#so hard to condense it all. never know what to include and what not to :(

[burnthatbridge]

if you love him let him go (if you love him let him know) 

pre-buddie, bucktommy | T | 3k | angst, pining tommy needs to tell eddie something not on ao3 atm because i can't figure out if this is done or if i'm continuing it - please let me know your thoughts! now on ao3 because i hate not having all my fic in one place

“Can I get you another beer, man?”

Eddie checks his watch. It’s only a little after nine thirty. He’s kind of hoping to get home before Chris goes to sleep, but he’ll not be heading to bed any time soon, will likely stay up later than Eddie. Friday night means he disregards his supposed bedtime — not that he sticks to it that well on school nights, now he’s sixteen. “Sure, thanks.”

Tommy nods, disappears into the kitchen, returns a moment later with a can of IPA in one hand, a bottle of lager in the other. They’ve already finished the six-pack Eddie brought over, but trust Buck — well, Buck and Tommy — to have Eddie’s favorite beer in their fridge. Tommy hands over the can, already cracked open, and Eddie takes a sip as Tommy settles down at the opposite end of the couch. He doesn’t turn to face the TV, sits twisted towards Eddie instead, but he does pick up the remote and turn down the volume, the post-fight commentary rendered nearly unintelligible. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Eddie twists towards Tommy himself, something not-quite-anxious-but-almost flaring in his chest. Over the years they have been friends, he and Tommy have spoken about lots of things, including those not so easy to discuss: their respective experiences in the army, Tommy’s tough childhood, Eddie’s difficult parents, the hard aspects of the job. But they’ve all been topics that have come up naturally, raised organically. Tommy has never led into anything with such a pointed opener before.

Eddie studies him. He has one knee pulled up on the couch cushion, foot poking out off the end, the other foot planted on the floor, nearly parallel to the base of the couch. One arm is up on the backrest, the other relaxed, beer bottle in that hand, resting on his thigh, dripping condensation painting a charcoal ring on his — probably Buck’s, in fact, given how tight the fabric is stretched over the muscle of his leg — grey sweats. He’s not tense, but he’s not smiling, and there’s something about his expression that Eddie can’t place. It’s not that he hasn’t seen this look before, because he’s pretty sure he has, witnessed it in flickers across numerous occasions over the years, there and then gone, present for but a heartbeat. But he’d never known what it meant any of those times and he certainly doesn’t now.

“'Course,” Eddie says, when Tommy doesn’t go on, seems to be waiting for some kind of sign. Then adds, feeling like it’s necessary given the gravity he can feel pulling this lightsome evening down to something more serious.  “Anything.”

Tommy sighs, bites his lip like he doesn’t want to speak, even though he’s the one who said he wanted to talk, then shakes his head and takes a pull of his beer.

“Is everything okay?” Eddie’s starting to feel worried now. He mentally scans back over the past few weeks, trying to remember if Tommy has mentioned anything about work that could be a problem. He saw him at basketball last week, and nothing had seemed off. Plus, Buck hasn’t said anything. Not that he’d necessarily tell Eddie about an issue Tommy was having, not if Tommy wanted it kept private, but Eddie can usually tell when Buck’s concerned about someone, and he hasn’t picked up on anything, not at all. 

But maybe this isn’t about a problem Tommy is having. Maybe this is a Buck problem, something Buck has kept from Eddie. It would make sense why Tommy would bring it up with him; sometimes a concerted, multi-person effort is the only way to get through to Buck. And Tommy’s more likely to bring in Eddie first, and then expand the team to include Maddie, Chim, more, as needed. 

“Is Buck okay?” Eddie asks, something like panic constricting his throat, making the words come out a little strangled. 

Tommy actually laughs at that, a small, choked thing, an exhale of sound and air. He shakes his head again, but not a no. More like an extension of the laugh, a motion to accompany it, to better convey the disbelief — not humor — contained in it. “He’s fine.”

It’s a relief to hear. Buck had seemed physically okay, when Eddie had seen him briefly before he left the house, since he’d maybe purposefully waited to order his Uber until Buck pulled up in his jeep outside, despite Christopher’s insistence he didn’t need to wait for Buck to arrive, despite the fact that his kid is more than old enough to be left in the house alone for the twenty minutes it would have taken Buck to drive over, while Eddie was ferried the opposite way. But there could still have been something, Buck could have been fighting through pain, much better at hiding any hurt of his body than he is at masking his emotional distress. 

“But,” Tommy says, and that one word is enough to have Eddie’s muscles tightening once more, “It is Evan I wanted to talk about.”

Again, Tommy doesn’t follow it up with anything. Eddie has found, in their time as friends, that Tommy is not often a man lost for words. Quite the opposite, in fact. He usually says what he means, means what he says, and is an expert at listening and delivering sage advice. This reticence– it doesn’t feel like it bodes well, has the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck prickling.

“Alright,” Eddie says, a feeble prompt. “So, Buck?”

Tommy nods, like he’s gearing himself up for something, to face a challenge, to take a punch. Eddie is expecting something bad, so the words he says catch him even more off guard than they would have. “I want to ask Evan to marry me.”

Maybe if Tommy had seemed eager, excited, when he turned to him, Eddie could have anticipated the blow, could have felt a creeping suspicion this is where Tommy was headed, could have been provided with enough of a heads-up to brace himself. As it is, he doesn’t see the hit coming, takes it full force to the chest, so hard it steals his breath, knocks the wind from him. His mouth goes slack, and he feels his fingers slide against the slippery sides of his beer can, almost spills it over Tommy and Buck’s lounge carpet before he gets a hold on it, on himself. He forces himself to smile. “That’s– that’s great,” he makes himself say, only faintly aware that Tommy isn’t smiling back, like this moment should call for. “Did you–” he swallows around the bile climbing his esophagus, “Do you want help planning the proposal?” He wishes he could take the words back the second they’re out. Because this — just hearing that Tommy wants to ask Buck — is torture enough. To be involved with it, to help enable it, Eddie will be lucky if it doesn’t kill him. Maybe not his body, but certainly his soul. 

“No.” Tommy shakes his head. “No, I want to ask him to marry me. But I’m not going to. At least, not now.”

Eddie squints at him. The news that Tommy wants to marry Buck might hurt Eddie, but it’s not exactly surprising. Eddie’s seen how much Tommy cares for him in the years they’ve been together, has seen the way he looks at him, the way they look at each other. Has felt the way it burns him, the scorching heat of flame, the searing cold of ice. He doesn’t understand what Tommy is saying, doesn’t understand why this proclamation seems not to be a happy one. “Why not?” Eddie asks, almost grateful for the opportunity to present confusion, curiosity, rather than forced pleasure at the thought of one of his closest friends and his– best friend marrying each other. “You guys are serious. I mean, you live together.”

Tommy huffs another laugh, still more disbelief than humor, really the opposite of humor. “His lease was up.”

“Right. But he chose not to renew it. He chose to move in with you,” Eddie says, slow, struggling to understand, the pounding of his pulse not helping him think clearly, see through the puzzle that is everything Tommy has said so far and the way he has said it. 

“He was never going to renew it,” Tommy tells him.

And that’s– that’s something Eddie didn’t know. He hates it when he learns information about Buck from Tommy, always has, even though he fights with everything in him not to feel like that. Tommy is Buck’s boyfriend, of course he’s going to know things about him that Eddie doesn’t, know him in a way that Eddie doesn’t. 

“We hadn’t spoken about living together,” Tommy says, eyes on Eddie. “But he’d said he thought the loft was too expensive and he was spending nearly every night at mine by that point. When he wasn’t on shift. Or at yours.” Eddie pulls his eyes away, takes a sip from his beer for something to do, even though the bitter taste is turning his stomach. “He said he wasn’t going to renew it, that he’d look for somewhere new, cheaper. But this was too close to the end of his lease to find a place before he had to move out. I asked where he was going to stay in the meantime.”

“And he said with you,” Eddie guesses, more a statement than a question.

But Tommy shakes his head. A smile curls his lips but his eyes– his eyes don’t match. “He said he’d crash on your couch, actually.”

Eddie takes another mouthful of beer, holds it there, on the back of his tongue. He didn’t know any of this. Buck would, of course, have been more than welcome. Likely why he hadn’t asked in advance, why he planned for it without seeking permission. 

“I said he could stay with me, instead. That he’d be able to sleep in a bed here.” Eddie swallows, the beer somehow thick and cloying in a way that it shouldn’t be. “And then when he started making noises about looking for a new place, I told him he should stay.”

While it’s not how Eddie had, unwillingly, pictured it in his head — Tommy and Buck mutually agreeing that Buck shouldn’t renew his lease, deciding they wanted to live together — it still doesn’t explain what Tommy has said. “And he did stay,” Eddie says. “So, why aren’t– Does Buck not want to get married?” But that can’t be it, that can’t be right. Eddie is certain Buck does want to be married, only he’d tried hard not to think of Buck wanting that with Tommy, with anyone. Anyone else. 

“No, he does,” Tommy confirms it. He leans over and deposits his beer on the coffee table. Then sits back, still turned to Eddie, but arms crossed over his chest, like a protection of himself. “We’ve spoken about it, discussed it. And he’s told me he’s always wanted that, to get married, to be part of a family.” Tommy pops one hand out of the fold of his arms to hold it up, out, quelling, like Eddie has protested. He hasn’t, but his heart is doing something approximating a riot at the idea of Tommy being Buck’s family. “And I know he has a family. He knows he does. In you and Chris, in Maddie and Jee, in the 118. But–” Tommy breaks off, tips his head to the side, gaze boring into Eddie’s face so strong that Eddie wishes he could turn away, duck and run. “You know how much he’s always wanted to belong somewhere.”

He does, Eddie thinks, the thought almost violent in its intensity. He belongs with me. Except, he doesn’t. Not really, not how Eddie wants, not the way he does with Tommy.

“And I want that for him,” Tommy goes on, tucking his hand back in, squeezing his arms tighter about himself. Eddie’s never seen him like this, hunched in on himself, curled small. Tommy is usually so open, larger than life. “I want to be the one to give that to him.”

Eddie wants to be the one to give that to him. Desires it desperately, a secret need he’s tucked as far inside himself as he can. He can feel it now, raging to be let out, to be set free. But he can’t, he won’t. Buck is with Tommy, he’s happy with Tommy. Tommy who is so warm and kind and good, Tommy who is better than Eddie in every conceivable way, who brings so much to Buck’s life, who gives all of himself to Buck. Who wants to give him even more. Wants to, but apparently won’t.

Eddie doesn’t understand. “Then, if you want to, why won’t you ask him?” he questions, trying to. 

“If I ask him now, he’ll say no.” Tommy states it like indisputable fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that Buck would refuse him. 

Eddie shakes his head, understanding even less. “But he loves you.”

Tommy smiles again, then, larger than he had before, but as devoid of happiness, as empty of cheer. This smile hurts to see, reflects the way Eddie felt inside when Tommy had said I want to ask Evan to marry me. “I know he does.” Tommy’s tone is sure, but wistful. “But he loves you more.”

It’s like– It’s like nothing Eddie has ever felt. Or maybe it’s like everything he’s ever felt. The shock of a residual lightning bolt, the joy of being a part of the 118, the pain of a bullet ripping through his shoulder, the awe of holding his son for the first time. Eddie wants Tommy’s words to be true maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything. But he also cannot believe them, has no trust that they are true. Because they can’t be. Buck loves Tommy. Not Eddie. 

“We’re friends. Best friends,” Eddie points out. “Of course, he– he loves me. But not more. Not like he loves you. He’s in love with you.”

Tommy sighs, arms uncrossing, palms coming to rest on his thighs, body taking on a posture Eddie is familiar with, the one he falls into when he’s talking someone through something, the one he adopted when Eddie came out to him some six months ago. “Eddie, he’s in love with you.”

Eddie shakes his head. It’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear, but coming from the wrong lips. Spoken by not by Buck himself but by Buck’s boyfriend, oh god. “He isn’t. Tommy, he can’t be.” 

But Tommy is nodding, nodding like what he’s said is true, like he wants Eddie to believe it. 

“He’s not,” Eddie says, hears the denial, the disbelief spill from him. Buck doesn’t love him. He doesn’t. But Eddie– Eddie loves– “I’m sorry,” Eddie says, almost a gasp. “Tommy, I’m sorry, I–”

“It’s not your fault,” Tommy cuts him off. “I knew what I was getting into. When I started seeing Evan, I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. I just–” Tommy sighs again, scrubs his palms along his thighs. “I didn’t expect it to get this far. I thought we’d just be a fun, easy thing. Something to ease Evan into his sexuality, that new part of himself. I didn’t expect it to go like this. I didn’t expect to feel like this.” Tommy closes his eyes, lashes falling to his cheeks. He breaths in and out, while Eddie’s own breath is caught in his chest. When Tommy opens his eyes, he says, “But I don’t have to tell you how easy it is to love him.”

Fuck. Tommy knows. Because Eddie does. He loves Buck, loves him so endlessly he doesn’t know where the feeling starts and where it ends. Doesn’t know when it started; doesn’t think it will ever end. “I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers, needing to say the words again, needing Tommy — his friend — to hear them. 

Tommy lifts one palm from his thigh, his wrist pressing into the muscle as he cuts his fingers to the side in a dismissal. “Don’t apologize for it. I’m certainly not going to. I’m never going to be sorry for loving him.” He drops his hand back down, pats his leg, emphasis of the point. “But it is a problem.” He smiles, rueful. “I thought I’d be able to break up with him, if he didn’t break up with me. I should have, ages ago. I certainly should have when you came out.” 

Eddie, selfishly, had hoped Buck would break up with Tommy then. But it had seemed like a farfetched fantasy. He had told Buck he was queer after Buck had already moved in with Tommy. He’d admitted it to himself, to Frank, before that, but hadn’t told anyone else for weeks. In hindsight, sometimes he figures he’d left it too late, but most of the time he didn’t think it would have made a difference at all. But now, with what Tommy has told him, maybe it would have. It’s a knife sliding between Eddie’s ribs to think maybe. Maybe.

“But I didn’t.” Tommy looks resigned, shoulders drooping. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Eddie needs to know. It seems like Tommy has known for years that Eddie has loved Buck. Loves Buck. I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. So why is he only bringing it up now?

“Because I didn’t. Because I can’t. I can’t break up with him. But I want to move forward. And I want to do so with him, for us to further our life together. But if I ask him to marry me when he doesn’t know for sure that you’re not an option, he’ll say no.”

Fear freezes Eddie’s insides. “So, what– what are you asking me to do?” Because Tommy is asking something of Eddie, wants something. Something Eddie fears he will have to make himself give.

Tommy straightens up, shoulders rolling back. He’s serious, solemn but not demanding or pleading when he says it. A devastating request. “I’m asking you, as my friend, to let him go.”

Eddie could be sick, he thinks, could vomit up the three and a quarter beers and the half a dozen chicken wings he’s consumed since he got to Tommy and Buck’s place. Could spill the mess of his insides up all over himself, all over Tommy, all over their lives. Tommy is his friend, was his friend before he was ever Buck’s boyfriend. Eddie should do this thing for him. Should give Buck his blessing to marry Tommy, give Buck up, give him over, completely, to this man who has loved him so well for the past three years. Eddie should; in his gut he knows it would be the right thing to do. But his heart– his heart is in revolt. It’s Buck. He loves him. How can he ever let him go?

Tommy leans forward, places a hand on Eddie’s leg, squeezes his fingers around the ball of his kneecap, until Eddie lifts his gaze and meets his eyes. “Or,” he says, somehow even more serious, “I am telling you, as your friend, to go and get him.”

[kpop]

K-Pop Spotlight: DAY6

Come one, come all to a K-Pop Spotlight that is sure to dazzle and delight ’til the final curtain. This week, all eyes are on DAY6 following the release of their eighth mini-album, Fourever, and brand new title track, "Welcome to the Show." We caught up with the band to discuss their goals as they approach their 10th anniversary and their ever-growing connection to their fans through their music. Check out our full interview below!

Tracks like “Welcome to the Show,” “The Power of Love,” and “Get The Hell Out” seem to have very different themes. Can you tell us a little about how these songs relate to each other and what aspects make this album cohesive?

SUNGJIN: As we pursue the idea of being a 'band that sings every moment,' it seems like our albums, including the recent one, prioritize diversity in songs and situations rather than unity. Consequently, our albums contain various genres and narratives. However, there seems to be a commonality in most songs, depicting situations that everyone has either gone through or might experience.

Young K: First and foremost, I would say this album is a compilation of the best songs we could create. There's definitely a theme of love running through it. "Welcome to the Show," "The Power of Love," and "Get The Hell Out" all talk about the concept of love.

What goes into creating titles for DAY6 songs and albums, especially those that don’t come directly from your lyrics? Do you find it hard to condense the intentions and themes of a song into a title?

Young K: While there have been cases like that, all the songs on this album came from the lyrics. Sometimes, when choosing a title, we select the one that best describes the song—other times, we choose to give it a twist or make it more intriguing.

WONPIL: Naming songs involves a lot of deliberation. We often contemplate which title will catch the eye and capture the song's essence. Usually, we try to take it from a verse in the chorus. This can be a challenging part of the songwriting process.

Is there a creative project you’ve always wanted to work on but haven’t gotten the chance/found the time?

SUNGJIN: I'm very curious, and have a principle of "trying to experience as much as possible." There are so many things I want to try musically and personally, especially among the things I know but haven't tried yet.

DOWOON: I hope we can have a song that we can collaborate on with My Day, like a choir.

What does your work/studio setup look like? Where do you feel the most creatively inspired?

DOWOON: We try to keep the studio as tidy as possible and make it comfortable for practice sessions.

WONPIL: When working on songs, we talk a lot. We get inspiration from little conversations, joking around, sharing stories, and listening to music from various eras regardless of genre while giving opinions. We also try to build emotional connections with the songs. There’s a lot of communication going on. The songwriting process takes place in the studio of our long-time collaborator, composer Hong Jisang, with whom we've been working together since our debut.

How do you want to evolve as a musician/producer?

Young K: I want to be eagerly anticipated and awaited as an artist. Without those who wait for us, we wouldn't release or even step onto the stage. So I’m always thankful for My Day.

WONPIL: My biggest goal is to make good music for My Day and the public, so I think I'll continue to ponder. When working on songs, I pour my sincerity into them. I constantly strive to express this sincerity musically, fully capturing the emotions I want to convey. I hope to create songs that can still be listened to even after 10 or 20 years.

Design your own Tumblr blog: choose an aesthetic, a blog name, and would you be a frequent poster or lurker?

SUNGJIN: I think I’ll use it to catch up on friends' updates. For the blog name, THUMB BLUR sounds good to me. I might end up being a lurker who never posts.

DOWOON: Maybe a blog for plants? I think I'll post it like a diary.

Want more DAY6? Check out their new mini album Fourever and the music video for the title track “Welcome to the Show,” both out now!

[tozettastone]

@waffliesinyoface okay, let's go! (I agree on Itachi's sweet tooth honestly.)

Itachi — He likes sweet food. He'll order something you didn't even know was real, like a lavender latte, or a smoked salted vanilla frappe. "Does your drink even have coffee in it?" you may ask, dubiously eyeing what appears to be cup of lightly flavoured simple syrup piled high with freshly whipped cream. Yes, yes it does. Itachi is the tiredest person on this team, and that's including the guy who is just 6 dead bodies in a trench coat. Do not order him decaf.

Kisame — He's pretty easygoing. He'll take whatever, and then while the barista is making it he'll tell them that sharks can have milk because some of them don't have umbilical cords. He consumed the milk shed from his mother's uterus lining, like a great white, after eating his siblings. How fun. Sir, here's your coffee.

Kakuzu — Kakuzu is a pile of stolen hearts and tentacles condensed into roughly human shape. He can't taste the coffee, but his hearts respond to the caffeine. He will have whatever option comes with unlimited refills.

Hidan — Orders something new every time and hates it every time. He doesn't like bitter flavours. He has not yet made the connection between "coffee" and "bitter notes" in the formal way that would permit him to stop trying it. He complains about the taste every time. Bonus: caffeine only affects him for about 2.5 minutes.

Konan — Konan never had coffee growing up (she didn't have a lot of things growing up!) so now it's kind of a novelty. She's mostly a tea drinker but when she has coffee she takes whatever variation of 1 part coffee and 2 parts milk is easiest. She's not a connoisseur of latte foam vs cappuccino froth, etc., etc. She likes to watch the rain fall, dry and cosy in her oversized coat, while her coffee steams gently into the humid air over the village.

Pein — Nagato doesn't like to put extra fluids into his bodies because they're dead and if you alter the water content on the inside it can be very hard to maintain them in the state of preservation he prefers. He watches Konan drink, though.

Sasori — Sasori is an arty bitch, but not a "with lavender smoked honey," kind of wanky art bitch. He's a traditionalist. Espresso. With sparkling water. The tinier the demitasse, the better.

Deidara — Deidara wants a fancy sweet little treat but he's still young enough to get mad that he doesn't drink serious grown up drinks. He'll order something black and bitter and then sulk about it. What he really wants is exactly the kind of fancy and ridiculous coffee drink Itachi orders, but he's already set himself against this and mocked Itachi about it. Watch him toss back his coffee and slam the empty cup onto the table like he's doing shots of bad tequila.

Zetsu — A cafe macchiato. This is a trap because a "spotted," coffee is either all milk spotted with a bit of coffee (which is what the writer understands to be common in America) or all coffee spotted with a dab of milk (common in other parts of the world). Either way, when you serve it to him, the order will be wrong according to at least one side of his body. ;—;

Tobi — Drinks his coffee mixed 1:1 with sweetened condensed milk. Is the sweet tooth genetic?

(Honorary) Orochimaru — Orochimaru is also a pretentious arty bitch, but in his case, his order isn't intended to communicate artsy-ness about himself to the outside observer. It's instead carefully calculated to communicate that he's a snob and to stress out the barista tasked with making it for him. He wants your single origin in a double ristretto with a 3/4 cup of silky milk. If you make a latte and just don't fill it up all the way, he will know. No, really. He'll know.

[gimmethatagustd]

jai’s min yoongi masterlist

If you are under 18 years old, do not interact with my fics. Most contain smut and aren’t appropriate for minors. Click here to join my taglist(s). Click here to view all my fics.

Updated March 9, 2024

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It’s 2012 and you’re at a Borgore concert.

Future Perfect | 880 | Dystopian | Unrequited Love | Childhood Friends | Fluff

Lookout duty was hard on you. When it was your turn to camp out on the roof and watch for potential threats, you complained that staying awake all night was hard. Most of the other runaways were night owls, but you weren’t. You needed your beauty sleep. You couldn’t get comfortable up on the roof, even if there was a flat landing with pillows and blankets to keep you warm. 

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“FUCK!” 

Can I? | 747 | Exes | Angst

You never realized how much space Yoongi had taken up in your life until you packed your belongings into a single suitcase. Four years of life condensed into a small rectangle.

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Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd &daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[illusioninteractions]

Love Never Discussed

This is my first ever one-shot, but I'm quite proud of it, so I thought I'd post it and feed those Venti simps. Please enjoy! :D

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Venti x Gn! Traveler! Reader ~Angst, Fluff, and things along those lines. WARNINGS: Suicidal ideations and thoughts, sh scars... please do not read if any of those concepts trigger you, and for those reading who deal with this, please know that you are loved, even when it may not feel like it. Word Count: 2,2k

You've grown tired of the way things are. Traveling non-stop takes its toll, but it's surprising how well you hid it from everyone, including the floating emergency food who spoke to you every waking moment. Eventually, taking care of yourself, alongside all these other people, became a chore, so you walked on until you pushed yourself just a bit too far. Luckily, you were found by the one person you had only wished to see again.

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Night had slowly fallen as you trekked along what felt like a never-ending road, yet you thought you didn't deserve to rest. There were still people to help, to rescue, to find. Of course, Paimon was chatting your ear off the whole way, not even taking in the fact that you weren't responding. As you walked along the shore near Stormbearer Point, the very place where you met Paimon, the fatigue began to take its toll, but you kept moving. Little did you know, a familiar face was keeping an eye on you as you sluggishly walked the beach towards the forest, headed straight for Mondstadt. Then, rain began to fall, it started with a light drip, and quickly it moved on to a pour. Nothing was even concerning you at this point, you couldn't really remember if you did anything for yourself today. Did you even eat? Drink?

Your vision grew blurry to that thought, but you didn't mind. The cold rain pounded your skin as Paimon ran off under a tree and called you to her. Instead, you didn't listen, you let it happen, not a concern or worry that you didn't know what would happen next. "It was bound to happen," You thought as no part of you feared the afterlife. You thought this was it.

Just as your body fell numb onto the wet and hard sand, your vision was finally gone. Paimon screamed for you, floating over to you in haste as she completely forgot about the heavy condensation. She called your name multiple times, shaking your body back and forth. She looked for help, turning her head left and right.

Within the blink of an eye, the person who kept you in their sights came sprinting over, stowing away the bow he carried over his shoulder. Paimon sighed with relief at the sight of him as he knelt by your side, dirtying his white tights and placing a hand on your back, calling for you.

"Traveler!" Your corrupted mind made out, which caused a bit of force to your eyes as you wanted to see the face of the voice you recognized. He saw your attempt and moved his hand to your shoulder to gently roll you over.

As his hand touched your skin, he felt how cold you were due to this heavy rain. The wind didn't help, but the more he panicked, the more nature was stirred up as well. He snapped out of whatever worry he had dug into and put his other arm under your head so that he could roll you onto your other side without possibly injuring your neck. He could finally carry you out of there, using the wind to help glide him straight towards the city he used to rule.

It was the dead of night, not a soul was outside of their home in the city of freedom. Maybe it was because it was so late, or maybe the rain was too strong, but Venti had one thought and one thought alone: to help you. He was quick to find what he thought he needed as Paimon was barely able to catch up with the Archon.

Though this was his city, he didn't live in one place. He doesn't own a home, so even he was somewhat lost. Moments after he had grabbed a blanket from a nearby vendor, placing what money he could on the counter before taking his time to wrap you in it as best as he could, he found himself breathing hard as he looked around vigorously. He searched for a safe place to put you, but to no avail.

"Venti?" Jean's voice echoed through the empty city as the rain had finally stopped, the night sky clearing up. She held an umbrella in one hand and a lantern in the other, a confused look worn upon her face.

The god had slowly come down, the wind blowing around him coming to a halt the moment his feet touched the ground, "Master Jean... please, I need your help." He asked as he showed your face to the Acting Grand Master, Paimon nodding her head in a quickened pace.

"The Honorary Knight..!" Jean gasped as she quickly turned her gaze back to Venti. "Follow me."

The two ran through the streets of Mondstadt, as Paimon floated alongside them until they reached the Knights of Favonius headquarters. The instant the group reached the indoors, Venti felt relief knowing you would be safe there. Jean led them inside her office and suggested laying you down on the couch.

Replacing the now wet blanket, you once wore, with a new one, Venti pulled up a chair to stay by your side for a moment as he caught his breath.

"What happened?" Jean's concern was not one to be reckoned with, and Venti understood that. He knew he had to speak up on the issue, though he might not have known every detail.

"Paimon was just talking with the traveler until it suddenly started raining and-!" Paimon's high-pitched voice rang out and loud as she was still grasping the situation herself.

"Paimon, why don't you go take a breather and find Miss Lisa in the library. It isn't all that late for her, she should still be up and about." Jean suggested, though cutting off the floating person, Paimon nodded calmly and flew out the door.

"Thank you." The boy with black to blue braids nervously chuckled as he looked at Jean for only a brief moment before turning his focus back onto you.

"My question goes for you, too, Venti..." Jean continued on as she leaned forward in the chair she sat on. "If you know what happened, that is."

"To be honest, I don't really have much of a clue. I knew the traveler was coming back to Mondstadt today, the wind told me, but I never expected this. They looked tired, not only physically, but mentally as well. The sight of them broke my heart, I worry they never focus on themself. Going from nation to nation is beyond draining, even I couldn't bear it sometimes, but to also be traveling and searching for someone so dear, then getting dragged into defending ones so near. They could have barely just met, but the traveler would help them solve their issues. This is all too much for one human to hold and never let go of. Even so, they don't dare utter a word of regret or sadness. If I had to say, that is probably the problem they're facing." Venti had rushed some parts, emphasizing most as he had a gut feeling he knew what was going on while the traveler was away. "Being wind-borne is great in its ways, but as the gusts flow in, it may toss you straight into a maze."

"A maze they struggle to find the exit to..." Jean sighed, knowing the feeling. "I'll leave you two alone for a minute. I'm just going to grab the traveler some water."

Venti nodded his head, as he reached out for your hand, holding onto it as he softly ran circles with his thumb. The god's head slumped down as he heard the door shut, resting no weight into the palm of your hand. The feelings he held for you were so strong, yet he has never forced it onto you and sticks to his flirtatious ways. He wants nothing more than to express the way he feels for you but has never found the time. That's why he awaited your arrival back to Mondstadt... and why he kept a close eye on you as soon as he found you, looking for the perfect moment to swoop in and greet you. Never did he expect it to end the way it did.

As a piece of the blanket gently fell from your arm, Venti looked up only to see you still unconscious, but the scars on your arms had caught his attention. At first, he assumed they were all battle scars, yet after taking a closer look, some looked almost too organized. "Why are they doing this to themself?" His thoughts quickened and his eyes worriedly looked over every single scar as he could only hope it had never gotten too much farther than this. He thought, "If Paimon knew about it, she would've told someone, right? So does anybody even know?" He felt guilty for even looking at them, but now he knew that his guess was correct, though he never wished for it to be.

Eventually, Jean came back, to which Venti grabbed the part of the blanket that fell and calmly tucked your arm back inside while Jean placed a glass of water down on her desk before unfolding a hand cloth to use.

Venti scooted his chair back as Jean came over and knelt down by the couch to get closer to you in order to help you drink the water she offered. Of course, you had no clue... only hoped that you wouldn't wake up.

Was that completely true, though? You had heard the voice of someone you cared for, more than most, in what you thought was your last waking moments. Would it be fair to leave him?

As quickly as the night had fallen, time had gone by and shortly revealed the sun. Everyone in their city was just awakening from their sweet slumber, unlike Venti who hadn't slept at all. He was too worried about you to worry about his sleep, and although Jean tried to talk him into rest, it didn't work. Venti had witnessed the sun fall and rise, all while watching your face closely.

With a sudden sigh escaping his lips, he took hold of a lyre he so carefully strapped to his waist and began playing a tune, one which he played for you many times. He hummed the words, instead of singing them, strumming the strings to the beautiful instrument you know only he would play. The soft song had lulled you back to your senses as a smile grew on your still-sleeping face. Venti gave a soft giggle as he noticed your now peaceful expression, and to it, he started to quietly sing the words. Soon enough, your eyes fluttered open and you felt the smile on your face when you realized the melody being played right beside you. Turning your head slightly, you saw Venti, his eyes gently closed as the sun shined an orange tint inside the room and welcomed you into a new day.

The song had sadly come to an end, and as the boy began to pocket his Lyre, he noticed you completely conscious and staring right at him.

"Who knew waking up to such a pretty song would be so enchanting." You managed to say as you sat up slightly, your smile only growing bigger.

Venti said nothing, he just hugged you at your waist, his head planted softly on the blanket on top of your torso. You, surprised at first, sunk into the sudden hug, happy to be there, his arms wrapped around you.

"Are you hungry?!" Venti sat up within a split second, his eyes hastily moving from one of your eyes to another to find your answer. "Please... be honest with me."

"I- uhm..." You stuttered initially, nervous to say what you knew or what you felt. "Yeah, I am."

"Great, I'll go get something for you-!" To the sudden tug of his arm, he didn't even get the chance to stand fully before this new found confidence of yours took control.

Though you only wanted to hug him again, where this ended up going wasn't so bad either. Your faces were inches away from each other, his other hand on the couch cushion beside you as the one you held had moved to the arm of the couch. You were practically underneath him, and his face was in shock, but it gave you a clear view of his reddened cheeks. He broke the eye contact the two of you were having as he nervously chuckled and looked away, but you continued to look at him. You studied him, the way his smile curved nervously on his face as he seemed conflicted between what he wanted to do and what he should do. The way his eyes looked around, moving quicker with every thought he had. Your hand reached the side of his face with a gentle touch, guiding his gaze back towards you where your eyes met once more.

"Uhm... Traveler?" Venti questioned softly, genuinely confused.

You didn't fail to notice the way his eyes moved from your eyes to your lips in such fast and brief moments. He thought he was getting away with it, but he wasn't, he was only making it more obvious by the second, so you sat up ever so slowly until your lips hesitantly but finally made contact. The tender kiss lasted but a moment, but it felt like an eternity after having waited so long for this honest and passionate kiss between love never discussed.

[threadsun]

You're Safe in the Woods (18+)

Fandom: John Doe

Pairing: John Doe x Reader

Synopsis: Nothing in the Uncanny Valley is as it seems. And that includes the woods. They seem to be a safe haven from Doe and his unwanted advances. But you're still the Uncanny Valley, and Doe still has a few tricks up his sleeve.

Content: noncon, drugging (pheromones/aphrodisiac), tentacles, mindbreaking/mind control, tentacles in every hole (and I really mean every), seriously he gets all up in your guts and also skull, implied mind reading, cum in every hole (seriously, all of them), edging, everything is gross and hot and sticky and wet, I don't even know how to tag this one but like... ooze/slime encasing your body? Like a total enclosure suit but made of sticky oily stuff

You’re safe in the woods.

Picking your way between trees so tall and dense, the whole forest is shrouded in darkness. Dead leaves—you hope they’re leaves—crunching under your tentative steps. Silence, unnerving silence, and a distinct lack of any living creature besides you.

You’re safe in the woods.

Safer than you are at home, at least. Safer than at work. Safer than anywhere Doe can reach you. But surely even he wouldn’t dare step foot in here. No. No, you’ve never seen him in the woods.

You’re safe in the woods.

It’s damp and hot, the soil practically radiating steam. Everything is a little sticky, slimy, gross. But still, better than anywhere else in the valley. Even as you stop walking and press your hand against a tree trunk, palm sinking into a layer of sap coating the bark, you’re thankful you’re here.

You’re safe in the woods.

You think.

They follow you. The eyes. Wide and off-white with pinprick pupils. They’re in the trees, under the rocks, buried in the layers of death and decay that sit on the forest floor. They follow you with that familiar prickling sensation across your skin. They drink you in hungrily. They lie in wait.

He doesn’t exactly pounce. No, no. He’s not a predator, he’s no wolf. No, he’s a pitcher plant. Waiting, waiting, waiting for you to be lured in by his nectar. By the allure of a place free from him. Then, as you slip down towards the centre… he feeds.

He starts slow. As you walk, you feel a sticky whisp wrap around your arm. A spider’s web, gross but not concerning. You brush it from your skin and venture further into the woods. You want to put as much distance as possible between yourself and Doe.

The next thing you feel is the slight brush of something thin between your fingers. You snatch your hand away, cradling it to your chest and assuring yourself that it’s nothing more than a low-lying plant. Some creeping vine or spindly bush that your hand brushed as you passed.

The ground is stickier, hotter, wetter. Your feet feel like they’re sinking into the soft dirt slightly with every step. The air is so humid that it blankets your lungs in a thick layer, pressing on your chest until it’s hard to breathe.

When they start winding around your legs, you tell yourself you’ve just caught on a vine. That the insistent tugging keeping you in place is merely the strong roots of some winding ground plant that you’ve somehow gotten yourself tangled up in.

It’s better than acknowledging reality. Better than accepting that he’s found you. That even here you’re not safe from Doe. It’s easier than accepting that it’s him wrapping around you like this. Those oozing, sticky black tentacles. That tar-like substance that clings to your skin in a viscous oil.

“Finally…”

You can’t pretend any longer when his voice echoes through the trees around you.

“I’ve been waiting so so so long for this!”

The black ooze creeps up your legs. It slides between your skin and your clothes, pressing further and further and further until they all but burst open around you. Your chest is exposed to that stifling humidity, droplets of what you hope are water condensing on your skin. Your bottom half is only spared this by the clinging oil slowly travelling up your body.

It’s like being forced into the stickiest latex catsuit. The viscous liquid clings to your skin in a thin layer, a barrier between you and the forest around you. It encases you slowly, clinging tight to your legs, your hips, your stomach… higher and higher it goes, and you almost feel like you’re drowning in it.

Another pool of it begins at your fingertips, cloying up your arms as your skin is suffocated by the thick elastic goo. It smells of motor oil and burning tires. The closer it creeps to your face, the stronger you can smell it. Up your throat, under your chin, and finally over your cheeks your nose your forehead. You’re encased entirely in that thick black ooze. In him.

It’s hard to fight back. You’re so worn down from months of trying to keep him at bay. You’re exhausted, and this just feels like the inevitable conclusion to your horrible life in the Uncanny Valley. The most you can do to resist him is keep your lips firmly closed. The idea of that claggy slime entering your mouth, suffocating you entirely, is just a step too far for you to accept.

“Come here,” his voice is filled to the brim with that breathless delight he always feels when he sees you. “I need to feel you.”

The clinging second skin tightens around you. Tendrils push forth from the ground and the trees to wrap around your limbs. Your arms are pulled up, your legs apart as you’re hoisted unceremoniously into the air by Doe’s tentacles.

“I need to hear your voice, speak for me. Please, please, please speak for me.”

His voice is almost a desperate whine, but you keep your lips firmly pursed. The clinging oil separates just at the seam of your mouth, still clinging to your lips tightly. You can speak without worry, but… what is there to even say?

“Doe. Don’t do this.” You’re too tired to say much more. To do more than sigh and hang your head in defeat. “Please.”

“Oh…”

A tentacle, thinner than the ones around your limbs, comes up to caress your cheek. Even through the sticky slime you can feel how warm it is, feel how it pulses gently against your skin. He doesn’t sound remorseful. No, he just sounds thoughtful.

“It’s okay. I’ll make it better, I promise.”

You have no time to ask what he means. To even hope that he might leave you alone. The pulsing tentacle moves to your lips, pressing insistently between them. You can tell now that it’s sticky too, dripping with some sweet substance that makes your tastebuds tingle. You can feel yourself salivate in response.

Another pair of holes open up to free your nostrils, letting you smell the overpoweringly saccharine substance. The horrible mechanical smell of the clinging ooze is completely overwhelmed by the smell of whatever liquid the tentacle is secreting in your mouth. The scent is… heady. Thick and sticky like the substance itself. It clings inside your nose, coats your throat, sticks to your lungs.

You can feel the tentacle in your mouth dripping that thin nectar. It slips down your throat and makes you feel warm inside. Your eyes close, blinded anyway by the darkness and the sticky film covering them. You can feel your body becoming more pliant, more relaxed. Feel your heartbeat evening out and the worries fade to the back of your mind.

Doe’s pheromones are potent. As the tentacle slips into the back of your throat, you can feel your body reacting to every little thing. It feels so good, you’re not sure why you ever fought this. Why you ever fought him. Why didn’t you just give yourself over and let him make you feel good?

You do now. You let your body go limp in his hold, more tentacles winding around your body to brace you. You find yourself mindlessly suckling at the tentacle in your mouth, enjoying the slow, feeding drip of Doe’s sticky sweet slick down your throat and into your stomach. As your body absorbs more of it, the warm feeling of bliss spreads.

Another hole opens up in the sticky full-body suit. The warm, wet air nestles between your thighs for a moment before another tentacle slides up to feel you. It rubs against you, more of that thin, wet liquid sinking into the sensitive skin there. Arousal pools in your stomach.

It’s hard not to suck on the tentacle between your lips, slowly easing its way in and out of your throat. Swallowing around it draws out more of that delicious nectar. And with every swirl of your tongue and suck of your cheeks, Doe’s moans echo through the trees around you.

Your hips move, grinding against the tentacle between your legs. It’s so warm. It pulses in a slow, undulating motion against you. With every push of your hips, you become more and more desperate to feel him inside of you. Your brain is fuzzy, but through the fog you can just about grasp at the deep need for those tentacles to fill you.

You hardly notice when the tip of the tentacle presses against your hole. It’s so wet. So warm. So… you don’t even know how to describe it, but you need the oozing, sticky, pulsating thing inside of you. You grind down against it, trying to will it into you.

It’s almost too easy. The way it stretches your hole, pressing deeper and deeper and deeper until it’s filling you completely. The sticky substance it secretes is more than enough lubrication. Your body offers no resistance, needs no preparation. It merely takes the whole thing in one fluid motion.

The tentacles are still for a moment.

“You feel so so so good~” Doe’s static voice is breathy in your ear. It no longer echoes, just dances around your head almost teasingly. “I’ve been waiting so long for this. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Your head is warm. Fuzzy. Stuffed with cotton that buries your thoughts too deep to reach. If there are any left inside you at all. It feels so nice, being so blissfully mindless. Being nothing more than Doe’s plaything. His toy. His puppet, dancing on the strings of his tentacles, moving and acting exactly how he wants.

You love it. You love giving control over to him. The more you let him take control, the more of those lovely pheromones he indulges you with. The more you can relax. The more he can fill you and make that pleasure build inside of you. Even without the tentacles moving, it still builds.

The tendrils begin to move inside of you. It’s slow at first. A gentle rocking motion that sets your body swaying gently in the air. They’re thick, filling, but they don’t cause any discomfort as they explore deep inside of you.

The tentacle in your throat pushes deeper, deeper, until you’re sure it’s dripping that sweet liquid straight into your stomach. The one between your legs feels almost like it’s coiling up in your guts. Like it’s fucking straight through you. Like it’ll meet the one in your throat and you’ll be run through completely by them both.

They fuck you, pulling out until you’re almost empty before thrusting back inside of you with the help of that sweet substance. Your body bounces with the force, tethered only by the tendrils coiled around your arms and legs.

You’re tugged around by them. Pulled and pushed until your body is contorted into the perfect position for the tentacles to fuck you. Each time they pull out, it feels almost like they might drag your insides with them. Like your body is desperate to keep them in you.

The pleasure builds and builds as the squirming tentacles explore your insides. More holes open up, enough to let more tentacles slip into you. Your ears, your nose, every hole they can find until you’re stuffed to the brim. Your brain feels like it’s filled with that sweet liquid, seeping into your skull until you’re swimming in it.

You find yourself on the brink of orgasm far too quickly. You’re almost disappointed that it’ll be over so soon. Only… the end doesn’t come. The tentacles continue to fuck you, letting their pheromones sink into you until you’re all but melted for them. But you never seem to tip over the edge. You can’t quite seem to cum.

You want to whine, to beg, to plead Doe to let you finish. To make you cum. Almost as if they’re responding to your desperate thoughts, the tentacles pick up the pace. Sticky tendrils reach the most sensitive spots inside of you, sending you bumping right up against the edge of your orgasm.

“Not yet, not yet.” Doe’s voice is breathy and desperate, like he’s trying not to cum either. “I can’t let you finish yet. Not until you’re mine.”

You want to cry. You want to promise yourself to him. You want to agree to be his forever. Whatever it takes to get more of that sweet nectar, to get fucked like this forever. Whatever it takes to finally cum.

“We’re not done yet. I promise, I’ll let you cum soon.” He’s placating, almost pleading. “I promise, I promise, I promise. But I need to do this first. I need to make you mine.”

There’s no room left inside your head for thoughts. Nothing more complex than the deep need to cum. You can’t even bring yourself to wonder what he means. You’re just desperate for him to make you his. To be done, so that you can finally reach your peak.

The viscous second skin that encases you tightens. Your body seizes as you feel the tentacles hit spots inside of you that nothing has ever touched before. It’s lifechanging. The way the writhing, pulsating tendrils fill you so deeply and stroke areas so intimate you never knew they existed until now.

Finally, something in Doe seems to snap. You drop to the ground, pinned there by the weight of the sticky slime coating your skin. The tentacles fuck you hard and fast, driving you into the dirt. Your pleasure builds far beyond anything you’ve ever felt before. And in the moment before your orgasm comes crashing down around you, you feel it.

The air clears. Cool and dry and refreshing. The trees are no more, and sunlight just about filters through the oily film covering your eyes. The forest is gone, replaced by Doe’s body pressed hard against your back. By his hands groping you, his lips and teeth piercing through the slime coating to get to your skin. And his tentacles…

It’s thicker than the sweet aphrodisiac. It fills you up and settles heavy inside of you. It fills your guts and drips down your thighs, wells up in your stomach until it reaches your throat. As it makes its way into your mouth, you taste it. Bitter and salty, thick and sticky, filling every hole in your body well past what you can handle.

And then your body begins to shake. Your orgasm rolls through you, more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced before. His tentacles fuck their… cum? Is that what it is? Whatever it is, they push it deeper inside of you, more spilling out of your holes as Doe fucks you through your orgasm.

Your head feels like it’s sloshing with whatever came out of Doe’s tentacles. Your stomach is round and heavy, your muscles sore and tired. But you’re more content than you’ve ever been, as the trees raise back up around you and Doe cuddles you close to his body. The sticky liquid fills you with warmth and love. All the warmth and love that Doe’s been trying to give you for so long. And you’ve finally accepted it.

As you let your body rest, sinking into that hot, damp dirt, only one thought is left in your mind.

You’re safe in the woods.

[fortyfive-forty]

I was reading what u commented on the break point cancellation post and I found so interesting what u were saying in regards to Drive to Survive, but u stopped because it was long (which never bothers me with tags btw) so I wanted to ask u, if u can, to expand on why u think Break Point failed, I think we might agree but I wanted to know where u stand 🥰

lmfaoo yeah i went over the tag limit 😭

what i was saying was essentially that break point is just not a good representation of the sport.

i mentioned this before but genuinely the match recaps that natasha does in the kasatkina zabiiako vlogs (now what the vlog but it's still kasatkina zabiiako in my mind) are better than the shit they did in break point. it seems like they were edited by someone who's never watched tennis before in their life, there's no sense of rhythm or momentum...which like, i understand it's hard to condense usually 2+ hours of tennis into just a few moments, but what they were rolling out was just not at all representative of what watching tennis is like. it's not even just that watching live is more enjoyable, it's that the break point recaps were actively unhelpful in the context of their episodes. it was more informative for me to listen to the players/coaches/commentators etc. talk about the match than watching those highlights bc of how bad they are.

on top of this, there isn't a lot of like...tennis specific conversation? i'll admit i didn't watch all of break point, maybe 5 or 6 episodes across the two seasons (i think only one of those was from season two bc. gross), so maybe i just missed all of it, but most of the time when they talked about the actual tennis, it was super basic stuff that even someone with very little technical knowledge (i.e. me) already knew. which like, if i'm watching a docuseries ABOUT TENNIS, i'd love to, you know, hear a bit...about tennis? there were some bits that they did include, mostly about tennis mentality (the curse episode) but the rest of anything they mentioned was very player specific, which is not really helpful if you're an inexperienced fan and want to know more about the sport as a whole.

(compare this to drive to survive, which can be dramatic and gimmicky, but actually helped me TONS to understand some of the basics of how the sport works, so i wasn't just thrown in for the first race not knowing what a soft tire vs a hard tire is.)

another thing i think i mentioned drive to survive has going for it (which i think i did mention in the tags) is that aside from all of the drama and seriousness, there's also a lot of fun silly bts bits they include, so even if you're not into the format, there is still a motivation for fans to tune in to see their favorite drivers messing around. break point had...some of that...but not enough imo to make it worth gritting through, and again, it's tough because there are just so many players to cover that the likelihood or your favorite player being included is just not that high.

basically, break point doesn't appeal to any audience. i'm not even sure what it's target audience is. experienced tennis fans (or even tennis fans such as myself who aren't experienced but have at least WATCHED live tennis) find it poorly produced and uninteresting. unexperienced tennis fans have little or nothing to gain from watching it. there just seems to be zero purpose for it to actually exist besides a sort of faux-behind-the-scenes docuseries for the sake of saying they have one about tennis.

but the thing that frustrates me is i think there could be an audience for it! like, i love docuseries formats, especially in sports! but break point just seemed to be so poorly thought out. and look, if you can't appeal to all audiences, that's fine! but chose a target audience and actually try to cater to them. and i think that's where netflix notoriously goes wrong time and time again, is they're just very out of touch with what their audiences want, and then proceed to whine that no one is interested and cancel everything when their shitty poorly thought out products do poorly (or even when good products do well). but like i said, i think if more care was put into the product, if they paid more attention, asked more questions, they could actually develop a show that more people would want to watch. but i think the way break point was set up, it was just never going to succeed like that.

TL;DR: drive to survive appeals to multiple audiences, with difference experience levels, with a little bit of something for everybody depending on a fan's watching preference. break point appeals to..........................?

and netflix doesn't seem to realize that sports fans generally want. uh. sports. to be shown accurately in a docuseries about. uh. sports.

[em-dash-press]

Are Prologues Worth Your Time?

It felt like every book I picked up when I was a kid and a teenager had a prologue. I thought they were super deep and essential foreshadowing, but then I went to college for creative writing.

You know what every professor taught?

Prologues are outdated and unnecessary.

I was shocked. Not that I’d ever say that I had only read the greatest books (many were trash—and some, beloved trash), but how could so many published books have outdated and unnecessary prologues where they’re supposed to hook a reader?

Here are a few thoughts you can consider when unwrapping this problem for yourself.

Give Your Prologue a Purpose

There are two primary purposes for prologues:

They give the reader a glimpse of a future event in the plot (like a movie trailer).

They give the reader a glimpse into the fictional world’s past to set the scene for the current world (like a flashback).

You don’t necessarily need to put a prologue in your manuscript. Your reader will likely get hooked from the first chapter you’ve worked so hard on. However, if your character/world/conflict will drastically change later, you can make the reader wonder, “How does it get from here to there?” after the first chapter with a prologue.

Flashback prologues are also helpful. A handful of pages could introduce the reader to a conflict (a deity getting betrayed by other gods and cursing all humans to forget they exist) that sets the tone/explains why your universe exists the way it does (every single character and person in the novel doesn’t know about gods because their history has been wiped from their minds, but the protagonist meets one of the gods who betrayed the antagonist deity and wants others to see/hear them too).

How to End a Prologue

Your prologue should end with the reader fully engaged, but wondering—WHAT?!

This might mean that you write your prologue (after deciding on one of the purposes mentioned above) when you’ve finished your manuscript. You’ll know exactly which historical or future point in your world will be most relative to your plot and the most captivating for your reader.

If George R.R. Martin had become inspired to write Game of Thrones based on an idea like this—historically powerful households go to war with each other to regain the most powerful throne in the realm, based on their various birthrights—and written the prologue immediately, we never would have been introduced to the potential-dead-brought-back-to-life in the actual prologue. 

You gotta admit, zombies are a much more gripping hook than political rivalries. Especially when there are so many rivalries and so much history to learn before the tension builds!

When a Prologue May Be Necessary

Sometimes writers feel that their first few chapters are basically info dumps. You may have created a complex world with lots of history, lore, and ongoing conflict. The reader has to understand it all in the first five chapters, but it makes your story read like a textbook.

Prologues can help by summarizing the most important information the reader has to grasp to enjoy your manuscript. Challenge yourself to write some flash fiction (in this case, ~1-3 pages) about your novel’s world to see if you can create a prologue that condenses the most essential info for the reader. You can edit the next few chapters to see if they have better flow/pacing.

Reasons to Avoid Writing a Prologue

You may need to remove your prologue or pass on writing one if you agree with any of these factors:

The info explained in the prologue (history, initial conflict) reappears later in the plot.

You’re including the prologue because your first chapter is boring (just rewrite the first chapter—it will likely still feel boring even with an amazing prologue).

You feel like you have to have one. (This is common in fantasy/sci-fi.)

You want a prologue to set the mood for your story. (That’s the job of your first chapter.)

You need a prologue to do all of your world-building. (Introducing the reader gradually to your world through action-based events the first few chapters is much more engaging than an info-dump prologue.)

Make Your Decision After Getting to Know Your WIP

I tend to think of prologues as something you consider and potentially write well after developing your WIP. Get to know your characters, your plot, the stakes, and the world’s history/conflict before deciding if a prologue would hook your readers. You can always write it in a separate document/page and play around with removing/adding it with beta readers.

[useramor]

for the one thing i want to know about you: share your favorite comfort dish/recipe! 💕

hi ash!!!!!! this got long bc i did in fact include a recipe. if any of you try it pls let me know if you like it!!!! and if you don't like it i don't want to hear about it :)

for comfort dish honestly some of my favorite comfort food is just rice, beans, mashed potatoes, and scrambled eggs!! i love it. OR rice, beans, farofa de ovo (farofa is fried mandioc flour and we eat it w everything in brasil lol and farofa de ovo is just that but mixed with scrambled eggs) and french fries. you will notice these are basically the same dish. what can i say it never fails!!!

also my go to sweet is almost always brigadeiro de colher because i'm basic and brazilian and it always makes me happy. for that you will need:

1 can of condensed milk

1 tablespoon-ish of nescau (nesquik chocolate powder in the states i believe. whatever chocolate powder you use to make choccy milk works.)

1 tablespoon-ish of cocoa powder if you don't want your brigadeiro to be so sweet all your teeth rot

you can do 2 tbs of nescau if you want it really sweet. i mean it's already really sweet but like really really sweet.

but not of cocoa powder. 2 tbs of cocoa powder makes it taste weird lol.

about a spoonful of butter

a splash of creme de leite. you add this because you don't want it to get too hard. when you're making it for birthday parties you make it thick enough to roll into a little fudge ball, but i like to fill a bowl with it and eat it with a spoon while i watch the parent trap again. the creme de leite makes it so it can't get that hard! (i believe this is media crema in the usa. i will be attaching pictures.)

this ^

how to prepare:

in a medium sized pot, combine condensed milk, nescau, cocoa powder, and butter. do not add the creme de leite yet.

stir. with a wooden spoon. this is not optional. (/j lol this is just because everyone makes this with a wooden spoon and burning ur tongue licking the scalding boiling hot brigadeiro off a wooden spoon as a child is a core memory for all of us)

when it starts to bubble, add the creme de leite

stir some more

make sure you're scraping the edges and the bottom of the pot so it doesn't burn!!!

once it's all really well combined and about the consistency of. idfk. thick icing maybe? i don't eat american sweets. thick enough to eat with a spoon.

like this. though truthfully this is already a little too thick for my tastes but aim for this!!

let it cool off

or don't. as i said, burning ur tongue is a part of the experience.

eat :)

i like to eat this watching a movie with popcorn and i will mix my popcorn with my brigadeiro and it is so yum!

ask me anything

[enchi-elm]

Gosh. The hardest part of planning to write a tallster fic is realizing how much history was condensed for the sake of the show, and then the deeper you start reading (which is still relatively surface) the more you struggle whether to write historically accurate or lean into the fact that it's already not and instead write something that passes as 'appropriate' for the time-period. How the hell do you do it (awe)?

Hello, Delightful Human!

Casual blog readers, this Delightful Human left a truly wonderful comment on my huge Tallster multichapter and now seeing their username always makes me smile.

First of all, from this ask it sounds like you yourself are embarking on a historically accurate (ish) Tallster fic, to which I give you my most heartfelt encouragement and <i>sincere</i> condolences.

I really didn't know what I was getting into with Wind and Water. When I wrote Chapter 1, naive and with good intentions, the only historical understanding I had of the American Revolution was what was presented in the TV show. Not being American myself, it was never covered in school, nor had I ever been interested in it until I saw my two rogue boys swashbuckling across the screen playing at being spies.

So I know intimately the dilemma you present. Once I started delving, and oh boy, did I ever delve, I realized it was going to be impossible to present every aspect of the events I wanted to highlight in a way that captured properly and respectfully every point of view I wanted to include. To this day, I don't know about the major campaigns before and after Valley Forge, nor the greater political context of Washington's position and relation to Congress. (You know who does? @tallmadgeandtea)

To me, it was always more important to stay true to the emotional core of the story, and for that, I realized my ignorance wasn't as big a stumbling block as I thought. Nobody knows what's going on in a war, not <i>really</i>. Most of the events you're writing about were experienced through very very narrow perspectives. Ben is trying as hard as he can to figure it out, and even he gets it wildly wrong, endangering the people he loves most. On a personal level, on a soldier level, on a Caleb-and-Ben level, the things that were going to impact them were the things I prioritized learning about. And I leaned into the chaos. Centuries later, we still don't have clear answers and almost all the investigation comes from the Patriot side of the war. Getting it 'clean' and 'correct' was no longer the objective. Mess and confusion are central to any conflict.

So the setting became really important. The Frontier, the forests, the hills. The feel, the cold, the sensory bits. (I also played a stunning amount of Assassin's Creed III while I was writing, which may or may not have helped with some of the scenes.)

And honestly, I got a lot wrong. About two years into writing You've Caught Me Between Wind and Water, I submitted an early chapter of it to a writing critique group and was promptly informed just how much bigger and more industrial the Valley Forge encampment was than how I'd envisioned it. I pulled in elements of that knowledge into subsequent chapters, gently massaging the portrayal of the camp in my narrative. Wasn't until about Chapter 9 that I started reading Joseph Martin Plumb's account of the war, at which point it really sank in just how <i>miserable</i> and dire a soldier's experience was. So then that helped fuel Shepherd's characterization, and Reggie and Freddie and Stanley.

So, the short answer is:

Keep the emotions front and centre. The rest is just very clever window dressing, really.

Read as many historical sources as you can and learn when to draw the line and make executive decisions (maybe Washington didn't give Ben an earful about the horses <i>this month</i>, but it did happen and so it could have happened). People haven't really changed in millennia, so make them human before you make them historical figures. Remember that it's your story and you can include anyone you want (and indeed, restore them to their rightful status and importance, cough cough, "Han Yerry", cough.)

Try not to pull your hair out, but remember it grows back. Talk to people who know better than you and read other stories that are historically accurate but don't centre the history. Personal favourite examples from my circle of friends (who I have to promote whenever I can because I think they're all amazing) would be Lucyemers' Bewitching Precision, CrepuscularPetrichor's May 1792, LadyTP (@ladytp)'s ....Lady, where did Seven Autumns go??? I can't find it on AO3! Also ASheepsLife's Who could resist Deliverance and of course, the most historically accurate one I know about, Cchambers' The Summer Soldier and the Sunshine Patriot.

And thank you for asking your question! Hope this helps.

[jay-avian]

(From Silas to Captain Caspian; for the character pen pals writing game)

Dear Captain Caspian,

Can I call you C.C. for short? You may know me as Silas Nicolá, the renowned cowboy demon of the underworld. Small world, isn't it?

Let me cut to the chase: I have always wanted to know what the life of a pirate is like. I never once got the chance to sail the seas with the wind in my voluminous hair and a salty tear in my eye as I mournfully stare off into the sunset at my beloved who bids me safe voyage, tissue in hand.

Do you get to recreate that one Titanic scene whenever you like? Are you Rose or Jack in this scenario? How many people do you have in your crew? Is it fun to sit up in the cockpit? Do pirates really say “arr”? What’s the most exciting adventure you’ve ever been on? Personally, my most thrilling adventure was using my third eye of truth to figure out the truth of the Glitter Shortage!

I have oh so many questions, but have decided to refrain from asking all of them so that you don’t waste your precious paper writing back to me (I know that trees are a scarce commodity while sailing the seas). Thank you for your time, Captain!

Sincerely,

An Aspiring Pirate,

Silas Nicolá

Hello Silas,

Firstly, you may call me Cas for short if you wish. And I believe I have heard a few things of you. It's a pleasure hearing from you. In regards to your questions...

Though, yes, pirate life is often as grand as it first seems, it's a risky business. Running from the law and coveting treasures can be fun, but you can't be reckless. Lives and freedom are at stake, you mustn't squander it. It can be hard work, too. Sailing the seas requires grit and willpower, especially during a fight or a storm. If you lose your cool for a second, you could lose your life to the waves.

On a happier note, yes, we have in fact recreated the entirety of the Titanic play on board. I played the role of Rose, surprisingly. (Lost a bet, but rather enjoyed myself) We have plenty of free time and often act out plays, host "concerts", and re-enact out adventures.

Depending on the size, sailing a galleon usually requires about 200 people to be run efficiently. I have about 236, including myself and my quartermaster. I assume by "cockpit" you mean the crow's nest. And yes, it can be fun for a time. Watching the crew below is fun. The main job, if you're up there, is to watch for other ships or land. So most of the time, not much excitement, though it is nice to get time to yourself every once in a while. And no, pirates don't really say arrr. Depending on where you're from, we say aye instead of yes and nay instead of no.

Now let's see, my most exciting adventure... Difficult to choose at times, but how about I give you the story of how I got the title Pirate King? I'll condense it for now, but am more than happy to tell more. It was a couple months before the Royal Summer Extravaganza, as the king called it, right on the night of the solstice. Originally, I was going to plan a solo heist myself for the crown. I wanted to humiliate Ol King John too. But then I had the bright idea to let others in on the fun. I invited as many other pirate captains as I could to a fair competition. There was about 11 that could make it, so plenty of rivalry.

The rules were simple: no killing the king or each other, first one back to the Crimson Flame with the crown in hand was the winner. The winner would get a 6 month grace period where they couldn't be fired upon first by others. If two people reached the ship at the same time, they would have a fair duel (again no killing). Winner gets the crown. Long story short, I let everyone else do the hard work, swooped in at the best opportunity, and grappled away to safety. Everyone was upset, of course. Even had a few try to kill me then and there. But in the end, it all worked out.

I believe that was all of your questions answered. Feel free to write back any time with some of your own adventures! I'd love to hear more about where your from.

Cordially, Captain Barrack

(The papers are dyed a light red (not from blood, I swear). On the backs of them is a printed flame symbol)

[sadisthetic]

covers face/// im biting the bullet im finally posting the ocs ive had in my head for a few years but never freaking shared with anybody. this is all work i did for my final for my character design class last term. i took the opportunity to redesign my ocs............. this was literally so much work. really fun but it was so much goddamn work. luckily we only had to focus on 3 characters from the lineup for expressions and turnarounds (DOING TURNAROUNDS IS HELL.) but it was still a lot lol. they arent perfect but i like how they all turned out....

anyways. these are my guys from my story “take two”. theres more characters i want to do. and the story still needs a lot of development. but these are my precious guys okay?

design explorations, character summaries, non gif versions of the turnarounds, and an EXTREMELY CONDENSED story summary under the readmore. its a lot. and also very indulgent. maybe embarrassing. or maybe im just embarrassed from the act of sharing this all aukhlbgmgnk

very condensed summary this story is actually so fucking complicated and i barely figured the plot but ANYWAYS..... this is mostly copy pasted from what i shared to my class

Take Two is a story about a guy in college who is an actor in his amateur film-making club who gains the ability to go back in time 4 hours at time by taking two pills of a drug.

The drug was developed by his university's research department as an "performance enhancing" drug (think study drugs) and students were enticed to become volunteers for testing with a high pay reward. The day the drug was distributed on the first day of testing, chaos broke out as many students were unable to control their new untold powers. People were harmed and some were killed, including MC's friends. Unable to tolerate the loss, MC takes the drug himself to turn back time to fix things and save people (to preserve the persona he built up). In his second take of the hours before the disaster, he realizes there's a more complicated conflict behind these events. After he prevents the worst, he becomes embroiled in a conspiracy. And every time something goes wrong he goes back in time again and again. MC suffers as he struggles to keep things together, to preserve the status quo, to protect the character of himself that covers the fragile nothingness underneath. the title has a double meaning: dosage and film shooting

its a fucked up super indulgent timeloop meta narrative with superpowers essentially. with a lot of potential for whump. and also overdose. but thats a plot point. involving how MC’s powers work..... my sketchbook page where i wrote down his freaking power breakdown and how the drug works is such a mess. but its all worked out on that front (mostly) trust me

when your limited time reversal powers has a cost youre not gonna have a good time you know?

anyways. theres some more bullshit in my head but its hard to get out all at once.... take the rest of this now

character summaries/exploration/beta redesigns

-mickey, nicknamed “MC”

-stella

-cam

-rita

-professor

turnarounds

[catsafarithewriter]

A/N: part 10, double digits! Also two of Baron's cousins mentioned here are OCs very kindly lent from @lin-iva and borrowed with her permission <3

x

"I suppose," Baron said, "that we should get better acquainted before we meet my family."

It was, Baron realised, a tad close to the curtain call to be making such talk – they were only an hour off arriving at his family estate – but Muta had slipped off into sleep, and it was somehow easier to make conversation when not under the watchful eye of Haru's 'uncle'.

Haru grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Right here, in the carriage? With my uncle present? How very forward of you, Baron."

Baron reddened. "I meant getting to know one another."

Haru's other eyebrow rose. "My dear sir, I don't even know your middle name."

"Take pity on the poor guy," Muta mumbled, evidently just awake enough to note the conversation. "He's still getting used to you."

Haru's grin turned rueful. "Sorry. It's just – you know – this whole thing feels so surreal. It's hard to take it seriously." She dipped her head apologetically in Baron's direction. "What do you want to know?"

"How about the basics?" Baron suggested. "Hobbies, career, family–"

"Social security number," Muta listed, eyes still closed. "Mother's maiden name..."

"Oh shush, Muta. Weren't you telling me to be nice not thirty seconds ago?"

"Yeah, but you're the one who's married to him."

"If we could return to the topic at hand..." Baron attempted.

"Oh, right." Haru leant back in her seat and wondered how best to condense down over two decades of life into a single conversation. "So it's always been just my mum and me; my dad is... not in the picture. I have a degree in Cat and Human history, and for a while I was co-owner of an antique shop in the Human World, before trying my luck over here." There were, she wasn't willing to admit, quite a few major plot points missing from her tale, but they weren't things she was about to share with her husband-of-one-day just yet.

"And how is the antique business?" Baron asked politely.

"Terrible," Muta grumbled. He hadn't yet deigned to open his eyes. "Was never great to begin with, but there's been an uptick in smuggling and fakes in the last few years, so yer have to be extra careful or you'll end up in trouble. Or broke."

"And yourself?" Haru asked Baron. "I mean, apparently you're actually a baron, but you don't seem to be doing much... baroning, from what I see."

"That's because my parents are still very much running the estate," Baron replied. "So instead, I run a little tea shop on the corner of town. It is," and there was a pause laden with baggage, "perhaps a more modest affair than the family had hoped for me, but I find it fulfilling in its own way."

Muts snorted.

"Ignore him," Haru said. "He doesn't like tea."

"All tastes like boiled grass to me," Muta rumbled under his breath.

"And your... family?" Haru asked, almost scared to broach the subject.

"A fair bit more extensive than yours, by the sound of things." Baron's brow furrowed in concentration. "There are my parents, of course, who run the estate. My sister, Louise, who – last I heard – was still doing some travelling, although now she's married she may be looking to settle down..."

"Younger?" Haru asked.

"Older, by ten minutes." He smiled, in a fond if slightly exasperated manner. "Not that'd you'd believe it. Either one of us might inherit the estate, but we're not in a rush. There's my uncle, Toto–"

"The Wizard of Oz dog," Muta chortled.

"–a doctor by trade, but also a gifted magician," Baron continued, learning by now to not stop for Muta's interruptions. "And then there's my father's brother and his family, including my cousins, Hugo and Hunter–"

"You really like the H's in your names, huh?" Haru teased.

"–both around my age, with Hugo a librarian, and Hunter settling into a career as an archaeologist."

Muta snorted. "Dump the tea-maker, Chicky, and marry the archaeologist instead. Maybe he'll be able to help with the shop."

Haru rolled her eyes. "I never mix love and business, Muta."

"Hey, I'm just saying unfaithfulness is a pretty good reason to divorce, when the time comes. And think of the boon it'll bring to the shop, having a tame archaeologist on call."

"I'm not going to get married to advance your business."

Muta cracked one beady eye open. "You're my least favourite niece."

x

(Tagging @tcrmommabear cause she asked)

[blindrapture]

ETERNAL CONSTRUCTION SITE ONLY MUCH BIGGER

[here, for the sake of having my writing in Not A Link Post.]

First I must say where I have been.

Imagine a mansion in eternity. Would it have a make immaculate or ruinous? The merit to perfect bricks is aesthetic, its mode ideal: a perfect brick is what we aspire for bricks to be, with edges sanded smooth and corners exactly pointed; a mansion constructed as such will be a perfect mansion, but would it describe an eternal one? Immaculate polish, maintained according to immaculate conception, does not stand alone without manual upkeep. And a mansion, as a construction, must stand alone (or else we are describing not a mansion but an eternal construction site).

So then, the bricks must be ruinous. Crumbled, imperfect, whittling away towards nothing. Right? Does that hold up for eternity? In a matter of time, the mansion would be a heap of heaps, and later still not even that, the grains of dust blown by wind(?) into the grand temporal circulation patterns, more a part of eternity itself than of the intended construct. Does that describe a mansion?

Obviously this exercise is linguistic, then, and there is no clean answer. Surely? But, if there is no answer, where have I been? An abyssal plain? The unanswerable strand? The perpetually temporary Street of Roads, on the outskirts of the center of fabled underscore? I exclaim, I have been in eternity's mansions.

In truth, I still do not know which of the two makes these mansions were (ideal, or dilapidated), and I present the above to you as condensations of suppositions that had entertained my mind in moments of lucid contemplation. I know only that these were mansions-- at least while I was in them. I was not only in the mansions. My pilgrimage has been winding, and you can find my footprints on many an eternal sand. I am here now speaking of the mansions.

Did they have purposes, or owners? What purpose does any mansion have but to present its inhabitant? A house is designed to be inhabited, and so if a mansion only needed to be inhabited, it would have been a house and have no need for the extravagant size. Adding extravagance to a house, even simply making it much bigger, is like installing a frame onto a canvas: it brings explicit presentation, it emphasizes the presence of presentation. The eternal mansion eternally presents whoever inhabits it.

I inhabited, for a while, an eternal present. That's a slightly different sentence where "present" now qualifies "eternal" rather than "I." The future could be seen from the back windows, the past from the books I'd read. For me, the inhabitant, it was hard doing to focus on either of those at all. The mansion, trappings and all, took up my time. I suspected, and even now think back and wonder, that I was not the only inhabitant. Maybe there were others, maybe there were to be others, and I was alone during my allotted stay. Maybe I was not alone and the mansion was simply that big. One is allowed to question-- anything, in fact, including-- whether I was "the inhabitant" and not a guest.

Where did the mansion come from? Where its materials, its constituent parts? Suppose an eternal mansion has eternal parts. Well, which kind of "eternal mansion," the immaculate or the ruinous? Whichever one the bricks, that one the parts: either way, they came from Earth, from Time as we have known it. I did not stay long enough to be absolutely sure of the specifics, though I have made observations. They are all of this sort: 

- I slept on a bed. - It remained the same bed for a number of days, months, more. - It would eventually change to a different bed, and never back to a previous bed. - I never saw it change, though I was not in the same room as the bed all of the time and did not make a concerted effort to see it change. - It was not always a particularly comfortable bed. Sometimes it was.

It is reasonable to assume the nature of the eternal mansion's bricks is the same, with imperfections being replaced when necessary. I did not observe those changes happening either, which on one hand may be more surprising, as there are a lot of bricks in a mansion and I ought to have seen the change happen at least once, but on the other hand may be just as you'd expect, as I do not make a habit of regularly and rigorously watching specific bricks in a wall all day every day. And, for that matter, this is rooted in an assumption. Perhaps the bricks operated differently than the materials of the interior.

I was not the perfect witness to the mechanisms of this mansion, as I spent the greater portion of my stay invested in my own thoughts and activities, those activities usually being further thoughts. I do not have a list of the things I thought about. I was there for a very long time. Many of the things I thought about, I will bring up in natural course in coming posts, blogs, websites, compositions.

It was, they were, mansions. Yet it was not peace.

[gatheredfates]

What is your favourite thing about your OC or OCs? Is there something about them of which you are particularly proud?

Little OC Creation Ask List | accepting! | @cadrenebula

Gosh this is so HARD because I could talk about my ocs for hours. I'll try to condense it and like... write one thing I like about each. (And put it under a read-more because WHOO it got long - kudos to people who read to the end)

ASHE - Ashe is my mental health cleanse. I love how unabashedly herself she is, flaws and all; even when doing so goes against the grain of expectation. I love how unwaveringly loyal and empathetic she is. She is emotionally intelligent, and strives to make sure the people around her know that they are appreciated and loved. She has very simple whims/desires, but you don't always need a super complicated character. She has her job, her husband and her friends; she's happy where she is in her life. She's a joy to play because I just have fun with her.

AZUMA - I love Azuma's perseverance despite her disabilities. It's incredibly important to me to feel like I am carving a story out for her in which she has agency despite not being able bodied, and that any choices she makes regarding her disability are not done to 'cure' her. It's like Geordi from Star Trek. Yes, he has a visor that lets him see. Yes, in a futuristic (or, in Azuma's, case magical) world, you could very well write a place where disability could be cured, but that implies that the person with the disability needed to be cured to begin with. While she has trouble walking and has aids to assist her, she is still a full person with wants, needs, desires, etc., and she will seek and uncover those in her own story.

KORET - Ah, my baby. I'm proud of how far she's come. She was a WoW OC made for a singular trope (wolf and lamb) and now she's morphed into her own creature. I love how she's continually discovering things about herself. I'm proud of her for her flaws, and how they can win, but that doesn't stop her from recognising them and trying again. I love how she cares for people - for better or worse, sometimes - and how everything she does comes from a good place, even if it's expressed poorly. It's her strength I admire the most and what I try to draw from in my own trials.

SARRAI - Sarrai is a diva, which makes her so fun to play. Much like Ashe, she is unabashedly herself and doesn't give a fuck about what people thing. Her extroverted nature means I'm rarely just sitting around. She'll be flirting with the bartender, asking someone in the fight pit if she can have their teeth, or pulling another girl onto the dance floor if they look lonely. She's out to have a good time and make friends, which in turn gives me an opportunity to make friends and try to include other roleplayers who may be too shy to engage on their own.

ELANDERVIER - El is basically my gothic fantasy. A powerful, mysterious woman who answers to no one but herself (maybe Rex at this point, begrudgingly) and damn anyone who gets in her way. I enjoy playing a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to get it. She is the embodiment of 'ask for forgiveness, never permission' and brings to the table someone who could just as easily be an antagonist as they could an antihero.

Z - Z is a menace. He's just a fun concept to play in, this character who lives entirely for himself and what he wants. I am proud of the Thirteenth verse I've cultivated for him and Ary. Though it's not canon, it's tragic and angst riddled, and allows me to reclaim two characters who were left broken after their individual stories fell apart. If I'm not writing them for other people, I'm absolutely going to write them for me.

ARYELE - Ary is my oldest character; I have had her since I was ten. Because of that, she's gone through many iterations while always keeping the same kind-hearted core. I love her convictions and I love her quiet strength; I love that she chooses love again and again, even if it's not always the logical choice. She's not afraid to speak her mind and go against people who are more 'powerful' than her, because she ultimately knows herself. She's a familiar comfort to me after all these years.

ALAICE - Alaice was my foray into making a character with a child, which I know can be polarising for some people. However, it's that motherly aspect of her I have come to love the most. Much like Ary, she is a quiet force. She's had to come to know herself through trauma and doesn't let it define her - choosing kindness instead of brutality. She loves her family, does right by her friends and tries constantly to be the best version of herself.

EVELYN - Eve is a mix of Kor and Ashe - she's light-hearted and free spirited, making her fun and easy to play, whilst having just a little bit beneath the surface that keeps her compelling. I'm proud of how far she's come. She left a terrible relationship, traded her wordly possessions for a broken-down ship, and over the years has built it up into something she is proud of - fuck what anyone else things. She can be a bit manipulative at times, which is funny to write, and also very dramatic. She's just fun!

SEELU - I am very proud of the things I'm building for Seelu, but I can't talk much about them yet! My favourite thing is how eerie she is. I have created her to be a character that looks beautiful but also a little... wrong, somehow. She's not evil, but neither is she 'good'; she lives for herself, communes with the wood and indulges in whatever she wants.

ROWAN - Rowan is new, so I'm still finding her voice! I love her spunk. She's a go-getter, despite being completely unfamiliar with wider Eorzea, and takes it on the chin if she gets something wrong. She loves her brother more than anything else. I'd love to have a sibling like her.

[prismatic-glow]

how to get a head start on getting good character builds || genshin tips for beginners

hello everyone! I recently posted a poll to see what type of content people wanted and tips for new players seemed pretty popular. So, here's a list of pointers + explanations for those of you who are new and are interested in dealing more damage or just getting a good start to the game character-wise. This guide will be most helpful if you are below AR45. Let's get started!

1 ・❥・ don't level every character

╰┈➤ It's very important to level your characters (and weapons!) to the maximum you can for your adventure rank. But if you level all of your characters up, you'll end up wasting a ton of time and resources. It's best to choose a handful of characters you like/strong characters to invest in. You can always level your characters later on but you can never get your resources back! Additionally, your playstyle preferences might change as time goes on so limiting how many characters you level will help prevent regrets.

In the early game, I would recommend levelling no more than 8 characters with a focus on supports, which transitions nicely into our next topic

2 ・❥・ supports are your friend

╰┈➤ 3 slots of most of your teams will be occupied by support characters. While DPS characters are often only viable in 1-2 teams, some supports are great in an upwards of 5 teams! Supports/off-fielders like Bennet, Nahida, Kazuha, Xingqiu, and Yelan can be used in tons of teams. By only investing in your DPS characters, you're neglecting the other 3 slots of your team and leaving characters who will very likely still be viable in the distant future in the dust! The name "support" might seem like just healers or shielders, but i'm also referring to off-field damage dealers like Xiangling.

2 ・❥・ characters to invest in

╰┈➤ even though it's perfectly fine to focus on levelling characters you like, there are a few very strong and versatile supports that you cant go wrong leveling. If you have them, Xingqiu, Bennet, Xiangling, Sucrose, and Fischl are always great options.

3 ・❥・talents and weapons are important too!

╰┈➤ levelling characters is fun, but if you neglect your talents and weapons, you'll end up dealing very low damage. I know this advice might seem very overwhelming so my biggest piece of advice to help with this is to take things one character at a time. If you aren't feeling motivated to log in or spend your resin, you can always quickly craft some condensed resin and save it for later

4 ・❥・best weapons for investment

╰┈➤ there are 3 weapons I would recommend everybody levels and R5's (2 of them are 3 stars and the other is a common 4 star weapon so it's not too difficult). These include:

thrilling tales of dragon slayers for a massive attack boost and an hp% substat that is useful for many supportive catalysts

harbringer of dawn for easy but high amounts crit rate and crit damage

favonius weapons for energy recharge and supplying energy to your whole team

5 ・❥・save your fragile resin!

╰┈➤ fragile resin is great if you need to get a few more drops in when you're out of resin. But, it's hard to come by. It's best to save your fragile resin until you have a higher world level and can use it on things with better drop rates than what you have right now

6 ・❥・don't farm artifacts until AR45

╰┈➤ ok I know this advice looks kinda boring but I can not recommend doing this enough. At AR45, you unlock the highest level of domain that guarantees a 5 star artifact every time. Before AR45, you can still get a few 4 star and 5 star pieces that will suffice. At earlier levels, there isn't really a need for lots of damage so it's best to use your resin on more important things like levelling characters, talents, and weapons.

hope these help! my asks are open if you want more advice

have a nice day!! <3