#just not feeling like dealing with roulette tanks

[asleepinawell]

the fact that the prae cutscenes are unskippable in even duty support is one of the funniest and most sadistic things square has done

[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 checks 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.

[thedarkstarrr]

Here I am or what's left. Cause they couldn't drag me to hell and I could live to die anymore. I can't just give up anymore. I gotta try. If I fall I gotta try again. Drug addiction is like a constant game of Russian roulette, if it's not the drugs that kill it'll be death from whatever skep ass shit I had to do to get the drugs. I've been living for this for so long I can't imagine what on earth people do when they aren't chasing something. Or someone..

And lucky for me I no longer wakeup sick and have to chase that dragon anymore. My time is no longer constantly consumed by the thought of being sick or needing more. However I live in my own world. That world's more dangerous than the outside. I get trapped inside my head with nightmares, sometimes dreams and then I let it consume me because I guess I can't ever believe that anything is going good. Maybe I am addicted to being miserable and I know that sounds crazy but that's just how I've lived for so long. Miserable.

It started with blank stares and someone screaming at me over usually nothing, occasionally over something I'd done. I usually own up to my shit tho so the need to keep yelling atw for hours or days on end was never necessary. I stopped fighting and just started staring and I stopped being sad and I got real angry. I started to burn bridges while I stand on them not caring who else it burnt or destroyed in the process the more the merrier. After all misery loves company. So I went on like that for so long and put up with so much bullshit I accepted bullshit as reality. Today I realize nothing changes if nothing changes and that first thing is changing how I feel on the inside because if I feel good I'm not gonna deal with the bad, especially now that I don't have to deal with the sick.

I'm loud so obviously God intended for people to hear, someone has to be a voice after all you wouldn't put a diabetic into jail if the aye to much or not enough sugar, you wouldn't jail the lung cancer or COPD patients who carry around they're oxygen tanks and still smoke. No you offer help maybe hot them with some wisdom but you absolutely don't throw them into a system they will never get out of. One that makes it almost impossible to get a job or live anywhere and make the normals not wanna help. But I'm sure if I had cancer they'd make sure I go to a Dr. However since I'm a addict they don't care about getting anyone to a clinic.

[wannabeelf]

Since Final Fantasy XIV lets you play all the classes on one character I’ve set myself the arbitrary goal of getting all of the base game classes to level 50 (base game max) before I hit expansion content. Last night I was working on leveling Summoner. For those who don’t know, Summoner is a DPS class, but it does have one healing spell and the ability to res.

I was doing duty roulette over and over because I find it to be the fastest and least boring way to level up. I had my level somewhere between 35 and 45 when I wound up with a random party running The Sunken Temple of Qarn. We start out and it goes fine for a while; but I’m only paying like 75% attention because I’ve been at it for like 6 hours already and I’m starting to lose focus.

Suddenly, before we’ve made it to the first boss, I notice that I’m pulling aggro so I glance over at the party status doodad and see that the tank is down. I honestly don’t remember what was going on with the healer at that point; I ran so many duties last night that it all blends together. Anyway, I started desperately trying to res the tank, but I was taking too many hits and I went down as well.

At that point, the healer (who was playing a Sage), apologizes to us and tells us that they’re new to their class and still trying to figure it out. The tank says it’s fine. I tend not to talk in chat while on a duty because that’s just one thing too many for my brain to handle, but I also thought it was fine. I mean, I was also playing a class that I don’t main and am not super good at, so... Whatever. It happens.

Anyway, we go again and make it to the first boss. I THINK the tank and healer both went down towards the end of that fight, but I may be confusing it with one of the other times I ran Temple of Qarn last night. Whether losing both the tank and the healer happened in the run I’m talking about or a different one, the other DPS managed to stay up and hold aggro while I got them both up.

Back to events that I’m sure happened on this crazy run. We made it through the the first boss and started heading toward the second. Then the thing that happened before the first boss happened again. Tank goes down, I start desperately trying to get them up, I go down. AT THIS point, the healer goes, “man, I suck at this. i think you’ll have an easier time without me,” and leaves the party.

So now it’s just me, the tank, and the other DPS. We go into the queue for a new healer and press on. I start out trying to do my normal killing shit thing, but I’m keeping a close eye on the party status doodad. I noticed the tank’s HP getting below half, so I stopped dealing damage and started making heavy use of my one (1) healing spell. Then the other DPS was getting low, so I healed them. And so on. Our pace was slower than it would have been with a proper healer, but I think we did okay. Right as we got to the entrance to the next boss, we got a new healer. Thank The Twelve! Now I can go back to ignoring the HP!

I went down in that fight. The tank went down again on the journey to the final boss. But we made it through and eventually finished the duty.

So that was my first experience as a “healer” in any MMO ever. I’m not sure how I feel about leveling White Mage now. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, but now I’m kind of dreading it. I’m still going to do it, though.

[echthr0s]

was reading r/ffxiv (a thread about healing, in particular, so you can imagine how that thread went) and had some Thoughts

mainly about how people approach playing with others, because a lot of focus seems to be on "other people should play the way I want them to play / the way [x resource] says is the most optimal way to play", which does have its place in ensuring a run doesn't repeatedly end in disaster (the big orange circles/cones are there for a reason! so are those other buttons on your hotbars!), but also ignores the opportunity for one to learn how to manage their own emotional responses to what other people do

if you use the Duty Finder at all, you are spinning a roulette wheel. you have no idea what kind of players you're going to be matched with. you know this, going in. it behooves you to be ready for anything, and to prepare your responses ahead of time. maybe that means "if I get Syrcus Tower one more fucking time I'm just gonna abandon duty and eat the penalty" because that's less annoying than going through ST again and being so irritated about it that I make mistakes or say something unnecessary in chat or generally have a bad time when I could have avoided having a bad time by leaving and letting some other poor DPS who's been in queue for 20 minutes have my spot instead. or, maybe that means having plans of action for a tank who refuses to use mitigation for whatever reason -- my plan generally is to ask tank to use mits, and depending on response, either: 1) successfully get through the run with the tank having learned something; 2) sigh, adjust, hope for the best; or 3) vote dismiss. I don't have to worry about getting into a stupid ass argument or getting tilted about their behaviour, because I know what my options are. my emotions are managed before the queue even pops.

people will talk at length about how to be a better player so other people don't get mad at you, but it's so much harder to have a productive conversation about how to properly manage your own emotional responses so that you don't have to worry about other people's playstyles in the first place. not everyone will share your values or your philosophies about MMO gaming. that's incontrovertible truth. is it sustainable to constantly get angry at them for that, for being individuals with their own approaches and desires? or is it more sustainable to learn how to adapt to that in a way that doesn't compromise anyone's values and also minimises personal aggro? for some people, that means only queueing with friends. for some people, that means adjusting their own approach to party content. for some people, that means... playing WoW instead, idfk. but it does involve taking some responsibility for one's own experience instead of just being pissed at everyone else for not being the same as oneself.

personally, in my few years (on and off) on FFXIV I've learned a lot about what it means to play well with others. I've improved my playing, yes, but I've also evaluated my values about how I want to treat other people and how I want to be treated in group content. for example, I've learned that a thing I value is creativity and adaptation -- more than wanting people to play smoothly and get through the run quickly, I want a variety of experience. I value those moments when I have to think on the fly and figure out creative solutions, even if it's annoying at first or takes longer. I also value making things funny and lighthearted -- like Titan's "yeet" mechanic. I love it when I'm healing or tanking Titan Normal and everyone gets yeeted, it's funny to me. I try to make jokes about it so the sprouts don't feel so bad about it, because really, it's not a big deal. big rock man is a pushover anyway, and even with wipes it's a really short duty. my approach is always to do things that emphasise that we're all just playing a game together and trying to have a good time. if someone doesn't agree and wants to be a stickler about things, then, fine. that's their business. they can even votekick me if they like, I'll just queue up again and go on about my business. if they get abusive in chat, well, ain't that exactly what the report button is for? they can't make me feel bad about myself because I've already decided how I want to play and I'm secure in my stance as a perfectly average player who is always open to learning.

ultimately, I think playing an MMO well is not just about mechanics and learning how to push buttons, but also about learning how to socialise with a vast variety of people -- people who don't speak your language, people who refuse to read party chat, people who love to speedrun, people who move as slow as possible and go into every side room, new players, old players, people older than you, people younger than you, people who came from WoW and haven't quite nailed how things work in XIV yet, people who spam emotes, those weird couples who just ERP through the whole dungeon (lmao), and so on ad infinitum. and that's a feature, not a bug. it's an opportunity, not an annoyance.

[totallycorrectffxivquotes]

Do you have any advice for someone who's scared of doing the raids, especially the Eden ones (normal)? I'm a MCH main and I don't think I'm great, I'd say I know how to play my job right and properly, but I'm so scared of people just going batshit crazy if I mess up (and I know I will cause I need to learn) and they're so impatient in raids in general and I feel everyone knows them all by heart already... ^^"

Meanwhile there’s me, just hopping into raids without knowing anything (granted, it’s normal and not savage so it’s not a big deal).

Raids shouldn’t be something you’re scared of if you’re just doing the normal ones. Just think of it like MSQ content. You hop into queue and don’t think about it too much and learn as you go and let people know you’re new to it. I’ve never once ran into salty people when they know I’m new.

But other things you can do if the above really just isn’t for you: -watch a guide before going in. Knowing what to expect helps ease the experience of new content. -go in with friends/fc members -create a party finder and let people know you are new in the description so they also know what to expect when a new person is queuing up for.

I also just want you to know, people for the most part will be chill with the normal raids (not savage content) if you don’t know what you’re doing. If you let people know when going in that you’re new, they’ll either let you know what to expect and know what mechanics to look for (sometimes even place a safety dorito to follow) or they then know what to expect from a new person. Raids aren’t things that you should stress over too much especially Alexander Raids -- those are done in like 5 minutes or less. And I never remember the mechanics when going into Eden Titan. If I get it in roulettes, I always tell people “sorry i’m going to get run over and/or knocked off a bunch of times at this point it’s inevitable” and i either get a “mood/relatable” in response or I have healers at the ready to rescue me/tanks ready to give me some def buffs.

If anyone else has any advice they want to impart, feel free!

[sou-ver-2-0]

Writing Master List

I love writing analysis and fanfiction for Your Turn to Die. Here, you can find links to all my writing. Spoilers abound!

Meta I’m Proudest Of

Why Calling It “Logic Versus Emotion” Makes Sense

Sou Hiyori and Kanna’s Sister Parallels

I was wondering why Sou had a zero percent survival rate…

What is Sou proudest of?

What is Kanna proudest of?

What is Keiji proudest of?

Unpopular opinion about Keiji

What are your thoughts on Nao as a character?

Why pushing Fake Reko is logical and sparing her is emotional

Shin vs. Kanna choice: each “valid in its own way”

That was a real comedy of errors on your part, Shin

What “Things” did Shin learn at Sou’s House?

If I could kill Keiji to save both Kanna and Shin...

Thoughts on queer-coded villains and Shin

I make Shin say five nice things about Keiji (not meta, but important)

Some jumbled thoughts about Redemption, and Part 2

How different do you think the story would be if Shin were a girl?

Theories

“Midori is Meister’s son,” and other Sou theories <- my favorite theory!

The Hades Incident, the Present Death Game, and the Role of the Man from the Memorandum

Rambling about Meister Family Theory

A Quick Keiji Theory

I’m staking my pride on this one: Keiji won’t die in the coffin. Part 1 and Part 2

Implications of Kanna being Original Sou’s blood relative

The Mystery of Anzu’s High Survival Rate

Fanfiction

My username is Florencetheflowerfairy on Ao3! Any fanfiction I write will be tagged “my fanfiction” on here.

I haven’t yet posted this to Ao3.

My fanart

Soup Hiyori

Happy birthday Kanna!

All of my meta

How does Sou deal with pain?

When does Sou feel safest? What would others change about him?

What would the others change about Sara?

What do I wish to see happen with Sou?

Chapter 3 Prediction: Sara will lose Keiji

Sou & Keiji’s relationship thoughts; and Personal Headcanons

Opinion on Midori / Original Sou; and Opinion on YTTS

Thoughts on Kurumada’s Partnership with Sou and Kanna

What calms Sou when he’s upset?

What does Sou wish he could change about himself?

Who would be Sou’s favorite fictional character?

What would EVERYONE change about Sou?

How did both Sous do in school?

Who does Sou want to please the most?

How would Kanna spend her money?

What calms Kai when he’s upset? How does Kai deal with pain?

How does Kanna do in school? What’s something Original Sou lost that he would love to have back?

What’s something I wish had happened with Joe?

Unpopular opinion about Q-Taro

What’s something I wish had happened with the Yabusame siblings?

Unpopular opinion about Kai

Unpopular opinion about Original Sou

Who would I vote for in the Second Main Game?

Laughing at Q-Taro in Russian Roulette

Speaking of “I laugh at inappropriate moments in YTTD”

Math Saga (Collection of Theorizing Posts about the Percentage Papers)

Why Kanna can’t take the scarf

More Scarf Meta

I think Shin should fake amnesia in the zaniest way possible, please

Thoughts on Mr. Policeman is Joe’s Dad Theory, Parts 1 and 2 (Some of these thoughts are outdated because I don’t think Keiji knew Joe’s last name in the beginning.)

If I ever seem too harsh on Keiji, please keep in mind

We can hear Joe’s music theme in Midori’s music theme

Thoughts on the Floor Masters

Did Shin send the Sacrifice Card to Joe?

What if Joe had one month to live?

What is Original Sou proud of?

Reading Shin as Queer

Alice and Pain

What would other people change about Kai?

Could Shin and Keiji’s roles switch?

What was Keiji like before the shooting?

I encouraged Sister to vote for Kai in Practice Round

How does Original Sou/Midori sleep?

Who do you think Keiji would bond with the most?

Analysis of Sara’s vote in the Practice Vote

Massacre Ending Thoughts

Thoughts on Naosara?

Dummy Bullet Saga (How did Shin know about dummy bullets??)

Keiji is my Confront Character

What will the fallout with the dummies look like?

Keiji seeing the percentage papers is the simplest answer IMO

Thoughts on Keialice

Thoughts on Joesara

Shin Tsukimi could have DIED ON HIS BIRTHDAY?!

Shin is Poor! Part 1 and Part 2 and Part 3

One more funny story, on a walk with Sister...

How would Shin have fared in the Death Game without the Sou persona?

Is Shin too good for this world? (Reaction to above meta)

How would Joe, Kai, and Mishima approach the Second Main Game vote?

What do you think would be Shin’s partnership ability?

Thoughts on AI personalities

Reaction to ‘Sara gets the Sage Card’ Theory

Have you considered the implications of 0.0% vs. 0%?

Foolish Sara AU

When does the Death Game take place, and how long are they there?

Shin’s relationships with Reko and Gin

“When you drink, you gotta be careful not to get swallowed up yourself.”

Judge Keiji by the fact that he’s acting like a cop

I’ve switched to calling him Shin! 

What was Shin like in the years after Original Sou died, but before the Death Game?

Headcanons and Shin, Kanna, and trading tokens

Analyzing Shin and Sara’s doll placements in Safalin’s lab

Shin’s reaction to Sara’s “Haven’t we always been the bestest of friends?”

Scenario: Keymaster Kanna takes Shin’s key necklace instead of his scarf

Artists should draw Kanna grieving Shin however they like

Nao and Shin’s friendship

“I happen to like people with nice personalities”

I’m just putting these here so I can find them if necessary: 1, 2, 3

What if Shin thinks Sara is an adult?

Shrodinger’s Lock Saga (Many theories came from speculating about Asu-Naro’s weird locks in Sara’s first trial!)

Shin emulating Sou, oh no

Some thoughts on Shin and Alice, and the darker side to their relationship

A Serious Analysis of the Collarbone Sprites (& other Shin sprites)

Midori and Joe Sprite Parallels

Do you think Ranmaru is more or less reliable than Keiji?

Ranmaru and Keiji Parallels and Thoughts on Keiji flirting

Ranmaru and Keiji reacting to Joe

Out of the cast, who do you think is most likely to be the mastermind?

Miley vs. Gashu thoughts

Megumi Sasahara theories and headcanons

I love that this game’s heart is so earnest

AU where Shin has the Sacrifice, and he can’t pick Kanna

Theory/Headcanon: Sou-Shin-Sara-Kanna three year age gaps

Scenery Paintings in the Gallery

Kanna and Original Sou Parallel - “creepy smiles”

Undertale Parallels, and making Original Sou sympathetic

Kai and Original Sou Parallels

Fic ideas: Green-haired characters, and Shin + Sara Friendship

I love Fake Reko so much!

What if the decision to push Fake Reko affects what happens with the dummies?

Follow-up to above meta about Fake Reko

What if Joe died in his First Trial?

Reaction to Keiji Discourse about flirting, Part 2

Reactions to Fem!Shin:

Kanna’s perspective, Bath Scene Shin, More Bath Scene, Keiji flirting with Shin, I DON’T CARE HOW SEXY HE IS, Am I a lesbian

Will the dummies want to fill in for their counterparts’ lives?

Q-Taro Pacman Sister Theory

Poison Stinger analysis and Rio Ranger’s characterization

Megumi returns as a doll theory

More thoughts on “Back Up Candidates” Theory

Thoughts on AIs representing younger personalities

What if the current Death Game is another simulation?

Shin and Q-Taro ages musings

Shin and Sara ages musings

Honorifics Analysis: Part 1 and Part 2

Everyone’s music preferences headcanons

Shin’s thoughts on Gin in Logic Route

What if Shin died and Kai survived in the Second Main Game?

Imagine Trans Kanna

Thoughts on the names Sara “suspects” when learning that there is a human from Asu-Naro among us

Why doesn’t Shin challenge Keiji for lying that he’s a detective at the start?

Shipping

Which death hurt you the most?

Who do you think is overrated? Who do you think is suspicious?

Shin-Sou roleswap AU

Did you ever notice how Shin is crying during the First Main Game?

How do you think the characters sleep?

What if Shin became Sara’s ally instead of Keiji?

Seven Deadly Sins in YTTD

Song Analyses

“Rat” by Penelope Scott

“Villainous Thing” by Shayfer James

“Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met)” by Panic! at the Disco

“Butterflies and Hurricanes” by Muse

"House of memories" by Panic! at the Disco

More fun posts

Sister tag (All submissions by my sister)

Sometimes I get self-conscious for loving Sou Hiyori so much

Thinking about how our Sou Hiyori is a queer-coded villainous type

Picrew of the Greenblings

Fannish ramblings and Speculation about Voting for Keiji in 2nd Main Game

Sou has a halo in the manga

Sprite Parallels between Kanna, Sara, and Sou

Confession: Character development is more important than plot twists

Star Wars KOTOR musings

My Favorite Thing about Sou and Sara meeting

Another Greenblings Picrew

How to roast my fave

Are the greenblings next to each other??

Me feeling soft about Sou x Alice and Sou x Kai in spite of myself

I’m too much of a nerd for tumblr

Picrew of Green-haired characters and Sara

Cute Kurumada and Kanna headcanons

Do it for Nao

Happy birthday Keiji, from Sou

Danganronpa Thoughts as of 10/22/20

Top 3 emotional moments

Comparing Eye Sizes

I’m all caught up with 3-1A as of 10/24/20

Link to my “Shin attacking Inbox” edit

I am my PFP

“Disclosure” apparently means “Coming Out”

What did you name your Midori?

Do you think Shin was a gamer?

PMMM Thoughts: Logic vs Emotion

Why would you make Shin a tank?!

Dracula is Sou and Shin is Renfield

Among Us Headcanon

I just think Kanna having the Keymaster first is good drama

So long you fucking fascist (posted on 11/7/20)

Please don’t send me leaks!

Also how are we going to tag spoilers...? (11/12/20)

oh no I’m getting sentimental

Shin and Sara’s confrontation over the smartphone remains my favorite thing ever

Reactions to “I make Shin say five nice things about Keiji”: 1, 2, 3

A Rewarding part of my blog

My undying love for Britney Spears

“Ahaha, I’m glad you remembered my name.”

I love this picrew for the Greenblings

“Saw” and “Cage” on Google Translate

What if there were two Gonbee Yamadas?

Put them in meme boxes

Keiji’s emo eyeliner

Shin can smash something! and part 2

Acrostic Poem for Sou Hiyori

Midori’s canon voice

“Sou” puns

Time sensitive questions!! 1 and 2

All the characters’ ages

Do you think Shin swears?

Let’s not pit bears and twinks against each other!

Here’s how Shindemption can still win

tfw you draw fanart in time for Kanna’s birthday

Keiji accuses Shin of breaking Mishima’s monitor even though he KNOWS Shin is innocent

Q-Taro and Shin college AU

Kugie’s ghost haunting Keiji

Christmas 2020: Part 1 and Part 2

Picrew of Shin and Sou, High School Days~

I struggle to write villains

I play Villains Bingo with Shin

…

This list will be updated sporadically as I write more! You can always use the “mine” tag to find any worthwhile original post I make.

Please feel free to talk to me about YTTD anytime! I love hearing from you all! It keeps me motivated and makes me happy to meet people!

[murasaki-murasame]

Thoughts on Higurashi Gou Ep15

*bonk*

Actual thoughts under the cut, lol [Plus Umineko spoilers]

lmao where do I even begin with this episode.

In a lot of ways this is really reminding me of why Gou seems to be so polarizing with people, especially with old fans. Even after this episode I’m still on the side of really liking it.

On the one hand I think it’s been a good thing that Gou has had less focus on gore and violence compared to the original anime [and the VN to a lesser extent], but on the other hand I think this episode actually worked really well, specifically because of how relatively devoid of on-screen gore the first three arcs were. It makes this episode stand out way more when it’s such a step in intensity above everything that came before it.

But other than the sheer violence and horror of it all, and how off-putting that is to a lot of people, I think part of why it’s so polarizing is that this episode also has a dark comedy vibe to it, where the show is totally aware of how over the top it all is. I can see why this sort of tone might not work at all for a lot of people, and might seem outright disrespectful towards Rika as a character and the Vn in general, but I enjoyed it, since I like this sort of humour.

I also don’t think it’s that weird at all for Ryukishi to embrace the potential for dark comedy through violence. There’s already some elements of that in Umineko.

It’s also pretty obvious that the entire point of these loops was to show how Rika is getting killed almost immediately, before she has any real time to think or strategize or investigate. So I think it was necessary for us to go through it so fast in order to properly put us in Rika’s shoes as she goes through this almost rapid-fire series of comically abrupt and tragic deaths. I don’t really think that dragging this part out over more episodes would have worked as well because of that.

I do have some issues with how we’ve seen so little to do with Rika actually trying to investigate stuff, but I still like how this episode was handled.

Anyway, this does give us more clues about what’s going on with the overall mystery, both in terms of what was shown, and what wasn’t shown across these loops.

The only info we really get in each of these loops is that some seemingly random person goes fully L5 and kills Rika [and usually lots of other people as well], and that it’s happening at a way faster pace than it ever happened before. But on the other hand, there’s still no real references made to the GHD [aside from Kimiyoshi talking about the swamp gas, which isn’t quite the same thing], and Takano and Tomitake weren’t mentioned or shown at all. Same with Irie, I guess. The way that people seem to keep going L5 extremely quickly, along with the references to parasites and whatnot, feels like it’s a result of Takano injecting people with the syringe she used on Tomitake originally, and/or giving people her notes about the virus like she did with Rena in Tsumihoroboshi. But the weird thing about that is that Takano hasn’t killed Tomitake with that syringe yet in Gou, and the way these loops play out just doesn’t really feel like it matches her whole MO.

If we go with the idea that everything with her is exactly the same as it is in the vN, then the Kimiyoshi loop in particular is weird, because having Rika get dumped in the swamp would make it very hard for Takano to execute the GHD. Maybe she just didn’t plan for it to play out that way, but that’d be a kinda lame answer. This also reminds me of Rika getting dumped in the septic tank in Watadamashi, which was another murder method that seemed like it’d risk having her body only be found more than two days after she died.

There’s also the fact that in the other loops, Rika’s death isn’t set up in a way to make it look like it’s some sort of ritualistic part of the curse. This is probably less important, but Takano did apparently always set Rika’s body up at the shrine in the arcs where she kills her, because part of her whole plan was to have Rika’s death play into the curse narrative. But in basically every loop in Gou thus far, Rika’s just died in random ways, and usually there’s been obvious human culprits who killed her. So it just doesn’t really feel like Takano’s work, even though she seems like the obvious person to be setting up all these random killers.

She also only ever used that syringe on Tomitake to kill him at the festival. I don’t think she ever used it on someone with the intent of using them to kill Rika, so that’s another way in which the whole method of the ‘mastermind’ feels different to Takano. If anything it seems kinda overly complicated for Takano to do it this way, and to do it with different people each time, instead of just killing Rika herself like she does in the VN. Her whole character is defined by her unwavering will, and her desire to achieve her own dreams for herself, so having Rika get killed ‘indirectly’ in an almost randomized way seems very weird if we assume she’s still behind it. If anything, it reminds me a lot more of how the ‘roulette’ works in Umineko, lol.

In general this episode really hammered in the fact that whoever’s behind all this seems to be going out of their way to screw with Rika, and that they’re maybe acting on the fly in response to Rika’s actions, and choosing what options they think will mess with her the most in each arc. I might be wrong about that, but considering how much they seem to be leaning into this being a Bern origin story, and Featherine literally showing up in the OP, I can totally imagine that the motive of the mastermind this time is pretty much just pure sadism.

Even though Featherine is probably the one who made this new gameboard to begin with, I wouldn’t be surprised if this ends up being more like a game between Bern and Lambda, where Lambda is just toying with Bern by sticking her in this seemingly hopeless loop that’s designed to drive her to despair.

Gou still runs the risk of going off the deep end in a bad way if it leans that hard into the Umineko connections, but this whole turn of events is REALLY making this feel like a Bern origin story. And tbh I still think that any Umineko connections will end up being explained well enough within the context of Gou on it’s own that you won’t have to read all of Umineko to understand it. It’s entirely possible that they could touch upon the meta stuff in a way that’s framed more around Higurashi’s whole aesthetic, and never mention concepts like witches and gameboards. They could just frame it all in terms of gods, demons, loopers, fragments, etc. Which would help make it more digestible for people who haven’t read Umineko.

Anyway, now that we’re down to just one more loop before Rika decides to end it all, my guess is that the last two episodes of this arc will cover her ‘final loop’, but then one way or another we’ll get one more loop covering one big final arc. I’m not sure exactly how it’ll play out, but I think that either something will happen in the next loop to give her new hope to keep going, or she’ll end up being unable to actually go through with killing herself. Like, maybe she’ll use the sword fragment on herself and it won’t actually succeed in killing her permanently, or maybe at the start of the loop after the next one she’ll go to the shrine to retrieve the sword fragment only to find that it’s not even there in that loop. And since we already technically had Rika gaining a new burst of hope to keep going earlier in this arc, I’m leaning more towards the option of her trying to kill herself and being unable to. But we’ll see.

With how these last loops went, it really makes me wonder how Rika would even be able to figure anything out about the mystery with just one more loop. The mastermind seems determined to kill her as quickly as possible now, and it feels like she’s already become resigned to her fate. Especially with what happened with Akasaka, I don’t think she’s going to bother putting any real effort into reaching out to anyone in the next loop.

If the next arc is just one big answer arc to tie everything together, I assume that by the end of this arc we’ll know who the mastermind is. Which at this point probably has something to do with Satoko, one way or another.

This is also making me more convinced that Gou will just be 24 episodes and not have a second season or anything. After the whole ‘five more loops’ thing I thought maybe we’d get a second season, but now that they just straight up speed ran through four of them, that seems way less likely, lol. It’s possible that things will take a total left turn after this, and we’ll still get a second season with it’s own set of arcs, but it seems less likely now.

But on the other hand I still wonder how the next arc would be able to answer everything, especially from the perspective of new fans. There’s still stuff like Rena and Shion’s backstories that haven’t really been touched upon at all yet, and we still need to get answers about what went down in the first three arcs. I guess they might not each get their own full answer arcs, but there’s still only so much time left.

I guess it’s entirely possible that they just won’t bother explaining everything, especially in terms of backstory stuff, but that’s feel kinda disappointing. So I’d want a second season if only just to give them more time to go over the answers.

The fact that they’re still not doing much of anything with Takano and Tomitake also still makes me wonder even more if they’re going to bother getting into their whole deal in Gou, and all the exposition that would require. If we don’t get a second season then it really doesn’t feel like there’d be enough time for all that, on top of everything else that needs to be explained.

But I still think that Takano’s role in this is fundamentally different to the VN, so I think they’ll just side-step that whole issue entirely. I dunno if she’ll be completely irrelevant, but her role might require a lot less time spent on her backstory and development than what happened in the VN.

Though really at this point it seems pretty obvious that the whole climax and end goal of Gou is gonna be totally different to the VN, so I doubt they’re just gonna speedrun the events of Matsuribayashi in the last arc or something. If anything, the Akasaka loop kinda felt like an intentional hint toward the idea that he’s not going to be Rika’s savior again like in the VN, so the whole final arc will probably be different.

I don’t think anyone can say for sure how this will all end, but if this really is some kind of Bern origin story, then I think it’ll end with Rika giving into despair. Or maybe if I’m right about the meta framing of Gou as a whole, Rika will figure out that this is all just fiction, and she’ll just return to the ‘real world’ like when you realize that you’re dreaming and it makes you wake up. Which might be a kinda unsatisfying way to end this, but I’d be very surprised if we get a genuinely happy ending out of this.

Also, if this is setting up for some kind of Umineko anime remake, then it might make a lot more sense for this to have an abrupt and ‘inconclusive’ ending. Which would definitely piss a lot of people off, but since I really want an Umineko anime remake I’d be happy about it, lol.

Anyway, another thing I wanna mention is that this episode is really highlighting how we just haven’t really gotten definitive proof yet about if Rika actually knows about Takano and the GHD and whatnot. The whole concept of this seemingly unwinnable loop feels kinda strange when we haven’t even seen her do anything about Takano. And the idea that she’s just been doing that off-screen is feeling more and more unsatisfying as time goes on. But either way, if she knows that Takano’s behind everything, then surely that should give her a concrete goal to try and overcome. And it’s not like the events of each loop thus far necessarily contradict the idea of Takano being behind it all again [even though I think she isn’t], since Rika should know about Takano’s ability to artificially push people to go L5. She should also know that Takano’s the one who pushes the whole parasite idea onto people, like Rena in Tsumihoroboshi.

This still might just be iffy writing caused by Gou trying to have it’s cake and eat it too by getting into Rika’s POV without spoiling that whole plot point for new fans, but that’d just kinda suck at this point. I much prefer the idea that this version of Rika doesn’t actually know what’s going on with Takano, since it’d explain her apparent passivity towards her, and why she seems to be at a complete loss for what to do in these loops.

Also, on the whole note of the potential Umineko connections, this whole episode really reminded me of ep5 of Umineko, where Lambda sets up a ‘game without love’ where she violates the heart of the story while still having everyone do things that they’re technically capable of doing. It kinda feels like the mastermind is really just treating this like a game where their goal is to mentally break down Rika, and they’re messing around with exploiting as many different pieces as possible to see what they can do. It also reminds me of Bern saying at the end of Matsuribayashi that she wanted to go find a fragment where Akasaka went evil, lol. In general it just has a very ‘witch-y’ sort of vibe to it, in terms of the apparent sadism and random cruelty.

Bern also spent all of Umineko ep7 going out of her way to tear out the guts of the story for the sake of cruelty, so it’s pretty fitting that this sort of thing is happening to Rika here, lol.

Anyway, I really don’t know what to expect from the rest of this arc, let alone the next one, but I’m still enjoying this a whole lot.

[jikyuuryoku]

i asked:

“How about you come and sleep in my bed? I’ll watch over you while you fall asleep, I promise.” (ayy lmao gimme that s1 goodness)

@dxving​ / @petrichaxx​ replied:

Sleep, for Rin, was, is, and forever will be a roulette – will he find peace, or will terror seize his mind once more? Thankfully, nightmares seem less common with age – and effort. He keeps them at bay with exhausting workouts, pushing himself to the limit in the pool day in and day out, with books about nutrition, and with studying the regimens of previous Olympians in the hopes those will shape his unconscious. If he could force his pain down, if he could fill his mind and memory with victory and success, maybe he could keep those unsavory ideas at bay.

Yet, time after time, traumatic memories trample every precaution he’s taken.

The elder jolts straight upright, trembling, gasping for breath; vaguely, he hears movement, a weight shifting above him. The room seems unfamiliar; he’s disoriented for the moment. He’s trapped in the memories of his younger self, trying to understand why he’s not in his childhood bedroom and instead in a cramped, dual-desked dormitory. Mind tries to find the present, but he’s unforgivingly stuck. A dull noise in the background echos, beginning to become more clear, before finally he’s able to register there’s a voice bringing him back; a quiet, timid Rin-senpai? that isn’t quite able to pull his eyes from his covers.

It’s not until Nitori slowly sets a hand down on his bed, pressing into the sheets and leaning over to find his gaze that he gets a reaction – seeming as if he’s trying to draw Rin’s attention without startling the elder; as if he thinks the shark himself is afraid. Perhaps it isn’t the worst idea; Rin turns after another minute, tentatively meeting cerulean hues. A crack of thunder; he’d be embarrassed at how he flinched, if he was in a normal mindset.

( Of course it’s storming. )

Nitori’s voice is gentle and soothing, even if Rin wouldn’t admit it out loud. He’s kind and calm; always eager to offer protection against the tempest outside (or the one in Rin’s mind). That’s what he gives the elder – a reprieve. It’s what he provides time and time again, in compliments, in conversation, in an unapologetic companionship that makes Rin wonder (in rare moments such as this) why someone so selfless chooses to seek out someone like him.

He isn’t thinking straight – that’s his excuse. He’s exhausted and anxious and just wants to be ready to practice for his upcoming race– another. His bed feels gross, sheets damp from how he’d sweat through them; his shirt sticks to his form with every movement. He can’t rest here comfortably. That settles things.

In a move nothing short of shocking, he accepts. It’s nothing flashy, not the overconfidence he normally exudes – he’s barely half himself, still hasn’t said a word. Even his agreement comes in the form of nothing but a silent nod, looking through Ai rather than at him. He just needs a nap, is all; it’s the easiest way of calibrating his emotions, other than swimming (though the remaining nausea makes that seem like a bad idea).

Ai is the first to move, probably heading back up the ladder to shift things in his bed. Papers, from the sound of it – maybe he was studying, or trying to do homework up there? Figures. Rin takes a moment to consider his options. He’s cooled down, but his shirt is still damp, especially along his back. Best case scenario he could run down to the shared showers to rinse off, but an unnecessary interaction with another, in his state, isn’t something he desires right now. At least Ai knows when to back off, easily picking up cues to a flaring temper or unfriendly body language others may miss or ignore. What if he ran into Seijuuro? Ugh.

He doesn’t feel like leaving now anyway; stepping out of bed, padding along the carpet, he shucks his damp shirt into his dirty laundry and grabs a fresh tank from the closet. If nothing else, he wanted to be dry. He lets out a sigh, as if a new breath will refresh his brain and prevent the same nightmare from rearing in this go-round. A moment lingering, rubbing his arm as if trying to reassure himself, before he turns to find the duckling. Not that it’s hard in their limited space.

“You don’t… you don’t have to stay.” He offers, sounding entirely unconvincing. The hesitation in his voice is clearer than he’d like. “–if you were going to meetup for your studygroup. Unless–” And he almost sounds hopeful, normal indifference breaking under the pressure of a cold, dark room and the resounding clap of thunder behind the window. “–you have the time, then….I’d prefer you stay, I guess.”

Ai knew the signs for Rin’s hard, tumultuous nights almost as well as he knew his study material: could identify the shaking of the bed as Rin tosses and turns, and the way he seems to moan and groan in his sleep in a way that is so indicative of pain it makes Ai’s heart ache. Ai thinks there’s a correlation with the weather outside, too; he can easily guess that if lightning and thunder overtake the night sky, Rin is likely in a state of compromise.

As well, he knew it wasn’t just nightmares. Ai knew that sometimes, Rin couldn’t sleep at all; his anxiety and trauma would manifest itself so potently he remains awake. Ai can recall nights where their dorm door opened and closed multiple times with Rin leaving the room, either to go on an extended jog, or to take an extended shower, or to swim more laps. Anything to stop his racing thoughts, Ai would think.

Ai was familiar with all of it - it’s why, for him,. it’s a no brainer to at least try and help. Most nights he’d climb down to the bottom bunk and simply sit at Rin’s bedside, trying to wake him up and calm him down. Ai himself wasn’t too fond of thunder and lightning; he had a child-like fear of it, and it often kept him up late at night, too. It’s why Rin would find study material on Ai’s bunk; he couldn’t sleep, either. Not for want of a peaceful mind, but for want of a distraction until the weather passes.

He’s honestly a little surprised Rin takes him up on his offer; though they’ve grown a little closer over the past few months, and though Ai has been there for Rin on countless nights, it seemed almost too intimate to even suggest. But it wasn’t done on a whim; Ai can recall Rin mentioning the way he and his sister would huddle together during nights where they couldn’t sleep as kids. It wasn’t the same, but...

But. Ai knew he had to help, and knew he had to try.

He lets Rin climb up the bunk first, and Ai is mindful to go into his closet to pull out a sports rag; he also collects Rin’s phone off the bottom bunk. Once back up top, he sets the rag and phone within reaching distance for Rin. Wonders if maybe he should have gotten him a glass of water, too. He waits until Rin’s settled in to do the same; faces him, and if Ai’s heart thrums between their proximity, he can’t hear it or feel it under the mounting feelings of worry and concern and compassion. Ai shakes his head, and sits back up again to make good on his word, tossing a book, a pen, and a few notebooks off from his bed down onto the floor below; he’d deal with them later, “No, I wasn’t.” His smile is a bit self-conscious as he turns back to Rin, “Actually, I couldn’t sleep either. I was studying to try and pass the time.” 

Ai lays back down, and shifts closer. Contemplates something for a moment, seemingly, before resolutely shifting closer again, with a hand coming to the back of Rin’s head, urging him against Ai’s chest. It was protective; close, caring, and maybe overstepping boundaries. And he has a mind to apologize for even closing that space, but still, he thinks to images of Rin and Gou as children-- and thinks to memories of himself as a kid, scared of the lightning and burying his face in his dog’s fur to try and hide from it. It wasn’t the same, but.

But. He knew he had to try.

“Were you having a nightmare?” he finally asks; not for an answer, Ai obviously knows the answer. But - as he does every time he asks Rin - he hopes it’ll help Rin talk out his thoughts, a little. Maybe to help them stop circulating inside his head.

[bargain-bincent]

Trust System Changes

Are they worth running now?

Hello! So, this is a side little entry to my ‘Road to Amaro’ and will be posted on my ooc blog, because I feel like I don’t want to flood my ic blog with boring numbers.  I noticed that with the most recent update they changed the amount of exp that you earn for your allies in the trust system. 

Previously, Holminster Switch would net you 2,500,000 XP per run for your NPCs and require 13,881,000 exp to go from 71 to 72 and 15,556,000 XP to go from 72-73. Which would require you to run twelve runs of Holminster to get them to the point of running Dohn Mheg.

With the changes, you now net 6,250,000 XP per run, putting you at about five runs needed for your NPCs to hit 73 and be ready for the next duty.

Meanwhile, as a player it takes approximately four runs to reach a level. Give or take. Let’s just say to be on the safe side, it takes five. This puts us at ten runs needed to get from 71-73. Now, two runs don’t seem like a big extra deal, but right now I am averaging about 35 minutes a run through switch with trust. So that would be an extra hour. That and two extra runs for me, is like pulling teeth.

Now, there are small ways to speed them up a little, and I mean SMALL! You can force a few double pulls, at least as a dps. As a tank it would come down to how much you trust the healing NPC and as a healer, how much you trust your skills. I have only done Holminster so far, so I only really know the spots you can force there, but most of the pulls until after Tesleen, the Forgiven , can be double pulled. At level 72 DRG (And I am not that good of a DRG) and my team, (Thancred, Urianger, and Y’stola. I was able to take the first three pulls together, no problem. You do have to be careful and leash the wolves back to Thancred before grabbing the scorpions. The next pull, DO NO TRY to pull all three, it will not work. I attempted this twice for science, once at 71 and again at 73, it doesn’t end well. Maybe with Alphinaud, but absolutely not with Urianger! Make this two separate pulls, the bear and the wolves, and then the scorpions.  After Forgiven Dissonance, the pulls are all double and they are forced to be nothing more. You have to wait for the bull to break the fence to move on. At this point, I found out that you can easily have your NPCs take on two pulls while you AFK. I was curious to see if they could handle it. Of course, it takes them a lot longer solo, but if for some reason you needed to run AFK, they won’t complain! Small side note to bring up. Your NPCs can absolutely clear the pulls after Tesleen, it takes them about eight minutes to do so. I let them handle it all on their own for research while I was working on this post. Do keep in mind, however, the game will only allow you up to ten minutes of inactivity in a duty before it boots you. But if you ever need a prime longer AFK moment, this would be it. My only other advice to speed up the process a little bit is to use Limit Break every boss fight. Embrace your inner Alisaie and slam that button at the earliest, and safest, moments. All of the numbers below were gathered while having the FC XP buff and a food buff. Furthermore, I want to point out that this data was gathered while I was playing DRG. I am a super new DRG so I am still learning things, my rotation and such may not be optimal, so times might be able to be shorter for you. Also, keep in mind that these are the times for running Holminster. The other duties may take more or even less time, depending on the pulls you can manage. I will consider posting little pull guides for each duty as I move through and find out what my NPCs are capable of. Going back to the fact that it takes me approximately 35 minutes per duty, if this trend would to keep going through out, as well as taking about 4-5 duties to hit a level. This would put you at about two and a half hours per level, or five to pull through each duty. Putting it at about 22.5 hours to level from 71-80 per DPS class.  Now to point out how those two extra runs before would really slow you down. This would put you at about 7 hours per every two levels, and at a grand total of about 31.5 hours total.  Again, I don’t have the numbers for tank or healer, because I am currently leveling Dragoon. I don’t have either tank or a healer at 71 so once I get WAR and SCH up I can maybe redo this, or update it to have the proper numbers. So, wrapping up. As a DPS I /do/ think that Trusts are now worth it. With the fact that your NPCs out level you, and you won’t have to grind out a few extra duties per level. I also find it convenient for those who may have to AFK from time to time due to children or life in general.  It also allows you time to learn a class you might have boosted, without having to worry about others. I honestly did this with tanking as I leveled through Shadowbringers. I love what the trust system has to offer and adore the NPCs enough to not entirely hate them. Will I grind all the way to 80 with just them. No. Because Daily Roulettes are a thing, as well as I have been doing Stormblood Beast Tribes to break things up. Will I use it to push most of my levels. Yes, absolutely. I am excited for this small change to the system, and the opportunity it can offer.

[ithaerielbrenagh]

OoC: Moment of minor irritation and realization (FFXIV)

Apologies as I'm going to both step up onto my soapbox a moment because I feel the need to get this out of my system, and then promptly apologise.

Apologies as this will likely be long and its coming off my phone so I'm not able to under the cut. I'm still a bit upset and as I said I'd like to get it out of my system.

Last night I was running a buddy through Duty Roulette: Leveling to help him level up his lancer, (currently his only complaint is lack of AoE at low levels).

Before I get into this let me paint the following. I main tank. Before you ask which, the answer is all, with Dark Knight being my personal favorite for main tanking and a slow love developing for gunbreaker as off tanking. I've paladin, warrior, dark knight at level 70. Gunbreaker at 68 as of last night. I've been tanking since vanilla World of Warcraft. I've now been tanking in FFXIV since late April. I've gotten comfortable with it, know most of the fights by heart, and have grown from all nerves and anxiety to absolute adoration for tanking in this marvelous game.

So pray, let me continue. As I said, last night I was helping a dear friend @gereionkingston level his lancer class. Gere is an awesome guy who usually mains either Black Mage, Machinists, or at this point Dancer. He is beyond familiar with the DPS role and is fantastic as my source of info or refresher when going into a fight I either don't know, or can't remember.

To continue, we enter in, and find our two companions, a conjurer and pugilist, are both fresh characters, and it soon becomes apparent also new to the game itself. I've been blessed with supportive groups and believe in paying it forward, so I'm determined to try to make this a fun run for them, because your first foray into an FFXIV dungeon should feel special, amazing, and be a grand time.

It starts off as such, the pugilist runs off ahead, pulls three groups of mobs, and nearly kills us all. It's fine, these things happen. I politely remind them to please stay behind me as I'd rather not have anyone die. This happens two more times. Again, we endure, both Gere and I keep the party alive...our healer...well...decided he's going to dps instead of heal.

Mind you, these are fresh players, mistakes are made, and we try to correct them. I once again politely ask that they stay behind me and allow me to pull, to keep the pace constant.

I'm not sure what happened but we reach the half way point, and the healer decides, pull all the things, mind you the healer, not the dps, not Gere, not myself, the Healer. He proceeds to pull every mob in the room. All of them, we barely survive, he rushes the boss and begins attacking, again we barely survive, the pugilist who's been following the healers lead follows suit and dies, both times. We kill the boss, the pugilist comes back, the healer starts to run off. I politely ask the following:

"Excuse me but can the two of you wait a tick? I feel we need to have a brief discussion."

In the time I've managed to type this, they've pulled approximately every mob from here to the third boss, killed themselves and start to do it again.

It's at this point I begin to lose my temper. I ask Gere to hold off running to their aid because at this point we really need to have a talk. What the conjurer and pugilist are doing is unacceptable, if it continues it will be a bad habit and get them removed from groups.

They die again, and I finally managed to get their attention:

"Ah wonderful, now that you've apparently learned your lesson, maybe we can talk a bit."

Healer: "Hello?!?"

Me: "Apologies, I know you're both new to this, but the Tank, sets the pace for the pulls. Not the healer, not the dps. Trust me to not pull too much for you to heals or deal with."

Healer: "Not my fault. I can heal you. And I get confused when the LEVEL 18 tank noob is standing still and pulling slow af. So I decided I'll do the pulls. Why would I listen to a level 18 fucking noob?"

Me: "Because the level 18 tank is actually a level 68 Gunbreaker, who's also a level 70 paladin, dark knight, and warrior. And because the dungeons scale. Which I assume, given you yourself are new to this, you didn't know."

Healer: "Fuck you, you pull too slow, and are a fucking noob."

It is at this point we are about 30 seconds of trash fight away from the boss. Gere and I look at each other, nod, and then leave the group. I'd rather not deal with a, and forgive the phrase, toxic person who is too egotistical to admit fault, and too ignorant to learn. Every mass pull he and the DPS did nearly got us killed. We survived because Gere and I know how to manage our respective classes, how to use the role abilities, and know enough about spacing and pacing and enemy rotation to know what to prioritize in these cases. I'm not proud of it, I hate doing things like this, but Gere is right, sometimes it the only way to make someone learn.

So, we wait thirty minutes, he can tell I'm upset, as it's extremely rare for me to drop a group, I've been tanking for years, usually I push on through with a smile and joking nature to make even the wipes fun and something we can all joke and laugh about. I can count on one hand the number of times I've done this in all the years I've tanked.

Gere this time decides to try his hand at Astrologian, does amazing by the way, and we get through it with a ton of laughs. We have a lovely rogue and brilliant pugilist. It was a fun run...

However we discovered something that makes me feel like shite... apparently, Gunbreaker's second button in it's set up rotation is a bit of a self heal. At love levels where my health is about 748...it restores about 40 hp every time it hits. I've never noticed this because I get really involved in the fights. Gere points this out to me and begins laughing his arse off. He actually counted the number of times he had to use a heal. 13 times, for the entire dungeon. And only on me. The two of us couldn't stop laughing at this. But then I thought, oh...shite...maybe that's why the healer last time was just dpsing and mass pulling and shite. If that's the case and you're reading this man, I'm sorry, next time just ask me to pull more, given you were new I was trying to make it a fun and easy time for you. I still feel shitty about dropping a group. I don't make a habit of doing so.

I just...look I'm still new to this community, I'll admit I'm still learning, and I like the takes of some of the vets or my fellow tanks and healers on this. Was I too harsh, what should I have done differently, I just...I want to give back to this community and make this a wonderful experience for everyone just like it's been for me. Please if you've suggestions or comments let me know. I want to do better.

Sincerely,

Ith

[jukemaid]

some whm tips from personal experience that may or may not be helpful

1. medica is your friend. use medica. it has 300 heal potency compared to the 200 of medica 2, and while it lacks the delicious party-wide regen, it offers less mp cost and greater outright healing in a pinch. especially helpful for healing after stacking for shared damage. use it

2. spamming holy might be satisfying at times but it severely drains your mp and the damage only starts at 200 and gets lower with each affected mob hit. time it for a clever stun but don’t use it strictly for dps bc you won’t be doing a whole lot when you could be using stone + aero for way more total damage, at way less mp cost.

3. if you don’t have a macro for quickcast + raise, make it immediately. you’ll rarely ever need to use quickcast for casting otherwise and getting party members back up in seconds is crucial. you’ll be raising a lot in endgame content and saving any time towards that is vital, and i tell you what it feels like fucking shit when you waste the quickcast cd for a heal and then someone bites it right after.

3 1/2: if your macro says some snarky ass comment about people owing you mp or mocking them for dying: fuck you. it’s incredibly annoying to see spammed for how often you’ll end up needing to raise, not to mention wholly unnecessary and honestly just assholeish. you aren’t clever for being the 673956th person doing that exact thing in your macro and healers trying to coordinate with you do not appreciate having to read through your little remark when we just need to know who’s getting raised so we can prepare accordingly.

4. if you frequently use cure 3, stop that.

5. cure 3 is like this grenade aoe heal where you toss it on the targeted person and it aoe heals from there. there’s better ways of healing than that for less mp and cast time. you really don’t ever need cure 3. it’s there tho... just in case.......

6. regen is your best friend. medica 2 + regen + asylum will keep your dudes up so you can dps easier. tanks should always have the regen on them and you will notice the difference when they do not. time and place your heal bubble asylum where your tank hunkers down for the fight after they’ve pulled and positioned everything. don’t just immediately drop it into a group of mobs and don’t drop it until the tank’s completely stopped to hold aggro bc the tank will move out of it and you’ll have wasted that cd. and i do this still and it sucks every time.

7. never assume everyone knows what they’re doing. this doesn’t mean lecture anyone or stroke your ego; this means you don’t get to fuck around bc you think you’re hot shit and you definitely don’t have the right to be upset with people you roulette with for not flawlessly managing the entire run. tanks can’t learn to tank properly if they die bc you assumed they would be fine and overlooked red flags of them not being able to stay up. you’ll know if they die bc of you or their own actions, and it should never be because you weren’t staying on top of shit (and sometimes it will be your fault for whatever reason and you gotta fuckin deal with that too).

8. if you roulette as a healer for the instant queue but have no intention of actually being a heal role properly fuck you also.

[mezzopurrloin]

Mezzo Plays Final Fantasy X-2: Part 9

The Gullwings are outfitted in the Syndicate uniforms. It's time to take back what's theirs.

Let's head to Guadosalam.

The goons at the door let them in without any trouble at all.

Wait, this used to be Seymour's manor. It even still has the picture of him on the wall.

And why is Nooj here?

Well, that explains that.

Seems Leblanc has a thing for Nooj. Well, it's not like I can blame her. He is one of The Hot Guys after all.

Logos and Ormi note the change in their boss's mood, and order Yuna to help her relieve some tension.

Her personal chambers are lavishly decorated, and there's a statue of Nooj here too. Leblanc asks Yuna to get to work.

Well, this is awkward.

You have to go hunting around for that sweet spot, with the colors getting warmer as you approach. Once you find it, Leblanc lets out some rather sensual moans. If she's not satisfied by the end, she asks Yuna to do it again.

After you do, she mumbles something about Nooj and then falls asleep.

Apparently so.

Apparently she had something to tell everyone, but now it'll have to wait until she wakes up. Logos and Ormi tell Yuna to check and make sure the secret passage is working. Isn't that convenient.

Welp, it is. After Paine says "the boss", the other two point it out, and they realize they've been wearing the uniforms too long.

Uh oh. Busted.

Yes, we're really fighting this guy again. However, this time he has a new trick.

Special attack: Huggles? It seems a bit weird, but okay. This is actually a highly dangerous move where he grabs a Gullwing and crushes her in his grip for a 3-hit high damage attack. It's still not enough to save him, though.

In a spare room we can find Leblanc's old perfume. It's actually a pretty nice accessory that restores HP and MP as you walk.

In another room we find a sphere. It's definitely not the half sphere that was stolen.

The voices on the recording are clearly Logos and Ormi, but where is this? What is the Crimson Squad? And why are they all dead?

Well, not all of them. Seems there were four survivors. How very mysterious.

You guys just don't give up, do you?

Logos has a new trick too. Russian Roulette fires a bullet that causes a random status effect. If you're really unlucky, you might end up getting an instant death shot to the face. Special dresspheres really help to mitigate the effect.

They were soon defeated yet again.

As they flee, they activate the traps.

Yikes! Watch your step, Yuna.

Duck into a nearby alcove and the wall passes by harmlessly.

And it reveals the hidden panel behind it. We have to deactivate the three security overrides before it can be accessed. Confusingly, one of them requires that you be chased by the wall in order to reach it.

This looks like a good place to hide a sphere.

Oh, so that's why they stole the broken one.

And look who shows up.

Yep, it's all three this time, and Leblanc has yet another new trick. She opens with Not-So-Mighty-Guard to cast Protect, Shell, Regen, and Haste on her whole side. Since the Gullwings don't have a dispelling move handy, this became real obnoxious.

And she now has a team attack. She starts by using her fan to throw the Gullwings into a tornado...

Then Logos fires a hail of bullets into it...

Followed by Ormi crashing down for the finishing blow. Ouch.

Still, nothing that a good use of a special dressphere can't handle.

She surrenders after being defeated.

It's more footage of Vegnagun.

That explains what Nooj was doing here, and why he said he now knew the colossus' location.

Nooj has gone to Bevelle to destroy it, and she's coming with.

And she thinks Yuna should help out.

"Sin is gone. The Calm is here. I thought our peaceful days would never end. The Eternal Calm. I really believed it would last forever...until now. I realized how fragile it can be."

She agrees, and the Gullwings let Leblanc's crew ride on their airship.

Next stop: Bevelle.

She really is. She gasps in shock at the accusation.

Some New Yevon soldiers are already at the Highbridge, and they're not happy to see them. Thankfully, they're pretty easy to deal with.

Time to get this raid started. The plan: Find the praetor of New Yevon, and make him lead them to Vegnagun.

You can't leave or return to the airship from here, so Barkeep showed up to make sure you still have access to the Gullstore. That's awfully nice of him.

Seems there's some chaos in the streets. No one knows what's going on.

The praetor is missing? Well, I guess we'll just have to check the underground ourselves.

A secret passage uncovers a switch that moves the central lift downward.

Okay, wait just a second. You mean I could have walked on these things the whole time instead of bothering with the puzzle here from the last game? That's just not fair.

Why are there fiends here? That's even more mysterious.

A few fiends are no match for the Gullwings.

Outside the chamber of the fayth, we get a welcome save point, plus Barkeep's shop again.

Where the fayth once stood is a tunnel leading downwards. The only thing to do is jump down and head inside.

Whoa. Who knew all this was hiding down here?

An alarm goes off as Yuna's group enters. Leblanc: "I don't take orders!"

But she's kind of glad she's guarding the exit while the Gullwings proceed onward.

Yuna grinds a chain down to the center platform.

The security system here consists of six towers. The three with blue lights by their entrance need to be activated, and each will summon machina once we've done so.

As each lock is disengaged, another platform moves into place.

For the final lock, we get to meet this boss again. Unlike the X-1 version, it doesn't attack with its arms, possibly because they're embedded into the force field floor. It mainly casts spells, including Bio, Demi, Drain, and Death.

A little annoying, but no big deal.

Now we can head to the labyrinth below.

Rikku realizes there's something familiar about this room.

"There's a connection. Everything is connected."

We have to navigate a maze of narrow tunnels next. It can be pretty annoying.

But there's something at the end that makes it worth the trouble. Dark Knight has high HP, attack power, and access to forbidden dark magic. All Dark Knights start out with Darkness, which sacrifices some HP to damage all enemies. They can also learn plenty of arcane spells like Demi, Bio, and Drain.

A short distance away, the girls meet Baralai, the praetor of New Yevon and the last of The Hot Guys.

He knows it must not be touched, and is willing to risk everything to defend it from the likes of Nooj or anyone else.

As it so happens, that includes the Gullwings too. He can deal some heavy blows with his staff, and has Looming Glacier, an attack that inflicts Stop, halting that character's movement completely. He also has the Drill Shot technique, which deals minor ranged damage. Bizarrely, this can be learned as a Blue Bullet.

It's a tough fight, but eventually he goes down. If he manages to defeat you, he says "Sorry..." as the last Gullwing falls.

"With so many things woven together... what could be waiting where the threads meet?"

Vegnagun's not here. It looks like someone else has already made off with it. The Gullwings take a closer look when...

Oh no.

"Why is this happening? I wish you were here with me."

Yuna attempts to speak to him, but it's no use.

Paine: "Fight! You have to!"

The music for this battle is Yuna's Ballad, a sad piano version of Yuna's theme.

Yuna had hoped never to fight a dear friend again, but there's nothing that can be done for him. He still has Impulse to blast the whole field, much like he did in X-1. Eventually, he'll start counting down from 5. And when it hits 1, you can guess what happens...

Yep. They get blasted by a Mega Flare.

Full Throttle was able to tank Bahamut's hits quite well as it slowly ground down his massive HP.

There really was no other choice.

Seems whoever stole Vegnagun used it to blast away the wall and escape.

Leblanc makes sure to record everything.

"This isn't how it was supposed to be. The Eternal Calm... I can feel it crumbling, falling away from beneath our feet."

Thus ends the second chapter of Yuna's story.

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: 2019 Free Agency

The wise words of noted NHL insider Elliotte Friedman go “When you’re drowning in this league other teams don’t throw you a life jacket, they throw you an anchor.” In spite of a handful of decent to great players getting traded in the last few weeks for peanuts, generally speaking it’s very hard to pull off a trade that is a lopsided win for your team. Free Agency is worse. Free Agency is like opening a septic tank looking for a diamond ring and jumping in expecting not to get covered in shit. The last big Free Agency signing the Sabres pulled off was Kyle Okposo. All the off-ice stuff you want to say about the Sex Man aside: that contract sucks ass. It was bad the moment it was signed. That’s what most free agency signings are like. Jason Botterill approaches this offseason publicly saying he wants to focus more on the trade avenue. That’s smart. I’d prefer he not give out too much money in free agency like his predecessor did with Okposo. However we are a fanbase that has run out of patience eight years out of the playoffs. Significant roster moves are paramount right now. How we got here is actually pretty simple. The tank worked (let’s not relitigate it) and rebuild 1.0 was accelerated by Tim Murray with the Ryan O’Reilly and Evander Kane signings at the cost of a wave of prospects and picks. Rebuild 1.0 failed. That failed initial rebuild was what brought Kyle Okposo here as a free agent. He’s now our very own salary cap albatross circling in the skies above the nearly dead Buffalo Sabres that were so stripped down in the tank they’re aimless even with some talent on the roster. We’ve all run out of patience. Rebuild 2.0 under Jason Botterill has gone better but, and this is a big but, the second half collapse of last season was decisive. It ended Phil Housley’s coaching career in Buffalo, and it burned a lot of the fan goodwill Jason Botterill had held onto through the legendarily bad season that earned us Rasmus Dahlin. Another bad season probably costs Botterill his job. This is the situation that gave birth to the buzzword of Sabres twitter: “Roster Surgery”. Bill Schake analyzed it best. Chad DeDominicis’ right hand man essentially said roster surgery is a great way to put it because there is so few tradeable assets left on this team it will take some cunning, creative moves to make real change. It’s truly surgery of the roster because its hard. It’s going to be harder than it’s ever been in the Eichel Era this summer to make this team look competitive past Valentine’s Day. So what changes do we have to talk about as we enter the long, dull portion of the NHL hockey calendar?

Well… Rasmus Ristolainen was the one big tradeable asset I was alluding to… and this past weekend… the Sabres signed Marcus Johansson. Ok so, the trade we’ve been waiting for didn’t happen before the posting of this article. Lord knows it will after this goes up and I’ll have to wait until the Offseason Retrospective to write about it. But let’s not poo-poo a great signing just because it’s not a trade we want. In fact, this specific blog is called 2019 Free Agency so let’s talk about Free Agents for a bit. Marcus Johansson, apart from adding yet another Swede to one of the most swede-heavy rosters in the National Hockey League, adds much needed left-wing depth to the top six. He’s considered a veteran at 28 and has only gotten to twenty goals twice in his nine seasons in the NHL. Nonetheless he was kind of the best guy left to add to the wing for the Sabres once July 1st came and went with pretty much only AHL-level moves. Johansson is defensively responsible and gets those zone entries which is something this team needs guys not named Jack Eichel to do better. Also he is apparently known for his versatility. He hasn’t played at center in recent seasons but that is a trick in the hat knowing Casey Mittelstadt may still not be ready for that 2C slot. That is the topic of some Sabres twitter debate but it seems rather immaterial right now to me with so much offseason left to go. The natural next topic of conversation here feels like it should be Jimmy Vesey and Colin Miller. However, those are technically trades although they were so well extracted they almost feel like signings. As I said earlier, I’m all for not giving up too much money in free agency, particularly if the team isn’t exactly “going for it” right now.  So how about I rattle off the free agent signings Jason Botterill did make on July 1st in spite of most of them being long shots for the NHL roster: Goalie Andrew Hammond, Center Curtis Lazar, defenseman John Gilmour, Jean-Sebastien Dea and sorta Dalton Smith (Smith was an Amerk this past season and was resigning technically). Those first two guys are the ones you’re thinking of. Andrew Hammond was the “Hamburgler” in Ottawa a few seasons ago and Curtis Lazar was the guy who ate a hamburger off the ice during that same craze. Just like the Ottawa Senators both guys have not been all that good since. Hammond is the better of the two and is probably going to platoon it in net with Ukko Pekka-Lukkonen in Rochester this coming season. Lazar… is worth a shot I guess. John Gilmour was one of the better AHL defensemen for the Hartford Wolfpack last season and I’m told has the best chance of the group to make the big club. The other two guys I just don’t feel any need to talk about. That feeling is not because they’re minor league moves: you dipsticks complaining about the Front Office making moves mostly helping Rochester need to cool your jets and count your blessings! Take a good hard long look at that Okposo contract and then shut up!

I spent most of last year’s Free Agency article ranting about the Ryan O’Reilly trade. After how his season ended this year that whole conversation turned into a toxic waste dump a la your local minor league baseball franchise announcing a Pride Night on Facebook to absolutely terrible comments from the most bigoted boomers on the internet. I won’t be addressing O’Reilly because I feel we’ve done that to death. This is Buffalo Hockey though so of course there is another retread conversation fraught with potential toxicity to talk about: Jimmy Vesey. First things first, don’t hold three years ago against him. That move for his negotiating rights was the kind of stupid but exciting move that Tim Murray specialized in. That saga doesn’t matter now because Vesey is an established pro now and if we’re being totally real here the players don’t care. Jack Eichel is just happy to have another BU guy, I’m sure! Bury those bad takes next to your Leino jerseys. Nothing screams top line about Vesey’s game so don’t pencil him in right next to Eichel as if it’s a sure thing. I’ve heard him called a middle six acquisition which I think is a great way to put it. We’ll see what Training Camp holds for him. Colin Miller on the other hand you can definitely pencil in as a top four pairing defenseman. He isn’t clearly the best line mate for Rasmus Dahlin but he’s a strong candidate. His trade to Buffalo for a 2021 second round pick and a 2022 fifth round pick is Botts picking on a team in cap jail more than what you might call highway robbery. It’s kinda funny that team in cap jail is the Vegas Golden Knights but after the 2018-2019 St. Louis Blues happened I’m sure they’ll be back in the Final next year. On this team Miller is second only to Rasmus Dahlin on the defensive depth chart and top of the right-handed side of that chart. There are four right-handed defenseman who are NHL likely now beyond Miller: Brandon Montour, Zach Bogosian and Rasmus Ristolainen. The talk about a Ristolainen trade went up naturally after the Miller trade and yes, I’m still on the fence about it. I don’t need him gone, especially with a new coach coming in, but I don’t want 2022 to get here and everyone in the league know he’s ass and end up trading him for a couple of late round picks. If we’re going to get a king’s ransom for Ristolainen, it’s probably this summer or the 2020 trade deadline at the absolute latest. By the time you’re reading this the deal may already be done. Oh, I forgot to mention the Miller trade pissed off Leafs fans! I love pissing off Leafs fans. Fuck them, right?

So there it is: New Look Sabres 2019 Free Agency! Well… how about some fun signings not related to the Sabres? Even after the Leafs traded away Nazem Kadri for a decent to good defenseman there are still smart folks up there saying the Leafs are worse man-for-man compared to last year. Delicious! Robin Lehner openly declared his displeasure for how the Islanders let him go before signing with the Chicago Blackhawks. That’s interesting on two levels because the Isles probably aren’t done this offseason in a big way and Lehner now goes from a great defensive team on Long Island to a very porous defensive system in Chicago. We’ll see how it works out for him; I kinda want him to succeed still but one way or another we’ll see if last season was a fluke or not. Tyler Ennis singed with the Ottawa Senators. That maybe the one weirder jersey to see him in then Toronto. Finally Mike Smith goes from Flames to Oilers while Cam Talbot goes from Oilers to Flames. Should we call that Albertan Roulette? Bringing back home to Buffalo please like, share and comment on this blog. Get that hype going for the new season. I won’t be writing much on this blog until late August, but I think that’s okay because we all could use a break from Hockey. Also if you really want my Sabres takes you can always get them @UttaroSports on twitter. In the meantime, enjoy the summer! Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. Linus Ullmark was among the Sabres who filed for salary arbitration. I could’ve used this PS to talk about Remi Elie electing for arbitration which is much more humorous but Ullmark is my boy, so I hope everything goes over well for him come these hearings in… August. Huh. Let the long summer begin!

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Saltiest Day

This ... is where I get salty.

Tumblr Salt: Tumblr, would you DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE FUCKING PORN SPAM ALREADY? I am fed up with this. I am fed up with finding someone else is following me and having to look at tits, ass or pussy in order to so much as report-and-block! And it’s never dick! EVER! I don’t really want either but seriously! Does anyone actually just, like, have a dash full of porn spam? Is that a thing? Is that worth it?

FFXIV Salt: I did some dungeons without my usual dungeon buddy last night, and will probably do so again tonight, and I will say this and only this: OH FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THE GODS THAT WALK THE EARTH AND CRAWL BENEATH, TANKS NEED TO WISE THE FUCK UP. We had a DRK in 50/60 roulette who insisted on tanking Einhandr in the middle of the room and DPS who didn’t move the explosives and it’s a stone miracle none of us died when badly-aimed flamethrower etc had the entire arena full of exploding. And then there was Hell’s Lid. Yes, DRK, I understand that you are nearly in full Ryumyaku. I understand this. I do. IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU DON’T NEED COOLDOWNS IN A LEVEL 70 DUNGEON. I swear, he used Darkest Night once, towards the end, and that was it for anything that even looked remotely like a cooldown. No Rampart. No Convalescence. No Shadow Wall. Nothing. Maybe you could manage it in, like, Kugane Castle or Ala Mhigo or something, but in Hell’s Lid? NO. HELL NO. And even if you can manage it, it’s not nice to the healer! Neither is deliberately taking more damage than necessary in general because “I’m a tank; I’m sick”. If your healer tells you that maybe standing in that one spot in the run to the final boss on Shisui would make life easier because I won’t have to deal with either the tank or the the fucking Samurai standing in bombfish AoE, the correct response is not, “That’s no fun”.

I refuse to tank for these idiots. Nope.

Fandom Salt: Okay. There’s a thing we need to get clear right the hell now: a thing doesn’t have to be beyond reproach for you to love it. It doesn’t. No. I’m sure Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey is phenomenal but you have to admit, having XP boosters in a game where places are level-locked is kind of skeevy. Yeah, sure, open world, you want to ‘encourage exploration’, but the whole point of sandbox games is the “play it your way” mentality, and there is something significantly wrong with paywalling the ability to play it your way if ‘your way’ is only doing the occasional sidequest because you want to find out how the story ends and find that extensive sidequesting takes away the narrative immediacy. This does not mean you have to attack anyone who can’t overlook the things you obviously can. The existence of the cash shop is a fact. Players finding themselves hard-pressed to focus predominantly to the story campaign without being locked out by level unless they do obsessive side-questing? Also a fact. You may love doing all the side-quests, but that is not the only way to play, nor should it be.

And this goes for all fandoms, by the way. If you love something for all that it is? Great. No, seriously, I am really happy that you have found this thing that you love. I love things too; honest! However, I’m not going to deny that things I love have problems, and I’m not going to invalidate other people’s experience just because I feel some insane need for the validation that comes from people agreeing with me. I’m sure there are people who agree with me about some of the cringey awful things I enjoy. I don’t need to get in the face of someone who didn’t enjoy what I did just because they don’t agree that it’s the best thing ever.

I’m not even asking for people to acknowledge the flaws in things they love. Just ignore it! Stop trying to force people to stop talking about their experience just because hearing less than high praise for the thing you love makes you uncomfortable! People who are flagging up issues aren’t trying to make everyone hate it or stop playing it - or if they are, they’re douchebags who need ignoring and possibly a smack in the mouth. They’re just flagging up why maybe they’re not going to be hugely enthused. Once again, I ask for people who seriously love something to stick with telling people why they love it, instead of telling people they’re wrong for not loving it.

Let people enjoy things. Let people not-enjoy things. If your enjoyment of a franchise requires that everyone around you enjoy it to the same degree as you do, or at least agree with you that it is perfection incarnate, then maybe you need to rethink your approach to fandom.

Summary Salt: I am not in a great mood. I am worried about friends, and worried about myself, and worried about the world at large, and I’m just really fed up with various amounts of bullshit. At least the FFXIV bullshit is mitigated by the fact that I can vent spleen about everything, mostly by making improbable monsters explode.

[angry-healers]

Looks like I’ve been given another tale! Let us begin…

Recently, my best friend has begun playing FFXIV again, after some time away (We’re talking shortly before Baelsar’s Wall was a thing.) As such, I’ve been making a big effort to help her get her main (BRD) up to 70 and get gear. Usually this has involved me either going as Healer or as Tank, just to get the queue (Healing I’m very well acquainted with, and after having leveled all 3 tanks to 70, I now feel a lot more comfortable doing it for a lot of things.) No big deal here. But now that she got to 70, she wanted to start leveling MCH. Great!

So we queue up for Leveling Roulette. I go as SCH, because I’ve found I really like it for this specific Roulette (just-in-case we get a really low level) We get The Aery and ended up with a WAR and a RDM. Nothing wrong with any of that. That is, until… I load in, and the gate immediately drops (Nobodys new, so no cutscene-viewing-prepare-time) And the tank sprintsoff without us. I have no time to Protect, let alone get either Fairy out. I have to swiftcast summon Eos, aetherflow, then immediately burn all 3 of them on using Lustrate to OH-SHIT-HEAL because they had pulled all 5 of those first mobs.

Which would be whatever if they had waited until after they were dead, for me to Protect but they then proceed to again, sprint off for the next pull. I quickly type out that they need to give me a second to AT LEAST get a Fairy out and Protect before they run off, before following them as fast as I can. I get no reply. At this point, I’ve caught up and trying to do everything I can to keep them alive, but it does not work. They die, and resurrect at the beginning. I then attempt to keep my friend and this poor RDM alive, to no avail. We 3 die, and return to the start ourselves. By this time, I take the opportunity to Aetherflow again, summon Eos, then Protect us 3, before we run back.

I’m livid at this point. I’m screaming all kinds of shit into me and my friend’s Linkshell. Once we arrive back with the tank, the most I’m able to do is quickly cast Adlo on them before they’re back to pulling the mobs again. We kill them, and I rush ahead to the first boss gate. I try to time my cast, to the tank arriving, to try and Protect them….Nope, they zip past me and out of range. We get through the boss with me raging on the inside. The Salt is in overdrive. We get through the boss, and AGAIN, they rush off, and proceed to pull both the tiny Dragonets, the 3rd mob, and then the 2 Drakes and the Dragon at the end. That kind of pull is terrible even when you have Protect on.

I’m so mad, that I say something again. “You’re seriously going to do these kinds of pulls and not even let me put Protect on you?” Still no reply. They pull the 5 Dragonets together, and in the middle of me healing them, I tell my friend privately “If they pull the next boss without letting me protect, I’m backing out of the gate, don’t go inside.”

Our dear Tank does just that. Without word, I step back out. My friend does as well. And without any vocalization, the RDM follows suit. They know what’s about to happen. The Tank is too late. The gate closes as they run to us. The boss kills them. They resurrect. And then they speak, for the first time. “Just kick me.” Hahaha! As if I’m going to reward you for being an absolute dickbag. I inform them that they need to be more considerate of other people, and that I had no time to prepare anything before they just rushed off. They tried to counter “Just Swiftcast+Protect” Oh no honey. I’m not wasting my swiftcast on the likes of you. You tried to play this game, I just played your game back at you.

They insist on just sitting there, waiting for us to kick. Even this random PUG RDM is giving them shit for “Not being nice to the healer.” and I informed them to “Leave and take your penalty.” And I’m salty enough to just sit there and wait. The RDM continues going “If I did this when healing in my static, my ass would have been booted a long time ago.” I and my friend are growing to like this little sassy mage. Before the Tank could continue their argument they had be prattling on about, the RDM initiates a votekick. Now, while I am saltier than the Dead Sea and WILL wait that timer out, I did not want to put this poor PUG and my friend through it, and accepted.  Vote passes, tank disappears from our lives. We wait for a bit, hoping for a new tank, nothing shows up. We continue to chat, and luckily someone from my Hunt Linkshell came to the rescue, and we finished the rest of the Aery with absolutely no problems.

You do not tell a healer to just “Swiftcast” just because you want to rush ahead. I, while tanking, have always been considerate of my healers. I let them Protect, summon their fairies, shield me, recover MP… because I know what it’s like for tanks like this dipshit to pull this kind of crap. And I will continue to do so. At the same time, continuing to also leave Tanks and DPS to die gruesome deaths for being shitheads.

[submitted by godofthestars ]