one person stands out in their own way, they all do but she has something about her, doesn’t she?

1958 is an important year for the following content, it adds a odd feeling to the story as an observer that was born in the 2000s. Most people of gen z understandably only know the story of derry, the loser club and most notably Pennywise from Finn Wolfhard and the killer clown craze in 2017 and again in 2019. The Movie follows the basic plot, the adventure and obviously the iconic characters. But let’s look at how Beverly Marsh got adapted into film and compare the two so let’s start out with book Beverly in 1958.

Young Beverly Marsh is first introduced from Ben Hascoms point of view, she is described as pretty, kind and warm but also as lifeless with a Bruise on her cheek and in clothes from salvation army. The first time we really get her point of view is in the blood scene. Said scene is quite memorable, it follows beverly in a normal situation just at the bathroom sink. But it obviously doesn’t stay like that and the reader is confronted with what beverly fealt and experienced. The sink talks or rather what’s inside the sink talks, the voices belong to children who have been murderd by It, children who Beverly knew. The scene shows us how Beverly is confronted by It without actually being harmed but hearing the dead children talking to her stops her from ignoring what’s going on in derry. But Voices are not enough to frighten Bev and It knows that, so a fountain of blood pours out of the drain. It covers the sink, mirror and walls. Beverly understandably runs out of the bathroom just to be confronted by her other Vice, her father.

Al Marsh is described as having given her her red hair but he is the main person who has made Beverly to what we know her as, and not in a positive way.

The Scene introduced us to the world of what we are about to experience with the kids, adults not seeing the blood, the others helping beverly clean up and the horror these kids will be confronted with. But before the scene gets resolved by beverly and some of the losers cleaning up the bathroom, Al Marsh tells Beverly

how he’s worried about her and abuses her mentally. The perspective of beverly being the pretty girl ben had a crush on gets switched, as her father insults her and tells her she is acting crazy. After that Al Marsh goes into the Bathroom and washes his hands, Beverly sees how his pants get stained from the blood and is terrified the blood will touch his skin.

But now we get a scene with four losers bonding, cleaning up the bathroom and going to the laundromat. As the blood is wiped away by Eddie, Ben, Stan and obviously Beverly we see how the loser can work against It.

So this was a little Digression about the first real young beverly scene. Now we will talk about Beverly herself. Beverly is iconic for her auburn red hair and freckles. Besides her dad Book Beverly also has a loving Mother that works long hours in a restaurant and even asked her indirectly if

her father abused her sexually before.

Beverly has great aim with a slingshot witch gets us to a iconic thing from the book. When the club first decides to fight It they make silver ammunition for bills slingshot because all they know is that in horror movies they always fight monsters with silver and they see It as just a monster at this point. But instead of bill or any of the boys being the one with the responsibility of shooting It, it’s beverly who manages to shoot 9 out of 10 cans in their test runs. So when all the losers fight It in the house on the neiboll street Beverlh shoots both bullets but only succeeds the first time. All the losers accept that since they knew they couldn’t have done better. Everyone in the book accepts that she was the Best for that role no matter how scared she was or if she fully succeeded, I think that every observer should think so too Beverly holds power and is great at what she does.

But now let‘s talk about the most controversial scene of the 1500+ page book because Beverly is the fundamental source of what happened. Some may know what i am about to cover but before we have to know what happens on the same day with beverly not catching a break. When beverly gets home from playing in the barrens she immediately gets physically abused by her father as he asks her questions about what shes been doing with those boys and playing in that part of town. He talks about all the things beverly didn’t want him to find about or what she’s insecure about. Smoking, hanging out with boys, not even being 12 yet and doing that, and during that he tells her how pretty she is and how much he worries about her. Beverly runs and Al chases her trough the whole city, people stare at them, she crawls under a truck to get forward and burns her back on a pipe, she is full of it’s oil and is really thirsty. Reading how much this little girl has to endure simply because of her father hurts but as she hides from him and finally leaves him behind we get confronted with another danger. Henry, Victor and Belch follow her silently but gradually Beverly feels she’s being followed and as she turns around Victor is already holding his knife. Beverly is shocked but as she tries to run away her long hair, her femininity is what Victor grabs and uses against her. Another chase of horror starts but I think that the point that Beverly definitely had a horrible day comes through. In the events of the hunt she managed to end up in the underground clubhouse with ben, in the dark with Belch sitting right on top of them on the ground. Well i’m going to summarise the following events because their not a priority for this video, right now i want to focus on what happens after and i am giving a content warning again, there will be children interacting s3xually. So these 7 kids are lost in the sewers after just massively hurting this otherworldly monster, they are dirty from the sewers, tired and really close to having an absolut mental breakdown so Beverly says she has an idea. I’m not going into the depts of what is about to happen but Beverly knew that her father thought she had intercourse with all these boys and that that was his pure nightmare. All she knows about intercourse the basics and that it connects people. So something disturbing happens, but when you have read 1400+ pages of this book there isn’t a lot left that can disturb you. Beverly undresses and has intercourse with each of the boys. I don’t think that word fits but i’ll use it for lack of a better one, it’s not s3x, an 0rgy or anything of that kind. It’s just another part of the horror of this book but this time it probably just hits to close to home for most, the scene just describes how Beverly reconnects with each one of her friends and regains power against her father. But the physical nature is something that children simply shouldn’t do, wich makes the scene to what it is, I don’t know how it could have been executed better but I also think that it’s bad and when a scene stirs up conflict like that i don’t know how bad it really is.

I think those were the most important scenes of young book Beverly and I hope everyone can feel a similar connection to her as me. I’m a woman and felt connected to all of the losers while reading the book but Beverly is different, I will explore the character further but her story is about so much that only women can experience in the way she does. She is so important for the loser club no matter her portrayal so let’s talk about young movie Beverly.

In the 2017 and 2019 movies young Beverly is portrayed by Sophia Lillis and I think that she was a great choice. But I do have some minor complaints. First off she is older in the movie where she looks about 14 years old and not 11 but that didn’t really ruin the themes of childhood and makes her smoking look more coherent with the fact that they changed the first movie from setting in the 1950s to the 1980s. I don’t like that change but the adaptation is fundamentally different anyways and this video is just about Beverly. Another minor thing is her hair being a little lighter than described and Sophia having more freckles.

Now we’ll discuss the blood scene again but this time in the 2017 movie. this time beverly is chilling in the bathtub (not bathing tho) and reading the poem over and over again as she hears voices from the sink. The voices are really similar to the book but then beverly does something she does later in the book to check if the sink is still doing what it was doing. She gets a ruler and sticks it down the drain and as she pulls it out she sees that its covered in blood but then something unknown for bookreades happens. The ruler grows tentikals for lack of a better word and they grab beverlys arm and then her whole body and try to pull her head first into the drain. Only when as shes right above the drain the fountain of blood erupts covering the whole bathroom in blood not leaving a spot that isn’t red. The bathroom is completely flooded and Al marsh burst into the door because of her screams and talks to her telling her how much he worries about her. Considering how i previously stated how this scene happens in the book every one in their right mind can see how overdramatised this is and how it’s way more gory. The movie tries it’s hardest to be a scary scary horror movie but the book simple doesn’t do that it’s more of a tragedy than a thriller or horror book. But when criticising this scene i have to talk about how great Sophias acting was even though she was only 14 when filming, she perfectly portrayed Beverly’s pure fear. There isn’t much more to add to that, the scene is simply gory.

I would love to talk about the other book scenes in covered and how they got adapted into film but i can’t do that because both got cut. But the cutting of the last one was totally necessary and obvious lol i definitely won’t complain about that. The other scene was also understandably cut simply because the movies story goes totally different than in the book but that’s not the topic of this video. I would have covered the scenes uniquely about beverly in the movie now but the only thing comparing to the ones from the book is beverly seeing the dead lights. To that i will only say that i didn’t get it, i watched both movies and simply didn’t understand what they were trying to do with that it simply didn’t make sense and had no connection to the dead lights from the book so i wont cover that monstrosity. But I will cover one more scene from the movie and that will be the namesake of this video. It starts with her father Al Marsh just being weird to her like know her and obsessing over her still being “his little girl” while stroking and touching her hair. At this point i’d like to mention that the casting of Al is great but let’s continue in the scene. Beverly stands at her sink woth scissors, crying and sobbing. She starts gradually cutting her hair and insulting herself and giving herself the blame for how her father treats her. And as the strands of hair go down the sink a bob happens that never happened.

Now we are getting into the depts of why i choose this scene to represent this whole video. So let’s start with why I think they made this change for the movie wich is first of the change in timeline because maybe book beverly would have done this if she lived in the 80s as a child but she simply didn’t. Also i think it was because they tried to make Beverly a strong feminist character who kinda rejects femininity and only hangs out with boys because they’re funnier or more relatable. But that couldn’t be further from how Beverly is actually like, in the book she styles her hair in braids and wears dresses, of course she also does boyish things but she fundamentally likes being a girl. Sh mainly only hangs out with the other losers wich are boys because they know they belong together to fight It and because girls don’t like her because of her looks and poor upbringing. Beverly can be a strong character while also swinging her hair around, the bob ruined that. But let’s continue with why i think they did that and i think a reason for it was limited time. You can’t make a ten hour movie but you can make a 1500+ page book. Beverly’s character is complex and her rejecting her fathers doing and fighting like she wants to would have been hard to bring across in a movie especially with an audience that wants to see a horror movie and be scared and can’t bring themselves to read a long ass book.

But eneugh about the hair Beverlys character survived the adaptation process as much as she could considering all the changes that were made. But she is simply different maybe i shouldn’t even made this video as the could be interpreted as incomparable but here we are. Thanks for listening, comment what you think.

sorry for typos and language mistakes english isn’t my first language and i read the book in my language.

[aibari]

fic poetics: open up your door

for the bind of open up your door, I ended up making a little reference list with things I didn’t have the time or space to write into the author’s notes. I love liner notes! since the bind is only a physical copy, I wanted to put these up online somewhere.

references (alphabetical)

adrian. I think I gave Adrian the teenager the name because it starts with an A and I tend to start at the top of the alphabet and then not get farther when naming characters. I only remembered Adrian Mellon afterwards.

Teen Adrian is a trans guy – this was originally going to be more present in the story itself, but in the end I didn’t have enough words to really do it justice, so it’s just kind of a background thing about Adrian. I’m not sure if Richie realizes or not, beyond clocking him as lgbt in some way. In the future, they definitely have some sort of Conversation about it (and being queer in Derry). And then uhhh probably Richie and Eddie semi-adopt him, and any other queer kid in Derry they can find.

Anyway, I forgot about Adrian Mellon, and then suddenly I had a character who was not just a trans kid in Derry, a small town that has soaked in hate and small-mindedness since before its inception (up until ten years ago!), but also a kid who picked out his own name and he chose a name he shares with Adrian Mellon, a gay man who was killed a decade ago in the town where teen Adrian lives. And uh! That’s a lot! That is very very much of a something!

Initially, I thought about changing it.

But Derry (like a lot of places) is a town where, even ten years down the line, things aren’t always easy for queer kids. And somehow accidentally giving this kid the name Adrian became instrumental to his characterization for me – he’s taking this and making it his own, and fuck anyone who has a problem with it. (And if it’s sometimes harder to keep up that front than other times, well. He’s got some people to lean on. With Richie and Eddie, maybe soon he’ll have more.)

 brave as a noun. This is a title of an AJJ song – and like much of their work, the lyrics are violent and visceral. Their work generally circles around themes of mental illness, poverty, politics, and THE BODY OF IT ALL. Something about Brave as a Noun (like their later Body Terror Song) just reads very Eddie Kaspbrak to me:

I could go off the deep end I could kill all my best friends I could follow those stylish trends And God knows I could make amends But I've got an angry heart Filled with cancers and poppy tarts If this is how you folks make art it's fucking depressing And it's sad to know that we are not alone And it's sad to know that there's no honest way out I'm afraid to leave the house I'm as timid as a mouse I'm afraid if I go out I'll outwear my welcome I'm not a courageous man I don't have any big lasting plans I'm too cowardly to take a stand I want to keep my nose clean And it's sad to know that we're not alone in this And it's sad to know that there's no honest way out In this life we lead We could conquer everything If we could just get the brave to get out of bed in the morning

But also, that title is just too good to pass up.

 beaker’s dozen. This fake movie title was one of several suggested to me by @stravaganza on the Losers Club Bang server. Is it an Ocean’s Eleven rehash where all the players are anthropomorphized elements of the periodic table? Is it a comedy about a scientist who accidentally clones themself? You decide!

Other title suggestions include: Mind the Gap, Deer Me!, The Way There, Beeswax, and Baker’s Dozen.

 cups. This section title comes from a couple of different associations – Eddie is literally leaving cups around the place, but there’s also the Cups song (“you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone”). I was thinking a lot about the thing where you pour one out for the dead, too, but what actually happens here is a bit of an inversion of that – the dead pouring one in(to your cup). Anyway - what’s love if it isn’t making cups of something warm for someone you care about?

 derry air. So Londonderry Air is a really famous Irish piece of music that (among other things) has given the melody to songs like Danny Boy.

That’s not air as in oxygen, by the way – it’s air as in “songlike vocal or instrumental composition”. Also spelled ayre, or aria if you’re speaking Italian. (An aria in English is typically a vocal composition of the kind you’re most likely to find in an opera – La donna è mobile is a kind of clichéd example.)

Anyway, (London)derry Air and Danny Boy! I thought sneaking in the reference would be funny for wordplay reasons, and Danny Boy is overwrought and overdone to the point where it is a little bit hard for me to take it seriously. As it turns out, though, the lyrics work well with this idea of the interlinking of death and place:

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen, and down the mountain side. The summer's gone, and all the roses falling, It's you, it's you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow, Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow, It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow, Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so!

But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying, If I am dead, as dead I well may be, You'll come and find the place where I am lying, And kneel and say an Ave there for me. And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me, And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be, For you will bend and tell me that you love me, And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!

 don’t you (forget about me). So I wrote two reverse bangs this year and both of them have the title of this song in them! It was released by Simple Minds in 1985 and plays over the iconic ending of The Breakfast Club, which was released the same year. I’m not personally huge on The Breakfast Club, but I DO think it makes a good combo with IT – these are 1980s misfits who come together and become friends despite the odds (of their social roles in TBC, and of Derry and Pennywise in IT). IT was published in 1986, so they’re originally products of the same time, too.

 ghost. Depending on the story, a ghost can be a lot of different things. Grief given physical form, a memory walking; unfinished business; wrath and vengeance animating a walking curse; rot; love; love (rotting); a person held together by connections to their loved ones; time out of joint and in the wrong place.

Eddie’s path back to being is love and care and connection, obviously, but the occasional vagueness of being is also very much an accidental long covid/fatigue illness metaphor. I had long covid fatigue for what felt like forever in the spring of 2022, and it’s just a really ghostly existence – like you are periodically slipping in and out of time and space. I kept feeling like I didn’t all the way exist, and I (kind of unintentionally) put a lot of that into Eddie when I wrote this. Ultimately, I think it works.

 good bones. “Good Bones” is a poem by Maggie Smith that has done a couple of rounds on tumblr at this point:

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.

Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways

I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative

estimate, though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children. I am trying

to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones: This place could be beautiful,

right? You could make this place beautiful.

From Waxwing, 2016

 forget-me-not. Its scientific name, myosotis, comes from the Ancient Greek word for “mouse’s ear”. (This is the second time I have come across a scientific term that means “mouse” used for something that is definitely, absolutely not a mouse – the first is muscle, which comes from the Latin musculus, and means “little mouse”. Wild!) It’s a family! There are so many different types of forget-me-nots! For the sake of this story, though, it’s the emotional (and straightforward) theme of holding on to a loved one and not forgetting them that tied in too neatly with the idea of Richie being haunted by ghost Eddie for me not to make a big deal out of it. The vase of flowers in the picture really ended up unlocking the entire story for me a lot more than I had expected!

if you see something, say nothing (and drink to forget). A classic Welcome to Nightvale quote that is also, I think, a very in character sentiment for Richie.

inspirations, fanfic. This fic takes some inspiration from a Losers Club Big Bang fic from 2021, Nothing Dies in Derry (art by Cordlesshamilton, words by glorious_spoon), and the (as of now still unfinished) SMAU One Ring to Bind Us (@richiesring) – both stories about ghost Eddie (and Stan) trying to communicate with Richie (and Patty) through whatever means will work for them.

modern odyssey, the. Being gone for a very long time and coming back to the person you love (though Richie has less suitors in this one).

not exactly casper. He’s a bit too rude to be Casper, I think.

r+e. I just really wanted to get this in here somehow.

real/not real. So in Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games, this is a thing Katniss and Peeta do after Peeta’s (spoiler??) been thoroughly and relentlessly brainwashed, and struggles to keep hold of what’s real and what isn’t in the aftermath. This section title is a reference to that. For this fic, I guess what I want to pull in here is that there is something about a ghost that is also very malleable and ephemeral – a ghost is real and not real, in a sense, at the same time. Eddie’s occupying both positions at the same time, sometimes more on one side than the other.

section titles; capitalisation. I just love the idea of someone else’s point of view slowly breaking through, even if it doesn’t translate to the main parts of the text. The section titles in capital letters reflect Richie’s state of mind – often through referencing other things – and the ones that aren’t reflect Eddie’s. Well, mostly. I don’t think I’m a hundred percent consistent, but it’s fun to play around with.

there was a hole here. it’s gone now. A reference to a line that shows up in Silent Hill 2. The way it’s written out there is a bit more unsettling: “There was a HOLE here. It’s gone now.”

[silvestromedia]

SAINTS FOR MARCH 12

St. Peter of Nicomedia, Roman Catholic Martyr. According to tradition, he was a chamberlain at the court of Emperor Diocletian at Nicomedia. Arrested for being a Christian when the last great persecution of the Church was launched at Diocletian's command, Peter was cruelly tortured by having the flesh stripped from his body and salt and vinegar poured and rubbed into the wounds. Finally, he was roasted to death over a fire. He is ranked as one of the first victims of the last persecution by the Roman Empire. Feastday Mar.12

ST. MAXIMILIAN, MARTYR IN AFRICA

Bl. Joseph Tshang-ta-Pong, Roman Catholic catechist and Martyr of China, put to death for the faith.Feastday Mar.12

St. Alphege, 951 A.D. Bishop and prophet, called "the Elder" or "the Bald." Also known as Elphege, he was the bishop of Winchester, England. There he ordained St. Dunstan. A holy prophet, Alphege is credited with helping to restore monasticism to England.

St. Mura McFeredach, 645 A.D. Irish abbot and disciple of St. Columba. He was named abbot of Fahan and is patron saint of Fahan in County Derry. Also called Muran and Murames, he is remembered by one of his crosses that remains standing at Fahan.

St. Paul Aurelian, 573 A.D. Welsh bishop. Probably of Roman-Welsh descent, he was the son of a local Welsh chieftain. He studied under St. Illtyd at the Ynys Byr monastery and, according to tradition, was granted permission to become a hermit. Ordained, he nevertheless gathered around himself a group of followers and acquired such a reputation for goodness that a king in Brittany asked him to preach the Christian faith to his subjects. Paul sailed to Caldey Island in Brittany soon after and founded a monastery at PorzPol on the island of Quessant. Later he established himself and his followers at Ouismor. There, over his objections, he was made a bishop, although he was finally permitted to resign after several years and retire to Batz. He was reputed to be able to perform miracles.

ST. INNOCENT I, POPE, He became Pope, succeeding Pope St. Anastasius I, on December 22, 401. During Innocent's pontificate, he emphasized papal supremacy, commending the bishops of Africa for referring the decrees of their councils at Carthage and Millevis in 416, Mar. 12

St. Seraphina, Roman Catholic laywoman known for her self denial and acts of penance as a young girl. Feastday March 12

[mi5016roishutton]

Studio Research

Dog Ears

Dog Ears is probably the studio I'd like to work with most straight out of university. It is based in the city I'm from and I believe has a lot of potential to do wonderful projects, based off of what it has already put out into the world.

I would love to contribute to the industry at home in Derry as it is a relatively small town that embraces and encourages individuality and nurtures independent businesses, like Dog Ears, in particular. With the amount of creatives that are in Derry, it would be a shame not to pour into the fountains of companies like Dog Ears which are bringing the animation industry to Derry, a historically underfunded city in Northern Ireland that is often dismissed for investment in favour of nearby Belfast.

Dog Ears most notable production to date is the Netlfix kid's show Puffin Rock and it's style harks to that of Cartoon Saloon, based in Kilkenny in Ireland, who have produced films like WolfWalkers and Song of the Sea.

[bridgertonbee1814]

Jerin future/family headcanon:

. In 2008, Erin and James are expecting their first child. It's early January, Erin is ten days past her due date and absolutely sick and tired of being pregnant. Plus, Derry has been hit with a record-breaking snowfall over Christmas that's iced over every possible surface, meaning she can't so much as walk down her own driveway to collect the post without James hovering nervously beside her and insisting she be careful.

. Despite the discomfort of being ten days overdue, Erin is surprisingly calm about becoming a parent. James, on the other hand, is a nervous wreck, mostly due to the complete absence of a real parental figure for most of his life. For the past nine months he's been obsessively reading baby books, panic-buying dummies (pacifiers for the American readers), onesies and an unfeasible amount of nappies, currently stuffed into a cupboard in the upstairs hallway.

. On January 8th, Erin starts getting aches and odd feelings from around 6pm onwards, but doesn't think anything of it and goes to bed. At 1am on January 9th she wakes up and realises she's having proper contractions, but she doesn't even bother waking James due to her ma's advice that labour takes forever and she'll have a few hours before it's time to go to the hospital. She does send Mary a quick text to let her know things are starting.

. At 1:33am in the Quinn house, Gerry is woken up by noises in the kitchen. He wanders downstairs to find Mary in her dressing gown and slippers, making piles of cheese sandwiches and filling a travel flask with tea.

Gerry: *very confused and sleepy* What's happening...?

Mary: *frenziedly buttering bread* Erin texted me, we've got to start getting ready.

Gerry: And that somehow involves sandwiches?

Mary: For the car ride, keep up, Gerry! The awkward bastards aren't gonna let her eat at hospital!

. At 2am at Erin and James's house, James is woken up by his wife, who turns on the bedside lamp and calmly informs him that her contractions are starting to get closer together and they should probably get ready to go to the hospital. He then proceeds to jump out of bed shouting, "Oh my God, IT'S TIME" and frantically looks for the hospital bag and attempts to get dressed at the same time until Erin has to grab him by the shoulders and remind him to breathe.

. 2:10am - Erin is dressed and struggling to put her shoe on until she eventually just gives up and decides to go with slippers (they'll be much comfier, anyway). James has had to go outside into the freezing winter morning to pour boiling water from the kettle over the car windshield, which has iced over in the night.

. 2:15am - Erin sends a text into the "Derry Girls" group chat letting the rest of the gang know that they're headed to the hospital, but it'll probably be a while and she'll message later when they know more. James, meanwhile, has been fighting with the heavy, overly complicated carseat which requires a lot of adjusting and fiddling to get it installed. There was one moment where he accidentally caught his finger in one of the attachment parts and it bled, and he genuinely considered just throwing the stupid thing off the nearest cliff.

. 2:20 - The bastard carseat is finally installed, James's finger has a plaster on it, the car is packed and they're ready to set off for the hospital.

James: *In the car, driving at approximately 5 miles an hour because road safety is life* Okay, I've got the carseat, hospital bag, map... Is that everything? I swear I'm forgetting someth-

*Slowly looks across to the empty passenger seat *

James: Oh, shit!

(Shot of James's car reversing speedily back down the street, coming to a stop in front of their house with Erin standing by the gate, her arms folded and looking unimpressed.)

Erin: *Gets in the car*

James: *Opens his mouth to apologise*

Erin: Just drive.

. They arrive at the Quinn house at 2:25am, greeted by Mary and Gerry shuffling out the front door bundled up in winter coats and knitwear, Mary toting a large bag filled to the brim with sandwiches and other supplies. They get in the car and head for the hospital, James driving painstakingly slow because of the weather and Mary attempting to force-feed Erin cheese sandwiches en-route while talking excitedly about how she's going to be a granny. Gerry falls fast asleep in the back seat and is rudely awoken ten minutes later by Mary shaking his shoulder and the sound of his daughter groaning in pain mid-contraction. Mary warns him if he dares fall asleep again instead of being useful and comforting his child, he'll never hear the end of it. He spends the rest of journey holding Erin's hand and trying to keep his eyes open.

That's all for now, I will post Part 2 of possibly my longest headcanon yet soon:) Enjoy!

[rat-typewriter]

Can I get some dating bill denbrough fluff head canons? :)

thanks so much for requesting!!

Bill Denbrough Relationship Hcs:

Ok so Bill thinks youre cute from the beginning

you guys meet when Georgie initially goes missing

youre one of the people who goes to help with the search for him, you go on your bike

one day its pouring with rain after a few weeks of searching and barely anyone is out

you cycle around with him and try to comfort him

he definitely pretends not to cry

You grow apart when the general search ends

BUT

you meet again after the whole clown ordeal

One day you find him out on his bike in the rain again

and youre like, oh hey its been a while 

and you just hit it off while cycling around derry

like it suddenly becomes an unspoken agreement that once a fortnite you both meet near the quarry on your bikes and just cycle and chat about life

you kinda fit into different groups so you can exchange experiences

you actually have a lot in common though

One time you both show up and hes like

i-i think you’d like my friends

and so you go to meet them

your like s u p e r nervous and lowkey hide behind Bill the whole time

but he just smiles at you and defends you from Richie

the Losers have been curious as to where Bill has been disappearing off to the last few months so theyre excited to meet you

richies is totally like oOoH BiLLs gOt a giRL 

beep beep richie

Beverly actually loves you and you guys t o t a l l y hit it off like besties for life

ANYWAY

Bill probably asks you out when youre cycling together 

he always makes sure to cycle you back to your house and one evening he probably just blurts it out

You give him a little peck on the cheek and agree 

see ya tomorrow Bill 

Requests always open!!

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Stabbed

Summary:  could you right something with Eddies daughter where she comes to Derry, and instead of stabbing Eddie, Bowers stabs her? 

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think! 

The disturbing atmosphere that hangs around Derry as a whole is not in any way lessened by the state of the old townhouse.

Sara is not a germaphobe on the same level of her father in any way, but the state of the hotel, if it’s even worth calling it that, leaves much to be desired. The flaked paint, carpeted flours where black marks are left on, creaking stairs with no elevator, and the complete abandonment of both the reception and bar did not claim this hotel was well taken care off.

Still, Sarah tries to ignore the warning signs and sits in the bar lobby, twiddling on her phone over a glass of lemonade, that she had to pour herself par for the course, and waits patiently. She’s not sure if she should be repacking or not, but her dad left without warning or explanation, so she stays put.

The stairs creak for the so many’the time, but she’s gotten so used to the sound that she doesn’t bother looking up. Instead she wonders if there’s anybody else in this godforsaken town, other than her father and his friends.

‘This is so stupid’, she whispers under her breath, letting out a deep sigh of resignation. She would go about and explore, to see all the places her dad had in his childhood, because she’s getting extremely bored now, and the urge to pace around and do something, anything is almost overwhelming. But, Eddie was panic-stricken at the mere prospect of Sara joining the group on their little adventure, so utterly terrified it left her shaky herself.

It’s weird to be in the town her father grew up in, but it’s even more strange to meet the people he was supposedly best friends with. They don’t seem like the type of people Eddie would be keen to hang out with back in New York, but maybe her father is just as good at hiding things from her as he is for her mother.

The more general idea of her dad and his friends bring up more questions than answers. Where have this people been for all her life. Why had they never hung out with her dad before? Why isn’t there a picture of them in her house?

She’s eager to learn more about them, but she heeds Eddie’s warnings, sinking further back in her chair. A few minutes later she rises, deciding to scout out the hotel at least – despite what horrible unsanitary things she might find, but a door opening stops her.

A woman, the only woman in her Dad’s group of friends stumbles in, her breath gasping and shaky. She searches around the entry way with her eyes, but sees no one, not even Sara, whose cover by the wall separating the bar and hallway.

‘Is anybody here?’ Beverly, she now recalls, asks, plucking a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket with severely trembling fingers. Out of her other pocket she grabs a lighter, but it takes her three tries before she can get the flame close enough to the cigarette, thanks to her tremor.

‘Shit’, she curses after the second time, and for a moment it looks like she’s about to put it back, but instead she aims again.

An instinctive part of her, the part that was raised by two people warning her about the danger of mundane things, wants to tell her cigarettes are bad for her. The part that saw how controlling her mother is towards her father, urges her to stay quiet. It’s not Sara’s place, but either way, the woman looks like she’s halfway to knocking on death’s door.

‘I’m here’, she calls out hesitantly, knowing that she’s not the one Beverly is looking for. Still, it feels weird to not acknowledge her, and to leave her be so crestfallen.

Beverly’s head whips around, and for a second there is no recognition on her face. Her face and eyes harden, almost like she’s preparing to battle, but then Bev’s brain catches up and her eyes soften.

‘Oh, sorry I didn’t see you there.’

‘It’s okay’, Sara assures, watching wearily as Beverly lets herself drop on the bottom step of the stairs.

‘Do you mind’, the woman asks, monitoring with her hand towards the cigarette. It usually does, Sara learned about the dangers of second hand smoke inhalation, but she’s not interested in starting a discussion. For a reason she can’t understand, she’s desperate for these people to like her, the same way they like her dad.

‘Are you okay?’ Sara dares to ask as she inches closer. She keeps a good distance away from Bev, so none of the smoke reaches her.

‘No’, Bev laughs without humor, ‘but no one ever is in this town.’ She suddenly looks Sara straight in the eyes, with the same intensity Eddie had when he firmly told her to stay put and not leave the townhouse. ‘You stay with one of us from now on, okay? It’s not safe to be here by yourself.’

Sara nods dumbly, feeling compelled to do so. She’s just about to ask for more answers, for the why and where and how, but a second ‘loser’ burst through the door, at least as if not more spooked as Beverly.

It’s Ben, who calls out for Bev immediately, and Sara may not know anything about the losers club, but she knows that Bev and Ben are it for each other.

‘Bev, are you okay?’ Ben asks without noticing Sara there. Sara flushes, feeling like a third wheel almost instantly, despite Ben’s apologetic look he sends.

‘Sorry I-‘

‘I’m going upstairs,’ Sara exclaims, walking up the stairs two steps at a time.

‘Sara wait’, Beverly bellows, trying to stop Sara before she gets too far.

‘It’s fine, I’m not alone, you guys are right downstairs. If somethings wrong I’ll just yell.’ Sara promises, barely glancing back at the two adults.

Ben and Bev make complicated faces, but eventually they both nod, turning back to their own conversation.

Sara reaches the top of the stairs, but there she has to pause for a minute. Though she has been unsettled this whole time, a whole new wave of eerie washes over her. She’s not sure what brought it on, but whatever it is makes her shiver down to her bones.

She considers going back downstairs, but Ben and Bev have picked up a new conversation topic, and she doesn’t want to disturb them. Sara vehemently ignores her own warning signs, and saunters towards her hotel room. While she does, she quickly peeks across the hallway, but sees no immediate danger -expect the black mold stains- there.

She opens the door, and the distant eerie feeling switches in a minute, into acute danger. Sara knows without a sliver of a doubt from the second she step into the townhouse that she’s in deep trouble. Unfortunately, her reflexes are not as quick on the mark as her senses, and she only notices the knife punching her way when the blade has already marked her skin.

She falls back, and can’t do anything to stop a second attack from striking it’s goal. A pocket knife breaches the skin of her cheek, straight through he tissue, and reappears on the other side. Sara can’t even scream before she scrambles up, hands pushing at her attackers chest to get him away.

Her attacker, a man with a mullet that appears like he hasn’t washed in multiple weeks, grins ominous and licks his lips.

‘Not who is was send here to kill’, he spits, reaching for Sara’s ankle and dragging her down when she tries to run. ‘But this isn’t so bad either.’

Before he gets another chance to do any other damage, Sara pulls the knife out her own cheek, smothering a scream, and holds it out in defense. She didn’t expect the man to thrown himself on top of her, plunging the knife in his own chest, but then again, he doesn’t seem to be in a right state of mind.

She can’t stop and think about it anyway, so she kicks his sluggish body away from her, and clambers upright. The man lays still face down, so Sara can’t see if he’s still breathing or not.  She can’t feel the wound, are any part of her body for that matter, and she can’t believe she just pulled a knife out of her own cheek. A strange tingling panic begins to trickle over her body, as she forces her feet to move.

‘It’s fine, it’s fine’, Sara whispers to herself as she back up, praying that she won’t trip, and that the man who just attacked her won’t jump up and try to attack her again. She can’t comprehend what just happened, thanks to shock probably, but she falls straight back into her survival tactic she uses at home.

If she ever got hurt there, she would keep quiet, and deal with that pain herself -or tell her after making him promise not to tell her mom-. To her shock filled mind, keeping quiet seems like the best option.

She continuous to stumble backwards until she’s out of the room. ‘It’s fine’, she continuous to implant in herself, ‘it doesn’t even hurt, if there’s no wound, I’m not telling anyone.’

Of course, as per usual, the instant she thinks that, blood starts gushing out of her cheek like a tap that just got opened. The copper taste of blood, overwhelming and disgusting, triggers her brain, and suddenly, the pain she thought wasn’t there, hits her full force.

She screams, this time in pain, and the scream alerts the people downstairs promptly.  

Their footsteps ruffle up the stairs faster than she can follow, so the first touch against her arm makes her let out a screech. Her dad’s face swims into her line of vision, blurred by unshed tears. Beverly and Ben are right behind them, their faces agape when the notice the wound and the blood streaming into her mouth.

‘Oh holy shit. Sara stay still.’ He insists with a panic filled voice. He brings his hand up, most likely to cover up her wound, but then seems to think the better of it with infection. Sara has seen Eddie in panic filled states many times before, but never had his face taken on the same greyish tone it does now, and never has lips trembled so much he can barely speak.

‘Dad’, Sara whispers, her voice cracking on that one syllable, blood gushes out like a waterfall. She pitches forward, knowing full well that Eddie will freak out at the idea of blood all over him, but not caring for a second. Eddie doesn’t care either, his arms wrapping around Sara’s heaving frame and pulling her as close as humanly possible. When her dad got here is a mystery, but Sara is so thankful he arrived when he did. The comfort he radiates, even with his stressed behavior, is enough to settle her back into her skin.

‘Fuck I- I don’t know what to do.’ Eddie strains, one of his hand cupping the back of Sara’s neck, trying to take a look at the wound.

‘I’m going to go get a first aid kit’, Beverly soothes as she scrambles away to go get the material.

‘Wai’t,’ Sara screams muffled, pulling back from her dad and reaching for Bev even though she’s out of reach. The departure of the woman suddenly reminded her of the man still in her room, and the fact that everyone was in danger.

‘The guy in my room’, she rushes out, pointing to the door. Her dad’s face lights up in a furry, more angry then she has ever seen him before. She would cower if she didn’t realize it was not aimed at her. Eddie presses a quick kiss to her forehead, gently towards her if anything else, but then sprints away into their room. Ben follows without question.

‘Wait, dad’, Sara whimpers, terrified that he might get hurt too.

‘He’ll be okay,’ Beverly says as she tugs Sara further away and then helps her slide down to the floor. The first aid kit is clenched tightly between her fist. ‘He’s tougher then he looks.’

She cleans up Sara’s injure the best she can, but she’s numb too it all. Only able to stare at the door opening and waiting for her dad to reappear.

She doesn’t have to wait long it seems, before the door flings open with a loud bang.

‘It was fucking Bowers’, he curses, going straight for Sara and inspecting the bandage without elaborating further. He sinks to his knees in front of her, one of his hands gripping her shoulder. He smiles comfortingly at her, but the fire behind his eyes has not dimmed.

The man, Bowers, must be known to all of them, because Beverly asks, ’Henry Bowers?’ And Ben hums approvingly.

‘He got away too, the fucker. Wait till I get my hands on him.’  

‘Dad?’ Sara asks, not sure exactly what she’s aiming for. She’s just scared, and she wants her dad to protect her and promise that everything will be alright.

‘It’s okay,’ Eddie assures, hauling her into a hug and squeezing her so tight it’s a little constricting. ‘I promise’, he says so fiercely Sara has no doubt in her mind he means it, ‘I won’t let him touch you again.’

[agaypanic]

Hi!! I absolutely LOVE your James Maguire series! We really don’t have enough James love on the internet. Is it ok if I request a James Maguire x reader oneshot set just after the camping trip episode? Where they still go to the caravan and all the teens have to put the beds together and squeeze in one room and no one wants to sleep next to James so reader ends up there and they wake up cuddling? The others probably make fun of them so bad lmao (Maybe like a little extra from the fella series??) 🥺thank you so much if you do, I had this idea and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. If you don’t write it I understand thank you anyway xxxx

Squished (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: A stolen tent means less room. But the Derry Girls make do.

A/N: I’m gonna be posting this as a stand alone (so not on the fella masterlist), but I’m gonna write it using the stuff from the fella part 5. So this can be read by itself or as like a lil extra thing from the fella

***

It was a long while before the Derry Girls arrived in Portnoo. After hours of being squished in two cars, harboring what was most likely a fugitive, and getting Grandpa Joe’s friend’s second-best tent stolen, seeing the caravan felt like seeing Mother Mary herself. The only thing that stopped Y/n from rolling out of the car the second she spotted it was her baby sister, who had sat in her lap the entire journey.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Michelle almost yelled as everyone poured out of the cars. Erin gave her a remark about her crude language, in front of her family no less, but was ignored. “I’m allowed to be upset, Erin. I just lost the love of my life and was stuck in a car with you and your kookie aunt for God knows how long.”

“You didn’t even know him, Michelle. He was a criminal.”

Y/n handed her sister Anna off to James so she could get out of the car and stretch her stiff limbs. She tried to ignore the sight of James holding Anna because he seemed nervous to hold her but was still trying to entertain her while he waited for Y/n. It was just too cute.

“Okay, I can take her.” Y/n sighed, reaching out for her sister. James looked at her a little funny.

“Are you sure? You held her the entire trip up here; you don’t want a little break?” She supposed he was right, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t like how he acted with her interest in mind.

“I mean if you don’t mind-”

“Of course not.” James smiled at her, and she would’ve been giddy if Erin and Michelle weren’t there. Anna babbled against James’ shoulder, grasping at his jacket. The two teens smiled at her, talking to each other while Erin eyed them, not that they noticed.

“No wonder Emmett thought she was their wain,” Erin muttered to herself as she grabbed her suitcase out of the car’s boot. She didn’t know whether to be disgusted or happy for her sister and the fact that she fancied their English friend.

***

“Jesus, it’s cramped in here.” Michelle groaned as she squeezed past the girls to throw her bag somewhere in the caravan the Quinn family had rented. They only rented one; they didn’t expect Erin and Y/n’s friends to accompany them on their annual holiday. Grandpa Joe, Gerry, and James were going to sleep in the tent that Joe’s friend had lent them, but those plans had gone south. But Joe insisted that they should still sleep outside.

“We’re men, aren’t we?” He had said. “We don’t need no damn tent.”

But one look at James, and the girls knew that wouldn’t work out well. He was already nervous around Joe and Gerry, mainly Joe, especially because he was the one who allowed Emmett to steal their tent. But living outdoors with them for who knows how long? No thanks.

The adults had gone to a close-by shop that sold camping gear to get another tent for them to sleep in. Grandpa Joe almost had a heart attack when the girls suggested that James sleep in the caravan with them, but then Mary calmed him down by saying that the girls would be fine because James was gay.

James was getting sick of correcting this assumption. But he didn’t want to sleep in a tent with the adults, so he let it slide.

“Okay, how are we doing this?” Y/n asked, looking at the somewhat cramped space. The girls’ things were either thrown somewhere in the caravan or clutched closely to try to create more room. Everyone looked around. “I know there’s a bed at the end.”

“I call it!” Michelle yelled, pushing past everyone to sit on the bed before anyone else could claim it. She looked smug, probably thinking that she wouldn’t have to share with anyone else.

“Fine.” Y/n sighed, moving Anna to her other hip. She was charged with looking after her while the adults were gone. James was going to offer to carry her, but then decided to take their luggage. “But you have to room with someone else in that bed.”

“What the fuck, Y/n?!” Michelle snarled.

“Look around you, Michelle.” James defended. “There’s six of us in here.” Michelle rolled her eyes at her cousin. Huffing in annoyance, she looked at everyone in the caravan.

“Fine. Clare, you’re with me, yeah?”

“Two down, four to go,” Y/n muttered, looking around. “There’s the two seats in the front, and then the sofa could probably fit two.”

“I’ll take the sofa.” James volunteered, moving to set his bag on it, but still holding Y/n’s for when she decided where to sleep. Erin smirked.

“Orla and I call the seats!” Y/n would’ve glared at Erin if she wasn’t in a room with James and Michelle. She had a sneaking suspicion of what Erin was planning. 

“Is that okay with you, Y/n?” James asked. He was still holding her bag, in case she had reservations about sharing a sleeping space with him and wanted to switch with someone else. 

“Yeah.” Y/n nodded, watching James smile as he dropped her bag next to his. “Fine with me, James.”

“Aye, James, it must be exciting to finally have a girl in your bed.”

“Shut up, Michelle!”

***

It was late at night when the girls finally decided to go to bed. They had spent most of their time talking about this and that or playing games. Everyone bid each other good night and went to their sleeping areas.

“So, how should we do this?” James asked Y/n quietly. Their gazes kept going between the sofa and each other, trying to figure out what to do. “I can sleep on the floor if you’d like. I’m fine with it.”

“No, James. Don’t be silly.” Y/n bit her lip, trying to figure out how to fit the two of them in this tiny space. “We could lay on our sides.”

It became awkward very fast. The two faced each other, noses almost bumping. They were stiff, trying not to disturb the other. Y/n tried to fix this by turning around so they wouldn’t face each other. She must’ve forgotten how small the sofa was because James reached an arm out to stop her from falling to the floor.

“Careful,” James said, arm wrapped around her waist to pull her further from the edge. Y/n couldn’t ignore the butterflies in her stomach, somewhat surprised that James had the strength to pull her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She replied meekly, grateful it was dark so James wouldn’t see the blush on her cheeks even though he was so close to her.

“Want me to let go?” His grip loosened slightly, but she caught his hand before it could leave her.

“No!” Y/n cringed at how loud she was. “I mean, uh, if you don’t mind.” James’ arm settled around her.

“Of course not.” He adjusted himself slightly before letting out a deep sigh. “Good night, Y/n.”

“Good night, James.”

***

“Why is he all over her like that?” Michelle grimaced, joining the crowd of her friends. They all stood before the small sofa, looking down at a sleeping Y/n and James. In his sleep, James had wrapped both arms around Y/n and kept her close to his chest. She didn’t seem to mind, holding her hands on his to prevent him from moving. “Fucking disgusting.”

“Quiet, Michelle,” Clare whispered as Y/n stirred. When she stopped her movements, the group let out a breath of relief they didn’t realize they were holding. “You know what we should do?” Seeming to read her mind, Erin slipped her shoes on.

“I’ll go get Mammy’s camera.”

[ghostnebula]

Sincere and Dignified

“Eddie's twenty-first birthday + The entire Losers' Club + Las Vegas + Being in love with your best friend = Well, exactly what you'd expect.”

[read it on Ao3]

(or here)

    Eddie’s birthday is in November. Which makes him the youngest member of the Losers’ Club. Which makes him the last Loser to turn twenty-one.

    Which means they go all-out to celebrate, since it’s the first time they can all (legally) celebrate together. And because they’ve kind of forgone “proper” twenty-first birthday festivities for everyone else, so no one would ever feel left out. Finally, no one needs to be left out of it.

    They’ve all been living together for over three years now, they’re all getting close to graduating from college, and they all saved up for this one, because this is pretty much it. The last big, fun, tangible milestone in their young lives. The last “new” thing they’re earning the right to do (legally) after driving and voting. You bet your ass they go ham on Eddie’s birthday plans.

    That’s how they end up in Vegas. Several long weeks of planning, lots of money they scraped together into jars over the last few years ready to be spent, checking and double-checking every class syllabus to make sure no one misses anything important on Friday (they have to be at their hotel in time for check-in or, between Stan and Eddie, someone will pitch a fit). Then they’re all piling into Ben’s station wagon with as little luggage as they could manage to bring for a weekend trip (the station wagon is “spacious”; it is not a fucking miracle vehicle).

    Roughly ten hours later (five hours for driving, two for check-in plus cramming all their crap into the motel room and then attempting to organize it, one for figuring out and agreeing on where to even start with the partying, two more for getting ready) Eddie Kaspbrak has his first legal drink as a proper twenty-one year old, on this night of November third, and there’s no aftertaste of guilt like usual. He’s got Richie pushing shots into his hands, Mike making sure he’s eating some snacks once in a while so he doesn’t get too trashed too fast, Bev directing bartenders to make the most delicious fucking drinks he thinks he’ll ever taste in his life (Porn Stars, or something else inappropriate like that).

    He has Bill, the oldest, practically under oath to stay sober (at least for tonight) so there’s one semi-coherent Loser present to keep the rest of them safe and sane until he can drag them all back to the motel.

    He has a wad of cash in his pocket, a chunk of his savings from the past year, ready to blow on booze and gambling and whatever the fuck he wants, because it’s his birthday, so he’s allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants.

    It’s safe, and more importantly, it’s legal, and most importantly, it’s Vegas. He never thought he’d ever have the balls to set foot in a place like this -- the kind of place his mother would demonize when he was a kid. Drinking, before he left Derry and his mom and the vice grip she had on his life, was completely out of the question, let alone getting hammered in a casino in Sin City, of all fucking places, under the care of the “evil little shits” he calls his best friends.

    He more than lets loose. He lets twenty-one years of virtually non-stop anxiety unwind in one night.

    When he wakes up the next morning, hung over for the first time in his life, it’s almost worth it. Bill’s the only motherfucker awake already, being that he’s the only one who doesn’t have several bottles of vodka et al. to sleep off, and he’s draped across the ratty arm chair in their ratty motel room, channel-surfing with the television volume as low as it can get. The light burns Eddie’s eyes, still, when he lifts his head and -- instead of turning, his head just kind of lolls on his shoulders until he can look at Bill properly.

    He wants to ask him to end his suffering, which he can only assume he has yet to see the worst of. Suddenly he understands why aspirin exists. He wants Bill to pump him full of painkillers until he stops feeling like he’s made of electrified cotton. Instead, he says, articulately, “Guh.”

    Bill turns his attention from Scooby-Doo to where Eddie is half-lying, trapped under the weight of Richie’s arm and half his chest. Richie is snoring away, glasses askew on his face, a cooling puddle of drool soaking Eddie’s shoulder. It’s gross, but he can’t really complain at this point. He’s accustomed to it by now.

    “Ah, he lives.”

    “Ugh,” says Eddie.

    “I bet,” says Bill. “So, do you want a recap of the events of last night, or did you keep your promise and remember every life-altering decision you chose to make?”

    Bill’s voice, which he’s hardly putting much effort into keeping down -- owing to the fact that all his effort is being channeled into trying not to laugh, and Eddie can’t even begin to fathom what’s so funny -- is causing the other Losers to stir. His splitting headache doesn’t want him to try to figure out what’s funny. He must have fried a metric shitload of braincells with all those Porn Stars last night, or whatever the fuck sugary booze Bev was pouring down his throat before everything went hazy.

    “Life-altering?” he repeats after a few moments, as Richie’s arm finally stops crushing him. It’s the only word that really stands out to him in the jumbled mess of hangover discomfort his brain is fighting, and it should cause him anxiety but he’s more worried, right now, about drinking some water. Richie sits up beside him, yawning.

    Bill hums. He looks terribly pleased with himself, which can be good or bad depending which side of the story you’re on, and Eddie’s got this sneaking suspicion he’s on the wrong side, here. “Yeah, that life-altering thing I tried to talk you two dipshits out of for longer than the actual ceremony took?”

    “Ceremony?” Eddie asks, trying to feel back through his poor, poor brain to remember anything after slot machines and vibrant chatter and deceptively sweet beverages being passed to him. Richie’s head drops onto his shoulder as his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist. “Guh,” he says into the fabric of Eddie’s rumpled shirt. Habitually, Eddie reaches up to pat him consolingly on the head. Richie’s not one for mornings.

    “Why don’t you take a look at your ring finger, birthday boy?” Bill says, but Eddie’s already frozen, because there was a flash when he raised his hand and he’s not entirely sure he’s believing what he’s seeing, and where the fuck did he even get the ring anyway, let alone a ring as nice as this? “Or, sorry, I should say: Mr. Tozier?”

    Eddie... mostly ignores him, in favour of smacking Richie a few times on the skull to get his attention, hangovers be damned. “Richie,” he hisses, heart going a mile a minute. “The fuck did I do?”

    Richie grumbles some kind of complaint, lifting his head from its safe space on Eddie’s shoulder, and when he follows Eddie’s gaze he lets out a kind of... laugh? More of a squawk, really. His left arm jerks off of Eddie’s waist lightning-quick, and then he’s holding up his own hand beside Eddie’s to show off their matching rings. “Oh my god,” he says, quiet (for Richie). A little bit of tension melts out of him. Then, “I think you mean, ‘the fuck did we do?’”

    “Oh my god,” Eddie squeaks, and Bill loses his battle and dissolves into peals of laughter, remote slipping out of his hands and landing somewhere on the floor. “Bill, you were supposed to be babysitting.”

    It takes a while, but Bill manages to regain his composure long enough to say, “Well forgive me, but you were a man on a mission. I distinctly remember a lot of, ‘we’re practically dating anyway’ and ‘no time like the present’ and ‘Bill, if you don’t step the fuck off I’m gonna shove this ring so far up your nostril you’ll be sneezing gold until you’re ninety.’ What was I gonna do about it?”

    “Oh my god,” Eddie says again, red-faced, mortified, heart still going-going-going. They aren’t dating, though, is the problem, and yeah, he’s always had this stupid little idea in his stupid little head that they might as well be, but he’s never asked, because he wasn’t sure if he should. Wasn’t sure if it was safe. Wasn’t sure if Richie wanted something proper or to just stay very, very close friends until the grave. They weren’t dating, and now they’re married, and ohJesusMaryandJoseph why did he let himself get so drunk last night?

    He doesn’t expect Richie to be resentful or anything, but he’s also an anxious mess by default, and post-drunken-haze Eddie is a different, apparently less chill person than mid-drunken-haze Eddie, because he doesn’t remember having this freakout last night.

    He doesn’t think that Richie will be pissed about it, necessarily, but he’s terrified that Richie’s going to want to... undo this, somehow.

    He expects regret.

    He doesn’t expect Richie to slide his hand against Eddie’s so that their rings clack together, letting out a soft little, “Aw,” as he does so, or to press his scratchy, stubbly face against Eddie’s cheek to plant a kiss there, or to say, just as quiet and soft as ever, “We’re married, Eds.”

    “Is that okay?” Eddie asks, heart in his throat, wondering if he somehow forced Richie into this when he wasn’t in full control of his faculties.

    “More than okay,” Richie says. “Is it okay with you?”

    Eddie nods dumbly, staring at their rings again, wondering what the fuck possessed them to make such a rash, life-altering decision like this, yet understanding all too well that his love for Richie is too big to contain and it has to spill out in little doses like this, or it’ll probably kill him, or make him go crazy. “Yeah,” he says finally, nodding perhaps too fast. “Yeah, Richie, it’s more than okay.”

    He turns in Richie’s arms to kiss him properly, apparently not for the first time, and just the action brings a couple snippets of last night’s escapades abruptly to the surface.

*

    “$25 Weddings,” a pink neon sign outside a squat white chapel proclaims, “Sincere and Dignified.” And below that, in smaller, baby blue lettering: “Can provide: Flowers, Rings, Witnesses, Transportation, Attire...” The list goes on. It’s a wonder Eddie is coherent enough to read it, let alone comprehend it, but he’s rounding on Richie, whose arm he’s hanging off of, with the best fucking idea already leaping from his lips.

*

    “Ffffffuck Kaspbrak,” Eddie slurs as a reluctant Bill helps him slip on a suit jacket, fiddling with the purple clip-on bowtie Richie threw over the divider at him. “Fuck Kaspbrak, right, Rich?”

    “Right,” Richie says enthusiastically -- probably too enthusiastically -- from the other side of the thin wooden divider that separates their “changing rooms.”

    “Fuck that name,” Eddie decides, nodding to himself. Bill takes the bowtie out of his hands with a sigh, and Eddie lifts his chin to let Bill fasten it to his shirt, grumbling all the while about how stupid they both are. “And fuck my mom.”

    “Fuck your mom!” Richie shouts. There’s a beat of relative quiet, then, “Not, like, fuck your mom, obviously. Fuck... you, maybe?” And then Bev’s raucous laughter echoes through the whole room.

    Eddie can’t help laughing with her, even though Bill’s insisting he stay still “so you can at least look semi-presentable for your pictures, c’mon, Eddie, this is a big moment for me, too.”

*

    “How are you the bridezilla, here, Bill?”

    “Could you please just work with me here, I swear to-- agh!” (More laughter from Bev. Stan saying something incomprehensible but loud and boisterous. Mike trying to shush them.) “I’m just trying to make sure this is actually special since you absolute buffoons refuse to just wait and do this right.” Is Bill fucking crying?

*

    Richie’s tongue down Eddie’s throat, over and over and over: in the chapel; in a bar; in front of the bar; just before Bill drags them away from the casino they’re trying to sneak back into and instead towards the station wagon he’s doing his best to herd the Losers to; in the station wagon; in front of the motel.

    Bill prying them apart with minimal assistance from a piss-drunk Ben who insists he’s “helping,” telling them once again that they are not allowed to consummate their fucking marriage in public, and especially not allowed to do it in the motel room all seven of them have to sleep in--

*

    He hears Bev’s little “aww” behind him somewhere as he and Richie break apart, and Stan’s grief about how fucking early it is “for this shit.” Eddie can hear something like a smile in his voice, if not just plain old amusement.

    “We’re married, Rich,” Eddie repeats incredulously, and Bill is saying something about their marriage license in his wallet because neither of them can be trusted, but Eddie couldn’t care less about licenses or whatever, because Richie’s smiling down at him in that way that makes his heart feel too full. And he doesn’t mean to, but a choked noise bubbles up out of him, almost a sob, maybe a laugh. Tears burn in his eyes.

    But that’s alright, because Richie’s crying already, and he wraps himself bodily around Eddie, rolling them over so he’s squishing him into the mattress while he kisses all over his face and his throat until Eddie’s squealing with laughter despite his agonizing hangover. He almost feels too good to care about it now, but he’s definitely getting some water and painkillers into his system the second the weird high he’s feeling subsides.

    “Okay, okay,” says Stan, standing above them suddenly, swatting at Richie’s shoulders. “You’ve had your fun. Noisy assholes. We were too drunk for proper congratulations last night. Move over.”

    All the Losers squeeze themselves onto the queen bed, somehow, and water bottles and aspirin get passed around. At some point Bill gets up to start the coffeemaker and comes back with (good fucking lord) their “wedding photos” in a crisp manila envelope. They’re just as gaudy as he expected. Leave it to Richie to find the ugliest possible outfit for his literal wedding.

    Eddie gets hugs and shoulder-squeezes and cheek-kisses from everyone, over and over, and Bev actually cries for about ten full minutes while she holds him, then at least ten more while she holds Richie, and then Ben cries, and... well, they all end up crying all over each other, but it’s awash with joy. “We’re happy for you,” they keep saying, and Eddie’s happy for them, too. He didn’t expect to accidentally do things this way, but he has to be glad it happened.

    “God,” he says a while later, shaking his head as he sips sugary coffee from the mug he and Richie are sharing (this room is meant for four people, max, not seven, and is equipped accordingly). He’s still examining a picture of Richie attempting to give him a piggy-back ride out of the chapel. Bill is visible in the background, eyes red and puffy, a wad of tissues clenched in his hand while Mike tries to console him. Eddie has been making fun of him for about half an hour now. “My mom would flip if I told her about this.” But the thought doesn’t scare him. He doesn’t get scared of her anymore. Not like he used to. Not when he’s so far away and he feels so safe with these six idiots who bring so much joy to his life.

    Richie’s thumb rubs over the skin of his lower back where his hand has crept up Eddie’s shirt. “Good thing you don’t have to,” he says, and that familiar mantra of “You never have to see her again,” bleeds through, plain as ever.

    Eddie hums. Passes the coffee back to him. “I know. But... I kinda want to. Just to watch her head explode,” he says with a shrug and a grin, earning a chorus of easy laughter from his friends. He stares at the ring on Richie’s finger as Richie throws back the rest of their coffee, something warm and familiar blooming brighter in his chest.

[just-jordie-things]

Amnesia - Richie Tozier (part four)

word count: 1785 warnings: swearing, conflicttt summary: loosely based on Amnesia by 5sos + (part one) + (part two) + (part three) ___

[ if what we had was real, how could you be fine? cause i’m not fine at all ]

Derry, Maine, 2019

Now that he was standing here, Richie was fairly certain this was idiotic.  This was a bad plan, and maybe even a bit stalker-ish.

Bribing and lightly threatening the hotel clerk to give him the information of the room (y/n) was staying in was a bit over the top, he’ll admit.  But he’d had a few drinks to give him the courage to finally get the closure that he desperately needed.

So, he knocked on her door.

“I don’t need room service,” (y/n’s) kind voice called from inside.  “But thank you-”

“It’s not room service,” Richie said.  “Unless this is a porno, then this is the sexiest room service you’ve ever experienced”

(y/n) opened the door, giving him that look, the one he had grown so accustomed to seeing when they were kids, but she was smiling, which he considered a win.

“How did you figure out what room I was staying in, Richie?” She asked, more curious than annoyed.

“G’evening to you too, babycakes,” He grinned back at her.  “Let’s just say I have my ways-”

“Did you threaten the poor man downstairs?”

“Well not a serious threat-”

“Oh my,” The woman sighed, and rested her palm to her forehead.  “Well, what’re you doing here?”

“I just wanna talk,” He said, and raised his hands innocently.  “Honest”

Her eyes assessed him for a moment, unsure if that was such a good idea.

But she’d never been good at saying no to that face.

“Alright,” She murmured, and stepped aside to let him in.  “Come on in then”

She shut the door behind him, and was quick to grab her hoodie to cover the still-healing marks on her arms.

Richie sat on the side of her bed, while she hovered at the counter.  It was then that he realized her coffee machine was running.

“Are you drinking coffee right now?”

“It’s decaf, it sounded good,” She answered with a small shrug.  “So, um… what’d you wanna talk about?”

She felt like a teenager all over again.  Watching Richie while he watched her, and trying to figure out what was going on in his head.  She was almost always wrong.

“You, actually,” He said.  “Like… maybe why you… uh… stopped writing me?”

Her mouth opened, and then closed again, not knowing the right answer.  The truth wasn’t an option, but she couldn’t think of a good enough lie.

“I… I forgot… about-”

“Come on,” Richie said softly.  “Don’t lie, it’s alright, just tell me the truth”

He was being so quiet, and it troubled her.

She poured out her cup of coffee, and gestured as though to ask if he wanted a cup.

“(y/n),” He sighed, knowing she was avoiding the question.  “Whatever it is-”

“I couldn’t, okay?” She murmured.  “I couldn’t talk to you anymore, have you in my life, see you- I just couldn’t”

Richie’s brows furrowed, and his lips curved into a small half-smile.

“You couldn’t?” He asked, and she just nodded, and took a sip of her coffee.  “As in… you didn’t want to?”

“No- no not like that” She said quickly.

“Then… what?” He asked.

(y/n) stared down at her mug, wondering why she didn’t pack up and leave tonight.  She knew why.  She knew exactly why.  She couldn’t go back to Clayton, not now anyways.  He’d kill her.  She was lucky to have gotten out, to have made it here in the first place.

And now that she felt the need to leave… she wasn’t sure where to go.

“It’s hard to explain-”

“Maybe try,” Richie said, getting fed up with her dancing around the question.  “Look if you fell out of love with me that’s fine, (y/n/n), I get it, life happens, and it’s been a long time but… I just want to know the truth”

“Fall out of- no, Richie, it’s not like that either,” She sighed, and sat next to him on the mattress.  “I wanted to write, I really, really did, okay?”

“Okay… then why didn’t you?” He asked slowly.

It was obvious that she was holding something back.  Anyone with eyes could see that.  And that alone was breaking his heart, because there was once a time where she couldn’t hide something from him if she tried.

“I… I uh…” Her hands began to wring together, which didn’t go unnoticed by Richie.  “I did get your letter- well, letters, but I mean the one from uh- from when you moved out of Derry,” She took another deep breath, and stared down at her hands so she didn’t have to face him when she continued.  “Clay… he… uh, well, he didn’t like the idea of me flying out to see you… and then he didn’t like the idea of me keeping in touch at all… so…”

Richie’s brows furrowed, and for a minute, he didn’t believe her.  

But when she covered her face with her hand, and was trying to hold back tears, he realized she was telling the truth.

“I’m sorry, Rich, I- I really wanted to come” She said quietly, trying to hide the fact that she was about to burst into tears.

“It’s… it’s alright, at least I know…”

He didn’t know what to say.  He was pretty sure that Clayton was an even bigger dick than he’d originally taken him for.

“(y/n)?”

She wiped her eyes to make sure they were dry before looking at him.

“What?” She mumbled.

His eyes wandered over her for a moment, her slumped posture, her eyes that wouldn’t meet his for more than a second, the carefully crafted neutral expression on her face-

He gave her a sad smile, before offering her his hand.

She made a weird face, but he just tapped his fingers to his palm to prompt her to do it.

“Just take my hand, babycakes,” He chuckled at her reluctance, but eventually she gave in, and placed her hand delicately in his.  “I missed you, you know?”

“I missed you too,” She nods.  “I would… uh, pretend to write you letters.  In my head.  When I really wanted to tell you something… or just really missed you on that particular day”

He laughed, because that was such a (y/n) thing to do.

“You know you could’ve… brought him with you,” Richie said.  “I mean, I might have murdered him.  But still-”

“No I-” She started, meeting his confused gaze for a fleeting moment.  “I don’t think that you understand,” She murmured.  “Clayton, he- well he made me, um…”

Richie’s confusion only grew the more (y/n) spoke.  And slowly, that confusion was warping into anger.

“He made me swear off my old friends,” She admitted.  “I know, it sounds-”

“-toxic? You do know that’s a bigass red flag right?” Richie cut her off, but she ignored the comment.

“He’s just sensitive.  He’s been hurt in the past, and just doesn’t want to be hurt again, you know?”

Richie frowned.

“I mean, I am too, you know.  Everyone has things they don’t want to repeat” She said it so quietly, she thought he didn’t hear her.

But the hurt look on his face told him that he’d heard her perfectly.

“And what aren’t you trying to repeat, (y/n/n)?”

Her eyes wandered between his for a long, silent moment.  And she surprised him when a soft smile spread across her lips.  And then a small giggle.

He couldn’t help but smile back, even though he wasn’t sure what she was doing or thinking at all.

“He just wants to be loved, Rich,” She hummed.  “I know he’s a little strange, but still-”

“Yeah,” Richie sighed.  “You’re right”

He felt uneasy about it still, but he could leave it alone for now.

(y/n) stood to dump the rest of her coffee down the sink, and then rinsed out the mug so she could use it again in the morning.  

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” He asked, and she nodded, casting him a quick glance over her shoulder.

“Yeah- yeah, I think it’s for the best,” She said dismissively.  “It’s not like you all really need me, and, uh, Clayton probably wants me to hurry up and get home-”

“Do you still love him?”

She spun around now, and scoffed.

“Richie-”

“I mean, if you separated, why are you so worried about his feelings?” He asked.

She blinked, and he knew he’d crossed a line, but he didn’t retract the question.  Just waited for her to answer it.

“I- we were married Rich, partners.  That doesn’t just disappear as soon as he-” She stops herself, chuckling and shaking her head.  “That doesn’t just go away”

Richie stared at her for a minute longer, and his discomfort only grew.

“(y/n)...” He said her name slowly, and she knew that was his ‘just fess up’ voice.  She’d heard it a million times before, but that was a lifetime ago.

“I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear Richie, but fuck you’re just going to have to accept it-”

“(y/n),” He said again, this time more sternly, before he stood up, and crossed the room to stand with her.  “What is it?”

For a moment, she thought she would break down right there in front of him.  His eyes were boring holes into hers, looking all the way into her soul.  Her lip started to quiver, and she nearly started crying again.

No.  No, you’ll only make things worse.  Unnecessarily harder.  You don’t want that for yourself, do you?

“We were going to have kids, alright?” She lied right through her teeth.  “It’s hard to give something up like that”

He should’ve known she was lying.  But he was too heartbroken from the statement to think about it.

“Oh” Was all he was able to say.

He stepped back from her, looking her over, like he didn’t recognize her, and then stepped back further.

“Richie-”

She tried to apologize for her harshness, but he shook his head, and made a beeline for the door.

“You’re right.  You can’t,” He told her.  “I hope you two figure it out”

The tone in his voice told her the opposite.

“Richie” She said, coming off a bit more desperate than she intended.

“Goodnight, (y/n/n)” He told her, and then promptly left her room.

Every bone in her body screamed go after him, don’t let him just walk away, go fix it!

But she couldn’t get herself to move.  She was frozen in place, glued to the ground, stunned completely to her core.

And he was gone.

___

xoxo ~ jordie

[junggoku]

Lemon Curls and Latte Art - Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

book: Open Heart

pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Nina Valentine)

word count: 6,679

summary: Ethan’s been having a tough time with a case and desperately needs some coffee and time away from the hospital. His small impromptu trip to his favorite coffeeshop may just become more than he expected. (Alternatively: local doctor man goes to get coffee. Gets roasted for 5 minutes straight by cute barista.) A coffeeshop au

A/N: Soooo first and foremost, I’m super excited about this. I’ve been surprised at the lack of coffeeshop au’s in this fandom so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I’d like to give all my love to the wonderful @namkook​ for keeping me sane through this whole project and for helping me every step of the way. I love you and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you for putting up with my constantly annoying you with this. I typically don’t like my writing, I’m so proud of this one and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did when working on it. Without further ado, buckle in and enjoy! She’s a long one wheew

Sometimes it was easier to just drown it all out. The rustling of the nurses as they moved about. The moans and groans of patients as they anxiously waited for their diagnoses. The shrill voices of interns trying to suck up to him to better polish up on their resumes, instead of focusing on their damn jobs.

On that particularly busy afternoon, Dr. Ethan Ramsey felt it was especially crucial that he drown out all the background noises and forget about his surroundings for a moment, if he was going to hang onto his sanity.

He had been pouring over a patient file all morning, having reached an impasse. When something like this happened, it was best for him to go out and clear his head. Sighing heavily, Ethan pushes out of his leather chair, leaving the mountains of scans and paperwork behind him as he closes the door to his office with a resounding thud.  

-----------------

Day 1

The chime of the bell above the door signaled his arrival into Derry Roasters, a soft click of the hinges punctuating through the air as his eyes adjusted to the gentle lighting in the quaint coffee shop.  

The scene was completely opposite the hospital, with almost all of the tables here being empty save for an elderly man in the corner with his book. It seemed the cafe was experiencing a quiet afternoon, soft music playing from the small speakers lodged in the ceilings.

Whenever Ethan was stuck with a case he couldn’t quite figure out, he found himself wandering to the coffeehouse, a humble mom and pop establishment that made decent coffee. It was a step up from the caffeinated dishwater the hospital cafeteria served and he didn’t hate it at the very least. It was also close enough to the hospital that he could get to it by foot, but far enough that none of the gaggle of bright-eyed parrots interns would follow him to kiss his ass.

Crossing the distance of the room up to the front, Ethan stops right before the register. Having seen not one soul behind the counter, his hand found its way to the small silver bell waiting by the tips bucket, ringing it albeit impatiently. There was normally always someone waiting up at the front, the usual barista－a short and kindly old lady, her slightly stout face adding to the welcoming atmosphere－felt it necessary to be present at all times to best serve customers so they did not have to wait long. So much for that. Their service is going to shit.

A bright ding reverberates throughout the shop, ricocheting off the walls. With a purse of his lips, he waits for a few minutes for someone to respond to the bell, the dimple in between his eyebrows growing more prominent the longer time stretches.

About to forgo the coffee and just head back, his ears pick up a foreign sound coming from somewhere. Is that...singing?

Singing was perhaps too generous a term. There was a faint humming emanating from behind the door that led to the back, and his ears tickled as it continued for a few more seconds, before the door swung open and a figure stepped out.

Ethan’s train of thought stutters for a brief second as ice blue eyes meet a warm chocolate brown, wide and doe-like staring up at him in surprise.

She’s new.

Silence envelops the room and Ethan finds himself studying the woman in front of him as he does with everyone, an occupational habit he’s honed over the years.

Long, dark brown hair cascades over her shoulder like a wave, a pair of chocolate brown eyes to match the curtains as they peer up at him, a hint of curiosity in them. The new barista is donning a polo the color of mustard paired with the black apron of the coffeeshop. His eyes glance over the silver name tag that brandishes the name “Nina”. Next to the tag, a small frog pin sits crookedly, the silver lining a bit dim from what he expects comes from overwear.

In his musings, he doesn’t notice the barista, Nina, pursing her lips, “Are you going to order something or are you just gonna stare at me all day?”

Shaken out of his thoughts, he raises a brow at the bland tone of her voice, before deciding to ignore it, “The Vienna.”

Slipping his card from his wallet, he sets it down on the counter as she rings up his order, sliding the piece of plastic back to him once she’s finished.

Wordlessly, he starts moving over to a table nearby when she pipes up, “What? No ‘thank you’?”

He spins around, a brow quirked as he meets her eyes. The slight curl of her lips tells him she’s mocking him and his lack of a response.

“Thank you.” He speaks, voice flat and face unimpressed. Her lips twitch.

“Gee, you’re a real charmer, aren’t you. I do need to know if you want this here or to go,” Eyes lit with mirth, Ethan itches to end this interaction and head back to the hospital. So much for that break.

“To go.”

The smirk doesn’t leave her face as she turns around and gets to work, and Ethan is eternally grateful for the conversation being over.

A few minutes pass by before he hears his name being called. Striding to the pick up station where the barista placed his order of Vienna in a styrofoam cup, her cheeks lifted into a winning smile, one she must use on all her customers.

Ethan picks it up promptly, the desire to get back to work coursing through him strongly the minute he glimpses at her face (his mistake) and finds that she’s still staring at him with a strange amusement lighting her eyes.

“Hope it's to your liking, Dr. Ramsey.”

“How do you know my name?”

Nina raises her brow, and throws a look at the elegant Dr. Ethan Ramsey, etched into the fabric of his white doctor coat, “I’m assuming that’s your name since it says so on your coat. If you were trying to go incognito, maybe lose the coat next time.”

With a wink, the barista spins around and disappears behind the door to the back, not giving him time to answer to her quip. Something pricks at the back of his mind as he watches her go. Casting a quick glance down at his coffee cup, the letters Ethonk are scrawled on the curved surface, and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or groan. More the latter probably.

Sighing for what was possibly the millionth time today, Ethan tightens his grip on the cup and makes his way out, feeling more annoyed than when he had come. I’m not coming back here.

--------------

Day 2

Why am I here?

He sincerely had no idea why he found himself lingering at the front of Derry Roasters a few weeks later, shoes avoiding the crunch of leaves under his feet as a delicate autumn breeze curls through his hair and rustles the pages of the book he had nestled in his arm.

Ethan had initially planned to not come here again for a long while, having no desire to run into that impudent barista from last time, Nina, her name was.  

Annoying.

Shaking away the thought, he pushed the front door open and strode into the cafe, the click of the latch bolt falling back into its frame announcing his arrival once more. The shop was fairly empty again at this time, being so long after the busy lunch rush hour.  

As usual, Ethan made his way up to the register, but his steps faltered for a half second when he noticed a new addition to the counter by the pick up area: a small potted cactus, its thorny arms appearing almost golden bathed in the gentle autumn light streaming in through the windows.  

A little curious, he continues walking and taps the bell once when he makes it to the front.

Unlike before, the door leading to the back whipped open almost immediately after the ding, and out came the petite barista, long brown hair tied into a loose ponytail today. Small specks of what looks like cream powder dotting her cheek and on the sleeves of her peach-colored blouse, the brunette saunters over and plants herself directly across him.  

Chocolate doe eyes instantly find his blue ones and Nina flashes him an amiable smile. Or it would be amiable if it weren’t for the twinkle of mischief he catches in her gaze. He bites back a mental groan.

Ethan opens his mouth, prepared to just tell her his order quickly so he could leave, when she beats him to it.

“Did you see Henry?” Her voice is a little hushed, conspiratorial. Bemused, his eyebrows furrow in place of a question.

“...Henry?”

The barista nods her head in the direction of the pick up station, eyes darting to the potted plant he saw earlier and back to him, “Henry!”  

He’s not sure how to respond. Nina waits for a few beats before crossing her arms across her chest, ogling him for a reaction, “We just got it yesterday. I thought it’d be nice to spruce up the place,” She leans forward, her apron brushing against the register.

“You don’t feel a connection with it?” She pursed her lips, brown eyes twinkling with mirth. The furrow in his brows deepens, not quite enjoying the way she was eyeing him.    

“Why would I feel any connection to a cactus?”

“Well, you are one emotionally,”

Ethan lets out a short scoff, his expression wholly unimpressed, “We’ve had a grand total of two interactions.”

“And the two were all I needed to know everything,” Nina tosses him a tiny smirk, seemingly relishing in getting under his skin, a frown beginning to mar his features. How tedious.

Sighing deeply and already feeling exhausted, Ethan ignores the quip and barrels forth, “The Vienna.” He tosses his card on the surface of the counter, almost impatient as she gingerly grabs it and rings him up, saying nothing more all the while.

Not giving her an opening, Ethan snatches his card out of her grasp the minute she’s done, and turns around to find an empty table far away from the register.

“I’ll bring it over to you when it’s done,” He hears behind him as he continues moving.

Settling into a table in the back corner of the coffeeshop, Ethan sinks into the leather chair and opens his history book, determined to ignore and forget his interactions with the barista so he can take a break. Why he came back here when he already predicted this happening was beyond him. He won’t repeat the mistake again.

A few minutes later, Ethan feels a presence in front of him and peeks from his book to find Nina placing his cup of Vienna on the table. Turning his attention back to his pages, he reads another line from Robert Service before glancing back up.

She was still standing there. Hands clasped together in front of her chest, Nina was peering down at him, blinking innocently.

“...Is there something wrong?”

“No,” She answers, giving a slight shake of her head in emphasis. She still didn’t move.

“...”

“...”

“...Did you want something?”

Her expression shifts promptly, fixing a saccharine smile his way and a sense of dread creeps up his spine.

“Well you see,” Nina sweeps an arm around the expanse of the room, where only one other patron beside him was sitting in the opposite corner, tapping away on their laptop, “no one’s really here.”

He feels a budding headache pricking, “And what does that have to do with me?” He asks, tone flat.

Her large smile widens a little more, “I’m bored and you’re the most entertaining thing here.”

There’s a brief moment where the two of them did nothing, a staredown ensuing with the only sound coming from the ceiling speakers and the tap, tap, tap of the laptop.

Pressure behind his eyes growing, he brings up a hand to scratch at his stubble. Yes, he really regrets coming here today.

“Well what do you want to do then?” The defeat in his voice is evident as Nina starts shuffling over to the chair opposite him, appearing so pleased with herself Ethan could only breathe out another sigh.

“If it’s cool with you-”

“It’s not,”

“-I’m just gonna hang out here with you,” She plops into the leather recliner and beams at him, eyes scrunching into two crescent moons. Huh. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor really.”

His annoyance fading just a smidge, he eyes her, distrustful. Closing his book with a small thud, Ethan leans back, sinking further into the plush material.

“How on earth is you neglecting your work and bothering me when I’m trying to read you doing me a favor?”

Nina flicks her chin at the cover of his book. The glossy surface catches the warm rays of sunshine drifting in through the windows, the text Comrades!: A History of World Communism almost swallowed whole by the natural light.

“I am doing you a favor,” The steam from the coffee mug wafts up and swirls in the air between them, “I’m sure you’re already busy being a doctor full-time, I’m giving you a chance to take a break from your communist endeavors so you can actually enjoy your down time.”

Seeing no point in disagreeing when she looked determined to stay there, Ethan takes a sip of his Vienna, the liquid still warm and settles pleasantly on his tongue. Over the top of the cup, he catches Nina leaning forward slightly as though waiting for his reaction.

Putting the mug back down, he turns his head to the window, content on ignoring her still and watching the people strolling up and down the street outside.

Her quiet voice breaks him out of his reverie, “What’s it like? Being a doctor?”

At the question, Ethan turns his gaze on the barista, finding her peering at him with a mix of curiosity and...admiration?

He shrugs, “It’s alright.”

“...That’s it?” Her head tilts to the side, eyes widening as she silently urges him to elaborate. He’s not sure why he’s humoring her, but he relents and continues.

“It’s...it gives me opportunities to figure out the mysteries of the human body. To find ways to conquer and defeat the things that defeat us,” He keeps his gaze on her, watching as the brunette follows his every word like he’s telling her some universal truth.

Nina nods, seemingly soaking in his explanation and satisfied with it, “That sounds really cool. You’re like a hero,” She laughs a little, a tenderness in it that confuses Ethan, but he doesn’t say anymore on it. Hardly.

A beat of silence falls over them again. There’s no awkwardness in it though and Ethan’s content to let it stretch on.

“I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger.”

The spell is broken and Ethan’s attention is now directed solely at her, the barista tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. When he doesn’t speak, she continues, “Always wanted to help people. It just seemed like the perfect job for me to defend those who were fighting for their lives. For their second chances.”

The small frog pin on her apron gleams as she fidgets, light from outside hitting its metallic surface.

“Why didn’t you?” He finally asks, albeit hesitantly, “Become a doctor.”

A wistful look crosses her face and she smiles, “My brother’s health deteriorated and he  collapsed as I was graduating from high school. Things just never worked out,” Nina pauses and considers the room, Ethan noticing for the first time that the other customer had left, no more tap tap-ing sound to be heard.

“But it’s whatever. I like working here. And at least I get to keep my sleep schedule,” She jokes, eyes landing on him again.

Ethan doesn’t speak for a long moment, holding her gaze. At the lack of reaction, Nina begins to squirm, appearing nervous, but doesn’t prod him.

Finally, he finds his voice, uncharacteristically timid, “This place is lucky to have you.”

A blink and a beat later, and a glowing grin stretches across Nina’s face. She chuckles, a soft pink flush dusting her cheek.

Waiting another beat, Ethan clears his throat and begins to move, grabbing his book and nudging the now-drained cup of Vienna away, “I should head back. I have work. At the hospital.” He holds back a grimace. Moron.

Nina tilts her head, the action releasing a couple of strands to fall from her ponytail, “I would hope so, since you’re wearing your white coat,” She snorts when she sees the unimpressed expression on his face, “Go save lives, Dr. Ramsey.”

With that, the barista turns and heads back to work, humming softly as she goes.        

A feeling he can’t place courses through him, sending a slight shiver up his spine as he steps out into the street. Just a chill. With that, Ethan makes the familiar walk back to Edenbrook, the gentle breeze returning and dances through the soft locks of his hair the whole way.

---------------------

Day 3

“Quit stalling already and drink!”

Grumbling, he lifts the cup to his lips, taking a cautious sip.  

The silence settles throughout the room, and Nina leans forward just a little bit, in an attempt to gauge his reaction. He tries to keep his expression blank.

“...Well?”

“...”

Ethan lets the silence linger for another moment before bringing the cup back to his lips. Slowly, a smile begins to bloom across Nina’s face, bright and smug, “Heh. So what’s the verdict, Doctor?”

He refuses to give her the satisfaction of a reply, instead determined to keep his eyes trained on the inside of his coffee cup. His ears pick up a tinkle of a laugh.

“I told you you’d like it,” The barista giggles, her eyes forming crescent moons, as she attempts to stifle the full force of her laughter. Placing a hand on her hips, Nina gazes at him, her self-satisfied grin making a home on the corner of her lips. Ethan decides, right then and there, that he hates it endlessly.  

He especially hates how that cheeky ass smirk makes her eyes sparkle more.

Releasing a bone-weary sigh, Ethan sets the mug down on the table and leans back in the chair, training ice blue eyes on the brunette across from him, “I tried it. Are you going to tell me what it was now?”

Still beaming, Nina sinks down into the soft leather chair opposite him, hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of dark hair behind her ears. Crossing her legs, she glances down at the drained coffee cup, “Espresso Romano. As you can probably guess, it’s a shot of espresso with a slice of lemon served on the side and rubbed on the rim.”

A soft calming song plays in the background, the notes resonating through the air and floats around them, framing the little pocket of the world they were occupying. Nina looks back up at Ethan, holding his gaze as she continues, “The lemon’s zestiness brightens the drink and cuts off the bitterness. Which, no offense, but that looks like something you could use some help with.”

Biting back a retort on the tip of his tongue, he picks up the discarded lemon curl, long fingers absentmindedly playing with the garnish. The silence settles once more between them as he takes in what she said.

In a voice so quiet he’s hoping she doesn’t pick up on it, the words leave his lips: “It’s decent.”

The crescent moon smile she gifts him with tells him that she heard it loud and clear. He doesn’t say anymore, but he doesn’t need to. She hears the rest of what he left unspoken.

“Such a way with words. You really should’ve been a poet instead of a doctor,” Amusement never leaving her eyes, she leans over to pick up his mug and plucks the lemon peel out of his hands, dark brown hair falling over her shoulder at the movement. Soft afternoon sunlight streams in, bouncing off the tan of her skin and for a brief moment, she looks like she’s glowing. Ethan frowns, averting his attention to the space behind her instead.

Humming quietly, Nina stands up and turns, the soles of her white Converse squeaking in protest. Tossing him one more knowing smirk, she begins her trip back to the register, the arm of his empty cup resting on the crook of her finger. A minute later, she disappears through the door into the back area, the gentle music from the ceiling filling up the room in her stead.  

Ethan releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and glances back out the windows overlooking the street, the faint taste of lemon still sitting on his lips.  

---------------------

Day 4

The coffeeshop feels a bit different in the mornings, fresh dew and the gentle rise of the sun blanketing the room, wrapping it in a peculiar warmth. The lack of customers at this time adds to the ambiance, though Ethan doesn’t pay much mind to any of that at the moment. Instead, his attention is aimed at the disheveled barista in front of him and the mayhem surrounding her.  

The next time Ethan walked through the doors of Derry Roasters a week later, he was met with what he could only describe as chaos. A collection of discarded coffee cups littered the counter and drops of milk and cream dotted the floor all around Nina. The brunette ran a hand through her long hair frustratedly, apron stained with liquids.

A quick explanation told him that she had been attempting to perfect the craft of latte art, though Ethan would argue that you can’t perfect something you didn’t even have the basics for. Recognizing that her skills were abhorrent and wanting to please customers, Nina had made it a habit to arrive at the cafe very early in the mornings, where she could practice in solitude. And that was what he had walked in on when he dropped by, having thought to get coffee before his shift later that day.  

He watches her struggle with the milk for another minute, bumbling around like a newborn, before peeling off his white coat, a strand of hair falling just over his eyes at the motion. Nina turns at the rustle beside her and is greeted with Ethan’s tall figure peering down at her handiwork.

Startled, she takes a half step back, eyes wide in surprise, “What...are you doing?”

In place of a response, he rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt and helps himself to one of the aprons hanging on the coat rack by the back area.

“Watching you spill milk on yourself like an infant is getting painful. I used to work as a barista through undergrad so I remember some things...” He pauses, gazing inside one particular mug that was housing what resembled more creamy vomit than coffee, “...though I’m skeptical if it could even help you at this point.”

The flat tone of his voice must have irritated her, as she shoots him a mild glare, a cool determination flashing in her eyes, “That sounds like a challenge, Doctor.”

“It definitely will be.”  

A couple hours later, the work area resembles a battlefield, thermometer and portafilters thrown haphazardly all over the counter, milk and coffee powder strewn across its surface in reckless abandon.

Ethan shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest and focused intensely on the mess she’s making, “You’re not doing it right.”

Nina groans, the sound tickling his ear. Her grip on the pitcher slackens which promptly spills more of its milky contents all over the counter.  

“I’m doing it exactly as you said. You just suck at teaching,” She mumbles, tsk-ing a little at the new addition blooming on her apron. Taking in the growing clutter decorating the counter, Nina lets out a sigh before turning to Ethan, “This feels hopeless.”

“Giving up already, rookie?” He quirks up an eyebrow, a corner of his lips twitching.

She stops and blinks at the nickname, but doesn’t comment on it further, “No!...Just. Ugggh,” With a loud whine that sounds awfully like a puppy’s, Nina sets the pitcher down, knocking it into the thermometer that was sitting nearby. Placing a hand on the surface of the counter, Nina leans into it, sagging with disappointment. The chagrin expression on her face so directly contrasted her usual bright grin that it makes his chest throb strangely.

Clearing his throat, Ethan glances back down at the mugs, highlighting all her failed attempts. Despite the mess, he could still see her progress, the more recent works showing slight improvements.

With a flick of his fingers, he starts selecting some of the cups out of the batch, “These aren’t too bad. The shape is starting to take place.”

Not looking entirely convinced, Nina skeptically eyes the attempts he singled out.

“You sure?” She points to one, “This one looks like a bad rendition of the Scream.”

Gently, Ethan nudges the pitcher and the thermometer towards her, voice quiet but firm, “It’s an upgrade from the foamy blob you made earlier. You’re getting there. You just need to keep working on your technique.”

Releasing a sigh, Nina relents and pours more milk into the pitcher, readying for another round.

Delicate sunshine slants through the windows and catches on the tips of her hair as she bends forward, eyes narrowed at the face of the thermometer. Ethan keeps a watchful eye on her movements, leaning towards her a fraction more.

Despite the intensity coming off of Nina as she tackles the task, Ethan feels curiously light, as though the usual restlessness humming under his skin was dimmed. Hovering a little closer, the weak scent of apples from Nina’s hair tickles his nose, as she turns to heat the milk. Grabbing the steam wand, she inserts it into the liquid and turns it on, the thermometer clinking onto the side of the pitcher.  

When she gets to the part of pouring the milk into the coffee, the hand holding the steamed milk trembles slightly as she tips the wide-mouthed cup of the espresso forward in her non-dominant hand. Stepping ever closer and settling right behind her, Ethan leans his head down until it practically rests on her shoulder, her back to his chest, and brings a hand forward to steady her grip.

At the contact, the warmth of her skin spreads through his fingers, scalding in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

This close to her he can hear the intake of breath, the slight shudder in her voice as she continues, concentrating on the feeling of his hand and the milk as it spills into the espresso.

Morning light grows warmer as the sun rises up higher in the sky, and Ethan loses track of time as he watches Nina pour the foam, successfully forming an asymmetrical flower. The minute she finishes with the last drop, the barista sets the pitcher down, staring wide eyed at her work.

Turning her head slowly, she fixes her stare on him, a look of utter disbelief on her face, “...I did it.”

Ethan’s lips quirk and he nods once, “You did.”

There’s a pause as it sinks in.

“...Oh my god! I did it!” Elated, Nina leaps towards Ethan, throwing her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Oof,” He braces himself at the force of her knocking into him. Letting out a snort, Ethan finds himself chuckling at the brunette’s joy, a small feeling of pride spreading through his chest, having spent all day trying to get to this point.

The moment lingers, Nina’s arms still wrapped around Ethan’s broader frame, the thumping of her heart beating against his rib cage. In a tiny, slightly muffled voice, “Thank you.”

Tilting her head up at him, she awards him with a gentle smile, the softness of her face accentuated by the tender curl of her lips, “Seriously. It was thanks to your help today. Guess you really are a good teacher,” Nina quips, a levity about her now that made it difficult for him to look away.

Ethan smirks, “Of course I am. I’m good at everything.”

The barista rolls her eyes all the way up to the ceiling, “Glad to see you’ve got a strong ego.”

“Was it not earned?”

“...Okay yes, but it doesn’t mean you have to be annoying about it,” She grumbles, lips forming a pout.

It takes Ethan another minute to realize that neither of them had moved, the both of them still wrapped around each other. The warmth of her skin bleeding through his shirt, the faint apple scent of her hair tickling his nose once more and he unconsciously leans down.

Nina’s eyelids flutter as she moves towards him, and soon he’s close enough that he can count every speck of caramel in the brown pools of her eyes. The pink of her lips. The small shudder of her breath. Every second that ticks by is another he’s falling...Wait, what?

Ethan jolts, his thoughts crashing to a stop, his entire body tensing. Sensing the change of mood, Nina halts as well, pulling back slightly to look at him, brows furrowed in concern, “Are you alright, Ethan?”

No. He doesn’t respond as he starts extricating himself from her grasp, peeling away from her. The groove in between her eyebrows deepen as Ethan hurries to place some distance between them.

There’s another moment of silence that blankets over them, but this one is different. It’s tense, making Ethan’s gut churn a little.

“...Did I...is something wrong?”

Unable to meet her eyes, he holds back a grimace, hearing a tremble of hurt in her voice as she asks. He stays silent for another beat before glancing in her direction, not meeting her gaze, “No, it’s just. It’s...I gotta go. My shift starts soon.”

Not waiting for a reply, Ethan yanks off his apron, roughly throwing back onto the rack before hastily grabbing his white coat and rushing out the door, never once turning back to look at the barista, whose eyes never left his back as he briskly walked off back to the hospital.      

-------------------

Day 5

“You’re still here, Ethan?”

At the sound of the voice, Ethan looks up from a patient’s x-rays he’d been examining, finding his colleague, Dr. Baz Mirani, standing in the doorway of his office.

Throwing a quick glance at the wall clock, it read 11:54 p.m.

Damn. It’s this late already? He’d completely lost track of time.

Rubbing a tired hand over his chin, Ethan releases a sigh before packing up his things, and leaving his office for the night, brushing past Baz on the way out. He wasn’t going to be able to do much more tonight.

A full effect of autumn had taken root and blanketed across the town in the past month. Stepping out in the night, Ethan lifted up his face, the scent of the fall leaves and cool evening air caressing the tip of his nose. As he moved closer to his car, a restlessness buzzed under his skin and he was unable to shake it no matter how much he tried.

He’d been feeling this way for about a month now. Ever since then.

A flicker of brown eyes and soft smiles crosses his mind and a gnawing apprehension sits in his throat, one that feels suspiciously like guilt. Guilt and...something else Ethan doesn’t want to define yet.

Sighing once more into the autumn night, he reaches his car door, ready to go home to his bottle of scotch waiting for him. The feeling continues to nip at him though, and he pauses when reaching for the handle of his car, the weight in his backpocket feeling much, much heavier.  

Maybe...He suddenly...felt an urge for some coffee.

Before he could talk himself out of it (this is a bad idea), he leaves behind his car and takes off in the direction of the coffeeshop, his footsteps slow and effortful.

The lights are still on when he reaches Derry Roasters, the blinds of the windows all pulled down save for two that overlook the counter. His eyes immediately land on the barista, sweeping away at the floor on the other side of the register, expression tight and disappointed.

The guilt started to creep back in at the look on her face.

This really was a bad idea. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk to her yet, after his abrupt exit last time. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready, but he certainly wasn’t today.

Backtracking, Ethan began turning back in the direction from which he came, but the movement catches her eye and right away, Nina glances up, brown eyes connecting with blue ones. Ah shit.

Seeing him, the barista’s expression tightens a fraction more, a cool gleam flashing across her eyes, and she frowns before beckoning him to come in with a quick nod of her head.

A weary sigh leaves his lips as Ethan ambles over, the ding of the bell ringing out like it was announcing his execution. The minute he walks in, Nina folds her arms across her chest, still wearing her black apron over the pale blue sweater she donned today.

“Did you need something?” She asks after a long, tense moment.

He doesn’t reply, the lump in his throat growing as he hears the familiar line, ones uttered by him not too long ago. The circumstances in which they were said so different.  

She presses forward when he doesn’t speak, “You haven't been around much lately.” It sounds a little like an accusation.

“My coffee machine’s working again. So I didn’t really need to come here anymore,” He tries to hold back a grimace at how calloused he sounds.

Nina’s frown morphs into a glare and Ethan’s sure he’d rather be toughing it out in the Amazon right now than having to be the object of this woman’s current woe and ire. He’d rather be anywhere else.

He regrettably continues to dig his own grave, “There wasn’t much else this place could offer since I could just get coffee from my office now,” Why the fuck-  

“Well sorry I don’t have much to offer a world renown doctor,” A tinge of bitterness laced in her tone and he holds back a wince.

It was strange how easy it was for him to deal with the people at the hospital, never finding any need to mince words with idiots with fat pockets, and vultures trying to increase their profits at the expense of others. With his patients, always doing his best to be honest with them as they faced their own battles everyday, fighting for their lives. But here, in front of this woman who miffed him and intrigued him to no end, Ethan always found himself hesitating and clumsy with his words.

He stays quiet for too long and his silence, his lack of anything annoys her.

“You really are a cactus,” Nina mumbles, tightening her grip on the broom, keeping her eyes trained to the ground.

Taking a steadying breath, the barista glares pointedly at the crack in the floor before speaking up again, “You’re always like this, you know. I’ve talked to you like five times, and even I can tell you what you’re like.”

He doesn’t speak, the tension in the air making it difficult for him to cut through, his throat closing.

Nina holds up her hand, dainty fingers curled into a fist before she begins counting, “You always have to be sarcastic or ironic about something,” She lifts up a finger, “You’re always grumpy and kind of an asshole,” She puts up another finger, “You’re so closed off it’s sometimes so hard to talk to you because I have no idea what you’re thinking,” She pauses, ticking off another finger as the edge of her glare starts to fade, “...You never say what you mean. You’re so emotionally constipated and you make a habit of running away. You can’t just admit you like something and you always have to find a roundabout way to-”

During her tirade, Ethan had inched closer to her, slipping out what he had hidden in his back pocket. In one swift motion, he presents it to her, shoving it right under her nose and effectively cutting her off mid-rant.

Nina blinks, staring down at the trinket. A small frog keychain sits in the palm of his hand, the plush material appearing velvety under the beam of the ceiling light.  

“...What?”

His other hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck as she peers up at him, wide-eyed and confused at the gesture, “I saw it a while ago. I don’t know why I thought of you but I bought it.” He nods at the pin clipped dutifully on her apron, right next to her name tag.

A long stretch of silence envelopes them and Ethan’s not sure what to classify this one. It didn’t feel comfortable nor was it tense like before. The brunette continued to stare at the item in his hand before gingerly, almost shyly taking it into her hands, rolling it a bit between her fingers.

After another long moment, she speaks up, “My brother...always liked frogs,” Voice airy, she keeps her eyes on the plush and continues, “He got sick a lot, and they always made him feel better. So I would always be wearing them and bringing them to him whenever he got sick again.” Nina glances up at him finally and he notices her eyes glistening with emotion.

“He’s alright now, but I guess old habits die hard. I’ve grown attached to frogs myself,” She chuckles.

Ethan watches her, blue eyes lingering on her frame before finding his voice again, “I’m glad your brother is fine now. You’re a wonderful sister.”

Nina remains quiet, eyes still fixed on the gift and Ethan’s not sure why he feels the need to keep going, “I found it in the gift shop at the hospital.”

There’s another pause as Nina freezes again. As the seconds stretch on, Ethan’s worried he overstepped. Maybe don’t tell her that. Preparing to backtrack and excuse himself from this scenario, he readies an apology on his lips, when he’s interrupted by the sound of a snort.          

She’s...laughing?

Bemusement takes over his face as he blinks, watching as the barista starts curling over, laugh growing in intensity and volume. One peek at his face and she’s launched into another fit.  

Nina continues to laugh, her body shaking as the amusement runs through her small frame. Ethan stands there silently, not sure what he should be doing as the barista keeps giggling, hand clutching the keychain tight in her grip.

Finally, after what feels like ages, Nina’s laughter subsides, fixing her posture and settling her gaze on him, something that Ethan can’t define sparkling in her eyes.

A fond sigh leaves her lips as she regards him, “You make it hard to stay mad,” She lets out, voice delicate like a whisper.  

Nina links her hands behind her back, expression happy and radiant, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from her. In his daze, he doesn’t notice her moving, approaching quicker than he has time to form a coherent thought.

Nina practically skips towards him, closing the distance between them. Ethan almost reflexively took a step back, the sudden proximity shocking him speechless as he catches the caramel flecks in her eyes, sparkling and utterly captivating.

“So,” Drawing out the one syllable, Nina’s eyes crinkle into those familiar crescent moons, as she lifts herself up on her tiptoes and leans towards him, noses almost touching. Ethan finds himself rooted to the spot, completely at a loss before her as her eyes reflect like stars.  

“Are you gonna ask me on a date or what?”  

Fin.

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[silvestromedia]

SAINTS FOR MARCH 12

St. Alphege, 951 A.D. Bishop and prophet, called "the Elder" or "the Bald." Also known as Elphege, he was the bishop of Winchester, England. There he ordained St. Dunstan. A holy prophet, Alphege is credited with helping to restore monasticism to England.

St. Mura McFeredach, 645 A.D. Irish abbot and disciple of St. Columba. He was named abbot of Fahan and is patron saint of Fahan in County Derry. Also called Muran and Murames, he is remembered by one of his crosses that remains standing at Fahan.

St. Paul Aurelian, 573 A.D. Welsh bishop. Probably of Roman-Welsh descent, he was the son of a local Welsh chieftain. He studied under St. Illtyd at the Ynys Byr monastery and, according to tradition, was granted permission to become a hermit. Ordained, he nevertheless gathered around himself a group of followers and acquired such a reputation for goodness that a king in Brittany asked him to preach the Christian faith to his subjects. Paul sailed to Caldey Island in Brittany soon after and founded a monastery at PorzPol on the island of Quessant. Later he established himself and his followers at Ouismor. There, over his objections, he was made a bishop, although he was finally permitted to resign after several years and retire to Batz. He was reputed to be able to perform miracles.

St. Peter of Nicomedia, Roman Catholic Martyr. According to tradition, he was a chamberlain at the court of Emperor Diocletian at Nicomedia. Arrested for being a Christian when the last great persecution of the Church was launched at Diocletian's command, Peter was cruelly tortured by having the flesh stripped from his body and salt and vinegar poured and rubbed into the wounds. Finally, he was roasted to death over a fire. He is ranked as one of the first victims of the last persecution by the Roman Empire. Feastday Mar.12

ST. MAXIMILIAN, MARTYR IN AFRICA

ST. INNOCENT I, POPE, He became Pope, succeeding Pope St. Anastasius I, on December 22, 401. During Innocent's pontificate, he emphasized papal supremacy, commending the bishops of Africa for referring the decrees of their councils at Carthage and Millevis in 416, Mar. 12

Bl. Joseph Tshang-ta-Pong, Roman Catholic catechist and Martyr of China, put to death for the faith. Feastday Mar.12