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roadkill-writes · 8 months

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Bowers gang (Remember when) Part 4

This is part 4 of the continuation of the bowers gang series I started a long long while ago.

Pairings: bowers gang X fem!reader

Word count: Five pages , 1.7k words

Warnings: swearing, Harsh language, reader being naked and trapped in a bathroom

Hand still clutching the door handle of the bathroom as you heart pounded in your chest. The sound of their laughter still echoing around the room and your brain. You couldn’t help but ponder on how you got yourself into this mess of standing naked and afraid while four boys stood in your homes hallway laughing about you and this situation. Oh yes right, thank you Mrs.Peterson. You thought sarcastically that she was in fact the entire reason you were stuck stranded in your own bathroom.

You could just about hear the smirk plastered on Patrick’s face as he spoke from behind the door, “Come on princess we only wanna peak.” He pounded his fist against the door in a slow menacing way as if he knew were trying to strick free into your chest. Which he was successful at.

Your heart began to hammer away in your chest as if you were a lamb being led to slaughter. The little pig standing inside while the wolf huffs and puffs the house down. The helpless little fawn looking for it’s mother after it’s been shot but a hunter. The helpless little girl standing naked in her bathroom while the monsters stand on the other side laughing maniacally.

“I’m being serious this time go away!” Shouting at them like one would at a wild raccoon eating out of the garbage trying to ward it off. “This isn’t funny!”

“Okay hear me out!” Victor tried to reason with you from behind the door. He always behaved like the saving grace most of the time even though he’s just as stuck up as the rest of them. “We take a few steps back and you can grab your towel off the floor?” He spoke as it was almost supposed to be a question.

“And just how am I supposed to believe you’d all do that, especially Patrick?”

“I pinky promise sweetheart.” Victor gave his signature three gentle taps on the door. Opening the door just a enough to stick your hand through you stuck up your pinky finger in solidarity, feeling his pinky finger wrap around yours in a lock of faith you quickly let go and knelt down to grab your towel in a hurry pulling it through the crack in the door fast enough as you quickly slammed the door closed accidentally closing the corner of the towel in the crack having to open it back up and pulling it through.

Slamming the door back in place you tightly wrapped the towel around your body your hair still partially dripping wet reminding you of the peaceful shower that you do sadly had to get out of.

Reaching for the doorknob it was cold to the touch, the hinges making an eerie creaking sound as it was pulled open to reveal an empty hallway. As if the the boys were never standing there to begin with.

Gently on your top toes you began slowly making your way down the hall to your bedroom some of the floor boards groaned as you stepped on them. Even after all the times of sneaking out of the house you had failed to remember which parts of the floor to avoid, but this was an old house it wasn’t abnormal for the house to make unsettling noises every now and then so your parents never thought anything of it.

Tip toeing into the room you tried extremely hard to close the door without a creak or groan but it was to no avail. The door let out a wail and you recoiled into yourself at the sound. If the boys were still here you didn’t want them knowing you left the bathroom without being able to at least get dressed first. Twisting the lock and letting out a breathe of relief while closing your eyes, leaning your back up against the door for a moment of silence for the most part as you could hear those four boys downstairs making enough rowdy noise it sounds like they’re destroying the house.

Your dresser stood off to the side of the room up against the wall next to your closet, the clear coat over the stain has seen its better days. Your closet was small the trifold door was an off white color wishing to see a new coat of white paint. But none the less you dug around in both looking for something suitable to wear while still being comfortable, just as you were about to pull your shirt over your head to complete the new outfit a loud banging came from behind your closet door. Pausing with your shirt around your neck as if to see if you were hearing things.

Another loud bang came from the closet this time you hurried to put your shirt on the rest of the way and find something to use as a weapon, thankfully Vic had gifted you a bat not to long ago after smashing mailboxes one night. Sweaty hands gripped the bat as you hesitated to move any closer towards the closet.

This doesn’t make any sense as you were just in your closet looking for clothes, you continued trying to justify that you’re going crazy.

At this point the banging was getting louder your closet door shaking at the sheer force of it. Taking slow wide steps towards the door using one hand to grip the bat and another to reach for the small knob of the door. Swinging the door open you were greeted with the darkness of the small entry way lined with clothes. Again another sigh of relief slouching over slightly as you lowered the bat and turned to walk away.

tap

Your body burst out in goose bumps as you froze in place. There was nothing there remember just your clothes there isn’t anything to be freaking out about. It’s just the boys downstairs trying to freak you out again. You gained your confidence and turned back around to prove to yourself that there was in fact nothing there that your brain was scaring itself.

Your blood ran cold and the color drained from your face when your eyes landed on the object in question. Another RED balloon. You were absolutely frozen in fear, stomach has since dropped. Maybe you were dreaming no not dreaming having a nightmare. Maybe you had fallen asleep after your shower.

Your suspicion was quickly thrown out the window when a gloved hand had reached out of the depths of the closet to grab ahold of the door frame, then came the second hand coming out of the shadows to grab the door frame on the other side. You wanted to run but you couldn’t move frozen in shock and fear.

What ever was attached to those hands slowly acceded out of the darkness stepping into the full light of your bedroom it’s body was tall and frail the fiery red hair stood tall on top of its head, it’s mouth was in the form of an opened mouth smile barely fitting the rows and rows of teeth contained in its large mouth. The tattered and dirty costume that was adorned on its body the sight of your worst nightmares. This was a fucking clown. You fucking hated clowns.

Their shoes always so big, their cars always so small. No one’s nose should be able to honk, and the painted on faces were a sight for sore eyes. You could go on for hours on your thoughts and opinions on why you hated clowns but you had bigger things to be worrying about, literally.

The clown towered over you its mouth dripping with slobber as it salivated at the sight of you.

“I know what you did.” It spoke in a slow aggressive tone. Shaking your head no in fear, “ I-I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice came out in a stutter, you had began to sound like Bill Denbrough the boy who’s little brother disappeared.

The clowns grin began to widen, “Oh yes, you do I know what you’ve done.” You couldn’t even begin to actually rack your brain on what it could be talking about but surely by now you’ve gone insane. You continued to shake your head no in fear trying to make it believe that maybe it had gotten the wrong person. But who were you kidding it’s just your luck you’ve got a crazy clown standing in front of you in your bedroom.

You sincerely had no idea what the clown was trying to get at but all you knew is you needed to run away now. Turning on your heels your sprinted to the door grabbing onto the handle and throwing the door open so hard it it the wall behind it.

Taking off in a sprint down the hallway towards the stairs, you could hear the clown laughing hysterically from behind you as you heard his loud shoes making contact with the wooden floor. Racing down the wooden steps you called out to the boys.

”Henry! Vic! Reggie! Patrick! Help me please!” You screams bounced off every wall in the house but you were alone again. You leapt off last three steps feet landing hard quickly turning to run towards the living room in search of your saviors. They were no where to be found. The clown was hot on your heels as you sprinted towards the back door struggling with the lock as you tried twisting the handle to freedom looking over your shoulder constantly, swinging the door open and pushing through the storm door you continued into a sprint right off the back porch. Feet padded around in the soft dewy grass as you heaved for a breath as your lungs burned for air.

You let out another cry for help as you reached the tree line for the forest. “Henry please help! Please I’m begging!” Taking another look over your shoulder you realized nothing was following you anymore, and that you didn’t have shoes on.

You made the conscious decision that it probably wouldn’t be the safest to go back home so you went in the direction you knew like the back of your hand.

The Bowers property.

Tag list: @lucky-lem0ns @scarlets-phases @talitasls-blog @fuckshitslover @blossom221 @disneylover1998 @kyuupidwrites @jiroumyluv

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #henry bowers x reader #victor criss #victor criss x reader #patrick hockstetter #patrick hocksetter x reader #belch huggins #belch huggins x reader #it 2017 #pennywise #it x reader #henry bowers #fanfiction #fanfic

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f4er1e-g1rl · 7 months

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am i or am i not maybe sorta gonna drop a patrick hockstetter x goth!reader?🤭

#fanfic #patrick hockstetter #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hocksetter imagine #it 2017 #henry bowers #bowers gang #victor criss #belch huggins #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #stan uris #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #smut #80s #90s

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tatortotqueen · 2 years

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𝐁𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐟𝐭. 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬, 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐝 "𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐡" 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬:

ʜᴇɴʀʏ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ; ᴄʟɪɴɢʏ, ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ

ᴀꜱ ᴀ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇɴʀʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄʟɪɴɢʏ. ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʀᴇꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴛᴀʙꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ. ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴᴇᴀꜱʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ'ꜱ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ. ʜᴇɴʀʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴇꜱɪᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ʜᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ. ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛʟʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴡᴇᴀʀ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏɢ'ꜱ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴇᴄᴛ.... ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜɢᴇ ᴛʀᴇᴇ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴀᴄᴋʏᴀʀᴅ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɢɪᴠᴇꜱ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴏᴏᴍ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ ʜɪᴍ. ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜʀɪɴᴇ ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ꜱʜᴇᴅ ɢʀᴏᴡꜱ ʟᴀʀɢᴇʀ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇʀ, ᴄʟɪᴘᴘɪɴɢꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɪʀ ��ᴄᴛ... ʜᴇ'ʟʟ, ʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀᴘꜱᴛɪᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜʀɪɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴜᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴇᴀʀ. ꜱᴜʀᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʜɪᴍ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ʜɪᴍ.

𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫:

ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ; ꜱᴀᴅɪꜱᴛɪᴄ, ɪᴍᴘᴜʟꜱɪᴠᴇ

ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀꜰᴀʀ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇɴɢᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ɪꜰ ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ʀᴜɴ ᴜᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʏᴏᴜ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀᴛ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍɪᴛᴛᴇɴꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ᴄᴀʀᴇ, ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴘʟᴀɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ. ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ʜɪꜱ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴜɴᴘʀᴇᴅɪᴄᴛᴀʙʟᴇ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ɢʀᴀꜱᴘ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅᴇꜱᴛ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴄᴋᴇʀ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴏ ɴɪᴄᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʜɪꜱ ɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴇꜱ ɴᴏ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇ. ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ʜᴀꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ʜɪᴍ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ʜɪᴍ ʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ʜᴜʀᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴀɴᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴄᴄᴀꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ᴘᴀɪɴ.

𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬:

ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ; ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ, ꜱᴜʙᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ

ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ ɪꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ʜᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴛɪᴍɪᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ʟʟ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴏʀꜱᴛᴇᴘ ᴛʜᴇɴ ʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀʙᴇʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪᴅᴇ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴜᴘ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʟᴜꜱʜ ᴄᴏᴀᴛꜱ ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ. ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ɪꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ. ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴜꜱʜᴇꜱ. ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ɪᴛ ᴅɪꜰꜰɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀʀᴍ ʏᴏᴜ. ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴏ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ɢᴇᴛ. ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ɪᴛ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜱ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʀᴇꜰᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀᴇᴇᴅᴏᴍ. ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ.

𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐡:

ʙᴇʟᴄʜ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ; ᴏᴠᴇʀᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ, ᴅᴇʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ

ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ɪꜱ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ʏᴏᴜ. ʜᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ. ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴀꜰᴇᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇʟʟ-ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴜᴛᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴘʀɪ��ʀɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ʜᴇ ɢᴇɴᴜɪɴᴇʟʏ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛᴇɴꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴀꜰᴇᴛʏ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴛ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴘᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜱ ᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴅᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅᴇʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ. ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ. ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ᴏʀ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜɪꜱ ɴᴀᴍᴇ. ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ᴇʏᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ʙʏ ʜɪᴍ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ. ꜱᴏ ʜɪᴍ ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʜɪᴍ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀꜱ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɴ ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏꜰ ɪɴꜰɪᴅᴇʟɪᴛʏ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʀʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴇ ɪꜱ, ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜꜱᴇᴅ. ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʜɪꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴇ ɪꜱ. ᴀɴʏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴇʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ꜰᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ʙᴇʟᴄʜ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ɪɴʜᴇʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀɪʟᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ ꜱᴏ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴀꜱ ʜᴇ ꜱᴀʏꜱ.

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kaysters247 · 5 months

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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

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girlystories · 6 months

Text

★ – series

Bittersweet

Various Ninjago x Female/runaway/slightly depressed reader

Summary: you run away from your abusive and controlling parents, only to almost be killed in the middle of nowhere. mysteriously miraculously you manage to avoid them alive, and stumble upon two amazing siblings

First chapter: 29/12/2022

Last chapter: ongoing/incompleted

Slow updates.

❥ Chapter 1: Saved

❥ Chapter 2: The way of the ninja

❥ Chapter 3: A whole day of boredom

❥ Chapter 4: A quick trip to Jamanakai village

L'appel du vide (The call of the void)

Henry Bowers + Patrick Hockstetter x Female/daughter of a cop/new student reader

Summary: after your parents divorce (because your mom is kinda crazy) you move to your dads hometown, back to Derry, and your cousin richie.

First chapter: 27/7/2023

Last chapter: ongoing/incompleted

Slow updates.

❥ Chapter 1: Back to Derry

❥ Chapter 2: Bigmouth Strikes Again

❥ Chapter 3: Everywhere

©ssnowville ©snowville

#my series #fanfiction series #ninjago fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #ninjago x reader #kai x reader #cole x reader #bowers gang #henry bowers x reader #it x reader #navigation

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ambrossart · 8 months

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“Someone broke you,” he said, displeased. “Now who would go and do a thing like that?”

#quote #patrick hockstetter #bowers gang #it stephen king #it 2017 #it fanfiction #fanfic quote #work in progress #Ch 29 #paper men #ambrossart

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i-smell-sass · 1 month

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Can you do Patrick hockstetter x male reader who is Richie’s brother and used to be really good friends with the bowers gang but Patrick mostly. Then they all bullied Richie and reader split from them. But Patrick is in love with him and the feeling is mutual. Sorry if that’s a lot lol

Of course! I also kinda had a scenario of that in my head. Can't promise the fanfic will be written anytime soon, but when it does i will tag you!

#x male reader #fanfic #male reader #fanfiction #it2017 #bowers gang #patrick hockstetter #patrick hockstetter x male reader

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r0mantic-k1ller · 6 months

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my mood board for my first finshed wattpad story

perfect girl (patrick hockstetter x oc) - book aesthetic - Wattpad

#patrick hockstetter #it 2017 #bowers gang #fanfic #book #wattpad

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roadkill-writes · 2 years

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Bower’s gang part 3

Authors note: I absolutely hate this and think it’s to short but it’s been like months in the making so here’s something at least.

Please read the other parts before this one it’ll make more sense!!

Prompt: 6. “I literally don’t know how someone can be that stupid”

Prompt 4. “Why would you prank me with something like that?!”

Nothing could’ve prepared you for that long walk home by yourself. It was a thirty minute ride up could only imagine how long it was for you on the way back. Worst of all it started raining so now you’re soaked and upset but at least you can’t tell that you’ve been crying.

It was dark out by the time you rounded the corner of your street, you could see your house in the distance the lights were off reminding you that you were in fact alone, that your parents were away on a business trip or whatever they called it that month. Barging through the front door you slammed it behind you making sure to lock it as well, you didn’t want those asshole boys coming in.

You started crying again by the time you made it up the stairs rounding the bend to your room, flopping on the bed face first while crying seemed like the best bet for you at that moment in time so you did. Crying yourself to sleep not even hearing the banging on the front door. Waking up the next morning was rough your eyes were all puffy and you felt uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, you earned a hot shower after yesterday’s fiasco, your clothes were still in fact damp.

Slipping out of the damp clothes you climbed into the shower. Basking in the warm water felt great against your sore muscles. You barley had the energy to shower but you knew you needed to. Turning the knobs to the faucet off and slinking out of the shower to grab ahold of your towel your hand in turned just grabbed air. You would have sworn you had grabbed a towel from your room before coming in here, that’s peculiar? You shook it off believing you had really just forgotten. Turning the knob to the door and putting it open, you heard the chuckles. You quickly slammed the door shut.

“Haha!”

”Oh that’s great!”

”Do ya mind if I have a peak?”

”Did we have to do that?”

You heard the four voices coming out of your room, shaking your head in disbelief. “This isn’t funny! Nor was the events of yesterday!”

You kept your hand on the doorknob and your back against the door with your feet firmly planted to the ground in hopes of they tried they wouldn’t be able to enter the enclosed room you bared to stand naked in.

“Oh come on sweetheart, everyone thinks we’re all fuckin’ anyway.” Henry called from outside of the door.

The continuous drops of water from your hair seemed to be in set with your heart rate.” Henry, I would very much like my towel back! Thank you!”

“Not a chance doll!”

“Oh come’on Henry give the towel back it was funny while it lasted.” Vic coming to be your saving grace, or so you would only hope.

“Fuckin’ fine, here open the door.” You shook your head again. Not a fucking chance you were opening the door while they stood on the opposite side.

“Nope drop it there and walk away from it.”

You heard Henry laugh at your words again, did he really think you were that dumb. Maybe?

“Ya know yesterday was all a prank right? Like we didn’t actually disappear. Hell you had Vic half tempted to call search and rescue, you know how worked up he can get.”

“Why would you prank me with something like that?!”

“Because it was funny! Now open the door and grab your towel!”

“Fuck off Henry!”

#bowers gang x reader #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #belch huggins #it 2017 #x reader #Henry bowers X reader #patrick hocksetter x reader #victor criss x reader #belch Huggins x reader #pennywise #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #fanfic #fanfiction #it imagines #it imagine #bowers gang

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local-trashmouth · 2 years

Note

I'd like to possibly request a henry Bowers x ftm reader? so kinda angsty but also very fluff-

so basically where the reader feels very dysphoric and Henry surprises the reader with a binder and then they cuddle afterwards? im trans myself and ive experienced gender dysphoria multiple times and i feel like a henry x ftm reader would make me feel better:)

thanks alot<3

Hi anon!!

..am I using the requests I have to make my comeback more official? Yes. Yes I am

(also that idea is so cute :'))

I went with headcanons for this because I dont feel like writing imagines/drabbles right now <3

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff :)

this is ftm but can still be read as GN

seeing you upset already doesn't sit right with Henry

he prolly noticed first at school, excusing himself to the bathroom with you to ask whats wrong

^ he doesn't want his friends to go off on you, they can be real assholes

he doesn't really know what to do while you're still at school, does suggest that you stay in the bathroom if you don't want anyone to see you (not the best advice but hey A for effort)

Henry mysteriously disappears after that, his friends trying to find you to both question you on his disappearance aswell as what you guys talked about

its your choice if you tell them really

they won't care either way

when you get home Henry will be there

don't question how he got in

he'll tell you to close your eyes and place the Binder in your hands, waiting for your reaction

you two will spend the rest of the day/evening figuring out how to wear it safely & what your limit is for now

he'll cuddle the hell outta you before falling asleep

pls go thru his hair while he sleeps :')

prolly holds ur hand too

#fanfic #fluff #headcanons #imagines #reader insert #writing #fanfiction #henry bowers headcanon #Henry Bowers #Henry Bowers x reader #Henry Bowers x ftm reader #IT 2017 #it chaper one #ftm reader #bowers gang x reader #Henry Bowers x GN reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader

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f4er1e-g1rl · 6 months

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ITS POSTED‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

#80s #fanfic #it 2017 #patrick hocksetter imagine #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #smut #bowers gang #henry bowers #victor criss #belch huggins #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #stan uris #richie tozier #mike hanlon

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chemiicalformula · 6 months

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hey there bowers gang fandom, just wanted to drop this fic right here

because i'm still real proud of it (and also want more people to read it aaa) <3

content warnings in tags dw

#henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #bowers gang #it 2017 #it chapter one #fanfic #fan fiction

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b-a-n-a-n-a-ss · 1 year

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IT: Victor Criss x reader - Reunited

Summary: Pennywise kills the reader and she turns into a ghost and cry’s about her boyfriend. But after Henry kills Victor and belch, the couple meet again.

________

As I sat in my abandoned room, I cried. I missed my Victor. I missed hugging him and kissing him. I missed being with him and joking around. I missed making love to him and I missed his sweet sweet after care.

I missed my friends, my parents and even some of the losers. I missed Henry and his stupid sarcasm that always used to piss me off. I missed belch and his rock music and his car. And I’ve missed Patrick since he went missing. It wasn’t the same without him with us. I missed his jokes and his crazy personality

I wanted to go home. But I was home. I was just dead.

Pennywise killed me. He led me into some type of cliff and the last thing I remember is falling down the Cliff and dying from impact. When I woke up, I thought it was all a bad dream. So I left my house to try and find my friends. But when I finally found them, they ignored me. They didn’t ignore me they just couldn’t see me, because I was dead. I’m a ghost now. I can pick things up and move things, but I can’t interact with anyone.

And it hurts. I just want to see my Victor one last time. I never got to say goodbye to him. He and belch dropped me off at home that night and they never saw me again. I feel so bad. Victor is so worried about me and I know he’s scared.

My parents haven’t come into my room since I died. Everyone knows that I’m missing, but they don’t know I’m dead. They never found my body. My parents have half the damn town looking everywhere for me. They are hardly even in the house anymore. They spend the whole day looking for me.

I have been curled up in a ball for three weeks now. That’s how long I’ve been dead. I just lay there and cry and wonder what everyone is thinking.

——

Currently I was laying on my floor again. Just thinking. I heard commotion coming from downstairs and I started to get scared. What if Pennywise is back? What do I do?

I carefully stood up and walked out of my room quietly. I heard panting and saw familiar blonde hair. Victor?

“Y/n! Oh y/n are you here?” He yelled while frantically looking around my house. I walked down my stairs and came face to face with my boyfriend. He was wearing his sleeveless tank shirt and his usual jeans. He looked at me with tears in his eyes. He jumped to me and engulfed me in the tightest hug I’ve ever had. I hugged him back just as tight.

We held each other and sobbed.

“Oh y/n I missed you so much.” He cried as he cradled my head and pet my hair. I peppered kisses on his collar bone and buried my head into his neck.

“Victor.” I said, voice muffled by his shirt.

“Yes baby?” He replied as he pulled back a little to look at my face. He cupped my cheek with his right hand and ran his thumb over my lips and cheek. His left hand still held me.

“Victor I’m dead.” I told him. He winced and nodded his head and kissed my lips passionately.

“I am too y/n. I’m so sorry wasn’t there to save you. I missed you so much I was going crazy.” He whispered to me as he leaned his forehead against mine.

We stood in each others embrace for a few more minutes until we both went up to my room and laid on my bed. We were cuddled up to each other, me curled into his side with my head on his chest and his arm hugging my body to his.

“How did you die Vic?” I asked him. He smiled lightly at my use of his old and lovable nickname.

“Henry. The asshole killed me. He’s fucking crazy y/n. I’m really glad you weren’t there to see how fucked up he got.” Victor told me. I frowned at the mention of my friend.

“What did he do to you?” I asked again. He sighed and turned his head to look at me.

“He slashed my throat. He killed belch too. It’s just him now.” He said then kissed my lips and leaned back again.

“What happened to you y/n? You were with us one day and gone the next. I was so scared. Who did this to you?” He asked me now.

“The same guy that killed Patrick. That evil fucking thing.” I said. I burrowed myself deeper into victors chest and inhaled his scent that I’ve missed.

“Patrick’s dead?”

“Yes. That’s why they are still looking for both of us. They never found our bodies Vic.” I explained to him.

“I’ve been dead for three weeks. Three horrible weeks.” I continued.

Victor squeezed my body and laid his head on top of mine.

“I love you y/n. Oh god I love you so much.” He said.

“I love you too Victor.”

We looked towards each other and we both sat up. We drifted into each other and soon we were kissing and undressing each other.

He touched me so sweetly and lovingly, like this was the last time he would ever see me. He entered into me and our bodies moved fluidly with one another. He kissed my lip and held his hands on my waist while he pumped into my body. I gasped as he pushed deeper into me, his hands coming up to stroke my sweaty face.

“Vic harder please.” I moaned and bucked my hips to meet him halfway. He did as told and he started to thrust harder into me. My legs now shaking and sweat from victors body dripping onto mine.

He came into me and when he pulled out I came as well. He cleaned me up and laid beside me on my bed. We turned to lay on our sides facing each other. He stroked my face and kissed me lovingly and longingly. We were both panting and sweaty.

“I love you.” He whispered and moved his body closer to mine. We were pressed against each other and this was the safest I’ve felt in three weeks.

“I love you too Victor.” I replied with a smile.

“Will we be with each other forever now?” He asked as his eyes started to droop.

“I think so. We can be with each other for eternity. Victor we can’t be hurt. We are together now.” I said as I draped my arm across his waist. He pulled me closer to him and kissed my head.

“I’m glad.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #x y/n #fluff #x reader #reader insert #angst #y/n #victor criss #it 2017 #bowers gang #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #belch huggins #pennywise

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ambrossart · 7 months

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PAPER MEN

—CHAPTER 30

SUMMARY: All Evelyn Tozier wanted to do was make Derry High School a safer place for her kid brother. Well, somewhere between kissing Patrick Hockstetter and telling the principal to go f*** himself, things got a little off track. Now she’s stuck in the middle of a bizarre love triangle with two of Derry’s most troubled teens while her little brother and his friends hunt down a creepy, child-eating circus clown. This year, summer can’t come fast enough.

PAIRINGS: Henry Bowers x Tozier!Sister; Patrick Hockstetter x Tozier!Sister WARNINGS: violence, profanity, sexual content, bullying, sexual assault, physical abuse, emotional abuse, all kinds of abuse, trauma, mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, child death, angst, lots of angst, recreational drug use, underage drinking, underage sex, love triangles, toxic relationships, slow burn, slow build

WORD COUNT: 5,446

MASTERPOST

MASTERLIST

Evelyn couldn’t remember the last time her mother picked her up from school.

This dawned on her while she was sitting outside on the wooden bench, her overstuffed backpack beside her and tipped onto its side, her hands bundled snugly inside the sleeves of her much-too-big coat. Sitting like this, Evelyn couldn’t help but feel like a little kid again. Goofing around on the playground after school. Dirt under her nails. Grass stains on her knees. Her coat and backpack unneeded, discarded in a pile off to the side. Back then, time was an equally unnecessary burden, and so it too was cast aside and forgotten. Free of it, Evelyn would run and jump and laugh and play… until there was no one left to play with, until Evelyn waved her last goodbye, looked around the empty playground, and realized she was all alone. Then she would pick up her coat and backpack, sit down on the bench, and wait patiently for her mother to arrive. She would have happily waited forever.

Maggie Tozier’s lateness rarely went unnoticed by the Derry Elementary School faculty and staff. At some point, Evelyn’s teacher would come out, stoop down beside her, and say, “Honey, is someone coming to pick you up?”

“Yeah,” Evelyn would answer placidly, “she’s just running late.”

“Your mommy’s late a lot, isn’t she?”

“No… only sometimes.”

And her teacher would smile that sad, pitying smile and think, She really is a sweet kid. It’s a shame she has such a scatterbrain for a mother.

Of course, Maggie Tozier would arrive eventually—in her usual chaotic fashion. They’d see her old, beat-up station wagon chugging down Jackson Street. See it swerve erratically and screech to a stop in front of the curb. Then Maggie would scramble out of the driver’s seat—sometimes dressed in her nursing scrubs, sometimes dressed in old house clothes splattered with baby food—and come sprinting across the lawn with embarrassed, apologetic urgency.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Maggie would always say. By then, Evelyn would be buckled safely in her booster seat and singing merrily along to the radio, unaware of the adult conversation happening outside. “I got off work and laid down for a quick nap and—I dunno, I must’ve slept through my alarm or something. I’m really sorry, I promise it won’t happen again.”

“It already has happened again, Maggie. This is the third time this week.”

“Right,” Maggie would answer, swallowing the lump in her throat. Then she would look back at her young daughter, see her wave and wave back, feel that old, familiar sting of shame, and revert back to her ten-year-old self. A hopeless little girl getting scolded by her teacher. Now go stand outside in the hall, Maggie, and think hard about what you’ve done. And Maggie Tozier, an overworked mother of two lovely, energetic children, would bend her head, look down at her loafers… no, sneakers; Maggie hadn’t worn loafers since grade school… and say in a small voice, “Look, I’m doing my best here.”

“I know you are, Maggie, but maybe it’s time to get some help. You seem to have a lot on your plate right now. It’d be a shame for your children to suffer because of it.”

“Right… Yeah, okay.”

Humiliated, Maggie would slink back to her car, slump into her seat, and drive home while listening to her daughter describe every delightful detail of her day. Evelyn used to look back on these car rides fondly, but now… for some reason now… all she could see was her mother’s teary-eyed expression in the rearview mirror. She must have felt like such a failure when Evelyn, at only six years old, told her she no longer wanted rides to school.

Maggie confronted her about it one afternoon, while Evelyn was sitting at the kitchen table and drawing with her crayons. Maggie sat down across from her and said, “Sweetie, why do you wanna walk to school?”

“Because…”

“Is it because Mommy’s late all the time? Does it make you feel sad to see all your friends getting picked up and you have to wait?”

“No… I don’t mind waiting.”

“Well, then why do you wanna walk to school?”

Evelyn put down her green crayon and gave her mother a very grown-up look that said, Oh Mother, isn’t it obvious? “Because Victor walks to school.”

Maggie’s eyes lit up with sudden awareness. “Oh, Victor walks to school… You wanna walk with Victor.” Of course it was that simple, and now Maggie felt silly for thinking otherwise. This wasn’t a case of bad parenting (the jury was still out on that charge). This was a case of puppy love—bright-eyed, bushy-tailed puppy love—and her six-year-old daughter had it bad. Maggie laid her cheek on her palm and smiled at her lovestruck child. “Victor’s a very nice boy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Evelyn said, utterly smitten, “and he’s real smart, too. He knows everything.”

“Everything, huh?”

“Well… not everything, but he knows a lot.”

“Is that a picture of you two?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you smiling and holding hands?”

“Yeah…” Evelyn pressed her tiny hands to her rosy cheeks and began to giggle at seemingly nothing at all. Then she picked up her green crayon and finished coloring the grass at the bottom of the paper. “I’m gonna give this to him tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that,” Maggie said, and promptly bit her tongue. No, Victor Criss would not be glad to receive that drawing, just like he wasn’t glad to receive any of the other drawings her daughter had given him, but Evelyn didn’t need to hear that. “Sweetie, why does Victor wanna walk to school? Did he tell you?”

“Yeah… He said he doesn’t like riding with his mom anymore. He said all her talking makes his head hurt real bad.”

Maggie winced, heartbroken for her friend. Oh, poor Tabby. I bet she’s crying her eyes out right now.

Her assumption wasn’t wrong. Tabitha Criss was, indeed, crying her eyes out. In fact, she had been inconsolable for the better part of the afternoon—ever since those gut-wrenching words came out of her darling son’s mouth.

You talk too much, Mom. It’s annoying.

“That’s it,” Tabitha declared to her husband in his study, “my son officially hates me!”

Her husband replied in a calm, clinical voice: “He doesn’t hate you, Tabby.”

David Criss was sitting behind his desk, his glasses perched neatly upon the bridge of his nose, head bent studiously over a small stone meteorite fragment he held in his gloved hand. David was performing his monthly inspection, see, and that was serious business—far more serious than whatever problem his wife had recently dreamt up. David had a moderately impressive collection of iron meteorites, chondrites, achondrites, and pallasites. The one in his hand was likely an ordinary chondrite, but David had yet to get it professionally evaluated. Next week, perhaps. The rest were housed in the wooden display cabinet behind him, each sample carefully backlit and labeled according to its classification. Nobody was allowed to open that cabinet… although David suspected somebody had. There were little fingerprints all over the outside of the glass.

“No, I think he does,” Tabitha was saying now. “In fact, I’m sure he does. All I did was ask about his day, David, and do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Mom, I’m really not in the mood to talk to you right now.’ It was like a knife to my heart! My own son doesn’t wanna talk to me. He never wants to talk to me. He thinks I’m annoying. My son—my pride and joy—thinks I’m annoying, and now he doesn’t even want me driving him to school anymore.”

“So?” David said. “It’s perfectly natural for children to desire independence.” There was, however, nothing natural about this discoloration. Was it rusting already? No, impossible. David held the fragment under his desk light to get a better look.

“He’s six, David. Six-year-old boys are supposed to want their mothers.” Tabitha threw up her hands helplessly, wishing she knew how to make her husband understand. David, meanwhile, reached across his desk for a Q-tip. “You know, I thought I had a few more years before he wanted nothing to do with me, but no… he came out of the womb preseasoned with hatred like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Turkey?” David repeated with baffling interest. He craned over his shoulder and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. When are we having dinner?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t even started it yet.”

“But it’s almost six-thirty.”

“Yes, I know what time it is.”

“We always eat at six-thirty.”

“Well, tonight we’ll be eating a little later,” Tabitha said, exasperated. “Can you listen, please? This is important.”

Frowning, David temporarily set his meteorite fragment aside. “So, what, you’re not letting him walk to school now?”

“No, I will.” As if she had any other choice. “But I’m not letting him walk alone. Victor’s way too young for that.” The elementary school was only three blocks away from the house, but still… a lot could happen to him in those three blocks. He could get hit by a car while crossing the street or worse, kidnapped and killed. “I was talking to Maggie earlier today. She said Evelyn wants to walk to school now too, so…”

David sighed. “Tabby, don’t.”

“What?”

“Stop forcing that girl onto our son.”

“That girl? What’s wrong with Evelyn?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her. I’m sure she’s a perfectly normal child.” And like all perfectly normal children, Evelyn Tozier was—frankly—incredibly annoying. Always showing up at the house unannounced. Harassing their son. Vandalizing their driveway with ghastly chalk drawings of rainbows, smiley faces, flowers, and unicorns. David stepped outside one morning and there was Evelyn, doodling away under the bright summer sun. Any requests? she said with a proud smile. David, needing to get to his car, answered: Yes, kindly move. “I just don’t think it’s right to force our son to socialize with someone he doesn’t like.”

“Well that’s life, David. Sometimes you have to get along with people you don’t like.” Under her breath, she said, “Just like I’m not particularly fond of you right now.”

David took out a small cloth and began cleaning his glasses. “You’re being emotional.”

“And you’re being hypercritical of a six-year-old.”

“She broke into my study.”

“What?”

“She broke into my study. Her fingerprints are all over the place.”

“Oh, she did not break in, David. For God’s sake, listen to yourself. The door was unlocked. You, in all your wisdom, left it unlocked. She wandered in because she was curious, because she wanted to see all the sparkly rocks behind the glass.”

“You let her in,” David said begrudgingly. “You always let her in. One of these days she’s gonna break something.”

Oh, I hope she does, Tabitha wanted to say, but she held her tongue. There was no point in arguing with her husband. David’s opinion was like concrete. Once it was set, there was no changing it. ��I’m gonna go make dinner.”

“Good,” David said. “It’s already six thirty-five.”

“I know what time it is,” Tabitha snapped and walked out, slamming the door.

You’re being too emotional, Tabby. Her husband might not have said it, but she knew that’s what he was thinking. She didn’t care. She went upstairs to her son’s room, knocked on the door, and opened it once he answered. “Hey…”

To her private terror, Victor was lying on the floor with a children’s book about asteroids, comets, and meteors. Did David give that to him? Or did Victor seek it out all on his own? The two were so dreadfully similar: quiet, intelligent, candid in a way that was sometimes charming, sometimes cruel. It made her worry for her son’s future. She didn’t want him to end up like David: absorbed in his work, in his hobbies, apathetic to his wife’s feelings, unaware of her growing resentment toward him. Tabitha didn’t want that life for her son... or for the poor girl who tried to love him.

“Okay, you win,” she said. “You can walk to school.”

Victor nodded once, satisfied, then returned to his book.

“But,” Tabitha went on, trying to reclaim his attention. It didn’t come easily, though; things with Victor rarely did. “I’m not gonna let you walk by yourself, okay? You’re still a little too young for that. So Evelyn’s gonna walk to school with you. All right?”

Victor’s back stiffened with precognizant dread. “I changed my mind. I wanna ride with you.”

“Ha, nice try,” Tabitha said. “You made your bed and now you get to lie in it. If you wanna be a big boy and walk to school, that’s fine with me, but there are rules, okay?” Victor rolled his eyes and turned away from her. Tabitha’s jaw dropped. “Hey, excuse me, I’m still talking. Don’t go back to reading your book, Victor. That’s very, very rude.” Victor huffed and looked directly at her, or tried to anyway. That was another thing that didn’t come easily with him. “I want you to walk to school with Evelyn, okay? Straight to school and straight home. I want you to stay on the sidewalk, look both ways before crossing the street, and hold hands when you do.”

“What?” Victor cried, grimacing. “But she’s gonna make it weird.”

“What do you mean she’s gonna make it weird?”

“She’s gonna smile at me all funny. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Well, sweetie, sometimes we have to do things that make us a little uncomfortable. It’s all part of growing up. And who knows,” Tabitha said as she went out, “one day you might actually want her smiling at you.”

Victor scowled, doubtful. “No, I won’t.”

For Evelyn, those were the happiest years. Sunny day followed sunny day, and she lived with a kaleidoscope of butterflies constantly flittering in her stomach. Victor didn’t like it nearly so well (for the first year, his mother had to drag him down the street and then give him a little nudge to get him going), but that was okay. Evelyn didn’t mind that he never talked to her or that he sometimes walked so fast she had to run to keep up. None of that mattered. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and Evelyn was walking to school with Victor Criss, who was so tall and smart. In class, he never raised his hand, but he often mumbled the answers under his breath. Evelyn was the only one who saw him doing it. It was like finding buried treasure. A precious secret that only she knew. That day, the first butterfly hatched and took wing. Evelyn knew instantly that she was in love.

But that was a long time ago. Victor was a different person back then, and so was she.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Evelyn wasn’t supposed to be sitting on this bench, in this stolen coat, wiping her tears away. No, she was supposed to be at the library with Jimmy and helping him come up with ideas for his next big anti-bullying campaign. That’s where she was supposed to be—by his side, supporting him. Eventually, Vic would wander in, act like he didn’t want to be there, but hang out at the table anyway: doing his homework, criticizing all of Evelyn’s suggestions, stealing little glimpses of her face while she wrote in her notebook. Only Jimmy would catch him doing it. He’d shoot his best friend a playful, knowing smile and think, How long are you gonna keep this up, Vic? Another year? Two? She’s not gonna wait forever. Then they would all go home together, Jimmy in front and Vic a few steps behind, yelling for Evelyn to hurry up and quit lollygagging. You guys walk too fast… No, you just walk too slow. They’d walk together, laugh together, and right before they crossed the street Vic would immediately, instinctively, reach for Evelyn’s hand.

That’s how it was supposed to be, but that’s not how it was. After that summer in ’85, everything changed. Now Vic was in detention, Jimmy was at another school, and Evelyn was sitting on the bench with a ripped skirt and a stolen coat, waiting for her mom to pick her up.

I wish you were still here, Evelyn thought, grief-stricken. I know you’re not dead, Jimmy, but sometimes it feels like you are… I can’t do this without you. I know you said I could, but I can’t. My ideas aren’t good enough. I’m not good enough. Everyone thinks I’m annoying and they’re right! The only way I can win an election is if someone hands it to me. You handed it to me. Christie Gibson handed it to me. You gave me some really big shoes to fill, Jimmy, and so far I’m not doing a very good job.

Evelyn put her hands over her face, stifling the sound of her sobs.

I keep getting distracted by stupid things… Patrick… Henry… We used to stand up against people like them, and now… now I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.

She was sitting on a bench, in a stolen coat.

I don’t even know whose this is, Evelyn thought suddenly, mortified. I just took some poor kid’s coat without even hesitating. What’s wrong with me? What if this is a precious family heirloom, a grand coat passed down from generation to generation, and I just singlehandedly killed the line of succession? She couldn’t have that on her conscience. Evelyn wasn’t a coat thief. She was just a girl without options, desperate to get home with her dignity intact—what little remained of it, anyway.

Yes, Evelyn would return the coat

(the coat)

(she would focus on the coat)

(and memories of Martin)

(Are you open for business now?)

(of the cut on her lip, the tear in her skirt)

(of Henry’s terrible black eyes)

(She’s not worth it)

(would slip further and further away)

(away)

(she pushed them far away)

just as soon as she figured out whose it was. Maybe the owner had written their initials on the tag. People still did that, right? Evelyn’s mother used to do that to her coats when she was in elementary school. Maybe someone had done that to this coat, too. Yeah, maybe. Maybe. But likely not. High school students didn’t need to write their initials on their coats (Evelyn still did, of course, out of habit). They didn’t throw them into a giant pile on the playground, forget them, then accidentally take home the wrong one. High school students loved their coats. They lived for their coats. They were both functional and fashionable. Bomber jackets. Ski jackets. Triple F.A.T. Goose jackets. A few of the senior boys had Members Only jackets. In the fall, they would lean against their cars with their hands in their… pockets.

Remembering this, Evelyn curiously slid her hands into the front pockets of her stolen coat. In the left pocket, she found some loose, sticky change, a nearly empty tube of shimmering pink lip gloss (Steph Price once had a tube of this exact shade, Evelyn remembered; she was constantly slathering it on her lips during class), a ticket stub to some obscure horror movie, gum wrappers, a broken pencil, a few paperclips bent into indefinable shapes, and—most curious of all—a tiny piece of translucent plastic that was faceted on one end like a diamond.

What is this? Evelyn wondered, lifting it into the light to examine it. It almost looked like a piece of jewelry. An earring, perhaps. A tiny earring for a tiny ear.

Her other hand, meanwhile, dove deeper into the right pocket and closed around something cold, hard, and smooth. Metal. A lighter. A brushed chrome Zippo lighter.

Evelyn’s eyes widened, a gasp rose in her chest, and her whole body straightened with surprise. Her right grip tightened. Her left grip loosened. She pulled the lighter out of her pocket and held it in the middle of her palm. It shimmered hypnotically in the sunlight, rendering all her other findings worthless. The strange piece of plastic fell, forgotten, bounced off Evelyn’s knee and tumbled into the grass. She would never think of it again.

This isn’t a stolen coat, she realized. This is Patrick’s coat. Patrick gave me his coat.

And now Evelyn was thinking back to the morning Patrick returned from suspension. She dropped the clipboard and he picked it up for her. Why did he do that? Why did he follow her to her locker after class and ask with such genuine curiosity, Where have I seen you? Why did he return the shirts Henry had stolen? Why did he give Evelyn that postcard that she cherished so much?

(And why did I frame it?)

Why did he let her into his house and introduce her to his mother? Patrick didn’t want her there, but he let her in anyway. Why? Why did he break into the Denbrough house while she was babysitting? Why did he taunt her, terrorize her, then purposefully push his hand into the knife?

(He did. I know he did.)

Why did Patrick stare at her face and call her colorful? Of all the adjectives in the English language, he chose that word specifically. Why? Why?

Confounded, Evelyn whipped the lighter open, flicked the wheel, and sparked a flame.

Why did you give me your coat, Patrick? Do you even know?

Sighing, Evelyn flipped the lid closed and saw her mother’s car coming down Pasture Road. This wasn’t the beat-up station wagon from Evelyn’s childhood. No, her mother had sold that car back in ’86 and bought herself a Plymouth Voyager, a three-door minivan big enough to fit the entire family. They ran errands in that van. Went on family road trips in that van. Two weeks ago, Maggie had driven Evelyn to her first high school party in that van. It ended up being a horrible night in the end, but that moment was perfect. They sat parked in front of Liz Mueller’s house, awestruck by its grandness, while Evelyn's stomach flipped and fluttered with excitement. Her mother had embarrassed her with a very crude lecture about boys and unprotected sex. What? I’m a nurse, not a nun. It began with Evelyn cringing and ended with her laughing, as most talks with her mother did.

Yes, it had been a wonderful night. Evelyn felt so grown up.

Now she felt guilty. She didn’t want this moment to overshadow all those amazing memories. She didn’t want this to be the one moment her mother remembered forever. Evelyn wanted her mother to remember her arguing with Richie in the backseat. Carrying in armfuls of plaques and trophies from the school awards banquet. Spilling her milkshake. Dropping her fries. Freaking out because there was a bee in the backseat. Stop swatting at it, Richie, you’re just gonna make it mad! Falling asleep on the way home from the amusement park, her brother’s head resting on her shoulder. Sitting in front of Liz Mueller’s house, nervous, smiling, laughing, getting out of the car and waving goodbye from the top of the driveway. Those were the memories Evelyn wanted her mother to hold on to. Not this. Not this.

Sniffling, Evelyn dried her eyes on the sleeve of Patrick’s coat and stood up from the bench. As soon as she turned to leave, an ominous feeling swept over her, as if carried by the wind. Evelyn looked back at the school and thought: The next time I walk through those doors, everything’s gonna be different, isn’t it? Somehow, she just knew that to be true.

Steeling herself, Evelyn put the school behind her, pulled her backpack over her right shoulder, and walked on.

“Well, that’s certainly a look,” Maggie Tozier said, observing her daughter’s choice of outerwear with a bemused smile. “Where did you get that…?”

Without saying a word, Evelyn climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. She burst into hysterical tears while trying to buckle her seat belt.

The next three minutes passed in a tumultuous blur of panicked shrieks and anguished sobs. Evelyn cowering in the passenger seat, shoulders trembling, chest heaving, fingers splayed across her face. The seat belt, partially retracted, clinging to her right shoulder. Maggie’s distressed voice piercing through the air: “What happened?” Evelyn’s response, strangled and desperate: “Just go! Please, Mom, please, just go!” The school doors opening and closing. Victor Criss emerging with Belch Huggins, stopping on the steps, spotting Maggie’s van, leaning forward and squinting fiercely in the sunlight. Evelyn sinking into her seat and shrinking against the door. “Please, Mom, please, I just wanna go home!” Maggie nodding frantically, not understanding, saying, “Okay, okay, we’ll go, we’ll go!” Slamming her foot on the gas pedal. Turning the wheel. Taking off and gunning down Pasture Road. The outside world flying by, golden and serene. Maggie gripping the steering wheel tightly. Her heart pounding. Head spinning with questions. Evelyn beside her, collapsing into herself, into that coat. Where did she get that coat? Maggie glancing at her, back at the road, running through a stop sign, cursing under her breath, and saying, “Evelyn? Evelyn, you need to talk to me, sweetie. I don’t know what’s going on.”

And finally, she told her; with tears streaming down her face, she told her.

And all Maggie could think about was Cheryl Lamonica—fourteen and pregnant—shaking and screaming in her mother’s arms.

Please, don’t tell Daddy! Please, Momma, please don’t tell Daddy!

Now the van was parked on the shoulder of Center Street. Maggie, who had been paralyzed with grief, reached across the seat and pulled her daughter into her arms, holding her close to her breast while she rocked her gently and soothed her with nonsensical words of comfort, something Maggie never had to do before, not even when Evelyn was a baby.

She was always such a happy child, never crying, never fussing. Maggie and Went thought they were the luckiest parents in the world. Perhaps this is the universe’s cruel way of balancing the scales. Maggie thought this and held her daughter even tighter, stroking the top of her head while she continued to weep savagely against her chest. Maggie’s own tears fell silently and dried on her face. She didn’t know what to do. She never thought this would happen, not to her daughter, not to her family, not to her.

“He ripped my dress, Mom!” Evelyn cried suddenly, her voice muffled by Maggie’s cable knit sweater. “Mrs. Criss’s dress—her beautiful dress—Martin ripped, he ripped it—he ruined it! How am I supposed to return it to her now?”

Maggie’s chest ached at those words. “Sweetie,” she said, pulling away and looking at her, “I don’t think Tabby’s gonna care about her dress.”

Evelyn nodded weakly, sniffling. Maggie cradled her face and dried some of the wetness from her cheeks.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah…” Evelyn answered huskily, while a single tear clung stubbornly to her bottom lashes. She blinked it away. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She settled back into her seat and stared despondently out the window, her eyes glazed and distant. They were parked beside the public library. From where Evelyn was sitting, she could see the slab of red brick where Henry Bowers had pushed her against the wall and pressed his lips against hers. The memory used to leave her breathless. Now it made her want to cry.

Maggie took the wheel again, her hands clammy and tense. “Okay, Evelyn,” she began uneasily while her eyes darted from street sign to street sign, “where am I going, sweetie? Do we need to go to the police station? To the… hospital? Tell me where you want me to go, honey.”

“I just wanna go home,” Evelyn told her. “Is that okay?”

Maggie’s heart clenched painfully. “Of course,” she said. “Of course that’s okay. We’ll go wherever you want.”

Evelyn smiled—a sad, grateful smile. Then she sat back, burrowed herself deep inside that strange black coat,

(Where did she get that coat?)

and went back to staring out the window.

Maggie watched her daughter for a moment and felt her heart swell with so much love she thought it might burst. Went and I got lucky. God knows we did.

She started the car.

Halfway down Main Street, Evelyn turned toward her mother and asked in a soft, childlike voice, “Are you disappointed with me?”

Maggie’s heart shattered completely. “What?” she said. “Why would I be disappointed with you?”

“Because I am,” Evelyn blurted out and immediately burst into tears again.

Once more, Maggie eased off the gas pedal and prepared to pull over, but it wasn’t necessary this time. Evelyn stopped crying all on her own.

Hugging herself, she said in a low voice: “I always thought I’d be stronger, you know? I told myself I’d be stronger, but…”

The thought of walking into that police station, of walking up to the desk and seeing him there. Having to sit in that chair while he sits across from her, his arms folded over his chest, his cold eyes bearing down on her. Crumbling beneath those eyes. Seeing them slowly darken from bright blue—the same bright blue as Henry’s—to such a terrible, hateful black. Having to relieve everything. Tell him everything. While he glares at her, at her torn yellow skirt, and thinks to himself: She was asking for it, wearing a skimpy little skirt like that. Girl should be glad she wasn’t raped.

(Lucky you. Right?)

No, Evelyn couldn’t do that. She would have rather died than do that.

Besides, nothing would come of it anyway. Evelyn learned that lesson a long time ago… when she dared to tell her teacher about a bruise she’d discovered on her classmate’s neck.

“Henry was there,” she rasped. It pained her to say it, but she did.

At once, Maggie looked at her. All the color had drained from her face. “What?”

“He was there, Mom. He was there and he didn’t do anything.”

Saying these words out loud made Evelyn’s heart throb with unbearable pain, but she didn’t cry; somehow, she didn’t cry. Maybe she had finally run out of tears for him.

“You know he’s done a lot of messed up things to me over the years, but… I dunno, I guess I always thought that… that when it mattered, that when I really needed him…” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “I guess I’m pretty stupid, huh?”

“No,” Maggie said. “No, honey, you’re not stupid. And if you are, then so am I… I never thought he would do something like that.”

Or rather she hoped he wouldn’t.

At the next red light, Maggie said in a tired voice, “This has to stop now, Evelyn. I’m sorry, but it has to stop. I’ve tried to be patient, I’ve tried to be understanding, but I just can’t deal with this anymore. I can’t and I won’t. Okay? It’s too much. It’s too much. I tried to let you handle it, but you didn’t so now I’m going to. This is done, Evelyn. It’s done. I don’t want Henry coming to the house anymore. I don’t want him calling you anymore. Yeah, I know he’s the one always calling here, Evelyn, and it’s done now, okay? It’s done. I don’t want him sneaking into the house at night. I don’t want you sneaking off to go see him. I don’t care if he needs you, I don’t care if he loves you. It’s done, Evelyn. All of this is done. If I ever see him around the house again, I’m calling his father and—”

Evelyn jumped in her seat as if struck. Terror closed around her throat.

(??WHAT??)

(!!BUT YOU CAN’T!!)

“—and yes, Evelyn, yes, I know EXACTLY what that means for him!”

Evelyn flinched back, startled. The strength of her mother’s voice left her shaken. It’s done now… it’s done… done… is it really done? Tears flooded her eyes and blurred her vision, but still she nodded. She nodded and she understood.

“It’s enough now, Evelyn,” Maggie said, but there was no triumph in her voice, none at all.

A somber silence fell over the cabin then. The van pulled forward, made a left turn onto Summer Street, and continued down the road. Evelyn already knew what was waiting for her at the end of this road. She knew and she was ready for it.

She would have to face Henry sooner or later.

_____________________

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