#Just some light brevity
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Should I play Pathologic Classic, or Pathologic 2?
That depends. How do you feel about visual novels and a little bit of jank? If that's not for you, Pathologic 2 is probably your best bet. Though if I can, I'd like to make a case for playing Classic anyway.
You might have heard a lot of things about Pathologic Classic HD. You might have heard that it's janky. You might have heard that it's ugly. You might have heard that it's nigh-impossible to play. Worst of all, you might have heard that it's not fun, and what's the point in playing a game that isn't fun?
I'm not here to argue about aesthetics or even for the value of negative experiences in gaming. If you'd like to have a philosophical debate about what it means to have fun, by all means, go ahead - plenty of us do enjoy the time we've spent playing Classic. Fun isn't, after all, an objective experience. What I am here to do, however, is tell you that the game is not impossible. Difficult? Sure. Tedious? Sometimes. A lot of walking? You have no idea! But isn't impossible.
(Even without cheating. But we'll talk more about that later.)
Both games are fantastic in their own right, but I don't believe enough people give Classic a chance, and Pathologic 2 is not a substitute for Classic. This is, in part, because Pathologic 2 is not finished. Only one route out of three [at the time of writing this] has been released. Even if it were - the metanarrative of the game is different. The characters and their relationships are different. The town is different. To me, the two aren't even the same game.
Pathologic 2 isn't exactly a sequel, nor is it exactly a remake. It's sort of a re-imagining. The kind of game Silent Hill: Shattered Memories wishes it was. And no one plays Shattered Memories and thinks, "I've basically played Silent Hill." Although as someone who has fixated on Silent Hill for over a decade, I can also confidently say that Pathologic 2 is not the insane bastardization that Shattered Memories is. Not to mention that Classic regularly goes on sale for under $2, so if you can give a two hour long YouTube video your attention, you can give Classic a shot.
I watched the Hbomb video, so I know everything I need to know about Classic, right?
Oh boy.
No, you don't. If you're looking for substitution videos, Pathologic For Those Who Will Never Play It is closer to what you need. Though as much as I love that video, I still urge to you either play the game yourself or watch a Let's Play of it. I know of three: SulMatul, Laila Dyer, and Keith Ballard; the latter two are blind LPs.
Why do I insist you play this game for yourself? Because it's a role-playing game. You wouldn't get the same experience of watching someone else's build in Disco Elysium as you would with your own, and the same is true here. Yes, it's more of a book than a lot of other RPGs you might have played, but part of the charm of the game is playing it the way you want to, and all that entails.
You might be thinking to yourself, "Well, no one can tell I've only seen the Hbomb video!" I regret to inform you that yes, we can absolutely tell.
Play the game.
Okay, fine, I'll play Pathologic Classic. Which route should I start with?
That's up to you, but I will say that people start with the Bachelor's route for a reason. He's an outsider to the Town, so you're more likely to get lore that wouldn't be available to the Haruspex. And the Town is strange, so that's information that you'll want. His route is also a little easier than the Haruspex's route, and the Changeling's won't be available to you yet.
If you do opt to start with the Haruspex's route, more power to you. Just keep in mind that his route isn't the only interpretation of events. In fact, no one route to the game is the only interpretation of events. Characters will be different from playthrough to playthrough, and it doesn't make one route more canon than another.
Any other tips?
Yes, actually! Quite a few:
Look at the controls before you start the game! The GOG release of the game comes with a manual - that'll be on your computer under Program Files -> GOG -> Games -> Pathologic. I couldn't find one on the Steam release, but you can find it here. Going through your options will let you turn off things like motion blur (which may help the game run better and make you feel less ill), but also get familiar with the key bindings. I've talked to a quite a few people who didn't realize the Bachelor had a plaguefinder or a torch.
Prioritize your daily quest. If you fail to complete your daily quest, one of your Bound will do it for you and they will get infected. This constitutes a fail state for you. You may not be able to get every side quest accomplished the first time you play the game, but as long as you make sure to complete the daily quest done you will be fine.
Make sure to check your letters! The game will make a little noise and a symbol will pop up on the bottom left hand side of the screen when you get mail. Doing this is very important - but don't let this be the only way you get information! Explore, talk to people, check on your Bound every day. Not every quest is going to come to you in form of a letter.
Buy food and supplies before you need them. That stuff is expensive, and prices fluctuate every day.
Loot everything you can! Every garbage bin you pass, every infected house you enter, every mugger you kill. Trading is important for getting things like medicine without paying for it, and selling off what you can't use can get you extra money. You will especially need empty bottles for water to trade with the town drunks. (And for trading - you'll have to click on your own inventory, then the other characters, and then hit the 'v' button.) Learn which NPCs will trade for which items, know their value so that you're never empty-handed in case you come across, say, a shmowder...
Save like hell. Constantly. If an upcoming conversation seems important, save right before you go into it. On Steam, F5 is a quicksave (you can have 2). There will be times when you'll screw yourself over on a conversation. Sometimes you learn more this way, but sometimes this means you can't continue a quest. It's a trial-and-error thing.
You are going to get infected. You should, of course, do what you can to avoid infection, but it's highly unlikely you'll make it through any route without getting infected at least once. It happens.
Daniil's plaguefinder will show you where the plague clouds are, and that can be helpful! Unfortunately, the other two don't have access to this device, so it's best to just try and remember where the plague clouds are. They don't change from route to route.
As Artemy and Clara - you cannot buy any herbs from the Odonghe that you do not have in your inventory. As any healer, you cannot buy things if you have no room in your inventory.
Looking to cheat? I won't tell anyone. Hit the ` key for console commands. 'god' will turn on godmode, 'fly on' / 'fly off' will enable flying (not the same as Pathologic 2's flycam!). 'propf 6995 disease 0' will cure you of Sand Plague (for the Haruspex and Changeling; 6986 is the Bachelor's code). Oh, and if you're going to use godmode, you should know that you cannot sleep if your health is at 0. Just apply a bandage and you'll be good to go.
Oh, yeah, and - don't eat the nuts. They do jack for your hunger. They're there for trading.
What difficulty should I play Pathologic 2 on?
Everyone has their own ideas and rules about how to play the game and on what you should or should not do on your first playthrough. A lot of people insist on playing Pathologic 2 on intended difficulty for the first runthrough, and I tend to agree with that. Even with upgraded graphics and improved controls, this game isn't intended to be easy or combat-driven. The difficulty sliders even say that the game is intended to be "almost unbearable."
That being said - your threshold for "almost unbearable" may be different from mine or someone else's. If the game is too easy for you, make it harder. If you're struggling to the point of wanting to quit, make it easier. Yes, someone will be disappointed in you. Not me though. I don't particularly care, and you shouldn't either. You are the one playing the game, not anybody else. If you're looking for someone's permission to make things easier on yourself, I'm here to give it to you. Some people just aren't good at video games, and there's no shame in that.
But keep in mind that this game is meant to be played multiple times. See how far you can get with the intended difficulty. You can always change it on your next playthrough.
General tips for this game?
Save scumming is harder for this game, and also kind of a waste of time. It doesn't undo your deaths, so you may as well just live with the consequences of your actions. As the loading screen notes, this sometimes makes things more interesting.
Your deaths will, by the way, have consequences on your gameplay. So try not to die.
There is no differentiation between Daily Quest and Side Quest. It's up to you to prioritize. Don't worry too much about completing every quest on the day it's given, either. You're not intended to.
Upgrading your inventory is incredibly important! Things will stack, but only to a certain degree. You can no longer carry 100+ bottles of water at a time. You also won't want to trade all your water away for bandages; you'll heal from sleeping. The water you'll need to make tinctures.
As always, you'll want to be frugal with your money. Unlike in Classic, however, you can barter with most NPCs for food, so your options aren't as limited. Do still buy nuts whenever you get the option to; they're worth more in trading than needles, which can also be used to pick small locks.
Since I've seen some confusion about this - prophyalxis is giving the Bound immunity boosters or tinctures. You won't just have your own list to take care of, though they'll be the most important. No, you're responsible for most of the named characters in the game. Get a feel for which medications work best, and then decide who gets the best treatment. You can't save everyone... without cheating.
Speaking of cheating - that works differently in Pathologic 2. To access the console, you'll have to hold down Control + Shift + F4. You can use flycam, but this is really only to take pictures; it does not move the character to whatever location you are flying to. What you'll probably want access to more is curing yourself of the plague, or turning on immortality. Both are located under Inspector -> PlayerUpdater -> Updatable. The two Elements you'll be most concerned about are Element 0 (the town) and Element 3 (the abattoir). For immortality, you'll expand the folder and change the aspect from False to True. For Infection, you'll expand the folder and change the element to 0 (for no infection). The wiki has a list of the commands for getting items.
And, I cannot stress this enough, buy the bull.
Why does the fandom ship the Bachelor and the Haruspex? They hate each other!
In one route of one game that you are statistically unlikely to have started (3.2% of all Steam players), let alone finished (2.3% of all Steam players). Even if the majority of their interactions were negative - which they aren't - that wouldn't stop people from shipping them. Have you seen how popular Hannibal is? That show ended five years ago and people are still making Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter content.
Though some people do like the ship from that antagonistic angle, the main reason probably stems from two places. The first is that they are narrative foils, and people love to ship narrative foils. Different enough to cause friction, similar enough to connect. The second is the first thing Daniil says to Artemy in the Haruspex route, around 5PM on Day 1:
Yes... Far be it from me to call myself a person of mystical inclinations. However, when I look at you, I get the feeling that nature is playing jokes on us. It's as if both the left and right hand have clutched the head to realize for the first time that they are two parts of a single whole.
Which reads like a reference to the myth that soulmates once shared a body and were split apart. This is how Artemy's first interaction with Daniil starts, and is immediately followed by Daniil raising his reputation entirely and allowing Artemy to sleep in his bed. There's more I could say but, honestly? Play the game and figure it out.
Why do so many people read the Bachelor as trans?
Good question! A lot of his fans happen to be trans, and that probably plays a large part in it. Some get gender envy from his design - ridiculous as a lot of people think it is, I know I'd dress like that if I could afford it. His cravat pin, which the wiki calls a snake, looks alarmingly like a uterus. He's short. His Pathologic 2 incarnation has that hideous bowl haircut that a lot of us had at some point in time in our transition. Most importantly, his goal of defeating death is implied to be a matter of bodily autonomy, for people to choose when it's their time to die, and that's very transgender of him.
It also doesn't hurt that his designer, Meethos, is trans.
If you're wondering why the reading isn't as prominent for the other two healers, I don't know. The headcanons are out there, but for some reason, the fanwork isn't. Be the change you wish to see, as they say.
Why does the Bachelor talk in random Latin?
Why are all these questions about Dankovsky? Anyway, it's not random! It's topical. It's also almost always a common saying - you can find most of them on Wikipedia. Why does he do it? To show off, probably. He's pretentious, what else is there to know?
What's with all the fanfic getting that guy pregnant?
Yeah sorry that's my fault.
What's with the interpretation of him as autistic?
Also my fault.
Why are people so insistent that the Haruspex is gay?
Finally, some diversity! I should correct you, though: I think the prevailing reading is that he's bisexual.
There's a lot of reasons to read him as bi, particularly in Pathologic 2. Don't get me wrong, there are instances in Classic that come across as not-straight; the aforementioned hands line? Artemy can reply that he feels the same. But in Pathologic 2, he gets tender moments with his (now) childhood friends Bad Grief and Stakh Rubin, where the former starts to ask him to run away together and he convinces the latter not to leave with the army. He even attempts to convince the Bachelor to stay in town in both the Nocturnal and Diurnal endings. Aglaya is the canon romance option in both games (for as much as the tragic narrative will allow), but people also read romance into Artemy's interactions with Lara. Hence, the bisexuality.
bonus links:
Daniil Dankovsky (dot com!)
Artemy Burakh (dot com!)
Respect the Kin
Steppe Language Dictionary
Spoiler-free Bachelor Route walkthrough
Spoiler-free Haruspex Route walkthrough
Spoiler-free Changeling Route walkthrough
#pathologic#pathologic 2#the last two questions are a joke btw i just wanted to end with some brevity<3 love and light!#if you can think of anything i missed ppl might want to know lmk!#*levity. not brevity brevity is the other thing.
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Yknow what I like doing. Not taking things too seriously, especially my interests, and ESPECIALLY my interests in complex and “problematic” characters . Of course it’s important to be aware of themes and intentional/unintentional messaging that comes with “bad characters that do or represent bad things” (this is where media critique and understanding how media literacy works, forming opinions for yourself and doing research, etc)
But I also like turning problematic characters around in my hands and thinking. “In another world, you could be different. You could be better. You are so close to making the final stretch, but whoever created you decided that wasn’t in the cards for you. I want to see that world. One where you are better. It fascinates me.” And guess what? The creation of that new world in my brain does not negate who that character is from the source material. And I do it anyway!! Because it is fun!!
I think every character that we absorb into our minds never arrives whole. We copy and paste them into our brains, and consciously or unconsciously change them in ways we see fit. They all come with flaws and baggage that can be glaringly clear or not obvious on the surface. Hot take, but I think if you enjoy a character and want to experience them without the stuff you don’t like, it will immensely bump up your enjoyment to take some scissors and trim it right off in your brain. That’s what AUs and headcanons and shit are for!!
Idk I just think that not having such a tight leash regarding the imperfections and flaws of characters will boost everyone’s enjoyment of liking characters by a million percent (plus. The characters. Are not real. They don’t exist they are tools to tell a story, no different than tropes or props not actual people— it doesn’t matter if you call them your poor little meow meow.)
#this is about disco elysium#lmao#it’s such an amazing game with some of the most woobified characters I’ve ever seen#but also characters I’ve seen taken THE MOST SERIOUSLY#and that’s not a good or bad thing. just an observation#i love this game!! i love it!!#and I love being able to do whatever I want in my brain with these characters I love.#i can adhere to canon or go buckwild#i can create separate worlds in my head where they are totally loyal to canon#bearing so so so many flaws and sins#making irreparable mistakes and doing awful things (along with good things)#or I can just. pretend two fellas are deeply in love. and they are silly#what I’m trying to say is that the enjoyment of one person’s perspective should not ruin your own#or anybody else’s really#when people get into arguments over the morality of HDB and stuff it’s like#you aren’t thinking about the same character. when two people think of HDB#they see a different person. because of the way that we perceive him#there are undeniable facts of who he is as a person like from before the game#but there is also the desire for brevity and lightness vs the desire for harsh realism#you can enjoy both!! and I think it’s good to!!#but don’t let like. meow meow-ification of a character make u mad#idk this is so long winded lol#just had to talk about it#can’t wait for someone to misinterpret this and say. idk. i endorse fascism or something somehow.#disco elysium
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... I'm just gonna ignore what he did to the picture of Pluto the dog for my own sake-💀💀💀-
#Also mininote for as much as I would've loved the dramatic conclusion to this arc I thought we we're gonna get I have to say#I'm laughing the most I have in quite awhile- and to be real for a moment: I've been having some really shitty and off days for irl reasons#and I really needed this brevity tbh- I love drama and tragedy but I needed something soft and light#I was feeling a lot of dread (in a good way) going into this but now I feel all light and bright and just in a much better mood then I have#been recently ;u;- I feel silly saying this over klv and still feel a bit cheated out of the dark ending that was being built up to#but also I'm just... reminded why I was so happy about initially getting into a lighter sillier and more chaotic series like klv ;u;#I love these silly spanish thirty year olds and one mexican law student making dumb ass jokes#the dramatic q vs l arc was a cherry on top and im glad it happened but it also feels nice to just... breathe y'know#idk... basically just I really needed the laughs is all ;u;#... and yes I'm aware I'm pouring out my heart here on the post about Q pretending to fuck a picture of pluto the dog LMAOOOOOO#jinx liveblog#kl spoilers#(still not done with the stream yet btw so maybe it does get dark and gritty again idk-)
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Finished this just in time for the new trailer drop! This is my Mononoke illustration featuring assorted merch from the anime, movie, and stage play! How many can you recognize? ⚖️👹
(Yes, please send answers in the replies! Answers, progress pics, artist commentary will be drafted on a separate post when I'm less tired)
⭐️ UPDATE 04/03/24: Abridged artist commentary is now available under the cut! For the full version, please see the Google Doc linked in the replies.
👁️Overview
Late last year, I rather belatedly discovered Mononoke’s 15th anniversary came and went, and with it, an entire swath of new content to manically pore over. This is an illustration of the various Mononoke merchandise, props, and set dressing I discovered.
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🔎Scope
Some fun facts regarding the work that went into this illustration!
Not including research time, this project ran for roughly two months, consuming much of my waking hours outside of my full time and freelance jobs.
While the illustration does not depict all of my findings, it does feature over 120 unique props and set dressings!
The majority of the props and set dressing were modeled to varying degrees of detail in SketchUp.
To model prep, I often put together schematics on Photoshop or Illustrators. Some were created from scratch. Others were created with the liberal usage of the Photoshop transform and perspective warp function.
The master file is 1.5GB. The dimensions are 6400x3600 at 300 dpi, and contains over 2,200 layers.
Near the end of production, the master file became so unwieldy I created a separate working file. This way, I could create assets lag-free then import the layers into the master file.
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Past this point is where most of the commentary cuts were made for the sake of brevity. Again, look in the replies for the Google Doc link containing the full version with a table of contents for easier navigation!
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🗳️3D Layout
As you can see, the backbone of this illustration is the 3D model. I spent perhaps 30-40% of my production time on this stage.
And this is the lit version. The lighting ultimately got downplayed in favor of showcasing the vibrant colors. I like how simple it looks though!
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🎬Production-Based Set Dressing
In addition to merchandise, I wanted to insert set dressing and props from the various Mononoke productions.
🦊Kusuriuri
It’s odd to have a section dedicated just to him, but his unique appearance warrants it. His garb and overall appearance is an amalgam of the anime and movie. The original intent was ambiguity– kind of like the blue/black vs. yellow/white dress phenomena a few years back. But after doing the color flats, I rather liked how the rich, unaltered colored fit with the overall composition so it became more blatant. I’m surprised that nobody has commented on this since I published the illustration. Maybe because I didn’t feature him in a close-up?
🐈 kai ~Ayakashi~Bake Neko (2006)
Finding props iconic to this story arc (outside of the Kusuriuri’s tools of trade, of course) was somewhat difficult. While the environment was richly decorated, it mainly consisted of 2D artwork which I wasn’t keen on retracing. I opted to paint objects that characters interacted with or featured heavily in the show.
Salt Jar
Candlestick
Rat Trap
🦋Mononoke (2007)
The props fall into three distinct categories here: Kusuriuri’s tools and trinkets; things featured in the opening and ending credits; and objects iconic to each of the five story arcs in the series. I tried to keep most of them clustered on the tatami, but as space grew scarce some props trickled up onto the deck as well.
Medicine Box
Exorcism Sword
Tenbin
Paper Talisman
Mirror
Ring
Geta Sandal
Necklace
Paper Umbrella (Zashikiwarashi)
Daruma Dolls ( Zashikiwarashi)
Gunpowder Ball (Umi Bozu)
Smoking Pipe (Nopperabou)
Genjiko Blocks (Nue)
Train Ticket (Bake Neko)
Lantern (Anime OP)
Butterflies (Anime EP)
☂️Mononoke: Karakasa (2024)
Pretty slim pickings for the new movie since I only had the teaser, first trailer, and movie poster to reference from. Kusuriuri’s tools of trade were a given, but finding memorable and narratively significant objects was a tad troublesome.
Thankfully, the set dressing ended up (however subconsciously) strikingly similar to the movie’s environment design, down to the green tatami and multicolor shoji screen. I suppose at this point I was so immersed in Mononoke content that its aesthetics subconsciously informed my design choices!
Exorcism Sword
Tenbin
Paper Talisman
Comb
Movie Poster
Butterfly (Custom design)
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🪭Official Merchandise
Goods related to canonical narratives and/or productions.
🎊15th Anniversary
Mononoke Shu - A light novel by Hideyui Niki & illustrated by 2964_KO
Whiskey Glass & Box
📖 Key Frame Art Books by Hashimoto Takashi
Ayakashi Key Art Frame Book (2010)
Key Frame Art Book vol.9 (2017)
📚Manga by Yaeko Ninagawa
Kai Ayakashi: Bake Neko Vol. 1-2
Kai Ayakashi: Mononoke Prequel
Mononoke Vol. 1-10
🎭Butai Mononoke
Bakeneko Pamphlet
Zashikiwarashi Pamphlet
Zashikiwarashi Acrylic Standees
Zashikiwarashi Manegi
💿Physical Media
Official OST CD
DVD Box Set
Yokai Pattern Fabric
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Common Collab Merchandise
This category consists of goods that are generally more affordable and feature graphics from the source material with minimal alterations.
Amnibus
Wall Scrolls
Tenugui Fabric
Shot Glasses
Minoyaki Bean Plates
ANIGA-TER
Stickers
Can Badges
Canvas Prints
Anique
Diorama Acrylic Stand
Acrylic Blocks
Challenge Kuji
Kusuriuri & Hyper Clocks
eeo Store Online
Folding Fan
Keychains
Can Badges
gj character G
Cushion
Acrylic Charms
Neo Gate
Satchels
Mini Badges
Mini Badges by Mame Shinoda
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High-End Collab Merchandise
Goods which derive motifs from the characters, props, and patterns from the production and transform them in an elevated manner through abstraction or usage of precious materials.
gj character G
Exorcism Sword Ring
Goodsmile
Kusuriuri Nendoroid Figurine
Folding Screen
Kusuriuri & Hyper Plush
Tote Bag
Kaya
Umbrella
Tenbin Kanzashi
Tabi Socks
Dress
Kotobukiya
Figurine
Mayla
Pump Heels
Kusuriuri & Hyper Hairpins
Tenbin Earrings
Hyper Earrings
Noitamina Apparel
Perfume
Tenbin Necklace
Folding Fan
Super Groupies
Purse
Wallet
Watch
Tsumuji Design
Exorcism Sword Necklace
Ofuda Bracelet
Useless Use Lab
Fragrance Set
Air Purifier
Three-Sided Mirror
#mononoke 2007#mononoke 2024#mononoke fanart#medicine seller#kusuriuri#モノノ怪#mononoke anime#薬売り#mononoke#fan art#purplealmonds#2024
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A Perfect Date With Gale
@arachnethebard perhaps not what you intended but this is what happened
Since you got to Waterdeep with Gale he's been insistent that the two of you go on a 'perfect' first day... despite the fact that the two of you are already engaged.
Perfection is such a difficult thing to achieve.
1600 words because I'm physically incapable of brevity.
PG (for once)
Gale has been talking about giving you a “proper first date” for entire month you two have been in Waterdeep. Never mind the fact that you two are engaged. He’s been focusing on it near daily. Every time he brings it up you smile and nod. It’s not that you wouldn’t enjoy a nice night out exploring the city, but it’s not about that.
“Tomorrow night,” he announces one night as he enters the study. You’re petting Tara, tactfully ignoring a light smear of blood around her mouth… the tower is always miraculously free of rodents.
You find new clothes draped over a bench in the bedroom the following afternoon. You admire them for a moment, almost hesitant to touch them. They’re finer than anything you’ve worn in years, possibly ever. But despite your mild apprehension over the likelihood of destroying them before you step foot out of the tower, you don them. Gale did go through the trouble, and expense, procuring them for you.
Gale greets you outside the room, looking as though he’s been waiting the entire time you’ve been inside. You chuckle to yourself at the thought, given that it was once just his room.
He’s wearing almost traditional wizard’s robes but these are new, a deep maroon with gold accents. He’s begun to stray from the purple he wore almost exclusively when you first met him. There might be something deeper behind that if you dared to think about it for a moment. You know there’s some meaning behind the gold and emerald earring he has in. Your hand instinctively goes to it’s other half, resting around your neck.
“Shall we?” He offers you his arm, eyes sweeping over your form. His smile tells you he’s pleased with the way you look in what he’s selected.
You spend much of the walk taking in the city at dusk. Waterdeep is so different from Baldur’s Gate, and yet so very similar. Gale happily talks for the both of you.
The building you stopped in front of was beautiful to say the least, all the street facing windows were stained glass in the shape of the city’s crest. The two large heavy doors were opened and a rather bored looking man in fine clothes stood just inside them. The braziers over the steps was brightly polished brass throwing the light far into the road as if beckoning people in.
You were busy, once again, marvelling at the building you at first missed Gale’s eyebrows knitting together. He was speaking to the man in the door way, both in hushed tones. The man seemed simply uninterested in whatever Gale was telling him.
“Now I’m positive I’ve reserved a table,” Gale’s voice had pitched upwards giving away his apparent distress. “I came down myself a tenday ago and booked it.”
You saw a light go on in the bored man’s eyes. “Ah,” he said nodding, “I see the error. The table you booked is for next year. All our bookings are.”
Gale’s mouth simply hands open, a light red brushing just above his beard on his cheeks.
“Gale,” you say softly, hand going to his arm, “It’s fine we’ll find something else for tonight and come back… next year.”
You resolutely, do not laugh.
Gale, still flabbergasted into silence, looks between you and the other man. For a moment he looks like he wants to argue with one of you but wisely, wisely, nods to you instead. You lead this time as you turn away from the lovely building.
Gale seems over his shock sometime later and sighs heavily. “It’s unlikely we’ll find something worthy of our first date tonight.”
He sounds so put down your heart breaks for a moment. You don’t give into the feeling and instead hook your arm through his. “Whatever we find will be perfect,” you assure him.
He offers you a small, but doubtful smile.
You two wander, arm in arm, in the cool evening air. Gale doesn’t really seem to be looking for a new option but you are. And it appears down a dirt-packed road, you grasp his arm and point.
Gale sputters again, “The Yawning Portal?”
He seems incredulous that you would even suggest it.
“Well they’re not likely to turn us away,” you risk a tease, “and besides you’ve spoken if it dozens of times. Let’s go!”
Gale relents almost immediately when you turn to him with pleading eyes, and as soon as he does you nearly drag him down the road. You laugh, out loud this time, when Gale shuffles his coin purse further beneath his robes.
The proprietor barely spares you an eye roll as you two enter in your finery, he’s too busy to care. You run directly up to the dry well first and peer down, you can’t see anything but darkness. Gale gently redirects you to a table in the corner with an exasperated smile. Once he deems you safely secured into a relatively unoccupied corner he disappears towards the bar. Immediately you love this tavern with its rowdy clientele and atmosphere similar to many you had frequented in Baldur’s Gate.
Gale returns with two mugs full of ale. “Food will be out in a moment,” he assures you, near shouting to be heard over the noise.
You beam at him and reluctantly, he grins widely back.
One thing for Waterdeep is even in it’s most questionable of places the food is mouthwatering, a testament to Waterdeep’s reputation for the finest food on the coast. The two of you huddle together to hear each other without yelling as you eat. Gale surreptitiously points out some of the notable patrons that are there tonight. He lets you watch in rapt interest as a few bold adventurers lower themselves into the dry well, making for the Undermountain. Only once they disappeared did he launch into an explanation of the dungeon they were entering.
Seemingly too soon the food is gone and your mugs empty. You don’t want the evening out to end just yet, you realize you miss your own little adventure (perhaps not the constant near-death aspect) and this place helps easy some of the sadness. Besides, as Gale’s mugs drained he leaned closer to you, words breathed against your ear and neck as he filled you in on everything he knew.
You offer to get another round, immediately missing the warmth of his body pressed to yours as you stand.
As you return you spot him watching you. The look on his face is openly dreamy, even when he realizes your watching him.
The widening of his eyes is the only warning you receive before you trip into a rather stout dwarf you had somehow missed in your path. Your stumble sends the ale spilling down your front and most unfortunately directly over the dwarf’s head.
In an instant he’s got both hands wrapped around your arms, the mugs falling to the floor. “Now, what in the hell is wrong with you,” he snarls yanking you forward nearly bending you in half so you’re closer to his level.
You haven’t even fully registered what’s happened when just as quickly as he’d grabbed you, the dwarf is gone.
Not gone, you realize. Instead, he’s now pinned against a table by Gale. He’s got one hand on the dwarf’s collar holding him and in the other he has a small spark of flame dancing in his palm. His face is dark, both literally and figuratively. Hair loosed by his sudden movements, falling forward and shielding his eyes from you.
This…
is new.
“... made a mistake, no need to get rough,” Gale is speaking and you suddenly realize the room’s gone quiet enough that you can hear him perfectly well despite the distance between you.
In opposition to what he’s saying, the flame grows against his palm.
The smell of beer hits you first, your front completely soaked in it. Then the realization that the dwarf is similarly covered sinks in. Gale is more likely to accidentally set the man ablaze than he is to diffuse the situation.
That is what he’s trying to do, you hope.
“Gale,” you speak just above a whisper, hand coming to rest on his back gently.
You don’t want to cause the flame to catch.
“It’s alright,” You assure him, hand rubbing in a soothing pattern, “We’re alright. Right?” The last is aimed at the dwarf who is glancing nervously between the flame and you now.
“Yeah,” He nods almost imperceptibly, “no harm done.”
Whatever had come over him abruptly left Gale, in one movement he both released the dwarf and extinguished the flame.
“Well then,” you nod with an over-enthusiastic smile, “a round for everyone!” The coin pouch you hold up is Gale’s.
Everyone is instantly merry, the volume once again rising so you can no longer hear those around you.
“That’s not how I wanted our first date to go,” Gale says much later in the evening as you two are in the bath.
You’re seated between his legs, leaning back against his chest, hand lazily drawing patterns on his knee in the water. Your ruined clothes are discarded on the floor somewhere near. The scent of rosewater is diluted only slightly by the smell of a tavern
The laughter that bursts out of you is unexpected but after a beat even Gale joins in, head dipping back against the edge as he does.
“It was perfect,” you insist turning your head to look at him.
Both of his eyebrows go up. “For us,” you amend. You twist just far enough to press a kiss to his lips.
He hums against your mouth. “You still smell like you bathed in ale,” he teases, nose wrinkling.
#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios#bg3#gale x tav#gale x reader#izzy writes#fun fact this was almost longer#help how do i do short#incapable#also the earring thing is little idea for Gale and my one tav#so now all of you must suffer it as well#also is gale's use of magic a little less wizardy and more sorcerer?#perhaps but Tav is an unreliable narrator#or there's also evidence gale might be a wizard studied sorcerer#also dm rolls plot device
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Not that brevity makes an argument more logically sound but I do find it interesting that often when I see people explain why trans masculine people have some sort of “lesser” connection to transphobia it’s always just like, multiple paragraphs of nonsense and false assertions and weird assumptions. But explaining why words like transandrophobia should exist it’s just like, we have our own experiences we would like to cast a light on, here’s a word to do that. The former just has so many assumptions of malice and needs esoteric and flimsy reasons as to why that’s actually somehow nefarious.
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Hey I love you and I’m having thots about vampire!Dieter and his hedonistic lifestyle and his lavish parties at his estate and how he invites you up to show you his private rooms and he-
Oh, you mean like when he asks you about your--
Pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
Warnings: flirting, a bit of blood, maybe dubcon due to The Thrall but i think it's safe to say we all want It from vampire!dieter, unbeta-ed because i needed to write something or someone was going to die
A/N: look at what you've done @sp00kymulderr you've gone and given a perfectly good fic LORE
“Theories.”
“What?”
Dieter’s smirk pulls his mouth and his head towards the floor-to-ceiling windows. He rubs his fingers together, his wrist dangling over the edge of the deep-backed leather chair. The clean lines of his Armani pants and wing-tipped shoes give him the impression of leaning forward, as if he intended to tumble right through those windows and out into the party below. The music is muted, smothered, but the lights illuminate the sky like the sun beneath the waves.
“Your theories. About all of this. About my dad, granddad. Everyone who’s ever walked in here – press or not –,” he lazily drags his gaze up from your ass to your tits for the third time that night, “– has had some wild theories that I just love to listen to. Little bedtime stories to put me to sleep. So let’s hear ‘em.”
You had doubts about this dress when you left your apartment but you have to dig your nails into your palms to keep from tugging it back down over your thighs because you know you have something every time Dieter looks at you. Maybe not for long, but you might be the first person in fifty years to walk out of here with something to say.
Your heart suddenly fluttering higher in your throat, you turn away towards the movie memorabilia lining the walls in glass shelves to give him the angle he’s been inching towards all night. Over your shoulder, you see his eyes drop – predictably. You let the line out a bit more and bend at the waist to examine the original glove from The Natural.
“I’m sure you’ve heard them all, Mr. Bravo. The mystery around your family is nearly as old as Hollywood itself so I’m sure there’s nothing I can say that you haven’t heard before. Which reminds me . . .” You straighten up and, by some miracle, he meets your eyes, gaze no longer wandering. “Why me?”
His mouth curls, but it’s the glint in his eyes that shows razor-sharp teeth.
“I’ve always admired the brevity of wit, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”
Your jacket creaks when you cross your arms, eyebrow arched. “I’ve been with The Mezzanine for five years with half-a-dozen bylines under my belt. There’s a list of more experienced reporters a mile long. Why, after ignoring every press inquiry for the past twenty years, did you ask me to interview you? Oh, and consider this my first official question.”
With an expansive inhale, Dieter draws himself to his feet. He takes a few steps towards the windows, just before the light catches the shine of his shoes.
“Give me a theory and I’ll answer your question.”
You frown at his broad shoulders. Streaks of fuschia and green and gold tangle in his curls, setting the ends on fire. You think of those electric lamps under your grandfather’s porch that drew in moths with dust brown wings. Moths that ended up dead on the wooden floor.
You find yourself inches from his left shoulder.
“That’s not how these things usually go, Mr. Bravo.”
“Humor the old hermit.” He grins and the smell of spice and smoke and lineage blooms in your nose. You school your face, swallowing down your beating heart.
“The mob. So why me?”
Dieter chuckles. “The mob?”
“Happened to Frank Sinatra, didn’t it?”
“I don’t appreciate the comparison,” Dieter sneers. “Blue Eyes was an asshole and an idiot.”
You turn towards him, your turn to grin. “Speaking from personal experience?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Unbelievable.” You roll your eyes and wander back towards the cabinet. It’s now you notice the odd placement of the couch and chairs in front of the memorabilia. As if hours were spent staring at them. “Do you have anything to drink?”
Dieter blinks at you. “Uh. No. Do you want me to call up for one?”
“No, Mr. Bravo, I want you to answer my question: why me?”
“Because you care.”
Dieter turns away from the lights, the music, the night and stares at you. The teasing sparkle, the sardonic grin – they’re gone. A different man stands before you – one with the same beautiful set of curls, with the same soft eyes. But you see something on his face you didn’t think was possible: yearning.
“Everyone who ever came here only wanted a piece of me. Of this. Of my legacy. In fifty years, no one has ever wanted to know the magic in the movies. The magic of . . .” Dieter laughs quietly, joylessly. He looks around and runs his tongue against his upper teeth. “The mob? C’mon, you can do better than the mob.”
You take a step forward. Electric lamps be damned.
“I’m doing a terrible job of interviewing you.”
“Hardly.” His lips pout before pulling back into a grin. “We’re getting to know each other.”
Another step.
“One for one?”
“Of course.”
“Then in debt to the US government for World War II propaganda. Why did your grandfather step out of the spotlight at the peak of his career?”
“Ford was as much a nazi as any of them and no Bravo would ever stoop so low, so no. And Grandpappy Bravo had health issues.”
���He was forty-five.”
“Forty-two, actually. The same age I am now.” He grins down at you and you find yourself staring up at him. Had his eyes always had that golden circle in the center?
“Give me another theory.”
“Drugs – boring but reliable. Why was your father so secretive about his role as a financial backer during the 60s movie revival?”
“He hated the attention, as much as a Bravo can. You’re getting closer.”
“It was drugs?” You tear your gaze that had somehow slipped to his lips back up to his eyes, but Dieter shakes his head.
“A drug of some kind, but not the kind you’re thinking of. A powerful drug. The most powerful.”
“Yeah? And what would that be?”
“Life itself.” Again, you see his teeth and without your control, your heart leaps into your throat. You narrow your eyes against the brilliant light of his mouth.
“Why do you care so much about my theories?”
“Because you’re not asking the right questions. You’re close, but not quite.”
His hand floats against your jaw, fingertips crackling in the millimeter above your skin, and that spicy scent floods your brain in a sudden avalanche that makes your knees wobble. You huff, dizzy, a fog settling across your mind, and you put a hand against his chest to keep you from stumbling. His thumb drags against your bottom lip and that bright sensation becomes a focus point by which the entire universe revolves around.
His eyes are entirely golden now.
“Ask the question you’ve been begging to, darling.”
You swallow through the haze, through the pounding of your heart, through the heaviness of your knees, and the wetness in your underwear.
“No,” you mumble, “I . . . Dieter, you’ll laugh.”
“Try me, sweetheart.” His other hand joins his first, cradling your jaw, dragging you closer. “I want to hear it.”
“I think you’re a vampire.” The words dribble off your numb lips but even through the lag, you know you’ve screwed up. Something has gummed up the crevices of your brain, but that’s not the thing to say to the highly-eccentric social recluse you’ve put your career at risk to interview.
“Dieter, I’m sorry – I-I-I didn’t mean–,”
But he laughs. Laughs and your moth wings get caught in the light of the white gleam of his fangs. His hand slips to your waist as his thumb brushes your cheek, golden eyes anything but angry.
“I knew you were clever.”
Your nails dig into his jacket where you don’t feel a heartbeat. Your knees want you to fall forward into him, but your elbows struggle as the last shreds of a survival instinct.
“Dieter–,”
“Shh, darling, you are smart. Too smart for your own good. You knew the truth the second you walked in here and you did it anyway. But that big brain won’t let you believe it until you see it, so breathe, darling. Breath and it will be over in a minute.”
He lowers his face, his cold breath against your neck cracking through the haze, icing your heart. You whimper, afraid –
Afraid he’s going to kill you.
Afraid that you’ll let him.
A warm tongue saturates the skin of your neck and you realize there are devil faces in the wood carving of the ceiling, your head tipped back and arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“No crying. I will make this very good for you.”
You blink and the ice in your heart melts out the corner of your eyes, tears running off your cheeks.
“Will I die?”
Dieter lets out a noise that’s a whine and a groan all at once. “No. We’re not nearly done having fun.”
And he bites you.
Euphoria erupts across your skin, an electric pulse waking up every sense still left in your control. You shudder, then draw him closer. He groans, not a single drop of blood escaping to the carpet or your shirt or his jacket. He eats well and clean and there’s a part of you that entertains the idea of him losing control.
But as quickly as it comes on, everything fades. Blackness comes on, thick and fast, and you hear him pull off your neck more than you feel it and his tongue is the last sensation you feel.
“No, darling, by the end of this, you’ll be begging me for more.”
His promise is the last thing you hear before the darkness closes in on you completely.
+
#dieter bravo#dieter bravo fanfiction#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x female reader#the bubble fanfiction#dieter x reader#dieter bravo x f!reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#the bubble fanfic#the bubble 2016#the bubble fic#pedro pascal#dieter bravo fic#dieter bravo x oc#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal character fanfic#the bubble
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25 YA Books for Indigenous Peoples Day
NOTES: For brevity and diversity, I did not include all the North American Native books I found, but there are plenty more - feel free to post your favorites in the comments! Most books are from indigenous authors, but not all - do your own research if you like. Not all books may be “technically” YA. I’d love to hear more suggestions of Latin American indigenous stories or Hawai’ian native stories which were difficult to find.
EDIT: This is just a random list by a random tumblr blog from 2022 - get out there and find your own books or list some in the comments if you find this list lacking.
Australia
The Things She's Seen by Amebelin & Ezekiel Kwaymullina
The Boy from the Mish by Gary Lonesborough
Becoming Kirrali Lewis by Jane Harrison
Swallow the Air by Tara June Winch
Canada
The Missing by Melanie Florence
Sorrow's Knot by Erin Bow
Son of a Trickster by Eden Robinson
The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline
A Girl Called Echo by Katherena Vermette
Surviving the City by Tasha Spillett
Japan - Ainu
Golden Kamuy by Satoru Noda
Latin America
Saints of the Household by Ari Tison
Tree Girl by Ben Mikaelsen
The Huaca by Marcia Argueta Mickelson
Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia
The Lost Dreamer by Lizz Huerta
New Zealand - Maori
The Whale Rider, Witi Ihimaera
Falling into Rarohenga by Steph Matuku
United States
Firekeeper's Daughter by Angeline Boulley
Trail of Lighting by Rebecca Roanhorse
Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
If I Ever Get Out of Here by Eric Gansworth
Hearts Unbroken by Cynthia Leitich Smith
Rain is Not My Indian Name by Cynthia Leitich Smith
#indigenous peoples day#indigenous#book list#fuck columbus#native american#first nations#diverse ya#diversity in media#diverse books#aboriginal#maori#latin america#north america#south america#australia#canada#japan#new zealand#united states
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15 questions for 15 friends:
Thanks for thinking of me for these questions, @lady-featherquill ~ this is like mmmmh a certain kind of tingle blushhh tickle for me to be called on~
Were you named after anyone?: Yess I was named after Burl Ives, but you wouldn't know it because I spell and pronounce my name differently~
When was the last time you cried?: I made the mistake of thinking about The Lion King a few hours ago~
Do you have kids?: I make kids all the time. Like crying over the lion king because I randomly was thinking about how real to life the animation was of Simba pulling on Mufasa's ear and holygodddddd he was trying to wake his dad up whyyyyyyy are animators so supremely great at heartsqueezing~~~ I'm just kidding. That was a kid.
What sports do you play/have you played?: all of them I think~ I live by the fake it until you make it mindset and I'm still figuring out the latter part of that. But I did study pickleball thoroughly under its venerable founder, The Earl of Pickle
Do you use sarcasm?: William Shakesman said that's the lowest form of brevity so I try to avoid it whenever possible, also I'm horrendously bad at it to where I sound completely sincere and this has resulted in one too many punches to the face because, surprisingly if you poorly sarcastically announce you'd really love to be just hit in the face there are a LOT of people who are all too eager to jump in~
What is the first thing you notice about people?: That they're always trying to figure out if I hate them because I had a fairly consistent RBF crossed with an inclination to be mysterious. Through online interactions I first take note of their comma frequency because that says so much about a person's Oxford-related preferences.
What's your eye color?: Blue or green or grey depending which type of light you shove in my face, followed by whatever my eyelid is because moonlight makes me squint
Scary movies or happy endings?: I like the ones where nothing is really resolved and the story just sort of stops because everyone gave up and it was probably lunchtime so f*ck it~
Any talents?: I can do a hair flip like nobody's business, which is to say no one should ever be in the business of doing such hair flips because I've knocked over more cups and hit my head on more things than anyone should do in five lifetimes.
Where were you born?: I'm fairly certain I've always been, because whenever I attempt to find the record of my birth Mr. Tumnus plays an enchanting tune and I wake up in a cold room.
What are your hobbies?: arguing on the Internet and street corners why Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 is better than Brotherhood. I took up the hobby after some guy stole my bicycle which was an outrage, but that was his hobby and he imparted the wisdom which set me on my path which is that a hobby is something that makes you completely miserable and spreads that misery onto anyone unfortunate enough to share your space.
Do you have any pets?: No, no one ever wants to pet me and it's probably because of the below answer
How tall are you?: 6'2
Favorite subject in school?: History. Not so much for the subject matter but because memorizing facts comes obscenely easy to me and I loved writing excessively lengthy essays which went nowhere and were loaded with as many funny words as I could muster like trying to relate an unrelated event to the future of filibustering.
Dream job?: Tending a lighthouse so I could make giant shadowpuppets over the water and make alligator mouths eat the ships.
Join in and pass it on if you can. Don't feel obligated!
@witchy-giggles @atomiccollectorwitch @crystalstarlight4657 @opossumgirltongue @adventuresofmelody @greenticklerdreams @juviisworld @dusktexanler @polsj103 @fuzzypilled @androgynousangeldreamland @daisylovestickles @yourgothgfswitch @magicaltickles @giggliestgirl
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hello! I was hoping to send in a tom bennett x reader request that I have in mind.
basically, reader is sent off by her father to have an arranged marriage with an older, rich man. she's young and still has a whole life ahead of her however she decides not to fight against her father and does what pleases him. reader feels miserable, her husband barely acknowledges her and when he does, he says nasty things.
one night, she stumbles upon a man, tom bennett. two end up beginning a secret love affair of sorts. please? 💜
Life anchor – Tom Bennett x female!reader, Part 1
Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader
Warnings: Misogyny, light violence
Author’s note: Hey you (:
A little Tom Bennett story requested by the wonderful @chainsawsangel 💕
Sorry it took me so long to write this! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:
Word count: 2.9k
Part 2, Part 3
Other stories of mine
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
"No discussion. You will marry him"
You just looked at your father in disbelief. A burning spread through your eyes, brought on by the tears that blurred your vision.
Yet you refused to give in.
"You can't be serious... He is almost your age, father!" you tried to say in a firm voice, but your voice threatened to fail.
A sigh left your father, "It's our chance..."
"... your father. It's your chance," you had interrupted him.
"It's our chance for me to cement my place in politics. To earn more money. He can guarantee us that. You just have to agree to marry him," your father said to you.
Single tears now ran over the rim of your eyes. You looked to the side and tried to suppress a sob. A heaviness spread through your chest that would not let you go for a long time.
"Father... please don't do this to me..." you whispered without looking at him.
But at first there was no reply from your father and you had to make sure that he had not left the room. But when you looked to him, you saw that his gaze was fixed on you.
"We have no choice," he said to you quietly.
From then on you knew that you had no choice - you had to marry William.
In those moments, your suffering began to grow. In the prime of your early twenties, you found yourself married to a man who had outlived nearly fifty years of his life. Since that union, a heavy unease has settled in your chest that refuses to go away.
William has a face that is not far from attractive; some would even dare to call it attractive. If only his inner character didn't cast a shadow over his outer appearance. While his physical stature is tall and his mane of hair exudes a lush darkness, it is the elegance of his clothing that always graces him, coupled with the incessant curve of a smile on his lips.
On the surface, he treats you with an almost warm politeness. And yet, in this realm beyond the surface, he remains uninterested in the totality of your being, unmoved by your passions or aspirations that truly define you as a person. In his perception, you are nothing more than a decorative facade, a charming companion on his arm.
The words between the two of you are sparse, relegated to a realm of brevity.
When confronted with problems or troubling circumstances in his immediate environment, he brandishes his wealth as the ultimate remedy. His conviction is based on the notion that the amount of financial resources directly correlates to a person's intrinsic worth. He conveys this conviction by subliminally making his interlocutors feel inferior compared to him.
You find disgust in this pretense and detest the artificial facades he puts on.
The house in which you live is surrounded by a huge green space. It is a really pretty property, but still you feel lost there. It is oversized, its rooms reflect emptiness. And those who share most of your time there are your employees. The fact that William is rarely present doesn't bother you - solitude is a cherished companion.
In the midst of this house there is a room set aside just for your comfort. When the burden of your heart becomes too heavy, you retreat there to rest. It is a refuge to bear the burden in your chest.
William's return often takes place under the gaze of the moon, the late hours being his time of arrival. But at times, a communal dinner graces the quiet nights. Occasionally, when you are already in bed together, he becomes a nocturnal partner. His body language varies - sometimes averted, sometimes seeking closeness. Almost like a dance between your husband's ignorance and his desire to be intimate with you.
There is an undeniable lack of zeal in this scenario. You endure it with unwavering stoicism and wait patiently for him to complete his act. As soon as sleep catches up with him and he has his back turned to you again, you rise and quietly retreat to the bathroom. Hidden in a cabinet is a small vial of diluted acetic acid. Using an pipette, you wash his semen from your body with it. The weight on your chest, which never leaves you, is almost unbearable at such moments.
One evening, William opens up to you that you are going to visit an adjacent naval ship. It is of great importance - well, not to you.
The naval ship is docked in your city's harbor, almost like a symbol of England's maritime power and importance. Politicians of the highest importance have been invited to join an expedition aboard this ship, meet its dedicated crew, and make connections.
William has agreed to participate in this momentous event, and by his side you will find yourself in his presence as an escort. On a quiet afternoon, you set out on your way. First you will visit the berth of the ship and later you will move on to a nearby banquet hall, for a small celebration with the crew and the politicians.
In the midst of this journey, a gentle rain falls from the sky, decorating the window panes of the carriage in glistening rivulets. The reverberations of William's words ring dully in your ears, and your nods of time punctuate the conversation as you are drawn to the fleeting ballet of raindrops on the glass.
As the car approaches its destination, the port's towering cranes wave like sentinels of industry, drawing your gaze to the ships resting on the calm water. Your gaze falls on the naval vessel. "H.M.S. Keith" you read as the car passes the ship. A strange name for a ship, you think to yourself.
The car stops, a sign that you have reached your destination and it is time to put on a smile.
Even before your feet hit solid ground, William stands resolutely in the midst of his comrades-in-arms, deeply engrossed in a speech.
A smile curls your lips as you make your way to his side. Your smile is reflected on the lips of the other wives, who also stand beside their husbands.
In the midst of the gathering, your gaze falls upon the captain of the ship, a prominent figure emerging from the sanctuary of the vessel. He embodies the essence of a leader. His portly figure is crowned by a cap, behind which hides hair made silver by time and experience.
He greets the ladies with a gallant gesture and gives each hand a gentle kiss. Inside, your familiar heaviness weighs on your chest, a weight that threatens to impede the rising and falling of your breath, but you wear your smile undaunted like an ornate mask.
With a fluid movement, the captain turns his attention to the gentlemen, and together they enter the waiting ship. The men walk ahead of their wives, almost like obedient dogs you trot along behind them. You are led to the upper deck and find yourself in the midst of cramped quarters. You realize that the men are doing their work in this confined space day after day, entangled in the toils of war.
Your thoughts are momentarily interrupted as you come face to face with the assembled crew. A disciplined line of sailors stands before you, and as the eyes of the sailors notice the presence of the women, a chorus of whistles sounds playfully through the air.
Quickly, the captain steps in and restores decorum to his ranks. With a mixture of curiosity and fascination, you gaze at the unfamiliar faces until your gaze lingers on a pair of steely blue eyes. Unable to break the connection, you feel trapped as his gaze seems to peer into the depths of your soul.
Suddenly, a faint smile graces his lips, making your heart flutter. As if in a trance, you avert your gaze, and a blush of surprise coats your cheeks as you notice William at your side. His arm wraps around your waist. You return his gaze. There is a slight irritation in William's gaze as he notices the color of your cheek. But the blank smile replaces his irritation almost immediately.
"Come on, let's leave the smelly guys behind, we're going to the banquet hall," he whispers to you. You make an effort to agree with him with a gentle smile and a subtle nod.
You turn and follow William down the path into the hall, steel-blue gazes lingering on you until you disappear completely from his view.
Entering the banquet hall, you are led to a table where influential elite are gathered. An interplay of cigar smoke and the amber swirl of whiskey dances through the air. Laughter resounds like a melody, even if some of the banter is not particularly sophisticated. The tightness in your chest almost incessantly present.
From time to time you eat a snack from your plate and occasionally take a delicate sip of wine, but the moments drag on like an eternity. The steel-blue eyes do not leave your thoughts. At some point you are so absorbed that you no longer notice much of the conversations around you.
"What do you think of that?" William asks you suddenly. You look at him a little startled, "Apologise. What did you mean?" you ask him.
"Little silly... Caught up in your thoughts again...", he chuckles lightly.
"George here just had the idea that it would be a wonderful idea to join the sailors on the ship for a day," William says to you.
"Why would that be?" it slips out. William laughs lightly and the other men agree.
"Well, so that we can show that the elite care about these men," William answers your question.
You look at him. You have little to no desire to spend time on a ship. But you smile slightly and nod slightly.
"Excuse me," you say quietly and stand up from the table. With purposeful steps you walk towards the bar as a slight ache returns to your chest, almost overwhelming in its intensity, seeking comfort. The bartender greets you with a warm smile and your request for a martini is effortlessly fulfilled. Conversation is minimal, words an unnecessary bridge to your needs.
As the martini stands before you, embodying in its clear form the calm you wish to feel within you, you do not hesitate for long. With practised ease, you lift the glass and its contents find refuge within you in a single, deliberate movement. You pinch your eyes shut briefly as the liquid fire flows down your throat, leaving a stimulating trail in its wake.
As you awaken from this fleeting reverie, you become aware of a presence beside you. A subtle jolt of surprise runs through you, only to be quickly replaced by recognition - those steel blue eyes, captivating and familiar, are upon you again. A soft blush adorns your cheeks once more, accompanied by a barely audible clearing of the throat, a modest attempt to regain your composure in the face of this unexpected encounter.
"Hello, love...", he says in his deep voice, "... I'm Tom," he smiles at you.
You can't help but surrender to his voice. A smile spreads across your face.
His gaze bores into yours again and he too begins to smile. Only his seems to be surrounded by a lightness.
"Don't ya want to tell me your name?" he finally says.
You chuckle lightly and shake your head gently.
"Excuse me. Hello Tom, I'm y/n," you finally say.
His smile widens and exposes his slightly crooked teeth. His smile makes you feel warmth in your chest where otherwise there is only room for the usual heaviness.
"Hello y/n. And... ya like to drink alone?", he asks you without his gaze leaving you.
Your gaze goes from his smile back to his eyes, "Well... Sometimes that is the only thing that helps you," you say honestly and order another drink.
Tom watches you intently, his gaze fixed on the fine furrow in your brow and the heaviness that envelops your smile. The fact that your smile does not reach your eyes strikes him almost immediately. Clearly a weight rests on your thoughts. He chooses silence rather than words, however, and lets his attentive gaze rest on you.
As you also take your next drink almost in one go, Tom reacts gently yet firmly as you put the glass down. He grabs your hand, an unspoken invitation for you to follow him. A shock of surprise runs through you, but the alcohol in your veins transforms your reaction into an unexpected giggle.
Amidst the pulsating rhythm of the dance floor, he brings you to a standstill. Couples sway and spin around you, a sea of movement and you in the midst of it. You can't help but smile, and your joy is reflected in Tom's expression. His hand is on your hip, and his other hand tenderly intertwines his fingers with yours.
"What are you doing?" you ask quietly, but still smiling.
"Well... love... I think it's called dancing," he says cheekily as he begins to lead you across the dance floor.
Enveloped in an irrepressible lightness, your laughter blends in harmoniously. His steps, which deviate from the usual dance steps, find a unique cadence that stages a dance all its own. Amidst the elegance emanating from the neighbouring couples, your finesse may differ, but with each passing moment, his rhythm becomes a familiar melody for you.
A perpetual grin adorns Tom's face, proof of the joy that unites you in this improvised waltz you dance together. With each successive step, the distance between you decreases and the feeling of his touch makes its way through your bodies like a gentle current. The longer the dance goes on, the more its warmth becomes an embrace that you long for. The outside world no longer exists for you.
But like a curtain falling over a fleeting act, the pleasure is abruptly interrupted. Unexpectedly, William appears in front of you and interrupts the enchanting choreography.
"Y/n. What are you doing?" he asks you, without even giving Tom a glance.
"Well... I think it's called dancing," you say before you realise how cheeky your answer is. The alcohol and Tom's lightness rubbing off on you make you answer.
William looks at you, doesn't make a face. But suddenly a small smile appears on his lips, but you know that smile.
"Of course..." is all he says before he grabs your wrist and pulls you along. You cast a fleeting glance over your shoulder and see Tom looking after you, his steel-blue eyes gazing at you almost longingly. In this quick moment, you don't get a chance to say goodbye.
As your attention returns to William, you realise that his gaze is fixed firmly on you, an intensity that makes you shudder.
"You will not disrespect me like that again, is that clear?" he hisses in your ear as he pulls you closer to him.
"You can't just dance with the pack!" he adds.
You glare at him as he literally pulls you outside and comes to a stop.
"You want to spend a day on the ship with this pack, but I can't dance with this pack?" you ask him.
Your head flies to the side as you feel the blow against your cheek. A beeping sounds in your ear and you gasp slightly. Your eyes are squeezed shut and tears rise almost simultaneously, but you try to ignore the pain.
"Do you want to offer yourself as a whore because you disagree with something?" he hisses at you.
Your cheek throbs and you have trouble following William's words. You hold your cheek with your hand, hoping that the pain will subside. Slowly you turn your gaze back to William.
"I will not tolerate my wife behaving like this. And you will obey me," he almost shouts at you, emphasising every word with his raised index finger pointed at you. You say nothing, not a word passes your lips. You just nod slightly, your hand still on your cheek.
Silently, William leads you to the car, his grip tight and locked around your upper arm. He literally barks at the smoking driver that he wants a ride home immediately.
Your cheeks are on fire, the blow leaves a rosy hue, and your tears, by now running down your cheek, give your skin an almost glistening touch.
A heavy silence prevails the whole time, and you do not perceive a single word from William's lips. When you arrive at the house, you retreat to your room without many words. Seeking refuge from his presence that night.
Nestled in a cocoon of blankets and pillows, your gaze rises to the ceiling as your thoughts weave a tapestry of memories. Your mind wanders to Tom - his laughing gestures, the way his touch ignited as he led you across the dance floor. The abrupt end, heralded by William.
You roll onto your side and snuggle against your pillow, its soft embrace giving you comfort. But before you can think about it further, sleep envelops you and takes hold of your consciousness.
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#tom bennett#tom bennett x you#tom bennett x y/n#tom bennett imagine#tom bennett fanfiction#tom bennett fanfic#tom bennett smut#tom bennett fluff#world on fire#lois bennett#ewan mitchell#hotd#tom bennett x reader#tom bennet x reader#ewan nation#tom bennett x ofc
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KISS IT BETTER
REX X READER
Rex’s feelings for you have been steadily growing for a while now, but he believes they’re his own burden to bear. When he gets injured, he thinks you might feel the same. When you get injured, he knows for certain.
genre: fluff, hurt/comfort
warnings: blood and injury
word count: 2,600
a/n: this wip has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I finally got around to finishing it. I’m excited to be writing again!
Rex’s affection is a slow, steady thing. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, not when he leads the rest of his life with such level headed strength, but it does. He doesn’t notice the way it settles into the cradle of his ribs, the way it blinks into existence. It falls into place like the stars after a sunset, small bursts of light piercing the dark a handful at a time until there is no question that the sky is full—near bursting.
The sun seems to set quicker each time Rex sees you, the stars in his heart brighter with every passing day. If it weren’t for his practiced composure and unwavering respect for your position on the Resolute, that affection just might spill out of him, tearing him apart at the seams, his body alone no longer enough to contain his feelings.
But his emotions are his own, and you haven’t asked, nor offered, to help bear them.
You’re a medic on the Resolute, one of the few faces onboard that doesn’t match all the others on the Star Destroyer. That distinction alone was enough to spark gossip among the men when you were first assigned to work alongside the 501st.
Rex didn’t think much of it at the time. Gossip rarely holds weight, and he’s never put any stock in it. A new medic, nat-born or clone, is simply something the 501st was in need of. He didn’t think much of the matter beyond the benefit of having additional hands in the medbay. Maybe he would have paid more attention to the gossip if he had met you before the talk died down. It wasn’t until later, after a particularly rough skirmish that left more men than he felt comfortable with on bed rest, that Rex finally met you.
You were bouncing around between beds, checking in with the men still on bed rest, when he first saw you. Easy smile, mellow mannered, kind—these are the things about you that stood out to Rex.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Captain,” you greeted as you stepped by him. Of course you already knew of him. His position on the Resolute made it near impossible to not be involved in at least some rumors, just as your status as a non clone made you stand out.
“Likewise,” he said, the word feeling oddly heavy on his tongue. He had no way of knowing at the time that the first seeds of attraction were already starting to take root. Admiration and attraction can feel a lot alike in their early stages. Maybe it was a mix of both that caused words to fail him.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” you asked, pausing what you were doing to give Rex your full attention, gaze boring into him with an unexpected weight—like a tractor beam pulling him into your eyes. The steady hold of your gaze was nearly too much to handle. Rex dragged his own eyes away from you then, choosing instead to take in the scene around him, needing a distraction. Most of the beds were full, but enough time had passed since the skirmish that all of the men still in the medbay were stable, and many almost ready to leave.
“I just wanted to check in on them,” Rex said, nodding at the beds behind you.
“Of course.” You smiled.
The interaction was brief. You had things to do, and Rex wasn’t in the medbay just to see you—that would come later. But, despite the brevity of the meeting, it was enough for him to get a sense of who you are, enough for you to wiggle your way into his heart—just a little.
Rex’s affection is a slow, steady thing. By the time he finally realizes just how much of him you really hold, it is too late to change course.
—♡—
The blood spills from his side slowly. Ever-slipping time allowed the wound to begin clotting, but it’s too big, too deep to heal fully on its own. The blood sticks to his blacks, the still wet stain difficult to see on the already dark colored cloth.
He was hit by a piece of shrapnel during the last battle. An exploding tank sent pieces of the vehicle and broken droids his way. For the most part, he managed to escape injury, but something managed to nick his side in one of the places his armor fails to cover. Only his now ruined blacks stood between the shrapnel and his skin.
It will hurt to pull the fraying fabric from torn flesh, but when the time comes, he will grit his teeth and bear it. Rex has been through worse, no doubt, and he surely will again in the future. It’s why he waited to seek out treatment. There are others who need it more, those who might not survive without immediate attention. He doesn’t want to be a hindrance when doing so could harm others.
Instead of seeking out a medic, he distracts himself. He focuses on what can be done, takes steps that will result in the closest thing to a positive outcome after a battle. He doesn’t expect a medic to seek him out, especially not you.
You walk over to him without hesitation, like you’re singularly focused on reaching him, and Rex wouldn’t be surprised if that was true. The scowl tugging at the corner of your lip and creasing your brow, an unfamiliar expression on your usually smiling face, is aimed directly at him. He has never seen you angry like this before. Even with the harsh look that will inevitably be accompanied by a scolding when you reach him, the sight of you sends his world spinning.
Maybe he lost more blood than he thought.
“What do you think you’re doing?” You speak as you approach.
“My job,” he responds. This whole conversation seems wrong. While your question was delivered with a tone that made the words sound more like a scolding, his own statement, which should have held an assurance fitting for a Captain, sounds unsure.
“Kix mentioned you might be injured,” you say. Rex’s hand raises to his side in reflex, cradling the air above his injury but not making contact with the laceration beneath. You hum knowingly, stepping closer to get a better look.
You swat Rex’s hand aside as you bend down, taking in the injury without actually touching the wound. It’s difficult to see the full extent of what happened with Rex’s blacks still in the way, but the still wet blood soaking into the fabric tells you plenty.
“I wish you had come to me,” you admonish, pulling out a medkit from your pack. The supplies are reduced from when the battle started—Rex tries not to linger on the implications of that reduction.
“I had things that needed to get done, just as I’m sure you did.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.” You pause what you're doing, looking him in the eye while you talk, as if doing so can make your words sink in. There’s a pained look in your eyes as you speak, like the thought of him being injured makes you hurt with him. It's a look you hide well, but Rex still catches the way you seem to bite your tongue to keep from saying something more.
You turn your focus back to the injury, setting out to do what you can to ensure it heals as thoroughly and efficiently as possible. If you were petty, you just might tug a little harder than necessary while pulling the fabric of his ruined blacks from the wound. You might use more force than needed to eject the stim into his system, or press the bacta patch onto his skin a little firmer than the adhesive calls for. You would remind him of why it’s important to seek out medical treatment as soon as possible. Maybe next time he would come see you sooner.
Instead, you’re gentle with the gash.
You may be unhappy about the fact that Rex got injured, but you’re disinclined to make him hurt anymore than he already does. You can understand why he avoided seeking medical attention, that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it—not when, of all people, Rex is the one who is hurting.
“Please try to be careful,” you say as you finish. You stand up, looking him in the eye once more. Your next words slip out before you can stop them. It’s a quiet, almost confession. “I hate seeing you hurt.”
Before Rex can respond, you step away, off to hunt down others who tried their best to avoid medical attention. Rex is left to wonder if your words were said as a medic, or as something from the heart, something personal. His cheeks warm at the thought.
Is it wrong for him to hope for more?
—♡—
“KARK!” The expletive is followed by a series of quieter grumbles and moans. You pull your hand from the drawer to cradle near your chest, eyes burning with unshed tears as you attempt to take in the damage.
Blood bubbles up from your palm, welling for just a moment before spilling over. It drips down your wrist and onto the once sterile floor below.
“Who in Sith Hells keeps a vibroblade with the notepads?” You grumble.
“Surely not a medic.” You startle despite the familiarity of the voice, turning around to see who has entered the medbay. Rex is taking your hand in his own before you fully process who is standing beside you. His touch is gentle against the delicate skin, his calloused hand nearly as warm as the now throbbing wound on yours. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” you say. “Nothing a little bacta and a bandage can’t fix.”
He doesn’t seem to believe you, his frown deepening as you brush off the cut like it’s nothing. Despite the guilt that settles in your gut for being the cause of his displeasure, your cheeks warm at the thought of his concern.
“Can I help you? Will you let me?” He is already herding you towards one of the beds, guiding you to sit on the edge so that he can gather the necessary supplies. You sigh, not wanting to trouble him any more than you already have, but concede.
“Fine. But clean your hands,” you demand before telling him where the necessary supplies are kept.
Rex does as you say without a fuss.
“Are you sure you don’t need stitches?” he asks, brows furrowing as he takes in the wound. He doesn't shy away, used to seeing much worse on a regular basis. It makes your heart sink to think about how much he has seen—how much he has lost.
“Yes, fortunately. The bacta will be enough.”
Rex works silently, apologizing when you hiss at the touch of bacta to the wound but not breaking his concentration from the task at hand. He works with the diligence of a soldier. With his attention directed solely on your injured hand, you are given a chance to admire him.
It’s a habit that started the first time you met him and has only gotten worse with time. You had heard about the Captain of the 501st. His loyalty unwavering, his mind steady and well balanced while his General is so fond of taking risks. You didn’t expect the softened look in his brown eyes. Falling for him was easy.
“Hey Rex, did you need something from the medbay?” you ask, needing something to distract yourself from his steady hands, from the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, from his singular focus on you—even if it is just because you’re injured.
“Hmm?” He looks up for the first time since he started treating the wound. It’s fully bandaged now, and the pain has all but subsided thanks to the soothing cool of bacta. “Kix said you were in here.”
His eyes flick away from yours and he clears his throat. It’s not the first time he’s sought you out in the medbay for the simple reason of enjoying your company, but still the decision seems to leave him embarrassed.
He switches the topic before you can respond.
“You need to be careful. How can you patch me up if you don’t have any hands to work with?” Rex jokes, a small smile stretching across his lips, eyes gleaming.
“You know I’m always careful. Of the two of us, you’re the reckless one.”
You reach out to shove his shoulder, laughing as you do. There isn’t any strength behind it, it’s just a teasing gesture, but you reach out with your injured hand. The aching sting of a cut sets your nerves alight immediately, and you hiss as you pull the hand back to your chest. The bandage holds strong, no blood leaking through, but that doesn’t stop the pain.
Rex pulls the hand back to him, his grip feather light as he traces the edges of the bandage. His brow furrows in concern and it takes an effort not to reach out and smooth the evidence of his worry. You can’t help but think: It’s the perfect spot to place a kiss.
“Does it hurt a lot?” He asks, growing serious again.
“Just a little.” The thought of kissing Rex must still be stuck in your brain because, before you can stop the words from slipping out, you add, “Maybe you can kiss it better?”
Rex’s eyes go comically wide, lips parting but no words coming out. Your words surprised him, more than either of you thought possible. You go to pull away, to come up with some excuse about why he doesn’t have to. You try to think of a way to tell him that you didn’t mean it like that (you did), and that he can just forget about it. It was a joke (it wasn’t). The two of you could laugh it off. But Rex’s mind catches up with your request before you can brush it away.
He takes your hand, still cradled gently in his own, and presses his lips to a spot on your palm that wasn’t sliced open by the vibroblade. They linger there for just a moment before he pulls back, keeping your hand by his heart.
You haven’t offered to help bear the weight of Rex’s feelings for you, but your question is a request for him to see your own, and a hope that he might reciprocate. He can hardly believe it to be true.
He needs to be sure.
Rex brings a hand up to your cheek, his fingers barely brushing against the skin there, and it's your turn to be left in shock. Eyes wide, lips parted, a mirror of Rex just moments ago.
“Does it feel better?” he asks. He leans in closer, merely waiting for permission to kiss you properly.
“I don’t know. I think you should try it again.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s all the answer he needs.
Rex’s hand finds a proper place against your cheek, and then he kisses you. His lips are soft against your own, and any worries either of you might have had slip away.
The kiss is short and sweet, merely testing the waters, but it’s enough to leave you in a daze. You’ve wanted to kiss him for a long time. You wonder if he has wanted it for just as long (you think, maybe, he has).
You hum, a smile growing wide across your lips, and say, “I’m definitely feeling better now.”
#rex x reader#rex x you#rex x y/n#captain rex x reader#captain rex x you#rex x gn!reader#the clone wars fanfiction#tcw fanfiction
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Sorry if this was mentioned before somewhere, but how do you go about writing the script & choice branches for your stories? Do you tend to get a premise first & then build characters around it, or the reverse? How was it like working with multiple writers for BP, and getting their different takes to become cohesive into the overall plot? (Asking more out of behind the scenes curiosity/fascination with different writers' processes so ignore this is you wanna)
How do you go about writing the script & choice branches for your stories?
For big projects (like BP + AAI), before I start the script, I always have a mildly detailed outline for each day -- but I don't feel married to it. I then take one day at a time and just write whatever comes to mind in a google doc, and I often do veer off within each day from what the outline had indicated. Sometimes the conversations just flow differently as I'm writing them out, and that often ends up being some of the most natural writing.
Choice branches are placed in areas where I feel like it would make sense to the player, like, an answer to an open-ended question. Or, maybe an option to learn one of two things about a LI. The important stuff though always stays out of either-or branches to make sure the player sees it.
We'll often plug-and-play different choice branches/lines as we implement the game though, because you really can't know how dialogue will feel until you see it with all the other assets. The pencil skirt line in toaster's route was on-the-fly add, for example.
Do you tend to get a premise first & then build characters around it, or the reverse?
I tend to go premise -> characters. OCs are not super important to me on their own honestly, and I can't name a single one I have that hasn't been created purposefully to fit a story. I'm notorious for not fleshing out my characters a lot in my head, despite trying to write them realistically and caring quite a bit about them being "right".
How was it like working with multiple writers for BP, and getting their different takes to become cohesive into the overall plot?
I'll give them one of those day-by-day outlines for a route and then let them do whatever they want with it -- so, the overarching plot is determined largely by myself (with brainstorming help from friends!) and that keeps it all pretty narratively cohesive. It also helps that each of the routes I outline has virtually nothing to do with each other, so it gives the writers more freedom to go crazy.
So, the writers are free to take that outline and veer off it if they wish like I do. All that I ask is that they generally hit specific plot beats and have a general similar writing style as everyone else so it isn't too jarring route to route. I find that letting people do whatever the hell they want with my stuff has led to some of the best parts of the project(s). My editing hand on other people's things is suuuuuuuuper light. Like, I really only cut lines for brevity as I'm adding them into the game. And that itself isn't frequent.
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honestly the problem with booktok (and bookstagram) is not YA lit. it's not about people enjoying books that some might consider "low-brow" or whatever.
imo booktok is the culmination of several problems:
firstly, there's the homogeneity of algorithmic recommendations and the enormous influence those recommendations have on the publishing market. booktok recs tend to be of a very similar style and subject matter. they're easily digestible, easily bingeable titles that arent overly complex. booktok favors stories written by white women, often featuring characters with traumatic backstories and focusing on themes like overcoming adversity and the pursuit of romantic love. they are also usually very anglo-/americentric. none of this is necessarily bad, and none of it is by design, but it's not a coincidence either. it's the result of the constraints of short-form content on the one hand, and on the other, of an algorithm that amplifies, in broad strokes, the preferences of the core demographic of any given group of users.
secondly, it's about the commodification, not of reading, but of being Someone Who Reads Books (TM), which i think is just a particularly obvious symptom of online peer pressure and social-media-driven self-presentation. booktok doesn't encourage you to read, for example, sally rooney. it encourages the cultivation of one's own identity as someone who reads sally rooney. the problem here is not that sally rooney is a shit writer whose work has nothing of note to say. quite the opposite. sally rooney's work is relevant and interesting. in fact, it's being studied by scholars, and even if it wasn't, people can and should be allowed to enjoy some light reading, and yes, even Problematic (TM) fictional characters.
the real problem is the fact that the very nature of how booktok works actively discourages the critical discussion of the stories that it circulates. the problem is not millions of teenagers reading colleen hoover's slop (i love me some slop) – it's millions of teenagers encouraging each other to read and internalize – UNCRITICALLY – hoover's particularly romanticized depiction of abuse. tiktok's algorithm does not foster diversity of opinion. it doesn't foster diversity PERIOD. it doesn't foster slow, in-depth discussion. its only function is *make line go up* – line go up = clicks, views, engagement, money.
due to tiktok's popularity, booktok also has an enormous influence on marketing-related and (apparently, to some extent) editorial decision-making in the publishing industry. this is not just the fault of booktok, goodreads is part of the same problem. i mean, booktok has managed to turn colleen hoover's 'it ends with us' into a bestseller FIVE YEARS after it was originally published. it has also led to publishers dropping authors or DELAYING THE RELEASE of new titles after booktokers flooded the goodreads pages of unpublished books with one star reviews.
as i said, the underlying issue here is not unique to booktok. it's the same homogenization that plagues the movie industry, the tv industry, streaming services, etc. the publishing industry is just particularly vulnerable to such manipulations of public opinion. in the end, tiktok is not a social media app. it's an entertainment app and its content is focused on brevity. the biggest booktokers aren't simply avid readers. they don't post actual reviews of books they enjoyed. they're influencers who receive boxes of books from publishing houses to show off in haul videos like "have you guys heard of squarespace?" and that's it. the level of engagement with the texts themselves is like reading a blurb on the dustjacket, and unfortunately that is reflected in the selection of titles that become popular. if it can't be sold to you in 3 sentences, the algorithm will bury it.
#and that dear children is why we hate booktok#and before you respond: THINK!#is it TRUE? is it HELPFUL? is it INSPIRING? is it HELPFUL? is it KIND?#<- that spells thihk but you know what i mean lmfkxkdkg#again: NOT about young adult fiction#im a staunch defender of the YA genre#a lot of hate towards YA books is just thinly veiled misogyny#this is not about that#this is about tiktok in particular and how it encourages superficial engagement with simple stories#how it *prohibits* deeper engagement with more complex texts#and about the chokehold it has on the book industry#&#oh also#booktok single-handedly destroyed z-lib
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Women's freedom of movement and freedom to cycle have been at the heart of feminism for 130 years
And men know this. And that is why they harass female cyclists. They want to intimidate us and keep us from claiming our freedom through cycling.
The most recent counts by the City of Portland estimate that only three out of every 10 bicycle riders are women and the gender split hasn’t budged since counting started in 2006. In east Portland, the City tabulated just 17% of all bike riders as women. As we ponder the reasons for this disparity, a survey has revealed one factor that’s causing it: the high rate of demeaning interactions and aggressive behaviors some women experience while riding.
A survey conducted in February by nonprofit BikeLoud PDX asked women to describe the worst or most common incident of abuse they’ve experienced while cycling. A shocking 311 out of the 329 women who answered that question reported some level of traumatic incident. The woman who led the survey project, Cathy Tuttle, analyzed the results and found that 229 respondents experienced a Level 3 Trauma (swearing, honking, catcalling, rolling coal, etc), 53 experienced a Level 2 Trauma (deliberate close pass, tailgating, menacing, etc), and 29 experienced a Level 1 Trauma (hit and run, throwing projectiles, aggressive stalking, etc) — the most severe category of abuse.
The vast majority of these aggressive behaviors came from people driving cars. Respondents said 88% of the aggressors were in cars, 7% were identified as homeless people and 5% were other bike riders.
In a summary of the survey results made public Monday, Tuttle shared several examples of the responses. I’ve pasted a few of them below:
A man screaming “get the f*ck off the road” repeatedly while I was cycling on a low traffic route downtown, revving their engine constantly and pulling up too close behind me. I finally got off the road, shaking and crying and called 911. The dispatcher told me there was “nothing we can do, it’s not illegal.” She didn’t want me to report the behavior, even though I had the license plate.
I had a driver stop to tell me that I needed a rear bike light so they could see me. I didn’t respond so the continued to verbally harass me. When the light changed they followed me and kept trying to yell at me. Eventually I came to park and biked into it so they couldn’t follow me. I was scared to bike for a while after that.
A woman yelling out her (passenger) side window “hit the bitch” after I pointed to the stop sign that they were rolling through when I had right of way.
Tuttle also included a longer response from someone who took the survey that is worth reading (edited slightly for brevity):
After he physically threatened me with his car, and after honking, I was told by a man, “I’m going to kill you the next time I see you” while I was biking — legally — on a typically busy (but not at all busy right then) 3 or 4-lane one-way road that has no cycling-specific infrastructure and doesn’t see much bike traffic, but which was at the time a crucial connector that I needed to be on to get across a freeway without going extremely far out of my way…
He didn’t yell it. He said it slowly, deliberately. I’ll never forget it. It wasn’t inflamed reactive rage; it was a slow, methodical, simmering threat. He looked right at me. I can still hear it many years later: I’m going to kill you.
I’ve had men in SUVs and trucks deliberately swerve into me, almost, but not quite, hitting me more times than I can count. This is a cross-Oregon problem, in urban, suburban, ex-urban, and rural areas, all of which I’ve biked in extensively. I’ve been called a dumb c—, a stupid b—-, and other misogynist slurs, again, more times than I can count. I’ve also been treated to yelling misogyny from male street joggers, who run in the street against traffic all the way to the side of the road, right where cyclists typically are… This is weirdly common in Portland, and they are often very rhetorically and even physically aggressive. I’ve also been in collisions with street joggers, and their dogs, and I, the cyclist, have always been the more injured person, so it’s a real problem actually. I’ve encountered groups of 3 men jogging with 2 or 3 huge dogs who are taking up literally the entire street and are very aggressive when confronted with a cyclist — me, one woman — trying to get to work.
Once I was biking to work in Portland with a male cyclist who was behind me, and a truck deliberately swerved into me at a high rate of speed to threaten me or worse, and the man who was biking behind me chased the driver down and yelled at him because he saw it all happen in a way I did not have the vantage to and he was pissed. The truck driver was likely annoyed by my male companion, who he encountered first, but didn’t do anything. Then when he encountered me, he became enraged and deliberately tried to intimidate me by swerving into me. If anything had “gone wrong,” I’d probably be dead now, due to the speed of the driver. Still have a pretty visceral reaction to light blue Leer-brand pick-up truck toppers to this day because of this decades-ago incident.
None of these described incidents are rare, aberrant, unusual, or even, really, worthy of note anymore, but they’re the specific ones that come immediately to mind with no thought at all, but that are representative of a whole problem. They happen ALL THE TIME, for seemingly no reason often. The misogyny comes out almost immediately, reflexively. I feel that if a female cyclist doesn’t preemptively display deference to motorists — of any sex, but especially male — they will be targeted, and if we’re assertive, then all the more so. But cyclists need to be assertive to be safe. Male cyclists too often seem like they’re not our allies (aside form the aforementioned male cyclist — this was actually a rare instance in my experience). The dismissive ‘male glance’ is real, on the bike as in all of life. I can distinctly recall men realizing another cyclist (me, almost 50) is behind them, at a red light or whatever, and looking back, only to discover a woman who is older than he is, on a not-interesting-to-him bike, with no interesting blingy gear on it, and have him turn away, barely able to acknowledge I was there at all. What was he expecting to see? A sexualizable object young enough to be worthy of his attention? Men are far more sexist than they can admit. As many jobs become more gender-integrated, men find new ways to assert their male supremacy. There seems to me to be a distinct strain of “biking everywhere with no infrastructure makes me a man” in the Portland bike ecosystem and it’s detrimental to a lot of folks, not just adult women.
We live in a deeply sexist society and misogynist backlash to feminist gains is observantly real across both dominant culture and most if not all subcultures. Women already experience this whether they have the interpretive lens to see it or not. Many women I know just don’t want to be extra-burdened by the physical and emotional danger of biking routinely for transportation, because they’re already burdened enough in a way men just aren’t.
The responses to this survey give us all a lot to think about and should add urgency to create a better cycling environment in Portland.
Tuttle based her survey on one conducted by the Women’s Freedom campaign in London. She said after hearing similar responses to their survey, bike advocates in London built an entire campaign around it with rides, petitions, letters to city council, etc.
What should Portland do to address this problem?
— Read the survey summary here.
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Two Birds with One Stone
Pairing: miguel x fem!reader (she/her; afab)
Summary: Miguel is of the opinion that revenge is best served cold.
Warnings: blood! violent miguel, swearing, cocky miguel, probably incorrect science, some biblical references, descriptions of dead bodies, HEA. Technically a part two to Come Hell or High Water, but can be read on its own.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who read part one, especially @vanilla-sweets @blueberry-thrawn @freehentai. You guys rock.
Word Count: 1.3k Type: blurb
Miguel O'Hara never knew how easy it would be rely on the omnipresent arrogance of a narcissistic Doc Oc variant. It was shocking, really, how little the Doctor believed himself capable of making a mistake. One could argue that it was his downfall, his Achilles heel, his fatal flaw.
Miguel was beginning to learn that everyone had one of those, his being the woman the Doctor still had in his titanium clutches, and that was okay. Because if there was one thing Miguel was nauseatingly good at, it was at finding people's faults.
Funny enough, he had found the way to get you back purely unwittingly.
He had been staring at his orchestra of beaming yellow monitors in the early hours of the morning and fell into the insatiably seductive trap of merely "resting his eyes."
"Just for a minute," he whispered, voice dripping in aching exhaustion, and dropped his head right onto the keyboard.
After a moment, he was woken by a piercing ringing in his ears. He figured it was a rogue anomaly alarm, causing him to bring his tender neck up and his swollen eyes scanning his screens once more. It took a few seconds for Miguel to process what he was looking at.
A tiny, flashing, lime green light blinking right at the center of the Spider-Verse, its diagnostic reading "Anomaly Found, Canon At Risk."
He shook his head, readying himself for disappointment. There was no way the Doctor would just...reveal himself, right? Unless it was a trap? Or some kind of scheme?
Or maybe, just maybe, the Doctor had made a mistake.
Miguel clicked on the diagnostic, reading further into the fine print. His eyes squinted as he read, one word from the comprehensive paragraph burning into his beaten frontal lobe.
Being currently dozing.
He rubbed his eyes, reading the words again, and again, and again.
The Doctor had fucking fallen asleep, effectively de-powering his tracking repellant installed in the chip of his brainstem. Without his conscious mind keeping the arms powered, therefore not keeping the inhibitor powered, his restrictions on his location were terminated.
Therefore, the restrictions on your location were terminated.
Miguel felt coolness drape itself over his body, a twitching sensation begin in his left eye, and an itching, tiny, yet incandescent glow begin to bloom across his chest and down his thighs.
The familiar, almost homey, grounding feeling of calculation and strategizing washed over him like a baptism. Renewing him from the wallowing man he had been, to the righteous one he was.
He knew how to be quick. He knew how to be efficient. He knew that getting you out was the main priority, while defeating the Doctor was secondary.
But Miguel had never been talented at only using his head.
A chilling, feline smile etched its way onto his face, his fangs dipping slightly over his bottom lip. His triceps flexed, his eyes narrowed, and his determination dropped like a stone in his stomach, sending ripples through the rest of his muscles.
Why not kill two birds with one stone?
"In the name of efficiency, of course," he mumbled, and powered up his gizmo.
~*~
Miguel O'Hara realized two things at once.
Firstly, Miguel didn't realize what he had done. The scope of it, the brevity, the fucking gore of it. Not until he stood still, the Doctor's mutilated corpse in front of him, metallic arms ripped from his body, clutched in Miguel's hands, dripping ooze and blood and bone.
Miguel didn't realize what he had done until that moment, and consecutively, how little he cared.
He hadn't hesitated. Not when the Doctor begged for mercy, just as Miguel had done. Not when the light began to slowly fade from the Doctor's eyes as his back became shredded, his spine shattered, and his brain ripped in half. Not when blood so red it was almost wine colored began dripping from Miguel's claws, effectively soaking the skin of his abdomen and upper thighs. No, Miguel hadn't hesitated.
And he didn't fucking care.
"Y/N," he yelled, throwing the dismembered pieces onto the metallic floor. He was in a warehouse of some kind, likely of the Doctor's own design. It was cold, grey, and composed of only panels and panels of sound-proof metal. No one could hear what was happening from the outside, and no one inside could hear what was happening outside.
His skin crawled and his jaw clenched at the thought.
He yelled your name once, twice, three more times. His fangs protruding from how wide he was opening his mouth, his deep bloodlust-filled voice regurgitating across the walls in an echo with a thrilling crescendo. He began to panic, his chest puffing at the thought that the Doctor had taken you somewhere else. That he sacrificed himself on purpose to send Miguel on an endless goose chase that ended with his own eventual death.
Because he would never stop searching. Never. You were worth spending the rest of his life a shepherd, looking for his one lost sheep.
He opened his mouth and strained his vocal chords one final time, and just as he was about to scream your name in a way that made every emotion he was feeling completely transparent to you, he heard a clanging from beneath his feet, and the muffled sound of his name.
His eyes locked on the bolts surrounding the small square he was standing on, as well as a small vent near his left foot, and realization washed over him.
It took him less than fifteen seconds to pry the hatch open, and pull you out.
His brain became muffled at the sight of you again - eyes he had gotten to know the color of so well, mouth with lips he could never seem to wipe away the feeling of, neck and jawline he had been desperate to trace one last time. Your features had always been striking to him, and with the blood and grime from the last few days strewn across them, he somehow found them even more so.
He only took a few seconds to admire you before practically tearing your suit in half, inspecting your wounds.
"Miguel," you said, you voice noticeably groggier from multiple days without use, "he let me bandage and clean them. I'm fine."
Miguel ran his fingers over your middle, inspecting your craftsmanship, pressing down on the bandages to ensure any bleeding or oozing had long since passed. He felt your soft fingers grasp underneath his chin, bringing his head up. You didn't hesitate to press his equally dirty forehead to yours, closing your eyes, breathing him in.
"I'm fine," you repeated, and Miguel exhaled shakily.
He let himself bask in the moment, forgetting the pain and carnage of the past, and the uncertainty of the future. Here he was, here and now, with his woman.
He hadn't failed you.
You brushed his hair from his face before pressing a quick kiss to his chiseled cheekbone. You then attempted to stand up before halting halfway, your face grimacing at the strain of the motion against your torn muscles.
He rotated your worn body into his arms, picking you up as a husband would his bride, and holding you close. He walked you from the warehouse, leaving the Doctor's body to wither and rot.
He grinned down at you. "How did you get him to fall asleep?"
You snorted, eyes closing against his swol chest. "You said I could experiment with my suit whenever I wanted. I took advantage of the opportunity," you said with a yawn.
Miguel's eyebrows furrowed when he caught the cocktail of scents in the air - carly sage, fresh roses, and a hint of lavender oil. You must have installed a ventilation of it as a fail-safe, the vent in your dungeon the perfect vessel to permeate it around the room.
He couldn't help but grin. "You truly scare me sometimes."
You looked up at Miguel one last time before succumbing to the exhaustion of your wounds. "You've never scared me."
He had never heard anything sweeter.
Tag list:
@leahkenobi @buckysblondie @tayleighuh
#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel x reader#miguel ohara x reader#miguel spiderman#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara smut#atsv miguel#miguel spiderverse#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 x you#spiderman 2099 spiderverse#spiderman 2099 x reader#across the spiderverse#spider man: across the spider verse#across the spider verse spoilers#oscar isaac fic
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Zelink gets Isekaied into BG3 Pt5: Let's Split Up, Gang!
Zelda- High Elf Draconic Lineage Sorcerer
Link- Half Wood Elf Champion Fighter
So far: Karlach has joined the party, Zelda has begun her infernal machinery research, and Karlach asks Link about his relationship with Zelda
When Zelda finally says goodbye to Dammon, she finds Link looking uncomfortable with Karlach and Astarion on either side of him. She asks what's wrong and Link takes the opportunity to escape and ask where they're going next.
Zelda is split between continuing to explore across the bridge and looking into Moonhaven more. Lae'zel suggests they split into two teams of four to explore both. Zelink is shaken by the suggestion, but can't deny the idea.
Team Link (Link, Wyll, Shadowheart, and Gale) will investigate Moonhaven.
Team Zelda (Zelda, Karlach, Lae'zel, and Astarion) will explore The Risen Road.
The teams will meet back up at camp (probably outside The Grove) at [time is a nebulous concept.]
As the group finishes distributing resources, Zelda hugs Link. She gives him a meaningful kiss goodbye before Team Zelda warps to their destination, leaving him stunned.
Link is mercifully left with the group least likely to hound him for information, but is still asked a few questions that he responds to with characteristic brevity before Team Link warps back to Moonhaven.
Karlach and Astarion ask Zelda about her and Link in their own ways as they walk and Zelda is much more open to answering than her boyfriend.
She tells them they've been living together since the end of the Calamity and started dating a year or so after that. Astarion asks about marriage and she gets bashful, saying they're waiting for the kingdom to get back on its feet. Lae'zel is watching the environment to try and distract herself from this inane dribble.
Lae'zel notices some movement up the road from where they dealt with the Gnolls. Evidently, there were even more Gnolls. Lae'zel advises Zelda to have herself and Karlach head straight in and let her and Astarion sneak up the small hill and give them support from the high ground. Zelda gives the thumbs up and Team Zelda makes short work of the Gnolls, though the moment is sullied when they find a pair of corpses in the cave. That Iron Flask they find is spooky.
Team Zelda continues and finds Waukeen's Rest on fire. Zelda immediately orders the party to search & rescue or join these nice knightly-looking people to put out the fires. She asks Karlach just how fireproof she is. Karlach enthusiastically says she can take a quick pop into an inferno if need be.
Astarion takes a bucket and heads into the less-enflamed buildings and does some light looting veiled as looking for survivors.
Lae'zel kicks down the front door and lets Karlach take the lead into the building. Zelda follows, hitting every blaze with Ray of Frost as she goes.
They get Florrick out, but Zelda hears someone yelling for help from a closed room. She recognizes that the room will ignite further if they open the door and she has Karlach bust in, find the guy, and get out before she blasts the room with a real big Ray of Frost (Ice Storm)
While Zelda goes around magically putting out fires, the rest of the team talks to Florrick and the Flaming Fist, getting the plot info (Astarion takes the lead.) Duke Ravengard, Moonrise Towers, etc.
During a short rest, the team fills Zelda in on what they've learned.
After their rest, they continue down the road and see the red dragon flying overhead. Lae'zel jogs ahead of the party to meet her fellow Gith.
The encounter begins as normal with Lae'zel taking the lead, but eventually, Voss' dragon takes an interest in Zelda. Zelda can feel that the dragon means her no harm and gently communes with it. This impresses Voss enough to believe Lae'zel's deception (or gives Lae'zel the confidence to convincingly lie) and the encounter ends without conflict.
With the knowledge that the Gith are searching for Shadowheart's artefact, Team Zelda decides to head back to camp for the time being.
#Baldur's Gate III#Baldur's Gate 3#BG3#Legend of Zelda#LoZ#Breath of the Wild#BotW#Tears of the Kingdom#TotK#Zelda#Link#Hero of the Wild#Shadowheart#Lae'zel#Astarion Ancunin#Gale Dekarios#Gale of Waterdeep#Wyll Ravengard#Karlach Cliffgate#Zelda x Link#Zelink
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