Gavin Shaw— A soft-hearted young man

"Ngh... my head..." You groan, finally starting to shuffle out from under the blankets. What time is it? Given your bleary eyes detect a bit of sunlight creeping through your windows, it's at least morning. The heavy feeling in your limbs tells you it's later than that, though... You always feel cruddy when you sleep too much.

Still, what a bizarre dream you had. You remember it quite vividly; standing over what must be your domain, with a crowd of people singing your praises and calling out for your attention. Clearly your subconscious was trying to give you an ego boost. You felt like a king— no. A God. You were the master of all you surveyed, including the men and women prostrated before you. The evidence of your ownership was obvious. Every person, building, and object you could see... had your name on it. More than that, it looked as if you had written on them all with a pen! And they were happy about it??

The women, especially, caught your attention the most. Craning their heads up to gaze upon you, their faces were awash with utter adoration, stricken with delight just to be in your presence. You knew, somehow, that you had bedded and tamed each and every one of them; that they belonged to you in heart, body, and soul.

Such a lovely dream would have been a great boon to your self-esteem, were it not still accompanied with the same terrible headache you'd gone to bed with. The pain has ebbed some, but you can't fully shake the dull stinging in your skull. Even your cock doesn't have the wherewithal to stiffen in your pants, wracked by fatigue. Guess you're skipping your morning fap today. Just as well, you'd much rather get in a shower and some breakfast... or lunch, depending on the time.

With another groan and a flinching jolt in your head, you grab near the sudden pain and stagger onto your feet. Hand pressed against your forehead, you draw it back and notice something strange. There's a dark smudge on your palm where you'd just been touching your face! Somewhat relieved that it isn't blood, a closer look reveals it to be ink. Oh, no...

Throwing on some boxers and a robe, you stride into the bathroom to get a good look at yourself in the mirror. You look ridiculous. "Aww, damnit sis...!"

Honestly, you don't look all that bad, normally. You're creeping towards being tall, not quite hitting six feet, and have an acceptable build. Your father hammered at least some exercise into your routine, and a regular jogging schedule at least kept you trim and healthy. No one would think you buff or toned, but you were content with just being average. Your fluffy, dusty brown hair was mashed against the top of your skull, slightly damp with sweat. A pair of rich, dark brown eyes stare back at you under a brow furrowed by annoyance.

Yeah, you'd look pretty nice... if not for your big sister, Theresa. At some point while you were conked out and having the wildest dream, she'd obviously snuck into your room and scribbled all over you with a marker. How mature of a college-age girl, still thinking drawing a dick on someone's forehead was funny. Words like 'dumbass' and 'turd waffle' appeared all along your arms and torso, accompanied by other rude doodles.

Okay, you thought turd waffle was a little funny, but you still didn't appreciate being Theresa's canvas! No wonder you were dreaming about people with writing all over them!

Wait. With the dream fresh in the forefront of your mind again, you recall... wasn't Theresa among the girls in that dream?! Gross, she's your sister!! What the fuck, brain! Sure, she's pretty and all that, but you'd never once imagined her as just a woman before.

Between your nagging headache and your building frustration regarding Theresa, you grumble loudly as you turn on the water for a hot shower. Gotta get all this ink off before anything else. Maybe a good scrub will help clear your mind.

Still fuming, you return to your room to get dressed after a very long shower. Theresa's dumb prank had settled firmly into your skin, and you really had to scrub to get it all off. Your skin felt raw in places, only adding to the thumping present in your head.

"Man, why does she have to be such a bitch," you complain to yourself. "I've never done anything to her, so why is she always doing this stuff to me? Hm..."

That's right. You haven't ever retaliated for all the things Theresa's done to you! All the name-calling, the pranking, the bullying... you've tolerated it all. Mom and Dad either don't notice or don't care, and you aren't sure which is worse. Dad would just tell you to suck it up and not be a baby about it. Mom just thinks she's playing with you, not wanting to think ill of either of her kids.

Maybe it's time you stop blindly enduring this treatment. Whether it's the strange indignation you feel from your dream, the throb in your head, or the years of finally adding up, you decide enough's enough. If Theresa wants to be immature to you, then you can give it right back, at least this once.

As you get your shirt around your shoulders and start to button it up, you notice the weapon wielded against you the night prior. A fresh black marker rests on your dresser in plain sight. She didn't even bother to take it back with her!