#they're a zodiac match!

[multishipper-baby]

I would never do a full Miraculous Ladybug AU for any media because I find the magic system confusing and dumb at times but... I do like me some animal themed magical girls and boys 👉👈

Anyway- ox Eak because I'm self indulgent and I love cowboys <3 Two versions, one with a plead mask and another with a plain one for a more simplified design (plus some other minor color changes). Not entirely sure about a name for him though... Was thinking maybe Minomaquia (From Minotaur and Tauromaquia)? Or maybe Bullseye, and giving him a gun as a weapon lol.

Also yeah the miraculous is a nose ring and you can't see it with a mask like that but listen. It's just a precaution to make sure nobody can steal the miraculous AND it hides the very identifiable scar on the middle of his face. I totally didn't just want to avoid drawing a nose ring or anything...

[casperghosty]

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT THEY LOOK AMAZING, MAJESTIC, FABULOUS, ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS!!!

[seyaryminamoto]

So, when exactly are Sokka and Azula’s birthdays in Gladiator? For scientific purposes trying to understand what the big ole’ owl meant when he said they shouldn’t be so well matched from an astrological standpoint

Hahaha X'D I can't even presume to say with any degree of certainty that I know the first thing about zodiac compatibility, but most things I looked up about the subject said that their Chinese Zodiac signs weren't all that compatible, and that's what I based Wan Shi Tong's remark on. Maybe I was wrong though... maybe he was wrong! Maybe my research wasn't really that thorough, haha. Either way, it felt funny to make it sound like every sign in the universe indicates that they shouldn't be together and for Sokka and Azula to be so stubborn and clever as to go against the designs of the higher beings themselves (?)

As for western Zodiac... I honestly have no idea how compatible they are regarding that one either xD

Anyway, if you want to give me your own astrological analysis, I can say that Azula was born on the summer solstice, so around June 21. She was born on the year 85, I believe, and I think her Chinese Zodiac sign was Snake, according to the Wiki. Gladiator-wise, I always conceived Sokka as being born on the same year as Zuko, but near the end of the year, so while canon sources make it so he was born in the year 84, Gladiator-wise he was born on the last months of 83, and his exact birth date would be the December 5th. So he'd be Rabbit sign, I believe?

Make of all of that what you will xD again, I declare no actual knowledge or expertise on this subject, it's 100% beyond me, haha.

[siderealcity]

The symbology of the Convocation of Fourteen is just... one of my favorite details in ffxiv. And yeah, I know they have zodiac signs because Final Fantasy Tactics had zodiac signs and FF12 had zodiac signs, but 14's spin on them is inspired, and I don't think that gets enough appreciation.

Each of the Ascians is characterized to at least superficially match their sign. Emet-Selch seems like a Gemini, seemingly on both sides of every issue. Fandaniel seems like a Leo who wants to be the center of attention. Lahabrea, The Creator, seems like an artsy Pisces... just...y'know, a horrible one.

And it's not as if "terrible, messed-up version of Zodiac symbol" is new here. Tactics definitely had that already. The thing ffxiv adds to the trope is the presence of the Sun.

Azem's symbol being the sun and not a constellation tells us exactly what their role in the Convocation was supposed to be. The sun's path through the constellations is what gives all those signs their meanings. You can't be a Gemini unless the sun is in Gemini. The sun's passage through the zodiac is supposed to illuminate the best way forward. This is why Emet-Selch calls them both "Shepherd to the stars in the dark," and "Counsellor to the star's people." They're meant to inspire people to become their best selves. This is inadvertently what WoL does in numerous places and times across the game, (and one of the ancients in Elpis even comments on it) because apparently repeatedly dying at the hands of their coworkers and friends for eons did not get them out of having to do their job.

When the sun protested their unspeakbly terrible plan, they went all in on their hubris by casting it down forever. They never replaced Azem. They don't even want to remember they ever had a sun. They don't have the light that illuminates their best selves, their better future. So they can't find it anymore. They don't know how to be themselves anymore, in Azem's absence. In Elidibus' case, literally. He is so desperate for the guiding star he can't even remember having, that he constantly, instinctively, seeks out Azem in different forms. Wearing Ardbert's corpse, and wandering up to WoL for awkward chats, and looking back to the heroes of the past who were definitely Azem shards.

The sun, torn from the heavens, leads to the maker's ruin.

[truevedicastrology]

Zodiac Musings

🔮 Libra in the 5th house often leads to a love of hosting parties and bringing people together for creative pursuits

🔮 Synastry aspects between Uranus and personal planets can create electric, unpredictable connections

🔮 Cancer sun individuals may have a strong resemblance to their mother or maternal figures

🔮 Aries risings often face challenges with impulsivity - learning patience can be a key to their personal growth

🔮 Those with Vesta in Leo tend to be deeply devoted to creative self-expression and performative arts

🔮 Saturn at 2° or 29° in any sign can indicate early responsibilities or delayed rewards in that area of life

🔮 People with matching Mercury signs often finish each other's sentences or have telepathic-like communication

🔮 I once met someone whose voice instantly calmed me - turns out their Venus was conjunct my Moon

🔮 Air sign placements might develop intense intellectual curiosity about their romantic interests, leading to deep research

🔮 Fire signs are more likely to experience early onset gray hair, especially in times of stress

🔮 Those born on the 11th of any month often have a knack for networking and forming influential connections

🔮 Capricorn and Cancer placements are often perceived as nurturing, even when they're being stern

🔮 Leo rising and Scorpio rising individuals may be prone to eye strain or vision issues

🔮 In synastry, Mars square Jupiter can create a dynamic of overenthusiasm and potential burnout in shared activities

🔮 Individuals with Neptune in the 3rd house often have a gift for poetry, storytelling, or creating evocative imagery with words

🔮 Taurus, Libra, and Pisces placements are often found in visual artists and designers across various mediums

🔮 Capricorn individuals, despite their reputation for practicality, can be deeply sentimental in their private lives

[rainerioun]

𝖶𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖣𝖮𝖤𝖲 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖥𝖴𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖤 𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖴𝖲𝖤 𝖫𝖮𝖮𝖪 𝖫𝖨𝖪𝖤? | 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽.

— Hi! Apologies for being a bit inactive lately. Been tied up with stuff, but I'm back with a reading for you all! Today, we'll delve into what your future partner could look like. Remember, just take whatever resonates with you. This reading is more so about what sticks out to you when reading.

ORIGINAL DATE POSTED : APRIL 26TH, 2024.

HOW TO CHOOSE A PILE : The outcome may vary based on whether you receive clear messages visually or intuitively. If you resonate more with selecting a pile visually, trust that inclination. Personally, I believe the notion that 'looks can deceive,' so I prefer to take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the pile I'm meant to connect with to come to me. You might see the color of the pile, sense or hear a number, or simply feel its overall vibe.

Please don’t redistribute or edit my content.

MUST READ + MASTERLIST | KO-FI

PILE ONE

Zodiac Dice Roll. — Virgo.

Your future partner likely has an oval face shape with a more narrow jawline and chin, contrasted by prominent cheekbones. They're likely to have a slender physique, though proportionate in any case.

Tarot. — Six of Swords.

They give off a moody or unassuming vibe, seeming as though they don't express much. Yet, they're quite proactive in changing their appearance, whether it's their style, hair, or even their athleticism. However, they'll always maintain that aloof, 'leave me out of it' demeanor.

Additional. Hermit — Light : Seeks solitude to focus intently on inner life. Serves personal creativity. Shadow : Withdraws from society out of fear or negative judgements of others. Refusing to help those in need.  Pioneer — Light : Passion for doing and creating what has not been done before. Shadow : Compulsive need to keep moving on.

As I mentioned earlier, they are constantly undergoing physical changes in some way. They have an introverted and withdrawn aura. They could let their hair grow out and become a bit scruffy before impulsively cutting it off. They maintain a rather deadpan expression when simply existing in their own world. The image of Edward Cullen specifically came to mind when pulling the cards.

Specifics. — Take What Feels Right. High Cheekbones, Heart Shaped Face, Pale Skin, Brown Eyes, Curly Hair, Cat Beauty, Honey Eyes, Thin Eyebrows.

Yes, very vampire allure-esque indeed. Their eyes could appear normally brown but take on a honey-like glow under certain lighting. Their eyes are quite striking, considering they have feline type features. Although hair color didn't come up during the reading, I pictured them with dark hair that complements their skin tone.

Apocalypse : Cigarettes After Sex.

PILE TWO

Zodiac Dice Roll. — Leo.

Of course, they possesses striking hair like a lion's mane—thick, unruly, perhaps even a bit frizzy, something that immediately catches one's eye, possibly long in length. Their eyes are equally intense, matching their strong jawline. They exude a fierce appearance that naturally draws attention, whether they seek it or not.

Tarot. — Four of Wands [Reversed].

Your future spouse might have a more mature-looking face compared to yours or for their age. They appear quite stressed, with heavy eyes and noticeable wrinkles, particularly around their eyes, such as crow's feet and frown lines.

This aspect also reflects in their demeanor. They might carry an air of disappointment, even if they don't necessarily feel that way—it's just a testament to what they've been through. They tend to go for neutrals in their clothing choices, not leaning towards vibrant styles. Despite appearing restless, they naturally possess an attractive charm.

Additional. Mystic — Light : Revels in intimate union with the Divine. Shadow : Delusional rapport with the Divine. 

They have a divine look to their appearance, regardless of their modest and simple attire or styling. There's a hint of mystique about them, but I feel it leans more towards a deity-like appearance rather than a witchy vibe. I imagine your future partner resembling a god/goddess, genuinely embodying timeless beauty.

Specifics. — Take What Feels Right. Below Average Height, Legs, Medium-Length Hair, Prominent Mouth, Broad Nose, Copper hair, Medium Skin.

Your future spouse has a complexion you'd deem as medium-toned. When it comes to their hair, I envision it falling somewhere between medium to long length. Though a single color came out, you could interpret it as having hints of orange or red tones instead. Their mouth is defined by sharp, pointed features, while their nose possesses a broad, perhaps even slightly downturned shape.

Bernadette : IAMX. | Lucky Drive : Sarah Kinsley. | Who Is She? : I Monster. [ I think these songs perfectly describe their vibe. ]

PILE THREE

Zodiac Dice Roll. — Aries.

Your future spouse has distinct/sharp, broad features with thick eyebrows framing their face. Freckles, beauty marks, or subtle scars might adorn their face, too. Their shoulders are broad and sturdy. They could be tinged with red in some way. It could be in their complexion with rosy cheeks, hair, eyes, or they just wear a lot of red. Despite a muscular build, they still have curves, whether it's slim hips and wider thighs or a smaller waist and broader hips.

Tarot. — Three of Wands [Reversed].

It seems they may have a serious RBF, often appearing quite frustrated or impatient. There's a strong and confident demeanor about them. When envisioning their build or expression, I see Rhea Ripley 100%.

Additional. Hero/Heroine — Light : Passion for a journey of personal empowerment. Shadow : Escapism and a false sense of heroism. 

When we typically imagine heroes, we picture them as polished and composed. However, behind the curtain, they bear the marks of their struggles, with visible signs of stress etched into their body. Your future partner will be this way. Peel back their layers, and you'll uncover scars, calluses, and an overall roughness.

Specifics. — Take What Feels Right. Gray Eyes, Hawk Nose, Thick Nose, Scars, Thighs, Neutral Tone, Square Shaped Face, Hands.

What did I say about scars? It popped up three times at this point. Their skin tone has a neutral undertone, not warm or cool. Their nose is large and hooked. And those gray eyes? Unwavering. You could simply like their thighs and hands specifically, or there's something significant about them.

Hey Sexy Lady : Shaggy. | Blood Sweat & Tears : BTS.

PILE FOUR

Zodiac Dice Roll. — Pisces.

Your future spouse has round, soft lips, with dewy skin and eyes shining with tenderness. They have a dreamy aura, perhaps lost in thought at times. Their hair may tend towards the finer side. I envision them as 'dainty' and clumsy.

Tarot. — Four of Wands [Reversed]. | The Star.

The Star card suits them perfectly. They radiate both warmth and serenity, their presence quite calming. This reflects in their appearance, with a lively step and a clear sense of purpose in all they do. They have a whimsical charm, very cute!

Additional. Child : Orphan — Light : Independence based on learning to go at it alone. Conquering fear of surviving. Shadow : Feelings of abandonment that stifle maturation. Seeking inappropriate surrogate families.

In terms of aesthetic, your future spouse has a more colorful style. They appear youthful without seeming childish, dressing without fear and staying true to themselves, free from judgment.

Specifics. — Take What Feels Right. Alternative, Sparse Eyebrows, Long Eyelashes, Waist, Slim, Small Eyes, Green Eyes, Bald, Masculine.

This aligns with what I was getting at. They definitely have an alternative style. Although the energy initially felt 'feminine,' masculine came out. So, I believe this person is deeply connected to both aspects. They might also identify as queer. And while they could actually be bald, I heard in it a joking tone, given their naturally thin hair.

The Shining : The Neighbourhood. | Confidence : Ocean Alley.

PILE FIVE

Zodiac Dice Roll. — Capricorn.

Your future spouse is somewhat lanky but has hidden strength, almost described as lithe. They carry an almost stern and steady gaze, radiating seriousness and maturity. Their bone structure is striking, too. Unlike typical Capricorns, they move with a deliberate slowness, calculated in their actions. They are an alluring person. — I forgot to add that they have nice teeth!

Tarot. — Knight of Pentacles [Reversed].

I picture your future spouse as having a disheveled and unkempt appearance, but in a somehow intentional and controllable manner—it's a bit hard to put into words. Think of someone like Hozier in terms of what I mean. They might give off a slightly lazy energy, dressing in loose-fitting clothes. I don't think they enjoy changing their appearance much and prefer to stick to the same style. I imagine they lean towards neutral or dark colors, something easy on the eyes.

Additional. Messiah — Light : Serving humanity with humility. Shadow : Exaggerated belief that you are the only means through which a cause can succeed. 

This person is confident, fully aware of their own charm. I envision them with darker skin and dark hair. If you're attracted to men, I imagine them having some form of facial hair, perhaps a beard.

Specifics. — Take What Feels Right. Eye Bags, Light Freckles, Prominent Nose, Full Lips, Short Hair, Dark Skin, Olive Skin, Monotone Voice, Puppy-Dog Eyes, Brown Hair.

I think your future spouse aims for that bad boy vibe but doesn't quite nail it. They naturally give off that vibe, but they try a bit too hard to make it obvious. Perhaps they have freckles that become more visible in the summer or are barely noticeable. They aren't very expressive with their voice, but their eyes more than compensate for it, being a bit pouty, too. As for their hair, while I initially pictured it as long, it likely varies based on personal preference since short hair came out. Generally, they have a darker appearance overall.

Beautiful Is Boring : BONES UK. | Judas : Lady Gaga. | Too Sweet : Hozier.

PILE SIX

Zodiac Dice Roll. — Sagittarius.

Your future spouse has a wider face and a welcoming, cheerful demeanor. I see them with a cute button nose, sparkling eyes, and a pretty smile. They are bubbly and curious, with chubby cheeks and a curvier frame. Their expression reminds me of Armin Arlert. AHHH, I LOVE ARMIN! I HAD TO BRING HIM UP. T-T

Tarot. — Ace of swords [Reversed].

This person tends to get easily distracted, often appearing spaced out. Their appearance mirrors their emotions, reflecting whatever they're feeling that day. They're not one to settle on a particular style, constantly changing their look.

Additional. Shape-Shifter — Light : Skill at navigating through different levels of consciousness. Ability to see the potential in everything. Shadow : Projecting any image that serves your personal agenda in the moment. 

Yeah, they seem like a real shape-shifter. Always evolving, whether it's their physical appearance or their mindset. One day they might be all about frills and pastels, and the next they're wearing dark, sleek attire.

Specifics. — Take What Feels Right. Hazel Eyes, Button Nose, Tattoos, Neutral Tone, Fingers, Freckles, Hips, Round Shaped Face, Slim Nose.

It's kind of spooky how tarot readings can be so consistently on point with their messages. Hazel eyes were mentioned, but even if not, they have lighter eyes. They might have tattoos, but I'm not sure of what. You might find yourself drawn to their fingers or hips. I envision them as more heavy-set.

Primadonna : MARINA. | Paris, Texas : Lana Del Rey. | Black Friday : Tom Odell.

[harmoonix]

I N S P I R A D O R A

☀️ (Astrology Observations) ☀️

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

☀️~ Ray of Light ~ ☀️

☀️ - Sun conjunct Venus/Neptune natives really share a very beautiful personality, they're very positive and full of life

☀️ - Mars aspecting Lilith (h12) or (h13) = Bad bitch vibes, you do you and you don't accept nobody's disrespect

☀️ - Mercury - Moon aspects may really enjoy music like a LOT, and especially if you have one of these in air signs 100%%%%%%%

☀️ - Saturn aspecting Pluto can really have an overwhelming life, things can sometimes get down and you can feel hopeless at times. But you don't have to forget that you are strong and don't let their things put you down

☀️ - Sun at 6°. 18° degrees natives analyze everything they see. They can read people on their face, idk is like these natives have the power to see what's behind someone's emotions

☀️ - Neptune aspecting the ascendant natives sometimes have a hard time thinking about themselves, because they tend to prioritize others more than themselves

☀️ - Moon in Libra often gives the native fox face/ fox eye figure. for example watch out Madison Bee, Ariana Grande and Alexa Demie have Libra moons and their eyes are close to fox eyes

☀️ - Sagittarius Sun natives will be the people to call out all the lies, they can't accept to be lied on. I know numerous Sagittarius Suns who rather prefer to hear the truth than to be lied on

☀️ - If your boyfriend has an Fire Venus, be sure he'll be very passionate in everything he does. Venus in Fire Signs usually has a spark in their eyes when they do something with passion

☀️ - Mars square Moon/Sun has very strong emotions when they're getting angry, they will probably need some time alone because their personality can be destructive at times

☀️ - Erato (62) - aspecting Juno (3) = Very erotic relationship, and you can seek for eroticism in your life. Very erotic spouse aswell and I feel the tension already...

☀️ - Be careful at natives with Sun - Jupiter aspects in harsh aspects because their pride and ego sometimes it can be bigger than everything, I know someone with those aspects and omg she always thinks she's better than others (I need Maddie from Euphoria to slap her to reality)

☀️ - Neptune in the 12th house can often experience deja vu, they are spiritual and connected to their higher self

☀️ - Mercury at 10°, 22° degrees can be really into singing/ Capricorn degrees can influence and grant you success if you try your best

☀️ - Moon/Sun in the 9th house can be into occult/religion/witchcraft and they can share a communal love for Gods (if they believe in a God/source/universe etc)

☀️ - Sun/Venus/Moon in the 11th house make the best friendships, they connect with people so easily and they're so nice with people, is very hard to not be friends with them

☀️ - Mars conjunct/square/opposite Midheaven (MC) can cause others to see you as a competition and mostly jealousy. So most times is just better to mind your business and to not enter in a contact with people who can seem envy from the first sight

☀️ - Natives with Sagittarius Venus/Venus in the 9th have chances to be in a relationship with someone foreign/ far from home/ your spouse can be from another country/culture and honestly is so cute

☀️ - Saturn aspecting Venus can worry so much in relationships, some of these natives can even be over thinkers for their own reasons, I think another great lesson of theirs is to learn how to love without having difficulties

☀️ - If you want to have very chatty people in your life find someone with Gemini/Aquarius Moons because they are the most communicative out here,you can really talk about everything with them

☀️ - Capricorn Mars/Venus Men are really the gentleman of the zodiac, like the damn sir you really are a king (My Venus doesn't match with this one sadly but I met so many men with those placements and they were really amazing people! sorry my Venus doesn't match with it)

☀️ - Virgo Risings can attract really lovely people in their lives because of their 7H in Pisces, I love these placements so much, because your 7H is also ruled Jupiter who gives you so much luck

☀️ - 1st house ruller in the 6th house can be a big indicator that, these natives need to focus on themselves pretty much in their lives. You'll experience a lot of things that's for sure

☀️ - 1st house ruler in the 10th house on the other side, will mostly prioritize their job/career and that can grant them success in their lives

☀️ - 1st house ruler in the 7th house can prioritize relationships pretty much in this life, like they'll be always searching for that type of person who can be theirs forever, and be careful at enemies too most times they can be hidden

☀️ - Mercury at 3°, 15°, 27° degrees can indicate someone who likes to talk a lot, or just someone who needs to talk more

☀️ - Mars at 8°, 20° degrees makes the person attractive to the opposite sex (even if sometimes they don't want that) it's just attraction

☀️ - Natives with Midheaven (MC) at 2°, 7°, 14°, 19°, 26° degrees can make a good a first impression to the people who approach them

☀️ - Cancer Placements/4th house placements can be the best emotional supporters or the best emotional manipulators, it really depends on these placements and how act towards people

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☀️ Sun is such a very beautiful planet, Leo Risings are so lucky for having this gorgeous planet as their ruler 😭☀️💞

☀️ Have a very beautiful day full of light and full of love, let the Sun ☀️ rise on your street to make you feel better and to bless you ☀️

☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°

- Harmoonix ☀️💞

[rel124c41]

VISCERA. floyd leech

Held in Floyd’s hand is a single fish fork. It incandesces like a lamp, and when you blink, the contour is burnt on your inner eyelids. “Can I taste you?” OR; Floyd is trying and failing to confess to Mostro Lounge's new line-cook.

tags: cooking, not actually unrequited love, courting rituals, cannibalistic thoughts, developing relationships, food as a metaphor for love, blood kink, first kiss, wingman jade, underage smoking, culinary crucible (twst), they're sooo in love ur honor

word count: 17,669

You do not like the look in Azul’s eyes. To be frank, you do not think you have once seen a favorable expression on the roulette wheel of masks Azul Ashengrotto wears. So, backtracking, you have never liked the look in Azul’s eyes (even more so now).

This one you have seen before: right at the point where the words ‘I heard if someone makes a deal with you, you’ll grant any wish’ fell from your mouth when you wanted to snip anemones off Grim, Deuce, and Ace’s heads. 

Originally, you did not have the drive to save all two hundred and twenty-five students. Only those three. Even with the title Prefect, you could have cared less about NRC’s student body until Azul sought to amp up the risk and reward. You accepted his offer for thrill and entertainment, loving the taste of it. 

Now, you stand in the VIP room with that similar atmosphere perfuming the air. Old paper and pen ink, the scent of an odious deal about to be struck. You challenge Azul’s self-assured look with an equally authoritative simmer. Your expressions size each other up like claymores on a battlefield. Azul is the first one to break first. He raises a hand and says, “Jade. Floyd. You are dismissed.” He even sends away his reinforcements in this warfare. 

Leaving himself vulnerable like that? … No, backtrack again, Azul is far from a vulnerable student. 

“Aw, but I wanna hear her answer!”

“Come now, Floyd. We shall be made aware of their decision at a later time.”

“No fun Azul.” Still, the door closes behind the twins. Now, it is just you and Azul alone. Like two shipwrecked survivors in a rowing boat. You are sure he knows you will go for the jugular upon the sight or scent of blood.

He gestures towards the space between you two, two sofas and a table. “Prefect, why don’t –”

“I’ll stand.”

Ah, Azul thinks fondly, that callousness that managed to ensnare one of Octavinelle’s slipperiest and mischievous fish. Still. A knot forms in Azul’s cheek in vexation. Your audacity and Azul’s are matched up so evenly that he almost wonders if you two share the same Zodiac sign. 

“So be it.”

You cross your arms as Azul continues. “A talent of yours has been brought to my attention. I was hoping that we could discuss it peacefully,” his blue eyes narrow, taking your stone-like stature, “without any hostility … But, no matter, it is still worth discussing.”

“I thought the Ramshackle dorm is the only asset of mine that has value.” Your posture shifts, straightening. “If it has to Aduece or Grim, you can forget it.”

“Aduece …? Um, no, nothing of the sort. It is strictly something brought to my attention during –”

There is this thing about Octavinelle. More like Octavinelle’s atmosphere. It clings in the air like a heavy candle scent, suctioning itself to the wallpaper, aquarium tank glass panels, and each stitch of the Octavinelle uniform. Something that stalks like a shark. It is a presence you label: viscera. 

A stomach and intestines is a viscera and a viscera is a stomach and intestines. You feel if you ever drop your armor around Octavinelle, gastrointestinal acid will come to consume you. The jaws tunneling down to the belly of Jonah’s whale is just a show of weakness away. It is why you act so callous now.

You always try to keep yourself schooled in the trio’s presence. “--During the Culinary Crucible.” And with that, viscera returns to you when those words leave Azul’s mouth. You feel like you just drank spoiled milk. Before he can accuse you of anything, you speak.

“You were one of my judges. I hope you aren’t going to make a baseless acquisition like food-poisoning. Remember, two other people ate what I served you.”

“I also remember, quite clearly, that you were one of the four students able to get a perfect score of thirty.”

Spoiled milk is too weak of a rotten flavor. You feel like you have just dug into a garbage bin and picked the last mold-crusted food item, all the way at the bottom of the barrel, sponging up all other rotten seasonings. To have something of yours peak Azul's interest again … it is not a nice taste. You are quick to shut down what you know has probably already been formulating in Azul’s head. 

“Dumb luck. Floyd also got a perfect score.” Him, Trey, Jamil, and yourself.

“You seem to forget I was one of your judges too. I thought you had a more effective memory than that, Prefect.” 

Floyd getting a perfect score could be more closely aligned to dumb luck than you. Which is not to say it was dumb luck. Nonetheless, stars and planets happened to align as Floyd was in a good mood while cooking and Jade was a judge out of three others; it just happened. Your food though? Azul runs a restaurant. He can taste experience and talent on the edge of a fork. 

Coupled with your experience and talent, you are not an ignorant individual either. Which is why you sit down, imaging that this conversation is going to drag. You ignore Azul’s smile. 

Elbows on knees, you drill in, “So, what? You want me to replicate a meal for you? Getting the twins to drag me here is a bit excessive for another bite of lamb and oysters.”

“I would rather monopolize that talent beyond just one simple meal. You’re thinking too small, Prefect.”

“You’re thinking too big.” 

You really wish you had magic, just to reverse time. Even if you were a mage, you doubt you would even have the skill to master such a complex spell. But, you would master it. To reverse time and find a way to get a different judge not named Azul Ashengrotto. The line-up for your judges at the Culinary Crucible was three housewardens: Riddle Rosehearts, Kalim Al-Asim, and Azul Ashengrotto. Grim had panicked at the trio, thinking both of you would be losing your elective credit. As always, you took the reins and got you both out of the whale’s stomach before digestion. 

“I was thinking: the fruits of your talents are quite wasted. Who do you cook for? That ungrateful cat-beast has no refined palate; he would eat table scraps if presented to him. Ace and Deuce, neither of them are grateful for the meals you must provide. You are surely underappreciated.”

“Wow, you clearly don’t think at all.” You eye a section of the VIP room in exasperation, close enough to the eye-roll you desperately want to do. “You think – what? – I don’t get enough thank you’s and I’m suddenly going to do what exactly?”

Azul almost deflates. It is surprising how easy you can sometimes manage to get him that way. He chooses to straighten a few pencils on his desk as a means to straighten and iron out the imperfections of his approach. Glasses tilted down, Azul answers, “I mean no offense to your friends. But, I think you are not getting proper payment. No, that I know.”

“Unbelievable.” You tsk, falling into the embrace of the seat. “You think the world runs on money.”

“Does it not?”

“...”

“Your silence tells me all I need to know.”

“You want me to work at the Lounge, don’t you?”

“Yes. A much better use of your talents, don’t you think?” 

In your head, you imagine the taste of umami takoyaki. A cleaver is raised with the vindication of a French guillotine; when judgment falls, it hits the thick part of Azul’s upper arm. Which would be more ironic: selling Azul’s body parts or eating them?

Below you, your foot taps on the wooden floor. A restless rabbit pittering that gives the housewarden some insight into your otherwise stone expression. Azul must be so certain that you are thinking of throwing in the towel right then and there. Really, you are thinking of Ruggie. Ruggie and the Intra-school Competition. For that time briefly, he had worked in Mostro Lounge, wearing his ceremony robes. 

You and Ruggie are very close, lesser than the trio you had dubbed your own, but still more than your other first-years. So one day, he regaled you with the story of working for Azul Ashengrotto just to fill up talking space.

The situation of the broken glass and Floyd’s moodiness. The situation of the kitchen lacking people and Azul having to send servers into the back to help cook. Those are two factors you really have to roll around in your head. You do not like to be rushed and you are wary of Floyd’s penduluming moods. 

Though Ruggie has a positive outlook of the rewards he reaps from that time, you do not think you can handle working in Mostro Lounge. You squeeze by with the money you make. However, “You pay well?”

“I assure you will have proper compensation for your labor.”

“Could you stop being scummy and just tell me the hourly rate?”

“For your skills – if they aren’t dumb luck – you’re looking at twenty-eight per hour.” 

You know what? The world really does run on money. 

While not an expert at mental math, even you know that with just a twenty hour work week, that kind of money would shift the motion of your boat, put more wind under your sails. Monetary motivation is perhaps the most powerful thing in the world.

Expression still schooled, you contemplate it. Accepting this … you imagine yourself tiny, using a tongue as a diving-board into a devilish pit of gnashing teeth and churning tentacles. Right into the belly of the beast. The conjured up image makes you want to shudder. Instead, your soft enamels move and your tongue articulates, “I’m gonna need smoke breaks every two hours.” 

Oddly enough, out of all the times you pressed him, this one catches Azul by visible surprise. “Sm-Smoke breaks? … why, I suppose that is acceptable.” That is far from unreasonable, surprising but not unreasonable. “I’m glad that we could come to –”

“And I’m going to need more time to even consider it. That isn’t a yes. I’m outlining terms.”

“Perfectly fine. I was actually going to outline this,” you and Azul lock eyes. “Just in case what I tasted was dumb luck, in a week, I wanted you to return to Mostro Lounge during closing hours. You’ll cook a meal for three judges again, myself included. Then, this conversation will become serious.”

“I will not sign a contract.”

“This is employment; no contract is required. You labor – cook. I pay. Such is the usual transaction of jobs.” 

Despite the feeling of a tongue slimming itself across your spine and teeth nibbling on your toes like garra rufa, you think that does not sound too devastating.

A week passes; you decide to keep your discussion with Azul concealed to yourself. There is this epidemic going around NRC called the lost art of keeping a secret. You decide for your mental well-being that you will wait for a week to pass, serve your meal to Azul and two other mysterious persons, and then, spill your guts to Ace, Deuce, and Grim. 

You have a close call though, guts almost prematurely ripped from your abdomen. The familiar feeling of teeth on your jugular creeps up onto you in the cafeteria. Fingers agile, you press your plastic fork into another’s jugular and greet him, “Hi Floyd.”

Held hostage by your plastic fork dug into his throat, Floyd smiles and cheers, “Shrimpyyy! Thought I could surprise you this time.”

“Nah, not fast enough. Next time though.” You smile sweetly..

You do not hate Floyd Leech. Though, he is far from your favorite student. The label of friendship does not really fit on him (despite the fact he thinks the opposite). Out of everyone in Octavinelle, the presence of viscera glues itself to him. Carnivorous teeth coupled with his predator adroitness screams belly of the beast to you. 

Which is why you fend him off with a plastic fork.

“Hehehe, next time then,” Floyd grins. He leans in, uncaring of how plastic folds on his pallid throat. “Azul-y told me that ya remembered I got a perfect score.”

For a second, you have no idea what he is talking about. You share a grand amount of two classes with Floyd; you do not remember him getting perfect marks in either subjects. Until it dawns on you, that far-off conversation with Azul, the Culinary Crucible. For some reason, your neck feels warm as if you should not have made that observation; like noticing Floyd’s perfect score is a rude thing to do. “Ah. Yeah, I did. Good job again.”

Floyd laughs; you feel the noise through the connection of fork and skin, finally lowering it at the sensation. “Shrimpy did pretty good too. Ya gonna cook me something sometime? Not fair that Azul is the only one who got to taste your cookin’.”

You lower your voice to a suspicious whisper as a thought dawns on you. “... Hey, why does Azul need me working there if you cook so good?” 

Unlike Azul, you had not been mystified by food at the Culinary Crucible. During the entire ordeal of being transported to a tropical beach via book, Floyd had cooked at the abandoned cottage. You had been amazed by his skills, gorging yourself on the delicious spread.

His eyes shift up to the left, avoiding your slight interrogation. Almost hiding something. “Eeeh, I don’t know. Azul’s always complainin’ even though he can barely cook. His food is super boring; Shrimpy’s probably tastes better.” 

“Talk to Azul about it. I’m sure it can be – Grim, paws off my food.” You brandish your makeshift fork-slash-claymore at your little beast.

“Ah, but I want Shrimpy to cook for me because they wanna.”

“Heh, yeah,” you trail off, unsure of how to respond to that. Mostly failing to come up with a response because you cannot see a possibility of that ever happening. “Like I said, um, Azul.” And that is all you really can articulate because, that’s a cool thought but I can’t see myself cooking for him. 

Besides; to you, love is an ingredient stored in the kitchen. And, to you, love is about finding people to be in the kitchen with. Your philosophies do not synchronize with your feelings with Floyd Leech. 

“Mmm,” Floyd hums, dissatisfied with your answer. He watches you place your fork down; glances at Baby Seal who has been watching this go down (Ace and Deuce still in the cafeteria line). “Guess I’ll just have to wait to taste Shrimpy’s cookin’ on Sunday, hehe. Caaan’t wait!”

“What’s on Sunday? –”

“I suppose you will. Bye for now, Floyd,” you interrupt Grim.

“See ya, Shrimpy.” He leaves you with a peace-sign.

Slowly, the feeling of being slobbered on like a squeak-toy in a dog’s mouth ebbs. The indent of teeth loosen with each step that Floyd takes, rejoining Jade and Azul outside the cafeteria entrance. When Ace asks what that is all about, you threaten him too with your plastic fork. Sometimes, a girl has business of her own to take care of, your fork emphasizes to the trio. Thus, you manage to keep it secret despite hiccups. 

Eventually, Floyd’s statement does come to fruition. Because like you said, a week has passed. On Sunday, he gets to taste your cooking because: “I didn’t know you two were the other judges.” 

“Aw, not excited to see us,” Floyd asks with a fake frown. He is leaning over your shoulder, hands in his pockets, and looking far too much like a vulture. 

“Did you honestly expect someone else,” Jade asks, following you inside. 

Despite the fact they were assigned to guide you in, you take up the front and walk with purpose into the stomach. Mostro Lounge has finally closed and you trudge into it, yawning. Sections of blue lighting twist up the ceiling like a tunneling rib-cage. When blue gleams on Jade’s smile, more importantly on his teeth, you think of viscera. 

Rolling your shoulder, you reply, “Guess I didn’t put much thought into it.”

“At least, you came prepared with some strategy. I imagine that must have taken up priority in your mind.”

“Not at all.” The toothpick clenched in your teeth wobbles with your words. Floyd giggles happily; his contagious high-pitched giggle has you fighting back a smile. You manage to knock the mirth away when yours and Azul’s eyes collide. “You two will just have to see if I’m as good as he claims. Isn’t that right, Azul?”

“Seriously, Prefect, did you come here with zero preparation?”

“I was busy with schoolwork. Piss off.” 

Azul lets out a tired sigh. You shuffle in front of him, body like the condiments in a sandwich between six-foot-one eel-mer-shaped bread. “So, I’m assuming this is going to be more or less like the Culinary Crucible. I’ll cook, you three will judge. Sounds simple enough.”

“Yes, that is the gist of it. Floyd, if you will.”

“Here ya go, Shrimpy.” 

In front of you is Floyd’s hat turned upside down like a beached turtle. Inside lie about twenty or so folded slips of paper. The eel-mer uses the proximity to touch his bicep to yours. So moving that hand off the point of contact, you reach in. “Cioppino with mussels,” you read from the paper. “That’s relatively an easy meal … Give me another slip of paper.”

“But, why?” Azul questions.

“But I’m not going to cook unless I have a challenge,” you say. Over your shoulders, Floyd grins wide at your words almost as if in agreement. 

“Now,” Jade pushes your hand back into the hat before you can unfold the second slip of paper. “While I may understand your reasoning, it is quite late. We delegated to write down meals that could be cooked in under an hour. All of them are easy.”

“C’mon, let Shrimpy pick another, Jade.”

“Floyd.”

“Fiiine.”

“Fiiine,” you whine in a matching tone, looking at the Nunito font spelling out the meal you have to make. You frown when realizing you and Floyd accidentally matched up. Before anything can be said, you direct a question at Azul, “Can I listen to music? They didn’t let me at the Culinary Crucible.”

“Of course. However you wish to go about artistic expression, don’t let me stop that.”

“Thanks.”

From the closed door, the sound of guitar that more closely resembles the sound of a chainsaw starts up, horridly grating. Like a surgeon orchestrating with his tools of carnage. Commencing this operatic butchery of a feast. Body and blood. 

Loitering, you start to thumb an unheard beat on the bakery box in hand. In your mouth, a toothpick swings up and down and tumbles left to right like a gymnast. Students file past you to enter the classroom you are waiting by and … ugh, why is this taking so long!

Quickly and a bit peeved, you check your phone. You and him agreed upon this time before Defense Magic class could start. The bell should ring in about five minutes and he should have been here five minutes ago.

Glancing into the open doorway where a long fighting platform and multiple seats await, you consider just leaving it on his desk. If you do that then you can still make it to your next class … you are just about to jump in to fluidly join the swimming crowd walking in the class when —

“SHRIMPY!!!”

The toothpick in your mouth breaks into splinters, guillotined by your teeth.

Cradling fallen wooden bits in your hand, you look up at Floyd with an expression that is beyond peeved. It does little to deter him. Hands in his pockets and brother shoulder to shoulder with him, Floyd stalks over to you energetically, grinning wide.

“Hello Prefect.”

“You switchin’ to a second year class, little shrimp? Defense Magic gets a bit rowdy, hehe.”

“Hi Jade. Hi Floyd. No, I’m waiting for someone right now.”

“Aw, Shrimpy, ya miss me that much?”

“If you were so eager to see us before your first day at the Lounge, you only need to say so, Prefect.”

Oh, backtracking, you got the job. Another perfect score of thirty. You start later this afternoon … that is all normal and expected. 

There is this odd thing that has been bugging you though. After you had presented the dishes, toweling down your hands and asking for a smoke break, you came back to see: Jade ate the entire meal, scraping the plate clean like a suctioning tube; Azul ate but left a reasonable amount of leftovers that were both alternatively acceptable to trash or save; Floyd took a few careful nibbles then left the rest untouched. Guess I’ll just have to wait to taste Shrimpy’s cookin’ on Sunday, hehe. Caaan’t wait! Such untrue words. Why even say something like that if he would just pick at it like a finicky child? 

It seems Floyd never has a long-lasting objective.

Holding the bakery box with one hand, you reach in your pocket to discard your broken toothpick and grab a new one. As you do, Floyd folds cursory arms over your head, leaning over you like a bar-table to talk to his brother.

“Caaan’t believe it; Shrimpy’s big day in the ocean blue starts today.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will be quite interesting.”

“All that delicious food … I should show her how to make takoyaki.” 

“Now, Floyd, she must follow along with the orders placed.”

“Aw, boooring.”

“Who's gonna be training me?” 

“I believe Azul designated the job to Floyd.”

“Aha ha, hear that Shrimpy? We get to hang out all night tonight~” Floyd leans in a way that you can see his wide, visceral grin. 

A human has a set of thirty-two made of enamel and root cementum. Omnivorous with molars in the back for plants along with incisors and canines in the front for meat. Floyd has a set of forty-two teeth. Quite unlike humans, his teeth are made of cartilage – a human body could never adapt to safely chew with cartilage-made teeth. Floyd’s teeth shine in a glass-esque glow.

And: “you got something in your teeth” you say to him, pointing to your own mouth. Because there is a medium-sized piece of something wedged between his glimmering teeth. 

“Huh?” 

You watch him momentarily jam a fingernail in his mouth, trying to find whatever you are pointing out. And completely missing the mark too. He is so annoying. It is on the bottom row of teeth, not the top, you seethe. 

“Ugh, let me.”

Downward, the bakery box finds the floor. Instead of just one, you shake two bamboo toothpicks out of your pack. One flips easily into your mouth and the other pirouettes between middle and index. By the lapel of his incorrectly put on jacket, you pull Floyd down to your height. “It’s not even in your top row of teeth,” you scold. “Open.”

Your command is ignored. It surprisingly seems like Floyd will never open his mouth again. Tight-lipped and staring, his mismatched eyes look at you like you have suddenly grown an extra head. Then, a slow mounting blush grows on his face that peaks at crimson. Hell, the whites of his eyes almost glow when backdropped by the flush on his face. 

Did the temperature spike or something? You are at a comfortable temperature. It is certainly odd – your train of thought ends when Jade chuckles behind you, “My, how scandalous. And right in the middle of the hallway too. I never thought of you as such an audacious person, (Name).”

“Huh?” You raise an unamused eyebrow at Jade. Your own toothpick in mouth tilts down in ire. “You know what, forget it. Look stupid the rest of the day.”

Serves you right for trying to help … stupid twins.

“Wh – Wait! I’ll open my mouth!” Floyd’s tongue lolls out.

Ah, it seems the temperature has spiked. This is why you try not to interact with Octavinelle and all their consuming ways. And because! “Your fucking teeth! Dude, I just need to see your teeth!” Jade’s laughter grows in volume. 

Eventually, a bit pissy that this has become a whole ordeal, you manage to get the piece out of Floyd’s teeth. Both of you share a bit of warmth on your faces. 

The toothpick is flicked into the trash inside the Defense Magic classroom. You want to forget all about this interaction already.

“Thanks Shrimpy. You’re a lifesaver!” Floyd gives a big, boyish grin, all forty-two of his teeth cleaned. Pink is still a sandstorm dusting on his cheeks.

You look away from Floyd with a twitch in your cheek. Finally – “Ruggie!” The hyena’s ears twitch on the top of his head. You pick up the bakery box of donuts from the ground and meet him halfway. “You’re late,” but you scold Ruggie with a smile rather than a frown. 

“Sorry, Leona had me running an impromptu errand. Work never ends.”

“Oh, I know what you mean.”

And you and Ruggie share a bone-deep sigh, despite smiling, that only Leona’s and Crowley’s errand-runner could possibly sympathize with on equal footing.

“Well, payment as arranged,” you say, going to hand Ruggie his payment when – “Jade!”

“Oya, was this the person you were waiting for, Prefect?”

“Yes, now give that back.”

“You said this was payment? What an unusual transaction. I wonder what it could be for.” He opens up the bakery box. Six different types of donuts stare back at him.

You stare right alongside them. You would rather not have him or his brother knowing that you get study guides from Ruggie. In exchange for them, you bake Ruggie donuts and other sweets. Information like that would be valuable to Azul. You remember Deuce, Grim, and Ace taking study guides from Azul in November; you are smart enough to make deals with less odious individuals. 

You can even imagine what Jade would say upon learning you require help in your classes, “My brother and I would be happy to tutor you, Prefect.” Why Jade includes his brother when trying to interact with you, you will never know. You doubt Floyd could sit still for one math equation. 

“Keep wondering,” then, you retrieve the bakery box from Jade with a huffing puff. 

Yet before you can even give Ruggie his payment, an arm hooks around your neck in a chokehold. Gasping startled, you look up to see Floyd’s fluorescent smile hanging above you like the moon on a riverbank. Yet when he speaks, he does not look at you.

“See ya tonight, Shrimpy?”

“Um … yeah.”

“‘Kay Shrimpy! Hehehe!”

As you walk off, you rub your neck wondering what that was all about. 

You are prepared like someone might put the finishing touches on a cake. Azul gives you your Octavinelle hat and apron while Jade explains how they go about business. A slip of paper from Jade tells you the connection between abbreviations and meals. 

“But if you have any questions on what a certain abbreviation stands for, Floyd will assist you.” You then asked why you would need help; they all personally tasted how capable you were at making meals. Abbreviations are relatively easy to understand too. Jade simply laughed before opening two swinging doors to the kitchen. A tongue lolls out and on the beastly carpet, Floyd stands, dressed up in cooking attire rather than waiter attire. 

“Have fun you two,” are the words Jade leaves you with an hour or so ago, standing in the whale’s guts. Fun? You think Floyd is having the most fun out of the two of you because –

Blood hits the floor and soaks into the linoleum. Little stardust sprinkles of red between both of your awestruck bodies. Each droplet holds such a weight that you are almost surprised that the red splatter does not start burning holes through the floor like stomach acid. 

Floyd is bent over like he has chronic stomach pain. Teal hair covers his face as he shudders. Backtracking, he was looking at you a minute ago. Pestering you, he had tried to change what you were making. You were not dealing with that. (A knife suddenly falls in the path of Floyd’s hand.

“Please keep your filthy hand to your side of the kitchen.”

“That just makes me wanna touch your side more, Shrimpy.”

“Then, you must also not be fond of your fingers. Unexpected but nothing I cannot work with. A pinch of seasoning and I’m sure even you will be easy to swallow.”

“I have something else you could – FUCK!”)

Now, Floyd is bleeding all over the floor. The metallic stench has you squirming.  

Oh, I am getting fired. Or, squeezed. Or, Ace and Deuce are going to find my drowned dead body. The dumpster fire of thought explodes like an atomic bomb when Floyd’s head lifts up. The grin on his face splits from ear to ear. All forty-two teeth catching the light a certain way. Forget all that! I’m going to be eaten alive!! The thought runs a strangely pleasant shiver up your spine. 

Is money worth this stress? Because you are dealing with parts of yourself that you do not want to address.

It is the day after and Floyd is staring enraptured at his palm. 

Perhaps English language cannot house the absolute devotion that Floyd stares at his palm with; however, Jade believes enraptured is one-fourth close enough given language’s constrictions. His twin brother looks at the innards of his hand with the same expression when he saw fireworks for the first time or experienced the sight of red for the first time. Looking at it like it is the first time he has seen his palm. It is because something new lies on his palm. A new difference between Floyd and himself as identical twins.

Scheming, Jade decides he wants to poke at that wound. So, tearing paper off his notepad, he leaves the pending order with one of the kitchen staff and does not pick up the tray designated for him. Pocketing work, Jade slithers over to the bar.

With his non-dominant right hand, Floyd starts to trace the innard of his palm. That look of enrapturement is so strong now. As if he is only happy when observing that plane of skin. It even changes his eyes, speckles of their natural bioluminescence floating in them. Enraptured so deeply like black-hole is sucking him in.

“Did you happen to forget you have five fingers?” That does not work. Still leaning on the countertop, Floyd glides his hand contently on his palm. “Happen to be missing home?”

That knocks Floyd out of his stupor. “Huh?” On the other side of the countertop, Jade stands at the most empty bar, because customers seem to recognize they aren’t going to get a drink from such a distracted Floyd. Jade smiles politely. 

“You are staring at your hand as if you’re trying to will your fins back.” 

Jade suspects there is more to it. And he is proven correct when Floyd tights his dominant hand into a fist. The blood-lamp in his eyes dim just a bit, growing timid … no, his brother is acting shy right now? Mumbled into Floyd’s shoulder when he turns away: “I’s nothin’.”

Oh, this is going to be fun. Teeth on display, Jade interrogates, “With that look, I wholeheartedly doubt such a statement. And you are retreating like a pitiful hermit crab right now.”

“Fuck off.” 

“(Name) happens to have the day off. I happen to wonder if that has any correlation, with this sudden hand-staring. Did your hands happen to touch, going for the same ingredient?”

“I happen to wonder how many punches it’ll take till ya have a black eye.”

“Fufufufu. To think that all your efforts to get her attention and employed here; and she ends up cutting you on her first day.”

Floyd’s mood lightens. A lovey-dovey sigh escapes him. “I know. Ain’t she perfect~”

You found out only two weeks into your employment that you were getting paid more than ninety percent of the staff.

(One of your fellow line-cooks spit out of his drink when he heard you mumble under your breath during lunch rush, “twenty-eight dollars per hour, twenty-eight dollars per hour, twenty-eight –” like a momentary mantra to convince yourself to not stress too much. Apparently you are getting paid forteen more dollars than the average kitchen staff. You do not get to speculate with him why. Azul comes rushing in, scolding anyone who does not have a hundred and one percent of their attention on their work station. 

When you ask Floyd about it, he becomes uncharacteristically less fidgety than normal. How juxtaposing. People that are put-off usually squirm but Floyd goes comatose-like when bothered.) You have decided to drop it since then; why look a gifted horse in the mouth?

The money is such a darling incentive to come into work that you have yet to miss a single shift. At least, it is never boring. Not that you think Floyd would allow you to wilt in the industrial-ness of cooking in a restaurant instead of tender, domestic cooking. You two manage to have this weird mixture of fun and prodding.

And when a customer puts in an order for lobsters, you are not going to waste the opportunity.

“I’ll think I’ll name him Floyd 2,” you say, holding up the crustacean. Twitching antennas wave at you when his rubber-band claws cannot. Floyd glances at you out of the corner of his eye, golden iris like a supernova star. Just as he goes to talk, you drop Floyd 2 into the pot of boiling water. “Whoops.”

“Shrimpyyy.”

“My hand slipped,” you smile.

“Why’s Shrimpy so callous all the time? Ya got a hard shell just like this lobster. Look.” A blackish-orange, uncooked lobster is shoved in your face as you laugh.

“What do you even mean?”

“You’re a real serious type like Azul. But you were all giggles when you and Sea Otter were riding on my back over Winter Break. You danced really funny at the banquet.”

“I dance funny?”

“Yeah, like this,” Floyd starts to shimmy the lobster back and forth. You take it from him with a smile, dropping it into your pot. All four lobsters boiling, you switch your attention to cutting up the appetizer salads by your station. “Ya doing anything after work, Shrimpy?”

“Just going to Ruggie’s Spelldrive practice tonight.”

“You should come to one of my practices, Shrimpy. Way cooler than Spelldrive.”

Your knife falls on the midpoint of five or so slices of washed lettuce. Glancing up, you see as Floyd washes the rest of the vegetables, he is oddly still. His bandaged left hand clenches around the handle. Usually, he taps a rhythm to the side of the sieve. 

That is really odd because his voice is so light and carefree. But you can dissect his body language.

“No way, Spelldrive is so cool. You used magic to control the disc but it’s exactly like football.” Your world already had basketball, but Spelldrive is an entirely new thing.

“What’s football?”

“Ah, nevermind,” but Floyd presses for more answers with a smile. “It’s the same as the rules of Spelldrive. Instead of using brooms, you run. And, the control that the players have on their magic plus the second and third years who ride brooms are super impressive. The level of mastery is … on another level!”

Floyd’s face twists at that. “It’s just ridin’ a broom. Ain’t so hard.”

“I thought you, your brother, and Azul were bad at riding brooms. Y’know, sea legs and all that.”

“I’m waaay better than those two.”

“Whatever you say,” you dismiss the conversation just as you slide the cut lettuce into two bowls. You want to drop the conversation and work on the next entree. Floyd does not share that sentiment. 

Shaking water out of the sieve, he whines, “Spelldrive’s so boooring. It just a bunch of guys throwin’ around a disk.”

“And basketball is just a bunch of guys passing around a ball.”

“C’mon Shrimpyyy.”

“I guess I could make the time to attend one practice.” Floyd lights up at that. Evangelical light shines in his mouth. Something boils over in you like the stove’s temperature has been turned up.

You are being eaten alive. It is not so bad. 

However, backtracking, it starts with kisses. 

Whoever is kissing you – crowding above you like a nebulous night sky and draping each warm star finger on the cold surface of your face, mandible to cheekbone – has never kissed anyone before. And it is surprisingly endearing to you. Having to guide the night to properly understand kissing is not biting. Tentatively having to pinch or pull hair when a tongue ventures too far down your throat or a pair of needle teeth bite too hard on your lips. This is how it starts.

Happiness is like the calcium in your bones. You are awfully pleased to be kissing this pair of midnight lips. Speed of kissing escalates and deescalates in intervals; sometimes, the two of you press into each other like you are afraid one of you will leave come morning before falling into slow pecks like time has suddenly become infinite. 

In this anonymous kissing, you lie happy on some hard, uncomfortable surface. But with how elevated you feel, it feels like a cloud is cradling your body. Euphoria is a well-versed painkiller. 

Peppermint burns your nostrils as the face above you gasps. Ah, despite how you had been chiding off teeth on your lips, you are the one that actually breaks skin. Three pupils of blood fall on your closed lips. Your sheepish tongue pokes out and licks red rain away. Blood falls into the sizzling grill of your mouth and you gasp in response.

Taste is categorized into five groups. This tastes like a sixth. Suddenly, all other tastes pale in comparison. The revelation makes you shudder, each bone vibrating. 

You never want to taste anything else. You will never pick up a cigarette if you get to taste this again. 

The taste gradually dims when the face finally pulls away, revealing who you are kissing. “Floyd?” Spherical blood sits, a tiny cherry, on the middle of his bottom lip. He blushes like he is sunburnt by your attentive eyes. Before you can ask why he is kissing you, Floyd leans back, sitting on his haunches.

You two are laid on a table. The table stretches so far out into the distance that it enters a void. Behind Floyd, it shrinks down until it blurs away; when you tilt your head back, it fades due to distance. The range of your eyesight cannot comprehend the length of the surface. 

Everything else is swallowed and lost to the chewing void. When you tilt your head left and right, tenebrous ebon greets you like a wall. Your eyes are magnetized to the only light source now that Floyd’s lips are too far away to kiss. 

Held in Floyd’s hand is a single fish fork. It incandesces like a lamp, and when you blink, the contour is burnt on your inner eyelids. 

Puffy, swollen lips move to speak but Floyd beats you to the punch. Out of his mouth falls an even sweeter palate beyond his blood. Your real name – in his voice, nasally, a bit lightfully high-pitched, a bit annoying and a bit liberating –  on his tongue, pronounced and said with a hefty weight. 

“(Name).”

“Yeah?” You answer, breathless from kisses and that word.

“Can I taste you?”

You think back to how each of you were feasting on each other in your liplock,  a sudden amorous meal.

“Yeah.”

Instead of him leaning down, the fish fork in Floyd’s hand starts to move. Your eyes track it with intrigue. Beyond the valley of your chest, you are caught off guard seeing your button-up undone and open like wings. Into an abyss known as the midline sternotomy, Floyd’s fish fork digs in.

A dog-esque whimper falls from your lips. The toes of your right foot curl behind Floyd when you feel a fork scraping past rib bones. Three prongs pierce convulsing muscle tissue. Lithe fingers twist the utensil. Arousal coats like goosebumps on your flesh as a section of you is taken. Eyelids half mast, you watch Floyd bring the red fork to his lips. A section of still-beating, still-drumming muscle disappears into his mouth.

This is more intense than the kissing, that you wake up on fire. 

The fire is metaphorical but the engrossing heat that blankets your entire body is not. In Ramshackle’s bed, you kick awake breathlessly. The pillow you were squeezing gives a wheeze of pain when you hug it to yourself tighter. Propping yourself on your elbows, blinking away a dream, you groan. “Oh fuuuck no.” In your chest, your tell-tale heart pounds.

You fall right back on the embrace of your pillow as it mimics the feel of a lover’s chest. Silk and the fire in your face collide in a burn. As chunks of your dream expand or delete away, you consider the heavy weight of … everything.

Floyd. 

Floyd was eating your heart. Your face smolders on your pillow – you refuse to dwell on the implications of that. 

You dwell on the implications, almost ruminating. In your quad-'apartment stomach, the rumen and reticulum digests the dream, the omasum allows the dream to filter into your bloodstream, and the abomasum finishes up your dream analysis. You metaphorically puke in your own mouth the entire morning, ruminating. 

When the taste becomes too much, you hunt down Jade. 

Stalking halls with eyes and nose trained for locating only him. And when you do, you do not busy yourself with the subtlety of a prowl. You launch right in on the attack. Stabbing him with a question even though he has a forkful of something in his mouth, “What’s Floyd’s deal?”

Caught off guard, Jade blinks at you. It is rare for such a blank look to cross his face that you are almost unnerved. Then, he pulls the fork from his mouth, chewing and dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “I’m afraid I don’t quite know what you mean. My brother and Azul are not under contract.” 

“Not a real deal – ugh, Jade, you know what I mean.”

Sharpened teeth make a beastly smile. A shiver tiptoes up your spine like a spider. 

Turning back to his meal, Jade brushes off your response with, “Vagueness is one step away from misunderstanding. You should clarify for your own sake.” 

He lifts up his fork and your eyes fall to the cafeteria table. Right now, you are on a fake bathroom break during astrology. Azul and Floyd have lunch together while Jade has a separate lunch. It is the perfect time to strangle information out of him, and, like a good predator, you should not waste time on prowling or stalking but –

“I don’t understand how you can eat like that and remain that skinny.”

As a cook, you are well-versed in the balancing of meals. To be frank, Jade’s lunch probably has the most optimal nutrition in terms of carbohydrates, protein, and vegetables. However, lunches are standardly medium-sized. In front of him lies a caesar salad stuffed with chicken, BLT sandwich, and an egg salad lettuce wrap. He’s three-fourth done with the caesar salad and sure to dig into the rest.

“Metabolism is a fascinating genetic function.”

“If I can convince Crewel to make a body-swapping potion, how about a quick switch for a day?” You can only imagine how cultured Jade’s tongue is.

“You in my body and I in yours. Floyd would have a field day with that.”

“Oh my god, what does that mean!”

Jade chuckles at your boiling worry. One hundred and one spine-chilling scenarios flash in your head. Backtracking, you vow to never give your autonomy to Jade Leech of all people. It will only end in misfortune for you. Scolding, you seethe, “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. Your smile’s too creepy.”

“I’m not thinking about anything in particular. I’ll let you ruminate on it however. I’m sure you can think of much more than I can.”

“You’re the worst.” 

Jade gives a musical hum and forks the last bit of his salad into his mouth. “You know, I could ask the same question: What’s your deal?” His yellow left eye sharpens, taking in the space where you disrupt the atmosphere. Remembering what that evil star could reel out your throat (truth, awful truths you have not made peace with), you scoot back on the table’s seat. 

The mental image is odious. Jade’s hand hovering over your salivating mouth with the other holds your chin skyward; his fist clenches around a fishing line, yanking; he scoops up everything you keep concealed as you cough up blood like a weak geyser. A violent image. Yet, violence absent of any amatory intent. (So unlike your dream with Floyd.)

Putting distance between you two like a panicked crab, you mutter, “What do you mean?”

“You are good friends with Riddle Rosehearts, yes? You should know that he never indulges Floyd’s whims; he would never agree to working in the same Lounge as Floyd either. Yet, the two of you have gotten quite cozy.”

“I never voluntarily approach him. I work there for the cash.”

“Hm, perhaps. However, you do not shy away when he approaches you. Why is that? What is your deal?”

“We’re supposed to be talking about Floyd’s deal.”

“Alright. Then, let us talk about it.”

“Lets!”

“How do you find his disposition? Too wholesome, too loathsome? You two seem to be becoming fast friends … ah, but that is just my humble, little opinion. No need to look so upset.”

“Floyd is … Floyd … he’s viscera.”

“I assure you my brother has other anatomy beyond his stomach.” As Jade says, he unwraps his egg salad lettuce wrap. The smell burns your nose. You get the egg-scented message that such a description could match Jade with his bottomless stomach.

“No, it’s not literal. It’s – Being around him feels like being in the belly of the beast.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why don't you give me an example?”

“You know what? Okay.” You contemplate for a moment, thumbing through the notecards of your memory. Finally getting it, you snap your fingers. “Okay! Okay. Last week, Tuesday, during my shift. He stood behind me the entire four hours of my shift. Like I mean, stood there. Just breathing down my neck, all pissed off. I thought he was going to take a bite out of me, Jade!”

Ah, Jade remembers that day well. It was the day you had a laundry mishap, procrastinating on the chore to the point where you had no clean slacks. Nothing too interesting – so what you forgot to do laundry, that happens in the life of a busy Prefect! The only thing is:

(“Shrimpy’s wearing leggings! Shrimpy’s – fuck!”

Jade looks up from his paperwork, hovering over Azul’s shoulder. Holed up in the VIP room, he and Azul are going over the month’s numbers of hours delegated to the staff. Measuring punchcard times and figuring where to subtract or add hours for each staff member. Numbers on papers become quite boring when Jade sees the state his brother is in.

“Floyd. Do not knock over the table.” Strife laces Azul’s voice.

Sprawled on the ground, Floyd half-sits and half-kneels on the violet carpet. In his excitement, he had bumped into the table set between the two couches. Pushing himself up, the grin on Floyd’s face is mammoth and energized. “Shrimpy’s wearing leggings!”

So it seems you were, Jade would find out later. Skin-tight leggings; black with flared bottoms. You had walked in with your button-up untucked to hide what Floyd cites is the prettiest ass he has ever seen. That particular article of clothing left little to the imagination – snug so tightly on each tantalizing curve of yours.

“Is that so,” Jade asks, having yet to see you during your shift. Looking at the clock, he notices that you have only been clocked in for about three minutes. 

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Floyd breathes starstruck, hand clutched to his wrinkled shirt. 

With that, an evil thought comes into Jade’s head.

“I am sure today will be an equally blissful day for the staff of Mostro Lounge.”

“Huh? What ya mean?”

“I mean, she is not invisible. Obviously, if she is such a sight to behold, the staff will be looking as well.” 

Jade puts his own hand up to his heart, polite smile on his lips, and closes his eyes. He reopens them when the VIP room door slams shut – the wind carrying Floyd’s worsening mood and threats against the entire staff. The clock shows you are only four minutes into your four hour shift. The politeness of his smile morphs into something sinisterly serene as if a cunning plan of his has come to fruition. And it has, in just a few small minutes. 

Ah, what an unfortunate start to your shift it seems. Fufufu.)

But it was far from unfortunate for Jade, who chuckled every time he opened the kitchen door to see Floyd standing protectively behind you, crowding around you to cover you up while refusing to let you reach for anything on a high shelf. He would bare his teeth at whoever glanced in your direction for mere seconds. 

“I doubt he would have bitten you,” Jade placates, not wanting you to misread Floyd’s intent.

Emphasizing each word, you seethe, “He was breathing down my neck. He sounded one breath away from tearing apart my jugular!” Even though Jade seems to be reminiscing, he is obviously looking back through with a damaged pair of glasses – one temple broken off and one lens cracked.

You remember it much better: the wind-chill of a predator’s breath kissing your cervical; the uneven, spontaneous growls that would bloom behind your ear and have you pressing tighter to the stove; the intimate fear pierced into your spine through the morbid surgery of Floyd’s presence. You still wonder what you did to upset him so badly that he felt the need to monitor you for your entire shift. 

“Listen,” your face pulls into a frown as you stare down Jade. “Your brother has life sorted into two categories: fun and boring. I’m in a category I don’t want to be in. Just tell me what I need to do to make myself unappetizing to him.” 

So I don’t have another dream like that ever again.

“Ah,” Jade puts on a mask like he is going to tell you devastating news. “I’m afraid you’re quite a delicacy to him. Floyd has always been known to hold on tight to his food and eat in painful little bites. How unfortunate for you~” 

You hang your head like the strife of Floyd is a guillotine snapping the cervical bones in your neck. To be so consumed by him like this mentally … it’s tearing you up inside. 

“If I may pry, why are you so insistent on knowing about my brother? I sincerely hope it is not for ill intents, dear Prefect.” You are starting to catch onto the theme that most of Jade’s smiles are just threatening. 

Insistent? Out of the two of you, Floyd is the insistent one, binding himself tight around you. But – you still Jade’s words linger in your mind. Why were you so insistent … You imagine a fake reality where you answer his question with, ‘because I burnt food for the first time in my entire life this morning. Because this morning, I ate overdone scrambled eggs that crunched in my mouth like pretzels. Because I think I’ve unknowingly developed a crush on him and it hit me so hard this morning that Ramshackle would have gone up in smoke if Grim and the ghosts took a minute longer to notice the burning stove.’ 

Instead, you answer, “Just want my peace of mind back.”

It is a partial truth that Jade does not have to use hooks to create red, wet aqueducts in your throat to get the answer. No need to use magic like Shock the Heart on you; you have already had your heart-attack this morning!

“I sincerely think there is more to it than that.”

“I promise that is it. I want to know Floyd’s deal to get him off my back.”

“See, but you’re acting in such a contradictory way, Prefect. Perhaps I should use something to loosen your tongue. Holding so many barnacles of thoughts in your head must be tiring.” His left eye starts to fluctuate with pulsing gleams.

“OH! Would you look at the time! My bathroom break – it’s uh! I’m gonna be late for class! Bye Jade!!” You race off mouse-esque.

You have not seen Floyd today … which is admittedly very nice.

At least I only had to put up with one fake eel and one real eel today. Two real eels is too many, you think as you pluck a tender cigarette from the package. Despite having a closing shift, you have yet to see Floyd since he invaded your dreams. A beady eye of red is born as you pocket your lighter. Breathing in, you contemplate on this slight blessing.

Apparently, Floyd has been neglecting schoolwork for the past week. 

Whenever he was on his laptop, Jade mistakenly thought Floyd was doing his assignments. Turns out for seven nights he had been browsing GOAT for shoes and organizing each one on documents – so his typing mimicked the sound of doing assignments. Caring in a far too sinister way, Jade has locked Floyd in their room with a spell too advanced for it to be broken by one mage. 

(“I don’t quite understand why he even would look at shoes; you see, he’s low on cash at the moment. Oh, but I am truly sorry to have to separate you two tonight.” Jade apologizes as if you are upset over the matter. Your deadpan look is far from mournful. 

“However, I told him I would let him out when he has at least completed three-fourths. I believe he should be successful as long as he can find the correct playlist.” Jade’s yellow eye gleams at you, almost winking. “Plus, he has proper motivation to finish up sooner.”

“The hell –? I just asked if I could go on my smoke break.”

“Yes, but your constipated expression told me that you had more on your mind. Besides, isn’t this part of Floyd’s ‘deal’? His day to day – I thought I’d graciously keep you updated.”

You flip him off as you walk out the backroom.) Now here you sit, a wall embracing your back. 

Usually, you would stand but you think you might mistakenly pour cement in your shoes. Soreness is like molten lead in your bloodstream, weighing you down. You have never felt such agony in your hamstrings and thighs. Thus, you sit on an awful, treacherous thought. 

Would Floyd accept any study-guides you get from Ruggie? 

There are multiple faucets to why this is a cretinous thought. Wouldn’t Azul have study-guides for the twins; would Floyd swallow his pride to accept anything; did Ruggie even have the topics that Floyd was struggling with – because you have no idea which schoolwork Floyd is skimping out on! Like you said, it is a cretinous thought. For some reason though, you would really like to help Floyd – paying back nothing yet paying back everything too. 

Your blooming cloud of smoke asks Why am I acting so selfless for a selfish eel before it evaporates slowly into the oceanic air. There is not really any sensible answer hidden in your soul.

Twisted Wonderland is without a doubt as senseless as your soul. Even now, where you sit smoking is so world-shatteringly different from the typical ‘go out back and smoke’ area. The Octavinelle dorm is enveloped in water. The night sky outside of Mostro Lounge is a unique pocket that isn’t really a pocket at all. In a bubble, on the edge of a cliff that dips down into black, you sit staring at the swimming stars of fish. 

Even the classes are an oddity. The two classes you share with Floyd are Art and History of Magic. As far as you have observed, he does well in both of those subjects. So, you doubt he needs a study-guide for either. 

Which subject could it be: Astrology, Magic Analysis, Ancient Curses –

A pair of arms wrap serpentine around your shoulders. The anaconda has bound around his unexpecting prey. As a passenger to your train of thoughts, your mind goes blissfully blank. It is an odd sensation: to have been ruminating the entire day over a dream and when confronted with the only corporal part of the dream, you feel at peace..

You breathe out a dragon’s breath and a greeting, “Hi Floyd.” 

Mmmmmmph. Is the response spoken into your right shoulder. Reaching behind, you take the hand still pinching your cigarette and stiffly pat the top of Floyd’s head, sharing his tired-tinted sentiment.

You have been eating your heart out, and puking in your mouth all morning. It is an exhausting activity, anguishing yourself over a silly dream, over your dream. “Did you get all your work done?” You stop petting teal hair to return your cigarette between your lips.

Mmmmmph! Anaconda-esque embrace squeezing tighter and tighter, you are really unsure of how you should take that sentiment. It sounds more frustrated than anything – can you share in Floyd’s frustration? Heartbeat lines of waves fall over you two from the overhanging light. No, you have transferred all your strife out of like the emotion is but a colony of bees smoked out of a hive.

When tobacco and paper wrapping has burnt away to about halfway, you receive a clearer insight to Floyd’s misery. “I’m never lookin’ at stars again.”

“Ah, astrology.”

“Mmmguuuh.” 

Throat-held vibrations tickle against your shoulder. Floyd depresses his face on the ledge of your collarbone, weight so crushing like he wants to melt into you. Pinioned up in his grip, you just accept the heat of his cheek and the rhythm of his groans. 

Pretending to hold an intelligent conversation: “Totally agree with you there. Stupid scorpion.” Ash is tapped off the side of your steel-toed work boots. “I’m a –” then you tell Floyd which animal/symbol aligns up with your Zodiac.

The weight on your shoulder ebbs slowly as Floyd lifts himself up. Then, his bony chin digs into your shoulder causing you to squirm. Arms tighten to stop your earthworm motions and Floyd remarks sleepily, “Mmm, I like shrimps better.”

“You know I can never wrap my head around that nickname. I get why Grim’s a seal because he’s shaped similarly. I don’t get mine. Eels eat shrimp or something?”

“ – Or something.”

“That’s vague.”

“What? Ya want me to eat ya, Shrimpy?”

In cartoons, when a character is punched in the face, stars start to prance and bounce around their head. Floyd’s words are equivalent to a face-impacting wallop. Words crash into you with all the grace of a burning space-shuttle ripping through air. BANG! Bunny-esque stars start to dance around your head, reeling as if all those letters had condensed into a fist.

Lightning of pain branches across your face, and you only get to save yourself by doing one thing. You turn your head to where Floyd’s chin perches and blow smoke into his face. As he falls back, coughing up a storm, you quickly work to get control of the weather inside you.

The turbulent sea of a crush is something calamitous. Lunar shadow-waves tilt across Floyd’s body as you breathe in more smoke. Still coughing, Floyd grumbles, “Why do - ack - ya do that? Smells funky.”

“No asking questions if you don’t answer questions.”

Elbow protecting his nose and eyes seething, he grumbles again, “I told ya, or something.”

“Not good enough. I don’t like roundabout answers.”

“Shrimpyyy.”

“Hey, no calling me that if you can’t tell me why.”

Floyd avoids eye-contact. Not blushing but with all his grimacing teeth on display, he whines, “But it’s embarrassing.” 

“Now you have to tell me.” 

And he really does because Floyd being embarrassed is alien. You go to deal your own physical blow on Floyd. Aiming a hit that is intercepted, you gloat, “Or this little shrimp is going to take down a big eel.” 

When Floyd interlocks your fingers together, you fight back. You fight back through depressing pressure on it; you do not fight the borderline amatory gesture. His hand feels nice in yours. The lighting-shaped lesion in his inner palm that you created feels so warm.

Your mark, your heart sings. Killing that melody, you start to wrestle slightly with Floyd. Horseplaying, your joint hands press against one another, moving back and forth with each playful jab you throw at one another.

“No waaaay, you’re too weak.”

“Says the person about to be beat.”

“I’m fending you off with one hand!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Ack - ak! That’s – uuk – cheating!”

“Why am I called Shrimpy!”

“Because I’mma squeeze you like a Shrimpy!”

“Oh my God,” you laugh. “That’s an even bullshit-er answer than ‘or something’!”

“It’s true! Come here!”

“Ahahaha!” 

Sportive laughter blooms from you. Pouncing like a dog seeing its owner after a week long vacation, Floyd pushes you down onto the ground. You squeal breathlessly, “Oh my God!” The back of your head collides with his other protective palm rather than ground. You two are still entwined at the hands – his left and your right. You slap and wrench your left hand this way and that. Floyd follows with his right, trying to grab that too. A foot scuffles up to his lower stomach, pushing. No way are you going to accept a Leech squeeze without a proper fight. You two twist and squirm on the floor, laughing together. 

All the while, the caress between your right hand and his left hand remains an independent variable. Unchangeable in this discord of rapid-moving limbs. A caress of interlocked fingers.

“Shrimpy’s gonna – AH HAHA – Shrimpy’s gonna get squeezed!” A mouthful of sharp piscine teeth gleams over your face. You kick at Floyd’s intestines hard enough where his mouth goes circular instead of being crescent.

“Nuh – hahaha – no way!” Floyd makes another grab at your left arm. You twist on your side, crushing his grip on the cement below you, as your heart pounds in your eardrums. You arch in a giggling shriek when Floyd tickles your side, exposing your left arm.

“Aha!” Floyd shouts victorious when he manages a squeeze to your bicep. 

Yet, before a shrimp can be squeezed, a door opens. “(Name), your break has been over – oh.” 

Jade drinks in the sight of you and his brother like it is a recherché tea blend he has never seen before. A gloved hand covers the uniform pressed over Jade’s chest. Well, this is his first time seeing his twin have a crush so: “Oh, I am so glad to see Floyd getting along with his little shrimp. Warms my brotherly heart.” 

Frozen on the ground, you and Floyd show Jade your teeth in matching, disgruntled, and cringing grimaces. All thirty-two square enamels of yours; all forty-two triangle enamels of Floyd’s. 

“My, what sour expressions! Fufufu!”

“Why are you making that face!”

“I’m gonna shove this down your throat so you stop saying such stupid shit,” your fork moves with each word you say.

“All I said was –”

“I heard you. Do not repeat it.”

Oh, how you heard Ace, loud and clear. With all the agonizing clarity of a centipede squirming in your ear, his words made an invasion in your body. Not even a full minute ago, Ace had commented, “you and Floyd seem pretty close now.” Those words got you to instantly drop your waving hand, Floyd’s scarred palm still up and waving buh-bye to you, before you rounded on Ace with your fork. 

More frequently, between class breaks, Floyd has been visiting you during the time you and your trio have lunch. It is nothing eccentrically different. Floyd has been a persistent leech on you since Jamil Viper’s overblot … but you never reciprocated in conversation until now. Which is probably why Ace brings up the one basketball practice you attended fourteen days ago: 

“You know that one time you came to our practice, I think he played the best he has in  – FUCK!”

As Ace nurses the four indents on his throat, you fake a moue, “Oh, what was that? You have to speak clearly Ace.” 

The sound of your best friend’s hacking and your other best friends’ laughter is a tranquil balm. Enough to where you can stop stressing over the lack of distance now between (Name) (Last Name) and Floyd Leech.

Okay, maybe you never stop thinking about the lack of distance. You are a person who always backtracks into previous thoughts. Reversing time in your mind and puking in your own mouth is perpetual. Therefore, you end up stewing away in your mind, moving a spoon through a bowl of wet rice. Ah … closeness is such a flimsy concept. 

You and Floyd seem pretty close now? Perhaps.

‘Cannibalism Cooking’ is a teaching segment on how to erase the distance between self and other? Perhaps.

You think too much? Yes. 

Despite your ire, there has been a shift. It is could be in something small like how instead of cooking alive lobsters you name Floyd 1, Floyd 2, Floyd 3, etcetera; you have taken to making stories up for each lobster with Floyd, humanizing them in jest like one does with Barbie dolls, as Floyd’s lobster mourns the death of your lobster who fell into the boiling pot. It could be something large like how you will look at Floyd at times and think of how you want to devour him down to the bones — cooking him on the very stove in Mostro Lounge that you work, your own lai d'ignaure.

Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking, you repeat to yourself in threes. You try to focus on the preparation of rice.

For almost three months you have worked at Mostro Lounge and it has gone on without a hitch. Which is odd because backtracking … you think back on Ruggie and the Intra-School Competition. You have yet to see Floyd in a bad mood, and that cannot last forever. 

Eventually, the thing Ruggie foretold comes to pass. Three days later. It is like a weatherman reporting a category four hurricane, an inevitable part of the atmosphere that cannot be avoided. Floyd has fallen into one of his bad moods. And it is worse than any natural disaster.

Double swinging doors open like a maw of roaring teeth. One door happens to smack the tray out of an employee’s hand, just about to exit to the dining hall. That is what causes your eyes to flicker up. Calamity comes in the sound of crackling porcelain and squishing food. Two dishes have clattered to the floor, food wasted. Your eyes flicker up from the discord of pasta, seafood, and vegetables to see the criminal of the crime. Floyd Leech who has the meanest maw that would put any apex predator to shame.

That monstrous look? You guarantee that the credit for crafting it belongs to the sauce splattered on Floyd’s slacks and shoes. Shadows settle over the eel-mer’s face. His hand comes up to hold his own shoulder in an iron grip.

Besides you, a line-cook bemoans, “Well, it was nice knowing him.”

Every employee is aware of the rules: if one of the employees is not following the rules, squeezing is permitted. One of the unspoken rules: do not piss off Floyd Leech. Ruining his shoes is a swift way to get his mood down.

You and your fellow line-cook share a grimace. The employee – you think he might be a Scarabia or Savanaclaw student, too far away to tell the color of his arm-band – is shaking in Floyd’s presence. Watching Floyd’s mouth and eyebrows twitch and the student’s hands move in apologetic measures, you consider something heavy on your tongue. 

I really don’t have to go out of my way to help that nameless student, you think just as your mouth opens. Really, though, you only think that because you do not want to confront the reality of who you are helping. “Hey!” The kitchen staff switches their attention from the scene to you. Ugh.

“Which table was that for?”

The Scarabia/Savanaclaw student almost looks ready to fall to his knees in gratitude. Shaking, he replies, “It wa-was for Table N-Nuh-Nine.” 

“Well, clean up Table Nine’s mess. Mop’s in the supply closet,” you hope the student is sharp enough to pick up the message: stay there until Floyd is calm. “Then, get out on the floor and offer Table Nine complimentary drinks because of the delay. Move it.”

“Yes, right away!” You think he might be Savanaclaw because you have never seen a person run that fast before.

It is like those stare-down between two predators on nature documentaries. You and Floyd size each other, him pissed that you let his punching bag escape and you pissed that he caused perfectly fine food to spoil. Eye contact locks in place; confrontation like a rumbling storm cloud separates you two. Whoever yields is going to have the face and accept the bite of the other. It comes as a surprise to the kitchen staff when you look right into the sun, challenging that mean eye. Lips pulling back to grimace, it comes to an even greater shock to everyone when Floyd looks away first. When his sheepish eyes glance back up, you move a finger in a ‘come here’ motion. 

It would be ideal if he could move without kicking a wad of spaghetti across the vinyl floor … but you take what you can get. 

“Hand me that stool,” you say. Refusing to take your eyes off Floyd, you hold your open fingers out behind your back towards your fellow line-cook who has a stool by his oven. When Floyd passes some cooks, they press their stomachs up to the burning stove-plates, dangerously leaning inward to avoid the immediate danger of a grumpy eel. Still, you two look daggers at each other. 

The stool finds your hand and you set it down in front of you – right by your own designated stove . 

“Sit,” you instruct and he wordlessly obeys. 

Even while listening, he is glaring at you. A sculptor named Animosity has molded his features; he looks at you like he wants your head to fly off, probably thinking you are going to scold him like Azul and Jade do. Instead, you turn on a third burner (bottom right) and look around for a frying pan. 

You were warned by Jade and Azul around the first week of your employment, Azul’s words far-off yet intimately close too: We tell all long-lasting staff but I ask that you heed this more than the others, Prefect. It is better to leave Floyd alone when he is in a bad mood.

Floyd is silent as he watches. His lilac vest and white button-up is wrinkled with his slouched posture. Tie still undone. No hat this time around. Sitting and slouching, he still comes up to about your elbow. On the stool’s footrest, he hooks his shoes on them, just glaring and glaring at you. 

No matter, you think, retrieving slices of bread. I can deal with a childish glare. You start to lather up the slices with garlic Parmesan butter as the pan heats up gradually. But – you have to go to the refrigerator to retrieve two ingredients you do not have on hand.

Just as you go to ask your fellow line-cook to fetch those ingredients that you needed, a hand grabs your slacks. Mild surprise seasons your face as you look down. Burying itself into your black slacks is Floyd’s left hand. 

“Why aren’t ya yellin’ at me?”

“Would you like me to?”

Floyd shows you all forty-two of his teeth in a disgusted grimace. Like the mere notion of you yelling at him leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Don’t ask for it then,” you scold lightheartedly before finally asking yet another favor of your co-worker. Floyd remains silent but keeps his hand attached to you.

You are baking something quick because you need Floyd’s spirits lifted before that student comes back with the mop. Heat kisses on the plain of your forearm skin as you put the bread slices on the pan. Dial up to eight, a perfect temperature for this little meal. When you get the other ingredients you need, you quickly assemble Floyd’s sandwich.

While you cook each side for four minutes, Floyd bounces his left leg in dismay. His eyes trace over your countertop surface where all your preparation lies but you make sure to keep his eyes away from the stove. His hand is content on your pant leg. 

“Here,” you say, holding a sea-turtle green plate out to Floyd. You set it down on the countertop. He eyes it with disinterest yet stops slouching. Quickly turning off the third burner, you move the frying pan to the top right to cool off. 

“Grilled cheese?”

“Oh, please, I would never make something so boring.”

Foyd’s eyes glow a bit when he is intrigued. Right now, his eyes are pricked with little firefly holes of light because of your words. That sentence motivates Floyd to pick it up. 

Which you only really consider a success when he looks at you wide-eyed, chewing on his first bite. “Tis so goe.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. I can’t understand a word.”

“This is so good.” 

Oh.

Why does your chest hurt right now? 

“Damn Shrimpy, this is really something!” Floyd praises as he takes another bite, uncaring of the heat.

Oh your bittersweet organ pounds. Maybe – just maybe – because it is Floyd, that praise settles on you a little differently than previous praise. Not that you are unappreciative of those that eat your food. As Grim really thinks anything you make tastes great, as Ace or Deuce did not come from a lineage of highly sophisticated and picky taste-buds, Floyd’s praise is different. Floyd is not as easy to please as he seems. The glaring fact that your food has brought a smile to his face causes your heart to pound in an alternative rhythm that you have never felt before.

Before you can start thinking about that more, you explain what makes the grilled cheese so different: “It’s a combination of grilled cheese, pizza, and garlic bread. The pepperoni and garlic butter add a punch, while it really just looks like a normal grilled cheese. Figured you’d like it.”

He really does like it. It is evident as he takes a gigantic bite, listening to you explain your mixture of three types of bread-based foods combined into one. Stringy cheese connects from his lips to his food. It is a little distracting how fluidly he gathers up the flexible intestines of your grilled pepperoni sandwich. His tongue and teeth are inhuman after all. 

Hell, should you turn down one of the burners? Why are you feeling so hot? You watch a slice of pepperoni disappear into Floyd’s chipmunk cheeks before he says:

“Shrimpy’s a real good cook.”

“Of course, it was why I was hired here. But … Thank you. That’s very nice to hear from you.”

“And ya made it especially for little me.”

“Hm?”

“Shrimpy cooked just for me.”

“Uuk –” Caught just like that. You were hoping he would somehow overlook it, either because of his bad mood or his admiration towards the food. Before you can open your mouth to embarrass yourself with pointless retorts, another calamity steals your attention.

You look towards the noise by the double doors, and before you lies the best sight you have ever seen at Night Raven College. Azul. Flat on his ass, having slipped because of where that student mopped. The octo-mer’s glasses are tilted and blue paints his cheeks. “HAHAHAHA!” You quickly slap a hand over your mouth so you do not join Floyd’s laughter. Though, your shoulders shake quite a bit.

It is also the best sight in Night Raven College because it allows you to procrastinate on the philosophy of how love, to you, is finding people to be in the kitchen with. 

But, mostly, it is the best because it is Azul having slipped on his ass. “Hehehe.”

Eggs in a carton. That is what they look like. Eyes in a mask of skin. A twin set of eggs, turned sideways and unblemished. Staring up at you, those eggs remain open and bulge from the concave carton made of skin. One yolk is yellow and the other is a plain olive-rust. 

There is a third part to your philosophies – the idea of Heaven that I see is a slice of you staring up at me. If love is an ingredient then the body full of love is a banquet hall. 

A dish acts as his pillow. His locks are combed back with gravity, teal and black angel hair seasoning the meal. What you have on your plate is Floyd’s upside-down head which unblinkingly stares at you. He looks coherent. You are not sure if that makes it better or worse … because it means he can hear (along with you) the words Azul is saying:

“Unadon is just one of the many delicacies made from eel. The average chef knows about nine ways to prepare eel into different meals – braised or stewed or fried or grilled. Today, the Culinary Crucible asks that you prepare this catch with your heart as the writer of the recipe.”

And what awful words they are. 

Timid, you look up at Azul while he walks the length of the room. He is dressed in his Culinary Crucible uniform; hair tucked behind his ear, cotton table cloth on his hip, sleeves of the double-breasted jacket rolled up to his elbows. He is reading off a clipboard. His glasses steal in the limited light, glowing like a kitchen knife, each motion of those lenses keen as a stab. Each step of his is perfumed with the scent of viscera. 

It only makes sense because you are in the belly of the beast.

“Cooking eels is particularly challenging. Unlike other finfish, the skin needs to be removed as soon as the eel is dead due to the slippery consistency. On average, a chef invests a number of years into mastering and perfecting the craft of making a mouth-watering meal.”

Reddish-mauve muscle layers drape across the wall like curtains. Hardly noticeable but the walls shudder with digestion. Incurvate muscle layers are connected together by towering bone pillars. In the thinner layers, between this fusion of stomach and rib-cage, reddish-mauve turns a reddish-orange with light.

Food acts as the flooring. A runny egg yolk about the size of pillow nestles into a crimson tomato that is equal to the size of a beanbag chair. Juicy ribs decorate the floor like carpeting. Baguettes underfoot crunchy softly with each step Azul takes. You look down at what is holding yourself and your chair up. 

Underneath your feet is a cucumber. Kaleidoscope-esque seeds are arranged in the shape of a sun. Foamy white-green has a moist caress on you, and, when you test it with your toes, white plasma froths up with the pressure. 

“Harriet Van Horne was an American newspaper colonist with her career starting in 1940’s. In 1956, she wrote an article titled ‘Not for Jiffy Cooks’ and, in it, she wrote the following words: Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all. Chefs. (Name). The Culinary Crucible asks that you enter with this love. Or never cook again. Please begin.”

Begin?

There is such a momentous weight before starting. Not limited to cooking, there is always a kind of second breath curled up in the first breath before one starts a new task. Breathing with more effort to steady yourself in your resolve.

The breath you take suctions in a perfume, aligned with the floral notes of sweetness found in sugar-peppered churros, sourness found in slobbering grapefruit, saltiness found in prickling flakes on fries, bitterness found in melting dark chocolate, and savoriness found in – you don’t know yet.

Cooking is like love, you reflect amorously. You maneuver with a careful approach, gently moving the plate closer to you. Keeping him upside down, you take the hook of his mandible between your thumb and index. Dentist-like, you open his mouth. Paralyzed with an active consciousness, Floyd’s tongue hangs in his mouth like a stillborn, pink mole rat.

It stretches. Stretching like taffy with cheesy elasticity, you tug it between your dull square enamels. Pulling inch by inch, you hold Floyd’s tongue with tongs made of teeth. When it disconnects from his buccal cavity with a wet, ripping sound – spuuuul-ck! – evangelical light burns from your mouth to your retinas. 

My – My bedroom. I’m in my bedroom. Gently, your teeth move off the object you were biting down in a violent grip. Salvia soaken into your pillowcase, you let out a quiet groan. You fall back down on the pillow, finding a dry patch to rest your cheek on, having just woken up.

Not good … Not fucking good at all. 

That stupid eel; will you ever get a goodnight sleep again because of him … him and stupid sweet laughter, sour eyes, salty lips, bitter touch, and savory kiss. Kiss? Kiss! You blink and reel yourself from the image your brain was starting to paint.

“No way,” you breathe flustered. “I don’t want to kiss Floyd.” You hold that thought on your tongue like a cough drop. The flavor seeps in and – “Fuck, I want to kiss Floyd.”

Grim, who sleeps belly-up, gives a little kick next to the cradle your left thigh has on him. Quieting down, you think of a conversation you and Floyd had about a month ago. You still need to answer that question – “You know I can never wrap my head around that nickname. I get why Grim’s a seal because he’s shaped similarly. I don’t get mine. Eels eat shrimp or something?” / “ – Or something.” / “That’s vague.” / “What? Ya want me to eat ya, Shrimpy?”

With determination, you reach over your pillow to your bedside table. Hand locked on the phone, your first sight of the morning is a tiny Grim blooming alive on the screen. You coo at the picture of Grim sleeping, tail tucked closed to his body and eyes drawn shut. Cutie, you think, sliding up the screen. 

Now back to being a soldier on a mission, you click on Safari and type away. Eels and shrimps. You click search. Not wanting a long hunt, you hit the first website. MORAY EEL and CLEANER SHRIMP writes itself out on a blue webpage. Relief fills you to find the article is only two paragraphs worth of reading.

Okay, Floyd. Time to see what is so embarrassing about a tiny nickname. There is no comprehensible way that his embarrassment could possibly tip your own embarrassment off the scales. Two dreams intimately cannibalistic is much harder to admit than the reason for a silly nickname. 

The two paragraphs read:

“There are approximately 200 species of Moray Eel, most of which are exclusively marine although a small number inhabit brackish water and fresh water. Its eyes are small and vision limited, so the eel relies on a sophisticated sense of smell to detect prey, which consists primarily of cephalopods and crustacea. They possess one long dorsal fin that extends from the neck to the anal fin, allowing smooth propulsion through the water. Snake-like in appearance, with wide mouths full of misshapen teeth, the Moray Eel looks ferocious but is in fact a shy, mostly solitary creature living most of its life in burrows and caves.”

Shy? You scoff at the very idea of it. Continuing on, you read the second paragraph.

“For some species, the only regular companions are cleaner shrimp, which live in a symbiotic relationship with the eel. The shrimp congregate in teams called a ‘cleaning station’ and move across the whole body of the eel – including inside the mouth – removing parasites and dead skin, which is their food. This cleaning ensures good health for the eel, so both species benefit.”

Your hands clap over your face as if the pressure can push down the geysering flush that is overriding your skin and hide away all these emotions. 

“(Name), could you retrieve something from the walk-in freezer for me?”

It has been a torturous week. Being co-workers with someone you have developed a crush on; you imagine creating a big X with your arms, you do not recommend it. It is such a delicate tight-rope walk across a boiling pot of scalding water. 

Even while working without him as a constant leech, he remains there. 

On your body and inside your body. Inside your body, it is how he infects your thoughts. On your body though is a bracelet made of teeth (beastman, merman, fae, and human). Floyd made it for in Art; even took the red string and tied it himself around your wrist. (“I don’t have any stuff for an earring so I hadda improvise. I think humans wear shark necklaces sometimes; bracelets are like necklaces for the wrists!”) There might just casually be a tooth from each of the seven dorms on your wrist. You are currently stirring scallops around in an oiled skillet, watching a golden crust form on them and admiring your recently made jewelry.

Floyd’s very odd, you think as you look up from your station. To see who needs you to retrieve something from the walk-in freezer. A pair of heterochromic eyes size you up. “What do you need me to get,” you ask. “I can’t really leave these to burn.”

“It will only be a matter of seconds. Turn the temperature down a bit.”

Lawfully, you decide not to argue against it. Jade is just one ring lower from being your boss. The blue flame lowers slowly. You walk away from the oven, keeping your apron on, and follow after Jade.

“Thank you. I cannot quite carry it all myself.”

“No problem. What are we grabbing?”

“A shipment of veal and fresh beef. Two boxes each.”

You nod your agreement to help. When you two come up upon the steel door, Jade takes the handle in his gloved hand and pulls towards himself to remove it from the first locking mechanism. Cold rushes towards you with a bear-hug-esque strength. You give one hard shiver before falling still. Jade almost seems to smile in the face of frosty air, lips quirked up.

“By the way, have you seen Floyd today? He’s always around on the weekends but I haven’t seen him enter the kitchen yet.”

“Still interested in his day to day?”

“You know what, forget I said anything,” you say, stepping in front of Jade. Like a deflating flower, your toothpick lowers to the ground in disappointment. “I’m sure I’ll see him later.”

“Who knows it might be earlier than expected.”

“Huh?”

Then, Jade gives you a shove hard enough to send you sprawled on the floor inside the walk-in freezer. You almost end up puncturing a hole in your cheek with your toothpick. That bastard!

The thing about freezers is a majority of them have plastic sheeting between the steel door and the inside to keep the temperature below zero. Long, seven inches wide stripes of plastic hang like party streamers from the entrance. Coated in ice, it is extremely difficult to see through, whether in or out. 

Which is why you do not notice until you are inside the freezer that Floyd is there too. He looks at you down on your hands and knees, confusion a mere flicker until a flame of rage consumes it. Standing up, Floyd rushes past you. At the hanging plastic and entrance, he screams.

“Jade – you fucking bas – !”

“The human body takes four to six hours to succumb to hypothermia in zero degree weather. So, take however long you need.” And though the difference is not too noticeable, the room grows a bit dimmer. The very noticeable part is the sound of the lock clicking in place.

“Jade!” A fist flies through the icy plastic, banging loud against steel. “Jade, I’m gonna strangle you when I’m out! I’m gonna break your fuckin’ terrariums!” You think you just saw the steel door dent with the force of Floyd’s kick. 

A pregnant moment of silence settles between you two. Floyd refuses to turn around. After a few more threats and punches to the door, he still remains spine facing you. 

By now, you have picked yourself from the ground, hugging yourself. All you are wearing is a thin unbutton, apron, slacks, and a thin tank top. Your shoes and Octavinelle hat might keep some heat circulating. Four to six hours? That is too generous for what you are wearing; Jade probably got that statistic about people wearing winter gear.

When another shiver races down your vertebrates and Floyd still has not moved, you quietly poke, “Um, Floyd. Do you know what’s up with Jade?”

“Ugh, I told him I had this handled.”

“What handled?”

It seems you were not supposed to hear that because Floyd finally turns around. Droopy eyes give you a fleeting, disinterested once over. Besides his usual fidgeting, he appears unbothered by the cold. Spinning around with a sigh, Floyd aims at his vitriol at you with a glare.

When he stalks toward you like a predator, you straighten up. While not entirely experienced in fights, you are not going to be the squeeze-toy thrown to an angry mongrel to be torn apart until stuffing flies like snow. The fist you were preparing loosens when Floyd simply reclaims his spot on the ground, leaning against the opposite wall. Huh?

“I’mma go to sleep. Wake me up when Jade opens the door.”

Huh!

“Wait, but can’t you get us out with magic?”

“Jade used that spell again; needs two mages to unlock it.”

A curse sizzles under your breath. It grows into a mushroom cloud of air in front of your face, crystalizing. Fuck, it is like a miniature Antartica. Not wanting to display any weakness, you only rub your hand up your left arm instead of rubbing both like you desperately want to. “Well, there’s got to be a reason why. Revenge for slacking off?”

Floyd does not answer you. He just sits with his legs pulled up and chin resting on his knees. “Look, I gotta get out of here. I’ll freeze to death.” At that his eyes grow a bit more alive, flickering up to you. A weak half-smile is aimed at you.

“Well, I don’t want a popsicle Shrimpy.”

“So, you can get the door open? Oh, that’s a relief!”

Turns out Floyd cannot get the door open because all he does is start stripping. HUH! Floyd might be a little too late in stopping you from turning into a popsicle; you remain frozen solid, openly leering with questions. You only unthaw when you see it is just his Octavinelle jacket and scarf he is taking off. Those two items he offers you in an outstretched hold. 

“I thought you could get us out of here,” you mourn with a whine.

“Unless you gain magic, I can’t. Here, it’s not going bite –”

You barely let Floyd get out another word before you are throwing on his jacket and mummifying yourself with his scarf. Screw humility, you bet half your salary that this freezer dips into the negatives at times. Oversized, his jacket falls at the midpoint of your thighs. You squeeze yourself in an imaginary embrace, trying to bottle up all your warmth and –

“Why are you holding your hand out still?”

“I don’t really mind the cold. You’re gonna start shiverin’. You should sit.”

“I’m fine.” Your toothpick flies up and down in your mouth, moving to the beat of your full body shivers. “I’ll still be able to move when Jade unlocks the door.”

“C’mon Shrimpy.”

“I’m not going to cuddle up with you for warmth.”

“It’s not cuddlin’, it’s squeezin’.”

“Same thing.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh!”

“Nuh uh!”

You end up letting Floyd squeeze you to keep you warm; it is not cuddling. 

Sitting between his long legs, accepting his arms which wrap around your waist, letting him rest his sleepy head on your shoulder as the black strand tickles your cheek. It is not cuddling because he holds you with cement arms instead of in soft amatory. Despite that, it is helping with fending off hypothermia. 

Floyd’s hands are flushed pink, almost frostbitten. When you look down at where his embrace locks, you see the crimson flesh of his phalanges and your own hands ache from just looking at them. Your hands are tucked in Floyd’s jacket sleeves. Only equipped with a button-up now, there isn’t much to keep him protected from the frigid ventilation. 

“Pu-Put your hands under my jacket.” You break a silence that has been stretching on seemingly infinitely. Snotty slugs run down your nose and you sniff them back into their home. “You’re going to lose a finger.”

“I’m fiiine,” Floyd mumbles into your shoulder. He has been drifting in and out of sleep for, well, you do not know how long truthfully. He seems to be stewing deep in thought.

It takes only a minute (you counted in your head) to get him to put his hands under your tank-top and all the layers above it. They feel unnaturally hot against your skin. Moderate frostbite. You thank him for listening then go back to counting the number of boxes in the room for a third time.

“There’s got to be some kind of loose screw or like weak area in the magic, right?”

Frustrated, you pat the steel door, nudging the plastic out of your way with your shoulders. After whittling down so many toothpicks, you start to grow fidgety. You need to go outside and take a smoke break; hell, you would forgo the cigarette just to get a breath of fresh air. 

Claustrophobia settling in, you press your frostbitten fingers over the seam of the metal door and wall. Maybe you can use something to push the lock open. “Maybe I can knock something into this spot and unlock the door.”

“Jadio sealed it up with magic. It ain’t gonna open.”

“If you’re not gonna help, zip it.”

“You talked to me first.”

“That’s it! Quiet game starting now!”

You lie on Floyd’s side, sharing his jacket like a blanket, when you murmur, “Floyd, I’m sorry about earlier.”

“... Ya lose the quiet game, Shrimpy.”

“Hehe, damn, you’re right.” You two watch your laughter float up in clouds of cold air.

It takes until Floyd gets the start of deep frostbite and you get the start of superficial frostbite when he admits softly, “I think I know something that might work.”

You look up with shiny eyes. Growing really frustrated, unshed tears have started to cling to your eyelashes. Not that they would really vanish if you ended up crying. The image of tears freezing on your face is much more appropriate. 

Poking your mouth out of Floyd’s scarf like a timid turtle, you ask, “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinkin’ –” Floyd trails off, oddly shy. He is already flushed from the chill but you watch crimson spread like an infection. He will not look at you.

His red expression reminds you of the time you took a toothpick to pick food out his teeth … wait, a minute: The shrimp congregate in teams called a ‘cleaning station’ and move across the whole body of the eel – including inside the mouth – removing parasites and dead skin. Now you two definitely match on levels of blushing. 

Why do I think of that now; you startle when Floyd’s eyes narrow down at you. 

He drinks in each atom and molecule of you with his eyes. Snotty nose, flushed face, shivering tremors all ingredients used to make the messy image that is you at this very moment. Floyd could not ask for a better sight. A little apprehensive at his intense staring, you hide your chin in his lilac scarf. He looks like he wants to take a bite of you –

“Shrimpy, I love you.”

“...

“Huh?”

“You don’t needa say it back or anything. 

“Just,” Floyd then pronounces his next words like someone speaking to customer service, making sure each syllable is clear. “Shrimpy. I. Love. You.” Your face creases at his odd tone until you hear it – the click of the steel door being unlocked. Your eyes widen in shock. “There we go,” Floyd says, reaching one hand through the plastic hangers to push open the entrance.

“Ya can just forget this – mmh!”

Reviewing and backtracking, a stomach and intestines is viscera and viscera is a stomach and intestines. Each organ of your own viscera is working itself into this violent kiss. Churning and ruminating like lustful waves. You have to digest each part of Floyd Leech in this kiss or you will starve. 

This has marinated long enough.

It is even better than your dreams. 

When you take his tongue in your mouth, each nerve on your tongue flares up in a sweet vibration. Warmth melts through your bones as you grasp at Floyd’s hair and he pulls you up by your waist. He is a bit inexperienced but he is surely reacting positively to it. 

This savory flavor is unlike anything you have ever tasted. Tagging and twisting tongues, you two devour each other like you are each other’s three star michelin feast. With harsh bites, you two switch flavor profiles with which area that is explored.

Like an inmate on death row, you take care and time with making sure each lick and bite is savored. Peppermint and meat. A laugh huffs into Floyd’s mouth, you were not expecting such a weird combination.

You two break apart momentarily, panting breaths beating out in tiny clouds against the cold. Sharing a moment where you both just want to stare at each other. His olive-brown and gold eyes are like heavenly light. There are sand-flickers of a dozen different hues in each one, all shades deliquescing together to make them glow slightly. He has such a tender look in them.

Five seconds is far too long to pause kissing; you and Floyd both agree, throwing yourself back at each other.  

Each part that Floyd touches on you ignites with a hellish fire. Not even the negative temperatures of the freezer can subdue such a flaming sensation. He cradles your organ and skeletal system with such care, moving kidney to lung to lymph nodes, moving ilium to scapula to xiphoid process. Every part of you worshiped.

You are never going to come up for air. You both have waited far too long for this. 

I’m gonna fucking bite his lips off, you think with untamed carnivorous desire. It seems Floyd agrees to the sentiment. Because he eagerly follows when you move him by a handful of his hair on the right side, black and teal threading through fierce fingers.

“Aah,” Floyd gasps when you pull.

“Mmmm,” you moan when Floyd squeezes. 

“Ah,” Jade squeaks surprised. 

You pull away first, head snapping towards the open door. Iron hot warmth burns your lips. You look at Floyd’s twin with horror when you realize you definitely have salvia coated generously on your lips. Mourning that it is not blood on your tongue, you listen as Jade says, “I felt the spell break, but it looks like I made an ill-thought-out decision to check. My apologies; please continue.”

But you cannot because – “my fucking scallops, Jade! If those are burnt, I’m going to break your terrariums!”

“My, what flaming anger. Perhaps another hour in the freezer.”

Both you and Floyd run at Jade just as he unclips his magic pen. 

This should not be that big of a deal. 

You have done this a hundred times over and will continue to do it a hundred times over. So there is absolutely no rational reason for your hands to be shaking on this avalanche level intensity. Still – looking down at them, clutched around a tiny red coffin – there your hands are … at the end of your wrists … shaking. 

There is still time to dispose of the evidence. On both hands you can count the number of people who would be more than grateful to receive this little tomb. Two of them happened to have beast features on the top of their heads, and one of the two already expressed interest in it.

(“How does this smell?”

“Shishishi, smells delicious. I didn’t know today was payday.”

“Wait! Aaah, don’t touch it please – this isn’t payment.”

“Hm,” confusion knits Ruggie’s face. “Then why bother asking?”

You cannot meet his eyes at that moment. Shuffling shoes suddenly seem more interesting as you murmur sheepishly under your breath. “It’s a little embarrassing.” Unable to elaborate further, you open up the red box. Aroma and warmth swims through the air. Ruggie’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight.

“Oh. I get it now.”

You ruminate at that moment, vomiting out all your insecurities. You barely even stop between each word. All of it pulled from you by an imaginary fish hook: “It’s so embarrassing; I’m going to throw it out!!”

“Don’t you dare.” Ruggie yells as you rush off to find a trash-can.) Eventually, Ruggie did manage to convince you to keep it in a very cop-talks-down-a-suicide-jumper with the cop being him and the suicide jumper, the bento box. 

Floyd will – backtrack, Floyd is going to laugh at it. You are just stuck on predicting if his high-pitched laughter will be mocking or amused. Perhaps, his dominant hand will come to rest on his right shoulder, miffed beyond sensibility. The bento contains a mini-hot-dog-faced bear sleeping under a blanket of rice, dyed to look like a watermelon, with dreams of corn, cucumbers, and meat floating above his head. Is that amusing or aggravating?

Waking up so early in the morning to make another lunch on top of the ones prepared for yourself and Grim … what illness have you caught, fever turning your hands into fretful shaking limbs … what happens if he hates the bear and would prefer a bunny or panda … you even stressed over picking an aquatic themed bento, but decided it against it because it was too on-the-nose for your tastes. 

If a heart is made of meaty worries and anxieties, you put your heart into this meal. Head down, roaming Night Raven’s halls, you blush hard at the thought. 

Things have been escalating fast between you two. Floyd’s shyness melted away when you two stumbled out of the walk-in freezer. His body and blood eagerly reveal his own matching hunger. You still remember last night kneading dough at Ramshackle, him nestling you from behind and pressing more and more kisses to your pulse point. Both of you devour each other in lip to lip kisses.

Love, an ingredient in the kitchen.

By the time you have arrived at your destination, your face has thankfully cooled down. There he stands. He is caught up in a conversation with Jade as Azul patiently waits off to the side. I shouldn’t interrupt them, you think and gladly grab onto that detour. If you turn down the left hallway, you can avoid this and pass Ruggie’s D period class. This vulnerability is worse than the vulnerability of being magicless. I should go. They seem busy –

“Shrimpy!” Your heart knocks hard on the muscles of your throat at that nickname. How does he always know when you are around?

Closing the gap, refusing to make eye-contact. You can feel the casual observation of Azul and Jade on you as you display what is in your hands. Stop shaking, you big baby, you scold yourself. “Floyd. This is – um –.”

“Is that for me? Aw, does Shrimpy like me or something? That’s cute — a little shrimp with a little crush.”

You finally look up. An amused, mismatched pair of eyes squint impishly at you. Miles of intestines give a teapot boiling over sound in rage. Okay, two can play at that: 

“Jade. How nice to see you! I happened to make extra for my own lunch; I noticed your habit of eating more than one meal at lunch and thought you would enjoy this.”

“My, what a gracious offer. Thank you, (Name). I will be sure to savor every bite.”

What you are offering to Jade is suddenly swiped: “HEY, THAT’S MINE!” 

Your lips quirk up, expecting that. His next move you are much less prepared for. Halfhazardlessly, he flips open the box as if to check that Jade has not eaten anything from the tomb. All of his energy drips out of him, bloodletting-esque. He almost appears paler.

His only response is a slow blink directed at you. 

“You don’t have to eat it. Grim or Ruggie will – And! And I get it! It’s pretty embarrassing. I totally get –” Your word vomit is swallowed by a pair of lips. 

Floyd does not even give you a chance to reciprocate, pulling away with laughter on his tongue. Not mocking or amused. Lovey-dovey laughter. 

Love has such a wonderful flavor. Right there, in the belly of the beast.

[smrithiccrishna]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS🎀

Leo Rising:

They are natural leaders who have the spotlight turned on themselves either intentionally or unintentionally.They have an active social media page with a huge following.They tend to be original creators who have the power to make positive changes in their community.

Taurus Sun:

Taurus Suns are obsessed with materialistic things.Every person with this aspect has atleast desired once to own items of luxury. Taurus Suns hailing from poorer backgrounds may feel envious of their wealthier peers.

Gemini Sun:

Gemini Suns,especially men,tend to be playboys.When paired with a fire moon or ascendant,they are always surrounded with people who are romantically interested in them.They take 3 seconds to move on from someone and get into another relationship. They're the kind of people who are still in contact with all their exes,including their first girlfriend they dated in 7th grade to their most recent situationship.These people are prone to infidelity but this may be corrected later on in life.

Virgo Moon:

Virgo Moons are very grounded and practical.They analyse every situation and come up with interesting solutions.They have serious OCD and cannot fathom messiness.They also strive to be perfect in terms of their fitness.Sometimes,they may beat themselves over to fit into societal beauty standards.

Aries Moon:

Aries Moons are always raging,sometimes even for inconsequential things.You'll never know what's their trigger point.One moment they'll be happily singing with you in the car and another moment,you'll be standing on the side of the road,stranded alone in the middle of nowhere.They do not fear pushing people out immediately.If the vibe doesn't match,you do not exist to them.They have tons of self respect and cut out people who try to lower it.They are also very forgiving and forgetting so they do not hold grudges at all. This is true,especially when they have Gemini in their Sun or Rising.

Pisces Rising:

Pisces Risings are pretty and subtle. They usually embody the softcore aesthetic. They are interested in painting or playing instruments.In negative cases,they are prone to lying and making up stories to seem interesting or to be accepted socially. They are the kings/queens of white lies.They will agree with a person they love,even though they hold other opinions(especially on political matters).

Cancer Moon:

Cancers are super protective of their friends. They have an aversion to overly extroverted people or boisterous individuals. Cancers are also envious of Aries/Leo/Gemini placements if these signs are shining in life more than Cancers.As these signs grow older,they realise that they have missed out on a lot in their earlier life. They detest parties and social gatherings involving more than 10 people.Cancer Moons hail from families where vacations,outings and dates were not frequent and only happened sporadically.

Sagittarius Sun/Moon:

Contrary to Cancers, Sagittarius placements always come from families who love traveling. Even if they couldn't afford international travel, they atleast did a lot of local travel or short one day trips. These natives have also developed a liking for adventures. They are very adaptable to new situations and people. They do not complain about trivial things. They are also open-minded and liberal. They value personal freedom more than everything else.

Libra Sun/Rising:

These natives exude charm and elegance. They are the dolls of the zodiac. Even men with these placements tend to be interested in selfcare/fashion/makeup.They desire to be perfect in terms of beauty. They are very agreeable people who do not like arguing unnecessarily. They get along well with most zodiac signs, even if they don't like them. These people are kind even to their haters.

Scorpio Sun/Moon:

Scorpios are generally mysterious and do not like oversharing details of their personal lives with others. They have a tight circle of friends and do not let new people in. They thrive in cold,dark environments. They might have issues with self esteem,especially if they are from humble backgrounds. But this low self confidence will quickly turn into narcissism if they get powerful and wealthy later on, in their lives.They also have issues with jealousy and tend to be envious of people who are more succesful than them.

Capricorn Sun/Moon:

These people are trailblazers in their careers. They have a solid work ethic which they follow to the T. Ambition is their topmost priority. They tend to excel in fields like law,business,medicine or finance. They are happier being their own bosses than when they're working under someone else. If they reduce their cynical,nihilistic attitude, they may actually achieve peace in their lives. Capricorns with Cancer placements are prone to jealousy and hold grudges. These natives never forget their exes (especially if they have a Cancer Moon). The deadly combination of Capricorn and Cancer could lead to situations where they are alienated from their old friend groups and are forced to find new friends later on in life,while their old friends are still in contact with each other and meet up to have fun. Seeing that would make these natives bitter and resentful.

Aquarius Sun:

These placements are always queer in terms of individuality and self expression. They will always be a symbol of rebellion,even in the most subtlest of ways. If they come from a family of liberal,eccentric people,they will be conservative and grounded. If they have strict, authoritarian parents,they will become overtly liberal and defiant to social structures. They have their own quirks which they appreciate wholeheartedly. These individuals have the ability to become scientists.Some may even become innovators or pioneers in their chosen field.

[saikoucorps]

MATCHUPS

🃏 MATCHUPS ARE CLOSED. 🃏

DETAILED MATCHUPS ARE FOR COMMISSIONS.

:ఌ¨ ♱ MATCHUPS I WRITE :

Platonic – basically like a friend matchup

Romantic – your partner

Poly – multiple partners

Family – a character will get matched as your family member (parental, siblings, etc)

Yandere – similar to romantic matchups but the character is yandere centric

Option Matches – choose who you want to be matched with

Appearance matchup – get matched on appearance alone. You can send a description, images, or picrew of your appearance.

Moonboard matchup – an aesthetic board for you and the character you're matched with. The character can be personally selected or a normal matchup.

I write 2 fandoms at a time. ☆ you can check what fandoms I write for in my fandoms list.

ᰔ NOTICE !!

☆ Matchups will include hcs, tropes, songs, second choice, ship name, reasons, and favorite thing about you.

☆ Exchanges include all of the listed below.

☆ Commissions include everything and more. They're more detailed.

Matchup Menu :

[ bolded are for normal matchups. ]

reasons

headcanons

song that's related to your relationship

tropes (2/3)

how you met

date

ship name

drabble

suggestive/slight nsfw hcs

☆ I won't write nsfw hcs for characters under 15

second choice

their favorite thing about you

small moonboard

confession

Time. These take time. Please be aware of that.

appearance matchups will probably be done in less than an hour... same with moonboard matchups.

Requesting:

ִ ☆゙ like + reblog this post

ִ ☆゙ shoot me a dm or send your info through an ask!

ִ ☆゙ give me details about yourself! I encourage you to be as detailed as you need. It's easier for me to get the matchup accurate. Plus, the more info I have about you, the more I'm able to write.

ꪆ🃏୧ What to Include:

name, age, enneagram, mbti, zodiac

details about your personality

hobbies, interests, likes/dislikes

appearance description

your love language(s)

ideal date

ideal partner

specific gender preference

characters you don't want to be matched with

age range/specific group of characters you want to be matched with

If you want nsfw included or not (it will be sfw by default if not specified)

anything else you want to include.

Example of a request:

Hii! I would like to request a short platonic matchup for mha and ddlc. [Insert Info]

☆ Poly Matchups: if you request a poly matchup, specify if you want the characters to be dating each other as well or not. And how many you want in the relationship.

☆ Family Matchups: specify what kind of family member you want. (ex; sibling.)

[strwbmei]

Matchup Event

Matchup for: @dukemira

Matchups: Fu Hua, Firefly, March 7th

Contains: fluff, nsfw, creampie, mentions of bondage, mentions of choking, mentions of temperature play, soft sex, public sex, mentions of nipple play

A/N: Sorry for taking so long! Honestly, with Firefly's section, I have no idea how to bake so I apologize if anything is incorrect!

Ask: Long time no see I guess? Haha, anyway it's been a while and you look good, also congratulations for your 1000 followers! Okay I'll start. I will use Mira as the name, my mbti is INFJ, and my zodiac is Virgo. I'm a listener type person, I'm not speaking that much, unless the topic is interesting (or I like the topic) for me, I'll ramble so much. Many people see me as a stoic person, like I don't really care what happened later, or right now Even if it gets me in trouble. You could say I'm a hardworking person, I'll try everything to achieve what I want. If you don't mind, I would like to choose both. My first date scenario? Maybe we watch stars and aurora while drinking hot coffee and some snack (I like quiet place, irl I always go out at night like pm and go home at 3 in the morning lmao) it's just, so refreshing y'know? I'm indeed a dominant, and more into vanilla sex, soft, gentle. (Sometimes I wanna tie them up, and close their vision) (pls don't match me with male characters) The fandom Im in, honkai impact and honkai star rail.

Fu Hua

╰┈➤ SFW ;

: ̗̀➛ Like you, Fu Hua often takes late-night walks to clear her mind. The day she decided to take a different route for a change of scenery, she had no idea that this choice would end up affecting the rest of her life.

: ̗̀➛ It all starts off as the both of you passing each other on a quiet, isolated street; things like you glancing at the woman the first time you saw her because of how rare it is to see someone else around these hours. The most you'd get were stray animals and the occasional taxis, and you liked it that way.

: ̗̀➛ Your overly carefree attitude towards life and Fu Hua's overly cautious and apprehensive nature perfectly balance each other out like yin and yang. Not one is greater or worse than the other; both are inseparable as are the sorrows and joys of living that you'd gladly experience with each other.

: ̗̀➛ Change is a fearsome thing. All of the insignificant differences come together until eventually, you realize that your surroundings have already changed beyond recognition. Fu Hua firmly believes in this, and yet, it was the same change that brought her to meet you. As such, you're also the one to introduce her to new things. It takes her a bit of coaxing, but she's willing to try anything as long you're with her.

: ̗̀➛ Generally speaking, the two of you have so many similarities and just as many differences. Somehow, though, you make it work. Not because you just happen to be the right person for each other, but because you want to make it right.

"Fu Hua?" Your voice breaks Fu Hua's train of thought. She'd been gazing up at the sky for a while now, reminiscing about the past as she does so. It's not something she particularly chooses to do the first dusk of every new year, but she always ends up doing it nonetheless.

"Ah, you're awake. Did I wake you when I got up from bed?" She turns to you with a somber yet warm smile on her face. Her gaze goes down to the two cups of hot chocolate in your hands and mutters a small "thank you" as she takes one of them. You shake your head in response to her question. "Mm. I just got a bit worried when I woke up and you weren't beside me."

"What are you thinking about?" You ask before taking a quick sip of your drink. The dark and rich taste is perfect for calm, quiet mornings like this. Last night was filled with celebrations and festivities, and now that they're done, the city has fallen asleep. The sun peeks out through the horizon to greet the start of the new year.

"It's nothing important. It always amazes me how quickly time can pass and bring change." Her gaze falls down onto the jewelry shop at the corner of the road. It used to be a small diner run by a nice elderly couple. They had a dog; a small Australian terrier named Winter. Ironically enough, Winter did not like the cold. She wonders where they are now and how they're doing.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, the sunlight illuminating the unlit city. Fu Hua smiles at the sound of the dogs barking; it's the one thing that has stayed constant throughout all these years. She hopes spending mornings with you like this will become one of those things as well. "Happy New Year, my love."

╰┈➤ NSFW ;

: ̗̀➛ Very vanilla and traditional so Fu Hua thinks she should always be submissive, at least at first. She's open to trying out new things in bed. We all know that she'd be submissive regardless of her old fashioned mindset, though.

: ̗̀➛ Fu Hua is open-minded when it comes to kinks, so she's willing to try anything at least once as long as it isn't anything too extreme or unhygienic.

: ̗̀➛ She's really big on safe sex. Fu Hua is actually very educated on sex despite having little to no personal experience with it/things related to it, mostly because she's had to give her disciples "the talk" before.

: ̗̀➛ During sex is when Fu Hua is the most emotionally vulnerable. She accidentally slips out words that she'd be way too prideful to say in any other situation, says "I love you" a lot more than usual, and reaches out to hold your hands subconsciously.

: ̗̀➛ She can go for a lot of rounds, but afterwards, she's immediately falling asleep. She'll try to give you the best aftercare she can (even if you were the one on top,) with the energy she has left, but the most she can probably do is get you a glass of water and a towel.

"My love..." She sighs, desperate and needy. Her legs rest at either of your sides as your hips rut slowly and softly against hers. Slender, calloused hands rest on your back, clawing ever so slightly whenever you hit a certain spot inside of her.

The room is dimly lit with scented candles, your clothes scattered on the floor while sensual music plays in the background. A scene telling of the romance and passion between two lovers.

You adjust yourself to hit deeper inside of her, and Fu Hua sings. She sings your name like an angel gently comforting you with her embrace; soft, and loving.

Feeling yourself nearing climax, you groan her name and bury your face into the side of her pale neck. As if in unspoken understanding, her fingers reach out to intertwine with yours, and her legs wrap around your waist.

Your hips stutter, and you fill her deep with your cum. Her chest rises up and down as she catches her breath, and she looks ethereal. You're set on spending the rest of your life with her.

March 7th

╰┈➤ SFW ;

: ̗̀➛ You and March 7th are the epitome of the saying "opposites attract." Or so, people say. While that might seem true on the surface, you actually have a lot of similarities like two stars in different galaxies, shining with unique brilliance yet connected by the vastness of the universe.

: ̗̀➛ For example, the two of you like quiet places; only for different reasons. You like quiet places because you like being able to be at peace and be alone with your thoughts. March likes quiet places because she can often find you in them. She loves bustling atmospheres and the blinding city lights, but she loves you more.

: ̗̀➛ Her troubles affect her more than they seem to, and when she can't silence the negative thoughts in her head, it's you that she comes to for respite.

: ̗̀➛ There's something about you that makes March feel so... safe and secure. She feels comfortable telling you about things that she'd normally repress herself. You keep her grounded. You help her get through the bad times and replace them with good ones.

: ̗̀➛ You care for her and try to comfort her the best you can, but you don't really care about things like "who she used to be" and "what she even is." Human, alien, or even as an emanator, you'd love her all the same. What matters to you isn't her past, but the future that you can have together.

"Hehe..." March looks up at the new ring you bought for her. The cold, silver metal shines when the moonlight hits it just the right way. To her, its glint symbolizes your love and the future to come. "Do you really like the ring that much?" You ask since she's been staring at it intently ever since you first got it for her. Of course, you're flattered since you also chose it, but you know March can be a bit overdramatic sometimes.

March turns to you as soon as the question leaves your lips. "Of course! You bought it for me, after all." She smiles with pride. You chuckle at her reaction and pat her head. "I'm glad you like it, but don't dote on it too much. I can always buy you a new one, y'know?" You weren't exactly rich, but that ring wasn't exactly expensive either. It was just something you bought because it seemed to be her style.

"Sure, but every gift from you is special to me. Even if you get me an extravagant wedding ring one day, I'll still treasure all of the handwritten notes you leave me sometimes." You blush at the implications of marriage. Of course it's been on your mind too, but to hear March mention it so casually has you feeling a bit bashful.

"When that time comes, let's get a big house and a whole army of pets! Ah, but that might make it difficult for the express... What about 5? Or if Pompom allows us, 10?" You chuckle at her ambition. You can already imagine Pompom going crazy with cleaning all of the fur. Still, a future like that with her sounds quite nice.

"We'll get as many as you want, March."

╰┈➤ NSFW ;

: ̗̀➛ She's not a stranger to the concept of sex, but there are a lot of things that she doesn't know about it. Despite that, or maybe because of that, she's always wanted to try.

: ̗̀➛ March 7th mostly bottoms--she counts on you to take the lead since you're more knowledgeable. She can definitely be the dominant one if asked, though. Top or bottom, her main goal is for both of you to feel good.

: ̗̀➛ Getting tied up and wearing nice lingerie are her favorite things! The intricate designs make March feel prettier, so she sometimes wears them underneath her clothes just for that confidence boost.

: ̗̀➛ She's up for it anytime anywhere mostly, but she's a bit hesitant to have sex in busier places. She likes it when there's a chance of someone spotting the two of you in the act, but she doesn't want to actually get caught. That would scar her for life.

: ̗̀➛ Loves it when you get more assertive. She loves how gentle and caring you are with her, so seeing a side of you that's so different gives her whiplash in the best ways possible.

: ̗̀➛ Her nipples are the most sensitive part of her body. She could have an orgasm just from you playing with them. A close second is her neck, though. Whether you leave kisses all over it or choke it ever so slightly, you're sure to get her gushing in her panties.

"I swear to Akivili, I'm going to kill you once all this is over!" March whisper shouts, turning to face you with an angry red all over her cheeks. Whether it's from embarrassment or arousal you're not sure.

The Astral Express had been invited to a fancy dinner, and as a result, you're spending the night mingling with the other guests; mostly the bigwigs of the planet you had just arrived on.

Or so, that's how March expected the evening would go. Now she's sat on your lap, legs spread as she gets fingered by you under the table. To others, you'd merely look like a young, naive couple in love, unaware of how her cunt drips slick and clamps down on your fingers.

Everyone turns their heads towards both of you when March whimpers in the middle of her sentence. She's quick to dismiss their concerns, and you chuckle at their cluelessness, saying March is just feeling a bit nervous.

You hold her gently by her chin and press a seemingly chaste kiss on her lips, swallowing her moans as she cums all over your hand. The rest of them are left none the wiser to the filthy acts the two of you are committing behind the scenes.

March hates how good you can make her feel.

Firefly

╰┈➤ SFW ;

: ̗̀➛ Your relationship is one full of secrets, but neither of you really mind. You understand that everyone has things that they wouldn't want anyone else to know, and that being their partner doesn't make you an exception.

: ̗̀➛ She doesn't question you when you come home at ungodly hours of the day. You don't question her when she comes home smelling like smoke and motor oil. You rush into each other's embrace regardless of the day you had beforehand. It gives you comfort and warmth and makes you feel like nothing else matters other than being in your lover's arms and the steady beating of their heart.

: ̗̀➛ Her favorite activity to do with you is baking! Neither of you is particularly skilled at it, but she finds the experience therapeutic and wants to share it with you. Firefly also has fun experimenting with the recipe to see what works the best.

: ̗̀➛ Firefly is a very kind and gentle partner, but only when she's awake. When the two of you are in bed together, (which is very rare considering how different your schedules are,) she becomes a heartless monster who hogs literally all of the blankets and pillows. Yes, blankets with an s. You've tried to solve this problem by getting your own, but to no avail.

: ̗̀➛ Honestly, it'd be pretty easy to take the blankets away from Firefly since she isn't very physically strong, but you can't. She just looks so peaceful asleep like this (despite leaving you vulnerable to the cold) and you know that she's tired. Hell, it's probably been a week or two since she's slept this well. You just don't have the heart.

"See, all you have to do is place the icing into the bag and..." Firefly rambles on about the techniques she uses when decorating pastries, even going as far as to give you a live example on the cake rolls the two of you were currently baking.

You cherish every second of these comfortable, domestic moments with her given how rare it is for the two of you to have the whole day to spend with each other like this.

However, there is one problem.

Earlier, you noticed that she accidentally put salt instead of sugar when making the batter. Should you tell her, or let her taste the consequences of her actions?

As you're faced with this life-threatening dilemma, Firefly looks up at you with a concerned expression and asks, "Are you okay, Mira...? We can always do this another time if you want."

For a moment, you almost take pity on her. Thinking of all the nights she took all the blankets and pillows (albeit unconsciously) and left you without protection against the cold, you make your decision. This blanket hogger must be brought to justice.

╰┈➤ NSFW ;

: ̗̀➛ It's good that you're more into soft sex because that's quite literally all that Firefly can handle. Seriously. Don't go rough on her unless you want her to get sent to the hospital.

: ̗̀➛ She can get a bit insecure about this and think that you deserve someone that you won't have to restrain yourself for during sex, but you reassure her that isn't the case and that intimacy isn't the most important part of your relationship with her.

: ̗̀➛ Due to how frail she is, it takes a lot of trust for her to engage in intimacy with someone. Chances are, you're probably her first time. She trusts you to not only make her feel good, but she also trusts that you'll be gentle and respect her boundaries.

: ̗̀➛ She's more on the vanilla side, but being physically weak doesn't stop her from having a few kinks of her own. For the most part, she'd be into getting blindfolded and temperature play.

: ̗̀➛ Whether Firefly is on top or not, she's way too gentle to ever hurt you, even accidentally. She's definitely the type to ask for consent/ask if you're feeling good every 5 minutes, regardless of how horny and desperate she might be.

When Firefly walked through the door with a sense of restlessness in her footsteps, rushing to take off her coat and straddle your hips as you sat on the couch, you already knew what she wanted.

Every time she's away at work (if you can even call it that) for a long time, she comes back all tense and desperate to please you. It's her favorite way to destress, she says. Still, you can never get used to your sweet and gentle Firefly being so... lustful.

Of course, you don't mind and you'd gladly help her take her mind off work, but the contrast in her behavior never fails to catch you off guard.

She buries her face into your neck, breathing heavily as her hands fumble for the waistband of your pants. "Pants, please?" You snap out of your inner monologue and help her.

Once she looks up at you, you can't help but notice the glint in her eyes. It's... different, and hungry. You can't help but be glad that you don't have to wake up early the next morning.

[lowkeyrobin]

MONTY FINCH ; just kiss

summary ; basically the edwin & monty swing set scene

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; reader doesn't know shit about astrology, word vomit

track ; like real people do, hozier

word count ; 951

masterlist

Monty slowly swings himself on the swingset, the metal chain links creaking at every slight movement. He stays low to the ground, feet inches from the dirt below.

You swing beside him, a wired earbud hanging from your right ear, the left open so you could hear him if he spoke. The metal creaking enters your left ear, your music entering the right.

"How do you know so much about astrology?" You ask him, leaning your head against the metal chainlinks on the left. "Like, I obviously don't get it. How and why, like... how does it work?"

He smiles, looking up at you. He rests his hands on the right side's chain link, cozy fingerless gloves protecting him from the cold metal. "Basically, the way the stars align kind of predict fate in people, the way they act and think," He shrugs, trying to give you a basic definition.

"How do zodiac signs work then?" You ask

"Well, it's not like... science-confirmed, actually disproven, but believe what you will. But the constellations in the stars change per every month, aligning to its matching sign. Like, take Edwin for example" He speaks. "He's a Capricorn. They're usually described as ambitious, practical and focused"

"Sounds a lot like him" You shrug. "So it's just kind of a coincidence that you act a certain way with when you were born?"

"Yeah, basically."

You hum.

You're both silent for a moment, trying to find something to turn the conversation too.

"What's it like being a ghost?" He asks. "I know you've been with Charles and Edwin for God knows how long, but, like, what's it like?"

You shrug. "Solving mysteries and supernatural stuff. It's what it sounds like. But being dead is a lot like being alive. Most people just can't see you, you can't feel things, like your sensory skills are broken" You wiggle your fingers, aware that your fingerpads were basically broken. "You don't need to sleep or eat, but you have free will to change clothes"

He nods, following along.

"It doesn't feel the way you'd think it would. You don't know when you die, you just keep on going before you realize no one can see you or you see you're walking outside your body" You continue, "It's like everything always feels like TV static, but after a while you get used to it and it feels like it less and less. But when you're really down and lost, it comes back stronger than ever."

"Sounds like shit"

"It is" You chuckle. "Wish I got to say goodbyes to the people I love. Death is so unexpected but... it's the only thing everyone, everything, on Earth has in common. Death is after us all"

He nods, eyes softened. "You speak very wisely. Not in an Edwin way because you've been dead since the early 1900s. But you know a lot, you're very knowledgeable, you know how to speak your mind"

You softly smile. "Thanks, Monty"

Your faces stand inches apart between the swings, your eyes just examining each other's faces.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have nice hair?" You ask him.

He airily giggles. "No, actually. Thank you. You have nice hair too, for being dead"

"Well, it doesn't grow, so I never have to book an appointment at the ghost barber's," you joke with a giggle. "Another pro of being dead. Less people, more me"

He smiles. "You have a very attractive smile, y'know that?"

You glance away, a little flustered. "Oh, thanks"

He glances between your lips and your eyes, admiring your harmonious features, the way everything you owned made you special and unique. He couldn't imagine you looking any different, you were perfect to him.

That look in his eyes killed you, that smile, God, it was to die for. You'd do anything to just pause time and stare at his little smile, to stare at his infatuated gaze.

"Have you ever kissed anyone before? Or like, before you died?" He asks quietly.

You shake your head no. "Charles said kissing when you're dead is a lot different than when you're alive. I dunno what he meant by it though"

"Wanna figure it out?"

Your lips curl into a smile, which you'd failed to keep contained. You snicker, looking away for a moment.

"You seem very desperate, Monty"

"I am," He admits. "You're very attractive. We should just kiss, like normal people do."

You roll your eyes before quickly leaning toward him, pulling yourself closer. You place your hands on the sides of his face, your thumbs and index fingers against the sides of his ears. He rests his left hand against your neck, his right hand on top of your left hand.

His lips tasted like oranges. He smelled like cucumbers and eucalyptus leaves. He was soft and warm, like fresh baked cookies. You didn't know if kissing was like this when you were alive, but when you were dead, you noticed every small thing, you could feel him, like his aura was rolling off his skin and burying itself inside you. It did so like it was trying to make sure you couldn't pull away, so you'd just fall in love with him on the spot.

He pulls away to breathe, something you didn't need. He looks up at you, scanning your face like he was attempting to read your expression.

"You taste like oranges," you comment. "But, like... do you feel every single thing when you kiss me? Like I could feel your feelings, if that makes sense"

He shakes his head no. "That's cool" He smiles. "Being dead sounds really cool"

"Don't say that"

"Oh, sorry"

"I'm fucking with you. C'mere"

[makapatag]

new game idea, building off of gubat banwa's THUNDERING TACTICS SYSTEM. ULTRAVIOLENCE AT THE END OF TIME [UV@TEOT] is very angry and very grungy and its hard distorted electric guitar riffs playing alongside light nujabes flutes and everyone is trying to kill the gods (capitalists)

extreme buddhacore aesthetics mixed with slipstream dirty grungy cyberpunk a la Digital Devil Saga where you play as Black Flame Wielding God Devouring Devil Fucking Martial Artists

DECAPITATE THE GODHEAD

Character Generation is based off an axis of your Zodiac-Tarot (known as KARMIC BURDEN) and MARTIAL COMMUNES (the ones that safeguard your consciousness so you can die multiple times, and also teach you and give you equipment)

Communes are inherently anarchist who steal from HEAVEN to get you equipped. They need Pros like you, so you fight in the grueling gladiatorial matches to get CLOUT, the universal currency. You will never survive without them

character advancement is based on your CLOUT, a la Runes or Souls in Souls-like. its both currency and XP, because you need CLOUT to learn new moves and get new augs. getting new shit is integral to gaining a new following

MARTIAL COMMUNES are slick philosopher-martial art communities that piece together esoteric martial arts. Each commune has a signature martial art that you learn. So far there's THE HEAD OF MARX, TWIN TRUNG ELEPHANTS, SAKAY'S SHADOW FLITTING STYLE, LIVING BODY CANVAS, FLOATING HUAYAN VIDEOMANCY, and THE DIAMOND BODY OF CHRIST-KRISHNA

k6bd is a huge huge inspo of course but unlike k6bd which is a bit more gnostic-buddhist UV@TEOT is more full on Esoteric Vajrayana Buddhism, Shingon Buddhism and an intense Techno-Animism, here's some aesthetic pegs

also no playable cops. they're souls chained to physical demons

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I got rid of a gift my sister got me and replaced it?

I (26 F), have two sisters, older (38 F) and younger (20 F). We like to get each other matching stuff since we're all really close (ex: matching charm bracelets or matching goofy shirts) My big sister got all three of us matching insulated tumbler cups with our matching zodiac signs and birthdays. They're super cute, and mine happened to be colored in my 2 favorite colors, orange and pink (the colors and designs on the tumblers are based on the zodiac picked). It's super cute, and I love it. However, my big sister realized too late, that she put my wrong birthday in (right zodiac, wrong birthday). Mine was the only one messed up. WIBTA if I went to where she ordered them for all of us, and re-ordered mine but with the right birthday on it, and donated the wrong one to a thrift store in the hopes someone with *that* birthday might find it? I don't want my big sis to be mad :(

[moonchild033]

Hey, Hun! I would like to see posts on your opinion on D-1 & D-9 chart. Differences between both charts yet how, they're related. Thank you. 😊🙏

Hey dear! ❤💫

I would randomly share what I know about D1 and D9 here:

D1/rasi chart is used for all kinds of general interpretations and D9 is a part of D1 that is specifically used to make interpretations on the person's marriage life and prosperity. D9 is a rather deeper insight about a person and their transformation in life than being just a tool in marriage matching.

D9 is said to be more prominent in the later stages of an individual or the second part of their life which basically matches with the universal marriage age group. It's because D1 is the reality we live in, D9 is our actual inner being, more like a subconscious mind. We mature and unleash our inner self when we grow older, we tend to try fitting in when we are younger.

We wouldn't be able to differentiate between what we think we want vs what we actually want, what we think we are vs what we actually are, these are the differences between D1 and D9. We explore ourselves and find that the only way out is IN. That's why D9 is said to be activated in the second part of a person's life.

(This is my perspective and NOT an actual thing from any books I know of, so you can ignore this thought if it doesn't resonate with you)

Coming to ACTUAL astrology part of D9, few points to note:

D9 is majorily used to find out the actual strength of the planets in D1 chart. If some planet is strong in D1 but becomes weak in D9, the favorable results cannot take place. Also, drishti or planetary aspects DOES NOT apply to D9 or any other divisional charts. Planetary aspects are only for D1 charts. D9 should be read along with D1, it should NOT be considered as an individual chart to make predictions. Any predictions you pick up from D1, the accuracy of that is dependent on the analysis of same placement in D9 chart.There are two important terms to remember when it comes to reading between D1 and D9 charts, to check the strength of planet-

1.Bhavottama- Planet in same HOUSE NUMBER in both D1 and D9. Ex: Sun in 5H in D1 and Sun in 5H in D9 regardless of any change of ascendants between the two charts.

2. Vargottama- Planet in same ZODIAC SIGN in both D1 and D9.

Vargottama is said to be more auspicious and stronger than bhavottama but if both are present, the individual will attain positive results of the planets in their planetary periods and during the second half of their life. Important point to note is that these two things must happen either in the Kendra (1,4,7,10) or Trikona (1,5,9) houses and preferably planets should not be present in enemy signs.

Btw thank you for asking this thought provoking question dear! 💕

Let's learn and grow together! 🤗💋

With Love-Yashi ❤⚡

MASTERLIST 💖

[imthepunchlord]

God, I REALLY hope Juleka wins the Butterfly poll when it’s time for it - she’s the only one out of ALL the girls whose main color is actually Violet (as opposed to Pink or Indigo), and I feel like her character development wasn’t handled as well as it could’ve been (NONE of the character arcs were, but she sticks out to me in that she’s one of the more recurring supporting characters due to being Luka’s sister yet is simultaneously forgotten by both the canon show and the fandom in how things would affect HER SPECIFICALLY instead of adjacently through the people around her). I also feel like she would be a good match with whatever you’re going to solidify for Bugettes!Nooroo based on the tiny hints you’ve teased about him, both in itself and compared to Roaar, with whom I feel there were existing avenues for it to work but could’ve been sold to us much better in-show. Plus, I’d really just like to see her in a hero suit that’s actually purple; it still bugs me personally that PURPLE Tigress is far more magenta in actuality, almost red even, and very much like REFLEKTA’S main color at that.

Yeah we will see, as ultimately it'll come down to how the polls go, and I know Marinette and Rose have also gotten mentioned for Butterfly.

Juleka will also appear in the poll for Mantis, as Indigo is that in between blue and violet. So it's all kinda up in the air on how it'll go.

I also do agree. Juleka is one of the classmates that does stand out to me in her potential, and yeah it's butchered. So badly. This is primarily on the writers, but one of the things I dislike about Luka is the factor that, for the Couffaines, he's the priority. You could cut out Juleka and you wouldn't miss much. Like, the worst aspect is learning Jagged is their dad, but it was more Jagged and Luka's story than Jagged with both kids. Like, what was the point of making them both his kids when only kid really got priority in this revelation?

And yeah... Juleka with Tiger isn't really my go to pick either. I get her whole thing is trying to find her voice, to be heard and stand out. And with a kwami named Roaar, that does technically work off that agenda, but the power is One Punch Man vs doing something tied to vocals or sound. Which kinda makes the kwami's name a little random (honestly all Zodiac kwamis have really strange names that don't relate to their powers or themes).

The other odd detail is that, when you think of felines that are about roaring, tigers aren't what immediately come to mind, it's the lion. They roar to establish territory, to be heard and say "I'm here!", unless Roaar is meant to be a sort of mix of a tiger and lion? As she doesn't have a body covered in stripes?

I know that, supposedly, there's a Lion Miraculous coming, but it's not official yet.

Either way, tigers I more associate with hunting, stealthy ambush. Not really speaking out. I'll give it, tigers can be tied to leadership which does involve being heard, but it's more military leadership. They're more tied to war, aggression, and strength.

As for the kwami, to me, Roaar came off a bit of a bully. Which maybe Juleka just needs that tough love/push to speak up, but I personally didn't really care for their interactions. Though I still say Mullo and Mylene were the worst paired characters out of all kwamis and humans.

And yeah, Roaar visually doesn't really match with Juleka.

Technically, she matches with Cat the most.

Her main color is black, with bits of purple and green.

While Plagg is meant to be a black cat, there are times he's purple. And of course he has them big green eyes.

I could also see Juleka visually working with Kaalki. I see a hue of purple in her gray, and there is the green eyes to work off as well.

There's also the intrigue that Juleka wants to be a model and Kaalki expects someone famous or wealthy, getting a holder who isn't but wants to be, Kaalki would have to work with them to get them to where they both want Juleka to be; though I do see them butting heads a bit as it's pairing two of high and low status, but that could be fun. Plus, there's the pun potential of Juleka learning to be a show pony with Kaalki's help (she could've also called herself Knightmare).

And yeah, with Butterfly, Juleka could've done well. You do have to communicate with others, so Juleka would have to work at talking with others, to express her thoughts and to be heard, and there's some pressure to be taken off as it's more long range communication vs close, but the option is there for close range communication whenever Juleka is ready for it. And Nooroo would be a gentle and patient guide.

We'll have to see if it happens though.