#Stan turned out way smaller than I originally meant so I just rolled with it and shrunk him even more pff

[haunted-farts]

Saw Stenny and followed immediately

Hey thanks, I'm happy to hear that!

[marvelslut16]

I Promise

Pairing: Stanley Uris x Bowers!Reader (young) 

Request/synopsis: “Hi! If you’re still writing Stanley Uris, could you write a little childhood piece taking place during the first movie where the reader is one of the bullies’ little sister and hates what her brother and his friends are doing to the losers and starts to hanging out with them and the boys make fun of Stan because it’s obvious that he likes her and one day they’re walking and end up on the kissing bridge and he just starts rambling to her about something he saw and she interrupts him by kissing him”

Word count: 4,390 I think I got carried away

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions of attempted murder? Use of the term flamer, it means flamboyant gay, Stan is called that by Patrick in the books. Mentions a lewd act that happens in the book as well. Violence from a brother. Bullying. Some angst? Pennywise, that should definitely be a warning lmao.  Blood/gore/violence, typical for the IT fandom. Sort of mentions character death.

A/N: Sorry if this wasn’t exactly what you wanted, I tried to do this request justice (since it was my first! Thank you to the anon that asked for it!) but I definitely took it on an angsty ride lol. I definitely focused more on Henry and the time in the sewers than I originally planned.  Sorry this took so long as well, I wasn’t sure how to fit all of my ideas together. I really like how this turned out, but it’s also like two in the morning so there could be typos. 

Do you like being Henry's little sister? Of course not. Siblings or not, Henry treats you like shit too, at least he has the decency to keep it behind closed doors. On top of that, everyone avoids you, expecting you to be just like your brother or Greta. Greta is relatively nice to you, or as nice as demon spawn can be, she never makes fun of you or bullies you, she even tries to include you in her shit. Thinking, like everyone, that Henry actually likes you; and this way she can make a good impression and he can finally ask her out. 

You walk out of the front doors of the school on the last day to see your lovely brother and his idiot friends teasing Stan and his group of friends, stealing the curly-haired boys kippah. Richie, being his typical self, starts screaming and insulting Henry, making him angrier. Henry takes said anger out on Stan, pushing him to the ground and pulling his leg back to kick the smaller boy in the side. 

“Hey!” you scream and rush over to the scene, before you can realize what you're doing. 

“Come to defend your boyfriend?” your brother sneers before laughing like a lunatic. 

“Back off Henry,” you glare at him, stepping between him and Stan. You can hear the poor boy behind you struggling to stand up.

“Or what?” Henry leans in, face inches from yours. He has never made his dislike for you public, even his friends are shocked by his actions. “You gonna run home and tell Dad?”

“Tempting,” you push him away from your face, mindful that your father is on duty somewhere in the ocean of students. As he’s distracted by the shove, you yank the kippah free from his grasp. “You want them, you go through me.”

“That can be arranged,” he grits his teeth, gesturing for his friends to grab you. 

They look shocked for a second, before Belch wraps his large arms around your middle to hold you back. Your brother smirks at you as he advances on Stan, preparing to punch him. Your pleas for him to stop advancing on the loser’s, as they’re dubbed, fall on deaf ears. 

“Let go of me you creep!” you yell at Belch, before slamming your foot down on his. He lets go of you before bouncing around in pain, like a stupid cartoon character. You run between Henry and the Losers, but not before he can shove Richie to the ground. “Go home Henry,” you shove his chest again. 

“You can’t make me,” he flips open his switchblade as he advances on you. The rest of the world seems to still and all you can think is will Henry really hurt you? You hear the muffled cries from the boys behind you get louder with each step your brother takes towards you.

“What’s going on here?” your dad's voice cuts through the haze, Henry backs off and hides his knife before Dad can see. 

“I was just offering her a ride home,” Henry scowls as he turns to your father.

“And I was telling him that I was going to go hang out with my friends,” you use your thumb to point at the boys behind you. Your Dad eyes them wearily before ultimately coming to the conclusion that they’re a harmless group of nerds. He nods at you and sends Henry a small glare that if you blink you’ll miss before heading back the way he came. 

“Watch yourself,” Henry warns before making his way to Belch’s car, friends in tow. You let out a sigh as they drive away, shoulders slumping as your adrenaline wears off.

“I think this belongs to you,” you smile at Stan, handing him his kippah.

“Thanks,” he breathes, he looks like he wants to continue speaking but no words come out. As he grabs the kippah from you, his fingers brush against yours and a blush creeps up his cheeks. You grin at how adorable he is. 

“Are you guys okay?” you glance between him and Richie. Stan just nods and Richie rolls his eyes at the doe eyed look his friend is giving you. 

“I’d say we didn’t need your help, but Stan the man here certainly liked being your damsel in distress,” Richie smacks a hand on Stan’s shoulder and laughs, you soon join in. Stan smacks the boy with the glasses harder than you think anyone realized he could. “Ow, that fucking hurt” Richie whines, rubbing his arm and sulking off to Eddie. 

“D-do y-y-you wan-nt to go-o to the qu-qu-quarry wi-with us?” Bill asks and Richie smirks at the idea.

“I should go before Henry gets even more mad,” you play with the hem of your shirt. “But thank you for asking.”

“Please,” Richie clasps his hands and blinks dramatically at you, sticking his bottom lip out in an over dramatic pout. 

“Why not?” you grin at the losers, but at Stan the most. 

--

Over the following weeks you grow closer to the boys; Bev, Mike, and Ben too when they join the losers club. One day the eight of you are at the quarry trying to ignore the whole killer clown thing. Stan looks nervous about jumping into the water, even though you’ve seen him do it multiple times already. So you decide to grab his hand and pull him down with you withput warning. He lets out a high pitched screech that you almost can’t hear over the wind whipping past you. 

Once you and Stan, the last two to jump down, break the water's surface Richie grabs Eddie repeatedly screaming the word chicken and shaking the smaller boy. Bev grabs Ben’s hand to which he grins at. Richie and Bill share a look before the stuttering boy wades over to you. 

“W-w-will you b-be my par-pa-partner?” Bill smiles at you, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. 

“Of course!” you smile at your friend, happy that the group accepted you quickly even though you’re a Bowers. You don’t see the glare Stan is sending Bill as he pairs up with Mike. Richie smirks at the rest of the group, you and Stan oblivious to the looks they send each other and their plan to make Stan so jealous he tells you how he feels. 

--

“So Stan,” Richie sings.

“No,” Stan says, watching you and Bev ride your bikes to your house for a sleepover. Her dad was worse than normal lately and she needed an escape, and you loved the escape it created from your brother. 

“I never asked my fucking question,” the boy with the coke-bottle glasses pouts.

“Because nothing good ever comes out of your mouth,” Stan deadpans, finally turning to look at his friends. You rode past the curve at the end of the road effectively taking you out of Stan’s line of sight, so he had no reason not to look at his friends now. 

“You were holding hands with (Y/N),” Eddie speaks up from Richie’s side. “Which is just fucking disgusting! Do you know how many germs-”

 His voice is cut off when Richie slaps his hand over the smaller boy's mouth. The look of terror on the hypochondriac’s face is one that Richie won’t stop laughing at for years to come. 

“She pulled me off the ledge,” Stanley rolls his eyes, suppressing a blush as he remembers how soft and warm your hand was. “It meant nothing.”

“And big Bill doesn’t fucking stutter,” Richie rolls his brown eyes, which look like googly eyes since they’re magnified by his glasses. 

“What?” Stan asks looking at the road in front of him, not wanting his friends to see how red his face and ears are. 

“I thought we were coming up with obvious lies,” Richie shrugs. “You’ve been in fucking love with her since you two got paired up at the beginning of the damn school year.”

“Have not!” Stan tries to lie, but his face darkens three shades deeper. The red instantly gives his obvious feelings away to his smirking friends. 

“It’s that or you have rosacea,” Edidie looks up at the Jewish boy with mock innocent eyes. “Because your cheeks are bright red every time you're around her.” Stan doesn’t respond because he knows they’re right, so he just walks away from them.

--

“Do you like Stan?” Bev giggles at the sleepover. The two of you had been talking about her and Ben prior to the question. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, looking down at your hands resting in your lap. “He’s so nice, and so sweet, and so caring. Plus, he went out of his way to help me when I was confused in class this year.”

“Yeah-” you cut off the redhead. 

“And the way his curls fall in front of his eyes when he’s leaning forward, so he has to angrily huff at it to try to blow the curl away. And the way his face scrunches up all adorably when he’s concentrating on a hard problem.”

Before you can continue fawning over your friend, your door slams open. It hits the wall behind it with a loud crack, where you later find a hole in the wall the handle created. In the doorway is a pissed off Henry, steam practically shooting out of his ears. 

“I thought I told you to stay away from him and the rest of those fucking losers?” he shouts, you’re dad isn’t here to hear him. “And now I hear you talking about that damn flamer with the schools slut no less.”

“Funny that you call Stan a flamer,” you smirk at your brother as you stand from the bed, subtly stepping in front of  Bev so she’s behind you and away from your brother's wrath. “When Patrick gave you a hand job.” 

“How the fuck did you hear about that?” he slams his fist into the wall beside him, knocking off a framed photo of a bird Stan had sketched for you during the school year. 

“I saw it with my own two eyes, dumb ass,” you sneer at him. “Next time you want to get a hand job from your boyfriend, don’t do it at the dump.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” he roars, closing in on you. Bev lets out a small gasp behind you, you feel bad she has to witness this. Especially when she came here to get away from her dad.

“Go ahead, then run off to get your oral from him,” you laugh. Before Henry can do anything else, the front door opens and your dad calls for you two. You sigh in relief as your older brother storms out of your room. You and Bev never bring up what was said or what just happened. 

--

You got separated from Stan while in Neibolt, but luckily Bill was with you. The horrors you all faced in that run down house will forever haunt each and every one of you. You’re shaking slightly as Stan and you cling onto each other as the two of you walk out of that horrendous place. 

You gasp loudly and hide your face in Stan’s chest as Bill punches Richie in the face. Your body starts to shake slightly without your permission, being taken back to when Henry punched the wall a few days prior. Bev pulls you into her side as Stan and Mike help Richie up. Bill goes for Richie again, but Ben holds him back. Richie yells back in retaliation.

“Stop,” you whimper, body trembling worse. Visions of your dad and Henry yelling at each other and shoving one another flash through your mind. A memory of Henry punching the locker beside your head when you were the last two in school floats to the forefront of your mind. “Please.”

Stan immediately rushes over to you and pulls you into his chest, you don’t care if he finds out about your feelings anymore as you grip onto his striped polo. He’s an anchor in the storm of your mind. Even when Henry isn’t around, he’s still lurking in the back of your mind making sure he can hurt you. The rest of the group stops what they’re doing for a minute to glance at the two of you before walking in two separate directions. Bev gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she leaves. 

“How about I walk you home? Stan offers, rubbing his hand in a calming motion on your back. 

“Can we go on a walk instead?” you ask nervously, pulling away slightly. He keeps his arms wrapped around you as he studies your face. He keeps his arm around your shoulder as you walk through the park. 

You and Stan take a seat in front of  the giant Paul Bunyan statue, soaking up the summer sun and the sounds of the birds singing. For the next several hours you and Stan lay side by side on the grass as he points out different birds and tells you about them. Your heart pounds every time your fingers brush against each other as they lay in between you. Your body and heart are aching to slip your fingers through his, but your mind is telling you no. You ultimately listen to your mind, feeling dissatisfied with yourself at the awkward wave he gives you as he drops you off at your house. 

--

The days where the losers are fighting rush by, each of them spent doing something with Stan. before you know it, it’s nearing the end of the summer and Pennywise is gone. You reluctantly take part in the blood oath, wanting to leave this town as soon as you turn eighteen and never look back. But you would do anything for your friends, even risk your life for them again. As you're hugging Bev goodbye, you can’t believe she’s really leaving, Stan comes up beside you. 

“Will you go on a walk with me?” Stan asks timidly, not meeting your eyes. The puffy bandages around his face make your heart lurch at the thought of how much pain he must have endured. 

“Sure,” you nod even though he’s staring at the ground in front of his feet. Bev gives you a smile and a slight shove in encouragement. You give her one last smile as you start off down the trail, Stan taking long strides to catch up. 

“What happens now?” Stan asks, his fingers brush against yours as you walk side by side. 

“My aunt’s moving here, so I’m staying,” you don’t turn to look at him, scared to face more disappointment. 

You stop walking when you two reach the kissing bridge, not that you expected anything to happen, but it was a nice view. You look down to see the small S inside the heart you carved earlier in the year, it sits near Richie’s R + E. You absentmindedly rub your wrist, Henry had grabbed you so hard he bruised you when he caught you with his missing switchblade. But it was worth it, in twenty or thirty years from now those markings would still be there, your own little mark on history. 

“I’m glad,” Stan says it so quietly he doesn’t think you’ll hear him, but you do. You glance up at him and immediately frown as you get a better look at the bandages wrapped around his face. It takes you back to the day in the sewers, the day he yelled at you. 

“Stan!” you scream in fear as you wade through the grey water. Your heart is pounding in your chest, this can’t be happening! You can’t lose him, not Stan. One minute he was with the group and the next he's gone. “What if IT got him?” your voice shakes in fear.

“You can’t think like that,” Richie says firmly, but you can hear the fear in his voice. 

Before you can respond you hear a scream, one eerily familiar to when you pulled Stan off the ledge at the quarry. “Stan!” you scream again as you run past your friends through the dark smelly sewers to find the curly haired boy that you care for. 

You reach the closed door at the end of the tunnel, opening the rusty metal on your own thanks to the adrenaline rush. Your friends' screams of Stanley get louder as they catch up to you. All six of you rush through the door and look for Stan in the large underground room. You walk around and come face to face with the creepy women from the painting he hates eating his face. A strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper escapes your mouth, alerting your friends that you found him. 

“What the fuck is that?” Richie asks as Eddie shines Stan’s discarded flashlight at the thing. The multiple rows of teeth finally let go of Stan and the lady looks at the lot of you.

“Get off of him!” you scream, reaching down beside you and grabbing a rusty pipe. You chuck the metal at the creature smacking it in the middle of the face, it opens its mouth and hisses at you before retreating. 

You all breathe a small sigh of release, until Pennywise peeks his head out from behind the corner. All six of you let out high pitched screams, but all you can think about is Stan’s safety not your own. As Pennywise hides behind the corner again you run and drop to your knees at Stan’s side, the rest of the boys quickly following suit. You reach out and touch his arm, muttering his name in a soft calming voice, but all he does is scream in terror. 

“Get off me!” he pushes six pairs of hands off of him as he scrambles away from you and the rest of the losers club. “You left me! You took me to Neibolt! You aren’t my friends!” 

“Stan, we were looking for you. We were so worried, I was so worried,” your hand gently touches his cheek, trying to see how much physical damage IT had caused.

“Get away from me!” he glares at you as he smacks your hand away from him. “You're no better than Henry! Worse than him! You tricked me into being your friend just so you could hurt me!”

You rip yourself away from the curly haired boy so fast you fall flat on your ass as you try to move away. You gasp and tears fill your eyes, Bill’s hand gently squeezes your shoulder. He had been with you at Neibolt, he saw that your fear was Henry. Your feelings for Stan were obvious, so the accusations made the rest of the boys angry at Stan for hurting you. Tears fall quickly from your cheeks as you stand and back away from the group. You need to get out of there, away from Stan, away from the pain. 

The rest of the losers back away from their friend and get ready to search for their favorite redhead. You all find Bev quickly, and you smirk as Ben kisses her to wake her up. Pennywise soon appears, attacking Bill first, the rest of you try to fight the clown but it doesn’t work.

“Let him go!” Bev’s plea reminds you of yours from earlier. 

“No, I’ll take him” IT shakes its head with a grin. The killer clown explains to the group how it will eat your flesh as it feasts on your fears. “I’ll take him and only him,” IT offers. 

“Leave,” Bill begs the losers.

“I’m gonna have to kill this fucking clown,” Richie complains. “Welcome to the losers club asshole!” he screams, hitting Pennywise in the face with a discarded baseball bat. 

Chaos erupts, everyone grabs for a weapon to fight the clown with. As everyone starts attacking IT with the garbage they found, IT manages to slip away. You all decide, stupidly, to split up and look for Pennywise. 

“Good morning sunshine,” Henry’s annoying voice whispers into your right ear, dialogue straight from an incident where he almost seriously injured you. “Dad’s not home.” You can hear the smirk in IT’s voice.

“This isn’t real! You aren’t Henry! You aren’t real!” you scream, the losers stop their search for the clown and watch on nervously. 

“It’s time to play sis!” IT laughs like a maniac as he walks in front of you, you're forced to stare up into IT’s eyes. Pennywise steps closer so you step back, which you do again and again. A replica of Henry’s switchblade pops open and is pointed directly at your gut. “Daddy dearest isn’t home to stop me!”

“Go through with it! Do it! Do what the real Henry never had the guts to do!” you scream at your brother- well Pennywise. He has you backed into a wall, switchblade dully pushing into you just above your navel. Your chest rising and falling rapidly as you pant, angry tears mixing with the heartbroken ones from earlier as you stare defiantly at the thing that had been after you and your friends all summer.  

IT backs away slowly, your brothers-Pennywise’s- head tilting to the side as he studies you. A grin too large to be humanly possible splits across Henry’s face, rows of teeth on display as IT laughs in delight. You see your friends inching closer to you and the clown, you make eye contact with Richie giving him a slight shake of your head. He sighs in defeat, grabbing both Stan and Eddie pulling them back, the rest of the losers halt when they realize what the trashmouth did. 

“You were easy to crack,” IT giggles loudly, shifting back into a clown. IT lifts a hand up, finger tracing your cheek down to your throat, stopping directly over your artery.   

“Take me and leave my friends alone!” you glare up at IT. 

As the clown goes to open its mouth, Ben comes out of nowhere and stabs IT right in the back. The rest of the losers start attacking IT again, the clown shifts from fear to fear in hopes of getting one of the losers to stop. It shifts to Bev’s father, so she stabs a rusty rod right down IT’s throat in order to make him go away. The clown convulses and backs away from the group. 

“That’s why you didn’t kill (Y/N) and Bev, because they weren’t afraid of you!” it’s the first time you’ve ever heard Bill not stutter. “We aren’t afraid of you. Now it’s your turn to be afraid, because you’ll starve.” IT flips itself into a hole that leads lower into the sewer system, letting go and disintegrating before Bill can whack IT with a pipe. 

You all stare in shock for a few moments before making your way out of the sewers and towards your homes. The losers all talking amongst themselves, all but you. you’re ahead of the group, wanting to put as much distance between you and Stan as you possibly can. Eddie too, he had already asked what you meant while Pennywise was still Henry. Two conversations you definitely didn’t want to have. 

“(Y/N/N)? You okay?” Stan’s distant and worried voice breaks you out of your memories. “Where were you just now?”

“I’m fine,” you lie and he can tell by the flash of pain that crosses your face. “Just thinking about the other day.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Stan frowns, turning away from the carvings on the wood to face you fully. “I wasn’t in the right head space-”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, fingers gently running over the S carved into the wood.

“No it isn’t,” he says firmly, you look at him with wide eyes. You weren’t expecting him to get so serious about it. “IT messed with my head, made me see things that weren’t true and I took it out on you.” 

“Stan, I get it. IT knew how to hurt us most,” you reach over and lightly wrap your hand around his in a reassuring gesture. He stares down at your joined hands for a moment, ears turning a vibrant red, before continuing with his explanation. 

“He showed me a vision of you and Bill kissing,” Stan flips his hand over and laces his fingers with yours. 

“What-” you’re eyebrows furrow as you watch his face grow from pink to red. 

“I like you, (Y/N). A lot. And when IT showed me that it broke my heart. Deep down I knew it wasn’t real, but it felt so real. I’ve liked you since the beginning of the school year, and I never had the guts to tell you. Because why would you like me? You could have any guy, how could you ever possibly want me-” you cut him off by gently pressing your lips to his. It’s a soft and fast peck, but you still pull away smiling. “What?”

“I like you too, you loser. For just as long, I was scared to say anything because of Henry,” you giggle at his shock, mouth open and eyes wide. “Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.”

“Speaking of Henry,” Stan’s mouth snaps shut before his lips pull into a deep frown. “What did you mean back in the sewers?” You sigh, not wanting to admit it allowed. Stan pushes a strand of hair away from your face before cupping your cheek gently. 

“Henry thought I broke his Atari, so he screamed at me endlessly and threatened to kill me,” you admit softly, rage and sadness battle within Stan’s eyes as he takes in the information. “It wasn’t the first time he threatened that, but it seemed different that time. My dad had no idea, he only heard some of the yelling, which he screamed at Henry for doing. So that made Henry even more mad at me. But anyway, it turns out that it was Belch that broke it.”

“(Y/N),” Stan says softly, pulling you into his embrace. “I’ll never let anyone else hurt you.”

“Promise?” you ask hopefully, could you really finally be happy? 

“I promise,” he kisses your forehead softly. “I know this isn’t great timing, but will you be my girlfriend?”

“I’d love to,” you grin at him, gently caressing the bandages as you pull him in for another kiss.

tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​

[solaneceae]

EGOTOBER DAY 5 - Umbrella

The street was quiet, save for the pitter-patter of raindrops crashing on his umbrella. He hummed a cheery tune whose origin he couldn’t place, mindlessly syncing up to the sound of two pairs of shoes walking the asphalt.

“So… how’s your family doing?”

Dr. Iplier tilted his head towards Henrik, surprised by his sudden query; his old friend hadn’t said a word since they left the clinic a few minutes ago. The late evening was cold and rainy, and his workaholic colleague had forgot to bring his umbrella. So Edward had offered to walk him home under his own, an offer the German had taken without much protest.

And here laid the problem; Dr. Schneeplestein was a proud, stubborn man- much like himself- and he despised needing any sort of assistance. So him accepting without much of a fight was… concerning, to say the least.

He shook himself out of his thoughts; Henrik was waiting for an answer, his light grey-blue eyes peering at him sedately. He’d ask later. “Hectic.” he sighed. “Wilford set fire to a nightclub last week, so Dark grounded him until the authorities stop looking for him. They’ve both been in a foul mood ever since, and it’s up to me to pick up the pieces. As always.”

Ah, the brown-haired ego pondered, explains how often he missed work lately. “How about the new guy, the one with the stutter?”

Edward’s features softened; apparently, the Manor had a new resident, one that the dark-haired doctor had taken a shine to. “Oh, you mean young Eric. He’s been doing better, actually. He only broke down crying twice this week.”

Henrik hummed approvingly. “Ja, the Derekson boy. Poor soul. No offense mein Freund, but with a household like yours? The fact that he’s still alive is a crowning achievement in itself."

“None taken. Honestly, I don’t think you Septics realize how lucky you are. I’m starting to think Mark can only create raging psychopaths, narcissists or cripplingly traumatized egos.”

“And which of those are you, then?”

A smirk. “I’m a doctor. Therefore, I’m all of those things and more.”

Schneep barked out a laugh; he always liked talking to Edward. The Ipliers were, in his professional opinion, walking disaster magnets- that is, whenever they weren’t the ones causing the disaster in the first place. Henrik knew his own family was chaotic- they too had their very own demon to deal after all- but the Manor’s inhabitants were on a whole other level.

Despite all that, the strong-jawed, level-headed doctor was a welcome presence in Henrik’s life. “How about yours?” said doctor asked, ruffling his untamed hair. The humidity had made it especially poofy and shiny today.

Schneep rolled his eyes. “Same as ever. Rambunctious. Reckless. Anti and Marv keep snapping at each other like rabid wolves, und I swear Jackie shows up half-dead at the door every other week now…”

He ran a shaky hand through his own hair; it was tangled and greasy. Jesus, when was the last time he’d gone home to shower and eat? “I know he heals faster than a normal human, but I’m getting worried. Other than that, they’re all doing fine… Jacques' been busy running his art studio and paid us a visit last month, and Angus should come back from Australia soon.”

Dr Iplier hummed in sympathy. As a doctor himself- as well as the only sane man in a ridiculously large ego family, he understood the feeling quite well. But he couldn’t help but notice how the shadows under his colleague’s eyes had gotten darker, his milky complexion paler, his footing less secure. Even his hair looked grayer these days; he guiltily wondered if the shifts Henrik had been covering on his behalf had something to do with it.

Edward was glad he’d offered to accompany him tonight; the German’s state was starting to worry him. “Have you been taking care of yourself properly?”

Schneep let out a mirthless chuckle, averting his gaze. “What doctor worthy of that title does.”

“You shouldn’t be neglecting your own health!”

“Look who’s talking.”

Edward cringed at that, turning away from his friend. Touché. “Alright, so I’m a hypocrite, fine. It doesn’t make it less true.”

There was a lull in the conversation as they kept walking, both stubbornly staring in front of them. The sun had finally set, and the street lamps around them were gradually switching on.

“I just want them to be okay.”

Dr. Iplier looked at Henrik; he was still staring ahead, but his eyes had lost their shine and focus. He looked tired. Drained. “Things have been getting better between most of them, I know that. But some of them have issues they’re just not willing to work through, and it frustrates me to no end.” The younger ego groaned, resting his face in his hands. “I’m just. So. Tired. Of taking care of everyone. All the time. It’s like they’ll fall apart if I’m not there to mend the bridges. JJ’s presence has been helping a lot, but…”

“Hey.”

Henrik looked up at his friend. The broader man was staring at him, his dark brown eyes burning with intent.

“They’ll be fine.” Edward said softly. “Like you said, they’re getting better. They wouldn’t want you overworking yourself to death for their sake.”

“But-”

“Shush. I’m a doctor, I know what’s best.”

Henrik frowned; it’d been a while since the other has used that. On him, no less. “So am I, dummkopf.”

“Well I’ve been around longer, that obviously makes me the superior one.” Edward boasted, proudly puffing up his chest.

“How does that make any sense?!” Henrik squawked, his thin hands flying everywhere in indignation.

“Because I said so!”

“Gott, you’re insufferable!”

They glared at each other for a few seconds, before bursting into laughter. Henrik had jerked his head backwards, howling with mirth, while Edward had devolved into his baritone guffaw, almost kneeling over in his hilarity. That meant he wasn’t protecting them from the rain anymore, but none of them cared.

Their manic laughter faded into nervous chuckles, and Schneep wiped the tears from his eyes. Christ, that felt good. “Thank you, Edward. I really needed this.”

“Anytime, old friend.”

The German tilted his head, smiling brightly at the Iplier. “Look at you, giving actual logical advice. I can’t believe you’re the same man that kept telling everyone they were dying.”

“Hey,” Edward shrugged, “Mark may have made me as a joke, but egos aren’t mindless puppets.” he looked up at the sky. It was starting to clear up. “We’re not that different from humans. We change. We grow.”

He smiled mischievously. “You of all people should know that. Remember-”

“I swear I will punch you if you finish that sentence.”

“-when you thought the penis bone was an actual thing?”

“Screw you Edward. I am a respectable, perfectly qualified doktor now!” He was. Had an actual diploma and everything.

The Iplier snorted, smiling fondly. “I know. You’re the very best.”

Schneep almost tripped on his own foot at his colleague’s words, eyes widening. “Was-”

“We’re here.”

Henrik followed the other’s gaze. He was right; they were now right in front of the house, and he could vaguely make out the sound of Chase’s drumming and Jameson’s violin. They were practicing again.

He sighed, but it was in relief this time; no sign of an argument, nor of another one of Marvin’s spells gone wrong. Maybe he could catch a break after all. He turned towards Edward again, clearing his throat. “Well. Thank you for walking me home, I appreciate it.”

The Iplier waved dismissively. “Eh, don’t mention it.” He then sobered up and put his hand on the other’s shoulder. “But I meant what I said. I care about you, and I don’t want to see you waste away. So I want you to be more careful with how you treat yourself, okay?”

Henrik blinked then nodded, a bit dazed by the affection he could feel behind the other’s words, and at the strange way the streetlights were reflecting in his chocolate eyes. “Okay… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Edward stayed silent for a while, searching Henrik’s face for something. Once he seemed to find it, he closed his eyes and breathed out. “Alright. I trust you.”

His fingers brushed against the smaller man’s stubble as he withdrew his hand. Henrik’s breath hitched.

“Get some sleep, Hen.” Edward murmured. “Please. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His lips stretched in a farewell smile before he walked away, leaving Henrik standing alone in front of his house under the fading rain. The younger ego’s hand shakily rose up, fingers tracing the lingering heat on his cheek.

Gottverdammt. Maybe he needed a drink.

-----

*flips table* gOD DAMMIT EDWARD

i was this close. THIS CLOSE. to succeed in not making it shippy. and my brain goes sike and does this shit. well i guess this is my life now. i'll go down with this ship

@tabbynerdicat @egopocalypse @humblecacti @lilakennedy (its schneep time its schneep time gather all your stans its schneep time-)

[thiswreckageivebecome]

You Never Listen (Sebastian Stan/OC Oneshot)

Pairing: Sebastian x Emily (original character)

Warnings: Language, sexual reference, Angst!

Word Count: 4624

I rose from the couch, needing a break and a good stretch from the countless numbers of hours my husband and I had been binging Pixar films, crying and laughing all the while.

"Babe, I need a break, I'm going to clean up this mess for a few minutes." Sebastian whimpered in response.

"Noooo," he complained drawing out the word to an almost obnoxious length. "Don't clean. Stay here with me," he attempted to pull me back down but I was able to yank my wrist from him just in time.

"Seb, we have to clean up at some point and honestly, I need some time off the couch for a change. I feel as though I've been bedridden for two months and I'm beginning to get pressure sores." He rolled his eyes quickly and scoffed.

"Fine then. I'm going to stretch out and take up the entire couch then." His slender body quickly stretched the entire length of the couch and he snapped the tiny blue velvet and créme dappled cashmere blanket that barely covered half of him and pulled it up under his chin as if I was going to try and stop him. It was then my turn to roll my eyes and instead of scoffing, I simply grinned and shook my head. I felt my auburn hair begin to fall out of the loose bun Sebastian had tied up for me earlier as I cried within the first scenes of Up and my grown-out curtain bangs kept getting caught in wet from the tears. I pulled the hair tie out and I saw the blonde ends still holding strong, but it wouldn't be long before they were completely grown out and it would be back to its normal burnt sienna shade. I looked forward to it so that I could begin experimenting with something else again.

"Seb, don't you want to go back blonde when I do my hair next?" I asked, picking up the bowls and plates and stacking them to carry a bulk to the kitchen.

"Do I want to because I want to," he asked shiftily, "or do I want to because you want me to?" He grinned mischievously so that just the tips of his teeth showed and I could tell by the way his lips sat, that tongue would soon make its way to the corner of his mouth. Sure enough two seconds of silence passed and my prediction was correct. I simply deadpanned in his direction, halting on the clean-up, holding the look for about five seconds in total before returning to the dirty dished and half-empty take-out containers.

"I surprised myself that I liked it blonde. It isn't my preference, but it's something different. I was just asking."

"Oh, but there was so much behind that asking, wasn't there?" He began to sit up which put him in punching reach and I knew he was doing it just for that purpose. If I gave into his teasing and attempted to lay hands on him, he would pull me back onto the couch with him and I could let go the idea of cleaning up. I held my ground and with arms full, I began retreating to the kitchen but not before I cast the guillotine words over my shoulder: "Do whatever you'd like; as long as you don't grow that fucking Gillooly 'stache back I don't care."

I quickly emptied my arms on the kitchen counter as I heard his feet hit the floor and the shuffling grew to a boisterous level. I knew he would be behind me in a flash. I was right, he quickly grabbed my waist from behind, prodding and caressing my sides causing my body to spasm and erupt with laughter and squeals.

"No! Seb," I said in between laughs and when I had the lung capacity. "Seb, stop. Mercy, please!"

"You can just pretend it's my mustache tickling your sides." I couldn't help but laugh harder at his response. I caught sight of his eyes and saw the shift. They flashed and I could practically see the fire light within as his tickling became less tickle-like and more licentious. He gripped my waist tightly and picked me up. I let him, monkeying my legs around his slim hips. He held me there for a moment as I could feel multiple levels and areas of tension.

Tension seemed almost visible as we scrutinized each others' features. Tension in the air solidified almost synchronously with the throbbing I felt through our sweats. I tightened my grip on his hips as his hands rose quickly to my scalp, long, thin fingers extending into my hair and then scrunching in order to gently tug a handful. He stepped forward abruptly, shocking us both, I believe, and when he did, I felt it before I could react. There were excruciatingly loud crashes as about seven glass and ceramic dishes hit the tile floor with an exquisite amount of force.

"Shit!" I exclaimed. "Fuck me! I can't." I pulled away from Sebastian with more force than I meant to, consequently slamming my head into the glass-encased white cabinets. The glass in the cabinet busted and I felt the sharp pain as the glass shards cut into my scalp. "DAMN IT! FU- OWWW!"

"Oh shit, Em. Are you okay?" Sebastian had nothing but concern on his face but I was livid and in pain which definitely didn't lead to a calm and forgiving disposition. How it had taken this long for some shit like this to happen, I'd forever be amazed.

"Yes, Sebastian, I'm just freaking peachy. Our good wedding china is broken because your dumbass wanted to be fancy and shit and now my head has cuts and gashes in it. I'm fucking perfect. Fucking move out of my way and be careful where you step."

"No, Em. You stay there, I'm going to run a towel here with some water and then I'll-"

"No, you fucking won't. You'll move out of the damn way." I reached out and pushed him in the direction of what looked to be a clear path lacking in broken shards. He stepped out of the way as quickly as possible, attempting to miss anything that would cut open his foot. I grabbed the ashen towel from beside the sink as I hopped down, careful of where I stepped and placed it on the back of my head.

He turned away from me long enough to go grab the broom from the corner of the micro kitchen. I began following him.

"I'll clean this up and you can go-" he began to say before turning around, surprised to see me right there.

"No, I've got it. I don't need you to do anything else." Even I could feel the heat generating and emanating from my pores so that it wasn't surprising to see the Aegean nuances that always appeared and began to circuit around his normally cerulean iris' when he began to get angry. "Good," I thought, "Let's fucking do this."

"Em," he began, attempting to remain calm, "I'm sorry that I broke the dishes and that your head is hurt, cut open to be exact, but why do I feel like your reaction is a little ove-....out-of-character."

"Overboard, huh?" I swiped the broom from his hands, turned, and began sweeping up all of the fractured shards. "You want to know what's not overboard? This minuscule fucking kitchen. I've been telling you for four damn years this kitchen is too small. Yet, do you listen? No, you don't. We just keep on trying to cook together, burning each other all the time because we can't move one inch without bumping into one another or we drop dishes of food making a mess that one of us has to clean up, normally me. Not to mention that trying to entertain for your damn famous friends is a motherfucking nightmare." I got the last bits of shards into one final pile, sweeping them into the pan, and walked over to the trash, proceeding to slam the shards in there so there was more clatter and breaking into smaller pieces.

"Woah. Hold the fucking phone, Emily. First off, we both tend to be pretty clumsy so I don't think you should blame the light burnings and spilled dishes on the size of the kitchen. Sec0nd, I do fucking clean this apartment. I've always cleaned this damn apartment and I've been doing just fine with this kitchen for longer than the four years you say you've been telling me we need a bigger one. Plus, I don't recall you say-"

"Yes, Sebastian, we're both clumsy. Yes, you clean, but that doesn't invalidate my argument and you damn-well-know it. Oh, and I'm sorry, I'm so glad you could live just fine in this small kitchen without me for all those years. I can make this kitchen great for you once more." I strode off, stomping all of the way, past Sebastian's motionless stupefied position. The veins I could see in his arms from his clenched hands seemed to be physically vibrating and his cheeks has lost quite a bit of its typical cool tawny color yet I pushed forward. I reached the restroom we shared and slammed the door, causing the containers on the counter to do a small shimmy. I heaved the kitchen towel I had laid around my neck while sweeping against the wall with all the strength I had in my body. However, the blood that had clotted from the wounds must have reopened and somehow it hurt like hell. "OW! Fuck!!"

I was even more angry now at the wounds so I began grabbing other towels and unbreakable things in the bathroom and began throwing those against the wall. I had often used this strategy of anger management since I was young. Whenever my parents would piss me off I would pick up shoes and throw them against the clothes hanging in my closet as hard as I could, so as not to alert anyone of my hulk-like rage, until the majority of the anger had expired. Today, it seemed, would be no different. I grabbed a clean rag out of the drawer and wet it before placing it on the back of my head in attempts to clean the wounds a little bit. They weren't that bad, I was just being overdramatic; arguments with Seb always made my dramatics 27 times worse than normal. I heard the hasty padding of Seb's feet down the hall. I turned and locked the door quickly before he reached it. The doorknob jiggled but abruptly stopped as he knew I had locked him out on purpose.

"Emi, are you alright? You know, besides the cuts and gashes in your head..." he lightly tossed my words back at me. I looked at the ceiling exasperated.

"I'm just brilliant, Sebastian," I bit back at him.

"Will you let me in?" He braved the question after a brief pause. I could hear the tension in his voice, not out of anger, but out of concern. For some reason it made me even more furious, transforming my exterior to have more the consistency of concrete than brick.

"Honestly, I don't really want to talk with you right now. Just the sound of your voice is grating my nerves."

"Shit," I could hear the surprise in his voice but I had a feeling a snarky comment was to follow. "I'm sure glad you put that bit in your vows because then I'd be worried you had divorce papers being made up in there at this very moment."

"Sebastian. Please, for the love of that small-ass kitchen, shut the fuck up. I'm not joking with you. I'm tired of that kitchen. I'm tired of you brushing it off and not doing anything about it." I finished cleaning my scalp and threw the rag in the sink before unlocking and slinging the door open so swiftly that it started the both of us. "It's like you don't even care about the way I feel about this. Oh, and I know what you were going to say earlier. You don't recall me saying that much. Well guess what, Sebastian, I didn't say a lot about it the first two years we knew each other because we weren't fucking married. I didn't have a place to, so yes, I would jokingly slip it in but after we were married I only bring it up on a monthly basis and how long have we been married, Sebastian?"

"Two years," he paused so I waited, "and I've loved you for four."

"See, Sebastian, you think that's sweet but what you're doing is you're using that to try and melt my frustration. You're not FUCKING LISTENING! You just want it to go away and everything to go back to normal. You want me to accept that and sweep my feelings under the rug but I'm getting pretty fucking sick of sweeping up my feelings, much like those shards of our wedding dishes now, and placing them in the trash. I've been doing it for two years and I'm just getting tired of it." I sat down, somewhat beat down, and sighed. His eyes, constantly alternating and intermixing between arctic, sapphire, and even at the briefest of seconds, teal shades, had followed me as I crossed to the middle of the room, paced back and forth in front of the bed, and ultimately stopped to show him how exhausted I was by all of this. He was speechless so I continued.

"Seb, look. It may seem small to you...not the kitchen, my feelings, just to be clear...and no I don't hound you about it because in the grand scheme of things it isn't like it's going to make or break our marriage and no, I don't need a ton of fancy things; I hope you know that. I just really do feel like it'd be helpful to have a bigger kitchen. It's one thing I really would like. Sometimes I just feel like I'm living in a bachelor pad and that was fine when you were a bachelor or when we were first married...but there's two of us now-there has been for two years-and we do like to entertain. By the way, we like to entertain our friends, not just 'your famous friends.' I'm sorry I said that. They're our friends no matter what heights or depths of the well-known totem pole they're at."

"I didn't realize it bothered you that much."

"It only does sometimes. Today being one of those times apparently." There was an extended silence but I felt I had said enough for now so I let him break through the quiet in the room.

"Serious question...how many times do we really entertain, though?" My eyes made an involuntary elongated blink before opening wider than before as my head shook in shock. This is what he chose to say? I rose from the bed and backed away, still facing him, taking in the subdued amaranth rising from within.

"Are you serious? That's your response to all of this? That's your argument?"

"I'm not arguing; I'm just asking."

"Oh, but there's so much behind that question, isn't there? Go ahead, let's lay it all out on the metaphorical fucking table. Let's do this," my voice rose in decimals with each word. He rose from the bed as well.

"Alright, fine, fucking fine, Emily. I don't understand how we were having a perfectly nice day. We enjoyed movies, laughing and crying together, snuggling, everything was fine. Then we're joking and teasing, then we're about to have sex and then seemingly out of nowhere, you lose your top. You fucking freak out over a few broken dishes and a few scratches. I didn't actually do anything to you and you act like I've ruined your life and you've been living in hell with me these past two years." He began walking towards the bedroom door. "It's like it's completely out of the blue and I don't fucking understand why we're fighting." He walked into the hallway, throwing his hands in the air, and began making his way back to the living area. I fell in pace with him quickly, right on his heels.

"Have you listened to one damned word I've said? Oh, silly me, that's my whole point in this argument, isn't it. That you don't listen to what I say or how I feel." He turned on me just as I caught up to him.

"I listen to everything you say. In fact, I've hung onto every single word you've said to me since the day we met, believe it not. You may think I'm only attempting to diffuse a situation and 'melt' your heart and exterior when I say things like that but I'm only sharing the truth. I don't know how long or how many times I have to try and prove to you how much you mean to me."

"Just because you hear doesn't mean you listen, Sebastian!"

"Tocmai pentru că auziți nu înseamnă că ascultați, spune ea," he said wryly.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" I questioned, my anger reaching new heights.

"I didn't say anything to you!"He scolded back, pacing.

"E ca și cum ne-am căsătorit pentru o bucătărie dracului."

"Oh, speak in fucking English," I said, my voice lowering but still filled with a magnitude of frustration and annoyance. "The only reason you're speaking in Romanian is so I won't know what you're saying, but I can tell you're mocking me, you asshole."

"O batjocorește, spune ea, dacă numai ea știa ce spuneam, va râde până acum, în ciuda faptului că mă bat în realitate."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" I asked, crossing my arms and jutting out my hip to the right, full of attitude, which he turned and saw. "Yeah, I remember that word."

"Oh, you remember that word, huh? It doesn't mean that you know what I said just because you know one word."

"Oh, listen to this miracle, you're listening."

"Oh good God, woman," he cast his hands in the air, rolling his eyes simultaneously. "I told you, I listen. I listen. I-"

"Says the one who-" I attempted to interrupt him but he walked up to me and placed his hand over my mouth, silencing my rebuttal.

"I hear that you hate when I play entire film scores on repeat that don't have any lyrics in them. I hear you every other Saturday morning when you say that while you love purple, you cringe just looking at grape jam. I hear you when you mutter under your breath anytime we pass someone who has clearly just finished a huge stinky blunt. I'm listening when you tell me your ideas for how Endgame should have gone. I'm listening when you explain how to fry chicken despite how many times I've burned it because you 'have faith' in me, as you say. I'm listening when you tell me that in your dream kitchen, you'd have anchor-colored cabinetry with pewter and pearl herringbone tile on the floor and marbled granite countertops, all finished off with a clear crystal backsplash. I am listening all the time. I know you want hooks under the cabinets to hang coffee cups on and the pull-out pantries everywhere you turn like you always loved when you watched "30 Minute Meals with Rachel Ray," growing up. I know you want a double-sided fridge with a bottom freezer and an extra deep freezer somewhere else. I know all of that. I do listen. I listen and I act." His words shocked me, literally shocked me. I felt energy course through my body as if I had stuck a fork I was holding in an electrical socket.

"Se-"

"Which is why I have something to show you, if you'll come with me." I only nodded, still moved by his words so that I no longer had any of my own. He took me by the hand and dragged me out of the apartment. As we walked through the city, we remained silent. I didn't know where he was taking me. I was still processing the concept that he remembered so many details. We ended up at East 57th. He stopped walking at 303 and dropped my hand. Out of his pocket appeared keys I had not seen before.

"What is this, Sebastian?" I questioned, curiosity blanketing my voice. He retrieved my hand once more and I followed him into the elevator where he pressed nine. "Sebastian, what is happening?" He couldn't stop himself from grinning before I saw it, but he bit his lip in an attempt to stop himself from grinning more. "Sebastian! Wha-"

"Just be patient for once in your life," he said chuckling and licking his lips as he often did when he was a little nervous. The elevator doors opened and he pulled me forward. "Alright," he stopped right outside the elevator, "now, I know it's not Riverside Drive, but I did the best I could." He handed me the mystery keys and motioned for the first door we saw. It was labeled "9C." I could only look back and forth between the door and him.

"Sebastian, what are you saying?" He gave me a gentle nudge towards the door. When I barely moved, he placed his hands on my waist and pushed me forward from behind.

"Go ahead, unlock and open it." He grabbed my elbow to assist as he knew my brain wasn't quite connecting to my body. I unlocked the door, and pushed it open. "It's yours, not Will Truman's, but yours, " he whispered in my ear, leaning in close, arms draped around my torso. "It's ours," his tepid lips brushed my ear through my hair. He continued to guide me forward. As I walked in, I saw what appeared to be the living room. There was one couch and it resembled the one Anthony had lied about years ago during an interview, small cashmere blankets and all. To the right, my eyes widened and I could practically feel them brighten. He let me go and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter, unquestionably pleased with himself. He stood, grinning, tongue moving across his lips, eyes afire, with all the attitude of Tony Stark.

"Seb...it's...Seb...you...did this?" It was the exact kitchen I had talked about down to the colored grout.

"You didn't know I was such a handy-man, did you?" He teased, the right side of his face constricting in attempts to not bust forth with laughter so I did so for him.

"Yeah-right," I stuttered out between giggles. I ran to him and jumped into his arms, entangling my legs around his waist. "I can't believe this, Seb, it's so beautiful!!" I showered his face with kisses, all of the rage from earlier non-existent. He caressed my back as he spun me slowly around so that I could see everything but I didn't pay it much mind. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Well," he said, placing me on the kitchen island, "planning or in the process of?"

"Both."

"I've been planning since...well...since you agreed to marry me. The process started about six months after we got married. I had to find the real estate in the city that would allow me to have it redone how we wanted. Then, of course, since you only mentioned anything on a monthly basis, it took a while to get everything designed and to the contractors and interior designers." I didn't think I could be anymore shocked than I had been only moments ago but yet again, here I was, utterly dumbfounded.

"Sebastian. I'm so sorry for being such an ass."

"Nu mă așteptam la nimic mai puțin, în plus, te iubesc mai mult decât orice în lumea asta."

"Te iubesc...I love you too." He began to kiss me gingerly, first on the lips before moving slowly to my temples and placing his hands hesitantly in my hair behind my head so as not to hurt the tiny cuts I had been so dramatic about earlier. I began to reach to his waist as his lips moved across my skin. I tugged at the hem of his shirt, simultaneously pulling him as close to me as possible and lifting ever so slightly, hoping he would get the hint.

"By the way, I didn't mean much of anything I said earlier," he mentioned quietly. "I was really just trying to get you riled up enough for...well..."

"Hot, angry sex?" I questioned bluntly.

"Well, it is our go-to argument ender." He began to nibble across my collarbone and up my neck.

"So that's why you pick fights with me, huh?" I finished asking breathlessly as his cool hand raced up and inside the front of my shirt.

"To be honest, yes, 99% of the time." I cackled and tugged his shirt up and over his head pushing him away. I jumped down from the island simultaneously and beckoned him back. He removed my shirt and then lifted me, kissing from my neck down my torso as low as he physically could.

"So tell me, Mr. Stan, are you going to fuck me until tomorrow on this beautiful marble to officially christen this our new home?" He huffed, air caught in his throat at my unexpected words. "I can't bear to mess up that beautiful couch and it doesn't look like there's many other options." Once he gained control of his voice again, he placed mthis the island once more, this time laying me back and crawling on top of me, straddling me. He leaned in close.

"There is actually a bed," he pulled down his sweats and shook them off, "but I'll take fucking you on the counter, on the floor, in the shower, wherever you'll let me. Everything is finished and the furniture will be here." He paused, leaned back and yanked down my sweats one leg at a time. "I made sure all of it was covered in 70's plastic...does that make you angry?"

"You just want to make me angry, don't you?"

"Just enough."

"Then you know what you really need to say to me, don't you?" I thumbed his briefs, pulling on them just enough. He huffed again as my hand moved closer to him. I pretended I was in the process of removing my panties but in actuality, I just wanted to feel him throbbing for the second time that day.

"*NSYNC is the worst boy band of all time," he responded darkly. I grabbed his hand, pushing them underneath my panties and he began to work. Before we knew it all of our garments were gone and there indeed was a mess on the floor and the counters. We made our way that night to every single room of our new home. There was a tremendous amount of yelling with different intensities and various obscenities. There was hardly a place in that apartment our bodies didn't meet and we felt each other throughout the night.

When we awoke the next morning, finally making it to the bed, we were sticky so we showered and considering there were no linens we dried off in the best way we knew how to get our bodies heated up at lightening paces, and all the while looking forward to our next fight.

[wheneveryourereddie]

Only Seven Minutes

Summary: Like all the other losers, Eddie is dragged to a party and is forced into a game of ‘Seven Minutes In Heaven’, the person his hiding the closest with was the last person he expected.

Pairing: Reddie

Word Count: 1685

Eddie was squished between two drunken students with his little red cup held in his delicate fingers. Like some of the other losers, Eddie was dragged to this party to get out of the house and try something new. Most of the persuasion came from Beverly, onto his mother. What really sold her was just a little white lie Mike made. For now, we’ll say he’s doing a group project on Russian History.

“There you are Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie pulled the fragile boy up and under his arm.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asked at the sudden movements from his trashmouthed friend, “and for the last time can you stop calling me that!”

“Whatever you say Eds,” Richie grinned, walking along towards the front room. “Bev wants all of us to join in on this stupid game the host has going on.”

“What game?”

“7 minutes in heaven.”

Eddie jumped at that name, the forbidden game that either forms or destroys friendship, “I’m not playing that!”

“Too late!” Bev smirked, grabbing him and plopping him down in a seat.

“Why aren’t Bill, Stan and Ben playing though?” Eddie asked, feeling offended.

“Oh, they are!” Bev smirked then whispered in the devil’s tone, “trust me, you’ll have fun!”

Eddie knew what she meant, something that involved a little crush. Beverly was the first one to find out about the little secret. She’s always the first one to find out somehow.

“You don’t h-huh-have to do it, Eddie,” Bill tried to calm him down. He was standing on the other side of the room with Stan’s arm wrapped around him.

“Bullshit!” Richie sneered beside him. “This will become one of Eddie’s greatest achievements!”

“Cause you’ll both be hiding in the closest, Tozier,” Stan smirk, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, his drunken persona taking over. Sober Stan would kick drunken Stan’s ass for saying that.

Normally Eddie wasn’t one to fall for someone. Somehow, his glasses wearing friend was able to do it with ease. Eddie questions even himself, why? Especially, why out of all the people he knew, why does it have to be him. Someone who has made him irritated whenever something would leave his mouth, but could make him bubble up with merry by a smooth smile.

“Alright freaks and weirdos!” The host greeted everyone over the loud music. His hand was clenching on an empty beer bottle with the label poorly ripped off. Everyone in the area cheered with their thrill being thrown into the thick air. Eddie looked around at the desiring desperates in pure confusion. “Time to see which one of our lucky contestants takes a road down to adventure.”

With one swift spin, the bottle became fate. Eddie rolled his eyes then pulled out his phone in disgust. He didn’t need this shit right now. Slowly he was wishing he was at home right now, taking his placebos and whatever homework he had. He couldn’t call his mom to pick him up, not after what Mike told her! Yeah right the bottle’s gonna land on him!

Everyone was quiet. A little too quiet. A rough weight was dropped on his shoulders when his eyes looked up, meeting everybody elses. He shivered in shock at all the attention he was getting. A pair of build hands grip onto his shoulders, making Eddie jump in his skin.

“Looks like our sweet little Eddie will be the first to enter a world of great pleasure,” The Host smirked with a evil shine in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry Eddie,” Mike squeezed his small shoulders, while Bev pulled him up.

A poisonous smirk grew on her perfectly lip lined lips, her whispered tone matched the smirk, “everything is going according to plan.”

“What plan?!” Eddie panicked, then shoved into the dark closest.

“Good luck!” was the last thing Eddie heard from Ben before being locked inside the hopeless closest. Great, he’s hiding in the closest, story of his life.

It wasn’t pitch-black like how he imagined it. He was expecting to not even see his hands right in front of his face. There were things that you could pick out in this darkness. Like how there were some boxes piled up and there were coat hangers with some jumpers on them. It was small, but quaint.

“HEY! You can’t do that!”

“Well it landed on me, didn’t it?”

“Not by someone stopping it on you!”

“Just let him go in! We’re already wasting time!”

The once muffled music and voices became loud again but only for a brief moment. There were mixed screams when the next person walked into the darkened room. Some were of cheers while others were concerned like how it was ‘planned’. Eddie kept his face hidden from the new victim that has entered the hellhole. He heard the door shut but snapped his head towards the door when it was locked.

“7 MINUTES!” Bev cheered from the other side of the door.

“You hear that Eds?” Oh shit! Oh god! Oh fuck! “You get to spend 7 minutes with your best buddy!” He felt his head being pulled down and under Richie’s arm, while his other fist rubbed his scalp.

“Don’t call me that!” Eddie pushed him off, landing himself against the wall.

Richie laughed as he leaned against the wall, right next to the smaller loser. Eddie can’t believe Bev actually went through with it! He just thought it was a joke! Eddie was the idiot to believe it was a joke.

“Who were you hoping to get paired up with?” Eddie asked, trying to start a conversation.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Richie laughed like it was a joke, but when he turned to face Eddie, he could make out features that showed he was clueless. “Oh my god! Eddie you’re serious!?” He bounced off the wall, actually asking a question this time.

“Yeah!” Eddie answered, still clueless.

“God! We’ve known each other for over 8 years and you still don’t get it!?” Richie was about to lose his shit. “The flirting, the constant teasing & bickering like a married couple!”

“Richie!” Eddie tried to stop him, hoping it was dark enough to hide the redness covering his cheeks and neck. “You do that with everyone! If I put a skirt on my pencil case, I would need to hide it from you!”

An annoyed chuckle left his lips, “your head really is full of spaghetti.”

A pair of soft lips were smashed onto Eddie’s delegate ones. The mixed taste of cigarettes and gum coated his lips. Richie’s large hands cupped the small boys soft cheek as a way to not move him. Eddie’s eyes widened at the sudden movements from his best friend. His hands were next to his face as he tried to figure out what the hell was happening.

The trashmouth pulled away, his hands dropped down into the air. A cold breeze graced Eddie cheek, making him miss the warmth from Richie. His mind was still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Richie just stood there waiting for something, anything, to happen.

“You’re actually not gonna say anything?” Richie asked.

“I don’t know,” Eddie breathe out, his voice weak. “You may need to kiss me again.”

Richie smiled at the request, not hesitating to reconnect his lips with Eddie. Richie placed his large hands on each side of the smaller boy while Eddie’s fingers curled into Richie’s dark mop. Eddie’s back was pressed firm against the boxed up wall.

Richie tried to deepen the kiss, forcing his head lower. His hands moved to hold onto Eddie’s cheeks. His skin burned under Richie’s touch, but he liked it. The passion between the two grew stronger and stronger by the minute.

He needed more, and so did the other. Eddie felt Richie’s tongue scrape his bottom lip, begging for entrance. His mouth slowly opened, then shocked by the sudden connection. Eddie’s hands gripped onto the collar of Richie’s flannel while Richie grip moved to the sides of Eddie’s gentle head. A muffled moan came from the small tanned boy, making Richie smirk against their lips.

A cold breeze made Eddie shiver all the way down to his spine. Richie’s lips found a new place to mark. He licked and smooched every inch of Eddie’s jaw then slowly moved back down to the sensitive boy’s neck.

Every worried thought was long gone from Eddie’s mind. There was only one thing in his thoughts now, that was Richie. He never thought in a million years his first gay crush would be sucking on his neck in a fucking game of seven minutes in heaven. Somehow, here he was, gasps and gentle moans leaving his now sinful mouth.

Banging interrupted the two, making them jump in surprise. Richie lifted his head, his glasses all fogged up. Both of their lips were swollen and their hands still on each other.

“ALRIGHT! TIMES UP!” The host banged on the door.

Richie groaned, one hand running through his curls, “ANOTHER MINUTE!”

“NO WAY TOZIER! 7 MINUTES! NOW OUT!”

Another groaned left Richie’s mouth, his hands dropping from Eddie’s figure.

“Didn’t realise 7 minutes could go by so fast,” Eddie sighed, fixing his shirt.

“Then just wait til you spend a night at my house,” Richie chuckled, stealing one more kiss from Eddie.

Richie first left the darkened closest, then followed by Eddie who tried to keep his head and neck hidden. Richie went back to his original spot but Eddie was stopped by Bev. A large smile grew on her face like she achieved something.

“Told you it would work,” she smirked.

“How’d you know it’d work?” Eddie asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“By the hickey on your neck.”

“Shit!” Eddie placed his hand over the spot. He forgot that Richie did more than just a kiss. “Mom’s gonna kill me!”

“You’re lucky I have some concealer on hand.”

———————-

A/N: I kinda felt awkward when writing about Richie sucking on Eddie’s neck cause the Fifty Shades of Grey version of Crazy in Love starting playing on my phone.

[beepbeeprichiellc]

Chin Up Kiddo

Summary: Stan comes to Eddies aid and finds out things he had never known about his smallest friend.

A/N: There is multiple ships mentioned in this but the main focus is Stan and Eddie’s friendship. I don’t think there’s fiction about these two as friends and I wanted to write something different

Word Count: 2416

Masterlist

Stan sat beside Bill, his hand encased in his as they watched the football players scrimmage. It was a warm day, the September chill was late to Derry this year and Stan found that this kept everyone in a rather joyful mood. He looked up to his boyfriend and smiled, admiring his chiseled jaw and deep blue eyes. He was perfect, so absolutely perfect that he still, even after six months of dating, had butterflies in his stomach every time they touched.

The other losers laid lazily around them, admiring Mike as he was pitted against his own team. Stanly watched him walk to the sideline, waving up to his friend’s enthusiastically. They waved back, and Richie even cat called.

“Geez Rich, keep those kind of sexual advances for Eddie.” Beverly joked, snuggling closer to Ben’s side. Her boyfriend accepted her weight, throwing his arm around her petite shoulders.

Richie smirked, “I would if he was here.” For the first time that evening Stan noticed the small boy’s absence, he looked to Richie who shrugged, answering his nonverbal question. “He said he’d meet us here, he has gym last period and has to take a shower. You know how he can be.” 

This sufficed for Stan, who melted back into his boyfriend. As time progressed, and the game neared the end he noticed Richie become anxious at his own boyfriends absence, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Bill muttered something about Eddie that Stan couldn’t make out, he turned to ask what he had said when he felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and noticed the text message from the missing loser.

Eddie: I need you to meet me in the boy’s locker room, come alone and don’t tell Richie.

Stan smiled at the text, assuming it a continuation of Eddie’s and Richie’s prank war that had started at the beginning of the semester. Typically, Stan had been one of the main players throughout Richie’s relentless tricks but he honestly refused to pick sides.

Bill noticed the message and smirked, letting go of Stan’s hand. Gently he planted a kiss against his curly hair causing Stan to blush. “Go ahead, I’ll see you after.” Bill whispered in his ear sweetly. It took a few moments to pry himself away from his boyfriend but eventually Stan left the group, telling the others he needed to use the restroom.

The halls of Derry High School were empty. Stan’s heavy footsteps echoed around him and he found himself rather creeped out at the lingering smell of hormonal children. He neared the locker room and smirked, hoping what Eddie had planned was as unrelenting as what Richie had pulled last week. He opened the door, surprised to see the lights were off.

Stan flicked the switch, illuminating the space around him. “Eddie?” He called, looking down all of the isles. As he approached the last row of lockers he felt his stomach twist painfully. He knew this wasn’t right, something was wrong. “Eddie? Are you in here?”

There was a small whispered in response and Stan could just barely make out his own name. He turned towards the last row and froze, his blood running completely cold. There in a heap against the lockers was Eddie, or least a bloody version of Eddie. His bare chest was painted crimson, obviously originating from his nose. Black and blue welts ran along his face, down his neck and across his torso decorating his fragile body. He held a small towel, using it to cover his naked shame.

“What the fuck?” Stan blurted, quickly moving to his friend. Eddie looked at him and offered a broken smile, which only caused Stan to cringe. “Are you okay Eddie?” He muttered, unable to bring himself to touch the battered loser.

“Peachy.” He croaked, leaning his head against the green lockers behind him. “Fucking peachy.”

“What happened to you and is that-“He paused, noticing shimmering particles in the boy’s messy hair. “Glitter?”

Eddie cringed, nodding his head. “Some guys, they caught me in the shower.” He explained, adjusting himself into a better seated position, wincing with every movement. “They beat me pretty bad and doused me with fucking sparkles, can you believe the irony?”

“No, I can’t.” He admitted, frowning at his friend’s dark humor. Eddie rolled his eyes, “I should call Richie.”

“Don’t.” Eddie hissed, suddenly grabbing ahold of Stan’s wrist.

“He needs to-“

“No.” The small boy practically shouted, “Do not call him.”

Stanley flinched at the harsh command, feeling Eddie’s desperate fingers bite into his wrist. He could see fear in the small boy’s eyes but behind that was something else entirely, something that was seldom seen among the losers.  “Okay.” Stan whispered, placing his other hand gently against his friend’s tense hold. “Just tell me what you need.”

“They took my bag, it had all of my clothes.”

Stan nodded, pulling himself away from his friend. He went to his own locker and pulled out his gym uniform and his shower shoes. Eddie thanked him, attempting to rise from the floor only to crash back down once his weight had shifted.

Stan had to fight back tears as he helped him to the bench, treating him as if he was made from china. It took everything he not to scream in frustration, instead forcing himself to focus on attending to his wounded friend. Gently they pulled the shirt over his head, almost immediately becoming soaked in his blood. Eddie profusely apologized for this but Stan ignored him as he helped him into the shorts.

“Okay now what?” The taller boy asked, forcing himself to swallow his emotions.

“Did you drive?”

“No but I have Bill’s keys.” He replied, touching his back pocket lightly. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

Eddie shook his head, “No, my mom would flip shit if I did.”

“Okay well how about my house? My parents are at my cousin’s bar mitzvah out of town, we can go there and get you cleaned up.” Eddie agreed to this, again apologizing for everything that he was asking of him. Stanley frowned, watching the tears stream down his friend’s bruised face. He swallowed the lump in his throat, pulling the almost weightless boy from the bench. Eddie’s arm wrapped around Stan’s shoulder, leaning on him for support.

Although it was a short walk, it took them fifteen minutes to make it to Bills car. Eddie did his best to suppress his discomfort, however every few steps a helpless whimper would squeak through his chest. Out of respect Stan pretended not to hear it, instead focusing the uneven asphalt. They made it to the vehicle and Stan helped his friend into the passenger’s seat, wincing as Eddie dropped his grip on his shirt. He shut the door and made his way around to the other side.

The ignition breathed life into the car, its soft hum being the only noise between them. Stan paused, pulling out his phone. Eddie noticed, suddenly tense. “Who are you-“

“Just Bill.” Stan replied quickly, knowing that his friend was going to ask. “I’m telling him I’m taking his car and that he will need to catch a ride home with Rich or Ben.”

Eddie didn’t say anything else the entire ride, instead he just stared out the window, watching Derry pass them by. They pulled into Stan’s empty drive and he killed the car, looking over to the small frame beside him. “Eddie?” He whispered, afraid of what he was going to ask but the need for it to be answered suffocated him.

“Yeah.” He replied, looking up to him.

“Why don’t you want to call Richie? He would be able to take care of you a lot better than me.”

Eddie shifted in his seat, uncomfortable tension growing in the air. He took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly and a bit staggered. “They guys who-“He paused, motioning to his face. Stan nodded, understanding. “They did it because of something Richie said. They targeted me on purpose.”

Stan felt the air leave his lungs. His heart cracked loudly and he was almost sure that Eddie could have heart it. “I don’t understand, if it was something Richie did then why come after you.”

He could see tears in the small boy’s eyes as he looked away, ashamed of himself. “Because I’m small, weak and going after Richie is like going after a jackrabbit.” It was meant to be a joke, Stan knew this but he didn’t find any humor in the situation. “Richie says things, and it’s not his fault, not one bit. People who take his humor the wrong way know that they can get to him by going through me. In fact it’s the easiest way because when it comes to me, he is so impulsive. If he would have found me instead of you, he would have gone after them and gotten himself killed Stan.”

Stan didn’t reply, gripping onto the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He shook his head, biting back the tears that filled his vision. Eddie gently placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. “I texted you because you are the calmest, most composed person I know and that’s what I needed. I’m sorry to put this on you, and I know your more Richie’s friend than mine, but I just thought you were the only person who would remotely understand.”

Stan understood. He understood a million times over and that’s what made him even more broken. Even though Richie was seen as the strong one in his and Eddie’s relationship, Stan knew that that just wasn’t the case. Eddie’s strength wasn’t physical and just by looking at his small stature you would assume he was the weakest of the group when in fact, he was the strongest person of them all. “Okay.” Stan finally muttered, opening his car door. “Let’s get you inside.”

They didn’t speak to one another much, a thank you from Eddie as Stan handed him a pair of fresh clothes and a mumbled response when the smaller boy left to take a much needed shower was their only exchange. Stan was relieved to be alone, left with his thoughts. He was overwhelmed with the situation and could feel his obsessive compulsion crawl just under his skin.

There was a vibration from his pocket and he pulled out his phone to notice Richie’s stupid face plastered on his incoming call. Stan heard the shower turn on across the hall and with a deep sigh he rejected it. He knew that Richie was being ignored by his boyfriend and that was why he was calling him but he still felt dirty snubbing his friend. That was until the second call came in, again Richie. Stan groaned and ignored it, repeating the action with the third and fourth calls.

Stan grumbled, laying on his bed he stared at his phone, watching the calls roll in. Then they stopped, and a sense of relief washed over the curly haired boy. A few moments passed and he felt the all too familiar buzzing of his phone, only this time Bill’s face appeared across his screen.

With a smile he answered, “Hey babe.”

“Is he with you?” It wasn’t Bill. The deeper and much angrier voice sent Stan’s stomach to the floor.

“Is who with me?”

“I’m not in the mood for games Stan. Is Eddie with you or not?”

Stan looked over to the bathroom door, still hearing the shower run. “Yeah. I have him. “

“What the fuck is going on?” Richie sneered into the phone, “Why is no one answering and why in the hell did I need to use Bill’s phone for you to take my call!”

“It was Eddie’s idea, he didn’t want you to-to-“He paused, knowing that it wasn’t his place to explain. Richie was his best friend but he had a responsibility to the boy in his care.

“Did I do something wrong? Is this supposed to be a fight?”

“No.”

“Is he hurt? God, please tell me he isn’t hurt.”

Stan didn’t answer, finally hearing the water turn off in the bathroom. He could practically feel Richie’s heavy breath through the phone, begging for the validation that his boyfriend was okay. Stan knew he couldn’t answer and he refused to lie. “I’m on my way.” Richie’s voice cut harshly.

A panic spread through Stan, “No. Richie please don’t come over. Eddie will call you when-“But the line went dead before he could finish.

“He’s on his way isn’t her?” Stan looked up from his phone and noticed the small boy, the spare clothes hanging awkwardly from his small body.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie shook his head, “There is absolutely nothing to be sorry for Stan. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me today, Richie was bound to find his way here.”

There was a faint smile on Stan’s face, feeling his heart swell in his chest. “I would do anything for a friend.” He replied honestly, “And you’re as good as they come Eddie.”

Richie arrived exactly four minutes later, bursting through the front door unannounced, Bill in tow. Eddie waited for him in Stan’s room, sitting on his bed and fidgeting with his oversized shirt. The moment Richie laid eyes on his boyfriend he broke, dropping to his knees in front of him. Eddie tried to sooth him but the sobs ripped through the trashmouth violently.

“It’s okay Rich.” Eddie whispered as his boyfriend buried his face into his lap. The small boy ran his fingers through Richie’s frizzy hair, breathing sweet nothings into him. Richie’s apologies soon came, he repeated them over and over again until his voice was horse.

“I never thought I would ever see Richie like this.” Stan looked beside him, noticing his boyfriend for the first time. He smiled, accepting a gentle peck on the cheek.  

Stan shook his head, appreciating his friend who now had his face in his boyfriend’s hair. “Let’s leave them alone for a minute.” He whispered, pulling Bill out of the room and closing the door.

They started down the stairs, Bill close on his heels. “Do you think Eddie will be okay?“

Stan replied honestly, feeling a sense of pride grow in his belly. “Eddie is the strongest person I know Bill. He will be fine.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Soulmates?

Summary: Richie and Eddie discuss Lennon/McCartney as the Loser’s get high in Bill’s garage while ‘Hey Jude’ plays in the background. 

(Aged up to 18)

Ship: Reddie

Richie blew smoke rings that floated and dispersed in the stuffy air of Bill’s garage. He laid his arm lazily over the arm of the horrid pea green sofa that was most likely a memento from the seventies. He wondered why anyone would ever pick out such a eye sore but as he picked at the thread, he found himself a little partial to it. The record on the player hit a small hiccup, it crackled. Richie hummed, tilting his head back and scrunched up his nose. ‘That had to be his favorite fucking sound on the planet.’  He smiled to himself, freckles falling into his dimples as ‘Hey Jude’ kicked into the ‘Nah, nah nah, nah nah, nah, nah, nah nah’s’ . 

Shortly after, he could hear Paul’s shouts in the background. He chuckled to himself, throwing his head back. Eddie turned around from his spot on the shag carpet,his elbow resting on Richie’s knee and his eyebrow fish hooked. “What are you laughing at?” He asked, prepared to be annoyed with what he branded as ‘Richie’s odd sense of humor’ even though he fucking laughed at it too. ‘Besides, Stan’s was weirder than his by miles’. 

“Just didn’t realize how much of a screamer Paul was.” He waggled his brows and Eddie rolled his eyes. “John was a lucky guy.” He twirled his joint around in his fingers. 

‘Hey, Jude (don't make it bad, Jude). Nah, nah nah, nah nah, nah, nah, nah nah, Hey, Jude (take a sad song and make it better)...’  

“Don’t be so gross, Rich.”

“Oh, so you think being gay is gross, Eds?” Richie teased, bumping his side with his leg. He felt Eddie pushed his legs away with all his strength. 

“You know that’s not what I meant, you dipshit.” He scowled and Richie smiled. “I just don’t think everyone wants to hear you talk about sex...especially sex that never happened.” 

Richie laughed again and took a drag of his joint. “Don’t be such a prude, Eddie my love.” He teasingly ran his hands through Eddie’s hair. The smaller boy allowed the contact for a couple seconds before shuffling away. 

“They weren’t a thing anyway, Richie.” Eddie wasn’t willing to let the subject go. Richie found it adorable. 

“They were fucking soulmates, Lennon and McCartney.” Richie waved his palms around with wide and genuine eyes and Beverly chuckled from his left. Eddie titled his head back, hair brushing against the couch to follow Richie’s movement with his eyes. 

“Yeah, platonic soulmates.” He licked his lips and waved his fingers around. Richie hovered his head above his with that crooked grin. 

“Excuse me for believing in the romance of it all.” Richie tapped Eddie’s nose and rolled his lips together. Eddie blew air out of his nose and his nostrils flared. 

“Stan, help me out here?” Eddie looked to the boy who was caught up in some book. He looked up and set the book on the table next to him, shifting in the bright bean bag that Richie had insisted Bill get. 

“Considering the fact that neither John nor Paul have said anything to confirm Richie’s idea, I have to say Eddie’s right.” Stan gave the smaller boy a grin. Eddie’s head snapped back round to face Richie with a smug grin. Richie shrugged and bit into his lip. 

“All I’m saying is the chemistry that they had is not like anyone else’s I’ve ever seen or heard of. I believe it was John’s ex-wife who said ‘John never looked at anyone the way he looked at Paul’ “ Richie batted his eyelashes and put on a feminine voice. 

“I mean, that’s all I want for my romantic relationships.” Richie shrugged, Beverly suppressed an actual ‘awwww’ in her throat. 

Eddie tilted his head to the side and grinned. “That’s actually really sweet.” 

“Are you gonna admit defeat yet?” Richie teased and Eddie’s smile wiped away instantly. 

“Way to ruin the one time you were actually cute.” He turned back towards the TV that wasn’t even on. Richie’s face turned a light shade of pink, he turned his head down to look at his lap. 

Beverly looked at Richie with amusement and rubbed his shoulder. “You’re such a romantic at heart.” She smiled. Richie grinned again. 

“It’s a curse. I guess I’m just a sucker for friendships turning romantic.” He bit his lip and danced his eyes back over to Eddie. He took another drag of his joint.

“Yeah, but you don’t seem to be doing shit about making that happen though, huh Rich?” Eddie turned his body to face Richie, a smirk across his face. The five of their friends all felt that burn and let out a simultaneous ‘Ohhhhh’. 

Richie’s cheeks couldn’t get any hotter. He tried to smirk back but he kept faltering into an embarrassed and shy grin. “Ha, that was a good one, Eds.” He chuckled awkwardly. 

“Tozier at a loss for words? I think I should get an award for this.” Eddie giggled and Richie flipped him the bird.  Eddie launched into hysteric laughter as did all their friends. Richie shook his head. 

“You wanna go on a date or what, Kaspbrak?” He interrupted and Eddie blushed as his laughter halted. 

“I’ll have to think about it.” Eddie scrunched up his nose and Richie scoffed, licking his lips and laughing. 

“Oh, you do?” 

“Yup.” Eddie nodded and they stared at each other for a few minutes. 

“Oh my God, Just say yes already!” Mike shouted and got up to get himself a drink from the mini fridge. Everyone chuckled and Eddie shrugged. 

“Alright, Friday, Tozier.” Eddie flicked Richie’s knee and turned back to his original spot. 

Richie looked at Beverly with a wide grin and quietly pumped his fist into the air. “Yessss.” He whispered and she gave him a high five. 

[film-in-my-soul]

I Can Take A Punch If It’s For You - Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Paring: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Word Count: 2027

Warnings: Richie gets beat up but nothing graphic

Request: @brightlykaspbrak : Reddie mini fic where Eddie is being bullied by someone in school and Richie defends him, pwease

I hope you like what I wrote. I think it came out better than Short Stuff because it wasn’t done when I was half asleep XD

This turned out longer than I planned….

Requests OPEN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie was late.

Eddie was never late.

At least not by the ten minutes that he was already.

Richie fidgeted with his handlebars, not wanting to voice his worries outwards, lest it ruin the reputation he had among his group of friends. Luckily for him, Bill was a natural worrier and did the voicing for him.

“Eddie’s s-su-sure taking a l-long time.”

“He probably couldn’t reach any of the door handles.” Richie wanted to “beep” himself and his big mouth. He’d been a smart mouth for so long he didn't know how to turn it off half of the time. Stan, who was standing beside him rolled his eyes.

“First, not funny Richie, second most of the doors are push bars so how would that even work?” Richie could tell that he'd already managed to make the other boy exasperated. Usually, he’d find more joy in getting under Stan’s skin so quickly but they both know the reason behind such an easy invasion is because Eddie wasn't where he should be.

A silence passed over The Losers Club until Richie heaved a dramatic sigh, throwing both his head and shoulders back.

“I’ll go get him.” He made a show of trudging up the stairs in front of the school.  Once the doors opened and closed behind him, however, he straightened up automatically and headed in the direction of Eddie’s locker.

Richie rounded the two corners that would take him there.

Nothing.

Okay. If not there Richie couldn’t think where -

Richie’s head snapped up, there was noise coming further in the school. It was laughter and a voice, muffled, coming from up ahead and getting fainter.

There was the sound of something scuffing against the ground.

“Guys…. Come on....”

Eddie.

Even from a distance, Richie would know that voice anywhere. Just on the side of still too high for being close to fourteen. He sounded panicked and something uncomfortable wiggled low in Richie’s gut at his friend’s tone. It made Richie hurry his pace along, close to jogging as the sounds got louder.

Since Bowers’ gang had either been mostly picked off and leaderless the rest of the middle school/high school neanderthals were constantly scrambling for the position of Derry’s Ruling Junior Douche-canoe. Unfortunately for The Loser’s club that meant it was open season and they were the rabbits.

A shriek and the sound of something thunking against lockers had Richie kicking up his speed in an attempt to round the last of the corners. Whoever built the school like they had were a bunch of bully-enabling jackasses.

“Fucking put me down!” Eddie’s tone was more hysterical than threatening and it made Richie clench his jaw as he rounded hopefully what would be the last corner.

Richie slowed down to a creeping step as he peeked around the edge of the abandoned hall. What he saw made his blood boil under his skin, it made his vision turn a fuzzy red around the edges, his nails dig into his palm and Richie bared his teeth, wanting nothing more than to shout for them to put the smaller boy back on the ground.

Eddie was being suspended a good six inches off the ground by two scrawny, rat-faced upper-class men, they had height and upper body strength but no real bulk between them. It looked like his back was digging painfully into the handles of the lockers by the grimace on his face. In front of him stood, Richie presumed, the leader.

Now he was a bigger problem.

Much bigger.

At least the size of both of the other boys combined.

He still loomed over Eddie even while he was being lifted into the air, getting in the smaller boys face to the point where Eddie had to turn his head in an attempt to get away, eyes screwed shut, an almost aborted whine crawling up his throat.

Richie squared his shoulders.

He’d faced off against a child eating clown, covered in sewer water and scared out of his fucking mind.

This. This would be easy.

At least, not as bad…

Still…

Richie really didn’t like getting punched.

The leader of the trio took a step away from Eddie and pulled his arm back.

Really Richie didn’t have a choice at that point.

He might not like being hit but the thought of Eddie being hit was worse than any kind of physical pain. The idea of it alone twisted up his stomach and had his shoulders shaking.

In the middle of the bully bringing his fist down Richie dashed out from his hiding spot and barreled right into him, thankfully taking him off guard enough to send him staggering back and onto to his rear. The goons were also caught by surprise enough to drop Eddie ungraciously to the ground.

Richie noted with relief that his friend didn’t stumble too hard and fall himself.

The bad news was now all three of the older boys had rounded on their new victim. And Eddie probably hadn’t done anything to get them to single him out. Richie, on the other hand, had just given them enough ammo to really bring the hurt.

He cast his frantic gaze to Eddie who was still standing, surprised at his sudden rescue. The circle the group had made around him was getting smaller.

“Get the fuck out of here Eds!” He yelled. Once they were done kicking his ass they’d surely move on to their original target.

Thankfully Eddie’s sense of self-preservation seemed to win out over his not wanting to let Richie take the beating that was meant for him. He took off running down the hall at a speed Richie knew would get his sorta fake asthma into a fit.

One of the two skinner punks turned to watch Eddie go, even moving so far as to take a step, thinking about giving him chase. Richie didn’t like that. So of course, he did what he does best. He opened his mouth.

“You know, you probably shouldn’t rough me up too bad, your mom doesn’t like it when -” he’s cut off by a sudden pain in his stomach, the air knocked out of his lungs, the force of the punch almost enough to send him to his knees.

He only had a couple of seconds to get ready to fight back when everything started blending into one big pile of pain.

~*~*~*~

Eddie didn't run very fast for a lot of reasons. One of the biggest reasons was that his body still thought he had asthma when he and everyone else knew that it really wasn’t the case. That being said Eddie wasn’t thinking about the impending lack of breath that was going to strike because he’d just left his best friend in the clutches of three really nasty upperclassmen who were not by any means fucking around.

Eddie, with no regard for germs or the potential of falling and breaking his arm again, threw open the front door of the school and raced down the steps to where Billy, Mike, Bev, Ben, and Stan were all waiting, alternating between checking their watches and looking up at the sky.

Eddie’s sudden and panicked appearance had them tensing.

“E-Eddie wh-wh-what -” Bill tried getting out. The shorter boy didn’t give him the chance to stutter to a finish.

“It’s Richie … he… fuck…” Eddie broke off, hands digging into his knees as he panted. “He’s about to get the shit kicked out of him.” With that, he turned around and sprinted back into the school. The sound of bikes dropping and sneakers slapping harshly on pavement following him.

Bill and Mike easily overtook his much shorter legs but they all managed to stay together in one large group, Eddie shouting directions all the way.

~*~*~*~

Richie knew he’d gotten in a couple of good shots from the way that one of the douches currently railing on him had staggered back, hands clutching his nose.

“Fuck! The little fucker got my nose.” It would have sounded comical, the way that his words were slurring together, but Richie’s own face wasn’t doing much better. He’d taken a hit to the eye and another to his lip. He could taste coppery blood on his tongue and his vision was swimming, whether it was from sweat, tears or the blows he’d taken that had knocked him back against the lockers hard, Richie really didn’t know.

New sounds filtered into Richie’s consciousness, different than his own pained grunts and the dull cracks of hands against his shoulders and torso.

All at once it seemed the assault was over. Richie watched as the rest of The Losers Club tore around the corner looking like he must have when it had been Eddie in the same position, back against the lockers, looking worse for wear.

The sheer number of them, plus the fact that Mike, strong-shouldered and easily stronger than most people, was leading the charge, thunderous rage evident in his expression.

The bullies cleared out quick, only hesitating for a moment before it became clear that they were definitely outnumbered.

Ben and Mike followed after them, only until the end of the hall to make sure that they wouldn’t double back when all their backs were turned.

Eddie was the first one to reach Richie who’d slid down the lockers, legs stretched out in front of him, arms limp in his lap, breathing labored and teeth likely covered in pink saliva mixed blood. The little hypochondriac didn’t fucking care as he shuffled up close to Richie on his knees.

Richie’s bottle cap glasses had been knocked off at some point during the brawl, they were now tucked safely in Bev’s hands, thankfully not cracked.

“Richie - Rich… Richie…” Eddie was out of breath, shoulders shaking, kneeling next to his best friend, hands fluttering around him like he didn’t know what he was supposed to address first. His mind was a complete mess, he wondered to himself if Richie had felt this sick to his stomach when he’d seen him held up against the wall, or when his arm was snapped in two and a demon clown had been slowly approaching until Bev had skewered it right in its ugly face.

Richie gave a weak attempt at a laugh.

“You should see the other guy.” Eddie wasn’t even able to laugh even though he wanted to begrudgingly do just that.

Eddie didn’t even register that he was still heaving for breath, hands shaking as he gripped Richie’s chin in his hand, moving his head to and fro in order to see the complete damage.

The rest of the Losers stood back, watching everything play out.

Standing guard for their friends.

Eddie didn’t notice that one of Richie’s hands had gone to his hip, blindly searching for his fanny pack. He only looked down when he heard the zipper over his labored wheezing. He was confused but unable to do more than watch as Richie pulled out his aspirator and with a trembling arm lifted it up to Eddie’s mouth.

Richie waited until the shorter boys lips were cupped around the mouthpiece to press down on the small aerosol can.

Richie didn’t drop his arm until he was sure that Eddie had a proper lung full and he wasn’t shaking as badly. The inhaler dropped from his slack fingers and in its place was Eddie’s hand, fingers laced together with his own, a connection that anchored them to each other and let some kind of comfortable normalcy return to their emotion wrecked brains.

There seemed to be an ease that fell around everyone. Yeah, Richie was beaten to hell and back but ultimately he was okay. And more importantly to him, so was Eddie.

[transparentjellyfishdeer-blog]

101 College Essay Examples for 13 Schools Expert Analysis



SAT / ACT Prep Online Guides and Tips

101 College Essay Examples for 13 Schools + Expert Analysis

The personal statement might just be the hardest part of your college application. Mostly this is because it has the least guidance and is the most open-ended. One way to understand what colleges are looking for when they ask you to write an essay is to check out the essays of students who already got in—college essays that actually worked. After all, they must be among the most successful of this weird literary genre.

In this article, I’ll go through general guidelines for what makes great college essays great. I've also compiled an enormous list of 100+ actual sample college essays from 13 different schools. Finally, I’ll break down two of these published college essay examples and explain why and how they work. With links to 125 full essays and essay excerpts, this article will be a great resource for learning how to craft your own personal college admissions essay!

What Excellent College Essays Have in Common

Even though in many ways these sample college essays are very different from one other, they do share some traits you should try to emulate as you write your own essay.

Visible Signs of Planning

Building out from a narrow, concrete focus. You’ll see a similar structure in many of the essays. The author starts with a very detailed story of an event or description of a person or place. After this sense-heavy imagery, the essay expands out to make a broader point about the author, and connects this very memorable experience to the author’s present situation, state of mind, newfound understanding, or maturity level.

Knowing how to tell a story. Some of the experiences in these essays are one-of-a-kind. But most deal with the stuff of everyday life. What sets them apart is the way the author approaches the topic: analyzing it for drama and humor, for its moving qualities, for what it says about the author’s world, and for how it connects to the author’s emotional life.

Stellar Execution

A killer first sentence. You’ve heard it before, and you’ll hear it again: you have to suck the reader in, and the best place to do that is the first sentence. Great first sentences are punchy. They are like cliffhangers, setting up an exciting scene or an unusual situation with an unclear conclusion, in order to make the reader want to know more. Don’t take my word for it—check out these 22 first sentences from Stanford applicants and tell me you don’t want to read the rest of those essays to find out what happens!

A lively, individual voice. Writing is for readers. In this case, your reader is an admissions officer who has read thousands of essays before yours and will read thousands after. Your goal? Don’t bore your reader. Use interesting descriptions, stay away from clichés, include your own offbeat observations—anything that makes this essay sounds like you and not like anyone else.

Enchanted Prince Stan decided to stay away from any frog-kissing princesses to retain his unique perspective on ruling as an amphibian.

Technical correctness. No spelling mistakes, no grammar weirdness, no syntax issues, no punctuation snafus—each of these sample college essays has been formatted and proofread perfectly. If this kind of exactness is not your strong suit, you’re in luck! All colleges advise applicants to have their essays looked over several times by parents, teachers, mentors, and anyone else who can spot a comma splice. Your essay must be your own work, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with getting help polishing it.

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Links to Full College Essay Examples

Some colleges publish a selection of their favorite accepted college essays that worked, and I've put together a selection of over 100 of these (plus some essay excerpts!).

Common App Essay Samples

Please note that some of these college essay examples may be responding to prompts that are no longer in use. The current Common App prompts are as follows:

1. Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.

2. The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience?

3. Reflect on a time when you questioned or challenged a belief or idea. What prompted your thinking? What was the outcome?

4. Describe a problem you've solved or a problem you'd like to solve. It can be an intellectual challenge, a research query, an ethical dilemma - anything that is of personal importance, no matter the scale. Explain its significance to you and what steps you took or could be taken to identify a solution.

5. Discuss an accomplishment, event, or realization that sparked a period of personal growth and a new understanding of yourself or others.

6. Describe a topic, idea, or concept you find so engaging that it makes you lose all track of time. Why does it captivate you? What or who do you turn to when you want to learn more?

7. Share an essay on any topic of your choice. It can be one you've already written, one that responds to a different prompt, or one of your own design.

Carleton College

Connecticut College

Hamilton College

Johns Hopkins

These essays are answers to past prompts from either the Common Application or the Universal Application, both of which Johns Hopkins accepts.

Tufts University

Essay Examples Published by Other Websites

7 Common Application essays from applicants admitted to Stanford, Duke, Connecticut College, NYU, Carleton College, Washington University, and the University of Pennsylvania

2 Common Application essays (1st essay, 2nd essay) from applicants admitted to Columbia

Other Sample College Essays

Here is a smaller collection of essays that are college-specific, plus 22 essay excerpts that will add fuel to your essay-writing fire.

Smith College

Tufts University

Analyzing Great Common App Essays That Worked

I've picked two essays from the examples collected above to examine in more depth so that you can see exactly what makes a successful college essay work. Full credit for these essays goes to the original authors and the schools that published them.

Example #1: "Breaking Into Cars," by Stephen, Johns Hopkins Class of '19 (Common App Essay, 636 words long)

I had never broken into a car before.

We were in Laredo, having just finished our first day at a Habitat for Humanity work site. The Hotchkiss volunteers had already left, off to enjoy some Texas BBQ, leaving me behind with the college kids to clean up. Not until we were stranded did we realize we were locked out of the van.

Someone picked a coat hanger out of the dumpster, handed it to me, and took a few steps back.

“Can you do that thing with a coat hanger to unlock it?”

“Why me?” I thought.

More out of amusement than optimism, I gave it a try. I slid the hanger into the window’s seal like I’d seen on crime shows, and spent a few minutes jiggling the apparatus around the inside of the frame. Suddenly, two things simultaneously clicked. One was the lock on the door. (I actually succeeded in springing it.) The other was the realization that I’d been in this type of situation before. In fact, I’d been born into this type of situation.

My upbringing has numbed me to unpredictability and chaos. With a family of seven, my home was loud, messy, and spottily supervised. My siblings arguing, the dog barking, the phone ringing—all meant my house was functioning normally. My Dad, a retired Navy pilot, was away half the time. When he was home, he had a parenting style something like a drill sergeant. At the age of nine, I learned how to clear burning oil from the surface of water. My Dad considered this a critical life skill—you know, in case my aircraft carrier should ever get torpedoed. “The water’s on fire! Clear a hole!” he shouted, tossing me in the lake without warning. While I’m still unconvinced about that particular lesson’s practicality, my Dad’s overarching message is unequivocally true: much of life is unexpected, and you have to deal with the twists and turns.

Living in my family, days rarely unfolded as planned. A bit overlooked, a little pushed around, I learned to roll with reality, negotiate a quick deal, and give the improbable a try. I don’t sweat the small stuff, and I definitely don’t expect perfect fairness. So what if our dining room table only has six chairs for seven people? Someone learns the importance of punctuality every night.

But more than punctuality and a special affinity for musical chairs, my family life has taught me to thrive in situations over which I have no power. Growing up, I never controlled my older siblings, but I learned how to thwart their attempts to control me. I forged alliances, and realigned them as necessary. Sometimes, I was the poor, defenseless little brother; sometimes I was the omniscient elder. Different things to different people, as the situation demanded. I learned to adapt.

Back then, these techniques were merely reactions undertaken to ensure my survival. But one day this fall, Dr. Hicks, our Head of School, asked me a question that he hoped all seniors would reflect on throughout the year: “How can I participate in a thing I do not govern, in the company of people I did not choose?”

The question caught me off guard, much like the question posed to me in Laredo. Then, I realized I knew the answer. I knew why the coat hanger had been handed to me.

Growing up as the middle child in my family, I was a vital participant in a thing I did not govern, in the company of people I did not choose. It’s family. It’s society. And often, it’s chaos. You participate by letting go of the small stuff, not expecting order and perfection, and facing the unexpected with confidence, optimism, and preparedness. My family experience taught me to face a serendipitous world with confidence.

What Makes This Essay Tick?

It's very helpful to take writing apart in order to see just how it accomplishes its objectives. Stephen's essay is very effective. Let's find out why!

An Opening Line That Draws You In

I had never broken into a car before.

In just eight words, we get: scene-setting (he is standing next to a car about to break in), the idea of crossing a boundary (he is maybe about to do an illegal thing for the first time), and a cliffhanger (we are thinking: is he going to get caught? Is he headed for a life of crime? Is he about to be scared straight?).

Great, Detailed Opening Story

We were in Laredo, having just finished our first day at a Habitat for Humanity work site. The Hotchkiss volunteers had already left, off to enjoy some Texas BBQ, leaving me behind with the college kids to clean up. Not until we were stranded did we realize we were locked out of the van.

Someone picked a coat hanger out of the dumpster, handed it to me, and took a few steps back.

“Can you do that thing with a coat hanger to unlock it?”

“Why me?” I thought.

More out of amusement than optimism, I gave it a try. I slid the hanger into the window’s seal like I’d seen on crime shows, and spent a few minutes jiggling the apparatus around the inside of the frame.

It’s the details that really make this small experience come alive. Notice how whenever he can, Stephen uses a more specific, descriptive word in place of a more generic one. The volunteers aren’t going to get food or dinner; they’re going for “Texas BBQ.” The coat hanger comes from “a dumpster.” Stephen doesn’t just move the coat hanger—he “jiggles” it.

Details also help us visualize the emotions of the people in the scene. The person who hands Stephen the coat hanger isn’t just uncomfortable or nervous; he “takes a few steps back”—a description of movement that conveys feelings. Finally, the detail of actual speech makes the scene pop. Instead of writing that the other guy asked him to unlock the van, Stephen has the guy actually say his own words in a way that sounds like a teenager talking.

Coat hangers: not just for crows' nests anymore! (Götz/Wikimedia)

Turning a Specific Incident Into a Deeper Insight

Suddenly, two things simultaneously clicked. One was the lock on the door. (I actually succeeded in springing it.) The other was the realization that I’d been in this type of situation before. In fact, I’d been born into this type of situation.

Stephen makes the locked car experience a meaningful illustration of how he has learned to be resourceful and ready for anything, and he also makes this turn from the specific to the broad through an elegant play on the two meanings of the word “click.”

Using Concrete Examples When Making Abstract Claims

My upbringing has numbed me to unpredictability and chaos. With a family of seven, my home was loud, messy, and spottily supervised. My siblings arguing, the dog barking, the phone ringing—all meant my house was functioning normally.

“Unpredictability and chaos” are very abstract, not easily visualized concepts. They could also mean any number of things—violence, abandonment, poverty, mental instability. By instantly following up with highly finite and unambiguous illustrations like “family of seven” and “siblings arguing, the dog barking, the phone ringing,” Stephen grounds the abstraction in something that is easy to picture: a large, noisy family.

Using Small Bits of Humor and Casual Word Choice

My Dad, a retired Navy pilot, was away half the time. When he was home, he had a parenting style something like a drill sergeant. At the age of nine, I learned how to clear burning oil from the surface of water. My Dad considered this a critical life skill—you know, in case my aircraft carrier should ever get torpedoed.

Obviously, knowing how to clean burning oil is not high on the list of things every 9-year-old needs to know. To emphasize this, Stephen uses sarcasm by bringing up a situation that is clearly over-the-top: “in case my aircraft carrier should ever get torpedoed.”

The humor also feels relaxed. Part of this is because he introduces it with the colloquial phrase “you know,” so it sounds like he is talking to us in person. This approach also diffuses the potential discomfort of the reader with his father’s strictness—since he is making jokes about it, clearly he is OK. Notice, though, that this doesn’t occur very much in the essay. This helps keep the tone meaningful and serious rather than flippant.

"Mr. President? There's been an oil spill!" "Then I want our best elementary school students on it, STAT."

An Ending That Stretches the Insight Into the Future

But one day this fall, Dr. Hicks, our Head of School, asked me a question that he hoped all seniors would reflect on throughout the year: “How can I participate in a thing I do not govern, in the company of people I did not choose?”

The question caught me off guard, much like the question posed to me in Laredo. Then, I realized I knew the answer. I knew why the coat hanger had been handed to me.

Growing up as the middle child in my family, I was a vital participant in a thing I did not govern, in the company of people I did not choose. It’s family. It’s society. And often, it’s chaos. You participate by letting go of the small stuff, not expecting order and perfection, and facing the unexpected with confidence, optimism, and preparedness. My family experience taught me to face a serendipitous world with confidence.

The ending of the essay reveals that Stephen’s life has been one long preparation for the future. He has emerged from chaos and his dad’s approach to parenting as a person who can thrive in a world that he can’t control.

This connection of past experience to current maturity and self-knowledge is a key element in all successful personal essays. Colleges are very much looking for mature, self-aware applicants. These are the qualities of successful college students, who will be able to navigate the independence college classes require and the responsibility and quasi-adulthood of college life.

What Could This Essay Do Even Better?

Even the best essays aren't perfect, and even the world's greatest writers will tell you that writing is never "finished"—just "due." So what would we tweak in this essay if we could?

Replace some of the clichéd language. Stephen uses handy phrases like " twists and turns" and " don’t sweat the small stuff" as a kind of shorthand for explaining his relationship to chaos and unpredictability. But using too many of these ready-made expressions runs the risk of clouding out your own voice and replacing it with something expected and boring.

Use another example from recent life. Stephen's first example (breaking into the van in Laredo) is a great illustration of being resourceful in an unexpected situation. But his essay also emphasizes that he " learned to adapt" by being "different things to different people." It would be great to see how this plays out outside his family, either in the situation in Laredo or another context.

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Example #2: By Bridget Collins, Tufts Class of '19 (Common App Essay, 608 words long)

I have always loved riding in cars. After a long day in first grade, I used to fall asleep to the engine purring in my mother's Honda Odyssey, even though it was only a 5-minute drive home. As I grew, and graduated into the shotgun seat, it became natural and enjoyable to look out the window. Seeing my world passing by through that smudged glass, I would daydream what I could do with it.

In elementary school, I already knew my career path: I was going to be Emperor of the World. While I sat in the car and watched the miles pass by, I developed the plan for my empire. I reasoned that, for the world to run smoothly, it would have to look presentable. I would assign people, aptly named Fixer-Uppers, to fix everything that needed fixing. That old man down the street with chipping paint on his house would have a fresh coat in no time. The boy who accidentally tossed his Frisbee onto the roof of the school would get it back. The big pothole on Elm Street that my mother managed to hit every single day on the way to school would be filled-in. It made perfect sense! All the people that didn't have a job could be Fixer-Uppers. I was like a ten-year-old FDR.

Seven years down the road, I still take a second glance at the sidewalk cracks and think of my Fixer-Uppers, but now I'm doing so from the driver's seat. As much as I would enjoy it, I now accept that I won't become Emperor of the World, and that the Fixer-Uppers will have to remain in my car ride imaginings. Or do they? I always pictured a Fixer-Upper as a smiling man in an orange T-Shirt. Maybe instead, a Fixer-Upper could be a tall girl with a deep love for Yankee Candles. Maybe it could be me.

Bridget the Fixer-Upper will be slightly different than the imaginary one who paints houses and fetches Frisbees. I was lucky enough to discover what I am passionate about when I was a freshman in high school. A self-admitted Phys. Ed. addict, I volunteered to help out with the Adapted PE class. On my first day, I learned that it was for developmentally-disabled students. To be honest, I was really nervous. I hadn't had too much interaction with special needs students before, and wasn't sure how to handle myself around them. Long story short, I got hooked. Three years have passed helping out in APE and eventually becoming a teacher in the Applied Behavior Analysis summer program. I love working with the students and watching them progress.

When senior year arrived, college meetings began, and my counselor asked me what I wanted to do for a career, I didn't say Emperor of the World. Instead, I told him I wanted to become a board-certified behavior analyst. A BCBA helps develop learning plans for students with autism and other disabilities. Basically, I would get to do what I love for the rest of my life. He laughed and told me that it was a nice change that a seventeen-year-old knew so specifically what she wanted to do. I smiled, thanked him, and left. But it occurred to me that, while my desired occupation was decided, my true goal in life was still to become a Fixer-Upper. So, maybe I'll be like Sue Storm and her alter-ego, the Invisible Woman. I'll do one thing during the day, then spend my off-hours helping people where I can. Instead of flying like Sue, though, I'll opt for a nice performance automobile. My childhood self would appreciate that.

What Makes This Essay Tick?

Bridget takes a somewhat different approach than Stephen, but her essay is just as detailed and engaging. Let's go through https://www.the-essays.com/admission-essay of the strengths of her essay.

A Structure That’s Easy to Follow and Understand

The essay is arranged chronologically. Bridget starts each paragraph with a clear signpost of where we are in time:

Paragraph 1: “after a long day in first grade”

Paragraph 2: “in elementary school”

Paragraph 3: “seven years down the road”

Paragraph 4: “when I was a freshman in high school”

Paragraph 5: “when senior year arrived”

This keeps the reader oriented without being distracting or gimmicky.

One Clear Governing Metaphor

I would assign people, aptly named Fixer-Uppers, to fix everything that needed fixing. That old man down the street with chipping paint on his house would have a fresh coat in no time. The boy who accidentally tossed his Frisbee onto the roof of the school would get it back.

Seven years down the road, I still take a second glance at the sidewalk cracks and think of my Fixer-Uppers, but now I'm doing so from the driver's seat. As much as I would enjoy it, I now accept that I won't become Emperor of the World, and that the Fixer-Uppers will have to remain in my car ride imaginings. Or do they? I always pictured a Fixer-Upper as a smiling man in an orange T-Shirt. Maybe instead, a Fixer-Upper could be a tall girl with a deep love for Yankee Candles. Maybe it could be me.

I wanted to become a board-certified behavior analyst. A BCBA helps develop learning plans for students with autism and other disabilities. Basically, I would get to do what I love for the rest of my life. …But it occurred to me that, while my desired occupation was decided, my true goal in life was still to become a Fixer-Upper.

What makes this essay fun to read is that Bridget takes a child’s idea of a world made better through quasi-magical helpers and turns it into a metaphor for the author’s future aspirations. It helps that the metaphor is a very clear one: people who work with students with disabilities are making the world better one abstract fix at a time, just like imaginary Fixer-Uppers would make the world better one concrete physical fix at a time.

Every childhood Fixer-Upper ever. Ask your parents to explain the back row to you. (JD Hancock/Flickr)

An Engaging, Individual Voice

This essay uses many techniques that make Bridget sound genuine and make the reader feel like we already know her.

Technique #1: humor. Notice Bridget's gentle and relaxed humor that lightly mocks her younger self’s grand ambitions (this is different from the more sarcastic kind of humor used by Stephen in the first essay—you could never mistake one writer for the other).

In elementary school, I already knew my career path: I was going to be Emperor of the World.

I was like a ten-year-old FDR.

Technique #2: invented terminology. The second technique is the way Bridget coins her own terms, carrying them through the whole essay. It would be easy enough to simply describe the people she imagined in childhood as helpers or assistants, and to simply say that as a child she wanted to rule the world. Instead, she invents the capitalized (and thus official-sounding) titles “Fixer-Upper” and “Emperor of the World,” making these childish conceits at once charming and iconic. What's also key is that the titles feed into the central metaphor of the essay, which keeps them from sounding like strange quirks that don’t go anywhere.

Technique #3: playing with syntax. The third technique is to use sentences of varying length, syntax, and structure. Most of the essay's written in standard English and uses grammatically correct sentences. However, at key moments, Bridget emphasizes that the reader needs to sit up and pay attention by switching to short, colloquial, differently punctuated, and sometimes fragmented sentences.

The big pothole on Elm Street that my mother managed to hit every single day on the way to school would be filled-in. It made perfect sense! All the people that didn't have a job could be Fixer-Uppers.

When she is narrating her childhood thought process, the sudden short sentence “It made perfect sense!” (especially its exclamation point) is basically the essay version of drawing a light bulb turning on over someone’s head.

As much as I would enjoy it, I now accept that I won't become Emperor of the World, and that the Fixer-Uppers will have to remain in my car ride imaginings. Or do they?

Similarly, when the essay turns from her childhood imagination to her present-day aspirations, the turn is marked with “Or do they?”—a tiny and arresting half-sentence question.

Maybe instead, a Fixer-Upper could be a tall girl with a deep love for Yankee Candles. Maybe it could be me.

The first time when the comparison between magical fixer-upper’s and the future disability specialist is made is when Bridget turns her metaphor onto herself. The essay emphasizes the importance of the moment through repetition (two sentences structured similarly, both starting with the word “maybe”) and the use of a very short sentence: “Maybe it could be me.”

To be honest, I was really nervous. I hadn't had too much interaction with special needs students before, and wasn't sure how to handle myself around them. Long story short, I got hooked.

The last key moment that gets the small-sentence treatment is the emotional crux of the essay. As we watch Bridget go from nervously trying to help disabled students to falling in love with this specialty field, she undercuts the potential sappiness of the moment by relying on changed-up sentence length and slang: “Long story short, I got hooked.”

The best essays convey emotions just as clearly as this image.

What Could This Essay Do Even Better?

Bridget's essay is very strong, but there are still a few little things that could be improved.

Explain the car connection better. The essay begins and ends with Bridget's enjoying a car ride, but this doesn't seem to be related either to the Fixer-Upper idea or to her passion for working with special-needs students. It would be great to either connect this into the essay more, or to take it out altogether and create more space for something else.

Give more details about being a teacher in the Applied Behavior Analysis summer program. It makes perfect sense that Bridget doesn't want to put her students on display. It would take the focus off of her and possibly read as offensive or condescending. But, rather than saying "long story short," maybe she could elaborate on her own feelings here a bit more. What is it about this kind of teaching that she loves? What is she hoping to bring to the lives of her future clients?

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3 Essential Tips for Writing Your Own Essay

How can you use this discussion to better your own college essay? Here are some suggestions for ways to use this resource effectively.

#1: Read Other Essays to Get Ideas for Your Own

As you go through the essays we've compiled for you above, ask yourself the following questions:

Can you explain to yourself (or someone else!) why the opening sentence works well?

Look for the essay's detailed personal anecdote. What senses is the author describing? Can you easily picture the scene in your mind's eye?

Find the place where this anecdote bridges into a larger insight about the author. How does the essay connect the two? How does the anecdote work as an example of the author's characteristic, trait, or skill?

Check out the essay's tone. If it's funny, can you find the places where the humor comes from? If it's sad and moving, can you find the imagery and description of feelings that make you moved? If it's serious, can you see how word choice adds to this tone?

Make a note whenever you find an essay or part of an essay that you think was particularly well-written, and think about what you like about it. Is it funny? Does it help you really get to know the writer? Does it show what makes the writer unique? Once you have your list, keep it next to you while writing your essay to remind yourself to try and use those same techniques in your own essay.

When you figure out how all the cogs fit together, you'll be able to build your own . um . whatever this is.

#2: Find Your "A-Ha!" Moment

All of these essays rely on connecting with the reader through a heartfelt, highly descriptive scene from the author's life. It can either be very dramatic (did you survive a plane crash?) or it can be completely mundane (did you finally beat your dad at Scrabble?). Either way, it should be personal and revealing about you, your personality, and the way you are now that you are entering the adult world.

#3: Start Early, Revise Often

Let me level with you: the best writing isn't writing at all. It's rewriting. And in order to have time to rewrite, you have to start way before the application deadline. My advice is to write your first draft at least two months before your applications are due.

Let it sit for a few days untouched. Then come back to it with fresh eyes and think critically about what you've written. What's extra? What's missing? What is in the wrong place? What doesn't make sense? Don't be afraid to take it apart and rearrange sections. Do this several times over, and your essay will be much better for it!

What’s Next?

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Anna scored in the 99th percentile on her SATs in high school, and went on to major in English at Princeton and to get her doctorate in English Literature at Columbia. She is passionate about improving student access to higher education.