* 𝙵𝙻𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚁.

but that remembered feeling of EXCITEMENT — that feeling of COLOR and SENSATION — was simply too powerful and too wonderful to give over entirely. PATRICK HOCKSTETTER, of stephen king's IT and IT (2017).

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* shakily adds four parts vodka to one part coffee* guess it’s time to do replies here

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STUTTERFUCK.

HE stilled. the fight seeming to die out of him. though that was farthest from the truth. frenetic energy was building & soon it would be released. like a small mammal ready for the pounce. “ FUCK YOU !” as the outcry burst from his lips bill rammed his foot into the older boy’s groin. with recovery time no doubt on the table he used this free time with fingers crossed to bolt away. or at least that is what the fingers crossing was for.

                               PATRICK CRUMPLES LIKE A PAPER man, blinded by pain — by ANGER. searing, bursting before his eyes. stutterfuck forgotten, patrick’s hands shield his precious groin from any further trauma, eyes watering. ( pain — is relative, is a fuckin’ DELUSION, and you need to snap OUT of it —!! ) “ DENBROUGH!! ” he’s ROARING through this incapacitation, and staggering to his feet. patrick is slower, his wide strides substantially shortened — but he pushes. smiling. dizzy. “ you BETTER run, you FUCK!! i’m gonna MURDER YOU!! ”

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// i’m selling my computer

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HENRY.

          ( the hills are alive with the sound of MURDER. ) the smirk on henry’s face only grows wider— ( when’s the last time he’s smiled this much? ) ❛ — imagine what the town would be like without those spineless assholes. no more rules, no one left to enforce the curfew. ❜ the blond was practically vibrating with excitement at the thought of his father and the police force being completely WIPED OUT— ❛ you know what the best part would be? aside from the actual killing— the fact that he’d NEVER see it coming. the pure shock on his face would be something i’d never forget. ❜ a dreamy sigh escaped from his lips as he stood up now, reaching out and placing his hand on patrick’s shoulder, ❛ i could kiss you right now, patrick. ❜

                            WELL SHIT, MAN. IF YOU INSIST. it’s not like it fucking matters anyway, right?? patrick could almost consider himself soundly unfeeling — if it weren’t for terrestrial oddities. hair-smell. smoke in your lungs. screaming. a hand on your shoulder. you see another missing poster and something MOVES you a quarter-inch to he left; it’s stirring, and upsetting. ( but only because it’s a FEELING, and it’s euphoric, and you thought you could never know something so mythic. ) patrick is not one to pass up an opportunity for a little STIMULATION —  he shrugs. pitches the cigarette from between his lips. latches them FIRMLY over henry’s, because it’s not like it fucking matters.

[coveruncover]

Visit Original Link

something happens and I’m head over heels

[corawhine]

// it’s study break week at the university i guest lecture at, so i’ll be with the rest of the faculty, helping students, for the next two days. i’m here, but mutuals can yell at me on dis/cord in the meantime.

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HENRY.

          henry took one last LONG inhale of the cigarette before tossing it onto the ground and putting it out with the heel of his boot. ❛ betty ripsom? — oh god, don’t remind me of HER. ❜ the blond couldn’t help, but groan loudly at the thought of the junior, ❛ she’s still got to be the UGLIEST girl i’ve ever seen in my entire life. — don’t know why anyone would want to kidnap her. ❜ 

he reached into his back pocket and pulled out another cigarette from the carton. ❛ give me a light, will ya? ❜ he knew patrick always kept his lighter on hand, so there was really no point in carrying one around himself.  ❛ you know, there hasn’t been a disappearance in a while— think the killer’s finally had enough? or maybe they just need a break— almost like a spring break, but for serial killers. ❜

                           IT’S FOOD FOR THOUGHT, and a damn tragedy. patrick absently gropes in his back pocket for his lighter — flips her open, and holds the flame under henry’s cigarette. patrick helps himself to one from the carton as the thought continues to perturb him — that the killer in derry had finally gone to sleep. cigarette clutched in his teeth, he shakes his head. “ too much TRASH still in town — they’ve got to lay low. ” one cat every other week; a stray puppy here and there. ( the game is in the WAITING, in the SNEAKING. rules only matter when you get CAUGHT. ) “ your old man’s got this place crawlin’, but just you wait.    i hope it’s that ginger bitch next. ”

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HENRY.

          ❛ well, don’t i feel special. ❜ henry teased, inhaling more nicotine and exhaling smoke softly. one of his eyebrows raised, the blond coming to a sudden hault on the swing. ❛ you’d actually kill my old man? — ❜ a small smirk appeared on his features in response. ❛ c’mon, i wouldn’t let you be the only one having all the fun in that scenario. i call dibs on stabbing him in his FAT fucking stomach over and over again with my knife. ❜ a small sigh escaped from his lips, ❛ we’d be the police’s first suspects, though. it isn’t exactly a SECRET my father and i don’t get along… ❜

                             “ WHO SAYS THERE’S GONNA BE any cops left after we’re done?? ” patrick is positively giddy just thinking about it — it’s a quiet, fanciful notion to entertain, but the thought of him and henry, picking off the badge-wearing shit-kickers of derry, warrants a rise out of him. the two of them would make short work of the town’s pitiful law enforcement — and, like a chicken, if you cut off the HEAD, the rest scampers about, bleeding all over the shop. 

( patrick knows. knows the kind of man butch bowers is... what he DOES to henry. you wouldn’t miss a man like that. )

“ i’d hold him down while you gut him. ” though patrick is almost vibrating with excitement, his face is tranquil. serene, almost. he stares down henry with wide, thoughtful eyes.    “ you’d gut him, and i’d feed him to the fuckin’ pigs. ”

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BILL.

“LET g-g-go of me !” bill squirmed in the bully’s grip, trying to evade the arm that snaked around his shoulders. however at the mere mention of his brother’s body in the gutters the fight just about abandoned him. he wanted to cry. to mourn the absence of georgie. but he could not cry. not here. man up. there would be no sympathy from his present company. keeping the tears at bay he struggled with new fierce determination. “ get off as-asshole !”

                            HE’S LAUGHING, NOW — A DIRTY, crazy sound, like a chorus of nails down a chalkboard. and OH, isn’t it worth it?? for the rise, for the thrill of it. ( like kicking a whimpering, STUTTERING puppy. ) “ now, now, little buddy — i’m only trying to help you out!! ” patrick loosens his hold, just a tad; enough to bring out the FIGHT in bill. to keep it INTERESTING. “ it’ll be fun. like fishing!! we can haul up his bits and pieces — slice ‘em apart. ” now, doesn’t that sound FUN??

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B-B-B-BILL.

KEDS ready to take off never saw the chance. he was stuck. stuck with the only person he would rather replace henry with. that was saying something. cornered by patrick bill was wondering if he should take the risk & try to run when the ill meant words reached his ears. blue hues darkened as his fists clenched. “ n-not f-f-f-fuh-funny .”

                           “  WHO’S L-L-L-LUH-LAUGHIN’?? ” actually, it’s more of a giggle than anything — a high, foul sound that comes as easily to patrick as rot does to vegetation. he slings his arm around bill’s shoulder — man to man, stuttering bill. “ don’t you wanna go see him?? i don’t think he’ll be movin’ any time soon, now, unless they’re cleaning the gutters tonight. ”

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                                IT’S MAYBE FIFTEEN MINUTES INTO math before patrick’s BORED. the sun is shining, another seat is empty, and there’s a police barricade by the west entrance — WHAT A TIME to be alive. the seat in front of patrick, however — occupado. which is unusual, because NO ONE sits in front of patrick. ( if they know what’s GOOD for ‘em. ) he cranes over his deck... iiiiinches forward... delivers a swift YANK to the ponytail dangling tantlizingly in front of him. 

“ nice climbing rope.” barely more than a hiss; a whisper. “ i’d climb YOU any time.”

@canhandlemyself  (sc.)

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                              FOLKS DON’T DRESS LIKE THAT IN DERRY — unless they want to get royally FUCKED UP, that is. it’s almost an affrontment. who gave this shit the right to walk around like that without a fist in his face??  “ y’off to the white wedding, BILLY IDOL?? ” OH!! SNAP!! jesus, patrick, you sure showed him!!

@bloodsire​   (sc.)

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                              “ HEY, IT’S WHEEZER!! WHERE’RE YOU off to, wheezer?? ” getting any of the tiny folk alone is like patrick’s god damn birthday. if eddie thinks he can saunter through patrick’s turf unawares — big fuckin’ mistake, my friend. patrick SEIZES the strap of eddie’s fanny pack as he passes — holds tight. “ got somethin’ in there for me?? ”

@loverfloat  (sc.)

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                            “ YO, DENBROUGH!! ” HE’S BARRELING OVER the balustrade leading out of the school building, quick as anything, to intercept bill before he can run. patrick catches up in little more than a stride — FAR too chummy. “ saw your little brother the other day.  “

@silverawayyy (sc.)

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STARTER CALL for this piece of living garbage, if you can even stand him. 

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                             ALL THIS DEAD TALK — you sure know a way to a guy’s heart. it’s not as if the KIDDIE-CULLING phases patrick. ( quite the opposite... ‘ taking out the trash,’ as they say. ) it’s just RARE he considers an upset to his own little circle. he thinks of henry — dead henry. henry in his REFRIGERATOR. and for a moment, that’s okay. patrick wouldn’t mind interning the likes of vic and belch, for THAT. 

( this is a PATRICK-ONLY thought. not the kind of thought you share. )

he sniggers — hocks an ashy mouthful of spit onto the pavement.  “ yeah, i wouldn’t worry. it’s only juniors gettin’ offed — like... whatsername. with the face.” you know the one!! patrick licked it once. “  —betty!! that fuckin’ troll thing.”

@henrybcwers from ( x )

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HENRY.

          henry swung on one of the park’s swings, a cigarette BURNING in his mouth. it was nearly two in the morning and the majority of the bowers gang had already returned home— it was just the blond and patrick now. he couldn’t SLEEP and didn’t want to return home since his old man was in an especially foul mood tonight. ❛ you don’t have to stay, y’know. — i would appreciate the company, but it’s not like it’s mandatory or anything. ❜ shoulders shrugged as he flicked cigarette residue onto the ground, ❛ i’m just trying to avoid my father. — he’s being… well, unbearable. ❜

                           “ NOT LIKE I GOT ANYTHIN’ BETTER to do. ”    well, NO, patrick. you’ve got PLENTY to do. ( who has two thumbs and found a LIVE RACCOON on the side of the road this morning?? THIS GUY. )   but there’re patrols running the junkyard this time of night — something patrick learned The Hard Way this spring. patrick flicks his lighter — on and off, transfixed by the little pinwheel of flame that BLOOMS from the dark. “ i could kill him, you know. just fuckin’...” a twist, a POP. he mimes it. ( knows how it’s done. has always wanted to try. )