not alright

He’s eight years old when his life kind of goes to shit. He doesn’t have a dad—Mommy says he’s dead—and Mommy is always bringing strange men and women home with her, and they make really loud noise in the bedroom. Later in life, he’ll understand that his mom is a whore, and she was fucking all those people to stay in the house another month and get money for groceries and more condoms. But as a child, he doesn’t know any different, and isn’t scared because Mommy always comes out with a smile on her face and enough money for a new Mario game and mac and cheese.

It never bothers him, and he never takes note of it until Mommy brings home a man with glasses;it’s his teacher, Mr. Roberts!! Little Klimek gets excited when he sees his teacher, his most favoritest person besides Mommy!! Now, he’s suppressed the memories of what really happened on that day, but he knows what he’s told. Mr. Roberts was a pedophile, and he wanted to commit an unspeakable act with Klimek, and he almost succeeded. But Klimek’s always been a fast runner, and he was able to get to the neighbors’ house before anything bad could happen.

Jumping ahead in time, he’s fourteen, almost fifteen, when his life changes forever. He’s a freshman student council member, and a new boy has transferred from France, and it’s his job to show him around. It’s such a small, trivial task—something generally expected of him, but it’s the boy that makes it so special. He’s beautiful. His name is Rhyden, and he’s taller than any freshman Klimek’s ever seen before, and he’s wearing more makeup than most of the girls in their class, but he’s beautiful. Now, this isn’t a romantic comedy. It’s not love at first sight, but it’s not something as idiotic as lust at first sight. It’s a sort of pull at the gut, and he’ll never forget the way his mouth instantly went dry, and how he blushed in his cheeks for the first time when gorgeous brown eyes met his.

Only a few weeks later, almost a month, his world is rocked. The beautiful boy, Rhyden, is quickly becoming his best friend, and Klimek’s grateful for it when his aunt and uncle—his legal guardians after he was taken away from his whore of a mother—are killed in the house with him. He spent more time in those arms than anywhere else for at least two months. Rhy’s comforting, familiar and loving, and it’s all he needs.

Now he’s sixteen, and he’s finally able to smile again. He’s just woken up tangled in his best friend and now boyfriend, and he’s less empty. He’s able to really feel happy, and even though he has moments of sadness, he doesn’t cry in the middle of the night anymore. He can walk the halls of his school with a grin, fingers laced tightly with Rhy’s, a light back in his eyes. Sure, it’s a little weird that his boyfriend is also his adopted brother,but it’s not like anyone really thinks of it that way.

In the years that come, Klimek makes a decision, with a bit of prompting from Rhy, and his own unnatural anger. He decides that he’s going to find the infamous Portrait Killerand he’s going to kill the fucker who ruined his life. So he starts doing research, teaches himself how to use Laura’s gun, and he finds the suspects and shoots them until they’re dead. The Portrait Killer slows down, but the kills never stop.

He should know that nothing good lasts.He’s eighteen, and the love of his life, the one he was just about positive he was going to marry, has just told him that he’s the one who killed his aunt and uncle. His world isn’t just shaken. It’s picked up and thrashed about and nearly destroyed, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s killed so many people—with Rhy’s encouragement—and the one he’s been after has been right under his nose. But he can’t take out the gun he always carries now and shoot Rhy, because even though he’s in the middle of turmoil, he can’t shoot the boy he’s loved for this long. He can’t hurt Rhy—maybe it’s because the rational part of him sees the guilt and sorrow in Rhy’s eyes—and all he does is tell him to leave.

Klimek’s never been sensible. He knows that. He’s twenty years old, and he’s an idiot. He didn’t go to college. He’s still a killer, now a bounty hunter, making a name for himself and collecting enough money to buy out a state or two. His original target isn’t forgotten—in fact, he’s fucked up enough to still love Rhy. Kili’s so pathetic that every night he curls up in the old sweater Rhy gave him, and he sometimes wears it out, as well. He’s an idiot, and he’s long since accepted that.

Which is his excuse for using all of his contacts to find Rhyden Joseph Mercadio’s current place of residence, putting on that oversized hoodie he sometimes sprays with the cologne his beautiful French boy used to wear, and knocking on the door that, hopefully, has the love of his life behind it. Klimek’s a mess, and any logical, sane person wouldn’t love Rhy after everything. But he’s not logical and sane. He’s the son of a hooker and a Polish immigrant, and he lost his sense of normalcy when he started killing for fun.

So when the door opens, he smiles, soft and shy, hands buried in his pockets, and he utters three simple words.

”I missed you.”

—>

basics.

birth name ;; isaac hayden lahey.

nicknames ;; iz, izzy.

age ;; canonically unknown, set at 17.

species ;; werewolf, beta.

gender ;; male.

orientation ;; demiromantic pansexual, with a few exceptions.

physicals ;; stormcloud eyes gaze out from slightly tanned skin. lanky limbs that bring him to surprising six feet two inches tall. tousled strands hover in shade between light brunette or dark blonde.

abilties ;;
tracking.
full wolf shifts.
enhanced innate skills.
hand to hand combat (minor.)
healing himself, taking another's pain. persona ;; although to most isaac gives off the front of being insouciant and bitter, with a nonchalance to his being, to those that truly know him he's much different. he uses sarcasm as a weapon, but once his walls are gone he's sweet and self concious. he searches for approval from those he trusts and cares about, though he hates that trait and tends to hide it with more bitter sarcasm.

distinguishing ;; a very thin filigree of silvered-white scars that line almost all parts of his body. although they should have healed when he received the bite, isaac somehow managed to will them to stay. although he sometimes wishes they were gone, for the most part they’re a reminder for him that he survived. one tattoo on his inner left arm, which is this in honour of allison.

history.

you were born exactly on the midnight that hailed the morning of christmas. you were instantaneously beloved; seen as a gift to be born on such a date. your mother, carla, and your father, michael watched upon you with unbridled glee. your brother, camden, was hesitant, but soon upon laying eyes on you, loved you as well. your parents name you isaac, meaning 'he will laugh.' it leads you to a joyous childhood, with a loving mother and a loving father, a loving and protective older brother and a life that’s nearly too good to be true.

your life remained that way until you turned five. that was the day your mother died. childlike innocence never alerted you to anything being wrong, not that day, not ever. not between mother and father. yet you’re in your room, mother in her own, cam out at a baseball game and father with him when you hear it. it’s loud, a clap of thunder on a sunny summer day. you don’t understand, you don’t think you want to, but you go searching anyways.

wandering into your mother’s room, you see something no child should ever see - your other, deceased. your mother, laying in crushed velvet, crushed velvet that pools slowly and rolls towards your feet. it’s warm as it touches you and the gun is still held tight in her hand, shining metallic - and then you scream. what else are you supposed to do? you’re a young child, you know nothing more. you scream, and scream, until there’s sirens in the distance and within seconds, there’s hands holding you.

the hands tow you in, gentle, warm, reassuring. pull you up and hide you from the sight, take you downstairs and hold you close. minutes pass before cam’s home, your father right behind him. they see the police, they see you, and immediately you’re being transferred - your father’s strong arms around you while cam plays with your hair. you’re too young to understand the technical terms being tossed around, but when your father’s arms go weak, your brother is the only thing to stop you from hitting the ground.

four months. that’s how long your father lasts. four months he tries to hold himself together, to take care of you, to take care of cam. but a grieving, betrayed man can only take so much - and he cannot handle the trauma you are suffering from, and one night, he hits you. it burns and you don’t understand, don’t understand why he’s screaming at you to shut up, shut up! shut the fuck up, isaac! you don’t even understand what it means. you’re only six, and you don’t understand. you just want your father back.

of course, camden jumps to your rescue. shouts at your father and you flinch, because why is everyone yelling? you attempt to hide against your big brother, and he scoops you up, he runs. cares for you and patches you up, does his best to make everything bad better. kisses your bruises away, patches every cut. until one day, cam leaves. cam leaves you, just as mother did.

not that you know that. he tells you he’s going off to see some friends. a grand adventure. he promises he’ll be back. you ask him why you can’t go with him, and he softly replies that it’s no place for a child. hurt, betrayed, and confused, you watch him go. his retreating back is the last thing you see, the last memory that is left to rest in your mind.

they come to the door the morning of your eighth birthday. there are no ribbons, no balloons, no birthday cakes. just empty silence. your father was up all night drinking again, so when you answer the door, you’re alone. you’re alone when they ask where your father is. you’re quick to have them hold a second, you quickly wake your father. your shout of pain when your father hits you for waking him has them quickly walking in; but you hide the pain and smile, pretend you’re okay.

that smile fades when they tell you that cam is dead. they offer their condolences, their thanks, for your brother’s bravery. but that is nothing to you. your brother, your guardian, is dead. just like mother. that night, that week, that month, you remain unconsolable until your father shoves you in a freezer. that’s the first time he does it, but it’s not the last.

you spend the next nine years in that sick, repetitive cycle. your father hits you, throws glass at you, teaches you the cruelties of the world in one fell swoop. you debate how awful it would be if he killed you, debate how awful it would be if you killed yourself. yet you don’t, because you have one terrifying thought: what would happen if you survived the attempt on your life?

victimized you remain. you remain in hell until you’re seventeen, when you’re working your graveyard shift and you’re pushed into an open, fresh grave. at first, you’re not surprised. you were expecting to see a grave by now. you were expecting to be in one. you merely weren’t expecting to be alive. you’re not even scared as you lean against the moist earth, staring up in surprise as you notice a man, a man staring down at you.

he pulls you from the grave after moving the backhoe. his name is derek hale, and he offers you a gift you could never except. offers you a bite. one that will make you a werewolf. you don’t understand how it’s possible, and you’re practically certain this man is a psychotic murder, but at the same time, you don’t care. at least if he kills you, you’ll finally be dead. you tell him you’ll think about it, and two days later, you accept the bite.

everything from that moment on passes in a blur. you’re a werewolf, and control comes as naturally to you as breathing. but these new abilities, this alpha, these friends, give you strength, and you become a person you’re not. your father dies, killed by jackson whittemore, also known as a kanima. of course, you and your pack, including outsiders scott mccall and stiles stilinski, the gorgeous allison argent - you take jackson down and make him a werewolf. and then it’s a never ending battle of supernatural against supernatural.

you lose your packmates in the battle. you fight back against your alpha, derek, the one person you trusted. you do it to save your best friends. erica and boyd. the first friends you hand. your best friends. your packmates. but just like that… you fail them, too. they’re dead, gone. you try not to let it hurt too much. in ways, it doesn’t. you’re so used to losing those you love, it doesn’t really matter any more.

so you move on. you join scott mccall. you join his pack after he takes you in, offers you a home after you lose derek. you trust him in ways you hadn’t trusted someone in months, years, trust him like you should truly trust an alpha. along the way you fall in love with allison argent, and she becomes your tether. your anchor.

but life has it’s wicked ways, and you lose her, too. another person, gone. just like that. but not just a person. your first love. your pack mate. your tether. your anchor. all… ripped… away. just like that, in one fell swoop. allison’s father, chris, takes you in, and together you leave. move to france for a good few months before chris decides it’s time to go back.

and so you return. you apologize to the alpha, the pack, you left behind. and you do your best to make everything okay once again, to forget the pain and focus on all the good.

guidelines.

hey hey hello! my name is kat, and i'll be your mun today. i am very glad you've stumbled upon this blog!

one thing i wanna address is that this blog WILL have triggering content. i'll tag it to the best of my abilities, but that only works on the dash, not on the blog itself. some of the things that'll be featured are: substance abuse, self harm, alcohol abuse, mentions of suicide and attempts at suicide, death, and depression. so, there's your warning!

i'll literally roleplay just about anything. angst is my bread and butter, but i'm cool with fluff and cuteness too. you wanna be best friends? great. bitter enemies? SIGN ME UP!! anything is welcome, truly. i don't really do the smut thing. that's just. naaah, man. kili is a horny fucker but i'm just not into the smut. besides, he has a fiance ok.

so, kili's canon story is that he fell in love with a frenchie named rhy and married him when they got older. that's the canon story, and i honestly can't see kili being who he is today without loving rhy, so. that means there's gonna be no shipping with anyone other than rhy. sorry. ❤

PARAS ARE MY LIFE. i can do short things and long things and icon things and one liners but--i love paras. give me twelve paragraphs and i'll probably propose.

i can't be on all the time, but i'm almost always available through kik, which, if we're mutuals, you can ask for. i don't often have internet access, thus my being on really fucking sporadically. but i almost always have signal, so ask for my kik!

replies will be delayed, but elly is my top priority. sorry, but she's my best friend, and i talk to her more than the people i live with, and even the guy i'm in love with. she's first for just about everything, but that doesn't mean i'll forget everyone else!

tbh i'm just an awkward turtle. i want friends. gIVE ME LOVE LIKE NEVER BEFORE, BECAUSE LATELY I'VE BEEN CRAVING MORE. sorry, sorry, okay, so. DON'T BE SHY. i'm a selective fuck with who i follow, but i ALWAYS welcome more friends. just shoot me an ask or something and i'll be very happy to be your new buddy, if you can handle my rambling, headcanons at all hours, and nifty habit of turning lighthearted conversations about dick tattoos into soul crushing sadness. and i have a fall out boy obsession, so there's that.