My account is Zlugger. Please go check it out if you're interested. Currently, I only have a few up. However, I will be making more.
Typically, there are specific fandoms I work with that will be listed below. However, I am fine with any dynamic as long as it is appropriate (no under age × over age).
Fandoms:
Modern Warfare
Red Dead Redemption
The Walking Dead
Marvel Universe
Falling Skies
Dynamics
I'm okay with anything appropriate (Including Hybrid!User, Alpha/beta/Omega!user, Teen!user, Son/daughter!user, just as long as it's not weird)...
Notes:
I would like it if you added any specific details you want (setting, where, whats happening), However, if you are okay with whatever I make, then just tell me. ALSO, I have requests on for both fanfiction and C.ai, so PLEASE tell me which one you're putting a request in for!! Thank you. Slug
So, I've been really busy with school this month, so I'm not quite sure when the next chapter will be out, just so you know, I'm not quitting I just haven't had the time to write anything or much!
heyo!! what does "little-reader" mean. to ya?? Like as a name basically?
-Best wishes
BIG SIGH... I used to write some stuff and have huge regrets but no hate. That's how I began this account. I might change it later, but I'll leave a post on that if I do. LOVE YOU💜💜
OMG I WAS SCROLLING THROUGH TUMBLR N HAD A HEART ATTACK WHEN I SAW CHAPTER 2!! immediately read it and loved it like i knew i would!! i love your work and super happy to see more!!
AHHHHHH!!!! THANK YOU, it feels better to be back, I didn't mean to leave for so long!!!! Love you!!💜💜
If you were unaware, this is the second season of "The Son Of A Monster." You may not understand the following if you haven't read the first season. Thank you.
Warnings; SHORT MASTERBATION SCENE, Graphic Gore, Death, blood, Slow-burn, Sexual tension, homosexual relationship (If you didn't know), Cursing, Negan is the Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie Apocalypse. (The Walking Dead TV show)AMC rights, I do use the storyline and some scenes.
Carl ended up in the woods, a bag in his hand with water and food. He snuck out, there weren’t many people at the gate, so it wasn’t hard. He took the usual path when scouting out they would take a safe route, least walkers. He would just need to get back to the gas station he and his dad were near. He was then going to head into the woods, scope it out, and see if the man was really what he thought.
His feet crunched under his boots. Rick left that morning, by himself. The kingdom was ambushed, giving them limited personnel. Maggie wasn’t sure what they were going to do with the saviors, Aaron had a baby to look over, and so far, they were winning. Negan hadn’t given up yet, even though he was surrounded completely by snipers and walkers. Carl wasn’t sure why they didn’t back down. He thought they were stupid for doing so, but nowadays, who wasn’t stupid?
Carl crossed very few walkers before he made it to the section of the woods near the gas station. He was able to avoid them, some trail, and got bored once he picked up his pace.
The section was surrounded by trees and forest, allowing the man to get privacy and somewhat safety. Carl could tell this was it, there were two man-made human-sized toothpicks.
His feet crept slowly, as the walker reached for a bag up high. He barely waited behind the tree, where he saw the man from before. He crept slowly and stabbed the knife into the walker's head, killing it there. Carl knew, or thought, that was the best time to make himself known. He took a slightly hesitant step, and gave a calm “Hey”, out to the man, who glanced in shock.
Carls hands wavered, and lifted, showing an empty hand and one with a bag in it. He took small steps, watching for roots but keeping an eye out. The man across from him stood in warning, nervous by the stranger. “I was my dad, they were warning shots above your head.” He said, still creeping closer, with a calm expression. He was trying to gain the man's trust or have the man not try to shoot him. It was time for him to introduce himself, this would allow him to bond, just a little, with the man. “Wasn’t shooting at you… I’m Carl.”
The man still didn’t fully let his guard down. He looked tired, hungry, and sweating nervously as he held his knife to his side, but pointed at Carl like he was a threat. He shifted on his feet, taking a slight step and glancing around looking for a way out or possibly more people. He pointed to himself, “Siddiq.” He said, a waver in his voice.
Carl looked down at the bag, still slowly approaching, and handed it out. “Food and water.”
Siddiq looked confused, his eyebrows pushing together. “Why?”
Carl breathed in, stopping. “I guess, you were talking about something your mom said. About helping people?.” Carl paused and licked his lips. “My mom told me that you gotta do what's right. It’s hard to know what that is sometimes, but sometimes it's not.” Carl took a big step, then threw the bag to the man, still allowing a safe distance from him.
The bag landed two feet from Siddiq. He looked down, up, and then basically crawled to it. Carl could tell what the man was going through, especially being alone out here, and either being too scared to look for food or being weak and unequal to fight for it.
The man quickly got the bottle of water opened, and gulped it, as some of it ran down his hands. He took a breath and put it down. “Thanks.”
Carl smiled and nodded. “Glad I found you.”
“You went looking for me?” Siddiq asked, standing up, but still keeping distant.
“Yeah, I scavenged the sardines and other stuff.” He paused once again, thinking over his words. “Me and my dad were in a community. I’m gonna ask you a few questions.” He needs to know if he really wants to bring the man with him. He started to, slowly, walk toward the man. “I need you to answer honestly, okay?” Siddiq gave the nod, and a short “Okay”, before he continued. “How many walkers have you killed?” There was no answer. “I know it's hard to-”
“237.” Siddiq breathed out, interrupting Carl.
Carl's head tilted with a surprised look, a slight grin on his face, “Really?” Siddiq looked at the walker he just killed, and replied. “Give or take a couple.” Carl continued with the questions. “How many people have you killed?”
Siddiq swallowed. “One.”
“Why?”
“Dead tried to kill him but… they didn’t.”
Carl nodded, peering at the ground. “You're making walker traps. Is that how you killed so many?” He questioned, gesturing to the trap, where the dead walker lay.
“It's only part of it… My mom thought, or hoped that killing them would free their souls.” Carl understood that. How, at first, people thought the person was still there. That they saw what they were doing, and wished they weren’t. “You know… maybe she was right.”
“Doing that, doesn’t it make things harder for you while you try to survive?” Carl asked, taking a step closer.
“I, I don’t know, I… you got, you got to honor your parents, right?” Siddiq stated, giving his answer to why he was doing what he did.
“If I was honoring my dad, we wouldn’t be talking right now.” Carl joked, with a smile. “Or…” He thought about a week beforehand. About letting him go. His smile dropped. “I definitely wouldn’t be bringing you back to my community.” Siddiq looked at him in shock.
That's when they started to walk. He allowed Siddiq to grab his things and pack, even though he didn’t have much, and they set off. The night was approaching in only a few hours, and the fog started to set. It made it harder to see where he was going, but he knew the path well enough to get home. If he could get home, it was a known rule not to go out of the walls in fog because you couldn’t tell where a walker would come from.
Still, they walked on, stepping over logs without tripping, and up a hill when they heard the gargling from afar. They crouched down and tiptoed down the hill, stopping at a tree where they could see the walkers ripping apart an animal, blood covering them and the ground.
“Hey,” Carl looked at Siddiq and took out his knife. “For your mom.” He stood from his spot and they both went towards the small herd, knives in hands. Carl carried his bookbag off of his back and sat in by a tree as they got closer.
That was when one of the walkers turned and stood, catching the other's attention. They all saw the two and stumbled for the two, teeth and claws ready. Siddiq was able to kill the first one fine until another came right after. It took Carl a bit to kill the first as more started to follow. Carl wasn’t going to back down. He wanted trust, and he was going to earn it.
Carl went to help Siddiq but was pushed into another walker. The walker was able to push him down onto the animal corpes, getting too close for comfort as he tried to push it away. His eyes widened as another came closer. Carl pushed the first walker off of him, for another to fall on him. The first, crawled to him, grabbing his clothes, the walker had his mouth an inch away. He knew in a second he couldn’t get the walker off on time.
Suddenly, Siddiq was pulling the walker off of him with a knife in the other. This allowed Carl to breathe faster than a car. His heart raced, and his eyes watered, but not to the point of crying. Carl wished a different boy was pulling that thing off of him. His hand clutched his shirt as Siddiq held his hand out.
Carl saw a slight image flash in his mind. It was not the hand of Siddiq, but nonother than Y/n fucking Smith. He wished. Full heartedly wished. The smile, the white teeth, the stupid fucking smirk, and the one closed eye due to the sun. But in the blink of an eye, reality hit again. The scared, blood-covered man in front of him, not his partner.
... A week ago
Bullets rang. He was on his knees one second, the next moving out of the line of fire as the war started, really started. It felt like slow motion. The movements, voices, and bangs around him.
He felt blood dripping from his temple where he slammed his head, making sure not to get shot. It was not going as planned. “Shit,” Y/n muttered, feeling the warmth on the side of his head.
He knew the plan well, and getting out of the shooting line was his priority. He felt the mud push under his fingernails as he crawled on his hands and knees, making sure to keep his backpack safely on.
Y/n was able to make it to a wall, where the gate was kept. He had a choice, jump over it and dodge the biters on the other side, get in one of the cars without getting shot, or get eaten by the mob of biters Dixion was bringing down the freeway.
“Fuck. Motherfucker.” He cursed, looking at the cars leaving. His thoughts rolled. He had no other choice. He jumped the long gate, hitting the wires at the top, The wires slid down his face and cut through his shirt. “Ahhhh, shit.” He whispered and yelled, stomping his feet. He felt the burn on his face and arm as he secured his bag and ran for the hills.
Y/n had made it a mile into the woods before stopping. The pain wasn’t extreme, but it still hurt like a bitch. The gash on his arm wasn’t too bad, enough for him to get home fine but continued to bleed. “I'll be fine.” He whispered to himself, sighing. He remembered his backpack and grabbed it off his back. The med kit was safely placed in the side pocket. There were no bandages, and he wasn’t going to waste his time on making a line of bandaids.
He sighed and placed the kit back in the bag. He would just have to hit one of the houses. And the closest safe house was only a mile and a half. “Shit dangerous…dad could come looking for me. They could get out of that mess, they will. That would just put him in danger.” His thoughts were loud as he set off deeper into the woods.
He had a plan. Lose the tracks. He’d take the longer route just in case someone was able to find him or see him jump the gate. Then he’d make his way back to Alexandria.
His feet stepped along the roots and dead leaves, making his way through the autumn air. It was getting colder and the only thing he had, was a thin shirt on. The house wasn’t so far, and he would be able to make it. That's how he kept his thoughts, golden.
Y/n whistled as he went, the little toon his mother once sang to him. The toon was light, and calming in opposition to his current situation. The whistling allowed him to slip away from the world, and forget about what happened, or forget the very situation he was in. He could hear his mother singing it. He could feel the sway of the rocking chair and the slight breeze of the porch breeze. Then the smell of rain, the drip drop on the AC unit, once helping him sleep, is now a nightmare to hear.
Once, Negan, his mother, and he went on a trip to North Carolina, to see a War ship, it rained that day. They stopped nearby and grabbed a bottle that had a ship in it. He remembers sitting on the porch staring at it as it floated in the fake water, and moved with each shake but failed to never sink. His mother would say, “You are that boat, and you will forever be that boat.” Y/n never understood what she meant, he just stared at her, then right back at the ship with a smile.
Those fond memories of the old world. The smell of his baseball games. The soil he slid onto, the mud that would track his clothes, shoes, and body. The icepacks or frozen peas his mother would gently apply on his bruises after each game as she praised her son for doing a good job, relating him to his father. The proud smile on both his parent's faces, as he hit his first home run, racing for the hills as his name was hollered by Y/n’s teammates.
Before Y/n knew it, he was in front of the home, with his hand reaching into his back pocket to fetch the key.
His arm still bled as he entered the house, not troubling himself to care as he made his way to the bathroom down the hall. He flashed on the lights, squinting as he looked up into the mirror, jerking at his reflection. He couldn’t exactly tell whose blood was on him, his, or someone else. However, there was a gash riding from the side of his chin to the start of his cheek. He realized the wound wasn’t too large, but it was the main cause of bleeding. Y/n searched through the medicine cabinet and used a cloth to wrap around his arm before laying out his supplies on the counter. He sat on the toilet, taking a cotton swap and gradually cleaning up the bloodied mess on his arm, wincing every occasional minute. The man skillfully sewed up the wound, the needle and thread gliding effortlessly through the flesh. With the task finished, he then moved on to carefully tending to his injured chin.
He made his way upstairs, not bothering to clean up his mess or the clutter he had made.
As he laid his head down on the pillow, which allowed him to sink in, he felt the weight of the past days lifting off his shoulders. The softness of the pillow provided a comforting embrace, easing the tension in his body as he closed his eyes. He kicked his shoes off, feeling the freedom of letting go of the day's conditions. With each deep breath, he felt himself slipping into a peaceful state of mind, leaving behind the rush and groan of the outside world. It was in this moment of quiet that he found comfort, in his bed, as it began to pass noon and go into the evening.
He felt himself sigh and roll over. His hand slid under his pillow, bringing out the small stack of papers. He moved them around until he found the picture of him and his mother. He ran his thumb over it, the corner of his mouth turning up. That smile reflected her own, the ice cream in her hands melted slightly.
He could feel the slight ache of his arm, and chin, and the healing stab wound. With that slightly uncomfortable sting, he shifted back onto his back, staring at the roof, the old mold that dried out on the cracks that were engraved into the ceiling. Another thing to fix.
Y/n moved his fingertips along his torso, making it ticklish in a way. His eyes closed as his other hand wiped down his face, feeling the prick of his forming beard, and entangled into his hair. He needed a shower, not that he could smell himself, even though he was probably used to the smell either way.
He felt his fingers stop at the crack of his shirt, where his skin poked out from the stretch. He opened his eyes and sighed before moving his hand down, and slowly grabbing himself through his pants. One thing he was taught, don’t let your guard down when alone. He assured himself it was a fine, day, and he could hear outside. He swallowed, covering one side of his face with his hand, and rubbing himself with a groan.
⁶He breathed in, taking his hand to his face and spitting on his palm, then slipped his hand into his pants, and below his boxers as another groan fell from his mouth. His hand wrapped around his dick with a whine. Now, speaking of how he literally just got out on the verge of death, though he really didn’t care, it was a bit weird. He put it off.
The room was filled with quiet groans and grunts as his palm lifted up, and then back down in a repeating movement. He could imagine Carl doing it, which he did. But he knew Carl was young, inexperienced, and a bit dumb, but who was he to talk?
He closed his eyes, imagining Carls had, a lot softer than his, but still rough in their own way. The nervousness, the hesitation, the slight stutter he had at certain points. It was cute, and hot at the time.
He swallowed a groan and pumped himself faster feeling the whine in the back of his throat. “Mother of fucking mary.” The curse fell from his lips as he gripped himself and groaned, head pushing back into the pillow and his teeth barring a grunt that shoved from his throat. Y/n bit into his tongue before it left his mouth and let another groan into his arm.
He would have melted under Carl's touch then and there. He let a moan slip from his mouth as he hit his peak. Stroking a few more times before letting go, panting breaths “Jesus.” He muttered, under his breath, feeling slightly embarrassed by how long he lasted. “You're a cunt.” He said to himself as he shifted in the bed and made himself comfortable.
He stared up at the ceiling, his finger circling his stomach. “What am I gonna do.” he groaned, finally closing his eyes.
Please don't stop writing I love your series so much I return to it every time I finish can't wait for the next fic!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Babe.... which one 😭Honestly, the only one I really work on is "The Son of A Monster.", and that will be a while before I finally finish it. However, I plan to finish up two chapters before Thursday and post them! If you aren't referring to this series, please reach out!!💜💜
If you were unaware, this is the second season of "The Son Of A Monster." You may not understand the following if you haven't read the first season. Thank you.
Warnings; Graphic Gore, Death, blood, Slow-burn, Sexual tension, homosexual relationship (If you didn't know), Cursing, Negan is the Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie Apocalypse. (The Walking Dead TV show)AMC rights, I do use the storyline and some scenes.
“I gotta go, Woody.”
The voice sprang through Carl's head, bouncing around and mixing. The words he heard a week ago. However, he hadn’t seen him since the day he left and he wasn’t brought back. He was pissed, to say the least. Something told Carl he wouldn’t have made it back, but he refused to hear that voice.
Something went wrong with the plan. Negan didn’t back down, even when his son was brought out before him. A second later shots rang out, and everyone had to fend for themselves. Rick didn’t tell Carl much, but they couldn’t find out where he disappeared to, Y/n smith had slipped out somewhere, they weren’t sure where and when he got out, or if he even did. Rick said the cars all pulled out, and he didn’t see Y/n when they were leaving, which calmed Carl down.
Carl stayed up at night watch, hoping there was a slight possibility he might appear out of thin air. Walk down the street with his stupid smile and his arms out. Carl wasn’t in love, he felt more than that. The cold nights he spent that week, watching the roads and trees sway, only made Carl more disappointed that he couldn’t find Y/n. He was truly pissed.
Iris held her stomach, for just about eight months. She worried about the timing, where would she go, without the father of her twins. The father who was gone, even if he was here, was foolish and reckless. Her feet were swollen, and her eyes tired. She helped at the clinic. The past week, they took shots from Negan’s men, some getting hurt and needing medical help. They needed as many hands as they could get. She was there all night and most of the day to make sure everyone was okay and healed.
Iris made friends with the new people when she first came here. They understood her the most, nicer in a way, and she helped them. When she first came here, the people were shocked to find out she was pregnant, mainly because of her age. She was brought in kind arms, which she accepted and gave back. Rick trusted her enough to watch Judith when Carl was busy or if no one else was able to. That gave Iris practice.
She enjoyed the days she got to watch Judith. They would sit on the porch, watching the clouds move, and play with handmade blocks. Kids were something Iris always loved. She adored them and wished to have her own. Though, now how the world was, she was scared. Not just about the kids, but about herself. Would she be safe having to look out for two kids, or would she even be able to make it past birth? Either way, it was her or her kids, and at the moment, she wasn’t sure who’d she choose.
She sat with Judith beside her on the carpet in the Grimes living room. There was a search for Y/n, not a very big one, and barely a search at all. They said they’d keep an eye out for him, but they didn’t even like him. Rick did, he had explained to the men countless times that Y/n was a kid, and kids don’t always understand the world, or what was good or bad. Iris knew that was true, and she was glad Rick had that mindset, especially with Y/n, the son of his enemy.
Judith smiled as she played, surprisingly the day was calm. A group just came back from taking one of the first stations down, they celebrated for another day to live and buried the ones who fought.
She had made Judith a bowl of mushed corn, which she enjoyed. Iris kept finding it around the carpet or on her mouth or hands. She chuckled to herself, wiping the baby's hands for the fifth time, this time making sure it was fully off. Rick was home, in the kitchen with a few others. They were formulating a plan for the next station, well the main topic.
“The kids have been lost for a week, are we even sure he’s alive?” Aaron asked, looking at the map they laid across the kitchen counter. The map had marker lines, pins, and prints marking it, pointing to the places, stations, and whatnot, for them to seek or destroy. Each marking had a certain color, one more important than the other. They were searching for him, Y/n. So far, not a track, means no luck.
“Have we checked in with Hilltop or the kingdom, he might have been able to slip in with one of them,” Toby suggested, his finger running across lines.
“No, we haven’t heard much from the kingdom since the war started, Hilltop has a group of saviors captured, Aaron didn’t see him there,” Rick stated.
Iris wasn’t sure why Aaron continued to help, after the death of his husband, Eric. Though, he lost a family member and gained one on the same day. A baby, cute one too, Grace.
“What if he went back to Negan.”
“He wouldn’t do that.” Rick shut the idea down in an instant. This made the others think.
“Aarons right, what if he went back, it's his dad after all, so what if he ran back to him-”
“Rick's right, he wouldn’t do that.” It was like Iris appeared out of thin air. She shut the man down, just in a second. “He wouldn’t do that. Hell, he's a stupid boy, but he knows when to be smart..”
Toby shifted on his feet, looking up at Iris. “How could we know?” He asked, softly.
Iris smiled. “Because of Carl. He wouldn’t break his promise to him. He cares too much. You may not see it now, or even ever, but Y/n has a heart. Big one too, and Carl? He sees himself in Carl, before all this. If he’s still alive, he either captured, trying to make his way back, or holed up somewhere injured.” She was very serious, her tones stone cold and eyes cutting into their throats. “Find him, if he’s not at Hilltop or the Kingdom, check the woods, near Baste Creek, where that big field is. Carl can probably show you where it is.”
Rick nodded as Iris was called by the baby roaring in the living room. They had a lot to think about, even though there wasn’t much time to spare.
-
Carl held the knife with the carved “H” in it. What did the “H” stand for? He pondered that for days. He thought of names, repeating them. He thought it might be a state or shop logo, but the carving was too gritty to be those.
It wasn’t that Carl was locked in his bedroom. He was able to leave, but he wasn’t allowed in any of the fighting going against the two teams. Carl saw a man, three days ago, and his dad scared him off. He said it might be a savior spying on them. That Carl refused to believe. He went back and left food for him, writing “sorry” to let the person know he was friendly.
He might go back, see the man again, ask him the three questions, and show his dad he wasn’t a savior. That would leave him vulnerable, but he was willing to risk it. Something he said before that caught his interest.
The morning called. He sighed and bounced off of his bed. It was early. Because of how many people were out, Carl had the duty to make sure everything was safe. He had stations on the wall, gate, or checking the garden and pantry.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hat as it shifted in his hands. He was surprised how long it kept with him, and how long it stayed together. He brushed his hair down with his fingers, shaking his hand from the loose hair that attacked his fingers. Carl ran his thumb over the rim, brushing off the dust, and placing it on his head.
His feet crossed his room and into his closet, grabbing a pair of jeans, a grey long-sleeved shirt, and his flannel.
He didn’t like brushing his teeth, but knowing what it used to be like, he did it anyway.
“Hey,” Carl said, making his way downstairs, and seeing Iris with his little sister. She smiled at him, as she picked up Judith and rested her on her hip.
“Where are you off to today?” She asked, following him into the kitchen. Carl shrugged as he grabbed himself a bottle of water.
“Garden duty, then pantry.” He stated, turning to her with an awkward smile. “Might go outside and hunt, or fish.” Iris nodded and placed Judith down by her feet, cooing at her.
“Are… you okay?” Iris asked, leaning against the counter. Her voice was laced with concern. Carl hummed, and nodded while looking at the floor, “You know, I remember when I was your age… about when the world ended.” She smiled.
Carl's brows almost touched. “How old are you?” He asked, obviously confused.
“That's rude.” She smiled and sighed. “I’m not Y/n’s age. Only a little bit older. Nine-teen. Which makes me four years older than you.” Carl looked a little shocked. He nodded slowly. “When I was fifteen, I used to have mental breakdowns about boys.” She laughed at herself. Iris shifted off of the counter to pull out a chair from the table and bring it over. “It was childish, but, to be fair, I was a child. Now I miss that part of me… anyway, the point is, you're allowed to feel that way. Upset, angry, tired. They're all normal.” Carl bit his lip anxiously and nodded, placing his water bottle on the counter.
‘I, uh… I don’t know.” He sighed and cracked his knuckles. “I guess I’m upset. I mean, I don’t know what happened to him, he said he’d come back and he didn’t, or he hasn’t. All I have is this knife he gave me.” He dug through his pocket and grabbed the switchblade, placing it in front of Iris. She looked shocked and picked it up. “I don’t even know why he gave it to me.”
“Because he adores you.”
“What?”
Iris smiled and looked at the knife. “He never let me touch this knife, you know.” Carl looked at the knife in her hand with a confused gaze. “He didn’t tell you?” He shook his head. Iris sighed and handed the knife over to the younger boy. “It, uh, it belonged to this boy he used to know. After the apocalypse, I hope he told you about his mother?” She asked. Carl nodded, remembering their moment in the fields a month back. “After that, Negan had a small group. Four of them, they would search. Sometimes starve out there. Negan would make sure he had food, and go hunting for days. He almost died at some points with run-ins. One day, his dad came back with a woman, Harriot. She ran a camp with another man, Bert. Anyway, he stayed at that camp for two months before something happened… I'll let him tell you about that part.” She sighed, then pointed to the knife. “That knife was owned by a boy named Husten. They were best friends, more than that really. He fell for him, and Husten saved him with that knife…” She smiled. Carl could tell she was saddened, but maybe not by him dying. He wasn’t quite sure why, but if Y/n was still alive, he hoped he’d open up to him more.
“So, the ‘H’ means Husten?” Carl questioned running his finger over the “H”. She nodded. “That's what I’ve been wondering for the past week.”
“It's a promise, Carl.” She stated, signaling to the knife. “A promise he will come back, and you need to trust him.”
-
The garden was quiet. No one around. He had a lot to really think about. He did not do it often; hoping for no one to be around. He dug into the dirt with his fingertip, finding a worm. He picked it up and placed it in the palm of his hand. The thing that will live past humans. He’d often see Daryl eat them when they would scavenge, or before Alexandria. Carl thought it was disgusting, but useful if he could hold his stomach eating things like that.
He watched the poor worm wiggle in his hand. He made a hole back in the dirt, and placed it down, watching it sink. However, he stayed sitting. His knees bent and his arms wrapped around them as he stared at the dirt.
Carl found himself daydreaming a lot recently. He couldn’t help it. He wished for a lot. For the war to stop, for the deaths to stop, for his lover to come home, for them all to agree and make up. He knew this could never happen, maybe Y/n coming home, but the rest? No.
His heart pounded as he closed his eyes. His mind drifted elsewhere.
He could see the laughter in the distance. It bounced in his brain and stuck to his skull. The sun shone into his eyes and blinded him unless he placed his hand over his brows. He remembers the gentle hand of his mother. The lawn in the back of their family home, or the old school friends, when their mothers would allow play-dates. He remembers when his mother would wait outside the school every day for him to get out. Something he could only wish to see again. The smile, which he can barely remember, placed on her sweet face. The memory of a mother. Would that be for him and Y/n? Only the memory of him?
The laughter walked away, and the dream shifted. He could see him. The smile, the two kids, the house in a field. The dream he had months prior. He wished it were true. The two children. The smiles, and the change. The happiness.
He wished for the other boys to kiss again, on his lips or cheek. He missed him. He would be missing him.
He also missed the freedom of the woods. Sure, there were lots of walkers. But the nature was free and quiet. It was a god sent.
He missed the walks outside the most. With him and his group, a bunch of badasses, strong and independent. I could feel him needing to be back in those woods.
He found himself in the pantry, with a small bag. If he was going to go out, he would do it for a reason, and to him, this was a good one.
Carl thought of just going outside for no reason, but that would be fruitless. So, he grabbed himself a water bottle, and a nutrition bar, and left for the escape wall. He didn’t really need to, he could have just gone through the gate with no problem, but for “old” times' sake, he would go over the same wall they used to.
He knew the paths like the back of his hand. The smell felt like home. His boots felt comfortable with each step. He felt his heart race. Memories came flooding back, of when he and Y/n would sneak out and goof off. They would go to the boarded-up house and sit on the rusted couch, reading comics. That, or the field, and sit and stare at the sky. Carl could hear the laughter, like before, in his ear.
Y/n ran through the field, Carl chasing after him. The stupid grin on his face as he ran off into the tree line. They had been out most of the day, messing around at an old game store. They had a small stash in their bags, but y/n ended up setting off the alarm, and instead of trying to turn it off, he ran out of the store in a second.
Carl finally caught up to him. Only because his face was smushed into the dirt. “You dumbass.” Carl laughed as the other boy lifted himself out of the mud, spitting a bit.
“God, I think I swallowed something.” He started to gag and spit. Carl laughed and hit the back of his head. “I'm serious… I think it was a beetle… I’m gonna puke.”
Carl had to hold his hair back as he puked into a nearby river. He had laughed the whole time. That was the first time Carl really realized the other boy was human. When he realized he felt things, and he wasn’t a monster like his father.
He smiled at the memory of the boy. Something he couldn’t forget even if he tried.
Carl was back at the house, where they’d hang out a lot. He needed to be sure the boy was there or not. There was something he noticed. Blood, dripping into the house. It was old, a week. Carl knew, this could be it, he could be here alive or dead. He hoped alive, and he hoped he was here.
He held his gun out. His hand reached out and opened the door, that was locked the last time he was here. He looked around, then slowly opened the door and pushed in. The room was like not messy. Almost the same. He closed the door, making sure he was quiet, and made his way through the living room. The house wasn’t so large, but large enough for someone to hide.
He followed the blood trail into the bathroom. The bathroom cabinet had been ransacked. A bloody towel sat on the side of the sink. Medicine spilled on the floor, an empty cup, and then some bandages gone. Something happened to the other boy. Carl made his way to the kitchen. It looked like he was fine, the blood trail ended in the bathroom.
Cans of food were missing, and Y/n had a log kept up, making sure no one was in his home. Carl looked through it. Finally. He found some writing, with a bloody fingerprint. It had to be him. He had written what he took, and the date. It was in fact the day after he went missing. He must have got here and left. Carl was confused. Why hadn't he found his way home, and where was he now?
He then decided to make his way upstairs, ensuring no one was downstairs. The floorboards creaked under his feet. The fine railing under his calloused hands.
There wasn’t much. The bed was unfixed, he must have stayed, then left. Carl wasn’t sure where he went off to, but at least he knew he survived the incident with Negan. This let his hopes run.
Carl felt the sheets under his hand, rubbing his thumb under them. Something peeked out of the corner of the pillow. Carl lifted it. His eyes widened. Notes, papers, and photos. All were collected together in a neat pile, hidden from anybody who would break in, and not search under the pillow.
Carl sat down and placed his gun on the nightstand. He started to go through the sheets.
The first paper had been written on.
Home needings: The back wall in the third bedroom is growing mold. Flooring is coming up in the living room. The wallpaper is peeling in the nursery. The stairs need to be rebuilt…
Carl smiled at the paper and placed it beside him. The next thing was a stack of pictures, some drawn and some photographed. There was one with a woman and a baby and Negan, but he was younger, WAY younger. Carl thought he looked happier. The next was just the woman, showing off her ice cream. He flipped again. It was Y/n, with a bat in hand as he swung. Carl sighed but kept going.
Family photos, some of him and Iris, and then sonograms. Carl flipped to the last photo. This one shocked him. It was him asleep, with a bowl in hand. He remembers this. They went on the porch one night, past bedtime, and watched the stars with a bowl of corn, Y/n’s joke. He ended up passing out, but he thought y/n did the same. Rick scolded them that night.
He smiled and placed the picture back.
He started flipping through the papers. A lot of them were from magazines, pictures of the world before… and some adult content that Carl had thrown under the pillow. It was obvious how long the other boy had been staying here, even before the two met. There were also drawings of Alexandria. Some of the walls, with little notes, say “The escape wall”. There was one of Judith and Iris together. Not detailed, but Carl could tell who it was.
Then, there was the lake, with a hat, Carl’s hat, floating in the middle of it. On the back of that drawing, was a note: There was a lake and lakehouse about five miles west of the house. It’s nice too. I didn’t have a chance to check out the lakehouse, or shed, or whatever it is. There might be some supplies. The lake had a few biters in it, I almost drowned the other day. One grabbed my leg, but I was able to play it off, I didn’t want to worry Carl.
He remembered Y/n telling him he was just a pro at holding his breath, now he has proof that he’s a loser. Carl laughed at the thought and placed the paper down. Another drawing. This time, it was two hands, fingers touching, with a smaller picture of a different boy attacked. “H”.
The field is just above the lake and lake house. It's quiet. I went back today to make sure the gate around it is strong and there are no biters in the field. I almost got bit by a copper head, killed it, and ate it. Saved some for Carl, he said it was gross and I could keep it. Iris liked it though, but she likes it a lot. A few days ago, when me and Carl found it together, after the lake, we shared a moment. I wasn’t sure if it was just me, and I guess I won’t be sure. I know something though, I like the feeling of our hands touching. It reminds me of Hue… I miss him.
Carl felt like he was invading at that point, and decided to gather up everything and place it back into the pile it was once in, and under the pillow. However, he noticed something shining. He grabbed it and lifted it. A homemade necklace, with a shard of some kind. It had a beautiful print on the outside, like a plate. He placed it back safely, and made the bed, feeling like he had too.
He set back home before someone noticed he was not there.
hi!! your “son of a monster” series has become one of my favorite ever!! i love the way you’ve written the whole plot and i look forward for future chapters :)!
That really made my day! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!! I always try my best.❤️❤️
I'm loving son of a monster, it's a really cool fic
How far into the timeliness are you planning to take it?
Thank you! I am currently working through season eight and trying to finish it. I'm not sure if I should continue beyond that, but after completing "The Son of A Monster", I may create an aftermath story somewhere around season nine. I have been considering this for a while, and I am glad that you asked about it! ❤️❤️
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