#i need to lick sweat and grime off of him like a cat

[jonny-b-meowborn]

chat what do you think

[alexanderlightweight]

hounds of love

ao3 link 

fluff bingo square - puppies

It had been a long day, one filled with what Ragnor would call tedious drivel and it had turned Magnus’ mood from magnanimous to sordid.  A night that he’d intended to transition from business into pleasure was now the kind of evening where he portaled home, poured himself a few drinks and perhaps enjoyed a good song or an old book rather than company.  

Once, it would have been the kind of evening where he would lose himself in the pleasures of another but his heart felt tender under the walls he’d built up.  A castle can only take so many sieges before it needs repairs and Magnus felt in need of a long night of self-care with his heart safe from the possibility of wounds.  

It was with the temptation of a piping hot bath, a delicious and simple meal summoned straight to his table and the knowledge that it was all a snap away, that he stepped into the alley.  Pandemonium was packed and while he could have portaled from his office, there was less hassle in slipping through the exit than chancing yet another problem being brought to his attention.

He was about to make the portal when he heard a noise, the deep growl of a predator that made the hair on your neck rise and your skin tingle and in Magnus’ case, his magic spark.  He turned on his heel, calm but with his glamour dropped as he reached out and there, deeper in the alley was the cause.

He stepped forward, letting the click of his boots echo in warning as he made his way to the darkest corner.  There was a slumped figure, clearly pretending not to be there but Magnus could both see them and smell the thick iron that was blood.

Exhaustion put him on edge but compassion lingered in his body, no matter how hard the world had tried to snuff it out.  

“Are you hurt?”  He asked quietly but there was no verbal answer, just a small sigh and a little whine that didn’t quite register as human.  Deciding to ignore the possibility of it being a mundane -he would just erase their memory if need be- he raised a palm of blue fire and stared down at the revealed figure.

Dark eyes blinked up at him from a face set with a scowl and wearing a five-o’clock shadow that was more blood and grime than stubble.  What caught Magnus’ attention was the dark line on the man’s neck and he zeroed in on it, eyes narrowed for a moment before he registered that while the mark was indeed a rune, it was not a circle.  Merely yet another angelic decoration stamped on a nephilim’s skin to proclaim their holiness, he thought sourly.

“Are you injured?”  He asked again, aware that his voice had cooled several degrees from when he’d thought it a mundane or downworlder.  “Or are you just loitering about for unsuspecting victims?”  

There was a moment where he thought he’d be denied an answer and then there was a soft huff and the man coughed, “I’m a little stuck.”  He finally admitted which was a surprise in of itself.

“Stuck?”  Magnus asked, “and how does a revered holy warrior become stuck in the rot of an alley?  You’re practically begging a demon to find you.”

“This,” and the shadowhunter paused, staring at Magnus with a rather odd look, “wasn’t my plan.  I didn’t really have a choice though.”

Magnus was about to scoff but another sound rang out.  That same inhumanly pitched whine from earlier and he flared his magic, shocked to realize that on the shadowhunter’s lap was what looked to be a very large dog but with an oddly proportioned body as though it were still a juvenile.  

“I’m not quite sure what to do with my new friend and taking them like this to the institute is just asking to be noticed by mundanes or tracked by demons.”  

“I didn’t realize one of your angelic duties was rescuing strays.”  He muttered under his breath but he also opened a portal. “Can you carry it?”  

“Yes, but why are you helping me?”  The shadowhunter asked, which was a wise enough course of action that Magnus took no offense.  

“Firstly, I don’t need you scaring people off from my club and secondly, I’m the High Warlock of Brooklyn.” Magnus said and he grinned, baring his teeth.  “Now step wisely, shadowhunter and if you give me cause for regret, I won’t be so nice.”  

The shadowhunter stood somewhat shakily, gathering the canine in his arms before he staggered through the portal.  

Magnus followed and tsked when he realized his new guests were making something of a mess.  The shadowhunter was dripping with ichor and the dog no better, it wasn’t healthy for either of them and already regretting his kindness, Magnus snapped his fingers discreetly to add a door.

“Follow me, I have a bath you both can use.”  He said, leaving no room for argument and seething a little inside at every new drop of ichor that threatened his floor.  If it were anyone but a nephilim, he might have simply snapped the grime away or at least offered to, however he’d rather not have High Warlock skewers as tonight's midnight snack, which meant having them clean off the old fashioned way.  

“Don’t go snooping around,” he warned as he led them to the newly placed bathroom door, “there.”  He snapped his fingers again, “towels and something to wear. I do not need more of my floor ruined by ichor, thank you very much.”

The shadowhunter said something but Magnus turned, using magic to close the door as he walked quickly to his cart and poured himself a glass.  He studied it thoughtfully before downing it and pouring another one, this one to sip more slowly.  

“Of all the nights,” he said to himself.  The view from his balcony was loft and gorgeous but it felt cold.  No one to share it with but a possible enemy who was in his bath, lovely.  Of all the nights to have a bleeding heart indeed.

-

Alec wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten himself into this mess.  On one hand, it had been a simple hunt that ended easily enough, Jace and Izzy had even gone off gallivanting with their potential conquests and he’d headed back to the institute.  A mundane screaming had caught his attention and he’d used the advantage of a fire escape to kill a straggling demon. A demon that hadn’t targeted the mundane but rather the strange dog-like creature hiding in the corner.  Alec didn’t know what it was exactly, however it had held it’s own against a small shax demon and after growling at him, had been happy enough to lick his hand and then tackle him to the dirty alley floor.

He looked at the creature who was staring at him with soulful, umber eyes and slapping a bedraggled tail against the tile floor.  

“I hope you aren’t allergic to soap,” he told them and they wriggled closer, pressing against his leg, “because you are getting scrubbed.  We are not going to make even more of a mess.” He promised the animal and himself.  

It was bad enough that he’d needed the rescue but worse that he’d been covered in ichor, winded and then left further speechless by an utterly gorgeous man.  “I think I prefer it when things just try to kill me.” He admitted quietly as he lathered soap into fur, “it’s easier to think when a demons trying to eat you.”  He couldn’t say the rest of it out-loud, not even to his new friend, that fighting was simpler than managing his thoughts and words in front of someone so handsome.  The dog seemed to understand though, sending foam all over him as it nudged at his armpit, nearly knocking him over.

The shower took a long time, probably too long but Alec didn’t really have a choice.  Thankfully the water stayed hot and he thanked magic and his host for that as he grabbed more soap.  He’d run out fairly quickly and had grabbed what was in the cabinet, hoping it wouldn’t be considered rude but needing to smell of something other than demon guts.

-

Magnus looked up, expecting to be met with a scowl and demands and found himself staring at the shadowhunter, his shadowhunter.  The shadowhunter he had brought home .

His feet were bare.  It wasn’t the first thing Magnus noticed, but it seemed the least dangerous part to focus on, the fact that he had bare feet.  Much less distracting than focusing on how he looked so very different here, in the soft light of Magnus’ home.

Magnus idly raised a hand, fiddling with his ear cuff as he stood and walked over, “you look better.”  He offered and wanted to curse himself for being both so obvious and so lacking in words.

His shadowhunter didn’t just look better, he looked incredible.  It didn’t help that as something of a joke, Magnus had summoned the shadowhunter charcoal sweats and a plaid shirt in burnt orange.  Between the fact that is was strangely flattering and the fact that he was holding the dog, still wrapped in a fluffy towel, he looked like a very odd lumberjack fantasy Magnus had dreamt about once upon a martini too many.  

“Thank you for all your help, I’m Alec, by the way.”  Was offered and then, “this is Quarrel.”

“Quarrel?”  

“Well, temporarily?”  His shadowhunter paused and a light flush infiltrated his features, “I wasn’t sure what else to call her and I’m an archer so-”

Magnus could have listened to his soft explanations and watched his embarrassment blossom for hours, except his wards were pinging with demonic energy and he knew for a fact it wasn’t just because of the ichor.

“Alexander,” he said sharply and his guest paused, tilting his head questioningly.  “I need to check something.” Magnus explained and pointed to his couch, “sit for a moment, please.”  He added a stern glare and, considering that Alec had already seen them, flashed his cat-eyes as well.  Alec’s blush deepened for some reason and whatever protest he’d been going to make disappeared as he sat down on the couch, dog half on his lap and very pleased with itself.  

It took a moment to form a conclusion, checking his wards thrice and then casting discrete spells just to be sure.  

“That isn’t a dog.”  Magnus finally told him, standing in front of the couch and shadowhunter with his hands held at the ready, though he kept his voice soft, trying not to alarm either of them.

“What do you mean she’s not a dog?  She’s a good girl.” Alec asked as he fawned over the creature, his hands far too close to the creatures maw for comfort.  “A good quarrelsome girl.”  

Magnus was doomed.  A beautiful, handsome nephilim who knew wordplay and was currently cuddling a hellhound.

“It’s a Hound of Edom.”

The hound looked at him, mahogany eyes flashing stubbornly as it yipped but instead of turning violent, it licked at Alec’s fingers beseechingly and nuzzled his hand.

“That’s very neat,” Alec said, apparently uncaring of the fact that he was cooing over a demonic dog.  “That must have been how you protected yourself earlier, wasn’t it? A good girl indeed.”  

Magnus despairingly summoned another drink, he was going to need it.

-

It took a large amount of summoned food and Magnus finally flashing his eyes and threatening a banishment spell for the adorable beast to betray itself and bark a small spark of hellfire at him.  It had been immediately contrite, lowering itself to the ground and then playfully batting at Magnus’ bootlaces and Magnus had felt his heart waver. While he had very few good memories of Edom, the packs of hell puppies were one of them.

“You can’t take her to the Institute.”  Magnus told Alec, a little worried that his overly attached shadowhunter might try to take the pup home, he also deliberately ignored the hypocrisy of his thoughts.  Alec was only his shadowhunter momentarily , because he was in Magnus home, temporarily .  He cut off that line of thought rather quickly, he did not need to think about how his poor heart panged at the thought of losing the opportunity to think of Alec as  his .      

“Obviously,” Alec said and he seemed upset about it.  “But I can’t just leave her out on the streets.” There was an unspoken understanding that it would be far more dangerous for those who came across her than for the seemingly docile hellhound herself.

“I could send her back to whatever hell dimension she came from?”  Magnus offered, even though he didn’t exactly want to and that generous offer backfired, earning him two, hurt puppy-eyed pouts and Magnus felt another one of his poorly built walls fall.

“ Fine .”  He exclaimed with far more irritation than he actually felt, “I’ll take care of her, temporarily .  Until you either figure something out or she goes back to where she’s from.  For a price, of course.” Alec gave him a far too knowing look for a shadowhunter that he’d only just met.  He seemed to know that if Magnus agreed to look after her, she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Name it.”  He agreed unhesitatingly, hand reaching out to pet her and his fingers were so close to Magnus’ own that he could have reached out and tangled them together.  

“Dinner, with you .”  Magnus said and twirled his fork in the air, “a proper meal.  Not takeout on my floor while debating the fate of a stray hellhound.”  

“I liked tonight,” Alec said softly, almost too quietly for Magnus to hear.  “I really enjoyed it.”

“As did I, Alexander.”  Magnus hastened to assure, “I would just like to do it again.  In various ways, including but not limited to a night out.”

-

Alec stared at Magnus, taking in his gorgeously detailed clothing, elegant makeup and he considered the fact that for no reason other than compassion, Magnus had let a stray shadowhunter and a dog into his home.  Alec may have been distracted earlier but he wasn’t a complete idiot and this hadn’t been Magnus’ plan for the evening but he’d derailed his own night, just to help Alec out.  

“I’d like that.”  He admitted and it had far more to do with Magnus’ honest, golden eyed gaze and the way he’d sneakily summoned a bone for Quarrel than even his strong jaw and the muscles of his arms that Alec couldn’t help but admire.  “It sounds fun.”

“Oh good,” Magnus said, “for a moment there I worried you were going to try and play hard to get.  Then I would have had to hold your visiting rights hostage.” He winked, as though he were joking but Alec felt it was just a ruse to hide how serious he was, though not about stopping him from seeing her.  For some strange reason he trusted Magnus and while his instincts told him that Magnus wouldn’t hold her hostage, he did feel that Magnus had been seriously worried that he’d decline.  

Which was preposterous.  

Maybe in the daylight -when Alec woke up and this night felt like a dream it would be different- but right now, sitting on the floor in Magnus loft, Alec couldn’t imagine a world where he could deny Magnus anything.  

[crystallinecrimsonmoth]

Hello, peeps :3

Here is Chapter 29 of Future Serial Killer, I hope you enjoy it!

Please remember to comment, like, and donate to my Ko-fi if possible. Commissions and prompts are always open for both fanfiction and moodboards - please feel free to ask for either (I write for many ships so I’m sure I can accommodate your needs :3).

Tags: @carl-sweet-serial-killer @carlnegan

Future Serial Killer

Chapter 29

‘Are you insane?’

Well, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

Negan did his best to brush it off though, keeping the wide grin on his face as he gazed up at Carl, the black ring box still offered up in front of him.

‘What, kid? You never saw a marriage proposal before?’ He chuckled, hearing everyone else in the hall hold their breath at once.

The community hub was so quiet you could hear a pin drop as they all stared at the scene unfolding in front of them. It wasn’t like Carl would say no, or at least no one thought he would. The teen clearly loved Negan so it was a logical next step, even if it didn’t make total sense to get married during an apocalypse when the dead were wandering outside and could kill them both at any moment.

But Carl was still just standing there, one frail hand shaking at his side while he tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t come out as a squeak of shock. When he realised that wouldn't work and he couldn't think of any other way to express his feelings, his hand made its way across Negan’s face, slapping him so hard his jaw cocked to the side and pain radiated through his skull.

The man let out a little laugh, rubbing his hand over the skin that had been slapped, knowing it would bruise later.

‘Getting some mixed messages here, kiddo, you got any actual words for me?’ He raised an eyebrow at him, making Carl’s heart clench as he stared back into his eyes.

He didn’t know what to do. He had seen so many marriages fall apart in his short time on earth, especially in the hell they lived in now, and he and Negan had been so good for so long. He didn’t want marriage to mess that up.

Negan was still staring at him, dark eyes filled with just a little bit of worry now that Carl had been silent for a few minutes, and the teen saw him physically gulp when he got onto his knees in front of him, cupping his jaw in his hands and rubbing gentle thumbs through his beard.

‘I don’t want to screw this up with marriage, Neeg.’

The man’s eyebrows furrowed at his words, confusion filling in the cracks of his wrinkled face.

‘We won’t screw it up. Nothing will change that much, we’re just… making it official. And you get to wear a nice ring.’ The smile on his face was hesitant as he let Carl put his hands on his shoulders and squeeze to reassure the Saviour.

‘My parents’ marriage didn’t work, Negan. It failed miserably and I don’t want that to happen to us. This world ripped them apart, it isn’t built for happy families.’

Negan’s frown worsened at the younger man’s words and he thought about what he had said for a moment before shaking his head.

‘It can't rip us apart because it brought us together. If motherfuckers hadn't started rolling in their graves, we would have never met. The end of the world saved us! We don't need a happy family, darling, we’ll have a dysfunctional family instead. We’ll always be on guard, even when it’s completely safe and we haven’t had a death in fucking years because we built a brick wall around the Sanctuary to keep others out. We’ll call each other Scarface and Jackass, we’ll threaten to shoot each other every day. I don’t give a fuck about being happy, Carl, I give a fuck about loving you and keeping you safe. We could fight every fucking day but we’ll always come back to each other at night. We'll always keep each other warm in bed, no matter what. I'd die for you, Carl.’ His whiskey eyes were watering as he made the unplanned speech, wanting so badly to marry the teen that he would weep in front of the whole Sanctuary just to get him to say yes.

Carl was staring in disbelief, tears already falling from his one blue eye and blurring his vision as he leaned forward and put his forehead against Negan’s, stroking through his beard while the surrounding community still stood in utter silence, watching the event unfold.

‘We’ve always found our way back to each other, even when your dad took you away from me. I know marriage doesn’t mean shit nowadays and people might laugh when we call each other husband but I don’t fucking care! Marry me, Carl Grimes.’ He insisted, waiting with bated breath for his reply and feeling the crushing weight lift off his heart when the teen nodded, wrapping his arms around Negan’s neck and hugging him tightly.

Everyone started clapping around them when Carl nodded, the eruption of applause reminding the teen that they were safe. Part of a community that worked together, took care of each other, and fought hard for the life they lived there, regardless of how many outsiders got hurt.

That was the Sanctuary way. You protected your own, no matter the cost to others. That’s how they survived, and it was the only way to live safely.

Carl understood that now as he leaned back onto his heels, letting Negan take his hand. It was trembling so much he couldn’t even feel his fingers, all the blood having rushed to his head in order to comprehend the question that Negan had asked and the implications of them being married.

The man slipped the ring from the little black box in his hand onto Carl’s finger, the black and red gems glinting under the light of the hall around them. It fit perfectly, much to his surprise, but the teen could barely focus on the jewellery before he tackled Negan into another hug, kissing him until they were both panting for breath.

The couple just stared at each other for the longest time, their breath intermingling until Rose yelled out through the silence of the hall.

‘Alright, the serious part’s over with! Get a plate, we have a lot of cake to go around for our newly engaged couple!’ She grinned, making Carl’s eyes flicker to the counter and brighten at the sight of the chocolate cake.

He smacked Negan’s arm when he saw it, jittering with excitement and the aftershocks of all his nervous energy.

‘You made chocolate cake!’

‘Hey, woah, we made chocolate cake. He couldn’t bake a cake this good if he tried!’ Pyro, one of the bakers from the catering unit of the Sanctuary, argued from where he stood with the rest of the team, pointing at Negan with a friendly glare.

Carl couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him at Pyro’s argument and he nodded, offering a kiss on the cheek to the man whose face burned as red as his hair.

‘You’re right. Thank you, Pyro. I’m pretty sure we’d be eating burnt flour if the great King of the Sanctuary had made our cake.’ He smiled, laughing again when Negan made a scandalised noise and stalked over to them.

‘I would not have burnt the cake!’

‘You would have, but that’s okay. I love you for other things.’ Carl giggled, giving Negan a soft peck on the lips before thanking the rest of the catering unit with a kiss on the cheek, approaching the chocolate cake in question with a hungry expression on his face.

‘How do you feel?’ Rose smiled at him as he got to the table, offering up his slice of the cake.

Carl nodded, a big smile on his face now as he thought about what had just happened.

‘I’m getting married to the best-looking man left on earth, I’m very happy.’ He expressed, taking a bite of the cake and moaning at the taste.

‘Fuck, I haven’t had chocolate apart from that little square Negan gave me when I was sick since I was like fourteen.’ He purred like a cat, relishing in the flavour of the sweet treat as Rose laughed.

‘Yeah, he said you liked it. We only bring it out twice a year since we haven’t found a factory with the machinery to make any more yet. Negan brought it out for today since it was a special occasion so I hope you’re okay with strawberry cake for your wedding.’

The young Saviour nodded with enthusiasm, taking another bite of his cake slice.

‘I love all cake, that’s fine.’ He grinned, his lips and teeth stained with chocolate which Negan licked away when he approached the two of them, giving Carl a soft kiss and nuzzling his nose against his.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi to you too.’

They stared at each other for a moment, gazes both loving and lustful until Rose spoke up between them.

‘If I may, I suggest you move onto the engagement celebrations upstairs. No one needs to see you eye-fuck each other in the middle of the main hall.’ She smiled, passing them both to go to the kitchen and patting Negan on the back as she did.

The man smirked at his newly engaged fiancee with a nod to what Rose said, linking his hand with his and putting the other one on his lower back.

‘Shall we?’

Carl let out a little hum, reaching up and pulling Negan’s face towards his, kissing him roughly. The results of that motion landed them upstairs, the teenager panting underneath his older lover in a desperate attempt to get his jeans off.

Negan just chuckled, easing his hands away from his belt with gentle movements and focusing instead on ravishing every inch of his skin. He spent at least ten minutes biting, nibbling and sucking on Carl’s stomach and thighs, laving his tongue over the boy’s puckered hole when he finally got his denim shorts off and sinking his teeth into the flesh of his behind.

The resulting tug on his hair did not go unnoticed.

‘Don’t tease, Neeg.’

‘I’ll tease if I want to, princess, you just have to lie there and take it.’ The leader purred in response, drawing a drop of blood from one of the globes of milk flesh while completely ignoring Carl’s weeping erection.

This went on until he got bored of listening to the boy whine, and the rest of the night melded into nothing but a kaleidoscope of sweat and orgasms, Negan tugging at the young man’s long brown waves until he screamed and soiled the bed sheets with his release.

Once Carl was sated completely and panting into the fabric of their thick duvet, his older fiancee lit a fire to warm the room some more, wiping his lover down with a washcloth and tucking them both into bed under a blanket. He was thankful to have locked the door when they stumbled into the room at the start of the night, giving them total peace and security as the couple fell asleep.

[strawberriestyles]

Part 1: Kidney

(BANNER MADE BY MY TALENTED SWEETIE PIE @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which you’re persuaded to help a young witch named Harry.

Read previous part here.

Word count: 4k

Author’s note: Originally, everything was kinda supposed to line up and the part that I was going to post on Halloween was actually supposed to be set on Halloween night, but life gets in the way and things don’t work out. :( I’m sort of sad I wasn’t able to get everything done and give it to y’all the way I had envisioned. This is the best I can do, and I hope it’s enough. Please let me know if you enjoy it or if you have any thoughts at all! Happy Halloreading. Xx

The telltale signs of fall have truly begun to reveal themselves. Along every sidewalk, there seems to be chunky knit sweaters and scuffed Chelsea boots, pumpkin-flavored snacks and mulled apple cider. Normally, Harry would roll his eyes at the widespread commonality of it all, but he’s too preoccupied. He’s got his nose buried deep in a page of words that he can’t seem to make out, nothing more than a bunch of gibberish.

If anyone was watching, they might notice that the heavy library door swings open before Harry has even made contact with the handle. They might catch the way his eyes seem to glow as this happens. But no one is watching and no on notices.

The thick heels of Harry’s boots click against the stone floors. He carries himself across the deep lobby, eyes still perusing his sheet of paper, until he reaches the stairs that will lead him to the library’s next level. At the top of them, he swings left, maneuvering between shelves so effortlessly that it’s like he’s in his own home. Books on Latin language are tucked away in a dark corner, one that he’s very familiar with. He spends large portions of his free time here. And he’s never worried about books being checked out, because after all, Latin is a dead language. But Harry is confused when he reaches reflexively for the book he always uses, the one that’s easiest to navigate, and his fingers find nothing but air. 

His eyes finally lift away from the paper in his hand. Layers of dust have settled over everything in this section, but in the empty shelf space for his book, there are tracks through the dust from his constant readings. It’s coated the tips of his searching fingers, and he wipes the residue on the side of his jeans, sighing. Frustrated and disoriented, Harry yanks another book from the shelf and retreats from the corner, back into the main walkway. He taps across the room to his usual spot, at a table disconnected from the main reading area, but again he’s surprised.

Your foot is bopping out of beat to the song playing through your earbuds, and a ready pen is caught between your teeth as you skim a few pages of text. You don’t even notice that someone has approached you. You don’t notice the man leaned up against the edge of your table until your music suddenly begins to cut out. You jump when you do notice him.

“Jesus!” Without even removing your earbuds, you can hear your own voice echo off of the stone floors. You clap a hand over your mouth. You’re not supposed to make noises that echo in a library.

Pulling your earbuds out, you take a moment to examine their cords, looking for any damage that might explain their spotty sound. You find nothing. The stranger clears his throat and when you look up he’s staring at you. His eyes are bright, almost glowing in the dim light from a wall sconce.

“Can I help you?” you ask when he still hasn’t spoken.

“Yeah. Are yeh gonna be usin’ tha’ book for much longer?”

You notice his gaze divert to the thick Latin book you’d been studying. Your fingers splay over your page to make sure that you don’t lose your spot.

“Um, yeah. I was gonna be here for a few more hours.”

You can see the man grit his teeth, see him twist to stretch his neck. The wall sconce, your only source of light in this corner, flickers momentarily. It draws your attention.

“You read Latin?” he asks, pulling your gaze back around to him. Maybe you imagine it, but you’re sure you can hear sarcasm, condescension in his voice. “Yes, a bit,” you answer, shifting in your chair. “I’m a language major.”

“Are yeh?” The man seems to consider this, glancing down at his own book. Then he settles his mind and looks back up at you with challenging eyes. “Yeh think yeh could try t’translate this for me?”

He holds out a piece of paper to you. After a brief hesitation—you have an exam coming up later this week—you take the sheet from him. It’s scribbled across with sloppy Latin. You flatten the page out on top of your book.

“What’s this for?” you ask. “A class?”

“No, ‘m not a student.”

You frown, but this is all the information he gives you. He watches you expectantly until you turn your attention to his page of text and begin to piece together words. Then you glance back up at him, unamused.

“Wha’?”

“Is this a joke?”

“No, ‘s not. Wha’ does it say?”

You slip the paper toward him across your table. “It’s nonsense. Something about boiling the kidney of a raccoon.”

The stranger’s face lights up, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so confused and uncomfortable. “Yeh’re pretty good with your Latin, aren’ yeh?”

“I like to think so.”

“I’m Harry.”

You lick your lips and hesitate when he holds out a hand decorated with old-looking rings. But he raises an eyebrow after a moment, so you shake his hand, nearly flinching at how cold the metal of his jewelry is against your skin.

“Y/N,” you introduce.

“Well, Y/N, d’yeh think yeh could do some more translations for me? I have a whole book at home tha’s takin’ me forever t’get through, and yeh would speed the entire process up a lot.”

Your face contorts as you finally set your earbuds down. “Is that supposed to be a pick-up line? Because it’s the strangest one I’ve ever heard.”

“If yeh’d like it t’be a pick-up line, sure.” Harry grins, and it seems genuine and charming. “But if tha’s not enough, I’ll pay yeh for translatin’.” By now he’s set his book down and his hands lay flat on the table. He’s a lot closer. You notice that he doesn’t smell like most men your age, like cologne and sweat. Instead, he smells of earth and spices. It’s a comfortable scent.

“Before I agree to anything,” you begin, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, “what is this book? And why are you reading it?”

Harry grins again and his eyes almost sparkle. “‘S a spellbook and ‘m workin’ on an important spell.”

Despite yourself, you crack a smile. “So, you’re either crazy or you don’t wanna tell me,” you observe. “How much are you paying?”

“How much would I need?” Harry asks. He straightens back up and runs his fingers slowly through his hair.

“Well,” you answer, closing up your book. You don’t feel completely unprepared for your exam, and your grades won’t suffer much even if you are. “I guess we can figure that out once I know how much I’m translating.”

***

“You live here?”

Harry glances up at the house as you slam the car door shut. He shrugs. “Yeah. Rent’s cheap.”

“Probably because people were murdered here,” you mutter under your breath. You’d been surprised when Harry had led you to a car from the library and not directly to his place. You’d been slightly cautious as he took the road out of the town and turned into a dirt drive. But now that you’re here, you find yourself feeling apprehensive. It’s not that the little house is scary. It could certainly use a paint job and some trimming of the ivy that has wrapped its way up the corners, but in fact, it’s quite charming. It’s more the seclusion of it from town, and the strange air that seems to hover around it, thick and perfumed. Trees, beginning to bare their branches, form a tight circle around the building. A short gust of wind blows a group of leaves past your feet.

“Y/N,” Harry calls from the front door, which he has unlocked, and where he’s standing in the frame. “Yeh comin’ in?”

Stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket, you trek across the lawn to where Harry is holding the door open for you. He lets you pass by him and then follows you inside. It’s dark. The windows that you can see appear to be coated with a layer of grime. Some thick, dark residue that you’re sure would stick to your skin.

Harry leads you deeper into the house until you’re standing at the edge of a living room. You can’t see much, but then Harry approaches the wall beside you and reaches up. His forefinger and thumb press together over the wick of an unlit candle held in a candelabra. When he pulls his hand away, a flame has sparked. He repeats the process twice more with the other candles on the candelabra, and you can feel your body begin to turn icy from your feet, up through your legs.

“How did you do that?” you ask, licking your lips habitually.

“Magic,” Harry answers, turning to smile at you. There’s a twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips that somehow dulls your anxiety. Despite yourself, you let out a short chuckle.

As Harry rounds into a hallway beside the candles, you take the time to observe your surroundings with the fresh light. It’s rather bare furniture-wise. A single couch is placed in the center of the room. A wooden chair has been tucked away into the far corner, carved with ornate designs that you can’t make out from where you stand. Next to the chair are two windows which barely let any sunlight in. But along nearly every wall stand tall shelves stacked with books and knickknacks. Things that sparkle in the flickering candlelight, things that seem to glow all on their own, things that look to be spinning.

You shriek and jump back against a wall as something rubs up against your ankles. When you look down, green eyes are glowing up at you. It’s a cat.

Harry pokes his head out from the hall that he disappeared down. He chuckles at your defensive body language.

“Tha’s Nicks,” he informs you.

“Is he nice?” you ask softly. The cat sits before you, flicking its tail rhythmically as it watches you. A strange humming reverberates from its throat, and you know that’s not a purr.

“She is nice, as long as yeh don’ offend her. And it looks like yeh might’ve already done tha’, so.” Harry walks around Nicks, who keeps her eyes trained on you as he reaches for your hand. You give it to him, carefully avoiding the cat as Harry pulls you toward the hall. Nicks's head twists around as you leave.

"She gets kinda jealous when I give someone else attention," Harry explains. He drops your hand at the doorway to another room and moves across the floor.

Glancing around, you find that you appear to be in a kitchen, though a small one. There's a short row of counters and dark cabinets to your left. A sink is situated in the center of them. In the middle of the room, taking up a majority of the floor space, is a thick wooden table that looks home-built. On top of it lays a handful of herbs and an unlabeled bottle of something that you can smell from where you stand. Choking on the scent, you take a step backward until you hit the wall. Something digs into your back and when you turn around, it's a light switch. But there is another candelabra hanging on the wall to your right. It holds flames which light up the area of the room that sunlight from the windowed door on the far wall doesn't reach. You look to Harry, who is digging through what appears to be a pantry at the other end of the kitchen.

"Do you not have electricity?" you ask. You take a step forward to observe the bottled material on the table.

"I do," Harry answers. He steps back from the pantry, and what he brings with him isn't food. It's a bouquet of purple wildflowers. You frown as he sets the flowers on the corner of the table and returns to the pantry. "I prefer candlelight. Feels more natural, yeh know?"

"What are you doing?" You round the table to stand behind Harry. "I thought I was supposed to translate a book for you."

He must answer you, but you don't hear his words. You've stumbled back away from the pantry door and Harry. The things that you see on the shelves inside are enough to make your blood run cold. There are the high-stacked piles of herbs and flowers, like the ones that Harry's already placed on the table. But then there are tiny skulls that you think must be the heads of helpless animals. On the shelf at face-level, there's a giant jar of something so red and thick that you can't think of anything it could be other than pure blood. And on the top shelf, tucked to the far right there's a smaller jar full of spheres suspended in a clear liquid. Eyeballs.

The breath leaves your lungs as you hit the edge of the table and it impedes your retreat. You gasp as Harry twists around to look at you, another jar of something in his hand. He's frowning, but he still looks calm. You feel anything but.

"Y/N, before yeh start—"

You shriek as Harry takes a wide step toward you, hurrying back to the other end of the room, where the long table can keep you separated. Harry looks slightly annoyed, but not angry. You stand poised on your toes, ready to run.

"I already told yeh what I was—"

"There is a jar of eyeballs in your kitchen pantry, Harry,” you snap as he takes a step toward you again. The candle flames flicker, almost extinguished as though a breeze has whipped through the room, but you don’t feel any movement in the air.

“Yes, there is,” he agrees. “I need ‘em for spells sometimes. But ‘s not like they’re human eyes, Y/N.”

“What does that matter?” you shout. “You’re crazy!”

Harry rolls his eyes and begins walking toward you. In a fit of panic, you knock the mysterious bottle onto the ground and rush around the length of the table until you can reach the door at the other end of the room. You yank it open, tripping over the threshold as you escape into the outdoors.

The wind has picked up, lifting flurries of dry leaves into the air and making the tree branches above you moan. Your thoughts churn quickly until you throw yourself around the corner of the house, pressing yourself up against the exterior wall. Heart thumping wildly in your chest, you hear the kitchen door swing open and then slam back into place. You take a chance and peek around the corner to see Harry strolling out into the woods. You wait until he’s disappeared between the trees and then you take off in the other direction, toward the front of the house and the long, winding, dirt driveway that will lead you back to the main road.

The air has cooled since you’ve been here. The sun has begun to fall with the late afternoon. You’re glad that you didn’t shed your jacket inside as you trek along the path.

You don’t know how long you walk for. It took a good few minutes to drive from the main road to the house, and it will take much longer to return on foot. But then you see a building in the distance, old with peeling white paint and ivy growing up the walls—Harry’s house.

“How did I...”

“Ah, good.”

You jump as Harry pushes himself away from a tree to your left. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He keeps his distance this time, hoping not to scare you off.

“That doesn’t make sense. I was walking in the other direction.”

Harry nods, flashing you a sympathetic half-smile. "Not really. Yeh just followed the path."

This does nothing to clear it up for you, but you don't respond.

"Yeh must be gettin' cold. D'yeh wanna come back inside?" Harry asks. He tilts his head and waits patiently for your response, eyes calculating. Then he smiles again. "I'll keep the eyeballs hidden."

You frown at his attempt to joke, but you nod. There's no point in staying outside when it will only continue to get darker and colder, and Harry's the one with a car.

He leads you back to the front door of the house and into the living room. "Why don' yeh sit down?" Harry suggests. He watches you settle onto the couch, though you don't look to be anywhere near comfortable. Your veins, which were humming with adrenaline, have dulled to a sort of acceptance. "Do yeh believe me now?" Harry asks, leaned up against a set of shelves, keeping his distance, and you nod. Maybe it's shock, or curiosity, or something else, but your fear seems to have dissipated.

"Tha's good." Harry grins at you in approval and then stands up straight. He reaches up onto the second shelf behind him and pulls down a thick leather book. Its spine is cracked and worn. There are characters on the front cover, but you can't see them clearly enough before Harry presses the book to his chest. He catches you watching him. "I'll be right back," he says. "Need t'copy some things for yeh t'translate."

“Can’t I just read right from the book?" you ask. "Your handwriting is not that neat.”

“No, yeh can’." Harry ignores your comment about his writing and heads toward the hall into the kitchen. "Yeh’re a mortal," he adds as he turns the corner. "It’ll burn the eyes right outta your skull.”

You don't move for a few moments. Your mind is too focused on the picture Harry's words have conjured up. In your palms, you hold your own eyes, alive and slimy. Your sight is aimed at your face, the features slightly familiar, but where your eyes should actually sit there are just empty craters pooling with blood that drips down your cheeks like tears.

You shiver and try to recover from the disturbing image before you glance around the room, this time paying closer attention to the details. The chair in the corner isn't covered in decorative woodwork, it's carved with Latin letters and even more ancient symbols and runes. On the shelves closest to you, you see books similar to the one you had been reading earlier at the library, only older and perhaps less detailed. And there's a large hunk of glass. A crystal ball, you realize. You're in the home of a witch.

Harry returns to the room carrying a big ceramic mug. You sit back again so it doesn't look like you were snooping, but he's not fooled.

"Very subtle," he commends with a short chuckle. "Drink this."

Your eyes widen as Harry holds the mug out to you. You look up at him, perplexed. "Why the fuck would I do that?" you ask. “What's it gonna do, make me grow a curly pink tail? Shrink me into a beetle?"

"'S tea."

"Oh." You can feel your skin tingle with embarrassment.

"T’calm yeh down," Harry explains. He smiles again when you take the mug from him. You note that he smiles a lot. "Yeh have this crazy agita’ed aura around yeh. ‘S makin’ me uncomfortable."

"I'm making you uncomfortable?" Steam unfurls from the tea up into your face and it smells herbal. "What's in this?"

"Rosemary, chamomile, cinnamon, a couple other things." Harry nods encouragingly. "Try it."

As you take a small sip of your tea, taking care not to burn yourself, Harry slips his mysterious book back into its place on the shelves. Then he clasps his hands together at his front, his rings clinking together as he watches you.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Come into the kitchen."

You stand, hands wrapping around the warmth of your mug of tea, and follow him back into the hall. The chair closest to the kitchen's entrance is pulled out from the table and a sheet of paper lays before it. Harry motions for you to sit and leans up against the counter. Just as you take your seat, he turns to the stove and a pot that sits on a burner. He removes the lid and stirs its contents slowly with a wooden spoon before replacing the lid crookedly. Without a word, he skirts around you to leave the kitchen. You lower your eyes to the Latin scribbles before you.

It's then, when Harry's left you and the palpable weight of his presence is gone, that you notice the scent of spices. You haven't so much as skimmed Harry's paper before your gaze is drawn to the stove. A cooling kettle sits off to one side of the grates, on the other side is the pot that is positioned over a blue flame. Steam rises from the cracked lid and you're sure that this is the where the smell is coming from. You cross the floor before you realize what you're doing. Then a black shape is whipping through the room, between your legs, nearly knocking you off your feet. You stagger to keep your balance and let out a hiccuped gasp.

"Don' seem t'be gettin' on very well with her."

Attempting to catch your breath, you turn to find Harry in the doorway again. He takes a step into the room and reaches out to pet Nicks, who after tripping you has found her way onto the table. She purrs at the touch of his fingers. You watch, unsettled, as she stands and creeps along beneath his hands, arching her back, until she's facing you, her beady eyes calculating.

“Are you cooking something?” you ask in an attempt to switch subjects, reaching for the lid of the pot.

“Yeh don’ wanna look in there," Harry warns. His voice has a sharp edge about it that makes you pause.

“Why not?”

“‘S that raccoon kidney yeh told me about.” Harry chuckles as you draw your hand away from the pot quickly enough to tweak a muscle in your shoulder. "Maybe yeh'd be best not t'keep snoopin' through m'stuff."

"I'm not snooping," you protest, but the reality of your behavior makes you keep your mouth shut when he shoots you a pointed stare.

You get the hint and slowly return to your seat, attempting to divert your attention to translating. It's hard to focus.

“So, where’s your broomstick?” you ask after a few moments.

“Wha’ the fuck do I look like t’you?” Harry lets out a breath of disbelief from beside the stove. He's removed the lid again and is stirring in what look to be flower petals.

"I thought you were a... magician, or something."

Harry rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. "Can call me wha' yeh want. I prefer 'witch'. Has more of a ring to it. But don' get distracted, now."

You remember why you're here. Taking another gulp of your tea, which has cooled just enough to be comfortable, you get back to Latin. But it's hard when you're so preoccupied, when there's a real-life witch standing in front of you, and you barely have any information about him. Harry can see the questions coming before you even look up.

“Do you, like, transform into a bat or something, then?”

“Tha’s vampires, for fuck’s sake.” Harry lifts his hands frustratedly to his hair, but he laughs.

"Do you know a vampire?" you ask, intrigued.

Harry shakes his head, closing up the pot and shutting away whatever solution is cooking inside of it. "Vampires aren' real. Just a creature made up for mortals' entertainment." He sighs and turns to settle into the chair to your left, giving up. "I take it yeh're not gonna get t'the Latin, then."

"I just have a lot to ask you." You slide the page away from you, across the table, and turn your body toward him. He's settled in, his hands tucked behind his head, his eyes resting shut.

"Fine," Harry says, taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the onslaught of questions he's about to receive. "I'll answer your questions." His lips curve upward after a short pause. "But 'm not payin' yeh for today."

Part 2: Hellfire

[tommyhagen]

Sick Doms is SUCH an underused trope!!!

I was asked to write a companion peice to an incredible rare gem I found on AO3. The original is here. Sick Negan you guys! Here’s my response on AO3 too: Rick takes care of sick!Negan

But here it is on here. Also SERIOUSLY send me asks for scenes! I whipped this out in a couple of hours like seriously give me some happiness and ask me to write you a sickfic???

TW: Emetophilia, Vomit, Graphic Depiction Of Illness, Reference to Violence, dipping into true moments of darkness

—————————————————-

Ever fall in love with someone you shouldn’t have fallen in love with? —Buzzcocks

“Well, will you look at that! Rick motherfucking Grimes!”, Negan crowed. He’d started the day feeling alright, managed to keep some shit down and all but the drive over had not helped. End of the fucking world, not a damn soul on the road and the idiots working for him still managed to be bad drivers.

Rick, as always, stood ready and at the gates, glare in place before Negan even got out of the truck. He had to be practicing ahead of time because goddamnit Negan just could not get that motherfucker to crack a smile. He could threaten him, yeah, but where was the fun in that. No, Rick Grimes would smile at him in his own due time. He always let the really good ones break themselves. A man like Rick was worth a nice, long chase.

“Open the gates Eye Candy! I wanna get a good look at my favorite settlement.”, he barked. Negan took a moment to leer at Token Latina as they rolled them back. Damn. How the hell did that bitch always have on tinier little fucking shorts every time he saw her?! Not that he minded. Girl had some great legs on her. Looks like he knew where to find Arat when he needed her.

He tried not to need her. Arat was probably his favorite lady next to Lucille herself. And Rick’s people were one good looking bunch. If he was here to flirt with Rick, which everyone knew he was, his High Command could flirt with whoever they wanted too. Only seemed fair. Only rules were to keep your eyes off Rick and no hands on stuff unless it was consensual. Arat had been after that Hispanic girl since she laid eyes on her and Negan wished her all the best.

“I live here. Who else were you expecting?”, grunted the fairest of them all. Pretty as a princess with the manners of a stable boy. Oh fuck, was Rick Grimes ever Negan’s type!

“Well you weren’t last time. Which was very rude, by the way. I even cooked. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to hurt my feelings.”, Negan drawled, throwing an arm around Rick’s shoulder. He’d managed to kiss him on the cheek before but didn’t want to play his hand too early in the game so he settled for a quick squeeze. “But hell, you know I can’t stay mad at you. Even left a present.”

Rick just grunted an affirmation and tried to pull away.

Negan just held him tighter. He dropped his volume to almost a whisper, “Did you like it, Rick? That rich kid’s corpse? Made it just for you.”

Rick’s face went pale and he nearly stumbled. Negan positively howled with laughter. Yeah, he’d be just fine. So what if everything in his inside seemed like it’d rather be on the outside? He couldn’t just lay around puking his fucking guts out forever. He had shit to do and people to scare. He’d had enough of feeling miserable. So Rick. So far it’d been a perfect plan. Wasn’t doing much for his stomach but Negan hadn’t been in this good of a mood in days. That had to count for something. He was sure Simon and Eugene would think so anyways.

“In the future if you ever feel like giving me something I’d prefer it not be body parts.”, Rick hissed. So picky. But Negan didn’t like shrinking violets. No problem with someone knowing their worth if they were worth something though. And Rick here was worth every single life Negan chose to end for him.

Negan gave him a truly lewd grin in return. “Now you know that’s not a promise I’d be willing to make. I’m sorry Rick but your price is too high. I’ve been trying to give you some of mine since I saw you after all.”, he sneered, pulling Rick closer. It fit with the attitude he was throwing but the truth was he just wanted Rick near. It was a funny thing. Everyone was dressed like it was hot as dicks out and Negan just couldn’t get warm enough.

Lucky it didn’t seem like Rick had noticed anything but Negan’s hand having slipped down to his hip. “Let me go ahead and save you some time. No.”, he growled, trying to squirm away. Negan struggled to keep him. He wouldn’t have managed it unless Simon, who Negan somehow hadn’t even noticed trailing them, cocked his gun. Rick settled the fuck down pretty quick.

Negan shot Simon a weak glare over his shoulder. He couldn’t find it in him to do much more when instead of looking amused his second in command just seemed concerned. It wasn’t like Negan was against Simon playing wing man or anything. Just kinda put a dent in his whole not threatening Rick agenda. What kind of gentleman wins a lady or fine ass man over with force?

”Oh, Rick you little fucking prude. You’re gonna be tight as a chorus boy, aren’t ya? For you? I’ll take it slow as you want, baby.”, Negan said deciding that since he’d braved the hellride over just for Rick’s company they were beyond innuendo.

”You disgust me.”, Rick replied with a shudder.

Negan choose to interpret it as a shiver of undeniable pleasure brought on by his seduction. Negan was shivering too and he’d chalk it to the same thing. Rick was pretty fucking hot. Besides, Negan couldn’t be cold everyone else was starting to sweat just walking around. And, of course, that just made Rick even more like he’d stepped out of a porno. If Negan didn’t want him so bad he’d hate him because no one but him had the right to be so damn fine.

”And yet you find me strangely attractive.”, Negan shot back. He grabbed Rick’s hand. Thank Christ they were at the Grimes house because it’d hit Negan like he’d walked into a brick wall. He absolutely could not take one more step. And it was more than just his stomach protesting now. It hurt to breathe, to think, to walk, to be alive. How was he meant to pretend he wasn’t cold when his fucking teeth were chattering?

Shit. If it weren’t for Rick he would call this off that’s how bad he felt. Nothing else was worth this hell, not even his ego. The Saviours all knew by now how fucked up he was whether he wanted them to or not, anyway. Word travels fast when your boss nearly pukes up blood in front of half the damn world. Fuck, Negan might be in love with Rick Grimes now that he thought about it.

”What’s the hurry?”, Negan forced out and hoped his voice wasn’t shaking. “I got to have a nice little heart to heart with the kid last time. I want my chance to with his daddy too.” It was a flimsy excuse and Negan could do better if he weren’t trying so damn hard to hold himself still. It did the trick though. No one would doubt anything involving Rick to be his motive.

“No thanks, I’d really rather help you steal from us some more.”, Rick snapped.

Negan’s head was throbbing. The best he could manage was a quick, “Sit the fuck down, Rick.” He should have gotten an Oscar or something for acting like flopping back into the wicker chair was a choice. He’d straight up just collapsed.

Negan had never seen Rick obey a command so quickly and he prayed that Rick was just tired or something. He took it all back. He didn’t want Rick to see him like this. Curiosity killed the cat and Negan felt like one that’d been run over a few hundred times, that’s for sure. He didn’t have to try to look hot, of course, but he liked to throw in a little bit of something extra for Rick. Right now, though, he just wanted to be back in the Sancturary where he could feel like shit in peace.

“Negan?”, Simon called and Negan looked up just a second too late to be normal. But it was too late, Rick had noticed that. His eyes were always scanning Negan for weakness and Negan just HAD to choose to visit him on the day there might actually be some to find.

“What?”, Negan managed through gritted teeth. He actually couldn’t tell what was bothering him most when everything hurt so bad. He kind of envied the cat that curiosity killed though. God, anything had to be better than this.

“Just...you’ve got a eavesdropper is all.”, Simon pointed out looking nearly as pained as Negan felt. Huh. Damn, he was loyal. Negan made a note to let him have any wife he wanted when- if, he tried not to think- they got back tonight.

Negan realized he was hunched over, an arm around his middle. Against every lick of sense he had he straightened up. Sure enough though, Rick’s son was watching them through a window wearing a baby version of his father’s glare. Damn, he was just a mini Rick and that made him smile despite everything. God Rick had made some adorable kids. “Hey Carl!”, he called and waved with more enthusiasm than should have been possible for him.

Of course the kid wouldn’t join them because a complete lack of manners ran in the family but at least Negan could understand his animosity. He might not be so keen on hanging around with a man who was actively trying to fuck the one parent he had left either. He liked the black girl though and Negan still couldn’t figure out how she’d managed that.

He felt the familiar burn in his stomach and hunched forward. He spoke again trying to distract from it, “Haven’t seen you in nearly two weeks, Rick. Did ya miss me?”

”Like I miss the bullet in my chest.”, Rick spat back but his eyes were narrowed not in hate but interest. So he knew it too. Negan was going to end up throwing up again. Well, at least they were all on the same page. No surprises. Awesome. If Simon cared at all he would shoot him.

This was just plain mean. Everybody here knew what was going to happen but they were gonna just wait for him to humiliate himself? FUCK EVERYTHING. He could understand Rick, at least, he was too repressed to look at their sexual tension as anything but hatred but his best friend?! Come on! Fuck it. If they were gonna let him make a mess of himself then he’d do it. Negan would just pretend this was a fucking garden party until he crashed it by puking on everything.

He set his jaw stubbornly as he continued on, “You were shot, Rick?”. And if Negan ever got to feeling better he might just have to go pay a visit to whoever’d done it. Despite how sick he’d ended up the disembowling part of his last trip to Alexandria had been pretty fucking cool. He wouldn’t mind adding that to the old trick book permanently. It’d have been more than earned everyone from his people to the Hilltop to that lunatic with the rennisance fair knew better than to give Rick so much as a scratch. Rick Grimes was his and had been the second Negan had seen him. He was under a damn powerful man’s protective hand. No one would dare lay a hand on that boy but him.

Surprisingly Rick answered him, “Yeah.”. His words were coming slow and thoughtful. Negan let himself think it was from concern for him and not calculating how best to use this against him. It made things seem a bit brighter. “Before all this in the line of duty. Was in a coma and woke up in the middle of the apocalypse. My wife and Carl were gone. Never thought I’d see them again.”

And that was just so unbearably cute and SO Rick that Negan nearly forgot about the twinge of acid on the back of his tongue. How else would Rick get shot? Playing Hero of course. God, what Negan would give to see Rick in uniform. He desperately wanted to see that scar. The thought probably would have turned him on if there were any blood left in his body for a hard-on. And what he could have done to Rick with him in those handcuffs...fuck, his body almost managed to rally.

”Negan?”, someone called again softly. And holy fuck that had been Rick! Negan could rally for that.

He swallowed thickly against the acid creeping it’s way up. “That bitch!”, he forced out. But the sentiment was anything but. “They couldn’t have forced me to leave your side if you got hurt.” It was true. Negan loved him, goddamnit. That’s why this was gonna suck so bad. Because Rick would laugh at him for this. And it’d be a hell of a lot harder to live in denial that one day Rick would come around then.

Rick had had enough. Of course he would always so serious. He couldn’t just settle the fuck down for a second and let things happen. “What the hell is wrong with you?”, he demanded.

Negan waved him off even though a hand was clamped over his mouth. “Not a damn thing, Rick.”, he practically whined. If the nausea wasn’t bad enough before Negan had just piled some self loathing on top of that. He gagged.

”Fuck, you’re about to throw up.”, Rick realized.

[tabbytabbytabby]

Hokay. So. Number 1 of the dialogue prompts needs to be Thiamed and I think we both know that, deep down. P.S. You're a gift to the fandom.

First of all, yes this did need to be done for Thiam. I just hope I did it justice, Second, you are amazing.

1. “Surprise, I have feelings and you just hurt them.” from this list

Also on AO3

It’s not that Theo doesn’t likedogs, he does. He can appreciate how cute they are. But they can also stink andmake a mess and they drool. Plus there’s the whole having to take them outsideevery time they have to use the bathroom. And they can’t be left at home alonefor too long. Unlike cats who you can just leave some food and water for andtheir litter box and their set. So Theo doesn’t hate dogs, he just preferscats.

Liam though, Liam lovesdogs. That fact doesn’t come out until the pair have been dating for 6 monthsand Liam starts talking about getting a pet when they finally move in together.

“I think we should get a pet,”Liam says, his head resting in Theo’s chest as the two relax on Liam’s bed,“you know, once we have our own place. It might be nice.”

“Hmm yeah,” Theo says, raking ahand through Liam’s hair, “I’ve always wanted a cat.”

Liam sits up instantly, turninghis wide eyed gaze to Theo, “A cat? You want to get a cat?”

“Yes? Why? Oh don’t tell me youwant to get a dog.”

“Oh course I want to get a dog!”Liam says, “dogs are awesome and loyal and…”

“Totally co-dependent,” Theo says.

“How dare you.”

“It’s the truth. They rely onhumans much more than cats do.”

“You still have to feed cats,”Liam points out, “it’s not like they feed themselves.”

“Well actually… if you let themout they could hunt for food,” Theo says, smirking at Liam’s pout, “butthey also don’t need to be taken outside or need constant attention. Cats arecool and independent. Whereas dogs…”

“Yeah yeah I know. They needattention,” Liam says, “There’s nothing wrong with that. You can at least playwith dogs. Cats don’t play fetch.”

“Not true. I once had a cat when Iwas little that would play fetch.”

Liam’s brow furrows, “You had acat?”

“I did have a little bit of achildhood before the Dread Doctors got ahold of me,” Theo says, amusement clearin his voice, “having a cat was part of that. Her name was Snowy. We used toline up pillows between the living room and kitchen and throw her toy overthem. She’d jump over them and go after the toy and bring it back.”

Liam stares at him for a momentbefore a smile spreads across his face, “You had a cat named Snowy that playedfetch. That’s adorable.”

“I was 6 years old.”

“It’s still adorable,” Liam says,“but we’re totally getting a dog.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Theo Raeken if you ever want tohave sex with me again we are getting a dog!”

Theo narrows his eyes, “I bet Icould hold out longer than you. One week and you’d be begging me to take you tobed.”

Liam’s eyes get a dangerous glintto them, “Really? Then how about this, whoever caves first has to relent.Meaning if you cave first we get a dog. If I cave first we get a cat.”

“Oh you’re on,” Theo says,“prepare to lose Dunbar.”

Liam leans in, his breath ghostingacross Theo’s face, “I think you’re the one that should be prepared to lose,”he takes Theo’s earlobe between his teeth, tugging gently, pulling back with asmirk when Theo shivers, “we both know you can’t resist me.”

Theo pulls back, glaring at Liam,“If you’re going to play dirty…”

“I never said I’d play fair.”

Theo really believes he has achance of winning the bet. All he has to do is keep his hands off of Liam for aweek, not giving into the beta’s challenging gaze. He just wasn’t expecting howfar Liam would take things. Theo had expected the little comments and gesturesmeant to entice him. What throws him off is the first time he comes home fromwork and sees Liam sprawled out of the couch, completely naked. He feels hisheart rate speed up and his palms start to sweat and has to take off at a runupstairs before he gives into the urge to pin Liam to the couch and take whathe wants.

Liam is relentless, but so isTheo. He’s always been good at luring Liam in. Except it doesn’t seem to beworking as well as it usually does. Normally he’d just have to walk into thebedroom in nothing but a towel and Liam would be plastered to him. Now when hedoes that Liam just shakes his head with a smile and walks out of the room,telling Theo to hurry up and get dressed. It’s Theo’s mistake that he forgothow stubborn Liam can be. That’s his downfall.

He lasts 6 days. 6 days of endlesstorture from Liam before he feels his willpower give out. He’s in the shower,washing off all the dirt and grime of the day when he hears the bathroom dooropen. He’s used to Liam slipping into the bathroom by now, to grab something orjust sit and talk. This time, he hears the sound of a zipper and fabric hittingthe tile floor before the curtain is opening and Liam is slipping in behindhim.

Theo spins around, having to puthis hand on the wall to prevent himself from falling, “What are you doing?”

Liam just smiles, relaxing backagainst the wall, “I didn’t want to risk you using all the hot water. I thoughtwe could share.”

“Bullshit. You’re testing me.”

Liam runs a hand slowly down hischest, smirking over at Theo, “Is it working?”

“No,” Theo quickly denies. It is.But Liam doesn’t need to know that. He just has to hold on. Get out of theshower and away from Liam.

“I think it is,” Liam says, hishand moving lower, “We both know you want me Theo.”

Theo can’t help but follow thepath with his eyes, a growl escaping him when Liam’s hand reaches itsdestination and he throws his head back, exposing his throat as a moan escapeshis lips. Any control Theo has left snaps. He moves forward, pinning Liam tothe fall and starts licking and biting at Liam’s throat.

“You lose,” Liam says. He soundsfar too pleased so Theo sucks on the sensitive spot below Liam’s ear, causinghim to moan.

“Shut up,” Theo mumbles againsthis skin, “you are the absolute worst.”

Liam laughs again, “Yeah but youlove me anyway. And you want me.”

“You want me just as much LittleWolf,” Theo proves his point by rocking his hips forward, both of them moaningat the sensation.

“I do,” Liam says, nails rakingalong Theo’s back, “I don’t think I’m going to last long.”

“Me either,” Theo says, fittinghis leg between Liam’s in an effort to bring their bodies closer together. Justfeeling Liam’s hard length rubbing against his own after almost a week oflittle to no contact between them is making him have to reign in his control tostop himself from coming, and it’s barely been a minute.

Liam’s hand moves down to Theo’sass, using his grip to pull Theo tighter against him. They speed up theirthrusts, the sensation of their cocks rubbing against each other pushing themboth closer to the edge.

Theo moves his head up, meetingLiam’s lips in a hot and needy kiss. One of his hands slams into the wall nextto Liam’s head, needing leverage as he picks up the pace, losing any semblanceof control he had. He feels his claws come out, leaving marks along the tile.He has the brief thought that they’ll have to explain that before his focusgoes back to Liam. The noises Liam is making should be considered illegal.

“I’m close,” Theo gasps out, hipsstuttering a bit.

“Me too,” Liam says, throwing hishead back with a long moan, “I need you to touch me.”

Theo complies, bringing a handdown and wrapping it around Liam’s aching cock. Liam groans, pushing up intoTheo’s hand, urging him on as Theo starts stroking. It’s an awkward angle butit seems to be enough.

Theo winces when he feels Liam’sclaws pierce his skin but he doesn’t stop, instead moving his hand faster in aneffort to bring Liam the release he so desperately desires.

He has to close his eyes, restinghis forehead against Liam’s when the beta moves his hand down to wrap aroundTheo’s neglected cock. He was close to coming before, but feeling Liam’sfingers wrapped so perfectly around him is almost enough to push him over theedge.

“Liam…”

“I know,” Liam pants, “me too. I’malmost…”

Liam’s words end in a moan as hestills, spilling his release between them. Theo hisses when Liam’s griptightens momentarily around him, before loosening. Theo bats his hand away,replacing it with his own as he desperately tries to find his own release. Afew more strokes and he joins Liam, spilling over his hand and abdomen.

He lets himself stay there amoment, forehead resting against Liam’s as they both get their breathing undercontrol. He looks down between them and grimaces. They’re both a mess. Theo’smomentarily grateful they’re in the shower and don’t have to go far to wash up.They still have to move, and that’s not something he feels like doing rightnow. He places small kisses across Liam’s face before Liam groans and ducks hishead.

“I still won,” Liam mumblesagainst his shoulder, “we’re getting a dog.”

Theo sighs, running a hand downLiam’s back, “Yes Liam, we’re getting a dog.”

Liam is quiet for a moment beforespeaking again, voice quiet, “Maybe a cat too.”

Theo hides his smile in Liam’shair.

*

A year later they move into theirnew house. It’s outside of town and only a couple miles away from the new houseDerek had built. The two of them wanted peace away from everything but it’salso nice to have some members of the pack nearby. It’s a month later when Liamdrags Theo to the local animal shelter for them to find their dog. Theo hadtalked Liam down from getting a big dog, saying that he wanted to start withsomething small.

Turns out, it’s Theo that has theproblem sticking to his own restrictions. The small dogs are cute but Theokeeps finding himself drawn to a Rottweiler puppy. Most of the people in theshelter have been steering clear, veering more towards the smaller dogs. Theosmiles, peering into the cage, “Hey there big guy.”

The dog looks at him, but keepshis distance towards the back of the cage. One of the volunteers sees Theo withthe dog and walks over, “I wouldn’t bother. He’s not a fan of people. Shame.”

“I’d still like to try,” Theosays, looking from the dog over to the volunteer.

The man shrugs, opening up thecage for Theo, “You can try but I’m telling you, he’s not a people person.Don’t say I didn’t warn you if he bites.”

Theo bends down, getting at eyelevel with the cage, before slowly sticking his hand out towards the dog. Thedog stares at Theo’s hand a moment before getting to his feet and hesitantlywalking forward to sniff Theo’s hand. Theo keeps as still as possible, notwanting to startle the dog. He can’t help but smile when the dog licks his handand pads closer to him. Taking that as a sign, Theo picks the dog up, holdingit closer to his chest. He laughs happily when the dog immediately startslicking at his face.

“So much for a small dog,” Liamsays, “and not being a dog person.”

Theo glances over at him, “Thesmall dogs are cute but I found myself drawn to this guy.”

“Well he certainly seems to likeyou. Which from what I hear is a major accomplishment with this dog.”

“He just needed someone to givehim a chance,” Theo says, “let him prove that he’s not as scary as he looks.”

“Oh man,” Liam says, a fond smileappearing on his face, “he’s like you in dog form.”

Theo rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”

“No he totally is! We have to getthis dog.”

“Because he’s like me?”

“Because you’ve bonded with him. Idon’t think that’s going to happen with anyone else.”

“We need to make sure he likes youtoo,” Theo says, “we can’t bring a dog home that only likes one of us.”

The dog stills, eyeing Liam warilywhen he approaches them. He looks to Theo first and sensing Theo’s ease turnshis head to Liam, sniffing at his hand. Theo lets out a relieved breath whenthe dog gives a few smalls lick to Liam’s hand.

“He likes me fine,” Liam says,“maybe not as much as you. But enough for us to bring him home.”

“Really?” Theo asks, smiling athis boyfriend.

“Really,” Liam grins, “now let’sget that paperwork so we can adopt this guy and get him home.”

Afew hours later they walk into their home, their new dog along with them. Liamrolls his eyes when Theo suggests they name him Warlock, but agrees when hesees the excited smile Theo gets when the dog barks at the name.

*

“Liam, I swear you need to stopgiving Warlock treats,” Theo calls out when the dog runs past him with yetanother dog treat in his mouth. They’ve had the dog a few weeks but Liam isstill shamelessly spoiling him every chance he gets, “you’re spoiling him. Andhe’s going to get fat.”

“I doubt it with as much as heruns around,” Liam says, “and he deserves to be spoiled a bit.”

“Liam…”

“Fine you heartless bastard. I’llstop giving the dog treats.”

Theo’s breath leaves him for amoment, his hand moving up to his chest on instinct. It was a light heartedcomment. He knows it. But all the memories of his sister come rushing back tohim. He makes an excuse and goes into the kitchen, leaning back against the countertrying to take a few deep breaths. Warlock whines and knocks his head againstTheo’s legs and Theo absentmindedly scratches the dog behind his ears.

“I’m fine,” He says, not sure ifhe’s talking to himself or the dog.

“Are you?” Liam asks, “Because youdon’t look fine.”

“I am,” Theo says, not quitemeeting Liam’s gaze.

“Is it about what I said?”

“No.”

“Theo.”

Theo gives a self-deprecating smile, “Surprise, I have feelings and you just hurtthem.”

“Theo…” Liam sighs, walking closerto his boyfriend, “I didn’t mean it. You know that.”

“I do. I know. Some words justtrigger memories that I’d rather not relive.”

“I should know that by now,” Liamsays, putting his hands on Theo’s hips.

“Just like I should be able todifferentiate between a joke and someone being serious,” Theo says, “Especiallyyou. I know better.”

“We’ll get there eventually,” Liamsays, “but I need you to talk to me, okay? If I say something that upsets youor triggers something I need you to tell me. Not just go off and brood alone inthe kitchen.”

“I wasn’t alone. Warlock was withme.”

“Theo…”

“Fine. If you say something thatupsets me I’ll tell you,” Theo relents, “but you need to do the same.”

“Agreed.”

Warlock gives a bark from besideTheo’s leg, causing them both to laugh. Theo looks fondly down at the dogbefore looking back at Liam, “Looks like Warlock agrees too.”

[martyrsfall]

his mother’s eyes ;

    ‘he stares down at the silent blue marble of     the earth and thinks of his sister, as he will     at every important moment of his life. he     doesn’t know this yet, but he senses it deep     down in his core. so much will happen, he     thinks, that i would want to tell you.’

                                   - celeste ng, everything i never told you

    His mother’s eyes had been his favourite place to hide as a boy. Whenever panic had riddled his form, it’s to the green hues he’d look, searching for comfort and love, for a sign that everything would be alright. And his searches would always be fruitful, his mother staring back into the brown of his own, a soft smile on her face as she hushed him, reassured him in only ways she could. A gentle brush of fingers over the top of his head, a small kiss upon his forehead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she’d tell him, “nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby. I will never let them hurt you.” And he’d believe her, just like that, the thumping of his heart slowing down, the sweat that glossed his skin simply fading away. His mother said everything was fine, that he needn’t fear. And so, it would be. 

    Onyx and cruel is the most he could remember of them now, blackened with hatred as the horror inside her murdered every bit of light she had left. He hadn’t seen his father with the same look, too scared, too afraid to look up at the man behind him; his hero pushing the barrel of a gun against his head. He’d blocked it from memory, refused to revisit it even when his dreams brought the night his hopes had died back to haunt him. Zeke had idolized their life once, viewed hunters as if they were some kind of hero.

    He’d learned better.

    It’d taken months for Zeke to be able to look at Zoe again, her features bearing the same as their mother’s, her eyes just as green, just as gentle despite all they’d seen. It was too much to stare into them, seeing the woman that had raised him staring back, the woman he’d shot dead without mercy, without hesitance so soon before. 

    And even with so many years passing, Zeke still couldn’t do it for long. He’d give Zoe all the attention she needed in the world, but he could never truly meet her eyes, not really. A quick glance here and there before he focuses on the bridge of her nose, perhaps a stray hair hanging down upon her face, maybe her smile instead. 

    Perhaps it was the fear if he looked too long, he’d see her change too.

    Leaning over the engine of the car, Zeke wipes his hands on his shirt, the oil and grime leaving dark and slick lines across the fabric. It was routine maintenance now, a little bit of TLC for a home that had carried him for thousands of miles. She was an old girl, beat up and battered in more ways than one and if the world was right, perhaps she’d of been retired by now. If he’s honest, he’d considered it more than once before Zoe had gone missing, but after, he hadn’t the heart to part with the only thing he had left connecting him to her. 

    It doesn’t stop him from talking shit to the old thing though, standing straight with a shake of his head. “Fuckin’ thing,” he grumbles, reaching up to grab the hood, slamming it down with a loud bang of frustration. “I just fixed you. Why you gotta fuck with me now, huh?” He taps a tire with his foot, crossing his arms over his chest in some stance of defiance. “We’re gonna fall out one of these days, I’m tellin’ you--”

    “Ezekiel.” 

    “Jesus fucking christ.” The hunter, for all his bravado and confidence, quite literally almost jumps a foot in the air, hairs on the back of his neck standing on end like some frightened cat. He spins on heel to find Zoe and he places a hand on his chest, the other pointing at his sister with a huff of breath. “You scared the shit outta me, what the hell Zo.” He doubles over slightly, puts his hands on his thighs as he steadies himself. It’s playful, a tad dramatic and childish. It’s a curious thing, however, how she’d managed to sneak up on him though. The courtyard made every footstep sound loud and clear to the hunter, able to hear someone approaching before they’d even made it outside. Zoe hadn’t made a single sound. He could hardly hear her breathing, even now as she stood so close.

    “Ezekiel,” Zoe says again, her tone far more serious, his name leaving her lips so sharp it surprises him. The look on her face is enough to bring his little display to an end, standing taller again, the protective big brother side of him settling into place. Had something else happened within the house? He couldn’t say he’d noticed. He couldn’t even say he’d been paying attention. Every part of him simply didn’t want to. But now? He can’t drag the worry away, put the job to bed. Had he ever given it up so easily like that? When did he start letting his guard down like this? 

    “What’s wrong?” Zeke asks, his brows furrowing slightly as Zoe’s expression ceases to give anything more away, her features... empty, lacking the life and determination they usually carried. 

    “It’s your fault,” Zoe tells him, “everything is your fault.” 

    Zeke’s expression hardens, his eyes looking to his sister’s in search of something more than emptiness and accusations. “Zo, I don’t--”      “You let them die. Why didn’t you do something?”     “Who? Zo I--”     “Why didn’t you find me, Ezekiel?” 

    Brows furrow, watching Zoe closely. This wasn’t... like her. Sure, there had been times when she’d questioned the things he’d done. Maybe at one time, there’d been resentment there, rightfully so, for killing their mother. But somewhere along the line, she’d understood. She’d accepted it, perhaps even forgiven him.

    She says his name again, his full name, and it’s now that Zeke notices how she holds herself differently, how the tone of her voice isn’t the sound of his adoring baby sister looking to him like he’s her hero. Zoe never called him ‘Ezekiel’. Ever. And so a hand moves slowly to the pistol holstered at his side, eyes narrowing towards the woman in front of him, a question hanging on his lips. One he never gets the chance to voice, for Zoe answers it for him first with her eyes.

    Black; the colour of coal. Cruel and onyx, void of all the love she’d ever showed him.

    His mother’s eyes.

    “Ezekiel, where have you been? Where were you?” she asks him, taking a few steps forward, a wide grin on her face, one too cruel to belong to Zoe. “Where were you when I needed you the most?” 

    It’s a sickening thing, to draw a weapon on his sister without hesitation, the hunter in him and the reflexes from years of training and fighting kicking in. He points the gun at Zoe, the safety already off, finger hovering over the trigger in steady hands. His body knows how to work. It’s muscle memory and experience. His mind, however, is falling apart. 

    Not again. Not again. Don’t do this to me again.

    “Let her go,” he says, his voice wavering, gravelly and lacking the fierce confidence it usually had. It betrays him, showing his fear. “Let my sister go. There’s more than enough bodies in there for you to take, goddammit, let her go.”

    “No.” 

    Zeke had given up on God a long time ago, standing within a church in the middle of no where, candlelight dancing upon the dark walls. All his life, he had questioned, had wondered if there was more to all of this, more than the demons and the monsters he’d dedicated his entire being to killing. 

    He had prayed to the man on the moon when his father had died, standing beside his mother as they burned his corpse in a lonely, abandoned field. He could still feel his father’s blood sticking to his face, the splatter from his mother’s shot drowning him in red. He’d asked then, watching the fires lick and consume his father’s body, that God watch over them. He’d begged Him not to take his mother too, to let his sister grow up. ‘Please let us live,’ he’d asked, ‘please.’ 

    He’d prayed when he murdered his mother; a shot between the eyes just like she’d taught him. He’d asked the heavens for forgiveness, asked him to let his mother know that he loved her, that he never wanted to do it. That he’d had to, that it was the only way to keep Zoe safe. 

    For all the jobs his mother had given him, protecting Zoe was the most important one. “Keep her safe, Zeke,” she’d said the day she was born, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Promise me.”     “I promise,” he’d whispered back, Zoe in his arms, looking down upon the newborn like she was some kind of angel. He’d murmured the promise into the soft tufts of hair on her head over and over, swearing he’d never let anything hurt her. 

    And then, Zoe left him too. 

    “God has plans for us all, my son,” the Father had told him, placing a hand upon Zeke’s shoulder like his words would mean anything, like he could find comfort within the church, standing before a statue of Christ who held his arms wide open, as if he were welcoming him home. “You must have faith.”      “Fuck his plans,” Zeke had snarled back like a rabid animal, something ugly and unkind. “He doesn’t deserve my faith.” 

    But now, in this moment, it’s all the man can give. Because that’s simply all he is, isn’t it? A man with a burden that sits too heavy upon his shoulders. A man thrust into a life that, perhaps at one time, he’d of been happy to live, where he’d looked to hunters as heroes, defenders of the weak, destroyers of monsters. Please. Please help me, Zeke begged in his head, watching how his sister began to approach, power crackling at her fingertips. Power that wasn’t hers. Please don’t make me do this.

    “This is how it ends,” Zoe -- no -- the demon cooed, laughter in its voice, “this is how it will always end. It began with you, Ezekiel, and it will end with you.” 

    Please. Please God, don’t make me do this.

    “Zoe--” He rests his finger on the trigger, tells himself the same thing he told himself the night he killed his mother. ‘She wouldn’t want to hurt anyone. She wouldn’t want to hurt you. She’d ask you to do this. She’d understand.’

    “If you can hear me--” Zeke continues as Zoe raises her hands, dark energy flooding to her finger tips. He feels his chest begin to tighten, his breath catching in his throat.

    No, no no no, don’t make me do this. Please. Oh God, please.

    “I’ll find you again. I’ll always find you.”

    Please. I’m begging you. Don’t make me do this.

    Zoe grins, raises her hand, rushes towards him to attack.

    Please.

    “I love you, Zo.”

    Zeke doesn’t hear the gunshot, doesn’t feel the way his finger squeezes the trigger one, two times. The world moves in slow motion around him. The bullets leave the barrel of the gun in flashes, move through the air in line with each other, find the space between Zoe’s eyes. He watches the crimson burst from the back of her head in a a cloud, falling like soft rain behind her. The black in her eyes shift back to green, the dark taking the light of life that lingered for the briefest second with it. 

    She falls backwards, and Zeke drops his gun.

    He catches her, because he would always catch her and falls to his knees with her in his arms. She’s limp, something warm running down his arm, her hair wet and slick. A trickle of red bleeds from the hole in her forehead, the hole he’d put there and Zeke looks down upon her face and into those eyes.     His mother’s eyes.     Zoe’s eyes.

    Dead.

    A pained sob filled with anguish rips from Zeke’s throat as he pulls his little sister closer, holding her against him, tucking head beneath his chin, the tears falling from his eyes dripping down onto her cheeks. He wails, the sobs wracking his form, cries her name over and over whilst he rocks her back and forth in his arms. She lays still within his grasp, doesn’t protest to how tightly he hangs onto her.

    ‘Gotta breathe, Zeke.’

    So breathe. Come back. Come back. Come back--

    She doesn’t, and he’s left alone again. She’s another body, another name on the list of people he’d killed, murdered, hadn’t been able to save. Now, he had the blood of his entire family staining his skin, their deaths his fault. 

    Zeke tilts his head back and lets out an agonizing scream.