#between two thieves

[therandomtapes]

between two thieves . . .again

I'm not gonna reblog the original post this time. I'm just gonna post the video again and tell you that THE DRUMMER HAS ARRIVED IN THE COMMENTS.

people are asking for digital releases.

maybe y'all can get them to make an bandcamp or an ampwall or something.

this kind of made my night.

[writebackatya]

Gandra: Welcome everyone to the first ever meeting of the Fuck the Rich Club where we’ll plan out the downfall of the capitalist system and the top 1% who benefit from it the most-

Goldie: {grabbing her coat and heading towards the door} Sorry, I thought this meeting was for something completely different.

[jokey05]

Silly little HC that right after the circus and before meeting Natasha Clint did a couple of jobs with the League of Thieves tò get money and actually kinda "worked" with both Remy and Felicia, but he used a fake ID and wore a mask all the time so they don't know and he's never going to bring it out ever.

[sidesteppostinghours]

pulps law is that whenever i get insane enough about something, i will inevitably attempt to make a persona 5 au, regardless of whether or not i am successful at it.

[silver-dragonborn]

Here is another HOTD prompts y'all might find interesting.

The incident at Driftmark exposes the deep rifts between certain members of the Greens. This rift deepens even further when Aegon throws his little brother's plan back in his face by directing blame onto the only person Aemond looks up to the most. In depriving Aemond of his father figure, the flames of hatred between the brothers grow, consuming everything and everyone around them until they burn the Greens from the inside, plunging them all into madness.

"It was him." "Me?" Upon realizing that Aemond set him up to take the fall for the rumors their mother spread about Rhaenyra's children, Aegon panics and in a fit of vengeful rage towards his brother for daring to put him on the spot like this, Aegon points at Ser Criston Cole and shrieks, "I heard it from Ser Criston! It was him! It was him!" Nothing gave him more pleasure than watching the color drain from his twat brother's face as the King whirled on an equally pale Criston Cole, commanding the guards to strip him of his white cloak and cut off his sword hand for spewing such treason. 'Nice try, little brother,' he thought viciously as the guards dragged a screaming Cole out to be thrown into the dungeons, by morning he'll be sent to the Wall and never seen or heard from ever again. 'Nice try, but I've been playing this game far longer than you.' Aegon smirked, but it was immediately wiped off his face when Aemond turned back to stare at him with his sole remaining eye, a look that promised swift retribution. And now that he was the rider of Vhagar, nothing would stop him.

[astarionancuninswife]

My brain just realized that BG3 and Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves are not only literally set in the same world (duh, they’re both DnD based projects and both projects were collaborated with the publisher of DnD), but also just years apart from each other (BG3 is set 1492 DR and DADHAT is late 1490s/generally believed to be 1499 DR) and not that far away from each other location wise!!

My brain, it has exploded and won’t let me sleep now over this discovery

[dekujin]

Honkai Star Rail needs to instantly patch in an option that lets my Stelle kiss Bartholos every time I see them.

[aria0fgold]

Okay I got Magic Kaito in Persona 5 in the brain again (not just kaito now so ig ill call it mk in p5???) It's cuz I'm dragging Hakuba in p5 this time too. I just think it'd be sooooo funny to give Akechi a headache inducing detective partner.

Not even in a shipping sense, I like to think that they're just friends but Akechi is definitely the "I do Not wanna be here" one but has no choice cuz the dude gotta keep his image perfectly clean and if the higher ups assigned him a partner then fine. Also Hakuba is helpful with the whole magician thief problem as someone that's mainly pursuing that particular thief so Akechi can focus on the other problem which is the Phantom Thieves. But unfortunately for Akechi, Hakuba is a Menace.

For one thing, Hakuba LOVES Sherlock Holmes (he got an outfit and everything. also has a pet hawk called Watson). He's also... very punctual with time. He has a pocket watch for that. Imagine being Akechi meeting your assigned partner for the thieves' cases that you aren't really looking forward to meet cuz you think you can handle Two menaces to society with one being an entire group but then you meet this guy, all smiles (fake ones) and before you even greet him, Hakuba just "You're late by 2 minutes and 12.8 seconds." You can just SEE Akechi's sanity crack cuz oh boi... there's Another Menace in his hands.

Also Hakuba isn't That serious in wanting to catch Kaito KID. Like, he does wanna catch him but that's not really Hakuba's priority (hakuba alrdy knows kaito kuroba as kaito kid but doesn't even do anything to him other than mess around with him cuz hakuba wants to catch kaito kid in the act). Hakuba's priority is Kaito's safety and like, I love that for him.

[obstinaterixatrix]

this was pretty funny

[yourfavealbumisgender]

The Hand That Thieves by Toh Kay is Nonbinary!

requested by anon

[doueverwonder]

as the ceo of fankids no one should be surprised that I'm making city oc's to be IndiBama's kids >:]

[ambagelbraindump]

[marlynnofmany]

While the getting-together stage is exciting, the having-adventures-together stage is awesome. I'd love to see more stories about couples taking on the universe together, with their relationship a reliable facet of the background instead of a source of drama.

Why you should write healthy marriages:

1. They aren’t done enough.

2. They help other people understand what a healthy relationship looks like.

3. Fights can last for weeks and still be part of a healthy marriage.

4. Stereotypes. Break all the marriage stereotypes.

5. Soft cute couple moments DON’T stop after marriage.

6. Marriage is completely independent of character arcs. Those two individuals with trauma will still be two individuals with trauma but with gold rings.

7. A healthy marriage is one where people understand that their partners have baggage/trauma/flaws, but love them even in rough patches. 

8. It isn’t that healthy marriages aren’t compelling, it’s that people don’t know how to write marriages correctly. 

9. Marriages being an end goal often perpetuates that women are trophies to be won.

10. Marriages being an end goal often perpetuates that someone’s “freedom” ends there. Bury this trope, please, I beg of you.

[saturnsfather]

dawg i have GOT to write a character study about goro’s feelings towards akira throughout the course of his confidant route and the game because im replaying it and taking notes and Holy Shit. I Have Some Thoughts. me when im in a Compartmentalization Contest and my opponent is Akechi Goro

[getvalentined]

Thinking a lot recently about the constant comparison of Oblivion to Skyrim, particularly claims that Oblivion is superior in every way strictly by virtue of quest length and the greater grandiosity of the organizations in Oblivion, and I think there's been a fundamental misunderstanding of what's actually going on with Tamriel during the time period of Skyrim. Even though it's like...one of the core concepts of the main storyline.

Putting most of this under a cut for length, but I just...I think people misunderstand what's going on here. This is not a "One Game Good Other Game Bad" post, it's an analysis of a major, key difference in story basis between the two that I think gets lost in the (frankly asinine) argument about which is superior.

See, everything in Skyrim sucks. Every organization you can align yourself with is falling apart. Literally every single one.

That's the point.

To summarize:

The Companions (equivalent to the Fighters' Guild) are about a dozen strong, literally cursed, and their most beloved leader gets murdered very early in the storyline.

The College of Winterhold (equivalent to the Mages' Guild, not to the Arcane University) has seemingly only been saved from collapsing into the sea because a master of Restoration fused himself with the structure itself when the Sea of Ghosts tried to tear it down a little under a century ago and his presence is constantly physically "healing" the foundation.

The Thieves' Guild has lost the favor of every possible patron deity, having been outright cursed by Nocturnal after one of her Nightingales murdered another and stole the gift she offers her champion, while the boon that the organization's founder claimed from her in ages past (the cowl) is missing.

The Dark Brotherhood has been all but completely dismantled, the Night Mother's tomb in Bravil having been raided and struggling to persist without a Listener for over a decade; the bodies of the Night Mother's children have been lost and she's essentially being smuggled from region to region in an attempt to find a safe place to continue operations.

The Empire itself has been kneecapped, forced into a traumatic treaty by a fascist regime determined to strike the beliefs and culture of anyone not Altmer off the face of the planet; the Thalmor have gone so far as to torture and radicalize the figurehead leader of the Nords in order to use their own nationalism and superiority against the Empire, sparking a civil war that will further weaken the Empire and allow the Aldmerri Dominion to destroy it wholecloth.

This extends out into the rest of the world, too! We have confirmed existence of Hist-deaf Argonians. The Dunmer are floundering to recover after the quadruple-whammy that is the fall of the Triumverate, the destruction of Vivec City when Baar Dau finally made impact, the Red Year, and the Argonian uprising. The Bosmer are literally endangered due to habitat loss following a super-isolationist cultural shift due to wars with the Khajiit and Altmer. The Void Nights were devastating to Khajiit culture and population in ways that have yet to be fully explained.

The world is falling apart. Everything is dying.

And then Alduin shows up.

We all kind of talk about Alduin carrying on as World-Eater through the course of the Skyrim storyline like it's him being a piece of shit, since he'd started it ages ago and was just displaced in time to land on the Last Dragonborn's head in the Fourth Era, but I don't think that's the case.

Based on the state of things, I think Alduin arrived right on time. I think it's the end of the world. The only reason he "should" be stopped is because the Last Dragonborn has the capacity to stop the world from ending in a more down-to-earth sense than just defeating Alduin: they can't save everyone, but they can "fix" every single organization that's holding "the world" together.

They can align with the Imperials and keep the civil war from further crippling them, keeping the Empire from being too weak to push back against the Aldmerri Dominion.

They can save the College of Winterhold, the only group in the right place at the right time to stop the Eye of Magnus from opening, and in doing so make sure that the Psijics are able to put it somewhere nobody else can find it.

They can lead the Companions, cure the curse for those members who don't want to run with Hircine after death, which bolsters their spirits enough to keep doing what they can even when everyone else is trying to kill each other. A single neutral martial force in the middle of a civil war.

They can regain Nocturnal's trust for the Thieves' Guild, restore the Nightingales, and in doing so they can return the luck that was stolen from them as punishment for Mercer Frey's transgression. They can even reclaim the Crown of Barenziah and award the guild with a paragon to increase their newly-regained luck.

They can hear the Night Mother, becoming Listener for the Dark Brotherhood to restore the balancing force of Sithis in the world, purify the most broken Sanctuary the Brotherhood has ever had, and finish a story set into motion way back in the Third Era—Emperor Titus Mede II is murdered under the order of a Motierre, a descendant of a mark the Brotherhood specifically kept from dying during the Oblivion Crisis.

The Last Dragonborn can't do anything outside Skyrim—there's nothing they can do for the Argonians or the Bosmer or the Khajiit, and they can only do very little for the Dunmer via work in Solstheim—but they can work with every single guild or guild-adjacent group, strengthening the Empire to stand against the biggest threat to Tamrielic culture since the First Era, and in doing so they can make it so the world isn't ready for Alduin to eat it.

The Hero of Kvatch exists when Tamriel, and presumably Nirn as a whole is in the prime of its life, that's what makes the Oblivion Crisis such a big deal. This is a world that isn't ready to give up, it still has the strength to fight, it just needs someone standing at the head to direct it. The Last Dragonborn comes into the story when everything is falling apart and nothing really feels worthwhile, when it's hard to see why the world is worth saving. They have the chance to prove that there's still some life left here, that the world isn't too far gone to save—Alduin arrived right on time, it's the Last Dragonborn's job to change that.

I can see how coming from Oblivion to Skyrim would feel disappointing and hollow, but I'm pretty sure that's literally the point of the story.

Oblivion tells you the world is worth saving because it's got so much left to live for, even with the odds stacked so high against it. Skyrim asks you whether a world that's dying is still a world worth saving, and it's up to you to prove that it is.

[chromehoney]

yearning!bestfriend!smoke x black!curvy!nasty!fem!reader

You and Smoke been thick as thieves since before y’all even had teeth. Since you were two loud little brown kids playin’ in the sprinkler in your grandma’s yard, barefoot on concrete and dripping in popsicle juice. He was the boy who always ran. Ran to get what you wanted. Ran to fix what you broke. Ran to grab the extra cookie you were too scared to ask for.

And even when you got older—full hips, lip gloss poppin’, that spoiled little whine always curled in your throat—you still didn’t have to finish a sentence before Smoke was already halfway to doin’ it.

“Smoke, can you—?”

“I got it.”

“Wait, you know what I want—”

“I already do.”

That was y’all’s rhythm.

He’d never said how bad he loved you. Never said that when you called him your best friend, it made his chest hurt. He never told you how many nights he stared at his phone, waiting for a text that said “Come over.”

You never told him either. You thought he knew. Thought maybe he didn’t feel the same. So you started dating other people. Just a little. Just to test the waters.

But you still showed up at every function on Smoke’s hip. Like today—his mama’s birthday cookout. You in that damn white dress. Tight up top, short in the back, every inch of you jiggling and glowing. Everybody noticed. But he noticed first.

He saw you before you even walked past the fence. Watched your thighs bounce with every step, your gold anklet glinting, your curls pulled up with just enough down to frame that smartass mouth he’d kill to kiss.

He didn’t speak first. He just stared. Chain glintin’. Blunt burning slow between his fingers.

You plopped down next to him at the table, legs crossed, plate in hand, talking loud with his cousins like you ain’t been skipping his calls.

And that’s when Aunt Vi turned to you, fork paused halfway to her mouth. “So baby girl, you still single? Or you got a lil boyfriend now?”

You blinked. Swallowed. Peeped Smoke from the corner of your eye. Then softly, like you ain’t really mean it: “…I do.” The clink of Smoke’s fork hitting his plate was the only sound for a moment.

He turned slowly, eyes glued to you. Not moving. Not blinking. That quiet, slow anger in his chest boiling over in silence. “You do?” he said low, voice tight.

You didn’t answer. You looked at Aunt Vi instead.“He tall?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

“Mhm.”

“Cute?”

“…Kinda.”

“Got a picture?” You pulled your phone out, too quick. Nervous giggle stuck in your throat. Smoke didn’t take his eyes off you. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded, watching you show the picture. Your screen faced Aunt Vi, but he saw it too.

And his jaw clenched hard enough to crack.

Marcus. From the block. A dude Smoke knew. A dude who tried to be like him but couldn’t hold a candle. He stood slow. Walked around the table. Quiet as ever. Then reached down and snatched your phone right out your hand.

“What the hell—” “Get up,” he said. You blinked. “Smoke, don’t start—” “I said get. The fuck. Up.”He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t curse loud. But his tone wrapped around your neck and dragged you up out that chair like gravity shifted. Your thighs trembled. You followed. You had to.

He yanked the back door open and took you through the house—ignoring every cousin, every curious glance—into the den. The door slammed behind you. And then? Silence. Thick and hot and tight. Smoke turned, chest rising slow. “You really fucking with Marcus?” he said. Voice low. Not yelling, but shaking. “Marcus?”

“He nice,” you whispered, but your voice cracked.Smoke stepped forward. Your back met the wall. He placed your phone on the dresser like he was lining it up for later. “You know how many times I wanted to tell you?” he said, hand finding your waist. “How many times I had to sit there and watch you run off with them clown-ass niggas? You do that shit on purpose?”

“I didn’t know you—” “Yes the fuck you did.” You didn’t answer. His mouth found your neck first. Hot, soft, trailing down like it was muscle memory. Your hands fisted in his shirt. His touch wasn’t rough—but it was hungry. Desperate. Like something that’d been waiting too long to be born.

“Still lettin’ me do everything for you,” he murmured against your skin, tongue flicking just beneath your ear. “Still callin’ me first. Still wearin’ shit like this around my damn family.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” you whimpered. His hands slid down your thighs, cupping your ass, pulling your hips against his. “You the only one I care about.” He kissed you. Slow and deep, lips pressed like a seal. Like a brand.

When he lifted your dress, you gasped. His fingers found the soaked cotton between your thighs and he smiled against your mouth. “This for him?” he growled. “Or me?”

“You,” you whimpered.

He dropped to his knees, pulled your panties down slow, kissed your thighs like he had all day. Then, without warning, he lifted your leg and buried his tongue in you—slow. Groaning into your folds, fingers digging into your hips.

You came on his mouth in minutes, shaking, gasping, whispering his name like a prayer.

“Say it right,” he whispered, standing, dropping his sweats. “You know what to call me.” “…Pa.”He moaned. Deep in his chest. Lined himself up and slid in—slow, deep, smooth, until his whole body trembled. Your mouth dropped open. You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes glassy.“You feel that?” he groaned. “That’s mine.”

He moved slow but heavy, rolling his hips deep inside you like he was making a promise. His lips on your neck, your collarbone, your cheek. His hand on your jaw. “I been waiting so long for this, bunny,” he whispered. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna touch you again.”

You were close again. Shaking. Crying now.

And then he reached for your phone. “Call him.”“What—” “Call that little nigga now.” With shaking fingers, you dialed. Voice trembling. He pressed the speaker on.

“Hello?” he spoke. Your breath caught. Smoke thrusted deep. You cried out, breath hitching. “I’m with my boyfriend.” Then Smoke grabbed the phone and ended it. And came inside you with a long, low groan that rattled your bones. His forehead rested on yours, breathing heavy, thumb wiping the tears from your cheek. “You’re mine now,” he whispered. “And I’m done sharing.”

A few weeks later…

You don’t even call him “Smoke” no more. It’s Pa this, Pa that. The whole damn block know what it is. He walkin’ with his arm around you like you made of gold and velvet. One hand resting on your hip, thumb rubbing that little space on your waist like it’s his personal territory. And it is.

You’re wearing one of the three diamond rings he bought you. Not engagement, not yet—but you keep tellin’ folks, “This one’s for my mouth, this one’s for my attitude, and this one’s ‘cause I’m spoiled.” He don’t argue. He just adds another.

And right between your collarbones? That chain. Thick, gold, glinting in the sun. His name on the pendant in soft cursive—“Elijah’s”—like a warning and a lullaby. He’s got one too. Yours. Tucked under his shirt but always there, lying flat on his chest, heartbeat pressin’ against the letters.

You’re headed to get ice cream, arguing playful in the heat. You want strawberry shortcake. He already bought it for you ten minutes ago and it’s in the car. He just like hearing you beg. And then, like a breeze cutting through the thick summer air, you hear two girls on the stoop whispering:

“—you ain’t hear? Marcus? That nigga gone. Shot dead couple weeks ago. Just now found the body in that alley behind Glenwood. Whole clip in him.”

You pause mid-step. Smoke doesn’t.

His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, just enough to make your stomach flip. He’s still walking, face neutral, but you catch the edge of his mouth. That little curl. That little smile.

He don’t say nothing. Just keeps moving. Pulls you closer, presses a kiss to your temple. You look at him. “Pa…” He raises a brow like he don’t know what you’re about to ask—but you don’t even finish the sentence.

You know better. You know exactly what that smile meant.

He ain’t ever gonna tell you what happened. But you can feel it in his kiss, in the way he holds your hand a little tighter now. The way he makes love to you like he got rid of every last threat.

That chain around your neck ain’t just jewelry. It’s a warning label. “Property of Elijah Moore.” And when the streets whisper about Marcus? Smoke don’t blink. He just licks ice cream off your lip and says: “Open your mouth, bunny. You know I don’t like repeating myself.”

last one yall… last one for the day.

@cursed-carmine for the dividers.