#bpgambit

Thoughts, feelings, or images that occur when unconscious. Aptly named dreams when positive, and nightmares when negative. This phenomenon is a feast for the polite dream eaters who are content to roam in the shadows, eating to live and never truly living. Simple. Balanced. Most won’t remember their dreams by the time they wake up without their interference anyway.

Gambit was not a polite dream eater, and he rather despised such an arbitrary guideline. If dreams are just unconscious thoughts, who’s to say he can’t eat the waking ones too?

His own memories were plentiful. He came into being a long, long time ago, his existence beginning exactly as inconsequentially as it continued. Eat dreams, wander, and eat some more. It was inevitable that he’d tire of eating the same boring meals over and over again. Couldn’t be helped.

The first time he’d tried a waking thought, it was an odd feeling. They had many different flavors. Some too sweet, causing his many teeth to ache and shift. Some bitter. Some spicy. Some cold, and some warm.

The variety was a welcome change.

He found a dysfunctional family to regularly feast upon the thoughts of. It was nice not to have to go from bedroom to bedroom, because food was plentiful when he had little morals. He became quite the binge eater, gluttonous and greedy for the worst-wishing and resentments. There wasn’t a day that went by that his appetite wasn’t sated.

It didn’t last long. Getting its thoughts eaten constantly didn’t leave a brain very functional, and all at once the family lost their minds. The twist of fate was less cruel and more dreadfully annoying. How unfortunate to have to learn restraint.

It was soon after that he met an intriguing couple. A human and a snake.

Humans were few and far between. Rare and enticing for someone as greedy as Gambit, no doubt. He wondered if he could eat the whole human at once. Eating an entire banquet in one go would no doubt leave him full for years to come, surely, and this human seemed to carry quite the variety of thoughts and feelings for the snake. It was a delectable thought.

The consumption itself was more confusing than he was prepared for. He’d expected the same as thoughts or dreams, perhaps a bit more squirm-y, but not the disgusting merging that felt like being squeezed and tugged and pushed into something that wasn’t himself.

He was disoriented for a long, confusing moment. Something that felt like his thoughts and not his thoughts at all had begun to swim, and before long, he realized he had hands, as well as legs that wanted nothing more than to follow that snake and fix what he’d so clearly broken.

Confusing. Disgusting. Convenient.

The snake, now known as Jackpot, wasn’t difficult to soothe. Eat the negative, mournful thoughts, leave him delirious indefinitely, and force him into stability that he couldn’t actually feel. At the very least, he could eat without worry, and Jackpot seemed to be quite fond of him after everything was said and done.

Things were easy again. Casinos weren’t hard to run when everyone was under contract with the threat of death. He was even admired, a reality he found himself enjoying. He had a human body with which he could discover human food, which did absolutely nothing for him nutritionally but was very entertaining. He even got into a pack of cigarettes at times. Being human was easy.

He hated when things threw wrenches in his careful constructs.

Jackpot started acting out. Small, confusing bouts of lucidity surrounding a particular individual, persistent and annoying. Gambit would eat, and the thoughts would return like a lingering stain on his perfected existence.

Annoying. Annoying. ANNOYING.

He was going to get rid of the problem. He’d stop this rebellion at the source. That person Jackpot insisted on using as a means to get back memories he shouldn’t have. That NUISANCE.

He stopped them by the shoulder when they next visited Buried Pair. They turned, confused, and his blood stopped flowing.

Perhaps it had been the countless thoughts of Jackpot’s he’d been eating. Perhaps it’d been Quincy’s, still lingering when they should’ve been long gone. Perhaps it was his own, breaking free from somewhere deep within his vile being.

“The lakeside suite is only a small upcharge. Consider it next time,” Had been the words from his lips. Unintentional and cold.

They nodded, confused, and walked off.

Part of him was tearing himself to pieces: Get rid of it! Why does this THING think it can control me?! Why was it so easy?

The other part, the same part that had chased Jackpot out of that alleyway, smiled.

Why be hasty? Exploring the unknown was how he got to where he was to begin with. What’s one more enigma?

♡⊰•˚₊‧. Thanks for reading! .‧₊˚•⊱ ♡

For your time, you get Gambit's relationship chart! Congrats!

****

The casino’s patrons did not give you any trouble. You made time to visit Jackpot, and your presence seemed to make his day. You had no idea why, but it was nice to see him glow whenever you showed up at his bar.

He mentioned his boss, Gambit, here and there. He had nothing bad to say about Gambit, and it became clear that they were good friends. You couldn’t help but wonder: why did Jackpot seem so lonely when he had a friend as close as Gambit?

It didn’t make sense, and you usually weren’t one to judge. There was something deeply wrong here, but you lacked concrete proof.

Sometimes, you’d observe Jackpot working before greeting him. The conclusion you came to? Jackpot needed help. The possibility of exploitation came to mind, but when you carefully brought it up, Jackpot vehemently denied it.

“No, Gambit is not like that. He would never do that to me.”

You met Gambit a few days later. Gambit had stopped you by the shoulder. His cold demeanor terrified you enough that you couldn’t hide the fear in your expression. How did he know?

His first words to you were about one of the suites, suggesting you should think about it. He didn’t walk off immediately; a few uncomfortable seconds had been spent in silence before you realized you could leave.

****

As it turned out, Gambit truly appeared to be a reasonable enough guy. His reputation was well-earned, and you only knew a fraction of what he was capable of. A man like him had to be powerful if he could hire assassins to handle the dirty work for him and have no one bat an eye.

There’s more to Gambit, but you hardly knew him. Jackpot was easy, it felt like you were more of a danger to him than he was to you. With Gambit, you knew you were powerless and small. Yet he never took advantage of you, and treated you with more respect than most nonhumans did outside the casino.

Eventually, you found yourself welcome even without spending money first. You didn’t get the luxury of VIP treatment, but the owner liked you enough. In rare moments, you could almost swear that he wanted more. Gambit looked at you differently than Jackpot, but you couldn’t make sense of it.

You did enjoy Gambit’s company. He scared off any patrons who would give you trouble otherwise. You’d be lying if you said he ever mistreated you. There was little warmth behind his charming smiles, but with you he felt more genuine. It was something you appreciated. He made you feel special.

****

You couldn’t remember last night. How could you forget something that happened so recently?

Upon slowly blinking awake, you froze, stiff as a board. You couldn’t move, instead forced to feel your heart race on its own, preparing itself for an attack or escape. It took a moment for you to take in the details of your surroundings: luxurious furniture and decor, even down to the mattress you slept on. You weren’t home, but where were you?

Willing yourself to move, you managed to break out of your fear-induced paralysis and glanced once more around your room.

Nothing stopped you from heading out and exploring the area. So you did, quickly finding yourself back in the casino. You were in a suite, it seemed. That made sense. Gambit had suggested it to you when you met. You hadn’t expected yourself to actually go through with it, but apparently you did.

Jackpot was quick to appear at your side. Only this time, he’s clearly upset. “I think you were right about Gambit,” he suddenly stated. The comment threw you off; what changed his mind? Jackpot’s hand gripped onto your arm, a little too tight for comfort.

“Why should he get to help you? He didn’t even let me help!” Jackpot was surprisingly sober. He never was, and you had gotten used to it. Seeing the clarity in his eyes, how different they were than usual, was jarring. He paused, gazing deep into your eyes. It only made him more distressed. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. All Gambit told me was that he handled it, but I needed to see you for myself. He made me worry the whole night. It’s not fair!”

You needed help last night? No, that wasn’t right… Did you really?

“What happened? I don’t remember anything.”

“You don’t?” Jackpot furrowed his brows in deep thought, like he’s trying to put together a puzzle with missing pieces. He sought your eyes like a lifeline, holding on to you as if you’d drift away. “I remember… Someone slipped something into your drink, and I didn’t see who did it. You passed out, but Gambit caught you before you fell. He said it made sense for him to take you to an empty suite. I begged to go with him because I…” There was a tense pause. You waited for Jackpot to finish, but the growing dread gnawing at you could not be ignored. “I don’t trust him alone with you.”

Why Jackpot would suddenly doubt Gambit eluded you. His boss had been so good to you, and he cared deeply for Jackpot as well. This felt wrong. Gambit didn’t do anything to deserve this, but Jackpot’s insistence was worth listening to.

“Really? Gambit wouldn’t do anything. He’s never seen me that way.” You weren’t eager to point fingers, but Jackpot was your first friend here. He could be eccentric at times, but you doubted it was his fault. Someone might have failed him in his life, but that was only a theory of yours. Jackpot couldn’t tell you much about his past, anyway. He wasn’t a malicious guy; you could trust him, but believing him meant accepting that there was a very real possibility that Gambit did something to you.

“You might be right.” It felt like your blood has gone cold.

Jackpot didn’t seem to be doing any better. His grip on you had not loosened since you started talking. “We can’t trust him at all,” he murmured. “He’s not my friend…”

It appeared as though Jackpot’s making this realization in the moment. Gambit clearly was his friend, but you wondered if Jackpot was denouncing him for possibly taking advantage of you, or if there was a deeper meaning that you knew too little to understand. You weren’t entirely convinced Gambit had done anything at all.

Color drained from Jackpot, staring not at you but something behind you. He released your arm, but ushered you beside him.

When you turned to look behind you, goosebumps formed on your skin in seconds.

“Are you feeling well?” Gambit’s worry was evident in his expression. He focused more on you than he did Jackpot. After all, you did get drugged last night. Gambit, in that moment, did not look like the kind of man with ill intentions for his friends at all.

“I’m… okay. I don’t have a headache or anything.” You calmed down a little after seeing Gambit be his usual polite self.

“You should be in bed,” he suggested. “You might feel side effects today. I’ll walk you back.” Gambit extended a hand; there was a clear expectation for you to take it, even if he didn’t vocalize it.

You spared a glance towards Jackpot. You couldn’t read him, and you only hoped that Gambit hadn’t heard his employee, his friend, suggest he could be capable of something as terrible as assault.

Gambit wouldn’t do anything to you, there’s no evidence to indicate otherwise. There was no soreness in your body at all, you were fine. So you took his hand, and spared Jackpot a final glance before Gambit guided you back to your suite.

****

The walk back had been mostly silent. For some strange reason, when you passed by a particular painting, you stopped. It wasn’t the painting that was important, you couldn’t care less, but it was familiar. You have passed this painting before. Last night, to be exact.

Gambit, sensing your growing panic, was quick to check up on you. “It’s okay,” he said, rubbing his thumb over your hand. A comforting gesture, perhaps. “I will help.”

He’s said that before.

****

A strange heat surged through you, just enough to make you uncomfortable, but not unbearable. Distantly, you were aware. Your fear, replaced by a desperate need once you were settled into bed. You didn’t know what happened, but you knew you needed help.

Kind, generous Gambit, thankfully, brought you to safety. The moment your body touched the sheets, you sighed blissfully. Sleep was just what you needed, but your body’s aching for something you could not mention.

You thought Gambit would leave once you’re safe, but he lingered. The bed dipped with his weight, and you opened your eyes, confused.

“How are you feeling?” He had asked, and he seemed concerned. It made something in you stir.

“Weird,” you answered. Realizing that he should probably get a better response, you forced yourself to continue. “My body is hot and uncomfortable.”

Gambit stayed silent. He stared at the ground, but when he looked your way, there was something different about him. “Sex will help.”

His blunt words stunned you for a moment. How could he mention that so casually? You were trying to avoid saying it in the first place!

“I don’t know…” You weren’t completely opposed to the idea, but would it really help? Should you even let your friend’s boss sleep with you while you’re clearly unwell?

“What you’re going through will become unbearable if you don’t let me help. It’ll get worse if I don’t.” Gambit spoke as this would be an easy decision for you, as if it was the most natural arrangement in the world.

When you didn’t seem entirely convinced, Gambit moved closer until you felt his body against yours. Even such a simple touch was enough to cause your hesitation to waver, to silence any future protests from coming out of your mouth.

“I won’t do anything if you don’t let me,” he assured, but it felt more like a threat in your delirious state. The decision was yours; Gambit was letting you decide: either face unbearable symptoms alone, or be granted a reprieve. All you had to do was offer your body. Gambit was nowhere near the worst person to sleep with. If anything, you felt like he would be doing you a huge favor rather than doing it for his own pleasure.

“Please help me.” You caved. The trepidation weighing heavily on your mind hadn’t left, but you agreed to it anyway. This was your choice.

It didn’t feel like you were in a position to refuse.

Gambit smiled, perhaps a little too wide for someone who’s supposedly only doing this for your sake.

He slotted his lips against yours so naturally, as if loving you was his purpose. So was his hand which slipped into your pants with no hesitation at all. Meanwhile you were a bundle of nerves, so incredibly nervous and ashamed but desperate for relief.

“It’s okay,” Gambit whispered, leaning in close enough where he made your heart race. “I will help.”

****

Visiting Buried Pair was second nature to you.

It’s one of the few places in the city that prioritized your safety as much as the nonhumans. You were used to being an afterthought, but here, you knew you were safe.

You grew closer with Gambit through every conversation, and the feeling was mutual. He made you, a mere human, feel special in a world where you had to worry about those around you. You even had a feeling Gambit took security more seriously after having gotten to know you.

Gambit took good care of his friends, a group which included you. Jackpot sometimes experienced panic attacks during his shifts, but Gambit always knew how to help, it seemed, because when they returned from the back, Jackpot was his cheerful self again. He could never recall what was on his mind, but Jackpot had always been the forgetful type for as long as you’ve known him. Though sometimes you had to wonder how someone could be so unaware.

Jackpot never had too much to offer a cold world. His mother cried when he was born scaled instead of soft-skinned like her, because snakes aren’t beautiful. They’re vile, slithering tricksters. She couldn’t hold him. She hated him the moment he opened his eyes, fearful of all the things he didn’t understand.

She couldn’t look at him, and there wasn’t much he could do for himself. His smiles weren’t particularly endearing, and his skin would peel when it got too warm out. He had the eyes of a hunter, and it certainly would’ve been more convenient if he actually was one. At least then there would’ve been a plate on the table for him along with his six beautiful older siblings.

He lived by avoidance. No one could scream at the sight of his slitted pupils if he wasn’t spotted at all, and no one could catch him if he was the fastest runner. Hopping fences was easy, and scraping your knees hurt less every time.

He regularly wished he was a cute kid, but at least he was smart. He grew older. He got jobs. He learned what lies sounded like and how it felt to be cut by a silver tongue. He went on dates that felt more like performances and never once understood what love was.

It wasn’t until he met Quincy that things started to feel less empty. He knew what to say to make Jackpot flood with warmth. His eyes were soft when they gazed upon him, untainted and kind. He never cared for Jackpot’s flaws, because Quincy’s flaws were far more diabolical.

He was human. Humans are weak. Humans don’t survive because they shouldn’t.

Jackpot watched the thing devour him. It was little more than slimy, ink black appendages and thousands of mouths that swallowed flesh and bone and a heart that was supposed to beat for Jackpot and now didn’t beat at all.

It looked at him with eyes that drooped, many of them. Different colors and shapes and sizes. It was beautiful, in a morbid way. Though, probably only because Jackpot himself didn’t understand beauty.

It slid across the concrete with a gross sccchlick sound, and Jackpot ran. He stumbled and cried out like a scraped knee could even hurt anymore, then struggled against the trembling in his own body to get back to his feet. A hand encircled his wrist, he turned back to scream, but the eyes that stared at him were the same he’d been staring longingly into for so long.

“...Quincy?” He whispered, voice pitched too high.

A pause. They stood like that in the middle of the sidewalk on an empty night. A streetlight flickered nearby. The wind whistled like a death knell.

“If that’s what you want to call me,” The man replied in the familiar rasp, though the words sounded more like air than voice. “Though such a common label cannot define me.”

Jackpot stared. The thing wearing Quincy’s skin stared back.

“You’re in pain,” It continued, apparently realizing Jackpot wasn’t trying to share a friendly conversation. “I will help.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Jackpot blurted out, because he wanted to run until his legs gave out.

“Your physical wounds don’t concern me,” Its grip tightened around his wrist. “Stay calm. Don’t breathe.”

Jackpot didn’t remember what happened after that. He woke up feeling much better, exactly where he belonged at Quincy’s side. Did it really matter if Quincy didn't act the same? No. Nothing mattered anymore. There was no pain to speak of. There were no scraped knees or peeling skin or crying mothers.

Every ache was replaced with that blank stare. Quincy was to be trusted implicitly, because why wouldn’t he be? When he offered him the title of Jackpot, it was a gift that would be valued more than the universe itself. A shitty name given by a rotten mother who wept in hatred of her son was worthless anyway.

Quincy taught him to live, and everything after that was just collateral. Bartending came easy, and charisma was so much more natural when nothing at all could break him down. The casino was a rippling success, and Quincy–No, Gambit now–was the center of it all.

Things were normal. Anything abnormal was promptly forgotten about because it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Living life in a haze was easy, why make it difficult?

It wasn’t his decision to make when the fog cleared.

He only met someone’s gaze. They were asking where the nearest bathroom was located, muttering something about how annoyingly large the place was. He didn’t answer, because how could he when the eyes he was staring into were so familiar. 

“Soft,” He choked out before conscious thought had any time to reach him.

“What?” They replied, blinking at him. Jackpot wished they’d stop blinking. He couldn’t see their eyes through their eyelids.

“Walk straight that way, then turn left when you get to the check-in counter,” He forced the words out and gestured, though internally he was begging them not to look away at all.

“Uh… yeah, thanks,” They nodded, and then they were gone, and Jackpot along with them.

Something snapped. He was torn between the pleasant disconnect he was familiar with by now and the very real memory of their eyes meeting his own.

Soft. Soft. Soft. Soft. Soft.

He didn’t fancy himself a stalker, it just ended up that way. He’d accidentally be where they were, all smiles and flirtatious banter, until they excused themself and he began counting seconds until next time their eyes met again.

He’s not creepy, he just needs to remember. Everything would be fine as long as those eyes remained on his.

♢⊰•˚₊‧. Thanks for reading! .‧₊˚•⊱♢

For your time, you get Jackpot's relationship chart! Congrats!

To your left, you’ll see the establishment’s prized dealer, Edge ( #bpedge ) He can catch a cheat a mile away! He’s impressive, but try not to get too close for your own sake. Don’t tell him I said this, but he always seems to be in such a bad mood.

At his table, you’ll find one of our regulars. Amias ( #bpamias ) can’t seem to lose. He hasn’t been caught cheating yet, so maybe he’s just really lucky? If you ask me, I’d say he probably annoys Edge so much that he can’t focus.

Behind the table games, you’ll see our bar. The bartender, Jackpot ( #bpjackpot ), makes the best cocktails you’ve ever had. Well, that is, if you like your alcohol over-poured…

Oh! Near the high rollers you can see the owner, Gambit ( #bpgambit ). He’s a sight to see, but there’s a lot of power behind those charming smiles. Try not to get on his bad side.

Ack! Look behind you, but don’t make it obvious! By the sportsbooks. That’s Double Down ( #bpdoubledown ), the debt collector. He’s way too friendly for a guy that executes people as a job… Freaky!

So, welcome back.