#these are just some gen outlines

[shannonsketches]

Every time I talk to a DB fan who doesn't know or doesn't agree that the whole franchise is an adventure comedy first and an action series second I feel insane but then I find an old Toriyama interview,

You made some comedic scenes where you have minor villains Pilaf & co. appear; how did you come up with a balance between laughs and fierce battles? Do you pay attention to the difference between comedy and battle in making a work “entertaining”?

I believe that, when you combine comedy and serious battles, both of them might come alive even more. As for me personally, though, I much prefer drawing dumb jokes to battle scenes.

as a bonus, every time I'm like 'idk I didn't really like most of the DBZ movies prior to Yo Son Goku and Friends Return and BotG,' and get the 'whAAaaT they're so gOOD' (from my brother, tbh askdjs) but they all seemed really Action-Drama and About the Fight Scenes and I'm like 'meh kinda boring tbh' I get to gaze upon,

In the latest movie, Toriyama-san, you participated in the production from the scriptwriting stage for the first time. What is the reason for that? Was there anything you noticed in coming face-to-face with the work after so long?

I was told about a project for Dragon Ball in its first animated film in a long while, and I read the story outline; while the beings “Beerus, God of Destruction” and “Super Saiyan God” (which goes above Super Saiyan) were interesting, the themes were heavy, and I felt that the world was a bit different from Dragon Ball. Rather than telling them about this or that problematic spot, I thought it would be faster if I just wrote it out concretely, and while I had intended just to give them a model―”for example”―my hand wouldn’t stop, and ultimately, I ended up writing almost everything, including the dialogue. I am reflecting on the fact that I did something terribly rude to the scriptwriter.

Akira "It was bad so I fixed it, oops" Toriyama, Absolute Legend

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

wonder what will happen first. me finishing the (first) teshes fic and publishing it, or tapas reaching That Chapter.

[storycraftcafe]

Did I just unsubscribe from a writer I've been following for years because they advocated for using AI? You fucking bet.

They suggest it's use as a tool, citing writers who hesitated to jump on the internet being left behind and I think that displays a rather big misunderstanding of the nature of problem.

Their point was gen AI can "help us think" but there's growing studies show us that it does anything but. Here's one paper on skill atrophy from AI use. There's more than a few of them plus some articles like this one from Forbes. Essentially using AI for a particular skill shows degradation in thelat skill.

Fact is brainstorming, research, analysis. Planning, outlining, writing, editing are ALL skills writers need to develop and practise. Not offload to a machine and surrender critical thought.

These skills are vital and transferrable to other aspects of our lives. My ability to critically examine a body of text to parse meaning works in enjoying fiction and digging through mixed messages in news and on social media. My ability to research and develop ideas from multiple sources also helps me fact check misinformation online.

These skills are so important, too important to cast aside for convenience.

I'd rather use my brain and do the work. Maybe ai will shift and better tools will arise, but I have put too much work into developing my skills to be content with the half assed result of the plagiarism machine.

Fuck that.

[chiwhorei]

ʚ Bʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ Kɴᴏᴡs Bᴇsᴛ ɞ

╰┈➤ Big Bro!Yuji Itadori x lil sis!reader

╰┈➤ Request: “pretty please with cherry on top write smth with big brother yuji x hardcore rape or smth,”

╰┈➤ Tags: college/no curses, no edit, short-form, drabble, NSFW, dark, incest, drinking, noncon, good guy Yuji

Yuji is the sweetest big brother.

He dotes on you at every turn, especially since you picked the same university as your big brother. Yuji was so proud when you told him. Your brother walks you to your morning classes and back to your dorm every day. Yuji insists on carrying your backpack and any stray books you need to lug around. Being a freshman is hard, every gen-ed has a textbook that could double as a brick, and Yuji doesn’t want his perfect little sister to lift a finger when he deems it unnecessary.

Your brother also makes sure you have plenty of fun, that’s what these years are for right? He brings you to all of the upperclassman parties and drives you and your girlfriends home safe. Yuji doesn’t care much for drinking anyway, it’s more fun watching you in this brand new- and kinda scary- environment. Plus, if some guy thinks it wise to come up to you while you and your friends are having fun, Yuji needs to be sharp so he can punch him through a wall.

You’ll never forget the first party your brother ever brought you to, a waisted frat boy spilled his drink down the front of your dress. “Oops,” was his apology, “guess you’ll have to take it off.” Yuji reacted so fast, the last of the drunken strangers words got clipped by the sound of his teeth chipping.

Your heart races at just the memory, the flash of unmistakable rage melting from your brother’s face almost immediately when his attention turned back to you. Shushing you, brushing hair from your face and doing a once over to ensure you hadn’t caught stray droplets of that poor fuckers blood.

It’s not that Yuji’s clueless, he knows that bringing a cute little freshman to the big-kid parties will garner some unfavorable attention. It all evens out, though, when he gets to watch the liquor as it flushes your face and pulls at the hem of your already-too-short dress.

You get so needy after just a few drinks- needy for attention, needy for a dancing partner, needy for another red cup of fruity liquor. And your brother is always there to help.

That’s what he’s made for, Yuji thinks, to be all the things you need. So when the parties start getting slow and you’ve about reached you limit of alcohol before things start getting fuzzy, Yuji’s right there to offer you a steady arm and one last drink.

“I think,” you hiccup, “I think I’m drunk. Like- really drunk.” You extend your vowels in a way that definitely proves you point as Yuji sits you in the passenger seat of his car. You don’t have to tell him, he knows. He’s the one that refills your cup as soon as it’s empty.

You don’t notice where Yuji’s sitting you down until you’re falling back into the mattress. You fist the comforter at your sides, you’re not in your dorm room, you’re in your brother’s apartment.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Your vision is bleary and unable to focus, but you can see the outline of your brother above you. Yuji busies himself with the straps of your heels, but isn’t holding his breath for you to respond.

His hands feel detached as they settle behind your knees, like the skin he’s touching isn’t your own. Your limbs are deadweight, but Yuji is inexplicably strong and pushes your legs up to your chest. The tight dress you wore tonight falls at the front and your tits spill into view.

Yuji takes a moment to enjoy the sight of you in his bed, dress scrunched around your waist and panties long gone. Wait- where did your panties go? You don’t remember taking them off.

“W-wait Yuji, what’s- what’s going on?” The liquor sloshes in your head when your cheek falls to one side, it’s taking too much energy to keep up.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m going to make you feel good. You trust your big brother right?” And you nod, because of course you do. In times where you can’t think straight, Yuji can do it for you.

A mess of pink hair tickles the inside of your thighs, and a wet-hot tongue is licking long stripes into your pussy. You squeal on contact, and a low groan rips from your brother’s throat.

“Such a sweet little girl.” He whispers into your lips, punctuating with an open-mouth kiss to you clit. He could lick at you like this forever, leave the strain in his jeans to drain all the blood in his head just so he doesn’t have to stop fucking his tongue into you.

“Want you, want you Yuji..” you’re words paw at him, pulling him up to meet your face. He’s got his weeping cock in his fist before you can say another word.

He’ll fuck you into his mattress all night, pump you full of cum, throw you through drunken, dizzy orgasms until your little body goes into tremors.

Because you get whatever you want when it comes to Yuji, because that’s what big brothers are for.

𓈒 ﹒ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ ࣭

❥ ᴄʜɪᴡʜᴏʀᴇɪ.2023©️ ᴀʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ.

[vyglitchcraft]

Since requests are open, can you write for havik, shao, Scorpion and sub zero with a size kink SFW and NSFW headcanons? ʕʘ‿ʘʔ

YES BITCH I WILL, you have good taste in men hot DAMN also yes putting their canon heights just so you can imagine it (atleast before MK1 assuming they didn't change the height)

Sizing Up (18+)

MK1 Shao, Havik, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang x gen!reader size kink headcanons

Warning: Havik's section has mentions of gore and more extreme fetishes

General Shao (7'2 ft)

SFW

This hunk of muscles love to show off his build, he is VERY proud of it. Like the type of douchebag in the gym that would flex in front of the mirror type of guy. And you love every second of it

He likes to show off, that's just a thing that Shao likes in every timeline. He likes to pick you up and just point out how small and light you are, how you're lucky to have him because someone can just pick you up and run off with you

He's a bit of a jerk but you should expect that when you dated him. He constantly teases you about your height and he'll make sure you will NOT forget that you're short. Jars on the highest shelf, every lid is screwed on a bit TOO tight, you can't seem to find any stools to stand on so that means only one thing, you're forced to ask him for help and he would HAPPILY do it with a shit eating grin on his face

He LOVES it when you do a size comparison between you and him, especially with your hands, he thinks its so precious that he can just hold both of your hands with only one of his

He went FERAL when he saw you in his clothes

NSFW

When i say this man is huge EVERYWHERE i mean it, you wouldn't be exaggerating when you compare it to your arm.

"Are you sure? I could break you" is something he constantly says. He loves to lay his cock right on top of your stomach, just admiring just how deep he could reach. Heck it scares you sometimes too, i mean who wouldn't?

But all those feelings are gone when you feel that delicious stretch as he slowly pushes his cock into you. He loves to compare you to a sex toy just because he could just hold your torso with one hand and just use you. He is VERY degrading in bed but god does he love you too.

"So pathetic, did it reach your brain too? Look at me while i use you" even when the two of you are doing it sitting down, you only reach his chest.

He loves to see the outline of his cock on your stomach, he's amazed that someone as small as you can take something that big.

You're practically getting tossed around from position to position, you're gonna get manhandled like a sack of potatoes

Havik (6'4 ft)

SFW

Also messes with you but more just because it causes chaos. Although he doesn't care about his height unlike Shao, he is absolutely fixated by the fact that you're so small compared to him. He thinks you're adorable and wants to bite your head off.

Chews on your hair. You're probably the perfect height for him to lay his head on top of yours. Your hair gets into his mouth sometimes and he likes chewing on it.

He likes to hold onto you, he wants you to carry him around because he thinks it's funny that someone THAT small can carry a man his height. So yes you're here giving this man a piggy back ride while he chews on your hair. Look don't expect maturity from HIM of all people.

Also likes to carry you everywhere and put everything (including you) on a really high shelf, why? Because chaos.

"I can throw you" "Havik WHY" "what if i throw you across the arena so you can attack people from behind" "WHY WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT"

He's big but he acts like he's small, he either is NOT aware of his height or just does it to mess with you, could be both.

NSFW

Cute aggression but kinky. That's all i can say about him.

But anyway he likes to point out certain details that just make you want to cover your face. He appreciates that you're so easily pinned down. Your feet aren't touching the ground if you're getting fucked on a table or some other random surface.

Please be warned, the man has no filter. His dirty talk is explicit and isn't for the faint of heart.

Goes fucking FERAL when he sees your stomach bulging from his cock. How you can barely handle anything yet you do, easily too. He loves it. "I wonder if i pull out fast enough, i could pull your intestines inside out"

"I can feel myself hitting your lungs, do you like it?" he's exaggerating but he loves how you're basically choking from the pleasure. Although if you're genuinely uncomfortable or hurt, he will stop. As chaotic as he is, he doesn't want to see you hurt or at worst die.

Loves it when you're the dominant one though. He's a switch. He likes it when someone weak like you can overpower him (if you can't, he likes to pretend) you can do anything to him, he can regenerate any part of his body.

Bi-Han (6'2 ft)

SFW

Overbearing as fuck. He treats you like you're just this small vulnerable rabbit. He feels the need to always protect you, i mean someone your size surely can't protect themselves right? That's why you have him! If you think he's overprotective, he's even more so when you're small

You're a porcelain doll to him, one wrong move and you'll be hurt. Although he's very gentle, he's also like a predator, almost a yandere. You're spoiled, he's the grandmaster, who's gonna stop him from using the Lin Kuei's money for you. But you ain't gonna do shit without him "protecting" you

Since every ninja is around 6'2 (except Tremor and Reptile i think) so you bet your ass you can't reach shit but don't worry, Bi-Han is there to help you. You won't be lifting a finger when he's around.

Oh but don't think he's all soft, his anger is fucked. He uses his size to intimidate people, standing behind you like a shadow. Or having you on his lap like a pet.

Your size means you're also easily movable. He uses this to his advantage to just carry you around or pick you up if he needs you.

NSFW

Again, predator/prey. He absolutely takes advantage of the fact that you're so weak compared to him. The way he can make you whine with one of his fingers, gives him an ego boost. "I can't wait to stretch you to the limits"

Everything about him screams possessive and the fact that you look so small and weak compared to him makes it even worse. The fact that he can just wrap his hand around your whole neck. The fact that you cry every time he fucks you, he lives for it.

He'll pin you down, bite you, everything that you'll love today but regret tomorrow. His grip is bruising but no worries, he'll make sure to take care of you after it. His hands would be cold enough to soothe the pain

Seeing you grip onto him, how he overpowers you and you're hugging him as if he's the only person that could keep you safe. God he could go another round just from seeing it.

Kuai Liang (6'2 ft)

SFW

Not as obsessive as his brother, he's respectful. He loves you and he'll make sure you know it. He wants you to feel protected but not scared. Although he discourages you from fighting because he's scared that you'll get overpowered.

He's pretty self aware about his height but he won't make it your problem.

He LOVES it when you wear his clothes or any oversized shirt. He just wants to choke you with his chain and hug you until you can't breathe.

He likes to hold your face with both of his hands and just squish your cheeks. His hands pretty much cover your face. Oh and he doesn't mind carrying you everywhere he goes, it's embarrassing but if you want him to do it, he'll handle the teasing, as long as you're happy.

Does that thing where he just puts his hands on your face, grabbing your head like a basketball. He isn't really thinking about anything, he just does it sometimes. Also accidentally gained the reflex of having to crouch just to go face to face with you. Yes its a bit degrading but he'll snap out of it and go back to his normal position.

NSFW

The fact that you're so light and small compared to him makes it so easy for him to just pin you against a wall. He loves the sense of power that he has over you. You're so vulnerable and he could just defeat you.

To his dismay, he's pretty similar to his brother but much more merciful and less degrading. "So small, so weak, i could just break you"

He would tie you up with his chains and just let you warm up his cock, his big arms wrapping around your neck while he studies in his room. His hand would wander down, cupping your stomach or thighs. Feeling your head lean back on his chest while you beg for him to move.

In his mind, you're like a pocket pussy, a cute toy but he would never mention it. He has a filter but his mind does not. He would love to see you beg that he's too big, that it hurts, your hole not closing up after he's done with you, he wants to see it but he would never say it to you, its too embarrassing.

Your small frame when you go all limp after a session looks so adorable that he just wants to hold your hips down and use you until you're all loose and open. "I'll mold you into my shape, i need you to be mine" he pants out, biting your shoulder, he really is similar to his brother even if he denies it.

[curlyfriesgalore]

curly can't sing.

as the title says, it's a headcanon i randomly had when playing my mouthwashing sims 4 household (lol), where swansea and curly went karaoke-ing at 'waterside warble' in san myshuno. curly sang horrendously since he just gained the skill. though, it made me think, how funny would it be if curly genuinely couldn't sing for shit?

it's the one thing jimmy has leverage over (he's no better, really), and curly is painfully aware of his tone-deafness, so he never reveals it unless it's for a special occasion... with an extra special someone there to watch him perform (miserably).

that being said, daisuke suggested the crew do something fun to celebrate the completion of their shipment, so why not do some karaoke?

★ a sfw one-shot broken down into bullets with chat-format segments for dialogue. fair warning, there are a few suggestive moments, but the implications aren't overt. [2,817 words]

☆ gen tags: set in 2005. gn! reader who is a doctor and a great singer. none of the game's events happen, so they're just a bunch of folks doing regular space deliveries, but jimmy is still an unpleasant ass that gets on the reader's nerves. reader and curly are crushing on each other (they're on the brink of knowing it's reciprocal). manfailure curly but he's trying his best... whatever that best is (lmfao, accurate to canon 😭). curly -> grant (name switch at some point in the fic). there's one moment where curly and reader share a glass, so just letting you know in case you're not a fan of that :)

[i'm still on break, but i wanted to write something more concise and improvised in under a day! and i won't lie, i find fics including everyone to be so fun to write. i really love testing out my characterizations of the crew and have them interact in relaxed scenarios. art by kafukafukadayo on twt. —iris🌠]

while you bask in the dim hues of red lights, the instrumental of an electropop softens into silence as it tandems with your pants. when you peel your eyes open, everyone's gaping their mouths and raising their brows—even jimmy, ever the unimpressed, is surprisingly taken aback, and you're taken aback by that alone.

daisuke springs from the leather sofa. he bounds towards you, grips both your shoulders, and shakes you senselessly, his hand still somehow clutching his open flip phone.

─── ⋆⋅☼���⋆ ───

"doc, that... was... INSANE!" he jostles your body back and forth between his pauses, swaying you with all his might as he nearly forces the microphone to drop out your hand. daisuke swishes his head, finally letting you go, "wh—buh?! how do you—are you imogen heap reincarnated?!"

anya snorts, sounding like a stuffed trumpet. "dai, imogen's alive! she's only 27." swansea follows suit, his deep chuckle rumbling through his belly, crossed arms resting atop. "pfft, that's far from dead."

daisuke rolls his eyes away from the two, "tch, you get what i mean! like, look—!" he speedily dials the buttons on his phone, opening his gallery and brandishing a pixelated clip of you singing along to the mbira melody and string bass beats, the crunchy electronic syncs with your ethereal mezzo-soprano. daisuke snaps the phone shut with his palm, raising his free hand in surrender. "if that's not the lead singer of frou frou, then i don't know who is." he takes the remote, looking through what next to sing.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

amid the nurse, mechanic, and intern belting their lungs out to "hey ya!" curly sits, and you stand before him. his ocean eyes swim in awe as he cranes his neck to face you. you're glowing. your head perfectly aligns right in front of the carmine light; its luminescence filters around your shadowed outline, like you were some angel graced from above with an even more angelic voice to come with. it was sort of comical how the largest man in the room felt so small beneath your presence.

there's a dew of sweat hanging below your bottom lip, and curly can't help but bite his. that is until he slips his teeth back in when you cushion yourself onto the couch, spreading your legs wide with an arm lounging on the headrest behind him. curly huffed a laugh and leaned into the shiny sofa, letting his scalp fall onto your forearm.

even with your tongue tucked inside your parted lips, curly could practically see your papillae beg for freshness. he smiles, momentarily stretching his back away from the couch to grab your drink and hands it to you. a raspy thanks escape your parched throat.

your neck bobs with every gulp, drinking like it's the last you'll ever taste water. curly tries his hardest not to let his gaze linger longer than it should, but the way your head tilts back and your hand grips the glass, he can't help but swallow some of that imaginary water himself.

a contented sigh leaves you. you flick your eyes to him and just about see the last of his adam's apple slurp up nothing. you gesture the drink, asking if he wants it. curly is briefly hesitant until he turns to see his empty cup and shrugs, "sure, why not?"

as curly takes his sip, he notices the beaded sweat shining on your lip more notably than before. his brows raise ever so subtly, ruminating his next moves. when you still fail to realize the wetness glistening at your mouth's rim, he pulls the drink away from himself.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"hey, can i...?"

your eyes widen softly as you watch his thumb inch toward your jaw. you flick your view down, puffing out your lower lip to see a dab of sweat cling onto you for dear life. you look back at him and nod. curly gently takes a hold of your chin, thumbing the sudor away while his remaining fingers brush against your neck. you take in the moment, eyes half-lidded and lips ever so parted. he wasn't glancing at you, but you could tell he wanted to, for his warm breath quiets the longer you study him—noticing the way his tongue peeks out his mouth or how his golden greying hair falls over the wrinkles etched into his temple. "you know," moments before he drops his hand, he finally manages to look you in the eye, your faces merely inches apart. "your performance really gave me chills." you smirked, "is that why you didn't speak up?" your tease brought curly to a laugh, the bass in his voice strong. "i can't help but be mesmerized when that's how you sing, doc."

you hummed a titter, nodding to yourself as you thanked him with a delicate smile. "you can drop the formalities, grant. we're at a karaoke bar, not the tulpar."

whether or not you noticed the hitch in his breath, grant softened upon hearing his first name, oftentimes forgetting that's who he actually is. his head tilts down, blithely sighing before picking himself up to show you his grin, "okay, okay..." he momentarily chuckles, now resting his elbow on the headrest, propping it up, and leaning onto his knuckles next to your arm still lying there. "well, my point still stands. you have an incredibly captivating voice, y/n." "oh, stop it...!" you both become a blushing, giggling mess. your other hand finds its way to rest on your knee, which sits right against grant's. as you speak about your singing history, grant brings his free palm to his thigh, pretending to unintentionally graze his calloused fingers against your nails. he listens intently to how you'd belt out your favorite songs on repeat, albeit the sound of daisuke and anya screaming, "HEEEY YAAA!" and the tidbits of exhaustion lingering in his mind make your words muffle into incoherent jargon.

"but enough about me, i wanna hear you." you catch his eyes snapping away from both his and your legs smushing together, hoping you don't notice the blankness in his brain. "or are you just charming me to stall your big reveal, hm?"

grant's jaw falls, and utterances of filler words filter out his mouth, but before he can respond, daisuke catches wind of their conversation as outkast's song dies down in the background.

"oh, yeah!" daisuke takes a swig of his soda. after a sigh of satisfaction and couple of lip smacks, daisuke leaps from his end of the couch and motions to the two, microphone in hand. "it's your turn to solo, captain!"

"uhh, i don't know if i should..." grant sheepishly waves the mic away, his eyes shifting between everyone's expressions. daisuke is pouting and pleading with puppy eyes. anya just gives him a thumbs-up and a classic comforting smile. swansea is indifferent. jimmy, who's been leaning against the palm tree printed wall for the past four songs, beer in hand, grows an all-too-familiar smirk. then there's you, expectantly looking at him with overlaid eyes he wishes to see in a different setting... that of his bedroom—

"aww, why not, curl? we've done our parts. 's only fair you do yours, too." jimmy's tone was far from welcoming, sounding more like a jab than anything. you narrowed your sights at him, "didn't you only sing in the group ones?" jimmy shrugs. "look," after taking another chug of his can, raising his hands in defeat. "my karaoke quota's been filled. sorry." you simply roll your eyes. before the tension thickens, daisuke interjects, "ah, don't worry, cap. i bet your voice sounds super cool, like superhero cool! you've got that gruffness that swan's got... but y'know... less croaky n' stuff!" "'scuze me?" swansea lifts a single brow, anya stifles a laugh, and daisuke flails his hands in defense, "eh- i mean it as a compliment! you've got a sick voice, swansea." "emphasis on sick..." anya cheekily comments under her breath, and for the first time in forever, swansea's jaw drops. he coughs out a laugh that's been lodged in his throat for god knows how long and shakes his head, pointing his thumb at the giggling woman. "wowww, aren't you, the nurse, supposed to be fixing that?" anya nods to you, "only under doctor's orders." the two have a back and forth, but daisuke still stands in front of grant, intent on lending the mic to the man.

"i—okay..." grant crumbles under the pressure, caving in when you whisper a couple of encouragements. daisuke cheers, anya claps, swansea bobs his head in support, jimmy fakes a whoop, and you—genuinely—hype him up with a holler.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

grant purses his lip as he presses the buttons on the remote while daisuke guides him through the songs on the screen.

jimmy leaves his spot, his boot denting a scuff mark on the wallpaper. your nose flares, watching him carelessly toss the can into the bin as he makes his way to sandwich you between him and swansea, purposefully maximizing the width of how far he can stretch his legs.

you ignore him, opting to watch someone much cuter. grant turns to you, awkwardly smiling as you return a thumbs-up. he focuses back on daisuke, who's now raving over a song he definitely thinks grant should sing.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"you know he's shit, right?" your brows contort into a furrow, still not looking at the man. "the fuck you mean?" you never had much patience for jimmy, of all people, so your courtesies never fail to fall short with him. "you know who i mean—him." jimmy gestures to grant, pointer finger flicking at the blond. "no shit, sherlock. i'm saying, what are you specifically referring to?" "obviously, his voice, sherlock." he drawls the two syllables, the stench of yeast and malt oozing out of his mouth and into your unfortunate nose. "he'll make your ears bleed, trust me." finally, you face him and stare at jimmy's smugness with an incredulous squint. seriously, how the fuck does grant put up with him? you couldn't even stand the guy's presence, let alone his incessant insults on grant himself. "do you do anything but complain?" you sneer. "nope." jimmy curtly replies, mouthing a pop after the 'p' as he claws a hand over the chips bowl, stuffing his face with grease. at this point, you weren't sure if you should stay annoyed or be slightly impressed with his sheer ability to find the worst in everything. "some fucking friend..." you say to yourself, already past the point of defeat. with his mouth still full of food, jimmy responds, "hey, as his friend, i'm actively warning you. i've known this guy long enough to be there for his first choir class." "whatever, we'll see." you huffed, relaxing on the couch, sitting much closer to swansea than the other. "it's not like you've got much credibility, anyway." you think back to moments ago, whenever it was jimmy's turn to sing his parts, his half-assed attempts barely constitutes as a grumble. jimmy snickers, "who says i'm denying that? just 'cause i don't care doesn't mean i'm wrong."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

you have never been more relieved to hear a soft pop interlude, forcing the conversation to a close.

daisuke flops onto the sofa next to anya and flips open his phone, pressing record as the tv flashes the music video to "shape of my heart." you lean behind swansea and lock eyes with daisuke, who abashedly giggles when you mouth, 'you chose this, didn't you?' to which he nods excitedly.

ah, daisuke, ever the avid backstreet boys fanatic.

your eyes fall back to grant. the man fidgets with his microphone, and his shoe frantically taps to the beat, pursing his lips into a tight smile in hopes it will clench down the shivers rising with the guitar strums. you silently cheer him on when he starts humming, following the yellow highlight filling up the white text reading ♪ yeah, yeah ♪, and—

oh!

...oh

oh, god.

jimmy... wasn't wrong, far from it, actually—as much as it pains you to admit.

the very moment grant hits that ♪ baby ♪, it's all downhill from here. it's as if his pitch took a trip to six flags. his questionably paced breaths mimic a ride with an unnecessary amount of loop-the-loops, and his tone flip-flops between a coarse rasp and an oddly airy twang, like a reverse bungee slingshotting into the air.

grant's eyes squeeze shut, facing away from the crew. either he was incredibly invested or excruciatingly embarrassed, and with how he was really getting into that chorus, nobody could tell. he only ever peeks to look at you, though, clearly awaiting your approval, to whom you always beam, your face mixed in pity and affection.

as much as he sounded like a crow was clawing its way out of his esophagus, you couldn't help but find his attempts to be really wholesome. maybe it's your pre-existing bias, and maybe it's because this feels like he's serenading every line at you, but it's hard not to fall for this vocal failure of a man—even though everyone else's expressions say otherwise.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"told you so," jimmy taunts in your ear, sickeningly chuckling at grant without hesitation. "woo! curly, you go, dude!" he cheers, voice dipped in mockery. all you do is click your tongue and face the others, choosing to listen in on anya and swansea. "you sure i'm the one that's 'sick'?" swansea jokes, albeit laced with genuine disgust. he leans to you, whispering the same revulsion, "you both need to rethink your careers."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

anya simply grimaces, trying her hardest to make it look like a grin, but her knit brows and frown give way.

daisuke's eyes say everything. they're wide, and his pupils constrict like he's a cartoon. his hand hesitantly grips onto his flip phone, unsure if he should keep the camera going. as his leg rapidly bounces and his teeth bite down on his paint-chipped nails, his gaze slowly turns away from grant's caterwauling and towards the rest of the crew.

moreover, you're just as guilty. although you're not irked by this newfound fact, a wince washes over you the moment you are out of grant's sights.

suddenly, after the first chorus, the song reveals a blue highlight painting the white text. grant falters, his voice shrinking when he sees the two primary colors play different lyrics simultaneously. everyone takes notice, their faces easing from cringe to confusion. then it clicks.

this was a duet.

daisuke palms his face with a slap—that's his bad. you skim the room, and everyone's exchanging glances, implicitly questioning who'll aid their poor captain.

without hesitation, you jump to the rescue. snatching a mic from the coffee table and quickly singing your parts, striding your way towards grant, who immediately picks up where he's left off, still shrill as ever.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

♪ i'M hEre WIDTH myYy...! confEh shion ♪, in a sheer attempt at confidence, grant belts his lyrics. his dimples dig into his smile, sending you the much-needed energy to sing your lines. ♪ got nothing to hide no more ♪. you sway your head in accordance with the melody, ball up your fist, and let your fingers spread far and wide, wiping the air as you and grant's steps magnetize toward each other. ♪ i don't kNOw whe...rE to st-art ♪; warbling his words, grant's gaze softens when you're within arms reach. he lowers his neck, brings the mic close to his lips, and grazes your forearm, wishing he could feel the flush skin of your waist and reel you in. ♪ but to show you... ♪, as both lyrics meld into one, you take his hand into yours. ♪...the shA-pe of mY hEart ♪

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

daisuke bursts into song, singing the first line of the last verse, startling everyone in the process. anya joins in, now standing with daisuke as both pull swansea to his feet. the mechanic begrudgingly croons along to his intern's baritone and his nurse's soprano.

daisuke beckons for jimmy to come with him, but in classic jimmy zare fashion, he remains stagnant. the younger man frowns. though, he quickly reminds himself that there are only five members in BSB, anyway. so daisuke hands jimmy his phone instead, telling the co-pilot to make sure that everyone's in frame.

they've turned this into a concert for a one-man audience, who's hating every second of it.

save for jimmy, currently grousing under his breath, the crew wraps their arms around each other's shoulders and chants their hearts out to the R&B melody.

as the track nears its final moments, you and grant rest your hands on each other's waists, pulling your bodies close as your head leans on his pec. neither of you realizes that you've left the other three, who are all too busy rocking side to side to notice the two of you in a side embrace, minds too carried away to feel jimmy's prickly leer.

[oh my god, i genuinely didn't even intend for this ending, but here we are 🥹! i hope you guys liked this, and if anyone has comments on how i wrote everyone's dialogue and mannerisms, like what worked, or if you have suggestions for any additions, please let me know! i still need to learn more about writing anya, since in canon, it's hard to get a read of her real personality through jimmy's lens. still, so far, i like to think she enjoys teasing people she's comfortable with. as for swansea, i'm trying to lean into his meanness more, but i'm saving most of that for a daisuke fic centered on swansea's pov, so we'll see what i do when i get there! —iris🌠]

[nicarnelian]

₊˚⊹ featuring: academic achiever! narumi gen x student council president! fem! reader

₊˚⊹ word count: 1.2k

₊˚⊹ warning: curse words, narumi being a menace, grammar errors ;-;

₊˚⊹ author’s note: literally a dump w all my thoughts. head empty, only academic achiever narumi . again, this is not beta read (i type n post lmao im gnna die w this setup) but i might make a fic w this prompt… im just lazy to edit…

it's insane how much i think about academic achiever! narumi gen and how he would always rank first in every semestral rankings. however, his life soon crumbles when he sees his name a row lower than usual: second rank.

he thinks it was a mistake, perhaps a mistype of the school administration. however, he looks at the name above him just to see one of the few names he despises. he rubs his eyes, thinking that maybe, he was hallucinating — because there was no fucking way that student council president! reader dethroned him from his position as top of his batch.

what would gen first do in this situation? ah, yes! he would absolutely storm into the council office and make a scandal, shouting and demanding how the hell did you manage to steal that spot from him! you and your other executive officers stared at him. is he fucking delusional or plain insane? who in their right mind would storm into the council office while a meeting was in progress?

and, that was when gen declared he would snatch away his title from your hands and return it to its respective owner — him.

and, from here, you deduced that indeed, he was both fucking delusional and insane.

the both of you despise working with one another, it was like cat and dog seeing your combination with him from afar. in one class with gen, you argued to disseminate tasks as soon as the project was given, but he tended to cram that paper a week before submission, which he emphasized would take up only a meager 5% of your final grade, or simply, just because he does not care.

the conclusion to your quarrel with him? both of you end up submitting individual papers.

the professor scolded you both and asked to redo the task. gen hates it, he truly detests working with you. so dignified, so strict with time as if you were to run out of it. while he, on the other hand, preferred to be lax about it. he absolutely despises how poised you acted — as if nothing was wrong with your life.

but, then again, gen doesn't know what happens behind these curtains of your composed façade. he came to your dorm since you had to redo the project with him. you and him decided to make own respective outlines and brainstorm on the final one. gen stayed in what seemed like a small living room divided by a sliding door from your bedroom, where you stayed.

however, he peeked through your sliding door when it's time for the final brainstorming session, because you aren't answering his calls from the other side. you were asleep. on your desk. you were asleep, slumped over your desk surrounded by mountains of council paperwork and reviewers.

initially, gen was annoyed. you had the audacity to sleep, while he was researching his ass off at the other side? yup, he's annoyed, alright. however, he caught a glimpse of not only an outline, but a draft to the project the both of you were working on. he swiftly took it and analyzed it. with all honesty, it was good and he couldn’t deny that. he looked back at your sleeping figure and, mysteriously, for some sort of reason, gen carried your body onto the soft cushions of your bed. gen sat on the floor, resting his back against your bed, and began drafting your collaborative paper with your draft.

you wake up at three in the morning to find a head resting on your bed edge. gen narumi, that absolute menace who declared you a rival, was sleeping in your room, beside him was a finished project with both of your names printed on a paper. you stood up and woke him up, "hey, idiot."

he stirred awake, his left hand rubbing his eyes while his laptop rested on his right arm. "hey, miss president." he smiled. a toothy grin, with his sharp, cuspid teeth – almost like a cat.

"sleep here," you offered, patting your bed.

"are you asking me to sleep beside you? want to hook up with me that badly?" his tired eyes smiled, as he adjusted himself and settled with his laptop on your bed. gen was too tired to even engage in banter with your antics.

wow, he’s surprisingly… compliant. you thought.

however, you lit up your study desk once more and gen was easily disturbed by how you were working again. he thought you needed sleep, needed rest. it was three in the morning and he doesn't deny that you still have paperwork to do. but, if you continued working like that, it would obviously have some adverse effects on your body. you were hurting yourself with your routine.

but, it's not like he's worried, of course! he just doesn't want to snatch back his title from someone who didn't put all of their effort. he doesn't care!

but, fuck those thoughts. the thunderous beating of his heart betrayed him. his mind was cloudy as hell and he was sure to be deranged the moment he asked you, "hey, princess. what time are ya sleeping?"

then, he slapped his mouth closed. princess. he just called you princess. he's dead. he was hoping that you didn’t hear him, but your head quickly whipped towards his direction, "princess?"

crap. "hah! no! it was a slip of tongue! miss president is close to princess, right? president and princess starts with the letter p!" gen knew he was screwed, wondering what the hell he was even spouting about.

there was an awkward silence that filled the room. but, you stood up your chair, and walked towards him, bending a little bit as you closed the distance between your face and his — you saw him flinch. "if you wanted to hook up with me that badly, just say so."

gen couldn't process what you've said. he didn’t expect you to use his own words against him. and, it was three in the morning, maybe the both of you were high, maybe this was all just a dream, he thought. but, he snapped back into reality when he felt a blanket shoved in his face. he tried to remove it, but felt your hands keeping it in place. “h-hey!"

"j-just go to sleep! i'm fine! i'll sleep later!" you stammered and stuttered over your words. gen stopped struggling and kept the blanket over his entire body. the reason? because his flushed face would be exposed to you and he knew that you would tease the hell out of him.

little did he know, on the other side of the room, you were heaving heavy sighs. your face turned beet red because, what the hell did you just do?

both of you lingered in each other’s silence, neither eager to speak up about what had just happened. but gen supposed that being in this situation wasn't really that bad. if he could get the stoic and poised miss president of the council stuttering like that, then maybe he's one step closer to reclaiming that title of his.

[artsekey]

I'd been seeing videos on Tiktok and Youtube about how younger Gen Z & Gen Alpha were demonstrating low computer literacy & below benchmark reading & writing skills, but-- like with many things on the internet-- I assumed most of what I read and watched was exaggerated. Hell, even if things were as bad as people were saying, it would be at least ~5 years before I started seeing the problem in higher education.

I was very wrong.

Of the many applications I've read this application season, only %6 percent demonstrated would I would consider a college-level mastery of language & grammar. The students writing these applications have been enrolled in university for at least two years, and have taken all fundamental courses. This means they've had classes dedicated to reading, writing, and literature analysis, and yet!

There are sentences I have to read over and over again to discern intent. Circular arguments that offer no actual substance. Errors in spelling and capitalization that spellcheck should've flagged.

At a glance, it's easy to trace this issue back to two things:

The state of education in the United States is abhorrent. Instructors are not paid enough, so schools-- particularly public schools-- take whatever instructors they can find.

COVID. The two year long gap in education, especially in high school, left many students struggling to keep up.

But I think there's a third culprit-- something I mentioned earlier in this post. A lack of computer literacy.

This subject has been covered extensively by multiple news outlets like the Washington Post and Raconteur, but as someone seeing it firsthand I wanted to add my voice to the rising chorus of concerned educators begging you to pay attention.

As the interface we use to engage with technology becomes more user friendly, the knowledge we need to access our files, photos, programs, & data becomes less and less important. Why do I need to know about directories if I can search my files in Windows (are you searching in Windows? Are you sure? Do you know what that bar you're typing into is part of? Where it's looking)? Maybe you don't have any files on your computer at all-- maybe they're on the cloud through OneDrive, or backed up through Google. Some of you reading this may know exactly where and how your files are stored. Many of you probably don't, and that's okay. For most people, being able to access a file in as short a time as possible is what they prioritize.

The problem is, when you as a consumer are only using a tool, you are intrinsically limited by the functions that tool is advertised to have. Worse yet, when the tool fails or is insufficient for what you need, you have no way of working outside of that tool. You'll need to consult an expert, which is usually expensive.

When you as a consumer understand a tool, your options are limitless. You can break it apart and put it back together in just the way you like, or you can identify what parts of the tool you need and search for more accessible or affordable options that focus more on your specific use-case.

The problem-- and to be clear, I do not blame Gen Z & Gen Alpha for what I'm about to outline-- is that this user-friendly interface has fostered a culture that no longer troubleshoots. If something on the computer doesn't work well, it's the computer's fault. It's UI should be more intuitive, and it it's not operating as expected, it's broken. What I'm seeing more and more of is that if something's broken, students stop there. They believe there's nothing they can do. They don't actively seek out solutions, they don't take to Google, they don't hop on Reddit to ask around; they just... stop. The gap in knowledge between where they stand and where they need to be to begin troubleshooting seems to wide and inaccessible (because the fundamental structure of files/directories is unknown to many) that they don't begin.

This isn't demonstrative of a lack of critical thinking, but without the drive to troubleshoot the number of opportunities to develop those critical thinking skills are greatly diminished. How do you communicate an issue to someone online? How do look for specific information? How do you determine whether that information is specifically helpful to you? If it isn't, what part of it is? This process fosters so many skills that I believe are at least partially linked to the ability to read and write effectively, and for so many of my students it feels like a complete non-starter.

We need basic computer classes back in schools. We need typing classes, we need digital media classes, we need classes that talk about computers outside of learning to code. Students need every opportunity to develop critical thinking skills and the ability to self-reflect & self correct, and in an age of misinformation & portable technology, it's more important now than ever.

[superblysubpar]

<- part six | part eight -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: No more bets.

the song: Read Your Mind by Sabrina Carpenter

also for your listening pleasure: Girl Can't Help It by Journey, Open Your Heart by Madonna, U Got The Look by Prince, and The Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh

5,328 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / brief descriptions of scars-previous head injury / SPICE/SMUT - really just some dirty talk and a teensiet tiniest start to oral (reader receiving) | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - the past

  His hand was in yours, and then it wasn’t. 

  “Well, well, well,” a voice sneered in front of you as you blinked at the boy who just dropped your hand at the sound of it. “What do we have here, Stevie?”

  A group of boys around your age leaned against a falling apart fence just outside of the ride, eyes surveying you up and down, then looking at Steve Harrington standing next to you. The leader of the pack a face full of freckles and a grin that made your stomach unsettled when he pointed it at you and took a step forward.

  “I’m Tommy, and you,” he grinned wider, like if he showed off more teeth, he’d placate you into thinking you enjoyed his company, “Well, you must be new to Hawkins. Think I’d remember a face like yours.”

  “Knock it off Hagan,” Steve grit out of his teeth, a fist clenched at his side. 

  “I’m…I’ll…” you stuttered out at the boy named Tommy, backing away and looking at Steve as you did. “It was…I’ll see you around?”

  You scrambled away from the boys as Steve took a step towards you, but Tommy’s voice rang out, making his head turn. 

  “Does Harrington have a little girlfriend? Gonna share all the juicy details with us, Stevie?” 

  “What? No!” He answered too quickly, cheeks pink, no longer looking at you. “She’s just some stupid girl, I got stuck with her on the ferris wheel…”

  You didn’t stick around to hear more, swiping at your wet cheeks with the back of your hand. 

  Glittery green and gold smeared across it, freshly smudgable after Steve Harrington held your hand until it was over. 

A house on Cornwallis Street - Sunday

  Your hands shifted on the steering wheel, even though the car was in park. Clammy and shaking as you rubbed them on your denim shorts and took a deep breath. With your window rolled down you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Journey coming from the backyard, the large splash that followed the shout of ‘Don’t you dare Henderson!’. Peals of laughter and the distinct smell of something grilling only added to elements encouraging you to join them. 

  But you were still sitting in your car. 

  You didn’t question it, when after the party last night, Eddie didn’t drive you home, but to the shop, dangling your keys in front of a shocked face as he proclaimed it was finally fixed.

  “But…I didn’t pay you, I thought you couldn’t…” 

  Eddie had waved you off and smiled, “I’ve been working a lot.” He dropped the keys in your lap and grinned wider, “Besides, Harringon’ll be paying me three hundred bucks tomorrow.”

  You looked down at your thighs, thinking about who’s hands had just been pushing them apart a few minutes ago as Eddie quietly probed, “Right?”

“Of course.” You nodded, telling yourself that technically you and Eddie had won the bet.

  Nobody had slept with anyone. 

  Which is what you tell yourself again as you take another deep, bravery seeking breath and step out of your car. 

  Each step on the sidewalk then up the driveway is a little easier, your chest feeling a little lighter as the laughter and music only gets louder.

  But then you see the sign. 

  The same color of the suit you have in your bag.

  The same color he told you he can’t concentrate when you wear it. 

  Bright, bold, outlining four white letters.

  SOLD. 

  You’re still looking at it when the door swings open, Robin greeting you, dripping wet from the pool and a slice of watermelon in her hand.

“Finally! I’m outnumbered, and Max is too busy canoodling with Lucas and I need more girl power!”

  She grabs your arm and pulls you into the Harrington’s foyer as a louder call of, “I told you, as soon as Lucas apologizes for what he did-“

  “And I told you, that I cannot apologize for something if I don’t know what I’m apologizing for!”

  The pair walk out of a room on one side of the foyer as they argue, Max mumbling under her breath as they exit your sights and into the den.

  “You know exactly what you did.”

  Robin rolls her eyes and points up the stairs, “This downstairs bathroom is all packed up and,” she makes quotes with her fingers around the watermelon as she recites, “ ‘It’s cleaned and if any of you idiots fuck it up, you’re dead’ , but there’s one by Steve’s room, change and come help me seek vengeance on the boys!”

  She’s gone as fast as she arrived, the silence of the house now overpowering, but at least it gives you space to take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts.

  Steve’s moving. 

  Why didn’t he tell you?

  Your fingers glide on the wood banister as you climb the stairs, something sitting heavy in your gut from the more important question that’s gnawing at you.

  Why does it matter that he didn’t? 

  Once you find the bathroom, your fingers tug on red nylon and strings. The suit you rummaged around for in your drawer this morning pointing out the glaringly obvious answer. It matters he didn’t tell you because-

  It was a good suit, that was the only reason why it was picked for today.

  Not because of where you were wearing it.

  Not because of the boy who lived there. 

  Because he definitely still does live there, at least for the time being.

  It’s easy to spot his room when you exit the bathroom, bare feet padding across hard woods as you tug the hem of your white tshirt over your hips a little lower. Worried you shouldn’t be walking around the house so uncovered despite the fact that you’re about to be even more so outside in the pool, when you catch your reflection in the mirror above his dresser. 

  The room is in shambles, half packed you assume. Boxes open, and only half filled, litter the floor, the white plaid wallpapered walls bare, whatever hung on the nails left behind now packed away. Your fingers linger on the top of the dresser, thumb catching on his watch, a Polaroid of him and Robin, the worn brown leather of his wallet. A tight squeeze pulls at something in your chest when the slip of paper with the name ‘Brit’ and a heart shifts beneath it. 

  You can’t help but wonder if he called that number that night like he said he would. 

  Wonder if he took her out to a movie, held her hand, let everyone know that Steve Harrington was on a date with her.

  Your bag drops on his bed that’s unmade with sheets that match the walls as you wonder if she was here too. As you wonder how many other girls have been in this room, this bed. 

  A loud shout outside, just below his window makes you jump, pulling you out of the spiral of doubt you’ve fallen into and down the stairs. 

  The cream carpet is plush beneath your bare feet, the framed photos are gone, the desk as well, so nothing stands between you and the sliding glass doors out to the pool.

  It’s a different view than the last time you were here. The bright turquoise littered with even brighter inflatables and swimsuits. It’s warm, it’s light, it’s loud, as bodies splash in it and compete with the radio playing top hits for the loudest thing. Eddie’s shaking his curls out back and forth all over Robin who’s shrieking and running past him. 

  The thought of stepping outside and arriving late has you turning into the kitchen, searching for something your hands can fiddle with before joining the party. 

  Which is how Steve Harrington’s lungs finally give out, and he dies. 

  He knows he’s not actually dying, but he’s sure that the process has to feel eerily similar to this.

  He rounded the corner to find his fridge door opened, the glow of the interior light silhouetting around your curves hidden under a white shirt making his breath stutter in his chest. And as you bend at the waist, red fabric cut high and only climbing higher, reveals the perfect swell of your ass and his lungs fail to function, like one’s collapsing because he’s been shot, or he’s taking on water and they don’t know to expel the air anymore. 

  “Jesus Christ.”

  It slips out of him much like the yelp the words startle out of you, the shoot up of your body involuntary, causing your head to smack into the top of the fridge and a litany of curses to tumble out of your lips. 

  Steve rushes over as you hold your head and spin, blinking and looking dizzy.

  “Shit, shit, sorry.” He’s across the room in seconds, hands cupping your cheeks and tilting you gently while his eyes focus on your forehead, inspecting. He frowns and moves to the left slightly, towards the sink,  though he leaves one of his hands in contact with your skin. 

  The furrow of his brow deepens as he dampens a towel and you try to breathe out of your nose and in with your mouth so you don’t focus on how his normal smell is stronger with his shirt off and mixed with sunscreen and chlorine that clings to his skin. Skin that shines with a sheen from each, that’s somehow not gross, but tantalizing. So much of that skin on display revealing more freckles than you can fathom counting. Skin that looks more tan from the dark chest hair curled against it or the swim trunks that sit low on his hips. 

  Steve looks at you with raised eyebrows and you realize he’s asked a question and you absolutely didn’t hear it. 

  “Um,” you swallow, your tongue taking up too much room in your mouth, “Wh-what?”

  Steve’s lips twitch as he stands fully in front of you again, damp cloth raised as he whispers, “Something distracting you, honey?”

  Your throat has something stuck in it, and no amount of clearing it seems to fix the problem. You focus on the freckle just to the left of his lips instead of his smug eyes as you admit, “Can’t concentrate when you wear that color.”

  The reward of his low laugh and smile has you wondering if someone hand sculpted his lips and cupid’s bow. 

  “I’ll be sure to wear it every chance I get just to torture you then,” he murmurs while fingers adjust your chin into the light. Your back rests against the center island, legs sandwiched between his spread ones so he can raise the cloth to your skin, apologizing with his eyes as he tacks on, “Only fair, since you woke up and decided evil today.”

  The damp material of his swim trunks sends a shiver up your spine when it hits your thighs, and your hands grab his waist in a wince when the cloth makes contact with your still fairly fresh head wound. You’re in a staring contest with a gold chain around his neck as you fib, “This is the only swimsuit I own. Just happens to be red.”

  Steve finishes with your forehead, but two fingers curl under your chin and lift so you have to look at him as he speaks through a smirk.

  “You’re pretty cute when you lie.”

  “Come on Steve,” you whisper, fingers curling into his hips without thought, “You’re better than cheesy lines and rookie moves like this. Besides, the bet’s over. We can go back to hating each other now.”

  He shakes his head, nose bumping yours as he does and he exhales, “Never hated you.”

  Your swallow is loud as he leans closer, one hand on your hip and fingers playing with the so to speak fire of the strings holding your suit together as you offer, “Despised?”

  Another shake of his head, another step closer so your lower halves are pressed together and your eyelashes are fluttering. Your head falls back with a gasp as his mouth trails along your jaw, hot breath and wet lips against it as you stutter out, “De-detest?”

  He responds into your skin, just below your ear, something that sounds like the word, “Never.”

  His name leaves you breathlessly as his tongue lightly licks down the side of your neck, lips following in a delicate brush. 

  “Steve-”

  He hums into your collar, nose dragging around the curve of it while your hands grip his sides. “Stop saying my name like that honey, or I’m gonna get down on my knees and make you say it much,” he nips at your earlobe, “Much, louder.”

  The space between your legs throbs, thighs push even tighter together at the thought of Steve’s mouth there. 

  “Steve,” you scold, cheeks warm, body even more so in all the places it touches his. 

  “Baby,” he groans, nose knocking your cheek, “What did I just say?”

  He starts to lower himself, hands drifting so too, on the outside of your thighs. Brushing bare skin and aching to push it further, cup your ass and roll your hips against his. Especially when your fingers hold his jaw in place so he has to look at you. Only slightly distracted by how kissable your lips are as they say, “You’re moving.”

  Steve shakes his head no and you laugh again and he wonders how many more times he can make that sound come out of you. 

  “Harrington, there’s literally a sold sign in your front yard.”

  He leans in closer, unable to resist the chance to taste your lips again, to feel their lingering sting against them all day. He’s got this insane thought that he wishes you were wearing lipstick, so it could be smeared against him, marking up his mouth and neck, shit, even his dick, so everyone knows he’s yours, it’s yours.  

  “You worried I’m gonna be too far away?” He somehow manages to ask through the fog of images of your lips surrounding his cock, big eyes blinking at him as you-

  “I’m actually worried it isn’t far enough,” you swallow around the tight feeling in your chest.

  His forehead knocks yours, hands squeeze your waist and then climb higher on your curves as he tsks, “Even cuter. You gotta quit lying baby.” But he relents some of the upperhand, the thought of you being worried about him leaving making him admit, “I’m crashing at Robin’s for a bit. And we’re trying to save up for a place together.”

  “Oh,” you nod, distracted by the way his nose traces the bridge of yours, how his eyelashes flutter and the freckles on his cheeks stand out more from a morning in the sun as he does. “Th-that’s good.”

  “Yeah?” The corner of his lips rising in a smile making them brush yours. 

  “Mhm,” you hum, “So you can take Brit on that date still.”

  “Who?” He blinks, cheeks turning pink as your fingers scrape up his stomach and through his chest hair. 

  “Brit,” your eyebrows raise, “Smells like peaches, and giggles and dots her eyes with hearts? The picture perfect girl to take out around town and proudly hold hands with?”

  “Again,” Steve leans the few centimeters closer, whispering against your lips, “Who?”

  You push at his chest, as much as it pains you to do so, needing the distance from the intoxicating mouth that smells like mint and lemonade. But

Steve remains strong in his position, fingers curl around your ear and hold your neck in place gently as he speaks like each word might spook you into running.

  “I’m staying in Hawkins. I have no idea who you’re talking about. The bet is over. Can you stop being so stubborn and let me kiss you like I’ve been wanting to since we were twelve?”

  Your heart rumbles low and slow, like thunder rolling in, it cracks in your chest like lightening hit it. Every ounce of your body is buzzing, like the strike tore your body in two. One part that can’t believe you’re hearing him say it and another that wants to run even though you know it doesn’t strike the same place twice. The fear of being caught in the storm with no way out has you stalling. 

  “Ask me nicely.”

  Steve laughs, and you wonder how you never noticed how much you like making that sound bubble out of him. 

  Or how much you like the way he licks his lips before he says something important. 

  “Please,” he murmurs against your mouth, “Can I kiss you?”

  Your lips part the same time a shriek calls from the den, “Steve! The food is burning!”

  He curses under his breath, hand grabbing yours as he pulls you through the kitchen and into the den. 

  His frown only grows as the smell of burning food does when the two of you exit the sliding door. He tugs you with him across the warm pavement of the patio, the cool summer breeze has goosebumps arriving on your legs as he shouts at the curly haired boy fanning a smoking grill.

“Henderson! You had one fucking job, man! These aren’t just burning they’re-“

  “Scorched,” Lucas supplies around a cough, smacking the air with his hat. 

  “Torched,” Mike pipes up, squinting and pinching his nose closed.

  “Dead,” El delivers morosely.

  Will snorts and covers his mouth and Max mutters under her breath, “Imbeciles.” 

  But then she’s smiling at you.

  Then they’re all smiling at you, even Eddie and Robin who stand just beyond them, staring at Steve and yours intertwined hands. 

  The attention on it makes your hand feel too heavy in his and you go to slip it out, but Steve only squeezes it tighter, waving his other at them, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer. Now get lost, or I’m not making more and you can eat these disgusting things.”

  The “kids” take off and Steve turns to you, thumb swiping over the back of your hand, cheeks pink and swallowing loudly. “Um, about my really nicely asked question that was rudely-“

  “Yes.”

  The just as interrupted response stuns him as much as it does you. But when he smiles, and takes your cheeks in both of his hands, and leans in slowly, you’re sure the answer was the right one, the storm clouds dissipate, the threat of another crack gone. 

  This kiss, is like rain. 

  The good kind of rain. Slow. Steady. Steve’s lips capture yours sure, calmly, breathing out just as the pair of his mold around your top one. He holds them through an exhale against your cheek as your hands fall to his chest naturally. You can feel the thud of his heart beneath your palm as his mouth parts to do it again, deeper, stronger. Each beat against your skin the rain hitting a window until it’s so natural, so steady, it’s a simple background noise. 

  It’s only when loud whoops and whistles break the calm that you hear yours in your ears and feel his heart again, the calm disrupted. Your cheeks warm beneath his palms as he kisses you again, a chaste and over too quick peck around a smile. 

  That pesky thing is still stuck in your throat, suddenly unsure how limbs and words and human things work anymore. You stumble a step back and trip on a pool noodle when your stomach flutters with a swarm of butterflies intent on trying to escape. He catches your waist before you fall as you gesture to the water, “Alright, well, that pool’s not gonna swim in itself.”

  Steve smiles, but he narrows his eyes, squeezing at the outside of your thighs, “Honey, I thought we were done being mean to each other.”

  Your eyes blink at him, confused, butterflies constructing a roller-coaster in your stomach now as well, as you ask, “How is me swimming being mean?”

  “Kissing me like that then parading around in a little red bikini?” He swallows as his fingers play with the strings of said suit, whispering, “Mean. Incorrigible, baby.”

  This feels surreal, his hands on you, calling you baby while your friends are only a few feet away and absolutely watching. Even more so when you whisper, “Big brain word.”

  Steve taps your chin, lifting it as he asks, “What’s my prize?”

  Looking into Steve’s, Buttercup’s description of Westley’s eyes being like the sea after a storm can’t help but float through your mind. But Steve’s are a lot more like the forest after one. Wet and darkened earth soaking up all it was just given, richer in color and waiting to be explored. 

  “What do you want?” 

  Steve grins, his mouth parts, but then you’re both being drenched with water, two buckets dumped over your heads as you shout in protest against the cold. 

  Robin and Max yell something about the fire in the kitchen being too hot and they needed to put it out as they run away from you both with laughter. 

  You peel off the white shirt that clings to your body now as you mumble something about payback. Steve groans at the reveal of your body in only the suit. It’s easy to look over your shoulder as you walk away from him and ask, “Tell me later?”

  Even easier to shove a grinning Eddie towards the pool as you walk past and mumble, “Shut up.”

  He grips at your shoulder as he flails, pulling you in with him, your double splash drowning out your shriek and the beginning of Madonna’s Open Your Heart booming out of the stereo. 

  When you resurface, swiping water from your eyes and laughing, you turn to find Steve again and aren’t surprised when he’s already looking at you. Your arms rest on the ledge when you swim up to the side and mock his voice, calling up to him.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

  He sticks his tongue out at you as you laugh and swim away, but he can’t help but wonder where he packed his Polaroid, and if he can get you alone long enough to snap several his eyes only photos. 

  He’s still thinking it, later, as the sun inches closer to the other side of the sky, and you’re relaxed on a lounger next to Robin. 

Eyes hidden from him behind sunglasses, hands resting on your stomach, brushing back and forth over your skin as you roll your neck. 

  Prince’s U Got The Look fills the now much quieter backyard, the kids all having disappeared under the excuse of getting movie snacks and a video rental from Keith an hour ago. Robin’s voice interrupts the lyrics with, “How much you wanna bet they’re at the arcade and they aren’t coming back with the snacks?”

  You groan and sit up, “No more bets. But,” a sigh leaves you, “Yeah. I’ll go order a pizza? Steve’s got a billion contraband rental’s downstairs too. I’m sure there’s something halfway decent in there.”

  “Ha-ha,” he says dryly, watching you stretch has him sinking lower in the pool so only his eyes show. He squeezes them shut when your top slips just a smidge higher as your arms raise, the curve of each breast peeking out from the bottom and giving him a heart attack. 

  He’s certain that’s exactly what’s happening when he opens them to find you slipping your white shirt on. Only it’s not your white shirt.

  It’s his.

  Steve watches the collar linger on your nose, then slip over your chin as you smile at him and hook your thumb over your shoulder, “I’m - phone…pizza.” Stumbling over your words and shuffling towards the house quickly. 

  He waits exactly sixty seconds before he’s swimming towards the ladder and climbing out. Eddie’s voice taunts from the tube he’s floating in, with his arms behind his head, even with closed eyes he looks smug, “And where are you going?”

  “To…help. With the calling for pizza.” He towels off quickly, Robin snorts and Eddie makes a booing sound. 

  Robin calls from her lounger, “Don’t say we never did anything for you, Dingus!”

  Steve slides the glass door on their snickering, the house quiet and much cooler than the Summer outside. He glances in the kitchen, the hallway, searching for you, when he hears a creak upstairs. 

  He finds you in his room, in his shirt still, sunglasses pushed onto the top of your head as you sift through a bag and pull out a pair of denim shorts.

  “Hi,” he whispers, when you look up at him.

  “Hey,” you smile, voice quiet too, “Why are we whispering?”

  “I-“ he starts quiet and clears his throat, returning to a normal volume, “I don’t know. Guess I thought if I spoke too loud I might wake up from this great dream.”

  The grin spreads on your lips and you shake your head, “Wow. That’s bad, even for you, Steve.”

  He takes a few steps towards you as you continue to shake your head with a smile, only stopping when he asks, “Say my name again? Please?”

  Steve takes the shorts from your hands, dropping them on the ground as you murmur, gently, “Steve.”

  His tongue darts over his bottom lip before he says, “Can I tell you what I want for a prize now?”

  You’re only able to manage a small, “Mhm,” between pressed together lips as your hands sweat and your stomach burns, and your chest constricts while his fingers toy with the strings of your swimsuit bottoms. 

  He kisses you, slowly, licking out over the seam of your lips until you open for him. His hands guide you backwards gently until he’s climbing over your body on his bed and Prince’s voice fades into Chris de Burgh’s. 

  His body presses against yours, weight heavy and making your eyelids flutter as his hand cups your cheek, then traces your shoulder, the curve of your breast down to your hip. Your stomach burns with want, fingers dig into his hair as he releases your lips and kisses your chin, your chest through his shirt. He only travels lower, pushing it up and kissing your stomach, along the seam of your suit. Your legs rise on either side of his head, fingers leaving his hair to curl into his sheets that surround you and fill the space with a cedar and mint haze. 

  “St-steve,” you hiccup as he nips at the inside of your thigh. 

  He moans, palms pressing you open wider, mouth leaving a wet and hot trail of kisses and breaths up each leg. This wasn’t the plan, he wanted to take it slow, but he can’t help it anymore. He speaks into your stomach, kissing your skin between every few words. 

  “Baby, please, can I taste you?” His fingers tug on the strings of your suit and his vision blurs when you make a sound that sounds like a whine and roll your hips, searching. He’s gone fully blind as you tug on his hair again, drunk off of you without a single taste. 

  “Yeah? Gonna let me put my mouth on you?” He noses at your cunt through the suit, dragging it up against the fabric, babbling anything that comes to his mind without a filter. “That what you want, honey? To come all over my tongue?”

  Your palms press to the bed as you sit up, fingers tugging at the mess of brown waves between your thighs when his tongue licks over your suit.

  Your mouth parts in a gasp, eyes fluttering from the barely there friction, the minimal release of the tension you’ve felt since the kitchen downstairs hours ago. 

  Steve looks up at the sound and nearly comes in his shorts, the image of your dazed eyes and pouting lips, the heave of your chest under his shirt having him really thinking about where his camera is again. 

  “Oh,” his voice falls into a teasing lilt, playing with his food before he eats it, “Look at you. You’re already fucked dumb and I haven’t done a thing.”

  Your body is engulfed in flames at the taunting words, somehow turned on and irritated in the same sentence.

  A Steve Harrington special skill, you think. 

  He curses the words almost immediately after they leave him, thinking he’s pushed it too far too fast but then you’re saying his name like that again, saying the word please so softly, so sincerely, his vision goes white and scratchy like the tape of all of his abilities to think clearly was just ejected from his brain. 

  Steve sits up with a groan, backing away from the bed with the shake of his head. 

  “You’re trouble,” he rasps, breathing heavily from across the room, back against his dresser.

  “What’s wrong?” The mood shift jarring and making your legs close, your arms cross over your chest in a hug, wondering what you did.

  “This,” he says then immediately waves his hands, “No, not like that! I-“ he cuts himself off with another groan, a hand swipes through his hair only making it messier. You clench around nothing at the wild hair, the pink cheeks, the dark chest hair and tan skin as he paces.

  “I wanna-“ he starts.

  “Harrington! Quit making out up there and bring down some of what I gave you! I’m tapped and the pizza guy’s here.”

  Steve curses and he spins on his dresser, grabbing his wallet.

  His wallet. 

  Bring down some of what I gave you.

  His shoulders hunch as he swears again, “Those…brats. I swear to god I’m gonna kill them.”

  He spins to find you yanking your shorts on, muttering, “I cannot believe I fucking fell for this.”

  “Fell for…what are you talking about?” Steve steps closer and you back up quickly, waving your hand at him.

  “Save it.” 

  He watches you storm out of the room, confused, and then looks down at the wallet and quickly rushes out after you, “No, no, no, honey it’s not-“

  “Don’t,” you spin on the stairs, voice icy, “Call me honey.”

  Steve takes another step down, pleading with his eyes as Eddie, Robin, and a stranger stand in the foyer, blinking up at the two of you. “Eddie didn’t give me money for that. He…” his hand swipes through his hair again, tongue over his lip as he lowers his voice, “Can we please go somewhere else to talk about this?”

  Your arms cross and Steve sighs.

  “He gave me money…for a different bet. Sort of bet. Bet is a bad word for it.”

  Something rumbles in your chest once more, though no storm was forecasted, you should have known there was bound to be more. 

  Steve’s lips pout as he waves his hand while explaining in a ramble, “After the bet started, I told them how much I actually liked you. And they agreed to help me. And if I got you to actually give me a chance, with their help of course, Eddie’d pay for a real date and Robin would cover our shifts when we went.”

  The explanation should be sweet, but all you can focus on is that Steve didn’t just have the guts to tell you right away. That your friends all helped manipulate you and lied. You start to wonder if the power even went out, if Eddie knew Steve would be at that party, if Robin put In Your Eyes on on purpose, the diner, your car being busted - all of it. 

  What was real between you and Steve, and what was made with movie magic? 

  The storm cracks in your chest, letting the first drops fall down your cheeks. 

  “I have to get out of here.”

  The calls of your name and his steps behind you on the stairs ignored as your vision blurs. 

  Leaving a boy standing in a yard on Cornwallis street while you disappear without your shoes again. 

BICFTF TAGLIST: don'thatemedon'thatemedon'thateme there's still two chapters left! As always, thank you for your support!

@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf

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@halfburntout @belle101200

[legal-poppy]

how to study in (and survive) law school, from a 2L who almost failed both 1L semesters

you may be asking, "why would i want study advice from someone who clearly doesn't know how to study?" but that's the point- i'm a first-gen law student. aside from my siblings, nobody in my extended family has even been in grad school since the late 90s. i didn't know how to study last year, and definitely didn't know how to study for law school classes and exams. i ended my 1L year with 3 Cs and was placed in a remedial course last semester for the bottom 25% of students. i worked, changed, and tried different study methods throughout the semester, to figure out what works best for me and the classes i was taking. and it showed--i got an A and 3 Bs and my GPA jumped from a 2.5 to almost 2.8.

#1- do not try to do anything else during class. no social media, no reading, no shopping, no games. seriously. pay attention to your prof, your classmates, and what you did and didn't understand correctly from the reading. make corrections, note additional questions, read and re-read the book and your notes to make sure you can follow along with any questions or hypos.

#2- nothing is optional. do all of the extra readings, practice problems, and hypos. go to your prof for feedback on what you did well, what you didn't understand or apply correctly, and what you can do to write a better answer next time.

#3- go to your prof's office hours or ask questions after class. in high school and college i was told to never bug a teacher outside of class and never, ever go to their office hours. but law profs love when students ask questions and seek help. it doesn't have to be some profound theoretical question- my business law prof learned my name just from asking her about stories and problems my family had with businesses/services recently. my evidence prof learned my name because i kept asking her evidentiary questions about crime shows i was watching. in addition to the typical questions about a subject i was confused on or misunderstood, those fun questions helped me better understand and apply both the law and practical effect of the law to questions on the exam.

#4- start your outlines early and ask your prof for feedback. this was my biggest problem last year because i was paralyzed just figuring out how to format and organize my outlines. instead of going for pretty or aesthetic or perfectly detailed, just start writing. make a mess, write everywhere, scribble and erase and tape things together if you have to. it will still help you relearn and cement your understanding of those subjects. ask your prof if they would prefer to email your outline to look over ahead of time or just pop in for their office hours, and ask them if you got anything wrong, if you're too focused on the wrong details, or if there's anything you won't need to know for the exam. they won't judge if your outline is a mess, it just shows that you're trying and really want to get better.

when i studied for my evidence exam (my A last semester), i had so much trouble with my word doc that a week before the exam i just took my reading notes, my class notes, and my casebook, and spent days filling out an entire whiteboard with every bit of info on a rule. i ended up with 14 photos of that whiteboard completely covered with rules, advisory opinions, cases, and hypos. rather than wasting more time to type all of that up and send it to my prof, i sent her those photos. she knew i was struggling to stay organized on my traditional outline and saw how much better i was able to conceptualize the whole class without touching microsoft. i apologized for my horrible handwriting but all she did was send back notes on every single photo- what i had wrong, what i didn't need to know, and what i needed more detail/clarity on. no judgment for the incorrect parts or my handwriting or that i used a whiteboard, because it worked!

#5- revise your notes after every class. i didn't literally have time right after class, but every day when i went home i tried to revise my notes before i forgot what happened in class. i wasn't successful every single day and often spent a few hours on the weekend rewatching lectures and trying to remember details, but it was more effective than waiting until november to even start revising and outlining.

#6- don't follow the crowd. a lot of "gunners" and people with superiority complexes will tell you to follow their perfect notetaking format, study method, class structure, or reading style. and it might work great for them (or they're probably lying about how amazingly smart they are to look better than everyone else and make you feel worse about yourself), but they're very clearly a different person than you are because i hope you aren't trying to subtly wage psychological warfare on your stressed classmates. if you need a place to start, try to utilize those resources, but you can and should make adjustments if it isn't working for you. take a different class, join a different study group, use a different study supplement, do whatever is most helpful for you, and ignore anyone who suggests you're going to fail if you don't follow their instructions.

#7- don't listen to the noise. there's always someone with their superiority complex and intro-level psychology class and jedi mind tricks or whatever. they want to brag about how smart they are, what amazing grades they got, how easy the exam was that everyone else cried during, and that they got the best internship opportunity because of all of that. odds are, they're (1) lying and (2) exaggerating. they're probably struggling and stressing and crying just as much as you. or they're just not self-aware. you're never going to escape them too, unfortunately. but don't fall for their trap. don't study with them, don't sit by them, don't ask them for help unless you have exhausted every other person and resource in the building, take everything they say with a grain of salt and throw it over your shoulder to keep the demons away.

the other noise to avoid is the worriers who want to vent to everyone about how stressed, stupid, worried they are about the class or exam. and this isn't to say that you can't vent to your friends about it--that's your safety blanket people who will feel your stress and try to help you manage it. but if you see that person that you barely know and don't really talk to and they want to randomly start venting like that, take a step back. leave if you can, and if not, try to keep your head. don't stress because they're stressing, don't start second-guessing yourself, and don't share your own feelings of stress with them because they just want to see how miserable other people are so they can feel like they're doing better than you. if you're one of those people that everyone wants to vent to, do not do that for every person or repeat offenders who only seem to talk to you about their stress. take them to the dean, academic support staff, or on-campus counseling staff if they really need someone to talk to and help them. it's not your job to mother-duck your classmates so don't let them distract you from what you're there to do.

i had a classmate who caused drama with anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. accused people of cheating, violating the honor code, sleeping around for study help and good grades, or just being generally stupid. he wanted to seem so much smarter and better than those people (out of the 2 people i know who suffered his bullying, one was because she took too long to respond to his text and the other asked him too many questions about materials from a class). he just wouldn't shut up about how he was going to do way better than them and they were going to fail and drop out because they have no other career opportunities (pretty accurate paraphrase too). but to nobody's surprise, he ended that semester with a D, C and 2 Bs. no judgment to him for his grades because clearly i'm not much better, but very much judging for his attitude. people like him caused me to lose 20 lbs and half of my hair between April-September 2024 because i was so stressed about what he would think if he knew my grades or saw me in our remedial course, which he took in an earlier semester but also referred to as "the stupid class" full of students who couldn't care less about their futures. don't be like me, don't listen to anybody's judgment--focus on yourself and doing the best you can.

#8-the moment you start to feel anxious or panicked or spiraling down the drain, shut it down. talk to your professor, advisor, academic support center, dean of students, school counseling center, or even a friend--anyone that you know has your best interest at heart and will do what they can to help you. tell them that you're overwhelmed and stuck on something. law school staff, especially professors, do not judge students who reach this point. i almost cried in a prof's office because i was so worried about our mock court debate with actual lawyers and judges serving as our judges. my prof didn't judge or scold me for being so emotional at law school, she asked me why i was so worried and told me something she hadn't told the whole class: none of our mock judges actually knew anything about our assignment or the case law. they had no idea if we were misstating something or even found the right cases, they were only judging our presentation and advocacy. another professor, took me off of the cold-call list for an entire unit when i told her i was having a hard time reading the cases and didn't think i would be able to answer questions in class about them because of the personal experience i had with that topic. if you don't think a prof will listen to you or it's something more serious like accommodations or certain behaviors, you can talk to higher-ups like the dean/student services office/accommodations office for better help. those resources exist to help, so use them and don't feel bad for doing so.

#9- seek opportunities even if you don't meet the requirements. i got an interview with a federal office as a 1L, with my mediocre grades, because i applied. i didn't think they would be interested in me because i have no lawyer family members and am not the smartest candidate at our school, but i was one of 10 (TEN!!) 1L interviewees and ultimately got that (paid) internship last summer. they never even asked about my grades, but i did use it during my interview to show how hard i was working to do better and actually put in the work to do that. ignore the firms that say they only want the top 50% or 30% and apply if that's what you're interested in. if they don't want you because you don't have the grades they want, it's a sign that they're also not going to be accommodating when the bar exam comes, and you maybe didn't pass the first time, and they decide to fire you rather than hire you as a first-year associate after 6 more months of studying for the next bar date.

#10- take breaks every day and every week. personally, i take 30 minutes after back-to-back classes before i start studying, i stop studying at 6pm on the weekends unless i have a serious deadline, and i try to go out at least once a month with a non-lawyer friend to touch grass with the regular world and bring myself back into perspective. having law-school goggles on all the time throws everything out of whack. mountains and molehills and all of that. talk to regular people, let them slap you back into shape to see the whole puzzle of what lies beyond law school. and don't forget that you are more than your brain. go outside, take a walk, do some yoga, meditate, pet your goldfish. cry if you feel it and stress if it's stressful, but it's not the end of the world--no matter what happens.

good luck on the new semester, whether you've already been back for a while or are starting soon. be proud of yourself no matter what your grades look like when you get them. pause, evaluate, and set a plan to do better this semester.

[mammoth-clangen]

I love seeing the colour patterns on your clan gen homotherium and smilodon.

They remind me of cat colours. Colour mutations in animals (cats and prehistoric animals on general too) are my special interest

I remember that my favourite smilodon design was the one from Primeval. I still have the box sets and they were my favourite as a kid (and now lol).

Sad that Smilodon was most likely tawny like lions. It apparently lived in open areas so most likely wouldn't have spots or stripes. But that doesn't mean we can't draw them like it. Also I wonder what mutations they did have in real life (like white lions, white tigers, "strawberry" erythristic leopards, albino leopard, and melanistic leopards and jaguars do appear in the wild)

I actually discovered your comic when I followed the homotherium tag after seeing the frozen cub. I once saw lyuba the mammoth at the natural history museum, London, at a limited exhibition. I'm completely obsessed with the permafrost mummies. I hope I get to see more in person one day.

Here's my kitty, Zoe.

Oh my goosh what a cute cat ;A;

here's my creature, Fat Tilly! She's an 11yr old Selkirk rex who likes loafing and lying in the sun c:

And thank you! I adore colour mutations in extant animals and I agree that it's really fun to contemplate them in extinct ones c:

I'm gonna preempt this getting long and put a cut here jhrjhrf

I'm sure you will already have seen this, but for anyone interested in paleoart depictions of colour mutations, I'd really recommend this great article all about it

White Cat, Gold Plains was actually all about the premise of a Homotherium with piebaldism. Pied is one of my favourite pigment mutations because it's so much deeper than integument patterns; it's actually a neural tube defect that leads to distinct behavioural changes. WC,GP was about Kiina, the pied cat, and her struggles with always being view as 'childish' by her peers and struggling to fit in. There was also more human impact in this story, as Kiina gets picked up as a cub by a group of early humans. It was sort of my own experience/musings on neurodivergency played alongside some thoughts on early domestication attempts humans must have had (though we all know that, sadly, Homotherium did not end up domesticated). Pied animals are typically more trusting, which is why you see so many pied domestic animals! (Fat Tilly and Zoe both are, for example lolol)

Also the Primeval Smilodon has one of the most gorgeous and distinct designs of any media sabercat tbh, I really loved the episode as a whole even though it had a sort of sad-but-expected ending.

I don't remember where I read it, but there was someone discussing Smilodon patterns and the conclusion was basically "we can't be sure". While lions are solid as adults, they're spotted as cubs and likely had spotted ancestors seeing Pantherines seem to have strongly contrasting patterns as the default. Machairodontids aren't even the same lineage as Pantherines, so we really can't know what patterns they had except for Homotherium latidens having dark brown cubs! They could just as easily grow into a different adult coat, like hyena do. (side note, I was sorta hoping that absolutely amazing Homotherium mummy news might drag some people to my comic so I'm glad it did lolol)

Smilodon was also likely very ambush dependent, being too bulky for pursuits even as long as modern lions. Disruptive colouration could have helped with this even in fairly open habitats. This is actually why I gave the Ice Fangs very faint stripes; high contrast tiger striping didn't make much sense, but breaking up the outline a little couldn't be a bad thing even in a steppe environment. I also didn't want them completely solid because there are actual lions to differentiate cx

[starlitvases]

Unfortunately you do have to make a post explaining what introjection is and why its bad if you don’t support it /nm /gen

Hello, let's a get a few things straight.

1) I never claimed that introjection is bad, and I never said I don't support it. The initial post this anon is referring to involves me stating that holding onto the belief that you are a literal fictional character is anti-recovery rhetoric. Either the anon misunderstood my post, or they're twisting my words, the second of which I don't appreciate.

2) I am a nursing student and am currently employed at a disability office. I know what recovery should ideally look like and what it doesn't look like. Aside from that, people more qualified than me have studied this element of psychology, and there are plenty of resources out there explaining what I'm talking about.

But since you and the original post author asked, and since I'm running on 26 hours of no sleep and don't care to wait for the morning to make this post, you'll get my explanation now. Apologies in advance if my tone sounds rude or aggressive. I don't mean to be, and again, lack of sleep may affect my tone. I'll maybe edit this after I sleep to sound nicer. Who knows.

Let's get started.

Introjection, as defined by the APA (American Psychological Association), is "a process in which an individual unconsciously incorporates aspects of external reality into the self, particularly the attitudes, values, and qualities of another person or a part of another person's personality."

Introjection is something every single human on this planet will do, even outside of dissociation. Cultural values are a good example. If you primarily grow up in a Latin American household, you may introject traditional family values, the same values your parents may display. The same goes for any culture and their own values. This occurs with fictional characters as well. Ever watch a TV show and you suddenly start using your favorite character's vocabulary? That's also introjection.

In dissociative patients, particularly those with a complex dissociative disorder, introjection is commonly found with abuser introjects. These introjects often take the form of persecutors. Here's a screen grab from The Haunted Self:

"Without the ability to mentalize perpetrators, to create symbolic representations, children may "take in," introject, the "bad" object of the perpetrators. Thus, as EPs they claim they are the abuser, and not the abused, and have the affects and behaviors of a perpetrator to varying degrees."

These introjects serve as coping mechanisms, as do all alters within a dissociative system. With these particular alters, the brain creates them to build a barrier between it and the abuse. An internal thought process may be, "if I commit violence against myself, then I'm not really being hurt because I'm doing it by choice." Various thought processes similar to the one I just outlined are used as justification for the internal abuse. Children direct blame towards themselves rather than the perpetrators because they're often told the fault of the abuse belongs to them by their abusers or even by others. To protect the child, persecutory abuser introjects may form to direct the abuse inwards as a way to make sure they're "actually at fault." Introjects are largely used to cover up an internal struggle or trauma within the self.

Fictional introjects are no exception. The thought process for introjecting a fictional character may be, "if I am [character], then the abuse never *actually* happened to *me.*" The brain may see a character that has gone through something similar to the body and grab onto said character as a defense mechanism for denial. This has been documented, however my hazy memory and 26 hours of no sleep is not a good way to hunt down the sources for this. This segment may be edited when I get some sleep.

Taking all of this into consideration, stating and believing that you are literally a fictional character feeds into the denial loop the traumatized brain has created. Denial is never a good ingredient for recovery. Recovery begins by facing what has happened to you and healing from it. Hiding behind denial prevents this process from happening. It prevents integration (the lowering of dissociative barriers), communication, and teamwork from occurring within the system, all of which are needed for healing. Hiding behind what is essentially a lie created by your brain does not help you, nor does it help your alters beside you.

I do understand that not everyone is ready to face the denial and challenege it, and thus saying/believing that you are literally a fictional character is what is keeping you alive at the moment, but the line has to be drawn when you start encouraging others to feed into the denial loop as well. Healing is done on one's own time, and spreading anti-recovery rhetoric removes that autonomy from others. I could visually see that spread in the reblogs.

That spread is the problem I had with the initial post. I never had a problem with the post being about introjection itself. My problem is that it is encouraging others to stunt their recovery when they may otherwise be ready.

Seeing posts similar to that initial post tends to prevent the process of looking inwards and figuring out what is needed in the individual. It encourages the process of looking outwards and only applying what is deemed "acceptable" within the community to oneself. I know that I personally only began to see myself and what I needed when I moved away from the community and stopped seeing anti-recovery posts. I'm sure I'm not alone in that regard.

@certified-silly-guy Here's that post! I don't have the energy to do back and forth reblog replies, so please DM if you have any questions.

[darqx]

Nope!

I like that I've had people say they can relate to my characs and/or that my characs feel real 🥰 That really makes my day cos it means I'm doing ok with my characteristation then haha. In terms of Rire in particular, one of my fave things is when people can't decide whether they like him or hate him and end up settling on a weird mixture of both and squaggling about it. I find this extremely gratifying.

Hello! Thanks I am doing good (now that I'm having a break from work ahah) :D I'm gonna be real and say I'm not sure if I'm the best person to ask considering I was only involved in like...one and a bit horrorporn projects |D - Gato would prob be the MVP at the moment - but I'll give you some gen advice that hopefully you can find useful :)

Plan your project. Most people are NOT good pantsers and it's not easy to get a cohesive plot/project if you don't have SOME idea of what you are doing. Whether you are doing a VN or a comic or whatever, make sure you have an outline of what is going to happen for your own reference.

Find an audience. If you're lucky then an audience who will enjoy your project will find you (which was the case with BTD and some throwing it out there.) Most of the time though you will need to advertise your project to like-minded people first. Put your characters, art, teasers out there! If you want people to care about your project you have to give them a reason to care about/get excited about it.

Be prepared to be disliked. This is true for any project because everyone doesn't like everything, but if you are going for horrorporn (or really, anything that could be considered weird i guess) there's a much higher chance of people looking at your stuff and going what the ever loving fuck. Anyway the point is you will need to just do your own thing and try not take certain things personally even if they seem aimed at you personally. Or just be like:

4. ✔️ Just do it. Self explanatory, dont let your dreams be dreams lol.

Thanks very much for asking first! I'm flattered that you want to create fangames like that with my BP characs, but I'm unfortunately going to have to say no at the moment. This is mainly because I haven't got my own project with them out yet and I don't want people to potentially get confused with the origins. Maybe after I start posting and establish the comic more, we can revisit this question :)

Thank you (and to all the other lovely asks like this)! Psh don't worry about being new to being an artist, everyone has to start somewhere!

[adobe-outdesign]

Have you reviewed Ekans and Arbok yet?

Ekans is, shock of all shocks, a snake; probably a rattlesnake of some kind given the tail, though it also looks a bit like a ring-necked snake given the markings.

Visually, it's a least fairly striking. The purple makes for a nice base color and reflects its poison typing, while the high-contrast yellow neck, tail, underbelly and eyes compliment it well. I like the eyes a lot too, which are stylized to have a single vertical line as a pupil.

I will say that in some earlier art all of the ring on its body were yellow, and honestly I prefer it like that. It gives there a reason to have the otherwise random lines (Arbok has them but there it's more of a texture so it's not as odd), and it makes the design all the bolder. I do think it's a bit much combined with the underbelly, but I would've just dropped that entirely in favor of the stripes; it's curled up most of the time, so it's not like you see that element a lot.

Also, I think the mouth is a bit weird; no fangs (not that all snakes have fangs mind you), round shape, and a weirdly human tongue instead of a snake-like one. It doesn't need to have all three, but I do wish it had at least one of those elements, as the shape just looks strange and it comes across almost as more of a worm.

Unfortunately it doesn't have much going on with it conceptually yet, which isn't a huge deal given the design is decent. That said, I do wish they could've figured out a way to work the idea of a false face into this design as well, like if it had two false eye dots on the back of its head or something

also side note, what the fuck was going on with its early backsprite

Arbok immediately differentiates itself from its pre-evo by becoming more of a cobra and adding a theme by having a giant face face on the underside of its hood. This is a nod to how some cobras have vaguely face-like markings on their hood (though usually on the back instead of the front):

The face adds an immediate theme and something to remember it by, and it's a pretty neat design too: two orange eyes with yellow eye spots and a black outline along with a black mouth and black angry eyebrows. However, the biggest disappointment here is that for a few gens, Arbok was stated to have up to six different face patterns. We even have examples of some of them:

For some reason all of the different face variations were dropped around I think gen 4, and nowadays we always get the same face pattern. This was such a fun idea and it added a lot to the line, so why drop it? It's not like we haven't had Pokemon with different patterns before (Alcremie, Vivillon, etc.).

Anyway, face aside, the rest of the design is good too. The body is simple so it doesn't distract from the hood, and I really like the shape of the head and the way it has entire rows of teeth instead of just fangs (some early art, like what's shown above, does show it with two sets of fangs, but they seem to have decided against that). I just wish the colors were bolder, as this purple seems washed out. Some of its sprites show it as being much more vibrant, so I don't know why they didn't stick with that.

Anyway, a pretty decent line. Ekans is decent even if it's lacking in concept, and Arbok has a pretty neat thing going on with its hood, only hampered by GameFreak's insistence on not giving it different forms.

As a side note, this line seems like it would perfect for a mega. It's not unfinished as-is or anything, but it feels like there's a ton of potential for more cool designs here.

[knightwithahundredkings]

I don’t really think of myself as a pretentious humanities major but I’m taking an intro class that a lot of people use as a way to fulfill their gen ed requirements (so I’m the only actual English major in it) and it’s just like. Wow. Some people actually use ai to write their essay outlines and will freely admit to it. Wow. That’s. Wow. Get better I guess

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Exposition And Info Into The Story

This specific post is for @loverboyxbutch who has asked for multiple things with multiple caveats so we have to absolutely get this perfectly answered!

Question One: Exposition And Letters

The quote: I was wondering if you had any advice about telling part of a narrative through things like letters or diary entries?

There are two different ways to incorperate diary entries and letters. It all depends on your formatting

You could have the person's letter be an actual quoted segment of the letter so the reader could physically read it or you could have the basic information be relayed to the reader by the characters.

Neither way isn't better than the other but they do have different pros and cons.

The benefits of quotes is the fact that it allows the reader to see the original writer's personality to come through in their writing. The con is the fact that this quoting can quickly get out of hand and the information is kinda under the emotion.

The benefits of characters relaying the information is the fact that this cuts down on flowing emotion. All the information is laid out there! The negative is the fact that this information lacks emotion and personality.

Objectively speaking, expositio is best gathered through story since it's more natural without having to do an infodump!

Question Two: Balancing Emotion With Info

Quote: "I’m not too sure how to balance the realism and emotion with the information that needs to be displayed."

Remember, realism in stories is less "factually accurate" and more "consistent within itself".

In this case, realism in information is "would this character say this" and "how would this character say this"?

Audiences hate "infodumps" because it feels like the character's personality has turned off and now a college professor is speaking.

So it's definitely important you maintain a character's unique voice and personality when reporting on information. However this can lead to some unreliable narrating.

Ultimately, a character's emotion trumps all else. If a character doesn't have a personality that would reveal all this information in an objective way then they will hide stuff or tell the information in a way that validates their own perspective.

However, in the case a character is willing to reveal information without trying to impress their ideology and beliefs onto your character you need to keep in mind what a character could reasonably know and care about.

Two characters could know the same information but prioritize others. For example, D might focus on the damn bread prices rising again while C is focused on the official's death.

Question 3: What Context The Reader Needs

Quote: "I struggle to imagine how much context the reader would want or need."

This is definitely the hardest thing to answer since this is a highly case by case basis but I will try.

The best universal measurement for what a reader needs to know is how much a character needs to know.

Your characters have information that the readers don't have and the readers have information that the characters don't have but readers don't want to know everything.

Readers need a little confusion and curiousity so they will keep reading and investigating.

The key is to get enough information out there that readers will be emotionally incentived to chase after the rest.

For Worldbuilding, unless this information directly impacts the characters then unfortunately readers just wont care about all the little details.

For future events, forshadowing and outlines are your best friend. You can also use an unconventional story formatting by having "flashbacks" be imbedded into the story as their own individual chapters.

For characters, you can use the "show, don't tell" method. Characters who aren't actively trying to deceive others will lay their personality on their clothing, their face, their room, their friends, and the way they speak.

I hope this was informative @loverboyxbutch . I genuinely appreciate your constant support and I wanted this to be an amazing post for such an amazing mutual :)