#obviously the bright light in houses of the holy were ghosts not angels but i still think it fits lol!

[seasononesam]

And I needed to think that there was something else, watching too, you know? Some higher power. Some greater good. And that maybe...maybe I could be saved. 

Sir Galahad, the Quest for the Holy Grail by Arthur Hughes

Christ on the Mount of Olives by Francisco Goya

Sir Galahad by Joseph Noel Paton

{template}

[shotsbyshae]

Devil’s Worst Nightmare

Warnings: Language

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Words: 3.3k

Summary: Ransom’s in over his head, but can you pull him out? Or will he just end up dragging you down with him?

Song: Devil’s Worst Nightmare by FJORA

Sequel to The Wolf

A/N: Sorry it took so long, been going through some personal stuff lately. 

*Spoiler free: no movie connections whatsoever.

I don’t mind all the chaos, It keeps me alive.

“Hell?” Ransom questions as he watches you pace the length the of the small kitchen. “As in –”

“Yes,” you interrupt in frustration. “Fire and brimstone – that hell Ransom.”

“So, Crowley’s a –”

“Demon,” you finish his sentence when he trails off.

“Because demons are real,” Ransom continues, and you nod your head in agreement. “Hhmm.” There’s a look of intrigue and contemplation on his face as he glances down at the bowl of ravioli in front of him.

“You don’t believe me?” you question, folding your arms across your chest.

He flicks his gaze back to you instantly, eyebrows raised curiously, “Sure. It makes sense – demons being real – I mean it would explain the last girl I dated.” There’s a slight smirk on his lips and you roll your eyes in annoyance before turning away from him. “Okay – sorry – let’s say demons are real.”

“They are,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. Suddenly you feel a Ransom sized headache coming on.

“Okay,” he continues, obviously still not convinced. “In that case, hypothetically speaking, what would we do next?”

You turn around and see there’s a slight look of sincerity on the man’s face, as if he’s trying to believe you. “We get to him before he can get to you.”

Ransom nods his understanding, “How do we do that?”

“First,” you take a deep breath and Ransom senses the tension in your voice. “I phone a friend.”

Past

You stare down the wooden steps, the flashlight in your hand barely illuminating past the fourth step which leads into the basement.

“I heard this scratching sound,” Ransom says quietly from beside you. “It wasn’t the first time.”

“Have you felt any sudden cold chills?” you question him, tightening your grip on the iron fire poker you’d grabbed from the sitting room on your way in.

He looks at you sarcastically, “Everywhere is cold – it’s a basement.”

With a roll of your eyes you start down the old wooden stairs, Ransom following close behind. The two of you make your way slowly into the pitch-black basement, the flashlight in your hand revealing shelves lined with old boxes, with what appear to be book titles written on them, as well as various statues and knick knacks.

A loud scratching noise stops you in your tracks and you feel the boy next to you as he bumps into your shoulder. You glance over to him, the light in your hand casting a soft glow on his features and you see the fear in his eyes briefly. “You good?”

“Yea,” Ransom quickly masks his emotions as he takes a small step away from you. “I’m fine.”

The sound happens again, and you furrow your brow, recognizing it as something else, “That’s not scratching.” He looks over to you curiously as you continue. “It’s creaky stairs.”

Realization slowly washes over the boy’s face as he thinks of the upper staircase which has always creaked.

“Well shit,” he pops off.

Suddenly the entire basement is flooded with low fluorescent lighting and both of you jump – visibly startled as an older man tilts his head curiously at the two of you.

“What in the world?” Harlan announces. “Ransom, I thought I told you not to be playing around down here.”

“Sorry sir,” you speak up before the boy can answer. “It’s my fault. He thought you might have a ghost, I asked him to show me.”

“A ghost?” there’s a hint of a smile on Thrombey’s face as he looks at his grandson.

Ransom nods, “Turns out it’s just the stairs.”

Harlan shakes his head with a laugh, “Okay Hardy boy, how about you and Nancy Drew head upstairs. I was just about to break out my secret stash of cookies – how’s that sound?”

“And milk?” the boy counters and Harlan nods with a smile causing Ransom to do a small fist pump in the air.

The two of you walk back towards the staircase and you turn to the older man, “By the way.” Harlan turns to you expectantly as you continue. “Trixie Belden was a much more relatable character than Nancy Drew was.”

Ransom’s halfway up the steps and he looks back down to you in confusion at your comment, but Thrombey smiles warmly at you, “That she was.”

Now

You park your car outside of Ransom’s house. The two of you had swapped his car for yours on the way over.

“Holy shit,” Ransom says under his breath as you open the trunk, seeing the vast assortment of weapons there. “What’s this?” He questions as you hand him one of the angel blades.

“I’ll explain later,” you say grabbing yours, before slinging your bag over your shoulder. “All you need to know is, if you see black eyes, you stab them with the pointy end – okay?”

“Got it,” he responds, index finger pressing into the point of the blade as he tests its sharpness.

Once inside the house, Ransom makes a beeline for where he has the ring stashed and you slowly take in your surroundings. The odd décor and a few knick knacks remind you of Harlan and it makes you smile. The coffee table has various magazines and newspapers scattered across the top of it and they catch your attention briefly.

Meanwhile upstairs, Ransom jerks the top drawer open on the chest in his closet, revealing an assortment of watches and a few men’s rings, the Haxon ring among them. He grabs it as he hears the loud commotion from downstairs.

You’re flung into the couch before you realize what’s happening, the scent of sulfur burning your nostrils instantly. You were distracted – too busy zipping up your bag – the angel blade laying on top of the coffee table. The man grabs you by the neck, picking you up and slamming you against the wall with ease, shattering the mirror hanging there with the back of your skull.

“Where is it?” the demon seethes.

His hand is crushing your windpipe as you claw at his arm. Your feet aren’t touching the floor and there’s a moment of panic that rushes through you as you writhe against the wall. Suddenly you hear the familiar sound of flesh tearing and the demon screams out in pain as he burns bright from the inside for a moment before his hand releases you and he collapses to the ground.

Your hands fly to your throat as you gasp for air, looking up to see Ransom move quickly towards you. The angel blade in his hand drips blood onto the pristine hardwood as his free hand moves to your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yea,” you stare up at him for a moment as you catch your breath. When had your hand grabbed his shoulder for balance? You see the worry in his features which he doesn’t try to mask, and you nod slowly as you pull your hand away. “I’m fine.”

***

As you pull your car to a stop in front of the cabin, Ransom notices the motorcycle parked off to the side. His voice is a bit ominous as he questions, “You expecting someone?”

“Actually, I am,” you respond before exiting the car.

Ransom follows you up to the front door and watches as you knock twice, then pause before knocking three more times. From inside the cabin someone reciprocates the knock four times then opens the door.

“Hello dear,” a man with a British accent greets you.  

Ransom watches you smile at the stranger, “Ketch.” You turn to Ransom with a wave of your hand. “This is Ransom.” He gives Drysdale a nod of acknowledgment. “Ransom, this is Ketch.”

You have the urge to huff and roll your eyes dramatically as the two of them size each other up. Instead, you easily push past Ketch inside the cabin asking, “Did you bring the stuff?”

“Of course,” the man responds as Ransom follows you into the cabin. “You're lucky he didn’t come himself.” Ketch closes the door and turns to watch you toss your bag onto the chair closest to the door. “Dean’s not very happy with your plan.”

“He’ll get over it,” you respond with a smirk.

Ransom watches as Ketch moves over to the counter unzipping the small duffel bag which is lying there, “Everything you need is in here – spell included.”

“I appreciate it,” you respond, moving over to look inside the bag.

“You're not planning on doing this solo – are you?” Ketch glares down at you knowingly.

“Is this you or Dean asking?” you challenge him.

“Does it matter?”

You glance over at Ransom, a small smile playing on your lips, “No – I won’t be alone.”

There’s a moment of hesitation as Drysdale reciprocates your smile and Ketch finally sighs, “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you,” you respond, watching as he turns to leave.

“Anytime dear,” the smile he tosses you over his shoulder before he exits is genuine and Ransom notices it.

“So,” Drysdale begins curiously. “That’s the assassin.” He keeps his eyes trained on you carefully as you comb through the duffel on the countertop. “Although, I take it he’s not the boyfriend.”

You glare over at him unimpressed as you say his name in a warning tone, “Ransom.” Pulling a can of red spray paint from the bag, you toss it over to the man beside you. “C’mon, we have work to do.”

Ransom carefully follows your direction as you show him how to use the spray paint in order to make a large devil’s trap on the wooden floorboards of the living area. You draw another smaller sigil on the coffee table as Ransom brings the items you request from the bag over.

“Do I even want to know what that is?” he questions, watching you place items in the small metal bowl, some of which appear to be bones.

“Probably not,” you respond with a half-smile, picking up the small knife from the table as Ransom lights the candles he’d placed along the sigil. His eyes widen a little as you slice open your palm, allowing a few drops of blood to drip into the bowl.

“Here,” Ransom reaches across, having grabbed the bandana and wraps it around your palm. You nod your appreciation before squeezing your hand tightly around the fabric as Drysdale grabs the matchbox, quickly striking one of the sticks and dropping the small blaze into the bowl, igniting the contents as you begin to speak in Latin.

“Et ad congregandom. Eos coram me.”

Ransom is obviously startled by the sudden appearance of the man in the black suit who appears across from the two of you, standing in the center of the red symbol he helped you paint on the floor.

“What the bloody hell?” his British accent is deep and thick as he turns quickly to glare at the two of you angrily.

“Crowley,” you greet with a smirk.

“I know you,” the man narrows his eyes slightly at you with recognition. “You’re Dean’s – friend.” There’s a smugness to his smile as he says the word and you fold your arms across your chest defiantly before he moves his gaze to Ransom. “And you – you have something that belongs to me – how convenient.”

Drysdale is still sorting out the man’s friend comment and he quickly brings his attention back to the matter at hand, “Right – yes.” He pulls the ring from his pocket, holding it up for the demon to see. “I don’t even know what this is, but obviously it’s important to you –”

“Where’s Dean?” Crowley’s attention is back on you, ignoring Ransom’s explanation. “Does he know about this little stunt?”

“Yes,” you reply in exasperation. “And – I don’t know where he’s at.”

“Oh,” there’s a malicious grin on his face. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Shut up Crowley,” your response is sharp. “I’m doing you a favor.”

“Really? How is that exactly?” the demon questions you curiously as Ransom shifts uncomfortably beside you.

“I got your ring back,” you say, plucking the ring from Drysdale’s fingers. “And I don’t want money for it.”

“But you do want something,” Crowley’s seen that determined look before.

“Leave Ransom alone,” you tilt your head to Drysdale, not breaking eye contact with the man across from you. “He’s just a guy that was in the wrong place – wrong time.”

Crowley’s eyes narrow again as he glances back to the man, “Oh – is that so?”

“Yea,” Ransom responds with a nod of his head. “Wrong place.”

The demon keeps his eyes trained on him for a moment longer before you speak up.

“So, we’re good?” you question, breaking the tension.

“No,” Crowley looks at you. “Tell Dean he owes me one.”

“Fine,” you move around the edge of the coffee table, handing the man the ring as you scrape your boot through the paint on the floor, breaking the sigil.

“Lovely to see you,” Crowley remarks sarcastically. “As always.”

With that he vanishes, and you turn back to look at Ransom as you breath a sigh of relief. He shakes his head in disbelief, “Shit – that was a demon.” You drop your head as Ransom continues. “I thought you said it wasn’t that simple.”

“My friend now owes him a favor,” you shake your head in annoyance. “Which will definitely bite me in the ass – so no – not that simple Ransom.”

“Oh,” he responds quietly. “Sorry.”

“I’ll deal with it later,” you reply. “At least now no one’s trying to kill you.”

Past

“You know he’s going to kill you – right?” a young Howie states to the blue-eyed boy sitting across the picnic table from him.

“He can try,” Ransom gives a smug grin.

“Joey is twice your size Ransom,” Howie exclaims. “Just give him the baseball card back.”

“I won it fair and square,” the boy responds. “It’s mine.”

“You cheated,” Howie accuses him in a hushed tone.

Ransom leans forward slightly, “Well he was too dumb to realize it, so I win.” He glances up to see you walking down the sidewalk towards him, backpack slung over one shoulder casually.

You pat the top of the picnic table with one hand as you say quickly, “Let’s go Drysdale, walk me home.”

“You don’t want to be anywhere near him,” Howie warns. “Dead man walking.”

“Yea – I heard,” you remark, glancing over at the other boy. “I’ll be fine.”

Ransom shrugs his shoulders at Howie before he turns to follow you down the sidewalk. You shake your head as he catches up with you.

“Hustling people for baseball cards now?” you question him nonchalantly. “You realize your family has more money than anyone at this stupid school.”

“What can I say?” Ransom smirks. “I like a challenge.”

“Well, it should take about – what – two weeks for Joey to cool off?” you ask, glancing over at him.

“Probably, why?” the boy watches the smile spread across your features.

“In that case, you’re welcome, because he has after-school detention for the next two weeks.”

Ransom’s eyes light up, “Trix – you didn’t!”

The smirk on your face is the only response he needs.

Now

“Well,” Ransom gives a soft smile. “I suppose I owe you a thank you, Trix.”

You nod your head slowly before you walk over to the chair where you had tossed your bag earlier. “Yea – you do.” Reaching into the bag you pull out the newspapers you’d taken from his coffee table. The ones which had distracted you long enough for the demon to get the drop on you, and you turn to him, holding them up for him to see. “As well as an explanation.” The front of the paper says, ‘Three Hikers Missing in 3 Months.’ You watch the expression on Ransom’s face change as you walk closer to him, tossing the paper on the counter, showing him the next one. ‘Mountain Lion Attacks and Kills 2 High School Students.’ Ransom places his hands on his hips as you toss that one on the counter, revealing the third headline, ‘House Fire Claims the Lives of New York Family.’

Ransom sighs heavily, “Trix –”

“That was a wendigo,” you interrupt and point at the articles. “A werewolf and this was a poltergeist. I know because these were my cases.” Trying to contain the anger and confusion that’s been building inside of you is becoming increasingly more difficult. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I can explain,” he begins.

“You damn well better.”

“Will you let me talk,” he snaps, clenching his teeth before shaking his head. You fold your arms across your chest, glaring at him as you wait for him to continue.

Ransom’s gaze moves back to yours – cool – calculating. He tries to determine how much he should tell you and how much he should keep to himself, but he knows it’s useless because you’ll see right through it.

He licks his lips nervously as he finally begins, “A few months ago, I was at Granddad’s house. I overheard him on the phone – with you. He said something about you being careful with the case you were on and I thought I had heard him wrong the first time, but then he said vampire again and I knew I had heard him right.” Your breath catches as your defensive stance slowly falls, arms dropping slowing to your sides. “So, I started doing research – on you – on what it is you do.”

Your brow furrows in confusion, “But when I told you about demons – you didn’t believe me.” The slight tick in his jaw is the only response you need, and your eyes widen in surprise. “You did know demons were real.” Turning on your heel, you begin to walk around the kitchen island, trying to slow the thoughts rushing into your head. “If you knew they were real then –” Glancing back to the blue-eyed man as you feel a sense of betrayal. “Was Harlan in on this with you?”

“No,” Ransom responds quickly. “But I knew he’d call you.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I just had to give him all the right clues.”

“All of this,” you begin quietly. “Was some scheme – why?”

“I wanted to see you,” he responds, and you notice the sincerity in his eyes, but you’re still astounded at the extent of this.

“Pick up a fucking phone!” you exclaim, flinging your arms out to your sides as you begin to ramble quickly. “I mean damn, Ransom. This was elaborate and devious and –” The slight smirk on his face and boyish glint in his eye makes you scoff. “Shit – it was completely you.”

He gives a slight shrug of his shoulders, “I could have called you, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun? You thought this was fun?” you shake your head.

“More fun than I’ve had in years,” Ransom states matter-of-factly.

“You need better friends,” you comment off-handedly.

“Agreed,” he responds staring at you appreciatively and you narrow your eyes at him.

“You could have died,” your words are sincere, because even at the beginning of your friendship, his well-being was a priority for you.

“I never doubted you,” Ransom says. “Not for a second.” He watches you carefully as you sigh.

“You’re un-believable.”

“You have to admit,” he adds. “It was pretty perfect.”

“Except now I owe him,” you respond. “Well – Dean does.”

“Who is he to you anyway – Dean?” Ransom questions.

“A friend.”

“Really?” he places his hands on his hips lightly, noticing the uncomfortable look on your face.

You fold your arms across your chest, challenging him, “Is there anything else I need to know about?”

A smile slowly crosses his lips, reaching all the way up to his blue-green eyes, “I mean there is one thing you should probably know.”

“Oh God,” you look at him suspiciously. “What?”

The mischievous smile on his face as he speaks is also a bit endearing, because this isn’t the first time Ransom has schemed against you in order to spend time with you.

“When we were kids – I never really thought Granddad’s basement was haunted.”

[katsidhe]

either of the classic spn religion themed episodes 'faith' or 'houses of holy' idk they're some of my faves all around

2.13 Final Thoughts

This was GOING to be brief. Well, not anymore. 

Sam wants an angel. Oops, careful what you wish for. 

The “angel” special effects in this episode look a lot better than the awful “true form” effect we got in s14. It’s just a really, really bright light with a vaguely human silhouette–but it works, both because it contrasts so blindingly with the dark grunge of s2, and because it’s formless enough to let us wonder.  

It’s interesting to me that Father Gregory’s ghost was actively targeting TWO victims with each of his strikes: both the killer and the kill-ee. He was clearly powerful enough to force some serious compulsions; there isn’t really a reason he couldn’t have inspired suicides instead of murders. 

The people the ghost targets as killers seem to have a similar profile: people hopeless, impoverished, or otherwise downtrodden. He chooses a hooker and a local drunk–people who, from Father Gregory’s perspective, are of questionable value to society, and people who were also seeking some kind of escape or higher meaning. He gives them that higher meaning in an incredibly cruel way, by condemning them to decades in prison or a locked ward. 

Of course, Gregory also chooses Sam Winchester. How much of this was because Sam seemed superfluous, a drifter without value? Or was it just because Sam fit the psychological profile: someone desperate to hear a higher call?  

Dean has another one of those common early seasons moments where he claims to be the authority on his mother’s psychology. Uh-huh. “Mary used an idiom about angels in front of her four year old” —> “Mary had faith” ok Dean. It’s another in the set of emotions and principles Dean thinks of as soft or high-minded or safe: things he classifies, without examination, as belonging to the unattainable, flawless, secure life lost with Mary’s death. Things Dean generally thinks of as dangerously or selfishly indulgent.  

Okay, so the obviously discussion-worthy thing in this episode is the difference between Sam and Dean’s approaches to the question of faith. This is the episode where we learn that Sam prays, and that he wants to believe in some greater good. 

Sam’s faith is often cited as evidence of his tendency towards hopefulness/seeing the good in the world but… eh. Especially in this episode, it feels more like evidence of something more depressing. Sam’s reason for desperately hoping there’s a benevolent higher power is categorically not out of a fundamental belief in life’s goodness, but rather the opposite—it’s because most of his life is filled with evil and loneliness and uncertainty, and it’s difficult for small victories or small pleasures to make much of a dent in that temperament. 

Let’s talk Dean’s skepticism. Dean is skeptical specifically of things he cannot see and has not experienced. He puts his faith in things that are overpoweringly tangible–the central pillar of his faith is his family and his family’s fight, not any kind of higher principle. The larger world is too far removed to have meaning: what matters is his family and his mission.   

Let’s talk Sam’s faith. I can see a young Sam starting the habit of prayer in a combination of quiet rebellion and desperation.  When Sam says he wants something more, he means something beyond hunting—he wants some greater paradigm that will let him put this behind him. His demon-y future, yes, but also the claustrophobic obsession he grew up with. (Sam never met their mother–obedience to the cult of her sacrifice requires faith from him too, of a sort much less palatable to him.)

Sam’s faith is also a way to try to externalize his mission and his decisions, due to a deep discomfort with and suspicion of his internal self. In s2, this suspicion is still nebulous, but it’s definitely present; as seasons pass, especially s4, Sam gains all sorts of concrete evidence for distrusting himself. 

Setting 2.13 as the baseline, I’d say there are three major faith watersheds in SPN: 1) 4.01 = angels are very much real; 2) 11.20 = God is very much real; 3) 14.20 = God is real but he’s very much more of a douchebag than previously suspected. In general, at these turning points, I’d say that Dean is more ready to update his picture of the universe without changing it much, and without wondering if he’s wrong about other significant things; Sam is more ready to let the new information color his broader view, and more suspicious that he’s not getting the full story. 

So, who’s the cynic, who’s the idealist? Who’s the hardbitten skeptic and who’s too naive? I think the answer is more complex. Sam’s faith evinces a deep skepticism in both his family model and the harsh world he’s grown up seeing. Similarly, Dean’s skepticism betrays his inflexibility in accepting any challenge to his deeply held beliefs.

[moonlightrichie]

Why Did the Cute Guy Cross the Road?

A repost of my Reddie meet-cute. Wanted to post it properly on here.

Summary: 

Richie is really out there falling in love with any cute guy who smiles at him, even when said cute guy is just crossing the street.

Word Count: 4722 Pairing: Reddie

READ ON AO3 HERE

Richie Tozier was 25 years old. He had a steady job at the radio station, cracking funny (anyone else would say bad) jokes, playing music, doing his voices, getting listened to by thousands every day. He lived in his own apartment, had his own car and cooked his own food. He had great friends. He would go out drinking with Ben, Bill and Stan every Friday, eat lunch with Beverly every Wednesday, and spend time with the four of them together every Sunday. They would watch movies, go bowling, go on drives, picnics, whatever they felt like doing that day. It was nice to have the routine. 

In a way you could say he had his shit together, living his best life, doing pretty well. He was making money, being social, eating semi-healthy, and even sometimes working out when he had the time (he couldn’t believe it either). And in a way it was also true. There were parts of his life he really had going for himself. His friends would agree on this.

There was only one thing Richie did not have going for himself. When it came to his love life, all of his friends would tell you he was a mess. At least three times a month, he would call the four of them in their group chat and tell them he had met the love of his life. A girl he locked eyes with at the supermarket, a guy who had smiled at him on the train, a girl who had let him cut in line at Starbucks, all people Richie had claimed to be in love with. Then Richie would talk about them non-stop for the next three days before inevitably forgetting them, and repeat. It was getting ridiculous.

Richie knew himself that his love life was a mess. He just didn’t want to admit it. All his friends were in stable relationships and were planning their futures. Beverly had just moved in with Ben, Bill and Audra were engaged, and Stan and Patty were getting a dog together. All Richie had was a goldfish named Deborah. He had decorated her fish bowl with all sorts of nice things. There was a tiny house with a blue seashell ceiling, some cute seaweed in Deb’s little fish garden, white sand, three pink rocks. He was pretty proud of it. He wanted to buy a big aquarium at some point with salt-water fish, he thought they were prettier, no offense to Deb.

He was still waiting for the perfect person to meet, and just knowing, really knowing, that they were the one. Sure, he always told his friends that he was certain he had met the love of his life, even tricking himself into believing it sometimes, but deep inside he knew that no, of course not. Eye contact wasn’t enough to know if someone was the right person for him, and he wasn’t stupid enough to actually think that either, no matter what his friends thought.

Richie decided then, as he was driving on his way home from work, that he wasn’t going to tell his friends that he had met his soulmate until he was absolutely sure.

The sun was in its final moments before setting, lighting up the world around him in golden tones. It was undeniably beautiful, and his stupid lovesick brain couldn’t help but think how perfect it would be to meet someone with the sun looking like that. It seemed like he couldn’t ever stop imagining romantic scenarios.

A soft tune was playing on the radio, something he hadn’t heard before. The melody really fitted with the sun’s warm embrace. Sunlight reflected in the windows of the buildings around him, enveloping him like a blanket, and he smiled.

So what if he was single. He was happy, content with how his life was, and damn it if he wasn’t going to enjoy it. The love of his life would come into his life when the time was right.

With that thought swirling around in his head and the sun shining into his eyes, he almost didn’t see the man waiting to cross the street. He was looking right at Richie’s car, obviously waiting to see if he would stop for him. Richie slowed down; barely managing to stop in front of the crossing, noticing the man was probably around his age. The man locked eyes with him, tan skin glowing in the sun, soft blonde locks moving with the wind, and Richie was entirely mesmerized.

Angel. That was the only word coming to mind as the glow from the sun surrounded the man’s head like a halo, turning his blonde hair golden. And then the man smiled, cheeks round, freckles dusted across his nose. Finally regaining control over his facial muscles, Richie managed a smile in return. He grabbed his sunglasses and moved them up into his curls, squinting at the man before putting both his hands back on the wheel.

With sparkling eyes and pink lips quirked upwards, the man nodded in gratitude, and Richie grinned wider, showing his teeth. The man’s gaze drifted off as he started crossing the road, and Richie was in love.

In an instant, everything was in slow motion. The man took a step, a slight bounce to it, arms swinging faintly by his sides. The sun disappeared behind him as he strode in front of it, blocking the light and creating a silhouette comparable to one of a Greek god. His pink denim jacket fit perfectly around his shoulders, the color of it making his tanned skin glow. As the sun once again emerged behind his head, the blonde waves looked platinum in the brightness.  

The man was about halfway across the road when he turned his head to meet Richie’s eyes once more, eyes gleaming cheekily, almost as if he knew he had Richie’s full attention. His cheeks were a rosy color, smile still ghosting over his lips, and Richie couldn’t do anything but stare.

He knew he probably looked ridiculous, being so obvious with his staring, glasses in his chaotic hair, squinting through the sunlight.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed when the man took his last step over the road. He took a last glance at Richie, smiling shyly. Richie returned the smile; more reserved this time, realizing with a broken heart that this was when the two of them parted ways. It felt like a mutual conversation had passed between their eyes, both of them feeling the sparks. Or maybe it was wishful thinking, and Richie was being silly again. The man raised his hand then, giving a small wave, a gloomy goodbye. Richie nodded his head, waving back.

The man winked at him before turning and starting to walk away. Wanting to look at him for as long as he could, Richie kept his eyes locked on the man. He had a regal presence in his steps, moving his hips in light washed denim jeans. Obviously showing off, he ran a hand through his hair, sunlight hitting it just right. He definitely knew he had Richie’s attention.

A blaring horn rang through the air, and Richie jumped out of his staring, the sound not making any sense in his trance-like state. He looked in the rear view mirror, seeing a car behind him, an older woman glaring in the front seat. Heat pooling in his cheeks, he raised his arm as an apology. Then he quickly threw a glance towards the man. He had turned back around at the sound, and it looked like he was laughing. Richie smiled sheepishly in return, shrugging his shoulders in an ‘oops’-motion, not letting himself be too embarrassed about it.

The woman behind him hit the horn a second time, and Richie finally managed to react. Pushing the gas pedal sadly, he got the car driving.

The man disappeared when Richie drove around a corner not long after.

Two day went by, and Richie could not for the life of him stop thinking about the beautiful man he had seen. Kind of ironic how just seconds before the two of them had locked eyes, he had promised himself to not tell his friends about the new love of his life until he was absolutely certain it was real.

He had picked up his phone more times than he could count, finger hovering over the call-button on the group chat before sulkily deciding not to. With tingling fingers and bouncing legs, he had sat through lunch with Beverly, biting his bottom lip several times to stop himself from spilling everything. He had gotten questionable glances from her all throughout the meal, obviously not being as discreet as he had hoped. She hadn’t asked about it.

On Friday night, now four days since he’d seen the beautiful man, he had gone out with Ben, Bill and Stan to their favorite bar, just like they always did. He had to restrain himself from drinking too much, knowing he would burst if he passed a certain point of intoxication. They had all been looking at each other in confusion when he kept zoning out, fingers tapping unsteady rhythms on his pint glass.

Then Sunday came, and all five of them together with Patty and Audra decided to have a barbeque in the summer sun. They decided to have it at Stan and Patty’s house, as they were the only ones with a back yard. Six days had passed since Richie had fallen in love with the man crossing the street, and he was still very much infatuated. Usually his small stupid crushes on strangers only lasted about three days, but this time he couldn’t stop thinking about the guy.

He knew he was close to cracking, and having to spend the day with all of his friends and their lovers, he just figured he wouldn’t last even for an hour.

They were all eating hamburgers and drinking red wine around Stan and Patty’s garden table when Richie finally cracked. Ben was telling a story about his day at work, and everyone was laughing, and so was Richie, but he didn’t really follow.

“And then he takes out a box from the fridge and says: ‘I’m so tired of people leaving their leftovers to rot in our fridge’ and something about having seen it lay there for a month. And that’s when I recognize it as my box of strawberries that I had brought with me a month ago and forgotten about”, Ben laughed.

“No way”, Stan said.

“And I’m just, like, holy shit, but instead I just nod my head and say: ‘I know, right? I can’t believe someone would do that’, and then he throws the entire box in the trash. And sure, I don’t want the strawberries, but the box was mine from home, so as soon as he walks away, I go over to the trash to pick it up.”

“I feel like I know where this is going”, Audra laughed.

“And just as I’m holding the box, he actually comes back around the corner with a co-worker.”

“Oh no”, Patty said, putting her hands in front of her face.

“And he looks at me, and down on the box I just picked up from the trash, and I say ‘I knew I recognized that box’, and he just laughs and shakes his head, but seriously I thought I was going to die from embarrassement.”

Everyone continued laughing around the table, and Richie laughed with them, deciding now was the time. 

“Uhm.” He cleared his throat. “Guys,” he said, getting their attention. “I have to tell you something I’ve been dying to say for almost a week now.”

Beverly raised her eyebrows over her wine glass. “Good news, I’m hoping?”

“Totally.”

“So what is it?”

“Okay, so six days ago.” He paused for suspense, because he liked to be dramatic like that. “I met…” He held up a finger. “… The love of my life.”

Beverly, Stan and Bill all groaned at the same time.

Audra gasped. “Wow, Richie, that’s so great!”

“I know, thank you.” Richie smiled at her.

“No, he does this all the time”, Stan sighed.

“Honestly surprised he hasn’t mentioned it until now”, Beverly said.

“Yeah, I’m impressed, Ruh-Richie”, Bill added.

“Okay, first of all, rude.” Richie leaned back in his chair, pretending to glare at his friends. “Second of all, I haven’t even told you about him yet.”

They all sighed fondly at him.

“Okay, well, did you at least get his name this time?” Stan asked.

Richie stopped for a second, considering his options. “Uhm, yes.” Lying was probably a mistake.

“What’s his name then?”

As soon as the question was out of Stan’s mouth, every single boy-name in existence disappeared from Richie’s brain. He couldn’t even remember his own name in that moment. For some reason the only word coming to mind was ‘pencil’. Yup, definitely a mistake.

“Uhm,” he fumbled. “Edmund?”

Stan narrowed his eyes. “Why did you say it like a question?”

“Uhm…”

“His name is not Edmund.”

“Hey, his name could totally be Edmund.”

“Oh, my God”, Beverly rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “So you don’t know his name, but how did you meet then?”

“Okay, so we didn’t technically meet, but…”

“No, stop”, Stan interrupted. “This is going to be one of those ‘I locked eyes with a cute guy while grocery shopping, and now I’m in love with him’ things. And Richie, I know you’re a hopeless romantic and believe in all that ‘love at first sight’-stuff, but you do realize love doesn’t actually work that way, right?”

Patty grabbed Stan’s hand. “Babe, don’t be so harsh”, she said softly.

“No, he needs to hear this”, Stan replied, but kept a hold on her hand. “Richie, you know we’re totally rooting for you to find someone, and will support you one hundred percent when you do. But just because you see someone cute and they smile at you, that doesn’t mean they’re the love of your life. You need to at least talk to them before you decide.”

Richie exhaled tiredly, prepared for a negative response, but definitely not for a lecture. “Listen, Stan, I know that, okay?” He opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling pretty dumb, not really knowing what to say. “I just had a different feeling in my stomach this time. I know I’ve told you guys I’ve met my soulmate more times than I can count, but I’m not stupid. Of course I know that I don’t actually love them, but something was special this time, I could feel it.”

“Why don’t you tell us about him?” Patty said, smiling warmly.

Richie looked over at Stan with raised eyebrows, waiting for approval to continue. Stan sighed, but then his lips stretched out in a smile. “Tell us, Richie.”

Instantly, Richie’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “Of course, Stan the man, your wish is my command.”

“It’s not really a wish…”

“It was a beautiful Monday evening”, Richie interrupted loudly, “and I was driving on my way home from work, and I get to a crossing. And there stands the fucking most beautiful man I have ever seen, even more beautiful than you, Stan the Man,” Richie winked at him, “and he looks like this Greek god, like, absolutely stunning. And he smiles at me in gratitude for stopping, and I swear to Jesus, he was swinging his hips knowing he had my attention, and I am so in love with him.” Richie was waving his arms around while rambling. “Fucking soulmate, I swear. I can’t stop thinking about him.” He fell back into his chair.

A moment of silence passed through the group.

“Seriously, why duh-didn’t you talk tuh-to him?” Bill asked. “If you’re suh-so sure he was your s-soulmate?”

Richie shrugged. “Well, I didn’t want to seem like a creep, and the old lady in the car behind me kept pressing her horn to get me to continue driving, I don’t know, I’m stupid, okay?”

“Yeah, you are kind of stupid”, Beverly said. “But if it’s been six days, don’t think I didn’t notice this is the longest one of your crushes has lasted, and you’re still thinking about him, I feel like that has to mean something, no?” She looked around the table for confirmation. Audra, Patty and Ben were all nodding. “And lets all just ignore the fact that you’re basing all of this on looks, because that would make you seem kind of shallow.” She winked at him. He flipped her off.

“Yeah, you should have talked to him”, Ben said.

Richie sighed. “I know. Every time I’ve passed that same crossing, I’ve hoped to see him again, but unfortunately…” he drifted off, an unsure expression on his face.

“Well, if you do ever see him, promise me you’ll talk to him, no matter the situation you’re in, no matter how awkward it would be, just promise me.” Beverly held out her right pinky, a challenging yet hopeful look in her eyes.

Richie looked around the table. They were all smiling and nodding at him. “I promise”, he said and locked their pinkies together.

The next day came and it was Monday once again. Exactly one week had now passed.

As Richie was driving on his way home from work, he tried to not hope too much that the man would be at the same crossing. With the rain pouring down around him, the wipers going crazy on the car’s windshields, there were barely any people out walking. He didn’t blame them. If he as much as stepped out of his car, he knew he’d end up soaked in seconds.

People were all probably cuddled up with their significant others on the couch, watching movies, and Richie would kill to be doing the same. Just need to get that significant other first.

At this point, Richie was starting to get upset with himself for not being able to find someone. Everything else in his life was pretty great, and exactly how he wanted it to be. Now all he wanted was someone to share it with.

He turned a corner, and he could see the crossing in the far distance. A hope was building in his chest, massive and stupidly unnecessary. There were a few people that could be seen walking around, some even without umbrellas. Some of them looked like they couldn’t care less about the rain while others were running in panic to take shelter.  

The crossing was coming up next, and there was someone walking towards it. This person was the only chance to be the man Richie was hoping to see, and he made the decision to drive slower so they’d make it there at the same time. As he got closer, he could see it was a man, and his heart started pounding just a little bit faster. The man lifted his umbrella and looked over at Richie just as he pulled to a stop in front of the crossing.

It’s not him.

Richie tried to swallow down his disappointment, but it was hard to ignore the feeling of his heart falling to the pit of his stomach. He watched the man walk over the crossing, heaviness in his chest.

The street was empty except for his car, and he let himself drop his head to the steering wheel, closing his eyes. Fuck this. He’d missed his chance. It was time to let it go. He sighed loudly, the sound of the rain hitting the roof echoing through the vehicle. The weather certainly matched the sadness he was feeling. It was almost like the sky was crying for him.

He raised his head, his sight of the world blurred by the water on his windows, and pressed the gas carefully, ready to get home and under the covers in his bed. Movement in the corner of his vision caused him to stop abruptly. Someone was just about to cross the road, but had halted just before stepping off the sidewalk as he’d started driving. Eyes met his, and Richie’s heart skipped a beat.

It’s him. Holy shit, it’s him.

The man was holding a rainbow umbrella, the bottom of his jeans wet from the rain. Richie wasn’t sure the man could even see into his car, but a flicker of recognition seemed to flash over the man’s eyes. He then raised his available arm and gave a little wave, a small smile playing on his lips. Richie was in absolute awe.

It’s now or never.

Richie had not prepared for what to do if he actually saw the man again, and a moment of complete panic coursed through his veins. He raised his hand to wave back, smiling widely. Seeing that he had the man’s attention, he needed to get his message across before he looked away and started walking. His wave instantly turned into a point directed at the man. He then proceeded to frantically try to sign for the man to cross the road and wait for him, flailing both of his arms. He mouthed please wait as clearly as he could all the while the man cocked his head to the side, a confused smile on his lips.

Richie then pointed to the bus stop just a small distance away, and the man seemed to understand. He nodded carefully, a small blush seeming to spread over his face. After he had crossed the road, Richie drove over to the bus stop, constantly checking to make sure the man wasn’t walking away.

He wasn’t.

Hopefully no buses were coming anytime soon.

Richie stopped the car, looking in the rearview mirror, seeing the man approaching him. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped out.

The rain soaked through his bomber jacket in seconds.

“You could’ve just opened your car window, you know?”

Richie looked up as the man stopped in front of him. He let out a small laugh. “It was a spontaneous decision, I wasn’t really thinking.”

The man smiled widely. ”You’re the man who stopped for me last week, right?”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

“Kind of a cool coincidence that you stop for me at the exact same crossing two Mondays in a row at the exact same time.”

Richie put a hand through his wet hair, the rain fogging up his glasses. “Yeah, I’m on my way home from work.”

The man seemed to remember it was raining, and Richie was standing in the middle of the pour. “Oh shit, hey, get under here.” He waved Richie over, lifting his umbrella to fit him underneath. Richie took off his glasses to dry them quickly before putting them back on. “What do you do for work?”

Richie was freaking out about how good this was going. Being so close to the man made it easy to really get a good look at him. Even without the sun shining, his tan skin still seemed to have a glow to it. With shining eyes and a smile so blinding they didn’t even need the sun, he was looking up at Richie, and Richie sincerely thought he was dreaming. Angel.

“I work at the local radio station”, he replied. “Just cracking jokes and playing music mostly.”

“Oh! That’s so cool. Maybe I’ve heard you on air? I don’t know. I don’t really listen to much radio to be honest, sorry.” The man smiled sheepishly.

Richie laughed. “That’s fine, didn’t expect you to.”

They looked at each other for a few moments, both of them smiling softly.

“What about you?” Richie asked.

“What about me?”

“Are you also on your way home from work?”

“No, I uh…” He blushed and looked away briefly. “I recently started taking piano lessons on Mondays, so I’m on my way home now. I actually considered just staying home today because of the rain, but my roommate Mike forced me to go.” He chuckled to himself. “He knows I don’t really care about the rain, but rather used it as an excuse to not go.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

The man shrugged. “I’m not very good yet, and I also forgot to practice the scales I was told to learn for this lesson.”

Richie made a quick decision. “I’d love to hear you play sometime.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Are you asking me out?”

“I really tried not being too obvious.” Richie bumped the man’s shoulder with his own.

They both laughed lightly. The rain was still pouring down around them, but the sun had just started to peak through the clouds, filling the town with a soft light. Richie was certain that had to mean something.

“I mean, sure”, the man said softly. “But I’m still very terrible at it, just warning you.”

“I don’t mind.”

The man looked at Richie as if he was studying him. “This was kind of a weird way to meet someone.” He was shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“I guess so”, Richie said. “But I thought you were really cute the first time I saw you, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I felt like we had a mutual moment, so when I saw you again, I knew I had to talk to you.”

The man just stared at him, and Richie started freaking out about revealing too much and probably coming off as a creep.

“I uhm- I can be very forward and honest, sorry if that came out the wrong way”, he backtracked. If he had managed to mess this up, he was seriously going to flush himself down the toilet to float in the sewer with his departed goldfishes.

The man just smiled. “No, I like that you know what you want. And I thought you were really cute too”, he winked, “squinting through the sunlight, being tooted at by the car behind you.”

Richie felt heat pooling in his cheeks immediately. He laughed awkwardly. “You noticed that, huh?”

The man laughed. “I noticed.”

“It makes a funny story though. Might have to tell it on my radio show.”

“I guess I’ll have to start listening to it then.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Silence settled over them, both looking at the other shyly.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” the man asked. “I know a really great coffee place.”

Richie broke into a big grin, knowing his semi-crooked teeth were showing, but he didn’t care about that one single bit. “Sounds great.”

The man was beaming back at him just as big. He reached into his coat, pulling his phone out and giving it to Richie. “Just put in your number, and I’ll text you.” 

As he put his digits into the phone, he checked four times to make sure he had written the right numbers. He considered saving the name under something lame, but decided to just write ‘Richie’ with a heart-eyes emoji.

“There you go.” Their hands brushed when he handed the phone back over, and all of his body focused on that spot, unable to feel anything other than the tingles in his fingers.

The man looked down on his phone, smiling widely. “Well, Richie, I’ll text you as soon as I’m inside and safe from the rain.”

“I sure hope so.”

Another beat of silence.

“I should probably head home, but I’m really happy I met you”, the man smiled softly.

“Me too”, Richie said. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Definitely.”

They looked at each other, and then the man pushed up on his toes, kissing Richie’s cheek sweetly. “Bye.” 

“Bye.”

He started walking backwards, and soon after, Richie could feel the rain once again envelop him as the umbrella disappeared from over him. They smiled widely at each other. Then the man turned and started walking away for real.

Richie was about to get into his car when he remembered something

“Wait! I never got your name!” he yelled.

The man turned around, smiling widely. A rainbow could be seen in the distance behind him. “You can call me Eddie.”

“Eddie?” Richie was ready to burst. “Short for Edmund?”

“No!” The man gaped. “Eddie, short for Edward! Definitely not Edmund.”

Richie laughed out loud, eyes twinkling with drops of rain dripping from his hair. “Hey, your name could totally be Edmund.”

[kaistarus]

Clickbait: Chapter 3

Summary:  A lot of great things came with being a big name YouTuber, but along with those perks were some serious drawbacks. One of the biggest being your lack of personal privacy. Due to just one video, Kirishima's least well-kept secret has become a viral sensation overnight, and now he has to deal with the repercussions from both the YouTube community and the public. Hopefully, those he's dragging down with him won't mind...

Words: 4,418

Pairings: kiribaku, tododeku

First Chapter Here

“Oh, stop that.” Mina shooed his hands from his shirt, undoing the top button he’d been fiddling with since they’d left the apartment. “I spent money on this. Don’t wreck it before we even get there.”

“I still think I should’ve—”

“If you even mention that lime-green pineapple monstrosity I’ll have this Uber turn around.” Mina threatened with playful eyes.

Kirishima pouted. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mina’s fashion choices—charcoal did bring out his eyes—he just missed the familiarity of his statement pieces. He knew there was nothing wrong with dressing to impress on occasion, but too much effort made him nervous. At least his hair was still bright-red and spiked to perfection—a true Kirishima statement piece.

“I think you look beautiful in everything you wear.” Kaminari gave a thumbs up from the passenger seat.

“Instigator.” Mina huffed.

Kirishima let his head roll against the window in disdain, watching his breath fog the glass, cold from the car speeding through a Spring’s night. He focused on how the window shook against his temple, tuning out the sound of Kaminari dragging their Uber driver into a nonsense conversation. To be fair, the driver had asked about their week out of polite obligation, so he felt worse for himself at being subjected to Kaminari’s theory of ghost squirrels for the third time that week.

Around them the city was bustling. Cars and stoplights, venues and nightclubs, enormous advertisements; they lit up Los Angeles like every star it stole from the night sky. They passed misfits in street bands using dirty buckets and cheap guitars, strangers selling illegal products to oblivious tourists, and others promising talents that almost always fell short. After a few years here Kirishima had learned the area and discovered the patterns, but it’s diversity always brought a mystery he could never solve. The chaos that kept it alive and him with it.

It was a far cry from the town he and Mina had grown up in.

“We’re here.”

He hadn’t noticed the Uber driver pull over until Mina had him halfway out the car. They were dropped off in front of a five-story red bricked apartment complex that looked nothing like where Kirishima imagined Bakugou living. The plain exterior didn’t match his flashy, overly confident attitude in the slightest. “I’ll message Uraraka to let us in,” Kirishima said when they reached the vestibule.

“It’s like we’re back in college, eh?” Kaminari nudged him. “Waiting to get buzzed into a party?”

“Kirishima the only reason you’re getting into a party?” Sero smirked. “Yep, you’re definitely back in college.”

“He isn’t listed on here.” Mina interrupted. She was pointing to a list hung by the keypad, filled with names and apartment numbers.

“He probably doesn’t want followers randomly popping in.” Kirishima shrugged.

“Or maybe he doesn’t want the cops to find him.” Kaminari opened the main door when a buzz surrounded them.

“You better not say things like that when we get up there.”

“People need to know Kirishima,” Kaminari rolled his eyes at Kirishima’s stern glare. “Kidding. I’ll be a good boy.”

“What was the apartment number?” Sero asked as they entered the elevator.

Kirishima opened the messages from Uraraka and hesitated. “Uh… 420?”

Sero shook his head before pressing the button to the fourth floor.

“Look, man.” Kaminari placed a hand on Kirishima’s shoulder. “If this all ends up being a prank, I’m willing to fight a girl.”

“She’d kick your ass.” Sero snorted.

Kirishima quickly learned that although the building seemed simple—gray carpets, tan walls, no pictures or art—it was impossible to navigate. It took them nearly fifteen minutes to work through the winding halls—door numbers following no obvious order—before they finally arrived at apartment 420. And after the senseless excursion, Kirishima experienced he changed his mind; it was exactly the kind of place he pictured Bakugou living in.

The faint bass thumping passed the apartment door’s false wood shook the surrounding hall. Kirishima hesitated briefly before knocking, irritation from the senseless journey overpowering his previous nerves. The host's response time was quicker than he was expecting.

“Kirishima!” A short girl, soft edges and wide smile, pulled him into a tight hug—hold strong for someone her size. “I’m so glad you all actually came!”

“Yeah. Well, you know. I’m a fan of them. And you. A normal fan. Not a weird one”

Uraraka smiled, a knowing look in her eyes that made Kirishima uneasy.

“At least one of us is normal!” Mina linked their arms together. “I’m a huge fan of yours. Honestly, the main reason we’re here is that I’m like, obsessed.”

Mina gave Kirishima a subtle wink. She had promised him that she’d start paying off her debt tonight. She’d be anything he needed: wingwoman, distraction, comic relief, he names it and she’d play it. Obviously, he wouldn’t do that to her, but that wouldn’t stop her from following him around and doing it anyway.

“Wha—really?” Uraraka’s cheeks turned pink—pinker.

Mina grabbed Uraraka’s hands. “I binged you in one night. You’re amazing.”

“But you—I don’t—you’re so much more popular than me.”

“Like that matters. People are sleeping on you, girl.”

Kirishima wondered if Mina knew she could have the world wrapped around her well-manicured finger.

“Holy shit,” Kaminari swatted Kirishima’s arm. “Is that Earphone Jack?”

Several meters behind Uraraka was a girl decked out in rocker apparel, signature skull headphones hanging off her shoulders, leaning casually against a black leather couch. Definitely Earphone Jack. She was talking to someone else; a girl with long black hair dressed more readily for a wedding than a casual get-together. She seemed familiar—YouTuber?

“Good luck getting your man.” Kaminari gave a salute then beelined towards them.

Sero sighed. “I’ll try to keep him in check.” As he walked off, he called over his shoulder. “Try.”

Well, there’s a stress-factor he hadn’t considered.

“Oh!” Uraraka pulled away from Mina. “I should show you guys around.”

Kirishima could mingle himself, but it was probably better to meet through Uraraka considering his circumstances. Not that he had a choice since Uraraka was dragging him by the cuff of his sleeve before he could reply—Mina practically skipping behind him.

The apartment was decently sized—two-bedroom with a balcony—but the number of people made it feel smaller. He was impressed by how many of those people Uraraka speed dated them through on their short walk to the kitchen. He met at least twelve new people, and in the whirlwind could only remember half their names. Surprisingly, nobody brought up the video—except one girl, Camie, but it was more harmless teasing than anything malicious. Everyone was awesome and he wanted to befriend them all, but Uraraka had an agenda. Which wasn’t met until they finally reached the kitchen’s border.

“Todoroki!” Uraraka flailed her arms above her head. Eventually catching the attention of a boy with a botched dye-job and mismatched eyes—contacts probably. He emerged with a red cup in hand and a bored expression, giving the impression that whatever Uraraka wanted from him was already a waste of the guy’s time. Uraraka didn’t seem to feel this way because her attitude didn’t falter in the slightest.

“This is Mina.” She gestured towards Mina who waved, “and this,” she said with an emphasis Kirishima didn’t appreciate. “is Kirishima.”

Todoroki blinked once, twice. Unimpressed. Uraraka kept her smile wide, patient. Then she gestured towards Kirishima once more, this time she tugged once on her hair. Todoroki’s eyes widened briefly, and he nodded in understanding.

“Shitty Hair,” he said, monotone. “I’ve heard of you.”

Kirishima heard Mina snort beside him and he mouthed the name to himself. That was a little rude for a first greeting.

“Todoroki!” Uraraka swatted him.

“But isn’t that—”

“Sorry about him.” Uraraka waved him off and he narrowed his eyes, grumbling something into his cup. “This social butterfly here is Todoroki. He’s the Mystery Unsolved’s main editor. He’s also Bakugou’s roommate.”

Kirishima’s face heated up. If there was one person who knew the situation it’d be Bakugou’s roommate. Although this Todoroki guy looked like he could care less about anything and everything, especially Kirishima.

He wasn’t sure if that made him more nervous or less.

“Todoroki is the reason we’re able to have this surprise party.” Uraraka elbowed Todoroki’s side.

“As long as Bakugou knows it wasn’t by choice.”

“We all know you’d face Bakugou’s wrath if it meant seeing Deku happy.” Uraraka elbowed him excessively. Kirishima swore his cheeks brightened, but it was hard to tell with the dim lighting.

“How are you planning on surprising them?” Mina asked.

“Deku and Bakugou are out late researching some stuff for their next video. I told Deku he needs to come here to walk me home.” Uraraka pumped her fist. “Bakugou was pissed, but that’s normal.”

Kirishima raised a brow. Pissing off a man of honor before filling their house with people seemed like a terrible idea.

“Like I said,” Todoroki observed the rest of the party goers, “as long as he knows I had nothing to do with it.”

“Why didn’t you have the party somewhere else?” Kirishima asked.

“Bakugou is too perceptive for his own good,” Uraraka rolled her eyes. “To be honest, he likely already knows what we’re doing right now. He’s probably just humoring us, that asshole.”

“As long as he knows—”

A short jingle sounded from Uraraka’s pocket and her hands moved like lightning to get it out.

“They’re on their way!” She shook Todoroki’s shoulder. “It’s Deku. He says they’re on their way!”

She disappeared into the crowd, reemerging above everyone at the center of the room, assumingly standing on furniture. After garnering attention, she announced the ‘guests of honor’s’ arrival—odd word choice considering the apartment—and demanded quiet. The tall guy with the glasses he’d met earlier turned off the music while others huddled into respective groups. Any nerves he’d managed to bottle up came bursting back with a vengeance.

“Hey,” Todoroki made him jump. He had assumed the guy would’ve walked off by now. “I saw your video.”

“Oh… yeah?”

Todoroki didn’t respond. He remained as stoic as ever, but as the guy turned away Kirishima caught an icy glare.

“He hates me.”

“No,” Mina brushed off. “He just has that face.”

Kirishima shook his head. “No.” That guy hated him, which probably meant Bakugou hated him. He gulped.

The mixture of giggling and shushing sent jitters like electricity throughout the room. Mina squeezed his shaky hand and whispered into his ear, “ready?”

He nodded, but when keys jingling made someone squeal, he debated running. The door creaking and people shouting ‘surprise’ were the last things his brain took in before he briefly malfunctioned. Bakugou had pushed open the door, standing in the frame with those fierce crimson eyes and soft bone structure, he was a perfect contradiction. Somehow, he was even more attractive in person.

He was also shorter than Kirishima imagined.

And a lot louder.

“What the actual fuck round face!” Bakugou’s voice reached above the combined cheering. Beside Bakugou, Midoriya’s lower lip started to quiver.

This apparently was the expected response because even though Bakugou’s screaming could currently rival LA traffic Uraraka was closing in for a hug. Midoriya started busting out some serious waterworks, but Todoroki surprised Kirishima by giving Midoriya a comforting hug; even allowing him to snot on his shirt. It was an amusing display, and Kirishima briefly wondered if his friends looked this confusing to outsiders.

He’d been so lost in the scene he hadn’t realized Bakugou was staring at him until he was consumed by the fiery gaze, completely frozen in place. This was it, he thought, the moment of truth.

He didn’t know how to react when Bakugou turned away, lecturing Midoriya about being a ‘little bitch’. It was as if Bakugou had looked right through him.

“He really is just like they say, huh?” Mina laughed.

“They both are.”

“You okay?” Mina raised a brow.

“Yeah,” Kirishima half-smiled. “I think I need some fresh air.”

Mina looked skeptical but let him leave. Kirishima went to the balcony, assuming people would give congratulations for a while. He sat down and let his legs hang off the balcony, the bars close enough together that he could lean against them without fear. From there he could take in Los Angeles’ lights, and listen to the cacophony of poor driving and the occasional drunk from below.

He wasn’t disappointed Bakugou hadn’t made a scene. That combined with everyone else’s reaction showed him he’d been blowing this controversy out of proportion. He should’ve known a group of YouTubers would understand the situation—treat it maturely. If a part of him had fallen prey to Mina’s romcom ideas that was his own fault. Thinking Bakugou would’ve acknowledged him in the slightest was high hopes where Kirishima was concerned. Even with the entire internet throwing a spotlight his way he still couldn’t make an impression. He was still that same nobody from before the vlogs.

He could never escape his past.

The balcony door slid open. He hadn’t known how long he’d been stewing in his misery, but he knew Mina was probably watching the clock. He was ready to be dragged inside. There were people he wanted to talk to aside from Bakugou and he shouldn’t let his own worthlessness ruin Bakugou and Midoriya’s night.

“What the fuck are you doing out here alone?”

Kirishima’s grip on the bar tightened. He knew that voice, and it definitely wasn’t Mina. Knowing that he still wasn’t prepared to see Bakugou; eyebrow raised, and hands hung loosely in his hoodie pocket. Kirishima turned back around slowly—he couldn’t talk making eye contact.

“Could ask you the same thing.” Kirishima tried to sound cool, but he felt like an idiot. His face was warm.

Bakugou scoffed. “Too many fucking people. Needed some air.” He moved next to Kirishima and leaned against the balcony, looking out at the cityscape.

Kirishima nodded. “Same.” He extended the word awkwardly. He wanted to die. Kirishima fleetingly wished that Bakugou was acting peaceful and would surprise throw him off the ledge.

“Round Face invite you?”

Kirishima remembered him screaming that at Uraraka earlier. “Yeah…”

“Of course, she did,” then under his breath. “That meddling bitch.”

Kirishima found it odd he’d be calling his friend bitch, but he didn’t comment. “You’re not like… mad?”

“Why the fuck would I be mad?”

“Because…” Kirishima raised an eyebrow and looked at Bakugou. “The video?”

“Oh.” Bakugou rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a fuck. Your friend posted a video with a bunch of out of context shit for views. It’s not your fault the internet is fucking crazy.”

Kirishima stared at his shoes. “Out of context…” His eyes widened. “Out of context! Yeah! I’m so glad you understand, man. I thought it was gonna be impossible, almost unbelievable even.” He laughed a little too long. Bakugou narrowed his eyes.

“Right…”

“Yep,” he popped the ‘p’, leaning his head against a bar. “Anyway, I’m sorry for all the attention and rumors and memes… you know.”

“It’s whatever.” Bakugou leaned his chin onto his crossed arms. “I feel fucking sorry for you. You’ve got all the fanboys and fangirls. They’ve gotta be giving you shit.”

“Giving me shit?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou’s arms shot forward. “Cause like, you’re all peppy and social and nice and crushing on the anger management asshole? That can’t be good for your image.”

Kirishima snorted. He can’t believe that was something that crossed Bakugou’s mind. His heart felt like it was his entire chest.

“Peppy and social and nice?” Kirishima snorted. “That’s what you think I am?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well, maybe I am on camera.” Kirishima shook his head. “And trust me. My fans are very supportive of me. If you had a Twitter you’d get to see all the fan art I’ve gotten sent my way.”

“Oh? Well, if it has me in it. I’m sure it’s fucking fantastic.”

“It’s definitely… imaginative.”

Bakugou huffed out something akin to a laugh. Kirishima felt so soft. He couldn’t believe this was happening when just moments ago he was putting himself down. Bakugou was being so calm too; a complete flip from when he’d first arrived at the party.

“I’m going back inside. It’s fucking cold.” Bakugou pushed back from the railing. “You coming?”

Kirishima nodded. “Yeah, there are some people I need to—”

The balcony door slid open and Sero poked his head out.

“Hey, man. We should head out. That new BlackPink song came on and Uraraka started dancing on the coffee table. Denki’s drunk ass thought he could impress everyone by joining in, but now he’s on the floor and making a scene,” he seemed to finally process who was standing next to Kirishima. “Uh, sorry about the carpet.” Then he slammed the balcony door closed.

Kirishima should’ve known that the true disaster tonight would be Kaminari.

“Who the hell is Denki?”

“Uh, Kaminari? Blonde?” Kirishima shrugged. “You haven’t really seen my videos so—”

“Sparky?” Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Of course, that fucker would do some stupid drunk shit.”

Kirishima mouthed the odd nickname. What was up with those tonight?

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fucking whatever. It was probably half Round Face’s fault. It’s usually her fucking the place up.” Bakugou sneered. “I’ll fucking kill her for it later.”

‘Murderer’ echoed in his mind in Kaminari’s voice, but he quickly shook it out.

“Right,” Kirishima looked to the door. “I should probably go collect my idiot. Congratulations, by the way.”

Bakugou waved him off. Their conversation wasn’t much, but Kirishima was on cloud nine when he reentered the apartment. Kaminari was easy to find, a small crowd gathered around him as he cried gibberish between sniffles. He clung to Mina’s hands while Uraraka apologized profusely to Sero.

“What happened to being a good boy?” Kirishima said kneeling beside him.

“It was Kill This Love, Ei. It would have been disrespectful if I hadn’t danced.” He cleared snot with his sleeve and Mina gagged, trying to free her hands. Kaminari clung tighter. Kirishima sighed, picking Kaminari up bridal style. In his peripheral, he saw Midoriya and Todoroki watching the scene unfold. Amongst the chaos, he’d temporarily forgotten Midoriya, one of the people he’d wanted to talk to most. Now that he learned where he stood with Bakugou he felt a lot more confident going over there with Kaminari groaning in his arms.

“Hey,” He cut in. “I’m Kirishima. I’m a really big fan of your videos.”

Midoriya smiled and Kirishima went momentarily blind. “Thank you! I’m a fan of your vlogs too. I’ve been watching them for a long time.”

Kirishima’s mouth fell open. No matter how many people told him they watched his videos he still couldn’t fathom it. The numbers never seemed real. He especially couldn’t process when people he admired thought he was worth watching.

“That’s incredible,” he struggled to find the right words. “Thank you so much I—"

“Ei, I’m tired.” Kaminari moaned.

Kirishima rolled his eyes. “Sorry about our child. We should’ve kept a better eye on him.”

“It’s okay. If it wasn’t him it probably would’ve been Uraraka.”

A ‘hey’ was shouted behind him and Kirishima laughed.

“That’s what Bakugou said, too.”

Midoriya looked surprised and Uraraka busted into their conversation. “You were talking to Bakugou? When? Where?”

Kirishima nodded towards the balcony. “A few minutes—”

Uraraka stomped off before he could finish. He heard a few curses mumbled under her breath and Kirishima was finally understanding how she and Bakugou meshed so well.

“Don’t worry about her,” Midoriya said. “She’s just… passionate.”

Kirishima smiled like he understood what that meant. The others started calling him front the front door and he frowned. He wouldn’t say his time with Bakugou a waste, but he wished he’d gotten more time with everyone else here as well.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see you around,” Midoriya said with a reassuring smile.

Kirishima wanted to believe him.

The elevator ride down was quiet aside from Kaminari’s obnoxious drunken breathing. Kirishima still wasn’t sure if tonight actually happened, or if he’d wake up tomorrow having it all been a crazy fever dream. Both options seemed equally plausible now that he was given time to process.

“The Uber will be here in five minutes,” Mina said as they exited the apartment complex. The temperature had dropped, a light breeze carried a new chill to the air. They huddled together on the curb while waiting for their ride, basking in each other’s warmth. Kaminari blanketed himself across their laps while Mina leaned heavily against Kirishima’s side, his arm wrapped snug around her. Sero opted to lye flat against the rough concrete, bones aching from exhaustion.

“I talked to Bakugou.” Kirishima’s voice cut through the silence. It wasn’t information they hadn’t known, but more a signal he was ready to talk about it.

Mina shuffled against him. “Good talk?”

“I think so,” Kirishima looked up at the few stars that fought against Los Angeles’ unforgiving lights; a humored smirk on his face. “He thinks the videos were out of context.”

Sero sat abruptly. “How.”

“I wasn’t going to debate it. I just took that miracle for what it was.” Kirishima shrugged, watching Mina play methodically with Kaminari’s hair. “Then we talked, and it was good.”

“You’re so cute.” Mina smiled.

“I mean,” Sero laid back down. “If he’s that dumb. You may be able to woo him just yet.”

Kirishima snorted and allowed the comfortable silence to befall them again, this time following them back until they struggled to get Kaminari ready for and in his bed. The emotional exhaustion that caught up to them was bone deep and aching, it left them crawling to their beds—Mina to the living room couch. Kirishima slept heavily, pitch-black fatigue that left no room for dreaming, only in the early hours did he catch a crimson stare chasing him into reality, invading his mind while on the cusp of consciousness. His brain was too muddled to comprehend it and it had fled his mind as soon as it’d come.

A kitchen melody of pans clanking and cupboards slamming told him somebody was already awake. The thick scent of fried meat wafting under his door had him throwing on the first sweats he saw and running out of his room. Sero was standing over a pan of bacon that sizzled and popped at the press of his spatula; the pan beside it warming up thick pancake batter. Kirishima’s stomach growled. He should’ve known it was Sero, nobody else could cook.

Mina was already eating at the kitchen island—showered, dressed, more put together then Kirishima could dream of—and was typing away on her sticker-covered pink laptop. It reminded Kirishima he was supposed to upload today, but he still had absolutely nothing planned. Mina gave him a quick smile and he decided he’d worry about that later. He had never missed an upload, so he’d figure it out one way or another.

He grabbed his favorite Crimson Riot plate from the cabinets—only for special occasions—and piled it with pancakes and bacon. Then he drenched them in a sea of syrup until he could barely tell there was food to begin with.

“Your sweet tooth is disturbing, Ei.”

“Everyone knows pancakes are just an excuse to eat syrup,” he said, taking the stool next to her. “Honestly, if you can even taste the pancakes, you’re doing it wrong.”

Mina gestured to his plate. “Good mood?”

“You know it.” He said through a mouthful of syrup. “Whatcha typing?”

Mina scrunched her nose at him. “Video ideas. I actually have a surprise.”

“Cause that usually works out for you.” Sero quipped.

“You shush,” Mina puffed up her cheeks. “I invited Uraraka over to collab with us.”

“What?” Kirishima leaned over excitedly. “That’s awesome!”

“Stop yelling!” Kaminari shouted from his room, muffled by walls. Kirishima rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t falter.

“Yeah,” Mina smiled. “We talked about it yesterday. She’s getting busy with her channel because it’s comeback season soon, but she was free today.”

“Comeback season?” Sero asked.

“K-pop!” Kaminari shouted. “New music!”

“Get your lazy ass out here!” Mina called, getting an excessive high-pitched whine in response.

Kirishima was hyped. They’d never collabed with anyone outside the squad, so this would be huge for their channels. He was also just excited to spend time with Uraraka because based on yesterday he’d been correct assuming they’d all get along.

Now that he was thinking about last night…

“Hey,” Kirishima tapped his plate nonchalantly, “do you know why someone might call Kaminari ‘Sparky’?”

Sero snorted. “Probably because he static shocks everything he touches.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow and on cue Kaminari stumbled into the kitchen. Cradling his head, he moved towards the sink, slumping forwards onto the counter he fumbled for the faucet. When he made contact a quick shock was heard and he pulled back with a hiss.

“Why does that always happen to me?” Kaminari cried, sliding down to the floor.

“That’s an old gag though.” Mina pointed out. “Like, wasn’t that Kaminari’s first meme?”

“Yeah, I’ve grown,” Kaminari called, lying flat on the floor. “Hey, if I just drink the bowl of pancake batter will it be the same as drinking water and eating pancakes?”

Sero kicked him. “Stop.” Then he turned to Kirishima. “Why? Who said that?”

Kirishima stared off into the distance. It was like he had all the pieces to a complex, funny looking puzzle, but he just wasn’t quite smart enough to solve it.

“Uh…” Their doorbell rang and he hopped off the stool. A perfect distraction. “I got it!”

Kirishima was so excited he didn’t even care that he hadn’t done his hair yet. Uraraka didn’t seem like someone who’d care about their appearances—at least he hoped not, Kaminari was hungover and whining in the middle of their kitchen.

“Hey, Urara… ka…” Kirishima had torn the door open with a huge smile that’d slowly fallen off his face. His eyes landed on the small girl he’d been expecting, all smiles and waving excitedly up at him. Then they landed on the guy slouching next to her. Kirishima had known who it was when the spiky ash-blonde hit his peripherals.

His fight or flight activated.

Uraraka raised an eyebrow. “Um… Kiri—”

He closed the door.

[howboutdemwings]

Worlds Collide with @Luchas_L & @NeevahSayNever

Luchas Caldwell. I didn’t know what I’d feel as I dematted on the outskirts of the city, my small bag over my shoulder and nothing but a few bills in my pocket. Turns out it wasn’t much of anything. I was raised here, glymera-born and sheltered for most of my pre-transition life. The cherished eldest son of mine father, with a stunning sister and an out-cast of a younger brother. At the time my whole world centered around fulfilling my potential for mine bloodline. A founding family. Thanks to papa and his misguided ways, one son was cast out by way of an Honor Guard. One I helped serve. The second son was lost to the Lessening Society the night of the raids. Even after rescue, he never fully returned. Even now, fully vampire once again, I felt less like a vampire and more like… some sort of genetic defect. Ironic, wasn’t it. Qhuinn was now a full fledged Brother. He didn’t need our father’s name anymore. And I was the one stripped of all honor, left to roam the outskirts of society. According to Lassiter, I was too stubborn about things, unwilling to move on with my life. But wasn’t this the punishment Wrath saw fit for me? Allow me to live if only to suffer for the next nine hundred years or so. Wear my betrayal on my dagger hand for all to see. Feel the rejection every time someone’s eyes lingered on it, then looked away. I had personified my isolation. But the angel had been clear: You belong in Caldwell. I thought helping Nyx was what Lassiter wanted for me. But afterwards I hung around near Rehv’s cabin, waiting for his blessing. But none came. No angel, nothing but the boomerang of a sun that forced me to take shelter in the place I had promised to desert. Obviously I had misunderstood my mission. And so here I was, giving my best effort to be open to helping others, humans specifically. Those were the people Lassiter served and protected, was it not? He served their God, not the Scribe Virgin. And so I'd serve his humans. I stood at the edge a dark road, going nowhere fast. My eyes blinked at the city lights that lit the clouded skies over the trees. Maybe I’d find Tucker and Andy, try to get my job back and CHEMLAB. Even though the thought of hiding behind that truck while the ghosts of my past haunted me at every turn made me want to tie myself to the nearest memorial and burn at sunrise. Fates, who was I kidding? I should just head up to the s’Hisbe of Shadows, where Trez offered me refuge. Only then would I have a real chance at something meaningful. Light caught my eye, bursting through the heavy fog like the sun had jumped the gun on dawn by a few hours. My hand rose to block the bright white as it assaulted my eyes. Was this the angel’s idea of a joke? I was about to yell out to the winged-wonder, realizing too late that this was no creature of heaven. It was a two-ton metal weapon on wheels, driving right at me as it skidded across the street. My vampire instincts kicked in, diving out of the way just in time as the hood of the car swung back around, crossing the center lines and smashing into the concrete barrier. The sound of metal and framing crunching like an accordion, the glass windshield and windows shattering, tires screeching… it was like a real live car bomb had gone off. I scrambled backwards, then managed to get back up. It was rare I was caught off guard, but even I could admit my legs were shaking as I stumbled over to the car, peering inside. Neevah -I hadn't hit the male, that much I could tell as I watched him approach my car through the shattered vision in my side mirror. That was a relief. Just because this was my last call didn't mean I had to take another down with me. I reached up and touched my cheek, busted open from slamming into the steering wheel upon impact. I was teetering a fine line between the here and blackness. Here was just as dark but with the added hiss of an injured engine and the intense smell of gasoline assailing my senses. I reached my hands down to my waist to unfasten the seatbelt, blood dripping from my busted up lip onto the back of my hand as I did so. Either from the crash or from Sasha's powerful slap, my lip was worse for wear. I still hadn't processed all that transpired with this evening thus far, but I had a feeling things were going to continue their happy little spiral out of control. For whatever reason, I started to laugh. Yep. I was certain my cheese had slipped right off that proverbial cracker. Each event of the evening playing back like one twisted flip book before my eyes. This was it, there was nothing left of me but a broken and bruised body, a puzzle of an existence with too many missing pieces. My eyes fight to stay open, turning my head back to look over at the guy I almost hit. I tried to say I was sorry, but a pitiful groan comes out instead. Maybe he spoke gibberish. He was tall, had to duck just to look into the window at me. He had pretty eyes. Kind. I thought to myself how those eyes would be the last thing I’d see before the here and now lost me to that darkness. And then my mother began singing, she loved Heart. The sultry tones of Ann Wilson surrounded us as it flowed from the car radio. The sun was warm on my face, my arm out the side window, opening my eyes to see her smiling at me from the driver's seat. It was such a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Grams had ushered us out of the house while she made us dinner. Mom bought me ice cream, the blue moon still staining my lips and tongue. Grams won't be happy. Sometimes she swore she had to raise both of us. And maybe she was. She was doing a splendid job too. These Sunday afternoons were for my mom and I, I think I was maybe nine or ten, my mom's auburn hair lit up as the sun set it aglow. I often found myself envious of her beautiful hair. She said I had too much of my father in me, said it more of a bad thing than a statement of fact. We didn't talk about him much. At that age I surely didn't understand why. I didn't pick up on her hidden broken heart. One that never fully recovered from the loss of her love.- Luchas *I frowned as my eyes took in the injured female. She had blown open the side of her face on the steering wheel, the shattered glass leaving little meteor trails of red along her cheeks, her neck, the exposed skin on her hands and arms. Thank the Scribe she’d worn her seat belt, although without airbags she still had taken the worst of it. Her lips lifted in a laugh, blood coating her lips and chin. Alright… shock? Maybe she wasn’t seeing me clearly, head trauma did some funny things. Actually… trauma of all kinds had a way of playing with our minds. The darker the suffering, the more colorful the games your brain played on you. The stench of gas and other engine fluids filled the interior of the car, mixing with the scent of her human blood. I grabbed the door handle, giving the thing a yank so hard it almost fell right off. She would never know the difference, vampire strength or simply broken hinges. The benefits of being a vampire in a life or death situation. We had the advantage over humans. We could be the superheroes. Had Lassiter foreseen this accident? Was this young human on a path that needed to be altered? As the Good (Vampire) Samaritan hat settled on my head--metaphorically speaking, of course--I unclipped her seat belt and carefully slid my arms under her body, lifting her out of her seat and up against my chest. As I started to back away from her car, the rotten oil and trans-fluid overkill faded away and I got a few breaths of more than just her blood. Holy fucking Scribe. I froze in the middle of the street, the car horn on it’s last dying note, one headlight still shining on the pavement. She was a vampire. Not yet, though. She was a human, a hybrid, in transition. That’s why she crashed. That’s why she had survived. Her body was stronger than a mortal. It had fought off a human death, only to embrace a vampiric one. As my brain attempted to put the laws of nature and what I was experiencing back in order, my eyes came into focus. The one working headlight on her vehicle, somehow having survived the accident, was shining down the concrete barrier. At the end of the block it illuminated the street sign: Angel Drive.* You’ve got to be kidding me. *I stepped over to the shoulder of the road, setting her fragile body down into the grass. The scent was unmistakable now, the fading aroma of human, the rising fragrance of immortal. Along with the erratic pulse, symptoms of her injuries or the transition, I did not know. I stood up, hands over my mouth, then up to scrub mine eyes. This could NOT be happening. A human, going into transition. Lassiter summoning me back to Caldwell. I thought he wanted me to find purpose with the humans. The real humans, not the half-vampire ones. My eyes stared down at her body. It looked so small, so far away. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t take her to Havers’s, I’d be shot on sight if I walked into that place. I didn’t know where she came from, if she had family, if anyone was there to help her. I couldn’t call the mansion or mine brother. My fingers dragged through my hair, pulling at the ends. Surely the angel didn’t expect me to… to…* LASSITER... Neevah -I must have fallen asleep in the car, no...the crash, that male was taking me out of the wreckage. Brought back to reality by the feel of being lifted out and pulled against him as the smell of gasoline began fade with each step he took away from the car. I peeked up at him as he placed my body in the grass, a safe distance away from the crash sight. I tried to speak out to him but I was quickly taken back to Grams kitchen. She was pulling fresh biscuits from the oven. She took such pride in her baking and even more so when I began cooking alongside her. It was about a year after my mother died, I had finally climbed out from my shell and found some happy here with my Grandmother. She was the sweetest lady I'd ever known. Every Sunday we'd make a big dinner, though there was only ever two of us, we cooked for an army that Grams called a growing teenager. Fifteen and all kinds of awkward. But with her help I found my way in the world and became something. Until now. I had reached the end of the road, well the side of it thanks to a cement barrier, and now waiting for that death rattle. The male spoke, speaking a name I'm guessing. ‘Lassiter’. He seemed to pace over that cold pavement with purpose, I watched through one swollen eye, the other blurred from either blood or tears. Possibly both. And then it came time, my time. The last thing I watched was the male combing his fingers through his hair and then it was lights out. Back in the kitchen, Grams was staring at me. Her eyes were cloudy blue, she'd been crying. I couldn't understand why she was so sad.- Grams. I'll be with you soon. -My hand rested on hers, watching as she shook her head, seeming to sob now. She then pulls her hand back from mine and looks at me.- “No, Neevah.. we won't be seeing each other for a very long time. This isn't your time. This is our goodbye.” Lassiter <You know those commercials that show the impact upon a vehicle and the crash test dummies inside? That’s how I felt when I sat on the road side waiting for the young female to hurtle herself into the barricade. I had kept tabs on Luchas after leaving the cabin up north and while I knew Rehv wouldn’t hurt him, I did sense his arrival and did not want him to know I was involved. That could only spell trouble back at the manse if he got to loose-lipping with the King. My newest charge did not need that. Nor did he need a vehicle smashing into him and when it became clear she had waited too long to swerve. I released the gold cross I had put on at the Iron Mask and held my hand up, palm facing toward the vehicle and said a few words nobody would be able to hear, giving the vehicle the nudge it needed to prevent two potential fatalities. Long legs stretched out in front of me, feet crossed over each other while my wings fanned out at my back. He wouldn’t be able to see me until I wanted him to, but that didn’t mean I was going to just appear and tell him this was his moment. He needed to figure that out on his own. My head shook in disbelief as he opened the car door and then proceeded to pull the girl out.> You idiot. You never move a crash victim. Haven’t you seen ANY TV, movies...anything?! Good thing I know she doesn’t have a broken neck or I’d have to intervene and that would make me cranky. <He still couldn’t hear me which left me feeling something akin to yelling at the boob tube like I did back at the manse. My yelling made no difference then either. As Luchas took the girl over to the grass on the opposite side of the road, I moved to stand and strolled my way over to get a better view of his moment of “Oh fuck me”, his face was going to be hilarious, I just knew it. Perching my ass on the hood of the crumpled car, I didn’t bother holding in my laugh at his mumbled disbelief.> That’s right, buddy. She’s just like you. No more chasing sympaths in the trees. <It wouldn’t be long now before he started to throw a bitch fit, I could see it in the way his hand raked through his hair and the way he kept looking at the girl like he was hoping she might disappear and if he wasn’t careful...that vein in the side of his forehead might explode all over her, not that it would matter much, the girl was a hot mess from the wreck already. I counted down from five with my fingers, closing one then the next and next, leaving all except the middle standing just as he yelled my name.> Duty calls, I suppose. <I gave him a couple of moments to sweat it out and wonder if he was up shit creek without my proverbial paddle before I made myself visible to his eyes only but remained right where I was on the hood of the beat up car and filled my voice with the most uninterested tone I was capable of.> You rang? Luchas *I spun around as a carefree voice came from behind me. Lassiter was lazing on the hood of the busted car, all but buffing his nails in boredom. His calm was inversely related to my level of freak-out. And I was currently pushing a nine--thousand--on the Richter scale. In fact, my breaths were nothing but wheezes, any attempt at words feeble whines. I had gone mute from the level of stress. It was as if he’d been watching the whole time, some boring Lifetime movie that started with predictable and ended with sappy tears. Those wings hung behind him, draping across the twisted metal of the car’s front end like the whole thing was one big blessed moment. Open up the pearly white gates, here’s Johnny. Except we didn’t have a heaven, we had a Fade. And I wondered where a half-blood might go if they failed to survive their transition. Would neither side claim her soul? I just had to hope my presence alone didn’t taint the Scribe Virgin’s view of this innocent victim of circumstance. Leaving the female where she was, I stormed over to the angel, mustering up my vocal cords along the way.* Are you going to fix her? Heal her or something? Or at least help me get her to Havers? She won’t last long with these injuries. *I glanced back at her body as it lay in the grass. Her chest rose and fell still, but it was shallow. Much too shallow. She was running out of time. My heart raced in my chest, wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs. I didn’t remember much of my transition, but what I did was painful enough. Add to that the number her car accident did and the resulting answer didn’t look good.* I know you don’t expect me to help her tr…. Maybe we can help get her to someone who can. Or you could take her to the mansion, I’m sure there’s plenty of males itching to offer up themselves as bloodbags to the suffering. They love that knight in shining armor stuff. Lassiter <I allowed Luchas all the time he needed to bitch me out before shaking my head at his suggestion of taking her to the mansion.> That’s a negative, Ghost Rider. This knight in shining armour gig is all for you. <My lips twitched as his face gave me a look that made sure I knew he thought I was bat shit crazy. And maybe I was for spelling it out so plainly like I did, but I didn't think the Bossman was going to discount me just yet for bending the rules. I knew my work would be cut out for me in the form of convincing Luke this was his chance.> You know what's doing with her, bub. You're not stupid and you're also not going to leave her here for dead, either. <Taking a long side glance to the prone figure on the grass, I counted the seconds between the rise and fall of her chest before looking back at Luke.> You found her. Or rather...she found you. <I couldn't help the dry chuckle that escaped but I didn't let him in on my little secret of just how close he had come to being hit.> Listen, Luchas. You want redemption for all your past sins, yeah? All those you killed while under the Omega’s influence, now is your chance. Your bloodline is as good as any of the Brothers back at the manse and she needs more than Havers can do for her right now. Help her through her transition, and I'm sure all the rest will take care of itself the way it should. <I slid off the hood of the car and walked over to the female. Crouching next to her with glowing hands, I moved them slowly just hovering over her body, assessing the damages she had endured but did no repairs. My voice was level and held the same tone of seriousness that I had used when I spoke to Luke back in the cabin, knowing he was only a couple steps behind me.> No fatal injuries from the crash, but the longer you're here with me pissing away time does mean she stands less of a chance of surviving her transition. <Slowly, my head turned so I could look the male in his eyes and piled on all the guilt I could and hoped would work to get his ass in gear.> Do you want to be responsible for another life gone to waste because you were too stubborn to help? Luchas *Scribe help me. I stared at the angel like his wings had sprouted Medusa heads with the little snakes for hair. He actually expected me to take this female and assist her through her transition? Was he crazy? I mean, obviously, yes. Because no one that knew what I was, what I had been, would ever suggest that. Sure, I was from a founding family, but I was so far removed from that life that I wasn’t even sure I was on the same map anymore. I had soaked in a vat of Omega blood for months, body mutilated and tortured by the Lessening Society. I had turned on my own kind and served the very demon of Dhund that had soiled me. Sometimes I wondered if I even qualified as a vampire anymore. Let alone a male of even the slightest bit of worth. I wasn’t a Lohstrong anymore, Wrath had seen to that. I had nothing, no name, no lineage, I had been stripped of everything that made me who I was. Legally and emotionally. Lassiter crouched down over the female and assessed her injuries. She wasn’t dying right now... But she would die soon. As he looked up at me, my body sunk in on itself.* Yeah, I want redemption, but I thought you meant through good deeds. Helping others, helping humans or those who need it. Not this. This is too big, too… important. She deserves more than an outcast of the world she’s about to join. I can’t… I’m tainted. And don’t say I’m not, I drowned in Omega for nearly a year. *I was growing angry, my finger pointing as I spoke* Dammit, Lassiter! This is a transition, not helping the needy or preventing a petty crime. This is important, it’s huge, it’s… the stuff the Scribe Virgin blesses! She isn’t looking down on me with any favor. I won’t destroy this female’s transition just because you think I need some sort of challenge. I get it, you want me to do good things and redeem myself. But asking me to help a stranger transition is too much, waaaay too much. *My fingers dragged through my hair, pulling it in all directions. Shit. I couldn’t do this. I just… My gaze dropped to the female, her body looking more fragile by the second. I glanced back at her car, mangled in the middle of the road. Even if I wanted to do this… how would I get her somewhere safe? I couldn’t be out when the sun rose, and she most likely wouldn’t be able to either. Even just getting her somewhere and calling for help might be asking too much. I looked up at Lassiter, at his powerful gaze.* I’m sorry… I can’t do this. Lassiter: <The moment Luchas said he wanted his redemption, I moved my still glowing hands to the temples of the unconscious female. While he flipped his shit like a pancake in a frying pan, I dug around in her mind, fishing...searching and rather quickly locating the very thing I knew I’d need to convince Luke that HE absolutely was her only chance at surviving her transition. A shout of my name had me retracting my hands, raising up to my full height and staring the boy down as he threw more weak ass excuses at me that weren't going to stick. I folded my arms over my broad chest and waited until his ranting ran out of bravado before finally speaking.> You can do this. You need to do this, if nothing else ensure she survives her transition so she doesn't get caught back up in this… <Repeating the same move from moments before, I placed large palms on either side of Luke’s head and pushed the images from the female’s mind into his. In a flash, we were both greeted with the events of her night. From the attempted betrayal of her aunt to the male who thought he was taking a willing companion followed by the fight and her subsequent escape. My voice was low as I dropped my hands to my side, ending the assault of images.> See? She has nobody. What remains of her family has done far worse than you ever have. But that's not my story to share and I’ve already given you too much of something that wasn't mine to give. <Turning away from Luke and looking down at the female, I spoke to her.> Luchas was right. You do deserve more. More than what you suffered tonight. Far more. You deserve a chance to experience life as a vampire. <Sighing tiredly, I knew the night cover was running out and before long the sun would be breaching the horizon, I looked over at Luke once more and went for broke.> Help her. Help her and show Wrath and the Scribe Virgin that you do respect your species and that you are above the mistakes you made while under the Omega’s control. I can guarantee this female doesn't know you from a hole in the wall so this is your chance to do something GOOD and not have to worry about the stigma attached to the scar on your hand. This is YOUR opportunity for something meaningful in your life while proving to everyone they discounted your worth before you could show them who you truly are. <As soon as I was done pleading my case, my eyes fell to the beat up car and in an instant the engine was running without any evidence of it having collided with the barricade.> You know where you can take her and now you have the means to do so before the sun rises. Don’t waste anymore time, Luke. I have faith you will do what's right. Luchas: *I felt the assault of the images Lassiter pushed into my brain. They made my skin crawl worse than the Symphath’s torture had. At least that kind of mental agony was temporary, an illusion in some aspects. But these memories, the female’s suffering--not just tonight but clearly throughout her life--were very real. Her past was as haunted as mine was, just in a different way. A human tossed into a vampire’s world, mistreated by the very people who should have been helping her learn, to understand, and to accept what was about to happen. And then on the eve of her transition, they abandoned her. What vile creatures we could be when selfishness won out over compassion. We’d gladly let go of our hearts to grip each other’s throats. My bravado gone, rage over my own unlucky draw sinking away, I looked up into the angel’s bright eyes. He was looking at me with an expression that seemed to permeate all the way to my soul. The power Lassiter had was suddenly so vast, it was if the Scribe Virgin herself was peering out at me. I stumbled back a few feet, eyes dropping as Lassiter somehow magicked the car back alive. By the time I looked up again, he was gone. Then there were two. I swallowed dryly, stepping back over to the female and crouching down over her. With a hand that shook worse than a jackhammer, I reached out, brushing her hair back, then finding the pulsepoint on her neck. A faint thumping pounded at my fingertips, as if calling me. I couldn’t think about what-ifs, or how-will-I’s, or anything beyond this moment anymore. Because if I did, I knew I’d freeze under the overwhelming prospect of what I was about to do, the insurmountable task I was attempting to undertake. Right now, I just had to pick her up. That’s all. Just pick the female up. Then carry her over to the car. Easy enough. Set her inside. I could do that. Get in the front seat. Done. Drive. I remembered how to drive. One foot in front of the other, step by step I moved, one thing at a time. And then we were off into the night together.* #WorldsCollide

[shotsbyshae]

Coming Soon: Devil’s Worst Nightmare

Warnings: Language

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Words: 1.1k so far

Summary: Ransom’s in over his head, but can you pull him out? Or will he just end up dragging you down with him?

Song: Devil’s Worst Nightmare by FJORA

Sequel to The Wolf

*Spoiler free: no movie connections whatsoever.

I don’t mind all the chaos, It keeps me alive.

“Hell?” Ransom questions as he watches you pace the length the of the small kitchen. “As in –”

“Yes,” you interrupt in frustration. “Fire and brimstone – that hell Ransom.”

“So, Crowley’s a –”

“Demon,” you finish his sentence when he trails off.

“Because demons are real,” Ransom continues, and you nod your head in agreement. “Hhmm.” There’s a look of intrigue and contemplation on his face as he glances down at the bowl of ravioli in front of him.

“You don’t believe me?” you question, folding your arms across your chest.

He flicks his gaze back to you instantly, eyebrows raised curiously, “No, I do. It makes sense – demons being real – I mean it would explain the last girl I dated.” There’s a slight smirk on his lips and you roll your eyes in annoyance before turning away from him. “Okay – sorry – let’s say demons are real.”

“They are,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. Suddenly you feel a Ransom size headache coming on.

“Okay,” he continues, obviously still not convinced. “In that case, hypothetically speaking, what would we do next?”

You turn around and see there’s a slight look of sincerity on the man’s face, as if he’s trying to believe you. “We get to him before he can get to you.”

Ransom nods his understanding, “How do we do that?”

“First,” you take a deep breath and Ransom senses the tension in your voice. “I phone a friend.”

Past

You stare down the wooden steps, the flashlight in your hand barely illuminating past the fourth step which leads into the basement.

“I heard this scratching sound,” Ransom says quietly from beside you. “It wasn’t the first time.”

“Have you felt any sudden cold chills?” you question him, tightening your grip on the iron fire poker you’d grabbed from sitting room on your way in.

He looks at you sarcastically, “Everywhere is cold – it’s a basement.”

With a roll of your eyes you start down the old wooden stairs, Ransom following close behind. The two of you make your way slowly into the pitch-black basement, the flashlight in your hand revealing shelves lined with old boxes, with what appear to be book titles written on them, as well as various statues and knick knacks.

A loud scratching noise stops you in your tracks and you feel the boy next to you as he bumps into your shoulder. You glance over to him, the light in your hand casting a soft glow on his features and you see the fear in his eyes briefly. “You good?”

“Yea,” Ransom quickly masks his emotions as he takes a small step away from you. “I’m fine.”

The sound happens again, and you furrow your brow, recognizing it as something else, “That’s not scratching.” He looks over to you curiously as you continue. “It’s creaky stairs.”

Realization slowly washes over the boy’s face as he thinks of the upper staircase which has always creaked.

“Well shit,” he pops off.

Suddenly the entire basement is flooded with low fluorescent lighting and both of you jump – visibly startled as an older man tilts his head curiously at the two of you.

“What in the world?” Harlan announces. “Ransom, I thought I told you not to be playing around down here.”

“Sorry sir,” you speak up before the boy can answer. “It’s my fault. He thought you might have a ghost, I asked him to show me.”

“A ghost?” there’s a hint of a smile on Thrombey’s face as he looks at his grandson.

Ransom nods, “Turns out it’s just the stairs.”

Harlan shakes his head with a laugh, “Okay Hardy boy, how about you and Nancy Drew head upstairs. I was just about to break out my secret stash of cookies – how’s that sound?”

“And milk?” the boy counters and Harlan nods with a smile causing Ransom to do a small fist pump in the air.

The two of you walk back towards the staircase and you turn to the older man, “By the way.” Harlan turns to you expectantly as you continue. “Trixie Belden was a much more relatable character than Nancy Drew was.”

Ransom’s halfway up the steps and he looks back down to you in confusion at your comment, but Thrombey smiles warmly at you, “That she was.”

Now

You park your car outside of Ransom’s house. The two of you had swapped his car for yours on the way over.

“Holy shit,” Ransom says under his breath as you open the trunk, seeing the vast assortment of weapons there. “What’s this?” He questions as you hand him one of the angel blades.

“I’ll explain later,” you say grabbing yours, before slinging your bag over your shoulder. “All you need to know is, if you see black eyes, you stab them with the pointy end – okay?”

“Got it,” he responds, index finger pressing into the point of the blade as he tests its sharpness.

Once inside the house, Ransom makes a beeline for where he has the ring stashed and you slowly take in your surroundings. The odd décor and a few knick knacks remind you of Harlan and it makes you smile. The coffee table has various magazines and newspapers scattered across the top of it and they catch your attention briefly.

Meanwhile upstairs, Ransom jerks the top drawer open on the chest in his closet, revealing an assortment of watches and a few men’s rings, the Haxon ring among them. He grabs it as he hears the loud commotion from downstairs.

You’re flung into the couch before you realize what’s happening, the scent of sulfur burning your nostrils instantly. You were distracted – too busy zipping up your bag – the angel blade laying on top of the coffee table. The man grabs you by the neck, picking you up and slamming you against the wall with ease, shattering the mirror hanging there with the back of your skull.

“Where is it?” the demon seethes.

His hand is crushing your windpipe as you claw at his arm. Your feet aren’t touching the floor and there’s a moment of panic that rushes through you as you writhe against the wall. Suddenly you hear the familiar sound of flesh tearing and the demon screams out in pain as he burns bright from the inside for a moment before his hand releases you and he collapses to the ground.

Your hands fly to your throat as you gasp for air, looking up to see Ransom move quickly towards you. The angel blade in his hand drips blood onto the pristine hardwood as his free hand moves to your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yea,” you stare up at him for a moment as you catch your breath. When had your hand grabbed his shoulder for balance? You see the worry in his features which he doesn’t try to mask, and you nod slowly as you pull your hand away. “I’m fine.”