Hockstetter’s Cigs

Reqs are open but I’m shit at responding so just know it might take me a while to write 😅

[omg-imstillatotalmess]

Thinking about someone asking Daryl to control his woman and he whips his head around so fast like, “Shut your damn mouth ‘fore she hears you. Ain't tryin’ ta make her sacry ass mad at me too.”

And when asked why he stays with you he goes, “Fuck you mean?? That's my girl.” He might be standing several yards away from you looking vaguely afraid for his life while you commit feral acts, but make no mistake, he’s exactly where he wants to be (and possibly hard)

[patrickscigarettebutts]

I love it here.

[princess-glassred]

Been a while since i made a meme:

[richiemadethis]

IT FANS IN 2025, PLEASE INTERACT!

I need my losers :) specially, the side of the fandom that likes the movie/book as a coming of age story ! ok love you <3

[princess-glassred]

Beverly: you know Henry, you're always pickin on Ben and me for being poor but you get all your clothes from the thrift store, what is your deal.

Henry: For your information i don't shop at the thrift store because i'm poor, i shop at the thift store becsuse everytime i ask my dad for money he hits me.

[patrickscigarettebutts]

Henry Bowers with a girl who like totes matches his level of sass. It's just a constant tirant of "your dumb" "can you even spell dumb? 🤨"

Henry Bowers x Sassy!Reader

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

Before: Eeeesh. So worth this took forever. I tend to vanish frequently.

After: oooh wee, so anyways, that’s the way I saw it going down.

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

You were walking down the hallway, struggling to carry your books, a pinched expression on your face. Not because anything in particular was bothering you, but just because that’s how your face was and your default setting was sorta angry. Or at least, you always looked pissed. Which was good. You liked that because it meant that everyone left you the hell alone. Which is what you want.

Did I say *everyone* left you alone? Scratch that. *Almost* everyone left you alone. Everyone but Henry Motherfucking Bowers.

“Wah!” You cried and then cursed when someone, Henry MF Bowers, had tripped you, sending you and your things sprawling across the hallway.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole.” Henry sneered down at you with a cocky half grin, leaned against the lockers beside Patrick, Vic and Belch. “You almost scuffed my shoe.” He said in an almost petulant tone, meant to make his friends laugh, and it did.

“I’d like to scuff your face, butthole.” You snapped as you reached for one of your books.

“What’s you say, you dumb cunt?” Henry’s voice cracked down at you, all amusement vanishing from his face. Patrick, Vic and Belch exchanged some ‘ooohs’ and snickers. Henry stomped hard, down on the book you were reaching for, his heavy, steel-toed boot narrowly missing your hand.

“You heard me.” You snapped, standing up, quick as a whip and getting in his face. Henry’s eyes widened and his face contorted in shock and anger. He opened his mouth to say something but you loudly shushed him. “No, shut up, my brain cells are already dying from breathing the same air as you.”

Henry sputtered his eyes nearly popping out of his sockets and his face turning a dark shade of red. “You… you are **insufferable!” He fired back.

You smirked and lifted a brow, leaning forward as if you were to ask a very important question. “Can you even spell insufferable?” You whispered and then preemptively jumped back.

Patrick let out a high, entertained giggle at precisely the best time, or worst, if you were Patrick, because Henry turned and decked Patrick in the face with anger that was meant for you before turning back to you, heaving slightly. “You’re lucky I don’t hit bitches.”

“What are you talking about? You just hit Patrick.” You laughed, entirely entertained as you looked at Patrick, holding his bleeding nose. Henry lunged at you and you ducked out of the way at just the last second, bolting down the hallway with a manic little giggle, Henry gave chase of course.

This was your favorite game. Maybe you’d let him tag you, or maybe he’d always be it.

[lavender-vixen]

okay okay hear me out.. valentines day with patrick??

"Valentine's Day, But Make It Hockstetter." (Patrick Hockstetter x reader)

Patrick doesn't do romance.

At least, not the normal kind.

He doesn't show up at your door with a bouquet of roses, doesn't write you some sappy-ass love letter, doesn't take you to some shitty candlelit dinner where he has to pretend to care about what's on the menu and lame small talk.

But he does show up.

And does bring you a gift.

It's just...a little more fucked up.

"Happy Valentine's, babe."

You barely get the door open before Patrick's there, leaning against the frame, grinning like he's up to something, a paper bag clutched in one hand.

You blink at him, crossing your arms. "You actually remembered?"

Patrick snickers, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, tossing the bag onto the table. "Like I could forget," he mutters, shutting the door behind him. "Every dumbass couple in this town is making out like it's their last fuckin' day on earth."

You roll your eyes, but when you peek inside the bag...

Your brows furrow.

"...What the hell is this?"

Patrick just grins, watching your reaction.

Because instead of flowers or candy, he's brought you:

A switchblade. "Figured you should have something sharp in case some creep tries to get handsy."

A bottle of stolen liquor. "Only the best for my girl."

A small, plush heart-shaped pillow from Dollar Tree with the words "FUCK ME" written on it in sharpie. "Thought this one was fitting."

And a pack of cigarettes.

You stare at him, then at the bag, then back at him.

Patrick just laughs, dropping onto your couch, sprawling out like he owns the place. "What?" he smirks. "You wanted some tacky-ass teddy bear instead?"

You huff, shaking your head, but you can't help but smile.

Because of course this is what Valentine's Day with Patrick Hockstetter looks like.

Of course, he's not gonna be some lovesick idiot who buys you chocolate and roses.

But he did bring you a gift.

And in his own twisted way...

That means something.

You barely have time to process the gift before Patrick’s hands are on you.

Gripping your hips, spinning you around, pressing you down onto the table as he grinds against you from behind.

"Didn't think I'd let Valentine's pass without fucking you stupid, did you?" he mutters, his teeth glazing your throat, his hands already slipping under your shirt.

You shiver, your body reacting instantly, because Patrick knows exactly what he's doing.

"You got me another gift?" you tease, but your voice is already breathless, already full of anticipation.

Patrick just snickers, his fingers hooking into your waistband, tugging at your jeans.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice dropping, his grip tightening. Then he leans in, his lips brushing your ear, his next words sending a shiver down your spine. "Wanna guess what it is?"

Patrick isn't the type to plan shit. But somehow, you ended up at some party at Henry Bower's house, music blasting, cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air, beer bottles littering every surface.

And Patrick? He's been all over you since the second you walked through the door, having denied him at your house.

He's not usually the clingy type, but tonight? Tonight, he's possessive and hungry. Keeps his arm slung over your shoulders, his hand gripping your thigh when you sit together, his mouth dragging over your neck as he leans close.

Like he's making a point. Like he's reminding every person in this house exactly who you belong to.

You sit on the ratty old couch, Patrick pressed against your side, his fingers tapping against your inner thigh, his other hand holding a half-empty bottle of something strong.

"Fun date," he mutters, smirking against your ear, his voice low, teasing, cocky as hell.

You scoff, taking the bottle from him. "You call this a date?"

Patrick just grins, watching you take a sip. "You're drunk, you're in my lap, and I'm about to fuck you in the nastiest place I can find. Sounds romantic to me."

And that's when you feel it...

His fingers under your skirt, dragging over your already soaked panties, pressing just enough to make you tense.

"You still wet from earlier, babe?" he murmurs, his fingers teasing, barely touching you, his breath hot against your jaw.

You suck in a breath, legs shifting, but Patrick just grins, pressing his fingers harder.

"Bet you are," he hums.

And then? He leans in, lips brushing against your ear. "Let's go see how many people we can piss off tonight."

It’s not even five minutes later before he’s got you pressed up against Henry's bedroom door, hands all over you, his mouth sloppy and rough against yours, tasting like cheap whiskey and cigarettes.

The music from the party rattles the walls, people banging on the door every so often, but Patrick doesn’t care.

Patrick never cares.

"You’re lucky I like you," he mutters, dragging your skirt up, fingers hooking into your already ruined panties, pulling them down your thighs.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, because Patrick doesn’t do Valentine’s Day. Doesn’t do romantic dates, doesn’t do flowers, doesn’t do any of that bullshit. Tonight, he's all over you.

And when he presses you hard against the door, one hand fisting in your hair, the other gripping your throat...you know this is the closest thing to love you're ever gonna get from Patrick Hockstetter. And honestly, that's fine with you.

Afterward, Patrick buttons his jeans back up, swipes the back of his hand over his grinning mouth, and slings an arm around your shoulders as you stumble back out into the party.

Your thighs are still shaking. Your hair's a mess. Your lips are swollen from his teeth and tongue. Patrick looks just as wrecked, his shirt slightly untucked. He just laughs, shoving the bottle of liquor back into your hands, dropping into a seat.

"Where the hell have you two been?"

Your stomach drops. Because it's Henry. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, blue eyes sharp and unreadable, watching you both like he already knows.

"What's it to you, Bowers?" Patrick muses, popping open a fresh beer, taking a slow sip, his other arm slung over your shoulders. He wants Henry to notice. And Henry does, of course. Because his gaze flicks to you, then to Patrick, then back to you again.

Like he's putting the pieces together. Like he's taking inventory. Your smudged lipstick. Patrick's wrinkled shirt. Henry's jaw tightens. His fingers drum against the beer bottle in his hand, his tongue dragging slow over his teeth, his nostrils flaring slightly.

Patrick notices. He lives for this shit. So of course, he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear, his words low and deliberate.

"Think he knows what you just let me do in his bedroom?"

Your stomach flips, heat pooling between your thighs again, but you don't respond. Henry just tilts his head. Narrowing his eyes. Then he smirks, but it's different from Patrick's arrogant grin. It's darker.

Like he's already planning his revenge. Like he's already decided that if Patrick got a turn...he's taking one next.

[vxncevis]

On my Bowers Gang shit right now

[lavender-vixen]

Patrick with a girl who is just as insane as he is?

"Real, Like Me." (Patrick Hockstetter x Reader)

Patrick likes breaking things. Rules. Locks. People. He likes watching people squirm, likes the way they crack under pressure, how they get all nervous and sweaty when they realize he's not like them. That he's worse.

So when he meets you, when he watches you tilt your head at the sound of a classmate crying, like it's interesting instead of sad...When he watches you hold a lighter under your palm just to see how long you can take it...When you look at him with a sharp, knowing grin, like you already know what he is, because you're the same thing...

Patrick realizes you're not normal either. And shit, that must mean you're real, too. But it's not threatening...it's more of a relief.

Patrick doesn't get scared. Doesn't feel that sharp, tight, gut-punch kind of fear that other people feel when they see something wrong.

But you make his stomach drop in the best way. Because the first time he sees you lose your temper, really lose it, you don't yell. You don't cry. You just smile. And then you do something so much worse. Something even he wouldn't have thought of.

Patrick just stands there, watching, breathless, captivated. And when it's over, when you wipe your hands off like nothing happened, when you turn to him, grinning, waiting for his reaction, Patrick exhales, shakes his head, and mutters. "Jesus Christ, dollface."

Then he kisses you like he's starving for it. It seems like the natural course of action on his part. He doesn't understand what you are, but he knows he's out of his depth until he can figure it out. So it's easier just to put his mouth on yours, biting your lips, fighting with your tongue...anything to feel like he's in control again.

Patrick always needs to be in control. Always. That's just how it is. Except, apparently, not with you.

The first time you're alone together in his room, with the door locked, with his parents out for dinner, it's not like anything he's ever done before. You don't submit. You don't let him take the lead. You match him. Move with him. Push back. Bite just as hard as he does, claw just as deep, moan just as loud, take just as much as you give. Patrick loses it. Because you're straddling him like you own him, like you're trying to break him the way he's broken so many others before you, and it's working.

His hands are shaking, his voice wrecked, breathless, his body trembling beneath yours. And when you lean down, bite his jaw, whisper, "Can't handle it, Hockstetter?"

Patrick just growls, grabs your hips, like it's a challenge, slams you down harder. He tells you to shut the fuck up, and while that might anger most other girls he's been with, you just laugh, rolling your hips deliberately slower, teasing, torturing, wrecking him even more.

That's when he realizes he's in so much trouble.

Patrick doesn't share. Never has, never will. So when some Johnny-Lawrence-looking guy with a popped collar gets too close to you at a party, when he touches your waist, leans in like he's got a shot, Patrick loses his damn mind.

One second, he's leaning against the wall, watching, absently listening to something Vic and Belch are laughing about. The next, he's got the guy by the throat, slamming him into the counter, whispering in his ear.

"She's not yours to touch, man."

The guy chokes, gasps, tries to stammer out an apology. Patrick just frowns. Then he feels your hand on his arm.

"Let's go," you murmur, voice calm, unbothered, like you expected this to happen.

Patrick glances at you. Sees the way you're smirking, watching him with that sharp, knowing glint in your eye. And suddenly, he doesn't care about the guy anymore. Because he has you.

And when you grab his hand, lead him out the door, Patrick finally grins, breathless, obsessed. Because you're the best thing that's ever happened to him. And he's never letting you go.

[lavender-vixen]

Patrick with a girl who is just as psycho as he is like she is a stalker and will literally change everything about herself because well she's obsessed lolllll

"You're Worse Than Me." (Patrick Hockstetter x Psycho!Reader)

Patrick Hockstetter knows what obsession looks like. Because he’s seen it. He’s caused it. The way girls look at him, the way they want him, the way some of them avert their eyes in fear, the way some of them get all clingy, desperate, lovesick.

But you take it to a whole different level. And he doesn’t even realize it at first. Until one day, you say something, something only he could have known. Something he never told you. That old fridge in the woods...

And when he gives you a sharp look, when he asks you how the fuck you knew that, you just smile. Patrick finally sees you. For the first time in his life, he thinks, holy shit. She’s worse than me.

Patrick isn’t normal. So he doesn’t react like a normal person. A normal person would be freaked out. Would call you a psycho, would get a restraining order, would run the hell away.

But Patrick just grins. Because fuck. You’re batshit crazy. And he can work with that.

You follow him. Everywhere. You know his schedule better than he does. You steal his clothes. A hoodie, a t-shirt, a pack of cigarettes left in his car—they always end up in your room. You change your hair color to match a girl he checked out once. You wear his favorite color every time you see him. You talk like him. Pick up his slang, his mannerisms, the way he smirks when he’s about to ruin someone’s life. You go through his trash. You don’t think he knows. But he does. And it turns him on.

You write his last name after yours in your notebooks. You threaten other girls—but never to their faces. Just small, subtle things. A dead rat in their locker. A slashed bike tire. A lipstick message on a mirror.

You wake up every morning and ask yourself: What would Patrick want me to look like today? You stop eating certain foods because Patrick once made fun of a girl for ordering them. You sleep in his hoodie, pretend the scent won’t fade if you just wear it long enough. You follow him in your car sometimes. Just to make sure you know where he goes when he’s not with you.

You memorize the girls he looks at. Find out their names. Their addresses. Just in case. You copy his handwriting in your notebooks. You leave little gifts in his locker—a pack of his favorite cigarettes, a stolen pocketknife, a Polaroid of yourself in his shirt, your lipstick print in the corner.

You practice saying his name in the mirror. You start dressing like the girls he used to fuck—but better.

You memorize his home number and call from payphones, just to breathe into the receiver. You break into his room once. Just to lay in his bed, breathe in his sheets, press your lips against his pillow.

And when he finally catches you, when he leans in close, breath hot against your ear, voice dark and teasing, "You been stalking me, baby?"

You don’t deny it. You just grin. Patrick just laughs. Because holy fuck, you’re perfect, and, "That's so sweet," he admits.

Henry Bowers doesn't know what to make of it. "Jesus, man. She’s fucking nuts." But secretly? He respects it. "Where can I find one just like her?"

Vic Criss thinks it’s funny as hell. "Man, you finally found a girl as fucked up as you."

Belch Huggins isn't so sure. "Yeah, uh, not to be that guy, but… she scares me, dude."

Other girls at school are either terrified of you or jealous that Patrick actually lets you be this crazy for him. Patrick doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Because now he’s got a girl who’s as obsessed with him as he is with himself.

And if that isn’t the hottest thing in the world, he doesn't know what is.

Patrick doesn’t date girls who love him too much. Because love is boring. Love is expectations and rules and being someone’s boyfriend.

This isn’t love. This is obsession. This is watching you slowly unravel yourself, watching you twist into something completely his, watching you ruin yourself in ways he doesn’t even have to ask for.

Patrick loves watching people break. So when you show up to school with your hair exactly like the girl he was staring at last week...When you start wearing his favorite band shirts, even though you never listened to them before...When you sit in his lap at a party, arms wrapped around his neck, whispering, "Tell me to breathe, Patrick, and I will."

Patrick realizes he’s never letting you go. Because you’re already gone. You’re already his. And you’ll never belong to anyone else.

[butchbowers19589]

Found this in the woods while lookin’ for my runaway.rooster .strange odor comin from it does anyone know who’s this is

[patrickscigarettebutts]

N-no. <.< >.>

[patrickscigarettebutts]

Starving for Patrick content, Patrick x reader where they're dating and reader stumbles upon him using the fridge? Make it as dark as you want

Before: Oooo, I will try my best!

After: Oof, I… did not mean to write that much but I was 🍃 and inspired. Also I’m new to how tumblr operates, so forgive me for that. Also, also, I don’t always reply this fast. You caught me on a good time. I hope you like this! NOT PROOFREAD. Ty.

Y/N was walking through the junkyard, this was usually where their friends hung out, smashing and breaking things because of their violent tendencies. They lit a cigarette and rounded the corner when they heard a familiar humming off in the distance.

“Patrick?” Y/N smiled to themselves as they continued on until they stopped in their tracks. Their cigarette was nearly forgotten as they stopped to watch Patrick for a moment, something was off with him, well, more off than usual.

Patrick was swaying slightly, back and forth and was humming a familiar tune that was only familiar to Y/N because they’ve heard only Patrick hum it to himself on more than one occasion. Y/N’s eyes dropped down to the black plastic bag clutched in Patrick’s hand, while his other was caressing the fridge almost with the air of a lovers touch.

Y/N took another step forward with the intention to make their presence known when they stopped again. Their cigarette fell from their lips as they parted silently in surprise. Y/N watched Patrick open the fridge and because of the wind’s direction, Y/N felt revulsion when the smell of decay hit her nose, it was sweet and disgusting.

Y/N watching in horror but was unable to look away when they saw what Patrick pulled out of the bag. It was a small orange kitten. It purred and tried to cuddle against Patrick. They heard Patrick snort and then saw… Patrick drop it into the fridge and slammed the door shut.

“Patrick! What the hell are you doing?!” Y/N shouted in panic and concern as they rushed over and shoved Patrick away, who seemed to still be in some sort of trace but was quickly coming out of it now that there was another human around.

Y/N clawed at the fridge and wrenched it open. The full force of that decay slammed into them, making them wretch and turn away, emptying the contents of their stomach on the dusty ground of the junkyard.

“What… are you doing?” Patrick drawled in that slight southern twang.

“Oh god.” Y/N trembled as they turned back to Patrick, tears in their eyes from the sheer gravity of the situation. They looked over and saw that Patrick had gently shut the fridge again, making sure the kitten was still inside. Y/N stared at Patrick in abject horror. “Me? What are *you* doing, Trick? What the hell is this?!” Y/N snapped in concern and… fear.

“Mm, it’s my fridge.” Patrick mumbled like that explained anything.

Y/N blinked at Patrick rapidly and instead of trying to force him to give them answers they knew they weren’t going to get they opened the fridge again, making Patrick frown in annoyance and what appeared to be confusion. Y/N held their breath, reached in and snatched the kitten out of the fridge.

“Hey! That’s mine!” Patrick snapped in an almost petulant manner.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Y/N snapped back and held their breath kitten close, prepared to defend it with their life despite only just meeting it.

“Oh, what? It’s not real?” Patrick said and took a deliberate step towards Y/N, anger and annoyance clear on his pale and angular features. His usually dull and emotionless eyes shined with something that make them look alive yet dangerous.

“What do you mean it’s not real? It’s a kitten! It’s a living breathing thing!” Y/N snapped back at him, not backing down but really wishing their body would make that conscious decision. They should be running away. But… Patrick had been their friend. Hadn’t he?

“*Nothing is real!*” Patrick growled, and his hand snapped out and latched around Y/N’s throat, tugging her forward. The kitten fell from Y/N’s grasp and bolted. Y/N took some solace in that fact and knew their mind was only focusing on that to cope with whatever was going to happen to them now.

“Patrick,” Y/N clawed at the hand he had around their throat. “You’re hurting me.”

“You hurt me first.” Patrick glared back at Y/N his hand tightening enough to cause black spots to develop in their vision. “Don’t you see?” Patrick continued like the idea that Y/N would stop paying attention was unfathomable to him. “Only *we* are real, Y/N.” Patrick whispered into their ear, his tone a mix of comfort and insanity. “You’ll see.” His voice softened even further as Y/N went limp.

[patrickscigarettebutts]

Hi, I’m Jez. I’m currently fixating on the Bowers Gang. My dms or whatever are open. I write a little here and there so if you wanna request something for the Bowers Gang DO IT. I mean if you wanna.

[jeffjuliangeorge]

  ◜₊ ͡ ୧‿ིྀˌ͙‿ 𓏢 ‿ིྀˌ͙‿୨ ͡ ₊◝ Owen Teague as Patrick Hockstetter in It (2017).

[princess-glassred]

I know I already have an au where Eddie and Henry swap bodies BUT that's only when they're adults, and I was wondering how it'd go with their parents, and the bowers gang, and school stuff. So here's how I think a Henry/Eddie body swap might go down when they're kids.

Let's start with Eddie!

-Eddie wakes up with an immediate tooth ache because Henry doesn't brush his teeth at all and they're a rotten. It's fuckin agonizing but he's able to deal with the pain.

-He goes into the kitchen to eat breakfast, but the sight of an empty table makes Eddie realize just how vastly different the parent-child dynamic is in the Bowers household. Eddie's mother smothers and spoils him so much she'd never forget a meal, but in the Bowers household, not only does Butch not make anything for him, but HE expects HENRY to cook. And so begins Eddie's exhausting and somewhat demaning list of chores Henry has to do everyday.

-He's not used to having to do so much, often times even if Eddie wants to help his mom will swat him away and insist he go play instead. He has to mow the lawn, weed the front yard, fetch eggs, tend to the crops, ect. Ect. It's kind of rewarding, but it's taxing as fuck. He also shows concern for Henry's skin since he apparently works in the sun all day without any sunscreen.

-This goes with out saying, but the unbearable stink of sweat and gum that's always on Henry makes Eddie wanna hurl. He gets pretty squicked out by sweat in general though, which is unfortunate because of the whole "working outside all morning thing".

-He also hates having to take care of Bip and Bop, since pigs are just about one of the grossest animals Eddie can think of. The fact Butch forces him to walk around in the mud and manure to tend to them just makes it so so much worse.

-Thankfully, Eddie doesn't have to deal with Butches anger for the most part, since he doesn't talk back like Henry and he's too scared to rebel in away.

-This is also a minor thing but the Bowers house is absolutely filthy, especially the living room and Henry's bedroom. He can't sit down anywhere.

-Finally, Eddie gets free and can fucking start looking for his friends to help him out. This is difficult though because Henry is actually banned from most places the losers club go, either for stealing stuff, breaking things, or threatening the people at them. He kinda just lurks in town for his oppertunity to catch them.

-Eddie's bigger and more muscular body is pretty much the only good thing about this predicament. He's so much taller now that it's actually kind of disorientating, and half the time he forgets his own strength.

-The Bowers gang eventually find him and drag him away to go shoot bottles and be dicks, and unsurprisingly, Eddie hates it.

-Patrick tries to make a move on him, Belch's behavior is disgusting, Vic's full of himself, and connor is just plain annoying.

-The way they try to egg him on is especially aggrivating, and unfortunately Eddie has to pretend like he, 1. Enjoys their stupid antics, and 2. Is Henry Bowers. Two things he is incredibly bad at.

-The one silver lining is that he gets to make some slight digs at Connor's expense as revenge for him being mean to Richie.

-Insterestingly enough, somehow, Patrick very quickly figures out he's not Henry, but that just makes him wanna hit on Eddie more. Of course the one person who figures it out is fucking Patrick of all people. Fuck.

-The way people look at Henry makes Eddie feel sick and even a little guilty. He knows he's not Henry, so he shouldn't have to feel guilty for what he's done, but the way kids stare at him in town really makes him think. Mike looks at him with such fear, he cannot help but feel awful and like it's somehow his fault. Bill sneers at him, Bev is digusted by his presence, Ben avoids him in the hallway he's so scared. It's horrible, and it really just emphasizes how badly Eddie wants to be himself again.

-While hanging out with the Bowers gang they try to force him to bully some kids, so he just sputters put some weird vauge threats that don't really mean anything if you think about them for more than a second.

-"We should go bully the losers!" "Yeah!" "Awesome idea!" "YEAH HAHAHA THAT WOULD BE SOOOO EPIC OORRRR, HEAR ME OUT, AN EVEN BETTER IDEA, WE DO SOMETHING ELSE!"

Now for Henry's turn!

-Henry wakes up and is immediately shocked by his tiny, fragile, uncalloused little doll hands.

-He's so much weaker and smaller now, and he gets injured much easier than before. He does take notice of Eddie's clean teeth though and uses it as an excuse to eat whatever the hell he wants with no fear of a tooth ache.

-Dude absolutely hates having normal hair, fuckin sucks.

-He also hates everything Eddie wears, finding his shirts and t shirts pretty feminine and weird lookin. Henry would rather chew on glass than ever wear a fanny pack, but Sonia insists he take it.

-Sonia Kaspbrak's smothering quickly goes from nice to incredibly annoying. She pinches his cheeks, forces him to hug her, calls him little pet names, Henry hates it.

-A lot of people call him cute now (Richie included), and the only thing more infuriating than that is the fact he can't really fight back.

-At school he tries to be his usual smug asshole self and he's quickly hung to his locker by his underwear. If it weren't for the losers he could have very well just stayed there all day.

-Belch, Patrick, and Vic all jump his ass and bully him, causing Henry to freak the fuck out and SWEAR he's gonna kick their butts when he gets back to normal.

-He tries to tell the losers to piss off, but everything he tries to do to drive them away only makes them more concerned for Eddie, and thus, makes them wanna reach out more.

-The constant array of pills Sonia forces him to take quickly pisses him off. The inhaler is even worse because he can FEEL Eddie doesn't need it, but his mom practically forces it down Henry's throat.

-He takes all of Richie's jokes SO personally, it's enough to make Richie honestly a little scared.

-Because Eddie's so much smaller than he is there's a load of annoying little moments where he can't reach something or lift something on his own, so he has to get one of the losers to help. The fact every loser is taller than him now fills him with almighty rage, especially Bev.

-The novelty of slipping by undetected and feigning innocence wears thin fast, as Henry misses when he was feared and not overtly condescended and babied by strangers.

-He tries to get his hands on a weapon at one point, since if he can't be strong at least he could compensate with knives and shit, but Sonia snatches it away from him real fast.

-Henry can't even decide if he wants people to know it's him anymore, at some point it just gets so embarrassing he'd rather try to fake being Eddie. At least if people expect Eddie to get pushed around, if anyone knew it was Henry he'd never live all the bullying down.

I'm not sure how this would get resolved or even how this happened in the first place, but I still think this would he a wickedly funny thing to see happen with these two. Right?

[gaydoorraid]

I don’t agree/condone the things that Patrick has done, but unfortunately he’s played by Owen Teague, and fortunately I need to be obsessed!!!!!!

[patrickscigarettebutts]

STOP IT. THIS IS SO FUNNY TO ME.