#Grim Gambler

[syntia13treeman]

With love for the early access crowd. May you roll high and gain resistance to emotional damage. 😘

[syntia13treeman]

Also, because I have no chills and no patience to see if you stumble upon it organically (and it's a good primer for tumblr experience):

Is that you, Alex J Newall?

Gosh, no foreplay? We're just cutting straight to the existential stuff

[vivwritesfics]

Cowgirl

He was just there to see Kate, to make sure she was all right after what happened. He didn't expect to run into the pretty cowgirl and her horse.

There was an unfamiliar white truck in the driveway. There was always unfamiliar trucks in the driveway, always some rich asshole trying to purchase the land out from under their feet.

She patted her horse's neck as she looked at the truck. Storm Par. Tye name didn't tell her as much as she wanted it to. "Come on, Gambler." She tensed her leg against the horse's side and walked him towards the barn.

It was late, so late that she knew her mother would be furious with her. Her sister was always the good one, the one with high expectations placed on her shoulders. Expectations that she'd exceeded.

Jumping from Gamblers saddle, she walked him into the barn and did everything she needed to do. Untacked him, fed him, made sure the little makeshift stable was clean and he had enough food and water for the night.

They got a small corner of the barn. The rest of it was full of Kate's stuff. She couldn't be mad about that, not when Kate's stuff was so cool. But it also served as a grim reminded that she wasn't there, and hadn't been for years.

Shutting the barn for the night, she made her way back to the house. Storm Par, she'd seen that truck somewhere before, she just couldn't put her finger on it. She tried to look in the truck, but it was too dark to see anything.

She made her way inside of the house, toed off her dirty boots and dropped her keys in the bowl. Shrugging off her jacket, she hung it over the banister and made her way to the kitchen.

Her stomach made a desperate noise as she looked in the fridge for the leftovers. "I know, I know," she mumbled to herself, setting about heating it up.

Footsteps, on the stairs. "Mom?" She called over her shoulder. "Sorry I'm late, we lost track of time."

The person didn't respond as she stirred the leftovers in the pan to heat it up. When she turned around, her breath caught in her throat.

There stood her sister. Kate, the good one, the smart one, the one that had disappeared to New York. "Holy shit," she breathed as she looked at her. "Holy fuckin' shit."

"Hi," Kate said and swallowed.

She'd imagined this moment several times, what it would be like to be reunited with Kate. Had imagined running into her arms and holding her so tight that she couldn't leave again.

But, now that they were here, she was at a loss. It didn't feel right to embrace Kate in such a dramatic fashion, didn't feel right to do anything but just look at her.

She turned and stirred the leftovers in the pan. "What're you doing back?" She asked as she began to plate it up.

Kate shrugged her shoulders. "I was nearby," she said and sat at the kitchen table, sat in the seat opposite her. "Were you out with Gambler?"

She nodded as she ate.

No, it isn't bad writing, the conversation was stale. The sisters didn't quite know what so say to each other. Where had they left off when Kate disappeared? Why had she left them behind?

She didn't mean to resent her sister for getting out, for leaving her behind. Their mother had been so distraught when Kate left for New York, but she understood why. She still had her other daughter there. Her other daughter who wanted to leave, who wanted to travel across the country and make a life for herself.

Clearing her throat, she stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow," she mumbled and took her food up to her room. Kate wasn't blonde the last time she saw her. But that seemed to be the only difference.

She looked out of her window, looked at the Storm Par truck in the drive. It must have been Kate's truck, she decided and sat at her computer.

It was so easy to find information on Storm Par. To find out who they were, to find out what they did. The what wasn't important, and the who was only kind of important. It was the why that she cared about. And, when she found that out, why the hell would Kate work for a company like this?

A sour feeling settled in her stomach as she went to bed that night.

***

"Someone's feeling fresh," she mumbled as she walked Gambler forward. But Gambler didn't want to walk; he wanted to go.

She turned him in a sharp circle, since holding him back wasn't doing anything to stop him from taking off. "You wanna run, Gamble?" She challenged, walking him to the end of the drive. He was practically galloping on the spot.

When they get to the wide open field in front of them, she let him go. Gambler went. He galloped, snorting as he went. She held the mane and let him run until he got to the other end of the field. At the other end of the field, she got Gambler back under control and began walking him back to the house. Halfway across the field, she pushed him into a nice, controlled canter.

An unfamiliar red truck was parked in the driveway, parked beside the Storm Par truck. She squeezed on the reins, slowed Gambler down as she watched the guy climb out of the red truck. The cowboy hat on his head looked performative as he placed it back in his truck.

"Can I help you?" She asked as she walked Gambler over to him.

He was gorgeous. His charm was written in smile as he looked around at her home. Upon seeing her, his charming smile dropped from his face. "Uh, yeah," he said and turned again. "Is Kate here?" He asked.

She blew out a breath and gestured for him to follow her. He did, walking a good distance behind Gambler. "Are you with Storm Par as well?" She asked as she rode, the reins in one hand and her other hand resting on her thigh.

To Tyler, she looked all the bit the cowgirl. He knew cowgirls, he was an ex rodeo man, after all. This was the kind of girl he would have chased after before he went to study meteorology. "No," he said, that charming smile slowly reappearing on his face. "I do chase, though."

"Ah," she said as she jumped from the saddle and grabbed a hold of the reins. "You're one of those freaks." It was said completely in jest, the tone of her voice suggested. She pushed open the barn doors and led Tyler inside. "Kate," she called across the barn. "Someone here for you."

Tyler watched as she took her horse to the little stable in the back of the barn. And then he turned his attention to Kate.

All the time she was in the barn, Tyler couldn't help but look at her. She had a Stetson hanging off the stable door as she gave her horse a bath. It shouldn't have been distracting but, to Tyler, it was. She was just cleaning her horse, massaging the purple shampoo into his grey coat.

Every time Kate caught him staring, Tyler had the decency to quickly look away. But Kate just grinned at him and told him her name. "She's my sister," she said quietly.

He didn't expected to get invited to dinner. "You should," said Kate as she looked further into the barn. "She's cooking." Tyler looked back at her as she grabbed a black bucket and filled it with horse food.

Her cooking was incredible. She wore her Stetson as she brought the food to the table outside. Kate set the table as she placed an array of food on the middle of the table.

"Thank you, cowgirl," said Tyler as she placed the salad down in front of him.

Her cheeks were so hot as she sat in the seat opposite him. "Don't mention it," she muttered and began plating everything up.

It was easy not to look at her when her mother was asking him so many questions, questions he was happy to answer. But she hadn't stopped looking at him. Feeling like a creep, she tried to stay focused on her dinner. But his voice. Fuck, it was something else.

"What about you?"

She hadn't even realised he was talking to her. With her mouth full, she looked up at him. "What?" She asked around the food in her mouth.

"Do you like storms?"

It probably wouldn't have been such an odd question if she had been paying attention to the conversation. She shook her head. "Don't get me wrong, they're pretty. But you wouldn't catch me dead outside in one."

Tyler's entire focus was on her, as if he'd forgotten her mother and Kate were there. "I bet I could change your mind," he said, voice full of confidence.

She took the challenge, copied his pose as she leaned towards him. "Oh yeah? And how are you gonna do that?" She tried to copy the expression on his face, the charming grin he had so easily mastered.

He sat back in his seat and looked towards his truck. "You'll see, Cowgirl."

[adorekaia]

No one escapes... except you.

kang dae-ho x frontman's daughter!reader

okay okay this is like a day dream i just randomly had and i tried looking for ANYONE who has done it and since no one did im making it myself + this is my first time EVER writing fanfic so sorry if it's bad 😓

The air in the control room was stale, thick with the metallic hum of countless monitors. You sat in the plush chair meant for the second-in-command, your gloved hands folded in your lap, staring at the screens before you.

Rows upon rows of contestants, all dressed in their green tracksuits, huddled in uneasy clusters within the massive dormitory. Some whispered strategies, others wept quietly, and a few sat in grim silence, already resigned to their fates.

But amidst the sea of faces, one caught your eye.

Kang Dae-ho. Player 388.

He sat with his back against the cold metal bunk, arms crossed, watching the room with sharp, assessing eyes. His presence was commanding—broad-shouldered, muscular, with a rough, unshaven jaw that made him stand out among the tired, desperate men around him. His military background was evident in the way he carried himself: always alert, always prepared.

But there was something else. Something that set him apart from the hardened criminals and reckless gamblers that made up most of the players.

He wasn’t here because he was a fool or a coward.

He was here because he had no other choice.

You leaned closer to the screen, watching as Dae-ho interacted with the other players.

“Listen, if we want to survive, we need a plan,” a man who you recognised because he won the games last year muttered. “The last Squid Game… it wasn’t just luck. There were alliances.”

Jung-bae exhaled sharply. “Alliances only work until they don’t. Everyone here is desperate. You think anyone’s going to stick their neck out for you when the stakes get high?”

The man’s expression darkened. “You sound like you’ve already given up.”

Dae-ho was just zoned out until Jung-bae chimes “You were in the military, weren’t you?”

Dae-ho glanced at him, tilting his head “Yeah?"

“You think that you'll be help to us?”

Dae-ho without hesitation obeyed saying "Yes, sir!"

While Jung-bae goes back to talking to Gi-hun and your dad, In-ho, Dae-ho glanced up, as if sensing something—his eyes flickered toward the camera. Towards you.

A shiver ran down your spine.

It was impossible, you told yourself. He couldn’t see you through the surveillance. But his gaze lingered on the lens for a fraction too long, and in that moment, it felt as though he knew someone was watching.

And he was curious.

[robin-evry]

Can you do aventurine!yuu?

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄!𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 🎰♠️

A senior manager in the IPC Strategic Investment Department and one of the Ten Stonehearts. His Cornerstone is the "Aventurine of Stratagems." He possesses an air of frivolity and doesn't shy away from taking risks. His constant smile makes it difficult for people to discern his true feelings.

The ultimate gambler in NRC. Is very popular due to them winning every single game they bet.

They turn the ramshackle dorm into a gambling room without the teachers knowing. Many students work under them in exchange for money It has become a very popular area for the students. By doing this they manage to get some connections with many powerful students or students who have connections for information.

Everyone is at the bottom gambling while aventurine!yuu stands on top overlooking everything. With grim by their side wearing the same hat as them

Many students have been trying to expose them but every time they try aventurine!yuu will always be two steps ahead of them and manage to get away with it or the teachers and staff simply ignore it.

Azul once tried to black mail them into a contract or tried to expose them but every time aventurine!yuu will always outsmart them. They are his biggest enemy He is always unable to read their motives and is unable to beat them it will drive him insane.

And if a student misbehaves or threatens violence a pile of large gold coins will fall on them and injure them in the process. ( Similar towards aventurine skill in the game )

They are one of the top of the class as well the sugar parents of all the first years and grim anything they ask aventurine!yuu will buy it for them

Even under that mischievous smile, Aventurine!yuu is always on their guard or high alert. They are back from square one similar to their past. They never close to their hearts, they close it afraid of losing these people.

They use make up or foundation to cover up their marks on their neck or by wearing outfits with color or a turtle neck sweater to cover up their marks to not tell people about their past.

Very rich, so rich to not care. By asking a question about an assignment to a student they will be Given jewelry and gold by them like it was nothing. Ruggie will tend to follow them to see if they need any help so they could pay him in jewelry by doing this he manages to sell the stuff they gave him and have his family a better life.

Miraculous luck, for some reason luck seems to follow them wherever they go and even affects people, they always get good grades, once a potted plant falls from the second and aventurine! Yuu was standing underneath it and the potted plant suddenly changed direction and missed them.

The first years will start calling them their lucky charm due to this strange phenomena.

Aventurine usually wear a pair of glasses to cover their unique eye color to make sure no one knows about their true origin. As well they tend to wear high end stuff like they wear a watch that is very expensive and designer clothing as well as their uniform having form modification.

Has a talent for dancing and singing, they are very talented to the point during VDC, vil approach them asking to participate in it but they refused.

Many students are very wary of him and will start bad rumors about them but every time the first years will protect them against this rumors

Has a crowd of students under their order, will get paid handsomely by them and ruggie starts to work for them for a half time and they more than mostro lounge. These students will work as their ears and eyes in NRC.

[emmkayyy03]

The Paradox of Detachment: Who Is Truly Free?

A wandering monk once said, "The one who knows that his body is temporary and is unshaken by its fate is closest to liberation." But if that’s true, then who is truly detached—the fearless warrior who laughs in the face of death, the rogue who risks everything without a second thought, or the mystic who hides behind mantras and astrological charts, seeking protection from every possible misfortune?

Let’s take a moment to step into their worlds.

The Warrior’s Detachment

Steel in hand, battle-scarred, the warrior strides into the storm, knowing he may not return. Death is not an enemy but an old companion, whispering at the edges of his consciousness. Pain? Just another moment passing, no different from the wind cutting across his face.

Before him stretches a battlefield—a graveyard in the making, where the earth drinks steel and blood alike. Blades glint like fangs in the sun, and the air is thick with the scent of iron and blood. He moves forward, stepping over corpses yet to fall, striking, bleeding, killing, knowing that at any instant, fate may turn its gaze upon him.

His body is not his own; it is merely a vessel for war, a tool sharpened for a purpose greater than himself. If detachment means surrendering the fear of death, if liberation is the release from clinging to the fragile shell of flesh—then isn’t he already free? Or is his fearlessness not wisdom, but just the grim acceptance of a world where life has no promises, only endings?

The Rogue and the Drifter

Then there’s the rogue—the outlaw who lives on the edge, the gambler who places his life on the table with a smirk, the wanderer who owns nothing yet moves freely. He has no permanent home, no ties to wealth, no concern for the future. Society may call him reckless, but is he not more detached than the merchant hoarding gold in fear of loss? Or is his non-attachment just another escape, a refusal to commit to anything real?

The Prostitute’s Reality

And what of the woman in the shadows, the one who offers her body as if it were no more than a garment to be worn and discarded? She moves through the night like a whisper, a ghost in silks, untouched by the love or loathing of those who seek her. If detachment means not identifying with the flesh, then is she not closer to liberation than those who clutch desperately at their purity, fearing even the brush of desire?

Yet, is she truly free? Or do unseen chains still bind her—the weight of a world that scorns her even as it seeks her out? Does she give without attachment, or has she merely learned to silence the voice that once longed for something more? If she offers herself without shame, without illusion, without expectation, then is she not as unshackled as the wandering ascetic, the sage who renounces his body in search of truth?

Perhaps freedom is not in what one gives or withholds, but in the mind that holds nothing at all.

The Mystic Who Clings to Protection

Then there is the seeker, draped in robes, whispering spells at dawn, his voice trembling with devotion or is it fear? He bows before the heavens, tracing sacred symbols, clutching charms meant to ward off unseen misfortunes. He speaks of renunciation, of detachment, yet his nights are restless, spent calculating omens and pleading with the stars to soften their decree.

If the body is fleeting, why shield it with spells? If destiny is unchangeable, why beg the cosmos to rewrite its script? He prays for liberation, yet clings to the very world he claims to transcend. He fears hunger, disease, misfortune—things the rogue laughs at, the warrior faces, and the woman in the shadows endures without pretense.

Is he not more bound than those who walk their paths without illusion? He renounces gold but hoards protection. He rejects the world yet fears its touch. In his quest to master fate, has he not become its most devoted servant?

The Singer and Detachment

Then there is the singer, who cannot hide behind illusions, for to sing is to surrender. The unskilled hesitate, but the master bares his soul without fear, knowing music is not his to keep. Each note is given away, dissolving as soon as it is born—like breath, like life.

Yet, is he truly free, or does he cling to the need for an audience, for remembrance? If the afterlife is for the unburdened, then the singer who sings without fear, who vanishes into his song, may already be there.

So, Who Is Truly Free?

Perhaps detachment is not in rejecting the body, nor in offering it freely to fate or desire—it is in knowing, beyond all doubt, that you were never the body to begin with.

The warrior who fights without ego, embracing death as easily as breath. The rogue who moves without fear, unburdened by past or future. The woman who gives without shame, untouched by judgment, neither proud nor broken. The mystic who prays without desperation, seeking nothing, grasping at nothing. Each may have brushed against true freedom, or each may still be ensnared in unseen chains of their own making.

Liberation is not in how one treats the body, but in seeing through the illusion that it was ever you. To move through the world unshaken, untouched—not because you deny life, but because you know it was never yours to hold.

[leggerefiore]

A while ago I saw this trend (?) where someone would follow their partner around for a while without saying anything. Like whenever their partner would ask what they were doing they'd just stare at them like 🧍‍♀️ it was verry funny LMAO. How would fucked up hair trio (Volo, Lear and Grims) react to their S/O doing that?

(Also I feel you whenever I see you post about ur job. I have never felt less confident in myself than when I have to work in retail 💀)

(retail is a form of psychological torture.)

cw: mentions of knives in Volo's part, mostly worrying about being followed

characters: Grimsley, Lear, Volo

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ The gambler was always so aware of his surroundings. He had to be, naturally. His position as an heir to a wealthy family had set him up to be used to cruelty and possible threats even as a small child. He was simply aware of his safety. Then, in becoming a gambler, he further honed that skill. Not to mention, his poor Liepard seemed just on edge. Someone was following him. Why? Well, he could assume a few reasons. He was not the most beloved person and maybe owed a few too many people money. He flipped a coin as he kept himself in mostly populated streets. Though, when, he finally gained an opportunity to glance at who was stalking after him. He blinked. What…?

♡ “Darling?” He called out as he turned around fully to face you. His mind rushed with possible reasons. Did you think he was cheating and decided to follow after him? He tilted his head and waited for a reply. You gave none, however. Your eyes simply peered into him. It was truthfully a bot unsettling… You were not exactly the type to do things like that. His hand found his Liepard's fur as he pet her. Was this… some kind of game? A challenge, perhaps? For what goal or gain? He rushed with so many possibilities, but nothing came out right. You were simply just following him. It was unsettling, but there was nothing he could do. He wandered back to the apartment you both shared.

◇ Stopping in front of the door, he glanced at you on the other end of the hallway. You simply stood there. He had enough. Grimsley walked towards you with a brisk pace and found himself staring deeply into your eyes with his piercing own. The icy blue could send a shiver down most people's spines. He watched as you finally gave a reaction, shrinking back a bit. A chuckle left him. “Oh, man, is my cute stalker scared?” he shook his head and caught your chin with his hand, “How about a role reversal? I'm pretty good with going undetected.” Suddenly, you broke down and explained it was a prank. He tilted his head. While he did not really get it, to each their own, he supposed. He did want to repay the favour, though.

👑Lear💎

🪙 The prince was a busy man. He had places to be and duties to tend to. This tended to give him a certain aloofness that others tended to notice. Though, he was still trained from a young age to be aware of his surroundings. He was entirely competent about what was happening around him. Which is why he noticed a certain oddity as he engaged in his various duties. Someone had been following him. No, not either of his retainers, who were at his side. He felt unsettled. Horror stories of attacks on various figureheads played on his mind, but he refused to show any weakness. He was going to be king. These little things could not bother him. Yet, at the same time, he simply had to look. His gaze fell back to see who dared followed him. A deadpan then fell across his face.

🪙 “I order you to stop trailing behind me at a distance of about three metres!” he ordered, “If you wish to travel with me, your place is at my side!” Sawyer and Rachel turned around to see you just standing there. You stared at them without saying a word. Lear honestly felt a bit discomforted by your actions. What in the world were you doing? Knowing it was only you following him had relieved a lot of his concerns but left him confused. You were more than welcome to join him in his tasks…? He rather enjoyed having you at his side. Yet, you did not move unless he did. It was oddly frustrating. Sawyer scratched his head at the situation while Rachel clearly was fighting back a laugh.

🪙 This continued on until he grew far too frustrated with the situation. Why on earth were you doing this!? He could not comprehend why you would wish to follow him rather than come to your rightful place at his side. It felt as if you were subtly rejecting him! He crossed his arms and gave up on whatever needed his attention. It was not urgent enough. Stomping toward you, he grasped your wrist. This seemed to snap you out of whatever had overcome you. He pulled you along to where his retainers waited for him. “You belong here,” he grumbled, “Whyever would you follow me…?” Lear shifted to grasping your hand. He simply refused to comprehend and was only mildly annoyed by the situation.

📜Volo💫

⭐️ The merchant had a terrifying awareness of the world around him. Nothing slipped by him, and it was truly both a curse and a blessing for him. He was always cursed with an innate curiosity that seemed to torture him. Though, it also benefitted him. He was fully aware that someone was following after him. His movements were deliberately made to see if it was mere coincidence or purposeful. He determined the latter and grew more worried. Was someone aware of his intentions? Did they plan to attack him? He certainly was not going to allow that to occur. A knife he kept on his person for protection had his hand resting on it. He turned around to catch the pursuer unawares. Yet, as he went to pull out the knife, he froze dead in his tracks.

⭐️ “… What in the world are you doing?” he retracted his hands and crossed his arms. You stood just a few metres behind him, watching him ominously. This would have made him nervous had he not already been aware that you were not possibly with knowledge of his plans. He waited for you to reply, but nothing ever came from you. This immensely frustrated him. He could have attacked you — Many times, the merchant had to deal with bandits attempting to steal his goods and possibly his life. The blond shook his head when you only stared at him wordlessly. This was not something that he could dare to stand for.

⭐️ With eerie speed, he approached you and caught your wrist in his hand. A single grey eye stared through your very being. Whatever resolve you had to keep pranking, the merchant faded, and you shook your head, trying to explain just what was happening. Your words calmed the panicked thoughts in Volo's mind. He had been utterly terrified you had somehow uncovered something. “… I see, I see,” he tried to pretend he was not a hypocrite who had not followed you around himself, “Well, I must say… I had thought it was a bandit. Please be more careful.” He brought a hand to cup your cheek while stroking it with his thumb. When he parted, you felt oddly on edge. The blond simply kept walking as he had before.

[small-sinclair]

Whumptober Day 8: Sleep Deprivation

Rogue, Gambit, Kurt x mute human!reader (Plotinic)

Isolation Chamber

Part 2

Gambit kept his eye on the door, blinking becoming a chore now. Rogue had her head resting on his lap, sleeping soundly and breathing slow, and his arm protectively wrapped around Kurt. His blue skin and his fluffy fur were covered in grim and matted, but Gambit still made small circles on his back. Sleeping against his chest was you, their little human they all promised to protect, with his long coat draped over your shoulder. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when officers took them to a holding cell with no windows.

Their little human...that’s what they called you when they were thrown into this chamber with blinking collars around their necks. He couldn’t use his powers to blast the door down. Rogue couldn’t take strength from the guards to fight. Nightcrawler couldn’t teleport away for help. You didn’t need the collar, but you still weren’t trusted.

One by one, each fell asleep against Gambit’s warmth. With each closing eyes, Gambit stayed alert more and more as time passed. He felt sleep calling for him, but he didn’t give in. The moment they are all asleep, something could happen, or someone will come in and harm them. It’s not fair to you; you’re a human being, not a mutant. But what makes a human being a human? There is no such thing as normal or finding a meme about the mutant world. It’s the hand they’re dealt that changes and determines fates, not by some grace of something higher than him.

He could hear Kurt argue with him about it. The minister was good in the faith; even as he slept against Gambit, crawled like a cat, he gripped his wooden prayer beads tight. He fell asleep mid-prayer, his voice fading until the murmurs turned into soft snores. The blue fuzz ball was always right about something, so why can’t he believe him this once? Leave his faith up to any god who’s listening or paying attention to them in this silent cell.

His other hand fell on Rogue, brushing her hair out of her face. Gambit felt his heart clinch and ache. He felt her hand in his earlier, and he nearly dropped to his knees in tears. Her skin is just as he imaged: soft, smooth, and warm. He wanted to feel her hands forever, and he was almost thankful for these collars that turned off their powers. He was able to kiss her goodnight without her feeling fear of hurting him or draining his strength. It would be worth it even if she did. Just to feel her close to him, his hand in hers, holding her cheek, kissing those sweet southern bell lips...all of it would be worth it. It would be worth it for her.

But she’s suffering and scared. That’s what hurts him the most. The moment he gets his hands on a key, he’ll get her out of here.

Then there’s you, the little human sleeping against his chest under his jacket. He didn’t know what to make of you when he first met you, and he still hasn’t made an opinion on you. You’re hard to read, which didn’t worry the gambler all too much, but he needed to know what side you’re on. For the most part of you being in this chamber, you kept to yourself and stayed quiet. He didn’t understand it because he thought you would be asking question after question, but your voice was never heard. To come and think of it, you didn’t make a sound when you were caught with them. You didn’t even tell them your name! Where he’s from, not giving a name or something to call you by meant you’re hiding something and have a lot to lose.

His eye lids grew heavy as they lingered over you, but he shook his head and looked up at the door. He didn’t know what was going to come next. Whatever it was, he’ll make sure to keep everyone safe. Though he’s the black sheep of the X-Men and in this room, he cared about everyone and worried. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared. He was terrified! But he kept his cards close to his chest and waited for whatever thought could hurt them. Gambit felt so tired and sleepy, but he forced his blood-shot eyes to stay open. He could feel bags under his eyes grow deeper and deeper as he looked forward.

Don’t sleep now, swamp rat, he heard a voice warn, they need you. They need you. Stay awake a little while longer. They need you to watch over them.

He rested his head against the wall and looked up at the empty ceiling. He'll stay awake until one of them wakes up. He'll do that for them, for you.

He felt you shift and your eyes meeting his. He could see his black and deep red eyes reflecting back at him, reminding him how little he was to you. “Go t’sleep, petit,” his said lowly. “Ya need sleep.” He gave you reassuring smile but he even though he knew he wasn’t fooling you. “I’ll be ‘right. Ain’t nothin’ Gambit can’t handle.”

Your dull eyes didn’t waver from him as if you were trying to say something through your thoughts. You shook your head and pointed at yourself then pointed at him, folding your hands under head and acting like you were sleeping, then pointed at him once more.

He blinked twice and lifted a brow. “What’re ya goin’ on about?” He watched you repeat the motion. “Can’t ya talk?” You shook your head. “Shit, dat makes sense, petit.” Gambit bit his lower lip and shook his head. “I’ll be ‘right. Told you already, mon ami.”

Again, you shook your head. In his eyes, you could see how tired he was. The fight in front of your little store was a rough one, and knowing that he’s forcing himself to stay awake wasn’t healthy for him or for everyone in this chamber. The steel door was haunting, cold, and unforgiving to look at. You looked back at him and nodded, looking at him as if you were saying “everything’s okay now”. He was fighting to stay awake, but your warm hand slipped under his jaw and your thumb made small circles.

Gambit found himself leaning into the touch, closing his eyes as he did. The tension in his body was fading and his head resting in Kurt’s hair. It felt like a pillow—

“No,” he whispers, murmuring his words tired and slurred. Gambit forces his head back up and blinked away the sleepiness. He was fighting it, fighting to stay awake. He’s X-Men; he has to protect you. Your eyes looked at him with a mixture of hurt and disappointment, a look someone gave him when he was a boy. “S’il te plait, petit. I’ll be alright. Dors, s’il te plait.”

Defeated, you nod and laid your head back down on his chest. He watched as you drift back to sleep, envying of your dreams. Gambit shifts his eyes back at the steel door once more and took a deep breath. He'll stay awake as long as his body is willing. Even after that, he’ll burn the other end of the candle to stay awake. He’ll keep you safe along with his friends. It’s the least he can do. It’s all he can do.

[enderham]

"I dreamt that you died." Aventurine says, apropos of nothing.

Veritas lifts his gaze from the book he'd been reading, across the first class cabin they're sharing, and to his colleague. Nothing in his expression betrays any emotion or thought about the statement he let out into the world, as is customary for the gambler. Veritas takes a moment to study him more thoroughly.

Aventurine isn't looking at him. The chip in his hand is dancing faster than usual, he's wearing his tinted glasses despite there being no need for them on the transport, and his other hand is hidden in his coat. Veritas has learned to look for that left hand whenever he suspects something is amiss with Aventurine.

He considers his next words carefully. "In many cultures across the galaxy, dreaming of someone's death is believed to produce the opposite effect. It is considered a good omen that brings longevity and prosperity."

There's a long moment of silence, then the chip suddenly stops. Aventurine had been looking at him from the corner of his eye, an indicator that he was listening as Veritas spoke, but he looks away again now.

"Not in mine," He says lightly, almost sings it.

It sounds like mockery, like Aventurine's typical attempts to get a rise out of him, like contradiction for the sake of it, but Veritas knows him better than that. The gambler may seem frivolous on the surface but he always speaks with purpose. The trick is figuring out what that purpose is.

Closing his book, Veritas leans forward, almost into Aventurine's space. The other does not lean away, and finally looks him in the eye, but he can see his shoulders are tense. His left hand is still hidden in his coat. Perhaps, instead of a non-sequitor, his opening statement was a damning admission, Veritas thinks.

"We both know this upcoming mission will be dangerous." He says quietly, he doesn't expect Aventurine to interject, but he pauses anyway. True to expectation, Aventurine stays silent, watching him intently. Veritas continues. "However, we also both know that your role in it is much more perilous than mine. I believe you made sure of that yourself, no?"

The gambler still remains uncharacteristically silent. Gauging Veritas' reaction to his grim statements no doubt. Veritas has passed many a test in his university days with little stress, so it is a new feeling to experience, this uncertainty. He feels like there is a right and a wrong thing to say in this situation, yet he does not know exactly what it is.

"It is my opinion that you should be worrying about yourself, gambler, instead of me, but if it eases your mind, I shall promise to stay alert on Penacony. Not that I wouldn't otherwise be, as you should well know by now."

Perhaps he's revealed too much, shown his hand, as the resident gambler would say, but he's found himself much too invested in said gambler's emotional wellbeing as of late, so he doesn't mind. Especially as that wary glint fades just a little from Aventurine's vibrant eyes, and he wrestles his signature grin back onto his face.

"True to form as usual." He teases. "I can always rely on you to bring rationality to the table, Doctor."

[abardnamedreginald]

im a wolf-demon-salamander-grey treefrog-katydid-cricket-luna moth-klingon-trad vampire-cat-romulan-harry potter wizard-gnome-drow-orc-wood elf-high elf-werewolf-twilight vampire-chihuahua-android-bard-druid-sorcerer-d&d wizard-lotr wizard-mind flayer-kraken-owlbear-genetically modified human-andes mint-harry potter merperson-h20 mermaid-great white shark-raven named nevermore-amontillado-sewer clown-animatronic-ink person-reality bender-ringwraith-chicken-fairy-telescreen-multibear-manic pixie dream girl-d class-horcrux-dragon-unicorn-pegasus-among us crewmate-among us imposter-game master-sharpie king size marker-dwarf-dragonborn-toothbrush-rock-paper-scissors-lizard-vulcan-politician-god-phone guy-icebreakers ice cubes pineapple-a doctor not a miracle worker-troll-ent-poodle-rabbit-Bear.-orange zombie-purple zombie-green zombie-professor plum-col. mustard-in the library-with a knife-hoola dancer-fish-villager-pelecan-defense against the dark arts professer-mafia boss-peep rabbit-peep chicken-gymnast-hairbrush-philosopher-music freak-school teacher-kidnapper-police lieutenant-farmer-trash can-dumpster out back-turtle-tribble-my little pony-kratt brother-high diver-pearl diver, dive, dive, deeper-chef-fire-earth-water-wind-wasp-bee-hornet-yellowjacket-mud dabber-grasshopper-rattlesnake-armadillo-cowboy-flashlight-starfleet science officer-harlet-elephant-gater-muppet-emo-goth-preppy-teabag-loser-sucker-mouse-rat-a puppet-a pauper-a pirate-a poet-a pawn-and a king-father albert-the pope-a nun-pastor jeff-gambler-metalhead-death rocker-the grim reaper-angel-lighthouse-paw patrol dog-hobbit-starfish-sponge-crab-squid-shrimp-jellyfish-chipmunk-hammerhead shark-nurse shark-humpback whale-blue whale-orca-sexual harrassment panda-south park character-jakoffasaurus-scrabble board-ouija board-pillow-toilet paper-period pad-tampon-baby diaper-elderly diaper-martian-touch tone telephone-starfleet operations-starfleet command-kirk-spock-bones-sulu-chekov-uhura-scotty-yeoman rand-KHAN!!!-mudd-the uss enterprise-the uss reliant-botany bay-v'ger-valeris-saavik-sybok-surak-sarek-the abbreviation 'idk'-sheldon-leonard-penny-howard-raj-amy-bernadette-mary cooper-george sr-george jr-missy cooper-meemaw-tam-dr sturgis-dr linkletter-dr jack bright-dr clef-dr gears-dr kondraki-dr mann-dr iceberg-dr crow-dr rights-dr sherman-scp 049-scp 3008-scp 4231-scp 166-scp 682-scp 2521-scp 590-O5 6-bill cipher-stanley pines-stanford pines-dipper-mabel-wendy-soos-schmebulok-gideon-mcgucket-dipper goes to taco bell-sheriff blubs-deputy durland-tad strange-andy taylor-william afton-michael afton-elizabeth afton-crying child-henry emily-charlotte emily-dave miller-jack kennedy-dee kennedy-peter kennedy-steven stevenson-aragorn-sam-frodo-merry-pippin-boromir-legolas-gimli-gandalf-faramir-denethor-sauron-elrond-thranduil-harry-hermione-ron-voldemort-pettigrew.-moony-padfoot-prongs-snape-edward-bella-alice!!-carlisle-charlie-cthulhu-greg heffley-pennywise-bendy-sammy-norman-jack-alice (susie)-allison-henry stien-joey drew-bruenor battlehammer-raskolnikov-heather-heather-heather-veronica-jd-kurt-ram-martha-kurt cobain-david bowie-freddie mercury-hozier-mitski-lemon demon-jack stauber-tally hall-hamilton-burr-jefferson-madison-washington-phillip-angelica-eliza-peggy-king george iii-king henry viii-ben franklin-catherine of aragon-anne boleyn-jane seymour-anne of cleves-katherine howard-catherine parr-dracula-𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂-evan hansen-conner murphey-john adams-raymond barron-fred randall-jane doe-ocean-noel-mischa-constance-ricky-karnak-vergil-alternate-thatcher davis-ruth-dave-cesar-mark-adam-sarah-jonah-evelyn-gabriel-trump-biden-sunny-basil-kel-aubrey-hero-mari-vanessa (the mean girl that kinda likes u)-tux the linux penguin-perry the platypus hybrid princess...dont fw me

[husk-says-no]

Overlord Husk Headcanons

1. Master of Luck and Chance - Husk’s Overlord abilities revolve around manipulating probability. Dice rolls always land in his favor, cards bend to his will, and slot machines pay out jackpots—or drain souls dry—depending on his mood.

2. Walking Vice Magnet - His presence amplifies temptation, pulling out people’s darkest cravings and weaknesses.

3. Deal with the Devil - Husk’s golden bowtie serves as a focus for his magic. It glows whenever he seals a deal, binding the contract in Hell’s magic.

4. Ruler of Ruin - Husk’s casino fortress constantly shifts like a labyrinth, designed to keep visitors disoriented and trapped. It’s part nightclub, part death trap, with games that can literally gamble away years of someone’s existence.

5. No Free Drinks - unless he *really* likes someone, despite his suave exterior, Husk is bitter and deeply cynical. He views everyone as a potential customer—or liability.

6. Trophy Collector - Husk keeps trophies from his victims—a pair of loaded dice, a crumpled ace of spades, or even pieces of jewelry—displayed as grim reminders of his conquests.

7. Poker-Faced Predator - Husk’s poker face is so unreadable that even other Overlords struggle to predict his next move. His ability to bluff is nearly supernatural, making negotiations with him a dangerous game.

8. The Devil’s Gambler - Husk pushed his luck one too many times, staking his empire on a high-risk bet and losing everything. He’s bitter about his downfall but still plays the game, hoping for a shot at redemption—or revenge.

9. Silent Storm - While Husk is usually calm and collected, when he does lose his temper, it’s catastrophic—storms of flaming playing cards, shards of glass, and bursts of chaotic energy tear through his surroundings.

10. Old Money, Older Problems - Husk’s Overlord reign wasn’t built on brute force but through manipulation, debt, and corruption. He’s been around so long that he’s entangled in multiple feuds and alliances, making him a political nightmare to deal with.

11. Immortal Gambler - Husk’s downfall came not from losing power but from his addiction to risk. He pushed his luck one too many times and fell, but he still carries the pride (and bitterness) of a fallen king.

12. Grudges Like Chains - Husk remembers every deal, every slight, and every betrayal. He’s not above rigging fate itself to get revenge—even if it takes centuries.

13. Broken Ace - Beneath the swagger and smirks, Husk hides the fear of being powerless again. He keeps up the gambler’s mask to avoid showing just how much he still craves the control he lost.

--

NSFW

1. Power Play Enthusiast - Husk enjoys being in control and thrives on dominance, but he also gets a thrill from teasing and toying with someone who tries to challenge him. He loves watching people squirm under his gaze, unsure whether they’re terrified or turned on—or both.

2. Seduction as Strategy - Husk views intimacy as another form of gambling, a high-stakes game where he always plays to win. He’s not above using seduction to get what he wants, leaving his partners craving more while he keeps the upper hand.

3. Whiskey on the Lips - Husk tastes like smoke and whiskey, and he knows it. He leans into the rough, addictive flavor, leaving his partners chasing after the burn he leaves behind.

4. Rough but Precise - Despite his sharp claws and rough demeanor, Husk is surprisingly careful when things heat up. He’s skilled at keeping just the right balance between pleasure and pain, knowing exactly how far to push without going too far—unless, of course, his partner begs for it.

5. Gambler’s Edge - Husk loves making bets in the bedroom, often turning intimate moments into challenges or dares. Lose a round? Better be ready to pay up—and Husk always collects his winnings.

6. Voice Like Velvet - Husk’s deep, gravelly voice drops lower when things get intimate, making every word feel like a sinful promise. He knows how to use his voice to drive someone crazy, whether he’s whispering dirty talk or purring taunts in their ear.

7. Claw Marks and Bite Marks - Husk isn’t shy about leaving his mark. His claws and fangs often make an appearance, especially if someone challenges his dominance. He treats scratches and bites as signatures, branding his partners like trophies.

8. Slow Burn Specialist - Husk has a sadistic streak when it comes to pacing. He takes his time, teasing and building up tension until his partner is begging—only to pull back at the last second and make them work for it.

9. Heat of the Moment - While he’s usually calculated and controlled, Husk’s temper can lead to heated, impulsive encounters where passion and frustration blur together. These moments are raw, messy, and unforgettable.

10. High-Roller Habits - Husk has expensive tastes, and it shows even in the bedroom. Silk sheets, velvet furniture, and gold-accented décor make up his space, adding an air of luxury to every encounter.

11. Weak for Praise - Despite his dominant streak, Husk secretly melts under genuine praise and affection—though he’d never admit it. Compliments about his skills or appearance hit harder than they should, leaving him momentarily vulnerable.

12. Intimacy and Addictions - Husk struggles to separate genuine connection from his vices. For him, physical intimacy can be just another escape, but there’s always the fear that someone might get too close and see the cracks in his armor.

.

Let me know if any of you want more of my Husk Headcanons!! (Sfw or nsfw)

[syntia13treeman]

Case files 09.01

what I think happened in:

Case 09.01, the case of "Dice of Fate" or "Mr. Die and a very bad, horrible, no good roll."

Well well well. If it isn't an honest, good old fashioned statement. Fancy seeing it here. Not much left to puzzle out, we have it all laid out very nicely. The Dice make a comeback. When we've seen them last in nineteenth century, they were sitting pretty in the sack of the Gentleman (the mystery man in the woods, quite preoccupied with luck).

By nineteen-nineties they somehow came to be in possession of a young man named Gary. (Double meaning intended). As is their nature, the dice brought Gary luck when rolled. Good luck with high rolls, bad luck with low rolls.

Gary eventually decided that bouts of good luck were not worth the inevitable dive into misfortunes, which varied from leaky pipes to broken legs. Finding himself incapable of simply NOT rolling, he fell back on time-honoured tradition of making his problem somebody else's problem.

Somebody else, we'll call him SG (short for Statement Giver), has recently been dumped by his boyfriend Carl (CaaAAAaaarl! That hurts people!) and really needed something to cheer him up. So when an old high-school friend called to invite him over for a game night, he made his way to Gary's place in West Didsbury, where he got tricked into taking over as the Dice Bearer. The dice changed hands and SG felt it as the ownership transferred to him.

SG was much smarter about rolling that Gary had been. Just like a certain violinist before him, he figured out that he needn't be the one to pay the price for the fortune his cursed object brought him. And he figured out the system (or so he thought. He should have remembered that the House always wins, in the end). He started passing the bad-luck-rolls to random strangers on the street.

After a time, he started to also let strangers roll high. And then… well, for someone who had the gall to talk shit about D&D, SG turned out to be SUCH a nerd himself. He assembled a whole-ass Grim Dicer costume, grew a goatee, he was even doing the voice! Go you, Mr. Totally-not-a-theatre-kid! Rock that Dice King persona!

He was well on his way to becoming a full blown urban cryptid, when alas, he went too far. By chance (chance?) he run into Gary and made him (made him?) roll one last time. It was the lowest roll yet. Snake eyes. 1+1. You couldn't go lower if you tried.

It seems that the Dice did not appreciate being disposed of, and they disposed of the previous Bearer in return, with extreme prejudice, via runaway truck to the face.

After that, SG lost his nerve and tried to get rid of the Dice which… Buddy. You've just seen how that ends. What did you think would happen?

SG thought he was being smart. He gave the Dice to Magnus Institute, who, as paranormal research facility (or whatever they were known as), were bound to accept them and presumably able to handle them safely.

Too bad he believed that rolling was a matter of choice*. Too bad the Dice were still within reach when the urge hit. Too bad he died right there, at the statement giving table. RIP, statement giver (????-14.10.1998). You could have been great.

So that's that. What more to say? Let's see.

I feel quite confident in saying that SG was actively becoming a supernatural creature. That feeling of increasing disconnect from the world was not just in his head. And the rolls that he took for himself, that kept getting more and more abstract, until he couldn't tell what changed, just that something did? It was you, SG. You were changing. Such a damn shame your rise to power was cut short by your own folly.

I'm equally confident that he was unwittingly creating a brand new urban legend. I bet that at the time there were people in Manchester who'd talk in hushed whisper (or at high volume in a crowded bar) about the Grim Gambler, the Dice Devil, the Lord Luck, the Horrid Hatman. (Coincidentally, for no reason whatsoever I need somebody to draw SG in full Mr. Die costume with Alex J. Newall's face). Some would warn against touching his dice, others would swear up and down that he'd bring luck and prosperity. (Imagine the discourse at cryptid message boards!). I wonder if the legend still lives, even if SG doesn't.

*About rolling the dice, even knowing the odds… It sure as hell wasn't free choice, no sir. What was it then, compulsion, or addiction? Was that need to see the dice clutter over one's future coming from without, or within? Both options are equally appealing to me, to be honest.

The statement and the Dice were given to MI in October 1998. This means two things: a) Arguably, events surrounding death of SG could have been one of the 'weird stuff' that Sam saw with no context as a child, and: b) The Institute burned down little over a year later. Do you think somebody was rolling the Dice bit too much?

'Recommend referral to Catalytics for Enrichment Applicability Assessment'. To me it sounds like: "hey, Catalytics, check if we can use this thing for enrichment." And I'm having a bad thought. They were studying kids, Sam among them, for some purpose, almost certainly related to supernatural stuff. Did they give the kids cursed artefacts to play with, to boost development of their otherworldly skills/trait/whatever? Because if so, so help me… 🔪🔪🔪🔥🔥🔥

Lastly, for completion's sake: viability as subject (none), agent (low), catalyst (medium). I've no idea nor theories what these are about, I'm just leaving them here for future reference.

[knightotoc]

Songs characters sing in the Alien movies:

1 - "The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo" - a British music hall song from 1891 which David sings as he cuts his hair in Covenant. David is imitating his hero Lawrence of Arabia, who sang this song in a desert canyon to hear the echoes. This would have been a contemporary song for WWI-era Lawrence, but a leap for the 22nd-century David.

It is an ironic song in both cases, as it's about a glamorous gambler surrounded by money and women, while its singers are surrounded by desolation and death. While Lawrence comes across as playful (at that point in his arc), David appears sinister (likening the humans who have fallen for his trap to a windfall at a casino) or deluded (Walter finds flaws in David's knowledge later in the movie).

2 - "You Are My Lucky Star" - a Freed-Brown 30s number whimpered by Ripley as she prepares to airlock the xenomorph in Alien. The song was originally written for something called "Broadway Melody of 1936," but it is far more famous as one of the recycled songs for Singin' in the Rain. For Ripley, it is more of a mantra or prayer than a song, as she can only eek out the one line over and over. In this context, the romantic sentiment is completely lost, but the outer space reference is heightened.

3 - "In the Year 2525 (Exordium & Terminus)" - a 1969 psychedelic/folk rock song by one-hit-wonder Zager and Evans, which is sung by the prisoner Murph as he cleans an airduct before he is killed by the dog-xenomorph in Alien³.

It's a fun, grim song, and the only one of the three which is appropriate for the occasion, as it's about a science-fictional-turned-religious post-apocalypse, which is exactly what Alien³ is. Murph's lyrics are about the part where God returns to Earth and has to decide if the population is still human enough to warrant a Judgment Day.

I especially like the song as a criticism of the Bishop character, who was introduced in Aliens as an unbelievably benevolent Weyland-Yutani-made robot. The song suggests that even "good" robots could lead to our doom, since we lose ourselves as we lose our needs.

[nataliabdraws]

I wanted to give another excerpt of Larkspur, my RDR2 fanfic following my OC, Ramona. I've currently about 16k words in and am finishing writing chapter 3. I hope to write a few more chapters and then i'll probably post it somewhere

this is unedited and not beta read so please excuse any errors!

alt text under the cut:

Another figure encroached from the corner of her vision and Ramona turned to see Arthur sauntering toward her, saddle bags slung over one shoulder. His gambler's hat was tipped low over his eyes as he muttered what sounded like a gruff "mornin'" before passing her to attend to his own horse - a sturdy palomino mare who blinked at him lazily. 

"You have a boy tied to a tree," Ramona noted, her gaze drifting over to the young man bound against the trunk of a nearby pine, hands lashed behind his back. 

"He ain't no boy," Arthur secured the saddle bags behind his mount's saddle with a few deft movements. "He's an O'Driscoll." 

Ramona's eyes narrowed as she studied the captive again. She had heard of the notorious O'Driscoll gang, their reputation for terrorizing the local population preceding them. Robbing, looting, burning - no destructive act was off limits for these hardened outlaws. But surveying the bound figure, she couldn't quite reconcile his youthful, although rugged, features with those of a battle-hardened criminal. 

"So, you tie him to a tree?"  

Arthur didn't so much as glance over his shoulder as he snapped the cinches into place. "Can't have him running off on us." 

"And what happens when he starts to starve?" 

At that, the outlaw paused, hands stilling against the worn leather of his saddle. When he replied, it was with a grim matter-of-factness that made Ramona's skin prickle. "Hopefully, he'll talk." 

Ramona glanced over her shoulder at the young man again, his face pale and drawn with fear. A wave of pity washed over her as she took in his haggard appearance. "Don't think you'll have to wait very long for that," she muttered. 

[hero-in-high-tops]

Cute things to call your partner

Sweet daydream bullet train

Gunslinging broken messiah

The noble vampire samurai

Elegant grim reaper

Natural-born gambler

The secretary of absolute defense

Hard rock witch

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

[Lore - Seth - Interview]

Seth randomly gets teleported into an white room in a chair.... Then seeing a mic

Seth: Where the-

Interviewer: Hello Seth! You're here to ask some questions, so please answer honestly!

Seth: uhhh... okay?

Interviewer: Alright, Do you have any Family here in twisted wonderland before you were transported to another world?

Seth: uhm....yes... Lilia Vanrouge... he's my ... Adoptive brother in a way I suppose? Dunno that logic, but I do know I was taken in by him. Plus I'm only..... 10 to 15 years younger than him I think?

Interviewer: So that would make you Seth Vanrouge, correct? And a technical uncle to Silver Vanrouge?

Seth: *thinking for a moment* yes.... that seems like the most logical thing...

Interviewer: Alrighty then! Next question. What's your signature spell?

Seth: Well... it's called Gambler's temptation. It's like an alter ego, it lasts for a few hours or weeks depending on the situation. But it causes my personality to switch in a way. From tired to Energetic. If that makes sense.. and it acts like it's own person while I'm asleep in the conscious. The second effect is that anyone I use it one will have to give into my offer or the 'temptation' of their desires.

Interviewer: Alright... Now, What is your relationship with Ione and Nix?

Seth: Well.. Ione is like a child to me.. plus I technically raised her before we got dropped into the other world... nix was already in there... but quickly got attached to Ione afterwards.... but that's mainly it... they're just my little rascals I guess....

Interviewer: Alright thank you for that answer. Now. Who are Nix and Ione related to?

Seth: *deep breath* well the light feas are just distant relatives to the Nocturnal fea. So Ione is just a distant relative of Malleus Draconia.. Think of it as an Older brother and Little sibling kind of thing I guess.. and Nix is the older brother of grim.. both are also direbeast chimeras. Very cute when they wanna be .

Interviewer: Well. That's all from us then! Thank you for cooperating!

Seth suddenly gets teleported back to the heartslabyl lounge, wondering what the fuck just happened

Seth: *blue screened basically*

Poor Seth