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crispyjenkins · 1 year

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Assassin's Creed fic 👀 I am always a sucker for (good) Desmond Miles fic, hell yeah, would 100% read those if you posted them.

👀 👉👈 you're my new favourite, anon. this isn't close to being done but i'm very fond of it so here's a lil preview~ inspired by esama's study of flight, but with a twist! (gen, time travel/reincarnation, found family, william miles' a+ parenting, accidental subterfuge, desmond goes by miles mostly)

Inhaling a careful breath, Ezio pauses half a flight from their destination and Leonardo halts on the step above him, frown deepening in concern. “Ezio?” he prompts, when he still doesn’t say anything.

Ezio sighs. “We have thirteen recruits now,” he explains, turning to lean his back against the staircase wall; the cool temperature of the stone actually calms him somewhat and allows him to go on, “He’s been with us a few months, now.”

Tilting his head curiously, Leonardo bends closer to him. “I thought you had stopped recruiting for the time being.”

“I had.” Ezio rubs over his face quickly, such discomfort usually unsafe to display so openly — then again, Leonardo is hardly his enemy. “One of my discepoli, Adele, noticed him first.”

“ ‘Noticed him’?”

“... In my defense, I was away on a long assignment.”

Leonardo just looks bewildered, an expression that’s usually quite amusing to see on the man, but Ezio can only cough awkwardly.

“He, ah, was here a week before anyone thought to question him.”

His old friend blinks slowly at him, Ezio can almost see the calculations happening in his mind, before his whole countenance brightens enough to make Ezio wince.

“You mean he infiltrated the Brotherhood? And nobody noticed?” he asks gleefully. “Oh, Ezio.”

Refusing to flush in embarrassment, Ezio crosses his arms with a humph. “As I said, I wasn’t in the hideout at the time. Geniuses some of my recruits may be, but they all thought I had sent him here. Adele was the one to notice he had previous training, and asked him where he had met me.” Letting out a long breath, Ezio does smile, just a little. “The whelp didn’t even deny having snuck in, ’said that this is where he wants to be and was tired of waiting for chance to put him in my path, or I in his.”

Leonardo laughs brightly, moving to rest against the wall across from Ezio. “And Machiavelli didn’t kill him immediately?”

“No, Valeria convinced them all to keep it quiet until I returned from my contract, the little hellions. She even used me as a meat shield when Niccolò finally found out.” Ezio loves his recruits to distraction, they’re his brothers and sisters and siblings and he would gladly die for any one of them. He would also like to never face down Machiavelli’s sword and rarely-used hidden blade ever again. Once was already in excess.

“And the recruit?”

“Miles defended himself, of course. At least long enough for Niccolò to become intrigued by his skill.” He’s still testing the theory, but Ezio is fairly certain even the rank of millite is too low for him, though why Miles would be hiding his prowess is a concern all on its own.

Leonardo has known Ezio far too long, and far too well to not guess at his unsaid meaning, his lips tugging back into a thoughtful frown. “You think he was trained by another Assassin?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he admits with a sigh. “He certainly wasn’t trained by any of our branches.”

“Miles, Miles Miles,” Leonardo muses to the sloped ceiling. “Unusual name. Germanic? Or French, perhaps?”

Ezio had been considering contacting his brothers in Spain, despite being almost positive that Miles wasn’t trained by them; he hadn’t even considered the French branch. Actually, did the French branch even exist anymore? He thinks he recalls hearing of its decimation around the time of the Inquisition.

“There’s a thought,” he agrees slowly, rubbing his jaw. “I’d have to ask la Volpe or another older member about their fighting styles, I only ever crossed blades with Helene, and she hadn’t been an Assassin in many years by then.”

“Ah, Helene... Dufranc, was it? Yes, yes, the lovely rogue from Barcelona. ‘Mon petit Assassin’, if I recall correctly?”

Glowering, Ezio kicks his friend’s foot at the reminder of the nickname he only escaped upon return to Italy. Some of his Spanish brothers still tease him about it in their letters. “I regret ever telling you about that,” he grumbles, much to Leonardo’s amusement.

Though, he quickly sobers and meets Ezio’s eyes under his hood, pinning him there easily. “Why am I here, old friend?” he asks, softly, but leaving no room to wriggle out of the answer again.

He really isn’t making this easy, is he?

Ezio can only hold Leonardo’s gaze for a few moments more, before he has to look away. “Miles is a bastard from a Veneziana whore. He never met his father.” He needn’t look to know Leonardo gets it immediately, but Ezio still goes on, “My students aren’t nearly as subtle as they think they are, and I do not know if it would have occurred to me without their whispers.”

Leonardo understands this immediately, too. “Ah, does he not bear significant resemblance to you, then?”

Ezio shakes his head. “My recruits seem to think so, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten far too in my head about it and am no longer sure if what I see is simply what I want to see.”

“Oh, Ezio,” Leonardo sighs, standing straight to reach across the narrow space between them and put a hand on his shoulder. “I would be glad to meet him, old friend. Then, after, we will sort all this out, just as we always have.”

Despite himself, Ezio finds himself relieved by the comfort, and reaches up to squeeze Leonardo’s hand, before removing it and stepping away. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and nods to the bottom of the stairs. “Miles is usually sparring one of his brothers or sisters around now, come with me.”

“Or siblings,” Leonardo reminds him with a soft laugh, following at his heel.

#title's gonna be from poor isaac by the airborne toxic event #this whole fic is based on the trope of time travel des not knowing how to lie for shit and people making assumptions (à la study of flight #except their assumptions turn out to be mostly right #des isn't ezio's kid tho 👀#anyway i love desmond almost as much as i love obi wan if that tells you anything about my current state of mind #crispy writes #i also have a modern-era bleed effect injury angst thing and an altdes where they both go back in time which is a MESS of a fic #but it's power couple mostly established relationship where everyone thinks altaïr found another adha and they aren't exactly WRONG #seriously i could gush about desmond endlessly #anon #cj answers #savage price

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peaceoutofthepieces · 5 months

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Uh hi! So I know you usually do ship stuff, but I am desperate for some Isaac Henderson angst content. I’ve found a few here and there but most of them aren’t actually super angsty and a lot somehow feel more about the other characters even if they’re meant to be about Isaac. They’re good but nothings really scratched that itch so far. Could you write something using #12 from the angsty dialogue prompts? Or honestly if you’d rather not do that one, any one of the prompts would be great. I’ll leave it up to you what exactly it’s about and who the line is directed at, I just wanna see my fave go through it.

hello!! i'm sorry this took so long! i would like to clarify that i started it ages ago, but it was at less than 1000 words yesterday evening, and then it was finished at 2am last night. (i got so into it i'm currently in the mindset of "that's it, i'm going to try and post at least a fic a week now 😤", but we will see if that actually happens.) so, i hope if nothing else it's sufficiently angsty and not too ooc. you did give me quite a bit of freedom, and it remains unclear if that was a good choice or not 😅 anyway, enjoy!!

12. "Help me."

Post-prom, Isaac felt out of sorts.

His situation with James and his odd encounter at Elle’s exhibition had been eye-opening, to say the least. Angela Chen’s Ace still resided on his nightstand, though he’d finished reading it two days after lifting it from the library. He couldn’t bring himself to return it just yet; he found himself going back to it at night, rereading sections over again as if they would tell him something new, feeling he was still missing something. And anyway, they were still on summer holidays. The school wouldn’t miss it for now.

No one seemed to be missing him much, either.

It was becoming more noticeable, this summer break, how he was the odd one out. He’d been aware his friends were essentially coupled off for months now, and Paris had cemented it, but Paris had also kept them stuck together as a group.

(Plus, most of the Paris trip had been before things had become royally awkward with James, but he was mostly avoiding thinking about all that.)

The situation with Darcy had understandably taken a bit of a priority in the past couple of weeks, but it didn’t explain the shift that had seemed to happen within all his friends since prom. Isaac had figured for a while that Elle would be leaving, and he assumed it was why she and Tao had been attached at the hip. He didn’t begrudge them it, really. He had watched them pine over each other long enough that leaving them this time together felt warranted. Besides, it wasn’t like they were asking Charlie to movie nights recently, either.

But it also wasn’t likely Charlie was waiting to be asked, these days. He and Nick had seemingly re-entered their honeymoon phase, which was fair given that they finally could be as coupley as they wanted wherever and whenever they wanted. Isaac just found it odd that it seemed to be more since prom than Nick’s coming out, but he was not going to ask about that. It made sense he didn’t want to think about. The intense, somewhat dark cloud that seemed to still hang over Nick around Charlie was more worth questioning, but it was also part of what kept Isaac from encroaching on them recently.

Everyone seemed to have something going on. His going-ons felt a little unworthy, in comparison. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling shit about himself because he didn’t want to put an extra burden on his friends and it was a bit sad he considered his feelings a burden, or if that was an excuse for not having to talk about it because he didn’t really know how and it was making him feel shit.

So, yes. Out of sorts.

Out of sorts and alone, most of the time.

He was not in the habit of pitying himself, however, and he was not about to start now. So what if he was having some life-defining realisations about himself and he had no one to share them with? He’d coped with life mostly on his own so far and he’d continue to do so.

And he was coping. Perfectly.

Kind of.

Sitting in one of his best friend’s houses, surrounded by their other friends and staring into a book was how he always coped, so this was perfectly normal. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t absorbing the words and everyone seemed louder than usual. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He was tired. That’s all he was feeling.

Tara tugged at his foot from where she and Darcy were perched on the floor by his armchair. “Isaac, we're gonna play a boardgame. Put the book down and come join us!”

Isaac looked, but Tao and Elle were still wrapped up in each other in the corner and Nick and Charlie were nowhere in sight. He raised an eyebrow at Tara. “We are?”

“Yes! Nick and Charlie are away to get them right now, so come get comfy.”

Darcy snorted. “Good idea, because we could be waiting for a bit.”

Tara slugged her shoulder and Darcy only giggled again.

“Shouldn't they have passed the honeymoon phase by now?” Isaac asked, lowering his book slightly but not yet closing it.

“Nick and Charlie?” Tara grinned. “I'm not sure those two will ever come out of it.”

“Well, I can't say I don't understand,” Darcy quipped, leaning in to Tara with a grin. Tara turned towards her, and their smiles melded as they kissed.

Isaac snapped his book closed. “Actually, I think I'll go to the loo while we're waiting.”

No one gave any sign of hearing him, so Isaac slipped quietly out of the room and up to the bathroom. He rolled his eyes at the giggles coming from Charlie's room and didn't pause. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he finally released a sharp breath. He perched himself on the edge of the bath and pulled out his phone.

Instagram was a distraction he did not often indulge in. His follow count was small—only his friends and favourite authors alongside a small cluster of bookstagrammers he'd found to have good taste. He saved a couple of recommendation posts, then began clicking through stories, pausing when he reached James's.

The story was almost timed out, all of it from last night, seemingly at a party. Isaac had stopped on a video where James appeared to be singing along to the song playing with another boy. In the middle of it, the boy had swooped forward to kiss James on the cheek.

Isaac stared at James’s delighted expression and something complicated clenched in his chest. He quickly locked the phone and set it beside him, directing his focus to the wall.

It was good, he rationalised. James was wonderful; he deserved to be going out and having fun, and he deserved, without question, to have a handsome boy having fun with him. Whether they were friends or something more didn't matter, but the something more definitely seemed possible, if not likely. And James deserved someone who could give him that.

Isaac had not been able to give him that—did not want to give anyone that, could not derive any joy from it, even from the chance of it giving joy to someone else.

He was not incapable of love. He knew that. When he looked at his family, when he looked at Charlie and Tao and Elle, he was always so full of love he felt he might explode from it. It wasn't romantic, and it wasn't physical, but it was love, in its purest form it seemed, to him, given he did not want anything in return for it but their happiness and their continued place in his life.

It was love, uncomplicated, unconditional love, and why wouldn't that be enough?

He never seemed to be enough.

He always did what he could to be a good son and a good friend, and he had never doubted it until recently. James had been one of those good friends. He still was, as far as Isaac was concerned, but their relationship had undeniably changed. Maybe it was simply in an awkward phase that would pass, but Isaac, at the moment, could not believe it would ever be the same. For a time, James had been something of his best friend—not because Isaac liked him more than Charlie or Tao or Elle, or because he really spent more time with him, but because James was Isaac’s friend in a way they were not. They spent time together, the two of them, and shared interests the two of them, and when they had been together they had not felt the need for any company outside of the two of them.

But that had not meant the same to James as it had to Isaac, and Isaac could not give him anything more. He understood that his rejection would not be taken without consequence, but he hadn't been prepared to be, in a way, rejected in return.

Was this all he would ever achieve? Having friends who would always be somewhat distant—who would always have someone closer, someone better—or having someone close who would eventually want that closeness in a way he did not. Before, he'd worried he was not worthy of that want to begin with. Never had he thought it would be his inability to return it that would be the issue. Could he be upset, that it was his not wanting to be too close that lost him all closeness as a result?

He was alone on an island of his own making. He couldn't blame anyone for leaving him there if he wasn't going to invite them in, could he?

Was this, then—alone in the bathroom of his best friend's house with his phone locked beside him and tears in his throat—all he was destined for?

Isaac Island, party of one.

A knock on the door startled him, and he swore quietly as he knocked his phone onto the tiles. As he picked it up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and blanched. There were no tears, but his eyes were red and his face was blotchy and the tears were waiting in his throat, they surely would be there if he went back downstairs to—

Another knock.

“One—one minute,” he tried, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. He quickly turned on the tap and ran his hands and wrists under the cool water, but it did nothing to steady his breathing. The thought of his aloneness had choked him, but the thought of returning into company strangled him. It was not his friends’ fault—he refused to make it his friends’ fault—but at the moment, he couldn't bear them all the same.

He cupped more cold water in his hands and scrubbed it over his face, but it did not shock him out of the spiral of his thoughts. The third knock barely registered over the growing ringing in his ears.

“Isaac?” Not Charlie, like Isaac had thought. Not Nick either, or Tara, or any of them. “Are you okay? I'd really like to use the loo.”

His island, he thought deliriously, was sinking; he was drowning, and still, he could do nothing but soak his hands under the tap and soak his face in turn and suck in breaths that did not hold enough oxygen. He was drowning, he was sinking, he could not see it but his body felt it and his lungs were going to seize, he was dying—

He cut the knocking off by throwing open the door and gasping, “Help me.”

Isaac had one second to appreciate Tori’s bewildered expression before it turned serious and she took to action. “Isaac? Hey. Look at me.” She set her hands on his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around his middle, still heaving. “I'm assuming you didn't just get diagnosed with asthma,” Tori said, still impossibly calm—perhaps he was actually the sea, he thought, undefinable and raving, and she the island, unravagable. Isaac shook his head. “Alright. I think, then, this is likely a panic attack. Would it help if I get Charlie?”

Isaac shook his head more vigorously.

To her credit, Tori only considered him for a few seconds, and didn't argue. She guided him back into the bathroom and gently kicked the door closed. “Sit,” she told him. He did, and she crouched in front of him. Immediately, with his knees pulled to his chest and the bath supporting his back, it was better. He was not so adrift. “You're alright. It will pass. I know it's stupid, but you really do just have to focus on breathing.”

She started counting. It was only when she'd repeated the numbers four times that he understood she was telling him how long to breathe in and out for. Then he tried to follow it, and slowly, air felt like it was moving through him regularly again.

Isaac wiped at his cheek. To his embarrassment, his fingers came away damp. He didn't look at Tori, but he said, “Thank you.” Then, “Sorry.”

She didn't brush off his apology, or tell him to get out now so she could actually use the loo—both of which would have been fair and not unexpected responses. Instead, she turned and sat next to him. She leaned against the bath to his left, a few inches between their shoulders, and stared at the wall quietly with him.

When his skin stopped vibrating, he tucked his arms around his middle again and breathed out. “How did you know what to do?” he asked.

She glanced at him and shrugged. “I didn't, really.”

It was all she offered, but it seemed honest. Isaac decided not to push. He was too grateful to care much.

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?” she asked, softly.

Isaac looked over at her. She was looking back, unsmiling but not unhappy. She reminded him a lot of Charlie, Isaac had always thought. They seemed similar in ways they likely weren't even aware of. It was both comforting and unnerving. “Do you really want me to?”

Tori shrugged again. “I'd prefer it if you told Charlie or your other friends, because I think that would be more helpful. But I don't think you want to. So you can tell me, if you need to tell someone.”

That was—exactly what Isaac needed, really. He didn't exactly think it should be Tori. They'd known each other a while, and they liked each other well enough, but they weren't friends. Plus, Isaac knew she and Charlie were actually close; it felt weird and unfair to tell her something and then ask her to keep it from him.

But in this moment, he could not think of a better option, and the mere thought of getting the weight off his chest was a relief.

“I think I'm going to end up alone,” he said, blunt and ridiculous. Tori, completely fairly, raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Not because I think I'm unlovable or something like that.” Although that was part of it. “But because—” Could he say the actual words? “—I think I'm asexual, and aromantic, so I don't think I'll ever love love anyone, and I think that means I'll always be a bit alone.”

He could.

It still seemed sad and pathetic when he said it out loud, maybe even more so, but the act of it—the unretractable reality of it—settled something in him.

Tori's expression, a little confused but free of judgement, only added to that feeling. “So, you don't feel romantic or sexual attraction,” she said slowly. “At all. Is that what you mean?”

Isaac was vaguely impressed. He nodded.

“When did you figure this out?”

Isaac took a long, heavy breath. “I think, properly, I started to figure it out in Paris, when I realised this guy liked me and I was trying to figure out if I liked him back? But I think I'd been starting to realise it long before then. I just…hadn't known what to call it, or what it meant.”

Tori, he noticed gratefully, took time to process this before nodding. “And now?”

Isaac blinked. “Now?”

“What do you think it means now?”

Oh. Isaac hadn't expected the question, and he found himself unsure of how to answer. “I think it means I'm always going to be lonely.”

Tori tilted her head. “But you didn't think that before.”

“What?”

“You said you don't think you're unlovable. And I agree. I think Charlie loves you a lot. I think most people would, because you are a very nice person. You didn't think of that as less important because it wasn't romantic before. What changed?”

Changed? Nothing. Everything. They were growing up, and love had more meanings when you grew up, and some of those meanings became less important. He looked at the wall again. “They have other people they love more,” he said softly.

“And you won't ever have that,” Tori returned, equally soft. Not a barb, not a rebuke, nothing negative at all. Just realising; working through it alongside him. “So you think you won't ever be the most important person to someone.”

Isaac swallowed, unable to answer. Not because he didn't know the answer—because it was yes, it was true, she was right, of course she was—but because it was impossible to admit.

“I think that's the case for most people,” Tori said, at once blunt and thoughtful. Isaac looked back at her, awaiting an explanation. “Think about it. Even the most in love people usually have children, and then their children are the most important people, or at least equally important. And if they have more than one child, no one of them is the most important, and neither of the parents are the most important to the other. I think, instead of having one supremely important person, most people have a group of important people in their life.”

She looked over at him and continued. “There probably are different levels and different kinds of importance, but I don't think that necessarily means one is worth less than the other.”

Isaac sat, for a moment, and absorbed that. Could it be true? He thought of his family. He was lucky, in that scenario. His parents were kind, were wonderful, and he knew without question that they loved him, and he loved them. Neither one of them, he realised, was more important to him than the other. He had different relationships with them both, but each of their losses would leave an equally sized hole in his heart.

He knew that probably wasn't the same for most people, but if he could find that one example in his own life so easily, he couldn't deny it was possible in others.

“I suppose,” Isaac said. “I think I know what you mean. I don't think it's the same, but—I know what you mean.”

Tori did smile, now. A barely there thing, but warm and kind, all the same. “It probably isn't the same. I know me saying I love my brothers equally and neither of them are less important doesn't mean anything for your friends treating you the same as their partners, or even other friends. But I think—every relationship is as important as you make it. And sometimes, people might not know they aren't making it important, if they don't know what's important about it to you.”

“Has important stopped sounding like a real word to you, too?” Isaac asked.

“About six ‘important’s ago,” Tori agreed.

Isaac laughed, and his relief grew. Tori's smile also grew, just a tick.

“You're saying I should just talk to my friends,” Isaac noted, eventually, and Tori's smile grew wry.

“I did say that at the very beginning, yes.” Isaac laughed again, and she shook her head. “But I am saying you should explain to them. I can't promise you're wrong, or tell you everything will be fine,” she said truthfully. “But I don't think you can assume people can't give you what you need, if you don't tell them what that is and let them try.”

Isaac’s chest tightened again, but it was different to the breathless feeling from before. Instead of hopelessness, it was an anticipatory sort of buzz. There was a sureness that hadn't been there before.

There was a clatter from outside, and this time it was Charlie's voice that called out. “Isaac! Are you still up here? We have the game set up.”

Isaac looked from the door back to Tori. She gave him another smile and nodded. “Go on. I have really needed to pee for about ten minutes now.”

Isaac laughed, again, and got to his feet. Tori passed his phone up to him, and he thanked her once more. He knew she could tell he meant for everything, and she wouldn't appreciate him making more of it, so he took his leave without another word, leaving her to pee in peace.

Charlie was hovering at the top of the stairs. His face broke into a smile at Isaac’s appearance. “There you are. You've been up here ages.” His smile drooped slightly as Isaac came closer. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Isaac nodded. “Sorry, I got caught talking to Tori.”

“In the bathroom?” Charlie huffed, bewildered but amused. For a moment Isaac pictured Tori's expression when he'd opened the door to her, and he smiled.

He only hesitated for a second before saying, “I wanted to talk to all of you about something, actually.”

Immediately, Charlie's expression softened. “Yeah?” When Isaac nodded, Charlie smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him towards the staircase. “Come on, then. The game can wait.”

#heartstopper #heartstopper fic #isaac henderson #prompts #i actually really enjoyed writing this #i feel like i don't express my love for isaac enough #so this was a good opportunity #so thank you vm for trusting me with the request!#i hope it's at least somewhat what you were looking for <3 #honourable tag for #tori spring #i could imagine no one else when i thought of this scenario/convo #i think any interaction between these two would be a very cool and important thing to have #my fics

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themadhatterwhump · 2 years

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Teen Wolf s3 x 1

Daniel Sharman | Isaac Lahey

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beevean · 4 months

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This scene was supremely uncomfortable to write.

A certain vampire hunter named Belmont had stepped foot into Wallachia. Hector had never heard of such a clan, but Lord Dracula hissed the name with hefty wariness, and every creature in the room knew that he was no trifling meat to mince: this Belmont could be a genuine danger to the castle. Isaac had noticed him, apparently, and eagerly reported the news to their Lord like a dog bringing a stick and expecting a treat in return.

In that moment, Hector knew. He had to prove himself.

It was not hard for him to enter back in Lord Dracula’s good graces. A few apologies that meant nothing, a couple of languid smiles that cracked his lips, and it was as if their last “conversation” had never happened. He kept his promise. Hector had always been special to his Lord, after all.

As his chewed, dried out remains laid there, cast away as he had fulfilled his purpose, the one thing that pushed him on his feet and dragged him through the vast hallways was the mirage of the forest stretched for miles.

He wanted to die so much.

No. One step further. He had to live for a little longer. Death would not take his soul so long as Lord Dracula held his leash; Hector would not allow it. After he had broken his leash, anything could happen to him. He would die soon, that much was certain; at his Lord’s hands, under the jaws of his loyal hound, or because eventually his body would give up on him. But as long as his grave could be a shallow hole in the forest, far from the enormous castle that used to be his home, he could take another step.

(I’m yours, he had sworn. He did not feel guilty for lying to his Lord, for leaving the kiss of Judah on his blood-caked hand. I can handle the Belmont myself, he had promised. He did not feel guilty for going behind Isaac’s back and taking away the one chance for him to prove himself. He was the lowest kind of sinner: it was what he was born for. He, too, could devour them to the bone. They would both be proud of him.)

« Don’t you look at me like that, » seethed Isaac. Hector started: when did he get back to his room? He didn’t notice himself applying healing oil on his neck. « I asked you a question. »

Hector wasn’t even looking at him, really. He just happened to be in the way of his gaze.

« I wasn’t listening, » he mumbled, hoping that Isaac would leave him alone and knowing he wouldn’t. And right as expected, everything fell into place: Isaac’s cutting glare, the tensing of his shoulders, the smell of a storm approaching. Hector had played the script one too many times.

« Of course you weren’t. Why would you? »

« Don’t start, Isaac. »

« Or what? Are you going to cry to Lord Dracula that I upset you? »

« I’m not being the child here. »

« Excuse me? » Isaac bristled. « Who gave you the right to speak to me this way? »

« According to your logic, Lord Dracula. »

At that, Isaac lunged at him; Hector flinched, body ready to receive a slap, but when he opened his eyes, he saw that Isaac had stopped in an awkward position, with his arm half-raised and teeth bared in a snarl.

Hector was less than grateful for Lord Dracula’s distant protection on his body. He wanted that slap, now. Not to make Isaac happy in his misery, but because it would break one of the many walls between them.

The man’s attention was caught by the fresh bites on Hector’s throat; he had a knack for spotting them, unless Hector buttoned his collar so tight that it clasped on his neck. Now, slick with ointment, they were in full display, the ghost of Lord Dracula hovering between the two of them.

Perhaps, the more he bit them, the more part of himself he infused in their bloodstream. Perhaps that was the reason Isaac passed a thumb on Hector’s scars, with an ugly mixture of scorn and fascination.

(What did that make of Hector?)

« I’m surprised you haven’t dropped dead yet, with how often our Lord feeds from you, » Isaac commented with the impression of aloofness.

« Why do you care? » One last chance.

« What does your blood have that mine doesn’t? »

Hector pursed his lips.

Interpreting his silence the Lord knew how, Isaac replied to it by jamming a long nail in a particularly sore bruise; Hector hissed, and his hand slapped Isaac’s away before he could think of doing so.

And the fuse went off.

« Stop looking at me like that! » Isaac’s face went as red as his hair. « Like I’m not worth a damn! Just because you’re the Lord’s favorite it doesn’t make me inferior to you! »

Hector had planned to leave quietly, without rousing suspicion. He was ready to leave Isaac behind without thinking twice about what he had planned to do; he couldn’t delve too deeply into the consequences. He could still walk past Isaac and ignore him, slam the door shut, leave him out.

The words rose from his throat before he could recognize them for what they were.

« Then perhaps you should do more to be worth something. »

« What…? »

« What are you doing, Isaac? Slacking behind and stubbornly beating your head over the wall instead of listening to me. Crying that Lord Dracula won’t praise you and taking it out on me. Pushing me aside except when you need a warm body. Why should I feel sorry for you, when you treat me like dirt under your heel? »

Hector’s own voice sounded distorted to his own ears, jagged and unpleasant. As unpleasant was the visceral pleasure that seized him at vomiting the thoughts he had buried deep for far too long, at the sight of Isaac’s eyes growing wide and him stepping backwards, away from him.

He should apologize. He would never apologize. Isaac deserved to hear that.

But his surprise lasted for far too little, and he counterattacked:

« You… You would be food for the zombies were it not for me! You threw me away the moment I was no longer useful to you! The only reason Lord Dracula is even sparing a glance towards you is because I felt sorry for you first! I was ecstatic when you came here to study the dark arts with me, I thought you’d be… » A crack where weakness should have been. « How could have I imagined that you would have ruined everything? You are standing on my shoulders and basking in all the glory, and have the gall to pity me! That’s all you care for, selfish bastard! »

Oh, if Isaac thought Hector would fold like he would have in the past, he had no idea of how utterly sick of it all he was.

« I don’t want the glory! I don’t want any of this! » How could ever be happy to be a toy, to be coated in his Lord’s sick touch and sicker lies and expected to be grateful for it?

« Our Lord adores you more than anyone here, more than His own son. What more could you possibly want? What else does the universe owe Saint Hector, for him to finally be happy? »

Why couldn’t he have asked sincerely? Why couldn’t Hector trust whom he thought was his closest companion? He did want, and he wanted too much for him to burden alone: he wanted more of that sorry excuse of an existence, he wanted to cleanse himself, he wanted to live, he wanted out!

He wanted a friend.

« I’m tired, Isaac, and you never noticed, because all you can think about is Lord Dracula. » He would not wipe any tear. Not in front of that man who would devour him at the first sign of fragility. « If I spoke, would you listen to me? Have I ever mattered to you? »

« What you want doesn’t matter. You don’t matter more than Lord Dracula. Don’t you even insinuate that. »

The lack of an answer burdened in Hector’s chest. He wished he could be furious at it.

« I would never. Your world begins and ends with Lord Dracula. »

« And that is how it should be! For being Lord Dracula’s favorite General, you are obnoxiously dense! » Isaac spread his arms like a proselyte. « We were born and made to be His tools to wield. I am honored to be used by Him! I do not need a reward, unlike you: it’s about loyalty! It is the bare minimum of gratitude I can show towards the only person who has ever cared about me. »

Hector took the jab in silence. He would not try to defend himself.

« Do you think he does? »

Isaac stammered. « More than you! »

Is that so.

« You are the worst kind of liar and hypocrite. » Hector dug his nails into his palms, and willed his arms to stop shaking, even though he wanted to hit Isaac so hard. « You say that you’re loyal, but are you really? Because if you were, you’d stop crying and accept how things are! You would accept that Lord Dracula doesn’t give a shit about you! »

« Shut your mouth! How dare you speak in contempt of our Lord?! »

« I don’t care! I am talking about you! » Hector yelled with more force than intended. « If you were a weapon like you claim, you would not be here with tears in your eyes because I’m trying to make you reason. Why do you refuse to see reality? »

« Oh, do you now? Are you speakings from the heavens now? » In the light of the candle, Isaac’s tired eyes flashed a sickly yellow; with his gritted teeth and bulging veins in his neck, he looked less and less human the more he spoke, unrecognizable.

« You make me puke, Hector. Look at you, with that disgusting veneer of superiority, even placing yourself above Lord Dracula… You dare talking about reality? Well, the reality is that you are nothing more than a selfish little boy with an inflated ego, spitting in the plate he’s been eating, expecting to be worshipped because you gift us with the air you breathe on us. » He jabbed a finger on his chest as if to bore it: his hand, too, was trembling. « Never forget that when we met, you wouldn’t even talk, you were that afraid of me. You are here, looking down on me like I am your damn scullery boy, because Lord Dracula tasked me with making something worthwhile out of you. And right now, I am so close to breaking your nose to teach you the lesson you deserve, and then we’ll see how perfect you are. »

Hector let Isaac talk without interrupting.

He should have been offended, he knew it. He should have sworn that he never thought Isaac was inferior to him, he did it all by himself. Somehow, Isaac’s words reached him like a vision through a foggy glass: he had a vague inkling of what they could be, but they didn’t leave an impact.

He, on the other hand, yearned to leave an impact, for once.

« But you won’t do it. Because you are terrified of Lord Dracula not loving you. »

Why wasn’t he furious? He wished he could shout like Isaac, have his heart hammering in his chest, be completely engulfed by rage like flames devour a house. The man in front of him no longer stirred his heart.

What grew louder inside him, instead, were the echoes of his demon friends, always within him as they had never abandoned him – no, he had allowed himself to become them, and just like back then, just like when his mother dared to hurt him… Isaac deserved a lesson.

« I used to be afraid of the world around me, yes. But you are, right now. You are so, so scared of ending up alone and unwanted that you do everything in your power to make sure no one wants you and loves you first! You will drag everyone down in your misery, because it’s easier than clawing your way out! Forget about me – why do you think Lord Dracula would ever love a thing like you? »

And Hector kept talking, and talking, his words a river in flood; he couldn’t stop, he wouldn’t stop, his voice spilled out of him like it was edging at the rim and it couldn’t wait to get out:

« You are a doll to Lord Dracula. You’re a cute toy to play with before putting it on its shelf, once he gets bored of you. You will never be anything more than a thing! And it’s all because of you. You chose to be a thing to be used and thrown away, because, because… because you truly believe you don’t deserve better, I suppose, and when I tried to convince you that it was not the case, you rejected me, because it scared you. You broke yourself into pieces for him, and it was for nothing, and now you’re angry, and you don’t want to admit it, so you thought you could break me with you. »

Isaac recoiled at every word like they were physical blows, and the more he acted like that, the more Hector felt the desire to twist the knife even further, because Isaac only roused desire in him when his eyes shone with bitter tears: he looked like the human he refused to be.

« You are nothing more than a pathetic, miserable thing, and you could have been so much more! I had always admired your passion, your wit, your knowledge! I thought myself so lucky to call you my friend! But there’s none of that in you anymore. You call yourself a weapon, but no, you’re a puppet. Who loves a puppet? Lord Dracula doesn’t need it. I don’t need it. »

And who cared if Hector no longer believed in that axiom, that the both of them had to earn their Lord’s love somehow? Hector had grown past that, but Isaac didn’t, still a child clinging onto the breeches of his father, and Hector felt vile and so satiated in plunging his fangs in Isaac’s heart to tear it to pieces, he would see how it felt, to be weak and powerless and despised! If he wanted to experience Lord Dracula’s love, then by all means, Hector would be all too happy to oblige!

« S-shut up… »

« Don’t you believe me? Why do you think that Lord Dracula refuses to give you all the love that you crave, but he’s forcing it on me? Whose fault is that, Isaac? What did I do, other than exist? »

« Exactly that, » Isaac snarled, and the sobs did not soften the spikes in his words. « Do me a favor, and go die in the next mission. Filth like you should have never been born in the first place! »

The air froze.

No one spoke. Isaac was panting, but Hector could not understand what he was thinking, he could not recognize his face. His head hurt as if Isaac struck a blow and his vision wobbled. It was not a moment too soon that Isaac spun on his heels and fled, and Hector let that stranger march out of his room.

The same mouth he had used to rip Isaac to shreds was covered in ashes. With numb fingers, he touched Lord Dracula’s marks on his throat, where he had ruined him. He decided it was time to go to bed. No map could have taken his mind off the flames dancing behind his eyes.

That night, Isaac left Hector alone, as he wanted.

He tossed and turned around in a freezing bed until the crows cawed and all of his focus had to go on the most important mission of his life.

There was no turning back.

#beev's writing #hector castlevania #isaac laforeze #isaactor #well. kind of. this is hector serving the divorce papers. and shooting isaac in the balls while he's at it #also implied hecula because i'm always on my shit #(i still don't know if to remove that whole thing but sadly it flows with the scene too well)#anyway yeah this part touched some sore spots for me lol #hopefully i managed to channel my feelings well #anyway did i mention i hate writing around dialogue? i think you can tell. i suck ass at writing around dialogue.#how do you make characters feel alive?

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crystalkitty1220 · 4 months

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Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

#had to re-edit the image real quick because the original edit was from a post I made about Drew years ago #and while the Drew thing is becoming less and less likely. Nevin havinv one has basically been canon since #someone mentioned Greg's (was it Britney's) aura being familiar in s2ch1. ive been putting together a list of every line #that points to Nevin's aura throughout the whole thing (most from s2ch1 but then s2ch10 came out and it was really canon at that point)#but clearly i'm running out of time to say ''i fucking called it'' before it's explicitly stated and i dont want to be in another situation #where somebody else will beat me to a theory and me posting anything about it will seem like copying them. sorry about that btw i had #thought i had already mentioned theorizing that nevin was possessed by a demon in that old theory i made but i had forgotten that one was #super old and was about sigma. so no copying there i just got extremely paranoid there was a mention of a cult and i was like ''nuh uh #that's way too specific and out there of a detail to end up in both our theories'' and i forgot the rest of my super old post was outdated #as hell. and echos had gone ''yeah they're so similar!'' and i took their word for it but now i'm realizing they were probably just trying #to be supportive. so yeah no copying there i was just beaten to the punch of saying something. but i will NOT back down from the aura shit #because i have been calling that shit FROM THE START or at least since i started reading ibvs back when ch20 came out.#also not backing down from saying chris was the worse friend because these past few chapters are the first time isaac has done anything tha #could knowingly upset chris meanwhile chris has. let edward drag isaac to the lair after isaac said edward would beat him up. chose not to #believe edward was holding the secrets over their heads because 'it was something isaac had said' and then immediately distrusted edward in #the next chapter because a random person he didn't know said to steal a book (might i mention how that entire scene proves chris' lack of #development and refusal to take responsibility because it perfectly alludes to when chris had brought those fireworks into his old school #and makes me wonder if charlie has actually gotten him in trouble with his past schools or if he's still just not taking responsibility #and if him following nevin to the woods to test out their powers is an extension of ''if something bad happens its not my fault''#like seriously this man would bring a mysterious suitcase onto a plane if he's told to). uh what was i talking about agai #anyway on a related note my mental state has only gotten worse since i left tumblr and the habit of thinking about chris instead of sleepin #or doing schoolwork has not stopped. so i was still failing for a while and might graduate now but am still staying away from tumblr.#so yeah this was a little update and im not going to linger this time im just going to leave tumblr again right after hitting post #addendum because i just can't let things go. and was thinking about chris again. i don't think his lack of development is because of bad #writing (anymore. i used to.). instead i'm certain his character arc is going to continue into him following someone (nevin probably) into #doing something really bad. and then he'll finally get actual consequences and go 'oh shit i fucked up real bad this time'#if you think that theory is reaching too far into the future you should hear mine about isaac dying at the end lmao

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many-gay-magpies · 6 months

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Wrote a fairly short little Scisaac goodbye scene in a fever state that was triggered by me listening to The Paper Kites' Don't Keep Driving and thinking a little too much

Summary:

“I’m sorry,” Isaac says into Scott’s throat.

Scott doesn’t say it’s okay, this time. He just crushes Isaac impossibly closer, breath trembling where it’s buried in Isaac’s curls, fingers digging into Isaac’s shoulders through his shirt.

“Just—stay,” he says. “Here. For tonight.”

—

Before Isaac leaves for France with Argent, he and Scott say their goodbyes.

#magpie writes #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #scisaac #(its not explicitly scisaac and can be read platonically if one so chooses but like. it can also be read Very Not Platonically which is #-mostly how i wrote it)#aka im salty about the canon implication that isaac just up and left without telling anyone OR the fact that they just. didnt see fit to #-show us a goodbye if it happened #also aka i love the paper kites and they make me Feel Things #tw #scott mccall #isaac lahey #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #magpie's teen wolf experience

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avocado-frog · 7 months

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So guess whose got 3,500 words that are just notes for One chapter

#why are the notes going to be as long as the chapter itself what #so that ones gonna be an ASS to write huh #writing #isaac says things related to his writing again #writeblr

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amatchinwater · 7 months

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Pairing: Stisaac

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Derek Hale, Jackson Whittemore

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood and injury, hurt Stiles, Stiles accepts the bite to save his life, near death experience, broken bone

Words: 2055

Prompt: BTHB square Setting a Broken Bone

Ao3 link Masterlist

Before Chris took Allison away to France after forming a truce with the Hale pack, she taught Stiles everything she could about archery. The once fragile human now fills out his clothes, got stronger, and damn good with a bow. So whenever the pack decides they want fresh venison for dinner, he joins them.

It was as close to running with wolves as Stiles could get as a human. Adding what Allison taught him with Derek teaching him how to track, Stiles became an amazing hunter. In the traditional sense. Just as good as the supernatural creatures he surrounds himself with. Minus the extra teeth, glowing eyes, and enhanced senses.

Alli and Derek got him close enough while still clinging to his humanity. It’s not that Stiles doesn’t want the bite. You can blame his stubborn nature, but he’s determined to prove that he can survive just fine as is. And while he’s done a great job so far, Stiles has made it clear to Derek that should it come to life or death, give him the bite no questions asked.

He’s stubborn, not stupid.

Stiles even annoyed Deaton into showing him what it means to be a pack’s emissary. It was important to Stiles that Derek had someone he trusted to look out for the well being and safety of his pack. And that couldn’t be Deaton because deep down, whether Derek will admit it or not, he never fully forgave the man for not warning his mother about Kate. Stiles promised to be better.

And so far, he has been.

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?” Isaac asks, catching Stiles staring at his feet while they walk through the preserve in the early evening.

One guess what the pack wanted for dinner tonight.

“Just wondering if the deer can hear my stomach grumbling and that’s why we haven’t seen any.” Stiles grins at the wolf, “if we don’t find one soon, I might be eating wolf tonight.”

It was supposed to be a joke. But the look Isaac gives him makes Stiles’ cheeks burn. “So you think I look tasty?” His words, no matter how cheesy, spread the heat down to Stiles’ chest. He trips over a root trying to respond about how he meant Jackson or Boyd. Isaac chuckles, “Not as smooth as you thought you were?”

No, Isaac. Because you’ve been Stiles’ crush ever since he laid eyes on you.

“Shut up,” Stiles scoffs, choosing his next step more carefully. He’s a hunter for god’s sake, Stiles has been trained out of his clumsiness.

“Aww, did I hit a soft spot, Pretty Boy?” Isaac practically whispers in Stiles’ ear.

When the fuck did he get that close?

Chills run down Stiles’ spine from the wolf’s words and proximity. That was a lot to digest in thirty seconds. Much more than Stiles can handle while trying to hunt deer. Rather than give Isaac the satisfaction, Stiles focuses on the task at hand.

Another few moments of silence and they spot a doe eating in front of a large tree. Stiles crouches behind a bush, Isaac beside him, and removes an arrow from his quiver. He takes a steady breath before knocking it.

“Hit her in the heart, I’ll take care of the rest?” Isaac whispers so as not to spook her.

Stiles nods. It’s their method and has always worked for them. They work. Derek knows it; it’s why they’re always paired together on hunts. You just won’t catch Stiles saying some embarrassing shit like that out loud. He’s impulsive, yes, but his brain cells still work. Isaac will never see them as anything more than pack and Stiles has to live with that.

Stiles takes a breath in time with the draw of his bowstring. Holding it, he aims for the heart. He won’t miss, Allison made sure of that. On the exhale, Stiles looses the arrow. But before it can hit its mark, the doe takes off, a set of glowing blue eyes bound towards them instead.

There’s no chance of a reaction, of trying to defend himself or see if Isaac can jump in between. The only option is to brace for impact. If blood wasn’t rushing through his ears, Stiles probably would have heard the snarl before being body slammed into the ground. It’s a quick blur, but the wolf resembles what Peter looked like when he could fully shift, just a little smaller.

Isaac’s roar as the omega runs away barely makes it through Stiles’ ears. He doesn’t even get to register the pain in his side from the landing. Or the dirt he had to spit out. He’s already spun and crouched, bow at the ready for the wolf to make its next move.

“Talk to me, Is,” Stiles’ eyes dart around the tree line the sun has mostly fallen behind. He can’t see shit. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” Isaac hisses, golden eyes struggling to locate their attacker. “I can’t even smell it.”

That’s not good.

A twig snaps to his right, Stiles trains his bow immediately. Not realizing it’s a trap until Isaac yells, “Stiles!” that it was just a diversion.

Stiles turns only halfway before the beast lunges from the shadows. Its teeth clamp around Stiles’ forearm, the bow falling to the darkening forest floor. At first, he doesn’t feel much other than the trail of blood sliding down his arm. Too much shock, adrenaline, or both coursing through his veins. Then the wolf thrashes. Flinging Stiles’ around by his limb like a dog with a chew toy.

Skin shreds and something definitely cracks and Stiles feels it then, letting out a blood curdling scream. White hot fire shooting up his arms, causing a ringing in his ear. It hurts to fucking bad, but he can’t get free.

“Derek!” Isaac howls. His claws sink into the wolf’s sides while Stiles tries to get his arm free without doing more damage.

He’s already lost feeling in his fingers.

Using the last shreds of strength he can muster, Stiles drives his free elbow down on the wolf’s head repeatedly until it finally lets go. He grabs his bloody arm, holding it to his chest, stumbling to the ground.

Stiles can feel the bone sticking out of his skin. If he looks, he’ll pass out. Adrenaline sure is something, he’s in pain that’s for sure, but at least he stopped screaming. The blood loss is already making his vision swim, he needs to stay conscious. Not that it would really matter if he ends up dying. Seeing death coming and being powerless to stop it would be almost as insulting as watching that thing kill Isaac.

The sun is well behind the trees now, all he can make out are two blurry shapes bouncing around. Stiles is fucking cold. He should really assess the damage. See if he can fix it while Isaac fights. But that just seems too hard and the grass is comfortable. It’d be totally okay if he closed his eyes right now.

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Isaas says, sounding so far away, but the dull drag of pain being taken washes over him with the wolf’s words. It’s almost like he’s speaking underwater. He half feels Isaac lift his head into his lap. But those golden eyes, those are in sharp focus. “It’s gone, okay? You’re going to be just fine. But you have to keep your eyes open. Can you do that for me, Pretty Boy? Huh? Let me see those eyes.”

“What happened?” What sounds like Jackson’s frantic voice asks.

Stiles can’t be sure. He’s well past loopy, looking up at Isaac, slurring, “why you ‘lways call m’ pretty boy?”

Someone kneels beside him, lifting his shredded arm.

Isaac chokes on his laugh, “because you are my pretty boy, Stiles.”

“Because he loves you, moron.”

Yeah. Definitely Jackson.

Stiles makes a noise that was supposed to be a chuckle, but it just comes out more like an amused grunt. “I love you too, Isaac,” Stiles grins, full and dopey.

“Isaac,” Derek snaps with no heat. Purely to get his attention rather than scold. “I need you to hold him still. I have to reset the bone. The bite will save his life, but it won’t fix that.”

“But it cured Eri-”

“It will mend it together, yes.” Derek bites off a growl, “but it won’t put the bone back in his body.

Why does Derek sound so angry? Stiles is over here on cloud nine. He can’t feel a thing, which in hindsight should be a bad thing. But Isaac has feelings for him. That’s all he cares about. Although Stiles admittedly is very tired. If only he could rest his eyes, just for a moment. Then he could get his bearings and work shit out. Just a few seconds, it’ll be okay, really.

“Shit,” Derek curses, “he’s slipping. Isaac, hold him.”

He only needs a moment, Derek, it’s fine.

Crack.

It’s startlingly silent for all of half a second before Stiles screams. Loud, long, and high. That hurt just as much as the actual breaking of his arm. He wails, trying to lurch into a sitting position, but Isaac’s hold is true. Both he and Jackson are quick to take his pain. Stiles’ skin is clammy. He’s hot and cold all at the same time. Wide awake from the shock of it all and ready to pass out.

And when Derek’s teeth sink into his flesh, he does.

—

Stiles wakes with a start the next morning in Isaac’s room. What the hell is he doing in the wolf’s room?

“He’s awake,” Derek says.

But when Stiles looks around the room, the Alpha is nowhere to be seen. The only person is Isaac sleeping soundly in a chair beside his bed. So then how was he able to hear Derek? What did Stiles miss?

“Isaac?” He says, the wolf grunting softly in response. “Isaac,” Stiles repeats, more firmly.

The Beta jolts awake, inhaling sharply before his blue eyes land on Stiles. “You’re awake,” Isaac beams, reaching over to hold his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine?” Stiles says, confused as to why he wouldn’t be. He can’t really remember much from the night before other than him and the wolf walking through the preserve together for dinner. “Why am I in your bed?”

“You-” Isaac shakes his head, curls flopping over his eyes, “you don’t remember?” Stiles shakes his head no. “We were attacked last night. You got hurt, you were-” the wolf takes a shaky breath, “you were dying. Derek saved our life.”

Memories flash in the back of Stiles’ mind. The rogue werewolf, the way he screamed when it bit his arm. All of the blood he lost. Derek snapping his bone back in place. The bite. And Isaac. Admitting that he loves him through Jackson’s snark. He’s a werewolf now.

“You love me.” It comes out as more of an accusation than Stiles intended.

Isaac ducks his head for a second, hiding the smile curling the corner of his mouth, “I do. Have for a long time, Pretty Boy. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” the other wolf whines in the back of his throat.

Not even remotely wanting to hear an apology or that whine again, Stiles uses his newfound werewolf strength and drags the Beta into bed with him. “That thing came out of nowhere, Is,” the wolf says, Isaac curling around his body. “I don’t expect you to be sorry for that. Not with how fast it moved. Besides,” Stiles adjusts himself so he can hold the other wolf, “you did your best and stuck by me the whole time. I have nothing to be mad about just as much as you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You still got hurt,” Isaac retorts, squeezing tighter. “And turned into a werewolf because of it.”

“Meh, it was bound to happen eventually,” Stiles reasons. “All I care about is that we’re both safe now. And that I love you too.”

Isaac looks up at him with a soft smile, “so that wasn’t just the blood loss talking?”

“You tell me,” Stiles grins, leaning down to seal their mouths together, adoring the way that Isaac melts into the kiss.

It definitely wasn’t the blood loss.

#teen wolf #stisaac #stiles stilinski #isaac lahey #stiles x isaac #isaac x stiles #bad things happen bingo #Match Writes

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