“Mr Pickle wouldn’t have wanted you to live like this,” Merlin says, because this is the sort of thing he’s resorted to trying now Harry’s grief has levelled up to mania.
“How dare you presume to know what Mr Pickle would want?” Harry snaps at him from their bed, surrounded by terrifying sphynx kittens like two dozen naked bollocks tumbling around in the sheets.
“Fine.” Merlin raises his hands, defeated. “I’m going to work. Wallow as much as you need.”
“Please bring cat litter and gin on your way home.”
“Harry.”
“And some mice for the python.”
“What fucking python?”
Would you mind writing about Harry being an animal hoarder? With some merlahad or merhartwin? lol Congratulations on 500+ followers!
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FantasyBoudicca 