#blackjack was always Jack Black

[gaysaintseiyafan]

he's a happy puppy boy

Kei when he sees Black Jack:

:D

[koshkamartell]

This is my submission for the Dead Dove December 2024 event held by my dear friend @romana-after-dark. I hope you guys like it!

summary: oneshot set in AU, no outbreak. You are a down on your luck waitress who impulsively steals from a man at a casino one night. Unfortunately for you, he doesn't give up easily.

warnings: noncon anal penetration, degradation, coarse language, noncon digital penetration, gambling, theft, slut shaming, mention of sex work, unspecified hefty age gap, reader is feminine but not described in detail.

word count: 4,500

You knew he might try find you, but you didn't think he would go any further than the front doors of the casino. You thought he would stalk around the black jack tables a few times, search throughout the scores the slot machines, maybe even check the high rollers lounge and the rooftop balcony. You knew he would be angry when he realised what you did but you didn't expect him to bother chasing you too far.

You had high tailed it out of there pretty quickly once you stole the chips and cashed out, anyway. Out onto the strip you strutted, abuzz with smug triumph, holding tightly to your purse stuffed with cash. You checked into a hotel a few blocks away, deciding to treat yourself to a deluxe room with a queen sized bed and room service.

Sure, you had done the wrong thing. You knew you had. It wasn't that you were a bad person, though - you were just desparate. Living in a shitty trailer and working your ass off waitressing had driven you to the edge of hopelessness. You were sick of slaving away to earn enough money to survive through the week. You were sick of the disgusting men who oogled you and treated you like a piece of meat while you served them burgers and fries and endless cups of coffee. You had been beaten down by the hardships of life for years now and there never seemed to be any hope for a better future for you. You were never granted a reprieve from the drudgery of your dull existence, not even for a day.

Until the night you met Joel and got greedy.

Joel Miller rarely gambled. He enjoyed the occasional game of poker or darts with his work buddies but he was never a hustler. He had seen his little brother Tommy lose way too much money betting on football games and amateur poker tournaments to want to take a risk himself. He was definitely the more sensible of the two.

He wasn't a party animal, either. It wasn't in his nature to be wild and carefree; becoming a single dad at a young age and raising a daughter while earning a living as a contractor had moulded him into a pragmatic, no-nonsense kind of man. His workaholic dedication to his profession and his responsibilities as a parent had left little room for pleasure in his personal life, anyway.

And even though Joel's daughter is an adult now, living her own life in another state, he still leads a quiet existence outside work. Tommy teases him for being a boring old bastard, but the truth is Joel has always craved a simple life, so he's content with how things are. He downs a whiskey every night and more often than not falls asleep on the couch while watching a movie.

But tonight is different. One of the guys in his work crew is having a bachelor party, so Tommy finally had a good reason to drag Joel out of the house to enjoy a night out. Even though he grumbled and groused about being too old for this shit, Joel acquiesced and joined the group of men for a night of bar hopping (and even a visit to a strip club). At Tommy's insistence they ended up stopping at one of the casinos to try their luck at some poker and blackjack.

It took some convincing from the guys and a few shots of whiskey to get Joel to loosen up enough to get into the spirit of things. He won some money and lost some money but actually managed to have some fun along the way. He was going to call it a night but decided to lay a last minute bet at the roulette table, just for the hell of it. To his surprise he ended up winning.

"You lucky son of a bitch," Tommy laughed in shock, clapping Joel on the shoulder. "Who woulda thought?"

Joel grinned smugly and accepted the stack of chips offered to him by the table dealer. Emboldened by the win and the guys encouragement, Joel placed another bet on the roulette table but promised himself it was his last for the night. He braced himself for disappointment when the spinning wheel slowed down, reminding himself that everybody's luck ran out at some stage. The little round ball bobbled along the slots until it came to a halt on red 23, the slot that Joel had placed his chips on.

The men all whooped and cheered when they saw the result and Joel couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. The dealer pushed a large stack of chips towards Joel with an uttered congratulations, sir.

"Keep goin', man," Tommy whispered in his ear. "You're fuckin' killin' it, got a lucky streak, Joel, you gotta ride it."

Joel shook his head and collected the stacks of chips in his hands. "Tom, I just won ten grand. Odds are I'm gonna lose it all if I keep goin'."

Satisfied with his takings and ready to go home, Joel bid his brother and friends goodnight and went on his way to the cashier cage to cash out his winnings. He was standing in line waiting to be served when something bumped his elbow. He turned to look at what had knocked him, and there his eyes fell upon you.

You. Young, pretty, well made up. Dress short enough to show off your legs but just long enough to cover your ass. His eyes flickered down the length of your body and back up again, trailing over your cleavage before meeting your eyes. You were gorgeous.

"Oh, sorry about that!" You smiled brightly. "Didn't mean to run into you, mister."

Joel gave you a polite smile in return. "No problem, ma'am."

You fluttered your eyelids and sashayed away from him, glancing over your shoulder with a flirty little smirk. Joel felt his cheeks blush as he watched you leave, his gaze glued to the way your ass swayed with each step of your heels. Goddamn. He felt the blood rush to his cock. Were you actually flirting with him? No, surely not. You were way too young, way too attractive to want an old man like him. Shit, maybe you were a working girl, looking for a john for the night.

Joel shook his head and turned back to face the cashier's cage. He would have to resign himself to the fantasies in his head tonight.

It wasn't until he finally arrived at the cashier's desk and had his chips counted that Joel realised you had stolen $5,000 from him.

It has been about half an hour since your escape.

Your dress, underwear and heels lay discarded in a heap on the floor of your hotel room. Your unzipped purse sits on the nightstand by the bed, a thick wad of cash poking out from its pocket. You slip into a fluffy white bathrobe and stretch out on the bed to flick through the TV channels. Soon you'll take a bubble bath in the luxurious looking tub, then when your room service order arrives you'll stuff yourself with nachoes and a deluxe chocolate milkshake.

Fuck. You can't remember the last time you had experienced the granduer of being so pampered. You close your eyes for and sigh, savouring the moment of serenity for a minute. Right now you're in heaven, your own personal bubble of indulgence, and it feels fucking amazing.

A knock at the door startles you from your dreamy reverie. That must be room service, you guess. It has arrived earlier than expected, before you had a chance to hop in the bath, but a change in plans doesn't bother you too much. You've got all night, after all. You smile to yourself as you scramble off the bed and pad over to the door.

You twist the handle and open the door, expecting to be greeted by a smiling hotel employee carrying a fancy silver tray. Instead, you are met with the scowling face of the man you conned at the casino, his tall figure crowding the doorway. The sight of him right before you is like a nightemarish hallucination, and you gasp in fright, your heart leaping into your throat.

Despite being so caught off guard by his appearance your survival instincts quickly kick in. You hurry to try and slam the door shut but he's too swift; he wedges his work boot over the threshold to prevent it from closing before shouldering his way inside the room. You squeal and stumble backwards toward the bed, terrified by the intrusion.

How did he find you?

Joel calmly closes the door behind him and turns the lock. The soft sound of the latchbolt clicking into place prompts an ominous twist of dread to coil within your stomach.

Is he going to kill you?

"I'm sor--" you begin to say.

"No one ever teach you right from wrong?" Joel barks angrily, cutting you off. He glares at you with his dark eyes full of ire, his mouth set in a snarl of disgust. His large hands fidget by his sides and you worry that he's trying to repress the urge to beat the shit out of you.

Your heart hammers in your chest as your brain buzzes with anxiety and trepidation. You don't know what to do or say now that he's in such close proximity to you, his intimidating presence crushing all sense of security and confidence from you, leaving not even a modicum of courage in its wake.

Even though your mouth is dry and your throat feels like sandpaper, you speak impulsively before even thinking. "I didn't--"

"Think ya can just do whatever the hell you want?" He snaps, taking a step in your direction. "Steal from hard workin' folk and mess up their lives?"

"No!" You shake your head vehemently and shuffle blindly around the bedframe, not daring to take your eyes off of him. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean--"

Joel snorts derisively and takes another step closer; his footfall is slow and heavy, like he's unhurried to close the gap between you. "Didn't mean to rob me? Didn't meant to steal my money and fuck off?"

"I'll pay you back!" You blurt out in panic.

"Damn right you will," he snipes back. "Every fuckin' cent of it."

You swallow thickly and nod. "O-okay, so, I already spent some to get this room - but only for one night, I swear!" The explanation tumbles from your mouth. "But I can give you the rest now, and I promise I will pay you back!"

Joel's eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick once. "When?" He asks flatly. You stare at him and chew your bottom lip for a moment in deliberation. You already spent your weeks wage on rent and bills, leaving you with about ten dollars to your name until next week.

Shit.

"I, uhm, I get paid next Friday," you mumble sheepishly. "I can get you the money then."

He sighs, a heavy exhalation of frustration from his nose. He shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips. "'S too late."

"Please, please give me this one chance," you beseech, clasping your hands in front of you, your eyes wide and pleading. "Just give me until then."

"How much? How much did you use for this room?" Joel demands. You pause, trying to remember the nightly rate the concierge charged as well as mentally calculate the added room service.

"Uhm, I-I think it's a-a-bout $350," you stutter nervously. He huffs an exasperated sigh and runs his hand over the bottom half of his face. Seeing the man you swindled look so frustrated makes you feel embarrassed and childlike. "I'm sorry..." you mumble, ashamed of your greed.

"Here's what's gonna happen," Joel tells you sternly. "I'm gonna take back what you stole from me now, and you're gonna pay me that $350 back come Friday. No more excuses, you hear?"

"Yes, ofcourse," you agree earnestly, "I'll pay back every cent, like you said."

You glance over to the purse on the nightstand Joel stares at you in comtemplative silence, his jaw ticking as he assesses the situation.

"You do this often?" Joel asks after a few beats, his voice considerably more softer than before. It seems like he's gradually calming down. "That little slick act, battin' your eyes while you're stealin' from a man."

"No," you reply meekly, dropping your eyes to the floor. "I don't. I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm struggling with money right now...I was desperate."

A tense silence falls upon the room after your shameful admission. You hope he's taking pity upon you, that he can see just how apologetic you really are. But when your gaze shifts from the ground back up to Joel, you can immediately ascertain that sympathy for your circumstances is the last thing on his mind.

Joel remains where he stands, as still as a statue, but there's an unsettling intensity swirling within his chocolate brown orbs as he stares you down. The wrath which had consumed him is no longer reflected in his gaze; it has been replaced by something more sinister - something hungry, predatory. It sends a shiver up your spine.

Suddenly you feel incredibly self conscious; although you are covered by the plush terrytowel robe you feel naked and on display infront of him. You clutch the collar of your robe closed and clear your throat.

"Maybe you can show me just how desperate you are for that money," Joel muses darkly.

Your blood runs cold at the insinuation.

You've got to get out of here as fast as you can.

When he takes another step in your direction, you don't hesitate to launch yourself toward the bathroom to escape. He's swift to follow you, though; he sprints after you and crashes his shoulder against the bathroom door, flinging it wide open, leaving you trapped and with no where to run from him.

Joel might be really fucking angry at your audacity to steal from him, but there is something else bubbling within the scorching heat of his wrath that is far more wicked. It hit him the second you opened the door and gawped at him with wide, scared eyes and a trembling bottom lip. It intensified the longer he watched you flounder and apologise, so helpless and desperate for his understanding, and he found he could not ignore it for long. You look even more pretty than he recalled, especially when you are just wearing that hotel bathrobe.

What had started as a simmering in Joel's loins has escalated into a depraved and maddening state of arousal that has his cock now rock hard in his jeans. Seeing you plead and admit to your recklessness particularly excited him, perhaps because he saw it as an acquiescence to punishment. And Joel was more than happy to dole out punishment - whether you consented to it or not.

He cannot describe the victorious surge of power that overcomes him when he successfully captures you in his grasp. He grips a hunk of hair at the top of your head to keep you still, and you grimace as your scalp stings with the tight pull. His mouth sets into a grim line of determination while his other hand clumsily rips the bathrobe from your body. You shriek and bat at him with curled fists, putting up as much of a fight as you possibly can, but it makes no impact upon him at all - you are so small and weak in comparison to his tall, burly frame.

"Fuck sake," Joel snaps irritably. "Quit fightin' me." He throws the robe to the ground, leaving your naked body trembling with fear before him. He doesn't stop to touch you or even look at you - he just manhandles you over to the sink and shoves your body around to face the mirror. "Hold still."

He pins your hips against the edge of the sink with his own, the action causing your bones to press painfully into the cool marble surface. His iron grip on your hair forces your neck upright so that your face is directly infront of the mirror. You can feel the rough denim of his jeans on the backs of your thighs and the metal of his belt buckle on your ass.

"How about you show me some more of your little tricks," grunts, his low voice gravelly and slightly breathless. "How's that sound?"

"P-p-please don't," you sob, your vision blurring with warm tears. He ignores you, using the side of his boot to kick at your foot and spread your legs apart. You feel his hand jostle behind you as he hurries to unbuckle his belt.

"You want cash so bad?" Joel taunts in your ear, hastily unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. "You can earn it. "

He yanks his jeans and underwear down his meaty thighs, freeing his heavy balls and erect cock out of the confines of his underwear, the head already wet with precum. He uses his grip on your hair to roughly push the front of your upper body flat to the bathroom vanity. Your face smushes uncomfortably against the mirror.

"Arch your ass out, bitch." Joel jabs his elbow into the middle of your spine, forcing your hips to involuntarily tilt. "Let me see that fuckin' ass."

His other hand grabs your asscheek and he digs his blunt fingernails into the meat of your flesh, earning a pathetic whine from you. He pulls your cheek to the side to expose your asshole to his perverted gaze before letting out a hungry groan. "Pretty little hole you got there, honey."

He was planning on just fucking your pussy, but holy shit, seeing you spread like this is so tantalising, like your ass is just waiting to be split wide open.

He can't resist.

Joel spits a warm wad of saliva onto your asscrack and watches it slide down to your asshole. Your body jolts at the weird sensation, your limbs vibrating with fear, but Joel's steel grip of your hair keeps you restrained against the vanity.

He uses the fat pads of his two fingers to smear the glob of spit over your hole. He's decided to be generous tonight, giving you a little preparation so you won't pass out on his dick. Yeah, he wants to punish you, but he also doesn't want the goddamn concierge busting down the door because you're screaming in pain.

His fingertips prod at your ring with the clear intention of opening you up, and that's when you start to cry harder, warbling pleas for him to stop and to not to go any further. Joel smirks to himself and pays no heed to your words; he sinks his two fingers into your hole, all the way to his middle knuckles, and you wail at the sharp discomfort.

"Shut up," Joel orders, beginning to scissor his fingers in and out of you. He stares down at his minstrations while you weep pitifully. He's mesmerised by the way your hole clenches and unclenches around his digits, imaginging how perfect you would feel around his cock, squeezing him just right. He keeps fingering you for a little longer until his desire becomes too ravenous to put off any longer.

Joel withdraws his fingers from you, briefly admiring the way you clench around nothing. He takes hold of the head of his cock and jams it against the puckered ring of your asshole, ready to push inside.  You start to screech and bash your legs against the vanity in distressed protest, but Joel is quick to subdue you. He crushes his knees into the backs of your thighs, his burly frame easily constraining your lower half.

"Better for both of us if you stop strugglin'," he growls. "Gonna hurt a hell of'a alot more if you don't."

He doesn't waste any longer. He drives his hips forward and forcefully jabs the tip of his fat dick through the first tight ring of your asshole. Your cries suddenly cease as the burning pain engulfs you, your eyes squeezing shut and your mouth falling open in a silent scream. The room fills with the sound of Joel's heavy breathing and the jangle of his belt buckle. He ruts into you, gradually feeding his thick length further inside your ass with shallow, stuttering bursts.

"That's it," Joel croons, voice slurring with lust. "Take it, baby, just take it."

Satisfied that you're now in a state of paralysed submission, he releases his hand from your hair and siezes the cheeks of your ass in both his meaty palms. He spreads them wide and tilts his chin down to watch your defilement, hypnotised by the sight of his cock slowly spearing your tight hole.

Joel eventually slides all the way inside you, his pubic bone flush with the globes of your ass and his heavy balls pressed against the lips of your neglected pussy. He moans brokenly as he revels in the snug warmth enveloping the entirety of his dick.

"Goddamn," he mumbles to himself. "So tight."

Joel retracts his hips until he's pulled almost all the way out of your asshole, then he plunges back inside in one smooth stroke. You expel a guttural howl and grip the edge of the sink so tight your fingertips turn white, your whole body quivering below him.

"Actin' like you ain't never been assfucked before," Joel groans out. He withdraws once more, but this time he slams back into your body with a mighty thrust that forces you to rise up to your tiptoes. He takes pleasure in the ragged scream that rips from your throat and the way your hole contracts around his dick.

"N-n-no," you manage to choke out, your throat thick with unshed tears and mucus. Joel slides his large calloused hands around the curve of your hips to hold you in place before repeating the action again. You bawl again and reach a shaky arm behind you to push against his belly, a futile attempt to get him to stop.

"Don't tell me a slut like you ain't had a dick up her ass," he spits down at you. "Bet that's exactly how you earn your money. When you ain't stealin' it.'

It is impossible for you to muster a response when Joel begins to cant his hips in long strokes, gradually busting you open. The momentum of his broad body keeps your face shoved close against the mirror, the glass fogging with every loud, agonised sob you emit. His balls smack lewdly against your skin with each thrust.

Your body goes slack against the vanity counter as Joel continues to violate you over and over. He's lost in the animalistic pursuit of his pleasure and your punishment, his hefty cock barrelling in and out of your tight asshole with a merciless rhythm. His fingers squeeze your hips in a bruising hold. You feel so good wrapped around him, too fragile to fight back.

"Thought about fuckin' ya," Joel admits inbetween heavy pants. "At the casino. Wanted to fuck you so bad when I first saw ya."

You weep pathetically, lungs aching with every battered breath you inhale, your body going more slack and weak the longer Joel indulges in your suffering. He is so big, bigger than any other man you've ever been with, and there is no way you could adjust to his girth so suddenly, especially in your ass.

"Maybe I shoulda just slipped you a twenty. Bet that woulda had you droppin' your panties right then and there."

Saliva pools in your mouth and drips out the corners of your lips as your mind starts to detach from your physical body.

"Wreckin' ya good, ain't that right, baby?" Joel moans. "Fillin' you up so good, ain't gonna be able to walk for days."

He continues fucking you with a possessed, primal rapacity. He can't remember the last time he fucked with such reckless abandon - maybe never - and he knows he won't last long. He's too drunk on the domination he holds over you to delay his orgasm any longer.

"Gonna ruin this slutty asshole. Have you leakin' everywhere."

Joel pistons into you harder and faster as he chases his orgasm. His heart beat pounds in his ears and he can no longer hear your cries when his escasty soon reaches a fever pitch. It hits him with a blinding intensity that he wasn't prepared for; his head back falls back and his eyes squeeze shut as he explodes inside your ass.

"Fuck," he grunts and huffs like a beast. "Fuck, take it, ya little whore, take it all."

You whimper as he slows down his movements to a rocking motion, sawing back and forth to let your asshole milk the cum from his cock. When he's finished, Joel slips his softening cock out of you, coaxing a vulgar squelching sound from your hole.

He staggers backward, his gait slightly off balance as he comes down from the high of his orgasm. His chest heaves as he stares at your naked ravaged body sprawled infront of him. Your legs tremble for a moment before you collapse onto the bathroom floor, unable to remain standing without Joel's strength pinning you. You hug your arms around your shaking body and curl up on the ground, tears and snot spilling down your face.

Joel watches you wordlessly. He wipes his hand down his sweaty face and sighs. He doesn't feel remorse - why should he? You ripped him off. You stole money he needs for his business, for his house, for his daughter. You deserved this.

You don't dare look at him while he hitches up his underwear and jeans. All you want is for this nightmare of a man to finally leave you alone to lick your wounds. He tucks himself back in and belts up while you dig your fingernails into your arms, deep enough to draw blood.

You hear the heavy footfalls of his boots as he swaggers out of the bathroom. He crosses to the nightstand and retrieves the wad of cash from your purse. He stops to study your ID card, noting your age and your name. Fuck, you're younger than he thought. He scans over your address. And you live in a shitty part of town. Maybe you really were desperate. He flicks through the bills of money and counts, making sure the $4,650 is still there, then stuffs it in his pocket.

Joel walks back to the bathroom but doesn't enter, instead lingering outside, not bothering to give you another look. "Forget the three fifty," he calls from the doorway, his voice gruff. "You earned it."

It goes quiet for a few moments, then you hear the front door unlock and open. It shuts with a resounding thud and your wish to be alone is granted.

tags - @romana-after-dark @romanarose

[joannasteez]

with me, the world is yours

pairing: roman reigns x black reader authors note: i wrote all of this late summer/early fall and after breaking away from it for so long, i've kind of lost the drive to finish the story in the original way i'd intended to write it, BUT, i am willing to add to it in small ways with little drabbles and such. so whoever reads this, please consider it as background/exposition and or a prologue to whatever gets added to it. if anyone wants to see something added to this specific story please drop me scenarios in my inbox!! word count: 8k

he liked to walk the floor

carpet smooth beneath the expensive drop of his heel and toe. hubris a limitless force, the broad width of his chest swelling. pride, unsullied, raw and ever simple in its existence. it was a deep elegant staining streak along his being that refused to leave him, unless of course he willed it so. and the casino floor of The Summer Isle Hotel, his hotel, filled with this great thundering of rage and joy and desperation. tiny drops of poker chips like small striking claps. the flipping of cards giving that easy slipping swoop against padded black jack tables. the hum of the room was loud, because the room itself seemed, to his eye, to never end. a tenacious buzzing that simmered his blood quick, excited. 

the night was young. restless. ruby red suede heels moving, clever and seductive. the color of champagne at every corner his eyes took him, bubbling rich in flutes and set in the sweet form of silk dresses. pearls sitting tempting over cleavages and diamonds dressing the sturdiness of fingers that roamed the figures of excitable women. emeralds, jades and sapphires, taking every shape against the skin that would have it. 

earrings, anklets, rings, bracelets......

whiskey and brandy swishing in glasses......

dry champagne hitting the tongue just right......

bodies hugging, lips kissing, eyes glazed over and just so damn greedy......

this...this ceaseless atmosphere. the un-quelled need to have. to take hold. to win. 

roman loved to walk the casino floor of his hotel. 

but he hated, absolutely hated cheaters. fucking thieves, cunning-less and eager. their tact lacking just as much as their ambition. roman figured, if their schemes were anymore complex, then he'd feel somehow better about their stealing. he'd at least respect their finesse before using their heads to shove them out the entryway doors of the establishment. and what a fine establishment it was, built off the sweat of his brow, his, others, blood and many tears. owning a hotel on the vegas strip was no easy feat and he'd be damned if someone disrespected it. disrespected his work. his vision. 

...so then why?...

your eyes flit over to a table just some feet away. 

...why did he let you play your games?...

a man in muted clothes gives you a signal. many silent signals, ones roman was once oblivious to, but now overly familiar with, as if he created them himself. 

...four seconds of a stare. one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four. four meaning spade, given they were following the alphabetical order of the suits. 

the man, face more punchable by the minute, touches his nose. meaning, the spade is a face card. 

and the fucking dealer is young, flips up his card too easily, exposing just before he deals.

roman wants to do many things. to the man, the dealer, and the other pairs around the other blackjack tables following the same system. his fingers curl, ball inward till his palm pains him but his eyes remain as they always did. fiercely void, teetering delicate on some fine line of violence, until you move. speak. 

"blackjack", you call. with just enough disinterest that prides the flow of his blood. makes him smirk.

"they've all been at it for days", paul bristles. 

"end it", roman calls, walking away. 

---

you despised most men, despised their presence, looking at them, unnecessarily speaking to them, breathing the same air as them. they'd bred more trouble than they were ever worth and always, without fail, served up to you, on some disgusting dish, half baked and ill formed, the least discreet of charms, to win even slivers of your attention. it was the usual lousy song and dance, artless and heavy handed. you despised most of them, because they led you to places like these with promises too alluring to ignore. all you wanted, want still, is the money. its all you need. 

and they'd all but manhandled you from the casino floor to a room. two men, one barely distinguishable from the other, but then again...they donned shades that matched their disapproving looks. lips turned in scrutiny. but what the fuck did they know anyway?... fuck them and this...this room. a holding of some sort. walls white, chairs black, a purposeful minimalistic touch crafted to intimidate. and it was working...even if just slightly. 

your chair creaks, wooden and anxious. you hated this, always would. this forceful feel of surrendering. 

and you don't speak first, but because of that neither does he. 

grey's scattered about his beard, scarce but still there. slight face lines...stress maybe?...and tawny specks living as freckles. he's groomed to perfection but still there's something about him, a flare in his eye that lends itself to a buried ruggedness. a meticulous sort of brutality. 

and he's just sitting there... 

...close to you but not too close. enough to open you with his eyes, but not enough to leave you breathless...

he's practiced in this. patient. 

...he can't do this all day... you think, till his body sits more comfortable than before. he will if he has to, and he will. to prove a point. to win. 

the room is cold. sterile. you shiver some, the first to say anything. 

"i didn't do anything wrong". 

"then why so defensive?"

you felt some ways away from lethal and the reasons for such a feeling mounting more every second. forming knots in your belly, heat and pressure. guilt and a sickly intrigue. his voice was rich and deep. smooth and commanding. if in another place, at some other time, you could see yourself falling for that voice, lulled and taken by it. you hate it, the hot twinge it drives into your skin. you grow sharp, words throwing like daggers. 

"if you were me, sitting where i am, you'd be defensive too". 

"i could have you brought up on charges", he presses. toying really. flip and flopping between seriousness and sarcasm. the heels of his shoes click the floors, and you fall slow into the creak of the chair, pulling away from the size of him as he approaches. he bends, levels with you, but even this feels like a looking down upon. "cheating and swindling. maybe even restitution". 

"what?" you start. you cant help your self. "not nice enough for a little jail time". 

you see his jaw shift. "smart mouth". 

you move in with a sudden spell of boldness. "fuck you". your lips twist to spit against the floor. "and fuck your casino". 

it's quick. harsh. his fingers long and curling at your jaw. he's warm, grip steady despite the push of your hands. he feels the fight in you, regardless of how soft you are to the touch. skin tender, like untouched feathers. 

but still... that damn mouth of yours. 

"you tried remember", mirthless but not. 

"don't fucking touch me", you rant. hitting at him harder. attempting without end to pry away his fingers, until finally he lets go. 

and it's rather shortsighted but brave nonetheless, the way your feet carry you to go at him. to do what exactly? you're not to entirely sure. but it doesn't matter much anyways, not when he's this mountain of a man. herculean and spiting. resolute in fucking with you a little for whatever enjoyment he can get out of the situation, and you know this to be true when your momentum to him is soured, a scream bleeding coarse through the walls. 

the dense walls block most of the action, but the scream of pain is undeniable. the faint crush of bone breaking through to where you are, fixing you to the floor where you stand in some sickly mixture of fear and surprise. 

"the money or their fingers i asked them". his stare is heavy. daunting. "some of them chose money, but of course they get to keep neither". he walks to the single entry-exit door. body taking up most of the frame. "paul, escort the young lady back to her room". 

you scoff on instinct. hating the condescension his tone takes. you shift by them both in a way that knocks your shoulders into their arms. paul's chalky, round face as amused as his boss. 

"i can escort myself". 

---

amongst the other's lining the vegas strip, The Summer Isle Hotel is the second largest. and where the floors lack that bold blood red carpeting, there is laid instead a fine marbling, in the endless halls and walkways, polished enough to see even the faintest of facial details. the ceilings venture high, littered with crystal chandeliers and in the walls and on ceilings are engraved these renaissance inspired paintings. there is this rhythm to the place, something archaic and forever far away, that is meant to always be desired. as people sip champagne, drunk and more verbose by the second, bleeding their pockets dry to their hearts content, the artistry of the hotel leaves them wondered and greedy. that even as they eat the finest food and drink the oldest wines, there is more to indulge in. more to have, to reach that unreachable place of pure luxury.

it was extravagant and all consuming, and pieces of you wondered what it all felt like. to never want or lack for it, because it was just simply there, at the edge of your fingertips. 

the hotel was big enough to get lost in, big enough to lose others in, so when paul sits himself at your table for two, security detailing not too far, just at the edges of the bar, you grow weary and annoyed. he'd been looking for you. 

you swirl your drink with a cocktail straw. feeling the pressure of his stare. "im being babysat now?" 

his hands fold with an instinctive diplomacy. 

"just call it reassurance". 

reassurance...that was bullshit. you didn't need to be told things more than once, especially when the talk was as loud and showy as it was earlier. "he made it pretty clear what can happen. i'm a cheater, not stupid". 

"there isn't always much of a difference between the two".

you hum, sipping what's left of your drink. "if you're gonna chat me up, buy me another drink then". his brow raises, as if in waiting. you sigh, annoyed at having to perform niceties. "please". 

its expert and concise, a look and just under a handful of gestures to the bartender, but his awareness never wavers from the already empty cocktail glasses where vodka-cran once filled. three to be exact. this fourth, he hopes, would be your last, as it was now that the glazing over of your eyes was coming underway. and he'd originally been an advocate for roman's earlier display of brutish prowess, and still is in all honesty, but seeing you, it did unsettle him in very few but poignant ways. he knew enough to know that you were attempting a drowning of frenzied nerve. sitting here, he hopes you understand, like everything else on the strip... its just business. 

paul shifts. bringing his chair slightly closer. "the system you use on the blackjack tables, how long did it take to come up with it?" 

"not long, maybe a few minutes", you start. sipping and thinking on whether to indulge him or not. but it seems to you now that the whole trip has gone to complete shit so why not. "it's all about assigning basic signals to cards but it's the memory part that fucks people up. memory and performance anxiety". paul chuckles at the absurdity and you grin, slightly pleased at his interest. "practicing in a warehouse versus being on a casino floor, at a table. it's different. anything can happen". 

you push away the drink. satisfied. paul's eyes turn soft, with what you think is relief. why relief?

"and then theres the whole finding a weak dealer situation", you continue. "no offense, you guys have a better looking hotel but the venetian runs tight security". 

"noted". 

its your turn to shift in your chair. asking the question you've been wanting the answer to since the moment happened. "why didn't he break my fingers?" 

"who knows. maybe he's waiting for you to get stupid", paul jokes. 

"you either are or you aren't. no in between". 

"that means you'll stay put then?" 

you scoff. "what, i'm on lockdown?"

"the boss says you're free to do as you please. just no stealing".

you smile coy, standing to leave. "you wouldn't mind covering the tab then? can't seem to find my wallet". 

---

thief. cheater. schemer. you've heard many names and resented none of them, because at their root, the truth remained what it was. it was artistry. and if you're clever enough, sharp enough, quick enough, finessing could be masterful. the constant putting together of a challenge, a game. and it was practical to love games, because good players win. 

but this? this was not practical. he was not practical. 

he seemed to be playing a different game entirely. you figure solely to spite you. a figurative spitting in the face if you will. 

every waiter of every bar in every corner of the hotel knew your cocktail order. vodka-cran with lime, extra ice. a splash of club soda. 

the security detail seemingly doubled overnight and each of them never failed to greet you. a smile and a head tipping nod. 

casino floor personnel, always with a subtle but sudden direction, pointed out to you the slots that paid out the biggest and the most often. 

the restaurants you dined in refused to give you the check and when you asked why, flustered and confused, they gave the same answer every time. 

"because the boss said so". 

complementary goods in your hotel room. aged wines and sweets. 

tickets to shows you neither wanted to attend or cared for.

if you were a different woman, who lived a different life, you figure she'd find this every bit as enticing as it was. enchanting even. grand gestures made out of some sickly sweet distant admiration. but you were not her and most men you knew or had known only did things; provided, loved, cared, with condition. so only one questioned remained. why? and after days of guessing games, a stomach turning foreboding shifted swiftly to irritation. he'd upped the ante finally, moving from these fairly small gestures, which to you were not small at all, to something a little bit too much for you to take. 

and you wonder now if he knows that he's reached your end, knocking hard at the ceiling of your limits. body simmering hot with this slow to finish unraveling feeling. as if at any moment unknown to you, you'll break in some uncontrolled fit of rage. he was becoming more persistent, silent still but more persistent and the affects of such persistence were all around you. soft wool carpeting where marble floors ended, a detailed fretwork spanning every corner of the ceilings, and french sliding doors connecting you to a wide stretched pool looking over the vegas strip. 

"the boss sends his regards", housekeeping said after it was all said and done. 

from the 6th floor straight up to the 39th, he'd gotten them to move everything you'd bought with you. your clothes, shoes, purses, from a studio room you could just barely pay for, to the penthouse suite. 

all of this, and a tiny note atop the dresser. 

enjoy your stay - roman

"roman", you try aloud. 

it isn't till the next day that you realize he's quite fond of leaving these little letters. words thin and cursive. messages brief enough to never reveal even a semblance of his thoughts. 

friday morning his words scribble a small card stuck to the center of a bouquet of white roses. 

white desdemona's. enjoy the roses - roman

you struggle for sometime in the bright silence of the morning. the busyness of the vegas strip bleeding a hum in through the sliding french doors. it wouldn't be hard, indulging him. cling fast and easy to soft petaled gestures, quelling finally that wayward need for a romantic sort of fascination. buried so long ago but clawing upwards tirelessly still, begging for relief. but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, which in the same breath meant denying him. tearing that pristine white card in two and setting the roses out to sit just in front your suite door. to send a message, simple but strong, enough for him to understand. 

a sudden knock urges you to settle into a resolution quickly. quicker than you were prepared for. the white card now in your hand tearing into two pieces with a twist of your wrist as you go to open the door. 

its house keeping. 

you place the torn paper in their hand before stepping out of the suite, furthering more down the hallway to the elevator by the second. the roses themselves were too lovely to get rid of anyways. 

"tell your boss i send my regards". 

---

would you believe them?

a less than modest woman from the north east, standing above the illustrious wonder of the vegas strip. and from your glass flute a slow, smooth sip, along with some restless awakening of a dream, even if it last only for a moment. an imagining from this high place, that with a deep sure breath like some figure from beyond with a vast primordial power, you gave life to this idle desert, and with sun and sand, birthed from pure will what they call fabulous las vegas. but this must be what he feels, day after day, night after night, standing above the rest, the staunch rush of pride, like something simmered well into the run of his blood. for you it was this endless day dream, the money, the power, the access, but for him, it seemed real. it was real. 

and still the question remains... would you believe them? a cunning woman, wrapped strapless in leather fine enough to please even the most marred skin, and heels that extend the vicious form of your legs. 

just tuesday you were cursing the good name and fortune of this place with your dna splat just mere inches from his shoes, and now here you are friday, waiting for him. 

if they, whoever they are, told you sometime ago that you'd be here, you wouldn't have believed them. 

he'd done well to send another card, and with it, another gift. 

the rendezvous. 7pm - roman

he'd gotten house keeping to do more of his dirty work, the poor bastards, but even their precision was daunting. the placement of the card, and the gift, and the complementary wine, and a single blooming stargazer. the petals dainty and blushing. it'd left you standing deep in a well of emotion, finding everything he'd left, and your bed taken by a box. the lid pulled off quickly by that gnawing urge to indulge him. and despite his initial brutish behavior and persistence, it was safe to say that the man was not void of taste. 

but it would be more sensible to deny yourself,  like a chant, it'd echoed, and your fingers ran over the plains of something silky. a dress, cool raven color, strong and subduing, but the fabric was so fine to the touch it'd felt criminal to hold. and with it had lived perfumes, bottle after bottle, as if he feared you'd somehow go without. and... fuck... sitting, waiting really, in a satin pouch... two pairs of goddamned diamond earrings. one pair smaller than the other, but both far more delicate than most things you'd ever owned. and soon the short warm swell of excitement had grown cold and hesitating. why was he doing this? what did he want from you? 

they were questions you intended to get answers to and it seemed if they weren't answered now then who knows when, unsure if you'd ever see him again. 

"you didn't like the roses"

your heart takes to some quick instinctual beating. a ragged fraying of nerves just off the simple sooth and strength of his voice. before, in that silent white room, you were sharp, aware of him but the power of his aura did nothing to sway your wanting to see him pained by your indifference to him. now though... it was so damn different now it seemed, as you were a small ways away from a purely formed nervousness. 

you turn just enough to give him your profile, sipping slow at the flute, steeling one buzz under your skin away with another. "i'd like them more if they were red". you face him finally, staying leant up against the balcony railing of the restaurant. "but it seems i don't have much option or choice here". 

"no need to choose when everything is the best". 

"that doesn't sound self important at all". 

"doesn't make it any less true". 

champagne has never tasted so good, you think, sipping and fighting the impulse to look away from him. his eyes softer than before but still lying in them are traces of searching for some unspoken truth. it was a much more subdued attempt compared to before, every pass his eyes made about your own, short flickers to your lips, the way you clutched the glass, your hair, your jewelry, the dress you were wearing, like a gentle pealing back of a layer. less scrutiny out of a short bout of anger and more of a learning. he'd come to the conclusion after watching you leave the white room all those days ago that he wanted to learn you. 

here now, watching you sip champagne, he wondered if you'd let him. 

"listen", you start. taking a closer step to him, with some new found form of resolution, and its hard to keep this will strong and steeled away when he's this close. scent heady and soothing to your senses. "i don't know what you're thinking, but i do know that you got me a lot of fucked up for just hauling my shit-"

"the suite is yours for as long as you want it" 

"i'm not paying for it"

his grin is warm. inviting. long fingers slipping the flute from your hold after its been emptied to set it down at a nearby table. "it's yours anyways". 

your confusion is palpable, lives in the way you retreat closer to the banister again, for fresher air void of him. in hopes to think more clearly. "just the other day you practically had me hemmed up and now you're-"

"that was different. it was business". 

you scoff. "business my ass, fuck you-"

"and fuck my casino, i know". 

it's your go to insult it seems, this time having less of an affect on him, but still there is something there. a small stinging pain bruising the very large stain of ego. 

you look to him with searching eyes of your own. "so the wine... and-and the roses and just... everything, i mean thats?..."

"gifts. just gifts. not to be payed back ever". 

your face fixes in a fashion similar to the first time you spoke to him. eyes defensive and unsure, brows pulling in for a full measure of scrutiny. "why?"

"have dinner with me". 

you press again. "why?" 

"because", he starts, with a streak of vulnerability. "all of my attention is taken up by a casino resort on the strip of one of the busiest places in the world but for some reason, for the last 72 hours or so i've only been able to think clearly about you".

your eyes roll off instinct despite the flutter feeling in your gut. "am i supposed to be flattered?"

"its the truth". 

roman hadn't been a man who lent himself to believing in chance or possibility for sometime. if he wanted something, or hell even someone, it simply happened, because thats the way it had been, since the first burst of the resorts success till before this very moment. when he spoke, the world of the resort opened and bent, twisted and curved till it formed to his liking, so much until the effects of his wants rippled through the whole of the strip till they echoed miles away, through the rolling of nevada desert dust. but you...

the click of your heels, the soft sway of your hips, the way words twisted from your lips comfortable because you knew yourself well enough to know that regardless of his capabilities you'd do something drastic and a bit ways away from reckless before ever letting him get the best of you. 

that bravery, an unflinching flame, new and unpredictable and different and more exciting than anything he'd seen in sometime. 

whether you were leaving or staying, he follows you and savors even the cut of your eyes. it's quick and fierce, unsure of its power but stripping the resolve of him all the same. and of course a curt look is all you give him, as he opens the door to the rendezvous and follows you in, not a word to him as waiters and well off patrons pass the both of you by. a leisure walk around pristine white cloth dressed tables and velvet chairs, each of your steps like some small conquering of a widely secured territory. his territory. you move more sure of yourself by the second and it rushes his warm and wanting. 

with no real hurry, roman pulls out the chair you've picked to sit in just before you can make to do it yourself, finding himself closer than he needs to be, just some inches from your face. each breath in, sweet and tempting. the perfume he bought you...

you sit without a word, not even a thank you, and he finds himself more drawn in by the second. 

it isn't until he sits himself that roman realizes you've chosen a seat at the center of the restaurant. and whether it's purposeful or not, it's damn sure fitting. 

a trivial orbit of faces and voices. 

"you don't take no for an answer do you?"

"when you're where i am, after a while, you stop asking and getting asked. you never even have to hear no". 

its arrogant, eye roll worthy even, but you don't miss the truth in it. the pull of his brows together, lending themselves to a pure honesty. and it's hard, quelling that pull up of envy. to be so well off, so rich, never having to answer to any one. i wish, you thought. i wish

your finger trails along the fine table cloth. "i must have you so out of sorts then, how rude of me". 

"it's fun", he grins. a single finger signaling someone. " 'm learning my manners again". 

and there was this fidelity to his words ......everything is the best because i am the best...... a quality that spilled over into everything that he touched, spoked to, looked at, and did. it was this undeniable thing, a force, that caused such a natural hesitation in you, but also this impulse to fight. you wanted to struggle against him, war with the easy diligence of him till he folded. cracking under the weight of his hubris till large fragmented pieces ground to dust. but you would not win that battle today, no, not as waiters execute their level of precision, plate after plate set atop the table in such a meticulous manner that it seemed to be planned. a well thought scheme with the intent to impress. dish after dish, revealed, one after the other smelling more divine than the one before it. 

the waiter, an adorably eager young man, falls into a spiel about the wine you can't be bothered to care about. his work of a perfect pour all for nothing. it nearly pains you. "i'll take a water please". 

the waiter flattens. a curt nod as he hurries away. 

"it's vintage", roman says. seemingly unaffected by your disinterest in old aged wine. 

" 'm sure it is". eyeing him. the sip his lips take. "seems you've had things all planned out. what if i'd said no?" 

"someone else's lucky night then. a free meal on the house".

"do you have a ready made answer to everything?". 

"i am who i am. it's impossible not to".  the cut of your knives into plated steaks reveals this smooth buttery finish. the meat tender against the blade and more so to the taste. and it takes everything in you not to moan or go cross eyed, not when he's watching your every move. seemingly studying and committing your eyes and lips and words to memory. no, you simply chew. sip at your water and live as quiet in your delight as possible. till of course it hits you, not as hard or sudden as one would expect, but it's more of a washing over. a stilled piecing together that quickens your pulse and frowns out the apathy on your lips. 

you stare down at your plate. a short ways away from dumbfounded. "you know how i like my steak".  even the way he chews is perfect. measured and steady. a luxurious sort of etiquette steeped into the make of him. but you find that his manners are selective, as he doesn't even bother to meet your eyes. low sitting and accusing. he chews as you did, but with more leisure. the slice of his knife and the clink of his fork fighting against the waiting you do in the silence. even when he works to indulge you, he abides in his own time, lets you wrestle with the trivial chatter of the room the way you did not so long ago with the abundance of his gifts. 

he wipes his mouth with a cloth. a feigned unawareness about him. 

"the chefs know how you like your steak".

you scoff. maybe your tenth eye roll of the night. " and the bartenders so conveniently know how i like my cocktails too". 

he sips his wine easy like he would water. "they have an eye for detail, thats why they work here". 

"or maybe", you start. fork an obnoxious clinking at the plate as it drops dramatic from your fingers. "just maybe it's someone else's eyes they're looking through. someone else's words they're following". 

"maybe". 

...so fucking goddamn frustrating... you think. eyeing the full table of food. and it's less anger and more confusion, that slow to finish fraying of nerves. these things that he does, says, that leave you emotionally inconvenienced. 

"you don't know how insane it feels, night after night, trying to pick up a check for dinner and the waiter refuses your money. it feels like stealing". 

he chuckles. "something you should be used to then". 

"fuck you. i only steal out of necessity". 

and this was it, the thing from which his curiosities where born, feverish in his fingers. an ache to flex broad and wide, to do and make till need was just a distant word laying dead at the recesses of your mind. necessities were strange, and if it became flesh and bone with legs and the will to speak it too would be a stranger to him. roman had not wanted for anything in some time, and if he felt in himself that he needed something, the readiness by which it came to him revealed only that he did not need it, but that he wanted it, in that covetous way that a man wants another mans woman. and so it became natural, that others around him would not need for anything either. 

the way he's settled into the velvet of the chair becomes less leisure, leaning in slightly with a more focused determination. "what do you need?" 

your smile is wry. unconvinced. "like you care". 

"if you could have anything, what would it be?"

the list was endless it seemed, a question you'd asked and answered thousands of times and then thousands of times again. cars, houses, shoes, clothes, jewelry, yachts, boats. trivial and obnoxiously expensive things even, if it meant that you could feel the freedom of just being. it was an easy thing to answer, but so hard still when all the answers were far away from you, never even brushing faint at your fingertips. 

and he thinks in this moment, your eyes softening, this is the most serious he's ever seen you. 

"i wanna be comfortable. enough not to worry about anything". 

"and why aren't you there yet?"

"i tried", a finger of yours slipping against the grip of the cutting knife. "but you stopped me". 

but how could he question you? was your drive, your diligence to get what you wanted not legitimate because it was not legal? and with this, the question forms clear again, why the fuck were you here? 

"a man at the top asking me why i'm all the way down here", your head shaking in this sly build of indignation. he had some nerve. "you don't see how shitty that is?" 

roman feels something in him lessen. a deep pulling away that reflects in the flare that takes to your eyes. an edge that leaves the room a bit cooler than before. how could he have been so stupid and blind? judging you for the very thing that had left him in this whirl of curiosity and admiration. 

" 'm not tryin to offend you". 

"but here i am. offended". 

he shifts, reaches the wide stretch of his palm to lay open against the table. an olive branch close enough for you to reach out and take. "let me make it up to you". 

you consider him. the outstretch of his palm. fingers strong and waiting. the way his eyes settle into this mild sort of kindness that still lends itself to something not so pleasing. the warm lights amongst the crystals of hanging chandeliers casting along his face in such a way that it shadows his eyes some but still shines against his features. speaking so clearly to the deepened well of his hubris, always revealing and hiding itself in his own time. he is a sure man, wanting only what he wants, but seeks it in such a diligent way that it suffocates the things, the people that he desires. but maybe, just maybe, if you leave him wanting, challenged and needy, he would give you everything. 

your finger tips move to tease at his. this faint dancing along his palm. "if you're gonna send me gifts, make sure it's things i like". touch a sly caress at his wrist. "i'm not a wine girl, and i hate seeing flowers die". 

he lets your touch play along his skin. revels silent in the rush it sends, a jetting stream into his blood. 

"what do you prefer?"

you slip off a ring that shines against his pinky. fitting it onto your middle one. your stare is this rapturous thing. hypnotic and breath taking, and he understands why you've probably gotten away with so much till now. 

"i have a sweet tooth". 

"i can work with that".

you hum into a sigh, considering still. your hand balling his own to close that reaching opened palm before you settle back into your chair. more eased now than you've been the whole night. 

"i hope so for your sake". 

and roman does not hesitate often, certainly never out of fear. he doesn't mind the manner of his words much, or their phrasing and the life it breathes into his expression. he doesn't suffer much to care for the thoughts of others and their own words, unless of course it somehow seeks to exist against his money, the resort or the greatness of his name. roman wasn't fearful, no, but being here with you, caution takes him all the same. like those tentative seconds where the lucky struck gambler is suspended in possibility, waiting for the dealers reveal. 

his words take to a mindfulness, as if each word is brought out selectively. "has anyone ever offered, to take care of you. buy you things. take you places". 

you laugh in that small uncontrollable way, when something, after so much confusion, becomes clear. because of course this is what he wants. of-fucking-course. 

"some have. i always told them no".

"why?"

to think of it, even if just slightly, annoyed you. "conditions. restrictions. rules. you can't go there, you can't do this. that's not care". 

"control is an acquired taste". 

a grin slips into the seam of your lips. curious. "is it yours?" 

his tongue peaks, a short run against his teeth, and something deep within, this buried and slow to rise feeling tightens at your core. maybe it wouldn't hurt to have a taste of wine.

his grin matches yours. "not if it ain't yours". 

"out of all the woman everywhere, why me?" 

"you try to steal from me, you spit on my casino floor, and you ain't missed a chance yet to tell me how you feel". 

"we're into degradation i see", you joke. and it gets a laugh you think not many have experienced. it's something sincere, crinkling for some seconds the corners of his eyes. and despite the short bout of fondness that forms at hearing him laugh, he's got to be joking right? pulling your leg hard for an even bigger laugh. "i'm a thief roman". 

"a very transparent thief. i don't meet people like that a lot". 

it's a losing fight but still, it's hard not to push back. 

"you barely know me". 

"i could know you, if you let me". 

"what's in it for you?" 

sex, you think. when he's given you enough of his money and access, he'll ask for sex. 

"your company". 

---

riverside, california was not the vegas strip, and by all intents and purposes did not claim to be the notorious sin city. the breeze here was something warm and patient. a soft flowing about, satisfied only by its own directionlessness. but in a small whispered taunting way, it was unadulterated. the vegas strip was loud, this harsh numbing sort of droning that buried the more subtle, truthful noises and those skittish undercurrents in the skin that lent to fervent thoughts and ideas. the silence of riverside and the quaint rooftop air of antonella's was this exposing thing. and you'd come west to unashamedly connive your way into some money, but now you were here, unsure of the minutes, hours and even days to come, with him. sipping at coffee, and picking gentle but anxious at his diamond ring, feeling as aimless as the riverside wind. 

and then, seemingly from no where, his shoes click against the cobblestone, steps slow and uniformed, a pace all his own. and as he sets down a fine spread atop the table; meats, cheeses, fruits, and small cakes, he can sense rather acutely this refusal to acknowledge him. from you, an amusing fight; one leg crossed over the other, a fidgeting in your fingers and this far away look else where, feigning indifference. 

antonella's at noon - roman

he'd written as he liked to do, and yet it was a little passed two in the afternoon. the drive over to riverside lengthy and unknowing. 

"you're late"

" 'm sorry?"

roman is amused but taken a back all the same. in the years of his success, lateness was not something to treat with avoidance or fear but just another trivial idea. something purely subjective. or maybe it was because things just ran on his time, started and stopped when his desires had not been met or when they'd exceeded his expectations. it was new to think that something like that was so bothersome for you. 

he sits in the empty space of a double seated chair beside you. the wood fine and stripped, carved with intricate designs. his arm falling against the top. your bodies closer now than they've ever been. 

"if i'm-", you shift to face him. eyes taken by the tan of his cheeks, sprinkled with freckles. lips full, and beard thick. his eyes softer than normal but still traces of an intensity to them. he's beautiful, even in his arrogance and persistence. "if i'm gonna do this. whatever this is, you have to be on time. i'm not a woman who likes to wait". 

his eyes drop to the plump of your lips. existing there this thin tempting line of gloss. "yes ma'am". 

and his stare lingers, a gentle taking in of the slight pout forming into the line of your lips and the soft round out of your cheeks. your eyes under the cast of the sun, more ethereal than not, but guarded some still in this impatient game of waiting for something that will quell that burden of unknowing. the small tells of your anxiety live in the way you play aimlessly at that ring you took from him, or rather the ring he let you take. even with your demands that fight against his own desires and your quick wits and your curt looks and your own bouts of teasing, you still hesitate for fear of the feelings that come with great disappointment. he wonders now if his words for you are not enough, and that though it had been enough for mostly everyone, you are not them. you are new and different and he'd have to treat you as such. 

roman cuts a piece of cake easy, and on a fork it waits for you to indulge in it. 

"taste this", he gives, handing you the fork. 

"what is it?" 

"panettone". his voice deep and delicate about the shape of the vowels, taking on a slight accent in reverence of the treat. italian?, you wonder. 

the cake is buttery and sweet, a taste of fruit with each pass it takes over your tongue and theres something there as you sit with the taste of it that tells you that it's homemade. its a perfect mixture of everything, as if the baker had made it a thousand times, and then a thousand times more. 

he reaches to pick off a piece of fruit with a slim pick, sleeves loose and revealing the beginnings of what you think is a full arm of connected tattoos. you wonder how far they travel, and where they possibly might end. 

the strength of espresso wafts against the flow of a simple breeze as he takes to refilling the teeny size of your cup and then a splash of his own to taste. 

he sighs, satisfied at the warmth of it. "you like it?". 

"mhmm", you give. a sincerity lining your lips as you give him a small smile. it's something new, relaxed. an earnestness lacking that natural wary look you wear when you look at him. "you're taking my words to heart. i like a man who listens". 

"i aim to please". 

you slip the ring back onto your finger, less fidgety with it now. an easy settling of the tensity in your shoulders that allows your body to rest closer to him. facing inward so that the cross of your leg touches his. and it's this innocent, dainty step towards intimacy. where the gentle quiet of the day fills the air with a more tender possibility. guards are fallen away, more than before if anything, and your eyes shimmer warm and a little more accepting. i'll try, you think to your self, to believe him even if only for a moment. i'll indulge him. 

"you like that ring?", he asks. staring at the way it shines against your finger. 

at the mention of it, you twist the band about your finger. 

"my mother thought the best thing a woman could do for herself was have jewelry. it's the only thing that doesn't disappoint". nostalgia a fine thread in your words. remembering the woman that taught you everything. and he sees the soft way your cheeks turn up. feels a need to keep them that way, but even more so when you look at him. "it's a little big, but it goes with my earrings". 

my...my earrings. claiming fully the things that he'd gifted you. 

his longer, stronger fingers reach for yours, for the ring, seemingly possessed by memory. and his touch is a light caress. featherweight and reverential. a shiver strums your skin there. teeming with the want for a heated relief found only in another pass of his finger, till it folds, along with the others, his over yours, to lock in an embrace. 

"i had it made ten years ago", he tells you. "about a month after the resort opened. a gift to myself". 

his thumb dances with a sweet brushing along your skin, with nothing particularly amorous, but there is comfort here, in your touch, a stranger. the way skin passes slow and steady to feel the other, lax and patient. 

"it's still beautiful", your hand dropping to your lap, locked with his still, and the pull brings him just that much closer. a comfortable leaning in that gives way to him taking in more readily the heady sweetness of your perfume. his eyes and his mouth something like a foot away, but feeling so very close, so much so that it steals breaths. kickstarts that harsh beating in your blood, a drumming pulse in your fingers. you wonder if he feels it. 

"it doesn't disappoint". 

you smile. interested in him. "how old were you then?"

"28. you?"

you can see him at 28. untainted by the burning pace of vegas. his eyes ever intense but in them more of a smolder. his hair longer, with no flecks of grey. more unsure and less persistent. grasping at things that come to him so easily now. 

"24". 

and he'd love to meet 24 you. maybe not as quick witted but clever still. fast in your schemes with a maybe not so predictable temper. but still, a covetous touch to the things you wanted. needed. 

"causing trouble where?", he chuckles. 

"new york". 

he looks at the ring. loose on your finger. 

"ill have the ring resized to fit".

you shake your head. unsure. "it's something special. i don't wanna take that from you". 

"you don't ask and you don't say thank you. if i give it, it's yours. simple". 

he is as serious now as the day you first met him, and beyond all of your own doubting, there's this burden to believe him. the quiet fervor of his words and his touch, the warm glow of him amongst the day light and the unwavering hold his eyes take to yours. and his thumb runs a simple caress over where your pulse quickens harsh at the inside of your wrist, from surprise and need. a soft lulling that only seems to stoke the flame of a slow but sure to rise desire. it's yours, words promising and unfazed by the endless unknowns of tomorrow. so much so that he proves it, slips an envelope from his pocket till it finds its way into your hand. 

and the envelope is mere trash compared to whats inside. a sleek black card, engraved with his own name. 

your fingers slip at it. failing somewhat to hide the growing excitement. but there is disbelief here also, coming alive quick but dying quicker the more you feel the fixed weight of his decision, heavy in his eyes and warm at his touch. his intensity is a power all on its own, working well to lull you in. to subdue. a twinge at your core tells you that you are not immune. "is there a limit?" 

"why would there be?" 

you chuckle. "you're serious?"

"dead serious". 

there's that twinge again, lingering hot and teasing. scares you away from his eyes and the tender hold of his touch, but he doesn't falter, even when your fingers leave the tangle of his. and then, caution breaks against the luxurious sort of excitement teeming quick, tightens into your fingers so that the card feels heavy. too fine to hold in your hands. but still, he remains, sitting with an endless patience, sure that he will win you over fully. if not today then soon. 

the moment still seems too good to be true for you. 

you sigh. "this all isn't just some round about way of trying to fuck me is it?" 

but he doesn't hesitate. amused even. 

"that only happens if you want it to sweetheart". 

and it takes courage not to imagine it. the details of a daydream where his lips slip against your skin, hands strong and leading as they push and prod to his will, till you're just how he wants you, playing in these fast to leave flashes in your minds eyes. you think though, under his heavy gaze, that it's something to wonder about when he's not this close and determined to commit your every expression to memory. so you steel your face, fingers grabbing his cup to sip at his espresso, the curiosity of your daydreams attempting with a desperate sort of vigor to run away from you. they barely succeed. 

with roman, you were in for something interesting. 

[thygoddessouijathicc]

Old Man Yaoi May Not Be So Old

So there’s a segment in the DSaF fandom that beleive Dave and Jack are visibly old men. I’m fine with it, I used to, and in fact love the designs especially because there’s seems to be an almost taboo of drawing old people to a point and it’s homely really great that people here are doing it, but I don’t think that’s actually true canonically like I used to. I must stress though DRAW THEM HOW YOU LIKE. They can be old or not it doesn’t concern me.

Both of them are corpses. In terms of age, yes, they are quite old, but corpses don’t tend to age. And we see this in DSAF with the Phones not aging visibly, perhaps it’s just that it’s stock photos but Harry, despite being Gen 1, is physically not old. Why? Because Harry isn’t alive. None of the phones are. The phones are just well preserved and act like living creatures.

You know what else isn’t alive but acts like it? Dave and Jack. While they’d be in terms of numbers, old, in DSAF 3, given their ages at which they died it’s unlikely they’d physically get any older. And don’t say some kinda magic thing because we know for a fact that both behave like corpses, especially Jack. Jack paints himself orange to look alive (a weird colour choice but I digress), he does this because his body is rotting, likely turning black or purple (this also means any cursed colour swap between the two, the Jack side may just not have put on his makeup yet lol). Jack is rotting, definitely not alive body behaviours. Dave also does not behave like a living person. How many of those do you know that can do what he does. There seems to be a consensus that Davetrap is rotting but Dave is too nothing happened to Davetrap to kickstart the process that would mean Dave could not have before, it’s likely the pests just got in because he was stationary and likely far slower.

Let’s also talk about their behaviour. It’s not great to go off of but Jack doesn’t act like a mature adult and neither does Dave, they act like they’re rather young adults still figuring themselves out. Jack especially is quite childish, as if he never got a chance to mature. You could bring up Dee, but Dee’s situation is far different. It doesn’t seem like Dee has actually mentally matured so much as she has been put in a position in which she has no choice but to take on a more mature role and tries to fit that, she has no reason to mentally age, and none of the other children have meaning if she actually got older there would have to be more to it. Dee is as old as she always was, any maturity added is not due to age but due to her situation. Dave and Jack are immature people, and with this in mind it paints a somewhat grim picture of the fact that they never got to mature.

One could mention the ending in which Jack dies of old age… but the phones also have beards here and Jack is actually established to be semi immortal so dying of old age just doesn’t make sense, he can die, but it seems like he gets back up. So let’s be real the beards are fake, and Jack probably ate something weird, and will be fine in like 12 minutes. The game probably ends when you die because it would be weird if it didn’t even if you do get back up.

The only time I’d say Jack permanently dies is when he’s burned. Which leaves no body behind, which by the same principle as the others, means there’s nothing left to come back which sucks for him because oops no soul either.

Jack can also get rabies but… this also doesn’t feel like a sign he is alive.

Dave actively does rot in the game as Davetrap, Jack rots constantly, it’s safe to say their bodies do not work like human ones especially considering not having organs is not something that kills Dave. At least not that we know.

With all of this in mind, yeah. They are corpses. And as I’ve said before, corpses do not age in DSAF physically or mentally, even Blackjack is incredibly immature if you actually look at his behaviour. He’s also an asshole who never gets character development but that’s a story for another time.

It actually makes more sense if they don’t age given the very little change in their behaviour or character between games even after a massive Timeskip nothing seems to have changed at all which makes sense logically too, because why would Fredbear give Jack the ability to age? Let’s be real here if Jack can age eventually that will become a problem given that he is immortal seemingly as long as he has a body to return to. There’s no reason to give him the ability to age and plenty of reasons not to.

Now that’s not to say their bodies don’t change, they do. And if you realistically want to draw DSAF 3 Jack in his most canon possible form… which I doubt many do… Jack doesn’t age he rots he’s probably just a lot worse for wear if he hasn’t found a way to stop rotting yet. Him being an old man is unlikely, but a very decomposed zombie? More likely than you’d think.

And before anyone brings up the tapes, Dave may just look like that, pretty much every piece of art in that game is by a different person who is not Doggo, while Dave seems to be a bit older Jack does not. The tapes are in the past if we are saying that is Dave’s age in DSAF 3, sorry no.

DSAF 3 has incredibly inconsistent art to a point I’d say fans can largely disregard it but that’s an essay for another time just know art in that game isn’t as canon as people seem to think it is. At least not by my observation.

Dave and Jack are old men in age, but not in body. No in body they are most likely the age they died at which seems to have been pretty young for both of them like we know Jack was in his early 20s and Dave is a few years older but also died at the very least a few months before Jack. They aren’t old men, at least not canonically.

I must stress I mean they probably are not canonically old because honestly the DSaF fandom needs to take a chill pill and stop being angry at people for making their own designs, literally do what you want as long as it’s not illegal or like super fucked up. Don’t make Jack 12 and Dave 60 and ship that, but if you want to draw them old be my guest. This essay was just my observation of the idea that the fandom calls them old men and people seem to think they are canonically but it just seems unlikely.

[greyplainsttrpg]

The Darkness Part 2

So I made this meme a while ago. Everybody loved it because it was great.

This meme was the catalyst for my new (this) The Darkness posts. Last post was about my personal experiences running 5e and how it negatively impacted my life quite a lot. It came from this post on Reddit, so let's take a deep dive of this obviously very funny post.

This is the entire original post for those of you who do not want to click on it. I think that there are several funny things about this post.

The premise itself is funny. However, the application of this premise is more grim. The underlying assumption never, at any point, asserts that the DM, in fact, IS a PLAYER as well. We are all playing a game.

I think the amount of time and effort DMs put into their games is a valid point in one sense, but it also is an indictment of a larger issue of thought model that permeates TTRPG discourse. I also suffer from this, but not all the time. Me personally, as a game author (and seller), I put in a lot of effort into my "event games." These are adventures (one-shots) that are specifically designed to introduce new players to the systems I sell. On the other hand, I also sometimes run "kitchen-table games." These are longform campaigns that I intentionally refuse to do much work for, upfront. This is because I feel the real power of a kitchen-table game IS its allowance to adapt and build on long-form, Player-Character actions and priorities. Since most games of D&D are SUPPOSED to be long-form, "Kitchen-Table" D&D, I feel that most DMs are wasting a lot of time and effort on work that inherently cannot be as valued by the players as it is the DM. The amount of work is actually due, in my opinion, to the push of influence that Tabletop Roleplaying Games are vectors for "storytelling" instead of as vectors for "gameplay." Considering D&D is a mechanics-heavy game with little-to-no support for narrative gameplay, I feel DMs are fundamentally wasting their time trying to bash a square peg into a round hole.

The fact that, and I quote, "respect the DM and their storyline, at least a little bit" is the saddest thing I have ever read. Perhaps I am uniquely a goblin myself, but I think a lot of problems with players reacting destructively to a narrative is the inherent nature of narrative itself within the context of a game. I think this goes beyond elements of "murder hobos" or "railroads take away player agency." I think the critical problem here is about the human spirit wanting to overcome anything and everything.

Okay, now that I'm here, I want to really dissect my point 3 here. This ties into my philosophy of GMing that is counterintuitive to what popular culture has presented "you are supposed to do" and I have found to be quite effective outside of playing Hasbro's: Wizards of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014). Key to my premise is "Players vs GM gameplay." I am entirely an advocate of Player vs GM gameplay, however not in the typical way that it is presented. You see, a good Player vs. GM mindset is entirely a battle of psychology and will. Imagine that you are at a casino playing Black-Jack. The GM is the dealer, and all the players are in a card-counting club trying to beat the dealer. The dealer has the inherent advantage of the rules on their side as well as the institutional support of the casino, however they are still bound by the laws of the rules of blackjack. The dealer has the advantage, but the dealer does not always win.

TTRPGs are, inherently, also games about luck and skill. There's a reason TTRPGs took off in their development in Wisconsin (we love gambling, having something to do for 12 hours in winter, and drinking beer here). As the GM, your job is to provide obtuse, inherently unfair challenges that the Players must overcome. Forget this nonsense about balancing encounters--you NEED to do the opposite. Unbalance the encounters. Create horrific traps for the Characters to fall into. Put in monsters way more powerful than the party, or enemies that are literally invincible. Force the Players to work together to come up with a strategy to beat the GM. Give the party alternative win-conditions to "beat in fight." The difference between a positive Player vs GM mentality and a negative one is that a good GM actually wants the players to overcome the challenge, but they are not afraid to punish them if they fail to do so. The Players are real, the Characters are the tools they use to play the game.

Many players inherently understand this dynamic. These are comparable "Johnny" or "Jenny" players, using MtG terminology. In a TTRPG context, these kinds of players are less interested in what is on their sheet or participating with a story as they are interested in divining up some nonsense combo designed to undermine the problem itself. I am, admittedly, a Johnny. I don't like combat as the primary form of play (in a generalist adventure system) because it is just about executing the elements on a character sheet that I already am aware of. I don't really care about stories that much, and I play characters that are quippy because I care more about dialogue as a vector to have nonsense conversations than to have meaningful expressions of character development. Not exclusively, of course. It depends on the situation. My last character I played in a Kitchen-Table campaign of Lancer, Askar Bastidos, ended up getting a lot of Character development in conjunction to a lot of great zingers (and combat in Lancer is the entire point and actually good, so I feel less interested in circumventing it).

The problem GMs are having with players not "respecting their DMs or the story, at least a little bit" is actually a misunderstanding of 1) the system the DM is running and 2) the priority of the players at the table. Have you considered, DMs, that maybe your stories do not deserve much respect? Write a book and let me jury-rig a cowtapult (yes, you heard me) out of birch trees and jungle vines in peace. It is human nature to want to overcome problems with wit and cunning, and expecting every player to behave themselves and participate in a little kumbaya sing-along where they push paper buttons and get a little cutscene at the end of it is insulting to my human experience and the potential of a game where you are, theoretically, capable of doing anything. I do not respect you. I would respect you if you wrote a book. I don't care if it's any good. That's actually impressive. Writing a book is substantially harder than putting together a shitty D&D adventure and then forcing your friends or strangers to follow along as if they are readers. The players are not the audience of your story. The GM is the audience of the players' capacity to overcome the challenges you give them.

AND YET, when I pull out this style of gameplay, obligate Hasbro's: Wizards of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014) players get upset. They do not know what to do when I don't funnel them into convenient, easily winnable fight scenes and give them cutscenes to hook them for the next session. I AM NOT A TELEVISION WRITER. THIS IS NOT A SHOW. PLAY THE GAME. This entire point of "UwU please respect my story" is not a major problem on its own, but it is a great example of maggot emblematic to The Darkness. This is a game. This is a game. We're playing a game. Please play the game. Why am I, the GM, the only one trying to play the game.

Please do not take away from this that "you should not respect GMs or the time they put into their sessions." However, you should take away from this that GMs need to create more interesting opportunities for gameplay beyond opportunities to mash paper-buttons and be monologued at by the most boring NPCs known to man. For the record, Hasbro's: Wizards of the Coast also struggles with this problem. Their prewritten adventures are pretty terrible specifically because they completely undermine creative gameplay (as the system itself does---please see Villain Arc 7 for more details on that).

The author of this post capitulates to the argument of "yeah, you can do anything in this game" and comes to the conclusion of "but could you not." I also understand their point, but again I generally feel these kinds of issues are GM-facing, not player-facing issues.

4. I can't argue against the last point of "tell your DM they did a good job." Yeah, you should do that. That's entirely fair. Pro-social behavior. ALSO, in addition, perhaps consider: DMs should tell Players if they had a good time. I build encounters that I think are fun and interesting, and I like to see the ways that Players overcome them. They will often do some extremely wacky shit, and that is awesome. I want to learn how to solve the problem, too.

With all the major points out of the way, let's get to the replies.

Actually, you know what---I'm taking back what I said in point 4. Your Players should not have to tell you that they had a good time. It should be painfully obvious. Your players should be having such a good time that, if played in public, it should be annoying to other people in the room. A Player saying "I had fun" is kinda like a person, after hearing a joke, say to you "that's funny" without laughing. It's not wrong, but it should be unnecessary. That being said, I still appreciate the dopamine hit anyway. HOWEVER, what the hell is this immediate reply? Like, this is a weird thing to say. Fellow gamers, is this true? This is not what I meant about Player vs GM dynamic.

This is a problem with 5e in particular. I actually have this problem with Lancer as well, and I think that it is because both games are combat-forward. When bullshit happens to my character in a game where combat is not the singular intended gameplay method to resolve problems, it is pretty funny. Like, yep---I should have played that better. Because when bullshit happens in those kinds of games, it is generally the player's fault. In a combat-focused game, bullshit is more annoying to me because, if I had the agency to avoid combat, I would not be in this situation to begin with. I never had the opportunity to figure out what the bullshit is before I had to confront it. As per usual, Lancer pisses me off less because Tom Bloom figured out that killing characters outright is pretty bad if they HAVE to do combat, so the worst that can happen to a character in most situations is that their mech gets destroyed. A consequence, but not a permanent one (I suppose death is pretty un-permanent in D&D as well, but that's beside the point). Why is this redditor making and killing characters based on people they know? That's psychotic behavior. What the hell. Next one.

The idea that the DM "does all the work" makes me want to incite a riot. No. The GM does not do "all the work." That's like saying a teacher does all the work when students take a test. DMs should be providing the setup and framing, but once things are going, the GM should be having the least to do at a table. All the other Players need to put in work, now. The GM's role is fundamentally a REACTIVE one at the table. A DM should rarely be PROACTIVE at the table. That's not their job. They make the test and they grade the papers, so to speak. They do not take the test for their students. This what makes me mad about "forever DM discourse." With good players, being a DM is easy. The Players basically do everything for you. The issue is that the discourse wants obedient players, and this means that much more of the work of the session falls on the DM than it should.

People who believe that the DM has everything planned out are idiots. The DM should have very little planned out (at least precisely). The Players should be pinching at the fabrics of the fiction to find out what the DM will allow them to do instead of expect the DM to have a plan for what they should do. This expectation comes from the discourse, where TTRPGs are somehow a narrative form, and it is primarily the DM's responsibility to herd the players into the narrative. There are many replies that are like this. Next.

Took several years to figure out that GMing is supposed to be fun? Why the hell were you doing it if it wasn't fun? Also, the first point is funny. "Players, please respect me when I tell you to fuck off with that bullshit. I'm keeping your best interest in mind." The replies for this are pretty interesting. They talk about how much of the stress of DMing is "self-induced." Is it? Why are you stressed about running a good session? How has "a good session" been defined to you which makes you uncertain whether the session you had was or was not good? Did you divine this on your own? Or this, perhaps, The Darkness? Are you upset because you don't think your session is as good as Dimension 20? You should be upset if your session is only as good as dimension 20. If your session is worse than dimension 20, then something is going horribly wrong (and by that, I mean you, the DM, have digested a bunch of propaganda that funnels you towards making experiences that are not cogent with the medium).

Okay, this might just be me, but as a GM, I do not mind "tabletalk" all too much. I've noticed that it annoys me more during an online game than it does offline. As a person with an average attention-span, I would like to point out that 4 hours is a LONG time to pay close attention to a complex game. Everyone needs breaks recuperate their concentration for when it is their turn. This is also why I do not tend to prefer games with longer combat durations. It is easy to pay attention to a group conversation where the Players are discussing strategy organically. It is hard to pay attention to several hours of moving pieces and rolling dice. You want to know why? Because it is kind of boring. And that's okay. The game does not need to be 100% action all the time, and you should be willing to have players zone out for a bit when it is not their turn, or maybe talk to their fellow players when it is neither of their turns (so long as its not disruptive). My opinion on this has changed over time, and there are limits. Like, when it is a particular player's turn, I need them to stop fucking around immediately. Also, there is a good chance that this is the only time these people are going to hang out together all week or bi-week or monthly or whatever. Like, yeah you are all here to play a game, but people are also here to spend time with their friends. There is a balance to be had. Especially if this is kitchen-table gaming. The Players can choose whatever pace they want to move through the game at.

This is a classic example of "AD&D already solved this problem." Before the round begins, every player states what they want their Character to do. Then everybody rolls for initiative. The Players now have to generally commit to whatever action their character was going to perform unless it is no longer possible. So this used to be the standard system for how the game was played. It was a lot more cooperative, too. Almost like it's a strategy game instead of a narrative game.

I do agree that most 5e players are better off playing BG3. It's the experience that they actually want.

The concept of accepting criticism is very strange to me. Not because I do not accept criticism (because I do) but because why do most GMs need criticism? I need criticism because I am a (nominally) professional game designer. Criticism is helpful to me (to a point), but how is it even helpful to a normal, non-professional DM? Give your players criticism. See how they like it. You're not a professional---you're not trying to get your adventure published. What is the point? Also, you are trusting your Players to not be infiltrated by The Darkness in order to give you meaningful feedback. The feedback I got from 5e players was wrong. It made me depressed, it caused me to have less fun, and it made me want to stop playing (as well as DMing) altogether. 5e players are, by and large, really bad at TTRPGs. They are not good at describing the things that would make a TTRPG good. They could only haphazardly describe things that are and are not D&D, and they are not great at that either considering that they have hallucinated entire vectors of play that D&D is good at that it is NOT good at. Your players are not critics. They are not experts in the field. They are not game designers. They are not professional DMs. They are just regular people who like playing the game. Their feedback does not mean nothing, but it really does not mean much (unless your players are any of these things, in which obviously yeah circumstances change). It is okay to be just a regular player. It is okay to be just a regular DM. What you should be doing is maximizing the kinds of experiences that TTRPGs are best at or to find a system that best captures what you want to do as a GM.

But why play a game that does the things the players and the DM want better when we could just mod 5e. Just homebrew it. Don't follow the rules. Play 5e, but don't follow the rules. We are still playing our favorite game, Dungeons and Dragons, but we are actually playing it as a point-and-click type Adventure game where everyone is cats (this is based on another Tumblr post I can't find it lol). My players love it. No, we are not playing Magical Kittens Save the Day we are playing Dungeons and Dragons but we are magical cats that (coincidentally) save the day. My players really care about their backstories. We are all writers. My players are telling me that I should balance the encounters more because their Fighter Cat (a tabby MEOW) did not get to use their battlemaster maneuvers enough. We play the whole session without any combat. We're all writers!

[blackboxfaxes]

Battle Report: House Kurita vs Word of Blake, Rematch

For the second campaign turn in a row, Kote Lance came under attack by the Blakists' lead Assault element - a Highlander, an Awesome, and a Crab, all heavily customized. Kote Lance was busy repairing after their last engagement with the Blakists - Raine's Marauder was already active, but Kimiko's Blitzkrieg, Casey's Black Knight, and Heather's Blackjack had to make rolls to emergency start. None of them booted up turn 1, as Raine moved her Marauder up, the other side of the field covered by the Raiden squad usually assigned to Heather.

The Tonbo at the bottom of the image is just set dressing, and the clear acrylic circles are all woods.

>[Reactor online. Weapons online. Sensors online. All systems nominal.] Heather's Blitzkrieg was, true to form, the first mech to activate, rolling a 10+ on turn 2, and she immediately set out to punish the Blakists' Crab for pushing forward, loosing a pair of Ultra AC20 shells on it, neither of which connected, but they certainly let the Blakists know she was there. Raine exploited a heavy woods, keeping her covered as she traded PPC blasts with the Blakists' custom Awesome. It also mounted a Gauss rifle, which she had only one answer for...

>Glad you ladies joined the party. Now, let's deal with our uninvited guests. That answer was the Gauss rifle mounted on Heather's Blackjack, as she leapt to the top of her repair facility, relying on the Jumping Jack ability to keep her accurate, she joined Raine in pouring fire down on the Awesome. Casey, as always, ran her Black Knight out of her mech bay on MASC, screaming the Coordinator's name, daikatana held high.

>Hey, Kimiko, how's your uppercut? With the enemy Crab having moved to the very cliff's edge, and wanting to avoid taking fire from the Awesome and Highlander, Heather saw an opportunity, and ran directly under the Crab, blocked from the other two mechs by the cliff's edge, and fired a pair of shells straight up into the Crab's forward-protruding fuselage. One shell connected, shredding the armor on the Crab's left torso and staggering it, while Heather, Casey, and Raine focused the Awesome.

>I'm gonna getcha Combined fire from those three mechs knocked the Awesome flat as it reached the cliff. The Crab retreated, and Kimiko, seeing herself threatened, pumped the breaks and streaked halfway across the field, aiming to flank around the Blakist formation. The Raiden squad, almost forgotten, saw a golden opportunity, and jumped for the Awesome.

>Alright, let's do this The Battle Armor weren't the only ones to see an opportunity. As the Awesome lurched to its feet, Casey's mech kicked its MASC in, for once not failing the roll, and reached point blank with the Awesome. The only problem with this idea was that it left her in full view of every enemy mech, and all of them focused fire on her exclusively. This put enough firepower into her to knock her flat, costing her her chance to use her hatchet, and getting the Awesome to stomp on her arm for good measure.

>Think we can handle this on our own? Kimiko's Blitzkrieg steamed and buttered the Crab with a second AC20 shot in the left torso, disabling its XL engine and leaving her open to move on the enemy Highlander. Meanwhile, Casey got up, and once again took all the fire from the Blakists, and then fell over AGAIN despite her piloting skill of 3. This time, however, the Blakist Awesome also fell. Now it was the Battle Armor's time to shine, and they jumped on their victim, going for the swarm.

>[deranged screaming that suddenly cuts off] Casey, having failed to connect with a melee attack and lost ninety percent of her armor, decided discretion was the better part of valor. The Blakist Highlander, under attack by a Blitzkrieg, contemptuously swatted it away with a gauss rifle and a PPC shot to the same torso section, taking it from untouched to disabled in two shots. The Awesome, however, tried to stand up. Perhaps struggling because of the battle armor clinging to it, it rolled a 3 when it needed a 4, fell on its arm, critted its arm, detonated the gauss rifle mounted there and electrocuted the pilot, who blacked out. The Raiden squad were of course delighted, and moved in for the kill. At this point, the Blakists conceded. While I was down to essentially one untouched and two half combat-effective mechs, he was down to one, and called it early rather than lose his Awesome. Each of us salvaged our own mechs and rescued our own pilots, leading to no lasting material changes to either side.

[blackjacksmemeclinic]

How did you get to know the Black Jack fandom?

Hi there, thank you for the ask! I actually was looking for something Jungle emperor Leo/Kimba the white lion related when I got into BlackJack! I always had known of him as one of Tezuka's characters, but I didn't connect with him until I learned there was a Kimba refference in the anime/manga.

I found the episode and ended up watching it, thinking I'd like it but not become too invested into it. Ended up really enjoying the episode, ended up watching the 2004 series, then saw the movies, and a few of the movies that have him appear as a character.. etc; He's my strongest hyper fixation now. Interacting with other BlackJack/Osamu Tezuka fans in general just encourages the hyper fixation train!

[thatbigbisexual29]

I know no one probably gives two shits about this but THIS IS MY PERSONAL FAN CAST FOR THE PJO SHOW (specifically who they haven’t cast yet)

Athena - Kerry Washington

I don’t even have to explain myself. She is perfect. The amount of power this woman holds with just a pose? She’d make a perfect Athena. 10/10

Apollo - Yung Gravy

I 👏 DO 👏 NOT 👏 NEED 👏 TO 👏 EXPLAIN 👏 MY 👏 SELF 👏 Like are you kidding me?? I do not care if he can’t act for shit GET THIS MAN AS APOLLO

Aphrodite - Lizzo/Margot Robbie

I blame Barbie for these choices. The only reason I choose two is because idk what’s going on with that Lizzo Lawsuit? So if that plays out nicely then yay Lizzo but if it doesn’t, Margot Robbie. And I know Margot Robbie is a big name but… she’s my Aphrodite 🥺

Artemis - Ashley Johnson

This might not hit for a lot of people, but I think Ashley Johnson would be a FANTASTIC Artemis. She has the gentleness of moonlight but harshness of pitch black night. I could totally see her ruling over a pack of young lesbians idk bout any of you 🤷‍♀️ I also think she pairs up fantastically with Yung Gravy. Perfect ‘polar opposite’ pairing of you ask me.

Atlas - Christopher Judge

So for those who don’t know, this guy voices Kratos from the new God of War games. And holy shit is he perfect for this role. I’ve always personally thought that Atlas was this large man with a deep voice, something to really be feared. AND MOTHER FUCK DOES THIS MAN HAVE BOTH. HE’S LARGE AND HE MAKES HIMSELF IN CHARGE. I’d die if they got him as Atlas.

Hera -Meryl Streep

Ok ok ok ok BIG LEAP I KNOW. But like??? I can’t explain it but she’d make a great Hera in my eyes. Look at her!! Have you seen her in Devil Wears Prada? Like damn. I’ve also loved her since I was little so, based I guess

Blackjack (voice) - Logan Lerman

Fuck me guys I can’t help it. First of all? It would be funny. I don’t have a second reason other than I really like him. And for what the old movie thought it was making? I don’t think he did a bad job as Percy at all. Do I like the movie at all? Absolutely fuck no. But I still respect all the actors because it wasn’t their fault the movie was shit. And again, it would be funny. Also, he says he loves Walker as Percy???? Literally says “I can’t imagine a better fit” like??????? How wholesome is that??? Ok rant over sowwy I just have a lot of thoughts about this man.

Tyson - Jack Dylan Grazer

This funky little nerd needs to play Tyson. I just think he’d be an amazing Tyson, all awkward and jittery. That’s how I always saw him at least. But yes, him as Tyson!

Ok this is all I got for now but please add your opinions on this fan cast! I’m interested to see what everyone thinks 🥰 (if anyone sees this at all)

[wrestlingfaves]

Royal Rumble Marathon: 1998

The Rumble has entered 1998.

Warning, spoilers for past Rumbles.

We are now officially in the Attitude Era so expect shenanigans. I haven’t watched the Attitude Era in over a decade but I’m expecting to feel a lot of retrospective cringe.

The undercard:

We see a recap of the previous two months of Goldust’s activities. This is the era where Goldust dumped Marlena and is now accompanied by Luna Vachon. Dustin has ditched his traditional gold attire and now wears a variety of outfits. Tonight’s special is a lime green/purple-striped singlet tights, purple gloves, green and purple-striped face paint with blue hair.  Dustin is also wearing a leopard-print thong over his tights. Luna’s attire is a black/red bikini combo with a clear plastic skirt/tutu. She’s also wearing flesh-colored tights. Luna has half her face covered with the traditional Goldust colors. The other half of Luna’s face has her tattoos.

Goldust (with Luna) vs Vader. Match was fine. The ending comes when Vader (with Luna on his back) delivers a top-rope Vader bomb to Goldust. Dustin is always fun and Luna continues to be a badass. This era of Dustin was crazy but fun. You never knew what Goldust was going to wear.

Steve Austin arrives, threatens to whoop Michael Coles’ ass. The Godwinns are in search of Austin.

We have a six-man lucha libre match: Battalion, Tarantula, El Torito vs Max Mini, Mosaic, and Nova. Sunny is the special guest referee. Fun match.

Soon after this, Sunny’s life begins to spiral, leading to her dismissal from the WWF and a lifetime of self-destruction. It’s a shame as Sunny was a talented performer. Of course, the true tragedy is the man she killed due to her drunk driving.

The Nation of Domination is now in search of Steve Austin. Farooq tells Mark Henry that he has to “prove himself”.

Mike Tyson hangs out with Shane and Vince. I don’t care about Mike Tyson. I don’t care about boxing. Tyson’s rape conviction, and his abusive tendencies, do not make me excited to see him on my wrestling programs. Of course, sitting next to Vince makes Tyson look like an altar boy by comparison.

Recap of the Ken Shamrock-Nation of Domination feud. The Rock is still with the Nation at this point, Mark Henry has newly joined.

Rock promo where he advises Bill Clinton to “not lay down with dogs” (referencing Paula Jones, and yes, the Rock names her specifically) and to “cover his willy”. Remember those cringe moments I said we’d encounter in the Attitude Era. Calling the woman suing a man for sexual harassment, even a President, a “dog” is one.  

Ken Shamrock vs the Rock for the Intercontinental Championship.  The Rock wins via DQ. Shamrock attacks referee Mike Chioda in the aftermath. Fine match.

The Boricuas are now searching for Steve Austin but find the D.O.A. instead. This is the era of multiple factions – mostly centering on race – were running wild in the WWE. Los Boricuas, the Nation of Domination, The Truth Commission, and D.O.A. (Disciples of Apocalypse) were the main factions.

The New Age Outlaws vs the Legion of Doom for the Tag Team titles. The Legion wins via DQ. Back-to-back DQ victories is a questionable call on a pay per view.

The Rumble entrants, in order of appearance:

Cactus Jack

Chainsaw Charlie (Terry Funk)

Tom Brandi

The Rock

Mosh of the Headbangers

Phineas Godwinn

8-Ball (Don Harris)

Blackjack Bradshaw (JBL)

Owen Hart (Jeff Jarrett and Jim Cornette ambush Owen on his way to the ring)

Steve Blackman

D’Lo Brown

Kurrgan

Marc Mero (accompanied by Sable)

Ken Shamrock

Thrasher of the Headbangers

Mankind

Goldust (in silver singlet tights with red knee-high fishnets and a black bikini on the outside of the tights, Luna has also changed her outfit to a silver one)

Jeff Jarrett (accompanied by Jim Cornette)

Honky Tonk Man (Hunter and Chyna stroll out to ringside during his entrance and cause Owen to be eliminated)

Ahmed Johnson

Mark Henry

Skull

Kama Mustafa

Steve Austin

Henry Godwinn

Savio Vega (accompanied by the Boricuas)

Farooq

Dude Love

Chainz (Brian Lee)

Vader

Steve Austin wins again, making him the 3rd multiple time winner – Hulk Hogan and Shawn Michaels are the others.

Rumble Highlights: Cactus-Charlie brawl (minus the unprotected chairshots), Rock-Austin outside the ring brawl and in-ring finale

Rumble Feuds: Cactus vs Charlie, Rock vs Shamrock, Owen vs Jarrett, Owen vs Hunter

More cringe moments: the unprotected, non-gimmicked chairshots Funk and Cactus gave each other. Please, no! Did the Harris brothers have their Nazi tattoos yet? (I can’t see clearly but if so, that is worse than cringe).

First-time Rumblers:  Tom Brandi, Mosh, Steve Blackman, Kurrgan, Ken Shamrock, Thrasher, Mark Henry, Chainz

Surprise Entrants: Honky Tonk Man, 3 Faces of Foley

Quickest Elimination: Tom Brandi

Most Eliminations: Steve Austin

Unite to Eliminate the Big Man spot: Kurrgan

The final match of the ppv isn’t the Rumble (which I dislike). The final match is Shawn Michaels vs the Undertaker for the World championship in a casket match.

Shawn and Taker’s previous match was the first Hell In A Cell match. A casket match seems to be a step down in intensity.

Shawn is accompanied by Hunter and Chyna.  The New Age Outlaws and the Boricuas attack the Undertaker but are run off by Kane. Kane then attacks the Undertaker and throws him into the casket. Kane and Paul Bearer lock the casket and set it on fire.

Shawn wins but severely injures his back when he bumps on the casket during the match. This would lead to Shawn’s post-Wrestlemania match.

Rating: 6 out of 10. Solid undercard, fun Rumble, good main event

Wrestlers and others who have passed on: Howard Finkel, Vader, Luna Vachon, Tarantula (Espectrito II), Torito (Espectrito), the Legion of Doom, Terry Funk, Chyna, Paul Bearer

Total number of deceased individuals: 11 (down 3 from the previous Rumble)

[aeoki]

Blackjack - Miracles Don't Exist: Chapter 11

Location: Star Fest Stage Characters: Shinobu, Mayoi & Tetora Season: Winter

TL Note:

In Japan, calling someone by their first name is a sign of being close to someone; where the relationship has reached a point that you’re comfortable allowing that person to refer to you with your first name. Surnames are generally used in a neutral manner. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< At that time. “Star Fest” Venue No.1 “Yumenosaki Academy”. >

Tetora: Shinobu-kuuun! Over here! Merry Christmas Eve!

Shinobu: Merry Christmas Eve… ~de gozaru.

Tetora: Are you okay!? You look really tired!

Shinobu: And you’re bursting with energy, Tetora-kun. I heard from Sakasaki-dono earlier that he made you patrol the venue.

But there are twenty-one venues this year, so it must have been difficult being on the lookout at all of them.

Tetora: “Black Jack”.

Shinobu: Hm?

Tetora: If I remember correctly, the subheading for “Star Fest” is “Black Jack” this year.

It’s that card game where you’re the strongest if you can make all your cards add up to twenty one.

Shinobu: I only have a vague understanding of it ~de gozaru.

Tetora: Osu. It might be embarrassing to say, but I didn’t have any experience with those sorts of normal games up until I entered high school. I was a surprisingly plain and lonely kid.

We have a lotta fun playing party games during the “RYUUSEITAI” sleepovers, so I was super happy. Things haven’t really been like that for us recently, though.

At the very least, instead of going back to the past to re-experience those times, I think I wanna regain just those “good parts” of “RYUUSEITAI”.

That way, the detour we took and everything else we did would still have meaning.

Shinobu: Yeah. I feel the same way, Tetora-kun.

Tetora: Thank god~ Midori-kun has been denying everything I say recently and that irritates the heck outta me, but you actually agree with the things I say, Shinobu-kun~♪

Shinobu: I think people like Midori-kun are also needed. If we’re all running in the same direction at the same speed, then we’ll be destroyed with just one pitfall in the ground.

Tetora: Yeah. Midori-kun has saved us to some degree, huh. I don’t like to admit it, though.

Shinobu: Why~...? I’d like you two to get along with each other ~de gozaru…

Tetora: Heheh. I think this is a case of being “close enough to argue with one other”, but is it bad for me to interpret it that way?

Anyway, I was surprised by the message I got just now, but… are you guys really going to carry out “that plan”?

Shinobu: Osu. It’s already being carried out and it resulted in success, too. Osu.

Tetora: Why are you saying “osu” too? Hearing Midori-kun or Morisawa-senpai say it would make me wanna end them, but it’s cute when you and Shinkai-senpai do it, so it’s like I’m gaining something from it.

Shinobu: Yeah. I feel like I’ve been gaining a lot of things all this time.

I think everyone was unconsciously protecting me because I’m the smallest and weakest. “RYUUSEITAI” is a unit of people who want to protect the smiles of others.

You guys protected me. Even though I’m supposed to be your companion who fights alongside you all.

Up until last year, you all still referred to me with my surname[⁎] and it made me feel distant from all of you.

It was painful seeing you treat me almost like a stranger.

Tetora: S–Sorry about that. I’m reflecting on it.

Shinobu: No, no. It’s not something you have to apologise for.

It’s hard to tell when you can call someone by their first name and if that’s what I’d wanted, I should have made it clear.

But I’m a coward and I always hide. I just run away to a safe place. I’m the only one doing that while you all are hurt and have fallen over.

That’s why it’s my turn today ~de gozaru.

Tetora: I think the reason why you’re the only one unscathed is because you’re the strongest.

Shinobu: Even if that’s true, it’s only because you guys trained me and made me strong. I was someone weak and small who didn’t face reality and was engrossed in my fantasies.

So it’s time for me to give back to you all today.

No. As Santa, I’ll be giving you all the best gift ever – “Star Fest” style.

So, please come this way, Anzu-dono.

Tetora: I–I knew because I saw the message, but you really brought Anzu no Anego over.

“Trickstar” went all over the country searching for her and even they couldn’t find her.

I see you found her and safely escorted her here.

You’re amazing, Shinobu-kun.

Shinobu: Heheh, I’m quite the excellent ninja, aren’t I? ♪

Just kidding… Actually, most of it was by accident ~de gozaru.

In reality, Anzu-dono was trying to get out of the place she was placed under house arrest. The scary person who was supposed to be watching her left for some reason, so she was aiming for that opening.

Tetora: H–House arrest? That doesn’t sound good?

Shinobu: Yeah… I don’t know the details but it seems Anzu-dono has to return to that place before the person watching her comes back.

She said that was what she promised.

So she doesn’t have time and needs to hurry.

Tetora: Osu. “She” should be all ready now. That was really impeccable timing, Shinobu-kun.

It’s Christmas Eve, after all – Miracles can happen. Osu.

Shinobu: I wonder about that ~de gozaru… It feels too good to be true – Like we’re dancing in the palm of someone’s hand.

But well, maybe it’s fine for us to make use of this miracle someone has set up.

Just like a child who knows Santa’s identity but chooses not to say anything.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[ash2228]

a black jack technique that always work!!!🤫

Are you looking to master blackjack? Be aware of your bankroll, stay at ease under pressure, and master the fundamental strategy.

[melissahausen]

Aew double or nothing predictions

As always this is who I think will win not necessarily who I want to win.

1:Ethan Page and The Gunns Austin Gunn and Colten Gunn vs. The Hardys Jeff Hardy and Matt Hardy and Hook

If the Hardys and Hook win, Matt Hardy will own Ethan Page's contract:

Hardys and hook

Cause Hook hasn't lost yet really is all I'm basing this on.

2:FTR Dax Harwood and Cash Wheeler vs. Jeff Jarrett and Jay Lethal with Karen Jarrett, Sonjay Dutt, and Satnam Singh

Mark Briscoe will serve as the special guest referee:

I'm so torn on this match (you'll hear that a lot in this lol) , I want FTR to win obvz but I've a feeling JJJ gonna do it cause its been going on so long if they don't win what's the point? , I also have this horrible feeling Mark gonna get involved in the worst way, but aye I think it's gonna be JJJ

3: Wardlow with Arn Anderson vs. Christian Cage with Luchasaurus, Ladder match for the AEW TNT Championship:

Once again I'm so torn Wardlow has just won the bloody thing back but its a ladder match its basically Christian's wheelhouse ahhh I dunno, I think it's gonna be an amazing match and I'm going wardlow but it could go either way.

4: Jamie Hayter vs. Toni Storm, Singles match for the AEW Women's World Championship:

There's a rumour this match isn't happening as Jamie is injured so this is just a potential prediction lol but I think Jamie is on the best run so gotta be her.

5: Blackjack Battle Royal: 21-man Battle Royal for the AEW International Championship

I'm not writing down all the participants cause this post gonna be long enough lmfao but I think OC gonna retain , man's on his best run in his career.

6: Jade Cargill vs. Taya Valkyrie: Singles match for the AEW TBS Championship

Honestly I don't know and I don't think I care either , I love Jade but I'm so over this run, either elevate her to the woman's Championship division or make her lose , but I think she's gonna get to 100 before they do that so jade.

7: Adam Cole vs. Chris Jericho Unsanctioned match

Sabu will serve as the special guest enforcer:

I think they're gonna put Cole in the main event picture eventually so this might be the match to start it off going against a legend like Christopher. So I'm going adam Cole.

8: The House of Black (Malakai Black, Brody King, and Buddy Matthews) (c) (with Julia Hart) vs. TBA Open House six-man tag team match for the AEW World Trios Championship:

HOB obviously lmfao

9:MJF vs. Sammy Guevara vs. Darby Allin vs. "Jungle Boy" Jack Perry Four-way match for the AEW World Championship:

We all know Max gonna retain but I see some shenanigans happening, we're all expecting Sammy to side with max right? But will Jack actually turn heel tonight? , will sting get involved? Will Phil come back 🤢? There's so much potential for shenanigans to happen. But ultimately I think max gonna win.

10: Blackpool Combat Club Bryan Danielson, Jon Moxley, Claudio Castagnoli, and Wheeler Yuta vs. The Elite Kenny Omega, Matt Jackson, Nick Jackson, and "Hangman" Adam Page, Anarchy in the Arena match:

Okay so this match my god this match , last years was amazing and I think this year's gonna top it.

Who I think gonna win I'm not sure BCC can afford to lose a match and the elite are back whole for the first time in almost 3 years so do they need it? Yes , yes they do.

Another match that can lead to shenanigans, another one that might include Phil 🤢🤢

Also one that can lead to the wembley matches being planted

I'm so excited for this match incase that wasn't obvious 😂😂

Also the elite winning yep

[thewritingboi]

Grand Reopening - Chapter 11

Some scars never fade

Jack yawned and sat up about to get ready for his day, until he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. Jack felt a smile creep onto his face as Dave put his head on Jack's shoulder.

"Stay." He said groggily

Jack looked at the clock and saw that he was up early, a few more minutes couldn't hurt right? He layed back down and snuggled up to his purple lover and felt the soft grip of sleep pull him into unconsciousness.

His eyes fluttered open, how long had he been asleep? Jack turned onto his side to see Dave right next to him, Jack's eyes drank in every detail of his face, his slightly parted lips, his purple hair ruffled and messy, the tiny scar going down his neck. The orange man was content, his best friend was now his lover.

Lover

He loved the way the word sounded and it was a very fitting word. Jack never pointed it out but he had noticed how much Dave wanted to touch him, whether is was playing with his hair or leaning on his shoulder. Something broke his concentration, a set of red numbers that flashed on the alarm clock on Dave's side of the bed. It took Jack a second to register what he was seeing

"DAVE GET UP WE'RE LATE FOR WORK!"

------------------------------------

Jack was bored. Business was incredibly slow and music man was asleep, he had nothing to do except watch everyone else be bored. Dave was sweeping, Peter was asleep in a chair, and Dee was playing with Blackjack. The orange man was drifting off when he felt his phone ring in his pocket. He picked up and a voice spoke on the other end.

"Hello, this is the Los Angeles police department. Am I speaking to the owner of Freddy Fazbenders Pizza?"

Jack felt his stomach turn. Please no, not again please

"Yeah... that's me" he responded

The man asked for his name and Jack gave it to him, he answered all his questions until the thing he was dreading most happened.

"We need to ask you another question  . . . Have you heard anything about what happened outside your restaurant, today?"

Jack's heart dropped

----------------------------------------

A man stepped off of his motorcycle and looked around, once determining that the coast was clear Dr. Henry Miller took of his helmet revealing his pink eyes. He had to give credit to William, this body was perfect for hiding in plain sight, the leather jacket he had found covered the ax wound in his back. He hated this specimen's mode of transport however, a motorcycle painted orange and purple.

Their new base of operations was secluded, an abandoned cabin in the woods. He walked through the threshold of the shack looking around.

"William. Come here now." He said "I need the items you procured for me."

Out of one of the side rooms a decaying green rabbit shambled into view, its fur was blackened in some places and its ears were singed. DaveTrap shambled out the backdoor to do what Henry asked for him, dragging in a black trash bag full of old tech.

"Thank you willy"

Henry notices how using the nickname he gave to William so long ago always sent shivers up the rabbit man's spine, every time it happened the pink man almost smiled. ... almost

He enjoyed the pain he caused him, he shouldn't have failed him in the first place. Forgiveness is cheap and besides, his pain helped Henry continue his experiments. He walked into the backroom of the building and picked up his revolver, it would be over soon and he could walk the earth free of his chains the threatened to pull him back to the void. he was grateful for William's help but when Henry was done he would just be one less loose end.

"William, bring him to me." he said calmly

DaveTrap rolled in a middle-aged man tied to a wheelchair. He had black hair and several cuts on his face from the abduction.

"Do you know why I do this, William?" Henry asked quietly as he grabbed his tools

"N-no I-i don't know why you do this" He mutter back

"I do this because it keeps me here" Henry began "Kennedy's desperate bid to escape my trap created a rift between the flipside and reality which could be traveled through, this allowed me to escape the void... partially. My soul was severed and I was left to wander the earth, all the while I was being pulled back to the void. Until I found YOU William, a burnt corpse in a rabbit suit perfect for possession. Little did I know you were still there, so ever since I've been harvesting souls, black souls to be specific and with the power of those souls I am able to reman in this realm. However I have come to a realization. I don't have enough time to accomplish my goals and so I have to return to something I abandoned long ago in my  original research."

"What was it?" DaveTrap asked

"All in good time William, all in good time." He responded "For now i must get to work."

--------------------------------------------------------------

The residents of the Kennedy household sat around the table taking in the information that was just dropped onto them. Not only had a man been abducted outside of their restaurant but a safe from the previous restaurant had been found, inside were a series of logs made by Henry.

"That's how he has been keeping himself from returning to the void, black souls." Jack said in shock

Jack looked at Dave who was staring down at the tape recorder, silent tears paring from his eyes. Jack moved closer to him and wrapped his arm around the purple man's shoulder, before he knew it Dave crashed into him and held him close.

After a minute of silence Steven spoke "If soul power can get someone into the flipside and by proxy the void, could it keep someone trapped in the void permanently?"

"Its possible" Blackjack replied "But to do it we would need a soul charged with an impossible amount of negative emotions."

The realization struck Jack like a pound of bricks.

"Henry." He said

"What?" Steven asked

"Henry" Jack repeated "Henry will power his own prison."

---------------------------------------------------------------

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I did it! I finished the chapter!

In all seriousness I'm sorry that this chapter took so long to release, a lot of stuff happened in my life and when i was just about to finish the chapter the news dropped that Technoblade died and for some reason i can't explain it just broke me. I'm doing better now and I'm happy that i have the motivation to write again. Also I had never read or heard the tapes Henry made in dsaf 3 before writing this chapter and they are surprisingly dark, go check them out if you haven't See you on the flipside!

[malue-505]

Appearance

Basic Info

Title: The Pacifier

Other Aliases: Unknown Babysitter, The Feminine Shadow

Real Name: Sydney Alexandria McQuoid

Species: Human

Gender: Female (Cis)

Age: 25

Birthday: March 3rd

Sexuality: Heteromantic Demisexual

Personality: Sly, Delusional, Motherly, Childish at times and a bit arrogant.

Height: 5ft 9in

Side/Affiliation: (Will later on be revealed)

Relationships Info

Relationship Status: Taken by BlackJack, her boyfriend (An OC of mine)

Known Family:

Mathew McQuoid (Father, Alive)

Venessa McQuoid (Mother, Alive)

Heather McQuoid (Daughter, Deceased)

Mary Anderson (Aunt, Alive)

Julia Svensson (Aunt, Alive)

Chloe Anderson (Cousin, Alive)

Harry Anderson (Cousin, Alive)

Viktor Svensson (Cousin, Alive)

Friends: (Will later on be revealed)

Enemies: (Will later on be revealed)

Killer Info

Weapons: Scissors (If she doesn’t have them currently she’ll make due with whatever is around her)

Strengths: Athleticism (She has a bit more stamina and is quite flexible) and stealth

Weaknesses: Any normal human weaknesses (Being stabbed, being shot, pain, etc.)

Catchphrase: “Cat got your tongue?”

Activity: She exclusively becomes active at night and is close to never come out at day.

Killer Signature: Tongueless babies, toddlers and children accompanied with a handwritten note.

Who does she kill?

She doesn’t really kill, though what she does to her victims might end up killing them afterwords. Her victims are usually babies, toddlers and children up to the age of 6. She does not kill teenagers and adults because, due to her past, she feels like she can sympathize with them. That does not mean she wouldn’t kill for self defense however.

What does she do to her victims?

She first sneaks around a neighborhood and pears through windows to see if the household has any young children. Once she is sure, she will break in when all the residents are asleep and sing lullabies to their children. However, if the victim begins to cry/show signs of not trusting her when she’s “nurturing” them, she will use her scissors to cut off their tongues as a way to “silence” or to punish them. She will also occasionally leave a note behind for the parents warning them to properly take care of their children.

What is her motivation?

Most of this is explained in her origin story but for short: since she’s a former mother, she feels as though she was given the right to judge if a child is misbehaving and if the parents are at fault. She basically acts like an entitled parent.

Origin Story

(Summarized version)

Sydney’s parents were always busy working at their university so they never had the time to fully raise her, the nannies that they hired did that responsibility for them instead. During high school, she was a cheerleader thus making her popular and eventually gaining a boyfriend, in which he has gotten her pregnant leaving Sydney to find out at the day of her senior graduation.

He had left her after hearing the news therefore leaving her to raise their child on her own. Throughout most of her early adulthood, Sydney had become devoted to taking care of Heather by working several jobs, making her sacrifice her own wellbeing. On Halloween night, she was then tricked by Laughing Jack into accidentally killing her daughter.

Ever after doing something horrendous, she actually felt liberated from overworking herself. She made up a new alter ego for herself: The Pacifier, the woman who mercies the good children while punishing the bad ones who don’t enjoy her motherly presence.

Extra Info

Likes: Cats, singing lullabies, baking and children who behave.

Dislikes: Messes, being in broad daylight, crowds of people and misbehaving children.

Trivia:

She sometimes collects the tongues to add to the collection she has, it’s not uncommon for her to leave the tongue behind.

Her mask was originally made for her daughter for Halloween as part of a black cat costume.

Her parents own and run a university called “McQuoid Institution.”

She regularly exercises whenever she isn’t out stalking.

She has an odd fascination with baby dolls and sometimes steals them from victims.

She hates messes, especially messy crime scenes and will very often clean up after herself.

The necklace she currently wears is from her daughter since they used to wear matching necklaces.

Her ancestry is Swedish and Indian however she is not connected to either of her cultures due to her parents not raising her.

If she met Laughing Jack knowing that he was the one that he was the one that tricked her into killing Heather, she would actually be grateful and thank him considering that he was the one that helped liberate her from her stressful lifestyle, albeit indirectly. (This is purely hypothetical since they will never cross paths again, this is not canon to Laughing Jack)

Theme Songs

(More will be added)

Milk and Cookies - Melanie Martinez

Come Little Children - Hocus Pocus

- Malue <3

[clickadilia]

Top 10 Casino Games: How to Play and Win

Casinos offer a vast array of games designed to entertain and challenge players of all skill levels. From classics like poker and blackjack to the colorful allure of slot machines, there’s something for everyone. But knowing how to play and win these games is essential to making the most of your casino experience. This article will walk you through the top 10 casino games, providing tips on how to play and strategies to improve your chances of winning.

1. Blackjack

Blackjack, also known as 21, is one of the most popular casino games worldwide due to its simple rules and strategic depth.

How to Play:

The goal is to beat the dealer by having a hand value closer to 21 without exceeding it.

Number cards (2–10) hold their face value, face cards (Jack, Queen, King) are worth 10 points, and aces can be worth either 1 or 11 points.

Players are dealt two cards and can choose to "hit" (receive another card) or "stand" (keep their current hand). If the total exceeds 21, the player "busts" and loses.

How to Win:

Learn basic blackjack strategy, which outlines the optimal decision (hit, stand, double down, or split) for every possible hand.

Pay attention to the dealer's up-card. If the dealer shows a 4, 5, or 6, they are more likely to bust, so it's generally better to stand.

Always split aces and 8s and never split 10s or 5s.

2. Roulette

Roulette is a game of pure chance that’s famous for its spinning wheel and colorful betting layout.

How to Play:

A roulette wheel features 37 or 38 numbers (depending on whether you play European or American roulette), including a green zero (and a green double zero in American roulette).

Players bet on where they think the ball will land by placing chips on various sections of the betting table.

Bets can be placed on individual numbers, groups of numbers, or properties such as red/black, odd/even, and high/low numbers.

How to Win:

European roulette (with only one zero) gives you better odds than American roulette, so choose it if available.

Consider using betting systems like the Martingale or Fibonacci, where you increase your bet after a loss to potentially recover previous losses. However, these systems come with significant risk.

Stick to outside bets (red/black, odd/even) for a higher probability of winning, although the payouts are lower.

3. Poker (Texas Hold’em)

Texas Hold’em is the most popular form of poker, played in casinos and poker rooms worldwide.

How to Play:

Each player is dealt two private cards (hole cards) and five community cards are dealt face-up in the center of the table.

The goal is to make the best five-card hand using any combination of the hole cards and community cards.

Players take turns betting, and you can choose to fold (give up), call (match the current bet), or raise (increase the bet). The player with the best hand at the end wins the pot.

How to Win:

Master the hand rankings and starting hand strategy. Knowing when to fold, particularly with weak hands, is crucial.

Pay attention to your opponents' tendencies and learn how to bluff effectively.

Practice bankroll management and avoid going all-in too often unless you have a strong hand.

4. Baccarat

Baccarat is a simple card game often associated with high rollers and is popular for its straightforward gameplay.

How to Play:

The game has three betting options: Player, Banker, or Tie. Your goal is to bet on which hand will have a total closest to 9.

Each hand is dealt two cards. If the total exceeds 9, only the last digit is considered (e.g., a hand with a 7 and 8 adds up to 15, but the score is 5).

The dealer handles all the drawing decisions, so players don’t need to make in-game choices.

How to Win:

Always bet on the Banker. While the casino takes a small commission (usually 5%) on Banker wins, the odds of winning are slightly better than betting on the Player.

Avoid the Tie bet—it has a much higher house edge.

Manage your bankroll carefully and avoid chasing losses.

5. Craps

Craps is a lively and fast-paced dice game that can seem intimidating at first, but it’s one of the most thrilling games once you understand it.

How to Play:

The game revolves around the roll of two dice. Players bet on the outcome of the roll or a series of rolls.

The basic bet is the "Pass Line" bet. If the shooter rolls a 7 or 11 on the first roll (the come-out roll), Pass Line bets win. If the shooter rolls a 2, 3, or 12, they lose. Any other number becomes the "point," and the shooter must roll that number again before rolling a 7 for Pass Line bets to win.

How to Win:

Stick to Pass Line and Don’t Pass Line bets, as these offer the best odds for players.

Avoid proposition bets, as they carry a higher house edge.

Familiarize yourself with the odds bet, which has no house edge and can increase your potential winnings.

6. Slot Machines

Slot machines are the most popular casino game, known for their simplicity and large potential payouts.

How to Play:

Players insert money into the machine, select their bet amount, and spin the reels. The goal is to match symbols across paylines.

Modern slots often feature bonus rounds, free spins, and progressive jackpots, where the potential prize increases with each game played.

How to Win:

Play machines with a higher Return to Player (RTP) percentage. These slots pay back more over time.

Always bet the maximum number of paylines to maximize your chances of hitting a winning combination.

Set a budget and stick to it, as slots are highly random and addictive.

7. Video Poker

Video poker combines elements of slots and poker, offering a game of skill with better odds than regular slot machines.

How to Play:

After placing a bet, you are dealt five cards and can choose to hold or discard any of them to form the best possible poker hand. The machine then deals new cards, and you are paid based on the strength of your final hand.

The goal is to form a winning poker hand, with payouts based on the paytable for that specific machine.

How to Win:

Choose video poker machines with a full paytable (like "Jacks or Better"), as these offer better payouts.

Learn the optimal strategy for the game you’re playing and practice it consistently.

Play with the maximum number of coins to be eligible for the highest payouts.

8. Pai Gow Poker

Pai Gow Poker is a slower-paced game that allows players to use strategy to minimize losses and increase their chances of winning.

How to Play:

The game uses a standard 52-card deck and a joker. Players are dealt seven cards, which they must split into a five-card hand and a two-card hand.

The goal is to beat both of the dealer’s hands. The five-card hand must rank higher than the two-card hand.

How to Win:

Focus on learning how to split your hands correctly. A common mistake is to create two weak hands instead of one strong and one weak hand.

The house edge is relatively low in Pai Gow Poker, so it’s a good game for beginners looking to play longer without risking too much money.

9. Keno

Keno is a lottery-style game where players choose numbers in the hope of matching those drawn by the casino.

How to Play:

Players select a set of numbers from a grid (usually between 1 and 80). The casino then draws a set of winning numbers, and players are paid based on how many of their selected numbers match the drawn ones.

Keno is entirely based on chance, so no skill or strategy is required.

How to Win:

Choose fewer numbers to increase your chances of winning smaller prizes.

Play in moderation, as Keno has a high house edge.

10. Sic Bo

Sic Bo is a dice game of Chinese origin that is easy to learn and fast-paced.

How to Play:

Players bet on the outcome of three dice rolls. There are numerous betting options, including specific number combinations, total sum, or whether the outcome will be high or low.

The dealer shakes the dice in a small chest and reveals the outcome.

How to Win:

Stick to low-risk bets like "small" or "big," which have nearly a 50% chance of winning.

Avoid betting on specific triples, as these have the highest house edge.

Conclusion

Whether you’re drawn to the strategy of poker or the fast-paced excitement of slots, understanding how to play and improve your chances in these top casino games can make your experience more enjoyable and profitable. While luck plays a significant role in most casino games, practicing good bankroll management, learning basic strategies, and choosing games with better odds can significantly increase your chances of walking away a winner.

Source: https://bofcasino.eu/

[blackjacksmemeclinic]

Vibes I get from the different Black Jacks.

2004 Black Jack: Just a wholesome guy. He looks like his favorite hobby is playing board games with kids and letting them win.

1990s OVA Black Jack: Dark and brooding, mysterious. Scary at first, but well meaning and loyal when you get to know him.

Manga Black Jack: Unhinged gremlin. Always ready to pull a prank. I feel like he wants to move around all my furniture around just slightly enough to confuse me.

(Black Jack is a mix of all of these, it's just in different versions some traits are more noticable)

Those are the exact same vibes I get too! Whenever I write him in roleplays or stories, I try and merge all of them into it. I love Manga BlackJack's gremlin energy, that's my faveourite version of him but all BlackJack.. good blackjack.

He's so serious and stern in the OVA but still has a heart of gold, and visually he is arguably the prettiest version of him. 2004+ Two doctors of darkness and BlackJack 21 version are so dear to me too, he's so sweet in them but he can still be harsh too, and whenever his complex morals come up, it makes me want to try and understand him a bit more. His eyes especially and his eye lashes in the ova.. so pretty! He's so cool!

I also think his appearances in non BlackJack related things is cool too, have you seen Undersea Super Train: Marine Express or One Million-Year Trip: Bandar Book? Animation wise, that's my faveourite animation style, the grainy look to older anime is beautiful and I love seeing BlackJack in other roles in the star system. He's a bit like his manga self in marine express, but in Banderbook he's so cool! If you haven't seen those, I highly reccomend them!

Marine express's intro song though, is a constant ear worm for me, it lives in my head for all eternity unfortunately. Thankfully, it's a catchy song! Sorry for the ramble, BlackJack related stuff makes me so happy! Have a wonderful day!