#till human voices wake us

[silkbox]

That chair got me good, so I’m obligated to return the favor. 

(fanart for a fantastic shadowgast fanfiction called till human voice wake us by the illustrious @ariadne-mouse)

[blueoctopussss]

I'm working on an illustration for Mermay of Caleb and Essek inspired by @ariadne-mouse 's fic 'till human voices wake us' (so lovely, you should definitely read it, I've wanted to make a drawing for it for a while and now seemed like a good time!).

However, when I was working on the sketch I kind of just had a vague line between them of where the other arms would go, forgot about it, finished most of the linework, and now I'm not sure what to do with them!

I'm open to some suggestions, and I made a poll with some of my ideas. Feel free to elaborate in the comments or tags if you think they should be doing different things. I can easily use the lasso tool to move them farther apart/closer together or adjust the angle to make different poses work. I will also adjust the arms that are currently drawn as needed (please ignore the hands currently; I did not want to spend a lot of time on them until I was sure I liked the pose!).

Posing is one of the things I struggle the most with in art, and having an underwater scene where gravity has less of an effect means there are even more options so I appreciate any feedback I can get.

I hope to have the illustration done maybe next week (by the end of May for sure!) and I will post it here then!

Thank you!

[alfgifu]

Fic analysis 13. Keeping score

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48605707

Word count: 2,148

Chapters: 1

First posted: 15th July 2023

Summary: 

It was the nature of the Great Game Aurieleteer to make extraordinary demands on its players. The rules were brutally simple, but the moves were breathtakingly intricate.

Circe of Aiaia had, at one time, prided herself on the efficient elegance of her stratagems.

How and why this came about

The second prompt challenge was on the subject of taxes, which is surprisingly fertile ground in the Nine Worlds. I had already decided to make use of the challenges to circle round as wide a range of characters, settings, and subjects as possible. I liked the idea of writing Raphael and Circe (for me their odd relationship is the best and crunchiest thing about Till Human Voices Wake Us), and the whole setting seemed perfect for a historical escapade that (as a bonus) allowed me to vicariously set the world on fire.

I had a rule for myself that I was going to complete [x] amount of my long fic (this varied over time) and the prompt fic was the last thing I wrote that week, which meant it was quite often written on the Saturday afternoon before the deadline. It became something of a joke that I would say, every week, that I wasn’t sure if I’d be taking part that weekend because I didn’t have any ideas - and then I submitted something, generally at the very last minute.

What worked and what didn’t

It was charmingly easy to insert Circe into a real historical event as perpetrator, with a bit of cursory research on Wikipedia and the pattern of a hundred Doctor Who episodes to imitate. It was even more satisfying to allow her to set fire to a government building and destroy centuries worth of meticulous record-keeping (cover your ears, Cliopher).

The flexible nature of the Great Game Aurieleteer in the books is highly convenient for fic. The players set one another tasks and can name some constraints but the nature and length of the tasks and the extent of the rules they put forward can be entirely plot-convenient.

What I learned from writing it

It’s incredibly satisfying to write a character whose moral code is distorted in ways that let them be entirely callous about most other people. They get to be scary and violent and enjoy it, and there’s a huge freedom in just going with that and not restraining wicked impulses. 

I also learned that very few other people are interested in writing or reading fic based on THVWU… for nearly a year this was the only THVWU fic on AO3; this summer someone uploaded a Raphael/Eurydice filk but otherwise Raphael and Circe only appear in fanfic where they cross over into other parts of canon.

That makes sense - THVWU was Goddard’s first novel and it’s full of dense allusions to various other authors, plus a mythological framework inspired by the kind of mid-C20th CS Lewis christian vibe, both of which can be understandably off-putting. There is a lot of potential in the world building though. I’m not sure the Great Game can ever exactly be made to make sense but it allows for some fun scenarios.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"[Once in solitary confinement] you start thinking about what to do now. A false sense of energy and hope seizes hold of you. Wasn't it my friend Laurie who devised about fifty different things you can do in a cell to keep your mind occupied? I can only remember two of them. [I could do] exercises. ... but it doesn't keep you going for long. Oh then, there's the Bible. Why not make up your mind to start reading it from beginning to end? Or make a study of one book? The book of Job? The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. But Job wasn't in solitary confinement. Good God, he wasn't even in prison, the lucky soandso.

You start reading, but you find you can't concentrate. Your mind wanders away to the people outside. I suppose the V.J. [Visiting Judge, who ordered punishments like solitary confinement] is looking forward to sitting down to a nice lunch. Meat and white bread and pastry, I'll bet. I hope it ties knots in his guts. Jesus Maria. How did you ever let yourself get in this position? And you make a resolution then. Never again. If it ever looks that you might get arrested, rather shoot your way out. They took you away, the police did, and locked you up. And now the screws have done it again. Take him away and lock him up. Theme song of all authority for 1,900 years. And getting worse now. Take the derelict away and lock him up.

Outside, in the world which you left behind you ages ago, there are people actually walking about the streets wondering what they'll have for lunch, worrying about some silly business problem, thinking what a time they're going to have that night with some girl. Girls, my God. While you squat here, like some bloody animal in the half-dark.

Or in the country. Actually in the country near birds and trees. Grumbling about having to milk cows. It's almost unbelievable. They ought to throw their arms round the cows' necks and hug them for the privilege of being free to milk them. Of being free to touch them. Of being free.

I'm so tied to my farm, writes one cow-cocky in the paper, that the only difference between it and a concentration camp is the height of the boundary fence.

You damn fool, you crazy bastard, you lying hound. You can go out and eat grass, can't you? You can drink the milk, you can get down on your knees and suck the cow's teats? You can do anything, you fool, you're FREE.

Try sitting in a cell in semi-darkness reading the Book of Job on an empty stomach. Try praying to God for the minutes to go, just a little quicker. Try having the smell of your own pisspot in your nostrils night and day. Try waiting through interminable hours for night to come so as you can steal a little enjoyment from a smoke as thin as the lead in a lead pencil; hoping to God a screw won't pass by and smell you out. Try being a derelict in solitary confinement. Try getting into such a degraded state that a bit of cheese, shoved under the door by a friendly cleaner, seems like one of the miracles of Christ. Try those things just once. Then get down on your knees again, but instead of sucking teats, thank God you're alive and on the right side of the walls."

- Ian Hamilton, Till Human Voices Wake Us. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1983 (first published by private subscription, 1953). p. 65-66.

[I've read a lot of prison memoirs this year, with many more to come. This may be one of the best. Hamilton was a conscientious objector in New Zealand-Aotearoa during World War 2, a pessimistic socialist humanist, a playwright, and sheep farmer. This may be one of the best, just raw but well-directed anger, utter contempt for polite New Zealand settler society and for what he viewed as a growing bureaucratization and dehumanization of society. I thought this bitter anger directed at people who use metaphors of imprisonment lightly to describe minor incovencies.]

[erinaceina]

Carefully adds Raphael to the shelf of blorbos who need a hug and a nap…

[taryo88]

A flock of wild mages ✨

[lunairka]

Till Human Voices Wake Us is a masterpiece

I just finished reading Till human voices wake us by the incredible mousecookie. It is fantastic, mesmerizing, I genuinely can’t recommend something more. It has captivated me for months, and I am incredibly glad I got to come along for the ride.

If you, like me, love the ocean in all its dangerous and intoxicating glory, sirens/mermaids, fantastic characterization, STUNNING illustrations. Then this is the fic for you

ITS SO GOOD YOU GUYS AND ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVORITES PLEAAASSE ALLOW YOURSELF TO READ THIS UTTER MASTERPIECE !!!!!

[straye]

🖤 :3c

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours. : ACCEPTING !

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / b0adass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

[fujouppy]

i need to watch till human voices wake us. but do i really?

[r3starttt]

GET IT HOT

CW: car sex. use of strap. fingering. sub! ellie. good girl, babe.

Traffic had been beyond horrifying today. You've had a long exhausting day, and you've prayed to any divinity to let you get home quick, to just cuddle and have a nice night with your girlfriend. Ellie begged for the same thing after having a tough day with clients at her job and then being all day burning due the sun and traffic, taking ages to pick you up and then ages to get back home.

She read your face the moment you got in the car, so you've got the privilege to get some sleep until you two arrived home. Which was for nothing because she had to wake you up before she even got the two of you out for traffic. She got bored and anxious and felt like exploding if she didn't hear you yapping about anything.

Eventually traffic faded, but there was still a long path before you even got near home. And your yapping didn't help at all, she was mad.

You could tell by how her hands ran through her hair, almost ripping it off. By how her fingers would grip the steering wheel, by how she would groan or mumble slurs to all those stupid humans driving like shit. She was hot, you were hot.

So, after overthinking it, you decided to wait till you got home. Ellie had a hard day too, and it wouldn't be any fair to make her put more effort for today, you could wait.

"Fuck" she groaned, throwing her hands to the air, not so accidentally slapping the flesh of your thighs. "What?" You whispered, trying to distract yourself from losing it.

"These fucking- everyone's fucking stupid- look!" Her grip tightened, making you squirm underneath her. There were some cars making a mess, how the fuck did these people got their license?

"Shit, m' sorry" the tone of her voice lowered, harshly moving her hand away. You furrowed your brows, letting out a small 'huh?'

"I was ripping your leg apart" she chuckled. Your hand traveled to hers, moving her to where it was just some seconds ago, making sure it'll keep in place. "Nothing you haven't done before, no worries"

"Seriously?" You rolled your eyes "what?" She laughed at you, slacing a cautionary glaze at you and then shifting her eyes back to the road. "Though you've had a hard day?" You shrugged "same for you"

She clicked her tongue "shut up" your fingers grabbed her hand, moving it closer and deeper to your inner thighs. You crossed your legs, feeling your panties stupidly wet.

"You sure?" She replied, cocky as her usual temper. Suddenly, all the anger she had from all day faded. "How's that?" Her fingers moved to the middle of your cunt, rubbing circles above your clothed clit. You whined 'good'.

"Yeah?" You nodded "If I slid my fingers like this, how's that feel?" Her middle finger slid over your arousal, deeping it just enough to make you clench around nothing. "Good, feels good"

"Come here" the red light illuminated your face. Your body, almost as a reflex, leaned towards her. Her lips pressed against yours, Ellie could not be craving you more.

"How're you this wet already?" She mocked "what have you been thinking-" You interrupted her, giving her one last kiss before the light turned green.

"Lean back" so you did, opening your legs wide and nice for her. The palm of her fingers moving your panties aside, letting her digit dance in between your cunt. It only lasted some seconds before she introduced her fingers inside you, smiling at how you clenched at her feeling.

You kept on bucking your hips closer to her hand if even possible, eliciting that sheepish smile, full of adoration. Fuck she couldn't have any better view.

The cold air hitting your bare legs, her fingers curling so deliciously inside you. The wetness and obscene sounds filling the silence between both, some groans and heavily sighs coming out of her too. You felt your stomach clenching at it.

She couldn't do much, and it was more than frustrating. To see how your hands gripped on anything you had near, how you tried to push her away whenever it got a little bit too much. See your legs closing, feel how damp her hand was getting. She couldn't wait.

So she pulled over. "Come on, sit on my lap" her hand pulled off your cunt, almost too abruptly. You whined at it, still doing as she asked you to. "Yeah, good girl"

"Look at you" she chuckled "kiss" your lips pressed on hers in such a messy desperate kiss, feeling your tongue dancing against hers, the drool escaping your mouth and to your chin.

"Pull it out" your hands grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her closer until she didn't let you "I know you feel it, pull it out"

You wanted to ask, stupid, knowing you already had the answer. She was always so considerating, wasn't she?

Your nails dragged along the hem of her t shirt, rolling it up right before her chest. You got rid of her belt, letting out the strap.

"Sink on it" your knees moved up hers, finding a better position. Just as the tip touched your arousal you let out a humiliating whimper, already so desperate for her. "Feels good huh?" She mocked.

"Now sink all the way down" she filled you just right. Without realizing you were already clenching around it, too focused on resting your weight on her, pressing your hands over her shoulders. You looked at her eyes, searching for a hint of pleasure coming out her. Ellie simply replied with a 'mhm'.

"Good girl, take your time, babe." you could hear how wet you were, moving up and down her lap. Her nose brushed your neck, holding your lower back, guiding you as you ride her.

Once you got yourself comfortable you started to speed your movements, hearing your arousal becoming more wet at your every move. Ellie kept on letting out repetitive pleads. The friction on her clit started to her way too overwhelming.

She pulled your shirt off, immediately meeting your nipples with her mouth, dancing her tongue on each of them. Her hips started to buck into you, making the friction for both stupidly perfect.

You felt your cunt clenching, a contraction on your whole body, all accompanied by her pretty whines, her tongue making a mess on your breasts and her drool covering your nipples.

"Cum for me babe" you asked her, harshly grabbing her pretty face, already messy, and pressing your lips against hers, feeling your inner thighs get covered by your juices. "Can't- Can't, fuck-"

Her mouth opened very slightly, whining at your mouth. Fuck she was so pretty. Her fingers gripped tightly at the fat of your hips, letting the pleasure invade both your bodies.

That until she caught her breath, letting out a sheepishly laugh per usual, shushed by your lips on her temple. "Love you" "love you too"

[mx-pastelwriting]

Raison d'être

(Post-War) Cooper Howard x GN! Reader

Summary: Your marriage had been ripped apart by Vault-Tec, only to be sown back together 200 years later.

Warnings: Slight Angst, Established Relationship, Sad Reuniting, Soft Cooper, Kissing, Hugs

Heavy as your limps were walking through the dry desert powered by adrenaline born from the pain that pulsed through your arms. Having broken from the glass pod, waking from a long slumber, only guessing it was for a long time by the open vault door showing the desert land with no human life to greet you.

Finally arriving at a small, worn house, having your sights on it a mile back. Hoping no life lived behind the broken boards of wood, with slow motions made your way in, looking around for anything to use as a weapon.

Yet finding nothing, not even a piece of the wood that once held the place up. To your luck, nothing sprang with life, letting you relax under a roof after the sun's harsh rays ate away at your skin for miles. Sitting on the worn-out couch, feeling every limp break down, welcoming more pain, not being able to move taking up the time with looking about seeing empty food cans, beer bottles, and small glass vials. 

Quickly your thoughts pulled away, now fully on the noise of footsteps outside, hearing the mysterious person cruse before the door opened, only for them to quickly notice your broken existence.

Many emotions mixed on the man's face, seeing his skin looking as if it had healed from burns. Though that wasn’t what stood out the most, seeing his eyes widen with his mouth opening agape, he stepped forward allowing you to see his saddened eyes.

Feeling as if they were familiar, having memories of those pair of eyes loving, comforting, and desiring you. As quickly as the memories came, so did the eyes turn to anger, drawing their gun on you. “You’re not real,” he says through tightened teeth. Hearing the accented voice sparked familiarity in you, once again reminding you of the man’s existence.

“Coop?” You choked out, dry as your throat was the tears that welled up in your vision didn’t stop your throat watering with cries. "Coop, is that you?” Asking through cries, fighting the pain that screamed through your body in getting up from the couch.

Standing there in shock watching your attempt to get to him, lowering the aim of the gun moving in a fast motion, wrapping his arms around you. Squeezing tight, allowing choked sobs to roar out of you, the memories of that day came back, having been scared the moment you saw Cooper’s face when the vault door closed on him, having pushed you in, sacrificing himself never thinking you would be back in his warm embrace.

The same embrace you gave to him in the past, whether it had been loving or comfort from the world of his career shunned him, you stood by the man you loved. Your husband.

“I thought you-“ A sob stopped your words, but thankfully he spoke, “I came by every day, hopin’.” He whispered hand on your head, keeping you close. “I stared at the vault door till I couldn't.” He went on, only letting you in a little on the pain he went through, yet here he was alive. 

Breaking away from the tightness of the embrace looking at each other, seeing the familiar handsome eyes you fell in love with all those years ago. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he says, smiling, returning the same while looking over his new features, falling in love all over again.

“I know I ain’t the prettiest, but-“ Not letting him finish the self-doubting words with your lips, returning the kissing, Placing a hand on his scared cheek, causing his pull to tighten as if he had waited for this moment for years, living on just for you.

A/N: Let me know if ya’ll want a part two!

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @emoguardian

[lordprettyflackotara]

till dawn || eyeless jack || the finale

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. this one’s a lil fluffy not gonna hold you guys. i’m so sad to see till dawn end :’) but all good things must come to an end eventually. i think down the line i will create a bonus chapter, but for now this is the end of till dawn. love you all. mwah!

bonus part is here

Knock knock knock!

A groan of annoyance left your lips, your senses resuming as you regained consciousness.

“Wake up fuckers! You owe us waffles!” Ben’s cheery voice flooded your ears, his voice echoing down the hallway outside of Jacks room. You sighed, rolling over and shoving Jack awake. A confused snore escaped his lips, his eye sockets finally opening.

“Huh?”

“Ben wants waffles,” You sighed, flopping back down onto your pillow. Unfortunately you both had lost one too many rounds of mario kart, resorting in a wager of cooking breakfast to end in Ben’s favor. Jack groaned. “Okay Ben give us five minutes!” He called. You rubbed your eyes, looking over at the window. The sun had just reached above the trees, the sunlight beams streaming across the room. A triumphant Ben continued down the hallway, whistling proudly.

“Holy fuck, what time is it?”

Jack chuckled, sitting up against the headboard.

“I told you we’d only have till dawn before someone showed up at our doorstep about breakfast.”

He was right, but converting to rising at the early hours and staying up late was exhausting. You rolled over lazily, your back turned to him. “Have none of them ever heard of sleep schedules?” You grumbled. Jack couldn’t help but chuckle, your settlement into the mansion one that occurred with ease. Your charming personality and ability to cook won everyone over, even the proxies.

“We live in Slender’s mansion babe, we’re lucky the sun even rises here,” Jack replied, pressing a soft kiss against the back of your head. Slenderman’s reaction was a completely different story, the explanation of your existence the longest tale Jack had ever had to explain. Letting humans know about creeps existence was grounds for exile. It was forbidden to make spectacles out of themselves, even if the long term plan was for you to become a creep. (Which, it was not even an option to Jack.)

Becoming one, losing that grasp on sanity or facing an unfortunate fate of torture and death could never be planned though. Unless of course you were Jeff, then you knew how to create an arch nemesis. Jack would never want that for you, which he explained to Slender. Out of all of the mansions residents and outsiders, there was not another creature like Jack. A creature that went into an animalistic heat and needed to mate. Slender knew this and that led to his approval.

Another factor that Slender considered was that Jack was the oldest and wisest. If he was to entrust anyone to bring a human into the house, it was him.

Jack curled up beside you, your back pressing against his chest. “Sleepy this morning are we?” Jack asked teasingly, peppering kisses on your neck and shoulder. You chuckled, moving yourself closer to him. “I would’ve gotten better sleep if someone hadn’t kept me up all night,” You replied. A mischievous smile spread across Jacks lips, his hand slithering down to your hips.

“If it makes you feel any better i’m sure Clockwork didn’t get much sleep either,” Jack said, his lips refusing to stray far from your skin. His hand slithered further up your skin, slipping under your nightgown. You bit your bottom lip, Jacks fingertips lightly tracing your skin. “Thats gonna make a terrible first impression,” You sighed. Clockwork didn’t frequent at the mansion, leading to you never officially meeting her. Having her room be next door and hearing you beg for more? Not exactly the best first impression.

“There have been worse my love. When Jeff first came here Slender tried to make him a proxy. He tried to burn the mansion down,” Jack said, cupping your heart. Your thin panties blocked him from complete access to your cunt. Your breath was becoming shaky, your thighs opening more for him. He inhaled deeply, the smell of your arousal hitting his nostrils. “You just can’t get enough can you?” Jack teased. You groaned softly as he rubbed more harshly against the fabric.

“Of you? Never,” You replied, satisfied to feel Jack push your panties to the side. His lips attached themselves to your neck, his boner poking you from behind. You could feel him suck at your skin harshly, purposefully littering your neck with as many marks as possible. “I’m going to keep looking like a wounded puppy if my neck stays forever purple,” You chuckled, gasping as his fingers rubbed up and down your wet slick. You bit your bottom lip, two of his digits dipping into your cunt.

“My wounded puppy,” Jack snickered. He curled his fingers inside of you, your hand finding its way to his aching cock. He gasped as you palmed at the fabric of his basketball shorts, slipping your hand underneath the waistband. “Not sure if we’re doing to have time for this love,” Jack admitted, even if he didn’t want it to be true. You moaned in response, pumping his shaft as he finger fucked you. “It can be quick,” You offered. You bit the inside of your cheek, refraining from moaning louder.

“Please,” You whimpered, sealing your fate. Jack grinned, the two of you eagerly switching positions. Jacks back hit the soft mattress, licking his lips as you straddled him. Your panties had been discarded, his shorts and boxers pooling at his ankles. Jack was never one to not be in control of sex, even with you riding him. Sometimes he’d let you pretend you were in control, if he was feeling nice enough. But each time you got a bit out of line, Jack was quick to put you in your place. However, he couldn’t deny how ethereal you looked riding him.

You lowered yourself onto his cock, both of you exhaling in relief as he bottomed out inside of you. The shape of his cock bugled from your stomach as it always did, a subtle, very hot reminder that he was much bigger than you. Jacks hands found your hips, leaning forward to kiss you as he guided you. You groaned into his mouth as you rode his cock, his tip hitting your g spot. Playfully you grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed. Jack admired your breast bouncing as you chased your high, riding him like a wild animal.

Your body over time came to crave Jacks almost identically to the way he craved yours. (He couldn’t help but wonder if scientifically his cum had altered your hormones.) You smiled lovingly as you looked down at Jack, his facial expression one of contentment. The sun had risen higher, hitting his face at a flattering angle. It highlighted his sharp jawline and round nose. “What’s so funny?” Jack asked. You shook your head, continuing to hold your sinful noises in the best you could as you rode his cock. “You just look so handsome like this,” You complimented.

Jack blinked, “What, under you?”

You giggled, playfully slapping his shoulder. “No EJ, with the sun shining on your skin,” You replied, rolling your eyes. Jack leaned forward, wrapping his arms around your back. He completely and utterly adored you, your flattery and complimentary of him meaning the world. “You look even better, so beautiful taking my cock like this,” He huffed, snapping his hips upwards. You whined as he began to move faster, taking control. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, biting down on his skin to control your noises.

“Thats it, bite me as hard as you want love. Mark me,” Jack panted, his cock abusing your cervix. He was tempted to say hell to breakfast, flipping you over and fucking you senseless like the animal inside of him craved. But he knew you cared about his roommates opinion of you, even if to Jack he wouldn’t consider them friends five out of seven days of the week. Your teeth sank into Jacks shoulder, a subtle growl escaping his throat.

Something about seeing you so primal, but so desperate to keep quiet made him pound into you harder. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, a trail of saliva dripping down Jacks shoulder as your teeth clenched around his skin. You whimpered, your hands tangling themselves in his hair as you came on his cock. Your walls spasmed around his shaft, a deep grunt escaping his lips as he came inside of you.

You released his shoulder, grimacing down at the bite mark. “Holy fuck, I don’t know where that came from,” You panted. Neither of you had moved, Jacks gaze moving to your breast. “Neither do I, but it was pretty fucking hot,” He admitted, kissing your breast.

‘Waffles! Waffles! Waffles!’

The sound of Toby and Ben chanting from downstairs made you chuckle. Jack could hear them slamming their silverware down on the kitchen table, the sound making his ears twitch. You slowly slid off of you, whimpering as your walls squeezed the air. His cum slowly dripped down your cunt, the sight the most satisfying sight to Jack in the world. He laid back on the bed, propping himself up with his hands behind his head.

He admired you as you brushed your hair, throwing on clothes. You were so focused, Jacks staring going over your head. It wasn’t until you were ready, turning around to find Jack undressed and unbothered. “What are you doing? Ben’s gonna come through our radio any minute now if you don’t get dressed,” You say. Jack rose to his feet, bringing your back against his chest. He towered over you easily, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“How did I ever get so lucky?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your head. You giggled, examining your stomach. “Do you think you’ll ever get me pregnant one of these days?” You asked curiously. Jacks eyebrows furrowed, his large hands resting on top of yours. “You do know that’s scientifically impossible right?” He asked. Yeah, maybe his cum was seeping into your hormones. Or maybe your brain.

“Yeah it’s still a nice thought though,” You shrug. Turning around you wrapped your arms around his neck, admiring him from below. Your eyes were dancing with curiosity. Tilting your head to the side a simple question left your tongue, “If I somehow did, you’d want to keep it right?”

Millions of thoughts soared through Jacks mind, ones mixed with the joy of parenthood and ones of terror. Would the fetus become a demon just like him? Or would it be as beautiful as you? What would it eat? Would raising a child in a mansion full of monsters from its worst nightmares be sustainable? But as he looked down at your puppy dog eyes, your orbs flickering back and forth as you awaited an answer.

Creeps had never procreated before, successfully anyways. It would be a first for all of them, especially Jack. He wanted to believe there was a piece of him that wasn’t an organ eating monster. One that could raise and love a child that was a mixture with the person he loved the most. He was almost sure he would’ve gotten you pregnant by now, with the amount of times he’d locked you into the mating press alone.

Truth was Jack would give you whatever you wanted, even if it was most likely scientifically impossible. “I want whatever you want my love,” He purred, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

Bang bang bang!

“EJ learn how to keep it in your pants and pour some batter in the waffle maker instead!” Ben called.

You giggled, Jack sighing as he pulled on his pants.

“And in the mean time we have Ben.”

“We most certainly do and that’s enough for me.”

[blueoctopussss]

Update on this:

Uncertain if I will be able to finish it by the end of May. Also also did you know that 18x24 paper is really big? I didn't realize how big it is. The paper does not fit on my desk. Could I have cut it? Yeah probably and it might have been wise given the fact that it's difficult to cover large spaces with markers without it looking streaky. However, it is large enough that I could put more detail into the face and hands like I wanted.

If I don't finish it by the 31st I'll probably finish it over the weekend.

Here is where it's at currently; please remember that it is unfinished. Markers for scale in the second photo.

I'm working on an illustration for Mermay of Caleb and Essek inspired by @ariadne-mouse 's fic 'till human voices wake us' (so lovely, you should definitely read it, I've wanted to make a drawing for it for a while and now seemed like a good time!).

However, when I was working on the sketch I kind of just had a vague line between them of where the other arms would go, forgot about it, finished most of the linework, and now I'm not sure what to do with them!

I'm open to some suggestions, and I made a poll with some of my ideas. Feel free to elaborate in the comments or tags if you think they should be doing different things. I can easily use the lasso tool to move them farther apart/closer together or adjust the angle to make different poses work. I will also adjust the arms that are currently drawn as needed (please ignore the hands currently; I did not want to spend a lot of time on them until I was sure I liked the pose!).

Posing is one of the things I struggle the most with in art, and having an underwater scene where gravity has less of an effect means there are even more options so I appreciate any feedback I can get.

I hope to have the illustration done maybe next week (by the end of May for sure!) and I will post it here then!

Thank you!

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"....most of the members of the Howard League [of penal reformers] haven't been to jail and they don't realise the boobhead's fighting for a cause when he commits a crime. It may be a bad cause and he's probably unconscious of the fact that it's a cause at all but that's what gives him his drive and the more purposeful character he is, the greater number of crimes he'll commit. When Antonio Martini had a big gun-battle with the police in Sydney, the first thing he asked for after his capture was an newspaper to see if he'd hit the headlines. Most people would call that crazy egotism but most people haven't been in jail. The psychiatrists would talk about the patient bringing off an coup against his father and that's only one facet of the truth. At the back of all this is the directly-acquired knowledge that, in the present condition of civilisation, all government is bad and the only honourable thing to do is to fight it.

If Martini wanted a theory to back him up he's got it in two words of Lord Acton's, power corrupts. But he doesn't want a theory.

The Howard League struggles for alleviation of conditions. One side of me agrees that it's all very right and proper that a boobhead should get a bit of cheese occasionally. The other side revolts. It's encouraging the rot to continue eating its way in; it's dragging a lot of red herrings across the trail. This isn't necessarily perfectionism. Those old women of the Howard League, the Controller is supposed to have called them. When I see earnest women with glasses and protruding eyes, kicking up a dust about the boobheads only getting a quarter of a pint of milk a day, all I can think of is their innocence and all I can see is a picture of a lot of well-meaning dogs barking at the foot of the smaller trees, while at the top of the giant of the forest sits the well-fed dragon, smoking his pipe and whistling the theme tune of Strawberry Blonde between draws.

Most members of the Howard League still consider the boobhead as an unfortunate member of society; [Superintendent] Obie's name for them at Wenukai prison camp was the derelicts. The way the Bludger [the Superintendent of The Hill prison] thought of them too. The difference between The Bludger's idea of a crimmo up at The Hill, and that of a Howard League higherup is nil. Where they tangle is over the question of treatment. The Bludger wanted the tough way and usually managed to get it. The Howard League member tries in vain for the soft way. It's true that The Bludger puts a few more tough babies on the market, but the H.L. higherup would produce a far larger number of broken-down bums, without purpose, without direction, without energy, almost without life. At least the people know there's something up when the bullets start to fly, whereas they could pass thousands of broken-down bums with their sanctimonious Hoses in the air.

This isn't an argument for tough treatment of prisoners; I'm just trying to tell you a boobhead's a human being, not something in a test tube. You say you know it?

Well you must have imagination because there are lots of people who don't. ... The human voices band isn't built into the radios now, that's all.

So my objections to alleviation of conditions isn't just perfectionism. When the people are able to think of the boobheads as human beings, alleviation of conditions won't apply. Amongst the many different sorts of men who've landed in jail there is one fairly common factor. Owing to one cause or another, usually in early life, their energy has been mainly turned usually into the chanel of destruction. They're not unique in this respect, the we all should know, but usually they've been singled our because they've chosen their own path instead of being surrounded by herd of cobbers, all thinking alike. The energy of one man burned towards destruction is a terrrific thing, that picture of the Gadarene swine wasn't exaggerated. You can't stop energy like that, certainly not with an extra quarter pint of milk a day or some fruit in the morning to keep the bowels open. Your only possible chance it to divert it. So if you're a Howard League member, or even just an ordinary person of goodwill, uninhibited by the idea that there shouldn't be any criminals in God's Own Country, anxious at times to do something about the boobhead, the best thought to have is about the problem of how to turn energy from destruction into creative channels."

- Ian Hamilton, Till Human Voices Wake Us. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1983 (first published by private subscription, 1953). p. 138-140.

[I’ve read a lot of prison memoirs this year, with many more to come. This may be one of the best. Hamilton was a conscientious objector in New Zealand-Aotearoa during World War 2, a pessimistic socialist humanist, a playwright, and sheep farmer. Just raw but well-directed anger, utter contempt for polite New Zealand settler society and for what he viewed as a growing bureaucratization and dehumanization of society. His frustration here that many good liberal penal reformers, especially in the mid-2oth century, were and are fundamentally just a gentler version of the wardens and tough on crime folk he butted up against confirms my own impressions and research.]

[ma1dita]

to catch a thief

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.7k

summary: (post-TLT, sea of monsters compliant/spoilers) The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. Your reunion with Luke is nothing you both could have ever expected. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: we’re so back trouble!verse ;) sorry for the post birthday hiatus on this, hope you like it! crack banter but err... she got a lil angsty

(posted 3/22/24, semi-edited)

—

When you wake up to the gentle rolling of the sea, it feels like a comforting embrace in a distant dream. Tangled within pristine white sheets, you could smell the salt through the small opening in the bay window–though this was a far cry from a fairytale conjured by your mind.

This was your reality. 

You wouldn’t call it a nightmare per se, but the circumstances were definitely less than preferred. 

This is not the CSS Birmingham. No, that went up in flames. Retracing your steps to what led you to this—cushy cruise line of a prison, you reckon it’s been a few days now since you’ve become a stowaway, or a hostage. You haven’t quite decided yet. 

Gods, this is what you get for passing up on that summer research internship. 

Dropping off Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson at camp was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane—until meeting with your dad, finding out Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, watching Chiron get fired, and essentially getting kicked out by the troll of a man who originally got sent to the Fields of Punishment for marketing the taste of human flesh made you remember that nothing at camp is the way it used to be.

Not like before, when you and Luke used to run it.

Your dad told you to go home and wait till you were needed. Home. Driving away from it this time around was harder than you thought it would be. You’d never been the patient type, and to drop everything just because a god told you to?

Hilarious, really.

But almost a week later, after rejoining your friends on an undead ship that you let the kids commandeer, your vital mistake was thinking that Clarisse’s quest would be a breeze. Rookie move, since the last one you were on left you almost as scarred as Luke was. Even thinking of him now, you run your thumb over the rough patch of skin on your palm. 

At the very least you hoped Tyson was okay. The last memory you have of the young Cyclops was watching him from your place on the ladder as he stopped the engines from overheating. Maybe it was the ex-head counselor in you, or your increased threshold to pain, but there was no way in hell you were leaving that kid behind.

The sound of voices from outside your door gets louder now, your throat feeling like you’ve been swallowing wads of cotton and a persistent ringing in your ear that hurts just as bad as when you watch Chris Rodriguez walk in with a plate of food. The last one he slid through the door bumps against his boot, still uneaten and he sighs. 

“So what, you’re on a hunger strike now? I forgot how difficult you could be.”

You bark out a laugh. Thankfully it’s loud enough that it almost conceals the rumble of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you mumble, “Wish it could be an idiot strike. I forgot how much of a bitch you are when it comes to your brother, Rodriguez. How long are you going to keep me here? It’s been days.”

Your former friend rolls his eyes at your dramatics like he doesn’t hold the key to your freedom.

“Three since you woke up, actually. Come on, you’ve gotta eat, or I’ll get my ass kicked,” he grumbles. You raise an eyebrow at that, walking towards the window to dodge the uncomfortable tension that fills the room. He plucks an apple slice off your plate.

“He couldn’t splurge on a balcony view? Monsters aside, it’s not like you’ve reached full occupancy.”

“There are more mortals here than you think. To be honest, he was worried you would find a way to overthrow us,” the tanned boy admits, placing the tray on the dresser. It was always a wonder to him how you and Luke were more alike than you think, even now—even when Luke hasn’t come to see you. Talking to you reminded him that you’re both pains in his ass, and Chris was still unsure of who to be more wary of, but he’s been in charge of watching you for the most part.

“Well tell your stupid captain he has no right to be worried about me. I’d much rather try to jump if given the opportunity.”

There’s no response, so you turn to face Chris who’s eating a croissant with a bashful grin.

“Seriously dude?”

“Listen, I’m hoping if I think of the right words to say, he’ll come in and deal with you himself. Opposite sides of a war and you’re still both giving me a headache. Just like old times,” he chuckles, flakes of pastry dotting across his chest plate. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile. Old times, when Luke would shove you if he couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. When you’d punch him to get your point across if he wasn’t listening. How a kiss could end any waging war between the both of you.

You swallow, turning slowly to watch your reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

Why hasn't he come to see you? The first day, you remember spending out on the sea—treading water with no land in sight, calling out to your friends until your voice went hoarse, but you didn’t cry. You know better than to show weakness now, even when no one’s around. Chris tells you over a gulp of orange juice that you washed up next to the Princess Andromeda on the second day like it was fate. Though fate was never truly that kind to anyone; it felt like it was laughing in your face. Knocked out cold for two days after, and ignoring all of Chris’s attempts to keep you alive in the days that followed, you’ve been in this room ever since. You barely notice Chris’s departure. 

Entering the ensuite bathroom, you splash your face and sip on water from the tap before stopping at the doorway. A shadow flits at the seam near your feet, someone standing just out of sight when you peer through the peephole.

But you know Luke’s there. Sons of Hermes have almost undetectable footsteps, however, Luke walking in and out of your life for as long as he has—there’s no inconceivable way to not know him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear the sound of his feet, but there’s a way the wind shifts your hair, your heart slowing in ease at his presence, and the scent of him reminiscent of skin kissed with the peel of an orange. The skin you used to kiss and greet and know like your own.

The shadow fades just as your hand reaches out towards it, leaving like he always does. Always out of reach.

Even as the Princess Andromeda continues to set sail upon the calm waters of the Atlantic Coast, you look out to the unending horizon and still feel like you’re drowning.

—

“Status report, soldier?”

Chris rolls his eyes, popping the last piece of apple into his mouth as he strolls into the command deck. The both of you had a flair for the dramatic—it serves as his reminder of why you two worked so well. Luke is sitting in his captain’s seat, watching the waves crash against the hull as the sun begins to set on the skyline.

“She’s angry. Anyone would be if they were locked up like that.”

“Well, yeah, but tell me something I don’t know. Something useful, Rodriguez,” Luke says, flicking his pocket knife closed. It’s still sticky with the juice of the fruit, catching onto his finger. He hisses, but then the sound of loud footsteps boom down the corridor, along with the sound of maniacal laughter as the door slams open. The two sons of Hermes look at each other curiously, knowing it all too well.

“You know, the next time you send a 9-year-old to stand guard, remember to not make it the one we used to throw into the lake,” you drawl, sauntering into the bridge and looking around until your eyes land on your ex, “and also remember that you taught me how to pick locks.”

Ethan Nakamura heaves behind you, hands on his knees before he stands to attention and salutes his captain.

“Sir, I was just following orders… and I’m not 9 anymore!” he snaps, glaring at you. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation makes it easier to get through. You thought being surrounded by the undead on the CSS Birmingham was scary enough, but standing in a room with ghosts from your past was somehow worse. Honestly, you learned a lot more by being in that room than if you were to jump ship like you wanted to.

“I taught you how to tie your shoes, Ethan. You’re always gonna be a little kid to me,” you scoff, brushing him aside and walking towards Luke, “your new digs are fancy, by the way. I could tell by all the teenage soldiers chasing me through the tourists.”

He stands up and meets you head to head, as the both of you inspect each other closely. 

It’s been a long year without you.

You look thinner. You’ve lost the softness in your cheeks and your eyes are tired. He wonders what you chose to major in, who your roommates are, if you still think of him with a smile on your face. You’re still beautiful.

“You know me, I like to travel in style,” Luke says offhandedly, a half smile on his face. For someone leading a war against the gods, he’s calm in your presence.

“Back when I knew you, we traveled in a tin can that we also called a car.”

His clothes are nicer than anything you’ve ever seen him in. He looks really fucking good, for someone on the run. It’s almost frustrating to see how brawny he’s gotten, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. You suppose he has nothing to do now but practice and spar (that or he’s definitely flexing for you). Pulling at the drawstring of the joggers you wear, you realize his initials are embroidered on the pocket. Pretentious fuck. Did he change you once you got on board?

Chris and Ethan suddenly get the feeling that they’re interrupting something—a reunion in a blockbuster romantic movie they’ve seen the mortals play out on the ship deck’s projector on Friday nights. The two of you stand there arguing like a married couple despite the fact you are no longer lovers and the bickering continues even when more of Kronos’ army files in. You laugh again at the sight of children walking in—some strangers, others you’ve sung to sleep in cabin 11, all still children, even back from the time before when laughter didn’t have to have a reason, light and airy in the summer sun.

“You’re sick, you know that? Did you just plan to let me rot in that room until it was all over? You didn’t even talk to m—”

“Classic, you’re more mad that I didn’t talk to you over the fact that you’re a prisoner,” he seethes, but you don’t stand down—not now or ever.

“Prisoner? I walked out and none of your Boy Scouts could do anything about it!”

His face is turning red now, jaw tightening at the angst but deep down he misses this—the banter, the thin line between hate and love you both tread on. You may be a damsel. But you were not in distress.

To further prove your point, you swing an arm toward one of the boys in black (their uniforms were annoyingly corny), and they all take a step back toward the wall. Your eyebrows furrow, “What type of prison has guards terrified of the prisoner?”

He shrugs, “It was only time before you came and found me. I even gave you a bay window.”

That was not the right thing to say.

“I’ll fucking kill yo—”

“Sir? So do we try and detain her, or….” one of the demigods you don’t know interjects, and Chris Rodriguez sucks at his teeth before he responds. 

“Alright. We’ve seen enough of the show. Everyone file out and let Castellan reunite with his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?”

“Girlfriend…”

The both of you look at each other, one in anger, the other in sheepishness now that you’re alone. It's even funnier that neither of you deny it.

“You left me there in that room, and by the sight of things around here you prefer being in the company of monsters than being with me, so by the gods, what do you want, Castellan?”

You fall into the captain’s chair exasperatedly, watching him watch you.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he says simply. “You can stay here with me, or you can go.”

“A choice? You captured me to tell me I have a choice,” you spit, as if that was the stupidest thing he could say. “You didn’t give me a choice when you left me.”

“It was a matter of the circumstances. And I didn't capture you—are you mad that I betrayed everyone or not, because I can’t really read you right now, Trouble…”

Your eye twitches and your hands are in fists across your lap. Another wrong thing to say.

“Keeping me here until I get the nerve to talk to you is not a choice, asshole. Do you think you could just hide me away until the bad part’s over? To save me until everything's good enough for you?” Your eyes catch onto the droplets of blood that fall onto the hardwood flooring near your feet. His hand is bleeding, and like it’s nothing of the sort you reach out for it.

Luke thinks that if he lets you your hand will still perfectly fit in his, so after a moment, he pulls his hand away out of your reach. Pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket (also embroidered with his initials—note to self, never let a son of Hermes have money), you stand to wrap it around his hand to stop the bleeding. You pretend not to notice his heartbeat increase through the throbbing of the cloth.

“Don’t let my actions make you believe that what we had wasn’t good, Trouble.”

“Stop calling me that. Why are they all scared of me? Why won’t you let me touch you?” you whisper, putting pressure on his finger until the blood clots. It doesn’t even hurt, to tell you the truth. Not touching you when you’re right here in front of him is a pain he can’t find the words to describe. But what he’ll never understand is that he’s right. You two were good together. You’d have him through the bad too, if only he let you.

“Because you might think you can fix me.” Or worse, you might change his mind. You don't have to say you love him for him to know it. A part of him wishes he didn’t have to do all of this to prove to you he feels the same. 

“Would you have left with me?” he mutters. A wistful look cuts through your anger and he knows he’s finally said something right. His pocket knife is on the control board and your hands drop to your side again when you realize that he may have forgotten to tell his battalion of who you are to him, but he still remembers how you like your apples cut. The silence is loud, even with the twinge that comes with the pain in your eardrum as you sway a little on your feet. Your body still knows it can relax with him, knees buckling with a false sense of security despite your willpower.

“I would've made it so that there was no other option for you but to want to stay.”

A soldier bursts through the door and apologizes for the intrusion, but the both of you have found out all you need to know. The moment is over and Percy Jackson has been captured by the army in his efforts of trying to save the day. There’s a look shared between the two of you that wonders if this will become a trend.

—

Licking your lips as your… Luke guides you out onto the main deck with your hands behind your back, you can taste the salt in your air. It’s almost as evident as the surprise in your friends’ faces when they see you alive. This time, they don’t question your allegiance but in the chaos that ensues, for a moment, you do.

For a moment, you wonder what would change if you decided to stay with him. Would the sky fall under your feet? Would the gods kneel like Luke said they would? Looking at him in your periphery, you realize it’s not what the both of you want, even if it’s the easier way out—to be together despite it all.

The two of you against the world instead of the world against the both of you.

But he won't even touch you—he’s holding you over the sleeves of your shirt, too scared of what you’ve become in his absence. You suppose you’re scared of what he’s become too. 

The realization hits that you could defect from your friends, family, and home. You could undo everything that you and your friends have worked towards. But nothing he can say will change the fact that he didn’t choose you.

Luke was right, then.

You did have a choice, one that he still forces you to make as you nod at Percy to flip his last drachma into the open water, opening a direct line of communication to your father to catch the thief—of both lightning and the beat of your heart, in the act.

You realize that if the gods were the least bit grateful that you’ve kept their kids alive for the past half-decade, perhaps fate would be on your side and Luke would still be yours. But life has a funny way of working itself out when Luke admits to the open air of another crime to tack onto his list.

“Kronos was right. I should’ve killed you, Percy.”

The son of Poseidon goads Luke into another duel and you survey your surroundings for a way out. Annabeth burns holes into the side of your head and it gets you thinking, moving faster than you have in days as you walk towards her and Grover. At the raise of your hand, the demigods holding onto the pair drop to the deck, incapacitated with illusions of madness they will never comprehend. The more of them that surround you drop like flies as Luke’s eyes flicker between you and the boy he has at swordpoint.

You’ve gotten stronger in his absence—you never needed to touch him to use your powers after all. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, attacking when Luke finally let his guard down for you. He cracks his neck, knowing you’ve made your choice, so he makes his. 

“Get them.” 

The monster scrambles across the deck but it approaches you first, clawing at the wood and barely missing your feet as you scream for help, defenseless without a sword and you hear Luke yell your name in alarm before a punching glove-tipped arrow sends it hurtling overboard.

Your eyes lock with his again as you disembark with the Party Ponies, you with your crew as he corrals the mess you made of his. It has to be the salt air that makes your eyes seem a little misty.

Your fates have always been tied. 

You protect your home, and he does what he can to protect you. Luke looks over your form like he’s checking if you’re okay, even from a distance— and it makes you wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Someone leaving, and the both of you apart. 

It’s weird to be the one leaving this time, but it isn't as easy as Luke makes it seem each time he does it.

You avert your eyes once you see him put his hand in his pocket, him finding what you snuck in on the way to the deck. Luke pulls out a leather bracelet with a black camp bead, the one he missed in the year he’s been gone. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the thing you last touched before leaving him, an emblem of his archnemesis and the summer that changed everything—the consequences of his actions ripping you away from him. When he slides it on his wrist, it lightly clinks against the hilt of his sword, the lone clay bead a force of its own against Backbiter's reverberating power. He feels nostalgia for what could have been crawling through him—though Luke supposes he’s always been too vulnerable when it comes to you.

Is this what you’ve been feeling every time he walks away? 

It starts to rain after you leave. Luke watches his crew take cover from the downpour, running in all different directions to hide away from the storm that ravages the Princess Andromeda. 

But he stands still, looking up at the sky and hating it for how openly it’s able to cry. Luke is far away from home again—from you and it makes him wonder how much longer he’ll have to be away from you when being with you is what he truly wants.

The mission continues and the ship keeps pushing forward even as the rain washes over him, soaking through his armor and straight to the bone. Raindrops pelt through every crevice, though this onslaught is much kinder, more gentle, even when it’s angry. He closes his eyes and lets it touch his skin. 

For a moment, it feels like you. 

—

A hand penetrates the tide searching for yours, gripping onto your unconscious one. He’s spent hours ripping holes through time to try to find you, an advantage given to him in a dream by the Titan. The agreement, what keeps him from not running back to you is that you live—and as Luke pulls you out of the ocean waterlogged and turning blue, he wonders if it’s all a farce. 

Losing you isn’t worth the wrath of the gods if you’re lifeless in his arms like this. 

He shouts your name, pumping your chest with his fists and breathing life back into your lips until you cough out saltwater, head lolling against his knee. Luke’s fingers stroke your hair, touching you for the first time in a year. As life slowly brings the color back into your cheeks he silently thanks Hestia for keeping your flame alight. His soldiers call out to him from the deck, and he steels his resolve as he rows the lifeboat back to the ship. Still, Luke has to uphold his side of the agreement. 

He wonders if you’d stay. Even if he knows the answer, Luke wonders if you would ever change it for him.

—

And they tell me you are evil and I answer: Yes, I know. –Patricia Smith

 ½ luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[mynameisjag]

Slightly Suggestive Poolverine Prompt: Good Boy

Logan could take pain, he was used to pain, pain was something he was too familiar with…

This though…this was something different...

Hands were gently stroking through his hair, slight little scratches here and there, it was soft and slow and something he hasn’t had in a long time.

There was a hiccuping purr vibrating through his chest, a feeling he had pushed down over and over again in fear of seeming less human.

“Good boy, my good boy.”

He wasn’t though, he wasn’t good.

“Oh, Lo-boo, I’ve told you're the best Wolverine, which means you’re automatically a good boy.”

The hands in his hair traveled, one scratches along his jawline while the other travels down his exposed chest to thumb through his chest hair. He rumbles deeply, falling more into the soothing motions.

Logan isn’t sure how he ended up being swayed by Wade’s honey covered words but he fell for it…maybe it was just the final collaboration of everything that has been happening crashing down on him. The excitement, the confusion, the adrenaline, everything tearing into him, wearing him down to a breaking point.

The animal within wanted to claw out and escape to somewhere, anywhere just to be able to process…everything…

He couldn’t let it…

Wade though, Wade coaxed it and him into a sense of safety…a moment to decompress…pulled into the mercs lap after a shower and borrowed downy feeling sleep pants. Head laying in the other man’s lap, body stretched out.

His mind felt like crashing waves finally settling after a storm, a mess but a mess that was slowly becoming more manageable.

There was a soft kiss on his forehead, another to the tip of his nose, he opened his eyes when the expected third to the lips never came.

Wade was hovering above him, eyes too gentle, smile too indulgent, “just needed a little love, huh, and you turn into a pussycat.”

Logan rumbled but was distracted by the hand on his chest slowly petting downward, teasing near the band of the pants, his rumbles turned into whines.

“Remember, keep your hands to yourself, I’ll keep petting you, can you do that, can you continue being a good boy?”

He whines again, pushing his head into the palm of the hand still caressing his face.

“Words honeybunch, need to hear a verbal yes.”

Logan huffs, his voice low as he finally speaks, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“…yes…please?”

The merc just lightly laughs, finally giving a quick peck to the lips before leaning back with a smug smirk, “See, the best boy,” his hand dragged back upward, getting the feel of the thick hair tickling his skin, “feels like fur.”

“Hmm.”, the Wolverine was practically melting, if this was some kind of alcohol induced dream, he was going to let it go as long as possible, he didn’t get gentle touches in both the waking and sleep induced worlds, and his body seemed unsure on how to process it.

Whatever beast that had pushed and pushed till it nearly consumed him, the force of his feral nature that had taken over in his need to survive no matter his wants of ceasing, the animal that always clawed at his mind…was silent…

It rumbles in a different unsure way then the usual anger.

He allows his eyes to close, losing more to the soothing petting.

“Holy shit, I have to be in the golden timeline, baby, you look so pretty stretched out like this,” Wade was grinning, eyes watching as his hand skimmed over the relaxing muscles, feeling the rumbles grow in intensity as the tip of his fingers slide under the pants band, “I think we’ve both been good boys and deserve a treat.”