Memento Mori

"Some people don't know what they have until it's gone." "But what about the ones who do know? The ones who never took a damn thing for granted? Who tried their hardest to hold on, yet could only look on helplessly while they lost the thing they loved the most. Isn't it so much worse for them?" - Lang Leav

XXX

Shake it.

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"I'm not I-" Ezekiel had lost them so quickly, one after another they'd fallen like dominos. Rhiannon, Hakan, and now Marcella. There was so much blood under his nails, it had mixed with grave dirt and Ezekiel wished he could say that any of it was his. "I'm not anything without you, without-" Without the father-figure he'd only just found, without the best friend he'd only just made. "Please, not another one not, not like this not-" It shouldn't have been possible for him to hurt anymore, but the pain that he'd felt from losing Hakan was nearly eclipsed by the agony that came from losing a progeny.

It was a common saying among mortals that parents were never supposed to bury their children. They were meant to be immortal, to stand at the top of the world together, forever. Laughing at the centuries as they passed them by, languishing in everything that being young, beautiful, and powerful for eternity meant. Gods at the dawn of their rebirth, Marcella and Ezekiel were only just getting their start... This... It wasn't just wrong or unfair, it was downright cruel.

"Please." Pleading as if hope and desperation was enough to bring the vampire back to life, like a single wish was all it would take to return his progeny to him. Rough, filthy fingers ran over her matted hair, moved the graveyard across her skin. Marcella's eyes had closed but she might as well have been sleeping; Ezekiel had buried her once and it had kind of been just like this. Back then he'd twisted her neck to an unnatural angle, and then bent it back so her transition was easier. He'd lifted the earth and used it to veil her like he'd been preparing Marcella to marry the night. Poetic, she'd called it.

At any moment Marcella would open her eyes again, Ezekiel cradled her face against his chest and rocked back and forth, he waited weeping for his progeny to return just like she had before. His eyes were fixed upon that headstone he'd had placed in her honour, Marcella's body was never intended to stay there but now she'd have a place next to Hakan's. Next to Hakan's amidst a sea of ancestors, witches who had the fortune of not seeing their home brought to ruin, their beloved city destroyed, and everyone they ever cared about ground under heel.

Once Ezekiel had buried her in shallow dirt, this time he brought her down six feet deep. He remembered a time on a lazy afternoon when there was still a beating heart in her chest, Marcella had sat with her feet up on his table, a history book perched on her lap. She had told him how romantic it was that some sires buried themselves alongside their progeny, that they awoke in their arms and dug their way from the grave hand in hand. He'd laughed at her, because what kind of sick, twisted bitch thought that shit was romantic?

Numb, Ezekiel wandered listlessly around the broken stones until he found wildflowers poking through the ruins of what might have been the old churchyard. There wasn't many, but there were enough so that when he laid her in this dirt that would be her tomb, he could decorate the raven hair that he spilled around her. Against his better judgement, Ezekiel laid next to her as if some bit of that old, macabre story had some hidden magic to it; Marcella's chest was hollow and empty but when he folded her pale hands upon the crevice it didn't look like anything but a trick of the dark. Shadows that had pooled and harmonized with the ichor that stained her skin.

"I never should have left you." They'd gone their separate ways, they shouldn't have done that, he shouldn't have let her run off on her own. Hakan- Ezekiel crumpled again, his lip quivered as he held Marcella's hands over her gaping chest. Hakan had never wanted to be a part of this fight, he was here because of Ezekiel, and Marcella wouldn't have lingered in Rome if he hadn't given her a reason to stay. He'd spent his whole life looking for himself in other people, but one thing was painfully true: Rhiannon, Hakan, Hazal- Among them, Marcella had been the person to make him a man.

He whispered to her before leaving, "You were always the best of me."

Ezekiel climbed from Marcella's grave and buried his progeny before the grave marker that he'd place for her only a couple months prior. Now she and Hakan would rest side by side, forever.

Marcella Astrid Belanades November 17th 1995 - September 30th 2023 Beloved Daughter, Sister, Witch, and Friend Do not stand by my grave and weep Ezekiel Christopher Urquhart August 11th 1995 - September 30th 2022 Beloved Son, Brother, and Witch I am not there, I did not die

Person: @ezekielurquhart Location: Cemetery notes: oh no She'd been foolish, too distracted to look behind her with Ciro on the ground dead. Or he might has well have been, dying and he'd refused her blood, didn't want to take it. If those damn creatures hadn't descended upon her, she might not have even left his body, she might have stayed there to die with him. But she'd made a promise, she'd made a promise and so with tear stained cheeks and blood and gore clinging to her she'd shambled towards the cemetery. It's not something she ever thought about, how much blood she had to lose now before she died. Because as she'd been knelt over Ciro's body, something, she didn't have time to focus on what, had stabbed her clean through the chest from the back. It'd happened so quickly she swore she only felt it afterwards, when the creature had pulled out her lungs and a heart that didn't beat anymore nearly out of her chest. Marcella's right hand rested over the hole now, clutching what is left of the organ that's practically out of her chest. But even as she moves through the winding cemetery, no matter how fast she's still able to move, she knows it is not for long, that this is a death march. "Zeke!" She calls out and blood bubbles forth from her mouth, drips down her chin and she barely makes it to where their graves are before her knees are hitting the ground and she's doubling over, desperately trying to put things back where they're supposed to be. She's crying but she's been crying this whole time, already mourning Ciro, already mourning the future that she said she and Zeke and their little Pluto nest would have. Vaguely she thinks she hears him but everything almost sounds muffled, as if she's been put underwater. Her free raises to his face the moment he's beside her, marking it with her blood. Their blood, the one he'd given new life to in a way. If a progeny died, the pain was supposed to be unimaginable, she can't believe she'll put him through something like that when she's already had a hand in putting him through so much already.

"D-don't cry. Not for-" It goes unfinished, she's loosing too much blood now, her body is desperately trying to heal itself, she can feel it, but it can't heal organs outright being removed, there's no way. More tears are shed because it's not supposed to be like this and she knows this is the last thing she is ever going to tell the man who had once been a boy she'd thought foolish all those years ago, the one that had grown to be her brother. Mustering whatever is left of her strength, she thinks about the conversation they'd had here the time before she'd turned. When they'd talked of the afterlife. When she'd told him she didn't believe in heaven but knew that's where his soul had to be, somewhere safe, somewhere good, somewhere he could be happy.

"You are in the best place because y-you are the best, you're the best of u-us." There's tears and there's blood everywhere and her body is giving up but she's smiling at him. He had such ambition, such trust in his coven as a witch, when he was alive. He was always there, he'd been so kind and helpful that she had actually resented him for it. As a vampire that kindness had come about tenfold, she couldn't believe he'd help her after everything, that he would willing take her under his wing and not just turn her, but accept her in ways she feared no one else ever really would. She's smiling at him and then her hand falls limply from his face, leaving a trail of blood in it's wake. Maybe wherever her soul winds up, there's a slim chance someone will take pity on her and reunite her with Ciro one last time.

Cody Christian - 2019 Summer TCA Portrait Studio - August 4, 2019

CODY CHRISTIAN NUDEMagazine / 2020 › ph. Leigh Keily

I love this. No particular reason why.

"Something like that." Tamlen fucked himself back on Ezekiel's dick, wanting and needy, desperate for just about anyone who'd break him out of this daily monotony of sitting around waiting to be drained. Waiting to be useful. Tamlen's attitude made it hard to feel sorry for him though, circumstances made it hard to feel sorry for anyone. Things were... Everything was... Broken. Ezekiel was broken. Tamlen was broken. The fucking fairy queen was broken, the whole fucking world was broken.

Here they were, a bunch of ragtag heroes, a company of misfits smashed together and told that they had to put their all into putting this shit back together. There was no end to this, there was no saving what was already shattered. Ezekiel could see that, anyone with half a brain had to see that they were all utterly and completely fucked. Fingers tightened on Tamlen's waist as he bucked forward. Ezekiel's knees spread the other's thighs further as he pulled him suddenly closer. He drew back, then pushed in again. There used to be graveyards that housed his friends, the people he loved, and the ones that Ezekiel had mindlessly buried six feet deep with his bare hands.

Split knuckles, broken nails, grime under his eyelids and dead tear stained cheeks. Ezekiel bore into Tamlen again, his fingers curled over the elf's shoulder as he arched his back just enough to lunge deeper into the other. Painting the planes of Tamlen's muscular shoulders with Ezekiel's grip as he pushed his cock in further, and harder. There was a time a few years in when Ezekiel was still visiting old, worn tombstones, he'd place flowers and sit down like there was someone there to talk to. Someone other than Rhiannon's voice nagging him endlessly in his head.

The bed groaned beneath them as Ezekiel found a comfortable tandem for them both. He thrust into the elf again and again, a tempo that mirrored the other's heart and echoed Tamlen's breathing. Grave dirt had fallen away when one of those fucking Gods had pulled the corpses up from the dirt. Loose, rotted skin as Marcella and Hakan lurched forward like zombies or something worse. They knew him, they'd said his name, and he'd ripped them to pieces because who the fuck uses the people someone loves against them.

This war wasn't about winning, there was no winning, not now. They'd lost so many times over and over that this little plan they were putting together was just sad and pathetic. Tamlen was so eager to be of use that he was content to sit around and just be told what to do. Ezekiel hated it, he hated everything, and he was pretty sure he hated everyone on some level as a result. Straightening up he turned the other over again, that pretty face with the flushed cheeks and skin that used to be golden. Ezekiel remembered the beginning, now the ending was something else entirely.

Arched across Tamlen's frame, his fingers threaded through the silver hair of someone who'd never been a friend. When Ezekiel kissed him it wasn't a point of affection, more accurate a term would have just been desperation because as desperate as Tamlen was to find where he belonged in all of this, Ezekiel was trying just as hard to forget. He knew where he stood: he stood at the edge of the world and was waiting for a strong breeze to push him over the edge, he was waiting for whatever big bad was going to beat down their door someday, and he was waiting for this fight to come to a close. There wasn't any brass ring, the elves were holding carrots out on a string and watching everyone run around playing fetch.

There was just this, there was just the end.

Crazy Ezekiel, the one which Tamlen thought himself so above of, was currently ravaging his hole, tonguing it mercilessly after nearly draining Tamlen dry. Obedient little Tamlen, the Worldly had never once attempted to step out of line against what was ordered of him; the only time he'd ever done so was when he'd left the Faerie Court the first time around on some mock pilgrimage as though he could ever aspire to be akin to greats like Laer and Logon. Both who rotted away in the blood orchard while Tamlen sat idly by, had his blood drained and his hole fucked, while others composed a plan to free his Chancellors and his people. It was miserable and the elf truly sat by and blamed those who had ordered him to stay put. Elves couldn't lie but they weren't at the mercy of a command; Tamlen had willed it so and his misery was bred from his own creation.

Zeke hoisted Tamlen by the thighs as the Pluto vampire buried himself within the crevice of plump cheeks, devoured his hole with merciless voracity. His forearms had been placed upon the bed in that perfect position and Tamlen utilized such brace now to push himself upon an already aggressive tongue, a loud moan escaping him as Zeke pulled and loosened velvety musculature with his tongue. When Zeke was lulled into some euphoric high he became, gratefully, a touch more quiet but his intentions were propelled to a higher degree as the vampire feasted upon his ass as though it were his last meal within the catacombs. Tamlen pushed upon the tongue that worked and wormed it's way inside of him, relaxing only as Zeke stopped and spat upon his puckering and loosened hole.

A thumb kept the celestial elf plugged and waiting as Zeke spat upon his crown, burying himself completely within Tamlen. Legs splayed further, body pushed back against Zeke as though the vampire hadn't already bottomed out within the celestial elf, but if there was another inch Zeke could advance upon then Tamlen would discover it. Fists had gripped around thin sheets, not under the notion that he couldn't handle the vampire buried within his hole, but under the notion that it merely gave the elf leverage in such position to bury him further, his hole engulfing the length of the vampire. Tamlen's own head rolled back, a mild sway as he only slightly rocked forward then back upon Zeke, the majority of his length still buried within the elf.

"All these instances and it's still tight for you," moments where Tamlen exchanged his ichor had increased over the years. Where once he'd never allow a lowly vampire to touch him he'd suddenly debase himself for the very exchange but the words provoked a challenge for Zeke, the celestial elf shifting his muscularly taut frame up the length of the vampire, until only his crown remained within Tamlen before the elf fell back again until his cock was buried once more.

Tongue slipped between Gabriel's cheeks, Ezekiel pushed the strong muscle passed that tight, resistant ring as a calloused hand snaked through the dhampir's thighs. Wrapped around the other's hard cock, Ezekiel gave it a few, playful tugs as he pushed his tongue in as far as he could manage. His grip tightened before he drew back just enough so that he could spit in his palm and resume the hungry caress of his lips and his tongue.

Between Ezekiel's thighs the vampire bucked in time with Gabriel's movements, always taking just a bit more than what the dhampir was giving him. Never entirely satisfied with anything less than the back of the other's throat. He'd given Gabriel time to recover, his leg lifted as his calf moved to the back of the dhampir's head, pushing down a bit and holding him there. Shallow thrusts into the back of Gabriel's head, pushed across the tarmac of his friend's tongue, Ezekiel relished in the hedonistic rise of his dead pulse. Relenting quickly, tongue still in Gabriel's ass, he pulled back to spit directly on the other's holle. Smeared across that wet, puckered entrance, Ezekiel couldn't think about anything else but getting in. Then again, he supposed that was the whole point.

"Alright-" Ezekiel said as he tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling, relished a bit longer in the feeling of Gabriel's mouth around his cock. He could have laid there until the dhampir finished him off but that didn't really feel fair all things considered. Besides, after having his tongue so far up the man's ass they were basically playing tonsil hockey, Ezekiel wanted in. "I've gotta fuck you." His hand landed on the other's cheek with an air of finality, not enough to call it a smack, but more like something he'd have found in the locker room once when he was telling someone they'd played a good game.

Gabriel wasn't assertive by any means, Ezekiel probably could have said just about anything and the dhampir would have given him those sad eyes, sheepish smile, and just went along for the ride. Happy to get fucked, happy to get off, and just as grateful as the vampire to find an escape that brought him outside of his head. That was all they could really do for each other, find some stray bits of happiness in a broken and fucked up world. Solace in the fleeting moments that came between heartache and ruin. So, Ezekiel didn't ask how the other wanted it because putting that kind of decision in Gabriel's hands was asking too much. "Lay on your side Gabe," Ezekiel encouraged, hand at the small of the dhampir's back as he moved an easy circle there.

The ragtag little group of survivors all had their purpose within the catacombs, but it was rather clear that each would rather spend their time with anyone else, those who hadn't survived the End of the freaking world. Gabriel was appreciative that Zeke, Gael, and Emory had made it to the other side and he would never be heartless enough to speak upon the others out loud; but the dhampir -guileless and equipped with a bleeding heart- often pleaded there were others who'd made it into the fold. What purpose did their survival warrant if each could barely stand another? Some got along okay, but their heart was not in building new relationships with those in close quarters, moving on; everybody was merely interesting in digging up the past, shifting them back to a plane of possibility that returned their loved ones to this mortal coil.

Gabriel was embarrassingly low effort, a raging pillow princess, and he'd surprised even himself at the insurmountable thirst he garnered that warranted him to climb atop the other instead of convincing Zeke to slip atop him and ravage. He could moan, whimper, beg; but the nitty gritty handy work wasn't necessarily his thing; sort of a buzzkill for some people. Zeke hadn't minded before, sometimes one merely needed a warm body to linger next to, something warm to embrace them; in turn, Gabriel had never minded to be used. It revolved around that pathetically morose piece of him; before Rowan and Emma, love hadn't been a lucky thing for the dhampir. He hadn't stopped looking but he was always quite clingy and overbearing if he was discovered to have a crush upon somebody; they were all lucky that within 15 years of close quarters he hadn't truly set his sights on anybody in a romantic ideal.

Explorative hands cupped his cheeks in tandem with the length of Zeke hitting the back of his throat; through all his pillow princessy antics he supposed the grander perk was his minimal gag reflex. Zeke's tongue glided across the plane between hole and balls, it allowed a moan to spill forth from his throat around the expanse of Zeke's cock invading his mouth. The Pluto vampire moved swiftly, hips bucking in some bout of impatience that Gabriel eagerly lapped up, jaw unhinged and legs splayed as though it would offer further access to Gabriel's wet and willing hole. Zeke gingerly locked his head into place, bucking in a rhythmic tandem across the tarmac of his tongue, prompting Gabriel's hand to slither forth and give a tender and encouraging squeeze to the vampire's balls. Moans slipped forth, breathy and pleading as Zeke ravaged both his taint and mouth.

Zeke paused as the inherent tears pooled in the dhampir's eyes, and though they weren't facing each other, Gabriel almost lazily grinned, one hand clutching Zeke's balls as the other now stroked from base to spit-soaked crown. A whimper escaped Gabriel as Zeke slowed to an agonizing pace, Gabriel was always horrendously impatient and he rolled his hips in marked frustration at the faint brush of Zeke's lips upon his hole. "Please," whinged out in a needy breath, he dripped spit upon Zeke's crown and welcomed it into pursed and half-swollen lips again as though the sordid act of perforating his throat would only encourage Zeke further. The roll of Zeke's tongue upon his taut hole had Gabriel whine upon the cock that occupied his mouth, spittle dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he attempted to focus on that, instead of the way Zeke toyed with him.

The only tether that Ezekiel still had to his old life was standing right in front of him, now and then Gael walked towards what had to be certain fucking doom, but the fact that the man had made it this long without getting ripped open from stem to sternum had to mean something. Gael had been Hakan's thrall, Hakan the man that was more of a father to Ezekiel than his own absent and deadbeat dad had been. He'd been looking out for Gael for- well, even when he was back in that cage. Rivals, friends, brothers, Ezekiel had a list of names of people he loved about a mile long, Gael's wasn't going to be one of them.

"Yeah man, you know I won't." Ezekiel said as some of the drones floated by the mouth of the alley as the two stayed close to the shadows of the walls. Gael was still optimistic, that wasn't a quality that Ezekiel had been able to hold onto. Maybe this plan worked, maybe they went back, but things never really seemed to work out for them. Not these days, and certainly not in the last fifteen years. Time was proof that if nothing else they were all well and truly fucked. "Lets just head back, yeah?" He held up the bag of supplies, "We got what we came out here for anyway."

✧₤✧

Gael didn't know why, maybe it was some residual impulse from his time with Monster. Who knows, but he couldn't see those strange creatures without feeling that tickle in his guts. "I'm sorry Zeke, I didn't mean to worry you. It was an accident, I don't know what's wrong with me."

He wanted to stay loyal and focused. Vampires deserved his everything and for a while they were his entire world. But things have changed so much and the world was much more complicated. He felt he needed to protect Zeke, but besides his blood he didn't really know how to do that. "Don't tell the others about this, okay? I don't want anyone to think I'm slipping. I've still got to look after you, at least until things get ... well less like this."

Finely attuned to every moan and sigh, Ezekiel had been here too many times to count. If he listened to the soft flutter of someone's heartbeat he didn't have to hear the rampant thoughts that ran through his head. If he looked into those sad, brown eyes instead of his own reflection then he wouldn't have to face the things he'd done or the things that he'd seen on the path to this... Survival, if you could call it that. Gabriel, like so many others, was an escape. The truth was that it didn't matter how fast or how far he ran because everywhere Ezekiel went then there he was still, for a few moments though those sad eyes might very well have been Remi's. These veins might have been the faiman's when they had first started out, and this body, this pulse, it could have been him.

Sad eyes nodded above that characteristically sheepish smile before Ezekiel laid back on the bed. Back flat against the mattress as Gabriel climbed over top of him, mouth wrapped around Ezekiel's cock as the vampire's head tilted back. He wouldn't complain, this much effort was rare enough because from everything he knew about the dhampir, he knew the halfblooded was much more receptive to laying back and just going with the flow. Ezekiel was content to take what he could get, that the dhampir was doing this much only served to get his dick that much harder.

That pert, round ass landed in front of his face and out of habit his hands landed on either side as Ezekiel took an affirming, possessive grip of each cheek and kneaded them back and forth. He pulled them apart and idly licked his lips, pushed them back together again as strong hands moved to mounds with familiar ease. His mouth found Gabriel's taint first, the flat of his tongue moved against it in a sloppy, wet tandem; lavished across the breadth beneath the dhampir's hole, Ezekiel groaned against it as he idly bucked his hips up into Gabriel's mouth.

Wet, warm, and wanting. Ezekiel felt soft, raven hair between his muscular thighs before the vampire closed them on either side of Gabriel's head. There he idly held him as he bucked and made shallow thrusts across the tarmac of the dhampir's tongue. Everything about Gabriel was always taut and smooth, sheepish and dauntless all at the same time. Ezekiel loosened his grip enough to let the dhampir catch his breath, beading head leaking as his hard, slick cock throbbed, wanting.

With painstaking, slow precision, Ezekiel's mouth migrated from below Gabriel's balls to the dhampir's tight, perky hole. Spread wide, he brushed his lips against it first, rolled the flat of his soft, wet tongue across the surface of that firm, muscular ring. Strong arms tightened a bit around Gabriel's lower back as he pulled the dhampir that much closer, close enough to bury his face between his cheeks without ever so much as penetrating him. Amidst all this hell this was the closest that the vampire could get to feeling alive again. Gabriel's body was warm across his, the dead creature stayed fixed at room temperature, not quiet cool unless the weather called for it. Above him though he could feel the dhampir's heart beating hard enough that Ezekiel could feel it against his abdomen.

The dhampir was not immortal but he had a slowed lapse of aging, perhaps for the eladrin who survived, the vampires; all of this had gone by within a blink of an eye, deaths still fresh. For Gabriel, it felt he too was buried amidst the rubble, lungs choked with ash and drowning as years carried on and Rowan nor Emma did not appear. Gabriel clung mercilessly, cruelly, to a false sense of hope; they'd each survived through a myriad of life's cruel trials, they always came out the other side relatively unscathed. Emma had perished once before and it took Gabriel far too long to humble himself with the reminder that the only reason she'd been brought back was under the selfish ruse of a friend; tormented in life as a faiman and thus tormented in death as she was brought forth as a ghoul. Emma had crumpled on the battlefield and the very moment played within the dhampir's mind as though it had been yesterday; a deal severed and retracted upon, her brilliance cast out again into the great unknown.

Some days, in lapses of his own survival instinct, Gabriel pleaded to join them, was too cowardly to take such lethal plunge himself; but Death never came through. Nights where he begged to be found in whatever pleasant circle the two had to be within now, an after life that had to be far better than surviving through the Great Old Ones that pilfered the earth, made this mortal realm seemingly unsalvageable. The greedy exchange was a payoff for the both of them, Zeke and Gabriel vied to be freed from their vivid recollections of days that could never be. It was a shared torment, something they and basically all of the other survivors wished to ignore. Some were far better at swallowing their grief, but in these moments, pierced with a fang, Gabriel could truly have the best attempt to forget.

Blood drained rapidly from the vein but it melded with the venom that dripped from Zeke's fangs, that euphoric feeling a blanketed sheet that rose within him swiftly. It made drowning that much more pleasant, the smile remained, it deepened; coy and blissful as fingers curled and pumped within him. The tarmac of Zeke's tongue ran upon the inner portion of Gabriel's thigh and the dhampir could only muster a subconscious shiver through his body, his hole clenching as another finger followed suit from the vampire.

Zeke trailed upwards now, followed a similar ascension up the lithe musculature of Gabriel's frame, husky breath and undead air exhaled upon his neck, cradling the shell of his ear. Gabriel was more of a willing object to be used, Rowan often mocked him a pillow princess and his late boyfriend hadn't been wrong. Gabriel could roll his hips, wrap plush lips around a cock, and gag until he was reduced to teary eyes and lengths of spittle, but he didn't often go out of his way hop atop someone and go. Zeke curled Gabriel's fingers around his cock and a breath escaped Gabriel, enthused and antsy at the very idea to be drilled until his brain short circuited and he didn't have to think about surviving, or those who were dead and gone. Gabriel pumped slow strokes within the grip on Zeke's cock, a slow nod confirming the very idea, sad eyes finding Zeke's amidst the haze of tangled limbs as he nodded for the other to lay down so Gabriel could climb atop him and sink his mouth upon the aforementioned prize. It was probably the most effort Gabriel had ever put into wrapping his lips around anything, gosh, Rowan would probably be so jealous of the thought and -- focus. The dhampir rolled forward, all lanky limbs and rock hard need, crawling towards Zeke's groin to sink plush lips down the entirety of the base and his hole and balls was presented atop the other; if Zeke had missed his mouth so much he'd ensure the moist cavern was to take him in entirely.

It didn't feel fair but it didn't feel like much of anything. Maybe that was the point that Rhiannon had been hammering on about for so long, lose enough and the pain got harder and simultaneously more comfortable. Immortality meant suffering, and surviving meant outliving the person standing next to you. I won't be like you. Those had been his words, and he'd meant them back then; back when the world had felt like it was ending because Ezekiel felt broken hearted over a guy he'd broken up with. Stupid, trivial nonsense. He understood now why Rhiannon had nearly thrown him out the window because if he caught anyone doing the same these days he might very well do the same. Plastered to the floor and staring at a ceiling, wasting good alcohol with a sob story. Stupid and fucking childish.

Ezekiel turned the ring over around his finger, silently contemplative as he fiddled with his father's stupid heirloom. It didn't really mean anything to him, but it was a ring and Ezekiel had it spelled against daylight once upon a time. Now it was more a matter of usefulness, but the bracers and shin guards he wore, the ravenskull around his neck. They mattered, also useful, and also stupidly sentimental. "I wouldn't have let you go off like that." More likely there would've been no stopping her, but Ezekiel had lost it himself more than once, he'd just been lucky t6hat it hadn't been on the battlefield at the time. He raised an accusatory finger at her, "You shouldn't have-" a hissed, hushed whisper through the dark before he bit it off, balled his fist and bounced it against his knee. Quieter, he added, "You shouldn't have gone out like that." Soldiers drowned in the mud though, and men died shitting themselves; still, Ezekiel had always thought Rhiannon would've been the last one standing. If he'd have put money down, it would've been on her. "You should still be here."

"Because I did what I came here to do. I lived, laughed, loved," she recounted mockingly, "all the shit that Homegoods said I was supposed to do... and then some. Besides, you saw." Magnus had died right with her. Ezekiel might not have seen what exactly had happened but if he'd noted anything by the trails that her quick feet had left behind in her rampage - she had been ruthless, careless, angry, hurt. A sensible survivalist would not have acted the way she did; they would have likely run back. Rhiannon never acted that way. There were few things that would have put her in that situation and Magnus had been just as dead when Ezekiel found them.

"Caring gets you killed, which is... probably one reason why you're still alive. A lot of the things that you care about are gone." Rhiannon didn't say it cruelly, at least not by tone, but she spoke it so casually as if it was just a simple fact of life. "That happens." She leaned down slightly to look him in the eyes. "Caring also does happen to be unavoidable sometimes, even I wasn't immune to it." She stood back up, looking down at him. "The fact I cared enough to try to keep in contact with you on that battlefield when you'd definitely be useless to me anyway should have said enough about what a disgusting softie I could be." Their squads had been very seperated and Rhiannon would have been far too proud to have called on Ezekiel for help with anything at all, not while she'd had Magnus at her side and then some. She had told Ezekiel to focus on himself and, yet, he had contact with her. Logically, it was for his sake rather than her own.

"You're still dead." Ezekiel repeated, the back of his head hit the wall as he glowered at the vampire opposite him, "And so is everyone else." For the most part anyways, seemed like some big names survived because they were... Ezekiel didn't really know. Why some were here and others weren't didn't make sense to him, Titania was strong and Mars was strong, but Keket had been strong too. Powerful. Maybe because the first two were a unit and Keket- Ezekiel turned his father's ring over on his finger, Keket was just as alone as the rest of them in the end.

She'd tried though, she'd had hope. That hopelessness bug that Rhiannon was talking about hadn't sprouted wings just yet, it was after Haven after 'Tic and Remi and- another loss. "Fucking dead." He repeated as he hit his head more slowly this time against the wall, "Why?" She'd practically been first, not really on the technicalities but on the list of people who had broken him down, Rhiannon was at the top of the list. Magnus was cool but a step dad he'd made one tiktok with wasn't making the cut for who Ezekiel cried over. "Why you?" A survivor. "And why fucking me." Zeke was supposed to be the guy that died cleaning his own gun.

I'm still here, aren't I? "I literally don't know how somedays," Rhiannon muttered under her breath as he continued. The Juno vampire would have pointed out many flaws in his coping of the apocalypse, not least of which was talking to the air. She'd survived many ends, not one of them included her going insane. She would never have called herself insane. Callous maybe, apathetic and selfish, sure. Miserable? Maybe sometimes. In hindsight, many people had once or twice called her insane. But, if true, Rhiannon would have used Ezekiel's favorite metaphors and called the brand of insanity that she was wearing Gucci while his was, at best, Adidas.

"I told you, life is just gonna get more difficult when it comes to immortality. I told you that you were going to lose a lot. I told you war won't be a joke once you actually get to know it. I would have taught you more if I had the time, including cool magical artifacts," Rhiannon stood up, flinging the nail filer to one side. "That attitude? It's just your hopelessness manifesting. I got at least a few centuries before I caught the hopelessness bug and you're like... what? 20?" She chuckled softly. "Yikes. But hey, I was also right about something else: you're a survivor."

It might have been sweet if it hadn't otherwise just been kind of sad, at least they could be familiar to each other. Familiar enough that Ezekiel could imagine that Gabriel was someone else, and familiar enough that Gabriel could do the same if he wanted to. They didn't really ask each other questions like that because it felt like a bridge too far, in truth the world being over was something Ezekiel knew almost as much about as he did the world before. Eventually the losses just felt... Distant wasn't the right word, because they were still screaming, but more like they were yelling from another room and while Ezekiel could always hear it he didn't have to open the door. Nights like this helped with the sound proofing.

Venomous fangs buried deep into Gabriel's skin, they seeped the vampire's telltale signature into the dhampir's veins as Ezekiel happily drank from the other in return. Long lashes kept blue eyes hidden as the wash of warm blood flooded over his senses. The aphrodisiac hit immediately and went straight to his cock, throbbing between muscular thighs as Ezekiel traded one mouthful for another. This artery bled quickly, but the last thing that he wanted to do was hurt Gabriel or take any more than he needed to. His venom was in the dhampir's system, and the other's blood had made its way into Ezekiel's cut. He drank, but he also bit his tongue and let what little vampiric blood would dribble out brush against one of the puncture wounds. Short, sweet, but enough to mend the wound before Gabriel bled out.

There was some mess, but nothing that Ezekiel wasn't intent to lap up as he ran the width of his tongue along the sensitive skin of Gabriel's inner thigh. The dhampir was always pliant, all soft moans and need. He could tell what he liked and what he didn't like, what parts to press and where to press his lips. Readable and familiar, he turned his finger inside of Gabriel and then added another.

Twin holes closed and sealed with another kiss, Ezekiel navigated the dhampir's body once more, found the length of Gabriel's jawline, and then the shell of his ear. Warmth practically shuttered and hummed under his skin, he wanted to break out of it, break through, tear into anything, or tear into anyone, but for the moment he exercised some restraint. If for no other reason than he'd become familiar with what it felt like to have Gabriel flowing through him. A sigh of dead air ran along the other's neck, this wasn't Remi, but if he closed his eyes he could imagine that it was. That was enough because it had to be enough, because even with dhampir's blood a daydream was the closest Ezekiel was going to get. "I've been thinking about your mouth ever since I left," whispered along the shell of the other's ear, he brought Gabriel's hand to his cock, closing the dhampir's grip around him as he did. The heat coming off of him made him almost feel alive, but there was a point he was getting at, "So... Sixty-nine before I blow that back out?"

Gabriel had seen the staggering differences within Zeke, how he'd retained his gluttony but lost everything else. It was within their grief-laden chatter, through the piercing of fangs, the tether of the Thrall bond, that they'd discussed their mutual knowledge of Rhia. He'd not known how important she was to Zeke, how she was practically a mother; it hurt more in retrospect, now that Rhiannon was gone. Rhiannon had personally summoned herself as a watchful eye over Gabriel and it seemed, even in Death, that she lingered to guide these two to survival. Perhaps Gabriel stuck around to watch as Zeke talked to himself -went a touch loopy and off the deepend- because Zeke was once a familiarity, a fragment of a past they could no longer return to. Perhaps it was mere sympathy, a bleeding heart who couldn't dare to sit and watch as somebody fell into despair and heartache. In any respect, Gabriel decided he was Zeke's friend, through to the very, embittered end.

Gabriel's shirt was stripped along with his pants, the tattoo that Rowan had placed upon him all those years ago was unearthed as the long-sleeved shirt was shed and all the dhampir could do was inhale sharply, focus his gaze back upon Zeke. The vampire needn't wait for an invitation, he slipped forth readily between Gabriel's legs, shifted him back comfortably upon the mattress and a smile settled unto the dhampir once more, accompanied with a small sigh. Zeke was handsy but the dhampir welcomed it, rolling his hips up in tandem with the way Zeke rocked into them. Rowan had once taken to prying Gabriel apart bit by bit, a slow rendition until he was some blithering and spent mess; his boyfriend had always been softly diabolical that way, a careful way to inflict his care and adoration upon the dhampir. Emma was more direct, anger coiled within her and she'd spend every last thrust mercilessly breaching Gabriel into the mattress until she felt a little more like the faiman she'd once been. In either direction, Gabriel savored and relished; under Zeke's hand he could find fragments of those former trysts, pivotal acts of the flesh that allowed him to think of those who he so violently lost.

The smile swelled into a grin as Zeke's breath was exhaled upon the plane of his neck. A slow descent, a kiss upon his neck, his collarbone, deadly sweet as the action was paired with a lick of Zeke's fangs each time. He felt the slow roll of Zeke's fingers upon his hole, craned into the feeling with a needy shift of his frame. Zeke's mouth paused upon his hip, the final spot upon his mouthy descent and Gabriel could hardly stifle the moan that fell from him as the vampire sucked upon the bony flesh, inflicting a mark. Zeke typically went mute as they fell deeper into some flesh-spurred, blood-fueled haze; he hadn't always been like that but Gabriel never prodded unless prompted otherwise. A finger slipped forth into the dhampir, curled into the taut musculature and Gabriel's legs spread, his hips arched despite the mouth that was already locked upon one with a kiss.

Gabriel's own cock strained and ached, the anticipation was enough to knock him dead, but the dhampir screwed his eyes shut and focused, his hole pulsed tightly around the finger that had curled within it. Zeke's arm curled around Gabriel's thigh, shifted it up to expose both his hipbone and his hole, another sighed moan escaped him and with Zeke latched upon the bony flesh he tried not to fidget beneath the Pluto vampire. "God, please," it always slipped forth when fangs dipped into flesh, always when he teetered between a simple blood exchange and something much more erotic. Half the time Gabriel didn't even know what he was begging for; inevitable release, to be fucked senseless, to be drained of the aphrodisiac ichor that ran rampant in his veins. His fingers happily curled into Zeke's hair, lightly, and once the initial wave rolled over Gabriel, the dhampir dared to open his eyes and look down upon the vampire open mouthed upon his hip.

Yes, you are.

Crazy Ezekiel, the guy that talked to walls and got a little violent when things got heated. It wasn't just about pain anymore, Ezekiel wasn't so sure that he really registered that anymore. Survival came first, but one on one when it was him or one of those demons, or fucking lithids, or whatever else. Ezekiel just saw red. He saw the dead eyes of everyone he'd ever loved in his arms, and sometimes, when he was lucky, he heard Rhiannon's voice as she pulled him out of it. She was always there after, as fucking annoying as it was; so sure, he knew that something had broken in him, but what was he supposed to do, ignore her?

"Damn straight."

Crazy Ezekiel and his crazy tongue took it out on Tamlen's hole, the celestial elf who'd been confined to these catacombs like they were his own personal prison. No one's loss weighed any heavier than another's, the world was fucking gone, and they could all count their losses by the truckload. Maybe the elf had it especially bad because he couldn't get out there and touch grass, Ezekiel's sire bonds had all been cut off and torn away, but Tamlen still felt the fey that were buried under the silver trees they'd come to call the Telperion grove.

Tongue buried inside of the elf's hole, he hiked his arms under the other's thighs and hoisted him off the bed a bit. Just enough to burrow his face in deeper as the tarmac of his tongue worked to stretch out that responsive, ring of muscular strength. His lips massaged with characteristically equal measures of tenderness and enthusiasm, lacquering Tamlen's hole with the flat of his tongue before he spat directly on it and dove right back in. Hungry and high out of his mind, if he wasn't mindful he'd waste an hour just eating out Tamlen's ass.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Ezekiel looked down at his handiwork: wet, sloppy, and puckering. He pressed his thumb against it again as he tipped his chin towards his chest and spat directly onto the crown of his cock. A calloused hand worked over his shaft a few times before he pressed against Tamlen's loosened hole, one at the base while the other rest a steadying palm at the small of the other's back. An unceremonious thrust brought Ezekiel's hips forward as he buried himself inside of the waiting warmth of Tamlen's backside, the grip singularly intense as the vampire's head momentarily rolled back. "You and your gorilla grip never fucking gets old."

Around the same time, after Zeke had finished purging the celestial elf of his lifeforce, he'd be hit with that same euphoric bliss and hopefully stop all the antics. Tamlen much preferred when he was the only one chattering away, especially because Zeke made it extremely difficult to enjoy the moment when he'd peer off into the distance and bark out for someone to 'go away'. The vampire was greedy, Tamlen had known this from the very first time that Zeke flitted through that door for a taste, fangs breaking flesh with maddened intent, this desire to lick up every last drop until nothing remained. He didn't shy from it, surely it clashed with Tamlen's own bravado, but he'd lean into anything as of current if it merely held him the right way. Nothing affectionate, nor romantic, and the way Zeke's thumb toyed with his hole was indicative of just what Tamlen was referencing.

Rough and impersonal he'd not mind to be tossed around if it dissolved any false pleasantries between them. Zeke may have gotten a euphoric high off of his blood, sent into a heady spiral, but there was no genuine kindness between the two; in a way it was merely business. The familiar cool graze of spit speared against his hole had Tamlen arched further, pliant and willing the compliment only had allowed for his cock to ache in anticipation; there was nothing like being praised to filth that got the Worldly going.

The crack of Zeke's neck cut through the air and then.. nothing; Tamlen's brows came together, eyes shifting back to see how strung out the Pluto vampire had become, practically nodded out being him, bearing into Tamlen's back when he should have been bearing down upon his hole. He frowned, the Worldly about to pipe up in protest when he could feel Zeke almost snap back into reality, knead and massage his cheeks before smacking hard enough to warrant a mild yelp of surprise to escape the elf. Manhandling was one thing but smacking teetered a line and as the elf rolled his shoulders, went to shift, did he feel another string of spit spat upon his hole.

Tamlen froze, in his own gluttony what he'd wanted was to be mindlessly touched, and tensed shoulders finally relaxed as Zeke's face buried between his cheeks, open mouthed and willing for the elf. "Yes, you are," crazy; Tamlen probably needn't clarify and though the comment could have this go either way, the Worldly was nothing if not a vexing spitfire who taunted and tested everyone.

Neither of them were particularly hesitant, at least not with each other. Even outside the room all it took was a look and Ezekiel was following whomever, wherever. Outside of this makeshift Haven he could be holed up somewhere for weeks. He'd learned the hard way just how long a vampire could go before they went feral when his rations ran dry and he was pinned down in a bunker waiting for the lithids to fuck off somewhere else. Times like that made him glad he worked alone because if there had been anyone else there with him they'd have been bled dry. Delusional and voted most likely to end up getting himself killed, or worse, to get caught by one of those sentinels while he was in the middle of arguing with his own imagination. Ezekiel knew what they said about him, he had sharp hearing, and he noticed that for the most part people only talked to him when they wanted something. Gabriel was different, Tamlen too because they both gave back. Used or be used, these things went hand in hand.

Shirt in a pool on the floor, Ezekiel pulled at his belt as he looked down at Gabriel who did the same. He stepped out of his jeans as the buckle hit the ground, crawling over the dhampir as those soft, brown eyes were framed by raven hair against the mattress. Squared between Gabriel's legs, Ezekiel bent his lips against his, his hand slid over the dhampir's thigh: muscular and strong. Out of habit he hiked it up a bit as he rocked his hips idly against the dhampir's, some light foreplay before the two of them actually got down to it. It didn't really work for the others, but with Gabriel it was easy to imagine that those sad eyes belonged to someone else. That the tender skin under Ezekiel's hand was the person whose body he'd once known so well, but now knew less as well as the man under him now. It felt unfair, borderline cruel, but it wasn't anyone's fault: couldn't be Gabriel's fault that when he sighed or moaned Ezekiel could remember a time when he'd been shared with another, or when the vampire bore down it reminded him of that same person.

Blue eyes closed as he sighed dead air against Gabriel skin, he pressed them to the corner of the other's jaw, then his neck. A short play of fangs and tongue as Ezekiel's fingers made their way between the dhampir's thighs to massage slow circles against Gabriel's hole. Next was the halfblooded's collar, and his chest; he playfully nipped there before he stopped playing with the other. Found the hip that had been promised to him and sucked a mark there; all these years and Ezekiel still didn't really like to share. He didn't have much choice these days, but still, whatever was possessive about him liked the idea that when Gabriel got dressed and undressed for the next couple days he'd see the vampire's reminder there. Normally more vocal, with Gabriel he more or less liked to pretend. If he spoke then the spell would be broken, and he'd remember that Remi was long dead.

So instead, Ezekiel cradled the dhampir's thigh, he massaged that soft skin where he planned to sink his venomous fangs with his lips. Softening it further as he slipped a crooked finger inside of Gabriel; he'd tasted the halfblooded more times now than Ezekiel could recall, so he knew what was waiting for him. That anticipation had his cock straining between his thighs, already hard enough to cut glass; Ezekiel curled his arm under Gabriel's thigh before he finally broke through and drank.

The End of the world seemed to remodel Gabriel in distinct ways, he'd always had this sad little gaze, indicative of his kicked puppy demeanor but every other piece of him hardened slightly. The dhampir let the despair in and the grief, it swallowed him whole on a daily basis and it was in these moments pleading for some stretch of pathetic touch that he, somehow, didn't feel as awful as typical. Maybe it was because the Thrall bond deluded him to the point where the dhampir didn't care, high upon a supply of vampire blood, or maybe Gabriel was pleased to be the center of attention for five minutes. Five minutes where he didn't have to feel so dejected that throughout everything, all he'd ever sacrificed, that the world still hadn't considered it enough. The world had not been satiated with all the misery and discontent it placed Gabriel through, it needed Emma and Rowan, too.

Dorian was the catalyst of death that had followed the dhampir this year. His father, a beacon that had led him to Rome, another reason after chasing after Emma thinking he could protect her. No, the stench of death had lingered around him; once, initially, Gabriel would have pinned Rome as the source, but it seemed now that everything was Gabriel's fault. Death permeated every aspect of his life and yet, throughout everything, it refused to touch him. The thought made him nearly sick and the dhampir could only blink, blink himself back into focus, his sad eyes peering up into Zeke's voracious gaze.

Zeke's fangs slipped forth and Gabriel smiled, it was sick to figure it was genuine, but there were small lapses of joy that these survivors had to cling to. The dhampir smiled, sickly sweet, though his eyes were still laden with that irrefutable stench of sadness, spliced now with something anticipatory. Gabriel hummed out an, "Okay," the shuffling of his belt buckle filled the lapse of silence, pants kicked off in tandem swiftness though his gaze never dropped from Zeke. They were friends but Gabriel often blurred this line with people who were friends, or strangers, or whatever. The point being that he didn't mind the blur; out of anyone in this ragtag group he'd cry for Zeke's demise the most, but he'd pray it wouldn't come to that, Gabriel couldn't handle another.

The dhampir leaned back slightly, he almost quivered in excitement at the voracious look Zeke retained. It didn't matter that it was solely for his blood, Gabriel enjoyed that immensely and he'd still savor in what transpired even if the payoff was mostly to Zeke's benefit. He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, Gabriel had always been so go-go-go about the entire act, but Rowan had taught him to take his time and now the dhampir sat there looking like some lost and kicked puppy staring up at Zeke, with an almost pleading look locked into his eyes.