#which was about 2-2.5 hours long

[inklings-sprint]

And it's finally that time again! It's time to start SPRINTING!

@catkin-morgs-kookaburralover do you want to be tagged with each round? Or is this first one enough?

[starlightkun]

🎶🛌

[rafesaddiction]

It's still not cheating when he's your enemy – Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader (Part 2)

see here for part 1 and here for part 2.5

Summary: You just want to make a living, but Rafe Cameron keeps showing up and disturbing you while you're working. He's so damn annoying – and hot.

Concept: enemies, Who did this to you?

Warnings: mdni! – smut, rough sex, p in v, cheating (reader cheats on boyfriend), aggression, violence, manhandling, choking, cursing, name calling (reader is called a whore), mentions of assault (not by rafe), mean!rafe, also dark!rafe and protective!rafe

Word count: 4.7k

tagging those who asked for a part 2 @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @niyahwhoreworld @luvagirlsworld @elizzzzz143 @ghostlycrystobalove @fabienne6656 @noodle81937 @sadexact @marauderssmut @daydreamerblues I hope you'll enjoy this.

“I knew that ass looked familiar!”

You frowned as you heard that dark voice behind you, but you didn't turn around. You pretended not to have heard anything and went on scrubbing the wall with the sponge. You were kinda good at that – not at the scrubbing, but at ignoring catcalls. You had suffered like a lot in the last 30 minutes or so alone. At least half of the dozen cars that had passed behind you on the street had honked at you while you had been trying to clean some graffiti off the supposedly historical wall of this supposedly historical building. They wouldn't let you use any hard chemicals (not that you could've afforded them) to get rid off the paint because they would destroy the precious stone, or whatever. So cleaning the wall took ages. Sadly you were not paid by the hour, but by results alone. The graffiti was actually some insulting – and very true – statement about kooks. You thought that the handwriting looked somewhat familiar. And you almost suspected your boyfriend’s best friend to be the unknown author. You could almost hear him say that he did this on purpose just to create jobs, which was absolutely stupid, and therefore could've been true.

“Hey!” that voice again, and you rolled your eyes, unseen by the one addressing you. You still didn’t turn around to the car that was driving by slowly. And now it seemed to have stopped. You heard a car door open, but you ignored that too as you bent down to soak the sponge in the bucket of water, which was almost black by now from the paint and the dirt from the wall.

It was still early morning, not too hot, but cleaning this damn wall was hard work, and a light film of sweat had gathered on your forehead. You wiped it away with the back of your hand, before stretching your arms high above your head to start scrubbing again. The foamy water ran along your bare arms. You were wearing a cropped top and jeans shorts. You should’ve worn gloves to protect the skin on your hands from the cleanser, you thought, when you heard that voice again. So close, it made you freeze and your breath hitched.

“Did no one ever tell you it’s impolite not to answer when spoken to?”

A shiver you tried to ignore ran down your spine as you felt his presence so very close behind you. You couldn't help but close your eyes for a moment, when you smelled his scent; his dark, expensive cologne filling your lungs, your senses, and as if your body remembered, light goosebumps covered your skin – and you felt that throbbing between your legs.

“Or do you think I'm just a daydream?”

The arrogant tone in his voice drove you mad. You opened your eyes, your jaw clenched, but you continued staring at the wall.

Whereas before you had only felt his presence, you could now feel his touch. He was standing directly behind you, his chest brushing against your back as he leaned closer, his face next to yours, his lips moved close to your ear, while one of his hands found the exposed skin on your stomach. His long fingers slowly travelled under your top, shoving it up.

“I promise I'm real,” he whispered into your ear.

You shuddered, his hand cupping the underside of your breast, and you hated how your body reacted, how your traitorous nipples perked up, how your stupid legs got wobbly. You involuntarily let out a moan as his lips found your skin, touching that very sensitive spot under your ear.

You couldn't have this, not here on a public street in broad daylight, and not with him, not with Rafe fucking Cameron.

You spun around, saw a smug grin on his ridiculously handsome face and shoved the wet sponge right into his arrogant face – and you again wished that you'd have been able to afford more aggressive chemicals.

“What the fuck!” He exclaimed, moved a step back, rubbing his face, blinking, and looking at you both angry and in confusion, his mouth slightly open, his head tilted to the side, as if he expected you to explain your behavior to him when his behavior had been anything than appropriate or normal!

You looked at him with a little triumphant grin on your lips. But your small victory didn't last long.

His hand shot to your throat, gripping it so hard, your back was forcefully pushed against the wall, making you wince. Your hands wrapped around his arm, trying to fight him off, already struggling to breathe. And on top of that, his sudden proximity overwhelmed all your senses as his body was caging you in, making you feel his power over you. The look on Rafe's face was menacing; his brows furrowed, his eyes darkened, he seemed ready to kill.

Rafe moved so close that you felt his breath on your face, brushing against your skin. You could do nothing but gaze at him as you struggled to get out of his grip, in vain.

But suddenly Rafe's tense features changed. His eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed and he tilted your head to the side, inspecting your face, to be precise inspecting the left side of your face. And you knew what he was looking at.

“Who did this to you?”

He was looking at the bruise on your left cheek. Not just cheek, the black and blue mark covered almost half your face, from your eye to your jaw.

Rafe let go off your throat, placing both his palms on either side of your head on the wall. He was in fact caging you in now.

“No one,” you snapped, scowling at him. You tried to cover the bruise with your hair, but Rafe didn't allow it. He grabbed your wrist, held it, made you flinch at his strength. He would probably leave his own mark there.

“Bullshit,” he growled. “Tell me. Who did this? Your boyfriend?”

You detected something strange in his voice, but you couldn't quite place it, it sounded almost like he was being cautious, which was ridiculous. Rafe Cameron was never cautious or hesitant with his words. And despite that somewhat strange tone in his voice, it was commanding and he seemed to believe that he was entitled to get an explanation from you.

“No!” You frowned at him and managed to pull your hand free, so you could use both your hands to shove him away – or try to. He didn't move an inch while your hands lay on his broad chest. You could feel the hard muscles underneath his shirt. You could feel his rapid heartbeat. His chest rising and falling as he stared at you intensely.

“Like you would care anyway…” Your voice soft and unsteady.

You expected him to say something disregarding like that he didn't give a fuck and that would end this conversation – this tense situation. But he didn't. Rafe looked at you with a stern expression and when he spoke, there wasn't even a hint of mockery in his voice.

“Who did this to you?” He asked again.

There was something so earnest in his tone that you just looked at him, stunned, for a second. You felt your heart beat so violently, it felt like he must have heard it too.

You bit your lips and averted your gaze.

But Rafe wouldn't let you. His fingers under your chin, guided your face, made you look at him. And he gazed at you. His blue eyes so dark, so intense, they were penetrating you. And you shuddered.

“My landlord,” you answered his question, unable to resist his demanding tone any longer.

Rafe didn't say anything, but looked at you, waiting for you to continue.

You felt a lump in your throat and your voice sounded weak when you spoke more.

“I couldn't pay the rent and he ‘suggested' another form of payment. But I –” The fresh memory made your voice trail off and you felt tears gathering in your eyes.

“Did you?” His voice was low.

“No!” You glared at him, some of that familiar anger returning and making your voice stronger. “I'm not a whore!”

Rafe's words from the other night were still clear in your mind and fueled your rage anew. You tensed up and suddenly realized that your hands were clawing at his shirt. You kept them there and you looked Rafe straight into the eyes when you continued, “I told him to shove it and kicked him in the balls.”

Was that a hint of a smirk on Rafe's lips?

“But when I tried to get away, he gripped my hair, yanked me about and smacked my face against the doorframe. I wriggled out of his grip and ran. End of story.”

You gave Rafe's chest a shove and this time he moved a little back. So you ducked under his arm and walked off.

But you didn't get far.

His hand caught your wrist. He spun you around and you slumped against his chest, gasping in surprise before his lips covered yours.

You reacted without thinking. Your mouth opened, your lips moved against his. It was pure impulse, so strong you couldn't resist. You felt his strong hand grabbing the back of your neck as he kissed you, kissed you deeply.

Waves and waves of intense electric tension were rushing through your body. For a moment you felt like you could let your guard down and just melt into his touch, melt against his body.

But you couldn't let that happen. This was never going to happen. The harshness of reality woke you up.

You pulled back and smacked his cheek with your hand, so hard, so loud, your palm burned.

Rafe looked at you, his lips parted – so dangerously close to yours…

“I could give you the money –”

His features were so soft, and the way he looked at you, it made your chest tighten and you felt your tears returning.

“Fuck you! I told you I’m no whore! I'm no one's whore! Not his and certainly not YOURS!” You screamed those words right at his face.

And Rafe just stood there. He did not attempt to grab you again, to pull you close, to kiss you, to hold you...

He just stood there and looked at you. Then his mouth closed and he nodded and his lips moved again, but you couldn't hear what he was saying, as if he was talking to himself. And then he just turned around and walked away, got into his jeep and drove off.

And you exhaled, and all tension fell from your body. You were shivering and no longer held those tears back. You cried out and a passing driver looked at you in confusion and you yelled after him to fuck off and kicked at the water bucket – and regretted it a second later. You would have to get fresh water and then start working again. You had wasted more than enough time already. Because of Rafe fucking Cameron.

***

A few days later.

“What you doing here?”

Fuck, was he everywhere? You looked up from your phone and saw Rafe Cameron on his dirt bike, just having taken off his helmet, smoothing down his hair with his free hand – and grinning at you.

You glared at him and focused on your phone again, leaning with your back against the shop window. You tried your best to ignore him, hoping that he would for once get the hint.

It had been only three days since your last encounter; the bruise was still showing on your face, the cheap make up you had wasn't enough to cover it completely, but you had arranged your hair in a way that hid most of it – at least you hoped it did.

“Waiting for clients?” Rafe’s voice sounded closer. Obviously he hadn’t taken the hint.

You didn't look up, but you could see and feel his shadow on you. He had gotten off his bike and walked over to you.

“Fuck off, asshole. I have no time for your bullshit.”

You looked up from your phone to glare at him.

He stood directly in front of you, had stopped about two feet away. It annoyed you how much your body already reacted to his presence. Your skin buzzing without his hands even touching it.

Rafe's hand moved to his head, combing through his hair.

“What are you doing here?” You hoped you sounded as annoyed as you were.

“Buying a new 8-iron.”

You knitted your eyebrows.

“So what are you doing here? All dressed up – like that,” Rafe asked, pointing at your outfit.

You had to admit it was an unusual look for you. You were wearing a white blouse, all buttoned up, and a black pencil skirt reaching to your knees, the fabric stiff and making your thighs itch. It wasn't yours. You had to borrow that skirt from your neighbor.

~~~

When you walked over to your neighbor's door that morning, you looked around nervously, making sure not to accidentally run into your landlord. You wouldn't want to repeat that kind of encounter, especially not today when you had a job interview for a position at a stationery shop on main street. One of those fancy-ass shops where kook parents bought school supplies for their spoiled offspring. With school starting in a few weeks, they had a new position to fill. Though it was just temporary, it was good money, and maybe even a chance for something permanent.

“Try this on, I think it might fit.” Your neighbor held out a black skirt from her closet, handing it to you.

You were standing in her small bedroom, trying not to step on the stuff scattered on the floor. You pulled down your shorts and put on the skirt and frowned at the image of the young woman in the mirror. You did not like it at all, but the skirt looked like something someone working at a kook stationery shop would wear, so it would do.

You thanked your neighbor and were about to leave when you remembered that it had been days since you had last seen your landlord, which was unusual, since he was always lurking around, sitting by the empty pool, shouting at kids or harassing his female tenants. Your neighbor always knew the latest gossip, so you just asked her about his whereabouts.

“Haven't you heard?”

“Heard what?” You frowned at her in confusion.

“He got run over by a car three days ago.”

“Oh,” you said. “Is he alive?” You knew it was bad to wish someone ill, but part of you couldn't help hoping for the worst.

“Barely. He's in intensive care. Can't move a single bone in his body. His jaw is completely crushed.”

“By the car?”

“No. After he'd been hit, the driver got out of the car and beat him up. With a golf club.”

You raised your eyebrows. “With a golf club?”

She nodded.

“And did they, did the police catch whoever…?”

She shook her head. “Strange thing. No one saw anything. Though it happened in broad daylight. On the street right in front of our compound.”

“Huh,” you said.

“Yep,” she shrugged, folding clothes and putting them back into her closet. “And he can't remember anything, he says. Well, he can hardly speak with that fractured jaw. Only liquid diet for him for the next couple of weeks and I guess he won't be around that soon.”

~~~

“I have a job interview, if you must know.”

You put your phone away and pressed your now empty palms against the cool glass behind you.

“A job interview?” Rafe cocked his head.

“Yeah. You know, some people actually do have to get jobs and work for a living.”

You expected him to snap or at least frown at you, but he just grinned.

“So you're nervous?”

You glared at him. “What do you want?”

He chuckled and lifted his hands in a defensive way. “What? Can't I just make friendly conversation?”

The frown on your forehead deepened, your muscles tensing so much, it hurt your damn bruise.

“We are no friends.”

“True,” he shrugged, but he still didn't leave. He just stood there and looked at you. You wondered if he didn't have to be somewhere, but didn't bother to ask, because obviously, the answer would be ‘No'.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest and turned your head in another direction.

Your foot was tapping on the ground, because, yes, you were fucking nervous. This was important and Rafe Cameron standing there and staring at you like that made you nervous in another kind of way. But you couldn't have that now. Or ever.

“I could help you relax, you know.”

Your head spun around to face him, and he looked like he actually meant it.

You glared at him, but fuck, your traitorous body reacted in an instant. Your skin was buzzing, you felt a restlessness that had nothing to do with being nervous about the interview.

“When's the interview?”

You checked the time on your phone. “Twenty minutes.”

“Ah, not nearly enough time,” he said with that cocky grin.

Why the hell could you practically feel his voice crawling under your skin when he was just standing there?

You pressed your legs together, and feeling the rough fabric of that damn skirt on your skin made you even more itchy.

And Rafe just stood there and he looked so fucking handsome, almost sweet with his baby-blue polo shirt, those fucking curtain bangs and that smile. His hand casually touched his lips, effectively drawing your attention to both his lips and those fingers – god, those fingers…

You growled – at least you hoped it sounded like a growl.

“Fuck it.” You exhaled. “Where's your car?”

“I'm afraid the jeep is at the auto shop. I had… an accident.”

Your eyebrows moved up. Did he just grin?

“But I know a place...”

Rafe moved his head, pointing with his chin in the direction before he started walking, and he just grabbed your wrist to pull you along. You mouthed a complaint, but followed him into an alley behind the storefront.

“I’m not gonna let you eat me out between dumpsters.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but did not say anything. He tugged you along to a door which he somehow managed to open.

He held it open for you to walk inside, which you did, while eyeing him.

“How do you know about this?”

Yet instead of answering, Rafe grabbed your neck and hip and his hungry lips found yours. And this time you didn't push him away. Your hands found his hair, tugging at it as you reacted to the kiss. The moment his lips touched yours, something so hot, so feverish was ignited, and you had no intention to stop it. Your eyes closed and you heard the door fall shut and some clicking sound that must have been a light switch, but you had no intention of checking. Your body and his were so closely entangled, and you just let him move you in the direction he shoved you, practically clinging to each other.

With your eyes closed, you had shut out any rational thinking. All you wanted was feel. Him. Your own hands eagerly slipped under his shirt – under that damn baby-blue shirt that suited him so well. You couldn't wait to get it off of him.

Rafe seemed to be reading your mind – or just your body – he obliged, broke the kiss to take off his shirt.

And you gazed at his perfectly sculptured torso, those abs made you literally lick your lips.

You were slightly panting, when you quickly took in your surroundings. You were in some dusty storage room that didn't seem to be used – except for Rafe's fuckdates probably. The thought should appall you, but fact was, you were so hot for this guy, you were aching for his touch. And the way he looked at you told you, he was as hungry as you were, maybe even more – blue eyes so intensely gazing at you, you felt naked when still fully clothed. That throbbing between your legs was getting unbearable and you knew that your panties must be soaking wet by now. Just from that damn kiss. That damn hot kiss.

You saw him lick his lips and your breath hitched.

“So are you gonna get on your knees now?” You tried to make your voice sound firm when you felt your body trembling with anticipation.

Rafe chuckled and shook his head.

Stunned for a moment, you just gaped at him, but the next moment he grabbed you and turned you around, and you managed just in time to brace yourself with your hands before colliding with the wall. You let out a gasp.

You craned your head back, as you heard him unzip his pants.

“Fuck, you promised to go down on me!”

“Never said that. I said I'd make you relax.” You could only hear his dark voice, but you were sure he was smirking.

You felt the hot touch of his fingertips on your thigh, felt his hand moving under your skirt, moving between your legs that just parted on their own. You shivered, mewled, and your eyes rolled back into your head. Such a light touch shouldn't affect you that much. You frowned at yourself and reached back to slap at his arm, a rather half-hearted attempt to stop him.

“Oh, you don’t want my cock inside you? I can just leave…” The arrogant tone in his voice made you growl. And the touch of his fingertip grazing over the fabric of your panties – your soaking wet panties – made you moan.

This guy made you so incredibly mad – and needy.

You scoffed and mumbled a curse.

You gripped the hem of your skirt and shoved it up over your waist, pulled down your panties, and they dropped to the floor. You faced the wall, pushing your naked ass out, arching your back and spreading your legs.

“Fuck me. And make me cum”, you commanded – hoping he wouldn't realize how much you were aching for his cock to fill you.

You heard him exhale and shuffle behind you. His large hand on your hip, you felt his length brushing along your slit, pulsing.

“And make it quick,” you said, already panting.

“That I can't promise.”

You were about to talk back, when Rafe's grip got firmer and his hard cock pushed into you, taking all your breath away.

And that was everything you felt from that moment on; your whole being was literally centered around Rafe Cameron’s cock buried deep inside you. Your walls clenched tightly around him, but he pushed harder, thrust into you with his whole length. You heard him inhale sharply and he remained still for a moment. Then his cock slowly retreated, before thrusting even harder into you.

You found your breath again, panting, moaning, whimpering as he fucked you.

His arms wrapped around you from behind, one hand grabbing your throat, causing you to tense up more, and feeling another rush flooding your senses. He growled close to your ear. Your back arching, moving at his will. You were burning up and shivering at the same time. His other hand pressed against your lower stomach as he continued fucking you from behind, causing you to flinch. His fingertip rubbed your clit – damn, it shouldn’t be so easy for him to find exactly the right spot right away and to give you what your body craved for.

His touch was rough and ruthless, nothing tender about the way he fucked you and pushed you quickly close to the edge. You couldn't even try to hold it back. Your orgasm hit you hard and you moaned shamelessly as he was fucking you through your high. Your body not feeling like your own anymore but something Rafe was in charge off. And he was in absolute control over your sensations, your body, your desires. You were still riding on that high, legs shaking, when you felt another climax building up inside you.

You lost all sense of time or place or anything. You didn't just feel his cock inside you, his hands on your body, his breath on your skin. You felt him everywhere. Every cell of your body was filled with him, his power, his greedy nature. And you'd never felt so much like yourself.

He made you cry out and whine, moan and whimper pathetically as he fucked you relentlessly, turning you into something he used to satisfy his seemingly insatiable appetite.

When you thought you couldn't take anymore, when your body was nothing but a trembling mess at his mercy, he grabbed you harder, fucked you deeper, and hotly groaned into your ear.

You screamed his name, so loud, your lungs burned.

Your body convulsing as you felt his hot cum spilling into you.

His hand turned your face sideways and he whispered something into your ear, but you didn't get the words, only felt his hot breath, only felt his hard cock pushing again into you, up to the hilt.

You had no chance of stopping all those pathetic sounds coming from you, as your body was convulsing around his.

He held you, for a while. You were panting heavily, as you felt his heartbeat at your back.

Your whimpering sounds stopped and your breathing was eventually calming down.

When he pulled out, you almost collapsed to the floor, as your legs seemed unable to carry your own weight. He caught you. Rafe slowly turned you around and held you.

You looked at him, his face flushed, his lips parted as he seemed out of breath too. There was something in his eyes, something so soft. Something that was ripping at your chest.

He slowly moved closer. And the tightness in your chest was unbearable. You pushed him away.

He stepped back and bent down to pick up your panties, handing them to you.

You watched him through narrowed eyes as you put them on. You winced when you felt his warm cum dripping out of you. You glared at him as he grinned.

“Don't you ever use a condom?”

He grinned more and shrugged. “Consider it a lucky charm. For your interview.”

You froze as reality hit you hard.

“Fuck.”

Hastily you smoothed down your crumpled clothes and checked your phone. You were late for the interview. And looked like a fucking mess. Your hair in disarray, your face glowing, sweat covering your body. You looked like you had just been fucked into oblivion.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You looked at the camera and tried to at least wipe away the smudged mascara from your cheeks.

You looked up and saw Rafe, who was just standing there, shirtless, his heaving chest covered in a light film of sweat. He looked at you with that look.

“I hate you.” You scowled at him.

And he just shrugged. “I don't care as long as I get to fuck that fine pussy of yours.”

A surge of hot rage was about to make you jump at him, scratch his blue eyes out, kick his balls, hit his handsome face – but you just let out an exasperated growl, and pushed him out of the way as you left the storage room as fast as you could – thanks to Rafe Cameron that wasn't too fast, as your legs were shaking and you were goddamn sore from being fucked so thoroughly.

a/n This got kinda long and has a lot of plot. Sorry. Reader and Rafe somehow wouldn’t shut up. I appreciate all your feedback and thank you for reading!

[impossiblefangirl0632]

Over six months in the making (time writing the fic not included lol), I present the finished and bound copies of Take Back The Kingdom, and it's companion piece To Fall Apart (to reunite)

Rambling about bookbinding and more photos under the cut

I don't even remember how I found out about ficbinding but in late January I joined the Renegade Bindery discord server and have since learned everything I needed to know to make these.

Friends let me walk you through the process because it is LONG.

First, the monumental task of typesetting (which I did in Word and it was a PAIN) (days upon days of work I have no idea how many hours), printing (1.5 hours (All numbers are for TBTK), folding (3ish), sewing (2.5) gluing on end papers (.5) gluing the spine, sanding the fore edge, head, and tail, end band sewing, spine lining (6 hours (I did this all in one day for one copy)), making the cover (2), putting the design on (2), casing in (gluing the text block to the cover)(.5) and then leaving it under a stack of chemistry textbooks overnight.

And that doesn't include starching cheesecloth for mull, cutting the end papers to size or designing the covers.

I used Georgia for the text font (which is AO3's serif font) and Madrigal for the titles/headings.

I am incredibly proud of these and can't wait to keep doing this with the next project

[nostalgicnarrator]

Outlaws and Lawmen

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Word Count: 5311

Parings: Thorn X Bilbo

Description:

Throin Oakenshield, law man, finds himself facing an outlaw, the likes of which he’s never seen before.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

1 / 2 / 2.5

⚠️Warning⚠️

Brief mention of extreme violence. Gun fights and death.



Note:

Listen, I don’t know what to tell you except I really wanted to write this for whatever reason. I was inspired, mostly by @shurikthereject and more specifically this post, and this post by them. Go give them love please if you haven’t already. Have fun and tell me if I messed up.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The sun was just beginning to rise over the small, dusty town of Ered, casting long shadows on the wooden buildings that lined the main streets.

The cool breeze rolled through the growing town, it carried familiar scents of leather, horses, and the distant aroma of freshly baked bread.

Thorin Oakenshield, the town’s sheriff, adjusted his hat and took a deep breath, savoring the calmness of the early hour.

Thorin’s family had long been intertwined with the law, a legacy stretching back further than he or the rest of the town could really remember.

His father and grandfather before him had both worn the very badge now clipped to his chest.

though they were not the only to carve their own legends into the town, they were the only ones who’s legends lined with mystery’s.

His grandfather had been one of the most revered sheriffs the town had ever known, a man who brought order with a steady hand and an unyielding sense of justice.

But he had not been as invincible as he pretended. He’d upset the wrong people, his throat slit in the dead of night, his body found cold and lifeless in the alley behind what was now Bombur’s saloon.

No one had ever discovered who was responsible. The killer’s identity became the stuff of ghost stories whispered around campfires, a shadow in the town’s memory, known only as “The defiler.”

Thorin’s father fared no better. He vanished without a trace while leading a posse into the hills, chasing after, well Thorin didn’t know.

What he did know was that his father’s badge showed up and left in Thorin’s home, there was no explanation,

And as the weeks turned into months, Thorin's hope dwindled to a painful acceptance. His father was assumed dead, claimed by the wilds or worse.

Left with little choice, and after a little convincing, Thorin took the badge. He was allowed to wear it and wore it he did, making him one of the youngest sheriffs in the territory.

Now, it was his turn to uphold the family honor in a town that seemed forever on the brink of the unexpected. Ered had always attracted the strange and the dangerous, and lately, there’d been no shortage of both.

The sudden influx of outlaws had become increasingly frustrating, bands of desperados and renegades testing their resolve, pushing at the edges of the peace Thorin strived for.

Thorin, by now, had dealt with his fair share of trouble. He’d faced down outlaws who thought his town was an easy mark, stood toe-to-toe with gunmen who underestimated him, and outsmarted those who tried to outgun him.

His reputation grew quickly and he was known as the quickest draw and for having a sharp mind, at least when it came to dealing with outlaws.

His name began to spread beyond Ered, most rumors of him were just that; rumors. but if the whispers in saloons and campfires across the state helped in keeping his town safe he didn’t mind.

Most were overly dramatic stories, some being entirely false and others just being exaggerated. But said stories were enough to make some think twice about causing trouble in his town.

Before that, Ered was just another dot on the map. But it quickly became known as Thorin Oakenshield’s town.

A place where the law was upheld not just by the sheriff’s badge, but by the man who wore it. Outlaws might ride into other towns to cause trouble, but not here. Not under Thorin’s watch.

Still, even as he took in the quiet morning, a familiar tension settled in his gut. The calm wouldn’t last; it never did. And today felt like one of those days when trouble was bound to find its way to his door.

And even as Thorin strode down the main street, nodding to or saying hello to the townspeople who greeted him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brewing.

The air seemed thicker today, the shadows just a bit darker. He greeted his deputy, Dwalin, as he stepped inside the sheriff’s office.

“Mornin’, Thorin,” Dwalin grunted, adjusting his gun belt. His face, usually calm, held a hint of tension.

“Morning, Dwalin… Feels like a strange day, doesn’t it?” Thorin replied.

Dwalin nodded. “Aye, it does. Maybe it’s the storm coming in from the east, but I’ve got a feelin’…”

Thorin chuckled. “You always have a feeling, Dwalin. Let’s hope it's just the weather this time.”

But deep down, Thorin knew better than to ignore his instincts or those of his deputy. On more than one occasion either had been provided right.

And if they were both feeling it, then something really bad might just happen. Before he could dwell on it anymore, Bofur, the always cheerful owner of the general store, came through the door.

“Sheriff! Morning!” Bofur called, his usual grin tight fake, it seemed out of place on his usually jovial face.

Thorin nodded and made his way over. “Why mornin’ Bofur, everything alright?”

“Well, …no sheriff, It’s my cousin. I’ve been trying to get him help and, well he’s out on his own again.”

Thorin sighed. Bifur, maybe this is what his gut was so upset about. Bifur had lost his mind a few years ago after an accident.

The old prospector was a kind fellow most days but, when he got to wondering, there was no telling.

Bifur often wandered off into the hills, he never got much farther than that. “Alright, I’ll go check on him. Might be good to get out of town for a bit.” Throin patted Bofur on the back.

“Thank ya sheriff, send him to my general store or to my brothers saloon.”

Dwalin gave him a nod as they quickly gathered their stuff. Thorin was first to mount his horse, setting off towards the hills.

The wind picked up as dark clouds gathered on the horizon. He didn’t like leaving town with a feeling like this hanging in the air, but Bofur’s cousin needed checking on, and that was that.

⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

The midday sun hung high over Ered, casting its relentless heat down onto the dirt streets. A breeze brushed through the town making trees rustle kindly.

The townsfolk moved about their business; women chatting outside the general store, children running past the schoolhouse, and a few men lounged outside Bombur's saloon.

Then, a low rumble of hooves sounded in the distance, growing louder as they approached. Heads turned, eyes narrowing against the glare to see a group of riders on the horizon.

At the head of the pack was a man with a dark brown hat, caramel colored curls wearing a green shirt and a dark poncho around his shoulders. A white bandanna covered his face nicely.

Not everyone could immediately recognize the leader, but the few that did knew him as Bilbo Baggins, the outlaw.

He was a new name to the outlaws list, steadily climbing the wanted list, now he sits near the top, he’d robbed banks, and towns. He’s known to be armed and dangerous.

He never misses, he hasn't ever each time he’s shot a gun. Bilbo rode in with a confidence that would send a chill down the spine of any onlooker.

Three other men rode behind him, all armed and faces hidden behind masks of different colors and patterns.

Beside Bilbo was his right hand man, no name was ever given to the man, and none ever will. He always wore a purple shirt with a dark bandanna around his face and a black hat blocking the rest.

Bilbo’s right hand man was known as a wiry man with a wicked glint in his eye, he seemed to scan the buildings with sharp interest, his fingers twitching near the revolver at his side.

The riders came to a stop in the middle of the street, kicking up clouds of dust. Bilbo’s eyes swept over the faces that stared back at him.

There were wide-eyed women who clutched their children tightly, men tensing up, hands edging closer to their gun belts if they had one. He chuckled under his breath.

“Good afternoon, folks!” Bilbo called out lazily, he looked relaxed and calm. “How’s everyone doin’? Ain’t it just a lovely day? Be a damn shame if somethin’ were to spoil it.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The tension in the air was thick, almost like a coiled spring ready to snap. Someone had the nerve to draw and before the man could fully raise his hand a shot rang out.

The man dropped his gun and held his now bleeding hand to himself. Bilbos right hand man had his gun pointed at the idiot who thought it was a good idea to grab his gun.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you… see my partner here, he’s got an itchy finger.” Bilbo chuckled softly.

At the edge of the crowd, Dís stood with her sons, Fíli and Kíli. Her instincts told her to fight, keep her children safe. And she desperately wanted to listen to it.

But she couldn’t, not without getting someone killed. She held her sons back as they stepped forward, their own hands reaching for their guns.

With a gentle squeeze on their shoulders she got their attention “Stay calm,” she whispered to them, her eyes never leaving Bilbo.

Bilbo swung off his horse, strolling leisurely towards the bank. He nodded to Glóin as he stepped outside.

Bilbo’s gang slowly followed, spreading out behind him. “Now, I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Bilbo continued. “At least, not if I don’t have to. But my boys and I, we’re in need of some funds, and I’m sure your good banker here won’t mind making a generous donation.”

Glóin stepped forward, his face pale but not scared. “You won’t get away with this,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

Bilbo laughed, a sound that made the townsfolk flinch. The laugh was too sweet for what was happening. “Oh, I think I will. See, I’ve got more men hidden around your little town- rooftops, alleys, you name it. You make a move, and they’ll turn this place into a shooting gallery.”

A wave of fear swept through the crowd. They glanced nervously at the rooftops and shadows, imagining invisible gunmen lurking there, ready to unleash hell.

Fíli and Kíli tensed beside their mother, their eyes flicking towards the distant hills where their uncle had ridden not long ago. They needed to get him, now.

Dís felt the tremor of fear in her sons, and in that moment, she made a decision. She tilted her head towards Fíli and whispered urgently, “Fíli, you and Kíli go. Ride fast, find your uncle, bring him back.”

Fíli hesitated, his eyes wide. “But, Ma-”

“Go!” she hissed, “I’ll handle this!”

Before the boys could argue further, Dís stepped forward, raising her hands high. “Wait! Wait!” she shouted, drawing all eyes, including Bilbo’s, to her.

Bilbo cocked his head, curiosity piqued. “Howdy ma’am, pleasure to meet ya, who might you be?”

Dís forced a smile, stepping into the open. “Just a mother, hoping to keep her children safe,” she said, voice steady even as her heart raced. “You say you’re not here to hurt anyone- then prove it. Let these people go about their day. You want money? Take it and leave.”

Bilbo’s grin widened. He sauntered closer, he began to prowl around her. “Now, now, that’s quite a proposal. So what makes you think you can negotiate with me?”

“Because, I know you’re bluffing,” Dís said, her eyes blazing with a defiant spark. “If you had as many men as you say, you wouldn’t need to make threats. You’d have already started shooting.”

A hush fell over the street. For a moment, even Bilbo looked surprised, caught off guard. Behind Dís, Fíli and Kíli took the chance to slip away, moving silently through the crowd, unnoticed by the gang members whose focus was entirely on their mother.

Bilbo glared at her and pointed up behind her to a rooftop where a gunman was, he had a shotgun aimed at her “are you sure…? My dear you seemed to have misjudged.”

Dís glared back “one extra gunner-“ Bilbo points at another on the bell tower of the church. “Two then, show me another and I’ll believe you.”

Bilbo’s smile slowly faded. “You’re a sharp one, ain’t you?” he said, his tone darkening. “Maybe too sharp for your own good.”

Dís’s heart pounded, but she held her ground, she pulls give her sons all the precious seconds they needed, no matter what.

Fíli and Kíli had at that point reached the edge of town, a horse waited for them. Without a word, they mounted and Fíli spurred it into a gallop, racing towards the hills.

Bilbo’s eyes flicked to the fleeing boys just as they vanished from sight. His smile returned. “Looks like we’re gonna have some fun after all.”

He turned back to his men. “Inside the bank!” he barked. “And make it quick. We’ve got company coming.”

The gang moved into action, shoving Glóin into the building as they went inside the bank. He protested loudly. Loud enough to still hear him outside.

Dís watched as her sons disappeared over the ridge, a silent prayer on her lips that they would reach Thorin in time.

⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

The hills outside Ered were grassy and scattered rocks, with the occasional stubborn tree jutting its way up.

Thorin and Dwalin had their horses trotting along slowly, scanning for any sign of Bifur. The old prospector had a habit of wandering off into the wilderness, especially after his accident.

The poor man had a hatchet stuck in his head, Óin says it’s a miracle that he could even still walk. Bifur’s mind seemed lost most days, chasing shadows only he could see.

“There,” Dwalin grunted, pointing ahead with a nod. A figure sat on a rocky outcrop, silhouetted against the bright sky. It was Bifur.

He looked as wild as he always does, muttering to himself as he gazed into the distance. Thorin began to wonder if he was lucid enough to sign.

Thorin and Dwalin swong themselves from their horses and approached cautiously, not wanting to startle Bifur.

As they drew closer, Thorin could make out Bifur’s soft mumbling. He was rattling off gibberish nonsense that always seemed to only make sense to him.

“Bifur,” Thorin called gently, stopping a few paces away. “It’s Thorin. Bofur sent me, your cousin? He’s worried about you.”

Bifur turned slowly, his eyes wide and unfocused. For a moment, he didn’t seem to recognize Thorin, his gaze flicking between the sheriff and the deputy beside him.

Thorin took another step closer to Bifur, his hands went up when the prospector, stepped away as if to run. Then, a spark of recognition lit in Bifur’s eyes, and his face softened.

“Thorin” Bifur signed and Thorin let out a sigh of relief, nodding slowly as the prospector’s hands moved silently. “I know you.”

Thorin smiled, trying to keep his tone light. “Yes, you do. And you know Bofur and Bombur too. They’re worried about you, Bifur. They want you to come back to town with us.”

Bifur shook his head, his brows notched together as his hands moved warily. “Can’t go back. The Shadows there. Always watching… waiting.”

Dwalin stepped forward, his voice was softer than normal. “It’s alright Bifur. We’ll help you get back safe.”

Bifur’s eyes darted around, scanning the horizon as if expecting something to emerge from the rocks. “You don’t see them,” he signed with quick movements. “The dead won’t stay dead, the shadows walk like men there.”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin, who gave a slight nod. They had to handle this carefully. Bifur was not dangerous, but he was unpredictable, and the last thing they wanted was to spook him further.

“Listen, Bifur,” Thorin said softly, crouching down to meet Bifur’s gaze directly. “Why don’t you come down from that rock and whatever you’re seeing, whatever you’re feeling, we can talk about it back in town.”

Bifur looked at Thorin more now and then to Dwalin, he took a step back away, both men showed their hands to him, “Bifur, out here, you’re exposed. It’s not safe. Let’s get you back to your family. To Bofur and Bombur. They miss you.” Dwalin offered with a kinder tone.

Bifur hesitated, He glanced at the hills behind him, then back at Thorin and Dwalin. He started down off the rocks, slowly moving to Thorin.

Thorin smiled, relief washing over him. “Good man, Bifur. We’ll take it nice and slow. Just follow us.”

They helped Bifur when he got closer, guiding him back to the horses. The man was unsteady, his eyes still darting about as if expecting to see the phantoms that haunted his mind. But with each step, he seemed to calm a little more.

Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a glance, Bifur had once been a kind fellow, not that he wasn’t now and not that he didn’t seem to have moments of clarity,

There was a time where Thorin wondered if the person who slit his grandfather’s throat was the same person who tried to bash Bifur’s skull in with a hatchet.

The sound of galloping hooves drew Thorin back to the present. He turned, spotting two riders approaching at breakneck speed.

His hand instinctively went to the gun at his hip, ready for anything. As the riders drew closer, he recognized their faces. He found himself hurrying a little closer.

It was his nephews. Thorin’s heart clenched with worry as he glanced back toward the town. Something was wrong.

“Uncle Thorin!” Fíli shouted as he and Kíli threw themselves from their horse, scrambling over to him, panic etched on their faces. “You need to come back! The town- there’s an outlaw!”

“Said his name is Bilbo Boggins!” Kíli added breathlessly.

“No, no! It was definitely Baggins!” Fíli corrected, his voice trembling.

Thorin’s heart tightened. Bilbo Baggins, the name was as infamous as it was unexpected. He knew what the name meant.

Thorin felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as he glanced at Dwalin, whose expression mirrored his own horror and panic.

“What’s he doing?” Thorin demanded, trying to steady his voice. He pushed Bifur to Fíli.

Kíli caught his breath. “He’s holding the town hostage. Says he’s got a dozen men hidden around. Mom distracted him so we could get away, Uncle!”

Thorin’s heart sank, then shattered at the thought of his sister risking herself. He wouldn’t lose her too. He wouldn’t let his nephews lose their mother.

He turned to Dwalin. “Mount up,” he ordered, already moving towards his horse. “Fíli, stay with Bifur. If you follow then keep a safe distance behind us and get him back to Bofur and Bombur if you can manage. Stay safe, both of you.”

Fíli nodded, though his eyes were wide and worried. Kíli grabbed his uncle’s pant leg, not ready to let him go. “What about you, Uncle?”

Thorin’s face hardened. “I’m going to deal with our new visitor.” With that, he spurred his horse forward, “Let’s go!” he shouted to Dwalin, who fell beside him.

They raced back towards Ered, the peaceful morning had now become a distant memory.

⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

By the time they reached the edge of town, Thorin could still see some of the townspeople. Most had been ushered into the general store and the doors were blocked and bard closed.

The rest were tied up and left in front of the store. And Dís was one of them. Two men were at the entrance of the bank guns drawn, one called into the bank as Thorin showed.

After a moment the doors slammed open and there stood Bilbo Baggins, his face covered by a white bandanna , his right hand man stepped out beside him, his face also covered.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo called out, his voice carrying over the din. “I’ve heard of you. The scary lawman turned legend. Some say you can never miss a shot.”

Thorin slid off his horse, Dwalin followed suit quickly, his hands hovering towards his gun. Even though Bilbo’s face was covered, Thorin could see the playful grin underneath it.

Then the first shot rang out, sharp and echoing across the town square, shattering the fragile stillness. Dwalin had fired at Bilbo, but he missed.

Bilbo huffed and shot back, his men soon followed his lead. Instinctively, Thorin and Dwalin ducked behind a water trough, bullets whizzing past them.

"Dwalin! Really? No negotiation?!" Thorin shouted over the din, gripping his revolver tightly.

Dwalin shrugged beside him, wincing as a bullet ricocheted off the edge of the trough, splintering the wood. “I had 'em, the sun just got in my eye…”

“Uh huh, sure.” Throin huffed, he ducked down lowered as his hat got blasted off. “Aww man, I like that hat…”

Dwalin huffed a chuckle at Throin and shook his head before popping up a bit and trying to shoot back.

Throin had to push Dwalin back down when a bullet narrowly avoided hitting Dwalin in the head. ��keep your head down!”

Bilbo Baggins chuckled, his voice unnervingly calm amidst the gunfire. "Come on, Oakenshield! You've got quite the reputation. Show me what you've got!"

Thorin clenched his jaw, peering around the edge of the trough. Bilbo stood confidently in the middle of the street, a few of his men taking cover now behind wagons and barrels.

Thorin saw his chance, one of Bilbo's outlaws leaned out too far, aiming a shot at him from the roof from across the street. The outlaw fell from the roof, clutching his chest.

He squeezed the trigger, and the man dropped, his body crumpling to the ground.

"That's one," Thorin muttered under his breath. He moved swiftly, signaling to Dwalin to cover him as he darted to the side of a building.

Bilbo chuckled. "Ooh, nice shot! You keep that up, and I might have to start taking you seriously." Thorin's jaw tightened, but he kept his focus.

Another outlaw shot at him from a wagon. He lined up the shot, cocked his gun's hammer and squeezed the trigger again.

"Two," Thorin counted. He had to duck out of the way as a bullet ricocheted off the wall he was hiding behind.

Bilbo clapped his hands in mock applause. "Oh, very good, very good! But you're still outnumbered, Sheriff. How many bullets you got left? Think you can take us all?"

Throin growled, stepped out and shot at Bilbo, the outlaw just barely avoided the shot as he ducked behind a wall, his right hand man followed him quickly.

Dwalin glanced over at Thorin, Dwalin huffed and shot at them making one of the outlaws that was about to shoot Thorin duck back behind his cover and miss.

Throin slipped back where he was before, Dwalin soon joined him behind the wall. "He's trying to rile you up, don't let him get to you!" Thorin nodded, but he could feel the frustration bubbling up.

Bilbo's voice was like an itch he couldn't scratch, each word dripping with amusement. He huffed and shot across again behind a wagon after a moment Dwalin moved to fallow.

An outlaw popped up from nowhere with a rifle, aiming at Dwalin as the man ran. Thorin fired first, and the outlaw’s head snapped back as he fell to the ground.

"Three," Thorin called out through gritted teeth.

"Now, now," Bilbo chided, his tone mockingly sweet. "You're making this really boring for my boys. Can't you give them a bit of a chance?"

"You want a chance, Baggins?" Thorin shot back, his patience wearing thin. "Tell your men to lay down their guns and come quietly. Otherwise, I'll make sure you're the last man standing."

Bilbo laughed, a light, easy sound that grated on Thorin's nerves. "Well, I'm sure I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a schedule to keep."

Another outlaw shifted, trying to take advantage of Bilbo's distraction. Thorin whipped around and fired, hitting the man square in the chest.

The outlaw fell back with a grunt, his gun clattering to the ground. "Four," Thorin called.

His reputation wasn't a game, but Bilbo treated it like it was. Bilbo's smile wavered slightly but didn’t fall. "Well, well! That's four of mine down. But who's counting, right?" He winked, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Thorin's patience snapped. "I am," he growled, Throin sprung up and stood on top of the wagon, and an outlaw popped up to shoot.

Throin nailed him in the head. The last outlaw dropped, leaving only Bilbo and his right-hand man, both still standing. “That’s five Baggins! Wanna make it 7?”

Bilbo stepped out, his grin strained beneath his bandanna. “Oh, you are fun, Sheriff. But now it’s just me and my friend here. And we’re not nearly as expendable.” As if on cue, Bilbo’s right-hand man lunged toward Thorin, a rifle clutched in his hands.

Before Thorin could react, the man crashed into him, both of them tumbling off the wagon and onto the dusty ground. The impact jolted Thorin’s breath from his lungs, and he fought to regain his footing as they rolled across the dirt. The rifle clattered out of the man’s hands, skidding across the ground, out of reach.

Thorin twisted, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs. The outlaw grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough for Thorin to shove him off. Thorin scrambled to his feet, reaching for his revolver, but the outlaw was already up, tackling Thorin again before he could grab it.

They grappled in the dirt, exchanging blows, each trying to overpower the other. Thorin’s hand brushed the handle of his gun, but the man yanked him back, forcing him to focus on the struggle. They wrestled for control, boots kicking up dust as they struggled on the ground.

With a sharp twist, Thorin managed to throw the man off balance, sending him crashing into the side of the wagon. The outlaw groaned, shaking his head to clear it, while Thorin lunged for his gun, fingers closing around the cool metal.

But just as he did, the outlaw grabbed his rifle from where it had fallen nearby. They rose to their feet simultaneously, weapons in hand, both breathing hard from the scuffle.

Thorin fired first, but the man was fast, ducking behind a water barrel just in time. Thorin turned, his eyes scanning for Bilbo, but the outlaw leader was already on the move, darting from his cover with surprising speed.

Thorin spun, aiming to take the shot, but Bilbo was quicker than anticipated, and Thorin could react, Bilbo lunged forward and grabbed Gloin.

The man had managed to wriggle his way out of the doorway of the bank, his hands still bound tightly in front of him, a gag tied around his mouth.

Bilbo yanked the banker up to his feet, wrapping one arm around Glóin's chest and pressing the barrel of his revolver against the side of the man's head.

"Alright, everyone, hold up!" Bilbo shouted, his voice ringing out clear. "Or your good banker here gets a brand-new hole in his head!"

Thorin froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Glóin's eyes were wide, his face pale beneath the sweat and dirt that seemed out of place on the banker.

Thorin could see the desperate plea in Glóin's eyes, but he kept his gun trained on Bilbo trying to think of something, anything to say.

Before he could think to stop himself he was already talking "Let him go, Baggins," Thorin called out, hoping his voice sounded steady. "You don't need to hurt anyone."

"Oh, I really didn't want to, Sheriff," Bilbo replied. "But you haven’t and your friend hasn't left me much of a choice, now have you? How about you drop those guns, and maybe I'll think about letting your banker friend here go."

Dwalin's jaw was set, his hand steady on his weapon. "Like hell I will!" he yelled out. "He's bluffing, Thorin. We can take him."

Bilbo chuckled, his laughter maddeningly light and teasing "Is that what you think, Deputy?" He tightened his grip on Glóin, pressing the barrel of the gun harder against the man's temple, Glóin to wince. "I'm not bluffing. Now, toss your guns aside, or I'll paint the street with his brains."

Thorin's mind raced.

They were at a standoff, and Bilbo knew he held all the cards. "Alright, Bilbo," Thorin heard himself say. "We'll put down the guns. But you let Glóin go first."

Bilbo's eyes glinted with amusement behind his bandanna. "Oh, Sheriff, you think I'm new at this? I say guns first, then the banker goes free."

Thorin could feel Dwalin tensing beside him. "Don't do it, Thorin," Dwalin whispered urgently. "We can't let him leave. Not after what he's done."

"Dwalin, put the gun down," Thorin told Dwalin, turning to face his deputy.

But Dwalin's jaw clenched, and Thorin realized too late what was about to happen.

Dwalin's hand twitched, raised his gun and shot, but Bilbo was faster.

A gunshot cracked through the tense air, and Dwalin staggered back dropping his revolver, clutching his shoulder with a grunt of pain as he fell to one knee.

"Dwalin!" Thorin shouted, his voice sharp with fear and frustration.

Bilbo pressed the gun harder against Glóin's head, his smile never faltering. "Uh-uh, Sheriff," he warned.

"You make one more move, and your banker's brains decorate the street. Now, what's it gonna be?"

Thorin's frustration boiled over, but he forced himself to remain calm. "Bilbo, listen to me," he said, his voice low and steady. "Glóin has a family. He's not part of this. Just let him go."

For a moment, Bilbo hesitated, his grip on Gloin loosening just slightly. "I know he has a family, Oakenshield," he said, his tone almost sincere. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Sheriff. Honest, I don't. But I can't have you chasing me down the road. I need to make sure you don't follow."

Thorin nodded slowly, lowering his hands further. "Alright, Bilbo. We'll stay put. Just don't do anything stupid."

Bilbo's smirk returned, though his eyes darkened with determination. "Too late for that, Sheriff." In one swift motion, he pistol-whipped Glóin, sending the bound man crumpling to the ground, dazed and bleeding.

Before Thorin could react, Bilbo spun, firing a warning shot into the dirt at Thorin's feet. "Drop it!" he barked.

Thorin's revolver clattered to the ground without hesitation. Bilbo's right-hand man covered them as Bilbo mounted his horse in a single, fluid motion.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Sheriff!" Bilbo called mockingly, his voice once again full of mocking cheer. He spurred his horse, his right-hand man close behind, both of them racing out of town in a cloud of dust and grit.

Thorin watched them go, he groaned in frustration as anger boiled in his veins. He turned quickly to Dwalin, who was struggling to his feet, clutching his shoulder.

"You alright?" he asked as he looked his deputy over with concern.

Dwalin nodded, though his face was pale from the pain. "I'll live. What about Glóin?"

Thorin knelt by Gloin, checking his pulse and untying the gag from his mouth. "He's alive, just knocked out. Get Óin.

Make sure everyone else is safe," he ordered, looking out over the square.

Dwalin nodded and staggered off, Thorin could see his nephews, Kíli was uniting his mother and Fíli helped unbind the doors of the general store.

The dust from Bilbo's escape was still settling, but Thorin knew one thing for sure: he'd be ready when Bilbo Baggins came back around. And next time, there'd be no escape.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Note:

Okay I’m gonna stop it there. This was just kinda a little one shot for @shurikthereject ‘s western/cowboy au. The rest of this note is kind to them now. I tried to stay true to the shown characters and how you made them but I’m not the best at that. Also I wouldn’t mind making like a whole book for it but if you hate this and you don’t want me to continue I’d like to know. Or if you’d like me to change anything let me know. Okay bye.

[taekooktimeline]

Hello 👋🏽

I’ve completed uploading episodes 1-4 of “are you sure” 🥳It goes without saying, but this is a Taekook focused blog so all of these posts, just like all my other posts, highlight Taekook and their bond (or in some instances, my posts archive important pieces of information so others can’t distort facts).

I wanted to upload episode 3 as one post, and episode 4 as one post, but Tumblr wouldn’t let that happen due to their sizes. When I shrank photos to make each episode one post, text and images became blurred and my OCD couldn’t stand it. I hate that they each have 2 posts, but I preferred it to the alternative of unreadable pieces.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever gone in depth about the uploading process? It’s quite an undertaking for long pieces. I first draft the posts in Google docs. This can take days as I rewatch things, chat with friends and gather what people have noticed from my timeline. One episode can take 3-4 hours to watch, as I draft as I go and then go back through and fill in further, then tighten it all up.

After this, I upload the draft into Word Press. It’s not straightforward anymore. When I copy and paste the draft into WP, only the text follows. I have to then go back to Google docs and copy / paste the pictures one by one, and then add the timestamps and hyperlinks under these pictures.

Once that’s done, I convert the post into HTML code. I can’t simply hit “select all.” I have to drag my finger down the entire post and carefully hit copy, or else I erase the whole post (which has happened). I then copy / paste the HTML code into my email and email it to myself.

From there, I copy / paste the code and upload it into Tumblr. Tumblr won’t let me post more than 30 photos a post now, sadly, which means splitting posts up. I have to read the HTML code and decide where to break things up.

I upload the post, then reblog it to its respective year, so you can read the post in the “main” timeline, but also in chronological order in the year it happened. When it’s reblogged to its year of occurrence, I have to scroll to events that happened around that date to determine what backdate to make that piece, so it lands in the correct spot of the timeline.

Uploading these posts took me all morning. Factoring in drafting, I spent at least 2-2.5 days on these episodes.

I’m not sure why I felt like sharing that today, except that I wanted to really take a moment and sincerely thank anyone who stops by to read my blog and let you know it’s so appreciated. Even if no one read this blog, I archive Taekook’s moments as one way of supporting them. I really enjoy preserving their moments - we have so many! - and looking back fondly.

So I’d do it no matter if no one read this, but knowing people do read this blog and treasure it as much as I do means so much to me. I’m thankful for the friendships formed, the people I’ve been able to talk to and some I’ve been fortunate to meet in real life, and it’s all thanks to this blog.

Not only that, my anxiety gets the best of me. I greatly admire those who tweet on Twitter, or post on Instagram, without giving much thought. I can’t do it. I wish I could. I will sit on posts, get anxious, bail out of posting, or post then mute because I’m so tense. I’m not sure why that is. Sometimes I wish my accounts were smaller so I could maybe feel more comfortable freely speaking my mind. But I also think I’d be anxious no matter what because social media is so toxic and dark and my energy can’t stand it. It doesn’t help I’m still trying to figure out my medical mysteries, and that’s been such a drain on my energy. I can’t find it in me to do much more than lurk on Twitter and IG right now.

Here on tumblr, I feel like I’m in my little safe space. It’s quiet here, I post my pieces and show my support, and my support is measured in a more meaningful way for who I am as a person (in addition to streaming, buying their merch etc). I really am so grateful for this space. We all support in our ways and though I wish I was bolder on TW and IG, I appreciate those who are and I also appreciate that we are all here to equally love and support Tae and Jk. That’s what matters.

So if you’re reading this, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here and reading this blog💜💚

[skyeoak]

Thoughts on tmagp episode 24

*cough* my sister had a newborn a few months ago. Here’s some red flags about “the health visitor” from today’s episode:

- newborns feed every 2-3 hours, usually 2.5. Idk if this is different in the UK but I don’t see why it would be.

- most babies are born with greyish eyes, which changes over time. If Rupert’s a newborn when she’s talking about his black orb eyes, this is maybe a red flag?

- “I couldn’t scream, I didn’t want to wake him” AHHHHHH oh god the psychological horror of having a newborn aghfjgjfhhhhhh

Very Rosemary’s Baby, but instead of going full satanic panic, “Raising Issues” focuses on the self-sacrificial narrative mothers are told, and how that leads to a dangerous and isolating situation as Patricia ignores every red flag in sight. I had my head in my hands. Honestly, I wish we’d dived deeper into the socioeconomic stuff rather than the body horror because back to back with “A New You�� it felt like too similar of a story structure, even though imo they’re meant to be parallels.

23 and 24 have been so similar that they’re definitely intentional contrasts to each other. One’s from Chester talking about how you can long to change yourself so fully only for it to all go wrong, and this one’s from Norris about destroying yourself to support the one you love… I am ill, actually. Screaming crying relistening to the last recording in this case file and finding all the points that are reminiscent of Mag 170 (Recollection).

These lines specifically are making me think. Once again, I am ill.

Chester: “Alesis Newman is leaving this world and whatever comes next – though she may look like me in some ways, though she may carry a part of me with her – she’ll be better. Free of all my mistakes. Perhaps people will like her more than me. I already like her more than me. I want to see her walk off happy and strong. I hope she doesn’t feel this now, just be the good parts of me. (hoarse) I hope it’s like I dreamt, I hope she has my eyes…”

Norris: “I can’t remember when… when I last… had sleep. I think… I think days…” + “I don’t know what’s going to happen. There’s not much of me left. I’m so scared. But at least Rupey’s happy…”

Considering this is the first Norris case file in over 10 episodes (since episode 12, unless I’m wrong) and he’s literally just reading the stuff between recordings, I’m a bit concerned.

Who the fuck is reading this statement and why didn’t they mention it to Celia IMMEDIATELY? If it was Sam, he knows she has a kid and is in a support group, and if it was Celia herself, then idk why she isn’t at least concerned (that’s suspicious, Celia.) I guess Gwen and Alice don’t know about Jack, so they’re off the hook.

ALSO rupert? A red name? Philosopher’s stone alchemical reference? Or just referring to the blood he’s feeding on?

I know I’m gonna see a ton of takes on this episode being like “this is why I’m childfree” and, like yeah, I’m not planning on kids either but this story is such an extension of existing social structures that I hope we talk, at least a little, about the social narratives at work here about pregnancy, parenthood, and childcare.

[juneknight]

•.Be Lost.• 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 2.5

Summary: after a series of failures to find a dominant, your long time best friend Marc offers to give topping you a shot.

About this: Marc Spector/f!reader, mentions of kink, dominance and submission, kneeling, orgasm control

Immersivity: reader is a non-physically described cisgender woman. She works with animals and spends months out of the year in a place where it is cold—but this is the extent of her description. If there are other details which need mentioned because they hinder your immersive experience, please feel free to point them out.

*

“Give up. Give In. in the end It would be better to surrender before you begin. be lost. Be lost—And then you will not care if you are ever found.”—Victoria Schwab

*

Marc sends the message one night after the two of you have hung up from a lengthy venting session about your latest dating failures. A simple, without context: 

You could do better

I know, you type back, squinting at the screen of your phone in the darkness. Outside, the wind howls—another snowstorm which you hope will either amount to nothing or be bad enough that you won’t have to traverse the icy roads to work in the morning. You roll onto your side, adjusting the pillow beneath you. You’re covered nose to toes beneath the coverlet and still shivering, but Marc always has a way of making you feel warm. That’s why I told that guy off, isn’t it? I know I can do better. 

You watch as he types, no hesitation: 

You could do me

*

In the morning, you text him with one hand, spooning Cheerios into your mouth with the other. 

What, are you offering? There. You’re giving him an out. His message had confused you, left you spending half the night awake wondering about its context. You could do me. You could do me. You could do me? However he had meant it, you knew you had to offer him an easy way out. A fire escape. Maybe one of those seats on the plane that are right by the emergency exits. There’s a parachute beneath your seat, Marc, you think to yourself, drinking the remnants of milk from your bowl. Take it. 

Yes. Give me a chance to help you feel better

Your face flushes. God, how embarrassing is it that Marc knows how bad you need fucked? Not just that—Marc knows how bad you need submitted. That was the caveat of having him as a best friend: he was more likely to listen than to speak, and as such, you told him everything. All your struggles with the kink scene up here in your little frozen section of the States. All the things every guy before him had done wrong…

You aren’t into that stuff, you text back. 

And at the end of your work day, toes frozen in your boots, cheeks dry and chapped from the wind, you finally pull out your phone to see his response: 

Says who?

*

I’m at a disadvantage here, you type to him while cooking dinner. The tiny kitchen of the sublet you rent during the winter months smells of pesto. You’re just glad it’s warm, wiggling your bare toes by the heat of the stove. You know all my kinks, I don’t know yours. 

Marc sends a voice chat. It’s just over a minute long. Your heart is in your throat while your finger hovers over the play button. God, what the fuck could he be saying? Is he listing them all out for you, in alphabetical order or something? It will be the first time you’ve heard his voice since his text (“You could do me”, the phrase haunted your dreams now). 

Pressing the button, you quickly hold the phone up to your ear. There’s no one else in the sublet with you, but you still imagine that his words will be scandalous enough to curl the nails in the floorboards. 

There is rustling—Marc’s voice in the background, bright and laughing and calling out to someone, and then obviously speaking lowly into the phone to you: “You know what my kink is? Three years ago when I tried to take you hiking on that backpacking-for-beginners trail and got us lost, you remember? We spent half the fucking day—literally six hours or something—finding our way out, and after we did, I felt so bad I took you out to dinner. We didn’t even go home first, we were so hungry. We went to that fancy Italian place in town, both of us smelling like sweat and covered in dirt and at least ten pounds lighter from all the energy we burned out there in the woods, and when the waiter finally set that plate of food in front of you, you took a bite and you made this sound, this sound like you’d been dying of thirst but now you were lapping water right out of God’s palm. It was pleasure, and, and relief all in one—hearing you make that noise, and getting you to make it over and over again? That’s my kink. Do with that what you will.”

The voice message ends.

You drop your pesto spoon in the pot of boiling noodles. 

*

You call him that night. You have to. 

You and Marc have been friends for years, meeting in your early days of adulthood. It had been a fast friendship, both of you complimenting each other well. Marc was so easy to love, it had only made sense that you’d fallen in love with him. He was handsome and gentle and sometimes scathing and often hilarious. The only thing standing between him and a long term relationship was what Marc considered his ‘baggage’: the terrible abuse he had suffered as a boy, and the ramifications of it which he was still actively working to overcome after all these years. Marc didn’t think himself fit for marriage or even long-term dating. It was a shame for all the single women out there. 

A blessing for you, though. 

“Is this weird?” you ask as soon as he picks up the phone. “I don’t want things to be weird, Marc.” 

“You spent half your day FaceTiming a horse,” says Marc dryly. “I don’t think your life can get any weirder.” 

It was true—you had had to walk out to the barn three separate times today through the sleet to let an owner FaceTime with her horse who was sick and under your care. It had felt a little strange, being the third wheel in that conversation, but you understood her anxiety. 

“I just—Marc, I don’t want to lose you. As a friend.” 

You hear the phone shift as he shuffles it from one ear to another. He says: “The only way you could lose me would be if you told me to get lost. So can we figure this out?”

“Are you even attracted to me?” Maybe it’s desperate, but you’ve asked it. Marc has always taken efforts to compliment your appearance (resulting in heart palpitations all afternoon for yourself), but he’s never explicitly said that he finds you attractive. 

On the other end, Marc lets out a breath which sounds a little like a laugh. Or a sigh? “Yes. Are you attracted to me?” 

Marc clearly has never looked in a mirror as long as he has been alive. Tan skin that turns golden in the right lighting, dark curls that you wouldn’t mind trying to manage with your fingers, brown eyes that hint at the color of whiskey, a jaw to die for…

You clear your throat. “I mean—sure.” 

“Sure.” You can hear his smile on the other end. It makes you want to die, just a little. 

“Kind of.” 

“Understandable.” 

“You’re passable.”

“I’ll take it.” 

*

One time, he texts while you brush your teeth. And if I’m no good at it, you can keep going to all those kink clubs up in the arctic circle 

And if you are good at it? you wonder, because Marc has never been bad at anything in his life. Because ever since he suggested it, it’s all you’ve been able to think about, the feelings that you’ve had for Marc surging forward from the dusty shelf in the back of your brain where you had stored them all these years. Marc could just give you a look and you’re pretty sure it would melt you. There’s no way he’s going to be bad at topping you. 

Then I’ll take care of you

Yes. Yes, melting already. You spit in the sink and rinse.

*

“Tell me again how it went with this last guy,” Marc says during your next phonecall. The two of you call each other every other night religiously when you are away (“up in the arctic circle” as he would say) for the coldest three months of the year. His voice is warm and low, quiet. 

Even though you have already told him once, it is different now, isn’t it? The thought of relaying again everything that happened makes your face heat, makes you tug the blankets over your head until it is dark all around you. 

“Do I have to?” you wonder. 

“Do I have to make you?” he wonders back, voice lowering a fraction.

Your heart stutters. Your breaths begin to come at a faster rate. 

“No,” you say, breathy and obviously on the verge of being devastated. “I’ll tell—we met on fetlife. He seemed nice and his picture was cute. Our interests lined up, so we met up at one of the clubs in town, but even though our interests had matched up on paper, we weren’t, like, meshing in real life. 

“Like—,” you have to pause to clear your throat, voice dropping down low enough to almost be considered a whisper. God, you couldn’t believe you were telling Marc this again. “He…he called me a slut. I had marked that I wasn’t into degradation like that, but I think he thought it was an exception.” 

“Why did he think that?” Marc asks. You’ve heard it said before that a lawyer never asks a witness a question that they don’t already know the answer to. In this moment, it seems like Marc is the same way. 

“Because he called me his slut,” you admit. “He thought that would like, negate…I don’t know.” 

“Are you?” Marc asks. “A slut, I mean.” 

It rolls off your tongue before you can stop it: “Not his.” 

There comes a breathy little exhale from Marc’s end of the line. It couldn’t be you—not when you’re holding your breath, eyes wide at your own audacity, at the mere suggestion that you would be okay being Marc’s slut, but not this stranger’s. Marc’s voice rasps from the other end: “I know, honey. I know.

“Tell me what happened next.” 

*

I’ve been thinking, you text the next morning (which is true, there is a single moment spent outside of work that you aren’t spent thinking about this). Maybe this is where I’m going wrong with every guy, but—maybe we should practice. On the phone, you know? 

Over text? he asks. 

Sure, you say, aiming for nonchalant. 

I want to hear your voice, he texts, effectively ruining any hope you had for nonchalance. It’s the last thing you want though. You’re terrified that hearing Marc’s voice croon such dangerous, sinful things to you will destroy you. You will be irrevocably changed. There will be the Before Marc times and the After Marc times.

Compromise? Start like this, and if we’re clicking, then we can do it over call. 

It, he teases. Can you say it? Can you tell me what you want? 

Jesus, Marc. You know what I want. 

Use your words. 

You whine, an honest-to-God audible whine beneath your blankets. He’s already slipping into the role so well. Or is he? Is he truly made to be dominant, some prodigious Dom, or are you simply made to melt at everything he does? But it also brings to light the question: what do you want? 

Can I think about it? 

Always, he says. 

*

It takes time for you to gather your thoughts. Everything to think about the fact that this is Marc you’re talking about, your brain gets fuzzy and you lose your words. Finally, you devote yourself to writing it out longhand and thinking in general terms. What would you have wanted from Mr. My-Slut if he had asked you the same question? 

When you’re finished, you text it to him before you can second guess yourself. 

I want to feel owned. I want to feel small but safe. I want to feel consumed, like nothing else matters but you and what you do to me and what I do for you. I want my head to feel empty of anything that isn’t good for me or doesn’t feel good. 

You bury your face in your pillow, but aren’t even there long enough to suffocate before your phone buzzes with a reply. 

I can do that. 

*

For a while, you don’t text Marc. You even miss one of your ritualistic calls. The thought of speaking to him when he knows what you want from a Dom is too much. Before, it had been easy to brush off your kinks to him. So much about wanting to be submitted had become akin to pop culture. Yeah, I want someone to tie me up and spank me and call me a slut, tee-hee! 

It had always gone so much deeper for you, and for so many others, you could imagine. You were a hard worker even as a child. You became someone that people could rely on—and too often, they did. It only made sense that you would crave a way to be useful to someone, crave a way to shut your mind off. Crave a way to feel loved. 

You throw yourself into your work, marking off days on a calendar. The first day of March, you will drive south back to the city. Back to Marc. Your contract here will be up, until next winter. God, you can’t wait to see him again. He always meets you outside the door to your building, chewing gum and pacing, like he’s nervous. Though only God knows what he would have to be nervous about. 

Marc doesn’t text or call you either. He must have picked up on the vibes. Instead, he gives you space. 

The next time you are due for your nightly vent sessions, Marc calls you. If you are worried you’ll get a talking to (or at least questions: why you hadn’t called, whether or not you were mad at him or other absurdities), you don’t get one. You slip back into the warm easiness that is your friendship, swapping stories about your days, talking about current events. Sometimes you don’t say anything, just sit in silence knowing the other person is there or listen to the quiet sounds of the other doing some mundane task: folding laundry, pouring a glass of water. 

You exchange your customary ‘Love you’s at the end of the call, but the words reverberate in your throat. You love him. You really do. 

*

Okay, show me what you got. 

? 

Come on, you know what I mean. I’m ready. Let me have it. 

Oh is that how this goes? 

You blink at the question. …yeah?

I don’t think so, he texts. You know how to ask for something you want. 

Your heart leaps to your throat. Thumbs shaking a little, you ask: How’s that? 

You say please. 

You take a deep, soothing breath. Please? 

That’s the word, yeah. Then he sends the thumb’s up emoji—monster. 

Marc, I’m ready. Can we try, please? Your nerves are shot, stomach in your throat as you wait for a response. As soon as you see him start typing, you lose your nerve and turn off your phone screen. It’s like a horror movie. You can’t watch. When he finally sends a response and you open it, your mouth drops. 

You can do better than that, can’t you? And a moment later: Beg me.

Fuck you, you text, laughing brightly at his audacity. 

Not with that attitude, he types. I only fuck good girls. 

“Jesus, Marc,” you mutter to yourself, breaths coming fast and short. How can he just say stuff like that? Single sentences that are hotter than any of the dirty talk men have given you during sex over the years. For a while, you are torn on what to answer. You want to quip, to say something bratty and whitty that will make him give one of his quiet exhales of laughter, the kind you are so familiar with hearing from the other end of your sofa while you both scroll through your phones. But, deep down—

What if I’m not a good girl? Maybe he’ll consider it just mindless sexy talk. Yeah, I’m not a good girl, I’m a bad girl. Maybe you’ve even said something like this before to one of those other guys. You can almost hear in some generic male voice the response: yeah, you’re such a bad girl. 

Which is why Marc’s answer is so striking: She’s in there. Do I need to help you? 

You have no idea what it could mean, but your fingers answer without any hesitation: Yes please

And your phone rings. 

You answer it. Holding the phone to your ear, you become aware of how you are holding your breath, not letting a single word or sound pass through your lips. 

On the other end, you can hear Marc’s steady, soft breathing. 

“You there, baby?” 

You hum in affirmation, but it comes out as a choked whine that makes your face turn hot. 

“You’re going to have to use your words,” he warns. “But I’ll help you. Alright? The only thing I need you to do is this: if I say something that isn’t true, don’t say it. Otherwise, just repeat after me. Can you do that?” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Good girl,” he says, voice dipping into a silky, pleased octave from his side of the phone. Your thighs clench together. Holy fuck. He’s going to destroy you. “Here we go: Marc Spector.”

“Marc Spector,” you sigh shakily. Easy enough. 

“I trust you.”

“I trust you.”

“I trust you so-o much.”

You snort. “I trust you so-o-o much.”

“That I trust you to know what I need.” Mouth dry, you repeat the words. He adds: “And I trust you to be able to give it to me.”

“Marc,” you whisper, though you don’t know why. 

“I love the way you sound when you say my name,” Marc admits to you. “Especially when you sound half-wrecked, and I’m five hundred miles away, not even able to touch you. But I need you to be a good girl and follow my directions. Repeat after me, or say nothing. Can you do that? Say, Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he says again. “I don’t know how anyone could mistake you for anything else. Now keep repeating, okay?: I trust you to be able to give me what I need.” 

“I trust you to be able to give me what I need,” you repeat. As you say it, the words strike you in the chest. They’re true. You really do. All the people in the world, and maybe you love Marc more than any of them. And he is the sort of man who keeps his word—always. 

“And I want it.”

“I want it,” you breathe. 

“Real bad, Marc.” 

“Really bad, Marc.” 

“Are you in bed?”

“Are you in—wait—“ Marc laughs. “Yes? I’m—“

“I want you to get out of bed and get on your knees,” he says—just casually. Oh, lovely evening, now get down on your knees for me. Like being on your knees for Marc wasn’t on your mind constantly these days. 

Without higher thought, you throw the blanket off, the cold air chilling your body. Sitting up, you let your legs dangle off the edge of the bed, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder. Your socked-toes skim the floor. 

“What’s it matter if I go down there?” you whisper. “I’m in a different state. It’s not as if you can see me.”

“It matters to me,” he says. “If it’s too cold, put down a blanket. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Go on.” 

You don’t bother with the blanket, appreciating the chilly floors against your bare knees and shins. You sit on your heels, thighs squeezed tightly together. 

“What if I just lie?” you wonder. “Say I did it, but I’m still under the covers.” 

“You wouldn’t do that. Are you down there?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“Fuck. ‘What does it matter’, as if I need to see you. Like I can’t picture you clear as day in my head. Like it doesn’t mean more to me to know you’re on your knees a hundred-hundred miles away, just because I told you to.” Marc sounds strangely wrecked, and the knowledge that this menial action really has affected him so deeply has your shoulders going lax, bowing over to rest the top half of your frame against the soft mattress. Your cunt aches. 

“Marc,” you whine. 

“Yes?”

“Please,” you groan, turning to muffle your face into the mattress. Your further words are just inarticulate mumbles. He laughs, soft and warm. 

“Spread your knees apart,” he says. “Far apart, as wide as you can.” 

It is the last thing you want to do, but you do it. The brief sparks of pleasure that lit you up every time you clenched your thighs together are gone now, the cool air brushing against your heated sex through your underwear. It only emphasizes how much you ache, how little you’ve been satisfying yourself lately because every time your hand dips between your legs, Marc comes to mind, and you’re too flustered to give in and rub one out thinking of him. But oh god, that’s going to change. You can tell. 

“Are you wet right now?” he wonders lowly. 

You make a sound that is the vaguest affirmation you can give. 

He exhales, the sound shaky through the speaker. “You’re so fucking good. I don’t know how you could ever think otherwise. Absolutely perfect. That’s how I know you’re going to be good and follow this next rule of mine.” 

“Wha’s that?” you slur, head fuzzy where it rests against your sheets.

“You can touch yourself as often as you like,” he says, making your face burn hot again. “Use those toys I know you have—but absolutely no one else. Not in person, not over the phone. If we do this, you rely on me and I do the same for you. Deal?”

“Deal,” you sigh, relieved that his condition goes both ways. You aren’t necessarily strict on monogamy, but you are strict on devotion. The last thing you could ever do would be to go behind your partner’s back—and it’s something that could be liable to shatter your heart if it happened to you. 

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he says. “But this next part is just as important okay, so make sure you’re listening, yeah?” 

“I’m listenin’.” 

“If you want to cum, you get permission from me, first.”

[absolutebl]

I Cannot Reach You - Kimi ni wa Todokanai REVIEWED

This image perfectly captures how I feel about this show. You ready? I wasn't.

I Cannot Reach You

AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai

Japan 2023 - 8 eps 20 ea approx 2.5 hours

Themes, main tropes & archetypes: friends to lovers, tsundere/sunshine, self acceptance, self worth, high school BL, live action yaoi, soft romance, kindness

Rating? 10/10

Yeah, it happened again in 2023.

Adapted from a manga.

The moment I finished binging this show I was thinking about writing about it and re-watching it. This is a sure sign that I adored a piece of media. 

This is a wonderful BL.

Truly well executed, with smooth filming and lovely acting, both of a simplistic style that felt slightly more Korean than it did Japanese. It reminded me a little bit of Seven Days and a little bit of Takara and Amagi, and since these are my two favorite high school JBLs obviously I was bound to adore ICRY.

But what it reminded me of more than anything was Cherry Blossoms After Winter.

Odd for JBL and KBL to be so closely linked. 

Like CBAW show, ICRY is classic live action yaoi.

Like the MOST classic of CLASSIC.

All the JBL tropes. I mean look at that image above? It's rooftop assignation, kabedon, and a handhold ALL AT ONCE.

There was also multiple runnings of the gays, surprise kisses (one on a bridge), and shoulder leans.

There is even a “seme looses control to desire” scene which leads to dub con. There is an abject apology after but still - you’ve been warned. 

The premise is: smart sporty hot (and hella gay) Yamato has a long standing crush on his silly sunshine sweetheart bestie, Kakeru. Yamato is also stiff, self isolated, shy, and has only ever really managed to get along with Kakeru. I love this kind of pining seme so damn much, it probably biased me. 

Unlike most uke, Kakeru starts to slowly figure out that his best friend is in love with him by ep 2 (let the chaos bisexual identity crisis commence).

So do some of the friends around them.

The story thus revolves around Yamato trying to unsuccessfully suppress his desire, and Kakeru trying to figure out if he can return Yamato‘s affection.

This biggest barrier is actually Kakeru's feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness (when compared to Yamato). But this is tempered by his genuine kindness which forces him into act with integrity around his dear friend's love and strive to fix everything (even himself) to prove worthy of it - whether he can ultimately return it or not.

Kakeru's struggles are pitted against Yamato‘s repressed need that keeps bubbling over and figuratively (sometimes literally) attacking Kakeru with romantic, emotional, and physical intensity. 

Quick pitch:

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen. Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way. This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

I’m not gonna lie, I dithered over whether to give this a 10/10 and nearly didn’t. But there is nothing wrong with it AS A BL.

And it's so GOOD to ALL of its characters and they are so good to each other. It's quiet, and because of that and its goodness, it will get overlooked, but I LOVED IT.

It's not one of those that BL outsiders will get and you must like Japan's style to enjoy it. But I'm in it. It's for me.

What am I hung up over? Even the kisses are good.

10/10

I CAN'T RECOMMEND IT HIGHLY ENOUGH

Welcome to a very elite club. I gotta change all my best of lists now.

I am sorry to tell you how difficult this show is to get hold of. It deserves a much wider distribution. As of Nov 2023 I do not know where to legally find it internationally with eng subs. Please check the comments for updates.

It's on Netflix in some countries!

Try to find it, you won't regret it.

(source)

[whatwouldsylwrite]

At least I got you in my head (2.5)

(2)

Summary: Abby is straight. And then you move in with her.

Tags: modern au, fem!reader, straight!abby (she is doing some comphet bullshit), pining, idiot in love and it's abby, reader is gay and tired.

Notes: small blurb, mostly about your suffering in the morning. Also, I strongly believe Abby smells like Dirty from Lush either because she uses it herself or it's just how it is, but yeah. Spearmint and sandalwood and lavender. There, I said it.

tags: @abbyily

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

You woke up thirsty and disoriented, but the warm hands around you quickly brought you up to speed. You came to Abby last night and asked for cuddles, right. Fuck, you felt so lonely in your cold bed yesterday it made you too emotional, and you decided it would be an excellent idea to go and cuddle the girl you had no chance with. God you hoped you didn't make Abby uncomfortable.

You were lying on your sides, facing each other, and Abby's hand was probably cramping now,but she didn't seem to mind. You sighed quietly and looked up to Abby, who was still sleeping peacefully. She was so fucking pretty you wanted to bash your head on the wall from what her adorable freckles and long lashes did to you. Her hair was a little out of place, and she looked so innocent, like a child. You wanted to smother her with silly little kisses you saved for kids when you could make extra money babysitting. 

You looked down at Abby's collar and froze, confused. She was wearing your t-shirt. It made you feel hot all over, and you remembered you had her t-shirt on because you were stupid yesterday and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Abby liked men, and you weren't one, and you should have worked harder on getting over her because this was getting ridiculous. You both just mixed your t-shirts, no big deal and no, heart, we were not making a big deal out of it. 

You inhaled Abby's scent, feeling like a thief - this spearmint and sandalwood wasn't for you, but Abby smelled so good you couldn't resist and smell more. You buried your nose back in her neck and relaxed, slowly falling asleep again. 

Next time you woke up three hours later, but this time you were hugging Abby from behind, your nose deep in her hair. Yeah, something was definitely wrong with you, wasn't it? You carefully moved away, scared of waking Abby up and facing whatever the fuck this situation was, but she didn't notice and you escaped her bedroom as quietly as possible, closing the door behind you. 

You let out a relieved sigh and walked to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face which was a little bit puffy from hangover and oversleeping. It was currently almost 2 pm, meaning you already lost the whole day, because even if you didn't feel physically bad, you just wanted to lie in your bed and do nothing.

Maybe eat some junk food, actually. That would be the best. 

You knew you should've changed and not continue wearing Abby's t-shirt that smelled like her, but you were weak, so you left it on. You'd put it in the laundry bin in the evening. 

You were staring mindlessly into your cup when Abby shuffled to the kitchen, her hair a mess, her forearms making you weak in your knees. Damn good forearms. 

"Morning." Abby yawned. "How are you feeling?"

"It's 2 pm." You laughed. "I'm as good as one can be on a hangover. You?"

"Don't want to do anything."

"Then don't. You want tea?"

"Can you make coffee?"

"Yeah."

Abby went to the bathroom and you started brewing coffee for her - she was a huge coffee drinker, but when you asked if she wanted to drink tea with you, she always said yes. Abby was sweet like that. 

You smiled to yourself and poured the coffee into her cup, adding three spoons of sugar and milk to it. The sweet tooth this girl had made your teeth ache from a possible cavity. 

Abby came back, still in your t-shirt, and sat on the chair, hugging her cup like it was a life-saver. She looked just as sleepy as you felt.

"Why did Cait text me that she is home?" You asked, puzzled. Notification was from 7 am. 

"I told them to text us when they get home." Abby murmured in her coffee. "You don't do that?"

"I do, Cait just doesn't listen. She has this "if something happens to me you'll find out from the news" attitude." You sighed and leaned back on your chair. "I guess she wanted to be polite this time."

"Caitlyn is very cool." Abby said carefully as if she could say the wrong thing about your best friend. 

"She is." You smiled. "Ellie is very different from when I met her, though." 

Oh shit. 

Abby looked up and you couldn't help but feel caught, as if you just accidentally admitted you cheated on Abby. 

"Wait a second." Abby grinned like she knew where this was going. "You hooked up, didn't you?"

"That's a bold assumption, but yes." You grinned in return. "It was a long time ago. I didn't think that your Ellie was my Ellie."

"'My Ellie'?" Abby teased and you felt your face heat up from embarrassment. "Do you have a crush on her?"

"Oh, I've been harbouring feelings for her for half a year." You said dramatically. "Stalking her schedule, screenshotting her Instagram, moving in with her best friend…" 

Abby laughed and you laughed too. 

"It sounded so fucking creepy." 

You nodded and finished your tea. 

"I want to order some food and watch a tv-show. What do you think?" 

"If I liked girls I would've definitely married you right now." Oh god not this kind of straight shit, no. Nononono. Did the universe hate you? "Really, if you dare to ditch me for your sweetheart I'll cause a scene."

"I'd make a perfect housewife." You smirked. “You can marry me just for that.”

"I always wanted a spring wedding." Abby sighed dreamingly and you laughed. 

"Just say the word, babygirl." You winked and Abby laughed, but she got shy from your words and there was pink blush on her cheekbones. Shit she was cute. Not even her "5.11 built like a tank MMA fighter" appearance could hide her soft side and you just lived for it. 

You enjoyed when she got all commanding and confident and even scary, because she was so fucking hot in these moments, but when she got soft and shy ohh. It was making you insane.

You both spent 10 minutes deciding what you wanted to order, and after you finally placed the order, you moved to the living room. Abby opened her arms for you, silently inviting you to cuddle, and you couldn't resist, so you lay down on her shoulder while her strong arm went around your waist, keeping you close. 

"You're breaking my little gay heart." You complained, and Abby laughed.

"I'm very sorry." She said dramatically, and her warm hand was going up and down on your arm, comforting you. "My sincere apologies to the lesbian community for being straight."

You poked her in the side and she laughed again. 

Abby looked at the crown of your head and she suddenly got the overwhelming desire to place a kiss there, but she stopped herself. She felt like she was toeing a line she didn't want to cross - she didn't want to be weird.  She didn't want to make you feel awkward and not cuddle with her after. 

You were still in her t-shirt and Abby had The Feeling again, and she tried to give it a name, but she couldn't remember when she ever felt like that - even when Ellie wore her clothes she didn't get that feeling, but it was quite.. familiar. When Ellie wore her clothes she liked knowing that yes, Ellie was her friend, she had this privilege to be friends with her. So it was probably the same with you. Maybe it was stronger because you were not a gremlin like Ellie and actually a nice person. 

Abby felt all warm and fuzzy when you laughed, vibrations going through her chest. It was a nice quiet sound and your breath was getting a little deeper and heavier.

"Falling asleep?" Abby murmured, suddenly filled with affection. 

"A little."

"I can wake you up when food comes."

"Nah. We will eat and then I'll nap."

Abby chuckled, not really believing you'd last long enough, and she was right: you fell asleep anyway. But she fell asleep as well, holding you close even unconscious, maybe even closer as her mind loosened the leash on her constant questioning if it was okay for friends to feel like this.

[patchesjam]

DTBLR CC Survey Results

Hello as I’m sure many of you (399 people to be exact) know I asked for opinions on a mix of MCYT’S, Hispanic cc’s, and greater twitch streamers. Here are the results of that survey, a few insights into the data, and links to the full data and analysis if any of you are interested in looking a bit more in depth! Thank you so much to everyone who took some time to answer!

Sorry this is a Bit Long so if you would just prefer to look over the raw data help yourself here     ^_^ 

Overall Analysis

These two graphs above show the top 20 most strongly liked and strongly hated cc’s in dtblr percentage wise. 

A few interesting things to note; surprisingly dream team isnt the top 3 most liked, instead one of the spots go to Technoblade! Don’t worry though, Sapnap is still extremely liked among us all only very slightly eeking behind Tubbo and BBH. Some nice appearences too from non-mcyt cc’s include Spreen, Larray and Rainbolt! 

Looking at the most disliked and well done dtblr ^_^ except for the one person who voted ‘very positive’ for Kaceytron. It’s a very sensible bottom three. Quackity comes next, with stronger feelings from people who do not consume any of his spanish content. Obviously I assume this is a massive change from the general consensus 4 months ago, so apologies to any previous Q enjoyers. A few surprising entries from the rest of Lovejoy, which few people held strong feelings of (12.9% VN and mostly Nuetral/Negative) probably effected by a few anti-drolo moves from a few members recently, and Karl Jacobs who will be talked about later. 

Sorry, this graph is a little hard to read. However, it is interesting. This is a total of Very Positive AND Positive (%). So, it benefits cc’s which people have a bit more distance from and are maybe not as interested in as the top 2 cc’s here are actually BBH (98.5%) and Tubbo (97.7%), with Dream and Techno shortly behind with an equal 97.5% positive opinion.

This is the opposite chart - the total of negative opinions (%) of every cc. Keemstar wins this one with only 10 out of 399 people choosing nuetral, and everyone else (97.3%) having a negative opinion. Minx (81%), Jack Manifold (79.8%), Ranboo (68.7%) and Mr Beast (58.5%) also feature in this top 10 most disliked.

This is an interesting one. And you all better appreciate this because I had three breakdowns and spent 5 hours trying to work the maths out. So I get to nerd out for a second. This graph measures how divided in opinion dtblr is over a cc. It’s a measure of spread, so every answer was asigned a value (VP-1, P-1.5, Neu-2, N-2.5, VN-3) and then a standard distribution was found. The results are shown on a scale of 0 to 2, with 0 representing a theoratical 100% of answers being nuetral, and 2 representing 50% VP and 50% VN <- the most divided you could theoretically get. And it gets interesting results. 

The most divided cc amongst dtblr is...... Karl Jacobs with a score of 0.672. Unsurprising since he had... A Very Split Opinion. Over half feel positively about him, about 20% neutral and 30% negative in some capacity. So, whatever your opinion on him.... I guess you can find at least some blogs to follow?

Other (nearly) as devicive cc’s include Philza, Quackity, Ranboo, Slimecicle and Mr Beast.

Some of the least devicive cc’s are not at all surprising. Now, remember this is based off how much we all agree, not how positive or negative, which is why there is the mix of; Kaceytron, Keemstar, Technoblade, Dream, Badboyhalo, GNF and Awesamdude.

Just for fun, here is the spread of opinions of the two least polarising cc’s. Except for one person putting Very Positive for Kaceytron (which is a mistake i Hope yet i will count it because its funny) they are overwhelmingly negative! Dtblr hopes they both burn in hell! 

Non-MCYT Creators

Next we’ll take a look at the Hispanic ccs! Spreen and Shadoune were firm favourites out of the lot, with 53.4% and 32% very positive respectively, and 94% and 86% positive overall. Roir, Rubuis and Karchez were also well liked among us. 

The most disliked was Quackity (spanish viewers), Auronplay and Komanche, with people most negative about the two formor ccs. Overall though, dtblr is in a lot of agreement with each other about the opinions of Hispanic ccs! 

The Greater Twitch Streamers next. Most popular here are Larray (87.6% positive), Rainbolt (86.5), Austinshow (80.8%) Corpse (77.7%), and the Botez Sisters (75.1)! Good, or I think we’d all be doxxed and then thouroughly beaten in chess. Larray, Rainbolt, the Botez Sisters, BrookeAB and Kyedae are all very liked (from those that know them) with each less than 3 negative opinions. 

Most diliked are pretty obvious, and have been talked about before as the avg streamer here is much more negatively thought of than the worst of the mcyt streamers. However, aside from the fully expected there is also ImAlexx (57.6% dislike), KSI (28.9%), James Mariott (42.4%) and CG5 (48.3%). 

A lot of cc’s here were selected out of my personal interest of a few bigger streamers, a few controversial, and a few Valorant streamers - so many were much less well known than many of the mcyt, which explains the greater percentages of nuetral answers. 

Dream Team

I want to take a bit of a deeper dive into the Dream Team’s individual breakdowns now :)

All three are overwhelmingly positive ^_^ as it should be in DTBLR.... however 4 people did put negative for Dream, 4 negative and 1 very negative for GeorgeNotFound, and 9 negative and 3 very negative for Sapnap. Please be assured: For all three they were still among the very very top of liked all 140 ccs quizzed and are still extremely liked among dtblr - additionally they were all amongst the very top of Very Positive, not just casually enjoyed. 

Additionally, there was at least two people who put a variation of negative for all three, and several who had negative opinions on 2/3 so this poll almost certainly had a few people outside of dtblr take it - so although I didn’t remove any of these results, I probably could have done on this basis. 

One more thing I’ve looked at for the Dream Team is what are people who have Negative/Very Negative Opinions on any or multiple of the three are more or less likely to think of other ccs. In other words, if there’s any correlation!

The results are.... interesting! People who voted N/VN of any of the Dream Team were 42% less likely to vote positive for Austinshow, Tommyinnit and Skeppy, 38% for Puffy and Hasan,  30% for Awesamdude, Punz and Hannah, 27% for Benez, Rainbolt, Shadoune, Sylveey and Callahan and 20% for Karl, Redvelvetcake and Ludwig.

Conversly they are 40% less likely to vote negative for Martyn InTheLittleWood, 35% for MichaelMcchil, 25% for Quackity and Ranboo, 15% for Aimsey, Billzo, BoomerNA, 12% for Philza, 10% for CG5 and ConnorEatsPants, Jack Manifold, James Mariott, Smajor and Sneegsnag, 

They, however, were 34% more likely to vote positive for Eret, Pearlescentmoon and Iskall85, 27% for FalseSymmetry, GoodTimesWithScar, ImpulseSV, Smajor and GeminiTay, 22% for Grian, 20% for Badlinu, Philza, Rendog, Cubfan, and InTheLittleWood, 16% for ConnorEatsPants, Lovejoy and Fundy, 12% for Bdubs and James Mariott.

And finally, they were 25% more likely to vote negative for KSI, 18% for Tinakitten, Tommyinnit and the TheYard, and 16% for Spreen, Sykkuno, HasanAbi and Corpse.

XQC

The only topic left to talk about is the owner of the special poll.... XQC!

Congrats to the 221 who picked neutral (in a bug way) we would all like to study him. But perhaps from a distance. 

In the future I will use this category to evaluate some more members, as that was requested.

Conclusions

I love you dtblr! This was really fun to do and thank you all for patcipating, I might try do this agian with some other cc’s or just measure the change in the future! If you do want a breakdown on some specific cc’s send me an ask, or check out the data providided and give it a go yourself!

[observeowl]

Second Chance | Chapter 8 - Life Lessons

Series masterlist

sorry! i haven't been putting the taglist for the last 2 chapters. but you can reach it through the masterlist. hopefully i will remember it from now on.

You woke up about an hour later, sitting peacefully on the bench with Andrew. It was night out, and hardly anyone was walking outside except the few who came out to refill their bottle or take a breather. 

“Are you awake?” You hummed, still not wanting to go back in again despite having an hour's break. “Shouldn’t you at least finish the last half hour of training? I know Clint came out a few times looking for you, even though he didn’t say anything.” 

You stretched your limbs, resigning to the fate that you have to head back in. You used to take this opportunity to see Nat when she came to see Clint each week. You no longer feel the spark of interest you had when you first joined Archery. Now, it’s more of a mandatory thing than something you look forward to every week. 

With a clap of your hands, you stood up from the bench and headed back to range. Clint gave you a silent disappointed look before looking back at others. You ignored him and got back to your position to shoot the last few arrows before everyone called it a day. It was tough for everyone to have such a long training session when the minimum was 2.5 hours. Some come for the whole 5 hours in school, and this was practically twice that. 

He dropped you off at your door and passed you your archery bag. “Have a good night’s rest. I know you’re not staying long tomorrow, and you have a long way back.” You suggested to Andrew to head back to his room for some sleep as you were planning to stay behind to use the gym here tomorrow morning. Andrew has his basketball training session in the afternoon, which he has to get to; otherwise, he would have stayed and waited with you. 

“How are you going to head back though?” 

“I’ll figure something out.” He nodded before saying goodbye to your friends in the same room and left. 

“You two are in your honeymoon phase.” Your friend was stating the fact without any malic when she saw how lovey-dovey you were with him. You didn’t have anything to defend or deny as you knew this was how you and Nat started. Always next to each other, texting one another, until you saw disagreements that were too hard to settle.

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” You asked. She shook her head, and you just smiled. This was what you felt before you fell in love with Nat. Those couples that over-display affection was interesting to you. You never understood why they were always in each other’s space. But ever since with Nat, every little thought brings you back to her. It may not even be something she liked, but you wanted to share everything with her, the little things that made you happy such as seeing a cat on your way to work or a nice dress that you saw someone wearing.

“You’ll understand when you get one.” 

===

In the morning, you woke up in time to have breakfast before seeing Andrew off. You decided that since there were still 3 hours before checkout, you’d pack your bags, leaving out the things you require for your gym session. 

You were slightly self-conscious entering the gym, not because you weren’t confident in your own body, but because you were a gym noob. This was the first time you entered the gym alone, without anyone guiding you. You weren’t sure if you were going to use the equipment correctly or if you were hogging the equipment that someone was planning to use. 

You liked to stand in the corner with your weights, surveying everyone through the mirror. No one was going to use your weights, right? You were using the lightest one available, and most gym goers use the medium to heavy weights or the other machines. But either way, your mind was louder than the music in your ears, and you eventually left the gym after an hour of workout. 

“Didn’t think I'd see you here.” You lift your head to see Natasha looking at you. She was heading to the gym, the one who taught you gym basics. You ignored her and continued making your way to your room. “We have to be around each other, and you can’t keep ignoring me.” That made you stop walking and look around. You didn’t see anyone, so there was no point putting up an act to acknowledge her. 

“Hey, Y/N! You went to the gym too?” Suddenly Maria came out of nowhere, and you just smiled and nodded. “We are about to head to the gym too. Nat needs to get over her hangover, and she’s offering to guide me on what to do.” 

“Have a nice time. I’m sure you’re going to learn a lot.” You turned to leave, but Natasha called you once again.  

“How are you going back? I heard from Clint that Andrew left in the morning.” You had the intense feeling to give her a sarcastic comment, but you held back since Maria was here. 

“I can figure it out. I’ll take a bus or Uber if I feel like I’m rich.” You shrugged your shoulders before finally leaving. 

Your friends were doing their final packing as you entered the room. Since they were staying in the dorm, they were heading back together. You begged them to bring your bow bag with them and place it in the school locker because there was no way you were going to be carrying that heavy ass bag alone. 

As the logistic director of the archery team, you was designated to collect everyone’s keycard to return to the front desk after making sure everyone returned it. The only ones remaining were part of the executive committee. Since everyone was here, they decided to hold a quick meeting regarding the upcoming tournament. For your part, you have to get everything ready for the captain, such as the toolbox and first aid kit. 

This was the first tournament you were going to be participating in. Not exactly the first, but the first in this version of this life. Before this, you used to only head to the tournament to cheer them on, even though it starts really early and is held more than an hour away from your home. 

In actual fact, it has been a long time since you participated in any tournament. The atmosphere of hearing and seeing forty people shoot all at the time was something you were unable to find anywhere else. 

Once everything was settled, everyone was free to leave. Some already had a car and drove here, but they stayed in a different direction than you. Just as you were deciding how you were going to head back, your phone received a message. 

Gave you some money for an Uber back home :) 

It was Andrew. Before you could reply, he sent another message. 

I know you can well afford this, but you don’t have to save money every way you can. Plus, I want you to have a comfortable ride home. 

A smile plastered your face when you read his text. You didn’t think he remembered when you said you were trying to get a head start above everyone else in terms of earning money and getting a job because your parents were significantly older compared to your peer’s parents. As the only child, the burden of taking care of your parents falls on you. As much as they tried preparing for their retirement, the rising cost of living and inflation stresses you out. 

Thanks. How about we meet for lunch? I can pay it back to you then. My treat. 

Sure. I’ll hold you to it.

You picked up your bag, getting ready to leave and say goodbye to the group when Clint came forward to talk to you. You resisted rolling your eyes, not knowing what he was trying to talk to you about. 

“Look, I… you’re improving a lot, and I believe you will do well in the competition. I have never seen someone improve as quickly as you. Someone such as you in the novice section would do very well.” 

“Thank you. But I wouldn’t put too much faith in myself. There are others out there that do amazing as well.” 

“Have a good rest. I know training was tough, especially yesterday.” 

You nodded before giving him a small wave and pointing to the back, suggesting you were leaving this place and the conversation. 

===

A few days later

You brought your family out for lunch since their work gets quieter during the year-end. You brought them to a ramen place your future self found and thought it would be nice to introduce them to if they were still around. It also has a mall nearby to shop around if they like to do so. 

As long as the shop sells spicy ramen, you know what you’re going to order for your father. However, your taste buds and stomach were like children at times, more often choosing to share with your mother as you may not be able to finish the food yourself and not want to waste any. 

“Do you want the corn or pork option?” You asked your mother for her opinion. 

“I don’t mind; either is fine.” 

Such a tough decision. Ultimately, you decided on the ramen that includes corn since you were going to order gyoza as a side dish. 

As you were eating, your phone started receiving a lot of messages. You took a peek at what was happening from your lock screen and noticed it came from Camellia and Diana. They seemed really excited at what they were discussing, so you took a break from eating and checked your phone. 

C: Guys, guys, the results are out!!

D: Really?

C: Yeah, my friend checked hers

D: Ok, ok, I’m going to check.

OMG… I’m so nervous

C: Me too! I totally forgot what was on the test, though. 

You would love to check your results too, but you preferred using your laptop to check instead. And you would like to get your emotions in check before getting your results. This part of the test always freaks you out more than taking the actual test itself. You took a few deep breaths before putting your phone down and resumed eating again. It isn’t uncommon for you to feel irritated after looking at your phone, so your parents don’t think too much about it. 

You’ve always wanted to get those high-cut Converse, and you took this chance on Christmas sales to get one. You could have gotten it after you started working, but you felt it was too casual even though people wore them. You couldn’t lie, you were tempted though, but your morals stopped you. 

You tried different designs of shoes, so while waiting for the store assistant to get one in your size, you went out to tell your father he could wait somewhere else or in a pub, drinking his beer. He isn’t one to shop for a very long time. You got your mother’s opinion as you walked up and down, trying to get comfortable in the shoes. Ultimately, you decided on one and paid for it as your mother texted your father to meet at the car in order to head home. 

Once you get home, you quickly open your laptop and log into your school email account to check for your results. You felt your heart beating out of your chest, and your hands shook as you typed in your details. The more you felt you could do well, the more nervous you were especially since you have gone through one round of this

So, when you saw you only received a B grade for all of your subjects, your body slumped back down on your chair in a daze. You had a hard time registering how badly you did. How was this even possible? 

You really wanted to excel in this life and get rid of always being the average person in the class. But, even with this second chance, you’re stuck with that title; how was this fair? 

A B grade generally isn’t bad, but it is when that’s all you get. Were you only capable of getting a B?

You checked the email one more time before going to the official application and saw the same results. You resigned to fate and closed your laptop after that. 

After seeing the sad news, a nice day out with your family has ended badly. Thankfully your friends weren’t the type to ask to share results, so you flopped onto your bed and went to sleep. 

That was the first time in forever you let a tear slip because of your grade. 

===

“Hey Nat! Have you checked your results?” Clint asked when he realised today’s date. 

“No, is it today?” She pulled out her phone and checked her calendar. 

“Yeah! Hurry up and check it so I can gauge what I got!” He rushed her, giving her his phone with the login page ready for her. Maria, who was having lunch with them, also went to check her results using her phone more peacefully than her friends. 

“What’s the rush? Not like your results will change if I check now or later.” Despite saying that, Nat accepted his phone and checked her results to give her friend peace of mind. It took a while for the page to load, but she got there eventually. Happy with her result, she returned the phone to Clint without saying anything. 

“Holy shit! An A for everything!?” Clint exclaimed when he saw Nat’s results. Nat smirked at his response. She was confident that she was going to ace her exams. Law test was more practical in that sense; whatever she did in her career could be used in the exams. Unlike yours, you specialise more in the audit side, which was not tested.  The diners at the restaurant turned to look at them for a moment when he shouted. “What about you, Maria?” 

“Aced it too.”

“Right, right. So I should do well too, right?” Clint asked tentatively as he logged in with his details. Both women looked at each other sceptically, knowing he was not the brightest student in the class. 

“Well, I don’t know, Clint.” Maria sighed. “Who was the one who had to remind you a test was coming up?” 

“Nat?” 

“Who was the one who had to help you when you were doing your group project?” Maria continued asking. 

“Nat...” 

“Who was the one who had to give you their notes when you weren’t listening in class?” 

“Nat. Okay, okay… I get it. My grades aren’t going to be that good.” Clint grumbled as he waited for the page to load. Nat and Maria crossed their arms and stared at him as they waited. Sensing their stares, Clint turned his body away and shielded his phone from their prying eyes. “Alright, I got it. Not that good, but good enough.” He informed them as he pocketed his phone. 

“You’re not going to tell us what you get?” Maria asked. “How’s that fair? We both told you our results.”

“You told me willingly. I didn’t force it out of you.” Clint defended. 

“I got it.” Nat’s phone displayed Clint’s results, and Maria moved at the speed of lightning to grab it before Clint could even react. 

“How?!?” Clint looked at Nat, feeling betrayed. 

“Do you really want to know?” Nat raised her eyebrow. “I memorised your school ID since I always submitted the work. And your password is so easy to decipher. For the sake of god, find something else.” 

“Maria! That’s enough, give me my phone back.” She decided that it was enough of teasing Clint. “You didn’t do too badly. Just one B and one B+, and three As.”

“But it pales in comparison to the both of you.” 

“Why don’t we invite the others to the bar? Celebrate our results and drown in sorrow that the holiday is ending.” Maria suggested. 

“Alright, let me just text someone.” Maria nodded and went ahead with Clint to the bar they often visited with the group. 

Nat unlocked her phone and was about to press on your contact when she remembered you wanted nothing to do with her. She wanted to know how you were doing. On the surface, you always looked like you were okay with your results, shrugging your shoulders and waving it off, but she knew you cared a lot more and wanted a lot more. In the end, she closed her phone and went to the bar. 

Series masterlist

@queen-of-chaotic-surprises @esposadejoyhuerta @gemz5 @natsxwife

@dyslexic-dreamer @unexpected-character @eternalnight410

@leenasayeed @oh-thats-sad @skz-xii @gay-frogs-dancing-around

@justspance

[exhausted-archivist]

The Deep Roads are Complicated, and I am in too Deep...

I've been working on and off at mapping the Deep Roads for a while now and after writing 4 pages explaining my methodology of why I think it is mapped the way I put it and then moving on to orienting the ttrpg thaig map, I realized something while taking notes on the directions mentioned and cross-referencing it to the description of Horrors of Hormak thaig description.

You can't map the Deep Roads from a top-down perspective because sometimes the roads change directions and aren't actually going in a straight line.

They need an orthographic map. Or a map that essentially bisects the mountain. The literal map in the corner of both the Origins and ttrpg maps. The maps... that have increments of depth.

Now, I knew that the deep roads had to change elevation, especially considering how they're described and the way they're supposedly below sea level for most thaigs.

But somehow, despite knowing that, I never considered that thaigs and the roads themselves would essentially be stacked on top of each other. Don't know why that never crossed my mind up until I was checking my notes and the passages of the ttrpg and Horrors of Hormak to confirm directions. To which it finally clicked as they both explain how there are galleries/antechambers and staircases/pathways that change directions.

How do we get to the thaig? This tunnel leads to a series of galleries. Think of them as interconnecting wide flights of stairs linked together and occasionally switching direction. We head down these for a few hours and we’ll be on the outskirts of the thaig.

-- Dragon Age Tabletop RPG, Buried Pasts p. 18

Beside him, Lesha muttered a word and her staff began to glow. She pushed it inside the entrance to the hole, giving light to the darkness within. The edges of the circle cast by Lesha’s spell revealed a small staircase that descended into an antechamber slightly larger than the clearing above, carved with a skill and delicacy that rivaled the works of Orzammar, or even Kal-Sharok. At the other end of the chamber, a doorway and a second staircase beyond that which spiraled into the darkness, the entire space lit by the glow of lyrium. And above the entrance, written in dwarven runes, a single word—Hormok.

-- Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, Horrors of Hormak (p. 86)

Which then gave me pause and had me rereading and looking back at the map. Because the maps looked like they were straight and didn't initially give the impression of any verticality to them. Until you look in the corner. That's when it clicked for me and the mountains suddenly made more sense.

And now I'm screaming about it here. Because both maps are depicting a small chunk of mountain(s) in the Frostbacks. Which, for reference, my wip of the Deep Roads looked like this.

If you follow BioWare's scale of 1 square = 15 miles / 24 km - if the Deep Roads were in working order the journey to the anvil would only be roughly around 2.5-3 days journey. However, we know to get to the anvil and back to Orzammar is a month-long trip. So, with the darkspawn and collapsed tunnels it becomes a 2-week journey there and 2 weeks back. Which is quite a large jump in travel times.

I have a personal scale based on population size, megafauna, and the fact that it is supposed to take over a week to get to the Circle from Orzammar on the surface, among other travel time increments. Which makes each square 38 mi / 61 km. A 4-5 day journey from the anvil to the void when functioning.

Now, I think this map still holds up in terms of placement considering that mountains can have a wide footprint and the map on the Origins Deep Roads has at least two major peaks and a plateau, whereas the ttrpg just has one major peak and a couple of smaller ones. The ttrpg map also speaks of ravines and such so it fits the geography.

But yeah, long story short I need to revise some of my methodology; and maybe rescale the map, so things aren't super tiny.

[hinamie]

sorry if youve talked about this before, but do you have any tips relating to your coloring process? i ADOREE the way you render things and it looks soso cool and once i saw a post where you said your art typically only took a couple hours and i was in SHOCK. cuz ive been working on a yuji piece that has a similarish (not really but idk how to describe it…) coloring style and ive been working at it for. about a month now…sorry this is rambly i hope u have a good day!!!

hi!!! first of all thank you so much I'm happy you like the way I render! honestly it Is still the aspect of drawing that takes the longest for me, I've only recently started to come up with ways to streamline my process (mainly through keeping my layers/brushes limited and overall being less anal about details) . these days my average drawing does take about 2.5-4 hours I'd say, with Big Illustrations obviously being the exception

i wouldn't beat yourself up too much about taking longer to finish a drawing tho ! it took me. a While to learn how to speed up and honestly my biggest piece of advice is loosen up and let certain things look imperfect or unfinished ! and if you're like i was and want to work at getting faster then i would recommend practicing churning out sketchy/rough pieces and see what tricks and habits you can implement or adjust to save time

all that being said I realize haven't done an updated overview of my colouring/rendering process so I guess this can be that ! I'll put it under the cut because i too like to ramble and this Will get long

lineart and base colour/underpainting

my lineart is nearly Always on multiply. it helps the lines stand out less starkly against the colours and makes it so that I don't have to change the colour of as many sections of lines later on

the base colour layer is honestly completely optional, tbh i sometimes skip it so you don't Have to have one but i like it for a few reasons: - I like to keep all my colours on the same layer so if i'm going for a painterly style this serves as an underpaint layer of sorts . having this means that when i paint, whatever colour i have here will blend with all the other colours i use and help them look cohesive - even if I'm not painting, i still like to work with all my colours on the same layer and it helps me make sure I'm not missing any spots, which helps when it comes time to section individual areas off in the next steps

2. flats

lock transparency button my beloved . this makes it so that you're only able to paint on areas where there is Already colour (which is where having an underpaint layer comes in handy)

not much else to say about this step, just choosing colours rly !

3. shading

here's where the fun starts ! since i'm working all on one layer, i use the wand or lasso tool to section off whatever area I want to work on, then go in with (usually) one of the three brushes below: from left to right 1. my favourite dry brush that i use to cover large areas, it has an amazing dry paint stroke-y texture and i use it in everything. great for skin/clothes/hair/fur/organic material...she does it all 2. smaller, blendier/smoother brush that I use to soften out the rougher edges left by the first brush. I find it's really good for hair and small clothing creases 3. rough pen brush that I use to add little bits of flavour in the form of crosshatches or stray lines, usually to hint at individual hair strands! I also use it to line sometimes but I'm using it less for that recently

also, since the lineart layer is set to multiply, it's super easy to colour directly under the lines on my colour layer and use that as a way to make certain lines Darker . it's most obvious at the eyelashes and under the jaw but I do it everywhere

4. finishing touches and texture overlay

here I add another layer above the multiply/lineart layer and use it to add highlights and other details! this is also the layer i use to paint directly on top of any areas that got messy or need extra definition

my texture overlay of choice is just a rough monochrome static file that I got on the csp assets page but use whatever you'd like tbh ! set the layer mode to overlay and adjust the opacity to your liking (I also like to rasterize the layer to make it easier to work with but it's not too consequential if you skip that step since you're basically done by this point anyway)

And done ! slap a signature on that bad boy and send it <3

[arcadekitten]

Hai ak! So I have a couple questions, and you don’t have to answer any if you don’t want!! You have inspired me so much to make my own games, so I was wondering the following!!

1. What do you use to draw?

I know what program you use, but like device wise! (Ex: computer, tablet etc)

2. How long did it take for your games to start succeeding?

3. If there was a couple pieces of advice you could give me, what would it be?

4. Was it difficult to make your first game?

5. Speaking of which, what was the first game you made, how long was it, and how long did it take to make?

As I said, you don’t have to answer any of these!! You have inspired me so much, and honestly you are one of my favorite creators! You are genuinely awesome! Keep up the good work! :DD

1, I use a wacom bamboo tablet with my computer!

2, Depends on what you mean by succeeding! INMIMB was my first game to really "take off" and earn me a little bit of popularity, but I was still receiving very kind compliments and recognition from people on my games made before that!

3, Make what you enjoy first and foremost! If you're an artist, your art should make YOU happy or fulfilled before anyone else! I hope you enjoy what you do and make!

4, Making any game comes with its own challenges but I love it all the same! (so...yes haha)

5, Cemetery Mary was my first published game! It takes roughly 8 hours in total to play all routes, and it took me about 2.5 years to make!

Thank you so much!! You're very kind!

[insert-something-funy-here]

MUEHEHEHE >:)

CHAT IT'S SILLIES TIME!!!!

For those who didn't see before I deleted it, sometime ago, I made a post about an idea for an AU I have where Biograft is sentient enough for Medkit leaving Blackrock to affect him (and on top of that, that's how he discovers his own sentience). I spent a couple hours writing cus I got inspired! Biograft doesn't yet realize he's sentient, so I think (if people like thus enough) I'll make a pt2 to this cus I have ideas for where this could go!! (Tbh, I'll probably do it regardless of if people like it or not, but still!!!)

Edit: Am in fact making this a series

This is the start || Part 2

An error. A simple miscalculation. Making breakfast for two, when there was only one here who could eat. Opening the door to an empty, and uncharacteristically clear room. No phighter for me to wake. Green flowers at the bedside now wilting from missing… from his absence. It was odd how he would “heal,” them every other morning. I don't have such an ability, being created for the opposite of healing. Most iterations of me anyway.

I should throw those away before they begin to rot. It’s been a week now. Or I could leave them. Perhaps after such long-term exposure to his crystal, they will last longer than regular flowers. That’s all this is, testing a hypothesis. I can leave them a little longer, just to see the results.

New connections have started forming in my programming. One of me was out collecting materials for Subspace, and I saw those flowers again. When I saw them, what came to mind wasn’t any data about it, not its place of origin, ideal habitat, or its potential uses, but the memory of seeing Medkit reverse the effects of time on the ones he kept. Yet another odd error.

I asked Subspace to help me troubleshoot these recent errors. We came to the same conclusion of there being something in my software. He checked, said that my algorithms had been evolving rapidly and creating a new type of data, which could have been overwhelming the system and causing these errors. But what caused that spike in complexity? The only thing to have changed recently outside of myself is that his presence is no longer here. Subspace hasn’t given me any new updates, and such drastic change has never happened without Subspace’s intervention before. There is no reason for me to have change unless my creator requests it or it is within his benefit for me to do so on my own time. This isn’t benefiting anyone, so why is it happening? And why didn’t Subspace fix me?

He said even though he himself had no idea of the catalyst of these changes, with refinement, they gave the opportunity to lead wonderful new breakthroughs. Yet I find myself still unable to understand, which only in turn creates further lack of understanding. How am I unable to see what it is my creator wants from me? Why don’t I understand the results he wishes for?

Why do I ask and hesitate now instead of proceeding onward as I always have?

What makes life?

The definition I was programmed with was, “the condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death.”

Am I alive?

I fit 2.5 of the important descriptors. I have the capacity for artificial change and growth (but it is not continual) and functional activity. I have the ability to die. To its simplest point, is living not just the absence of death?

Perhaps I mean to ask if I have sentience?

Is there a difference between chemical and code if they both have the potential to react irrationally to stimulus, be it internal or external?

Could this metal exterior be made metaphorical flesh?

One of me was out at the Crossroads today. I saw him, yet I did not attack. He is a wanted traitor, and I had the opportunity to pursue him, yet I didn’t. He saw me, and he didn’t run, even though he should have.

When I saw him, I thought of those flowers again. It’s been a month now. They’ve dried out but haven’t rotted yet. I should’ve thrown those away the same way I should’ve gone after him, without hesitation.

For some reason, part of me wanted to follow him, not to bring him back, but to see how he is now. Perhaps he would be able to explain why I’ve changed. What a strange hypothesis. Perhaps one worth further investigation.

It’s happened a few more times now. It’s been 4 months since his leave. Every time I see him, I act as though I haven't. I believe he’s caught on that I do it on purpose. I don’t know why I have this inability to approach him first. I think this “test” ends here. How unsatisfactory, with no results to show for it.

Is this cowardice? I think I better understand the concept outside of its definition now.

He stopped me as I went to leave this time. He pulled me aside into a nearby alley. Why? We stared at one another in an uncomfortable silence. Could silence be comfortable?

He asked me what I was doing. I asked him to clarify. He asked why I hadn’t been trying to go after him whenever Subspace wasn't around. I had no response. I moved on and told him something within me changed, but I couldn’t figure out what. He seemed confused but told me to continue. I told him about the errors, some of my questions, and about the flowers.

Something in the way he looked at me changed. He understood something about me that I did not. I couldn’t recognize what it was he held towards me with his gaze, but he stepped closer, and I let him

Innocent hands, covered in blood, not mine or its own, that wished to hold onto me. Sorrow grips us both.

I flew away to a false sky before my wings could be fully clipped, but left you, a fish in a bird cage. I can't take you to the water, but let me bring you drops of the sea.

“Even you need to rest and grieve… I missed you too.”

New ideas I had yet to understand.

I felt his arms wrap around me and an intense sensation rushed through me, it wore at me, as the waves do to a coastline, until I was left with nothing but the soothing sounds of the ocean.