#like buh you want me to push buttons and fuck you up but i broke you apary so easily

[violentkeysmashing]

Hhhhh

Fuck man

I love vr-chat, I love encountering people with phantom sense, who like to be bullied, messed around with. But when a motherfucker asks me to ruin them and they can't even survive 1/2 an hour of being fingered then just???????

You wanted to be ruined, yet broke down and passed out in 30 fucking minutes?

[har-rison-s]

like father, like daughter?

Whereyoustand: would you do a Richie tozier X daughter!reader? I don't know if that's out of your comfort zone but maybe Richie's daughter meeting all the losers for the first time. sorry if you're not taking requests and I read it wrong but if you are please take your time and feel free to decline. 

A/N: Nooo baby it's completely okay! Richie x daughter!reader makes me melt, omg… Let's guess why I'd love his arms around me any day I feel like crying… Hmmm… My daddy issues, you say? Haha, you're being silly. I've been dying to write this. You're one of my favourite followers, babe Whereyoustand ;) So, let's do this! I'm watching stanley edits while writing this, so forgive any sentimentality slipping into this one-shot. By the way, did you guys hear the rumor about Stan and Eddie dying? Who's the crazy sadist that spread it? Couldn't be me… Losers are a little out of character in this one, I'm so sorry. Happy reading!

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gif credit goes to owner, which isn’t me!

How do you even say hello to them? Your father's known these people since childhood, they're his best friends. They're the most important people to him in the world, just as important as you. And how do you not screw up with a first impression?

There must be hopes built up for you and what you're like... If you're like your father or not, how much you two are actually alike. But you're not what they're worried about. They don't even know you're coming! Their main excitement is about Richie himself. What's he like? Has he changed? How much of him do they actually remember, and how much of that is true?

Truth is, you're not like your father. You haven't inhabited the restless humor or the ability to improvise in general. What if they don't like you because of it? What if his friends want you to be the same, even expecting that of you? And you don't meet their standards…

You really wish your mother was here. She'd be your anchor, she'd make you worry less. But how would you know? She left when you were five. You hadn't become the person you are today by the age of five, or even a person, so you couldn't have known her at all and there's not much to remember, to go on. Only thing you remember is that she was kind. And you built a fairy-tale around that single feature. What else would there be to do?

Perhaps that's why you've grown into more of a quiet person. That makes you different from your dad Richie. He adores it, honestly, having not the feeling of looking into a mirror each time he sees you. He can't say you remind him of your mother, either, you're not a replica of her, either. You're like… a mix between them. Somewhere in a grey area that is what Richie isn't and what your mother is, is a little spot called 'Y/N'. 

You, Y/N, are still sitting in your dad's second-most expensive car (the expense of it makes you wonder why he'd bring such a car to a place like this), outside of a restaurant you're both supposed to meet his old friends at. Richie's standing outside, leaning against this horribly pricey car, patiently waiting for you to come out, when you're ready. He's surprised it's not the other way around - you waiting for him to get out. He supposes that his own sentiment will come at some point. He already felt longing and wonder while driving through some of Derry's streets.

Your eyes watch a woman with striking red hair and a man in a denim jacket interact in front of the restaurant's entrance. They embrace, and then they enter the building. Huh. Maybe they're two of dad's friends. Maybe. You sigh and untwist your sweaty hands from the knot they've formed. You run them over your denim thighs, fast at first, but you slow your movements and calm yourself down. You think you're ready to go out there and face whatever. Why does this feel like some big step, some big life-changing step now? Why does it feel like the world's stopped spinning suddenly? 

Try to shake the feeling, it's only dad's friends. It's not the end of the world. You're gonna be fine. Your hand pushes the car door open before you could protest against it, and when you step out of the car, your father turns his head around to see you. His eyebrows are raised, his eyes locking with yours through his glasses, and he walks around the car to reach you. Your eyes meet the ground out of shy habit, but a second later you feel Richie's hand on your shoulder firmly, comfortingly. You look up then, and are met with your father's concerned eyes.

“You okay, kiddo?” He asks, and you, out of another habit, nod. He knows it's false, you're so worried he can see right through you. “Want a hug?” Another nod. You feel yourself embraced by your father not a second later and you sigh against his chest. “They're gonna love you,” Richie says, “I know it even though I barely remember them.” 

You laugh with him. “Thanks, dad.” You say.

“No problem, baby.” Richie says. “And, hey, I know it's a stupid thing to say, but don't worry so much. I should be the worried one, fuck's sake, what if they've changed too much to like me anymore? Pshht.” He makes you giggle again. “What I'm trying to say is,” your father's hand moves soothingly over your back, “you're perfect even if you're not like me. Alright?”

You nod against his chest, and you both pull apart. 

“Now, let's head in. I'm actually excited for this.” Richie admits, looking upon the restaurant. He sighs, looks back at you and gives out his hand. You eye it for a second, but then take it with no further hesitation.

Your father's grip is tight, and you get the quiet thought at the back of your head that he's afraid. You look up at him for a few seconds, thankful he's not looking back at you. You don't like to be caught in the middle of your analysis, even if it is your father you're analyzing. And you truly see fear in his eyes. Just the smallest amount, but enough to be real. 

All six of them, as Richie had said, are sure enough standing in the restaurant's booth and conversing amongst themselves. The pair you saw outside are a part of this group, you were right. Wow, this surely is something. A lot of friends. Even for your father's warm and energetic persona, six friends are a bunch. Your wide eyes quickly switch between them all, not knowing who to focus on, wondering which name belongs to who. 

One of them, a man with dark, curly hair dressed in a checkered button-up (people still wear those?) turns to you, having felt your curious gaze on him and his friends. His face is laced with nervousness, similar to yours, and from your point of standing, you notice small marks on the sides of his face. The man on his left, dressed in a flannel and sporting some grey strands of hair already, turns to you, too. But a faint smile appears on the first man's face when he's looked longer at you. He might have an idea or two about who you are, because you certainly look the part.

“Hey, who's this?” He asks his friends, his hand faintly pointing at you from a low angle. You gulp when the rest of the adults turn to look at you. They spot both Richie and you, and there's a gasp from the woman with red hair and one from the guy who looks not a few inches taller than yourself. His gasp is sharper and deeper, almost a panicked one, you think.

Your father breathes an exasperated sigh, taking in all his old friends. “Fuck. You lot look great.” Is what he says first, and his friends are silent. Simply because they're too shocked to even laugh, not sure if they're right to. “Hello.” Richie says and gives a little wave. His friends are still in shock, and now Richie notices why - their eyes are fixed upon his offspring. She must be in a huge panic now.

He puts an arm around your shoulders, squeezes tight and smiles at his friends. “Right. This is my daughter.” He says. His friends' responses mix together since they speak at once, and Richie can't tell them apart. “Y/N, meet my friends.” 

Richie guides you the few steps towards the curly-haired man. You extend your right arm, as does he, and though your dad's embrace gives you comfort, it also limits your movements. “Stanley Uris. Nice to meet you.”

“Y/N Tozier.” You say, and suddenly saying your birth name, which you've had for a whole of seventeen years, gives you pride and you feel it through your whole body. Your face lights up, you give Stanley a smile that stretches to your ears and your cheeks flare with a subtle rosy blush. 

“Very nice to meet you, Y/N.” Stanley says, shaking your hand firmly and smiling at you, nodding his head. Looking into Stanley's eyes, you can feel they're searching your face and looking you over, clearly finding features you share with Richie. He, your father, does let go of you eventually, when you're done shaking hands with Stanley, and goes to greet his old pal Stanley now. As you walk over to the flannel guy, you hear your father and Stanley embrace and laugh together. 

“Hi, I'm B-B-Buh-Bill Denbrough.” The man speaks first and gives his arm for you to shake, which you do. It takes a second to remember his name, and now you recognise the stuttering best-selling author your dad told you about on the plane. “You luh-look a lot like R-Richie.” Bill says. “Your father, I me-mean.” 

“No worries, he's Richie to me, too.” You say in response. “We keep it formal in the Tozier house-hold.” You surprise yourself with a voice imitation of some business man breaks out of your own throat. Naturally breaks out, and you have to take a moment to realise what's happened. As natural as breathing.

Bill Denbrough laughs. “I see he's puh-passed the Voices down t-to you, as well.” He says. You only shrug, generally awestruck by what broke out of you seconds ago. 

“I'm Mike Hanlon.” Comes from the man standing a little behind Bill. You have to look up at this man, he's taller than the previous two, as tall as your dad. You smile at Mike, recognising his name.

“You're the one who called dad.” You say, then, giving your hand to Mike for shake, but he surprises you with a hug. You're a little shocked and frozen, at first, but you don't mind the hug. Makes you feel a little easier, makes you feel welcomed into the company. 

“Glad to meet you, Y/N.” Mike says to you. How strange. Have we met before? You want to ask him, but you decide against it. 

“Glad to finally meet someone as tall as my dad.” You say instead and Mike, Bill and the remaining friends to greet laugh. You pull away from Mike Hanlon's grip and are met with quite the fitness guy. Oh, wait, that's the one in the denim jacket. You could have sworn your first impression of him was that of a cowboy, his denim jacket and leather boots sure make for the part. 

“I'm Y/N.” You say, finally speaking first, before the man can introduce himself. He chuckles and shakes your extended arm.

“I'm Ben Hanscom.” He tells you with a warm smile on his face. His name rings a bell and you look for which bell is that. Have you heard him on the radio? The news? On Twitter?

“Wait a second,” you say, turning your head slightly to the side, “aren't you the guy who designed the famous building in London?”

Ben Hanscom nods, a little embarrassed, and there's even a blush on his cheeks. “That's me, yeah.” He confirms. You chuckle.

“Don't worry, I don't want an autograph.” You shake your head. Thankfully, Ben laughs, and lets you move closer to the woman with red hair. Before you greet her, though, you look over your shoulder to see your dad. He's embracing both Bill and Mike, and he looks very happy doing so, he looks very happy to meet them. Stanley's already choosing his seat at the round table.

Whispers from the near-by conversation catch your attention, and you listen in for a second.

“R-Richie, man, all due respect, buh-but I don't think hav-having Y/N here is safe. For her. F-For you.”

“Yeah, man, you should have left her with her grandmother or something.”

“Long story short, fellas, her mother's out the picture and all grandparents are dead. Yes, I could have arranged some activities for her while I'm gone, but I… I don't know. I didn't think she'd be safe alone at home or anywhere without me, if I'm here. You know?” Your father speaks much too quickly, he's nervous, he's afraid.

“That could be, yeah.”

“So I figured I better take her with me, so I can keep an eye on her and actually keep her safe.”

“You-you better. It's very duh-dangerous for her to be here.”

“Oh, like we're safe in a durable bubble here, Big Bill.”

But you turn your head to face the red-haired woman as if you hadn't heard anything. And you give her your best smile.

“My, you're a pretty thing.” She says and also pulls you into a hug, just like Mike did. You have no time to notice the bruises around her wrists. “You look like a doll, just like your father.” She tells you and then pulls back, but still holds your shoulders and runs her eyes over your features. It makes you nervous, and your eyes look lower, to her shoulders. “I'm Beverly.” She finally tells you.

“I'm Y/N.” You say and she nods. 

“A very pretty name. Are you sure you're Richie's kid?” Beverly teases, and you can only chuckle. “He wanted to give all his kids, like, Star Wars or Lord Of The Rings names. I wouldn't allow him to name my kids back then.”

“Sounds like mine's the best choice.” You respond. This is news to you about your father. And you realise you'd gladly hear a lot more about what he was like as a kid. He's never talked about his childhood, never told a funny story from that time, and it's only now occurred to you. Sure, you've wondered what your father was like when he was your age, but asking never crossed your mind. What you don't know is that your father didn't remember his childhood until today. And you're excited to hear stories.

“Hey, kiddo,” says the man short in height, who is also the last one you have to meet out of Richie's friends, “my name's Eddie.” He gives you his hand to shake, and you do, and notice that he looks at your hand a little suspiciously for a brief second.

“I'm Y/N.” You tell him, smiling politely. 

“So strange that you're Richie's kid.” Eddie wonders once your hands aren't touching anymore and he's stuffed his pair of hands into the pockets of his jeans. He shakes his head as you furrow your eyebrows. Eddie looks at Beverly. “Think Richie was the last one we thought would ever have kids, right?” Beverly nods to his question, and there's a wandering look in her eyes. “Tell me, how many times did he drop you when you were little?” Eddie asks, then, and the question makes both Beverly and you laugh. Eddie's humor is similar to Richie's.

“Very funny, Eds,” the mentioned man's voice comes from behind you, and so does his hand on your shoulder. Eddie visibly tenses up and his face changes.

“Don't call me that.” He tells Richie, but he doesn't respond.

“I may have been a big joke back then, but, as I look upon you all now,” Richie makes a circular gesture to his circle of friends around him, “I'm the one who's raised a beautiful kid out of the whole seven of us.” Your father boasts and everyone laughs. You smile and lean into his side. Meeting his friends has been ten times better than you anxiously had anticipated. 

The Losers Club, a nickname Richie announced when he also banged the gong in the corner of the room, and you moved to the round table and took seats around it. You chose the seat between Stanley and your father. Eddie and Ben were to Stanley's left and Beverly, Bill and Mike were on your dad's right. Through the course of the dinner, it turned out you'd chose the best seat. Whether it was out of nerves and social anxiety or just pure clinginess to your parent, didn't matter now. 

Your father and Eddie were quite the bickering house-wives, and to hear Stanley's little comments to himself only added to how funny everything was where you were sitting. Also, Stanley talked to you about being nervous, saying he'd noticed your shaken form and wide eyes, and talked about his own nervousness. That made you ease up even further. 

The dinner was filled with laughter and fun, made you forget all your worries. Hearing all the stories about Richie as a kid, finding out the nicknames they gave each other, and joining them in re-discovering their childhoods. Spending time with your father's friends... You never thought you'd be in this kind of situation, yet here you are. You write this dinner down as one of the best days with your father, if not the best.

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A/N: Yes I use that picture in every losers request. No I don't have a better one.

[postmastered]

The Great Pretender

A/N: nother good omens fic!!!!! its crowley centric!!!!!! :D V helped me pick out which to do, expect an aziraphale centric soon!

Read On Ao3

Word Count: 1742

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of getting drunk (tell me if i missed any!)

    It was a mere week after Almost-geddon, and Crowley, for the most part, had spent that time with Aziraphale, going out to eat, getting drunk, passing out, such and such. He had returned occasionally to water his plants.  Aziraphale said he’d needed to clean up a bit, so he’d gone back to his flat. Crowley offered to help, but Aziraphale said he’d be fine on his own.

    “You have houseplants to tend to! I’m sure they miss you. I don’t want to steal all your attention!” He’d said it with a wink before ushering Crowley out, waving from inside as Crowley walked to his Bentley.

    Crowley knew his plants didn’t miss him, but he did know they most likely missed Aziraphale. The angel did tend to gush to the plants whenever Crowley came over. Was Crowley jealous? Never! Why would he be jealous of a plant? The Bentley’s radio was apparently trying to push the demon’s buttons, because it was absolutely blaring Somebody To Love almost the second he’d turned the key. He rushed to turn the volume down, knowing everyone on the street could hear, and he swore he could see Aziraphale in the shop hiding a smile on his face. He’ll get that dastardly angel back for this.

    As Crowley drove to his flat, he had a near permanent frown on his face, a very odd accompaniment to the blatant flush on his face. Once he’d arrived, he slammed his face into the steering wheel, sighing in defeat and getting out of that traitorous car of his.

    “Stupid car, blaring that dumb song…” He slapped the hood of the car as a sort of reprimand, going inside, searching for the spray bottle he’d used for his plants. He’d ditched his jacket on the way inside, slowly walking into the room where he kept his plants.

    “So… It’s been a while, hm? I’m sure none of you have been misbehaving while I was gone?” Crowley gave the greenery a pointed look, not seeing any spots. For now. “I see that you’ve all been doing well. And it will stay that way, correct?” The plants shook in fear, Crowley’s eyes gazing down at the smaller plants like a benevolent god. He saw some movement in his peripheral, seeing a little succulent far away from all the others on the windowsill. It shook too. He sauntered over to it, recognizing it as one Aziraphale had given him, the angel had even painted the pot with little flowers and books. The corner of his lip twitched, scooping up the plant oh-so tenderly, fingers ghosting over the leaves. “Not you, dear. You’ve done wonderfully while I was gone. You could never do anything wrong in my eyes.” Crowley turned and glared at the other plants, feeling as though they were happy before Crowley entered. Not relieved, but pleased. If someone broke in here and complimented his plants, they wouldn’t live to see another day.

    Crowley set the little succulent on the windowsill gingerly, ceramic tapping against wood. “Must be awfully lonely here, but Aziraphale hasn’t given me any new plants, so sorry, dear…” He was only kind to this plant, borrowing a book from Aziraphale and always giving it back once he was done, the only reading he’d gotten in was reading to that plant before he went to bed. He sauntered away, sitting in front of the little television he had to watch some mindless programming, but that got boring after a while, settling for standing in front of a window and watching cars drive by.

    “Seems like a nice day for a drive… If my car’s willing to cooperate for once.” He picked up his keys, opening the door to his flat. He turned to look back at the halls and corridors he could see before leaving and locking the door behind him.

    He settled into his car, sighing and turning the key, bracing himself for another hot, fresh round of embarrassment, courtesy of his own car. It never came. His car was playing The Great Pretender at a normal volume. He pat the dashboard of his car and drove off toward Tadfield. Might be nice to visit Anathema and Newton, maybe check on Adam and the Them. He cranked the volume, seeing someone on the side of the street nod to him in approval. He gave them a two fingered salute and promptly slammed his foot onto the gas and sped off toward the village. No angels to stop him here. He felt it odd that he fount himself hesitating to drive how he’d always driven before. Oh, that angel turned him soft! He grumbled, but kept using disgusting turn signals. Vile. Absolutely vile.

    He arrived at Tadfield not long after, parking in a spot that is definitely not meant to be parked in, just to sort of show this cursed world that he hadn’t gone soft. He didn’t know whether to go to Anathema or Adam first, but after very little thinking he decided to go visit Anathema, he didn’t think Adam’s parents would be too delighted to find a tall man dressed in all black at their doorstep asking to see their son. Maybe he’d take a walk and see the kid on his bike. Maybe. He stopped at the door to Jasmine Cottage, where Anathema still lived. He gave the door a harsh knock, distinctly hearing a loud grumble from inside, before someone opened the door. It was Newton.

    “Ah, afternoon.” Newt was wearing an apron covered in little lightning bolts.

    “How’s Anathema? Cute apron.”

    “First of all, it’s not cute, Anathema got it for me, second of all, she’s doing well, want to come inside?”

    Crowley eyed the horseshoe above the door warily. “Uh… I’d rather not. Could you call Anathema over? I’ve got to get my… car… washed…”

    “Oh, sure. Anathema! One of the weird men is here to see you!”

    A voice from inside yelled, seemingly just in the kitchen, out of view. “Oh, Aziraphale? Did he come for tea?”

    “Oh, no, it’s the other one, with the old car, his boyfriend, I think.”

    “I’m not his-“

    “Hello, Crowley, how are you?”

    “Ah, Anathema, fantastic. Do me a favor and tell your boyfriend that Aziraphale is not m- Oh, what’s the point- Look, I just stopped by to say hello, I wanted to make sure you both weren’t dead yet. Have you seen Adam recently?”

    “Oh, I see him in the woods with his friends sometimes, they’re such nice kids. Pepper doesn’t seem to like Newt very much, still calls me a ‘victim of the patriarchy.’ Brian finally went to America, had a lot of ice cream while he was there, he told me. Wensleydale is still the same, he brings me recipes from his parents, they really like to make sandwiches. How’s the car?”

    Crowley moved aside to show Anathema, the car gleaming in the summer sun.

    “Aziraphale’s bookshop?”

    “A-Okay.”

    “Did you know he talks a lot? H-“

    “Yes, I’m familiar.”

    “You didn’t let me finish. He talks a lot about you. He never stops, he goes on and on about how you’re so nice to hi-“

    “Alright, great talking to you Anathema, goodbye, sorry, can’t talk buh-bye!” Crowley yelled over Anathema, running back to his Bentley and speeding off. It left Anathema and Newton standing in their doorway, watching the Bentley as it drove off.

    “Rude.” Anathema said to no one, closing the door and walking back inside, Newt following after.

    Meanwhile, Crowley sped off back toward London, too flustered to think about turn signals and road rules. “Stupid Anathema, stupid Newt, not-stupid Aziraphale, I’m not fucking nice… We talked about this, angel…” He kept grumbling as he got to his flat and collapsed on the nearest soft surface. He suddenly realized that when he wasn’t with Aziraphale, life was awfully boring. He didn’t want to go back to the angel already, it hadn’t been that long, after all. The sun was beginning to set, humans walking home from work, and others walking to work from home. He could call Hastur, mess with him. He hasn’t done that in a while. He knew the duke of Hell had blocked his number, so he went to a pay phone and punched in Hastur’s way-too-long number.

    “Yo! Hastur!”

    “Wh- C-Crowley?! How did you-“

    “Pay phones, Hastur La Vista.”

    “That was an alias! I didn’t have time to think of a proper one!”

    “Yeah, yeah, how’s Beelzebub?”

    “I- Let me get this straight, you called me, on a normal mortal phone, to c-catch up?”

    “Yup.”

    “And you act like nothing’s wrong?! Like you didn’t go native?! LIKE YOU DIDN’T BETRAY HE-“

    “Okay, that’s enough out of you, and do me a favor and tell Beelzebub that Gabriel and them make a wonderful couple.”

    “Wh-“

    He hung up then, allowing himself the pleasure of letting out a wicked cackle as he stepped out of the phone booth, seeing a tan coat flare behind someone that had just rounded a corner, going out of sight. Crowley ran after him, yelling for Aziraphale like a madman.

    “Angel! Hey! Angel!” He saw the other turn around soon enough, confusion quickly being replaced by a soft smile. Crowley reciprocated, catching up to the angel.

    “Ah, Crowley, how was your day? Not here to get me to run off with you, are we?”

    “I- That was one time, angel!”

    “I know, I know, how were your plants?” Aziraphale began walking, Crowley walking next to him.

    “They seemed fine, oddly happy before I got home.”

    “O-Oh, how nice. Must have been a nice day for them, I suppose.”

    “Went to see Anathema, she’s doing well, Adam isn’t planning on starting the apocalypse again.”

    “Oh, lovely! Want to come inside for some tea?”

    “Wouldn’t hurt to take a little break. I’ve been running around London for quite a while.”

    “Wonderful!” Aziraphale ushers Crowley inside, the two still chattering on as the citizens of London meander about the city. Beelzebub is reluctantly told Crowley’s message, and is immediately turned tomato red. Hastur was sent away and complained to any listening ear about Crowley once again. Adam and the Them still have adventures about witches and occasionally make fun of the Four Horsemen. Normal kid things. Anathema is still a witch, what else would she be, an aardvark? Newt still isn’t allowed around computers, for the sake of not burning down Jasmine Cottage, and all is well.

[fatandnerdy30]

Writetober 1 of 31

So here is the first of the list! The challenge for this was “RING”. I hope you enjoy it!

The phone ringing was their first welcome into the house as Hank and Jeff walked in carrying grocery bags. “Really? I didn’t even know that thing worked,” Hank laughed as he kicked the door shut. 

“Well, apparently it does! I guess I’ll get it. It is a milestone, after all. Out first house call!” Jeff walked into the kitchen and put his bags on the counter. “Hello?” he answered while pulling fruit from the paper bag. There was no answer right away. “Hello?” he said louder, thinking the person couldn’t hear him.Deep breaths were heard on the other end. The man stopped, his eyes widening.

Hank stopped wrinkling the bags. “Jeff? Are you all right?”

 The breathing got heavier and he walked over to the phone. Hank’s voice seemed to snap Jeff out of it and he let out a sigh. “Okay, well it was nice talking to you pervert!" He hit the ‘end call’ and went back to the bags. "I swear, people are just looking for attention these days in any form.” He shook his head, laughing with Hank as they continued unpacking the groceries. They were left alone for a while, until a single ring pierced the silence.

Hank had just put his phone on the charger, but realized a few minutes that there was no power going to his phone. He tried another outlet. Nothing. That was odd. “Hey, honey? Can you check if your charger is working? I tried and nothing from mine. Might have to call the company and see what’s going on.”

“Yeah, sure, let me just,” there was a pause when Jeff opened the refrigerator. “The fridge isn’t on. Could we have lost power?” Jeff quickly threw the perishable food in, shutting the door quickly.

“Maybe. But, we have no way of getting knowing. Maybe if we went out and asked the neighbors.” The taller man checked his watch. It was getting pretty late, almost ten. “Maybe it will be  back on in the morning.”

“Yeah. Let’s just finish putting this away and-” Suddenly, the house phone started ringing. There was no power, how was that possible? “That’s odd…” Jeff moved to pick it up. “Hello?” No one had this number. They only used it for work related emergencies and for calling in sick. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Silence.“Okay, I think that was a fluke, because the phone isn’t working and-”

“I can see you.” The voice was slick like oil and cold, making Jeff feel like hhe was in ice. It made him freeze. He hadn’t heard that voice since…No, it couldn’t be. “Excuse me?”

“No power….I can see you.” the disembodied voice whispered. “I can see your feelings….coming off you…in waves…” The voice chuckled.

“Okay, whoever this is, this isn’t funny. I’m hanging up now. Buh-bye!” He slammed the receiver down and turned to Hank. “Crazy..”

“What was it? You look petrified.” Hank put an arm around his fiancee’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

“Nothing, really. Just some guy trying to scare me. I don’t know how these ancient things work, so maybe it’s not hooked up to the power?" 

Hank shrugged."Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get the rest of the food packed in the cupboards and then we can go to the bedroom, maybe get a little freaky with some candles?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, then laughed when Jeff pushed him, rolling his eyes.

“Pervert." 

They both laughed and went to putting the cans into the cupboards then went to find some candles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two were sitting in the living room sipping their coffee. It was dark, save for the candles that were throwing shadows on the walls. Hank closed his eyes and put his head back on the couch when the silence was disturbed by a high pitched ring-ring. It sounded like a scream to the two men, who both jumped. 

"Ow! Shit that was hot!” Jeff complained shaking his hands.

Hank got off the couch and went into the kitchen, but instead of picking up the receiver, he pushed the speaker button. “Hello?” The line was silent for a moment, until deep, heavy breathing could be heard. It sounded distorted, like it was coming through a two-way radio filled with white noise. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

“I can see you.” The voice sounded dark and menacing. “I can see you….candles…shadowssss…." The last word was said in such a way that sent shivers up the man’s spine. It was almost snakelike. Evil. 

"Listen, you better leave us alone, or I’m calling the cops.” The voice was silent for a long moment. “Did I scare you? Good. Now stop. Calling.” He punched the button, shaking his head. He went back to the couch and flopped down, smiling when Jeff cuddled into him. “Better?” the other gave a happy hum with a nod. “Good.” Hank ran through his hair through Jeff’s short hair, taking comfort in that small action. Until the phone started ringing again.The smaller man went stiff, tensing with each ring. 

“Don’t get it,” Jeff said, a hint of fear in his voice.

“I won’t. It’s gonna be that annoying person again, I bet. So, let’s ignore it. Do you wanna go into the backyard and watch do some star gazing?” Jeff shook his head.

 "No. Comfy.“ 

They hadn’t used their backyard since they moved in, but it wasn’t like it was a huge space, but it had enough room for them to put down a blanket and watch the sky."Okay, baby.” Hank closed his eyes.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, his phone was ringing. “Hulo?” he asked, rubbing his face groggily, the candles flickering in the dark.

“I see you…..alone….no light.”

That voice! Hank felt like oil was seeping through his ears. What did it mean no light? There were candles everywhere. He moved and realized something was off. Looking down, he tensed. 

Jeff was gone. 

The blanket he had covering him was on the floor. Jumping to his feet quicker than he ever had, Hank picked it up and froze. Right down the middle was a large, single, rip. “Jeff!?” he called. Silence. “Jeff!” He dropped the blanket and his phone. 

Running to the bedroom, he checked everywhere, but there was no sign of him. Running to the bathroom, he slammed the door open, finding it empty. “JEFF! Answer me!” Silence was his answer. 

He ran to the living room and grabbed his phone. Then he realized. His phone had died.Hank was staring at his hand when suddenly, the dead phone lit up. He jumped, dropping the device, watching it smash on the floor. Still it rang. And it kept ringing, and ringing…until finally it stopped. Hank shook, dragging both his hands through his hair. What was going on? Where was Jeff? 

Suddenly, the house phone rang, making the man jump. He ran to it, picking it up after the second ring. “Jeff!? Jeff, is that you?”

“Jefff……is with me…..shadows….fear…..” The voice was taken over by whimpers.

“Ha-? Where-ou? -nk? Scared….He-!” Jeff’s voice sounded choppy, as if he was breaking in and out. And he sounded terrified.

“Jeff! Baby! Tell me where you are! I cam come and-and get you! Just please, tell me where you are! Please!”

“Goodbye….Haaannnkk…..”

“NO!” Said man punched the wall. “What do you want!? Tell me dammit!” Silence met his ears, and he thought the line was dead, but suddenly, the breathing was back. “Hello? Answer me damn you!”

“Want?” The voice asked. “Want…both….” What the hell was that supposed ot mean?

“What do you mean yo want both! Tell me!”

“Both….Jeff…..want…..you….”

At that, Hank froze. This person, that sounded like a demon…wanted both him and Jeffrey? “Why?” he asked softly. “Why do you want us both?”

“Need….you…..” A deep shuddering breath. “Save…..me…..both….can…." 

"Save you? From what? I need to save Jeff from you!”

“Jeff…..safe…..with me….you….safe too…..”

Hank suddenly had he feeling of being watched. Turning around, he checked every part of the kitchen. Nothing was in there with him, but the feeling never left. “Where are you keeping Jeff?”

“Not….tell you…..yet….you….not ready…..Will call…..when ready…" 

The line went dead after that. "No! No! Tell me where Jeff is you bastard! FUCK!” He dropped the phone, feeling a sob rip through his chest. “Jeff…..please…I can’t live without you….please…something…”

Suddenly, he could hear Jeff’s voice coming from the walls…“What?” He stepped closer, and the voice moved to the hall, and further still until he was in the back most bedroom of the apartment. There the whimpers were the loudest. 

Grabbing the doorknob, Hank pulled, but nothing happened. He tried again, putting his weight behind it, and still nothing. Jeff let out a sobbing sound that pushed Hank into taking a few steps back and he ran at the door. He collided with it and heard it snap. “Jeff! Hold on! I’m coming!” He ran at the door over and over until the wood broke in half. “Jeff!” He stepped into the room.

Pitch black silence met him. He stepped farther in. His fiancee’s voice just came from right behind the door. Where was he? “Jeff?” Hank whispered. “If you can hear me, answer me…" 

Deafening silence. 

Hank’s hands shook as he walked further into the room. Since they bought the place they had yet to make a plan for the back bedroom…but the moment they stepped into it, an eerie feeling overcame them. Hank had put the room to the back of his mind. But now….now it was all important. It was where Jeff probably was being held. "I heard Jeff from this room, you bastard! Where is he!? Tell me!”

“Here……" 

Suddenly a beam lit the middle of the room. Jeff stood in the middle, looking right at Hank, but there was something wrong."Jeff!” The man ran toward his fiancee, but he slammed into something, falling at the other’s feet. “What is this? Tell me!”

“Teeesssssstt….” the oily voice said. “Save me….." 

A movement from the dark had Hank hyperventilating as a tall figure appeared holding something in front of his face. 

”Chooosssse….“ 

He stared at the knife in the monster’s hand, while lifeless red eyes watched him."Choose? Choose what? I don’t understand!” Hank rose to his feet, still shaking, but willing to face this demon down for Jeff. He would do anything for the love of his life.

“Choose….who lives…..” The demon seemed to smile, the most disturbing smile the man had ever seen. Child-like, yellowed teeth, some of them rotting, showed just above the demon’s black bottom lip, its fingers long and knobby as they wrapped around the knife hilt, skin reminding the man of rotting beef, with the same smell. How had he not smelled it when he first came in?

“So, you want me to choose who gets to live? What kind of sick game are you playing?.”

“No….game…..choose…NOW!” The demon’s voice became harsh, its body swelling as it growled.  

Hank quickly grabbed the knife from the cold hand, holding it to the light. It was long and wicked looking, with its sharpened blade glinting in the light. The handle had a strange language on it, that when looking at it hurt Hank’s eyes to the point that he had to close them. Opening them, however, he looked to Jeff, who’s face was ashen white. 

Beautiful green eyes gazing into the room, but seeing nothing. He stepped closer, moving around the demon, who watched him curiously. Hank placed his hand to the barrier surrounding Jeff. He knew what he had to do….and it hurt him too much to think about. “How I wish I could hold you one last time,” he whispered, feeling tears burning his eyes. “I would tell you how much I love you….and how I would miss you….” Suddenly, the barrier was gone.

“Hank?” Jeff cried and ran at the man, leaping into his arms. “Hank! You came….you actually came….” Tears leaked from the man as he clutched onto his shirt. “I was so scared…” He went to pick up his head, but the taller man wouldn’t allow it. 

“No….” Hank grabbed Jeff’s chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. “I want to tell you….how much you mean to me. I love you more than the stars have burned in the sky….” Slowly their lips met, and Hank kept kissing him. In the background he could see the demon watching, its head cocked. Hank took a deep breath, inhaling his fiance’s scent before he plunged the knife into his own stomach. He lurched and Jeff pulled away.

“Hank? Baby? What’s..” his gaze went down to the red seeping through the other’s shirt, the knife protruding from his stomach. “No! NO, Hank! Hank please! Tell me this isn’t real! Please!” He sobbed, holding the man as Hank stumbled to his knees.

“I…I love….you,” the injured man whispered. It was then he realized, his own voice sounded oily…His eyes flicked to where the demon had been standing, only to see the creature in the same position. No…no, it couldn’t be….Red eyes stared back at him from the mirrored image Wait…“How…how did we meet…?" 

Jeff gave him a watery smile, hands running along Hank’s face. "I thought you remembered….when I moved in, you were here…you watched me for so long…When you revealed yourself to me, I was so scared, but you…you said not to worry. That you wouldn’t hurt me…” He gave the man a watery smile. “But you lied…You just hurt me…I can’t live without you, you stupid demon.” He sobbed, allowing Hank to slowly go to the floor. Memories started coming back.

“This…this was my room….the person who called me passed away and I were stuck here. You begged me to free you, but you didn’t know how…and in time, we fell in love. You showed me I didn’t have to be alone.” Hank cried harder, tears falling from his eyes, leaving a trail of black down his face. It was all coming back to him. 

Seeing Jeff for the first time, the beautiful man, watching him sleep…feeling his heart swell every morning he watched him wake, heard him groan as he….well….yeah. “I’m so sorry,” he gurgled, black blood flowing from his lips. “I didn’t….want to hurt you….But now I know, I was killing you…But now, it’s time for me to leave you….to allow you to live.” He slowly raised a hand, his fingers wrapping around Jeff’s head. “You made me feel what it is to love….and for that, I thank you.” He pulled the man into him, their breath intermingling. “And now, you can forget me…”

Jeff shook his head, pleading with him. “Please…please, don’t let me….I would never forget you..”

Hank nodded and pressed his lips to Jeff’s, making their last kiss soft and sweet. When he pulled away, Jeff was staring through him, eyes dull and listless. “Goodbye…my love…" 

Jeff suddenly found himself in the spare bedroom, the memory of how he got there fuzzy. "Huh…that’s odd.” He shrugged and stood, then stopped. On the floor was a single black feather. Picking it up, he knew it was important, but for the life of him, Jeff couldn’t figure out what it was. Then, there was something was on his cheek. 

Bringing his hand up, he felt wetness. “Why am I crying?” Wiping his face, he went to leave the room, but somehow found himself stopping. What was wrong with him? “This has to stop,” he laughed at himself and left the room, closing the door behind him. 

@midas-or-khaos