#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.

[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.

[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

@curlsincriminology @siriuslysmoking @redbarn1995 @starry--sarah @starksbabie

@taccobelle @angst-lasagna @blckburd @crownofdecit @torntaltos

@sanniegirl1214 @yourmommilf @khena @ytgus @starryeyedpoet17

@halfburntout @belle101200

[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.

[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.

[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 :)

[bangelism]

https://www.tumblr.com/bangelism/762929927623507968 when did they prove it? /gen not looking for trouble lol 🙏

reference for everyone: post being referred to read "i sleep so well knowing buffy and angel are canon soulmates."

sure! i can go into a into a lot of evidence as to why i think this, but i’ll just point out some of the key things that stand out to me. (fair warning, i can ramble about them for a long time so... apologies...)

first of all, i think it's important to establish what a soulmate is. i understand everyone may have their own perspective on what this means, but to me, a soulmate is a deep mutual love (romantic or platonic) and thus, an intense connection between two souls. soulmates understand and accept each other, help each other grow, support one another, and of course, love each other.

so using that as a reference, here is why i believe buffy and angel are soulmates, and how the shows canon supports that:

1] their lives mirror each other. even when they're apart, buffy and angel's stories continue to mirror and parallel one another. a great example of this is connor and dawn. both buffy and angel had these (different) roles of caregiver thrust onto them unexpectedly, but find themselves in these new roles they've been given. angel as a single dad, buffy as a sister and dawn's primary caregiver after joyce passes; both go through ups and downs in this journey, but the audience sees they wouldn't trade it for the world. then, they lose them through a portal, both fall to the ground instantly and shortly or immediately after fall into a catatonic state. this is not the only example of their lives mirroring each other, but i think it's one of the more profound, easy to see ones, that changes their lives and perspectives forever.

(screenshot of a beautiful gifset by @charmedslayer)

2] the continual references to one another throughout the series. buffy and angel often reference how much their relationship meant to each other, post breakup, either through actual words or actions/subtle references. a very important buffy quote outlines this really well: “i loved him more than i will ever love anything in this life.” to me this shows this is a relationship more important than any other, one they cannot simply just "move on" from. it changed them fundamentally, and has stuck with them no matter what.

3] they help each other grow. without buffy, angel would have never gotten out of that alleyway. that is just fact. buffy gave angel a purpose. even when they are apart, even when she is dead, it is keeping that purpose she gave him alive that animates him. they both made each other stronger and better people. this is seen all throughout their relationship and beyond; from the little pep talks they give each other, the way they train and fight side by side, the way they give purpose to each others missions.

screenshot of a gifset that shows this perfectly by @buffysummers

4] their emotional connection. whilst in a relationship, we see angel being buffy's emotional confidant on numerous occasions and vice versa. they give each other new perspective (also another example of how they help each other grow), like in 'ted' (btvs 2x11). angel is the only person in that episode to listen to buffy's complaints, acknowledge them, but then gently offer her a different perspective; maybe her mother is simply, lonely. even post breakup, in 'forever' (btvs 5x17), angel is the one person she fully confides in about her grief. they are able to be fully vulnerable with one another, both emotionally and physically. protecting each other in both ways and fighting many both physical and mental battles “shoulder to shoulder" even when they're apart.

5] they accept one another. 'what's my line' (2x9-10) shows this the best, as well as expands on how they can be fully vulnerable with each other. first emotionally - angel listens to and acknowledges buffy's frustrations about career week, and supports her through that (feelings that are dismissed by everyone else around her), encouraging her to talk about her feelings. then, in accepting both her 'slayer' and 'buffy' persona as one, asks her on an ice-skating date to learn more about the buffy he never knew, accepting even the parts of her people might disregard. then, we see buffy accept both aspects of angel; his vampiric and human side, when she kisses his vampire face and is one of the only people throughout the shows canon that accepts these two sides of angel, represented by his 'true' face. then physically - when buffy is worried about her safety she goes to angel's apartment, curls up in his bed, just a space that reminds her of him is enough to make her feel safer. and then angel is rescued by her at the end of the episode. she cradles him in her arms, and we see him clearly and physically relax in her embrace.

—

i fear i could go on, and on, and then on a little more. but that's just a little taste of my perspective on why i believe the canon supports the idea that buffy and angel are soulmates. …let alone all the shared dreams, countless parallels (even more meta ones like how their theme songs reflect each other) and then the love they have for each other which is stated time and time again.

[curiousaromantic]

batfamily feels plus fluffy superbat fic rec

I have been reading fics so good in AO3 I decided to recommend them here, why not?

Loading and Aspect Ratio by JUBE514

So, it didn’t start out like this. Alfred would scoff at the statement, about how Bruce was trying to justify the whole situation to himself. It had started out as a simple design, black everything with black outlines and black hood. It got a little more intense as the world went on, got wind of his ghost on the streets, and became scared of The Bat . So Bruce got a little more creative with it, Alfred and him had a good laugh over the name, the scare, and Alfred had a vicious streak of humor that he had passed onto his ward- So now the suit had a visible bat-theme, an insignia to drape in the shadows and to paint across the streets of Gotham. It only took a year into the whole charade of heroism for Bruce to overhear a conversation between some goons- some low level thug hired by the Riddler this week- about nothing at all pertaining to what the hell the Riddler was doing in the sewers but instead: “ The Batman can fly, you know, I’ve seen his wings.” -- A world where nobody has wings, but people think they do, and that changes everything.

This one is a very interesting Batfamily AU Canon Divergence, in which somehow everyone thinks Batman and his children have wings, and it is just awesome because the mystical way they are portrayed??? It is exquisite.

The characterization is also fantastic, Bruce feels grounded the way the badass father Batman should feel. Lmao, and of course, his relationship with Clark does not disappoint.

I shamelessly enjoy reading gen works in which romance is not the principal focus yet it is there and is delightful. The fic revolves around Bruce and his children, Dick, Jason and Tim; it is lovely to read how in this type of alternate setting, they came to be part of Bruce's family.

Dear gods, Damian at the end making an appearance—

And Clark being a wonderful parental figure to everyone before even realizing it—

They are so precious and I love it honestly, I read this through full fucking midterms and I don't regret it even if I forgo studying to read this masterpiece instead.

[sharpedgedfool]

Hey there! Hope you don’t mind me popping into your inbox more often lately, but I’ve just been pondering Sonic and Shadow in your AUs a lot and had some questions about them—can’t imagine why (glances over at your AO3 account) /j

1- how does Oliver eventually come to trust (or at least not hate) Sonic in the museum au? I assume it takes a while and involves the two of them spending a lot of time together on their archeological investigation?

2- in the fae au, is it unhealthy for Sonic/Wild Cherry to be pushing himself to wake up in the wintertime? And how does it feel for him the first time he wakes up so early in the cold? (I’d also love to know how he first meets Shadow/Black Ice but I don’t want to ask too much at once…)

3- I know you said you have some ideas for a sequel to your fleetadow fic, would you by any chance be interested in sharing anything about that?

(And of course, feel free to say “you’ll see” in response to any of these if you don’t feel like answering or if they’re too spoilery! I’m just very interested in all of your story ideas /gen /pos)

Hii, I don’t mind questions at all!! Any excuse to ramble about my silly ideas, I’ll just rapid fire answer below (I'll hide it under a cut cause it got a bit long lmao)

1. That’s part of the story yeah! It’ll take a while, but they’re gonna get to know each other over the course of the investigation, the ruins go deep. I can’t say much cause I’m still trying to write it, but I’m excited to see what people make of what I’ve got planned so far! Sonic’s gonna prove his hero shtick isn’t all bells and whistles, and Shadow’s secrets quickly become unavoidable despite his efforts, it's sort of him they're investigating after all, and by the time he realises it's way too late to turn back.

2. It's not really a severe risk to their health, it’s more so just hard for Fae to control their nature; in this case the whole dying/regeneration process usually isn’t something they have any power over, and it usually relies on the cold to naturally let them know when to wake up, kinda like a hibernation type thing. Sonic’s been trying to wake up a smidge earlier for decades now, but its just sheer determination and a bit of luck on his part. If he woke up mid-winter it'd be a bit of a problem, but he just wakes up a few days shy of spring. I have their first meeting scripted out, I was hoping to turn it into a full comic but I’ve not had the time yet so we’ll see. I’ll maybe just write it out instead at some point haha.

3. I’ve been scheming away at that too, the sequels gonna have a bit more focus on Fleetway and Sonic and how they manage to handle their coexistence now they’ve found some common ground, Shadow’s the catalyst for them to get along but he’s not around to play referee all the time. Amy’s gonna get some time to shine too in this one, but its mainly focused on Sonic, Shadow and Fleetway again. I have another fun twist in mind but I’m still working on the outline so I don’t wanna say anything for certain in case I change my mind mid-way through - the endgame is something cheery tho I promise, I like a happy ending!

Thanks for the questions!! Bother me about my aus anytime haha :)

[rubyscarbuncle]

So, in the aftershow talk Anthony laments about season 2 but honestly? I love season 2.

I think season 1 had a lot more clear of an objective, and a lot more clear of a structure, but that’s kind of perfect for the story of season 2 right?

season 2 is a story about being a teen. It’s about all the ups and downs and struggles and heartache and everything about being a teen, it’s about crushes, and emotions, and fathers, and weird mustaches, and it’s about the incredibly gen z/alpha experience of trying to figure out what you can do in a world that feels like it’s doomed by the people before you. It’s a very teen story. It’s very proud of this, and it does it very well, and while I can’t say whether or not it was *intentional* I think the structure and flow of season 2 is perfect for that story.

It starts off with a decently defined structure in school, with a vague but simple enough goal to reach, then you’re thrusted out into the world, having to make big choices for yourself and that’s when it starts to get… Messy. Things aren’t as simple as they used to be, there’s lots of moving pieces, people who are going to be making their own decisions that you can’t really change, there’s a lot of things going on. And it even feels difficult to lean on the people you care about but you do it anyways.

I think season 2 has had some of the best pc to pc emotional character interactions of the entire series and I don’t think you get there without season 2 being structured the way it is. Season 2 being so much more loose and more focused on the players pushing the plot I think purely serves it for the story it ends up telling. I don’t think you get moments like Scary siding with Willy and even while lashing out and eldritch blasting still being hugged by Linc and piled on by everyone to show she’s cared for in a season like season 1. I just don’t think that happens, because I don’t think everything being the way it is and the more almost tv show like structuring of season 1 would allow for that. It had plenty of great emotional moments, but I think the teen nature of it being messier and more impulsive and trying to figure out who you are and where your place in the world is absolutely benefits from a looser structure and goals that are less neatly defined.

The dads have, for the most part, figured themselves out as people even on episode 1 hitting. Sure they all grow and learn and change, but they never stop being those people they are during episode 1, they just become better versions of themselves. Even Glenn. Debatably. (he definitely changed but he might have become a worse person, like he’s a stoner who plays a guitar and says “far out” at the start and by the end is creating big vats of oil to blow up an entire commune and pissing in the sand lying down.) They’re adults, they have their priorities, and they know who they are. We’re in a freaky situation, we’ve been through a lot, let’s get our kids, let’s get tf out, let’s maybe try and fix some things because we’re not totally monsters or anything. Bing bang boom.

The dads have very clear outlines, but the season 2 cast has very strong vibes.

They’re a lot more chaotic, loosely defined, and their outlines are less immediate, but in exchange they are absolutely vibrating with energy and possibility and chaos and all of these interesting dynamics and things that never feel forced because, well, they’re still figuring themselves out! By all rights, they SHOULDN’T have those same defined outlines to their characters that the season 1 cast had.

The entire story is about being messy, and finding your way in life, and I think season 2 does that perfectly, and I think none of the incredible stuff that everyone brings to the table works without Anthony doing what he did and doing the incredible job he did. Good shit king.

[lost-in-lamentation]

hi! i am new in your account and i really loved your writings! * chef kisses * i was wondering if you could do some comfort fic for mc comforting a crying solomon and mc like uhhh hiding his face in the crook of their neck and pats him? thx🫶🏻

a/n: heheh hi anon ♡ one sad sorcerer, coming up!

content: this is an implied anxiety attack on solomon. just a lot of comfort from you to him.

warnings: solomon is a sad boi (again). it's a lot of physical comfort rather than verbal.

hurt/comfort. solomon × gen!reader (you/yours).

word count: 1.1k.

the sound of pen against paper echoed quietly throughout your room, accompanied by the occasional sigh and the sway of the music that played out from your d.d.d.. you sat at the table close to the foot of your bed, textbook open in front of you and flash cards fanned out in your hand as you cross referenced your notes. meanwhile, solomon sat cross legged on your bed while leaning against the wall, head in his hands as he tried to comprehend the extra work that the professor had given him. it was a pattern you had grown accustomed to; these after RAD study sessions with the sorcerer. but today, you couldn't shake the feeling that solomon looked more tired than he usually did. you snuck glances at him every so often, worry amping up when you realised he hadn't moved for the last 20 minutes. silently, you slid out of your seat, heading down to the kitchen to grab a snack and some water for the both of you. solomon still hadn't moved by the time you returned, and a part of you wondered if he had fallen asleep like that. 

"solomon," you called softly, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him. "you should drink something. here, i brought water." concern gripped at your stomach when solomon made no move. "solomon," you said again, placing a hand on his knee this time. 

startled, solomon snatched your wrist and pulled it up, frantic eyes meeting yours. his mouth hung open briefly, incoherent stammers and cut off words unable to make their way out. "MC, i-" panicked, he released your hand. solomon dropped his gaze down to where his legs crossed. a few beats of silence later, solomon forced a laugh, subtly wiping the corners of his eyes. "sorry, i must have scared you," he struggled to keep his voice stable. "i should head home so you can get some real studying done." solomon pushed past you, never raising his face to look directly at yours. 

"wait, sol-" 

"i'll see you tomorrow at RAD, hm?" his head remained lowered. 

"solomon, just hang on a second," you pleaded, scrambling off the bed to catch him.

the witty sorcerer, quick as ever, slid away from your grasp, a feigned smile resting on his features. "i'll be excusing myself-" 

"solomon!" you shouted at him, voice bouncing off the walls. when he finally looked up at you, you saw the red that outlined his eyes. your heart fell, a mix of confusion and sadness infusing into your expression. exhaling a sigh, you reached for his arm, taking him by the elbow and leading him back to your bed. the mattress creaked under the added weight as you shuffled to lean back against the headboard. you kept your grip on solomon's arm just tight enough, pulling him to lay flight on top of you when you adjusted yourself comfortably. only when he resigned himself to you did you finally release his elbow from your hand. "you could have said something, you know," you stated, voice firm, but still soft around the edges. 

solomon didn't say anything in return, instead choosing to curl his fingers into your clothes and hold tight. if it weren't for the unspoken anxiety that solomon was battling, you would have enjoyed the way his head rested on your shoulder. 

"tired?" you asked through a whisper. 

the nodding of his head was barely noticeable. he was barely moving other than the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. 

you sighed into his hair, legs wrapping around his and hands massaging the small of his back. "rest, then." you stole a glance at his face, just catching the way his eyes blurred with tears. holding solomon close, you brought him up just a bit higher so he could hide his face away against your skin. 

one tear fell first, and a second. before long, a full sob broke from his throat as he bowed his head into the crook of your neck. you rested your chin gently atop his temple, shielding him from the outside world. his hands tightened around the fabric of your shirt as he burrowed himself deeper into your touch, longing to be surrounded by you and only you. you drew him in even further, as far as you could, until his tears seeped into your clothes and marked your skin with sadness. solomon shuddered against you, his sobs tearing into his body. 

"breathe, solomon. i'm right here," you reassured him, taking one of his trembling hands in yours. slowly, you pried his clenched fist open so that you could slip your fingers in between his. when you did, solomon tightened his hold on you, gripping onto you like you were a lifeline; and you were. your other hand fell to his waist, rubbing circles ever so softly into his side while you waited for him to calm down. his tears changed from individual droplets to gradual streams as he let himself go. 

solomon hated this part of himself; the one that didn't know how to stop himself from completely shattering. but he knew another part of him wanted this, wanted to be stripped away of his walls and barriers and be laid bare, heart on his sleeve as he released an eternity's worth of emotions into the open. into you. 

he'd find another day to tell you everything, but for now, with your fingertips ghosting up and down his spine and your voice echoing the words he needed to hear, he rested, and he gave his whole being to you. 

you hugged him tightly when you felt his breathing begin to even out, pulling your head back to see if you could look at his face. "do you want to talk about it?" you prodded gently. 

"... not today, please," solomon whispered out, shutting his eyes. "just let me stay here." 

you hummed your approval, nuzzling onto the crown of his head. "take as long as you need. i'll be right here." 

the sorcerer gritted his teeth, desperate to stop the tears from overflowing once more. much to his disappointment, he could not, but perhaps this time, it was okay. after all, you were right there to catch them when they fell. you were always there to catch solomon when he fell. you had done it today, and you'd do it again in a heartbeat. solomon knew that, and at the thought, he smiled for the first time that day. 

and for the first time in a long while, solomon felt loved.

a/n: solomon gets the highest form of affection; putting him through pain and suff-

[thegenesisguardians]

Ground Zero : Prologue

Where is home?

Xavier stood at the edge of his sister’s room, his hesitation clear as he watched Tyra stare intently at her laptop. The glow of the screen bathed her face in soft light, making her expression difficult to read. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to break the silence.

"I’m uncertain if this is wise," he began, his voice tentative. Tyra’s fingers hovered above the keyboard for a moment, but she didn’t respond. Xavier’s frustration grew. "It's been ages since we've been off this island," he continued, hoping to get through to her. "The younger ones are afraid, as are some of the others. We can’t just uproot everything and leave. We’ve spent our entire lives building this place, teaching the Genesis people to think and act… we can’t just—"

"YES WE CAN."

Tyra’s voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp and sudden. She slammed her laptop shut, her eyes meeting Xavier’s in a fierce stare. He flinched, but before he could react, Tyra’s expression softened, and she let out a deep breath. "I’m sorry, Xav," she said, her voice quieter now. "I didn’t mean to snap."

Xavier relaxed, but only slightly. The intensity in Tyra’s gaze hadn’t lessened. She stood up and crossed the room, pacing near the window, her silhouette outlined against the dimming sky outside.

"We’re not confined here anymore," she continued, more measured but still resolute. "We can leave, Xavier. We can reconnect with the world we were kept from for so long. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? I never thought Diane would get to see the places we dreamed about, and now… now we can."

Her voice wavered slightly, but it wasn’t hesitation—it was a deep yearning. "I won’t let anyone hold me back," she declared, though the words were more for herself than him. "Not you. Not anyone."

Xavier swallowed hard, sensing her determination. Despite the cold dread clinging to his chest, he knew she was right. The Genesis people had lived in isolation for too long, hidden away by their father’s decisions. But fear still gnawed at him, especially for the younger ones—those who had never controlled their powers fully.

"What about the kids?" he asked quietly. "Diane, Aiden, Jessa… They can’t just leave this place and face the world unprepared. Our home may be small, but it’s safe. They’ve only known the island. How will they cope with everything outside?"

Tyra paused and looked down, her fingers trembling slightly. She rubbed her face, trying to smooth the tension from her brow. "I know, Xav," she said softly. "I know. But it’s not just about them, is it? This isn’t just about us. The Genesis people… the ones outside the island… they’ve been out there, alone, for years. When Father locked us away, he abandoned them too. Who knows what they’ve been through?"

She turned back to face him, and there was a guilt in her eyes that made Xavier’s chest tighten. "We need to go, Xav. They need us. The Gens in Africa, in Asia, even in the Americas... We were supposed to protect them. We can’t wait any longer."

Xavier hesitated, his mind racing. "But can’t we just wait a little longer? Maybe another year?" He swallowed again, his voice faltering. "Some of the younger ones haven’t controlled their powers yet. What if something goes wrong?"

Tyra shook her head, her voice firm once more. "We’ve waited too long already. Six months was enough. We start leaving next week. Some will follow, maybe a couple thousand. Others will stay behind, but we have to go. The Genesis need to rejoin the world, Xav. They need to be free. Their abilities shouldn’t be hidden or exploited. They deserve to be celebrated, and I won’t abandon them."

Xavier fell silent, the weight of her words heavy on his shoulders. He realized how much thought she’d put into this, how much she’d wrestled with the past, with what their father had done to them.

"You’ve thought a lot about what happened to us, haven’t you?" he asked quietly.

Tyra’s face softened, and for the first time in a while, she looked fragile. She gave a small, bitter smile. "Yeah… more than I care to admit."

June 2, 2006 - 7:00 PM

Beatrice cradled Diane in her arms, rocking the little girl who had been crying for what seemed like hours. The others—children like them—hobbled back to the manor in a ragged line, clinging to one another, broken and beaten. The attack had left them all in pieces.

Inside, they collapsed, some on the floor, others on the furniture, too exhausted to care about the blood that stained the cushions. Their small bodies trembled with pain, too young to endure what they had just survived, yet still alive—barely.

Tyra’s legs felt like lead as she closed the door behind them, locking the world outside. She scanned the room, her heart hammering in her chest. The sight of her siblings sobbing, clutching their wounds—it felt unreal. She moved as if in a dream, numb to everything, her mind struggling to process the horror.

Beatrice shuffled over, her face pale and tear-streaked, holding out Diane to Tyra. "Take her," she whispered, her voice on the verge of breaking. "Please."

Tyra took the baby in her arms, her hands trembling as she gently unwrapped the blood-soaked blanket. Diane’s tiny body was marked with the same scar Tyra bore—a deep, jagged wound that ran from her back to her side. Tyra’s breath caught in her throat as her vision blurred with tears she couldn’t afford to shed. She held Diane close, rocking her gently, her mind screaming for a solution.

Beatrice knelt beside them, wiping her face furiously, trying to hold herself together. She reached out, her hand trembling as a soft light glowed from her palm—a stigmata. She pressed it to Diane’s back, concentrating, transferring what little healing magic she had left. Diane’s sobs slowly quieted to weak whimpers as the pain subsided.

"Th-that’s enough, Bea," Tyra said softly, grabbing her sister’s hand as blood dripped from Beatrice’s nose. "She’ll be okay now…"

Beatrice nodded, but the look of devastation in her eyes mirrored Tyra’s own.

Lana, clutching an unconscious Aiden, looked up at Tyra with wide, frightened eyes. "Wh-what do we do now?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

All eyes turned to Tyra, waiting for an answer she didn’t have. Her heart pounded in her ears, the weight of their trust suffocating her. She wasn’t their leader. She wasn’t strong like Hiroko or wise like Patience. She was just a child, too—but they needed her.

"We need to survive," she said finally, her voice firm despite the terror gnawing at her insides. "We need to heal each other, look after each other. Father isn’t who he said he was… we can’t trust him. Not anymore."

She hugged Diane closer, her voice growing more certain with every word. "I won’t let anything happen to you. Any of you."

Slowly, she stood, her small hand gripping the railing for support as she headed for the stairs. The others watched her, their silent hope resting on her shoulders. She paused, turning to face them one last time.

"I mean it. I love you guys, and I’m going to protect us. No matter what."

In shadows deep, a burden borne, An eldest daughter, innocence torn. At tender eight, life's harsh decree, An orphaned heart, a destiny.

Siblings small, with eyes so wide, She shelters them, their silent guide. Her laughter lost, her childhood fleet, In twilight's grasp, her fate complete.

No time for dreams, no time for play, Her purpose clear, come what may. She sacrifices, her needs unseen, To shield them from life's cruel sheen.

In solitude, she finds her strength, A beacon in the dark, at length. Her love a fortress, strong and true, A guardian fierce, through and through.

Though burdened young, her spirit old, Her story whispers, yet untold. An existential symphony, her plight, A beacon of hope, in endless night.