#joint writing

[void-bitten-ghost]

Lucanis almost literally pulling his hair out over some paperwork so Rook just pulls up a chair near him with a book and sits, waiting, seeing if he would like the offered socialisation. He doesn't stir from his whirlwind of stress. And Rook knows it's important work they cant help with, not really, so they just stay near and start to silently read, ready for when Lucanis needs them.

Its not long before they can feel the barely there disturbance of something flitting about near their shoulders, the air feeling strange and familliar by one ear, and then the other. So they quietly start reading aloud, barely above the scratches of ink and quick mutterings of Antivan in the other corner.

Soon, the mutterings slow. The shoulders drop from his ears. Scratching becomes slow, smooth cursive and, eventually, both the paperwork and the book are finished, as is the fire in the hearth.

Rook closes the book, satisfied with its conclusion, and almost startles at a sudden Lucanis being behind them.

"Any joy?" They say, already knowing the answer.

"With you around?" He leans over the arm of the chair. "Always."

He kisses their hair, their head, their cheek.

"Thank you, amor."

They turn in the chair towards him. There's that faint hum of purple. "Feeling better?"

And there's that telling pause. "He says thank you too. And that he enjoyed the part with the giant eagles."

Rook breathes out a laugh, letting out a thoughtful "good to know" before leaning up for a soft, comfortable kiss, something with dark feathers and tingles around the edges.

[shushmal]

Robin has a love-hate relationship with Steve-and-Eddie. Love, because those are her best friends and her best friends are in love with each other and they never leave her out of anything. Hate, because sometimes she wishes they would because she keeps accidentally third-wheeling herself.

She doesn't hate it that much though, if she's honest. It's just fun to complain, especially because it riles the both of them up.

But right now, she's being quiet so she can witness one of her secretly-favorite Steve-and-Eddie rituals—of which there are many, but this one is silly and endearing.

It starts like this:

The waitress sets down their drinks, lemonade for Robin, coca-cola for Steve, and a cherry soda for Eddie.

"Don't you dare," Eddie says, even as Steve reaches for Eddie's drink, slipping his straw in next to Eddie's and slurping obnoxiously. Eddie doesn't even pretend to stop him anymore. "Unbelievable."

"I just want to taste it!"

"You could just get a whole glass of it! All for yourself!!"

"It's too sweet, I don't want a whole glass."

"What, so you think you can just help yourself to mine?"

Steve's grin is far too smug, even for Robin, even when Steve slides it to her so she can take a sip. Steve is right, it is really too sweet and she wrinkles her nose, but it's worth it for the offended gasp Eddie makes when she slides it back to him.

The diner is their favorite, because everyone who works there has given up on understanding their weird dynamic: Robin and Steve squished into on side of the booth while Eddie's spread out on the other, Robin making gagging noises whenever Steve brushes against her, even though they never sit in any other configuration. The staff has long since stopped asking which of them was her boyfriend, and that's perfect for her.

Besides, she knows that under the table, Steve and Eddie have their ankles locked together like the disgusting love-sick dorks that they are.

The Steve-and-Eddie show continues when their meals come out. Chicken fingers and fries for Steve because he's an actual child, and breakfast for dinner for Eddie because he likes to be contrary. And then the real performance begins.

They "fight" over the ketchup bottle, which really means that Eddie picks it up and Steve snatches it out of his hands—only for Steve to spread it over Eddie's scrambled eggs (gross) for him before he adds a disgusting amount to his own basket.

Eddie makes a game of stealing Steve's fries when he thinks he isn't looking (Steve is, he's tallying each one up in his head, Robin knows this because she's doing it too), and when he finally "catches" Eddie in the act, he steals Eddie's last piece of bacon—the one that's sat untouched for the last five minutes for this very reason.

Then, Eddie's "forcing" Steve to try his grits, like he does every time, and game eats a spoonful of it, every time, and then complains at length how much he hates it (and he actually does hate it, the texture is just not for him, Robin knows because it's the same for her too).

And then they do the worst, most disgusting thing ever: they split the pancake in half. Without fail. Without argument. Every time.

Robin, slurping on her strawberry milk shake that she will NEVER share with anyone ever, thinks that stupid pancake is like the symbol of their love or something. Sh's sure if they weren't in public, they'd be feeding it to each other.

"What?" They say it in unison, and Robin hates when they do that to her.

(Eddie complains about it right back at her, because she and Steve do the same thing to him all the time. They should blame Steve, since he's the common denominator, but he just looks so pleased about them both that they can't rag on him for it, so Eddie remains Robin's sworn enemy and vice versa.)

"What what?" she sneers at them, voice quiet. "You two are disgusting, it's like you're making out right in front of me right now."

"What are you, homophobic?" Eddie hisses back, just as quiet. "I'm in love with your best friend, Buckley. I'm making out with him in front of you for the rest of your life."

"Ugh! I hate you so much."

"Right back at you."

And then they start kicking at each other beneath the table, no doubt catching Steve's ankles in the crossfire. He doesn't tell them to stop though, and Robin can see that pleased, sappy smile on his stupid face out of the corner of her eye, so she lands an exceptionally harsh blow to Eddie's shin in retaliation for making her best friend so happy. He digs his heel into her toes in return.

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

What do we think?

[soldiersgirl]

MEET JOINT! READER . . . ୨ৎ @h8aaz & @soldiersgirl

j o i .ᐟ (short for joint, pronounced joy) . . .

soldier boy always has that damn joint trapped between his lips. smokey fog releasing through the open gap he parted on the side of his mouth. he always found the joints he rolled to be perfect, so good he'd probably fuck them if they were real. and occasionally, while under the blissful headspace of cannabis, he'd catch himself daydreaming about the perfect woman—his joint, always. what'd you think this was? that he'd actually pick an existing woman? fuck no.

⭑ grind the cannabis . . . joi functions, basically full-time, as ben's guiding and soothing hand. much like the real deal, her role in the boys is seen as mellowing ben out; keeping his hunger for sudden violence and unexpected outbursts at bay. she whispers the few right words to him and he, for the most part, unclenches his jaw, softens his gaze, and lets go of his addiction for anarchy... for now. annie is convinced that this is joi's supe-power.

⭑ prepare the filter . . . much like her name, joi is the embodiment of, well, joy! unlike her partner in crime, as ben calls her, joi is sweet, curious, calm, and most importantly, patient. she enjoys long yap sessions, scrounging around the boys hq for the best snacks, and binge-watching her favourite shows (seeing as she finally isn't forced to watch bens anymore).

⭑ fill the rolling paper . . . she might be seen as slow or dopey at times, but joi is calculated, within both physical and spoken combat. put her up against anyone with a knife in her hand and she is walking away unscathed. pit her and ben against each other in an argument and he's walking away pissed, knowing she's won but never admitting it.

⭑ shape, tuck & roll . . . her nimble hands and affection for shiny things has landed in her in hot water, more often than not. stray lighter laying around? whoops, it's in her pocket. someone on the street has a pretty bracelet? swiped it just to "admire it". she's craving her favourite snack? it's hidden under her typical oversized jacket. butcher is considering teaching her how to lockpick seeing as "if she's gonna steal shit, it might as well be fuckin' useful to us, eh?"

⭑ spark up & enjoy . . . unlike how ben treats everything else, with carelessness and heavy-handedly, he tries his best to be careful with her. afraid that she will unravel and fall apart in his hands at any minute. despite joi's fascination with ben, he tries to keep her at an arm's length but much like her true form, he knows he'll become addicted to her if he isn't careful.

check out joi's stash to learn more about her . . .

⭑ smoke break! (joi's origin story)

a/n: AAAAHHH!!! i hope u guys love joi as much as gabriela and i do! joi is originally @h8aaz brainchild but i was so lucky to be able to write about joi with gabbie, so thank u angel <3 owe it to u!! shout out to @daylighted for starting this wonderful idea, i could kiss ur brain <3 and shout out to @titsout4jackles for layout and formatting inspo <3 -`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei @rositaslabyrinth @blossomingorchids @deansbbyx @mads-ackles (comment or inbox me to be added)

[0nonjudgement0]

I have creaky joints so….

I can just imagine Simon being so sickly sweet with you if you have any joint pain ever—specifically if you get some aches in your hips.

Not very flexible? It hurts to keep your legs open wide? Even just being on your knees? He’s in missionary, your knees catered in the crook of his elbows as he holds them in a nice, comfortable position, kissing your forehead whenever he has go pull them apart a little more.

On your knees? You never really are. Even when your riding him he’s doing all the work—arms wrapped tight around your waist, holding you close as he thrusts up.

Bending you over the back of the couch? He’s grabbing a throw pillow and putting it in front of your hips, gentle thrusts to not slam you into it. Thumbs gently rubbing the flesh on your hip-dips, asking if your okay.

Your cumming and your muscles lock up, causing a bit of pain? He’s pinching your nipples instead, tucking your clit between his pointer and middle to distract you.

[rintoki]

“aventurine! what is the meaning of this?!”

your heels clacked on the cold marble floors, echoing throughout the otherwise empty space. you find the man hunched over the bar, and a loud thuack resounds out as you slam a stack of papers onto the counter beside him.

a crooked smile plays on his lips, about time, he thinks to himself. aventurine takes a swig of the drink he’s been nursing, emptying the remains of the smooth liquor down his throat.

“this was not what we agreed on.” your tone was harsh, accusatory, and he could feel your gaze burning holes into the side of his head. but the man could only laugh, his head lolling to the side to meet your eyes head on.

“aventurine. answer me.” there was a dangerous glint in your eye now, and aventurine felt if he stayed quiet any longer, he may very well never speak again.

“you finally came to find me,” the grin on his face was almost sickening, and you could just barely keep the red from clouding your vision. “is this what i have to do for you to look at me?”

aventurine turns his body to face you, leaning in close enough for you to catch the stench of alcohol on him. his smile quickly turns into a pout, “it was just a little mistake… are you going to punish me?”

your eye nearly twitches, what is this man…? but you compose yourself quickly; reigning in your anger as you turned away from him and let out a frustrated sigh. even though it’s clearly not a mistake, neither of you are in the right mind to resolve this. “we will discuss this—“

your words were abruptly cut off as the drunken man in front of you grabs your face, turning it back to face him. “why won’t you look at me?”

his arms slowly crept around your shoulders and before you realise, he’s so much closer than you remembered. and this time, the pout on aventurine’s face looked much more genuine. it was a rare sight to see, one that now held your full attention.

“i am looking at you,” your voice had lost its edge, softening as you answered your colleague. a beat passes as the pair of you stood unmoving, each unable to tear their gaze away from the other.

but aventurine breaks first, sighing deeply as he casts his eyes downward, “that’s not what i mean.”

somehow he’s found his way even closer to you, resting his head upon the crook of your neck. and somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to push him away, instead letting your arms rest on his lower back.

“… you’re drunk. get some rest and we can talk again tomorrow.”

you slowly pulled away from aventurine after a while, assessing that he’s more or less stable enough to be left alone. and with the same clack of your heels, you turn to leave, with an arguably bigger headache than when you first came here.

[robintherobiner]

@emperorsfoot made me come up with a really funny idea. (sorry about the tag i can get rid of it if you want :3 )

AU where Tim sees Bruce not dealing with his grief very well after losing Jason, so he googles ways to calm down, and instead of heading to the manor and telling Bruce he needs a Robin, Tim just hands him a joint.

"You to chill the fuck out, Bruce. Batman is supposed to be Gothams protector, you can't do that if you're beating up criminals to the point of permanent injuries for an offence as little as stealing food. So, take a chill pill. Or, actually. i didn't get you any pills but i can if you want-"

Boom. Instead of gaining another Robin, Batman gains a dealer, who doesn't accept cash, but instead counts 'nights without brutal beatings' as payment.

Within three months time, Tim is fully leaning into the act and uses 90's movies as his point of reference for how drug dealers should look, sound, and act. Goodbye Bristol Boy, meet T-Dawg.

[theogonize]

late nights and extra hours are annoying for most people. people who have to get home to their family members, partners, even pets. so naturally, increased enthusiasm to stay overtime was a sign of loneliness.

 there were two lonely people in the oncology department who hardly had anyone to come home to. you, that was more or less explainable by circumstance, you were new here and focusing on doing well at your high-end doctor job. but doctor wilson? you were sure he had a wife. this inference you had drawn from the wedding band on his slender fingers. this little article of jewelry was a cause of silent strife for you, stupidly so. you’re gorgeous boss was taken, of course he was; he was a respectable oncologist, diabetically sweet man who looked almost painstakingly beautiful in a lab coat. how does one look that good in a lab coat? 

but apart from musing about your boss, you often were in the clinic early and left late, running tests and working the scans. and he was there too, doing some paperwork in the office. he was always diligent with his paperwork, almost a bit too much, almost as if it was an escape and he was relieved when it piled up. another night to spend locked in his office and not in his bedroom, with his wife, as if she wasn’t even there. 

but you knew she was, you felt her presence even though you’d never met her and she never presented herself as a physical barrier. you felt her (or was it your conscience?) separating the two of you, like two like ends of a magnet repelled invisibly. you kid yourself into thinking if she wasn't there, if he took off the wedding band, if he was single – you’d make a move. sure you would. 

you usually refrained from bothering dr. wilson when he’s cooped up in his office, not wanting to disturb his peace, something he clearly craves when he’s here. but today you felt a little braver, for some strange reason, you felt a little valorous. so you let out a shaky exhale – none of those in front of dr. wilson – gathering up the courage like a middle school boy about to ask his crush out. you push the door to his office.

he looked up, slightly perplexed seeing you there, at this hour or maybe at all. he sat in his office chair, slightly angled, the joint paper and weed laying carelessly spread over his paperwork. his cuffs are folded up to his elbows, brazenly showing his muscular forearms. the light in his office seems to bounce off him. there’s a halo around him, there always is. you immediately regret your decision. stupid, stupid, stupid. to think you could do this, feel normal when he… when he literally looks like that. angelic. otherworldly. your voice is caught in your throat. it’s pathetic how much you want him. his face screws up in embarrassment as he begins to recognise you from the shadows; how could he not, you were his favourite.

unbeknownst to you, or anyone apart from house, really, you were his favourite. why wouldn’t you be? you were kind, pretty, intelligent. obviously, you don’t really like your employee for things like that, so he just said that you were a hard worker, you were perceptive around patients, you were always polite and punctual. an indispensable asset to his team. he was always wishing you would linger a little longer around him, so he could work his signature charm; the pathetic attempt he would make at befriending a desolate woman in the hopes of sleeping with her, as house would put it.

but maybe he didn’t have to try too hard with you, because he knew, everyone knew, that you liked him. maybe more than just your employer. maybe. and that was one of the only things that kept him happy. the possibility of you reciprocating if he ever made a move. 

after stuttering for a few seconds and almost falling over you hand him the test results, accompanied by the ct scan. 

your nervousness is rubbing off on him. it’s too late to hide it now, especially when he’s made such a mess on his desk. not like it matters, you know he does this for patients sometimes. he doesn’t need to be nervous. why is he nervous?

now that you had made it this far, you weren’t going away without some small talk. and come on, the topic was right there, partially rolled in his hand. 

“is this for the osteosarcoma patient?” 

that was your most recent one. room on the second floor, two months of radiation and the nausea had started kicking in pretty bad. wilson almost felt guilty for it not being for the patient, despite prescribing dramamine just a few hours ago. this odd moment of personal space invaded by you, and yet he sat here, welcoming it. because you were his favourite.

“uh no. it’s for me.” 

he wasn’t just welcoming it. he was inviting you over. he was being honest with you, encouraging questions. encouraging to fill the void, fill the space. the one you hadn’t created but certainly widened with everything you did. your desperation for his approval like his desperation for yours, a symphony made from the two most anxious, people-pleasing oncologists. 

you needn’t respond. your face said it all; wide eyed, mouth slightly ajar. you’d lost all train of thought, and maybe some respect for him, wilson figured.

“do you… want to join?"

how much more forward does he need to be? a man like him rarely has to make a move like this. women jump at the opportunity to be with him simply because he is him. the sweetest man. the perfect man. he, who sat here late at night, avoiding his wife, and hoping that his much younger employee would join him for a smoke. perhaps, in due time, a little more. 

“i- i don’t… i haven’t… i’ve never smoked.” 

but dear lord. it doesn't get any better than this, does it? you would have to be completely braindead to turn down an opportunity like this. does it scare you? smoking in your boss’ office? in the hospital you both work at? especially when he looks like that, talks like that and just is like that?

“i could teach you.” 

“if that’s okay with you… no pressure.” he adds as an afterthought. 

you nod, anxious. he gestures towards the couch, you comply. he grabs a lighter and joins you. your heart pounds in your chest. you pray to god he can't hear it.

you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. his eyes were so intense when they wanted to be, so expressive, conveying a thousand things and you, blinded as you were by his sheer presence, were unable to comprehend any of them. there was something about his face, his features, their softness. those pleading eyes, goddammit. they made you yearn for him uncontrollably.

his movements were slow and deliberate. the lighter flicked in his hand a couple times before it engulfed the tip of the joint. wilson watched you react to the flame, your eyes steady on the burning paper. he found it amusing how immersed you were, how new everything was to you, how exciting. he found himself wishing he could see the world from your eyes as he dragged the joint, turning his head away from you and blowing smoke in the other direction.

“your turn.” he said, offering it to you. 

your hands awkwardly try to hold the joints from different angles. ultimately, you surrender. wilson takes another hit as he watches you give up.

“i don’t think i can do this.” you bite your lip. fuck. you feel like a failure. failure at doing something reckless and stupid with your boss. failure at fun. “sorry.”

“don’t be.” wilson reassures you. he always does. you forget he deals with impossible cases like you all the time. “i’ll hold it and you suck in the smoke, for now, okay?”

you nod fervently. okay, this is okay. you can do it. you can have fun. 

his fingers caging the joint now reach towards your lips. you look at the burning paper and the green stuff inside it, then look at him for some sort of go-ahead. he doesn’t break eye contact. neither do you. you slowly put the end in your mouth, sucking in the smoke, like he told you to do. your eyes keep searching for his approval while his… they just take in the sight in front of him. 

you blow it out. the earthy, bitter aftertaste in your mouth. wilson stares at you, agape. 

he mutters a quiet good god before bringing the joint back to his own lips. you stare at them shamelessly.

“okay this time, suck in some air with your teeth and push it deeper… if that makes any sense.” he demonstrates as you watch him, committing every move to memory in order to emulate it perfectly. 

he brings the blunt to your lips, more careful this time, more focused. you revise the instructions in your brain and follow. the weed starts to hit the back of your throat, choking it. 

you cough out the smoke. wilson, being the doctor that he is, rushs beside you. his strong arms wrap around your body, he rubs your shoulder in soothing circles. 

“there, there. just breathe. exhale.” 

you nod amidst more coughs, making sure he knows you're listening. obeying. always. his hands begin sliding lower down your back, reaching the middle before they flex. his conscience slipping in, stopping him from moving further. you take a big breath. your head spins, falling back on wilson’s chest unknowingly. 

and he doesn't mind, as long as you don't. he smokes again, presses it against your lips again. slower this time, he whispers. you do, boring into his eyes. this time you're able to do it. this time the weed permeates within you. your shoulders relax a bit.

the to and fro continues. with each passing second, the tension grows thicker and thicker. every second you glance away from wilson's big, brown eyes is accounted for, remembered. all the moments you've taken away from him, all the moments the two of you could spend doing this, everything. 

he teaches you, he guides you. his eyes stay fixed on you, your swollen lips and how they kiss the end of the blunt. each passing second your body melts further into his, just the way he likes it. he hasn't moved his hand, he hasn't stopped embracing you. one hand on your waist, the other dragging the blunt from his lips to yours. 

“you're a natural.” he remarks.

“i am?” 

“almost as if you've done this before.”

you let out a soft chuckle. 

“i really haven't, doctor wilson.” 

you had to… you had to break the immersion didn't you? you had to ruin this perfect moment by reminding him of what you both were. wrong. unethical. wilson looks away, his expression unreadable. he feels you looking at him, thinking, adoring. 

his lips vibrate, his body aches. despite the smoke and haze, never had things been so clear, so simple. all laid out in front of him. never had it been so confusing, the line between love and lust blurring indefinitely, turning into the smoke coming from the burning joint, enveloping the two of you, bringing you so close. he felt the heat radiate off your skin. hot. it burned. everything burned.

for you, the lines were always blurred. they were unclear from the moment you accepted this job, from the moment you started this silly crush on your married boss. it was always deeper, always soul crushing. it always burned.

wilson brought the blunt close to his lips as you watched him move for the first time in a few minutes. nothing in the world seemed to be as important as his lips at this very moment. so pink, so perfect, so painful to witness without kissing. 

mouthful of smoke, wilson comes impossibly close. your eyes close involuntarily, afraid that if you see this sight you may never be able to live without it. he takes that as an invitation. his lips touch yours with utmost sensitivity. you tilt your head, giving him access, permission. and he takes it. 

your mouth fills with smoke, it pushes on your throat. but you swallow. you can't pull away now, so you swallow like a good girl. your lips move on their own. you can barely process wilson's weight on you, his hands on you, his tongue entering your mouth with feverish intensity. your hands move everywhere, anywhere. you have to feel it all, soak it all in, because this might be a dream, this may never happen again. but its happening right now, and it is impossibly better than you could have imagined. 

successfully out of breath and rock hard, wilson pulls away. the sight of you catching your breath, your chest heaving up and down, your lips swollen, wet. if he could freeze time, this would be it. he runs his hands through his hair. unbelievable. 

he puts out the blunt before he dives back in. he can't physically pull away. it's too much. like a moth to a flame, like metal to a magnet; the pull, the attraction, it's maddening. at this moment, nothing hurts. nothing's real.

[demigods-posts]

it's heart breaking knowing that there is a strong parallel between percy and luke's upbringing. both had distant fathers. both had loving mothers who would do anything to protect them. both grew resentful of the gods even as they embodied the roles of pawns in their game of chess. and yet. luke's story is what blends into the wallpaper. lurks in the background like a descending melody in a thundering chorus. something we aren't made aware of until it's too late.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

analysing queercoding in sethos's haikaveh voice-line

(This analysis is from my Haikaveh queercoding essay found here!)

In Cyno’s Story Quest II Alhaitham and Kaveh’s progression goes unspoken by the Traveller and Paimon in comparison to previous events and quests where their relationship is questioned (which you can read here!)

This lack of mention of the visible progression of their relationship points to a secrecy that the player is not privy to, and this development is only mentioned when Cyno highlights the unlikeliness of Kaveh and Alhaitham studying together in the House of Daena

Kaveh and Alhaitham’s relationship has tangibly improved, in their dialogue with each other, their listening and comprehension of each other, and their active reliance on each other, however, a status of their relationship has still yet to be given.

With the lack of questioning from the surrounding cast, this appears to be a continual deliberate method of avoiding labelling Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship status (further discussed here). This aligns with the previous method of queercoding Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship in avoiding labels of friends, and here, it can be seen that labels such as ‘roommates’ are also avoided. This omission continues to be deliberate, and it is even more poignant due to the progression of their relationship, alongside the secrecy of what it entails and how it came about.

Sethos’ voice-line about the two highlights this to an extreme. As discussed, his voice-line is entitled ‘About Alhaitham and Kaveh’, and is the only voice-line in the game to pair together two characters when a character gives an opinion of another.

In this, Alhaitham and Kaveh are inextricably linked together - not only in being delegated a joint voice-line, but also due to Sethos’ opinion of them.

This separates them from the crowd due to an intimacy shared between the two of them. Sethos states that Kaveh is always speaking, to Alhaitham, in a low voice, as if to not let others overhear. This directly indicates a secrecy between Alhaitham and Kaveh which is not to be breached by the crowd, Sethos, and the player included, as Sethos fails to overhear anything to relate back to the player.

Sethos finishes by claiming that when Alhaitham and Kaveh are “together”, they become a different force entirely as if they were alone, as seeing them together means “you just can’t look away.”

Sethos’s voice-over creates an allusion to a secret existing between Alhaitham and Kaveh, and this secret conveys very much the essence of queercoding itself??

The two discuss something which cannot be known to the player, or someone attempting to breach the line between the public display of their relationship and that of their private relationship. This private relationship occurs outside of the player’s knowledge and pertains to the development of their relationship, along with what the two now consider the other.

The ambiguity of their relationship here only continues to point to the two’s connectedness, in that they are coupled together by an outsider. It’s interesting that rather than the personal pronoun ‘I’, Sethos uses the collective pronoun ‘you’ when referring to Alhaitham and Kaveh as a pair.

This directly addresses the player, and draws attention to the uniqueness of their relationship. Yet again, this is the same method used to purposefully cause the player to question Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship – and, just as other instances, there is no clarification.

This secret that is generated between Alhaitham and Kaveh directly equates to the idea of queercoding, as no definitive answer is given as to what exactly the secret, or intimacy, is – and this aligns with the game’s inability to confirm queer characters or relationships.

Alhaitham and Kaveh having reconciled is considered of prominent importance. This is seen in their balanced viewpoints having the power to bring about good for others, but here, it is specifically highlighted that Alhaitham and Kaveh are ‘other’. They are separate from the crowd, regardless of being surrounded, and they are perpetually in their own private sphere, despite attempting to be intruded upon by an eavesdropper.

Together, they become a unit that stands out, and yet this is contrasted by the intimacy of their togetherness. It is unknown what the two discuss, only that it is private between the two of them alone. This intimate covertness, this secrecy, in the presentation of Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship demonstrates the usage of queercoding.

As established here, this aligns with the queer taboo, in that closeted queer people live a life secret to the heteronormative public, and thus become ‘other’ in this secret part of themselves. The secrecy of Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship can correlate with the real-world negation from heteronormative bonds, found in queer relationships not accepted by the society around them.

This is seen in how the true nature of their relationship is avoided within the game, and, yet, is highlighted by several characters for the player to question. This lack of answer, as established, leaves the interpretation to the player. It appears deliberate that Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship status is constantly called into question in previous quests and events, but their relationship, when improved, goes unmentioned by the very characters that once questioned it, such as Paimon.

Yet again, Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship is styled to deliberately avoid labels, and yet, their closeness is deliberately highlighted. Along with this, the secrecy of their private life is poignant, seen in both Sethos’ voice-line and in the ambiguity of their relationship in Cyno’s Story Quest II.

With this method, the game purposefully allows for questions which ask as to the specific nature of Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship – just as it deliberately avoids giving a specific answer. Highlighting the two’s closeness, and the ambiguity of this, is an active method of queercoding.

[jittersbitters]

Ive hit 4K and taking a break to eat. Have another Vik x reader smut snippet while I wait for more coffee to brew (its only midnight). On that 2nd cup and my drink isn't the only thing getting steamy.

Part 3 is already being outlined and I'm thinking Heimerdinger's lab or Hoskels house 🤭

Part 1 Here

“In.” His thumb started to stroke between my shoulder blades as his breath fanned the side of my face, voice a low thrum in my ear. My breath hitched as I felt myself gravitate toward him, eyeing him from the corners of my vision. My heart starting to make its nervous ascent up my throat again. “What?” “It’s incautious.” His corrected with a self-satisfied smile, delighting in my surprise as his hand shifted up to thumb at the cord wrapping around my neck to hold up the front of my dress. He played with it, running the finger along the stack, his hand resting at the base of my neck. Holding me gently as he guided me away from the increasingly crowded table, deliberately closing any lingering distance between us as our sides came together. “How do you say…” We were so close he only needed to murmur, “The student becomes the master.” A rush of heat coursed through me, breath hitching in my throat. The cord around my neck felt suddenly too tight, and I weakly pulled with it in search of relief. His thumb slid under the cords in response, relieving some of the pressure from the back. Simultaneously, pulling them into my throat, the contrast made my insides twist and flutter. Did he know just what he was doing? “Viktor—"

I seemed to have devolved in the tags. Read at your own risk teehee

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Dislocated joints are actually very fun whump concepts. Think about it:

First you have the initial injury. Be it a dislocated shoulder, hip, knee, all potential locations are dehibilitating, losing the use of that arm or being unable to walk, etc.

Also that every time the whumpee tries to move the dislocated limb they risk making it worse and intensify the pain.

Then... then you have treatment. Forcing a dislocated joint back into place is NOT FUN. Not for the whumpee, not for the caretaker. And if someone inexperienced tries and messes it up... oh boy oh boy we making it worse!

And of course you have all the issues that might come about after the joint is fixed, such as strained muscles, sprained ligaments and tendons, nerve damage, vascular (blood vessel) issues, stiff joints/osteoarthritis... the list goes on.

Anyway thinking about this bc someone I know irl dislocated both their knees on separate occasions, (and it took like four medical professionals to put it back in place). Also I remembered a scene in Mom's Night Out (2014) where Sam dislocates his shoulder and instead of letting a medical professional set it he slammed. His shoulder. Into a wall. And shoved it back in place. In the storming emergency room. In front of the receptionist. I cringe every time.

[miss-conjayniality]

MY GODDESS.

genre: fluff, HEAVY angst (short drabble)

pairing: south asian sapphic fem!reader x saebyeok x semi

word count: 390

warnings: mentions of death, grief

A/N: yeah so uhh…..i may or may not have cut some onions while writing this……🫣 i also intended for this to be VERY short and brief. but then my brain went “let’s turn this hwang donghyuk thriller into a sanjay leela bhansali tragedy!!!!🤪🫰🏼”

np: maula mere maula by roop kumar rathod

i don’t know how many desi sapphics lurk around this fandom. but to those who are, all i must say is that semi and saebyeok are most certainly the “maula mere maula” type of beauties.

otherworldly. ethereal. dreamy. hypnotic. alluring beauties who leave you in awe. the magical presence of both captivates people to the point where we get lost in the depths of their souls. with just a drop of melancholy.

both women are the kind of lovers who’d give you goddess treatment. they would anything they can to shower you with that prize money. despite their setbacks, they dream of coming back alive. to you. they put their lives on the line so that one day, they’ll be able to lavish you with everything you could possibly ever dream of.

yet there it all goes. the tragedy. the despair. the grief. the moment you find out about their passings, you crumble. this can’t be real, you think. they sacrificed their lives for you. you wish you could just live a peaceful, prosperous life with your beloved. one where love and wealth are synonymous. one mustn’t have to suffer for love like this.

the level of respect you harbor for them is the size of the universe. if not, more than that. they did well. they did the best they could just for you. even though they’re both gone from this earth, their spirits still remain omnipresent around you — the sweaters they left behind for you whenever you’re feeling cold, the family heirlooms they gifted to you, the leftover clip-on nose and lip piercings. and so much more.

everyday, you wear one of semi’s naths as your homage to her. her collection of naths is precious to you because it was symbolized her courage to be her true self amidst societal pressures to conform. additionally, you always keep at least one of saebyeok’s switchblades in your purse and pocket because it serves as a powerful allegory to life — to fight for yourself and your loved ones. to keep that fiery, huntress spirit no matter what life throws at you. to remind yourself of what it takes to persevere through any challenge.

despite the tragic deaths of your lovers, you’ll forever be grateful for all they’ve done for you. amidst this turbulent world, they are a beacon of light.

[soldiersgirl]

SMOKE BREAK .ᐟ

summary ⭑ ben had been struggling, but finally he and the boys got somewhat of a win. that meant celebrating and finally letting a little joy into his life. cw ⭑ joint!reader x soldier boy. mentions of fighting, blood, death. mentions of sex and herogasm. mentions of the boys (butcher, hughie, annie, m.m) & homelander & oc supe (genii). mentions of ben's trauma and daddy issues. mentions of drugs (weed). swearing. yelling. word count ⭑ 1,974 words

a punch. a grunt. the sound of a man falling to his knees. soldier boy was ruthless, as always. working his way through the violent crowd with ease, like a boxer gliding and weaving through the oncoming onslaught of jabs and hooks. butcher and annie were handing out their punches like candy on halloween to keep the pissed-off supes at bay whilst hughie and m.m tried their best to subdue with halothane bombs. ben's eyes flickered between them all and felt a minuscule shiver go down his spine as the scene in front of him unfolded. herogasm turned out to be more bloody than soldier boy remembered it.

and it only grew bloodier by the minute as more and more casualties fell in the heat of the battle. it wasn't as simple as good versus bad, it never had been. it was about bad versus worse and ben was ready to end it once and for all. to finally lay down homelander and take his righteous place as america's hero. the way it was supposed to be and always should have been.

like the good and loyal soldier ben is, he punched, pushed and stabbed anyone who dared stand in his way to homelander. he was ready for this to end, here and now. the way homelander made a mockery of supes made ben sick to his stomach. every time he stole a glance at the blonde false god, his blood boiled and his indispensable rage took over. it's all going according to butcher's plan. yells of frustration and unfiltered rage sliced overtook the previous moans and groans of pleasure that had filled the tnt twins sex-infested apartment.

as ben let his soldier instincts take over, the swing of his shield and slash of his trusted knife is second-nature to him. despite the gore and guts, he almost feels at home amongst the chaos. now only one thing stood between ben and john, one last supe to take down before ben could taste victory. they circled and stalked each other like ravenous predators, each twitch and flinch analysed, waiting for the right moment to strike. genii's power was almost as unpredictable as ben; his ability to gain wishes at random had become infamous. one touch and any wish you had could be granted, but you never knew which or when it would happen. it either ended in success or catastrophe whenever genii was around and ben was adamant to ensure that he didn't get his hands on anyone. until he did.

in the heat of the moment, homelander had lifted and thrown butcher into soldier boy making him stumble and lose his step. his trusted tin case, carrying his long-time lucky joint, fell out from in between his chest and enforced chest plate making ben scramble after it. he was saving it as a celebration and he wasn't gonna let it go now after all this time. genii charged ahead and seized the rare opportunity of ben's loss of control and grabbed soldier boy roughly by the jaw, while ben grasped his tin case like his life depended on it.

"get fuckin' off me, you dick!" ben growled as they scuffled and threw fists, but it was too late for ben. genii's eyes rolled into the back of his head and stood completely frozen as ben started to convulse and fell into an unconscious state. his case slipping from his fingers as darkness took over and the last he heard was the desperate yelling from the boys.

the boys had carried ben's heavy, unconscious body into butcher's trusty cadillac as he slowly came back to reality. he immediately started swinging, his body still in fight or flight mode.

"easy, lad!" butcher yelled as he pinned ben's arms back whilst he thrashed and yelled.

"let me at him! i'm gonna fucking kill him!" ben breathed harshly through his nose, his chest heaving as his eyes glided over the boys in front of him, their expressions unreadable. he slowly started to surrender and laid back against the leather seats, closing his eyes and silently beating himself up. the others sat themselves in the car as butcher explained how "technically" it was a success as they managed to make homelander bleed; a rare occurrence. ben only scoffed and sighed in the backseat at each of butcher's words. until annie, mostly begrudgingly, slides something into ben's unsuspecting hands; his tin case. his eyes shot up but they never meet hers as she glances out the window and acts like nothing happened. ben feels a smile flicker across his lips as he looks down and caresses his precious case that had been with him through thick and thin, more than anyone else.

his thumb followed along the curves and indents that decorated the battered tin case – an old altoids mint case that his father had given him as a child. his father hadn't given him much, but he knew ben's weakness for mints and would occasionally gift him one or two, when he was in the mood. he silently admired the scratches that ran along its sides, a sign of the love and use that ben had gotten out of it. this case was the last gift he had gotten from his father before he turned his back on him. it's all he had left of what he once called a family. a sickening, unfamiliar feeling washed over ben and he was sure it was going to swallow him whole.

trashing his apartment didn't ease the pain like ben had hoped for. he knew butcher was right, it has been the closest they had come to winning. to taking down homelander. but they weren't close enough. ben sat amongst his self-made chaos and gazed at his beloved case once again, opening and closing the lid. finding comfort in the whine of the hinges and the nostalgic aroma of his favourite weed blend rolled into his lucky joint.

he sprawled out onto the bed with a loud sigh going over his faults, his mistakes, trying to figure out how he could get better and finally take down the blonde menace. he took out the joint and held it in his hand, feeling the weight and admiring the curve of it. the only thing that could bring him comfort, that could silence his father's loud criticisms that constantly haunts him. he laid the lucky joint on his rolling tray that had it's permanent spot next to ben's pillow, planning on smoking it in the morning to finally bring him the luck he needed. he laid there, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, wishing he could rely on someone rather than something. maybe this would all be easier if he did, but that's something he guesses he will never know as he finally rolls over and falls into a deep hibernation.

until an arm slings itself around his waist. his eyes snap open. his breathing stops. the usual silence in his cluttered space was disturbed by a second slow, rhythmic breathing. ben dives forward and grabs the knife hidden under his bedside table and shoots up out of the bed, knife at the ready to defend himself.

"what the fuck?! how the fuck did you get in here..? what.. the fuck is going on?!" ben yells, bombarding you with questions as his eyes glide over your slumbering form as you slowly start to sit up and rub your eyes; any lack of surprise on your end. you sleepily gaze up at him, realisation sets in and you lock up. every muscle and nerve stiff, a moment of peace, before reality sets in.

"oh my god... oh my god, oh fuck... no, what?" you mumble to yourself as you slowly roll and test out all your limbs and appendages, touching your face and body in disbelief, the duvet covering your exposed body. you wiggle your hands and toes and can't stop a soft giggle from escaping as you gaze around in amazement, despite the current state of ben's apartment. you stretched, traced the soft features of your face and grabbed at your own cheeks.

"hey!" ben's commanding voice slices through the tranquility of the moment. your eyes finally rest on his shivering form, the adrenaline pumping through him like a raging river after a storm.

"it's so nice to see something other than the inside of that tin case you've been keeping me in." you softly state.

"what? what?" ben yells, brandishing the knife. "you crazy bitch, i.." his limbs go limp for a second as his usual stoic mask falters. "what the fuck did you say?"

"you kept me prisoner in that thing for ages. i was wondering when you were finally going to let me out. see the world." you give him a soft smile as you point around his room. ben was sure he had been drugged, even poisoned. this could not be fucking happening. "the way i got thrown around yesterday inside during that fight you guys get in, i have such a headache." you groan. the knife clatters across ben's floor as he drops it and studies you closely.

"have you been fuckin' following me?" he seethes. "how fuckin' long, huh? were you at fuckin' herogasm and decided to stalk me here?" ben starts on a tirade but you quickly shut up him with comforting hushes and shaking of the head.

"i would never hurt you and you know that. i was made to help you. you made me to help you." you say with the warmth he would usually feel with his mouth wrapped around you and inhaling deeply into his trained lungs.

it all clicked.

genii. his wish. his stupid, fuckin' pussy-ass wish to not be alone. and there you are.

ben's disbelief morphed into a state of utter rage. he leapt forward, grabbed you harshly by the shoulders and shook you, but all you could do was laugh.

"this ain't no fucking comedy club! did butcher put you up to this?"

"ben!" you manage to yell through your laughter. "it's me. i only know you! i mean, i've heard the others' voices but you're the only one i could ever recognise." you tentatively reach out and caress his face before he flinches and grimaces.

"alright, alright. if you really fuckin' are who i think you are and not some psycho stalker, then you gotta tell me somethin'. prove it." he hisses into your face.

"i know you better than you know yourself, ben. i know and i've felt your deep sadness. i hear your mumblings, when you think no one else is listening." you tried to tread carefully, knowing his explosive temper all too well. "you always keep me right above your heart, between you and your chest armour. i hear your scattered heartbeat whenever you start to think about your dad."

"enough." his voice barely above a whisper.

"i know you lose yourself in whatever you can find. i've felt your sobs and strained breathing when you're finally alone, as you sit and stare at my confinement. wondering why you were never enough. if you'll ever be enough."

"shut the fuck up!" he shook you one final time before throwing his head back in sheer agitation. "don't... fuckin' say another word." he mumbles.

"i've always listened. and i always will. i want to help you, that's why you made me, didn't you?" your voice light like a feather, a contrast against the simmering tension in the room.

"are you tryin' to tell me.. fuck, that you're my lucky joint?" he sits back onto the balls of his feet, all the rage dispersing at the honesty in your voice.

"i think i prefer joi." you confirm with a toothy smile, leaving ben dumbfounded. how the fuck was he going to explain this mess to the boys?

a/n: meet mine and gabriela's (@h8aaz) child!!!! we are so in love with her and hope u guys are too <3 this was so much fun to write and i actually love this concept more than i could've anticipated! joi's masterlist , millie's masterlist , gabriela's masterlist -`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei @rositaslabyrinth @blossomingorchids @deansbbyx @mads-ackles @lunaleah (comment or inbox me to be added)

[princess--misery]

The ball-jointed doll sat motionless, its painted features faded and chipped, the remnants of its previous life clinging to its smooth plastic skin. It couldn't speak, but it could feel - a strange, numb sensation as the chemical solution began to erase the old layers of paint. The scent of the solvent was sharp and foreign, mingling with the smell of the room, the faint traces of its owner's hands. Every stroke of the rag felt cold and purposeful, wiping away the past, preparing it for something new.

There was no rush. The doll couldn't rush. It could only exist in the moment, unable to comprehend the transformation, only able to feel it. The chemicals stung as they spread across its surface, and yet it felt a quiet relief - each swipe, each clean surface, marked a new beginning, an unknown journey ahead. The doll didn't need to understand it. It just knew that the old was leaving, making way for something different.

The artist’s hand hovered over the doll's blank face, and soon, bristles of a fine paintbrush began to trace delicate lines over its once-plain features. It felt the brush's soft, smooth strokes against its skin, the bristles gently teasing it to life. The brush flowed like water, shaping curves and contours that the doll could only sense, not see. Slowly, carefully, the paint began to form its eyes, one stroke at a time, the color flowing across the plastic surface, but its vision remained a fuzzy blur.

The brush moved in precise motions, painting lips, shaping a delicate nose, blending shadows and highlights to bring personality and warmth. Though the doll could not see, it could feel the change in the air - the texture of its skin becoming more alive, more expressive with each touch. Its face was becoming something new, but it wasn’t complete. Not yet.

As the doll's new eyes began to take shape, the feeling was strange - alien, almost. There was a sense of waiting, of anticipation as the brush moved delicately, filling the void. The vision was still unclear, like waking up from a dream, the shapes and colors blurring together. But slowly, ever so slowly, clarity began to form. The eyes - first vague, then bright with detail - grew into their final shape.

At last, they were finished.

The doll blinked - or at least felt like it did. It didn’t know how to blink, but in that moment, the world around it seemed different. The blurry fog that had once obscured everything now began to clear. Colors, shapes - things it had never seen before - began to come into focus. The eyes were finished. The doll could finally see.

But there was more.

Next, it felt its owner’s hands delicately pull fabric over its limbs, threading it's bending joints through soft materials, fastening them with small buttons and ribbons. Layers of intricate clothes were draped over its body - silk, lace, and velvet, each texture unique and unfamiliar. Its fingers warmed, a sign of life it hadn’t had before. The clothing was soft against its skin, a far cry from the cold, unfeeling plastic it had known. The doll could sense its new form, the transformation into something more than just an object. It was becoming something... alive. Something with a story.

It couldn’t speak, it couldn’t move on its own, but in that quiet space, with each stroke of the brush and each fold of fabric, it began to understand. It was no longer just a doll. It was a creation - shaped, crafted, and brought to life in its own way, ready to embark on the story its owner had prepared for it.

It loves the artist, it believes the artist loves it too. What else could its new form mean?

The doll's new, soft smile is filled with adoration. It had become beautiful under the artist's careful hands.

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