#Operation Blackjack

[makaelectric]

The Jericho Report Weekly News Briefing # 377 08/04/2024

[blackjacksmemeclinic]

He makes the faces of all time I love him

[pup-pee]

SUCH A GOOD CHAPTER im using this as an excuse 2 post panels from this chapter :3

hes experiencing cramps </3

I CANNOT TELL IF HES SAYING THIS BC OF PINOKO OR BC HES OPPERATED ON HIMSELF???? like sir have u operated on urself in a mirror multiple times? is that what this means???? the pinoko thing is me referencing 2 when she held a mirror 4 him 4 like, the backwards person

how do u even think of this salkhfjkasd

volume 3 chapter #29 ((i dont actually believe that but this is what my source is telling me))

its literlly called "dingo" its not that hard 2 find but like aaaaaa

good morning :3

[spider-stark]

EVERYTHING

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.

Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK

Word Count - 3.8k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Touch me.” 

You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears. 

You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?” 

The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps. 

Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.” 

It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.

To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?” 

Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?” 

“In my room.” 

The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs. 

Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he? 

In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy. 

You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection. 

So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around? 

Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one. 

“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.” 

Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out. 

You almost snort. Clearly. 

It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable. 

The others would like having him around. 

You like having him around. 

“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?” 

A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth. 

“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.” 

“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out. 

“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.” 

His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

Probably because you are. 

You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist. 

You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come. 

“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.” 

There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea? 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door. 

Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.” 

As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night. 

“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion. 

Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic. 

You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you. 

“Why?”  you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?” 

“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping. 

“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.” 

He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks. 

“Go downstairs.” 

“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.” 

Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“What did you say when I came in?” 

“Go downstairs.” 

You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!” 

“Go. Down. Stairs.” 

“Make me.” 

Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk. 

“Do you know why I brought you in?” 

For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs. 

You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang. 

Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam. 

“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past. 

But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone. 

Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it. 

“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.” 

You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless. 

“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete. 

“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.” 

You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this. 

As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.” 

Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered. 

“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?” 

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. 

You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way. 

“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”

Kaz doesn’t finish that thought. 

A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.

Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.

A smile sneaks up on you. 

But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away. 

He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this? 

“I don’t get what you’re asking.” 

“Stop making me repeat myself.” 

“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”

Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?” 

Shock. Confusion. 

They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something. 

“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.” 

Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?” 

Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in. 

You’re not fucking him, though. 

Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.” 

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting. 

“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.” 

For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension. 

It was excitement. Anticipation. 

You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist. 

So long as it comes. So long as he notices you. 

“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.” 

Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out. 

Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them. 

“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan. 

A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.” 

It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that. 

You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?” 

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again. 

“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.” 

Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie! 

But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit. 

Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right? 

It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling. 

Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan. 

But, even if there was, why would Kaz care? 

I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me. 

All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks. 

That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away. 

You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin. 

Because you didn’t make me sick. 

When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks. 

Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t. 

Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious. 

You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows. 

“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before. 

Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?” 

His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots. 

Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said. 

As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time. 

“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.” 

Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine. 

In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.” 

So you do. 

You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away. 

“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.” 

Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks. 

“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles. 

You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?” 

A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap. 

For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe. 

“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting. 

He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak. 

Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. 

“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? 

“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.” 

The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.” 

“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling. 

The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet. 

As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”

You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core. 

Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.” 

You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck. 

“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.” 

“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted? 

“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.” 

The world grinds to a halt. 

Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists. 

Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?” 

You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half. 

If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me. 

That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed. 

When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give. 

And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more. 

“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”

a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)

[seat-safety-switch]

“Everything’s in the cloud now,” I shout at the hot air balloonist over the sound of the burners. Sun glints off my snub-nose .38. “I was never smart enough to be a hacker before.”

Phineas Fogg looks behind him. "Uh-uh," I gently scold, and shake the gun for emphasis. "That went overboard a long time ago." He looks glumly over the edge of the basket, hoping to see his Passenger Removal Blackjack. It's a a desperate hope, one that it was simply misplaced by me, rather than yote parabolically into a nearby state fair from 8,000 feet. "Now drive."

"Fucking Missouri," he spits, and he's right. In any other state, this would be a felony. Balloonists are like gods there, unimpeachable even by law enforcement. Here, the gods meet mortals, and they don't like it.

We float higher and higher as he works what I have determined to be a crude throttle. The fire is beautiful, but I know that I cannot allow myself to be distracted by the purging of hydrocarbons. These balloony-types are crafty, having fought their way out of the vicious canvas wars of their disgusting home country. I know that if I take my eyes off the prize for one second, he'll try something.

Indeed he does. We pass briefly over an attractive red-and-white circus tent, itself an overinflated artifact of a bygone age of freaks. My unwilling travelling companion takes the opportunity to leap out of the basket, falling hundreds of feet. He bursts through the roof of the tent, landing squarely in a conveniently-placed bale of hay. Figures, I grunt to myself, but then I notice that he's not moving. No doubt the Barnum Bros have gotten themselves a cost-cutting MBA, who has decided that rocks painted like hay is sufficient enough to convince the rubes that the elephants are eating well and treated well, in equal measure.

I have caught myself in quite the pickle, I realize, as I look at the crude array of burners, levers, strings, springs, and apertures that lay before me. Saturday morning cartoons have taught me that this contraption operates the balloon's height, but its exact nature is unclear to me. Safe for the moment, I decide to take advantage of the surprising-but-welcome solitude and meditate on the issue, sitting cross-legged in the bottom of the basket and pivoting my thoughts towards the eternal expanse of human ingenuity. Carburetors of my youth come unbidden to my mind's eye on this vision quest, and soon I have discovered the common ancestor of this gas-burping nightmare and my precious Plymouth Volare's single-barrel, ethanol-rotted Ball & Ball.

Opening my eyes, it is very clear to me now what I must do. I floor the fucker. An enormous wall of flame bursts from the burners, singing my eyebrows. I laugh, and rise into the sky. Up there, in the clouds, the banks dwell. I am coming for them.

[kittyt-hexxed]

Bad Together

Sevika x Gang Leader!POC!Reader

*This is a scheduled post so it will not be linked on the main page immediately.*

Warning: Gang Leader! POC!Reader, Rivals to Lovers, Crazy Offer, You’re also a scary lady, Dom!Reader, Dom!Sevika, You’re equals, Sexual Tension, An idea inspired by Valentine’s Day, Taunting, Flirting hidden as threats, Throat Grabbing, reader dresses slutty, Cursing, horny from fist fighting your rival, Sevika womanhandles you, you get folded, Making Out, Sevika bites your tongue

Summary: You and Sevika have been rivals since you were in high school. That only worsened when you both became gang leaders and tensions rose when Sevika became Silco’s right hand. You were scary, but Sevika was scarier… you had an offer for her - what if you combined forces?

You knew this idea could blow up in your face in more ways than one. But, you wouldn’t have ended up in your position if you didn’t go for things that came with a substantial risk. If you were honest with yourself, this would be the riskiest out of all of them. One wrong move could find you losing your gang, your cred, your reputation, and your identity. In these fissures that was worse than death. You’d become a laughing stock or worse. That thought put a sour taste in your mouth that you wanted to spit out.

The Silver Dagger’s territory wasn’t hard to find. It covered the best parts of the Undercity which included the expensive side of the Red Light District. Your business involved the boss herself, so you were headed into the snake’s den. Contrary to belief, the Silver Dagger’s did not operate out of The Last Drop. That’s where Silco kept them for easy access, but they spent most of their time in an old townhouse they had completely renovated. You’d been there before - once, a long time ago. It was a day you didn’t know whether or not to look back on fondly or with disgust.

As you approach the townhouse, two guys playing blackjack at the gate stand up when they see you. One of them pulls out a gun while the other steps forward with a hand outstretched. The other people loitering around the area don’t even pretend they’re not paying attention. They blatantly stare at you, watching as you reach for your weapon and pull it from its holster.

“A bat?” The one with a gun snickers. You look at him and twist both parts of the handle away from each other. There is a click and nine-inch spikes pop out along the body.

“Do you want a demonstration?” You raise an eyebrow. The guy pales.

“Hand it over. You can’t go in with it or any other weapons you have on your body.” The other guy says, giving you a look-over as you retract the spikes.

“That’s all. I’m not stupid enough to walk into Sevika’s territory with more than necessary. I don’t have a death wish.” You scoff. “Can I go in now?”

“What about there?” He motions to your crotch. You glance down and realize your leather shorts make the bulge of your strap more prominent.

“I’m packing, but not a weapon.” You flash a smirk.

“You’d be surprised how many people still try to sneak in weapons there, too.” He exhales, crossing his arms. “Just have to be through. Head on in.” The door swings open and a third, larger guy stares down at you with an annoyed scowl. You raise an eyebrow at him, too. You knew a lot of the people who fell in with Sevika tended to be quite interesting. She was very picky with whom she accepted into her gang. They had to be smart, resourceful, and loyal. Not much unlike your criteria except you liked to accept the ones with a bit more personality.

You were guided through the hallway until you reached what used to be the living room. You recognized the people lounging on the couches as Sevika’s inner circle. It was rare for her to be somewhere without them. They stuck to her like glue unless she was out on an errand for Silco. You wondered if she ever cared that they did that. You didn’t when it came to your circle. If you needed to tell them to leave you alone, they were more than likely to oblige.

“When I was told the Puppeteer wanted a word with me, I thought you’d be on death’s door… but you don’t look half-dead to me, Y/n.” Sevika’s voice sends a thrill up your spine. You look up to see her leaning against the second-floor railing. It’s been some time since you’ve seen her instead of hearing the gossip about her. The smirk that crosses your face at the sight of your target is positively feral.

“I’m sure seeing me bloody and bruised would give you a hard-on, Sevika.” You respond, taking a step forward, “But I didn’t come here for you to get off.”

“Pity. I was looking forward to something to celebrate.” She says, then motions to the stairs, “Come up. Third door to your right.” She turns and moves out of your sight, likely into the room she just told you about. Grinning to yourself, you head up the stairs with a newfound pep to your step. Oh, she was a sight to behold. ‘How long has it been? Ten years? At least sometime before Silco took over.’ She’d cut her hair and put on more muscle than you remember. She was taller, too.

You swing the door open to see a decently sized office. It was decorated in the way you expected it to be - covered in trophies. There were items or weapons from other gangs hanging from the walls or displayed on shelves. What shows the gap between you and her are the items from Piltover. The sheer number of them showed Sevika’s strength as a leader and her cunning to have them in the first place. You couldn’t help but feel slightly awed by the sight. You have a few of your own but she had to have dozens. This is what it meant to be number one in the Undercity.

“So, what does the famous Puppeteer want with me?” Sevika asks, leaning back in her chair. You could tell it was custom-made, glossy with the telltale sign of being cared for with a linseed oil tincture. ‘I wonder how cocky she’d be if she was the one being fucked in that chair.’

“Me? Famous? You must be thinking of yourself.” You scoff, sitting down and resting your ankle on your knee. You make a show of checking her out, slowly dragging your eyes over her body. “From all the talk I’ve heard about you, I’d expected to find that you’d turned into an Oni. Color me disappointed to see that you’re normal.”

“An Oni?” Sevika snorts, “That’s a new one. Are you sure you didn’t make that one up?”

“A normal person can’t tank a fucking explosion and only get out missing an arm.” You point to the cloak hiding her metal arm. “And, I didn’t make it up. You’re not that lucky to have been on my mind all these years.”

“I could say the same.” She responds and the two of you intensely stare at each other trying to spot a glimpse of a lie. ‘Always so annoyingly attractive. Her makeup is always done so nicely. It used to piss me off that when it was smudged after a fight she still looked hot.’

“Anyway,” You direct the topic to where you want it, “I’m here to make you an offer that you won’t be able to refuse.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “And what delusional thought have you brought to me?”

“Get in a relationship with me,” You start, taking note that Sevika’s eyes widen, “and we can run the Undercity together.”

“You walk into my territory after years of not seeing each other to say… that?” She spits out the word as if it refused to leave her tongue. “You’re being serious? This isn’t some stupid joke because it’s Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m serious.” You nod, smirking. She’s clearly startled by what you said and it makes you gleeful to be able to knock her emotionless mask. “Let’s be honest, we can’t stand each other. You and I go together like gasoline and fire to a fucking explosion,” Her jaw clenches, eyes narrowing as you continue to talk. You knew that expression too well. One she’d give you over and over again while you were in school and competing for top dog. The one that made your rivalry all the sweeter. “but I know you better than anyone else. You’re a fucking powerhouse on your own. Imagine what we can do together.”

“You’ve been so horny for me that your fantasies have convinced you I want you in real life.” Sevika says bluntly, “You should take my spot at Babette’s for the day. Consider it a gesture of goodwill.”

“Why would I go to a brothel when I want to touch you, Sevika?” You purr, reaching out to caress her shoulder. She grabs your wrist, constricting her grip tight enough for the bones in your wrist to creak.

“What makes you think you can touch me, Y/n?” Her voice comes out low in a warning. You grin at her, your heart pounding harder with adrenaline as she glares at you with wild eyes. She didn’t scare you. She never did. Watching Sevika slip into her authoritative mode brought you nothing but a thrill. That’s what she was for you—a thrill.

“I’m the only one who has touched you.” You retort. A moment passes and she lets you go. You glance down at your wrist. There was nothing there but you knew there would be a bruise eventually.

“You’re wasting my time with this shit.” She deflects, taking a cigarillo out of a wooden box. “That’s nothing new with you though. You’ve always liked to waste my precious time.” You roll your eyes and stand up. She follows you with her eyes, tucking the cigarillo between her lips as you walk around her desk. You grip the back of her chair and push it away from the desk, taking up the space between the two. You lean against the desk, crossing your arms as you give her a disapproving stare. She looks up at you, trying to show that she’s disinterested in what you’re saying but the stormy look in her eyes says differently.

“While you continue running errands for Mr.Pink Eye over there, you will be left in my dust, Sevika. And I know how much you hate that. I’ll be number one in the Undercity and you’ll be racing to catch up to me.” You taunt her.

“If that’s what you want to believe.” She chuckles, flicking the lighter in her hand open. A soft green flame flares to life. She lights her cigarillo and you watch as she inhales, exhaling the smoke through her nose.

“Believe? I already see it.” You take the cigarillo from her lips, extinguishing it between your fingers, “You’ll fail without me. But, go ahead and continue being Silco’s bitch, all you have left to do is bark.”

Sevika’s metal fist connects with your stomach and you hunch over gasping for breath. She grabs your hair and throws you into the wall, your shoulder taking the brunt of the hit. You’re quick to shake off the stun and dodge out of the way from her next attack, bringing your leg up to kick her in the side and launch her away from you. She stumbles and you lunge at her, landing a punch across her jaw. A gleeful laugh leaves your lips as you and Sevika brawl around the office. She had a permanent smirk on her face and she laughed as you narrowly dodged her sword slash. The weapons around the office were used and Sevika had to roll out of the way when you got your hand on a mace. She got a good hit to your leg that knocked you off balance and you staggered but caught yourself in time. You wipe the blood off your arm, wearily eying that metal arm of hers. You’d heard people talking about it, but to fight her with it was a whole different process. You were bruised and bleeding but you were having a lot of fun. Sevika was standing in front of the door breathing heavily and wiping blood from a cut on her face. It was a delicious sight to see.

“Is that all you’ve got? I’m still standing.” You taunt her, gesturing to your body. Sevika looks at you silently, standing up straight as she catches her breath. “Well?” You continue. Her hand is closing around your throat before you can blink. A grunt is forced from you as you’re slammed onto the desk. Your hips are pressed into the wood, pinned in place by Sevika’s as she leans over you. A shiver goes through you as you realize she’s furious with you. Eyes of molten metal glaring down at you as if she wants you to burst into flames.

“It’s funny how you call me a bitch, but you’ve been barking at me since you’ve walked in here. If anyone is a bitch, it’s you.” Sevika says lowly, her face inches away from yours. “My bitch.” You can feel her strap pressing up against yours, forcing the base of it to your body and sending a tingling feeling through your clit.

“Prove it.” You smirk, purposefully pushing back with your hips.

“You’re so fucking frustrating.” She exhales sharply. You reach up and wrap your hand around her throat, pulling her face closer to hers.

“I said prove it, Sev.” You goad her with the nickname you gave her. She hated any form of nickname for her name. It was Sevika or nothing. So naturally you didn’t listen to that.

“If you insist, Y/n/n.” She responds with the nickname she had given you. Your eyebrow twitches. You make a noise in the back of your throat as she lifts you off of the desk by your throat. You let go of her neck to grab at her wrist. You don’t have to look to know that your feet are nowhere near the ground. Her lips curve up into a wicked smirk before the world around you blurs. You cry out in pain as your back is slammed against what you assume to be the desk once more. Her hand vanishes from your throat and the next thing you know she’s kissing you.

Sevika’s arms hold your legs to her body and you can feel her strap press against you due to the position you’re in. You feel yourself blush as she leans down, her hair brushing against your cheeks before her lips touch yours. Like your fight moments before, your kiss is anything but gentle. You’re rough, trying to be the one in charge and take the lead. Sevika’s tongue is in your mouth and you’re enjoying it until you want to put yours in hers. It takes a bit but you’re successful and get a low moan from her. You can’t help but feel smug about it, and almost as if she knows that Sevika bites your tongue. You yelp and jerk away from her, breaking the kiss and glaring at her.

“Seriously? You bit me?”

“Don’t be so smug about it.” Sevika shrugs. “You’re not in the position to be.”

“Would you like a redo of what happened the last time I was here? Then I will be.”

“If you call me your girlfriend in front of anyone, I’ll run you through with my sword.” She ignores what you said in favor of addressing the offer you made her.

“We’re partners. Nothing more. Nothing less.” You tuck your arms under your head, “I told you you wouldn’t be able to refuse my offer.” You smirk up at her.

“Shut the fuck up before I shove my dick in your mouth.” She says seriously.

[wario-speedwagon]

The Blackjack Essay I thought up at like 3am because Blackjack is a great character if you really think about it hard enough

I had some Blackjack Thoughts yesterday night (cuz I woke up in the middle of the night and I always soothe myself back to sleep by brainrotting over characters or made up scenarios). Cuz yknow, okay:

So Blackjack is the soul, and he's a soul that was blackened by regret yeah? And not just that, but he takes the form of a his childhood dog rather than of himself (which is interesting, more on that later). I think we can agree that, while we never get to know in meaningful detail what the living Jack Kennedy was TRULY like, soulless Corpse!Jack is probably closer to his original living self in personality than the Blackjack we saw at the end of DSAF 3 True Ending, or rather, in most of what we see of Blackjack's coded/capitalized lines (more on that later too). Corpse!Jack is more chill (in a feral way of course) in that he moves on from things like grudges or regrets, which in the good routes manifests in him being able to keep going despite how emotionally hard it should be to e.g. leave his family once and for all, or to forgive his sister's murderer in favor of seeing the good in him. It's not a perfectly moral aspect, as there are things he probably should be hung up on (cough cough Dave), and Blackjack sure is. (We love some moral greyness in this household.) And then of course, in the evil route, it manifests in Corpse!Jack having a very easy time befriending and emulating his siblings' murderers and even killing his siblings himself. Obviously Blackjack could never conceive of acting in any of these ways, and he definitely lets evil Jack know.

So. I am of the headcanon that, all the trauma of Jack's death and the events leading up to it, all of his regrets from it, Blackjack took it all with him, leaving Corpse!Jack with little to none of it left. For better or for worse, Corpse!Jack does not carry the same emotional baggage from his personal tragedy that Blackjack is completely lost in. And then my point about Blackjack taking on the form of a dog instead of himself... and him not really acting like his old self compared to at least TrueRoute!Jack. At least most of the time, as we'll see soon. Because in the True Routes, Dee and eventually Peter are able to recognize True!Jack as their old brother pretty easily even despite the circumstances, but Blackjack? He's unrecognizable to all of them except eventually Corpse!Jack himself. According to her, Blackjack warned Dee about Evil!Jack's true nature in DSAF 2 (when you're doing a route with her as Legacy!Jack), and she didn't realize who he was, she only saw a Shadow Doggo; and of course at the end of DSAF 3, even after revealing who Blackjack is, Peter and Dee sure don't treat Blackjack like their dear old brother the way they regard Corpse!Jack. He's just a stranger to them now, and of course he is, because he's little like how he used to be in life, how Corpse!Jack still is in life. And after a faux eternity of being a Shadow Doggo operating behind the scenes with every opportunity to reveal himself, I'm of the opinion that he wants it to be this way, that he be forgotten in his failures while someone else takes his old role for him and does it well.

And it's because he is so steeped in his hatred born from his regret, that it completely warped his way of thinking to focus on revenge against Henry, or also his hyperfocus on Evil!Jack's wrongdoings. But while that's what most people see him for in his entirety (in both canon and fandom), as it's the front he nearly always puts on, people often forget one really important scene from him that may be the only glimpse of his more authentic self, one that isn't steeped in regret or any emotions stemming from it based on it. Do you remember the little speech Blackjack gives to Corpse!Jack after the True ending in DSAF 2 after the Happiest Day? He talks about him being "proud of us" (hinting at his and Corpse!Jack's link), but then ponders the possibility of redemption and decides, if it is possible, then he is glad that Corpse!Jack has been redeemed. So still excluding himself from that redemption despite just prior finding solace in what Corpse!Jack has done on both their behalf. It's like he sees Corpse!Jack more as himself than, yknow, himself (and you can imagine that this same truth probably also leads to why he despises Evil!Jack so much). And all of this must be very good for his self-esteem /s

Very notably, this one scene is the only dialogue of his that is not Caps locked or coded, and a recurring theme among souls is that caps locked dialogue is always steeped in more powerful (often but not exclusively negative) emotions, while regular lowercase text seems to show much more human authenticity. We see it in Jacob before vs. after he calms down and comes to terms with his death, we see it in Dee always being lowercase, as she seems to always be her honest self, we even see it in Fredbear, as he is always grandly talking in all caps as the powerful entity he is except in his promise with Jack's corpse where he is entirely lowercase and talks much more sincerely like a real person to him out of honest humility. So anyway, this one scene with Blackjack in my opinion is the only scene we really get to see Jack's real personality shine through in him, a personality we see much more readily in Corpse!Jack.

And now to finally return to my point about Blackjack taking on the form of a dog instead of as himself. So lets combine all these previous points: 1) He is blackened by Regret; 2) He is in a nearly constant state of negative/powerful emotions stemming from his regret as indicated by all his his caps/code text; 3) he is still capable, if rarely, of showing his more human personality; 4) Dee and Peter seem to much more readily recognize Corpse!Jack as their brother than Blackjack; 5) Blackjack is proud of True!Jack's good actions in DSAF 2 and implies that only he (but not himself) is deserving of redemption; (and heck, let's also throw in) 6) the fact that he chooses not to hide in an unrecognizable form and seems to estrange himself from his siblings to let Corpse!Jack fulfill his role as Jack for them in his place

What I'm getting at (finally) is that I think Trauma Fucked Him Up™; I think it completely fucked up his self-esteem replacing it with deep-rooted self-hatred and shame. It might be that he simply cannot bear to resemble himself, not after all he's done (leaving his sister's party to bury their dog and drink away his sorrows, which left her to die, lowkey (highkey?) betraying both of his siblings' trust, and then failing in his attempt to right his mistakes by dying instead and making things worse, at least from Blackjack's POV who didn't have any sort of promise to turn his death into a chance at redemption).

Except, he can hopefully make his death into some sort of chance for redemption thanks to his powers born from sheer regret-fuelled hatred by trapping and seemingly torturing Henry. At least, this is how he chooses to cope with all of his feelings in a way that feels productive. But of course, they don't solve the root of his regret, or the root of his low self-worth, as he is really just indulging in and marinating in his negative emotions for a theoretical eternity. And during all this, he is also watching over Corpse!Jack in all of his parallel timelines, seeing both the best and worst versions of himself (literally). He sees his neutral/evil route selves indulging in the worst vices imaginable without care, and he must see himself in them anyway, because Corpse!Jack did inherit his vices after all, naturally including his drinking problem for a start, except now he's actually acting on them much more freely without a soul to restrain him either. He is forced to see the worst of himself played out in reality, and he's the one who feels shame for them. (Now Corpse!Jack also experiences things like self-hate and regret for his actions, but again, he seems to move on from these feelings fairly easily, coping with them instead with a "no fucks left to give" attitude, the kind of attitude someone who knows he doesn't have a future would have. A soul does not have that luxury.)

Meanwhile, though, Blackjack is also forced to see the best of himself in True!Jack; the Jack that actually worked his ass off to right his, or rather their mistakes. And also the Jack to actually be present in their siblings' lives as their brother Jack, the one that actually acts like their brother Jack, like his old self, while Blackjack seems to have either forgotten how or lost interest in doing so. It's easy to forget because DSAF is fiction, but experiencing something like what Jack has experienced is gonna leave severe trauma, and severe trauma is gonna change you pretty fundamentally whether you like it or not. Except being soulless, based on his actions and reactions, Corpse!Jack seems to have escaped much of this trauma while Blackjack is practically characterized by it. I wouldn't say Corpse!Jack is entirely unaffected by any trauma by any means (even Evil!Jack loses his shit when seeing Dee's scarf), but again, he sure seems to move on from it by shoving his negative feelings aside for later or even outright ignoring them, while Blackjack copes by feeling them and acting on them all the time. They both cope with the same issues in completely opposite unhealthy extremes.

So while Corpse!Jack is seemingly not affected enough by what happened, Blackjack is unrecognizable to himself, to anyone who could recognize him (including even Corpse!Jack himself, as Corpse!Jack doesn't realize who Blackjack is till the very end), so Blackjack takes more comfort taking on a form that isn't himself. (Instead, he takes on the form of the only family he got to send off with closure, the only family member whose death doesn't inspire some sort of Regret, hm?) He even doesn't take on his own name, preferring Blackjack over just Jack. Despite holding some contempt toward him, he still allows Corpse!Jack to keep their original name.

And he clearly does have mixed feelings toward Corpse!Jack, even toward True!Jack, as he is "proud" of him at the end of True DSAF 2, but then also spiteful toward him in True DSAF 3, and honestly that's pretty understandable, as True!Jack has done the work and reaped the rewards for redeeming himself and getting to be family with Dee and Peter again, essentially living as Jack for him, but Blackjack, despite his uninvolvement in reality or the Flipside where his family are, he is the one who faces the trauma and emotional burden of what happened to him, and it's not like Blackjack hasn't done anything either (even if what he did was misguided and ultimately harmful). It would be hard not to hold some contempt for a version of you that can move on so easily from your worst regrets and who can get to live your life where you left off for you in your name. And he's happy, and he deserves to be happy, and you aren't, and you don't deserve to be. You don't even deserve to be yourself, you've decided without realizing, because he's doing it much better than you ever could anymore anyway. He's the one who can actually save them all, he's the one who's worthy of redemption, but you? You're the only one who can make Henry face what he deserves, and by god you're gonna do it even if it costs your entire self, it's not like it's worth much anymore.

All of this is to say, yeah, Blackjack's character is perhaps a little disappointing in DSAF 3 due to lack of time to explore it after the reveal, but combined with his character in DSAF 2, he is a much more interesting and 3-dimensional character to explore than people realize. And also I think I might have ADHD. Might.

[the-joju-experience]

Quackity was polishing a bar counter when he heard the doors creak open. He turned towards them, seeing Scar, Etho, Cleo, and Joe walk in.

“Can I help you?” Quackity asked.

“Howdy, Quackity!” Joe said. “I told my friends about the bar, and I thought it’d be real fun for all of us to kick back and relax between rounds!”

“What makes you think that I would host all four of you?” Quackity asked.

“Actually, I didn’t!” Joe said. “I invited all my friends!”

The doors sprung open even wider, and a swarm of Hermits rushed in.

Grian and Pearl made their way to a blackjack table and started playing. Impulse, Zedaph, and Tango flocked to a slot machine, delicately taking it apart. Gem, False, and Stress confidently marched over to the chip exchange counter to make their requests. xB, Xisuma, and Wels sat down at the bar. Keralis and Israel found a machine in a far corner and began shoving money into it. BDubs just stood in the center of the room, screaming something about it being night.

Quackity flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to see Vintage Beef holding onto him.

“Hey there!” Beef said. “Joe tells me you have a full-service operation out here in need of some games. As it happens, I’ve just finished developing one that I think you’ll love!”

“What the…” Quackity started, thoroughly confused.

“Howdy there, Quackit-ey!” Ren said. “What does it take to get a man a nice, hot mug of cocoa around these parts?”

Quackity blushed and ran away.

He escaped into the kitchen, where Doc and Sam were hard at work on… something.

“This should only break reality a little bit,” Doc explained. “Don’t worry too much.”

Quackity retreated into a closet. He hit the light, but was surprised to find Etho waiting for him.

“What are you doing here?” Quackity asked, surprised.

“Joe said I’d probably find you here. Apparently we have some stuff to go over?” Etho explained.

Seven minutes later, Quackity and Etho emerged from the closet to find Cleo sharpening a sword.

“Hi, guys,” Cleo said. “I’m just getting ready for a thing I’m doing to- I mean with- Joe.”

“Jesus Christ you people are intense!” Quackity shouted.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Scar said, appearing next to Quackity.

“Where did you come from?” Quackity yelped.

“That’s a good question,” Scar said. “Anyway, come have some fun with us! Joel and Lizzie will be here with the karaoke machine any minute!”

The door flew open, and Grian ran in, panting.

“What’s up, buddy?” Scar asked.

Grian breathed heavily.

“M- m-“ he struggled.

“Marvel dropped a new trailer for the HoTgUy movie? We have to go see it!” Scar lead the group back into the main room, but froze in his tracks when he saw what Grian was talking about.

Mumbo K. Jumbo himself stood in the entry of Las Nevadas.

“Um, hi?” Mumbo said nervously. “I heard there was gambling going on, and I thought - well, I have all these diamonds and nothing good to spend them on, this could be fun!”

[koko-online]

First order of business when the custom chat filters are released :

block "twitch"

block "discord"

block "club"

block "venue"

Also, like, has anyone noticed that all of these venues are mostly just RMT laundering operations? I went to a few during EW just looking for something to do, and there's no RP going on. There's no socializing.

It's just a group of silent people standing in a circle half the time, presumably in their own little discord call or linkshell or something? While a twitch DJ they hired(?) plays the absolute worst royalty free music you've ever heard in your life.

The best, and I mean cream of the crop, top tier venues that I've visited had, uh, blackjack using the /random function, and it took several minutes for each person to take their turn. Like people were 90% afk at the time anyway. Engaging! Social!

[maggotwithanf]

BACK FROM WASTELAND.

Holy shit this was a brutal one for my tribe but we made it through the hottest WW on record. We had multiple tribe members get hospitalized or sent to medical for Jugger, Thunderdome, heat exhaustion, and worse. But we're all here for each other, and that's what counts!!!

Ok NAMES TIME: Mush!!! It was SO GOOD TO MEET YOU IN PERSON!! I can't wait to hang more next year aaaaaaaaAAAAA

Pupcake/Missfortune, & Mr. Privilege, you are TRULY the dream blunt rotation and I love you both SO MUCH and I can't wait to blast off to Thotumn at Neo!!! Pupcake, I love you and I can't wait for more WWs with you!! Mr P I also especially cannot wait to shtick some shtick at you and touch your deck some more at the LCC and beyond (at the CTRL ALT WIN. obviously.)

Disaster, you are LEGITIMATELY one of my favorite people in the Wastes and beyond!! The Rat Trap is the most magical place on earth and I will never forget watching the sun rise on the last day of Neo with you!! BALORT FOREVER. You have no idea what the Rat Trap being real and there every Great Gathering means to me :'))

Warbird, I loved getting to know you and wander the wastes with you!!! You're so fun I can't believe we haven't hung more!!

FROG. MY LOVE. You are SO BRAVE for surviving this WW and the gnarliest Thunderdome injury in ODS history. You are amazing and loved and I can't wait to see you on Kepler!!!

To my LCC VIP Blackjack Squad: Barter Jinx, Sweet Dee, The Plague, Numbers, (Triple) Ace, Pedromeo, and of course our newest inductee Squints: *slams table* WINNING ALL THE TIME WINNING ALL THE TIME WINNING ALL THE TIIIIME I can't wait to blackjack every fucking night again for the 5th year in a row!!!!

Donut, GoGurt, THANKS FOR SAVING ME FROM HEATSTROKE HOLY SHIT. Donut especially for carrying me half the way like a fireman & GoGurt for staying with me the whole time /sob

And of course, to our Operation Dessert Storm inductees this year: Dr Pepper, Waffles, the Muffin Man, Champain, Snatch Goblin, Chef, Cap'n Crunch, Tart, Airhead, Big League Chew, Jammy Dodger, WELCOME TO THE FAMILY!!!! Some of you have obvs been here longer than I have but inductions come in batches like muffins and I love you all so much!!!!!!!

Tart: I love you so much and can't wait to bug hunt on Kepler with you :'))) you mean SO MUCH to me!!!

I know I'm missing a bunch of people but SCREAMING. I LOVE ALL OF YOU SO FUCKING MUCH. Special shoutout to Baby Ruth the very first unborn ODS member to complete their first WW in the womb (congrats Sweet Justice & Twix!!!) as well as the beautiful newlyweds Bear & Bananaz!! BONERTOWN FOREVER!!!!

xoxoxoxoxo PVT MEAT

p.s. slugga 4 sheriff 4 lyfe

[ghxstlly]

That's okay 😁

Let's change it then 🤔

What are there favourite and Least Favorite game?

And how did it end?

Taking 'game' to mean like, their favorite board game or whatever, I think Fear's favorite game is chess and his least favorite is operation (he finds it extremely nerve wracking)

Anger's favorite I think would be something like blackjack or poker, and his least favorite is Uno (Uno ANNOYS HIM)

As for how it went when they played, Fear probably convinced Anger to play chess with him just once, and he didn't care for it— mainly because Fear beat him easily every round.

On some other occasion, Anger taught Fear how to play blackjack, and then found himself somewhat annoyed when Fear was instantly better at it than he was 😂

[tentacion3099]

McLaglen-Peskett Close Combat Weapon used by the British SOE

CCW could be used to kill or incapacitate an enemy with three distinct methods. The first was striking with the alloy steel ball at the top of the weapon, like a blackjack. The second method was with a concealed gravity-activated spike which the operator could extend by pushing a retaining knob at the base of the weapon. Pushing the knob back into place once the spike was extended locked it into position.

The third method was with a coiled garrote wire, wrapped around the interior of the weapon. The garrote was 20 inches long when unspooled and was drawn using a ring in some models, and a steel ball in others

[simonxkeyes]

hi, tucks hair behind ear, giggles

what would ur ocs wear for halloween:3

Ironmonger wouldn't dress up for Halloween because he's a busy old man, but if he had to for some reason, he'd choose to dress up like a medieval king, with actual Georgian jewelry probably stolen by VILE operatives.

And I'm thinking off the top of my head for my other two CS ocs (who I have yet to mention on my tumblr at all 💀) Yellowjacket would probably wear Rocky's boxer outfit, robe and all.

Blackjack would pick something simple, probably thought of last minute like a black cat or the grim reaper.

Thanks for asking! @mochimouiemarty

[diejager]

I love your thought! Tbh as long as it's yandere, the relationship still has some toxicity no matter how sweet it seems. Let me add something more. Reader being clever to prevent Horangi to accuse her of cheating during the game:

•Making the offer when only Horangi and her can hear it THEN playing the game out in the open where fellow Kortac members can see and act as a judge, to prevent Horangi from accusing her of cheating.

•Having a newbie soldier who isn't influenced by inner politics yet handle the cards and check if one of them is cheating or not. It's also to show to the public that both are playing fair.

•Requesting Horangi to take his glasses off, and of course, taking your glasses off too if you wear any so that the card won't reflect on the glasses. Again, to make sure that you're not labelled as a cheater.

•Ensuring that the "If I win I'll grant you your wish and vice versa" thing remains between both of them. In the eyes of others, it's simply a really fair game of two soldiers. When in reality one of them is putting one's freedom at stake.

Reader knows that manipulation is Horangi's strength, therefore she gotta outsmart him.

Let me tell you, the base has eyes and ears everywhere, so the others would eventually hear about your little stunt and place bets, that’s what they do best when there’s no action. Some are betting for you and others for Horangi, it’s a half-half situation where most only want to see the chaos resulting to this squabble.

New operators are a bit harder, everyone knows at least someone in KorTac, you don’t get in without connection or experience.

The glass one would be possible, if Horangi can see clearly without it and vice versa, vision plays a big part in poker, blackjack and gambling. You need to see to know and understand, no?

But all in all, word gets out and either way, they feed off this kind of tea.

[meicoomontime]

She's waiting for BlackJack to finish an operation so she can tell him she left a data destroying hairball on the floor

[fantasyfantasygames]

Timebreakers

Timebreakers, Uwe Jones, 2017

A lot of time travel games involve you effectively playing the time cops. You're putting things back "the way they should be". Timebreakers is not that kind of game. Timebreakers is a time-travel heist game where you seek to disrupt very specific events in very specific ways.

See, you can't just go around murdering people. That's going to cause too much change. All sorts of unrelated things go out of wack when big important people, events, or objects ("keystones") go missing. You have goals that involve keeping the good parts of the world in place. You need to be in just the right place, at just the right time, to make the small change that snowballs into the perfect effect. Well, maybe not perfect, but better anyway.

The mechanics for the game are fairly typical for a modern-day expert-level game. You have seven mental / physical / social stats, some skills, and advantages. (No disadvantages in this one.) They're rated 1-20. The system is roll-under, blackjack style. Failures on Stress Rolls (rolls made in combat or under life-or-death situations) cause Stress conditions, which penalize your attributes in specific ways. For instance, the moderate-level Sprained Leg condition penalizes all your attributes in the short term, and your Speed in the long term. There's a bit of a death spiral. There are also Juncture points, which let you do dramatic editing. You build those up by making changes to the timeline.

The mechanics of time travel involve an "operator" in the future pulling you back and forth. It's very Matrix-feeling. The GM always plays the operator, which kind of feels like a missed opportunity. There's often static on the line, and your communications device has to be either in your ear (which means people can spot it) or built into your clothing (which means someone might damage it or take it away), so you can't always jump. It's mostly a mercy-of-the-dice thing. You don't track things as carefully as Continuum does, but it's not as anything-goes as Time Liner.

The art is thin-line drawings of time travelers doing things in the past, sometimes with a chain of them all doing the same thing or reversing it back and forth. Part modern comics, part art nouveau. I think it might be a very-well-employed vector graphics bundle, but I'm not 100% sure. It's very sparse - there are only six pieces throughout the book. The layout is not great. It uses a single column across a full-sized page, which is hard to read.

The book has an antagonist section, with 19th-century stats and directions for how to alter them for previous eras. There are, naturally, time cops to deal with, but one of the potential paths you can take is to neuter them first. The GMs section gives about a dozen different "chains of coincidence" you can meddle with and that's one of them. Meddle with it wrong and you end up having to time-cop yourselves!

Timebreakers is hidden away on DriveThru. There's a typo in the name that makes it unsearchable due to a non-ASCII character.