#well he died temporarily? i guess? but he’s alive now. he stabbed himself with the x blade don’t ask how that one happened.

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: a grain of millet drifting, ch. 1

Relationship: Niè Huáisāng & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Original Characters, Nie Huaisang

Additional Tags: Assassination Attempt(s), Introspection, Regret, Travel, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV Wei WuXian

Summary: Wei Wuxian wanders after parting from Lan Wangji, looking to understand the changes in the world since his death, seeking to understand his place in it. He doesn't realize he's being watched. Frankencanon, so this has a liberal mixture of CQL and MDZS.

Notes: See end.

AO3 link

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Wei Wuxian hadn’t lied to Lan Zhan after their brief confrontation with Nie Huaisang in Cloud Recesses, not exactly. 

Knowing why he’d been brought back, whether somehow his old friend had chosen him specifically for his own reasons, or if that had been entirely Mo Xuanyu’s call, wouldn’t change anything.

And part of him didn’t want confirmation of how much Nie Huaisang had meddled with along the way.

So much had been broken, so many people lost, and a part of him wanted to believe the façade that the indolent Nie Huaisang he had known during their days in the Cloud Recesses still existed. 

But once he’d left Lan Zhan and set off on his travels with Little Apple, once he started getting used to being alive again, to having even the tiny wisp of a jindan, barely beyond zhuji, that Mo Xuanyu had gifted him, something he could build on, something other than the gaping hole that had ultimately consumed him, he’d had to face some truths. 

He had no family, no home. He didn’t know if Jiang Cheng would ever want anything to do with him, and he wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. As much as he would always love Lotus Pier, he didn’t know that it had ever really been his home. 

In some ways, his leaving had been inevitable. Despite being head disciple, he’d never been welcome. And the fall of Lotus Pier would forever be his fault, the ghosts of his own doing. He’d never regret protecting Mianmian and Lan Zhan, but he would always regret the massacre that had followed. 

Even if he’d technically been absolved of the death of Jin Zixuan and the bloodbath of Nightless City and shijie’s death, his actions had still led to them. 

Wei Wuxian spent long, sleepless nights under the stars and listening to Little Apple snore outrageously coming to the understanding that he’d left the Burial Mounds with his sanity shredded. The war and continued use of resentful energy without a jindan had only worsened it. He’d raised the dead, the ancestors of their enemy, defiling their bodies to win the war, and he’d earned a dark and deviant reputation in doing so.

After the war, he’d taken to drinking to dull it all, and doing so had destabilized his mind further. He was sensitive about his inability to cultivate, but couldn’t explain why. Surrounded by people who wanted him to do what he could not, he had spiraled. 

Really, by the time he’d saved the Dafan Wen temporarily from their fate and gone back to attempt to live in the Burial Mounds, he’d been hanging by a thread. Wen Qing had bullied him into taking care of himself, for the most part, but he’d spent more days than he could count in the Demon Slaughtering Cave capable of little more than opening his eyes, what little energy he had dedicated to keeping the Seal under control. 

He remembered very little past Jiang Yanli’s death and waking up in the Burial Mounds with the remnants of the Wen who knew death was coming. The seal wanted more, another Nightless City. And he’d known he could absolutely destroy the Jianghu—but that the Seal wanted it gave him enough pause that he knew he needed to destroy it and end it all. 

He’d managed to find a way, but the Siege happened just as he was ready. What little sanity he had left went toward an attempt to hide A-Yuan—maybe the one good thing he had managed. And then, as the aunties and uncles and popo were massacred around him, he could only focus on destroying the seal. 

Dying in the way that he had, ripped to shreds by corpses, had been agonizing, though the benefit of Jiang Cheng stabbing him had meant he’d died faster. He didn’t know if his shidi had meant it to be a kindness, but ultimately it had lessened his suffering before he died. It was likely a better death than anyone else would have given him. 

But Jin Guangyao had been right: even before he’d absconded with the Wen remnants, his actions during the war, his temper and frayed sanity, his rages, his desecration of the dead… All of it had painted a target on him. 

No, he’d painted it on himself with blood. 

Wei Wuxian had come back in a body not tainted by the resentful energy that had burrowed its way into his bones before his death, despite it being his old one free of scars and birth marks, his sanity somehow restored, and was able to see his own self-destruction and how he had made that the only path he could walk through his own trauma-fueled hubris. 

Maybe those years dead had done something to heal whatever damage he had inflicted on his own soul, as well. He remembered nothing of that time, and waking up in a body had been like opening his eyes after a long sleep. He’d known he’d been dead, had known time had passed, though not how much at first. Everything that had occurred leading to his death felt so immediate, particularly shijie’s death and the knowledge he’d left A-Yuan hiding but didn’t know if he’d survived. 

The relief he felt that he had at least saved one person couldn’t be quantified. 

Part of the journey was trying to find where he fit into the world now, but most of it was reflection and coming to terms with the reality that now existed. 

He’d steered away from larger cities, opting to travel smaller roads to villages off the beaten path. Many, it seemed, had problems with restless spirits and the like—the occasional yao, even. He took care of what he could, and drafted letters to Lan Zhan when it was something that required more than he was currently capable of. 

Perhaps that was something he’d learned—to rely on others and not try to fix everything himself. He could probably handle it all, but there were costs of using resentful energy too much, and in this life he didn’t particularly want to pay them. 

So he communicated with the odd hungry ghost, used talismans to take down roaming fierce corpses, and handled the smaller yao that he could handle with the jindan he had, using these night hunts to help develop it further, hoping one day he could retrieve Suibian from Jiang Cheng and be able to wield the blade again—assuming his once-brother would let him have the sword. 

Everything beyond, that would require more spiritual energy than he had or more resentful energy than he was comfortable using, he sent to Lan Zhan so the local cultivation sect could be alerted. He dared not send them a letter himself; people still had strong feelings about the return of the Yiling Patriarch, and it was just as likely he’d be blamed for the problem as anything. 

The rural route he took left him able to travel in anonymity as a rogue cultivator, offering essentially any name but his own. Thanks to the ugly Yiling Patriarch talismans, the common folk didn’t know what he looked like. Most often, he went by Wei Yuandao, reminded of Mianmian’s happiness at seeing him when he did, that there were people in the world who didn’t hate or fear him. The villagers didn’t know him, were grateful for his help, whether in setting a spirit to rest or helping with odd jobs in exchange for a meal and a place to sleep by a hearth. 

Much of the time, though, he slept beneath a blanket of stars. 

One night like that, he heard the sounds of a scuffle and rushed to see what was going on. He expected to need to fight off a bandit, but instead he found a man in Nie colors running through a man dressed head to toe in black, face masked.

As he stood gaping, the Nie disciple bowed to him.

“Wei-gongzi.”

That confirmed a suspicion, and the logic of the situation ran through his mind at the speed of light. The courtesy, the Nie colors, what was clearly a would-be assassin’s body at his feet. Finally, Wei Wuxian sighed. 

“How many assassins?”

The young man smiled.

“Five in as many weeks. You are as smart as Nie-zongzhu said.”

Wei Wuxian snorted at that. 

“Not if I didn’t realize assassins were being sent after me. I’m guessing Nie-xiong knew they’d be hired and sent you to protect me in secret?”

He’d honestly thought he was being left alone by the cultivation world, especially since he wasn’t causing any trouble. How very naïve. 

The man nodded curtly, then bent to rifle through the corpse’s clothing, looking for clues and stripping it of valuables, every bit a Nie. 

“He wanted you to be able to travel without worry.”

Ah, Nie-xiong…

Perhaps Nie Huaisang was used to working from the shadows and had an agenda, or perhaps he truly just wanted Wei Wuxian to be undisturbed. Whatever his reasons for the secrecy, with this that ship had sailed. 

But Wei Wuxian had no idea why Nie Huaisang would bother, not after he threatened him at the Cloud Recesses. Implied threat, but still—he’d expected that would burn a bridge. Not… this. 

“I suppose I’m overdue for a visit to the Unclean Realm,” he said after thinking it over. “You may as well travel with me openly, unless Nie-xiong would prefer you watch over me in secret?”

Despite the protection he’d sent, Wei Wuxian didn’t know if he wanted the Nie clan officially associated with the Yiling Patriarch.

“Sect Leader was not specific about this eventuality. Traveling together openly may deter assassins, though it is easier to catch them off guard if they believe you unprotected.”

Ah, so Nie Huaisang didn’t care. Wei Wuxian waved off the concern. Now that he knew the threat, it was easily dealt with. 

“I can set talisman traps around the campsite. Probably should have done that to begin with.”

But he’d been trying to have faith in the cultivation world, he didn’t say. Once again, misplaced faith and he should’ve known better. 

“At least that way you can get real sleep as we travel to meet with Nie-zongzhu.”

They were a week of travel from the Unclean Realm, and he supposed he’d get answers to questions he hadn’t known he had then. 

He headed back to his campsite, happy to see his Nie protector was following, and set a gourd of water near the fire to heat and pulled out some tea. 

“In the meantime, we can talk about these assassins, eh? We’ll bury the body in the morning.”

It’d been over a decade since he’d last dug a grave, and it wasn’t to bury a body, but he was sure he could manage with the Nie’s help.

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Zhuji is the foundation building stage of cultivation, the stage before forming the jindan/golden core. Basically, Wei Wuxian is saying Mo Xuanyu was barely into the stage of forming a golden core, so it’s barely a wisp, but is still something that has the foundations built for him.

This fic was… unexpected. I wanted to write something for Nie Huaisang’s birthday, kind of a reconciliation between him and Wei Wuxian, and this happened. It will likely be no more than three chapters.

The title is a reference to a translation of a Su Shi poem, “First Ode on the Red Cliffs,” which was written after his first exile (he was exiled twice, both times for his poetry), while he wandered. There are several translations floating around, but I liked the wording of this one.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #cql #mdzs #wei wuxian #wei ying #nie huaisang #untamed fanfiction #untamed fanfic #untamed fic #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #cql fic #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs fic #my fanfiction

[veliseraptor]

Hey Lise, do you think you will maybe consider writing Thor’s pov in reckless self-endengerment? About Thor seeing Loki’s scar for the first time and knowing it was real. Maybe he blamed himself for leaving Loki on svartalfheim, because Loki was alive and he could have died because Thor left. Some brotherly feels. They needed hugs

Self-Preservation, 1.5k, as requested, Thor POV of (part of) Reckless Self-Endangerment, I’m sorry anon Thor didn’t get hugs in this one, Thor takes on more personal responsibility than he probably should

—

It had been a while since Thor had been truly afraid.

Perhaps that was less a marker of his life than it was a marker of the fact that he was less often afraid than he should be; certainly Loki would say so. Of course, Thor did not think that Loki, at the moment, had room to talk. Not that he was talking. He hadn’t, a moment ago, been breathing. Bleeding, but not breathing.

He had been afraid then. Looking at his brother, laid out, unconscious, pale as death and chest still, a horrible, strangling panic had risen up and wrapped itself around his lungs, a memory of another planet, kneeling in black ash as Loki shook in his arms and then went still. It hadn’t been real then, in the end, but the memory still cut just the same.

Now - Thor felt frozen, blood turning to ice, and it was Valkyrie who pushed him out of the way and began triage, cursing under her breath. Thor held his until Loki’s began again.

Then he scooped Loki up and dragged him back to the Statesman, his heart still beating in his throat.

**

The toll of a collapsing building dropping on Loki’s body was harsh. Not irreparable - he’d heal, and cleanly, with a little time. He’d been spared much damage to his skull, and if several rather important organs had been crushed it was nothing he couldn’t at least temporarily survive without until his body mended itself. Given that, and the realistic fact that their medical facilities were extremely limited and there wasn’t much their hedgewitch-turned-healer could actually do, Thor was rather quickly ushered out and told to - carefully - remove Loki to his own room to recover.

None of that was what was occupying Thor’s mind at the moment. They’d cut away Loki’s clothes to look at his injuries. Thor hadn’t tried to dress him again, settling for a sheet pulled up to his waist to preserve a little modesty. He was still unconscious, his breathing a little strained for his broken ribs but more or less steady.

Thor could have just left him to rest, and hadn’t. He stood over him, looking down at his brother’s bared chest.

There were marks he didn’t recognize; scars whose source Thor didn’t know. He looked a little too thin, even for Loki. The purple and black bruises spanning his torso were hideous, and there was a small spot of blood that had leaked through the bandage covering the puncture wound in his abdomen. But none of that was what held Thor fixed in place; had held him fixed in place for several minutes.

It was the scar. There were others, but that was how Thor couldn’t help but think of it: the scar.

It would have been hard to miss. Running a good handspan down the center of Loki’s chest, it was thick and ugly, clearly left to heal with little to no treatment.

He moved, slowly, to lift Loki’s limp body so he could see his back. He knew it was there, but he wanted to see it. There, indeed, was a scar that almost perfectly matched the other. A little higher. A little shorter. The mark of a blade driven through and up.

Thor eased Loki gently back down and reached out to touch the scar on his chest as though if he did it would melt away, no more than an illusion, but it did not.

Valkyrie whistled. “That,” she said, “is some mark.” Thor glanced briefly over his shoulder to see her in the doorway before turning his gaze back to Loki.

It wasn’t real, Thor thought, a little dazed. It was an illusion.

Apparently not. The Kursed had impaled Loki in truth, dealt him a killing blow. Somehow Loki had survived. Thor had held him, and felt him go still and quiet, but he hadn’t been dead.

He hadn’t been dead when Thor had walked away.

His head spun. He was dizzy, and wanted to sit down.

“What did that?” Valkyrie asked.

“One of the Kursed,” Thor said.

“Ouch,” Valkyrie said. Thor clenched his hands into fists.

When he’d returned to Asgard and found Loki alive, he’d believed there must have been some plan. That Loki had always planned to escape, and tricked Thor - he didn’t know how, but it didn’t matter. Even with his anger, a part of him had still been relieved. If that wasn’t the case…

He’d acted to save Thor’s life, and that he hadn’t given his own, it seemed, was more accident than intent.

There was a quiet, half-developed unease growing in the back of Thor’s mind. A fear he didn’t want to examine too closely, though he had a feeling he should.

“I have to go,” Thor said. Valkyrie turned sharply toward him.

“What?”

“Not far,” Thor said. “I just - need a moment.”

He strode away, though some part of him shrieked in objection, telling him that if he walked away Loki would die, again. As though he could stop it if he stayed. He’d been there before, and hadn’t stopped it then.

His intestines squirmed like snakes, seething in his gut.

You walked away then, too. Left him there, wounded to the edge of death, and walked away.

Thor strode into his room, closed the door, and sank down onto his bed, head in his hands. The ache in his chest throbbed like a second heartbeat. He kept picturing that ugly scar, seeing the Kursed seize Loki and ram the blade through his body.

I didn’t do it for him, Loki had said.

Oh, Norns.

He would have woken alone. Alone, and in pain. By the looks of it, that wound hadn’t healed quickly or cleanly. Thor imagined with a kind of grim masochism the process of cleaning it himself, tending it himself, because of course a healer wasn’t an option.

He wondered if Loki believed that Thor had left him for dead deliberately. That he had walked away, knowing Loki still lived, abandoning him as an acceptable casualty. It seemed like the sort of thing he might believe, though he’d never said as much. Never said anything, in fact; Loki hadn’t corrected his assumption. He’d let Thor believe that it had been an act. Why? Why not tell him the truth?

Thor supposed it wasn’t that surprising. Loki had never liked revealing his weaknesses. And that was probably how he saw this: as a weakness.

Nothing Thor needed to know.

What else, Thor wondered suddenly, remembering the other, unfamiliar scars, might Loki think he didn’t need to know? What other weaknesses might there be of which he felt Thor didn’t need to be aware?

He could see it so clearly. Loki gasping, dying. Voice shaking as he fought for words. A memory that had been carved in his mind since the day it had happened, and he’d been relieved to believe it was false - that Loki might have been injured, but the fear and the pain were no more than a convincing performance.

That comfort was gone now.

There was a deep heaviness in his heart. There was a fear that made him want to run back and see Loki, place a hand on his chest and feel him breathe.

He stayed where he was, head bowed, and thought about how often he’d nearly lost his brother. How close he’d come to it happening again. These missions Loki went on were dangerous. What if this happened again, and he couldn’t reach him in time?

No, Thor thought. No. I can’t allow it. Loki wouldn’t like it. Loki seemed to have devoted himself wholeheartedly to the task of these planetary expeditions, no matter how risky-

Thor paused. Several things fell into place. He thought of Loki’s attack on the Kursed again: he’d stabbed it, but he must have known, or guessed, that wouldn’t be enough. He’d used one of the bombs as well. Attached it to the creature’s belt. He’d put himself in easy range to do it, when he’d seen the kind of fighter the Kursed was. It was a dangerous move to make.

Reckless, even.

He’d done it to save Thor’s life. Out of desperation, perhaps, not seeing another way, though Loki was quick enough on his feet that Thor couldn’t help but feel he should have. What might he do for Asgard’s survival?

There had always been one particularly good way to get Loki to throw caution to the winds, when Thor had wanted him to do something. He’d learned it quickly, and used it ruthlessly. All he’d had to do was make Loki feel he needed to prove something. That he was strong enough, or brave enough, or fast enough - it didn’t matter what it was.

You could be more, Thor had said, before walking away on Sakaar.

He might as well have said: prove it.

Oh, Thor thought, dread sinking like a stone into his stomach. He might have made - a rather large mistake.

At least he could still fix it.

#anonymous #a wild fic appeared #thor is my favorite puppy #tragic siblings #hey look plotless oneshot angst! #thanks for the prompt anon

[whumpy-tales-and-thoughts]

A new meeting, Pt. 2

Leo has an even worse time boy oh boy. Also, this is. Long. have fun reading it!

Words: 2.951

TW: non con drug use, non con alcohol consumption, stabbing, vomiting. 

Taglist: @mnmlover2002 , @whatwasmyprevioususername

***

Lottie had shown him knives of different lengths and the whip and gags, as well as a stun gun, a bat and a hammer. Leo was told to choose, but he’d just kept shaking his head as much as he could, while his fear for whatever she had injected him with was making him dizzy. At one point, she looked at her watch.

  “That’s about enough, I guess”, she said and walked near him.

  He was sweaty, and in pain, his wound seeming to be screaming at him. He didn’t want to be there; he didn’t want her to be there, he didn’t want to exist at all right now. It was one of the moments when he doubted it was even real. He closed his eyes and prayed, to which god, he didn’t know, but he prayed. Prayed this would be over soon.

  She stood by him and brought her fingers close to his skin and he held his breath, not knowing what she’d do. She touched him and he shivered, but then she pinched his arm and he almost screamed from the pain.

  “What the…” he panted.

  “Oh, this is quite good. This supposedly makes your nerves vulnerable and multiplies your pain. I didn’t believe it but… I’m pleasantly surprised,” she smiled and he looked at her in shock for a few seconds, before feeling his throat closing up and his eyes burning.

  He couldn’t cry, he didn’t want to give her that satisfaction. But he couldn’t hold his tears either, not when she brought a knife near his face. She traced a line on the air above his back and he could almost already feel it. That didn’t mean he was prepared for it, though. The motion of her cutting his back was quick, but the pain it brought was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Searing and burning and never-ending, it made him scream and feel like he was dying.

  “Oh, that’s a nice scream. Sing for me, why won’t you?” she smiled and slashed him again, and again and again, each wound more painful than the other and he was about to pass out, but she spilled the contains of a frozen water bottle on his face and his consciousness quickly came back to him, just for her to hear him scream his lungs out.

  His face was a mess of tears and sweat, and the metal table had turned red in some places. Lottie was sure to seal the wounds with the melting wax, and Leo’s voice couldn’t even be heard, now.

  He didn’t know when they’d started, because it was already dark outside, but now the sun had risen. He wasn’t reacting any more, barely conscious. His eyes were open but unfocused and he was jolting and flinching with every fresh pain, but that was all his body could do. His breathing was shallow, chest moving up and down in small motions. Lottie had gotten sleepy by that time and she untied him, but he didn’t move.

  “I’m going to sleep, you exhausted me”, she said in a strict tone. “But well, I can’t say I didn’t have fun. I’m sure you did, too.” She turned to leave, but the sound of her heels notified that she’d come to a halt. “Oh! I expect you to have washed yourself by the time I return,” she laughed and with those words, she left him, locking the metal door behind her.

  Leo wanted nothing more than to die at that point of time. The drug had most likely worn off by now. His pain wasn’t as intense, but he was so, so tired, yet in so much pain that he couldn’t even sleep, let alone move or wash himself as Lottie had instructed. He used a trick he’d learnt long ago. With what little focus he had left, he counted his breaths, and even though he hadn’t expected it to be so easy, he succumbed to unconsciousness soon.

  He didn’t dream. It was a blank sleep, and maybe he needed that, but he always hoped, before falling asleep, that he’d see a happy dream, something that would take him away, even temporarily. He was never lucky, though, and certainly not now.

  He was woken by a liquid draggling him. It smelt strongly, and it made him dizzy, and it took him a good few minutes to realize it was alcohol. Soon as he became aware of his surroundings, he groaned and growled, doubling in on himself but quickly regretting that motion, the wax coming off his back, re-opening his wounds.

  “Good morning, captive.”

  Lottie’s voice made him shiver. He didn’t open his eyes. The sunlight was too strong for him.

  “But then, it’s already past noon. I overslept a bit, do excuse me for that.” She was pacing around the room; the sound of her heels gave that away. “You didn’t follow my orders. Not only are you still dirty, but you were asleep when I entered. Can you explain yourself?”

  He blinked tiredly. Terrible memories of last night resurfaced in his mind as she was talking, and he was mouthing a word even though she couldn’t see him. Her back was to him until she asked him that last question. “Please”, he mouthed again, louder this time, so she’d hear him, but it was still nothing more than a whisper. He was hungry, and he was thirsty and he was in so, so much pain. The alcohol was stinky and just by the smell it was making him dizzy. He wanted no more of this. He wanted Marcus back. He was an angel compared to her.

  ““Please”, isn’t an answer to my question”, he heard her say, but his eyes were already fluttering closed, and just as he was about to give into another sleep, he felt a stinging pain on his cheek. She’d slapped him, bringing him back to his senses. “You listen when I’m talking to you. You answer when I ask you something.” Her voice was cold and scary, but she quickly smiled and it was mellow again. “So, go on”.

  “I can’t… move”, he explained, and he didn’t know where his voice was coming from. He believed it had died out. “Please, forgive me…”

  “Well, I’m surely not going to wash you.”

  There was a moment of silence, in which Leo was trying to find out what he needed most right now, apart from a painkiller or ten, but he was sure he wouldn’t get that, so he settled on what would keep him alive.

  “I… need some water, please…”, he pleaded, and she raised her eyebrow.

  “Oh? Right, it’s been more than a day now, I guess. I forgot you’re human, do excuse me”. 

She left the room, and that minute it took her to go to down to the kitchen and back, were enough for him to relax. He didn’t make the mistake of falling asleep, knowing it wouldn’t end well, but his half-opened eyes focused on the window. It was almost sunset. The sky was pretty; it had stopped snowing. And yet here he was, flat down on a metal table, unable to move, barely breathing, dependent on a demon in woman’s clothing. It was Sunday. The worst had passed, that’s what he wanted to believe. Marcus would be back tomorrow. Oh, but tomorrow felt so far away from him. He wasn’t sure he’d get through tonight.

Lottie returned with a water bottle, which she tossed at him, and he almost let it fall off the metal table. He caught it at the last second, gulping it down. Lottie watched him and smiled, moving to flip it off his hands, a motion which startled him, causing him to choke. He forced himself to a somewhat sitting position so he could stop coughing, and fell back down exhausted, panting.

“Hm… you’re no fun today. What shall I do… say, would you want the drug again?”

His eyes went wide. “No! Please, no!” he screamed, voice hoarse but loud enough this time.

“Hah, so you do have a voice,” she said, patting his hair and tracing his chin with her finger. “I thought I’d stolen it all”.

“Can’t you… let me be for today…”

Lottie broke out in a laugh. “Oh no, no. I don’t do that, ever. But well, it’s true there’s not much I can do to you that won’t get me killed by Marcus…” she paced around, took a puzzled look. She remembered the feeling of his skin against her finger; his face was sticky from the alcohol she’d rinsed him with. This will be fun… “Hey boy, how well do you hold your alcohol?”

“I don’t… I don’t drink”, he answered, trying to get his voice to sound steady, although hoarse. He’d have liked some more water.

“That’s perfect, let me go get something”.

Dread had already set in his stomach, he knew the day would end horribly again. He knew that, but he couldn’t do anything. With Marcus, he could say stuff, he could fight back, at least Marcus would leave him alone if he made him angry enough. He’d punish him, sure, but at least he’d be alone afterwards. She was stuck in the room, never leaving him out of her eyesight, and that felt just as exhausting to him as it would be if he was being hurt again. Well, not that he believed that he wouldn’t be hurt.

She returned, closing the door behind her, not even bothering to lock it. She knew he couldn’t get out, there was no need to take precautions. She was holding two bottles. “Pick one,” she said, and Leo raised his hand to point at the blue labeled one. “Great choice. This one then, you’ll drink it up whole”.

“What, I, I can’t do that…”

“Remember what happened last time you disobeyed? Want a round two?”

Leo was quick to shake his head negatively. She ordered him to sit up, and he tried, he did his best, but it took him longer than expected and he was swaying back and forth, so she allowed him to sit on his bed, so that he could have his back against the wall. The problem was, he fell down soon as his feet touched the floor. Lottie made him get up only to fall down again, a couple of times before ordering him to just crawl to his bed, which was easier on him but not as entertaining to her.

She handed him the bottle. “If you haven’t drunk half of it until I count to twenty, there’ll be punishment, okay?” she opened it for him before he had time to react, and she started counting.

He kept looking at it for the first few seconds, but he feared whatever punishment her mind would come up with, so he started drinking, even though he wanted to throw it up. It tasted sharp and bitter, and he hated it. When she reached twenty, he coughed some of it out, unable to keep it all in his mouth, which earned him a backhand slap, her ring leaving a scar bleeding on his cheek.

“Let’s see,” she said, taking the bottle from his hands. He’s drank a lot. Probably got it around to the middle, she thought with a bored look in her eyes.

“We're going to do fifteen seconds now, ready?” she said, and he nodded, but he wasn’t even sure he’d heard her right.

Not trying to think about it any longer, he brought the bottle to his lips and began drinking; some liquid was falling out of his mouth and to his chin, before landing on his clothes. He hadn’t drunk all of it when another slap landed on his cheek, tossing the bottle away from him and having him tearing up his hands covering his cheek. The remains of the drink soiled the floor. His eyes were glassy, and he was dizzy, but the pain was subsiding, and that made him want to try drinking more. If it’s going to go away, I don’t care about the taste. He took the bottle back from her hands when she gave it to him.

“You can’t spill any.” She said, her eyes scarier than usual as she opened the other bottle she was holding. Surprisingly enough, Leo was still upright, and though his eyes were half closed and his cheeks were flushed, the alcohol didn’t seem to affect him much. “Next bottle.” Lottie passed him the opened drink and smiled. “Hm… let’s see, what to do now… Oh! If you can drink half of it in ten seconds, I’ll take it away and I’ll let you rest. If not, you’ll drink this and another bottle.”

Leo’s stomach turned just on the thought of it. He took the bottle carefully and when she ordered him, he began drinking. But he was already sick of it, and though it helped lessen the pain, it also made him dizzy and sleepy and sick and he wanted no more of it.

“Time’s up! Let’s see how you did, boy.” She shook the bottle and looked through its glass. He still had a way to go to reach the middle, and she laughed. “Guess you’re not getting off the hook this easy, huh? Let me go grab the other one, finish this up while I’m gone. Chop-chop, now.”

He looked at the glass bottle in his hands. He didn’t want to get hurt again, never again like the previous night. And he was afraid, there was no doubting that. So he gulped his sickness down and along with it, the remainder of the drink. Or at least, the amount he could drink at once. He lowered his hand for a while, took a few breaths before continuing. He had to finish it before she was back. He was sweating, and he felt hot and his eyes were burning with tears, but his back wasn’t in so much pain as it was before. He held on to that as a glimmer of hope and kept drinking until the now empty bottle slipped from his hand.

She found him panting, his eyes closed, his hand on the collar of his shirt. She smiled. “No, no. No resting just yet. You still have a bottle to get through. Unfortunately, that’s all Marcus has stored up. This one, you’ll drink it whole in a minute. You can surely do that, since you drank half of it in twenty seconds, right?” Lottie grabbed his sticky from the alcohol hand and opened his fingers, placing the neck between them and his palm. “Drink up. Now”.

Leo tried. He really did. He actually managed to drink over half of it, before gagging, choking and coughing, an action which almost caused him to throw up but he held it in. He didn’t know what she’d do if he did something like that. Maybe she’d beat him, or maybe she’d make him drink more. He was once again slapped for spilling the drink and she held the bottle up for him to chug down. He choked again, but luckily, he’d finished the bottle by then.

“You’re so good, today, so good. See, you drank it all. Three bottles of whiskey. Most would be totally wasted by now. But well, it wasn’t that high in alcohol, I guess. You’ve earned your rest for tonight.” She smiled at him and left the room, locking it.

That was it. She didn’t bother him again that night -or at least, he didn’t remember it if she did. The last thing Leo remembered was trying to walk to the bathroom. He needed to get that thing out of him, but he passed out halfway there.

***

Marcus returned late the next day’s morning. He only found Lottie in the living room. “Where’s Leo?”

“Ah, so that’s his name. I had my fun with the boy”, she said, proceeding to explain to him everything that had happened. Marcus was… entertained.

“Leaving aside the fact that he tried to escape… I think you were a tad harsher on him than you needed to. His not one of your toys now, Lottie. This one’s mine,” he said, his eyes glimmering with jealousy and she scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, since you’re here, I can leave now. I have my own things to take care of”.

Upon greeting his sister goodbye, Marcus walked up to Leo’s room, and he was prepared to see it messy, but he did not expect that. The metal table Marcus kept in another room he used as storage was bloodied and left in a corner of the room. The floor was soiled with blood and alcohol, and so was Leo’s bed. As for Leo himself, he was on the floor, laying on his chest, his back bloody, with wax scattered all over it. His mouth was dirty, Marcus guessed he might have thrown up somewhere he couldn’t see from where he was standing. He noticed it, as he was walking to the younger man, but paid it no mind. He caressed Leo’s cheek carefully.

Leo opened his eyes slightly. “Hey, darling”, he heard Marcus say, and he smiled, sighing in relief. Marcus’ face was vague in his vision, but he could tell he was safe from her. His eyelids slid back down and he breathed a slow “Finally, Marcus”, before falling back asleep.

Thank you very much, Lottie. You made more progress on his mentality in two nights than I did in months… Marcus laughed and kissed Leo’s forehead. “We go from here”, he whispered.

#non con drug use tw #non con alcohol consumption tw #whump #stabbing tw #vomit tw #leo and marcus #lottie #My writing

[amplesalty]

Day 17 - A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987)

Three, four, better lock your door...

Featuring nonother than 'Larry' Fishburne himself. I guess he went through one of those mature phases and started referring to himself as Laurence instead.

Between the return of Wes Craven as one of the writing team and Nancy Thompson from the first movie, I can't help but wonder if they were trying to distance themselves from 2. 2 was part of the fairly vast 'watched but not reviewed' last from last year and as I said in my summary of that, I really liked it. Apparently it wasn't reviewed very favourably though, 43 on Metacritic, 40% on Rotten Tomatoes...not the best. This one did a lot better though.

Surely Nancy was killed at the end of the first movie though? Like, their whole car transformed into the Freddy colours and locked them inside before driving away. I thought the implication was that just when they thought they'd escaped, he had the last laugh. Nancy does describe her movie as having 'died in her sleep'. You mean when Freddy pulled that doll through the glass in the front door?

The movie is centered around a hospital dealing with troubled teens, including Kristen Parker who has a run in with Freddy. Only, when he mother finds her, she's holding a razor blade so the all the cuts are deemed to be self inflicted. Apparently the subject of suicide was much heavier in earlier plans for the movie so things changed slightly with it being such a touchy subject. It's still touched on here but it's only perceived as suicide by outsiders, really it's Freddy pulling the strings.

Literally, as in the unfortunate demise of Phillip. The other kids and staff think nothing of him sleepwalking but in dream land, Freddy has actually ripped the veins out of his body and is dragging him around by them like a puppet on a string. Really nasty image.

Still, the sight of Freddy towering over a building, walking a poor kid to his death...as gruesome as that might be, it underlines the potential that the whole dream aspect brings to the series and the creative ways they can use it. Sure, Jason Vorhees stabbed someone. He rammed a pole through a port-a-potty and impaled someone. But has he ever turned into a snake and tried eating them alive? Ever morphed into some sort of anthropomorphic television, screamed 'you're in prime time, BITCH!' and then rammed her head through the screen?

Aside from the creativeness of the kills, in general we're still treading fairly new ground with each sequel. 1 is obviously your introduction to Freddy and the mythos around him, 2 more Freddy toying with one victim long term and his descent into madness and here, it's exploring this group dynamic and teaming up to take the fight to Freddy.

You'll have a tough time getting these kids to fall asleep in the first place though. Kristen's method is taking a spoonful of coffee and downing it with a Diet Coke. Certainly more mundane that the one kid that cut his own eyelids off. Sheesh.

Or you could just try and play D&D all night like some of the kids here do. I'm not sure actually what the non-copywright infringing name they went with is. The DM screen the kid has says 'Wizard Master' so, I dunno, Wizards and Warriors? Mazes and Monsters? That's a far out game...

I don't know what they hope to achieve by letting the mute kid play with them though. The DM chastises this one girl for not RP'ing properly, but just going by the numbers on the dice and not proclaiming that she strikes out against the hellish fiend in the good name of Prince Liraius (or whatever he's called) but the mute kid's hardly going to be hamming it up, is he?

All the kids are sharing these same visions of Freddy but the doctors aren't buying this theory. One stuck up doctor proclaims that it's all down to guilt and overt sexuality. Yeah, it's always about the kids and their shagging in these movies, isn't it?

Nancy, being something of an expert on these particular brand of night terrors, shows up as an intern who's ready to believe them. Eventually she tells them the real story of Freddy and that they're the last of the Elm St kids he's out for revenge on. Hey, this franchise has a good few sequels yet left, you can't go planting your flag in the ground like that. Who's he meant to kill in the next few movies?

We also find out more about Freddy's past as a nun shares the story of how Freddy was conceived at this very hospital when a young staff member ended up isolated with the inhabitants, locked away for days on end and subject to repeated attacks. He's labelled as the bastard child of one hundred maniacs. Grim.

During a funeral for one of the kids, she asks one of the doctors what he has faith in. When he replies science, she proclaims that to be a very sad existence. You know, people make a lot of all the homoeroticism in the second movie, I wonder if they do the same for all the theological stuff in this one. Freddy is fought off with a cross and holy water at one point and they have to bury his remains on sacred ground.

Those remains being a skeleton that re-animates itself in the middle of a scrapyard full of possessed cars. Really awesome scene as it fights Nancy's father and one of the docs. Got the whole stopmotion thing going on here, as well as in and around that whole 'puppet master' scene where Freddy temporarily possesses one of the kids puppets.

Overall, it's another good entry to the series. I hear it starts to go downhill right about now, there's another 4 left for me but I'm infinitely more inclined to watch those than I am another Friday the 13th. I still don't feel Freddy has got quite so silly and over the top as you're led to believe looking at this series as a whole as an outsider, but even if he were, that's still more interesting to me than Jason knifing another bunch of kids.

Still, funny the ones I've watched this year sort of mirrored each other by centering around a bunch of unstable kids.

#Halloween 2018 #a nightmare on elm street #A Nightmare on Elm Street 3 #Dream Warriors

[iamashamedofmyfanfics]

Less Than Expected [11]

Less Than Expected (by iamashamedofmyfanfics)

Pairing: I.M Centric, Kihyun/I.M/Wonho  + Platonic I.M/everyone Genre: Friendship, Romance Universe: Vampire AU Rating: PG13 Warnings: Blood, Swearing, Death mentioned, references to sexual stuff but no actual sexual stuff Length: Chaptered (ongoing) Chapters: [First] [10/Previous]

Notes: it returns

{ao3 version}

Summary: Changkyun was supposed to be recovering from midterms, not being robbed, stabbed, and then turned into a vampire. Yet that’s what happened. Luckily the vampires aren’t half bad company.

He's doing it again; looking over paperwork. Somehow, Kihyun hasn’t noticed- or at the very least hasn’t mentioned- Changkyun staring at him, but the latter has been for the better part of ten minutes. The end of summer is approaching startlingly quickly, reminding them both that they’ll be back in college, again, but the paperwork in front of Kihyun has more of his focus. Has for weeks now. The plans for when he “dies,” and what will happen to his assets.

“What are you actually afraid of?” The question rings around in Changkyun’s head. He’d answered, when Minhyuk had asked. Admitted he was scared of more changing, so soon after he was finding an amount of normalcy in his life. So soon after he’d lost it in the first place. That Kihyun would leave, faking his death, and would suddenly disappear entirely from Changkyun’s life. Despite knowing this, despite knowing his worries aren’t warranted, he hasn’t brought it up.

“Is something wrong?” The question startles him out of his thoughts. Changkyun shakes his head, turning away from Kihyun, now that the other is looking at him.

“No, nothing. Thinking about school.” The lie comes easier than it should, probably. Kihyun nods, though he seems unconvinced when Changkyun finally turns back to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m okay.” Changkyun shakes his head, again. Realizes he’s doing it, and frowns, standing. “I’m going to be with my human friends, okay?”

“Sure?” Kihyun raises an eyebrow at that. Presumably confused that Changkyun feels the need to say it like that. As if he needs permission. “Be safe.”

“When am I not?”

“Two separate stabbings, Changkyun.”

“Alright, I see your point.”

“You realize during that entire time, I’ve managed to maintain my friendships with the others?”

In a hundred years, Minhyuk and Kihyun had maintained a friendship. In nearly that same amount of time, Hyunwoo and Hoseok had also maintained relationships with Kihyun, too. The latter wasn’t so likely to just disappear entirely from someone’s life. Changkyun shouldn’t be worried about it. Or, at least, should talk to the other if he is.

But he doesn’t. And he wouldn’t be able to explain why he doesn’t, if pressed.

It’s late, dark out, as Changkyun makes his way home. He didn’t actually spend any time with his human friends, despite what he said, but was on his own, contemplating. Contemplation that didn’t help him any. Should he talk to someone else about it? Surely that would help, at least, to mentally prepare him to talk to Kihyun himself about it, right?

“Hey, look at that, you made it back without any problems,” Kihyun says, when Changkyun returns. He nods, closing the door.

“Maybe I’ve beaten whatever night-time curse I’d had.”

“Let’s hope so. It was sort of getting out of hand.”

Everyone had said not to worry about it. That it wasn’t a big deal. That, logically, everything would be fine. And they were right, probably. Most definitely. But it didn’t help. It didn’t make him feel better or ease his worries, because he already knew.

“I’m scared of what’s going to happen, when Kihyun inevitably fakes his death,” Changkyun says. Admits it to Hoseok, as they walk back towards Changkyun and Kihyun’s apartment. Hoseok pauses, stops walking, startled by the words. “Not- like- the fact it’ll happen. But that things will change, and I’ll be there alone, when I had finally accepted what happened before.”

Before meaning when he was killed.

“Okay.” The word is simple, accepting. Hoseok begins walking again, and Changkyun falls into step beside him.

“Okay? That’s it?”

“Yeah.” Hoseok nods. Grabs one of Changkyun’s hands, and swings it between them as way of focusing on something else. “You know that’s okay, right?”

“What?”

“That you’re worried?”

“But I shouldn’t be.”

“You shouldn’t, but you also shouldn’t have had to worry about walking home at night, and yet.” Hoseok pauses, but Changkyun can tell he has more to say. “It might not help, but you should tell him that you’re worried about it.”

“I know.” It’s Changkyun’s turn to pause, before speaking again. “Does it bother you?”

“Which part?”

“That I’m worried about that, when you’ll still be here.”

“No.” Hoseok shakes his head, tightens his hold on Changkyun’s hand. “He was the first person you saw, after you died, right? And he saved your life. It makes sense that you’d be worried about him disappearing. The fact you still are, despite being given plenty of reason not to be, means that this goes far beyond you just wanting him around.”

“Oh.” A nod. “That makes sense, I think. Surprisingly insightful.”

“Okay- well- now I’m offended. What do you mean surprisingly?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Yes!”

The conversation Changkyun finally has with Kihyun is muted. Feels uneventful. Changkyun tells the other his worries, that he knows they’re irrational, and Kihyun responds as simply as Hoseok had.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Really, you too? That’s all?”

“What do you want me to say?” Kihyun’s words make Changkyun freeze, because he doesn’t know. Isn’t sure what Kihyun could possibly say that would help any. What kind of response would feel like a satisfying conclusion to Changkyun’s concerns. “You’re allowed to be worried, but that isn’t going to stop things from happening.”

“I guess not.”

“But- how about this?”

“What?”

“I promise I’ll be here until at least next summer. I’m sure our neighbors wont get too suspicious that quickly, all of the sudden.”

It doesn’t change anything, really. There’s still a guarantee there, in the words, that the conclusion is inevitable. That Kihyun will fake his death, and leave, like he must have done dozens of times since becoming a vampire. Still, knowing it wont be soon- knowing he isn’t going to suddenly leave the next day, or the next week- eases Changkyun’s worries immediately.

“Okay.”

“I just want to say I am not, in fact, suffering today,” Changkyun says.

“What a twist,” Hyunwon responds, paying little attention to Changkyun. “Then why I am I even here?”

“To steal food like you always do?”

“You’re absolutely correct.” A nod. “You know that offer to make them suffer with embarrassing stories still stands.”

“Ah, so we’re still awful people. Got it.” Changkyun pauses. “But what kind of stories?”

“Admittedly I haven’t known them as long as they’ve known each other.” Wasn’t possible, considering how long each of them had been alive. “But they’re embarrassing at all times, so they gave me plenty to work with.”

“I assume living with one of them helped.”

“I’ve lived with both of them,” Hyungwon reminds him. Changkyun had entirely forgotten about that, until now.

“Oh yeah. What happened with that?”

“What kind of monster gets up so early in the morning?” Hyungwon mutters, presumably to himself rather than Changkyun.

“What? Aside from for classes he doesn’t get up that early?”

“Oh, I see, when you live here he acts like a normal human being.”

“He’s not human.”

“My point still stands.”

So their neighbor is outside, again. Is standing there, when Kihyun kicks Hyunwon out, upon returning, and looks even more suspicious upon seeing they had a guest. Which Changkyun doesn’t think makes any sense, since that was normal. He’s already forgotten the kid’s name, admittedly.

“What are you doing out here, again?” Changkyun asks, while Hyungwon leaves and Kihyun seems to have taken to ignoring the other.

“I know something’s going on!”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Without response, the other leaves, seeming to have taken offense to the question. Changkyun heads back into his apartment, feeling more annoyed than worried, now.

“Are we sure you didn’t just offend him, somehow?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Think so,” Changkyun repeats, disbelieving.

“Well if I did, I don’t know how.”

It happens, again. Another nightmare about that night. Changkyun doesn’t understand why they’re happening, or why they weren’t before. If he was going to be reliving that moment, so traumatically, he would have expected it to happen closer to the event. Yet, the further from it he gets, the more often it shows up. It makes blood unappealing, entirely, which is a problem all things considered.

Changkyun breathes a heavy sigh. One problem- temporarily- solved, another to deal with, he guesses.

Summer's end approaches startlingly quickly. While Changkyun still has another two weeks before classes begin for him, that wasn’t the case for a lot of people who had previously attended the same college as him. Or, rather, it wasn’t the case for his human friends. They begin classes within a few days, and thus had already moved into their dorms. Away from where Changkyun remains. Another piece of normalcy being chipped away at, in his life.

Yet, for some reason, it doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should. Despite losing the barely-reformed stable parts of his life being one of his major concerns, when it came to multiple things already, it doesn’t register. Doesn’t bother him. Which, in and of itself, bothers him.

Did his human friend's place in his life mean so little? Was it because he could still contact them, or had their space in his life- since becoming a vampire- shrunk so much it didn’t register as a change?

“You’re keeping your human friends?” Jooheon had given Changkyun a look that made him think he shouldn’t.

At the time he had been determined to keep them. To retain a place in his life, for them. Even more so recently, as one of them became aware of what actually happened to him. The thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, had been that this meant he succeeded. That he’d managed to keep them an important part of his life.

Was that wrong?

When he takes the time to think about it, Changkyun knows that he spends less time with them. Besides the majority of his time being spent with Hoseok and Kihyun, the rest of his time, too, was in majority spent with vampires.

Realizing this, Changkyun finds himself immediately calling the only one of them not gone to another college- Taehyuk- to spend time together. With no actual idea what to do, specifically. Still, the other agrees, maybe realizing something is up with Changkyun.

“So, what’s wrong with you?”

“What a way to ask if I’m okay.”

“Well?”

“I’m just trying to keep… something normal.”

“Is that so?” A pause. “You really think things were normal, before, just because you were human, and spending time with humans?”

Changkyun is caught off guard by the question. It was, probably, the last response he expected. “Yes?”

“Okay, well, as your wise friend-”

“Wise.”

“Let me tell you a secret.” Taehyuk glares and Changkyun remains silent. “There’s no such thing. Normal is nonsense. You’re just worried you’re extra weird now, but you’re really not. Different, sure, but if you were that weird I wouldn’t have been the only one to realize what happened to you.”

The conversation, like a lot recently, sticks in Changkyun’s mind long after it’s over. There’s no such thing. Was that the problem, then? Clinging to the idea of normal, when it wasn’t real. When, even if it was, he’d lost the ability to be normal a long time ago? It didn’t feel like that long ago, really, but it had been almost a year, he realizes. Almost a year since that night.

Was that why? Was that why it didn’t bother him that his human friend were out of reach? Was that why that night kept coming back to him, all of the sudden?

And, if it was, is there anything he can even do about it?

#i.m centric #chanki #wonkyun #kiho #friendship #romance #vampire au #PG13 Rating #blood and stuff #death (mentioned) #cursing #chaptered #marylynnwrites #ongoing

[selfignitingimagines]

Isaac- It Scares Me Sometimes

Request-  Can u do an imagine where isaac and the reader are besties and the reader tells him shes in love with him but hes scared to ruin the friendship but then during a pack fight the reader almost dies and isaac tells the reader he loves her

A/N- Sorry I’ve been MIA lately. I’ve been working on Shake It Off (which the first chapter of is almost finished!!) and been busy with school. Enjoy!

“What’s that one?” Isaac asked you, pointing to the stars above you. You were camped out on the roof of your house with your best friend by your side, picking out the constellations. Normally you would have been inside watching a movie for your friday night hangout, but it was getting warmer, so you had pulled him out the window, nearly giving him a heart attack. “Ursa Minor,” you explained. “What’s it supposed to be?” “A bear,” you told him, pulling your thin cardigan tighter around your shoulders. Isaac glanced over at you, his blue eyes concerned. “Are you cold?” “A little.” “Come here,” he said, holding out an arm. You swallowed and wiggled closer, pressing up against his warm side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He leaned down closer, talking softly in you ear and unknowingly allowing his breath to tickle your cheek. “How is that supposed to be a bear?” “It’s from a myth,” you said. “Something about a bear and a jealous goddess. At least I think so. Stiles would know the whole thing.” “Since when do you spend time with Stiles?” “Well I had to find someone to entertain me while you were in France for a year.” “Y/n,” he said quickly. “You know I-” “Relax,” you told him softly. “You know I don’t hold that against you. You did what you had to do.” “So while I’m gone my best friend replaces me?” “Temporarily,” you told him with a grin. “But you’re back, so it doesn’t matter now.” Isaac smiled, raising his eyebrows at you. “Don’t act like you didn’t miss me.” “Mm, I don’t know,” you said, pretending to think. “I mean, like, sometimes I noticed you weren’t around, but-” “Y/n!” he whined. “You are so mean to me.” You laughed. “Cry about it Lahey.” Still laughing, you wriggled out from under his arm, heading back toward your open window. “Where are you going?” “Oh I don’t know,” you told him. “I was thinking I might go find Stiles and ask him about the-” You shrieked as Isaac’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his fingers dancing across your ribs. “Ah! Stop!” Isaac paid no mind to your half-hearted protest, and soon you were on your back on the roof, squirming as he tickled you. “Okay! O-okay! Jesus, I-I was kidding!” Isaac chuckled and pulled his hands away, placing them on either side of your head. “That’s what you get.” “You are so cruel,” you whispered breathlessly. “You’re cruel,” he fired back. “Ditching me for Stiles. As if I could ever live without my best friend by my side.” “I was just going to leave,” you said with an eyeroll. “I mean, not really, but what if I had?” “My heart would break,” Isaac told you seriously. “You’re a dork,” you said, moving to get up. You thought Isaac would understand and move away, but you found yourself rising and almost headbutting him. “S-sorry,” you stuttered, well aware of how close you were. Isaac shook his head slightly, not saying anything, and glanced down at your lips. As if pulled forward by the gravity of the moment, you suddenly leaned in and pressed your lips to hiss, having no idea what you were doing. Isaac melted into you for about two blissful seconds, and then he suddenly jerked away as if you had stabbed him. His blue eyes had taken on a wild, terrified quality, and you flinched. “Isaac? What’s wrong?” He backed away from you, suddenly feeling trapped on the tiny roof. “We...we shouldn’t have done that.” “Oh, okay, sorry,” you said quickly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “That was my bad, you don’t have to-” “I’m gonna go,” he interrupted, glancing down at the ground. “I need to go.” “-worry about it,” you finished softly, but he was already jumping straight off your roof. You watched him hit the ground with grace and take off down the street, jogging away as if he wasn’t leaving you behind. A sick feeling began to wash over you, heavy and dreadful in your gut, and you fought the urge to cry. “What the hell did I do?” you wondered to yourself, but you already knew the answer. You had just ruined everything.

“Lydia, I don’t know what happened,” you told her the next day, trying to fight tears in the passenger seat of her car. “I do,” she said. “You kissed him, he freaked, and then didn’t know how to respond and just left.” “He hates me,” you groaned. “God, he’s my best friend, and he hates me.” “He doesn’t hate you,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Anyone can tell he’s adored you for years.” “As a friend.” “As more,” she insisted. “And honestly, do you think the best time to talk about your relationship problems is right before we go into battle?” “Now or never, right?” you asked. “I guess so,” she said with a sigh. “He probably just didn’t know how to react. I mean, maybe he was worried about ruining your friendship.” “I think I have that part covered,” you grumbled. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she scolded. “Isaac will get his head out of his ass eventually. For now, we can try to save Mason from crazy werewolf-druids.” You nodded, and sobered up at the thought of what was to come. The sacrifice Scott, Stiles, and Allison had made over a year ago had woken up the nemeton, which was now acting as a Beacon for every kind of supernatural creature imaginable. It had drawn things to Beacon Hills, one of those things being a pack of werewolves who were heavily involved in some ancient occult practices. It just so happened that these practices were neither peaceful nor friendly, and not the kind of thing you wanted in your quiet hometown. After Lydia dug up some old text claiming that cult power could be drawn from sacrificing an advisor of a local pack, the pack had rushed to protect Deaton, not realizing that Mason had been a pretty vital advisor himself. Scott knew that this whole thing, meeting them in the woods to “negotiate”, was probably nothing more than a trap, but if things ended badly, you figured you could all fight just your way out of it. That was how most of your plans ended anyway. “Okay,” you told Lydia. “I can do this. This is about saving Mason.” “Right,” Lydia chirped. “And you don’t even have to look at Isaac. Besides, it shouldn’t take long, and then we can focus on you.” You nodded, wholeheartedly believing her words as you headed toward the preserve. Unfortunately, they couldn’t have been farther from the truth. “Y/n, get Lydia out of here!” Scott roared to you. You ducked a blow from a druid and darted your eyes toward the Alpha, but he was already wrapped up in a fight of his own. You snapped your leg up and kicked the druid in the face, all the while scanning the forest for Lydia. The whole clearing was alive with chaos. Stiles and Liam were going two on one with claws and a bat a few feet away from you, and over by the giant tree stump, Mason was struggling to break the rope around his wrists and ankles. Malia was brutally breaking the arm of a druid close to Scott, but another one was headed right for her. Isaac was fighting hand to hand with one too, but every spare second he got, his gaze would flick to you. You finally found Lydia, and you heaved a sigh of relief. She was limping from a cut on her leg, and backing away from a curly-haired druid with glowing yellow eyes. You sucked in a sharp breath and pulled a knife from your boot, sending it flying toward her. It hit her square in the back, apparently in the perfect place, because she dropped to the ground in a heap. You landed another hit to the guy you were fighting, hard enough to cause him to drop to his knees, and then you ran. You headed toward Lydia, breathing heavily, and snatched her by the arm. “So much for not taking so long.” “Poor choice of words,” she remarked weakly. “Come on,” you ordered, pulling her to toward the cover of the trees.   You hurried as fast as you could, but a sharp, tearing pain in the side of your leg caused you to scream. You dropped to the ground, almost taking Lydia with you as you clutched at the arrow in your leg with shaking hands. “Y/n!” Lydia cried. “Go!” you shouted at her, yanking the arrow out of your leg. Normally you never would have pulled it out. Arrows did more damage going out than they ever could going in, but if you were going to fight the druid coming toward you with a crossbow, you had to be able to move. “But-” Lydia protested, her green eyes wide. “I said go!” She took off limping through the trees, thankfully out of view of the druid. You stood up, gritting your teeth against the burning pain in your leg and cracking your knuckles. The druid who had shot you, a tall woman with blonde hair and a sick grin, walked toward you. You expected her to come closer and start fighting, but instead she pulled the trigger on the crossbow. You gasped as you felt the arrow going into your stomach, and you looked down in shock. Your fingers moved to the wound, soon staining red with the blood pooling through your shirt. You dropped to your knees, just as you heard someone scream your name. Isaac was running toward you, having knocked out his own adversary, and he took down the woman who had shot you in about two seconds. You heard the distant snap of her neck as you slowly slid to the ground. You were lying on your back when Isaac loomed into your vision, crying out your name frantically. “Y/n?! Y/n?!” “I-I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out. “I ru-ruined e-everything.” “No,” he whispered, placing his hand over your bloody, trembling one. “You didn’t. You didn’t. I was the one who ruined things. Please, Y/n, just-just...Y/n?” But he didn’t get to finish what he was saying. You wanted to listen, to hold onto the hope that maybe he was right, and maybe you hadn’t lost your best friend, but you felt yourself fading. You knew you were losing a lot of blood, and you just couldn’t stay awake anymore. You drifted off listening to Isaac’s frantic voice, and the last thing you saw was his terrified, blue eyes staring down into yours. You were dying of thirst. That was your first thought when you opened your eyes, and when you tried to take a dry, choked breath from where you lay in your hospital bed. “Lydia-” you croaked, your eyes landing on her pale face. She sucked in a breath and jumped out of her chair, grabbing for a pitcher of water and a cup from the nightstand. She quickly filled it and placed it in your shaky hands, and you took a large gulp. “Thanks,” you whispered, shooting her a soft smile. “You scared the hell out of us!” she cried, softness empty from her voice. “What the hell were you thinking?” “I was thinking I would fight for my life,” you told her, cocking an eyebrow. “Is Mason okay?” “Yeah,” she breathed. “Isaac slipped out of there before they saved him and found me by the cars. God, I can’t even imagine how I looked when I saw you in his arms. You didn’t even look like you were alive.” You swallowed. “And the others?” “They managed,” she told you. “It also helped that I called Satomi, and her whole pack showed up to help.” “That’s awesome,” you said with a grin. “Liam wasn’t too happy that Brett helped save his best friend’s life, but I’m sure he’ll get over it.” “So...where’s Isaac?” “He’s pacing outside in the hall, probably listening to everything we’re saying.” You frowned. “Why?” “He feels guilty,” she explained. “He thought he made you hate him.” “Hate him? Why would I hate him? He can’t help how he feels.” “See, that’s the thing,” Lydia continued. “He doesn’t actually-you know what? He should explain this to you.” She sighed and stood up. “I’ll be back later.” “Wait, Lydia-” you protested, but she was already heading out the door. If you listened carefully, you could hear her talking quietly, and then, you didn’t need to listen at all. Her angry voice rang out through the door, clear as a bell. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you could hear her demand. “Go talk to her, you idiot!” Seconds, later, a sheepish looking Isaac shuffled in, flashing you a small smile. You sat up, letting out a hiss of pain, and he was instantly by your side. He placed his hand over yours, veins turning black as he took your pain, and you sighed. “You don’t have to do that you know,” you told him. “I want to,” he said softly. “I hate seeing you in pain. You know that.” You were silent, and you looked away, pretending that the threadbare hospital sheets were a lot more interesting than his guilt-ridden face. “Y/n,” he whispered. “Please, look at me.” You glanced up. “Isaac, you don’t have to-” “I’m not going to say anything I don’t want to say,” he cut you off. “The other night...I freaked. I’ll admit it. When you kissed me, it wasn’t like I didn’t want you to do it, but I realized that if it went that far, it could go farther. What if we dated, and then-and then we broke up? I’d lose you, Y/n. I’d lose my best friend.” “You were scared of losing me, so...you ran away?” you asked. Isaac looked away. “Seems like I do that a lot.” You sighed. “Isaac, I’m not mad at you.” “You’re...you’re not?” You shook your head. “I’m not. I just...I want you to tell me how you really feel.” Isaac sank down on the side of your bed. “Okay. I’ll tell you. When I ran away from you that night, I was scared, but not as scared as I was when I saw you with that arrow in your stomach. I was terrified, Y/n. I thought you might die, and that if you did, you’d die thinking that I didn’t love you. But I do love you. I love you so much that it scares me sometimes.” You stared up at him, speechless at his words. You had spent years imagining all the ways Isaac could tell you how he felt, never once believing that it would actually happen. Yet here you were, sitting in that hospital bed, listening to him gush about the things you had always dreamed about. “Isaac-” Before you could finish, he reached out and tilted your mouth up toward his, and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. Whatever you were planning on saying flew straight out of your head, and you closed your eyes as his fingers roamed over your cheek. When you opened your eyes and parted, a smile graced your lips. Isaac tucked some hair behind your ear, and kissed the top of your head. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. “Isaac?” you whispered, causing him to pull away and glance down at you. “Yeah?” “Me too,” you told him, snuggling back into him. “I love you too.”

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #selfignitingimagines #isaac lahey imagines