#bowers gang lemon

[yourlocaltheaterkid012]

any ideas?

Hey it’s your local theater kid,So on my last post I asked for your #1 loser

it was a tie with bill and Richie at 27.3% but Stan ended up winning by 3 votes at 30.3% there was only 33 votes. I honestly expected Richie or bill to win.

Request info down below

I want to make it a One-shots, imagines , gif imagines book instead. I can still make a Stan X reader if you want though

So I don’t know what to do for Y/n cause I never wrote an x reader story before but I’ve read some. And it’s only ever been being another loser’s sister or something like that. ( which is kinda annoying for POC readers) so can you please comment any ideas for the story there are just some rules to the request.

I don’t write smut or lemons

I’m only going by the corse of the movie if you want me to make an X reader but there can be added parts if you want

For request I only put Y/n I won’t add Jessica ( sorry if your name is Jessica ) or anything ( cause once I read this book where almost every Bill imagine had the name Shannon 😂)

I do LGBTQ+ imagines and interracial .

I’m not really good at writing angst but I would try if you asked.

I can also write Platonic imagines

I can do Bowers gang but don’t expect it to be good.

I’ll also write stories and post them here you can comment any requests bye 😘

[a-pretty-nerd]

Happy Halloween (Patrick Hockstetter x reader smut)

Request: "Could you do a Patrick x reader smut where they're at a Halloween party and reader wears a revealing costume and he takes her to a room and punishes her?" ~ Anonymous

Ooooh it feels good to be back! ❤

A/N: Requests are now officially OPEN! Please be patient with me and the rate at which I answer and finish these. I just got this one this mornings and I'm doing it because I have the time to. This will vary! ALSO! If you are interested in some original work, I will be posting it on my wattpad account! So please follow me on wattpad considering that Tumblr is slowly becoming more and more of an inhospitable place for writers like myself.

Warnings: sex! Dom/Sub! Etc! Etc...

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Oh Halloween! What a sweet, sweet holiday! A teenager's paradise filled with house parties, candy, drugs, alcohol and best of all...each other.

You and Patrick had been going steady for quiet some time now. You were his little pet, his prized toy, nobody fucked with you. It was nice to have a gaurd dog on your arm every once in a while.

This Halloween the boys decided to rade a house party, rather than torment little boys like last year. They picked you up at 8, and the boys whistled as you stepped out of your house. Patrick, was lost for words for a moment as his eyes washed over your form. You had managed to rope him into a couples costume, all you requested of him was to comb his hair back and wear white. He did one of those things. He watched as you came out in a bright red bikin, heels, a fake tail, and horned clips in your hair.

"What the fuck is this?" Patrick grunted as he closes the door behind you.

"We're an angel and devil!" You smiled. He watched you pull out a pair of cheap white feathered wings. You tossed it at him before walking past and to the car.

"You sure we can't trade?" Patrick sneered as you took your seats in the car.

"Aw c'mon, thats the fun part! Can't you let me be the naughty one for once? Just one night?" Patrick climbed in the back seat next to you and curled his arm over you to keep you close. No one was coming near you.

"One, night." He repeated as you drove off. When you got to the party the rest of the guys headed straight for the keg. Drunk teenagers were a plenty at this party and there was dancing and halloween themed games, mostly drinking games, but still. There were plenty of other girls dressed like you there but Patrick didn't seem to care. He didn't care that you fot right in because he didn't want you to. You were different, thats why he liked you in the first place.

He followed closley behind you as you greeted friends and acquaintances. He watched as other boys took notice of you. He watched them watch you, and it made him seath with hate and rage. At one point he came from behind and wrapped his arms around your shoulders to keep you close. Something he didn't often do. Patrick had no respect for personal space, but he was either on top of you entirely with aggressive pda, or he wasn't touching you at all. He'd let you touch or hold him but with Patrick it was either all or nothing. So this clear act of "mine" was strange.

He starred others down with his dark brooding gaze, his glassy grey eyes shot men down for miles. He made everyone, including your girlfriends as they watched him gaurd you.

"Hey," Patrick looked down at you, "you alright? You haven't spoken all night." You noted as you starred up into his dark gaze.

"I'm fine." He muttered.

"You don't look fine." Patrick leaned his head forward to hide in the crook of your neck.

"I'm going to tear you to shreds." He growled. It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Did I do something wrong?" You knew what you did, and he knew it too. You loved to make Patrick jealous. You loved his protective reaction, you loved to play with him, tease him, toy with him. You brat.

"Don't you fucking-" he was cut off by the slow swaying of your hips. Your pressed your ass against him and swayed back and forth to the music that played. Patrick went silent. You took your shoulders in his hands and began gauding you through the unfamiliar house. One of them had to be an empty bedroom, or at the very least, a newly open one. At parties like this, these houses turned into miniature brothels.

But no rooms were available, fuck it, bathroom then. Patrick shoved you inside before slamming the door behind him and locking his. His chest already heaving, his heart racing. He pulled you close and planted a heated kiss to your lips.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you for this." He growled.

"For what?" You cooed. Patrick reached down and grabbed your ass.

"You little tease. You know exactly what you did, what you were doing to me out there." His fingernails dug into your flesh and dragged until he let go to feel you jiggle. "You are miiine." He hummed as he pulled down your bikini top to reveal your breasts. He gropped them harshly, it made you whimper. "You are mine and mine alone." He growled into your neck he began leaving hickies. "They don't deserve you. They don't GET to have you like I do." He smacked your ass before grabbing and playing with you as he spoke. "You crossed a boundry tonight baby girl," he cooed, "and now I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson." You melted in his arms.

He pressed you down and you kelt for him. He pulled down his pants as you waited patiently for him. His cock sprung free from his boxers as he threw them off. He held your head as he pressed his head go your lips and you took him in with ease. He did with you as he pleased, he slowly rocked his hips as he slid in and out of your mouth. He let drool fall from your mouth and his cock before he pushed himself all the way down your throat. You looked up at him, water streaming down your eyes. He looked down with a cruel grin.

He pulled you away before he picked you up and bent you over the counter table. There you saw yourself in the mirror, devil horns still in, makeup runny, your hair messy. Your breasts fell from your top and were planted firmly on the marble counter.

"Look at you. I'm the only one who can make you feel like that." He purred as his fingers reached into your bikini and pulled the fabric. It pressed against your clit and aching entrance. "You wanted this, didn't you?" Smack, "you knew what I'd do to do." Smack. "And you had me dress up like an angel for it too." Smack! You gave a soft cry. "You really are a little devil aren't you?" He stood directly behind you as he pulled at your bikini one more time. "Naughty, naughty girl." He took his other hand and gently tapped at your clit.

"Patrick, pleease." You begged him as you leaned back into him.

"Don't tell me what to do, little devil. The angels always win, don't they?" He chuckled before fiercely pulling your bottoms off and letting them drop to the floor. He played with you for a moment. He sunk a finger into you and it made you moan. He loved watching you as you arched your back and started to push back to get any sort of friction.

"Fuck..." you gasped as a second finger entered you and he began to move them. Back and forth, in and out. That could work. You tried to push back as he fingered you, trying to get a much needed release. But as you were getting close he pulled away. You whinned and moaned helplessly for him.

"Goddamn you're so fucking wet. It'd be a shame if I didn't use this tight pussy of yours." He placed his head at your entrance and you watched yourself in the mirror as he sunk into you. Fuck he felt so good, you almost came as soon as he entered you were so tense. Soon you started to shake as his hips smacked against your ass.

"Ooohh shit...oh fuck.." you muttered as he fucked you. You watched him in the mirror, his gaze was switching between your ass and your face in the mirror. An insane smile plastered on his face as he fucked you.

"Thats it, thats it, ohh fuck yeah." He was triumphant. His hands clung to your hips as he started to pick up the pace, soon you were cumming all over him. It was made him lean forward and nibble on your earlobe as he whispered in your ear. "You cum so fast for me, Y/N. Naughty girl. I'm gonna show you who you belong to. Look at you, you can't help yourself. I'm all you need, baby." He grunted before standing back up straight and continuing to fuck you. You bouncing underneath him, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as you came once again.

Your last orgasm drove Patrick to the edge. He started to huff and puff as he got closer and closer. You could feel him shaking, losing his cool as his climax came. He leaned over and rested hid head on your shoulder as you watched him crumble. Patrick loved to press himself as far in as he could, and cum deep inside of you. You shuddered as you felt him pull out and felt everything seep out with him.

[alstanfordart]

Bob’s Nightmare. Scene below.

@queenoftheclownsme

@theblackrosegoddess

It awoke. Not particularly rested. Its mind had drifted. Drifted back to the Todash, leaving Its material presence hidden beneath the ground, safely stashed away in a dark crevice of the cave. As Its conscious was violently ripped back into Its avatar of Robert Gray, It could feel the wound. No healing. Something had awakened It.

Not healed. Not healed but awake prematurely.

Confused, It staggers up, focusing Its one eye, seeing only black. Hearing creaking sounds and door slamming. Unable to see a few feet in front of It with just a subtle hint of weak light from an unknown source. It begins to walk and as It does, It hears, at the edge of the darkness, children singing;

'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's, you owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's.'

It pauses in Its steps as It sees a flash of yellow accompanied by giggling.

A boy.

The voice of the child causes unease as another blur of yellow dashes past, before the child appears before It, partially obscured by the shadows save for emerald rain boots stark against the midnight and a speck of light in each iris.

What the Hell is this?

Little Georgie Denbrough in his slick rain coat, skin flaps dangling from his bloody stump as he slowly reveals himself as a gentle sound of thunder and rain drift out from behind him.

The boy approaches, neutral expression, standing before It.

"Why did you kill me?" Georgie asks, his round face pale, his eyes rimmed with dark circles as he gazes up. "I didn't do anything. I just wanted my boat."

Georgie holds out his hand, the paper boat sitting on his tiny fingers, blood starting to seep through and engulf the faded paper.

"It wasn't anything personal kid, I was hungry." Robert growls, lip curling up in disgust and taking a step back from this unwelcome mirage.

Like It needs to justify Itself to this brat. He is what led to Its confrontation with the hated ones. Perhaps had It targeted another child...

But maybe that would have lead to an entirely different group of children targeting It.

Maybe the Final Other intended it that way.

And that boat. That fucking boat is what started the whole mess.

It doesn't pursue this train of thought further, as it enrages It.

There's a shift in Georgie's melancholy demeanor and a creepy grin breaks out as he bends down to place his boat on a thin river of blood that has manifested, suspended a few feet above the ground.

Georgie then steps back, his form breaking apart as it evaporates upwards into the darkness as the now crimson-soaked boat starts to glide along as the singing starts up again;

'When will you pay me? Say the bells at Old Bailey. When I grow rich, say the bells at Shoreditch.'

Robert stares down at the boat as it starts to move, the blood river carrying it along. The boat's route becomes altered as the river begins to flow out, a small wave lifting it through the air. Robert's gaze follows as a red-haired woman appears amid the swirling ruby.

Beverly Marsh.

"Well, aren't you a sight," she smirks, hands perched upon her hips. "Just as bad as the time I stabbed you in the head. Couldn't sleep that one off, huh?"

The little bitch.

Snarling, quill teeth now jetting out his mouth, Robert lunges, only to have her vaporize as he goes to tear at her throat. Her disembodied laugh echoing around him. The blood river drifts off, taking the small boat along as it disappears into the gloom as a cream-colored wooden door appears. It steadily swings open, revealing a bathroom. Robert refrains from coming closer, but the room appears to envelope him, moving on its own.

The steam cloud blanketing the area barely conceals a dark-haired man slouched in a bathtub.

Stanley Uris, head lolling against his shoulder.

Spotting Robert, he sits up as he holds out his wrists, thin slashes appearing and dripping, inking the bath water red and dotting the white porcelain.

"I got to grow up at least." he says.

Robert gives a contemptuous scoff. "You did that to yourself."

"After you came to me." Stan retorts, lowering his arms slowly, staring blankly at Robert, a little half-smile just barely showing. Robert quickly retreats, slamming the door as it dissolves in a puff of thin smoke.

It is growing increasingly uncomfortable. Anxious. It must get out of here, whatever this is.

A dream. A nightmare.

Limbo? Had It been killed while slumbering?

Robert's head darts around as he searches the area, strange clanking sounds and echos vibrate in the distance coupled with a growing forest of giggling children's voices and the baaing of sheep.

'When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I do not know, says the great bell at Bow.'

Mike Hanlon comes forth, holding up a photo album. Opening it, there are various photographs of black birds.

"We're all afraid of something-even you." he says as the birds come to life and begin to flap their wings and squawk, emerging from the album's pages in droves, growing larger in size as they fly at Robert, pecking at him, their beady eyes glowing yellow. He ducks down and swats at them, growling as Mike fades into the dark.

As the birds swoop away, another familiar male voice appears.

"What's up clown man!" Richie Tozier jumps out, bat in hands as Robert, startled, stumbles backwards.

Ugh, of all the Losers, It had hated this one the most. The insulting little shit.

Richie continues to swing the bat, the wood making audible swooshing sounds that cut through the air.

Roaring, Robert grabs at the weapon, only to have his hands pass through it, tumbling forward as Richie cackles.

"Hey, no! Sorry no cigar! You know this place is worse than that crack house." he says, as he pauses to adjust his glasses.

Another final voice, immediately recognizable.

"He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts, he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts."

Bill Denbrough steps forth from the tenebrosity, the boat pinched between his fingers.

"You're not real. None of you are. Old age took you back to the weeds long ago." Robert says glaring at him, his one iris starting to spark as Bill approaches.

Save for Mike. All are gone.

Bill smirks. "We're not real enough for you?" he replies, chuckling as an inhaler rolls out beside his feet. Eddie Kaspbrak reaches down to pluck it up, standing alongside Bill.

Raising it to his lips, he halts. "I actually don't need this anymore." Eddie says as he chucks it casually over his shoulder.

Richie moves to stand by them along with Mike and Beverly, with Georgie close behind, followed by Ben Hanscom, who holds up a piece of a large eggshell, black and shiny. Robert's expression drops at the sight, an angry grimace exposing his razor incisors.

Stanley Uris suddenly joins them, that same barely-smile still there. Almost mocking.

Robert glances around at his former adversaries.

"You should have stayed out of it. All of you, had you just kept to your business, let me have what I wanted, Stan and Eds would have lived longer, happier lives. I would have been nothing more than fragments of a forgotten dream. Amnesia is a kindness."

"We forgot, but you haven't forgotten us," Mike offers. "Have you?"

"We're still here," Bill adds, tapping the tip of the paper boat against his temple. "Can't escape that."

The eight are now bordering around him, with more emerging from behind: Candice Swain, Veronica Dell, the drunk Samuel, Colin and Hank Dobson, Esther, Noah Brady, the Muncy family, Julie, the hateful redhead Heather Taggart, Brandon Wilkes, Emily and her mother and the rest of the newest souls he'd claimed on this planet as well as his victims from Derry; the boys from the tunnel, Derek Stuart and James, Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter decked out in his cartoon cat shirt, features chewed, the other two punks from the Bower's gang whose names he couldn't be bothered to remember, their necks bloodied, ripped open. Betty Ripsom, little Victoria, Adrian Mellon and the faces of endless Derry children and adults, some recognizable, some barely a hint of familiarity, many just a passing blip on his existence like pretty Martha and naive Alison. Many he'd used and killed like Tom Rogan, some that survived his Deadlights like Audra Denbrough.

As well as the unfortunate wife of the true Robert Gray, Agnes and their daughter Emma. Scowling and hateful.

Decades upon decades of victims. Many missing limbs, their eyeballs gouged out, blood bubbling from their mouths.

"Why'd you kill me?"

"You ripped my legs off and left my body in a ditch."

"You ate my baby. My only son."

"My father died from a broken heart after I went missing."

"They only found my head with no eyes."

Whispering, talking, with some laughing menacingly, all tinted in dull green-blue as the numbers begin to grow as more appear behind them.

Then a few clear a path, allowing another achingly familiar figure to step into the bleak light.

Mirasal.

She moves to stand before him, bringing her arms up to scissor them across her chest, she gives him a somber scowl.

Robert lowers himself to his knees, keeping his gaze locked with hers as resentment and hatred glimmer within her cerulean disks.

"What was that you told me? That I could trust you?" she says, giving a repulsed head shake.

No. This is not her. Remember that. None of this is real.

Just a dream. It's not real.

Robert hangs his head in his hands. "I don't want to hurt you." he mutters into his palms, his face shooting up at the sound of her chuckling derisively.

"Like I would believe you, you even thought about killing me," she replies. "Or perhaps give me a little scare."

With that, she leaps forward, her mouth unhinging, the blue eyes switching to ebony as she comes at him with her claws out. Robert winces back, covering his face, ducking his head down, only to feel nothing. He gingerly peeks out from beneath his fingers.

She's vanished. But the others, their irises blacking out to mimic that same appearance, still remain. All begin to draw closer, the Loser's Club at the forefront, their hands growing paler, some stained with blood splatter, grabbing at him as they close in, swaying back and forth, becoming more zombie-like.

"Get away from me," Robert rapidly stands, whirling around, panic gripping him as he growls, his one intact pupil now burning bright. "Get away."

"We all float down here, Robert. Float with us. Float with us. " they all cantillate in unison. "Float with us."

"No, no. Leave me alone." Robert drops back down to the ground, cowering, shielding himself from their increasingly grotesque faces, their features shriveling up and dropping to the ground. Their cackles resounding through his skull, magnified.

"You'll float too! You'll float too! You'll float too!"

"No!" Robert shouts, covering his ears as the area begins to spin, the faces around him now blending together. "No! No! No! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Their laughing abruptly ceases, their fingers no longer grabbing and prodding at him, and all is quiet save for the angelic crooning beginning to rise again;

'Here comes a candle to light you to bed.'

Robert follows the source, coming into view of a tall lithe figure, its slouching back facing him, standing in the center of a circle of light. The air above has red balloons hovering, completely still as Robert approaches, pausing every other step as the being becomes more visible, its ruffled off-white costume beginning to twitch as it turns to face him, bells jingling.

Robert stands facing his favorite form as it gives an empty grin.

What?

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed." Pennywise says as he reaches his elongated gloved fingers to grip the nape of Robert's neck. His eyes are two empty sockets, devoid of any color, his teeth yellowed needles as he brings his ghostly features closer, smooth, almost as if they were set in porcelain. Without warning he slams Robert to the ground, the strings of the balloons suspended above gently blow in response as he straddles him.

"Time to pay the piper, ol' Bob Gray," Pennywise intones as he lowers his teeth, only an inch from Robert's visage of both fear and confusion, the dripping saliva strings cold against his skin. Pennywise traces a bony finger along Robert's nose. "And here comes a chopper to chop off your head! Chip chop chip chop, the last man is dead!" he starts to maniacally cackle.

Squeezing his lids, Robert lets out a roar, fighting to free himself, thrashing beneath his double.

And just like that, the clown and the balloons are gone.

[angel--writes]

Lemon Boy

Henry Bowers Fanfiction

Sitting at the back of class ignoring as the teacher talks about some boring nonsense that I have no interest in as I doodle in my note book. I hear the classroom door open and the teacher stops talking for a second before continuing the lecture. I hear footsteps make their way to the table beside me before the person flops down into the seat beside me. I look over to confirm my suspicions to who it might be. As I look over I see the familiar frown of Henry Bowers, who at this moment has a very prominent black eye, I wonder how he got it. He look grumpy as ever, and slightly sad, probably cause this class is boring without the rest of his gang. He's well known for torturing other students but he doesn't bother me, mainly cause I keep to myself and try to stay off his radar.

As I sit quietly beside the grumpy boy, I see him start to fidget. He starts to rip the skin off his finger. I cringe slightly due to second hand pain.

As I get bored of simple doodles I begin to draw the alien species from the movie Aliens that came out about three years ago. I see Henry shift in his seat slightly out of the corner of my eye. I can feel him looking at me. I look up at him nervously and with caution.

"It's a good movie." He said awkwardly.

I nod my head and go back to drawing. Even as I try to ignore him, I can still feel him staring.

"You like the drawing?" I ask softly, as if not to upset him. Or maybe was it to not scare him off, considering he seems to not be very keen on conversation.

"Mhm." He replies.

"You want a better view?" I question

He just shrugs. I assume he does and that he just doesn't want to say and move my desk over slightly in hopes that it'll give him a better view of my sketch. After I do so he leans in slightly. The closeness is very peaceful. This interaction seems very innocent to me and has me wondering why he's being nice. Is it cause he has nothing else to do? Probably. It doesn't bother me though. I'd take him watching me draw for entertainment over him bullying me any day.

I hear the bell ring and I flinch. I was so in the zone I forgot where I was. I look up and see Henry leave the classroom quickly. I frown slightly. I was really enjoying his company. I brush it off know I could never actually be friends with someone like him.

-- Time skip--

I'm once again sitting at the back of the class in the same position as yesterday. Henry at my side watching me sketch Freddy Krueger.

"You like watching me draw?" I ask, unsure whether or not I'll like the answer he gives me.

"You're good. Plus, I love horror movies." He states

"Me too. Chainsaw Massacre's my favorite." I reply

"That's a good one" he agrees

All of the sudden I hear the teacher's voice become more stern.

"Mr. Bowers, detention for talking in my class and disrupting the leading of a fellow student." The teacher orders

Henry growls angrily and I begin to fear that this will make him aim his wrath towards me.

"No! Sir, with all do respect, I was the one asking him questions. It's not his fault, it's mine!" I plead

He then nods "Well then you both have detention." He then turns his attention away from us and back to the lecture he was giving previously.

I continue to draw with no words exchanged between us as I silently pray that I haven't gotten on his bad side.

--Time Skip--

I get to detention and see Henry through the window of the door. He's  standing there looking like he was waiting for me. No teacher is in sight. I walk into the class and he looks at me. He walks up to me with his fists clenched.

"I'm sorry. Please don't beat me up. I didn't mean to get you in trouble. Please don't hurt me!!" I beg as I move away from him slightly

He looks at me confused.

"I'm not gonna beat you up." He states

I look at him with a puzzled look.

"Why not? I'm the one who got you in trouble." I question

"Don't really care. I probably would have ended up here no matter what. At least I got here cause I was being entertained." He says confidently

I let out a sigh of relief. He just laughed softly and I realize that's the first time I've ever heard him laugh at something that isn't violent or cruel. He has a cute laugh.

"So, where's the teacher?" I asked

"Went to the bathroom." He answered and I made a noise of acknowledgement.

We sat down and started to chat about our common interest of horror movies until the teacher came back to the detention room. We stayed silent until the teacher fell asleep and we began to talk but with hushed voices this time. He seems more comfortable talking then he was yesterday but he's still a little awkward. It's nice to see a different side of him, he's almost being sweet.

The time comes to leave sooner than I expected it to and as I get up to leave I see him standing and staring at me. I smile at him softly before taking my first stride towards the door.

"Wait." I hear from behind me and I turn around to face the blue eyed boy

"Why are you being so nice to me? I just don't get it. Everyone at this school hates me but you don't seem too, why don't you?" He questions

"I don't know. You aren't being mean to me, so I figured I'd be nice. I also don't want to be on your bad side or whatever, don't want to get beat up." I replied

"I see." He says flatly

"So, are we friends?" I ask

"Yeah. Friends" he says gently with a smile before walking out of the classroom, and I can't help but notice how adorable his smile is.

"Friends." I whisper softly with a large smile on my face as I collect my thoughts before leaving the classroom.

[richiefuckfacetozier]

I hate how most people characterize Ben as a pure angel, meanwhile he beat the shit outta Henry and pennywise. Like yes, he’s a gentleman who’s in love, but he’s also kind of a badass.

Examples of Gentleman Ben:

When Eddie calls Richie and Bev nerd’s for smoking, Ben tells Eddie not to call Bev a nerd. 

YOURHAIRISWINTERFIREJANUARYEMBERSMYHEARTBURNSTHERETOO 

While he was literally bleeding from being cut up by Henry, he comforted Eddie who was having an asthma (panic) attack

He helps Bill and Eddie rebuild the Dam that the Bowers gang destroys 

Gives away a couple silver coins to a bartender to give to his kids, the same ones from when he was a kid so they are worth a lot

Examples of Badass Ben:

HE CONSTRUCTS AND INSTRUCTS THE LOSERS ON HOW TO BUILD A DAM AT 11

Henry cuts an H in his stomach and Ben finds a way to kick him in the crotch and run away

Threw a trashcan at Henry when the Bowers gang tried to jump him, Richie, and Beverly

He literally created bullets from silver coins LIKE WHAT

When IT takes the form of a werewolf and is about to Kill Bill, Ben steps in front of it to attack. He gets sliced up.

(My personal favorite) After the phone call with Mike, he drinks a super fucking hard whiskey and pours lemon juice into his nose like a BEAST

Smashes all of IT’s eggs in the sewers 

[eddiekasp]

I haven't read the book and the movie doesn't give too much info on Bowers and his gang so I can't make any hcs :( can you tell us some of yours

I’d love to!! I think I mentioned I’m not really interested in writing about Patrick or Henry so much, but I’d love to talk about Vic! (main HC is he doesn’t die in the Sewers because after he realizes Henry is crazy and warns the Losers to stay away from him, he stops following him around).

(@stanleyuriis ily)

- Because Vic was considered the smartest kid in the Bowers gang, he actually does fine in school. He’s not an honor student, but he definitely doesn’t do badly.

- He secretly enjoys the classes he doesn’t have with the rest of the gang. It’s his chance to sit in the back, be quiet and chill, and actually learn. He somewhat enjoys school even.

-  His favorite class is math and he loves Trigonometry. He’s really good but no one ever asks him for help with studying or anything because no one even knows that he’s good at it.

- He has, by far, the worst smoking habit out of anyone in the gang. He legitimately smokes a pack a day.

- He got his first fake ID at 15 but it was to buy cigarettes, not alcohol.

- In fact, the only alcohol he can really stomach is beer and even then he’s like three and out. Anything else that he drinks, he pukes up.

- Whenever he’s wearing a leather jacket, he looks at himself in every reflective surface and smiles because he feels so bad ass.

- He is a TERRIBLE driver. 

- Belch tries to teach him but after Vic almost crashes the car into a stop sign, he’s never allowed behind the wheel of the Trans Am ever again.

- Definitely insists he’s a good driver though. He only ends up getting his license at the end of his senior year and honestly by then it’s sorta pointless.

- He goes through a lot of phases. Had a deep backwards hat and skateboard phase when he was 13.

- Next year he had a sunglasses phase and wore aviators constantly.

- He starts bleaching his hair at age 15.

- He idolizes Billy Idol SO MUCH and wants to be exactly like him but would die if anyone ever found that out.

- He always does his hair himself and the first time he did it, it looked so fucked up. It was super streaky and coppery and terrible.

- Now he’s super devoted to it. Every few weeks, Sunday is devoted to touch ups. He even has those purple shampoos that make bleached hair look less brassy. 

- He actually has a decent relationship with his family. His mother is a single mother and she feels like as long as he’s doing well in school and acting fine, than he can sorta do whatever makes him happy.

- She’s not at all overbearing but she cares a lot about him. She really hates his friends though.

- He keeps his room pretty neat, hangs up all his stuff and rarely has shit lying around on the floor. He never makes his bed though and his desk is a total mess.

- He always has 40 half full water bottles on his desk at any given time yet he is always dehydrated.

- He’s super skinny but all he really eats is junk food. Hot Cheetos and Doritos are his favorite.

- He loves spicy food in general. Definitely once drank a whole bottle of hot sauce on a dare.

- He also has a major sweet tooth and puts like 4 packets of sugar in his coffee.

- He also always is eating those little peppermints wrapped in cellophane. He never leaves the house without at least 4 in his pocket. 

- He types really slowly but his handwriting isn’t bad so his teachers usually let him hand write most of his stuff. He has super tiny, slanted writing. 

- Cracks his back a lot. Grosses everyone out.

- Normally doesn’t have much acne but freaks out the second he has a zit. One time he squeezed lemon all over his face because he heard Greta Bowie saying she did that when she broke out.

- Also one time he tried to pierce his eyebrow himself and ended up bleeding into his right eye. He told the guys that he had gotten into a fight.

- However he did get pretty good at stick and pokes and gives him to himself and the gang often using a disinfected needle and ink from a broken pen.

- Is a cat person. He has like 3 cats in the house and they all love him.

- He… really doesn’t like Patrick. Sometimes when he’s there he’ll make an excuse to leave.

- He genuinely likes Belch and Peter Gordon. He’s not sure if he likes Henry or not, but he does really want Henry to like him. He wants to feel cool and part of the group more than anything.

- After Henry and Patrick go missing, he still hangs out with Belch and Peter and some of the others. They’re a lot less rowdy now. Bullies who… don’t really bully so much and have learned to keep more to themselves. 

[henry-booers]

New Gang On The Block

Chapter 5: Lemon Boy pt2/Beginning of Family

Summary: Author gets grossly detailed on the relationship between Henry and the new character Birdy. Then goes into a concerning explanation of where Sixteen has been.

Knowing the stress henry is put through everyday Birdy was known to give him space much to his surprise. Though Birdy was known to get very affectionate and pushy with physical touch with their close friends. He was known to hold onto Tina's shirt as a grounding coping mechanism, clinging to her arm but this affectionate move was given to belch after some time getting to know each other. He didn't go near Patrick much but they had very intelligent and intellectual conversations when they were near each other. Henry could tell by Birdy’s body language and the way he spoke so carefully was the same as him with the boys in a calmer and safe place.

Birdy could tell the same with Henry’s body language being known to just hold his arm when he felt uncomfortable, kind of how Birdy held the hem of whatever shirt/jacket/or hoodie they were wearing in the moment of nervousness or being in an uncomfortable place. Sixteen noticed this, everyone noticed this, if he was in an uncomfortable situation his hands flew to the edge of the fabric and rubbed self-comforting circles into it, if not just squeezing it out of panic. Henry and Birdy were in the same boat but with different fish they caught, and everyone could tell.

Birdy was nice, bittersweet in a way. Everything about him put Henry on edge but seems to put everyone else at ease. Belch talked to him easily, Patrick and him never really sat together but would talk to each other when no one was listening to them, and Victor seemed to hang out with him more and more since he showed up. Henry and Birdy’s relationship though went a little beyond and in honesty was nothing they were used to. They didn't know how to relate to others with their problems when Birdy knew everything about Henry but Henry knew nothing about Birdy. They sat in mutual silence, talking was tiring and very troublesome and they both understood that. At the same time, they can't seem to figure out how to open their mouths when they are around each other. The closest thing they had to talk to each other was when Birdy would ask him if he wanted to listen to music with him and they would both just sit, sharing a pair of earbuds and silently but excitedly sharing music.

Both of them knew when the other was upset. If Henry had a deep scowl and a 40-mile stare, Birdy would sit down next to him and do his own thing as a means to help keep Henry grounded to the earth's surface more to the anger coursing through his body. When Birdy was upset, Henry would come and sit down next to him as well but would actually start a one-sided conversation, maybe how his day was going or a joke he heard or a conversation with Patrick that he had a couple days ago that he remembered. Anything to have birdy just focus on him and have them nod in response than actually talk.

Birdy was loud, louder than what he was used to, Patrick and Belch were their own type of loud but Birdy had a next level volume when it came to talking. Birdy knew his ADHD was a problem and that would always be a warning was how he got noticeably loud. He wouldn't even know his voice was raising and usually was shut in on himself if someone pointed it out. Henry had a talk about this with Tina, and she pointed out that he had only started forcing himself to be quiet at most times at the beginning of Senior year. Henry noticed this as well if they weren't in a place that Birdy felt comfortable he wouldn't speak, and when he did his face would go red and he would look sick and pale after he finished a sentence, like he was holding his breath and his nerves just went through the roof. Henry wouldn't point this out and left it alone, and usually would pick up off of the sentence the boy left on and talk for him, like how Tina or Jessica would order food for him at the diner.

The gangs that once apart came together soon enough and Henry's confused infatuation in needing to understand how Birdy ticked kept him distracted long enough to forget about his anger. Usually, his anger from home would follow him to school and he would lash out but the constant stimuli of these very eccentric and bright people would keep him above water. This came hand in hand with little Henry, the smart young boy that would give him private times to just talk and vent. He was a kid and he understood every word like he was trained to give therapy to troubled teens. Another light in his life that was too bright to even see the darkness he was in for most of his life. Though it would return the minute he stepped onto his fathers land and had to take another day with that old man.

Soon he will feel the true emotion of grief, and loss, the one thing he avoids to feel is the feeling of being out of control. Not being able to keep himself in control, at the same time as the others around him being themselves and being individuals he just needed some kind of control in everything. Its a normal human aspect is needing to be in control of something or everything just seems to fall apart.

“So you're telling me you've never gotten drunk before?” Victor snickered, elbowing Birdy as the boy laughed and nodded his head. Today was a slow day, they had gone to the home of Sixteens gang and took nest in one of the unused old barn haylofts. Birdy and Vic took a high plain on top of old dry hay, Patrick was sat in a dark corner listening and nursing a cold beer, Belch the same but he sat next to Tina, silently looking over a book with her, they had an AP class together and had a big test coming up. Henry, on the other hand, sat at the far wall, quiet, and keeping to himself. He hung on every word spoken though, he was interested but irritated for some unknown reason but everyone in the group learned to leave it alone and not ask questions for the sake of his own. “Wheres Jessica by the way? Is she inside?”

“No shes with Sixteen, taking a walk in the sewers, they have been doing that quite a lot lately.” Daniel shrugged into the hayloft and stood against a wall to the side. Henry perked up a bit at this but didn't comment.

“Yeah they come back smelling like rats but I hear that Sixteen has been doing it mainly for Jessica. Jessica apparently has a hideout down there and Sixteen helps maintenance the place.” Victor chimed in and Birdy looked at Henry, who met his eyes, then back to Daniel.

“They come back every time though so we don't really worry about them.” Daniel waves off the conversation and changes the topic, “It's almost That time of year guys!”

“HALLOWEEN!” Birdy squawked, his face lighting up at the mention.

“Hell yeah!” Vic hooted, and Belch gave a hearty laugh in response to the excitement. Henry cracked a smile.

This group of giggle fitted friends ended up being closer than expected. Henry thought on this a lot, and so did Sixteen being the leaders of these two groups they genuinely had a connection that they couldn't yet recognize. They all tolerated each other, helped each other, protected each other. The bowers gang never ever felt the need to make other connections with anyone else until these people came to the scene. Nothing could really happen to them with each other on their backs.

[eddiespaghettio]

here’s your quote! “i get scared and start to think of you. is it true, do you think of me too?”

Eddie has nightmares and thinking of Richie always helps.

TW: homophobic slurs. 

The anniversaries are the hardest.

None of them talk about it, how the nightmares comes back tenfold and with a bloodthirsty vengeance every July. They don’t have to. It’s evident in the dark circles under everyone’s eyes, how they are all exhausted but secretly too afraid to sleep. So they stay out as late as they can, until the streetlights come on, spending more time at the quarry and Mike’s Grandad’s farm than anywhere near the Barrens. Because even though they defeated It, the trauma doesn’t go away, and the nightmares have the facility to twist and warp themselves into terrors that are somehow worse than that of what they saw down in that sewer two years ago. There’s a semblance of reality to these new night terrors that seems to put them all in a chokehold, gasping for breath long into the morning hours; that seems to haunt them regardless of how many times they remind themselves that It’s gone.

They had only spoken about it once, last summer, in the questionable hours between night and dawn, bundled up in sleeping bags in Denbrough’s living room, just days before what would have been Georgie’s eighth birthday.

“I-I still have n-n-nightmares,” Bill said, staring down into his lap at his torn cuticles, where the skin around his fingernails had been picked until it was red and painful. A stillness settled around the room, a collective held breath that asked are we actually talking about this? Even beneath the yellow lights of the table lamps, Bill looked ashen and pale.

“Me too,” Beverly whispered, and a few congruous, sympathetic sounds followed.

“Henry Bowers is always in mine,” Mike said, with a sad, encouraging smile in Bill’s direction, and no one had to ask to remember what had happened between the boy and their infamous bully to know what haunted Mike’s nightmares. “And my parents, of course.”

Bill lifted up his head, “T-these new ones,” he said, staring unseeingly at the group of them, sitting in a halfhearted circle in the middle of the room, “My p-p-parents are t-there.” There’s a forlorn, faraway look in his eyes and Eddie knows that that Bill’s reliving the nightmares over again in his head. “They…they b-blame me. They t-tell me that they w-w-wish that I had…that I’d d-d-died instead,” Bill forced out, voice cracking, eyes shining with unshed tears in the lamp light.

The temporary paralysis that had seemed to befallen them all shattered then, as they all moved at once to swarm around Bill, pulling him into a suffocating group hug, murmuring reassurances in the gaps between them all. They eventually fell asleep, dried remnants of tears on their cheeks, in a grouping best describes as a dogpile, and promptly never spoke of it again. Eddie hadn’t shared that night, too afraid to bring his terrors into the light, secretly ashamed of what not-entirely-out-of-the-realm-of-possibility tinged fears he harboured.

Eddie has nightmares all year round, but they are never quite as frequent or so vivid as they seem to be around the anniversaries. He can handle the typical bad dreams; the ones where he forgets to wear pants to school or the ones where his mom catches him doing or saying “inappropriate” things and bans him from his friends again. Those are easy, a cake walk really, by comparison. They’re nothing like the anniversary dreams.  

Eddie’s imagination has never been all that spectacular, his dreams always hazy and blurry, the details undefined like he’s purposefully unfocused his eyes, everything running together like a drippy watercolor painting. But Eddie’s anniversary dreams are almost lucid. He knows he’s dreaming, that they’re not real, but they feel real, sharp and vibrant like they’re happening in real time, and that’s what makes them terrifying. Not terrifying like child eating shapeshifter clown that feeds off your fear scary, but scary in the sense that it’s all the things he worries about in the back of his mind come true. And that’s where we finds himself again tonight, terrorized by his subconscious on a stickily warm July night.

Eddie’s sitting in their usual semi-circle in the dirt surrounding the quarry, perched on a weather worn boulder. They’re all together; even Beverly is there, having returned the summer before after convincing her aunt to move to Derry from Portland, her red hair bright like lit flames under the afternoon sun. Eddie can smell the earth, the sweet scent of the wildflowers that grow in resilient little tufts out of the rocks, and the tang of the pixi stix powder on Richie’s hands beside him. He can feel the heat of the sun bearing down on them, the almost cool breeze blowing across the water on his skin. He’s been here before — in real life, undoubtedly, but also in both his dreams and nightmares. And this is a nightmare, identical in every way as it was two nights ago and a icy ball of dread forms in the pit of his stomach.

Eddie feels the words bubbling up inside him like the fizz in an over-shook soda bottle and he tries to force it down, to swallow the words once he feels them on the tip of his tongue, but he blurts it out anyways: “I’m gay.” Everyone stills around him, Mike stopping mid-sentence from recounting some interesting tale he learned from one of his books, and they stare at him with large, judging eyes. Eddie desperately tries to jerk himself awake — if he could just move a one finger — because he knows this is going to get ugly really fast.

“I’m not surprised,” says Stan, his face screwed up in a sour expression, like he sucked on a lemon, “I always knew you were a faggot.” The reactions are always the same as the time before, like these nightmare shadows of his friends are reading off a script. But it hurts every time.

“That’s disgusting,” spits Beverly, and she pushes herself up from her seat in the dirt and stalks away, only glancing back to glower at Eddie in utter revulsion. Ben follows her out without a word.

“They still execute gays, y’know,” Mike says as he turns to leave, the expression on his face a mix of hatred and something akin to pity. “Maybe the should.”  

Bill towers over him. “I’m s-s-sorry, Eddie.” Bill always apologizes, but somehow it just makes it all the more painful. “B-but we can’t be f-f-friends with a f-fag. It’s j-j-just wrong.” One by one, his friends stand up and walk away, leaving Eddie to sit alone awash in his own self-hatred.

The last one to leave is always Richie, and he stares at Eddie with a barely constrained fury in his eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses, his mouth twisted in an hideous scowl.

“How could you?” Richie demands, and Eddie flinches at the acid in his voice. “Look at me, Eddie!” Eddie didn’t even realize that he had turned to stare at his shoes. “How could you let me hug you? How could you let me sleep in your bed? When you knew all this time? How could you take advantage of me like that, your best friend? That’s so dirty, Eddie.”

Dirty. Dirty. Dirty.

The words begin to run on a loop, Richie’s voice fading in and out as the sound warps, growing more feminine, veiled with a thin veneer of forced cordiality, the sickly saccharine tone his mother always uses when something’s “for his own good.” Queers are dirty, Eddie-Bear; the words reverberate through his skull. So impure. They all go to Hell, Eddie. But we don’t have to worry about that. You’re my good boy, Eddie, you’re clean.

Eddie jolts awake, flying upright in his bed, the blankets pooling in his lap. He dry heaves over the side of his bed, the phantom of his mother’s words still ringing in his head. His face is red, cheeks wet with tears he didn’t realize he was crying. Eddie wheezes, struggling to breathe, and he scrambles to grab his inhaler off the nightstand. He knows it’s all fake, that he’s not actually asthmatic, but it always helps loosen the fist of anxiety and panic clutching his lungs. He stuffs the inhaler in his mouth, breathing in the acidic taste of the salbutamol like it’s his last lifeline.

Eddie cradles his inhaler in his hands in the fetal position, the angry and disgusted faces of his friends flashing in his mind. It’s not real, Eddie reminds himself. It’s not real. His friends wouldn’t treat him like that. They’ve been friends for so long, been through so much. Eddie racks his mind for any memories of his friends responding with that must hostility. They were probably that mean to Bower’s gang, maybe that fucking clown, but they deserved it ten fold. Eddie doesn’t deserve that sort of treatment, right?

He recalls a moment back in the spring when he and Ben came across crude signs pasted on the side of the Pharmacy, HOMO SEX IS IMMORAL, and GOD HATES FAGS, handwritten on white paper in red marker. Ben had stopped in front of the signs and frowned deeply, the corners of his mouth turning down so far it was almost comical.

“I don’t understand,” Ben had said, turning to look at Eddie who had froze beside him. Eddie tried to school his face into an expressionless mask. He probably just looked constipated.

“What do mean?” Eddie asked, and closed his eyes, almost afraid to hear what Ben said next. The words burned on the inside of his eyelids like they were a brand.

“Why does it matter? Why do people care so much?” Ben said, genuine confusion in his voice. “Why do people care if others are gay?”

Eddie exhaled in a puff, “I-I don’t know, Ben.”

Ben, the ever hopeless romantic, smiled a small smile and said, “One can’t help who they love.”

Thinking about that moment gave Eddie a small semblance of hope, flickering in his chest like a firefly, but it’s short lived;  the nagging voice in the back of his head interjected. Ben’s always been more of a follower. If everyone else walked, especially Beverly, then Ben would, too. Eddie curls in on himself a bit tighter, as if he could protect himself from his own mind if he makes himself as small as possible.

Unbidden, a voice is back, louder this time, but it’s not the voice of his friends. It’s crazed and angry, all over the place in pitch. The voice of that goddamn clown that Eddie can never seem to fully forget even though they defeated It and it’s been two years since. It bounces around in his head like an echo in a cavern. I’m every nightmare you ever had! I am your worst dream come true! I’m everything you were ever afraid of! Eddie laughs, a painful, broken sound, in the darkness of his bedroom. They may have beat Pennywise but Eddie’s still afraid. They beat It but he’s still scared. Eddie wishes he could fearless now.

Another memory pushes itself to the forefront, wielding a baseball bat. It’s Richie, from that day. In his imagination, Eddie envisions Richie beating the other thoughts away, the other memories. Eddie would never admit it, but thinking of Richie always helps — with his bad jokes and even worse impressions. Richie with his fierce loyalty, who is always there when it really matters, and even there when it really doesn’t. Eddie wants to believe that Richie wouldn’t hate him for being…that. Wants to believe that none of them would, but Richie most of all. And Eddie knows why, but he can’t even bear to voice the thought even in his own head.

“But soft what light through yonder window breaks wind.” It takes Eddie a solid ten seconds to realize that Richie’s voice wasn’t coming from inside his head. When he opens his eyes, he finds Richie crouched precariously outside his bedroom window, one outstretched arm hanging onto the roof shingles above. Richie shoves the window open from the outside and tumbles into Eddie’s bedroom.

“Richie?” Eddie asks dumbly, as though he isn’t staring at him from across the room. “What are you doing here?”

“Your window was open, Juliet,” Richie replies, pulling off his dirty sneaks and dumping them on the floor beneath the window sill. “Were you expecting me?”

“No, I was expecting the other weird teenage boy that crawls through my window,” Eddie says, and he can hear the rasp in his voice from crying. He hopes that Richie doesn’t notice.

“Hey.” Eddie can tell by the softness in Richie’s voice that he definitely did notice. Richie crosses from the window to Eddie’s bed in three long strides and then plops himself down at the foot of the bed, narrowly missing sitting on Eddie’s feet. The room is bathed in the yellow light of Eddie’s table lamp as Richie tugs on the chain. Eddie feels exposed under Richie’s searching gaze. “You’ve been crying.”

Eddie futilely scrubs his hands against his cheeks and eyes to try and rid his face of any evidence.

“Nightmare?” Richie asks, his eyes huge and warm, and impossibly soft behind his glasses.

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles. He scoots over and Richie moves to fill the space beside him in Eddie’s tiny twin sized bed. Richie’s grown long and gangly in his few teen years, folding up beside Eddie like his limbs are too long and he doesn’t really know what to do with them.

“I have them, too,” Richie states in a surprisingly soothing tone and reaches over to straighten the collar of Eddie’s pajama top.

Eddie wonders briefly what terrorizes Richie in his nightmares. If he still is scared of werewolves like he was when they were kids, or if he’s still afraid of clowns like he was then. Somehow, maybe intuitively, Eddie feels that Richie’s probably scared of something worse, something more visceral, more nuanced. Like Bill’s nightmares of his parents wishing he had died instead. Like Eddie losing all the people he loves the most just by being true to himself.

Richie gives Eddie a small, reassuring smile that looks entirely out of place of his face.

“You do?” Eddie asks, and looks down at his inhaler still tightly gripped in his hands.

“Definitely,” Richie says, “Your mom and I break up and I can never see my Eddie Spaghetti again.”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie’s mouth before he can stop it. It’s not even funny, really, but it breaks the stiffness in the room. “I’d miss you, but I’d miss your mom’s swee-”

“Gross!” Richie just flashes Eddie a wide, crooked smile.

The lay in silence for an immeasurable amount of time ― five minutes, thirty, and hour? Eddie can’t tell ― pressed side-by-side, Richie’s bony elbow digging into Eddie’s spleen. Until Eddie can’t ignore the pressing need to just say something, the nightmare still dancing at the edges of his mind, snippets of dialogue flitting around.

“They just keep getting worse, you know?” Eddie says and it feels way too loud for the silence of the room. “The dreams, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Richie agrees. “Sometimes your mom doesn’t even give me a kiss to remember her by.” Eddie knows that Richie’s just using bad humor to evade, but he doesn’t say anything. Richie surprises him then, as though he has some sort of sixth sense and somehow knows. “We’d never leave you, y’know.”

Eddie turns and stares at Richie with wide eyes. How does he know?

“We love you, no matter what, Eds,” Richie keeps looking up at the ceiling. “I mean, unless you go all Zodiac Killer on us or somethin’.”

Richie turns and meets Eddie’s eye then, sees the questioning, half-scared look on his face.

“You talk in your sleep,” Richie explains.

“What…what do I say?”

“Uh…once you said, ‘guys, please don’t go,’ and ‘I thought we were a family.’” They’re both back to looking at the ceiling at this point. “You cried out for Bill once, during a sleepover.” Eddie remembers that night. Same nightmare, but he put up a fight then, trying to keep them all from abandoning him. Bill had awoken that night and sat up through the night with Eddie until just before daybreak. They hadn’t spoken of the dream, just sat in Bill’s living room and watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle reruns with the closed captioning on so as to not wake anyone else.

Eddie shakily exhales. Richie didn’t know. Eddie doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.

Would you still talk to me like that if you knew?

“I…I get scared and start to think of you.” Eddie blurts out, and wants to take it back as soon as he says it, embarrassment flooding his cheeks. He wishes the lamp wasn’t on so he could hide in the dark, but if he turned it off now it would be too obvious. Richie doesn’t respond for just long enough of a time for it to feel uncomfortable and Eddie debates taking it back, make a half-assed joke out of it, ‘cause your face is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.

He opens his mouth to speak but Richie beats him to it.

“Is it true,” Richie says slowly, in this gentle, almost imploring tone that Eddie’s never heard him use before. “Do you think of me, too?”

Eddie feels like his throat is closing up, his face burning. His fingers twitch on his inhaler but he doesn’t dare lift it to his mouth. His head swims. “Yeah,” Eddie whispers. I think of you all the time, Eddie’s heart yells at him. I think of your stupid jokes and they make me feel better. Eddie refuses to say that aloud. Richie would never let it go. I always feel better with you here. What he actually says, however, is: “You…think of me?”

“Yeah.” Richie says breathily, like he’s in awe of this new information — Eddie knows the feeling — but then quickly recovers. They fall back into familiar territory like it’s a refuge. They won’t speak of any of this in the morning. “I think of this cute Spaghetti face and, poof, all better!” Eddie smacks Richie’s hands away as he tries to pinch at his pinkened cheeks. “Cute, cute, cute!”   

“Spaghetti face? Are you serious?” Richie just laughs and moves to ruffle Eddie’s hair. Eddie shoves him back as far as he can go until Richie’s back hits the wall beside the bed.

“Hey, Eds?”

“What? I hate when you call me that,” Eddie says instinctively.

“C’mere?” Richie’s turned on his side facing Eddie still, his arms spread open wide in invitation, looking hopeful. Eddie hesitates.

How could you let me hug you?

How could you let me sleep in your bed?

That little reassuring smile is back.

“I won’t bite,” Richie says, and makes grabby hands at Eddie, followed by a wink that’s a few beats too long. “Not unless you want me to.”

We’d never leave you, y’know.

We love you, no matter what, Eds.

Do you think of me, too?

Eddie takes a deep breath and decides to be selfish. He scoots across the small space between them and lets Richie wrap his gangly noodle arms around him, ignoring the fact that Richie’s still wearing the same outfit he wore the entire day before, and the way that he smells like old sweat and cigarette smoke.

If — when he tells them, he decides,  he’ll let it happen. He’ll face the music. Eddie’s faced worse things, right? But for now he’s going to pretend that none of it’s possible; that Richie’s right and they’ll all still love him regardless. For now, he’s going to let Richie hold him.

When Eddie falls back to sleep, it’s dreamless.

[gingywritesimagines]

For the headcanon thing can you please do 10 for my child Beverly Marsh from It??

A sweet girl, a beautiful child, let me love and support her

1) Beverly gets her hair colour from her mother. She was proud to share something so noticeable with someone so important to her, but then Mrs. Marsh died and the pride slipped away

2) After she helps the Losers defeat It, she lives with her aunt outside of Derry (since her father got what he fucking deserved). The second she crosses the city limits she feels infinitely more calm and more at peace, like a giant menacing weight that she’d never noticed before had been lifted from her shoulders.

3) She still keeps in touch with every single one of the Losers while living outside of Derry. She writes down every joke Richie tells her, and rants to Mike about how the local butcher has nothing on his family. She re-reads Ben’s poem every single day, and she makes paper boats for Bill in Georgie’s memory. She thinks of Stan every time she passes the local synagogue, and she even organizes her aunt’s medicine cabinet using Eddie’s system. As time goes on and life gets crazy, memories of them start to fade, but Bev always manages to keep her boys at the back of her mind

4) She never understood why she was the subject of Henry Bowers’ rumors. She barely knew his name before they started, and she was pretty certain he didn’t know who she was. But once the rumors started, she couldn’t stop them. 

5) While she wasn’t as close with Eddie as she was with some of the others, Bev never liked Eddie’s mom. Mrs. Kaspbrack was an awful, ridiculous woman in Bev’s opinion and she felt bad that Eddie had spent his whole life in fear of everything because of a “sickness” he never actually had. Mrs. Kaspbrack just reminds her of her father a bit too much for her liking

6) The Losers go for ice cream all the time during the time between defeating It and Bev leaving. Her favourite is strawberry but she likes to steal a couple bites of rocky road from Ben or some lemon sorbet from Mike

7) Modern!Bev listens to a lot of girl groups. The Spice Girls, Little Mix, Fifth Harmony, TLC, Lady Gaga, she listens to them all. She listens to Kesha a lot, because she feels she can relate to what Kesha went through, and Praying hits real close to home for her. She also listens to New Kids on The Block but only when she’s been thinking about Ben a lot.

8) Her and Richie are smoking buddies fight me on this. They get high together and complain about Gretta/The Bowers Gang/their parents and rant about how cute their crushes (Ben and Eddie respectively) look today

9) This poor girl had to grow up way too fast so the second she can, she takes a moment to be a kid again. She jumps into big puddles she comes across and then walks away like nothing happened. She’ll leave a milk mustache on her face for as long as she can get away with.

10) After Pennywise is finally destroyed once and for all, Bev and Ben get married and have a child. Their son is named Michael Edward Stanley Hanscom. Richie and Bill are the godfathers.

I tried to put headcanons that you and I haven’t talked about before. I hope you like them honey!!

[juniperhillpatient]

Summary: Reddie sleepover with a side of spookiness and angst. Trigger warning for implied child neglect, pedophilia mention, and cursing - much milder than anything in the movie or book. Part two to THIS fic but it could also be a one-shot

*********************************

"And this is my favorite part! Look at all that blood!" Richie waved the comic in front of Eddie's face, pointing excitedly at the picture of the zombie on the page of the Tales From the Crypt comic. The zombie was oozing from every surface. Guts spilled from between exposed bones in the zombie's ribcage in pink and red globs, and Richie loved the disgustingness of it. "Isn't that just great!" Richie himself thought it was fantastic, but Eddie looked like his mind was somewhere else. 

Richie plopped down on the bed beside his friend, tossing the comic aside. He cleared his throat and spoke in his best old lady voice, mimicking the way the old lady who sometimes yelled at him for riding his bike over her grass sounded. "Alright, talk to Granny, Eddie Spaghetti, what's going on? Why are you being so quiet? Afraid the big bad zombie is going to climb right off this page and eat you up?" Richie grinned at Eddie, proud of his perfect impression, but his grin faded. It was no fun if Eddie didn't laugh like he usually did. "What's wrong Eds?" he asked in his normal voice. 

Eddie sighed, looking away, out the window. "Sorry, he said. It's a great comic, that zombie really is fantastic." Eddie paused, again staring out the window. It was dark outside, so there was nothing to see except the stars and the abandoned sidewalk across the street. Richie suddenly realized why the zombie disturbed Eddie so much. 

The leper. Eddie must still be thinking about that stupid leper. Richie felt a swell of anger. If he could, he would knock that stupid old hobo across his disgusting, rotten head.

"Look Eds." 

"Don't call me Eds, you know how I hate it." 

"Whatever Eddie Spaghetti." Eddie rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet this time, waiting for Richie to continue. "The leper isn't going to get you." 

"How do you know?" 

"I just know my good boy," Richie was now speaking in a British guy voice. He didn't really know how a British guy applied to the situation, but it sure was nice to be somebody else when he had no clue what to say. "I abso-positive-o-lutely guarantee it! I'll swear on it. That leper is gone. He's out of town picking lemons and limes down in Florida or someplace, and blowing some other, much better-looking kid! He's surely forgotten all about the skinny little boy with asthma that wouldn't even give him a dime for a blowjob!" 

To Richie's relief, he got a small grin out of Eddie. He grinned back, proud of himself. Boy, that was one thing he could do! He wasn't much of a leader like Bill, but he could usually get a smile out of his friends even when they were feeling down, even when they were scared, even when they were scared out of their minds as Eddie seemed to be of that leper. 

The lamp across from them gave the room a warm glow. Richie had hurriedly tossed a bunch of clothes and stuff into the closet when they got upstairs and stacked his school stuff in a pile that he liked to pretend looked sort of neat. He yawned. He wasn't sure what time it was, but it had to be late, well past midnight. Eddie yawned as well, and lay back, plopping his head on the pillow. 

Richie got up to put the comic away before turning back towards the bed. He tried to hide his alarm when he saw that the pillow around Eddie's messy brown hair was stained red. Clearly, he did not do a good job of hiding his alarm, because Eddie sat up fast, looking scared. 

"What's wrong-" Eddie started to ask before looking down and seeing the blood stain. "Shit, I'm sorry!" he said. "I didn't realize I was still bleeding! You really made me bump my head bad earlier you dick!" Despite his words, there was no anger in Eddie's voice. 

"No, you're not," Richie said, coming over to assess the damage. There was only a little blood on the pillow. "It's just from your hair. If you were still bleeding it would be worse. Okay uh, let me think." He thought fast. "Here," he fumbled in one of his drawers and pulled out an already blood-stained T-shirt, handing it to Eddie. "Just put this under your head." 

Eddie held the shirt gingerly between his index finger and thumb, eyeing it with some suspision. 

"Cripes Eddie, you don't think I have leprosy do you?" Richie said with some indignation. "It's clean I just couldn't get the stains out." 

"What the hell happened?" Eddie asked, still eyeing the shirt like it might bite him. 

"What the hell do you think?" Richie muttered. "Henry Bowers and his goons. One day after school. It's nothing. It was a while ago. Just use the shirt to make sure you don't get any more blood on my pillow, would you?" 

"Yeah," Eddie said, putting the shirt on the pillow. Richie headed for the door. 

"Where are you going?" Eddie asked sleepily. 

"To get a sleeping bag from the basement since you decided to hog my bed, you little shit," Richie said and left the room. 

The hall was very empty, and there seemed to be a lot of shadows that he couldn't place the sources of. Don't be a baby, he told himself. They're just shadows, Richie, not clowns or mummies or lepers. Because you didn't see any of that. Now, why's that, do you suppose? Hm? Why did everyone in the gang but you see something? 

Richie tiptoed down the hall, not wanting to wake his parents. He didn't think they would say much, but suppose they went in to check on Eddie and noticed the blood? He couldn't have them calling up Mrs. Kaspbrak. He doubted it would happen, but it was a risk he was not willing to take. 

He made his way down the stairs, and to his horror, he sensed something prowling behind him as he walked. 

A monster. It's a monster! It's a monster and it's coming for me! Oh god, it's going to kill me! Richie thought, hopelessly. 

He could smell It. It smelled like a dog's breath, but worse, with hints of blood. He couldn't make himself look back, he just couldn't do it. He heard a creak on the steps, and before he could think it over or look back, he was hurtling down at full speed, all thoughts of waking his parents gone. 

He rushed through the big empty living room and pressed himself against a wall. He looked around, and there was nothing. It was just his imagination. 

That's what he called being a baby! What a scaredy cat! Look at Richie Tozier, afraid of an odd smell and a creaking step! Monsters aren't real, Richie, said a voice in his head that wasn't quite his own but certainly wasn't one of his fun impressions, monsters aren't real and even if they were they wouldn't pay any attention to a waste like you! 

He shook off the unwelcome thoughts and made his way down the hall to the basement door. He opened it up and looked down the steps. Each step had a space between and Richie was faced with the horrible idea that someone (something) was down there and if he took a step down the stairs, it would grab his ankle and yank him down. His heart was racing in his chest. 

He took a deep breath and began walking down the steps. He froze when he saw what was at the bottom. It was his father, but it wasn't really his father. Richie could tell that something was very wrong. 

"Dad?" he asked, hesitantly. 

It was his dad's face, but the eyes were wrong. His dad had brown eyes, like him, and these eyes were bright, piercing blue. Also, his skin was too pale, and it looked almost crusty. The most off-putting part was that his dad was wearing something Mr. Tozier would never in a million years have worn. It was a silver clown suit with orange buttons. 

"Hi-ya Richie!" Richie gulped. That sure wasn't his dad's voice. It was a high and wavering, spooky voice that sent shivers down his spine. It was a clown's voice. Richie got the idea the voice was supposed to be silly, but he sure as hell wasn't laughing. It was a horrible voice, a voice Richie wished he had never heard and hoped to never hear again. 

"What are you?" he asked, staring down the stairs at the thing in the shadows that was not his dad. 

He wanted to bolt, but it was as if his legs had turned to cement. He couldn't seem to move, let alone run. He could feel cold strands of sweat running down his forehead. 

"What do you mean? You know me, Richie! Geez! You've known me your whole life. What's gotten into you, son?" This time it was his dad's voice, and Richie wished immediately that it would go back to the clown voice. 

"Come on down! Don't you want to play? I've got balloons, Richie! I've got lots of balloons!" The dad-thing began to pull balloons out from behind him. there was an illogical amount of balloons back there, way more than could have possibly fit behind one man. 

There were red balloons, and pink balloons, and green, and yellow, and purple. First, the dad-thing was holding handfuls of strings, and they were drifting towards Richie. Then, there were so many balloons Richie couldn't even see the dad-thing. The basement was filling up with balloons, and they were starting to drift up the steps towards Richie. 

"Come on Richie! You know you want one! They float! Isn't that neat? If you come down here, you'll float too!"

For a horrible moment, Richie wanted to reach for a balloon. For reasons he couldn't explain, he wanted to grab a balloon and run down there, and see if it were true that he would float. He wanted to float through the air like a balloon and - 

"And nothing," he muttered out loud, and finally got his shit together and bolted. 

He ran through the living room and up the stairs and back to his room without pausing. 

He wanted to float!? What was that bullshit? Hell no. He must have been taken over by temporary insanity. 

Richie didn't stop until he was back inside his bedroom with the door shut and locked behind him, panting heavily, his heart pounding with the intensity of a thousand drum players having a rehearsal in his chest. 

"What's wrong?" asked Eddie, now wide awake and sitting up in bed. 

"I saw It," Richie said and burst into tears. 

He ran over to the bed and buried his face in the pillow, sobbing. He realized in the midst of his sobs that he had never cried in front of the other guys except when he got beat up by Henry Bowers, and those were a different kind of tears. Maybe. Maybe they weren't. After all, those too were tears of defeat and fear and shame. Richie couldn't stop. He kept thinking about his idiotic ass had almost reached for one of those balloons like a dummy victim in a horror flick. 

"Hey," Eddie was rubbing his back. "It's okay. Just take a deep breath or it'll be you having an asthma attack!" Eddie forced a shrill laugh. 

"It's a good thing you're not the funny one," Richie muttered, sitting up and leaning against the wall. "You suck at it." He gave Eddie a forced grin, which Eddie didn't return. 

"Just tell me what happened," Eddie said. 

And Richie told him. He started crying again in the retelling of the story, describing how first he had imagined a monster chasing him down the steps. He stumbled when he got to the part about the monster being his dad, and Eddie's face darkened. 

When Richie was finished, Eddie just hugged him, and he leaned his head on his friend's shoulder for a moment. When Eddie let go he felt a sense of loss. He had felt like the monster was in another world when Eddie was hugging him like it surely couldn't get him if he was in Eddie's arms. 

"Anyway," he said, trying to hide his thoughts from his friend. "I couldn't get a sleeping bag, uh, obviously." 

"I mean it's your bed," Eddie said. "And if it weren't for you I'd be spending the night in the emergency room because of a stupid bump on my head." 

"We can share the bed," Richie said. "No homo, of course." 

Eddie rolled his eyes, and lay down, resting his head on the blood-stained shirt Richie had given him. Richie got up and turned out the light. There was a pause. Richie could just feel Eddie's nervous energy going crazy, or maybe it was his own nerves, he couldn't tell. Either way, he turned the light back on before climbing into bed and pulling the blanket over both of them. 

"Hey Richie," Eddie said after a bit. 

"Yeah?" 

"Why did you think the monster showed itself to you as your dad?" 

"I don't know," Richie rolled over to look at him. "Maybe it was my dad. Maybe he was just getting off a good one." Eddie gave him a look. "Okay that doesn't seem too likely does it?" 

"Are you scared of your dad?" 

"What?" 

"I mean It showed up to Ben as a mummy, he must be scared of the mummy, and it showed up to Bill as his little brother's ghost, that's obviously pretty scary. We both know why it showed up as a leper for me. So why did the monster show up as your dad?" 

"Well jee Doctor Kaspbrak," Richie said, in a timid voice, a shaking voice, which he meant to be a mental patient. As soon as he started doing this voice, he found that he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. It sounded much too much like himself. It was too late to stop though. "I don't know. Aren't you going to ask me how it made me feel?" 

"Fine," Eddie said, annoyed, rolling over. "I won't ask." 

"Oh come on," Richie muttered in his regular voice, glad to be rid of the mental patient voice and vowing not to use that one again. "Look Eds, I've really got no idea why it showed up that way." 

But he did know, didn't he? 

Dad, look at this, I scored a hundred percent on this math test! Look it! Look! My team won the soccer tournament in gym class! Dad! Hey! Pay attention, would you? 

Richie squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to think anymore tonight. He hoped Eddie was serious when he said he wouldn't ask anymore because he didn't want to talk anymore, for once. Yeah for once Richie Tozier was about ready to stop talking and just be quiet, just shut the fuck up as everyone was always telling him to do. 

"Eddie?" But boy oh boy it didn't matter how much he wanted to shut the fuck up because he couldn't do it, that was one thing he sure couldn't do. 

"Yeah?" 

"Since we're playing shrink, what did you mean when you said we both knew why the leper appeared to you?" 

"Huh?" 

"You said," he imitated Eddie's high voice as best he could "We both know why It showed up as a leper for me." 

"Did I?" Eddie mumbled, sleepy. Then, after a moment, "Don't imitate me, Richie. Goodnight." 

"Hey," Richie shook Eddie's shoulder. "Talk to me or I'll start tickling," Eddie grumbled but turned around to face him. 

"You already know I hate germs. The leper was like a walking infection." 

"It's a little more than that, though, huh?" Richie asked. "Isn't it?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"I don't know," Richie said. This was half true. "Duh you're afraid of disease, but I mean, what else scares you?" They were very close. 

Richie was not at all expecting what happened next. 

Eddie leaned in and kissed him, and in that moment he felt like there really were no such things as monsters as if he were the most important person in the whole world, and as if he and Eddie were only two people on the planet. It was the best feeling he'd ever had. 

Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed, and Richie stared back, his face growing hot. 

For once in his life, Richie Tozier was absolutely speechless. 

Weeks later though, Richie would say to Eddie that during their first kiss he had realized that maybe it didn't matter what scared them or why as long as they knew what made the fears go away. 

**************************************

A/N: I’m not gonna lie I’m thirsty for validation + I want to make sure anyone who was interested in reading part 2 knows there is one so I’m gonna tag people I remember being interested in part 1. 

If you didn’t wanna be tagged I’m sorry don’t feel any pressure to read and if you want, just ask not to be tagged in the future and you won’t be

aNyWaY

@skeletontozier  @mechanicalhabits @hair-fiber @punkpisces00 @evalocity

Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read my writing, hopefully, it turned out alright <3 I am not far enough in my re-read to be sure if I’m getting everything right, sorry if this isn’t exactly canon compliant 

[saintbalor-blog]

what sort of scents do you think the guys in the bowers gang would be attracted to? also, ya girl smells like lemon body wash and rose perfume so, feel free to lemme know which one of my psycho babies would be livING FOR THAT ily

have u smelled that bombshell perfume that VS has !! bc !! i def see that as being one and maybe something extremely feminine because they’re still teen boys going through those hormonal phases !! and i can see that scent attracting our Bowers boy !!

[infantiicide]

A  VERY  DESCRIPTIVE  PROFILE  OF  YOUR  MUSE .     repost with the information of your muse ,   including headcanons ,   etc .

NAME :   Patrick Dean Hockstetter AGE :    17 SPECIES :    Human .   GENDER :   Male .   ORIENTATION :   N/A INTERESTS :  Fire, Bones, Music. PROFESSION :     Student   BODY  TYPE : Slender. EYES :  Blue-Green HAIR :    Shoulder length brunette.      SKIN :   Pale. FACE :    Oval HEIGHT :     6′2″ COMPANIONS :  The Bowers Gang ANTAGONISTS :  The Losers club, Pennywise. COLORS :    Black, Purple, Red. FRUITS :      Lemons, grapes, cantalope. DRINKS :      Sodapop, Beer, Water. ALCOHOLIC  BEVERAGES ?   Nearly anything he can get a hold of but likes whiskey a lot. SMOKES ?   Yes.  DRUGS ?      Yes.

DRIVERS  LICENSE ?    Yes.

TAGGED  BY:  stolen from @dcadflies

TAGGING :    Anyone~

[henry-booers]

New Gang On the Block

Chapter 4: Lemon Boy

Summary: There is a new kid in town and Henry is tired of this “making friends with new people” shit.

A couple days pass, Henry met up with little Henry and again it went better than he thought it would. Making friends was hard for him and talking to the little boy was almost therapeutic. There did seem to be some change in the group and the house he had visited at least two times already. The two gangs were becoming more woven together and more supportive of one another. The whole thing was keeping Henry out of trouble much to Belch’s relief.

“So how was the kid?” Vic asked. Henry climbed into the car and shrugged.

“Normal nerdy ass self, kid doesn't really have a change in demeanor,” Henry mumbled, staring out of the window, watching the trees pass them as Belch took the roundabout to leave the land.

“Why so grumpy, hank?” Belch asked, keeping his eyes on the road, but lifting his gaze to Henry every few moments.

“Something's going on in the house and I don't know what it is entirely, but everything seems a lot more chaotic and everyone seems excited. Have you seen anything weird in Tinas behavior recently?” Henry asked, looking over to Vic.

“Yeah I guess, she seems a little buzzy.” Vic replied, “Not the bad kind though, you know she has bad anxiety but she seems to be the excited type of buzzy.”

“Same with Daniel, and he's expressed that something good is happening and that its a surprise,” Belch added in.

Henry nodded and thought about it. The house seemed happy and bright, more than usual. Most of them were always having a good time while the teenagers stayed in their rooms or in the kitchen, maybe doing chores, and the younger kids ran around and kept themselves busy with the TV or the arcade room in the basement. Not a lot of upsetting things happen there except the ghosts of their past.

The house not though seemed to buzz with more energy, the teens were out more, he was seeing Sixteen out of their room more frequently and Tina was always running around upstairs doing something. When he brought it up to Henry he even told him it was a surprise for everyone.

Henry shrugged to himself.

“We need to give mini-me a nickname so I don't have to always call him by my name,” Henry spoke, changing the subject.

“Well, Sixteen says they started calling him Chicken,” Patrick mumbled.

Henry raised a brow, “Chicken?”

“Yeah they explained it as how he's a Henry but he's kind of all over the place like a brooding Hen and Hens are chickens so they nicknamed him Chicken.”

“Cute.” Belch piped up.

Later that week the gangs met up at lunch after the normal routine of the day. The dull stance on everything was starting to get to the Bowers boy’s heads, but for the Six’s they were all upbeat and ready to roll for everything.

“Today's the day!” Daniel announced, Jessica, elbowing him in the side.

“Day for what?” Vic asked.

“None of your business, for now.” Sixteen shrugged, Tina smiled, and Daniel shrugged nervously.

Henry narrowed his gaze but let it go.

“Anyway, hows Chicken?” He asked, sitting down at one of the tables, the kids sitting ways from him moving their spot immediately. Everyone followed him and sat down as well.

“Good, Nana is taking him out of town tomorrow, or everyone who has therapy and checkups this week is going every now and then but other than that we have a special thing going on today that you all probably won't understand, and I don't entirely understand either but they should be arriving at school anytime now.” Sixteen motioned to the office near the lunchroom doors.

Henry stared at them, then looked to Patrick who was having no interest in Jessica's one-sided conversation. Patrick shrugged at him only to be forcefully brought back to Jessica's fantasy world.

“New kid?”

“Not just any new kid!” Tina shouted in excitement, the loudest she had ever been since they moved here. Henry jumping slightly at the sudden outburst.

“Our old friend is moving in with us! He finally got out of his shit home and came down here to be happier and get the help he needs!” Daniel butt in, It was obvious these were the only two with history with this person.

“Whos he?” Belch asked, suddenly interested.

Daniel was about to reply until he looked up and his smile grew wider, his glasses lifting with his cheeks. Seeing this Tina lifted her head quickly and smiled wide as well. Both jumping up and running to the cafeteria doors.

The rest turned to see what had gotten them so riled up and saw a very confused and nervous boy, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings and taking everything in. His clothes were very dark and goth, big combat boots with a jacket, along with a hat hiding the rest of his dark curls from the group that popped out messily in the front.

“Seems fruity,” Henry mumbled, watching the three scream in unison when seeing each other. Everyone staring in their direction now. Daniel being the strong guy he is picked up the new kid and spun him around. Tina hugged him tightly and the hug lasted longer than a normal one she would give to others. These three were very close friends.

“If you are saying that because of how feminine he is, its because he's trans. Names Germ or that's what they call him, or he goes by Birdy, that's what Tina calls him.” Sixteen shrugged, standing and starting for the group, “He's apart of the family now, he came here to be who he truly is and go through the changes he wants, I suggest you meet him I've heard nothing but good things about him.”

Sixteen walked off, Jessica following close behind with a pep in her step. Henry stared at the interaction of hellos, and introductions. Sixteen glanced over at him a couple times before ignoring him to make his own mind up. This whole friend making thing was starting to become a regular and uncomfortable thing but really he didn't want to avoid it.

Belch left first, following close behind was Vic. Patrick went as well but stayed well away from Jessica who kept stealing looks at him over everyone's shoulders. With a huff Henry finally stood up and made his way to the group, Birdy looked at him, his smile falling then quickly returning. He held out a hand.

Henry looked the new kid up and down before he returned the gesture and shook hands with the stranger.

“Henry.”

“Birdy, or Germ, either one works I don't really mind.”

Henry took his hand back quickly, watching Birdy lean over and say something to Tina.

“Didn't tell me there would attractive people here.”

He smiled and looked to all the new people, he knew this was overwhelming for Henry as well as him but in the entirety of itself, it was a very good thing, a very good brand new start to who he is.