#the bowers gang

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl Pt. II — Patrick Hockstetter.

part one

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal cruelty , male masturbation , graphic descriptions of murder and suicide , reader being manipulative , degradation , sexual themes ,

word count : 4.5k words !

a/n : can't believe i'm finally posting this after a year and a half. also this is my first attempt at smut-ish so i'm sorry if it's ass. im not gonna say this is 18+ bc I myself am not 18+ (im turning 18 this year tho) also im not your mom and idgaf what you read.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

"That's not possible," he said through gritted teeth. "I watched you die. I buried you!" He opened his eyes, convinced that this was all some terrible drug trip. Maybe the weed he'd just got from Henry was laced, or maybe he was suffering from a temporary psychosis. Either way, there had to be some rational and logical reason that he was seeing you.

However, when he saw you there, sitting there with a smug look on your face, your presence as solid as any living person, he felt his heart skip a beat.

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing as you pouted. "What's wrong, Patrick?" You asked condescendingly. "Don't act so scared now." You walked toward him slowly, watching him scramble backward in a panic. A smile spread across your lips as you saw the pure fear in his eyes when he hit the wall behind him, having nowhere else to go. "You weren't scared when you stabbed me. You weren't scared when you watched me bleed out in your arms. You weren't scared when you buried my body like some animal you found on the side of the road." Your voice was seeping with anger as you stepped closer and closer, cornering him. "So you don't get to be scared now."

Patrick Hockstetter was not someone who was frightened easily. In fact, up until this very moment, he didn't think he had the ability to be frightened at all. His unique ability to remain calm and collected in situations that would often stress others out was one he was prideful of. However, at that moment, he felt all composure and level-headedness dissolve. For the first time in his life, he was scared. Not just scared—terrified.

"What- What do you want?" He asked, his voice shaky as he looked into your eyes. You no longer looked at him like he hung the moon. There were no remnants of your innocence and naivety—willing to trust that people have the best intentions. There was nothing behind your cold, lifeless eyes. It was like staring at a corpse.

"Now, what's the fun in that?" You grinned, leaning forward so your face was inches away from his. Your gaze flickered to his lips. The same lips you thought he'd planned to kiss you with, but instead, he'd stabbed you in the stomach and mocked your intelligence. "You should really watch your back, Patrick," you whispered with a devious smirk, your breath fanning over his face. "I heard the search for me is really picking up after they found my blood in the woods."

Your words snapped him back to the reality of the situation at hand. He had killed you. What you were saying was impossible though. Right? He was meticulous in every stage of his plan. There was no way they found any trace of you. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his eyes searching you for any sign of deception, but you were impossible to read like this. He was no longer able to detect everything from a single glance. He only knew what you wanted him to know.

Without another word, you disappeared, leaving the boy spiraling as he went through all the events of that night over and over again. "Come back!" He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty house. "You can't just leave like that you bitch!"

Patrick let out a frustrated yell as he grabbed the nearest thing—which happened to be a porno mag—and threw it across the room in a fit of rage. Who did you think you were to haunt him? To come into his room, make him feel that horrible emotion, and tease him just to leave abruptly?

He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to control his heavy breathing as his anger took over. You had to have been lying, trying to get into his head. He hated to admit that it was working. He was supposed to be the one in your head. This was his world. He controlled everyone and everything. You shouldn't be here. You should be dead and buried like he had intended.

He fell back in his bed and took a deep breath, letting his mind settle as he chased sleep. He told himself you would be gone tomorrow and that would be that. Your appearance to him, like something out of a Charles Dickens novel, was just a fluke. Tomorrow you would be dead and all would be right with the world.

He drifted off to sleep, having convinced himself that he would never see you again. He was able to get a few hours of sleep, but you weren't going to let him be at peace for long

At around 4 am, Patrick had a very vivid dream that he was choking. He was gasping for air, clawing at his neck as he looked around frantically. His surroundings dissolved into a pitch-black room. He felt his lungs burning, his brain growing fuzzy as the oxygen left him. It felt so vivid, so real.

He awoke in a panic, sitting up straight as he gasped for air. His lungs felt like they were on fire. Like he had truly been deprived of air like he'd dreamed about. He panted, catching his breath as he looked around at his room, thankfully finding no signs of you. However, when he finally felt secure, able to draw a breath without feeling like a thirsty man drinking water, he realized the pillow that had been behind his head was now sat on his lap.

The realization dawned on him that he may have been actually suffocating, and you were the culprit. He shook his head, trying to expel the thought as he laid back down, throwing the pillow off into the black depths of his room, so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. It was just a dream. Just as you were just a vision.

Patrick wasn't stupid, though many would argue to the contrary. Just because he didn't give a shit about school and didn't try didn't mean he wasn't smart. He just saved his intelligence for things that actually mattered—like planning and executing a murder.

That in mind, his refusal to accept the things he deep down knew to be true was not, as some would think, him being stupid. On the contrary, he believed himself smarter than to believe in silly things like ghosts. Dead things stay dead. He'd learned that at a very young age. He knew when he killed his brother that he would not be coming back. Just as he knew when he killed you that you would not be coming back.

Ghosts don't exist. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that.

As he laid in bed, trying to rationalize himself into a calm enough state to fall asleep again, he found himself more on edge with every creak of the old house around him. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes conspiring with the moonlight to play tricks on him. His breath hitched at every shadow dancing around the dark.

You were proud of your work, and you had barely done anything yet. You watched from the shadows, pleased as he seemed to run himself in circles trying to cope with everything going on. The mere thought of you was torture enough.

You grinned, biting your lip as a thought washed over you. As a ghost, not bound by the physical realm, you had the ability to do a lot of things. One of those so happened to be raising and lowering the temperature in a room.

You focused hard, raising the temperature several degrees, making Patrick swear at the sudden sweat washing over him. You watched with a satisfied smirk as he pulled his shirt over his head, trying to cool himself off.

He didn't have a six pack or anything, but you didn't expect him to. He had a lean, toned torso with a very sexy v-line peeking out from his jeans. A small tattoo sat on his stomach just above his v-line on the right side. You couldn't make it out in the darkness, but you didn't care much. The sight of it alone was enough.

After all, who said you couldn't mix a little bit of business with pleasure.

He had taken away the rest of your life, all the possibilities of experiencing having your first kiss, losing your virginity, falling in love. It was only fair he made up for that in one way or another before your time together came to an end.

The time passed agonizingly slowly with Patrick staring at the ceiling and you watching him, studying him like he was some foreign thing. It was so interesting to watch someone when they don't know they're being watched. Of course, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his body detecting the unseen eyes on him, but he chalked it up to paranoia—as he did every other unexplainable thing that seemed to be happening to him.

His mind drifted off, the heat making him restless as his brain filled with gruesome images of his previous kills. He sifted through his memory for the most interesting ones—dismembering birds, beheading cats, snapping a squirrel or two's neck—but none of them seemed to get him off anymore.

The image of your face right after he stabbed you made it's way into his mind. Your eyes, so wide and filled with fear. He could practically hear your sweet voice crying out, asking why he would do this to you. The thought made his cock tighten in his jeans.

He reached down, palming himself through his jeans with a groan. Reliving the sounds of you choking and coughing up your own blood had his fingers working quickly to undo his belt. He tossed it to the side, practically ripping the button off his jeans as he pulled them down along with his underwear, allowing his dick to finally be free from the restrictive fabric.

He spat in his hand, gripping his cock and lubricating it. He caught his chapped lower lip between his teeth as swept his thumb over his pink head, smearing his precum across it. He let out a low moan, letting his hand travel up and down his dick at a slow, agonizing pace. He kept his eyes screwed shut, immersing himself in the memory of your murder as he stroked himself.

Patrick was not a moral man by any means but this was a new low. Getting himself off to you, in his mind, was no better than if he was imagining one of his dead animal playthings. You were nothing to him. You were roadkill.

But, for some reason, the fresh sight of you, wearing the clothes he killed you in with that dark blood stain right where he'd stabbed you, your hair all matted, and the cold, lifeless look in your eyes, made it so easy to relive that night in great detail.

It was the greatest night of his life. The biggest release of pressure he'd ever felt since he began getting those homicidal urges—those itches. He didn't think he'd ever get to feel that euphoria again, but fucking himself to the thought of it would get him pretty damn close.

He let out a strangled moan, his hips pushing into his hand as he came, and he was right, it was the second-best feeling he'd ever felt. It didn't compare to killing you, but it was enough to satiate his urges once again.

He laid there, panting for what felt like hours. The time moved by so slowly until finally, the sound of the alarm block beside his bed blaring pulled him from his thoughts.

The red numbers reading 7:30 blinked slowly, reminding him that he had to get up and get ready for school. He leaned over, smacking the top of the clock roughly to silence it before falling back flat on his bed, preparing himself to get up.

He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing a random pair of jeans and a shirt that smelled clean enough. He quickly got dressed before making his way back downstairs. He knew Belch would be here any second to pick him up—he always woke up later than he was realistically supposed to.

He slipped his boots on, and a few moments later, he heard Belch laying on his car horn. Rolling his eyes, he opened the door, heading outside and letting it slam just behind him.

"Calm your tits," he shouted in annoyance. Patrick always had a short fuse, but after the particularly restless night in which he'd been visited by some fucking ghost of Christmas Past, he found himself particularly irritable.

"Dude what happened yesterday?" Victor asked as Patrick climbed into the blue Trans Am.

"You were totally tripping the fuck out," Belch chimed in, starting the car and peeling out of Patrick's neighborhood.

"Dumb fuck can't handle his liquor," Henry scoffed from his spot in the passenger's seat.

"Shut the fuck up, Bowers," Patrick bit back, gazing out the window. "At least some of us don't piss our pants when we drink."

"It was one fucking time you dickhead!" Henry defended quickly, his cheeks turning red from the embarrassment.

At the feeling of someone's hand on his thigh, Patrick quickly looked over at Vic. "Don't fucking touch me you-" he paused just short of spitting some derogatory remark about Victor being gay and a freak when he saw you sitting between him and Victor, grinning at him darkly.

"What the fuck are you talking about, dude?" Victor asked, bewildered by Patrick's behavior. Patrick was always an odd one, but he never acted this weird.

"He probably smoked himself fucking dumb," Henry grumbled, still annoyed about the pants pissing remark.

You held a finger to your lips as climbed over onto his lap, holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You just wanted to rile him up a little, make him feel suffocated by you, like he could never escape. And truly, he couldn't. You were never going anywhere until you believed justice had properly been served, and you would take that in any form.

He glared at you, but you paid him no mind, leaning to whisper into his ear: "How cute," you condescended him. "You thought I would just go away." You dug your nails into his shoulders making him sharply inhale, trying not to tip off his friends to the seemingly unwarranted pain he was feeling. "You will never be rid of me," you whispered menacingly, looking deep into his eyes with a sickening grin that made nausea pool in his stomach.

In any other situation, having someone on his lap, digging their nails into his shoulders would probably have been a pleasurable experience, but this was not any other situation. This was a nightmare he couldn't seem to wake up from.

When Belch finally pulled into the school parking lot, Patrick couldn't get out of the car fast enough. You disappeared as he scrambled to unlock the door and get out, finally feeling like he could breathe. He pulled his shirt collar to the side, looking down at the angry red marks where your nails had been. They served as a disturbing reminder that you were really there, and you could do anything to him.

"You get laid last night, Hockstetter?" Belch asked, grinning as he saw the red marks.

"That why you ran off yesterday?" Henry snickered. "You pussy whipped?"

"At least, I actually get pussy," he sneered, paling as he heard your laugh echoing around him the moment the words slipped from his lips. It was a deafening sound. Like a mix between a cackle and a scream that seemed to permeate his surroundings.

His jaw clenched, eye twitching as he resisted the urge to cover his ears. Apart from not wanting to look insane, he also didn't think it would help much. You weren't around him. You were in him, in his head.

The bell could faintly be heard going off inside the school, making Victor curse under his breath. They had two minutes to get to class or they were late.

"Mrs. Denton's gonna throw a bitch fit if I'm late again," he groaned, watching as Henry lit a cigarette.

"Kiss ass," he remarked, taking a long drag before exhaling the puff of smoke into Belch's face as Victor walked away.

"You asshole," Belch coughed, shoving Henry.

"Oh, shit." Henry's eyes widened as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, quickly stomping it out. "Let's go," he ordered, making his way up the stairs to the front doors of the school, looking behind him frantically.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed at the sudden shift in Henry's demeanor. He followed the brunette's gaze, his eyes locking with those of Butch Bowers, the sheriff.

"Wonder if they're here for you," your voice taunted him, breath tickling the back of his right ear. He turned, preparing to come face to face with that condescending smile you always seemed to be wearing, but you weren't there.

He looked back, finding Sheriff Bowers still staring at him, seemingly ignoring whatever the deputy was leaning into his ear to say. Patrick wasn't one to back down easily, but your presence, your warnings, had him on edge. He quickly advanced forward, his lengthy legs providing long strides as he followed suit in heading inside Derry Highschool.

The sounds of his heavy boots hitting the linoleum floor echoed through the empty hall as he made his way to his math class. Victor was right; Mrs. Densen was going to throw a bitch fit that he was late, but he didn't care. He wouldn't have cared on a normal day, but on this day, with the police sniffing around and you practically breathing down his neck, he cared even less—which he didn't even know was possible.

He pulled open the door to the classroom, a hush falling over the students as he entered. Most stared at him wide-eyed, some avoided looking at him altogether, and he briefly caught Vic looking at him with sympathy. The teacher, however, was glaring at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Mr. Hockstetter, late again I see," she said pointedly. "You've earned yourself a detention after school today." Patrick stifled a laugh as he made his way to his seat at the very back of the classroom. "Is something funny?" She asked, her tone displaying clear annoyance.

"Yeah, that you think I care," he rolled his eyes, slipping into his desk. He tuned out whatever lecture the teacher decided to give him after that. His gaze drifted to the empty desk in the front row— the one you used to sit at.

"Don't go feeling remorseful now," you said into his ear. He felt your arm around his shoulders as you leaned down, your face positioned next to his. He turned to look at you, and you turned to look at him, your faces almost touching.

your breath fanned across his face, the moment oddly intimate until you grinned at him, opening your mouth and emitting an ear piercing scream.

"Ah," he grunted in pain, his eyes screwing shut, and his hands gripping his ears. It felt like his eardrums were seconds away from bursting and causing blood to pour out of his ears. "Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, the room, and you, falling dead silent immediately after the words left him.

He peeled his eyes open, his hands falling as he looked around. "Excuse me, Mr. Hockstetter," the teacher gasped, clearly taken aback by his outburst. "Take yourself to the principal's office right this instant!" She ordered him.

His blood began to boil as he stood up abruptly, storming out of the classroom and slamming the door behind him. He was getting very very sick and tired of your little games. He headed toward the back door of the school, not wanting to cross paths with Henry's dad.

"This doesn't look like the way to the principal's office," you mused, appearing beside him. He stopped, turning to shove you against the locker. He groaned when his arms made contact with the locker instead of your body, and your laugh echoed behind him. "You think you can hurt me, how cute."

He let out a frustrated groan, smashing his fists against the locker. He couldn't stand you. He couldn't stand having someone that he couldn't manipulate or hurt but that could manipulate and hurt him. "What do you want with me?" He asked, refusing to look at you.

"To break you," you grinned. "To have you begging for it to stop."

Yeah, right he thought.

He was Patrick fucking Hockstetter; he didn't beg. He didn't bend to the will of others, especially not some dead bitch. He was determined not to let you win. You would eventually get tired of tormenting him and go back to wherever the fuck you came from. He was sure of it.

Oh, how he underestimated your patience and overestimated his resilience.

He lasted exactly a week. A week of you screaming and poking and scratching and fucking with his head. A week of people staring at him like he was insane with his random outbursts and talking to the air. A week of torment before you finally had him right where you wanted him.

"Just leave me alone!" He begged, standing in the middle of his room with his head in his hands. You had finally drove him to the brink of insanity, and he didn't know how much longer he could live like this. You, being everywhere all the time, taunting and touching and teasing, it was too much for him. He couldn't take it anymore. "Go away!"

You tsked, grinning at him, that condescending grin that filled him with indescribable rage. How could you look at him like that? Like he was stupid? You were the stupid one. You were killed by him not the other way around!

"I'm afraid that's not how this works," you told him, shaking your head slightly. "I get to stay until you give me what I want." You took a step, punctuating the next words you said with a pause between each one and another step forward. "However. Long. It. Takes."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" He yelled, desperate to get you away from him forever.

"Well," you drawled, running your index finger along his chest, making him flinch. You smiled at the effect you had on him. He talked a big game, getting mad when you left—cursing, throwing things, even—having the audacity to fuck himself to the thought of your murder— but when it came to being face to face with you, he cowered away.

Ain't nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble as Henry Bowers' father once said.

"I'll be nice and give you a choice," you said darkly. "You can turn yourself in," you almost laughed at the way his demeanor hardened. "Which we both know you're too proud and stubborn to do," you continued. The intrigue behind Patrick's eyes was undeniable as he eagerly awaited his second choice. "Or," you trailed off, grabbing a razor from his dresser and holding it in front of his face. "You can die."

"You're a crazy bitch!" He shouted, though his inability to mask the tremble in his voice made him sound less than threatening.

"Maybe," you shrugged, admiring the sharp piece of metal. "Hmm," you hummed. "I wonder how you'll feel about me in another week," you asked thoughtfully. "I bet you'll be wishing you took the chance while you had it."

His jaw clenched at your words. He'd already lost a considerable amount of sleep because of you, and the thought of you tormenting him any longer was a fate worse than death. "Why don't you just kill me?" He asked defeatedly. You'd backed him into a corner that he was positive he couldn't get out of without doing things your way.

"I'm not you, Patrick," you spat hatefully. "I don't kill people or things."

"What? Like driving me to suicide is any better?" He scoffed, challenging your sense of superiority over him.

"You have an informed choice," you told him, trying to regain your calm. You didn't like losing your temper, especially not to the likes of Patrick Hockstetter, scum of the earth. "That's a luxury you didn't extend to me."

He eyed the blade in your hand warily. He didn't like accepting defeat. He would never admit to killing you. Being confined to a tiny room, unable to satiate that burning itch deep inside him whenever he needed; it would drive him mad.

"Go on," you urged him softly, holding the razor out for him to take. "Put yourself out of your misery. End it all and be free."

He looked between you and the blade hesitantly, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tried to make a decision. Glaring at you, he took the blade. A scowl formed on his face as he observed the triumphant expression that you seemed to wear immediately after he made his choice.

"Two deep cuts, and you'll never have to see me again," you assured him. That all but sealed the deal. Patrick didn't believe in heaven or hell and death didn't scare him. Being caged like one of the many animals he's so cruelly killed scared him more than dying. He walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge.

He sucked in a breath, pressing the blade into his wrist and dragging it upward toward his inner elbow. He clenched his teeth, deeply inhaling through them. A groan of pain fell from his lips as he felt the warm blood begin seeping from his wound, running down his arms and onto his jeans. He continued the action on the other arm, feeling nauseous and lightheaded.

The blade fell from his trembling fingers, clattering to the floor as he fell back onto the bed. His head felt foggy, and the pain began to melt away into numbness. His eyes began to droop, and he faintly saw your outline standing above him.

He just barely felt you lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His ears began to ring as his eyes fell shut. The words you spoke next were the last he would hear before his heart slowed to an eventual stop. He almost couldn't make them out, the sound muffled, as if he was underwater, but his mind used its last bit of energy to process them before giving out.

"Goodbye, Patrick Hockstetter," you said softly. "May you burn in hell."

tags! : @fatfagsj , @mysticalhills , @simpingforthe80s , @slasherho , @pinkpanther-44 , @slaggylemon , @kyranisnotdead , @ladydragiiss ,

#🎀 #patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang #it 2017 #patrick x reader #patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader #henry bowers #victor criss #reginald huggins #belch huggins #it x reader #living dead girl #dark romance #dark themes

[yandere-toons]

HENRY BOWERS

Platonic & Romantic Headcanons – Yandere

WARNING: child abuse and neglect, strong violence, bullying, implied alcoholism, reference to divorce, emotional abuse.

PLATONIC:

As soon as his father drinks himself into unconsciousness or throws him out the door, Henry stalks down the street to where he thinks his friend might be. Explaining nothing of his sullen demeanour, he places himself in the middle of whatever they are doing, dragging them into a more private area if their current activity is too public or not to his liking. From there, the hope is that his friend will act in a way that comforts him without him having to ask for it and risk further humiliation.

There are two possible outcomes here, depending on how his friend treats him and who else gets involved. If they accept his presence without prying, Henry will shut down and remain silent for a while, riding out the emotional storm around someone he now has a reasonable chance of trusting. If they stonewall him or others interrupt, Henry will revert to his hostile bully persona and never mention the event again, as it has become a new source of shame for him.

Henry reveals a watered-down version of the truth when pressed for answers, but even then, he refuses to tell the whole story out of a desire not to relive it, not to be seen as a whiner, and not to show how profoundly it has affected him. After all, a history of cruel reactions from his father and the small-town mentality of Derry have taught him that emotional vulnerability is a dangerous mistake of the stupid and weak.

Despite this, it becomes increasingly clear that Henry is stalling for time when the subject of going home creeps up on him. He would much rather stay out all day and night with his friend and the gang, cruising town with Belch at the wheel, forgetting what awaits him when he sets foot on the family farm. But Henry knows only too well that Butch's wrath will double if he has to go looking for him.

Henry will threaten and, if sufficiently provoked, maim anyone who shows an interest in his friend. His worldview is more than a little misanthropic, as his good memories are few and far between, and his father and the community at large have taught him to hate anyone who challenges his idea of the norm. As such, he sees this as a favour to his friend, ridding them of all the scumbags who would inevitably trap them in an unwanted relationship.

But deeper down, in the places that have never quite healed, the places he never talks about, Henry is afraid of powerlessness. He despises the thought that his friend would abandon him because of someone else, as his mother did, so he does not give them that option. Anyone who tries to plant the idea in their head that they should cut ties with him, or worse, leave town, he beats as if it might save his life.

As far as Henry is concerned, no one offers a better source of companionship than he. He is fond of yelling this supposed fact and more at his friend when they refuse to drop everything and join him at a moment's notice. Seeing this as an affront to his authority as well as a personal insult, Henry cannot take it, especially when it happens in front of people, and tries to hector them into submission.

If any of Henry's accomplices disagree with his methods, none will be too honest about it. Henry displays an unabashed willingness to hurt anyone and everyone who comes between him and his friend. Other bullies have required stitches courtesy of Henry and learned to turn tail at the sight of him or them, and the last concerned citizen to intervene was left with a concussion.

Although Henry is a little more lenient with his gang, he still has rules about what kind of interactions are acceptable. Some of these rules go unspoken until one of the other boys crosses a line he did not know had been drawn. On the first day, Patrick Hockstetter lost his right to be alone with Henry's friend and incurred a death threat from Henry after Patrick made advances towards them and asked if they would like to share Henry with him.

Spending time with other people sounds like a waste of energy to Henry, but spending time with the Losers is so inexcusable that he expresses it in the only language he knows: violence. His need to anticipate his father's unstable emotions has made him sensitive to any sign of displeasure in others, which Henry receives in abundance from one of the Losers, Richie Tozier. Tozier calls him an obsessive freak when he cuts one of the kids for staring at his friend.

ROMANTIC:

His only frame of reference is his parents' disastrous marriage, now separated, and the couples at school he enjoys breaking up with shoves and jibes. Henry can be demanding in everything he asks of his partner, putting them in the untenable position of bearing the brunt of his emotional hunger. It is an overwhelming and confused mess of mixed signals and frustration that has built up over years.

Much of Henry's attention-seeking behaviour and unpredictable aggression stems from the fact that he is both ashamed of his struggles and less and less successful at repressing them. When he still tries, it manifests itself in violent outbursts and, in the context of this relationship, defensive anger when his partner does not immediately and completely fulfil his needs.

There are few things Henry would hate more than being compared to his father, so he refrains from using this level of violence with his partner. However, he retains a distinct bullheadedness in the many arguments that do break out, usually over Henry's desire for them to give up any part of their life that distracts from him.

Under no circumstances is Butch to know that Henry has a partner, let alone meet them. He would rather die than have them see what a so-called coward he becomes around his father, and the thought of them being caught in the crossfire of one of his father's explosions makes him want to stick the knife in Butch's throat a little sooner.

At the first sign of Butch's approach, Henry pulls away from his partner and tells them that if things get heated, they should go with Victor and wait for him at a distance. Victor is disturbed by Henry's extreme view of the relationship but is wise enough not to say so to his face.

Watching his partner suffer abuse at the hands of a family member ignites a rage in Henry that stems from his unfulfilled desire to take revenge on his father. He flashes back to when Butch similarly hurt him, reopening the last wound he tried to numb by avoiding his home and seeking out his partner. Every punch Henry lands, every slash with the knife, is almost like getting back at his father for all the scars he gave him.

Henry refuses to feel remorse for those he attacks, as Butch would never apologise for the damage he inflicts and once even rewarded Henry for his violent actions. After making his partner drop a science project in the hallway, the child he forced to eat dirt had it coming. The classmate who sat next to his partner at lunch - a seat reserved for Henry, regardless of whether anyone else knows it or whether he feels like taking it that day - deserved to be thrown to the floor and humiliated in a way that will haunt them forever.

Competition, real or imagined, is unforgivable and will be met with swift, if not disproportionate, retaliation. The first line of defence is a barrage of verbal abuse, escalating to physical assault unless the pest flees the scene and swears an oath never to speak to his partner again. From there, Henry will order his cohorts to hold the person still while he carves, stones, drowns and breaks whatever he finds most offensive.

Part of a community that frowns upon physical closeness between friends, Henry seeks in this relationship the emotional intimacy and affection that his father never provided. He denies having such needs when anyone suggests otherwise, insisting that he only stays with his partner for superficial reasons and would not miss them if they were to disappear one day.

Despite his claims of indifference, Henry displays a violent resentment towards those who befriend his partner, perceiving these individuals as a threat to his importance in their life. This fear speaks to his underlying insecurity of not being in control, the same insecurity that drives him to suspect the worst in people and defend or assert himself accordingly.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

#Yandere #Yandere x You #Yandere x Reader #Yandere Imagines #Yandere Headcanons #Yandere It #Yandere Henry Bowers #It x Reader #It Imagine #It 2017 x Reader #Henry Bowers x Reader #Henry Bowers #Bowers Gang #The Bowers Gang #It #It Movie #It 2017 #It Chapter One #It Stephen King #Fanfiction #Imagines #Reader Insert #Gender Neutral Reader #Yandere Writing

[bitches-who-write]

hey could you write a head cannon that the bowers gang find out that their little siblings have made their own little gang with the other bowers gang little siblings and the only reason they found out was that someone who messed with them come up to them asking for them to keep their crazy siblings on a leash because they beat the crap out of them.

Hi there!  We’ve combined this ask with your other ask similar to it.  Hope you enjoy!

(Below is character refrence from your request): 

Siblings are called the Mini Bowers Gang

Mia Bowers (Henry little sister)

Maddie Hockstetter (Patrick little sister)

Olivia Criss (Vic little sister)

Sam Huggins (Belchs little brother)

Warnings: Swearing, mild violence implied.

The Bower’s gang had no idea that their younger siblings formed their own little gang.

It wasn’t until Chad O’keif, Derry’s popular, asshole jock approached Henry, Patrick, Belch and Vic. 

Chad rushes up to the guys furiously with a busted lip.

“Hey!  Bowers!  You better keep a leash on those brats of yours or else next time-“. 

Before Chad dares to finish his sentence, he catches himself.  For once the dumb jock uses his brains.

Everyone in town knows you don’t  threaten the Bowers gang.

Especially a threat directed towards their little siblings.

It’s not that the guys are sweet and over-protective of their siblings.  Quite the opposite though

But there’s still an unspoken vow that only they can mess with their little siblings.

The guys circle in on Chad, glaring to the point that he’s so uncomfortable, he can’t maintain eye contact anymore.

Visibly nervous, Chad clears his throat. “They’re down at the barrens.  They attacked me for no damn reason.” His voice trails off.

Everyone but Henry laugh hearing the news.

Henry shoves Chad to the ground, flipping his switch blade out.

“If I find out you messed with them, I’ll fuckin' end you.  Watch yourself.”  Henry threatens, stopping his blade into the ground before lifting Chad to his feet and pushing him forward.

“Now get the fuck out of my face.” 

And with that, Chad went running. 

The guys make their way down to the barrens to see what their little sibling are up to/ what all the commotion is about.

Before their siblings are even in sight, you can hear Maddie Hocksetter yelling, clearly instigating a fight.

As the guys approach, they see Mia Bowers straddling Beverly with both Sam Huggins and Olivia Criss holding her down.

Maddie was kneeling beside them, egging Mia on.

“Come on Mia, she deserves it, look what she did to Olivia!!”

As the guys get closer, they notice Olivia Criss’s nose was bloody. 

“HEY!  FUCKERS!” Henry shouts, causing them all to flinch and stop in their tracks.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Beverly kicks and twists, breaking free from Sam and Olivia, and knocking Mia off of her.

Maddie goes to grab her again but Patrick eyes her, slowly walking toward his sister with a creepy, sinister look on his face.

Maddie knows despite Patrick being her older brother, that it wouldn't stop him from doing something bad.

I mean look at what Patrick did to his little brother, RIP.

“Maddie… I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He says, voice dripping with malice.

Normally Maddie isn’t intimidated by anyone but when it comes to Patrick (and hell, even Henry), she’s terrified.  She listens to her older brother and takes a step back.

Patrick grabs Beverly’s arms as she was slowly trying to back away into the woods.

Vic grabs this sisters face, examining her bloody nose. “Lucky isn’t not broken, kid.” 

Belch shoves his younger brother, Sam, blaming him for letting this happen since he’s in charge of looking out for the girls. 

“Someone want to explain what the actual fuck is going on here?”  Henry glare at each of them, especially his own kid sister, Mia.

Maddie was the first to speak up, nodding towards Beverly.  “This bitch hit Olivia!”

Patrick is holding Beverly in place by keeping her arms behind her back and trapped against his chest.

“Is that so?”  He smirks, getting close to Beverly’s ear and chuckling when she flinches. God he loves to make people squirm.

“Th-that’s not what happened!”  She retorts, clearly anxious as she’s surrounded. Her eyes tearing up until she begins to cry.

Vic approaches Beverly with a pissed off expression.

“Ya know Beverly, we don’t give a fuck if you’re a girl or not.  Hit my sister and I end you.”

Belch tries to diffuse the situation now, feeling somewhat sorry for Beverly as he sees the terror in her eyes.

Between being surrounded by both Bower’s gang, the Mini Bowers Gang, Vic threatening her, and Patrick giving her an unwanted embrace (cuddle with a struggle), it was enough to make even the toughest person break.

Hell even the jock, Chad, got beat up by the Mini Bowers so that’s saying something.

After some convincing, the others agree to let her go but not without another threat.

Once Beverly takes off running for her life, the Mini Bowers laugh hysterically feeling accomplished.

“So how did we do?!”  They ask the guys, looking for approval.

Henry scoffs.  “You got some work to do considering”. He says as he checks Olivia’s face.

Vic interjects. “But we’ll admit you’ll did a good job on fuckin’ Chad."

Belch nudges his little brother with approval as they laugh.

The other swing their arms over their little sister's shoulders as they walk off teaching them new fighting techniques. 

#henry bowers x reader #patrick hocksetter x reader #victor criss x reader #belch huggins x reader #bowers gang x reader #bowers #the bowers gang #it 2017 #imagines #headcanons #henry bowers #itmovie #patrick hockstetter. #bowers gang

[incorrect-losers]

Mike: As a member of the Bowers Gang, is it a distraction being gay?

Eddie *terrified*: AGH

Mike:

Bowers Gang:

The losers:

Vic:

Vic: Thank you

Eddie: What??

Vic: I’ve been holding it in for so long

Vic *turning to the Bowers Gang*: Fellas, I’m gay

Henry: That’s okay Vic, so are we

Vic: Really?

Belch: Yeah

Eddie: ???

#picture a very smug looking mike patting Eddie’s back at the end #losers club #it #it chapter 2 #it stephen king #the losers club #losers club incorrect quotes #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrak #the bowers gang #bowers gang #vic criss #henry bowers #belch huggins #source: boy meets world

[babyybuggaboo]

henry bowers:

#henry bowers #henry bowers x reader #belch huggins #belch huggins x reader #it 2017 #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang x reader #vic criss #vic criss x reader #bowers gang #the bowers gang

[forgottencandy]

Rude Boy

Henry x reader x Patrick

Warning: toxic teenage love

----------

I do what you want, I let you take control. Such chaos. Yet I won't give it up, the thrill is too much to just kill. The other part of me, knows this is all wrong. Staying around a boy that probably not only doesn't care for me, but also does horrible things. I allow it, because I some how got caught up in your game. Almost as if I was a fly caught in a web. Maybe it makes me a fool, but your attention towards me is like a drug. I will always want more, no matter how small the affection I get from you. In the end, I'm an addict; I will do anything that will acquire me your attention. Guess that's why I started playing bad. The abuse, is all you know; I can't blame you. I even started taking after you. Abusing others, because I still feel the pain; but I allow it, because I need you.

I'm glad, that you are happy at how much of a fool I am for you. You're loyal, surprisingly. Maybe the fact that you scare people away, or there's no need to cheat. I'm always here for you, Henry. When you are drunk from drowning your sorrows, that's when we actually communicate. I brush my hand through your hair; something you hated when we were in public. You laid in your bed, out of your mind. "I love you, Henry." I say facing Henry in his bed. We both laid there, I focused more on your face than you did mine. I blame it on how drunk you are, but who knows if you actually want me. I smile as I caress your face, you were extremely tired. "I love you Henry, so mu-"

"You're the only one my dick can get hard for." Henry blurts out, looking into my eyes. I stay still for a moment, looking into his blue orbs. Not exactly the most romantic sentence, but it was flattering. Henry only wanted me, and that made me smile. "I'm confused, what the fuck you want my heart for?" Henry asks, his warm breath hit my face. It was wrenched, but with Henry, I learned not to care. "I don't know, I just, you feel, I don't know why I love you so much.

"I'm misused what the fuck you want my heart for?" Henry said in a more violent tone. He generally didn't understand my love for him.

I sat up, keeping my eyes on his. "Can you even hear me?" I asked in a tiring voice. I've been trying to love this boy for so long. Only for him to mistreat me. I know he doesn't know any better, due to his own shit. "Henry, I'm gonna go home. Have a good night, okay?" I say in a soft tone.

Maybe it's best if I get some space. It's draining, trying to love someone who doesn't want love. Grabbing my light jacket from his bed and leaving Henry's room. He sat up watching me leave, but did nothing else to stop me. As I left the house, it started to sprinkle.

I was walking the dirt road for awhile until I approached town. It was late, night was approaching. As I was coming close to my home, I heard someone call out my name. I look over, it's Patrick. He gave me that smirk he always wore. I went across the street to him. We've been around each other a few times because of Henry. Never really got to know each other much however. "Not with Henry?" He asked in a snarky tone.

Patrick was right, I was always with Henry. Focused on him, acting like a lost puppy. A puppy that Henry would mistreat. A bad dog in the making. "I'm not too sure anymore." I replied. He has a small chuckle after my response. Which causes me to examine him more. Patrick was Henry's friend, he knew I was off limits. "Come hangout with me then." He said walking off behind the house he stood by. I obliged, following him behind a few feet.

He smirked looking over his shoulder at me. "Why do you like Henry so much?" Patrick said in a mocking tone. "You deal with a lot for a boy who isn't even loyal to you." His snicker made my heart sink. I stopped in my tracks, looking at him turn around. "You really didn't think Henry was the loyal type, did you?" Patrick asked me as if I was confused. I felt my heart breaking the more he spoke. "Why are you telling me this?" I snapped at Patrick. Henry wouldn't, or would he?

Patrick has that mischievous smile playing on his face. "Sweetheart, I see how much you do for him. And what does he do? He goes and fucks Greta in the bathroom." His sentence made the little bit of me left, shatter. I couldn't even react, couldn't cry. Something so deviating to me, and I had nothing.

Looking Patrick in his eyes, I slowly approach him in silence. Smiling the entire time as he looked at me. I grabbed him into a violent kiss. Without hesitation, he grabbed back and kissed just as hard. What was I doing? It doesn't matter. Two can play this game.

(I started this years ago, decided to hop back on and kinda finish this part? LOL)

#bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #it #patrick hockstetter #henry bowers #henry #the bowers gang #patrick hockstetter x reader #henry x reader x patrick #henry bowers smut #henry bowers x reader #It's been awhile #Been 5 years y'all #been a long time #been a minute #been a hot minute #Forgotten candy

[zapalimesvet]

I’m back with redraw of one of mine old arts! Patrick in korn shirt redraw!

#bowers gang #patrick hockstetter #it movie #henry bowers #it 2017 #victor criss #belch huggins #it chapter one #the bowers gang #it #it chapter 2 #it headcanons #it fanart #it 1990 #it fandom #owen teague #patrick hockstetter fanart

[nllick]

Mentally unstable homosexual man with trauma and solipsism <3

#nicks edits♡ #it 2017 #it 2019 #it #it movie #patrick hockstetter #hockstetter #the bowers gang #bowers gang #edit #it chapter two #it chapter one #it ch 1 #it chap 2 #it chapter ii #it chap 1 #henry bowers #victor criss #vic criss #belch huggins #reginald huggins #reggie huggins

[southparkisthebestshow]

Bowers gang(not including belch) x latino female Reader

Warnings:none

Ur Belches cousin who js move in Derry bc ur mother needed time away from you so she sent you to ur auntie (Belches mom)

3rd pov:

Y/n is in the kitchen making some tea so she could sleep. while making tea she was listening to music the song being Mirándote swaying her hips with the rhythm of the song as she makes her tea. On the other hand in her Belch her cousin's room him and his friends(The Bowers Gang) were hanging out until Henry spoke up "ugh what is that sound!" he yelled out to the rest of the Bowers gang "don't ask me" Victor says "yeah ask Belch his the one that lives here might be his little bitch" Patrick says to Belch "oh that is my cousin not my bitch Patrick." Belch says to them and looking at Patrick with glare as Patrick js shrugs. Henry raises an eyebrow at Belch "well? Who is he?" He asks Belch "shes a girl and her name is Y/n" he says to them "well can we see her?" Victor asks Belch "come on I will show you her now" he says opening his bedroom door going down stairs walking into the kitchen. Belch and the rest of the Bowers gang walks close to y/n. Belch taps her shoulder as y/n turns around she looks confused "yeah what's up Belch?" She says to Belch. The rest of the Bowers gang looked in awe as they look at her "my friends wanted to know who you r" Belch says to her. Y/n looks at the Bowers gang "hello I'm y/n Belches cousin" the other nod "okay well we r going to be upstairs if u need us" belch says go her as him and the rest go upstairs leaving y/n so she could finish making tea.

For the pole thingy the bottom no is no and the top one is yes

#y/n #it2017 #x reader #the bowers gang #bowers gang #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #Belch huggins #victor criss

[kaysters247]

So I’ve started a story about Patrick, and wanted to start sharing it on here! I also have it on Wattpad under the name Kaylakuy and the story is called Deadly Inferno. Let me know what you think so far!

Warning: Mature Themes

Word Count: 1104

Part 1 - The Bowers Gang Girl

Summer nights in this hellhole of a house felt entirely endless as the days and nights dragged on. Staring at myself in the mirror with the consistent cigarette burns and bruises that were imprinted fingerprints in my skin were the norm. With my bedroom door locked and window open, the curtains I've had up for what felt like years slightly ruffling about from the subtle morning breeze, I stared at myself in the body length mirror my mom once got me. Mom.... I missed her more than anything. But at the same time, I hated her guts. Leaving Henry and I like she did because she couldn't handle our dads stupid ass was ridiculous. She abandoned us. And look at us now. Henry's so lost in this darkness he can't seem to get out of, not that he wants to. And I just simply do my own thing, smoke in private with Beverly who sneaks me cigs when she can, burning my own skin because it was an ounce of pleasure I somehow enjoyed. Pain. It was something to feel. And I strangely liked it.

"Leslie! Get your ass down here before we leave you." I slipped on my black tank top over my frilly red bra, not caring if the straps were in full view for anyone to see. Everyone already thinks I'm the town slut. Why disappoint now? I grabbed my backpack from the side of my bed and slung it over my shoulder whilst making my way out of my room and down the stairs of our two story house that hadn't truly felt like home in years.

"Dad's in a mood. Ignore him." Henry and I both eyed him from his usual chair, seeing his eyes trained solely on the tv ahead of him. Butch Bowers was an asshole. Let me just start by saying that. A hardass. Controlling.

"Leslie? Don't forget what I told you." I rolled my eyes with a subtle answer to his demand, a little okay slipping through my lips before we bolted out the door. And that would be to stop being a hoe and not sleep with every guy in town. When in fact, I'm still a fucking virgin. I'm 15 with no intent of wanting some dick inside me at any given time.

"You'll have to sit between Patrick and Vic. But I swear to fuck you better not let them touch you. Dad will kill me if he hears another story about you and Patrick...." I sighed a little in annoyance, never understanding how these rumors came to be from the little spies that are called parents that always seem to tattle to my dad. Patrick Hockstetter had been friends with Henry since I could remember. Lanky, long dark hair and green eyes that seemed to bore into my soul at any given chance with wandering hands that loved to go down my shirt when he possibly could, once unbuttoning my shorts right in the trans am in full view of my brother, Vic and Belch. He almost made it past my underwear line before I slapped his hand away and scoffed, buttoning my shorts back up as quickly as possible. Thankfully, Henry didn't notice. But Vic did. And he was trying to hide a smile. Patrick and I had this dynamic that Vic new all too well. He knew everything because I told him. He'd been my best friend since we were little, the reason he's now in what they're called as, The Bowers Gang.

"Just so you know Pat, I will slap your dick if you do anything. Got it?" I slipped in next to him as he mock saluted me with a little humored smirk on his undeniably cute face. He loved torturing me. It was his hobby to torture. Specifically me.

"Alrighty Princess." But his arm laced around my waist anyway without hesitation, only drawing me closer to him as Belch took off down the driveway once Henry was in the passenger seat, my light brown hair blowing in the wind.

"Careful. Your dad might see today. He's been at the school a lot since Betty Ripsom disappeared." Vic's helpful warning in my ear was another shot to the heart I hadn't been thinking of. Betty. I used to sit next to her in math class. She was sweet. But I knew she was dead. There's no way she's still alive. And with all the talk of who's taking these kids, it's honestly terrifying. But with summer break starting today after the last day of school, so many would forget, making her just another missing poster on buildings.

"Hockstetter I swear I will beat your ass if you don't quit touching my sister. And you know I fucking will." Henry's usual temper was in full swing this morning and his voice was as dark and threatening as could be. He hated the idea of Patrick and I. He always had. But Patrick never did let go of me until we got to school and we all clambered out of the trans am, Patrick's eyes directly on my ass the entire time I was walking towards the building. And I knew this because I could practically feel his eyes burning holes in my cheeks. Henry suddenly grabbed my arm roughly, pulling me away from the guys and dragging me away with such a look on his face that he could just make someone drop dead from said look.

"Remember what I said. Don't fuck around with that fag Hockstetter. I see the way you look at him....." I shoved away from Henry just as Vic came walking past with an apologetic look on his face. He knew how bad my home life truly was. He knew Henry could be violent with me and dad? Well he was on a whole other level.

"I don't "fuck around" Henry. Regardless of what people say. But if I want to do anything with Patrick, then maybe I will." Maybe I should was all I kept thinking. My eyes connected with Patrick's as Henry stalked away from me with anger boiling in his blood, seeing the firm look of interest in his green eyes. And that never wavering smirk on his lips.

"It's so hard to believe little Leslie Bowers would be interested in a Hockstetter like me. I'm pretty dangerous ya know?" I looked out to see a patrolling police car and knew it was my dad, his eyes connecting with mine from across the busy school yard. He looked pissed. He hated Patrick. And that's what attracted me more to him.

#owen teague #horror #patrick hockstetter #it #stephen king #story #fanfic #the bowers gang #henry bowers #victor criss #belch huggins

[metalchickaf19]

The Bowers Gang: How the Guys Would React to Making Their Girlfriend Cry (Anonymous Request)

* Any and all credit for this idea goes to the requestor.

Belch

I honestly have no idea how this happened

Like... I’m legitimately bamboozled.

Huggins doesn’t yell at, tease, or even throw dirty looks his partner’s way no matter how pissed off he gets, so if he managed to make his s/o cry, I can only assume it was a complete and utter accident

Initially has no idea what he did, and goes into a level 10 panic, because girl emotions are terrifying

Goes full-on “deer in headlights” face, and starts apologizing for everything he’s said and done that day, trying to pinpoint what he did wrong

... Maybe he ate the last slice of pizza and you really wanted it or something.

... What? I don’t know your life (you sensitive sack). That’s just the most believable scenario I can come up with, because Huggins is  too nice to have done anything more extreme

No matter what he’s done to cause this though, no matter how big or how small...

... the guilt hits him like a fucking TRUCK. 

Like, seriously. Even if you are crying just because he ate the last piece of pizza. He wants to cry now too, and regurgitate it for you.

Overall, cares with all his fucking soul that he’s done something to make his partner sad, apologizes for it 100 times over, and will walk on eggshells around his partner for the next 10-12 hours, at least.

Henry

Okay, now this scenario is a little more realistic.

Henry yells at his s/o’s often, usually taking out all his frustrations from the day on them; he could easily push them too far simply by yelling way too hard, for way too long 

... Not to mention the cruel and abusive things that would be coming out of his mouth the entire time (i.e. has no qualms telling his s/o how stupid they are, how little he cares for them, how nobody can tolerate them except for him, etc.)

Surprisingly though, he does tend to lose steam once he notices he’s brought his partner to tears 

Just slowly quiets down until he stops talking altogether, just staring at his s/o with dead eyes while they sob

Bowers is really uncomfortable with any type of vulnerability, so he wouldn’t really know what his next move should be. He has enough heart not to want to make his partner feel worse, but he wouldn’t make any moves to make them feel better either

No hugging, no apologizing, nothing. Just observes for a while, registering the breakdown he’s caused, before completely avoiding the situation by walking out of the room

It’s some cold shit, not gonna lie - basically leaves his partner to get themselves together without him, then comes back and pretends nothing ever happened

To be honest though, Henry does feel the urge to comfort his s/o when he makes them cry; it’s not like he thinks they’re being a pathetic little crybaby or anything (*cough* Hockstetter *cough*)

Just doesn’t know how to go about comforting his partner, or taking back the things he said, so finds it easier to walk away until the uncomfortable emotions have stopped 

Patrick

So Patrick’s reaction to making an s/o cry can be summed up in one simple statement:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOU PATHETIC LITTLE CRYBABY 

Bro literally never gets angry enough about anything to yell, so if he’s made a partner cry, it’s probably because he was making fun of them about something to begin with 

And everyone knows making fun of someone only becomes more fun when you know you’ve really gotten to them 

Legit just laughs his bony ass off, tussels his partner’s hair, and ends with a snide comment (”Awww, poor baby... PMSing today, are we?”)

Don’t come at me, the guy’s a dick, and if you expected sensitivity you’re a clod.

Victor

Honestly... 

... if Victor Criss makes you cry, you probably deserve it.

Like, honestly. The dude is smart enough not to make careless mistakes like Belch, kind enough not to go on a tirade at his partner like Henry, and sensitive enough never to pick on his partner’s shortcomings like Patrick.

So if Criss brings you to tears, it’s probably for a legitimate reason.

Mostly, I see Victor making his partner cry simply by being too cold to them during an argument - he doesn’t get loud when he has fights with an s/o, but can be so blunt and unfeeling in the things he says (provided he’s angry enough) that it seems almost as if he doesn’t love them anymore.

10/10 reaction to tears, though

No matter how upset he is, all arguing stops once Criss sees crying start to happen

He’ll literally just halt in the middle of a sentence, walk over to his partner, and wrap them in his arms until they get themselves together

Victor has no interest in bringing his partner to their breaking point, and, even if he feels that he’s right, and there’s more talking to be done, he’ll stop just long enough to let tensions fall back down to a level where they can have a productive conversation

In his mind, no one benefits from getting overly emotional in a fight; the only way to solve a problem is to stay level-headed and work as a team to fix the issue 

So, overall, Criss has the best reaction to a crying s/o - just accept their feelings and comfort them until they’re able to talk calmly again. Only way to live life, my dudes.

#Henry Bowers #patrick hockstetter #belch huggins #victor criss #The Bowers Gang #the bowers gang headcanons #it

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl — Patrick Hockstetter.

part two

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader (descriptors such as beautiful and nicknames such as dollface, darling, ect, but no described features— ie. long hair, brown eyes)

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal abuse , graphic depictions of murder/gore , you being murdered (in third person) 🤗 , self image issues

word count : 5.5k (part one)

a/n : i don't know how accurate this is to patrick, but i tried to make him lack empathy and remorse and he can't exactly feel love— just obsession and fascination. also, i hc patrick as a lefty so do with that what you will.

Patrick had once again been feeling that familiar itch. It started subtlety this time, like a tickle from a weightless feather that blew lightly across his skin every so often, and it began to gradually grow.

He tried his best to satiate the hunger of the beast within, to scratch that itch in the same way he had so many times before— by killing the neighborhood pets.

But, it appeared this craving was a different kind altogether, for when he lit his lighter, allowing the aerosol to spray through the flame and fry the kitten until it was unrecognizable and it's shrill screams had died out, he felt nothing. There was no sense of relief, no satisfaction or even the small semblance of happiness— because Patrick truly couldn't feel such uplifting emotions.

There was just nothing.

Well, there was still that nagging itch.

It took some contemplation. Long nights staring up at the empty ceiling of his room, his right arm propped under his head while his left laid passively across his torso. How could he rid himself of this feeling?

He pondered that perhaps burning just didn't do it for him anymore. To test his theory, he tried many other options— drowning, suffocation, mutilation— he even, regrettably, attempted tasting the vile little creatures.

So, definitely not the method of torture because he was sure that if he hadn't even feeling so empty, those, with the exception of the last one, would have been a world of fun for him. Well then, maybe it was the animal!

Squirrels, cats, dogs, raccoons, lizards, frogs, birds— anything he could get his hands on became helpless victims in Patrick's reign of terror, but none of it helped.

That feeling began to grow until it took up every inch of his body. All he could think about was the kill. Even when he and his friends were torturing their pre-pubescent victims, images of blood and agonizing screams plagued his mind.

And that's when it hit him— he needed a human victim. One that brought real stakes to the equation, one that would get his adrenaline rushing at the idea of being caught.

Initially, it had been an idea. He hadn't planned to act on it... but then you came along, and god, you were just so perfect.

You ran into him, through no fault of your own. He had been walking down the wrong side of the hallway, and you were just coming around a corner, so he was in your blind spot.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz," you chuckled lightly after you collided into his hard chest. You looked up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

As he stared down at you, he just knew that you were the one. You were so perfect. So beautiful. And it made him furious. He couldn't quite discern why, but the way your eyes sparkled with genuity and naivety caused a pit of red hot rage to build in his stomach.

But he couldn't act yet. He had to gain your trust. He had to ensure that he could get you into the woods by yourself so he could enact his plan and finally scratch that fucking itch.

"My fault, dollface," he spoke with a wide smile, attempting to be somewhat gentlemanly. "I wasn't paying attention." He gently clenched and released his fist as he watched you smile brightly. "I'm Patrick, Hockstetter," he introduced, leaning forward to tower over you in an attempt to be intimidating but in a way that could also come off as flirtatious.

"Ah, yes, the infamous Patrick Hockstetter, I presume?" You asked, your eyebrow arching slightly. There it was again. That anger. It had to have been your subtle cockiness, the way you weren't the least bit fearful of him even though his reputation clearly proceeded him.

"The very same," he smirked, leaning close to your ear. His breath lightly fanned the shell of your ear. "Why? Does my reputation scare you? Do I scare you?"

You let out a light chuckle. "No." It was a simple answer, and yet Patrick still found himself having to cling to that feeling on his skin, the one he desperately wanted to be rid of, to ensure that he didn't snap right at that second.

For some bizarre reason, in your presence, Patrick felt utterly powerless, which was a very foreign feeling to him. He had always been calm and calculated, except for when he was alone with his projects, so to be so out of control of his emotions just added to his resentment toward you.

"You should be," he replied ominously before turning and walking away from you in long, precise strides. He let his smirk fall and his lip curl up in disgust as he felt your eyes on his back the whole way down the hallway.

It had been such a simple interaction, and yet it had left you completely and utterly captivated. You should have been afraid of him. You'd known of his tendency for him and his friends to terrorize younger kids, and of course, you had heard the whispers of what he did when he thought no one was around, but those were just rumors... right?

Either way, you were intrigued by Patrick and wanted to see him again.

The next time you two had met, you were walking home. You lived above your parent's old record store in the town square, which was extremely convenient for you because it meant all the stores, the arcade, and school were just a short walk away. The record shop had been your grandfather's before it became your mother's, and soon it would be yours.

You were coming up on the arcade, and as you approached, you hesitated. Should you go inside? Your parents were expecting you home, but it was Friday, so they'd be okay with you going out for a bit, right?

As you contemplated, a blue Trans Am pulled up next to you, and a voice called out to you. "Y/N!"

Your eyebrows furrowed as your mind registered the familiarity of the voice. It sounded like Patrick, but it couldn't be because you had never told him your name. You turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise as your gaze met Patrick, who was hanging with half his body out the window of the car. In the passenger's seat, Henry was staring forward, a bored and slightly irritated look on his face.

"Hockstetter?" You asked with a grin. "I don't remember telling you my name."

"You didn't," he replied, sending a grin of his own your way.

"Did you ask around about me?" You teased, your eyebrows raising slightly as you gave him a playful look.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Still not scared of me?" He asked, placing the palms of his hands on the door to push his upper half out the window toward you.

"Hmm," you looked up and to the side, pretending to think for a moment. "Nah," you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Well, in that case," he drawled out. "You wanna go out with me tomorrow night?"

"You bringing your posse?" You asked, nodding your head to the three other teens in the car that had undoubtedly been listening in on your conversation.

"Why? Do you want them to come?" He asked suggestively. "I mean, I didn't know you were into that, but if you insi-"

"Stop! Stop!" You laughed, clamping your hand over his mouth. He looked you dead in the eye, and for a moment, you were so hypnotized by his eyes that you didn't realize the wet sensation of his tongue flicking across your palm. "Ugh!" You shrieked in disgust with a small laugh. "Gross."

"So?" He asked, his eyebrows raising. "Whatdya say?" He grinned his Cheshire cat grin, and you couldn't help but relent.

"Okay," you said softly with a little nod. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

"Great," he smirked, doing a little drum solo on the door in, what appeared to be excitement. "I'll pick you up at 8." You nodded, not able to contain your huge smile as he tried to awkwardly pull himself back into the car. "Oh," he said, sticking his head out the window a bit. "And wear white." Before you could question him, he sent you a wink, and then, the car was off speeding down the street.

You began to absent-mindedly walk the rest of the way home, all plans of going to the arcade having fled your mind, replaced with the thought of going on a date with Patrick. Your first date!

You really didn't know what he saw in you. He was so charming and handsome, and you were just... you. You weren't exceptionally attractive like Shelly Benson and Daniel Klein or outrageously popular like Greta Bowie and Jackson Pines. You were smart in subjects you enjoyed and not as smart in one's you weren't, and you had average social skills but never really made friends, just acquaintances.

You were just normal.

And so you stood, staring at yourself in the mirror as you examined every inch of your outfit, desperately trying to look less like yourself. You sighed in frustration, running a hand through your hair with a huff as you turned around, refusing to look at yourself any longer.

Your room was your safe space. The walls were covered in posters of your favorite bands, celebrities, and movies. You wondered what it felt like to be so effortlessly flawless as you stared around at all the beautiful people littering your walls.

Aside from the posters, your room was quite cohesive. You had chosen an excellent set of neutrals to pair with your accent color (which was your favorite color, of course), and it created a very attractive and appealing color pallet.

The sound of a knock on the apartment door made you snap out of your admiration of your room. Leave it to you to critique your artistic excellence when you're on a time crunch.

You took one last look in the mirror before taking a breath and exiting your room. You proceeded down the hall and through the living room. With one last mental reassurance, you turned the knob and opened the door.

Patrick had been practicing and planning his moves precisely. He had to shower you with compliments and be completely polite. It would let your guard down, and that's when he could strike.

The door opened, and Patrick's gaze fell on you. Even he had to admit, you were undoubtedly attractive, but it wasn't companionship he was after. It was relief.

So, putting on his best show, he opened his mouth as if he was going to speak before closing it and giving you a once over, trying his best to seem in awe of you.

"Wow," he breathed with an awkward chuckle. "You look," he let out a puff of air, motioning to you as if he couldn't find the words. "I mean- you look perfect."

He watched in satisfaction as you smiled sheepishly, gaze averting to the ground. "Thank you," you replied. You looked back up and playfully said: "And you don't look too bad yourself," in an attempt to play it cool, but Patrick could see right through you. You were falling for his charm, and how could you not?

He was a God, after all.

"So," you asked, stepping out of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. "Where are we going this fine evening?"

"Well," Patrick started, placing his hand flat on your lower back as you two walked down to the record shop on the first floor. "I know this perfect spot in the woods away from town-" You gave him a concerned look, and he chuckled lightly at your fear. "I know how it sounds, but there's a firepit me and the boys set up out there, and it has a great view of the stars because there's no light pollution out there."

You bit the inside of your cheek, and Patrick felt his pulse begin to quicken. It seemed like you were going to back out. Should he have told you? Or just let you panic when they got there?

"Okay," you nodded, turning to him with a smile as you made up your mind. "I don't love the idea of a first date in the woods, but I'm like 99% sure you're not an axe murderer or anything, so," you trailed off.

Patrick gave you a wolfish grin. Oh, if only you knew that he was a predator and you were his prey— so innocent and oblivious to the things that the night had in store for you.

The two of you walked out of the store, and Patrick read the shocked look on your face as you saw Belch's Trans Am, which was then followed by discomfort and then relief when you noticed his friends hadn't accompanied him.

"Took some convincing, but I got Belch to let me borrow Amy," Patrick said proudly as he took one long stride forward and opened the car door for you.

"He named his car?" You asked with a little giggle as you climbed into the passenger's seat. "That's cute."

"Yup, although cute isn't the word I'd use," Patrick replied before shutting the door and walking around to the driver's side.

"And what word would you use?" You asked, amusement coating your tongue and dancing in your eyes.

"Demented," he said, giving you a look as he started the car. It was ironic coming from him, and he knew it. If anyone was demented, it was the pyromaniac freak who killed animals and was tricking a girl into thinking he liked her when really he was taking her to the woods to kill her.

"That's interesting coming from someone with such a," you paused, for a moment, thinking for the right word. "Colorful reputation."

"Touché," he shrugged, pulling out of the spot he was parked in and continuing down the road to the woods. The car settled in an awkward silence as neither of you really knew what to say. Patrick knew he should ask you questions and engage with you, but to be honest, he didn't really care about what you had to say.

"Let's see what Belch has in his glove compartment," you said with a grin. Patrick's blood began to boil again. Not because you were invading Belch's privacy— he quite liked that part, actually. No one was ever allowed to look in the glove compartment. In fact, he had specifically told Patrick not to and that he would know if he did, and now Patrick could satisfy his curiosity while blaming it on his date.

No, his blood was boiling because of how casual you were. Most people would ask a stupid question to fill the silence or just sit in it, but you found a way to light heartedly and nonchalantly attempt to start a conversation. It was Infuriating to him how different you were.

Patrick considered himself an expert on human behavior. After all, it was his world, and everyone else were pawns, so growing up, he had to learn about people. He had to pick up on their little habits and understand why people did certain things so he could manipulate them and use them as playthings.

But you were different, and that's what infuriated him so much. You were still plenty easy to manipulate, but you had little quirks and ways of doing things that he'd picked up on that went against his understanding of the human condition.

You were defective, and that's why he had to get rid of you. You weren't normal. You weren't a plaything or a pawn.

You were a threat.

Patrick glanced over at you, watching for a moment as you rummaged through the glove compartment.

"Eyes on the road, pretty boy," you said absent-mindedly. "I don't plan to die tonight, and especially not at the hands of you." This made him internally smile. That was the second reference you'd made tonight of him hurting you and each time you had been wrong. You were going to die tonight— a very painful death— and the blood would be on his hands.

"He has got a lot of tapes in here," you observed aloud, pushing things around a bit more before a gasp left your lips. Patrick looked over again as you pulled out a pink piece of paper with a red lipstick stain in the shape of lips and a message in a hot pink sparkly pen that read: I really enjoyed tonight. We should do it again sometime =).

"No fucking way," Patrick said in shock, a laugh leaving his lips as he registered what he was seeing. "I can't believe that fat fuck actually gets bitches."

"Hey," you scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Don't be mean," you defended. "I think it's really sweet, and clearly, he knew you'd be an ass about it," you rolled your eyes. "He really tried to hide it in there."

Patrick turned the car into a little dirt road and parked. He knew no one would be out there that late, so the car wouldn't be seen. "Here we are," he announced before climbing out and making his way to the passenger's side to open your door.

"Don't take this the wrong way," you started as you got out of the car. "But I did not expect you to be such a gentleman." Your eyes followed Patrick as he grabbed a blanket out of the backseat and tucked it underneath his right arm before approaching you.

"Well," he said, linking your arm in his left one. "I don't usually care what people think," he confessed, one of the few true things he'd actually said to you, but of course, he was about to follow it up with a lie. "But with you, it's different." He looked over at you, only to find you staring. If he wasn't making an attempt at faking vulnerability right now, he would have smirked at how enamored you were by his words.

"And why is that?" You asked quietly, hypnotized by the way the darkness created shadows on his face that seemed to define it so well. Almost as if the darkness suited him better, which was odd considering usually the light was more well-defining to people.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met, and I don't want to scare you away," he professed, his voice seeming genuinely sincere, but obviously, that wasn't the case.

"That's quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," you said sheepishly, a soft smile falling upon your lips. You both walked in silence for a moment, the cruching of leaves and the chirping of crickets ringing through the vast area. "Wow," you breathed out, eyes glued to the sky. "You were right. The stars look amazing out here."

"Told you," Patrick grinned before unlocking your arms and advancing forward. You two had reached a clearing, and he was approaching the firepit in the middle. Surrounding the firepit, which was clearly homemade as the stones surrounding it were just stacked on top of each other haphazardly, were various random chairs and a long bench that looked surprisingly comfortable.

"This place looks cozy," you said, eyes sweeping over the area. A chill ran down your spine as a breeze blew through the clearing. The air seemed to grow thick, and something in your gut told you to run— leave now and never look back.

You would soon wish you listened to that feeling.

Instead, you walked forward, taking a seat on the bench as Patrick doused the wood inside the firepit with lighter fluid before grabbing a lighter from his pocket and setting it ablaze.

A wave of warmth fell over you as the clearing lit up gold. Patrick straightened up and came to sit beside you on the bench. You were so focused on examining your surroundings that you didn't notice Patrick carefully grab the knife that he'd hidden inside the folded blanket and tuck it under his leg before unfolding the blanket and placing it across you both.

"So," you grinned, finally looking over at him. "Do you bring all your conquests here?"

"Just the hot ones," he smirked. You rolled your eyes, laughing at his remark. "No, but seriously," he let his smirk fall into a soft smile. "You're the only one."

You looked into his eyes and couldn't sense any deception. God, those beautiful eyes. You didn't didn't think they were capable of telling a lie.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Patrick didn't have a soul, so his eyes were more like mirrors, reflections of what he knew people wanted to see when they sought out answers to questions that were better left unsaid.

You stared at each other, the air growing thick with tension as the urge to kiss him overwhelmed you. Your faces slowly inched closer together. "Patrick," you whispered, a wanting evident in your voice.

He reached up to cup your face with his right hand as his left carefully, discretely retrieved the knife from under his leg. He moved his face in, and you were sure he was going to kiss you.

But instead, he moved to the right, his mouth next to your ear as he plunged the knife he had deep into your stomach. You let out a choked cry of surprise and pain as your mind raced with a million thoughts at once, all of them so loud that you couldn't think rationally at all.

"Aw, Y/N," Patrick said darkly, feigning disappointment as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I told you that you should've been afraid of me."

He pulled away, twisting the knife to create irreparable damage before pulling it out. He watched as you cried out in pain, hand clutching your stomach in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"But you were too pathetic," he spat. He ran the bloodied knife across your cheek, slicing it open before pushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Just a desperate little whore."

"Why?" You sobbed, tears streaming down your face from the burning pain. Blood began pouring out of your mouth due to the damage to your internal organs, and you knew you were going to die.

"Because I wanted to," he replied with a crazed grin, his tone of voice indicating that he believed it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had never been more fearful than you were now. Not just because you were dying, bleeding out in front of a boy you thought liked you, but because of the look in Patrick's eyes.

They were devoid of any emotion, as if killing someone didn't matter to him at all. You would have even preferred for him to look like he enjoyed it; that's how disturbing his absence of emotion was to you.

Patrick sat there and watched as you bled out before him. The glossed over, far away look in your eyes made his whole body ignite. It just felt so good.

Finally, the itching was gone, and he could live in peace for a little while more. He sat on the bench beside your lifeless body for awhile more, relishing in the feeling of freedom; it had been so long since he had felt that. When he was fully satisfied, he began cleaning up. He threw the blanket in the still burning fire before running back to Belch's car to grab the shovel he'd brought.

Sweat clung to him, sticking his shirt to his chest as he dug the hole where your body would lie. It seemed to take hours, and the feeling of sweating but also being cold was very unpleasant, but finally, he got the hole dug.

He threw the bloody knife inside and grabbed your body, picking you up bridal style and hauling you over to the hole. He dropped your corpse carelessly into your makeshift grave and didn't give you a second thought before he began shoveling the dirt back into the hole.

When he was finished, he walked back to the Trans Am, wrapping the dirty shovel in the other blanket he had brought so no dirt would get into the trunk of Belch's car. And, no one would question dirt in the driver's seat of a teen boy's car, so he wasn't overly worried about his dirtied hands and jeans.

For weeks, Patrick felt amazing. It was the longest Patrick had ever gone without feeling the compulsion to kill. Of course, he still tortured small animals, but that was for fun rather than necessity.

But then he started to see you.

At first, it was just glimpses. Like, when he was brushing his teeth, he'd lean down to spit out his toothpaste, but when he straightened himself out, there you were— standing beside him, blood staining your clothes and the cut on your cheek that he had gave you still fresh. But then, once he blinked, your figure was gone.

He would see you around like that sometimes, not frequent enough to cause concern that he was gaining a conscience. Just enough for him to think he was suffering from a bit of sleep deprivation.

He wasn't worried about being caught. The police hadn't found your body, and when he was questioned as to what happened that night on your date, he said that the two of you had planned to go out to the woods, but on the way there, you two got into an argument because you had been snooping through Belch's things and you got so furious that you demanded to be let out of the car right then and there. Belch, of course, backed this story up because he could tell someone had disturbed his glove compartment.

Soon enough, however, you began to haunt his dreams as well. He would have terrible nightmares of you coming back from the dead and murdering him in cold blood, just as he had done to you, and then, when he awoke, you were standing in the corner of his room.

It wasn't just his brain making shapes out of things to scare him. It was you. He could see clear as day; the moonlight illuminated your face, your once innocent and naive eyes now staring at him with hate and malice.

Patrick Hockstetter didn't believe in ghosts, but he believed in you.

"Dude, what's your fuckin deal?" Henry asked, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts. Patrick looked over at Henry from his spot, splayed out on the hood of Belch's car, which he had objected to until Patrick threatened him. The four boys were hanging around at the quarry, drinking beer as music blasted through Amy.

"What?" Patrick questioned, hostility lacing his voice. Who did Henry think he is speaking to him like that?

"You're not even listening, man," Henry complained, attempting to throw a crumpled up beer can at him but missing.

"Maybe because you fuckers don't have anything interesting to say," Patrick shrugged, looking to his left at the water and tuning their conversation out again.

You had been on his mind non-stop. All he could think about was your eyes. They were so real. That look of hate— he had seen it before in his mother and father after he killed his little brother Avery. He couldn't have imagined that so vividly.

"Do I scare you?" A familiar voice asked, voice a mere whisper as a breeze tickled his ear. He quickly turned and saw you. You were sitting right next to him on the hood of Belch's car, and this time, he was sure he wasn't imagining it. You were there in broad daylight. He had heard you. He had felt your breath across his ear.

But how was this even possible.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, genuine fear in his voice. He felt something he had never felt before as he tried to shuffle away from you, but there was nowhere left to go, so he ended up falling off the car and onto the ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Victor asked, his eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as he registered the panic and fear— he had never seen Patrick exhibit such emotions, and he could tell by the look in Patrick's eye that they were not fake.

Patrick couldn't hear Vic over the sound of your laugh. It was so loud, deafening even, and it made his ears ring. You hopped off the car and walked toward him slowly with a sickening grin.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked, scrambling backward, pebbles and rocks digging into his palms as he tried to escape you.

"Because," she stepped forward, leaning down and grabbing his faded yellow Tom and Jerry t-shirt by the collar. He felt her grab him. It was all real. "I can," she spat viciously. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

"Are you alright, man?" Belch asked, genuine concern lacing his voice as his brows knitted together. Why had his friend been acting so strange?

"I-I need to get out of here," Patrick spoke quickly as he rushed to his feet, dusting off his clothes and looking around frantically.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Henry cackled, taking a long sip of his beer. Patrick gave him a hard, warning glare that confused Henry. What did he do?

Patrick took off running into the forest, driven by a pure, unbridled fear as he tried to escape you, but the faster he ran, the louder your laugh became. It echoed all around him. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. He clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

And then, just like that, it stopped. He slowly opened his eyes and removed his hands from his ears, peering around the woods. He heaved a sigh of relief as he realized it was over.

It wasn't real.

You weren't real.

He took his time walking back home, stopping and tormenting a few animals on his way to relieve some of the stress that had built up from the games his mind had played on him.

By the time he arrived home, the sun had long disappeared below the horizon, replaced by the luminous glow of the full moon. He pushed the front door open, kicking his muddy boots off by the front door before shrugging his leather jacket off and tossing it onto the floor.

"Ma!" He called into the oddly silent house. He advanced forward, his eyebrow arching as he didn't get a response. "Ma, I'm home!" He tried again, still no answer. He continued through the house into the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.

As his eyes scanned the kitchen, a tiny post-it note stuck to the fridge caught his attention. He took two long strides and ended up in front of it. Grabbing it off the fridge, his eyes scanned it.

Gone to see your father. Be back in a few days. I left some lasagna in the fridge for you to heat up and some money on the table for pizza or something in case you eat all of it.

Love, Mom

Patrick scoffed, crumpling the post-it into a ball and tossing it into the trash. Patrick's father was arrested for attempted murder when Patrick was young.

After Patrick killed his brother Avery, his father went mad and tried to kill Patrick. He claimed that Patrick was evil, and the world needed to be rid of him. Fortunately for Patrick, his mother still loved him (he had no idea why she still did after what he had done), and she called the police.

The paramedics arrived in time, and Patrick was saved. Though the attack did leave a raised scar on his stomach that never went away.

Patrick pulled a plate out of the top cupboard and a fork out of the drawer before opening up the fridge. He grabbed a can of Coke and the large glass dish with lasagna out. Deciding he didn't feel like waiting for it to heat up, he just used his fork to pick the pre-portioned slice of lasagna out of the dish and drop it onto his plate before sliding the rest back into the fridge for later.

Grabbing his beverage and dinner, he began making his way up the creaky steps that led to the second floor.

The carpet that had previously adorned it had been ripped up when his mom was having one of her overly energized and productive moments, so staples and other sharp objects stuck up from the dirty wood. He was careful to avoid them.

He reached the door at the end of the hall with a yellow sign that read DO NOT ENTER and swung the door open.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

Tags : @fatfagsj @brokenloverr24

#patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang #it 2017 #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick x reader #henry bowers #victor criss #reginald huggins #belch huggins #it x reader

[erickmatsuno]

Ví esto y supe inmediatamente que se trataba de ellos

#the bowers gang #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #belch huggins #victor criss

[bitches-who-write]

Hey bro, love your work was wondering if you could ship me with one of the bowers gang? I'm a girl with black shoulder length hair thats kinda like a wolf cut, i listen to alot of heavy metal and rock, absolutely love horror movies and books, I wear alot of silver jewelry and homemade jewelry, and have super pale skin. I love going to the gym, kinda muscular, will eat anything and everything(meant for human consumption or not) and I do alot of dumb things, kinda clumsy, and own a long haired silver cat named Concrete. Thank you <3

We ship you with Patrick!

You and Patrick have a lot in common here.

Patrick is not an affectionate guy- but when he’s tired, he’ll get into a softer mood. Only you see this soft side though.

He’ll dive across you and lay on top of your chest.

Usually he’ll zone out and play with your jewelry, admiring how you made it.

Listen, he’s not the sweet, compliment my S/O type of guy. So don’t expect him to compliment your hard work.

BUT you know he likes it by the way he always observes it and plays with your jewelry.

The most affectionate thing he’s done was make you a ring out of scrap metal he found.

Obviously his famous lighter and can of hairspray was used during the jewelry making.

He might've gotten second to third degree burns in the process but its all good. Remember this is Patrick we're talking about here.

He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just casually slips it on your finger when you two were watching Chucky one night.

Y/N “Aww Patrick, you made this for me?!”

“Yeah, yeah don’t get sappy on me, I’m tryin’ watch Chucky kill this bitch.” He’ll say dismissively. 

But when you’re not looking, he glances down at you and smirks. He fuckin' love you, bro.

Patrick loves that you’re not overly girly either.

You’re down to eat all types of shit, not just a stupid salad. SO expect weird eating contests. Patrick aways tries to one-up you.

Did you say muscles?  Patrick thinks that’s SO. FUCKING. HOT. 

A strong bitch who can hold her own is what Patrick finds sexy. 

And let’s face it, you gotta be strong around these guys.

Think you’ll get a pass just because you’re female?  Psssh.  Nope. 

Fully expect to be in wrestling matches, being tackled, and just overall roughhousing. 

You guys bond over music frequently and hit up record stores often. 

You’ll buy a shit ton of hard rock CDs and blast them while going for car rides with the gang.

Patrick drums on your thighs, telling everyone to “shut the fuck up” while he’s preforming his ‘solo’.

You guys have a crazy and adventurous relationship but expect to get a lot of disapproving glancing from the older folk in Derry.

#henry bowers x reader #imagines #patrick hocksetter x reader #bowers gang #it 2017 #victor criss x reader #belch huggins x reader #henry bowers #itmovie #headcanons #patrick hockstetter #ITfandom #asks open #ship requests #readerxbowersgang #the bowers gang

[incorrect-losers]

Vic: Did you beat up those kids?

Henry: No, they apologized

Vic: I heard screaming

Henry: That was the apologizing

#losers club #it #it chapter 2 #it stephen king #the losers club #losers club incorrect quotes #vic criss #henry bowers #the bowers gang #source: no hard feelings

[reggieservices]

Modern!Bowers Gang hdc

 Ooo I got a couple >:) 

~ Henry is the gym rat kid.

~ I’m sorry I dont make the rules

~ All he ever talks about is the gym

~ He hits new prs almost every week

~ Mans is on enough Pre-workout to kill an adult Blue Whale

~ Pulls up to school every morning with an arm full of energy drinks and 3 dry scoops of pre

~ SERIOUS caffeine tolerance

~ Also he forgets his  backpack at least 4 times a month

~ He’s so unorganized 

~ No folders, No binders, just a broken backpack and vibes

~ Vic is a serious organizer 

~ EVERYTHING has to be in a corresponding folder and colour 

~ Also has really nice stationary and handwriting?? always writes the best cards for Christmas and birthdays

~ He LIVES by the clean girl aesthetic

~ Always drinks homemade fruit smoothies ( which are baller)

~ BEST. SKINCARE. ROUTINE. EVERRR this man has so many products oml

~ Irons his clothes every night before school so he can look like a distinguished gentleman

~ He wears nice cologne everyday

~ Gets dudes and chicks alike fawning around him

 ~ Patrick. oh dear. Patrick

~ Well, He’s that kid. 

~ The kid at parties that jumps off the roof into a swimming pool for a beer

~ The kid that brings a live duck into school for senior prank day

~ He also always asks for food and drinks

~ Patrick: *sees someone eating* Ayo can I get a bite? 

~ Also Patrick when someone asks for food: Fuck off bitch

~ The boy is a menace to society and nothing can change that

~ Also did you guys have that kid that knew alot about WWI and WWII? Just me? Okay. Well, Patrick would tell anyone who sat down next to him about The Battle of Midway he doesnt care about what you were saying

~ Reggie is the mom of the school

~ Literally

~ He will listen to anyone talk abt boy or girl problems, how they hate their parents, really about anything

~ So many snacks in his backpack. You need a pick me up? Caffeinated peanuts. forgot your lunch? Good thing my boy has a sandwich for you. His backpack is filled to the brim with supplies for any situation. Pain killers, band aids, pliers, screwdrivers, you name it, Reggie’s got it. 

~ He tries stopping Patrick from doing dumb shit ( spoiler alert, it doesn't work that often) 

~ He and Vic are the only two of the group that actually take school seriously, they want good jobs 

~ also the gang gets together every Friday after school to tv and spend the night at someones house

~ Most likely Vic’s because mans got $$$

~ Reggie is still the designated driver

~ He doesnt mind tho, he just sits back and sips his caprisuns

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Okay okay thank you sm for asking, I love this. Thanks everyone for sending in requests. sorry its been taking a while, but I have a couple drafts im working on!!! 

Bye have a good day love you all <3

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