#that makes it so that they literally just keep going in circles

[raytoebiter]

xv. young blood spills tonight (written work)

It's a really, really beautiful fucking day. That's no doubt. Like, at all.

Why's that, you ask?

Well, simply because the endless sea above you is winking at the little organisms with their clear blue skies devoid of the usual cotton white. Then, there’s also the breeze that has been blessing (bugging) everyone's asses by flipping skirts and sending papers flying.

And well, yeah, those are the usual signs that your day is going to go well.

The biggest catch, whatsoever?

Shitty Asshole (Scaramouche) finally decided to stop acting like there was a permanent stick up his ass with every interaction he had with you.

Or in simpler terms, he stopped bothering you.

And hey, going by your definition, it really means that he hasn't called you names nor did he prolong a conversation by unabashedly acting like a fuckboy to grind your gears.

And, well. That? That's really fucking strange.

Some people (Hu tao) may suggest going to the person, and asking, “hey, are you okay?” considering that the asshole looks like he got hired by a shitty animation studio and was overworked during the weekdays, but considering how much he irritates you on a normal day?

You would dare say; hell, no. You don't have any damn plans in crossing the lines of rivalry just to reignite the spark of hatred that's holding your relationship with him. You also don't got any damn clue if he stopped simply because he felt guilty for pushing you down (which, going by your interactions with him on Monday, doesn't seem to be the case at all) nor if he stopped because his ginger friend is finally shooting his shot (which also doesn't seem to be the case since it's unreasonable as hell).

Either way, you'd rather enjoy this blissful predicament rather than finding the catalyst behind it.

(You completely, and resolutely ignore the gnawing itchy bitch inside of you that keeps moaning about the fact that you haven't had a proper argument with the Asshole since Monday.)

And besides, it's not like it's any of your business to pry on his personal problems, right?

So yeah, the angel on your shoulder (that annoyingly sounds a lot like Hu tao) can fuck off, and the beautiful day you spoke of can continue on without any grape-hair bothering you.

A giggle left your lips, the sound utterly high. If you were in the right state of mind, you would've been nauseated with how you're acting.

But.. right now? You’re quite literally bouncing off from, holy shit, I'm gonna go on a date with Childe—to—Oh my god, what am I even gonna wear!?—to—He’s such a flirt, god, he's so attractive–

—and then, finally—wait, hold on, I need to fulfill that damn request, fuck!

With that, disgust burns your esophagus and you're instantly upset, because fucking hell. You have to hang out with the guy that's been avoiding you for.. what? A fucking week? Just ‘cause of some shitty obscure reason?

Like, seriously, come on. Pushing you off the stairs is nothing but a damn stepping stone for your hatred to go onward, right? It's really nothing, so why the fuck is he doing this cold-shoulder thing?

You scoff as you turn on your phone, opening the contacts app, then scrolling until you see the infamous, “the insufferable asshole whom i shall not dare interact”.

God, the nickname was such a great idea.

The conversation that lit against your face brings some sort of annoying churning in your stomach, and you scowl at the feeling. Don't tell me I'm feeling sentimental about this shit.

Then, as you shudder from the prick needles poking at your skin, you instantly chuck the thought to the murkiest depths of your mind; hoping to never be seen again because, holy fuck.

Deeply sighing, you clicked on the call button, index finger lightly tapping and making circles on the counter as you pressed the phone to your ear.

The phone luckily rings until it makes a familiar clicking sound.

“What—”

“Shut up, where are yo—actually, no, scratch that. Come here early, like right now, ASAP.”

A notable silence on the other line. You briefly wonder if you should've let him finish, but then again, any pleasant business the other had could fucking wait.

“Yeah, no. I'm on my way to the entrance road, dipshit,” the other bit out after a moment. There's light sweeps of air in the background, and a fleeting thought occurs to you that the Asshole might be walking considering the lack of engine noise.

You cross your legs, squinting at the door because wasn't the entrance road atleast 3 miles away from the café? isn't that so far?

“...Don’t tell me the Grand Scaramouche is actually walking? Whatever happened to your Porsche, hm?”

Scaramouche simply chuckled, the sound reverberating through your spine, sending shudders along the way. You end up reaching for the blanket that, fuck, was currently perched on a damn desk chair a feet away from you.

For a few seconds, the words simply hung in the air.

You have half a mind to ask what the fuck was up with him, only to absolutely shrug it off as you finally snatch the blanket, fabric warm and just so fucking perfect, goddamnit.

It's then the Asshole finally makes a noise and—

“Well, might as well enjoy the shitty scenery before I quit, right?

Your entire world stops. Not in the sense like those shitty romantic scenes, of course, but in the sense that you just discovered something so fucking shocking that your world quite literally stops functioning for a second.

Because, seriously, what the ever-loving fuck?

Don't tell me I fucking did something wrong? I didn't even do anything. Like, shit. But didn't we just have a talk in monday? didn't we, like err, fucking.. glare at each other in wednesday? What the fuck is up with this guy? Is he jealous? Wait no, that's not really reasonable. Is it Childe? Is he avoiding me because Childe told him to just so he could shoot his shot? Wait, maybe it was the push—no, fuck, wait. What was all that talk about, ‘wanting to stay here a little bit fucking longer, then—

A snort. A really, ugly and mocking snort, “you do realize you've been muttering all that like a stupid ass ESPN commentator, right?”

And right now, as tempting as the idea of screaming, “what the fuck do you mean!? what was all that beating for then!?” to him really is: you, a beloved fuckin’ saint, instead, made the very difficult and extremely mature decision to not push your luck.

And that is to hang the fuck up, LMAO.

Might be an overreaction considering that you once chanted a whole ass pseudo-manifestation on Scaramouche quitting for some inexplicable reason but..

..It's an embarrassment to your dignity to admit—but, fuck it, anyway.

You'd rather take a barrel of a sailor’s vocabulary ebbing out of his mouth rather than this odd silent treatment he's been doing with you.

It's not that you missed him or anything—god, no—it’s just.. really anticlimactic considering that the only connection the two of you have is your rivalry with him; with all the shitty remarks he makes, the brawls you have with him, and the constant bickerings that happens on a daily basis now that you were coworkers.

At some point, you've always kept the notion of having a relationship more than just hatred in the damn Pandora’s box, simply because you couldn't really fathom something stable and promising with him, especially with the Asshole’s personality being equivalent to having a fire up your buttcrack.

Not only that, there's no fucking way that asshole is getting away after pushing you off down the stairs (1), doing a whole pep-talk about wanting to stay in the café longer (2), offhandedly showing up to the first day with his goddamn porsche whom you haven't seen in a few days now and you miss it so bad (3), get into a brawl only to have your beloved grandmother see it and force the two of you into a 30-minute lecture on why fighting brings bad benefits (4), and be one of the sole witnesses of you having a panic attack (5) only to fucking leave?

Well, atleast he's got the fucking balls.

Feeling the rush of adrenaline, you pocketed your phone, the initial plan of changing out of your clothes completely and utterly forgotten as you hurriedly scurried to put on your shoes and bursted out of the room.

Your grandmother furrowed her brow at the sight and sound of the door slamming against the wall, “dear? where are you headed to? why are you still in your clothes?”

You grabbed your necessities (phone, check, money, check, food.. nah, scratch that), and sent a reluctant glance at your confused grandmother, “can I take the shift off today? I.. need to catch up with a friend super, duper quickly and apparently the ass—ass.. something is leaving today. And they didn't even tell me about it so—”

“Alright, alright,” Your grandmother gently interjected, attention now fixated on whatever was on the counter, “you ought to tell me these earlier though, okay? I'll call Xiao to help out.”

A groan left your lips, hand already twisting the knob as you turned one last time, “tell him to not act like a stuck-up dick though!”

And distantly, “make sure to bring an umbrella!” along with the cracked laughter resonating in the air as you took off.

–

The wind howled through the trees, sending chills up your spine. Your grandmother was fucking right. You should've bought a damn umbrella.

You rubbed at your arms, slowly contemplating whether to go back to the café and just endure the agonizing back pain for a couple of days, or wait in the goddamn bus stop since most likely, the Asshole will probably go through there.

The latter is so, so fucking tempting, especially with how there's light rain dotting the pavement now—

Wait, light rain?

Panic strikes, you cautiously and hesitantly glanced up at the sky, as if it was some blood-curdling demon drooling at the sight of a frightened prey. Fuck, you should've known it was going to fucking rain cats and dogs the moment you saw the skies being abundantly clear as fuck.

And, holy shit. The café is atleast a mile away and the bus stop is still at least 3 blocks down, fuck wait, what do I do!? Should I call the Asshole? Surely, he brought a fucking umbrella, right? Hold on, shit. Fuck this motherfucking—

Just as you’re about to curse the entire fucking mother nature bloodline, the featherlight droplets tapping onto your shoulders turns into something much, much more overwhelmingly heavier, soaking your head then your clothes.

A fleeting thought of jumping off the river near the café crosses your mind, but you immediately shrug it off.

Eventually, an exasperated groan left your lips, gaze now facing forward as you stared at the foggy mist that now started to descend on your way. Your back still aching even after a few days doesn't help, and the heavy rain patting your clothes, gradually soaking it certainly doesn't fucking help either.

God, a sick leave on Monday doesn't really sound like a happy-go-lucky choice, doesn't it? Sighing, you reach for your skirt pockets, rummaging through until you find the familiar device.

Immediately just as you take it out, it gets drenched.

Am I really going stupid?

You annoyingly frowned, slightly lowering your body to cover it from the rain as you frantically pressed the power button and—

Fucking voila! It's fucking dead! The bright 0% winking at you like a delicious fucking meal on the table!

For several fucking seconds, you frigidly stood there, hand loosely clutched around the jackshit motherfucking device, with your nervous system going haywire, and the absolute urge to snap your spine in half coursing through your body like blood flow.

Oh, and there's also the impending chill down there that holy fuck, you're going to get sick.

What a fuck-up day this is. All because of that damn Ass—

Okay, that's too unreasonable. You did choose this, after all.

Still. You shouldn't have fucking gone out. Hell, you should've listened to your grandmother.

A crackle above snaps you out of your thoughts, all suddenly aware of the fabric clinging to your skin with the coldest motherfucking sensation, and you shudder, pocketing your phone.

Right. Shelter.

–

After squeaky shoes, near-death instances (one of which being almost tripping over a damn dead toad in the middle of the street), and the occasional middle fingers from Mother Nature, you finally reached the bus stop. And as per usual, it's devoid of the crowd that used to piss you off when you were a kid.

Muscle movement from all over the years has you reaching out to the bench and lightly dusting it, only to realize what you were doing, deadpanned, then reluctantly sat at the wet bench. An embarrassing squeak of your shoes bringing heat to your cheeks.

Years ago, these roads, now looking as if they've been deserted, used to be the lone passageway to Qingce Village. A small, remote town near the Inazuma borders. However, because there were a shit ton of animals running around bare-assed (take the shitty toad as an example), the officials or whatever had to force the roads to shut down.

Now, it's officially been recognized as a restricted area.

Well, not really. Considering that some kids can still do shitty hide n’ seek once in a while, but it's often discouraged.

Well, fuck the discouragement, you can do whatever you want. Besides, it's not like the Liyue Qixing actually gives two fucks about it, especially now that Qingce village looks more like an abandoned town rather than an actual village.

Though, some tourists and occasional students seem to like the idea of abandoned places, so they’re often seen in the area doing whatever.

Your eye twitches when a drop falls just right in front of your nose, thoughts immediately halted. Fuck, should you really wait here for Scaramouche to show up? The biting cold fabric against your skin is really, really not comfortable. But in some way, it does kind of help with your back ache, so there's some benefits to that.

A shiver. Then, a sneeze.

Man.

You're so dead the moment you come back. You don't even know what time it is for fuck’s sake! But guessing from the time you left and the time you walked to get here, it must be around 4:35PM already. The rain is still moderately heavy, and the shitty roof, that's basically worn out rust, has holes in it, so it barely just does the job right.

The faint pattering of the rain against your shoulder feels soothing in some way, and the slight fog seems to disperse from all that shitty walk so now, the area is a bit visible.

And man, what a fucking calming shitshow. You ought to thank Scaramouche for this.

Wait, hold on, speaking of Scaramouche, hasn't it been at least an hour since you called him? And 3 miles is atleast..

You nervously chuckle, no way, right?

No way he reached the café while you were out here, shivering and dying from the rain, right?

It's been an hour. A full fucking hour!

No way. Yeah, nope. Nope. Nope, no, fucking nope.

There's just no way. You’ll see him in the street, wave him over, reprimand him until he stays, then force him to hang out to fulfill the request.

Yeah. Definitely.

And, anyway. What the hell was the Asshole up to? Out of nowhere, he just wants to.. quit?? What is up with that? You certainly know it's not about the environment, or anything. So, what the fuck was it? Not only that, he seemed casual about the ‘pushing’ incident too, so, really, what the fuck is he really up to—

A hand. A shadow of a hand creepily loomed over your form, creating a shadow just below your toes, and you jolted, heart suddenly skipping a few beats as you hastily turn around and holy shit—

“Scaramouche!?”

He carefully surveys you, the seconds feeling like an eternity as his hand idly floated mid-air, before he leered in disgust, “god, you look so fucking horrible right now.”

A dull ache throbbed in your temple, already feeling the Scaramouche-Induced-Migraine settling in the hypothalamus of your brain, “yeah, no shit. I look terrible, and ugly. Ever wondered why that is?”

Right now, the Asshole is clutching a beautiful, useful umbrella and there's a plastic bag hanging off of his forearm. A droplet falls right on top of your head, kindly reminding you once again of the beautiful, useful umbrella in his hold.

“Are you going to stop looking at my umbrella, or what? I'll share with you, don't worry.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, “you didn't bring an extra one?”

He rolled his eyes, turning to the side, then to you, “are you stupid? your granny chased me out of the café to ‘find’ you. what idiot even goes out in a weather like this?”

His head tilts slightly upward in gesture, while you spiralled down in the fact that, fuck yeah, I was right. He really did reach the café first.

“Well?”

“Got bored,” you easily lied, shrugging your shoulders for the extra effect, “I didn't think it'd rain this.. hard.”

“So, you really are stupid.”

"Shut up! I just got bored, okay?"

“Well, blah blah, anyway. Let's go back to the shitty café,” he turned sideways, reckoning you over with his head like you were some shitty dog.

It only struck you as your eyes drifted to his in pensiveness that—this was the first conversation you've ever had with him since Monday. And, he was going to leave. Just like that.

And, god. You've gone two years. Two years without talking to him except the occasional blistering arguments on social media that still pissed you off to this day. Hell, you even went on four days without having a proper conversation albeit the fact that you saw him everyday in that.

You've managed just fine. Felt no difference. Felt nothing.

But.. fuck?

Why does it feel different when he's talking to you, then?

Why the fucking motherfuck does your heart feel the fucking need to feel fucking restless to the fucking point of fucking beating so fucking loudly?

You suddenly, and viciously regretted locking gazes with him, considering how there was now a huge ass stretch in silence as you two stared each other down; the gaze neither intense nor did it ebb hatred.

Though, the way his eyes settled over to yours do feel like he's stripping you down from your skin to your heart, and oh fuck, don't tell me he can hear my heartbeat? holy fuck, this is embarrassing, what the fuck do I do? why is he staring at me like that? don't tell me I have a leaf over my head?? wait, hold on. should I break the stare or what? this is so fucking embarrassing—

An amused sound between a snort and a laugh. Presumably an involuntary one as he covers his mouth in reciprocated shock.

“What's so funny?”

An slight smirk creeps at his face “you're such a mumbler.”

A frown, “that's not even a word—”

“Are we going back to the café, or are you going to keep standing there like an idiot who just got dumped? Because you really look like you got stood up by a piece of shit right now.”

Okay. Calm. One, two, three..

You tried not to let the indignance take over your face as you held up a pseudo smile in agreement. Scaramouche eyed you for a moment, and then sighed before turning around.

There goes my plan in taking him to hang out. Maybe I'll ask him after school tomorr—

Wait. Hold on.

“Wait, uh. Do you—”

His feet halted, just right in the center of your vision and only then did you realize you were looking down like an idiot. God, this is so embarrassing.

You hesitantly looked up, confidently glared at him square in the eye (since glaring has always been your forte with him) and blurted, “hang out with me. like, right now.”

Silence. You can already feel the regret creeping in when all he does is fucking watch, and watch with those shitty fucking ass purple motherfucking eyes with the imperceptible fucking glint shining in them and—

“What on the fucking earth,” his expression was flat, but he did have that aghast-amused tilt to his eyebrows.

That's how you knew it was a success. All doubt and humility instantly drained out of you as you grinned, the mean and confident one that you knew made your features look devilish, “what? it's gonna be your last shift anyway, and I had to take a shift off—don’t give me that look and don't ask why—so, why not just hang out with me? I'm sure grandma would let you off.”

“O..kay?” he drawled in incredulity, a brow curiously quirking up as he turned to you fully, “so, what the fuck are we doing today, Dora the Explorer?”

“Uh, we could—erm,” you tried. you failed, “I don't know! I haven't thought that far!”

“Okay, jack-ass. We're going back to the café—”

“No!”

“And drink some shitty warm water—”

“Nope!”

“And—”

Before he could fucking finish because it really was starting to piss you off, you tore the beautiful, useful umbrella from his hold, stumbling him forward as you slowly took a step back.

You watched the realization slash amusement crawl over his pale features, twisting it up to a scowl, “give it back.”

A blink, then an idea came to you along with an impish grin, “well.. you'd just have to get it from me, then.”

And with that, you took off.

Scaramouche gaped at you, looking absolutely debauched as he realized what you were the fuck up to. And at that moment, you smiled.

You give it at least three counts.

One… his head swerves left and right.

Two… his gaze locked onto you.

Three… then, he made a break for it.

A wet ass road isn't really a good place to run a marathon in along with the (still) heavy rain blurring your vision as you dashed to who-the-fuck knows where, but right now?

As the cold nips against your skin like some sort of fucking leech and the Asshole few meters away from behind you chasing like a madman..

It feels like a whole otherworldly experience.

You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people.

–

“You're a real fucking idiot, you know that, right?”

Okay. Maybe you are a fucking idiot by, what? Running into the rain with what you presume was one of the best experiences you've ever had but had the shittiest fucking consequences? Yeah.

Presently, the two of you are fortunately situated on a cliff with a bench. Totally I-Know-a-Spot vibes with an abandoned ass gasoline station just right off the side. Though, how did the two of you manage that? Well, your dumbass decided to run off the forest and somehow managed to end up here.

At some point during your whole life living in these parts, you've always seen the cliff in your peripherals but never had actually gone through the effort of going to it. So, yeah more or less, it's really your first time being here and, holy fuck is it divine.

The sun kissed the area with gold, blessing the two of you with the warmth it gives. The scenery is really the fucking catch though; with the sun infront of you, half of the village seen just below, café being literally quite just under the cliff and whatnot.

Oh, and yeah. The rain stopped mid-way as the two of you ran, so right now, you're currently dying with the left-over chill.

A shiver runs through your body, and you breathed out a sigh, “you enjoyed it, anyway. you can't really complain, you know?”

He glares at you, awfully looking like a stray hissing after being dumped with water, “fuck, no. I almost tripped twice. Heard that? Fucking twice, [Name]. That was not fun.”

As if he didn't stifle a laugh when you accidentally dropped the umbrella, “yeah, sure, Mr. Nonchalant. Also, I stepped on a dead toad on the way here, so.. again. you can't complain, I've had it worse.”

A roll of his eyes, and god, one more roll and I swear to the universe, I'm gonna make that permanent, “okay, piss grenade.”

“Piss—excuse me, what?”

“You know, explosive and lethal piss? Stuck in a grenade, and when you throw it, it becomes a piss shower?”

Silence.

“Yeah,” a scowl formed on your face as you conjured an image, “that's not really..”

He narrowed his eyes, “don't kinkshame me.”

“What—”

“So, when is the hang-out actually gonna start?” you can see the shiver creepily crawling over his body, and he tensed like a cat.

Ha, cat. Cat…

You awkwardly cleared your throat, murmuring, “I don't know.. actually. Wanna—uh. Wanna stay here and like, I don't know, watch the shitty sunset, or something?”

And again, his face comically deadpans. You can probably see the iconic SFX behind the background as he watches you with keen, fucking purple eyes.

“Is this really the same [Name] [Last Name] that told me to fuck myself on Monday?”

A snort escapes your lips as you nudge him by the ribs, “haha, very funny. Yes, I am, you asshole. God, you really do have a derogatory kink, don't you?”

His eyes glint in mischief, voice raising a playful lint, “oh, yeah? don't tell me you have a praise kink? Come on, don't get turned off, I'll praise you just fine.”

Your jaw gapes, like absolutely gapes and drops, before dramatically scooting further away from him, “yeah, no. I'd rather eat my own hand than have you praise me like that ever. Please stop the harassment.”

“Sure, fruitcake. And we're soaking up the entire bench, and it feels so fucking disgusting. When are we gonna get back?”

Oh. That's right.

“Are you…” you gulp, heart fucking doing somersaults, “are you actually going to resign?”

And at that—a glimmer in his eyes caught your attention as he turned to you; a permission to open up, to spill whatever bullshit he wanted, and you? Well, who are you to refuse?

“No,” he answers, “well, after today and that shitty run, I decided to shove the middle finger to my mom and maybe ask to postpone the offer.”

A hum left your lips, swaying your feet back and forth, “what’s the offer about anyway?”

“A modeling offer. I was given a chance to undergo some sort-of fuckin’ teaching class about modelling—which, I don't fucking want, by the fucking way. But. Ugh, my mom forced me. After that, I'll probably inherit her company or some shit.”

That doesn't really..

As if reading your mind, he continues, clutching the edge of the bench a little tighter, “and the reason why I don't want to take it is because it completely fucks up my schedule; after-school hours? fucked, cowgirl style. weekends? fucked, missionary style. Hell, even holidays? fucked, mating press style.”

He sharply chuckled as you gaped at him, and you mumbled, “your mom is too..”

“Selfish? Annoying? Fucking overbearing? Yeah,” he interrupted with a scoff, the sound laced with so much bitterness, “and anyway, I think I'll postpone it until I'm done with Senior High School. I have plenty of reasons anyway.”

You slowly blinked, still trying to process how.. weirdly dictatorial his mom was. You don't really give a fuck in that part of the industry, considering that you're way too focused on school to actually give a fuck about anything else other than being a barista (and speaking of school, fuck, you still had that physics assignment that's due by 11:59PM).

And, anyway. Holy fuck, you're absolutely going to have a hard time processing the fact that you just had your first ever official uninterrupted emotional conversation with Scaramouche. Or anything that involved non-rivalry things at all. The others are definitely going to have a field day with this and, ugghhh, you can already feel the undeniable burn in your eyes and the sting in your throat—

“Okay, thanks for listening,” he states dryly, eye-judging you as a droplet from his hair falls, “so awesome of you to go on a mumbling tirade while I was pouring my whole shitty sou—”

“Shut up, you asshole! Jeez, my grandma’s gonna kill me after this. I left without saying anything, I didn't even bring the umbrella she gave me! All because I chose to hang out with you, ugh."

“Aww, scared I'd be out of your sight, fruitcake? you must love me that much, huh.”

“No,” you bluntly say, “absolutely fucking not. Gross, by the way. I was just worried about you since we stopped talking for a week, and now you're dipping? no way, you're still my rival and I'm not letting you go until I see you in second place in the final rankings.”

He raised a brow, “we could still be—”

“Shut it.”

“..Okay, you sap.”

“Gross.”

And for the first fucking time ever, a comfortable silence settles in and goddamn, you missed the sunset. Slowly though as you watched from above, the blue-ish fog dissipated from the sky, leaving an endless sea of ink with dotted white.

And of course, as usual, the Asshole opens his gasbag mouth with his gaze transfixed on the skies above, “I really don't like stars.”

Just as you're about to retort, or atleast shove him to the sides and tease him, he continues, eyes still fixed to the sky but this time with a frown, “it looks so unreal, sometimes. Like, what the fuck do you mean those are just huge balls of hot gases winking at us like we're some useless specimen? I'm not useless, goddamnit.”

You blinked slowly, then levelled the Asshole with such a deadpanned look, “are you really saying that.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Of course, it would involve your ego. Of course. At this point, it's probably as big as the whole space.”

Scaramouche smugly smirked, “Yeah, ‘cause the fucking space is as big as my dic—”

“—Well, how else do you spend your time than just.. sit and not contemplate about life then?"

“..I don't fucken know? I don't spend my time looking at shit like this and going, “oh! I'm gonna think about my life and how utterly depressing it is!” like most people do. I just do whatever shit that is worth my time.”

You gave him a blank look, “so pessimistic. You must be so fun at parties. And, hey, we don't just immediately start thinking about life and all that. Sometimes, we just, you know, come here to relax.”

“If we're talking about that, then I’d rather look at city lights from above.”

A shrug, “guess that's more like you.”

He scoffed with a smirk, “makes me feel like I'm the star looking down in all those shitty specimens.”

“Ooh,” you cooed absentmindedly, “okay, city-boy.”

That familiar scowl settled in and you jolted, not expecting the nickname to hit a nerve, “oh, fuck off!”

A blink. Then, another blink before the drawl of the nickname left your lips with a higher lint, “city-boy!”

“One more and I swear—”

“City-boy!”

“Fuck—”

“City-boy likes to look at species below and—”

“Fuck the fucking hell off, you fucking mumbling gnome!”

You two didn't share a laugh that night, but you did continue the relentless teasing until, until he had to forcefully drag you down all the way back to the café at Eight-Something in the Post Meridian hours.

Needless to say, the lecture that came after was as warm and soothing as chocolate milk with cookies, after a whole evening of teetering between just outrightly dying of hypothermia, or having to go on because life still wants you in its grasp.

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───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - into the night by benny mardones

• notes - i've been planning to use this exact song for this chapter for MONTHS like i swear it was one of the first ideas that came to me when i first started the drafr outline for this smau LIKE UGHHH

• "i'd take you into the night," [name] taking scara to the cliff

• "and show you a love like you've never, ever seen," [name] and scara hanging out there and talking about life and silly shit hajdnsjn

• "it's like having a dream," cue "You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people." HELLO??? I COOKED CHAT I FUCKING COOKED

so yeah that shit above was what i wrote in the draft LMAO

authors' notes - hey freaks guess who's back😝 supposedly, i was gonna post this like two days ago but then BUT THEN a shitty migraine fucked me ten times over the course of two days leaving me absolutely dead ass on my bed so. yeah. and anyhoo, any comments about this is SO much appreciated considering i spent the last week making this while in writer slump (5,3k WORDS BABYYY) and holy shit chat??? we're 50-notes away from??? ONE THOUSAND??? WHATTTTTTTT that was so fugkcing fast HRLP ME thank you for all the support regardless tho😞

p.s - might update more now since WOOHOO SUMMER BREAK IS FINALLY FUCKING HERE

(ask to be added or removed)

[starsinthesky5]

Do joe and her ever just sit in bed and like…have one of those random deep talks 🥲 like literally about life, aliens, god knows. I gotta know what it’s like

a/n: enjoy my rambling :)

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they do. all the time. they’re the kind of couple who end up talking for hours without even realizing it—lost in each other, wrapped in the safety of soft sheets and the dim lights of their bedroom, like the world outside those four walls doesn't exist. it’s their own little bubble, warm and motionless, where time doesn’t move unless they let it. it usually begins when the day is winding down. they’re curled up together, bodies fitted like puzzle pieces, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her hip. the tv is still on, flickering softly in the background, but neither is watching it. they’re too caught up in each other; too in love with the way these quiet nights always turn into something magic.

it starts off small, almost silly. she’ll say something out of nowhere like, “do you think aliens would find us cute or annoying?” as she scrolls aimlessly through her phone. and joe, blinking sleepily but still so in tune with her, will smile against her temple and mumble, “annoying. for sure. but they’d keep you,”.

“me? why me?” she'd ask skeptically, and his response would both melt her heart and make her giggle until she couldn't breathe.

“you’d sing to them and they’d fall in love,” he'd say.

she laughs, swatting at his chest before shoving at his shoulder like he’s ridiculous. “you’re so dumb, joey,”.

“and you’re so cute,” he says, without even thinking, and it hits her in the chest like a warm wave.

sometimes, though, it turns deeper—softer. heavier in the way that makes your chest ache, but in the best way. she’ll be half-laying on top of him, draped in one of his old college t-shirts, her cheek rising and falling with his steady breaths. and she’ll whisper something like, “do you think we’ve done this before? like…in another life? found each other somewhere else?” and he’ll be quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through her hair, before saying, “i think i’d find you in every one,”.

and it’s so casual. so easy. like of course he would. like the idea of not finding her is impossible.

they talk about everything. their childhoods, the weird quirks they’ve carried into adulthood. what scared them when they were little, what still scares them now. what they think happens after we die. if fate is real. what they’d be doing if life had gone another way. joe once admitted, in that low, gravelly voice he uses only when it’s late and quiet and just them, that he always thought he’d be a high school science teacher if football didn’t work out, completely disregarding the fact that he did an internship on wall street at one point and could be a fantastic businessman. “you’d be a hot teacher,” she told him, nose scrunched, and he rolled his eyes. “you’d be the music teacher with the hoards of dramatic twelve-year-olds worshipping you,”.

“you’re just jealous,” she teased.

“i’m literally in love with you,” he replied, and god the way it rolled off his tongue. so easily, so smoothly. she couldn’t even speak after that. just buried her face into his neck, because how do you respond when someone says it like that? like it’s the most obvious thing in the world?

sometimes the talks are a little more chaotic. she’ll go off about timelines and soulmates and alternate realities with the energy of someone who had caffeine too late in the day. joe will just watch her with this stupidly soft smile, eyes all sleepy and full of awe, and say, “how do you have this much brain power at 1 am?”.

“because i had dessert. and i’m wearing your hoodie. and you’re next to me. i’m thriving, baby,”.

they’ll talk until their throats are dry and their eyes are heavy, until the world outside is completely silent and their room is filled with nothing but their voices and soft laughter. sometimes she drifts off mid-sentence, and joe will kiss her forehead, whisper “we’ll finish tomorrow,” and hold her tighter. and in the morning, she’ll wake up remembering something he said the night before—something like, “home doesn’t feel like a place anymore. it just feels like you,” and she’ll carry it with her all day like it’s precious.

the best part is, they don’t plan these talks. they just happen. like breathing. like gravity. two souls orbiting each other, drawn together by something deeper than love. they don’t need a prompt or a reason. just each other. just a boy and a girl lying in bed with the lights low, asking questions, laughing at dumb answers, getting a little lost in the wonder of “what if” and “maybe someday,”.

and it’s in those moments—those quiet, blinking-between-yawns, head-on-his-chest moments—that they fall even more in love. because loving someone isn’t always loud. sometimes, it’s a soft question at 2 am. a hand in your hair. a smile you can hear in the dark. and the kind of connection that makes you feel like no matter how big the universe is, you already found the best part of it.

[clutching-our-plurals]

Can you explain your stance on endos a bit more? /genq, we can't tell what your stance is, and we LOVE hearing about others with more nuanced stances! Plurality is too complicated of a topic to be fully anti or pro endo imo, nuance is the way to go!

Absolutely! I have no idea how long this has been sitting in our askbox collecting dust because I have no memory of getting it, but hopefully it hasn't been long! Lmao.

You are incredibly right about plurality being too complex to simply say "yeah endos exist" or "yeah no they don't," hard agree.

The nuances of our beliefs actually deviate a little from person to person in our system, some of us have our own little theories and opinions, but here are some things we all agree on:

1. Endogenic formation probably isn't a thing.

2. If the common summary of current research one day shows definitively that it is? We'd be totally chill with that.

3. regardless of whether endogenic system formation is real, harassing or fakeclaiming ANYONE is revolting behavior. I don't wanna see nobody doing that shit. Cause I'll call ya out.

4. I am civil with endos and will not invalidate their experience of plurality because my own beliefs. Will I debate with an endo? Totally, if they initiate first. If an endo says something incorrect about plurality will i correct them? Yes. Will I go and call somebody names and shit over being an Endo? No. People identifying as Endo does not affect me, or you, for that matter.

Okay. As for the more detailed thoughts, you can have those beneath the cut. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

So there seems to be two schools of thought within endogenic circles.

A. I am endogenic and disordered

B. I am endogenic and experiencing functional multiplicity.

I believe this discrepancy can simply be explained by endos not realizing that they have trauma on account of having the "don't remember, be plural" disorder. A truly shocking side effect of having a disorder that separates parts of the brain with literal amnesia, the "don't remember" disorder, is that you... don't remember!

Also, if you are familiar with the dearly beloved Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, the first stage of grief is denial. When you are traumatized at a young age, you grieve a lot of things. A childhood, your sense of normalcy, your ability to live life without fear? You grieve. That is okay. It is never wrong to grieve, my friends.

To put my own system forward as an example: I, as our host, did not know where the system came from for many, many years.

I will try and keep this vague for you, but this is a conversation about domestic abuse, please skip to the next word in RED if you do not want to read that.

As terrifying as it is, I know I may only know part of the story, even now. Before I knew what we were, I had been denying the domestic abuse I witnessed at home, and the abuse I had been subjected to myself within that home, as I had accepted those things as a normal part of my home life.

There were also great portions of my suffering that I didn't remember at all. The worst, most identifiable parts of the abuse I faced were completely wiped from my memory. How was I meant to know? Easy! I was not.

Were we endogenic because I did not remember? No, of course not. We just... didn't remember. And if you don't remember, how will you know that you don't remember?

RED

So, do endogenic systems exist? More than likely, no.

But, do they deserve disrespect and subjugation for believing they are endogenic? No, absolutely not. That's just ridiculous. Denial, is part of grief. Not remembering, is part of who and what we all are. Why would we deny someone's experience of plurality over experiencing the goddamned symptoms of it? Do y'all hear how stupid that sounds? Everyone firestarting over this is making us all look like fools.

Should endogenics be in system spaces?

Complex question, but I appreciate that about the question. Is it beneficial to endogenics to be in plural spaces, yes! The sooner they are exposed to nuanced opinions and fellow plural folks, the sooner they're likely to realize that not knowing where their system came from isn't necessarily causation, it's correlation.

Is it beneficial to traumagenics for endos to be in plural spaces? Probably not. These people are in a state of denial, and most traumagenics are looking to achieve a state of acceptance with their plurality. They don't need people in stage one holding them back.

Or maybe... the real problem isn't that at all... maybe it's more complex than just... people considering themselves traumagenic or endo...

I'm gonna spoil it for you: It's kids.

The issue isn't traumagenics vs endos, it's kids who are unable to process or form complex opinions vs adults who can. (Endo kids and traumagenic kids) Kids need to stay out of system spaces. I don't wanna see you in a space about mental health that isn't 1 on 1 with your therapist unless you are 16 years of age or older!

A. If you're younger than 13 you really can't tell all that well if you're plural or not. Your brain is still putting that shit together!

B. If you're 13 or older... you're a child! You don't need to be announcing that you are in a vulnerable mental state on the internet! You're. going. to get. Groomed. People. Are. The worst!

I would just like to say that even if you're 16 or older, you need to watch yourself in spaces like these. You are not mature. You are not the smartest in the room. You do not have the high ground, Anakin. That comes from a place of the utmost love and 20/20 hindsight, not a place of superiority or "holier than thou" attitude, I promise.

Are full grown adults (25-28 is when your brain is finished, so we'll call that full grown) also incredibly stupid sometimes? Yes. Do they have no excuse? Also yes. Will we always have people who can't form a nuanced opinion based off of fact in spaces online? Again, yes.

So what do we do about that? Block. Button. Use your block button as the Tumblr gods intended, people, please!

That's pretty much my whole stance on it. Feel free to drop more questions in my ask, no question is a dumb question, no question is too specific or too niche.

[14dayswithyou]

Hi, Howdy! Hey! I really love your novel!! I got a little confused by the 4 day, may maybe you help me please? who is it? why we got the bad end staying the night in Ren’s apartment and he disappear of the home screen? I can’t understand “unset memory” game, sorry if I wrote smth wrong or smth sounds rude, I swear that I didn’t mean it if happened, I’m really a fan of the novel, I’ve been playing the game since day 1 or 2 I guess, probably day 1, english isn’t my first language, but I tried lol

⌞♥⌝ I hope you don't mind me answering these as bullet points!! ^^

"It" will be revealed later in the game! So I won't reveal too much right now.

You can only get the Dead End in Day 4 by staying at Ren's apartment — the rest of your choices before that don't matter. I'd also pay closer attention to the black smoke and Ren's reaction towards it!

Ren disappears from the home screen because he promised to help the player out (and stop them from getting the Dead End again). Try replaying the game again from the beginning for a surprise!

"Unsent Memories" was another visual novel (initially being written by @10chimes / @unsentmemory, though the project has since been dropped and handed back to me /pos) and is set in the same universe as 14 Days With You. Its storyline and characters are completely separate from 14DWY, so you don't have to worry about them while playing 14DWY.

[lemon-wedges]

Some process gifs of my paintings this year!

[ministarfruit]

local alley cat gets beaten up (colourised)

[babisawyer]

Ben coming back to the cabin to see yet another cannibalistic ritual

[sysig]

Some scribbles :) (Patreon)

[starwarsanthropology]

i need to know more about tomo pls i love 'dog with separation anxiety' characters

Ok ok I gotta put this under a cut because hes. rotating inside my head always. Going to put a link to his whole little page i posted bc this gives you Some basic information as to his Vibes.

Tomo is a Corrie medic! He’s got a few different like. personas he puts on depending on context. I talk a lot about his Weird Little Unhingedness persona bc thats when he’s letting is all out without hesitation or shame, which is really fun, but he’s a brother first, then a medic, and then a pathetic little creature.

As a vod and a brother, he is very, very loyal and committed to his siblings. His core guiding motivation is to make things better for them, but because of how he thinks this tends to be an individual focus rather than a group focus; he’ll individually get everyone a blanket before pushing for a new project to get everyone blankets, etc. 

When he’s off duty and relaxed, he tends to be a friendly, nice guy. Will bend over backwards to help a vod, even one he doesn’t know, with minimal questions asked. Not a whole lot of respect for rules and authority; if you can’t indicate the practical reasons behind a standard or regulation, he will probably ignore it at his convenience. HOWEVER, he is also Definitely younger sibling coded and can be a bit of a shithead as a treat. Kind of a doormat and seems easy to bully but once he realizes he’s being teased or bullied he’ll go from the NOOOO!!! NOOO!!! younger sibling tears to I’m A Medic And I Can Tolerate And Shut Down So Much Bullshit on a dime. Likes people, likes to be around people in general, will worry and fret and scold if you’re being a bit reckless but also the biggest enabler in all of the med corps tbh. Believes in happiness and autonomy as a primary element of wellbeing and this drives a lot of that enabling; is the most likely corrie medic to go out of the way to let u keep a scar you want even if it makes his job fixing underlying structures more difficult.

He’s actually quite good at being professional when hes Being A Medic, and honestly can be a little ruthless, in terms of not hesitating to make calls (because that’s how you get people killed). His specialization is in orthopedic and reconstructive/plastic surgery, which in practice means he’s NOT out of medical much when on shift; if he’s called onto site, things are really bad. On a good day he has no emergency cases, but most of his emergencies are cases where there needs to be immediate and dramatic surgical intervention to prevent fatality. Amputations, skin grafts, major muscular trauma, broken bones; he sees a lot of really nasty shit, in his emergency capacity. In a non-emergency capacity, he still sees a lot of unpleasant and upsetting things, because he’s, yknow. reconstructing things and overseeing recovery from skeletal trauma, but it’s much much safer and less stressful. As a result of all this, he has a really strong stomach and a skewed sense of when gore, blood, or guts gets upsetting.

Also in his capacity as a medic, but off-regulation, Tomo provides a lot of suppourt to trans vode with gender-affirming care! He’ll do just about anything that’s not hazardous; he refers for tracheal shaves and bottom surgeries that require significant specialization or more advanced/specialized equipment than he has. But fillers, FFS, top surgery, horomone access? He’s gotchu.

Also; he knows he's cute. He knows people see him kind of as a pathetic little creature. He ABSOLUTELY weaponizes the shit out of this as a medic. he can cry on command because he learned the magical efficiency of just BURSTING into tears on someone avoiding the medbay. If you aren't guilted/made uncomfortable enough to comply he'll just get someone to drug you and haul you off lol

He’s a really affectionate, friendly, and easygoing guy overall, but the part of him that i talk about most often is his Little Freak setting. This is a manifestation of extreme seperation anxiety. He’s good at respecting verbal boundaries but is a Stage 5 Clinger. He will follow you into the bathroom if ur having a conversation and not notice until ur like excuse me that its weird. He’s really scared of loosing people, either to death or just to the vast distances of the galaxy, so he really really wants to be like. tangibly tied to people. This is where his cannibalism schtick comes from like he cannot imagine a closer intimacy than the physical substance of one’s self being intergrated into the other through consumption…. carry him with you forever and vice versa….. woah…..

@mamuzzy also pulled a GALAXY BRAIN take putting him w Mereel in that one art. Rotted my brain hard for them as a cringefail couple where their respective toxic traits slide off each other like water off a duck. I have a Lot of meta for that im not going to elaborate on too much beyond tomos tendancy towards clinginess being satisfied by mereel pinging him when he’s away, mereel being unbothered and indulgent of his weirdness, and tomo being game enough to help mereel that mereels habit of social engineering and manipulation to get what he wants doesnt have a chance to get toxic bc tomo is already willing give mereel whatever he wants with the ironclad exception of endangering his patients, which he is too stubborn and protective to be manipulated directly about anyway.

I decided that they met bc mereel needed to change his apperance for smth, hooked up w tomo (convenient emotionally vulnerable mark! yippee!) to gain access to medical supplies, was asking about a kind of filler (intended use for joint injuries but off-label use as a filler) to figure out if he can self-administer it and Tomo was immediately like oh i can administer it if you want to try! It’s easy to dissolve if you don’t like it! Mereel agreed, Tomo put in the temporary fillers, and they both walked away from the encounter satisfied and with each other’s contact information in their pocket.

It is very important to note that while Tomo IMMEDIATELY recognized Mereel was interested in the filler’s capacity to change facial structure and apperance, he did not realize Mereel wanted apperance-altering interventions for a mission until months later when someone pointed out he is a black ops specialist and got together with Tomo to use his skills n specializations.  He had fully been working on the assumption that Mereel had just been interested in gender exploration even after they had an established pattern of Tomo administering temporary cosmetic procedures for Mereel’s missions

ANYWAY thank u I love him he is so deeply strange. just an odd little dude.

[captaintiny]

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[thediktatortot]

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[jikigo]

you ever just see a post and just

. 😭

.⬅️🫀⬅️

[loumauve]

apparently kissing sb of a certain gender makes you have that sexuality so now I'm unsure what the fuck I am. does that mean I have to identify as pan now bc that asshole kid kissed me when I was 11 even tho I just wanted to look at the tiny turtles in his fish tank? and bc one of my exes identified as nb at the time we were dating, and bc I kissed a girl a few times while we were dating?

does that also mean I can no longer identify as ace bc I had sex at least once?

some of y'all are so fucking stupid I stg

[nomaishuttle]

uh oh guys! ive started yawning

[paranoiddreams]

Toji fucking you while Shiu is on the phone because he just can’t help himself. You just make his him feel so good, why should he stop if it’s only his silly handler is calling?

You’re trying to say quiet as your boyfriend’s cock slams in and out of you from below, his hips doing all of the work for you; you tapped out a while ago after your 2nd or 3rd earth shattering orgasm. But how can you not whimper and moan pathetically when Toji is quite literally fucking you into a higher plain of existence?

Shiu can obviously hear all of this. He only called to tell Toji about a job he has for him, but was instantly met with the muffled sounds of your cries and pleas.

“T-Toji! H-hang up…” your voice is so broken, so whiny, both men can tell that you’re nearly past your limit.

“Hold on, doll,” Toji’s gruff voice crackles from the other end of Shiu’s phone, “just a quick call…”

“Fushiguro, this conversation can be held another—“

“Nah,” he interrupts his handler with a huff, “keep going.”

For a moment, Shiu isnt sure if Toji is talking to him or you, who is obviously falling apart on his cock. He only realizes it’s the former when another grunt of his name snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Well…you’ve got a hit for a client we’ve worked with before; a big one, and—“

Shiu stops when he hears a muffled gasp on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of choked out whimpers.

“Yeah?” Toji groans. “Which client?”

He’s currently got you under him now, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you. Each thrust of his cock perfectly reaches your abused g-spot, making it harder and harder for you to keep your moans hushed. What makes it even more difficult, although, is the fact that Toji’s smug face tells you that he knows this, so when you see one of his hands snake down to rub slow circles against your clit you know that this is all part of his plan.

“W-Well…the client from…” Shiu can barely catch his breath as he sits behind his desk, trying not to give in and palm his aching cock through his work slacks.

“What’s up, boss man?” Toji chuckles from the other end, “something on your mind?”

That sick son of a bitch. Shiu’s fist balls atop his desk, the hand holding his phone shaking slightly from how hard he’s gripping it. “Fushiguro,” he breathes out. He doesn’t have to say anything else, because the tone of his voice tells Toji all he needs to know.

“What? My girl’s pretty little sounds making you all flustered? Or is it the sound of her gushing around my cock?”

Shiu clears his throat, running a hand over his face. “You’re such a sick fuck,” he says.

“I’m the sick fuck?” Toji scoffs jovially. “You’re the one who’s still on the phone.”