Poolside Surrender: Nothing Wrong With A Jourdain

Poolside Surrender

Melody Jourdain, son of River and Alex Jourdain, is a young nineteen-year old surrogate. He doesn’t tell his parents about how close he really is to having the twins he’s carried for five months when he comes to visit his childhood home back in Scotland. Demonic pregnancies suck, don’tcha know? And the labours can be just as intense. He was not getting in the way of their date night again just over some mind pain…

Melody ‘s Play-By: Braden Barrie. See featured image.

Trigger Warning: Blood, graphic depictions of childbirth, male pregnancy, and language.


Melody Jourdain was far from inexperienced with dealing with pain and how to manage it. Breathing always was a key factor; it was how he survived getting inked up; the Hello Kitty on his arm with his father Sabriel’s name underneath as his form of representing the man who gave him his own love for that white cat before they lost him to the Fade. But Melody was not sure he could breathe through these pains much longer, as the time between was growing from half an hour between feeling that hot iron band around his belly flare, to almost fifteen. He was moving much quicker than he’d thought, and in honest belief that he’d be able to handle something like a birthing on his own was fucking stupid now that the baby was coming down so fast, dropping with every aching press of his muscles as their sibling kicked a bit in dislike. He was early, oh gods he was early, but the babies would choose their time, and compared to how long he carried his first child, this was almost a third longer.

The raven was currently labouring through in the shallow waters of the pool in his Papa’s backyard, out here in Scotland at their family home. Papa River and his dad, Alex, were out, and wouldn’t be back until at least eight, and it was just barely past two, Mel estimated, even with the overcast. Having been unable to get himself inside once he woke from a nap at poolside, Mel was regretting not alerting his parents to the low-key contractions he’d been having for the past two nights. And he should have gone inside earlier before he’d napped, but at the time, he’d ignored the signs, and he couldn’t really move much further than this. The father was a incubi demon, as far as he knew, and right now, as Melody tried to just breathe through the ache of his body trying to press down, he was cursing ever making the deal with that man.  But dammit, the number of incubi just wasn’t steady… He wanted to help. Torn out of his thoughts, he felt that rapid change in his body as it tightened slowly. The necromancer and incubus-demon crossbreed was arching back a moment later, a loud cry of pain leaving his lips as he felt a heavier pressure; his waters hadn’t broken, and oh good fucking gods, that pure pressure at his contracting walls was making the nineteen-year old want to scream. The sun was not comforting, and as his contraction rolled through, the chaos user was left breathless. As the pain started to ebb once more, he tried to rise himself slowly, step by step (technically scooting himself up, he couldn’t stand if he wanted to right now), the raven grabbed at his satchel and took out an inhaler, taking a hard, heavy breath from it. He was gasping, and as the medication eased his airways, he had barely any time from getting off his backside some, til he was on his hands and knees, holding onto the rail as he spread his legs on the second step, water lapping at his thighs.

He was lost in the pain of it, but occasionally, he’d feel a shockwave of pure bliss when the second pup pressed right at his sweet spot, and the young man would cry out again as his body laboured. Panting for breath, nearly dropping his inhaler into the waters warmed by the sun, he groaned as he tried to roll through the pain. They were coming quicker, but that pressure hurt so much… Slowly, shakily, he sat up some, using the metal rail to balance as he slid a hand between his legs, feeling at his entrance that was just aching, swollen some from the slick his body was producing in effort to try to help ease the baby from his womb and birth canal. His fingers stroked very shyly, and he could feel himself tensing slowly all over again. This time, he pressed down with it, in effort to try to work the unborn pup out. Mel was crying out this time, his body unsure of what he was doing, even though he’d done this before. Bearing down firmly, the inked raven groaned through the half-minute long contraction before he felt it lessen… and something pressing out of himself. Trembling some, he stroked over it with shaky fingers pads, unsure of what was going on.

Stormy grey-blue orbs fell to his puckered, sore entrance, and the male groaned as he moved onto his back best he could without risking his hips pressing onto a step. Taking a moment to gather himself, he pulled his hand back and scooted up some, just enough to get his hips free of the lapping water. Groaning lowly, he returned a hand at himself, feeling at the odd thing that was slipping out of him just a little more with every deep contraction. Peering down the best he could with his stretched belly, he saw the light reflection in the pool water. it was… oh. Fuck. He needed to break his water if he wanted to speed this up, but he was terrified of the repercussions… His labour would grow a lot more painful, but he didn’t know how to do that. Not from here. Groaning out something under his breath as he slid one foot against the top step he was on, the necromancer used it for bracing himself, along with his other hand holding onto the metal bars that acted as a semi-banister for the pool steps. Letting this contraction ripple through, he gave a push when his body told him to, but he was trying to be as gentle as he could be with it all. Moaning through it and rotating his hips just a little, the pain getting more intense the further his pup slid down, Mel was left shuddering and trying to not scream again. His shoulder-length dark hair was getting slicked against his sweat-glossed body, his naked form trying to breathe through what he could in effort to let his body open more. But as Mel was guessing, these babes were not going to willing to wait much longer. Oh, Gods. The neighbours would freak if they could only see past the privacy fences.

Shaking, mewling as he felt his second pup kicking in retaliation at the muscles constricting, he was trying so hard to control his pushing. He didn’t want to risk his water breaking if he could help it; that sort of pain would be blinding, and there would be no chances he could control himself, his noises, or how fast the baby would come… and he did not want to tear. His ass was aching at this point, and the young necro breathed hard, bearing down a bit more after the contraction ebbed off. He wanted the pressure gone; they shared a single bag of amniotic fluid, and he knew sooner than later, it would break, and he’d be trying to control himself with no fucking chance. Cursing out loud, the young hybrid moaned through his next contraction, a low pressure getting worse each time with those sentimeter-like movements of his baby coming down from his body’s womb hidden safely in his body, connected up to his anal wall. It was just so fucking painful to feel himself getting this far… Taking a shuddering breath, his hand at his entrance still, he pressed two fingers into himself; while most times a vaginal birth was the simpler ideal, he did not have that luxury, and he was worried he was going to tear when the baby came out entirely. It had already stung feeling the first pup coming down from his womb, pushing past his cervix, but suddenly, his worries were cut very, very short. As he tried to get an estimate on how much he was open, the young wolf gave out a loud yell as he tried to grasp at the bars, his body forcing him to bear down this time, and holymotherofGojira, he was not holding back the soft yell that came from his open mouth as he felt his pup pressing further, stretching him and making him writhe.

Wrapping both arms around the bars, he was locked in place, bearing down until the pain released some… but the moment he could think without searing pain and instincts, he grabbed the nearest beach towel on a chair, and moved to pull himself from the water and over the fabric. Grabbing onto the bar again, he breathed heavily, shaking as he slid onto his knees, wanting to let gravity help push out the baby. But he didn’t realize how fast that would actually work, or he wouldn’t have. The next time that tight iron band went around him, he could not hold in the scream that was ripped from his throat as he body bore down; he could feel the baby at his entrance, and Melody was crying out curses as his baby’s head pressed at his opening, the sac breaking and the smell of the waters hitting his nose. There wasn’t time for him to register too much, but the pressure of the water leaving him made him moan in slow thanks. It was very short-lived, that release, because as he panted for breath, his body was bearing down again, and Mel was yelling out as he pushed. His muscles were working hard, and oh gods, it just hurt so much to feel the baby’s head starting to come.

Dropping his grasp, moving to brace himself on one hand as he reached down at his entrance as he settled back on his knees, the teen groaned in pain, but tried to quiet himself. Shallow, quick breaths were followed in rapid succession with the teen’s yell of pain as Mel pressed down in time with the ache in his back. His fingers slid into his opening some, and the teen was mewling some in a mix of pain and encouragement as he felt the baby’s head there, feeling at the wetted hair and trying to not be too disappointed as, just as soon as he felt the baby coming out more, the contraction ended too soon, and he felt the little bugger slipping back in. Oh, gods, it burned so much to have that head trying to push through, and he was realizing just how spoiled he’d been with his first daughter, Andromeda. Trying desperately not to scream out at the next contraction as it shoved through him, his labour really starting to hurt now, the force of the contractions getting harder, Mel bore down with a strained cry. Feeling and trying to guide the baby out, he kept his hand on that full head of hair as he felt the baby crowning slowly. It burned, ohfuckinghells, it burned. Gasping in pain, the raven couldn’t think straight as he tried to sit himself up a bit more on his knees, pushing down with the walls of his body. His hand tried to grasp, trying to keep the baby from sliding back in, but as the pain slid back, so did baby, and he did not hold in the yell that tore out of his throat. The second pup was coming from his womb now with every uterine contraction, and he was praying to the gods that this would fast. But a Jourdain never got that lucky.

As he felt the next instinctual pressing, Melody bore hard, slamming his eyes shut and trying to stretch his opening up more with a finger as the baby crowned again, and this time, while the contraction started to ebb, he pushed down again, refusing to feel that pain. He’d rather take it all at once, but he did not prepare for the pup’s head to stay at the halfway point, and oh, it made him cry out. Bearing down, Mel felt the pup crowning further, but the bugger was shifting a bit in their mother’s birth canal, and not willing to take the pain much further, the labouring necromancer gasped as he moved to lean himself back. His hands going to the baby’s head as he tried to keep himself steady, he pushed his back against the bar he’d been using earlier for support. Pushing down with the next contraction, he screamed as he felt the baby’s head pushing out, forcing his entrance to stretch and grasp onto the baby’s neck. If that hurt, oh he was going to lose it when the rest of the pup came…

Mel was panting hard, trying to stay calm, and with the smells of blood and fluid, of chlorine waters and his small garden not too far off, he felt at the baby’s head, unable to actually see anything over his stomach. The baby’s head easily fit almost snugly into his palm, hand he was letting tears slide down his cheeks. The pup was easily ready for the world, and oh good gods, he was scared for the second babe to come down further. With a moan of pain as he tried to breathe through his contraction, he fought hard, but in the end, a few seconds later, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing. And oh, he screamed. The baby’s shoulders pushing at his entryway, the teenager was left in agony as he slid one hand away, wrapping his arm around one leg as he bore down. He had to get past this, but oh fuck, ohfuckfuck, he was left drained after that push. The baby was pushing firmly right there, so close but still not out of his carrier. Melody took in sharp breaths, and as the next urge to push came, he didn’t dare fight. His cervix pressing his other pup down and into his birth canal was excruciating, but not as badly as it felt now that he didn’t nap through that first one. And with a scream that made his throat go raw, Mel held his leg firmly in place, and his hand at the baby moved to pull the umbilical cord a bit; the first shoulder slipped, followed by the wrinkly bluish baby’s arm, and Mel gasped for breath at the pain of it.

Without waiting on his body, Mel pushed down hard, his hand trying to help guide the baby free, and the necro cried out loudly as he felt the other shoulder slide free. Dropping his leg, he reached with both hands toward his infant, and it only took a single firm push from his muscles and the pull from his hands under the babes’ arms to have his first pup quickly delivered out after all of that. Quickly pulling the baby against his tight belly, letting the baby feel his mother’s skin, Mel slumped a bit against the metal of the bar, panting for breath as he eyed his newborn. Instinct kicked in, and the necromancer moved to clear the baby’s airways, blowing softly over the baby’s mouth before the little one began to wail loudly. He chuckled breathlessly, unable to cradle the baby, but Melody kept his little one as close to his chest as he could with the cord still in place. He was panting for breath, his body easing just a little; but he had a feeling the second pup was not far behind at all. He felt the low cramps, the pressing that was still intense, but instead to focusing on it, he tried to clean the newborn with his shirt he’d taken off to nap earlier.

Looking over the baby, drying him off the best he really could, Mel took in the babe’s features, eyeing the dark hair and the sex. “Y-ya been givin’ me ‘ell,” the raven panted out, his Scottish accent thick, “ya little lassie, you…” Gently moving to set the newborn down as she seemed to settle, one hand kept near her, Mel groaned as tried to ride through the contraction. Quickly, he was feeling the baby slide the rest of the way out of his womb and into his birth canal. It wasn’t a huge length, as much as his little drama queen beside him had made it out to be. But the raven was moving to bear down with a sharp cry as he felt the pup shifting and turning. It hurt, but he was halfway there, and he didn’t want help. He had volunteered, he’d finish it up on his own. Gasping and trying so hard not to lose himself to the next urge, he was blinded the moment he felt a slow gush of fluids; the pup was slicked from his broken waters, and right now, he had no time to think between contractions, they were so close together. Cursing and screaming each time he bore down, yells of German words and Southern terms breaking past his ears, Melody was quickly feeling his second pup pressing down at his entrance.

He was panting like he couldn’t breathe, and between the urges, he risked grabbing his inhaler and trying to take a strong hit from it. Dropping it after a long pull cut short, he coughed as he tried not to push too hard, but his body was not willing to listen now. A scream from his throat echoed around the poolside as he felt the burning getting intense again, and a slick pop when the contraction ended made his hand slide down. He felt for the baby, panting and mewling as he shifted his hips a bit, desperate to deliver the pup and end this. But as he felt, he gasped as he felt not a head, but the second pup’s behind. That explained why it was hurting worse now, but he was quickly trying not to panic. He’d never delivered a baby in breech, and nonetheless alone. Right now, he was terrified, but he didn’t have much time to register before he was bearing down with his body. The young necromancer let out a pained, high scream, and after three hard contractions, he had made no progress, no matter how much it was burning and stretching. He couldn’t just pull the baby free, either; it was mind-numbingly painful, and he could feel himself tearing each time his body bore down, trying to push the baby out of his body. Melody didn’t try to restrain the agonized cry that left his open mouth as he pushed as hard as he could during the hard contraction, and he didn’t know what was going to happen, but he was trying to hard to keep himself steady. Which, right now, seemed like climbing Mount Olympus.

Breathing heavily, Mel moved to slide onto his hands and knees slowly, his eyes shutting as he tried to roll his hips a bit in the air, wanting the baby to try to turn itself, trying to entice some movement of the baby. But when he felt a hand pressing at his lower back, massaging, the teen couldn’t even look up to see who it was as he was forced to bear down with all he could. The hand’s owner felt the tensing, and quickly, the hand retreated in effort to let the owner kneel down at Mel’s bleeding exit. A palm pressed at the teen’s entrance, firmly, and oh fucking hells, it made Melody want to scream. Panting and crying out, Melody was nearly screaming again as he tried to push against that palm, and the raven could feel the other hand slowly trying to turn the baby and attempting to get the babe’s body more lined up with the outside world. The guide’s hand stayed there, even as he felt the necromancer hybrid pushing and bearing down, the cries of pain not going on deaf ears. After another contraction, the raven moaned lowly as he felt the pup shifting just slightly, and those gentle hands went to slip into the necro’s torn opening to try to stretch the boy more. It hurt, and the carrier instantly yelped at the intrusion, a loud yell of pain leaving his open mouth as the hand tried to get a better grasp on the baby during this contraction that was pushing the pup outward from their mother’s canal.

There was barely any time to register much as the contraction ended, but oh fuck, he was so glad that the hand had moved off from keeping the baby inside. Panting for breath and trying to not freak out on the person kneeling behind him, he shakily reached a hand back at himself, and the guide softly guided the teen’s hand to where the pup was trying to come. The pressure of this was almost too much, but as he felt his next contraction slamming down, the digits that pushed into him were looping around the baby’s legs and Mel nearly fell against the towel under him, catching himself only barely. The pain increased heavily this time as the baby’s back end was being forced by its mother’s body, and without even a warning, the hands moved to loop into the unborn baby’s legs, pulling and slowly trying to help the wrinkled, bloodied infant turn as the little one was being slowly expelled, blood getting onto the teen’s thighs. Melody was left bawling in pain from the turning, the pressure changes making him scratch at the ground of the poolside, nearly screaming out for the unrelenting pressure to stop, gasping and his stormy eyes blown wide.  The babe’s left foot slid out with his next push, and the teenager was left breathless as he tried to listen to that voice, but oh fuck, those fingers hurt so badly as they worked to try to help the pup come free. The raven’s body was panting hard, his back slicked up with sweat as he tried to think straight, the painful force of which the baby coming out almost entirely making him squirm and brokenly yell curses.

A gentle rumble of a voice was barely understood, and not twenty seconds later, Melody’s body bore hard again, the soft coaxing from the low voice helping to steady him. Now it was to just deliver the baby’s other foot and the pup would come easier. A cry of curses left him, and Melody didn’t try to hold back. “O-Oh, f-fuck!! H-hurts!!” the necromancer whined out, “Gods, stop!!” The pressure was insane, it burned like nothing else as Mel pushed. The smell of his own blood was getting heavy, and the guiding hands didn’t move, just holding the infant still as he waited for the baby’s body to slip free, head still locked in its mother. “You’re doing great, honey, just breathe, nice and slow, don’t tense…” Mel barely heard the soft tones, but he couldn’t stop the following yells as the baby was slowly coaxed out, the width of the babe’s little hips and sides quite a bit thicker than its sibling, and he was fisting his hands into the towel under him, gasping for air. “No, now come on, it’s okay. He’s coming. He’s just a little big. Just follow your body, do not fight it.”

But as Melody’s cries turned to a lower moan of pain, one guiding hand moved to gently stroke at the boy’s inner thigh, wiping away blood. Pushing down, the carrier yelled as he felt the guide slowly using the digits that were once locked around the baby slowly pulling back the boy’s swollen and slick opening, in turn with Mel’s body’s attempt to expel the large pup’s head. It burned, making him much more vocal, and moving to sit up a bit, the raven was writhing as the pressure of the baby’s head made him nearly break down. “Fucking stop!!” he was begging at this point, “Gods! Fucking… Ohhh. Please, please… g-get him out, it fucking hurts…” Blue eyes watched as the teen struggled to keep himself sane, trying to soothe the boy by rubbing his back between those quick and painful urges. “Shhh,” the voice called out to the raven, “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here here. The baby’s almost here, and it’ll be okay. Melody, shh, baby…” He waited til he saw the teenager try to glance back at him, “I want you to push. When you feel it, push, and let me help. I know this hurts.” Pulling on the babe now wouldn’t be wise. The raven was trying to keep from sobbing as he tried to regulate his breathing, but the next contraction blew him away, and the young man pushed down with all he could.

 After two more hard contractions like this, the guide not wanting to tear the boy worse that he already was by actually aiding, the necromancer trembled as he sat up further, adjusting his legs widely to balance, but so he he could see what was going on. With a low yell of pain, he bore down when his body commanded, his hands moving to grasp onto the little one’s body. As he bore down, the young surrogate moved his hands without asking if it was okay, and he pulled as he bore down this time. It made him go from a yell to a scream, and slowly the baby’s head worked free of his mother’s birth canal with the gentle pull of the pup’s mother’s hands. The slip of liquids  as the baby slid onto the towel below his lowered hips was a stomach-turning noise, and Mel trembled as he felt hot tears slipping down his cheeks. It hurt like fuck, and after a moment of letting himself catch up with his brain, the guiding hands moved to help the carrier onto his back, then softly onto his left side, offering up the screaming baby. Mel hadn’t even heard the crying until now, and trembling, he reached out to pull the squealing little boy against his chest. Panting for breath, the raven’s glasses on the ground and as a matter of fact having slid off during one of his worse contractions, Mel had to squint to focus better onto the facial features of the male kneeling there, blood on his hands, and tending to the other baby a moment.

Blue eyes met with Mel’s stormy, wet ones, and as Mel matched it up, he leaned onto his back, panting for breath, relieved to see his grandfather. The man didn’t look past his late thirties, a bit rough on the jaw with stubble, and one blue eye having faded in colour just by a single shade as the scar that injured it years ago teased almost to his cheek. Tall and toned, the man was a werewolf, and Melody’s Papa’s father. While River, his Papa, had been adopted, it didn’t matter one bit; Kosi was a very good man to have around in these situations, and the teenager felt relief as he tried to speak. “F-fuck, Gramps… t-that…-” he struggled out, only to peer down at the babe in the crook of his arm now, “Oh, gods be fucking damned…” Smiling a bit, edging on a smirk, the blonde’s gaze softened on the sight of his grandson with the baby. Moving to let both newborns be near their mother, the once-doctor’s gaze went down to Mel’s entrance.

“Give me a soft push,” came the man’s low, soothing order, “just a few, okay?” Mel winced at the idea, but the faint narrowing of the blonde’s gaze made him comply with a whimper. A few pushes later, ones that hurt and made him squeal in ache, the placenta was pushed from his torn exit. “That’s a good boy,” purred out the blonde as he looked it over a bit, “you did very well. The Staltons called me when they heard yelling over here, thinking something was wrong. Just relax, Mel. You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe.” Stroking the sweat-matted hair from his grandson’s eyes, Kosi, the doctor by choice and alchemist by trade, smiled warmly. 

“You’ve got one hell of a mouth on you, sonny-boy.” His words made Melody laugh softly through his tears as he peered at the blonde still knelt beside him, moving to dig into a medical bag Mel had only noticed now. Kosi was wanting to clamp the babies’ umbilical cords off and let them really start to breathe and use those loud lungs. “Definately got yer dad in them,” he teased as he moved to clean off the larger of the two pups, the little troublemaker, “lungs that strong are a good sign. Don’t worry; they’re gonna be fine. They’re Jourdains, after all. If they were Haggards like me, then I’d be worried.” The teasing joke made the exhausted raven laugh, his throat raw and so fucking sore.

“Ya say it like it’s a bad thing ta be one, Gramps…” he replied tiredly, his breathing still a bit erratic, “As far as I know, Jourdains are the strongest of the bunch.” Part of him was glad this was over, but the other felt bittersweet; he did’t want to end up giving these little wriggly screamers up right away… Then again, he was staying here in Scotland for another week… His flight to go home didn’t cover the babies, after all. He hadn’t thought that he’d end up delivering the feisty twins next to the same pool he was petrified of as a child after getting too cocky and going into the deep end. One near-death-experience later, Mel was now curled up with the little fighters who had given him so much stress and hell for five months, and both were ready to let the world hear their anger at being forced into the world.

Kosi gently helped get Melody inside, and once he was settled against his newborns on the guest bed, it didn’t take long for the boy to pass out. Thankfully, Ko used this time to repair the tearing that the poor boy had gone through. Kosi glanced at the pups, all bundled up and kept close to their mother, and he couldn’t help but think to himself that maybe Mel was right. Maybe Jourdains had less luck, but they had a lot of heart and drive… He didn’t want to think that his grandson was surrogating at his age, but like Alexander, Mel wouldn’t listen once his heart was set on something. And stroking a clean hand over his grandson’s cheek, Kosi couldn’t help but feel the longing that came with knowing that Mel wanted to do this with his life. Yes, he fathomed it paid well, and he knew how much Mellie hated going into heat, but… he couldn’t help but grasp for straws as to why in the hell the teen would be willingly doing this for people he barely knew.

Maybe it was River’s innate need to help others clashing up with Alex’s own desire to prove his worth. Either way, Kosi let the boy sleep, going to make a few phone calls, and most importantly, to get the grandparents back here to see their son and the newest little Jourdains.

Fucking little fighters, he swore fondly as he dialed Alex’s cell phone; they just all came into the world kicking and screaming, and making their mothers their first victims, didn’t they?


Image is of Braden Barrie, and is not my own; if requested, I will remove it. Offering a visual seems like a good idea for this story, and I’ve never written Mel on here just yet.

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Say A Prayer, Zillie. (UPDATED)

Say a Prayer, Zillie.

So maybe this wasn’t what he’d wanted to become. Ocean eyes watched the exhausted reflection in the bathroom mirror, his gaze mostly seeing his profile as he merely looked onward, as if it wasn’t his body. His marks, scars, tattoos, scrapes and bruises… this was part of being what they needed him to be. An asshole with harsh judgement upon his warriors, a man who had to be everything for these people; their confider, best friend, leader, and a sometimes a sexist, heartless bastard. He didn’t kill because he had to. Virgil Dhaval was not a murderer, but he would never claim to be a saviour, and he was not man that was of any sort here for his own purpose. He was, essentially… a coward, forced to step up when there was no other option on the game table, when the quiet world that he had been thrust into had become a literal war before his eyes. His now-second in command and best friend, Sabriel Jourdain, couldn’t have taken the place as the leader of the rebellion, and in their much smaller group at the time, and while the man was older, Virgil’s mind was sharper, understood the tactics, grasped the risks and challenges of leading a rebellion from under their king’s law, and seeing as their original leader was Virgil’s elder brother before his fall… Virgil was the only real choice.

But that was also his biggest mistake, trusting Darren with his heart, to finally look up to someone who wasn’t going to hurt him, a protector and sibling that he had been denied from the very get-go. But in a moment of weakness, it was a bad call that got the man hung. And it wasn’t even Virgil who took pity upon their father figure – it had been River, the quiet, pacifist young man that was closely knit with Darren. This was not what Virgil wanted with his life, no form, and right now, he was grasping at straws for how to make it to the next day, to the next time he could feel the relief of dawn breaking over the land that he called his purgatory. Where Virgil stood now, he was but a man who was surviving on required sex and partial souls, and whilst watching his reflection, his eyes flickered toward the dangerous demon blood right at the edge in him constantly, always battling for what would win in his veins. The galaxial twist and turn of those sickly sweet pools watched the marks upon his own skin, looking over the bloodied areas, and he could indeed see crimson flaring up like dying stars in his own eyes as more flicks of ruby slipped from his tender wounds.

His darkened gaze slid from the reflection that he had been intent to memorize, back down to his chest where he was bleeding rather heavily from the torture he’d been put under, his master’s marks, teeth, scars, and even the brand on his chest, burnt right over the golden ink on his canvas that said “ANGEL” in smooth cursive. He wasn’t bothering to patch any of it, not wanting to feel it burn worse if he cleaned it, or if any parts of it had remnants of that man’s weapons still shattered in. Licking his busted lip and over the spot where his lip ring had been before that master had ripped it out at a painful angle, his galaxial irises scanned his wound. He knew it was dangerous to leave a bite alone like that; some masters fed their pets things that would cause severe reactions in certain species. But Virgil didn’t look like a demon, he looked human. Or, at least, he seemed merely vampiric at times, if he grinned and his fangs actually sharpened up when he wanted to scare someone away from him at a bar. Nobody would believe a drunk prattling on about a vampire having a drink in a sports bar at one in the morning, anyway.

Here, in the private calmness of his getaway apartment, he watched his breathing slowly ease out. Maybe this was for the best, to have his heart beating wildly instead of calm at just seeing the state he was in after tonight. He’d gotten away from his master, but the mental damage was the worst. No matter how he looked at himself, right now or even back then, he still saw the defeated raven with scared eyes and a bloodied neck where his master had taken from his pulse. There was nothing sweet about this image; it was all he was, under the steel he’d put over himself. He even used a false name to protect himself from everyone that came close. Virgil wasn’t his birth name, but he didn’t claim it to be. And who could remember Khayrat Dhaval, none the less say his name correctly, anyway? He didn’t like hearing it unless he knew for certain that person was trusted, and that itself took a lot of years. Years he had put under his belt, and had fought hard to live for. But as he watched his weakened state tremble in his reflection again, his knuckles white as he grasped onto the edges of the onyx-coloured sink, his mind was wandering. Why couldn’t he just suck this up and just let himself warm up the thought that he was that master’s ‘precious’ fuck toy and favourite pet?

Oh, right; he couldn’t have that, lest he got too cocky and he would have even more blood on his hands that wasn’t even his. Not only had the recent capture and escape hurt him too much, he looked nothing like himself in the reflection; there was no fire in his eyes, no strength. Khayrat was unguarded and he never even tasted the tears that slipped down his cheeks, though he could see them fogging his gaze before they spilled downward. He wasn’t himself ninety percent of the time; this act that had become his entire outward soul was killing him, and he knew if he didn’t let it fall, he’d end up breaking entirely. While, if he did lose it all, he would be caught and killed. Even demons had their weaknesses, and while he had the upside of fairly few knowing what he really was, that didn’t mean that the people who’d been after him for years now were clueless. They could see the vampire, but thankfully, not the incubi.

He had a choice here. Face the others who were outside of the bathroom and talking in his small living room, or stay in here and just think. While both seemed terrifying, especially since he did have his gun on the back of the toilet, fully loaded as a precaution if something happened, as he told his men, he didn’t think he could truly do that to them. They needed their leader to be strong, to make a stand and be angry at the world. Someone who wasn’t Virgil at all. Of course he had a temper; he’d been pushed around and beaten his entire life. Any prodding could get a rise outta him! But this? The agony of watching it all unfold just in the way his body moved, breathed, and the flicker of a shattered galaxy… this wasn’t his heart, and the only one that could really see this was him and that dark-eyed master that kept coming back for him after he ran away, each and every time.

Khay licked at the blood on his lips again, tasting the rusty flavour on his tongue before he looked at his bruised hips. He’d stripped for a shower, but that was twenty minutes ago, and he was lost in thought for gods-knew how long. He could see the marks on his thighs where his master had claimed him, where those lips had descended down… it made Virge feel sick. If it weren’t for the fact the man was abusive, he probably could have let his life go by as a slave… but that was a terrifying idea. And one he couldn’t ever speak. The world was already poised to snap him up, like a cobra snagging the sweet mouse that didn’t want anything more than to nibble his corn.

He remembered how relieved he was to see those chocolate liquor eyes of Sabriel, and the wide but worried steel-azure orbs of River. Marley, too, but she was acting as their unit guard while they’d gotten him free. River’s fear was obvious, but Sabbie’s determination was the only thing that had settled those trembling nerves. Here, his mind felt shattered, and he could only now remember the fact he was actually away from that master. Slowly, he rose a somewhat ruby-slicked arm to wipe his eyes, and the strokes that raked on his inner arm from the barbed wire were highly tender. Virge had struck it by accident in a rush to get away from that fucking guard dog. It had still got him deep, though, and now that he thought about it… he felt a bit weak.

Shaking his lochs, the raven moved to start his shower, ignoring the ache in his body as he did so. He wanted to wash this grime, oil, and gods-knew what else off his flesh before he ended up hitting the mirror and shattering it. He had done that a few times, honestly; but his landlady wasn’t happy about it. Moving to slide the curtain forward and start the water, his skin ached at the feel of the heat. Slowly, he got himself situated in the streams, the pain making him wince, but it also felt brilliantly excruciating. It wasn’t til he turned his back to the water to grab some shampoo that he’d remembered. The old whip marks he’d gotten as a pre-teen, those deep and achingly alert strokes that were the warning he had gotten from his master for talking back so many years ago made him yelp at the sudden pain that raced through him. Shit!

He found himself kneeling in the spray, shaking as his hands worked to scrub down his feet and anywhere else he felt he needed to; the burn made him groan, but it was nearly cleansing in a painful form. He heard someone knock at the door, but he ignored it as he stroked his thighs with his soaped up hand towel, wanting the bruises and red marks to fade. Who did he owe the pleasure to, when he felt absolutely sick at the realization that he wasn’t alone? He had them there; he couldn’t face that yet. They worried for him, but he wasn’t here for their entertainment, or for anybody’s pleasure. He was a person that desperately made him worry and hate everything about himself when he watched the darkness in his eyes grow.

He could recall her eyes, though; those light, calm green eyes that watched him and gave him hope. She had been there for him in those early days, and saw the beginnings of his walls. He knew she was trustworthy and wanted to help. But as time went on, portions of his memory gave away when the Father died and the new one took over. There was so little left for him, he had locked her mannerisms and eyes away from his thoughts. Only when he had pulled the trigger on his own brother did his memory strike back, and he hadn’t been stable since. Wherever she was, he just prayed her will hadn’t broken like his, making her into a slave to substance and heartbreak.

Maybe that was a good idea, to ask Graves if he could search for the girl with her green eyes and patience of a goddess. Or maybe that would end horribly, and in his own demise, if he was wrong about her. They had grown; he was a timid and unsure man with no idea what to do about his life, to the point where he was playing a part to feel safety and community on a wish to see that nobody else ever would be in his shoes. That was all he wanted, to protect the ones who didn’t have that. And he feared that in her eyes, she had maybe broken or given into hatred. Maybe she had become a huntress, or a mistress – she would have never fled the country to just get away. She had never been a coward, unlike Virgil.

Growing up, he could recall her telling him so many times to get back up. To fight back and prove to the older boys he was worth the place he kept. But at the time, it had been different. Here, he had no choice at all to stand; he was forced into a corner he had accidentally forced himself into. Here, he was unsafe and terrified to lose his best friends and siblings. This was his only family. Did she have her own now? Maybe a wife or husband, a kid or two who meant the world to her? Or was she a loner, trying to survive on her own with just her own two hands? He needed to stop thinking about this, dammit, but he hadn’t been able to do much else than think when chained in a dark basement for five months. Whoever had stepped up while he was gone, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to be the one to thank them for getting him out. Shaking his head as he stood slowly, the lightheadedness kicking him down onto the tub side, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Did he bother, or did he let this die? Face his past, find her; or did he just want to keep going like nothing was wrong? Maybe the best idea was to push forward until he finally fucking lost it. Becoming a wanderer didn’t seem so bad; he and Sabe seemed to hit it off fine, til the fucker wasn’t drunk or high on something; then it was just an all-out war of wills with two injured ravens, one entirely dominant while the other tried to fake it. The demon’s intentions were always the best of interest for his family, but as he turned off the water and moved to get a towel, he wondered just a tad bit to himself if he had dug himself a grave years ago and he was already preparing himself for it mentally. Letting go was the first step of it, after all. Maybe his life wouldn’t improve, but at least… well, he’d have saved those kids and gotten them to safety, even if would someday cost him his life. Not like he had much of a life to give, really. He was broken, worthless as a lover, and he had nothing to offer anybody except the one thing he could never have.

Freedom of choice.

He could recall the last time he saw her, though, and her words still drove him on, even in times like this when he felt too wounded to stand upon his own feet again. “Say it with me, Zillie…” Her gentle press of her warmth against his shaking form, his eyes unable to keep to hers, he always trusted her judgement above all else. The pain in his body made him wince, but he needed to keep on this. Before stepping out of the bathroom with a change of clothing to hide his wounds and marks, Virgil murmured something lowly under his breath as he slid a hand through his roughly towel-dried hair:

“… I’m not givin’ up.”

Prey On The Weak – AU Twist To RebelsVerse

(An AU where Virgil has fled the Kingdom of Haven, and in his pursuits after the loss of both Zebastien and Lucas, he has become pregnant whilst letting another man take him during his heat. His trusted second in command, Sabriel, had followed at a distance, but when discovered, Virgil refused to return – and with desire to take his place back as leader from River. Heading to Cinder’s garage to talk to her about his situation, he finds himself here, where you, the reader, will see just how far loyalties lie, and how thick blood can really be when it comes to revenge.)

Motherfuck, it was cold. Shuddering as he stepped into the biting wind without another word, the demon tugged his coat closer to himself and headed down the street, his eyes curious as he felt something a little off. The streets were a little… open. Not so many people. It didn’t set well with him, after being a rebel for so long. Out of defense, one hand did rest on his hip, and he stepped with quite patience toward the garage. Cinder would be waiting on him, but he just didn’t want to bother calling. This seemed too… well, personal for that. But it was only now he realised he had left his phone sit at the bar. Oh. Oh fuck. That wasn’t good. And while he held bonds to two people now… well, it wasn’t like he could talk ta them. Merely sighing, he trudged on, not wanting to look too exposed like this.

It wasn’t until he felt the air hit him in the fact hard with a blast of cold wind did he wince and stop, his blue gaze peeking around before he took in a figure. And from the smell, there was one behind him, too. Alright. He’d been in so many worse places, but never whilst pregnant and in pain from it. As the snow eased just a little, he saw the smaller form of the man in front of him, barely fifteen feet away. “Mornin’, London,” he called lowly, trying to hide the worry and agitation this was going to bring from his voice, “Didn’t think I’d see you fer a while, laddie.” He could see London’s gaze was crimson, and he had a bad feeling. London had tried to kill him in the past, multiple times. And this… this felt like a stalk. Like a predator had found the den of its meal. The way London smirked, one that looked so much like his own, Virgil merely stayed still, his eyes calm, as if a little bored.

“I don’t know about London, but I’m not here to talk,” came a deep voice from behind him, and Virgil didn’t dare turn. That would have given them an opening. “Sorry to see you go, Dhaval, but you really should actually kill the kids of the masters that you’ve off’d. Like ours.” London’s red eyes glared angrily, but he stood still a moment, waiting. He looked almost like a much younger version of the rebel with the blue eyes, but without the ink and height… and the accent.

“I dun kill unless I gotta,” he drawled, trying his best to stay calm, “but if ya’ll dun believe me…” Shrugging, he moved to start walking again. It was now that he saw London draw his glock and aim, and the demon barely had time to react. It was such a rush; London suddenly right at him, that kitsune laughing and grabbing the demon by his neck, and squeezing tightly around his windpipe… Oh, fuck. Moving out of instinct, the demon snarled as his hand rose his own pistol, the desert eagle glinting in the sunlight through the blizzard, and he aimed and fired just that fast. The kitsune’s grasp only tightened, and quickly, he found himself overwhelmed.

Without much defense, he really was unable to do much as he was flung with almost a gleeful ease by the kitsune, yelped as his back struck a truck’s passenger side door. He trembled, and nearly fell to his knees – except if London hadn’t punched him right in his mouth, making his hiss and retaliate. He was dizzy, trying to regain himself, but this was far from over.

How long had he been trying to fight these two off? He panted for breath as he hid in an alleyway, his feet sliding a little from the ice under his boots. Fuck, fuck… Pressing a hand to his bloodied shoulder, he tried to calm himself. The baby was /not/ helping right now, and just when he thought they were gone, London dropped down from out of nowhere, in front of the expectant demon. “Well well. Looks like you’re not so strong anymore, not with this parasite, at least. Did your sex life finally bite you in the ass?” London’s voice was like a rich, bitter chocolate, and Virgil almost shivered from it. But he didn’t say a word until the younger man struck him hard, hitting him hard in center of the rib cage. It made a yell leave his lips, and just that fast, he heard four gunshots go off. One had struck him in his calf, he felt that instantly, and it made him buckle, but the others…

“Off him, city boy. He ain’t in Haven Kingdom anymore.” It was a growl of a voice, and as the owner’s bullet shooed off the kitsune fast, he’d have to distract London. “Virge, get outta here,” came the soft but firm tone of the rebel that had come to his aid, and quickly, he watched as Sabriel chased after London, the two landing blows as they went. Virgil didn’t have the strength to get back up, his back pressing into brick, gasping for air. Oh, gods, he… Oh. He felt faint as hell. Moving just slightly, he growled and ripped the bullet from his calf, knowing too well that Sabe carried holy ammunition on him. Wincing as he threw it aside, he groaned under his breath. Yeah. Fucking great. Blizzard, he’d just been attacked… and Sabriel, the man he’d been avoiding, had come from nowhere and chased after his bloodthirsty, revenge-seeking nephew. Oh, the lovely perks of being a past leader in a rebellion!!

Sighing to himself, he tried to stand, and after a few attempts, he merely slid back down into the snow. Ugh. But as he tried to calm himself, his stomach tensing here and there – he wiped that off mentally as a remnant of that sucker punch – he didn’t hear the crunch of the snow nearby over the pounding in his chest and the muscle tightness that kept hitting like he’d slammed into… Oh. Right. He did get thrown into a truck’s door…

Gold eyes watched the rebel, and with a smirk, the kitsune raised his gun, and whistled low to snag Virgil’s gaze. Only now Virge could see the fox’s tails behind him, four tails that flicked with energy, and golden eyes that reminded him instantly of his passed-away husband. It made him freeze, and watching the kitsune with the long coat and silver-tipped gun, he couldn’t move whatsoever.

“Time’s up, ya worthless Angel,” the kitsune growled out lowly before pulling the trigger.

I’m your guard. – River’s POV

In this world, there’s nothing useful they can do with me, except make me their scapegoat.

But maybe that’s why you came along.

I fixed you the best I could, and you tried to help me along, too. Through all of our adventures, you taught me something delicate that I would have never understood from another person. You can help a soul onto their feet, but it’s them who have to start walking forward.

I wish that I could have said to you that I loved you more. But I know you never felt that way to me, so where was the point in that? We never stood a chance.

This may come off as odd, but I want to tell you something. It sounds weird, talking to a gravestone, but I can’t say it to your spirit. I know I can’t.

This world? It’s fucking sick, I hate it, and I hate acting like I really care. I don’t give a fuck about the world.

I care about the people; I care about you, Marley.

You made this world so much easier, made my life better, even if you laughed me down each time I ever tried to win you over. I know now I didn’t have a chance in your eyes. Out of everything we’ve done, Amora’s the best thing to come from it. She makes my life brighter, but it still hurts, seeing her growing to look just like you, just… with my eyes. And that kills me just as deeply as it makes me smile, Mars.

If I hadn’t met you, I would have never known what both heartbreak and loneliness can do to a man. For that pain, I”m actually grateful, because I can use that to help others going through what I have. The ache in my chest, even as I talk like this, to you… it reminds me that I still love you.

That it won’t go away because I can’t see you anymore. I’ll always love you, no matter what. Like I told you often when we were so much younger, so stupid and willing to get into trouble at any turn of the tide or twist of the dice…

Marley. I’m your loyal guard, and nothing will ever stop me from getting to you.

Not even death.

Wait for me, because I can’t leave until I know Amora’s safe. Our daughter needs one of us, and I’ll try my hardest to keep going until I know I don’t have to be here anymore.

Please, understand that you’re the one that can see through me without a second glance, and maybe it’s best you’re gone. A leader can’t be seen through, not like how you can see to my core. Nobody wants to live forever, Mars, I’m gonna tell you that much.

Be my guiding light when I can’t see through the darkness, Marley Rodriguez. Please.

You left me too soon.

Too godsdammed soon.

Say a prayer, Zillie.

Say a Prayer, Zillie.

So maybe this wasn’t what he’d wanted to become. Ocean eyes watched the reflection in the bathroom mirror, his gaze mostly seeing his profile as he merely looked onward, as if it wasn’t his body. His marks, scars, tattoos, scrapes and bruises… this was part of being what they needed him to be. An asshole with harsh judgement upon his warriors. A man who had to be everything for these people; their confider, best friend, leader, and a sometimes, a sexist, heartless bastard. He didn’t kill because he had to. Virgil was not a murderer. He was, essentially…a coward forced to step up when there was no other option. Sabriel couldn’t have taken the place as the leader of the rebellion, and in their much smaller group at the time… Virgil was the only real choice.

But that was his biggest mistake, trusting Darren with his heart, to finally look up to someone who wasn’t going to hurt him. A protector. But in a moment of weakness, it was a bad call that got the man hung. And it wasn’t even Virgil who took pity upon their father figure – it had been River. This was not what he wanted with his life. Where he stood now, a man who was surviving on sex and souls, his eyes flickered the dangerous demon blood right at his edge. The galaxial twist and turn of those sickly sweet pools watched the marks upon his skin, looking over the bloodied areas, he could indeed see crimson flaring up like dying stars in his own eyes.

His darkened gaze slid from the reflection that he had been intent to memorize, back down to his chest where he was bleeding rather heavily. He wasn’t bothering to patch it, not wanting to feel it burn worse if he cleaned it. Licking his busted lip and the spot where his lip ring had been before that master had ripped it out at a painful angle, Khayrat’s eyes scanned his wound. He knew it was dangerous to leave a drakwolf bite alone; some masters fed their pets things that would cause severe reactions in certain species. But Virgil didn’t look like a demon. He looked human, or at least he seemed vampiric at times, if he grinned and his fangs actually sharpened.

Here, in the private calmness of his getaway apartment, he watched his breathing slowly ease out. Maybe this was for the best, to have his heart beating wildly instead of calm at just seeing the state he was in after tonight. He’d gotten away from his master, but the mental damage was the worst. No matter how he looked at himself, he saw the defeated raven with scared eyes and a bloodied neck where his master had taken from his pulse. There was nothing sweet about this image; it was all he was, under the steel he’d put over himself. Why couldn’t he just suck it up and let his mind warm up the thought that he wasn’t somebody’s fuck toy?

Oh, right; he couldn’t have that, lest he got too cocky and he would have more blood on his hands that wasn’t even his. Not only had the recent capture and escape hurt him too much, he looked nothing like himself in the reflection; here was no fire in his eyes, no strength; he was unguarded and he never even tasted the tears that slipped down his cheeks. He wasn’t himself ninety percent of the time; an act that had become his entire soul was killing him, and he knew if he didn’t let it fall, he’d end up breaking entirely. While, if he did lose it all, he would be caught and killed. Even demons had their weaknesses, and while he had the upside of fairly few knowing what he really was, that didn’t mean that the people who’d been after him for years now were clueless. They could see the vampire, but thankfully, not the incubi.

He had a choice here. Face the others who were outside of the bathroom and talking in his small living room, or stay in here and just think. While both seemed terrifying, especially since he did have his gun on the back of the toilet, fully loaded, he didn’t think he could truly do that to them. They needed their leader to be strong, to make a stand and be angry at the world. Someone who wasn’t Virgil at all. Of course he had a temper; he’d been pushed around and beaten his entire life. Any prodding could get a rise outta him! But this? The agony of watching it all unfold just in the way his body moved, breathed, and the flicker of a shattered galaxy… this wasn’t his heart.

Virgil licked at the blood on his lips again, tasting the rusty flavour on his tongue before he looked at his hips. He’d stripped for a shower, but that was twenty minutes ago, and he was lost in thought. He could see the marks on his thighs where his master had claimed him, where those lips had descended down… it made Virge feel sick. If it weren’t for the fact the man was abusive, he probably could have let his life go by as a slave… but that was a terrifying idea. And one he couldn’t ever speak. The world was already poised to snap him up, like a anaconda snagging the sweet mouse that didn’t want anything more than to nibble his corn.

He remembered how relieved he was to see those dark eyes of Sabriel, and the wide but worried orbs of River. Marley, too, but she was acting as guard while they’d gotten him free. River’s fear was obvious, but Sabbie’s determination was the only that that had settled those trembling nerves. Here, his mind felt shattered, and he could only now remember the fact he was actually away from that master. Slowly, he rose a somewhat slicked arm to wipe his eyes, the strokes that raked on his inner arm from the barbed wire he had struck by accident in a rush to get away from that fucking Drak. It had still got him deep, though, and now that he thought about it… he felt a bit weak.

Shaking his lochs, the raven moved to start his shower, ignoring the ache in his body as he did so. He wanted to wash this grime, oil, and gods-knew what else off his flesh before he ended up hitting the mirror and shattering it. He had done that a few times, honestly; but his landlady wasn’t happy about it. Moving to slide the curtain forward and start the water, his skin ached at the feel of the heat. Slowly, he got himself situated in the streams, the pain making him wince, but it also felt brilliantly excruciating. It wasn’t til he turned his back to the water to grab some shampoo that he’d forgotten. The old whip marks he’d gotten as a pre-teen, those deep and achingly alert strokes made him yelp at the sudden pain. Shit!

He found himself kneeling in the spray, shaking as his hands worked to scrub down his feet and anywhere else he felt he needed to; the pain made him groan, but it was nearly cleansing in a painful form. He heard someone knock at the door, but he ignored it as he stroked his thighs with his soap,, wanting the bruises and red marks to fade. Who did he owe the pleasure to, when he felt absolutely sick at the realization that he wasn’t alone. He had them there; he couldn’t face that yet. They worried for him, but he wasn’t here for their entertainment, or for anybody’s pleasure. He was a person that desperately made him worry and hate everything about himself when he watched the darkness in his eyes grow.

He could recall her eyes, though; those light, calm eyes that watched him and gave him hope. She had been there for him in those early days, and saw the beginnings of his walls. He knew she was trustworthy and wanted to help. But as time went on, portions of his memory gave away when the Father died and the new one took over. There was so little left for him, he had locked her mannerisms and eyes away from his thoughts. Only when he had pulled the trigger on his own brother did his memory strike back, and he hadn’t been stable since. Wherever she was, he just prayed her will hadn’t broken like his, making her into a slave to substance and heartbreak.

Maybe that was a good idea, to ask Graves if he could search for the girl with her blue eyes and patience of a goddess. Or maybe that would end horribly, and in his own demise, if he was wrong about her. They had grown; he was a timid and unsure man with no idea what to do about his life, to the point where he was playing a part to feel safety and community on a wish to see that nobody else ever would be in his shoes. That was all he wanted, to protect the ones who didn’t have that. And he feared that in her eyes, she had maybe broken or given into hatred. Maybe she had become a huntress, or a mistress – she would have never fled the country to just get away. She had never been a coward, unlike Virgil.

Growing up, he could recall her telling him so many times to get back up. To fight back and prove to the older boys he was worth the place he kept. But at the time, it had been different. Here, he had no choice at all to stand; he was forced into a corner he had accidentally forced himself into. Here, he was unsafe and terrified to lose his best friends and siblings. This was his only family.

Did she have her own now? Maybe a wife or husband, a kid or two who meant the world to her? Or was she a loner, trying to survive on her own with just her own two hands? He needed to stop thinking about this, dammit, but he hadn’t been able to do much else than think when chained in a dark basement for five months. Whoever had stepped up, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to thank them for getting him out. Shaking his head as he stood slowly, the lightheadedness kicking him down onto the tub side, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Did he bother, or did he let this die? Face his past, find her; or did he just want to keep going like nothing was wrong? Maybe the best idea was to push forward until he finally fucking lost it. Becoming a wanderer didn’t seem so bad; he and Sabe seemed to hit it off fine, til the fucker wasn’t drunk or high on something; then it was just an all-out war of wills with two injured ravens, one entirely dominant while the other tried to fake it.

The demon’s intentions were always the best of interest for his family, but as he turned off the water and moved to get a towel, he wondered just a tad bit to himself if he had dug himself a grave years ago and he was already prepping himself for it mentally. Letting go was the first step of it, after all. Maybe his life wouldn’t improve, but at least… well, he’d have saved those kids and gotten them to safety, even if would someday cost him his life. Not like he had much of a life to give, really. He was broken, worthless as a lover, and he had nothing to offer anybody except the one thing he could never have.

Freedom of choice.

He could recall the last time he saw her, though, and her words still drove him on, even in times like this when he felt too wounded to stand upon his own feet again. “Say it with me, Zillie…” Her gentle press of her warmth against his shaking form, his eyes unable to keep to hers, he always trusted her judgement above all else. The pain in his body made him wince, but he needed to keep on this. Before stepping out of the bathroom with a change of clothing to hide his wounds and marks, Virgil murmured something lowly under his breath as he slid a hand through his roughly towel-dried hair:

“… I’m not givin’ up.”

Just Stay

She needed her semi-lover’s touch more than she could have ever imagined. Every time she woke, Micah was alone, and the pyro didn’t know how to take it. Her sweet lover was so gentle and easy with her, it almost didn’t seem like the same person. Those hot, honey eyes were delicate every time they met gazes. And as she curled back into the warm chest that she knew would abandon her side soon, she let herself relax. There was never pillow talk… It was just them being how they needed to be. If she could have loved her leader any less, it would have been easier, but Alcyn was never one to stay in one place. She needed to be active, and even now, Micah could feel the wolf starting to pull away. Swallowing hard, she peeked over her shoulder and reached to slip her hand over Alcyn’s lightly shaking fingers.

“Please stay,” the pyro murmured as she caught those honey eyes, the blue in them nowhere to be seen, “just… a little longer?” She hated the idea of her lover going back out to get shot at, getting in trouble and nearly getting killed. If there was a phrase that could describe Alcyn Foxx, it was “calculated, but reckless ruthlessness.”

“I can’t,” the wolfess murmured into Micah’s ear, “I really need to get to work on the one-handed blade I’ve promised to Daybreak. He’ll be coming by to pick it up this evening.” Frowning, the pyro slowly let go.

“But he would wait just another day if you asked,” Micah mumbled as she sat up to watch the leader getting dressed, “you know he would. And you need the break.” The rebel leader’s arms and hands were scarred and always aching from the use of her forge. Although a worthy blacksmith, and so good at it, it worried Micah beyond anything. She needed to keep the woman safe…but nothing seemed to be happening like that. Allie was just too stubborn to let something with her work go easily.

“I don’t want to ask him that.”

“You’re just being prideful again.” The wolf paused as she looked toward her naked rebel in her bed, and sighed.

“I have to do this; just get dressed before ya get caught. Brandy didn’t like seeing ya like this the other morning, ya know.” And that was all the leader said before she tugged her muscle shirt back on and fixed her belt, heading out as Micah Stone frowned. Why did her leader have to be such a hard-ass about just cuddling?

Chilly Wamth – Early IndVer

The winter chill was leaking into their small one-bedroom apartment, and as Indigo typed away on his laptop with a word, River was honest-to-the-gods shivering away like a chihuahua. Moving a little from his place on the couch, the teenager couldn’t help but whine softly in his throat. The sound was quiet, but it wasn’t unheard. Indigo didn’t look up, his green eyes on the computer screen as he finished another line of code.

The younger wolf pouted some, moving to scoot himself closer to his hacker lover. “Iiiiiiiiindie…” he called softly, his voice a bit squeaky from his recent cold still, “‘M cold, Indie…” The teenaged wolf peeked up at his older lover, and was greeted by the sound of the hacker shutting his laptop and sighing quietly.

“I know,” he replied gently, his tone lacking in accent compared to River’s thicker British-English and German mix, “but I don’t have a way to fix it at the moment. The heat isn’t gonna be on for a few more days.” Setting his computer onto the table, Indigo moved to lay back against the pillows. Riv’s recent nightmares had resorted him to having to sleep out here with Indigo on the couch whilst his lover played away on his video game systems.

“I don’t see why they can’t do it now,” Riv murmured as he moved to cuddle into the older wolf’s now open arms, “it can’t be that hard to light the gas and get it going again.” The hacker didn’t reply, gently, stroking a hand through those unruly lochs of short, electric-blue dyed hair.

“I think they’ll be playing horror movies all night on that one channel you like,” Indigo murmured lowly as he pressed a kiss to those strange lochs, “we can watch some films, relax…”

“What about your work?” peeped the shorter male, pulling the blanket on the back of their grey couch over them both as he cuddled into the hacker’s chest, “Are you done for tonight?”

“Yeah, for the most part,” Indie returned quietly, “college courses aren’t that hard when it’s stuff people shoulda learned on their own.” He shrugged, getting himself comfortable as River rested against him.

“I guess so,” River murmured, “but you are really smart with computers.” The older wolf laughed a little, turning up the volume on their telly; “I bet you’d do really good designing video games or something.”

“Nah. That’s not me. It’s too boring. I’d rather just fix things up and keep things protected.” Yep. He was not a hacker just because it was fun! Oh, well… actually, that /was/ the reason. He just loved pissing people off. “It’s all good. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes guy.”

River nodded and kissed his lover’s chest, over the area his surgery a month ago had taken place. Indigo hadn’t been active at all since that heart surgery, but he seemed alright in mind. His caffeine intake was getting a bit higher, but he wasn’t sleeping, either… “Are you sleepy?” he asked softly, curiosity in his quiet voice, “I know I could use a nap.” His words were almost mumbled into the older wolf’s chest, but slowly, River could feel Indigo relaxing into their combined warmth.

Content to snuggle like this in silence as he watched the television, curled into those arms that he’d grown used to, he was more than happy to drift off as the credits came to an end. He could feel Indigo’s chest rising slowly, a pace that wasn’t usually this calm; the older wolf had knocked out long before him, and honestly, River spent most of the film just listening to his lover’s heartbeat under his ear, letting the sound ease him into slumber.

In the early morning, the teenager groggily peeked up, unsure of where he was; that was, until he saw Indigo still holding onto his tiny form, the older wolf snoring softly into the cushions. Amazed by the fact his lover was still asleep, the wolf couldn’t help but smile and curl himself a bit closer, closing his eyes as he took in the elder’s warm musk scent that almost reminded him of that pine-sol stuff his father hated. “Thank you,” he murmured softly into the snoring chest, “I needed this.” After nearly losing the older wolf, yeah, he needed to feel that the older man was, in fact, safe. And that, in turn, he was safe with the other Drakwolf, too.

But why, oh why, did Indie not see the love in little River’s gaze at every kiss and touch? Maybe he was doing something wrong. Or maybe Indie was just as blind as he was to the affections of others. But… Indigo had always seemed distant, quiet, thinking. Maybe the older wolf was using him like his father said; or maybe, Indigo was just misunderstood and didn’t understand how to express himself toward others. He was always playing games or doing something; he’d never let his hands stay still. He’d have to figure it out before he went to face his Pops again.

But, for the moment, the hacker was happy to snore away, his lover cuddled close for warmth, and their television playing old reruns of /I Love Lucy/ in the chilly background.